Labors of the Colonist.--His Study.--Fishing.--Administration.
--Selkirk Island.--The New Prometheus.--What is wanting to Happiness.
--Encounter with Marimonda.--Monologue.
Three months have passed away.
Thanks to Selkirk, the shore which received him at his disembarkation,
presents to-day an aspect not only picturesque, but animated. The hand
of man has made itself felt there.
The bushes and tufts of trees which hid the view of the hills in the
distance, have been uprooted and cut down; pretty paths, covered with
gravel, wind over the vast lawn; one in the direction of the valleys
at the right, another towards the mountains at the left; a third leads
to a tall mimosa, whose topmost boughs and dense foliage spread out
like a parasol. A wooden bench, composed of some round sticks, driven
into the earth, with branches interwoven and covered with bark,
surrounds it; a rustic table, constructed in the same manner, stands
at the foot of the tree. This is the study and place of meditation of
the exile; here also he comes to take his meals, in sight of the sea.
All three paths terminate in the grotto which Selkirk continues to
make his residence. This grotto he has enlarged, quarried out with his
hatchet, to make room for himself, his furniture, and provisions. He
has even attempted to decorate its exterior with a bank of turf, and
several species of creeping plants, trained to cover its calcareous
nudity. At the entrance of his habitation, rise two young palm-trees,
transplanted there by him, to serve as a portico. But nature is not
always obedient to man; the vines and palm-trees do not prosper in
their new location, and now the long flexible branches of the one, and
the broad leaves of the other, droop half withered above the grotto,
which they disfigure rather than decorate.
By constant care, and with the aid of his streams, Selkirk hopes to be
able to restore them to life and health. He has imposed on his two
streams another duty, that of supplying a bed of water-cresses and a
fish-pond, both provident establishments, the first of which has
succeeded perfectly. As for the second, his most arduous task has
been, not to dig the fish-pond, but to people it. For this purpose he
has been compelled to become a fisherman, to manufacture a net. He has
succeeded, with some threads from his fragment of a sail, the fibres
of his cocoa-nuts, and tough reeds, woven in close meshes;
unfortunately those fine fishes, breams, eels and angel-fish, which
show themselves so readily through the limpid wave, are not as easy to
catch as to see. Under the surface, almost at a level with the water,
there is a ledge of rocks, upon which the net cannot be managed. After
several fruitless attempts, he is obliged to content himself with the
insignificant employment of fishing with a line; a nail flattened,
sharpened and bent, performs the office of a hook. Success ensues, but
only with time and patience; fortunately the sea-crabs allow
themselves to be caught with the hand, and the fish-pond does not long
remain useless and deserted.
Besides, has not our fortunate Selkirk the resource of hunting? The
chase he had commenced generously, like a wise monarch, who wages war
only for the general interest. It is true, that as it happens with
most wise monarchs, his own private interest is also to be consulted,
at least he thinks so.
Wild cats existed in the island, destroying young broods, agoutis, and
other small game; he has almost entirely rid it of these pirates,
reserving to himself only the right of levying upon his subjects the
tribute of blood. He has already signalized his administration by acts
of an entirely different nature.
This king without a people, is ignorant in what part of the great
ocean, and at what distance from its shores, is situated his nameless
kingdom.
Armed with his spy-glass, by the aid of his nautical charts, he
attempts to ascertain, by the position of the stars, its longitude and
latitude. He at first believes himself to be in one of the islands
forming the group of Chiloe; his calculations rectified, he afterwards
thinks it the Island of Juan Fernandez, then San Ambrosio, or San
Felix. Unable to determine the location exactly, for want of correct
instruments, he persuades himself that the country he inhabits has
never been surveyed, that it is really a land without a name, and he
gives it his own; he calls it Selkirk Island.
Ambitious youth, thou hast thus realized one of thy brightest dreams!
Dost thou remember the day when, on the way from Largo to St. Andrew,
to join William Dampier, thou didst already see thyself the chief of a
new country, discovered and baptized by thee?
Well! has he not more than discovered this country? He inhabits it, he
governs it, he reigns in it! Not satisfied with giving his name to the
island, he soon creates a special nomenclature for its various
localities. To the shore upon which he landed, he gives the name of
_Swordfish Beach_; the pile of white and red rocks, which he saw
through the fog, is the _False Coquimbo_; he calls _Toucan Forest_,
the wood where he saw that bird for the first time; the _Defile of
Attack_, is that where Marimonda assaulted him with stones; upon these
arid rocks, furrowed by deep ravines and abounding in precipices, he
has imposed the odious name of _Stradling_! In his mountains he has
the _Oasis_; it is a little shady valley, enlivened by the murmur of a
streamlet, and with one extremity opening to the sea. There he often
goes to watch the game and the goats, which come to drink at the
brook. Above it rises the table-land, with difficulty scaled by him on
the day of his arrival, and from whence he became convinced that he
had landed on an island. This table-land, he has named _The
Discovery_.
The two streams which meander over his lawn, and before his grotto,
have also received names. This, commissioned to feed the fish-pond,
and which gently warbles through the grass, he calls _The Linnet_; the
other, interrupted by little cascades, and whose course is more rapid
and impetuous, he calls _The Stammerer_.
He has now destroyed the noxious animals, administered government,
opened ways of communication, given a name to every part of his
island. How many great rulers have done no more!
But his labors have not been confined to his fish-pond, his bed of
water-cresses, his hunting, fishing, building, felling of trees; it
has become necessary to procure that essential element of
civilization, of comfort, fire.
What could the opulent proprietor of this enchanting abode do without
fire? Is it not necessary, if he would open a passage through the
dense woods? Is it not indispensable to his kitchen? Some of his
trees, it is true, afford fruits in abundance; but most of these
fruits are of a dry and woody nature; besides, young and vigorous,
easily acquiring an appetite by labor and exercise, can he content
himself with a dinner which is only a dessert? Surrounded with fishes
of all colors, with feathered and other game, must he then be reduced
to dispute with the agoutis, their maripa-nuts?
He reflects; armed with a bit of iron, he strikes the flinty rocks of
the mountains, to elicit from them useless sparks. He then remembers
that savages obtain fire without flint and matches, by the friction of
two pieces of dry wood; he tries, but in vain; he exhausts the
strength of his arms, without being discouraged; he tries each tree,
wishing even that a thunderbolt might strike the island, if it would
leave there a trace of burning. At last, almost discouraged, he
attacks the pimento-myrtle;[1] he recommences his customary efforts of
rubbing. The twigs grow warm with the friction; a little white smoke
appears, fluttering to and fro between his hands, rapid and trembling
with emotion. The flame bursts forth! He utters a cry of triumph, and,
hastily collecting other twigs and dry reeds, he leaps for joy around
his fire, which, like another Prometheus, he has just stolen, not from
heaven, but from earth!
[Footnote 1: _Myrtus aromatica_; its berries are known under the name
of Jamaica pepper.]
Afterwards, in his gratitude, he runs to the myrtle, embraces it,
kisses it. An act of folly, perhaps; perhaps an act of gratitude,
which ascended higher than the topmost branches of the trees, higher
than the culminating summits of the mountains of the island.
But this fire, must he, each time he may need it, go through the same
tedious process? Not far from his grotto, in a cavity which a
projecting rock protects from the sea breeze, he piles up wood and
brush, sets fire to it, keeps it alive from time to time, by the
addition of combustibles, and comprehends why, among primitive
nations, the earliest worship should have been that of fire; why, from
Zoroaster to the Vestals, the care of preserving it should have been
held sacred.
At a later period, in the ordinary course of things, he simplified his
means of preservation. With some threads and the fat of his game, he
contrived a lamp; still later, he had oil, and reeds served him for
wicks.
Dating from this moment, the entire island paid tribute to him; the
crabs, the eels, the flesh of the agouti, savory like that of the
rabbit, by turns figured on his table. When he seasoned them with some
morsels of pork, substituting ship biscuit for bread, his repasts were
fit for an admiral.
Although the goats had become wild, like the other inhabitants of the
island, since all had learned the nature of man, and of the thunder,
which he directed at his will, Selkirk still surprised them within
gun-shot. Not only was their flesh profitable for food; their horns,
long and hollow, served to contain powder and other small articles
necessary to his house-keeping; of their skins he made carpets,
coverings, and bags to protect his provisions from dampness. He even
manufactured a game-pouch, which he constantly carried when hunting.
His salt fish, his biscuit, some well smoked quarters of goat's flesh,
and the productions of his fish-pond, at present constitute a store on
which he can live for a long time, without any care, but to ameliorate
his condition.
He is now in possession of all the enjoyments he has coveted,
abundance, leisure, absolute freedom.
And yet, his brow is sometimes clouded, and an unaccountable
uneasiness torments him; something seems wanting; his appetite fails,
his courage grows feeble, his reveries are painfully prolonged. But,
by mature reflection, he has discovered the cause of the evil.
What is it that is so essential to his happiness? Tobacco.
Our factitious wants often exercise over us a more tyrannical empire,
than our real ones; it seems as if we clung with more force and
tenacity to this second nature, because we have ourselves created it;
it originates in us; the other originates with God, and is common to
all!
Selkirk now persuades himself that tobacco alone is wanting to his
comfort; it is this privation which throws him into these sorrowful
fits of languor. If Stradling had only given him a good stock of
tobacco, he would have pardoned all; he no longer feels courage to
hate him. What to him imports the plenty which surrounds him, if he
has no tobacco? of what use is his leisure, if he cannot spend it in
smoking? what avails even this fire, which he has just conquered, if
he is prevented from lighting his pipe at it?
Careworn and dissatisfied, he was wandering one morning through his
domains, with his gun on his shoulder, his hatchet at his belt, when
he perceived something dancing on a point of land, shadowed by tall
canes.
It was Marimonda.
At sight of her enemy, she darted lightly and rapidly behind a woody
hillock. An instant afterwards, he saw her tranquilly seated on the
topmost branch of a tree, holding in each of her hands fruits which
she was alternately striking against the branch, and against each
other, to break their tough envelope.
The sight of Marimonda has always awakened in Selkirk a sentiment of
repulsion; she not only reminds him of Stradling, but with her
withered cheeks, projecting jaw, and especially her dancing motion, he
now imagines that she resembles him; and yet, pausing before her, he
contemplates her not without a lively emotion of surprise and
interest.
He had already encountered her within gun-shot, when engaged in the
destruction of the wild cats, and had asked himself whether he should
not reckon her among noxious animals. But then Marimonda, with her
hand constantly pressed against her side, was with the other seizing
various herbs, which she tasted, bruised between her teeth, and
applied to her wound; useless remedies, doubtless, for, grown meagre,
her hair dull and bristling, she seemed to have but a few days to
live, and Selkirk thought her not worth a charge of powder and shot.
And here he finds her alert and healthy, holding in the same hand
which had served as a compress, no longer the plant necessary for her
cure, but the fruit desirable for her sustenance.
'What,' said Selkirk to himself, 'in an island where this frightful
monkey has never before been, she has succeeded in finding without
difficulty the _herba sacra_, that which has restored her to health
and strength! and I, Selkirk, who have studied at one of the principal
universities of Scotland, I am vainly sighing for the plant which
would suffice to render me completely happy! Is instinct then superior
to reason? To believe this, would be ingratitude to Providence.
Instinct is necessary, indispensable to animals, because they cannot
benefit by the traditions of their ancestors. The monkey has consulted
her instinct, and it has inspired her; if I consult reason, what will
be her counsel? She will advise me to do like the monkey; to seek the
herb of which I feel so great a want, or at least to endeavor to
substitute for it something analogous; to choose, try, and taste, in
short, to follow the example of Marimonda! I will not fail to do so;
but it is nature reversed, and, for a man, it is too humiliating to
see himself reduced to imitate a monkey!'