"Krek" meant "bird-catcher". The boy received such a nickname not without reason: from childhood he was distinguished by extraordinary dexterity in catching birds at night; he captured them sleepily in their nests and brought them triumphantly into the cave. It happened that for such successes he was rewarded at dinner with a hefty piece of raw bone marrow - an honorary dish usually reserved for the elders and fathers of the family.

Krek was proud of his nickname: it reminded him of his nocturnal exploits.

The boy turned around at the cry, instantly jumped up from the ground and, grabbing a bunch of reeds, ran up to the old man.

At the stone stairs, he laid down his burden, raised his hands to his forehead in respect, and said:

I'm here. The oldest! What do you want from me?

Child, - the old man answered, - all of our people left before dawn in the forests to hunt deer and broad-horned bulls. They will not return until evening, because - remember this - the rain washes away the tracks of animals, destroys their smell and carries away the tufts of wool that they leave on the branches and gnarled tree trunks. Hunters will have to work hard before they meet prey. So, until the evening we can go about our business. Leave your cane. We have enough shafts for arrows, but few stone points, good chisels and knives: they are all turned, serrated and broken off.

What are you going to tell me to do? The oldest?

Together with your brothers and with me you will go along the White Hills. We stock up on large flints; they are often found at the foot of coastal cliffs. Today I will reveal to you the secret of how to hew them. It's time, Krek. You have grown, you are strong, beautiful and worthy to carry weapons made with your own hands. Wait for me, I'll go after other children.

I obey and obey, - answered Krek, bowing before the old man and with difficulty restraining his joy. (...)

The old man called Krek handsome, big and strong. He must have wanted to cheer up the boy: after all, in fact, Krek was small, even very small, and very thin.

Krek's broad face was covered with a red tan, thin red hair stuck out above his forehead, greasy, tangled, covered with ashes and all sorts of rubbish. He was not very handsome, that pitiful primitive child. But in his eyes shone a lively mind; his movements were agile and quick. (...)

Finally, the old man emerged from the cave and began to descend the high stone steps with a agility surprising for his advanced age. Behind him was a whole horde of savage boys. All of them, like Krek, were barely covered from the cold by miserable cloaks made of animal skins.

The oldest of them is Gel. He is already fifteen years old. In anticipation of that great day, when the hunters would finally take him on a hunt, he managed to become famous as an incomparable fisherman.

The elder taught him to carve deadly hooks from shells with the tip of a flint shard. With a homemade harpoon with a serrated bone tip, Gel hit even huge salmon.

Big-eared Ryug followed him. If at the time when Ryug lived, a man had already tamed a dog, they would certainly have said about Ryug: "He has a dog's hearing and scent." Ryug could smell by smell where the fruits had ripened in the dense shrubs, where young mushrooms had appeared from under the ground; with his eyes closed, he recognized the trees by the rustle of their leaves.

The elder signaled, and everyone set off. Gel and Ryug proudly stepped forward, and the rest of them followed seriously and silently.

All the little companions of the old man carried on their backs baskets roughly woven from narrow strips of tree bark; some held in their hands a short club with a heavy head, others - a spear with a stone tip, and still others - something like a stone hammer.

They walked quietly, stepped lightly and inaudibly. No wonder the old people constantly told the children that they needed to get used to moving silently and carefully, so that when hunting in the forest they would not frighten off the game, not fall into the claws of wild animals, and not be ambushed by evil and treacherous people. .

Mothers approached the exit from the cave and looked after the departing with a smile.

Right there stood two girls, slender and tall, - Mab and On. They looked enviously after the boys.

Only one, the smallest, representative of primitive mankind remained in the smoky cave; he knelt beside the hearth, where a small fire crackled faintly in the midst of a huge pile of ashes and dead coals.

It was the youngest boy - Ojo.

He was sad; from time to time he sighed softly: he was terribly anxious to go with the Elder. But he held back his tears and courageously performed his duty.

Today it is his turn to keep the fire going from dawn to night.

Ojo was proud of it. He knew that fire was the greatest treasure in the cave; if the fire goes out, a terrible punishment awaits him. Therefore, as soon as the boy noticed that the flame was decreasing and threatening to go out, he began to quickly throw branches of resinous wood into the fire in order to revive the fire again.

E. d "Hervilli. Adventures of prehistoric

boy.- Sverdlovsk, 1987.-S.14-17.

On a cold, cloudy and rainy morning, a little nine-year-old boy was sitting on the bank of a huge river.

The mighty stream rushed forward uncontrollably: in its yellow waves it carried away branches and grasses that had strayed into heaps, uprooted trees and huge ice floes with heavy stones frozen into them.

The boy was alone. He was squatting in front of a bunch of freshly chopped cane. His thin body was accustomed to the cold: he did not pay any attention to the terrifying noise and roar of the ice floes.

The sloping banks of the river were densely overgrown with high reeds, and a little further on, like high white walls, the steep slopes of chalk hills were washed away by the river.

The chain of these hills was lost in the distance, in a misty and bluish twilight; dense forests covered it.

Not far from the boy, on the slope of the hill, a little higher than the place where the river washed over the hill, gaped like a huge gaping maw, a wide black hole that led into a deep cave.

A boy was born here nine years ago. The ancestors of his ancestors also huddled here for a long time.

Only through this dark hole did the harsh inhabitants of the cave enter and exit, through which they received air and light; the smoke of the hearth burst out of it, on which the fire was diligently maintained day and night.

At the foot of the gaping hole lay huge stones, they served as something like a ladder.

A tall, lean old man with tanned wrinkled skin appeared on the threshold of the cave. His long gray hair was pulled up and tied in a bun at the crown of his head. His blinking red eyelids were inflamed from the acrid smoke that always filled the cavern. The old man raised his hand and, covering his eyes with his palm under thick, hanging eyebrows, looked in the direction of the river. Then he shouted:

- Crack! - This hoarse, abrupt cry was like the cry of a frightened bird of prey.

"Krek" meant "bird-catcher". The boy received such a nickname not without reason: from childhood he was distinguished by extraordinary dexterity in catching birds at night: he captured them sleepy in their nests and triumphantly brought them to the cave. It happened that for such successes he was rewarded at dinner with a hefty piece of raw bone marrow - an honorary dish usually reserved for the elders and fathers of the family.

Krek was proud of his nickname: it reminded him of his nocturnal exploits.

The boy turned around at the cry, instantly jumped up from the ground and, grabbing a bunch of reeds, ran up to the old man.

At the stone stairs, he laid down his burden, raised his hands to his forehead in respect, and said:

"I'm here, Elder!" What do you want from me?

“Child,” answered the old man, “all of us left before dawn in the forests to hunt deer and broad-horned bulls. They will not return until evening, because—remember this—the rain washes away the tracks of the animals, destroys their scent, and carries away the tufts of hair they leave on branches and gnarled tree trunks. Hunters will have to work hard before they meet prey. So, until the evening we can go about our business. Leave your cane. We have enough shafts for arrows, but few stone points, good chisels and knives: they are all turned, serrated and broken off.

“What will you tell me to do, Elder?

“Together with your brothers and with me you will go along the White Hills. We stock up on large flints; they are often found at the foot of coastal cliffs. Today I will reveal to you the secret of how to hew them. It's time, Krek. You have grown, you are strong, beautiful and worthy to carry weapons made with your own hands. Wait for me, I'll go after other children.

“I listen and obey,” Krek replied, bowing before the old man and with difficulty restraining his joy.

The old man went into the cave, from which strange guttural exclamations were suddenly heard, similar more to the cries of alarmed young animals than to human voices.

The old man called Krek handsome, big and strong. He must have wanted to cheer up the boy; in fact, Krek was small, even very small, and very thin.

Krek's broad face was covered with a red tan, thin red hair stuck out above his forehead, greasy, tangled, covered with ashes and all sorts of rubbish. He was not very handsome, that pitiful primitive child. But in his eyes shone a lively mind; his movements were agile and quick.

He strove to move as quickly as possible on the road and impatiently hit the ground with his broad foot with large fingers, and with all five he pulled his lips strongly.

Finally, the old man emerged from the cave and began to descend the high stone steps with a agility surprising for his advanced age. Behind him was a whole horde of savage boys. All of them, like Krek, were barely covered from the cold by miserable cloaks made of animal skins.

The oldest of them is Gel. He is already fifteen years old. In anticipation of that great day, when the hunters would finally take him on a hunt, he managed to become famous as an incomparable fisherman.

The elder taught him to carve deadly hooks from shells with the tip of a flint shard. With the help of a homemade harpoon with a serrated bone tip, Gel hit even huge salmon.

Big-eared Ryug followed him. If at the time when Ryug lived, a man had already tamed a dog, they would certainly have said about Ryug: "He has a dog's hearing and scent."

Ryug could smell by smell where the fruits had ripened in the dense shrubs, where young mushrooms had appeared from under the ground; with his eyes closed, he recognized the trees by the rustle of their leaves.

The elder signaled, and everyone set off. Gel and Ryug proudly stepped forward, and the rest of them followed seriously and silently.

All the little companions of the old man carried on their backs baskets roughly woven from narrow strips of tree bark; some held in their hands a short club with a heavy head, others a spear with a stone tip, and still others a kind of stone hammer.

They walked quietly, stepped lightly and inaudibly. No wonder the old people constantly told the children that they needed to get used to moving silently and carefully, so that when hunting in the forest they would not frighten off the game and not fall into the claws of wild animals, not be ambushed by evil and treacherous people.

Mothers approached the exit from the cave and looked after the departing with a smile.

Right there stood two girls, slender and tall, Mab and On. They looked enviously after the boys.

Only one, the smallest representative of primitive mankind, remained in the smoky cave; he knelt beside the hearth, where a small fire crackled faintly in the midst of a huge pile of ashes and dead coals.

It was the youngest boy - Ojo.

He was sad; from time to time he sighed softly: he was terribly anxious to go with the Elder. But he held back his tears and courageously performed his duty.

Today it is his turn to keep the fire going from dawn to night.

Ojo was proud of it. He knew that fire was the greatest treasure in the cave; if the fire goes out, a terrible punishment awaits him. Therefore, as soon as the boy noticed that the flame was decreasing and threatening to go out, he quickly began to throw branches of resinous wood into the fire in order to revive the fire again.

And if at times Ojo's eyes were clouded with tears, then the only culprit of these tears was the acrid smoke of a fire.

Soon he stopped thinking about what his brothers were doing now. Other worries depressed little Ojo: he was hungry, and yet he was barely six years old ...

He thought that if the elders and fathers returned empty-handed from the woods tonight, he would have only two or three pitiful charcoal-roasted fern shoots for supper.

Chapter II. One of the days of primeval times

Ojo was hungry, and his brothers were even more hungry, for they had been walking for a long time in the cold wind. The elder all the way explained to them in whispers and signs how to recognize the water plants growing along the shore. AT winter time when there is no meat, their fleshy roots can fill an empty stomach with sin in half.

Adventures prehistoric boy Ernst D'Hervilly

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Title: The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy
Author: Ernst Dervilly
Year: 2015
Genre: Children's adventures, Foreign classics, Foreign children's books, Foreign adventures

About the book "The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" by Ernst D'Hervilly

"The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" is a story by the French writer and ethnographer Ernst D'Hervilli for children of preschool and school age.

The events of the story "The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" by Ernst D'Hervilli develop thousands of years before our era. Main character books - a nine-year-old boy named Krek. He lives in a tribe of prehistoric people who face various dangers every day and literally fight for their lives. There are people of different ages in the tribe: the same age as Krek, six-year-old kids, adult men and women, and elderly people - elders. Each member of the tribe does a certain job so that everyone can survive. Someone is good at hunting, someone has an excellent scent for berries and mushrooms, someone has got the hang of catching fish.

Despite the fact that Krek was only nine years old, he helped the tribe with might and main. On some days he had to keep the fire in the cave, on others he had to go with other members of the group in search of edible berries and roots. But once Krek disobeyed the order of the elders to watch the fire and left the cave. As a result, the flame went out. Without fire, the tribe was doomed to perish. Such offenses in the tribe were punishable by death. Krek had only one way to save his life - to find a way to start a fire.

The story "The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" is distinguished by a rich plot, detailed and vivid descriptions of wildlife, detailed description life of prehistoric people. From this work, young readers will learn how people lived thousands of years ago, what difficulties they faced daily, and how they managed to save the human race.

Primitive people had many enemies: bad weather, wild animals and, of course, hunger. Sometimes the tribe was left without food for several days. That is why even the youngest representatives of the tribe did not sit idle and helped the elders as much as they could. In primitive society great importance had a hierarchy. The younger ones obeyed the elders, absolutely all people followed unwritten laws. Misdemeanors were punished, since primitive people believed that a person who committed meanness would do so again.

The story "The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" by Ernst D'Hervilli will appeal to children of any age. Despite the complex subject matter, it is written in a very simple and easy language. The plot of the story is rich and exciting, so the child will not be bored.

On our site about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free without registration or read online book"The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy" by Ernst D'Hervilli in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can have our partner. Also, here you will find last news from literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For beginner writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at writing.

Today let's talk about those artistic (and not very books) that describe the life of ancient people. Of course, we know very approximately how they hunted, sewed clothes, escaped from predators ... And I represent, of course, by no means popular science literature, rather, relatively science fiction ... but how interesting! :)

So, let's begin from the youngest readers .

For them, the following can be advised:

4) Mitypov V. Mammoth Fuf.
The action takes place in the ancient times of the Great Glaciation, when saber-toothed tigers and mammoths lived, and ancient people dressed in skins and lived in caves. This is a fairy tale story about a primitive girl named Ola, who understands the language of animals, about her friends - a mammoth and a deer.
“The story I am about to tell you happened a very, very long time ago. So long ago that it's hard to imagine. Thousands of years have passed since then. There lived at that time a little mammoth Fuf. Mom called him that because he always snorted with his proboscis like this: "F-fuf!" It doesn't matter if he was angry or happy, laughing or whimpering. But wait, maybe you don't know what a mammoth is? Then imagine a baby elephant dressed in a furry fur coat. This will be the mammoth. Fuf was as tall as a dining table, but don't think that's too much. Not at all. After all, Fufin's mother would hardly fit even in the largest of your rooms. Well, now you already know who Fuf is, and you can start a story about him ... "

5) Bakhrevsky V. Eyes of the Night.
This story is about a boy ancient tribe, who dared to look into the Eyes of the Night - at the stars - and became the first boy in the tribe to receive a name. One day, the Eyes of the Night befriended a mammoth that had escaped from a fire and called him his brother, the Strongest. But having somehow returned from a successful hunt to the native cave of the Eye of the Night, he found only a hole with tufts of wool at the bottom. The tribe killed his friend and brother for food. And then the boy left his tribe...

For older preschoolers and children a little older "Astrel-classic" published several absolutely wonderful books in the series "Very cool book" Luciano Malmusi , about a Neanderthal boy, with lovely, hilarious illustrations. Just be careful: these books are a very free stylization "under the life of Neanderthals."

Here is the classic story E. d'Hervilly"The Adventures of a Prehistoric Boy", for senior preschool and primary school age. After this book, my 6-year-old daughter involved the entire kindergarten group in the game "live like ancient people" for two weeks :).

Like all children, a boy named Krek has fun, climbs trees, loves his family and knows what true friendship is. Perhaps the author of the book wanted to show that both in prehistoric and in modern times, the main thing is humanity. After all, an amazing thing happens in the book. The beginning of it is a great misfortune when Krek did not keep track of the fire, and it went out. This was not forgiven - the fire was the main thing in those days. He was much more valuable than the life of a little man - savvy, kind and sincere. Only a chance helped Krek avoid death. Expelled from the tribe, he went into the forest with a stone ax in his hands and with the hope of defeating nature and staying alive.
The amazing thing happened the next day. Imagine the joy and amazement of Krek, already saying goodbye to his past, when he saw his older brothers and ... the elder of the tribe! They didn't come to call the boy back to the cave. They didn't bring more food and clothes to make Krek's journey easier. They didn't even come to say goodbye for the last time. They just left the cave. Forever and ever.

More for elementary and middle school students ethnographer Michelle Paver wrote a cycle "Chronicles of Dark Times" consisting of 6 books. We have published so far only two volumes: "Brother Wolf" and "Heart of the Wolf".
The story told by the ethnographer and writer M. Payver takes the reader many millennia back. In the first book, in the primeval Forest, inhabited by tribes of hunters, wolves and bison, spirits of trees and stones, a giant bear appeared. It creeps up inaudibly, like breathing, and destroys all life in its path. The boy Thorak and his guide, an orphaned wolf cub, are called to save the inhabitants of the Forest from the inexorable evil.
In the second book, Thorak must learn the truth in order to save the Forest and its inhabitants from mortal danger. Together with Thorak, his girlfriend Renn and the Wolf, who have been following him for a long time, set off on a journey. Failure haunts them, they risk their lives more than once, escaping from black shamans...
.

The following books may be of interest children aged 10 and over .

Someday I will review absolutely fantastic works - failures in the past, lost worlds, etc. In the meantime, I present a fantastic story Sergei Mikhailov "Crack", which can be easily read to children from the age of 12. This is not so much about prehistoric people, but about you and me. How would we behave if our late bus drove ... straight into the past?

If you know more books on the topic "Prehistoric Man", please respond :)

On a cold, cloudy and rainy morning, a little nine-year-old boy was sitting on the bank of a huge river.
The mighty stream rushed forward uncontrollably: in its yellow waves it carried away branches and grasses that had strayed into heaps, uprooted trees and huge ice floes with heavy stones frozen into them.
The boy was alone. He was squatting in front of a bunch of freshly chopped cane. His thin body was accustomed to the cold: he did not pay any attention to the terrifying noise and roar of the ice floes.
The sloping banks of the river were densely overgrown with high reeds, and a little further on, like high white walls, the steep slopes of chalk hills were washed away by the river.
The chain of these hills was lost in the distance, in a misty and bluish twilight; dense forests covered it.
Not far from the boy, on the slope of the hill, a little higher than the place where the river washed over the hill, gaped like a huge gaping maw, a wide black hole that led into a deep cave.
A boy was born here nine years ago. The ancestors of his ancestors also huddled here for a long time.
Only through this dark hole did the harsh inhabitants of the cave enter and exit, through which they received air and light; the smoke of the hearth burst out of it, on which the fire was diligently maintained day and night.
At the foot of the gaping hole lay huge stones, they served as something like a ladder.
A tall, lean old man with tanned wrinkled skin appeared on the threshold of the cave. His long gray hair was pulled up and tied in a bun at the crown of his head. His blinking red eyelids were inflamed from the acrid smoke that always filled the cavern. The old man raised his hand and, covering his eyes with his palm under thick, hanging eyebrows, looked in the direction of the river. Then he shouted:
- Crack! - This hoarse, abrupt cry was like the cry of a frightened bird of prey.

"Krek" meant "bird-catcher". The boy received such a nickname not without reason: from childhood he was distinguished by extraordinary dexterity in catching birds at night: he captured them sleepy in their nests and triumphantly brought them to the cave. It happened that for such successes he was rewarded at dinner with a hefty piece of raw bone marrow - an honorary dish usually reserved for the elders and fathers of the family.
Krek was proud of his nickname: it reminded him of his nocturnal exploits.
The boy turned around at the cry, instantly jumped up from the ground and, grabbing a bunch of reeds, ran up to the old man.
At the stone stairs, he laid down his burden, raised his hands to his forehead in respect, and said:
"I'm here, Elder!" What do you want from me?
“Child,” answered the old man, “all of us left before dawn in the forests to hunt deer and broad-horned bulls. They will not return until evening, because—remember this—the rain washes away the tracks of the animals, destroys their scent, and carries away the tufts of hair they leave on branches and gnarled tree trunks. Hunters will have to work hard before they meet prey. So, until the evening we can go about our business. Leave your cane. We have enough shafts for arrows, but few stone points, good chisels and knives: they are all turned, serrated and broken off.
“What will you tell me to do, Elder?
“Together with your brothers and with me you will go along the White Hills. We stock up on large flints; they are often found at the foot of coastal cliffs. Today I will reveal to you the secret of how to hew them. It's time, Krek. You have grown, you are strong, beautiful and worthy to carry weapons made with your own hands. Wait for me, I'll go after other children.
“I listen and obey,” Krek replied, bowing before the old man and with difficulty restraining his joy.
The old man went into the cave, from which strange guttural exclamations were suddenly heard, similar more to the cries of alarmed young animals than to human voices.
The old man called Krek handsome, big and strong. He must have wanted to cheer up the boy; in fact, Krek was small, even very small, and very thin.
Krek's broad face was covered with a red tan, thin red hair stuck out above his forehead, greasy, tangled, covered with ashes and all sorts of rubbish. He was not very handsome, that pitiful primitive child. But in his eyes shone a lively mind; his movements were agile and quick.
He strove to move as quickly as possible on the road and impatiently hit the ground with his broad foot with large fingers, and with all five he pulled his lips strongly.
Finally, the old man emerged from the cave and began to descend the high stone steps with a agility surprising for his advanced age. Behind him was a whole horde of savage boys. All of them, like Krek, were barely covered from the cold by miserable cloaks made of animal skins.
The oldest of them is Gel. He is already fifteen years old. In anticipation of that great day, when the hunters would finally take him on a hunt, he managed to become famous as an incomparable fisherman.
The elder taught him to carve deadly hooks from shells with the tip of a flint shard. With the help of a homemade harpoon with a serrated bone tip, Gel hit even huge salmon.
Big-eared Ryug followed him. If at the time when Ryug lived, a man had already tamed a dog, they would certainly have said about Ryug: "He has a dog's hearing and scent."
Ryug could smell by smell where the fruits had ripened in the dense shrubs, where young mushrooms had appeared from under the ground; with his eyes closed, he recognized the trees by the rustle of their leaves.
The elder signaled, and everyone set off. Gel and Ryug proudly stepped forward, and the rest of them followed seriously and silently.
All the little companions of the old man carried on their backs baskets roughly woven from narrow strips of tree bark; some held in their hands a short club with a heavy head, others a spear with a stone tip, and still others a kind of stone hammer.
They walked quietly, stepped lightly and inaudibly. No wonder the old people constantly told the children that they needed to get used to moving silently and carefully, so that when hunting in the forest they would not frighten off the game and not fall into the claws of wild animals, not be ambushed by evil and treacherous people.
Mothers approached the exit from the cave and looked after the departing with a smile.
Right there stood two girls, slender and tall, Mab and On. They looked enviously after the boys.
Only one, the smallest representative of primitive mankind, remained in the smoky cave; he knelt beside the hearth, where a small fire crackled faintly in the midst of a huge pile of ashes and dead coals.
It was the youngest boy - Ojo.
He was sad; from time to time he sighed softly: he was terribly anxious to go with the Elder. But he held back his tears and courageously performed his duty.
Today it is his turn to keep the fire going from dawn to night.
Ojo was proud of it. He knew that fire was the greatest treasure in the cave; if the fire goes out, a terrible punishment awaits him. Therefore, as soon as the boy noticed that the flame was decreasing and threatening to go out, he began to quickly throw branches of resinous wood into the fire in order to revive the fire again.
And if at times Ojo's eyes were clouded with tears, then the only culprit of these tears was the acrid smoke of a fire.
Soon he stopped thinking about what his brothers were doing now. Other worries depressed little Ojo: he was hungry, and yet he was barely six years old ...
He thought that if the elders and fathers returned empty-handed from the woods tonight, he would have only two or three pitiful charcoal-roasted fern shoots for supper. write in the comments whether to continue