That he may obtain a reply to this double question, he resolves to
traverse the country in its whole extent. At the very commencement of
his journey, the immobility of a bird suffices to give to the doubt,
on which his thoughts vacillate, the appearance almost of a certainty.

This bird is a toucan, of brilliant plumage and monstrous beak.
Selkirk passes near it, with his eyes fixed on the branch which serves
as a perch, and the toucan, without stirring, looks at him with a
species of calm and placid astonishment.

Selkirk stops; he comprehends the mute language of the bird.

'You do not know then what a man is! He is the enemy of every creature
to whom God has given life, the enemy even of his kind! You have then
never been threatened by the arms that I bear!'

And with the palm of his hand, striking the butt of his gun, he made
the hammer click.

At the sound of his voice, as at the noise of the hammer, the bird
raised its head, manifesting new and redoubled surprise, but without
any other movement. It seemed to think that the man and the gun were
one, and that its strange interlocutor possessed two different voices.

At last, by way of reply, it uttered a few shrill and prolonged cries,
accompanied by the rattling of its two horny mandibles. After which,
acting the great nobleman, cutting short the audience he has deigned
to grant, the toucan is silent, turns its head, proudly raises one of
its wings and busies itself in smoothing, with the point of its large