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.

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:

(_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.

(_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
you see what I mean?—How can I possibly run away and leave them in the
lurch?... No. I have thought it over a good deal and tried to decide
what was best. And I am afraid that the work I took up when I assumed
the crown I must stick to. I’m afraid—I’ve got to stay.”

“For good—for your whole life?” asked Bumpo in a low voice.

For some moments the Doctor, frowning, made no answer.

“I don’t know,” he said at last—“Anyhow for the present there is
certainly no hope of my leaving. It wouldn’t be right.”

The sad silence that followed was broken finally by a knock upon the
door.

With a patient sigh the Doctor got up and put on his crown and cloak
again.

“Come in,” he called, sitting down in his chair once more.

The door opened and a footman—one of the hundred and forty-three who
were always on night duty—stood bowing in the entrance.

“Oh, Kindly One,” said he, “there is a traveler at the palace-gate who
would have speech with Your Majesty.”

“Another baby’s been born, I’ll bet a shilling,” muttered Polynesia.

“Did you ask the traveler’s name?” enquired the Doctor.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the footman. “It is Long Arrow, the son of
Golden Arrow.”

_THE THIRD CHAPTER_

THE RED MAN’S SCIENCE

“LONG ARROW!” cried the Doctor. “How splendid! Show him in—show him in
at once.”

“I’m so glad,” he continued, turning to us as soon as the footman had
gone. “I’ve missed Long Arrow terribly. He’s an awfully good man to
have around—even if he doesn’t talk much. Let me see: it’s five months
now since he went off to Brazil. I’m so glad he’s back safe. He does
take such tremendous chances with that canoe of his—clever as he is.
It’s no joke, crossing a hundred miles of open sea in a twelve-foot
canoe. I wouldn’t care to try it.”

Another knock; and when the door swung open in answer to the Doctor’s
call, there stood our big friend on the threshold, a smile upon his
strong, bronzed face. Behind him appeared two porters carrying loads
done up in Indian palm-matting. These, when the first salutations were
over, Long Arrow ordered to lay their burdens down.

“Behold, oh Kindly One,” said he, “I bring you, as I promised, my
collection of plants which I had hidden in a cave in the Andes. These
treasures represent the labors of my life.”

The packages were opened; and inside were many smaller packages and
bundles. Carefully they were laid out in rows upon the table.

It appeared at first a large but disappointing display. There were
plants, flowers, fruits, leaves, roots, nuts, beans, honeys, gums,
bark, seeds, bees and a few kinds of insects.

The study of plants—or botany, as it is called—was a kind of natural
history which had never interested me very much. I had considered it,
compared with the study of animals, a dull science. But as Long Arrow
began taking up the various things in his collection and explaining
their qualities to us, I became more and more fascinated. And before
he had done I was completely absorbed by the wonders of the Vegetable
Kingdom which he had brought so far.

“These,” said he, taking up a little packet of big seeds, “are what I
have called laughing-beans.’”

“What are they for?” asked Bumpo.

“To cause mirth,” said the Indian.

Bumpo, while Long Arrow’s back was turned, took three of the beans and
swallowed them.

“Alas!” said the Indian when he discovered what Bumpo had done. “If he
wished to try the powers of these seeds he should have eaten no more
than a quarter of a one. Let us hope that he does not die of laughter.”

The beans’ effect upon Bumpo was most extraordinary. First he broke
into a broad smile; then he began to giggle; finally he burst into
such prolonged roars of hearty laughter that we had to carry him into
the next room and put him to bed. The Doctor said afterwards that he
probably would have died laughing if he had not had such a strong
constitution. All through the night he gurgled happily in his sleep.
And even when we woke him up the next morning he rolled out of bed
still chuckling.

Returning to the Reception Room, we were shown some red roots which
Long Arrow told us had the property, when made into a soup with sugar
and salt, of causing people to dance with extraordinary speed and
endurance. He asked us to try them; but we refused, thanking him. After
Bumpo’s exhibition we were a little afraid of any more experiments for
the present.

There was no end to the curious and useful things that Long Arrow
had collected: an oil from a vine which would make hair grow in one
night; an orange as big as a pumpkin which he had raised in his own
mountain-garden in Peru; a black honey (he had brought the bees that
made it too and the seeds of the flowers they fed on) which would put
you to sleep, just with a teaspoonful, and make you wake up fresh
in the morning; a nut that made the voice beautiful for singing;
a water-weed that stopped cuts from bleeding; a moss that cured
snake-bite; a lichen that prevented sea-sickness.

The Doctor of course was tremendously interested. Well into the early
hours of the morning he was busy going over the articles on the table
one by one, listing their names and writing their properties and
descriptions into a note-book as Long Arrow dictated.

“There are things here, Stubbins,” he said as he ended, “which in the
hands of skilled druggists will make a vast difference to the medicine
and chemistry of the world. I suspect that this sleeping-honey by
itself will take the place of half the bad drugs we have had to use so
far. Long Arrow has discovered a pharmacopæia of his own. Miranda was
right: he is a great naturalist. His name deserves to be placed beside
Linnæus. Some day I must get all these things to England—But when,” he
added sadly—“Yes, that’s the problem: when?”

_THE FOURTH CHAPTER_

THE SEA-SERPENT

FOR a long time after that Cabinet Meeting of which I have just told
you we did not ask the Doctor anything further about going home. Life
in Spidermonkey Island went forward, month in month out, busily and
pleasantly. The Winter, with Christmas celebrations, came and went, and
Summer was with us once again before we knew it.

As time passed the Doctor became more and more taken up with the care
of his big family; and the hours he could spare for his natural history
work grew fewer and fewer. I knew that he often still thought of his
house and garden in Puddleby and of his old plans and ambitions;
because once in a while we would notice his face grow thoughtful and a
little sad, when something reminded him of England or his old life. But
he never spoke of these things. And I truly believe he would have spent
the remainder of his days on Spidermonkey Island if it hadn’t been for
an accident—and for Polynesia.

The old parrot had grown very tired of the Indians and she made no
secret of it.

“The very idea,” she said to me one day as we were walking on the
seashore—“the idea of the famous John Dolittle spending his valuable
life waiting on these greasy natives!—Why, it’s preposterous!”

All that morning we had been watching the Doctor superintend the
building of the new theatre in Popsipetel—there was already an
opera-house and a concert-hall; and finally she had got so grouchy and
annoyed at the sight that I had suggested her taking a walk with me.

“Do you really think,” I asked as we sat down on the sands, “that he
will never go back to Puddleby again?”

“I don’t know,” said she. “At one time I felt sure that the thought
of the pets he had left behind at the house would take him home soon.
But since Miranda brought him word last August that everything was all
right there, that hope’s gone. For months and months I’ve been racking
my brains to think up a plan. If we could only hit upon something that
would turn his thoughts back to natural history again—I mean something
big enough to get him really excited—we might manage it. But how?”—she
shrugged her shoulders in disgust—“How?—when all he thinks of now is
paving streets and teaching papooses that twice one are two!”

It was a perfect Popsipetel day, bright and hot, blue and yellow.
Drowsily I looked out to sea thinking of my mother and father. I
wondered if they were getting anxious over my long absence. Beside me
old Polynesia went on grumbling away in low steady tones; and her words
began to mingle and mix with the gentle lapping of the waves upon the
shore. It may have been the even murmur of her voice, helped by the
soft and balmy air, that lulled me to sleep. I don’t know. Anyhow I
presently dreamed that the island had moved again—not floatingly as
before, but suddenly, jerkily, as though something enormously powerful
had heaved it up from its bed just once and let it down.

How long I slept after that I have no idea. I was awakened by a gentle
pecking on the nose.

“Tommy!—Tommy!” (it was Polynesia’s voice) “Wake up!—Gosh, what a boy,
to sleep through an earthquake and never notice it!—Tommy, listen:
here’s our chance now. Wake _up_, for goodness’ sake!”

“What’s the matter?” I asked sitting up with a yawn.

“Sh!—Look!” whispered Polynesia pointing out to sea.

Still only half awake, I stared before me with bleary, sleep-laden
eyes. And in the shallow water, not more than thirty yards from shore
I saw an enormous pale pink shell. Dome-shaped, it towered up in a
graceful rainbow curve to a tremendous height; and round its base the
surf broke gently in little waves of white. It could have belonged to
the wildest dream.

“What in the world is it?” I asked.

“That,” whispered Polynesia, “is what sailors for hundreds of years
have called the _Sea-serpent_. I’ve seen it myself more than once from
the decks of ships, at long range, curving in and out of the water.
But now that I see it close and still, I very strongly suspect that
the Sea-serpent of history is no other than the Great Glass Sea-snail
that the fidgit told us of. If that isn’t the only fish of its kind in
the seven seas, call me a carrion-crow—Tommy, we’re in luck. Our job
is to get the Doctor down here to look at that prize specimen before
it moves off to the Deep Hole. If we can, then trust me, we may leave
this blessed island yet. You stay here and keep an eye on it while I
go after the Doctor. Don’t move or speak—don’t even breathe heavy: he
might get scared—awful timid things, snails. Just watch him; and I’ll
be back in two shakes.”

Stealthily creeping up the sands till she could get behind the cover
of some bushes before she took to her wings, Polynesia went off in
the direction of the town; while I remained alone upon the shore
fascinatedly watching this unbelievable monster wallowing in the
shallow sea.

It moved very little. From time to time it lifted its head out of the
water showing its enormously long neck and horns. Occasionally it
would try and draw itself up, the way a snail does when he goes to
move, but almost at once it would sink down again as if exhausted. It
seemed to me to act as though it were hurt underneath; but the lower
part of it, which was below the level of the water, I could not see.

I was still absorbed in watching the great beast when Polynesia
returned with the Doctor. They approached so silently and so cautiously
that I neither saw nor heard them coming till I found them crouching
beside me on the sand.

One sight of the snail changed the Doctor completely. His eyes just
sparkled with delight. I had not seen him so thrilled and happy since
the time we caught the Jabizri beetle when we first landed on the
island.

“It is he!” he whispered—“the Great Glass Sea-snail himself—not a doubt
of it. Polynesia, go down the shore away and see if you can find any
of the porpoises for me. Perhaps they can tell us what the snail is
doing here—It’s very unusual for him to be in shallow water like this.
And Stubbins, you go over to the harbor and bring me a small canoe. But
be most careful how you paddle it round into this bay. If the snail
should take fright and go out into the deeper water, we may never get a
chance to see him again.”

“And don’t tell any of the Indians,” Polynesia added in a whisper as
I moved to go. “We must keep this a secret or we’ll have a crowd of
sightseers round here in five minutes. It’s mighty lucky we found the
snail in a quiet bay.”

Reaching the harbor, I picked out a small light canoe from among the
number that were lying there and without telling any one what I wanted
it for, got in and started off to paddle it down the shore.

I was mortally afraid that the snail might have left before I got back.
And you can imagine how delighted I was, when I rounded a rocky cape
and came in sight of the bay, to find he was still there.

Polynesia, I saw, had got her errand done and returned ahead of me,
bringing with her a pair of porpoises. These were already conversing in
low tones with John Dolittle. I beached the canoe and went up to listen.

“What I want to know,” the Doctor was saying, “is how the snail comes
to be here. I was given to understand that he usually stayed in the
Deep Hole; and that when he did come to the surface it was always in
mid-ocean.”

“Oh, didn’t you know?—Haven’t you heard?” the porpoises replied: “you
covered up the Deep Hole when you sank the island. Why yes: you let it
down right on top of the mouth of the Hole—sort of put the lid on, as
it were. The fishes that were in it at the time have been trying to get
out ever since. The Great Snail had the worst luck of all: the island
nipped him by the tail just as he was leaving the Hole for a quiet
evening stroll. And he was held there for six months trying to wriggle
himself free. Finally he had to heave the whole island up at one end to
get his tail loose. Didn’t you feel a sort of an earthquake shock about
an hour ago?”

“Yes I did,” said the Doctor, “it shook down part of the theatre I was
building.”

“Well, that was the snail heaving up the island to get out of the
Hole,” they said. “All the other fishes saw their chance and escaped
when he raised the lid. It was lucky for them he’s so big and strong.
But the strain of that terrific heave told on him: he sprained a muscle
in his tail and it started swelling rather badly. He wanted some quiet
place to rest up; and seeing this soft beach handy he crawled in here.”

“Dear me!” said the Doctor. “I’m terribly sorry. I suppose I should
have given some sort of notice that the island was going to be let
down. But, to tell the truth, we didn’t know it ourselves; it happened
by a kind of an accident. Do you imagine the poor fellow is hurt very
badly?”

“We’re not sure,” said the porpoises; “because none of us can speak his
language. But we swam right around him on our way in here, and he did
not seem to be really seriously injured.”

“Can’t any of your people speak shellfish?” the Doctor asked.

“Not a word,” said they. “It’s a most frightfully difficult language.”

“Do you think that you might be able to find me some kind of a fish
that could?”

“We don’t know,” said the porpoises. “We might try.”

“I should be extremely grateful to you if you would,” said the Doctor.
“There are many important questions I want to ask this snail—And
besides, I would like to do my best to cure his tail for him. It’s the
least I can do. After all, it was my fault, indirectly, that he got
hurt.”

“Well, if you wait here,” said the porpoises, “we’ll see what can be
done.”

_THE FIFTH CHAPTER_

THE SHELLFISH RIDDLE SOLVED AT LAST

SO Doctor Dolittle with a crown on his head sat down upon the shore
like King Knut, and waited. And for a whole hour the porpoises kept
going and coming, bringing up different kinds of sea-beasts from the
deep to see if they could help him.

Many and curious were the creatures they produced. It would seem
however that there were very few things that spoke shellfish except
the shellfish themselves. Still, the porpoises grew a little more
hopeful when they discovered a very old sea-urchin (a funny, ball-like,
little fellow with long whiskers all over him) who said he could not
speak pure shellfish, but he used to understand starfish—enough to get
along—when he was young. This was coming nearer, even if it wasn’t
anything to go crazy about. Leaving the urchin with us, the porpoises
went off once more to hunt up a starfish.

They were not long getting one, for they were quite common in those
parts. Then, using the sea-urchin as an interpreter, they questioned
the starfish. He was a rather stupid sort of creature; but he tried his
best to be helpful. And after a little patient examination we found to
our delight that he could speak shellfish moderately well.

Feeling quite encouraged, the Doctor and I now got into the canoe; and,
with the porpoises, the urchin and the starfish swimming alongside, we
paddled very gently out till we were close under the towering shell of
the Great Snail.

And then began the most curious conversation I have ever witnessed.
First the starfish would ask the snail something; and whatever answer
the snail gave, the starfish would tell it to the sea-urchin, the
urchin would tell it to the porpoises and the porpoises would tell it
to the Doctor.

In this way we obtained considerable information, mostly about the very
ancient history of the Animal Kingdom; but we missed a good many of the
finer points in the snail’s longer speeches on account of the stupidity
of the starfish and all this translating from one language to another.

While the snail was speaking, the Doctor and I put our ears against the
wall of his shell and found that we could in this way hear the sound of
his voice quite plainly. It was, as the fidgit had described, deep and
bell-like. But of course we could not understand a single word he said.
However the Doctor was by this time terrifically excited about getting
near to learning the language he had sought so long. And presently by
making the other fishes repeat over and over again short phrases which
the snail used, he began to put words together for himself. You see,
he was already familiar with one or two fish languages; and that helped
him quite a little. After he had practised for a while like this he
leant over the side of the canoe and putting his face below the water,
tried speaking to the snail direct.

It was hard and difficult work; and hours went by before he got any
results. But presently I could tell by the happy look on his face that
little by little he was succeeding.

The sun was low in the West and the cool evening breeze was beginning
to rustle softly through the bamboo-groves when the Doctor finally
turned from his work and said to me,

“Stubbins, I have persuaded the snail to come in on to the dry part of
the beach and let me examine his tail. Will you please go back to the
town and tell the workmen to stop working on the theatre for to-day?
Then go on to the palace and get my medicine-bag. I think I left it
under the throne in the Audience Chamber.”

“And remember,” Polynesia whispered as I turned away, “not a word to
a soul. If you get asked questions, keep your mouth shut. Pretend you
have a toothache or something.”

This time when I got back to the shore—with the medicine-bag—I found
the snail high and dry on the beach. Seeing him in his full length like
this, it was easy to understand how old-time, superstitious sailors
had called him the Sea-serpent. He certainly was a most gigantic, and
in his way, a graceful, beautiful creature. John Dolittle was examining
a swelling on his tail.

From the bag which I had brought the Doctor took a large bottle of
embrocation and began rubbing the sprain. Next he took all the bandages
he had in the bag and fastened them end to end. But even like that,
they were not long enough to go more than halfway round the enormous
tail. The Doctor insisted that he must get the swelling strapped tight
somehow. So he sent me off to the palace once more to get all the
sheets from the Royal Linen-closet. These Polynesia and I tore into
bandages for him. And at last, after terrific exertions, we got the
sprain strapped to his satisfaction.

The snail really seemed to be quite pleased with the attention he had
received; and he stretched himself in lazy comfort when the Doctor was
done. In this position, when the shell on his back was empty, you could
look right through it and see the palm-trees on the other side.

“I think one of us had better sit up with him all night,” said the
Doctor. “We might put Bumpo on that duty; he’s been napping all day, I
know—in the summer-house. It’s a pretty bad sprain, that; and if the
snail shouldn’t be able to sleep, he’ll be happier with some one with
him for company. He’ll get all right though—in a few days I should
judge. If I wasn’t so confoundedly busy I’d sit up with him myself. I
wish I could, because I still have a lot of things to talk over with
him.”

“But Doctor,” said Polynesia as we prepared to go back to the town,
“you ought to take a holiday. All Kings take holidays once in the
while—every one of them. King Charles, for instance—of course Charles
was before your time—but he!—why, he was _always_ holiday-making. Not
that he was ever what you would call a model king. But just the same,
he was frightfully popular. Everybody liked him—even the golden-carp in
the fish-pond at Hampton Court. As a king, the only thing I had against
him was his inventing those stupid, little, snappy dogs they call King
Charles Spaniels. There are lots of stories told about poor Charles;
but that, in my opinion, is the worst thing he did. However, all this
is beside the point. As I was saying, kings have to take holidays the
same as anybody else. And you haven’t taken one since you were crowned,
have you now?”

“No,” said the Doctor, “I suppose that’s true.”

“Well now I tell you what you do,” said she: “as soon as you get back
to the palace you publish a royal proclamation that you are going away
for a week into the country for your health. And you’re going _without
any servants_, you understand—just like a plain person. It’s called
traveling incognito, when kings go off like that. They all do it—It’s
the only way they can ever have a good time. Then the week you’re away
you can spend lolling on the beach back there with the snail. How’s
that?”

“I’d like to,” said the Doctor. “It sounds most attractive. But there’s
that new theatre to be built; none of our carpenters would know how to
get those rafters on without me to show them—And then there are the
babies: these native mothers are so frightfully ignorant.”

“Oh bother the theatre—and the babies too,” snapped Polynesia. “The
theatre can wait a week. And as for babies, they never have anything
more than colic. How do you suppose babies got along before you came
here, for heaven’s sake?—Take a holiday.... You need it.”

_THE SIXTH CHAPTER_

THE LAST CABINET MEETING

FROM the way Polynesia talked, I guessed that this idea of a holiday
was part of her plan.

The Doctor made no reply; and we walked on silently towards the town. I
could see, nevertheless that her words had made an impression on him.

After supper he disappeared from the palace without saying where he was
going—a thing he had never done before. Of course we all knew where he
had gone: back to the beach to sit up with the snail. We were sure of
it because he had said nothing to Bumpo about attending to the matter.

As soon as the doors were closed upon the Cabinet Meeting that night,
Polynesia addressed the Ministry:

“Look here, you fellows,” said she: “we’ve simply got to get the Doctor
to take this holiday somehow—unless we’re willing to stay in this
blessed island for the rest of our lives.”

“But what difference,” Bumpo asked, “is his taking a holiday going to
make?”

Impatiently Polynesia turned upon the Minister of the Interior.

“Don’t you see? If he has a clear week to get thoroughly interested in
his natural history again—marine stuff, his dream of seeing the floor
of the ocean and all that—there may be some chance of his consenting
to leave this pesky place. But while he is here on duty as king he
never gets a moment to think of anything outside of the business of
government.”

“Yes, that’s true. He’s far too consententious,” Bumpo agreed.

“And besides,” Polynesia went on, “his only hope of ever getting away
from here would be to escape secretly. He’s got to leave while he is
holiday-making, incognito—when no one knows where he is or what he’s
doing, but us. If he built a ship big enough to cross the sea in, all
the Indians would see it, and hear it, being built; and they’d ask what
it was for. They would interfere. They’d sooner have anything happen
than lose the Doctor. Why, I believe if they thought he had any idea of
escaping they would put chains on him.”

“Yes, I really think they would,” I agreed. “Yet without a ship of some
kind I don’t see how the Doctor is going to get away, even secretly.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Polynesia. “If we do succeed in making
him take this holiday, our next step will be to get the sea-snail
to promise to take us all in his shell and carry us to the mouth of
Puddleby River. If we can once get the snail willing, the temptation
will be too much for John Dolittle and he’ll come, I know—especially as
he’ll be able to take those new plants and drugs of Long Arrow’s to the
English doctors, as well as see the floor of the ocean on the way.”

“How thrilling!” I cried. “Do you mean the snail could take us under
the sea all the way back to Puddleby?”

“Certainly,” said Polynesia, “a little trip like that is nothing to
him. He would crawl along the floor of the ocean and the Doctor could
see all the sights. Perfectly simple. Oh, John Dolittle will come all
right, if we can only get him to take that holiday—_and_ if the snail
will consent to give us the ride.”

“Golly, I hope he does!” sighed Jip. “I’m sick of these beastly
tropics—they make you feel so lazy and good-for-nothing. And there
are no rats or anything here—not that a fellow would have the energy
to chase ’em even if there were. My, wouldn’t I be glad to see old
Puddleby and the garden again! And won’t Dab-Dab be glad to have us
back!”

“By the end of next month,” said I, “it will be two whole years since
we left England—since we pulled up the anchor at Kingsbridge and bumped
our way out into the river.”

“And got stuck on the mud-bank,” added Chee-Chee in a dreamy, far-away
voice.

“Do you remember how all the people waved to us from the river-wall?” I
asked.

“Yes. And I suppose they’ve often talked about us in the town since,”
said Jip—“wondering whether we’re dead or alive.”

“Cease,” said Bumpo, “I feel I am about to weep from sediment.”

_THE SEVENTH CHAPTER_

THE DOCTOR’S DECISION

WELL, you can guess how glad we were when next morning the Doctor,
after his all-night conversation with the snail, told us that he had
made up his mind to take the holiday. A proclamation was published
right away by the Town Crier that His Majesty was going into the
country for a seven-day rest, but that during his absence the palace
and the government offices would be kept open as usual.

Polynesia was immensely pleased. She at once set quietly to work making
arrangements for our departure—taking good care the while that no one
should get an inkling of where we were going, what we were taking with
us, the hour of our leaving or which of the palace-gates we would go
out by.

Cunning old schemer that she was, she forgot nothing. And not even we,