He loves him, he is so much to be pitied! Poor father, he
has lost his sons, he has lost his fortune and the hope of returning
to his country; and yet there reigns in his letter a tone of dignified
calmness, of religious resignation which can come only from a noble
heart. He is a Spaniard and a Roman Catholic; Selkirk is a Scotchman
and a Presbyterian; what matters it?
To-day his friend demands assistance, and he has resolved to dare all,
to undertake all to respond to his appeal. Like a lamp deprived of
air, his mind has revived at this idea, that he can at last be useful
to others than himself. The inhabitant of San Ambrosio shall be
indebted to him for an alleviation of his sorrows; for companionship
in them. What is there visionary about this hope? Had he not already
conceived the project of preparing a barque to explore that unknown
coast? God seems to encourage his design, by sending him at once this
double manna for the body and soul, the _porro_, which will suffice
for his nourishment, and this writing, which the wave has just
brought, to impose on him a duty.
He immediately sets himself to the work, and obstacles are powerless
to chill his generous excitement. Of the vegetable productions of the
island, the red cedar and myrtle are those which grow of the largest
size;[1] but yet their trunks are not large enough to serve when
hollowed out for a barque.
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