The Eerie Adventures of the Lycanthrope Robinson Crusoe Read online

  The Eerie Adventures of

  the Lycanthrope

  ROBINSON CRUSOE

  by

  Daniel Defoe

  and

  H.P. Lovecraft

  abridged by

  Peter Clines

  The Eerie Adventures of the Lycanthrope Robinson Crusoe

  Daniel Defoe, H.P. Lovecraft, & Peter Clines

  Published by Permuted Press at Smashwords.

  Copyright 2010 Peter Clines

  www.PermutedPress.com

  For Professor Robert Payson Creed,

  who taught me classic literature could be fun.

  Foreword

  Throughout history, it's been the nature of storytellers to make their tale fit the audience, no matter what the truth of that tale may be. Most people are horrified to read the unedited fairy tales that were popularized by the Brothers Grimm. Many college students are stunned by the action-packed tale of Beowulf printed in its true form as a long epic poem. Even the epics The Odyssey and The Iliad are dry on the page without a skilled translation.

  In a like manner, when writing out the biography of Robinson Crusoe, budding writer and pamphleteer Daniel Defoe decided on several edits to the assembled journals and accounts that made up the manuscript. While there were numerous popular tales of shipwrecked mariners at the time, Crusoe's experiences were so singular and unnatural that they far outshone the tales of contemporary castaways such as Alexander Selkirk and Henry Pitman. Still, Defoe felt certain changes needed to be made if Crusoe's story were to receive any sort of audience (indeed, if it was even to see print).

  Chief among these changes, alas, was a personal bias. Defoe, a Presbyterian dissenter who once debated becoming a minister, felt the need to include numerous passages on Christianity, faith, and devotion in the manuscript, contrary to Crusoe's well-documented dislike of organized religion (having been raised in England during the religiously-conflicted reign of Charles I, at a time shortly after the Spanish Inquisition had burned almost a dozen people for witchcraft in Europe). In an angry 1721 letter to Jonathan Swift, rebutting that author's latest criticism of Robinson Crusoe, Defoe justifies the excessive additions by the belief it was impossible for a man to spend so much time in isolation without turning to Jesus Christ in some regular form or another.

  In a similar vein, Defoe also decided that Crusoe must have tried to escape the island. This belief, however, posed the problematic question of, if such a capable man had built a boat, why did he remain stranded for over a quarter-century? Thus, Defoe's account shows Crusoe repeatedly building canoes and boats, yet through a series of flimsy constructions never once reaching the nearby island of Trinidad.

  As a historical note, Crusoe was enraged by the random omissions and additions to his biography, which made him alternately appear to be a bumbling fool, a zealot, or a senile old man. At least one account says he was infuriated by the idea he spent 27 years on his island carrying a parasol to block the sun. Over the irreverent matter of "the dancing bear" inserted at the end of Defoe's text, Crusoe was driven into a rage and threatened the writer with bodily violence at least three times. The writer was intimidated enough by the old man that he did not attempt to publish the work until a few months after Crusoe's reported death at the then-remarkable age of 87.

  To his credit, when Defoe first edited the journals and accounts of Crusoe, he took great pains to maintain the original (and often creative) spellings and grammar that his worldly-yet-uneducated subject had used. For example, like so many dabblers at writing, Crusoe thought commas were not so much placed as scattered like ashes. He was also, if Defoe’s manuscript is to be believed, the creator of the run-on sentence.

  In the three centuries since, countless publishers and scholars have "improved" the manuscript. Misspelled or inconsistently spelled words have been replaced and grammar adjusted to modern standards with little regard for the flavor of the original tale. This has resulted in hundreds of varying editions being produced over the years.

  Faced with the decision of which edition was to be judged “correct,” I've done the same as many scholars before me and satisfied my own ego, falling back on the interpretation of the tale I was first familiar with. While this version is not as raw as the original manuscript, it still contains far more of Crusoe's original spellings and phrasings than many readers are used to. I have also taken the liberty of dividing the book into chapters, of a sort, where the narrative seemed most inclined for a break.

  All of this does, of course, skirt around the elephant in the room, as it were. This edition of Robinson Crusoe has been drawn from the original accounts and journals, few copies of which are known to exist. These original documents reveal Crusoe's exile, and indeed much of his life, to be a far darker and more ominous tale than most editions have shown. Seen in this new light, some of these facts will have the manuscript dismissed as a work of pure fiction at best and trite fantasy at worst, even though many of the corroborating elements have always remained in Defoe's more popular version.

  This version of that manuscript was first found amidst the papers of writer, historian, and bibliophile Howard P. Lovecraft a few years after his death in 1937. Lovecraft had footnoted an amazing amount of the manuscript and cross-referenced it with certain texts and histories available at the Old College Library of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and the Curwen Rare Books Library of Miskatonic University. Those footnotes have allowed me to simplify some of Crusoe's more poetic and elaborate descriptions in this abridged edition, and also to put names to many things Defoe found unnameable.

  It may also be noted that this edition contains several more proper names than previously published versions. Thanks here must again go to Lovecraft and his extensive research. The writer spent countless hours sifting through historical documents in several languages for birth records, death notices, and other hints at the numerous identities Crusoe himself was oblique about, and Defoe's changes only concealed more.

  The issue of time and dates throughout the manuscript should also be acknowledged. At this point in history, England was still using the Julian calendar while many European countries (most notably Spain and Portugal, which figure heavily into the tale) had switched to the modern Gregorian calendar, and there is evidence Crusoe switches freely between the two. While logs, harbor records, and shipping manifests allow us to pinpoint certain moments in the narrative (Lovecraft notes a special thanks to the Cape Cod Maritime Museum), Crusoe's years on the island are documented only by himself. He gives numerous dates throughout his records, yet they very rarely match with one another and inconsistencies are common. At one point in the manuscript October comes just seven months after the previous November, and mid-December follows just two weeks later. Some see this inaccuracy as a sign of Crusoe's degenerating sanity, using the rest of the manuscript as evidence thereof. Lovecraft himself notes the time inconsistencies only occur during Crusoe's years on the island, and sees it as a sign of just how dangerous that place is.

  As a final historical note, this view was shared by the Royal British Navy and the modern Trinidad and Tobago Defense Force. After the rediscovery of Crusoe's island in 1890, and the subsequent investigation and explorations, the British fleet began an unofficial blockade that lasted through World War II. When Trinidad and Tobago became an independent nation in 1962, this blockade became a state-mandated 10 mile quarantine zone around the island. To this day two TTDF coast guard large patrol craft are always on maneuvers there.

  --P. C.

  Los Angeles, March 1st, 2010

 
My family, my nature,

  my first voyage

  I was born on the last day of the full moon in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, tho’ not of that country, my father being a foreigner who had fled the Prince-Archbishopric of Bremen and settled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my mother, whose relations were named Robinson and from whom I was called Robinson Kreisszahn. By the usual corruption of words in England we are now called, nay we call ourselves, and write, our name Crusoe.

  I had two elder brothers, both of the same bloodline and inheritance as myself. One was lieutenant-colonel to an English regiment of foot in Flanders, commanded by the famous Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk when he was run thru with a silver saber. What became of my second brother I was never told, though I was led to guess he had succumb'd to the life of the beast afore I was old enough to know him.

  Being the third son of the family, and bred with the wild blood of my sire, my head began to be fill’d very early with rambling thoughts. My father had given me a competent share of learning and designed me for the law. But I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea. My inclination led me so strongly against the commands of my father, and against all the entreaties and persuasions of my mother and other friends, that there seemed to be something fatal in that propension of nature, tending to the life of misery which was to befall me.

  My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious counsel one morning against what he foresaw was my design. He asked me what reasons more than a mere wandering inclination I had for leaving his house and my native country, where I had a prospect of raising my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease and safety. Mine, he said, was a life of legend hidden by necessity. One ruled by the Moon and her brilliance, one which he had found was best suited to a quiet life of stability and routine. He bid me observe it and I should always find the calamities of life were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind. The middle station had the fewest disasters. Peace and plenty were the handmaids of a middle fortune. This way men went silently and smoothly through the world and comfortably out of it. Not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head. Not harassed with perplexed circumstances, which rob the soul of peace, and the body of rest. Nor hunted by the mobs of townsfolk and churchmen. Not enraged with the animal passion of the beast or the secret hunger for flesh.

  After this he press’d me earnestly, and in the most affectionate manner, not to play the young man, not to precipitate myself into miseries which the life I was born in provided against. He would do well for me and endeavour to enter me fairly into the station of life which he had been just recommending to me. To close, he told me I had my elder brother for an example, to whom he had used the same earnest persuasions to keep him from going into the Low Country wars, but could not prevail, his young desires prompting him to run into the army, where he was killed. Tho’ my father said he would not cease to pray for me, yet he would venture to say to me that if I did take this foolish step God would not bless me, and I would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his counsel, when there might be none to assist in my control or recovery.

  I observ’d, in this last part of his discourse, the tears run down his face very plentifully, especially when he spoke of my brother who was kill’d. When he spoke of my having none to assist me, he was so moved he broke off the discourse and told me his heart was so full he could say no more to me.

  I was sincerely affected with this discourse, as indeed who could be otherwise? I resolv’d not to think of going abroad any more, but to settle at home according to my father's desire. But, alas! a few days wore it all off. In short, to prevent any of my father's further importunities, a few weeks after I resolv’d to run quite away from him.

  It was not till almost a year after this I broke loose, tho’ in the mean time I continued deaf to all proposals of settling to business, and frequently expostulated with my father and mother about their being so determined against what they knew my inclinations prompted me to. Being one day at Hull, where I went casually, and without any purpose of making an elopement at that time, one of my companions, Jakob Martense, then going by sea to London, in his father's ship, prompted me to go with them with the common allurement of seafaring men-- it should cost me nothing for my passage.

  I consulted neither father nor mother any more, not so much as sent them word of it, leaving them to hear of it as they might. In an ill hour, God knows, on the first of September, 1651, the day after the last night of the moon, I went on board a ship bound for London.

  Never any young adventurer's misfortunes, I believe, began sooner or continued longer than mine. The ship was no sooner gotten out of the Humber but the wind began to blow and the waves to rise in a most frightful manner. As I had never been at sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in body and terrified in mind. I began now seriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how I was overtaken by the judgment of Heaven for leaving my father's house and abandoning my duty. All the good counsel of my parents, my father's tears and my mother's entreaties, came now fresh into my mind. My conscience reproached me with the breach of my duty to my father.

  All this while the storm encreas’d and the sea went very high, tho’ nothing like what I have seen many times since. But it was enough to affect me then, for I was but a young sailor. I expected every wave would have swallowed us up, and every time the ship fell down in the trough or hollow of the sea I thought we should never rise more.

  In this agony of mind I made many vows and resolutions. If it would please God here to spare my life this one voyage, if ever I got once my foot upon dry land again, I would go directly home to my father, and never set it into a ship again while I liv’d. Now I saw plainly the goodness of his observations about the middle station of life. How easy, how comfortably he had liv'd all his days and nights, and never had been exposed to tempests at sea or troubles on shore. I resolv’d I would, like a true repenting prodigal, go home to my father.

  But the next day, as the wind was abated and the sea calmer, I began to be a little inured to it. The sun went down clear and rose so the next morning. I had slept well in the night and was now no more sea-sick, but very cheerful, looking with wonder upon the sea that was so rough and terrible the day before, yet could be so calm and so pleasant in a little time after.

  And now my companion, Jakob, who had indeed enticed me away, came to me and said, "Well, Bob," clapping me on the shoulder, "how do you do after it? I warrant you were frightened, wa'n't you, last night, when it blew but a cap-full of wind?"

  "A cap-full do you call it?” said I. "It was a terrible storm."

  "A storm, you fool," replied he, "do you call that a storm? Why it was nothing at all. Give us but a good ship and sea-room and we think nothing of such a squall of wind as that. But you're but a fresh-water sailor, Bob. Come, let us make a bowl of punch and we'll forget all that. Do you see what charming weather it is now?"

  To make short this sad part of my story, we went the old way of all sailors. The punch was made, I was made drunk with it, and in one night's wickedness I drowned all my repentance and all my resolutions for my future. I had, in five or six days, got as complete a victory over conscience as any young fellow who resolv’d not to be troubled with it could desire.

  But I was to have another trial for it still, and Providence resolv’d to leave me entirely without excuse. For if I would not take this for a deliverance, the next was to be such a one as the worst and most hardened wretch among us would confess both the danger and the mercy.

  The sixth day of our being at sea we came into Yarmouth Roads. The wind having been contrary and the weather calm, we had made but little way since the storm. Here we were obliged to come to anchor and here we lay, the wind continuing contrary for seven or eight days, during which a great many ships from Newcastle came into the same roads, as it was t
he common harbour where the ships might wait for a wind for the River.

  We had not, however, rid here so long but the wind blew too fresh, and after we had lain four or five days, blew very hard. However, the Roads being reckon’d as good as a harbour, and our ground tackle very strong, our men were unconcerned. But the eighth day in the morning the wind increased. We had all hands at work to strike our top-masts and make every thing snug and close so that the ship might ride as easy as possible. By noon the sea went very high indeed. Our ship rode forecastle in and we thought once or twice our anchor had come home, upon which our master ordered out the sheet anchor. So we rode with two anchors a-head and the cables veer’d out to the better end.

  By this time it blew a terrible storm indeed, and now I began to see terror and amazement in the faces even of the seamen themselves. The master, tho’ vigilant in the business of preserving the ship, yet as he went in and out of his cabin by me I could hear him softly say to himself several times, “God, be merciful to us! We shall be all lost. We shall be all undone!” So soft were his words that the Lord's name came to my ears as "Gon," though I knew it was not.

  During these first hurries I cannot describe my temper. I could ill reassume the first penitence which I had so trampled upon. I thought the bitterness of death had been past, and this would be nothing like the first. But when the master himself came by me, as I said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully frighted. I looked out, but such a dismal sight I never saw.

  The sea went mountains high and broke upon us every three or four minutes, and in the deep water tween the waves I glimpsed great shapes, like pale eels, each the size and length of a goodly cottage. Our men cried out a ship which rid about a mile a-head of us was overrun by shoggoths, which I took to mean the high waves. Two more ships, being driven from their anchors, were run out of the roads to sea with not a mast standing.