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
When a full account of our adventures had been given, with a minute and
special description of the bear fight, the mother related what she had
done during our absence. She and Franz had made their way through the
wood up to the rocks behind it, and discovered a bed of pure white clay,
which it seemed to her might be used for making porcelain. Then she had
contrived a drinking trough for the cattle out of a split bamboo.
She had arranged a hearth in a sheltered place by building up large
stones, cemented with the white clay; and, finally, she had cut a
quantity of canes and brought them, on the cart, to be in readiness for
the building we had in hand.
I praised the thoughtful diligence which had effected so much that was
of real and definite use. In order to try the clay, I put some balls of
it in the fire now kindled, to burn during the night, and we then betook
ourselves to rest under shelter of our tent.
I awoke at dawn and aroused my little party. My first idea was to
examine the clay balls, which I found baked hard and finely glazed, but
too much melted down by the heat--a fault which, seeing the excellent
quality of the clay, I knew it would be well worth while to remedy.
After breakfast, and our accustomed devotions, we harnessed the cart,
and took the way to the bears' den. Fritz headed the party, and, coming
in sight of the entrance to the cave, called out softly:
"Make haste and you will see a whole crowd of wild turkeys, who seem to
have come to attend the funeral obsequies of their respected friend and
neighbor, Bruin, here. But there appears to be a jealous watcher who is
unwilling to admit the visitors to the bed of state!"
The Watcher, as Fritz called him, was an immensely large bird, with a
sort of comb on his head, and a loose, fleshy skin hanging from beneath
the beak. Part of the neck was bare, wrinkled, and purplish-red, while
around it, resting on the shoulders, was a downy collar of soft, white
feathers. The plumage was grayish-brown, marked here and there with
white patches; the feet appeared to be armed with strong claws. This
great bird guarded the entrance to the cave, occasionally retiring into
it himself for a few minutes; but as soon as the other birds came
pressing in after him, he hurried out again, and they were forced to
retire.
We stopped to observe this curious scene, and were startled suddenly by
a mighty rush of wings in the air above us. We looked up; at the same
moment Fritz fired, and an enormous bird fell heavily head foremost on
the rocks, by which its neck was broken, while blood flowed from a wound
in the breast.
We had been holding back the dogs, but they, with Fritz, now rushed
toward the cave, the birds rising around them and departing with heavy,
ungainly flight, leaving only Fritz's prize, and one of the other birds
killed by the large one in its fall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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