On the beach was a makeshift hut—sandalwood poles covered by sailcloth—made by firewood cutters and the watering party from the Cinque Ports as a shelter against sun and rain. He moved his sea chest into this rickety shelter.
***
Weeks passed and the Cinque Ports had not appeared in the bay to rescue him.
Had Stradling marooned him? Was it possible the ship would not return to Juan Fernández?
Selkirk's mood was dark. The island itself contributed to his low spirits. He would later reveal how "dejected, languid, and melancholy" he had begun to feel, "scarce able to refrain from doing [myself] violence."
Lonely beyond belief, he picked up his musket. It was still loaded with powder and a single shot, his defense against savages who had never appeared. One pull of the trigger would solve the problem of being alone. Was this why Stradling had ordered the musket? he must have wondered. Sweet revenge on his rebellious mate who dared question his orders?
Shaking, he thrust the musket clattering onto the rocks and made the decision to live.
***
After weeks on the beach, Selkirk decided he needed better shelter. The open hut of poles and sailcloth was too flimsy to protect against wind and blowing rain.
Caves above a line of trees offered a possibility. Trudging up the wooded slope, he looked into each one. The opening of the cave he chose was ten feet high. The ferns and weeds growing from the walls didn't appeal, but the hollow entrance offered a special advantage: a high lookout over the bay, a place to watch for a ship.
He carried his sea chest and few belongings up from the beach. Gathering ferns, he spread them on the rocky floor to form a mattress.
In front of the cave he piled rocks. Then he cut thorny branches from bushes and arranged them in front of the rocks. The rock wall, the thorns, and a bright fire at the entrance would hold wild beasts at bay. (Selkirk was as yet unaware that the most ferocious animals on the island were goats.)
The cave offered shelter from wind and rain but was damp and uncomfortable. In the mornings his arms and face were often dusted with dirt that had sifted down. A rain shower during the day might cause the ferns and weeds to drip cold water at night. It's likely he was frequently chilled, thus adding to his misery.
No matter how poorly he felt, though, hunger forced him from the cave each day on a desperate search for food. Sometimes he dug roots to boil into a broth. He tasted cautiously—especially when he found wild berries or bird eggs—fearful of making himself sick or even poisoning himself.
On the beach he spotted a sea turtle crawling from the water. Flipping the creature onto its back, he quickly dispatched it with his hatchet. Cutting the tender meat into strips, he hung them in the sun to dry. The sweet meat provided a welcome relief from his diet of lobster, clams, and mussels.
Hunger was a daily problem, but so was the heavy silence of the island, especially at noon, when the sun was high. When loneliness grew too heavy, he emerged from the cave, singing hymns he had learned as a boy in the Presbyterian church in Largo. "There's an end of an auld [old] song," he shouted defiantly as a hymn ended, then beginning another.
He prayed aloud, bearing "up against melancholy and the terror of being left alone in a desolate place," and wept helplessly, half mad from the solitude. He feared his mind was slipping. He longed to hear a human voice.
***
He slept whole days away. Sleep was his only escape. Awake, he whistled Scottish folk tunes, a human sound in the island's stillness.
In the cave, gazing into the firelight, Alexander Selkirk may have thought of his family in Largo. Come to the shop, learn the business, his father, John, had offered. But cobbling shoes for the villagers and harnesses for their horses didn't appeal. That was why he had run away to sea.
His last day at home had not been pleasant. He had fought with his feeble-minded brother, Andrew. When he asked the boy to fetch a pail of water from the well, Andrew brought seawater from the bay.
Alexander gagged and sputtered. Furious, he grabbed a walking staff, swatted the giggling boy, and was wrestled to the floor by his father.
Neighbors reported a "tumult" in the house, his cousin John Howell later recorded. Church elders ordered Alexander to appear "before the face of the congregation" and scolded him for his "scandalous behavior." Humiliated, he made "public acknowledgment of his sin" and promised to mend his ways.
That was how he remembered Andrew.
His mother, Euphan, a loving woman who had given him the Bible to accompany him on his travels, likely brought tender thoughts. What would she think now if she could see him with a scraggly beard, sitting in a cave, staring into a fire burning bright against wild animals?...