CHAPTER I—START IN LIFE

I was born in 1632 in the city of York, into a good family, although we weren't originally from that area. My father was a foreigner from Bremen, Germany, who first settled in the English town of Hull. He earned a solid living through trade, and after retiring from business, he moved to York, where he had married my mother. My mother's family was named Robinson—a very respected family in that region—which is why I was originally named Robinson Kreutznaer. However, because English speakers tended to change foreign-sounding words, our name eventually became "Crusoe." That's how everyone, including myself, came to know and call our family.

I had two older brothers. One became a lieutenant-colonel (a high military rank) in an English army regiment stationed in Flanders, and he was killed fighting the Spanish near Dunkirk. I never learned what happened to my other brother, just as my parents never learned what became of me.

As the third son in the family, I wasn't trained for any particular trade or profession. From an early age, my mind filled with restless dreams of travel and adventure. My father, who was elderly by this point, had given me a decent education—as much as home schooling and a local free school could provide—and he hoped I would become a lawyer. But I wanted nothing except to go to sea. This desire pushed me to defy my father's wishes and ignore the pleading of my mother and other family members. It seemed as though fate itself was pulling me toward the sea, and toward the difficult life that would follow.

My father, a serious and thoughtful man, gave me wise advice against my plans. One morning he called me into his room, where he was resting because of gout (a painful joint disease), and spoke to me earnestly about the subject. He asked what reasons I had for leaving home and my native country—place where I could easily build a good life—other than a simple restless urge to wander. He pointed out that only two kinds of people typically went abroad seeking adventure: those with nothing to lose because their fortunes were already ruined, or those from very wealthy families seeking fame and glory through bold ventures. He explained that I belonged to neither group. Instead, I came from what he called the "middle station of life"—not rich, not poor, but comfortably in between. Through his own long experience, he had found this middle position to be the best situation for true happiness. People in this middle class avoided the exhausting labor and hardships faced by the poor, but they also escaped the pride, excess, and jealousy that troubled the wealthy.

He told me I could judge how good this middle life truly was by noticing that people from every other social class actually envied it. Even kings, he said, often complained about the hardships of being born into greatness, wishing instead they had been placed in the middle, between the extremes of poverty and wealth. Wise people throughout history had agreed that the ideal life avoided both extreme poverty and extreme riches.

He urged me to notice that life's hardships mainly struck people at the top and bottom of society, while those in the middle suffered the fewest troubles. They weren't as likely to develop physical or emotional problems as the wealthy, who often ruined their health through luxury and excess, or as the poor, who suffered from too much hard labor and too little food. The middle way of living, he explained, allowed room for virtue and true enjoyment. Peace and comfortable plenty went hand-in-hand with a modest fortune. Moderation, calm living, good health, friendship, and simple pleasures were the rewards of this middle station. People living this way moved through life peacefully, without being weighed down by either backbreaking labor or by the constant worry and ambition that plagued the rich and powerful. Instead, they experienced life's sweetness without its bitterness, becoming more aware each day of their own quiet happiness.

After this, my father begged me earnestly and lovingly not to act rashly, not to rush toward troubles that my natural station in life had actually protected me from. He reminded me I had no real need to seek a living elsewhere, since he intended to help set me up comfortably in this same middle-class life he'd described. He warned that if I ended up unhappy in the world, it would be entirely my own fault, since he had done his duty by warning me clearly. While he promised to help me generously if I chose to stay and settle down as he wished, he made it clear he would not support or encourage me if I chose to leave. Finally, he reminded me of my older brother, whom he had also urgently begged to avoid joining the wars in the Netherlands. That brother wouldn't listen either, and his youthful eagerness led him straight into the army, where he was later killed. My father said that although he would keep praying for me, he wanted me to know that if I made this same foolish choice, I could not expect God's blessing, and I would have plenty of time later to regret ignoring his advice, especially if by then no one remained to help me recover from my mistakes.

I noticed, during this final part of his speech—words that would prove strangely prophetic, though I don't believe even my father realized how true they would become—that tears streamed down his face, especially when he spoke of my brother's death. When he mentioned that I might have "leisure to repent" someday with no one left to help me, he became so overwhelmed with emotion that he stopped talking altogether, telling me his heart was too full to continue.

I was genuinely moved by everything my father said—how could I not be? I resolved right then to give up my dreams of traveling and to settle down at home just as he wished. But sadly, within just a few days, my resolve completely faded away. In fact, within a few weeks, to avoid further pleading from my father, I decided to run away entirely.

However, I didn't act on this decision quite as rashly as my first burst of determination might have suggested. Instead, I chose a moment when my mother seemed to be in an especially good mood, and told her that my mind was so completely set on seeing the world that I would never be able to commit fully to anything else. I suggested that my father would be wiser to give his blessing rather than force me to leave without it. I pointed out that I was already eighteen—too old to comfortably begin as an apprentice in a trade or as a law clerk. I was certain that if I tried either path, I would never finish my training; instead, I'd run away from my position early anyway and go to sea regardless. I asked her to persuade my father to allow me just one voyage abroad. If I returned home afterward and didn't enjoy it, I promised never to go to sea again, and vowed to work twice as hard afterward to make up for lost time.

This request made my mother quite angry. She told me it would be pointless to speak to my father about such a thing, since he understood far better than I did what was truly good for me. She wondered how I could even consider such a request after everything my father had already said to me so kindly and seriously. She said plainly that if I insisted on ruining my own life, there was nothing anyone could do to stop me—but I should never expect her support, since she refused to have any part in my downfall. She added firmly that I would never be able to say she agreed to something my father opposed.

Although my mother refused to bring up the subject with my father directly, I later learned she repeated our entire conversation to him anyway. Upon hearing it, my father sighed deeply and said, "That boy could be happy if only he stayed home. But if he goes abroad, he will become the most miserable person who ever lived. I cannot approve of this."

Almost a full year passed before I finally broke away completely, though throughout that time, I stubbornly ignored every suggestion to settle into a career, frequently arguing with my parents about their firm refusal to support what they clearly knew I wanted. Then one day, quite by chance, I happened to be in the port town of Hull, without any real intention of running away at that particular moment. But while there, I ran into a friend who was about to sail to London aboard his father's ship. He invited me to join him, tempting me with the usual argument sailors use—that the voyage would cost me nothing.

Without consulting either of my parents, and without even sending them word of my plans, I decided immediately to go. I left them to discover my absence however they might, without asking for God's blessing or my father's approval, and without any real thought about what might follow. And so, in an unlucky moment—God knows how unlucky—on September 1st, 1651, I boarded a ship headed for London.

I believe few young adventurers' troubles began as quickly, or lasted as long, as mine did. The ship had barely left the mouth of the Humber River when the wind picked up violently, and the sea rose into a frightening storm. Since I had never been to sea before, I became incredibly seasick and mentally terrified. I began to seriously reflect on what I had done, and how justly Heaven seemed to be punishing me for wickedly abandoning my father's house and neglecting my duties. All my parents' wise advice, my father's tears, and my mother's pleading suddenly rushed back into my mind. My conscience—which hadn't yet grown as numb and hardened as it would later become—scolded me harshly for ignoring their advice and failing in my duty to both God and my father.

Meanwhile, the storm grew stronger, and the sea rose higher, though nothing compared to storms I would witness later in my life—not even compared to one I'd witness just days after this. Still, it was more than enough to terrify someone as inexperienced as I was at the time. I feared each towering wave would swallow us whole, and every time our ship dipped down into the deep hollow between two waves...