Then I took hold of Bowditch's Navigator,
which I had always with me. I had been through the greater part of it,
and now went carefully through it, from beginning to end working out
most of the examples. That done, and there being no signs of the
Pilgrim, I made a descent upon old Schmidt, and borrowed and read
all the books there were upon the beach. Such a dearth was there of
these latter articles, that anything, even a little child's
story-book, or the half of a shipping calendar, appeared like a
treasure. I actually read a jest-book through, from beginning to
end, in one day, as I should a novel, and enjoyed it very much. At
last, when I thought that there were no more to be got, I found, at
the bottom of old Schmidt's chest, "Mandeville, a Romance, by
Godwin, in five volumes." This I had never read, but Godwin's name was
enough, and after the wretched trash I had devoured, anything
bearing the name of a distinguished intellectual man, was a prize
indeed. I bore it off, and for two days I was up early and late,
reading with all my might, and actually drinking in delight. It is
no extravagance to say that it was like a spring in a desert land.
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