I did have the collywobbles. I was being followed by my own fearful shadow.

The cactuses that grew on the rough black soil of the inland scrub were different, and my heart soared to see the familiar prickly pears we’d found all over the Galapagos. Remembering the wet sweetness of the fruit made my mouth water, but to harvest one I needed a knife. The cactus itself was coated in a pincushion of needle spikes, and the fruit was thick with spiky hairs that would bring up an itchy rash.

Food, right there, but impossible to get to. There had to be a way.

I scrambled around on the ground and found a stick, little more than a stalk of dry grass. I poked at a fruit and the stick snapped.

That was predictable.

“God loves a trier,” I said through gritted teeth.

I pulled my sleeve down and reached carefully into the gap between the big fleshy leaves, grinning in triumph as I made it without being poked. I pinched my fingers around the stem and twisted. Not a chance. I was not so lucky on the way out. I dragged my hand too fast, and three spines stuck my skin. In the pain, I staggered backward and fell over.

You clumsy—

“Clout. Yes. I know,” I said as I pulled the spines from my arm. “Well, at least there’s no one here to see …”

But I wouldn’t mind if the captain’s boy, Davis, ribbed me all day forevermore, if only I could see them all again. The Beagle was a small cramped ship, with seventy-four men and boys aboard, but Captain Fitzroy was a fair man, and we rubbed along well together. The gruff ship’s cook, Phillips, gave me extra raisins with my suet pudding at supper. Laughing Davis made fun of a duff note on my fiddle but sang a ballad better than anyone. And tough Robbins had four sons of his own back in England and had always looked out for me.

I felt like kicking the prickly pear plant but didn’t want to pincushion my foot as well as my hand. It would be a while before I starved, I reasoned; finding a source of water and somewhere to shelter from the sky beast was more important. To view the island, I’d need to find a high point, but climbing a volcano, the highest point around, was not the cleverest of ideas. And climbing without water, when my throat was already dry, would only make my situation worse.

I growled in the back of my throat. I wasn’t used to all these decisions. I was used to doing as I was told.

The clouds cleared and the sun began to beat hot. Exhaustion overtook me. I collapsed to the ground and stared at the horizon through the measly shade of another prickly pear cactus, trying to remember how Robinson Crusoe survived. Phillips had brought the book on board and I took turns reading with the handful of other sailors who read well enough to tell a tale aloud. Crusoe had been armed with a musket, knife, and cooking pot when he was set ashore. Lucky fellow.