Eighteen
The Straits of Malacca, a narrow trench between Malaysia on the north and Sumatra on the south, were known to be haunted by seafaring bandits. As the Coralie navigated the narrows, Captain Grant maintained full crews at the cannon, powder magazines, and crow’s nests.
“We stop at Borneo, perhaps Java, then continue to the Philippines before we strike across the Pacific to the Sandwich Islands.” Grant indicated the specific islands on the large nautical chart mounted under glass in the navigation room. “I warrant we’ll see San Francisco before Christmas next.”
Days after the three-masted brig emerged into the island-cluttered waters of Indonesia, Nemo sat at the bow, cradling in his lap one of the books Verne had left for him, a worn copy of DeFoe’s Robinson Crusoe. He and his friend had sat at the edge of the Loire, imagining what they might do if ever marooned on a deserted island.
Engrossed in the story, Nemo did not hear the captain’s footfalls above the groan of the rigging ropes and the whisper of tight sails. Captain Grant saw what his cabin boy was reading. “Crusoe, eh? You know the account DeFoe used for his inspiration, lad?”
Nemo looked up at the captain. “Robinson Crusoe is a true tale, sir?”
“Not exactly,” Captain Grant replied with a smile. “’Twas told by the pirate William Dampier, who was also a naturalist and meticulous observer. One of his men, a Scottish sailor named Alexander Selkirk, demanded to be put ashore after a disastrous raid against the Spaniards. Dampier left him off the coast of South America, then sailed away.”
“So he was marooned?” Nemo asked.
“By his own choice, lad. Four and a half years later, when William Dampier came around Cape Horn again—this time commissioned as the navigator on a legitimate ship, not a privateer—the crew spotted a strange light on the coast. When they stopped to investigate, they found a bedraggled Selkirk, who had built a huge fire to attract them. The poor man had not seen another living soul for four long years.”
Seeing Nemo’s fascination, Captain Grant said, “I have Dampier’s book in my cabin, lad. You can read it tonight by lamplight, if you wish.” The captain then pointed a scolding finger. “But first, young man, ’tis your turn at watch. Go climb the ratlines and spend your hours up in the crow’s nest.”