CHAPTER ONE
1660 – TRINIDAD, CARIBBEAN
He grabbed the large, pink-red fruit from the tree and pulled it off the branch. He bit into the skin and the juice burst forth and filled his mouth and ran down his chin. He wiped juice off his scraggly beard with the back of his hand. He didn’t care; this was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten, probably in his life. He chewed all the way down to the large, oval seed and stuffed the rest into his mouth then threw the seed away. The sub-tropical forest around him was lush green with large shiny green leaves and masses of ferns growing everywhere. He could hear wild parrots calling to each other and howler monkeys chattering to each other high in the trees.
He stepped forward on the mossy forest floor; he could feel the damp spongy green mass between his toes. Robinson had long since given up wearing shoes. His had worn out, plus, his own feet had become so calloused on the island he didn’t really need them anyway. He brushed the ferns away from his leather breeches. He had learned to sew his own pants from leather hide made from the skins of feral goats that lived on the island. He tanned the leather himself and then sewed the skins together with ‘thread’ that were strips of hide. His needle was an old nail. He had a little leather hat on his head to keep the sun off as it could be very bright during the day.
Robinson paused in the shade of the jungle and looked out at the pearly white sand of the beach. He could see the blue Atlantic in front of him and it was another beautiful day. Fluffy white clouds scuttled across the sky; there would probably be a little sprinkle later that afternoon. He surveyed the scene carefully looking for signs of other humans on the shore. In particular, small canoes or footprints from natives from any of the surrounding islands. He knew certain of the natives to be cannibals and he had avoided them this long and wanted to keep it that way.
Also; Spanish galleons were apt to stop here from time to time and being Scots, he didn’t want to be captured by them either and thrown into some Spanish hell-hole prison. He advanced to the water’s edge cautiously and stopped to listen. He heard nothing, seemed like the coast was clear. Robinson washed any dirt off his feet and legs and then gave himself a little splash down on the arms and legs. The water was warm and slapped playfully at his feet. He adjusted his backpack and his fishing gear. He had constructed a miniature harpoon from a bamboo frond and wrapped around a sharpened point to the tip. He had created this tip and his knife from barrel staves washed ashore from some passing ship.
Robinson had put two of the mangos in his bag and was looking for some fresh fish for dinner. He trotted down the beach to an outcropping of rocks where he could get a better angle on the fish that came there to nibble on coral. He waited patiently; he had learned patience here, and eventually harpooned two mackerels on his harpoon and laid them out on the rock until they stopped flopping around. The sun felt so good he was tempted to lie down there and take a little nap, but he knew better and repacked his bag and headed home.
Marooned on this island now four years, Robinson, a seasoned Scottish sailor, had become very resourceful at making use of the island’s bountiful resources. There were fruits and berries galore and feral goats brought by previous sailors to the island. Feral cats kept him company to an extent and kept the rats away. He hunted the wild boar and one pig; after being roasted could feed him for days. The extra meat he would hang up on the line, in the sun to dry and could have jerky to last for some time.
Robinson got home to his hut in a higher region of the island. He had two; one for sleeping and one for cooking. He had built them from wood and branches he dragged back from the beach and from the forest. His hut was high enough to afford him a view of the beach below him. He watched, wistfully every day, looking for an English or Scottish ship to stop here so he could be rescued and go home. There had been two ships that did stop but they were Spanish and no friends to the Scots. One group realized he was on the island and he led them on a merry chase up and down as they tried to catch him. The sailors finally gave it up as not worth the effort and went back to the beach. They took their sweet time about picking fruits, refilling their water barrels and even shooting a pig before filling their longboats and rowing back to their ship.
Robinson was desperate for human company; but had no illusions about the Spanish intentions. He watched the galleon sail away with sadness in his heart. Loneliness was his worst problem in this tropical paradise; it almost shouted in his ears on a daily basis.
Robinson grilled the mackerel over a little fire and ate it with his knife and followed it up with another mango. Satisfied he pulled out his pipe; he frugally counted out a small amount of tobacco that he had ferreted away and added a little coconut bark and sat back to have a smoke. He was the captain of all he surveyed, he was content after a fashion and certainly well fed, tanned and healthy. But what he would not have to be back on one of those scurvy infested, leaky ships eating hard tack and beef jerky and headed back to Edinburgh and home. He missed it so much sometimes he found himself crying like a wee bairn. He felt a little ashamed of himself but since there was absolutely no one to see, it didn’t much matter.
He smoked his pipe and used his knife to scratch a mark on the side of the large tree next to his hut. He kept track of the days and months he had been here. Four years now; four long years.
Robinson went into his hut to take a nap. He had goats in a little pen close to the hut; he used them for milk on a daily basis and then their skins when they died. He knew that if anyone was to try and sneak up on the hut; the goats would start to make noise and he would be alerted. He had also hung hollow bamboo sticks from hide strings around the hut; they would start to clang against each other to signal someone approaching. Robinson lived in fear of being captured while asleep so he took a lot of precautions.