The Swiss Family Robinson: A Translation from the Original GermanWyss, Johann David
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The Swiss Family Robinson: A Translation from the Original German
Wyss, Johann David
Family life -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Survival -- Fiction
Master Jack was off in a moment when he heard of a new delicacy, and
attempted to gather some of the fruit, but in vain; the sharp thorns
defied his efforts, and with bleeding hands, and rueful countenance, he
returned. I removed the thorns from his hands, and making a sharp wooden
skewer, I thrust it into a fig, and quickly twisted it from its branch
and split it open with a knife, still holding it upon the skewer. The
rest followed my example, and we regaled ourselves upon the fruit, which
we found excellent. Ernest carefully examined the fig he was eating.
"What are these," he exclaimed presently; "little red insects! they
cling all over the fruit, and I cannot shake them off. Can they be
cochineal?"
He handed me the fig, and I examined it attentively.
"You are quite right, my boy," I said; "there is no doubt this is the
real cochineal. However, though it is worth its weight in gold to
European traders, it is of little use to us, I am afraid unless any of
you care to appear in gay colors. The cochineal you know, forms the most
lovely scarlet dye."
"No, thank you," said Jack; "but we will take a lot of it when we go
home again. Now let us find something more useful to us." And they
thereupon plied me incessantly with questions concerning every plant and
shrub we passed.
"Stop, stop," I said at length; "the most learned naturalist would be
much puzzled with many of these trees, and I who have never seen any of
them before, and know them merely by description, cannot pretend to tell
you the names, or explain to you the use of one-quarter of them."
Discussing, however, the properties of such shrubs as I did know, we at
length reached Tentholm. Everything was safe, and we set to work to
collect what we wanted. I opened the butter cask, from which my wife
filled her pot. Fritz saw after the ammunition, and Jack and Ernest ran
down to the beach to capture the geese and ducks. This they found no
easy matter, for the birds, left so long alone, were shy, and nothing
would induce them to come on shore and be caught. Ernest at length hit
upon an ingenious plan. He took some pieces of cheese, and tied them to
long strings. This bait he threw into the water, and the hungry ducks
instantly made a grab at it; then with a little skillful maneuvering he
drew them on shore. While Jack and he were thus busily employed
catching and tying the rebels together by the feet, we procured a fresh
supply of salt, which we packed upon Turk's back, first relieving him of
his coat of mail. The birds we fastened to our game bags, and carefully
closing the door of our tent, started homeward by the seashore. After a
cheerful and pleasant walk, we once more reached our woodland abode. I
released the birds and, clipping their wings to prevent their leaving
us, established them on the stream. Then, after a delicious supper of
potatoes, milk, and butter, we ascended our tree and turned in.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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