that he might wait at Juan Fernandez the passing of some other
ship in which he might return home. The captain agreed to this proposal
willingly enough, glad to dismiss from his crew so insubordinate a
sailor; and just before the _Clinque Ports_ was about to weigh anchor,
the adventurous seaman was sent on shore with the few things that
belonged to him. He sprang from the boat almost before her keel had
grazed the sand, wishing to appear gay and brave to his companions; but
no sooner did the splash of oars begin to grow faint and distant, and the
faces of the boatmen indistinct as they neared the ship, than all his
courage forsook him. With outstretched hands, and frantic words and
gestures, he implored them to return, promising to bear everything, to
risk everything, if only he might not be left alone on the lonely island.
But he cried in vain; the boat reached the ship, the men climbed on
board, the sails were hoisted, and there on his sea-chest, sat the lonely
sailor, gazing over the wide ocean, on which nothing but the lessening
speck of white on the far horizon reminded him of the existence of any
human being but himself.

Days passed almost uncounted, for in his desolate misery Alexander
Selkirk had but one thought left--the longing desire of rescue and
return home. He valued the daylight only because by its aid he could
watch for a sail on the wide, silent sea; he dreaded the coming on of
the night, chiefly because it shut him off for a time from his one
employment. During these dreary days or weeks he never tasted food, save
when driven to look for it by pangs of sharpest hunger, and even then he
would not leave the beach, but fed on shell-fish picked up on the rocks,
or sometimes on the flesh of seals.

It was September when the _Clinque Ports_ sailed, and now October had
come, the middle of spring in Juan Fernandez, and, all round him, nature
spoke of hope, and taught of God. But before hope could enter into
Alexander's desolate heart, sorrow must come: sorrow for sin, for his
disobedience to the parents whom he had made unhappy; for his reckless,
godless life; for all the teachings of his youth forgotten, and for its
lessons neglected. Sometimes, for a few minutes, Alexander would turn
his eyes from his eager watch over the sea, and looking down, would
picture instead his Scottish home. He would see clearly in his mind his
venerable father, with his furrowed brow, and stern, unsmiling mouth;
his mother, in h