The Coral Island (Wordsworth Children's Classics)

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Hanlon, David; Edmond, Rod (1999), "Rev. of Rod Edmond, Representing the South Pacific: Colonial Discourse from Cook to Gauguin", American Historical Review, 104 (4): 1261–1262, doi: 10.2307/2649581, JSTOR 2649581, S2CID 162306632, archived from the original on 20 July 2021 , retrieved 14 January 2020 I have often wondered very much in after years that the inhabitants of my own dear land did not make more frequent use of this most charming element, water—I mean in the way of cold bathing. Of course, I have perceived that it is not convenient for them to go into the sea or the rivers in winter, as we used to do on the Coral Island; but then I knew from experience that a large washing-tub and a sponge do form a most pleasant substitute. The feelings of freshness, of cleanliness, of vigour, and extreme hilarity that always followed my bathes in the sea—and even, when in England, my ablutions in the wash-tub—were so delightful that I would sooner have gone without my breakfast than without my bathe in cold water. My readers will forgive me for asking whether they are in the habit of bathing thus every morning; and if they answer “No”, they will pardon me for recommending them to begin at once. Of late years, since retiring from the stirring life of adventure which I have led so long in foreign climes, I have heard of a system called the cold-water cure. Now, I do not know much about that system; so I do not mean to uphold it, neither do I intend to run it down. Perhaps, in reference to it, I may just hint that there may be too much of a good thing—I know not. But of this I am quite certain, that there may also be too little of a good thing; and the great delight I have had in cold bathing during the course of my adventurous career inclines me to think that it is better to risk taking too much than to content one’s self with too little. Such is my opinion, derived from much experience; but I put it before my readers with the utmost diffidence and with profound modesty, knowing that it may possibly jar with their feelings of confidence in their own ability to know and judge as to what is best and fittest in reference to their own affairs. But to return from this digression, for which I humbly crave forgiveness.

I had often heard it said that Lord of the Flies was a kind of realistic retelling of the story of The Coral Island, but it was only on re-reading the latter that I realised that the two main characters had the same names. And I also realised how much I had forgotten of the story. Virtually the only thing I recalled was my mental picture of the island on which they landed, and I had a vague recollection that the boys in The Coral Island were a bit older.One of the writers influenced by him was Robert Louis Stevenson, who was so influenced by The Coral Island, that he based portions of Treasure Island on it. Also, The Coral Island can be considered one forerunner of the genera of 'deserted on a desert island' that is a hugely influential literary theme. Chapter Three. The Coral Island—Our first cogitations after landing and the result of them—We conclude that the island is uninhabited.

It was beginning to grow dark when we returned to our encampment; so we put off our visit to the top of a hill till next day, and employed the light that yet remained to us in cutting down a quantity of boughs and the broad leaves of a tree of which none of us knew the name. With these we erected a sort of rustic bower, in which we meant to pass the night. There was no absolute necessity for this, because the air of our island was so genial and balmy that we could have slept quite well without any shelter; but we were so little used to sleeping in the open air that we did not quite relish the idea of lying down without any covering over us. Besides, our bower would shelter us from the night-dews or rain, if any should happen to fall. Having strewed the floor with leaves and dry grass, we bethought ourselves of supper.Where’ll it spout this time, I wonder?” he said, looking about with some anxiety and preparing to run. Suddenly there came a loud hiss or snort; a fierce spout of water burst up between Peterkin’s legs, blew him off his feet, enveloped him in its spray, and hurled him to the ground. He fell with so much violence that we feared he must have broken some of his bones, and ran anxiously to his assistance; but fortunately he had fallen on a clump of tangled herbage, in which he lay sprawling in a most deplorable condition.