tracts in abundance from their fat. Now
he can have a lamp constantly burning, even by night. He has all the
comforts of life. Of the hairy skin of the seals, he manufactures a
broad-brimmed hat, which shields him from the burning rays of the sun.
He tastes their flesh; it appears to him insipid and nauseous, like
that of the fish; but the tongue, the heart, seasoned with pepper, are
for him quite a luxury.

Days, weeks, months roll away in the same toils, the same recreations.
Whatever he may do to drive it away, this apathetic sadness, this
sinking of soul, which has already tormented him at different periods,
becomes with Selkirk more and more frequent; he cannot conquer it as
he did the seals. His seals, he now regrets. When they were encamped
on the shore, they at least gave him something to look at, an
amusement; something lived, moved, near him.

When he finds himself a prey to these fits, which, in his pride, he
persists in attributing to transient indisposition, he goes to walk in
the mountains, taking with him only his pipe, his Bible, and his
spy-glass.

He often pursues his journey as far as the oasis; there, he seats
himself at the extremity of the little valley, opposite the sea, from
which his eye can traverse its immense extent. He opens the holy book,
and closes it immediately; then, his brow reddening, he seizes his
spy-glass, levels it, and remains entire hours measuring the ocean,
wave by wave.

What is he looking for there? He seeks a sail, a sail which shall come
to his island and bear him from his desert, from his _ennui_. His
_ennui_ he can no longer dissimulate; this is the evil of his
solitude.

One day, while he was at this spot, the setting sun suddenly
illuminated a black point, against which the waves seemed to break in
foam, as against the prow of a ship; his eyes become dim, a tremor
seizes him. He looks again--keeps his glass for a long time fixed on
the same object, but the black point does not stir.

'Another illusion!' said he to himself; 'it is a reef, a rock which
the tide has left bare.'

He wipes the glasses of his spy-glass, he examines again; he seems to
see the waves whiten and whirl for a large space around this rock.

'Can it be an island? If an island, is it inhabited? I will construct
a barque, and if God has pity on me I will reach it.'

At this moment he hears footsteps resound on the dry leaves which the
wind has swept into the little valley. He turns hastily