20 CRUSOE'S ISLAND. 



over my shoulder was a broad strap, attached to a 

 willow trout basket, which is better than a game 

 bag, as the birds you carry in it can not be crushed. 

 My pockets were filled with shells loaded with shot 

 of different sizes, and in one hand I carried a light 

 breech-loading shotgun. 



Having slept well the night before, breakfasted 

 well that morning, and having washed away my cares 

 in the sea with my bath at daylight, I felt as free 

 and buoyant as the forest birds whose acquaintance I 

 was then about to seek. 



The sun hadn't been long above the waves when 

 he might have seen me on the edge of the great for- 

 est, which I had noted the very first day of my arrival 

 here, but which I had not hitherto made an attempt 

 to penetrate. But, as if to warn me from the woods, 

 on the very edge of it I had a tussle with an enemy, 

 who nearly succeeded in cutting my throat : I got en- 

 tangled in a thicket of razor grass, that awful pest of 

 southern lowlands, and which has disabled many a 

 poor West Indian negro by cutting his naked feet and 

 slashing his legs and arms. 



After disentangling myself I was quite out of 

 breath, and out of sorts as well, and had more than 

 half a mind to return to my hut on the beach. But, 

 having seated myself beneath a parrot-apple tree to 

 recover breath, I soon perceived that I had, unwit- 

 tingly, halted in just the right place to get a lot of 

 birds without any trouble whatever. I was then re- 

 minded of what my experience had long ago taught 

 me, but which I had forgotten : that it is often better 



