The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert IslandWyss, Johann David
General
The Swiss Family Robinson; or, Adventures on a Desert Island
Wyss, Johann David
Family life -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Survival -- Fiction
As we were employed in making beds for the flax and placing it in them,
we observed several nests of the flamingo. These are most curiously and
skillfully made of glutinous clay, so strong that they can neither be
overturned nor washed away. They are formed in the shape of blunted
cones, and placed point downward; at the upper and broader end is built
a little platform to contain the eggs, on which the female bird sits,
with her long legs in the water on either side, until the little birds
are hatched and can take to the water. For a fortnight we left the flax
to steep, and then taking it out and drying it thoroughly in the sun,
stored it for future use at Falconhurst.
Daily did we load our cart with provisions to be brought to our winter
quarters: manioc, potatoes, cocoanuts, sweet acorns, sugar-canes, were
all collected and stored in abundance--for grumbling thunder, lowering
skies, and sharp showers warned us that we had no time to lose. Our corn
was sowed, our animals housed, our provisions stored, when down came the
rain.
To continue in our nest we found impossible, and we were obliged to
retreat to the trunk, where we carried such of our domestic furniture as
might have been injured by the damp. Our dwelling was indeed crowded:
the animals and provisions below, and our beds and household goods
around us, hemmed us in on every side; by dint of patience and better
packing, we obtained sufficient room to work and lie down in; by
degrees, too, we became accustomed to the continual noise of the animals
and the smell of the stables. The smoke from the fire, which we were
occasionally obliged to light, was not agreeable; but in time even that
seemed to become more bearable.
To make more space, we turned such animals as we had captured, and who
therefore might be imagined to know how to shift for themselves, outside
during the daytime, bringing them under the arched roots only at night.
To perform this duty Fritz and I used to sally forth every evening, and
as regularly every evening did we return soaked to the skin. To obviate
this, the mother, who feared these continual wettings might injure our
health, contrived waterproofs: she brushed on several layers of
caoutchouc over stout shirts, to which she attached hoods; she then
fixed to these duck trousers, and thus prepared for each of us a
complete waterproof suit, clad in which we might brave the severest
rain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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