(Continuing from Part 12)
As I continued making my home more comfortable, I began to think about another problem.
I was completely alone, and there was nobody to tell me what day it was.
Without a calendar, I might soon forget the weeks, months, and even years.
I remembered the day I had first reached the island: September 30, 1659.
It was a date I would never forget.
I decided to make a calendar of my own.
I found a large wooden post and cut it into a suitable shape. Then I carried it to the beach, near the place where I had first come ashore.
With my knife, I carved some words into the wood:
“I came on shore here on the 30th September 1659.”
Then I planted the post firmly in the ground.
Every day, I made a small mark on one side of it.
Every seventh day, I made a longer mark to show the end of a week.
For the first day of each month, I made an even longer mark.
In this way, I could count the passing days.
It was a simple system, but it gave me a sense of order.
I also began thinking about how to record my experiences.
Among the supplies I had rescued from the ship were pens, ink, and paper.
These things were extremely valuable to me.
I knew that I could not easily replace them, so I decided to use them carefully.
I wanted to write down what happened each day.
Perhaps one day I would return to England, and my journal would help me remember my experiences.
Or perhaps I would die on the island, and someone might discover my writings many years later.
At first, however, I was too busy building my shelter to write regularly.
There were still many practical problems to solve.
My possessions were scattered around the tent and storage area.
Whenever I needed a tool, I often had to search through several boxes before finding it.
This wasted time and made my work more difficult.
I decided to make shelves.
I had never worked as a carpenter, but I possessed several useful tools.
I began cutting wooden boards into smaller pieces.
Then I fixed them against the wall of my shelter.
My first attempts were poor.
The boards were uneven, and some did not fit properly.
I often had to begin again.
But I gradually learned how to measure, cut, and join pieces of wood.
After several days, I had made some simple shelves.
I placed my tools, nails, and smaller possessions on them.
Now I could find things much more easily.
I also wanted a table and chair.
These were ordinary objects that I had never valued greatly when I lived in England.
But on the island, they seemed like wonderful luxuries.
Without a table, I had to eat, write, and work while sitting on the ground.
I decided that making furniture would be worth the effort.
I found suitable pieces of wood and began working.
The task was much harder than I expected.
A trained carpenter might have completed it quickly, but I had to discover everything through experience.
Sometimes I cut a piece too short.
Sometimes I made a hole in the wrong place.
At other times, the wood split because I used too much force.
Nevertheless, I continued.
Eventually, I produced a rough but useful table.
Then I made a chair.
Neither object was beautiful, but both served their purpose.
I felt proud of them.
I was learning that patience could make up for a lack of experience.
While working on my furniture, I also continued digging into the hillside behind my tent.
I wanted to enlarge the storage space.
The earth and stone were difficult to remove.
I had no wheelbarrow, so I made a simple wooden carrier to help move the loose material.
Even with this device, the work remained slow.
Every day, I spent several hours digging and carrying earth outside.
Gradually, the hollow space became larger.
I began to think of it as my cave.
It was useful for storing food, tools, and other supplies that needed protection from rain.
But I was not always careful.
One day, while digging deeper into the hillside, I noticed that some earth above me had become loose.
Before I could move away, a section of the roof collapsed.
A large amount of earth and stone fell into the cave.
Fortunately, I was not standing directly beneath it.
I escaped without injury.
But the accident frightened me.
If I had been working only a few steps farther inside, I might have been buried alive.
There was nobody on the island who could have rescued me.
I understood that I must be more careful.
I stopped digging for a while and examined the damaged area.
Then I began placing strong wooden posts beneath the roof.
I added beams across the top to support the earth above.
The work took many days, but it made the cave safer.
I also strengthened other parts of the shelter.
I realized that building a home was not simply a matter of putting materials together.
I had to think about weight, balance, weather, and safety.
These were lessons I had never expected to learn.
As my home improved, I began to feel more settled.
I had a tent to sleep in, a fence for protection, a cave for storage, and furniture for daily use.
I also had enough supplies to continue working for some time.
But I still suffered from loneliness.
Sometimes I spoke aloud simply because I wanted to hear a human voice.
At other times, I remembered the people I had known in England and Brazil.
I wondered whether I would ever speak to another person again.
To control my sadness, I began examining my situation more carefully.
I knew that I had suffered a terrible misfortune.
But I had also survived when everyone else aboard the ship had died.
I had been thrown onto an unknown island, yet I had found food, water, tools, and materials for shelter.
Perhaps I should not think only about what I had lost.
Perhaps I should also consider what I still possessed.
This thought encouraged me to make a written comparison between the good and bad parts of my situation.
I hoped that by examining both sides, I might learn to bear my lonely life with greater patience.