While I was occupied with these defenses, I did not neglect my other affairs. I was particularly concerned about my small herd of goats. They had become a reliable source of food, providing for my needs without the waste of ammunition or the exhausting effort of hunting wild ones. I was extremely reluctant to lose this advantage and be forced to start the difficult process of taming a new herd all over again.
After much consideration, I could think of only two ways to protect them. The first was to dig a secondary underground cave and drive the animals into it every night. The second, which I felt was a more rational design, was to enclose two or three small pieces of land in remote, concealed parts of the island. I planned to keep about half a dozen young goats in each location. This way, if any disaster struck the main flock, I could rebuild my stock with very little trouble.
Consequently, I spent some time searching for the most secluded areas of the island. I eventually selected a spot that was as private as I could possibly desire. It was a slightly damp piece of ground in the middle of the thick, hollow woods where I had once nearly lost my way. Here, I found a clear area of nearly three acres, so thoroughly surrounded by trees that it was almost a natural enclosure. It required much less labor to secure than my other fields.
I immediately set to work, and in less than a month, the area was fenced. My goats, which were no longer as wild as they had once been, were safely settled there. Without delay, I moved ten young females and two males to this new site. Once they were settled, I took my time to perfect the fence until it was as secure as my original one. All this exhausting labor was driven purely by my intense anxiety over the footprint I had seen. For two years, I had lived with this uneasiness, which made my life far less comfortable than before. Anyone who has lived in the constant snare of fear can imagine my state of mind.
I must also admit with sadness that this fear had a negative impact on my religious life. The terrifying thought of falling into the hands of cannibals weighed so heavily on my spirits that I rarely found myself in the right frame of mind for prayer. I no longer possessed the calm resignation I once had; instead, I prayed like someone under great pressure, surrounded by danger and expecting to be murdered before morning. Through this experience, I learned that a heart filled with peace and thankfulness is a much better environment for prayer than one filled with terror. When a man is paralyzed by the dread of an approaching evil, he is no more fit to pray than a dying man is fit to repent on his deathbed.
After securing part of my livestock, I continued to search the island for another secret location. While wandering further toward the western point than ever before, I thought I saw a boat far out at sea. I had a telescope that I had salvaged from the ship, but unfortunately, I had not brought it with me. The object was so distant that I could not be certain what it was, and as I descended the hill, it vanished from sight. I resolved never to leave home without my telescope again.
When I reached the shore at the southwestern end of the island, I was immediately convinced that seeing a footprint was not as strange as I had thought. It was only by the special providence of God that I had been cast onto a side of the island that the savages never visited. I now realized that it was quite common for canoes from the mainland to seek shelter on this side of the shore. Furthermore, when these tribes fought at sea, the victors would bring their prisoners here to kill and eat them, according to their barbaric customs.
Upon reaching the beach, I was absolutely horrified. It is impossible to express the shock I felt at seeing the shore covered with skulls, hands, feet, and other human bones. I noticed a place where a fire had been made and a circular pit dug in the earth. I assumed this was where the savage wretches had sat down for their ghastly feast.
I was so stunned by this sight that I forgot to worry about my own safety for a long time. My mind was consumed by the brutality of it all; I was sickened by such a display of human degeneracy. I turned away from the appalling spectacle and was so physically ill that I vomited violently. Once I felt slightly better, I could not bear to stay a moment longer. I hurried back up the hill and fled toward my own habitation.
Once I was safely away from that part of the island, I stood still to collect my thoughts. With tears in my eyes, I thanked God for placing me in a part of the world where I was separated from such dreadful creatures. I realized that although I had considered my condition miserable, I had many comforts for which to be grateful. Most importantly, I had been blessed with the knowledge of God and the hope of His blessing, which was worth more than any hardship I had suffered.
In this state of thankfulness, I returned to my castle and felt much more secure than before. I observed that these savages never came to the island to hunt or gather supplies; they only came for their rituals. I had been here for eighteen years without ever seeing them, and I realized I could stay hidden for another eighteen years as long as I did not reveal myself.
However, my abhorrence for these creatures was so great that I remained very cautious for the next two years, staying mostly within the circle of my three plantations. I was as terrified of seeing them as I was of seeing the devil. I didn't even check on my boat during this time, and I began to think about building a new one rather than risk meeting them at sea.
As time passed, my anxiety began to fade, and I returned to my composed way of living. However, I exercised much more caution than before. I was particularly careful about firing my gun, fearing the noise would betray me. It was a great blessing that I had a tame herd of goats, as I no longer needed to hunt. For two years, I do not believe I fired my gun once, though I never went out without it. I also began carrying two pistols in my belt and a polished broadsword at my side, making me a very formidable figure when I went abroad.
These reflections showed me how far my condition was from being truly miserable. I realized that mankind would complain much less if they compared their lives to those who were worse off, rather than always looking at those who were better.
Eventually, my obsession with preservation took over my creativity. I had once planned to try and make malt from my barley to brew beer. It was a whimsical idea, but I soon realized I lacked everything necessary for the task: barrels for storage, hops for preservation, and a large kettle for boiling. I likely would have attempted it anyway, as I rarely give up on a project, but my mind was now occupied by a darker purpose. Day and night, I could think of nothing but how I might destroy these monsters during one of their bloody feasts and save their victims.
I hatched countless plans to kill or frighten them away. However, I realized that one man could do little against twenty or thirty savages armed with bows and arrows. I considered digging a hole under their fire pit and filling it with gunpowder to blow them up, but I didn't want to waste my limited supply of powder on a plan that might only frighten them.
Instead, I decided to ambush them. I planned to hide nearby with my three guns, all double-loaded. I was confident that if I fired into the middle of their ceremony, I could kill or wound several at once, then finish the rest with my pistols and sword. This idea pleased me so much that I even dreamed about it. I spent several days finding the perfect spot for an ambush—a hollow place in the side of a hill surrounded by thick trees. I prepared two muskets and my fowling-piece, loading them with various types of bullets and heavy shot.
Every morning for the next few months, I walked three miles to the top of the hill to look for boats. However, after seeing nothing but the empty ocean day after day, I began to grow weary. My perspective on the situation started to change. With cooler and calmer thoughts, I began to question my own authority. What right did I have to act as judge and executioner? These people were not murderers in the same way we define the word; they acted according to their own customs and did not believe they were committing a crime. They felt no more guilt in killing a prisoner of war than we do in killing an ox for food.
I realized that attacking them would be a mistake. They had done me no injury, and unless they attacked me first, I had no right to interfere. I thought of the Spanish cruelties in America, which are condemned by all nations as mere butchery. Furthermore, if I attacked them and even one escaped, he would return with thousands of others to seek revenge, leading to my certain destruction.
I concluded that both religion and common sense dictated that I should remain hidden. My business was to conceal my presence completely. I thanked God on my knees for preventing me from committing what I now saw as the sin of willful murder. For the next year, I stayed away from the hill so that I wouldn't be tempted to attack them. I even moved my boat to a remote cove on the east end of the island where the currents would prevent the savages from discovering it. I lived a very retired life, only leaving my cell to milk my goats.
These anxieties put an end to all my plans for improving my living conditions. I was more concerned with safety than comfort. I was afraid to drive a nail or chop wood for fear the noise would be heard, and I was terrified of making a fire because the smoke could be seen from a distance. For this reason, I moved my pottery-making to my new apartment in the woods.
While I was there, I discovered a natural cave at the bottom of a large rock. I was cutting branches to make charcoal—which burns without smoke—when I noticed a hollow place behind some thick bushes. I crawled in and found a space large enough to stand in. However, I hurried out much faster than I had entered! Looking into the darkness, I saw two broad, shining eyes twinkling like stars.
After a moment, I recovered my courage and scolded myself for being a coward. I took a flaming firebrand and rushed back in. I had only gone a few steps when I heard a loud sigh and a broken noise, followed by another deep sigh. I stepped back, trembling and breaking into a cold sweat. But, encouraging myself with the thought of God’s protection, I stepped forward again. By the light of my torch, I saw a monstrous, old male goat gasping for life, dying of mere old age.
Once I recovered from the surprise, I explored the cave. It was a small, irregular space, but I noticed a low opening at the back. The next day, I returned with candles and a tinder-box. I had to crawl on my hands and knees for about ten yards, which was a bold venture considering I didn't know what lay ahead. When I emerged, I found a glorious sight. The roof of the cave rose twenty feet high, and the walls reflected the light of my candles like a hundred thousand diamonds. The floor was dry and level, covered with fine gravel.
I was overjoyed by this discovery. It was the perfect secret retreat. I decided to move my store of gunpowder and spare arms here. While moving the supplies, I opened a barrel of powder that had been wet by the sea. I discovered that the water had only penetrated a few inches, forming a hard crust that had protected sixty pounds of good powder inside. I carried all my ammunition and lead to this cave, keeping only a small amount in my castle. I felt like an ancient giant living in a fortress where no one could ever find me. As for the old goat, he died the next day, and I buried him right there in the mouth of the cave.