Where I found him was at the south end of the island, facing rocky Fauconnaire.  How I wandered up and down seeking a place for him to regain the lower path of the island.  But all in vain.  No place could I find; and all the afternoon I worked like a Titan, getting him up to the pathway again.  Poor fellow! he was very docile, and I had thoughts of trying to carry him up; but although I got under him and lifted him, I could not climb with him, so at last had recourse to a block and fall, and after bruising and battering the poor creature somewhat, I got him to a safe ledge of rock, from whence by pushing, and tugging, and lifting, I got him up, foot after foot, till the perspiration streamed down my face.  The real Robinson Crusoe never had anything half so difficult as this to contend with, and yet here was I at the outset working harder than a galley slave!  I envied Robinson Crusoe number one, and went at my donkey again, till towards evening I got him to the lower path, and after a rest rode him home in triumph, lecturing him severely all the way “not to be such an ass again.”

Next day I was not up with the lark—­in fact it was past nine before I opened my eyes, so much had the previous day’s exertions tired me.  I felt tired and stiff all over, but my morning tub and breakfast quickly restored me nearly to par.

Edward was now domiciled in the stable, so putting on his collar and a pair of home-made traces I harnessed him, with the help of various contrivances of cord and staples, to my mediaeval cart, and bumped (for my cart was springless) down to the beach to gather seaweed.  All day long we worked, “Eddy” and I, taking load after load to the top of the island; and the next day too was occupied in carting up seaweed or “vraic,” as the natives call it, except that we also took up two or three loads of withered bracken, leaves, and other rubbish, which I burned and spread over the land.

After the ash and seaweed were spread I ploughed it in after a fashion, streaking long shallow trenches with my pointed wooden plough, till I had gone over the whole of the land.  I looked at the tumbled ground with no great satisfaction, for as much of the manure-seaweed was upon the surface as under, so I turned to and ploughed crossways, which gave it a little better appearance.  Then I allowed it a week to rest, taking my spade in the meantime and breaking the lumps and digging in the straying “vraic.”  At length I had my land in tolerable order, although the seaweed refused to rot as quickly as I desired.  I reckoned, however, that it would rot in time, and thus nourish the seed I put in, and so it did.

I will not weary the readers with too much of my farming cares, but have written a little about it to show what obstacles a Crusoe has to overcome, and how hard he has to work to gain his ends.  He has no one to pat his back when he is triumphant, nor anyone to sympathise with him over a failure.  He is his own critic and censor.  Suffice it to say that in due course I had patches of barley, clover, lucerne, mangold, carrots, etc., sown, and when once the seeds were in I had plenty of leisure for other pursuits.