Chapter 1: Shipwreck and a Way Ashore
The storm had lasted six days, and even then, far from dying down, it seemed to grow more violent. We had been driven off course toward the southeast. It had become impossible to calculate our position or determine where we were. The ship’s masts had broken off and fallen overboard, and she was leaking badly. Everyone aboard believed we were lost and begged for God’s mercy in our desperate situation.
“My children,” I said to my four sons, who had gathered around me with their mother, trembling, “God can save us if He wills it. But if He sees fit to do otherwise, let us submit to His will. We will part only to meet again in a better world.”
My poor wife dried her tears. Strengthened by my example, she made an effort to appear calm and encourage the children. We knelt together and prayed earnestly.
Suddenly, above the terrible noise of the storm, I was delighted to hear the welcome cry of “Land! Land!” At that same moment, the ship struck with tremendous force. A long, terrible sound of tearing timbers followed. The waves battered us, but all movement of the ship stopped. From this I realized that she had become firmly wedged between the rocks.
“All is lost! Lower the boats!” cried a voice I recognized as the captain’s.
The words struck us like a thunderbolt.
“Lost!” the children exclaimed, throwing themselves into my arms.
I felt I must reassure them if I could.
“Be calm, my boys, be calm. Do not despair. God will give us courage to hold out. I will go on deck and see whether there is any way for us to escape.”
I left the cabin and went on deck. The enormous waves battered and blinded me, sometimes knocking me down. Before I could look around, I had to reach a place where I was somewhat sheltered from them. Once I could take in our surroundings, I saw that all the boats had already been launched and the crew had left the ship. At that very moment, a sailor was cutting the last boat loose. They had forgotten us!
I called out and screamed to them, but the roar of the storm drowned my voice. To my horror, I saw that we had been abandoned on the wreck.
In this desperate situation, one thing gave me some comfort. The ship was wedged in such a way that her stern stood high above the water, keeping our cabin beyond the reach of the waves. Despite the thick weather, I could also see a low coast to the south. Desolate as it looked, reaching it immediately became my greatest wish.
I made my way back to my family. Pretending to a calm I was far from feeling, I said, “Take courage. All is not yet lost. Part of the ship is still well above water. Tomorrow the sea will probably have settled a little, and we will be able to get ashore.”
This prediction lifted the boys’ spirits. With all the confidence of their age, they took what was uncertain as a sure thing.
I could see that my wife fully understood how precarious our lives were. Yet her trust in Providence had not diminished at all.
“We will have a terrible night to spend here,” she said. “Let us have something to eat. Nourishing the body will strengthen the soul.”
Night fell. The storm continued to beat against the ship with undiminished fury. At every moment, I feared she would break apart.
My wife had prepared a simple meal. The boys ate with good appetites while I discussed with her what we should do. The younger ones soon went to their berths. Fritz, the eldest, was the only one of the boys who understood the seriousness of our situation, and he stayed up with us.
“Father,” he said, “I have been thinking about how we can save ourselves and reach land. If we could find some way to support my mother and brothers in the water, you and I could swim ashore without help.”
“Your idea is a good one,” I said. “Let us try to put it into practice as soon as we can.”
We gathered some empty barrels and some tin-plated water kegs large enough to keep a person afloat. We would use handkerchiefs to fasten them in pairs under the arms of each of my children and my brave wife. With these preparations made, we secured knives, cord, flint and steel, and a few other things to our bodies. We would need them on land, if we were fortunate enough to reach it when the ship broke apart.
These precautions reassured Fritz. Very tired, he went to bed and was soon sound asleep. My wife and I kept watch throughout the night.
We spent the hours praying and planning how to keep ourselves safe. We were thankful when morning dawned and I could see that the storm was easing. At the first light of day, I went on deck. The wind had dropped considerably, and the sea was settling. The sun was rising with a reddish glow, and the horizon was clearing rapidly.
Encouraged by the sight, I called my wife and children onto the deck. The boys were astonished to find that we were alone aboard.
“Where are the sailors?” they exclaimed. “Why didn’t they take us with them when they left? What will become of us? How can we be saved?”
“My boys,” I said, “our companions lost their heads in their rush to escape. They got into the boats without thinking of us and have fallen victim to their own haste. A greater Power has protected us. At this moment, they may be more deserving of pity than we are. Look, the sky is clear, and land is not far away. Perhaps our very abandonment may prove a blessing. Let us trust in God, who will not forsake us, and discuss how to make us all safe.”
Fritz, still resourceful and adventurous, persisted in his idea of swimming to land. But Ernest, our second son, was frightened at the thought of crossing the sea that way and proposed building a raft. He was about twelve years old, intelligent but timid and lazy.
“That is all very well for you, since you can swim,” he said, “but what are the rest of us to do?”
I pointed out that a raft would take a long time to build and would be very difficult to steer, even if we had all the materials at hand. These two considerations forced us to abandon the suggestion.
“However,” I said, “let us explore the ship while we think about the best way to reach shore. Afterward, let us meet again on deck with anything we find that might be useful on land.”
Each of us went in a different direction to see what we could discover. I went first to the storeroom to make sure we had supplies to live on. Fritz visited the stores of weapons and ammunition and brought out guns, pistols, powder and shot. Ernest explored the carpenter’s workshop and came back loaded with tools and nails.
Little Frank, the youngest of all, was six years old and wanted to do something too. He showed us a box of fishhooks and lines. Fritz and Ernest teased him about it, but I would not let them belittle his contribution. We might have to live on what we caught by fishing.
Jack, my third son, a lively boy of ten, went into the captain’s cabin. He had scarcely opened the door when two large dogs sprang out. Hunger had made them so docile that they allowed him to lead them out by their ears.
My wife told me she had discovered a cow, a donkey, two goats, six sheep, a ram, and a sow with young. She had given them all food and water, but only just in time to save their lives. The poor animals had eaten nothing for two days.
“Everything you have brought is excellent,” I cried, “except Jack’s companions. They will cost more than they are worth.”
“I thought, Father,” he said, “that they would help us hunt something when we get ashore.”
“You are right as far as that goes, my dear boy,” I said, “but we are not on land yet. Have you thought about how we are to get there?”
“Well,” he said, “couldn’t we take the big tubs and get ashore that way? I have often sailed in tubs on Grandfather’s pond.”
“A happy thought!” I cried. “There is wisdom in children’s mouths sometimes. Quick, let us get the saw, hammer and nails and see what we can do.”
We all went down into the hold, where many empty casks were floating. We managed to lift four of them onto the lower deck, which was just above the water. The casks were well made, bound with iron hoops, and very suitable for our purpose. With Fritz’s help, I sawed each one in half.
Having obtained eight tubs in this way, I found a flexible plank long enough to support them all. Its two ends extended beyond the tubs, forming a kind of keel. We nailed two more planks along the sides of the tubs. The result was a rough sort of boat divided into eight compartments. Everything was firmly secured. The boat seemed ready to launch and capable of traveling a short distance on a calm sea.
Unfortunately, once it was finished, the boat was so heavy that even our combined efforts could not launch it.
I sent for a screw jack. Fritz had noticed one and ran to fetch it. I put wooden rollers underneath the boat, and with the screw jack’s help, we managed to get it moving.
Then I attached a cord to the end of our boat and fastened the other end to the ship. We put the rollers underneath and had the satisfaction of seeing the boat rush into the sea. It went down so quickly that, if I had not taken the precaution of securing it with a rope, it would have drifted out of our reach.
Unfortunately, the boat did not float quite upright. But after we put some heavy articles into the tubs as ballast, it regained its balance. The boys shouted with joy at the sight. Forgetting the danger, they argued about who should be first to get aboard.
I could see, however, that we could not safely put to sea. The slightest movement might overturn the boat. To prevent this, I thought of the outriggers used by savage tribes for the same purpose, and decided to fit them to our boat.
I took two spars and fixed them at the bow and stern of my boat. To each end of these spars I attached a small empty cask to keep the outriggers afloat. The boat now floated upright and steady.
All that remained was to work out how to get clear of the wreck. I climbed into one of the tubs and guided the boat toward an opening in the wreckage. Then, with a hatchet and saw, I cut my way out. Once that was done, we set about making oars for our trip the next day.
By the time we finished our work, it was so late that we could not reach land that day. We had to spend another night on the wreck, which threatened to break apart at any moment. Still, we ate a hearty meal. We badly needed it, since we had scarcely paused all day to take a mouthful of food.
Somewhat reassured about the next day, I made sure the boys had their swimming jackets for an emergency before I went to bed. I then advised my wife to put on a sailor’s outfit. Under the circumstances, it would hinder her less than her own clothes.
After some hesitation, she went away and soon returned wearing the clothes of one of the young sailors. At first she felt a little awkward in them. But I complimented her on her appearance and encouraged her with hope for the next day. She went to her hammock and slept peacefully.
The night passed without incident.
Chapter 2: Our First Day Ashore
At daybreak we were all awake. Hope, like grief, keeps us from sleeping. After our morning prayer together, I said to my children, “With Heaven’s help, we are now going to try to reach a place of safety. First, let us feed the poor animals and leave them enough food for several days. Perhaps we can rescue them later, if we succeed in reaching land. If you are all ready, gather everything we can take that is likely to be useful when we arrive.”
My first concern was to put some guns, a barrel of gunpowder, other ammunition, three pairs of pistols, and a bullet mold with some lead aboard our boat. Each of us had a game bag well stocked with provisions. I took some portable soup, biscuits, an iron pot, knives, hatchets, saws, fishing lines, and other supplies, along with enough canvas to make a tent. We gathered so many things that we had to leave some behind, although I replaced much of the ballast I had originally put in the tubs with supplies.
Asking for Heaven’s protection, we climbed aboard. As we set out, the cries of the poultry gave us a sad farewell. I thought we ought to take the chickens with us, along with some ducks and pigeons.
“If we cannot feed them,” I said, “they can feed us.”
We put ten hens and two roosters in a tub and covered it with a wooden grating. I let the geese, ducks, and pigeons loose, trusting their instincts to bring them to land by flying or swimming. The boys were already aboard in the order I had assigned them when my wife came back from the ship carrying a heavy sack. She threw it into the tub occupied by little Frank. I paid no particular attention to it then, thinking she had put it there simply to make a more comfortable seat for the child.
As soon as we were all settled, I cut the rope holding the boat, and we began rowing toward land. The incoming tide was already halfway in when we left the ship, and I had counted on it to help our young rowers. The children gazed longingly at the land ahead. We strained with all our might to reach it, but for a long time our efforts were useless.
The boat turned round and round without making any progress until I discovered how to steer it properly. My wife was in the first tub, little Frank in the second, and Fritz in the third. The two middle tubs held the powder, weapons, canvas, tools, food, and live animals. Jack occupied the sixth tub, Ernest the seventh, and I came last, trying to steer with the rudder in my hand. Each of us wore a swimming belt made with empty bottles and barrels in case of an accident.
The dogs were too big to take aboard. But as soon as they saw us start, they began to whine, then jumped into the sea and swam after us. Turk was an English dog, and Bill was of a Danish breed. I feared they would not be able to swim so far, but from time to time they rested their paws on the outriggers or barrels. In this way they kept up with us without much effort.
The sea was quickly growing calmer. The sky was cloudless, and the sun shone brightly. Helped by the incoming tide, we moved steadily along. Debris from the wreck floated all around us. Fritz and I often caught hold of a barrel and towed it behind us. My wife watched over her youngest child and prayed silently with clasped hands.
Our crossing took some time, but we completed it safely. As we approached the shore, it began to look less barren than it had from a distance. Sharp-eyed Fritz could make out different kinds of trees, including palms. Ernest, who was rather fond of good food, was delighted at the thought of coconuts. He said they were larger and better than those he had seen in Europe.
“How lovely all this is!” exclaimed little Frank.
My wife trembled at this simple remark. Understanding her feelings, I pressed her hand and whispered that perhaps the child was right after all. All human happiness depends on what we compare it with.
Meanwhile, the other boys had begun discussing what kinds of trees grew on the island. I regretted not having thought to bring the captain’s telescope, but Jack took a small one out of his pocket and handed it to me. With it I could examine the land and look for a place to go ashore.
The coast, which had looked so unwelcoming at first, now seemed more inviting toward the left. A strong current carried us nearer the rocks on that side, where we could make out a small bay. The geese and ducks were already heading toward it, leading the way for us. I steered our boat into the bay and reached a place where the bank was low and the water just deep enough to keep us afloat.
Everyone who could do so immediately jumped ashore. We helped Frank out.
“And the coconuts, Papa?” little Frank exclaimed.
“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “Fritz has good eyes. He was not mistaken. I can see some trees over there. You shall have your coconuts before long, my boy.”
“I’m so glad!” he cried, clapping his hands.
My wife embraced him, and a tear fell onto his face. A moment later, however, she looked up with a smile. Frank’s happiness was contagious.
The dogs had landed before us and now jumped around us, barking joyfully. Even the ducks, geese, and pigeons seemed glad to see us and welcomed us in their own way. Penguins answered from the nearby rocks, while many frightened flamingos flew around us. Far from being unwelcome, these clashing cries assured us that there would be plenty of food.
Our first impulse was to kneel on the shore and thank Almighty God for His care of us, and to pray for His continued protection. I gathered my wife and children into my arms. Her tearful eyes met mine.
“God is good,” she said with an angelic smile. “He has kept us together, and kept our children with us.”
We now had to unload the boat, and already we felt very rich. We let the chickens loose, since we saw no reason to keep them confined. First we looked for a suitable place to put up our tent and shelter ourselves for the night.
We soon erected the tent with the help of one of the outriggers. At its top I fastened the other pole and fitted the end of that pole into a split in the rock. We stretched the canvas over this framework and secured its ends to the ground with pegs. To make it more secure, we placed all our heaviest belongings along the edges. Fritz attached hooks to the sides so that we could close the opening whenever we wished during the night.
I then told the children to gather as much dry grass and moss as they could find for our beds. While they were busy collecting it, I built a hearth out of large stones some distance from the tent. With dry driftwood, I soon had a blazing fire.
My wife placed a pot of water on the hearth. When the water was hot, I dropped in five or six cakes of portable soup. With little Frank’s help, she began preparing our dinner.
“What are you going to do with that, Papa?” asked Frank, who thought the soup tablets were strong glue.
Smiling at his innocent question, his mother replied that I was making soup for dinner.
“But where will we find the meat?” he asked. “There’s no butcher here to buy it from, and we can’t make soup out of glue!” He pulled a face as he said it.
“Oh, no!” his mother replied. “What you think is glue is portable soup. More precisely, it is a thoroughly cooked jelly made from the best meat for use aboard ships. Otherwise, it would be impossible to store enough meat for a voyage, because it would spoil so quickly.”
Meanwhile, Fritz had loaded the guns. He took one and set off along the river. Ernest remarked that hunting was not so pleasant on a deserted island and went to the right along the beach. Jack turned left among the rocks to look for mussels.
I went to find the two casks we had towed ashore. I saw that although our landing place was suitable for the boat, it would not do for a heavily loaded raft. While I was thinking about how to solve this difficulty, I heard Jack crying out in terror some distance away. I seized a hatchet and rushed to help him.
I found him standing knee-deep in a pool, with an enormous lobster gripping his leg. He was struggling in vain to free himself from his enemy’s grasp.
“Papa, Papa!” he cried, with both triumph and terror in his voice. “Come quickly! I’ve caught something enormous!”
“Well, then, bring it here.”
“I can’t! It’s caught me!”
I could not help laughing at the sight of the captor held captive, but I had to go to his rescue at once. As I waded into the water, the lobster let go and did its best to escape. I followed the ripples it made, disabled it with a blow from the hatchet, then seized it by the body and pulled it ashore. Jack greeted this with triumphant cheers.
Eager to carry the lobster to his mother, Jack reached for it with both hands. But scarcely had he bent down to grasp it when its tail struck him so hard that he fell flat on the sand and began crying again. Hearing our laughter, the little fellow picked up a stone and killed his opponent. Then he lifted his captive and carried it triumphantly to his mother.
“Mother, Frank, Ernest, Fritz! I’ve caught a great lobster! Where’s Fritz? Be careful, Frank, it will bite you!”
They all gathered around to inspect our prize and were astonished at its enormous size.
“Look what a monster it is!” said Jack. “It held my leg with its terrible claws. I believe it would have cut me in half if I hadn’t been wearing these thick sailor’s trousers. But I’ve finished it off!”
“You little boaster!” I said. “You would have been the lobster’s prey if I hadn’t come to help you. You haven’t much basis for claiming all the glory.”
After examining the animal solemnly, Ernest suggested putting it into the soup. My wife did not approve and preferred to cook the lobster separately. Meanwhile, I went back to look for the large casks and finally managed to get them out of the water. When I returned, I congratulated Jack on making the first discovery and promised him the lobster’s claws as his reward.
Ernest then told us that he too had discovered something to eat, but he could not reach it without getting his feet wet.
“That’s nothing much,” said Jack. “I’ve seen them too. They’re mussels. We don’t want to eat those things. Look at my lobster!”
“Oh,” Ernest replied, “who knows? There may be oysters too. They aren’t very far down.”
“Well, my little philosopher,” I said, “if you think there are oysters, go and get some for our dinner. Why haven’t you brought them already? In our unfortunate situation, everyone must be as useful as possible and must not be afraid to get his feet wet. You can see that the sun has already dried Jack’s clothes and mine.”
“I’ve also found a lot of salt in the cracks in the rocks,” said Ernest. “I suppose the seawater left it there.”
“Yes, certainly, you tireless thinker. But you would have done much better to bring some here in a bag than to spend so long talking about it. If you don’t want completely tasteless soup, you had better fetch some at once.”
Ernest did bring back some salt, but it was so mixed with earth and sand that it was useless, and I scolded him for it. His mother, however, suggested cleaning it in a cup of spring water and straining it through a piece of muslin. We then put it into the soup.
“Why can’t we use seawater?” asked Jack.
“Because it would be too bitter,” Ernest replied.
I agreed and added that seawater contained a bituminous substance with an extremely unpleasant taste. This was removed only by crystallizing the salt.
Meanwhile, my wife had finished the soup and announced that it was ready.
“But we must wait for Fritz,” she said. “Besides, I don’t see how we can eat it. We can’t lift a pot of boiling soup to our mouths, and we can’t scoop it up with a biscuit.”
We were like the fox in the fable, whom the stork invited to eat from a long-necked bottle. Our predicament was so awkward that we could not help laughing heartily.
“If only we had some coconuts, we could cut them in half and make spoons out of them,” said Ernest.
“Certainly,” I replied, “but why not wish for silver spoons straightaway? Fritz says the coconuts still have to be found, so you must think of something we can get more easily.”
“I have it!” said Ernest. “Why not use oyster shells?”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Let’s go and look for them.”
Ernest set off to find oysters. It did not occur to any of us that our spoons would have very short handles and that we would have to dip our fingers into the soup.
Jack ran to the place Ernest had pointed out and was knee-deep in water before his brother caught up with him. Jack pulled the oysters loose and threw them up to Ernest, who was afraid of getting his feet wet. At the same time, Ernest pulled loose a large mussel and put it in his pocket. Both boys returned laden with oysters.
Just then Fritz appeared, his hands behind his back and his head lowered as though he were disappointed.
“Have you found nothing?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” he replied.
But his brothers ran behind him and saw that he had caught what appeared to be a suckling pig.
“Where did you find it? Where did you find it? Let us see!” they cried.
Fritz brought out his prize, looking very pleased with himself.
“You’ve done very well,” I said, “but you’ve told a lie. You should never do that, even as a joke. Telling lies in fun can very easily lead to a habit of telling them seriously.”
Fritz was very sorry. Then he told us that he had been on the other side of the river, where there were many chests, planks, and other pieces of wreckage.
“Shouldn’t we go and look for them?” he asked. “It’s so different there from here. And shouldn’t we go and free the animals aboard the ship, or at least the cow? The biscuits would taste so much better with her milk, and there’s excellent pasture on the other side of the river. Why should we stay in this dry, barren place?”
“Patience, patience!” I said. “Everything in its turn. Tomorrow we can see what we can do. But tell me, have you seen any sign of our former companions?”
“Not a trace of anyone, on land or at sea. But there are some hogs on the shore, the only living things I’ve seen. They’re an unusual breed, because this little fellow I shot has feet more like a hare’s than a pig’s. I saw it moving about on the grass, sometimes sitting upright and washing its face with its paws, sometimes rooting in the ground for roots. If I hadn’t been afraid it would escape, I would have liked to catch it alive.”
“I’ve examined the animal,” said Ernest, “and I don’t think it’s very much like a suckling pig. Its skin is very soft, and it doesn’t have a pig’s teeth. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s the animal called an agouti in my natural history book.”
“Aha!” cried Fritz. “Listen to the professor! But I believe he’s mistaken this time.”
“Gently, gently,” I said. “Ernest is right, and you must not be so quick with your jokes. I know the agouti only from pictures, but a young wild boar looks very much like it. The agouti is native to America and lives in hollow tree trunks. It has a very tame nature and is very good to eat.”
While we were discussing the agouti, Jack was trying to open an oyster with his knife, but all his efforts failed. I laughed at his attempts and placed a few oysters on the hot embers. They soon opened on their own.
“There, boys,” I said. “Now you can feast on one of the greatest delicacies.”
At the same time, I swallowed one myself, rather reluctantly, which greatly surprised my children. I said that I did not wish to influence anyone, but for my part I had had enough of them.
The longer the children thought about eating the oysters, the less they liked the idea. Yet each wanted a shell to use as a spoon. Jack set the example, though he swallowed his oyster more like a dose of medicine than anything else. The others quickly followed, declaring that the oysters were excellent.
The empty shells gave us spoons, which we hurried to use, although we burned our fingers considerably. Ernest took the large mussel shell he had hidden out of his pocket. He filled it, then stepped aside to let his soup cool, laughing at the others as he did so.
“You’ve taken precautions for yourself,” I said, “but you’ve forgotten to provide the rest of us with similar dishes.”
“There are plenty where this one came from,” he replied.
“That is exactly what I blame you for,” I said. “You think only of yourself. You deserve to have your selfishness punished and your soup given to our servants, by which I mean the dogs. You can afford to wait just as well as we can.”
My reproach struck home. Without a complaint, Ernest put the shell before the dogs, who licked up the soup in an instant. But that was hardly enough to satisfy their hunger! While we were looking across the bay, they spotted the agouti and began devouring it before we could stop them.
As soon as the children saw what was happening, they cried out. Fritz was furious and wanted to kill the dogs. He struck them so violently with his gun that he bent its barrel. As they retreated, he threw stones at them until they were out of reach, making the rocks echo with their cries.
I spoke to him very seriously about giving way to his temper, something I had noticed in him before. I scolded him severely for setting such an example to his younger brothers. He had not only made the gun useless but had nearly killed the poor animals, who were so useful to us.
He admitted his faults and asked my forgiveness. I granted it on condition that he make peace with the dogs. He immediately took a piece of biscuit in each hand and soon returned with the faithful animals. I noticed that his eyes were wet with tears.
“Oh, Father,” he cried, “before they even touched the biscuit, they licked my hand! How could I have been so cruel to the poor things?”
“Anger is always wicked,” I replied. “Do not forget that, my dear boy.”
By the time we finished our meal, the sun was setting. The chickens and ducks were gathering around us. My wife then brought out the mysterious bag she had carried from the wreck and scattered handfuls of corn among them. I praised her highly for her forethought and urged her to use the precious grain carefully, since we could sow it. We could get biscuits for the birds, which they would like just as well.
The pigeons took shelter in the cracks in the rocks. The roosters and hens went to roost on top of the tent, and the ducks and geese settled among the weeds beside the stream. We too were quite ready for bed.
We loaded the firearms and placed them beside us, ready for use. Then we all knelt together for our evening prayer. Entrusting ourselves to Heaven’s protection, we went into our tent for the night.
My children were astonished at how suddenly night fell. There was no twilight.
“That makes me think,” I said, “that we are not very far from the equator, or at least that we are between the two tropics. Twilight is produced by the scattering of the sun’s rays in the atmosphere. The more slanting the rays, the farther their refraction extends; the more nearly vertical they are, the more quickly they disperse. The land between the tropics lies directly beneath the zenith, the point overhead, and must therefore lose the sunlight very quickly.”
I went outside more than once to make sure everything was all right, then fastened the tent’s opening shut. The rooster, awakened by the moonlight, began to crow. Then I lay down.
Although the day had been very warm, the night was quite chilly, and we all suffered considerably from the cold. Still, my wife and children soon fell asleep. Despite all my efforts to stay awake, my own eyelids closed as well. Our first night on land passed safely and without alarm.
