Robinson Crusoe — in Words of One Syllable

by Daniel Defoe; Lucy Aikin

A score of years had gone by, with no new sight to rest my eyes on, till this scene burst on them. I felt as if I should like to spend the rest of my life here; and at its close, lie down to die in this cave, like the old goat.

As I went home I was struck by the sight of some smoke, which came from a fire no more than two miles off. From this time I lost all my peace of mind. Day and night a dread would haunt me, that the men who had made this fire would find me out. I went home and drew up my steps, but first I made all things round me look wild and rude. To load my gun was the next thing to do, and I thought it would be best to stay at home and hide.

But this was not to be borne long. I had no spy to send out and all I could do was to get to the top of the hill, and keep a good look out. At last, through my glass, I could see a group of wild men join in a dance round their fire. As soon a they had left, I took two guns, and slung a sword on my side; then with all speed, I set off to the top of the hill, once more to have a good view.

This time I made up my mind to go up to the men, but not with a view to kill them, for I felt that it would be wrong to do so. With such a load of arms, it took me two hours to reach the spot where the fire was; and by the time I got there, the men had all gone; but I saw them in four boats out at sea.

Down on the shore, there was a proof of what the work of these men had been. The signs of their feast made me sick at heart, and I shut my eyes. I durst not fire my gun when I went out for food on that side the isle, lest there should be some of the men left, who might hear it, and so find me out. This state of things went on for a year and three months, and for all that time I saw no more men.

On the twelfth of May, a great storm of wind blew all day and night. As it was dark, I sat in my house; and in the midst of the gale, I heard a gun fire! My guess was that it must have been from some ship cast on shore by the storm. So I set a light to some wood on top of the hill, that those in the ship, if ship it should be, might know that some one was there to aid them. I then heard two more guns fire. When it was light, I went to the South side of the isle, and there lay the wreck of a ship, cast on the rocks in the night by the storm. She was too far off for me to see if there were men on board.

Words could not tell how much I did long to bring but one of the ship's crew to the shore! So strong was my wish to save the life of those on board, that I could have laid down my own life to do so. There are some springs in the heart which, when hope stirs them, drive the soul on with such a force, that to lose all chance of the thing one hopes for, would seem to make one mad; and thus was it with me.

Now, I thought, was the time to use my boat; so I set to work at once to fit it out. I took on board some rum (of which I still had a good deal left), some dry grapes, a bag of rice, some goat's milk, and cheese, and then put out to sea. A dread came on me at the thought of the risk I had run on the same rocks; but my heart did not quite fail me, though I knew that, as my boat was small, if a gale of wind should spring up, all would be lost. Then I found that I must go back to the shore till the tide should turn, and the ebb come on.

I made up my mind to go out the next day with the high tide, so I slept that night in my boat. At dawn I set out to sea, and in less than two hours I came up to the wreck. What a scene was there! The ship had struck on two rocks. The stern was torn by the force of the waves, the masts were swept off, ropes and chains lay strewn on the deck, and all was wrapt in gloom. As I came up to the wreck, a dog swam to me with a yelp and a whine. I took him on board my boat, and when I gave him some bread he ate it like a wolf, and as to drink, he would have burst, if I had let him take his fill of it.

I went to the cook's room, where I found two men, but they were both dead. The tongue was mute, the ear was deaf, the eye was shut, and the lip was stiff; still the sad tale was told, for each had his arm round his friend's neck, and so they must have sat to wait for death. What a change had come on the scene, once so wild with the lash of the waves and the roar of the wind! All was calm now—death had done its work, and all had felt its stroke, save the dog, and he was the one thing that still had life.