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 the barrels were filled, we closed them carefully, and rolled them
away to the cool vaults at the back of our cave.
Our good fortune, however, was not to end here. A day after the herring
fishery was over, and the shoal had left our bay, a great number of
seals appeared, attracted by the refuse of the herrings which we had
thrown into the sea. Though I feared they would not be suitable for our
table, we yet secured a score or two for the sake of their skins and
fat. The skins we drew carefully off for harness and clothing, and the
fat we boiled down for oil, which we put aside in casks for tanning,
soap-making, and burning in lamps.
These occupations interfered for some time with our work at Rock House;
but as soon as possible we again returned to our labor with renewed
vigor.
I had noticed that the salt crystals had for their base a species of
gypsum, which I knew might be made of great service to us in our
building operations as plaster.
As an experiment, I broke off some pieces, and, after subjecting them to
great heat, reduced them to powder. The plaster this formed with water
was smooth and white, and as I had then no particular use to which I
might put it, I plastered over some of the herring casks, that I might
be perfectly certain that all air was excluded. The remainder of the
casks I left as they were, for I presently intended to preserve their
contents by smoking. To do this, the boys and I built a small hut of
reeds and branches, and then we strung our herrings on lines across the
roof. On the floor we lit a great fire of brushwood and moss, which
threw out a dense smoke, curling in volumes round the fish, and they in
a few days seemed perfectly cured.
About a month after the appearance of the herrings, we were favored by a
visit from other shoals of fish. Jack espied them first, and called to
us that a lot of young whales were off the coast. We ran down and
discovered the bay apparently swarming with great sturgeon, salmon, and
trout, all making for the mouth of Jackal River, that they might ascend
it and deposit their spawn among the stones.
Jack was delighted at his discovery.
"Here are proper fish!" he exclaimed; "none of your paltry fry. How do
you preserve these sorts of fish? Potted, salted, or smoked?"
"Not so fast," said I, "not so fast; tell me how they are to be caught,
and I will tell you how they are to be cooked."
"Oh! I'll catch them fast enough," he replied, and darted off to Rock
House.
While I was still puzzling my brains as to how I should set to work, he
returned with his fishing apparatus in hand; a bow and arrow, and a ball
of twine.
At the arrow-head he had fastened a barbed spike, and had secured the
arrow to the end of the string. Armed with this weapon, he advanced to
the river's edge.
His arrow flew from the bow, and, to my surprise, struck one of the
largest fish in the side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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