Robinson Crusoe — in Words of One Syllable

by Daniel Defoe; Lucy Aikin

A sound sleep then fell on me, and when I woke it must have been three o'clock the next day, by the rays of the sun: nay, it may have been more than that; for I think that this must have been the day that I did not mark on my post, as I have since found that there was one notch too few.

I now took from my store the Book of God's Word, which I had brought from the wreck, not one page, of which I had yet read. My eyes fell on five words, that would seem to have been put there for my good at this time; so well did they cheer my faint hopes, and touch the true source of my fears. They were these: "I will not leave thee." And they have dwelt in my heart to this day. I laid down the book, to pray. My cry was "O, Lord, help me to love and learn thy ways."

This was the first time in all my life that I had felt a sense that God was near, and heard me. As for my dull life here, it was not worth a thought; for now a new strength had come to me; and there was a change in my griefs, as well as in my joys.

I had now been in the isle twelve months, and I thought it was time to go all round it, in search of its woods, springs, and creeks. So I set off, and brought back with me limes and grapes in their prime, large and ripe. I had hung the grapes in the sun to dry, and in a few days' time went to fetch them, that I might lay up a store. The vale, on the banks of which they grew, was fresh and green, and a clear, bright stream ran through it, which gave so great a charm to the spot, as to make me wish to live there.

But there was no view of the sea from this vale, while from my house, no ships could come on my side of the isle, and not be seen by me; yet the cool, soft banks were so sweet and new to me that much of my time was spent there.

In the first of the three years in which I had grown corn, I had sown it too late; in the next, it was spoilt by the drought; but the third years' crop had sprung up well.

I found that the hares would lie in it night and day, for which there was no cure but to plant a thick hedge all round it; and this took me more than three weeks to do. I shot the hares in the day time; and when it grew dark, I made fast the dog's chain to the gate, and there he stood to bark all night.

In a short time the corn grew strong, and at last ripe but, just as the hares had hurt it in the blade, so now the birds ate it in the ear. At the noise of my gun, whole flocks of them would fly up; and at this rate I saw that there would be no corn left; so I made up my mind to keep a look out night and day. I hid by the side of a hedge, and could see the birds sit on the trees and watch, and then come down, one by one, at first. Now each grain of wheat was, as it were, a small loaf of bread to me. So the great thing was to get rid of these birds. My plan was this, I shot three, and hung them up, like thieves, to scare all that came to the corn; and from this time, as long as the dead ones hung there, not a bird came near. When the corn was ripe, I made a scythe out of the swords from the ship, and got in my crop.

Few of us think of the cost at which a loaf of bread is made. Of course, there was no plough here to turn up the earth, and no spade to dig it with, so I made one with wood; but this was soon worn out, and for want of a rake, I made use of the bough of a tree. When I had got the corn home, I had to thrash it, part the grain from the chaff, and store it up. Then came the want of a mill to grind it, of sieves to clean it, and of yeast to make bread of it.

Still, my bread was made, though I had no tools; and no one could say that I did not earn it, by the sweat of my brow. When the rain kept me in doors, it was good fun to teach my pet bird Poll to talk; but so mute were all things round me, that the sound of my own voice made me start.