ncholy continue.

This state of suffering is most painful at those moments of profound
calm, common between the tropics, when the birds are silent, when from
the thickets and burrows issue no murmurs, when the insect seems to
sleep within the closed corollas of the flowers; when the leaves of
the mimosa fold themselves; when the tree-tops are not swayed by the
slightest breath of air, and the sea, motionless, ceases to dash
against the shore. What an inexpressible weight such a silence adds to
isolation! And yet it is not an unbroken silence, for then a shrill
and harsh sound seems to grate upon the ear. It is as if in this
muteness of nature, one could hear the motion of the earth on its
axis; then, above his head, in the depths of immensity, the whirling
of the celestial spheres and myriads of worlds which gravitate in
space. Thought becomes troubled and exhausted before this overwhelming
and terrible immobility, and the man who, at such a moment, cannot
have recourse to his kind, to distract or re-assure him, is
overpowered with his own insignificance.

Sometimes the solitary calls on himself to break this oppressive and
painful silence; he articulates a few words aloud, and his voice
inspires him with fear; it seems formidable and unnatural.

During one of these sinister calms, in which every thing in creation
seemed to pause, even the heart of man, seated on the shore, not
having even strength to smoke, Selkirk was vainly awaiting the evening
breeze; nothing came, but the obscurity of night. The moon, delaying
her appearance, submitting in her turn to the sluggishness of all
things, seemed detained below the circle of the horizon by some fatal
power; the sea was dull, gloomy, and as it were congealed.

Suddenly, though there was not a breath of air, Selkirk saw at his
right, on a vast but limited tract of ocean, the waves violently
agitated and foaming. He thought he distinguished a multitude of
barques and canoes furrowing the surface of the waters; not far from
Swordfish Beach, the flotilla enters a little cove running up into the
mountains.

He no longer sees any thing; but he hears a frightful tumult of
discordant cries.

There is no room for doubt! some Indian tribes, pursued perhaps by new
conquerors from Europe, have just disembarked on the shore. Wo to him!
he can hope from them neither pity nor mercy. A cold sweat bathes his
forehead; he runs to his grotto, takes his gun, puts in his goatskin
pouch