The family Robinson Crusoe

by Johann David Wyss

Fritz.—Well, father; all I now ask of Jack is, that he will be so good as not to spoil the beautiful skin of this animal, as he did that of the jackall. Only observe what beautiful figures it is marked with, and the fine effect of the black and yellow spots; the most richly manufactured stuff could not exceed it in magnificence. What is the exact name of the animal?

Father.—You may for the present give it the name of the tiger cat. I do not, however, think that it is the animal which is so denominated at the Cape of Good Hope; I rather think it is the margay, a native of America, an animal of extremely vicious dispositions and singular voraciousness; he destroys all the birds of the forest, and neither a man, a sheep, or goat, that should fall in his way, could escape his rapacity. In the name of humanity, therefore, we ought to be thankful to you, for having destroyed so formidable an enemy.

Fritz.—All the recompense I ask, father, is, that you will let me keep the skin; and I wish you would tell me what use I can make of it.

Father.—One idea occurs to me, and it is this:—you must skin the animal yourself, taking the greatest care not to injure it in the operation, particularly those parts which cover the fore legs and the tail. If you will do this, you may make yourself a belt with it, like your brother Jack’s, except that it will be much more beautiful. The odd pieces will serve admirably to make some cases to contain our utensils for the table, such as knives, forks, spoons; and as they will be light, we can easily carry them about with us, should we make any further excursions. It is not amiss, in such a situation as ours, to exercise ourselves in all kinds of trades and manual labour, and to do every thing with the utmost care, and in the best manner possible. Man, the lord of the creation, should always aim at perfection. Go, then, boy, and put away its bloody head, and we will see how to set about preparing the skin.

Jack.—And I too, father, will make some cases with the skin of my porcupine.

Father.—And why should you not, my boy? The skin of the tiger cat, can only furnish us with four, and we ought to have six at least, which will be one a-piece. So set to work, and show us quickly what you can perform. I should like for you to preserve some of the quills of your porcupine for me; for I think I can contrive to convert them into packing-needles, or into arrows; and what bits of skin are left, may serve to repair the dogs’ collars when they begin to wear; or, which would be a masterpiece of invention, might be joined together and made into a sort of coat of mail, as a protection to them when they have to encounter wild beasts.

Jack.—Oh! yes, father, I will make the coat of mail, the coat of mail! Ernest, Fritz, did you hear what papa said? Why, our dogs will look like a couple of knights of chivalry. The idea is most excellent; how I shall like to see them with a coat of mail!

The boys left me no moment of repose till I had shown them how to take off the skins of the animals without tearing them. In the mean while, Ernest looked about for a flat stone as a sort of foundation for a fire-place, and little Francis collected some pieces of dry wood for his mother to light a fire. Ernest was not long in finding what he wanted, and then he ran to join us and give us his assistance, or rather to reason right or wrong on the subject of skinning animals; and then on that of trees; making various comments and inquiries, respecting the real name of those we intended to inhabit. It is my opinion, said he, that they are really and simply, enormously large hazel trees; see if the leaf is not of exactly the same form. But that is no proof, interrupted I; for many trees bear leaves of the same shape, but nevertheless are of different kinds. Besides, it appears to me, that there is not so great a resemblance as you think, between the leaves of the trees which grow here, and those of the hazel, the former being of a paler colour, and white underneath. I recollect too, that there is the wild mango and also the fig-tree, whose roots grow in the same manner as our giant trees, forming a beautiful arch, and sometimes reaching to an immeasurable height.

Ernest.—I thought, father, that the mango tree only grew on the sea-shore, and in marshy soils?

Father.—You were not mistaken; it is the black mango tree which loves the water. But there is, besides, the red mango, which bears its fruit in bunches, something like our currant bushes. This kind of the mango tree, is found at a considerable distance from the sea, and its wood is used for dyeing red. There is a third sort, which is called the mountain mango, or yellow wood, and this is the kind, whose roots produce the beautiful arches you now see around us.