START IN LIFE

I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family,rnthough not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, whornsettled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leavingrnoff his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married myrnmother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in thatrncountry, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by thernusual corruption of words in England, we are now called—nay, we callrnourselves and write our name—Crusoe; and so my companions always calledrnme.rnrnI had two elder brothers, one of whom was lieutenant-colonel to anrnEnglish regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famousrnColonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against thernSpaniards. What became of my second brother I never knew, any more thanrnmy father or mother knew what became of me.rnrnBeing the third son of the family and not bred to any trade, my headrnbegan to be filled very early with rambling thoughts. My father, whornwas very ancient, had given me a competent share of learning, as far asrnhouse-education and a country free school generally go, and designed mernfor the law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea;rnand my inclination to this led me so strongly against the will, nay,rnthe commands of my father, and against all the entreaties andrnpersuasions of my mother and other friends, that there seemed to bernsomething fatal in that propensity of nature, tending directly to thernlife of misery which was to befall me.rnrnMy father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counselrnagainst what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning intornhis chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated veryrnwarmly with me upon this subject. He asked me what reasons, more than arnmere wandering inclination, I had for leaving father’s house and myrnnative country, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect ofrnraising my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease andrnpleasure. He told me it was men of desperate fortunes on one hand, orrnof aspiring, superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad uponrnadventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous inrnundertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these things werernall either too far above me or too far below me; that mine was thernmiddle state, or what might be called the upper station of low life,rnwhich he had found, by long experience, was the best state in thernworld, the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseriesrnand hardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part ofrnmankind, and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envyrnof the upper part of mankind. He told me I might judge of the happinessrnof this state by this one thing—viz. that this was the state of lifernwhich all other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented thernmiserable consequence of being born to great things, and wished theyrnhad been placed in the middle of the two extremes, between the mean andrnthe great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this, as thernstandard of felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty norrnriches.rnrnHe bade me observe it, and I should always find that the calamities ofrnlife were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind, but thatrnthe middle station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to sornmany vicissitudes as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, theyrnwere not subjected to so many distempers and uneasinesses, either ofrnbody or mind, as those were who, by vicious living, luxury, andrnextravagances on the one hand, or by hard labour, want of necessaries,rnand mean or insufficient diet on the other hand, bring distemper uponrnthemselves by the natural consequences of their way of living; that thernmiddle station of life was calculated for all kind of virtue and allrnkind of enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of arnmiddle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health,rnsociety, all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, werernthe blessings attending the middle station of life; that this way menrnwent silently and smoothly through the world, and comfortably out ofrnit, not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head, notrnsold to a life of slavery for daily bread, nor harassed with perplexedrncircumstances, which rob the soul of peace and the body of rest, norrnenraged with the passion of envy, or the secret burning lust ofrnambition for great things; but, in easy circumstances, sliding gentlyrnthrough the world, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living, withoutrnthe bitter; feeling that they are happy, and learning by every day’srnexperience to know it more sensibly.rnrnAfter this he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionaternmanner, not to play the young man, nor to precipitate myself intornmiseries which nature, and the station of life I was born in, seemed tornhave provided against; that I was under no necessity of seeking myrnbread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to enter me fairlyrninto the station of life which he had just been recommending to me; andrnthat if I was not very easy and happy in the world, it must be my merernfate or fault that must hinder it; and that he should have nothing tornanswer for, having thus discharged his duty in warning me againstrnmeasures which he knew would be to my hurt; in a word, that as he wouldrndo very kind things for me if I would stay and settle at home as herndirected, so he would not have so much hand in my misfortunes as torngive me any encouragement to go away; and to close all, he told me Irnhad my elder brother for an example, to whom he had used the samernearnest persuasions to keep him from going into the Low Country wars,rnbut could not prevail, his young desires prompting him to run into thernarmy, where he was killed; and though he said he would not cease tornpray for me, yet he would venture to say to me, that if I did take thisrnfoolish step, God would not bless me, and I should have leisurernhereafter to reflect upon having neglected his counsel when there mightrnbe none to assist in my recovery.rnrnI observed in this last part of his discourse, which was trulyrnprophetic, though I suppose my father did not know it to be sornhimself—I say, I observed the tears run down his face very plentifully,rnespecially when he spoke of my brother who was killed: and that when hernspoke of my having leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was sornmoved that he broke off the discourse, and told me his heart was sornfull he could say no more to me.rnrnI was sincerely affected with this discourse, and, indeed, who could bernotherwise? and I resolved not to think of going abroad any more, but tornsettle at home according to my father’s desire. But alas! a few daysrnwore it all off; and, in short, to prevent any of my father’s furtherrnimportunities, in a few weeks after I resolved to run quite away fromrnhim. However, I did not act quite so hastily as the first heat of myrnresolution prompted; but I took my mother at a time when I thought herrna little more pleasant than ordinary, and told her that my thoughtsrnwere so entirely bent upon seeing the world that I should never settlernto anything with resolution enough to go through with it, and my fatherrnhad better give me his consent than force me to go without it; that Irnwas now eighteen years old, which was too late to go apprentice to arntrade or clerk to an attorney; that I was sure if I did I should neverrnserve out my time, but I should certainly run away from my masterrnbefore my time was out, and go to sea; and if she would speak to myrnfather to let me go one voyage abroad, if I came home again, and didrnnot like it, I would go no more; and I would promise, by a doublerndiligence, to recover the time that I had lost.rnrnThis put my mother into a great passion; she told me she knew it wouldrnbe to no purpose to speak to my father upon any such subject; that hernknew too well what was my interest to give his consent to anything sornmuch for my hurt; and that she wondered how I could think of any suchrnthing after the discourse I had had with my father, and such kind andrntender expressions as she knew my father had used to me; and that, inrnshort, if I would ruin myself, there was no help for me; but I mightrndepend I should never have their consent to it; that for her part shernwould not have so much hand in my destruction; and I should never havernit to say that my mother was willing when my father was not.rnrnThough my mother refused to move it to my father, yet I heardrnafterwards that she reported all the discourse to him, and that myrnfather, after showing a great concern at it, said to her, with a sigh,“That boy might be happy if he would stay at home; but if he goesrnabroad, he will be the most miserable wretch that ever was born: I canrngive no consent to it.”rnrnIt was not till almost a year after this that I broke loose, though, inrnthe meantime, I continued obstinately deaf to all proposals of settlingrnto business, and frequently expostulated with my father and motherrnabout their being so positively determined against what they knew myrninclinations prompted me to. But being one day at Hull, where I wentrncasually, and without any purpose of making an elopement at that time;rnbut, I say, being there, and one of my companions being about to sailrnto London in his father’s ship, and prompting me to go with them withrnthe common allurement of seafaring men, that it should cost me nothingrnfor my passage, I consulted neither father nor mother any more, nor sornmuch as sent them word of it; but leaving them to hear of it as theyrnmight, without asking God’s blessing or my father’s, without anyrnconsideration of circumstances or consequences, and in an ill hour, Godrnknows, on the 1st of September 1651, I went on board a ship bound forrnLondon. Never any young adventurer’s misfortunes, I believe, beganrnsooner, or continued longer than mine. The ship was no sooner out ofrnthe Humber than the wind began to blow and the sea to rise in a mostrnfrightful manner; and, as I had never been at sea before, I was mostrninexpressibly sick in body and terrified in mind. I began now seriouslyrnto reflect upon what I had done, and how justly I was overtaken by thernjudgment of Heaven for my wicked leaving my father’s house, andrnabandoning my duty. All the good counsels of my parents, my father’srntears and my mother’s entreaties, came now fresh into my mind; and myrnconscience, which was not yet come to the pitch of hardness to which itrnhas since, reproached me with the contempt of advice, and the breach ofrnmy duty to God and my father.rnrnAll this while the storm increased, and the sea went very high, thoughrnnothing like what I have seen many times since; no, nor what I saw arnfew days after; but it was enough to affect me then, who was but arnyoung sailor, and had never known anything of the matter. I expectedrnevery wave would have swallowed us up, and that every time the shiprnfell down, as I thought it did, in the trough or hollow of the sea, wernshould never rise more; in this agony of mind, I made many vows andrnresolutions that if it would please God to spare my life in this onernvoyage, if ever I got once my foot upon dry land again, I would gorndirectly home to my father, and never set it into a ship again while Irnlived; that I would take his advice, and never run myself into suchrnmiseries as these any more. Now I saw plainly the goodness of hisrnobservations about the middle station of life, how easy, howrncomfortably he had lived all his days, and never had been exposed torntempests at sea or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, likerna true repenting prodigal, go home to my father.rnrnThese wise and sober thoughts continued all the while the storm lasted,rnand indeed some time after; but the next day the wind was abated, andrnthe sea calmer, and I began to be a little inured to it; however, I wasrnvery grave for all that day, being also a little sea-sick still; butrntowards night the weather cleared up, the wind was quite over, and arncharming fine evening followed; the sun went down perfectly clear, andrnrose so the next morning; and having little or no wind, and a smoothrnsea, the sun shining upon it, the sight was, as I thought, the mostrndelightful that ever I saw.rnrnI had slept well in the night, and was now no more sea-sick, but veryrncheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so rough andrnterrible the day before, and could be so calm and so pleasant in sornlittle a time after. And now, lest my good resolutions should continue,rnmy companion, who had enticed me away, comes to me; “Well, Bob,” saysrnhe, clapping me upon the shoulder, “how do you do after it? I warrantrnyou were frighted, wer’n’t you, last night, when it blew but a capfulrnof wind?” “A capful d’you call it?” said I; “’twas a terrible storm.”“A storm, you fool you,” replies he; “do you call that a storm? why, itrnwas nothing at all; give us but a good ship and sea-room, and we thinkrnnothing of such a squall of wind as that; but you’re but a fresh-waterrnsailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch, and we’ll forget allrnthat; d’ye see what charming weather ’tis now?” To make short this sadrnpart of my story, we went the way of all sailors; the punch was madernand I was made half drunk with it: and in that one night’s wickedness Irndrowned all my repentance, all my reflections upon my past conduct, allrnmy resolutions for the future. In a word, as the sea was returned tornits smoothness of surface and settled calmness by the abatement of thatrnstorm, so the hurry of my thoughts being over, my fears andrnapprehensions of being swallowed up by the sea being forgotten, and therncurrent of my former desires returned, I entirely forgot the vows andrnpromises that I made in my distress. I found, indeed, some intervals ofrnreflection; and the serious thoughts did, as it were, endeavour tornreturn again sometimes; but I shook them off, and roused myself fromrnthem as it were from a distemper, and applying myself to drinking andrncompany, soon mastered the return of those fits—for so I called them;rnand I had in five or six days got as complete a victory over consciencernas any young fellow that resolved not to be troubled with it couldrndesire. But I was to have another trial for it still; and Providence,rnas in such cases generally it does, resolved to leave me entirelyrnwithout excuse; for if I would not take this for a deliverance, thernnext was to be such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch amongrnus would confess both the danger and the mercy of.rnrnThe sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads; the windrnhaving been contrary and the weather calm, we had made but little wayrnsince the storm. Here we were obliged to come to an anchor, and here wernlay, the wind continuing contrary—viz. at south-west—for seven or eightrndays, during which time a great many ships from Newcastle came into thernsame Roads, as the common harbour where the ships might wait for a windrnfor the river.rnrnWe had not, however, rid here so long but we should have tided it uprnthe river, but that the wind blew too fresh, and after we had lain fourrnor five days, blew very hard. However, the Roads being reckoned as goodrnas a harbour, the anchorage good, and our ground-tackle very strong,rnour men were unconcerned, and not in the least apprehensive of danger,rnbut spent the time in rest and mirth, after the manner of the sea; butrnthe eighth day, in the morning, the wind increased, and we had allrnhands at work to strike our topmasts, and make everything snug andrnclose, that the ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the searnwent very high indeed, and our ship rode forecastle in, shipped severalrnseas, and we thought once or twice our anchor had come home; upon whichrnour master ordered out the sheet-anchor, so that we rode with twornanchors ahead, and the cables veered out to the bitter end.rnrnBy this time it blew a terrible storm indeed; and now I began to seernterror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen themselves. Thernmaster, though vigilant in the business of preserving the ship, yet asrnhe went in and out of his cabin by me, I could hear him softly tornhimself say, several times, “Lord be merciful to us! we shall be allrnlost! we shall be all undone!” and the like. During these first hurriesrnI was stupid, lying still in my cabin, which was in the steerage, andrncannot describe my temper: I could ill resume the first penitence whichrnI had so apparently trampled upon and hardened myself against: Irnthought the bitterness of death had been past, and that this would bernnothing like the first; but when the master himself came by me, as Irnsaid just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfullyrnfrighted. I got up out of my cabin and looked out; but such a dismalrnsight I never saw: the sea ran mountains high, and broke upon us everyrnthree or four minutes; when I could look about, I could see nothing butrndistress round us; two ships that rode near us, we found, had cut theirrnmasts by the board, being deep laden; and our men cried out that a shiprnwhich rode about a mile ahead of us was foundered. Two more ships,rnbeing driven from their anchors, were run out of the Roads to sea, atrnall adventures, and that with not a mast standing. The light shipsrnfared the best, as not so much labouring in the sea; but two or threernof them drove, and came close by us, running away with only theirrnspritsail out before the wind.rnrnTowards evening the mate and boatswain begged the master of our ship tornlet them cut away the fore-mast, which he was very unwilling to do; butrnthe boatswain protesting to him that if he did not the ship wouldrnfounder, he consented; and when they had cut away the fore-mast, thernmain-mast stood so loose, and shook the ship so much, they were obligedrnto cut that away also, and make a clear deck.rnrnAny one may judge what a condition I must be in at all this, who wasrnbut a young sailor, and who had been in such a fright before at but arnlittle. But if I can express at this distance the thoughts I had aboutrnme at that time, I was in tenfold more horror of mind upon account ofrnmy former convictions, and the having returned from them to thernresolutions I had wickedly taken at first, than I was at death itself;rnand these, added to the terror of the storm, put me into such arncondition that I can by no words describe it. But the worst was notrncome yet; the storm continued with such fury that the seamen themselvesrnacknowledged they had never seen a worse. We had a good ship, but shernwas deep laden, and wallowed in the sea, so that the seamen every nowrnand then cried out she would founder. It was my advantage in onernrespect, that I did not know what they meant by _founder_ till Irninquired. However, the storm was so violent that I saw, what is notrnoften seen, the master, the boatswain, and some others more sensiblernthan the rest, at their prayers, and expecting every moment when thernship would go to the bottom. In the middle of the night, and under allrnthe rest of our distresses, one of the men that had been down to seerncried out we had sprung a leak; another said there was four feet waterrnin the hold. Then all hands were called to the pump. At that word, myrnheart, as I thought, died within me: and I fell backwards upon the sidernof my bed where I sat, into the cabin. However, the men roused me, andrntold me that I, that was able to do nothing before, was as well able tornpump as another; at which I stirred up and went to the pump, and workedrnvery heartily. While this was doing, the master, seeing some lightrncolliers, who, not able to ride out the storm were obliged to slip andrnrun away to sea, and would come near us, ordered to fire a gun as arnsignal of distress. I, who knew nothing what they meant, thought thernship had broken, or some dreadful thing happened. In a word, I was sornsurprised that I fell down in a swoon. As this was a time whenrneverybody had his own life to think of, nobody minded me, or what wasrnbecome of me; but another man stepped up to the pump, and thrusting mernaside with his foot, let me lie, thinking I had been dead; and it was arngreat while before I came to myself.rnrnWe worked on; but the water increasing in the hold, it was apparentrnthat the ship would founder; and though the storm began to abate arnlittle, yet it was not possible she could swim till we might run intornany port; so the master continued firing guns for help; and a lightrnship, who had rid it out just ahead of us, ventured a boat out to helprnus. It was with the utmost hazard the boat came near us; but it wasrnimpossible for us to get on board, or for the boat to lie near thernship’s side, till at last the men rowing very heartily, and venturingrntheir lives to save ours, our men cast them a rope over the stern withrna buoy to it, and then veered it out a great length, which they, afterrnmuch labour and hazard, took hold of, and we hauled them close underrnour stern, and got all into their boat. It was to no purpose for themrnor us, after we were in the boat, to think of reaching their own ship;rnso all agreed to let her drive, and only to pull her in towards shorernas much as we could; and our master promised them, that if the boat wasrnstaved upon shore, he would make it good to their master: so partlyrnrowing and partly driving, our boat went away to the northward, slopingrntowards the shore almost as far as Winterton Ness.rnrnWe were not much more than a quarter of an hour out of our ship till wernsaw her sink, and then I understood for the first time what was meantrnby a ship foundering in the sea. I must acknowledge I had hardly eyesrnto look up when the seamen told me she was sinking; for from the momentrnthat they rather put me into the boat than that I might be said to gornin, my heart was, as it were, dead within me, partly with fright,rnpartly with horror of mind, and the thoughts of what was yet before me.rnrnWhile we were in this condition—the men yet labouring at the oar tornbring the boat near the shore—we could see (when, our boat mounting thernwaves, we were able to see the shore) a great many people running alongrnthe strand to assist us when we should come near; but we made but slowrnway towards the shore; nor were we able to reach the shore till, beingrnpast the lighthouse at Winterton, the shore falls off to the westwardrntowards Cromer, and so the land broke off a little the violence of thernwind. Here we got in, and though not without much difficulty, got allrnsafe on shore, and walked afterwards on foot to Yarmouth, where, asrnunfortunate men, we were used with great humanity, as well by thernmagistrates of the town, who assigned us good quarters, as byrnparticular merchants and owners of ships, and had money given usrnsufficient to carry us either to London or back to Hull as we thoughtrnfit.rnrnHad I now had the sense to have gone back to Hull, and have gone home,rnI had been happy, and my father, as in our blessed Saviour’s parable,rnhad even killed the fatted calf for me; for hearing the ship I wentrnaway in was cast away in Yarmouth Roads, it was a great while before hernhad any assurances that I was not drowned.rnrnBut my ill fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that nothing couldrnresist; and though I had several times loud calls from my reason and myrnmore composed judgment to go home, yet I had no power to do it. I knowrnnot what to call this, nor will I urge that it is a secret overrulingrndecree, that hurries us on to be the instruments of our ownrndestruction, even though it be before us, and that we rush upon it withrnour eyes open. Certainly, nothing but some such decreed unavoidablernmisery, which it was impossible for me to escape, could have pushed mernforward against the calm reasonings and persuasions of my most retiredrnthoughts, and against two such visible instructions as I had met withrnin my first attempt.rnrnMy comrade, who had helped to harden me before, and who was thernmaster’s son, was now less forward than I. The first time he spoke tornme after we were at Yarmouth, which was not till two or three days, forrnwe were separated in the town to several quarters; I say, the firstrntime he saw me, it appeared his tone was altered; and, looking veryrnmelancholy, and shaking his head, he asked me how I did, and tellingrnhis father who I was, and how I had come this voyage only for a trial,rnin order to go further abroad, his father, turning to me with a veryrngrave and concerned tone “Young man,” says he, “you ought never to gornto sea any more; you ought to take this for a plain and visible tokenrnthat you are not to be a seafaring man.” “Why, sir,” said I, “will yourngo to sea no more?” “That is another case,” said he; “it is my calling,rnand therefore my duty; but as you made this voyage on trial, you seernwhat a taste Heaven has given you of what you are to expect if yournpersist. Perhaps this has all befallen us on your account, like Jonahrnin the ship of Tarshish. Pray,” continues he, “what are you; and onrnwhat account did you go to sea?” Upon that I told him some of my story;rnat the end of which he burst out into a strange kind of passion: “Whatrnhad I done,” says he, “that such an unhappy wretch should come into myrnship? I would not set my foot in the same ship with thee again for arnthousand pounds.” This indeed was, as I said, an excursion of hisrnspirits, which were yet agitated by the sense of his loss, and wasrnfarther than he could have authority to go. However, he afterwardsrntalked very gravely to me, exhorting me to go back to my father, andrnnot tempt Providence to my ruin, telling me I might see a visible handrnof Heaven against me. “And, young man,” said he, “depend upon it, ifrnyou do not go back, wherever you go, you will meet with nothing butrndisasters and disappointments, till your father’s words are fulfilledrnupon you.”rnrnWe parted soon after; for I made him little answer, and I saw him nornmore; which way he went I knew not. As for me, having some money in myrnpocket, I travelled to London by land; and there, as well as on thernroad, had many struggles with myself what course of life I should take,rnand whether I should go home or to sea.rnrnAs to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered to myrnthoughts, and it immediately occurred to me how I should be laughed atrnamong the neighbours, and should be ashamed to see, not my father andrnmother only, but even everybody else; from whence I have since oftenrnobserved, how incongruous and irrational the common temper of mankindrnis, especially of youth, to that reason which ought to guide them inrnsuch cases—viz. that they are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamedrnto repent; not ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to bernesteemed fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can makernthem be esteemed wise men.rnrnIn this state of life, however, I remained some time, uncertain whatrnmeasures to take, and what course of life to lead. An irresistiblernreluctance continued to going home; and as I stayed away a while, thernremembrance of the distress I had been in wore off, and as that abated,rnthe little motion I had in my desires to return wore off with it, tillrnat last I quite laid aside the thoughts of it, and looked out for arnvoyage.