1:01:01 Four years passed in that time, Selkirk had two close calls with death. Once he chased a goat into the undergrowth, only to realize too late that the thick plant cover had concealed a ravine. He only managed to survive the fall by the miracle of landing directly on top of the goat. He had to crawl back to his hut and spent days drifting in and out of consciousness before he had healed enough to be able to walk again. Later, a party of sailors came ashore looking for provisions. If they had been english, Selkirk would have welcomed them warmly. If they had been french, he would have surrendered himself. But he knew from their helmets that these men were Spaniards, and Selkirk feared that they would send him to the silver mines like the original maroons. He decided the solitary life of the wilderness was better than slavery. He hid up in the tree canopy and waited for them to leave. At last, long after he had given up any real hope of rescue, a pair of english ships, privateers, came to the island. Just like Selkirks own ship, they had come here to rest and repair after a long and difficult voyage. By an extraordinary coincidence, the pilot of the lead vessel was none other than William Dampier, who recognized Selkirk as another survivor of his own failed expedition. They offered Selkirk a place in the squadron second mate, and he accepted. This expedition proved far more successful than the first, and by the time they returned to England, going the long way across the Pacific to Guam, Indonesia, round the Cape of Good Hope and back up the coast of Africa, they had taken enough prizes to make the whole crew rich. He returned to England on October 11, 1711. Besides being rich, his experiences, the time on the island, and the daring privateering that had followed it made him a minor celebrity in London society. But he had nothing to do, and he missed the solitude and clarity of life on the island. He visited his family in Scotland. At first, they didn't recognize him. He spent some time in the old village. He tried to teach his brothers housecats to dance. He found a small cave on a nearby hillside with a view of the bay and enlarged it until it could serve as a small refuge when he needed somewhere to go to weep for his lost paradise. After a year or two of this, he had had enough. He enlisted in the Royal Navy. Five years later, he was dead, some tropical disease, and buried at sea off the coast of Africa. Marooning fell out of fashion in the latter 17 hundreds, so much so that when, in 1807, Captain Warwick Lake of the HMS recruit marooned one of his seamen, it caused a minor scandal that resulted in his being hauled before a court martial and dismissed from the service. The matter was even raised in parliament by the MP Francis Burdett, who described it as a most inhuman act of wanton and deliberate barbarity and a tyrannical occurrence. Somehow I doubt we'll ever see Tassilo Wago dragged in front of a Bespa board of inquiry to explain his actions here. I suppose that means we can calculate Zanskars regard for human life as being no greater than that of a 17th or early 18th century pirate and significantly less than that of the Royal Navy in the early 19th century. As for Farrah Griffin, her prospects for survival seem significantly less than a historical maroon.