The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

By Daniel Defoe

Chapter I — Start in Life

I was born in 1632 in the city of York, England. My father was not originally from England — he came from Bremen, a city in Germany, and first settled in a place called Hull. He made a good living as a merchant, then retired and moved to York. There he married my mother, whose family name was Robinson. That's why I was first called Robinson Kreutznaer. But over time, people in England changed how they said our name. Now everyone — including us — just calls us Crusoe.

I had two older brothers. One became a lieutenant-colonel (an army officer) in an English regiment fighting in Flanders. He was killed in a battle near Dunkirk against the Spanish. I never found out what happened to my other brother, just as my parents never learned what happened to me during my own adventures.

I was the third son in the family, and I wasn't trained for any particular trade or job. From an early age, my mind was full of restless dreams about traveling. My father gave me a decent education at home and at a local school, and he hoped I would become a lawyer. But I wanted nothing except to go to sea. This wish pulled me strongly against my father's wishes and against all the pleading of my mother and friends. It was as if fate itself was pushing me toward the difficult life that lay ahead.

My father was a serious and wise man. He gave me strong advice against my sea-going plans. One morning, he called me into his room — he was stuck there because of a painful illness called gout — and he argued with me firmly about my choice. He asked what reasons I had for leaving home and my country, besides just wanting to wander. He reminded me that at home, I had a good chance to build my future through hard work, and could live a comfortable, peaceful life.

He explained that only two kinds of men usually went off on adventures: those who had nothing left to lose, and those who were extremely ambitious and wanted fame and fortune. He said I fit into neither group. Instead, I belonged to what he called the "middle station" of life — not rich, not poor. He believed, from his own long experience, that this middle position was truly the happiest way to live. People in this middle group didn't suffer the hardships of the poor, nor did they deal with the pride, greed, and jealousy that often came with great wealth.

He told me that even kings sometimes wished they had been born into a simpler, middle-class life instead of one full of great responsibility and danger. He reminded me that even wise men throughout history had prayed simply to have "neither poverty nor riches."

He pointed out that most of life's troubles happen to people at the very top or the very bottom of society. People in the middle avoid many of these problems. They aren't worn down by extreme wealth's temptations or crushed by the struggles of poverty. This middle way of living, he said, allowed for true virtue and true happiness. It brought peace, comfort, good health, friendship, and simple pleasures. People living this way could pass through life calmly and leave it peacefully, without being trapped by backbreaking labor, desperate need, or overwhelming ambition. Instead, they could enjoy life's sweetness without its bitterness, and grow happier through each day's experience.

After sharing all this, my father begged me earnestly not to act rashly or throw myself into troubles that my comfortable life could easily avoid. He said I didn't need to search elsewhere for a good life — he would help me settle successfully right where I was. If I wasn't happy later, he said, it would be my own fault, not his, since he had done his duty by warning me clearly.

He reminded me of my older brother, who had also ignored his advice and joined the army despite his warnings, only to be killed. He said that if I chose to leave anyway, he feared God would not bless my decision, and someday I might deeply regret not listening to him, with no one nearby to help fix my mistakes.

As my father spoke — words that would sadly turn out to be true — I noticed tears rolling down his face, especially when he mentioned my brother's death. When he spoke about my having plenty of time later to regret my choices with no one to help me, he became so overwhelmed that he had to stop talking altogether.

I was genuinely moved by what my father said. Who wouldn't be? I decided right then to give up my dreams of travel and settle down at home as he wished. But sadly, within just a few days, my determination faded away. Eventually, to avoid further arguments with my father, I decided within a few weeks to run away completely.

Still, I didn't act immediately. Instead, I chose a moment when my mother seemed to be in a good mood, and told her that my heart was so set on seeing the world that I would never be able to settle down and focus on anything else. I suggested it would be better for my father to allow me to go, rather than force me to stay against my will. I reminded her that I was already eighteen — too old to begin as an apprentice learning a trade, or to work as a legal clerk. I said if I tried either job, I would surely run away before finishing, just to go to sea instead. I begged her to convince my father to let me take just one trip. If I didn't enjoy it, I promised I would never ask to go again, and would work extra hard afterward to make up for lost time.

This made my mother upset. She told me it would be pointless to speak to my father about this, since he clearly understood what was truly best for me. She said she was shocked I would even suggest such a thing after everything my father had lovingly told me. She made clear that if I truly wished to ruin my future, there was nothing anyone could do to stop me — but I should never expect her support. She refused to have any part in encouraging such a risky decision.

Although my mother didn't speak to my father directly about my request, I later learned she told him everything anyway. Deeply troubled, my father sighed and said, "That boy could be happy if he only stayed home. But if he leaves, he will become the most miserable person alive. I cannot approve of this."

Almost a full year passed before I finally acted on my restless feelings, although I continued to stubbornly resist any push toward settling into a career. My parents and I often argued about their refusal to support my dream of traveling.

Then one day, I happened to be in Hull without planning anything in particular. There, I ran into a friend whose father's ship was about to sail to London. He invited me to join him, tempting me further by saying the trip wouldn't cost me anything. Without asking my parents or even telling them my plans, and without seeking anyone's blessing, I boarded the ship bound for London on September 1st, 1651. It was, sadly, a very unlucky day for me.

I believe no young adventurer's troubles ever began sooner or lasted longer than mine did. The ship had barely left the Humber River when the wind picked up, and the sea grew rough and frightening. Since I had never been to sea before, I quickly became terribly seasick and truly scared. I began seriously thinking about what I had done, and felt that Heaven itself was punishing me fairly for disobeying my father and abandoning my responsibilities. All my parents' wise advice, my father's tears, and my mother's pleading came rushing back into my mind. My conscience — which hadn't yet become as hardened as it later would — scolded me harshly for ignoring their advice and neglecting my duty to God and my family.

Meanwhile, the storm grew even fiercer, and the waves rose higher, though nothing compared to storms I would experience later — not even compared to one just a few days after this. Still, it was more than enough to frighten me, since I was a brand-new sailor who had never encountered anything like it. I feared that every wave might swallow the ship whole, especially each time it dipped low into the deep hollows between waves...