He filled his shirt with plums and took a safer route down.
One day he came upon a grove of cabbage palms. The "cabbage" grew from the center of leaves at the top of the palm. It was white and sweet to the taste. A leaf of cabbage became a substitute for bread.
Each day, spyglass in hand, he trekked to a high ridge overlooking the bay. There he scanned the horizon. But there were no sails to be seen, only the shining sea. He stacked dry grass and branches, ready to set on fire. The smoke would signal a passing ship.
But a signal fire also meant taking a fearful risk. The waters between Juan Fernández and the coast of South America were patrolled by Spanish and French warships. A smoke signal might bring one or the other. After months on the island, he decided to give himself up to the French but not to the Spanish. "[The Spanish] would murder him," he feared, "or make a slave of him in the [silver] mines."
He chose to take his chances with the French.
Despite his daily watch, no ship arrived to rescue him. He was alone, both master of the island and its prisoner.
***
He began to try different meals—salads, a soup of goat meat, turnips and cabbage flavored with herbs, roasted fish, boiled lobster with oatcakes, a jam made from plums and spread on a cabbage-palm leaf. A favorite was leg of goat flavored with herbs and eaten with palm cabbage.
He learned to season meat with a sweet pepper from the pimento tree, salt evaporated from seawater, and a black pepper called malagita. This last he found "very good to expel wind and against griping of the guts."
He carved spoons and forks from goat horns. A lucky find was a barrel washed onto shore. From the iron hoops holding the staves he forged knife blades and hooks for fishing. From chunks of a tree limb he hollowed bowls and cups.
When his flint and steel wore out, he found another way to build a fire. His knife blade striking a rock sent sparks into loose piles of thread pulled from his shirt or onto shavings of dried seaweed and driftwood.
Twirling a hardwood stick between his palms into soft pimento wood was another source of fire. The friction created a weak flame that he coaxed into a roaring blaze. The wood burned "very clear" and refreshed him "with its fragrant smell." It served both to warm his hut on cool evenings and as a light, bright as candles, by which to read his Bible—sometimes aloud to keep up his ability to speak—and books on geometry and navigation.
He found the Bible entirely different from what he had known as a boy in Largo. Then, he had resisted the harsh religion of the church elders. In the Scriptures, he now found comfort for his troubled thoughts, courage to face each day, acceptance of his strange fate on the island. His anger cooled. Reading in the morning and evening became a pleasant way to start and end his day.
***
Dawn brought the creation of a new day—a rose flush in the eastern sky, streaks of lemon and lavender, then a rim of sun rising above the horizon and the first spread of morning light washing sea and sky. A faint breeze might bring the scent of blossoms opening. On some mornings a rainbow arced from the mist across the broad valley.
Selkirk's days followed a regular routine. After a reading in the Bible, he prepared a light breakfast—fruit, a cabbage leaf, a drink of fresh water.
Next a bath in the nearby stream, scrubbing himself with pumice, a soft volcanic stone. He mashed charcoal from the fire pit into powder, placed a line on a finger, scrubbed his teeth, then rinsed his mouth in the stream. A crude comb constructed from slivers of pimento wood did little to tidy his unruly hair and beard.
Ahead awaited a day of ease and pleasant tasks. A walk on the beach might reward him with the capture of a sea turtle. He hung the meat to dry in the sun. One turtle shell he cleaned with coarse sand and polished with fine pumice. In the hut the shell, shaded by a large leaf, kept water cool. A dip with a clam shell brought a refreshing drink to his lips.
On some days he played in the waves—always cautious, though, to stay near shore when seals frolicked nearby. He remembered when a sailor from the Cinque Ports, mistaking their play for friendliness, had approached one. The frisky seal turned aggressive and fastened its teeth in the sailor's head. Hauled back on board, he died the same day.
On a raft built from the boles of young trees tied together with bark strips, he fished for snapper, bonito, sea bass, and yellowtails. His line was made from goat sinews—the strong cords that attach muscle to bone. A hook came from a piece of the iron barrel hoop he had found, properly sharpened and shined.
From the same iron hoop he fashioned the blade of a fish spear, pointed and polished with pumice and bound to a pole with strips of bark. He also made a two-foot blade and attached a handle carved from goat horn, handy for beating through brush.