to the shore, the officers seized
their spy-glasses, and all together quickly uttered a _huzza_! The
vessel which had sailed in company with that of Captain Rogers, the
Duchess, of Bristol, had arrived. This vessel, commanded by William
Cook, had, for a master-pilot, a man more celebrated in maritime
annals than the commanders of the expedition themselves;--this was
Dampier, the indefatigable William Dampier, who, a short time since a
millionaire, now completely ruined in consequence of foolish
speculations and prodigalities, had just undertaken a third voyage
around the world.

Scarcely had he disembarked, when he heard of the great event of the
day--of the wild man. His name was mentioned, he remembered having
known an Alexander Selkirk at St. Andrew, at the inn of the Royal
Salmon. He went to him, interrogated him, recognized him, and, without
loss of time, after having had his hair and beard cut, and procured
suitable clothing for him, presented him to Capt. Rogers; he
introduced him as one of his old comrades, formerly an intrepid and
distinguished officer in the navy, one of the conquerors of Vigo, who
had been induced by himself to embark in the Swordfish, partly at his
expense.

Restored to liberty, supported, revived, by the kind cares of Dampier,
his old hero, Selkirk felt rejuvenated. His first thought then is for
that other unfortunate man, still an exile perhaps in his desert
island. After having informed the old sailor that he had found a
little bottle, containing a written parchment, he said: 'Dear Captain,
it would be a meritorious act, and one worthy of you, to co-operate in
the deliverance of this unhappy man. A boat will suffice for the
voyage, since the Island of San Ambrosio is so near this. Oh! how
joyfully would I accompany you in this excursion!'

'My brave hermit,' replied Dampier, shaking his head, 'the neighboring
island of which you speak is no other than the second in this group,
named _Mas a Fuera_. As for the other, that San Ambrosio which you
think so near, if it has not become a floating island since my last
voyage, if it is still where I left it, under the Tropic of Capricorn,
to reach it will not be so trifling a matter; besides, your little
bottle must be a bottle of ink. There is here confusion of place and
confusion of time; not only is _Mas a Fuera_ not _San Ambrosio_ but
this latter island, far from being a desert, as your correspondent has
said, has been inhabited more than