The Swiss Family Robinson

by Johann David Wyss

  “Ernest, was it your mother?”

  “No, papa; I am certain it was not my mother,” said he. “Neither was it Francis.”

  Here he was silent: a cold shuddering came over me.

  “Why are you silent?” said I; “what do you think?”

  “Indeed, papa, I could distinguish nothing,” said he, “even with the telescope, they passed so quickly. Would that it were my mother and brother, we should then be sure they were living, and might follow them. But a thought strikes me: let us free the pinnace, and sail after the canoe. We can go quicker than they with the sail; we shall overtake them behind the cape, and then we shall at least be satisfied.”

  I hesitated, lest my sons should come back; but Ernest represented to me that we were only fulfilling the wishes of Fritz; besides, we should return in a short time; he added, that he would soon disencumber the pinnace.

  “Soon,” cried I, “when we have been at least two hours in covering it.”

  “Yes,” said he; “but we had a dozen journeys to make to the trees then; I will have it ready in less than half an hour.”

  I assisted him as actively as I could, though not with good heart, for I was uneasy about abandoning my sons. I would have given worlds to see them arrive before our departure; to have their assistance, which was of much consequence in the pinnace, and to know they were safe. I often left off my work to take a glance into the interior of the island, hoping to see them. Frequently I mistook the trees in the twilight, which was now coming on, for moving objects. At last, I was not deceived, I saw distinctly a figure walking rapidly.

  “They are here!” I cried, running forward, followed by Ernest; and we soon saw a dark-coloured figure approaching. I concluded it was a savage, and, though disappointed, was not alarmed, as he was alone. I stopped, and begged Ernest to recollect all the words he had met with in his books, of the language of the savages. The black man approached; and conceive my surprise when I heard him cry, in my own language—

  “Don’t be alarmed, father, it is I, your son Fritz.”

  “Is it possible,” said I; “can I believe it? and Jack? What have you done with my Jack? Where is he? Speak. . . .”

  Ernest did not ask. Alas! he knew too well; he had seen with his telescope that it was his dear brother Jack that was in the canoe with the savages; but he had not dared to tell me. I was in agony. Fritz, harassed with fatigue, and overwhelmed with grief, sunk down on the ground.

  “Oh father!” said he, sobbing, “I dread to appear before you without my brother! I have lost him. Can you ever forgive your unfortunate Fritz?”

  “Oh yes, yes; we are all equally unfortunate,” cried I, sinking down beside my son, while Ernest seated himself on the other side to support me. I then besought Fritz to tell me if the savages had murdered my dear boy. He assured me that he was not killed, but carried off by the savages; still he hoped he was safe. Ernest then told me he had seen him seated in the canoe, apparently without clothes, but not stained black as Fritz was.

  “I earnestly wish he had been,” said Fritz; to that I attribute my escape. But I am truly thankful to God that you have seen him, Ernest. “Which way have the monsters gone?”

  Ernest pointed out the cape, and Fritz was anxious that we should embark without delay, and endeavour to snatch him from them.

  “And have you learned nothing of your mother and Francis?” said I.

  “Alas! nothing,” said he; “though I think I recognized a handkerchief, belonging to dear mamma, on the head of a savage. I will tell you all my adventure as we go. You forgive me, dear father?”

  “Yes, my dear son,” said I; “I forgive and pity you; but are you sure my wife and Francis are not on the island?”

  “Quite sure,” said he. “In fact the island is entirely uninhabited; there is no fresh water, nor game, and no quadrupeds whatever, but rats and kangaroos; but plenty of fruit. I have filled my bag with bread-fruit, which is all we shall need: let us go.”

  We worked so hard, that in a quarter of an hour the branches were removed, and the pinnace ready to receive us. The wind was favourable for carrying us towards the cape the savages had turned; we hoisted our sail, I took my place at the helm; the sea was calm, and the moon lighted our way. After recommending ourselves to the protection of God, I desired Fritz to commence his melancholy recital.

  “It will be melancholy, indeed,” said the poor boy, weeping; “if we do not find my dear Jack, I shall never forgive myself for not having stained his skin before my own; then he should have been with you now—”

  “But I have you, my dear son, to console your father,” said I. “I can do nothing myself, in my sorrow. I depend on you, my two eldest, to restore to me what I have lost. Go on, Fritz.”

  “We went on,” continued he, “with courage and hope; and as we proceeded, we felt that you were right in saying we ought not to judge of the island by the borders. You can form no idea of the fertility of the island, or of the beauty of the trees and shrubs we met with at every step, quite unknown to me; some were covered with fragrant flowers, others with tempting fruits; which, however, we did not venture to taste, as we had not Knips to try them.”

  “Did you see any monkeys?” asked Ernest.

  “Not one,” replied his brother, “to the great vexation of Jack; but we saw parrots, and all sorts of birds of the most splendid plumage. Whilst we were remarking these creatures, I did not neglect to look carefully about for any trace that might aid our search. I saw no hut, no sort of dwelling, nor anything that could indicate that the island was inhabited, and not the slightest appearance of fresh water; and we should have been tormented with thirst if we had not found some coconuts containing milk, and an acid fruit, full of juice, which we have in our own island—Ernest calls it the carambolier; we quenched our thirst with this, as well as with the plant, which we also have, and which contains water in the stem. The country is flat and open, and its beautiful trees stand at such a distance from each other, that no one could hide amongst them. But if we found no dwellings, we often discovered traces of the savages,—extinguished fires, remains of kangaroos and of fish, coconut shells, and even entire nuts, which we secured for ourselves; we remarked, also, footmarks on the sand. We both wished anxiously to meet with a savage, that we might endeavour to make him comprehend, by signs, whom we were in search of, hoping that natural affection might have some influence even with these untaught creatures. I was only fearful that my dress and the colour of my skin might terrify them. In the meantime, Jack, with his usual rashness, had climbed to the summit of one of the tallest trees, and suddenly cried out, ‘Fritz, prepare your signs, the savages are landing. Oh! what black ugly creatures they are, and nearly naked! you ought to dress yourself like them, to make friends with them. You can stain your skin with these,’ throwing me down branches of a sort of fruit of a dark purple colour, large as a plum, with a skin like the mulberry. ‘I have been tasting them, they are very nauseous, and they have stained my fingers black; rub yourself well with the juice of this fruit, and you will be a perfect savage,’

  “I agreed immediately. He descended from the tree while I undressed, and with his assistance I stained myself from head to foot, as you see me; but don’t be alarmed, a single dip in the sea will make me a European again. The good-natured Jack then helped to dress me in a sort of tunic made of large leaves, and laughed heartily when he looked at me, calling me Omnibou, of whom he had seen a picture, which he declared I exactly resembled. I then wished to disguise him in the same way, but he would not consent; he declared that, when he met with mamma and Francis, he should fly to embrace them, and that he should alarm and disgust them in such a costume. He said I could protect him if the savages wished to devour him: they were now at hand, and we went forward, Jack following me with my bundle of clothes under his arm. I had slung my kangaroo-skin bag of powder and provision on my shoulders, and I was glad to see that most of the sa
vages wore the skin of that animal, for the most part spread out like a mantle over their shoulders; few of them had other clothes, excepting one, who appeared to be the chief, and had a tunic of green rushes, neatly woven. I tried to recollect all the words of savage language I could, but very few occurred to me. I said at first ‘tayo, tayo.’ I don’t know whether they comprehended me, but they paid me great attention, evidently taking me for a savage; only one of them wished to seize my gun; but I held it firmly, and on the chief speaking a word to him, he drew back. They spoke very rapidly, and I saw by their looks they spoke about us; they looked incessantly at Jack, repeating, ‘To maiti tata.’ Jack imitated all their motions, and made some grimaces which seemed to amuse them. I tried in vain to attract their attention. I had observed a handkerchief twisted round the head of him who seemed the chief, that reminded me much of the one my mother usually wore. I approached him, touched the handkerchief, saying expressively, ‘Metoua aine mere, et tata frere;’ I added, pointing to the sea, ‘pay canot.’ But, alas! they did not appear to understand my words. The chief thought I wished to rob him of his handkerchief, and repelled me roughly. I then wished to retire, and I told Jack to follow me; but four islanders seized him, opened his waistcoat and shirt, and cried out together, ‘Alea tea tata.’ In an instant he was stripped, and his clothes and mine were put on in a strange fashion by the savages. Jack, mimicking all their contortions, recovered his shirt from one of them, put it on, and began to dance, calling on me to do the same, and, in a tone as if singing, repeated, ‘Make your escape, Fritz, while I am amusing them; I will then run off and join you very soon,’ As if I could for a moment think of leaving him in the hands of these barbarians! However, I recollected at that moment the bag you had given me of toys and trinkets; we had thoughtlessly left it under the great tree where I had undressed. I told Jack, in the same tone, I would fetch it, if he could amuse the savages till I returned, which he might be certain would be very soon. I ran off with all speed, and without opposition arrived at the tree, found my bag well guarded, indeed, father; for what was my surprise to find our two faithful dogs, Turk and Flora, sitting over it.”

  “Flora!” cried I, “she accompanied my dear wife and child into their captivity; they must be in this island—why have we left it!”

  “My dear father,” continued Fritz, “depend on it, they are not there; but I feel convinced that the wretches who have carried off Jack, hold dear mamma and Francis in captivity; therefore we must, at all events, pursue them. The meeting between Flora and me was truly joyful, for I was now convinced that my mother and Francis were not far off, though certainly not on the same island, or their attached friend would not have quitted them. I concluded that the chief who had taken my mamma’s handkerchief had also taken her dog, and brought her on this excursion, and that she had here met with her friend Turk, who had rambled from us.

  “After caressing Flora, and taking up my bag, I ran off full speed to the spot where my dear Jack was trying to divert the barbarians. As I approached, I heard cries,—not the noisy laughter of the savages, but cries of distress from my beloved brother,—cries for help, addressed to me. I did not walk—I flew till I reached the spot, and I then saw him bound with a sort of strong cord, made of gut; his hands were fastened behind his back, his legs tied together, and these cruel men were carrying him towards their canoe, while he was crying out, ‘Fritz, Fritz, where are you?’ I threw myself desperately on the six men who were bearing him off. In the struggle, my gun, which I held in my hand, caught something, and accidentally went off, and—O, father, it was my own dear Jack that I wounded! I cannot tell how I survived his cry of ‘You have killed me!’ And when I saw his blood flow, my senses forsook me, and I fainted. When I recovered, I was alone; they had carried him off. I rose, and following the traces of his blood, arrived fortunately at the shore just as they were embarking. God permitted me to see him again, supported by one of the savages, and even to hear his feeble voice cry, ‘Console yourself, Fritz, I am not dead; I am only wounded in the shoulder; it is not your fault; go, my kind brother, as quick as possible to papa, and you will both’—the canoe sailed away so swiftly, that I heard no more; but I understood the rest—‘you will both come and rescue me.’ But will there be time? Will they dress his wound? Oh! father, what have I done! Can you forgive me?”

  Overwhelmed with grief, I could only hold out my hand to my poor boy, and assure him I could not possibly blame him for this distressing accident.

  Ernest, though greatly afflicted, endeavoured to console his brother; he told him a wound in the shoulder was not dangerous, and the savages certainly intended to dress his wound, or they would have left him to die. Fritz, somewhat comforted, begged me to allow him to bathe, to divest himself of the colouring, which was now become odious to him, as being that of these ruthless barbarians. I was reluctant to consent; I thought it might still be useful, in gaining access to the savages; but he was certain they would recognize him in that disguise as the bearer of the thunder, and would distrust him. I now recollected to ask what had become of his gun, and was sorry to learn that they had carried it off whilst he lay insensible; he himself considered that it would be useless to them, as they had fortunately left him the bag of ammunition. Ernest, however, regretted the loss to ourselves, this being the third we had lost—the one we had left in the canoe being also in the possession of the savages. The dogs we missed, too, and Fritz could give no account of them; we concluded they had either followed the savages, or were still in the island. This was another severe sorrow; it seemed as if every sort of misfortune was poured out upon us. I rested on the shoulder of Ernest in my anguish. Fritz took advantage of my silence, and leaped out of the pinnace to have a bath. I was alarmed at first; but he was such an excellent swimmer, and the sea was so calm, that I soon abandoned my fears for him.

  Chapter LI

  Fritz was now swimming far before us, and appeared to have no idea of turning, so that I was at once certain he projected swimming on to the point where we had lost sight of the savages, to be the first to discover and aid his brother. Although he was an excellent swimmer, yet the distance was so great, that I was much alarmed; and especially for his arrival by night in the midst of the savages. This fear was much increased by a very extraordinary sound, which we now heard gradually approaching us; it was a sort of submarine tempest. The weather was beautiful; there was no wind, the moon shone in a cloudless sky, yet the waves were swollen as if by a storm, and threatened to swallow us; we heard at the same time a noise like violent rain. Terrified at these phenomena, I cried out aloud for Fritz to return; and though it was almost impossible my voice could reach him, we saw him swimming towards us with all his strength. Ernest and I used all our power in rowing to meet him, so that we soon got to him. The moment he leaped in, he uttered in a stifled voice, pointing to the mountains of waves, “They are enormous marine monsters! whales, I believe! such an immense shoal! They will swallow us up!”

  “No,” said Ernest, quietly; “don’t be alarmed; the whale is a gentle and harmless animal, when not attacked. I am very glad to see them so near. We shall pass as quietly through the midst of these colossal creatures, as we did through the shining zöophytes: doubtless the whales are searching for them, for they constitute a principal article of their food.”

  They were now very near us, sporting on the surface of the water, or plunging into its abysses, and forcing out columns of water through their nostrils to a great height, which occasionally fell on us, and wetted us. Sometimes they raised themselves on their huge tail, and looked like giants ready to fall on us and crush us; then they went down again into the water, which foamed under their immense weight. Then they seemed to be going through some military evolutions, advancing in a single line, like a body of regular troops, one after another swimming with grave dignity; still more frequently they were in lines of two and two. This wonderful sight partly diverted us from our own melancholy thoughts. Fritz had, however, seized h
is oar, without giving himself time to dress, whilst I, at the rudder, steered as well as I could through these monsters, who are, notwithstanding their appearance, the mildest animals that exist. They allowed us to pass so closely, that we were wetted with the water they spouted up, and might have touched them; and with the power to overturn us with a stroke of their tail, they never noticed us; they seemed to be satisfied with each other’s society. We were truly sorry to see their mortal enemy appear amongst them, the swordfish of the south, armed with its long saw, remarkable for a sort of fringe of nine or ten inches long, which distinguishes it from the swordfish of the north. They are both terrible enemies to the whale, and next to man, who wages an eternal war with them, its most formidable foes. The whales in our South Seas had only the swordfish to dread; as soon as they saw him approach, they dispersed, or dived into the depths of the ocean. One only, very near us, did not succeed in escaping, and we witnessed a combat, of which, however, we could not see the event. These two monsters attacked each other with equal ferocity; but as they took an opposite direction to that we were going, we soon lost sight of them, but we shall never forget our meeting with these wonderful giants of the deep.