CHAP. XII. Discovery of a new Island not to be found in our Maps.

Therefore forty of us (among which I was one) declared our inclination of reconnoit’ring this island: It was rocky, sandy, and therefore desart, which we supposed to be the reason of it’s being never noticed by seamen; for as the Arches are a kind of a serpentine walk on the sea, a Dedalean labyrinth, it is more than possible, it is morally probable, that one thousand mariners in one thousand years, might never be obliged by storm, course, chance, or accident to have entered into the narrow ferry, or ferries, dividing it from forty others, insignificant as itself, which surround it. So that we were not surprized that after searching all the maps, charts, gazetteers, and even the great geographical dictionary for this island, we found all our attempts to find it entirely fruitless and abortive; on the hazard of reconnoit’ring the island, which was not seemingly more than two leagues in length and one in breadth, we took four rounds of cartridge, that in case of an attack, we might be able to facilitate our retreat to the boats; we went up about half a mile into the country, when we could plainly espy without glasses, a great number of the inhabitants on a hill who seemed flocking together to observe our motions, not without seeming apprehension of an invasion, which notwithstand from their numbers compared to ours, they must have laughed at; however, we made friendly signals of distress to invite them down, which they seemed, either not to understand, or to disregard; we then took courage, thinking that they could be no more than a parcel of peasants, or at best a raw militia, so we proceeded to the foot of the hill, but on our advancing so far, and looking forward, instead of having the least retrospect towards the ground we had passed, our small corps was quite surrounded, and made prisoners of war. They took from us our arms, without entering into any discourse with us, and taking the barrels out of the stocks with more dexterity than a gun-smith, they planted them on a rising ground, and returning us the empty stocks, pointed to the artillery they had just planted, with the greatest solemnity and presence of mind, and then making signs that we should depart, dismissed us, still pointing to our gun-barrels, significantly expressing by their silence, (for they said not a word) that our own arms should be pointed against us, if we dared come there again; we were very well satisfied with this discharge, since as there appeared several thousand of them against us poor forty, we prudently did not discharge one piece at them, which might have irritated them to such a degree, as to cut us to pieces; so we made a fine expedition of it, and returned in safety to our boats, which conveyed us on board, where when we appeared with our empty stocks without barrels, we were heartily laughed at by our ship-mates.

Here Hugh of the Borough interrupted Tom Traveller, by asking him, what manner of people the natives of the island were, seeing they were so grave, reserved, and silent, to which Tom replied, will you believe me, Hugh, every mother soul of them Monkeys.—Monkeys, I assure you upon the word of a traveller, and ever since from our journal of observations, we have marked down the place, and given it the name of Monkey-Island, and it is well known in a true and correct map, since engraved and published.—Now as we cannot attest the truth of this last part of Tom Traveller’s relation, concerning either the discovery of this new island, or the circumstantial particulars of their being disarmed, yet this we are sure of, that there are several miraculous events, and as equally unknown islands set down in the maps, charts, journals, voyages, and travels of very grave and credible writers both ancient and modern, whom, nevertheless we do not pretend to discredit, nor do presume to dis-authenticate, since they, bear an equal shew of probability with the relation of Tom Traveller, who by his name has a right to stretch as well as those worthy voyagers or map-makers. Here ended his narrative, however, and upon that sole account here endeth the twelfth chapter of our history.