Citation
The Life and strange surprizing adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, mariner

Material Information

Title:
The Life and strange surprizing adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, mariner
Uniform Title:
Robinson Crusoe
Translated Title:
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe ( English )
Creator:
Defoe, Daniel, 1661?-1731
Adams, W. H. Davenport (William Henry Davenport), 1828-1891
Rogers, Woodes, d 1732
Cowper, William, 1731-1800
Halswelle, Keeley, 1832-1891 ( Illustrator )
Stanton, Clark, 1832-1894 ( Engraver )
Corner, J. M. ( Engraver )
Jackson, John, 1801-1848 ( Engraver )
Morison ( Engraver )
Thomas Nelson & Sons.
Place of Publication:
London
Publisher:
T. Nelson and Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
vi, 654 p., <1> leaf of plates : ill., map, port. ; 20 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Selkirk, Alexander,
Serrano, Pedro,
Castaways -- Juvenile fiction
Shipwrecks -- Juvenile fiction
Survival after airplane accidents, shipwrecks, etc. -- Juvenile fiction
Genre:
Imaginary voyages ( local )

Notes

General Note:
Added t.p. with same title as above; spine title: Robinson Crusoe; cover title: Adventures of Robinson Crusoe; caption title, p. 361: Further adventures of Robinson Crusoe.
General Note:
"It has been carefully printed from the first edition," without reproducing the original orthography or punctuation.--Pref. signed W.H.D.A. <i.e. William Henry Davenport Adams>. Adams also wrote the memoir of Defoe.
General Note:
Engravers include J.M. Corner, Jackson, and Morison. Headpieces are by Clark Stanton (cf. pref., p. vi).
General Note:
Although lacking that designation, the content of this volume is the same as that found in the "Household Robinson Crusoe" published by Nelson in 1871 and reissued in 1875 and 1876. This undated variant may be the same as Lovett, R.W. Robinson Crusoe, 619, which Lovett dates 188- but was not able to examine.
General Note:
In the appendix, the narrative of Selkirk on the island is Woodes Rogers'; the map is that found in part III, 'Serious reflections, ' of Robinson Crusoe, pub. in 1720. Also included are Cowper's verses and an analytical index to the biography and text.
General Note:
Parts I and II of Robinson Crusoe. Part II originally published under title: Farther adventures of Robinson Crusoe.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
21109901 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
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THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES

OS

ROBINSON CRUSOR



“The author of that book which has imparted to most
of us the greatest delight of any, was also the earliest
teacher of political economy, the first propounder of free
trade. He planted that tree which, stationary and stunted
for nearly two centuries, is now spreading its shadow by
degrees over all the earth. He was the most far-sighted
of our statesmen, and the most worthily trusted by the
wisest of our kingz.”

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.





















































“BE PLEASED TO TAKE A SKETCH OF MY FIGURE.”

Pge 203.



ipl Fee ra Lose oe =

Strange Surprizing Adventures

OF

OB iN SS Ot Crusoe

| Of York, Mariner.



CRUSOE IN HIS SMALL BOAT,
Page 196

Thomas Melson and-Sons,

LONDON. EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.



JE SLID ib 115 19

AND

STRANGE SURPRIZING ADVENTURES

OF

ROBINSON CRUSOe

OF YORK, MARINER.
WRITTEN BY AIMSELF-
Carefully Reprinted from the Original Edition.

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF DANIEL DE FOE,
A MEMOIR OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK, AN ACCOUNT OF PETER SERRANO,
AND OTHER INTERESTING ADDITIONS.

ILLUSTRATED WITH UPWARDS OF SEVENTY ENGRAVINGS BY KEELEY HALSWELLE,
A PORTRAIT OF DE FOE, A MAP OF ROBINSON CRUSOE’S ISLAND, DE FOE’S
TOMB, FACSIMILES OF ORIGINAL TITLE-PAGES, ETC., ETC,

LONDON: THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK.



Wreface.



O formal introduction is necessary to a book which
\é for nearly two centuries has been the favourite
of young and old, and which is now ranked, by
common consent, among the classic master.
pieces of English literature.

All then that remains for the Editor to do, is to justify
the appearance of this new edition by pointing out in
what respects it differs from its predecessors.

Ist,—It has been carefully printed from the first
edition; though it has not been thought advisable to adopt
the pedantic fashion of reproducing the original ortho-
graphy. We might as well use the old spelling in our
“ Authorized Version of the Bible ;” and we are unable to
see how it can interest any but a very limited class of
students. For the same reason, we have by no means
literally followed the original punctuation, which, perhaps,
was not De Foe’s, but his printers’. In all other respects

the present edition is a faithful transcript of the ‘‘ Robinson



vi PREFACE,

Crusoe” which delighted English boys when first pub
lished.

2nd,—A Memoir of De Foe, carefully based on the
most trustworthy authorities, has been prefixed.

3rd,—In the Appendix will be found a Memoir of
Aleaander Selkirk, who, whether rightly or wrongly, is
inseparably connected with De Foe’s fiction; a Narrative
of his Residence on the Island of Juan Fernandez ;
Cowper's Poem, suggested by Selkirk’s narrative; and a
Brief Account of the Famous Spanish Crusoe, Peter
Serrano.

4th,—The Illustrations have been expressly designed
for this edition by Mr. Keeley Halswelle, with the excep-
tion, of course, of the Fucsimiles occasionally introduced
of the Title-pages and Engravings in the original work.
The Head-pieces are by Clark Stanton, A.R.A. In a
word, no pains have been spared to render the present
edition complete in every detail; and worthy, it is hoped,

of a place in the library of all good English boys.

W. if. D. A.



Gi ontents.





1. ORIGINAL TITLE-PAGES

2, DANIEL DE FOE: A BIOGRAPHY—
CuaAprer I.—His EARLY YEARS
a II.—A Lire or STRUGGLE
co III.—De For as A WRITER oF FIcTION

eI IV.—Last YEARS AND DEATH

3. ROBINSON CRUSOE—
PART THE FIRST

Part THE SECOND

4. APPENDIX—

I.—ALEXANDER SELKIRK: A MEMOIR

II.—NARRATIVE OF SELKIRKE’S RESIDENCE ON THE ISLAND OF JUAN

FERNANDEZ

IIJ.—VErsEs SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK

IV.—A Spanisa Ropinson CRUSOE

5. ANALYTICAL INDEX

49
361

629

640
644
645

649



Original Titles of “Robinson Crusoe. ’

“Tue Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusve, of
York, Mariner; Who lived eight and twenty Years all alone, on an unin-
habited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River
of Uroonoque; Having been Cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the
Men perished but Himself. With an Account how he was at last Strangely
delivered by Pyrates. Written by Himself. London. Printed for W.
Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster Row.” (1st Edition, 25 April, 1719.}

“The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Being the Second and
Last Part of his Life, and of the Strange Surprizing Accounts of his Travels
round Three Parts of the Globe. Written by Himself. To which is added
a Map of the World, in which is Delineated the Voyages of Robinson Crusoe.
London. Printed for W. Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster Row.” (lst
Edition, 20 August, 1719.)

“Serious Reflections during the Life and Surprizing Adventures of
Robinson Crusoe. With his Vision of the Angelick World. Written by
Himself. London. Printed for W. Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster
Row.” (ist Edition, 6 August, 1720.)



DANIEL DE FOE:
A Biographn.

CHAPTER 1.

HIS EARLY YEARS.



There is a man alive, he says, and well known
too, the aenore of whose life are the first subject of these volumes,
and to whom all or most part of the story most directly alludes ;
this, he adds, may be depended upon for truth. In a word,
there’s not a circumstance in the imaginary story but has its just allusion to
a real story, and chimes part for part, and step for step, with the inimitable
“ Life of Robinson Crusoe.”

Notwithstanding this assertion, I am inclined to think that much of the
pretended allegory was an after-thought of De Foe’s, and that between his
active career and that of the solitary in the wave-washed island there exists
no more resemblance than between Macedon and Monmouth in Fluellen’s
famous comparison. We may see, perhaps, some degree of likeness in the
loneliness of De Foe in the-world which he buffeted so stoutly, and the caged
condition of the castaway may remind us of his creator’s imprisonment ; but
we refuse to carry the allegory any further, or to identify every incident in
the romance with every event in the real life. For the rest, De Foe was a
greater, a braver, and a more self-controlled man than “ Robinson Crusoe,”
as the following brief biographical sketch will, I hope, abundantly prove.

Daniel Defoe, or De Foe, was born in the parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate
in 1660; the son of James Foe, citizen and butcher, of London; and the



DANIEL DE FOE:
A Biographn.

CHAPTER 1.

HIS EARLY YEARS.



There is a man alive, he says, and well known
too, the aenore of whose life are the first subject of these volumes,
and to whom all or most part of the story most directly alludes ;
this, he adds, may be depended upon for truth. In a word,
there’s not a circumstance in the imaginary story but has its just allusion to
a real story, and chimes part for part, and step for step, with the inimitable
“ Life of Robinson Crusoe.”

Notwithstanding this assertion, I am inclined to think that much of the
pretended allegory was an after-thought of De Foe’s, and that between his
active career and that of the solitary in the wave-washed island there exists
no more resemblance than between Macedon and Monmouth in Fluellen’s
famous comparison. We may see, perhaps, some degree of likeness in the
loneliness of De Foe in the-world which he buffeted so stoutly, and the caged
condition of the castaway may remind us of his creator’s imprisonment ; but
we refuse to carry the allegory any further, or to identify every incident in
the romance with every event in the real life. For the rest, De Foe was a
greater, a braver, and a more self-controlled man than “ Robinson Crusoe,”
as the following brief biographical sketch will, I hope, abundantly prove.

Daniel Defoe, or De Foe, was born in the parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate
in 1660; the son of James Foe, citizen and butcher, of London; and the



10 HIS EARLY YEARS AND EDUCATION.

grandson of Daniel Foe, a gentleman of good estate in Northamptonshire,
who kept a pack of hounds. Nothing more than this can be said of Daniel
De Foe’s grandfather ; of his father some particulars are recorded. ‘ That
he was an excellent father,” says Mr. Lee,* ‘“‘may be concluded from the
affectionate reverence with which his son alludes to him; that he was pros-
perous is evident from his ability to give that son the best education then
open to Dissenters. No doubt can be entertained that he was a good man.
and a sincere Christian. He had, in all probability, been a constant attend-
ant at his parish church during the ministry of the pious and reverend
Samuel Annesley, LL.D.; and when that divine was ejected, under the Act
of Uniformity, James Foe accompanied his beloved pastor, and became a
Nonconformist. He died about 1706-7, full of years, and the last act re-
corded of him (though not by his son) is his giving a testimonial to the
character of a female domestic who had formerly lived two years in his ser-
vice. He says he should not have recommended her to Mr. Cave, ‘ that godly
minister, had not her conversation been becoming the gospel.’”

Under such auspices passed the earliest years of the life of De Foe, and
his mind seems to have been carefully imbued with religious sentiments. He
was a bold, generous, vivacious boy, who, as he himself tells us, neve
struck an enemy when he was down. His perseverance was of no ordinary
description, and when the poor Nonconformists had reason to fear that the
Government would deprive them of their printed copies of the Bible, he set
to work on the difficult task of transcribing the Old Testament, and never
abandoned it until he had completed the whole of the Pentateuch.

At the age of fourteen this bright, enthusiastic hoy—whom his parents
designated for the ministry—was sent to the celebrated Dissenting Academy
at Newington Green, kept by a ripe scholar and able man, the Rev. Charles
Morton. Here he made rapid progress in the various departments of learn-
ing; and here, too, as his mind developed and his intellect matured, his
moral sense of responsibility grew stronger, so that he was induced to ask
himself whether he was suited for a clerical career, and whether it was suited
for him, replying to both questions in the negative. Nevertheless, he went
through a course of theology, which, in truth, was incumbent on all Mr.
Morton’s pupils; he also studied the rudiments of political science; he ac-
quired a satisfactory knowledge of mathematics, logic, natural philosophy.
history, geography ; something considerable he knew, too, of Latin, Greek.
Hebrew, French, and Italian; and—not least useful accomplishment—he
learned to write his mother tongue with ease, accuracy, and vigour.

That he profited by his studies at school, and that he afterwards improved
to the uttermost the scanty leisure of a busy life, is abundantly proved by
the variety and erudition of his writings.

Soon after he had completed his education, he was placed in the ware-
house of a wholesale hose-factor, to be instructed, perhaps, in book-keeping

* Lee, ‘’ Daniel De Foe, his Life,” &c., vol £ p. 5.



A CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTE, 1]

and business management. Such details were little in accordance with his
tastes, and we do not wonder that, with his strong Protestant principles and
enlarged sympathies, he early plunged into the fierce joys of political con-
test. He was no bigot, however—no fanatical exponent of his own views;
and though a sound Protestant, he was little inclined to join in the unreason-
ing persecution of Roman Catholics which characterized the closing years
of Charles the Second’s reign. At a later time he wrote: “I never blame
men who, profegsing principles destructive of the Constitution they live
under, and believing it their just right to supplant it, act in conformity to
the principles they profess. I believe, if I were a Papist, I should do the
same. Believing the merit of it would carry me to heaven, I doubt not I
should go as far as another. But when we ran up that plot to genera:
massacres, fleets of pilgrims, bits and bridles, knives, handcuffs, and a thou-
sand such things, I confess, though a boy, I could not then, nor can now,
come up to them. And my reasons were, as they still are, because I see no
cause to believe the Papists to be fools, whatever else we had occasion to
think them. A general massacre, truly! when the Papists are not five to a
hundred, in some countries not one, and within the city hardly one toa
thousand!”

This liberal and tolerant spirit De Foe preserved throughout his career,
and few of his contemporaries, if any, more thoroughly comprehended the
true principles of civil and religious freedom. For bigotry, whether Protest-
ant or Roman Catholic, he had a great contempt. On one occasion he
sntered a crowd of listeners who, with mouths and ears open, were devour-
ing the latest scandal against “the Papishes.” An itinerant spouter was
retailing an invention in reference to the newly-erected Monument. ‘ Last
night,” said he, unblushingly, “‘six Frenchmen came up and stole it away ;
and but for the watch, who stopped them as they went over the bridge, and
made them carry it back again, they might, for aught we know, have carried
it over into France. These Papishes will never have done.” Some of the
bystanders looked incredulous at this very bold assertion, and Mr. Daniel
Foe stepped forward, with grave satirical air, to clench the monstrous
absurdity. He repeated the story, but added a touch of characteristic
realism ; for, said he, if you do but hasten to the spot, you will see the work-
men employed in making all fast again! *

Seven years later, De Foe, or Foe, as he then called himself, started in
business on his own account. He became a liveryman of London, and
established himself as hose-factor in Freeman’s Court, Cornhill. His interest
in politics, however, was of so deep and absorbing a kind that his commer-
cial speculations must greatly have suffered by it. He could not serve two
masters—he was too earnest a patriot to attain success as a man of business
Now-a-days, it is quite possible for any one of us to combine both capacities
The political questions which demand attention may well be considered in

* Forster, ‘‘ Historical and Biographical Essays,” ii. & *



12 DE FOE AS A POLITICIAN.

the intervals of our leisure, and they are seldom of that order on which the
safety of an empire depends. But in De Foe’s time it was quite otherwise.
He who plunged into the raging strife was compelled to throw aside every
impediment, and to fight, if he fought at all, with arms and hands unen-
cumbered. The seven years of his apprenticeship had been seven most
eventful years, and De Foe, with his far-seeing sagacity, could not but
rightly estimate the importance of the issue. He was too courageous and
too wise to fear that issue. As Mr. Forster eloquently and truly says, hope
would brighten in his sensible, manly heart, when it most deserted weaker
men’s When the King, alarmed at last for the safety of the crown he dis-
honoured, flung off his licentious negligence for crueller enjoyments; when
the street ballads and lampoons against his shameless court grew daily
bitterer and more daring; when a Sidney and a Russell were brought to the
block for advocating such a measure of liberty as would now-a-days be con-
sidered moderate by the most slavish partisan of Cesarism; no alarm was
likely to depress De Foe’s clear, calm. and unshaken intellect. And the end
of that Saturnalia of license and shame, of foul cruelty, of fouller luxurious-
ness, of tyranny at home and disgrace abroad, which we call the reign of
Charles II., came at length—Charles IT. was dead, and caps were thrown in
the air for James II.

This is not the place for an historical summary, and yet in the history of
his time De Foe played so prominent a part that an occasional glance at its
leading events must be permitted us. The intentions of James II. he fully
understood and appreciated. He saw that he aimed at the establishment of
Popery as his end in religion, and the absolutism of the Crown as the goal
of his policy. He heard bishops preach of the divine right and infallibility
of Kings; he heard it publicly asserted, that if the King commanded his
head, and sent his messengers to fetch it, he was bound to submit, and stand
still while it was cut off. We need not wonder that, under such circum-
stances, De Foe gladly hailed the so-called rebellion of the Duke of Mon-
mouth as affording a prospect of deliverance for his country. Its religion and
its freedom seemed to him to be intimately bound up with the success of the
Duke's expedition; and mounting his horse, he rode away to enlist under
his standard. He was with the invaders at Bath and Bristol; but—how or
why I know not—he was absent from the great fight at Sedgemoor, when
the King’s cause was so nearly lost. On learning of Monmouth’s disastrous
defeat, he would seem to have gained the sea-shore and taken ship to the
Continent. With his usual energy he turned his self-banishment to advan-
tage, traversing Spain, and Germany, and France, and gathering a vast fund
of experience and information, which in due time proved to him of the
highest value.

It was probably in the following year that he returned to Freeman's
Court, Cornhill. Thenceforth he wrote himself De Foe. Whether, says
A Forster, the change was @ piece of innocent vanity picked up in his



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 18

travels, or had any more serious motive, it would now be idle to inquire
He was known both as Foe and De Foe to the last; but it is the latter name
which he inscribed on the title-page of almost every one of his books, and it
is the name by which he has become immortal.

Mr. Lee, De Foe’s latest biographer, differs from all preceding authorities
in dating the change of name as late as 1708. “Iam inclined to think,”
he says, “it began accidentally, or was adopted for convenience, to dis-
tinguish him from his father.” But surely such a distinction was unneces-
sary, when the son was called Daniel and the father James! I think the
change far more likely to have been a foreign affectation, adopted during
the exile’s Continental travels, and afterwards persevered in from habit;
but the reader shall have an opportunity of following up the chain of Mr.
Lee’s reasoning, which is ingenious, if unsatisfactory.

“The father,” he says, “from his age and experience, and the son from
his commanding ability, were both influential members of the Dissenting
interest in the city. They would respectively be spoken of and addressed,
orally, as Mr. Foe, and Mr. D, Foe. The name as spoken would in writing
become Mr. De Foe,* and thus what originated in accident might be used for
convenience, and become more or less settled by time. This simple expla-
nation is favoured by the following proofs of De Foe’s indifference in the
matter. His initials and name appear in various forms in his works, sub-
scribed to dedications, prefaces, &c., aud this may be presumed to have beer
done by himself. Before 1703 I find only D. F. In that year Mr. De Foe,
and Daniel De Foe. “In the following year, D. D. F.; De Foe; and Daniel
De Foe. In 1705, D, F.; and three autograph letters, all addressed to the
Earl of Halifax, are successively signed D. Foe; De Foe; Daniel De Foe. In
1706, D. F.; D. Foe; De Foe; Daniel De Foe. And in 1709, D. F.; De Foe
and Daniel De Foe.”

The first printed production from De Foe’s pen was a political pamphlet,
the precursor of a legion of similar writings, entitled “A Letter, containing
some Reflections on His Majesty’s Declaration for Liberty of Conscience,”
dated the 4th of April 1687.

In the following year William of Orange landed at Torbay, and De Foe,
zealous as ever in the noble cause of civil and religious liberty, hastened te
welcome “ The Deliverer,” in whose success lay the only hope of the release
of England from the thraldom of bigotry and absolutism. Armed, and on
horseback, he joined the second line of William’s army a* Henley-on-Thames.
He probably accompanied the Prince on his entry into London. At the
stirring debates of the Convention he was unquestionably present, and his
heart must have leaped with joy when he heard the famous resolution passed,
on the 18th of February, that no King had reigned in England since the day
of James’s flight. Gallantly mounted and accoutred, he was one of “ the

“Surely not! There is a great difference in sound between the English D. and the
French De.



14 DE FOE AND HIS SOVEREIGN.

royal regiment of volunteer horse, made up of the chief citizens,” who at-
tended William and Mary on their first visit to Guildhall. Between William
and the sturdy political Dissenter there was a striking resemblance of char-
acter. Both were self-reserved, self-controlled men, masters of their emo-
tions, able to preserve silence and to “stand alone.” Both had a sincere
respect for the principles of an enlightened toleration. Both shared the
same opinions on the necessity of counter-checking the preponderant power
of France. Even in religious matters the views and thoughts of the Luth-
eran King must have closely approximated to those of his Nonconformist
subject. Certain it is that the sympathy between the two was considerable.
William honoured De Foe with his confidence, and De Foe looked up to his
King with esteem and admiration. To the close of his life he celebrated as
a festival the memorable 4th of November, the day on which William landed
at Torbay,—‘‘a day,” he exultingly wrote, “‘ famous on yarious accounts, and
every one of them dear to Britons who love their country, yalue the Pro-
testant interest, or have an aversion to tyranny and oppression. On this
day he was born; on this day he married the daughter of England; and on
this day he rescued the nation from a bondage worse than that of Egypt—
a bondage of soul as well as bodily servitude—a slavery to the ambition and
raging lust of a generation set on fire by pride, avarice, cruelty, and blood,” *

* Review, vol iv. p. 453.



CHAPTER IL.

A LIFE OF STRUGGLE.



» FOE celebrated the first anniversary of the Day of Deliverance
& «at a country house in the pleasant village of Tooting. He
resided here for some time, forming the Dissenters of the neigh-
bourhood into a regular congregation, and supplying them
with a devout and learned man for minister. He afterwards
removed to the neighbourhood of Mickleham, ‘“ the Happy
Valley,” as it has not unjustly been called, in allusion to the
rich and cultivated loveliness of its landscapes.

In 1689 and 1690 we hear but little of De Foe, except that hestill attempted,
and, as we shall see, with but little success, to combine the pursuit of poli-
tics with that of business. In 1691 appeared his first effort in verse, entitled
““A New Discovery of an Old Intrigue: a Satire level’d at Treachery and
Ambition ; calculated tp the Nativity of the Rapparee Plott, and the Modesty
of the Jacobite Clergy.”’ Like all De Foe’s productions in metre, it contains
much solid sense, and many vigorous lines; but it is utterly destitute of
imagination and fancy, and not less destitute of all melody of language and
harmony of rhythm.

In the following year began the series of distressing commercial difficulties
which finally terminated in De Foe’sinsolvency. There can be no reasonable
doubt that they were due to his own want of business habits. A politician
and a wit, he was wholly unsuited for the proper management of commercial
speculations. In his book, “The Compleat Tradesman,” ho shows that he
perfectly understood the causes of his ill-success. ‘A wit turned trades-
man!” he exclaims, “ what an incongruous part of nature is there brought
together, consisting of direct contraries! No apron strings will hold him;
‘tis in vain to lock him in behind the compter—he’s gone in a moment:
instead of journal and ledger, he runs away to his Virgil and Horace ; hia
journal entries are all Pindaricks, and his ledger all Heroicks: he is truly
dramatic from one end to the other, through the whole scene of his trade;
and as the first part is all comedy, so the two last acts are all made up with
tragedy ; a statute of bankrupt is his Ezeunt omnes, and he generally speaks
the epilogue in the Fleet Prison or the Mint.”

An angry creditor took out against De Foe a commission of bankruptcy



16 ‘“AN ESSAY ON PROJECTS.”

which, however, was soon superseded at the request of his other creditors ;
and De Foe’s proposal of composition was accepted on his single bond. It
should be added, to his honour, that this he punctually paid by the most
indefatigable exertion of industry and self-denial. And afterwards, when
misfortune overtook some of these more lenient creditors, De Foe, whom King
William’s favour had meanwhile raised to a position of comparative afilu-
ence, voluntarily paid the whole amount of their claims.

While his proposal was being debated by his creditors, De Foe, to avoid
imprisonment, had taken refuge in Bristol; and here, it is said, he was
known as the ‘“‘ Sunday gentleman,” because, from fear of the bailiffs, he
could not appear in public on any other day. But on these public appear-
ances he was gaily dressed, in a fine flowing wig, lace ruffies, and with a
sword by his side. His enforced leisure he occupied in the composition of
his admirably practical ‘“‘ Essay on Projects;’’ which, however, was not pub-
lished until two years afterwards,

Forster describes it as ‘‘a most shrewd, wise, and memorable piece of
writing.” It suggested various reforms in the English system of banking.
and a plan for central county banks; it demonstrated the immense advan-
tages of an efficient improvement of the public roads, as a source of public
benefit and revenue ; it recommended, for the security of trade, a mitigation
of the severities of the law against the honest bankrupt, and a more effect-
ual system of check against practised knavery; it proposed the general
establishment of offices for insurance “in every case of risk;” it enforced
in impressive language the expediency of friendly societies, and of a kind of
savings’ bank, among the poor; and, with a sagacity far in advance of the
age, urged the solemn necessity of a more humane custody of lunatics, which
was aptly described as ‘a particular rent-charge on the great family of
mankind.”

His banishment at Bristul being terminated by his creditors’ frank accept-
ance of his proposal of composition, De Foe returned to London, where he was
soon afterwards concerned, ‘‘ with some eminent persons at home,” in pro-
posing financial ways and means to the English Government for conducting
the great war with France. This service led to his appointment as account-
ant to the Commissioners of the Glass Duty (1694-1699) ; and this appoint-
ment probably furnished him with resources for the establishment of exten-
sive tile-kiln and brick-kiln works at Tilbury,* on the Thames, where, for
several years, he gave employment to upwards of a hundred poor workmen,
and where, among the rough and daring men who frequented the banks of
the great river, he probably gathered much of that nautical knowledge and
information about strange countries which he afterwards turned to so
excellent an advantage.

* He appears, at first, to have been one of a company, but, after a while, became sole

proprietor.
t Mr. Lee describes an interesting visit which he paid to the rite of these works. ‘‘In

(284)



“THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN.” nn

He now began to pay off his debts rapidly, and yearly to increase in
worldly prosperity. He supported with indefatigable pen the principal
measures of William III.; advocated the formation of a small standing
army; defended the great principle of religious toleration; and lent his
powerful influence to the creation in England of an enlightened public opin-
ion on these and other important subjects. His second poetical satire,
“The Pacificator,’ appeared in 1700, and is superior to the first in cogency
and point. Early in the following vear he published the best of his poems,
“The True-born Englishman;” which, more than any of his previous works,
tended to attract the attention of the public. It was designed as a reply to |
‘“‘a vile abhorred pamphlet, in very ill verse. written by one Mr. Tutchin, and
called The Foreigners; in which the author fell personally upon the King
himself, and then upon the Dutch nation.” The satire is strong and
trenchant, and commanded such general popularity that it passed through
nine genuine editions in a twelvemonth, and through twelve pirated editions
in less than three years. Its object was to show the composite character of
the English race—

“Saxon, and Norman, and Dane are we ;”

and to prove that its success was owing to its very admixture of blood. ‘I'he
first four lines have become familiar as househo!d words—

“Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there ;
And ‘twill be found, upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.”

But the satire itself has now fallen into oblivion, simply because, clever

the year 1860,” he says, “‘when the London, Tilbury, and Southend Railway was com-
pleted, thinking that the excavations might discover some remains of De Foe’s tile-works,
I made a day’s excursion to the locality. Immediately on the west side of the Tilbury
Station a large plot of land was being dug over to form potato-ground for the railway
servants ; and a deep trench had been previously cut through the same to the river to
drain the company’s estate. In this way the whole of De Foe’s brick and pan-tile works
had been laid open, including the clay-pits, drying-floors, foundations of kilns. and other
buildings. Large quantities of bricks and tiles had been excavated, and thrown into
heaps, to clear the land for its intended purpose. The pan-tiles appear to have attracted
very little notice ; but the narrowness of the bricks, and the peculiar forms of certain
tobacco-pipes, found mixed with both, had excited some little wonderment among the
labourers. I asked several how they thought these things came there, and was answered
by an ignorant shake of the head. But when I said, ‘These bricks and tiles were made
a hundred and sixty years since, by the same man that made Robinson Crusoe !’ I touched
a chord that connected these railway ‘navvies’ with the shipwrecked mariner, and that
bounded over the intervening period in a single moment. Every eye brightened, every
tongne was ready to ask or give information, and every fragment became interesting.
Porters, inspector, and station-master soon gathered round me, wondering at what was
deemed an important historical revelation. The pan-tiles made at Tilbury were of
excellent manufacture, and still retain a fine red colour, close texture, and are quite
sonorous. Neither the Dutch nor any other tiles could have driven them out of the
market, and the maker would have been able, from proximity to London and facilities of
conveyance, either to undersell the foreign dealer or to realize a proportionately larger
profit.”—Lee, ‘‘ Daniel De Foe,” i. 32.

aod 2



18 A PLEA FOR CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT.

and incisive, and shrewd though i!
is, it lacks the elements of genuine
poetry.*
King William deeply felt the value
> of the service which De Foe had ren-
dered him. He sent for him to the
palace; received him with marked
kindness; employed him in con-
fidential commissions; and from
that time accorded him free access
—to his cabinet. In these inter-
SX views the .great questions of the
* day were frankly discussed, and
especially that all-important ques-
‘tion, the union of England and
Scotland. On this point De Foe












eos . SS pressed the King closely: “ It shall
be done.” said William, ‘“ but not
PORTRAIT OF KING WILLIAM IIL t af
yet.

Cheered and encouraged by the royal confidence, De Foe resumed his pen
with more energy than ever. In the limits to which we are confined it
would be impossible to record even the titles of the numerous forcible and
well-reasoned pamphlets produced by his indefatigable industry. It is a
significant mark of the fulness of his mind and the versatility of his intellect
that not one of them is below mediocrity, while many rise far above it. The
most interesting and the ablest of those which appeared prior to the death
of William is the celebrated pamphlet entitled “ The Original Power of the
Collective Body of the People of England, Examined and Asserted. With
a Double Dedication to the King and to the Parliament.’ Mr. Chalmers
rightly says of it, ‘‘ Every lover of liberty must be pleased with the perusal
of a treatise which vies with Mr. Locke’s famous tract in power of reasoning,
and is superior to it in the graces of style.” Mr. Forster, a still more com-
petent judge, describes it as distinguished for its plain and nervous diction,
The grounds of popular representation, he says, are so happily condensed
and so clearly stated in it, that it became the text-book of political disput-
ants from the days of the expulsion of Walpole and of Wilkes to those ot
the Reform Bill. It may be briefly described, he continues, as a demonstra

* “In this composition the satire was strong, powerful, and manly, upbraiding the
English Tories for their unreasonable prejudice against foreigners ; the rather that there
were so many nations blended in the mass now called Englishmen. The verse was rough
and mistuned, for De Foe never seems to have possessed an ear for the melody of language,
whether in prose or verse. But though wanting ‘the long resounding verse and energy
divine’ of Dryden, he had often masculine expressions and happy turns of thought not
unwoithy of the author of Absalom and Achitophel, though, upon the whole, his style

seems rather to have been formed on that of Hall, Oldham, and the elder satirists.”—
Sir Walter Scott, “‘ Biographies: Danicl De Foe” (edit. 1847) p. 397.



a

DE FOE LOSES A PATRON. 19

tion of the predominance of the ori-
ginal (the People’s) over the dele-
gated authority (that of King and
Parliament) ; and remains still, as it
was when first written, the ablest,
plainest, and most courageous ex
position in our language of the doc-
trine on which our own and all free
political constitutions rest.

On the 8th of March 1702 Eng-
land lost a great ruler, and De Foe
a wise patron, by the death of
William III. It was a signal loss
to the nation and the individual;
but nations outlive such losses; to
De Foe it was irreparable. Had
William reigned a few years longer,
we can hardly doubt that his ad-
herent would have risen to some
high office in the State. But then, we should probably have lost ‘ Robin-
son Crusoe” and “Colonel Jack.” So true it is that the public generally
profit by private sufferings.

The attitude assumed by the Tory faction at the death of the King was in
every sense unbecoming. That they should rejoice at the accession of Anne,
and the restoration of the Stuart line to the throne, was not wonderful; but
to lampoon the memory of the great sovereign who had saved their country
from a mean and narrow tyranny was unworthy of a powerful party. De
Foe poured out the vial of his wrath on these traducers in a poem, entitled
“The Mock Mourners: a Satire, by way of Elegy on King William;” which
is remarkable for its earnestness and dignity of tone. It passed through seven
large editions in atwelvemonth. To the last De Foe preserved his affec-
tionate respect for the memory of William, and spoke of him as “the best
King England ever saw.’ And once, when suffering from unjust persecution,
he pathetically exclaimed, “ I shall never forget his goodness to me. It was
my honour and advantage to call him master as well as sovereign. I never
patiently heard his memory slighted, nor ever can do so. Had he lived, he
would never have suffered me to be treated as I have been in this world.”

With the accession of Queen Anne the political atmosphere changed
mightily. Whig principles went out of fashion; Whig politicians were but
coldly received at the new sovereign’s cabinet; 1 Tory Government was
appointed ; all the old doctrines of divine right and passive obedience were
preached from High Church pulpits; and the necessity of conformity to the
doctrines and liturgy of the English Church was urged with uncompromising
violence. De Foe was no blind antagonist of the Church of England, but he



PORTRAIT OF QUEEN ANNE,



20 A SATIRE MISUNDERSTOOD

was honestly and conscientiously a Dissenter, and he could not refrain from
coming forward at the call of duty to awaken the eyes of his brethren to
their dangerous position. He knew that argument or expostulation or en-
treaty in such a crisis would be of little value, and therefore he determined
to resort to the weapon of irony. He wrote and published—without his name,
of course—his ‘‘Shortest Way with the Dissenters,” in which he gravely
recommended, as the only effectual method of dealing with them, their
extermination. ‘“’Tis in vain,’’ he writes. ‘ to trifle in this matter. We
can never enjoy a settled, uninterrupted union in this nation, till the spirit
of Whiggism, faction, and schism, is melted down like the old money. Here
is the opportunity to secure the Church, and destroy her enemies. I do not
prescribe fire and fagot, but Delenda est Carthago. They are to be rooted out
of this nation, if ever we will live in peace or serve God. The light foolish
handling of them by fines is their glory and advantage. If the gallows
instead of the compter, and the galleys instead of the fines, were the reward
of going to a conventicle, there would not be so many sufferers.”

So ably and so seriously was this piece of bitter sarcasm written, that at
first the whole nation was taken in; Dissenters went wild with apprehen-
sion, Jacobites and High Churchmen with delight. Then, all of a sudden,
people awoke to the author’s true intention. It was discovered that that
author was a Dissenter, and that his satire was directed against the advocates
of conformity. A loud ery for vengeance immediately went up to heaven;
and, to the disgrace of the Dissenters, they joined in it. They had been
deceived, and in a fit of cowardly fury they turned upon the man who had
deceived them, though the deception was wholly intended for their advantage.

The House of Commons took up the matter. The tract was declared a
libel, and ordered to be burned by the hands of the common hangman. The
Government was advised to prosecute its author. When he saw what a terrible
storm was rising De Foe fled; but a reward of £50 was offered for his appre-
hension. In the proclamation in the ‘‘ London Gazette,” he was described
as ‘‘a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a brown complexion,
but wears a wig: a hooked nose, a sharp chin, gray eyes, and a large mole
near his mouth.” At first he escaped detection. The Government then
flung into prison the printer and the bookseller, and De Foe immediately sur-
rendered himself. He would allow no man to suffer the consequences of any
action of his; for this he was too brave, too manly, and too honourable. He
surrendered ; was imprisoned ; was indicted at the Old Bailey in July 1708;
was entangled by a promise of royal mercy into an admission of the libel;
was declared guilty; and sentenced to pay a fine of 500 marks, to stand
three times in the pillory, to be imprisoned during the Queen’s pleasure,
and to find sureties for good behaviour for seven years. Such was the ini-
quitous sentence which power pronounced upon a man for daring to be
wittier than his fellows!

Twenty days were allowed him to prepare for the pillory. He occupied



DE FOE IN THE PILLORY. 21

them characteristically ; first, by composing a pamphlet, “The Shortest
Way to Peace and Union,” in which the heroic man endeavoured to mediate
between Dissenters on the one hand, and High Churchmen on the other; and,
secondly, by writing his celebrated satire, ‘A Hymn to the Pillory,” in which
a just indignation has almost made him a poct.* Addressing the intended
instrument of his shame, he nobly says :—
“Hail! hieroglyphic State-machine,

Contrived to punish Fancy in ;

Men that are men, in thee can feel no pain,

And all thy insignificants disdain.

Contempt, that false new word for shame,

Is, without crime, an empty name;

A shadow to amuse mankind,

But ne’er to fright the wise or well-fixed mind—

Virtue despises human scorn!”

On the 29th of July 1708, the author of this daring hymn was exposed in
the pillory before the Royal Exchange in Cornhill; on the day following,
near the Conduit in Cheapside; and on the 81st, at Temple Bar.f What,
however, was meant for his shame and humiliation proved to be for his great
honour andrenown. The multitude felt that the pilloried hero was a man whe
had fought steadfastly and bravely their own battles, and instead of loading
him with insults, they greeted him with shouts of welcome. They wreathed
garlands of flowers about the “ State-machine,” and passed from hand to
hand the rough but manly and vigorous ode in which he had flung defiance
at his oppressors. “The people were expected to treat me very ill,” he
says, “but it was not so. On the contrary, they were with me, wished
those who had set me there were placed in my room; and expressed their
affections by loud shouts and acclamations when I was taken down.”

His persecutors, nevertheless, though foiled in this particular measure of
persecution, were more successful in others. De Foe retired from the pillory
to Newgate, and his long imprisonment was necessarily the ruin of his busi-
ness. He was obliged, at a loss of upwards of £3500, to abandon his large and
prosperous works at Tilbury, and for the support of a wife and six children,
to fall back upon his pen. With a courage which could not be shaken, and
a perseverance that could not be abated, he plied that pen indefatigably.
He issned a collection of his works, prefixing his portrait to the first volume:
it represents him with a resolute countenance, a massive chin, firm and
well-set mouth, and eyes full of intellect and energy. Meanwhile, a very
Ishmael in politics, he defended himself against the attacks of a cloud of
enemies. Like Harry of the Wynd, in Scott’s romance, he fought for his own
hand, and he fought gallantly. Under his heavy and incessant blows, the
stoutest assailant reeled. But he did not confine himself to political pam-

* “Indignatio facit versus.”-—Horace.

t Every one remembers Pope’s paltry allusion to this incident :—

“‘Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe,
And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.”



22 THE FIRST ENGLISH ‘ REVIEW.”

phlets. With a remarkable versatility, he discussed the deepest theological
questions; he wrote against a proposed censorship of the press; he advocated
the claims of authors to a protection of their copyright; he compiled a
wonderfully graphic account of the “ Great Storm ” of 1704; and finally, in
the February of that year he began his famous “ Review.

This was a complete novelty in English literature. and may be regarded
as the true precursor of some celebrated periodicals of the present day. It
was at first a quarto sheet, published weekly, at the price of apenny. After
the fourth number it was reduced to half a sheet, but printed in closer type
and in double columns, and sold for twopence. After the eighth number it was
published twice a week, on Tuesdays and Saturdays. In due time monthly
supplements were issued, and finally it appeared on Tuesdays, Thursdays
and Saturdays. So it continued, written solely by De Foe, for nine years
(February 19, 1704, to June 11, 1718).

Such was its form. lis contents were of the most miscellancous description.
It dealt largely with politics, but scarcely less largely with morals. It com-
bined both public and personal questions; it corrected the vices, it ridiculed
the follies of the age. As a general indication of its character, we may
summarize the contents of the first volume, omitting those of a political
cast.*



It condemns the prevalent practice of excessive drinking; it ridicules the
not less prevalent practice of excessive swearing; it censures the laxity
which had crept into the relations of married life; it denounces in no measured
terms the licentiousness of the stage; it discusses the various questions
affecting trade and pauperism; it inveighs against the mania for gambling
speculations; and it boldly reprobates the barbarous custom of duelling.

All these widely different topics are treated by De Foe unaided, and
the sagacity and vigour evident in every article fill the reader with
wonder at the man’s genius, industry, and multifarious information. The
machinery he adopted for the discussion of non-political matters was a so-
called “ Scandal Club,” organized to reccive complaints and to decide upon
them. It acted in the following manner :—*‘ A gentleman appears before the
club, and complains of his wife. She is a bad wife; he cannot exactly tell
why. There is a long examination, proving nothing; when suddenly a

member of the club begs pardon for the question, and asks if his worship



was a good husband. His worship, greatly surprised at such a question, is
again at a loss to answer. Whereupon the club pass these resolutions :—
1. That most women that are bad wives are made so by bad husbands.
2. That this society will hear no complaints against a virtuous bad wife,
from a vicious good husband. 8. That he that has a bad wife, and can't
find the reason of it in her, ’tis ten to one that he finds it in himself. And
the decision finally is, that the gentleman is to go home, and be a good
husband for at least three months; after which, if his wife is still uncured,

* John Forster, ‘‘ Biographical Essays,” ii. 55, 56.



AN INDUSTRIOUS MAN OF LETTERS. 28

they will proceed against her as they shall find cause. In this way pleas
and defences are heard on the various points that present themselves in the
subjects named, and not seldom with a lively dramatic interest.”

In August 1704, De Foe, at the instance of the statesman Harley, who
was now in power, received his releaso from Newgate. Hariey, always
anxious to seeure the assistance of able and moderate writers, had sent a
message “by word of mouth” to the author of “The Trve-born Englishman:”
“Pray, ask Mr. De Foe what I can do for him.” De Foe took a piece of
paper and wrote in reply: “ Lord, dost thou see that I am blind, and yet
ask me what thou shalt do forme! My answer is plain in my misery—
‘Lord, that I may receive my sight!’” *

With his health much injured by his long imprisonment, De Foe retired
to a small house at Bury in Suffolk. He did not desist, however, from his
literary labours. Marlborough had commenced his wonderful career with
the great victory of Blenheim, and De Foo celebrated it in a “ Hymn to
Victory.” Then followed replies to High Church and Tory pamphlets; a
wise and earnest invective against indiscriminate alms-giving (“ Giving Alms
in Charity”); The Double Welcome,” a poem to the Duke of Marlborough
(1708), as prosaic as most of his poems; and an admirable prose satire on
the follies of the times, entitled * The Consolidator; or, Memoirs of Sundry
Transactions from the World in the Moon. Translated from the Lunar
Language.”

De Foe by this time had returned to London, and, as an avowed supporter
of the Harley or Whig Government, had again plunged into the thick of the
political fray. For his own happiness he had better have kept out of it, and
only a strong sense of duty could have supported him under the afflictions
he endured. His enemies employed every artifice of annoyance, and the
whole machinery of persecution. He was harassed with false warrants of
wrest; with sham actions; with claims for pretended debts. His life was
threatened in anonymous letters; the foullest slanders assailed his morals;
he was subjected to the grossest misrepresentation of his principles. Yet,
bating not one jot of heart or hope, he pursued the even tenor of his way,
advocating whatever he thought would advance the cause of truth and
liberty, fiercely denouncing the intolerance of bigots and the dishonesty of

faction. In his “ Hymn to Peace” (1706), he forcibly describes his con-
dition —

“Storms of men,
Voracious and unsatisfied as Death,
Spoil in their hands, and poison in their breath,
With rage of devils hunt me down.”

But De Foe was not the man to be hunted down, and he turned on his
hunters with a daring and a resolution that effectually brought them to bay.
The first example of that marvellous realism which is the special charac

* De Foe, ‘‘ Appeal to Honour and Justice ” p. 12.



24 DE FOE’S POWER AS A REALIST.

teristic of his works of fiction, he gave in his celebrated “True Relation of
the Apparition of one Mrs. Veal, the next day after her death, to one Mrs.
Bargraye, at Canterbury ” (published in July 1706). Being prefixed to the
fourth edition of a somewhat dreary work, Drelincourt on “ Death,” it
raised the latter on the flood-tide of popularity, while its own merits as a
masterly piece of narrative were acknowledged by the best judges. The
incidents it relates are utterly improbable; yet are they told with such
exquisite simplicity, and with so subtle an accumulation of details, that he
who reads is almost forced to believe, in spite of his own judgment.* The
power which afterwards secured the fame of “ Robinson Crusoe ” is visible
on every page.

Of all the fictions, says an able writer.t which De Foe has succeeded in
palming off as truths, none is more instructive than that admirable ghost, Mrs.
Veal. It is, as it were, a hand-specimen, in which we may study his modus
operandi on a convenient scale. Like the sonnets of some great poets, it
contains in a few lines all the essential peculiarities of his art. The first
device which strikes us is his ingenious plan for manufacturing corrobora-
tive evidence. The ghost appears to Mrs. Bargrave. The story of the
apparition is told by a * very sober and understanding gentlewoman, who
lives within a few doors of Mrs. Bargrave;” and the character of this
sober gentlewoman is supported by the testimony of a justice of peace at
Maidstone, “a very intelligent person.” This elaborate chain of evidence
is intended to divert our attention from the obvious circumstance that the
whole story rests upon the authority of the anonymous person who tells us
of the sober gentlewoman, who supports Mrs. Bargrave, and is informed by
the intelligent justice.

Another stratagem, carried out with equal success, is the apparent im-
partiality of the narrator.

The author, says the writer already quoted. affects to tuke us into his
confidence, to make us privy in regard to the pros and cons in regard to his
own characters, till we are quite disarmed. The sober gentlewoman
vouches for Mrs. Bargrave; but Mrs. Bargrave is by no means allowed to
have it all her own way. Mr. Veal is brought in, apparently to throw dis-
credit on her character; but his appearance is so well managed, that its
effect is to render us readier than before to accept Mrs. Bargrave’s story.
“The argument is finally clenched by a decisive coincidence. The ghost
wears a silk dress. In the course of a long conversation, she incidentally
mentioned to Mrs. Bargrave that this was a scoured silk, newly made up.
When Mrs. Bargrave reported this remarkable circumstance to a certain
Mrs. Wilson, ‘You have certainly seen her,’ exclaimed that lady, ‘ for

* It is by no means impossible that De Foe himself accredited the possibility of such
a visitation, and that he advocated many of the theories now put forward as new by the
so-called Spiritualists.

t “Cornhill Magazine,” vol. xvii. pp. 295, 296.



THE UNION OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND. 25

none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the gown had been scoured.’
To this crushing piece of evidence, it seems that neither Mr. Veal (nor any
other assailant of Mrs. Bargrave) could invent any sufficient reply. One
can almost fancy De Foe chuckling as he concocted tlie refinements of this
most marvellous narrative.

We pass from the “Apparition of Mrs. Veal” to the poem of ‘ Jure
Divino,” published on the 20th of July 1706. The reasoning in it, as
Forster says, is better than the poetry; but much of the verse is vigorous,
and its forcible advocacy of constitutional principles made it popular with
large masses of the people. In this, as in other works, De Foe lays claim
to be considered as the real founder of the Moderate Whigs—of the political
party represented at a later period by Fox, Huskisson, Russell, and Grey.

The year 1706 was rendered remarkable in English history by the legis-
lative movement in favour of a union between England and Scotland. AsI
have already stated, this was a favourite idea of De Foe’s, which he had
pressed upon King William; and it was his good fortune now to be con-
cerned in its realization. By the advice of the ministers Harley and
Godolphin he was despatched on a mission to Scotland; and he rendered
eflectual service in bringing to a successful issue the greatest measure of
statesmanship which for years had been submitted to an English Parliament.
He seems to have gained the esteem and good-will of all the Scotch officials
and illustrious Scotchmen with whom his duties brought him into contact;
and he certainly learned to admire the Scotch character, becoming thence-
forth a warm and vigorous advocate of the Scottish people. The Act of
Union was ratified by the Scotch Parliament on the 16th of January 1707;
by the English, on the 6th of March. Probably no measure ever concluded
between two allied nations has proved more fruitful in the happiest results
for both. Well might De Foe regard with honest pride his share in a
work so noble; and well may both England and Scotland love and honour
the memory, not only of the great novelist, but of the generous and sagacious
politician.

There are few better, and certainly no more interesting, narratives of the
circumstances attending this memorable event than that which is embodied
in De Foe’s own “ History of the Union,” published some years afterwards,
and written with unusual care.

In 1708 Harley was dismissed from the Cabinet; but as Godolphin con-
tinued in it, De Foe did not cease to give it his active support, though he
deeply felt the unmerited disgrace in which his liberal patron was involved.
He was at this time specially favoured by the Queen, and was again sent to
Scotland on a particular service, whose details do not seem certainly known
to any of his biographers. Soon afterwards the Godolphin Ministry fell, and
Harley formed an Administration, of which he became the acknowledged
head. De Foe supported him, so far as he approved of his measures, with
characteristic energy; but with equally characteristic honesty, he did not



26 THE RECOMPENSE OF A VETERAN,

hesitate to oppose him, when his actions were contrary to true liberal prin.
ciples. As I haye before said, I cannot enumerate all the pamphlets which
issued from his prolific pen. They are marked by his peculiar qualities of
mind and intellect, but to a great extent deal with temporary topics, and,
consequently, have no value except for the historical student. His warm
advocacy of a Protestant Succession to the throne procured him the honour
of a second imprisonment in Newgate; but Harley interfered, and procured
his release. Then came, in 1714, the end of the political crisis which had
marked the last years of Queen Anne. The Tories and Jacobites were defeated
with unexpected ease, and instead of a Stuart, who had learned nothing
by exile, George I. reigned on the throne of Great Britain, representing in his
person, however inadequately, the triumph of the principles of constitutional
government. For the present, therefore, De Foe’s work as a politician was
done. He had fought the battle, almost unaided, for two and thirty years,
and retired from it with nothing to show but honourable sears. Less
earnest men, such as Addison, and Steele, and Rowe, and Tickell, came in for
places and pensions; but the foremost soldier, the truest and most enthusi-
astic patriot, reaped nothing but the consciousness of having done his duty.
In surveying the long struggle of his matured manhood, he was able to
say i—

“T was, from my first entering into the knowledge of public matters, and
have ever been to this day, a sincere lover to the constitution of my country—
zealous for liberty and the Protestant interest; but a constant follower cf
moderate principles, and a vigorous opposer of hot measures in all. [never
once changed my opinion, my principles, or my party; and, Jet what will
be said of changing sides, this I maintain, that I never once deviated from
the Revolution principles, nor from the doctrine of liberty and property on
which it was founded.”

Pausing here, at the close of the first period of De Foe’s career, I venture
to adopt some remarks by Mr. Forster as fairly descriptive of the character
of the man :—*

After all the objections that may justly be made to his opinions, on the
grounds of short-coming or excess, we believe that in the main features of
his history will be recognized a noble English example of the qualities
most prized by Englishmen. De Foe is our only famous politician and man
of letters, who represented, in its inflexible constancy, sturdy dogged resolu-
tion, unwearied perseverance, and obstinate contempt of danger and of
tyranny, the great middle-class English character. We believe it to be no
mere national pride to say, that, whether in its defects or its surpassing
merits, the world has had none other to compare with it. He lived in the
thickest stir of the conflict of the four most violent party reigns of English
history; and if we have at last entered into peaceful possession of most

* yohn Forster ‘‘ Biographical Essays,” ii. 0, 91.











THE CHARACTER OF AN HONEST MAN, 27

part of the rights at issue in those party struggles, it the more becomes us
to remember such a man with gratitude, and with wise consideration for
what errors we may find in him. He was too much in the constant heat ot
the battle to see all that we see now. He was not a philosopher himself,
but he helped philosophy to some wise conclusions. He did not stand at
the highest point of toleration,* or of moral wisdom ; but with his masculine,
active arm, he helped to lift his successors over obstructions which had
ived his own advance. He stood, in his opinions and his actions, alona
and apart from his fellow-men; but it was to show his fellow-men of later
times the value of a juster and larger fellowship, and of more generous modes
of action. And when he now retreated from the world Without to the
-yorld Within,f in the solitariness of his unrewarded service and integrity,
he had assuredly earned the right to challenge the higher recognition of
posterity. He was walking towards History with steady feet; and might
look up into her awful face with a brow unabashed and undismayed.

* Yet Iam inclined to think he better understood and more ardently advocated the
sreat doctrine of toleration than any man of his time, or any man since the Protector
Cromwell and his Latin secretary, John Milton.

+ Mr. Forster here shares the belief common to all De Foe’s biographers before Mr.
’s researches revealed the truth, that De Foe retired from political warfare after the
n of George I. We shall see that such was not the case.










DE FOE’S HOUSE aT NEWINGTON,



CHAPTER ILI.

DE FOE AS A WRITER OF FICTION,




ESERVING for our next chapter a brief summary of De Foe’s late:
political writings, I propose in the present to examine his career
4 Ry asa novelist; to regard him in the capacity in which, despite his
Sy valuable services to the cause of freedom and constitutional
government, he is best known and most admired by posterity.
Early in 1715 De Foe was visited with an attack of apoplexy;
the result, perhaps, of his severe and incessant labours, added to the storm
of undeserved obloquy which constantly assailed him. After his recovery,
which was slow and gradual, he produced a work entitled “The Family
Instructor, in Three Parts”
-—a work of nearly 450
pages, probably written be-
fore his illness, and revised
and published on his restora-
tion to health. It is a book
of admirable wisdom, con-
taining much devout and
zealous ‘counsel to fathers
and children, to masters and
servants, to husbands and
wives; and to me it illus-
trates, in a very forcible and
striking manner, the genuine
nature of the man, _ his
simple earnestness and un-
affected piety. Passing over,
as I have intimated my in-
tention to do, his minor
pamphlets and flying sheets,
| must notice, as published in 1717, his “ History of the Wars of Charles
XIL, King of Sweden ;” and his second series (1718) of ‘The Family
Instructor, in Two Parts: Part I., Relating to Family Breaches, and their
Obstructing Religious Duties; I, To the Great Mistake of Mixing the



DANTEL DE FOE.



THE FIRST PART OF ‘‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”

Passions in the Managing and Correcting of Children.”
brought to 1719, in which year, on the 25th of April, first appeared “ Tire

LIFE AND STRANGE SURPRIZING ADVENTURES OF RoBINSON CRUSOE.”

There can be no doubt
that the foundation of
this fascinating romance,
which for a century and
a half been the
favourite companion not
only of English boys but
of English men, was
afforded by the narrative
of Alexander Selkirk’s
experiences, as recorded
by Captain Woodes Rogers
in his account of “A
Cruising Voyage Round
the World: first to the
South Seas, thence to the
East Indies, and home-
ward by the Cape of Good
Nope; begun in 1708, and
finished in 1711.” Alex-
ander Selkirk was a native
of Largo, in the county
of Fife, where he was
born in 1676. In Dam-
pier’s expedition to the
South Seas he seryred as
a sailor on board Captain
Stradling’s ship; but quar-
relling with his officer,
deserted from the vessel
at the island of Juan
Fernandez in September
1704, and there lived alone

has







LIFE

STRANGE SURPRIZING

ADVENTURES

OF

ROBINSON CRUSOE,
Of TORK, Mariner:

Who lived Eight and Twenty Years,

all alone In an an -inhabited Ifland on the
Coaft of AMERICA, near the Mouth of
the Great River of OROONOQUE;

Having been caft on Shore"by Shipwreck, where-;
in all the Men perifhed but himfelf.
WITH
An Account how he was at faft as ftrangely deli-
ver'd by PYRATES.
Written by Himfelf.

LON DOWN
Printed for W Taytok atthe Ship in Parer-Nofler-

Row. MDCCXIX.

REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. I. OP THS
FIRST EDITION OF ‘‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”







until released by Captain Woodes Rogers in February 1709.

Thus I am





Selkirk returned to England in 1711. In the following year his extra-
ordinary story was published by Captain Woodes Rogers, from whose
“Cruising Voyage” it was reprinted, in a quarto tract of twelve pages,
shortly afterwards. Another account appeared in Captain Edward Cooke’s
“ Voyage’ (1712); and on the 8rd December 1718, in the 26th number of
“The Englishman,” it was again related by Sir Richard Steele, who had
seen and conversed with its hero in London,



30 INVENTION VERSUS IMAGINATION.

In whatever form De Foe met with this curious instance of “ truth stranger
than fiction,” it certainly suggested to him the groundwork of “ Robinson
Crusoe ;’’—that is, he borrowed from it the idea of the island solitude (and
much of the charm
of the work is owing
to the circumstance
that its scenes tran-
spire in a lonely, sea-
girdled, remote, and





almost inaccessible
isle*); the construc-
tion of the two huts;
the abundance of
goats; and the cloth-
ing made out of their
skins. All the rest
he owed to his own
fertile and igventive
genius.

For it is invention
that is the character-
istic of the book
rather than imagina-
tion. There is more
imagination shown in
the island-episode of
Mr. Charles Reade’s
“ Woul Play” than in
al¥ * Robinson Cru.
soe,” from the be-
ginning to the end;
but in reading the
modern novel the









reader cannot once

REDUCED FAC-SIMILE SPECIMEN OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE ‘ nk
FIRST EDITION OF “ ROBINSON CRUSOE.” believe it is true; In

reading De Foe’s, the

thought never crosses his mind that it is untrue. Its very prosaism renders
the impression it produces greater; were it more poetical in form and spirit,
it would necessarily be less real. Yet it is difficult to understand how De
Foe could so absolutely ignore the poetical in his treatment of so poetical a
* It is worth notice that all the imitations of “Robinson Crusoe” have placed their
heroes in lonely islands, from “ Philip Quarll” down to ‘‘ Masterman Ready” and “‘Foul
Play.” Tennyson wrecks his “Enoch Arden” on an island, though for all practical pur-

poses the coast of the mainland would have answered quite as well But the very idea of
an ialand seems to be surrounded with a halo of romance.





DE FOE’S REAL STRENGTH. 3]

conception ; how he was never tempted to indulge in any glowing delinea
tion of tropical landscapes; how, from first to last, Fancy, with its many-
coloured gleams, should be so wholly absent from the picture. Almost the
only dramatic stroke in the romance—and its effect is so great that we
wonder its inventor refrained from further employment of a power which
he evidently possessed—is Crusoe’s discovery of the unknown footprint on
the sandy shore. Otherwise, the narrative flows on with an evenness, a
method, and a prosaic regularity which are absolutely wonderful, and which
so impose upon the reader that he accepts the most startling adventures as
if they were the ordinary events of life.

It seems to us that all De Foe’s strength lay in this inventiveness. His was
not the power of analyzing character. He was incapable of any psychological
development of passion or emotion. Not one of his heroes or heroines lives
in our recollection—except, indeed, Crusoe and Friday; and these, not
because they are boldly drawn, but from their association with certain
romantic circumstances. If we speak of Fielding, we immediately recall, with
all the sharpness and freshness of well-known portraits, Joseph Andrews,
and Parson Adams, and Lady Bellasis; Richardson reminds us of Lovelace,
and Grandison, and Clarissa; Scott, of Dandie Dinmont, Lucy Ashton,
Nicol Jarvie, Counsellor Pleydel, Dirck Hatteraick, Amy Robsart, and a
hundred other characters, who have become the familiar friends of genera-
tions of readers. But when we think of De Foe, it is to remember the
striking incidents which make up his stories, and to admire the vraisem-
blance with which his minute genius has invested them. Thus, then, he
stands wholly apart from the other illustrious names of English fiction,
occupying a field which—but for the labours of a recent follower, William
Gilbert—he would occupy alone.



An immense mass of criticism has been accumulated in reference to
*“ Robinson Crusoe ;”’ and as it is always interesting to observe how a fine
work of art is regarded by competent judges, I shall select from it a few
specimens. First, I propose to condense Sir Walter Scott’s admirable
remarks.

FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The style of probability with which De Foe invested his narratives was
perhaps ill bestowed, or rather wasted, upon some of the works which he
thought proper to produce, and cannot recommend to us their subject ; but,
on the other hand, the same talent throws an air of truth about the delightful
history of “Robinson Crusoe,” which we never could have believed it pos-
sible to have united with so extraordinary a situation as is assigned to the
hero. All the usual scaffolding and machinery employed in composing
fictitious history are carefully discarded. The early incidents of the tale,
which in ordinary works of invention are usually thrown out as pegs to hang
the conclusion upon, are in this work only touched upon, and suffered to drop



82 SIR WALTER SCOTT’S CRITICISM

out of sight. Robinson, for example, never hears anything more of his elder
brother, who enters Lockhart’s Dragoons in the beginning of the work, and
who, in any common romance, would certainly have appeared before the
conclusion. We lose sight at once and for ever of the interesting Xury ;
and the whole earlier adventures of our voyager vanish, not to be recalled
to our recollection by the subsequent course of the story. His father—the
good old merchant of Hull—all the other persons who have been originally
active in the drama—vanish from the scene, and appear not again.

Our friend Robinson, thereafter, in the course of his roving and restless
life, is at length thrown upon his desert island—a situation in which, exist-
ing as a solitary being, he became an example of what the unassisted
energies of an individual of the human race can perform; and the author
has, with wonderful exactness, described him as acting and thinking pre-
cisely as such a man must have thought and acted in such an extra-
ordinary situation.

Pathos is not De Foe’s general characteristic; he had too little delicacy
of mind: when it comes, it comes uncalled, and is created by the circum-
stances, not sought for by the author. The excess, for instance. of the
natural longing for human society which Crusoe manifests while on board
of the stranded Spanish vessel, by falling into a sort of agony, as he repeated
the words, * Oh, that but one man had been saved !—oh, that there had
been but one!” is inthe highest degree pathetic. The agonizing reflections
of the solitary, when he is in danger of being driven to sea in his rash
attempt to circumnavigate his island, are also affecting.

In like manner we may remark, that De Foe’s genius did not approach
the grand or terrific. The battles, which he is fond of describing, are told
with the indifference of an old bucanier, and probably in the very way in
which he may have heard them recited by the actors. His goblins, too, are
generally a commonplace sort of spirits, that bring with them very little of
supernatural terror; and yet the fine incident of the print of the naked foot
on the sand, with Robinson Crusoe’s terrors in consequence, never fails to
leave a powerful impression upon the reader.

The supposed situation of his hero was peculiarly favourable to the cir-
cumstantial style of De Foe. Robinson Crusoe was placed in a condition
where it was natural that the slightest event should make an impression on
him; and De Foe was not an author who would leave the slightest event
untold. When he mentions that two shoes were driven ashore, and adds
that they were not neighbours, we feel it to be an incident of importance to
the solitary......

The continuation of Robinson Crusoe’s history, after’ he obtains the society
of his man Friday, is less philosophical than that which turns our thoughts
upon the efforts which a solitary individual may make for extending his
own comforts in the molancholy situation in which he is placed, and upon
the natural reflections suggested by the progress of his own mind. The



ON ‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.” a3

character of Friday is, nevertheless, extremely pleasing; and the whole sub-

sequent history of the shipwrecked Spaniards and the pirate vessel is highly

interesting. Were certainly the ‘“‘ Memoirs of Robinson Crusoe” ought to

have stopped. The Second Part, though containing many passages which dis-
play the author’s genius, does not rise high in character above the ‘‘ Memoirs
of Captain Singleton,” or the other imaginary voyages of the author.

There scarce exists a work so popular as ‘“ Robinson Crusoe.” It is read
eagerly by young people; and there is hardly an elf so devoid of imagination
as not to have supposed for himself a solitary island in which he could act
* Robinson Crusoe,” were it but in the corner of the nursery. To many it
has given the decided turn of their lives, by sending them tosea. For the
young mind is much less struck with the hardships of the anchorite’s situa-
tion than with the animating exertions which he makes to overcome them ;
and ‘ Robinson Crusoe” produces the same impression upon an adventurous
spirit which the ‘“‘ Book of Martyrs” would do on a young devotee, or the
“ Newgate Calendar ” upon an acolyte of Bridewell—both of which students
are less terrified by the horrible manner in which the tale terminates, than
animated by sympathy with the saints or depredators who are the heroes of
their volume. Neither does a reperusal of “ Robinson Crusoe,” at a mora
advanced age, diminish our early impressions. The situation is such as
every man may make his own; and, being possible in itself, is, by the
exquisite art of the narrator, rendered as probable as it is interesting. It
has the merit, too, of that species of accurate painting which can be looked
at again and again with new pleasure.

Neither has the admiration of the work been confined to England, though
Robinson Crusoe himself—with his rough good sense, his prejudices, and
his obstinate determination not to sink under evils which can be surpassed
by exertion—forms no bad specimen of the “ True-born Englishman.” The
rage for imitating a work so popular seems to have risen to a degree of
frenzy ; and, by a mistake not peculiar to this particular class of the servum
pecus, the imitators did not attempt to apply De Foe’s manner of managing
the narrative to some situation of a different kind, but seized upon and cari-
catured the principal incidents of the shipwrecked mariner and the solitary
island. It is computed that within forty years from the appearance of the
original work, no less than forty-one different “ Robinsons ” appeared,
besides fifteen other imitations, in which other titles were used. Finally—
though, perhaps, it is no great recommendation—the anti-social philosopher
Rousseau will allow no other book than ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe” in the hands
of Emilius. Upon the whole, the work is as unlikely to lose its celebrity
as it is to be equalled in its peculiar character by any other of similar
excellence.

























The reader will not be displeased, perhaps, to see what Roussean’s opinion
veally was.
(284) 3



a4 CRITICISMS ON ‘“ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”

FROM ROUS



EAU.

Since we must have books, this is one which, in my opinion, is a most
excellent treatise on natural education. This is the first my Emilius shall
read; his whole library shall long consist of this work only, which shall
preserve an eminent rank to the very Jast. It shall be the text to which all
our conversations on natural science are to serve only as a comment. It
shall bea guide during our progress to maturity of judgment; and ao long
as our taste is not adulterated, the perusal of this book will afford us
pleasure. And what surprising book is this? Is if Aristotle? is it Pliny?
is it Buffon? No; it is * Robinson Crusoe.” The value and importance of the
various arts are ordinarily estimated, not according to their real utility, but
by the gratification which they administer to the fantastic desires of man-
kind. But Emilius shall be taught to view them in a different light:
* Robinson Crusoe ” shall teach him to value the stock of an ironmonger above
that of the most magnificent toy shop in Europe.

My third quotation is less extravagant in its eulogy, and therefore more
discriminating.* I believe it, moreover, to approach much nearer to a true
estimate of De Foe’s real merits. It is taken from a very able article on “ De

foe's Novels,” in the seventeenth volume of the “ Cornhill Magazine: —

FROM THE “ CORNHILL MAGAZINE,”

The horrors of abandonment on a desert island can be appreciated hy the
simplest sailor or schoolboy. The main thing is to bring out the situation
plainly and forcibly, to tell us of the difficulties of making pots and pans, of
eatching goats, and sowing corn, and of avoiding audacious cannibals. This
task De Foe performs with unequalled spirit and vivacity. In his first dis-
covery of a new art he shows the freshness so offen conspicuous in first
novels. The scenery w





just that which had peculiar charms for his fancy;
it was one of those half-true legends of which he had heard strange stories
from seafaring men, and possibly from the acquaintances of his hero himself.
dle brings out the shrewd, vigorous character of the Englishman thrown
upon his own resources, with evident enjoyment of his task. Indeed, De
Poe tells us himself that in Robinson Crusoe he saw a kind of allegory of his
own fate. He had suffered from solitude of soul. Confinement in his
prison is represented in the hook by confinement in an island; and even
particular incidents, such as the fright he receives one night from something
in his bed, “was word for word a history of what happened.” In other
words. this novel too, like many of the best ever written, has in if something
of the autobiographical element, which makes a man speak from greater
depths of feeling than in a purely imaginary story.

It would indeed be easy to show that the story, though in one sense

* We have considerably abridged the original



BY A RECENT WRITER, 35

marvellously like truth, is singularly wanting as a psychological study
Friday is no real savage, but a good English servant without plush. He
says ‘“ muchee”’ and “ speakee,” but he becomes at once a civilized being,
aud in his first conversation puzzles Crusoe terribly by that awkward
theological question, Why God did not kill the Devil; for, characteristically
enough, Crusoe’s first lesson includes a littke instruction upon the enemy of
mankind. Selkirk’s state of mind may be inferred from two or three facts. He
had almost forgotten how to talk; he had learned to catch goats by running
on foot; and he had acquired the exceedingly difficult art of making fire by
rubbing two sticks. In other words, his whole mind was absorbed in pro-
viding a few physical necessities, and he was rapidly becoming a savage ;
for a man who can't speak, and can make fire, is very near the Australian.
We may infer, what is probable from other cases, that a man living fifteen
years by himself, like Crusoe, would either go mad or sink into that semi-
savage state. De Foe really describes a man in prison, not in solitary con-
finement. We should not be so pedantic as to call for accuracy in such
matters; but the difference between the fiction and what we believe would
have been the reality is significant, De Foe, even in ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe,”
vives a yery inadequate picture of the mental torments to which his hero is
exposed, He is frightened by a parrot calling him by his name, and by the
strangely picturesque incident of the footmark on the sand; but, on the
whole, he takes his imprisonment with preternatural stolidity. His stay on
the island produces the same state of mind as might be due to a dull Sunday
in Scotland. For this reason—the want of power in describing emotion as
compared with the amazing power of describing facts—* Robinson Crusoe”
is a book for boys rather than for men; and, as Lamb says, rather for the
kitchen than for higher circles. It falls short of any high intellectual
interest. When we leave the striking situation, and get to the Second Part,
with the Spaniards and Will Atkins talking natural theology to his wife, it
sinks to the level of the secondary stories. But for people who are not too
proud to take a rather low order of amusement, ‘ Robinson Crusoe” will
always be one of the most charming of books We have the romantic and
adventurous incidents upon which the most unflinching realism can be set
to work without danger of vulgarity. Here is precisely the story suited to
De Foe’s strength and weakness. He is foreed to be artistic in spite of
himself. Tle cannot lose the thread of the narrative and break it into dis-
jointed fragments, for the limits of the island confine him as well as his
hero. He cannot tire us with details, for all the details of such a story
are interesting, It is made up of petty incidents as much as the life of a
prisoner reduced to taming flies, or making saws out of penknives. The
island does as well as the Bastille for making trifles valuable to the sufferer
and tous. The facts tell the story of themselves, without any demand for
romantic power to press them home to us; and the efforts to give an air of
withenticity to the story, which sometimes make us smile. and sometimes



86 BY W. CALDWELL ROSCOFK,

rather boro us in other novels, are all to the purpose; for there is a real
point in putting such a story in the mouth of the sufferer, and in giving us
for the time an illusory belief in his reality. When we add that the whole
book shows the freshness of a writer employed on his first novel—though at
the mature age of fifty-eight—secing in it an allegory of his own experiences
embodied in the scenes which most interested his imagination, we see some
reasons why “ Robinson Crusoe” should hold a distinct rank by itself
amongst his works.

To have pleased all the boys in Europe for nearly a hundred and fifty years
is, after all, a remarkable feat.

This, indeed, is the best panegyric that can be pronounced upon De Foe's
most celebrated fiction. It has been unapproached for a century and a half
as a boy’s book, and still holds its own in the face of a thousand competitors.
Of all its imitators, “ The Swiss Family Robinson” alone has drawn near to
it In popularity, though the two, so far as their literary character is con-
cerned, remain separated longo intervallo,

The following able estimate, by William Caldwell Roscoe,* will probably
be new to most of my readers :



FROM W. CALDWELL ROSCOE.

It would be to impugn the verdict of all mankind to say that ** Robinson
Crusoe” was not a great work of genius. It is a work of genius—a most
remarkable one—but of a low order of genius, ‘The universal admiration it
has obtained may be the admiration of men; but it is founded on the liking
of boys. Few educated men or women would care to read it for tho first
time after the age of five-and-twenty. Even Lamb could say it only * holds
its place by tough prescription.” Tho boy revels in it. It furnishes him
with food for his imagination in the very direction in which, of all others, it
loves to occupy itself. It is not that he cares for Robinson Crusoe—that
dull, ingenious, seafaring creature, with his strange mixture of cowardice
and boldness, his unleavened, coarsely sagacious, mechanic nature, his keen
trade-instincts, and his rude religious experiences. The boy becomes his
own Robinson Crusoe. It is little Tom Smith himself, curled up in a
remote corner of the playground, who makes those troublesome voyages on
the raft, and rejoices over the goods he saves from the wreck ; who contrives
his palisades and twisted cables to protect his cave; clothes himself so
quaintly in goat skins; is terrified at the savages; and rejoices in his
jurisdiction over the docile Friday, who, he thinks, would be better than a
dog, and almost as good as a pony. He does not care a farthing about
Crusoe as a separate person from himself. This is one reason why he
rejects the religious reflections as a strange and undesirable element in a
work otherwise so fascinating. He cannot enter into Crusoe’s sense of

* W. Caldwell Roscoe, ‘* Poems and Essays,” ii. 237, 238.



BY PROFESSOR MASSON. 8

wickedness, and docs not feel the least concern for his soul. If a grown
man reads the book in after years, it is to recall the sensations of youth, or
curiously to examine the secret of the unbounded popularity it has enjoyed.
How much this popularity is due to the happy choice of his subject, we may
better estimate when we remember that the popular “ Robinson Crusoe ”
is in reality only a part of tho work, and the work itself only one of many
others, not less well executed, from the same hand. No other man in the
world could have drawn so absolutely living a picture of the desert-island
life; but the same man has exercised the same power over more complex
incidents, and the works are little read.

Professor Masson looks upon De Foe as the founder of the modern Fiction
lle was a great reader, he says, and a tolerable scholar, and he may have
taken the hint of his method from the Spanish picaresque novel. On the
whole, however, it was his own robust sense of reality that led him to his
style. There is more of the sly humour of the foreign picaresque novel
(such as Gil Blas) in his representations of English ragamuffin life; there
is nothing of allegory, poetry, or even of didactic purpose; all is hard,
prosaic, and matter-of-fact, as in newspaper paragraphs, or the pages of the
“Newgate Calendar.” In reference to his greatest work of fiction, Pro-
fessor Masson adds :—*

FROM PROFESSOR MASSON.

It is a happy accident that the subject of one of his fictions, and that the
earliest on a great scale, was of a kind in treating which his genius in
matter-of-fact necessarily produced the effect of a poem. The conception of
a solitary mariner thrown on an uninhabited island was one as really
helonging to the fact of that time as those which formed the subject of De
Ioe’s less-read fictions of coarse English life. Dampier and the bucaniers
wero roving the South Seas; and there yet remained parts of the land-
surface of the Earth of which man had not taken possession, and on which
sailors were occasionally thrown adrift by the brutality of captains. Seizing
this text, more especially as offered in the story of Alexander Selkirk, De
Foe's matchless power of inventing circumstantial incidents made him more
a master even of its poetic capabilities than the rarest poet then living could
have been; and now that, all round our globe, there is not an unknown
island left, we still reserve in our mental charts one such island, with the
sea breaking round it, and we would part any day with two of the heroes
of antiquity rather than with Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday.

Our critical quotations shall] conclude with one from De Foe’s most brill
iant biographer :—t

* Masson, “‘ British Novelists and their Styles,” pp. 96-98.
* Forster, ‘Historical and Biographical Esrxy~,” ii. 94-96



38 BY MR. JOHN FORSTER.

FROM JOHN FORSTER.

“Robinson Crusoe” is a standard piece in every European language ; its
popularity has extended to every civilized nation. The traveller Burck-
hardt found it translated into Arabic, and heard it read aloud among the
wandering tribes in the cool hours of evening. It is devoured by every boy;
and, as long as a boy remains in the world, he will clamour for “ Robinson
Crusoe.” It sinks into the bosom while the bosom is most capable of plea-
surable impressions from the adventurous and the marvellous; and no
human work, we honestly believe, has afforded such great delight. Neither
the “ Iliad” nor the “ Odyssey,” in the much longer course of ages, has
incited so many to enterprise, or to reliance on their own powers and capa-
cities. It is the romance of solitude and self-sustainment ; and could only
so perfectly have been written by a man whose own life had for the most
part been passed in the independence of unaided thought, accustomed to creat
reverses, of inexhaustible resource in confronting calamities, leaning ever on
his Bible in sober and satisfied belief, and not afraid at any time to find
himself alone, in communion with nature and with God. Nor need we here
repeat, what has been said so well by many critics, that the secret of its
fascination is its reality. This, and the “ History of the Plague,” are the
masterpieces of De Foe. These are the works wherein his power is at the
highest, and which place him not less among the practical benefactors than
among the great writers of our race. “ Why, this man could have founded
a colony as well as governed it,” said a statesman of the succeeding century,
amazed at the knowledge of various kinds, and at the intimate acquaintance
with all useful arts displayed in “ Robinson Crusoe.”

Leaving the reader to compare and consider these criticisms, and to form
an opinion for himself, which will, I trust, be equally free from inordinate
praise and undue depreciation, I resume my narrative of De Foe’s labours.

The success of “ Robinson Crusoe” was immediate and unquestionable.
The second edition was published only seventeen days after the first; the
third edition, twenty-five days later ; and the fourth on the 8th of Aucust.

The mine which De Foe had thus opportunely discovered, he proceeded to
work with his accustomed vigour. On the 20th of August he published a
continuation of his immortal fiction, under the title of The Farther Adven-
tures of Robinson Crusoe ; being the Second and Last Part of his Life, and
of the Strange Surprizing Accounts of his Travels round Three Parts of
the Globe.”

In the preface to this sequel—which like most sequels is inferior in inter-
est and literary merit to the preceding part, though many passages are
admirably conceived and carried out—he pretends, as before, to be only the
editor of Crusoe’s story, and alludes with apparent impartiality to its well
deserved good fortune. As a spécimen of his quiet matter-of-fact style, it
deserves quotation :—







DE FOR AS A PREFACE WRITER. 89
“The success the former parce as Se a ee
part of this work has met | THE FARTHER |
within the world, has yet
been no other than is ac- A D V E N IT U R E S

knowledged to be due to

the surprising variety of ROB INSO Nr CR US OF:

Slt
the subject, and to the ; \ |
agreeable manner of the Being the Second and Laft Parc
performance. All the en- Or HIS

deavours of envious people

to reproach it with being L I fk k,

a romance, to search it for

errors in geography, in- And of tht Strance Sunsaszine
consistency in the rela- i : |
Oe ae Soe «| WAGE NINS Ohms: Dore ayo r us
tion, and contradictions in 1
the fact, have proved abor- Round dhree Parts ef the Globe.

tive, and as impudent as
malicious. The just ap- «
plication of every incident,

ale j sef' Jo which is 2dded » Map of the World, in which is
the religious and useful Delineated the Voyages uf ROBINSON CRUSOE.



DE vitten by Himfelf.



inferences drawn from
every part, are so many
testimonies to the good
design of making it pub-
lic, and must legitimate
all the part that may
be called invention, or
parable, in the story. The LONDON: Printed fae W. Larcor ar the

Second Part, if the editor’s Sip in Farer-Nofler ees









opinion may pass, is (con-

trary to the usage of REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. LL. OF THE
second parts) every way FIRST EDITION OF ‘‘ LOBINSON CRUBOE.”

as entertaining as the First, contains as strange and surprizing incidents.
and as great a variety of them; nor is the application less serious, or
suitable; and doubtless will, to the sober, as well as ingenious reader,
be everyway as profitable and diverting. And this makes the abridging
this work * as scandalous as it is knavish and ridiculous, seeing, while
to shorten the book, that they may seem to reduce the value, they strip
it of all those reflections, as well religious as moral, which are not only
the greatest beauties of the work, but are calculated for the infinite
advantage of the reader. By this they leave the work naked of ite
brightest ornaments; and if they would, at the same time, pretend that

* An abridgment had been published by a bookseller named Cox.—See Lee’s “‘ Life
of Daniel De Foe,” i. 298.



40 INFERIORITY OF THE SEQUEL.

the author had supplied the story out of his invention, they take from it the
improvement which alone recommends that invention to wise and good
men. ‘he injury these men do the proprietor of this work is a practice all
honest men abhor; and he believes he may challenge them to show the
difference between that and robbing on the highway, or breaking open a
house. If they can’t show any difference in the crime, they will find it
hard to show any difference in the punishment. And he will answer for it
that nothing shall be wanting on his part to do them justice.”

Notwithstanding this ingenious pleading, the public fully understood that
De Foe, and De Foe alone, was the author and “ inventor” of “ Robinson
Crusoe,” whose popularity becameso extensive thata Tory pamphleteer, named
Gildon, availed himself of it to secure a reception for his scurrilous attack
on De Foe: ‘The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Mr. D De
F. , of London, Hosier, who has lived above fifty years by himself, in the
Kingdoms of North and South Britain. The various Shapes he has appeared
in, and the Discoveries he has made for the Benefit of his Country. In a
Dialogue between Him, Robinson Crusoe, and his Man Friday. With
remarks, Serious and Comical, upon the Life of Crusoe.” But neither
Gildon nor any other assailant could prevent the public from reading and
admiring the narrative of the Solitary in his island fastness, and his later ad-
ventures in many lands; and its reception continued to be so enthusiastic that
De Foe ventured, in August 1720, on once more appearing before the public
under the old familiar colours, drawing, as it were, the moral to the story, in
a book which he entitled “ Serious Reflections during the Life and Surpris-
ing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe: With his Vision of the Angelick World.”

As the second part was inferior to the first, so was the third inferior to the
second ; and it has so entirely dropped out of public favour that I believe to
most readers of ‘ Robinson Crusoe”’ its existence is wholly unknown. A
recent biographer asserts that “ it contains profound thought, great wisdom,
morality of the highest character, an extensive acquaintance with metaphysi-
cal subtleties, and is pervaded with a solemn tone of religious instruction,
doctrinal and practical.” I confess that my estimate of it is not so high.
I admit its devout and earnest tone; but in a work of this kind, De Foe’s
plain, homely, matter-of-fact style palls upon the reader; and as his reflec-
tions are neither very deep nor very broad, and do not come to us recom-
mended by any beauty of imagery or subtlety of fancy, I cannot but think the
third part of ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe” very dreary reading.

In October 1719, De Foe published ‘The Dumb Philosopher; or, Great
Britain’s Wonder,’’—an account of an ideal Cornishman, one Dickory Cronke,
who ‘was born dumb, and continued so for fifty-eight years.” The subject
seems to have had a peculiar attraction for our author, since, in 1720, he
came before the public with the ‘‘ History of the Life and Adventures of Mr.
Duncan Campbell;” who, however, was not only dumb but deaf. It was
founded on the career of a celebrated fortune-teller of the time, who laid







‘“ MEMOIRS OF A CAVALIER.” 4l

claim to the faculty of
second-sight, and was un-

doubtedly a man of great Serious Reflections

natural talents.

In the same year De DURING THE

Foe produced his second
great novel—in some re-

spects superior to “ Rob- And Surprifing

inson Crusoe” itself, but
ADVENTURES
OF



inferior in plot, scenery,
and motive. I refer to
the book which imposed
on the great Earl of Chat-
ham as an authentic his-
torical narrative : * “ Me-
moirs of a Cavalier; or, a
Military Journal of the

'
\
i
Wars in Germany, and 4

Rosinson Crusoe:

| WITH HIS

Ved Saou

ier:

the Wars in England ; Angelich WO = L D.

from the year 1632 to the

year 1648. Written,” con-

tinues De Foe, who was

partial to lengthy title-

pages, ‘“‘ Threescore Years

ago by an English Gentle-

man, who served first in

the Army of Gustavus

Adolphus, the glorious bs
|
1



LONDON: : Printed for W. Te ror, at the Ship
and Black Swan in Pater-nufter-Row. 1720.

King of Sweden, till his
death; and after that, in
the Royal Army of King '—__ i
Charles the First, from the



- REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. III. OF
Beginning of the Rebellion THE FIRST EDITION OF “‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”
to the End of that War.”

These “ Memoirs ” furnish the reader with one of the most spirited Nar-
ratives of the Great Civil War which our language possesses. It exhibits
all De Foe’s characteristic excellences, and few of his defects ; and its sub-
ject lifts it out of that low atmosphere of thieves and harlots in which too
many of his secondary fictions are plunged. Its chief and most obvious
deficiency is in its style. De Foe does not write as a well-bred and well-
born Cavalier would have written. Nevertheless, it is full of fire and spirit,

* Mr. Lee is of opinion that it was actually founded on a genuine manuscript memoir;

but in this he is opposed to our ablest critics. His reasons in support of its authenticity
would equally well apply to the authenticity of ‘“‘ Robinson Crusoe ”



42 DE FUOE’S SECONDARY NOVELS,

and, as Scott suggests, is probably enriched with anecdotes whieh De Foe
had heard from the lips of greybeards who had themselves been ‘ out ” in
the Great Rebellion.

Such a work might well be supposed sutticient for one twelvemonth’s toil;
but De Foe’s fertility was as inexhaustible as his industry, and the same
year which produced the ** Memoirs of a Cavalier,’ also gave birth to the
** Life, Adventures, and Pyracies of the famous Captain Singleton ;"* a book
which is perfectly wonderful in the minute knowledge it displays of the
geography of Central Africa, and the manner in which it positively anti-
cipates some of the discoveries of Baker, Speke, and Livingstone.

I shall notice in quick succession the later novels of our author.

On the 27th of January, 1722, appeared “The Fortunes and Misfortunes
of the Famous Moll Flanders. Written from her own Memorandums.”

On the 17th of March was produced “A Journal of the Plague Year:
Being Observations or Memorials of the most Remarkable Occurrences, as
well Publick as Private, which happened in London during the last Great
Visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in
London. Never made public before.”

The “ Journal” is full of ghastly pictures. which are almost horrible in
their photographic fidelity; a fidelity so conspicuous and so remarkable
that it induced the eminent physician Dr. Mead to refer to De Foe's ficti-
tious narrative as to av authority of weight. It exhibits his marvellous
realistic art in its utmost perfection; and, even at the present day, cannot
be read without interest.

Ranking “ Robinson Crusoe ’’ as its author’s greatest work of fiction, and
his *‘ Memoirs of a Cavalier” as second in merit, I cannot but ascribe the
third place to the ‘ Life of Colonel Jack,”t which appeared in December
1722. and which dealt with the career of a male criminal, as “ Moll Flanders"
had dealt with that ofa female. The value of what has been emphatically
called Thieves’ Literature may reasonably be doubted, and I question much
whether any work of this class has morally benefited a single reader. Yet
it must be admitted that De Foe, unlike many of our modern novelists,
always paints vice as it is—in all its filth and all its degradation—and

* The full title runs :—‘‘ The Life, Adventures, and Pyracies of the famous Captain
Singleton: Containing an Account of his being set on Shore in the Island of Madagascar,
his Settlement there, with a Description of the Place and Inhabitants: Of his Passage
from thence in a Paraguay (periaywa) to the main Land of Africa, with an Account of the
Customs and Manners of the People. His great Deliverances from the barbarous Natives
and Wild Beasts : Of his Meeting with an Englishman, a Citizen of London, among the
Indians, the great Riches he acquired, and his Voyage Home to England: As also Cap-
tain Singleton’s Return to Sea, with an Account of his many Adventures and Pyracies
with the famous Captain Avery and Others. London: J. Brotherton, &c. 1720.”

t The full title runs:—“‘ The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable
Colonel Jacque, vulgarly called Colonel Jack; who was Born a Gentleman, put ’Pren-
tice to a Pickpocket, was Six and Twenty Years a Thief, and then Kidnapp’d to Vir-
ginia. Came back a Merchant; went into the Wars, behav'd bravely, got Preferment.;

was made a Colonel of a Regiment; came over, and fled with, the Chevalier; is still
abroad compleating a Life of Wonders, and resolves to dye a General. London. 1722”



CHARLES LAMB'S CRITICISM. 42

without any attempt to disguise it, or to render it attractive by meretricious
colouring. For the rest, the fiction to which I am alluding contains some
of its author’s finest touches; is instinct in many passages with a very
powerful pathos; and everywhere exhibits an extraordinary knowledge of
humanity.

The last of De Foe’s novels appeared in March 1724, under the title of
~The Fortunate Mistress: or, a History of the Life and Vast Variety of
Fortunes of Mademoiselle de’ Belau; afterwards called the Countess of
Windelsheim in Germany. Being the Person known by the name of the
Lady Roxana, in the Time of King Charles II.’ This story of the life of
un abandoned woman is doubtlessly written in all honesty of purpose; but
assuredly it is not the hook a father would put into the hands of his
daughters, and again I doubt whether such a method of attacking vice is
ever successful.

All that can be said of the secondary fictions of De Foe has, however, been
said with excellent force and humour by Charles Lamb ;* and his defence
of them I may leave to the consideration of my readers :—

FROM CHARLES LAMB.

The narrative manner of De Foe has a naturalness about it beyond that
of any other novel or romance writer. His fictions have all the air of true
stories. It is impossible to believe, while you are reading them, that a real
person is not narrating to you everywhere nothing but what really happened
to himself. ‘lo this the extreme homediness of their style mainly contributes.
We use the word in its best and heartiest sense—that which comes home to
the reader. The narrators everywhere are chosen from low life, or have had
their origin in it; therefore they tell their own tales, as persons in their
degree are observed to do, with infinite repetition, and an overacted exact-
ness, lest the hearer should not have minded, or have forgotten, some things
that had been told before...... The heroes and heroines of De Foe can never
again hope to be popular with a much higher class of readers than that of
the servant-maid or the sailor. Crusoe keeps its rank only by tough pre-
scription, Singleton, the pirate; Colonel Jack, the thief; Moll Flandcrs,
both thief and harlot; Roxana, harlot, and somethiny worse—would be
startling ingredients in the bill of fare of modern literary delicacies.— But,
then, what pirates, what thieves, and what harlots, is the thief, the harlot,
and the pirate of De Foe! We would not hesitate to say, that in no other
hook of fiction, where the lives of such characters are described, is guilt
and delinquency made less seductive, or the suffering made more closely tc
follow the commission, or the penitence more earnest or more bleeding, or
the intervening flashes of religious visitation upon the rude and uninstructed
soul more meltingly and fearfully painted.

* Charles Lamb, “ Eliana”: De Foe’s Secondary Novels.
1 It must be remembered that Charles Lamb wrote before English literature had been
enriched (?) with ‘‘sensational novels.”



CHAPTER LV.

LAST YEARS AND DEATIE.



a Sg. ae has see been pie os onted oe De Foe’s biogr: Saas that his

ae of Acne. Others, aeea: ane gone ee further
Admitting that he wrote but little, politically, after the fall of his
patron Harley, they have asserted that what he déd write was
in open contradiction of the principles he had formerly espoused, and that
he, the great Whig pamphletcer, wrote Tory pamphlets for Tory money.

Mr. Leo, however, has recently proved two important facts: first, that
De Foe continued to labour as a politician whilo busiest as & novelist; and
that, second, he was still in the service of, and remunerated by, the King’s
Government. His position was a curious one: he was paid by the Ministry
to write in the Tory papers—more particularly in the so-called Afist’s
Journal—and to write in them, not in avowed advocacy of Government
measures, yet, as it were, in mitigation and defence of them. It must be
owned that this was an ingenious method of turning an enemy’s arms
against himself, but it cannot be considered altogether worthy of a man of
honour and sincerity.

The following account of this curious transaction is given by Mr. Lec.*
who founds it upon letters written by De Foe himself :—

De Foe says, that with the approbation of Lord Sunderland, one of the
Whig Ministry, he introduced himself to the proprietor of Mist's Journal,
with the view of keeping it in the circle of a secret. management, so that it
might pass as a Tory paper, and yet be disabled and enervated of its trea-
sonable character, ‘so as to do no mischief, or give any offence to the
Government.” De Foe had no share in the property of this paper, and had
therefore no absolute power to reject improper communications; but he
trusted to the moral influence he should be able to acquire and maintain
over Mist, the proprietor, who had no suspicion that the Government was
indirectly concerned in the matter. This Journal was the organ of the Pre-
tender’s interest, and, according to De Foe, its correspondents and supporters
* Lee, “‘ Life of Daniel De Foc,” i. 271, 272





A DOUBTFUL POSITION. 45

were, he tells us, Papists, and Jacobites, and High Tories—‘ a generation
whom, I profess, my very soul abhors.”’ In the performance of his peculiar
and delicate task he was compelled to hear traitorous outbursts against the
King and Government, and to receive “scandalous and villanous papers,’
keeping them by him—ostensibly for the purpose of gathering materials, but
really with a view to their total suppression.

In Mr. Lee’s opinion this was no ‘system of espionage ;’’ but I confesa
it seems to me something closely resembling it, and I could wish De Foe
had never been involved in, still less had originated, a scheme so questionable
and, moreover, of such doubtful advantage.

I continue, however, to quote Mr. Lee's defence :—

The rebellion (of 1715-16) was yet smouldering, though subdued ; and
tho laws, liberties, and religion of the country were threatened. This weekly
journal, inspired from the Court of the Pretender, and supported by the
money and intelligence of attainted nobles abroad, and their adherents at
home, had laboured to keep alive the spirit of treason until circumstances
should be favourable for again spreading the flames of rebellion through the
land. If, therefore, moral persuasion is more effectual than legal repression,
and prevention better than cure, then no stigma, beyond that of concealment,
attaches to the character of De Foe on account of his connection with JJzst’s
Journal, Rather should we admire the intellectual power capable of hold-
ing in check such men as Ormond, Atterbury, Bolingbroke,* Mar, Wharton,
and their satellites, among the Jacobite and Nonjuring writers. It required
a large amount of patriotic courage to place himself as an impassable barrier
between the invectives of such men and the reading public; and no lese
reservation and tact in exercising this influence in such a manner as to
avoid suspicion. He closes one of his letters with a favourite expression
from Scripture, frequeatly cited in his writings, showing the sensitiveness
of his mind, even as to the concealment necessary to the efficient service of
his country. His words evince that he was conscious of the danger and
difficulties of his duties; and also that his position was a questionable one ;
-—but there is no invidious self-reflection involved when he says: “ Thus
I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, and most humbly recommend myself
to his lordship’s protection, or I may be undone the sooner, by how much
the more faithfully I execute the commands I am under.”

De Foe’s connection with Jfist’s Journal commenced in 1717, and continued,
with various interruptions, until 1724. During this period he also mingled
in the political méléo as proprietor and conductor of The Whitehall Evening
Post. From 1719 to 1725 he was connected with the Daily Post,+ while his
fertile pen not only produced the works of fiction whose characteristics we
have been examining, throughout this busy period. hut, with ceaseless in-

* But could such men as these have been hoodwinked, even by De Foe? ;
+ Also with Applebie’s Original Weekly Jowrnal, 1720 to 1726; and The Director
1720,



46 DE FOR’S LATEST WORKS.

dustry and extraordinary spirit, dealt with things human and divine in a
variety of manuals, treatises, and essays.

Among these it is especially desirable we should notice a rhymed transla-
tion of Du Fresnoy’s “ Compleat Art of Painting,” published in 1720; “ Re-
gious Courtship : being Historical Discourses on the Necessity of Marrying
Religions Husbands and Wives only,” 1722; “The Life and Actions of
Lewis Dominique Cartouche,” a notorious French desperado, 1722;* ‘An
Impartial History of the Life and Actions of Peter Alexowitz, Czar of Mus-
covy,” 1723;* “The Highland Rogue, or the Memorable Actions of the
Celebrated Robert Macgregor; commonly called Rob Roy,” 1728;* “A
Tour Thro’ the whole Island of Great Britain "—a book full of lively ob-
servation and accurate description, the result of journeys undertaken by the
author in 1724-1726 ; “A New Voyage Round the World,” 1725; ‘ The
Compleat English Tradesman,” 2 vols., 1725-1727—an excellent manual,
containing many shrowd reflections, and much yaluable counsel for the
young beginner; The Political History of the Devil,’ 1726; “A System
af Magick; or, a History of the Black Art,” 1726: “The Secrets of the
Invisible World Disclosed ; or, an Universal History of Apparitions, Sacred
and Profane, under all Denominations,” 1728; “ A New Family Instructor:
in Familiar Discourses between a Father and his Children, on the most
Essential Points of the Christian Religion ’—a book whose every page is
illustrative of De Foe's manly and unaffected religious sentiments; and
“The Compleat English Gentleman ’’—a tractate on education, which, like
everything that De Foe wrote, is instinct with good sense, and which, with
the exception of a small pamphlet on “Street Robberies,” terminated his long
and multifarious literary Jabours.

Of his industry the reader may judge from the fact that a complete list of
his works enumerates no less than 254; of his versatility, the varied sub-
Jects of those to which we have more particularly alluded is a satisfactory
proof,

On the whole, De Foe's career was a successful one. He met with great
trials, but he had also great rewards. It is true that he was twice bankrupt,
but his first misfortune was due to his own imprudence in attempting to
combine the politician with the man of business. His second was owing to
the severe sentence passed upon him at the instigation of a vindictive
Government; but then, it must be acknowledged, that he had provoked its
wrath hy a satire of more than ordinary bitterness. He elected to plunge
into the stormy sea of politics, and if ho occasionally met with a terrible
buffeting, he did but pay the penalty of his deliberate choice. In many of
his views he was in advance of his age, and, accordingly, he was not always
popular: but a man who enjoyed the confidence of King William and Queen
Anne, of Harley and Godolphin, of Sunderland and ‘Yownshend; whose

* These are ascribed to De Foe by Mr. Lee.
t Including those recently attributed to him by Mr. Lee.



HIS LAST YEARS AND DEATH. 4

assistance was thought so valuable that it was regularly retained by the
Government ; whose books commanded a large and ready sale; who could
dower his daughters at their marriage, could purchase land, and build for
himself a “ handsome house ;’’"—such a man cannot surely be considered an
example of the ill-fortune that sometimes assails the politician and the
littérateur. Political opponents Joaded him with calumny and abuse; but
De Foe lived in times when “ hard hitting’ was the rule, and not the excep-
tion, when no such standard of courtesy was recognized by political writers
as common consent of late years has established. We think, therefore, that
the pity poured out upon De Foe by sentimental biographers is, to a great
extent, unnecessary ; and we believe that his life affords a favourable ex-
ample of the success which attends unflagging industry, indefatigable per-
severance, and honourable consistency.

One bitter sorrow, indeed, overclouded the later years of this great-hearted
man, but that came from within, not from without—from his own family
hearth, and not from his political foes. The misconduct of his second son
was a thorn in his side which wounded deeply. His father had placed large
confidence in him; he violated it; and by violating it temporarily deprived
his mother and sisters of considerable resources. The evil was magnified
by the timidity and apprehension natural to old age, and De Foe wrote
of it in exaggerated language :—‘ 1 depended upon him, I trusted him, I
gave up my two dear unprovided children into his hands: but he has no
compassion, and suffers them and their poor dear dying mother [she out-
lived her husband some eighteen months] to beg their bread at his door
and to crave, as if it were an alms, what he is bound, under hand and seal,
besides the most sacred promises, to supply them with; himself, at the same
time, living in a profusion of plenty.”

The money, however, was recovered, and De Foe's family left in comfortable
circumstances.

Our brief summary of a life of action must here conclude. We have traced
the politician and the man of letters through the chief phases of his history,
to that “ final limit” where all labour, and sorrow, and disappointment end.
Towards the close of the year 1780 he removed from his house at Stoke New-
ington, “ a commodious mansion in about four acres of ground,” to London,
and took lodgings in what was then a pleasant and reputable locality, Rope-
maker's Alley, Moorfields. ere he died of a lethargy, on the evening of
Monday, ihe 26th of April 1781, in the seventy-first year of his age. He
was buried in Bunhill Fields, where his tomb will ever be regarded with
interest by all admirers of manly genius and incorruptible integrity.

W.H. D. A.



48 BIOGRAVPHL{CAL AUTHORITLES

AUTHORITIES.

The principal authorities in reference to the Jive of Dre For are :

“Daniel De Foe: His Life, and Hitherto Unknown Writings,” by Willian Lee, 8 vols
1869.

“ Historical and Biographical Essays,” by John Forster, vol. ii

“Novels and Miscellaneous Wor

“Miscellaneous Prose Works: Life of Daniel De Foe,
published by Cadell, 1847.

“De Foe’s Works,” with Life by Chalmers, 1820.
"with Life by Roscoe, 1831.
“Memoirs of the Life and Times of Daniel De Foe,” by Walter Wilson, 3 vols., 1830
“De Foe’s Works,” with Memoir by William Maztitt, 3 vals 5 1S40 43



of De Foe,” 20 vols., Oxford,
” edited by Sir Walter Secti



“Robinson Crusoe,’



TOME OF DE FOR TIN BUNHILL FIELDS.

{Norr. — A monument to De Foe, erected, by the voluntary subscriptions of seventeen
bundred English boys and girls, in Bunhill-fields burial-ground, was ‘‘ unveiled” by Mr.
Charles Reed, M.P. for Hackney, on Friday, September 16, 1870 It consists of an
Egyptian column of fine Italian marble, 17 feet high, and at the l-ase 8 feet by 4 feet
The sculptor is Mr. Horner, of Bournemouth. The pillar bears the following inserip

Hon:—*' Daniel De Foe. Lorn 1661, died 1731. Author of ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ ”]









MAP OF ROBINSON CHUSUE S ISLAND.

via Reflections "(ur grd Party, puviished by W. Taylor in 27204 ie






THE

Hite and Adbentures

OF

ROBINSON Cisse k:

An isle....

Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea.
No want was there of human sustenance,
Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots ;
Nor save for pity was it hard to take
The helpless life so wild that it was tame.
There in a seaward-gazing mountain gorge
‘He’ built, and thatched with leaves of palm, a hut,
Half hut, half native cavern.
TENNYSON

Part THE Pf IRST.





THE

Lite and Adventures

OF

ROBINSON CRUSORK.

An isle....

Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea.
No want was there of human sustenance,
Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishixrg roots ;
Nor save for pity was it hard to take
The helpless life so wild that it was tame.
There in a seaward-gazing mountain gorge
‘He’ built, and thatched with leaves of palm, a hut,
Half hut, half native cavern.
TENNYSON

Part THE FURST.



ROBINSON CRUSOK





Ca Oi - Cs

WAS born in the year 1682, in the city
of York, of a good family, though not of
that country, my father being a foreigner
of Bremen, who settled first at Hull: he
i got a good estate by merchandise, and

3H leaving off his trade, lived afterward at
York, from whence he had married my mother, whose relations
were named Robinson, a very good family in that country, and



52 A ROVING DISPOSITION,

from whom IJ was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the usual
corruption of words in England, we are now called, nay, we call
ourselves, and write our name Crusoe, and so my companions
always called me.

I had two elder brothers, one of which was lieutenant-colonel
to an English regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded
hy the famous Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near
Dunkirk against the Spaniards: what became of my second brother
I never knew, any more than my father and mother did know what
was become of me.

Being the third son of the family, and not bred to any trade,
my head began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts.
My father, who was very ancient, had given me a competent share
of learning, as far as house education and a country free school
generally goes, and designed me for the law; but 1 would be satis-
fied with nothing but going to sea, and my inclination to this led
me so strongly against the will, nay, the commands of my father,
and against all the entreaties and persuasions of my mother and
other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in that pro-
pension of nature tending directly to the life of misery which was
to befall me.

My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious ard excellent
counsel against what he foresaw was my design. He called me
one morning into his chamber, where he was confined by the gout,
and expostulated very warmly with me upon this subject. He
asked me what reasons more than a mere wandering inclination I
had for leaving my father’s house and my native country, where I
might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising my for
tunes by application and industry, with a life of ease and pleasure.
He told me it was for men of desperate fortunes on one hand, or
of aspiring, superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon
adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in
undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these
things were all either too far above me, or too far below me; that
mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper
station of low life, which he had found by long experience was the
best state in the world, the most suited to human happiness, not



WISE WORDS AND SAGE COUNSEL. 53











“SY FATHER GAVE ME SERIOUS AND EXCELLENT COUNSEL.”

exposed to the miseries and hardships, the labour and sufferings of
the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride,
luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper part of mankind, He
told me I might judge of the happiness of this state by this one
thing—namely, that this was the state of life which all other people
envied; that kings have frequently lamented the miserable con-
sequences of being born to great things, and wished they had been
placed in the middle of the two extremes,—between the mean and
the great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this as the just
standard of true felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty
nor riches,

He bid me observe it, and I should always find that the calami-
ties of life were shared among the upper and lower part of
mankind; but that the middle station had the fewest disasters,
and was not exposed to so many vicissitudes as the higher or lower
part of mankind; nay, they were not subjected to so many dis



54 A FATHER’S EXPOSTULATION,

tempers and uneasinesses either of body or mind, as those were
who, by vicious living, luxury, and extravagancies on one hand.
or by hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or insufficient
diet on the other hand, bring distempers upon themselves by the
natural consequences of their way of living; that the middle
station of life was calculated for all kind of virtues and all kind of
enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a
middle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health,
society, all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were
the blessings attending the middle station of life; that this way
men went silently and smoothly through the world, and comfort-
ably out of it, not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of
the head, not sold to the life of slavery for daily bread, or harassed
with perplexed circumstances, which rob the soul of peace and
the body of rest; not enraged with the passion of envy, or secret
burning lust of ambition for great things; but in easy circum-
stances sliding gently through the world, and sensibly tasting the
sweets of living, without the bitter; fecling that they are happy
and learning by every day’s experience to know it more sensibly.

After this, he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate
manner, not to play the young man, not to precipitate myself into
miseries which nature and the station of life I was born in seemed

?

to have provided against; that I was under no necessity of seck-
ing my bread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to
enter me fairly into the station of life which he had been just
recommending to me; and that if IT was not very easy and happy
in the world, it must be my mere fate or fault that must hinder
it, and that he should have nothing to answer for, having thus
discharged his duty in warning me against measures which he
knew would be to my hurt. Ina word, that as he would do very
kind things for me if I would stay and settle at home as he
directed, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes,
as to give me any encouragement to go away. And, to close all,
he told me I had my elder brother for an example, to whom h:
nad used the same earnest persuasions to keep him from going
into the Low Country wars, but could not prevail, his young
desires prompting him to run into the army, where he was killed;



CRUSOE AND HIS MOTHER. 5E

and though, he said, he would not cease to pray for me, yet he
would venture to say to me that, if I did take this foolish step, God
would not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect
upon having neglected his counsel when there might be none to
assist in my recovery.

I observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly
prophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be so
himself, I say I saw the tears run down his face very plentifully,
and especially when he spoke of my brother who was killed; and
that when he spoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to
assist me, he was so moved that he broke off the discourse, and
told me his heart was so full he could say no more to me.

I was sincerely affected with this discourse—as indeed who could
be otherwise ?— and I resolved not to think of going abroad any
more, but to settle at home according to my father’s desire. But,
alas! a few days wore it all off; and, in short, to prevent any of
my father’s further importunities, in a few weeks after I resolved
to run quite away from him. However, I did not act so hastily
neither as my first heat of resolution prompted; but I took my
mother, at a time when I thought her a little pleasanter than
ordinary, and told her that my thoughts were so entirely bent
upon seeing the world, that I should never settle to anything with
resolution enough to go through with it, and my father had better
give me his consent than force me to go without it; that I was
now eighteen years old, which was too late to go apprentice to a
trade, or clerk to an attorney; that I was sure if I did, I should
never serve out my time, and I should certainly run away from
my master before my time was out, and go to sea; and if she
would speak to my father to let me go but one voyage abroad, if
[ came home again and did not like it, I would go no more, and I
would promise by a double diligence to recover that time I had
lost.

This put my mother into a great passion. She told me she
knew it would be to no purpose to speak to my father upon any
such subject; that he knew too well what was my interest to give
his consent to anything so much for my hurt, and that she
wondered how I could think of any such thing, after such s



56 CRUSOE GOES TO SEA.

discourse as 1 had had with my father, and such kind and tenda
expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that, in
short, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I
might depend I should never have their consent to it. That, for
her part, she would not have so much hand in my destruction;
and I should never have it to say that my mother was willing
when my father was not.

Though my mother refused to move it to my father, yet, as I
have heard afterwards, she reported all the discourse to him, and
that my father, after showing a great concern at it, said to her
with a sigh,—“ That boy might be happy if he would stay at
home; but if he goes abroad he will be the miserablest wretch
that was ever born. I can give no consent to it.”’

It was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose,
though in the meantime I continued obstinately deaf to all pro-
posals of settling to business, and frequently expostulating with
my father and mother about their being so positively determined
against what they knew my inclinations prompted me to. But
being one day at Hull, where I went casually, and without any
purpose of making an elopement that time; but, I say, being
there, and one of my companions being going by sea to London
in his father’s ship, and prompting me to go with them, with the
common allurement of seafaring men—namely, that it should cost
me nothing for my passage—I consulted neither father nor mother
any more, nor so much as sent them word of it; but leaving them
to hear of it as they might, without asking God’s blessing, or my
father’s; without any consideration of circumstances or conse-
quences, and in an ill hour, God knows, on the Ist of September
1651, I went on board a ship bound for London. Never any young
adventurer’s misfortunes, I believe, began sooner, or continued
longer than mine. The ship was no sooner gotten out of the
Humber but the wind began to blow, and the waves to rise in a
most frightful manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I
was most inexpressibly sick in body, and terrified in my mind. I
began now seriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how
justly I was overtaken by the judgment of Heaven for my wicked
leaving my father’s house, and abandoning my duty; all the good



SICK IN MIND AND Bopy, 5%







1 WAS MOST INEXPRESSIBLY SICK IN BODY.”

counsel of my parents, my father’s tears and my mother’s entrea-
ties, came now fresh into my mind; and my conscience, which
was not yet come to the pitch of hardness to which it has been
since, reproached me with the contempt of advice, and the breach
of my duty to God and my father.

All this while the storm increased, and the sea, which I had
never been upon before, went very high, though nothing like



58 A CAPFUL OF WIND.

what I have secn many times since; no, nor like what I saw
a few days after. But it was enough to affect me then, who
was but a young sailor, and had never known anything of the
matter. I expected every wave would have swallowed us.up, and
that every time the ship fell down, as I thought, in the trough or
hollow of the sea, we should never rise more; and in this agony
of mind I made many vows and resolutions, that if it would please
God here to spare my life this one voyage, if ever I got once my
foot upon dry land again, I would go directly home to my father,
and never set it into a ship again while I lived; that I would
take his advice, and never run myself into such miseries as these
any more. Now I saw plainly the goodness of his observations
about the middle station of life; how easy, how comfortably he
had lived all his days, and never had been exposed to tempests at
sea, or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, like a true
repenting prodigal, go home to my father.

These wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the
storm continued, and indeed some time after; but the next day
the wind was abated and the sea calmer, and I began to be a little
inured to it. However, I was very grave for all that day, being
also a little sea-sick still; but towards night the weather cleared
up, the wind was quite over, and a charming fine evening followed;
the sun went down perfectly clear, and rose so the next morning ;
and having little or no wind, and a smooth sea, the sun shining
upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the most delightful that ever
T saw.

I had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick
but very cheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so
rough and terrible the day before, and could be so calm and so
pleasant in so little time after. And now, lest my good resolutions
should continue, my companion, who had indeed enticed me away,
comes to me,—‘‘ Well, Bob,” says he, clapping me on the shoulder.
“how do you do after it? I warrant you were frightened, wa’n't
you, last night, when it blew but a capful of wind ?”—“ A capful,
d’you call it?” said I; “twas a terrible storm.” —“ A storm, you
fool you,” replies he; “do you call that a storm? Why, it was
nothing at all! Give us but a good ship and sea-room, and we



HASTY VOWS SOON REPENTED. 5S

think nothing of such a squall of wind as that. But you're but 2
fresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch, and
we'll forget all that. D’ye see what charming weather ’tis now?”
To make short this sad part of my story, we went the old way of
all sailors. The punch was made, and J was made drunk with it.





“THE PUNCH WAS MADE, AND I WAS MADE DRUNK WITH I.”

And in that one night’s wickedness I drowned all my repentance,
all my reflections upon my past conduct, and all my resolutions
for my future. In a word, as the sea was returned to its smooth-
ness of surface and settled calmness by the abatement of that
storm, so—the hurry of my thoughts being over, my fears and
apprehensions of being swallowed up by the sea being forgotten,
and the current of my former desires returned—I entirely forgot
the vows and promises that I made in my distress. I found,
indeed, some intervals of reflection, and the serious thoughts did,
as it were, endeavour to return again sometimes; but I shook



60 A GREAT STORM ARISES.

them off, and roused myself from them as it were from a distemper,
and applying myself to drink and company, soon mastered the
return of those fits—for so I called them—and I had in five or six
days got as complete a victory over conscience as any young fellow,
that resolved not to be troubled with it, could desire. But I was
to have another trial for it still; and Providence, as in such cases
generally it does, resolved to leave me entirely without excuse.
For if I would not take this for a deliverance, the next was to be
such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch among us would
confess both the danger and the mercy.

The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads;
the wind having been contrary and the weather calm, we had
made but little way since the storm. Here we were obliged to
come to an anchor, and here we lay, the wind continuing contrary—
namely, at south-west—for seven or eight days, during which time
a great many ships from Newcastle came into the same roads, as
the common harbour where the ships might wait for a wind for
the river.

We had not, however, rid here so long, but should have tided it
up the river, but that the wind blew too fresh; and after we had
lain four or five days, blew very hard. However, the roads being
reckoned as good as a harbour, the anchorage good, and our
ground-tackle very strong, our men were unconcerned, and not in
the least apprehensive of danger, but spent the time in rest and
mirth, after the manner of the sea; but the eighth day, in the
morning, the wind increased, and we had all hands at work to
strike our top-masts, and make everything snug and close, that
the ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went
very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle in, shipped several
seas, and we thought once or twice our anchor had come home,
upon which our master ordered out the shect-anchor; so that we
rode with two anchors a-head, and the cables veered out to the
better end.

By this time it blew a terrible storm indeed, and now I began
to see terror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen
themselves. ‘The master, though vigilant to the business of pre-
serving the ship, yet, as he went in and out of his cabin by me,



A YOUNG SAILOR’S DISTRESS. 61

[ could hear him softly to himself say several times, “Lord he
merciful to us; we shall be all lost, we shall be all undone,” and
the like. During these first hurries I was stupid, lying still in my
cabin, which was in the steerage, and cannot describe my temper.
I could ill re-assume the first penitence, which I had so apparently
trampled upon and hardened myself against. I thought the
bitterness of death had been past, and that this would be nothing,
too, like the first. But when the master himself came by me, as
I said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully
frighted. I got up out of my cabin and looked out; but such a
dismal sight I never saw. ‘The sea went mountains high, and
broke upon us every three or four minutes. When I could look
about, I could see nothing but distress round us. ‘Two ships that
rode near us we found had cut their masts by the board, being
deeply laden; and our men cried out that a ship which rode about
a mile a-head of us was foundered. ‘Two more ships being driven
from their anchors, were run out of the roads to sea at all adven-
tures, and that with not a mast standing. ‘The light ships fared
the best, as not so much labouring in the sea; but two or three of
them drove, and came close by us, running away with only their
sprit-sail out before the wind.

Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of
our ship to let them cut away the foremast, which he was very
unwilling to; but the boatswain protesting to him that if he did
not the ship would founder, he consented; and when they had cut
away the foremast, the main-mast stood so loose and shook the
ship so much, they were obliged to cut her away also, and make a
clear deck.

Any one may judge what a condition I must be in at all this,
who was but a young sailor, and who had been in such a fright
before at but a little. But if I can express at this distance the
thoughts I had about me at that time, I was in tenfold more
horror of mind upon account of my former convictions, and the
having returned from them to the resolutions I had wickedly taken
at first, than I was at death itself; and these, added to the terror
of the storm, put me into such 4 condition that I can by no words
describe it. But the worst was not come yet. The storm con-



62 ALL HANDS TO THE PUMP.

tinued with such fury, that the seamen themselves acknowledged
they had never known a worse. We had a good ship; but she
was deep laden, and wallowed in the sea, that the seamen every
now and then cried out she would founder. It was my advantage
in one respect that I did not know what they meant by founder
till I inquired. However, the storm was so violent, that I saw
what is not often seen—the master, the boatswain, and some
others more sensible than the rest, at their prayers, and expecting
every moment when the ship would go to the bottom. In the
middle of the night, and under all the rest of our distresses, one of
the men that had been down on purpose to see, cried out we had
sprung a leak; another said there was four foot water in the hold.

Then all hands were called to the pump. At that very word
my heart, as I thought, died within me, and I fell backwards upon
the side of my bed where [ sat, into the cabin. However, the men
roused me, and told me that I that was able to do nothing before
was as well able to pump as another, at which I stirred up and
went to the pump, and worked very heartily. While this was
doing, the master, seeing some light colliers, who, not able to ride
out the storm, were obliged to slip and run away to sea, and would
come near us, ordered to fire a gun as a signal of distress. I, who
knew nothing what that meant, was so surprised, that I thought
the ship had broke, or some dreadful thing had happened. Ina
word, I was so surprised, that I fell down in a swoon. As this
was a time when everybody had his own life to think of, nobody
minded me, or what was become of me; but another man stepped
up to the pump, and thrusting me aside with his foot, let me lie,
thinking I had been dead ; and it was a great while before I came
. to myself.

We worked on; but the water increasing in the hold, it was
apparent that the ship would founder; and though the storm
began to abate a little, yet, as it was not possible she could swim
till we might run into a port, so the master continued firing guns
for help, and a light ship, who had rode it out just ahead of us,
ventured a boat out to help us. It was with the utmost hazard
the boat came near us; but it was impossible for us to get on
board, or for the boat to lie near the ship’s side, till at last, the men



SAFE ON SHORE. 68

rowing very heartily, and venturing their lives to save ours, our
men cast them a rope over the stern with a buoy to it, and then
veered it out a great length, which they, after great labour and
hazard, took hold of, and we hauled them close under our stern,
and got all into their boat. It was to no purpose for them or us
after we were in the boat to think of reaching to their own ship,
so all agreed to let her drive, and only to pull her in towards shore
as much as we could; and our master promised them, that if the
boat was staved upon shore, he would make it good to their
master; so, partly rowing and partly driving, our boat went away
to the northward, sloping towards the shore almost as far as
Winterton Ness.

We were not much more than a quarter of an hour out of our
ship when we saw her sink, and then I understood for the first time
what was meant by a ship foundering in the sea. I must acknow-
ledge I had hardly eyes to look up when the seamen told me she
was sinking; for from that moment they rather put me into the
boat than that I might be said to go in. My heart was, as it
were, dead within me, partly with fright, partly with horror of
mind and the thoughts of what was yet before me.

While we were in this condition, the men yet labouring at the
oar to bring the boat near the shore, we could see, when our boat,
mounting the waves, we were able to see the shore, a great many
people running along the shore to assist us when we should come
near; but we made but slow way towards the shore, nor were we
able to reach the shore, till, being past the lighthouse at Winter-
ton, the shore falls off to the westward towards Cromer, and so the
land broke off a little the violence of the wind. Here we got in,
and though not without much difficulty, got all safe on shore, and
walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth, where, as unfortunate
men, we were used with great humanity, as well by the magistrates
of the town, who assigned us good quarters, as by particular
merchants and owners of ships, and had money given us sufficient
to carry us either to London or back to Hull, as we thought fit.

Had I now had the sense to have gone back to Hull, and have
gone home, I had been happy, and my father, an emblem of our

blessed Saviour’s parable, had even killed the fatted calf for me;
4284) 5



64 CRUSOE LOOKED UPON AS A JONAH.

for, hearing the ship I went away in was cast away in Yarmouth
Roads, it was a great while before he had any assurance that I was
not drowned.

But my ill fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that
nothing could resist; and though I had several times loud calls
from my reason and my more composed judgment to go home,
yet I had no power to do it. I know not what to call this, nor
will I urge that it is a secret over-ruling decree that hurries us on
to be the instruments of our own destruction, even though it be
before us, and that we rush upon it with our eyes open. Certainly
nothing but some such decreed unavoidable misery attending, and
which it was impossible for me to escape, could have pushed me
forward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most
retired thoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I
had met with in my first attempt.

My comrade, who had helped to harden me before, and who was
the master’s son, was now less forward than I. The first time he
spoke to me after we were at Yarmouth, which was not till two or
three days, for we were separated in the town to several quarters;
I say, the first time he saw me, it appeared his tone was altered,
and looking very melancholy, and shaking his head, asked me how
I did, and telling his father who I was, and how I had come this
voyage only for a trial, in order to go further abroad. His father,
turning to me with a very grave and concerned tone, “ Young
man,” says he, ‘‘ you ought never to go to sea any more; you
ought to take this for a plain and visible token that you are not to
be a seafaring man.”’—“‘ Why, sir,” said 1; “ will you go to sea no
more ?’’—“ That is another case,’’ said he. “ It is my calling, and
therefore my duty; but as you made this voyage for a trial, you
see what_a taste Heaven has given vou of what you are to expect
if you persist. Perhaps this is all befallen us on your account,
like Jonah in the ship of Tarshish. Pray,” continues he, ‘‘ what
are you? and on what account did you go to sea?” Upon that I
told him some of my story, at the end of which he burst out with
a strange kind of passion, “ What had I done,” says he, “that
such an unhappy wretch should come into my ship? I would not
set my foot in the same ship with thee again for a thousand



RELUCTANCE TO GO HOME. 65

pounds.” ‘This, indeed, was, as I said, an excursion of his spirits,
which were yet agitated by the sense of his loss, and was further
than he could have authority to go. However, he afterwards
talked very gravely to me; exhorted me to go back to my father,
and not tempt Providence to my ruin; told me I might see a
visible hand of Heaven against me; ‘ And, young man,” said he,
“ depend upon it, if you do not go back, wherever you go you will
meet with nothing but disasters and disappointments, till your
father’s words are fulfilled upon you.”

We parted soon after, for I made him little answer, and I saw
him no more. Which way he went, I know not. As for me,
having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London by land ;
and there, as well as on the road, had many struggles with myself
—what course of life I should take, and whether I should go
home or go to sea,

As to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered
to my thoughts; and it immediately occurred to me how I should
be laughed at among the neighbours, and should be ashamed to
see, not my father and mother only, but even everybody else, from
whence I have since often observed how incongruous and irrational
the common temper of mankind is, especially of youth, to that
reason which ought to guid at they
are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamed to repent; not
ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to be esteemed
fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can make them
be esteemed wise men.

In this state of life, however, I remained some time, uncertain
what measures to take and what course of life to lead. An irre-
sistible reluctance continued to going home; and as I stayed a
while, the remembrance of the distress I had been in wore off;
and as that abated, the little motion I had in my desires toa
return wore off with it, till at last I quite laid aside the thoughts
of it, and looked out for a voyage.

That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s
house, that hurried me into the wild and _indigested notion of
raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly
upon me, as to make me deaf to all good advice, and to the





66 A VOYAGE TO GUINEA.

entreaties and even command of my father—I say, the same in-
tluence, whatever it was, presented the most unfortunate of all enter-
prises to my view, and I went on board a vessel bound to the coast
of Africa, or, as our sailors vulgarly call it, a voyage to Guinea.

It was my great misfortune that in all these adventures I did
not ship myself as a sailor, whereby, though I might indeed have
worked a little harder than ordinary, yet at the same time I had
learned the duty and office of a fore-mast man, and in time might
have qualified myself for a mate or lieutenant, if not for a master.
But as it was always my fate to choose for the worse, so I did
here; for, having money in my pocket, and good clothes upon my
back, I would always go on board in the habit of a gentleman. And
so I neither had any business in the ship, or learned to do any.

It was my lot first of all to fall into pretty good company in
London, which does not always happen to such loose and misguided
young fellows as I then was, the devil generally not omitting to
lay some snare for them very early. But it was not so with me.
I first fell acquainted with the master of a ship who had been on
the coast of Guinea; and who, having had very good success there,
was resolved to go again; and who, taking a fancy to my conver-
sation, which was not at all disagreeable at that time, hearing me
say I had a mind to see the world, told me if I would go the
voyage with him I should be at no expense; I should be his mess-
mate and his companion; and if I could carry anything with me,
I should have all the advantage of it that the trade would admit,
and perhaps I might meet with some encouragement.

I embraced the offer, and, entering into a strict friendship with
this captain, who was an honest and plain-dealing man, I went the
voyage with him, and carried a small adventure with me, which,
by the disinterested honesty of my friend the captain, I increased
very considerably ; for I carried about £40 in such toys and trifles
as the captain directed me to buy. This £40 I had mustered
together by the assistance of some of my relations whom I corre-
sponded with, and who, I believe, got my father, or at least my
mother, to contribute so much as that to my first adventure.

This was the only voyage which I may say was successful in all
my adventures, and which I owe to the integrity and honesty of



ATTACKED BY A TURKISH PIRATE. 8T

my friend the captain, under whom also I got a competent
knowledge of the mathematics and the rules of navigation, learned
how to keep an account of the ship’s course, take an observation,
and, in short, to understand some things that were needful to be
understood by a sailor. For, as he took delight to introduce me,
I took delight to learn; and, in a word, this voyage made me both
a sailor and a merchant; for I brought home five pounds nine
ounces of gold dust for my adventure, which yielded me in London
at my return almost £300, and this filled me with those aspiring
thoughts which have since so completed my ruin.

Yet even in this voyage I had my misfortunes too, particularly
that I was continually sick, being thrown into a violent calenture
by the excessive heat of the climate, our principal trading being
upon the coast, from the latitude of fifteen degrees north even to
the line itself.

Twas now set up for a Guinea trader; and my friend, to my
great misfortune, dying soon after his arrival, I resolved to go the
same voyage again, and I embarked in the same vessel with one
who was his mate in the former voyage, und had now got the
command of the ship. This was the unhappiest voyage that ever
man made; for though I did not carry quite £100 of my new
gained wealth, so that I had £200 left, and which I lodged with
my friend’s widow, who was very just to me, yet I fell into
terrible misfortunes in this voyage; and the first was this—namely,
our ship making her course towards the Canary Islands, or rather
between those islands and the African shore, was surprised in the
gray of the morning by a Turkish rover of Sallee, who gave chase
to us with all the sail she could make. We crowded also as much
canvas as our yards would spread or our masts carry to have got
clear; but finding the pirate gained upon us, and would certainly
come up with us in a few hours, we prepared to fight, our ship
having twelve guns and the rogue eighteen. About three in the
aiternoon he came up with us, and bringing-to by mistake just
athwart our quarter, instead of athwart our stern, as he intended,
we brought eight of our guns to bear on that side, and poured in
a broadside upun him, which made him sheer off again, after
returning our fire and pouring in also his small shot from near



38 A GALLANT DEFENCE,

two hundred men which he had on board. However, we had not
a man touched, all our men keeping close. He prepared to attack
us again, and we to defend ourselves; but laying us on board the

next time upon our other quarter, he entered sixty men upon our





“WE PLIED THEM WITH SMALL-SHOT,
HALF-PIKES, AND SUCH LIKE.”

decks, who immediately fell to
cutting and hacking the decks
and rigging. We plied them
with small-shot, half-pikes, powder-chests, and such like, and
cleared our deck of them twice. However, to cut short this
melancholy part of our story, our ship being disabled, and three
of our men killed and eight wounded, we were obliged to yield.





CRUSOE AS A SLAVE, 69

and were carried all prisoners into Sallee, a port belonging to the
Moors.

The usage I had there was not so dreadful as at first [ appre-
hended, nor was I carried up the country to the Emperor’s court,
as the rest of our men were, but was kept by the captain of the
rover as his preper prize, and made his slave, being young and
nimble, and fit for his business. At this surprising change of my
circumstances, from a merchant to a miserable slave, I was perfectly
overwhelmed; and now I looked back upon my father’s prophetic
discourse to me, that I should be miserable, and have none to
relieve me, which I thought was now so effectually brought to
pass, that it could not be worse; that now the hand of Heaven
had overtaken me, and I was undone without redemption. But,
alas! this was but a taste of the misery I was tu go through, as
will appear in the sequel of this story.

As my new patron or master had taken me home to his house,
so I was in hopes that he would take me with him when he went
to sea again, believing that it would some time or other be his
fate to be taken by a Spanish or Portugal man-of-war; and that
then I should be set at liberty. But this hope of mine was soon
taken away; for when he went to sea he left me on shore to look
after his little garden, and do the common drudgery of slaves
about his house; and when he came home again from his cruise,
he ordered me to lie in the cabin to look alter the ship.

Here I meditated nothing but my escape, and what method I
might take to effect it, but found no way that had the least pro-
bability in it. Nothing presented to make the supposition of it
rational; for I had nobody to communicate it to that would
embark with me, no fellow-slave, no Englishman, Irishman, or
Scotsman there but myself; so that for two years, though I often
pleased myself with the imagination, yet I never had the least
encouraging prospect of putting it in practice.

After about two years an odd circumstance presented itself,
which put the old thought of making some attempt for my liberty
again in my head. My patron lying at home longer than usual
without fitting out his ship, which, as [ heard, was for want of
money, he used constantly, once or twice a-week, sometimes



70 FISHING EXCURSIONS.

oftener, if the weather was fair, to take the ship’s pinnace, and go
out into the road a-fishing; and as he always took me and a young
Maresco with him to row the boat, we made him very merry, and

I proved very dexterous in catching fish, insomuch that some-



“WE ALWAYS TOOK ME AND A YOUNG MARESCO TO ROW THE LOA.”

times he would send me with a Moor, one of his kinsmen, and the
youth—the Maresco, as they called him—to catch a dish of fish for
him.

It happened one time, that going a-fishing in a stark calm
morning, a fog rose so thick, that though we were not half a
league from the shore we lost sight of it; and rowing we knew
not whither or which way, we laboured all day and all the next
night, and when the morning came we found we had pulled off
to sea instead of pulling in for the shore; and that we were at
least two leagues from the shore. However, we got well in
again, though with a great deal of labour and some danger; for
the wind began to blow pretty fresh in the morning: but particu-
larly we were all very hungry.

But our patron, warned by this disaster, resolved to take more
care of himself for the future; and having lying by him the long-
boat of our English ship which he had taken, he resolved he would
not go a-fishing any more without a compass and some provision.
So he ordered the carpenter of his ship, who also was an English
slave, to build a little state-room or cabin in the middle of the



A PLAN OF ESCAPE. 7

longboat, like that of a barge, with a place to stand behind it to
steer and haul home the main-sheet; and room before for a hand
or two to stand and work the sails. She sailed with what we call
a shoulder-of-mutton sail; and the boom gibed over the top of the
cabin, which lay very snug and low, and had in it room for him
to lie, with a slave or two; and a table to eat on, with some small
lockers to put in some bottles of such liquor as he thought fit to
drink ; particularly his bread, rice, and coffee.

We went frequently out with this boat a-fishing. And as I was
most dexterous to catch fish for him, he never went without me.
It happened that he had appointed to go out in this boat, either
for pleasure or for fish, with two or three Moors of some distinction
in that place, and for whom he had provided extraordinarily, and
had therefore sent on board the boat overnight a larger store of
provisions than ordinary ; and had ordered me to get ready three
fuzees with powder and shot, which were on board his ship, for
that they designed some sport of fowling as well as fishing.

1 got all things ready as he had directed, and waited the next
morning with the boat washed clean, her ancient and pendants
out, and everything to accommodate his guests. When by-and-by
my patron came on board alene, and told me his guests had put
off going, upon some business that fell out, and ordered me with
the man and boy as usual to go out with the boat and catch them
some fish, for that his friends were to sup at his house; and com-
manded that as soon as Thad got some fish, I should bring it home
to his house; all which I prepared to do.

This moment my former notions of deliverance darted into
my thoughts, for now I found I was like to have a little ship at
my command; and my master being gone, I prepared to furnish
myself, not for a fishing business, but for a voyage; though I
knew not, neither did I so much as consider, whither I should
steer; for anywhere tu get out of that place was my way.

My first contrivance was to make a pretence to speak to this
Moor, to get something for our subsistence on board; for I told
him we must not presume to eat of our patron’s bread. He said
that was true; so he brought a large basket of rusk or biscuit of
their kind, and three jars with fresh water into the boat. J knew



72 CRUSUE AND MOELY.

where my patron’s case of bottles stood, which it was evident by
the make were taken out of some English prize, and I conveyed
them into the boat while the Moor was on shore, as if they had
been there before for our master. I conveyed also a great lump
of bees’-wax into the boat, which weighed above half a hundred-
weight, with a parcel of twine or thread, a hatchet, a saw, and a
hammer, all which were of great use to us afterwards, especially
the wax to make candles. Another trick I tried upon him, which
he innocently came into also. His name was Ismael, who they call
Muly or Moely; so I called to him—* Moely,” said I, “ our patron’s
guns are on board the boat; can you not get a little powder and
shot? It may be we may kill some alcamies (a fowl like our curlews)
for ourselves, for I know he keeps the gunner’s stores in the ship.”
* Yes,” says he, Vil bring some.” And accordingly he brought a
great leather pouch, which held about a pound and a half of powder,
or rather more, and another with shot, that had five or six pounds,
with some bullets, and put all into the boat. At the same time, I
had found some powder of my master’s in the great cabin, with
which I filled one of the large bottles in the case, which was
almost empty, pouring what was in it into another; and thus
furnished with everything needful, we sailed out of the port to
fish. ‘The castle, which is at the entrance of the port, knew who
we were, and took no notice of us; and we were not above a mile
out of the port before we hauled in our sail, and set us down to
fish. ‘Che wind blew from the north-north-east, which was con-
trary to my desire; for had it blown southerly, I had been sure
to have made the coast of Spain, and at least reached to the Bay
of Cadiz; but my resolutions were, blow which way it would, 1
would be gone from the horrid place where I was, and leave the
rest to fate.

Atter we had fished some time and caught nothing—for when
I had fish on my hook, I would not pull them up, that he might
not see them—lI said to the Moor, “ This will not do; our master
will not be thus served; we must stand further off.” He, thinking
uo harm, agreed; and being in the head of the boat, set the sails:
and as I had the helm, I ran the boat out near a league further,
and then brought her to, as if I wonld fish; when, giving the



tHk MOOR OVERBOARD. 78

doy the helm, I stepped forward to where the Moor was, and
making as if I stooped for something behind him, I took him by
surprise with my arm under his twist, and tossed him clear over-
board into the sea. He rose immediately, for he swam like a cork,
and called to me, begged to be taken in; told me he would go all
the world over with me. He swam so strong after the boat that
he would have reached me very quickly, there being but little
wind; upon which I stepped into the cabin, and fetching one of
the fowling-pieces, I presented it at him, and told him I had done
him no hurt, and if he would be quiet I would do him none. “ But,”
said I, “you swim well enough to reach to the shore, and the sea

\ is calm; make the best of
; your way to shore, and I will
do you no harm, but if you









come near the boat I’ll shoot
you through the head; for I
am resolved to have my
liberty.”” So he turned him-
self about and swam for the

“HE TURNED HIMSELF ABOUT AND SWAM FOR THE SHORE.”

shore; and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease, for he
was an excellent swimmer.

I could have been content to have taken this Moor with me
and have drowned the boy, but there was no venturing to trust
him. When he was gone I turned to the boy, who they called



74 MAKING FOR THE COAST.

Xury, and said to him, “ Xury, if you will be faithful to me, I’ll
make you a great man; but if you will not stroke your face to be
true to me—that is, swear by Mahomet and his father’s beard—I
oust throw you into the sea too.” The boy smiled in my face, and
spoke so innocently, that I could not mistrust him; and swore to
be faithful to me, and go all over the world with me.

While I was in view of the Moor that was swimming, I stood
out directly to sea with the boat, rather stretching to windward,
that they might think me gone towards the strait’s mouth (as in-
deed any one that had been in their wits must have been supposed
to do); for who would have supposed we were sailed on to the
southward, to the truly barbarian coast, where whole nations of
negroes were sure to surround us with their canoes, and destroy
us; where we could never once go on shore but we should be
devoured by savage beasts, or more merciless savages of human
kind.

But as soon as it grew dusk in the evening I changed my
course, and steered directly south and by east, bending my course
a little toward the east, that I might keep in with the shore:
and having a fair fresh gale of wind and a smooth, quiet sea, I
made such sail that I believe by the next day at three o’clock
in the afternoon, when I first made the land, I could not be less
than 150 miles south of Sallee; quite beyond the Emperor of
Morocco’s dominions, or, indeed, of any other king thereabouts, for
we saw no people.

Yet such was the fright I had taken at the Moors, and the
dreadful apprehensions I had of falling into their hands, that I
would not stop, or go on shore, or come to an anchor, the wind
continuing fair, till I had sailed in that manner five days; and
then the wind shifting to the southward, I concluded also that if
any of our vessels were in chase of me, they also would now give over.
So I ventured to make to the coast, and came to an anchor in the
mouth of a little river, I knew not what, or where; neither what
latitude, what country, what nation, or what river. I neither saw,
nor desired to see, any people; the principal thing I wanted was
fresh water. We came into this creek in the evening, resolving
to swim on shore as soon as it was dark, and discover the country;



MONSTERS OF THE DEEP. 76

but as soon as it was quite dark we heard such dreadful noises of
the barking, roaring, and howling of wild creatures, of we knew
not what kinds, that the poor boy was ready to die with fear,
and begged of me not to goon shore till day. ‘“ Well, Xury,” said I,
“then I won’t; but it may be we may see men by day, who will be
as bad to us as those lions.” “ Then we give them the shoot gun,”
says Xury, laughing; “ make them run way.” Such English Xury
spoke by conversing among us slaves. However, I was glad to:
see the boy so cheerful, and I gave him a dram (out of our patron’s
case of bottles) to cheer him up. After all, Xury’s advice was
good, and I took it. We dropped our little anchor, and lay still
all night—I say still, for we slept none—for in two or three hours
we saw vast great creatures (we knew not what to call them) of
many sorts come down to the sea-shore, and run into the water,
wallowing and washing themselves for the pleasure of cooling
themselves ; and they made such hideous howlings and yellings,
that I never indeed heard the like.

Xury was dreadfully frightened, and indeed so was I too. But
we were both more frightened when we heard one of these mighty
creatures come swimming towards our boat. We could not see
him, but we might hear him by his blowing to be a monstrous,
huge, and furious beast. Xury said it was a lion, and it might be
so for aught I know; but poor Xury cried to me to weigh the
anchor, and row away. “No,” says I; “ Xury, we can slip our
cable with the buoy to it, and go off to sea. They cannot follow
us far.” I had no sooner said so but I perceived the creature
(whatever it was) within two oars’ length, which something sur-
prised me. However, I immediately stepped to the cabin-door,
and taking up my gun, fired at him, upon which he immediately
turned about, and swam towards the shore again.

But it is impossible to describe the horrible noises, and hideous
cries and howlings, that were raised as well upon the edge of the
shore as higher within’ the country, upon the noise or report of
the gun—a thing I have some reason to believe those creatures
had never heard before. This convinced me that there was no
going on shore for us in the night upon that coast; and how to
venture on shore in the day was another question too, for to have



76 CRUSOE AND XURY ASHORE.

fallen into the hands of any of the savages had been as bad as ta
have fallen into the hands of lions and tigers; at least we were
equally apprehensive of the danger of it.





“TAKING UP MY GUN, I FIRED AT HIM.”

Be that as it would, we were obliged to go on shore somewhere
or other for water, for we had not a pint left in the boat. When
or where to get it was the point. Xury said, if I would let him
go on shore with one of the jars, he would find if there was any
water, and bring some tome. I asked him why he would go—
why I should not go and he stay in the boat? The boy answered
with so much affection that made me love him ever after. Says
ne, “If wild mans come, they eat me; you go way.” “ Well,
Xury,” said I, ‘ we will both go; and if the wild mans come, we
will kill them. They shall eat neither of us.” So I gave Xury
a piece of rusk-bread to eat, and a dram out of our patron’s case
of bottles which I mentioned before; and we hauled in the boat
as near the shore as we thought was proper, and so waded on shore,
earrying nothing but our arms and two jars for water.

I did not care to go out of sight of the boat, fearing the coming
of canoes with savages down the river; but the boy seeing a low
place about a mile up the country, rambled to it; and by-and-by I
saw him come running towards me. I thought he was pursued by
some savage, or frightened with some wild beast, and I ran forward
towards him to help him; but when I came nearer to him, I saw
something hanging over his shoulders—which was a creature that



A COASTING VOYAGE. bi

he had shot, like a hare, but different in colour and longer legs
However, we were very glad of it, and it was very good meat; but
the great joy that poor Xury came with, was to tell me he had
found good water and seen no wild men.

But we found afterwards that we need not take such pains for
water, for a little higher up the creek where we were, we found the
water fresh when the tide was out, which flowed but a little way
up. So we filled our jars, and feasted on the hare we had killed,
and prepared to go on our way, having seen no footsteps of any
human creature in that part of the country.

As I had been one voyage to this coast before, I knew very well
that the islands of the Canaries, and the Cape de Verd islands also,
lay not far off from the coast. But as I had no instruments to take
an observation to know what latitude we were in, and did not
exactly know, or at Jeast remember, what latitude they were in,
1 knew not where to look for them, or when to stand off to sea
towards them; otherwise I might now easily have found some of
these islands. But my hope was, that if I stood along this coast
till I came to that part where the English traded, I should find
some of their vessels upon their usual design of trade, that would
relieve and take us in.

By the best of my calculation, that place where I now was must
be that country which, lying between the Emperor of Morocco’s
dominions and the negroes, lies waste and uninhabited, except by
wild beasts—the negroes having abandoned it and gone further
south, for fear of the Moors; and the Moors not thinking it worth
inhabiting, by reason of its barrenness. And, indeed, both forsaking
it because of the prodigious number of tigers, lions, leopards, and
other furious creatures which harbour there; so that the Moors
use it for their hunting only, where they go like an army, two or
three thousand men at a time. And, indeed, for near a hundred
miles together upon this coast, we saw nothing but a waste unin-
habited country by day, and heard nothing but howlings and roar-
ing of wild beasts by night.

Once or twice in the day-time, I thought I saw the Pico of
Teneriffe, being the high top of the mountain of Teneriffe in the
Canaries; and had a great mind to venture out in hopes of reach-



78 ADVENTURE WITH A LION.

ing thither; but having tried twice, I was forced in again by con-
trary winds, the sea also going too high for my little vessel, so I
resolved to pursue my first design and keep along the shore.
Several times I was obliged to land for fresh water after we had
left this place ; and once in particular, being early in the morning,
we came to an anchor under a little point of land which was pretty
hign, and the
tide beginning to










flow, we lay still
to go further in.
Xury, whose eyes
were more about
him than it seems
mine were, calls
softly to me, and
tells me that we
had best = go
further off the
shore :—‘“‘ For,”

“WE CAME TO AN ANCHOR UNDEK A LITL£LE POINT OF LAND.”

says he, “look, yonder les a dreadful monster on the side of
that hillock fast asleep.” I looked where he pointed, and saw
a dreadful monster indeed; for it was a terrible great lion that
lay on the side of the shore, under the shade of a piece of the
hill, that hung as it were a little over him. ‘“ Xury,” says I, “you
shall go on shore and kill him.” Xury looked frightened, and said,
“Me kill! he eat me at one mouth ”—one mouthful, he meant.
However, I said no inore to the boy, but bade him lie still; and I
took our biggest gun, which was almost musket-bore, and loaded
it with a good charge of powder and with two slugs, and laid it
down; then I loaded another gun with two bullets; and the third
—for we had three pieces—-I loaded with five smaller bullets. I
took the best aim I could with the first piece to have shot him
into the head, but he lay so with his leg raised a little above his
nose, that the slugs hit his leg about the knee, and broke the bone.
He started up, growling at first; but finding his leg broke, fell
down again; and then got up upon three legs, and gave the most
hideous roar that ever I heard. I was a little surprised that I had



BEATING TO THE SOUTHWARD. 19

not hit him on the head. However, I took up the second piece
immediately ; and though he began to move off, fired again, and
shot him into the head, and had the pleasure to see him drop, and
make but little noise, but lie struggling for life. Then Xury took
heart, and would have me let him go on shore. “ Well, go,” said I.
So the boy jumped into the water, and taking a little gun in one
hand, swam to shore with the other hand, and coming close to the
creature, put the muzzle of the piece to his ear, and shot him into
the head again, which despatched him quite.

This was game indeed to us, but this was no food; and-I was
very sorry to lose three charges of powder and shot upon a creature
that was good for nothing to us. However, Xury said he would
have some of him; so he comes on board, and asked me to give him
the hatchet. ‘“ For what, Xury?” said I. ‘ Me cut off his head,”
said he. However, Xury could not cut off his head; but he cut off
a foot and brought it with him—and it was a monstrous great one.

I bethought myself, however, that perhaps the skin of him might
one way or other be of some value to us; and I resolved to take
off his skin if I could. So Xury and I went to work with him ;
but Xury was much the better workman at it—for I knew very ill
how to do it. Indeed, it took us up both the whole day; but at
last we got off the hide of him, and spreading it on the top of our
cabin, the sun effectually dried it in two days’ time, and it after-
wards served me to lie upon.

After this stop we made on to the southward continually for ten
or twelve days, living very sparing en our provisions, which began
to abate very much, and going no oftener into the shore than we
were obliged to for fresh water. My design in this was to make
the river Gambia or Senegal—that is to say, anywhere about the
Cape de Verd, where I was in hopes to meet with some European
ship ; and if I did not, I knew not what course I had to take, but
to seek out for the islands or perish there among the negroes.
I knew that all the ships from Europe—which sailed either to the
coast of Guinea, or to Brazil, or to the East Indies—made this
cape or those islands; and in a word, I put the whole of my fortune
upon this single point, either that I must mect with some ship or
must perish.

284) 6



80 CRUSOE AND THE SAVAGES.

When I had pursued this resolution about ten days longer, as 1
have said, I began to see that the land was inhabited; and in two
or three places, as we sailed by, we saw people stand upon the
shore to look at us. We could also perceive they were quite black
and stark naked. I was once inclined to have gone on shore to
them. But Xury was my better counsellor, and said to me, “ No
go, no go.” However, I hauled in nearer the shore that I might
talk to them, and I found they ran along the shore by me a good
way. I observed they had no weapons in their hands—except
one, who had a long slender stick, which Xury said was a lance,
and that they would throw them a great way with good aim. So
I kept at a distance, but talked with them by signs as well as I
could; and particularly made signs for something to cat. They
beckoned to me to stop my boat, and that they would fetch me
some meat. Upon this I lowered the top of my sail and lay by;
and two of them ran up into the country, and in less than half an
hour came back and brought with them two pieces of dry flesh
and some corn, such as is the produce of their country—but we
neither knew what the one or the other was. However, we were
willing to accept it, but how to come at it was our next dispute ;
for I was not for venturing on shore to them, and they were as
much afraid of us. But they took a safe way for us all—for they
brought it to the shore and laid it down, and went and stood a
great way off till we fetched it on board, and ther came close to us
again.

We made signs of thanks to them, for we had nothing to make
them amends. But an opportunity offered that very instant to
oblige them wonderfully—for while we were lying by the shore,
came two mighty creatures, one pursuing the other (as we took it)
with great fury, from the mountains towards the sea. Whether it
was the male pursuing the female, or whether they were in sport
or in rage, we could not tell, any more than we could tell whether
it was usual or strange; but I believe it was the latter—because, in
the first place, those ravenous creatures seldom appear but in the
night; and, in the second place, we found the people terribly
frightened, especially the women. The man that had the lance or
dart did not fly from them, but the rest did. However, as the



AN OPPORTUNE EXPLOIT. 81

two creatures ran directly into the water, they did not seem to
offer to fall upon any of the negroes, but plunged themselves into
the sea, and swam about as if they had come for their diversion.
At last one of them began to come nearer our boat than at first I
expected, but I lay ready for him; for I had loaded my gun with
all possible expedition, and bade Xury load both the others. As
soon as he came fairly within my reach I fired, and shot him
directly into the head. Immediately he sank down into the water,
but rose instantly and plunged up and down as if he was struggling
for life. And so indeed he was. He immediately made to the
shore ; but between the wound, which was his mortal hurt, and
the strangling of the water, he died just before he reached the
shore.

it is impossible to express the astonishment of these poor
creatures at the noise and the fire of my gun; some of them were
even ready to die for fear, and fell down as dead with the very
terror. But when they saw the creature dead and sunk in the
water, and that I made signs to them to come to the shore, they took
heart and came to the shore, and began to search for the creature.
I found him by his blood staining the water; and by the help of a
rope which I slung round him, and gave the negroes to haul, they
dragged him on shore, and found that it was a most curious
leopard, spotted and fine to an admirable degree; and the negroes
held up their hands with admiration to think what it was I had
killed him with.

The other creature, frightened with the flash of fire and the noise
of the gun, swam on shore, and ran up directly to the mountains
from whence they came, nor could I at that distance know what it
was. I found quickly the negroes were for eating the flesh of this
creature, so I was willing to have them take it as a favour from
me; which, when I made signs to them that they might take him,
they were very thankful for. Immediately they fell to work with
him ; and though they had no knife, yet with a sharpened piece of
wood they took off his skin as readily—and much more readily
than we could have done with a knife. They offered me some of
the flesh, which I declined, making as if I would give it them;
but made signs for the skin, which they gave me very freely, and



82 “A SAIL! A SAIL!”

brought me a great deal more of their provision, which, though 1
did not understand, yet I accepted. Then I made signs to them
for some water, and held out one of my jars to them, turning it
bottom upward, to show that it was empty, and that I wanted to
have it filled. They called immediately to some of their friends;
and there came two women, and brought a great vessel made of
earth, and burned as I suppose in the sun. This they set down for
me as before; and I sent Xury on shore with my jars, and filled
them all three. The women were as stark naked as the men.

I was now furnished with roots and corn—such as it was—and
water; and leaving my friendly negroes, I made forward for about
eleven days more without offering to go near the shore, till I saw
the land run out a great length into the sea, at about the distance
of four or five leagues before me, and the sea being very calm, 1
kept a large offing to make this point. At length, doubling the
point at about two leagues from the land, I saw plainly land on the
other side to seaward. Then I concluded, as it was most certain
indeed, that this was the Cape de Verd, and those the islands,
called from thence Cape de Verd Islands. However, they were at
a great distance ; and I could not well tell what I had best to do,
for if I should be taken with a fresh of wind, I might neither
reach one nor the other.

In this dilemma, as I was very pensive, I stepped into the cabin
and sat me down, Xury having the helm, when on a sudden the
boy cried out, ‘‘ Master, master, a ship with a sail!” and the foolish
boy was frightened out of his wits, thinking it must needs be some
of his master’s ships sent to pursue us, when I knew we were
gotten far enough out of their reach. I jumped out of the cabin,
and immediately saw not only the ship, but what she was—namely,
that it was a Portuguese ship, and, as I thought, was bound to the
coast of Guinea for negroes. But when I observed the course she
steered, I was soon convinced they were bound some other way,
and did not design to come any nearer to the shore. Upon which
[ stretched out to sea as much as I could, resolving to speak with
them if possible.

With all the sail I could make, I found I should not be able to
come in their way, but that they would be gone by before I could



THE PORTUGUESE SHIP. 88

make any signal to them. But after I had crowded to the utmost
and begun to despair, they, it seems, saw me by the help of their
perspective-glasses, and that it was some European boat, which, as
they supposed, must belong to some ship that was lost; so they
shortened sail to let me come up. I was encouraged with this;



“‘T WAS SOON CONVINCED THEY WERF BOUND SOME OTHER WAY.”

and as I had my patron’s ancient on board, I made a waft of it to
them for a signal of distress, and fired a gun—both which they
saw, for they told me they saw the smoke, though they did not
hear the gun. Upon these signals they very kindly brought to,
and lay by for me, and in about three hours’ time I came up with
them. »

They asked me what I was, in Portuguese and in Spanish and
in French, but I understood none of them; but at last a Scotch
sailor who was on board called to me; and I answered him, and
told him I was an Englishman, that I had made my escape out of
slavery from the Moors at Sallee. Then they bade me come on
board, and very kindly took me in and all my goods.

It was an inexpressible joy to me, that any one will believe, that
I was thus delivered, as I esteemed it, from such a miserable and
almost hopeless condition as I was in, and I immediately offered
all I had to the captain of the ship as a return for my deliverance;
but he generously told me he would take nothing from me, but
that all I had should be delivered safe to me when I came to the
Rrazils. ‘‘ For,” says he, “I have saved your life on no other



84 AN HONEST SEA-CAPTAIN.

terms than I would be glad to be saved myself, and it may one time
or other be my lot to be taken up in the same condition ; besides,”
said he, “when I carry you to the Brazils, so great a way from
your own country, if I should take from you what you have, you
will be starved there, and then I only take away that life I have
given. No, no, Seignor Inglese,” says he, “ Mr. Englishman, I
will carry you thither in charity, and those things will help you to
buy your subsistence there and your passage home again.”

As he was charitable in his proposal, so he was just in the
performance to a tittle; for he ordered the seamen that none
should offer to touch anything Thad. Then he took everything
into his own possession, and gave me back an exact inventory of
them, that I might have them, even so much as my three earthen
jars.

As to my boat it was a very good one, and that he saw, and told
me he would buy it of me for the ship’s use, and asked me what I]
would have for it? I told him he had been so generous to me in
everything, that I could not offer to make any price of the boat,
but left it entirely to him; upon which he told me he would give me
a note of his hand to pay me eighty pieces of eight for it at Brazil,
and when it came there, if any one offered to give more he would
make it up. He offered me also sixty pieces of eight more for my
boy Xury; which I was loath to take: not that I was not willing to
let the captain have him, but I was very loath to sell the poor boy’s
liberty, who had assisted me so faithfully in procuring my own.
However, when I let him know my reason, he owned if to be
just, and offered me this medium—that he would give the boy
an obligation to set him free in ten years, if he turned Christian.
Upon this, and Xury saying he was willing to go to him, I let the
captain have him.

We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and arrived in the
Bay de Todos los Santos, or All-Saints’ Bay, in about twenty-two
days after. And now I was once more delivered from the most
miserable of all conditions of life; and what to do next with
myself I was now to consider.

The generous treatment the captain gave me I can never enough
remember. He would take nothing of me for my passage, gave



ON SHORE IN THE BRAZILS, 85

me twenty ducats for the leopard’s skin and forty for the lion’s
skin which I had in my boat, and caused everything I had in the
ship to be punctually delivered me; and what I was willing to
sell he bought, such as the case of bottles, two of my guns, and a
piece of the lump of bees-wax, for I had made candles of the rest.
In a word, I made about two hundred and twenty pieces of eight
of all my cargo; and with this stock I went on shore in the
Brazils.

Thad not been long here, but being recommended to the house
of a good honest man like himself, who had an “ ingeino,” as they
call it—that is, a plantation and a sugar-house—TI lived with him
some time, and acquainted myself by that means with the manner
of their planting and making of sugar. And seeing how well the
planters lived, and how they grew rich suddenly, I resolved, if I
could get license to settle there, I would turn planter among them ;
resolving in the meantime to find out some way to get my money
which I had left in London remitted to me. To this purpose,
getting a kind of a letter of naturalization, I purchased as much
land that was uncured as my money would reach, and formed a plan
for my plantation and settlement, and such a one as might be suit-
able to the stock which I proposed to myself to receive from
England.

I had a neighbour—a Portuguese of Lisbon, but born of English
parents— whose name was Wells, and in much such circumstances
a3 I was. I call him my neighbour, because his plantation lay
next to mine, and we went on very sociably together. My stock
was but low as well as his; and we rather planted for food than
anything else for about two years. However, we began to increase,
and our land began to come into order; so that the third year we
planted some tobacco, and made each of us a large piece of ground
ready for planting canes in the year to come. But we both wanted
help; and now I found, more than before, I had done wrong in
parting with my boy Xury.

But alas! for me to do wrong that never did right was no great
wonder. I had no remedy but to go on. I was gotten into an
employment quite remote to my genius, and directly contrary to
the life I delighted in, and for which I forsook my father’s house,



86 A TRUE FRIEND.

and broke through all his good advice; nay, I was coming into
the very middle station, or upper degree of low life, which my
father advised me to before, and which, if I resolved to go on with,
T might as well have stayed at home, and never have fatigued myself
in the world as Thad done. And I used often to say to myself, I
could have done this as well in England amang my friends as have
gone five thousand miles off to do it among strangers and savages
in a wilderness, and at such a distance qs never to hear from any
part of the world that had the least knowledge of me.

In this manner I used to look upon my condition with the
utmost regret. I had nobody to converse with but now and then
this neighbour—no work to be done but by the labour of my
hands ; and I used to say I lived just like a man cast away upon
some desolate island that had nobody there but himself. But how
just has it been, and how should all men reflect that when they
compare their present conditions with others that are worse,
Heaven may oblige them to make the exchange, and be convinced
of their former felicity by their experience, —I say how just has it
been that the truly solitary life I reflected on. in an island of mere
desolation, should be my lot, who had so often unjustly compared
it with the life which I then led; in which, had I continued, I
had in all probability been exceeding prosperous and rich !

Iwas in some degree settled in my measures for carrying on
the plantation, before my kind friend, the captain of the ship that
took me up at sea, went back—for the ship remained there in
providing his loading and preparing for his voyage near three
months—when, telling him what little stock I had left behind
me in London, he gave me this friendly and sincere advice.
“ Seignor Inglese,” says he,—for so he always called me,—“ if you
will give me letters, and a procuration here in form to me, with
orders to the person who has your money in London, to send your
effects to Lisbon to such persons as I shall direct, and in such
goods as are proper for this country, I will bring you the produce
of them, God willing, at my return. But since human affairs are
all subject to changes and disasters, I would have you give orders
but for one hundred pounds sterling, which you say is half your
stock, and let the hazard be run for the first; so that if it come



A PROFITABLE INVESTMENT. 81

safe you may order the rest the same way, and if it miscarry you
may have the other half to have recourse to for your supply.”

This was so wholesome advice, and looked so friendly, that I
could not but be convinced it was the best course I could take; so
I accordingly prepared letters to the gentlewoman with whom I
had left my money, and a procuration to the Portuguese captain,
as he desired.

I wrote the English captain’s widow a full account of all my
adventures; my slavery, escape, and how I had met with the
Portuguese captain at sea, the humanity of his behaviour, and in
what condition I was now in, with all other necessary directions
for my supply. And when this honest captain came to Lisbon, he
found means, by some of the English merchants there, to send
over, not the order only, but a full account of my story, to a mer-
chant at London, who represented it effectually to her; whereupon
she not only delivered the money, but out of her own pocket sent
the Portuguese captain a very handsome present for his humanity
and charity to me.

The merchant in London, vesting this hundred pounds in
English goods such as the captain had written for, sent them
directly to him at Lisbon, and he brought them all safe to me to
the Brazils; among which, without my direction— for I was too
young in my business to think of them—he had taken care to
have all sorts of tools, iron-work, and utensils necessary for ay,
plantation, and which were of great use to me.

When this cargo arrived I thought my fortune made, for I was
surprised with joy of it; and my good steward the captain had
laid out the five pounds, which my friend had sent him for a
present for himself, to purchase and bring me over a servant under
bond for six years’ service, and would not accept of any considera-
tion except a little tobacco, which I would have him accept, being
of my own produce.

Neither was this all. But my goods being all English manu-
factures, such as cloth, stufis, bays, and things particularly valuable
and desirable in the country, I found means to sell them to a very
great advantage; so that I may say I had more than four times
the value of my first cargo, and was now infinitely beyond my

wae



88 A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS.

poor neighbour—I mean in the advancement of my plantation ;
for the first thing Idid I bought me a negro slave, and a European
servant also—I mean another besides that which the captain
brought me from Lisbon.

But as abused prosperity is oftentimes made the very means of
our greatest adversity, so was it with me. I went on the next
year with great success in my plantation. I raised fifty great rolls
of tobacco on my own ground, more than I had disposed of for
necessaries among my neighbours; and these fifty rolls being each
of above a hundredweight, were well cured and laid by against the
return of the fleet from Lisbon. And now, increasing in business
and in wealth, my head began to be full of projects and under-
takings beyond my reach—such as are indeed often the ruin of
the best heads in business.

Had I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for all
the happy things to have yet befallen me for which my father so
earnestly recommended a quiet, retired life, and of which he had
so sensibly described the middle station of life to be full of. But
other things attended me, and I was still to be the wilful agent of
all my own miseries, and particularly to increase my fault and
double the reflections upon myself, which in my future sorrows I
should have leisure to make. All these miscarriages were pro-
eured by my apparent obstinate adherence to my foolish inclination
of wandering abroad, and pursuing that inclination in contradiction
to the clearest views of doing myself good in a fair and plain pur-
suit of those prospects and those measures of life which Nature
and Providence concurred to present me with and to make my
duty.

As I had once done thus in my breaking away from my parents,
so I could not be content now, but I must go and leave the happy
view I had of being a rich and thriving man in my new plantation,
only to pursue a rash and immoderate desire of rising faster than
the nature of the thing admitted; and thus I cast myself down
again into the deepest gulf of human misery that ever man fell
into, or perhaps could be consistent with life and a state of health
in the world.

To come, then, by the just degrees to the particulars of thie



TRADING IN NEGROES. 89

part of my story. You may suppose that having now lived almost
four years in the Brazils, and beginning to thrive and prosper very
well upon my plantation, I had not only learned the language, but
had contracted acquaintance and friendship among my fellow-
planters, as well as among the merchants at St. Salvadore, which was
our port; and that, in my discourses among them, I had frequently
given them an account of my two voyages to the coast of Guinea,
the manner of trading with the negroes there, and how easy it was
to purchase upon the coast for trifles—such as beads, toys, knives,
scissors, hatchets, bits of glass, and the like—not only gold dust,
Guinea grains, elephants’ teeth, &c., but negroes for the service of
the Brazils in great numbers.

They listened always very attentively to my discourses on these
heads, but especially to that part which related to the buying of
negroes ; which was a trade at that time not only not far entered
into, but, as far as it was, had been carried on by the assiento, or
permission of the Kings of Spain and Portugal, and engrossed in
the public; so that few negroes were brought, and those excessively
dear. )

It happened, being in company with some merchants and planters
of my acquaintance, and talking of those things very earnestly,
three of them came to ine the next morning, and told me they
had been musing very much upon what I had discoursed with
them of the last night, and they came to make a secret proposal
to me. And after enjoining me secrecy, they told me that they
had a mind to fit out a ship to go to Guinea; that they had all
plantations as well as I, and were straitened for nothing so much
as servants; that as it was a trade that could not be carried on,
because they could not publicly sell the negroes when they came
home, so they desired to make but one voyage, to bring the
negroes on shore privately, and divide them among their own
plantations ; and, in a word, the question was, whether I would
go their supercargo in the ship to manage the trading part upon
the coast of Guinea. And they offered me that I should have
wy equal share of the negroes, without providing any part of the
stock.

This was a fair proposal, it must be confessed, had it been made



90 CRUSOE AT SEA ONCE MORE.

to any one that had not had a settlement and plantation of his
own to look after, which was in a fair way of coming to be very
considerable, and with a good stock upon it. But for me that was
thus entered and established, and had nothing to do but go on as
I had begun for three or four years more, and to have sent for the
other hundred pounds from England, and who in that time, and
with that little addition, could scarce have failed of being worth
three or four thousand pounds sterling, and that increasing too,—
for me to think of such a voyage was the most preposterous thing
that ever man in such circumstances could be guilty of.

But I, that was born to be my own destroyer, could no more
resist the offer than I could restrain my first rambling designs
when my father’s good counsel was lost upon me. In a word, I
told them I would go with all my heart if they would undertake
to look after my plantation in my absence, and would dispose of
it to such as I should direct if I miscarried. This they all
engaged to do, and entered into writings or covenants to do so ;
and I made a formal will, disposing of my plantation and effects,
in case of my death, making the captain of the ship that had saved
my life, as before, my universal heir, but obliging him to dispose
of my effects as I had directed in my will—one-half of the pro-
duce being to himself, and the other to be shipped to England.
In short, I took all possible caution to preserve my effects and
keep up my plantation. Had I used half as much prudence to
have looked into my own interest, and have made a judgment of
what I ought to have done and not to have done, I had certainly
never gone away from so prosperous an undertaking—leaving all
the probable views of a thriving circumstance, and gone upon a
voyage to sea, attended with all its common hazards, to say
nothing of the reasons I had to expect particular misfortunes to
myself,

But I was hurried on, and obeyed blindly the dictates of my
fancy rather than my reason. And accordingly, the ship being
fitted out and the cargo furnished, and all things done as by
agreement by my partners in the voyage, I went on board in an
evil hour—the Ist of September 1659, being the same day eight
years that I went from my father and mother at Hull in order



PERILS OF THE DEEP. 91

to act the rebel to their authority and the fool to my own
interest.

Our ship was about 120 tons burden ; carried six guns and
fourteen men, besides the master, his boy, and myself. We had
on board no large cargo of goods, except of such toys as were fit
for our trade with the negroes—such as beads, bits of glass, shells
and odd trifles, especially little looking-glasses, knives, scissors,
hatchets, and the like.

The same day I went on board we set sail, standing away to
the northward upon our own coast, with design to stretch over for
the African coast when they came about 10 or 12 degrees of
northern latitude; which, it seems, was the manner of their course
in those days. We had very good weather, only excessively hot,
all the way upon our own coast, till we came the height of Cape
St. Augustino; from whence, keeping further off at sea, we lost
sight of land, and steered as if we were bound for the isle Fernand
de Noronha, holding our course north-east by north, and leaving
those isles on the east. In this course we passed the line in about
twelve days’ time; and were by our last observation in 7 degrees
22, minutes northern latitude, when a violent tornado or hurricane
took us quite out of our knowledge. It began from the south-
east, came about to the north-west, and then settled into the
north-east ; from whence it blew in such a terrible manner that
for twelve days together we could do nothing but drive, and ecud-
ding away before it, let it carry us whither ever fate and the fury
of the winds directed. And during these twelve days I need not
say that I expected every day to be swallowed up; nor, indeed,
did any in the ship expect to save their lives.

In this distress, we had, besides the terror of the storm, one of
our men died of the calenture, and one man and the boy washed
overboard. About the twelfth day, the weather abating a little,
the master made an observation as well as he could, and found
that he was in about 11 degrees north latitude, but that he
was 22 degrees of longitude difference west from Cape St.
Augustino; so that he found he was gotten upon the coast of
Guiana, or the north part of Brazil, beyond the River Amazon,
toward that of the River Orinoco, commonly called the Great



92 DRIVING ASHORE.

River, and began to consult with me what course he should take,
for the ship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was going
directly back to the coast of Brazil.

I was positively against thet; and looking over the charts of the
sea-coast of America with him, we concluded there was no inhabited
country for us to have recourse to till we came within the circle of
the Caribbean Islands, and therefore resolved to stand away for
Barbadoes; which, by keeping off at sea, to avoid the indraught of
the Bay or Gulf of Mexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped,
in about fifteen days’ sail; whereas we could not possibly make our
voyage to the coast of Africa without some assistance both to our
ship and to ourselves.

With this design we changed our course, and steered away
north-west by west, in order to reach some of our English islands,
where I hoped for relief. But our voyage was otherwise deter-
wnined; for, being in the latitude of 12 degrees 18 minutes, a
second storm came upon us, which carried us away with the same
impetuosity westward, and drove us so out of the very way of all
human commerce, that had all our lives been saved as to the sea,
we were rather in danger of being devoured by savages than ever
teturning to our own country.

In this distress, the wind still blowing very hard, one of our men
early in the morning cried out “Land!” and we had no sooner
run out of the cabin to look out in hopes of seeing whereabouts in
the world we were, but the ship struck upon a sand, and ina
moment, her motion being so stopped, the sea bruke over her in
such a manner, that we expected we should all have perished
immediately, and we were immediately driven into our close
quarters to shelter us from the very foam and spray of the sea.

It is not easy for any one who has not been in the like condition
to describe or conceive the consternation of men in such circum-
stances. We knew nothing where we were, or upon what land it
was we were driven, whether an island or the main, whether in-
habited or not inhabited; and as the rage of the wind was still
great, though rather less than at first, we could not so much as
hope to have the ship hold many minutes without breaking in
pieces, unless the wind by a kind of miracle should turn im-



A LONG PULL FOR LIFE. 93

mediately about. In a word, we sat looking one upon another,
and expecting death every moment, and every man acting accord-
ingly as preparing for another world, for there was little or
nothing more for us to do in this. That which was our present
comfort, and all the comfort we had, was that, contrary to our
expectation, the ship did not break yet, and that the master said
the wind began to abate.

Now, though we thought that the wind did a little abate, yet
the ship having thus struck upon the sand, and sticking too fast
for us to expect her getting off, we were in a dreadful condition
indeed, and had nothing to do but to think of saving our lives as
well as we could. We had a boat at our stern just before the
storm, but she was first staved by dashing against the ship’s rudder,
and in the next place she broke away, and either sunk or was
driven off to sea; so there was no hope from her. We had another
boat on board; but how to get her off into the sea was a doubtful
thing. However, there was no room to debate, for we fancied the
ship would break in pieces every minute, and some told us she was
actually broken already.

In this distress the mate of our vessel lays hold of the boat, and
with the help of the rest of the men, they got her slung over the
ship’s side, and getting all into her, let go, and committed our-
selves, being cleven in number, to God’s mercy and the wild sea:
for though the storm was abated considerably, yet the sea went
dreadfully high upon the shore, and might well be called “den
wild zee,” as the Dutch call the sea in a storm.

And now our case was very dismal indeed; for we all saw
plainly that the sea went so high that the boat could not live, and
that we should be inevitably drowned. As to making sail, we had
none; nor, if we had, could we have done anything with it: so we
worked at the oar towards the land, though with heavy hearts,
like men going to execution; for we all knew that when the boat
came nearer the shore she would be dashed ina thousand pieces by
the breach of the sea. However, we committed our souls to God
in the most earnest manner, and the wind driving us towards the
shore, we hastened our destruction with our own hands, pulling
a. well as we could towards land.



94 A MOUNTAIN WAVE.



‘oHE SEA WENT SO HIGH THAT THE BOAT COULD NOT LIVE.”

What the shore was—whether rock or sand, whether steep or
shoal—we knew not; the only hope that could rationally give us
the least shadow of expectation, was if we might happen into some
bay or gulf, or the mouth of some river, where by great chance we
might have run our boat in, or got under the lee of the land, and
perhaps made smooth water. But there was nothing of this
appeared; but as we made nearer and nearer the shore, the land
looked more frightful than the sea.

After we had rowed or rather driven about a league and a half,
as we reckoned it, a raging wave, mountain-like, came rolling
astern of us, and plainly bade us expect the cowp-de-grace. In a



CAST UPON THE ROCKS. 96

word, it took us with such a fury, that it overset the boat at once,
and separating us as well from the boat as from one another, gave
us not time hardly to say, O God! for we were all swallowed up
in a moment.

Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when
I sunk into the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could
not deliver myself from the waves so as to draw breath, till that a
wave, having driven me or rather carried me a vast way on towards
the shore, and having spent itself, went back, and left me upon
the land almost dry, but half dead with the water I took in. I
had so much presence of mind as well as breath left that, seeing
myself nearer the mainland than I expected, I ‘got upon my feet,
and endeavoured to make on towards the land as fast as I could
before another wave should return and take me up again. But |
soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the sea come
after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy which
UL had no means or strength to contend with. My business was to
hold my breath and raise myself upon the water if I could, and
so by swimming to preserve my breathing and pilot myself towards
the shore if possible; my greatest concern now being that the
sea, as it would carry me a great way towards the shore when it
came on, might not carry me back again with it when it gave back
towards the sea.

The wave that came upon me again buried me at once twenty
or thirty feet deep in its own body; and I could feel myself carried
with a mighty force and swiftness towards the shore a very great
way; but I held my breath, and assisted myself to swim still
forward with all my might. J was ready to burst with holding .
my breath, when, as I felt myself rising up, so to my immediate
relief I found my head and hands shoot out above the surface of
the water; and though it was not two seconds of time that I could
keep myself so, yet it relieved me greatly, gave me breath and
new courage. I was covered again with water a good while, but
not so long but I held it out; and finding the water had spent
itself and begun to return, I struck forward against the return of
the waves, and felt ground again with my feet. I stood still a few

moments to recover breath, and til] the water went from me, and
(284 7



96 A NARROW ESCAPE.

then took to my heels and ran with what strength I had further
towards the shore. But neither would this deliver me from the
fury of the sea, which came pouring in after me again, and twice
more I was lifted up by the waves and carried forward as before,
the shore being very flat.

The last time of these two had well near been fatal to me; for
the sea having hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather



“| WELD MY HOLD TILL THE
WAVE ABATED.”

dashed me, against a piece of a
rock, and that with such force, as it
left me senseless, and indeed help-
less, as to my own deliverance:
for the blow taking my side and
breast, beat the breath as it were
quite out of my body, and had it





CRUSOE IN SAFETY. 97

returned again immediately, I must have been strangled in the
water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves,
and seeing I should be covered again with the water, I resolved
to hold fast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath, if
possible, till the wave went back. Now as the waves were not
so high as at first, being near land, I held my hold till the wave
abated, and then fetched another run, which brought me so near
the shore, that the next wave, though it went over me, yet did not
so swallow me up as to carry me away; and the next run I took I
got to the mainland, where, to my great comfort, I clambered up
the cliffs of the shore and sat me down upon the grass, free from
danger, and quite out of the reach of the water.














WAS now landed, and safe on shore, and began
to look up and thank God that my life was
saved in a case wherein there was some minutes
before scarce any room to hope. I believe it
is impossible to express to the life what the
eestasies and transports of the soul are when
it is so saved, as I may say, out of the very

grave; and [ do not wonder now at that custom, namely, that

when a malefactor, who has the halter about his neck, is tied up,
and just going to be turned off, and has a reprieve brought to him

—I say, I do not wonder that they bring a surgeon with it, to let

him bleed that very moment they tell him of it, that the surprise

may not drive the animal spirits from the heart and overwhelm
him:

“For sudden joys, like griefs, confound at first.”

I walked about on the shore lifting up my hands, and iny whole
being, as I may say, wrapped up in the contemplation of my
deliverance, making a thousand gestures and motions which I



Full Text
aot

—
oo

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES

OS

ROBINSON CRUSOR
“The author of that book which has imparted to most
of us the greatest delight of any, was also the earliest
teacher of political economy, the first propounder of free
trade. He planted that tree which, stationary and stunted
for nearly two centuries, is now spreading its shadow by
degrees over all the earth. He was the most far-sighted
of our statesmen, and the most worthily trusted by the
wisest of our kingz.”

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.


















































“BE PLEASED TO TAKE A SKETCH OF MY FIGURE.”

Pge 203.
ipl Fee ra Lose oe =

Strange Surprizing Adventures

OF

OB iN SS Ot Crusoe

| Of York, Mariner.



CRUSOE IN HIS SMALL BOAT,
Page 196

Thomas Melson and-Sons,

LONDON. EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.
JE SLID ib 115 19

AND

STRANGE SURPRIZING ADVENTURES

OF

ROBINSON CRUSOe

OF YORK, MARINER.
WRITTEN BY AIMSELF-
Carefully Reprinted from the Original Edition.

WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR OF DANIEL DE FOE,
A MEMOIR OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK, AN ACCOUNT OF PETER SERRANO,
AND OTHER INTERESTING ADDITIONS.

ILLUSTRATED WITH UPWARDS OF SEVENTY ENGRAVINGS BY KEELEY HALSWELLE,
A PORTRAIT OF DE FOE, A MAP OF ROBINSON CRUSOE’S ISLAND, DE FOE’S
TOMB, FACSIMILES OF ORIGINAL TITLE-PAGES, ETC., ETC,

LONDON: THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK.
Wreface.



O formal introduction is necessary to a book which
\é for nearly two centuries has been the favourite
of young and old, and which is now ranked, by
common consent, among the classic master.
pieces of English literature.

All then that remains for the Editor to do, is to justify
the appearance of this new edition by pointing out in
what respects it differs from its predecessors.

Ist,—It has been carefully printed from the first
edition; though it has not been thought advisable to adopt
the pedantic fashion of reproducing the original ortho-
graphy. We might as well use the old spelling in our
“ Authorized Version of the Bible ;” and we are unable to
see how it can interest any but a very limited class of
students. For the same reason, we have by no means
literally followed the original punctuation, which, perhaps,
was not De Foe’s, but his printers’. In all other respects

the present edition is a faithful transcript of the ‘‘ Robinson
vi PREFACE,

Crusoe” which delighted English boys when first pub
lished.

2nd,—A Memoir of De Foe, carefully based on the
most trustworthy authorities, has been prefixed.

3rd,—In the Appendix will be found a Memoir of
Aleaander Selkirk, who, whether rightly or wrongly, is
inseparably connected with De Foe’s fiction; a Narrative
of his Residence on the Island of Juan Fernandez ;
Cowper's Poem, suggested by Selkirk’s narrative; and a
Brief Account of the Famous Spanish Crusoe, Peter
Serrano.

4th,—The Illustrations have been expressly designed
for this edition by Mr. Keeley Halswelle, with the excep-
tion, of course, of the Fucsimiles occasionally introduced
of the Title-pages and Engravings in the original work.
The Head-pieces are by Clark Stanton, A.R.A. In a
word, no pains have been spared to render the present
edition complete in every detail; and worthy, it is hoped,

of a place in the library of all good English boys.

W. if. D. A.
Gi ontents.





1. ORIGINAL TITLE-PAGES

2, DANIEL DE FOE: A BIOGRAPHY—
CuaAprer I.—His EARLY YEARS
a II.—A Lire or STRUGGLE
co III.—De For as A WRITER oF FIcTION

eI IV.—Last YEARS AND DEATH

3. ROBINSON CRUSOE—
PART THE FIRST

Part THE SECOND

4. APPENDIX—

I.—ALEXANDER SELKIRK: A MEMOIR

II.—NARRATIVE OF SELKIRKE’S RESIDENCE ON THE ISLAND OF JUAN

FERNANDEZ

IIJ.—VErsEs SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK

IV.—A Spanisa Ropinson CRUSOE

5. ANALYTICAL INDEX

49
361

629

640
644
645

649
Original Titles of “Robinson Crusoe. ’

“Tue Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusve, of
York, Mariner; Who lived eight and twenty Years all alone, on an unin-
habited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River
of Uroonoque; Having been Cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the
Men perished but Himself. With an Account how he was at last Strangely
delivered by Pyrates. Written by Himself. London. Printed for W.
Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster Row.” (1st Edition, 25 April, 1719.}

“The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Being the Second and
Last Part of his Life, and of the Strange Surprizing Accounts of his Travels
round Three Parts of the Globe. Written by Himself. To which is added
a Map of the World, in which is Delineated the Voyages of Robinson Crusoe.
London. Printed for W. Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster Row.” (lst
Edition, 20 August, 1719.)

“Serious Reflections during the Life and Surprizing Adventures of
Robinson Crusoe. With his Vision of the Angelick World. Written by
Himself. London. Printed for W. Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster
Row.” (ist Edition, 6 August, 1720.)
DANIEL DE FOE:
A Biographn.

CHAPTER 1.

HIS EARLY YEARS.



There is a man alive, he says, and well known
too, the aenore of whose life are the first subject of these volumes,
and to whom all or most part of the story most directly alludes ;
this, he adds, may be depended upon for truth. In a word,
there’s not a circumstance in the imaginary story but has its just allusion to
a real story, and chimes part for part, and step for step, with the inimitable
“ Life of Robinson Crusoe.”

Notwithstanding this assertion, I am inclined to think that much of the
pretended allegory was an after-thought of De Foe’s, and that between his
active career and that of the solitary in the wave-washed island there exists
no more resemblance than between Macedon and Monmouth in Fluellen’s
famous comparison. We may see, perhaps, some degree of likeness in the
loneliness of De Foe in the-world which he buffeted so stoutly, and the caged
condition of the castaway may remind us of his creator’s imprisonment ; but
we refuse to carry the allegory any further, or to identify every incident in
the romance with every event in the real life. For the rest, De Foe was a
greater, a braver, and a more self-controlled man than “ Robinson Crusoe,”
as the following brief biographical sketch will, I hope, abundantly prove.

Daniel Defoe, or De Foe, was born in the parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate
in 1660; the son of James Foe, citizen and butcher, of London; and the
10 HIS EARLY YEARS AND EDUCATION.

grandson of Daniel Foe, a gentleman of good estate in Northamptonshire,
who kept a pack of hounds. Nothing more than this can be said of Daniel
De Foe’s grandfather ; of his father some particulars are recorded. ‘ That
he was an excellent father,” says Mr. Lee,* ‘“‘may be concluded from the
affectionate reverence with which his son alludes to him; that he was pros-
perous is evident from his ability to give that son the best education then
open to Dissenters. No doubt can be entertained that he was a good man.
and a sincere Christian. He had, in all probability, been a constant attend-
ant at his parish church during the ministry of the pious and reverend
Samuel Annesley, LL.D.; and when that divine was ejected, under the Act
of Uniformity, James Foe accompanied his beloved pastor, and became a
Nonconformist. He died about 1706-7, full of years, and the last act re-
corded of him (though not by his son) is his giving a testimonial to the
character of a female domestic who had formerly lived two years in his ser-
vice. He says he should not have recommended her to Mr. Cave, ‘ that godly
minister, had not her conversation been becoming the gospel.’”

Under such auspices passed the earliest years of the life of De Foe, and
his mind seems to have been carefully imbued with religious sentiments. He
was a bold, generous, vivacious boy, who, as he himself tells us, neve
struck an enemy when he was down. His perseverance was of no ordinary
description, and when the poor Nonconformists had reason to fear that the
Government would deprive them of their printed copies of the Bible, he set
to work on the difficult task of transcribing the Old Testament, and never
abandoned it until he had completed the whole of the Pentateuch.

At the age of fourteen this bright, enthusiastic hoy—whom his parents
designated for the ministry—was sent to the celebrated Dissenting Academy
at Newington Green, kept by a ripe scholar and able man, the Rev. Charles
Morton. Here he made rapid progress in the various departments of learn-
ing; and here, too, as his mind developed and his intellect matured, his
moral sense of responsibility grew stronger, so that he was induced to ask
himself whether he was suited for a clerical career, and whether it was suited
for him, replying to both questions in the negative. Nevertheless, he went
through a course of theology, which, in truth, was incumbent on all Mr.
Morton’s pupils; he also studied the rudiments of political science; he ac-
quired a satisfactory knowledge of mathematics, logic, natural philosophy.
history, geography ; something considerable he knew, too, of Latin, Greek.
Hebrew, French, and Italian; and—not least useful accomplishment—he
learned to write his mother tongue with ease, accuracy, and vigour.

That he profited by his studies at school, and that he afterwards improved
to the uttermost the scanty leisure of a busy life, is abundantly proved by
the variety and erudition of his writings.

Soon after he had completed his education, he was placed in the ware-
house of a wholesale hose-factor, to be instructed, perhaps, in book-keeping

* Lee, ‘’ Daniel De Foe, his Life,” &c., vol £ p. 5.
A CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTE, 1]

and business management. Such details were little in accordance with his
tastes, and we do not wonder that, with his strong Protestant principles and
enlarged sympathies, he early plunged into the fierce joys of political con-
test. He was no bigot, however—no fanatical exponent of his own views;
and though a sound Protestant, he was little inclined to join in the unreason-
ing persecution of Roman Catholics which characterized the closing years
of Charles the Second’s reign. At a later time he wrote: “I never blame
men who, profegsing principles destructive of the Constitution they live
under, and believing it their just right to supplant it, act in conformity to
the principles they profess. I believe, if I were a Papist, I should do the
same. Believing the merit of it would carry me to heaven, I doubt not I
should go as far as another. But when we ran up that plot to genera:
massacres, fleets of pilgrims, bits and bridles, knives, handcuffs, and a thou-
sand such things, I confess, though a boy, I could not then, nor can now,
come up to them. And my reasons were, as they still are, because I see no
cause to believe the Papists to be fools, whatever else we had occasion to
think them. A general massacre, truly! when the Papists are not five to a
hundred, in some countries not one, and within the city hardly one toa
thousand!”

This liberal and tolerant spirit De Foe preserved throughout his career,
and few of his contemporaries, if any, more thoroughly comprehended the
true principles of civil and religious freedom. For bigotry, whether Protest-
ant or Roman Catholic, he had a great contempt. On one occasion he
sntered a crowd of listeners who, with mouths and ears open, were devour-
ing the latest scandal against “the Papishes.” An itinerant spouter was
retailing an invention in reference to the newly-erected Monument. ‘ Last
night,” said he, unblushingly, “‘six Frenchmen came up and stole it away ;
and but for the watch, who stopped them as they went over the bridge, and
made them carry it back again, they might, for aught we know, have carried
it over into France. These Papishes will never have done.” Some of the
bystanders looked incredulous at this very bold assertion, and Mr. Daniel
Foe stepped forward, with grave satirical air, to clench the monstrous
absurdity. He repeated the story, but added a touch of characteristic
realism ; for, said he, if you do but hasten to the spot, you will see the work-
men employed in making all fast again! *

Seven years later, De Foe, or Foe, as he then called himself, started in
business on his own account. He became a liveryman of London, and
established himself as hose-factor in Freeman’s Court, Cornhill. His interest
in politics, however, was of so deep and absorbing a kind that his commer-
cial speculations must greatly have suffered by it. He could not serve two
masters—he was too earnest a patriot to attain success as a man of business
Now-a-days, it is quite possible for any one of us to combine both capacities
The political questions which demand attention may well be considered in

* Forster, ‘‘ Historical and Biographical Essays,” ii. & *
12 DE FOE AS A POLITICIAN.

the intervals of our leisure, and they are seldom of that order on which the
safety of an empire depends. But in De Foe’s time it was quite otherwise.
He who plunged into the raging strife was compelled to throw aside every
impediment, and to fight, if he fought at all, with arms and hands unen-
cumbered. The seven years of his apprenticeship had been seven most
eventful years, and De Foe, with his far-seeing sagacity, could not but
rightly estimate the importance of the issue. He was too courageous and
too wise to fear that issue. As Mr. Forster eloquently and truly says, hope
would brighten in his sensible, manly heart, when it most deserted weaker
men’s When the King, alarmed at last for the safety of the crown he dis-
honoured, flung off his licentious negligence for crueller enjoyments; when
the street ballads and lampoons against his shameless court grew daily
bitterer and more daring; when a Sidney and a Russell were brought to the
block for advocating such a measure of liberty as would now-a-days be con-
sidered moderate by the most slavish partisan of Cesarism; no alarm was
likely to depress De Foe’s clear, calm. and unshaken intellect. And the end
of that Saturnalia of license and shame, of foul cruelty, of fouller luxurious-
ness, of tyranny at home and disgrace abroad, which we call the reign of
Charles II., came at length—Charles IT. was dead, and caps were thrown in
the air for James II.

This is not the place for an historical summary, and yet in the history of
his time De Foe played so prominent a part that an occasional glance at its
leading events must be permitted us. The intentions of James II. he fully
understood and appreciated. He saw that he aimed at the establishment of
Popery as his end in religion, and the absolutism of the Crown as the goal
of his policy. He heard bishops preach of the divine right and infallibility
of Kings; he heard it publicly asserted, that if the King commanded his
head, and sent his messengers to fetch it, he was bound to submit, and stand
still while it was cut off. We need not wonder that, under such circum-
stances, De Foe gladly hailed the so-called rebellion of the Duke of Mon-
mouth as affording a prospect of deliverance for his country. Its religion and
its freedom seemed to him to be intimately bound up with the success of the
Duke's expedition; and mounting his horse, he rode away to enlist under
his standard. He was with the invaders at Bath and Bristol; but—how or
why I know not—he was absent from the great fight at Sedgemoor, when
the King’s cause was so nearly lost. On learning of Monmouth’s disastrous
defeat, he would seem to have gained the sea-shore and taken ship to the
Continent. With his usual energy he turned his self-banishment to advan-
tage, traversing Spain, and Germany, and France, and gathering a vast fund
of experience and information, which in due time proved to him of the
highest value.

It was probably in the following year that he returned to Freeman's
Court, Cornhill. Thenceforth he wrote himself De Foe. Whether, says
A Forster, the change was @ piece of innocent vanity picked up in his
WHAT'S IN A NAME? 18

travels, or had any more serious motive, it would now be idle to inquire
He was known both as Foe and De Foe to the last; but it is the latter name
which he inscribed on the title-page of almost every one of his books, and it
is the name by which he has become immortal.

Mr. Lee, De Foe’s latest biographer, differs from all preceding authorities
in dating the change of name as late as 1708. “Iam inclined to think,”
he says, “it began accidentally, or was adopted for convenience, to dis-
tinguish him from his father.” But surely such a distinction was unneces-
sary, when the son was called Daniel and the father James! I think the
change far more likely to have been a foreign affectation, adopted during
the exile’s Continental travels, and afterwards persevered in from habit;
but the reader shall have an opportunity of following up the chain of Mr.
Lee’s reasoning, which is ingenious, if unsatisfactory.

“The father,” he says, “from his age and experience, and the son from
his commanding ability, were both influential members of the Dissenting
interest in the city. They would respectively be spoken of and addressed,
orally, as Mr. Foe, and Mr. D, Foe. The name as spoken would in writing
become Mr. De Foe,* and thus what originated in accident might be used for
convenience, and become more or less settled by time. This simple expla-
nation is favoured by the following proofs of De Foe’s indifference in the
matter. His initials and name appear in various forms in his works, sub-
scribed to dedications, prefaces, &c., aud this may be presumed to have beer
done by himself. Before 1703 I find only D. F. In that year Mr. De Foe,
and Daniel De Foe. “In the following year, D. D. F.; De Foe; and Daniel
De Foe. In 1705, D, F.; and three autograph letters, all addressed to the
Earl of Halifax, are successively signed D. Foe; De Foe; Daniel De Foe. In
1706, D. F.; D. Foe; De Foe; Daniel De Foe. And in 1709, D. F.; De Foe
and Daniel De Foe.”

The first printed production from De Foe’s pen was a political pamphlet,
the precursor of a legion of similar writings, entitled “A Letter, containing
some Reflections on His Majesty’s Declaration for Liberty of Conscience,”
dated the 4th of April 1687.

In the following year William of Orange landed at Torbay, and De Foe,
zealous as ever in the noble cause of civil and religious liberty, hastened te
welcome “ The Deliverer,” in whose success lay the only hope of the release
of England from the thraldom of bigotry and absolutism. Armed, and on
horseback, he joined the second line of William’s army a* Henley-on-Thames.
He probably accompanied the Prince on his entry into London. At the
stirring debates of the Convention he was unquestionably present, and his
heart must have leaped with joy when he heard the famous resolution passed,
on the 18th of February, that no King had reigned in England since the day
of James’s flight. Gallantly mounted and accoutred, he was one of “ the

“Surely not! There is a great difference in sound between the English D. and the
French De.
14 DE FOE AND HIS SOVEREIGN.

royal regiment of volunteer horse, made up of the chief citizens,” who at-
tended William and Mary on their first visit to Guildhall. Between William
and the sturdy political Dissenter there was a striking resemblance of char-
acter. Both were self-reserved, self-controlled men, masters of their emo-
tions, able to preserve silence and to “stand alone.” Both had a sincere
respect for the principles of an enlightened toleration. Both shared the
same opinions on the necessity of counter-checking the preponderant power
of France. Even in religious matters the views and thoughts of the Luth-
eran King must have closely approximated to those of his Nonconformist
subject. Certain it is that the sympathy between the two was considerable.
William honoured De Foe with his confidence, and De Foe looked up to his
King with esteem and admiration. To the close of his life he celebrated as
a festival the memorable 4th of November, the day on which William landed
at Torbay,—‘‘a day,” he exultingly wrote, “‘ famous on yarious accounts, and
every one of them dear to Britons who love their country, yalue the Pro-
testant interest, or have an aversion to tyranny and oppression. On this
day he was born; on this day he married the daughter of England; and on
this day he rescued the nation from a bondage worse than that of Egypt—
a bondage of soul as well as bodily servitude—a slavery to the ambition and
raging lust of a generation set on fire by pride, avarice, cruelty, and blood,” *

* Review, vol iv. p. 453.
CHAPTER IL.

A LIFE OF STRUGGLE.



» FOE celebrated the first anniversary of the Day of Deliverance
& «at a country house in the pleasant village of Tooting. He
resided here for some time, forming the Dissenters of the neigh-
bourhood into a regular congregation, and supplying them
with a devout and learned man for minister. He afterwards
removed to the neighbourhood of Mickleham, ‘“ the Happy
Valley,” as it has not unjustly been called, in allusion to the
rich and cultivated loveliness of its landscapes.

In 1689 and 1690 we hear but little of De Foe, except that hestill attempted,
and, as we shall see, with but little success, to combine the pursuit of poli-
tics with that of business. In 1691 appeared his first effort in verse, entitled
““A New Discovery of an Old Intrigue: a Satire level’d at Treachery and
Ambition ; calculated tp the Nativity of the Rapparee Plott, and the Modesty
of the Jacobite Clergy.”’ Like all De Foe’s productions in metre, it contains
much solid sense, and many vigorous lines; but it is utterly destitute of
imagination and fancy, and not less destitute of all melody of language and
harmony of rhythm.

In the following year began the series of distressing commercial difficulties
which finally terminated in De Foe’sinsolvency. There can be no reasonable
doubt that they were due to his own want of business habits. A politician
and a wit, he was wholly unsuited for the proper management of commercial
speculations. In his book, “The Compleat Tradesman,” ho shows that he
perfectly understood the causes of his ill-success. ‘A wit turned trades-
man!” he exclaims, “ what an incongruous part of nature is there brought
together, consisting of direct contraries! No apron strings will hold him;
‘tis in vain to lock him in behind the compter—he’s gone in a moment:
instead of journal and ledger, he runs away to his Virgil and Horace ; hia
journal entries are all Pindaricks, and his ledger all Heroicks: he is truly
dramatic from one end to the other, through the whole scene of his trade;
and as the first part is all comedy, so the two last acts are all made up with
tragedy ; a statute of bankrupt is his Ezeunt omnes, and he generally speaks
the epilogue in the Fleet Prison or the Mint.”

An angry creditor took out against De Foe a commission of bankruptcy
16 ‘“AN ESSAY ON PROJECTS.”

which, however, was soon superseded at the request of his other creditors ;
and De Foe’s proposal of composition was accepted on his single bond. It
should be added, to his honour, that this he punctually paid by the most
indefatigable exertion of industry and self-denial. And afterwards, when
misfortune overtook some of these more lenient creditors, De Foe, whom King
William’s favour had meanwhile raised to a position of comparative afilu-
ence, voluntarily paid the whole amount of their claims.

While his proposal was being debated by his creditors, De Foe, to avoid
imprisonment, had taken refuge in Bristol; and here, it is said, he was
known as the ‘“‘ Sunday gentleman,” because, from fear of the bailiffs, he
could not appear in public on any other day. But on these public appear-
ances he was gaily dressed, in a fine flowing wig, lace ruffies, and with a
sword by his side. His enforced leisure he occupied in the composition of
his admirably practical ‘“‘ Essay on Projects;’’ which, however, was not pub-
lished until two years afterwards,

Forster describes it as ‘‘a most shrewd, wise, and memorable piece of
writing.” It suggested various reforms in the English system of banking.
and a plan for central county banks; it demonstrated the immense advan-
tages of an efficient improvement of the public roads, as a source of public
benefit and revenue ; it recommended, for the security of trade, a mitigation
of the severities of the law against the honest bankrupt, and a more effect-
ual system of check against practised knavery; it proposed the general
establishment of offices for insurance “in every case of risk;” it enforced
in impressive language the expediency of friendly societies, and of a kind of
savings’ bank, among the poor; and, with a sagacity far in advance of the
age, urged the solemn necessity of a more humane custody of lunatics, which
was aptly described as ‘a particular rent-charge on the great family of
mankind.”

His banishment at Bristul being terminated by his creditors’ frank accept-
ance of his proposal of composition, De Foe returned to London, where he was
soon afterwards concerned, ‘‘ with some eminent persons at home,” in pro-
posing financial ways and means to the English Government for conducting
the great war with France. This service led to his appointment as account-
ant to the Commissioners of the Glass Duty (1694-1699) ; and this appoint-
ment probably furnished him with resources for the establishment of exten-
sive tile-kiln and brick-kiln works at Tilbury,* on the Thames, where, for
several years, he gave employment to upwards of a hundred poor workmen,
and where, among the rough and daring men who frequented the banks of
the great river, he probably gathered much of that nautical knowledge and
information about strange countries which he afterwards turned to so
excellent an advantage.

* He appears, at first, to have been one of a company, but, after a while, became sole

proprietor.
t Mr. Lee describes an interesting visit which he paid to the rite of these works. ‘‘In

(284)
“THE TRUE-BORN ENGLISHMAN.” nn

He now began to pay off his debts rapidly, and yearly to increase in
worldly prosperity. He supported with indefatigable pen the principal
measures of William III.; advocated the formation of a small standing
army; defended the great principle of religious toleration; and lent his
powerful influence to the creation in England of an enlightened public opin-
ion on these and other important subjects. His second poetical satire,
“The Pacificator,’ appeared in 1700, and is superior to the first in cogency
and point. Early in the following vear he published the best of his poems,
“The True-born Englishman;” which, more than any of his previous works,
tended to attract the attention of the public. It was designed as a reply to |
‘“‘a vile abhorred pamphlet, in very ill verse. written by one Mr. Tutchin, and
called The Foreigners; in which the author fell personally upon the King
himself, and then upon the Dutch nation.” The satire is strong and
trenchant, and commanded such general popularity that it passed through
nine genuine editions in a twelvemonth, and through twelve pirated editions
in less than three years. Its object was to show the composite character of
the English race—

“Saxon, and Norman, and Dane are we ;”

and to prove that its success was owing to its very admixture of blood. ‘I'he
first four lines have become familiar as househo!d words—

“Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there ;
And ‘twill be found, upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.”

But the satire itself has now fallen into oblivion, simply because, clever

the year 1860,” he says, “‘when the London, Tilbury, and Southend Railway was com-
pleted, thinking that the excavations might discover some remains of De Foe’s tile-works,
I made a day’s excursion to the locality. Immediately on the west side of the Tilbury
Station a large plot of land was being dug over to form potato-ground for the railway
servants ; and a deep trench had been previously cut through the same to the river to
drain the company’s estate. In this way the whole of De Foe’s brick and pan-tile works
had been laid open, including the clay-pits, drying-floors, foundations of kilns. and other
buildings. Large quantities of bricks and tiles had been excavated, and thrown into
heaps, to clear the land for its intended purpose. The pan-tiles appear to have attracted
very little notice ; but the narrowness of the bricks, and the peculiar forms of certain
tobacco-pipes, found mixed with both, had excited some little wonderment among the
labourers. I asked several how they thought these things came there, and was answered
by an ignorant shake of the head. But when I said, ‘These bricks and tiles were made
a hundred and sixty years since, by the same man that made Robinson Crusoe !’ I touched
a chord that connected these railway ‘navvies’ with the shipwrecked mariner, and that
bounded over the intervening period in a single moment. Every eye brightened, every
tongne was ready to ask or give information, and every fragment became interesting.
Porters, inspector, and station-master soon gathered round me, wondering at what was
deemed an important historical revelation. The pan-tiles made at Tilbury were of
excellent manufacture, and still retain a fine red colour, close texture, and are quite
sonorous. Neither the Dutch nor any other tiles could have driven them out of the
market, and the maker would have been able, from proximity to London and facilities of
conveyance, either to undersell the foreign dealer or to realize a proportionately larger
profit.”—Lee, ‘‘ Daniel De Foe,” i. 32.

aod 2
18 A PLEA FOR CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT.

and incisive, and shrewd though i!
is, it lacks the elements of genuine
poetry.*
King William deeply felt the value
> of the service which De Foe had ren-
dered him. He sent for him to the
palace; received him with marked
kindness; employed him in con-
fidential commissions; and from
that time accorded him free access
—to his cabinet. In these inter-
SX views the .great questions of the
* day were frankly discussed, and
especially that all-important ques-
‘tion, the union of England and
Scotland. On this point De Foe












eos . SS pressed the King closely: “ It shall
be done.” said William, ‘“ but not
PORTRAIT OF KING WILLIAM IIL t af
yet.

Cheered and encouraged by the royal confidence, De Foe resumed his pen
with more energy than ever. In the limits to which we are confined it
would be impossible to record even the titles of the numerous forcible and
well-reasoned pamphlets produced by his indefatigable industry. It is a
significant mark of the fulness of his mind and the versatility of his intellect
that not one of them is below mediocrity, while many rise far above it. The
most interesting and the ablest of those which appeared prior to the death
of William is the celebrated pamphlet entitled “ The Original Power of the
Collective Body of the People of England, Examined and Asserted. With
a Double Dedication to the King and to the Parliament.’ Mr. Chalmers
rightly says of it, ‘‘ Every lover of liberty must be pleased with the perusal
of a treatise which vies with Mr. Locke’s famous tract in power of reasoning,
and is superior to it in the graces of style.” Mr. Forster, a still more com-
petent judge, describes it as distinguished for its plain and nervous diction,
The grounds of popular representation, he says, are so happily condensed
and so clearly stated in it, that it became the text-book of political disput-
ants from the days of the expulsion of Walpole and of Wilkes to those ot
the Reform Bill. It may be briefly described, he continues, as a demonstra

* “In this composition the satire was strong, powerful, and manly, upbraiding the
English Tories for their unreasonable prejudice against foreigners ; the rather that there
were so many nations blended in the mass now called Englishmen. The verse was rough
and mistuned, for De Foe never seems to have possessed an ear for the melody of language,
whether in prose or verse. But though wanting ‘the long resounding verse and energy
divine’ of Dryden, he had often masculine expressions and happy turns of thought not
unwoithy of the author of Absalom and Achitophel, though, upon the whole, his style

seems rather to have been formed on that of Hall, Oldham, and the elder satirists.”—
Sir Walter Scott, “‘ Biographies: Danicl De Foe” (edit. 1847) p. 397.
a

DE FOE LOSES A PATRON. 19

tion of the predominance of the ori-
ginal (the People’s) over the dele-
gated authority (that of King and
Parliament) ; and remains still, as it
was when first written, the ablest,
plainest, and most courageous ex
position in our language of the doc-
trine on which our own and all free
political constitutions rest.

On the 8th of March 1702 Eng-
land lost a great ruler, and De Foe
a wise patron, by the death of
William III. It was a signal loss
to the nation and the individual;
but nations outlive such losses; to
De Foe it was irreparable. Had
William reigned a few years longer,
we can hardly doubt that his ad-
herent would have risen to some
high office in the State. But then, we should probably have lost ‘ Robin-
son Crusoe” and “Colonel Jack.” So true it is that the public generally
profit by private sufferings.

The attitude assumed by the Tory faction at the death of the King was in
every sense unbecoming. That they should rejoice at the accession of Anne,
and the restoration of the Stuart line to the throne, was not wonderful; but
to lampoon the memory of the great sovereign who had saved their country
from a mean and narrow tyranny was unworthy of a powerful party. De
Foe poured out the vial of his wrath on these traducers in a poem, entitled
“The Mock Mourners: a Satire, by way of Elegy on King William;” which
is remarkable for its earnestness and dignity of tone. It passed through seven
large editions in atwelvemonth. To the last De Foe preserved his affec-
tionate respect for the memory of William, and spoke of him as “the best
King England ever saw.’ And once, when suffering from unjust persecution,
he pathetically exclaimed, “ I shall never forget his goodness to me. It was
my honour and advantage to call him master as well as sovereign. I never
patiently heard his memory slighted, nor ever can do so. Had he lived, he
would never have suffered me to be treated as I have been in this world.”

With the accession of Queen Anne the political atmosphere changed
mightily. Whig principles went out of fashion; Whig politicians were but
coldly received at the new sovereign’s cabinet; 1 Tory Government was
appointed ; all the old doctrines of divine right and passive obedience were
preached from High Church pulpits; and the necessity of conformity to the
doctrines and liturgy of the English Church was urged with uncompromising
violence. De Foe was no blind antagonist of the Church of England, but he



PORTRAIT OF QUEEN ANNE,
20 A SATIRE MISUNDERSTOOD

was honestly and conscientiously a Dissenter, and he could not refrain from
coming forward at the call of duty to awaken the eyes of his brethren to
their dangerous position. He knew that argument or expostulation or en-
treaty in such a crisis would be of little value, and therefore he determined
to resort to the weapon of irony. He wrote and published—without his name,
of course—his ‘‘Shortest Way with the Dissenters,” in which he gravely
recommended, as the only effectual method of dealing with them, their
extermination. ‘“’Tis in vain,’’ he writes. ‘ to trifle in this matter. We
can never enjoy a settled, uninterrupted union in this nation, till the spirit
of Whiggism, faction, and schism, is melted down like the old money. Here
is the opportunity to secure the Church, and destroy her enemies. I do not
prescribe fire and fagot, but Delenda est Carthago. They are to be rooted out
of this nation, if ever we will live in peace or serve God. The light foolish
handling of them by fines is their glory and advantage. If the gallows
instead of the compter, and the galleys instead of the fines, were the reward
of going to a conventicle, there would not be so many sufferers.”

So ably and so seriously was this piece of bitter sarcasm written, that at
first the whole nation was taken in; Dissenters went wild with apprehen-
sion, Jacobites and High Churchmen with delight. Then, all of a sudden,
people awoke to the author’s true intention. It was discovered that that
author was a Dissenter, and that his satire was directed against the advocates
of conformity. A loud ery for vengeance immediately went up to heaven;
and, to the disgrace of the Dissenters, they joined in it. They had been
deceived, and in a fit of cowardly fury they turned upon the man who had
deceived them, though the deception was wholly intended for their advantage.

The House of Commons took up the matter. The tract was declared a
libel, and ordered to be burned by the hands of the common hangman. The
Government was advised to prosecute its author. When he saw what a terrible
storm was rising De Foe fled; but a reward of £50 was offered for his appre-
hension. In the proclamation in the ‘‘ London Gazette,” he was described
as ‘‘a middle-sized, spare man, about forty years old, of a brown complexion,
but wears a wig: a hooked nose, a sharp chin, gray eyes, and a large mole
near his mouth.” At first he escaped detection. The Government then
flung into prison the printer and the bookseller, and De Foe immediately sur-
rendered himself. He would allow no man to suffer the consequences of any
action of his; for this he was too brave, too manly, and too honourable. He
surrendered ; was imprisoned ; was indicted at the Old Bailey in July 1708;
was entangled by a promise of royal mercy into an admission of the libel;
was declared guilty; and sentenced to pay a fine of 500 marks, to stand
three times in the pillory, to be imprisoned during the Queen’s pleasure,
and to find sureties for good behaviour for seven years. Such was the ini-
quitous sentence which power pronounced upon a man for daring to be
wittier than his fellows!

Twenty days were allowed him to prepare for the pillory. He occupied
DE FOE IN THE PILLORY. 21

them characteristically ; first, by composing a pamphlet, “The Shortest
Way to Peace and Union,” in which the heroic man endeavoured to mediate
between Dissenters on the one hand, and High Churchmen on the other; and,
secondly, by writing his celebrated satire, ‘A Hymn to the Pillory,” in which
a just indignation has almost made him a poct.* Addressing the intended
instrument of his shame, he nobly says :—
“Hail! hieroglyphic State-machine,

Contrived to punish Fancy in ;

Men that are men, in thee can feel no pain,

And all thy insignificants disdain.

Contempt, that false new word for shame,

Is, without crime, an empty name;

A shadow to amuse mankind,

But ne’er to fright the wise or well-fixed mind—

Virtue despises human scorn!”

On the 29th of July 1708, the author of this daring hymn was exposed in
the pillory before the Royal Exchange in Cornhill; on the day following,
near the Conduit in Cheapside; and on the 81st, at Temple Bar.f What,
however, was meant for his shame and humiliation proved to be for his great
honour andrenown. The multitude felt that the pilloried hero was a man whe
had fought steadfastly and bravely their own battles, and instead of loading
him with insults, they greeted him with shouts of welcome. They wreathed
garlands of flowers about the “ State-machine,” and passed from hand to
hand the rough but manly and vigorous ode in which he had flung defiance
at his oppressors. “The people were expected to treat me very ill,” he
says, “but it was not so. On the contrary, they were with me, wished
those who had set me there were placed in my room; and expressed their
affections by loud shouts and acclamations when I was taken down.”

His persecutors, nevertheless, though foiled in this particular measure of
persecution, were more successful in others. De Foe retired from the pillory
to Newgate, and his long imprisonment was necessarily the ruin of his busi-
ness. He was obliged, at a loss of upwards of £3500, to abandon his large and
prosperous works at Tilbury, and for the support of a wife and six children,
to fall back upon his pen. With a courage which could not be shaken, and
a perseverance that could not be abated, he plied that pen indefatigably.
He issned a collection of his works, prefixing his portrait to the first volume:
it represents him with a resolute countenance, a massive chin, firm and
well-set mouth, and eyes full of intellect and energy. Meanwhile, a very
Ishmael in politics, he defended himself against the attacks of a cloud of
enemies. Like Harry of the Wynd, in Scott’s romance, he fought for his own
hand, and he fought gallantly. Under his heavy and incessant blows, the
stoutest assailant reeled. But he did not confine himself to political pam-

* “Indignatio facit versus.”-—Horace.

t Every one remembers Pope’s paltry allusion to this incident :—

“‘Earless on high stood unabashed De Foe,
And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.”
22 THE FIRST ENGLISH ‘ REVIEW.”

phlets. With a remarkable versatility, he discussed the deepest theological
questions; he wrote against a proposed censorship of the press; he advocated
the claims of authors to a protection of their copyright; he compiled a
wonderfully graphic account of the “ Great Storm ” of 1704; and finally, in
the February of that year he began his famous “ Review.

This was a complete novelty in English literature. and may be regarded
as the true precursor of some celebrated periodicals of the present day. It
was at first a quarto sheet, published weekly, at the price of apenny. After
the fourth number it was reduced to half a sheet, but printed in closer type
and in double columns, and sold for twopence. After the eighth number it was
published twice a week, on Tuesdays and Saturdays. In due time monthly
supplements were issued, and finally it appeared on Tuesdays, Thursdays
and Saturdays. So it continued, written solely by De Foe, for nine years
(February 19, 1704, to June 11, 1718).

Such was its form. lis contents were of the most miscellancous description.
It dealt largely with politics, but scarcely less largely with morals. It com-
bined both public and personal questions; it corrected the vices, it ridiculed
the follies of the age. As a general indication of its character, we may
summarize the contents of the first volume, omitting those of a political
cast.*



It condemns the prevalent practice of excessive drinking; it ridicules the
not less prevalent practice of excessive swearing; it censures the laxity
which had crept into the relations of married life; it denounces in no measured
terms the licentiousness of the stage; it discusses the various questions
affecting trade and pauperism; it inveighs against the mania for gambling
speculations; and it boldly reprobates the barbarous custom of duelling.

All these widely different topics are treated by De Foe unaided, and
the sagacity and vigour evident in every article fill the reader with
wonder at the man’s genius, industry, and multifarious information. The
machinery he adopted for the discussion of non-political matters was a so-
called “ Scandal Club,” organized to reccive complaints and to decide upon
them. It acted in the following manner :—*‘ A gentleman appears before the
club, and complains of his wife. She is a bad wife; he cannot exactly tell
why. There is a long examination, proving nothing; when suddenly a

member of the club begs pardon for the question, and asks if his worship



was a good husband. His worship, greatly surprised at such a question, is
again at a loss to answer. Whereupon the club pass these resolutions :—
1. That most women that are bad wives are made so by bad husbands.
2. That this society will hear no complaints against a virtuous bad wife,
from a vicious good husband. 8. That he that has a bad wife, and can't
find the reason of it in her, ’tis ten to one that he finds it in himself. And
the decision finally is, that the gentleman is to go home, and be a good
husband for at least three months; after which, if his wife is still uncured,

* John Forster, ‘‘ Biographical Essays,” ii. 55, 56.
AN INDUSTRIOUS MAN OF LETTERS. 28

they will proceed against her as they shall find cause. In this way pleas
and defences are heard on the various points that present themselves in the
subjects named, and not seldom with a lively dramatic interest.”

In August 1704, De Foe, at the instance of the statesman Harley, who
was now in power, received his releaso from Newgate. Hariey, always
anxious to seeure the assistance of able and moderate writers, had sent a
message “by word of mouth” to the author of “The Trve-born Englishman:”
“Pray, ask Mr. De Foe what I can do for him.” De Foe took a piece of
paper and wrote in reply: “ Lord, dost thou see that I am blind, and yet
ask me what thou shalt do forme! My answer is plain in my misery—
‘Lord, that I may receive my sight!’” *

With his health much injured by his long imprisonment, De Foe retired
to a small house at Bury in Suffolk. He did not desist, however, from his
literary labours. Marlborough had commenced his wonderful career with
the great victory of Blenheim, and De Foo celebrated it in a “ Hymn to
Victory.” Then followed replies to High Church and Tory pamphlets; a
wise and earnest invective against indiscriminate alms-giving (“ Giving Alms
in Charity”); The Double Welcome,” a poem to the Duke of Marlborough
(1708), as prosaic as most of his poems; and an admirable prose satire on
the follies of the times, entitled * The Consolidator; or, Memoirs of Sundry
Transactions from the World in the Moon. Translated from the Lunar
Language.”

De Foe by this time had returned to London, and, as an avowed supporter
of the Harley or Whig Government, had again plunged into the thick of the
political fray. For his own happiness he had better have kept out of it, and
only a strong sense of duty could have supported him under the afflictions
he endured. His enemies employed every artifice of annoyance, and the
whole machinery of persecution. He was harassed with false warrants of
wrest; with sham actions; with claims for pretended debts. His life was
threatened in anonymous letters; the foullest slanders assailed his morals;
he was subjected to the grossest misrepresentation of his principles. Yet,
bating not one jot of heart or hope, he pursued the even tenor of his way,
advocating whatever he thought would advance the cause of truth and
liberty, fiercely denouncing the intolerance of bigots and the dishonesty of

faction. In his “ Hymn to Peace” (1706), he forcibly describes his con-
dition —

“Storms of men,
Voracious and unsatisfied as Death,
Spoil in their hands, and poison in their breath,
With rage of devils hunt me down.”

But De Foe was not the man to be hunted down, and he turned on his
hunters with a daring and a resolution that effectually brought them to bay.
The first example of that marvellous realism which is the special charac

* De Foe, ‘‘ Appeal to Honour and Justice ” p. 12.
24 DE FOE’S POWER AS A REALIST.

teristic of his works of fiction, he gave in his celebrated “True Relation of
the Apparition of one Mrs. Veal, the next day after her death, to one Mrs.
Bargraye, at Canterbury ” (published in July 1706). Being prefixed to the
fourth edition of a somewhat dreary work, Drelincourt on “ Death,” it
raised the latter on the flood-tide of popularity, while its own merits as a
masterly piece of narrative were acknowledged by the best judges. The
incidents it relates are utterly improbable; yet are they told with such
exquisite simplicity, and with so subtle an accumulation of details, that he
who reads is almost forced to believe, in spite of his own judgment.* The
power which afterwards secured the fame of “ Robinson Crusoe ” is visible
on every page.

Of all the fictions, says an able writer.t which De Foe has succeeded in
palming off as truths, none is more instructive than that admirable ghost, Mrs.
Veal. It is, as it were, a hand-specimen, in which we may study his modus
operandi on a convenient scale. Like the sonnets of some great poets, it
contains in a few lines all the essential peculiarities of his art. The first
device which strikes us is his ingenious plan for manufacturing corrobora-
tive evidence. The ghost appears to Mrs. Bargrave. The story of the
apparition is told by a * very sober and understanding gentlewoman, who
lives within a few doors of Mrs. Bargrave;” and the character of this
sober gentlewoman is supported by the testimony of a justice of peace at
Maidstone, “a very intelligent person.” This elaborate chain of evidence
is intended to divert our attention from the obvious circumstance that the
whole story rests upon the authority of the anonymous person who tells us
of the sober gentlewoman, who supports Mrs. Bargrave, and is informed by
the intelligent justice.

Another stratagem, carried out with equal success, is the apparent im-
partiality of the narrator.

The author, says the writer already quoted. affects to tuke us into his
confidence, to make us privy in regard to the pros and cons in regard to his
own characters, till we are quite disarmed. The sober gentlewoman
vouches for Mrs. Bargrave; but Mrs. Bargrave is by no means allowed to
have it all her own way. Mr. Veal is brought in, apparently to throw dis-
credit on her character; but his appearance is so well managed, that its
effect is to render us readier than before to accept Mrs. Bargrave’s story.
“The argument is finally clenched by a decisive coincidence. The ghost
wears a silk dress. In the course of a long conversation, she incidentally
mentioned to Mrs. Bargrave that this was a scoured silk, newly made up.
When Mrs. Bargrave reported this remarkable circumstance to a certain
Mrs. Wilson, ‘You have certainly seen her,’ exclaimed that lady, ‘ for

* It is by no means impossible that De Foe himself accredited the possibility of such
a visitation, and that he advocated many of the theories now put forward as new by the
so-called Spiritualists.

t “Cornhill Magazine,” vol. xvii. pp. 295, 296.
THE UNION OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND. 25

none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the gown had been scoured.’
To this crushing piece of evidence, it seems that neither Mr. Veal (nor any
other assailant of Mrs. Bargrave) could invent any sufficient reply. One
can almost fancy De Foe chuckling as he concocted tlie refinements of this
most marvellous narrative.

We pass from the “Apparition of Mrs. Veal” to the poem of ‘ Jure
Divino,” published on the 20th of July 1706. The reasoning in it, as
Forster says, is better than the poetry; but much of the verse is vigorous,
and its forcible advocacy of constitutional principles made it popular with
large masses of the people. In this, as in other works, De Foe lays claim
to be considered as the real founder of the Moderate Whigs—of the political
party represented at a later period by Fox, Huskisson, Russell, and Grey.

The year 1706 was rendered remarkable in English history by the legis-
lative movement in favour of a union between England and Scotland. AsI
have already stated, this was a favourite idea of De Foe’s, which he had
pressed upon King William; and it was his good fortune now to be con-
cerned in its realization. By the advice of the ministers Harley and
Godolphin he was despatched on a mission to Scotland; and he rendered
eflectual service in bringing to a successful issue the greatest measure of
statesmanship which for years had been submitted to an English Parliament.
He seems to have gained the esteem and good-will of all the Scotch officials
and illustrious Scotchmen with whom his duties brought him into contact;
and he certainly learned to admire the Scotch character, becoming thence-
forth a warm and vigorous advocate of the Scottish people. The Act of
Union was ratified by the Scotch Parliament on the 16th of January 1707;
by the English, on the 6th of March. Probably no measure ever concluded
between two allied nations has proved more fruitful in the happiest results
for both. Well might De Foe regard with honest pride his share in a
work so noble; and well may both England and Scotland love and honour
the memory, not only of the great novelist, but of the generous and sagacious
politician.

There are few better, and certainly no more interesting, narratives of the
circumstances attending this memorable event than that which is embodied
in De Foe’s own “ History of the Union,” published some years afterwards,
and written with unusual care.

In 1708 Harley was dismissed from the Cabinet; but as Godolphin con-
tinued in it, De Foe did not cease to give it his active support, though he
deeply felt the unmerited disgrace in which his liberal patron was involved.
He was at this time specially favoured by the Queen, and was again sent to
Scotland on a particular service, whose details do not seem certainly known
to any of his biographers. Soon afterwards the Godolphin Ministry fell, and
Harley formed an Administration, of which he became the acknowledged
head. De Foe supported him, so far as he approved of his measures, with
characteristic energy; but with equally characteristic honesty, he did not
26 THE RECOMPENSE OF A VETERAN,

hesitate to oppose him, when his actions were contrary to true liberal prin.
ciples. As I haye before said, I cannot enumerate all the pamphlets which
issued from his prolific pen. They are marked by his peculiar qualities of
mind and intellect, but to a great extent deal with temporary topics, and,
consequently, have no value except for the historical student. His warm
advocacy of a Protestant Succession to the throne procured him the honour
of a second imprisonment in Newgate; but Harley interfered, and procured
his release. Then came, in 1714, the end of the political crisis which had
marked the last years of Queen Anne. The Tories and Jacobites were defeated
with unexpected ease, and instead of a Stuart, who had learned nothing
by exile, George I. reigned on the throne of Great Britain, representing in his
person, however inadequately, the triumph of the principles of constitutional
government. For the present, therefore, De Foe’s work as a politician was
done. He had fought the battle, almost unaided, for two and thirty years,
and retired from it with nothing to show but honourable sears. Less
earnest men, such as Addison, and Steele, and Rowe, and Tickell, came in for
places and pensions; but the foremost soldier, the truest and most enthusi-
astic patriot, reaped nothing but the consciousness of having done his duty.
In surveying the long struggle of his matured manhood, he was able to
say i—

“T was, from my first entering into the knowledge of public matters, and
have ever been to this day, a sincere lover to the constitution of my country—
zealous for liberty and the Protestant interest; but a constant follower cf
moderate principles, and a vigorous opposer of hot measures in all. [never
once changed my opinion, my principles, or my party; and, Jet what will
be said of changing sides, this I maintain, that I never once deviated from
the Revolution principles, nor from the doctrine of liberty and property on
which it was founded.”

Pausing here, at the close of the first period of De Foe’s career, I venture
to adopt some remarks by Mr. Forster as fairly descriptive of the character
of the man :—*

After all the objections that may justly be made to his opinions, on the
grounds of short-coming or excess, we believe that in the main features of
his history will be recognized a noble English example of the qualities
most prized by Englishmen. De Foe is our only famous politician and man
of letters, who represented, in its inflexible constancy, sturdy dogged resolu-
tion, unwearied perseverance, and obstinate contempt of danger and of
tyranny, the great middle-class English character. We believe it to be no
mere national pride to say, that, whether in its defects or its surpassing
merits, the world has had none other to compare with it. He lived in the
thickest stir of the conflict of the four most violent party reigns of English
history; and if we have at last entered into peaceful possession of most

* yohn Forster ‘‘ Biographical Essays,” ii. 0, 91.








THE CHARACTER OF AN HONEST MAN, 27

part of the rights at issue in those party struggles, it the more becomes us
to remember such a man with gratitude, and with wise consideration for
what errors we may find in him. He was too much in the constant heat ot
the battle to see all that we see now. He was not a philosopher himself,
but he helped philosophy to some wise conclusions. He did not stand at
the highest point of toleration,* or of moral wisdom ; but with his masculine,
active arm, he helped to lift his successors over obstructions which had
ived his own advance. He stood, in his opinions and his actions, alona
and apart from his fellow-men; but it was to show his fellow-men of later
times the value of a juster and larger fellowship, and of more generous modes
of action. And when he now retreated from the world Without to the
-yorld Within,f in the solitariness of his unrewarded service and integrity,
he had assuredly earned the right to challenge the higher recognition of
posterity. He was walking towards History with steady feet; and might
look up into her awful face with a brow unabashed and undismayed.

* Yet Iam inclined to think he better understood and more ardently advocated the
sreat doctrine of toleration than any man of his time, or any man since the Protector
Cromwell and his Latin secretary, John Milton.

+ Mr. Forster here shares the belief common to all De Foe’s biographers before Mr.
’s researches revealed the truth, that De Foe retired from political warfare after the
n of George I. We shall see that such was not the case.










DE FOE’S HOUSE aT NEWINGTON,
CHAPTER ILI.

DE FOE AS A WRITER OF FICTION,




ESERVING for our next chapter a brief summary of De Foe’s late:
political writings, I propose in the present to examine his career
4 Ry asa novelist; to regard him in the capacity in which, despite his
Sy valuable services to the cause of freedom and constitutional
government, he is best known and most admired by posterity.
Early in 1715 De Foe was visited with an attack of apoplexy;
the result, perhaps, of his severe and incessant labours, added to the storm
of undeserved obloquy which constantly assailed him. After his recovery,
which was slow and gradual, he produced a work entitled “The Family
Instructor, in Three Parts”
-—a work of nearly 450
pages, probably written be-
fore his illness, and revised
and published on his restora-
tion to health. It is a book
of admirable wisdom, con-
taining much devout and
zealous ‘counsel to fathers
and children, to masters and
servants, to husbands and
wives; and to me it illus-
trates, in a very forcible and
striking manner, the genuine
nature of the man, _ his
simple earnestness and un-
affected piety. Passing over,
as I have intimated my in-
tention to do, his minor
pamphlets and flying sheets,
| must notice, as published in 1717, his “ History of the Wars of Charles
XIL, King of Sweden ;” and his second series (1718) of ‘The Family
Instructor, in Two Parts: Part I., Relating to Family Breaches, and their
Obstructing Religious Duties; I, To the Great Mistake of Mixing the



DANTEL DE FOE.
THE FIRST PART OF ‘‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”

Passions in the Managing and Correcting of Children.”
brought to 1719, in which year, on the 25th of April, first appeared “ Tire

LIFE AND STRANGE SURPRIZING ADVENTURES OF RoBINSON CRUSOE.”

There can be no doubt
that the foundation of
this fascinating romance,
which for a century and
a half been the
favourite companion not
only of English boys but
of English men, was
afforded by the narrative
of Alexander Selkirk’s
experiences, as recorded
by Captain Woodes Rogers
in his account of “A
Cruising Voyage Round
the World: first to the
South Seas, thence to the
East Indies, and home-
ward by the Cape of Good
Nope; begun in 1708, and
finished in 1711.” Alex-
ander Selkirk was a native
of Largo, in the county
of Fife, where he was
born in 1676. In Dam-
pier’s expedition to the
South Seas he seryred as
a sailor on board Captain
Stradling’s ship; but quar-
relling with his officer,
deserted from the vessel
at the island of Juan
Fernandez in September
1704, and there lived alone

has







LIFE

STRANGE SURPRIZING

ADVENTURES

OF

ROBINSON CRUSOE,
Of TORK, Mariner:

Who lived Eight and Twenty Years,

all alone In an an -inhabited Ifland on the
Coaft of AMERICA, near the Mouth of
the Great River of OROONOQUE;

Having been caft on Shore"by Shipwreck, where-;
in all the Men perifhed but himfelf.
WITH
An Account how he was at faft as ftrangely deli-
ver'd by PYRATES.
Written by Himfelf.

LON DOWN
Printed for W Taytok atthe Ship in Parer-Nofler-

Row. MDCCXIX.

REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. I. OP THS
FIRST EDITION OF ‘‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”







until released by Captain Woodes Rogers in February 1709.

Thus I am





Selkirk returned to England in 1711. In the following year his extra-
ordinary story was published by Captain Woodes Rogers, from whose
“Cruising Voyage” it was reprinted, in a quarto tract of twelve pages,
shortly afterwards. Another account appeared in Captain Edward Cooke’s
“ Voyage’ (1712); and on the 8rd December 1718, in the 26th number of
“The Englishman,” it was again related by Sir Richard Steele, who had
seen and conversed with its hero in London,
30 INVENTION VERSUS IMAGINATION.

In whatever form De Foe met with this curious instance of “ truth stranger
than fiction,” it certainly suggested to him the groundwork of “ Robinson
Crusoe ;’’—that is, he borrowed from it the idea of the island solitude (and
much of the charm
of the work is owing
to the circumstance
that its scenes tran-
spire in a lonely, sea-
girdled, remote, and





almost inaccessible
isle*); the construc-
tion of the two huts;
the abundance of
goats; and the cloth-
ing made out of their
skins. All the rest
he owed to his own
fertile and igventive
genius.

For it is invention
that is the character-
istic of the book
rather than imagina-
tion. There is more
imagination shown in
the island-episode of
Mr. Charles Reade’s
“ Woul Play” than in
al¥ * Robinson Cru.
soe,” from the be-
ginning to the end;
but in reading the
modern novel the









reader cannot once

REDUCED FAC-SIMILE SPECIMEN OF ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE ‘ nk
FIRST EDITION OF “ ROBINSON CRUSOE.” believe it is true; In

reading De Foe’s, the

thought never crosses his mind that it is untrue. Its very prosaism renders
the impression it produces greater; were it more poetical in form and spirit,
it would necessarily be less real. Yet it is difficult to understand how De
Foe could so absolutely ignore the poetical in his treatment of so poetical a
* It is worth notice that all the imitations of “Robinson Crusoe” have placed their
heroes in lonely islands, from “ Philip Quarll” down to ‘‘ Masterman Ready” and “‘Foul
Play.” Tennyson wrecks his “Enoch Arden” on an island, though for all practical pur-

poses the coast of the mainland would have answered quite as well But the very idea of
an ialand seems to be surrounded with a halo of romance.


DE FOE’S REAL STRENGTH. 3]

conception ; how he was never tempted to indulge in any glowing delinea
tion of tropical landscapes; how, from first to last, Fancy, with its many-
coloured gleams, should be so wholly absent from the picture. Almost the
only dramatic stroke in the romance—and its effect is so great that we
wonder its inventor refrained from further employment of a power which
he evidently possessed—is Crusoe’s discovery of the unknown footprint on
the sandy shore. Otherwise, the narrative flows on with an evenness, a
method, and a prosaic regularity which are absolutely wonderful, and which
so impose upon the reader that he accepts the most startling adventures as
if they were the ordinary events of life.

It seems to us that all De Foe’s strength lay in this inventiveness. His was
not the power of analyzing character. He was incapable of any psychological
development of passion or emotion. Not one of his heroes or heroines lives
in our recollection—except, indeed, Crusoe and Friday; and these, not
because they are boldly drawn, but from their association with certain
romantic circumstances. If we speak of Fielding, we immediately recall, with
all the sharpness and freshness of well-known portraits, Joseph Andrews,
and Parson Adams, and Lady Bellasis; Richardson reminds us of Lovelace,
and Grandison, and Clarissa; Scott, of Dandie Dinmont, Lucy Ashton,
Nicol Jarvie, Counsellor Pleydel, Dirck Hatteraick, Amy Robsart, and a
hundred other characters, who have become the familiar friends of genera-
tions of readers. But when we think of De Foe, it is to remember the
striking incidents which make up his stories, and to admire the vraisem-
blance with which his minute genius has invested them. Thus, then, he
stands wholly apart from the other illustrious names of English fiction,
occupying a field which—but for the labours of a recent follower, William
Gilbert—he would occupy alone.



An immense mass of criticism has been accumulated in reference to
*“ Robinson Crusoe ;”’ and as it is always interesting to observe how a fine
work of art is regarded by competent judges, I shall select from it a few
specimens. First, I propose to condense Sir Walter Scott’s admirable
remarks.

FROM SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The style of probability with which De Foe invested his narratives was
perhaps ill bestowed, or rather wasted, upon some of the works which he
thought proper to produce, and cannot recommend to us their subject ; but,
on the other hand, the same talent throws an air of truth about the delightful
history of “Robinson Crusoe,” which we never could have believed it pos-
sible to have united with so extraordinary a situation as is assigned to the
hero. All the usual scaffolding and machinery employed in composing
fictitious history are carefully discarded. The early incidents of the tale,
which in ordinary works of invention are usually thrown out as pegs to hang
the conclusion upon, are in this work only touched upon, and suffered to drop
82 SIR WALTER SCOTT’S CRITICISM

out of sight. Robinson, for example, never hears anything more of his elder
brother, who enters Lockhart’s Dragoons in the beginning of the work, and
who, in any common romance, would certainly have appeared before the
conclusion. We lose sight at once and for ever of the interesting Xury ;
and the whole earlier adventures of our voyager vanish, not to be recalled
to our recollection by the subsequent course of the story. His father—the
good old merchant of Hull—all the other persons who have been originally
active in the drama—vanish from the scene, and appear not again.

Our friend Robinson, thereafter, in the course of his roving and restless
life, is at length thrown upon his desert island—a situation in which, exist-
ing as a solitary being, he became an example of what the unassisted
energies of an individual of the human race can perform; and the author
has, with wonderful exactness, described him as acting and thinking pre-
cisely as such a man must have thought and acted in such an extra-
ordinary situation.

Pathos is not De Foe’s general characteristic; he had too little delicacy
of mind: when it comes, it comes uncalled, and is created by the circum-
stances, not sought for by the author. The excess, for instance. of the
natural longing for human society which Crusoe manifests while on board
of the stranded Spanish vessel, by falling into a sort of agony, as he repeated
the words, * Oh, that but one man had been saved !—oh, that there had
been but one!” is inthe highest degree pathetic. The agonizing reflections
of the solitary, when he is in danger of being driven to sea in his rash
attempt to circumnavigate his island, are also affecting.

In like manner we may remark, that De Foe’s genius did not approach
the grand or terrific. The battles, which he is fond of describing, are told
with the indifference of an old bucanier, and probably in the very way in
which he may have heard them recited by the actors. His goblins, too, are
generally a commonplace sort of spirits, that bring with them very little of
supernatural terror; and yet the fine incident of the print of the naked foot
on the sand, with Robinson Crusoe’s terrors in consequence, never fails to
leave a powerful impression upon the reader.

The supposed situation of his hero was peculiarly favourable to the cir-
cumstantial style of De Foe. Robinson Crusoe was placed in a condition
where it was natural that the slightest event should make an impression on
him; and De Foe was not an author who would leave the slightest event
untold. When he mentions that two shoes were driven ashore, and adds
that they were not neighbours, we feel it to be an incident of importance to
the solitary......

The continuation of Robinson Crusoe’s history, after’ he obtains the society
of his man Friday, is less philosophical than that which turns our thoughts
upon the efforts which a solitary individual may make for extending his
own comforts in the molancholy situation in which he is placed, and upon
the natural reflections suggested by the progress of his own mind. The
ON ‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.” a3

character of Friday is, nevertheless, extremely pleasing; and the whole sub-

sequent history of the shipwrecked Spaniards and the pirate vessel is highly

interesting. Were certainly the ‘“‘ Memoirs of Robinson Crusoe” ought to

have stopped. The Second Part, though containing many passages which dis-
play the author’s genius, does not rise high in character above the ‘‘ Memoirs
of Captain Singleton,” or the other imaginary voyages of the author.

There scarce exists a work so popular as ‘“ Robinson Crusoe.” It is read
eagerly by young people; and there is hardly an elf so devoid of imagination
as not to have supposed for himself a solitary island in which he could act
* Robinson Crusoe,” were it but in the corner of the nursery. To many it
has given the decided turn of their lives, by sending them tosea. For the
young mind is much less struck with the hardships of the anchorite’s situa-
tion than with the animating exertions which he makes to overcome them ;
and ‘ Robinson Crusoe” produces the same impression upon an adventurous
spirit which the ‘“‘ Book of Martyrs” would do on a young devotee, or the
“ Newgate Calendar ” upon an acolyte of Bridewell—both of which students
are less terrified by the horrible manner in which the tale terminates, than
animated by sympathy with the saints or depredators who are the heroes of
their volume. Neither does a reperusal of “ Robinson Crusoe,” at a mora
advanced age, diminish our early impressions. The situation is such as
every man may make his own; and, being possible in itself, is, by the
exquisite art of the narrator, rendered as probable as it is interesting. It
has the merit, too, of that species of accurate painting which can be looked
at again and again with new pleasure.

Neither has the admiration of the work been confined to England, though
Robinson Crusoe himself—with his rough good sense, his prejudices, and
his obstinate determination not to sink under evils which can be surpassed
by exertion—forms no bad specimen of the “ True-born Englishman.” The
rage for imitating a work so popular seems to have risen to a degree of
frenzy ; and, by a mistake not peculiar to this particular class of the servum
pecus, the imitators did not attempt to apply De Foe’s manner of managing
the narrative to some situation of a different kind, but seized upon and cari-
catured the principal incidents of the shipwrecked mariner and the solitary
island. It is computed that within forty years from the appearance of the
original work, no less than forty-one different “ Robinsons ” appeared,
besides fifteen other imitations, in which other titles were used. Finally—
though, perhaps, it is no great recommendation—the anti-social philosopher
Rousseau will allow no other book than ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe” in the hands
of Emilius. Upon the whole, the work is as unlikely to lose its celebrity
as it is to be equalled in its peculiar character by any other of similar
excellence.

























The reader will not be displeased, perhaps, to see what Roussean’s opinion
veally was.
(284) 3
a4 CRITICISMS ON ‘“ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”

FROM ROUS



EAU.

Since we must have books, this is one which, in my opinion, is a most
excellent treatise on natural education. This is the first my Emilius shall
read; his whole library shall long consist of this work only, which shall
preserve an eminent rank to the very Jast. It shall be the text to which all
our conversations on natural science are to serve only as a comment. It
shall bea guide during our progress to maturity of judgment; and ao long
as our taste is not adulterated, the perusal of this book will afford us
pleasure. And what surprising book is this? Is if Aristotle? is it Pliny?
is it Buffon? No; it is * Robinson Crusoe.” The value and importance of the
various arts are ordinarily estimated, not according to their real utility, but
by the gratification which they administer to the fantastic desires of man-
kind. But Emilius shall be taught to view them in a different light:
* Robinson Crusoe ” shall teach him to value the stock of an ironmonger above
that of the most magnificent toy shop in Europe.

My third quotation is less extravagant in its eulogy, and therefore more
discriminating.* I believe it, moreover, to approach much nearer to a true
estimate of De Foe’s real merits. It is taken from a very able article on “ De

foe's Novels,” in the seventeenth volume of the “ Cornhill Magazine: —

FROM THE “ CORNHILL MAGAZINE,”

The horrors of abandonment on a desert island can be appreciated hy the
simplest sailor or schoolboy. The main thing is to bring out the situation
plainly and forcibly, to tell us of the difficulties of making pots and pans, of
eatching goats, and sowing corn, and of avoiding audacious cannibals. This
task De Foe performs with unequalled spirit and vivacity. In his first dis-
covery of a new art he shows the freshness so offen conspicuous in first
novels. The scenery w





just that which had peculiar charms for his fancy;
it was one of those half-true legends of which he had heard strange stories
from seafaring men, and possibly from the acquaintances of his hero himself.
dle brings out the shrewd, vigorous character of the Englishman thrown
upon his own resources, with evident enjoyment of his task. Indeed, De
Poe tells us himself that in Robinson Crusoe he saw a kind of allegory of his
own fate. He had suffered from solitude of soul. Confinement in his
prison is represented in the hook by confinement in an island; and even
particular incidents, such as the fright he receives one night from something
in his bed, “was word for word a history of what happened.” In other
words. this novel too, like many of the best ever written, has in if something
of the autobiographical element, which makes a man speak from greater
depths of feeling than in a purely imaginary story.

It would indeed be easy to show that the story, though in one sense

* We have considerably abridged the original
BY A RECENT WRITER, 35

marvellously like truth, is singularly wanting as a psychological study
Friday is no real savage, but a good English servant without plush. He
says ‘“ muchee”’ and “ speakee,” but he becomes at once a civilized being,
aud in his first conversation puzzles Crusoe terribly by that awkward
theological question, Why God did not kill the Devil; for, characteristically
enough, Crusoe’s first lesson includes a littke instruction upon the enemy of
mankind. Selkirk’s state of mind may be inferred from two or three facts. He
had almost forgotten how to talk; he had learned to catch goats by running
on foot; and he had acquired the exceedingly difficult art of making fire by
rubbing two sticks. In other words, his whole mind was absorbed in pro-
viding a few physical necessities, and he was rapidly becoming a savage ;
for a man who can't speak, and can make fire, is very near the Australian.
We may infer, what is probable from other cases, that a man living fifteen
years by himself, like Crusoe, would either go mad or sink into that semi-
savage state. De Foe really describes a man in prison, not in solitary con-
finement. We should not be so pedantic as to call for accuracy in such
matters; but the difference between the fiction and what we believe would
have been the reality is significant, De Foe, even in ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe,”
vives a yery inadequate picture of the mental torments to which his hero is
exposed, He is frightened by a parrot calling him by his name, and by the
strangely picturesque incident of the footmark on the sand; but, on the
whole, he takes his imprisonment with preternatural stolidity. His stay on
the island produces the same state of mind as might be due to a dull Sunday
in Scotland. For this reason—the want of power in describing emotion as
compared with the amazing power of describing facts—* Robinson Crusoe”
is a book for boys rather than for men; and, as Lamb says, rather for the
kitchen than for higher circles. It falls short of any high intellectual
interest. When we leave the striking situation, and get to the Second Part,
with the Spaniards and Will Atkins talking natural theology to his wife, it
sinks to the level of the secondary stories. But for people who are not too
proud to take a rather low order of amusement, ‘ Robinson Crusoe” will
always be one of the most charming of books We have the romantic and
adventurous incidents upon which the most unflinching realism can be set
to work without danger of vulgarity. Here is precisely the story suited to
De Foe’s strength and weakness. He is foreed to be artistic in spite of
himself. Tle cannot lose the thread of the narrative and break it into dis-
jointed fragments, for the limits of the island confine him as well as his
hero. He cannot tire us with details, for all the details of such a story
are interesting, It is made up of petty incidents as much as the life of a
prisoner reduced to taming flies, or making saws out of penknives. The
island does as well as the Bastille for making trifles valuable to the sufferer
and tous. The facts tell the story of themselves, without any demand for
romantic power to press them home to us; and the efforts to give an air of
withenticity to the story, which sometimes make us smile. and sometimes
86 BY W. CALDWELL ROSCOFK,

rather boro us in other novels, are all to the purpose; for there is a real
point in putting such a story in the mouth of the sufferer, and in giving us
for the time an illusory belief in his reality. When we add that the whole
book shows the freshness of a writer employed on his first novel—though at
the mature age of fifty-eight—secing in it an allegory of his own experiences
embodied in the scenes which most interested his imagination, we see some
reasons why “ Robinson Crusoe” should hold a distinct rank by itself
amongst his works.

To have pleased all the boys in Europe for nearly a hundred and fifty years
is, after all, a remarkable feat.

This, indeed, is the best panegyric that can be pronounced upon De Foe's
most celebrated fiction. It has been unapproached for a century and a half
as a boy’s book, and still holds its own in the face of a thousand competitors.
Of all its imitators, “ The Swiss Family Robinson” alone has drawn near to
it In popularity, though the two, so far as their literary character is con-
cerned, remain separated longo intervallo,

The following able estimate, by William Caldwell Roscoe,* will probably
be new to most of my readers :



FROM W. CALDWELL ROSCOE.

It would be to impugn the verdict of all mankind to say that ** Robinson
Crusoe” was not a great work of genius. It is a work of genius—a most
remarkable one—but of a low order of genius, ‘The universal admiration it
has obtained may be the admiration of men; but it is founded on the liking
of boys. Few educated men or women would care to read it for tho first
time after the age of five-and-twenty. Even Lamb could say it only * holds
its place by tough prescription.” Tho boy revels in it. It furnishes him
with food for his imagination in the very direction in which, of all others, it
loves to occupy itself. It is not that he cares for Robinson Crusoe—that
dull, ingenious, seafaring creature, with his strange mixture of cowardice
and boldness, his unleavened, coarsely sagacious, mechanic nature, his keen
trade-instincts, and his rude religious experiences. The boy becomes his
own Robinson Crusoe. It is little Tom Smith himself, curled up in a
remote corner of the playground, who makes those troublesome voyages on
the raft, and rejoices over the goods he saves from the wreck ; who contrives
his palisades and twisted cables to protect his cave; clothes himself so
quaintly in goat skins; is terrified at the savages; and rejoices in his
jurisdiction over the docile Friday, who, he thinks, would be better than a
dog, and almost as good as a pony. He does not care a farthing about
Crusoe as a separate person from himself. This is one reason why he
rejects the religious reflections as a strange and undesirable element in a
work otherwise so fascinating. He cannot enter into Crusoe’s sense of

* W. Caldwell Roscoe, ‘* Poems and Essays,” ii. 237, 238.
BY PROFESSOR MASSON. 8

wickedness, and docs not feel the least concern for his soul. If a grown
man reads the book in after years, it is to recall the sensations of youth, or
curiously to examine the secret of the unbounded popularity it has enjoyed.
How much this popularity is due to the happy choice of his subject, we may
better estimate when we remember that the popular “ Robinson Crusoe ”
is in reality only a part of tho work, and the work itself only one of many
others, not less well executed, from the same hand. No other man in the
world could have drawn so absolutely living a picture of the desert-island
life; but the same man has exercised the same power over more complex
incidents, and the works are little read.

Professor Masson looks upon De Foe as the founder of the modern Fiction
lle was a great reader, he says, and a tolerable scholar, and he may have
taken the hint of his method from the Spanish picaresque novel. On the
whole, however, it was his own robust sense of reality that led him to his
style. There is more of the sly humour of the foreign picaresque novel
(such as Gil Blas) in his representations of English ragamuffin life; there
is nothing of allegory, poetry, or even of didactic purpose; all is hard,
prosaic, and matter-of-fact, as in newspaper paragraphs, or the pages of the
“Newgate Calendar.” In reference to his greatest work of fiction, Pro-
fessor Masson adds :—*

FROM PROFESSOR MASSON.

It is a happy accident that the subject of one of his fictions, and that the
earliest on a great scale, was of a kind in treating which his genius in
matter-of-fact necessarily produced the effect of a poem. The conception of
a solitary mariner thrown on an uninhabited island was one as really
helonging to the fact of that time as those which formed the subject of De
Ioe’s less-read fictions of coarse English life. Dampier and the bucaniers
wero roving the South Seas; and there yet remained parts of the land-
surface of the Earth of which man had not taken possession, and on which
sailors were occasionally thrown adrift by the brutality of captains. Seizing
this text, more especially as offered in the story of Alexander Selkirk, De
Foe's matchless power of inventing circumstantial incidents made him more
a master even of its poetic capabilities than the rarest poet then living could
have been; and now that, all round our globe, there is not an unknown
island left, we still reserve in our mental charts one such island, with the
sea breaking round it, and we would part any day with two of the heroes
of antiquity rather than with Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday.

Our critical quotations shall] conclude with one from De Foe’s most brill
iant biographer :—t

* Masson, “‘ British Novelists and their Styles,” pp. 96-98.
* Forster, ‘Historical and Biographical Esrxy~,” ii. 94-96
38 BY MR. JOHN FORSTER.

FROM JOHN FORSTER.

“Robinson Crusoe” is a standard piece in every European language ; its
popularity has extended to every civilized nation. The traveller Burck-
hardt found it translated into Arabic, and heard it read aloud among the
wandering tribes in the cool hours of evening. It is devoured by every boy;
and, as long as a boy remains in the world, he will clamour for “ Robinson
Crusoe.” It sinks into the bosom while the bosom is most capable of plea-
surable impressions from the adventurous and the marvellous; and no
human work, we honestly believe, has afforded such great delight. Neither
the “ Iliad” nor the “ Odyssey,” in the much longer course of ages, has
incited so many to enterprise, or to reliance on their own powers and capa-
cities. It is the romance of solitude and self-sustainment ; and could only
so perfectly have been written by a man whose own life had for the most
part been passed in the independence of unaided thought, accustomed to creat
reverses, of inexhaustible resource in confronting calamities, leaning ever on
his Bible in sober and satisfied belief, and not afraid at any time to find
himself alone, in communion with nature and with God. Nor need we here
repeat, what has been said so well by many critics, that the secret of its
fascination is its reality. This, and the “ History of the Plague,” are the
masterpieces of De Foe. These are the works wherein his power is at the
highest, and which place him not less among the practical benefactors than
among the great writers of our race. “ Why, this man could have founded
a colony as well as governed it,” said a statesman of the succeeding century,
amazed at the knowledge of various kinds, and at the intimate acquaintance
with all useful arts displayed in “ Robinson Crusoe.”

Leaving the reader to compare and consider these criticisms, and to form
an opinion for himself, which will, I trust, be equally free from inordinate
praise and undue depreciation, I resume my narrative of De Foe’s labours.

The success of “ Robinson Crusoe” was immediate and unquestionable.
The second edition was published only seventeen days after the first; the
third edition, twenty-five days later ; and the fourth on the 8th of Aucust.

The mine which De Foe had thus opportunely discovered, he proceeded to
work with his accustomed vigour. On the 20th of August he published a
continuation of his immortal fiction, under the title of The Farther Adven-
tures of Robinson Crusoe ; being the Second and Last Part of his Life, and
of the Strange Surprizing Accounts of his Travels round Three Parts of
the Globe.”

In the preface to this sequel—which like most sequels is inferior in inter-
est and literary merit to the preceding part, though many passages are
admirably conceived and carried out—he pretends, as before, to be only the
editor of Crusoe’s story, and alludes with apparent impartiality to its well
deserved good fortune. As a spécimen of his quiet matter-of-fact style, it
deserves quotation :—




DE FOR AS A PREFACE WRITER. 89
“The success the former parce as Se a ee
part of this work has met | THE FARTHER |
within the world, has yet
been no other than is ac- A D V E N IT U R E S

knowledged to be due to

the surprising variety of ROB INSO Nr CR US OF:

Slt
the subject, and to the ; \ |
agreeable manner of the Being the Second and Laft Parc
performance. All the en- Or HIS

deavours of envious people

to reproach it with being L I fk k,

a romance, to search it for

errors in geography, in- And of tht Strance Sunsaszine
consistency in the rela- i : |
Oe ae Soe «| WAGE NINS Ohms: Dore ayo r us
tion, and contradictions in 1
the fact, have proved abor- Round dhree Parts ef the Globe.

tive, and as impudent as
malicious. The just ap- «
plication of every incident,

ale j sef' Jo which is 2dded » Map of the World, in which is
the religious and useful Delineated the Voyages uf ROBINSON CRUSOE.



DE vitten by Himfelf.



inferences drawn from
every part, are so many
testimonies to the good
design of making it pub-
lic, and must legitimate
all the part that may
be called invention, or
parable, in the story. The LONDON: Printed fae W. Larcor ar the

Second Part, if the editor’s Sip in Farer-Nofler ees









opinion may pass, is (con-

trary to the usage of REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. LL. OF THE
second parts) every way FIRST EDITION OF ‘‘ LOBINSON CRUBOE.”

as entertaining as the First, contains as strange and surprizing incidents.
and as great a variety of them; nor is the application less serious, or
suitable; and doubtless will, to the sober, as well as ingenious reader,
be everyway as profitable and diverting. And this makes the abridging
this work * as scandalous as it is knavish and ridiculous, seeing, while
to shorten the book, that they may seem to reduce the value, they strip
it of all those reflections, as well religious as moral, which are not only
the greatest beauties of the work, but are calculated for the infinite
advantage of the reader. By this they leave the work naked of ite
brightest ornaments; and if they would, at the same time, pretend that

* An abridgment had been published by a bookseller named Cox.—See Lee’s “‘ Life
of Daniel De Foe,” i. 298.
40 INFERIORITY OF THE SEQUEL.

the author had supplied the story out of his invention, they take from it the
improvement which alone recommends that invention to wise and good
men. ‘he injury these men do the proprietor of this work is a practice all
honest men abhor; and he believes he may challenge them to show the
difference between that and robbing on the highway, or breaking open a
house. If they can’t show any difference in the crime, they will find it
hard to show any difference in the punishment. And he will answer for it
that nothing shall be wanting on his part to do them justice.”

Notwithstanding this ingenious pleading, the public fully understood that
De Foe, and De Foe alone, was the author and “ inventor” of “ Robinson
Crusoe,” whose popularity becameso extensive thata Tory pamphleteer, named
Gildon, availed himself of it to secure a reception for his scurrilous attack
on De Foe: ‘The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Mr. D De
F. , of London, Hosier, who has lived above fifty years by himself, in the
Kingdoms of North and South Britain. The various Shapes he has appeared
in, and the Discoveries he has made for the Benefit of his Country. In a
Dialogue between Him, Robinson Crusoe, and his Man Friday. With
remarks, Serious and Comical, upon the Life of Crusoe.” But neither
Gildon nor any other assailant could prevent the public from reading and
admiring the narrative of the Solitary in his island fastness, and his later ad-
ventures in many lands; and its reception continued to be so enthusiastic that
De Foe ventured, in August 1720, on once more appearing before the public
under the old familiar colours, drawing, as it were, the moral to the story, in
a book which he entitled “ Serious Reflections during the Life and Surpris-
ing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe: With his Vision of the Angelick World.”

As the second part was inferior to the first, so was the third inferior to the
second ; and it has so entirely dropped out of public favour that I believe to
most readers of ‘ Robinson Crusoe”’ its existence is wholly unknown. A
recent biographer asserts that “ it contains profound thought, great wisdom,
morality of the highest character, an extensive acquaintance with metaphysi-
cal subtleties, and is pervaded with a solemn tone of religious instruction,
doctrinal and practical.” I confess that my estimate of it is not so high.
I admit its devout and earnest tone; but in a work of this kind, De Foe’s
plain, homely, matter-of-fact style palls upon the reader; and as his reflec-
tions are neither very deep nor very broad, and do not come to us recom-
mended by any beauty of imagery or subtlety of fancy, I cannot but think the
third part of ‘‘ Robinson Crusoe” very dreary reading.

In October 1719, De Foe published ‘The Dumb Philosopher; or, Great
Britain’s Wonder,’’—an account of an ideal Cornishman, one Dickory Cronke,
who ‘was born dumb, and continued so for fifty-eight years.” The subject
seems to have had a peculiar attraction for our author, since, in 1720, he
came before the public with the ‘‘ History of the Life and Adventures of Mr.
Duncan Campbell;” who, however, was not only dumb but deaf. It was
founded on the career of a celebrated fortune-teller of the time, who laid




‘“ MEMOIRS OF A CAVALIER.” 4l

claim to the faculty of
second-sight, and was un-

doubtedly a man of great Serious Reflections

natural talents.

In the same year De DURING THE

Foe produced his second
great novel—in some re-

spects superior to “ Rob- And Surprifing

inson Crusoe” itself, but
ADVENTURES
OF



inferior in plot, scenery,
and motive. I refer to
the book which imposed
on the great Earl of Chat-
ham as an authentic his-
torical narrative : * “ Me-
moirs of a Cavalier; or, a
Military Journal of the

'
\
i
Wars in Germany, and 4

Rosinson Crusoe:

| WITH HIS

Ved Saou

ier:

the Wars in England ; Angelich WO = L D.

from the year 1632 to the

year 1648. Written,” con-

tinues De Foe, who was

partial to lengthy title-

pages, ‘“‘ Threescore Years

ago by an English Gentle-

man, who served first in

the Army of Gustavus

Adolphus, the glorious bs
|
1



LONDON: : Printed for W. Te ror, at the Ship
and Black Swan in Pater-nufter-Row. 1720.

King of Sweden, till his
death; and after that, in
the Royal Army of King '—__ i
Charles the First, from the



- REDUCED FAC-SIMILE OF TITLE PAGE TO VOL. III. OF
Beginning of the Rebellion THE FIRST EDITION OF “‘ ROBINSON CRUSOE.”
to the End of that War.”

These “ Memoirs ” furnish the reader with one of the most spirited Nar-
ratives of the Great Civil War which our language possesses. It exhibits
all De Foe’s characteristic excellences, and few of his defects ; and its sub-
ject lifts it out of that low atmosphere of thieves and harlots in which too
many of his secondary fictions are plunged. Its chief and most obvious
deficiency is in its style. De Foe does not write as a well-bred and well-
born Cavalier would have written. Nevertheless, it is full of fire and spirit,

* Mr. Lee is of opinion that it was actually founded on a genuine manuscript memoir;

but in this he is opposed to our ablest critics. His reasons in support of its authenticity
would equally well apply to the authenticity of ‘“‘ Robinson Crusoe ”
42 DE FUOE’S SECONDARY NOVELS,

and, as Scott suggests, is probably enriched with anecdotes whieh De Foe
had heard from the lips of greybeards who had themselves been ‘ out ” in
the Great Rebellion.

Such a work might well be supposed sutticient for one twelvemonth’s toil;
but De Foe’s fertility was as inexhaustible as his industry, and the same
year which produced the ** Memoirs of a Cavalier,’ also gave birth to the
** Life, Adventures, and Pyracies of the famous Captain Singleton ;"* a book
which is perfectly wonderful in the minute knowledge it displays of the
geography of Central Africa, and the manner in which it positively anti-
cipates some of the discoveries of Baker, Speke, and Livingstone.

I shall notice in quick succession the later novels of our author.

On the 27th of January, 1722, appeared “The Fortunes and Misfortunes
of the Famous Moll Flanders. Written from her own Memorandums.”

On the 17th of March was produced “A Journal of the Plague Year:
Being Observations or Memorials of the most Remarkable Occurrences, as
well Publick as Private, which happened in London during the last Great
Visitation in 1665. Written by a Citizen who continued all the while in
London. Never made public before.”

The “ Journal” is full of ghastly pictures. which are almost horrible in
their photographic fidelity; a fidelity so conspicuous and so remarkable
that it induced the eminent physician Dr. Mead to refer to De Foe's ficti-
tious narrative as to av authority of weight. It exhibits his marvellous
realistic art in its utmost perfection; and, even at the present day, cannot
be read without interest.

Ranking “ Robinson Crusoe ’’ as its author’s greatest work of fiction, and
his *‘ Memoirs of a Cavalier” as second in merit, I cannot but ascribe the
third place to the ‘ Life of Colonel Jack,”t which appeared in December
1722. and which dealt with the career of a male criminal, as “ Moll Flanders"
had dealt with that ofa female. The value of what has been emphatically
called Thieves’ Literature may reasonably be doubted, and I question much
whether any work of this class has morally benefited a single reader. Yet
it must be admitted that De Foe, unlike many of our modern novelists,
always paints vice as it is—in all its filth and all its degradation—and

* The full title runs :—‘‘ The Life, Adventures, and Pyracies of the famous Captain
Singleton: Containing an Account of his being set on Shore in the Island of Madagascar,
his Settlement there, with a Description of the Place and Inhabitants: Of his Passage
from thence in a Paraguay (periaywa) to the main Land of Africa, with an Account of the
Customs and Manners of the People. His great Deliverances from the barbarous Natives
and Wild Beasts : Of his Meeting with an Englishman, a Citizen of London, among the
Indians, the great Riches he acquired, and his Voyage Home to England: As also Cap-
tain Singleton’s Return to Sea, with an Account of his many Adventures and Pyracies
with the famous Captain Avery and Others. London: J. Brotherton, &c. 1720.”

t The full title runs:—“‘ The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable
Colonel Jacque, vulgarly called Colonel Jack; who was Born a Gentleman, put ’Pren-
tice to a Pickpocket, was Six and Twenty Years a Thief, and then Kidnapp’d to Vir-
ginia. Came back a Merchant; went into the Wars, behav'd bravely, got Preferment.;

was made a Colonel of a Regiment; came over, and fled with, the Chevalier; is still
abroad compleating a Life of Wonders, and resolves to dye a General. London. 1722”
CHARLES LAMB'S CRITICISM. 42

without any attempt to disguise it, or to render it attractive by meretricious
colouring. For the rest, the fiction to which I am alluding contains some
of its author’s finest touches; is instinct in many passages with a very
powerful pathos; and everywhere exhibits an extraordinary knowledge of
humanity.

The last of De Foe’s novels appeared in March 1724, under the title of
~The Fortunate Mistress: or, a History of the Life and Vast Variety of
Fortunes of Mademoiselle de’ Belau; afterwards called the Countess of
Windelsheim in Germany. Being the Person known by the name of the
Lady Roxana, in the Time of King Charles II.’ This story of the life of
un abandoned woman is doubtlessly written in all honesty of purpose; but
assuredly it is not the hook a father would put into the hands of his
daughters, and again I doubt whether such a method of attacking vice is
ever successful.

All that can be said of the secondary fictions of De Foe has, however, been
said with excellent force and humour by Charles Lamb ;* and his defence
of them I may leave to the consideration of my readers :—

FROM CHARLES LAMB.

The narrative manner of De Foe has a naturalness about it beyond that
of any other novel or romance writer. His fictions have all the air of true
stories. It is impossible to believe, while you are reading them, that a real
person is not narrating to you everywhere nothing but what really happened
to himself. ‘lo this the extreme homediness of their style mainly contributes.
We use the word in its best and heartiest sense—that which comes home to
the reader. The narrators everywhere are chosen from low life, or have had
their origin in it; therefore they tell their own tales, as persons in their
degree are observed to do, with infinite repetition, and an overacted exact-
ness, lest the hearer should not have minded, or have forgotten, some things
that had been told before...... The heroes and heroines of De Foe can never
again hope to be popular with a much higher class of readers than that of
the servant-maid or the sailor. Crusoe keeps its rank only by tough pre-
scription, Singleton, the pirate; Colonel Jack, the thief; Moll Flandcrs,
both thief and harlot; Roxana, harlot, and somethiny worse—would be
startling ingredients in the bill of fare of modern literary delicacies.— But,
then, what pirates, what thieves, and what harlots, is the thief, the harlot,
and the pirate of De Foe! We would not hesitate to say, that in no other
hook of fiction, where the lives of such characters are described, is guilt
and delinquency made less seductive, or the suffering made more closely tc
follow the commission, or the penitence more earnest or more bleeding, or
the intervening flashes of religious visitation upon the rude and uninstructed
soul more meltingly and fearfully painted.

* Charles Lamb, “ Eliana”: De Foe’s Secondary Novels.
1 It must be remembered that Charles Lamb wrote before English literature had been
enriched (?) with ‘‘sensational novels.”
CHAPTER LV.

LAST YEARS AND DEATIE.



a Sg. ae has see been pie os onted oe De Foe’s biogr: Saas that his

ae of Acne. Others, aeea: ane gone ee further
Admitting that he wrote but little, politically, after the fall of his
patron Harley, they have asserted that what he déd write was
in open contradiction of the principles he had formerly espoused, and that
he, the great Whig pamphletcer, wrote Tory pamphlets for Tory money.

Mr. Leo, however, has recently proved two important facts: first, that
De Foe continued to labour as a politician whilo busiest as & novelist; and
that, second, he was still in the service of, and remunerated by, the King’s
Government. His position was a curious one: he was paid by the Ministry
to write in the Tory papers—more particularly in the so-called Afist’s
Journal—and to write in them, not in avowed advocacy of Government
measures, yet, as it were, in mitigation and defence of them. It must be
owned that this was an ingenious method of turning an enemy’s arms
against himself, but it cannot be considered altogether worthy of a man of
honour and sincerity.

The following account of this curious transaction is given by Mr. Lec.*
who founds it upon letters written by De Foe himself :—

De Foe says, that with the approbation of Lord Sunderland, one of the
Whig Ministry, he introduced himself to the proprietor of Mist's Journal,
with the view of keeping it in the circle of a secret. management, so that it
might pass as a Tory paper, and yet be disabled and enervated of its trea-
sonable character, ‘so as to do no mischief, or give any offence to the
Government.” De Foe had no share in the property of this paper, and had
therefore no absolute power to reject improper communications; but he
trusted to the moral influence he should be able to acquire and maintain
over Mist, the proprietor, who had no suspicion that the Government was
indirectly concerned in the matter. This Journal was the organ of the Pre-
tender’s interest, and, according to De Foe, its correspondents and supporters
* Lee, “‘ Life of Daniel De Foc,” i. 271, 272


A DOUBTFUL POSITION. 45

were, he tells us, Papists, and Jacobites, and High Tories—‘ a generation
whom, I profess, my very soul abhors.”’ In the performance of his peculiar
and delicate task he was compelled to hear traitorous outbursts against the
King and Government, and to receive “scandalous and villanous papers,’
keeping them by him—ostensibly for the purpose of gathering materials, but
really with a view to their total suppression.

In Mr. Lee’s opinion this was no ‘system of espionage ;’’ but I confesa
it seems to me something closely resembling it, and I could wish De Foe
had never been involved in, still less had originated, a scheme so questionable
and, moreover, of such doubtful advantage.

I continue, however, to quote Mr. Lee's defence :—

The rebellion (of 1715-16) was yet smouldering, though subdued ; and
tho laws, liberties, and religion of the country were threatened. This weekly
journal, inspired from the Court of the Pretender, and supported by the
money and intelligence of attainted nobles abroad, and their adherents at
home, had laboured to keep alive the spirit of treason until circumstances
should be favourable for again spreading the flames of rebellion through the
land. If, therefore, moral persuasion is more effectual than legal repression,
and prevention better than cure, then no stigma, beyond that of concealment,
attaches to the character of De Foe on account of his connection with JJzst’s
Journal, Rather should we admire the intellectual power capable of hold-
ing in check such men as Ormond, Atterbury, Bolingbroke,* Mar, Wharton,
and their satellites, among the Jacobite and Nonjuring writers. It required
a large amount of patriotic courage to place himself as an impassable barrier
between the invectives of such men and the reading public; and no lese
reservation and tact in exercising this influence in such a manner as to
avoid suspicion. He closes one of his letters with a favourite expression
from Scripture, frequeatly cited in his writings, showing the sensitiveness
of his mind, even as to the concealment necessary to the efficient service of
his country. His words evince that he was conscious of the danger and
difficulties of his duties; and also that his position was a questionable one ;
-—but there is no invidious self-reflection involved when he says: “ Thus
I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, and most humbly recommend myself
to his lordship’s protection, or I may be undone the sooner, by how much
the more faithfully I execute the commands I am under.”

De Foe’s connection with Jfist’s Journal commenced in 1717, and continued,
with various interruptions, until 1724. During this period he also mingled
in the political méléo as proprietor and conductor of The Whitehall Evening
Post. From 1719 to 1725 he was connected with the Daily Post,+ while his
fertile pen not only produced the works of fiction whose characteristics we
have been examining, throughout this busy period. hut, with ceaseless in-

* But could such men as these have been hoodwinked, even by De Foe? ;
+ Also with Applebie’s Original Weekly Jowrnal, 1720 to 1726; and The Director
1720,
46 DE FOR’S LATEST WORKS.

dustry and extraordinary spirit, dealt with things human and divine in a
variety of manuals, treatises, and essays.

Among these it is especially desirable we should notice a rhymed transla-
tion of Du Fresnoy’s “ Compleat Art of Painting,” published in 1720; “ Re-
gious Courtship : being Historical Discourses on the Necessity of Marrying
Religions Husbands and Wives only,” 1722; “The Life and Actions of
Lewis Dominique Cartouche,” a notorious French desperado, 1722;* ‘An
Impartial History of the Life and Actions of Peter Alexowitz, Czar of Mus-
covy,” 1723;* “The Highland Rogue, or the Memorable Actions of the
Celebrated Robert Macgregor; commonly called Rob Roy,” 1728;* “A
Tour Thro’ the whole Island of Great Britain "—a book full of lively ob-
servation and accurate description, the result of journeys undertaken by the
author in 1724-1726 ; “A New Voyage Round the World,” 1725; ‘ The
Compleat English Tradesman,” 2 vols., 1725-1727—an excellent manual,
containing many shrowd reflections, and much yaluable counsel for the
young beginner; The Political History of the Devil,’ 1726; “A System
af Magick; or, a History of the Black Art,” 1726: “The Secrets of the
Invisible World Disclosed ; or, an Universal History of Apparitions, Sacred
and Profane, under all Denominations,” 1728; “ A New Family Instructor:
in Familiar Discourses between a Father and his Children, on the most
Essential Points of the Christian Religion ’—a book whose every page is
illustrative of De Foe's manly and unaffected religious sentiments; and
“The Compleat English Gentleman ’’—a tractate on education, which, like
everything that De Foe wrote, is instinct with good sense, and which, with
the exception of a small pamphlet on “Street Robberies,” terminated his long
and multifarious literary Jabours.

Of his industry the reader may judge from the fact that a complete list of
his works enumerates no less than 254; of his versatility, the varied sub-
Jects of those to which we have more particularly alluded is a satisfactory
proof,

On the whole, De Foe's career was a successful one. He met with great
trials, but he had also great rewards. It is true that he was twice bankrupt,
but his first misfortune was due to his own imprudence in attempting to
combine the politician with the man of business. His second was owing to
the severe sentence passed upon him at the instigation of a vindictive
Government; but then, it must be acknowledged, that he had provoked its
wrath hy a satire of more than ordinary bitterness. He elected to plunge
into the stormy sea of politics, and if ho occasionally met with a terrible
buffeting, he did but pay the penalty of his deliberate choice. In many of
his views he was in advance of his age, and, accordingly, he was not always
popular: but a man who enjoyed the confidence of King William and Queen
Anne, of Harley and Godolphin, of Sunderland and ‘Yownshend; whose

* These are ascribed to De Foe by Mr. Lee.
t Including those recently attributed to him by Mr. Lee.
HIS LAST YEARS AND DEATH. 4

assistance was thought so valuable that it was regularly retained by the
Government ; whose books commanded a large and ready sale; who could
dower his daughters at their marriage, could purchase land, and build for
himself a “ handsome house ;’’"—such a man cannot surely be considered an
example of the ill-fortune that sometimes assails the politician and the
littérateur. Political opponents Joaded him with calumny and abuse; but
De Foe lived in times when “ hard hitting’ was the rule, and not the excep-
tion, when no such standard of courtesy was recognized by political writers
as common consent of late years has established. We think, therefore, that
the pity poured out upon De Foe by sentimental biographers is, to a great
extent, unnecessary ; and we believe that his life affords a favourable ex-
ample of the success which attends unflagging industry, indefatigable per-
severance, and honourable consistency.

One bitter sorrow, indeed, overclouded the later years of this great-hearted
man, but that came from within, not from without—from his own family
hearth, and not from his political foes. The misconduct of his second son
was a thorn in his side which wounded deeply. His father had placed large
confidence in him; he violated it; and by violating it temporarily deprived
his mother and sisters of considerable resources. The evil was magnified
by the timidity and apprehension natural to old age, and De Foe wrote
of it in exaggerated language :—‘ 1 depended upon him, I trusted him, I
gave up my two dear unprovided children into his hands: but he has no
compassion, and suffers them and their poor dear dying mother [she out-
lived her husband some eighteen months] to beg their bread at his door
and to crave, as if it were an alms, what he is bound, under hand and seal,
besides the most sacred promises, to supply them with; himself, at the same
time, living in a profusion of plenty.”

The money, however, was recovered, and De Foe's family left in comfortable
circumstances.

Our brief summary of a life of action must here conclude. We have traced
the politician and the man of letters through the chief phases of his history,
to that “ final limit” where all labour, and sorrow, and disappointment end.
Towards the close of the year 1780 he removed from his house at Stoke New-
ington, “ a commodious mansion in about four acres of ground,” to London,
and took lodgings in what was then a pleasant and reputable locality, Rope-
maker's Alley, Moorfields. ere he died of a lethargy, on the evening of
Monday, ihe 26th of April 1781, in the seventy-first year of his age. He
was buried in Bunhill Fields, where his tomb will ever be regarded with
interest by all admirers of manly genius and incorruptible integrity.

W.H. D. A.
48 BIOGRAVPHL{CAL AUTHORITLES

AUTHORITIES.

The principal authorities in reference to the Jive of Dre For are :

“Daniel De Foe: His Life, and Hitherto Unknown Writings,” by Willian Lee, 8 vols
1869.

“ Historical and Biographical Essays,” by John Forster, vol. ii

“Novels and Miscellaneous Wor

“Miscellaneous Prose Works: Life of Daniel De Foe,
published by Cadell, 1847.

“De Foe’s Works,” with Life by Chalmers, 1820.
"with Life by Roscoe, 1831.
“Memoirs of the Life and Times of Daniel De Foe,” by Walter Wilson, 3 vols., 1830
“De Foe’s Works,” with Memoir by William Maztitt, 3 vals 5 1S40 43



of De Foe,” 20 vols., Oxford,
” edited by Sir Walter Secti



“Robinson Crusoe,’



TOME OF DE FOR TIN BUNHILL FIELDS.

{Norr. — A monument to De Foe, erected, by the voluntary subscriptions of seventeen
bundred English boys and girls, in Bunhill-fields burial-ground, was ‘‘ unveiled” by Mr.
Charles Reed, M.P. for Hackney, on Friday, September 16, 1870 It consists of an
Egyptian column of fine Italian marble, 17 feet high, and at the l-ase 8 feet by 4 feet
The sculptor is Mr. Horner, of Bournemouth. The pillar bears the following inserip

Hon:—*' Daniel De Foe. Lorn 1661, died 1731. Author of ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ ”]






MAP OF ROBINSON CHUSUE S ISLAND.

via Reflections "(ur grd Party, puviished by W. Taylor in 27204 ie



THE

Hite and Adbentures

OF

ROBINSON Cisse k:

An isle....

Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea.
No want was there of human sustenance,
Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots ;
Nor save for pity was it hard to take
The helpless life so wild that it was tame.
There in a seaward-gazing mountain gorge
‘He’ built, and thatched with leaves of palm, a hut,
Half hut, half native cavern.
TENNYSON

Part THE Pf IRST.


THE

Lite and Adventures

OF

ROBINSON CRUSORK.

An isle....

Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea.
No want was there of human sustenance,
Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishixrg roots ;
Nor save for pity was it hard to take
The helpless life so wild that it was tame.
There in a seaward-gazing mountain gorge
‘He’ built, and thatched with leaves of palm, a hut,
Half hut, half native cavern.
TENNYSON

Part THE FURST.
ROBINSON CRUSOK





Ca Oi - Cs

WAS born in the year 1682, in the city
of York, of a good family, though not of
that country, my father being a foreigner
of Bremen, who settled first at Hull: he
i got a good estate by merchandise, and

3H leaving off his trade, lived afterward at
York, from whence he had married my mother, whose relations
were named Robinson, a very good family in that country, and
52 A ROVING DISPOSITION,

from whom IJ was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the usual
corruption of words in England, we are now called, nay, we call
ourselves, and write our name Crusoe, and so my companions
always called me.

I had two elder brothers, one of which was lieutenant-colonel
to an English regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded
hy the famous Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near
Dunkirk against the Spaniards: what became of my second brother
I never knew, any more than my father and mother did know what
was become of me.

Being the third son of the family, and not bred to any trade,
my head began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts.
My father, who was very ancient, had given me a competent share
of learning, as far as house education and a country free school
generally goes, and designed me for the law; but 1 would be satis-
fied with nothing but going to sea, and my inclination to this led
me so strongly against the will, nay, the commands of my father,
and against all the entreaties and persuasions of my mother and
other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in that pro-
pension of nature tending directly to the life of misery which was
to befall me.

My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious ard excellent
counsel against what he foresaw was my design. He called me
one morning into his chamber, where he was confined by the gout,
and expostulated very warmly with me upon this subject. He
asked me what reasons more than a mere wandering inclination I
had for leaving my father’s house and my native country, where I
might be well introduced, and had a prospect of raising my for
tunes by application and industry, with a life of ease and pleasure.
He told me it was for men of desperate fortunes on one hand, or
of aspiring, superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon
adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in
undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these
things were all either too far above me, or too far below me; that
mine was the middle state, or what might be called the upper
station of low life, which he had found by long experience was the
best state in the world, the most suited to human happiness, not
WISE WORDS AND SAGE COUNSEL. 53











“SY FATHER GAVE ME SERIOUS AND EXCELLENT COUNSEL.”

exposed to the miseries and hardships, the labour and sufferings of
the mechanic part of mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride,
luxury, ambition, and envy of the upper part of mankind, He
told me I might judge of the happiness of this state by this one
thing—namely, that this was the state of life which all other people
envied; that kings have frequently lamented the miserable con-
sequences of being born to great things, and wished they had been
placed in the middle of the two extremes,—between the mean and
the great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this as the just
standard of true felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty
nor riches,

He bid me observe it, and I should always find that the calami-
ties of life were shared among the upper and lower part of
mankind; but that the middle station had the fewest disasters,
and was not exposed to so many vicissitudes as the higher or lower
part of mankind; nay, they were not subjected to so many dis
54 A FATHER’S EXPOSTULATION,

tempers and uneasinesses either of body or mind, as those were
who, by vicious living, luxury, and extravagancies on one hand.
or by hard labour, want of necessaries, and mean or insufficient
diet on the other hand, bring distempers upon themselves by the
natural consequences of their way of living; that the middle
station of life was calculated for all kind of virtues and all kind of
enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a
middle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health,
society, all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were
the blessings attending the middle station of life; that this way
men went silently and smoothly through the world, and comfort-
ably out of it, not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of
the head, not sold to the life of slavery for daily bread, or harassed
with perplexed circumstances, which rob the soul of peace and
the body of rest; not enraged with the passion of envy, or secret
burning lust of ambition for great things; but in easy circum-
stances sliding gently through the world, and sensibly tasting the
sweets of living, without the bitter; fecling that they are happy
and learning by every day’s experience to know it more sensibly.

After this, he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate
manner, not to play the young man, not to precipitate myself into
miseries which nature and the station of life I was born in seemed

?

to have provided against; that I was under no necessity of seck-
ing my bread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to
enter me fairly into the station of life which he had been just
recommending to me; and that if IT was not very easy and happy
in the world, it must be my mere fate or fault that must hinder
it, and that he should have nothing to answer for, having thus
discharged his duty in warning me against measures which he
knew would be to my hurt. Ina word, that as he would do very
kind things for me if I would stay and settle at home as he
directed, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes,
as to give me any encouragement to go away. And, to close all,
he told me I had my elder brother for an example, to whom h:
nad used the same earnest persuasions to keep him from going
into the Low Country wars, but could not prevail, his young
desires prompting him to run into the army, where he was killed;
CRUSOE AND HIS MOTHER. 5E

and though, he said, he would not cease to pray for me, yet he
would venture to say to me that, if I did take this foolish step, God
would not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect
upon having neglected his counsel when there might be none to
assist in my recovery.

I observed in this last part of his discourse, which was truly
prophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be so
himself, I say I saw the tears run down his face very plentifully,
and especially when he spoke of my brother who was killed; and
that when he spoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to
assist me, he was so moved that he broke off the discourse, and
told me his heart was so full he could say no more to me.

I was sincerely affected with this discourse—as indeed who could
be otherwise ?— and I resolved not to think of going abroad any
more, but to settle at home according to my father’s desire. But,
alas! a few days wore it all off; and, in short, to prevent any of
my father’s further importunities, in a few weeks after I resolved
to run quite away from him. However, I did not act so hastily
neither as my first heat of resolution prompted; but I took my
mother, at a time when I thought her a little pleasanter than
ordinary, and told her that my thoughts were so entirely bent
upon seeing the world, that I should never settle to anything with
resolution enough to go through with it, and my father had better
give me his consent than force me to go without it; that I was
now eighteen years old, which was too late to go apprentice to a
trade, or clerk to an attorney; that I was sure if I did, I should
never serve out my time, and I should certainly run away from
my master before my time was out, and go to sea; and if she
would speak to my father to let me go but one voyage abroad, if
[ came home again and did not like it, I would go no more, and I
would promise by a double diligence to recover that time I had
lost.

This put my mother into a great passion. She told me she
knew it would be to no purpose to speak to my father upon any
such subject; that he knew too well what was my interest to give
his consent to anything so much for my hurt, and that she
wondered how I could think of any such thing, after such s
56 CRUSOE GOES TO SEA.

discourse as 1 had had with my father, and such kind and tenda
expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that, in
short, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I
might depend I should never have their consent to it. That, for
her part, she would not have so much hand in my destruction;
and I should never have it to say that my mother was willing
when my father was not.

Though my mother refused to move it to my father, yet, as I
have heard afterwards, she reported all the discourse to him, and
that my father, after showing a great concern at it, said to her
with a sigh,—“ That boy might be happy if he would stay at
home; but if he goes abroad he will be the miserablest wretch
that was ever born. I can give no consent to it.”’

It was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose,
though in the meantime I continued obstinately deaf to all pro-
posals of settling to business, and frequently expostulating with
my father and mother about their being so positively determined
against what they knew my inclinations prompted me to. But
being one day at Hull, where I went casually, and without any
purpose of making an elopement that time; but, I say, being
there, and one of my companions being going by sea to London
in his father’s ship, and prompting me to go with them, with the
common allurement of seafaring men—namely, that it should cost
me nothing for my passage—I consulted neither father nor mother
any more, nor so much as sent them word of it; but leaving them
to hear of it as they might, without asking God’s blessing, or my
father’s; without any consideration of circumstances or conse-
quences, and in an ill hour, God knows, on the Ist of September
1651, I went on board a ship bound for London. Never any young
adventurer’s misfortunes, I believe, began sooner, or continued
longer than mine. The ship was no sooner gotten out of the
Humber but the wind began to blow, and the waves to rise in a
most frightful manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I
was most inexpressibly sick in body, and terrified in my mind. I
began now seriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how
justly I was overtaken by the judgment of Heaven for my wicked
leaving my father’s house, and abandoning my duty; all the good
SICK IN MIND AND Bopy, 5%







1 WAS MOST INEXPRESSIBLY SICK IN BODY.”

counsel of my parents, my father’s tears and my mother’s entrea-
ties, came now fresh into my mind; and my conscience, which
was not yet come to the pitch of hardness to which it has been
since, reproached me with the contempt of advice, and the breach
of my duty to God and my father.

All this while the storm increased, and the sea, which I had
never been upon before, went very high, though nothing like
58 A CAPFUL OF WIND.

what I have secn many times since; no, nor like what I saw
a few days after. But it was enough to affect me then, who
was but a young sailor, and had never known anything of the
matter. I expected every wave would have swallowed us.up, and
that every time the ship fell down, as I thought, in the trough or
hollow of the sea, we should never rise more; and in this agony
of mind I made many vows and resolutions, that if it would please
God here to spare my life this one voyage, if ever I got once my
foot upon dry land again, I would go directly home to my father,
and never set it into a ship again while I lived; that I would
take his advice, and never run myself into such miseries as these
any more. Now I saw plainly the goodness of his observations
about the middle station of life; how easy, how comfortably he
had lived all his days, and never had been exposed to tempests at
sea, or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, like a true
repenting prodigal, go home to my father.

These wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the
storm continued, and indeed some time after; but the next day
the wind was abated and the sea calmer, and I began to be a little
inured to it. However, I was very grave for all that day, being
also a little sea-sick still; but towards night the weather cleared
up, the wind was quite over, and a charming fine evening followed;
the sun went down perfectly clear, and rose so the next morning ;
and having little or no wind, and a smooth sea, the sun shining
upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the most delightful that ever
T saw.

I had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick
but very cheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so
rough and terrible the day before, and could be so calm and so
pleasant in so little time after. And now, lest my good resolutions
should continue, my companion, who had indeed enticed me away,
comes to me,—‘‘ Well, Bob,” says he, clapping me on the shoulder.
“how do you do after it? I warrant you were frightened, wa’n't
you, last night, when it blew but a capful of wind ?”—“ A capful,
d’you call it?” said I; “twas a terrible storm.” —“ A storm, you
fool you,” replies he; “do you call that a storm? Why, it was
nothing at all! Give us but a good ship and sea-room, and we
HASTY VOWS SOON REPENTED. 5S

think nothing of such a squall of wind as that. But you're but 2
fresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch, and
we'll forget all that. D’ye see what charming weather ’tis now?”
To make short this sad part of my story, we went the old way of
all sailors. The punch was made, and J was made drunk with it.





“THE PUNCH WAS MADE, AND I WAS MADE DRUNK WITH I.”

And in that one night’s wickedness I drowned all my repentance,
all my reflections upon my past conduct, and all my resolutions
for my future. In a word, as the sea was returned to its smooth-
ness of surface and settled calmness by the abatement of that
storm, so—the hurry of my thoughts being over, my fears and
apprehensions of being swallowed up by the sea being forgotten,
and the current of my former desires returned—I entirely forgot
the vows and promises that I made in my distress. I found,
indeed, some intervals of reflection, and the serious thoughts did,
as it were, endeavour to return again sometimes; but I shook
60 A GREAT STORM ARISES.

them off, and roused myself from them as it were from a distemper,
and applying myself to drink and company, soon mastered the
return of those fits—for so I called them—and I had in five or six
days got as complete a victory over conscience as any young fellow,
that resolved not to be troubled with it, could desire. But I was
to have another trial for it still; and Providence, as in such cases
generally it does, resolved to leave me entirely without excuse.
For if I would not take this for a deliverance, the next was to be
such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch among us would
confess both the danger and the mercy.

The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads;
the wind having been contrary and the weather calm, we had
made but little way since the storm. Here we were obliged to
come to an anchor, and here we lay, the wind continuing contrary—
namely, at south-west—for seven or eight days, during which time
a great many ships from Newcastle came into the same roads, as
the common harbour where the ships might wait for a wind for
the river.

We had not, however, rid here so long, but should have tided it
up the river, but that the wind blew too fresh; and after we had
lain four or five days, blew very hard. However, the roads being
reckoned as good as a harbour, the anchorage good, and our
ground-tackle very strong, our men were unconcerned, and not in
the least apprehensive of danger, but spent the time in rest and
mirth, after the manner of the sea; but the eighth day, in the
morning, the wind increased, and we had all hands at work to
strike our top-masts, and make everything snug and close, that
the ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went
very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle in, shipped several
seas, and we thought once or twice our anchor had come home,
upon which our master ordered out the shect-anchor; so that we
rode with two anchors a-head, and the cables veered out to the
better end.

By this time it blew a terrible storm indeed, and now I began
to see terror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen
themselves. ‘The master, though vigilant to the business of pre-
serving the ship, yet, as he went in and out of his cabin by me,
A YOUNG SAILOR’S DISTRESS. 61

[ could hear him softly to himself say several times, “Lord he
merciful to us; we shall be all lost, we shall be all undone,” and
the like. During these first hurries I was stupid, lying still in my
cabin, which was in the steerage, and cannot describe my temper.
I could ill re-assume the first penitence, which I had so apparently
trampled upon and hardened myself against. I thought the
bitterness of death had been past, and that this would be nothing,
too, like the first. But when the master himself came by me, as
I said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully
frighted. I got up out of my cabin and looked out; but such a
dismal sight I never saw. ‘The sea went mountains high, and
broke upon us every three or four minutes. When I could look
about, I could see nothing but distress round us. ‘Two ships that
rode near us we found had cut their masts by the board, being
deeply laden; and our men cried out that a ship which rode about
a mile a-head of us was foundered. ‘Two more ships being driven
from their anchors, were run out of the roads to sea at all adven-
tures, and that with not a mast standing. ‘The light ships fared
the best, as not so much labouring in the sea; but two or three of
them drove, and came close by us, running away with only their
sprit-sail out before the wind.

Towards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of
our ship to let them cut away the foremast, which he was very
unwilling to; but the boatswain protesting to him that if he did
not the ship would founder, he consented; and when they had cut
away the foremast, the main-mast stood so loose and shook the
ship so much, they were obliged to cut her away also, and make a
clear deck.

Any one may judge what a condition I must be in at all this,
who was but a young sailor, and who had been in such a fright
before at but a little. But if I can express at this distance the
thoughts I had about me at that time, I was in tenfold more
horror of mind upon account of my former convictions, and the
having returned from them to the resolutions I had wickedly taken
at first, than I was at death itself; and these, added to the terror
of the storm, put me into such 4 condition that I can by no words
describe it. But the worst was not come yet. The storm con-
62 ALL HANDS TO THE PUMP.

tinued with such fury, that the seamen themselves acknowledged
they had never known a worse. We had a good ship; but she
was deep laden, and wallowed in the sea, that the seamen every
now and then cried out she would founder. It was my advantage
in one respect that I did not know what they meant by founder
till I inquired. However, the storm was so violent, that I saw
what is not often seen—the master, the boatswain, and some
others more sensible than the rest, at their prayers, and expecting
every moment when the ship would go to the bottom. In the
middle of the night, and under all the rest of our distresses, one of
the men that had been down on purpose to see, cried out we had
sprung a leak; another said there was four foot water in the hold.

Then all hands were called to the pump. At that very word
my heart, as I thought, died within me, and I fell backwards upon
the side of my bed where [ sat, into the cabin. However, the men
roused me, and told me that I that was able to do nothing before
was as well able to pump as another, at which I stirred up and
went to the pump, and worked very heartily. While this was
doing, the master, seeing some light colliers, who, not able to ride
out the storm, were obliged to slip and run away to sea, and would
come near us, ordered to fire a gun as a signal of distress. I, who
knew nothing what that meant, was so surprised, that I thought
the ship had broke, or some dreadful thing had happened. Ina
word, I was so surprised, that I fell down in a swoon. As this
was a time when everybody had his own life to think of, nobody
minded me, or what was become of me; but another man stepped
up to the pump, and thrusting me aside with his foot, let me lie,
thinking I had been dead ; and it was a great while before I came
. to myself.

We worked on; but the water increasing in the hold, it was
apparent that the ship would founder; and though the storm
began to abate a little, yet, as it was not possible she could swim
till we might run into a port, so the master continued firing guns
for help, and a light ship, who had rode it out just ahead of us,
ventured a boat out to help us. It was with the utmost hazard
the boat came near us; but it was impossible for us to get on
board, or for the boat to lie near the ship’s side, till at last, the men
SAFE ON SHORE. 68

rowing very heartily, and venturing their lives to save ours, our
men cast them a rope over the stern with a buoy to it, and then
veered it out a great length, which they, after great labour and
hazard, took hold of, and we hauled them close under our stern,
and got all into their boat. It was to no purpose for them or us
after we were in the boat to think of reaching to their own ship,
so all agreed to let her drive, and only to pull her in towards shore
as much as we could; and our master promised them, that if the
boat was staved upon shore, he would make it good to their
master; so, partly rowing and partly driving, our boat went away
to the northward, sloping towards the shore almost as far as
Winterton Ness.

We were not much more than a quarter of an hour out of our
ship when we saw her sink, and then I understood for the first time
what was meant by a ship foundering in the sea. I must acknow-
ledge I had hardly eyes to look up when the seamen told me she
was sinking; for from that moment they rather put me into the
boat than that I might be said to go in. My heart was, as it
were, dead within me, partly with fright, partly with horror of
mind and the thoughts of what was yet before me.

While we were in this condition, the men yet labouring at the
oar to bring the boat near the shore, we could see, when our boat,
mounting the waves, we were able to see the shore, a great many
people running along the shore to assist us when we should come
near; but we made but slow way towards the shore, nor were we
able to reach the shore, till, being past the lighthouse at Winter-
ton, the shore falls off to the westward towards Cromer, and so the
land broke off a little the violence of the wind. Here we got in,
and though not without much difficulty, got all safe on shore, and
walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth, where, as unfortunate
men, we were used with great humanity, as well by the magistrates
of the town, who assigned us good quarters, as by particular
merchants and owners of ships, and had money given us sufficient
to carry us either to London or back to Hull, as we thought fit.

Had I now had the sense to have gone back to Hull, and have
gone home, I had been happy, and my father, an emblem of our

blessed Saviour’s parable, had even killed the fatted calf for me;
4284) 5
64 CRUSOE LOOKED UPON AS A JONAH.

for, hearing the ship I went away in was cast away in Yarmouth
Roads, it was a great while before he had any assurance that I was
not drowned.

But my ill fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that
nothing could resist; and though I had several times loud calls
from my reason and my more composed judgment to go home,
yet I had no power to do it. I know not what to call this, nor
will I urge that it is a secret over-ruling decree that hurries us on
to be the instruments of our own destruction, even though it be
before us, and that we rush upon it with our eyes open. Certainly
nothing but some such decreed unavoidable misery attending, and
which it was impossible for me to escape, could have pushed me
forward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most
retired thoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I
had met with in my first attempt.

My comrade, who had helped to harden me before, and who was
the master’s son, was now less forward than I. The first time he
spoke to me after we were at Yarmouth, which was not till two or
three days, for we were separated in the town to several quarters;
I say, the first time he saw me, it appeared his tone was altered,
and looking very melancholy, and shaking his head, asked me how
I did, and telling his father who I was, and how I had come this
voyage only for a trial, in order to go further abroad. His father,
turning to me with a very grave and concerned tone, “ Young
man,” says he, ‘‘ you ought never to go to sea any more; you
ought to take this for a plain and visible token that you are not to
be a seafaring man.”’—“‘ Why, sir,” said 1; “ will you go to sea no
more ?’’—“ That is another case,’’ said he. “ It is my calling, and
therefore my duty; but as you made this voyage for a trial, you
see what_a taste Heaven has given vou of what you are to expect
if you persist. Perhaps this is all befallen us on your account,
like Jonah in the ship of Tarshish. Pray,” continues he, ‘‘ what
are you? and on what account did you go to sea?” Upon that I
told him some of my story, at the end of which he burst out with
a strange kind of passion, “ What had I done,” says he, “that
such an unhappy wretch should come into my ship? I would not
set my foot in the same ship with thee again for a thousand
RELUCTANCE TO GO HOME. 65

pounds.” ‘This, indeed, was, as I said, an excursion of his spirits,
which were yet agitated by the sense of his loss, and was further
than he could have authority to go. However, he afterwards
talked very gravely to me; exhorted me to go back to my father,
and not tempt Providence to my ruin; told me I might see a
visible hand of Heaven against me; ‘ And, young man,” said he,
“ depend upon it, if you do not go back, wherever you go you will
meet with nothing but disasters and disappointments, till your
father’s words are fulfilled upon you.”

We parted soon after, for I made him little answer, and I saw
him no more. Which way he went, I know not. As for me,
having some money in my pocket, I travelled to London by land ;
and there, as well as on the road, had many struggles with myself
—what course of life I should take, and whether I should go
home or go to sea,

As to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered
to my thoughts; and it immediately occurred to me how I should
be laughed at among the neighbours, and should be ashamed to
see, not my father and mother only, but even everybody else, from
whence I have since often observed how incongruous and irrational
the common temper of mankind is, especially of youth, to that
reason which ought to guid at they
are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamed to repent; not
ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to be esteemed
fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can make them
be esteemed wise men.

In this state of life, however, I remained some time, uncertain
what measures to take and what course of life to lead. An irre-
sistible reluctance continued to going home; and as I stayed a
while, the remembrance of the distress I had been in wore off;
and as that abated, the little motion I had in my desires toa
return wore off with it, till at last I quite laid aside the thoughts
of it, and looked out for a voyage.

That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s
house, that hurried me into the wild and _indigested notion of
raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly
upon me, as to make me deaf to all good advice, and to the


66 A VOYAGE TO GUINEA.

entreaties and even command of my father—I say, the same in-
tluence, whatever it was, presented the most unfortunate of all enter-
prises to my view, and I went on board a vessel bound to the coast
of Africa, or, as our sailors vulgarly call it, a voyage to Guinea.

It was my great misfortune that in all these adventures I did
not ship myself as a sailor, whereby, though I might indeed have
worked a little harder than ordinary, yet at the same time I had
learned the duty and office of a fore-mast man, and in time might
have qualified myself for a mate or lieutenant, if not for a master.
But as it was always my fate to choose for the worse, so I did
here; for, having money in my pocket, and good clothes upon my
back, I would always go on board in the habit of a gentleman. And
so I neither had any business in the ship, or learned to do any.

It was my lot first of all to fall into pretty good company in
London, which does not always happen to such loose and misguided
young fellows as I then was, the devil generally not omitting to
lay some snare for them very early. But it was not so with me.
I first fell acquainted with the master of a ship who had been on
the coast of Guinea; and who, having had very good success there,
was resolved to go again; and who, taking a fancy to my conver-
sation, which was not at all disagreeable at that time, hearing me
say I had a mind to see the world, told me if I would go the
voyage with him I should be at no expense; I should be his mess-
mate and his companion; and if I could carry anything with me,
I should have all the advantage of it that the trade would admit,
and perhaps I might meet with some encouragement.

I embraced the offer, and, entering into a strict friendship with
this captain, who was an honest and plain-dealing man, I went the
voyage with him, and carried a small adventure with me, which,
by the disinterested honesty of my friend the captain, I increased
very considerably ; for I carried about £40 in such toys and trifles
as the captain directed me to buy. This £40 I had mustered
together by the assistance of some of my relations whom I corre-
sponded with, and who, I believe, got my father, or at least my
mother, to contribute so much as that to my first adventure.

This was the only voyage which I may say was successful in all
my adventures, and which I owe to the integrity and honesty of
ATTACKED BY A TURKISH PIRATE. 8T

my friend the captain, under whom also I got a competent
knowledge of the mathematics and the rules of navigation, learned
how to keep an account of the ship’s course, take an observation,
and, in short, to understand some things that were needful to be
understood by a sailor. For, as he took delight to introduce me,
I took delight to learn; and, in a word, this voyage made me both
a sailor and a merchant; for I brought home five pounds nine
ounces of gold dust for my adventure, which yielded me in London
at my return almost £300, and this filled me with those aspiring
thoughts which have since so completed my ruin.

Yet even in this voyage I had my misfortunes too, particularly
that I was continually sick, being thrown into a violent calenture
by the excessive heat of the climate, our principal trading being
upon the coast, from the latitude of fifteen degrees north even to
the line itself.

Twas now set up for a Guinea trader; and my friend, to my
great misfortune, dying soon after his arrival, I resolved to go the
same voyage again, and I embarked in the same vessel with one
who was his mate in the former voyage, und had now got the
command of the ship. This was the unhappiest voyage that ever
man made; for though I did not carry quite £100 of my new
gained wealth, so that I had £200 left, and which I lodged with
my friend’s widow, who was very just to me, yet I fell into
terrible misfortunes in this voyage; and the first was this—namely,
our ship making her course towards the Canary Islands, or rather
between those islands and the African shore, was surprised in the
gray of the morning by a Turkish rover of Sallee, who gave chase
to us with all the sail she could make. We crowded also as much
canvas as our yards would spread or our masts carry to have got
clear; but finding the pirate gained upon us, and would certainly
come up with us in a few hours, we prepared to fight, our ship
having twelve guns and the rogue eighteen. About three in the
aiternoon he came up with us, and bringing-to by mistake just
athwart our quarter, instead of athwart our stern, as he intended,
we brought eight of our guns to bear on that side, and poured in
a broadside upun him, which made him sheer off again, after
returning our fire and pouring in also his small shot from near
38 A GALLANT DEFENCE,

two hundred men which he had on board. However, we had not
a man touched, all our men keeping close. He prepared to attack
us again, and we to defend ourselves; but laying us on board the

next time upon our other quarter, he entered sixty men upon our





“WE PLIED THEM WITH SMALL-SHOT,
HALF-PIKES, AND SUCH LIKE.”

decks, who immediately fell to
cutting and hacking the decks
and rigging. We plied them
with small-shot, half-pikes, powder-chests, and such like, and
cleared our deck of them twice. However, to cut short this
melancholy part of our story, our ship being disabled, and three
of our men killed and eight wounded, we were obliged to yield.


CRUSOE AS A SLAVE, 69

and were carried all prisoners into Sallee, a port belonging to the
Moors.

The usage I had there was not so dreadful as at first [ appre-
hended, nor was I carried up the country to the Emperor’s court,
as the rest of our men were, but was kept by the captain of the
rover as his preper prize, and made his slave, being young and
nimble, and fit for his business. At this surprising change of my
circumstances, from a merchant to a miserable slave, I was perfectly
overwhelmed; and now I looked back upon my father’s prophetic
discourse to me, that I should be miserable, and have none to
relieve me, which I thought was now so effectually brought to
pass, that it could not be worse; that now the hand of Heaven
had overtaken me, and I was undone without redemption. But,
alas! this was but a taste of the misery I was tu go through, as
will appear in the sequel of this story.

As my new patron or master had taken me home to his house,
so I was in hopes that he would take me with him when he went
to sea again, believing that it would some time or other be his
fate to be taken by a Spanish or Portugal man-of-war; and that
then I should be set at liberty. But this hope of mine was soon
taken away; for when he went to sea he left me on shore to look
after his little garden, and do the common drudgery of slaves
about his house; and when he came home again from his cruise,
he ordered me to lie in the cabin to look alter the ship.

Here I meditated nothing but my escape, and what method I
might take to effect it, but found no way that had the least pro-
bability in it. Nothing presented to make the supposition of it
rational; for I had nobody to communicate it to that would
embark with me, no fellow-slave, no Englishman, Irishman, or
Scotsman there but myself; so that for two years, though I often
pleased myself with the imagination, yet I never had the least
encouraging prospect of putting it in practice.

After about two years an odd circumstance presented itself,
which put the old thought of making some attempt for my liberty
again in my head. My patron lying at home longer than usual
without fitting out his ship, which, as [ heard, was for want of
money, he used constantly, once or twice a-week, sometimes
70 FISHING EXCURSIONS.

oftener, if the weather was fair, to take the ship’s pinnace, and go
out into the road a-fishing; and as he always took me and a young
Maresco with him to row the boat, we made him very merry, and

I proved very dexterous in catching fish, insomuch that some-



“WE ALWAYS TOOK ME AND A YOUNG MARESCO TO ROW THE LOA.”

times he would send me with a Moor, one of his kinsmen, and the
youth—the Maresco, as they called him—to catch a dish of fish for
him.

It happened one time, that going a-fishing in a stark calm
morning, a fog rose so thick, that though we were not half a
league from the shore we lost sight of it; and rowing we knew
not whither or which way, we laboured all day and all the next
night, and when the morning came we found we had pulled off
to sea instead of pulling in for the shore; and that we were at
least two leagues from the shore. However, we got well in
again, though with a great deal of labour and some danger; for
the wind began to blow pretty fresh in the morning: but particu-
larly we were all very hungry.

But our patron, warned by this disaster, resolved to take more
care of himself for the future; and having lying by him the long-
boat of our English ship which he had taken, he resolved he would
not go a-fishing any more without a compass and some provision.
So he ordered the carpenter of his ship, who also was an English
slave, to build a little state-room or cabin in the middle of the
A PLAN OF ESCAPE. 7

longboat, like that of a barge, with a place to stand behind it to
steer and haul home the main-sheet; and room before for a hand
or two to stand and work the sails. She sailed with what we call
a shoulder-of-mutton sail; and the boom gibed over the top of the
cabin, which lay very snug and low, and had in it room for him
to lie, with a slave or two; and a table to eat on, with some small
lockers to put in some bottles of such liquor as he thought fit to
drink ; particularly his bread, rice, and coffee.

We went frequently out with this boat a-fishing. And as I was
most dexterous to catch fish for him, he never went without me.
It happened that he had appointed to go out in this boat, either
for pleasure or for fish, with two or three Moors of some distinction
in that place, and for whom he had provided extraordinarily, and
had therefore sent on board the boat overnight a larger store of
provisions than ordinary ; and had ordered me to get ready three
fuzees with powder and shot, which were on board his ship, for
that they designed some sport of fowling as well as fishing.

1 got all things ready as he had directed, and waited the next
morning with the boat washed clean, her ancient and pendants
out, and everything to accommodate his guests. When by-and-by
my patron came on board alene, and told me his guests had put
off going, upon some business that fell out, and ordered me with
the man and boy as usual to go out with the boat and catch them
some fish, for that his friends were to sup at his house; and com-
manded that as soon as Thad got some fish, I should bring it home
to his house; all which I prepared to do.

This moment my former notions of deliverance darted into
my thoughts, for now I found I was like to have a little ship at
my command; and my master being gone, I prepared to furnish
myself, not for a fishing business, but for a voyage; though I
knew not, neither did I so much as consider, whither I should
steer; for anywhere tu get out of that place was my way.

My first contrivance was to make a pretence to speak to this
Moor, to get something for our subsistence on board; for I told
him we must not presume to eat of our patron’s bread. He said
that was true; so he brought a large basket of rusk or biscuit of
their kind, and three jars with fresh water into the boat. J knew
72 CRUSUE AND MOELY.

where my patron’s case of bottles stood, which it was evident by
the make were taken out of some English prize, and I conveyed
them into the boat while the Moor was on shore, as if they had
been there before for our master. I conveyed also a great lump
of bees’-wax into the boat, which weighed above half a hundred-
weight, with a parcel of twine or thread, a hatchet, a saw, and a
hammer, all which were of great use to us afterwards, especially
the wax to make candles. Another trick I tried upon him, which
he innocently came into also. His name was Ismael, who they call
Muly or Moely; so I called to him—* Moely,” said I, “ our patron’s
guns are on board the boat; can you not get a little powder and
shot? It may be we may kill some alcamies (a fowl like our curlews)
for ourselves, for I know he keeps the gunner’s stores in the ship.”
* Yes,” says he, Vil bring some.” And accordingly he brought a
great leather pouch, which held about a pound and a half of powder,
or rather more, and another with shot, that had five or six pounds,
with some bullets, and put all into the boat. At the same time, I
had found some powder of my master’s in the great cabin, with
which I filled one of the large bottles in the case, which was
almost empty, pouring what was in it into another; and thus
furnished with everything needful, we sailed out of the port to
fish. ‘The castle, which is at the entrance of the port, knew who
we were, and took no notice of us; and we were not above a mile
out of the port before we hauled in our sail, and set us down to
fish. ‘Che wind blew from the north-north-east, which was con-
trary to my desire; for had it blown southerly, I had been sure
to have made the coast of Spain, and at least reached to the Bay
of Cadiz; but my resolutions were, blow which way it would, 1
would be gone from the horrid place where I was, and leave the
rest to fate.

Atter we had fished some time and caught nothing—for when
I had fish on my hook, I would not pull them up, that he might
not see them—lI said to the Moor, “ This will not do; our master
will not be thus served; we must stand further off.” He, thinking
uo harm, agreed; and being in the head of the boat, set the sails:
and as I had the helm, I ran the boat out near a league further,
and then brought her to, as if I wonld fish; when, giving the
tHk MOOR OVERBOARD. 78

doy the helm, I stepped forward to where the Moor was, and
making as if I stooped for something behind him, I took him by
surprise with my arm under his twist, and tossed him clear over-
board into the sea. He rose immediately, for he swam like a cork,
and called to me, begged to be taken in; told me he would go all
the world over with me. He swam so strong after the boat that
he would have reached me very quickly, there being but little
wind; upon which I stepped into the cabin, and fetching one of
the fowling-pieces, I presented it at him, and told him I had done
him no hurt, and if he would be quiet I would do him none. “ But,”
said I, “you swim well enough to reach to the shore, and the sea

\ is calm; make the best of
; your way to shore, and I will
do you no harm, but if you









come near the boat I’ll shoot
you through the head; for I
am resolved to have my
liberty.”” So he turned him-
self about and swam for the

“HE TURNED HIMSELF ABOUT AND SWAM FOR THE SHORE.”

shore; and I make no doubt but he reached it with ease, for he
was an excellent swimmer.

I could have been content to have taken this Moor with me
and have drowned the boy, but there was no venturing to trust
him. When he was gone I turned to the boy, who they called
74 MAKING FOR THE COAST.

Xury, and said to him, “ Xury, if you will be faithful to me, I’ll
make you a great man; but if you will not stroke your face to be
true to me—that is, swear by Mahomet and his father’s beard—I
oust throw you into the sea too.” The boy smiled in my face, and
spoke so innocently, that I could not mistrust him; and swore to
be faithful to me, and go all over the world with me.

While I was in view of the Moor that was swimming, I stood
out directly to sea with the boat, rather stretching to windward,
that they might think me gone towards the strait’s mouth (as in-
deed any one that had been in their wits must have been supposed
to do); for who would have supposed we were sailed on to the
southward, to the truly barbarian coast, where whole nations of
negroes were sure to surround us with their canoes, and destroy
us; where we could never once go on shore but we should be
devoured by savage beasts, or more merciless savages of human
kind.

But as soon as it grew dusk in the evening I changed my
course, and steered directly south and by east, bending my course
a little toward the east, that I might keep in with the shore:
and having a fair fresh gale of wind and a smooth, quiet sea, I
made such sail that I believe by the next day at three o’clock
in the afternoon, when I first made the land, I could not be less
than 150 miles south of Sallee; quite beyond the Emperor of
Morocco’s dominions, or, indeed, of any other king thereabouts, for
we saw no people.

Yet such was the fright I had taken at the Moors, and the
dreadful apprehensions I had of falling into their hands, that I
would not stop, or go on shore, or come to an anchor, the wind
continuing fair, till I had sailed in that manner five days; and
then the wind shifting to the southward, I concluded also that if
any of our vessels were in chase of me, they also would now give over.
So I ventured to make to the coast, and came to an anchor in the
mouth of a little river, I knew not what, or where; neither what
latitude, what country, what nation, or what river. I neither saw,
nor desired to see, any people; the principal thing I wanted was
fresh water. We came into this creek in the evening, resolving
to swim on shore as soon as it was dark, and discover the country;
MONSTERS OF THE DEEP. 76

but as soon as it was quite dark we heard such dreadful noises of
the barking, roaring, and howling of wild creatures, of we knew
not what kinds, that the poor boy was ready to die with fear,
and begged of me not to goon shore till day. ‘“ Well, Xury,” said I,
“then I won’t; but it may be we may see men by day, who will be
as bad to us as those lions.” “ Then we give them the shoot gun,”
says Xury, laughing; “ make them run way.” Such English Xury
spoke by conversing among us slaves. However, I was glad to:
see the boy so cheerful, and I gave him a dram (out of our patron’s
case of bottles) to cheer him up. After all, Xury’s advice was
good, and I took it. We dropped our little anchor, and lay still
all night—I say still, for we slept none—for in two or three hours
we saw vast great creatures (we knew not what to call them) of
many sorts come down to the sea-shore, and run into the water,
wallowing and washing themselves for the pleasure of cooling
themselves ; and they made such hideous howlings and yellings,
that I never indeed heard the like.

Xury was dreadfully frightened, and indeed so was I too. But
we were both more frightened when we heard one of these mighty
creatures come swimming towards our boat. We could not see
him, but we might hear him by his blowing to be a monstrous,
huge, and furious beast. Xury said it was a lion, and it might be
so for aught I know; but poor Xury cried to me to weigh the
anchor, and row away. “No,” says I; “ Xury, we can slip our
cable with the buoy to it, and go off to sea. They cannot follow
us far.” I had no sooner said so but I perceived the creature
(whatever it was) within two oars’ length, which something sur-
prised me. However, I immediately stepped to the cabin-door,
and taking up my gun, fired at him, upon which he immediately
turned about, and swam towards the shore again.

But it is impossible to describe the horrible noises, and hideous
cries and howlings, that were raised as well upon the edge of the
shore as higher within’ the country, upon the noise or report of
the gun—a thing I have some reason to believe those creatures
had never heard before. This convinced me that there was no
going on shore for us in the night upon that coast; and how to
venture on shore in the day was another question too, for to have
76 CRUSOE AND XURY ASHORE.

fallen into the hands of any of the savages had been as bad as ta
have fallen into the hands of lions and tigers; at least we were
equally apprehensive of the danger of it.





“TAKING UP MY GUN, I FIRED AT HIM.”

Be that as it would, we were obliged to go on shore somewhere
or other for water, for we had not a pint left in the boat. When
or where to get it was the point. Xury said, if I would let him
go on shore with one of the jars, he would find if there was any
water, and bring some tome. I asked him why he would go—
why I should not go and he stay in the boat? The boy answered
with so much affection that made me love him ever after. Says
ne, “If wild mans come, they eat me; you go way.” “ Well,
Xury,” said I, ‘ we will both go; and if the wild mans come, we
will kill them. They shall eat neither of us.” So I gave Xury
a piece of rusk-bread to eat, and a dram out of our patron’s case
of bottles which I mentioned before; and we hauled in the boat
as near the shore as we thought was proper, and so waded on shore,
earrying nothing but our arms and two jars for water.

I did not care to go out of sight of the boat, fearing the coming
of canoes with savages down the river; but the boy seeing a low
place about a mile up the country, rambled to it; and by-and-by I
saw him come running towards me. I thought he was pursued by
some savage, or frightened with some wild beast, and I ran forward
towards him to help him; but when I came nearer to him, I saw
something hanging over his shoulders—which was a creature that
A COASTING VOYAGE. bi

he had shot, like a hare, but different in colour and longer legs
However, we were very glad of it, and it was very good meat; but
the great joy that poor Xury came with, was to tell me he had
found good water and seen no wild men.

But we found afterwards that we need not take such pains for
water, for a little higher up the creek where we were, we found the
water fresh when the tide was out, which flowed but a little way
up. So we filled our jars, and feasted on the hare we had killed,
and prepared to go on our way, having seen no footsteps of any
human creature in that part of the country.

As I had been one voyage to this coast before, I knew very well
that the islands of the Canaries, and the Cape de Verd islands also,
lay not far off from the coast. But as I had no instruments to take
an observation to know what latitude we were in, and did not
exactly know, or at Jeast remember, what latitude they were in,
1 knew not where to look for them, or when to stand off to sea
towards them; otherwise I might now easily have found some of
these islands. But my hope was, that if I stood along this coast
till I came to that part where the English traded, I should find
some of their vessels upon their usual design of trade, that would
relieve and take us in.

By the best of my calculation, that place where I now was must
be that country which, lying between the Emperor of Morocco’s
dominions and the negroes, lies waste and uninhabited, except by
wild beasts—the negroes having abandoned it and gone further
south, for fear of the Moors; and the Moors not thinking it worth
inhabiting, by reason of its barrenness. And, indeed, both forsaking
it because of the prodigious number of tigers, lions, leopards, and
other furious creatures which harbour there; so that the Moors
use it for their hunting only, where they go like an army, two or
three thousand men at a time. And, indeed, for near a hundred
miles together upon this coast, we saw nothing but a waste unin-
habited country by day, and heard nothing but howlings and roar-
ing of wild beasts by night.

Once or twice in the day-time, I thought I saw the Pico of
Teneriffe, being the high top of the mountain of Teneriffe in the
Canaries; and had a great mind to venture out in hopes of reach-
78 ADVENTURE WITH A LION.

ing thither; but having tried twice, I was forced in again by con-
trary winds, the sea also going too high for my little vessel, so I
resolved to pursue my first design and keep along the shore.
Several times I was obliged to land for fresh water after we had
left this place ; and once in particular, being early in the morning,
we came to an anchor under a little point of land which was pretty
hign, and the
tide beginning to










flow, we lay still
to go further in.
Xury, whose eyes
were more about
him than it seems
mine were, calls
softly to me, and
tells me that we
had best = go
further off the
shore :—‘“‘ For,”

“WE CAME TO AN ANCHOR UNDEK A LITL£LE POINT OF LAND.”

says he, “look, yonder les a dreadful monster on the side of
that hillock fast asleep.” I looked where he pointed, and saw
a dreadful monster indeed; for it was a terrible great lion that
lay on the side of the shore, under the shade of a piece of the
hill, that hung as it were a little over him. ‘“ Xury,” says I, “you
shall go on shore and kill him.” Xury looked frightened, and said,
“Me kill! he eat me at one mouth ”—one mouthful, he meant.
However, I said no inore to the boy, but bade him lie still; and I
took our biggest gun, which was almost musket-bore, and loaded
it with a good charge of powder and with two slugs, and laid it
down; then I loaded another gun with two bullets; and the third
—for we had three pieces—-I loaded with five smaller bullets. I
took the best aim I could with the first piece to have shot him
into the head, but he lay so with his leg raised a little above his
nose, that the slugs hit his leg about the knee, and broke the bone.
He started up, growling at first; but finding his leg broke, fell
down again; and then got up upon three legs, and gave the most
hideous roar that ever I heard. I was a little surprised that I had
BEATING TO THE SOUTHWARD. 19

not hit him on the head. However, I took up the second piece
immediately ; and though he began to move off, fired again, and
shot him into the head, and had the pleasure to see him drop, and
make but little noise, but lie struggling for life. Then Xury took
heart, and would have me let him go on shore. “ Well, go,” said I.
So the boy jumped into the water, and taking a little gun in one
hand, swam to shore with the other hand, and coming close to the
creature, put the muzzle of the piece to his ear, and shot him into
the head again, which despatched him quite.

This was game indeed to us, but this was no food; and-I was
very sorry to lose three charges of powder and shot upon a creature
that was good for nothing to us. However, Xury said he would
have some of him; so he comes on board, and asked me to give him
the hatchet. ‘“ For what, Xury?” said I. ‘ Me cut off his head,”
said he. However, Xury could not cut off his head; but he cut off
a foot and brought it with him—and it was a monstrous great one.

I bethought myself, however, that perhaps the skin of him might
one way or other be of some value to us; and I resolved to take
off his skin if I could. So Xury and I went to work with him ;
but Xury was much the better workman at it—for I knew very ill
how to do it. Indeed, it took us up both the whole day; but at
last we got off the hide of him, and spreading it on the top of our
cabin, the sun effectually dried it in two days’ time, and it after-
wards served me to lie upon.

After this stop we made on to the southward continually for ten
or twelve days, living very sparing en our provisions, which began
to abate very much, and going no oftener into the shore than we
were obliged to for fresh water. My design in this was to make
the river Gambia or Senegal—that is to say, anywhere about the
Cape de Verd, where I was in hopes to meet with some European
ship ; and if I did not, I knew not what course I had to take, but
to seek out for the islands or perish there among the negroes.
I knew that all the ships from Europe—which sailed either to the
coast of Guinea, or to Brazil, or to the East Indies—made this
cape or those islands; and in a word, I put the whole of my fortune
upon this single point, either that I must mect with some ship or
must perish.

284) 6
80 CRUSOE AND THE SAVAGES.

When I had pursued this resolution about ten days longer, as 1
have said, I began to see that the land was inhabited; and in two
or three places, as we sailed by, we saw people stand upon the
shore to look at us. We could also perceive they were quite black
and stark naked. I was once inclined to have gone on shore to
them. But Xury was my better counsellor, and said to me, “ No
go, no go.” However, I hauled in nearer the shore that I might
talk to them, and I found they ran along the shore by me a good
way. I observed they had no weapons in their hands—except
one, who had a long slender stick, which Xury said was a lance,
and that they would throw them a great way with good aim. So
I kept at a distance, but talked with them by signs as well as I
could; and particularly made signs for something to cat. They
beckoned to me to stop my boat, and that they would fetch me
some meat. Upon this I lowered the top of my sail and lay by;
and two of them ran up into the country, and in less than half an
hour came back and brought with them two pieces of dry flesh
and some corn, such as is the produce of their country—but we
neither knew what the one or the other was. However, we were
willing to accept it, but how to come at it was our next dispute ;
for I was not for venturing on shore to them, and they were as
much afraid of us. But they took a safe way for us all—for they
brought it to the shore and laid it down, and went and stood a
great way off till we fetched it on board, and ther came close to us
again.

We made signs of thanks to them, for we had nothing to make
them amends. But an opportunity offered that very instant to
oblige them wonderfully—for while we were lying by the shore,
came two mighty creatures, one pursuing the other (as we took it)
with great fury, from the mountains towards the sea. Whether it
was the male pursuing the female, or whether they were in sport
or in rage, we could not tell, any more than we could tell whether
it was usual or strange; but I believe it was the latter—because, in
the first place, those ravenous creatures seldom appear but in the
night; and, in the second place, we found the people terribly
frightened, especially the women. The man that had the lance or
dart did not fly from them, but the rest did. However, as the
AN OPPORTUNE EXPLOIT. 81

two creatures ran directly into the water, they did not seem to
offer to fall upon any of the negroes, but plunged themselves into
the sea, and swam about as if they had come for their diversion.
At last one of them began to come nearer our boat than at first I
expected, but I lay ready for him; for I had loaded my gun with
all possible expedition, and bade Xury load both the others. As
soon as he came fairly within my reach I fired, and shot him
directly into the head. Immediately he sank down into the water,
but rose instantly and plunged up and down as if he was struggling
for life. And so indeed he was. He immediately made to the
shore ; but between the wound, which was his mortal hurt, and
the strangling of the water, he died just before he reached the
shore.

it is impossible to express the astonishment of these poor
creatures at the noise and the fire of my gun; some of them were
even ready to die for fear, and fell down as dead with the very
terror. But when they saw the creature dead and sunk in the
water, and that I made signs to them to come to the shore, they took
heart and came to the shore, and began to search for the creature.
I found him by his blood staining the water; and by the help of a
rope which I slung round him, and gave the negroes to haul, they
dragged him on shore, and found that it was a most curious
leopard, spotted and fine to an admirable degree; and the negroes
held up their hands with admiration to think what it was I had
killed him with.

The other creature, frightened with the flash of fire and the noise
of the gun, swam on shore, and ran up directly to the mountains
from whence they came, nor could I at that distance know what it
was. I found quickly the negroes were for eating the flesh of this
creature, so I was willing to have them take it as a favour from
me; which, when I made signs to them that they might take him,
they were very thankful for. Immediately they fell to work with
him ; and though they had no knife, yet with a sharpened piece of
wood they took off his skin as readily—and much more readily
than we could have done with a knife. They offered me some of
the flesh, which I declined, making as if I would give it them;
but made signs for the skin, which they gave me very freely, and
82 “A SAIL! A SAIL!”

brought me a great deal more of their provision, which, though 1
did not understand, yet I accepted. Then I made signs to them
for some water, and held out one of my jars to them, turning it
bottom upward, to show that it was empty, and that I wanted to
have it filled. They called immediately to some of their friends;
and there came two women, and brought a great vessel made of
earth, and burned as I suppose in the sun. This they set down for
me as before; and I sent Xury on shore with my jars, and filled
them all three. The women were as stark naked as the men.

I was now furnished with roots and corn—such as it was—and
water; and leaving my friendly negroes, I made forward for about
eleven days more without offering to go near the shore, till I saw
the land run out a great length into the sea, at about the distance
of four or five leagues before me, and the sea being very calm, 1
kept a large offing to make this point. At length, doubling the
point at about two leagues from the land, I saw plainly land on the
other side to seaward. Then I concluded, as it was most certain
indeed, that this was the Cape de Verd, and those the islands,
called from thence Cape de Verd Islands. However, they were at
a great distance ; and I could not well tell what I had best to do,
for if I should be taken with a fresh of wind, I might neither
reach one nor the other.

In this dilemma, as I was very pensive, I stepped into the cabin
and sat me down, Xury having the helm, when on a sudden the
boy cried out, ‘‘ Master, master, a ship with a sail!” and the foolish
boy was frightened out of his wits, thinking it must needs be some
of his master’s ships sent to pursue us, when I knew we were
gotten far enough out of their reach. I jumped out of the cabin,
and immediately saw not only the ship, but what she was—namely,
that it was a Portuguese ship, and, as I thought, was bound to the
coast of Guinea for negroes. But when I observed the course she
steered, I was soon convinced they were bound some other way,
and did not design to come any nearer to the shore. Upon which
[ stretched out to sea as much as I could, resolving to speak with
them if possible.

With all the sail I could make, I found I should not be able to
come in their way, but that they would be gone by before I could
THE PORTUGUESE SHIP. 88

make any signal to them. But after I had crowded to the utmost
and begun to despair, they, it seems, saw me by the help of their
perspective-glasses, and that it was some European boat, which, as
they supposed, must belong to some ship that was lost; so they
shortened sail to let me come up. I was encouraged with this;



“‘T WAS SOON CONVINCED THEY WERF BOUND SOME OTHER WAY.”

and as I had my patron’s ancient on board, I made a waft of it to
them for a signal of distress, and fired a gun—both which they
saw, for they told me they saw the smoke, though they did not
hear the gun. Upon these signals they very kindly brought to,
and lay by for me, and in about three hours’ time I came up with
them. »

They asked me what I was, in Portuguese and in Spanish and
in French, but I understood none of them; but at last a Scotch
sailor who was on board called to me; and I answered him, and
told him I was an Englishman, that I had made my escape out of
slavery from the Moors at Sallee. Then they bade me come on
board, and very kindly took me in and all my goods.

It was an inexpressible joy to me, that any one will believe, that
I was thus delivered, as I esteemed it, from such a miserable and
almost hopeless condition as I was in, and I immediately offered
all I had to the captain of the ship as a return for my deliverance;
but he generously told me he would take nothing from me, but
that all I had should be delivered safe to me when I came to the
Rrazils. ‘‘ For,” says he, “I have saved your life on no other
84 AN HONEST SEA-CAPTAIN.

terms than I would be glad to be saved myself, and it may one time
or other be my lot to be taken up in the same condition ; besides,”
said he, “when I carry you to the Brazils, so great a way from
your own country, if I should take from you what you have, you
will be starved there, and then I only take away that life I have
given. No, no, Seignor Inglese,” says he, “ Mr. Englishman, I
will carry you thither in charity, and those things will help you to
buy your subsistence there and your passage home again.”

As he was charitable in his proposal, so he was just in the
performance to a tittle; for he ordered the seamen that none
should offer to touch anything Thad. Then he took everything
into his own possession, and gave me back an exact inventory of
them, that I might have them, even so much as my three earthen
jars.

As to my boat it was a very good one, and that he saw, and told
me he would buy it of me for the ship’s use, and asked me what I]
would have for it? I told him he had been so generous to me in
everything, that I could not offer to make any price of the boat,
but left it entirely to him; upon which he told me he would give me
a note of his hand to pay me eighty pieces of eight for it at Brazil,
and when it came there, if any one offered to give more he would
make it up. He offered me also sixty pieces of eight more for my
boy Xury; which I was loath to take: not that I was not willing to
let the captain have him, but I was very loath to sell the poor boy’s
liberty, who had assisted me so faithfully in procuring my own.
However, when I let him know my reason, he owned if to be
just, and offered me this medium—that he would give the boy
an obligation to set him free in ten years, if he turned Christian.
Upon this, and Xury saying he was willing to go to him, I let the
captain have him.

We had a very good voyage to the Brazils, and arrived in the
Bay de Todos los Santos, or All-Saints’ Bay, in about twenty-two
days after. And now I was once more delivered from the most
miserable of all conditions of life; and what to do next with
myself I was now to consider.

The generous treatment the captain gave me I can never enough
remember. He would take nothing of me for my passage, gave
ON SHORE IN THE BRAZILS, 85

me twenty ducats for the leopard’s skin and forty for the lion’s
skin which I had in my boat, and caused everything I had in the
ship to be punctually delivered me; and what I was willing to
sell he bought, such as the case of bottles, two of my guns, and a
piece of the lump of bees-wax, for I had made candles of the rest.
In a word, I made about two hundred and twenty pieces of eight
of all my cargo; and with this stock I went on shore in the
Brazils.

Thad not been long here, but being recommended to the house
of a good honest man like himself, who had an “ ingeino,” as they
call it—that is, a plantation and a sugar-house—TI lived with him
some time, and acquainted myself by that means with the manner
of their planting and making of sugar. And seeing how well the
planters lived, and how they grew rich suddenly, I resolved, if I
could get license to settle there, I would turn planter among them ;
resolving in the meantime to find out some way to get my money
which I had left in London remitted to me. To this purpose,
getting a kind of a letter of naturalization, I purchased as much
land that was uncured as my money would reach, and formed a plan
for my plantation and settlement, and such a one as might be suit-
able to the stock which I proposed to myself to receive from
England.

I had a neighbour—a Portuguese of Lisbon, but born of English
parents— whose name was Wells, and in much such circumstances
a3 I was. I call him my neighbour, because his plantation lay
next to mine, and we went on very sociably together. My stock
was but low as well as his; and we rather planted for food than
anything else for about two years. However, we began to increase,
and our land began to come into order; so that the third year we
planted some tobacco, and made each of us a large piece of ground
ready for planting canes in the year to come. But we both wanted
help; and now I found, more than before, I had done wrong in
parting with my boy Xury.

But alas! for me to do wrong that never did right was no great
wonder. I had no remedy but to go on. I was gotten into an
employment quite remote to my genius, and directly contrary to
the life I delighted in, and for which I forsook my father’s house,
86 A TRUE FRIEND.

and broke through all his good advice; nay, I was coming into
the very middle station, or upper degree of low life, which my
father advised me to before, and which, if I resolved to go on with,
T might as well have stayed at home, and never have fatigued myself
in the world as Thad done. And I used often to say to myself, I
could have done this as well in England amang my friends as have
gone five thousand miles off to do it among strangers and savages
in a wilderness, and at such a distance qs never to hear from any
part of the world that had the least knowledge of me.

In this manner I used to look upon my condition with the
utmost regret. I had nobody to converse with but now and then
this neighbour—no work to be done but by the labour of my
hands ; and I used to say I lived just like a man cast away upon
some desolate island that had nobody there but himself. But how
just has it been, and how should all men reflect that when they
compare their present conditions with others that are worse,
Heaven may oblige them to make the exchange, and be convinced
of their former felicity by their experience, —I say how just has it
been that the truly solitary life I reflected on. in an island of mere
desolation, should be my lot, who had so often unjustly compared
it with the life which I then led; in which, had I continued, I
had in all probability been exceeding prosperous and rich !

Iwas in some degree settled in my measures for carrying on
the plantation, before my kind friend, the captain of the ship that
took me up at sea, went back—for the ship remained there in
providing his loading and preparing for his voyage near three
months—when, telling him what little stock I had left behind
me in London, he gave me this friendly and sincere advice.
“ Seignor Inglese,” says he,—for so he always called me,—“ if you
will give me letters, and a procuration here in form to me, with
orders to the person who has your money in London, to send your
effects to Lisbon to such persons as I shall direct, and in such
goods as are proper for this country, I will bring you the produce
of them, God willing, at my return. But since human affairs are
all subject to changes and disasters, I would have you give orders
but for one hundred pounds sterling, which you say is half your
stock, and let the hazard be run for the first; so that if it come
A PROFITABLE INVESTMENT. 81

safe you may order the rest the same way, and if it miscarry you
may have the other half to have recourse to for your supply.”

This was so wholesome advice, and looked so friendly, that I
could not but be convinced it was the best course I could take; so
I accordingly prepared letters to the gentlewoman with whom I
had left my money, and a procuration to the Portuguese captain,
as he desired.

I wrote the English captain’s widow a full account of all my
adventures; my slavery, escape, and how I had met with the
Portuguese captain at sea, the humanity of his behaviour, and in
what condition I was now in, with all other necessary directions
for my supply. And when this honest captain came to Lisbon, he
found means, by some of the English merchants there, to send
over, not the order only, but a full account of my story, to a mer-
chant at London, who represented it effectually to her; whereupon
she not only delivered the money, but out of her own pocket sent
the Portuguese captain a very handsome present for his humanity
and charity to me.

The merchant in London, vesting this hundred pounds in
English goods such as the captain had written for, sent them
directly to him at Lisbon, and he brought them all safe to me to
the Brazils; among which, without my direction— for I was too
young in my business to think of them—he had taken care to
have all sorts of tools, iron-work, and utensils necessary for ay,
plantation, and which were of great use to me.

When this cargo arrived I thought my fortune made, for I was
surprised with joy of it; and my good steward the captain had
laid out the five pounds, which my friend had sent him for a
present for himself, to purchase and bring me over a servant under
bond for six years’ service, and would not accept of any considera-
tion except a little tobacco, which I would have him accept, being
of my own produce.

Neither was this all. But my goods being all English manu-
factures, such as cloth, stufis, bays, and things particularly valuable
and desirable in the country, I found means to sell them to a very
great advantage; so that I may say I had more than four times
the value of my first cargo, and was now infinitely beyond my

wae
88 A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS.

poor neighbour—I mean in the advancement of my plantation ;
for the first thing Idid I bought me a negro slave, and a European
servant also—I mean another besides that which the captain
brought me from Lisbon.

But as abused prosperity is oftentimes made the very means of
our greatest adversity, so was it with me. I went on the next
year with great success in my plantation. I raised fifty great rolls
of tobacco on my own ground, more than I had disposed of for
necessaries among my neighbours; and these fifty rolls being each
of above a hundredweight, were well cured and laid by against the
return of the fleet from Lisbon. And now, increasing in business
and in wealth, my head began to be full of projects and under-
takings beyond my reach—such as are indeed often the ruin of
the best heads in business.

Had I continued in the station I was now in, I had room for all
the happy things to have yet befallen me for which my father so
earnestly recommended a quiet, retired life, and of which he had
so sensibly described the middle station of life to be full of. But
other things attended me, and I was still to be the wilful agent of
all my own miseries, and particularly to increase my fault and
double the reflections upon myself, which in my future sorrows I
should have leisure to make. All these miscarriages were pro-
eured by my apparent obstinate adherence to my foolish inclination
of wandering abroad, and pursuing that inclination in contradiction
to the clearest views of doing myself good in a fair and plain pur-
suit of those prospects and those measures of life which Nature
and Providence concurred to present me with and to make my
duty.

As I had once done thus in my breaking away from my parents,
so I could not be content now, but I must go and leave the happy
view I had of being a rich and thriving man in my new plantation,
only to pursue a rash and immoderate desire of rising faster than
the nature of the thing admitted; and thus I cast myself down
again into the deepest gulf of human misery that ever man fell
into, or perhaps could be consistent with life and a state of health
in the world.

To come, then, by the just degrees to the particulars of thie
TRADING IN NEGROES. 89

part of my story. You may suppose that having now lived almost
four years in the Brazils, and beginning to thrive and prosper very
well upon my plantation, I had not only learned the language, but
had contracted acquaintance and friendship among my fellow-
planters, as well as among the merchants at St. Salvadore, which was
our port; and that, in my discourses among them, I had frequently
given them an account of my two voyages to the coast of Guinea,
the manner of trading with the negroes there, and how easy it was
to purchase upon the coast for trifles—such as beads, toys, knives,
scissors, hatchets, bits of glass, and the like—not only gold dust,
Guinea grains, elephants’ teeth, &c., but negroes for the service of
the Brazils in great numbers.

They listened always very attentively to my discourses on these
heads, but especially to that part which related to the buying of
negroes ; which was a trade at that time not only not far entered
into, but, as far as it was, had been carried on by the assiento, or
permission of the Kings of Spain and Portugal, and engrossed in
the public; so that few negroes were brought, and those excessively
dear. )

It happened, being in company with some merchants and planters
of my acquaintance, and talking of those things very earnestly,
three of them came to ine the next morning, and told me they
had been musing very much upon what I had discoursed with
them of the last night, and they came to make a secret proposal
to me. And after enjoining me secrecy, they told me that they
had a mind to fit out a ship to go to Guinea; that they had all
plantations as well as I, and were straitened for nothing so much
as servants; that as it was a trade that could not be carried on,
because they could not publicly sell the negroes when they came
home, so they desired to make but one voyage, to bring the
negroes on shore privately, and divide them among their own
plantations ; and, in a word, the question was, whether I would
go their supercargo in the ship to manage the trading part upon
the coast of Guinea. And they offered me that I should have
wy equal share of the negroes, without providing any part of the
stock.

This was a fair proposal, it must be confessed, had it been made
90 CRUSOE AT SEA ONCE MORE.

to any one that had not had a settlement and plantation of his
own to look after, which was in a fair way of coming to be very
considerable, and with a good stock upon it. But for me that was
thus entered and established, and had nothing to do but go on as
I had begun for three or four years more, and to have sent for the
other hundred pounds from England, and who in that time, and
with that little addition, could scarce have failed of being worth
three or four thousand pounds sterling, and that increasing too,—
for me to think of such a voyage was the most preposterous thing
that ever man in such circumstances could be guilty of.

But I, that was born to be my own destroyer, could no more
resist the offer than I could restrain my first rambling designs
when my father’s good counsel was lost upon me. In a word, I
told them I would go with all my heart if they would undertake
to look after my plantation in my absence, and would dispose of
it to such as I should direct if I miscarried. This they all
engaged to do, and entered into writings or covenants to do so ;
and I made a formal will, disposing of my plantation and effects,
in case of my death, making the captain of the ship that had saved
my life, as before, my universal heir, but obliging him to dispose
of my effects as I had directed in my will—one-half of the pro-
duce being to himself, and the other to be shipped to England.
In short, I took all possible caution to preserve my effects and
keep up my plantation. Had I used half as much prudence to
have looked into my own interest, and have made a judgment of
what I ought to have done and not to have done, I had certainly
never gone away from so prosperous an undertaking—leaving all
the probable views of a thriving circumstance, and gone upon a
voyage to sea, attended with all its common hazards, to say
nothing of the reasons I had to expect particular misfortunes to
myself,

But I was hurried on, and obeyed blindly the dictates of my
fancy rather than my reason. And accordingly, the ship being
fitted out and the cargo furnished, and all things done as by
agreement by my partners in the voyage, I went on board in an
evil hour—the Ist of September 1659, being the same day eight
years that I went from my father and mother at Hull in order
PERILS OF THE DEEP. 91

to act the rebel to their authority and the fool to my own
interest.

Our ship was about 120 tons burden ; carried six guns and
fourteen men, besides the master, his boy, and myself. We had
on board no large cargo of goods, except of such toys as were fit
for our trade with the negroes—such as beads, bits of glass, shells
and odd trifles, especially little looking-glasses, knives, scissors,
hatchets, and the like.

The same day I went on board we set sail, standing away to
the northward upon our own coast, with design to stretch over for
the African coast when they came about 10 or 12 degrees of
northern latitude; which, it seems, was the manner of their course
in those days. We had very good weather, only excessively hot,
all the way upon our own coast, till we came the height of Cape
St. Augustino; from whence, keeping further off at sea, we lost
sight of land, and steered as if we were bound for the isle Fernand
de Noronha, holding our course north-east by north, and leaving
those isles on the east. In this course we passed the line in about
twelve days’ time; and were by our last observation in 7 degrees
22, minutes northern latitude, when a violent tornado or hurricane
took us quite out of our knowledge. It began from the south-
east, came about to the north-west, and then settled into the
north-east ; from whence it blew in such a terrible manner that
for twelve days together we could do nothing but drive, and ecud-
ding away before it, let it carry us whither ever fate and the fury
of the winds directed. And during these twelve days I need not
say that I expected every day to be swallowed up; nor, indeed,
did any in the ship expect to save their lives.

In this distress, we had, besides the terror of the storm, one of
our men died of the calenture, and one man and the boy washed
overboard. About the twelfth day, the weather abating a little,
the master made an observation as well as he could, and found
that he was in about 11 degrees north latitude, but that he
was 22 degrees of longitude difference west from Cape St.
Augustino; so that he found he was gotten upon the coast of
Guiana, or the north part of Brazil, beyond the River Amazon,
toward that of the River Orinoco, commonly called the Great
92 DRIVING ASHORE.

River, and began to consult with me what course he should take,
for the ship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was going
directly back to the coast of Brazil.

I was positively against thet; and looking over the charts of the
sea-coast of America with him, we concluded there was no inhabited
country for us to have recourse to till we came within the circle of
the Caribbean Islands, and therefore resolved to stand away for
Barbadoes; which, by keeping off at sea, to avoid the indraught of
the Bay or Gulf of Mexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped,
in about fifteen days’ sail; whereas we could not possibly make our
voyage to the coast of Africa without some assistance both to our
ship and to ourselves.

With this design we changed our course, and steered away
north-west by west, in order to reach some of our English islands,
where I hoped for relief. But our voyage was otherwise deter-
wnined; for, being in the latitude of 12 degrees 18 minutes, a
second storm came upon us, which carried us away with the same
impetuosity westward, and drove us so out of the very way of all
human commerce, that had all our lives been saved as to the sea,
we were rather in danger of being devoured by savages than ever
teturning to our own country.

In this distress, the wind still blowing very hard, one of our men
early in the morning cried out “Land!” and we had no sooner
run out of the cabin to look out in hopes of seeing whereabouts in
the world we were, but the ship struck upon a sand, and ina
moment, her motion being so stopped, the sea bruke over her in
such a manner, that we expected we should all have perished
immediately, and we were immediately driven into our close
quarters to shelter us from the very foam and spray of the sea.

It is not easy for any one who has not been in the like condition
to describe or conceive the consternation of men in such circum-
stances. We knew nothing where we were, or upon what land it
was we were driven, whether an island or the main, whether in-
habited or not inhabited; and as the rage of the wind was still
great, though rather less than at first, we could not so much as
hope to have the ship hold many minutes without breaking in
pieces, unless the wind by a kind of miracle should turn im-
A LONG PULL FOR LIFE. 93

mediately about. In a word, we sat looking one upon another,
and expecting death every moment, and every man acting accord-
ingly as preparing for another world, for there was little or
nothing more for us to do in this. That which was our present
comfort, and all the comfort we had, was that, contrary to our
expectation, the ship did not break yet, and that the master said
the wind began to abate.

Now, though we thought that the wind did a little abate, yet
the ship having thus struck upon the sand, and sticking too fast
for us to expect her getting off, we were in a dreadful condition
indeed, and had nothing to do but to think of saving our lives as
well as we could. We had a boat at our stern just before the
storm, but she was first staved by dashing against the ship’s rudder,
and in the next place she broke away, and either sunk or was
driven off to sea; so there was no hope from her. We had another
boat on board; but how to get her off into the sea was a doubtful
thing. However, there was no room to debate, for we fancied the
ship would break in pieces every minute, and some told us she was
actually broken already.

In this distress the mate of our vessel lays hold of the boat, and
with the help of the rest of the men, they got her slung over the
ship’s side, and getting all into her, let go, and committed our-
selves, being cleven in number, to God’s mercy and the wild sea:
for though the storm was abated considerably, yet the sea went
dreadfully high upon the shore, and might well be called “den
wild zee,” as the Dutch call the sea in a storm.

And now our case was very dismal indeed; for we all saw
plainly that the sea went so high that the boat could not live, and
that we should be inevitably drowned. As to making sail, we had
none; nor, if we had, could we have done anything with it: so we
worked at the oar towards the land, though with heavy hearts,
like men going to execution; for we all knew that when the boat
came nearer the shore she would be dashed ina thousand pieces by
the breach of the sea. However, we committed our souls to God
in the most earnest manner, and the wind driving us towards the
shore, we hastened our destruction with our own hands, pulling
a. well as we could towards land.
94 A MOUNTAIN WAVE.



‘oHE SEA WENT SO HIGH THAT THE BOAT COULD NOT LIVE.”

What the shore was—whether rock or sand, whether steep or
shoal—we knew not; the only hope that could rationally give us
the least shadow of expectation, was if we might happen into some
bay or gulf, or the mouth of some river, where by great chance we
might have run our boat in, or got under the lee of the land, and
perhaps made smooth water. But there was nothing of this
appeared; but as we made nearer and nearer the shore, the land
looked more frightful than the sea.

After we had rowed or rather driven about a league and a half,
as we reckoned it, a raging wave, mountain-like, came rolling
astern of us, and plainly bade us expect the cowp-de-grace. In a
CAST UPON THE ROCKS. 96

word, it took us with such a fury, that it overset the boat at once,
and separating us as well from the boat as from one another, gave
us not time hardly to say, O God! for we were all swallowed up
in a moment.

Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when
I sunk into the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could
not deliver myself from the waves so as to draw breath, till that a
wave, having driven me or rather carried me a vast way on towards
the shore, and having spent itself, went back, and left me upon
the land almost dry, but half dead with the water I took in. I
had so much presence of mind as well as breath left that, seeing
myself nearer the mainland than I expected, I ‘got upon my feet,
and endeavoured to make on towards the land as fast as I could
before another wave should return and take me up again. But |
soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the sea come
after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy which
UL had no means or strength to contend with. My business was to
hold my breath and raise myself upon the water if I could, and
so by swimming to preserve my breathing and pilot myself towards
the shore if possible; my greatest concern now being that the
sea, as it would carry me a great way towards the shore when it
came on, might not carry me back again with it when it gave back
towards the sea.

The wave that came upon me again buried me at once twenty
or thirty feet deep in its own body; and I could feel myself carried
with a mighty force and swiftness towards the shore a very great
way; but I held my breath, and assisted myself to swim still
forward with all my might. J was ready to burst with holding .
my breath, when, as I felt myself rising up, so to my immediate
relief I found my head and hands shoot out above the surface of
the water; and though it was not two seconds of time that I could
keep myself so, yet it relieved me greatly, gave me breath and
new courage. I was covered again with water a good while, but
not so long but I held it out; and finding the water had spent
itself and begun to return, I struck forward against the return of
the waves, and felt ground again with my feet. I stood still a few

moments to recover breath, and til] the water went from me, and
(284 7
96 A NARROW ESCAPE.

then took to my heels and ran with what strength I had further
towards the shore. But neither would this deliver me from the
fury of the sea, which came pouring in after me again, and twice
more I was lifted up by the waves and carried forward as before,
the shore being very flat.

The last time of these two had well near been fatal to me; for
the sea having hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather



“| WELD MY HOLD TILL THE
WAVE ABATED.”

dashed me, against a piece of a
rock, and that with such force, as it
left me senseless, and indeed help-
less, as to my own deliverance:
for the blow taking my side and
breast, beat the breath as it were
quite out of my body, and had it


CRUSOE IN SAFETY. 97

returned again immediately, I must have been strangled in the
water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves,
and seeing I should be covered again with the water, I resolved
to hold fast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath, if
possible, till the wave went back. Now as the waves were not
so high as at first, being near land, I held my hold till the wave
abated, and then fetched another run, which brought me so near
the shore, that the next wave, though it went over me, yet did not
so swallow me up as to carry me away; and the next run I took I
got to the mainland, where, to my great comfort, I clambered up
the cliffs of the shore and sat me down upon the grass, free from
danger, and quite out of the reach of the water.














WAS now landed, and safe on shore, and began
to look up and thank God that my life was
saved in a case wherein there was some minutes
before scarce any room to hope. I believe it
is impossible to express to the life what the
eestasies and transports of the soul are when
it is so saved, as I may say, out of the very

grave; and [ do not wonder now at that custom, namely, that

when a malefactor, who has the halter about his neck, is tied up,
and just going to be turned off, and has a reprieve brought to him

—I say, I do not wonder that they bring a surgeon with it, to let

him bleed that very moment they tell him of it, that the surprise

may not drive the animal spirits from the heart and overwhelm
him:

“For sudden joys, like griefs, confound at first.”

I walked about on the shore lifting up my hands, and iny whole
being, as I may say, wrapped up in the contemplation of my
deliverance, making a thousand gestures and motions which I
98 A REFUGE FOR THE NIGHT.

cannot describe, reflecting upon all my comrades that were drowned,
and that there should not be one soul saved but myself; for, as for
them, I never saw them afterwards, or any sign of them, except
three of their hats, one cap, and two shoes that were not fellows.

TI cast my eyes to the stranded vessel, when the breach and froth
of the sea being so big, I could hardly see it, it lay so far off,
and considered, “Lord, how was it possible I could get on
shore?”

After I had solaced my mind with the comfortable part of my
condition, I began to look round me to see what kind of place I
was in, and what was next to be done, and I soon found my com-
forts abate, and that in a word I had a dreadful deliverance ; for I
was wet, had no clothes to shift me, nor anything cither to eat or
drink to comfort me, neither did I see any prospect before me
but that of perishing with hunger, or being devoured by wild
beasts. And that which was particularly afflicting to me was, that
I had no weapon either to hunt and kill any creature for my
sustenance, or to defend myself against any other creature that
might desire to kill me for theirs;—in a word, I had nothing
about me but a knife, a tobacco-pipe, and a little tobacco ina box.
This was all my provision, and this threw me into terrible agonies
of mind, that for a while I ran about like a madman. Night
coming upon me, I began with a heavy heart to consider what
would be my lot if there were any ravenous beasts in that country,
seeing at night they always come abroad for their prey.

All the remedy that offered to my thoughts at that time was,
to get up into a thick bushy tree like a fir, but thorny, which grew
near me, and where I resolved to sit all night, and consider the
next day what death I should die; for as yet I saw no prospect of
life. I walked about a furlong from the shore to see if I could find
any fresh water to drink, which I did, to my great joy; and
having drunk, and put a little tobacco in my mouth to prevent
hunger, I went to the tree, and getting up into it, endeavoured to
place myself so as that if I should sleep I might not fall; and
having cut me a short stick like a truncheon for my defence, |
took up my lodging, and having been excessively fatigued, I fell
fast asleep, and slept as comfortahly as, I believe, few could have

Z
THE NEXT MORNING, 39





“80 AS THAT IF I SHOULD SLEEP I MIGHT NOT FALL.”

done in my condition, and found myself the most refreshed with
it that I think I ever was on such an occasion.

When I waked it was broad day, the weather clear, and the
storm abated, so that the sea did not rage and swell as before; but
that which surprised me most was, that the ship was lifted off in
the night from the sand where she lay by the swelling of the tide,
and was driven up almost as far as the rock which I first mentioned,
where I had been so bruised by the dashing me against it; this
being within about a mile from the shore where I was, and the
ship seeming to stand upright still, I wished myself on board, that
at least I might have some necessary things for my use.

When I came down from my apartment in the tree, I looked
about me again, and the first thing I found was the boat, which
lay as the wind and the sea had tossed her up upon the land, about
two miles on my right hand. I walked as far as I could upon the
shore to have got to her, but found a neck or inlet of water
between me and the boat which was about half a mile broad; so I
came back for the present, being more intent upon getting at the
ship, where I hoped to find something for my present subsistence.

A little after noon I found the sea very calm. and the tide
100 SWIMMING TO THE WRECK,

ebbed so far out that I could come within a quarter of a mile oj
the ship. And here I found a fresh renewing of my grief; for I saw
evidently that if we had kept on board we had been all safe—
that is to say, we had all got safe on shore, and I had not been so
miserable as to be left entirely destitute of all comfort and
company as I now was. This forced tears from my eyes again,
but as there was little relief in that, I resolved. if possible, to get



“COULD COME WITHIN A QUARTER OF A MILE OF THE SHIP.”

to the ship; so I pulled off my clothes, for the weather was hot to
extremity, and took the water. But when I came to the ship, my
difficulty was still greater to know how to get on board; for as she
lay a-ground and high out of the water, there was nothing within
my reach to lay hold of. I swam round her twice, and the second
time I spied a small piece of a rope, which I wondered I did not
see at first, hang down by the fore-chains so low as that with
great difficulty I got hold of it, and by the help of that rope got
MAKING A RAFT, 101

up intu the forecastle of the ship. Here I found that the ship was
bulged, and had a great deal of water in her hold, but that she lay
so on the side of a bank of hard sand, or rather carth, that her
stern lay lifted up upon the bank, and her head low almost to the
water. By this means all her quarter was free, and all that was
in that part was dry; for you may be sure my first work was to
search and to see what was spoiled and what was free. And first I
found that all the ship’s provisions were dry and untouched by the
water, and being very well disposed to eat, I went to the bread-
room and filled my pockets with biscuit, and ate it as I went about
other things, for I had no time to lose. I also found some rum
in the great cabin, of which I took a large dram, and which J had
indeed need enough of to spirit me for what was before me. Now
T wanted nothing but a boat to furnish myself with many things
which I foresaw would be very necessary to me.

Tt was in vain to sit still and wish for what was not to be had,
and this extremity roused my application. We had several spare
yards, and two or three large spars of wood, and a spare top-mast
or two in the ship. I resolved to fall to work with these, and
flung as many of them overboard as I could manage for their
weight, tying every one with a rope that they might not drive
away. When this was done, I went down the ship’s side, and pull-
ing them to me, I tied four of them fast together at both ends as
well as I could, in the form of a raft, and laying two or three
short pieces of plank upon them crossways, I found I could walk
upon it very well, but that it was not able to bear any great weight,
the pieces being too light. So I went to work, and with the
carpenter’s saw I cut a spare top-mast into three lengths, and added
them to my raft, with a great deal of labour and pains; but hope
of furnishing myself with necessaries encouraged me to go beyond
what I should have been able to have done upon another occasion.

My raft was now strong enough to bear any reasonable weight.
My next care was what to load it with, and how to preserve what
I laid upon it from the surf of the sea. But I was not long con-
sidering this. I first laid all the planks or boards upon it that I
could get, and having considered well what I most wanted, I first
got three of the seamen’s chests, which I had broken open and
102 THE FIRST CARGO.

emptied, and lowered them down upon my raft. The first of these 1
namely, bread, rice, three Dutch cheeses, five
pieces of dried goat’s flesh, which we lived much upon, and a little



filled with provisions

remainder of European corn which had been laid by for some fowls
which we brought to sea with us; but the fowls were killed.
There had been some barley and wheat together, but to my great
disappointment I found afterwards that the rats had eaten or
spoiled it all. As for liquors, I found several cases of bottles
belonging to our skipper, in which were some cordial waters, and
in all about five or six gallons of rack. These I stowed by them-
selves, there being no need to put them into the chest, and no room
for them. While I was doing this I found the tide began to flow,
though very calm, and I had the mortification to see my coat, shirt,
and waistcoat, which I had left on shore upon the sand swim away,
as for my breeches, which were only linen and open-kneed, I swam
on board in them and my stockings. However, this put me on
rummaging for clothes, of which I found enough, but took no
more than I wanted for present use, for I had other things which
my eye was more upon—as, first, tools to work with on shore;
and it was after long searching that I found out the carpenter’s
chest, which was indeed a very useful prize to me, and much more
valuable than a ship loading of gold would have been at that time.
I got it down to my raft even whole as it was, without losing time
to look into it, for I knew in general what it contained.

My next care was for some ammunition and arms. There were
two very good fowling-picces in the great cabin, and two pistols;
these I secured first, with some powder-horns, and a small bag of
shot, and two old rusty swords. I knew there were three barrels
of powder in the ship, but knew not where our gunner had stowed
them; but with much search I found them, two of them dry and
good, the third had taken water. Those two I got to my raft
with the arms; and now I thought myself pretty well freighted,
and began to think how I should get to shore with them, having
neither sail, oar, nor rudder, and the least capful of wind would have
overset all my navigation.

I had three encouragements—first, a smooth calm sea; second,
the tide rising and setting in to the shore; third, what little wind
STEERING FOR SHORE, 108

there was blew me towards the land. And thus, having found
two or three broken oars belonging to the boat, and besides the
tools which were in the chest, I found two saws, an axe, and a



FOR A MILE OR THEREABOUTS MY RAFT WENT
VERY WELL.”






hammer, and with this cargo I put to sea.
Vor a mile, or thereabouts, my raft went
very well, only that I found it drive a
little distant from the place where I had
landed before; by which I perceived that there was some indraught
of the water, and consequently I hoped to find some creek or

tiver there, which I might make use of asa port to get to land
with my cargo.



As T imagined, so it was. There appeared before me a little
104 THE RAFT SAFELY MOORED.

opening of the land, and I found a strong current of the tide set
into it; so I guided my raft as well as I could to keep in the
middle of the stream. But here I had like to have suffered a
second shipwreck, which if I had, I think verily would have broken
my heart; for, knowing nothing of the coast, my raft ran aground
at one end of it upon a shoal, and not being aground at the other
end, it wanted but a little that all my cargo had slipped off towards
that end that was afloat, and so fallen into the water. I did my
utmost, by setting my back against the chests, to keep them in
their places, but could not thrust off the raft with all my strength,
neither durst I stir from the posture I was in, but holding up the
chests with all my might, stood in that manner near half an hour,
in which time the rising of the water brought me a little more
upon a level; and a little after, the water still rising, my raft
floated again, and I thrust her off with the oar I had into the
channel, and then driving up higher, I at length found myself in
the mouth of a little river, with land on both sides, and a strong
current or tide running up. I looked on both sides for a proper
place to get to shore, for I was not willing to be driven too high up
the river, hoping in time to see some ship at sea, and therefore
resolved to place myself as near the coast as I could.

At length I spied a little cove on the right shore of the creek,
to which with great pain and difliculty I guided my raft, and at
last got so near as that, reaching ground with my oar, I could
thrust her directly in. But here I had like to have dipped all my
cargo in the sea again; for that shore lying pretty steep—that is to
say, sloping—there was no place to land, but where one end of my
float if it ran on shore, would lie so high, and the other sink lower
as before, that it would endanger my cargo again. All that I
could do was to wait till the tide was at the highest, keeping the
raft with my oar like an anchor to hold the side of it fast to the
shore, near a flat piece of ground, which I expected the water
would flow over; and so it did. As soon as I found water enough
—for my raft drew about a foot of water—I thrust her on upon
that flat piece of ground, and there fastened or moored her by
sticking my two broken oars into the ground, one on one side near
one end, and one on the other side near the other end; and thus I
A TOUR OF DISCOVERY, 106

lay till the water ebbed away, and left my raft and all iy cargo
sare On shore.

My next work was to view the country, and seck a proper place
for my habitation, and where to stow my goods to secure them
from whacever might happen. Where I was I yet knew not,
whether on the continent or on an island, whether inhabited or
not inhabited, whether in danger of wild beasts or not. There
was a hill not above a mile from me, which rose up very steep and
high, and which seemed to overtop some other hills which lay as
in a ridge from it northward. I took out one of the fowling-pieces
and one of the pistols, and a horn of powder, and thus armed I
travelled for disvovery up to the top of that hill, where, after I had
with great labour and difficulty got to the top, I saw my fate to
iny great affliction—namely, that I was in an island environed
every way with the sea, no land to be seen, except some rocks
which lay a great way off, and two small islands, less than this,
which lay about three leagues to the west.

I found also that the island I was in was barren, and, as I saw
good reason to believe, uninhabited, except by wild beasts—of
which, however, I saw none; yet I saw abundance of fowls, but
knew not their kinds, neither when I killed them could I tell what
was fit for food, and what not. At my coming back, I shot at a
great bird which I saw sitting upon a tree on the side of a great
wood. I believe it was the first gun that had been fired there
since the creation of the world. I had no sooner fired, but from all
the parts of the wood there arose an innumerable number of fowls
of many sorts, making a confused screaming, and crying every one
according to his usual note; but not one of them of any kind that
Iknew. As for the creature I killed, I took it to be a kind of a
hawk, its colour and beak resembling it, but it had no talons or
claws more than common ; its flesh was carrion, and fit for nothing.

Contented with this discovery, 1 came back to my raft, and fell
to work to bring my cargo on shore, which took me up the rest
of that day. But what to do with myself at night I knew not, nor
indeed where to rest; for I was afraid to lie down on the ground,
not knowing but some wild beast might devour me, though, as I
alterwards found, there was really no need for those fears.
106 A SECOND VISIT TO THE WRECK,

However, as well as I could, I barricaded myself round with the
chests and boards that I had brought on shore, and made a kind of
hut for that night’s lodging. As for food, I yet saw not which
way to supply myself, except that I had seen two or three crea-
tures like hares run out of the wood where I shot the fowl.

I now began to consider that I might yet get a great many
things out of the ship which would be useful to me, and particu-
larly some of the rigging and sails, and such other things as might
come to land; and I resolved to make another voyage on board
the vessel, if possible; and as I knew that the first storm that
blew must necessarily break her all in pieces, I resolved to set all
other things apart, until I got everything out of the ship that I
could get. Then I called a council—that is to say, in my thoughts
—whether I should take back the raft; but this appeared imprac-
ticable. So I resolved to go as before, when the tide was down;
and I did so, only that I stripped before I went from my hut,
having nothing on but a checkered shirt, and a pair of linen
drawers, and a pair of pumps on my feet. I got on board the ship
as before, and prepared a second raft; and having had experience of
the first, I neither made this so unwieldy nor loaded it so hard,
but yet I brought away several things very useful to me. As first,
in the carpenter’s stores, I found two or three bags full of nails and
spikes, a great screw-jack, a dozen or two of hatchets, and, above
all, that most useful thing called a grind-stone. All these I secured
together, with several things belonging to the gunner, particularly
tivo or three iron crows, and two barrels of musket-bullets, seven
muskets, and another fowling-piece, with some small quantity of
powder more, a large bag full of small shot, and a great roll of
sheet lead. But this last was so heavy I could not hoist it up to
get it over the ship’s side.

Besides these things, I took all the men’s clothes that I could
find, and a spare fore-topsail, a hammock and some bedding; and
with this I loaded my second raft, and brought them all safe on
shore, to my very great comfort.

I was under some apprehensions during my absence from the
land that at least my provisions might be devoured on shore ; but
when I came back I found no sign of any visitor, only there sat a
CRUSOE’S POSSESSIONS. 107

creature like a wild cat upon one of the chests, which, when I came
towards it, ran away a little distance, and then stood still. She sat
very composed and unconcerned, and looked full in my face, as if
she had a mind to be acquainted with me. I presented my gun at
her, but as she did not understand it, she was perfectly uncon-
cerned at it, nor did she offer to stir away. Upon which I tossed
her a bit of biscuit—though, by the way, I was not very free of it,
for my store was not great. However, I spared her a bit, I say,
and she went to it, smelled of it, and ate it, and looked, as pleased,
for more; but I thanked her, and could spare no more. So she
marched off.

Having got my second cargo on shore, though I was fain to
open the barrels of powder, and bring them by parcels—for they
were too heavy, being large casks—I went to work to make mea
little tent with the sail and some poles which I cut for that pur-
pose; and into this tent I brought everything that I knew would
spoil cither with rain or sun, and I piled all the empty chests and
casks up in a cirele round the tent, to fortify it from any sudden
attempt cither from man or beast.

When I had done this, I blocked up the door of the tent with
some boards within, and an empty chest set up an end without,
and spreading one of the beds upon the ground, laying my two
pistols just at my head, and my gun at length by me, I went to
bed for the first time, and slept very quictly all night, for I was
very weary and heavy; for the night before I had slept little, and
had laboured very hard all day, as well to fetch all those things
from the ship as to get them on shore.

I had the biggest magazine of all kinds now that ever were laid
up, I believe, for one man; but I was not satisfied still, for while
the ship sat upright in that posture, I thought I ought to get
everything out of her that I could; so every day at low water I
went on board, and brought away some thing or other. But par-
ticularly the third time I went I brought away as much of the
rigging as I could, as also all the small ropes and rope-twine I
could get, with a piece of spare canvas, which was to mend the
sails upon occasion, the barrel of wet gunpowder; in a word, I
brought away all the sails first and last, only that I was fain to
108 CLEARING OUT THE WRECK.

cut them in pieces, and bring as much at a time as I could,
for they were no more useful to be sails, but as mere canvas
only.

But that which comforted me more still was, that at last of all,
after I had made five or six such voyages as these, and thought I
had nothing more to expect from the ship that was worth my
meddling with—I say, after all this, I found a great hogshead of
bread, and three large runlets of rum or spirits, and a box of sugar,
and a barrel of fine flour. This was surprising to me, because I
had given over expecting any more provisions, excepting what was
spoiled by the water. I soon emptied the hogshead of that bread,
and wrapped it up parcel by parcel in pieces of the sails, which I
cut out; and in a word, I got all this safe on shore also.

The next day I made another voyage, and now having plundered
the ship of what was portable and fit to hand out, I began with
the cables ; and cutting the great cable into picces such as I could
move, I got two cables and a hawser on shore, with all the iron-
work I could get; and having cut down the spritsail-yard, and the
mizzen-yard, and everything I could to make a large raft, T loaded
it with all those heavy goods, and came away. But my good luck
began now to leave me; for this raft was so unwieldy and so over-
loaden, that after I was entered the little cove where I had landed
the rest of my goods, not being able to guide it so handily as I
did the other, it overset, and threw me and all my cargo into the
water, As for myself it was no great harm, for I was near the
shore; but as to my cargo, it was great part of it lost, especially
the iron, which I expected would have been of great use to me.
However, when the tide was out, I got most of the pieces of cable
ashore and some of the iron, though with infinite labour; for I
was fain to dip for it into the water, a work which fatigued me
very much. After this I went every day on board, and brought
away what I could get.

I had been now thirteen days on shore, and had been eleven
times on board the ship, in which time { had brought away all
that one pair of hands could well be suvposed capable to bring;
though I believe verily, had the calm weather held, I should have
brought away the whole ship piece by piece. But preparing the
MONEY A DRUG. 109

twelfth time to go on board, I found the wind begin to rise. How-
ever, at low water I went on board; and though I thought I had
rummaged the cabin so effectually as that nothing more could be
found, yet I discovered a locker with drawers in it, in one of which
I found two or three razors and one pair of large scissors, with
some ten or a dozen of good knives and forks; in another I found
about thirty-six pounds value in money, some European coin, some
Brazil, some pieces of eight, some gold, some silver.

I smiled to myself at the sight of this money. “O drug!” said
T aloud, “ what art thon good for? Thou art not worth to me, no
not the taking off of the ground; one of these knives is worth all
this heap. I have no manner of use for thee; even remain where
thou art, and go to the bottom as a creature whose life is not worth
saving.” However, upon second thoughts, I took it away, and
wrapping all this in a piece of canvas, I began to think of making
another raft; but while I was preparing this, I found the sky over-
cast, and the wind began to rise, and in a quarter of an hour it
blew a fresh gale from the shore. It presently occurred to me
that it was in vain to pretend to make a raft with the wind olf
shore, and that it was my business to be gone before the tide of
flood began, otherwise I might not be able to reach the shore at
all. Accordingly I let myself down into the water, and swam
across the channel which lay between the ship and the sands, and
even that with difficulty enough, partly with the weight of the
things I had about me, and partly the roughness of the water, for
the wind rose very hastily, and before it was quite high water it
blew a storm.

But I was gotten home to my little tent, where I lay with all
my wealth about me very secure. It blew very hard all that night;
and in the morning when I looked out, behold, no more ship was
to be seen! I was a little surprised, but recovered myself with this
satisfactory reflection, namely, that I had lost no time, nor abated
diligence to get everything out of her that could be useful to me,
and that indeed there was little left in her that I was able to bring
away, if I had had more time.

T now gave over any more thoughts of the ship, or of anything
out of her, except what might drive on shore from her wreck, as
110 PROVIDING FOR FUTURE DEFENCE.



= ACCORDINGLY I LET MYSELF DOWN INTO THE WATER.”

indeed divers pieces of her afterwards did; but those things were
of small use to me.

My thoughts were now wholly employed about securing myself
against either savages, if any should appear, or wild beasts, if any
were in the island; and I had many thoughts of the method how
to do this, and what kind of dwelling to make, whether I should
make me a cave in the earth, or a tent upon the earth. And, in
short, I resolved upon both, the manner and description of which
it may not be improper to give an account of.
CRUSOE’S ENCAMPMENT. 11)

I svon found the place I was in was not for my settlement, par-
ticularly because it was upon a low moorish ground near the sea,
and I believed would not be wholesome, and more particularly be-
cause there was no fresh water near it; so I resolved to find a more
healthy and more convenient spot of ground.

I consulted several things in my situation which I found would
be proper for me. First, health, and fresh water I just now men-
tioned. Secondly, shelter from the heat of the sun. Thirdly, se-
curity from ravenous creatures, whether men or beasts. Fourthly, a
view to the sea, that if God sent any ship in sight I might not
lose any advantage for my deliverance, of which I was not willing
to banish all my expectation yet.

In search of a place proper for this, I found a little plain on the
side of a rising hill, whose front towards this little plain was steep
as a house-side, so that nothing could come down upon me from
the top. On the side of this rock there was a hollow place worn
a little way in like the entrance or door of a cave; but there was
not really any cave or way into the rock at all.

On the flat of the green, just before this hollow place, I resolved
to pitch my tent. This plain was not above an hundred yards
broad, and about twice as long, and lay like a green before my
door, and at the end of it descended irregularly every way down
into the low grounds by the sea-side. It was on the north-north-
west side of the hill, so that I was sheltered from the heat every
day till it came to a west and by south sun, or thereabouts, which
in those countries is near the setting.

Before I set up my tent, I drew a half-circle before the hollow
place, which took in about ten yards in its semi-diameter from the
rock, and twenty yards in its diameter from its beginning and
ending.

In this half-circle I pitched two rows of strong stakes, driving
them into the ground till they stood very firm like piles, the biggest
end being out of the ground about five feet and a half, and sharp-
ened on the top. The two rows did not stand above six inches
from one another.

Then I took the pieces of cable which I had cut in the ship, and

laid them in rows one upon another within the circle, between
(284) &
112 “ PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE,”







DRIVING THEM INTO THE
GROUND TILL THEY sTOOD
VERY FIRM.”



these two rows of stakes, up to the top, placing other stakes in
the inside, leaning against them, about two feet and a half high,
like a spur to a post; and this fence was so strong that neither man
nor beast could get into it or over it. ‘This cost me a great deal of
time and labour, especially to cut the piles in the wood, bring them
to the place, and drive them into the earth.

The entrance into this place | made to be, not by a door, but by
a short ladder to go over the top; which ladder, when I was in, I
lifted over after me. And so I was completely fenced in and forti-


A POSSIBLE DANGER, 118

fied, as I thought, from all the world, and consequently slept
secure in the night, which otherwise I could not have done; though,
as it appeared afterwards, there was no need of all this caution from
the enemies that I apprehended danger from.

Into this fence or fortress, with infinite labour, I carried all my
riches, all my provisions, ammunition, and stores, of which you
have the account above. And [ made me a large tent, which, to
preserve ine from the rains that in one part of the year are very
violent there, I made double - namely, one smaller tent within, and
one larger tent above it, and covered the uppermost with a large
tarpaulin which I had saved among the sails.

And now I Jay no more for a while in the bed which I had
brought on shore, but in a hammock; which was indeed a very good
one, and belonged to the mate of the ship.

Into this tent I brought all my provisions and everything that
would spoil by the wet; and having thus enclosed all my goods I
made up the entrance, which till now I had left open, and so passed
and repassed, as I said, by a short ladder.

When I had done this, I began to work my way into the rock,
and bringing all the earth and stones that [ dug down out through
my tent, L laid them up within my fence in the nature of a terrace,
that so it raised the ground within about a foot and a half; and
thus [ made me a cave just behind my tent, which served me like
a cellar to my house.

Tt cost me much labour and many days before all these things
were brought to perfection, and therefore I must go back to some
other things which took up some of my thoughts. At the same
time it happened after I had laid my scheme for the setting up my
tent, and making the cave, that a storm of rain falling from a thick
dark cloud, a sudden flash of lightning happened, and after that 4
great clap of thunder, as is naturally the effect of it. I was not
so much surprised with the lightning as I was with a thought
which darted into my mind as swift as the lightning itself—Oh,
my powder! My very heart sunk within me when I thought that
at one blast all my powder might be destroyed, on which not my
defence only, but the providing me food, as I thought, entirely
depended. I was nothing near so anxious about my own danger.
114 KILLING A SHE-GOAT.

though had the powder taken fire, I had never known who had
hurt me.

Such impression did this make upon me, that after the storm
was over I laid aside all my works, my building and fortifying, and
applied myself to make bags and boxes to separate the powder and
keep it a little and a little in a parcel, in hope that whatever might
come it might not all take fire at once, and to keep it so apart that
it should not be possible to make one part fire another. I finished
this work in about a fortnight; and I think my powder, which in
all was about two hundred and forty pounds weight, was divided
in not less than a hundred parcels. As to the barrel that had been
wet, I did not apprehend any danger from that ; so I placed it in
my new cave, which in my fancy I called my kitchen, and the rest
I hid up and down in holes among the rocks, so that no wet might
come to it, marking very carefully where I laid it.

Tn the interval of time while this was doing I went out once at
least every day with my gun, as well to divert myself as to see if I
could kill anything fit for food, and as near as IT could to acquaint
myself with what the island produced, The first time I went out
I presently discovered that there were goats in the island—which
was a great satisfaction to me; but then it was attended with this
misfortune, namely, that they were so shy, so subtile, and so
swift of foot, that it was the difficultest thing in the world to come
at them. But I was not discouraged at this, not doubting but I
might now and then shoot one, as it soon happened; for after I
had found their haunts a little, I laid wait in this manner for them:
I observed if they saw me in the valleys, though they were upon
the rocks, they would run away as in a terrible fright; but if they
were feeding in the valleys, and I was upon the rocks, they took
no notice of me: from whence I concluded that by the position of
their optics their sight was so directed downward that they did
not readily see objects that were above them. So afterwards I took
this method, I always climbed the rocks first, to get above them,
and then had frequently a fair mark. The first shot I made among
these creatures I killed a she-goat which had a little kid by her
which she gave suck to, which grieved me heartily. But when the
old one fell the kid stood stock-still by her till I came and took
ARGUMENTS PRO AND CON. 116

her up; and not only so, but when I carried the old one with me
upon my shoulders, the kid followed me quite to my enclosure:
upon which I laid down the dam and took the kid in my arms,
and carried it over my pale, in hopes to have bred it up tame; but
it would not eat, so I was forced to kill it and eat it myself. These
two supplied me with flesh a great while, for I ate sparingly, and
saved my provisions (my bread especially) as much as possibly I
could,

Having now fixed my habitation, I found it absolutely necessary
to provide a place to make a fire in, and fuel to burn; and what I
did for that, as also how I enlarged my cave and what conveniences
I made, I shall give a full account of in its place. But I must
first give some little account of myself and of my thoughts about
living, which it may well be supposed were not a few.

I had a dismal prospect of my condition; for as I was not cast
away upon that island without being driven, as is said, by a violent
storm quite out of the course of our intended voyage, and a great
way, namely, some hundreds of leagues, out of the ordinary course
of the trade of mankind, I had great reason to consider it as a
determination of Heaven that in this desolate place and in this
desolate manner I should end my life. The tears would run plenti-
fully down my face when I made these reflections ; and sometimes
I would expostulate with myself why Providence should thus com-
pletely ruin its creatures and render them so absolutely miserable,
so without help abandoned, so entirely depressed, that it could
hardly be rational to be thankful for such a life.

But something always returned swift upon me to check these
thoughts and to reprove me; and particularly one day, walking
with my gun in my hand by the sea-side, I was very pensive upon
the subject of my present condition, when reason, as it were, ex-
postulated with me the other way, thus: Well, you are in a deso-
late condition it is true, but pray remember, where are the rest of
you? Did not you come eleven of you into the boat,—where are
the ten? Why were not they saved and you lost? Why were
you singled out? Is it better to be here or there ?—and then I
pointed to the sea. All evils are to be considered with the good
that is in them, and with what worse attends them.
116 CRUSOE’S ACTUAL CONDITION.

Then it occurred to me again how well I was furnished for my
subsistenve, and what would have been my case if it had not
happened, which was an hundred thousand to one, that the ship
floated from the place where she first struck, and was driven so
near to the shore that I had time to get all those things out of
her. What would have been my case if I had been to have lived
in the condition in which I at first came on shore, without
necessaries of life, or necessaries to supply and procure them ?
Particularly, said I aloud (though to myself), what should I have
done without a gun, without ammunition; without any tools to
make anything, or to work with; without clothes, bediling, a tent,
or any manner of covering; and that now I had all these to a
sufficient quantity, and was in a fair way to provide myself in such
a manner, as to live without my gun when my ammunition was
spent; so that I had a tolerable view of subsisting without any
want as long as I lived: for I considered from the beginning how
I would provide for the accidents that might happen, and for the
time that was to come, even not only after my ammunition should
be spent, but even after my health or strength should decay.

T confess I had not entertained any notion of my ammunition
being destroyed at one blast—I mean my powder being blown up
by lightning



and this made the thoughts of it so surprising to
me when it lightened and thundered, as I observed just now.

And now being to enter into a melancholy relation of a scene of
silent life, such perhaps as was never heard of in the world before,
I shall take it from its beginning, and continue it in its order, It
was, by my account, the 50th of September when, in the manner
as above said, I first set foot upon this horrid island, when the sun
being, to us, in its autumnal equinox, was almost just over my
head; for I reckoned myself, by observation, to be in the latitude
of 9 degrees 22 minutes north of the line.

After I had been there about ten or twelve days it came into
my thoughts that I should lose my reckoning of time for want of
books and pen and ink, and should even forget the Sabbath
days from the working days; but, to prevent this, I cut it with my
knife upon a large post, in capital letters, and making it into a
great cross, I set it up on the shore where I first landed—namely,
A NOVEL ALMANAC, 117

I cAMs ON SHORE HERE ON THE
30ru or SupremBer 1659. Upon
the sides of this square post I








cut every day a notch with my
knife, and every seventh notch
was as long again as the rest, and
every first day of the month

as long again as that long one,

“7 cur EVERY DAY A NOTCH WITH MY KNIFE.”

and thus I kept my calendar, or weekly, monthly and yearly
reckoning of time.

In the next place we are to observe, that among the many
things which I brought out of the ship in the several voyages
which, as above mentioned, I made to it, I got several things of
less value, but not all less useful to me, which I omitted setting
118 THINGS SAVED, AND THINGS WANTED.

down before; as, in particular, pens, ink, and paper, several parcels
in the captain’s, mate’s, zunner’s, and carpenter’s keeping, three or
four compasses, some mathematical instruments, dials, perspectives,
charts, and books of navigation; all which I huddled together,
whether I might want them or no. Also, I found three very good
Bibles, which came to me in my cargo from Nngland, and which
Thad packed up among my things; some Portuguese books also.
and among them two or three Popish prayer-books, and several
other books; all which I carefully secured. And I must not forget
that we had in the ship a dog and two cats, of whose eminent
history I may have occasion to say something in its place: for I
carried both the cats with me; and as for the dog, he jumped out
of the ship of himself, and swam on shore to me the day after I
went on shore with my first cargo, and was a trusty servant to me
many years. I wanted nothing that he could fetch me, nor any
company that he could make up to me; I only wanted to have him
talk to me, but that he would not do. As I observed before, I found
pen, ink, and paper, and L husbanded them to the utmost; and 1
shall show that, while my ink lasted, IT kept things very exact;
but after that was gone I could not, for IT could not make any ink
by any means that I could devise.

And this put me in mind that I wanted many things, notwith-
standing all that I had amassed together ; and of these, this of ink
was one; as also spade, pick-axe and shovel, to dig or remove the
earth; needles, pins, and thread; as for linen, I soon learned to
want that without much difficulty.

This want of tools made every work I did go on heavily, and it
was near a whole year before I had entirely finished my little pale
or surrounded habitation. The piles or stakes, which were as
heavy as I could well lift, were a long time in cutting and pre-
paring in the woods, and more by far in bringing home; so that T
spent sometimes two days in cutting and bringing home one of
those posts, and a third day in driving it into the ground: for
which purpose I got a heavy piece of wood at first, but at last be-
thought myself of one of the iron crows; which, however, though
I found it, yet it made driving those posts or piles very laborious
and tedious work.
A DEBTOR AND CREDITOR ACCOUNT. 119

But what need I have been concerned at the tediousness of any-
thing I had to do, sceing I had time enough to do it in, nor had
I any other employment if that had been over, at least that I
could foresee, except the ranging the island to seek for food, which
I did more or less every day.

I now began to consider seriously my condition, and the circum-
stance I was reduced to, and I drew up the state of my affairs in
writing, not so much to leave them to any that were to come after
me, for I was like to have but few heirs, as to deliver my thoughts
from daily poring upon them, and afflicting my mind; and as my
reason began now to master my despondency, I began to comfort
myself as well as I could, and to set the good against the evil, that
I might have something to distinguish my case from worse; and I
stated it very impartially, like debtor and creditor, the comforts I
enjoyed against the miseries I suffered, thus :—

vit. Goop.

Tam cast upon a horrible desolate
island, void of ail hope of recovery.

Tam singled out and separated as
it were. from all the world, to be
miserable.

I am divided from mankind, a
solitaire, one banished from human
society.

T have not clothes to cover me.

Iam without any defence or means
to resist any violence of man or beast.

I have no soul to speak to, or re-
lieve me.

But I am alive, and not drowned,
as al] my ship’s company was.

But Iam singled out, too, from all
the ship’s crew to be spared from
death; and He that miraculously
saved me from death can deliver me
from this condition.

But I am not starved, and perish-
ing on a barren place, affording no
sustenance,

But I am ina hot climate, where,
if I had clothes, I could hardly wear
them.

But I am cast on an island where
I see no wild beasts to hurt me, as |
saw on the coast of Africa; and what
if I had been shipwrecked there?

But God wonderfully sent the ship
in near enough to the shore, that 1]
have gotten out so many necessary
things as will either supply my wants,
or enable me to supply myself even
as long as I live.

Upon the whole, here was an undoubted testimony that there
120 LIFE’S GOOD OUTBALANCES LIFE’S ILL.

i

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fh i i
ey

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=e ISET MYSELF TO ENLARGE MY CAVE AND WORKS FURTUER
INTO THE EARTI.”

Was scarce any condition in the world so miserable, but there was
something negative or something positive to be thankful for in it;
and let this stand as a direction from the experience of the most
miserable of all conditions in this world, that we may always find
in it something to comfort ourselves from, and to set in the descrip-
tion of good and eyil, on the credit side of the account.

Having now brought my mind a little to relish my condition,
and given over looking out to sea, to see if I could spy a ship; J
CRUSOE AS CABINET-MAKER. 12)

say, giving over these things, I began to apply myself to accoimmo-
date my way of living, and to make things as easy to measI could.

T have already described my habitation, which was a tent under
the side of a rock, surrounded with a strong pale of posts and
cables; but I might now rather call it a wall, for I raised a kind of
wall up against it of turfs, about two feet thick on the outside; and
after some time, I think it was a year and a half, I raised rafters
from it leaning to the rock, and thatched or covered it with
boughs of trees, and such things as I could get to keep out the
rain, which I found at some times of the year very violent.

I have already observed how I brought all my goods into this
pale, and into the cave which I had made behind me; but J must
observe, too, that at first this was a confused heap of goods, which,
as they lay in no order, so they took up all my place. I had no
room to turn niyself, so I set myself to enlarge my cave and works
further into the earth; for it was a loose sandy rock, which yielded
easily to the labour I bestowed on it: and so, when I found I
was pretty safe as to beasts of prey, I worked sideways to the
right hand into the rock; and then, turning to the right again,
worked quite out, and made me a dour to come out, on the outside
of my pale or fortification.

This gave me not only egress and regress, as it were, a back-way
to my tent and to my storehouse, but gave me room to stow my
goods.

And now I began to apply myself to make such necessary things
as I found I most wanted, as particularly a chair and a table; for
without these I was not able to enjoy the few comforts I had in
the world—I could not write or eat, or do several things with so
much pleasure without a table.

So I went to work; and here I must needs observe, that as
reason is the substance and original of mathematics, so by stating
and squaring everything by reason, and by making the most
rational judgment of things, every man may be in time master of
every mechanic art. I had never handled a tool in my life, and
yet in time, by labour, application, and contrivance, I found at last
that I wanted nothing but I could have made it, especially if I had
had tools; however, I made abundance of things, even without
122 BEGINNING A JOURNAL.

tools, and some with no more tools than an adze and a hatchet.
which perhaps were never made that way before, and that with in-
finite labour. For example, if I wanted a board, I had no other
way but to cut down a tree, sect it on an edge before me, and hew
it flat on either side with my axe, till I had brought it to be thin
as a plank, and then dubb it smooth with my adze. It is true, by
this method I could make but one board out of a whole tree, but
this I had no remedy for but patience, any more than I had for the
prodigious deal of time and labour which it took me up to make a
plank or board. But my time or labour was little worth, and so
it was as well employed one way as another.

However, I made me a table and a chair, as I observed above,
in the first place, and this I dil out of the short pieces of boards
that I brought on my raft from the ship. But when I had
wrought ont some boards, as above, I made large shelves of the
breadth of a foct and a half one over another, all along one side of
my cave, to lay all my tools, nails, and iron-work, and, in a word,
to separate everything at large in their places, that I might come
easily at them. I knocked pieces into the wall of the rock to hang
my guns and all things that would hang up.

So that had my cave been to be seen, it looked like a general
magazine of all necessary things; and I had everything so ready at
my hand that it was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods in
such order, and especially to find my stock of all necessaries so
great.

And now it was when I began to keep a journal of every day’s
employment—for indeed at first I was in too much hurry, and not
only hurry as to labour, but in too much discomposure of mind—
and my journal would have been full of many dull things. For ex-
ample, I must have said thus:—‘ September 30. After I got to shore
and had escaped drowning, instead of being thankful to God for my
deliverance—having first vomited with the great quantity of salt
water which was gotten into my stomach, and recovering myself a
little—I ran about the shore, wringing my hands and beating my
head and face, exclaiming at my misery, and crying out I was un-
done, undone! till, tired and faint, I was forced to lie down on the
ground to repose, but durst not sleep for fear of being devoured.”
CRUSOE’S NARRATIVE. 128

Some days after this, and after I had been on board the ship
and got all that I could out of her, yet I could not forbear getting
up to the top of a little mountain and looking out to sea in hopes
of seeing a ship, then fancy at a vast distance I spied a sail, please
myself with the hopes of it, and then after looking steadily till I
was almost blind, lose it quite, and sit down and weep like a
child, and thus increase my misery by my folly.

But having gotten over these things in some measure, and
having settled my household stuff and habitation, made me a table
and a chair, and all as handsome about me as I could, I began to
keep my journal, of which I shall here give you the copy (though
in it will be told all these particulars over again) as long as it
lasted, for, having no more ink, I was forced to leave it off. -





aes —

Che Fournal.



“KPTEMBER 30, 1659. I, poor, miserable
Robinson Crusoe, being shipwrecked during a
dreadful storm in the offing, came on shore on
this dismal unfortunate island, which I called
the Island of Despair, all the rest of the ship’s
company being drowned, and myself almost dead.

All the rest of that day I spent in afflicting myself at the dismal
circumstances I was brought to—namely, I had neither food, house,
clothes, weapon, nor place to fly to, and, in despair of any relief,
saw nothing but death before me—either that I should be devoured
by wild beasts, murdered by savages, or starved to death for want
of food. At the approach of night I slept in a tree for fear of wild
creatures, but slept soundly though it rained all night.

October 1. In the morning I saw, to my great surprise, that the
ship had floated with the high tide, and was driven on shore again
much nearer the island; which as it was some comfort, on one
124 DAY AFTER DAY.

hand, for, seeing her sit upright, and not broken to pieces, [ hoped,
if the wind abated, [ might get on board and get some food and
necessaries out of her for my relief; so, on the other hand, it
renewed my grief at the loss of my comrades, who, I imagined, if we
had all stayed on board, might have saved the ship, or at least that
they would not have been all drowned as they were; and that, had
the men been saved, we might perhaps have built us a boat out of
the ruins of the ship to have carried us to some other part of the
world. I spent great part of this day in perplexing myself on
these things; but at length, seeing the ship almost dry, I went
upon the sand as near as I could, and then swam on board; this
day also it continued raining, though with no wind at all.

Lrom the 1st of October to the 24th. All these days entirely
spent in many several voyages to get all I could out of the ship,
which I brought on shore, every tide of flood, upon rafts. Much
rain also in these days, though with some intervals of fair weather ;
but, it seems, this was the rainy season.

October 20. I overset my raft, and all the goods T had got upon
it; but being in shoal water, and the things being chiefly heavy,
[ recovered many of them when the tide was out.

October 25. It rained all night and all day, with some gusts of
wind, during which time the ship broke in pieces, the wind blow-
ing a little harder than before, and was no more to be seen, except
the wreck of her, and that only at low water. I spent this day
in covering and securing the goods which I had saved, that the
rain might not spoil them.

October 26. 1 walked about the shore almost all day to find out
a place to fix my habitation, greatly concerned to secure myself
from an attack in the night either from wild beasts or men. To-
wards night I fixed upon a proper place under a rock, and marked
out a semicircle for my encampment, which I resolved to strengthen
with a work, wall, or fortification made of double piles, lined within
with cables and without with turf.

From the 26th to the 30th I worked very hard in carrying all
my goods to my new habitation, though some part of the time it
rained exceeding hard.

The 31st in the morning I went out into the island with my
THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER, 125

gun to see for some food, and discover the country, when | killed
a she-goat, and her kid followed me home, which I afterwards
killed also, because it would not feed.

November 1. I set up my tent under a rock, and lay there for
the first night, making it as large as I could with stakes driven in
to swing my hammock upon.

November 2. I set up all my chests and boards, and the pieces
of timber which made my rafts, and with them formed a fence
round me, a little witlin the place I had marked out for my for-
tification.

November 3. I went out with my gun, and killed two fowls like
ducks, which were very good food. In the afternoon went to work
to make me a table.

November 4. This morning I began to order my times of work,
of going out with my gun, time of sleep and time of diversion—
namely, every morning I walked out with my gun for two or three
hours if it did not rain, then employed myself to work till about
eleven o’clock, then ate what I had to live on; and from twelve to
two I lay down to sleep, the weather being excessive hot; and
then in the evening to work again. The working part of this day
and of the next were wholly employed in making my table; for I
was yet but a very sorry workman, though time and necessity
made me a complete natural mechanic soon after, as I believe it
would do any one else.

November 5. This day went abroad with my gun and my dog,
and killed a wild cat, her skin pretty soft, but her flesh good for
nothing. Every creature I killed I took off the skins and pre-
served them. Coming back by the sea-shore, I saw many sorts of
sea-fowls which I did not understand; but was surprised and
almost frightened with two or three seals, which while I was
gazing at, not well knowing what they were, got into the sea, and
escaped me for that time.

November 6. After my morning walk I went to work with my
table again, and finished it, though not to my liking; nor was it
long before I learned to mend it.

November 7. Now it began to be settled fair weather. The 7th,
Sth, 9th, 10th, and part of the 12th (for the 11th was Sunday),
126 THE IRON TREE,

I took wholly up to make me a chair, and with much ado brought
it to a tolerable shape, but never to please me; and even in the
making I pulled it in pieces several times. Note.—I soon ne-
glected my keeping Sundays; for, omitting my mark for them on
my post, I forgot which was which.

November 13. This day it rained, which refreshed me exceed-
ingly, and cooled the earth; but it was accompanied with terrible
thunder and lightning, which frightened me dreadfully for fear of
my powder. As soon as it was over I resolved to separate my
stock of powder into as many little parcels as possible, that it
might not be in danger.

November 14, 15, 16. These three days I spent in making little
square chests or boxes, which might hold about a pound, or two
pound at most, of powder; and so putting the powder in, I stowed
it in places as secure and remote from one another as possible. On
one of these three days I killed a large bird that was good to eat,
but I know not what to call it.

November 17. This day I began to dig behind my tent into the
rock, to make room for my further conveniency. Note-—Three
things I wanted exceedingly for this work—namely, a pickaxe, a
shovel, and a wheelbarrow or basket. So I desisted from my work,
and began to consider how to supply that want, and make me some
tools. As for a pickaxe, I made use of the iron crows, which
were proper enough though heavy. But the next thing was a
shovel or spade; this was so absolutely necessary, that indeed I
could do nothing effectually without it. But what kind of one to
make I knew not.

November 18. The next day, in searching the woods, I found a
tree of that wood, or like it, which in the Brazils they call the
iron tree, for its exceeding hardness. Of this, with great labour
and almost spoiling my axe, I cut a piece, and brought it home
too with difficulty enough, for it was exceeding heavy.

-The excessive hardness of the wood, and having no other way,
made me a long while upon this machine; for I worked it effec-
tually by little and little into the form of a shovel or spade, the
handle exactly shaped like ours in England, only that the broad
part having no iron shod upon it at bottom, it would not last me so
NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION. 127

long. However, it served well enough for the uses which I had
occasion to put it to; but never was a shovel, I believe, made after
that fashion, or so long a-making.



is

i>

Ne ss






“AND BROUGHT IT HOME TOO WITH DIFFICULTY ENOUGH.”

Iwas still deficient, for I wanted a basket or a wheelbarrow. A
basket I could not make by any means, having no such things as
twigs that would bend to make wicker ware, at least none yet
found out. And as to a wheelbarrow, I fancied I could make all
but the wheel, but that I had no notion of, neither did I know
how to go about it; besides, I had no possible way to make the
iron gudgeons for the spindle or axis of the wheel to run in, so I
gave it over. And so, for carrying away the earth which I dug
out of the cave, 1 made me a thing like a hod, which the labourers
carry mortar in when they serve the bricklayers.

This was not so difficult to me as the making the shovel;
and yet this and the shovel, and the attempt which I made in vain
to make a wheelbarrow, took me up no less than four days—I
mean always excepting my morning walk with my gun, which I
seldom failed, and very seldom failed also bringing home something
fit to eat.

November 23. My other work having now stood still because of
my making these tools, when they were finished I went on, and

working every day as my strength and time allowed, I spent
(284)
128 ROOFING THE CAVERN.

eighteen days entirely in widening and deepening my cave, that
it might hold my goods commodiously.

Note.—During all this time I worked to make this room or
cave spacious enough to accommodate me as a warehouse or maga-
zine, a kitchen, a dining-room, and a cellar. As for my lodging,
I kept to the tent, except that sometimes, in the wet season of the
year, it rained so hard that I could not keep myself dry; which
cause] me afterwards to cover all my place within my pale with
long poles in the form of rafters, leaning against the rock, and load
them with flags and large leaves of trees like a thatch.

December 10. T began now to think my cave or vault finished,
when on a sudden (it seems I had made it too large) a great quan-
tity of earth fell down from the top and one side, so much that,
in short, it frightened me; and not without reason too, for if I
had been under it, I had never wanted a grave-digger. Upon this
disaster I had a great deal of work to do over again; for I had
the loose earth to carry out, and, which was of more importance, I
had the ceiling to prop up, so that I might be sure no more would
come down.

December 11, This day I went to work with it accordingly, and
got two shores or posts pitched upright to the top, with two pieces
of board across over each post. This I finished the next day, and
setting more posts up with boards, in about a week more I had
the roof secured; and the posts, standing in rows, served me for
partitions to part of my house.

December 17. From this day to the 20th I placed shelves, and
knocked up nails on the posts to hang everything up that
could be hung up; and now IJ began to be in some order within
doors.

December 20. Now I carried everything into the cave, and began
to furnish my house, and set up some pieces of board, like a
dresser, to order my victuals upon; but boards began to be very
scarce with me. Also I made me another table.

December 24. Much rain all night and all day. No stirring out.

December 25. Rain all day.

December 26. No rain, and the earth much cooler than before
and pleasanter.
A DAILY RECORD. 129

December 27, Killed a young goat, and lamed another so that
I caught it, and led it home ina string. When I had it home [
bound and splintered up its leg, which was broken. N.B.—I took
such care of it that it lived, and the leg grew well and as strong
as ever; but by my nursing it so long it grew tame, and fed upon
the little green at my door, and would not go away. ‘This was
the first time that | entertained a thought of breeding up some
tame creatures, that T might have food when my powder and shot
was all spent.

December 28, 29, 80. Great heats and no breeze, so that there
was no stirring abroad, except in the evening, for food. This time
I spent in putting all my things in order within doors.

January 1. Very hot still, but I went abroad early and late
with my gun, and lay still in the middle of the day. This even-
ing, going further into the valleys which lie towards the centre
of the island, I found there was plenty of goats, though exceed-
ing shy and hard to come at. However, I resolved to try if 1
could not bring my dog to hunt them down.

January 2. Accordingly, the next day I went out with my dog,
and set him upon the goats; but I was mistaken, for they all
faced about upon the dog, and he knew his danger too well, for he
would not come near them.

January 3. I began my fence or wall, which, being still jealous
of my being attacked by somebody, I resolved to make very thick
and strong.

N.B.—This wall being described before, I purposely omit what
was said in the journal. It is sufficient to observe that I was no
less time than from the 8rd of January to the 14th of April work-
ing, finishing, and perfecting this wall, though it was no more than
about twenty-four yards in length, being a half circle from one
place in the rock to another place about eight yards from it, the
door of the cave being in the centre behind it.

All this time I worked very hard, the rains hindering me many
days, nay, sometimes weeks together; but I thought I should never
be perfectly secure till this wall was finished. And it is scarce
credible what inexpressible labour everything was done with,
especially the bringing piles out of the woods and driving them
130 SOME INGENIOUS EXPEDIENTS.

into the ground, for I made them much bigger than I need te
have done.

When this wall was finished, and the outside double fenced with
a turf wall raised up close to it, I persuaded myself that if any
people were to come on shore there, they would not perceive any-
thing like a habitation. And it was very well I did so, as may
be observed hereafter upon a very remarkable occasion.

During this time I made my rounds in the woods for gaine every
day when the rain admitted me, and made frequent discoveries in
these walks of something or other to my advantage. Particularly
I founda kind of wild pigeons, which built not as wood-pigeons, in
a tree, but rather as house-pigeons, in the holes of the rocks; and
taking some young ones, I endeavoured to breed them up tame,
and did so; but when they grew older they flew all away, which
perhaps was at first for want of feeding them, for I had nothing
to give them. However, I frequently found their nests, and got
their young ones, which were very good meat.

And now, in the managing my household affairs, I found myself
wanting in many things, which I thought at first it was impossible
for me to make, as indeed as to some of them it was. For instance,
I could never make a cask to be hooped. I had a small runlet or
two, as I observed before, but I could never arrive to the capacity
of making one by them, though I spent many weeks about it. I
could neither put in the heads, nor joint the staves so true to one
another as to make them hold water. So I gave that also over.

In the next place, I was at a great loss for candle; so that as
soon as ever it was dark, which was generally by seven o'clock, I
was obliged to go to bed. I remembered the lump of bees-wax
with which I made candles in my African adventure, but I had
none of that now. The only remedy I had was, that when I had
killed a goat, I saved the tallow; and with a little dish made of
clay, which I baked in the sun, to which I added a wick of some
oakum, I made me a lamp, and this gave me light, though not a
clear, steady light, like a candle. In the middle of all my labours
it happened that, rummaging my things, I found a little bag,
which, as I hinted before, had been filled with corn for the feeding
of poultry, not for this voyage, but before, as I suppose, when
A SURPRISING SPECTACLE. 13]

the ship came from Lisbon. What little remainder of corn had been
in the bag was all devoured with the rats, and I saw nothing in
the bag but husks and dust; and being willing to have the bag
for some other use (I think it was to put powder in, when I
divided it for fear of the lightning, or some such use), I shook the
husks of corn out of it on one side of my fortification under the
rock,

It was a little before the great rains just now mentioned that |
threw this stuff away, taking no notice of anything, and not so
much as remembering that I had thrown anything there; when.
about a month after, or thereabout, I saw some few stalks of some-
thing green shooting out of the ground,
which I fancied might be some plant










L had not seen; but I was surprised
and perfectly astonished when, after
a little longer time, I saw about ten
or twelve ears come out, which were
perfect green barley, of the same kind
as our European, nay, as our English
barley.

It is impossible
to express the as-
tonishment and
confusion of my
thoughts on this
occasion. I had
hitherto acted up-
on no religious
foundation at all;
indeed, I had very
few notions of re-
ligion in my head,
nor had entertain-
ed any sense of
anything that had
befallen me other-

“7 SAW ABOUT TEN OR TWELVE KAKS CUDLK OUT.” wise than as a
182 THE WORK OF PROVIDENCE.

chance, or, as we lightly say, what pleases God; without so much
as Inquiring into the end of Providence in these things, or his
order in governing events in the world. But after I saw barley
grow there, in a climate which I knew was not proper for corn,
and especially that I knew not how it came there, it startled me
strangely, and IT began to suggest that God had miraculously
caused this grain to grow without any help of seed sown, and that
it was so directed purely for my sustenance on that wild miserable
place.

This touched my heart a little, and brought tears out of my
eyes; and ' began to bless myself that such a prodigy of nature
should happen upon my account, And this was the more strange
to me, because T saw near it still all along by the side of the rock
some other straggling stalks, which proved to be stalks of rice,
and which I knew because I had seen it grow in Africa, when J
was ashore there.

I not only thought these the pure productions of Providence for
my support, but not doubting but that there was more in the place,
T went all over that part of the island where I had been before,
peering in every corner and under every rock, to see for more of it;
but I could not find any. At last it occurred to my thoughts that
Thad shaken a bag of chickens’ meat out in that place, and then
the wonder began to cease; and I must confess my religious thank-
fulness to God’s providence began to abate too upon the discovering
that all this was nothing but what was common; though I ought
to have been as thankful for so strange and unforeseen providence
as if it had been miraculous: for it was really the work of Pro-
vidence as to me, that should order or appoint that ten or twelve
grains of corn should remain unspoiled (when the rats had destroyed
all the rest), as if it had been dropped from heaven; as also that I
should throw it out in that particular place, where, it being in the
shade of a high rock, it sprang up immediately; whereas, if I had
thrown it anywhere else at that time, it had been burned up and
destroyed.

T carefully saved the ears of this corn, you may be sure, in their
season, which was about the end of June; and laying up every
corn, I resolved to sow them all again, hoping in time to have
A SHOCK OF EARTHQUAKE, 138

some quantity sufficient to supply me with bread. But it was not
till the fourth year that I could allow myself the least grain of this
corn to eat, and even then but sparingly, as I shall say afterwards in
its order; for I lost all that I sowed the first season by not observ-
ing the proper time; for I sowed it just before the dry season, so
that it never came up at all, at least not as it would have done—
of which in its place.

Besides this barley there was, as above, twenty or thirty stalks
of rice, whieh [ preserved with the same care, and whose use was
of the same kind or to the same purpose



namely, to make me
bread, or rather food; for [ found ways to cook it up without bak-
ing, though I did that also after some time. But to return to my
journal.

I worked excessive hard these three or four months to get my
wall done ; and the 14th of April I closed it up, contriving to go
into it, not by a door, but over the wall by a ladder, that there
might be no sign in the outside of my habitation.

April 16. T finished the ladder; so I went up with the ladder
to the top, and then pulled it up after me, and let it down on the
inside. This was a complete enclosure to me—for within I had
room enough, and nothing could come at me from without, unless
it could first mount my wall.

The very next day after this wall was finished, I had almost all
my labour overthrown at once, and myself killed. The case was
thus: As I was busy in the inside of it, behind my tent, just in the
entrance into my cave, I was terribly frightened with a most dreadful
surprising thing indeed; for all on a sudden I found the earth come
crumbling down from the roof of my cave and from the edge of the
hill over my head, and two of the posts I had set up in the cave
cracked in a frightful manner. I was heartily scared, but thought
nothing of what was really the cause—only thinking that the top
of my cave was falling in, as some of it had done before ; and for
fear [ should be buried in it, I ran forward to my ladder, and not
thinking myself safe there neither, I got over my wall for fear of
the pieces of the hill which I expected might roll down upon me.
I was no sooner stepped down upon the firm ground, but I plainly
saw it was a terrible carthquake, for the ground I stood on shook
134 TRANSITORY IMPRESSIONS.

three times at about eight minutes’ distance with three such shocks
as would have overturned the strongest building that could be
supposed to have stood on the earth; and a great piece of the top
of a rock, which stood about half a mile from me next the sea, fell
down with such a terrible noise as I never heard in all my life. I
perceived also the very sea was put into violent motion by it, and
I believe the shocks were stronger under the water than on the
island.

Twas so amazed with the thing itself



having never felt the like
or discoursed with any one that had—that I was like one dead or
stupified ; and the motion of the earth made my stomach sick, like
one that was tossed at sea. But the noise of the falling of the rock
awaked ine, as it were, and rousing ime from the stupified condition
I was in, filled me with horror, and I thought of nothing then but
the hill falling upon my tent and all my household goods, and bury-
ing all at once; and this sank my very soul within me a second
time.

After the third shock was over, and T felt no more for some
tune, I began to take courage; and yet I had not heart enough
to go over my wall again, for fear of being buried alive, but sat
still upon the ground, greatly cast down and disconsolate, not know-
ing what to do. All this while I had not the least serious religious
thought, nothing but the common “ Lord, have mercy upon ine;”
and when it was over, that went away too.

While I sat thus, I found the air overcast and grow cloudy, as if
it would rain. Soon after that the wind rose by little and little,
so that in less than half an hour it blewa most dreadful hurricane.
The sea was all on a sudden covered over with foam and froth, the
shore was covered with the breach of the water, the trees were
torn up by the roots, and a terrible storm it was; and this held
about three hours and then began to abate, and in two hours more
it was stark calm and began to rain very hard. F

All this while I sat upon the ground very much terrified and
dejected, when on a sudden it came into my thoughts that these
winds and rain being the consequences of the earthquake, the earth-
quake itself was spent and over, and I might venture into my cave
again. With this thought my spirits began to revive, and the
EVERY DAY BRINGS ITS TASK. 136

rain also helping to persuade me, I went in and sat down in my
tent—but the rain was so violent that my tent was ready to be
beaten down with it, and I was forced to go into my cave, though
very much afraid and uneasy for fear it should fall on my head.

This violent rain forced me to a new work—namely, to cut a
hole through my new fortification like a sink to let the water go
out, which would else have drowned my cave. After I had been
in my cave some time and found still no more shocks of the earth-
quake follow, I began to be more composed; and now to support
my spirits—which indeed wanted it very much—I went to my
little store and took a small sup of rum, which however I did then
and always very sparingly, knowing I could have no more when
that was gone.

It continued raining all that night and great part of the next
day, so that I could not stir abroad; but my mind being more
composed, I began to think of what I had best do, concluding that
if the island was subject to these earthquakes there would be no
living for me in a cave, but I must consider of building me some
little hut in an open place which I might surround with a wall as
I had done here, and so make myself secure from wild beasts or
men; but concluded, if I stayed where I was, I should certainly,
one time or other, be buried alive.

With these thoughts I resolved to remove my tent from the
place where it stood, which was just under the hanging precipice
of the hill, and which, if it should be shaken again, would certainly
fall upon my tent. And I spent the two next days, being the
19th and 20th of April, in contriving where and how to remove
my habitation,

The fear of being swallowed up alive made me that I never slept
in quiet, and yet the apprehension of lying abroad without any
fence was almost equal to it; but still when I looked about and
saw how everything was put in order, how pleasantly concealed I
was, and how safe from danger, it made me very loath to remove.

In the meantime it occurred to me that it would require a vast
deal of time for me to do this, and that I must be contented to
run the venture where I was, till I had formed a camp for myself,
and had secured it so as to remove to it. So with this resolution
136 A SHIFT FOR A GRINDSTONE,

I composed myself for a time, and resolved that I would go to
work with all speed to build me a wall with piles and cables, &e..
ina circle as before, and set my tent up in it when it was finished,
but that I would venture to stay where [ was till it was finished
and fit to remove to. This was the 21st.

April 22. The next morning [ began to consider of means. to
put this resolve in execution, but T was at a great loss about my
tools. Thad three large axes and abundance of hatchets (for we
carried the hatchets for traffic with the Indians), but with much
chopping and cutting knotty hard wood they were all full. of
notches and dull; and though [ had a grindstone, [ could not turn
it and grind my tools too. ‘This cost me as much thought as a
statesman would have bestowed upon a grand point of polities, or
a judge upon the life and death of aman. At length I contrived
a wheel with a string to turn it with my foot, that [ might have
both my hands at liberty —ote. I had never seen any such thing
in Hngland, or at least not to take notice how it was done, though
since T have observed it is very common there; besides that, my
grindstone was very large and heavy. This machine cost me a
full week’s work to bring it to perfection.

Apri 28, 29, These two whole days I took up in grinding my
tools, my machine for turning my grindstone performing very
well.

atpril 30. Having perceived my bread had been low a great
while, now I took a survey of it, and reduced myself to one biseuit-
cake a day, which made my heart very heavy.

May 1. In the morning, looking towards the sea-side, the tide
being low, T saw something lie on the shore bigger than ordinary,
and it looked like a cask. When I came to it, I found a small
barrel and two or three pieces of the wreck of the ship, which were
driven on shore by the late hurricane; and looking towards the
wreck itself, I thought it seemed to lie higher out of the water than
it used to do. I examined the barrel which was driven on shore,
and soon found it was a barrel of gunpowder; but it had taken
water, and the powder was caked as hard as a stone. However, I
rolled it further on shore for the present, and went on upon the
sands as near as [ could to the wreck of the ship to look for more.
THE WRECK ASHORE. 187

When I came down to the ship I found it strangely removed
The forecastle, which Jay before buried in sand, was heaved up
at least six feet; and the stern, which was broken to pieces and
parted from the rest by the force of the sea soon after I had left
rummaging her, was tossed, as it were, up and cast on one side; and
the sand was thrown so high on that side next her stern, that
whereas there was a great place of water before, so that I could not
come within a quarter of a mile of the wreck without swimming,
I could now walk quite up to her when the tide was out. I was
surprised with this at first, but soon concluded it must be done
by the earthquake. And as by this violence the ship was more
broken open than formerly, so many things came daily on shore
which the sea had loosened, and which the winds and water rolled
by degrees to the land.

This wholly diverted my thoughts from the design of removing
my habitation; and I busied myself mightily, that day especially, in
searching whether I could make any way into the ship; but I found
nothing was to be expected of that kind, for that all the inside of
the ship was choked up with sand. However, as T had learned not
to despair of anything, I resolved to pull everything to pieces that
[ could of the ship, concluding that everything I could get from
her would be of some use or other to me.

May 3. T began with my saw, and cut a piece of a beam through,
which I thought held some of the upper part or quarter-deck
together; and when I had cut it through, I cleared away the sand
as well as I could from the side which lay highest; but the tide
coming in, I was obliged to give over for that time.

May 4. I went a-fishing, but caught not one fish that I durst
eat of, till I was weary of my sport; when just going to leave off,
I caught a young dolphin. I had made me a long line of some
rope yarn, but T had no hooks, yet I frequently caught fish enough,
as much as I cared to eat; all which I dried in the sun, and ate
them dry.

May 5, Worked on the wreck, cut another beam asunder, and
brought three great fir planks off from the decks, which I tied
together, and made swim on shore when the tide of flood came on.

May 6. Worked on the wreck, got several iron bolts out of her,
1388 GATHERING THE SPOIL,

and other pieces of iron-work, worked very hard, and came home
very much tired, and had thoughts of giving it over.

May 7. Went to the wreck again, but with an intent not to
work; but found the weight of the wreck had broken itself down,
the beams being cut, that several pieces of the ship seemed to lie
loose, and the inside of the hold lay so open that I could see into
it, but almost full of water and sand.

May 8. Went to the wreck, and carried an iron crow to wrench
up the deck, which lay now quite clear of the water or sand. TI
wrenched open two planks, and brought them on shore also with
the tide. I left the iron crow in the wreck for next day.

Jay 9. Went to the wreck, and with the crow made way into
the body of the wreck, and felt several casks, and loosened them
with the crow, but could not break them up. I felt also the roll
of English lead, and could stir it, but it was too heavy to remove.

May 10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Went every day to the wreck, and got
a great deal of pieces of timber and boards, or planks, and two or
three hundredweight of iron. j

May 15. I carried two hatchets to try if I could not cut a piece
off of the roll of lead, by placing the edge of one hatchet and
driving it with the other; but as it lay about a foot and a half in
the water, I could not make any blow to drive the hatchet.

May 16. It had blowed hard in the night, and the wreck ap-
peared more broken by the force of the water; but I stayed so long
in the woods to get pigeons for food, that the tide prevented me
going to the wreck that day.

May 17. I saw some pieces of the wreck blown on shore, at a
great distance, near two miles off me, but resolved to see what they
were, and found it was a piece of the head, but too heavy for me
to bring away.

May 24. Every day to this day I worked on the wreck, and
with hard labour I loosened some things so much with the crow,
that the first blowing tide several casks floated out, and two of the
seamen’s chests; but the wind blowing from the shore, nothing
came to land that day but pieces of timber, and a hogshead which
had some Brazil pork in it, but the salt water and the sand had
spoiled it.
AN ATTACK OF AGUE. 138

Icontinued this work every day to the 15th of June, except the
time necessary to get food, which I always appointed, during this
part of my employment, to be when the tide was up, that I might be
ready when it was ebbed out; and by this time I had gotten timber
and plank and iron-work enough to have builded a good boat, if
I had known how; and also, I got at several times and in several
pieces, near one hundredweight of the sheet lead.

June 16. Going down to the seaside, I found a large tortoise
or turtle. This was the first I had seen; which, it seems, was only
my misfortune, not any defect of the place or scarcity: for had
[ happened to be on the other side of the island, I might have
had hundreds of them every day, as I found afterwards; but, per-
haps, had paid dear enough for them.

June 17. I spent in cooking the turtle. I found in her three-
score eggs; and her flesh was to me at that time the most savoury
and pleasant that ever I tasted in my life, having had no flesh, but
of goats and fowls, since I landed in this horrid place.

June 18. Rained all day, and I stayed within. I thought at
this time the rain felt cold, and I was something chilly, which ]
knew was not usual in that latitude,

June 19. Very ill, and shivering, as if the weather had been
cold.

June 20. No rest all night, violent pains in my head, and
feverish.

June 21. Very ill. Frightened almost to death with the appre-
hensions of my sad condition—to be sick and no help. Prayed to
God for the first time since the storm off of Hull ; but scarce knew
what I said, or why, my thoughts being all confused.

June 22. A little better, but under dreadful apprehensions of
sickness.

June 23. Very bad again, cold and shivering, and then a violent
headache.

June 24. Much better.

June 25, An ague, very violent. The fit held me seven hours,
cold fit and hot, with faint sweats after it.

June 26. Better; and having no victuals to eat, took my gun.
but found myself very weak. However, I killed a she-goat, and
Clie

140 A TERRIBLE DREAM.

with much difficulty got it home, and broiled some of it, and ate
Iwould fain have stewed it, and made some broth, but had no pot.

June 27. The ague again, so violent that I lay a-bed all day,
and neither ate nor drank. I was ready to perish for thirst, but so
weak, Thad not strength to stand up or to get myself any water
to drink. Prayed to God again; but was Jight-headed, and when
I was not, I was so ignorant that I knew not what to say; only I
lay and cried, ** Tord, Jook upon me; Lord, pity me; Lord, have
mercy upon me!” I suppose I did nothing else for two or three
hours, till the fit wearing off I fell asleep, and did not wake till far
in the night. When I waked I found myself much refreshed,
but weak and exceeding thirsty. However, as I had no water
in my whole habitation, 1 was forced to lie till morning, and
went to sleep again. In this second sleep I had this terrible
dream :—

I thought that I was sitting on the ground on the outside of my
wall, where I sat when the storm blew after the earthquake, and
that I saw a man descend from a great black cloud, in a bright
flame of fire, and light upon the ground. He wasall over as bright
as a flame, so that I could but just bear to look towards him. His
countenance was most inexpressibly dreadful, impossible for words
to describe. When he stepped upon the ground with his feet, I
thought the earth trembled, just as it had done before in the earth-
quake; and all the air looked, to my apprehension, as if it had been
filled with flashes of fire.

He was no sooner landed upon the earth but he moved forward
towards me, with a long spear or weapon in his hand, to kill me.
And when he came to a rising ground at some distance, he spoke
to me, or I heard a voice so terrible, that it is impossible to express
the terror of it. All that I can say I understood was this, ‘‘ Seeing
all these things have not brought thee to repentance, now thou
shalt die.” At which words, I thought he lifted up the spear that
was in his hand to kui] ume.

No one that shall ever read this account will expect that I should
be able to describe the horrors of my soul at this terrible vision. I
mean, that even while it was a dream, I even dreamed of those
horrors. Nor is it any more possible to describe the impression
LIVING WITHOUT GOD. 14]

that remained upon my mind, when J awaked and found it was but
a dream.

Thad, alas! no divine knowledge. What I had received by the
good instruction of my father was then worn out by an uninter-
rupted series, for eight years, of sea-faring wickedness, and a con-
stant conversation with nothing but such as were like myself,
wicked and profane to the last degree. I do not remember that
Thad in all that time one thought that so much as tended either
to looking upwards toward God, or inwards towards a reflection
upon my own ways. But a certain stupidity of soul, without
aesire of good or conscience of evil, had entirely overwhelmed me,
and I was all that the most hardened, unthinking, wicked creature
aniong our common sailors can be supposed to be, not having the
least sense, either of the fear of God in danger, or of thankfulness
to God in deliverance.

In the relating what is already past of my story, this will be the
more easily believed, when I shall add, that through all the variety
of miseries that had to this day befallen me, I never had so much
as one thought of it being the hand of God, or that it was a just
punishment for my sin, my rebellious behaviour against my father,
or my present sins, which were great; or so much as a punish-
ment for the general course of my wicked life. When I was on
the desperate expedition on the desert shores of Africa, I never had
so much as one thought of what would become of me; or one
wish to God to direct me whither I should go, or to keep me from
the danger which apparently surrounded me, as well from vora-
cious creatures as cruel savages. But I was merely thoughtless of
a God, or a Providence; acted like a mere brute from the prin-
ciples of nature, and by the dictates of common sense only, and
indeed hardly that.

When I was delivered and taken up at sea by the Portuguese
captain, well used, and dealt justly and honourably with, as well as
charitably, I had not the least thankfulness on my thoughts.
When again I was shipwrecked, ruined, and in danger of drowning
on this island, 1 was as far from remorse, or looking on it as a
judgment ; I only said to myself often that 1 was an unfortunate
dog, and born to be always miserable.
142 THE STIRRINGS OF CONSCIENCE,

Tt is true, when | got onshore first here, and found all my ship’s
crew drowned, and myself spared, I was surprised with a kind of
ecstasy and some transports of soul, which, had the grace of God
assisted, might have come up to true thankfulness. But it ended
where it began, in a mere common flight of joy, or, as I may say,
being glad Iwas alive, without the least reflection upon the distin-
guishing goodness of the hand which had preserved me, and had
singled me out to be preserved, when all the rest were destroyed ;
or an inquiry why Providence had been thus merciful to me—even
just the same common sort of joy which seamen generally have
after they have got safe ashore from a shipwreck, which they drown
all in the next bowl of punch, and forget almost as soon as it is
over, and all the rest of my life was like it.

Even when I was atterwards, on due consideration, made sen-
sible of my condition, how I was cast on this dreadful place, out
of the reach of human kind, out of all hope of relief or prospect of
redemption, as soon as I saw but a prospect of living, and that I
should not starve and perish for hunger, all the sense of my afflic-
tion wore off, and I began to be very easy, applied myself to the
works proper for my preservation and supply, and was far enough
from being afflicted at my condition, as a judgment from heaven,
or as the hand of God against me. These were thoughts which
very seldom entered into my head.

The growing up of the corn, as is hinted in my journal, had at
first some little influence upon me, and began to affect me with
seriousness, as long as I thought it had something miraculous
in it; but as soon as ever that part of the thought was removed,
all the impression which was raised from it wore off also, as I have
noted already,

Even the earthquake, though nothing could be more terrible in
its nature, or more immediately directing to the Invisible Power
which alone directs such things, yet no sooner was the first fright
over, but the impression it had made went off also. I had no
more sense of God or his judgments, much less of the present
affliction of my circumstances being from his hand, than if I had
been in the most prosperous condition of life.

Bat now when T hegan to he sick, and a leisurely view of the
CRUSOE’S REPENTANCE, 148

miseries of death came to place itself before me; when my spirits
began to sink under the burden of a strong distemper, and nature
was exhausted with the violence of the fever; conscience, that had
slept so long, began to awake, and I began to reproach myself
with my past life, in which I had so evidently, by uncommon
wickedness, provoked the justice of God to lay me under uncom-
mon strokes, and to deal with me in so vindictive a manner.

These reflections oppressed me for the second or third day of my
distemper, and in the violence, as well of the fever as of the dread-
ful reproaches of my conscience, extorted some words from me like
praying to God, though I cannot say they were either a prayer
attended with desires or with hopes; it was rather the voice of
mere fright and distress. My thoughts were confused, the convic-
tions great upon my mind, and the horror of dying in such a
miserable condition raised vapours into my head with the mere
apprehensions; and in these hurries of my soul I know not what
my tongue might express. But it was rather exclamation, such
as, “‘ Lord, what a miserable creature am I! If I should be sick, I
shall certainly die for want of help, and what will become of me?”
Then the tears burst out of my eyes, and I could say no more for a
good while.

In this interval, the good advice of my father came to my mind
and presently his prediction, which I mentioned at the beginning
of this story, namely, that if I did take this foolish step, God would
not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon
having neglected his counsel, when there might be none to assist
in my recovery. ‘“ Now,” said I aloud, “ my dear father’s words are
come to pass: God’s justice has overtaken me, and I have none to
help or hear me. I rejected the voice of Providence, wnich had
mercifully put me in a posture or station of life wherein I might
have been happy and easy ; but I would neither see it myself nor
learn to know the blessing of it from my parents. I left them to
mourn over my folly, and now I am left to mourn under the con-
sequences of it. I refused their help and assistance who would
have titted me into the world, and would have made everything
easy to me; and now I have difficulties to struggle with, too great
for even nature itself to support, and no assistance, no help, nc

(284 10
144 THOUGHTS UPON GOD.

comfort, no advice.” Then I cried out, “ Lord, be my help; for I
am in great distress.”

This was the first prayer, if I may call it so, that [had made for
many years. But I return to my journal.

June 28. Having been somewhat refreshed with the sleep I had
had, and the fit being entirely off, I got up; and though the
fright and terror of my dream was very great, yet I considered that
the fit of the ague would return again the next day, and now was
my time to get something to refresh and support myself when I
should be ill. And the first thing I did, I filled a large square
case-bottle with water, and set it upon my table, in reach of my
bed; and to take off the chill or aguish disposition of the water, I
put about a quarter of a pint of rum into it and mixed them toge-
ther. Then I got me a piece of the goat’s flesh and broiled it on
the coals, but could eat very little. I walked about, but was very
weak, and withal very sad and heavy-hearted in the sense of my
miserable condition, dreading the return of my distemper the next
day. At night I made my supper of three of the turtle’s eggs,
which I roasted in the ashes, and ate, as we call it, in the shell ;
and this was the first bit of meat I had ever asked God’s blessing
to, even as I could remember, in my whole life.

After I had eaten I tried to walk, but found myself so weak
that I could hardly carry the gun (for I never went out without
that); so I went but a little way, and sat down upon the ground,
looking out upon the sea, which was just before me, and very calm
and smooth. As I sat here, some such thoughts as these occurred
to me :—

What is this earth and sea of which I have seen so much, whence
is it produced; and what am J and all the other creatures, wild
and tame, human and brutal, whence are we?

Sure we are all made by some secret Power, who formed the
earth and sea, the air and sky; and who is that?

Then it followed most naturally, It is God that has made it all.
Well, but then it came on strangely, if God has made all these
things, he guides and governs them all, and all things that concern
them ; for the Power that could make all things must certainly
have power to guide and direct them.

‘

+
QUESTIONING ONE'S OWN HEART. 145

Tf so, nothing can happen in the great circuit of his works, either
without his knowledge or appointment.

And if nothing happens without his knowledge, he knows that
I am here, and am in this dreadful condition; and if nothing
happens without his appointment, he has appointed all this to
befall me.

Nothing occurred to my thoughts to contradict any of these con-
clusions; and therefore it rested upon me with the greater force,
that it must needs be that God had appointed all this to befall me;
that I was brought to this miserable circumstance by his direction,
he having the sole power, not of me only, but of everything that
happened in the world. Jhamediately it followed,—

Why has God done this to me? What have [ done to be thus
used ?

My conscience presently checked me in that inquiry, as if I had
blasphemed, and methought it spoke to me like a voice: Wretch !
dost thou ask what thou hast done? Look back upon a dreadful
mis-spent life, and ask thyself what thou hast not done! Ask,
Why is it that thou wert not long ago destroyed? Why wert
thou not drowned in Yarmouth Roads? killed in the fight when
the ship was taken by the Sallee man-of-war? devoured by the
wild beasts on the coast of Africa? or, drowned here, when all the
crew perished but thyself? Dost thou ask, What have I done?

I was struck dumb with these reflections, as one astonished, and
had not a word to say—no, not to answer to myself; but rose up
pensive and sad, walked back to my retreat, and went up over my
wall, as if I had been going to bed; but my thoughts were sadly
disturbed, and I had no inclination to sleep; so I sat down in my
chair, and lighted my lamp, for it began to be dark. Now as the
apprehension of the return of my distemper terrified me very much,
it occurred to my thought that the Brazilians take no physic but
their tobacco for almost all distempers; and I had a piece of a roll
of tobacco in one of the chests, which was quite cured, and some
also that was green and not quite cured.

J went, directed by Heaven no doubt; for in this chest I found
a cure both for soul and body. I opened the chest and found
what I looked for, namely, the tobacco; and as the few books I had
146 BETTER IN MIND AND BODY.

saved lay there too, I took out one of the Bibles which I men
tioned before, and which to this time I had not found leisure, 01
so much as inclination to look into—I say, I took it out, and
brought both that and the tobacco with me to the table.

What use to make of the tobacco I knew not, as to my distem-
per, or whether it was good for it or no; but I tried several
experiments with it, as if I was resolved it should hit one way or
other. I first took a picce of a leaf and chewed it in my mouth,
which indeed at first almost stupified my brain, the tobacco being
green and strong and that I had not been much used to it; then
I took some and steeped it an hour or two in some rum, and
resolved to take a dose of it when I lay down; and lastly, I burned
some upon a pan of coals, and held my nose close over the smoke
of it as long as I could bear it, as well for the heat as almost for
suffocation.

Jn the interval of this operation, I took up the Bible and began
to read; but my head was too much disturbed with the tobacco to
bear reading, at least that time. Only, having opened the book
casually, the first words that occurred to me were these, ‘“ Call
upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt
glorify me.”

The words were very apt to my case, and made some impres-
sion upon my thoughts at the time of reading them, though not
so much as they did afterwards; for, as for being delivered, the
word had no sound, as I may say, to me; the thing was so remote,
so impossible in my apprehension of things, that I began to say as
the children of Israel did, when they were promised flesh to eat,
‘“Can God spread a table in the wilderness?” so I began to sav,
Can God himself deliver me from this place? and as it was not for
many years that any hope appeared, this prevailed very often upon
my thoughts; but, however, the words made a great impression
upon me, and I mused upon them very often. It grew now late,
and the tobacco had, as I said, dozed my head so much that I in-
clined to sleep; so I left my lamp burning in the cave lest I
should want anything in the night, and went to bed: but, before
I lay down, I did what I never had done in all my life—I kneeled
down and prayed to God to fulfil the promise to me, that if I called
A DAY LOST. 147



CRUSOE ANTICIPATING AN ATTACK FROM THE SAVAGES.
See payee 254.

upon him in the day of trouble, he would deliver me. Alter my
broken and imperfect prayer was over, I drank the rum in which
Thad steeped the tobacco, which was so strong and rank of the
tobacco that indeed I could scarce get it down. Immediately upon
this I went to bed. I found presently it flew up in my head
violently, but I fell into a sound sleep, and waked no more till, by
the sun, it must necessarily be near three o’clock in the afternoon
the next day. Nay, to this hour I am partly of the opinion that I
slept all the next day and night, and till almost three that das
after; for otherwise I knew not how I should lose a day out of my
reckoning in the days of the week, as it appeared some years after
Thad done. For if I had lost it by crossing and recrossing the
line, I should have lost more than one day ; but, certainly, I lost a
day in my account, and never knew which way.

Be that, however, one way or the other, when I awoke I found
myself exceedingly refreshed, and my spirits lively and cheerful ;
when I got up I was stronger than I was the day before, and my
148 MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO.

stomach better, for I was hungry; and, in short, I had no fit the
next day, but continued much altered for the better. This was
the 29th.

The 30th was my well-day, of course, and I went abroad with
my gun, but did not care to travel too far. I killed a sea-fowl or
two, something like a brand-goose, and brought them home, but
was not very forward to eat them; so I ate some more of the
turtle’s eggs, which were very good. This evening T renewed the
medicine which I had supposed did me good the day before—
namely, the tobacco steeped in rum; only I did not take so much
as before, nor did I chew any of the leaf, or hold my head over the
smoke. However, I was not so well the next day, which was the
Ist. of July, as I hoped I should have been; for I had a little
spice of the cold fit, but it was not much.

July 2. [renewed the medicine all the three ways, and dozed
myself with it as at first; and doubled the quantity which I
drank.

July 3. I missed the fit for good and all, though I did not
recover my full strength for some weeks after. While I was thus
gathering strength my thoughts ran exceedingly upon this scrip-
ture, “I will deliver thee;” and the impossibility of my deliver-
ance lay much upon my mind in bar of my ever expecting it. But
as I was discouraging myself with such thoughts it occurred to my
mind that I pored so much upon my deliverance from the main
affliction that I disregarded the deliverance I had received; and I
was, as it were, made to ask myself such questions as these—
namely, Have I not been delivered, and wonderfully too, from
sickness—from the most distressed condition that could be, and
that was so frightful to me? And what notice I had taken of it:
Had I done my part? God had delivered me, but I had not
glorified him; that is to say, I had not owned and been thankful
for that as adeliverance. And how could I expect greater deliver-
ance ?

This touched my heart very much, and immediately I kneeled
down and gave God thanks aloud for my recovery from my sick-
ness.
THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE. 149

July 4. In the morning I took the Bible, and, beginning at the
New Testament, I began seriously to read it, and imposed upon
myself to read a while every morning and every night, not tying
myself to the number of chapters, but as long as my thoughts
should engage me. It was not long after I set seriously to this
work, but I found my heart more deeply and sincerely affected
with the wickedness of my past life. The impression of my dream
revived, and the words, ‘“ All these things have not brought thee
to repentance,” ran seriously in my thought. I was earnestly
begging of God to give me repentance, when it happened provi-
dentially the very day that, reading the Scriptures, I came to these
words, ‘‘ He is exalted a Prince and a Saviour, to give repentance,
and to give remission.” J threw down the book, and with my
heart as well as my hands lifted up to heaven, in a kind of ecstasy
of joy, I cried out aloud, “ Jesus, thou Son of David, Jesus, thou
exalted Prince and Saviour, give me repentance |”

This was the first time that I could say, in the true sense of the
words, that I prayed in all my life; for now I prayed with a sense
of my condition, and with a true Scripture view of hope founded
on the encouragement of the Word of God; and from this time, I
may say, I began to have hope that God would hear me.

Now I began to construe the words mentioned above, “ Call on
ine, and I will deliver thee,” in a different sense from what I had
ever done before; for then I had no notion of anything being
called deliverance but ny being delivered from the captivity I was
in: for though I was indeed at large in the place, yet the island
was certainly a prison to me, and that in the worst sense in the
world; but now I learned to take it in another sense. Now 1
looked back upon my past life with such horror, and my sins ap-
peared so dreadful, that my soul sought nothing of God but
deliverance from the load of guilt that bore down all my comfort.
As for my solitary life, it was nothing; I did not so much as pray
to be delivered from it, or think of it; it was all of no considera-
tion in comparison to this. And I add this part here, to hint to
whoever shall read it, that whenever they come to a true sense
of things, they will find deliverance from sin a much greater
blessing than deliverance from affliction.
150 COMFORT IN THE LORD.





“THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME I PRAYED IN ALL MY LIFE.”

But leaving this part, I return to my journal.

My condition began now to be, though not less miserable as to
my way of living, yet much easier to my mind; and my thoughts
being directed, by a constant reading of the Scriptures and praying
to God, to things of a higher nature, I had a great deal of comfort
within, which till now I knew nothing of. Also, as my health and
strength returned, I bestirsed myself to furnish myself with every-
thing that I wanted, and make my way of living as regular as I could.

From the 4th of July to the 14th I was chiefly employed in
walking about with my gun in my hand, a little and a little at a
A SURVEY OF THE ISLAND. 151

time, as a man that was gathering up his strength after a fit of
sickness ; for it was hardly to be imagined how low I was, and to
what weakness I was reduced. The application which I made use
of was perfectly new, and perhaps what had never cured an ague
before, neither can I recommend it to any one to practise, by this
experiment ; and though it did carry off the fit, yet it rather con-
tributed to weakening me, for I had frequent convulsions in my
nerves and limbs for some time.

I learned from it also this in particular, that being abroad in the
rainy season was the most pernicious thing to my health that could
be, especially in those rains which came attended with storms
and hurricanes of wind; for as the rain which came in the dry
season was always most accompanied with such storms, so I found
that rain was much more dangerous than the rain which fell in
September and October.

T had been now in this unhappy island above ten months; all
possibility of deliverance from this condition seemed to be entirely
taken from me, and I firmly believed that no human shape had ever
set foot upon that place. Having now secured my habitation, as I
thought, fully to my mind, I had a great desire to make a more
perfect discovery of the island, and to see what other productions I
might find which I yet knew nothing of.

It was the 15th of July that I began to take a more particular
survey of the island itself. I went up the creek first, where, as I
hinted, I brought my rafts on shore. I found, after I came about
two miles up, that the tide did not flow any higher, and that it
was no more than a little brook of running water, and very fresh
and good; but this being the dry season, there was hardly any
water in some parts of it, at least not enough to run in any stream,
so as it could be perceived. On the bank of this brook I found
many pleasant savannas, or meadows, plain, smooth, and covered
with grass; and on the rising parts of them, next to the higher
grounds, where the water, as it might be supposed, never over-
flowed, I found a great deal of tobacco, green, and growing to a
great and very strong stalk. There were divers other plants which
I had no notion of, or understanding about, and might perhaps
have virtues of their own, which I could not find out.
162 A SURPRISING DISCOVERY.

1 searched for the cassava root, which the Indians in all that
climate make their bread of; but I could find none. I saw large
plants of aloes, but did not then understand them. I saw several
sugar canes, but wild, and, for want of cultivation, imperfect. |
contented myself with these discoveries for this time, and came
back musing with myself what course I might take to know the
virtue and goodness of any of the fruits or plants which T should
discover, but could bring it to no conclusion; for, in short, T had
made so little observation while I was in the Brazils, that T knew
little of the plants in the field, at least very little that might serve
me to any purpose now in my distress.

The next day, the 16th, I went up the same way again, and
after going something further than I had gone the day before,
I found the brook, and the savannas began to cease, and the country
became more woody than before. In this part I found different
fruits, and, particularly, T found melons upon the ground in great
abundance, and grapes upon the trees; the vines had spread in-
deed over the trees, and the clusters of grapes were just now in
their prime, very ripe and rich. This was a surprising discovery,
and I was exceeding glad of them; but I was warned by my
experience to eat sparingly of them, remembering that, when I
was ashore in Barbary, the eating of grapes killed several of our
Englishmen, who were slaves there, by throwing them into fluxes
and fevers. But I found an excellent use for these grapes, and
that was to cure or dry them in the sun, and keep them as dried
grapes or raisins are kept; which I thought would be, as indeed
they were, as wholesome as agreeable to eat, when no grapes
might be to be had.

I spent all that evening there, and went not back to my habita-
tion, which, by the way, was the first night, as I might say, I had
lain from home. In the night I took my first contrivance, and
got up into a tree, where I slept well; and the next morning pro-
ceeded upon my discovery, travelling nearly four miles, as I might
judge by the length of the valley, keeping still due north, with a
ridge of hills on the south and north side of me.

At the end of this march I came to an opening, where the
country scemed to descend to the west, and a little spring of fresh
THE HAPPY VALLEY. 168

water, which issued out of the side of the hill by me, ran the other
way, that is due east; and the country appeared so fresh, so green,
so flourishing, everything being in a constant verdure, or flourish
of spring, that it looked like a planted garden.

I descended a little on the side of that delicious vale, surveying
it with a secret kind of pleasure (though mixed with my other
afflicting thoughts)—to think that this was all my own, that I was
king and lord of all this country indefeasibly, and had a right of
possession ; and if I could convey it, I might have it in inherit-
ance, as completely as any lord of a manor in England. I saw
here abundance of cocoa trees, orange, and lemon, and citron trees,
but all wild, and very few bearing any fruit, at least not then.
However, the green limes that I gathered were not only pleasant
to eat, but very wholesome; and I mixed their juice afterwards
with water, which made it very wholesome, and very cool, and re-
freshing.

I found now I had business enough to gather and carry home ;
and I resolved to lay up a store, as well of grapes as limes and
lemons, to furnish myself for the wet season, which I knew was
approaching.

In order to this, I gathered a great heap of grapes in one place,
and a lesser heap in another place, and a great parcel of limes and
lemons in another place; and, taking a few of each with me, I
travelled homeward, and resolved to come again, and bring a bag or
sack, or what I could make to carry the rest home.

Accordingly, having spent three days in this journey, I came
home ;—so I must now call my tent and my cave. But, before I
got thither, the grapes were spoiled—the richness of the fruits and
the weight of the juice having broken them, and bruised them,
they were good for little or nothing; as to the limes, they were
good, but I could bring but a few.

The next day, being the 19th, I went back, having made me
two small bags to bring home my harvest. But I was surprised
when, coming to my heap of grapes, which were so rich and fine
when I gathered them, I found them all spread about, trod to
pieces, and dragged about, some here, some there, and abundance
eaten and devoured. By this I concluded there were some wild
164 BUILDING A BOWER.

creatures thereabouts which had done this, but what they were I
knew not.

However, as I found that there was no laying them up on heaps,
and no carrying them away in a sack, but that one way they would
be destroyed, and the other way they would be crushed with their
own weight, I took another course; for I gathered a large quantity
of the grapes, and hung them up upon the out branches of the
trees, that they might cure and dry in the sun; and as for the
limes and lemons, I carried as many back as I could well stand
under.

When I came home from this journey I contemplated with great
pleasure the fruitfulness of that valley and the pleasantness of the
situation, the security from storms on that side the water, and the
wood, and concluded that I had pitehed upon a place to fix my
abode which was by far the worst part of the country. Upon the
whole I began to consider of removing my habitation, and to look
out for a place equally safe as where I now was situate, if possible,
in that pleasant fruitful part of the island.

This thought ran long in my head, and I was exceeding fond
of it for some time, the pleasantness of the place tempting me;
but when I came to a nearer view of it, and to consider that I was
now by the sea-side, where it was at least possible that something
might happen to my advantage, and by the same ill fate that
brought me hither might bring some other unhappy wretches to
the same place; and though it was scarce probable that any such
thing should ever happen, yet to enclose myself among the hills
and woods, in the centre of the island, was to anticipate my bond-
age, and to render such an affair not only improbable but impos-
sible; and that, therefore, I ought not by any means to remove.

However, I was so enamoured of this place, that I spent much
of my time there for the whole remaining part of the month of
July; and though, upon second thoughts, I resolved as above, not
to remove, yet I built me a little kind of a bower, and surrounded
it at a distance with a strong fence, being a double hedge, as high as
T could reach, well staked, and filled between with brushwood; and
here I lay very secure, sometimes two or three nights together,
always going over it with a ladder as before; so that I fancied
GATHERING THE VINTAGE. 155

now I had my country house and my sea-coast house. And this
work took me up to the beginning of August.

IT had but newly finished my fence and begun to enjoy my
labour, when the rains came on, and made me stick close to my
first habitation. For though I had made me a tent like the other,
with a piece of a sail, and spread it very well, yet I had not the
shelter of a hill to keep me from storms, nor a cave behind me to
retreat into when the rains were extraordinary.

About the beginning of August, as I said, I had finished my
bower and begun to enjoy myself. The 8rd of August I found
the grapes I had hung up were perfectly dried, and, indeed, were
excellent good raisins of the sun; so I began to take them down
from the trees, and it was very happy that I did so, for the rains
which followed would have spoiled them, and I had lost the best
part of my winter food, for I had above two hundred large bunches
of them. No sooner had I taken them all down, and carried most
of them home to my cave but it began to rain, and from hence,
which was the 14th of August, it rained more or less every day
till the middle of October; and sometimes £0 violently that I could
not stir out of my cave for several days,

In this season I was much surprised with the increase of my
family. I had been concerned for the loss of one of my cats,
which ran away from me, or as I thought had been dead, and I
heard no more tale or tidings of her till, to my astonishment, she
came home about the end of August with three kittens! This
was the more strange to me because, though I had killed a wild
cat, as I called it, with my gun, yet I thought it was a quite
different kind from our European cats; yet the young cats were
the same kind of house breed like the old one; and both my cats
being females, I thought it very strange. But from these three
cats I afterwards came to be so pestered with cats that I was
forced to kill them like vermin or wild beasts, and to drive them
from my house as much as possible.

From the 14th of August to the 26th incessant rain, so that I]
could not stir, and was now very careful not to be much wet. In
this confinement I began to be straitened for food, but venturing
out twice, I one day killed a goat, and the last day, which was the
156 A MOURNFUL ANNIVERSARY.

26th, found a very large tortoise, which was a treat to me; and
my food was regulated thus:—I ate a bunch of raisins for my
breakfast, a piece of the goat’s flesh or of the turtle for my dinner
broiled—for to my great misfortune I had no vessel to boil or
stew anything —and two or three of the turtle’s eggs for my supper.

During this confinement in my cover by the rain I worked daily
two or three hours at enlarging my eave, and by degrees worked
it on towards one side till [ came to the outside of the hill, and
made a door or way out, which came beyond my fence or wall, and
so I came in and out this way. But I was not perfectly easy at
lying so open; for as I had managed myself before, 1 was in a
perfect enclosure, whereas now I thought I lay exposed and open
for anything to come in upon me. And yet I could not perceive
that there was any living thing to fear, the biggest creature that
I had yet seen upon the island being a goat.

September the 30th. I was now come to the unhappy anni-
versary of my landing. I cast up the notches on my post, and
found I had been on shore 865 days. I kept this day as a solemn
fast, setting it apart to religious exercise, prostrating myself on
the ground with the most serious humiliation, confessing my sins
to God, acknowledging his righteous judgments upon me, and
praying to him to have mercy on me through Jesus Christ. And
having not tasted the least refreshment for twelve hours, even till
the going down of the sun, I then ate a biscuit cake and a bunch
of grapes, and went to bed, finishing the day as I began it.

Thad all this time observed no Sabbath-day; forvas at first T
had no sense of religion upon my mind, I had after sometime
omitted to distinguish the weeks by making a longer notch than
ordinary for the Sabbath-day, and so did not really know what any
of the days were. But now having cast up the days as above, |
found I had been there a year, so | divided it into weeks, and set
apart every seventh day for a Sabbath; though T found at the end
of my account I had lost a day or two in my reckoning.

A little after this my ink began to fail me, and so I contented
myself to use it more sparingly, and to write down only the most
remarkable events of my life, without continuing a daily memo-
randum of other things.
SEED FALLEN ON DRY GROUND. 167

The rainy season and the dry season began now to appear regu-
lar to me; and I learned to divide them, so as to provide for them
accordingly. But 1 bought all my experience before I had it;
and this I am going to relate was one of the most discouraging
experiments that I made at all. I have mentioned that I had
saved the few ears of barley and rice which I had so surprisingly
found springing up, as I thought of themselves, and believe there
were about thirty stalks of rice, and about twenty of barley. And
now I thought it a proper time to sow it after the rains, the sun
being in its southern position going from me.

Accordingly I dug up a piece of ground as well as 1 could with
my wooden spade, and dividing it into two parts, I sowed my
grain; but as I was sowing it casually occurred to my thoughts
that I would not sow it all at first, because I did not know when
was the proper time for it, so I sowed about two-thirds of the
seed, leaving about a handful of each.

It was a great comfort to me afterwards that I did so, for not
one grain of that I sowed this time came to anything; for the dry
months following, the earth having had no rain after the seed was
sown, it had no moisture to assist its growth, and never came up
at all till the wet season had come again, and then it grew as if
it had been but newly sown.

Finding my first seed did not grow, which I easily imagined
was by the drought, I sought for a moister piece of ground to
make another trial in; and I dug upa piece of ground near my new
bower, and sowed the rest of my seed in February, a little before
the vernal equinox; and this having the rainy months of March
and April to water it, sprung up very pleasantly, and yielded a
very good crop. But having part of the seed left only, and not
daring to sow all that I had, I had but a small quantity at last,
my whole crop not amounting to above half a peck of each kind.

But by this experiment I was made master of my business, and
knew exactly when the proper season was to sow; and that I
might expect two seed-times and two harvests every year.

While this corn was growing I made a little discovery, which
was of use to me afterwards. As soon as the rains were over and
the weather began to settle which was about the month of No-
168 A RAPID GROWTH.



‘1 DUG UP A PIECE OF GROUND AS WELL AS I COULD "

vember, I made a visit up the country to my bower, where, though
T had not been some months, yet I found all things just as I left
them. The circle, or double hedge, that I had made was not only
firm and entire, but the stakes, which I had cut out of some trees
that grew thereabouts, were all shot out and grown with long
branches, as much as a willow-tree usually shoots the first year
after lopping its head. I could not tell what tree to call it that
these stakes were cut from. I was surprised and yet very well
WET AND DRY SEASONS. 159

pleased to see the young frees grow; and [ pruned them, and led
them up to grow as much alike as T could; and it is scarce credible
how beautiful a figure they grew into in three years. So that,
though the hedge made a circle of about twenty-five yards in
diameter, yet the trees (such T might now call them) soon covered
it: and it was a complete shade, sufficient to lodge under all the
dry season.

This made me resolve to cut some more stakes, and make me a
hedge like this in a semicircle round my wall—I mean that of my
first dwelling-—which I did: and placing the trees or stakes im a
double row, at about cight yards distance from my first fence, they
grew presently, and were at first a fine cover to my habitation,
and afterwards served as a defence also, as T shall observe in its order.

T found now that the seasons of the year might generally be
divided, not into summer and winter, as in Europe, but into the

rainy seasons and the dry seasons, which were generally thus :-—

Half February.
March. { Rainy—the sun being then on or near the Equinox
Half April,
Half April,
May,
June, | Dry—the sun being then fo the north of the Line
July,
Half August, J
Half August, >
September, | Rainy—the sun being then come back.
Half October,
Half October,

November,
December, | Dry—the sun being then to the south of the Line
January,



Half February,

The rainy season sometimes held longer or shorter, as the
winds happened to blow, but this was the general observation I
made. After [ had found, by experience, the ill consequence of
being abroad in the rain, I took care to furnish myself with pro-
visions beforehand, that I might not be obliged to go out; and I
sat within doors as much as possible during the wet months.

(284) 11
160 CRUSOE A BASKET-MAKEBR,

Tn this time I found much employment (and very suitable alse
to the time), for I found great occasion of many things which I
had no way to furnish myself with but by hard labour and con-
stant application; particularly I tried many ways to make myself
a basket, but all the twigs IT could get for the purpose proved se
brittle that they would do nothing. It proved of excellent advan-
tage to me now, that when LT was a boy [ used to take great
delight in standing at a basket-maker’s in the town where my
father lived to see them make their wieker-ware; and being, as
boys usually are, very officious to help, and a great observer of the
manner how they worked those things, and sometimes lending a
hand, T had by this means full knowledge of the methods of it.
that T wanted nothing but the materials, when it came into my
mind that the twigs of that tree from whence I cut my stakes that
grew might possibly be as tough as the sallows, and willows, and
osiers in England, and I resolved to try.

Accordingly the next day I went to my country-house, as T
called it, and cutting some of the smaller twigs, [ found them to
my purpose as much as [ could desire; whereupon I came the
next time prepared with a hatchet to eut down a quantity, which
L soon found, for there was great plenty of them. These I set up
to dry within my cirele or hedge, and when they were fit for use
T carried them to my cave, and here during the next season T em-
ployed myself in making, as well as T could, a great many baskets.
both to carry earth, or to carry or lay up anything as I had occa-
sion; and though I did not finish them very handsomely, vet |
made them sufficiently serviceable for my purpose ; and thus after-
wards I took care never to be without them, And as my wicker-
ware decayed I made more; especially I made strong deep baskets
to place my corn in instead of sacks, when I should come to have
any quantity of it.

Having mastered this difficulty, and employed a world of time
about it, I bestirred myself to see if possible how to supply two wants.
[ had no vessels to hold anything that was liquid except two run-
lets, which were almost full of rum, and some glass bottles, some
ot the common size, and others which were case-bottles syuare, for
the holding of water, spirits, Gc. I had not so much as a pot to
A SIGHT OF THE MAINLAND, 161

boil anything, except a great kettle, which T saved out of the ship
and which was too big for such use as [ desired—namely, to make
broth, and stew a bit of meat by itself. ‘The second thing I would
fain have had was a tobacco-pipe, but it was impossible to me to
make one; however I found a contrivance for that too at last.

I employed myself in planting my second row of stakes or piles
and in this wicker-working all the summer or dry season, when
another business took me up more time than it could he imagined T
could spare.

I mentioned before that I had a great mind to see the whole
island, and that [ had travelled up the brook, and so on to where
L built my bower, and where [ had an opening quite to the sea on
the other side of the island. T now resolved to travel quite across
to the sea-shore on that side; so taking my gun, a hatchet, and
my dog, and a larger quantity of powder and shot than usual, with
two biscuit cakes, and a great bunch of raisins in my pouch for
my store, I began my journey. When I haa passed the vale where
my bower stood as above, I came within view of the sea to the
west, and it being a very clear day I fairly descried land, whether
an island or a continent I could not tell; but it lay very high,
extending from the west to the west-south-west at a very great
distance. By my guess it could not be less than fifteen or twenty
leagues off.

T could not tell what part of the world this might be, otherwise
than that I knew it must be part of America, and, as I concluded
by all my observations, must be near the Spanish dominions; and
perhaps was all inhabited by savages, where, if I should have
landed, I had been in a worse condition than I was now; and
therefore I acquiesced in the dispositions of Providence, which I
began now to own and to believe ordered everything for the best;
I say I quieted my mind with this, and left afflicting myself with
{ruitless wishes of being there.

Besides, after some pause upon this affair, I considered that if
this land was the Spanish coast, I should certainly, one time or
other, see some vessel pass or repass one way or other; but if not,
then it was the savage coast between the Spanish country and the
Brazils, which are indeed the worst of savages, for they are can-
162 CRUSOE ON A TOUR.



“1 CAME WITHIN VIEW OF THE SEA TO TITE WEST.”

nibals, or men-eaters, and fail not to murder and devour all the
human bodies that fall into their hands.

With these considerations I walked very leisurely forward. [
found that side of the island where I now was much pleasanter
than mine; the open or savanna fields sweet, adorned with flowers
and grass, and full of very fine woods. I saw abundance of parrots,
and fain I would have caught one, if possible, to have kept it to
be tame. and taught it to speak to me. I did, after some pains-
THREE KINDS OF FOOD. 168

taking, catch a young parrot, for [ knocked it down with a stick,
and having recovered it I brought it home; but it was some years
before I could make him speak. However, at last I taught him
to call me by my name very familiarly. But the accident that
followed, though it be a trifle, will be very diverting in its place.

I was exceedingly diverted with this journey. I found in the
low grounds hares, as I thought them to be, and foxes; but they
differed greatly from all the other kinds I had met with, nor could
I satisfy myself to eat them, though I killed several. But I had
no need to be venturous, for I had no want of food, and of that
which was very good too; especially these three sorts—namely,
goats, pigeons, and turtle or tortoise, which added to my grapes,
Leadenhall Market could not have furnished a table better than I
in proportion to the company. And though my case was deplor-
able enough, yet I had great cause for thankfulness, and that I
was not driven to any extremities for food, but rather plenty, even
to dainties.

I never travelled in this journey above two miles outright in a
day, or thereabouts. But I took so many turns and returns to see
what discoveries I could make that I came weary enough to the
place where I resolved to sit down for all night; and then I either
reposed myself in a tree, or surrounded myself with a row of stakes
set upright in the ground, either from one tree to another, or so as
no wild creature could come at me without waking me.

As soon as I came to the sea-shore I was surprised to see that I
had taken up my lot on the worst side of the island; for here,
indeed, the shore was covered with innumerable turtles, whereas
on the other side I had found but three in a year and a half.
Here was also an infinite number of fowls of many kinds; some
which I had seen, and some which I had not seen before—and
many of them very good meat—but such as I knew not the names
of, except those called penguins.

I could have shot as many as I pleased, but was very sparing of
my powder and shot, and therefore had more mind to kill a she-
goat if I could, which I could better feed on; and though there
were mnany goats here—more than on my side the island — yet it
was with much more difficulty that IT could come near them. the
164 A WOODED VALLEY.

country being flat and even, and they saw me much svuner than
when I was on the hill.

I confess this side of the country was much pleasanter than
mine; but yet | had not the least inclination to remove, for as 1
was fixed in my habitation, it became natural to me, and 1 seemed
all the while 1 was here to be as it were upon a journey, and from
home. However, I travelled along the shore of the sea towards
the east, [ suppose about twelve miles; and then, setting up a
great pole upon the shore for a mark, ] concluded I would go
home again, and that the next journey 1 took should be on the
other side of the island east from my dwelling, and so round till I
came to my post again: of which in its place.

I took another way to come back than that I went, thinking I
could easily keep all the island so much in my view that 1 could
not miss finding my first dwelling by viewing the country. But I
found myself mistaken ; for being come about two or three miles,
T found myself descended into a very large valley, but so sur-
rounded with hills, and those hills covered with wood, that 1 could
not see which was my way by any direction but that of the sun,
nor even then, unless | knew very well the position of the sun at
that time of the day.

It happened, to my further mislurtune, that the weather proved
hazy for three or four days while Twas in this valley; and not
being able to see the sun, T wandered about very uncomiortably,
and at last was obliged to find out the sea-side, look for my post,
and come back the same way I went. And then by easy journeys
L turned homeward, the weather being exveeding hot, and my gun,
ammunition, hatchet, and other things, very heavy.

In this journey my dog surprised a young kid, and seized upon
it, and T running in to take hold of it, caught it, and saved it alive
from the dog. I hada great mind to bring it home if I could;
for Thad often been musing whether it might not be possible tu
get a kid or two, and so raise a breed of tame goats, which might
supply me when my powder and shut should be all spent.

Tmade a collar to this little creature, and with a string which 1
made of some rope-yarn, which T always carried about me, I led
him along, though with some difficulty, till T came to my bower ;
ONCHK MORE ‘SAT HOME,” 165

and there 1 enclosed him and ieft him, for T was very impatient te
be at home, from whence JT had been absent above a month.

T cannot express what a satisiaction it was to me to come inte
my old huteh and lie down in my hammock-bed. This little
wandering journey, without settled place of abode, had been so
unpleasant to me, that my own house, as 1 called it to myself, was
a perfect settlement to me compared to that ; and it rendered
everything about me so comlortable that T resolved J would never
vo a eveat way from it again while it should be my lot to stay on
the island.

1 reposed inysell’ here a week, to rest and regale myself alter
my Jong journey ; during which most of the time was taken up in
the weighty affair of making a cage for my poll, which began now
to be a mere
domestic, and to
be aighty well
acquainted with
ine. Uben T be-
van to think of
the poor kid
which Thad
penned in within
iny little cirele,
aud resolved to
vo and fetch it
home or give it
some food. Ac-
cordingly L went,
and found it
where | left it;
for, indeed, it
could not get
out, but almost
starved for want
of food. I went
and cut boughs



ef trees, and “Iv FOLLOWED ME LIKE A DOG.”
166 CLOSE OF THE SECOND YEAR.

branches of such shrubs as I could find, and threw it over; and
having fed it, I tied it as I did before, to lead it away. But it was
so tame with being hungry that I had no need to have tied it,
for it followed me like a dog; and as I continually fed it, the
creature became so loving, so gentle, and so fond, that it became
from that time one of my domestics also, and would never leave
afterwards.

The rainy season of the autummal equinox was now come, and
I kept the 30th of September in the same solemn manner as
before; being the anniversary of my landing on the island, having
now been there two years, and no more prospect of being delivered
than the first day I came there. I spent the whole day in humble
and thankful acknowledgments of the many wonderful mercies
which my solitary condition was attended with, and without which
it might have been infinitely more miserable. I gave humble and
hearty thanks that God had been pleased to discover to me even
that it was possible I might be more happy in this solitary con-
dition than I should have been in a liberty of society and in all
the pleasures of the world; that he could fully make up to me the
deficiencies of my solitary state, and the want of human society,
by his presence, and the communications of his grace to my soul—
supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to depend upon his
providence here, and hope for his eternal presence hereafter.

It was now that [ began sensibly to feel how much more happy
this life I now led was, with all its miserable circumstances, than
the wicked, cursed, abominable life I led all the past part of my
days. And now I changed both my sorrows and my joys: my
very desires altered, my affections changed their gusts, and my
delights were perfectly new from what they were at my first
coming, or indeed for the two years past.

Before, as I walked about, either on my hunting or for viewing
the country, the anguish of my soul at my condition would break
out upon me on a sudden, and my very heart would die within me
to think of the woods, the mountains, the deserts I was in, and
how I was a prisoner locked up with the eternal bars and_ bolts of
the ocean, in an uninhabited wilderness, without redemption. In
the midst of the greatest vomposures of my mind, this would
CRUSOL’S DAILY COMPANIONS. 167

break out upon me like a storm, and make me wring my hands
and weep like a child. Sometimes it would take me in the middle
of my work ; and I would immediately sit down and sigh, and
look upon the ground for an hour or two together. And this was
still worse to me; for if I could burst out into tears or vent
myself by words it would go off, and the grief, having exhausted
itself, would abate.

But now I began to exercise myself with new thoughts. I
daily read the Word of God, and applied all the comforts of it to
my present state. One morning, being very sad, I opened the
Bible upon these words, “TI will never, never leave thee, nor for-
sake thee.” Immediately it occurred that these words were to
me. Why else should they be directed in such a manner, just at
the moment when I was mourning over my condition as one for-
saken of God and man? “ Well, then,” said I, “if God does not
forsake me, of what ill consequence can it be, or what matters it,
though the world should all forsake me, seeing on the other hand
if T had all the world, and should lose the favour and blessing of
God, there would be no comparison in the loss ?”

From this moment I began to conclude in my mind that it was
possible for me to be more happy in this forsaken, solitary con-
dition, than it was probable I should ever have been in any other
particular state in the world; and with this thought I was going
to give thanks to God for bringing me to this place. I know not
what it was, but something shocked my mind at that thought,
and I durst not speak the words. ‘“ How canst thou be such a
hypocrite,” said I, even audibly, “to pretend to be thankful for a
condition which, however thou mayst endeavour to be contented
with, thou wouldst rather pray heartily to be delivered from?”
So I stopped there. But though I could not say I thanked God
for being there, yet I sincerely gave thanks to God for opening
my eyes, by whatever afflicting pro idences, to see the former con-
dition of my life, and to mourn for my wickedness and repent. I
never opened the Bible or shut it but my very soul within me
blessed God for directing my friend in England, without any order
of mine, to pack it up among my goods, and for assisting me after:
wards to save it out of the wreck of the ship.
168 FOR EVERY HOUR ITS WORK.




WUS, and in this disposition of mind, I began
~\my third year, And though T have not given
s.the reader the trouble of so particular account
~of my works this year as the first, yet in
\ general it may be observed that I was very
seldom idle, but having regularly divided my
/ SRS time according to the several daily employments
that were before ie—such as, first, my duty to God and the reading
the Scriptures, which I constantly set apart some time for thrice
every day; secondly, the going abroad with my gun for food,
which generally took me up three hours in every morning when it
did not rain; thirdly, the ordering, curing, preserving, and cook-
ing what I had killed or caught for my supply,—these took up
great part of the day. Also it is to be considered that the middle
of the day, when the sun was in the zenith, the violence of the
heat was too great to stir out, so that about four hours in the
evening was all the time I could be supposed to work in; with
this exception, that sometimes I changed my hours of hunting and
working, and went to work in the morning and abroad with my
gun in the afternoon.

To this short time allowed for labour I desire may be added
the exceeding laboriousness of my work—the many hours which,
for want of tools, want of help, and want of skill, everything I did
tuok up out of my time. For example, I was full two-and-forty
days making me a board for a long shelf which I wanted in my
cave; whereas two sawyers, with their tools and a saw-pit, would
have cut six of them out of the same tree in half a day.

My case was this: It was to be a large tree which was to be
cut down, because my board was to be a broad one. This tree I
was three days a cutting down, and two more cutting off the
boughs, and reducing it to a log or piece of timber. With inex
AGRICULTURAL OPERATIONS, 169

pressible hacking and hewing I reduced both the sides of it into
chips till it began to be light enough to move; then I turned it,
and made one side of it smooth and flat as a board from end to
end; then, turning that side downward, cut the other side, till |
brought the plank to be about three inches thick, and smooth on
both sides. Any one may judge the labour of my hands in such a
piece of work ; but labour and patience carried me through that
and many other things. I only observe this in particular, to show
the reason why so much of my time went away with so little
work —namely, that what might be a little to be done with help
and tools, was a vast labour and required a prodigious time to do
alone and by hand.

But notwithstanding this, with patience and labour T went
through many things; and, indeed, everything that my cireum-
stances made necessary to me to do, as will appear by what follows.
L was now—in the months of November and December—expect-
ing my crop of barley and rice. The ground [ had manured or
dug up for them was not great; for, as I observed, my seed of
each was not above the quantity of half a peck, for T had lost one
whole crop by sowing in the dry season. But now my crop
promised very well, when ou a sudden T found T was in danger of
losing it all again hi enemies of several sorts, which it was scarce
possible to keep from it: as, first, the goats, and wild creatures
which I called hares, which, tasting the sweetness of the blade, lay
in it night and day as soon as it came up, and ate it so close that
it could get no time to shoot up into stalk. This I saw no remedy
for but by making an enclosure about it with a hedge; which I did
with a great deal of toil, and the more because it required speed.
However, as my arable land was but small, suited to my crop, I
got it totally well fenced in about three weeks’ time; and shooting
some of the creatures in the day-time, I set my dog to guard it in
the night, tying him up to a stake at the gate, where he would
stand and bark all night long. So ina little time the enemies
forsook the place, and the corn grew very strong and well, and
began to ripen apace.

But as the beasts ruined me before while my corn was in the
blade, so the birds were as likely to ruin me now when it was in
170 SCARING THE THIEVES.

the ear; for going along by the place to see how it throve, I saw
my little crop surrounded with fowls of I know not how many
sorts, which stood as it were watching till I should be gone. I
immediately let fly among them, for I always had my gun with
me. I had no sooner shot but there rose up a little cloud of fowls—
which I had not seen at all—from among the corn itself.

This touched me sensibly, for I foresaw that in a few days they
would devour all my hopes; that I should be starved, and never be
able to raise a crop at all: and what to do I could not tell. How-
ever, I resolved not to lose my corn, if possible, though I should
watch it night and day. In the first place, I went among it to see
what damage was already done; and found they had spoiled a good
deal of it, but that, as it was yet too green for them, the loss was
not so great but that the remainder was like to be a good crop if
it could be saved.

I stayed by it to load my gun; and then coming away I could
easily see the thieves sitting upon all the trees about me, as if they
only waited till I was gone away. And the event proved it to be
so; for as I walked off as if I was gone, I was no sooner out of
their sight but they dropped down one by one into the corn again.
I was so provoked that I could not have patience to stay till more
came on, knowing that every grain that they ate now was, as it
might be said, a peck loaf to me in the consequence ; but coming
up to the hedge I fired again, and killed three of them. This was
what I wished for: so I took them up, and served them as we
serve notorious thieves in England— namely, hanged them in
chains for a terror to others. It is impossible to imagine almost
that this should have such an effect as it had; for the fowls would
not only not come at the corn, but, in short, they forsook all that
part of the island, and I could never see a bird near the place as
long as my scarecrows hung there.

This I was very glad of, you may be sure; and about the latter
end of December, which was our second harvest of the year, I
reaped my crop. I was sadly put to it for a scythe or a sickle to
cut it down; and all I could do was to make one as well as I
could out of one of the broad swords or cutlasses which I saved
among the arms out of the ship. However, as my first erop was
WORKING FOR ONE'S BREAD. 171

but small, 1 had no great difficulty to cut it down. In short, 1
reaped it my way, for I cut nothing off but the ears, and carried
it away in a great basket which I had made, and so rubbed it out
with my hands; and at the end of all my harvesting I found that
out of my half-peck of seed I had near two bushels of rice and
above two bushels and a half of barley—that is to say, by my guess,
for I had no measure at that time.

However, this was a great encouragement to me, and I foresaw
that in time it would please God to supply me with bread. And
yet here I was perplexed again: for I neither knew how to grind
or make meal of my corn, or, indeed, how to clean it and part it ;
nor, if made into meal, how to make bread of it; and if how to
make it, yet I knew not how to bake it. These things being
added to my desire of having a good quantity for store, and to
secure a constant supply, I resolved not to taste any of this
crop, but to preserve it all for seed against the next season; and
in the meantime to employ all my study and hours of working to
accomplish this great work of providing myself with corn and
bread.

It might be truly said that now I worked for my bread. It is
a little wonderful, and what I believe few people have thought
much upon—namely, the strange multitude of little things neces-
sary in the providing, producing, curing, dressing, making, and
finishing this one article of bread. I that was reduced to a mere
state of nature found this to my daily discouragement, and was
made more and more sensible of it every hour, even after I had
got the first handful of seed-corn ; which, as I have said, came up
unexpectedly, and indeed to a surprise.

First, I had no plough to turn up the earth, no spade or shovel
to dig it. Well, this I conquered by making a wooden spade, as
I observed before. But this did my work in but a wooden manner ;
and though it cost me a great many days to make it, yet for want
of iron it not only wore out the sooner, but made my work the
harder, and made it be performed much worse. However, this I
bore with, and was content to work it out with patience, and bear
with the badness of the performance. When the corn was sown |
had no harrow, but was forced to go over it myself, and drag a
172 PREPARING THE GROUND.

great heavy bough of a tree over it, to scratch it, as it may be
called, rather than rake or harrow it.

When it was growing and grown, [ have observed already, how
many things L wanted, to fence it, secure it, mow or reap it, cure
and carry it home, thrash, part it from the chaff, and save it.
Then I wanted a mill to grind it, sieves to dress it, yeast and salt
to make it into bread, and an oven to bake it; and yet all these
things I did without, as shall be observed: and yet the corn was
an inestimable comfort and advantage to me too, All this, as T
said, made everything laborious and tedious to me, but that there
was no help for, neither was my time so much loss to me, because,
as I had divided it, a certain part of it was every day appointed
to these works. And as I resolved to use none of the corn for
bread till I had a greater quantity by me, IT had the next six
months to apply myself wholly by labour and invention to furnish
myself with utensils proper for the performing all the operations
necessary for the making the corn (when L had it) fit for my use.

But, first, [was to prepare more land, for T had now seed enough
to sow above an acre of ground. Before I did this [ had a week’s
work at least to make me a spade; which, when it was done, was
but a sorry one indeed, and very heavy, and required double
labour to work with it. However, I went through that, and
sowed my seed in two large flat pieces of ground as near my house
as TL could find them to my mind, and fenced them in with a good
hedge, the stakes of which were all cut of that wood which T had
set before, and knew it would grow; so that in one year’s time I
knew I should have a quick or living hedge, that would want but
little repair. This work was not so little as to taice me up less
than three months, because creat part of that time was of the wet
season, when [ could not go abroad.

Within doors—that is, when it rained, and T could not go out—
T found employment on the following occasions, always observing
that all the while I was at work [ diverted myself with talking to
my parrot, and teaching him to speak; and T quickly learned him
to know his own name, and at last to speak it ont pretty lond—
Pout, which was the first word T ever heard spoken in the island
by any mouth but my own. This, therefore, was not my work.
A NEW PROJECT. 173



“ft QUICKLY LEARNED HLM TO KNOW HIS OWN NAME.”

but an assistant to my work; for now, as I said, I had a great
employment upon my hands, as follows—namely, I had long
studied by some means or other to make myself some earthen
vessels, which indeed I wanted sorely, but knew not where to
come at them. However, considering the heat of the climate, I
did not doubt but if I could find out any such clay, L might botch
up some pot as might, being dried in the sun, be hard enough and
strong enough to bear handling, and to hold anything that was
dry and required to be kept so. And as this was necessary in the
preparing corn, meal, &e., which was the thing I was upon, I
resolved to make some as large as I could, and fit only to stand
like jars to hold what should be put into them.

7
174 CRUSOE AS A POTTER.

It would make the reader pity me, or rather laugh at me, to
tell how many awkward ways I took to raise this paste ; what odd,
misshapen, ugly things I made; how many of them fell in, and
how many fell out, the clay not being stiff enough to bear its own
weight; how many cracked by the over-violent heat of the sun,
being set out too hastily; and how many fell in pieces with only
removing as well before as after they were dried; and, in a word,
how, after having laboured hard to find the clay, to dig it, to
temper it, to bring it home and work it, I could not make above
two large earthen ugly things—I cannot call them jars—in about
two months’ labour. -

However, as the sun baked these two very dry and hard, 1 lifted
them very gently up, and set them down again in two great
wicker baskets which I had made on purpose for them, that they
might not break; and as between the pot and the basket there
was a little room to spare, I stuffed it full of the rice and barley
straw. And these two pots being to stand always dry, I thought
would hold my dry corn, and perhaps the meal, when the corn
was bruised.

Though I miscarried so much in my design for large pots, yet
I made several smaller things with better success—such as little
round pots, flat dishes, pitchers, and pipkins, and any things my
hand turned to; and the heat of the sun baked them strangely
hard.

But all this would not answer my end, which was to get an
earthen pot to hold what was liquid, and bear the fire, which none
of these could do. It happened after some time, making a pretty
large fire for cooking my meat, when I went to put it out after T
had done with it, I found a broken piece of one of my earthen-
ware vessels in the fire burned as hard as a stone, and red asa
tile. I was agreeably surprised to see it, and said to myself, that
certainly they might be made to burn whole if they would burn
broken.

This set me to studying how to order my fire, so as to make it
burn me some pots. I had no notion of a kiln, such as the potters
burn in; or of glazing them with lead, though I had some lead to
do it with ; but I placed three large pipkins and two or three pote
FINIS CORONAT OPUS. 176

in a pile, one upon another, and placed my fire-wood all round it,
with a great heap of embers under them. I plied the fire with
fresh fuel round the outside and upon the top till I saw the pots
in the inside red hot quite through, and observed that they did
not crack at all. When I saw them clear red, I let them stand
in that heat about five or six hours, till I found one of them,
though it did not crack, did melt or run; for the sand which was
mixed with the clay melted by the violence of the heat, and would
have run into glassif I had gone on, so I slacked my fire gradually,
till the pots began to abate of the red colour; and watching them



“T PLIED THE FIRE WITH FRESH FUEL.”

all night that I might not let the fire abate too fast, in the morn-
ing 1 had three very good—I will not say handsome — pipkins
and two other earthen pots as hard burned as could be desired,
and one of them perfectly glazed with the running of the sand.

After this experiment I need not say that I wanted no sort of
earthenware for my use; but I must needs say, as to the shapes
of them, they were very indifferent, as any one may suppose,
when I had no way of making them but as the children make
dirt-pies, or as a woman would make pies that never learned to
raise paste.

No joy at a thing of so mean a nature was ever equal to mine
when I found I had made an earthen pot that would bear the fire ;
and I had hardly patience to stay till they were cold before I set
one upon the fire again with some water in it to boil me some
meat, which it did admirably well. And with a piece of a kid J]

made some very good broth, though J wanted oatmeal, and
(284) l2
176 WHAT NECESSITY DOES,

several other ingredients requisite to make it so good as I would
have had it been.

My next concern was, to get me a stone mortar to stamp or beat
some corn in; for as to the mill, there was no thought of arriving
to that perfection of art with one pair of hands. To supply this
want I was at a great loss; for of all trades in the world, I was
as perfectly unqualified for a stone-cutter as for any whatever ,
neither had I any tools to go about it with. I spent many a day
to find out a great stone big enough to cut hollow, and make fit
for a mortar, and could find none at all, except what was in the
solid rock, and which I had no way to dig or cut out: nor, in-
deed, were the rocks in the island of hardness sufficient, but were
all of a sandy, crumbling stone, which neither would bear the
weight of a heavy pestle, or would break the corn without filling
it with sand. So after a great deal of time lost in searching for
a stone, I gave it over, and resolved to look out for a great block
of hard wood, which I found indeed much easier; and getting one
as big as I had strength to stir, I rounded it, and formed it in
the outside with my axe and hatchet, and then, with the help of
fire and infinite labour, made a hollow place in it, as the Indians
in Brazil make their canoes. After this I made a great heavy
pestle or beater of the wood called the iron-wood, and this I pre-
pared and laid by against I had my next crop of corn, when I
proposed to myself to grind, or rather pound, my corn into meal
to make my bread.

My next difficulty was to make a sieve, or search, to dress my
meal, and to part it from the bran and the husk, without which I
did not see it possible I could have any bread. This was a most
difficult thing so much as but to think on; for to be sure I had
nothing like the necessary thing to make it—I mean fine thin
canvas, or stuff to search the meal through. And here I was at
a full stop for many months; nor did I really know what to do.
Linen I had none left, but what was mere rags. I had goats’ hair,
but neither knew I how to weave it or spin it; and had I known
how, here were no tools to work it with. All the remedy that I
found for this was, that at last I did remember I had among the
seamen’s clothes which were saved out of the ship some neckcloths
BAKING EXTRAORDINARY. 17)

of calico or muslin; and with some pieces of these I made three
small sieves, but proper enough for the work. And thus I made
shift for some years. How I did afterwards I shall show in its
place.

The baking part was the next thing to be considered, and how
I should make bread when I came to have com; for, first, I had
no yeast. As to that part, as there was no supplying the want,
so I did not concern myself much about it; but for an oven I
was indeed in great pain. At length I found out an experiment
for that also, which was this—I made some earthen vessels very
broad, but not deep; that is to say, about two feet diameter, and
not above nine inches deep, these I burned in the fire, as I had
done the other, and laid them by; and when I wanted to bake, I
made a great fire upon my hearth, which I had paved with some
square tiles of my own making and burning also—but I should
not call them square.

When the firewood was burned pretty much into embers, or
live coals, I drew them forward upon this hearth, so as to cover it
all over, and there I let them lie till the hearth was very hot;
then sweeping away all the embers, I set down my loaf or loaves,
and whelming down the earthen pot upon them, drew the embers
all round the outside of the pot, to keep in and add to the heat;
and thus, as well as in the best oven in the world, I baked my
barley loafs, and became in little time a mere pastry-cook into the
bargain; for 1 made myself several cakes of the rice, and puddings.
Indeed I made no pies, neither had I anything to put into them
supposing I had, except the flesh either of fowls or goats.

It need not be wondered at if all these things took me up most part
of the third year of my abode here; for it is to be observed that,
in the intervals of these things, I had my new harvest and hus-
bandry to manage; for I reaped my corn in its season, and carried
it home as well as I could, and laid it up in the ear in my large
baskets till I had time to rub it out, for I had no floor to thrash
it on, or instrument to thrash it with.

And now indeed my stock of corn increasing, I really wanted to
build my barns bigger. I wanted a place to lay it up in, for the
increase of the corn now yielded me so much that I had of the
178 YEARNING AFTER SOCIETY.

barley about twenty bushels, and of the rice as much or more;
insomuch that now I resolved to begin to use it freely, for my
bread had been quite gone a great while. Also I resolved to see
what quantity would be sufficient for me a whole year, and to sow
but once a year.

Upon the whole, I found that the forty bushels of barley and
rice was much more than I could consume in a year, so I resolved
to sow just the same quantity every year that I sowed the last,
in hopes that such a quantity would fully provide me with
bread, &e.

All the while these things were doing you may be sure my
thoughts ran many times upon the prospect of land which I had
seen from the other side of the island; and I was not without
secret wishes that I were on shore there, fancying the seeing the
mainland, and in an inhabited country I might find some way or
other to convey myself further, and perhaps at last find some means
of escape.

But all this while I made no allowance for the dangers of such
a condition, and how I might fall into the hands of savages, and
perhaps such as I might have reason to think far worse than the
lions and tigers of Africa. That if I once came into their power,
T should run a hazard more than a thousand to one of being killed,
and perhaps of being eaten; for I had heard that the people of
the Caribbean coasts were cannibals, or man-eaters ; and I knew by
the latitude that I could not be far off from that shore: that
suppose they were not cannibals, yet that they might kill me, as
many Europeans who had fallen into their hands had been served,
even when they had been ten or twenty together, much more I
that was but one, and could make little or no defence: all these
things, I say, which I ought to have considered well of, and did
cast up in my thoughts afterwards, yet took up none of my appre-
hensions at first; but my head ran mightily upon the thought of
getting over to the shore.

Now I wished for my boy Xury and the long-boat with the
shoulder-of-mutton-sail, with which I had sailed above a thousand
miles on the coast of Africa; but this was in vain. Then I
thought I would go and look at our ship’s boat, which, as I have
A TERRIBLE FAILURE. 173

said, was blown up upon the shore a great way in the storm when
we were first cast away. She lay almost where she did at first,
but not quite; and was turned by the force of the waves and the
winds almost bottom upward against a high ridge of beachy rough
sand, but no water about her as before.

If I had had hands to have refitted her, and to have launched
her into the water, the boat would have done well enough, and I
might have gone back into the Brazils with her easily enough;
but I might have foreseen that I could no more turn her and set
her upright upon her bottom than I could remove the island.
However, I went to the woods and cut levers and rollers, and
brought them to the boat, resolved to try what I could do, sug-
gesting to myself that if I could but turn her down, I might easily
repair the damage she received, and she would be avery good boat,
and I might go to sea in her very easily.

I spared no pains indeed in this piece of fruitless toil, and spent,
I think, three or four weeks about it. At last, finding it impossible
to heave it up with my little strength, I fell to digging away the
sand to undermine it, and so to make it fall down, setting pieces of
wood to thrust and guide it right in the fall.

But when I had done this I was unable to stir it up again or to
get under it, much less to move it forward towards the water, so
I was forced to give it over; and yet, though I gave over the
hopes of the boat, my desire to venture over for the main increased
rather than decreased as the means for it seemed impossible.

This at length put me upon thinking whether it was not possible
to make myself a canoe, or periagua, such as the natives of those
climates make, even without tools, or, as I might say, without
hands—namely, of the trunk of a great tree. This I not only
thought possible but easy, and pleased myself extremely with the
thoughts of making it, and with my having much more convenience
for it than any of the negroes or Indians; but not at all considering
the particular inconveniences which I lay under more than the
Indians did—namely, want of hands to move it, when it was made,
into the water, a difficulty much harder for me to surmount than
all the consequences of want of tools could be to them. For what
was it to me, that when I had chosen a vast tree in the woods, I
120 CRUSOE’S FOLLY,



“1 WAS UNABLE TO STIR IT UP AGAIN, OR GET UNDER 17.”

might with much trouble cut it down, if after I might be able with
my tools to hew and dub the outside into the proper shape of a
boat, and burn or cut out the inside to make it hollow, so to make
a boat of it,—if, after all this, I must leave it just there where I
found it, and was not able to launch it into the water.

One would have thought I could not have had the least reflee-
tion upon my mind of my circumstance, while 1 was making this
boat, but I should have immediately thought how T should get it
into the sea. But my thoughts were so intent upon my voyage
over the sea in it, that I never once considered how I should get it
off of the land; and it was really in its own nature more easy for
me to guide it over forty-five miles of sea, than about forty-five
fathom of land, where it lay, to set it afloat in the water.

I went to work upon this boat the most like a fool that ever
man did who had any of his senses awake. I pleased myself with
the design, without determining whether I was ever able to under:
THE BOAT THAT WOULD NOT GO TO SEA. 18)

take it; not but that the difficulty of launching my boat came ofton
into my head, but I put a stop to my own inquiries into it, by
this foolish answer which I gave myself, “ Let’s first make it; Il
warrant I’ll find some way or other to get it along when ’tis done.”

This was a most preposterous method; but the eagerness of my
fancy prevailed, and to work I went. I felle
question much whether Solomon ever had such a one for the build-
ing of the Temple at Jerusalem! It was five feet ten inches
diameter at the lower part next the stump, and four feet eleven
inches diameter at the end of twenty-two feet, after which it
lessened for a while, and then parted into branches. It was not
without infinite labour that I felled this tree. I was twenty days
hacking and hewing at it at the bottom. I was fourteen more
vetting the branches and limbs and the vast spreading head of it
cut off, which I hacked and hewed through with axe and hatchet,
and inexpressible labour. After this it cost me a month to shape
it and dub it to a proportion, and to something like the bottom of
a boat, that it might swim upright as it ought to do. It cost me
near three months more to clear the inside, and work it so as to
make an exact boat of it. This I did indeed without fire, by mere
mallet and chisel, and by the dint of hard labour, till I had brought
it to be a very handsome periagua, and big enough to have carried
six-and-twenty men, and consequently big enough to have carried
me and all my cargo.

When I had gone through this work I was Saari delighted
‘ with it. he boat was really much bigger than I ever saw a canoe
or periagua, that was made of one tree, in my life. Many a weary
stroke it had cost, you may be sure, and there remained nothing
but to get it into the water; and had I gotten it into the water, I
make no question but I should have begun the maddest voyage,
and the most unlikely to be performed, that ever was undertaken.

But all my devices to get it into the water failed me, though
they cost me infinite labour too. It lay about one hundred yards
from the water, and not more; but the first inconvenience was, it
was up-hill towards the creek. Well, to take away this discourage-
ment, I resolved to dig into the surface of the earth, and so make
a declivity. This I began, and it cost me a prodigious deal of


182 AMBITION BAFFLES ITS OWN AIMS.



“ IT COST MK NEARLY THREE WEEKS MORE TO CLEAR THE INSIDE.”

pains ;-—but who grudge pains that have their deliverance in view ?
But when this was worked through, and this difficulty managed,
it was still much at one; for I could no more stir the canoe than J
could the other boat.

Then I measured the distance of ground, and resolved to cut a
dock or canal to bring the water up to the canoe, seeing I could
not bring the canoe down to the water. Well, I began this work,
and when I began to enter into it, and calculate how deep it was
to be dug, how broad, how the stuff to be thrown out, I found,
that by the number of hands I had, being none but my own, it
must have been ten or twelve years before I should have gone
through with it; for the shore lay high, so that at the upper end
it must have been at least twenty feet deep. So at length, though
with great reluctancy, I gave this attempt over also.

This grieved me heartily; and now I saw, though too late, the
folly of beginning a work before we count the cost, and before we
judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it.

In the middle of this work I finished my fourth year in this
place, and kept my anniversary with the same devotion, and with
AN ARGUMENT FOR CONTENTMENT. 188

as much comfort as ever before; for by a constant study and serious
application of the Word of God, and by the assistance of his grace,
I gained a different knowledge from what I had before. I enter-
tained different notions of things. I looked now upon the world
as a thing remote, which I had nothing to do with, no expectation
from, and indeed no desires about : in a word, I had nothing indeed
to do with it, nor was ever like to have. So I thought it looked
as we may perhaps look upon it hereafter—namely, as a place I
had lived in, but was come out of it; and well might I say, as
Father Abraham to Dives, “ Between me and thee is a great gulf
fixed.”

In the first place, I was removed from all the wickedness of the
world here; I had neither the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye,
nor the pride of life. I had nothing to covet, for I had all that I
was now capable of enjoying. I was lord of the whole manor; or,
if I pleased, I might call myself king or emperor over the whole
country which I had possession of. There were no rivals; I had
no competitor, none to dispute sovereignty or command with me.
I might have raised ship-loadings of corn, but I had no use for it ;
so I let as little grow as I thought enough for my occasion. I had
tortoise or turtles enough; but now and then one was as much as
I could put to any use. I had timber enough to have built a fleet
of ships. I had grapes enough to have made wine, or to have cured
into raisins, to have loaded that fleet when they had been built.

But all I conld make use of was all that was valuable. I had
enough to eat and to supply my wants, and what was all the rest
tome? If I killed more flesh than I could eat, the dog must eat
it, or the vermin. If I sowed more corn than I could eat, it must
be spoiled. The trees that I cut down were lying to rot on the
ground; I could make no more use of them than for fuel, and that
Thad no occasion for but to dress my food.

In a word, the nature and experience of things dictated to me,
upon just reflection, that all the good things of this world are no
further good to us than they are for our use; and that whatever
we may heap up indeed to give others, we enjoy just as much as
we can use, and no more. The most covetous griping miser in
the world would have been cured of the vice of covetousness if he
184 NO LOT SO ILL BOT IT MIGHT BE WORSE.

had been in my case, for I possessed infinitely more than I knew
what to do with. I had no room for desire, except it was of things
which I had not, and they were but trifles, though indeed of great
use tome. Thad, as I hinted before, a parcel of money, as well
gold as silver, about thirty-six pounds sterling. Alas! there the
nasty, sorry, useless stuff lay; I had no manner of business for it ;
and I often thought with myself that I would have given a handful
of it for a gross of tobacco pipes, or for a hand-mill to grind my
corm; nay, I would have given it all for sixpenny-worth of turnip
and carrot seed out of England, or for a handful of pease and beans
and a bottle of ink. As it was, I had not the least advantage by
it or benefit from it, but there it lay in a drawer, and grew mouldy
with the damp of the cave in the wet season; and if I had had the
drawer full of diamonds it had been the same case, and they had
been of no manner of value to me, because of no use.

I bad now brought my state of life to be much easier in itself
than it was at first, and much easier to my mind, as well as to my
body. I frequently sat down to my meat with thankfulness, and
admired the hand of God’s providence, which had thus spread my
table in the wilderness. I learned to look more upon the bright
side of my condition and less upon the dark side, and to consider
what I enjoyed rather than what I wanted; and this gave me
sometimes such seeret comforts that I cannot express them, and
which T take notice of here to put those discontented people in
mind of it who cannot enjoy comfortably what God has given them
because they see and covet something that he has not given them.
All our discontents about what we want appeared to me to spring
from the want of thankfulness for what we have.

Another reflection was of great use to me, and doubtless would
be so to any one that should fall into such distress as mine was,
und this was, to compare my present condition with what I at first
expected it should be, nay, with what it would certainly have been
if the good providence of God had not wonderfully ordered the ship
to be cast up nearer to the shore, where I not only could come at
her, but could bring what I got out of her to the shore, for my
relief and comfort; without which I had wanted for tools to work,
weapons for defence, or gunpowder and shot for getting my food.
A REFLECTION ON THE PAST. 186

{ spent whole hours, I may say whole days, in representing to
myself in the most lively colours how I must have acted if I had
got nothing out of the ship; how I could not have so much as got
any food except fish and turtles, and that as it was long before I
found any of them, I must have perished first: that I should have
lived, if I had not perished, like a mere savage; that if I had
killed a goat or a fowl by any contrivance, I had no way to flay or
open them, or part the flesh from the skin and the bowels, or to
cut it up, but must gnaw it with my teeth, and pull it with my
claws like a beast.

These reflections made me very sensible of the goodness of Pro-
vidence to me, and very thankful for my present condition, with all
its hardships and misfortunes. And this part also I cannot but re-
commend to the reflection of those who are apt in their misery to
say, “Is any affliction like mine?” Let them consider how much
worse the cases of some people are, and their case might have been
if Providence had thought fit.

T had another reflection which assisted me also to comfort my
mind with hopes, and this was, comparing my present condition
with what T had deserved, and had therefore reason to expect from
the hand of Providence. I had lived a dreadful life, perfectly des-
titute of the knowledge and fear of God. I had been well in-
structed by father and mother, neither had they been wanting to
me, in their early endeavours, to infuse a religious awe of God into
my mind, a sense of my duty, and of what the nature and end of
my being required of me. But, alas! falling early into the sea-
faring life, which of all the lives is the most destitute of the fear
of God, though his terrors are always before them; I say, falling
early into the seafaring life, and into seafaring company, all that
little sense of religion which I had entertained was laughed out of
me by my messmates, by a hardened despising of dangers and the
views of death, which grew habitual to me, by my long absence
from all manner of opportunities to converse with anything but
what was like myself, or to hear anything that was good, or tended
towards it.

So void was I of everything that was good, or of the least sense
of what I was, or was to be, that in the greatest deliverances T en-
186 THERE ARE MORE ROSES THAN THORNS.

joyed—such as my escape from Sallee, my being taken up by the
Portuguese master of the ship, my being planted so well in the
Brazils, my receiving the cargo from England, and the like—I
never had once the word “ Thank God” so much as on my mind,
or in my mouth; nor in the greatest distress had I so much as a
thought to pray to him, or so much as to say, ‘“‘ Lord, have mercy
upon me;” no, nor to mention the name of God, unless it was to
swear by and blaspheme it.

J had terrible reflections upon my mind for many months, as I
have already observed, on the account of my wicked and hardened
life past ; and when I looked about me, and considered what par-
ticular providences had attended me since my coming into this
place, and how God had dealt bountifully with me—had not only
punished me less than my iniquity had deserved, but had so plenti-
fully provided for me; this gave me great hopes that my repentance
was accepted, and that God had yet mercy in store for me.

With these reflections I worked my mind up not only to resig-
nation to the will of God in the present disposition of my circum-
stances, but even to a sincere thankfulness for my condition; and
that I, who was yet a living man, ought not to complain, seeing I
had not the due punishment of my sins; that I enjoyed so many
mercies which I had no reason to have expected in that place; that
I ought never more to repine at my condition, but to rejoice, and
to give daily thanks for that daily bread which nothing but a
crowd of wonders could have brought: that I ought to consider
Thad been fed even by miracle, even as great as that of feeding
Elijah by ravens; nay, by a long series of miracles: and that I
could hardly have named a place in the uninhabited part of the
world where I could have been cast more to my advantage—a place
where, as I had no society, which was my affliction on one hand, so
I found no ravenous beasts, no furious wolves or tigers, to threaten
my life, no venomous creatures or poisonous, which I might feed
on to my hurt, no savages to murder and devour me.

Jn a word, as my life was a life of sorrow one way, so it was a
life of mercy another; and I wanted nothing to make it a life of
comfort but to be able to make my sense of God’s goodness to me
and care over me in this condition be my daily consolation. And
CRUSOE’S REMARKABLE DAYS. 187

after 1 did make a just improvement of these things, 1 went away
and was no more sad.

I had now been here so long that many things which I brought
on shore for my help were either quite gone or very much wasted
and near spent.

My ink, as I observed, had been gone for some time, all but a
very little, which I eked out with water a little and a little till
it was so pale it scarce left any appearance of black upon the paper.
As long as it lasted I made use of it to minute down the days of
the month on which any remarkable thing happened to me, and
first by casting up times past. I remember that there was a
strange concurrence of days in the various providences which befel
me, and which, if I had been superstitiously inclined to observe
days as fatal or fortunate, I might have had reason to have looked
upon with a great deal of curiosity.

First, I had observed that the same day that I broke away from
my father and my friends, and ran away to Hull, in order to go
to sea, the same day afterwards I was taken by the Sallee man-of-
war, and made a slave.

The same day of the year that I escaped out of the wreck of
that ship in Yarmouth Roads, that same day-year afterwards I
made my escape from Sallee in the boat.

The same day of the year I was born on—namely, the 30th of
September—that same day I had my life so miraculously saved
twenty-six year after, when I was cast ashore on this island, so
that my wicked 1ife and my solitary life began both on a day.

The next thing to my ink’s being wasted was that of my bread
—I mean the biscuit which I brought out of the ship. This I had
husbanded to the last degree, allowing myself but one cake of
bread a day for above a year, and yet I was quite without bread
for near a year before I got any corn of my own; and great reason
I had to be thankful that I had any at all, the getting it being,
as has been already observed, next to miraculous.

My clothes began to decay too mightily. As to linen, I had
none a good while, except some checkered shirts which I found
in the chests of the other seamen, and which I carefully preserved,
because many times I could bear no other clothes on than a shirt:
138 CRUSOR’S LACK OF CLOTHES.

and it was a very great help to me that I had among all the men’s
clothes of the ship almost three dozen of shirts. There were also
several thick watch-coats of the seamen’s, which were left indeed,
but they were too hot to wear. And though it is true that the
weather was so violently hot that there was no need of clothes, yet
L could not go quite naked: no, though Thad been inclined to it,
which [ was not, nor could not abide the thoughts of it, though
T was all alone.

The reason why T could not go quite naked was, T could not
bear the heat of the sun so well when quite naked as with some
clothes on; nay, the very heat frequently blistered my skin, where-
as, with a shirt on, the air itself made some motion, and whistling
under that shirt, was twofold cooler than without it. No more
could T ever bring myself to go out in the heat of the sun without
acap ora hat, the heat of the sun beating with such violence as
it does in that place would give me the headache presently, by
darting so directly on my head without a cap or hat on, so that I
could not bear it, whereas, if T put on my hat, it would presently
go away,

Upon those views I began to consider about putting the few
rags L had, which I called clothes, into some order. L had worn
out all the waistcoats I had, and my business was now to try if I
could not make jackets out of the great watch-coats which I had
by me, and with such other materials as L had; so 1 set to work
a-tailoring, or rather indeed a-botching, for L made most piteous
work of it. However I made shift to make two or three new
waistcoats, which IL hoped would serve me a great while. As for
breeches or drawers, 1 made but a very sorry shift indeed till
afterward,

L have mentioned that I saved the skins of all the creatures
that I killed and | had hung them up
stretched out with sticks in the sun, by which means some of them
were so dry and hard that they were fit for little, but others it
seems were very useful. The first thing L made of these was a
great cap for my head, with the hair on the outside to shoot off
the rain; and this I performed so well, that after this I made me
a suit of clothes wholly of these skins—that is to say, a waistcoat,



1 mean four-footed ones


A WONDERFUL INVENTION, 189

and breeches open at knees, and both loose, for they were rather
wanting to keep me cool than to keep me warm, I must not
omit to acknowledge that they were wretchedly made; for if I was
a bad carpenter, I was a worse tailor. However, they were such
as I made very good shift with. And when 1 was abroad, if it
happened to rain, the hair of my waistcoat and cap being outer-
most, I was kept very dry.

After this I spent a great deal of time and pains to make me
an umbrella. I was indeed in great want of one, and had a
great mind to make one. I had seen them made in the Brazils,
where they are very useful in the great heats which are there,
and I felt the heats every jot as great here, and greater too, being
nearer the equinox. Besides, as [ was obliged to be much abroad,
it was a most useful thing to me, as well for the rains as the heats.
I took a world of pains at it, and was a great while before I could
make anything likely to hold; nay, after I thought I had hit the
way, I spoiled two or three before I made one to my mind, but
at last I made one that answered indifferently well. The main
difficulty I found was to make it let down. I could make it
spread, but if it did not let down too and draw in, it was not
portable for me any way but just over my head, which would not
do. However, at last, as I said, I made one to answer, and covered
it with skins, the hair upwards, so that it cast off the rains like
a pent-house, and kept off the sun so effectually that I could walk
out in the hottest of the weather with greater advantage than I
could before in the coolest; and when I had no need of it, could
close it and carry it under my arm.

Thus I lived mighty comfortably, my mind being entirely com-
posed by resigning to the will of God, and throwing myself wholly
upon the disposal of his providence. This made my life better
than sociable; for when I began to regret the want of conversa-
tion I would ask myself whether thus conversing mutually with
my own thoughts, and, as I hope I may say, with even God him-
self by ejaculations, was not better than the utmost enjoyment of
human society in the world?

{ cannot say that after this, for five years, any extraordinary
thing happened to ne, but I lived on in the same course, in the
190 CRUSOE’S SMALL BOAT.

same posture and place, just as before. The chief things I was
employed in, besides my yearly labour of planting my barley and
rice and curing my raisins, of both which I always kept up just
enough to have sufficient stock of one year’s provisions beforehand ;
I say, besides this yearly labour and my daily labour of going out
with my gun, I had one labour to make me a canoe, which at last
I finished; so that, by the digging a canal to it of six feet wide
and four feet deep, I brought it into the creek, almost half a mile.
As for the first, which was so vastly big, as I made it without
considering beforehand, as I ought to do, how I should be able
to launch it, so never being able to bring it to the water, or bring
the water to it, I was obliged to let it lie where it was, as a me-
morandum to teach me to be wiser next time. Indeed, the next
time, though I could not get a tree proper for it, and in a place
where I could not get the water to it, at any less distance than as
I have said, near half a mile; yet, as I saw that it was practicable
at last, I never gave it over; and though I was near two years
about it, yet I never grudged my labour, in hopes of having a buat
to go off to sea at last.

However, though my little periagua was finished, yet the size
of it was not at all answerable to the design which I had in view
when I made the first—I mean, of venturing over to the terra firma,
where it was above forty miles broad. Accordingly, the smallness
of my boat assisted to put an end to that design, and now I thought
no more of it. But as I had a boat, my next design was to make
a tour round the island; for as I had been on the other side in
one place, crossing, as I have already described it, over the land,
so the discoveries I made in that little journey made me very eager
to see other parts of the coast; and now I had a boat, I thought
of nothing but sailing round the island.

For this purpose, that I might do everything with discretion
and consideration, I fitted up a little mast to my boat, and made
a sail to it out of some of the pieces of the ship’s sail, which lay
in store, and of which I had a great stock by me.

Having fitted my mast and sail, and tried the boat, I found she
would sail very well. Then I made little lockers, or boxes, at
either end of my boat, to put provisions, necessaries, and ammuni-
HOW (T WAS VICTUALLED. 19)

tion, &c. into, to be kept dry either from rain or the spray of the
sea; and a little long hollow place I cut in the inside of the beat,
where I could lay my gun, making a flap to hang down over it to
keep it dry.

I fixed my umbrella also in a step at the stern, like a mast, to
stand over my head, and keep the heat of the sun off me like an
awning; and thus I every now and then took a voyage upon the



‘“! EVERY NOW AND THEN TOOK A VOYAGE UPON THE SEA.”

sea, but never went far out, not far from the little creek. But at

last, being eager to view the circumference of my little kingdom,

I resolved upon my tour, and accordingly I victualled my ship for

the voyage, putting in two dozen of my loaves (cakes I should

rather call them) of barley bread, an earthen pot full of parched
(234) 13
192 CRUSOE’S DISCOVERIES,

rice—a food I ate a great deal of—a little bottle of rum, half a
goat, and powder and shot for killing more, and two large watch-
coats of those which, as I mentioned before, I had saved out of
the seamen’s chests: these I took, one to lie upon, and the other
to cover me in the night.

It was the 6th of November, in the sixth year of my reign, or
my captivity, which you please, that I set out on this voyage, and
T found it much longer than I expected. For though the island
itself was not very large, yet, when I came to the east side of it,
I found a great ledge of rocks lie out above two leagues into the
sea, some above water, some under it; and beyond that a shoal of
sand, lying dry half a league more. So that I was obliged to go
a great way out to sea to double the point.

When first I discovered them I was going to give over my
enterprise and come back again, not knowing how far it might
oblige me to go out to sea; and above all, doubting how I should get
back again; so I came to an anchor—for Thad made me a kind of an
anchor with a piece of a broken grapling, which I got out of the ship.

Having secured my boat, I took my gun and went on shore,
climbing up upon a hill which seemed to overlook that point,
where I saw the full extent of it, and resolved to venture.

In my viewing the sea from that hill where I stood, I perceived
a strong, and indeed a most furious current, which ran to the east,
and even came close to the point. And I took the more notice of
it, because I saw there might be some danger that when I came
into it I might be carried out to sea by the strength of it, and not
be able to make the island again. And, indeed, had I-not gotten
first up upon this hill, I believe it would have been so; for there
was the same current on the other side of the island, only that it
set off at a further distance. And I saw there was a strong eddy
under the shore; so I had nothing to do but to get in out of the
first current, and I should presently be in an eddy.

I lay here, however, two days, because the wind blowing pretty
fresh at east-south-east, and that being just contrary to the said
current, made a great breach of the sea upon the point; so that
it was not safe for me to keep too close to the shore for the breach,
nor to go too far off because of the stream.
ADRIFT AT SEA, 193

The third day, in the morning, the wind having abated over-
night, the sea was calm, and I ventured. But I am a warning
piece again to all rash and ignorant pilots; for no sooner was I
come to the point, when even I was not my boat’s length from the
shore, but I found myself in a great depth of water, and a current
like the sluice of a mill. It carried my boat along with it with
such violence that all I could do could not keep her so much as
on the edge of it; but I found it hurried me further and further
out from the eddy, which was on my left hand. There was no
wind stirring to help me; and all 1 could do with my paddles
signified nothing. And now I began to give myself over for
lost; for as the current was on both sides the island, I knew
in a few leagues distance they must join again, and then I
was irrecoverably gone. Nor did I see any possibility of avoid-
ing it; so that I had no prospect before me but of perishing—
not by the sea, for that was calm enough, but of starving for
hunger. I had, indeed, found a tortoise on the shore as big almost
as I could lift, and had tossed it into the boat; and I had a great
jar of fresh water—that is to say, one of my earthen pots; but
what was all this to being driven into the vast ocean, where, to
be sure, there was no shore, no mainland or island for a thousand
leagues at least !

And now I saw how easy it was for the providence of God to
make the most miserable condition mankind could be in, worse.
Now I looked back upon my desolate solitary island as the most
pleasant place in the world, and all the happiness my heart could
wish for was to be but there again. I stretched out my hands to
it with eager wishes. “0 happy desert,” said I, ‘‘I shall never see
thee more! O miserable creature,” said I, “whither am I going!”
Then I reproached myself with my unthankful temper, and how I
had repined at my solitary condition; and now what would I give
to be on shore there again! Thus we never see the true state of
our condition, till it is illustrated to us by its contraries; nor
know how to value what we enjoy, but by the want of it. It is
scarce possible to imagine the consternation I was now in, being
driven from my beloved island (for so it appeared to me now to
be) into the wide ocean, almost two leagues, and in the utmost
194 IN MARI MAGNO.

despair of ever recovering it again. Towever, I worked hard, till
indeed my strength was almost exhausted, and kept my boat as
much to the northward—that is, towards the side of the current
which the eddy lay on



as possibly I could; when about noon, as
the sun passed the meridian, I thought I felt a little breeze of
wind in my face, springing up from the south-south-east. This
cheered my heart a little, and especially when in about half an
hour more it blew a pretty sinall gentle gale. By this time I
was gotten at a frightful distance from the island, and had the
least cloud or hazy weather intervened, I had been undone another
way too; for I had no compass on board, and should never have
known how to have steered towards the island, if I had but once
lost sight of it. But the weather continuing clear, I applied myself
to get up my mast again, and spread my sail, standing away to
the north as much as possible, to get out of the current.

Just as I had set my mast and sail, and the boat began to
stretch away, I saw even by the clearness of the water some
alteration of the current was near; for where the current was so
strong, the water was foul; but perceiving the water clear, I found
the current abate, and presently I found to the east, at about half
a mile, a breach of the sea upon some rocks. These rocks, I found,
caused the current to part again, and as the main stress of it ran
away more southerly, leaving the rocks to the north-east, so the
other returned by the repulse of the rocks, and made a strong
eddy, which ran back again to the north-west, with a very sharp
stream.

They who know what it is to have a reprieve brought to them
upon the ladder, or to be rescued from thieves just going to
murder them, or who have been in such like extremities, may
guess what my present surprise of joy was, and how gladly I put
my boat into the stream of this eddy, and, the wind also freshening,
how gladly I spread my sail to it, running cheerfully before the
wind, and with a strong tide or eddy under foot.

This eddy carried me about a league in my way back again
directly towards the island, but about two leagues more to the
northward than the current which carried me away at first; so
that when I came near the island, I found myself open to the
LAND AT LAST. 195

northern shore of it—that is to say, the other end of the island
opposite to that which I went out from.

When I had made something more than a league of way by the
help of this current or eddy, I found it was spent, and served me
no further. However, I found that being between the two great
currents, namely, that on the south side, which had hurried me
away, and that on the north, which lay about a league on the
other side: I say, between these two, in the wake of the island, I
found the water at least still and running no way; and haying still
a breeze of wind fair for me, I kept on steering directly for the
island, though not making such fresh way as I did before.

About four o’clock in the evening, being then within about a
league of the island, I found the point of the rocks which occa-
sioned this disaster stretching out, as is described before, to the
southward, and casting off the current more southwardly, had of
course made another eddy to the north; and this I found very
strong, but not directly setting the way my course lay, which was
due west, but almost full north. However, having a fresh gale, I
stretched across this eddy slanting north-west, and in about an
hour came within about a mile of the shore, where, it being
smooth water, I soon got to land.

When I was on shore, I fell on my knees and gave God thanks
for my deliverance, resolving to lay aside all thoughts of my
deliverance by my boat; and refreshing myself with such things
as I had, I brought my boat close to the shore in a little cove
that I had spied under some trees, and laid me down to sleep,
being quite spent with the labour and fatigue of the voyage.

I was now at a great loss which way to get home with my boat.
T had run so much hazard, and knew too much the case, to think
of attempting it by the way I went out; and what might be at
the other side (I mean the west side) I knew not, nor had I any mind
to run any more ventures; so I only resolved in the morning to
make my way westward along the shore, and to see if there was
no creek where I might lay up my frigate in safety, so as to have
her again if I wanted her. In about three miles, or thereabout,
coasting the shore, I came to a very good inlet or bay about a
mile over, which narrowed till it came to a very little rivulet or
196 RETURNING TO THE HUT.



“) BROUGHT MY BOAT CLOSE TO THK SHORE UN A LITTLE COVE.”

brook, where I found a yery convenient harbour for my boat, and
where she lay as if she had been in a little dock made on purpose
for her. Here I put in, and having stowed my boat very sate, I
went on shore to look about me and see where I was.

IT soon found IT had but a little passed by the place where T had
been before, when 1 travelled on foot to that shore; so taking
nothing out of my boat but my gun and my umbrella, for it was
exceedingly hot, 1 began my march. The way was comfortable
enough alter such a voyage as | had been upon, and I reached my
old bower in the evening, where I found everything standing as I
left it; for T always kept it in good order, being, as I said before,
my country house.

I got over the fence, and Jaid me down in the shade to rest my
limbs, for I was weary, and fell asleep. But judge you, if you
ean, that read my story, what a surprise I must be in, when I was
waked out of my sleep by a voice calling me by my name several
“VOX CLAMANTIS.” 1%

cimes, “ Robin, Robin, Robin Crusoe; poor Robin Crusoe! Where
are you, Robin Crusoe? Where are you? Where have you been?”

T was so dead asleep at first, being fatigued with rowing, or
paddling, as it is called, the first part of the day, and with walking
the latter part, that [ did not wake thoroughly; but dozing
between sleeping and waking, thought I dreamed that somebody
spoke to me. But as the voice continued to repeat, “ Robin
Crusoe, Robin Crusoe,” at last I began to wake more perfectly,
and was at first dreadfully frightened, and started up in the
utmost consternation. But no sooner were my eyes open, but I saw
my Poll sitting on the top of the hedge, and immediately knew
that it was he that spoke to me; for just in such bemoaning
language [ had used to talk to him, and teach him; and he had
learned it so perfectly, that he would sit upon my finger, and lay
his bill close to my face, and cry, “ Poor Robin Crusoe, where are
you? Where have you been? How came you here?” and such
things as [ had taught him.

However, even though I knew it was the parrot, and that indeed
it could be nobody else, it was a good while before I could com-
pose myself: first, I was amazed how the creature got thither, and
then how he should just keep about the place, and nowhere else.
But as [ was satisfied it could be nobody but honest Poll, I got it
over; and holding out my hand, and calling him by his name
Poll, the sociable creature came to me, and sat upon my thumb,
as he used to do, and continued talking to me, ‘Poor Robin
Crusoe,” and “ How did I come here?” and ‘‘ Where had T been?”
just as if he had been overjoyed to see me again; and so I carried
him home along with me.

I had now had enough of rambling to sea for some time, and
had enough to do for many days to sit still and reflect upon the
danger I had been in. I would have been very glad to have had my
boat again on my side of the island; but I knew not how it was
practicable to get it about. As to the east side of the island, which
I had gone round, I knew well enough there was no venturing
that way; my very heart would shrink, and my very blood run
chill but to think of it. And as to the other side of the island, I
did not know how it might be there; but supposing the current
198 PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT.

ran with the same force against the shore at the cast as it passed
by it on the other, I might run the same risk of being driven
down the stream, and carried by the island, as I had been before
of being carried away from it; so with these thoughts I contented
myself to be without any boat, though it had been the product of
so many months’ Jabour tu make it, and of so many more to get it
unto the sea.

In this government of my temper I remained near a year—lived
a very sedate, retired life, as you may well suppose; and my
thoughts being very much composed as to my condition, and fully
comforted in resigning myself to the dispositions of Providence, |
thought I lived really very happily in all things, except that of
society.

I improved myself in this time in all the mechanic exercises
which my necessities put me upon applying myself to, and I
believe could, upon occasion, make a very good carpenter,
especially considering how few tools I had.

Besides this, I arrived at an unexpected perfection in my
earthenware, and contrived well enough to make them with a
wheel, which I found infinitely easier and better; because I made
things round and shapeable, which before were filthy things indeed
to look upon. But I think I was never more vain of my own
performance, or more joyful for anything I found out, than for my
being able to make a tobacco-pipe. And though it was a very
ugly clumsy thing when it was done, and only burned red like
other earthenware, yet, as it was hard and firm, and would draw
the smoke, I was exceedingly comforted with it; for I had been
always used to smoke, and there were pipes in the ship, but IJ
forgot them at first, not knowing that there was tobacco in the
island; and afterwards, when I searched the ship again, I could
not come at any pipes at all.

In my wicker ware, also, I improved much, and made abundance
of necessary baskets, as well as my invention showed me. Though
not very handsome, yet they were such as were very handy and
eunvenient for my laying things up in, or fetching things home in.
For example, if I killed a goat abroad, I could hang it up ina
tree, flay it, and dress it, and cut it in pieces, and bring it home
A NEW WAY OF CATCHING GOATS. 199

jn a basket; and the like by a turtle,—I could cut it up, take out
the eggs, and a piece or two of the flesh, which was enough for
me, and bring them home in a basket, and leave the rest behind
me. Also large deep baskets were my receivers for my corn,
_which I always rubbed out as soon as it was dry, and cured, and
kept it in great baskets.

I began now to perceive my powder abated considerably, and
this was a want which it was impossible for me to supply, and I
began seriously to consider what I must do when I should have
no more powder; that is to say, how I should do to kill any goat.
I had, as is observed in the third year of my being here, kept a
young kid, and bred her up tame, and I was in hope of getting a
he-goat, but I could not by any means bring it to pass, till my kid
grew an old goat; and I could never find in my heart to kill her,
till she died at last of mere age.

But being now in the eleventh year of my residence, and, as I
have said, my ammunition growing low, I set myself to study some
art to trap and snare the goats, to sce whether I could not catch
some of them alive, and particularly I wanted a she-goat great with
young. -

To this purpose I made snares to hamper them, and I do
believe they were more than once taken in them; but my tackle
was not good, for I had no wire, and I always found them broken,
and my bait devoured.

At length I resolved to try a pit-fall. So I dug several large
pits in the earth, in places where I had observed the goats used to
feed; and over these pits I placed hurdles of my own making too,
with a greav weight upon them. And several times I put ears of
barley, and dry rice, without setting the trap; and I could easily
perceive that the goats had gone in and eaten up the corn, for I
could see the mark of their feet At length I set three traps in
one night ; and going the next morning, I found them all stand-
ing, and yet the bait eaten and gone. This was very discouraging.
However, I altered iny trap; and, not to trouble you with parti-
culars, going one morning to see my trap, I found in one of them
a large old he-goat; and in one of the other, three kids—a male
and two females.
200 CRUSOE AS A GOAT-EHERD,

As to the old one, T knew not what to de with him; he was 80
fierce I durst not go into the pit to him-—that is to say, to go about
to bring him away alive, which was what I wanted. I could have
killed him; but that was not my business, nor would it answer my
end. So I even let him out, and he ran away as if he had been |
frighted out of his wits. But T had forgot then what I learned
afterwards—that hunger will tame a lion. If I had let him stay
there three or four days without food, and then have carried him
some water to drink, and then a little corn, he would have been
as taine as one of the kids—for they are mighty sagacious, tractable
creatures where they are well used.

However, for the present I let him go, knowing no better at
that time. Then [I went to the three kids; and taking them one
by one, [ tied them with strings together, and with some difficulty
brought them all home.

It was a good while before they would feed; but throwing them
some sweet corn, it tempted them, and they began to be tame.
And now [ found that if T expected to supply myself with goat-
flesh when [ had no powder or shot left, breeding some up tame
was my only way; when, perhaps, [ might have them about my
house like a flock of sheep.

But then it presently occurred to me that I must keep the tame
from the wild, or else they would always run wild when they grew
up. And the only way for this was to have some enclosed piece
of ground, well fenced either with hedge or pale, to keep them in
so effectually, that those within might not break out, or those
without break in.

This was a great undertaking for one pair of hands. Yet, as I
saw there was an absolute necessity of doing it, my first piece of
work was to find out a proper piece of ground—namely, where
there was likely to be herbage for them to eat, water for them to
drink, and cover to keep them from the sun.

Those who understand such enclosures will think I had very
little contrivance when I pitched upon a place very proper for
all these, being a plain open piece of meadow-land or savanna (as
our people call it in the western colonies), which had two or three
little drills of fresh water in it, and at one end was very woody. I
HOW THE CRAFT PROSPERED. 201

say they will smile at my forecast, when I shall tell them I began
my enclosing of this piece of ground in such a manner that my
hedge or pale must have been at least two miles about! Nor was
the madness of it so great as to the compass, for if it was ten miles
about, I was like to have time enough to do it in. But I did not
consider that my goats would be as wild in so much compass as if
they had had the whole island, and I should have so much room to
chase them in that [ should never catch them.

My hedge was begun and carried on, I believe, about fifty yards,
when this thought occurred to me. So I presently stopped short,
and for the first beginning I resolved to enclose a piece of about
one hundred and fifty yards in length, and one hundred yards in
breadth ; which, as it would maintain as many as I should have in
any reasonable time, so, as my flock increased, I could add more
ground to my enclosure.

This was acting with some prudence, and I went to work with
courage. Iwas about three months hedging in the first piece; and
till I had done it, I tethered the three kids in the best part of it,
and used them to feed as near me as possible, to make them familiar ;
and very often I would go and carry them some ears of barley, or
a handful of rice, and feed them out of my hand; so that, after my
enclosure was finished and I let them loose, they would follow me
up and down, bleating after me for a handful of corn.

This answered my end. And in about a year and half I hada
flock of twelve goats—kids and all; and in two years more, I had
three-and-forty —besides several that I took and killed for my food.
And after that I enclosed five several pieces of ground to feed them
in, with little pens to drive them into, to take them as I wanted,
and gates out of one piece of ground into another.

But this was not all; for now I not only had goat’s-flesh to feed
on when I pleased, but milk too—a thing which, indeed, in my
beginning, I did not so much as think of, and which, when it came
into my thoughts, was really an agreeable surprise. For now I
set up my dairy, and had sometimes a gallon or two of milk ina
day. And as Nature, who gives supplies of food to every creature,
dictates even naturally how to make use of it; so I that had never
inilked a cow, much less a goat, or seen butter or cheese made,
202 AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH,

very readily and handily, though after a great many essays and
miscarriages, made me both butter and cheese at last, and never
wanted them afterwards.

How mercifully can our great Creator treat his creatures, even
in those conditions in which they seem to be overwhelmed in
destruction! How can he sweeten the bitterest providences, and
give us cause to praise him for dungeons and prisons! What a
table was here spread for me in a wilderness, where I saw nothing
at first but to perish for hunger !

It would have made a Stoic smile to have seen me and my little
family sit down to dinner. There was my Majesty, the prince and
lord of the whole island. I had the lives of all my subjects at my
absolute command—I could hang, draw, give liberty, and take it
away; and no rebels among all my subjects.

Then to see how like a king I dined, too, all alone, attended by
my servants. Poll, as if he had been my favourite, was the only
person permitted to talk to me. My dog—which was now grown
very old and crazy, and had found no species to multiply his kind
upon—sat always at my right hand; and two cats, one on one side
the table and one on the other, expecting now and then a bit from
my hand, as a mark of special favour.

But these were not the two cats which I brought on shore at
first—for they were both of them dead, and had been interred near
my habitation by my own hand; but one of them having multiplied
by I know not what kind of creature, these were two which I had
preserved tame, whereas the rest ran wild in the woods, and be-
came indeed troublesome to me at last—for they would often come
into my house, and plunder me too, till at last I was obliged to
shoot them, and did killa great many. At length they left me
with this attendance, and in this plentiful manner I lived. Neither
could I be said to want anything but society; and of that, in some
time after this, I was like to have too much.

I was something impatient, as I have observed, to have the use
of my boat—though very loath to run any more hazards; and
therefore sometimes I sat contriving ways to get her about the
island, and at other times I sat myself down contented enough
without her. But I had a strange uneasiness in my mind to go
DRAWN FROM NATURE. 203

down to the point of the island where, as I have said, in my last
ramble, I went up the hill to see how the shore lay and how the
current set, that I might see wnat I had to do. This inclination
mereased upon me every day, and at length I resolved to travel
thither by land, following the edge of the shore. I didso. But
had any one in England been to meet such a man as I was, it must
either have frighted them, or raised a great deal of laughter. And
as I frequently stood still to look at myself, I could not but smile
at the notion of my travelling through Yorkshire with such an
equipage and in such a dress. Be pleased to take a sketch of my
figure as follows.

I had a great high shapeless cap, made of a goat’s skin, with a
flap hanging down behind, as well to keep the sun from me as to
shoot the rain off from running into my neck—nothing being so
hurtful in these climates as the rain upon the flesh under the
clothes.

I had a short jacket of goat-skin, the skirts coming down to
about the middle of my thighs; and a pair of open-kneed breeches
of the same—the breeches were made of the skin of an old he-goat,
whose hair hung down such a length on either side, that like pata-
loons it reached to the middle of my legs; stockings and shoes I
had none, but had made me a pair of somethings, I scarce know
what to call them, like buskins, to flap over my legs and lace on
either side like spatterdashes, but of a most barbarous shape—as
indeed were all the rest of my clothes.

I had on a broad belt of goat-skin dried, which I drew together
with two thongs of the same, instead of buckles, and in a kind of
frog on either side of this. Instead of a sword and a dagger hung
a little saw and a hatchet, one on one side, one on the other. I
had another belt not so broad, and fastened in the same manner,
which hung over my shoulder; and at the end of it, under my left
arm, hung two pouches, both made of goat-skin too—in one of
which hung my powder, in the other my shot. At my back I
carried my basket; on my shoulder my gun; and over my head a
great clumsy, ugly goat-skin umbrella—but which, after all, was the
most necessary thing I had about me, next to my gun. As for my
face, the colour of it was really not so Mulatto-like as one might
a

204 A PAIR OF WHISKERS,



PLEASED
«A SKETCH

OF MY FIGURE AS

FOLLOWs.”



expect from aman
not at all careful
of it, and living
within nineteen
degrees of the
equinox. My
beard I had once suffered to grow till it was about a quarter of 4
yard long; but as I had both scissors and razors sufficient, I had
cut it pretty short, except what grew on my upper lip, which I
had trimmed into a large pair of Mohammedan whiskers, such as [
have seen worn by some Turks whom I saw at Sallee; for the
Moors did not wear such, though the Turks did. Of these
moustaches or whiskers I will not say they were long enough to
hang my hat upon them; but they were of a length and shape
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205
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From
Original
EXPERIENTIA DOCET. 205

monstrous enough, and such as in England would have passed for
frightful.

But all this is by-the-by. Tor as to my figure, I had so few to
observe me, that it was of no manner of consequence; so I shall
say no more to that part. In this kind of figure I went my new
journey, and was out five or six days. I travelled first along the
sea-shore, directly to the place where I first brought my boat to an
anchor to get up upon the rocks; and having no boat now to take
care of, I went over the land a nearer way to the same height that
I was on before; when looking forward to the point of the rocks
which lay out, and which I was obliged to double with my boat, as is
said above, I was surprised to see the sea all smooth and quiet—no
rippling, no motion, no current any more there than in other places.

I was at a strange loss to understand this, and resolved to spend
some time in the observing of it, to see if nothing from the sets of
the tide had occasioned it; but I was presently convinced how it
was—namely, that the tide of ebb setting from the west, and
joining with this current of waters from some great river on the
shore, must be the occasion of the current; and that according as
the wind blew more forcibly from the west, or from the north,
this current came near, or went further from the shore. For
waiting thereabouts till evening, I went up to the rock again; and
then the tide of ebb being made, I plainly saw the current again as
before, only that it ran further off, being half a league from the
shore; whereas in my case it set close upon the shore, and
hurried me and my canoe along with it, which at another time it
would not have done.

This observation convinced me that I had nothing to do but to
observe the ebbing and the flowing of the tide, and I might very
easily bring my boat about the island again. But when I began
to think of putting it in practice, ] had such a terror upon my
spirits at the remembrance of the danger I had been in, that I
could not think of it again with any patience. But, on the con-
trary, I took up another resolution, which was more safe, though
more laborious; and this was, that I would build, or rather make
me another periagua or canoe, and so have one for one side of the
island, and one for the other.
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207
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Original


208 A FEARFUL SURPRISE,

any other accident. But now I come to a new scene of my
life.
It happened one day about noon, going towards my boat, I was



a



“T sTOOD LIKE ONE THUNDERSTRUCK, OR ASIF I HAD SEEN AN APPARITIUN *

exceedingly surprised with the print of a man’s naked foot on the
shore, which was very plain to be seen in the sand. I stood like
one thunderstruck, or as if I had seen an apparition. I listened,



T looked round me; I could hear nothing, nor see anything. 1

1
i
i
THE FOOTPRINT IN THE SAND. 209

went up to a rising ground to look further. I went up the shore
and down the shore; but it was all one, I could see no other im-
pression but that one. I went to it again to see if there were any
more, and to observe if it might not be my fancy; but there was
no room for that, for there was exactly the very print of a foot,
toes, heel, and every part of a foot ;—how it came thither I knew
not, nor could in the least imagine. But after innumerable flutter-
ing thoughts, like a man perfectly confused and out of myself, I
came home to my fortification, not feeling, as we say, the ground
I went on, but terrified to the last degree, looking behind me at
every two or three steps, mistaking every bush and tree, and
fancying every stump at a distance to be a man. Nor is it pos-
sible to describe how many various shapes affrighted imagination
represented things to me in; how many wild ideas were found
every moment in my fancy, and what strange unaccountable
whimsies came into my thoughts by the way.

When I came to my castle, for so I think I called it ever after
this, I fled into it like one pursued. Whether I went over by the
ladder at first contrived, or went in at the hole in the rock which
I called a door, I cannot remember; no, nor could I remember the
next morning; for never frighted hare fled to cover, or fox to
earth, with more terror of mind than I to this retreat.

I slept none that night. The further I was from the occasion
of my fright the greater my apprehensions were, which is some-
thing contrary to the nature of such things, and especially to the
usual practice of all creatures in fear. But I was so embarrassed
with my own frightful ideas of the thing, that I formed nothing
but dismal imaginations to myself, even though I was now a great
way off it. Sometimes I fancied it must be the devil; and
reason joined in with me upon this supposition. For how should
any other thing in human shape come into the place? Where
was the vessel that brought them? What marks were there of
any other footsteps? And how was it possible a man should come
there? But, then, to think that Satan should take human shape
upon him in such a place, where there could be no manner of
occasion for it but to leave the print of his foot behind him, and
that even for no purpose, too, for he could not be sure 1 should
210 A MIND ILL AT EASE,

see it; this was an amusement the other way. I considered that
the devil might have found out abundance of other ways to have
terrified me than this of the single print of a foot ;—that, as I lived
quite on the other side of the island, he would never have been so
simple to leave a mark in a place where it was ten thousand to
one whether I should ever see it or not; and in the sand, too,
which the first surge of the sea upon a high wind would have
defaced entirely. All this seemed inconsistent with the thing
itself, and with all the notions we usually entertain of the subtilty
of the devil.

Abundance of such things as these assisted to argue me out of
all apprehensions of its being the devil. And I presently con-
cluded, then, that it must be some more dangerous creature—
namely, that it must be some of the savages of the mainland
over against me, who had wandered out to sea in their canoes,
and either driven by the currents, or by contrary winds, had made
the island; and had been on shore, but were gone away to sea,
being as loath, perhaps, to have stayed in this desolate island as I
would have been to have had them.

While these reflections were rolling upon my mind, I was very
thankful in my thoughts that I was so happy as not to be there-
abouts at that time, or that they did not see my boat, by which
they would have concluded that some inhabitants had been in the
place, and perhaps have searched further for me. Then terrible
thoughts racked my imagination about their having found my boat,
and that there were people here; and that if so, I should certainly
have them come again in greater numbers and devour me; that if
it should happen so that they should not find me, yet they would
find my enclosure, destroy ail my corn, carry away all my flock of
tame goats, and [ should perish at last for mere want.

Thus my fear banished all my religious hope; all that former
confidence in God, which was founded upon such wonderful ex-
perience as I had had of his goodness, now vanished, as if he
that had fed me by miracle hitherto could not preserve by his
power the provision which he had made for me by his goodness.
I reproached myself with my easiness, that would not sow any
more corn one year than would just serve me till the next season,
““ UNSTABLE AS WATER.” 21)

as if no accident could intervene to prevent my enjoying the crop
that was upon the ground; and this I thought so just a reproof,
that I resolved for the future to have two or three years’ corn
beforehand, so that whatever might come, I might not perish for
want of bread.

How strange a checker-work of providence is the life of man!
and by what secret differing springs are the affections hurried
about, as differing circumstances present! To-day we love what
to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun;
to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear—nay, even tremble at
the apprehensions of. This was exemplified in me at this time in
the most lively manner imaginable: for I, whose only affliction
was that I seemed banished from human society, that I was alone,
circumscribed by the boundless ocean, cut of from mankind, and
condemned to what I called silent life—that I was as one whom
Heaven thought not worthy to be numbered among the living, or
to appear among the rest of his creatures; that to have seen one
of my own species would have seemed to me a raising me from
death to life, and the greatest blessing that Heaven itself, next to
the supreme blessing of salvation, could bestow;—I say, that I
should now tremble at the very apprehensions of seeing a man,
and was ready to sink into the ground at but the shadow or silent
appearance of a man’s having set his foot in the island.

Such is the uneven state of human life. And it afforded mea
great many curious speculations afterwards, when I had a little
recovered my first surprise. I considered that this was the station
of life the infinitely wise and good providence of God had deter-
mined for me; that as I could not foresee what the ends of divine
wisdom might be in all this, so I was not to dispute his sove-
reignty, who, as I was his creature, had an undoubted right by
creation to govern and dispose of me absolutely as he thought fit ;
and who, as I was a creature who had offended him, had likewise
a judicial right to condemn me to what punishment he thought fit ;
and that it was my part to submit to bear his indignation, because
I had sinned against him.

I then reflected that God, who was not only righteous but
omnipotent, as he had thought fit thus to punish and afflict me, se
B2 CRUSOE FINDS COMFORT ;

he was able to deliver me; that if he did not thiak fit to do it,
it was my unquestioned duty to resign myself absolutely and
entirely to his will; and, on the other hand, it was my duty also
to hope in him, pray to him, and quietly to attend the dictates and
directions of his daily providence.

These thoughts took me up many hours, days, nay, I may say,
weeks and months; and one particular effect of my cogitations on
this oceasion I cannot omit—namely, one morning early, lying in
my bed, and filled with thought about my danger from the appear-
ance of savages, I found it discomposed me very much; upon
which those words of the Scripture came into my thoughts, ‘“ Call
upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver, and thou shalt
glorify me.”

Upon this, rising cheerfully out of my bed, my heart was not
only comforted, but I was guided and encouraged to pray earnestly
to God for deliverance. When I had done praying I took up my
Bible, and opening it to read, the first words that presented to me
were, ‘“ Wait on the Lord, and be of good cheer, and he shall
strengthen thy heart; wait, | say, on the Lord.” It is impossible
to express the comfort this gave me. In answer, I thankfully
laid down the book, and was no more sad—at least, not on that
occasion.

Tn the middle of these cogitations, apprehensions, and reflections,
it came into my thought one day that all this might be a mere
chimera of my own; and that this foot might be the print of my
own foot when I came on shore from my boat. This cheered me
up a little, too, and I began to persuade myself it was all a de-
lusion ; that it was nothing else but my own foot; and why might
not I come that way from the boat as well as I was going that way
to the boat. Again, I considered also that I could by no means tell
for certain where I had trod and where I had not; and that if at
last this was only the print of my own foot, I had played the part
of those fools who strive to make stories of spectres and apparitions,
and then are frighted at them more than anybody.

Now I began to take courage, and to peep abroad again; for I
had not stirred out of my castle for three days and nights, so that
[ began to starve for provision: for I had little or nothing within
YET WAVERS AGAIN, 218

doors but some barley cakes and water. Then I knew that my
goats wanted to be milked, too, which usually was my evening
diversion; and the poor creatures were in great pain and incon-
venience for want of it: and, indeed, it almost spoiled some of
them, and almost dried up their milk.

Heartening myself therefore with the belief that this was nothing
but the print of one of my own feet, and so I might be truly said
to start at my own shadow, I began to go abroad again, and went
to my country house to milk my flock; but to see with what fear
T went forward, how often I looked behind me, how I was ready
every now and then to lay down my basket and run for my life, if
would have made any one have thought I was haunted with au
evil conscience, or that I had been lately most terribly frighted,
and so indeed I had.

However, as I went down thus two or three days, and having
seen nothing, I began to be a little bolder, and to think there was
really nothing in it but my own imagination. But I could not
persuade myself fully of this till I should go down to the shore
again and see this print of a foot, and measure it by my own, and
see if there was any similitude or fitness, that I might be assured
it was my own foot. But when I came to the place, First, It ap-
peared evidently to me that when I laid up my boat I could not
possibly be on shore anywhere thereabout. Secondly, When I came
to measure the mark with my own foot, I found my foot not so
large by a great deal. Both these things filled my head with new
lnaginations, and gave me the vapours again to the highest degree :
so that I shook with cold like one in an ague. And I went home
again, filled with the belief that some man or men had been on
shore there; or, in short, that the island was inhabited, and that I
might be surprised before I was aware—and what course to take
for my security I knew not.

Oh, what ridiculous resolution men take when possessed with
fear! It deprives them of the use of those means which reason
offers for their relief. The first thing I proposed to myself was to
throw down my enclosures, and turn all my tame cattle wild into
the woods, that the enemy might not find them, and then frequent
the island in prospect of the same or the like booty; then to the
214 HIS WANDERING THOUGHTS

simple thing of digging up my two corn-fields, that they might
not find such a grain there, and still be prompted to frequent the
island; then to demolish my bower and tent, that they might not
see any vestiges of habitation, and be prompted to look further, in
order to find out the persons inhabiting.

These were the subject of the first night’s cogitation, after I was
come home again, while the apprehensions which had so overrun
my mind were fresh upon me, and my head was full of vapours, as
above. Thus fear of danger is ten thousand times more terrifying
than danger itself, when apparent to the eyes; and we find the
burden of anxiety greater by much than the evil which we are
anxious about; and, which was worse than all this, I had not that
relief in this trouble from the resignation I used to practise that I
hoped to have. I looked, I thought, like Saul, who complained
not only that the Philistines were upon him, but that God had for-
saken him; for I did not now take due ways to compose my mind,
by crying to God in my distress, and resting upon his providence,
as I had done before, for my defence and deliverance; which if I
had done, I had at least been more cheerfully supported under this
new surprise, and perhaps carried through it with more resolution.

This confusion of my thoughts kept me waking all night; but
in the morning I fell asleep, and having by the amusement of my
mind been as it were tired, and my spirits exhausted, I slept very
soundly, and waked much better composed than I had ever been
before; and now I began to think sedately. And upon the utmost
debate with myself I concluded, That this island, which was so
exceeding pleasant, fruitful, and no further from the mainland than
as I had scen, was not so entirely abandoned as I might imagine.
That although there were no stated inhabitants who lived on the
spot, yet that there might sometimes come boats off from the
shore, who either with design, or perhaps never but when they
were driven by cross winds, might come to this place.

That I had lived here fifteen years now, and had not met with
the least shadow or figure of any people yet; and that if at any
time they should be driven here, it was probable they went away
again as soon as ever they could, seeing they had never thought
fit to fix there upon any occasion, to this time.
HE PREPARES FOR DEFENCE. 216

That the most I could suggest any danger from was, from any
such casual accidental landing of straggling people from the main,
who, as it was likely, if they were driven hither, were here against
their wills; so they made no stay here, but went off again with all
possible speed, seldom staying one night on shore, lest they should
not have the help of the tides and daylight back again; and that,
therefore, I had nothing to do but to consider of some safe retreat,
in case I should see any savages land upon the spot.

Now I began sorely to repent that I had dug my cave so large
as to bring a door through again; which door, as I said, came out
beyond where my fortification joined to the rock. Upon maturely
considering this, therefore, I resolved to draw me a second forti-
fication, in the same manner of a semicircle, at a distance from my
wall, just where I had planted a double row of trees about twelve
years before, of which I have made mention. These trees having
been planted so thick before, they wanted but a few piles to be
driven between them that they should be thicker and stronger, and
my wall would be soon finished.

So that I had now a double wall, and my outer wall was
thickened with pieces of timber, old cables, and everything I could
think of to make it strong; having in it seven little holes about as
big as I might put my arm out at. In the inside of this I
thickened my wall to above ten feet thick, with continual bring-
ing earth out of my cave and laying it at the foot of the wall and
walking upon it; and through the seven holes I contrived to plant
the muskets, of which I took notice that I got seven on shore out
of the ship; these, I say, I planted like my cannon, and fitted
them into frames that held them like a carriage, that so I could
fire all the seven guns in two minutes’ time. This wall I was
many a weary month in finishing, and yet never thought myself
safe till it was done.

When this was done I stuck all the ground without my wall, for
a great way every way, as full with stakes or sticks of the osier-
like wood, which I found so apt to grow, as they could well stand ;
insomuch ‘that I believe I might set in near twenty thousand of
them, leaving a pretty large space between them and my wall, thai
I might have room to see an enemy, and they might have no
216 FOREWARNED, FOREARMED.





“L PITTED THEM INTO FRAMES THAT HELD THEM LIKE A CARRIAGE,”

shelter from the young trees, if they attempted to approach my
outer wall.

Thus in two years’ time I had a thick grove, and in five or six
years’ time I had a wood before my dwelling, growing so monstrous
thick and strong, that it was indeed perfectly impassable; and no
men, of what kind soever, would ever imagine that there was any-
thing beyond it, much less a habitation. As for the way which I
proposed to myself to go in and out (for I left uo avenue), it was
INGENIOUS PRECAUTIONS, 217

by setting two ladders: one to a part of the rock which was low,
and then broke in, and left room to place another ladder upon
that. So, when the two ladders were taken down, no man living
could come down to me without mischieving himself; and if they
had come down, they were still on the outside of my outer wall.

Thus I took all the measures human prudence could suggest for
my own preservation ; and it will be seen at length that they were
not altogether without just reason, though I foresaw nothing at
that time more than my mere fear suggested to me.

While this was doing, I was not altogether careless of my other
affairs; for Thad a great concern upon me for my little herd of
goats. They were not only a present supply to me upon every occa-
sion, and began to be sufficient to me, without the expense of
powder and shot, but also without the fatigue of hunting after
the wild ones; and I was loath to lose the advantage of them,
and to have them all to nurse up over again.

To this purpose, after long consideration, I could think of but
two ways to preserve them: one was, to find another convenient
place to dig a cave under ground, and to drive them into it every
night; and the other was, to enclose two or three little bits of
land, remote from one another, and as much concealed as I could,
where I might keep about hali-a-dozen young goats in each place ;
so that, if any disaster happened to the flock in general, I might
be able to raise them again with little trouble and time. And
this, though it would require a great deal of time and labour, I
thought was the most rational design.

Accordingly I spent some time to find out the most retired
parts of the island; and I pitched upon one which was as private
indeed as my heart could wish for. It was a little damp piece of
ground in the middle of the hollow and thick woods where, as is
observed, I almost lost myself once before, endeavouring to come
back that way from the eastern part of the island. Here I found
a clear piece of land—near three acres—so surrounded with woods
that it was almost an enclosure by nature; at least, it did not want
near so much labour to make it so as the other pieces of ground I
had worked so hard at.

I immediately went to work with this piece of ground; and in
218 STRAYING FROM THE RIGHT PATH.

less than a month’s time I had so fenced it round that my flock o1
herd—call it which you please—which were not so wild now as at
first they might be supposed to be, were well enough secured in it.
So, without any further delay, I removed ten young she-goats and
two he-goats to this piece: and when they were there I continued
to perfect the fence till I had made it as secure as the other; which,
however, [ did at more leisure, and it took me up more time by a
great deal,

All this labour I was at the expense of purely from my appre-
hensions on the account of the print of a man’s foot which I had
seen; for as yet I never saw any human creature come near the
island, and T had now lived two years under these uneasinesses,
which indeed made my life much less comfortable than it was
before——as may well be imagined by any who know what it is to
live in the constant snare of the fear of man. And this I must
observe with grief, too, that the discomposure of my mind had too
great impressions also upon the religious part of my thoughts; for
the dread and terror of falling into the hands of savages and canni-
bals Jay so upon my spirits that I seldom found myself in a due
temper for application to my Maker—at least, not with the sedate
calmness and resignation of soul which I was wont to do. I rather
prayed to God as under great affliction and pressure of mind, sur-
rounded with danger, and in expectation every night of being
murdered and devoured before morning. And T must testify from
my experience that a temper of peace, thankfulness, love, and
affection, is much more the proper frame for prayer than that of
terror and discomposure ; and that, under the dread of mischief
impending, a man is no more fit for a comforting performance of
the duty of praying to God than he is for repentance on a sick-
bed: for these discomposures affect the mind as the others do the
body; and the discomposure of the mind must necessarily be as
great a disability as that of the body-—-and much greater, praying
to God being properly an act of the mind, not of the body.

But to go on. After I had thus secured one part of my little
living stock, I went about the whole island searching for another
private place to make such another deposit, when, wandering more
to the west point of the island than I had ever done yet, and looking
THE SCENE OF AN ORGIE. 219

out to sea, I thought I saw a boat upon the sea at a great distance.
T had found a prospective-glass or two in one of the seamen’s chests
which I saved out of our ship; but I had it not about me, and this
was so remote that I could not tell what to make of it, though I
looked at it till my eyes were not able to hold to look any longer.
Whether it was a boat or not I do not know; but as I descended
from the hill I could see no more of it; so I gave it over—only I re-
solved to go no more out without a prospective-glass in my pocket.

When I was come down the hill to the end of the island —
where, indeed, I had neve: been before—I was presently convinced
that the seeing the print of a man’s foot was not such a strange
thing in the island as I imagined. And but that it was a special
providence that I was cast upon the side of the island where the
savages never came, I should easily have known that nothing
was more frequent than for the canoes from the main, when they
happened to be a little too far out at sea, to shoot over to that side
of the island for harbour ; likewise, as they often met and fought
in their canoes, the victors having taken any prisoners would bring
them over to the shore, where, according to their dreadful customs,
being all cannibals, they would kill and eat them: of which hereafter.

When I was come down the hill to the shore, as I said above,
being the south-west point of the island, I was perfectly confounded
and amazed—nor is it possible for me to express the horror of my
mind—at seeing the shore spread with skulls, hands, feet, and
other bones of human bodies; and particularly I observed a place
where there had been a fire made, and a circle dug in the earth
like a cockpit, where it is supposed the savage wretches had sat
down to their inhuman feastings upon the bodies of their fellow-
creatures.

I was so astonished with the sight of these things that I enter-
tained no notion of any danger to myself from it for a long while.
All my apprehensions were buried in the thoughts of such a pitch
of inhuman, hellish brutality, and the horror of the degeneracy of
human nature; which though I had heard of often, yet I never
had so near a view of before. In short, I turned away my face
from the horrid spectacle: my stomach grew sick, and I was just
on the point of fainting, when nature discharged the disorder from
220 CRUSOE RECOVERS HIMSELF.

my stomach ; and having vomited with an uncommon violence, 1
was a little relieved, but could not bear to stay in the place a
moment. So I got me up the hill again with all the speed I could,
and walked on towards my own habitation.

When I came a little out of that part of the island, I stood still
a while as amazed; and then recovering myself, 1 looked up with
the utmost affection of my soul, and, with a flood of tears in my
eyes, gave God thanks that had cast my first lot in a part of the
world where I was distinguished from such dreadful creatures as
these; and that though I had esteemed my present condition very
miserable, had yet given me so many comforts in it that I had still
more to give thanks for than to complain of; and this above all,
that I had, even in this miserable condition, been comforted with
the knowledge of himself and the hope of his blessing—which was
a felicity more than sufficiently equivalent to all the misery which
I had suffered or could suffer.

In this frame of thankfulness I went home to my castle, and
began to be much easier now as to the safety of my circumstances
than ever 1 was before; for I observed that these wretches never
came to this island in search of what they could get—perhaps not
secking, not wanting, or not expecting anything here, and having
often, no doubt, been up in the covered woody part of it without
finding anything to their purpose. I knew I had been here now
almost eighteen years, and never saw the least footsteps of human
creature there before; and I might be here eighteen more, as
entirely concealed as I was now, if I did not discover myself to
them—which I had no manner of occasion to do, it being my only
business to keep myself entirely concealed where I was, unless I
found a better sort of creatures than cannibals to make myself
known to.

Yet I entertained such an abhorrence of the savage wretches
that I have been speaking of, and of the wretched inhuman custom
of their devouring and eating one another up, that I continued
pensive and sad, and kept close within my own circle for almost
two years after this. When I say my own circle, I mean by it my
three plantations—namely, my castle, my country seat, which T
called my bower, and my enclosure in the woods. Nor did I look
“MONARCH OF ALL HE SURVEYS.” 22)

after this for any other use than as an enclosure for my goats; for
the aversion which nature gave me to these hellish wretches was
such that I was fearful of seeing them as of seeing the devil him-
self. Nor did I so much as go to look after my boat in all this
time, but began rather to think of making me another ; for I could
not think of ever making any more attempts to bring the other
boat round the island to me, lest I should meet with some of these
creatures at sea, in which, if I had happened to have fallen into
their hands, I knew what would have been my lot.

Time, however, and the satisfaction I had that I was in no
danger of being discovered by these people, began to wear off my
uneasiness about them ; and I began to live just in the same com-
posed manner as before—only with this difference, that I used more
caution, and kept my eyes more about me than I did before, lest I
should happen to be seen by any of them: and, particularly, I
was more cautious of firing my gun, lest any of them being on the
island should happen to hear of it. And it was therefore a very
good providence to me that I had furnished myself with a tame
breed of goats, that I needed not hunt any more about the woods
or shoot at them; and if I did catch any of them after this, it was
by traps and snares, as I had done before: so that for two years
after this I believe I never fired my gun once off, though I never
went out without it. And, which was more, as I had saved three
pistols out of the ship, I always carried them out with me—or at
least two of them—sticking them in my goat-skin belt; also I fur-
bished up one of the great cutlasses that I had out of the ship, and
made me a belt to put it on also: so that I was now a most formi-
dable fellow to look at when I went abroad, if you add to the
former description of myself the particular of two pistols, and a
great broadsword hanging at my side in a belt, but without a
scabbard.

Things going on thus, as I have said, for some time, I seemed,
excepting these cautions, to be reduced to my former calm, sedate
way of living. All these things tended to showing me more and
more how far my condition was from being miserable, compared to
some others; nay, to many other particulars of life which it might
have pleased God to have made my lot. It put me upon reflect-
222 A BROODING FANCY.

ing how little repining there would be among mankind at any
condition of life, if people would rather compare their condition
with those that are worse, in order to be thankful, than be always
comparing them with those which are better, to assist their mur-
murings and complainings.

As in my present condition there were not really many things
which I wanted, so indeed I thought that the frights I had been in
about these savage wretches, and the concern I had been in for my
own preservation, had taken off the edge of my invention for my
own conveniences; and I had dropped a good design which I had
once bent my thoughts too much upon, and that was to try if I
could not make some of my barley into malt, and then try to brew
myself some beer. This was really a whimsical thought, and I
reproved myself often for the simplicity of it; for I presently saw
there would be the want of several things necessary to the making
my beer that it would be impossible for me to supply. As, first,
casks to preserve it in; which was a thing that, as I have observed
already, I could never compass—no, though I spent, not many
days, but weeks, nay months, in attempting it, but to no purpose.
In the next place, I had no hops to make it keep, no yeast to .
make it work, no copper or kettle to make it boil. And yet all
these things notwithstanding, I verily believe had not these things
intervened —I mean the frights and terrors I was ia about the
savages—I had undertaken it, and perhaps brought it to pass too ;
for I seldom gave anything over without accomplishing it, when I
once had it in my head-enough to begin it.

But my invention now ran quite another way; for night and
day I could think of nothing but how I might destroy some of
these monsters in their cruel, bloody entertainment, and, if possible,
save the victim they should bring hither to destroy. It would
take up a larger volume than this whole work is intended to be,
to set down all the contrivances I hatched, or rather brooded upon
in my thoughts, for destroying these creatures, or at least
frightening them, so as to prevent their coming hither any more.
But all was abortive: nothing could be possible to take effect
unless I was to be there to do it myself. And what could one
wan do among them when perhaps there might be twenty or
SEEKING A PLACE OF AMBUSH 228

thirty of them together, with their darts or their bows and
arrows, with which they could shoot as true to a mark as I could
with my gun ?

Sometimes I contrived to dig a hole under the place where they
made their fire, and put in five or six pound of gunpowder, which
when they kindled their fire would consequently take fire, and
blew up all that was near it. But as, in the first place, I should
be very loath to waste so much powder upon them, my store being
now within the quantity of one barrel, so neither could I be sure
of its going off at any certain time, when it might surprise them,
and at best that it would do little more than just blow the fire
about their ears and fright them, but not sufficient to make them
forsake the place: so I laid it aside, and then proposed that I
would place myself in ambush, in some convenient place, with my
three guns all double-loaded, and in the middle of their bloody
ceremony, let fly at them, when I should be sure to kill or wound
perhaps two or three at every shot; and then falling in upon them
with my three pistols and my sword, I made no doubt but that if
there were twenty I should kill them all. This fancy pleased my
thoughts for some weeks, and I was so full of it that I often
dreamed of it, and sometimes that I was just going to let fly at
them in my sleep.

I went so far with it in my imagination, that I employed my-
self several days to find out proper places to put myself in ambus-
cade, as I said, to watch for them; and I went frequently to the
place itself, which was now grown more familiar to me: and
especially while my mind was thus filled with thoughts of revenge,
and of a bloody putting twenty or thirty of them to the sword, as
I may call it; the horror I had at the place, and at the signals of
the barbarous wretches devouring one another, abated my malice.

Well, at length I found a place in the side of the hill, where I
was satisfied I might securely wait till I saw any of their boats
coming, and might then, even before they would be ready to come
on shore, convey myself unseen into thickets of trees, in one of
which there was a hollow large enough to conceal me entirely, and
where I might sit and observe all their bloody doings, and take

my full aim at their heads, when they were so close together as
(ong? 1A
224 ON THE WATCH DAILY.

that it would be next to impossible that [ should miss my shot, or
that | could fail wounding three or four of them at the first shot.

In this place, then, I resolved to fix my design, and accordingly
I prepared two muskets and my ordinary fowling-piece. The two
muskets [ loaded with a brace of slugs each, and four or five
smaller bullets, about the size of pistol bullets; and the fowling-
piece L loaded with near a handful of swan-shot, of the largest size;
| also loaded my pistols with about four bullets each, and in this
posture, well provided with ammunition for a second and third
charge, [ prepared myself for my expedition,

After [had thus laid the scheme of my design, and in my
imagination put it in practice, [ continually made my tour every
morning up to the top of the hill, which was from my castle, as I

called it, about three miles, or more, to see if T could observe any



“Yo SEB LF E COULD OHSERVE ANY BOATS UPON THE SEA,”

boats upon the sea, coming near the island, or standing over
towards it. But I began to tire of this hard duty, after I had for
two or three months constantly kept my watch, but come always
back without any discovery, there having not in all that time been
the least appearance, not only on or near the shore, but not on the
whole ocean, so far as my eyes or glasses could reach every way.
As long as I kept up my daily tour fo the hill to look out, so
long also I kept up the vigour of my design, and my spirits seemed
ARE SECOND THOUGHTS BEST ¢ 228

to be all the while in a suitable form for so outrageous an execu-
tion as the killing twenty or thirty naked savages, for an offence
which T had not at all entered into a discussion of in my thoughts,
any further than my passions were at first fired by the horror I
conceived at the unnatural custom of that people of the country,
who it seems had been suffered by Providence, in his wise disposi-
tion of the world, to have no other guide than that of their own
abominable and vitiated passions; and consequently were left, and
perhaps had been so for some ages, to act such horrid things, and
receive such dreadful customs, as nothing but nature entirely
abandoned of Heaven and acted by some hellish degeneracy, could
have run them into. But now, when, as I have said, I began to
be weary of the fruitless excursion which I had made so long, and
so far, every morning in vain, so my opinion of the action itself
began to alter, and [ began with cooler and calmer thoughts to
consider what it was I was going to engage in;— what autho-
rity or call [ had to pretend to be judge and executioner upon
these men as criminals, whom Heaven had thought fit for so many
ages tu sufler unpunished, to go on, and to be, as it were, the execu-
tioners of his judgments one upon another. How far were these
people offenders against me, and what right had I to engage in the
quarrel of that blood, which they shed promiscuously one upon
another? I debated this very often with myself thus: How do I
know what God himself judges in this particular case? It is certain
these people either do not commit this as a crime; it is not against
their own consciences reproving or their light reproaching them.
They do not know it to be an offence, and then commit it in
defiance of divine justice, as we do in almost all the sins we com-
mit. hey think it no more a crime to kill a captive taken in
war, than we do to kill an ox; nor to cat human flesh, than we do
to eat mutton.

When | had considered this a little, it followed necessarily that
I was certainly in the wrong in it; that these people were not
murderers in the sense that I had before condemned them in my
thoughts; any more than those Christians were murderers who
often put to death the prisoners taken in battle; or, more fre-
quently, upon many occasions put whole troops of men to tha
226 A WISE CONCLUSION,

sword, without giving quarter, though they threw down their arms
and submitted.

In the next place, it occurred to me that albeit the usage they
thus gave one another was thus brutish and inhuman, yet it was
really nothing to me; these people had done me no injury. That
if they attempted me, or I saw it necessary for my immediate pre-
servation to fall upon them, something might be said for it; but
that as I was yet out of their power, and they had really no
knowledge of me, and consequently no design upon me, therefore
it could not be just for me to fall upon them. That this would
justify the conduct of the Spaniards in all their barbarities prac-
tised in America, and where they destroyed millions of these
people, who, however they were idolaters, and barbarians, and had
several bloody and barbarous rites in their customs, such as sacri-
ficing human bodies to their idols, were yet, as to the Spaniards,
very innocent people; and that the rooting them out of the
country is spoken of with the utmost abhorrence and detestation,
by even the Spaniards themselves, at this time, and by all other
Christian nations of Hurope, as a mere butchery, a bloody and un-
natural piece of cruelty, unjustifiable either to God or man; and
such as for which the very name of a Spaniard is reckoned to be
frightful and terrible to all people of humanity, or of Christian
compassion—as if the kingdom of Spain were particularly eminent
for the production of a race of men who were without principles
of tenderness, or the common bowels of pity to the miserable,
which is reckoned to be a mark of generous temper in the mind.

These considerations really put me to a pause, and to a kind of a
full stop ; and I began by little and little to be off of my design,
and to conclude I had taken wrong measures in my resolutions to
attack the savages; that it was not my business to meddle with
them, unless they first attacked me, and this it was my business if
possible to prevent; but that, if I were discovered and attacked,
then I knew my duty.

_On the other hand, I argued with myself, that this really was
the way not to deliver myself, but entirely to ruin and destroy
myself; for unless I was sure to kill every one that not only
should be on shore at that time, but that should ever come on
CRUSOE UNDISTURBED. 222

shore afterwards, if but one of them escaped to tell their country-
people what had happened, they would come over again by thou
sands to revenge the death of their fellows, and I should only bring
upon myself a certain destruction, which at present I had no man-
ner of occasion for.

Upon the whole, 1 concluded, that neither in principles nor in
policy I ought one way or other to concern myself in this affair;—
that my business was by all possible means to conceal myself from
them, and not to leave the least signal to them to guess by that there
were any living creatures upon the island,—I mean of human shape.

Religion joined in with this prudential, and I was convinced
now many ways that I was perfectly out of my duty, when I was
laying all my bloody schemes for the destruction of innocent crea-
tures,—I mean innocent as to me. As to the crimes they were
guilty of towards one another, I had nothing to do with them ;
they were national, and I ought to leave them to the justice of
God, who is the Governor of nations, and knows how by national
punishments to make a just retribution for national offences, and
to bring public judgments upon those who offend in a public man-
ner, by such ways as best pleases him.

This appeared so clear to me now, that nothing was a greater
satisfaction to me than that I had not been suffered to do a
thing which I now saw so much reason to believe would have been
no less a sin than that of wilful murder, if I had committed it.
And I gave most humble thanks on my knees to God, that had
thus delivered me from blood-guiltiness; beseeching him to grant
me the protection of his providence, that I might not fall into the
hands of the barbarians; or that I might not lay my hands upon
them, unless I had a more clear call from Heaven to do it, in
defence of my own life.

In this disposition I continued for near a year after this, and so
far was I from desiring an occasion for falling upon these wretches,
that in all that time I never once went up the hill to see whether
there were any of them in sight, or to know whether any of them
had been on shore there or not, that I might not he tempted to
renew any of my contrivances against them, or be provoked by
any advantage which might present itself, to fall upon them; only
228 HIS FURTHER PRECAUTIONS,

this 1 did, I went and removed my boat, which I had on the othe.
side the island, and carried it down to the east end of the whole
island, where I ran it into a little cove which I found under some
high rocks, and where I knew, by reason of the currents, the
savages durst not, at least would not, come with their boats upon
any account whatsoever,

With my boat T carried away everything that I had left there
belonging to her, though not necessary for the bare going thither—
namely, a mast and sail which | had made for her, and a thing like
an anchor, but indeed which could not be called either anchor or
grapling —-however, it was the best I could inake of its kind. All
these I removed, that there might not be the least shadow of any
discovery, or any appearance of any boat or of any human habi-
tation upon the island.

Besides this, 1 kept myself, as 1 said, more retired than ever,
and seldom went from my cell, other than upon my constant
employment —namely, to milk my she-goats and manage muy little
flock in the wood ; which, as it was quite on the other part of the
island, was quite out of danger ; for certain it is, that those savage
people who sometimes haunted this island, never came with any
thoughts of finding anything here, and consequently never wan-
dered off from the coast. And I doubt not but they might have been
several times on shore after my apprehensions of them had made
me cautious as well as before; and, indeed, I looked back with
some horror upon the thoughts of what my condition would have
been, if I had chopped upon them, and been discovered before that,
when naked and unarmed, except with one gun, and that loaded
often only with small shot. I walked everywhere peeping and
peeping about the island to see what I could get ;—what a sur-
prise should I have been in, if, when I discovered the print of a
man’s foot, I had instead of that seen fifteen or twenty savages,
and found them pursuing me, and, by the swiftness of their run:
ning, no possibility of my escaping them |

The thoughts of this sometimes sank my very soul within me,
and distressed my mind so much that I could not soon recover it,
to think what I should have done, and how J not only should not
have been able to resist them, but even should not have had pre
SHOULD PRESENTIMENTS BE TRUSTED ? 229

sence of mind enough to do what ] might have done; much less
what now, after much consideration and preparation, | might be
able todo. Indeed, after serious thinking of these things, | should
be very melancholy, and sometimes it would last a great while;
but T resolved it at last all into thankfulness to that Providence
which had delivered me from so many unseen dangers, and had kept
me from those mischiefs which I could no way have been the agent
in delivering myself from, because 1 had not the least notion of any
such thing depending, or the least supposition of it being possible.

This renewed a contemplation which often had come to my
thoughts in former time, when first I began to see the merciful
dispositions of Heaven in the dangers we run through in this Hfe ;
How wonderfully we are delivered when we know nothing of it:
how, when we are in a quandary, as we call it, a doubt or hesita-
tion whether to go this way or that way, a secret hint shall direct
us this way when we intended to go that way; nay, when sense,
vur own inclination, and perhaps business, has called to go the
other way, yet a strange impression upon the mind, from we know
not what springs, and by we know not what power, shall overrule
us to go this way; and it shall afterwards appear that had we
gone that way which we should have gone, and even to our ima-
gination ought to have gone, we should have been ruined and lost.
Upon these and many like reflections, I afterwards made it a
certain rule with me, that whenever T found those secret hints or
pressings of my mind to doing or not doing anything that pre-
sented, or to going this way or that way, I never failed to obey
the secret dictate, though I knew no other reason for it than that
such a pressure or such a hint hung upon my mind. I could give
many examples of the success of this conduct in the course of my
life, but more especially in the latter part of my inhabiting this
unhappy island, besides many occasions which it is very likely I
might have taken notice of if I had seen with the same eyes then
that I saw with now. But it is never too late to be wise; and I
cannot but advise all considering men, whose lives are attended
with such extraordinary incidents as mine, or even though not so
extraordinary, not to slight such secret intimations of Providence.
Lct them cume from what invisible intelligence they will—that 1
230 SECURITY BEFORE COMFORT.

shall not discuss, and perhaps cannot account for—but certainly
they are a proof of the converse of spirits, and the secret communica-
tion between those embodied and those unembodied, and that such
a proof as can never be withstood. Of which I shall have occasion
to give some very remarkable instances in the remainder of my
solitary residence in this dismal place.

I believe the reader of this will not think strange if I confess
that these anxieties, these constant dangers I lived in, and the
concern that was now upon me, put an end to all invention and
to all the contrivances that I had laid for my future accom-
modations and conveniences. [ had the care of my safety more
now upon my hands than that of my food. I cared not to drive a
nail or chop a stick of wood now, for fear the noise I should make
should be heard; much less would I fire a gun, for the same
reason. And, above all, I was intolerably uneasy at making any
fire, lest the smoke, which is visible at a great distance in the day,
should betray me; and for this reason I removed that part of my
business which required fire, such as burning of pots and pipes,
&c., into my new apartment in the woods, where, after I had been
some time, I found to my unspeakable consolation a mere natural
cave in the earth, which went in a vast way, and where, I dare
say, no savage, had he been at the mouth of it, would be so hardy
as to venture in, nor indeed would any man else; but one like me
wanted nothing so much as a safe retreat.

The mouth of this hollow was at the bottom of a great rock,
where, by mere accident (I would say, if I did not see abundant
reason to ascribe all such things now to Providence), I was cutting
down some thick branches of trees to make charcoal. And before
I go on I must observe the reason of my making this charcoal,
which was thus :— _

I was afraid of making a smoke about my habitation, as I said
before ; and yet I could not live there without baking my bread,
cooking my meat, &c. So I contrived to burn some wood here,
as I had seen done in England, under turf, till it became chark,
or dry coal; and then putting the fire out, I preserved the coal
to carry home and perform the other services which fire was want-
ing for at home without danger of smoke.
A PANIC, AND ITS CAUSE. 23)

But this is by-the-by. While I was cutting down some wood
here, I perceived that behind a very thick branch of low brushwood
or underwood there was a kind of hollow place. I was curious to
look into it, and getting with difficulty into the mouth of it, I
found it was pretty large; that is to say, sufficient for me to stand
upright in it, and perhaps another with me. But I must confess
to you I made more haste out than I did in, when looking further
into the place, and which was perfectly dark, I saw two broad
shining eyes of some creature, whether devil or man I knew not,
which twinkled like two stars, the dim light from the cave’s mouth
shining directly in and making the reflection !

However, after some pause, I recovered myself, and began to
call myself a thousand fools, and tell myself that he that was afraid
to see the devil was not fit to live twenty years in an island all
alone; and that I durst to believe there was nothing in this
cave that was more frightful than myseif. Upon this, plucking
up my courage, I took upa great firebrand, and in I rushed again,
with the stick flaming in my hand. I had not gone three steps
in but I was almost as much frighted as I was before: for I heard
a very loud sigh, like that of a man in some pain; and it was fol-
lowed by a broken noise, as if of words half expressed, and then a
deep sigh again. I stepped back, and was indeed struck with such
a surprise that it put me into a cold sweat; andif I had had a hat
on my head, I will not answer for it that my hair might not have
lifted it off! But still, plucking up my spirits as well as I could,
and encouraging myself a little with considering that the power
and presence of God was everywhere, and was able to protect me,
upon this I stepped forward again, and by the light of the fire-
brand, holding it up a little over my head, I saw lying on the
ground a most monstrous frightful old he-goat, just making his
will, as we say, and gasping for life, and dying indeed of mere
old age.

I stirred him a little to see if I could get him out, and he essayed
to get up, but was not able to raise himself. And I thought with
myself he might even lie there; for if he had frighted me so, he
would certainly fright any of the savages, if any of them should be
so hardy as to come in there while he had any life in him.
232 CRUSOE’S HAPPY DISCOVERY.



“IN I RUSHED AGAIN, WITH THE STICK FLAMING IN MY HAND.”

I was now recovered from my surprise, and began to look round
me, when 1 found the cave was but very small; that is to say, it
might be about twelve feet over, but in no manner of shape, either
round or square, no hands having ever been employed in making
it but those of mere Nature. I observed also that there was a
place at the further side of it that went in further, but was so low
that it required me to creep upon my hands and knees to go into
it, and whither T went ] kuew not. So, having no candle, I gave
THE ‘“ ANTRE VAST.” 288

it over for sume time, but resolved to come again the next day,
provided with candles and a tinder-box, which I had made of the
lock of one of the muskets, with some wildfire in the pan.

Accordingly, the next day I came provided with six large candles
of my own making—for I made very good candles now of goat's
tallow—and going into this low place, I was obliged to creep upon
all-fours, as I have said, almost ten yards; which, by the way, I
thought was a venture bold enough, considering that I knew not
how far it might go, nor what was beyond it. When I was got
through the strait 1 found the roof rose higher up—lI believe near
twenty feet. But never was such a glorious sight seen in the
island, I dare say, as it was to look round the sides and roof of
this vault or cave. The walls reflected a hundred thousand lights
to me from my two candles. What it was in the rock, whether
diamonds or any other precious stones, or gold, which I rather
supposed it to be, I knew not. ;

The place I was in was a most delightful cavity or grotto of its
kind as could be expected, though perfectly dark. The floor was
dry and level, and had a sort of small loose gravel upon it, so
that there was no nauseous or venomous creature to be seen, neithet
was there any damp or wet on the sides or roof. The only diffi-
culty in it was the entrance, which, however, as it was a place of
security, and such a retreat as I wanted, I thought that was a
convenience; so that I was really rejoiced at the discovery, and
resolved without any delay to bring some of those things which
I was most anxious about to this place. Particularly, I resolved
to bring hither my magazine of powder and all my spare arms—
namely, two fowling-pieces, for I had three in all; and three
muskets, for of them I had eight in all. So I kept at my castle
only five, which stood ready mounted, like pieces of cannon, on
my outmost fence, and were ready also to take out upon any ex-
pedition.

Upon this occasion of removing my ammunition, I took occasion
to open the barrel of powder which I took up out of the sea, and
which had been wet; and I found that the water had penetrated
about three or four inches into the powder on every side, which,
caking and growing hard, had preserved the inside like a kernel
234 TWENTY-THREE YEARS OF SOLITUDE,

ina shell. So that I had near sixty pounds of very good powder
in the centre of the cask, and this was an agreeable discovery to
me at that time. So I carried all away thither, never keeping
above two or three pounds of powder with me in my castle for fear
of a surprise of any kind. T also carried thither all the lead I had
left, for bullets.

T fancied myself now like one of the ancient giants, which were
said to live in caves and holes in the rocks, where none could come
at them. For I persuaded myself, while I was here, if five hun-
dred savages were to hunt me, they could never find me out; or
if they did, they would not venture to attack me here.

The old goat, which I found expiring, died in the mouth of the
cave the next day after I made this discovery; and I found it
much easier to dig a great hole there, and throw him in and cover
him with earth, than to drag him out. So I interred him there
to prevent offence to my nose.

T was now in my twenty-third year of residence in this island,
and was so naturalized to the place and to the manner of living,
that could I have but enjoyed the certainty that no savages would
come to the place to disturb me, I could have been content to
have capitulated for spending the rest of my time there even to
the last moment, till T had laid me down and died, like the old
goat in the cave. I had also arrived to some little diversions and
amusements, Which made the time pass more pleasantly with me
a great deal than it did before. As first, I had taught my Poll,
as I noted before, to speak ; and he did it so familiarly, and talked
so articnlately and plain, that it was very pleasant to me: and he
lived with me no less than six-and-twenty years. How long he
might live afterwards IT know not; though I know they have a
notion in the Brazils that they live a hundred years. Perhaps
poor Poll may be alive there still, calling after poor Robin
Crusoe to this day. I wish no Englishman the ill-luck to come
there and hear him; but if he did, he would certainly believe it
was the devil. My dog was avery pleasant and loving companion
to me for no less than sixteen years of my time, and then died of
mere old age. As for my cats, they multiplied, as I have observed,
to that degree that I was obliged to shoot several of them at first,
AN ESTIMATE OF THEIR RESULTS. 286

to keep them from devouring me and all I had. But at length,
when the two old ones I had brought with me were gone, and after
some time continually driving them from me, and letting them
have no provision with me, they all ran wild into the woods except
two or three favourites, which I] kept tame, and whose young, when
they had any, I always drowned. And these were part of my
family. Besides these, I always kept two or three household kids
about me, which I taught to feed out of my hand. And I had two
more parrots which talked pretty well, and would all call Robin
Crusoe, but none like my first. Nor indeed did I take the pains
with any of them that I had done with him. TI had also several
tame sea-fowls, whose names I know not, which I caught upon the
shore and cut their wings. And the little stakes which I had
planted before my castle wall being now grown up to a good thick
grove, these fowls all lived among these low trees, and bred there;
which was very agreeable to me. So that, as I said above, I began
to be very well contented with the life I led, if it might but have
heen secured from the dread of the savages.

But it was otherwise directed. And it may not be amiss for
all people who shall meet with my story to make this just observa-
tion from it—namely, how frequently in the course of our lives
the evil which in itself we seek most to shun, and which, when
we are fallen into it, is the most dreadful to us, is oftentimes the
very means or door of our deliverance, by which alone we can be
raised again from the affliction we are fallen into. I could give
many examples of this in the course of my unaccountable life, but
in nothing was it more particularly remarkable than in the circum-
stances of my last years of solitary residence in this island.

It was now the month of December, as I said above, in my
twenty-third year; and this being the southern solstice, for winter
I cannot call it, was the particular time of my harvest, and required
my being pretty much abroad in the fields: when going out pretty
early in the morning, even before it was thorough daylight, I was sur-
prised with seeing the light of some fire upon the shore, at a distance
from me of about two miles, towards the end of the island where I
had observed some savages had been as before; but not on the other
side, but, to my great affliction, it was on my side of the island.
236 LANDING OF THE SAVAGES.

[ was indeed terribly surprised
at the sight, and stepped short
within my grove, not daring to
go out lest T might be surprise: ;
and yet [ had no more peace
within, from the apprehensions T[



had that if these savages, in ram-
\ bling over the island, should find my corn stand-
‘ing or cut, or any of my works or improve-
“ments, they would immediately conclude that
there were people in the place, and would then
never give over till they had found me out, In
this extremity L went back directly to my castle,
pulled up the ladder after me, and made all things
without look as wild and natural as [ could.
Then L prepared myself within, putting my-
self in a posture of defence. [ loaded all my
cannon, as [ called them—that is to say, my
muskets, which were mounted upon my new
fortification— and all my pistols, and resolved to
defend myself to the last gasp; not forgetting





seriously to commend myself to the divine pro-
tection, and earnestly to pray to God to deliver
ne me out of the hands of the barbarians. And
‘I in this posture [ continued about two hours, but

a began to be mighty impatient for intelligence
T WENT BACK DI-

neotny, anp rurten Abroad, for T had no spies to send out.
UP THK LADDER AFTER

ae After sitting a while longer, and musing what



I should do in this case, I was not able to bear
sitting in ignorance any longer; so setting up my ladder to
the side of the hill, where there was a flat place, as [T observed
before, and then pulling the ladder up after me, T set it up
again, and mounted to the top of the hill, and pulling out my
perspective-glass, which I had taken on purpose, [ laid me
down flat on my belly on the ground, and began to look for
the place. I presently found there was no less than nine
naked savages, sitting round a small fire they had made, not to
THEIR STRANGE OCCUPATIONS. 237

warm them, for they had no need of that, the weather being
extremely hot, but, as [ supposed, to dress some of their barbarous
diet of human flesh, which they had brought with them, whether
alive or dead T could not know.

They had two canoes with them, which they had hauled up
upon the shore; and as it was then tide of ebb, they seemed to me
to wait for the return of the flood to go away again. It is not easy
to imagine what confusion this sight put me into, especially seeing
them como on my side the island, and so near me too; but when I
observed their coming must be always with the current of the ebb,
I began afterwards to be more sedate in my mind, being satisfied
that L might go abroad with safety all the time of the tide of flood,
if they were not on shore before. And having made this observation,
{ went abroad about my harvest-work with the more composure.

As I expected, so it proved; for as soon as the tide made to the
westward, I saw them all take boat, and row, or paddle, as we call
it, allaway. [ should have observed that for an hour and more
before they went off they went to dancing, and I could easily dis-
cern their postures and gestures by my glasses. I could not per-
ceive, by my nicest observation, but that they were stark naked,
and had not the least covering upon them ; but whether they were
men or women, that L could not distinguish.

As soon as [ saw them shipped and gone, I took two guns upon
my shoulders, and two pistols at my girdle, and my great sword
by my side, without a scabbard, and with all the speed I was able
to make, L went away to the hill where I had discovered the first
appearance of all; and as soon as I got thither, which was not less
than two hours (for IT could not go apace, being so laden with arms
as I was), L perceived there had been three canoes more of savages
on that place; and looking out further, [ saw they were all at sea
together, making over for the main,

This was a dreadful sight to me, especially when, going down to
the shore, [ could sce the marks of horror which the dismal work
they had been about had left behind it—namely, the blood, the bones,
and part of the flesh of human bodies, eaten and devoured by those
wretches with merriment and sport. I was so filled with indigna-
tion at the sight, that I began now to premeditate the destruction
238 CRUSOE’S ALARM REVIVES.

of the next that I saw there, let them be who or how many se-
ever.

It seemed evident to me that the visits which they thus make to
this island are not very frequent; for it was above fifteen months
before any more of them came on shore there again ;—that is to
say, I neither saw them, nor any footsteps or signals of them, in
all that time; for as to the rainy seasons, then they are sure not
to come abroad, at least not so far. Yet all this while I lived un-
comfortably, by reason of the constant apprehensions I was in of
their coming upon me by surprise; from whence I observe that the
expectation of evil is more bitter than the suffering, especially if there
is no room to shake off that expectation or those apprehensions.

During all this time I was in the murdering humour, and took
up most of my hours, which should have been better employed,
in contriving how to circumvent and fall upon them the very next
time I should see them, especially if they should be divided, aa
they were the last time, into two parties. Nor did I consider at
all that if I killed one party—suppose ten or a dozen—I was still
the next day, or week, or month, to kill another, and so another,
even ad infinitum, till I should be at length no less a murderer
than they were in being man-eaters, and perhaps much more so.






SPENT my ‘days now in great perplexity and
\G) anxiety of mind, expecting that I should one
day or other fall into the hands of these merci-





with the greatest care and caution imaginable.
And now I found to my great comfort how
happy it was that I provided for a tame flock or herd of goats:
for I durst not upon any account fire my gun, especially near that
side of the island where they usually came, lest I should alarm the
THE SIGNAL GUN. 239

savages; and if they had fled from me now, I was sure to have
them come back again, with perhaps two or three hundred canoes
with them, in a few days, and then I knew what to expect.

However, I wore out a vear and three inonths more before I
ever saw any more of the savages, and then I found them again,
as I shall soon observe. It is true they might have been there
once or twice, but either they made no stay, or at least I did not
hear them; but in the month of May, as near as I could calculate,
and in my four-and-twentieth year, I had a very strange encounter
with them, of which in its place.

The perturbation of my mind during this fifteen or sixteen
months’ interval was very great. 7. slept unquiet, dreamed always
frightful dreams, and often started out of my sleep in the night.
In the day great troubles overwhelmed my mind, and in the night
I dreamed often of killing the savages, and of the reasons why I
might justify the doing of it. But to waive all this for a while, it
was in the middle of May, on the sixteenth day, I think, as well
as my poor wooden calendar would reckon; for I marked all upon
the post still. I say it was the sixteenth of May, that it blew a
very great storm of wind all day, with a great deal of lightning
and thunder, and a very foul night it was after it. I know not
what was the particular occasion of it; but as I was reading in the
Bible, and taken up with very serious thoughts about my present
condition, I was surprised with a noise of a gun, as I thought,
fired at sea.

This was, to be sure, a surprise of a quite different nature from
any I had met with before; for the notions this put into my
thoughts were quite of another kind. I started up in the greatest
haste imaginable, and in a trice clapped my ladder to the middle
place of the rock, and pulled it after me, and mounting it the second
time, got to the top of the hill, the very moment that a flash of
fire bade me listen for a second gun, which accordingly in about
half a minute I heard, and by the sound knew that it was from that
part of the sea where I was driven down the current in my boat.

I immediately considered that this must be some ship in distress,
and that they had some comrade or some other ship in company,

and fired these guns for signals of distress and to obtain help. I
\284) 16
240 LIGHTING THE BEACON,

had this pres-
ence of mind
at that minute
as to think
that though
T could not
help them, it
may be they
might — help
me; so I
brought — to-
together all
the dry wood
IT could get
at hand, and
making a
good — hand-
some pile, [
set it on fire

“TD PLIED MY FIRE ALL NIGHT LONG upon the hill.
TILL DAY BROKE.”



The wood was
{* dry and blazed freely, and though the wind blew
very hard, yet it burned fairly out, that I was cer-
tain if there was any such thing as a ship they must needs see
it; and no doubt they did, for as soon as ever my fire blazed up
I heard another gun, and after that several others, all from the
same quarter. I plied my fire all night long till day broke; and
when it was broad day, and the air cleared up, I saw something at
a great distance at sea, full east of the island, whether a sail or a
huil I could not distinguish, no, not with my glasses, the distance
Was so great, and the weather still something hazy also; at least,
it was so out at sea.

I looked frequently at it all that day, and soon perceived that
it did not move; so I presently concluded that it was a ship at an
anchor; and being eager, you may be sure, to be satistied, I took
my gun in my hand, and ran toward the south side of the island,
to the rocks where T had formerlv been carried away with the
CRUSOE’S CONJECTULES. 24)

current; and getting up there, the weather by this time being
perfectly clear, I could plainly see, to my great sorrow, the wreck
of a ship cast away in the night upon those concealed rocks which
[ found when [ was out in my boat; and which rocks, as they
checked the violence of the stream, and made a kind of counter-
stream or eddy, were the occasion of my recovering from the most
desperate hopeless condition that ever [ had been in in all my life.

Thus, what is one man’s safety is another man’s destruction ;
for it seems these men, whoever they were, being out of their
knowledge, and the rocks being wholly under water, had been
driven upon them in the night, the wind blowing hard at east and
east-north-east. Had they seen the island, as [ must necessarily
suppose they did not, they must, as [ thought, have endeavoured
to have saved themselves on shore by the help of their boat. But
their firing of guns for help, especially when they saw, as I
imagined, my fire, filled me with many thoughts. First, I
imagined that upon seeing my light they might have put them-
selves into their boat, and have endeavoured to make the shore; but
that the sea going very high, they might have been cast away.
Other times I imagined that they might have lost their boat
before, as might be the case many ways, as particularly by the
oreaking of the sea upon their ship, which many times obliges
men to stave or take in pieces their boat, and sometimes to throw
it overboard with their own hands. Other times I imagined they
had some other ship or ships in company, who, upon the signals of
distress they had made, had taken them up and carried them off.
Other whiles I fancied they were all gone off to sea in their boat,
and being hurried away by the current that I had been formerly
in, were carried out into the great ocean, where there was nothing
but misery and perishing, and that perhaps they might by this
time think of starving, and of being in a condition to eat one
another.

As all these were but conjectures at best, so in the condition I
was in I could do no more than look on upon the misery of the
poor men and pity them; which had still this good effect on my
side, that it gave me more and more cause to give thanks to God,
who had so happily and comfortably provided for me in my desolate
242 A CRAVING AFTER SOCIETY.

condition; and that of two ships’ companies who were now cast
away upon this part of the world, not one life should be spared
but mine. I learned here again to observe that it is very rare
that the providence of God casts us into any condition of life so
low, or any misery so great, but we may see something or other
to be thankful for, and may see others in worse circumstances than
our own.

Such certainly was the case of these men, of whom I could not
so much as see room to suppose any of them were saved. Nothing
could make it rational, so much as to wish or expect that they did
not all perish there, except the possibility only of their being taken
up by another ship in company ; and this was but mere possibility
indeed, for I saw not the least signal or appearance of any such thing.

I cannot explain by any possible energy of words what a strange
longing or hankering of desires I felt in my soul upon this sight,
breaking out sometimes thus: “ Oh that there had been but one or
two—nay, or but one soul saved out of this ship, to have escaped
to me; that 1 might but have had one companion, one fellow-
creature to have spoken to me, and to have conversed with.” In
all the time of my solitary life I never felt so earnest, so strong a
desire after the society of my fellow-creatures, or so deep a regret
at the want of it.

There are some secret moving springs in the affections, which.
when they are set agoing by some object in view, or be it some
object, though not in view, yet rendered present to the mind by
the power of imagination, that motion carries out the soul by its
impetuosity to such violent eager embracings of the object, that
the absence of it is unsupportable.

Such were these earnest wishings that but one man had been
saved! ‘Oh, that it had been but one!” I believe I repeated
the words, “Oh, that it had been but one!” a thousand times; and
the desires were so moved by it, that when I spoke the words my
hands would clinch together, and my fingers press the palms of my
hands, that if I had had any soft thing in my hand, it would have
crushed it involuntarily; and my teeth in my head would strike
together, and set against one another so strong. that for some time
T could not part them again.
THOUGHT LEADS TO ACTION. 248

Let the naturalists explain these things, and the reason and
manner of them. All I can say to them is, to describe the fact,
which was even surprising to me when I found it; though I knew
not from what it should proceed. It was doubtless the effect of
ardent wishes and of strong ideas formed in my mind, realizing the
comfort which the conversation of one of my fellow-Christians
would have been to me.

But it was not to be. Hither their fate or mine, or both, forbade
it; for until the last year of my being on this island, I never knew
whether any were saved out of that ship or no; and had only
the affliction, some days after, to see the corpse of a drowned boy
come on shore, at the end of the island which was next the ship-
wreck. He had on no clothes, but a seaman’s waistcoat, a pair of
open-kneed linen drawers, and a blue linen shirt; but nothing to
direct me so much as to guess what nation he was of. He had
nothing in his pocket but two pieces of eight and a tobacco pipe.
The last was to me of ten times more value than the first.

It was now calm, and I had a great mind to venture out in my
boat to this wreck; not doubting but J might find something on
board that might be useful to me. But that did not altogether
press me so much as the possibility that there might be yet some
living creature on board, whose life I might not only save, but
might, by saving that life, comfort my own to the last degree;
and this thought clung so to my heart that I could not be quiet,
night nor day, but I must venture out in my boat on board this
wreck ; and committing the rest to God’s providence, I thought the
impression was so strong upon my mind that it could not be re-
sisted, that it must come from some invisible direction, and that I
should be wanting to myself if I did not go.

Under the power of this impression, I hastened back to my
castle, prepared everything for my voyage, took a quantity of
bread, a great pot for fresh water, a compass to steer by, a bottle
of rum,—for I had still a great deal of that left,—a basket full of
raisins. And thus loading myself with everything necessary, I
went down to my boat, got the water out of her, and got her afloat,
loaded all my cargo in her, and then went home again for more.
My second cargo was a great bag full of rice, the umbrella to set
244 A VISIT TO THE WRECK.

up over my head for shade, another large pot full of fresh water,
and about two dozen of my small loaves, or barley cakes, more
than before, with a bottle of goat’s milk, and a cheese: all which,
with great labour and sweat, 1 brought to my boat; and praying
to God to direct my voyage, 1 put out, and rowing or paddling the
canoe along the shore, I came at last to the utmost point of the
island on that side—namely, north-east. And now I was to
launch out into the ocean, and either to venture, or not to venture.
I looked on the rapid currents which ran constantly on both sides
of the island, at a distance, and which were very terrible to me,
from the remembrance of the hazard I] had been in before, and my
heart began to fail me; for I foresaw that if Twas driven into
either of those currents, ] should be carried a vast way out to sea,
and perhaps out of my reach or sight of the island again; and that
then, as my boat was but small, if any little gale of wind should
vise, I should be inevitably lost.

These thoughts so oppressed my mind, that I began to give over
my enterprise, and having hauled my boat into a little creek on the
shore, I stepped out, and sat me down upon a little rising bit of
ground, very pensive and anxious, between fear and desire about
my voyage; when, as | was musing, 1 could perceive that the tide
was turned and the flood come on, upon which my going was for
so many hours impracticable. Upon this, presently it occurred to
me that I should go up to the highest piece of ground | could
find, and observe, if I could, how the sets of the tide or currents
lay when the flood came in, that I might judge whether, if I was
driven one way out, I might not expect to be driven another way
home, with the same rapidness of the currents. This thought was
no sooner in my head, but I cast my eye upon a little hill, which
sufficiently overlooked the sea both ways, and from whence I had
a clear view of the currents, or sets of the tide, and which way 1
was to guide myself in my return. Tere I found that as the cur-
rent of the ebb set out close by the south point of the island, so the
current of the flood set in close by the shore of the north side, and
that ] had nothing to do but to keep to the north of the island in
my return, and I should do well enough.

Encouraged with this observation, I resolved the next morning
THE ONLY LIVING 'THING, 245

to set out with tho first of the tide; and reposing myself for the
night in the canoe, under the great watch-cout | mentioned, T
launched out. J made first a little out to sea full north, till]
began to feel the benefit of the current, which set eastward, and
which carried me at a great rate, and yet did not so hurry me as
the southern side current had done before, and so as to take from
me all government of the boat; but having a strong steerage with
my paddle, | went at a great rate, directly for the wreek, and in
less than two hours [came up to it,

It was a dismal sight to look at. The ship, which by its build-
ing was Npanish, stuck fast, jammed in between two rocks; all the
stern and quarter of her was beaten to pieces with the sea ; and as
her foreeastle, which stuck in the rocks, had run on with great
violence, her mainmast and foremast were brought by the board.
that is to say, broken short off; but her boltsprit was sound, and
the head and bow appeared firm. When T came close to her, a
dog appeared upon her, which seoing me coming, yelped and cried ;
and as soon as T called him, jumped into the sea to come to me,
and 1 took him into the boat, but found him almost dead for
hunger and thirst. 1 gave him a cake of my bread, and he ate it
like w ravenous wolf that had been starving a fortnight in the
snow. I then gave the poor creature some fresh water, with
which, if I would have let him, he would have burst himself.

After this I went on board; but the first sight I met with was
two men drowned in the cook-room, or forecastle of the ship, with
their arms fast about one another, I concluded, as is indeed pro-
bable, that when the ship struck, it being in a storm, the sea broke
so high and so continually over her, that the men were not able to
bear it, and were strangled with the constant rushing in of the
water, as much as if they had been under water. Besides the dog,
there was nothing left in the ship that had life; nor any goods
that I could see, but what were spoiled by the water. There were
some casks of liquor—whether wine or brandy, I knew not—which
lay lower in the hold, and which, the water being ebbed out, I
could see ; but they were too big to meddle with. I saw several
chests, which I believed belonged to some of the seamen, and I got
two of them into the boat, without examining what was in them.
246 SPOILS FROM THE WRECK,

Had the stern of the ship been fixed and the fore part broken
off, Tam persuaded that T might have made a good voyage; for
by what T found in these two chests, I had room to suppose the
ship had a great deal of wealth on board; and if T may guess by
the course she steered, she must have been bound from the Buenos
Ayres or the Rio dela Plata, in the south part of America, beyond
the Brazils, to the Havannah, in the Gulf of Mexico, and so, per-
haps, to Spain. She had, no doubt, a great treasure in her, but of
no use at that time to anybody; and what became of the rest. of
her people I then knew not.

T found, besides these chests, a little cask full of liquor, of about
twenty gallons, which T got into my boat with much difficulty.
There were several muskets ina cabin, and a great powder-horn,
with about four pounds of powder in it. As for the muskets, I
had no occasion for them—so [ left them; but took the powder-
horn. I took a fire-shovel and tongs, which IT wanted extremely ;
ns also two little brass kettles, a copper pot to make chocolate, and
agridiron, And with this cargo and the dog I came away, the
tide beginning to make home again. And the same evening, about
an hour within night, I reached the island again, weary and
fatigued to the last degree.

I reposed that night in the boat, and in the morning T resolved
to harbour what T had gotten in my new cave, not to carry it home
to my castle. After refreshing myself, I got all ny cargo on shore,
and began to examine the particulars. The eask of liquor T found
to be a kind of ram, but not such as we had at the Brazils—and,
in a word, not at all good; but when I came to open the chests,
IT found several things of great use to me. For example, [ found
in one a fine case of bottles, of an extraordinary kind, and filled
with cordial waters, fine, and very good; the bottles held about
three pints each, and were tipped with silver: I found two pots
of very good succades, or sweetmeats, so fastened also on top that
the salt water had not hurt them; and two more of the same which
the water had spoiled: I found some very good shirts, which were
very welcome to me, and about a dozen and half of linen white
handkerchiefs, and coloured neckeloths—the former were also very
welcome, being exceeding refreshing to wipe my face in a hot dav:
MONEY BECOME AS DROSS. 247

besides this, when I came to the till in the chest, I found there
three great bags of pieces of eight, which held out about eleven
hundred pieces in all; and in one of them, wrapped up in a paper,
six doubloons of gold, and some small bars or wedges of gold; I
suppose they might all weigh near a pound.

The other chest I found had some clothes in it, but of little
value; but by the circumstances it must have belonged to the
gunner’s mate, though there was no powder in it but about two
pound of fine glazed powder in three small flasks, kept, I suppose,
for charging their fowling-pieces on occasion. Upon the whole, I
got very little by this voyage that was of any use to me: for as
to the money, I had no manner of occasion for it; it was to me as
the dirt under my feet; and I would have given it all for three or
four pair of English shoes and stockings, which were things I
greatly wanted, but had not had on my feet now for many years.
Thad, indeed, gotten two pair of shoes now, which I took off of the
feet of the two drowned men whom I saw in the wreck; and I found
two pair more in one of the chests, which were very welcome to
me; but they were not like our English shoes, either for ease or
service, being rather what we call pumps than shoes. I found in
this seaman’s chest about fifty pieces of eight in royals, but no
gold. Isuppose this belonged to a poorer man than the other,
which seemed to belong to some officer.

Well, however, I lugged this money home to my cave, and laid
it up, as Thad done that before which I brought from our own
ship ; but it was great pity, as I said, that the other part of this
ship had not come to my share—for I am satisfied I might have
loaded my canoe several times over with money, which, if I had
ever escaped to England, would have lain here safe enough till I
might have come again and fetched it.

Having now brought all my things on shore and secured them,
I went back to my boat, and rowed or paddled her along the shore
to her old harbour, where I laid her up, and made the best of my
way to my old habitation, where I found everything safe and quiet:
so I began to repose myself, live after my old fashion, and take
care of my family affairs; and for awhile I lived easy enough ;
only that I was more vigilant than I used to be, looked out oftener,
248 THE FLAW AT THE OUTSET,

and did not go abroad so much ; and if at any time I did stir with
any freedom, it was always to the east part of the island, where I
was pretty well satisfied the savages never came, and where I could
eo without so many precautions, and such a load of arms and am-
munition, as T always carried with me if T went the other way.

1 lived in this condition near two years more. But my unlucky
head, that was always to let me know it was born to make my body
miserable, was all these two years filled with projects and designs
how, if it were possible, ] might get away from this island: for
sometimes Twas for making another voyage to the wreck, though
my reason told me that there was nothing left there worth the
hazard of my voyage; sometimes for a ramble one way, sometimes
another; and 1 believe verily, if T had had the boat that IT went
from Sallee in, 1 should have ventured to sea, bound anywhere, 1
knew not whither,

T have been, in all my circumstances, a memento to those who
are touched with the general plague of mankind, whence, tor
ought T know, one-half of their miseries flow—I mean, that of not
being satisfied with the station wherein God and nature has placed
them. Tor, not to look back upon my primitive condition, and
the excellent advice of my father, the opposition to which was, as
T may call it, my ortyénal sim; my subsequent mistakes of the
same kind had been the means of my coming into this miserable
condition : for had that Providence which so happily had seated
me at the Brazils as a planter, blessed me with confined desires,
and IT could have been contented to have gone on gradually, 1
might have been by this time, I mean in the time of my being in
this island, one of the most considerable planters in the Brazils.
Nay, T am persuaded that, by the improvements IT had made in
that little time I lived there, and the increase I should probably
have made if 1 had stayed, I might have been worth a hundred
thousand moidores. And what business had I to leave a settled
fortune, a well-stocked plantation, improving and increasing, to
turn supercargo to Guinea to fetch negroes, when patience and
time would have so increased our stock at home that we could
have bought them at our own door from those whose business it
was to fetch them? And though it had cost us something more,
CRUSOE’S NIGHT THOUGH'S. 249

yet the difference of that price was by no means worth saving at
80 great a hazard,

But as this is ordinarily the fate of young heads, so reflection
upon the folly of it is as ordinarily the exercise of more years or
of the dear-bought experience of time. And so it was with me
now. And yet so deep had the mistake taken root in my temper
that I could not satisfy myself in my station, but was continually
poring upon the means and possibility of my escape from this
place. And that I may, with the greater pleasure to the reader,
bring on the remaining part of my story, it may not be improper
to give some account of my first conceptions on the subject of thie
foolish scheme for my escape, and how and upon what foundation
1 acted.

I am now to be supposed retired into my castle after my late
voyage to the wreck, iny frigate laid up and secured under water
as usual, and my condition restored to what it was before. I had
more wealth, indeed, than I had before, but was not at all the
richer ; for I had no more use for it than the Indians of Peru had
before the Spaniards came there,

It was one of the nights in the rainy season in March, the four-
and-twentieth year of my first setting foot in this island of solitari-
ness. J was lying in my bed or hammock awake, very well in
health ; had no pain, no distemper, no uneasiness of body; no, nor
any uneasiness of mind, more than ordinary : but could by no
means close my eves; that is, so as to sleep; no, not a wink all
night long: otherwise that as follows.

It. is as impossible as needless to set down the innumerable
crowd of thoughts that whirled through that great thoroughfare of
the brain, the memory, in this night’s time. I ran over the whole
history of my life in miniature, or by abridgment, as I may call
it, to my coming to this island, and also of the part of my life
since | came to this island. In my reflections upon the state of
my case since L came on shore on this island, 1 was comparing the
happy posture of my affairs in the first years of my habitation
here, compared to the life of anxicty, fear, and care which I had
lived ever since I had seen the print of a foot in the sand. Not
that 1 did not believe the savages had frequented the island even
260 INSTANCES OF PROVIDENTIAL CARE.

all the while, and might have been several hundreds of them at
times on shore there; but I had never known it, and was incapable
of any apprehensions about it. My satisfaction was perfect, though
my danger was the same ; and T was as happy in not knowing my
danger as if T had never really been exposed to it. This furnished
my thoughts with many very profitable reflections, and particularly
this one: How infinitely good that Providence is which has pro-
vided, in its government of mankind, such narrow bounds to his
sight and knowledge of things; and though he walks in the midst
of so many thousand dangers, the sight of which, if discovered to
him, would distract his mind and sink his spirits, he is kept serene
and calm by having the events of things hid from his eyes, and
knowing nothing of the dangers which surround him !

After these thoughts had for some time entertained me, T came
to reflect seriously upon the real danger [ had been in for so many
years in this very island, and how I had walked about in the
greatest. security and with all possible tranquillity, even when
perhaps nothing but a brow of a hill, a great tree, or the casual
approach of night, had been between me and the worst kind of
destruction; namely, that of falling into the hands of cannibals and
savages, Who would have seized on me with the same view as 1
did of a goat or a turtle, and have thought it no more a crime to
kill and devour me than I did of a pigeon or a curlew. I would
unjustly slander myself if I should say I was not sincerely thank-
ful to my great Preserver, to whose singular protection J acknow-
ledged, with great humility, that all these unknown deliverances
were due, and without which I must inevitably have fallen into
their merciless hands.

When these thoughts were over, my head was for some time
taken up in considering the nature of these wretched creatures, I
mean, the savages ; and how it came to pass in the world that the
wise Governor of all things should give up any of his creatures to
such inhumanity, nay, to something so much below even brutality
itself, as to devour its own kind. But as this ended in some, at
that time fruitless, speculations, it occurred to me to inquire what
part of the world these wretches lived in; how far off the coast
was from whence they came; what they ventured over so far from
AN ABSORRING IDEA. 251

home for; what kind of boats they had; and why I might not
order myself and my business so that I might be as able to go
over thither as they were to come to me.

I never so much as troubled myself to consider what I should
do with myself when I came thither, what would become of me it
I fell into the hands of the savages, or how I should escape from
them if they attempted me; no, nor so much as how it was possible
for me to reach the coast and not be attempted by some or other
of them without any possibility of delivering myself ; and if I
should not fall into their hands, what I should do for provisions, or
whither I should bend my course ;—none of these thoughts, I say,
so much as came in my way, but my mind was wholly bent upon
the notion of my passing over in my boat to the mainland. 1
looked back upon my present condition as the most miserable that
could possibly be: that I was not able to throw myself into any-
thing but death that could be called worse; that if I reached the
shore of the main I might perhaps meet with relief, or I might
const along, as I did on the shore of Africa, till I came to some
inhabited country, and where I might find some relief; and, after
all, perhaps [ might fall in with some Christian ship that might
take me in; and if the worst came to the worst I could but die,
which would put an end to all these miseries at once. Pray note,
all this was the fruit of a disturbed mind, an impatient temper,
made as it were desperate by the long continuance of my troubles,
and the disappointments I had met in the wreck I had been on
board of, and where I had been so near the obtaining what I so
earnestly longed for, namely, somebody to speak to, and to learn
some knowledge from of the place where I was, and of the probable
means of my deliverance: I say, I was agitated wholly by these
thoughts; all my calm of mind in my resignation to Providence,
and waiting the issue of the dispositions of Heaven, seemed to be
suspended ; and I had, as it were, no power to turn my thoughts
to anything but to the project of a voyage to the main, which
came upon me with such force and such an impetuosity of desire
that it was not to be resisted.

When this had agitated my thoughts for two hours or more
with such violence that it set my very blood into a ferment, and
252 AN EXTRAORDINARY DREAM,

my pulse beat as high as if I had been in a fever, merely with the
extraordinary fervour of my mind about it—nature, as if I had
been fatigued and exhausted with the very thought of it, threw
me into a sound sleep. One would have thought I should have
dreamed of it; but I did not, nor of anything relating to it. But
I dreamed that as I was going out in the morning as usual from
my castle, 1 saw upon the shore two canoes and eleven savages
coming to land, and that they brought with them another savage,
whom they were going to kill in order to eat him; when on a
sudden the savage that they were going to kill jumped away and
ran for his life. And I thought in my sleep that he came running
into my little thick grove before my fortification to hide himself;
and that I, seeing him alone, and not perceiving that the others
sought him that way, showed myself to him, and, smiling upon
him, encouraged him: that he kneeled down to me, seeming to
pray me to assist him ; upon which I showed my ladder, made him
go up, and carried him into my cave, and he became my servant :
and that, as soon as I had gotten this man, I said to myself; Now
I may certainly venture to the mainland, for this fellow will serve
me as a pilot, and will tell me what to do, and whither to go for
provisions, and whither not to go for fear of being devoured; what
places to venture into, and what to escape—I waked with this
thought, and was under such inexpressible impressions of joy at
the prospect of my escape in my dream, that the disappointments
which I felt upon coming to myself and finding it was no more
than a dream were equally extravagant the other way, and threw
me into a very great dejection of spirit.

Upon this, however, 1 made this conclusion, that my only way
to go about an attempt for an escape was, if possible, to get a
savage into my possession; and, if possible, it should be one of
their prisoners whom they had condemned to be eaten and should
bring thither to kill. But these thoughts still were attended with
this difficulty, that it was impossible to effect this without attack-
ing a whole caravan of them, and killing them all. And this was
not only a very desperate attempt and might miscarry, but, on the
other hand, I had greatly scrupled the lawfulness of it to me; and
my heart trembled at the thoughts of shedding so much blood,
ALWAYS ON THE WATCH. 253

though it was for my deliverance. I need not repeat the argu-
ments which occurred to me against this, they being the same
mentioned before. But though I had other reasons to offer now—
namely, that those men were enemies to my life, and would devour
me if they could; that it was self-preservation in the highest
degree to deliver myself from this death of a life, and was acting
in my own defence as much as if they were actually assaulting me,
and the ike ;—I say, though these things argued for it, yet the
thoughts of shedding human blood for my deliverance were very
terrible to me, and such as I could by no means reconcile myself
to a great while.

However, at last, after many secret disputes with myself, and
after great perplexities about it—for all these arguments one way
and another struggled in my head a long time—the eager, prevail-
ing desire of deliverance at length mastered all the rest, and I
resolved, if possible, to get one of those savages into my hands,
cost what it would. My next thing then was to contrive how to
do it; and this, indeed, was very difficult to resolve on. But as
I could pitch upon no probable means for it, so I resolved to put
myself upon the watch to see them when they came on shore, and
leave the rest to the event, taking such measures as the opportunity
should present, let be what would be.

With these resolutions in my thoughts, I set myself upon the
scout as often as possible ; and indeed so often till I was heartily
tired of it, for it was above a year and half that I waited, and
for great part of that time went out to the west end and to the
south-west corner of the island almost every day to see for canoes,
but none appeared. This was very discouraging, and began to
trouble me much; though I cannot say that it did in this case as
it had done some time before that—namely, wear off the edge of
my desire to the thing. But the longer it seemed to be delayed,
the more eager I was for it: in a word, I was not at first so care-
ful to shun the sight of these savages, and avoid being seen by
them, as I was now eager to be upon them.

Besides, I fancied myself able to manage one, nay, two or three
savages, if I had them, so as to make them entirely slaves to me,
to do whatever I should direct them, and to prevent their being
254 ANOTHER CANNIBAL ORGITE,

able at any time to do me any hurt. Tt was a great while that 1]
pleased myself with this affair; but nothing still presented. All
my fancies and schemes came to nothing, for no savages came near
me for a great while.

About a year and half after T had entertained these notions,
and by long musing had, as it were, resolved them all into nothing
for want of an occasion to put them in execution, T was surprised
one morning early with seeing no less than five canoes all on shore
together on my side the island, and the people who belonged to
them all landed and out of my sight! The number of them broke
all my measures ; for seeing so many, and knowing that they
always came four or six, or sometimes more, in a boat, [ could not
tell what to think of it, or how to take my measures to attack
twenty or thirty men single-handed: so T lay still in my castle,
perviexed and discomforted. However, I put myself into all the
same postures for an attack that T had formerly provided, and was
just ready for action if anything had presented. Having waited a
good while, listening to hear if they made any noise, at length,
being very impatient, I set my guns at the foot of my ladder, and
clambered up to the top of the hill by my two stages, as usual;
standing so, however, that my head did not appear above the hill,
so that they could not perceive me by any means, Here I observed,
by the help of my perspective-glass, that they were no less than
thirty in number, that they had a fire kindled, that they had had
meat dressed. How they had cooked it, that T knew not, or what
it was; but they were all dancing, in I know not how many bar-
barous gestures and figures, their own way round the fire,

While I was thus looking on them I perceived by my perspec-
tive two miserable wretches dragged from the boats, where it
seems they were laid by, and were now brought out for the
slaughter. I perceived one of them immediately fall, being
knocked down, I suppose, with a club or wooden sword,—for that
was their way,—and two or three others were at work immediately
cutting him open for their cookery, while the other victim was
left standing by himself till they should be ready for him. In
that very moment this poor wretch, seeing himself a little at
liberty. nature inspired him with hopes of life, and he started
A RACE FOR LIFR. 266

away from them, and ran with incredible swiftness alone the sands
directly towards me; T mean, towards that part of the coast where
my habitation was,

T was dreadfully frighted, that I must acknowledge, when I
perecived him to run my way; and especially when, as I thought,
T saw him pursued by the whole body; and now I expected that
part of my dream was coming to pass, and that he would certainly
take shelter in my grove; but T could not depend by any means
upon my dream for the rest of it—namely, that the other savages
would not pursue him thither and find him there. However, I
kept my station, and my spirits began to recover when I found
that, there were not above three men that followed him; and still
more was I encouraged, when I found that he outstripped them
exceedingly in running, and gained ground of them, so that if he
could but hold it for half an hour, I saw easily he would fairly get
away from them all.

There was between them and my castle the creek, which I men-
tioned often at the first part of my story, when I landed my car-
goes out of the ship; and this I saw plainly he must necessarily
swim over, or the poor wretch would be taken there. But when
the savage escaping came thither, he made nothing of it, though
the tide was then up, but plunging in, swam through in about
thirty strokes or thereabouts, landed and ran on with exceeding
strength and swiftrss. When the three persons came to the creek,
I found that two of them could swim, but the third could not, and
that standing on the other side, he looked at the other, but went
no further ; and soon after went softly back, which, as it happened,
was very well for him in the main.

I observed that the two who swam were yet more than twice as
long swimming over the creck as the fellow was that fled from
them. It came now very warmly upon my thoughts, and indeed
irresistibly, that now was my time to get me a servant, and per-
haps a companion or assistant; and that I was called plainly by
Providence to save this poor creature’s life. I immediately ran
down the ladders with all possible expedition, fetches my two
guns, for they were both but at the foot of the ladders, as I

observed above; and getting up again with the same haste to the
(zea) 17
266 ESCAPE OF THE PRISONER.

top of the hill, I crossed toward the sea; and having a very short
cut and all down hill, clapped myself in the way between the pur-
suers and the pursued; hallooing aloud to him that fled, who,
looking back, was at first perhaps as much frighted at me as
at them: but I beckoned with my hand to him to come back;
and in the meantime I slowly advanced towards the two that fol-
lowed ; then rushing at once upon the foremost, I knocked him
down with the stock of my piece. I was loath to fire, because I
would not have the rest hear; though at that distance it would
not have been easily heard, and being out of sight of the smoke
too, they would not have easily known what to make of it. Hav-
ing knocked this fellow down, the other who pursued with him
stopped, as if he had been frighted, and I advanced apace towards
him; but as I came nearer, I perceived presently he had a bow
and arrow, and was fitting it to shoot at me; so I was then neces-
sitated to shoot at him first, which I did and killed him at the first
shot. The poor savage who fled, but had stopped, though he saw
both his enemies fallen, and killed, as he thought, yet was so
frighted with the fire and noise of my piece, that he stood stock-
still, and neither came forward nor went backward, though he
seemed rather inclined to fly still than to come on. I hallooed
again to him, and made signs to come forward, which he easily
understood, and came a little way, then stopped again, and then a
little further, and stopped again, and I could then perceive-that he
stood trembling, as if he had been taken prisoner, and had just
been to be killed, as his two enemies were. I beckoned him again
to come to me, and gave him all the signs of encouragement that I
could think of, and he came nearer and nearer, kneeling down
every ten or twelve steps in token of acknowledgment for my sav-
ing his life. I smiled at him, and looked pleasantly, and beckoned
to him to come still nearer. At length he came close to me, and
then he kneeled down again, kissed the ground, and Jaid his head
upon the ground, and taking me by the foot, set my foot upon his
head: this, it seems, was in token of swearing to be my slave for
ever. I took him up and made much of him, and encouraged him
all I could. ‘ut there was more work to do yet; for I perceived
the savage whom | knocked down was not killed, but stunned,
HIS RECEPTION RY CRUSOR. 257









Hs CAMK CLOSE TO ME AND KNEELED DOWN.”

with the blow, and began to come to himself; so I pointed to him,
and showing him the savage, that he was not dead. Upon this he
spoke some words to me, and though I could not understand them
yet I thought they were pleasant to hear, for they were the first
sound of a man’s voice that I had heard, my own excepted, for
above twenty-tive years. But there was no time for such reflec-
tions now. ‘The savage who was knocked down recovered himself
258 GETTING RID OF ONE'S ENEMIES.

so far as to sit up upon the ground, and I perceived that my
savage began to be afraid; but when I saw that, I presented my
other piece at the man, as if I would shoot him. Upon this my
savage, for so I call him now, made a motion to me to lend him
my sword, which hung naked in a belt by my side; so I did. He
no sooner had it, but he runs to his enemy, and at one blow cut
off his head as cleverly, no executioner in Germany could have
done it sooner or better; which I thought very strange for one
who I had reason to believe never saw a sword in his life before,
except their own wooden swords. However, it seems, as I learned
afterwards, they make their wooden swords so sharp, so heavy,
and the wood is so hard, that they will cut off heads even with
them, ay, and arms, and that at one blow too. When he had
done this, he comes laughing to me in sign of triumph, and brought
me the sword again, and with abundance of gestures, which I did
not understand, laid it down with the head of the savage that he
had killed just before me.

But that which astonished him most, was to know how I had
killed the other Indian so far off. So pointing to him, he mada
signs to me to let him go to him; so I bade him go as well as J
could. When he came to him he stood like one amazed, looking
at him, turned him first on one side, then on the other, looked at
the wound the bullet had made, which it seems was just in his
breast, where it had made a hole, and no great quantity of blood
had followed; but he had bled inwardly, for he was quite dead.
Ife took up his bow and arrows and came back, so I turned to go
away, and beckoned to him to follow me, making signs to him
that more might come after them.

Upon this he signed to me that he should bury them with sand,
that they might not be seen by the rest if they followed; and so
I made signs again to him to do so. He fell to work, and in an
instant he had scraped a hole in the sand with his hands, big
enough to bury the first in, and then dragged him into it, and
covered him, and did so also by the other. I believe he had
buried them both in a quarter of an hour. Then calling him away,
I carried him, not to my castle, but quite away to my cave, on the
further part of the island. So I did not let my dream come to
THE STRANGER DESCRIBED. 269

pass in that part; namely, that he came into my grove for
shelter.

Here I gave him bread and a bunch of raisins to eat, and a
draught of water, which I found he was indeed in great distress
for by his running. And having refreshed him, I made signs for
him to go lie down and sleep, pointing to a place where I had laid
a great parcel of rice straw, and a blanket upon it, which I used to
sleep upon myself sometimes; so the poor creature lay down and
went to sleep.

He was a comely, handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with
straight strong limbs, not too large, tall and well shaped, and as I
reckon, about twenty-six years of age. He had a very good coun-
tenance, not a fierce and surly aspect; but seemed to have some-
thing very manly in his face; and yet he had all the sweetness and
softness of an Kuropean in his countenance too, especially when he
smiled. His hair was long and black, not curled like wool; his
forehead very high and large, and a great vivacity and sparkling
sharpness in his eyes. The colour of his skin was not quite black,
but very tawny; and yet not of an ugly yellow nauseous tawny, as
the Brazilians and Virginians, and other natives of America are;
but of a bright kind of a dun olive colour, that had in it some-
thing very agreeable, though not very easy to describe. His face
was round and plump; his nose small, not flat like the negroes; a
very good mouth, thin lips, and his fine teeth well set, and white
as ivory. After he had slumbered, rather than slept, about half
an hour, he waked again, and comes out of the cave to me, for I
had been milking my goats, which I had in the enclosure just by.
When he espied me, he came running to me, laying himself down
again upon the ground, with all the possible signs of an humble
thankful disposition, making a many antic gestures to show it.
At last he lays his head flat upon the ground, close to my foot,
and sets my other foot upon his head, as he had done before; and
after this made all the signs to me of subjection, servitude, and
submission imaginable, to let me know how he would serve me as
long as he lived. I understood him in many things, and let him
know I was very well pleased with him. In a little time I began
to speak to him, and teach him to speak to me. And first,
260 HE RECEIVES A NAME,

IL made him know his name should be Friday, which was the
day I saved his life. I called him so for the memory of the time.
I likewise taught him to say Master, and then let him know that
was to be my name. I likewise taught him to say Yes and No,
and to know the meaning of them. I gave him some milk in an
earthen pot, and let him see me drink it before him, and sop my
bread in it. And I gave him a cake of bread to do the like, which
he quickly complied with, and made signs that it was very good
for hin.

I kept there with him all that night; but as soon as it was day I
beckoned to him to come with me, and let him know I would give
him some clothes; at which he seemed very glad, for he was stark
naked. As we went by the place where he had buried the two
men he pointed exactly to the place, and showed me the marks
that he had made to find them again, making signs to me that we
should dig them up again and eat them! At this I appeared very
angry, expressed my abhorrence of it, made as if I would vomit at
the thoughts of it, and beckoned with my hand to him to come
away; which he did immediately, with great submission. I then
led him up to the top of the hill, to see if his enemies were gone ;
and, pulling out my glass, [ looked and saw plainly the place
where they had been, but no appearance of them, or of their canoes;
so that it was plain that they were gone, and had left their two
comrades behind them, without any search after them.

But I was not content with this discovery; but having now
more courage, and consequently more curiosity, I takes my man
Friday with me, giving him the sword in his hand with the bow
and arrows at his back, which I found he could use very dexter-
ously, making him carry one gun for me, and I two for myself,
and away we marched to the place where these creatures had been,
for I had a mind now to get some fuller intelligence of them.
When I came to the place, my very blood ran chill in my veins,
and my heart sunk within me at the horror of the spectacle. In-
deed it was a dreadful sight—at least it was so to me; though
Vriday made nothing of it. The place was covered with human
bones, the ground dyed with their blood, great pieces of flesh left
here and there, half-eaten, mangled and scorched ; and, in short.
AND ALSO A SUIT OF CLOTHES. 261

all the tokens of the triumphant feast they had been making there,
uiter the victory over their enemies. I saw three skulls, five hands,
and the bones of three or four legs and feet, and abundance of
other parts of the bodies ; and Friday, by his signs, made me under-
stand that they brought over four prisoners to feast upon; that
three of them were eaten up, and that he, pointing to himself, was
the fourth: hat there had been a great battle between them and
their next king, whose subjects it seems he had been one of; and
that they had taken a great number of prisoners, all which were
carried to several places by those that had taken them in the fight,
in order to feast upon them, as was done here by these wretches
upon those they brought hither.

I caused Friday to gather all the skulls, bones, flesh, and what-
ever remained, and lay them together on a heap, and make a great
fire upon it, and burn them all to ashes. I found Friday had still
a hankering stomach after some of the flesh, and was still a can-
nibal in his nature: but I discovered so much abhorrence at the
very thoughts of it, and at the least appearance of it, that he durst
not discover it ; for I had by some means let him know that I
would kill him if he offered it.

When we had done this, we came back to our castle, and there
I fell to work for my man Friday; and first of all I gave him a
pair of linen drawers, which I had out of the poor gunner’s chest
I mentioned, and which I found in the wreck, and which with a
little alteration fitted him very well. Then I made him a jerkin
of goat-skin, as well as my skill would allow, and I was now grown
a tolerable good tailor; and I gave him a cap which I had made
of a hare-skin, very convenient, and fashionable enough; and thus
he was clothed for the present tolerably well, and was mighty well
pleased to see himself almost as well clothed as his master. It is
true, he went awkwardly in these things at first: wearing the
drawers was very awkward to him, and the sleeves of the waistcoat
galled his shoulders and the inside of his arms; but a little eas-
ing them where he complained they hurt him, and using himself
to them, at length he took to them very well.

The next day after I came home to my hutch with him, I began
to consider where I should lodge him; and that I might do well
962 NEEDLESS PRECAUTIONS.

for him, and yet be perfectly easy myself, I made a little tent for
him in the vacant place between my two fortifications, in the inside
of the last, and in the outside of the first. And as there was a
door or entrance there into my cave, I made a formal framed door-
ease, and a door to it of boards, and set it up in the passage, a little
within the entrance; and causing the door to open on the inside,
T barred it up in the night, taking in my ladders too; so that
Friday could no way come at me in the inside of my innermost
wall without making so much noise in getting over, that it must
needs waken me. For my first wall had now a complete roof over
it of long poles covering all my tent, and leaning up to the side of
the hill, which was again laid cross with smaller sticks instead of
laths, and then thatched over a great thickness with the rice
straw, which was strong like reeds; and at the hole or place which
was left to go in or out by the ladder, I had placed a kind of trap-
door, which, if it had been attempted on the outside, would not
have opened at all, but would have fallen down and made a great
noise; and as to weapons, I took them all in to my side every
night.

But I needed none of all this precaution ; for never man had a
more faithful, loving, sincere servant than Friday was to me;
without passions, sullenness, or designs, perfectly obliged and
engaged; his very affections were tied to me, like those of a child
to a father, and I daresay he would have sacrificed his life for
the saving mine upon any occasion whatsoever. The many testi-
monies he gave me of this, put it out of doubt, and soon convinced
me that I needed to use no precautions as to my safety on his
account. ;

This frequently gave me occasion to observe, and that with
wonder, that however it had pleased God, in his providence, and
in the government of the works of his hands, to take from so great
a part of the world of his creatures the best uses to which their
faculties and the powers of their souls are adapted; yet that he has
bestowed upon them the same powers, the same reason, the same
affections, the same sentiments of kindness and obligation, the
same passions and resentments of wrongs, the same sense of grati-
tude sincerity, fidelity, and ail the capacities of doing good and
NEEDLESS SPECULATIONS. 268

receiving good, that he has given to us; and that when he pleases
to offer to them occasions of exerting these, they are as ready, nay,
more ready, to apply them to the right uses for which they were
bestowed than we are. And this made me very melancholy
sometimes, in reflecting, as the several occasions presented, how
mean a use we make of all these, even though we have these
powers enlightened by the great Lamp of instruction, the Spirit of
God, and by the knowledge of his Word, added to our understand-
ing; and why it has pleased God to hide the like saving know-
ledge from so many millions of souls, who, if I might judge by
this poor savage, would make a much better use of it than we did.

From hence I sometimes was led too far, to invade the sovereignty
of Providence, and, as it were, arraign the justice of so arbitrary a
disposition of things, that should hide that light from some, and
reveal it to others, and yet expect a like duty from both. But I
shut it up, and checked my thoughts with this conclusion: first,
That we did not know by what light and law these should be con-
demned; but that as God was necessarily, and by the nature of
his being, infinitely holy and just, so it could not be but that if
these creatures were all sentenced to absence from himself, it was
on account of sinning against that light which, as the Scripture
says, was a law to themselves; and by such rules as their con-
sciences would acknowledge to be just, though the foundation was
not discovered to us. And, second, That still as we are all the clay
in the hand of the Potter, no vessel could say to him, Why hast
thou formed me thus?

But to return to my new companion. I was greatly delighted
with him, and made it my business to teach him everything that
was proper to make him useful, handy, and helpful; but especially
to make him speak, and understand me when I spoke: and he was
the aptest scholar that ever was, and particularly was so merry, 80
constantly diligent, and so pleased, when he could but understand
me, or make me understand him, that it was very pleasant to me
to talk to him. And now my life began to be so easy, that I began
vo say to myself, that could I but have been safe from more

savages, I cared not if I was never to remove from the place while
I lived.
264 TEACHING THE YOUNG IDFA.

After I had been two or three days returned to my castle, 4
thought that, in order to bring Friday off from his horrid way of
feeding, and from the relish of a cannibal’s stomach, L ought to let
him taste other flesh; so I took him out with me one morning to
the woods. I went, indeed, intending to kill a kid out of my own
flock, and bring him home and dress it; but, as I was going, I saw
a she-goat lying down in the shade, and two young kids sitting by
her. I catched hold of Friday. * Hold,” says I, “stand still;” and
made sigus to him not to stir. Immediately [ presented my piece,
shot, and killed one of the kids. The poor creature, who had ata
distance indeed seen me kill the savage his enemy, but did not
know, or could imagine, how it was done, was sensibly surprised,
trembled, and shook, and looked so amazed. that IT thought he
would have sunk down. He did not see the kid I had shot at,
perceive I had killed it, but ripped up his waistcoat to feel if “
was not w ounded, and, as [ found, presently thought L was resolved
to kill him; for he came and knecled down to me, and embracing
my kuees, said a great many things [ did not understand, but I
could easily see that the meaning was to pray me not to kill him.

I soon found a way to convince him that I would do him no
harm, and taking him up by the hand, laughed at him, and pointing
to the kid which [ had killed, beckoned him to run and fetch it,
which he did; and while he was wondering and looking to sce
how the creature was killed, I loaded my gun again, and by-and-
by I saw a great fowl like a hawk sit upon a tree within shot; so,
to let Friday understand a little what I would do, I called him to
me again, pointing to the fowl, which was indeed a parrot, though
T thought it had been a hawk. I say, pointing to the parrot, and
to my gun, and to the ground under the parrot, to let him see I
would make it fall, I made him understand that I would shoot and
kill that bird. Accordingly I fired, and bade him look, and imme-
diately he saw the parrot fall. He stood like one frighted again,
notwithstanding all I had said to him; and I found he was the
more amazed because he did not see me put anything into the gun,
but thought that there must be some wonderful fund of death and
destruction in that thing, able to kill man, beast, bird, or anything,
uear or far off ; and the astonishment this created in him was such
FRIDAY’S ASTONISHMENT. 265









“MADE HIM UNDERSTAND I WOULD
SHOOT AND KILL TUAT BIRD.”

as could not wear off for a long
time; and I believe, if 1 would
have let him, he would have worshipped me and my gun! As for
. the gun itself, he would not so much as touch it for several days
after; but would speak to it, and talk to it as if it had answered
him, when he was by himself; which, as I afterwards learned of
him, was to desire-it not to kill him.

Well, after his astonishment was a little over at this, I pointed
to him to run and fetch the bird [ had shot; which he did, but
stayed some time; for the parrot, not being quite dead, was fluttered
a gond way off from the place where she fell; however, he found
her, took her up, and brought her to me; and, as I had perceived his
266 LESSONS IN CIVILIZATION.

ignorance about the gun before, I took this advantage to charge
the gun again, and not let him sce me do it, that I might be ready
for any other mark that might present. But nothing more offered
at that time; so I brought home the kid, and the same evening I
took the skin off, and cut it out as well as I could; and having a
pot for that purpose, I boiled or stewed some of the flesh, and
made some very good broth; and after I had begun to eat some, I
gave some to my man, who seemed very glad of it, and liked it
very well. But that which was strangest to him was to see me eat
salt with it. He made a sign to me that the salt was not good to
eat, and putting a little into his own mouth, he seemed to nauseate
it, and would spit and sputter at it, washing his mouth with fresh
water after it. On the other hand, I took some meat in my mouth
without salt, and I pretended to spit and sputter for want of salt
as fast as he had done at the salt. But it would not do, he would
never care for salt with his meat, or in his broth; at least, not for
a great while, and then but a very little.

Having thus fed him with boiled meat and broth, I was resolved
to feast him the next day with roasting a piece of the kid. This I
did by hanging it before the fire in a string, as I had seen many
people do in England, setting two poles up, one on each side of
the fire, and one cross on the top, and tying the string to the cross-
stick, letting the meat turn continually. This Friday admired
very much; but, when he came to taste the flesh, he took so many
ways to tell me how well he liked it, that I could not but under-
stand him; and at last he told me he would never eat man’s flesh
any more—which I was very glad to hear.

The next day I set him to work to beating some corn out, and
sifting it in the manner I used to do, as I observed before; and he
soon understood how to do it as well as J, especially after he had
seen what the meaning of it was, and that it was to make bread of ;
for after that I let him see me make my bread, and bake it too,
and in a little time Friday was able to do all the work for me as
well as I could do it myself.

I began now to consider that, having two mouths to feed instead
of one, I must provide more ground for my harvest, and plant a
larger quantity of corn than I used to do; so I marked out a larger
A CURIOUS DIALOGUE, 267

piece of land, and began the fence in the same manner as before; in
which Friday not only worked very willingly and very hard, but
did it very cheerfully. And I told him what it was for; that it was
for corn to make more bread, because he was now with me, and
that I might have enough for him and myself too. He appeared
very sensible of that part, and let me know that he thought I had
much more labour upon me on his account than I had for myself;
and that he would work the harder for me, if 1 would tell him
what to do.

This was the pleasantest year of all the life I led in this place.
Friday began to talk pretty well, and understand the names of
almost everything I had occasion to call for, and of every place I
had to send him to, and talk a great deal to me; so that, in short,
I began now to have some use for my tongue again, which indeed
I had very little occasion for before—that is to say, about speech.
Besides the pleasure of talking to him, I had a singular satisfaction
in the fellow himself. His simple unfeigned honesty appeared to
me more and more every day, and I began really to love the
creature; and, on his side, I believe he loved me more than it was
possible for him ever to love anything before.

I had a mind once to try if he had any hankering inclination to
his own country again; and having learned him English so well
that he could answer me almost any questions, I asked him whether
the nation that he belonged to never conquered ia battle? At
which he smiled, and said, ‘‘ Yes, yes; we always fight the better: ”
that is, he meant always get the better in fight; and so we began
the following discourse :—‘‘ You always fight the better,” said I:
‘how came you to be taken prisoner, then, Friday?”

Friday. My nation beat much, for all that.

Master. How beat; if your nation beat them, how came you to
be taken ?

Friday. They*more many than my nation in the place where
me was; they take one, two, three, and me. My nation over beat
them in yonder place, where me no was; there my nation take one,
two, great thousand.

Master. But why did not your side recover you from the hands
of your enemies then ?
268 A NEW MODE OF CALCULATION.

Friday. They run one, two, three, and me, and make go in the
canoe; my nation have no canoe that time.

Master. Well, Friday, and what does your nation do with the
men they take; do they carry them away and eat them, as these
did?

Friday. Yes; my nation cat mans too, eat all up.

Master. Where do they carry them ?

Irriday. Go to other place where they think.

Master. Do they come hither?

Irriday. Yes, yes, they come hither; come other else place.

Master. Wave you been here with them ?

Irriday. Yes, I been here (points to the north-west side of the
island, which it seems was their side).

By this I understood that my man Friday had formerly been
among the savages who used to come on shore on the further part
of the island on the same man-eating occasions that he was now
brought for. And some time after, when I took the courage to carry
him to that side, being the same I formerly mentioned, he pre-
sently knew the place, and told me he was there once when they
ate up twenty men, two women, and one child. He could not tell
twenty in English; but he numbered them by laying so many
stones on a row, and pointing to me to tell them over.

Thave told this passage because it introduces what follows; that,
after I had had this discourse with him, I asked him how far it
was from our island to the shore, and whether the canoes were not
often lost? He told me there was no danger, no canoes ever lost ;
but that, after a little way out to the sea, there was a current, and
a wind, always one way in the morning, the other in the after-
noon.

This I understood to be no more than the sets of the tide, as
going out, or coming in. But I afterwards understood it was
occasioned by the great draught and reflux of the mighty river
Orinoco, in the mouth or the gulf of which river, as I found after-
wards, our island lay; and this land which I perceived to the west
and north-west was the great island Trinidad, on the north point
of the mouth of the river. I asked Friday a thousand questions
about the country, the inhabitants, the sea, the coast, and what
FRIDAYS INFORMATION, 262

nations were near.
He told me all
he knew with
the greatest open-
ness imaginable.
I asked him the
names of the
several nations of
his sort of people,
but could get no
other name than
the Caribs ; from
whence I easily
understood that
these were the
Caribbees, which
our maps place
on the part of
America which
reaches from the
mouthof theriver
Orinoco to Gui-
ana, and onwards



to St. Martha. “HE NUMBERED THEM BY LAYING 80 MANY STONES
ON A ROW.”
He told me that

up a great way beyond the moon, that was, beyond the setting of
the moon, which must be west from their country, there dwelt
white bearded men like me, and pointed to my great whiskers,
which I mentioned before; and that they had killed much mans,
—that was his word. By all which I understood he meant the
Spaniards, whose cruelties in America had been spread over the
whole countries, and were remembered byall the nations from father
to son.

I inquired if he could tell me how I might come from this
island, and get among those white men. He told me, ‘ Yes, yes,
I might go in two canoe.” I could not understand what he
meant, or make him describe to me what he meant by two canoe,
270 THERE IS BUT ONE GOD.

till at last, with great difficulty, I found he meant it must be in a
large, great boat, as big as two canoes.

This part of Friday’s discourse began to relish with me very
well, and from this time I entertained some hopes that, one time
or other, I might find an opportunity to make my escape from
this place, and that this poor savage might be a means to help me
to do it.

During the long time that Friday has now been with me, and that
he began to speak to me, and understand me, I was not wanting to
lay a foundation of religious knowledge in his mind. Particularly,
T asked him one time, ‘‘ Who made him?" The poor creature did
not understand me at all, but thought I had asked who was his
father? But I took it by another handle, and asked him who made
the sea, the ground we walked on, and the hills and woods? He
told me it was one old Benamuckee, that lived beyond all. He
could describe nothing of this great person, but that he was very
old; much older, he said, than the sea or the land, than the moon
or the stars. I asked him then, “If this old person had made all
things, why did not all things worship him?” He looked very
grave, and with a perfect look of innocence said, ‘‘ All things do
say O to him.” I asked him if the people who die in his country
went away anywhere? He said, ‘“‘ Yes; they all went to Bena-
muckee.”” Then I asked him whether those they ate up went
thither too? He said, “ Yes.”

From these things I began to instruct him in the knowledge of
the true God. JI told him that the great Maker of all things lived
up there, pointing up towards heaven; that he governs the world
by the same power and providence by which he had made it; that
he was omnipotent—could do everything for us, give everything to
us, take everything from us: and thus, by degrees, I opened his
eyes. He listened with great attention, and received with pleasure
the notion of Jesus Christ being sent to redeem us; and of the
manner of making our prayers to God, and his being able to hear
us, even into heaven. He told me one day that if our God could
hear us up beyond the sun, he must needs be a greater God than
their Benamuckee, who lived but a little way off, and yet could
not hear, until they went up to the great mountains where he
A THEOLOGICAL INSTRUCTOR. 271

dwelt, to speak to him. J asked him if ever he went thither to
speak to him? He said, “ No, they never went that were young
men;” none went thither but the old men, whom he called their
Oowokakee—that is, as I made him explain to me, their religious,
or clergy; and that they went to say O (so he called saying prayers),
and then came back and told them what Benamuckee said. By
this I observed that there is priestcraft even amongst the most
blinded ignorant pagans in the world; and the policy of making a
secret religion, in order to preserve the veneration of the people to
the clergy, is not only to be found in the Roman, but perhaps
among all religions in the world, even among the most brutish and
barbarous savages.

I endeavoured to clear up this fraud to my man Friday, and told
him that the pretence of their old men going up to the mountains
to say O to their god Benamuckee was a cheat, and their bringing
word from thence what he said was much more so; that if they
met with any answer, or spoke with any one there, it must be with
an evil spirit. And then I entered into a long discourse with him
about the devil—the original of him, his rebellion against God, his
enmity to man, the reason of it, his setting himself up in the dark
parts of the world to be worshipped instead of God, and as God;
and the many stratagems he made use of to delude mankind to
their ruin—how he had a secret access to our passions, and to our
affections, to adapt his snares so to our inclinations as to cause us
even to be our own tempters, and to run upon our destruction by
our own choice.

I found it was not so easy to imprint right notions in his mind
about the devil as it was about the being of a God. Nature
assisted all my arguments to evidence to him even the necessity of
a great first Cause and overruling governing Power, a secret direct-
ing Providence, and of the equity. and justice of paying homage to
him that made us, and the like. But there appeared nothing of
all this in the notion of an evil spirit, of his original, his being,
his nature, and, above all, of his inclination to do evil, and to
draw us in to do so too; and the poor creature puzzled me once
in such a manner, by a question merely natural and innocent, that
I scarce knew what to say to him. [ had been talking a great

a 18

a
272 POSED BY A SAVAGE.

deal to him of the power of God, his omnipotence, his dreadful
aversion to sin, his being a consuming fire to the workers of
iniquity ; how, as he had made us all, he could destroy us and all
the world in a moment; and he listened with great seriousness to
me all the while.

After this I had been telling him how the devil was God’s
enemy in the hearts of men, and used all his malice and skill to
defeat the good designs of Providence, and to ruin the kingdom of
Christ in the world, and the like. ‘ Well,” says Friday; “ but
you say God is so strong, so great, is he not much strong, much
might as the devil?” “Yes, yes,” says I, “ Friday, God is
stronger than the devil, God is above the devil, and therefore we
pray to God to tread him down under our feet, and enable us to
resist his temptations, and quench his fiery darts.” “‘ But,” says
he again, “if God much strong, much might as the devil, why God
no kill the devil, so make him no more do wicked?”

I was strangely surprised at his question; and, after all, though
I was now an old man, yet I was but a young doctor, and ill
enough qualified for a casuist, or a solver of difficulties. And at
first I could not tell what to say; so I pretended not to hear him,
and asked him what he said. But he was too earnest for an
answer to forget his question; so that he repeated it in the very
same broken words as above. By this time I had recovered my-
self a little, and I said, “ God will at last punish him severely ; he
is reserved for the judgment, and is to be cast into the bottomless
pit to dwell with everlasting fire.” This did not satisfy Friday ;
but he returns upon me, repeating my words, “ ‘ Reserve—at last,’
me not understand. But why not kill the devil now, not kill
great ago?” “You may as well ask me,” said I, “why God does
not kill you and me when we do wicked things here that offend
him. We are preserved to repent and be pardoned.” He muses
a while at this. ‘Well, well,” says he, mighty affectionately
“that well; so you, I, devil, all wicked, all preserve, repent, God
pardon all.” Here I was run down again by him to the last
degree; and it was a testimony to me how the mere notions of
nature, though they will guide reasonable creatures to the know-
ledge of a God, and of a worship or homage due to the supreme
HOW THE TEACHER IS TAUGHT. 278

being of God, as the consequence of our nature, yet nothing but
divine revelation can form the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and of
a redemption purchased for us, of a Mediator of the new covenant,
and of an Intercessor at the footstool of God’s throne ;—I say,
nothing but a revelation from Heaven can form these in the soul;
and that, therefore, the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ, I mean the Word of God, and the Spirit of God, promised
for the guide and sanctifier of his people, are the absolutely
necessary instructors of the souls of men in the saving knowledge
of God and the means of salvation.

I therefore diverted the present discourse between me and my
man, rising up hastily, as upon some sudden occasion of going
out; then sending him for something a good way off, I seriously
prayed to God that he would enable me to instruct savingly this
poor savage; assisting, by his Spirit, the heart of the poor ignorant
creature to receive the light of the knowledge of God in Christ,
reconciling him to himself; and would guide me to speak so to him
from the Word of God, as his conscience might be convinced, his
eyes opened, and his soul saved. When he came again to me I
entered into a long discourse with him upon the subject of the
redemption of man by the Saviour of the world, and of the
doctrine of the gospel preached from Heaven; namely, of repent-
ance towards God and faith in our blessed Lord Jesus. I then
explained to him, as well as I could, why our blessed Redeemer
took not on him the nature of angels, but the seed of Abraham,
and how, for that reason, the fallen angels had no share in the
redemption; that he came only to the lost sheep of the house of
Israel, and the like.

I had, God knows, more sincerity than knowledge in all the
methods I took for this poor creature’s instruction; and must
acknowledge, what I believe all that act upon the same principle
will find, that, in laying things open to him, I really informed and
instructed myself in many things that either I did not know or
had not fully considered before, but which occurred naturally to
my mind upon my searching into them for the information of this
poor savage. And I had more affection in my inquiry after things
upon this occasion than ever I felt before; so that whether this
274 AN ISLAND EDEN,

poor wild wretch was the better for me or no, I had great reason
to be thankful that ever he came to me. My grief sat lighter
upon me, my habitation grew comfortable to me beyond measure ;
and when I reflected that in this solitary life which I had been con-
fined to, I had not only been moved myself to look up to Heaven,
and to seck to the hand that had brought me there, but was now to
be made an instrument under Providence to save the life, and, for
aught I know, the soul of a poor sayage, and bring him to the true
knowledge of religion and of the Christian doctrine, that he might
know Christ Jesus, to know whom is life eternal ;—J say, when I
reflected upon all these things, a secret joy ran through every part
of my soul; and T frequently rejoiced that ever I was brought to
this place, which I had so often thought the most dreadful of all
afflictions that could possibly have befallen me.

In this thankful frame I continued all the remainder of my
time; and the conyersation which employed the hours between
Friday and me was such as made the three years which we lived
there together perfectly and completely happy, if any such thing
as complete happiness can be formed in a sublunary state. The
savage was now a good Christian—a much better than I, though
T have reason to hope, and bless God for it, that we were equally
penitent, and comforted, rest: red penitents; we had here the Word
of God to read, and no further off from his Spirit to instruct than
if we had been in England.

T always applied myself to reading the Scripture, to let him
know, as well as I could, the meaning of what I read; and he,
again, by his serious inquiries and questions, made me, as I said
before, a much better scholar in the Seripture knowledge than I
should ever have been by my own private mere reading. Another
thing I cannot refrain from observing here, also from experience
in this retired part of my life—namely, how infinite and inexpres-
sible a blessing it is that the knowledge of God, and of the doctrine
of salvation by Christ Jesus, is so plainly laid down in the
Word of God, so easy to be received and understood, that as the
bare reading the Scripture made me capable of understanding
enough of my duty to carry me directly on to the great work of
sincere repentance for my sins and laying hold of a Saviour for
AND ITS TWO INHABITANTS, 276

life and salvation, to a stated reformation in practice and obedience
to all God’s commands, and this without any teacher or instructor
(I mean human), so the same plain instruction sufficiently served
to the enlightening this savage creature, and bringing him to be
such a Christian as I have known few equal to him in my life.

As to all the disputes, wranglings, strife and contention which
has happened in the world about religion, whether niceties in
doctrines or schemes of church government, they were all perfectly
useless to us, as, for aught I can yet see, they have been to all the
rest in the world. We had the sure guide to heaven—namely, thé
Word of God; and we had, blessed be God, comfortable views of
the Spirit of God, teaching and instructing us by his Word,
leading us into all truth, and making us both willing and obedient
to the instruction of his Word; and I cannot see the least use that
the greatest knowledge of the disputed points in religion, which
have made such confusions in the world, would have been to us if
we could have obtained it. But I must go on with the historical
part of things, and take every part in its order.

After Friday and I became more intimately acquainted, and
that he could understand almost all I said to him, and speak
fluently, though in broken English, to me, I acquainted him with
my own story, or at least so much of it as related to my coming
into the place, how I had lived there, and how long. I let him
into the mystery, for such it was to him, of gunpowder and bullet,
and taught him how to shoot. I gave him a knife, which he was
wonderfully delighted with; and I made him a belt, with a frog
hanging to it, such as in England we wear hangers in; and in the
frog, instead of a hanger, I gave him a hatchet, which was not
only as good a weapon in some cases, but much more useful upon
other occasions.

I described to him the country of Kurope, and particularly
England, which I came from; how we lived, how we worshipped
God, how we behaved to one another, and how we traded in ships
to all parts of the world. I gave him an account of the wreck
which J had been on board of, and showed him as near as I could
the place where she lay; but she was all beaten in pieccs before,
and gone.
276 WHAT MAY IT MEAN ?

IT showed him the ruins of our boat which we lost when we
escaped, and which T could not stir with my whole strength then,
but was now fallen almost all to pieces. Upon seeing this boat,
Friday stood musing a great while, and said nothing. I asked
him what it was he studied upon. At last says he, “ Me see such
boat like come to place at my nation.”



>
mS



“THE RUINS OF OUR BOAT, WHICH WAS NOW ALMOST FALLEN TO PLECES.”

I did not understand him a good while; but at last, when I had
examined further into it, T understood by him that a boat, such as
that had been, came on shore upon the country where he lived;
that is, as he explained it, was driven thither by stress of weather.
I presently imagined that some European ship must have been
cast away upon their coast, and the boat might get loose and
drive ashore; but was so dull, that I never once thought of -men
making escape from a wreck thither, much less whence they might
come; 0 1 only inquired after a description of the boat.
A PLEASANT PROSPECT, 277

Friday described the boat to me well enough; but brought me
better to understand him when he added, with some warmth, ‘‘ We
save the white mans from drown.’ Then I presently asked him
if there were any white mans, as he called them, in the boat.
“Yes,” he said; “the boat full of white mans.” I asked him
how many. Ile told upon his fingers seventeen. I asked him
then what became of them. He told me, ‘‘ They live, they dwell
at my nation.”

‘This put new thoughts into my head; for I presently imagined
that these might be the men belonging to the ship that was cast
away in sight of my island, as I now call it; and who, after the
ship was struck on the rock, and they saw her inevitably lost, had
saved themselves in their boat, and were landed upon that wild
shore among the savages.

Upon this I inquired of him more critically what was become
of them. He assured me they lived still there; that they had
been there about four years; that the savages let them alone, and
gave them victuals to live. I asked him how it came to pass they
did not kill them and eat them. He said, “No, they make
brother with them;” that is, as I understood him, a truce. And
then he added, “ ‘They no eat mans but when make the war fight;”
that is to say, they never eat any men but such as come to fight
with them and are taken in battle.

It was after this some considerable time, that being on the top
of the hill, at the east side of the island, from whence, as I have
said, I had in a clear day discovered the main, or continent of
America, Friday, the weather being very serene, looks very
earnestly towards the mainland, and in a kind of surprise falls a
jumping and dancing, and calls out to me, for I was at some
distance from him. I asked him what was the matter. ‘ Oh,
joy!’’ says he, “oh, glad! There see my country, there my
nation |” >

I observed an extraordinary sense of pleasure appeared in his
face, and his eyes sparkled, and his countenance discovered a
strange eagerness, as if he had a mind to be in his own country
again; and this observation of mine put a great many thoughta
into me, which made me at first not so easy about ny new map
278 FRIDAY AND HIS COUNTRYMEN.

Friday as T was before: and T made no doubt but that if Friday
could get back to his own nation again, he would not only forget all
his religion, but all his obligation to me; and would be forward
enough to give his countrymen an account of me, and come back
perhaps with a hundred or two of them, and make a feast upon
me, at which he might be as merry as he used to be with those of
his enemies when they were taken in war,

But T wronged the poor honest creature very much, for which
T was very sorry afterwards. However, as my jealousy increased,
and held me some weeks, T was a little more cireumspect, and not
so familiar and kind to him as before; in which T was certainly
in the wrong, too, the honest grateful creature having no thought
about it, but what consisted with the best principles, both as a
religious Christian and as a grateful friend, as appeared afterwards
to my full satisfaction.

While my jealousy of him lasted, you may be sure T was every
day pumping him, to see if he would discover any of the new
thoughts which T suspected were in him; but T fonnd everything
he said was so honest, and so innocent, that T could find nothing
to nourish my suspicion; and, in spite of all my uneasiness, he
made me at last entirely his own again ; nor did he in the least
perceive that T was uneasy, and therefore T could not suspect him
of deccit.

One day walking up the same hill, but the weather being hazy
at sea, so that we could not see the continent, I ealled to him, and
said, “ Friday, do not you wish yourself in your own country, your
own nation?” “ Yes,” he said; “I be much O glad to be at my
own nation.” “What would you do there?” said T. “ Would
you turn wild again, eat men’s flesh again, and be a savage as
you were before?” He looked full of concern, and shaking his
head, said, ‘‘ No, no; Friday tell them to live good, tell them to
pray God, tell them to eat corn-bread, eattle-flesh, milk, no eat
man again.” ‘Why, then,” said I to him, “ they will kill you.”
He looked grave at that, and then said, “No, they no kill me,
they willing love learn.” He meant by this, they would be willing
to learn. He added, they learned much of the bearded men that
came in the boat. Then T asked him if he would go back to
THE NEW BOATMAN, 279

them. He smiled at that, and told me he could not swiin so far,
I told him I would make a canoe for him. He told me he would
go if I would go with him. “I go!” says I; “why, they will

eat me if I come there.”

“No, no,” says he; ‘““me make they no
eat you; me make they much love you.” He meant he would
tell them how I had killed his enemies, and saved his life, and so
he would make them love me. Then he told me as well as he
could how kind they were to seventeen white men, or bearded
men, as he called them, who came on shore there in distress.

From this time, IT confess, I had a mind to venture over, and see
if I could possibly join with these bearded men, who, I made no
doubt, were Spaniards or Portuguese; not doubting but, if I could,
we might find some method to escape from thence, being upon the
continent, and a good company together, better than I could from
an island forty miles off the shore and alone without help. So,
after some days, I took Friday to work again, by way of discourse,
and told him I would give him a boat to go back to his own
nation; and accordingly I carried him to my frigate, which lay on
the other side of the island, and having cleared it of water, for I
always kept it sunk in the water, brought it out, showed it him,
and we both went into it.

I found he was a most dexterous fellow at managing it, would
make it go almost as swift and fast again as I could. So when he
was in, [ said to him, “ Well now, Friday, shall we go to your
nation?” He looked very,dull at my saying so; which it seems
was because he thought the boat too small to go so far. I told
him then I had a bigger. So the next day I went to the place
where the first boat lay which I had made, but which I could not
get into water. He said that was big enough. _ But then, as I
had taken no care of it, and it had lain two or three and twenty
years there, the sun had split and dried it, that it was in a manner
rotten. Friday told me such a boat would do very well, and would
carry “much enough vittle, drink, bread ;” that was his way of
talking.

Upon the whole, I was by this time so fixed upon my design of
going over with him to the continent, that I told him we would
go aud make one as big as that, and he should go home in it. He
280 FRIDAYS LOVE FOR HIS MASTER.

answered not one word, but looked very grave and sad. 1 asked
him, “What was the matter with him?” Teasked me again thus,
“Why you angry mad with Friday, what me done? I asked him
what he meant; I told him I was not angry with him at all.
“No angry! no angry!” says he, repeating the words several
times; “why send Friday home away to my nation?” ‘“ Why,”
says I, “ Friday, did you not say you wished you were there?”
“Yes, yes,” says he; “wish be both there—no wish Friday there,
no master there.” In a word, he would not think of going there
without me. “TI go there, Friday !” says I; “what shall I do there?”
He turned very quick upon me at this. “ You do great deal much
good,” says he; “you teach wild mans to be good sober tame
mans; you tell them know God, pray God, and live new life.”



“Alas! Friday,” says I, “thou knowest not what thou sayest; I am
but an ignorant man myself’ “ Yes, yes,” says he; “ you teachee
me good, you teachee them good.” ‘No, no, Friday,” says I; “ you
shall go without me; leave me here to live by myself, as I did
before.” He looked confused again at that word, and running to
one of the hatchets which he used to wear, he takes it up hastily,
comes and gives itme. “What must I do with this?” says I to him.
“You take kill Friday,” says he. “ What must I kill you for?”
said Lagain. He returns very quick, “ What you send Friday away
for ?—take kill Friday, no send Friday away.” This he spoke so
earnestly, that I saw tears stand in his eyes. In a word, I so plainly
discovered the utmost affection in him to me, and a firm resolution
in him, that I told him then, and often after, that I would never
send him away from me, if he was willing to stay with me.

Upon the whole, as I found by all his discourse a settled affection
to me, and that nothing should part him from me, so I found all the
foundation of his desire to go to his own country was laid in his
ardent affection to the people and his hopes of my doing them
good; a thing which, as I had no notion of myself, so I had not
the least thought or intention or desire of undertaking it. But
still I found a strong inclination to my attempting an escape, as
above, found on the supposition gathered from the discourse—
namely, that there were seventeen bearded men there; and _there-
fore, without any more delay, I went to work with Friday to find
BUILDING A CANOE. 281

out a great tree proper to fell, and make a large periagua or canoe
to undertake the voyage. There were trees enough in the island
to have built a little fleet, not of periaguas and canoes, but even of
good large vessels. But the main thing I looked at, was to get
one so near the water that we might launch it when it was made, to
avoid the mistake I committed at first.

At last, Friday pitched upon a tree, for I found he knew much
better than I what kind of wood was fittest for it; nor can I tell,
to this day, what wood to call the tree we cut down, except that it
was very like the tree we call fustic, or between that and the
Nicaragua wood, for it was much of the same colour and smell.



“To GET HER ALONG, INCH BY INCH, UPON GREAT ROLLERS.”

Vriday was for burning the hollow or cavity of this tree out to
make it for a boat; but I showed him how rather to cut it out
with tools; which, after I had showed him how to use, he did
very handily; and in about a month’s hard labour, we finished
it, and made it very handsome, especially when with our axes,
which I showed him how to handle, we cut and hewed the outside
into the true shape of a boat. After this, however, it cost us near
a fortnight’s time to get her along, as it were, inch by inch upon
great rollers into the water. But when she was in, she would have
carried twenty men with great ease.

When she was in the water, and though she was so big, it
amazed me to see with what dexterity and how swift my man
Friday would manage her, turn her, and paddle her along; 80 J
282 A BUNGLING SHIPWRIGHT.

asked him if he would, and if we might venture over in her
“Yes,” he said; “he venture over in her very well, though great
blow wind.” However, I had a further design that he knew
nothing of; and that was, to make a mast and sail, and to fit her
with an anchor and cable, As to a mast, that was easy enough to
get; so I pitched upon a straight young cedar-tree, which I found
near the place, and which there was great plenty of in the island ;
and I set Friday to work to cut it down, and gave him directions
how to shape and order it. But as to the sail, that was my par-
ticular care. 1 knew I had old sails, or rather pieces of old sails
enough; but as I had had them twenty-six years by me, and had
not been very careful to preserve them, not imagining that [ should
ever have this kind of use for them, I did not doubt but they were
all rotten; and, indeed, most of them were so. However, I found
two pieces which appeared pretty good, and with these I went to
work, and with a great deal of pains, and awkward tedious stitch-
ing (you may be sure) for want of needles, I at length made a
three-cornered ugly thing, like what we call in England a shoulder-
of-mutton-sail, to go with a boom at bottom, and a little short
sprit at the top, such as usually our ships’ long-boats sail with; and
such as I best knew how to manage, because it was such a one as
Thad to the boat in which I made my escape from Barbary, as
related in the first part of my story.

T was near two months performing this last work—namely, rig-
ging and fitting my mast and sails; for I finished them very
complete, making a small stay, and a sail or fore-sail to it, to
assist if we should turn to windward. And, which was more than
all, I fixed a rudder to the stern of her, to steer with; and though
I was but a bungling shipwright, yet as I knew the usefulness, and
even necessity of such a thing, I applied myself with so much
pains to do it, that at last I brought it to pass, though considering
the many dull contrivances I had for it that failed, I think it cost
me almost as much labour as making the boat.

After all this was done, too, I had my man Friday to teach as
to what belonged to the navigation of my boat; for though he
knew very well how to paddle a canoe, he knew nothing what
belonged to a sail and a rudder, and was the most amazed when
CRUSOE’S NEW DOCK. 283

he saw me work the boat to and again in the sca by the rudder ;
and how the sail jibed, and filled this way or that way, as the
course we sailed changed ;—I say, when he saw this he stood like
one astonished and amazed, However, with a little use, I made all
these things familiar to him; and he became an expert sailor, except
that, as to the compass, I could make him understand very little
of that. On the other hand, as there was very little cloudy
weather, and seldom or never any fogs in those parts, there was the
less occasion for a compass, seeing the stars were always to be scen
by night and the shore by day, except in the rainy seasons, and
then nobody cared to stir abroad, either by land or sea.

I was now entered on the seven-and-twentieth year of my
captivity in this place; though the three last years that I had
this creature with me ought rather to be left out of the account,
my habitation being quite of another kind than in all the rest
of the time. I kept the anniversary of my landing here with
the same thankfulness to God for his mercies as at first. And
if I had such cause of acknowledgment at first, I had much
more so now, having such additional testimonies of the care of
Providence over me, and the great hopes I had of being effectually
and speedily delivered; for I had an invincible impression upon
my thoughts that my deliverance was at hand, and that I
should not be another year in this place. However, I went on
with my husbandry, digging, planting, fencing, as usual; I
gathered and cured my grapes, and did every necessary thing, as
before.

The rainy season was in the meantime upon me, yhen I kept
more within doors than at other times. So I had stowed our new
vessel as secure as we could, bringing her up into the creek where,
as I said, in the beginning I landed my rafts from the ship; and
hauling her up to the shore at high-water mark, I made my man
Friday dig a little dock, just big enough to hold her, and just deep
enough to give her water enough to float in; and then, when the tide
was out, we made a strong dam across the end of it, to keep the water
out; and so she lay dry, as to the tide from the sea; and to keep
the rain off, we laid a great many boughs of trees so thick, that
she was as well thatched as a house; and thus we waited for the
284 ARRIVAL OF THE SAVAGES.

months of Noyember and December, in which I designed to make
my adventure,

When the settled season began to come in, as the thought of my
design returned with the fair weather, I was preparing daily for
the voyage. And the first thing I did was to lay by a certain
quantity of provisions, being the stores for our voyage ; and in-
tended, in a week or a fortnight’s time, to open the dock and
launch out our boat. [was busy one morning upon something
of this kind, when I called to Friday, and bade him go to the sea-
shore and see if he could find a turtle or tortoise—a thing which
we generally got once a week, for the sake of the eggs as well as
the flesh. Friday had not been long gone, when he came running
back, and flew over my outer wall or fence like one that felt not
the ground or the steps he set his feet on; and before | had time
to speak to him, he cries out to me, “O master! O master !—O
sorrow |—O bad!” “ What’s the matter, Friday?” says I. “Oh—
yonder—there,” says he; “one, two, three canoe !—one, two,
three!” By his way of speaking I concluded there were six; but
on inquiry, | found it was but three. ‘* Well, Friday,” says I, “do
not be frighted.” So | heartened him up as well as I could,
However, I saw the poor fellow was most terribly scared ; for
nothing ran in his head but that they were come to look for him,
and would cut him in pieces and eat him; and the poor fellow
trembled so, that 1 scarce knew what to do with him, I com-
forted him as well as 1 could, and told him I was in as much
danger as he, and that they would eat me as well as him: “ But,”
says I, “ Friday, we must resolve to fight them, Can you fight,
Friday?” “ Me shoot,” says he; “but there come many great
nunber.” “No matter for that,” said [ again; ‘our guns will
fright them that we do not kill,” so I asked him, “Whether, if 1
resolved to defend him, he would defend me, and stand by me, and
do just as 1 bid him?” He said, “Me die, when you bid die,
master.” So | went and fetched a good dram of rum and gave
him; for I had been so good a husband of my rum that I had a
great deal left. When he had drunk it, I made him take the two
fowling-pieces, which we always carried, and load them with large
swan-shot, as big as small pistol bullets; then | took four muskets.
CRUSOE DECIDES UPON WAR. 285

and loaded them with two slugs and five smal] bullets each; and
my two pistols I loaded with a brace of bullets each; I hung my
great sword as usual naked by my side, and gave Friday his
hatchet.

When I had thus prepared myself, I took my perspective-glass,
and went up to the side of the hill to see what I could discover.
And I found quickly, by my glass, that there were one-and-twenty
savages, three prisoners, and three canoes; and that their whole
business seemed to be the triumphant banquet upon these three
human bodies (a barbarous feast indeed), but nothing else more
than as I had observed was usual with them.

I observed, also, that they were landed, not where they had done
when Friday made his escape, but nearer to my creek, where the
shore was low, and where a thick wood came close almost down to
the sea, ‘This, with the abhorrence of the inhuman errand these
wretches came about, filled me with such indignation, that I came
down again to Friday and told him 1 was resolved to go down to
them and kill them all; and asked him if he would stand by me?
He was now gotten over his fright, and his spirits being a little
raised with the dram I had given him, he was very cheerful, and
told me, as before, “he would die, when I bid die.”

In this fit of fury, 1 took first and divided the arms which I had
charged, as before, between us. 1 gave Friday one pistol to stick
in his girdle, and three guns upon his shoulder; and I took one
pistol and the other three myself; and in this posture we marched
out. I took a small bottle of rum in my pocket, and gave Friday
a large bag with more powder and bullet. And as to orders, I
charged him to keep close behind me, and not to stir, or shoot, or
do anything till I bid him; and in the meantime, not to speak a
word. In this posture I fetched a compass to my right hand of
near a mile, as well to get over the creek as to get into the wood;
so that I might come within shoot of them before I should be dis-
covered, which I had seen by my glass it was easy to do.

While I was making this march, my former thoughts returning,
T began to abate my resolution. I do not mean that I entertained
any fear of their number; for as they were naked, unarmed
wretches, it is certain | was superior to them—nay, though I had
286 LYING LN AMBUSH.

becn alone; but it occurred to my thoughts, what call, what
oceasion, much less what necessity, I was in to go and dip my
hands in blood, to attack people who had neither done nor intended
ine any wrong—who as to me were innocent; and whose bar-
barous customs were their own disaster, being in them a token,
indeed, of God’s having left them, with the other nations of that
part of the world, to such stupidity and to such inhuman courses,
but did not call me to take upon me to be a judge of their
actions, much less an executioner of his justice: that whenever he
thought fit, he would take the cause into his own hands, and by
national vengeance punish them as a people for national crimes;
but that, in the meantime, it was none of my business: that it
was true Friday might justify it, because he was a declared enemy,
and in a state of war with those very particular people, and it was
lawful for him to attack them ; but I could not say the same with
respect to me. These things were so warmly pressed upon my
thoughts, all the way as I went, that I resolved I would only go
and place myself near them, that I might observe their barbarous
feast, and that I would act then as God should direct ; but that
unless something offered that was more a call to me than vet |
knew of, I would not meddle with them.

With this resolution [ entered the wood, and with all possible
wariness and silence, Friday following close at my heels, I marched
till I came to the skirt of the wood, on the side which was next to
them; only that one corner of the wood lay between me and them. —
Here I called softly to Friday, and showing him a great tree, which
was just at the corner of the wood, I bade him go to the tree and
bring me word if he could see there plainly what they were doing.
He did so, and came immediately back to me and told me they
might be plainly viewed there; that they were all about their fire,
eating the flesh of one of their prisoners; and that another lay
bound upon the sand, a little from them, which he said they would
kill next, and which fired all the very soul within me. He told
me it was not one of their nation, but one of the bearded men
whom he had told me of, that came to their country in the boat.
I was filled with horror at the very naming the white bearded man,
and going to the tree I saw plainly by my glass a white man wha
THE BATTLE BEGINS. 287

lay upon the beach of the sea, with his hands and his feet tied with
flags, or things like rushes; and that he was a Nuropean, and had
clothes on.

There was another tree, and a little thicket beyond it, about fifty
yards nearer to them than the place where I was, which, by going
a little way about, I saw I might come at undiscovered, and that
then I should be within half shot of them: so I withheld my
passion, though I was, indeed, enraged to the highest degree, and
going back about twenty paces, I got behind some bushes, which
held all the way till I came to the other tree; and then I came to
a little rising ground, which gave me a full view of them, at the
distance of about eighty yards.

T had now not a moment to lose; for nineteen of the dreadful
wretches sat upon the ground, all close huddled together, and had
just sent the other two to butcher the poor Christian, and bring
him perhaps limb by limb to their fire, and they were stooped
down to untie the bands at his feet. [I turned to Friday. “ Now,
Friday,” said I, “do as I bid thee.” Friday said he would.
“Then, Friday,” says I, “do exactly as you see me do—fail in
nothing.” So Iset down one of the muskets and the fowling-piece
upon the ground, and Friday did the like by his; and with the
other musket I took my aim at the savages, bidding him do the
like. Then asking him if he was ready, he said, “Yes.” ‘“ Then
fire at them,” said 1; and the same moment I fired also.

Friday took his aim so much better than I, that on the side that
he shot he killed two of them, and wounded three more; and on
my side, I killed one and wounded two. They were, you may be
sure, in a dreadful consternation; and all of them who were not hurt
jumped up upon their feet, but did not immediately know which
way to run or which way to look—for they knew not from whence
their destruction came. Friday kept his eyes close upon me, that,
as I had bid him, he might observe what I did. So as soon as the
first shot was made, I threw down the piece and took up the
fowling-piece, and Friday did the like; he sees me cock and pre-
sent; he did the same again. ‘“ Are you ready, Friday?” said I.
“ Yes,” says he. “Let fly, then,” says I, “in the nfime of God!”
and with that I fired again among the amazed wretches, and so did

1284) 19
288 SUCCESS OF THE TWO WARRIORS,

Friday. And as our pieces were now loaded with what T called
swan-shot, or small pistol bullets, we found only two drop; but so
many were wounded, that they ran about yelling and screaming,
like mad creatures, all bloody and miserably wounded, most of



“PMIRY RAN ABOUT YELLING AND SCREAMING, LIKE MAD CREATURES ”

them; whereof three more fell quickly after, though not quite
dead.

‘Now, Friday,” says I, laying down the discharged pieces, and
taking up the musket which was yet loaded, “ follow me,” says L;
which he did, with a great deal of courage. Upon which T rushed
out of the wood and showed myself, and Friday close at my foot.
As soon as I pereeived they saw me, I shouted as loud as [ could,
and bade Friffy do so too; and running as fast as I could,—which,
by the way, was not very fast, being laden with arms as T was,—
RESCUE OF A WHITE PRISONER. 289

[ made directly towards the poor victim, who was, as I said, lying
upon the beach or shore, between the place where they sat and the
sea. The two butchers, who were just going to work with him,
had left him at the surprise of our first fire, and fled in a terrible
fright to the sea-side and had jumped into a canoe, and three more
of the rest made the same way. [ turned to Friday, and bid him
step forward and fire at them, He understood me immediately,
and running about forty yards to be near them, he shot at them,
and I thought he had killed them all; for I see them all fall of a
heap into the boat; though T saw two of them up again quickly.
However, he killed two of them, and wounded the third; so that
he lay down in the bottom of the boat, as if he had been dead.

While my man Friday fired at them, [ pulled out my knife and
cut the flags that bound the poor victim, and loosing his hands and
feet, I lifted him up, and asked him in the Portuguese tongue,
“What he was?” He answered in Latin, “ Christianus;” but
was so weak and faint, that he could scarce stand or speak. I took
my bottle out of my pocket and gave it him, making signs that he
should drink, which he did; and I gave him a piece of bread,
which he ate. Then I asked him, ‘“ What countryman he was?”
And he said “ Espagniole;” and being a little recovered, let me
know, by all the signs he could possibly make, how much he was
in my debt for his deliverance. “ Seignior,” said I, with as much
Spanish as I could make up, “ we will talk afterwards, but we must
fight now. If you have any strength left, take this pistol and
sword and lay about you.” He took them very thankfully ; and
no sooner had he the arms in his hands, but, as if they had put new
vigour into him, he flew upon his murderers like a fury, and had
cut two of them in pieces in an instant. For the truth is, as the
whole was a surprise to them, so the poor creatures were so mueh
righted with the noise of our pieces, that they fell down for mere
amazement and fear; and had no more power to attempt their own
escape than their flesh had to resist our shot. And that was the
case of those five that Friday shot at in the boat; for as three of
them fell with the hurt they received, so the other two fell with
the fright.

I kept my piece in my hand still, without firing, being willing
290 COUNTING UP THE CARNAGE.

to keep my charge ready, because IT had given the Spaniard my
pistol and sword. So I called to Friday, and bade him run up to
the tree from whence we first fired, and fetch the arms which lay
there that had been discharged—which he did with great swiftness ;
and then giving him my musket, I sat down myself to load all the
rest again, and bade them come to me when they wanted. While
I was loading these pieces, there happened a fierce engagement
between the Spaniard and one of the savages, who made at him
with one of their great wooden swords,—the same weapon that was
to have killed him before, if I had not prevented it. The Spaniard,
who was as bold and as brave as could be imagined, though weak,
had fought this Indian a good while, and had cut him two great
wounds on his head; but the savage, being a stout lusty fellow,
closing in with him, had thrown him down (being faint), and was
wringing my sword out of his hand, when the Spaniard, though
undermost, wisely quitting the sword, drew the pistol from his
girdle, shot the savage through the body and killed him upon the
spot, before I, who was running to help him, could come near him.

Friday, being now left to his liberty, pursued the flying wretches
with no weapon in his hand but his hatchet; and with that he
despatched those three who, as I said before, were wounded at
first and fallen, and all the rest he could come up with. And the
Spaniard coming to me for a gun, I gave him one of the fowling-
pieces, with which he pursued two of the savages, and wounded
them both: but as he was not able to run, they both got from him
into the wood, where Friday pursued them and killed one of them ;
but the other was too nimble for him, and though he was wounded,
yet had plunged himself into the sea, and swam with all his might
off to those two who were left in the canoe: which three in the
canoe, with one wounded, whom we knew not whether he died or
no, were all that escaped our hands of one-and-twenty. The account
of the rest is as follows :—

3 Killed at our first shot from the tree.

2 Killed at the next shot.

2 Killed by Friday in the boat.

2 Killed by ditto, of those at first wounded.
1 Killed by ditto, in the wood.
ANOTHER VICTIM SAVED, 291

3 Killed by the Spaniard.

4 Killed, being found dropped here and there of thoir wounds,
or killed by Friday in his chase of them.

4 Escaped in the boat, whereof one wounded, if not dead.

21 Jn all.

Those that were in the canoe worked hard to get out of gun-
shot; and though Friday made two or three shots at them, I did
not find that he hit any of them. Friday would fain have had me
take one of their canoes, and pursue them; and indeed I was
very anxious about their escape, lest, carrying the news home to
their people, they should come back, perhaps, with two or three
hundred of their canoes, and devour us by mere multitude. So I
consented to pursue them by sea, and running to one of their
canoes, I jumped in, and bade Friday follow me; but when I was
in the canoe I was surprised to find another poor creature lie there
alive, bound hand and foot, as the Spaniard was, for the slaughter,
and almost dead with fear, not knowing what the matter was; for
he had not been able to look up over the side of the boat, he was
tied so hard, neck and heels, and had been tied so long, that he
had really but little life in him.

I immediately cut the twisted flags, or rushes, mia they had
bound him with, and would have helped him up; but he could
not stand or speak, but groaned most piteously, believing, it seems
still, that he was only unbound in order to be killed.

When Friday came to him, I bade him speak to him, and tell
him of his deliverance, and pulling out my bottle, made him give
the poor wretch a dram} which, with the news of his being delivered,
revived him, and he sat up in the boat. But when Friday came to
hear him speak, and look in his face, it would have moved any one
to tears to have seen how Friday kissed him, embraced him, hugged
him, cried, laughed, hallooed, jumped about, danced, sung, then
cried again, wrung his hands, beat his own face and head, and then
sung and jumped about again like a distracted creature. It was a
good while before I could make him speak to me, or tell me what
was the matter; but when he came a little to himself, he told me
that it was his father |
292 FRIDAY AND HIS FATHER,

It is not easy for me to express how it moved me to see what
ecstasy and filial affection had worked in this poor savage at the
sight of his father, and of his being delivered from death; nor
indeed can T describe half the extravagances of his affection after
this—for he went into the boat and out of the boat a great many
times. When he went in to him, he would sit down by him, open
his breast, and hold his father’s head close to his bosom half an
hour together, to nourish it; then he took his arms and ankles,
which were numbed and stiff with the binding, and chafed and
rubbed them with his hands; and I perceiving what the case was,
gave him some rum out of my bottle to ruo them with, which did
them a great deal of good.

This action put an end to our pursuit of the canoe with the
other savages, who were now gotten almost out of sight. And it
was happy for us that we did not; for it blew so hard within
two hours after, and before they could be gotten a quarter of
their way, and continued blowing so hard all night, and that
from the north-west, which was against them, that I could not
suppose their boat could live, or that they ever reached to their
own coast.

But to return to Friday, he was so busy about his father that I
could not find in my heart to take him off for some time. But
after 1 thought he could leave him a little, I called him to me, and
he came jumping and laughing and pleased to the highest extreme,
Then I asked him if he had given his father any bread? Le shook
his head and said, “ None. Ugly dog eat all up self.’ So I gave
him a cake of bread out of a little pouch I carried on purpose; 1
also gave hima dram for himself, but he would not taste it, but
carried it to his father. I had in my pocket also two or three
bunches of my raisins, so I gave him a handful of them for his
father. He had no sooner given his father these raisins but I saw
him come out of the boat and run away as if he had been bewitched,
he ran at such a rate—for he was the swiftest fellow of his foot that
ever I saw; I say, he ran at such a rate that he was out of sight,
as it were, in an instant; and though I called, and hallooed too,
after him, it was all one, away he went, and in a quarter of an how
I saw him come back again, though not so fast as he went; and as
CRUSOE AND HIS SUBJECTS. 298

he came nearer, I found his pace was slacker because he had some-
thing in his hand.

When he came up to me, I found he had been quite home for
an earthen jug or pot to bring his father some fresh water, and that
he had got two more cakes or loaves of bread. The bread he gave
me, but the water he carried to his father. However, as I was
very thirsty too, I took a little sup of it. This water revived his
father more than all the rum or spirits I had given him; for he
was just fainting with thirst.

When his father had drunk, I called to him to know if there
was any water left? He said, “ Yes;” and I bade him give it to
the poor Spaniard, who was in as much want of it as his father ;
and I sent one of the cakes that Friday brought to the Spaniard —
too, who was indeed very weak, and was reposing himself upon a
green place under the shade of a tree, and whose limbs were also
very stiff and very much swelled with the rude bandage he had
been tied with. When I saw that upon Friday’s coming to him
with the water, he sat up and drank, and took the bread and began
to eat, I went to him and gave him a handful of raisins. He
looked up in my face with all the tokens of gratitude and thankful-
ness that could appear in any countenance ; but was so weak, not-
withstanding he had so exerted himself in the fight, that he could
not stand up upon his feet He tried to do it two or three times,
but was really not able, his ankles were so swelled and so painful
to him; so I bade him sit still, and caused Friday to rub his ankles
and bathe them with rum, as he had done his father’s.

I observed the poor affectionate creature every two minutes, or
perhaps less, all the while he was here, turned his head about, to
see if his father was in the same place and posture as he left him
sitting ; and at last he found he was not to be seen; at which he
started up, and without speaking a word, flew with that swift-
ness to him, that one could scarce perceive his feet to touch the
ground as he went. But when he came, he only found he had
laid himself down to ease his limbs; so Friday came back to me
presently, and I then spoke to the Spaniard to let Friday help him
up if he could, and lead him to the boat, and then he should carry
him to our dwelling, where I would take care of him. But Friday,
294 THE KING OF THE ISLAND,

a lusty strong fellow, took the Spaniard quite up upon his back,
and carried him away to the boat, and set him down softly upon
the side or gunwale of the canoe, with his feet in the inside of it,
and then lifted him quite in, and set him close to his father, and
presently stepping out again, launched the boat off, and paddled it
along the shore faster than I could walk, though the wind blew
pretty hard too. So he brought them both safe into our creek ;
and leaving them in the boat, runs away to fetch the other cance.
As he passed me I spoke to him, and asked him whither he went ?
He told me, “ Go fetch more boat.” So away he went like the
wind, for sure never man or horse ran like him; and he had the
other canoe in the creek almost as soon as I got to it by land. So
he wafted me over, and then went to help our new guests out of
the boat, which he did. But they were neither of them able to
walk, so that poor Friday knew not what to do.

To remedy this, | went to work in my thought, and calling to
Friday to bid them sit down on the bank while he came to me, I
soon made a kind of hand-barrow to lay them on, and Friday and
T carried them up both together upon it between us. But when
we got them to the outside of our wall or fortification, we were at
a worse loss than before, for it was impossible to get them over;
and I was resolved not to break it down. So I set to work
again; and Friday and I, in about two hours’ time, made a very
handsome tent, covered with old sails, and above that with boughs
of trees, being in the space without our outward fence, and between
that and the grove of young wood which [had planted. And here
we made them two beds of such things as I had; namely, of good
rice straw, with blankets laid upon it to lie on, and another to
cover them on each bed.

My island was now peopled, and I thought myself very rich in
subjects. And it was a merry reflection which I frequently made,
how like a king I looked. First of all, the whole country was my
own mere property; so that [had an undoubted right of dominion.
Secondly, my people were perfectly subjected; I was absolute lord
and lawgiver ; they all owed their lives to me, and were ready to
lay down their lives, if there had been occasion of it, for me.
It was remarkable, too, we had but three subjects, and they were
TWO NEW SUBJECTS. 295

of three different religions. My man Friday was a Protestant, his
father was a Pagan and a cannibal, and the Spaniard was a Papist.
However, I allowed liberty of conscience throughout my dominions.
But this is by the way.

As soon as I had secured my two weak rescued prisoners, and
given them shelter and a place to rest them upon, I began to think
of making some provision for them. And the first thing I did, 1
ordered Friday to take a yearling goat—betwixt a kid and a goat—
out of my particular flock, to be killed, when I cut off the hinder
quarter, and chopping it into small pieces, I set Friday to work to
boiling and stewing, and made them a very good dish, I assure
you, of flesh and broth, having put some barley and rice also into
the broth; and as I cooked it without doors, for I made no fire
within my inner wall, so I carried it all into the new tent; and
having set a table there for them, I sat down and ate my own
dinner also with them, and, as well as I could, cheered them and
encouraged them; Friday being my interpreter, especially to his
father, and indeed to the Spaniard too, for the Spaniard spoke the
language of the savages pretty well.

After we had dined, or rather supped, I ordered Friday to take
one of the canoes, and go and fetch our muskets and other firearms,
which for want of time we had left upon the place of battle: and
the next day I ordered him to go and bury the dead bodies of the
savages, which lay open to the sun and would presently be offensive;
and T also ordered him to bury the horrid remains of their bar-
barous feast, which I knew were pretty much, and which I could
not think of doing myself; nay, I could not bear to see them if I
went that way. All which he punctually performed, and defaced
the very appearance of the savages being there; so that, when I
went again, I could scarce know where it was, otherwise than by
the corner of the wood pointing to the place.

I then began to enter into a little conversation with my two new
subjects. And first I set Friday to inquire of his father what he
thought of the escape of the savages in that canoe, and whether we
might expect a return of them with a power too great for us to
resist. His first opinion was, that the savages in the boat never
could live out the storm which blew that night they went off, but
296 A NEW SUBJECT OF ANXIETY,

must of necessity be drowned or driven south to those other shores
where they were as sure to be devoured as they were to be drowned
if they were cast away. But as to what they would do if they came
sule on shore, he said he knew not; but it was his opinion that they
were so dreadfully frighted with the manner of their being attacked
—the noise and the fire—that he believed they would tell their
people they were all killed by thunder and lightning, not by the
hand of man; and that the two which appeared—namely, Friday
and me—were two heavenly spirits or furies come down to destroy
them, and not men with weapons. ‘This he said he knew, because
he heard them all cry out so in their language to one another; for
it was impossible for them to conceive that a man could dart fire
and speak thunder, and kill at a distance without lifting up the
hand, as was done now. And this old savage was in the right ;
for, as T understood since by other hands, the savages never
attempted to go over to the island afterwards; they were so terrified
with the accounts given by those four men (for it seems they did
escape the sea) that they believed whoever went to that enchanted
island would be destroyed with fire from the gods!

This, however, 1 knew not, and therefore was under continual
apprehensions for a good while, and kept always upon my guard,
me and all my army; for as we were now four of us, [ would have
ventured upon a hundred of them fairly in the open field at any time.

Tn a little time, however, no more canoes appearing, the fear of
their coming wore off, and I began to take my former thoughts of
a voyage to the main into consideration, being likewise assured by
Wriday’s father that Linmight depend upon good usage from their
nation on his account, if T would go.

But my thoughts were a little suspended when J had a serious
discourse with the Spaniard, and when I understood that there
were sixteen more of his countrymen and Portuguese, which 1s
near that number, who, having been cast away and made their
escape to that side, lived there at peace indeed with the savages,
but were very sore put to it for necessaries, and indeed for life.
Lasked him all the particulars of their voyage, and found they
were a Spanish ship bound from the Rio de la Plata to the
Havannah, being directed to leave their loading there, which was
CRUSOE AND THE SPANIARL 297

chiefly hides and silver, and to bring back what Kuropean goods
they could meet with there; that they had five Portuguese sea-
men on board, whom they took out of another wreck; that five of
their own meu were drowned when the first ship was lost, and that
these escaped through infinite dangers and hazards, and arrived
almost starved on the Cannibal coast, where they expected to have
been devoured every moment.

Ie told me they had some arms with them, but they were per-
fectly useless, for that they had neither powder nor ball, the washing
of the sea having spoiled all their powder but a little, which they
used at their first landing to provide themselves some food.

L asked him what he thought would become of them there, and
if they had formed no design of making any escape? He said they
had many consultations about it, but that having neither vessel nor
tools to build one, nor provisions of any kind, their councils always
ended in tears and despair.

IT asked him how he thought they would receive a proposal from
me which might tend towards an escape? and whether, if they
were all here, it. might not be done? I told him with freedom I
feared mostly their treachery and ill usage of me if I put my life
in their hands; for that gratitude was no inherent virtue in the
nature of man; nor did men always square their dealings by the
obligations they had received, so much as they did by the advan-
tages they expected. I told him it would be very hard that I
should be the instrument of their deliverance and that they should
afterwards make me their prisoner in New Spain, where an English-
man was certain to be made a sacrifice, what necessity or what
accident soever brought him thither; and that I’d rather be de-
livered up to the savages and be devoured alive, than fall into the
merciless claws of the priests, and be carried into the Inquisition.
I added, that otherwise I was persuaded, if they were all here, we
might with so many hands build a bark large enough to carry us
all away, either to the Brazils southward, or to the islands or
Spanish coast northward; but that if in requital they should,
when I had put weapons into their hands, carry me by force among
their own people, I might be ill used for my kindness to them, and
make niy case worse than it was before.
298 A REASON FOR DELAY.

He answered, with a great deal of candour and ingenuity, that
their condition was so miserable, and they were so sensible of it,
that he believed they would abhor the thought of using any man
unkindly that should contribute to their deliverance ; and that if I
pleased, he would go to them with the old man, and discourse
with them about it, and return again, and bring me their answer:
that he would make conditions with them upon their solemn oath,
that they should be absolutely under my leading as their com-
mander and captain; and that they should swear upon the holy
sacraments and the gospel to be true to me, and go to such Christian
country as that T should agree to, and no other; and to be directed
wholly and absolutely by my orders, till they were landed safely
in such country as I intended; and that he would bring a contract
from them under their hands for that purpose.

hen he told me he would first swear to me himself, that he
would never stir from me as longas he lived till L gave him orders ; and
that he would take my side to the last drop of his blood if there
should happen the least breach of faith among his countrymen.

Ife told me they were all of them very civil, honest men, and
they were under the greatest distress imaginable, having neither
weapons nor clothes nor any food, but at the merey and discretion
of the savages; out of all hopes of ever returning to their own
country; and that he was sure, if I would undertake their relief,
they would live and die by me.-

Upon these assurances, T resolved to relieve them if possible, and
to send the old savage and the Spaniard over to them to treat; but
when we had gotten all things in a readiness to go, the Spaniard him-
self started an objection, which had so much prudence in it on one
hand, and so much sincerity on the other hand, that T could not but
be very well satisfied in it; and by his advice put off the deliver-
ance of his comrades for at least half a year. The case was thus:—

He had been with us now about a month, during which time [
had let him see in what manner [ had provided, with the assist:
ance of Providence, for my support; and he saw evidently what
stock of corn and rice I had laid up, which, as it was more than
sufficient for myself, so it was not sufficient, at least without good
husbandry, for my family, now, it was increased to number four.
UT SIM PARATUS. . 299

But much less would it be sufficient if his countrymen, who were
as he said, fourteen still alive, should come over. And least of all
would it be sufficient to victual our vessel, if we should build one,
for a voyage to any of the Christian colonies of America. So he
told ine he thought it would be more advisable to let him and the
two others dig and cultivate some more land, as much as [ could
spare seed to sow; and that we should wait another harvest, that
we might have a supply of corn for his countrymen when they
should come; for want might be a temptation to them to disagree,
or not to think themselves delivered otherwise than out of one
difficulty intoanother. ‘You know,” says he, “the children of Tsrael,
though they rejoiced at first for their being delivered out of Kgypt,
yet rebelled even against God himself that delivered them, when
they came to want bread in the wilderness.”

Ilis caution was so seasonable, and his advice so good, that I
could not but be very well pleased with his proposal, as well as I
was satisfied with his fidelity. So we fell to digging, all four of us,
as well as the wooden tools we were furnished with permitted ;
and in about a month’s time, by the end of which it was seed-time,
we had gotten as much land cured and trimmed up as we sowed
twenty-two bushels of barley on and sixteen jars of rice—which
was, in short, all the seed we had to spare: nor, indeed, did we leave
ourselves barley sufficient for our own food for the six months that
we had to expect our crop; that is to say reckoning from the time
we set our seed aside for sowing, for it is not to be supposed it is
six months in the ground in that country.

Having now socicty enough, and our number being sufficient to
put us out of fear of the savages if they had come, unless their
number had been very great, we went freely all over the island
wherever we found occasion; and as here we had our escape or
deliverance upon our thoughts, it was impossible, at least
for me, to have the means of it out of mine. To this purpose
I marked out several trees which I thought fit for our work, and I
set Friday and his father to cutting them down; and then I caused
the Spaniard, to whom I imparted my thought on that affair, to
oversee and direct their work. I showed them with what inde-
fatigable pains I had hewed a large tree into single planks, and J
300 THE HARVEST SEASON,

caused them to do the like, till they had made about a dozen large
planks of good oak, near two feet broad, thirty-five feet long,
and from two inches to four inches thick. What prodigious labow
it took up, any one may imagine,

At the same time T contrived to increase niy little flock of tame
goats as much as [ could, and to this purpose [made Friday and
the Spaniard go out one day, and myself with Friday the next
day; for we took our turns: and by this means we got above
twenty young kids to breed up with the rest; for whenever we shot
the dam, we saved the kids, and added them to our flock. But
above all, the season for curing the grapes coming on, L caused
such a prodigious quantity to be hung up in the sun, that T believe
had we been at Alicant, where the raisins of the sun are cured, we
could have filled sixty or eighty barrels. And these with our
bread was a great part of our food; and very good living too, |
assure you, for it is an exceeding nourishing food.

It was now harvest, and our crop in good order. [t was not the
most plentiful increase [had seen in the island, but however it
was enough to answer our end; for from our twenty-two bushels of
barley we brought in and thrashed out above two Iundred and
twenty bushels, and the like in proportion of the rice; which was
store enough for our food to the next harvest, though all the six-
teen Spaniards had been on shore with me: or if we had been
ready for a voyage, it would very plentifully have victualled our
ship to have carried us to any part of the world—that is to say, of
America,

When we had thus housed and secured our magazine of corn,
we fell to work to make more wicker-work, namely, great baskets
in which we kept it; and the Spaniard was very handy and dex-
terous at this part, and often blamed me that [ did not make some
things for defence of this kind of work; but [saw no need of it.

And now having a full supply of food for all the guests T ex-
pected, IT gave the Spaniard leave to go over to the main to see
what he could do with those he had left behind him there. TI gave
him a strict charge in writing not to bring any man with him who
would not first swear in the presence of himself and of the old
savage, that he would no way injure, fight with, or attack the
AN UNFORESEEN ACCIDENT. 801

person he should find in the island, who was so kind to send for
them in order to their deliverance ; but that they would stand by
and defend him against all such attempts, and wherever they went
would be entirely under and subjected to his commands; and that
this should be put in writing, and signed with their hands. How
we were to have this done, when I knew they had neither pen or
ink—that indeed was a question which we never asked.

Under these instructions, the Spaniard and the old savage, the
father of Friday, went away in one of the canoes which they might
be said to come in, or rather were brought in, when they came as
prisoners to be devoured by the savages.

I gave each of them a musket with a firelock on it, and about
eight charges of powder and ball, charging them to be very good
husbands of both, and not to use either of them but upon urgent
occasion,

This was a cheerful work, being the first measures used by me
in view of my deliverance for now twenty-seven years and some
days. I gave them provisions of bread and of dried grapes suffi-
cient for themselves for many days, and sufficient for all their
countrymen for about eight days’ time; and wishing them a good
voyage, I see them go, agreeing with them about a signal they
should hang out at their return, by which I should know them again
when they came back at a distance, before they came on shore.

They went away with a fair gale on the day that the moon was
at full by my account, in the month of October. But as for an
exact reckoning of days, after I had once lost it, I could never re-
cover it again; nor had I kept even the number of years so punc-
tually as to be sure that I was right, though, asit proved when I
afterwards examined my account, I found T had kept a true reckon-
ing of years.

It was no less than eight days I had waited for them, when a
strange and unforeseen accident intervened, of which the like has
not perhaps been heard of in history. I was fast asleep in my
hutch one morning, when my man Friday came running in to
me and called aloud, ‘ Master, master, they are come, they are
come!”

T jumped up, and regardless of danger, I went out as soon as I
802 WHO COME HERE?

could get my clothes on, through my little grove, which, by the
way, was by this time grown to be a very thick wood; I say, re-
gardless of danger, I went without my arms, which was not my
custom to do; but I was surprised, when, turning my eyes to
the sea, I presently saw a boat at about a league and half’s dis-



“ PRESENTLY SAW A BOAT AT ABOUT A LEAGUE AND A HALF'S DISTANCE.”

tance, standing in for the shore with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, aa
they call it; and the wind blowing pretty fair to bring them in,
also 1 observed, presently, that they did not come from that side
which the shore lay on, but from the southernmost end of the island.
Upon this I called Friday in, and bid him lie close, for these were
THE VALUE OF PRESENTIMENTS. 308

not the people we looked for, and that we might not know yet
whether they were friends or enemies.

Tn the next place, I went in to fetch my perspective-glass to sea
what I could make of them; and having taken the ladder out, J
climbed to the top of the hill, as T used to do when I was appre-
hensive of anything, and to take my view the plainer without being
discovered,

I had scarce set my foot on the hill, when my eye plainly dis-
covered a ship lying at an anchor, at about two leagues and a hali’s
distance from me south-south-east, but not above a league and a half
from the shore. By my observation it appeared plainly to be an
English ship, and the boat appeared to be an English long-boat.

I cannot express the confusion I was in, though the joy of see-
ing a ship, and one who I had reason to believe was manned by
Iny own countrymen and consequently friends, was such as I can-
not describe. But yet I had some secret doubts hung about me, I
cannot tell from whence they came, bidding me keep upon my
guard. In the first place, it occurred to me to consider what busi-
ness an English ship could have in that part of the world, since it
was not the way to or from any part of the world where the Eng-
lish had any traffic; and I knew there had been no storms to drive
them jn there as in distress; and that if they were English really,
it was most probable that they were here upon no good design,
and that I had better continue as I was than fall into the hands ot
thieves and murderers. ;

Let no man despise the secret hints and notices of danger, which
sometimes are given when he may think there is no possibility of
its being real. That such hints and notices are given us, I believe
few that have made any observations of things can deny; that
they are certain discoveries of an invisible world, and a converse
of spirits, we cannot doubt; and if the tendency of them seems to be
to warn us of danger, why should we not suppose they are from some
friendly agent—whether supreme, or inferior and subordinate, is
not the question; and that they are given for our good?

The present question abundantly confirms me in the justice of
this reasoning; for had I not been made cautious by this secret

admonition, come it from whence it will, I had been undone inevi-
(234, 20
804 AN EXTRAORDINARY SCENE,

tably, and in a far worse condition than before, as you will see
presently.

Thad not kept myself long in this posture, but T saw the boat
draw near the shore, as if they looked for a creek to thrust in at
for the convenience of landing. Tlowever, as they did not come
quite far enough, they did not see the little inlet where I formerly
Janded my rafts, but ran their boat on shore upon the beach, at
about half a mile from me; which was very happy for me, for
otherwise they would have landed just, as Limay say, at my door,
and would soon have beaten me out of my castle, and perhaps have
plundered me of all [ had.

When they were on shore, [was fully satisfied that they were
Knglishinen, at least: most of them. Que or two L thought were
Dutch; but it did not prove so. There were in all eleven men,
whereof three of then TL found were unarmed, and, as I thought,
bound; and when the first four or five of them were jumped on
shore, they took those three out of the boat as prisoners. One of
the three T could perceive using the most passionate gestures of
entreaty, aflliction, and despair, even to a kind of extravagance ;
the other two, [ could) perceive, lifted wp their hands sometimes,
and appeared concerned indeed, but not to such a degree as the
first.

I was perfectly confounded at the sight, and knew not what the
meaning of it should be. Friday called out to me in English as
well as he could, * O master! you see English mans eat prisoner
as well as savage mans.”’— Why,” says 1, “ Friday, do you think
they are a going to eat them, then ?”—“ Yes,” says Friday, “ they
will eat them.”-—“ No, no,” says T, “Friday; I am afraid they
will murder them, indeed, but you may be sure they will not eat
them.”

All this while I had no thought of what the matter really was,
but stood trembling with the horror of the sight, expecting every
moment when the three prisoners should be killed; nay, once I
saw one of the villains lift up his arm with a great cutlass, as
the seamen call it. or sword, to strike one of the poor men; and J
expected to see him fall every moment, at which all the blood in
my body seemed to run chill in my veins.
AND THE THOUGHTS IT SUGGESTED. 805

[ wished heartily now for my Spaniard, and the savage that was
gone with him, or that T had any way to have come undiscovered
within shot of them, that [ might have rescued the three men, for
L saw no firearms they had among them; but it fell out to my
mind another way.

Alter [had observed the outrageous usage of the three men by
the insolent seamen, L observed the fellows run scattering about
the land, as if they wanted to see the country. I observed that
the three other men had liberty to go also where they pleased ;
but they sat down all three upon the ground, very pensive, and
looked like men in despair,

This put me in mind of the first time when I came on shore
and began to look about me; how L gave myself over for lost;
how wildly L looked round me; what dreadful apprehensions [
had; and how [lodged in the tree all night for fear of being
devoured by wild beasts.

As T knew nothing that night of the supply L was to receive by
the providential driving of the ship nearer the land by the storms
and tide, by which L have since been so long nourished and sup-
ported; so these three poor desolate men knew nothing how
certain of deliverance and supply they were, how near it was to
them, and how effectually and really they were in a condition of
safety, at the same time that they thought themselves lost, and
their case desperate.

So little do wo see before us in the world, and so much reason
have we to depend cheerfully upon the great Maker of the world,
that he does not leave his creatures so absolutely destitute, but that
in the worst circumstances they have always something to be
thankful for, and sometimes are nearer their deliverance than they
imagine ; nay, are even brought to their deliverance by the means
by which they seem to be brought to their destruction.

It was just at the top of high-water when these people came on
shore, and while partly they stood parleying with the prisoners they
brought, and partly while they rambled about to see what kind
of a place they were in, they had carelessly stayed till the tide was
spent, and the water was ebbed considerably away, leaving their
boat aground.
806 A FORMLDABLE FIGURE,

They had left two men in the boat, who, as T found afterwards
having drunk a little too much brandy, fell asleep; however, one
of them waking sooner than the other, and finding the boat too
fast aground for him to stir it, hallooed for the rest who were
straggling about, upon which they all soon came to the boat; but
it was past all their strength to launch her, the boat being very
heavy, and the shore on that side being a soft oozy sand, almost
like a quicksand

In this condition, like true seamen, who are perhaps the least of
all mankind given to forethought, they gave it over, and away
they strolled about the country again; and T heard one of them
say aloud to another, calling them off from the boat, * Why, let
her alone, Jack, can’t ye; she will float next tide ;”—-by which I
was fully confirmed in the main inquiry of what countrymen they
were.

All this while I kept myself very close, not once daring to stir
out of my castle any further than to my place of observation near
the top of the hill; and very glad T was to think how well it was
fortified. T knew it was no less than ten hours before the boat
could be on float again, and by that time it would be dark, and L
might be at more liberty to see their motions, and to hear their
discourse, if they had any.

In the meantime I fitted myself up fora battle as before; though
with more caution, knowing I had to do with another kind of
enemy than [ had at first. IT ordered Friday also, whom I had
made an excellent marksman with his gun, to load himself with
arms. IT took myself my two fowling-pieces, and | gave him three
muskets. My figure indeed was very fierce: Thad my formidable
goat-skin coat on, with the great cap I have mentioned, a naked
sword by my side, two pistols in my belt, and a gun upon each
shoulder.

It was my design, as I said above, not to have made any attempt
till it was dark; but about two o’clock, being the heat of the day,
T found that in short they were all gone straggling into the woods,
and, as I thought, were laid down to sleep. ‘The three poor dis-
tressed men, too anxious for their condition to get any sleep, were,
however, set down under the shelter of a great tree, at about a
CRUSOE TO THE RESCUE, 307

quarter of a inile from me, and, as [ thought, out of sight of any
of the rest.

Upon this I resolved to discover myself to them, and learn
something of their condition. Immediately I marched in the
figure as above, my man Friday at a good distance behind me, as
formidable for his arms as T, but not making quite so staring a
spectre-like figure as I did.

I came as near them undiscovered as T could, and then, before
any of them saw me, I called aloud to them in Spanish, ‘‘ What are
ye, gentlemen ?”’

They started up at the noise, but were ten times more con-
founded when they saw me, and the uncouth figure that I made.
They made no answer at all, but I thought I perceived them just
going to fly from me, when I spoke to them in English. ‘“ Gentle.
men,” said I, “do not be surprised at me; perhaps you may have
a friend near you when you did not expect it.””—“ He must be
sent directly from heaven then,” said one of them very gravely to
me, and pulling off his hat at the same time to me, “ for our con-
dition is past the help of man.”-—‘ All help is from heaven, sir,”
said T; “ but can you put a stranger in the way how to help you,
for you seem to me to be in some great distress? I saw you when
you landed; and when you seemed to make applications to the
brutes that came with you, I saw one of them lift up his sword to
kill you.”

The poor man, with tears running down his face, and trembling,
looking like one astonished, returned, “ Am I talking to God or
man? Is it a real man or an angel?’’—‘ Be in no fear about
that, sir,” said I; “if God had sent an angel to relieve you, he
would have come better clothed, and armed after another manner
than you see me in. Pray lay aside your fears; I am a man, an
Hnglishman, and disposed to assist you, you see. I have one
servant only; we have arms and ammunition; tell us freely. Can
we serve you? What is your case?”

“Our case,” said he, “sir, is too long to tell you while our
murderers are so near; but in short, sir, I was commander of that
ship; my men have mutinied against me; they have been hardly
prevailed on not to murder me, and at last have set me on shore
308 CRUSOK’S STRATAGEM,



“OPMLEY STARTED UP AT TIME NOISK,”

in this desolate place, with these
two men with me; one my mate,
the other a passenger, where we expected to perish, believing the
place to be uninhabited, and know not yet what to think of it.”

“ Where are those brutes, your enemies?” said 1; “do you know
where they are gone ?”—* There they lie, sir,” said he, pointing
toa thicket of trees. “ My heart trembles for fear they have seen
us and heard you speak ; if they have, they will certainly murder
us all,”

* Have they any firearms?” said 1. He answered they had only
CONDITIONS OF ALLIANCE, 809

two pieces, and one which they left in the boat.‘ Well then,”
said I, “leave the rest to me; I see they are all asleep; it is an
easy thing to kill them all; but shall we rather take them
prisoners ?’” He told me there were two desperate villains among
them that it was scarce safe to show any mercy to; but if they
were secured, he believed all the rest would return to their duty.
L asked him which they were. He told me he could not at that
distance describe them ; but he would obey my orders in anything
T would direct. ‘ Well,” says I, “let us retreat out of their view
or hearing, lest they awake, and we will resolve further ;”” so they
willingly went back with me, till the woods covered us from them.

* Look you, sir,” said 1, “if L venture upon your deliverance,
are you willing to make two conditions with me?” He anticipated
my proposals by telling me that both he and the ship, if recovered,
should be wholly directed and commanded by me in everything ;
und if the ship was not recovered, he would live and die with me
in what pare of the world soever LT would send him, and the two
other men said the same.

“Well,” says I) “my conditions are but two. 1, That while
you stay on this island with me you will not pretend to any
authority here; and if L put arms into your hands, you will upon
all occasions give them up to me, and do no prejudice to me or
mine upon this island, and in the mean time be governed by ny
orders.

2. That if the ship is, or may be recovered, you will carry
me and my man to Kngland passage free.”

Ile gave me all the assurances that the invention and faith of
man could devise, that he would comply with these most reasonable
demands, and besides would owe his life to me, and acknowledge
it upon all occasions as long as he lived.

* Well, then,” said I, “here are three muskets for you, with
powder and ball; tell me next what you think is proper to be
done.” He showed all the testimony of his gratitude that he was
able; but offered to be wholly guided by me. I told him I thought
it was hard venturing anything; but the best method I could
think of was to fire upon them at once as they lay; and if any
were not killed ut the first volley, and offered to submit, we might
810 A SPEEDY VICTORY,

save them, and so put it wholly upon God's providence to direct
the shot.

He said very modestly, that he was loath to kill them if he could
help it, but that those two were incorrigible villains, and had been
the authors of all the mutiny in the ship, and if they escaped we
should be undone still; for they would go on board and bring the
whole ship’s company, and destroy us all. ‘ Well then,” says T,
“necessity legitimates my advice, for it is the only way to save our
lives.” However, seeing him still cautious of shedding blood, [
told him they should go themselves, and manage as they found
convenient.

Tn the middle of this discourse we heard some of them awake,
and soon after we saw two of them on their feet. [asked him if
either of them were of the men who he had said were the heads of the
mutiny? Tle said, “No.” “Well then,” said 1, “ you may let them
escape; and Providence seems to have awakened them on purpose
to save themselves. Now,” says 1, “if the rest escape you, it is
your fault.”

Animated with this, he took the musket Thad given him in his
hand, and a pistol in his belt, and his two comrades with him,
with each man a piece in his hand. ‘The two men who were with
him, going first, made some noise, at which one of the seamen who
was awake turned about, and seeing them coming, cried out to
the rest. But it was too late then; for the moment he eried out,
they fired-—-T mean the two men, the captain wisely reserving his
own piece. They had so well aimed their shot at the men they knew,
that one of them was killed on the spot, and the other very much
wounded ; but not being dead, he started up upon his feet, and called
eagerly for help to the other; but the captain, stepping to him,
told him it was too late to ery for help, he should call upon God
to forgive his villany, and with that word knocked him down
with the stock of his musket,so that he never spoke more. There
were three more in the company, and one of them was also slightly
wounded. By this time 1 was come, and when they saw their
danger, and that it was in vain to resist, they begged for merey.
The captain told them he would spare their lives, if they would
give him any assurance of their abhorrenee of the treachery they
CRUSOE’S FORTALICE, 811

had been guilty of, and would swear to be faithful to him in
recovering the ship, and afterwards in carrying her back to
Jamaica, from whence they came. They gave him all the pro-
testations of their sincerity that could be desired, and he was
willing to believe them and spare their lives, which IT was not
against; only I obliged him to keep them bound hand and foot
while they were upon the island.

While this was doing, I sent Friday with the captain’s mate to
the boat, with orders to secure her and bring away the oars and
sail; which they did. And, by-and-by, three straggling men, that
were (happily for them) parted from the rest, came back upon
hearing the guns fired; and seeing their captain, who before was
their prisoner, now their conqueror, they submitted to be bound
uso ; and so our victory was complete.

Tt now remained that the captain and T should inquire into one
another’s circumstances. I began first, and told him my whole
history, which he heard with an attention even to amazement ;
and particularly at the wonderful manner of my being furnished
with provisions and ammunition. And, indeed, as my story is a
whole collection of wonders, it affected him deeply. But when
he reflected from thence upon himself, and how I seemed to have
been preserved there on purpose to save his life, the tears ran
down his face, and he could not speak a word more.

After this communication was at an end I carried him and his
two men into my apartment, leading them in just where I came
out, namely, at the top of the house; where I refreshed them with
such provisions as I had, and showed them all the contrivances I
had made during my long, long inhabiting that place.

All I showed them, all I said to them, was perfectly amazing :
but above all, the captain admired my fortification, and how per-
fectly I had concealed my retreat with a grove of trees, which,
having been now planted near twenty years, and the trees growing
much faster than in Hngland, was become a little wood, and so
thick, that it was unpassable in any part of it but at that one side
where I had reserved my little winding passage into it. I told
him this was my castle and my residence, but that I had a seat in
the country, as most princes have, whither I could retreat upon
312 A COUNCIL OF WAR,



“OD CARIED IM AND His TWO MEN INTO MY APAKTMENS.””

occasion, and T would show him that too another time, but at
present our business was to consider how to recover the ship.
IIe agreed with me as to that, but told me he was perfectly at
a loss what measures to take; for that there were still six-and-
twenty hands on board, who, having entered into a cursed con-
spiracy, by which they had all forfeited their lives to the law,
would be hardened in it now by desperation, and would carry it
on, knowing that if they were reduced they should be brought to
the gallows as soon as they came to England, or to any of the
CUTTING OFF THE RETREAT. 318

English colonies ; and that therefore there would be no attacking
them with so small a number as we were.

J mused for some time upon what he said, and found it was «
very rational conclusion; and that therefore something was to be
resolved on very speedily, as well to draw the men on board
into some snare tor their surprise as to prevent their landing upon
us and destroying us. Upon this it presently occurred to me that
in a little while the ship’s crew, wondering what was become of
their comrades and of the boat, would certainly come on shore in
their other boat to seek for them, and that then perhaps they
might come armed, and be too strong for us. This he allowed
was rational,

Upon this I told him the first thing we had to do was to stave
the boat which lay upon the beach, so that they might not carry
her off; and taking everything out of her, leave her so far useless
as not to be fit to swim. Accordingly we went on board, took
the arms which were left on board out of her, and whatever else
we found there, which was a bottle of brandy and another of rum,
a few biscuit cakes, a horn of powder, and a great lump of sugar
in a piece of canvas—the sugar was five or six pounds: all which
was very welcome to me, especially the brandy and sugar, of which
L had had none left for many years.

When we had carried all these things on shore (the oars, mast,
sail, and rudder of the boat, were carried away before, as above),
we knocked a great hole in her bottom, that if they had come
strong enough to master us, yet they could not carry off the boat.

Indeed it was not much in my thoughts that we could be able
to recover the ship; but my view was, that if they went away
without the boat, I did not much question to make her fit again
to carry us away to the Leeward Islands, and call upon our
friends the Spaniards, in my way, for I had them still in my
thoughts.

While we were thus preparing our designs, and had first by
main strength heaved the boat up upon the beach, so high that the
tide would not float her off at high-water mark; and besides, had
broken a hole in her bottom too big to be quickly stopped, and
were sat down musing what we should do; we heard the ship fire
814 BEFORE THE STRUGGLE.

a gun, and saw her make a waft with her ancient, as a signal for
the boat to come on board; but no boat stirred; and they fired
several times, making other signals for the boat.

At last, when all their signals and firings proved fruitless, and
they found the boat did not stir, we saw them, by the help of my
glasses, hoist another boat out, and row towards the shore; and
we found as they approached that there was no less than ten men
in her, and that they had firearms with them.

As the ship lay almost two leagues from the shore, we had a
full view of them as they came, and a plain sight of the men, even
of their faces; because the tide having set them a little to the east
of the other boat, they rowed up under shore to come to the same
place where the other had landed, and where the boat lay.

By this means, I say, we had a full view of them, and the
captain knew the persons and characters of all the men in the
boat, of whom he said that there were three very honest fellows,
who, he was sure, were led into this conspiracy by the rest, being
overpowered and frighted.

But that as for the boatswain, who it seems was the chief
officer among them, and all the rest, they were as outrageous as any
of the ship’s crew, and were no doubt made desperate in their new
enterprise; and terribly apprehensive he was that they would be
too powerful for us.

[smiled at him, and told him that men in our circumstances
were past the operation of fear: that seeing almost every condi-
tion that could be was better than that which we were supposed
to be in, we ought to expect that the consequence, whether death
or life, would be sure to be a deliverance. J asked him what he
thought of the circumstances of my life, and whether a deliverance
were not worth venturing for? ‘“ And where, sir,” said I, “is your
belief of my being preserved here on purpose to save your life,
which elevated you a little while ago? For my part,” said T, ‘“ there
seems to be but one thing amiss in all the prospect of it.” ‘“ What's
that?” says he. ‘ Why,” said I, “’tis that, as you say, there are
three or four honest fellows among them, which should be spared.
Had they been all of the wicked part of the crew, I should have
thought God’s providence had singled them out to deliver them
SECURING THE PRISONERS, 816

into your hands; for, depend upon it, every man of them that
comes ashore are our own, and shall die or live as they behave
to us.”

As I spoke this with a raised voice and cheerful countenance, 1
found it greatly encouraged him; so we set vigorously to our
business. We had upon the first appearance of the boat’s coming
from the ship considered of separating our prisoners, and had
indeed secured them effectually.

Two of them, of whom the captain was less assured than ordi-
nary, [ sent with Friday, and one of the three (delivered men) to
my cave, where they were remote enough, and out of danger of
being heard or discovered, or of finding their way out of the woods
if they could have delivered themselves. Here they left them
bound, but gave them provisions, and promised them if they con-
tinued there quietly, to give them their liberty in a day or two;
but if they attempted their escape, they should be put to death
without mercy. They promised faithfully to bear their confine-
ment with patience, and were very thankful that they had such
good usage as to have provisions and a light left them; for Friday
gave them candles (such as we made ourselves) for their comfort ;
and they did not know but that he stood sentinel over them at
the entrance.

The other prisoners had better usage. Two of them were kept
pinioned indeed, because the captain was not free to trust them,
but the other two were taken into my service upon their captain’s
recommendation, and upon their solemnly engaging to live and
die with us. So with them and the three honest men, we were
seven men, well armed; and I made no doubt we should be able
to deal well enough with the ten that were a-coming, considering
that the captain had said there were three or four honest men
among them also.

As soon as they got to the place where their other boat lay,
they ran their boat into the beach, and came all on shore, hauling
the boat up after them; which I was glad to see, for I was afraid
they would rather have left the boat at an anchor some distance
from the shore, with some hands in her to guard her, and so we
should not be able to seize the boat.
816 THE MUTINEERS’ SURPRISE.

Being on shore, the first thing they did, they ran all to thei
other boat; and it was easy to see that they were under a great
surprise to find her stripped, as above, of all that was in her, and
a great hole in her bottom.

After they had mused a while upon this, they set up two or three
great shouts, hallooing with all their might, to try if they could

make their companions hear; but all was to no purpose. Then



“HALLOOLING WITH ALL THEIR MIGHT, TO TRY LF THEY COULD

MAKE THEIR COMPANIONS HEAR,”

they came all close in a ring, and fired a volley of their small arms;
which indeed we heard, and the echoes made the woods ring, but
it was all one; those in the cave, we were sure, could not hear; and
those in our keeping, though they heard it well enough, yet durst
give no answer to them.
A FIRST BOAT-LOAD. 817

They were so astonished at the surprise of this, that, as they
told us alterwards, they resolved to go all on board again to their
ship, and let them know there that the men were all murdered,
and the long-boat staved. Accordingly, they immediately launched
their boat again, and got all of them on board.

The captain was terribly amazed, and even confounded at this.
believing they would go on board the ship again, and set sail,
giving their comrades over for lost, and so he should still lose the
ship, which he was in hopes wo should have recovered. But he
was quickly as much frighted the other way.

Vhey had not been long put off with the boat, but we perceived
them all coming on shore again; but with this new measure in
their conduct, which it seems they consulted together upon—
namely, to leave three men in the boat, and the rest to go on
shore, and go up into the country to look for their fellows.

This was a great disappointment to us; for now we were at a
loss what to do: for our seizing those seven men on shore would
be no advantage to us if we let the boat escape; because they
would then row away to the ship, and then the rest of them would
be sure to weigh and set sail, and so our recovering the ship would
be lost.

However, we had no remedy but to wait and see what the issue
of things might present. The seven men came on shore, and the
three who remained in the boat put her off to a good distance from
the shore, and came to an anchor to wait for them; so that it was
impossible for us to come at them in the boat.

Those that came on shore kept close together, marching towards
the top of the little hill under which my habitation lay; and we
could see them plainly, though they could not perceive us. We
could have ‘been very glad they would have come nearer to us, s0
that we-miglit have fired at them, or that they would have gone
further off, tliat we might have come abroad.

Eut when they were come to the brow of the hill, where they
could see a great way into the valleys and woods which lay towards
the =,orth-east part, and where the island lay lowest, they shouted
ar 4 hallooed till they were weary; and not caring, it seems, to

venture far from the shore, nor far from one another, they sat down
314 AN INGENIOUS DEVICE,

together under a tree to consider of it. Had they thought fit to
have gone to sleep there, as the other party of them had done, they
had done the job for us; but they were too full of apprehensions of
danger to venture to go to sleep, though they could not tell what
the danger was they had to fear neither.

The captain made a very just proposal to me upon this consulta-
tion of theirs, namely, that perhaps they would all fire a volley
again, to endeavour to make their fellows hear, and that we should
all sally upon them just at the juncture when their pieces were all
discharged, and they would certainly yield, and we should have
them without bloodshed. T liked the proposal, provided it was
done while we were near enough to come up to them before they
could load their pieces again,

But this event did not happen, and we lay still a long time very
irresolute what. course to take. At length [ told them there would
be nothing to be done in my opinion till night, and then, if they
did not return to the boat, perhaps we might find a way to get
between them and the shore, and so might use some stratagem
with them in the boat to get them on shore.

We waited a great while, though very impatient for their re-
moving ; and were v very uneasy when, after long consultations, we
saw them start all up and march down toward the sea. It seems
they had such dreadful apprehensions upon them of the danger of
the place, that they resolved to go on board the ship again, give
their companions over for lost, and so go ou with their intended
voyage with the ship.

As soon as I perceived them go toward the shore, 1 imagined it
to be, as it really was, that they had given over their search, and
were for going back again; and the captain, as soon as I told him
my thoughts, was ready to sink at the apprehensions of it; but I
presently thought of a stratagem to fetch them back again, and
which answered my end to a tittle.

T ordered Friday and the captain’s mate to go over the little
creek westward, towards the place where the savages came on shore
when Friday was rescued; and as soon as they came to a little
rising ground, at about half a mile distance, I bade them halloo
a8 loud as they could, and wait till they found the seamen heard
CATCHING A TARTAR. 819

them ; that as soon as ever they heard the seamen answer them
they should return it again; and then, keeping out of sight, take a
round, always answering when the other hallooed, to draw them
as far into the island, and among the woods, as possible; and then
wheel about again to me by such ways as I directed them.

They were just going into the boat when Friday and the mate
hallooed ; and they presently heard them, and answering, ran along
the shore westward, towards the voice they heard, when they were
presently stopped by the creek, where the water being up, they
could not get over, and called for the boat to come up and set them
over, as indeed I expected.

When they had set themselves over, I observed that the boat,
being gone up a good way into the creek, and, as it were, in a
harbour within the land, they took one of the three men out of
her to go along with them, and left only two in the boat, having
fastened her to the stump of a little tree on the shore.

This was what I wished for, and immediately leaving Friday
and the captain’s mate to their business, I took the rest with me,
and crossing the creek out of their sight, we surprised the two men
before they were aware; one of them lying on shore, and the
other being in the boat. The fellow on shore was between sleep-
ing and waking, and going to start up, the captain, who was fore-
most, ran in upon him, and knocked him down, and then called out
to him in the boat to yield, or he was a dead man.

There needed very few arguments to persuade a single man to
yield when he saw five men upon him, and his comrade knocked
down; besides, this was, it seems, one of the three who were not
so hearty in the mutiny as the rest of the crew, and therefore was
easily persuaded not only to yield, but afterwards to join very
sincerely with us.

In the meantime Friday and the captain’s mate so well managed
their business with the rest, that they drew them, by hallooing
and answering, from one hill to another, and from one wood to
another, till they not only heartily tired them, but left them where
they were very sure they could not reach back to the boat before
it was dark; and indeed they were heartily tired themselves also

by the time they came back to us.
23a) 21
820 WALKING INTO THE TRAP.

We had nothing now to do but to watch for them in the dark,
and to fall upon them, so as to make sure work with them.

It was several hours after Friday came back to me before they
came back to their boat; and we could hear the foremost of them
long before they came quite up, calling to those behind to come
along; and could also hear them answer and complain how lame
and tired they were, and not able to come any faster—which was
very welcome news to us.

At length they came up to the boat; but ’tis impossible to ex-
press their confusion when they found the boat fast aground in the
creek, the tide ebbed out, and their two men gone! We could
hear them call to one another in a most lamentable manner, telling
one another they were gotten into an enchanted island: that either
there were inhabitants in it, and they should all be murdered; or
else there were devils and spirits in it, and they should be all carried
away, and devoured.

They hallooed again, and called their two comrades by their
names a great many times; but no answer. After some time we
could see them, by the little light there was, run about wringing
their hands like mon in despair; and that sometimes they would
go and sit down in the boat to rest themselves, then come ashore
again and walk about again, and so the same thing over again.

My men would fain have me give them leave to fall upon them
at once in the dark; but I was willing to take them at some
advantage, so to spare them, and kill as few of them as I could;
and especially I was unwilling to hazard the killing any of our own
men, knowing the other were very: well armed. I resolved to wait
to see if they did not separate; and therefore to make sure of
them, I drew my ambuscade nearer, and ordered Friday and the
captain to creep upon their hands and feet as close to the ground
an they could, that they might not be discovered, and get as near
them as they could possibly, before they offered to fire.

They had not been long in that posture but that the boatswain,
who waa.the principal ringleader of the mutiny, and had now
shown himself the most dejected and dispirited of all the rest, came
walking towards them with two more of their crew. The captain
was 80 eager, as. having this principal rogue so much in his power,
A COLLOQUY IN THE DARK. 22)

that he could hardly have patience to let him come so near as to
be sure of him; for they only heard his tongue before. But when
they came nearer, the captain and Friday starting up on their feet,
let tly at them.

The boatswain was killed upon the spot, the next man was shot
into the body, and fell just by him, though he did not die till an
hour or two after; and the third ran for it.

At the noise of the fire I immediately advanced with my whole
umy, which was now eight men, namely, myself generalissimo,
Friday my lieutenant-general, the captain and his two men, and
the three prisoners of war, whom we had trusted with arms.

We came upon them indeed in the dark, so that they could not
see our number; and I made the man we had left in the boat, who
was now one of us, call to them by name, to try if I could bring
them toa parley, and so might perhaps reduce them to terms;
which fell out just as we desired. For indeed it was easy to think,
as their condition then was, they would be very willing to capitu-
late. So he calls out as loud as he could to one of them, ‘Tom
Sinith, Tom Smith.” Tom Smith answered immediately, “ Who's
that, Robinson?” for it seems he knew his voice. ‘The other an-
swered, “ Ay, ay; for God’s sake, ‘Tom Smith, throw down your
arms and yield, or you are all dead men this moment.”

‘Who must we yield to? where are they?” says Smith again.
‘Here they are,” says he; “here’s our captain, and fifty men with
him, have been hunting you this two hours; the boatswain is
killed, Will Frye is wounded, and I am a prisoner; and if you do
not yield, you are all lost.”

“ Will they give us quarter, then,” says Tom Smith, “and we
will yield?” ‘Tl go and ask, if you promise to yield,” says
Robinson. So he asked the captain, and the captain then calls
himself out, “‘ You, Smith, you know my voice, if you lay down
your arms immediately and submit, you shall have your lives—all
but Will Atkins.”

Upon this Will Atkins cried out, “‘ For God’s sake, captain, give
me quarter; what have I done? They have been all as bad as I;”
—which, by the way, was not true neither; for it seems this Will
Atkins was the first man that laid hold of the captain when they
$22 THE CAPTAIN AND HIS MEN,

first mutinied, and used him barbarously, in tying his hands, and
giving him injurious language, However, the captain told him he
must lay down his arms at discretion, and trust to the governor’s
mercy; by which he meant me, for they all called me governor,

In a word, they all laid down their arms, and begged their
lives; and I sent the man that had parleyed with them, and two
more, who bound them all; and then my great army of fifty men,
which particularly with those three, were all but eight, came up
and seized upon them all, and upon their boat—only that I kept
myself and one more out of sight, for reasons of state.

Our next work was to repair the boat, and think of seizing the
ship; and as for the captain, now he had leisure to parley with
them, he expostulated with them upon the villany of their prac-
tices with him, and at length upon the further wickedness of their
design, and how certainly it must bring them to misery and dis-
tress in the‘tnd, and perhaps to the gallows.

They all appeared very penitent, and begged hard for their
lives, As for that, he told them, they were none of his prisoners, but
the commander of the island ; that they thought they had set him
on shore in a barren uninhabited island, but it had pleased God so
to direct them, that the island was inhabited, and that the governor
was an Englishman: that he might hang them all there if he
pleased; but as he had given them all quarter, he supposed he
would send them to England to be dealt with there, as justice re-
quired—except Atkins, whom he was commanded by the governor
to advise to prepare for death, for that he would be hanged in
the morning.

Though this was all a fiction of his own, yet it had its desired
effect. Atkins fell upon his knees to beg the captain to intercede
with the governor for his life; and all the rest begged of him for
Cod’s sake that they might not be sent to England.

It now occurred to me that the time of our deliverance was
come, and that it would be a most easy thing to bring these fellows
in to be hearty in getting possession of the ship; so I retired in
the dark from them, that they might not seo what kind of a
governor they had, and called the captain tome. When I called,
as at a good distance, o