Alexander Selkirk.--The College.--First Love.--Eight Years of Absence.
--Maritime Combats.--Return and Departure.--The Swordfish.
Alexander Selkirk,--the name of the principal personage in this
narrative,--was born at Largo, in the county of Fife, not far from St.
Andrew. Entered as a pupil in the university of the town, he at first
distinguished himself by his aptitude and his intelligence, until the
day when, hearing of the beauty of the landlady of the Royal Salmon,
he was seized with an irresistible desire to see her: he saw her, and
became violently enamored. It was one of those youthful passions,
springing rather from the effervescence of the age, than from the
merit of the object; one of those sudden ebullitions to which the
young recluses of science are sometimes subject, from a prolonged
compression of the natural and affectionate sentiments.
From this moment, all the words in the Greek and Latin dictionaries,
all the principles of natural philosophy, mathematics and history,
suddenly taken by storm, whirled confusedly and pell-mell in the head
of Selkirk, like the elements of the world in chaos, before the day of
creation.
His professors had predicted that at the annual exhibition he would
obtain six great prizes; he obtained not even a premium.
As a punishment, he was required to remain within the college grounds
during the vacation. But its gates were not strong enough, nor its
walls high enough to detain him.
Condemned, for the crime of desertion, to a classic imprisonment, he
was shut up in a cellar; he escaped through the window; in a garret;
he descended by the roof.
Then, pronounced incorrigible, he was expelled from the university.
He left it joyous and happy, escaped from the tutor commissioned to
conduct him to his father, and at last wholly free, his own master, he
took lodgings in a cabin, not far from the Royal Salmon, and thought
himself monarch of the universe.
As soon as the doors of the inn were opened, he penetrated there with
the earliest fogs of morning, with the first beams of day; in the
evening he was the last to cross the threshold, after the extinction
of the lights.
All day long, seated at a little table opposite the bar, between a
pipe and a pewter pot, he watched the movements of Kitty, and followed
her with admiring eyes.
Catherine was not slow to perceive this new passion; but she was
accustomed to admiring eyes, and therefore paid but little heed to
them. She was then at the age of twenty-two, in all the glory of her
transient royalty; he, scarcely sixteen, was in her eyes a boy, a raw
and awkward boy, like almost all the other students, and she contented
herself with now and then bestowing a slight smile upon him, in common
with her other customers.
But this mechanical smile, this half extinguished spark, did but
increase the flame, by kindling in the young man's soul a ray of hope.
At this age, passion has not yet an oral language; it is in the heart,
in the head especially, but not on the lips; one comprehends,
experiences, dreams, writes of love in prose and verse, but does not
talk of it. Selkirk had twenty times attempted to confess his
affection to Catherine; he had as yet succeeded only in a few simple
and hasty meteorological sentences, on the rain and fine weather. He
therefore wrote.
Unfortunately, Catherine could not easily read writing; she applied to
him to interpret his letter. This was a hard task for the poor boy,
who, with a tremulous and hesitating voice, saw himself forced to
stammer through all that burning phraseology which seemed to congeal
under the breath of the reader.
The result however was that Catherine became his friend; she
encouraged his confidence, and gave him good advice as an elder sister
might have done. She even called him by the familiar name of Sandy,
which was a good omen.
Meanwhile his scanty resources became exhausted; he had no longer
means to pay for the pot of ale which he consumed daily. The idea of
asking credit of his beloved, of opening with her an account, which he
might never have means to pay, was revolting to him. On the other
hand, the thought of returning home, and asking pardon of his father,
was not less repugnant to his feelings. He was endowed with one of
those haughty and imperious natures which recognize their faults, not
to repair them, but to make of them a starting point, or even a
pedestal.
He was rambling about the port, reflecting on his unfortunate
situation, when he heard mention made of a ship ready to set sail at
high tide, and which needed a reinforcement of cabin-boys and sailors.
This was for him an inspiration; he did not hesitate, he hastened to
engage. That very evening he had gained the open sea, beyond the Isle
of May, and, with his eyes turned towards the Bay of St. Andrew, was
attempting, in vain, to recognize among the lights which were yet
burning in the city, the fortunate lantern which decorated the sacred
door of the Royal Salmon.
At present, Alexander Selkirk is twenty-four years old. He has become
a genuine sailor, and he loves his profession; the sea is now his
beautiful Kitty. Besides, it is long since he has troubled himself
about his heart. It is empty, even of friendship, for, among his
numerous companions, the proud young man has not found one worthy of
him. After having served two years in the merchant marine, he has
entered the navy. Thanks to the war kindled in Europe for the Spanish
succession, he has for a long time cruised with the brave Admiral
Rooke along the coasts of France; with him, he has fought against the
Danish in the Baltic Sea, and in 1702, in the capacity of a master
pilot, figured honorably in the expedition against Cadiz, and in the
affair of Vigo. Finally, under the command of Admiral Dilkes, he has
just taken part in the destruction of a French fleet.
But all these expeditions, rather military than maritime, and
circumscribed in the narrow circle of the seas of Europe, have not
satisfied the vast desires of the ambitious sailor. He experiences an
invincible thirst to apply his knowledge, to exercise his intelligence
on a larger scale; he is impatient for a long voyage, a voyage of
discovery.
The terrific hurricane of the twenty-seventh of November, 1703, which
drove the waves of the Thames even into Westminster, Hall, and covered
London almost entirely with the fragments of broken vessels, appeared
to Selkirk a favorable occasion for asking his dismissal. He easily
obtained it. So many sailors had just been thrown out of employment by
the hurricane.
Once more, the undisciplined scholar found himself free and his own
master! He profited by this to pay a visit to his birthplace in
Scotland. His father was dead, but he had some business to regulate
there.
On reaching Largo he learned the arrival of William Dampier at St.
Andrew. He set sail for that port immediately.
'Ah!' said he on his way, 'if this brave captain should be about to
undertake a voyage to the New World, and will let me accompany him, no
matter in what capacity, all my wishes will be gratified. I thirst to
see tattooed faces, other trees besides beeches, oaks and firs; other
shores than those of the Baltic, Mediterranean and Atlantic. Who knows
whether I may not aid him in the discovery of some new continent, some
unknown island which shall bear my name!'
And, cradled by the wave in the frail canoe that bore him, he dreamed
of government, perhaps of royalty, in one of those archipelagoes which
he imagined to exist in the bosom of the distant Southern seas, long
afterwards explored by Cook, Bougainville and Vancouver.
Once in port, he hastened to inquire for the dwelling occupied by
Dampier. The latter was absent; he was in the harbor.
While awaiting his return, our young sailor thought of his old friend
Catherine, his pretty black-eyed Kitty, and directed his steps towards
the inn.
He found her already enthroned in her leathern arm-chair, her hair
neatly braided, with two small curls on her temples; in a toilette
which the early hour of the morning did not seem to authorize; but it
was the famous third day, and she was awaiting Stradling.
On seeing Selkirk enter, she exclaimed to the boy, pointing to the
newly-arrived: 'A pot of ale!'
'No,' cried the young man smiling; 'the ale which I once drank here
was for me a philter full of bitterness; a glass of whiskey, if you
please,----' and, pointing to the little table opposite the bar at
which he was formerly accustomed to place himself, he said:
'Serve me there; I will return to my old habits.'
Catherine looked at him with astonishment.
'Does not pretty Kate recognize me?' said he in a caressing tone,
approaching her.
'How! Is it possible! is it you, indeed, Sandy?'
'Yes, Alexander Selkirk, formerly a fugitive from the University of
St. Andrew; recently a master pilot in the royal marine; now, as ever,
your very humble servant.'
And they shook hands, and examined each other closely, but the
impression on both sides was far from being the same.
Catherine finds Selkirk much changed, but for the better; time and
navigation have been favorable to him. He is no longer the raw student
with embarrassed air, awkward manner, bony frame and dilapidated
costume; but a stout young man, with a broad chest, active and
graceful form; though his features are decidedly Scotch, they are
handsome; his eyes, less brilliant than formerly, are animated with a
more attractive thoughtfulness, and the naval uniform, which he still
wears, sets off his person to advantage.
On his part, Selkirk finds Catherine also much changed; the rosy
complexion, the soft voice, the youthful look, the twenty-two years,
all are gone. Her form has assumed a superabundant amplitude.
They drop each other's hands and utter a sigh; he, of regret; she, of
surprise.
Both close their eyes, at the same time; she, with the fear of gazing
too earnestly; he, to recall the being of his imagination.
However this may be, she is not yet a woman to be despised by a
sailor. He therefore prolongs his visit: they come to interrogations,
to confidences.
Catherine acquaints him with the situation of her little business
affairs; her fortune is improving; she gives him an estimate of it in
round numbers, as well as of the suitors she has rejected; but she
does not mention Captain Stradling, whose arrival she yet fears every
moment.
Selkirk relates to her his campaigns, his combats against the French,
against the Danish, the victorious attack of the English ships against
the great boom of Vigo; but, when she asks him what motive has brought
him back to St. Andrew, he replies boldly that he came to see her and
no one else, and says not a word of Captain Dampier, whom he is even
now impatient to meet.
At last the old friends say adieu.
Then the gallant sailor, with an apparent effort, goes away, not
forgetting, however, to drink his glass of whiskey.
And this is the reason why, on the third day, Catherine has the
vapors; this is the reason why, notwithstanding her soft words of the
evening before and her grand morning toilette, she receives so coldly
the scarred adversary of the celebrated Jean Bart.
During the whole of the week following, Stradling, Dampier and
Selkirk, did not fail to meet at the Royal Salmon. Selkirk came to see
Dampier; Dampier came to see Stradling; Stradling came to see
Catherine Felton.
The latter thought the young man already knew the two others, that he
had sailed with them, and was not surprised at their intimacy.
Sometimes Selkirk, leaving his companions in the midst of their
bottles and glasses, would describe a tangent towards the counter, and
come to converse with the pretty hostess. He no longer felt love for
her, and notwithstanding this, perhaps for this very reason, he now
talked eloquently.
Kitty blushed, was embarrassed, and poor Captain Stradling, listening
with all his ears to the narratives of his illustrious friend William
Dampier, or pre-occupied with his pipe, lost in its cloud, saw
nothing,--or seemed to see nothing.
Nevertheless one evening, he went, in his turn, to lean on the
counter:
'Kate,' said he, 'when is our marriage to take place?'
'Are you thinking of that still?' replied she, with an air of levity
which would once have became her better; 'I hoped this fancy had
passed out of your head.'
'I may then set out on my voyage, Kate?'
'Why not? We will talk of our plans on your return.'
'But I am going to make the tour of the world, as well as my friend
Dampier. Kate, it is the affair of three years!'
'So much the better! it will give us both time for reflection.'
'It is well!' replied the phlegmatic Englishman, and nothing on his
polar face betokened an afterthought.
The doors closed, the lights extinguished, Catherine retired to rest
the happiest woman in the world. She said to herself: 'Alexander loves
me, and has loved me for eight years! he deserves to be rewarded. He
has less money than the other, it is a misfortune; but he has more
youth and grace, that balances it. As to rank, a master pilot of
twenty-four is as far advanced as a captain of forty. Between Selkirk
and myself, if the wealth is on my side, on his will be gratitude and
little attentions. At all events, I prefer a young husband who will
whisper words of love in my ear, to amusing myself by pouring out
drink for my lord and master, while he smokes his pipe, with his feet
on the brands. Was it not thus that icicle, dressed in blue, called
Stradling, talked to me of the pleasures of marriage? And what a name!
But Mistress Selkirk!--that sounds well. In our Scotland, there is the
county of Selkirk, the town of Selkirk; there is even a great nobleman
of this name, who is something like minister to our Queen Anne, I
believe. Who knows? we are perhaps of his family! As for walking about
the port arm-in-arm with a captain, I am sure my very dear friends and
neighbors would die with jealousy if I took, instead of this scarred
captain, a young and handsome man. It is settled. I will marry
Alexander; to-morrow I will myself announce it to him. I hope he will
not die of joy!'
On the morrow she attired herself as on the day of Selkirk's return,
in her beautiful dress of cloth and silk, with the two little curls
upon her temples. She thus waited a great part of the day. At last,
about four o'clock, Selkirk arrives in haste, his face beaming with
joy, and a gleam of triumph in his eye.
'Has he then,' thought Catherine, 'a presentiment of the happiness in
store for him?'
'Congratulate me, pretty Kitty,' said the young man, almost out of
breath; 'I am appointed mate of the brig Swordfish, which I am to join
at Dunbar.'
'How! you are going?'
'In an hour.'
'For a long time?'
'For three years at least. In a fortnight we set sail for the East
Indies. It will be a great commercial voyage and a voyage of
discovery. Unfortunately William Dampier does not accompany us; but he
furnishes funds to the brave Captain Stradling.'
'Stradling!'
'Yes, it is he who has just engaged me, and with whom I am to sail.
Our agreement is signed,--I am mate! I am going to explore the New
World! Ah! I would not exchange my fate for that of a king. But time
presses; adieu, Kitty, till I see you again!'
'Three years!' murmured Catherine.
And her curls grew straight beneath the cold perspiration that covered
her forehead.