. We crossed
the Gourd Wood and the Wood of Monkeys, and arrived at our farm, which
we found, to our great satisfaction, had not suffered much from the
storm. The food we had left in the stables was nearly consumed; from
which we concluded that the animals we had left here had sheltered
themselves during the storm. We refilled the mangers with the hay we had
preserved in the loft, and observing the sky getting more and more
threatening, we set out without delay for our house, from which we were
yet a considerable distance. To avoid _Flamingo Marsh_, which was
towards the sea, and _Rice Marsh_, towards the rock, we determined to go
through _Cotton Wood_, which would save us from the wind, which was
ready to blow us off our feet. I was still uneasy about the ship, which
the lieutenant had told me was out of repair; but I indulged a hope that
they might have taken refuge in some bay, or found anchorage on some
hospitable shore, where they might get their vessel into order.

Jack was alarmed lest they should fall into the hands of the
_anthropophagi_, who eat men like hares or sheep, of whom he had read in
some book of travels, and excited the ridicule of his brother, who was
astonished at his ready belief of travellers' tales, which he asserted
were usually false.

"But Robinson Crusoe would not tell a falsehood," said Jack,
indignantly; "and there were cannibals came to his island, and were
going to eat Friday, if he had not saved him."

"Oh! Robinson could not tell a falsehood," said Fritz, "because he never
existed. The whole history is a romance--is not that the name, father,
that is given to works of the imagination?"

"It is," said I; "but we must not call Robinson Crusoe a romance; though
Robinson himself, and all the circumstances of his history are probably
fictitious, the details are all founded on truth--on the adventures and
descriptions of voyagers who may be depended on, and unfortunate
individuals who have actually been wrecked on unknown shores. If ever
our journal should be printed, many may believe that it is only a
romance--a mere work of the imagination."

My boys hoped we should not have to introduce any savages into our
romance, and were astonished that an island so beautiful had not tempted
any to inhabit it; in fact, I had often been myself surprised at this
circumstance; but I told them many voyagers had noticed islands
apparently fertile, and yet uninhabited; besides, the chain of rocks
whic