My head swam with fear; and as I left the spot, I made two or three
steps, and then took a look round me; then two steps more, and did the
same thing. I took fright at the stump of an old tree, and ran to my
house, as if for my life. How could aught in the shape of a man come to
that shore, and I not know it? Where was the ship that brought him? Then
a vague dread took hold of my mind, that some man, or set of men, had
found me out; and it might be, that they meant to kill me, or rob me of
all I had.
How strange a thing is the life of man! One day we love that which the
next day we hate. One day we seek what the next day we shun. One day
we long for the thing which the next day we fear; and so we go on. Now,
from the time that I was cast on this isle, my great source of grief
was that I should be thus cut off from the rest of my race. Why, then,
should the thought that a man might be near give me all this pain? Nay,
why should the mere sight of the print of a man's foot, make me quake
with fear? It seems most strange; yet not more strange than true.
Once it struck me that it might be the print of my own foot, when first
the storm cast me on these shores. Could I have come this way from the
boat? Should it in truth turn out to be the print of my own foot, I
should be like a boy who tells of a ghost, and feels more fright at his
own tale, than those do whom he meant to scare.
Fear kept me in-doors for three days, till the want of food drove me
out. At last I was so bold as to go down to the coast to look once more
at the print of the foot, to see if it was the same shape as my own. I
found it was not so large by a great deal; so it was clear there were
men in the isle. Just at this time my good watch dog fell down dead at
my feet. He was old and worn out, and in him I lost my best guard and
friend.
One day as I went from the hill to the coast, a scene lay in front of me
which made me sick at heart. The spot was spread with the bones of men.
There was a round place dug in the earth, where a fire had been made,
and here some men had come to feast. Now that I had seen this sight, I
knew not how to act; I kept close to my home, and would scarce stir from
it, save to milk my flock of goats.
To feel safe was now more to me than to be well fed; and I did not care
to drive a nail, or chop a stick of wood, lest the sound of it should be
heard, much less would I fire a gun. As to my bread and meat, I had to
bake it at night when the smoke could not be seen. But I soon found the
way to burn wood with turf at the top of it, which made it like chark,
or dry coal; and this I could use by day, as it had no smoke.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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