​The new century, they say, has dawned. Yet for me, it began not in the fog and bustle of Birmingham, nor in the clamour of London docks, nor even in the New York I had dreamt of when I stole away into the black recesses of that creaking steamer. No, it began here—upon the strange and terrible shore of a land that men have scarcely tamed, an island that seems at once to belong to every corner of the Earth, and yet to none.

When I stumbled from the cargo hold this morning, my limbs stiff from days hidden among sacks of meal and barrels of brine, the first thing I felt was the heat. It pressed down upon me as though the very air were molten, thicker than any summer in England, thicker even than the breath of the furnaces I once glimpsed glowing over Birmingham’s rooftops. The sun was already high above the harbour, a golden furnace suspended in an endless blue sky, and I—ragged, starving, and unwashed—felt suddenly laid bare, a criminal unmasked before God.

The ship’s crew paid me no mind. Perhaps they knew I was there all along and chose to leave me to my fate. Perhaps they were glad to be rid of another mouth, another problem. I stumbled onto the dockside planking as gulls screamed above and a crowd of faces swirled around me—dark-skinned islanders carrying crates of fruit, pale men in waistcoats shouting orders, women balancing baskets upon their heads with the grace of queens. I had imagined that New York would greet me with towering buildings and wide streets; instead I found a ramshackle sprawl of wood and stone hugging a bay as vast as any I have ever seen.

I knew not the name of this place then, though I have since learnt it. The locals call it Isola Vastissima, though most of the Europeans simply call it the Island. Half the size of Europe, they say, though from the wharf where I stood, it seemed larger than the whole world.

I had nothing—no coin, no tools, not even a crust of bread. My parents, God rest them, had gone into the ground the previous year, leaving me with grief and an emptiness I could not endure. I fancied myself bold when I stole aboard that steamer in Liverpool, dreaming of fortunes across the Atlantic. But Providence, in its mysterious humour, has delivered me instead to the far side of the globe.

I spent the morning wandering the narrow lanes behind the harbour. The streets were hot dust and broken cobbles, lined with crooked houses of timber, corrugated iron, and faded plaster. Men lounged in doorways, their faces suspicious, their eyes following me. Women clutched their baskets a little tighter as I passed. Children stared openly, some laughing at my accent when I asked after work.

“Work? With those hands?” one fellow barked, a scarred sailor with half his teeth missing. He spat into the dirt. “You’ll find no easy bread here, boy.”

I knocked upon the door of a smithy, for I had thought perhaps they might require an apprentice. The master there, a Dutchman with arms like oak beams, looked me up and down and shook his head. “No room. We have enough mouths.” At a warehouse I was turned away before I could utter more than a sentence. At a bakery, the mistress told me flatly, “No coin, no loaf.”

Hunger gnawed at me already. My stomach clenched so sharply I thought I might collapse. I sank at last upon the steps of a shuttered shop, my head in my hands, and wondered whether I had not made the gravest mistake of my short life.

It was then that an old man sat beside me. He smelt of pipe smoke and salt, his beard yellowed, his clothes patched and worn. He spoke in a slow drawl, a voice cracked with age yet not unkind.

“You’re new,” he said.

I nodded, unable to summon words.

“No papers?”

I shook my head.

“No work?”

Another shake.

He chuckled dryly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Then the wilderness’ll feed you. If you can stomach it.”

I looked up at him, startled. “The wilderness?”

He gestured with his stick towards the green wall that loomed beyond the town, where the streets ended abruptly in tangled forest. The trees rose higher than any I had ever seen, their crowns interlacing to form a living roof. Birds of colours I could scarce believe flitted between the branches. Somewhere within that jungle came a cry—half roar, half scream—that set the hairs upon my neck bristling.

“The land has everything,” the old man went on. “Fruit, meat, water, even gold if you’re lucky. But it has teeth, too. More beasts than you can imagine. Some you’ve seen in pictures, some you never have. They’ll take you if you don’t watch your step.”

I thought of the books I had read as a boy—illustrations of lions, tigers, jaguars, crocodiles, serpents as thick as a man’s body. Could it be that all of them prowled here, on this island?

“Best beware,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “But if you’ve nothing else, the trees’ll keep you alive. For a while.”

And with that, he limped away, leaving me with my hunger and my fear.

I walked towards the edge of the settlement, past a row of shacks thrown together from driftwood and scrap tin. Their inhabitants watched me as I passed—thin, hollow-eyed men and women, their faces lined, their children barefoot in the dust. They said nothing, but their silence was heavier than words. I felt as though I trespassed upon their misery, an intruder in their kingdom of want.

Beyond them the road crumbled into little more than a track, and then at last into nothing at all. Before me stretched the wilderness, green and unbroken, stretching towards mountains hazed with distance. The air was thick with the hum of insects and the cries of unseen creatures.

I hesitated. My heart pounded as though it knew better than I the folly of stepping into such a place. Yet what choice had I? Hunger is a master that drives harder than fear.

I pushed into the undergrowth.

The jungle swallowed me at once. The light dimmed, filtered through layers of leaves. The air grew hotter, wetter, heavy as cloth. Every step was a battle against roots that clawed at my boots and vines that snagged my arms. I could not see more than a few yards ahead, and every sound seemed magnified—the rustle of branches, the drip of unseen water, the beating of my own heart.

I found fruit, though I knew not its name. It hung in clusters of red and gold, its skin soft to the touch. I broke one open and sniffed cautiously. The scent was sweet, like honey and wine. Hunger conquered caution. I ate. The flesh was cool and sharp, flooding my mouth with juice. Never in my life had I tasted anything so rich. I devoured it greedily, juice running down my chin.

Then came nuts, hard-shelled but yielding a soft kernel when cracked against a stone. I ate those too, and for a little while, my belly was eased.

But as I sat there chewing, I heard something move in the brush. A low growl followed, deep and resonant, the sort of sound that stirs some ancient terror in the bones. I froze, scarcely daring to breathe.

The undergrowth shifted. Two golden eyes glowed from the shadows.

I do not know what beast it was. A lion, perhaps, though I had never seen one save in pictures. Or some cousin of the tiger, striped and lean. Whatever it was, it watched me with a gaze that knew no mercy.

Slowly, I backed away, clutching a stone in my hand though I knew it would avail me nothing. My pulse hammered. One step. Another. The beast did not move, only stared. At last, when I was near enough to the tree line, it blinked once and turned, vanishing into the green with scarcely a sound.

I stumbled back into the open air of the town, trembling, my mouth dry.

Thus ended the first day of the new century, and the first day of my strange exile. I have no home here, no work, no friends. Only the wilderness, waiting to swallow me whole. And yet—and yet—I feel a stirring within me. A fear, yes, but also a thrill, as though I stand upon the brink of some great adventure.

I came here with nothing. Perhaps, by the grace of God and the strength of my hands, I shall yet make something of it.

For now, I shall sleep upon the wharf, under the stars of this unknown sky. My belly is no longer empty. My heart is filled with dread. But tomorrow, I will rise, and the Island will test me again.