After completing our arrangements, I boarded the ship the following day. We prepared to sail, though we did not weigh anchor that night. The next morning, two of the five remaining mutineers swam to the ship, begging to be taken on board. They were terrified of the other three and pleaded for the captain to save them, even if he intended to hang them immediately. The captain initially pretended he had no authority to decide, but after they made solemn promises to behave, we took them in. They were eventually given a severe punishment, after which they proved to be honest and quiet sailors.
A few days later, the tide being high, we sent the boat ashore to deliver the items I had promised the remaining men. At my intercession, the captain also returned their personal chests and clothes. I encouraged them, promising that if I ever had the means to send a vessel for them, I would not forget them.
When I finally departed from the island, I took with me, as relics, my large goat-skin cap, my umbrella, and one of my parrots. I also remembered to take the money I had found years ago—which had sat in my chest so long that it was tarnished and required careful cleaning—along with the silver and gold I had recovered from the Spanish wreck. I left the island on December 19, 1686, having been there for twenty-eight years, two months, and nineteen days. By a curious coincidence, this was the same day of the year I had first escaped from the Moors of Sallee. After a long voyage, I arrived in England on June 11, 1687, having been absent for thirty-five years.
In England, I was a complete stranger; it was as if I had never existed there at all. The faithful widow who had managed my money years ago was still alive, though she had suffered great misfortunes and was living in poverty. I assured her that she owed me nothing. In gratitude for her former honesty, I provided what small financial help I could, and I promised that I would assist her further when my own situation improved. I then traveled to Yorkshire, only to discover that my parents had died and my siblings had either passed away or moved on. I found nothing to inherit, and my meager savings were insufficient to settle down in comfort.
However, I received an unexpected piece of gratitude. The captain of the ship, whom I had helped to save, had given a detailed account of my actions to his ship’s owners. They invited me to meet with them and several other merchants, and as a gesture of appreciation, they presented me with a gift of nearly £200.
After much reflection, I realized this sum would not provide me with a living. I decided to travel to Lisbon to inquire about my plantation in Brazil and the fate of my business partner, who likely believed I had been dead for years. Friday accompanied me on these travels, remaining a most faithful servant throughout. In Lisbon, I tracked down the old captain who had rescued me off the coast of Africa so many years ago. He was now retired, and though he did not recognize me at first, he soon remembered me when I revealed who I was.
After we shared some emotional words about our past, I asked about my plantation. He informed me that he had not visited Brazil in nine years, but he knew my partner was alive. Unfortunately, my trustees had died, and the local authorities—believing me to be dead—had seized my share of the plantation's profits for charitable and religious purposes. However, the old captain assured me that my partner had been diligent in managing the property and that my legal right to the estate was secure. He believed I would find a significant sum of money waiting for me, representing years of accumulated production.
The old captain, despite his own recent financial hardships, insisted on returning the money he had collected on my behalf over the years. When he handed me a pouch of gold moidores and offered his own ship's titles as security for the rest, I was deeply moved by his integrity. I refused his ship’s titles and took only a portion of the money, insisting that he keep the rest to stabilize his own affairs.
I then registered my identity with a notary in Lisbon and sent a formal request to Brazil to claim my rights. The results were astounding. In less than seven months, I received a vast amount of documentation and wealth from Brazil. My plantation had prospered beyond all expectations. My partner wrote a heartfelt letter, thanking God for my survival and sending me, among other things, fine leopard skins and chests of sugar and tobacco.
Suddenly, I found myself a wealthy man, possessing over five thousand pounds in cash and an annual income from my plantation of over a thousand pounds. I was in a state of shock, and the sudden joy was so overwhelming that I briefly fell ill. Once I recovered, my first task was to reward the old captain who had been so generous to me. I made him and his son life-long beneficiaries of a portion of my plantation's income, ensuring that they would live in comfort.
I then had to decide where to live. I considered moving to Brazil, but I felt a strong pull to return to England first to settle my affairs properly. I sent a hundred pounds to the widow in London and a hundred pounds each to my two sisters.
As I prepared for my journey, I grew strangely reluctant to travel by sea. Despite my experience as a sailor, I had a persistent, unsettling feeling that I should avoid the water. My intuition proved correct; two of the ships I had considered taking were lost, one to pirates and the other in a storm. Following the advice of my old captain, I resolved to travel from Lisbon to England entirely by land. I joined a party of travelers, including some English merchants and Portuguese gentlemen, and we set out on our long, difficult journey.
The trip became treacherous when we reached the Pyrenees in November. Europe was experiencing a winter of historic severity. The mountains were buried in deep snow, and the cold was insufferable for someone like me, who had lived in a hot climate for nearly three decades. Poor Friday was terrified by the sight of snow, which he had never encountered in his life.
We were forced to wait twenty days in Pampeluna until we found a guide who knew a path through the mountains. We set out on November 15, well-armed to defend ourselves against the packs of wolves that, desperate with hunger, were known to prowl the mountain passes. Our journey was nearly cut short when, in a remote, wooded valley, three enormous wolves and a bear suddenly rushed at our guide. Friday, showing the bravery I had come to rely on, rode forward and shot one of the wolves in the head, saving the man's life. The other wolves fled, but the noise of the pistol echoed through the mountains, sounding like a hundred beasts approaching. We spurred our horses onward, deeply aware that our journey through the wilderness was far from over.