The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle

“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.”

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.

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.