The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe — Reading Companion
Edition facts
Before opening The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe — Reading Companion, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 103,987 words, 7 hr 33 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 49.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Crusoe, Robinson (Fictitious character) -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.
How this score is calculated
- Description quality20 pts
- Title & short description10 pts
- Source metadata20 pts
- Text length15 pts
- Chapters / structure15 pts
- EPUB file integrity20 pts
Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.
Read the Text
This was very rational; but we both found out a remedy for it, which was to carry a framed sloop on board the ship, which, being taken in pieces, might, by the help of some carpenters, whom we agreed to carry with us, be set up again in the island, and finished fit to go to sea in a few days. I was not long resolving, for indeed the importunities of my nephew joined so effectually with my inclination that nothing could oppose me; on the other hand, my wife being dead, none concerned themselves so much for me as to persuade me one way or the other, except my ancient good friend the widow, who earnestly struggled with me to consider my years, my easy circumstances, and the needless hazards of a long voyage; and above all, my young children. But it was all to no purpose, I had an irresistible desire for the voyage; and I told her I thought there was something so uncommon in the impressions I had upon my mind, that it would be a kind of resisting Providence if I should attempt to stay at home; after which she ceased her expostulations, and joined with me, not only in making provision for my voyage, but also in settling my family affairs for my absence, and providing for the education of my children. In order to do this, I made my will, and settled the estate I had in such a manner for my children, and placed in such hands, that I was perfectly easy and satisfied they would have justice done them, whatever might befall me; and for their education, I left it wholly to the widow, with a sufficient maintenance to herself for her care: all which she richly deserved; for no mother could have taken more care in their education, or understood it better; and as she lived till I came home, I also lived to thank her for it.
My nephew was ready to sail about the beginning of January 1694-5; and I, with my man Friday, went on board, in the Downs, the 8th; having, besides that sloop which I mentioned above, a very considerable cargo of all kinds of necessary things for my colony, which, if I did not find in good condition, I resolved to leave so.
First, I carried with me some servants whom I purposed to place there as inhabitants, or at least to set on work there upon my account while I stayed, and either to leave them there or carry them forward, as they should appear willing; particularly, I carried two carpenters, a smith, and a very handy, ingenious fellow, who was a cooper by trade, and was also a general mechanic; for he was dexterous at making wheels and hand- mills to grind corn, was a good turner and a good pot-maker; he also made anything that was proper to make of earth or of wood: in a word, we called him our Jack-of-all-trades. With these I carried a tailor, who had offered himself to go a passenger to the East Indies with my nephew, but afterwards consented to stay on our new plantation, and who proved a most necessary handy fellow as could be desired in many other businesses besides that of his trade; for, as I observed formerly, necessity arms us for all employments.
My cargo, as near as I can recollect, for I have not kept account of the particulars, consisted of a sufficient quantity of linen, and some English thin stuffs, for clothing the Spaniards that I expected to find there; and enough of them, as by my calculation might comfortably supply them for seven years; if I remember right, the materials I carried for clothing them, with gloves, hats, shoes, stockings, and all such things as they could want for wearing, amounted to about two hundred pounds, including some beds, bedding, and household stuff, particularly kitchen utensils, with pots, kettles, pewter, brass, &c.; and near a hundred pounds more in ironwork, nails, tools of every kind, staples, hooks, hinges, and every necessary thing I could think of.
The opening of The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe finds its narrator at sixty-one, settled in England with a growing fortune, yet gripped by a "chronic distemper" to roam again. Defoe anchors the sequel in a psychological paradox: Crusoe has everything he once lacked, but the "native propensity to rambling" remains undiminished. He dreams of his island, talks of it incessantly, and admits his conversation became "tiresome, even to impertinence." This self-aware restlessness sets the tone for a narrative driven less by necessity than by an almost compulsive curiosity about the colony he left behind.
A Restless Return
The first excerpt establishes Crusoe's motivation not as survival or ambition, but as an irresistible mental fixation. He describes his desire to see his plantation and colony as "uppermost in all my thoughts," so powerful that it invades his sleep and speech. Defoe uses the metaphor of a "chronic distemper" to frame this urge as an illness rather than a choice. Notably, Crusoe acknowledges the irrationality: he has no fortune to make, no family to support, and no need for adventure. Yet the pull of the island overrides reason. This internal conflict—between domestic contentment and wanderlust—becomes the engine of the plot, and readers should note how Crusoe's self-analysis colors every decision that follows.
The Grammar of Faith
A later excerpt shifts dramatically from adventure to theology, presenting a sustained dialogue between a European (likely a reformed pirate named William Atkins) and his native wife. The wife's questions are direct and concrete: "What you put down the knee for? What you hold up the hand for?" She demands explanations for prayer, revelation, and the source of moral knowledge. Defoe renders her speech in a simplified dialect, while the European struggles to articulate Christian doctrine without a Bible. The exchange reveals Defoe's interest in the process of religious instruction—how abstract concepts like God's word and Spirit are translated for someone with no prior exposure. The wife's logic is sharp: if God teaches only good, and she wishes to be good, then she is ready to believe. This scene offers a nuanced portrait of cross-cultural conversion, grounded in practical reasoning rather than dogma.
The Absent Bible
A striking detail in the religious dialogue is the European's grief that he does not possess a Bible. He promises to obtain one so his wife can "read the word of God," but in the moment, he must rely on oral explanation and prayer. Defoe emphasizes the materiality of scripture: the book itself is a necessary tool for teaching. The wife's repeated question—"How you makee me know that God teachee them to write that book?"—presses the European to justify the Bible's authority without circular reasoning. His answer appeals to the inherent goodness and holiness of its commands. This episode suggests that for Defoe, faith is mediated through text, and the absence of that text creates a palpable gap. Readers may observe how the novel treats the Bible as both a physical object and a source of spiritual power.
Narrative Framing and the Reader's Role
The excerpts are presented as Crusoe's retrospective account, but the religious dialogue is reported secondhand: "This was the time when we saw him kneel down and hold up his hands." Crusoe and his companions are observers, not participants, in this conversion scene. Defoe thus layers the narrative: we read Crusoe's recollection of watching William Atkins instruct his wife. This distancing effect invites readers to consider the reliability and perspective of the narrator. Crusoe, who once struggled with his own spiritual awakening in the first book, now witnesses another's. The shift from first-person adventure to observational report marks a change in the sequel's texture. Readers should attend to how Crusoe frames these episodes—what he chooses to include, and what he leaves as inference.
These excerpts reveal a sequel more concerned with interior restlessness and religious instruction than with shipwreck and survival. Crusoe's compulsive return to his island and the extended theological dialogue with a native woman both test the boundaries of his earlier experiences. Readers approaching the full text should watch for how Defoe balances action with reflection, and how the narrator's voice evolves when he is no longer a castaway but a wealthy, aging man still chasing the horizon.
That rainy afternoon, I kept returning to Crusoe’s stubborn need to see his old colony once more—familiar ground, yet somehow shifted. It made me think of how we revisit people the same way, hoping the shape holds. Later, I found myself leafing through When a Man Marries — Reading Notes, and the quiet pull felt similar, like an echo in another room.
There are no reviews for this eBook.
What did you think of this book?
Answer a few questions and save a private reflection on this device.