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him; but no,. when he had strewn all his
flakes he turned his log boat about and steered it back to the ledge,
where he landed it with great difficulty through the swell.
    'Curious
to find what he had been casting on the waves, I waited that evening
till he had gone to fill the water-bowls. Then I searched under his
mat and discovered a little bag with a drawstring, and turning it out
found some few white petals and buds from the brambles that were at
the time flowering on parts of the island. So I concluded he had been
making an offering to the god of the waves to cause the fish to run
plentifully, or performing some other such superstitious observance.
    'The
sea continuing calm the next day, I crossed the rocks below the Bluff
as Friday had done till I stood at the edge of the shelf. The water
was cold and dark; when I thought of committing myself to those
depths and swimming out, whether on a log or not, among the circling
arms of the seaweed, where no doubt cuttlefish hung in stealth
waiting for prey to swim into their grasp, I shivered. Of Friday's
petals not a trace was left.
    'Hitherto
I had given to Friday's life as little thought as I would have a
dog's or any other dumb beast's -less, indeed, for I had a horror of
his mutilated state which made me shut him from my mind, and flinch
away when he came near me. This casting of petals was the first sign
I had that a spirit or soul call it what you will -stirred beneath
that dull and unpleasing exterior.
    '"Where
did the ship go down on which you and Friday sailed?" I asked
Cruso.
    'He
indicated a part of the coast I had never visited.
    "'If
we could dive to the wreck, even now," I said, "we might
save from it tools of the greatest utility. A saw, for instance, or
an axe, both of which we lack. Timbers too we might loosen and bring
back. Is there no way to explore the wreck? Might Friday not swim out
to it, or float out on a log, and then dive down, with a rope tied
about his middle for safety?"
    '"The
ship lies on the bed of the ocean, broken by the waves and covered in
sand," Cruso replied. "What has survived the salt and
seaworm will not be worth the saving. We have a roof over our heads,
made without saw or axe. We sleep, we eat, we live. We have no need
of tools."
    'He
spoke as if tools were heathenish inventions. Yet I knew if I
had swum ashore with a saw tied to my ankle he would have taken
it and used it most happily. 'Let me tell you of Cruso's terraces.
'The terraces covered much of the hillside at the eastern end of
the island, where they were best sheltered from the wind. There were
twelve levels of terracing at the time I arrived, each some twenty
paces deep and banked with stone walls a yard thick and at their
highest as high as a man's head. Within each terrace the ground was
levelled and cleared; the stones that made up the walls had been dug
out of the earth or borne from elsewhere one by one. I asked Cruso
how many stones had gone into the walls. A hundred thousand or more,
he replied. A mighty labour, I remarked. But privately I thought: Is
bare earth, baked by the sun and walled about, to be preferred to
pebbles and bushes and swarms of birds? "Is it your plan to
clear the whole island of growth, and turn it into terraces?" I
asked. "It would be the work of many men and many lifetimes to
clear the whole island," he replied; by which I saw he chose to
understand only the letter of my question. "And what will you be
planting, when you plant?" I asked. "The planting is not
for us," said he. "We have nothing to plant-that is our
misfortune." And he looked at me with such sorry dignity, I
could have bit my tongue. "The planting is reserved for those
who come after us and have the foresight to bring seed. I only clear
the ground for them. Clearing ground and piling stones is little
enough, but it is better than sitting in idleness." And then,
with great earnestness, he went on: "I ask you to remember, not
every man who bears the mark of the castaway is a