After we had been back at my castle for two or three days, I decided that it was time to break Friday of his horrific eating habits. To steer him away from his cannibalistic appetite, I knew I had to let him taste the flesh of other animals. One morning, I took him out into the woods with me. My intention was to slaughter a kid from my own flock and bring it home to cook. However, as we were walking, I spotted a she-goat lying in the shade with two young kids nearby.
I caught hold of Friday. "Stop," I whispered, making signs for him to stay perfectly still. I immediately aimed my musket and fired, killing one of the kids. The poor man, who had seen me kill his enemy from a distance but had no idea how it was done, was utterly terrified. He trembled so violently that I thought he might faint. Because he hadn't seen the kid fall, he actually tore open his own waistcoat to check if he had been wounded. It became clear that he thought I intended to kill him, for he knelt down, trembling, and clasped my knees. Although I couldn't understand his words, his plea was obvious: he was begging for his life.
I quickly found a way to reassure him that I meant no harm. Taking him by the hand, I laughed and pointed to the dead kid, gesturing for him to go and fetch it. While he was examining the animal, wondering how it had been killed, I secretly reloaded my gun. Soon after, I saw a large bird, similar to a hawk, perched on a tree within range. To show Friday more of what the weapon could do, I called him over and pointed at the bird—which turned out to be a parrot. I pointed to the gun, then to the bird, and then to the ground, making him understand that I would make it fall. I fired, and the parrot dropped instantly.
Friday was once again gripped by fear. His amazement was profound because he had not seen me put anything into the gun; he believed the weapon was a magical vessel of destruction capable of killing anything, near or far. This astonishment lasted a long time, and I believe that if I had permitted it, he would have worshipped both me and the gun. For several days, he refused to even touch the musket. I later learned that when he was alone, he would talk to the gun as if it could hear him, pleading with it not to kill him.
Once his initial shock had faded, we brought the kid home. That evening, I skinned the animal and stewed the meat to make a rich broth. After I began eating, I gave some to Friday, who seemed to enjoy it immensely. However, he was baffled to see me adding salt. He made signs that salt was unpleasant; when he tried a little, he spat and sputtered, quickly washing his mouth out with fresh water. To demonstrate my point, I took a bite of meat without salt and pretended to find it disgusting, but he wasn't convinced. For a long time, he refused to use salt, and even later, he only used a tiny amount.
The following day, I decided to treat him to a roast. I set up two poles with a cross-bar over the fire and hung a piece of meat on a string to rotate, just as I had seen done in England. Friday watched this with great admiration. When he finally tasted the roasted meat, he was so delighted that he found dozens of ways to tell me how much he liked it. Eventually, he managed to convey that he would never eat human flesh again, which gave me great peace of mind.
I soon set him to work threshing and sifting corn. He was a quick learner and soon performed these tasks as well as I did. Once he understood that the corn was for making bread, he watched me bake and was soon able to handle the entire process himself.
Now that I had two mouths to feed, I realized I needed to cultivate more land. I marked out a larger area for our harvest, and Friday worked alongside me, not only with great strength but with a cheerful spirit. I explained that we needed more corn because there were now two of us. He seemed very touched by this, realizing that I was working harder on his account, and he offered to do even more if I would only show him how.
This was undoubtedly the pleasantest year of my life on the island. Friday began to speak English quite well and understood the names of almost everything. I finally had a reason to use my tongue again, which had been silent for so long. Beyond the joy of conversation, I found great satisfaction in the man himself. His simple, genuine honesty became more apparent every day, and I grew to truly love him. In return, I believe he loved me more than anything else in the world.
Curious to know if he missed his own country, I asked him one day if his nation was ever victorious in battle. He smiled and replied, "Yes, yes, we always fight the better"—meaning they usually won. This led to a long conversation:
"If your nation always wins, Friday, how did you end up as a prisoner?" I asked.
"My nation beat them for all that," he explained in his broken English. He went on to describe that in the specific place where he was captured, his people were outnumbered. However, in another location, his nation had defeated the enemy and captured "two great thousand" men.
"Then why didn't your people rescue you?"
"The enemy ran away to the canoes," he said. "My nation had no canoes at that time."
He confirmed that his people also ate their prisoners, "eating them all up." He pointed to the northwest side of the island and admitted he had been there before on such occasions. He even recounted a time when they had eaten twenty men, two women, and a child. He couldn't say the number "twenty" in English, but he counted it out using small stones.
I asked how far it was to his coast and if canoes were often lost in the crossing. He explained that there was no danger, as the current and wind moved one way in the morning and the other in the afternoon. I realized he was describing the powerful tides caused by the mouth of the Orinoco River, and that the land I saw to the northwest was likely the island of Trinidad.
Friday told me everything he knew about the surrounding nations. He spoke of "white, bearded men" who lived far to the west, pointing to my own whiskers. He said they had "killed much mans," from which I understood he meant the Spaniards, whose legendary cruelties had spread throughout the Americas. When I asked if I could reach them, he said, "Yes, you may go in two canoe," by which he meant a boat twice the size of a standard canoe. This gave me fresh hope that I might eventually escape with his help.
As Friday’s English improved, I began to teach him the foundations of religious knowledge. I asked him who made him, but he thought I meant his father. I changed my approach and asked who made the sea, the earth, and the hills. He told me it was "Benamuckee," an ancient being who lived "beyond all" and was older than the stars. He said that all things "say O to him," which was his way of describing worship.
I began to instruct him in the knowledge of the true God. I told him that the Creator lived in heaven and governed the world with the same power by which He had made it. Friday listened with intense focus. He was particularly moved by the story of Jesus Christ and the idea of salvation. One day, he remarked that if our God could hear us from beyond the sun, He must be much greater than Benamuckee, who lived nearby on the mountains but could only be reached by the "old men," or priests, whom he called the Oowokakee.
I realized that even among the most isolated people, there is often a class of people who make a secret of religion to maintain their power. I explained to Friday that these "old men" were deceiving the people. This led into a difficult discussion about the Devil. While Friday easily accepted the idea of a good God, the concept of an evil spirit was harder for him to grasp.
He asked me a question that left me temporarily speechless: "If God is so much stronger and mightier than the Devil, why doesn't God just kill the Devil and stop him from doing wicked things?"
I was startled. Although I was an old man, I felt like a young, inexperienced teacher faced with a very difficult problem. At first, I pretended not to hear him, but he persisted. Finally, I told him that God would punish the Devil at the end of the world. But Friday wasn't satisfied. "Why not kill him now?" he asked.
I struggled to explain that we are all preserved so that we may have time to repent and be pardoned. He mused on this, saying, "So you, I, Devil, all wicked, all preserved... then God pardons all."
This experience taught me that while nature can lead a person to the idea of a Creator, only divine revelation can teach the complexities of redemption and the role of a Mediator. I hurriedly ended the conversation that day and prayed for the ability to instruct him properly. Eventually, through many long talks, I explained the nature of the Gospel and the sacrifice of Christ.
In trying to teach him, I found that I was actually instructing myself. I discovered truths I had never fully considered before. My solitary life felt more meaningful than ever. I was no longer just a castaway; I was an instrument of Providence, saving both the life and the soul of this man. The three years we spent together were a time of complete happiness. We read the Scriptures together, and Friday's insightful questions made me a better student of the Bible than I would have ever been alone.
As Friday became more fluent, I shared my own story with him and taught him the secrets of gunpowder. I gave him a knife and a hatchet, which he cherished. I described Europe and England—our way of life, our trade, and our worship. I showed him the remains of the ship’s boat, now rotten and falling apart. Upon seeing it, Friday became very thoughtful.
"I saw a boat like this come to my nation," he said. He explained that a boat full of "seventeen white men" had been driven ashore by a storm and that his people had saved them from drowning.
"Are they still there?" I asked, my heart racing.
"Yes, they live at my nation," he said. He explained that his people had not eaten them because they only eat those taken in war. Instead, they had made a "brotherhood" or truce with these white men.
This news changed everything. I suspected these might be the survivors of the Spanish ship I had seen wrecked. If I could reach them, we might find a way to escape to the mainland together.
One clear day, while we were on a hill on the eastern side of the island, Friday looked toward the mainland and suddenly began to jump and dance with joy. "My country! There my nation!" he cried.
Watching his sparkling eyes and his eagerness to return home, I felt a sudden pang of jealousy and suspicion. I worried that if he returned, he would forget everything I had taught him and might even lead his people back here to capture and eat me. I became distant and cold toward him for several weeks, though I later realized I was doing the poor, honest creature a great injustice.
To test his intentions, I asked him one day, "Friday, do you wish you were back in your own country?"
"Yes," he replied, "I would be very glad to be with my nation."
"What would you do there?" I asked. "Would you become a savage again and eat human flesh?"
He looked deeply hurt and shook his head. "No, no. Friday would tell them to live good, to pray to God, and to eat bread and milk. No more eating men."
"But they would kill you for saying that," I countered.
"No," he said, "they are willing to learn. They learned much from the bearded men in the boat." He then told me he would only go back if I went with him.
"I go? They would eat me!"
"No, no," he insisted. "I will make them love you. I will tell them how you saved my life."
From that moment, I resolved to try to join those "bearded men"—likely Spaniards or Portuguese. I told Friday I would give him a boat to return home. I took him to my "frigate" on the other side of the island. After we cleared the water out of it, we went for a trial run. He was incredibly skilled at handling the boat. When I asked if we should go to his nation, he looked sad, thinking the boat was too small for such a long journey. I told him I had a larger one, and the next day I showed him the first boat I had carved years ago. It was far too rotten to use, but Friday noted that a boat of that size would be perfect for carrying enough supplies for the voyage.