The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle

“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?”

“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.”