path. Odysseus and the swineherd had kindled a fire, and were
preparing the morning meal, when Odysseus heard the noise of
footsteps. He looked out and saw a tall lad with yellow hair and
bright eyes, and a fearless, noble face. "Surely here is a friend," he
said to the swineherd. "Thy dogs are not barking, but jump up and fawn
on him."
The swineherd looked, and when he saw his young master he wept for
joy.
"I thought I should never see thee more, sweet light of my eyes," he
said. "Come into my hut, that I may gladden my heart with the sight of
thee."
He then spread before him the best he had, and the three men ate
together. Although Odysseus seemed only a poor, ragged, old beggar,
Telemachus treated him with such gentleness and such courtesy that
Odysseus was proud and glad of his noble son. Soon Telemachus sent the
swineherd to tell Penelope of his safe return, and while he was gone
Athene entered the hut. She made herself invisible to Telemachus, but
beckoned to Odysseus to go outside.
"The time is come for thee to tell thy son who thou art," she said,
and touched him with her golden wand.
At once Odysseus was again a strong man, dressed in fine robes, and
radiant and beautiful as the sun.
When he went back into the hut Telemachus thought he was a god.
"No god am I," said Odysseus; "I am thy father, Telemachus."
And Odysseus took his son in his arms and kissed him, and the tears
that he had kept back until now ran down his cheeks. Telemachus flung
his arms round his father's neck, and he, too, wept like a little
child, so glad was he that Odysseus had come home.
All day they spoke of the wooers and plotted how to slay them.
When the swineherd returned, and Athene had once more changed Odysseus
into an old beggar-man, he told Telemachus that the wooers had
returned, and were so furious with Telemachus for escaping from them,
that they were going to kill him next day.
At this Telemachus smiled to his father, but neither said a word.
Next morning Telemachus took his spear and said to the swineherd:
"I go to the palace to see my mother. As for this old beggar-man, lead
him to the city, that he may beg there."
And Odysseus, still pretending to be a beggar, said:
"It is better to beg in the town than in the fields. My garments are
very poor and thin, and this frosty air chills me; but as soon as I am
warmed at the fire and the sun grows hot, I will gladly set out."
Down the hill to the city strode Telemachus. When he came to the
palace, his old nurse, whom he found busy in the hall, wept for joy.
And when Penelope heard his voice, she came from her room and cast her
arms round him and kissed his face and his eyes, and said, while tears
ran down her cheeks:
"Thou art come, sweet light of my eyes. I thought I should never see
thee more."
Then Telemachus, looking like a young god, with his spear in his hand
and his two hounds following at his heels, went to the hall where the
wooers sat. To his friend Mentor he told his adventures, but he looked
on the wooers with silence and scorn.
Soon Odysseus and the swineherd followed him to the city. A beggar's
bag, all tattered, was slung round the shoulders of Odysseus. In his
hand he carried a staff. Men who saw him, tattered and feeble, mocked
at him and his guide. But Odysseus kept down the anger in his heart,
and they went on to the palace. Near the doorway, lying in the dirt,
thin and old and rough of coat, lay Argos, the dog that long ago had
been the best and fleetest that had hunted the hares and deer with
Odysseus.
When he heard his master's voice he wagged his tail and tried to crawl
near him. But he was too feeble to move. He could only look up with
loving, wistful eyes that were almost blind, and thump his tail
gladly. So glad was he that his faithful heart broke for joy, and
before Odysseus could pat his head or speak a kind word to him, old
Argos rolled over dead.
There were tears in the eyes of Odysseus as he walked past the body of
his friend. He sat down on the threshold leaning on his staff, and
when Telemachus sent him bread and meat from his table he ate
hungrily. When the meal was over he went round the hall begging from
the wooers. Some gave him scraps of broken meats, others called him
hard names and bade him begone, and one of them seized a footstool and
struck him with it.
But Odysseus still kept down the anger in his heart, and went back to
his seat on the threshold with his beggar's bag full of the scraps
that had been given to him.
As he sat there, a common beggar, well known for his greed and
impudence, came to the palace.
"Get thee hence, old man," said he to Odysseus, "else I shall knock
all thy teeth from thy head."
More, too, he said, rudely and roughly, and at last he struck
Odysseus.
Then Odysseus could bear no more, and smote him such a blow on his
neck that the bones were broken, and he fell on the ground with blood
gushing from his mouth. Odysseus dragged him outside by the heels, and
propped him, with his staff in his hands, against the courtyard wall.
"Sit there," he said, "and scare off dogs and swine."
The wooers laughed and enjoyed the sport, and gave gifts of food to
the sturdy old beggar, as they took Odysseus to be. All evening they
feasted and drank, but when night fell they went to their own homes.
When they were gone Odysseus and Telemachus carried all the helmets
and swords and sharp-pointed spears that stood in the hall, away to
the armory and hid them there.
Then Telemachus went to his room to rest, but Odysseus sat in the hall
where the servants were clearing away the remains of the feast. While
he sat there, Penelope came with her maids and rested on a chair In
front of the glowing wood fire on which the servants had piled fresh
logs.
She talked kindly and gently to the old beggar-man, and bade the old
nurse bring water to wash his weary feet.
Now, once long ago, a wild boar that he hunted had torn the leg of
Odysseus with his tusk, and as the old nurse washed his feet she saw
the scar. In a moment she knew her master, and cried out. The brazen
bath fell with a clang on the floor, and the water was spilt.
"Thou art Odysseus," she said; "I did not know thee, my dear child,
until I found the scar."
Penelope must have heard her glad cry, had not Athene at that moment
made her deep in thoughts of other things. Quickly Odysseus bade the
old nurse be silent, and the old woman obeyed him.
Before Penelope went to rest she said sadly to Odysseus: "I feel that
the end is drawing near. Soon I shall be parted from the house of
Odysseus. My husband, who was always the best and bravest, used to set
up the twelve axes ye see standing here, and between each axe he shot
an arrow. I have told the wooers that I shall marry whichever one of
them can do the like. Then I shall leave this house, which must be for
ever most dear to me."
Then answered the old beggar-man: "Odysseus will be here when they
shoot. It will be Odysseus who shoots between the axes."
Penelope, longing for his words to be true, went up to her room and
lay crying on her bed until her pillows were wet. Then Athene sent
sleep upon her eyelids and made her forget all her sorrows.
Odysseus, too, would have tossed all night wide awake, with a heart
full of anger and revenge, had not Athene gently laid her hands on his
eyes and made him fall asleep.
Next day the wooers came to the palace, and with rough jest and rude
word they greeted Odysseus.
"Who harms this man must fight with me," said Telemachus, and at that
the wooers shouted with laughter.
But a stranger who sat among them cried out in a voice of fear:
"I see your hands and knees shrouded in blackness! I see your cheeks
wet with tears! The walls and the pillars drip blood; the porch is
full of shadows, and pale ghosts are hastening out of the gray mist
that fills the palace."
At this the wooers laughed the more, for they thought the man was mad.
But, as in a dream, he had seen truly what was to come to pass.
Weeping, Penelope then brought forth from the armory the great bow
with which Odysseus had shot in years that were past. Her heart was
full of love for Odysseus, and she could not bear to wed another.
Telemachus then threw aside his red cloak and ranged out the bronze
axes.
One by one the wooers tried to move the great bow and make it drive a
swift arrow before it. One by one they failed.
And when it seemed as if no man there was strong enough to move it,
Odysseus took it in his hands, and between each axe he shot an arrow.
When the last arrow was shot he tore off his rags, and in a voice that
rang through the palace he cried to Telemachus: "Now is it time to
prepare supper for the wooers! Now, at last, is this terrible trial
ended. I go to shoot at another mark!"
With that he shot an arrow at the wooer who had ever been the most
insolent and the most cruel. It smote him in the throat, his blood
dripped red on the ground, and he fell dead.
The others gave a great cry of rage, but Odysseus looked at them with
burning eyes, and with a voice that made them tremble he cried:
"Ye dogs! ye said I should never return, and, like the traitors ye
are, ye have wasted my goods and insulted my queen. But now death has
come for you, and none shall escape."
In vain did the cowards, their faces pale with fear, beg for mercy.
Mercy there was none that day. It was useless for those who drew their
swords and rushed on Odysseus to try to slay him, for ere their swords
could touch him, his bow had driven sharp arrows into their hearts.
One of the servants of the palace treacherously climbed into the
armory and brought spears and shields and helmets for the wooers. But
even that did not daunt Odysseus and his son. Telemachus, with his
spear, slew man after man. When his arrows were done Odysseus also
snatched a spear, and they fought side by side. Beside them fought the
swineherd and one other man, and they all fought the more fearlessly
because, all the time, Athene put fresh courage in their hearts.
There were four men to very many others when that fight began. When it
was ended the floor ran with blood, and Odysseus, like a lion at bay,
stood with the dead bodies of the wooers piled in heaps around him and
his face and hands stained with blood.
When all lay dead, the old nurse gave a great cry of joy.
"Rejoice in thy heart, old nurse," said Odysseus. "It is an unholy
thing to rejoice openly over slain men."
The nurse hastened to Penelope's room.
"Penelope, dear child!" she cried, "Odysseus is come home, and all the
wooers lie dead."
At first Penelope would not believe her. Too good did it seem to be
true. Even when she came down and saw Odysseus leaning against a tall
pillar in the light of the fire, she would not believe what her own
eyes saw.
"Surely, mother, thy heart is as hard as stone," said Telemachus.
"Dost thou not know my father?"
But Penelope saw only a ragged beggar-man, soiled with the blood of
the men he had slain, old and ugly and poor.
Then Athene shed her grace upon Odysseus, and once more he was tall
and strong and gallant to look upon, with golden hair curling like
hyacinth flowers around his head. And Penelope ran to him and threw
out her arms, and they held each other close and wept together like
those who have suffered shipwreck, and have been tossed for long by
angry seas, and yet have won safely home at last.
And when the sun went down that night on the little rocky island of
Ithaca in the far seas, the heart of Odysseus was glad, for he knew
that his wanderings were ended.
ROBINSON CRUSOE
By DANIEL DEFOE
ADAPTED BY JOHN LANG
I
HOW ROBINSON FIRST WENT TO SEA; AND HOW HE WAS SHIPWRECKED
Long, long ago, before even your grandfather's father was born, there
lived in the town of York a boy whose name was Robinson Crusoe. Though
he never even saw the sea till he was quite a big boy, he had always
wanted to be a sailor, and to go away in a ship to visit strange,
foreign, far-off lands; and he thought that if he could only do that,
he would be quite happy.
But his father wanted him to be a lawyer, and he often talked to
Robinson, and told him of the terrible things that might happen to him
if he went away, and how people who stopped at home were always the
happiest. He told him, too, how Robinson's brother had gone away, and
had been killed in the wars.
So Robinson promised at last that he would give up wanting to be a
sailor. But in a few days the longing came back as bad as ever, and he
asked his mother to try to coax his father to let him go just one
voyage. But his mother was very angry, and his father said, "If he
goes abroad he will be the most miserable wretch that ever was born. I
can give no consent to it."
Robinson stopped at home for another year, till he was nineteen years
old, all the time thinking and thinking of the sea. But one day when
he had gone on a visit to Hull, a big town by the sea, to say good-by
to one of his friends who was going to London, he could not resist the
chance. Without even sending a message to his father and mother, he
went on board his friend's ship, and sailed away.
But as soon as the wind began to blow and the waves to rise, poor
Robinson was very frightened and seasick, and he said to himself that
if ever he got on shore he would go straight home and never again
leave it.
He was very solemn till the wind stopped blowing. His friend and the
sailors laughed at him, and called him a fool, and he very soon
forgot, when the weather was fine and the sun shining, all he had
thought about going back to his father and mother.
But in a few days, when the ship had sailed as far as Yarmouth Roads
on her way to London, they had to anchor, and wait for a fair wind. In
those days there were no steamers, and vessels had only their sails to
help them along; so if it was calm, or the wind blew the wrong way,
they had just to wait where they were till a fair wind blew.
While they lay at Yarmouth the weather became very bad, and there was
a great storm. The sea was so heavy and Robinson's ship was in such
danger, that at last they had to cut away the masts in order to ease
her and to stop her from rolling so terribly. The Captain fired guns
to show that his ship wanted help. So a boat from another ship was
lowered, and came with much difficulty and took off Robinson and all
the crew, just before their vessel sank; and they got ashore at last,
very wet and miserable, having lost all their clothes except what they
had on.
But Robinson had some money in his pocket, and he went on to London by
land, thinking that if he returned home now, people would laugh at
him.
In London he made friends with a ship's captain, who had not long
before come home from a voyage to the Guinea Coast, as that part of
Africa was then called; and the Captain was so pleased with the money
he had made there, that he easily persuaded Robinson to go with him on
his next voyage.
So Robinson took with him toys, and beads, and other things, to sell
to the natives in Africa, and he got there, in exchange for these
things, so much gold-dust that he thought he was soon going in that
way to make his fortune.
And therefore he went on a second voyage.
But this time he was not so lucky, for before they reached the African
coast, one morning, very early, they sighted another ship, which they
were sure was a pirate. So fast did this other vessel sail, that
before night she had come up to Robinson's ship, which did not carry
nearly so many men nor so many guns as the pirate, and which therefore
did not want to fight; and the pirates soon took prisoner Robinson and
all the crew of his ship who were not killed, and made slaves of them.
The pirate captain took Robinson as his own slave, and made him dig in
his garden and work in his house. Sometimes, too, he made him look
after his ship when she was in port, but he never took him away on a
voyage.
For two years Robinson lived like this, very unhappy, and always
thinking how he might escape.
At last, when the Captain happened one time to be at home longer than
usual, he began to go out fishing in a boat two or three times a week,
taking Robinson, who was a very good fisher, and a black boy named
Xury, with him.
One day he gave Robinson orders to put food and water, and some guns,
and powder and shot, on a big boat that the pirates had taken out of
an English ship, and to be ready to go with him and some of his
friends on a fishing trip.
But at the last moment the Captain's friends could not come, and so
Robinson was told to go out in the boat with one of the Captain's
servants who was not a slave, and with Xury, to catch fish for supper.
Then Robinson thought that his chance to escape had come.
He spoke to the servant, who was not very clever, and persuaded him to
put more food and water on the boat, for, said Robinson, "we must not
take what was meant for our master." And then he got the servant to
bring some more powder and shot, because, Robinson said, they might as
well kill some birds to eat.
When they had gone out about a mile, they hauled down the sail and
began to fish. But Robinson pretended that he could not catch anything
there, and he said that they ought to go further out. When they had
gone so far that nobody on shore could see what they were doing,
Robinson again pretended to fish. But this time he watched his chance,
and when the servant was not looking, came behind him and threw him
overboard, knowing that the man could swim so well that he could
easily reach the land.
Then Robinson sailed away with Xury down the coast to the south. He
did not know to what country he was steering, but cared only to get
away from the pirates, and to be free once more.
Long days and nights they sailed, sometimes running in close to the
land, but they were afraid to go ashore very often, because of the
wild beasts and the natives. Many times they saw great lions come
roaring down on to the beach, and once Robinson shot one that he saw
lying asleep, and took its skin to make a bed for himself on the boat.
At last, after some weeks, when they had got south as far as the great
cape that is called Cape Verde, they saw a Portuguese vessel, which
took them on board. It was not easy for Robinson to tell who he was,
because he could not talk Portuguese, but everybody was very kind to
him, and they bought his boat and his guns and everything that he had.
They even bought poor Xury, who, of course, was a black slave, and
could be sold just like a horse or a dog.
So, when they got to Brazil, where the vessel was bound, Robinson had
enough money to buy a plantation; and he grew sugar and tobacco there
for four years, and was very happy and contented for a time, and made
money.
But he could never be contented for very long. So when some of his
neighbors asked him if he would go in a ship to the Guinea Coast to
get slaves for them, he went, only making a bargain that he was to be
paid for his trouble, and to get some of the slaves to work on his
plantation when he came back.
Twelve days after the ship sailed, a terrible storm blew, and they
were driven far from where they wanted to go. Great, angry, foaming
seas broke over the deck, sweeping everything off that could be moved,
and a man and a boy were carried overboard and drowned. No one on the
ship expected to be saved.
This storm was followed by another, even worse. The wind howled and
roared through the rigging, and the weather was thick with rain and
flying spray.
Then early one morning land was dimly seen through the driving rain,
but almost at once the vessel struck on a sand-bank. In an instant the
sails were blown to bits, and flapped with such uproar that no one
could hear the Captain's orders. Waves poured over the decks, and the
vessel bumped on the sand so terribly that the masts broke off near
the deck, and fell over the side into the sea.
With great difficulty the only boat left on the ship was put in the
water, and everybody got into her. They rowed for the shore, hoping to
get perhaps into some bay, or to the mouth of a river, where the sea
would be quiet.
But before they could reach the land, a huge gray wave, big like the
side of a house, came foaming and thundering up behind them, and
before any one could even cry out, it upset the boat, and they were
all left struggling in the water.
Robinson was a very good swimmer, but no man could swim in such a sea,
and it was only good fortune that brought him at last safely to land.
Big wave after big wave washed him further and further up the beach,
rolling him over and over, once leaving him helpless, and more than
half drowned, beside a rock.
But before the next wave could come up, perhaps to drag him back with
it into the sea, he was able to jump up and run for his life.
And so he got safely out of the reach of the water, and lay down upon
the grass. But of all on board the ship, Robinson was the only one who
was not drowned.
II
ROBINSON WORKS HARD AT MAKING HIMSELF A HOME
When he had rested a little, Robinson got up and began to walk about
very sadly, for darkness was coming on; he was wet, and cold, and
hungry, and he did not know where to sleep, because he was afraid of
wild beasts coming out of the woods and killing him during the night.
But he found that he still had his knife in his pocket, so he cut a
big stick to protect himself with. Then he climbed into a tree which
had very thick leaves, and there he fixed himself among the branches
as well as he could, and fell sound asleep.
In the morning when he awoke, the storm was past, and the sea quieter.
To his surprise, he saw that the ship had been carried in the night,
by the great seas, much nearer to the shore than she had been when the
boat left her, and was now lying not far from the rock where Robinson
had first been washed up.
By midday the sea was quite calm, and the tide had gone so far out
that he could walk very near to the ship. So he took off his clothes
and swam the rest of the way to her. But it was not easy to get on
board, because the ship was resting on the sand, and lay so high out
of the water that Robinson could not reach anything by which he could
pull himself up.
At last, after swimming twice round the vessel, he saw a rope hanging
over, near the bow, and by its help he climbed on board.
Everything in the stern of the ship was dry, and in pretty good order,
and the water had not hurt the provisions much. So he took some
biscuits, and ate them as he looked about, and drank some rum, and
then he felt better, and stronger, and more fit to begin work.
First of all, he took a few large spars of wood, and a spare topmast
or two, that were on the deck. These he pushed overboard, tying each
with a rope to keep it from drifting away. Then he went over the side
of the ship, and tied all the spars together so as to make a raft, and
on top he put pieces of plank across. But it was long before he could
make the raft fit to carry the things he wanted to take on shore.
At last, after much hard work, he got on to it three of the seamen's
chests, which he had broken open, and emptied, and he filled these
with bread, and rice, and cheese, and whatever he could find to eat,
and with all sorts of things that he thought he might need. He found,
too, the carpenter's tool-chest, and put it on the raft; and nothing
on the whole ship was of more use to him than that.
Then he set about looking for clothes, for while he had been on the
ship, the tide had risen and had washed away his coat and waistcoat
and shirt, which he had left lying on the sand.
Guns and pistols also, and powder and shot, he took, and two rusty old
cutlasses.
Now the trouble was to reach land, for the raft had no mast nor sail
nor rudder, and was too heavy and clumsy to be pulled by Robinson with
the broken oars that he had found. But the tide was rising, and slowly
she drifted nearer and nearer, and at last was carried up the mouth of
a little river which Robinson had not seen when he was on shore.
There was a strong tide running up, which once carried the raft
against a point of land, where she stuck for a time, and very nearly
upset all the things into deep water. But as the tide rose higher,
Robinson was able to push her into a little bay where the water was
shallow and the ground beneath flat, and when the tide went out there
she was left high and dry, and he got everything safely ashore.
The next thing that Robinson did was to climb a hill, that he might
see what sort of country he was in, and find out if there were any
other people in it. But when he got to the top, he saw to his sorrow
that he was on an island, with no other land in sight except some
rocks, and two smaller islands far over the sea. There were no signs
of any people, and he saw nothing living except great numbers of
birds, one of which he shot. But it was not fit to eat, being some
kind of hawk.
After this, with the chests and boards that he had brought on shore,
he made a kind of hut to sleep in that night, and he lay there on the
sand very comfortably.