as handsome about me as I could, I began to keep my journal, of which I
shall here give you the copy (though in it will be told all those
particulars over again) as long as it lasted; for having no more ink, I
was forced to leave it off.

* * * * *

THE JOURNAL.

_September 30, 1659_.

I poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwrecked, during a dreadful
storm in the offing, came on shore on this dismal unfortunate island,
which I called the Island of Despair; all the rest of the ship's company
being drowned, and myself almost dead.

All the rest of that day I spent in afflicting myself at the dismal
circumstances I was brought to, viz. I had neither food, house,
clothes, weapon, or place to fly to, and in despair of any relief, saw
nothing but death before me, either that I should be devoured by wild
beasts, murdered by savages, or starved to death for want of food. At
the approach of night I slept in a tree, for fear of wild creatures, but
slept soundly, though it rained all night.

October 1. In the morning I saw, to my great surprise, the ship had
floated with the high tide, and was driven on shore again much nearer
the island; which as it was some comfort on one hand, for seeing her sit
upright, and not broken to pieces, I hoped, if the wind abated, I might
get on board, and get some food and necessaries out of her for my
relief; so on the other hand, it renewed my grief at the loss of my