Punch: Punch (11.1846)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

75

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES of

MISS ROBINSON CRUSOE.

CHAPTER VIII.

a true woman, to make the best of my misery. I walked fur-
ther into the island, and discovered a beautiful bit of grass-
plot, backed by a high rock. To this place, with a strength
and patience I am almost ashamed to confess, I removed
every trunk and every box, placing them in a semicircle,
with the rock as—I believe it's called—the gable end.
When this was done, I cut down innumerable stakes of wil-
low : this I was enabled to do with the surgeon's saw, a
remarkably neat and elegant little instrument. The stakes
I drove into the earth, within about six inches round the
trunks, by means of a cannon-ball—providentially, as it after-
wards turned out, brought from the wreck. This being
done—and it cost me incredible labour to accomplish it—I dug
up hundreds of creepers, and parasitical plants, and cactuses,
that I found in different parts of the island, and replanted
them near the willow-stakes. Vegetation was very rapid
indeed, in that island. In less than a week the plants and
willows began to shoot, and—to anticipate my story a little
—in two months every trunk and every box was hidden by
a green and flowering wall. The cactuses took very kindly,
and formed a hedge, strong enough, I verily believe, to
repel a wild beast or a wild Indian. I ought to have said
that I had taken the precaution to roof my bower, as I called
it, with some tarpaulin, that stained and made my hands
smell horribly. However, I had no remedy.

Whdst I worked at my bower, I lived upon the biscuit and
potted meats and preserves found in the steward's cabin. In
time, however, I began to grow tired of these, and longed for
something fresh. As for the turkey, I had left that hanging
to the tree, being incapable of drawing and dressing it.
Many wild-fowl flew about me, but, disheartened by the
turkey, I took no heed of them. At length it struck me that
though not much of a cook I might be able to boil some shrimps.
The first difficulty, however, was to catch them. During my
visits to English watering-places I had observed females of
the lower orders, with hand-nets I think they call them, fish-
ing for shrimps. I therefore resolved to make a net. Here,
at least, some part of the education acquired at the Misses
Whalebone's was of service to me, for I knew how to knit.
Amongst the stores I had brought from my ship, were several
balls of twine. Chopping and chiselling a needle, I set to
work, and in less than three days produced an excellent net.
This I stretched on a stout elastic frame of wood, and the
tide serving, walked—just like one of the vulgar women I
had seen at Brighton and Margate—bare-legged, into the
sea. The shrimps came in little shoals, and in less than a
couple of hours I am sure, I returned to the shore with not
less than three quarts of the best brown shrimps, Gravesend
measure. These I boiled ; obtaining a light after this
fashion :

When a very little girl, 1 had always assisted my brother

hilst making my breakfast, I began to
think—it was the constant custom of
my dear father—of my dinner. My
thoughts immediately flew to the
turkey ; and again I felt confounded
by my ignorance. How was I to dress
it ? Whilst in this state of perturba-
tion, and inwardly reproaching myself
for the time I had lost at tambour-
work that might have been so usefully,
so nobly employed in at least the
theory of the kitchen, my eye fell upon
the book 1 had brought from the wreck ;
the book lying in the cot of the regi-
mental chaplain going out to India.
Listlessly enough, I took the volume
in my hand—opened it, and, equally
to my astonishment and joy, read
upon the title-page—The Complete Art
of Cookery! My gratitude was un-
bounded, and I blessed the good man
whose midnight studies had indirectly
proved of such advantage to me.

With beating heart, I turned over the pages, until I came to "Turkey." when making fireworks for^GuyJFawkes. It was he who
Again and again I read the directions ; but though they were written with ah
the clearness of a novel, they only gave me, what I once heard called, a mag-
nificent theory. I felt that drawing required a practical hand ; for how was
I to know gall from liver ? "A stuffing of sausage-meat" sounded very well
—but how to make it ? And then—though, possibly, the plant might grow
in the island—where to get a shred shalot ? The excellent chaplain's book,
instead of instructing and comforting me, plunged me in the profoundest
melancholy. As I turned over the pages—I, a desolate spinster on a desolate
island—I seemed scoffed and mocked at by the dishes that I read of—dishes,
all of them associated with the very best society, and many of them awaken-
ing thoughts of Michaelmas goose, of Christmas beef, of spring lamb, and all
the many amenities that impart the sweetest charm to civilised existence.
With a strong effort of will, I laid down the bx>k : I would keep it, I thought,
for calmer hours. When more accustomed to my hideous solitude, it might
soothe and support me, throwing the fascinations of romance about a cold
and hungry reality.

Walking upon the beach, I looked, as usual, in the direction of the wreck,
and found it—gone. The gale of the night had doubtless been very violent—
though I slept too soundly to hear it—and the remains of the miserable vessel
had sunk for ever in the deep. I was, at first, very much affected ; but when
I remembered that with the exception of one box, containing a bonnet of the
most odious colour for my complexion, 1 had brought all my dear sister-passen-
gers' trunks and boxes safe ashore, I felt soothed with the consciousness that,
at least I had done my duty.

And I was upon an island—alone ; with neither man, nor—excepting the
aforesaid rabbits (or ermine)—beast. After a flood of tears, I resolved, like

taught me how to inake—I think they are called, little devils.
A pinch or two of gunpowder is taken in the palm of the
hand, and wetted : it is then kneaded into the form of a
little cone ; a few grains of dry powder are laid upon the top,
when fire is applied to it, and the whole thing goes off in a
red eruption, like a toy Vesuvius. Having prepared the
powder, I struck sparks upon it ; using my steel busk
(how the sparks did fly about it, to be sure !) and a flint.
By these means I burnt a piece of linen—a beautiful bit of
new Irish, and so got my original stock of tinder. After
this, I had only to use my busk and the flint to obtain a
light—for I found a heap of matches in the purser's locker—
when I wanted it. Gathering dry sticks and leaves into a
heap, I made a rousing fire. I had brought away the ship's
compass ; and so used the metal basin that contained it as
a saucepan. In this I boiled my first shrimps. I had no salt,
which was a great privation. Necessity, however, the mother
of invention—(and, certainly, for a little outcast, he has
proved a very fine child in the world ; though when prospe-
rous, I'm afraid he very seldom thinks of his mamma)—ne-
cessity suggested to me, that if I would pound the gunpowder
very fine, it might at a pinch serve for salt. I tried tne
experiment ; and though I must allow that salt is better
without charcoal, nevertheless, salt with charcoal is infinitely
better than no salt at all.

Eor some time, I took very much to shrimps but the