I wished something might possibly happen by which I might
be left alone on the island, to try, at all events, what Crusoe life was
really like.

Sure enough something did happen which ultimately gave me the
opportunity of carrying out my idea in its entirety. M. Oudin, the
proprietor of the island, had two events to chronicle in one day,
events which quite altered his after life, and took him at an hour's
notice from his Jethou home to Gardner's Hotel, Guernsey.

A letter arrived at St. Peter Port for him, from Paris, which, according
to custom, was placed in the guernsey breast of a fisherman, who sailed
with it straightway to M. Oudin. The latter gentleman having adjusted
his glasses, after instructing his man to give the messenger spirituous
refreshment (which is so very cheap in these islands), proceeded to scan
the contents of the letter. It was from a lawyer in Paris, informing him
of the decease of his brother, a leather merchant, who, dying wifeless
and childless, had bequeathed him both his business and fortune. This
intelligence of both joy and sorrow so bewildered and unstrung the
nerves of M. Oudin that, in accordance with his custom, he took a
dram--in fact the circumstances were so very warrantable that he took
two--and probably even more; or else they were like Mynheer Van Dunk's,
"deep, _deep_ draughts." Anyway, upon giving the fisherman orders to
sail him back to Guernsey, and attempting to follow him with his serving
man, they somehow found themselves at the bottom of the gulch which led
down to the shore (upon which the boat was careened), so much mixed as
to arms and legs, that an observer would have wondered what curious
animal he was gazing upon. Two of them scrambled to their feet, and as
well as they could, shook themselves together; but the third, M. Oudin,
had unfortunately broken his right thigh-bone completely in two. Then
the maudlin men, despite his groans, placed him awkwardly in the boat,
and hoisted sail for Guernsey.

As luck would have it, my father and I were standing upon the deck of
the now nearly finished "Kittywich," when the boat came in, and M. Oudin
having communicated to my father the nature of his hurt, my dad
immediately gave orders for him to be taken to Gardner's Hotel, where we
were staying, and hurrying for a doctor soon joined him there. The leg
was set, and I spent the greater part of each day by the side of M.
Oudin's bed, chatting and reading to him, and attending