Defoe opens his preface by dismissing the wonder once attached to circumnavigation: 'the thing is made familiar, every ordinary sailor is able to do it.' This blunt deflation sets the tone for a narrative that claims to offer not a record of the voyage itself but the 'incidents' and 'variety' that earlier travelers omitted. The narrator positions himself as a corrective to 'very good sailor[s]' who 'make but a very indifferent author,' promising a more detailed, observant account.

The excerpts reveal a voice that is both pragmatic and morally engaged. The narrator frequently interrupts the travelogue to comment on the behavior of Europeans toward indigenous peoples, arguing that 'if they are once but really obliged they will always be very faithful' and that it is 'our people, I mean the Europeans, who, by breaking faith with them, teach them ingratitude.' This editorializing gives the work a dual character: part adventure, part colonial critique.

A Preface That Rewrites the Genre

The preface is not a modest introduction but a manifesto. Defoe’s narrator explicitly rejects the idea that sailing round the world is still a 'mighty thing,' arguing that the feat has become routine. Instead, he promises to supply what other voyagers have neglected: 'a very little account of their landings, their diversions, the accidents which happened to them.' This framing is a direct challenge to earlier travel writers like Sir Francis Drake, whose accounts Defoe implies are superficial.

The narrator also criticizes the lack of natural history in previous voyages. He notes that the surgeons on his ship were so 'taken up in their traffick for gold' that they never went 'a simpling'—that is, collecting botanical specimens. This complaint aligns with the work’s broader interest in recording the unfamiliar, from the disposition of native peoples to the geography of undiscovered lands.

Ethnographic Observations and Colonial Critique

The narrator draws a sharp distinction between indigenous peoples who have had no contact with Europeans and those who have. The former, he claims, 'had no fire, no rage in their looks, no jealous fears of strangers' and used bows and arrows only for hunting. The latter, by contrast, are 'ravenous and mischievous, treacherous and fierce,' a change he attributes to 'convers[ing] with other nations' and learning 'the treacherous and cruel parts from others.'

This observation is not neutral. The narrator explicitly blames Europeans for corrupting native peoples: 'it is our people, I mean the Europeans, who, by breaking faith with them, teach them ingratitude.' He argues that if treated with 'humanity and courtesy,' indigenous people will be 'easily subservient and assistant' to European settlers. The passage is remarkable for its directness, though it also reveals the narrator’s assumption that European settlement is inevitable and desirable.

The Uncharted South and the Logic of the Route

A recurring theme in the excerpts is the existence of undiscovered southern lands. The narrator mentions 'the Isles of Solomon, of which yet we can read of nobody that ever went on shore on them' and criticizes earlier sailors for producing only 'romantic' accounts. He attributes the lack of exploration to the 'prodigious run from the coast of America to the islands of the Ladrones' and the fear of running out of provisions.

His own proposed route, he claims, avoids this danger by allowing for frequent resupply: 'had we seen a necessity, and that there was no land to be found to the south of the tropic for a supply of provisions and fresh water, it is evident we could have gone back again.' This practical, logistical reasoning is characteristic of the narrator’s voice, which consistently prioritizes the plausible over the marvelous.

Readers should attend to the tension between the narrator’s self-presentation as a reliable observer and his clear editorial agenda. The work is as much a commentary on the ethics of exploration as it is a travelogue. Defoe’s prose rewards attention to shifts in register—from the brisk, dismissive tone of the preface to the more measured ethnographic passages. The excerpts suggest a narrative that is never merely descriptive; every observation carries an argument.