Tales From The Little, Illustrated, Golden Library - Tales of the Sea - The Robinsons From The Gulf Of Mexico - Emilio Salgari - Second Story

 The Robinsons From The Gulf Of Mexico

VOCABULARY

pennon, yard (spar) = a tall upright post, spar, or other structure on a ship or boat, in sailing vessels generally carrying a sail or sails. Another term for these can be mast.

peopled = populated, inhabited (despite this particular term being present in at least one dictionary, it seems to be quite outdated and out of use, to the point that no other dictionary I have consulted has it or even considers it. 

Salgari's stories, in their original language, sometimes have a more archaic form than something closer to the current form of the Italian language).

real = a unit of currency that was present in Spain for several centuries after the mid-14th century (it is no longer in use; the modern equivalent is the peseta). The Spanish dollar was also known as a piece of eight. One Spanish dollar = eight pieces of real. 

Does this mean that, when in the Pirates of Carribean, they mention "nine pieces of eight", what they really meant was nine Spanish dollars (in 2025, that is the equivalent of roughly $288, give or take)?

I guess that pirates, for all their pillanging, plundering, and treasure hunting really were to a one skint broke... No wonder Calypso was mad.

Spanish Dollar (Source) (25.07.2025).

Spanish Real (Source) (25.07.2025).

MEMO

The following text may present outdated depictions that are in no way or form shared by the translator themself, and neither are they shared by the original author of these stories.

Please understand that these stories' depictions are a depiction of their time.

A good translator strives to transfer the originality, tone, and idea of a text from its language of birth to its guest language, all the while respecting the intent and style of the original author. 

These translated texts do not intend to bring offense, but just to share the adventures 

written by Captain Emilio Salgari. 

Adventures inspired by his love for traveling around the world, especially to far, foreign lands, his passion for ships and sailing in general, as well as his endless curiosity about other cultures and what's out there, beyond the horizon line.

🌞

   Robinson Crusoe, the popular hero belonging to Daniel de Foë, his real name having been that of the Scottish Sailor Alexander Selkirk, wasn't the only one to live many years on a deserted island.

The sea dogs know of many other people that proved to be greatly ingenious and that had suffered for even longer than that abandoned sailor on the islet on the coast of the Nile for his improper behaviour.

One of the most famous ones is without a doubt Pedro Serrano*. Although his adventures are some of the most famous among the mariners of the Gulf of Mexico,  they are completely foreign to others, including to the readers of this delightful Little Golden Library. Thus, I wish to recount them to you.

The tale of this unfortunate Robinson, the unluckiest of them all, goes back to the mid-16th century, namely to a time when the descendants of our great Columbus, and the Spanish, weren't aware of all the islands that existed in the immense Gulf of Mexico. 

This Pedro Serrano character was a poor sailor, that had gone to the Americas with the hope to make a small fortune.

It may be appropiate to mention that he wasn't born under a lucky star. Instead of becoming rich, like most of his countrymen had become, in Cuba he had found nothing but disillusionment.

Having heard about the great riches of Mexico, our sailor boarded a small sailing ship, known at the time as caravels, in order to reach Vera-Cruz.

We have already established that fate wasn't on his side.

One night, a fearsome storm took the ship by surprise, and despite the desperate maneuvers of the captain and his crew, the ship ended up shattering itself against the reef of an isle, located near the Southern coast of Cuba, yet at a distance of several hundred miles.

The waves, high as a mountain, wiped out the scraps of the ship and together with them, the crew as well. Each of them had met death in the abyss of the gulf, except for one: the hero of our story, Serrano.

A skilled swimmer, after countless hours of fighting a life-or-death match, he was finally able to reach the shore, almost naked, and having nothing else for a weapon but the knife he had kept in the belt.

There was no sign of there ever having been a human on that isle, and maybe there never had been one there, for no other reason than that it was impossible for someone to actually be able to live there.

There were no plants, no waterways, nor animals. The isle was made of rock and sand, full of capricious dips and perfectly barren.

The unfortunate sailor, seeing such desolation, thought that he was doomed to die of starvation and thirst, feeling a twinge of regret for having fought so hard to save himself and survive. But being a man of great stamina, he wanted to try his luck first; for he wasn't the kind of man to give up without a fight.

First he explored the isle, finding a copious amount of sea crabs. Those crustaceans were so abundant when the tide would lower, that one could gather them in great amount.

While food was secured for the time being, water was still missing and Serrano's excruciating thirst was slowly increasing, especially because of the extremely hot climate present in those places.

Day by day he would explore the beaches, and one of those, he had come across some big sea turtles, which had gone there to lay their eggs in the sand. 

Serrano chased after them, and before they had reached the water of the sea, knocked a few of them over, and - horrifying to say - quenched his thirst with their blood. 

Over the course of several weeks, the unlucky sailor doesn't have available as much as a drop of water. By this point, blood would make him feel so nauseous that the agony of the thirst was preferable.

Luckily, sudden heavy showers finally began to fall. Serrano, whose miseries sharpened themselves so ingeniously it was almost extraordinary, divided the shells of the sea turtles and uses them as a make-do bucket in order to collect water and quench his thirst.

His thirst quenched, he now felt the necessity of a shelter, where to take cover from those heavy showers that would fall day and night, jeopardizing his health. He also felt the need of a fire, feeling nauseous from all that raw meat.

What could he do? He had explored the whole isle without finding a single cavern or as much as a crevice, nor even a single plant that could supply him with enough materials to build a hut, or at least a canopy.

He had first hoped to fish out of the sea some of the scraps of the caravel, but hadn't found a single piece of it. The sea had wiped them all out and had carried them far away.

Nonetheless, Serrano hadn't yet given into despair; he wanted a shelter and a shelter he was going to have!

During all of those weeks he had gathered a numerous amount of sea turtles and their shells formed real clusters.

The sailor, with the only knife he had been left, patiently worked on those gigantic osseous plates and eventually found a way to fit them all together, one inside the other, thus building himself a shelter in this way. You can imagine what kind of a hut it was; even Serrano was immensely happy to finally be able to fall asleep under those scales, safe from the downpour.

After the shelter, he wanted to secure some fire. The fact was that it seemed an insuperable problem, seeing as he hadn't found as a single piece of flint on the entire isle. Furthermore, what could he use as a fire supply, since there were no plants that could procure him with wood? 

One day, while seizing a bunch of crustaceans he had seen pass by under the water, he had nonchalantly collected some pebbles.

Upon further inspection, while taking some in his hand for a closer look, he had noticed that they were, in fact, flints.

Keeping this new information in mind, he had reduced the pieces of his shirt to shreds; then, when he struck one of those rocks with the blade of his knife, he finally had the satisfaction of seeing the flicker of a flame.

It had been a year since that poor sailor had last seen as much as a simple small fire.

That flicker of a flame was the formula for a combustion that was to last for many years.

There being no plants on that isle, Serrano had turned to the sea in order to find flammable material. Having discovered copious amounts of algae, he had hauled many of them ashore, placing them as strips that he would leave in the sun so they would dry well. 

From the on, the sailor never lacked fire. He had no receptacle in his possession; but for better or for worse, he would grill fish and sea turtles.

Who could have ever believe it? Serrano had reached a point where he had thought himself as happy and no longer mourning his native land.

For three endless years the sailor had been alone, constantly ingeniously thinking of new ways to improve his life on the isle.

Over those the course of those three years, Serrano had seen quite a lot of ships pass by, but they were so far away he could have never reached them by swimming. He had tried to catch their crew's attention by lightning a fire on the highest cliffs of the isle; all in vain.

The isolation was starting to weigh on the poor sailor. What wouldn't he had given for some company! If only he had at least a parrot with whom to exchange a few words! But no, he couldn't have even that, because such birds, on that isle, just couldn't exist.

A deep dejection took over the woeful sailor, by now considering himself irrevocably doomed to live and die alone, abandoned by the whole world.

If only he could had built a raft, or anything that would float, really! Even if he was sure that he would had come across more sea storms, he would had not hesitated to let himself be carried by the waves and by the current of the Gulf of Mexico, just to chance upon another human soul or at least a less sterile island.

But no, that sandy soil lacked wood. The only plants that would sprout up from those sun-chalked rocks were nothing but bitter Bermuda grass**. 

One day, as he was melancholically wandering about the beach, searching for sea crabs in order to bring a bit of variety to his meager meals, he caught sight of a black dot on the vast blue sea.

The hint of a hope flashed inside the mind of the shipwreck victim. What could that black dot standing out so clearly against the sparkling of the sea have been? Some lifeboat sent to retrieve him?

But night fell and that black dot was still far away.

Serrano doesn't dare retreat for the night inside his dwelling. He gathers a few strips of dry algae and starts a few fires; afterwards, he starts pacing on the beach shouting as loud as his lungs could muster.

The darkness prevents him from being able to discern what that black dot is. Has it gone or has the supposed lifeboat made landfall on the Southern sore of the isle? 

The next day, Serrano resumes his search, but it proves unfruitful.

Had that lifeboat left because it had thought that the isle was inhabited by barbarians or had it gone under?

Serrano kept exploring the isle, holding tight on to the hope of coming across that lifeboat, having taken refuge in some inlet*** or behind some cliff.

All of a sudden, he had come bumped into a semi-naked man, as hairy as a beast, with wild, untamed hair, and an enormous beard. 

The sailor, whose brain had most likely gone bad because of those long, painful trials and solitude, thought that the one in front of him could have been no one else but the devil himself and had gone like a bat out of hell, all the while making the sign of the cross.

The stranger gave chase after him, shouting from behind him.

"Wait! Please! I am a Christian, just like you! Don't run away. I am starving!"

The sailor, finally convinced that he was not dealing with come spirit from hell, nor with the devil himself, had ceased running.

"Brother, please give me something to eat", told him the hairy man.

"Who are you?", asked Serrano, now ashamed of the fear that had overtaken him earlier.

"A poor castaway".

"Where are you from?"

"From a deserted island South of here. I arrived last night, on top of a beam."

Serrano felt sorry for the man. He led him to his shelter and gave him plenty to eat and drink.

When the castaway had quenched his thirst and sated his hunger, he narrated his tale to the other.

That ill-fated man had embarked on a ship on the Avana Stream**** that was direct to the mouth of the Amazon four years ago, where the Spanish had founded a colony. 

Near the Southern coast of Cuba, his ship was stormed by a raging hurricane, a surge taking him by surprise, while he was trimming a sail, and had dragged him into the sea.

No one concerned themselves about him any longer; maybe none of the crew had even noticed that he had gone missing.

Being an excellent swimmer, he had tenaciously fought with the waves for hours on end, until they had pushed him towards a rocky isle.

Unlike Serrano, he had been more lucky, having found some form of plant life and even a little bit of water, which had accumulated in some rather shallow recesses, somewhat salty, truthfully, but which was enough to allow him not to die of thirst.

He, too, initially, lived off of sea crabs; then he had found some sea turtles and even a few nests that belonged to winged sea life, whose eggs he had pillaged.

He had also built himself a shelter; just like Serrano, he had managed to lit a fire by helping himself with a knife and some flints; still, it wasn't enough. He wanted more. The isolation that came with that lifestyle made life itself insufferable.

One day, as he was fretting over how to find a way to leave that particular isle, he saw the currents drag a girder together with some craps from a yard.

They were, undoubtedly, some remnants of some shipwreck.

The sailor rushed into the water paying no mind to the dangers he was exposing himself to and entrusted himself to the waves. 

Some sharks had tried to attack him, to eat his legs, but he had managed to drive them away by striking them with the desperate blows as he handled a piece of pennon.

After that, a squall took him by surprise while he was out at sea and he had seen himself forced to give up on that lifeline.

Nevertheless, he had resisted the impetus of the waves, he had resisted sleep and hunger, and finally, he had arrived within view of the isle on which there was Serrano, that initially he had mistaken for Cuba.

"We will join forces in order to reach peopled places", Serrano spoke up, after having heard the tale of that ill-fated man. "We will love and console each other as brothers do one another."

They were relying on boarding those few pieces of scraps and try their luck that way.

But, when they had gone searching for them, those scraps were nowhere to be found. The high tides had taken them back into the water and current of the Gulf of Mexico lost no time in taking them away.

It was a heavy blow for those two unfortunate men; they rushed into each other's arms, holding one another, and sobbed for a very long time, lamenting the merciless adversities of fate.

That deep discouragement didn't last long for those two people. Determined to not allow themselves to die, they were resolute to once more take up arms to fight vehemently for their own survival.

They expanded the current shelter, adding more sea turtle shells to it, where to take refuge from the frequent cloudbursts that would pour down on the isle in great abundance; they dug inside cliffs a few reservoirs in order to not run the risk of dying of thirst during the dry season and they had even built some nurseries inside which they would breed fishes and sea turtles. 

One day, while rummaging through some crevices, they found a type of clay that they considered of excellent quality. That discovery inspired them to pursue the idea of procuring some dishware for themselves.

They mixed the clay with some ground seashells and they had done this so many times, that, a few months later, they had in their possession plates, vases, and even pots!

Can you imagine how joyful and grateful were they that, after so many years, they were finally able to enjoy a warm, nice, tasty bowlful of sea turtle soup?

Yet, they were not happy. As days passed, their desire to return among the people would grow stronger and stronger, becoming near impossible to bear.

Even if they had one another, they felt that they couldn't bear living separated from the world for such a long time.

In vain would they spend entire days tirelessly scanning the horizon from the highest cliffs of the isle.

No ship had appeared after they had met.

One evening, when an exhausted Serrano had fallen asleep after having gone on a march in the central parts of the isle, he was brusquely awakened by his companion in misfortune.

"Up and at 'em, my friend!", the companion shouted.

"What's the threat?", asked a still drowsy Serrano.

"I saw a bright light on the horizon."

Upon hearing those words, Serrano got up and made a bolt for a rock that would overlook the entire beach. There was no mistake: on the blurry line of the horizon a bright light stood out so clearly that it was impossible to confuse it with a star.

"Can you see it?", asked his companion.

"Yes.", answered Serrano in a choked-up voice. "It's a headlight that's headed towards this very island."

"Is it a ship?"

"Yes, a ship that is probably coming from Cuba."

"Let's try and make some signals!"

They ran off to to gather all the dry algae that they were set aside and lit up big fires in different spots of the isle, incessantly feeding them.

The headlight was always visible, but it never seemed to get any closer. However, one must take note of the fact that once the sun set, the breeze of the sea had also ceased to blow and that now on the sea itself reigned an absolute and complete calm.

Serrano and his companion, both overcome with emotions that are easier to imagine than to describe, didn't dare to take their eyes off of that bright light that for them meant the end of that insufferable seclusion even for an instant.

"Is it moving?", one would ask.

"No, it appears motionless to me."

"Could be that the crew hasn't taken notice of our fires?"

"Let's feed them some more, then."

"No, wait, I think the headlight is approaching."

Towards midnight, a flaming line soared in the space right above the bright light.

"It's a skyrocket!", shouted Serrano, falling to his knees.

"Yes, they saw our fires and are answering to our signals!", his companion shouted back.

"We need to answer them back or they'll think we're barbarians."

They took the last of their algae strips, positioned them in the form of a cross, and then set them on fire. The ship answered with a second skyrocket, then a deep cannon shot echoed on the sea.

The night brought with it many and unspeakable anxities for the two ill-fated men.

Finally, towards what must have been 3 AM, a new, cool breeze rose and with it, the two saw that the bright light was once again slowly moving towards them.

At early dawn, they are able to recognize it as being a caravel, which, with its pure white veils loose in the wind, tacks at about half a mile from the isle.

A lifeboat is lowered into the waters and ten sailors, led by an officer, approach the beach.

When they came across the two castaways, they had initially mistaken them for barbarians. 

Quite rightly so, as the two ill-fated men definitely looked the part. Their hair was so long, their beards were disheveled, their limbs and chest were hairy and their skin had taken on a darker colour due to their exposure in the sun.

The ship that would pick them up was returning to Spain.

On the journey home, Serrano lost the man with whom he had shared so many years of miseries and once gone ashore in Spain, was forced to appear half-naked in public all the while pretending to be a barbarian from the American forests in order to be able to make a living.

One of the courtiers of Charles V, becoming aware of the story of the shipwrecked person, he had made it known to his king. 

Thus, Serrano had graced with the chance to appear before the emperor*****, whom, touched by the miserable circumstances of that sailor, granted him a pension that, for whatever reason, had to be paid to him in Panama.

Serrano, as happy as can be that he was finally done with wandering around, rushed to embark on a ship and collect it, but found his death****** on the way there, once near the island of Cuba, and with its cliffs in sight, without ever having the chance to enjoy as much as a single real from the pension that had been given to him!

🌞

Source of the tale (10.08.2025).

________________________

*Pedro Serrano was a 16th century sailor who was supposedly abandoned on a small desert island, supposedly one of the Caribbean, off the coast of Nicaragua, for seven to eight years. Source (22.07.2025).

**Also known as "crab grass". Bermuda grass is not, in fact, native to Bermuda. It was introduced to the Americas and it actually is an abundant invasive species over there.

It is native to Europe, Africa, Australia, and most of Asia. Source (22.07.2025).

***The original text uses "seno", which is another Italian word for "insenatura", both being the English for "inlet"... Yet, I find myself in the position of having to discourage you from ever looking up "seno" as a single word on Google, because it is a word that is generally used to refer to the female breast.

An "inlet" is usually a long, narrow indentation of a shoreline such as a small bay, fjord or the like, that leads to a larger body of water such as a gulf, lake, or marginal sea. Source (22.07.2025).

****The Avana Stream is a stream that flows in the Avana Valley in the Cook Islands, an island country of Polynesia (a subregion of Oceania that is made up of more than 1,000 islands) in the South Pacific Ocean. Source (22.07.2025).

*****Charles V was a Holy Roman Emperor and Archduke of Austria from 1519 to 1556, as well as King of Spain, under the name of Charles I, from 1516 to 1556. Source (24.07.2025).

******The sum received by Serrano from the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V was 4,000 pieces of eight. As of 23.07.2025, the modern equivalent would be that of $133,216.80.

Other versions of Serrano's tale state that he had gone insane by the time he was rescued.

Source (23.07.2025).

_______________

Personal Notes:

It is said that the stories written by Emilio Salgari are stories he would hear from the sailors, when he would go to visit the dock.

His best and most known work, "Sandokan, The Tiger of Malaysia" has been proven to bear resemblance to true historical facts, starting with the firstly-thought-of-as-fictional island, Mompracem (currently known as Kuraman Island), and with the strong impression that Sandokan is no other than a fictional representation of Syarif Osman, who ruled Marudu (north of Borneo) (I recommend you go here for more information about Sandokan or Syarif Osman. Miss Bianca has done a marvelous job in finding, gathering, and translating information about Salgari and his works, especially those concerning the character of Sandokan).

Going by this, I strongly suspect that all of Emilio Salgari's stories are based on true, historical happenings and people, the sands of time mercilessly erasing most of their traces.

Emilio Salgari's stories feature places from all around the world; many of them feature places as far as possible from Europe itself. It is not far fetched that a story from your own hometown might be present in one of his writings, regardless of how remote or unknown you might think it might be to others.

If you know how to find the original, historical, sources of any of the stories present on this blog or if you even recognize one of them here as a local, known story (or legend) to you, please feel free to contact me.

I would love to put both the story written by Salgari and the historical one side by side and not let these names become forgotten.

Thank you very much for your assistance.