Oh! his provision of powder will last him a long time.

What has he to desire more in this terrestrial Paradise? The society
of men? Why? That he may find a master, a chief, under whose will he
must bend? Men! but he despises, detests them! Is he not then
sufficient for himself? Yes! this shall be his glory, his happiness!
To live in entire liberty, to depend only upon himself, will not this
impart to his soul true dignity? Besides, this island cannot be so far
from the coast, but, from time to time, ships, or at least boats must
come in sight. This is then for him but a transient seclusion; but
were he even condemned to eternal isolation, this isolation has ceased
to terrify him, he accepts it! Has he not almost always lived alone,
in spirit at least? When he was in the depths of the hold, was he not
better satisfied with his fate than when surrounded by those coarse
sailors who composed the worthy crew of the Swordfish?

To-day he is no longer the prisoner of Stradling, he is the prisoner
of God! and this thought reassures him.

A sailor, he has never loved but the sea; well! the sea surrounds him,
guards him! He has then only thanks to render to God.

Arrived at his grotto, he takes his Bible, opens it; but the sun,
suddenly sinking below the horizon, permits him to read only this
passage on which his finger is placed: 'Thou shalt perish in thy
pride!'