Barty Crusoe and His Man Saturday

Chapter 3

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HEN the Good Wolf made his remark about the convenience of desert islands, such a chattering broke out among the black monkeys in the high branches in the cocoanut tree that Barty threw his head back as far as he could to see what was happening.

"Why," he cried out the next instant, "they are all sitting together at the very top of the tree as if they were holding a meeting. I am sure they are talking to each other about something important."

"I do think they are," laughed Barty. "They keep turning their heads to look down on us." Then he jumped up and stood on his feet and shouted out to them as he had shouted before. "Hello!" he said. "I don't know whether you are the ones who played in the band at the Snow Feast, but will you be friends? Let us be friends."

"Well, you're a jolly little chap," said the Good Wolf. "You've got such stout little legs, and you always seem to be enjoying yourself."

The Good Wolf scratched behind his right ear, and Barty saw it was that thoughtful sort of scratch of his-the one he scratched when he was turning things over in his mind.

"Well," he said, after being quiet for a few moments, "Robinson Crusoe looked for a good many things that first day, didn't he?"

"I want you to tell me," replied the Good Wolf. "It's your desert island, you know, and you ought to take some of the responsibility."

Barty stood still and looked down at the ground, and the crowd of black monkeys at the top of the tree looked down at him and stopped chattering as if they wanted to hear what he would say. After about a minute he looked up.

"We can't roast potatoes unless we have a fire, and we can't have a fire unless we have some matches, and we haven't any matches," he said.

"There is no knowing what one may find on a desert island," he remarked. "There is absolutely no knowing." Then he stopped a minute. "Is that all you can think of just now?" he asked Barty. "Just look about you."

So he looked not only on the ground, but up into the tree tops and over them into the sky. It looked very blue and hot and beautiful, but far away he saw a rather small cloud of a very queer color-it was purplish-black and had ragged edges.

"It's a storm cloud," said the Good Wolf, looking serious, "and it's coming towards the island. Do you see the wind beginning to stir the tops of the trees?"

"Yes," said Barty, looking rather anxious himself. "On Robinson Crusoe's desert island there was a kind of storm they call a tropical storm-I don't know what 'tropical' means, but the storms were dreadful. Is there going to be one now?"

"Then it's a house we must find first," he said, "as quickly as ever we can. We can't stay in the forest because the wind roots up the trees and the lightning strikes them and they fall crashing and crashing. We must find a house or a place to hide in. Could we run back to the beach and dig a hole in the sand and creep into it?"

"The kind of storm that cloud is bringing here," answered the Good Wolf, "will lash the sea into waves like mountains, and they will roll in and cover the beach like a big tide."

"The tree tops are beginning to shake now and the monkeys are chattering as if they were frightened," said Barty. "It's very queer and exciting."

"Yes, I am frightened," answered Barty, "but there isn't any time to cry. Shall we run as fast as ever we can and look about us everywhere while we are running?"

"Yes," answered the Good Wolf; "we had better run to a place where there will be nothing to fall on us. One to be ready, two to be steady, three and-away!" And off they both started as fast as they could, and left the monkeys chattering and screaming behind them.

Barty's stout little legs were flying over the ground faster than they had ever flown before, and he was in such a hurry he could scarcely find breath to speak, but he gave a little gasping laugh.

How they did run-over the grass and up the slopes and down the hollows and over the green gullies! The wind came in hot puffs and shook the tree tops, and the purplish-black cloud looked more ragged than ever, and was growing bigger and coming nearer. By the time they got to the bottom of the long green slope which led to the top of the cliff they had to stop a few moments to take breath.

Then they began to climb the long green slope, and it was very steep, and the hot puffs of wind seemed to rush down it to push them back.

Then they climbed and climbed. The big puffs of wind grew hotter and fiercer, and the cloud spread until it was blotting out the blue of the skies quite fast. Barty's stout little legs were very tired.

"No," replied the Good Wolf; "I didn't see it exactly, but I thought that if you were to see anything just at this time it would be something black."

"Trot along, trot along, trot along," said the Good Wolf. "We haven't found a house yet, but at the top of the cliff there is a hollow in the ground that we might lie down in."

The cloud had grown so big that it had spread itself over the sun and was making the sky look quite dark. The hot wind was blowing so hard that the Good Wolf had to bend his head and stiffen himself on his four legs to stand up against it.

His thick coat was being blown all about, and Barty's curly hair was streaming straight out behind him. The wind made such a noise that they could hardly hear each other's voices. The waves off the shore were rolling and breaking on the beach with a sound like thunder.

"Y-y-you are a j-jolly little ch-chap!" the Good Wolf shouted back. "Y-you are a-a st-stayer. Hold on to me tighter-here's a b-big blow coming."

It was such a tremendous blow that they had to throw themselves flat on the ground and let it pass over them. But they were nearly at the top of the cliff by this time, and after a few more battles and gasping short runs they reached the place where the green hollow was and threw themselves down into it and huddled close together.

"The purple-black cloud looks as if it were dragging in the sea, and flashes are coming out of it," said Barty, when he could speak.

"That's what I don't like," the Good Wolf said. "When the rain comes down it will come in a deluge, and if the wind doesn't blow us over the cliff the deluge will half drown us."

Barty gave another jump, but this time it was not because a raindrop had startled him. It was because he heard something a few yards away behind him. It was a squeaky, gibbering little voice, and it sounded as if it said something very much like this:

Barty heard it because the wind had stopped blowing and everything seemed for a few moments to be quite still. He stood up to look.

"It's the black thing!" he cried out. "It's one of the black monkeys who has followed us. He keeps popping his head in and out of a hole."

"If we can get in it will keep the rain off us," cried Barty, and he went right down on his stomach and crawled in to see if there was room enough.

Almost as soon as Barty had crawled into the hole he gave a shout. He found he had crawled into an open place like a room, with walls of rock, and on one side there was actually an opening like a window, which looked out on the sea.

They were only just in time, for at that very moment there came a great bellowing roar of thunder and a great rushing roar of rain. But it was all outside and they were safe and warm, and Barty danced for joy, and the black monkey danced too.

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.