The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle

_THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE_

[Illustration:

I

HIS LANDING

ON THE

ISLAND

II

HIS MEETING

WITH THE

BEETLE

III

HE LIBERATES

THE LOST

FAMILIES

IV

HE MAKES

FIRE

V

HE LEADS THE

PEOPLE TO

VICTORY IN

WAR

VI

HE IS

CROWNED

KING

THE POPSIPETEL PICTURE-HISTORY OF KING JONG THINKALOT]

[Illustration]

_The_ VOYAGES _of_

DOCTOR DOLITTLE

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR

BY HUGH LOFTING

_Published by

FREDK. A. STOKES Co.

at 443 Fourth Avenue New York A.D. 1922_

_Copyright, 1922, by_

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

_All rights reserved, including that of translation

into foreign languages_

First Printing, August 18, 1922

Second Printing, November 10, 1922

Third Printing, February 28, 1923

Fourth Printing, June 20, 1923

Fifth Printing, August 16, 1923

Sixth Printing, November 30, 1923

Seventh Printing, April 18, 1925

Eighth Printing, March 19, 1926

Ninth Printing, July 30, 1927

Tenth Printing, April 11, 1928

Eleventh Printing, June 19, 1929

Twelfth Printing, September 12, 1930

Thirteenth Printing, August 10, 1931

Fourteenth Printing, September 1, 1933

_Printed in the United States of America_

_To

Colin

and

Elizabeth_

_CONTENTS_

PART ONE

CHAPTER PAGE

PROLOGUE 1

I THE COBBLER’S SON 3

II I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST 8

III THE DOCTOR’S HOME 15

IV THE WIFF-WAFF 24

V POLYNESIA 32

VI THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL 41

VII SHELLFISH TALK 45

VIII ARE YOU A GOOD NOTICER? 50

IX THE GARDEN OF DREAMS 55

X THE PRIVATE ZOO 60

XI MY SCHOOLMASTER, POLYNESIA 65

XII MY GREAT IDEA 70

XIII A TRAVELER ARRIVES 75

XIV CHEE-CHEE’S VOYAGE 80

XV I BECOME A DOCTOR’S ASSISTANT 84

PART TWO

I THE CREW OF “THE CURLEW” 88

II LUKE THE HERMIT 91

III JIP AND THE SECRET 95

IV BOB 99

V MENDOZA 105

VI THE JUDGE’S DOG 111

VII THE END OF THE MYSTERY 116

VIII THREE CHEERS 121

IX THE PURPLE BIRD-OF-PARADISE 126

X LONG ARROW, THE SON OF GOLDEN ARROW 129

XI BLIND TRAVEL 135

XII DESTINY AND DESTINATION 140

PART THREE

I THE THIRD MAN 144

II GOOD-BYE! 151

III OUR TROUBLES BEGIN 155

IV OUR TROUBLES CONTINUE 160

V POLYNESIA HAS A PLAN 167

VI THE BED-MAKER OF MONTEVERDE 172

VII THE DOCTOR’S WAGER 177

VIII THE GREAT BULLFIGHT 184

IX WE DEPART IN A HURRY 193

PART FOUR

I SHELLFISH LANGUAGES AGAIN 198

II THE FIDGIT’S STORY 205

III BAD WEATHER 221

IV WRECKED! 225

V LAND! 233

VI THE JABIZRI 239

VII HAWK’S-HEAD MOUNTAIN 245

PART FIVE

I A GREAT MOMENT 253

II “THE MEN OF THE MOVING LAND” 262

III FIRE 266

IV WHAT MAKES AN ISLAND FLOAT 271

V WAR! 275

VI GENERAL POLYNESIA 282

VII THE PEACE OF THE PARROTS 287

VIII THE HANGING STONE 291

IX THE ELECTION 300

X THE CORONATION OF KING JONG 308

PART SIX

I NEW POPSIPETEL 314

II THOUGHTS OF HOME 322

III THE RED MAN’S SCIENCE 328

IV THE SEA-SERPENT 332

V THE SHELLFISH RIDDLE SOLVED AT LAST 340

VI THE LAST CABINET MEETING 346

VII THE DOCTOR’S DECISION 350

_ILLUSTRATIONS_

The Popsipetel Picture-History of King Jong Thinkalot

(in colors) _Frontispiece_

PAGE

“I would sit on the river-wall with my feet dangling

over the water” 5

“And in her right foot she carried a lighted candle!” 22

“‘Being a good noticer is terribly important’” 53

A traveler arrives 77

“On the bed sat the Hermit” 101

“Sat scowling down upon the amazed and gaping jury” 115

“‘What else can I think?’” 133

“‘Boy, where’s the skipper?’” 147

“In these lower levels we came upon the shadowy shapes

of dead ships” (in colors) 162

“The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the bed-maker” 175

“Did acrobatics on the beast’s horns” 189

“‘He talks English!’” 201

“I was alone in the ocean!” 226

“It was a great moment” 257

The Terrible Three 279

“Working away with their noses against the end of the

island” 293

“The Whispering Rocks” 295

“Had to chase his butterflies with a crown upon his head” 317

“‘Tiptoe incognito,’ whispered Bumpo” 353

_THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE_

THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE

PROLOGUE

ALL that I have written so far about Doctor Dolittle I heard long after

it happened from those who had known him—indeed a great deal of it took

place before I was born. But I now come to set down that part of the

great man’s life which I myself saw and took part in.

Many years ago the Doctor gave me permission to do this. But we were

both of us so busy then voyaging around the world, having adventures

and filling note-books full of natural history that I never seemed to

get time to sit down and write of our doings.

Now of course, when I am quite an old man, my memory isn’t so good any

more. But whenever I am in doubt and have to hesitate and think, I

always ask Polynesia, the parrot.

That wonderful bird (she is now nearly two hundred and fifty years old)

sits on the top of my desk, usually humming sailor songs to herself,

while I write this book. And, as every one who ever met her knows,

Polynesia’s memory is the most marvelous memory in the world. If

there is any happening I am not quite sure of, she is always able to

put me right, to tell me exactly how it took place, who was there and

everything about it. In fact sometimes I almost think I ought to say

that this book was written by Polynesia instead of me.

Very well then, I will begin. And first of all I must tell you

something about myself and how I came to meet the Doctor.

PART I

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

THE COBBLER’S SON

MY name was Tommy Stubbins, son of Jacob Stubbins, the cobbler of

Puddleby-on-the-Marsh; and I was nine and a half years old. At that

time Puddleby was only quite a small town. A river ran through the

middle of it; and over this river there was a very old stone bridge,

called Kingsbridge, which led you from the market-place on one side to

the churchyard on the other.

Sailing-ships came up this river from the sea and anchored near the

bridge. I used to go down and watch the sailors unloading the ships

upon the river-wall. The sailors sang strange songs as they pulled upon

the ropes; and I learned these songs by heart. And I would sit on the

river-wall with my feet dangling over the water and sing with the men,

pretending to myself that I too was a sailor.

For I longed always to sail away with those brave ships when they

turned their backs on Puddleby Church and went creeping down the river

again, across the wide lonely marshes to the sea. I longed to go with

them out into the world to seek my fortune in foreign lands—Africa,

India, China and Peru! When they got round the bend in the river and

the water was hidden from view, you could still see their huge brown

sails towering over the roofs of the town, moving onward slowly—like

some gentle giants that walked among the houses without noise. What

strange things would they have seen, I wondered, when next they came

back to anchor at Kingsbridge! And, dreaming of the lands I had never

seen, I’d sit on there, watching till they were out of sight.

Three great friends I had in Puddleby in those days. One was Joe, the

mussel-man, who lived in a tiny hut by the edge of the water under the

bridge. This old man was simply marvelous at making things. I never saw

a man so clever with his hands. He used to mend my toy ships for me

which I sailed upon the river; he built windmills out of packing-cases

and barrel-staves; and he could make the most wonderful kites from old

umbrellas.

Joe would sometimes take me in his mussel-boat, and when the tide

was running out we would paddle down the river as far as the edge of

the sea to get mussels and lobsters to sell. And out there on the

cold lonely marshes we would see wild geese flying, and curlews and

redshanks and many other kinds of seabirds that live among the samfire

and the long grass of the great salt fen. And as we crept up the river

in the evening, when the tide had turned, we would see the lights

on Kingsbridge twinkle in the dusk, reminding us of tea-time and warm

fires.

[Illustration: “I would sit on the river-wall with my feet dangling

over the water”]

Another friend I had was Matthew Mugg, the cat’s-meat-man. He was a

funny old person with a bad squint. He looked rather awful but he

was really quite nice to talk to. He knew everybody in Puddleby;

and he knew all the dogs and all the cats. In those times being a

cat’s-meat-man was a regular business. And you could see one nearly any

day going through the streets with a wooden tray full of pieces of meat

stuck on skewers crying, “Meat! M-E-A-T!” People paid him to give this

meat to their cats and dogs instead of feeding them on dog-biscuits or

the scraps from the table.

I enjoyed going round with old Matthew and seeing the cats and dogs

come running to the garden-gates whenever they heard his call.

Sometimes he let me give the meat to the animals myself; and I thought

this was great fun. He knew a lot about dogs and he would tell me

the names of the different kinds as we went through the town. He had

several dogs of his own; one, a whippet, was a very fast runner, and

Matthew used to win prizes with her at the Saturday coursing races;

another, a terrier, was a fine ratter. The cat’s-meat-man used to make

a business of rat-catching for the millers and farmers as well as his

other trade of selling cat’s-meat.

My third great friend was Luke the Hermit. But of him I will tell you

more later on.

I did not go to school; because my father was not rich enough to send

me. But I was extremely fond of animals. So I used to spend my time

collecting birds’ eggs and butterflies, fishing in the river, rambling

through the countryside after blackberries and mushrooms and helping

the mussel-man mend his nets.

Yes, it was a very pleasant life I lived in those days long ago—though

of course I did not think so then. I was nine and a half years old;

and, like all boys, I wanted to grow up—not knowing how well off I was

with no cares and nothing to worry me. Always I longed for the time

when I should be allowed to leave my father’s house, to take passage

in one of those brave ships, to sail down the river through the misty

marshes to the sea—out into the world to seek my fortune.

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST

ONE early morning in the Springtime, when I was wandering among the

hills at the back of the town, I happened to come upon a hawk with a

squirrel in its claws. It was standing on a rock and the squirrel was

fighting very hard for its life. The hawk was so frightened when I came

upon it suddenly like this, that it dropped the poor creature and flew

away. I picked the squirrel up and found that two of its legs were

badly hurt. So I carried it in my arms back to the town.

When I came to the bridge I went into the mussel-man’s hut and asked

him if he could do anything for it. Joe put on his spectacles and

examined it carefully. Then he shook his head.

“Yon crittur’s got a broken leg,” he said—“and another badly cut an’

all. I can mend you your boats, Tom, but I haven’t the tools nor the

learning to make a broken squirrel seaworthy. This is a job for a

surgeon—and for a right smart one an’ all. There be only one man I know

who could save yon crittur’s life. And that’s John Dolittle.”

“Who is John Dolittle?” I asked. “Is he a vet?”

“No,” said the mussel-man. “He’s no vet. Doctor Dolittle is a

nacheralist.”

“What’s a nacheralist?”

“A nacheralist,” said Joe, putting away his glasses and starting to

fill his pipe, “is a man who knows all about animals and butterflies

and plants and rocks an’ all. John Dolittle is a very great

nacheralist. I’m surprised you never heard of him—and you daft over

animals. He knows a whole lot about shellfish—that I know from my own

knowledge. He’s a quiet man and don’t talk much; but there’s folks who

do say he’s the greatest nacheralist in the world.”

“Where does he live?” I asked.

“Over on the Oxenthorpe Road, t’other side the town. Don’t know just

which house it is, but ’most anyone ’cross there could tell you, I

reckon. Go and see him. He’s a great man.”

So I thanked the mussel-man, took up my squirrel again and started off

towards the Oxenthorpe Road.

The first thing I heard as I came into the market-place was some one

calling “Meat! M-E-A-T!”

“There’s Matthew Mugg,” I said to myself. “He’ll know where this Doctor

lives. Matthew knows everyone.”

So I hurried across the market-place and caught him up.

“Matthew,” I said, “do you know Doctor Dolittle?”

“Do I know John Dolittle!” said he. “Well, I should think I do! I know

him as well as I know my own wife—better, I sometimes think. He’s a

great man—a very great man.”

“Can you show me where he lives?” I asked. “I want to take this

squirrel to him. It has a broken leg.”

“Certainly,” said the cat’s-meat-man. “I’ll be going right by his house

directly. Come along and I’ll show you.”

So off we went together.

“Oh, I’ve known John Dolittle for years and years,” said Matthew as we

made our way out of the market-place. “But I’m pretty sure he ain’t

home just now. He’s away on a voyage. But he’s liable to be back any

day. I’ll show you his house and then you’ll know where to find him.”

All the way down the Oxenthorpe Road Matthew hardly stopped talking

about his great friend, Doctor John Dolittle—“M. D.” He talked so much

that he forgot all about calling out “Meat!” until we both suddenly

noticed that we had a whole procession of dogs following us patiently.

“Where did the Doctor go to on this voyage?” I asked as Matthew handed

round the meat to them.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered. “Nobody never knows where he goes,

nor when he’s going, nor when he’s coming back. He lives all alone

except for his pets. He’s made some great voyages and some wonderful

discoveries. Last time he came back he told me he’d found a tribe of

Red Indians in the Pacific Ocean—lived on two islands, they did. The

husbands lived on one island and the wives lived on the other. Sensible

people, some of them savages. They only met once a year, when the

husbands came over to visit the wives for a great feast—Christmas-time,

most likely. Yes, he’s a wonderful man is the Doctor. And as for

animals, well, there ain’t no one knows as much about ’em as what he

does.”

“How did he get to know so much about animals?” I asked.

The cat’s-meat-man stopped and leant down to whisper in my ear.

“_He talks their language_,” he said in a hoarse, mysterious voice.

“The animals’ language?” I cried.

“Why certainly,” said Matthew. “All animals have some kind of a

language. Some sorts talk more than others; some only speak in

sign-language, like deaf-and-dumb. But the Doctor, he understands them

all—birds as well as animals. We keep it a secret though, him and me,

because folks only laugh at you when you speak of it. Why, he can

even write animal-language. He reads aloud to his pets. He’s wrote

history-books in monkey-talk, poetry in canary language and comic

songs for magpies to sing. It’s a fact. He’s now busy learning the

language of the shellfish. But he says it’s hard work—and he has caught

some terrible colds, holding his head under water so much. He’s a great

man.”

“He certainly must be,” I said. “I do wish he were home so I could meet

him.”

“Well, there’s his house, look,” said the cat’s-meat-man—“that little

one at the bend in the road there—the one high up—like it was sitting

on the wall above the street.”

We were now come beyond the edge of the town. And the house that

Matthew pointed out was quite a small one standing by itself. There

seemed to be a big garden around it; and this garden was much higher

than the road, so you had to go up a flight of steps in the wall before

you reached the front gate at the top. I could see that there were many

fine fruit trees in the garden, for their branches hung down over the

wall in places. But the wall was so high I could not see anything else.

When we reached the house Matthew went up the steps to the front gate

and I followed him. I thought he was going to go into the garden; but

the gate was locked. A dog came running down from the house; and he

took several pieces of meat which the cat’s-meat-man pushed through

the bars of the gate, and some paper bags full of corn and bran. I

noticed that this dog did not stop to eat the meat, as any ordinary

dog would have done, but he took all the things back to the house and

disappeared. He had a curious wide collar round his neck which looked

as though it were made of brass or something. Then we came away.

“The Doctor isn’t back yet,” said Matthew, “or the gate wouldn’t be

locked.”

“What were all those things in paper-bags you gave the dog?” I asked.

“Oh, those were provisions,” said Matthew—“things for the animals to

eat. The Doctor’s house is simply full of pets. I give the things to

the dog, while the Doctor’s away, and the dog gives them to the other

animals.”

“And what was that curious collar he was wearing round his neck?”

“That’s a solid gold dog-collar,” said Matthew. “It was given to him

when he was with the Doctor on one of his voyages long ago. He saved a

man’s life.”

“How long has the Doctor had him?” I asked.

“Oh, a long time. Jip’s getting pretty old now. That’s why the Doctor

doesn’t take him on his voyages any more. He leaves him behind to take

care of the house. Every Monday and Thursday I bring the food to the

gate here and give it him through the bars. He never lets any one come

inside the garden while the Doctor’s away—not even me, though he knows

me well. But you’ll always be able to tell if the Doctor’s back or

not—because if he is, the gate will surely be open.”

So I went off home to my father’s house and put my squirrel to bed in

an old wooden box full of straw. And there I nursed him myself and took

care of him as best I could till the time should come when the Doctor

would return. And every day I went to the little house with the big

garden on the edge of the town and tried the gate to see if it were

locked. Sometimes the dog, Jip, would come down to the gate to meet

me. But though he always wagged his tail and seemed glad to see me, he

never let me come inside the garden.

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

THE DOCTOR’S HOME

ONE Monday afternoon towards the end of April my father asked me to

take some shoes which he had mended to a house on the other side of the

town. They were for a Colonel Bellowes who was very particular.

I found the house and rang the bell at the front door. The Colonel

opened it, stuck out a very red face and said, “Go round to the

tradesmen’s entrance—go to the back door.” Then he slammed the door

shut.

I felt inclined to throw the shoes into the middle of his flower-bed.

But I thought my father might be angry, so I didn’t. I went round

to the back door, and there the Colonel’s wife met me and took the

shoes from me. She looked a timid little woman and had her hands all

over flour as though she were making bread. She seemed to be terribly

afraid of her husband whom I could still hear stumping round the house

somewhere, grunting indignantly because I had come to the front door.

Then she asked me in a whisper if I would have a bun and a glass of

milk. And I said, “Yes, please.”

After I had eaten the bun and milk, I thanked the Colonel’s wife and

came away. Then I thought that before I went home I would go and see

if the Doctor had come back yet. I had been to his house once already

that morning. But I thought I’d just like to go and take another look.

My squirrel wasn’t getting any better and I was beginning to be worried

about him.

So I turned into the Oxenthorpe Road and started off towards the

Doctor’s house. On the way I noticed that the sky was clouding over and

that it looked as though it might rain.

I reached the gate and found it still locked. I felt very discouraged.

I had been coming here every day for a week now. The dog, Jip, came to

the gate and wagged his tail as usual, and then sat down and watched me

closely to see that I didn’t get in.

I began to fear that my squirrel would die before the Doctor came back.

I turned away sadly, went down the steps on to the road and turned

towards home again.

I wondered if it were supper-time yet. Of course I had no watch of my

own, but I noticed a gentleman coming towards me down the road; and

when he got nearer I saw it was the Colonel out for a walk. He was all

wrapped up in smart overcoats and mufflers and bright-colored gloves.

It was not a very cold day but he had so many clothes on he looked

like a pillow inside a roll of blankets. I asked him if he would please

tell me the time.

He stopped, grunted and glared down at me—his red face growing redder

still; and when he spoke it sounded like the cork coming out of a

gingerbeer-bottle.

“Do you imagine for one moment,” he spluttered, “that I am going to get

myself all unbuttoned just to tell a little boy like you _the time_!”

And he went stumping down the street, grunting harder than ever.

I stood still a moment looking after him and wondering how old I would

have to be, to have him go to the trouble of getting his watch out. And

then, all of a sudden, the rain came down in torrents.

I have never seen it rain so hard. It got dark, almost like night. The

wind began to blow; the thunder rolled; the lightning flashed, and in a

moment the gutters of the road were flowing like a river. There was no

place handy to take shelter, so I put my head down against the driving

wind and started to run towards home.

I hadn’t gone very far when my head bumped into something soft and

I sat down suddenly on the pavement. I looked up to see whom I had

run into. And there in front of me, sitting on the wet pavement like

myself, was a little round man with a very kind face. He wore a shabby

high hat and in his hand he had a small black bag.

“I’m very sorry,” I said. “I had my head down and I didn’t see you

coming.”

To my great surprise, instead of getting angry at being knocked down,

the little man began to laugh.

“You know this reminds me,” he said, “of a time once when I was in

India. I ran full tilt into a woman in a thunderstorm. But she was

carrying a pitcher of molasses on her head and I had treacle in my hair

for weeks afterwards—the flies followed me everywhere. I didn’t hurt

you, did I?”

“No,” I said. “I’m all right.”

“It was just as much my fault as it was yours, you know,” said the

little man. “I had my head down too—but look here, we mustn’t sit

talking like this. You must be soaked. I know I am. How far have you

got to go?”

“My home is on the other side of the town,” I said, as we picked

ourselves up.

“My Goodness, but that _was_ a wet pavement!” said he. “And I declare

it’s coming down worse than ever. Come along to my house and get dried.

A storm like this can’t last.”

He took hold of my hand and we started running back down the road

together. As we ran I began to wonder who this funny little man could

be, and where he lived. I was a perfect stranger to him, and yet

he was taking me to his own home to get dried. Such a change, after

the old red-faced Colonel who had refused even to tell me the time!

Presently we stopped.

“Here we are,” he said.

I looked up to see where we were and found myself back at the foot

of the steps leading to the little house with the big garden! My new

friend was already running up the steps and opening the gate with some

keys he took from his pocket.

“Surely,” I thought, “this cannot be the great Doctor Dolittle himself!”

I suppose after hearing so much about him I had expected some one very

tall and strong and marvelous. It was hard to believe that this funny

little man with the kind smiling face could be really he. Yet here he

was, sure enough, running up the steps and opening the very gate which

I had been watching for so many days!

The dog, Jip, came rushing out and started jumping up on him and

barking with happiness. The rain was splashing down heavier than ever.

“Are you Doctor Dolittle?” I shouted as we sped up the short

garden-path to the house.

“Yes, I’m Doctor Dolittle,” said he, opening the front door with the

same bunch of keys. “Get in! Don’t bother about wiping your feet. Never

mind the mud. Take it in with you. Get in out of the rain!”

I popped in, he and Jip following. Then he slammed the door to behind

us.

The storm had made it dark enough outside; but inside the house,

with the door closed, it was as black as night. Then began the most

extraordinary noise that I have ever heard. It sounded like all sorts

and kinds of animals and birds calling and squeaking and screeching

at the same time. I could hear things trundling down the stairs and

hurrying along passages. Somewhere in the dark a duck was quacking,

a cock was crowing, a dove was cooing, an owl was hooting, a lamb

was bleating and Jip was barking. I felt birds’ wings fluttering

and fanning near my face. Things kept bumping into my legs and

nearly upsetting me. The whole front hall seemed to be filling up

with animals. The noise, together with the roaring of the rain, was

tremendous; and I was beginning to grow a little bit scared when I felt

the Doctor take hold of my arm and shout into my ear.

“Don’t be alarmed. Don’t be frightened. These are just some of my pets.

I’ve been away three months and they are glad to see me home again.

Stand still where you are till I strike a light. My Gracious, what a

storm!—Just listen to that thunder!”

So there I stood in the pitch-black dark, while all kinds of animals

which I couldn’t see chattered and jostled around me. It was a curious

and a funny feeling. I had often wondered, when I had looked in from

the front gate, what Doctor Dolittle would be like and what the funny

little house would have inside it. But I never imagined it would be

anything like this. Yet somehow after I had felt the Doctor’s hand upon

my arm I was not frightened, only confused. It all seemed like some

queer dream; and I was beginning to wonder if I was really awake, when

I heard the Doctor speaking again:

“My blessed matches are all wet. They won’t strike. Have you got any?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” I called back.

“Never mind,” said he. “Perhaps Dab-Dab can raise us a light somewhere.”

Then the Doctor made some funny clicking noises with his tongue and I

heard some one trundle up the stairs again and start moving about in

the rooms above.

Then we waited quite a while without anything happening.

“Will the light be long in coming?” I asked. “Some animal is sitting on

my foot and my toes are going to sleep.”

“No, only a minute,” said the Doctor. “She’ll be back in a minute.”

And just then I saw the first glimmerings of a light around the landing

above. At once all the animals kept quiet.

[Illustration: “And in her right foot she carried a lighted candle!”]

“I thought you lived alone,” I said to the Doctor.

“So I do,” said he. “It is Dab-Dab who is bringing the light.”

I looked up the stairs trying to make out who was coming. I could not

see around the landing but I heard the most curious footstep on the

upper flight. It sounded like some one hopping down from one step to

the other, as though he were using only one leg.

As the light came lower, it grew brighter and began to throw strange

jumping shadows on the walls.

“Ah—at last!” said the Doctor. “Good old Dab-Dab!”

And then I thought I _really_ must be dreaming. For there, craning her

neck round the bend of the landing, hopping down the stairs on one leg,

came a spotless white duck. And in her right foot she carried a lighted

candle!

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

THE WIFF-WAFF

WHEN at last I could look around me I found that the hall was indeed

simply full of animals. It seemed to me that almost every kind of

creature from the countryside must be there: a pigeon, a white rat, an

owl, a badger, a jackdaw—there was even a small pig, just in from the

rainy garden, carefully wiping his feet on the mat while the light from

the candle glistened on his wet pink back.

The Doctor took the candlestick from the duck and turned to me.

“Look here,” he said: “you must get those wet clothes off—by the way,

what is your name?”

“Tommy Stubbins,” I said.

“Oh, are you the son of Jacob Stubbins, the shoemaker?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Excellent bootmaker, your father,” said the Doctor. “You see these?”

and he held up his right foot to show me the enormous boots he was

wearing. “Your father made me those boots four years ago, and I’ve

been wearing them ever since—perfectly wonderful boots—Well now, look

here, Stubbins. You’ve got to change those wet things—and quick. Wait

a moment till I get some more candles lit, and then we’ll go upstairs

and find some dry clothes. You’ll have to wear an old suit of mine till

we can get yours dry again by the kitchen-fire.”

So presently when more candles had been lighted round different parts

of the house, we went upstairs; and when we had come into a bedroom the

Doctor opened a big wardrobe and took out two suits of old clothes.

These we put on. Then we carried our wet ones down to the kitchen and

started a fire in the big chimney. The coat of the Doctor’s which I was

wearing was so large for me that I kept treading on my own coat-tails

while I was helping to fetch the wood up from the cellar. But very

soon we had a huge big fire blazing up the chimney and we hung our wet

clothes around on chairs.

“Now let’s cook some supper,” said the Doctor.—“You’ll stay and have

supper with me, Stubbins, of course?”

Already I was beginning to be very fond of this funny little man who

called me “Stubbins,” instead of “Tommy” or “little lad” (I did so

hate to be called “little lad”!) This man seemed to begin right away

treating me as though I were a grown-up friend of his. And when he

asked me to stop and have supper with him I felt terribly proud and

happy. But I suddenly remembered that I had not told my mother that I

would be out late. So very sadly I answered,

“Thank you very much. I would like to stay, but I am afraid that my

mother will begin to worry and wonder where I am if I don’t get back.”

“Oh, but my dear Stubbins,” said the Doctor, throwing another log of

wood on the fire, “your clothes aren’t dry yet. You’ll have to wait

for them, won’t you? By the time they are ready to put on we will have

supper cooked and eaten—Did you see where I put my bag?”

“I think it is still in the hall,” I said. “I’ll go and see.”

I found the bag near the front door. It was made of black leather and

looked very, very old. One of its latches was broken and it was tied up

round the middle with a piece of string.

“Thank you,” said the Doctor when I brought it to him.

“Was that bag all the luggage you had for your voyage?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the Doctor, as he undid the piece of string. “I don’t

believe in a lot of baggage. It’s such a nuisance. Life’s too short to

fuss with it. And it isn’t really necessary, you know—Where _did_ I put

those sausages?”

The Doctor was feeling about inside the bag. First he brought out a

loaf of new bread. Next came a glass jar with a curious metal top to

it. He held this up to the light very carefully before he set it down

upon the table; and I could see that there was some strange little

water-creature swimming about inside. At last the Doctor brought out a

pound of sausages.

“Now,” he said, “all we want is a frying-pan.”

We went into the scullery and there we found some pots and pans hanging

against the wall. The Doctor took down the frying-pan. It was quite

rusty on the inside.

“Dear me, just look at that!” said he. “That’s the worst of being away

so long. The animals are very good and keep the house wonderfully clean

as far as they can. Dab-Dab is a perfect marvel as a housekeeper.

But some things of course they can’t manage. Never mind, we’ll soon

clean it up. You’ll find some silver-sand down there, under the sink,

Stubbins. Just hand it up to me, will you?”

In a few moments we had the pan all shiny and bright and the sausages

were put over the kitchen-fire and a beautiful frying smell went all

through the house.

While the Doctor was busy at the cooking I went and took another look

at the funny little creature swimming about in the glass jar.

“What is this animal?” I asked.

“Oh that,” said the Doctor, turning round—“that’s a Wiff-Waff. Its

full name is _hippocampus pippitopitus_. But the natives just call

it a Wiff-Waff—on account of the way it waves its tail, swimming,

I imagine. That’s what I went on this last voyage for, to get that.

You see I’m very busy just now trying to learn the language of the

shellfish. They _have_ languages, of that I feel sure. I can talk

a little shark language and porpoise dialect myself. But what I

particularly want to learn now is shellfish.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, you see, some of the shellfish are the oldest kind of animals in

the world that we know of. We find their shells in the rocks—turned to

stone—thousands of years old. So I feel quite sure that if I could only

get to talk their language, I should be able to learn a whole lot about

what the world was like ages and ages and ages ago. You see?”

“But couldn’t some of the other animals tell you as well?”

“I don’t think so,” said the Doctor, prodding the sausages with a fork.

“To be sure, the monkeys I knew in Africa some time ago were very

helpful in telling me about bygone days; but they only went back a

thousand years or so. No, I am certain that the oldest history in the

world is to be had from the shellfish—and from them only. You see most

of the other animals that were alive in those very ancient times have

now become extinct.”

“Have you learned any shellfish language yet?” I asked.

“No. I’ve only just begun. I wanted this particular kind of a pipe-fish

because he is half a shellfish and half an ordinary fish. I went all

the way to the Eastern Mediterranean after him. But I’m very much

afraid he isn’t going to be a great deal of help to me. To tell you the

truth, I’m rather disappointed in his appearance. He doesn’t _look_

very intelligent, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t,” I agreed.

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “The sausages are done to a turn. Come

along—hold your plate near and let me give you some.”

Then we sat down at the kitchen-table and started a hearty meal.

It was a wonderful kitchen, that. I had many meals there afterwards

and I found it a better place to eat in than the grandest dining-room

in the world. It was so cozy and home-like and warm. It was so handy

for the food too. You took it right off the fire, hot, and put it on

the table and ate it. And you could watch your toast toasting at the

fender and see it didn’t burn while you drank your soup. And if you

had forgotten to put the salt on the table, you didn’t have to get up

and go into another room to fetch it; you just reached round and took

the big wooden box off the dresser behind you. Then the fireplace—the

biggest fireplace you ever saw—was like a room in itself. You could get

right inside it even when the logs were burning and sit on the wide

seats either side and roast chestnuts after the meal was over—or listen

to the kettle singing, or tell stories, or look at picture-books by the

light of the fire. It was a marvelous kitchen. It was like the Doctor,

comfortable, sensible, friendly and solid.

While we were gobbling away, the door suddenly opened and in marched

the duck, Dab-Dab, and the dog, Jip, dragging sheets and pillow-cases

behind them over the clean tiled floor. The Doctor, seeing how

surprised I was, explained:

“They’re just going to air the bedding for me in front of the fire.

Dab-Dab is a perfect treasure of a housekeeper; she never forgets

anything. I had a sister once who used to keep house for me (poor, dear

Sarah! I wonder how she’s getting on—I haven’t seen her in many years).

But she wasn’t nearly as good as Dab-Dab. Have another sausage?”

The Doctor turned and said a few words to the dog and duck in some

strange talk and signs. They seemed to understand him perfectly.

“Can you talk in squirrel language?” I asked.

“Oh yes. That’s quite an easy language,” said the Doctor. “You could

learn that yourself without a great deal of trouble. But why do you

ask?”

“Because I have a sick squirrel at home,” I said. “I took it away from

a hawk. But two of its legs are badly hurt and I wanted very much to

have you see it, if you would. Shall I bring it to-morrow?”

“Well, if its leg is badly broken I think I had better see it to-night.

It may be too late to do much; but I’ll come home with you and take a

look at it.”

So presently we felt the clothes by the fire and mine were found to be

quite dry. I took them upstairs to the bedroom and changed, and when I

came down the Doctor was all ready waiting for me with his little black

bag full of medicines and bandages.

“Come along,” he said. “The rain has stopped now.”

Outside it had grown bright again and the evening sky was all red with

the setting sun; and thrushes were singing in the garden as we opened

the gate to go down on to the road.

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

POLYNESIA

“I THINK your house is the most interesting house I was ever in,” I

said as we set off in the direction of the town. “May I come and see

you again to-morrow?”

“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Come any day you like. To-morrow I’ll

show you the garden and my private zoo.”

“Oh, have you a zoo?” I asked.

“Yes,” said he. “The larger animals are too big for the house, so I

keep them in a zoo in the garden. It is not a very big collection but

it is interesting in its way.”

“It must be splendid,” I said, “to be able to talk all the languages of

the different animals. Do you think I could ever learn to do it?”

“Oh surely,” said the Doctor—“with practise. You have to be very

patient, you know. You really ought to have Polynesia to start you. It

was she who gave me my first lessons.”

“Who is Polynesia?” I asked.

“Polynesia was a West African parrot I had. She isn’t with me any more

now,” said the Doctor sadly.

“Why—is she dead?”

“Oh no,” said the Doctor. “She is still living, I hope. But when we

reached Africa she seemed so glad to get back to her own country. She

wept for joy. And when the time came for me to come back here I had not

the heart to take her away from that sunny land—although, it is true,

she did offer to come. I left her in Africa—Ah well! I have missed her

terribly. She wept again when we left. But I think I did the right

thing. She was one of the best friends I ever had. It was she who

first gave me the idea of learning the animal languages and becoming

an animal doctor. I often wonder if she remained happy in Africa, and

whether I shall ever see her funny, old, solemn face again—Good old

Polynesia!—A most extraordinary bird—Well, well!”

Just at that moment we heard the noise of some one running behind us;

and turning round we saw Jip the dog rushing down the road after us,

as fast as his legs could bring him. He seemed very excited about

something, and as soon as he came up to us, he started barking and

whining to the Doctor in a peculiar way. Then the Doctor too seemed to

get all worked up and began talking and making queer signs to the dog.

At length he turned to me, his face shining with happiness.

“Polynesia has come back!” he cried. “Imagine it. Jip says she has just

arrived at the house. My! And it’s five years since I saw her—Excuse

me a minute.”

He turned as if to go back home. But the parrot, Polynesia, was already

flying towards us. The Doctor clapped his hands like a child getting

a new toy; while the swarm of sparrows in the roadway fluttered,

gossiping, up on to the fences, highly scandalized to see a gray and

scarlet parrot skimming down an English lane.

On she came, straight on to the Doctor’s shoulder, where she

immediately began talking a steady stream in a language I could not

understand. She seemed to have a terrible lot to say. And very soon

the Doctor had forgotten all about me and my squirrel and Jip and

everything else; till at length the bird clearly asked him something

about me.

“Oh excuse me, Stubbins!” said the Doctor. “I was so interested

listening to my old friend here. We must get on and see this squirrel

of yours—Polynesia, this is Thomas Stubbins.”

The parrot, on the Doctor’s shoulder, nodded gravely towards me and

then, to my great surprise, said quite plainly in English,

“How do you do? I remember the night you were born. It was a terribly

cold winter. You were a very ugly baby.”

“Stubbins is anxious to learn animal language,” said the Doctor. “I was

just telling him about you and the lessons you gave me when Jip ran up

and told us you had arrived.”

“Well,” said the parrot, turning to me, “I may have started the Doctor

learning but I never could have done even that, if he hadn’t first

taught me to understand what _I_ was saying when I spoke English.

You see, many parrots can talk like a person, but very few of them

understand what they are saying. They just say it because—well, because

they fancy it is smart or, because they know they will get crackers

given them.”

By this time we had turned and were going towards my home with Jip

running in front and Polynesia still perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.

The bird chattered incessantly, mostly about Africa; but now she spoke

in English, out of politeness to me.

“How is Prince Bumpo getting on?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked me,” said Polynesia. “I almost forgot to tell

you. What do you think?—_Bumpo is in England!_”

“In England!—You don’t say!” cried the Doctor. “What on earth is he

doing here?”

“His father, the king, sent him here to a place called—er—Bullford, I

think it was—to study lessons.”

“Bullford!—Bullford!” muttered the Doctor. “I never heard of the

place—Oh, you mean Oxford.”

“Yes, that’s the place—Oxford,” said Polynesia “I knew it had cattle in

it somewhere. Oxford—that’s the place he’s gone to.”

“Well, well,” murmured the Doctor. “Fancy Bumpo studying at

Oxford—Well, well!”

“There were great doings in Jolliginki when he left. He was scared to

death to come. He was the first man from that country to go abroad. He

thought he was going to be eaten by white cannibals or something. You

know what those niggers are—that ignorant! Well!—But his father made

him come. He said that all the black kings were sending their sons to

Oxford now. It was the fashion, and he would have to go. Bumpo wanted

to bring his six wives with him. But the king wouldn’t let him do that

either. Poor Bumpo went off in tears—and everybody in the palace was

crying too. You never heard such a hullabaloo.”

“Do you know if he ever went back in search of The Sleeping Beauty?”

asked the Doctor.

“Oh yes,” said Polynesia—“the day after you left. And a good thing for

him he did: the king got to know about his helping you to escape; and

he was dreadfully wild about it.”

“And The Sleeping Beauty?—did he ever find her?”

“Well, he brought back something which he _said_ was The Sleeping

Beauty. Myself, I think it was an albino niggeress. She had red hair

and the biggest feet you ever saw. But Bumpo was no end pleased with

her and finally married her amid great rejoicings. The feastings lasted

seven days. She became his chief wife and is now known out there as the

Crown-Princess Bum_pah_—you accent the last syllable.”

“And tell me, did he remain white?”

“Only for about three months,” said the parrot. “After that his face

slowly returned to its natural color. It was just as well. He was so

conspicuous in his bathing-suit the way he was, with his face white and

the rest of him black.”

“And how is Chee-Chee getting on?—Chee-Chee,” added the Doctor in

explanation to me, “was a pet monkey I had years ago. I left him too in

Africa when I came away.”

“Well,” said Polynesia frowning,—“Chee-Chee is not entirely happy. I

saw a good deal of him the last few years. He got dreadfully homesick

for you and the house and the garden. It’s funny, but I was just the

same way myself. You remember how crazy I was to get back to the dear

old land? And Africa _is_ a wonderful country—I don’t care what anybody

says. Well, I thought I was going to have a perfectly grand time. But

somehow—I don’t know—after a few weeks it seemed to get tiresome. I

just couldn’t seem to settle down. Well, to make a long story short,

one night I made up my mind that I’d come back here and find you. So

I hunted up old Chee-Chee and told him about it. He said he didn’t

blame me a bit—felt exactly the same way himself. Africa was so deadly

quiet after the life we had led with you. He missed the stories you

used to tell us out of your animal books—and the chats we used to have

sitting round the kitchen-fire on winter nights. The animals out there

were very nice to us and all that. But somehow the dear kind creatures

seemed a bit stupid. Chee-Chee said he had noticed it too. But I

suppose it wasn’t they who had changed; it was we who were different.

When I left, poor old Chee-Chee broke down and cried. He said he felt

as though his only friend were leaving him—though, as you know, he has

simply millions of relatives there. He said it didn’t seem fair that I

should have wings to fly over here any time I liked, and him with no

way to follow me. But mark my words, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if

he found a way to come—some day. He’s a smart lad, is Chee-Chee.”

At this point we arrived at my home. My father’s shop was closed and

the shutters were up; but my mother was standing at the door looking

down the street.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stubbins,” said the Doctor. “It is my fault your

son is so late. I made him stay to supper while his clothes were

drying. He was soaked to the skin; and so was I. We ran into one

another in the storm and I insisted on his coming into my house for

shelter.”

“I was beginning to get worried about him,” said my mother. “I am

thankful to you, Sir, for looking after him so well and bringing him

home.”

“Don’t mention it—don’t mention it,” said the Doctor. “We have had a

very interesting chat.”

“Who might it be that I have the honor of addressing?” asked my mother

staring at the gray parrot perched on the Doctor’s shoulder.

“Oh, I’m John Dolittle. I dare say your husband will remember me. He

made me some very excellent boots about four years ago. They really

are splendid,” added the Doctor, gazing down at his feet with great

satisfaction.

“The Doctor has come to cure my squirrel, Mother,” said I. “He knows

all about animals.”

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor, “not all, Stubbins, not all about them by

any means.”

“It is very kind of you to come so far to look after his pet,” said my

mother. “Tom is always bringing home strange creatures from the woods

and the fields.”

“Is he?” said the Doctor. “Perhaps he will grow up to be a naturalist

some day. Who knows?”

“Won’t you come in?” asked my mother. “The place is a little untidy

because I haven’t finished the spring cleaning yet. But there’s a nice

fire burning in the parlor.”

“Thank you!” said the Doctor. “What a charming home you have!”

And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat,

the great man passed into the house.

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL

INSIDE we found my father busy practising on the flute beside the fire.

This he always did, every evening, after his work was over.

The Doctor immediately began talking to him about flutes and piccolos

and bassoons; and presently my father said,

“Perhaps you perform upon the flute yourself, Sir. Won’t you play us a

tune?”

“Well,” said the Doctor, “it is a long time since I touched the

instrument. But I would like to try. May I?”

Then the Doctor took the flute from my father and played and played and

played. It was wonderful. My mother and father sat as still as statues,

staring up at the ceiling as though they were in church; and even I,

who didn’t bother much about music except on the mouth-organ—even I

felt all sad and cold and creepy and wished I had been a better boy.

“Oh I think that was just beautiful!” sighed my mother when at length

the Doctor stopped.

“You are a great musician, Sir,” said my father, “a very great

musician. Won’t you please play us something else?”

“Why certainly,” said the Doctor—“Oh, but look here, I’ve forgotten all

about the squirrel.”

“I’ll show him to you,” I said. “He is upstairs in my room.”

So I led the Doctor to my bedroom at the top of the house and showed

him the squirrel in the packing-case filled with straw.

The animal, who had always seemed very much afraid of me—though I had

tried hard to make him feel at home, sat up at once when the Doctor

came into the room and started to chatter. The Doctor chattered back

in the same way and the squirrel when he was lifted up to have his leg

examined, appeared to be rather pleased than frightened.

I held a candle while the Doctor tied the leg up in what he called

“splints,” which he made out of match-sticks with his pen-knife.

“I think you will find that his leg will get better now in a very short

time,” said the Doctor closing up his bag. “Don’t let him run about for

at least two weeks yet, but keep him in the open air and cover him up

with dry leaves if the nights get cool. He tells me he is rather lonely

here, all by himself, and is wondering how his wife and children are

getting on. I have assured him you are a man to be trusted; and I will

send a squirrel who lives in my garden to find out how his family are

and to bring him news of them. He must be kept cheerful at all costs.

Squirrels are naturally a very cheerful, active race. It is very hard

for them to lie still doing nothing. But you needn’t worry about him.

He will be all right.”

Then we went back again to the parlor and my mother and father kept him

playing the flute till after ten o’clock.

Although my parents both liked the Doctor tremendously from the first

moment that they saw him, and were very proud to have him come and play

to us (for we were really terribly poor) they did not realize then

what a truly great man he was one day to become. Of course now, when

almost everybody in the whole world has heard about Doctor Dolittle and

his books, if you were to go to that little house in Puddleby where

my father had his cobbler’s shop you would see, set in the wall over

the old-fashioned door, a stone with writing on it which says: “JOHN

DOLITTLE, THE FAMOUS NATURALIST, PLAYED THE FLUTE IN THIS HOUSE IN THE

YEAR 1839.”

I often look back upon that night long, long ago. And if I close my

eyes and think hard I can see that parlor just as it was then: a funny

little man in coat-tails, with a round kind face, playing away on the

flute in front of the fire; my mother on one side of him and my father

on the other, holding their breath and listening with their eyes shut;

myself, with Jip, squatting on the carpet at his feet, staring into the

coals; and Polynesia perched on the mantlepiece beside his shabby high

hat, gravely swinging her head from side to side in time to the music.

I see it all, just as though it were before me now.

And then I remember how, after we had seen the Doctor out at the front

door, we all came back into the parlor and talked about him till it

was still later; and even after I did go to bed (I had never stayed up

so late in my life before) I dreamed about him and a band of strange

clever animals that played flutes and fiddles and drums the whole night

through.

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

SHELLFISH TALK

THE next morning, although I had gone to bed so late the night before,

I was up frightfully early. The first sparrows were just beginning to

chirp sleepily on the slates outside my attic window when I jumped out

of bed and scrambled into my clothes.

I could hardly wait to get back to the little house with the big

garden—to see the Doctor and his private zoo. For the first time in

my life I forgot all about breakfast; and creeping down the stairs on

tip-toe, so as not to wake my mother and father, I opened the front

door and popped out into the empty, silent street.

When I got to the Doctor’s gate I suddenly thought that perhaps it was

too early to call on any one: and I began to wonder if the Doctor would

be up yet. I looked into the garden. No one seemed to be about. So I

opened the gate quietly and went inside.

As I turned to the left to go down a path between some hedges, I heard

a voice quite close to me say,

“Good morning. How early you are!”

I turned around, and there, sitting on the top of a privet hedge, was

the gray parrot, Polynesia.

“Good morning,” I said. “I suppose I am rather early. Is the Doctor

still in bed?”

“Oh no,” said Polynesia. “He has been up an hour and a half. You’ll

find him in the house somewhere. The front door is open. Just push it

and go in. He is sure to be in the kitchen cooking breakfast—or working

in his study. Walk right in. I am waiting to see the sun rise. But

upon my word I believe it’s forgotten to rise. It is an awful climate,

this. Now if we were in Africa the world would be blazing with sunlight

at this hour of the morning. Just see that mist rolling over those

cabbages. It is enough to give you rheumatism to look at it. Beastly

climate—Beastly! Really I don’t know why anything but frogs ever stay

in England—Well, don’t let me keep you. Run along and see the Doctor.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll go and look for him.”

When I opened the front door I could smell bacon frying, so I made my

way to the kitchen. There I discovered a large kettle boiling away over

the fire and some bacon and eggs in a dish upon the hearth. It seemed

to me that the bacon was getting all dried up with the heat. So I

pulled the dish a little further away from the fire and went on through

the house looking for the Doctor.

I found him at last in the Study. I did not know then that it was

called the Study. It was certainly a very interesting room, with

telescopes and microscopes and all sorts of other strange things which

I did not understand about but wished I did. Hanging on the walls were

pictures of animals and fishes and strange plants and collections of

birds’ eggs and sea-shells in glass cases.

The Doctor was standing at the main table in his dressing-gown. At

first I thought he was washing his face. He had a square glass box

before him full of water. He was holding one ear under the water while

he covered the other with his left hand. As I came in he stood up.

“Good morning, Stubbins,” said he. “Going to be a nice day, don’t

you think? I’ve just been listening to the Wiff-Waff. But he is very

disappointing—very.”

“Why?” I said. “Didn’t you find that he has any language at all?”

“Oh yes,” said the Doctor, “he has a language. But it is such a poor

language—only a few words, like ‘yes’ and ‘no’—‘hot’ and ‘cold.’ That’s

all he can say. It’s very disappointing. You see he really belongs

to two different families of fishes. I thought he was going to be

tremendously helpful—Well, well!”

“I suppose,” said I, “that means he hasn’t very much sense—if his

language is only two or three words?”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Possibly it is the kind of life he leads.

You see, they are very rare now, these Wiff-Waffs—very rare and very

solitary. They swim around in the deepest parts of the ocean entirely

by themselves—always alone. So I presume they really don’t need to talk

much.”

“Perhaps some kind of a bigger shellfish would talk more,” I said.

“After all, he is very small, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “that’s true. Oh I have no doubt that there

are shellfish who are good talkers—not the least doubt. But the big

shellfish—the biggest of them, are so hard to catch. They are only to

be found in the deep parts of the sea; and as they don’t swim very

much, but just crawl along the floor of the ocean most of the time,

they are very seldom taken in nets. I do wish I could find some way of

going down to the bottom of the sea. I could learn a lot if I could

only do that. But we are forgetting all about breakfast—Have you had

breakfast yet, Stubbins?”

I told the Doctor that I had forgotten all about it and he at once led

the way into the kitchen.

“Yes,” he said, as he poured the hot water from the kettle into the

tea-pot, “if a man could only manage to get right down to the bottom

of the sea, and live there a while, he would discover some wonderful

things—things that people have never dreamed of.”

“But men do go down, don’t they?” I asked—“divers and people like that?”

“Oh yes, to be sure,” said the Doctor. “Divers go down. I’ve been down

myself in a diving-suit, for that matter. But my!—they only go where

the sea is shallow. Divers can’t go down where it is really deep. What

I would like to do is to go down to the great depths—where it is miles

deep—Well, well, I dare say I shall manage it some day. Let me give you

another cup of tea.”

_THE EIGHTH CHAPTER_

ARE YOU A GOOD NOTICER?

JUST at that moment Polynesia came into the room and said something to

the Doctor in bird language. Of course I did not understand what it

was. But the Doctor at once put down his knife and fork and left the

room.

“You know it is an awful shame,” said the parrot as soon as the Doctor

had closed the door. “Directly he comes back home, all the animals

over the whole countryside get to hear of it and every sick cat and

mangy rabbit for miles around comes to see him and ask his advice. Now

there’s a big fat hare outside at the back door with a squawking baby.

Can she see the Doctor, please!—Thinks it’s going to have convulsions.

Stupid little thing’s been eating Deadly Nightshade again, I suppose.

The animals are _so_ inconsiderate at times—especially the mothers.

They come round and call the Doctor away from his meals and wake him

out of his bed at all hours of the night. I don’t know how he stands

it—really I don’t. Why, the poor man never gets any peace at all! I’ve

told him time and again to have special hours for the animals to come.

But he is so frightfully kind and considerate. He never refuses to see

them if there is anything really wrong with them. He says the urgent

cases must be seen at once.”

“Why don’t some of the animals go and see the other doctors?” I asked.

“Oh Good Gracious!” exclaimed the parrot, tossing her head scornfully.

“Why, there aren’t any other animal-doctors—not real doctors. Oh of

course there _are_ those vet persons, to be sure. But, bless you,

they’re no good. You see, they can’t understand the animals’ language;

so how can you expect them to be any use? Imagine yourself, or your

father, going to see a doctor who could not understand a word you

say—nor even tell you in your own language what you must do to get

well! Poof!—those vets! They’re that stupid, you’ve no idea!—Put the

Doctor’s bacon down by the fire, will you?—to keep hot till he comes

back.”

“Do you think I would ever be able to learn the language of the

animals?” I asked, laying the plate upon the hearth.

“Well, it all depends,” said Polynesia. “Are you clever at lessons?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, feeling rather ashamed. “You see, I’ve

never been to school. My father is too poor to send me.”

“Well,” said the parrot, “I don’t suppose you have really missed

much—to judge from what _I_ have seen of school-boys. But listen: are

you a good noticer?—Do you notice things well? I mean, for instance,

supposing you saw two cock-starlings on an apple-tree, and you only

took one good look at them—would you be able to tell one from the other

if you saw them again the next day?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never tried.”

“Well that,” said Polynesia, brushing some crumbs off the corner

of the table with her left foot—“that is what you call powers of

observation—noticing the small things about birds and animals: the way

they walk and move their heads and flip their wings; the way they sniff

the air and twitch their whiskers and wiggle their tails. You have to

notice all those little things if you want to learn animal language.

For you see, lots of the animals hardly talk at all with their tongues;

they use their breath or their tails or their feet instead. That is

because many of them, in the olden days when lions and tigers were more

plentiful, were afraid to make a noise for fear the savage creatures

heard them. Birds, of course, didn’t care; for they always had wings to

fly away with. But that is the first thing to remember: being a good

noticer is terribly important in learning animal language.”

“It sounds pretty hard,” I said.

“You’ll have to be very patient,” said Polynesia. “It takes a long

time to say even a few words properly. But if you come here often

I’ll give you a few lessons myself. And once you get started you’ll

be surprised how fast you get on. It would indeed be a good thing if

you could learn. Because then you could do some of the work for the

Doctor—I mean the easier work, like bandaging and giving pills. Yes,

yes, that’s a good idea of mine. ’Twould be a great thing if the poor

man could get some help—and some rest. It is a scandal the way he

works. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to help him a great

deal—That is, if you are really interested in animals.”

[Illustration: “‘Being a good noticer is terribly important’”]

“Oh, I’d love that!” I cried. “Do you think the Doctor would let me?”

“Certainly,” said Polynesia—“as soon as you have learned something

about doctoring. I’ll speak of it to him myself—Sh! I hear him coming.

Quick—bring his bacon back on to the table.”

_THE NINTH CHAPTER_

THE GARDEN OF DREAMS

WHEN breakfast was over the Doctor took me out to show me the garden.

Well, if the house had been interesting, the garden was a hundred

times more so. Of all the gardens I have ever seen that was the most

delightful, the most fascinating. At first you did not realize how big

it was. You never seemed to come to the end of it. When at last you

were quite sure that you had seen it all, you would peer over a hedge,

or turn a corner, or look up some steps, and there was a whole new part

you never expected to find.

It had everything—everything a garden can have, or ever has had. There

were wide, wide lawns with carved stone seats, green with moss. Over

the lawns hung weeping-willows, and their feathery bough-tips brushed

the velvet grass when they swung with the wind. The old flagged paths

had high, clipped, yew hedges either side of them, so that they looked

like the narrow streets of some old town; and through the hedges,

doorways had been made; and over the doorways were shapes like vases

and peacocks and half-moons all trimmed out of the living trees. There

was a lovely marble fish-pond with golden carp and blue water-lilies in

it and big green frogs. A high brick wall alongside the kitchen garden

was all covered with pink and yellow peaches ripening in the sun. There

was a wonderful great oak, hollow in the trunk, big enough for four men

to hide inside. Many summer-houses there were, too—some of wood and

some of stone; and one of them was full of books to read. In a corner,

among some rocks and ferns, was an outdoor fire-place, where the Doctor

used to fry liver and bacon when he had a notion to take his meals in

the open air. There was a couch as well on which he used to sleep, it

seems, on warm summer nights when the nightingales were singing at

their best; it had wheels on it so it could be moved about under any

tree they sang in. But the thing that fascinated me most of all was a

tiny little tree-house, high up in the top branches of a great elm,

with a long rope ladder leading to it. The Doctor told me he used it

for looking at the moon and the stars through a telescope.

It was the kind of a garden where you could wander and explore for days

and days—always coming upon something new, always glad to find the old

spots over again. That first time that I saw the Doctor’s garden I was

so charmed by it that I felt I would like to live in it—always and

always—and never go outside of it again. For it had everything within

its walls to give happiness, to make living pleasant—to keep the heart

at peace. It was the Garden of Dreams.

One peculiar thing I noticed immediately I came into it; and that was

what a lot of birds there were about. Every tree seemed to have two or

three nests in it. And heaps of other wild creatures appeared to be

making themselves at home there, too. Stoats and tortoises and dormice

seemed to be quite common, and not in the least shy. Toads of different

colors and sizes hopped about the lawn as though it belonged to them.

Green lizards (which were very rare in Puddleby) sat up on the stones

in the sunlight and blinked at us. Even snakes were to be seen.

“You need not be afraid of them,” said the Doctor, noticing that I

started somewhat when a large black snake wiggled across the path right

in front of us. “These fellows are not poisonous. They do a great deal

of good in keeping down many kinds of garden-pests. I play the flute to

them sometimes in the evening. They love it. Stand right up on their

tails and carry on no end. Funny thing, their taste for music.”

“Why do all these animals come and live here?” I asked. “I never saw a

garden with so many creatures in it.”

“Well, I suppose it’s because they get the kind of food they like; and

nobody worries or disturbs them. And then, of course, they know me. And

if they or their children get sick I presume they find it handy to be

living in a doctor’s garden—Look! You see that sparrow on the sundial,

swearing at the blackbird down below? Well, he has been coming here

every summer for years. He comes from London. The country sparrows

round about here are always laughing at him. They say he chirps with

such a Cockney accent. He is a most amusing bird—very brave but very

cheeky. He loves nothing better than an argument, but he always ends it

by getting rude. He is a real city bird. In London he lives around St.

Paul’s Cathedral. ‘Cheapside,’ we call him.”

“Are all these birds from the country round here?” I asked.

“Most of them,” said the Doctor. “But a few rare ones visit me every

year who ordinarily never come near England at all. For instance,

that handsome little fellow hovering over the snapdragon there, he’s

a Ruby-throated Humming-bird. Comes from America. Strictly speaking,

he has no business in this climate at all. It is too cool. I make him

sleep in the kitchen at night. Then every August, about the last week

of the month, I have a Purple Bird-of-Paradise come all the way from

Brazil to see me. She is a very great swell. Hasn’t arrived yet of

course. And there are a few others, foreign birds from the tropics

mostly, who drop in on me in the course of the summer months. But come,

I must show you the zoo.”

_THE TENTH CHAPTER_

THE PRIVATE ZOO

I DID not think there could be anything left in that garden which we

had not seen. But the Doctor took me by the arm and started off down a

little narrow path and after many windings and twistings and turnings

we found ourselves before a small door in a high stone wall. The Doctor

pushed it open.

Inside was still another garden. I had expected to find cages with

animals inside them. But there were none to be seen. Instead there were

little stone houses here and there all over the garden; and each house

had a window and a door. As we walked in, many of these doors opened

and animals came running out to us evidently expecting food.

“Haven’t the doors any locks on them?” I asked the Doctor.

“Oh yes,” he said, “every door has a lock. But in my zoo the doors open

from the inside, not from the out. The locks are only there so the

animals can go and shut themselves _in_ any time they want to get away

from the annoyance of other animals or from people who might come here.

Every animal in this zoo stays here because he likes it, not because

he is made to.”

“They all look very happy and clean,” I said. “Would you mind telling

me the names of some of them?”

“Certainly. Well now: that funny-looking thing with plates on his back,

nosing under the brick over there, is a South American armadillo. The

little chap talking to him is a Canadian woodchuck. They both live in

those holes you see at the foot of the wall. The two little beasts

doing antics in the pond are a pair of Russian minks—and that reminds

me: I must go and get them some herrings from the town before noon—it

is early-closing to-day. That animal just stepping out of his house is

an antelope, one of the smaller South African kinds. Now let us move to

the other side of those bushes there and I will show you some more.”

“Are those deer over there?” I asked.

“_Deer!_” said the Doctor. “Where do you mean?”

“Over there,” I said, pointing—“nibbling the grass border of the bed.

There are two of them.”

“Oh, that,” said the Doctor with a smile. “That isn’t two animals:

that’s one animal with two heads—the only two-headed animal in the

world. It’s called the ‘pushmi-pullyu.’ I brought him from Africa. He’s

very tame—acts as a kind of night-watchman for my zoo. He only sleeps

with one head at a time, you see—very handy—the other head stays awake

all night.”

“Have you any lions or tigers?” I asked as we moved on.

“No,” said the Doctor. “It wouldn’t be possible to keep them here—and

I wouldn’t keep them even if I could. If I had my way, Stubbins, there

wouldn’t be a single lion or tiger in captivity anywhere in the world.

They never take to it. They’re never happy. They never settle down.

They are always thinking of the big countries they have left behind.

You can see it in their eyes, dreaming—dreaming always of the great

open spaces where they were born; dreaming of the deep, dark jungles

where their mothers first taught them how to scent and track the deer.

And what are they given in exchange for all this?” asked the Doctor,

stopping in his walk and growing all red and angry—“What are they given

in exchange for the glory of an African sunrise, for the twilight

breeze whispering through the palms, for the green shade of the matted,

tangled vines, for the cool, big-starred nights of the desert, for the

patter of the waterfall after a hard day’s hunt? What, I ask you, are

they given in exchange for _these_? Why, a bare cage with iron bars; an

ugly piece of dead meat thrust in to them once a day; and a crowd of

fools to come and stare at them with open mouths!—No, Stubbins. Lions

and tigers, the Big Hunters, should never, never be seen in zoos.”

The Doctor seemed to have grown terribly serious—almost sad. But

suddenly his manner changed again and he took me by the arm with his

same old cheerful smile.

“But we haven’t seen the butterfly-houses yet—nor the aquariums. Come

along. I am very proud of my butterfly-houses.”

Off we went again and came presently into a hedged enclosure. Here I

saw several big huts made of fine wire netting, like cages. Inside the

netting all sorts of beautiful flowers were growing in the sun, with

butterflies skimming over them. The Doctor pointed to the end of one of

the huts where little boxes with holes in them stood in a row.

“Those are the hatching-boxes,” said he. “There I put the different

kinds of caterpillars. And as soon as they turn into butterflies and

moths they come out into these flower-gardens to feed.”

“Do butterflies have a language?” I asked.

“Oh I fancy they have,” said the Doctor—“and the beetles too. But so

far I haven’t succeeded in learning much about insect languages. I have

been too busy lately trying to master the shellfish-talk. I mean to

take it up though.”

At that moment Polynesia joined us and said, “Doctor, there are two

guinea-pigs at the back door. They say they have run away from the boy

who kept them because they didn’t get the right stuff to eat. They want

to know if you will take them in.”

“All right,” said the Doctor. “Show them the way to the zoo. Give them

the house on the left, near the gate—the one the black fox had. Tell

them what the rules are and give them a square meal—Now, Stubbins, we

will go on to the aquariums. And first of all I must show you my big,

glass, sea-water tank where I keep the shellfish.”

_THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER_

MY SCHOOLMASTER, POLYNESIA

WELL, there were not many days after that, you may be sure, when I did

not come to see my new friend. Indeed I was at his house practically

all day and every day. So that one evening my mother asked me jokingly

why I did not take my bed over there and live at the Doctor’s house

altogether.

After a while I think I got to be quite useful to the Doctor, feeding

his pets for him; helping to make new houses and fences for the zoo;

assisting with the sick animals that came; doing all manner of odd jobs

about the place. So that although I enjoyed it all very much (it was

indeed like living in a new world) I really think the Doctor would have

missed me if I had not come so often.

And all this time Polynesia came with me wherever I went, teaching me

bird language and showing me how to understand the talking signs of the

animals. At first I thought I would never be able to learn at all—it

seemed so difficult. But the old parrot was wonderfully patient with

me—though I could see that occasionally she had hard work to keep her

temper.

Soon I began to pick up the strange chatter of the birds and to

understand the funny talking antics of the dogs. I used to practise

listening to the mice behind the wainscot after I went to bed, and

watching the cats on the roofs and pigeons in the market-square of

Puddleby.

And the days passed very quickly—as they always do when life is

pleasant; and the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months; and

soon the roses in the Doctor’s garden were losing their petals and

yellow leaves lay upon the wide green lawn. For the summer was nearly

gone.

One day Polynesia and I were talking in the library. This was a fine

long room with a grand mantlepiece and the walls were covered from the

ceiling to the floor with shelves full of books: books of stories,

books on gardening, books about medicine, books of travel; these I

loved—and especially the Doctor’s great atlas with all its maps of the

different countries of the world.

This afternoon Polynesia was showing me the books about animals which

John Dolittle had written himself.

“My!” I said, “what a lot of books the Doctor has—all the way around

the room! Goodness! I wish I could read! It must be tremendously

interesting. Can you read, Polynesia?”

“Only a little,” said she. “Be careful how you turn those pages—don’t

tear them. No, I really don’t get time enough for reading—much. That

letter there is a _k_ and this is a _b_.”

“What does this word under the picture mean?” I asked.

“Let me see,” she said, and started spelling it out.

“B-A-B-O-O-N—that’s _Monkey_. Reading isn’t nearly as hard as it looks,

once you know the letters.”

“Polynesia,” I said, “I want to ask you something very important.”

“What is it, my boy?” said she, smoothing down the feathers of her

right wing. Polynesia often spoke to me in a very patronizing way. But

I did not mind it from her. After all, she was nearly two hundred years

old; and I was only ten.

“Listen,” I said, “my mother doesn’t think it is right that I come

here for so many meals. And I was going to ask you: supposing I did a

whole lot more work for the Doctor—why couldn’t I come and live here

altogether? You see, instead of being paid like a regular gardener or

workman, I would get my bed and meals in exchange for the work I did.

What do you think?”

“You mean you want to be a proper assistant to the Doctor, is that it?”

“Yes. I suppose that’s what you call it,” I answered. “You know you

said yourself that you thought I could be very useful to him.”

“Well”—she thought a moment—“I really don’t see why not. But is this

what you want to be when you grow up, a naturalist?”

“Yes,” I said, “I have made up my mind. I would sooner be a naturalist

than anything else in the world.”

“Humph!—Let’s go and speak to the Doctor about it,” said Polynesia.

“He’s in the next room—in the study. Open the door very gently—he may

be working and not want to be disturbed.”

I opened the door quietly and peeped in. The first thing I saw was an

enormous black retriever dog sitting in the middle of the hearth-rug

with his ears cocked up, listening to the Doctor who was reading aloud

to him from a letter.

“What _is_ the Doctor doing?” I asked Polynesia in a whisper.

“Oh, the dog has had a letter from his mistress and he has brought it

to the Doctor to read for him. That’s all. He belongs to a funny little

girl called Minnie Dooley, who lives on the other side of the town. She

has pigtails down her back. She and her brother have gone away to the

seaside for the Summer; and the old retriever is heart-broken while the

children are gone. So they write letters to him—in English of course.

And as the old dog doesn’t understand them, he brings them here,

and the Doctor turns them into dog language for him. I think Minnie

must have written that she is coming back—to judge from the dog’s

excitement. Just look at him carrying on!”

Indeed the retriever seemed to be suddenly overcome with joy. As the

Doctor finished the letter the old dog started barking at the top of

his voice, wagging his tail wildly and jumping about the study. He

took the letter in his mouth and ran out of the room snorting hard and

mumbling to himself.

“He’s going down to meet the coach,” whispered Polynesia. “That dog’s

devotion to those children is more than I can understand. You should

see Minnie! She’s the most conceited little minx that ever walked. She

squints too.”

_THE TWELFTH CHAPTER_

MY GREAT IDEA

PRESENTLY the Doctor looked up and saw us at the door.

“Oh—come in, Stubbins,” said he, “did you wish to speak to me? Come in

and take a chair.”

“Doctor,” I said, “I want to be a naturalist—like you—when I grow up.”

“Oh you do, do you?” murmured the Doctor. “Humph!—Well!—Dear me!—You

don’t say!—Well, well! Have you er—have you spoken to your mother and

father about it?”

“No, not yet,” I said. “I want you to speak to them for me. You would

do it better. I want to be your helper—your assistant, if you’ll have

me. Last night my mother was saying that she didn’t consider it right

for me to come here so often for meals. And I’ve been thinking about it

a good deal since. Couldn’t we make some arrangement—couldn’t I work

for my meals and sleep here?”

“But my dear Stubbins,” said the Doctor, laughing, “you are quite

welcome to come here for three meals a day all the year round. I’m only

too glad to have you. Besides, you do do a lot of work, as it is. I’ve

often felt that I ought to pay you for what you do—But what arrangement

was it that you thought of?”

“Well, I thought,” said I, “that perhaps you would come and see my

mother and father and tell them that if they let me live here with you

and work hard, that you will teach me to read and write. You see my

mother is awfully anxious to have me learn reading and writing. And

besides, I couldn’t be a proper naturalist without, could I?”

“Oh, I don’t know so much about that,” said the Doctor. “It is nice, I

admit, to be able to read and write. But naturalists are not all alike,

you know. For example: this young fellow Charles Darwin that people are

talking about so much now—he’s a Cambridge graduate—reads and writes

very well. And then Cuvier—he used to be a tutor. But listen, the

greatest naturalist of them all doesn’t even know how to write his own

name nor to read the _A B C_.”

“Who is he?” I asked.

“He is a mysterious person,” said the Doctor—“a very mysterious person.

His name is Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow. He is a Red Indian.”

“Have you ever seen him?” I asked.

“No,” said the Doctor, “I’ve never seen him. No white man has ever met

him. I fancy Mr. Darwin doesn’t even know that he exists. He lives

almost entirely with the animals and with the different tribes of

Indians—usually somewhere among the mountains of Peru. Never stays long

in one place. Goes from tribe to tribe, like a sort of Indian tramp.”

“How do you know so much about him?” I asked—“if you’ve never even seen

him?”

“The Purple Bird-of-Paradise,” said the Doctor—“she told me all about

him. She says he is a perfectly marvelous naturalist. I got her to take

a message to him for me last time she was here. I am expecting her back

any day now. I can hardly wait to see what answer she has brought from

him. It is already almost the last week of August. I do hope nothing

has happened to her on the way.”

“But why do the animals and birds come to you when they are sick?” I

said—“Why don’t they go to him, if he is so very wonderful?”

“It seems that my methods are more up to date,” said the Doctor. “But

from what the Purple Bird-of-Paradise tells me, Long Arrow’s knowledge

of natural history must be positively tremendous. His specialty is

botany—plants and all that sort of thing. But he knows a lot about

birds and animals too. He’s very good on bees and beetles—But now

tell me, Stubbins, are you quite sure that you really want to be a

naturalist?”

“Yes,” said I, “my mind is made up.”

“Well you know, it isn’t a very good profession for making money. Not

at all, it isn’t. Most of the good naturalists don’t make any money

whatever. All they do is _spend_ money, buying butterfly-nets and

cases for birds’ eggs and things. It is only now, after I have been a

naturalist for many years, that I am beginning to make a little money

from the books I write.”

“I don’t care about money,” I said. “I want to be a naturalist.

Won’t you please come and have dinner with my mother and father next

Thursday—I told them I was going to ask you—and then you can talk to

them about it. You see, there’s another thing: if I’m living with you,

and sort of belong to your house and business, I shall be able to come

with you next time you go on a voyage.”

“Oh, I see,” said he, smiling. “So you want to come on a voyage with

me, do you?—Ah hah!”

“I want to go on all your voyages with you. It would be much easier

for you if you had someone to carry the butterfly-nets and note-books.

Wouldn’t it now?”

For a long time the Doctor sat thinking, drumming on the desk with his

fingers, while I waited, terribly impatiently, to see what he was going

to say.

At last he shrugged his shoulders and stood up.

“Well, Stubbins,” said he, “I’ll come and talk it over with you and

your parents next Thursday. And—well, we’ll see. We’ll see. Give your

mother and father my compliments and thank them for their invitation,

will you?”

Then I tore home like the wind to tell my mother that the Doctor had

promised to come.

_THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER_

A TRAVELER ARRIVES

THE next day I was sitting on the wall of the Doctor’s garden after

tea, talking to Dab-Dab. I had now learned so much from Polynesia that

I could talk to most birds and some animals without a great deal of

difficulty. I found Dab-Dab a very nice, old, motherly bird—though not

nearly so clever and interesting as Polynesia. She had been housekeeper

for the Doctor many years now.

Well, as I was saying, the old duck and I were sitting on the flat top

of the garden-wall that evening, looking down into the Oxenthorpe Road

below. We were watching some sheep being driven to market in Puddleby;

and Dab-Dab had just been telling me about the Doctor’s adventures in

Africa. For she had gone on a voyage with him to that country long ago.

Suddenly I heard a curious distant noise down the road, towards the

town. It sounded like a lot of people cheering. I stood up on the wall

to see if I could make out what was coming. Presently there appeared

round a bend a great crowd of school-children following a very ragged,

curious-looking woman.

“What in the world can it be?” cried Dab-Dab.

The children were all laughing and shouting. And certainly the woman

they were following was most extraordinary. She had very long arms and

the most stooping shoulders I have ever seen. She wore a straw hat on

the side of her head with poppies on it; and her skirt was so long for

her it dragged on the ground like a ball-gown’s train. I could not see

anything of her face because of the wide hat pulled over her eyes. But

as she got nearer to us and the laughing of the children grew louder,

I noticed that her hands were very dark in color, and hairy, like a

witch’s.

Then all of a sudden Dab-Dab at my side startled me by crying out in a

loud voice,

“Why, it’s Chee-Chee!—Chee-Chee come back at last! How dare those

children tease him! I’ll give the little imps something to laugh at!”

And she flew right off the wall down into the road and made straight

for the children, squawking away in a most terrifying fashion and

pecking at their feet and legs. The children made off down the street

back to the town as hard as they could run.

The strange-looking figure in the straw hat stood gazing after them a

moment and then came wearily up to the gate. It didn’t bother to undo

the latch but just climbed right over the gate as though it were

something in the way. And then I noticed that it took hold of the bars

with its feet, so that it really had four hands to climb with. But it

was only when I at last got a glimpse of the face under the hat that I

could be really sure it was a monkey.

[Illustration: A traveler arrives]

Chee-Chee—for it was he—frowned at me suspiciously from the top of the

gate, as though he thought I was going to laugh at him like the other

boys and girls. Then he dropped into the garden on the inside and

immediately started taking off his clothes. He tore the straw hat in

two and threw it down into the road. Then he took off his bodice and

skirt, jumped on them savagely and began kicking them round the front

garden.

Presently I heard a screech from the house, and out flew Polynesia,

followed by the Doctor and Jip.

“Chee-Chee!—Chee-Chee!” shouted the parrot. “You’ve come at last! I

always told the Doctor you’d find a way. How ever did you do it?”

They all gathered round him shaking him by his four hands, laughing and

asking him a million questions at once. Then they all started back for

the house.

“Run up to my bedroom, Stubbins,” said the Doctor, turning to me.

“You’ll find a bag of peanuts in the small left-hand drawer of the

bureau. I have always kept them there in case he might come back

unexpectedly some day. And wait a minute—see if Dab-Dab has any bananas

in the pantry. Chee-Chee hasn’t had a banana, he tells me, in two

months.”

When I came down again to the kitchen I found everybody listening

attentively to the monkey who was telling the story of his journey from

Africa.

_THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER_

CHEE-CHEE’S VOYAGE

It seems that after Polynesia had left, Chee-Chee had grown more

homesick than ever for the Doctor and the little house in Puddleby. At

last he had made up his mind that by hook or crook he would follow her.

And one day, going down to the seashore, he saw a lot of people, black

and white, getting on to a ship that was coming to England. He tried to

get on too. But they turned him back and drove him away. And presently

he noticed a whole big family of funny people passing on to the ship.

And one of the children in this family reminded Chee-Chee of a cousin

of his with whom he had once been in love. So he said to himself, “That

girl looks just as much like a monkey as I look like a girl. If I

could only get some clothes to wear I might easily slip on to the ship

amongst these families, and people would take me for a girl. Good idea!”

So he went off to a town that was quite close, and hopping in through

an open window he found a skirt and bodice lying on a chair. They

belonged to a fashionable black lady who was taking a bath. Chee-Chee

put them on. Next he went back to the seashore, mingled with the crowd

there and at last sneaked safely on to the big ship. Then he thought he

had better hide, for fear people might look at him too closely. And he

stayed hidden all the time the ship was sailing to England—only coming

out at night, when everybody was asleep, to find food.

When he reached England and tried to get off the ship, the sailors saw

at last that he was only a monkey dressed up in girl’s clothes; and

they wanted to keep him for a pet. But he managed to give them the

slip; and once he was on shore, he dived into the crowd and got away.

But he was still a long distance from Puddleby and had to come right

across the whole breadth of England.

He had a terrible time of it. Whenever he passed through a town all the

children ran after him in a crowd, laughing; and often silly people

caught hold of him and tried to stop him, so that he had to run up

lamp-posts and climb to chimney-pots to escape from them. At night

he used to sleep in ditches or barns or anywhere he could hide; and

he lived on the berries he picked from the hedges and the cob-nuts

that grew in the copses. At length, after many adventures and narrow

squeaks, he saw the tower of Puddleby Church and he knew that at last

he was near his old home.

When Chee-Chee had finished his story he ate six bananas without

stopping and drank a whole bowlful of milk.

“My!” he said, “why wasn’t I born with wings, like Polynesia, so I

could fly here? You’ve no idea how I grew to hate that hat and skirt.

I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life. All the way from Bristol

here, if the wretched hat wasn’t falling off my head or catching in the

trees, those beastly skirts were tripping me up and getting wound round

everything. What on earth do women wear those things for? Goodness, I

was glad to see old Puddleby this morning when I climbed over the hill

by Bellaby’s farm!”

“Your bed on top of the plate-rack in the scullery is all ready for

you,” said the Doctor. “We never had it disturbed in case you might

come back.”

“Yes,” said Dab-Dab, “and you can have the old smoking-jacket of the

Doctor’s which you used to use as a blanket, in case it is cold in the

night.”

“Thanks,” said Chee-Chee. “It’s good to be back in the old house again.

Everything’s just the same as when I left—except the clean roller-towel

on the back of the door there—that’s new—Well, I think I’ll go to bed

now. I need sleep.”

Then we all went out of the kitchen into the scullery and watched

Chee-Chee climb the plate-rack like a sailor going up a mast. On the

top, he curled himself up, pulled the old smoking-jacket over him, and

in a minute he was snoring peacefully.

“Good old Chee-Chee!” whispered the Doctor. “I’m glad he’s back.”

“Yes—good old Chee-Chee!” echoed Dab-Dab and Polynesia.

Then we all tip-toed out of the scullery and closed the door very

gently behind us.

_THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER_

I BECOME A DOCTOR’S ASSISTANT

WHEN Thursday evening came there was great excitement at our house.

My mother had asked me what were the Doctor’s favorite dishes, and I

had told her: spare ribs, sliced beet-root, fried bread, shrimps and

treacle-tart. To-night she had them all on the table waiting for him;

and she was now fussing round the house to see if everything was tidy

and in readiness for his coming.

At last we heard a knock upon the door, and of course it was I who got

there first to let him in.

The Doctor had brought his own flute with him this time. And after

supper was over (which he enjoyed very much) the table was cleared away

and the washing-up left in the kitchen-sink till the next day. Then the

Doctor and my father started playing duets.

They got so interested in this that I began to be afraid that they

would never come to talking over my business. But at last the Doctor

said,

“Your son tells me that he is anxious to become a naturalist.”

And then began a long talk which lasted far into the night. At first

both my mother and father were rather against the idea—as they had been

from the beginning. They said it was only a boyish whim, and that I

would get tired of it very soon. But after the matter had been talked

over from every side, the Doctor turned to my father and said,

“Well now, supposing, Mr. Stubbins, that your son came to me for two

years—that is, until he is twelve years old. During those two years he

will have time to see if he is going to grow tired of it or not. Also

during that time, I will promise to teach him reading and writing and

perhaps a little arithmetic as well. What do you say to that?”

“I don’t know,” said my father, shaking his head. “You are very kind

and it is a handsome offer you make, Doctor. But I feel that Tommy

ought to be learning some trade by which he can earn his living later

on.”

Then my mother spoke up. Although she was nearly in tears at the

prospect of my leaving her house while I was still so young, she

pointed out to my father that this was a grand chance for me to get

learning.

“Now Jacob,” she said, “you know that many lads in the town have been

to the Grammar School till they were fourteen or fifteen years old.

Tommy can easily spare these two years for his education; and if he

learns no more than to read and write, the time will not be lost.

Though goodness knows,” she added, getting out her handkerchief to cry,

“the house will seem terribly empty when he’s gone.”

“I will take care that he comes to see you, Mrs. Stubbins,” said the

Doctor—“every day, if you like. After all, he will not be very far

away.”

Well, at length my father gave in; and it was agreed that I was to live

with the Doctor and work for him for two years in exchange for learning

to read and write and for my board and lodging.

“Of course,” added the Doctor, “while I have money I will keep Tommy in

clothes as well. But money is a very irregular thing with me; sometimes

I have some, and then sometimes I haven’t.”

“You are very good, Doctor,” said my mother, drying her tears. “It

seems to me that Tommy is a very fortunate boy.”

And then, thoughtless, selfish little imp that I was, I leaned over and

whispered in the Doctor’s ear,

“Please don’t forget to say something about the voyages.”

“Oh, by the way,” said John Dolittle, “of course occasionally my work

requires me to travel. You will have no objection, I take it, to your

son’s coming with me?”

My poor mother looked up sharply, more unhappy and anxious than ever

at this new turn; while I stood behind the Doctor’s chair, my heart

thumping with excitement, waiting for my father’s answer.

“No,” he said slowly after a while. “If we agree to the other

arrangement I don’t see that we’ve the right to make any objection to

that.”

Well, there surely was never a happier boy in the world than I was at

that moment. My head was in the clouds. I trod on air. I could scarcely

keep from dancing round the parlor. At last the dream of my life was to

come true! At last I was to be given a chance to seek my fortune, to

have adventures! For I knew perfectly well that it was now almost time

for the Doctor to start upon another voyage. Polynesia had told me that

he hardly ever stayed at home for more than six months at a stretch.

Therefore he would be surely going again within a fortnight. And I—I,

Tommy Stubbins, would go with him! Just to think of it!—to cross the

Sea, to walk on foreign shores, to roam the World!

[Illustration]

PART TWO

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

THE CREW OF “THE CURLEW”

FROM that time on of course my position in the town was very different.

I was no longer a poor cobbler’s son. I carried my nose in the air as

I went down the High Street with Jip in his gold collar at my side;

and snobbish little boys who had despised me before because I was not

rich enough to go to school now pointed me out to their friends and

whispered, “You see him? He’s a doctor’s assistant—and only ten years

old!”

But their eyes would have opened still wider with wonder if they had

but known that I and the dog that was with me could talk to one another.

Two days after the Doctor had been to our house to dinner he told me

very sadly that he was afraid that he would have to give up trying to

learn the language of the shellfish—at all events for the present.

“I’m very discouraged, Stubbins, very. I’ve tried the mussels and

the clams, the oysters and the whelks, cockles and scallops; seven

different kinds of crabs and all the lobster family. I think I’ll

leave it for the present and go at it again later on.”

“What will you turn to now?” I asked.

“Well, I rather thought of going on a voyage, Stubbins. It’s quite

a time now since I’ve been away. And there is a great deal of work

waiting for me abroad.”

“When shall we start?” I asked.

“Well, first I shall have to wait till the Purple Bird-of-Paradise gets

here. I must see if she has any message for me from Long Arrow. She’s

late. She should have been here ten days ago. I hope to goodness she’s

all right.”

“Well, hadn’t we better be seeing about getting a boat?” I said. “She

is sure to be here in a day or so; and there will be lots of things to

do to get ready in the mean time, won’t there?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the Doctor. “Suppose we go down and see your friend

Joe, the mussel-man. He will know about boats.”

“I’d like to come too,” said Jip.

“All right, come along,” said the Doctor, and off we went.

Joe said yes, he had a boat—one he had just bought—but it needed three

people to sail her. We told him we would like to see it anyway.

So the mussel-man took us off a little way down the river and showed

us the neatest, prettiest, little vessel that ever was built. She was

called _The Curlew_. Joe said he would sell her to us cheap. But the

trouble was that the boat needed three people, while we were only two.

“Of course I shall be taking Chee-Chee,” said the Doctor. “But although

he is very quick and clever, he is not as strong as a man. We really

ought to have another person to sail a boat as big as that.”

“I know of a good sailor, Doctor,” said Joe—“a first-class seaman who

would be glad of the job.”

“No, thank you, Joe,” said Doctor Dolittle. “I don’t want any seamen.

I couldn’t afford to hire them. And then they hamper me so, seamen do,

when I’m at sea. They’re always wanting to do things the proper way;

and I like to do them _my_ way—Now let me see: who could we take with

us?”

“There’s Matthew Mugg, the cat’s-meat-man,” I said.

“No, he wouldn’t do. Matthew’s a very nice fellow, but he talks too

much—mostly about his rheumatism. You have to be frightfully particular

whom you take with you on long voyages.”

“How about Luke the Hermit?” I asked.

“That’s a good idea—splendid—if he’ll come. Let’s go and ask him right

away.”

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

LUKE THE HERMIT

THE Hermit was an old friend of ours, as I have already told you. He

was a very peculiar person. Far out on the marshes he lived in a little

bit of a shack—all alone except for his brindle bulldog. No one knew

where he came from—not even his name. Just “Luke the Hermit” folks

called him. He never came into the town; never seemed to want to see

or talk to people. His dog, Bob, drove them away if they came near his

hut. When you asked anyone in Puddleby who he was or why he lived out

in that lonely place by himself, the only answer you got was, “Oh, Luke

the Hermit? Well, there’s some mystery about him. Nobody knows what it

is. But there’s a mystery. Don’t go near him. He’ll set the dog on you.”

Nevertheless there were two people who often went out to that little

shack on the fens: the Doctor and myself. And Bob, the bulldog, never

barked when he heard us coming. For we liked Luke; and Luke liked us.

This afternoon, crossing the marshes we faced a cold wind blowing from

the East. As we approached the hut Jip put up his ears and said,

“That’s funny!”

“What’s funny?” asked the Doctor.

“That Bob hasn’t come out to meet us. He should have heard us long

ago—or smelt us. What’s that queer noise?”

“Sounds to me like a gate creaking,” said the Doctor. “Maybe it’s

Luke’s door, only we can’t see the door from here; it’s on the far side

of the shack.”

“I hope Bob isn’t sick,” said Jip; and he let out a bark to see if that

would call him. But the only answer he got was the wailing of the wind

across the wide, salt fen.

We hurried forward, all three of us thinking hard.

When we reached the front of the shack we found the door open, swinging

and creaking dismally in the wind. We looked inside. There was no one

there.

“Isn’t Luke at home then?” said I. “Perhaps he’s out for a walk.”

“He is _always_ at home,” said the Doctor frowning in a peculiar sort

of way. “And even if he were out for a walk he wouldn’t leave his

door banging in the wind behind him. There is something queer about

this—What are you doing in there, Jip?”

“Nothing much—nothing worth speaking of,” said Jip examining the floor

of the hut extremely carefully.

“Come here, Jip,” said the Doctor in a stern voice. “You are hiding

something from me. You see signs and you know something—or you guess

it. What has happened? Tell me. Where is the Hermit?”

“I don’t know,” said Jip looking very guilty and uncomfortable. “I

don’t know where he is.”

“Well, you know something. I can tell it from the look in your eye.

What is it?”

But Jip didn’t answer.

For ten minutes the Doctor kept questioning him. But not a word would

the dog say.

“Well,” said the Doctor at last, “it is no use our standing around here

in the cold. The Hermit’s gone. That’s all. We might as well go home to

luncheon.”

As we buttoned up our coats and started back across the marsh, Jip ran

ahead pretending he was looking for water-rats.

“He knows something all right,” whispered the Doctor. “And I think he

knows what has happened too. It’s funny, his not wanting to tell me. He

has never done that before—not in eleven years. He has always told me

everything—Strange—very strange!”

“Do you mean you think he knows all about the Hermit, the big mystery

about him which folks hint at and all that?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he did,” the Doctor answered slowly. “I noticed

something in his expression the moment we found that door open and the

hut empty. And the way he sniffed the floor too—it told him something,

that floor did. He saw signs we couldn’t see—I wonder why he won’t tell

me. I’ll try him again. Here, Jip! Jip!—Where is the dog? I thought he

went on in front.”

“So did I,” I said. “He was there a moment ago. I saw him as large as

life. Jip—Jip—Jip—JIP!”

But he was gone. We called and called. We even walked back to the hut.

But Jip had disappeared.

“Oh well,” I said, “most likely he has just run home ahead of us. He

often does that, you know. We’ll find him there when we get back to the

house.”

But the Doctor just closed his coat-collar tighter against the wind and

strode on muttering, “Odd—very odd!”

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

JIP AND THE SECRET

WHEN we reached the house the first question the Doctor asked of

Dab-Dab in the hall was,

“Is Jip home yet?”

“No,” said Dab-Dab, “I haven’t seen him.”

“Let me know the moment he comes in, will you, please?” said the

Doctor, hanging up his hat.

“Certainly I will,” said Dab-Dab. “Don’t be long over washing your

hands; the lunch is on the table.”

Just as we were sitting down to luncheon in the kitchen we heard a

great racket at the front door. I ran and opened it. In bounded Jip.

“Doctor!” he cried, “come into the library quick. I’ve got something

to tell you—No, Dab-Dab, the luncheon must wait. Please hurry, Doctor.

There’s not a moment to be lost. Don’t let any of the animals come—just

you and Tommy.”

“Now,” he said, when we were inside the library and the door was

closed, “turn the key in the lock and make sure there’s no one

listening under the windows.”

“It’s all right,” said the Doctor. “Nobody can hear you here. Now what

is it?”

“Well, Doctor,” said Jip (he was badly out of breath from running), “I

know all about the Hermit—I have known for years. But I couldn’t tell

you.”

“Why?” asked the Doctor.

“Because I’d promised not to tell any one. It was Bob, his dog, that

told me. And I swore to him that I would keep the secret.”

“Well, and are you going to tell me now?”

“Yes,” said Jip, “we’ve got to save him. I followed Bob’s scent just

now when I left you out there on the marshes. And I found him. And I

said to him, ‘Is it all right,’ I said, ‘for me to tell the Doctor now?

Maybe he can do something.’ And Bob says to me, ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘it’s

all right because—’”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, go on, go on!” cried the Doctor. “Tell us what

the mystery is—not what you said to Bob and what Bob said to you. What

has happened? Where _is_ the Hermit?”

“He’s in Puddleby Jail,” said Jip. “He’s in prison.”

“In prison!”

“Yes.”

“What for?—What’s he done?”

Jip went over to the door and smelt at the bottom of it to see if any

one were listening outside. Then he came back to the Doctor on tiptoe

and whispered,

“_He killed a man!_”

“Lord preserve us!” cried the Doctor, sitting down heavily in a chair

and mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. “When did he do it?”

“Fifteen years ago—in a Mexican gold-mine. That’s why he has been a

hermit ever since. He shaved off his beard and kept away from people

out there on the marshes so he wouldn’t be recognized. But last week,

it seems these new-fangled policemen came to Town; and they heard there

was a strange man who kept to himself all alone in a shack on the

fen. And they got suspicious. For a long time people had been hunting

all over the world for the man that did that killing in the Mexican

gold-mine fifteen years ago. So these policemen went out to the shack,

and they recognized Luke by a mole on his arm. And they took him to

prison.”

“Well, well!” murmured the Doctor. “Who would have thought it?—Luke,

the philosopher!—Killed a man!—I can hardly believe it.”

“It’s true enough—unfortunately,” said Jip. “Luke did it. But it

wasn’t his fault. Bob says so. And he was there and saw it all. He was

scarcely more than a puppy at the time. Bob says Luke couldn’t help it.

He _had_ to do it.”

“Where is Bob now?” asked the Doctor.

“Down at the prison. I wanted him to come with me here to see you; but

he won’t leave the prison while Luke is there. He just sits outside the

door of the prison-cell and won’t move. He doesn’t even eat the food

they give him. Won’t you please come down there, Doctor, and see if

there is anything you can do? The trial is to be this afternoon at two

o’clock. What time is it now?”

“It’s ten minutes past one.”

“Bob says he thinks they are going to kill Luke for a punishment if

they can prove that he did it—or certainly keep him in prison for the

rest of his life. Won’t you please come? Perhaps if you spoke to the

judge and told him what a good man Luke really is they’d let him off.”

“Of course I’ll come,” said the Doctor getting up and moving to go.

“But I’m very much afraid that I shan’t be of any real help.” He turned

at the door and hesitated thoughtfully.

“And yet—I wonder—”

Then he opened the door and passed out with Jip and me close at his

heels.

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

BOB

DAB-DAB was terribly upset when she found we were going away again

without luncheon; and she made us take some cold pork-pies in our

pockets to eat on the way.

When we got to Puddleby Court-house (it was next door to the prison),

we found a great crowd gathered around the building.

This was the week of the Assizes—a business which happened every three

months, when many pick-pockets and other bad characters were tried by

a very grand judge who came all the way from London. And anybody in

Puddleby who had nothing special to do used to come to the Court-house

to hear the trials.

But to-day it was different. The crowd was not made up of just a few

idle people. It was enormous. The news had run through the countryside

that Luke the Hermit was to be tried for killing a man and that the

great mystery which had hung over him so long was to be cleared up

at last. The butcher and the baker had closed their shops and taken

a holiday. All the farmers from round-about, and all the townsfolk,

were there with their Sunday clothes on, trying to get seats in the

Court-house or gossipping outside in low whispers. The High Street was

so crowded you could hardly move along it. I had never seen the quiet

old town in such a state of excitement before. For Puddleby had not had

such an Assizes since 1799, when Ferdinand Phipps, the Rector’s oldest

son, had robbed the bank.

If I hadn’t had the Doctor with me I am sure I would never have been

able to make my way through the mob packed around the Court-house door.

But I just followed behind him, hanging on to his coat-tails; and at

last we got safely into the jail.

“I want to see Luke,” said the Doctor to a very grand person in a blue

coat with brass buttons standing at the door.

“Ask at the Superintendent’s office,” said the man. “Third door on the

left down the corridor.”

“Who is that person you spoke to, Doctor?” I asked as we went along the

passage.

“He is a policeman.”

“And what are policemen?”

“Policemen? They are to keep people in order. They’ve just been

invented—by Sir Robert Peel. That’s why they are also called ‘peelers’

sometimes. It is a wonderful age we live in. They’re always thinking of

something new—This will be the Superintendent’s office, I suppose.”

[Illustration: “On the bed sat the Hermit”]

From there another policeman was sent with us to show us the way.

Outside the door of Luke’s cell we found Bob, the bulldog, who wagged

his tail sadly when he saw us. The man who was guiding us took a large

bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the door.

I had never been inside a real prison-cell before; and I felt quite

a thrill when the policeman went out and locked the door after him,

leaving us shut in the dimly-lighted, little, stone room. Before he

went, he said that as soon as we had done talking with our friend we

should knock upon the door and he would come and let us out.

At first I could hardly see anything, it was so dim inside. But after

a little I made out a low bed against the wall, under a small barred

window. On the bed, staring down at the floor between his feet, sat the

Hermit, his head resting in his hands.

“Well, Luke,” said the Doctor in a kindly voice, “they don’t give you

much light in here, do they?”

Very slowly the Hermit looked up from the floor.

“Hulloa, John Dolittle. What brings you here?”

“I’ve come to see you. I would have been here sooner, only I didn’t

hear about all this till a few minutes ago. I went to your hut to ask

you if you would join me on a voyage; and when I found it empty I had

no idea where you could be. I am dreadfully sorry to hear about your

bad luck. I’ve come to see if there is anything I can do.”

Luke shook his head.

“No, I don’t imagine there is anything can be done. They’ve caught me

at last. That’s the end of it, I suppose.”

He got up stiffly and started walking up and down the little room.

“In a way I’m glad it’s over,” said he. “I never got any peace, always

thinking they were after me—afraid to speak to anyone. They were bound

to get me in the end—Yes, I’m glad it’s over.”

Then the Doctor talked to Luke for more than half an hour, trying to

cheer him up; while I sat around wondering what I ought to say and

wishing I could do something.

At last the Doctor said he wanted to see Bob; and we knocked upon the

door and were let out by the policeman.

“Bob,” said the Doctor to the big bulldog in the passage, “come out

with me into the porch. I want to ask you something.”

“How is he, Doctor?” asked Bob as we walked down the corridor into the

Court-house porch.

“Oh, Luke’s all right. Very miserable of course, but he’s all right.

Now tell me, Bob: you saw this business happen, didn’t you? You were

there when the man was killed, eh?”

“I was, Doctor,” said Bob, “and I tell you—”

“All right,” the Doctor interrupted, “that’s all I want to know for the

present. There isn’t time to tell me more now. The trial is just going

to begin. There are the judge and the lawyers coming up the steps. Now

listen, Bob: I want you to stay with me when I go into the court-room.

And whatever I tell you to do, do it. Do you understand? Don’t make

any scenes. Don’t bite anybody, no matter what they may say about

Luke. Just behave perfectly quietly and answer any question I may ask

you—truthfully. Do you understand?”

“Very well. But do you think you will be able to get him off, Doctor?”

asked Bob. “He’s a good man, Doctor. He really is. There never was a

better.”

“We’ll see, we’ll see, Bob. It’s a new thing I’m going to try. I’m not

sure the judge will allow it. But—well, we’ll see. It’s time to go

into the court-room now. Don’t forget what I told you. Remember: for

Heaven’s sake don’t start biting any one or you’ll get us all put out

and spoil everything.”

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

MENDOZA

INSIDE the court-room everything was very solemn and wonderful. It was

a high, big room. Raised above the floor, against the wall was the

Judge’s desk; and here the judge was already sitting—an old, handsome

man in a marvelous big wig of gray hair and a gown of black. Below him

was another wide, long desk at which lawyers in white wigs sat. The

whole thing reminded me of a mixture between a church and a school.

“Those twelve men at the side,” whispered the Doctor—“those in pews

like a choir, they are what is called the jury. It is they who decide

whether Luke is guilty—whether he did it or not.”

“And look!” I said, “there’s Luke himself in a sort of pulpit-thing

with policemen each side of him. And there’s another pulpit, the same

kind, the other side of the room, see—only that one’s empty.”

“That one is called the witness-box,” said the Doctor. “Now I’m going

down to speak to one of those men in white wigs; and I want you to wait

here and keep these two seats for us. Bob will stay with you. Keep an

eye on him—better hold on to his collar. I shan’t be more than a minute

or so.”

With that the Doctor disappeared into the crowd which filled the main

part of the room.

Then I saw the judge take up a funny little wooden hammer and knock on

his desk with it. This, it seemed, was to make people keep quiet, for

immediately every one stopped buzzing and talking and began to listen

very respectfully. Then another man in a black gown stood up and began

reading from a paper in his hand.

He mumbled away exactly as though he were saying his prayers and didn’t

want any one to understand what language they were in. But I managed to

catch a few words:

“_Biz—biz—biz—biz—biz_—otherwise known as Luke the

Hermit, of—_biz—biz—biz—biz_—for killing his partner

with—_biz—biz—biz_—otherwise known as Bluebeard Bill on the night

of the—_biz—biz—biz_—in the _biz—biz—biz_—of Mexico. Therefore Her

Majesty’s—_biz—biz—biz_—”

At this moment I felt some one take hold of my arm from the back, and

turning round I found the Doctor had returned with one of the men in

white wigs.

“Stubbins, this is Mr. Percy Jenkyns,” said the Doctor. “He is Luke’s

lawyer. It is his business to get Luke off—if he can.”

Mr. Jenkyns seemed to be an extremely young man with a round smooth

face like a boy. He shook hands with me and then immediately turned and

went on talking with the Doctor.

“Oh, I think it is a perfectly precious idea,” he was saying. “Of

_course_ the dog must be admitted as a witness; he was the only one

who saw the thing take place. I’m awfully glad you came. I wouldn’t

have missed this for anything. My hat! Won’t it make the old court sit

up? They’re always frightfully dull, these Assizes. But this will stir

things. A bulldog witness for the defense! I do hope there are plenty

of reporters present—Yes, there’s one making a sketch of the prisoner.

I shall become known after this—And won’t Conkey be pleased? My hat!”

He put his hand over his mouth to smother a laugh and his eyes fairly

sparkled with mischief.

“Who is Conkey?” I asked the Doctor.

“Sh! He is speaking of the judge up there, the Honorable Eustace

Beauchamp Conckley.”

“Now,” said Mr. Jenkyns, bringing out a note-book, “tell me a little

more about yourself, Doctor. You took your degree as Doctor of Medicine

at Durham, I think you said. And the name of your last book was?”

I could not hear any more for they talked in whispers; and I fell to

looking round the court again.

Of course I could not understand everything that was going on, though

it was all very interesting. People kept getting up in the place the

Doctor called the witness-box, and the lawyers at the long table asked

them questions about “the night of the 29th.” Then the people would get

down again and somebody else would get up and be questioned.

One of the lawyers (who, the Doctor told me afterwards, was called the

Prosecutor) seemed to be doing his best to get the Hermit into trouble

by asking questions which made it look as though he had always been a

very bad man. He was a nasty lawyer, this Prosecutor, with a long nose.

Most of the time I could hardly keep my eyes off poor Luke, who sat

there between his two policemen, staring at the floor as though he

weren’t interested. The only time I saw him take any notice at all was

when a small dark man with wicked, little, watery eyes got up into the

witness-box. I heard Bob snarl under my chair as this person came into

the court-room and Luke’s eyes just blazed with anger and contempt.

This man said his name was Mendoza and that he was the one who had

guided the Mexican police to the mine after Bluebeard Bill had been

killed. And at every word he said I could hear Bob down below me

muttering between his teeth,

“It’s a lie! It’s a lie! I’ll chew his face. It’s a lie!”

And both the Doctor and I had hard work keeping the dog under the seat.

Then I noticed that our Mr. Jenkyns had disappeared from the Doctor’s

side. But presently I saw him stand up at the long table to speak to

the judge.

“Your Honor,” said he, “I wish to introduce a new witness for the

defense, Doctor John Dolittle, the naturalist. Will you please step

into the witness-stand, Doctor?”

There was a buzz of excitement as the Doctor made his way across the

crowded room; and I noticed the nasty lawyer with the long nose lean

down and whisper something to a friend, smiling in an ugly way which

made me want to pinch him.

Then Mr. Jenkyns asked the Doctor a whole lot of questions about

himself and made him answer in a loud voice so the whole court could

hear. He finished up by saying,

“And you are prepared to swear, Doctor Dolittle, that you understand

the language of dogs and can make them understand you. Is that so?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “that is so.”

“And what, might I ask,” put in the judge in a very quiet, dignified

voice, “has all this to do with the killing of er—er—Bluebeard Bill?”

“This, Your Honor,” said Mr. Jenkyns, talking in a very grand manner as

though he were on a stage in a theatre: “there is in this court-room

at the present moment a bulldog, who was the only living thing that

saw the man killed. With the Court’s permission I propose to put that

dog in the witness-stand and have him questioned before you by the

eminent scientist, Doctor John Dolittle.”

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

THE JUDGE’S DOG

AT first there was a dead silence in the Court. Then everybody began

whispering or giggling at the same time, till the whole room sounded

like a great hive of bees. Many people seemed to be shocked; most of

them were amused; and a few were angry.

Presently up sprang the nasty lawyer with the long nose.

“I protest, Your Honor,” he cried, waving his arms wildly to the judge.

“I object. The dignity of this court is in peril. I protest.”

“I am the one to take care of the dignity of this court,” said the

judge.

Then Mr. Jenkyns got up again. (If it hadn’t been such a serious

matter, it was almost like a Punch-and-Judy show: somebody was always

popping down and somebody else popping up).

“If there is any doubt on the score of our being able to do as we say,

Your Honor will have no objection, I trust, to the Doctor’s giving the

Court a demonstration of his powers—of showing that he actually can

understand the speech of animals?”

I thought I saw a twinkle of amusement come into the old judge’s eyes

as he sat considering a moment before he answered.

“No,” he said at last, “I don’t think so.” Then he turned to the Doctor.

“Are you quite sure you can do this?” he asked.

“Quite, Your Honor,” said the Doctor—“quite sure.”

“Very well then,” said the judge. “If you can satisfy us that you

really are able to understand canine testimony, the dog shall be

admitted as a witness. I do not see, in that case, how I could object

to his being heard. But I warn you that if you are trying to make a

laughing-stock of this Court it will go hard with you.”

“I protest, I protest!” yelled the long-nosed Prosecutor. “This is a

scandal, an outrage to the Bar!”

“Sit down!” said the judge in a very stern voice.

“What animal does Your Honor wish me to talk with?” asked the Doctor.

“I would like you to talk to my own dog,” said the judge. “He is

outside in the cloak-room. I will have him brought in; and then we

shall see what you can do.”

Then someone went out and fetched the judge’s dog, a lovely great

Russian wolf-hound with slender legs and a shaggy coat. He was a proud

and beautiful creature.

“Now, Doctor,” said the judge, “did you ever see this dog

before?—Remember you are in the witness-stand and under oath.”

“No, Your Honor, I never saw him before.”

“Very well then, will you please ask him to tell you what I had for

supper last night? He was with me and watched me while I ate.”

Then the Doctor and the dog started talking to one another in signs and

sounds; and they kept at it for quite a long time. And the Doctor began

to giggle and get so interested that he seemed to forget all about the

Court and the judge and everything else.

“What a time he takes!” I heard a fat woman in front of me whispering.

“He’s only pretending. Of course he can’t do it! Who ever heard of

talking to a dog? He must think we’re children.”

“Haven’t you finished yet?” the judge asked the Doctor. “It shouldn’t

take that long just to ask what I had for supper.”

“Oh no, Your Honor,” said the Doctor. “The dog told me that long ago.

But then he went on to tell me what you did after supper.”

“Never mind that,” said the judge. “Tell me what answer he gave you to

my question.”

“He says you had a mutton-chop, two baked potatoes, a pickled walnut

and a glass of ale.”

The Honorable Eustace Beauchamp Conckley went white to the lips.

“Sounds like witchcraft,” he muttered. “I never dreamed—”

“And after your supper,” the Doctor went on, “he says you went to see a

prize-fight and then sat up playing cards for money till twelve o’clock

and came home singing, ‘We won’t get—’”

“That will do,” the judge interrupted, “I am satisfied you can do as

you say. The prisoner’s dog shall be admitted as a witness.”

“I protest, I object!” screamed the Prosecutor. “Your Honor, this is—”

“Sit down!” roared the judge. “I say the dog shall be heard. That ends

the matter. Put the witness in the stand.”

And then for the first time in the solemn history of England a dog was

put in the witness-stand of Her Majesty’s Court of Assizes. And it

was I, Tommy Stubbins (when the Doctor made a sign to me across the

room) who proudly led Bob up the aisle, through the astonished crowd,

past the frowning, spluttering, long-nosed Prosecutor, and made him

comfortable on a high chair in the witness-box; from where the old

bulldog sat scowling down over the rail upon the amazed and gaping

jury.

[Illustration: “Sat scowling down upon the amazed and gaping jury”]

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

THE END OF THE MYSTERY

THE trial went swiftly forward after that. Mr. Jenkyns told the Doctor

to ask Bob what he saw on the “night of the 29th;” and when Bob had

told all he knew and the Doctor had turned it into English for the

judge and the jury, this was what he had to say:

“On the night of the 29th of November, 1824, I was with my master, Luke

Fitzjohn (otherwise known as Luke the Hermit) and his two partners,

Manuel Mendoza and William Boggs (otherwise known as Bluebeard Bill)

on their gold-mine in Mexico. For a long time these three men had been

hunting for gold; and they had dug a deep hole in the ground. On the

morning of the 29th gold was discovered, lots of it, at the bottom of

this hole. And all three, my master and his two partners, were very

happy about it because now they would be rich. But Manuel Mendoza asked

Bluebeard Bill to go for a walk with him. These two men I had always

suspected of being bad. So when I noticed that they left my master

behind, I followed them secretly to see what they were up to. And in a

deep cave in the mountains I heard them arrange together to kill Luke

the Hermit so that they should get all the gold and he have none.”

At this point the judge asked, “Where is the witness Mendoza?

Constable, see that he does not leave the court.”

But the wicked little man with the watery eyes had already sneaked out

when no one was looking and he was never seen in Puddleby again.

“Then,” Bob’s statement went on, “I went to my master and tried very

hard to make him understand that his partners were dangerous men. But

it was no use. He did not understand dog language. So I did the next

best thing: I never let him out of my sight but stayed with him every

moment of the day and night.

“Now the hole that they had made was so deep that to get down and up

it you had to go in a big bucket tied on the end of a rope; and the

three men used to haul one another up and let one another down the mine

in this way. That was how the gold was brought up too—in the bucket.

Well, about seven o’clock in the evening my master was standing at the

top of the mine, hauling up Bluebeard Bill who was in the bucket. Just

as he had got Bill halfway up I saw Mendoza come out of the hut where

we all lived. Mendoza thought that Bill was away buying groceries. But

he wasn’t: he was in the bucket. And when Mendoza saw Luke hauling and

straining on the rope he thought he was pulling up a bucketful of

gold. So he drew a pistol from his pocket and came sneaking up behind

Luke to shoot him.

“I barked and barked to warn my master of the danger he was in; but he

was so busy hauling up Bill (who was a heavy fat man) that he took no

notice of me. I saw that if I didn’t do something quick he would surely

be shot. So I did a thing I’ve never done before: suddenly and savagely

I bit my master in the leg from behind. Luke was so hurt and startled

that he did just what I wanted him to do: he let go the rope with both

hands at once and turned round. And then, _Crash!_ down went Bill in

his bucket to the bottom of the mine and he was killed.

“While my master was busy scolding me Mendoza put his pistol in his

pocket, came up with a smile on his face and looked down the mine.

“‘Why, Good Gracious!’ said he to Luke, ‘You’ve killed Bluebeard Bill.

I must go and tell the police’—hoping, you see, to get the whole mine

to himself when Luke should be put in prison. Then he jumped on his

horse and galloped away.

“And soon my master grew afraid; for he saw that if Mendoza only told

enough lies to the police, it _would_ look as though he had killed Bill

on purpose. So while Mendoza was gone he and I stole away together

secretly and came to England. Here he shaved off his beard and became a

hermit. And ever since, for fifteen years, we’ve remained in hiding.

This is all I have to say. And I swear it is the truth, every word.”

When the Doctor finished reading Bob’s long speech the excitement among

the twelve men of the jury was positively terrific. One, a very old

man with white hair, began to weep in a loud voice at the thought of

poor Luke hiding on the fen for fifteen years for something he couldn’t

help. And all the others set to whispering and nodding their heads to

one another.

In the middle of all this up got that horrible Prosecutor again, waving

his arms more wildly than ever.

“Your Honor,” he cried, “I must object to this evidence as biased.

Of course the dog would not tell the truth against his own master. I

object. I protest.”

“Very well,” said the judge, “you are at liberty to cross-examine. It

is your duty as Prosecutor to prove his evidence untrue. There is the

dog: question him, if you do not believe what he says.”

I thought the long-nosed lawyer would have a fit. He looked first at

the dog, then at the Doctor, then at the judge, then back at the dog

scowling from the witness-box. He opened his mouth to say something;

but no words came. He waved his arms some more. His face got redder

and redder. At last, clutching his forehead, he sank weakly into his

seat and had to be helped out of the court-room by two friends. As he

was half carried through the door he was still feebly murmuring, “I

protest—I object—I protest!”

_THE EIGHTH CHAPTER_

THREE CHEERS

NEXT the judge made a very long speech to the jury; and when it was

over all the twelve jurymen got up and went out into the next room. And

at that point the Doctor came back, leading Bob, to the seat beside me.

“What have the jurymen gone out for?” I asked.

“They always do that at the end of a trial—to make up their minds

whether the prisoner did it or not.”

“Couldn’t you and Bob go in with them and help them make up their minds

the right way?” I asked.

“No, that’s not allowed. They have to talk it over in secret. Sometimes

it takes—My Gracious, look, they’re coming back already! They didn’t

spend long over it.”

Everybody kept quite still while the twelve men came tramping back

into their places in the pews. Then one of them, the leader—a little

man—stood up and turned to the judge. Every one was holding his breath,

especially the Doctor and myself, to see what he was going to say. You

could have heard a pin drop while the whole court-room, the whole of

Puddleby in fact, waited with craning necks and straining ears to hear

the weighty words.

“Your Honor,” said the little man, “the jury returns a verdict of _Not

Guilty_.”

“What’s that mean?” I asked, turning to the Doctor.

But I found Doctor John Dolittle, the famous naturalist, standing on

top of a chair, dancing about on one leg like a schoolboy.

“It means he’s free!” he cried, “Luke is free!”

“Then he’ll be able to come on the voyage with us, won’t he?”

But I could not hear his answer; for the whole court-room seemed to

be jumping up on chairs like the Doctor. The crowd had suddenly gone

crazy. All the people were laughing and calling and waving to Luke to

show him how glad they were that he was free. The noise was deafening.

Then it stopped. All was quiet again; and the people stood up

respectfully while the judge left the Court. For the trial of Luke the

Hermit, that famous trial which to this day they are still talking of

in Puddleby, was over.

In the hush while the judge was leaving, a sudden shriek rang out, and

there, in the doorway stood a woman, her arms out-stretched to the

Hermit.

“Luke!” she cried, “I’ve found you at last!”

“It’s his wife,” the fat woman in front of me whispered. “She ain’t

seen ’im in fifteen years, poor dear! What a lovely re-union. I’m glad

I came. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything!”

As soon as the judge had gone the noise broke out again; and now the

folks gathered round Luke and his wife and shook them by the hand and

congratulated them and laughed over them and cried over them.

“Come along, Stubbins,” said the Doctor, taking me by the arm, “let’s

get out of this while we can.”

“But aren’t you going to speak to Luke?” I said—“to ask him if he’ll

come on the voyage?”

“It wouldn’t be a bit of use,” said the Doctor. “His wife’s come for

him. No man stands any chance of going on a voyage when his wife hasn’t

seen him in fifteen years. Come along. Let’s get home to tea. We didn’t

have any lunch, remember. And we’ve earned something to eat. We’ll have

one of those mixed meals, lunch and tea combined—with watercress and

ham. Nice change. Come along.”

Just as we were going to step out at a side door I heard the crowd

shouting,

“The Doctor! The Doctor! Where’s the Doctor? The Hermit would have

hanged if it hadn’t been for the Doctor. Speech! Speech!—The Doctor!”

And a man came running up to us and said,

“The people are calling for you, Sir.”

“I’m very sorry,” said the Doctor, “but I’m in a hurry.”

“The crowd won’t be denied, Sir,” said the man. “They want you to make

a speech in the market-place.”

“Beg them to excuse me,” said the Doctor—“with my compliments. I have

an appointment at my house—a very important one which I may not break.

Tell Luke to make a speech. Come along, Stubbins, this way.”

“Oh Lord!” he muttered as we got out into the open air and found

another crowd waiting for him at the side door. “Let’s go up that

alleyway—to the left. Quick!—Run!”

We took to our heels, darted through a couple of side streets and just

managed to get away from the crowd.

It was not till we had gained the Oxenthorpe Road that we dared to

slow down to a walk and take our breath. And even when we reached the

Doctor’s gate and turned to look backwards towards the town, the faint

murmur of many voices still reached us on the evening wind.

“They’re still clamoring for you,” I said. “Listen!”

The murmur suddenly swelled up into a low distant roar; and although it

was a mile and half away you could distinctly hear the words,

“Three cheers for Luke the Hermit: Hooray!—Three cheers for his dog:

Hooray!—Three cheers for his wife: Hooray!—Three cheers for the Doctor:

Hooray! Hooray! HOO-R-A-Y!”

_THE NINTH CHAPTER_

THE PURPLE BIRD-OF-PARADISE

POLYNESIA was waiting for us in the front porch. She looked full of

some important news.

“Doctor,” said she, “the Purple Bird-of-Paradise has arrived!”

“At last!” said the Doctor. “I had begun to fear some accident had

befallen her. And how is Miranda?”

From the excited way in which the Doctor fumbled his key into the lock

I guessed that we were not going to get our tea right away, even now.

“Oh, she seemed all right when she arrived,” said Polynesia—“tired from

her long journey of course but otherwise all right. But what _do_ you

think? That mischief-making sparrow, Cheapside, insulted her as soon

as she came into the garden. When I arrived on the scene she was in

tears and was all for turning round and going straight back to Brazil

to-night. I had the hardest work persuading her to wait till you came.

She’s in the study. I shut Cheapside in one of your book-cases and told

him I’d tell you exactly what had happened the moment you got home.”

The Doctor frowned, then walked silently and quickly to the study.

Here we found the candles lit; for the daylight was nearly gone.

Dab-Dab was standing on the floor mounting guard over one of the

glass-fronted book-cases in which Cheapside had been imprisoned. The

noisy little sparrow was still fluttering angrily behind the glass when

we came in.

In the centre of the big table, perched on the ink-stand, stood the

most beautiful bird I have ever seen. She had a deep violet-colored

breast, scarlet wings and a long, long sweeping tail of gold. She was

unimaginably beautiful but looked dreadfully tired. Already she had her

head under her wing; and she swayed gently from side to side on top of

the ink-stand like a bird that has flown long and far.

“Sh!” said Dab-Dab. “Miranda is asleep. I’ve got this little imp

Cheapside in here. Listen, Doctor: for Heaven’s sake send that sparrow

away before he does any more mischief. He’s nothing but a vulgar little

nuisance. We’ve had a perfectly awful time trying to get Miranda to

stay. Shall I serve your tea in here, or will you come into the kitchen

when you’re ready?”

“We’ll come into the kitchen, Dab-Dab,” said the Doctor. “Let Cheapside

out before you go, please.”

Dab-Dab opened the bookcase-door and Cheapside strutted out trying hard

not to look guilty.

“Cheapside,” said the Doctor sternly, “what did you say to Miranda when

she arrived?”

“I didn’t say nothing, Doc, straight I didn’t. That is, nothing much. I

was picking up crumbs off the gravel path when she comes swanking into

the garden, turning up her nose in all directions, as though she owned

the earth—just because she’s got a lot of colored plumage. A London

sparrow’s as good as her any day. I don’t hold by these gawdy bedizened

foreigners nohow. Why don’t they stay in their own country?”

“But what did you say to her that got her so offended?”

“All I said was, ‘You don’t belong in an English garden; you ought to

be in a milliner’s window.’ That’s all.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Cheapside. Don’t you realize that

this bird has come thousands of miles to see me—only to be insulted by

your impertinent tongue as soon as she reaches my garden? What do you

mean by it?—If she had gone away again before I got back to-night I

would never have forgiven you—Leave the room.”

Sheepishly, but still trying to look as though he didn’t care,

Cheapside hopped out into the passage and Dab-Dab closed the door.

The Doctor went up to the beautiful bird on the ink-stand and gently

stroked its back. Instantly its head popped out from under its wing.

_THE TENTH CHAPTER_

LONG ARROW, THE SON OF GOLDEN ARROW

“WELL, Miranda,” said the Doctor. “I’m terribly sorry this has

happened. But you mustn’t mind Cheapside; he doesn’t know any better.

He’s a city bird; and all his life he has had to squabble for a living.

You must make allowances. He doesn’t know any better.”

Miranda stretched her gorgeous wings wearily. Now that I saw her awake

and moving I noticed what a superior, well-bred manner she had. There

were tears in her eyes and her beak was trembling.

“I wouldn’t have minded so much,” she said in a high silvery voice,

“if I hadn’t been so dreadfully worn out—That and something else,” she

added beneath her breath.

“Did you have a hard time getting here?” asked the Doctor.

“The worst passage I ever made,” said Miranda. “The weather—Well there.

What’s the use? I’m here anyway.”

“Tell me,” said the Doctor as though he had been impatiently waiting to

say something for a long time: “what did Long Arrow say when you gave

him my message?”

The Purple Bird-of-Paradise hung her head.

“That’s the worst part of it,” she said. “I might almost as well have

not come at all. I wasn’t able to deliver your message. I couldn’t find

him. _Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow, has disappeared!_”

“Disappeared!” cried the Doctor. “Why, what’s become of him?”

“Nobody knows,” Miranda answered. “He had often disappeared before, as

I have told you—so that the Indians didn’t know where he was. But it’s

a mighty hard thing to hide away from the birds. I had always been able

to find some owl or martin who could tell me where he was—if I wanted

to know. But not this time. That’s why I’m nearly a fortnight late in

coming to you: I kept hunting and hunting, asking everywhere. I went

over the whole length and breadth of South America. But there wasn’t a

living thing could tell me where he was.”

There was a sad silence in the room after she had finished; the Doctor

was frowning in a peculiar sort of way and Polynesia scratched her head.

“Did you ask the black parrots?” asked Polynesia. “They usually know

everything.”

“Certainly I did,” said Miranda. “And I was so upset at not being

able to find out anything, that I forgot all about observing the

weather-signs before I started my flight here. I didn’t even bother to

break my journey at the Azores, but cut right across, making for the

Straits of Gibraltar—as though it were June or July. And of course I

ran into a perfectly frightful storm in mid-Atlantic. I really thought

I’d never come through it. Luckily I found a piece of a wrecked vessel

floating in the sea after the storm had partly died down; and I roosted

on it and took some sleep. If I hadn’t been able to take that rest I

wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.”

“Poor Miranda! What a time you must have had!” said the Doctor. “But

tell me, were you able to find out whereabouts Long Arrow was last

seen?”

“Yes. A young albatross told me he had seen him on Spidermonkey Island?”

“Spidermonkey Island? That’s somewhere off the coast of Brazil, isn’t

it?”

“Yes, that’s it. Of course I flew there right away and asked every bird

on the island—and it is a big island, a hundred miles long. It seems

that Long Arrow was visiting some peculiar Indians that live there;

and that when last seen he was going up into the mountains looking for

rare medicine-plants. I got that from a tame hawk, a pet, which the

Chief of the Indians keeps for hunting partridges with. I nearly got

caught and put in a cage for my pains too. That’s the worst of having

beautiful feathers: it’s as much as your life is worth to go near most

humans—They say, ‘oh how pretty!’ and shoot an arrow or a bullet into

you. You and Long Arrow were the only two men that I would ever trust

myself near—out of all the people in the world.”

“But was he never known to have returned from the mountains?”

“No. That was the last that was seen or heard of him. I questioned the

sea-birds around the shores to find out if he had left the island in a

canoe. But they could tell me nothing.”

“Do you think that some accident has happened to him?” asked the Doctor

in a fearful voice.

“I’m afraid it must have,” said Miranda shaking her head.

“Well,” said John Dolittle slowly, “if I could never meet Long Arrow

face to face it would be the greatest disappointment in my whole

life. Not only that, but it would be a great loss to the knowledge of

the human race. For, from what you have told me of him, he knew more

natural science than all the rest of us put together; and if he has

gone without any one to write it down for him, so the world may be the

better for it, it would be a terrible thing. But you don’t really

think that he is dead, do you?”

[Illustration: “‘What else can I think?’”]

“What else can I think?” asked Miranda, bursting into tears, “when for

six whole months he has not been seen by flesh, fish or fowl.”

_THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER_

BLIND TRAVEL

THIS news about Long Arrow made us all very sad. And I could see from

the silent dreamy way the Doctor took his tea that he was dreadfully

upset. Every once in a while he would stop eating altogether and sit

staring at the spots on the kitchen table-cloth as though his thoughts

were far away; till Dab-Dab, who was watching to see that he got a good

meal, would cough or rattle the pots in the sink.

I did my best to cheer him up by reminding him of all he had done for

Luke and his wife that afternoon. And when that didn’t seem to work, I

went on talking about our preparations for the voyage.

“But you see, Stubbins,” said he as we rose from the table and Dab-Dab

and Chee-Chee began to clear away, “I don’t know where to go now. I

feel sort of lost since Miranda brought me this news. On this voyage I

had planned going to see Long Arrow. I had been looking forward to it

for a whole year. I felt he might help me in learning the language of

the shellfish—and perhaps in finding some way of getting to the bottom

of the sea. But now?—He’s gone! And all his great knowledge has gone

with him.”

Then he seemed to fall a-dreaming again.

“Just to think of it!” he murmured. “Long Arrow and I, two

students—Although I’d never met him, I felt as though I knew him quite

well. For, in his way—without any schooling—he has, all his life, been

trying to do the very things which I have tried to do in mine—And now

he’s gone!—A whole world lay between us—And only a bird knew us both!”

We went back into the study, where Jip brought the Doctor his slippers

and his pipe. And after the pipe was lit and the smoke began to fill

the room the old man seemed to cheer up a little.

“But you will go on some voyage, Doctor, won’t you?” I asked—“even if

you can’t go to find Long Arrow.”

He looked up sharply into my face; and I suppose he saw how anxious I

was. Because he suddenly smiled his old, boyish smile and said,

“Yes, Stubbins. Don’t worry. We’ll go. We mustn’t stop working and

learning, even if poor Long Arrow has disappeared—But where to go:

that’s the question. Where shall we go?”

There were so many places that I wanted to go that I couldn’t make up

my mind right away. And while I was still thinking, the Doctor sat up

in his chair and said,

“I tell you what we’ll do, Stubbins: it’s a game I used to play when I

was young—before Sarah came to live with me. I used to call it Blind

Travel. Whenever I wanted to go on a voyage, and I couldn’t make up my

mind where to go, I would take the atlas and open it with my eyes shut.

Next, I’d wave a pencil, still without looking, and stick it down on

whatever page had fallen open. Then I’d open my eyes and look. It’s a

very exciting game, is Blind Travel. Because you have to swear, before

you begin, that you will go to the place the pencil touches, come what

may. Shall we play it?”

“Oh, let’s!” I almost yelled. “How thrilling! I hope it’s China—or

Borneo—or Bagdad.”

And in a moment I had scrambled up the bookcase, dragged the big atlas

from the top shelf and laid it on the table before the Doctor.

I knew every page in that atlas by heart. How many days and nights I

had lingered over its old faded maps, following the blue rivers from

the mountains to the sea; wondering what the little towns really looked

like, and how wide were the sprawling lakes! I had had a lot of fun

with that atlas, traveling, in my mind, all over the world. I can see

it now: the first page had no map; it just told you that it was printed

in Edinburgh in 1808, and a whole lot more about the book. The next

page was the Solar System, showing the sun and planets, the stars and

the moon. The third page was the chart of the North and South Poles.

Then came the hemispheres, the oceans, the continents and the countries.

As the Doctor began sharpening his pencil a thought came to me.

“What if the pencil falls upon the North Pole,” I asked, “will we have

to go there?”

“No. The rules of the game say you don’t have to go any place you’ve

been to before. You are allowed another try. I’ve been to the North

Pole,” he ended quietly, “so we shan’t have to go there.”

I could hardly speak with astonishment.

“_You’ve been to the North pole!_” I managed to gasp out at last. “But

I thought it was still undiscovered. The map shows all the places

explorers have reached to, _trying_ to get there. Why isn’t your name

down if you discovered it?”

“I promised to keep it a secret. And you must promise me never to

tell any one. Yes, I discovered the North Pole in April, 1809. But

shortly after I got there the polar bears came to me in a body and

told me there was a great deal of coal there, buried beneath the snow.

They knew, they said, that human beings would do anything, and go

anywhere, to get coal. So would I please keep it a secret. Because

once people began coming up there to start coal-mines, their beautiful

white country would be spoiled—and there was nowhere else in the world

cold enough for polar bears to be comfortable. So of course I had to

promise them I would. Ah, well, it will be discovered again some day,

by somebody else. But I want the polar bears to have their play-ground

to themselves as long as possible. And I daresay it will be a good

while yet—for it certainly is a fiendish place to get to—Well now, are

we ready?—Good! Take the pencil and stand here close to the table. When

the book falls open, wave the pencil round three times and jab it down.

Ready?—All right. Shut your eyes.”

It was a tense and fearful moment—but very thrilling. We both had our

eyes shut tight. I heard the atlas fall open with a bang. I wondered

what page it was: England or Asia. If it should be the map of Asia, so

much would depend on where that pencil would land. I waved three times

in a circle. I began to lower my hand. The pencil-point touched the

page.

“All right,” I called out, “it’s done.”

_THE TWELFTH CHAPTER_

DESTINY AND DESTINATION

WE both opened our eyes; then bumped our heads together with a crack in

our eagerness to lean over and see where we were to go.

The atlas lay open at a map called, _Chart of the South Atlantic

Ocean_. My pencil-point was resting right in the center of a tiny

island. The name of it was printed so small that the Doctor had to get

out his strong spectacles to read it. I was trembling with excitement.

“_Spidermonkey Island_,” he read out slowly. Then he whistled softly

beneath his breath. “Of all the extraordinary things! You’ve hit upon

the very island where Long Arrow was last seen on earth—I wonder—Well,

well! How very singular!”

“We’ll go there, Doctor, won’t we?” I asked.

“Of course we will. The rules of the game say we’ve got to.”

“I’m so glad it wasn’t Oxenthorpe or Bristol,” I said. “It’ll be a

grand voyage, this. Look at all the sea we’ve got to cross. Will it

take us long?”

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor—“not very. With a good boat and a good wind

we should make it easily in four weeks. But isn’t it extraordinary?

Of all the places in the world you picked out that one with your eyes

shut. Spidermonkey Island after all!—Well, there’s one good thing about

it: I shall be able to get some Jabizri beetles.”

“What are Jabizri beetles?”

“They are a very rare kind of beetles with peculiar habits. I want to

study them. There are only three countries in the world where they are

to be found. Spidermonkey Island is one of them. But even there they

are very scarce.”

“What is this little question-mark after the name of the island for?” I

asked, pointing to the map.

“That means that the island’s position in the ocean is not known very

exactly—that it is somewhere _about_ there. Ships have probably seen it

in that neighborhood, that is all, most likely. It is quite possible we

shall be the first white men to land there. But I daresay we shall have

some difficulty in finding it first.”

How like a dream it all sounded! The two of us sitting there at the big

study-table; the candles lit; the smoke curling towards the dim ceiling

from the Doctor’s pipe—the two of us sitting there, talking about

finding an island in the ocean and being the first white men to land

upon it!

“I’ll bet it will be a great voyage,” I said. “It looks a lovely

island on the map. Will there be black men there?”

“No. A peculiar tribe of Red Indians lives on it, Miranda tells me.”

At this point the poor Bird-of-Paradise stirred and woke up. In our

excitement we had forgotten to speak low.

“We are going to Spidermonkey Island, Miranda,” said the Doctor. “You

know where it is, do you not?”

“I know where it was the last time I saw it,” said the bird. “But

whether it will be there still, I can’t say.”

“What do you mean?” asked the Doctor. “It is always in the same place

surely?”

“Not by any means,” said Miranda. “Why, didn’t you know?—Spidermonkey

Island is a _floating_ island. It moves around all over the

place—usually somewhere near southern South America. But of course I

could surely find it for you if you want to go there.”

At this fresh piece of news I could contain myself no longer. I was

bursting to tell some one. I ran dancing and singing from the room to

find Chee-Chee.

At the door I tripped over Dab-Dab, who was just coming in with her

wings full of plates, and fell headlong on my nose.

“Has the boy gone crazy?” cried the duck. “Where do you think you’re

going, ninny?”

“To Spidermonkey Island!” I shouted, picking myself up and doing

cart-wheels down the hall—“Spidermonkey Island! Hooray!—And it’s a

_floating_ island!”

“You’re going to Bedlam, I should say,” snorted the housekeeper. “Look

what you’ve done to my best china!”

But I was far too happy to listen to her scolding; and I ran on,

singing, into the kitchen to find Chee-Chee.

[Illustration]

PART THREE

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

THE THIRD MAN

THAT same week we began our preparations for the voyage.

Joe, the mussel-man, had the _Curlew_ moved down the river and tied it

up along the river-wall, so it would be more handy for loading. And for

three whole days we carried provisions down to our beautiful new boat

and stowed them away.

I was surprised to find how roomy and big she was inside. There were

three little cabins, a saloon (or dining-room) and underneath all this,

a big place called the hold where the food and extra sails and other

things were kept.

I think Joe must have told everybody in the town about our coming

voyage, because there was always a regular crowd watching us when we

brought the things down to put aboard. And of course sooner or later

old Matthew Mugg was bound to turn up.

“My Goodness, Tommy,” said he, as he watched me carrying on some sacks

of flour, “but that’s a pretty boat! Where might the Doctor be going

to this voyage?”

“We’re going to Spidermonkey Island,” I said proudly.

“And be you the only one the Doctor’s taking along?”

“Well, he has spoken of wanting to take another man,” I said; “but so

far he hasn’t made up his mind.”

Matthew grunted; then squinted up at the graceful masts of the _Curlew_.

“You know, Tommy,” said he, “if it wasn’t for my rheumatism I’ve half

a mind to come with the Doctor myself. There’s something about a boat

standing ready to sail that always did make me feel venturesome and

travelish-like. What’s that stuff in the cans you’re taking on?”

“This is treacle,” I said—“twenty pounds of treacle.”

“My Goodness,” he sighed, turning away sadly. “That makes me feel more

like going with you than ever—But my rheumatism is that bad I can’t

hardly—”

I didn’t hear any more for Matthew had moved off, still mumbling, into

the crowd that stood about the wharf. The clock in Puddleby Church

struck noon and I turned back, feeling very busy and important, to the

task of loading.

But it wasn’t very long before some one else came along and

interrupted my work. This was a huge, big, burly man with a red beard

and tattoo-marks all over his arms. He wiped his mouth with the back of

his hand, spat twice on to the river-wall and said,

“Boy, where’s the skipper?”

“The _skipper_!—Who do you mean?” I asked.

“The captain—Where’s the captain of this craft?” he said, pointing to

the _Curlew_.

“Oh, you mean the Doctor,” said I. “Well, he isn’t here at present.”

At that moment the Doctor arrived with his arms full of note-books and

butterfly-nets and glass cases and other natural history things. The

big man went up to him, respectfully touching his cap.

“Good morning, Captain,” said he. “I heard you was in need of hands for

a voyage. My name’s Ben Butcher, able seaman.”

“I am very glad to know you,” said the Doctor. “But I’m afraid I shan’t

be able to take on any more crew.”

“Why, but Captain,” said the able seaman, “you surely ain’t going to

face deep-sea weather with nothing more than this bit of a lad to help

you—and with a cutter that big!”

The Doctor assured him that he was; but the man didn’t go away. He hung

around and argued. He told us he had known of many ships being sunk

through “undermanning.” He got out what he called his _stiffikit_—a

paper which said what a good sailor he was—and implored us, if we

valued our lives, to take him.

[Illustration: “‘Boy, where’s the skipper?’”]

But the Doctor was quite firm—polite but determined—and finally the man

walked sorrowfully away, telling us he never expected to see us alive

again.

Callers of one sort and another kept us quite busy that morning.

The Doctor had no sooner gone below to stow away his note-books

than another visitor appeared upon the gang-plank. This was a most

extraordinary-looking black man. The only other negroes I had seen

had been in circuses, where they wore feathers and bone necklaces and

things like that. But this one was dressed in a fashionable frock coat

with an enormous bright red cravat. On his head was a straw hat with

a gay band; and over this he held a large green umbrella. He was very

smart in every respect except his feet. He wore no shoes or socks.

“Pardon me,” said he, bowing elegantly, “but is this the ship of the

physician Dolittle?”

“Yes,” I said, “did you wish to see him?”

“I did—if it will not be discommodious,” he answered.

“Who shall I say it is?”

“I am Bumpo Kahbooboo, Crown Prince of Jolliginki.”

I ran downstairs at once and told the Doctor.

“How fortunate!” cried John Dolittle. “My old friend Bumpo! Well,

well!—He’s studying at Oxford, you know. How good of him to come all

this way to call on me!” And he tumbled up the ladder to greet his

visitor.

The strange black man seemed to be overcome with joy when the Doctor

appeared and shook him warmly by the hand.

“News reached me,” he said, “that you were about to sail upon a voyage.

I hastened to see you before your departure. I am sublimely ecstasied

that I did not miss you.”

“You very nearly did miss us,” said the Doctor. “As it happened, we

were delayed somewhat in getting the necessary number of men to sail

our boat. If it hadn’t been for that, we would have been gone three

days ago.”

“How many men does your ship’s company yet require?” asked Bumpo.

“Only one,” said the Doctor—“But it is so hard to find the right one.”

“Methinks I detect something of the finger of Destination in this,”

said Bumpo. “How would I do?”

“Splendidly,” said the Doctor. “But what about your studies? You can’t

very well just go off and leave your university career to take care of

itself, you know.”

“I need a holiday,” said Bumpo. “Even had I not gone with you, I

intended at the end of this term to take a three-months’ absconsion—But

besides, I shall not be neglecting my edification if I accompany you.

Before I left Jolliginki my august father, the King, told me to be

sure and travel plenty. You are a man of great studiosity. To see the

world in your company is an opportunity not to be sneezed upon. No, no,

indeed.”

“How did you like the life at Oxford?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, passably, passably,” said Bumpo. “I liked it all except the

algebra and the shoes. The algebra hurt my head and the shoes hurt my

feet. I threw the shoes over a wall as soon as I got out of the college

quadrilateral this morning; and the algebra I am happily forgetting

very fast—I liked Cicero—Yes, I think Cicero’s fine—so simultaneous.

By the way, they tell me his son is rowing for our college next

year—charming fellow.”

The Doctor looked down at the black man’s huge bare feet thoughtfully a

moment.

“Well,” he said slowly, “there is something in what you say, Bumpo,

about getting education from the world as well as from the college. And

if you are really sure that you want to come, we shall be delighted to

have you. Because, to tell you the truth, I think you are exactly the

man we need.”

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

GOOD-BYE!

TWO days after that we had all in readiness for our departure.

On this voyage Jip begged so hard to be taken that the Doctor finally

gave in and said he could come. Polynesia and Chee-Chee were the only

other animals to go with us. Dab-Dab was left in charge of the house

and the animal family we were to leave behind.

Of course, as is always the way, at the last moment we kept remembering

things we had forgotten; and when we finally closed the house up and

went down the steps to the road, we were all burdened with armfuls of

odd packages.

Halfway to the river, the Doctor suddenly remembered that he had left

the stock-pot boiling on the kitchen-fire. However, we saw a blackbird

flying by who nested in our garden, and the Doctor asked her to go back

for us and tell Dab-Dab about it.

Down at the river-wall we found a great crowd waiting to see us off.

Standing right near the gang-plank were my mother and father. I hoped

that they would not make a scene, or burst into tears or anything like

that. But as a matter of fact they behaved quite well—for parents. My

mother said something about being sure not to get my feet wet; and my

father just smiled a crooked sort of smile, patted me on the back and

wished me luck. Good-byes are awfully uncomfortable things and I was

glad when it was over and we passed on to the ship.

We were a little surprised not to see Matthew Mugg among the crowd. We

had felt sure that he would be there; and the Doctor had intended to

give him some extra instructions about the food for the animals we had

left at the house.

At last, after much pulling and tugging, we got the anchor up and undid

a lot of mooring-ropes. Then the _Curlew_ began to move gently down the

river with the out-running tide, while the people on the wall cheered

and waved their handkerchiefs.

We bumped into one or two other boats getting out into the stream; and

at one sharp bend in the river we got stuck on a mud bank for a few

minutes. But though the people on the shore seemed to get very excited

at these things, the Doctor did not appear to be disturbed by them in

the least.

“These little accidents will happen in the most carefully regulated

voyages,” he said as he leaned over the side and fished for his boots

which had got stuck in the mud while we were pushing off. “Sailing is

much easier when you get out into the open sea. There aren’t so many

silly things to bump into.”

For me indeed it was a great and wonderful feeling, that getting out

into the open sea, when at length we passed the little lighthouse at

the mouth of the river and found ourselves free of the land. It was all

so new and different: just the sky above you and sea below. This ship,

which was to be our house and our street, our home and our garden, for

so many days to come, seemed so tiny in all this wide water—so tiny and

yet so snug, sufficient, safe.

I looked around me and took in a deep breath. The Doctor was at the

wheel steering the boat which was now leaping and plunging gently

through the waves. (I had expected to feel seasick at first but was

delighted to find that I didn’t.) Bumpo had been told off to go

downstairs and prepare dinner for us. Chee-Chee was coiling up ropes

in the stern and laying them in neat piles. My work was fastening down

the things on the deck so that nothing could roll about if the weather

should grow rough when we got further from the land. Jip was up in the

peak of the boat with ears cocked and nose stuck out—like a statue, so

still—his keen old eyes keeping a sharp look-out for floating wrecks,

sand-bars, and other dangers. Each one of us had some special job to

do, part of the proper running of a ship. Even old Polynesia was taking

the sea’s temperature with the Doctor’s bath-thermometer tied on the

end of a string, to make sure there were no icebergs near us. As I

listened to her swearing softly to herself because she couldn’t read

the pesky figures in the fading light, I realized that the voyage had

begun in earnest and that very soon it would be night—my first night at

sea!

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

OUR TROUBLES BEGIN

JUST before supper-time Bumpo appeared from downstairs and went to the

Doctor at the wheel.

“A stowaway in the hold, Sir,” said he in a very business-like

seafaring voice. “I just discovered him, behind the flour-bags.”

“Dear me!” said the Doctor. “What a nuisance! Stubbins, go down with

Bumpo and bring the man up. I can’t leave the wheel just now.”

So Bumpo and I went down into the hold; and there, behind the

flour-bags, plastered in flour from head to foot, we found a man. After

we had swept most of the flour off him with a broom, we discovered

that it was Matthew Mugg. We hauled him upstairs sneezing and took him

before the Doctor.

“Why Matthew!” said John Dolittle. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“The temptation was too much for me, Doctor,” said the cat’s-meat-man.

“You know I’ve often asked you to take me on voyages with you and you

never would. Well, this time, knowing that you needed an extra man, I

thought if I stayed hid till the ship was well at sea you would find I

came in handy like and keep me. But I had to lie so doubled up, for

hours, behind them flour-bags, that my rheumatism came on something

awful. I just had to change my position; and of course just as I

stretched out my legs along comes this here African cook of yours and

sees my feet sticking out—Don’t this ship roll something awful! How

long has this storm been going on? I reckon this damp sea air wouldn’t

be very good for my rheumatics.”

“No, Matthew it really isn’t. You ought not to have come. You are not

in any way suited to this kind of a life. I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy

a long voyage a bit. We’ll stop in at Penzance and put you ashore.

Bumpo, please go downstairs to my bunk; and listen: in the pocket of

my dressing-gown you’ll find some maps. Bring me the small one—with

blue pencil-marks at the top. I know Penzance is over here on our left

somewhere. But I must find out what light-houses there are before I

change the ship’s course and sail inshore.”

“Very good, Sir,” said Bumpo, turning round smartly and making for the

stairway.

“Now Matthew,” said the Doctor, “you can take the coach from Penzance

to Bristol. And from there it is not very far to Puddleby, as you know.

Don’t forget to take the usual provisions to the house every Thursday,

and be particularly careful to remember the extra supply of herrings

for the baby minks.”

While we were waiting for the maps Chee-Chee and I set about lighting

the lamps: a green one on the right side of the ship, a red one on the

left and a white one on the mast.

At last we heard some one trundling on the stairs again and the Doctor

said,

“Ah, here’s Bumpo with the maps at last!”

But to our great astonishment it was not Bumpo alone that appeared but

_three_ people.

“Good Lord deliver us! Who are these?” cried John Dolittle.

“Two more stowaways, Sir,” said Bumpo stepping forward briskly. “I

found them in your cabin hiding under the bunk. One woman and one man,

Sir. Here are the maps.”

“This is too much,” said the Doctor feebly. “Who are they? I can’t see

their faces in this dim light. Strike a match, Bumpo.”

You could never guess who it was. It was Luke and his wife. Mrs. Luke

appeared to be very miserable and seasick.

They explained to the Doctor that after they had settled down to live

together in the little shack out on the fens, so many people came

to visit them (having heard about the great trial) that life became

impossible; and they had decided to escape from Puddleby in this

manner—for they had no money to leave any other way—and try to find

some new place to live where they and their story wouldn’t be so well

known. But as soon as the ship had begun to roll Mrs. Luke had got most

dreadfully unwell.

Poor Luke apologized many times for being such a nuisance and said that

the whole thing had been his wife’s idea.

The Doctor, after he had sent below for his medicine-bag and had given

Mrs. Luke some _sal volatile_ and smelling-salts, said he thought the

best thing to do would be for him to lend them some money and put them

ashore at Penzance with Matthew. He also wrote a letter for Luke to

take with him to a friend the Doctor had in the town of Penzance who,

it was hoped, would be able to find Luke work to do there.

As the Doctor opened his purse and took out some gold coins I heard

Polynesia, who was sitting on my shoulder watching the whole affair,

mutter beneath her breath,

“There he goes—lending his last blessed penny—three pounds ten—all

the money we had for the whole trip! Now we haven’t the price of a

postage-stamp aboard if we should lose an anchor or have to buy a pint

of tar—Well, let’s pray we don’t run out of food—Why doesn’t he give

them the ship and walk home?”

Presently with the help of the map the course of the boat was changed

and, to Mrs. Luke’s great relief, we made for Penzance and dry land.

I was tremendously interested to see how a ship could be steered into a

port at night with nothing but light-houses and a compass to guide you.

It seemed to me that the Doctor missed all the rocks and sand-bars very

cleverly.

We got into that funny little Cornish harbor about eleven o’clock that

night. The Doctor took his stowaways on shore in our small row-boat

which we kept on the deck of the _Curlew_ and found them rooms at

the hotel there. When he got back he told us that Mrs. Luke had gone

straight to bed and was feeling much better.

It was now after midnight; so we decided to stay in the harbor and wait

till morning before setting out again.

I was glad to get to bed, although I felt that staying up so

tremendously late was great fun. As I climbed into the bunk over the

Doctor’s and pulled the blankets snugly round me, I found I could look

out of the port-hole at my elbow, and, without raising my head from

the pillow, could see the lights of Penzance swinging gently up and

down with the motion of the ship at anchor. It was like being rocked

to sleep with a little show going on to amuse you. I was just deciding

that I liked the life of the sea very much when I fell fast asleep.

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

OUR TROUBLES CONTINUE

THE next morning when we were eating a very excellent breakfast of

kidneys and bacon, prepared by our good cook Bumpo, the Doctor said to

me,

“I was just wondering, Stubbins, whether I should stop at the Capa

Blanca Islands or run right across for the coast of Brazil. Miranda

said we could expect a spell of excellent weather now—for four and a

half weeks at least.”

“Well,” I said, spooning out the sugar at the bottom of my cocoa-cup,

“I should think it would be best to make straight across while we

are sure of good weather. And besides the Purple Bird-of-Paradise is

going to keep a lookout for us, isn’t she? She’ll be wondering what’s

happened to us if we don’t get there in about a month.”

“True, quite true, Stubbins. On the other hand, the Capa Blancas make

a very convenient stopping place on our way across. If we should need

supplies or repairs it would be very handy to put in there.”

“How long will it take us from here to the Capa Blancas?” I asked.

“About six days,” said the Doctor—“Well, we can decide later. For the

next two days at any rate our direction would be the same practically

in either case. If you have finished breakfast let’s go and get under

way.”

Upstairs I found our vessel surrounded by white and gray seagulls

who flashed and circled about in the sunny morning air, looking for

food-scraps thrown out by the ships into the harbor.

By about half past seven we had the anchor up and the sails set to a

nice steady breeze; and this time we got out into the open sea without

bumping into a single thing. We met the Penzance fishing fleet coming

in from the night’s fishing, and very trim and neat they looked, in a

line like soldiers, with their red-brown sails all leaning over the

same way and the white water dancing before their bows.

For the next three or four days everything went smoothly and nothing

unusual happened. During this time we all got settled down into our

regular jobs; and in spare moments the Doctor showed each of us how to

take our turns at the wheel, the proper manner of keeping a ship on her

right course, and what to do if the wind changed suddenly. We divided

the twenty-four hours of the day into three spells; and we took it in

turns to sleep our eight hours and be awake sixteen. So the ship was

well looked after, with two of us always on duty.

Besides that, Polynesia, who was an older sailor than any of us, and

really knew a lot about running ships, seemed to be always awake—except

when she took her couple of winks in the sun, standing on one leg

beside the wheel. You may be sure that no one ever got a chance to stay

abed more than his eight hours while Polynesia was around. She used to

watch the ship’s clock; and if you overslept a half-minute, she would

come down to the cabin and peck you gently on the nose till you got up.

I very soon grew to be quite fond of our funny black friend Bumpo,

with his grand way of speaking and his enormous feet which some one

was always stepping on or falling over. Although he was much older

than I was and had been to college, he never tried to lord it over me.

He seemed to be forever smiling and kept all of us in good humor. It

wasn’t long before I began to see the Doctor’s good sense in bringing

him—in spite of the fact that he knew nothing whatever about sailing or

travel.

On the morning of the fifth day out, just as I was taking the wheel

over from the Doctor, Bumpo appeared and said,

“The salt beef is nearly all gone, Sir.”

“The salt beef!” cried the Doctor. “Why, we brought a hundred and

twenty pounds with us. We couldn’t have eaten that in five days. What

can have become of it?”

[Illustration: “In these lower levels we came upon the shadowy shapes

of dead ships”

_Page 360_]

“I don’t know, Sir, I’m sure. Every time I go down to the stores I find

another hunk missing. If it is rats that are eating it, then they are

certainly colossal rodents.”

Polynesia who was walking up and down a stay-rope taking her morning

exercise, put in,

“We must search the hold. If this is allowed to go on we will all be

starving before a week is out. Come downstairs with me, Tommy, and we

will look into this matter.”

So we went downstairs into the store-room and Polynesia told us to keep

quite still and listen. This we did. And presently we heard from a dark

corner of the hold the distinct sound of someone snoring.

“Ah, I thought so,” said Polynesia. “It’s a man—and a big one. Climb

in there, both of you, and haul him out. It sounds as though he were

behind that barrel—Gosh! We seem to have brought half of Puddleby with

us. Anyone would think we were a penny ferry-boat. Such cheek! Haul him

out.”

So Bumpo and I lit a lantern and climbed over the stores. And there,

behind the barrel, sure enough, we found an enormous bearded man fast

asleep with a well-fed look on his face. We woke him up.

“Washamarrer?” he said sleepily.

It was Ben Butcher, the able seaman.

Polynesia spluttered like an angry fire-cracker.

“This is the last straw,” said she. “The one man in the world we least

wanted. Shiver my timbers, what cheek!”

“Would it not be, advisable,” suggested Bumpo, “while the varlet is

still sleepy, to strike him on the head with some heavy object and push

him through a port-hole into the sea?”

“No. We’d get into trouble,” said Polynesia. “We’re not in Jolliginki

now, you know—worse luck!—Besides, there never was a port-hole big

enough to push that man through. Bring him upstairs to the Doctor.”

So we led the man to the wheel where he respectfully touched his cap to

the Doctor.

“Another stowaway, Sir,” said Bumpo smartly.

I thought the poor Doctor would have a fit.

“Good morning, Captain,” said the man. “Ben Butcher, able seaman, at

your service. I knew you’d need me, so I took the liberty of stowing

away—much against my conscience. But I just couldn’t bear to see you

poor landsmen set out on this voyage without a single real seaman to

help you. You’d never have got home alive if I hadn’t come—Why look at

your mainsail, Sir—all loose at the throat. First gust of wind come

along, and away goes your canvas overboard—Well, it’s all right now I’m

here. We’ll soon get things in shipshape.”

“No, it isn’t all right,” said the Doctor, “it’s all wrong. And I’m not

at all glad to see you. I told you in Puddleby I didn’t want you. You

had no right to come.”

“But Captain,” said the able seaman, “you can’t sail this ship without

me. You don’t understand navigation. Why, look at the compass now:

you’ve let her swing a point and a half off her course. It’s madness

for you to try to do this trip alone—if you’ll pardon my saying so,

Sir. Why—why, you’ll lose the ship!”

“Look here,” said the Doctor, a sudden stern look coming into his

eyes, “losing a ship is nothing to me. I’ve lost ships before and it

doesn’t bother me in the least. When I set out to go to a place, I get

there. Do you understand? I may know nothing whatever about sailing

and navigation, but I get there just the same. Now you may be the best

seaman in the world, but on _this_ ship you’re just a plain ordinary

nuisance—very plain and very ordinary. And I am now going to call at

the nearest port and put you ashore.”

“Yes, and think yourself lucky,” Polynesia put in, “that you are not

locked up for stowing away and eating all our salt beef.”

“I don’t know what the mischief we’re going to do now,” I heard her

whisper to Bumpo. “We’ve no money to buy any more; and that salt beef

was the most important part of the stores.”

“Would it not be good political economy,” Bumpo whispered back, “if

we salted the able seaman and ate him instead? I should judge that he

would weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds.”

“How often must I tell you that we are not in Jolliginki,” snapped

Polynesia. “Those things are not done on white men’s ships—Still,” she

murmured after a moment’s thought, “it’s an awfully bright idea. I

don’t suppose anybody saw him come on to the ship—Oh, but Heavens! we

haven’t got enough salt. Besides, he’d be sure to taste of tobacco.”

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

POLYNESIA HAS A PLAN

THEN the Doctor told me to take the wheel while he made a little

calculation with his map and worked out what new course we should take.

“I shall have to run for the Capa Blancas after all,” he told me when

the seaman’s back was turned. “Dreadful nuisance! But I’d sooner swim

back to Puddleby than have to listen to that fellow’s talk all the way

to Brazil.”

Indeed he was a terrible person, this Ben Butcher. You’d think that any

one after being told he wasn’t wanted would have had the decency to

keep quiet. But not Ben Butcher. He kept going round the deck pointing

out all the things we had wrong. According to him there wasn’t a thing

right on the whole ship. The anchor was hitched up wrong; the hatches

weren’t fastened down properly; the sails were put on back to front;

all our knots were the wrong kind of knots.

At last the Doctor told him to stop talking and go downstairs. He

refused—said he wasn’t going to be sunk by landlubbers while he was

still able to stay on deck.

This made us feel a little uneasy. He was such an enormous man there

was no knowing what he might do if he got really obstreperous.

Bumpo and I were talking about this downstairs in the dining-saloon

when Polynesia, Jip and Chee-Chee came and joined us. And, as usual,

Polynesia had a plan.

“Listen,” she said, “I am certain this Ben Butcher is a smuggler and a

bad man. I am a very good judge of seamen, remember, and I don’t like

the cut of this man’s jib. I—”

“Do you really think,” I interrupted, “that it _is_ safe for the Doctor

to cross the Atlantic without any regular seamen on his ship?”

You see it had upset me quite a good deal to find that all the things

we had been doing were wrong; and I was beginning to wonder what might

happen if we ran into a storm—particularly as Miranda had only said the

weather would be good for a certain time; and we seemed to be having so

many delays. But Polynesia merely tossed her head scornfully.

“Oh, bless you, my boy,” said she, “you’re always safe with John

Dolittle. Remember that. Don’t take any notice of that stupid old salt.

Of course it is perfectly true the Doctor does do everything wrong. But

with him it doesn’t matter. Mark my words, if you travel with John

Dolittle you always get there, as you heard him say. I’ve been with him

lots of times and I know. Sometimes the ship is upside down when you

get there, and sometimes it’s right way up. But you get there just the

same. And then of course there’s another thing about the Doctor,” she

added thoughtfully: “he always has extraordinary good luck. He may have

his troubles; but with him things seem to have a habit of turning out

all right in the end. I remember once when we were going through the

Straits of Magellan the wind was so strong—”

“But what are we going to do about Ben Butcher?” Jip put in. “You had

some plan Polynesia, hadn’t you?”

“Yes. What I’m afraid of is that he may hit the Doctor on the head when

he’s not looking and make himself captain of the _Curlew_. Bad sailors

do that sometimes. Then they run the ship their own way and take it

where they want. That’s what you call a mutiny.”

“Yes,” said Jip, “and we ought to do something pretty quick. We can’t

reach the Capa Blancas before the day after to-morrow at best. I don’t

like to leave the Doctor alone with him for a minute. He smells like a

very bad man to me.”

“Well, I’ve got it all worked out,” said Polynesia. “Listen: is there a

key in that door?”

We looked outside the dining-room and found that there was.

“All right,” said Polynesia. “Now Bumpo lays the table for lunch and

we all go and hide. Then at twelve o’clock Bumpo rings the dinner-bell

down here. As soon as Ben hears it he’ll come down expecting more salt

beef. Bumpo must hide behind the door outside. The moment that Ben is

seated at the dining-table Bumpo slams the door and locks it. Then

we’ve got him. See?”

“How stratagenious!” Bumpo chuckled. “As Cicero said, _parrots cum

parishioners facilime congregation_. I’ll lay the table at once.”

“Yes and take that Worcestershire sauce off the dresser with you when

you go out,” said Polynesia. “Don’t leave any loose eatables around.

That fellow has had enough to last any man for three days. Besides, he

won’t be so inclined to start a fight when we put him ashore at the

Capa Blancas if we thin him down a bit before we let him out.”

So we all went and hid ourselves in the passage where we could watch

what happened. And presently Bumpo came to the foot of the stairs and

rang the dinner-bell like mad. Then he hopped behind the dining-room

door and we all kept still and listened.

Almost immediately, _thump_, _thump_, _thump_, down the stairs tramped

Ben Butcher, the able seaman. He walked into the dining-saloon, sat

himself down at the head of the table in the Doctor’s place, tucked a

napkin under his fat chin and heaved a sigh of expectation.

Then, _bang_! Bumpo slammed the door and locked it.

“That settles _him_ for a while,” said Polynesia coming out from her

hiding-place. “Now let him teach navigation to the side-board. Gosh,

the cheek of the man! I’ve forgotten more about the sea than that

lumbering lout will ever know. Let’s go upstairs and tell the Doctor.

Bumpo, you will have to serve the meals in the cabin for the next

couple of days.”

And bursting into a rollicking Norwegian sea-song, she climbed up to my

shoulder and we went on deck.

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

THE BED-MAKER OF MONTEVERDE

WE remained three days in the Capa Blanca Islands.

There were two reasons why we stayed there so long when we were really

in such a hurry to get away. One was the shortage in our provisions

caused by the able seaman’s enormous appetite. When we came to go over

the stores and make a list, we found that he had eaten a whole lot of

other things besides the beef. And having no money, we were sorely

puzzled how to buy more. The Doctor went through his trunk to see if

there was anything he could sell. But the only thing he could find

was an old watch with the hands broken and the back dented in; and we

decided this would not bring us in enough money to buy much more than a

pound of tea. Bumpo suggested that he sing comic songs in the streets

which he had learned in Jolliginki. But the Doctor said he did not

think that the islanders would care for African music.

The other thing that kept us was the bullfight. In these islands, which

belonged to Spain, they had bullfights every Sunday. It was on a Friday

that we arrived there; and after we had got rid of the able seaman we

took a walk through the town.

It was a very funny little town, quite different from any that I had

ever seen. The streets were all twisty and winding and so narrow that a

wagon could only just pass along them. The houses over-hung at the top

and came so close together that people in the attics could lean out of

the windows and shake hands with their neighbors on the opposite side

of the street. The Doctor told us the town was very, very old. It was

called Monteverde.

As we had no money of course we did not go to a hotel or anything like

that. But on the second evening when we were passing by a bed-maker’s

shop we noticed several beds, which the man had made, standing on

the pavement outside. The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the

bed-maker who was sitting at his door whistling to a parrot in a cage.

The Doctor and the bed-maker got very friendly talking about birds and

things. And as it grew near to supper-time the man asked us to stop and

sup with him.

This of course we were very glad to do. And after the meal was over

(very nice dishes they were, mostly cooked in olive-oil—I particularly

liked the fried bananas) we sat outside on the pavement again and went

on talking far into the night.

At last when we got up to go back to our ship, this very nice

shopkeeper wouldn’t hear of our going away on any account. He said the

streets down by the harbor were very badly lighted and there was no

moon. We would surely get lost. He invited us to spend the night with

him and go back to our ship in the morning.

Well, we finally agreed; and as our good friend had no spare bedrooms,

the three of us, the Doctor, Bumpo and I, slept on the beds set out for

sale on the pavement before the shop. The night was so hot we needed

no coverings. It was great fun to fall asleep out of doors like this,

watching the people walking to and fro and the gay life of the streets.

It seemed to me that Spanish people never went to bed at all. Late as

it was, all the little restaurants and cafés around us were wide open,

with customers drinking coffee and chatting merrily at the small tables

outside. The sound of a guitar strumming softly in the distance mingled

with the clatter of chinaware and the babble of voices.

Somehow it made me think of my mother and father far away in Puddleby,

with their regular habits, the evening practise on the flute and the

rest—doing the same thing every day. I felt sort of sorry for them in

a way, because they missed the fun of this traveling life, where we

were doing something new all the time—even sleeping differently. But

I suppose if they had been invited to go to bed on a pavement in front

of a shop they wouldn’t have cared for the idea at all. It is funny how

some people are.

[Illustration: “The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the

bed-maker”]

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

THE DOCTOR’S WAGER

NEXT morning we were awakened by a great racket. There was a procession

coming down the street, a number of men in very gay clothes followed

by a large crowd of admiring ladies and cheering children. I asked the

Doctor who they were.

“They are the bullfighters,” he said. “There is to be a bullfight

to-morrow.”

“What is a bullfight?” I asked.

To my great surprise the Doctor got red in the face with anger. It

reminded me of the time when he had spoken of the lions and tigers in

his private zoo.

“A bullfight is a stupid, cruel, disgusting business,” said he. “These

Spanish people are most lovable and hospitable folk. How they can enjoy

these wretched bullfights is a thing I could never understand.”

Then the Doctor went on to explain to me how a bull was first made very

angry by teasing and then allowed to run into a circus where men came

out with red cloaks, waved them at him, and ran away. Next the bull was

allowed to tire himself out by tossing and killing a lot of poor, old,

broken-down horses who couldn’t defend themselves. Then, when the bull

was thoroughly out of breath and wearied by this, a man came out with a

sword and killed the bull.

“Every Sunday,” said the Doctor, “in almost every big town in Spain

there are six bulls killed like that and as many horses.”

“But aren’t the men ever killed by the bull?” I asked.

“Unfortunately very seldom,” said he. “A bull is not nearly as

dangerous as he looks, even when he’s angry, if you are only quick on

your feet and don’t lose your head. These bullfighters are very clever

and nimble. And the people, especially the Spanish ladies, think no

end of them. A famous bullfighter (or matador, as they call them) is

a more important man in Spain than a king—Here comes another crowd of

them round the corner, look. See the girls throwing kisses to them.

Ridiculous business!”

At that moment our friend the bed-maker came out to see the procession

go past. And while he was wishing us good morning and enquiring how

we had slept, a friend of his walked up and joined us. The bed-maker

introduced this friend to us as Don Enrique Cardenas.

Don Enrique when he heard where we were from, spoke to us in English.

He appeared to be a well-educated, gentlemanly sort of person.

“And you go to see the bullfight to-morrow, yes?” he asked the Doctor

pleasantly.

“Certainly not,” said John Dolittle firmly. “I don’t like

bullfights—cruel, cowardly shows.”

Don Enrique nearly exploded. I never saw a man get so excited. He told

the Doctor that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He said

bullfighting was a noble sport and that the matadors were the bravest

men in the world.

“Oh, rubbish!” said the Doctor. “You never give the poor bull a chance.

It is only when he is all tired and dazed that your precious matadors

dare to try and kill him.”

I thought the Spaniard was going to strike the Doctor he got so angry.

While he was still spluttering to find words, the bed-maker came

between them and took the Doctor aside. He explained to John Dolittle

in a whisper that this Don Enrique Cardenas was a very important

person; that he it was who supplied the bulls—a special, strong black

kind—from his own farm for all the bullfights in the Capa Blancas. He

was a very rich man, the bed-maker said, a most important personage. He

mustn’t be allowed to take offense on any account.

I watched the Doctor’s face as the bed-maker finished, and I saw a

flash of boyish mischief come into his eyes as though an idea had

struck him. He turned to the angry Spaniard.

“Don Enrique,” he said, “you tell me your bullfighters are very

brave men and skilful. It seems I have offended you by saying that

bullfighting is a poor sport. What is the name of the best matador you

have for to-morrow’s show?”

“Pepito de Malaga,” said Don Enrique, “one of the greatest names, one

of the bravest men, in all Spain.”

“Very well,” said the Doctor, “I have a proposal to make to you. I

have never fought a bull in my life. Now supposing I were to go into

the ring to-morrow with Pepito de Malaga and any other matadors you

choose; and if I can do more tricks with a bull than they can, would

you promise to do something for me?”

Don Enrique threw back his head and laughed.

“Man,” he said, “you must be mad! You would be killed at once. One has

to be trained for years to become a proper bullfighter.”

“Supposing I were willing to take the risk of that—You are not afraid,

I take it, to accept my offer?”

The Spaniard frowned.

“Afraid!” he cried, “Sir, if you can beat Pepito de Malaga in the

bull-ring I’ll promise you anything it is possible for me to grant.”

“Very good,” said the Doctor, “now I understand that you are quite a

powerful man in these islands. If you wished to stop all bullfighting

here after to-morrow, you could do it, couldn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Don Enrique proudly—“I could.”

“Well that is what I ask of you—if I win my wager,” said John Dolittle.

“If I can do more with angry bulls than can Pepito de Malaga, you are

to promise me that there shall never be another bullfight in the Capa

Blancas so long as you are alive to stop it. Is it a bargain?”

The Spaniard held out his hand.

“It is a bargain,” he said—“I promise. But I must warn you that you

are merely throwing your life away, for you will certainly be killed.

However, that is no more than you deserve for saying that bullfighting

is an unworthy sport. I will meet you here to-morrow morning if you

should wish to arrange any particulars. Good day, Sir.”

As the Spaniard turned and walked into the shop with the bed-maker,

Polynesia, who had been listening as usual, flew up on to my shoulder

and whispered in my ear,

“I have a plan. Get hold of Bumpo and come some place where the Doctor

can’t hear us. I want to talk to you.”

I nudged Bumpo’s elbow and we crossed the street and pretended to look

into a jeweler’s window; while the Doctor sat down upon his bed to lace

up his boots, the only part of his clothing he had taken off for the

night.

“Listen,” said Polynesia, “I’ve been breaking my head trying to think

up some way we can get money to buy those stores with; and at last I’ve

got it.”

“The money?” said Bumpo.

“No, stupid. The idea—to make the money with. Listen: the Doctor is

simply bound to win this game to-morrow, sure as you’re alive. Now all

we have to do is to make a side bet with these Spaniards—they’re great

on gambling—and the trick’s done.”

“What’s a side bet?” I asked.

“Oh I know what that is,” said Bumpo proudly. “We used to have lots of

them at Oxford when boat-racing was on. I go to Don Enrique and say,

‘I bet you a hundred pounds the Doctor wins.’ Then if he does win, Don

Enrique pays me a hundred pounds; and if he doesn’t, I have to pay Don

Enrique.”

“That’s the idea,” said Polynesia. “Only don’t say a hundred pounds:

say two-thousand five-hundred pesetas. Now come and find old Don

Ricky-ticky and try to look rich.”

So we crossed the street again and slipped into the bed-maker’s shop

while the Doctor was still busy with his boots.

“Don Enrique,” said Bumpo, “allow me to introduce myself. I am the

Crown Prince of Jolliginki. Would you care to have a small bet with me

on to-morrow’s bullfight?”

Don Enrique bowed.

“Why certainly,” he said, “I shall be delighted. But I must warn you

that you are bound to lose. How much?”

“Oh a mere truffle,” said Bumpo—“just for the fun of the thing, you

know. What do you say to three-thousand pesetas?”

“I agree,” said the Spaniard bowing once more. “I will meet you after

the bullfight to-morrow.”

“So that’s all right,” said Polynesia as we came out to join the

Doctor. “I feel as though quite a load had been taken off my mind.”

_THE EIGHTH CHAPTER_

THE GREAT BULLFIGHT

THE next day was a great day in Monteverde. All the streets were

hung with flags; and everywhere gaily dressed crowds were to be seen

flocking towards the bull-ring, as the big circus was called where the

fights took place.

The news of the Doctor’s challenge had gone round the town and, it

seemed, had caused much amusement to the islanders. The very idea of

a mere foreigner daring to match himself against the great Pepito de

Malaga!—Serve him right if he got killed!

The Doctor had borrowed a bullfighter’s suit from Don Enrique; and very

gay and wonderful he looked in it, though Bumpo and I had hard work

getting the waistcoat to close in front and even then the buttons kept

bursting off it in all directions.

When we set out from the harbor to walk to the bull-ring, crowds of

small boys ran after us making fun of the Doctor’s fatness, calling

out, “_Juan Hagapoco, el grueso matador!_” which is the Spanish for,

“John Dolittle, the fat bullfighter.”

As soon as we arrived the Doctor said he would like to take a look

at the bulls before the fight began; and we were at once led to the

bull pen where, behind a high railing, six enormous black bulls were

tramping around wildly.

In a few hurried words and signs the Doctor told the bulls what he was

going to do and gave them careful instructions for their part of the

show. The poor creatures were tremendously glad when they heard that

there was a chance of bullfighting being stopped; and they promised to

do exactly as they were told.

Of course the man who took us in there didn’t understand what we were

doing. He merely thought the fat Englishman was crazy when he saw the

Doctor making signs and talking in ox tongue.

From there the Doctor went to the matadors’ dressing-rooms while Bumpo

and I with Polynesia made our way into the bull-ring and took our seats

in the great open-air theatre.

It was a very gay sight. Thousands of ladies and gentlemen were there,

all dressed in their smartest clothes; and everybody seemed very happy

and cheerful.

Right at the beginning Don Enrique got up and explained to the people

that the first item on the program was to be a match between the

English Doctor and Pepito de Malaga. He told them what he had promised

if the Doctor should win. But the people did not seem to think there

was much chance of that. A roar of laughter went up at the very

mention of such a thing.

When Pepito came into the ring everybody cheered, the ladies blew

kisses and the men clapped and waved their hats.

Presently a large door on the other side of the ring was rolled back

and in galloped one of the bulls; then the door was closed again. At

once the matador became very much on the alert. He waved his red cloak

and the bull rushed at him. Pepito stepped nimbly aside and the people

cheered again.

This game was repeated several times. But I noticed that whenever

Pepito got into a tight place and seemed to be in real danger from the

bull, an assistant of his, who always hung around somewhere near, drew

the bull’s attention upon himself by waving another red cloak. Then

the bull would chase the assistant and Pepito was left in safety. Most

often, as soon as he had drawn the bull off, this assistant ran for the

high fence and vaulted out of the ring to save himself. They evidently

had it all arranged, these matadors; and it didn’t seem to me that they

were in any very great danger from the poor clumsy bull so long as they

didn’t slip and fall.

After about ten minutes of this kind of thing the small door into the

matadors’ dressing-room opened and the Doctor strolled into the ring.

As soon as his fat figure, dressed in sky-blue velvet, appeared, the

crowd rocked in their seats with laughter.

Juan Hagapoco, as they had called him, walked out into the centre of

the ring and bowed ceremoniously to the ladies in the boxes. Then he

bowed to the bull. Then he bowed to Pepito. While he was bowing to

Pepito’s assistant the bull started to rush at him from behind.

“Look out! Look out!—The bull! You will be killed!” yelled the crowd.

But the Doctor calmly finished his bow. Then turning round he folded

his arms, fixed the on-rushing bull with his eye and frowned a terrible

frown.

Presently a curious thing happened: the bull’s speed got slower and

slower. It almost looked as though he were afraid of that frown. Soon

he stopped altogether. The Doctor shook his finger at him. He began to

tremble. At last, tucking his tail between his legs, the bull turned

round and ran away.

The crowd gasped. The Doctor ran after him. Round and round the ring

they went, both of them puffing and blowing like grampuses. Excited

whispers began to break out among the people. This was something new

in bullfighting, to have the bull running away from the man, instead

of the man away from the bull. At last in the tenth lap, with a final

burst of speed, Juan Hagapoco, the English matador, caught the poor

bull by the tail.

Then leading the now timid creature into the middle of the ring, the

Doctor made him do all manner of tricks: standing on the hind legs,

standing on the front legs, dancing, hopping, rolling over. He finished

up by making the bull kneel down; then he got on to his back and did

handsprings and other acrobatics on the beast’s horns.

Pepito and his assistant had their noses sadly out of joint. The crowd

had forgotten them entirely. They were standing together by the fence

not far from where I sat, muttering to one another and slowly growing

green with jealousy.

Finally the Doctor turned towards Don Enrique’s seat and bowing said in

a loud voice, “This bull is no good any more. He’s terrified and out of

breath. Take him away, please.”

“Does the caballero wish for a fresh bull?” asked Don Enrique.

“No,” said the Doctor, “I want five fresh bulls. And I would like them

all in the ring at once, please.”

At this a cry of horror burst from the people. They had been used to

seeing matadors escaping from one bull at a time. But _five_!—That must

mean certain death.

Pepito sprang forward and called to Don Enrique not to allow it, saying

it was against all the rules of bullfighting. (“Ha!” Polynesia

chuckled into my ear. “It’s like the Doctor’s navigation: he breaks all

the rules; but he gets there. If they’ll only let him, he’ll give them

the best show for their money they ever saw.”) A great argument began.

Half the people seemed to be on Pepito’s side and half on the Doctor’s

side. At last the Doctor turned to Pepito and made another very grand

bow which burst the last button off his waistcoat.

[Illustration: “Did acrobatics on the beast’s horns”]

“Well, of course if the caballero is afraid—” he began with a bland

smile.

“Afraid!” screamed Pepito. “I am afraid of nothing on earth. I am the

greatest matador in Spain. With this right hand I have killed nine

hundred and fifty-seven bulls.”

“All right then,” said the Doctor, “let us see if you can kill five

more. Let the bulls in!” he shouted. “Pepito de Malaga is not afraid.”

A dreadful silence hung over the great theatre as the heavy door into

the bull pen was rolled back. Then with a roar the five big bulls

bounded into the ring.

“Look fierce,” I heard the Doctor call to them in cattle language.

“Don’t scatter. Keep close. Get ready for a rush. Take Pepito, the one

in purple, first. But for Heaven’s sake don’t kill him. Just chase him

out of the ring—Now then, all together, go for him!”

The bulls put down their heads and all in line, like a squadron of

cavalry, charged across the ring straight for poor Pepito.

For one moment the Spaniard tried his hardest to look brave. But the

sight of the five pairs of horns coming at him at full gallop was too

much. He turned white to the lips, ran for the fence, vaulted it and

disappeared.

“Now the other one,” the Doctor hissed. And in two seconds the gallant

assistant was nowhere to be seen. Juan Hagapoco, the fat matador, was

left alone in the ring with five rampaging bulls.

The rest of the show was really well worth seeing. First, all five

bulls went raging round the ring, butting at the fence with their

horns, pawing up the sand, hunting for something to kill. Then each one

in turn would pretend to catch sight of the Doctor for the first time

and giving a bellow of rage, would lower his wicked looking horns and

shoot like an arrow across the ring as though he meant to toss him to

the sky.

It was really frightfully exciting. And even I, who knew it was all

arranged beforehand, held my breath in terror for the Doctor’s life

when I saw how near they came to sticking him. But just at the last

moment, when the horns’ points were two inches from the sky-blue

waistcoat, the Doctor would spring nimbly to one side and the great

brutes would go thundering harmlessly by, missing him by no more than a

hair.

Then all five of them went for him together, completely surrounding

him, slashing at him with their horns and bellowing with fury. How he

escaped alive I don’t know. For several minutes his round figure could

hardly be seen at all in that scrimmage of tossing heads, stamping

hoofs and waving tails.—It was, as Polynesia had prophesied, the

greatest bullfight ever seen.

One woman in the crowd got quite hysterical and screamed up to Don

Enrique,

“Stop the fight! Stop the fight! He is too brave a man to be killed.

This is the most wonderful matador in the world. Let him live! Stop the

fight!”

But presently the Doctor was seen to break loose from the mob of

animals that surrounded him. Then catching each of them by the horns,

one after another, he would give their heads a sudden twist and throw

them down flat on the sand. The great fellows acted their parts

extremely well. I have never seen trained animals in a circus do

better. They lay there panting on the ground where the Doctor threw

them as if they were exhausted and completely beaten.

Then with a final bow to the ladies John Dolittle took a cigar from his

pocket, lit it and strolled out of the ring.

_THE NINTH CHAPTER_

WE DEPART IN A HURRY

AS soon as the door closed behind the Doctor the most tremendous noise

I have ever heard broke loose. Some of the men appeared to be angry

(friends of Pepito’s, I suppose); but the ladies called and called to

have the Doctor come back into the ring.

When at length he did so, the women seemed to go entirely mad over him.

They blew kisses to him. They called him a darling. Then they started

taking off their flowers, their rings, their necklaces, and their

brooches and threw them down at his feet. You never saw anything like

it—a perfect shower of jewelry and roses.

But the Doctor just smiled up at them, bowed once more and backed out.

“Now, Bumpo,” said Polynesia, “this is where you go down and gather up

all those trinkets and we’ll sell ’em. That’s what the big matadors

do: leave the jewelry on the ground and their assistants collect

it for them. We might as well lay in a good supply of money while

we’ve got the chance—you never know when you may need it when you’re

traveling with the Doctor. Never mind the roses—you can leave them—but

don’t leave any rings. And when you’ve finished go and get your

three-thousand pesetas out of Don Ricky-ticky. Tommy and I will meet

you outside and we’ll pawn the gew-gaws at that Jew’s shop opposite the

bed-maker’s. Run along—and not a word to the Doctor, remember.”

Outside the bull-ring we found the crowd still in a great state of

excitement. Violent arguments were going on everywhere. Bumpo joined

us with his pockets bulging in all directions; and we made our way

slowly through the dense crowd to that side of the building where the

matadors’ dressing-room was. The Doctor was waiting at the door for us.

“Good work, Doctor!” said Polynesia, flying on to his shoulder—“Great

work!—But listen: I smell danger. I think you had better get back to

the ship now as quick and as quietly as you can. Put your overcoat on

over that giddy suit. I don’t like the looks of this crowd. More than

half of them are furious because you’ve won. Don Ricky-ticky must now

stop the bullfighting—and you know how they love it. What I’m afraid of

is that some of these matadors who are just mad with jealousy may start

some dirty work. I think this would be a good time for us to get away.”

“I dare say you’re right, Polynesia,” said the Doctor—“You usually are.

The crowd does seem to be a bit restless. I’ll slip down to the ship

alone—so I shan’t be so noticeable; and I’ll wait for you there. You

come by some different way. But don’t be long about it. Hurry!”

As soon as the Doctor had departed Bumpo sought out Don Enrique and

said,

“Honorable Sir, you owe me three-thousand pesetas.”

Without a word, but looking cross-eyed with annoyance, Don Enrique paid

his bet.

We next set out to buy the provisions; and on the way we hired a cab

and took it along with us.

Not very far away we found a big grocer’s shop which seemed to sell

everything to eat. We went in and bought up the finest lot of food you

ever saw in your life.

As a matter of fact, Polynesia had been right about the danger we were

in. The news of our victory must have spread like lightning through the

whole town. For as we came out of the shop and loaded the cab up with

our stores, we saw various little knots of angry men hunting round the

streets, waving sticks and shouting,

“The Englishmen! Where are those accursed Englishmen who stopped the

bullfighting?—Hang them to a lamp-post!—Throw them in the sea! The

Englishmen!—We want the Englishmen!”

After that we didn’t waste any time, you may be sure. Bumpo grabbed the

Spanish cab-driver and explained to him in signs that if he didn’t

drive down to the harbor as fast as he knew how and keep his mouth shut

the whole way, he would choke the life out of him. Then we jumped into

the cab on top of the food, slammed the door, pulled down the blinds

and away we went.

“We won’t get a chance to pawn the jewelry now,” said Polynesia, as we

bumped over the cobbly streets. “But never mind—it may come in handy

later on. And anyway we’ve got two-thousand five-hundred pesetas left

out of the bet. Don’t give the cabby more than two pesetas fifty,

Bumpo. That’s the right fare, I know.”

Well, we reached the harbor all right and we were mighty glad to find

that the Doctor had sent Chee-Chee back with the row-boat to wait for

us at the landing-wall.

Unfortunately while we were in the middle of loading the supplies from

the cab into the boat, the angry mob arrived upon the wharf and made

a rush for us. Bumpo snatched up a big beam of wood that lay near

and swung it round and round his head, letting out dreadful African

battle-yells the while. This kept the crowd off while Chee-Chee and

I hustled the last of the stores into the boat and clambered in

ourselves. Bumpo threw his beam of wood into the thick of the Spaniards

and leapt in after us. Then we pushed off and rowed like mad for the

_Curlew_.

The mob upon the wall howled with rage, shook their fists and hurled

stones and all manner of things after us. Poor old Bumpo got hit on the

head with a bottle. But as he had a very strong head it only raised a

small bump while the bottle smashed into a thousand pieces.

When we reached the ship’s side the Doctor had the anchor drawn up and

the sails set and everything in readiness to get away. Looking back we

saw boats coming out from the harbor-wall after us, filled with angry,

shouting men. So we didn’t bother to unload our rowboat but just tied

it on to the ship’s stern with a rope and jumped aboard.

It only took a moment more to swing the _Curlew_ round into the wind;

and soon we were speeding out of the harbor on our way to Brazil.

“Ha!” sighed Polynesia, as we all flopped down on the deck to take a

rest and get our breath. “That wasn’t a bad adventure—quite reminds

me of my old seafaring days when I sailed with the smugglers—Golly,

that was the life!—Never mind your head, Bumpo. It will be all right

when the Doctor puts a little arnica on it. Think what we got out of

the scrap: a boat-load of ship’s stores, pockets full of jewelry and

thousands of pesetas. Not bad, you know—not bad.”

[Illustration]

PART FOUR

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

SHELLFISH LANGUAGES AGAIN

MIRANDA, the Purple Bird-of-Paradise had prophesied rightly when she

had foretold a good spell of weather. For three weeks the good ship

_Curlew_ plowed her way through smiling seas before a steady powerful

wind.

I suppose most real sailors would have found this part of the voyage

dull. But not I. As we got further South and further West the face

of the sea seemed different every day. And all the little things of

a voyage which an old hand would have hardly bothered to notice were

matters of great interest for my eager eyes.

We did not pass many ships. When we did see one, the Doctor would get

out his telescope and we would all take a look at it. Sometimes he

would signal to it, asking for news, by hauling up little colored flags

upon the mast; and the ship would signal back to us in the same way.

The meaning of all the signals was printed in a book which the Doctor

kept in the cabin. He told me it was the language of the sea and that

all ships could understand it whether they be English, Dutch, or

French.

Our greatest happening during those first weeks was passing an iceberg.

When the sun shone on it it burst into a hundred colors, sparkling

like a jeweled palace in a fairy-story. Through the telescope we saw

a mother polar bear with a cub sitting on it, watching us. The Doctor

recognized her as one of the bears who had spoken to him when he was

discovering the North Pole. So he sailed the ship up close and offered

to take her and her baby on to the _Curlew_ if she wished it. But she

only shook her head, thanking him; she said it would be far too hot for

the cub on the deck of our ship, with no ice to keep his feet cool. It

had been indeed a very hot day; but the nearness of that great mountain

of ice made us all turn up our coat-collars and shiver with the cold.

During those quiet peaceful days I improved my reading and writing a

great deal with the Doctor’s help. I got on so well that he let me keep

the ship’s log. This is a big book kept on every ship, a kind of diary,

in which the number of miles run, the direction of your course and

everything else that happens is written down.

The Doctor too, in what spare time he had, was nearly always writing—in

his note-books. I used to peep into these sometimes, now that I could

read, but I found it hard work to make out the Doctor’s handwriting.

Many of these note-books seemed to be about sea things. There were six

thick ones filled full with notes and sketches of different seaweeds;

and there were others on sea birds; others on sea worms; others on

seashells. They were all some day to be re-written, printed and bound

like regular books.

One afternoon we saw, floating around us, great quantities of stuff

that looked like dead grass. The Doctor told me this was gulf-weed. A

little further on it became so thick that it covered all the water as

far as the eye could reach; it made the _Curlew_ look as though she

were moving across a meadow instead of sailing the Atlantic.

Crawling about upon this weed, many crabs were to be seen. And the

sight of them reminded the Doctor of his dream of learning the language

of the shellfish. He fished several of these crabs up with a net and

put them in his listening-tank to see if he could understand them.

Among the crabs he also caught a strange-looking, chubby, little fish

which he told me was called a Silver Fidgit.

After he had listened to the crabs for a while with no success, he put

the fidgit into the tank and began to listen to that. I had to leave

him at this moment to go and attend to some duties on the deck. But

presently I heard him below shouting for me to come down again.

“Stubbins,” he cried as soon as he saw me—“a most extraordinary

thing—Quite unbelievable—I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming—Can’t

believe my own senses. I—I—I—”

[Illustration: “‘He talks English!’”]

“Why, Doctor,” I said, “what is it?—What’s the matter?”

“The fidgit,” he whispered, pointing with a trembling finger to the

listening-tank in which the little round fish was still swimming

quietly, “he talks English! And—and—and _he whistles tunes_—English

tunes!”

“Talks English!” I cried—“Whistles!—Why, it’s impossible.”

“It’s a fact,” said the Doctor, white in the face with excitement.

“It’s only a few words, scattered, with no particular sense to them—all

mixed up with his own language which I can’t make out yet. But they’re

English words, unless there’s something very wrong with my hearing—And

the tune he whistles, it’s as plain as anything—always the same tune.

Now you listen and tell me what you make of it. Tell me everything you

hear. Don’t miss a word.”

I went to the glass tank upon the table while the Doctor grabbed a

note-book and a pencil. Undoing my collar I stood upon the empty

packing-case he had been using for a stand and put my right ear down

under the water.

For some moments I detected nothing at all—except, with my dry ear, the

heavy breathing of the Doctor as he waited, all stiff and anxious, for

me to say something. At last from within the water, sounding like a

child singing miles and miles away, I heard an unbelievably thin, small

voice.

“Ah!” I said.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor in a hoarse, trembly whisper. “What does

he say?”

“I can’t quite make it out,” I said. “It’s mostly in some strange fish

language—Oh, but wait a minute!—Yes, now I get it—‘No smoking’.... ‘My,

here’s a queer one!’ ‘Popcorn and picture postcards here’.... ‘This

way out’.... ‘Don’t spit’—What funny things to say, Doctor!—Oh, but

wait!—Now he’s whistling the tune.”

“What tune is it?” gasped the Doctor.

“John Peel.”

“Ah hah,” cried the Doctor, “that’s what I made it out to be.” And he

wrote furiously in his note-book.

I went on listening.

“This is most extraordinary,” the Doctor kept muttering to himself

as his pencil went wiggling over the page—“Most extraordinary—but

frightfully thrilling. I wonder where he—”

“Here’s some more,” I cried—“some more English.... ‘_The big tank needs

cleaning_’.... That’s all. Now he’s talking fish-talk again.”

“The big tank!” the Doctor murmured frowning in a puzzled kind of way.

“I wonder where on earth he learned—”

Then he bounded up out of his chair.

“I have it,” he yelled, “this fish has escaped from an aquarium.

Why, of course! Look at the kind of things he has learned: ‘Picture

postcards’—they always sell them in aquariums; ‘Don’t spit’; ‘No

smoking’; ‘This way out’—the things the attendants say. And then, ‘My,

here’s a queer one!’ That’s the kind of thing that people exclaim

when they look into the tanks. It all fits. There’s no doubt about

it, Stubbins: we have here a fish who has escaped from captivity. And

it’s quite possible—not certain, by any means, but quite possible—that

I may now, through him, be able to establish communication with the

shellfish. This is a great piece of luck.”

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

THE FIDGIT’S STORY

WELL, now that he was started once more upon his old hobby of the

shellfish languages, there was no stopping the Doctor. He worked right

through the night.

A little after midnight I fell asleep in a chair; about two in the

morning Bumpo fell asleep at the wheel; and for five hours the _Curlew_

was allowed to drift where she liked. But still John Dolittle worked

on, trying his hardest to understand the fidgit’s language, struggling

to make the fidgit understand him.

When I woke up it was broad daylight again. The Doctor was still

standing at the listening-tank, looking as tired as an owl and

dreadfully wet. But on his face there was a proud and happy smile.

“Stubbins,” he said as soon as he saw me stir, “I’ve done it. I’ve

got the key to the fidgit’s language. It’s a frightfully difficult

language—quite different from anything I ever heard. The only thing it

reminds me of—slightly—is ancient Hebrew. It isn’t shellfish; but it’s

a big step towards it. Now, the next thing, I want you to take a pencil

and a fresh notebook and write down everything I say. The fidgit has

promised to tell me the story of his life. I will translate it into

English and you put it down in the book. Are you ready?”

Once more the Doctor lowered his ear beneath the level of the water;

and as he began to speak, I started to write. And this is the story

that the fidgit told us.

THIRTEEN MONTHS IN AN AQUARIUM

“I was born in the Pacific Ocean, close to the coast

of Chile. I was one of a family of two-thousand

five-hundred and ten. Soon after our mother and father

left us, we youngsters got scattered. The family was

broken up—by a herd of whales who chased us. I and

my sister, Clippa (she was my favorite sister) had a

very narrow escape for our lives. As a rule, whales

are not very hard to get away from if you are good at

dodging—if you’ve only got a quick swerve. But this

one that came after Clippa and myself was a very mean

whale. Every time he lost us under a stone or something

he’d come back and hunt and hunt till he routed us

out into the open again. I never saw such a nasty,

persevering brute.

“Well, we shook him at last—though not before he had

worried us for hundreds of miles northward, up the

west coast of South America. But luck was against us

that day. While we were resting and trying to get our

breath, another family of fidgits came rushing by,

shouting, ‘Come on! Swim for your lives! The dog-fish

are coming!’

“Now dog-fish are particularly fond of fidgits. We are,

you might say, their favorite food—and for that reason

we always keep away from deep, muddy waters. What’s

more, dog-fish are not easy to escape from; they are

terribly fast and clever hunters. So up we had to jump

and on again.

“After we had gone a few more hundred miles we looked

back and saw that the dog-fish were gaining on us. So

we turned into a harbor. It happened to be one on the

west coast of the United States. Here we guessed, and

hoped, the dog-fish would not be likely to follow us.

As it happened, they didn’t even see us turn in, but

dashed on northward and we never saw them again. I hope

they froze to death in the Arctic Seas.

“But, as I said, luck was against us that day. While

I and my sister were cruising gently round the ships

anchored in the harbor looking for orange-peels, a

great delicacy with us—_Swoop! Bang!_—we were caught in

a net.

“We struggled for all we were worth; but it was no use.

The net was small-meshed and strongly made. Kicking

and flipping we were hauled up the side of the ship

and dumped down on the deck, high and dry in a blazing

noon-day sun.

“Here a couple of old men in whiskers and spectacles

leant over us, making strange sounds. Some codling had

got caught in the net the same time as we were. These

the old men threw back into the sea; but us they seemed

to think very precious. They put us carefully into a

large jar and after they had taken us on shore they

went to a big house and changed us from the jar into

glass boxes full of water. This house was on the edge

of the harbor; and a small stream of sea-water was made

to flow through the glass tank so we could breathe

properly. Of course we had never lived inside glass

walls before; and at first we kept on trying to swim

through them and got our noses awfully sore bumping the

glass at full speed.

“Then followed weeks and weeks of weary idleness. They

treated us well, so far as they knew how. The old

fellows in spectacles came and looked at us proudly

twice a day and saw that we had the proper food to eat,

the right amount of light and that the water was not

too hot or too cold. But oh, the dullness of that life!

It seemed we were a kind of a show. At a certain hour

every morning the big doors of the house were thrown

open and everybody in the city who had nothing special

to do came in and looked at us. There were other tanks

filled with different kinds of fishes all round the

walls of the big room. And the crowds would go from

tank to tank, looking in at us through the glass—with

their mouths open, like half-witted flounders. We got

so sick of it that we used to open our mouths back at

them; and this they seemed to think highly comical.

“One day my sister said to me, ‘Think you, Brother,

that these strange creatures who have captured us can

talk?’

“‘Surely,’ said I, ‘have you not noticed that some talk

with the lips only, some with the whole face, and yet

others discourse with the hands? When they come quite

close to the glass you can hear them. Listen!’

“At that moment a female, larger than the rest, pressed

her nose up against the glass, pointed at me and said

to her young behind her, ‘Oh, look, here’s a queer one!’

“And then we noticed that they nearly always said this

when they looked in. And for a long time we thought

that such was the whole extent of the language, this

being a people of but few ideas. To help pass away the

weary hours we learned it by heart, ‘Oh, look, here’s

a queer one!’ But we never got to know what it meant.

Other phrases, however, we did get the meaning of; and

we even learned to read a little in man-talk. Many big

signs there were, set up upon the walls; and when we

saw that the keepers stopped the people from spitting

and smoking, pointed to these signs angrily and read

them out loud, we knew then that these writings

signified, _No Smoking_ and _Don’t Spit_.

“Then in the evenings, after the crowd had gone, the

same aged male with one leg of wood, swept up the

peanut-shells with a broom every night. And while

he was so doing he always whistled the same tune to

himself. This melody we rather liked; and we learned

that too by heart—thinking it was part of the language.

“Thus a whole year went by in this dismal place. Some

days new fishes were brought in to the other tanks;

and other days old fishes were taken out. At first we

had hoped we would only be kept here for a while, and

that after we had been looked at sufficiently we would

be returned to freedom and the sea. But as month after

month went by, and we were left undisturbed, our hearts

grew heavy within our prison-walls of glass and we

spoke to one another less and less.

“One day, when the crowd was thickest in the big room,

a woman with a red face fainted from the heat. I

watched through the glass and saw that the rest of the

people got highly excited—though to me it did not seem

to be a matter of very great importance. They threw

cold water on her and carried her out into the open air.

“This made me think mightily; and presently a great

idea burst upon me.

“‘Sister,’ I said, turning to poor Clippa who was

sulking at the bottom of our prison trying to hide

behind a stone from the stupid gaze of the children who

thronged about our tank, ‘supposing that _we_ pretended

we were sick: do you think they would take us also from

this stuffy house?’

“‘Brother,’ said she wearily, ‘that they might do. But

most likely they would throw us on a rubbish-heap,

where we would die in the hot sun.’

“‘But,’ said I, ‘why should they go abroad to seek

a rubbish-heap, when the harbor is so close? While

we were being brought here I saw men throwing their

rubbish into the water. If they would only throw us

also there, we could quickly reach the sea.’

“‘The Sea!’ murmured poor Clippa with a far-away look

in her eyes (she had fine eyes, had my sister, Clippa).

‘How like a dream it sounds—the Sea! Oh brother, will

we ever swim in it again, think you? Every night as I

lie awake on the floor of this evil-smelling dungeon I

hear its hearty voice ringing in my ears. How I have

longed for it! Just to feel it once again, the nice,

big, wholesome homeliness of it all! To jump, just to

jump from the crest of an Atlantic wave, laughing in

the trade wind’s spindrift, down into the blue-green

swirling trough! To chase the shrimps on a summer

evening, when the sky is red and the light’s all pink

within the foam! To lie on the top, in the doldrums’

noonday calm, and warm your tummy in the tropic sun!

To wander hand in hand once more through the giant

seaweed forests of the Indian Ocean, seeking the

delicious eggs of the pop-pop! To play hide-and-seek

among the castles of the coral towns with their pearl

and jasper windows spangling the floor of the Spanish

Main! To picnic in the anemone-meadows, dim blue

and lilac-gray, that lie in the lowlands beyond the

South Sea Garden! To throw somersaults on the springy

sponge-beds of the Mexican Gulf! To poke about among

the dead ships and see what wonders and adventures lie

inside!—And then, on winter nights when the Northeaster

whips the water into froth, to swoop down and down to

get away from the cold, down to where the water’s warm

and dark, down and still down, till we spy the twinkle

of the fire-eels far below where our friends and

cousins sit chatting round the Council Grotto—chatting,

Brother, over the news and gossip of _the Sea_!... Oh—’

“And then she broke down completely, sniffling.

“‘Stop it!’ I said. ‘You make me homesick. Look here:

let’s pretend we’re sick—or better still, let’s pretend

we’re dead; and see what happens. If they throw us on a

rubbish-heap and we fry in the sun, we’ll not be much

worse off than we are here in this smelly prison. What

do you say? Will you risk it?’

“‘I will,’ she said—‘and gladly.’

“So next morning two fidgits were found by the keeper

floating on the top of the water in their tank, stiff

and dead. We gave a mighty good imitation of dead

fish—although I say it myself. The keeper ran and

got the old gentlemen with spectacles and whiskers.

They threw up their hands in horror when they saw us.

Lifting us carefully out of the water they laid us on

wet cloths. That was the hardest part of all. If you’re

a fish and get taken out of the water you have to keep

opening and shutting your mouth to breathe at all—and

even that you can’t keep up for long. And all this time

we had to stay stiff as sticks and breathe silently

through half-closed lips.

“Well, the old fellows poked us and felt us and pinched

us till I thought they’d never be done. Then, when

their backs were turned a moment, a wretched cat got

up on the table and nearly ate us. Luckily the old

men turned round in time and shooed her away. You may

be sure though that we took a couple of good gulps

of air while they weren’t looking; and that was the

only thing that saved us from choking. I wanted to

whisper to Clippa to be brave and stick it out. But I

couldn’t even do that; because, as you know, most kinds

of fish-talk cannot be heard—not even a shout—unless

you’re under water.

“Then, just as we were about to give it up and let on

that we were alive, one of the old men shook his head

sadly, lifted us up and carried us out of the building.

“‘Now for it!’ I thought to myself. ‘We’ll soon know

our fate: liberty or the garbage-can.’

“Outside, to our unspeakable horror, he made straight

for a large ash-barrel which stood against the wall on

the other side of a yard. Most happily for us, however,

while he was crossing this yard a very dirty man with a

wagon and horses drove up and took the ash-barrel away.

I suppose it was his property.

“Then the old man looked around for some other place to

throw us. He seemed about to cast us upon the ground.

But he evidently thought that this would make the yard

untidy and he desisted. The suspense was terrible. He

moved outside the yard-gate and my heart sank once more

as I saw that he now intended to throw us in the gutter

of the roadway. But (fortune was indeed with us that

day), a large man in blue clothes and silver buttons

stopped him in the nick of time. Evidently, from the

way the large man lectured and waved a short thick

stick, it was against the rules of the town to throw

dead fish in the streets.

“At last, to our unutterable joy, the old man turned

and moved off with us towards the harbor. He walked so

slowly, muttering to himself all the way and watching

the man in blue out of the corner of his eye, that I

wanted to bite his finger to make him hurry up. Both

Clippa and I were actually at our last gasp.

“Finally he reached the sea-wall and giving us one last

sad look he dropped us into the waters of the harbor.

“Never had we realized anything like the thrill of

that moment, as we felt the salt wetness close over

our heads. With one flick of our tails we came to life

again. The old man was so surprised that he fell right

into the water, almost on top of us. From this he was

rescued by a sailor with a boat-hook; and the last we

saw of him, the man in blue was dragging him away by

the coat-collar, lecturing him again. Apparently it was

also against the rules of the town to throw dead fish

into the harbor.

“But we?—What time or thought had we for his troubles?

_We were free!_ In lightning leaps, in curving spurts,

in crazy zig-zags—whooping, shrieking with delight, we

sped for home and the open sea!

“That is all of my story and I will now, as I promised

last night, try to answer any questions you may ask

about the sea, on condition that I am set at liberty as

soon as you have done.”

_The Doctor:_ “Is there any part of the sea deeper than

that known as the Nero Deep—I mean the one near the

Island of Guam?”

_The Fidgit:_ “Why, certainly. There’s one much deeper

than that near the mouth of the Amazon River. But it’s

small and hard to find. We call it ‘The Deep Hole.’ And

there’s another in the Antarctic Sea.”

_The Doctor:_ “Can you talk any shellfish language

yourself?”

_The Fidgit:_ “No, not a word. We regular fishes don’t

have anything to do with the shellfish. We consider

them a low class.”

_The Doctor:_ “But when you’re near them, can you hear

the sound they make talking—I mean without necessarily

understanding what they say?”

_The Fidgit:_ “Only with the very largest ones.

Shellfish have such weak small voices it is almost

impossible for any but their own kind to hear them. But

with the bigger ones it is different. They make a sad,

booming noise, rather like an iron pipe being knocked

with a stone—only not nearly so loud of course.”

_The Doctor:_ “I am most anxious to get down to the

bottom of the sea—to study many things. But we land

animals, as you no doubt know, are unable to breathe

under water. Have you any ideas that might help me?”

_The Fidgit:_ “I think that for both your difficulties

the best thing for you to do would be to try and get

hold of the Great Glass Sea Snail.”

_The Doctor:_ “Er—who, or what, is the Great Glass Sea

Snail?”

_The Fidgit:_ “He is an enormous salt-water snail,

one of the winkle family, but as large as a big house.

He talks quite loudly—when he speaks, but this is not

often. He can go to any part of the ocean, at all

depths because he doesn’t have to be afraid of any

creature in the sea. His shell is made of transparent

mother-o’-pearl so that you can see through it; but

it’s thick and strong. When he is out of his shell

and he carries it empty on his back, there is room in

it for a wagon and a pair of horses. He has been seen

carrying his food in it when traveling.”

_The Doctor:_ “I feel that that is just the creature

I have been looking for. He could take me and my

assistant inside his shell and we could explore the

deepest depths in safety. Do you think you could get

him for me?”

_The Fidgit:_ “Alas! no. I would willingly if I could;

but he is hardly ever seen by ordinary fish. He lives

at the bottom of the Deep Hole, and seldom comes

out—And into the Deep Hole, the lower waters of which

are muddy, fishes such as we are afraid to go.”

_The Doctor:_ “Dear me! That’s a terrible

disappointment. Are there many of this kind of snail in

the sea?”

_The Fidgit:_ “Oh no. He is the only one in existence,

since his second wife died long, long ago. He is the

last of the Giant Shellfish. He belongs to past ages

when the whales were land-animals and all that. They

say he is over seventy thousand years old.”

_The Doctor:_ “Good Gracious, what wonderful things he

could tell me! I do wish I could meet him.”

_The Fidgit:_ “Were there any more questions you wished

to ask me? This water in your tank is getting quite

warm and sickly. I’d like to be put back into the sea

as soon as you can spare me.”

_The Doctor:_ “Just one more thing: when Christopher

Columbus crossed the Atlantic in 1492, he threw

overboard two copies of his diary sealed up in barrels.

One of them was never found. It must have sunk. I would

like to get it for my library. Do you happen to know

where it is?”

_The Fidgit:_ “Yes, I do. That too is in the Deep Hole.

When the barrel sank the currents drifted it northwards

down what we call the Orinoco Slope, till it finally

disappeared into the Deep Hole. If it was any other

part of the sea I’d try and get it for you; but not

there.”

_The Doctor:_ “Well, that is all, I think. I hate to

put you back into the sea, because I know that as soon

as I do, I’ll think of a hundred other questions I

wanted to ask you. But I must keep my promise. Would

you care for anything before you go?—it seems a cold

day—some cracker-crumbs or something?”

_The Fidgit:_ “No, I won’t stop. All I want just at

present is fresh sea-water.”

_The Doctor:_ “I cannot thank you enough for all the

information you have given me. You have been very

helpful and patient.”

_The Fidgit:_ “Pray do not mention it. It has been a

real pleasure to be of assistance to the great John

Dolittle. You are, as of course you know, already quite

famous among the better class of fishes. Goodbye!—and

good luck to you, to your ship and to all your plans!”

The Doctor carried the listening-tank to a port-hole, opened it and

emptied the tank into the sea.

“Good-bye!” he murmured as a faint splash reached us from without.

I dropped my pencil on the table and leaned back with a sigh. My

fingers were so stiff with writers’ cramp that I felt as though I

should never be able to open my hand again. But I, at least, had had

a night’s sleep. As for the poor Doctor, he was so weary that he had

hardly put the tank back upon the table and dropped into a chair, when

his eyes closed and he began to snore.

In the passage outside Polynesia scratched angrily at the door. I rose

and let her in.

“A nice state of affairs!” she stormed. “What sort of a ship is this?

There’s that colored man upstairs asleep under the wheel; the Doctor

asleep down here; and you making pot-hooks in a copybook with a

pencil! Expect the ship to steer herself to Brazil? We’re just drifting

around the sea like an empty bottle—and a week behind time as it is.

What’s happened to you all?”

She was so angry that her voice rose to a scream. But it would have

taken more than that to wake the Doctor.

I put the note-book carefully in a drawer and went on deck to take the

wheel.

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

BAD WEATHER

AS soon as I had the _Curlew_ swung round upon her course again I

noticed something peculiar: we were not going as fast as we had been.

Our favorable wind had almost entirely disappeared.

This, at first, we did not worry about, thinking that at any moment it

might spring up again. But the whole day went by; then two days; then

a week,—ten days, and the wind grew no stronger. The _Curlew_ just

dawdled along at the speed of a toddling babe.

I now saw that the Doctor was becoming uneasy. He kept getting out his

sextant (an instrument which tells you what part of the ocean you are

in) and making calculations. He was forever looking at his maps and

measuring distances on them. The far edge of the sea, all around us, he

examined with his telescope a hundred times a day.

“But Doctor,” I said when I found him one afternoon mumbling to himself

about the misty appearance of the sky, “it wouldn’t matter so much,

would it, if we did take a little longer over the trip? We’ve got

plenty to eat on board now; and the Purple Bird-of-Paradise will know

that we have been delayed by something that we couldn’t help.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” he said thoughtfully. “But I hate to keep her

waiting. At this season of the year she generally goes to the Peruvian

mountains—for her health. And besides, the good weather she prophesied

is likely to end any day now and delay us still further. If we could

only keep moving at even a fair speed, I wouldn’t mind. It’s this

hanging around, almost dead still, that gets me restless—Ah, here comes

a wind—Not very strong—but maybe it’ll grow.”

A gentle breeze from the Northeast came singing through the ropes; and

we smiled up hopefully at the _Curlew’s_ leaning masts.

“We’ve only got another hundred and fifty miles to make, to sight the

coast of Brazil,” said the Doctor. “If that wind would just stay with

us, steady, for a full day we’d see land.”

But suddenly the wind changed, swung to the East, then back to the

Northeast—then to the North. It came in fitful gusts, as though it

hadn’t made up its mind which way to blow; and I was kept busy at the

wheel, swinging the _Curlew_ this way and that to keep the right side

of it.

Presently we heard Polynesia, who was in the rigging keeping a look-out

for land or passing ships, screech down to us,

“Bad weather coming. That jumpy wind is an ugly sign. And look!—over

there in the East—see that black line, low down? If that isn’t a

storm I’m a land-lubber. The gales round here are fierce, when they

do blow—tear your canvas out like paper. You take the wheel, Doctor:

it’ll need a strong arm if it’s a real storm. I’ll go wake Bumpo and

Chee-Chee. This looks bad to me. We’d best get all the sail down right

away, till we see how strong she’s going to blow.”

Indeed the whole sky was now beginning to take on a very threatening

look. The black line to the eastward grew blacker as it came nearer

and nearer. A low, rumbly, whispering noise went moaning over the sea.

The water which had been so blue and smiling turned to a ruffled ugly

gray. And across the darkening sky, shreds of cloud swept like tattered

witches flying from the storm.

I must confess I was frightened. You see I had only so far seen the

sea in friendly moods: sometimes quiet and lazy; sometimes laughing,

venturesome and reckless; sometimes brooding and poetic, when moonbeams

turned her ripples into silver threads and dreaming snowy night-clouds

piled up fairy-castles in the sky. But as yet I had not known, or even

guessed at, the terrible strength of the Sea’s wild anger.

When that storm finally struck us we leaned right over flatly on our

side, as though some invisible giant had slapped the poor _Curlew_ on

the cheek.

After that things happened so thick and so fast that what with the wind

that stopped your breath, the driving, blinding water, the deafening

noise and the rest, I haven’t a very clear idea of how our shipwreck

came about.

I remember seeing the sails, which we were now trying to roll up upon

the deck, torn out of our hands by the wind and go overboard like a

penny balloon—very nearly carrying Chee-Chee with them. And I have a

dim recollection of Polynesia screeching somewhere for one of us to go

downstairs and close the port-holes.

In spite of our masts being bare of sail we were now scudding along

to the southward at a great pace. But every once in a while huge

gray-black waves would arise from under the ship’s side like nightmare

monsters, swell and climb, then crash down upon us, pressing us into

the sea; and the poor _Curlew_ would come to a standstill, half under

water, like a gasping, drowning pig.

While I was clambering along towards the wheel to see the Doctor,

clinging like a leech with hands and legs to the rails lest I be blown

overboard, one of these tremendous seas tore loose my hold, filled my

throat with water and swept me like a cork the full length of the deck.

My head struck a door with an awful bang. And then I fainted.

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

WRECKED!

WHEN I awoke I was very hazy in my head. The sky was blue and the sea

was calm. At first I thought that I must have fallen asleep in the sun

on the deck of the _Curlew_. And thinking that I would be late for my

turn at the wheel, I tried to rise to my feet. I found I couldn’t; my

arms were tied to something behind me with a piece of rope. By twisting

my neck around I found this to be a mast, broken off short. Then I

realized that I wasn’t sitting on a ship at all; I was only sitting on

a piece of one. I began to feel uncomfortably scared. Screwing up my

eyes, I searched the rim of the sea North, East, South and West: no

land: no ships; nothing was in sight. I was alone in the ocean!

At last, little by little, my bruised head began to remember what had

happened: first, the coming of the storm; the sails going overboard;

then the big wave which had banged me against the door. But what had

become of the Doctor and the others? What day was this, to-morrow or

the day after?—And why was I sitting on only part of a ship?

[Illustration: “I was alone in the ocean!”]

Working my hand into my pocket, I found my penknife and cut the rope

that tied me. This reminded me of a shipwreck story which Joe had once

told me, of a captain who had tied his son to a mast in order that he

shouldn’t be washed overboard by the gale. So of course it must have

been the Doctor who had done the same to me.

But where was he?

The awful thought came to me that the Doctor and the rest of

them must be drowned, since there was no other wreckage to be

seen upon the waters. I got to my feet and stared around the sea

again—Nothing—nothing but water and sky!

Presently a long way off I saw the small dark shape of a bird skimming

low down over the swell. When it came quite close I saw it was a Stormy

Petrel. I tried to talk to it, to see if it could give me news. But

unluckily I hadn’t learned much seabird language and I couldn’t even

attract its attention, much less make it understand what I wanted.

Twice it circled round my raft, lazily, with hardly a flip of the

wing. And I could not help wondering, in spite of the distress I was

in, where it had spent last night—how it, or any other living thing,

had weathered such a smashing storm. It made me realize the great big

difference between different creatures; and that size and strength are

not everything. To this petrel, a frail little thing of feathers, much

smaller and weaker than I, the Sea could do anything she liked, it

seemed; and his only answer was a lazy, saucy flip of the wing! _He_

was the one who should be called the _able seaman_. For, come raging

gale, come sunlit calm, this wilderness of water was his home.

After swooping over the sea around me (just looking for food, I

supposed) he went off in the direction from which he had come. And I

was alone once more.

I found I was somewhat hungry—and a little thirsty too. I began to

think all sorts of miserable thoughts, the way one does when he is

lonesome and has missed breakfast. What was going to become of me now,

if the Doctor and the rest were drowned? I would starve to death or

die of thirst. Then the sun went behind some clouds and I felt cold.

How many hundreds or thousands of miles was I from any land? What if

another storm should come and smash up even this poor raft on which I

stood?

I went on like this for a while, growing gloomier and gloomier, when

suddenly I thought of Polynesia. “You’re always safe with the Doctor,”

she had said. “He gets there. Remember that.”

I’m sure I wouldn’t have minded so much if he had been here with me. It

was this being all alone that made me want to weep. And yet the petrel

was alone!—What a baby I was, I told myself, to be scared to the verge

of tears just by loneliness! I was quite safe where I was—for the

present anyhow. John Dolittle wouldn’t get scared by a little thing

like this. He only got excited when he made a discovery, found a new

bug or something. And if what Polynesia had said was true, he couldn’t

be drowned and things would come out all right in the end somehow.

I threw out my chest, buttoned up my collar and began walking up and

down the short raft to keep warm. I would be like John Dolittle. I

wouldn’t cry—And I wouldn’t get excited.

How long I paced back and forth I don’t know. But it was a long

time—for I had nothing else to do.

At last I got tired and lay down to rest. And in spite of all my

troubles, I soon fell fast asleep.

This time when I woke up, stars were staring down at me out of a

cloudless sky. The sea was still calm; and my strange craft was rocking

gently under me on an easy swell. All my fine courage left me as I

gazed up into the big silent night and felt the pains of hunger and

thirst set to work in my stomach harder than ever.

“Are you awake?” said a high silvery voice at my elbow.

I sprang up as though some one had stuck a pin in me. And there,

perched at the very end of my raft, her beautiful golden tail glowing

dimly in the starlight, sat Miranda, the Purple Bird-of-Paradise!

Never have I been so glad to see any one in my life. I almost fell into

the water as I leapt to hug her.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” said she. “I guessed you must be tired

after all you’ve been through—Don’t squash the life out of me, boy: I’m

not a stuffed duck, you know.”

“Oh, Miranda, you dear old thing,” said I, “I’m so glad to see you.

Tell me, where is the Doctor? Is he alive?”

“Of course he’s alive—and it’s my firm belief he always will be. He’s

over there, about forty miles to the westward.”

“What’s he doing there?”

“He’s sitting on the other half of the _Curlew_ shaving himself—or he

was, when I left him.”

“Well, thank Heaven he’s alive!” said I—“And Bumpo—and the animals, are

they all right?”

“Yes, they’re with him. Your ship broke in half in the storm. The

Doctor had tied you down when he found you stunned. And the part you

were on got separated and floated away. Golly, it _was_ a storm! One

has to be a gull or an albatross to stand that sort of weather. I had

been watching for the Doctor for three weeks, from a cliff-top; but

last night I had to take refuge in a cave to keep my tail-feathers from

blowing out. As soon as I found the Doctor, he sent me off with some

porpoises to help us in our search. There had been quite a gathering

of sea-birds waiting to greet the Doctor; but the rough weather sort of

broke up the arrangements that had been made to welcome him properly.

It was the petrel that first gave us the tip where you were.”

“Well, but how can I get to the Doctor, Miranda?—I haven’t any oars.”

“Get to him!—Why, you’re going to him now. Look behind you.”

I turned around. The moon was just rising on the sea’s edge. And I now

saw that my raft was moving through the water, but so gently that I had

not noticed it before.

“What’s moving us?” I asked.

“The porpoises,” said Miranda.

I went to the back of the raft and looked down into the water. And just

below the surface I could see the dim forms of four big porpoises,

their sleek skins glinting in the moonlight, pushing at the raft with

their noses.

“They’re old friends of the Doctor’s,” said Miranda. “They’d do

anything for John Dolittle. We should see his party soon now. We’re

pretty near the place I left them—Yes, there they are! See that dark

shape?—No, more to the right of where you’re looking. Can’t you

make out the figure of the black man standing against the sky?—Now

Chee-Chee spies us—he’s waving. Don’t you see them?”

I didn’t—for my eyes were not as sharp as Miranda’s. But presently from

somewhere in the murky dusk I heard Bumpo singing his African comic

songs with the full force of his enormous voice. And in a little, by

peering and peering in the direction of the sound, I at last made out a

dim mass of tattered, splintered wreckage—all that remained of the poor

_Curlew_—floating low down upon the water.

A hulloa came through the night. And I answered it. We kept it up,

calling to one another back and forth across the calm night sea. And a

few minutes later the two halves of our brave little ruined ship bumped

gently together again.

Now that I was nearer and the moon was higher I could see more plainly.

Their half of the ship was much bigger than mine.

It lay partly upon its side; and most of them were perched upon the top

munching ship’s biscuit.

But close down to the edge of the water, using the sea’s calm surface

for a mirror and a piece of broken bottle for a razor, John Dolittle

was shaving his face by the light of the moon.

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

LAND!

THEY all gave me a great greeting as I clambered off my half of the

ship on to theirs. Bumpo brought me a wonderful drink of fresh water

which he drew from a barrel; and Chee-Chee and Polynesia stood around

me feeding me ship’s biscuit.

But it was the sight of the Doctor’s smiling face—just knowing that I

was with him once again—that cheered me more than anything else. As I

watched him carefully wipe his glass razor and put it away for future

use, I could not help comparing him in my mind with the Stormy Petrel.

Indeed the vast strange knowledge which he had gained from his speech

and friendship with animals had brought him the power to do things

which no other human being would dare to try. Like the petrel, he could

apparently play with the sea in all her moods. It was no wonder that

many of the ignorant savage peoples among whom he passed in his voyages

made statues of him showing him as half a fish, half a bird, and half

a man. And ridiculous though it was, I could quite understand what

Miranda meant when she said she firmly believed that he could never

die. Just to be with him gave you a wonderful feeling of comfort and

safety.

Except for his appearance (his clothes were crumpled and damp and his

battered high hat was stained with salt water) that storm which had

so terrified me had disturbed him no more than getting stuck on the

mud-bank in Puddleby River.

Politely thanking Miranda for getting me so quickly, he asked her

if she would now go ahead of us and show us the way to Spidermonkey

Island. Next, he gave orders to the porpoises to leave my old piece of

the ship and push the bigger half wherever the Bird-of-Paradise should

lead us.

How much he had lost in the wreck besides his razor I did not

know—everything, most likely, together with all the money he had saved

up to buy the ship with. And still he was smiling as though he wanted

for nothing in the world. The only things he had saved, as far as

I could see—beyond the barrel of water and bag of biscuit—were his

precious note-books. These, I saw when he stood up, he had strapped

around his waist with yards and yards of twine. He was, as old Matthew

Mugg used to say, a great man. He was unbelievable.

And now for three days we continued our journey slowly but

steadily—southward.

The only inconvenience we suffered from was the cold. This seemed

to increase as we went forward. The Doctor said that the island,

disturbed from its usual paths by the great gale, had evidently drifted

further South than it had ever been before.

On the third night poor Miranda came back to us nearly frozen. She told

the Doctor that in the morning we would find the island quite close to

us, though we couldn’t see it now as it was a misty dark night. She

said that she must hurry back at once to a warmer climate; and that she

would visit the Doctor in Puddleby next August as usual.

“Don’t forget, Miranda,” said John Dolittle, “if you should hear

anything of what happened to Long Arrow, to get word to me.”

The Bird-of-Paradise assured him she would. And after the Doctor had

thanked her again and again for all that she had done for us, she

wished us good luck and disappeared into the night.

We were all awake early in the morning, long before it was light,

waiting for our first glimpse of the country we had come so far to see.

And as the rising sun turned the eastern sky to gray, of course it

was old Polynesia who first shouted that she could see palm-trees and

mountain tops.

With the growing light it became plain to all of us: a long island with

high rocky mountains in the middle—and so near to us that you could

almost throw your hat upon the shore.

The porpoises gave us one last push and our strange-looking craft

bumped gently on a low beach. Then, thanking our lucky stars for

a chance to stretch our cramped legs, we all bundled off on to the

land—the first land, even though it was floating land, that we had

trodden for six weeks. What a thrill I felt as I realized that

Spidermonkey Island, the little spot in the atlas which my pencil had

touched, lay at last beneath my feet!

When the light increased still further we noticed that the palms and

grasses of the island seemed withered and almost dead. The Doctor

said that it must be on account of the cold that the island was now

suffering from in its new climate. These trees and grasses, he told us,

were the kind that belonged to warm, tropical weather.

The porpoises asked if we wanted them any further. And the Doctor said

that he didn’t think so, not for the present—nor the raft either, he

added; for it was already beginning to fall to pieces and could not

float much longer.

As we were preparing to go inland and explore the island, we suddenly

noticed a whole band of Red Indians watching us with great curiosity

from among the trees. The Doctor went forward to talk to them. But

he could not make them understand. He tried by signs to show them

that he had come on a friendly visit. The Indians didn’t seem to like

us however. They had bows and arrows and long hunting spears, with

stone points, in their hands; and they made signs back to the Doctor

to tell him that if he came a step nearer they would kill us all.

They evidently wanted us to leave the island at once. It was a very

uncomfortable situation.

At last the Doctor made them understand that he only wanted to see the

island all over and that then he would go away—though how he meant to

do it, with no boat to sail in, was more than I could imagine.

While they were talking among themselves another Indian

arrived—apparently with a message that they were wanted in some

other part of the island. Because presently, shaking their spears

threateningly at us, they went off with the newcomer.

“What discourteous pagans!” said Bumpo. “Did you ever see such

inhospitability?—Never even asked us if we’d had breakfast, the

benighted bounders!”

“Sh! They’re going off to their village,” said Polynesia. “I’ll bet

there’s a village on the other side of those mountains. If you take my

advice, Doctor, you’ll get away from this beach while their backs are

turned. Let us go up into the higher land for the present—some place

where they won’t know where we are. They may grow friendlier when

they see we mean no harm. They have honest, open faces and look like

a decent crowd to me. They’re just ignorant—probably never saw white

folks before.”

So, feeling a little bit discouraged by our first reception, we moved

off towards the mountains in the centre of the island.

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

THE JABIZRI

WE found the woods at the feet of the hills thick and tangly and

somewhat hard to get through. On Polynesia’s advice, we kept away from

all paths and trails, feeling it best to avoid meeting any Indians for

the present.

But she and Chee-Chee were good guides and splendid jungle-hunters; and

the two of them set to work at once looking for food for us. In a very

short space of time they had found quite a number of different fruits

and nuts which made excellent eating, though none of us knew the names

of any of them. We discovered a nice clean stream of good water which

came down from the mountains; so we were supplied with something to

drink as well.

We followed the stream up towards the heights. And presently we came to

parts where the woods were thinner and the ground rocky and steep. Here

we could get glimpses of wonderful views all over the island, with the

blue sea beyond.

While we were admiring one of these the Doctor suddenly said, “Sh!—A

Jabizri!—Don’t you hear it?”

We listened and heard, somewhere in the air about us, an

extraordinarily musical hum—like a bee, but not just one note. This hum

rose and fell, up and down—almost like some one singing.

“No other insect but the Jabizri beetle hums like that,” said the

Doctor. “I wonder where he is—quite near, by the sound—flying among the

trees probably. Oh, if I only had my butterfly-net! Why didn’t I think

to strap that around my waist too. Confound the storm: I may miss the

chance of a lifetime now of getting the rarest beetle in the world—Oh

look! There he goes!”

A huge beetle, easily three inches long I should say, suddenly flew by

our noses. The Doctor got frightfully excited. He took off his hat to

use as a net, swooped at the beetle and caught it. He nearly fell down

a precipice on to the rocks below in his wild hurry, but that didn’t

bother him in the least. He knelt down, chortling, upon the ground

with the Jabizri safe under his hat. From his pocket he brought out a

glass-topped box, and into this he very skilfully made the beetle walk

from under the rim of the hat. Then he rose up, happy as a child, to

examine his new treasure through the glass lid.

It certainly was a most beautiful insect. It was pale blue underneath;

but its back was glossy black with huge red spots on it.

“There isn’t an entymologist in the whole world who wouldn’t give

all he has to be in my shoes to-day,” said the Doctor—“Hulloa! This

Jabizri’s got something on his leg—Doesn’t look like mud. I wonder what

it is.”

He took the beetle carefully out of the box and held it by its back

in his fingers, where it waved its six legs slowly in the air. We all

crowded about him peering at it. Rolled around the middle section of

its right foreleg was something that looked like a thin dried leaf. It

was bound on very neatly with strong spider-web.

It was marvelous to see how John Dolittle with his fat heavy fingers

undid that cobweb cord and unrolled the leaf, whole, without tearing it

or hurting the precious beetle. The Jabizri he put back into the box.

Then he spread the leaf out flat and examined it.

You can imagine our surprise when we found that the inside of the leaf

was covered with signs and pictures, drawn so tiny that you almost

needed a magnifying-glass to tell what they were. Some of the signs we

couldn’t make out at all; but nearly all of the pictures were quite

plain, figures of men and mountains mostly. The whole was done in a

curious sort of brown ink.

For several moments there was a dead silence while we all stared at

the leaf, fascinated and mystified.

“I think this is written in blood,” said the Doctor at last. “It

turns that color when it’s dry. Somebody pricked his finger to make

these pictures. It’s an old dodge when you’re short of ink—but highly

unsanitary—What an extraordinary thing to find tied to a beetle’s leg!

I wish I could talk beetle language, and find out where the Jabizri got

it from.”

“But what is it?” I asked—“Rows of little pictures and signs. What do

you make of it, Doctor?”

“It’s a letter,” he said—“a picture letter. All these little things put

together mean a message—But why give a message to a beetle to carry—and

to a Jabizri, the rarest beetle in the world?—What an extraordinary

thing!”

Then he fell to muttering over the pictures.

“I wonder what it means: men walking up a mountain; men walking into

a hole in a mountain; a mountain falling down—it’s a good drawing,

that; men pointing to their open mouths; bars—prison-bars, perhaps; men

praying; men lying down—they look as though they might be sick; and

last of all, just a mountain—a peculiar-shaped mountain.”

All of a sudden the Doctor looked up sharply at me, a wonderful smile

of delighted understanding spreading over his face.

“_Long Arrow!_” he cried, “don’t you see, Stubbins?—Why, of course!

Only a naturalist would think of doing a thing like this: giving his

letter to a beetle—not to a common beetle, but to the rarest of all,

one that other naturalists would try to catch—Well, well! Long Arrow!—A

picture-letter from Long Arrow. For pictures are the only writing that

he knows.”

“Yes, but who is the letter to?” I asked.

“It’s to me very likely. Miranda had told him, I know, years ago, that

some day I meant to come here. But if not for me, then it’s for any one

who caught the beetle and read it. It’s a letter to the world.”

“Well, but what does it say? It doesn’t seem to me that it’s much good

to you now you’ve got it.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, “because, look, I can read it now. First

picture: men walking up a mountain—that’s Long Arrow and his party;

men going into a hole in a mountain—they enter a cave looking for

medicine-plants or mosses; a mountain falling down—some hanging rocks

must have slipped and trapped them, imprisoned them in the cave. And

this was the only living creature that could carry a message for them

to the outside world—a beetle, who could _burrow_ his way into the open

air. Of course it was only a slim chance that the beetle would be ever

caught and the letter read. But it _was_ a chance; and when men are in

great danger they grab at any straw of hope.... All right. Now look at

the next picture: men pointing to their open mouths—they are hungry;

men praying—begging any one who finds this letter to come to their

assistance; men lying down—they are sick, or starving. This letter,

Stubbins, is their last cry for help.”

He sprang to his feet as he ended, snatched out a note-book and put

the letter between the leaves. His hands were trembling with haste and

agitation.

“Come on!” he cried—“up the mountain—all of you. There’s not a moment

to lose. Bumpo, bring the water and nuts with you. Heaven only knows

how long they’ve been pining underground. Let’s hope and pray we’re not

too late!”

“But where are you going to look?” I asked. “Miranda said the island

was a hundred miles long and the mountains seem to run all the way down

the centre of it.”

“Didn’t you see the last picture?” he said, grabbing up his hat from

the ground and cramming it on his head. “It was an oddly shaped

mountain—looked like a hawk’s head. Well, there’s where he is—if he’s

still alive. First thing for us to do, is to get up on a high peak and

look around the island for a mountain shaped like a hawks’ head—Just

to think of it! There’s a chance of my meeting Long Arrow, the son of

Golden Arrow, after all!—Come on! Hurry! To delay may mean death to the

greatest naturalist ever born!”

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

HAWK’S-HEAD MOUNTAIN

WE all agreed afterwards that none of us had ever worked so hard in our

lives before as we did that day. For my part, I know I was often on the

point of dropping exhausted with fatigue; but I just kept on going—like

a machine—determined that, whatever happened, _I_ would not be the

first to give up.

When we had scrambled to the top of a high peak, almost instantly we

saw the strange mountain pictured in the letter. In shape it was the

perfect image of a hawk’s head, and was, as far as we could see, the

second highest summit in the island.

Although we were all out of breath from our climb, the Doctor didn’t

let us rest a second as soon as he had sighted it. With one look at the

sun for direction, down he dashed again, breaking through thickets,

splashing over brooks, taking all the short cuts. For a fat man, he was

certainly the swiftest cross-country runner I ever saw.

We floundered after him as fast as we could. When I say _we_, I mean

Bumpo and myself; for the animals, Jip, Chee-Chee and Polynesia, were

a long way ahead—even beyond the Doctor—enjoying the hunt like a

paper-chase.

At length we arrived at the foot of the mountain we were making for;

and we found its sides very steep. Said the Doctor,

“Now we will separate and search for caves. This spot where we now are,

will be our meeting-place. If anyone finds anything like a cave or a

hole where the earth and rocks have fallen in, he must shout and hulloa

to the rest of us. If we find nothing we will all gather here in about

an hour’s time—Everybody understand?”

Then we all went off our different ways.

Each of us, you may be sure, was anxious to be the one to make a

discovery. And never was a mountain searched so thoroughly. But alas!

nothing could we find that looked in the least like a fallen-in cave.

There were plenty of places where rocks had tumbled down to the foot

of the slopes; but none of these appeared as though caves or passages

could possibly lie behind them.

One by one, tired and disappointed, we straggled back to the

meeting-place. The Doctor seemed gloomy and impatient but by no means

inclined to give up.

“Jip,” he said, “couldn’t you _smell_ anything like an Indian anywhere?”

“No,” said Jip. “I sniffed at every crack on the mountainside. But I am

afraid my nose will be of no use to you here, Doctor. The trouble is,

the whole air is so saturated with the smell of spider-monkeys that it

drowns every other scent—And besides, it’s too cold and dry for good

smelling.”

“It is certainly that,” said the Doctor—“and getting colder all the

time. I’m afraid the island is still drifting to the southward. Let’s

hope it stops before long, or we won’t be able to get even nuts and

fruit to eat—everything in the island will perish—Chee-Chee, what luck

did you have?”

“None, Doctor. I climbed to every peak and pinnacle I could see. I

searched every hollow and cleft. But not one place could I find where

men might be hidden.”

“And Polynesia,” asked the Doctor, “did you see nothing that might put

us on the right track?”

“Not a thing, Doctor—But I have a plan.”

“Oh good!” cried John Dolittle, full of hope renewed. “What is it?

Let’s hear it.”

“You still have that beetle with you,” she asked—“the Biz-biz, or

whatever it is you call the wretched insect?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, producing the glass-topped box from his pocket,

“here it is.”

“All right. Now listen,” said she. “If what you have supposed is

true—that is, that Long Arrow had been trapped inside the mountain by

falling rock, he probably found that beetle inside the cave—perhaps

many other different beetles too, eh? He wouldn’t have been likely to

take the Biz-biz in with him, would he?—He was hunting plants, you say,

not beetles. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “that’s probably so.”

“Very well. It is fair to suppose then that the beetle’s home, or his

hole, is in that place—the part of the mountain where Long Arrow and

his party are imprisoned, isn’t it?”

“Quite, quite.”

“All right. Then the thing to do is to let the beetle go—and watch him;

and sooner or later he’ll return to his home in Long Arrow’s cave. And

there we will follow him—Or at all events,” she added smoothing down

her wing-feathers with a very superior air, “we will follow him till

the miserable bug starts nosing under the earth. But at least he will

show us what part of the mountain Long Arrow is hidden in.”

“But he may fly, if I let him out,” said the Doctor. “Then we shall

just lose him and be no better off than we were before.”

“_Let_ him fly,” snorted Polynesia scornfully. “A parrot can wing it as

fast as a Biz-biz, I fancy. If he takes to the air, I’ll guarantee not

to let the little devil out of my sight. And if he just crawls along

the ground you can follow him yourself.”

“Splendid!” cried the Doctor. “Polynesia, you have a great brain. I’ll

set him to work at once and see what happens.”

Again we all clustered round the Doctor as he carefully lifted off the

glass lid and let the big beetle climb out upon his finger.

“Ladybug, Ladybug, fly away home!” crooned Bumpo. “Your house is on

fire and your chil—”

“Oh, be quiet!” snapped Polynesia crossly. “Stop insulting him! Don’t

you suppose he has wits enough to go home without your telling him?”

“I thought perchance he might be of a philandering disposition,” said

Bumpo humbly. “It could be that he is tired of his home and needs to be

encouraged. Shall I sing him ‘Home Sweet Home,’ think you?”

“No. Then he’d never go back. Your voice needs a rest. Don’t sing to

him: just watch him—Oh, and Doctor, why not tie another message to the

creature’s leg, telling Long Arrow that we’re doing our best to reach

him and that he mustn’t give up hope?”

“I will,” said the Doctor. And in a minute he had pulled a dry leaf

from a bush near by and was covering it with little pictures in pencil.

At last, neatly fixed up with his new mail-bag, Mr. Jabizri crawled off

the Doctor’s finger to the ground and looked about him. He stretched

his legs, polished his nose with his front feet and then moved off

leisurely to the westward.

We had expected him to walk _up_ the mountain; instead, he walked

_around_ it. Do you know how long it takes a beetle to walk round a

mountain? Well, I assure you it takes an unbelievably long time. As

the hours dragged by, we hoped and hoped that he would get up and fly

the rest, and let Polynesia carry on the work of following him. But he

never opened his wings once. I had not realized before how hard it is

for a human being to walk slowly enough to keep up with a beetle. It

was the most tedious thing I have ever gone through. And as we dawdled

along behind, watching him like hawks lest we lose him under a leaf or

something, we all got so cross and ill-tempered we were ready to bite

one another’s heads off. And when he stopped to look at the scenery or

polish his nose some more, I could hear Polynesia behind me letting out

the most dreadful seafaring swear-words you ever heard.

After he had led us the whole way round the mountain he brought us to

the exact spot where we started from and there he came to a dead stop.

“Well,” said Bumpo to Polynesia, “what do you think of the beetle’s

sense now? You see he _doesn’t_ know enough to go home.”

“Oh, be still, you Hottentot!” snapped Polynesia. “Wouldn’t _you_ want

to stretch your legs for exercise if you’d been shut up in a box all

day. Probably his home is near here, and that’s why he’s come back.”

“But why,” I asked, “did he go the whole way round the mountain first?”

Then the three of us got into a violent argument. But in the middle of

it all the Doctor suddenly called out,

“Look, look!”

We turned and found that he was pointing to the Jabizri, who was now

walking _up_ the mountain at a much faster and more business-like gait.

“Well,” said Bumpo sitting down wearily; “if he is going to walk _over_

the mountain and back, for more exercise, I’ll wait for him here.

Chee-Chee and Polynesia can follow him.”

Indeed it would have taken a monkey or a bird to climb the place which

the beetle was now walking up. It was a smooth, flat part of the

mountain’s side, steep as a wall.

But presently, when the Jabizri was no more than ten feet above our

heads, we all cried out together. For, even while we watched him, he

had disappeared into the face of the rock like a raindrop soaking into

sand.

“He’s gone,” cried Polynesia. “There must be a hole up there.” And in a

twinkling she had fluttered up the rock and was clinging to the face of

it with her claws.

“Yes,” she shouted down, “we’ve run him to earth at last. His hole is

right here, behind a patch of lichen—big enough to get two fingers in.”

“Ah,” cried the Doctor, “this great slab of rock then must have slid

down from the summit and shut off the mouth of the cave like a door.

Poor fellows! What a dreadful time they must have spent in there!—Oh,

if we only had some picks and shovels now!”

“Picks and shovels wouldn’t do much good,” said Polynesia. “Look at the

size of the slab: a hundred feet high and as many broad. You would need

an army for a week to make any impression on it.”

“I wonder how thick it is,” said the Doctor; and he picked up a big

stone and banged it with all his might against the face of the rock.

It made a hollow booming sound, like a giant drum. We all stood still

listening while the echo of it died slowly away.

And then a cold shiver ran down my spine. For, from within the

mountain, back came three answering knocks: _Boom!... Boom!... Boom!_

Wide-eyed we looked at one another as though the earth itself had

spoken. And the solemn little silence that followed was broken by the

Doctor.

“Thank Heaven,” he said in a hushed reverent voice, “some of them at

least are alive!”

PART FIVE

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

A GREAT MOMENT

THE next part of our problem was the hardest of all: how to roll aside,

pull down or break open, that gigantic slab. As we gazed up at it

towering above our heads, it looked indeed a hopeless task for our tiny

strength.

But the sounds of life from inside the mountain had put new heart in

us. And in a moment we were all scrambling around trying to find any

opening or crevice which would give us something to work on. Chee-Chee

scaled up the sheer wall of the slab and examined the top of it where

it leaned against the mountain’s side; I uprooted bushes and stripped

off hanging creepers that might conceal a weak place; the Doctor got

more leaves and composed new picture-letters for the Jabizri to take

in if he should turn up again; whilst Polynesia carried up a handful

of nuts and pushed them into the beetle’s hole, one by one, for the

prisoners inside to eat.

“Nuts are so nourishing,” she said.

But Jip it was who, scratching at the foot of the slab like a good

ratter, made the discovery which led to our final success.

“Doctor,” he cried, running up to John Dolittle with his nose all

covered with black mud, “this slab is resting on nothing but a bed of

soft earth. You never saw such easy digging. I guess the cave behind

must be just too high up for the Indians to reach the earth with their

hands, or they could have scraped a way out long ago. If we can only

scratch the earth-bed away from under, the slab might drop a little.

Then maybe the Indians can climb out over the top.”

The Doctor hurried to examine the place where Jip had dug.

“Why, yes,” he said, “if we can get the earth away from under this

front edge, the slab is standing up so straight, we might even make it

fall right down in this direction. It’s well worth trying. Let’s get at

it, quick.”

We had no tools but the sticks and slivers of stone which we could

find around. A strange sight we must have looked, the whole crew of us

squatting down on our heels, scratching and burrowing at the foot of

the mountain, like six badgers in a row.

After about an hour, during which in spite of the cold the sweat fell

from our foreheads in all directions, the Doctor said,

“Be ready to jump from under, clear out of the way, if she shows signs

of moving. If this slab falls on anybody, it will squash him flatter

than a pancake.”

Presently there was a grating, grinding sound.

“Look out!” yelled John Dolittle, “here she comes!—Scatter!”

We ran for our lives, outwards, toward the sides. The big rock slid

gently down, about a foot, into the trough which we had made beneath

it. For a moment I was disappointed, for like that, it was as hopeless

as before—no signs of a cave-mouth showing above it. But as I looked

upward, I saw the top coming very slowly away from the mountainside.

We had unbalanced it below. As it moved apart from the face of the

mountain, sounds of human voices, crying gladly in a strange tongue,

issued from behind. Faster and faster the top swung forward, downward.

Then, with a roaring crash which shook the whole mountain-range beneath

our feet, it struck the earth and cracked in halves.

How can I describe to any one that first meeting between the two

greatest naturalists the world ever knew, Long Arrow, the son of Golden

Arrow and John Dolittle, M.D., of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh? The scene

rises before me now, plain and clear in every detail, though it took

place so many, many years ago. But when I come to write of it, words

seem such poor things with which to tell you of that great occasion.

I know that the Doctor, whose life was surely full enough of big

happenings, always counted the setting free of the Indian scientist

as the greatest thing he ever did. For my part, knowing how much this

meeting must mean to him, I was on pins and needles of expectation and

curiosity as the great stone finally thundered down at our feet and we

gazed across it to see what lay behind.

The gloomy black mouth of a tunnel, full twenty feet high, was

revealed. In the centre of this opening stood an enormous red Indian,

seven feet tall, handsome, muscular, slim and naked—but for a beaded

cloth about his middle and an eagle’s feather in his hair. He held one

hand across his face to shield his eyes from the blinding sun which he

had not seen in many days.

“It is he!” I heard the Doctor whisper at my elbow. “I know him by his

great height and the scar upon his chin.”

And he stepped forward slowly across the fallen stone with his hand

outstretched to the red man.

Presently the Indian uncovered his eyes. And I saw that they had a

curious piercing gleam in them—like the eyes of an eagle, but kinder

and more gentle. He slowly raised his right arm, the rest of him still

and motionless like a statue, and took the Doctor’s hand in his. It was

a great moment. Polynesia nodded to me in a knowing, satisfied kind of

way. And I heard old Bumpo sniffle sentimentally.

Then the Doctor tried to speak to Long Arrow. But the Indian knew

no English of course, and the Doctor knew no Indian. Presently, to my

surprise, I heard the Doctor trying him in different animal languages.

[Illustration: “It was a great moment”]

“How do you do?” he said in dog-talk; “I am glad to see you,” in

horse-signs; “How long have you been buried?” in deer-language.

Still the Indian made no move but stood there, straight and stiff,

understanding not a word.

The Doctor tried again, in several other animal dialects. But with no

result.

Till at last he came to the language of eagles.

“Great Red-Skin,” he said in the fierce screams and short grunts that

the big birds use, “never have I been so glad in all my life as I am

to-day to find you still alive.”

In a flash Long Arrow’s stony face lit up with a smile of

understanding; and back came the answer in eagle-tongue,

“Mighty White Man, I owe my life to you. For the remainder of my days I

am your servant to command.”

Afterwards Long Arrow told us that this was the only bird or animal

language that he had ever been able to learn. But that he had not

spoken it in a long time, for no eagles ever came to this island.

Then the Doctor signaled to Bumpo who came forward with the nuts and

water. But Long Arrow neither ate nor drank. Taking the supplies with

a nod of thanks, he turned and carried them into the inner dimness of

the cave. We followed him.

Inside we found nine other Indians, men, women and boys, lying on the

rock floor in a dreadful state of thinness and exhaustion.

Some had their eyes closed, as if dead. Quickly the Doctor went round

them all and listened to their hearts. They were all alive; but one

woman was too weak even to stand upon her feet.

At a word from the Doctor, Chee-Chee and Polynesia sped off into the

jungles after more fruit and water.

While Long Arrow was handing round what food we had to his starving

friends, we suddenly heard a sound outside the cave. Turning about we

saw, clustered at the entrance, the band of Indians who had met us so

inhospitably at the beach.

They peered into the dark cave cautiously at first. But as soon as

they saw Long Arrow and the other Indians with us, they came rushing

in, laughing, clapping their hands with joy and jabbering away at a

tremendous rate.

Long Arrow explained to the Doctor that the nine Indians we had found

in the cave with him were two families who had accompanied him into

the mountains to help him gather medicine-plants. And while they had

been searching for a kind of moss—good for indigestion—which grows only

inside of damp caves, the great rock slab had slid down and shut them

in. Then for two weeks they had lived on the medicine-moss and such

fresh water as could be found dripping from the damp walls of the cave.

The other Indians on the island had given them up for lost and mourned

them as dead; and they were now very surprised and happy to find their

relatives alive.

When Long Arrow turned to the newcomers and told them in their own

language that it was the white man who had found and freed their

relatives, they gathered round John Dolittle, all talking at once and

beating their breasts.

Long Arrow said they were apologizing and trying to tell the Doctor how

sorry they were that they had seemed unfriendly to him at the beach.

They had never seen a white man before and had really been afraid of

him—especially when they saw him conversing with the porpoises. They

had thought he was the Devil, they said.

Then they went outside and looked at the great stone we had thrown

down, big as a meadow; and they walked round and round it, pointing to

the break running through the middle and wondering how the trick of

felling it was done.

Travelers who have since visited Spidermonkey Island tell me that

that huge stone slab is now one of the regular sights of the island.

And that the Indian guides, when showing it to visitors, always tell

_their_ story of how it came there. They say that when the Doctor

found that the rocks had entrapped his friend, Long Arrow, he was so

angry that he ripped the mountain in halves with his bare hands and let

him out.

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

“THE MEN OF THE MOVING LAND”

FROM that time on the Indians’ treatment of us was very different. We

were invited to their village for a feast to celebrate the recovery

of the lost families. And after we had made a litter from saplings to

carry the sick woman in, we all started off down the mountain.

On the way the Indians told Long Arrow something which appeared to

be sad news, for on hearing it, his face grew very grave. The Doctor

asked him what was wrong. And Long Arrow said he had just been informed

that the chief of the tribe, an old man of eighty, had died early that

morning.

“That,” Polynesia whispered in my ear, “must have been what they went

back to the village for, when the messenger fetched them from the

beach.—Remember?”

“What did he die of?” asked the Doctor.

“He died of cold,” said Long Arrow.

Indeed, now that the sun was setting, we were all shivering ourselves.

“This is a serious thing,” said the Doctor to me. “The island is still

in the grip of that wretched current flowing southward. We will have to

look into this to-morrow. If nothing can be done about it, the Indians

had better take to canoes and leave the island. The chance of being

wrecked will be better than getting frozen to death in the ice-floes of

the Antarctic.”

Presently we came over a saddle in the hills, and looking downward on

the far side of the island, we saw the village—a large cluster of grass

huts and gaily colored totem-poles close by the edge of the sea.

“How artistic!” said the Doctor—“Delightfully situated. What is the

name of the village?”

“Popsipetel,” said Long Arrow. “That is the name also of the tribe. The

word signifies in Indian tongue, _The Men of The Moving Land_. There

are two tribes of Indians on the island: the Popsipetels at this end

and the Bag-jagderags at the other.”

“Which is the larger of the two peoples?”

“The Bag-jagderags, by far. Their city covers two square leagues. But,”

added Long Arrow a slight frown darkening his handsome face, “for me, I

would rather have one Popsipetel than a hundred Bag-jagderags.”

The news of the rescue we had made had evidently gone ahead of us. For

as we drew nearer to the village we saw crowds of Indians streaming out

to greet the friends and relatives whom they had never thought to see

again.

These good people, when they too were told how the rescue had been the

work of the strange white visitor to their shores, all gathered round

the Doctor, shook him by the hands, patted him and hugged him. Then

they lifted him up upon their strong shoulders and carried him down the

hill into the village.

There the welcome we received was even more wonderful. In spite of

the cold air of the coming night, the villagers, who had all been

shivering within their houses, threw open their doors and came out in

hundreds. I had no idea that the little village could hold so many.

They thronged about us, smiling and nodding and waving their hands;

and as the details of what we had done were recited by Long Arrow they

kept shouting strange singing noises, which we supposed were words of

gratitude or praise.

We were next escorted to a brand-new grass house, clean and

sweet-smelling within, and informed that it was ours. Six strong Indian

boys were told off to be our servants.

On our way through the village we noticed a house, larger than the

rest, standing at the end of the main street. Long Arrow pointed to it

and told us it was the Chief’s house, but that it was now empty—no new

chief having yet been elected to take the place of the old one who had

died.

Inside our new home a feast of fish and fruit had been prepared. Most

of the more important men of the tribe were already seating themselves

at the long dining-table when we got there. Long Arrow invited us to

sit down and eat.

This we were glad enough to do, as we were all hungry. But we were both

surprised and disappointed when we found that the fish had not been

cooked. The Indians did not seem to think this extraordinary in the

least, but went ahead gobbling the fish with much relish the way it

was, raw.

With many apologies, the Doctor explained to Long Arrow that if they

had no objection we would prefer our fish cooked.

Imagine our astonishment when we found that the great Long Arrow, so

learned in the natural sciences, did not know what the word _cooked_

meant!

Polynesia who was sitting on the bench between John Dolittle and myself

pulled the Doctor by the sleeve.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Doctor,” she whispered as he leant down to

listen to her: “_these people have no fires_! They don’t know how to

make a fire. Look outside: It’s almost dark, and there isn’t a light

showing in the whole village. This is a fireless people.”

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

FIRE

THEN the Doctor asked Long Arrow if he knew what fire was, explaining

it to him by pictures drawn on the buckskin table-cloth. Long Arrow

said he had seen such a thing—coming out of the tops of volcanoes; but

that neither he nor any of the Popsipetels knew how it was made.

“Poor perishing heathens!” muttered Bumpo. “No wonder the old chief

died of cold!”

At that moment we heard a crying sound at the door. And turning round,

we saw a weeping Indian mother with a baby in her arms. She said

something to the Indians which we could not understand; and Long Arrow

told us the baby was sick and she wanted the white doctor to try and

cure it.

“Oh Lord!” groaned Polynesia in my ear—“Just like Puddleby: patients

arriving in the middle of dinner. Well, one thing: the food’s raw, so

nothing can get cold anyway.”

The Doctor examined the baby and found at once that it was thoroughly

chilled.

“Fire—_fire_! That’s what it needs,” he said turning to Long

Arrow—“That’s what you all need. This child will have pneumonia if it

isn’t kept warm.”

“Aye, truly. But how to make a fire,” said Long Arrow—“where to get it:

that is the difficulty. All the volcanoes in this land are dead.”

Then we fell to hunting through our pockets to see if any matches had

survived the shipwreck. The best we could muster were two whole ones

and a half—all with the heads soaked off them by salt water.

“Hark, Long Arrow,” said the Doctor: “divers ways there be of making

fire without the aid of matches. One: with a strong glass and the

rays of the sun. That however, since the sun has set, we cannot now

employ. Another is by grinding a hard stick into a soft log—Is the

daylight gone without?—Alas yes. Then I fear we must await the morrow;

for besides the different woods, we need an old squirrel’s nest for

fuel—And that without lamps you could not find in your forests at this

hour.”

“Great are your cunning and your skill, oh White Man,” Long Arrow

replied. “But in this you do us an injustice. Know you not that all

fireless peoples can see in the dark? Having no lamps we are forced to

train ourselves to travel through the blackest night, lightless. I will

despatch a messenger and you shall have your squirrel’s nest within the

hour.”

He gave an order to two of our boy-servants who promptly disappeared

running. And sure enough, in a very short space of time a squirrel’s

nest, together with hard and soft woods, was brought to our door.

The moon had not yet risen and within the house it was practically

pitch-black. I could feel and hear, however, that the Indians were

moving about comfortably as though it were daylight. The task of making

fire the Doctor had to perform almost entirely by the sense of touch,

asking Long Arrow and the Indians to hand him his tools when he mislaid

them in the dark. And then I made a curious discovery: now that I had

to, I found that I was beginning to see a little in the dark myself.

And for the first time I realized that of course there _is_ no such

thing as pitch-dark, so long as you have a door open or a sky above you.

Calling for the loan of a bow, the Doctor loosened the string, put the

hard stick into a loop and began grinding this stick into the soft wood

of the log. Soon I smelt that the log was smoking. Then he kept feeding

the part that was smoking with the inside lining of the squirrel’s

nest, and he asked me to blow upon it with my breath. He made the stick

drill faster and faster. More smoke filled the room. And at last the

darkness about us was suddenly lit up. The squirrel’s nest had burst

into flame.

The Indians murmured and grunted with astonishment. At first they were

all for falling on their knees and worshiping the fire. Then they

wanted to pick it up with their bare hands and play with it. We had to

teach them how it was to be used; and they were quite fascinated when

we laid our fish across it on sticks and cooked it. They sniffed the

air with relish as, for the first time in history, the smell of fried

fish passed through the village of Popsipetel.

Then we got them to bring us piles and stacks of dry wood; and we made

an enormous bonfire in the middle of the main street. Round this, when

they felt its warmth, the whole tribe gathered and smiled and wondered.

It was a striking sight, one of the pictures from our voyages that I

most frequently remember: that roaring jolly blaze beneath the black

night sky, and all about it a vast ring of Indians, the firelight

gleaming on bronze cheeks, white teeth and flashing eyes—a whole town

trying to get warm, giggling and pushing like school-children.

In a little, when we had got them more used to the handling of fire,

the Doctor showed them how it could be taken into their houses if a

hole were only made in the roof to let the smoke out. And before we

turned in after that long, long, tiring day, we had fires going in

every hut in the village.

The poor people were so glad to get really warm again that we thought

they’d never go to bed. Well on into the early hours of the morning

the little town fairly buzzed with a great low murmur: the Popsipetels

sitting up talking of their wonderful pale-faced visitor and this

strange good thing he had brought with him—_fire_!

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

WHAT MAKES AN ISLAND FLOAT

VERY early in our experience of Popsipetel kindness we saw that if we

were to get anything done at all, we would almost always have to do it

secretly. The Doctor was so popular and loved by all that as soon as he

showed his face at his door in the morning crowds of admirers, waiting

patiently outside, flocked about him and followed him wherever he went.

After his fire-making feat, this childlike people expected him, I

think, to be continually doing magic; and they were determined not to

miss a trick.

It was only with great difficulty that we escaped from the crowd the

first morning and set out with Long Arrow to explore the island at our

leisure.

In the interior we found that not only the plants and trees were

suffering from the cold: the animal life was in even worse straits.

Everywhere shivering birds were to be seen, their feathers all fluffed

out, gathering together for flight to summer lands. And many lay dead

upon the ground. Going down to the shore, we watched land-crabs in

large numbers taking to the sea to find some better home. While away to

the Southeast we could see many icebergs floating—a sign that we were

now not far from the terrible region of the Antarctic.

As we were looking out to sea, we noticed our friends the porpoises

jumping through the waves. The Doctor hailed them and they came inshore.

He asked them how far we were from the South Polar Continent.

About a hundred miles, they told him. And then they asked why he wanted

to know.

“Because this floating island we are on,” said he, “is drifting

southward all the time in a current. It’s an island that ordinarily

belongs somewhere in the tropic zone—real sultry weather, sunstrokes

and all that. If it doesn’t stop going southward pretty soon everything

on it is going to perish.”

“Well,” said the porpoises, “then the thing to do is to get it back

into a warmer climate, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but how?” said the Doctor. “We can’t _row_ it back.”

“No,” said they, “but whales could push it—if you only got enough of

them.”

“What a splendid idea!—Whales, the very thing!” said the Doctor. “Do

you think you could get me some?”

“Why, certainly,” said the porpoises, “we passed one herd of them out

there, sporting about among the icebergs. We’ll ask them to come over.

And if they aren’t enough, we’ll try and hunt up some more. Better have

plenty.”

“Thank you,” said the Doctor. “You are very kind—By the way, do you

happen to know how this island came to be a floating island? At least

half of it, I notice, is made of stone. It is very odd that it floats

at all, isn’t it?”

“It is unusual,” they said. “But the explanation is quite simple. It

used to be a mountainous part of South America—an overhanging part—sort

of an awkward corner, you might say. Way back in the glacial days,

thousands of years ago, it broke off from the mainland; and by some

curious accident the inside of it, which is hollow, got filled with

air as it fell into the ocean. You can only see less than half of

the island: the bigger half is under water. And in the middle of it,

underneath, is a huge rock air-chamber, running right up inside the

mountains. And that’s what keeps it floating.”

“What a pecurious phenometer!” said Bumpo.

“It is indeed,” said the Doctor. “I must make a note of that.” And out

came the everlasting note-book.

The porpoises went bounding off towards the icebergs. And not long

after, we saw the sea heaving and frothing as a big herd of whales came

towards us at full speed.

They certainly were enormous creatures; and there must have been a good

two hundred of them.

“Here they are,” said the porpoises, poking their heads out of the

water.

“Good!” said the Doctor. “Now just explain to them, will you please?

that this is a very serious matter for all the living creatures in this

land. And ask them if they will be so good as to go down to the far end

of the island, put their noses against it and push it back near the

coast of Southern Brazil.”

The porpoises evidently succeeded in persuading the whales to do as the

Doctor asked; for presently we saw them thrashing through the seas,

going off towards the south end of the island.

Then we lay down upon the beach and waited.

After about an hour the Doctor got up and threw a stick into the water.

For a while this floated motionless. But soon we saw it begin to move

gently down the coast.

“Ah!” said the Doctor, “see that?—The island is going North at last.

Thank goodness!”

Faster and faster we left the stick behind; and smaller and dimmer grew

the icebergs on the skyline.

The Doctor took out his watch, threw more sticks into the water and

made a rapid calculation.

“Humph!—Fourteen and a half knots an hour,” he murmured—“A very nice

speed. It should take us about five days to get back near Brazil. Well,

that’s that—Quite a load off my mind. I declare I feel warmer already.

Let’s go and get something to eat.”

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

WAR!

ON our way back to the village the Doctor began discussing natural

history with Long Arrow. But their most interesting talk, mainly about

plants, had hardly begun when an Indian runner came dashing up to us

with a message.

Long Arrow listened gravely to the breathless, babbled words, then

turned to the Doctor and said in eagle tongue,

“Great White Man, an evil thing has befallen the Popsipetels. Our

neighbors to the southward, the thievish Bag-jagderags, who for so long

have cast envious eyes on our stores of ripe corn, have gone upon the

war-path; and even now are advancing to attack us.”

“Evil news indeed,” said the Doctor. “Yet let us not judge harshly.

Perhaps it is that they are desperate for food, having their own crops

frost-killed before harvest. For are they not even nearer the cold

South than you?”

“Make no excuses for any man of the tribe of the Bag-jagderags,” said

Long Arrow shaking his head. “They are an idle shiftless race. They do

but see a chance to get corn without the labor of husbandry. If it

were not that they are a much bigger tribe and hope to defeat their

neighbor by sheer force of numbers, they would not have dared to make

open war upon the brave Popsipetels.”

When we reached the village we found it in a great state of excitement.

Everywhere men were seen putting their bows in order, sharpening

spears, grinding battle-axes and making arrows by the hundred. Women

were raising a high fence of bamboo poles all round the village. Scouts

and messengers kept coming and going, bringing news of the movements of

the enemy. While high up in the trees and hills about the village we

could see look-outs watching the mountains to the southward.

Long Arrow brought another Indian, short but enormously broad, and

introduced him to the Doctor as Big Teeth, the chief warrior of the

Popsipetels.

The Doctor volunteered to go and see the enemy and try to argue the

matter out peacefully with them instead of fighting; for war, he said,

was at best a stupid wasteful business. But the two shook their heads.

Such a plan was hopeless, they said. In the last war when they had sent

a messenger to do peaceful arguing, the enemy had merely hit him with

an ax.

While the Doctor was asking Big Teeth how he meant to defend the

village against attack, a cry of alarm was raised by the look-outs.

“They’re coming!—The Bag-jagderags—swarming down the mountains in

thousands!”

“Well,” said the Doctor, “it’s all in the day’s work, I suppose. I

don’t believe in war; but if the village is attacked we must help

defend it.”

And he picked up a club from the ground and tried the heft of it

against a stone.

“This,” he said, “seems like a pretty good tool to me.” And he walked

to the bamboo fence and took his place among the other waiting fighters.

Then we all got hold of some kind of weapon with which to help our

friends, the gallant Popsipetels: I borrowed a bow and a quiver full of

arrows; Jip was content to rely upon his old, but still strong teeth;

Chee-Chee took a bag of rocks and climbed a palm where he could throw

them down upon the enemies’ heads; and Bumpo marched after the Doctor

to the fence armed with a young tree in one hand and a door-post in the

other.

When the enemy drew near enough to be seen from where we stood we all

gasped with astonishment. The hillsides were actually covered with

them—thousands upon thousands. They made our small army within the

village look like a mere handful.

“Saints alive!” muttered Polynesia, “our little lot will stand no

chance against that swarm. This will never do. I’m going off to get

some help.”

Where she was going and what kind of help she meant to get, I had no

idea. She just disappeared from my side. But Jip, who had heard her,

poked his nose between the bamboo bars of the fence to get a better

view of the enemy and said,

“Likely enough she’s gone after the Black Parrots. Let’s hope she

finds them in time. Just look at those ugly ruffians climbing down the

rocks—millions of ’em! This fight’s going to keep us all hopping.”

And Jip was right. Before a quarter of an hour had gone by our

village was completely surrounded by one huge mob of yelling, raging

Bag-jagderags.

I now come again to a part in the story of our voyages where things

happened so quickly, one upon the other, that looking backwards I see

the picture only in a confused kind of way. I know that if it had not

been for the Terrible Three—as they came afterwards to be fondly called

in Popsipetel history—Long Arrow, Bumpo and the Doctor, the war would

have been soon over and the whole island would have belonged to the

worthless Bag-jagderags. But the Englishman, the African and the Indian

were a regiment in themselves; and between them they made that village

a dangerous place for any man to try to enter.

The bamboo fencing which had been hastily set up around the town was

not a very strong affair; and right from the start it gave way in

one place after another as the enemy thronged and crowded against it.

Then the Doctor, Long Arrow and Bumpo would hurry to the weak spot, a

terrific hand-to-hand fight would take place and the enemy be thrown

out. But almost instantly a cry of alarm would come from some other

part of the village-wall; and the Three would have to rush off and do

the same thing all over again.

[Illustration: The Terrible Three

_From an Indian rock-engraving found on Hawks’-Head Mountain,

Spidermonkey Island_]

The Popsipetels were themselves no mean fighters; but the strength and

weight of those three men of different lands and colors, standing close

together, swinging their enormous war-clubs, was really a sight for the

wonder and admiration of any one.

Many weeks later when I was passing an Indian camp-fire at night I

heard this song being sung. It has since become one of the traditional

folksongs of the Popsipetels.

THE SONG OF THE TERRIBLE THREE

Oh hear ye the Song of the Terrible Three

And the fight that they fought by the edge of the sea.

Down from the mountains, the rocks and the crags,

Swarming like wasps, came the Bag-jagderags.

Surrounding our village, our walls they broke down.

Oh, sad was the plight of our men and our town!

But Heaven determined our land to set free

And sent us the help of the Terrible Three.

One was a Black—he was dark as the night;

One was a Red-skin, a mountain of height;

But the chief was a White Man, round like a bee;

And all in a row stood the Terrible Three.

Shoulder to shoulder, they hammered and hit.

Like demons of fury they kicked and they bit.

Like a wall of destruction they stood in a row,

Flattening enemies, six at a blow.

Oh, strong was the Red-skin fierce was the Black.

Bag-jagderags trembled and tried to turn back.

But ’twas of the White Man they shouted, “Beware!

He throws men in handfuls, straight up in the air!”

Long shall they frighten bad children at night

With tales of the Red and the Black and the White.

And long shall we sing of the Terrible Three

And the fight that they fought by the edge of the sea.

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

GENERAL POLYNESIA

BUT alas! even the Three, mighty though they were, could not last

forever against an army which seemed to have no end. In one of the

hottest scrimmages, when the enemy had broken a particularly wide hole

through the fence, I saw Long Arrow’s great figure topple and come down

with a spear sticking in his broad chest.

For another half-hour Bumpo and the Doctor fought on side by side. How

their strength held out so long I cannot tell, for never a second were

they given to get their breath or rest their arms.

The Doctor—the quiet, kindly, peaceable, little Doctor!—well, you

wouldn’t have known him if you had seen him that day dealing out whacks

you could hear a mile off, walloping and swatting in all directions.

As for Bumpo, with staring eye-balls and grim set teeth, he was

a veritable demon. None dared come within yards of that wicked,

wide-circling door-post. But a stone, skilfully thrown, struck him at

last in the centre of the forehead. And down went the second of the

Three. John Dolittle, the last of the Terribles, was left fighting

alone.

Jip and I rushed to his side and tried to take the places of the fallen

ones. But, far too light and too small, we made but a poor exchange.

Another length of the fence crashed down, and through the widened gap

the Bag-jagderags poured in on us like a flood.

“To the canoes!—To the sea!” shouted the Popsipetels. “Fly for your

lives!—All is over!—The war is lost!”

But the Doctor and I never got a chance to fly for our lives. We were

swept off our feet and knocked down flat by the sheer weight of the

mob. And once down, we were unable to get up again. I thought we would

surely be trampled to death.

But at that moment, above the din and racket of the battle, we heard

the most terrifying noise that ever assaulted human ears: the sound of

millions and millions of parrots all screeching with fury together.

The army, which in the nick of time Polynesia had brought to our

rescue, darkened the whole sky to the westward. I asked her afterwards,

how many birds there were; and she said she didn’t know exactly but

that they certainly numbered somewhere between sixty and seventy

millions. In that extraordinarily short space of time she had brought

them from the mainland of South America.

If you have ever heard a parrot screech with anger you will know that

it makes a truly frightful sound; and if you have ever been bitten by

one, you will know that its bite can be a nasty and a painful thing.

The Black Parrots (coal-black all over, they were—except for a scarlet

beak and a streak of red in wing and tail) on the word of command from

Polynesia set to work upon the Bag-jagderags who were now pouring

through the village looking for plunder.

And the Black Parrots’ method of fighting was peculiar. This is what

they did: on the head of each Bag-jagderag three or four parrots

settled and took a good foot-hold in his hair with their claws; then

they leant down over the sides of his head and began clipping snips out

of his ears, for all the world as though they were punching tickets.

That is all they did. They never bit them anywhere else except the

ears. But it won the war for us.

With howls pitiful to hear, the Bag-jagderags fell over one another in

their haste to get out of that accursed village. It was no use their

trying to pull the parrots off their heads; because for each head there

were always four more parrots waiting impatiently to get on.

Some of the enemy were lucky; and with only a snip or two managed to

get outside the fence—where the parrots immediately left them alone.

But with most, before the black birds had done with them, the ears

presented a very singular appearance—like the edge of a postage-stamp.

This treatment, very painful at the time, did not however do them any

permanent harm beyond the change in looks. And it later got to be the

tribal mark of the Bag-jagderags. No really smart young lady of this

tribe would be seen walking with a man who did not have scalloped

ears—for such was a proof that he had been in the Great War. And that

(though it is not generally known to scientists) is how this people

came to be called by the other Indian nations, the _Ragged-Eared

Bag-jagderags_.

As soon as the village was cleared of the enemy the Doctor turned his

attention to the wounded.

In spite of the length and fierceness of the struggle, there were

surprisingly few serious injuries. Poor Long Arrow was the worst off.

However, after the Doctor had washed his wound and got him to bed, he

opened his eyes and said he already felt better. Bumpo was only badly

stunned.

With this part of the business over, the Doctor called to Polynesia

to have the Black Parrots drive the enemy right back into their own

country and to wait there, guarding them all night.

Polynesia gave the short word of command; and like one bird those

millions of parrots opened their red beaks and let out once more their

terrifying battle-scream.

The Bag-jagderags didn’t wait to be bitten a second time, but fled

helter-skelter over the mountains from which they had come; whilst

Polynesia and her victorious army followed watchfully behind like a

great, threatening, black cloud.

The Doctor picked up his high hat which had been knocked off in the

fight, dusted it carefully and put it on.

“To-morrow,” he said, shaking his fist towards the hills, “we will

arrange the terms of peace—and we will arrange them—in the City of

Bag-jagderag!”

His words were greeted with cheers of triumph from the admiring

Popsipetels. The war was over.

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

THE PEACE OF THE PARROTS

THE next day we set out for the far end of the island, and reaching it

in canoes (for we went by sea) after a journey of twenty-five hours, we

remained no longer than was necessary in the City of Bag-jagderag.

When he threw himself into that fight at Popsipetel, I saw the Doctor

really angry for the first time in my life. But his anger, once

aroused, was slow to die. All the way down the coast of the island he

never ceased to rail against this cowardly people who had attacked his

friends, the Popsipetels, for no other reason but to rob them of their

corn, because they were too idle to till the land themselves. And he

was still angry when he reached the City of Bag-jagderag.

Long Arrow had not come with us for he was as yet too weak from his

wound. But the Doctor—always clever at languages—was already getting

familiar with the Indian tongue. Besides, among the half-dozen

Popsipetels who accompanied us to paddle the canoes, was one boy to

whom we had taught a little English. He and the Doctor between them

managed to make themselves understood to the Bag-jagderags. This

people, with the terrible parrots still blackening the hills about

their stone town, waiting for the word to descend and attack, were, we

found, in a very humble mood.

Leaving our canoes we passed up the main street to the palace of the

chief. Bumpo and I couldn’t help smiling with satisfaction as we saw

how the waiting crowds which lined the roadway bowed their heads to the

ground, as the little, round, angry figure of the Doctor strutted ahead

of us with his chin in the air.

At the foot of the palace-steps the chief and all the more important

personages of the tribe were waiting to meet him, smiling humbly and

holding out their hands in friendliness. The Doctor took not the

slightest notice. He marched right by them, up the steps to the door

of the palace. There he turned around and at once began to address the

people in a firm voice.

I never heard such a speech in my life—and I am quite sure that they

never did either. First he called them a long string of names: cowards,

loafers, thieves, vagabonds, good-for-nothings, bullies and what not.

Then he said he was still seriously thinking of allowing the parrots to

drive them on into the sea, in order that this pleasant land might be

rid, once for all, of their worthless carcases.

At this a great cry for mercy went up, and the chief and all of

them fell on their knees, calling out that they would submit to any

conditions of peace he wished.

Then the Doctor called for one of their scribes—that is, a man who did

picture-writing. And on the stone walls of the palace of Bag-jagderag

he bade him write down the terms of the peace as he dictated it.

This peace is known as _The Peace of The Parrots_, and—unlike most

peaces—was, and is, strictly kept—even to this day.

It was quite long in words. The half of the palace-front was covered

with picture-writing, and fifty pots of paint were used, before the

weary scribe had done. But the main part of it all was that there

should be no more fighting; and that the two tribes should give solemn

promise to help one another whenever there was corn-famine or other

distress in the lands belonging to either.

This greatly surprised the Bag-jagderags. They had expected from the

Doctor’s angry face that he would at least chop a couple of hundred

heads off—and probably make the rest of them slaves for life.

But when they saw that he only meant kindly by them, their great fear

of him changed to a tremendous admiration. And as he ended his long

speech and walked briskly down the steps again on his way back to the

canoes, the group of chieftains threw themselves at his feet and cried,

“Do but stay with us, Great Lord, and all the riches of Bag-jagderag

shall be poured into your lap. Gold-mines we know of in the mountains

and pearl-beds beneath the sea. Only stay with us, that your

all-powerful wisdom may lead our Council and our people in prosperity

and peace.”

The Doctor held up his hand for silence.

“No man,” said he, “would wish to be the guest of the Bag-jagderags

till they had proved by their deeds that they are an honest race. Be

true to the terms of the Peace and from yourselves shall come good

government and prosperity—Farewell!”

Then he turned and followed by Bumpo, the Popsipetels and myself,

walked rapidly down to the canoes.

_THE EIGHTH CHAPTER_

THE HANGING STONE

BUT the change of heart in the Bag-jagderags was really sincere. The

Doctor had made a great impression on them—a deeper one than even he

himself realized at the time. In fact I sometimes think that that

speech of his from the palace-steps had more effect upon the Indians of

Spidermonkey Island than had any of his great deeds which, great though

they were, were always magnified and exaggerated when the news of them

was passed from mouth to mouth.

A sick girl was brought to him as he reached the place where the boats

lay. She turned out to have some quite simple ailment which he quickly

gave the remedy for. But this increased his popularity still more. And

when he stepped into his canoe, the people all around us actually burst

into tears. It seems (I learned this afterwards) that they thought he

was going away across the sea, for good, to the mysterious foreign

lands from which he had come.

Some of the chieftains spoke to the Popsipetels as we pushed off. What

they said I did not understand; but we noticed that several canoes

filled with Bag-jagderags followed us at a respectful distance all the

way back to Popsipetel.

The Doctor had determined to return by the other shore, so that we

should be thus able to make a complete trip round the island’s shores.

Shortly after we started, while still off the lower end of the island,

we sighted a steep point on the coast where the sea was in a great

state of turmoil, white with soapy froth. On going nearer, we found

that this was caused by our friendly whales who were still faithfully

working away with their noses against the end of the island, driving us

northward. We had been kept so busy with the war that we had forgotten

all about them. But as we paused and watched their mighty tails lashing

and churning the sea, we suddenly realized that we had not felt cold

in quite a long while. Speeding up our boat lest the island be carried

away from us altogether, we passed on up the coast; and here and there

we noticed that the trees on the shore already looked greener and more

healthy. Spidermonkey Island was getting back into her home climates.

About halfway to Popsipetel we went ashore and spent two or three days

exploring the central part of the island. Our Indian paddlers took us

up into the mountains, very steep and high in this region, overhanging

the sea. And they showed us what they called the Whispering Rocks.

This was a very peculiar and striking piece of scenery. It was like a

great vast basin, or circus, in the mountains, and out of the centre of

it there rose a table of rock with an ivory chair upon it. All around

this the mountains went up like stairs, or theatre-seats, to a great

height—except at one narrow end which was open to a view of the sea.

You could imagine it a council-place or concert-hall for giants, and

the rock table in the centre the stage for performers or the stand for

the speaker.

[Illustration: “Working away with their noses against the end of the

island”]

We asked our guides why it was called the Whispering Rocks; and they

said, “Go down into it and we will show you.”

The great bowl was miles deep and miles wide. We scrambled down the

rocks and they showed us how, even when you stood far, far apart from

one another, you merely had to whisper in that great place and every

one in the theatre could hear you. This was, the Doctor said, on

account of the echoes which played backwards and forwards between the

high walls of rock.

Our guides told us that it was here, in days long gone by when the

Popsipetels owned the whole of Spidermonkey Island, that the kings

were crowned. The ivory chair upon the table was the throne in which

they sat. And so great was the big theatre that all the Indians in the

island were able to get seats in it to see the ceremony.

They showed us also an enormous hanging stone perched on the edge of

a volcano’s crater—the highest summit in the whole island. Although

it was very far below us, we could see it quite plainly; and it looked

wobbly enough to be pushed off its perch with the hand. There was a

legend among the people, they said, that when the greatest of all

Popsipetel kings should be crowned in the ivory chair, this hanging

stone would tumble into the volcano’s mouth and go straight down to the

centre of the earth.

[Illustration: “The Whispering Rocks”]

The Doctor said he would like to go and examine it closer.

And when we were come to the lip of the volcano (it took us half a

day to get up to it) we found the stone was unbelievably large—big

as a cathedral. Underneath it we could look right down into a black

hole which seemed to have no bottom. The Doctor explained to us that

volcanoes sometimes spurted up fire from these holes in their tops; but

that those on floating islands were always cold and dead.

“Stubbins,” he said, looking up at the great stone towering above us,

“do you know what would most likely happen if that boulder should fall

in?”

“No,” said I, “what?”

“You remember the air-chamber which the porpoises told us lies under

the centre of the island?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this stone is heavy enough, if it fell into the volcano, to

break through into that air-chamber from above. And once it did, the

air would escape and the floating island would float no more. It would

sink.”

“But then everybody on it would be drowned, wouldn’t they?” said Bumpo.

“Oh no, not necessarily. That would depend on the depth of the sea

where the sinking took place. The island might touch bottom when it

had only gone down, say, a hundred feet. But there would be lots of it

still sticking up above the water then, wouldn’t there?”

“Yes,” said Bumpo, “I suppose there would. Well, let us hope that the

ponderous fragment does _not_ lose its equilibriosity, for I don’t

believe it would stop at the centre of the earth—more likely it would

fall right through the world and come out the other side.”

Many other wonders there were which these men showed us in the central

regions of their island. But I have not time or space to tell you of

them now.

Descending towards the shore again, we noticed that we were still

being watched, even here among the highlands, by the Bag-jagderags

who had followed us. And when we put to sea once more a boatload of

them proceeded to go ahead of us in the direction of Popsipetel.

Having lighter canoes, they traveled faster than our party; and we

judged that they should reach the village—if that was where they were

going—many hours before we could.

The Doctor was now becoming anxious to see how Long Arrow was getting

on, so we all took turns at the paddles and went on traveling by

moonlight through the whole night.

We reached Popsipetel just as the dawn was breaking.

To our great surprise we found that not only we, but the whole village

also, had been up all night. A great crowd was gathered about the dead

chief’s house. And as we landed our canoes upon the beach we saw a

large number of old men, the seniors of the tribe, coming out at the

main door.

We inquired what was the meaning of all this; and were told that the

election of a new chief had been going on all through the whole night.

Bumpo asked the name of the new chief; but this, it seemed, had not yet

been given out. It would be announced at mid-day.

As soon as the Doctor had paid a visit to Long Arrow and seen that he

was doing nicely, we proceeded to our own house at the far end of the

village. Here we ate some breakfast and then lay down to take a good

rest.

Rest, indeed, we needed; for life had been strenuous and busy for us

ever since we had landed on the island. And it wasn’t many minutes

after our weary heads struck the pillows that the whole crew of us were

sound asleep.

_THE NINTH CHAPTER_

THE ELECTION

WE were awakened by music. The glaring noonday sunlight was streaming

in at our door, outside of which some kind of a band appeared to be

playing. We got up and looked out. Our house was surrounded by the

whole population of Popsipetel. We were used to having quite a number

of curious and admiring Indians waiting at our door at all hours;

but this was quite different. The vast crowd was dressed in its best

clothes. Bright beads, gawdy feathers and gay blankets gave cheerful

color to the scene. Every one seemed in very good humor, singing or

playing on musical instruments—mostly painted wooden whistles or drums

made from skins.

We found Polynesia—who while we slept had arrived back from

Bag-jagderag—sitting on our door-post watching the show. We asked her

what all the holiday-making was about.

“The result of the election has just been announced,” said she. “The

name of the new chief was given out at noon.”

“And who is the new chief?” asked the Doctor.

“You are,” said Polynesia quietly.

“_I!_” gasped the Doctor—“Well, of all things!”

“Yes,” said she. “You’re the one—And what’s more, they’ve changed

your surname for you. They didn’t think that Dolittle was a proper or

respectful name for a man who had done so much. So you are now to be

known as Jong Thinkalot. How do you like it?”

“But I don’t _want_ to be a chief,” said the Doctor in an irritable

voice.

“I’m afraid you’ll have hard work to get out of it now,” said

she—“unless you’re willing to put to sea again in one of their rickety

canoes. You see you’ve been elected not merely the Chief of the

Popsipetels; you’re to be a king—the King of the whole of Spidermonkey

Island. The Bag-jagderags, who were so anxious to have you govern

them, sent spies and messengers ahead of you; and when they found that

you had been elected Chief of the Popsipetels overnight they were

bitterly disappointed. However, rather than lose you altogether, the

Bag-jagderags were willing to give up their independence, and insisted

that they and their lands be united to the Popsipetels in order that

you could be made king of both. So now you’re in for it.”

“Oh Lord!” groaned the Doctor, “I do wish they wouldn’t be so

enthusiastic! Bother it, I don’t _want_ to be a king!”

“I should think, Doctor,” said I, “you’d feel rather proud and glad. I

wish _I_ had a chance to be a king.”

“Oh I know it sounds grand,” said he, pulling on his boots miserably.

“But the trouble is, you can’t take up responsibilities and then just

drop them again when you feel like it. I have my own work to do.

Scarcely one moment have I had to give to natural history since I

landed on this island. I’ve been doing some one else’s business all the

time. And now they want me to go on doing it! Why, once I’m made King

of the Popsipetels, that’s the end of me as a useful naturalist. I’d be

too busy for anything. All I’d be then is just a er—er—just a king.”

“Well, that’s something!” said Bumpo. “My father is a king and has a

hundred and twenty wives.”

“That would make it worse,” said the Doctor—“a hundred and twenty times

worse. I have my work to do. I don’t want to be a king.”

“Look,” said Polynesia, “here come the head men to announce your

election. Hurry up and get your boots laced.”

The throng before our door had suddenly parted asunder, making a long

lane; and down this we now saw a group of personages coming towards us.

The man in front, a handsome old Indian with a wrinkled face, carried

in his hands a wooden crown—a truly beautiful and gorgeous crown, even

though of wood. Wonderfully carved and painted, it had two lovely blue

feathers springing from the front of it. Behind the old man came eight

strong Indians bearing a litter, a sort of chair with long handles

underneath to carry it by.

Kneeling down on one knee, bending his head almost to the ground, the

old man addressed the Doctor who now stood in the doorway putting on

his collar and tie.

“Oh, Mighty One,” said he, “we bring you word from the Popsipetel

people. Great are your deeds beyond belief, kind is your heart and your

wisdom, deeper than the sea. Our chief is dead. The people clamor for a

worthy leader. Our old enemies, the Bag-jagderags are become, through

you, our brothers and good friends. They too desire to bask beneath the

sunshine of your smile. Behold then, I bring to you the Sacred Crown of

Popsipetel which, since ancient days when this island and its peoples

were one, beneath one monarch, has rested on no kingly brow. Oh Kindly

One, we are bidden by the united voices of the peoples of this land to

carry you to the Whispering Rocks, that there, with all respect and

majesty, you may be crowned our king—King of all the Moving Land.”

The good Indians did not seem to have even considered the possibility

of John Dolittle’s refusing. As for the poor Doctor, I never saw him so

upset by anything. It was in fact the only time I have known him to

get thoroughly fussed.

“Oh dear!” I heard him murmur, looking around wildly for some escape.

“What _shall_ I do?—Did any of you see where I laid that stud of

mine?—How on earth can I get this collar on without a stud? What a day

this is, to be sure!—Maybe it rolled under the bed, Bumpo—I do think

they might have given me a day or so to think it over in. Who ever

heard of waking a man right out of his sleep, and telling him he’s got

to be a king, before he has even washed his face? Can’t any of you find

it? Maybe you’re standing on it, Bumpo. Move your feet.”

“Oh don’t bother about your stud,” said Polynesia. “You will have to be

crowned without a collar. They won’t know the difference.”

“I tell you I’m not going to be crowned,” cried the Doctor—“not if I

can help it. I’ll make them a speech. Perhaps that will satisfy them.”

He turned back to the Indians at the door.

“My friends,” he said, “I am not worthy of this great honor you would

do me. Little or no skill have I in the arts of kingcraft. Assuredly

among your own brave men you will find many better fitted to lead you.

For this compliment, this confidence and trust, I thank you. But, I

pray you, do not think of me for such high duties which I could not

possibly fulfil.”

The old man repeated his words to the people behind him in a louder

voice. Stolidly they shook their heads, moving not an inch. The old man

turned back to the Doctor.

“You are the chosen one,” said he. “They will have none but you.”

Into the Doctor’s perplexed face suddenly there came a flash of hope.

“I’ll go and see Long Arrow,” he whispered to me. “Perhaps he will know

of some way to get me out of this.”

And asking the personages to excuse him a moment, he left them there,

standing at his door, and hurried off in the direction of Long Arrow’s

house. I followed him.

We found our big friend lying on a grass bed outside his home, where he

had been moved that he might witness the holiday-making.

“Long Arrow,” said the Doctor speaking quickly in eagle tongue so

that the bystanders should not overhear, “in dire peril I come to you

for help. These men would make me their king. If such a thing befall

me, all the great work I hoped to do must go undone, for who is there

unfreer than a king? I pray you speak with them and persuade their kind

well-meaning hearts that what they plan to do would be unwise.”

Long Arrow raised himself upon his elbow.

“Oh Kindly One,” said he (this seemed now to have become the usual

manner of address when speaking to the Doctor), “sorely it grieves me

that the first wish you ask of me I should be unable to grant. Alas! I

can do nothing. These people have so set their hearts on keeping you

for king that if I tried to interfere they would drive me from their

land and likely crown you in the end in any case. A king you must be,

if only for a while. We must so arrange the business of governing that

you may have time to give to Nature’s secrets. Later we may be able to

hit upon some plan to relieve you of the burden of the crown. But for

now you must be king. These people are a headstrong tribe and they will

have their way. There is no other course.”

Sadly the Doctor turned away from the bed and faced about. And there

behind him stood the old man again, the crown still held in his

wrinkled hands and the royal litter waiting at his elbow. With a deep

reverence the bearers motioned towards the seat of the chair, inviting

the white man to get in.

Once more the poor Doctor looked wildly, hopelessly about him for

some means of escape. For a moment I thought he was going to take to

his heels and run for it. But the crowd around us was far too thick

and densely packed for anyone to break through it. A band of whistles

and drums near by suddenly started the music of a solemn processional

march. He turned back pleadingly again to Long Arrow in a last appeal

for help. But the big Indian merely shook his head and pointed, like

the bearers, to the waiting chair.

At last, almost in tears, John Dolittle stepped slowly into the litter

and sat down. As he was hoisted on to the broad shoulders of the

bearers I heard him still feebly muttering beneath his breath,

“Botheration take it!—I don’t _want_ to be a king!”

“Farewell!” called Long Arrow from his bed, “and may good fortune ever

stand within the shadow of your throne!”

“He comes!—He comes!” murmured the crowd. “Away! Away!—To the

Whispering Rocks!”

And as the procession formed up to leave the village, the crowd about

us began hurrying off in the direction of the mountains to make sure of

good seats in the giant theatre where the crowning ceremony would take

place.

_THE TENTH CHAPTER_

THE CORONATION OF KING JONG

IN my long lifetime I have seen many grand and inspiring things, but

never anything that impressed me half as much as the sight of the

Whispering Rocks as they looked on the day King Jong was crowned. As

Bumpo, Chee-Chee, Polynesia, Jip and I finally reached the dizzy edge

of the great bowl and looked down inside it, it was like gazing over

a never-ending ocean of copper-colored faces; for every seat in the

theatre was filled, every man, woman and child in the island—including

Long Arrow who had been carried up on his sick bed—was there to see the

show.

Yet not a sound, not a pin-drop, disturbed the solemn silence of the

Whispering Rocks. It was quite creepy and sent chills running up and

down your spine. Bumpo told me afterwards that it took his breath away

too much for him to speak, but that he hadn’t known before that there

were that many people in the world.

Away down by the Table of the Throne stood a brand-new, brightly

colored totem-pole. All the Indian families had totem-poles and kept

them set up before the doors of their houses. The idea of a totem-pole

is something like a door-plate or a visiting card. It represents in its

carvings the deeds and qualities of the family to which it belongs.

This one, beautifully decorated and much higher than any other, was the

Dolittle or, as it was to be henceforth called, the Royal Thinkalot

totem. It had nothing but animals on it, to signify the Doctor’s great

knowledge of creatures. And the animals chosen to be shown were those

which to the Indians were supposed to represent good qualities of

character, such as, the deer for speed; the ox for perseverance; the

fish for discretion, and so on. But at the top of the totem is always

placed the sign or animal by which the family is most proud to be

known. This, on the Thinkalot pole, was an enormous parrot, in memory

of the famous Peace of the Parrots.

The Ivory Throne had been all polished with scented oil and it

glistened whitely in the strong sunlight. At the foot of it there had

been strewn great quantities of branches of flowering trees, which with

the new warmth of milder climates were now blossoming in the valleys of

the island.

Soon we saw the royal litter, with the Doctor seated in it, slowly

ascending the winding steps of the Table. Reaching the flat top at

last, it halted and the Doctor stepped out upon the flowery carpet. So

still and perfect was the silence that even at that distance above I

distinctly heard a twig snap beneath his tread.

Walking to the throne accompanied by the old man, the Doctor got up

upon the stand and sat down. How tiny his little round figure looked

when seen from that tremendous height! The throne had been made for

longer-legged kings; and when he was seated, his feet did not reach the

ground but dangled six inches from the top step.

Then the old man turned round and looking up at the people began to

speak in a quiet even voice; but every word he said was easily heard in

the furthest corner of the Whispering Rocks.

First he recited the names of all the great Popsipetel kings who

in days long ago had been crowned in this ivory chair. He spoke of

the greatness of the Popsipetel people, of their triumphs, of their

hardships. Then waving his hand towards the Doctor he began recounting

the things which this king-to-be had done. And I am bound to say that

they easily outmatched the deeds of those who had gone before him.

As soon as he started to speak of what the Doctor had achieved for the

tribe, the people, still strictly silent, all began waving their right

hands towards the throne. This gave to the vast theatre a very singular

appearance: acres and acres of something moving—with never a sound.

At last the old man finished his speech and stepping up to the chair,

very respectfully removed the Doctor’s battered high hat. He was about

to put it upon the ground; but the Doctor took it from him hastily and

kept it on his lap. Then taking up the Sacred Crown he placed it upon

John Dolittle’s head. It did not fit very well (for it had been made

for smaller-headed kings), and when the wind blew in freshly from the

sunlit sea the Doctor had some difficulty in keeping it on. But it

looked very splendid.

Turning once more to the people, the old man said,

“Men of Popsipetel, behold your elected king!—Are you content?”

And then at last the voice of the people broke loose.

“JONG! JONG!” they shouted, “LONG LIVE KING JONG!”

The sound burst upon the solemn silence with the crash of a hundred

cannon. There, where even a whisper carried miles, the shock of it was

like a blow in the face. Back and forth the mountains threw it to one

another. I thought the echoes of it would never die away as it passed

rumbling through the whole island, jangling among the lower valleys,

booming in the distant sea-caves.

Suddenly I saw the old man point upward, to the highest mountain in the

island; and looking over my shoulder, I was just in time to see the

Hanging Stone topple slowly out of sight—down into the heart of the

volcano.

“See ye, Men of the Moving Land!” the old man cried: “The stone has

fallen and our legend has come true: the King of Kings is crowned this

day!”

The Doctor too had seen the stone fall and he was now standing up

looking at the sea expectantly.

“He’s thinking of the air-chamber,” said Bumpo in my ear. “Let us hope

that the sea isn’t very deep in these parts.”

After a full minute (so long did it take the stone to fall that depth)

we heard a muffled, distant, crunching thud—and then immediately after,

a great hissing of escaping air. The Doctor, his face tense with

anxiety, sat down in the throne again still watching the blue water of

the ocean with staring eyes.

Soon we felt the island slowly sinking beneath us. We saw the sea creep

inland over the beaches as the shores went down—one foot, three feet,

ten feet, twenty, fifty, a hundred. And then, thank goodness, gently as

a butterfly alighting on a rose, it stopped! Spidermonkey Island had

come to rest on the sandy bottom of the Atlantic, and earth was joined

to earth once more.

Of course many of the houses near the shores were now under water.

Popsipetel Village itself had entirely disappeared. But it didn’t

matter. No one was drowned; for every soul in the island was high up

in the hills watching the coronation of King Jong.

The Indians themselves did not realize at the time what was taking

place, though of course they had felt the land sinking beneath them.

The Doctor told us afterwards that it must have been the shock of that

tremendous shout, coming from a million throats at once, which had

toppled the Hanging Stone off its perch. But in Popsipetel history the

story was handed down (and it is firmly believed to this day) that when

King Jong sat upon the throne, so great was his mighty weight, that the

very island itself sank down to do him honor and never moved again.

[Illustration]

PART SIX

_THE FIRST CHAPTER_

NEW POPSIPETEL

JONG THINKALOT had not ruled over his new kingdom for more than a

couple of days before my notions about kings and the kind of lives they

led changed very considerably. I had thought that all that kings had to

do was to sit on a throne and have people bow down before them several

times a day. I now saw that a king can be the hardest-working man in

the world—if he attends properly to his business.

From the moment that he got up, early in the morning, till the time he

went to bed, late at night—seven days in the week—John Dolittle was

busy, busy, busy. First of all there was the new town to be built. The

village of Popsipetel had disappeared: the City of New Popsipetel must

be made. With great care a place was chosen for it—and a very beautiful

position it was, at the mouth of a large river. The shores of the

island at this point formed a lovely wide bay where canoes—and ships

too, if they should ever come—could lie peacefully at anchor without

danger from storms.

In building this town the Doctor gave the Indians a lot of new

ideas. He showed them what town-sewers were, and how garbage should

be collected each day and burnt. High up in the hills he made a large

lake by damming a stream. This was the water-supply for the town. None

of these things had the Indians ever seen; and many of the sicknesses

which they had suffered from before were now entirely prevented by

proper drainage and pure drinking-water.

Peoples who don’t use fire do not of course have metals either; because

without fire it is almost impossible to shape iron and steel. One of

the first things that John Dolittle did was to search the mountains

till he found iron and copper mines. Then he set to work to teach the

Indians how these metals could be melted and made into knives and plows

and water-pipes and all manner of things.

In his kingdom the Doctor tried his hardest to do away with most of the

old-fashioned pomp and grandeur of a royal court. As he said to Bumpo

and me, if he must be a king he meant to be a thoroughly democratic

one, that is a king who is chummy and friendly with his subjects and

doesn’t put on airs. And when he drew up the plans for the City of New

Popsipetel he had no palace shown of any kind. A little cottage in a

back street was all that he had provided for himself.

But this the Indians would not permit on any account. They had been

used to having their kings rule in a truly grand and kingly manner;

and they insisted that he have built for himself the most magnificent

palace ever seen. In all else they let him have his own way absolutely;

but they wouldn’t allow him to wriggle out of any of the ceremony or

show that goes with being a king. A thousand servants he had to keep in

his palace, night and day, to wait on him. The Royal Canoe had to be

kept up—a gorgeous, polished mahogany boat, seventy feet long, inlaid

with mother-o’-pearl and paddled by the hundred strongest men in the

island. The palace-gardens covered a square mile and employed a hundred

and sixty gardeners.

Even in his dress the poor man was compelled always to be grand and

elegant and uncomfortable. The beloved and battered high hat was put

away in a closet and only looked at secretly. State robes had to be

worn on all occasions. And when the Doctor did once in a while manage

to sneak off for a short, natural-history expedition he never dared to

wear his old clothes, but had to chase his butterflies with a crown

upon his head and a scarlet cloak flying behind him in the wind.

There was no end to the kinds of duties the Doctor had to perform and

the questions he had to decide upon—everything, from settling disputes

about lands and boundaries, to making peace between husband and wife

who had been throwing shoes at one another. In the east wing of the

Royal Palace was the Hall of Justice. And here King Jong sat every

morning from nine to eleven passing judgment on all cases that were

brought before him.

[Illustration: “Had to chase his butterflies with a crown upon his

head”]

Then in the afternoon he taught school. The sort of things he taught

were not always those you find in ordinary schools. Grown-ups as well

as children came to learn. You see, these Indians were ignorant of many

of the things that quite small white children know—though it is also

true that they knew a lot that white grown-ups never dreamed of.

Bumpo and I helped with the teaching as far as we could—simple

arithmetic, and easy things like that. But the classes in astronomy,

farming science, the proper care of babies, with a host of other

subjects, the Doctor had to teach himself. The Indians were

tremendously keen about the schooling and they came in droves and

crowds; so that even with the open-air classes (a school-house was

impossible of course) the Doctor had to take them in relays and batches

of five or six thousand at a time and used a big megaphone or trumpet

to make himself heard.

The rest of his day was more than filled with road-making, building

water-mills, attending the sick and a million other things.

In spite of his being so unwilling to become a king, John Dolittle

made a very good one—once he got started. He may not have been as

dignified as many kings in history who were always running off to war

and getting themselves into romantic situations; but since I have grown

up and seen something of foreign lands and governments I have often

thought that Popsipetel under the reign of Jong Thinkalot was perhaps

the best ruled state in the history of the world.

The Doctor’s birthday came round after we had been on the island

six months and a half. The people made a great public holiday of it

and there was much feasting, dancing, fireworks, speechmaking and

jollification.

Towards the close of the day the chief men of the two tribes formed a

procession and passed through the streets of the town, carrying a very

gorgeously painted tablet of ebony wood, ten feet high. This was a

picture-history, such as they preserved for each of the ancient kings

of Popsipetel to record their deeds.

With great and solemn ceremony it was set up over the door of the new

palace: and everybody then clustered round to look at it. It had six

pictures on it commemorating the six great events in the life of King

Jong and beneath were written the verses that explained them. They were

composed by the Court Poet; and this is a translation:

I

(_His Landing on The Island_)

Heaven-sent,

In his dolphin-drawn canoe

From worlds unknown

He landed on our shores.

The very palms

Bowed down their heads

In welcome to the coming King.

II

(_His Meeting With The Beetle_)

By moonlight in the mountains

He communed with beasts.

The shy Jabizri brings him picture-words

Of great distress.

III

(_He liberates The Lost Families_)

Big was his heart with pity;

Big were his hands with strength.

See how he tears the mountain like a yam!

See how the lost ones

Dance forth to greet the day!

IV

(_He Makes Fire_)

Our land was cold and dying.

He waved his hand and lo!

Lightning leapt from cloudless skies;

The sun leant down;

And Fire was born!

Then while we crowded round

The grateful glow, pushed he

Our wayward, floating land

Back to peaceful anchorage

In sunny seas.

V

(_He Leads The People To Victory in War_)

Once only

Was his kindly countenance

Darkened by a deadly frown.

Woe to the wicked enemy

That dares attack

The tribe with Thinkalot for Chief!

VI

(_He Is Crowned King_)

The birds of the air rejoiced;

The Sea laughed and gambolled with her shores;

All Red-skins wept for joy

The day we crowned him King.

He is the Builder, the Healer, the Teacher and the Prince;

He is the greatest of them all.

May he live a thousand thousand years,

Happy in his heart,

To bless our land with Peace.

_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

THOUGHTS OF HOME

IN the Royal Palace Bumpo and I had a beautiful suite of rooms of our

very own—which Polynesia, Jip and Chee-Chee shared with us. Officially

Bumpo was Minister of the Interior; while I was First Lord of the

Treasury. Long Arrow also had quarters there; but at present he was

absent, traveling abroad.

One night after supper when the Doctor was away in the town somewhere

visiting a new-born baby, we were all sitting round the big table in

Bumpo’s reception-room. This we did every evening, to talk over the

plans for the following day and various affairs of state. It was a kind

of Cabinet Meeting.

To-night however we were talking about England—and also about things

to eat. We had got a little tired of Indian food. You see, none of

the natives knew how to cook; and we had the most discouraging time

training a chef for the Royal Kitchen. Most of them were champions at

spoiling good food. Often we got so hungry that the Doctor would sneak

downstairs with us into the palace basement, after all the cooks were

safe in bed, and fry pancakes secretly over the dying embers of the

fire. The Doctor himself was the finest cook that ever lived. But he

used to make a terrible mess of the kitchen; and of course we had to be

awfully careful that we didn’t get caught.

Well, as I was saying, to-night food was the subject of discussion at

the Cabinet Meeting; and I had just been reminding Bumpo of the nice

dishes we had had at the bed-maker’s house in Monteverde.

“I tell you what I would like now,” said Bumpo: “a large cup of cocoa

with whipped cream on the top of it. In Oxford we used to be able to

get the most wonderful cocoa. It is really too bad they haven’t any

cocoa-trees in this island, or cows to give cream.”

“When do you suppose,” asked Jip, “the Doctor intends to move on from

here?”

“I was talking to him about that only yesterday,” said Polynesia. “But

I couldn’t get any satisfactory answer out of him. He didn’t seem to

want to speak about it.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

“Do you know what I believe?” she added presently. “I believe the

Doctor has given up even thinking of going home.”

“Good Lord!” cried Bumpo. “You don’t say!”

“Sh!” said Polynesia. “What’s that noise?”

We listened; and away off in the distant corridors of the palace we

heard the sentries crying,

“The King!—Make way!—The King!”

“It’s he—at last,” whispered Polynesia—“late, as usual. Poor man, how

he does work!—Chee-Chee, get the pipe and tobacco out of the cupboard

and lay the dressing-gown ready on his chair.”

When the Doctor came into the room he looked serious and thoughtful.

Wearily he took off his crown and hung it on a peg behind the door.

Then he exchanged the royal cloak for the dressing-gown, dropped into

his chair at the head of the table with a deep sigh and started to fill

his pipe.

“Well,” asked Polynesia quietly, “how did you find the baby?”

“The baby?” he murmured—his thoughts still seemed to be very far

away—“Ah yes. The baby was much better, thank you—It has cut its second

tooth.”

Then he was silent again, staring dreamily at the ceiling through a

cloud of tobacco-smoke; while we all sat round quite still, waiting.

“We were wondering, Doctor,” said I at last,—“just before you came

in—when you would be starting home again. We will have been on this

island seven months to-morrow.”

The Doctor sat forward in his chair looking rather uncomfortable.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” said he after a moment, “I meant to speak

to you myself this evening on that very subject. But it’s—er—a little

hard to make any one exactly understand the situation. I am afraid

that it would be impossible for me to leave the work I am now engaged

on.... You remember, when they first insisted on making me king, I told

you it was not easy to shake off responsibilities, once you had taken

them up. These people have come to rely on me for a great number of

things. We found them ignorant of much that white people enjoy. And we

have, one might say, changed the current of their lives considerably.

Now it is a very ticklish business, to change the lives of other

people. And whether the changes we have made will be, in the end, for

good or for bad, is our lookout.”

He thought a moment—then went on in a quieter, sadder voice:

“I would like to continue my voyages and my natural history work; and

I would like to go back to Puddleby—as much as any of you. This is

March, and the crocuses will be showing in the lawn.... But that which

I feared has come true: I cannot close my eyes to what might happen if

I should leave these people and run away. They would probably go back

to their old habits and customs: wars, superstitions, devil-worship and

what not; and many of the new things we have taught them might be put

to improper use and make their condition, then, worse by far than that

in which we found them.... They like me; they trust me; they have come

to look to me for help in all their problems and troubles. And no man

wants to do unfair things to them who trust him.... And then again, _I_

like _them_. They are, as it were, my children—I never had any children

of my own—and I am terribly interested in how they will grow up. Don’t