So great was his aversion to Dampier as a commander after the experience he had of him, that he would rather have remained upon his island, its lonely possessor, now that he was reconciled to his fate, than have endured the hardships and trials he had before experienced under that navigator. This feeling must have arisen, not from any quarrel or personal dislike to Dampier, but from a knowledge of his former misconduct in his adventures, arising from his want of constancy in carrying through any object which he professed to have in view.
When he came on board the Duke, Dampier gave him an excellent character, telling Captain Rogers that Selkirk had been the best man on board the Cinque Ports. Upon this recommendation, he was immediately engaged on board the Duke. In the afternoon, the ships were cleared, the sails bent and taken on shore to be mended, and to make tents for the sick men. Selkirk’s strength and vigor were of great service to them. He caught two goats in the afternoon. They sent along with him their swiftest runners and a bull-dog; but these he soon left far behind, and tired out. He himself, to the astonishment of the whole crew, brought the two goats upon his back to the tents.
The two captains remained at the island until the 12th of the month, busy refitting their ships, and getting on board what stores they could obtain. During these ten days, Alexander was their huntsman, and procured them fresh meat. At length all being ready, they set sail, when a new series of difficulties of another kind, annoyed Selkirk, similar to those he had felt at his arrival upon the island. The salt food he could not relish for a long time, having so long discontinued the use of it; for which reason he lived upon biscuit and water. Spirits he did not like from the same cause; and besides he was afraid of falling into intemperance, for his religious impressions were as yet strong. From the confirmed habit of living alone, he kept very much to himself, and said little. This frame of mind, and a serious countenance, continued longer than could have been expected. Even for some time after his return to England, these qualities were remarkable, and drew the notice of those to whose company he was introduced. Shoes gave him great uneasiness when he first came on board. He had been so long without them, that they made his feet swell, and crippled his movements; but this wore off by degrees, and he became once more reconciled to their use. In other respects he gradually resumed his old habits as a seaman, but without the vices which sometimes attach to the profession. He rigidly abstained from profane oaths, and was much respected by both captains, as well on account of his singular adventure, as of his skill and good conduct; for, having had his books with him, he had improved himself much in navigation during his solitude.
The articles he took on shore from the Cinque Ports, were the following: His chest, containing his clothes and a quantity of linen, now all spent, his musket, which he brought home with him; a pound of powder, and balls in proportion; a hatchet and some tools; a knife; a pewter kettle; his flip-can which he conveyed to Scotland, (at present in the possession of John Selcraig, his great-grand-nephew;) a few pounds of tobacco; the Holy Bible; some devotional pieces, and one or two books on navigation, with his mathematical instruments.
In the capacity of mate, he cruised about for a time, during which several prizes were taken, and on his return to London, after an absence of eight years, one month and three days, he found himself in possession of £800 sterling. As soon as this sum was realized, he set out for Largo, and arrived in the spring of 1712, at his native village.
It was in the forenoon of a Sabbath day, when all were at church, that he knocked at the door of his paternal dwelling, but found not those whom his heart yearned to see, and his soul longed to embrace. He set out for church, prompted by his piety and his love for his parents; for great was the change that had taken place in his feelings since he had last been within its walls. As soon as he entered and sat down, all eyes were upon him, for such a personage, perhaps, had seldom been seen within the church at Largo. He was elegantly dressed in gold laced clothes; besides, he was a stranger, which in a country church, is matter of attention to the hearers at all times. But his manner and appearance would have attracted the notice of more observing spectators.—After remaining some time engaged in devotion, his eyes were ever turning to where his parents and brothers sat, while theirs as often met his gaze; still they did not know him. At length his mother, whose thoughts perhaps at this time wandered to her long lost son, knew him, and uttering a cry of joy, could contain herself no longer. Even in the Meeting House, she rushed to his arms, unconscious of the impropriety of her conduct, and the interruption of the service. Alexander and his friends immediately retired to his father’s house, to give free scope to their joy and congratulations.
A few days passed away happily in the society of his parents and friends; but from long habits, he soon felt averse to mixing in society, and was happiest when alone. Returning, therefore, frequently to Keil’s Den, a secluded and lonely valley in the neighborhood, he spent most of his time in solitary wandering and meditation; till a new object began to engross much of his attention. In his musing by the burnside, he often met a young girl, tending a single cow, the property of her parents.
Her lonely occupation and innocent looks, made a deep impression upon him. He watched her for hours unseen, as she amused herself with the wild flowers she gathered, or chaunted her rural lays. At each meeting the impression became stronger, and he felt more interested in this modest female. At length he addressed himself to her, and they joined in conversation; he had no aversion to commune with her for hours together, and began to imagine that he could live and be happy with a companion such as she. His fishing expeditions were now neglected. Even his cave became not so sweet a retreat. His mind led him to Keil’s Den, and the amiable Sophia. He never mentioned this adventure and attachment to his friends; for he felt ashamed, after his discourses to them, and the profession he had made of dislike to human society, to acknowledge that he was upon the point of marrying, and thereby plunging into the midst of worldly cares. But he was determined to marry Sophia, though as firmly resolved not to remain at home to be the subject of their jest. This resolution being formed, he soon persuaded the object of his choice, to elope with him, and bid adieu to the romantic glen.