“I was born in the Pacific Ocean, close to the coast
of Chile. I was one of a family of two-thousand
five-hundred and ten. Soon after our mother and father
left us, we youngsters got scattered. The family was
broken up—by a herd of whales who chased us. I and
my sister, Clippa (she was my favorite sister) had a
very narrow escape for our lives. As a rule, whales
are not very hard to get away from if you are good at
dodging—if you’ve only got a quick swerve. But this
one that came after Clippa and myself was a very mean
whale. Every time he lost us under a stone or something
he’d come back and hunt and hunt till he routed us
out into the open again. I never saw such a nasty,
persevering brute.
“Well, we shook him at last—though not before he had
worried us for hundreds of miles northward, up the
west coast of South America. But luck was against us
that day. While we were resting and trying to get our
breath, another family of fidgits came rushing by,
shouting, ‘Come on! Swim for your lives! The dog-fish
are coming!’
“Now dog-fish are particularly fond of fidgits. We are,
you might say, their favorite food—and for that reason
we always keep away from deep, muddy waters. What’s
more, dog-fish are not easy to escape from; they are
terribly fast and clever hunters. So up we had to jump
and on again.
“After we had gone a few more hundred miles we looked
back and saw that the dog-fish were gaining on us. So
we turned into a harbor. It happened to be one on the
west coast of the United States. Here we guessed, and
hoped, the dog-fish would not be likely to follow us.
As it happened, they didn’t even see us turn in, but
dashed on northward and we never saw them again. I hope
they froze to death in the Arctic Seas.
“But, as I said, luck was against us that day. While
I and my sister were cruising gently round the ships
anchored in the harbor looking for orange-peels, a
great delicacy with us—_Swoop! Bang!_—we were caught in
a net.
“We struggled for all we were worth; but it was no use.
The net was small-meshed and strongly made. Kicking
and flipping we were hauled up the side of the ship
and dumped down on the deck, high and dry in a blazing
noon-day sun.
“Here a couple of old men in whiskers and spectacles
leant over us, making strange sounds. Some codling had
got caught in the net the same time as we were. These
the old men threw back into the sea; but us they seemed
to think very precious. They put us carefully into a
large jar and after they had taken us on shore they
went to a big house and changed us from the jar into
glass boxes full of water. This house was on the edge
of the harbor; and a small stream of sea-water was made
to flow through the glass tank so we could breathe
properly. Of course we had never lived inside glass
walls before; and at first we kept on trying to swim
through them and got our noses awfully sore bumping the
glass at full speed.
“Then followed weeks and weeks of weary idleness. They
treated us well, so far as they knew how. The old
fellows in spectacles came and looked at us proudly
twice a day and saw that we had the proper food to eat,
the right amount of light and that the water was not
too hot or too cold. But oh, the dullness of that life!
It seemed we were a kind of a show. At a certain hour
every morning the big doors of the house were thrown
open and everybody in the city who had nothing special
to do came in and looked at us. There were other tanks
filled with different kinds of fishes all round the
walls of the big room. And the crowds would go from
tank to tank, looking in at us through the glass—with
their mouths open, like half-witted flounders. We got
so sick of it that we used to open our mouths back at
them; and this they seemed to think highly comical.
“One day my sister said to me, ‘Think you, Brother,
that these strange creatures who have captured us can
talk?’
“‘Surely,’ said I, ‘have you not noticed that some talk
with the lips only, some with the whole face, and yet
others discourse with the hands? When they come quite
close to the glass you can hear them. Listen!’
“At that moment a female, larger than the rest, pressed
her nose up against the glass, pointed at me and said
to her young behind her, ‘Oh, look, here’s a queer one!’
“And then we noticed that they nearly always said this
when they looked in. And for a long time we thought
that such was the whole extent of the language, this
being a people of but few ideas. To help pass away the
weary hours we learned it by heart, ‘Oh, look, here’s
a queer one!’ But we never got to know what it meant.
Other phrases, however, we did get the meaning of; and
we even learned to read a little in man-talk. Many big
signs there were, set up upon the walls; and when we
saw that the keepers stopped the people from spitting
and smoking, pointed to these signs angrily and read
them out loud, we knew then that these writings
signified, _No Smoking_ and _Don’t Spit_.
“Then in the evenings, after the crowd had gone, the
same aged male with one leg of wood, swept up the
peanut-shells with a broom every night. And while
he was so doing he always whistled the same tune to
himself. This melody we rather liked; and we learned
that too by heart—thinking it was part of the language.
“Thus a whole year went by in this dismal place. Some
days new fishes were brought in to the other tanks;
and other days old fishes were taken out. At first we
had hoped we would only be kept here for a while, and
that after we had been looked at sufficiently we would
be returned to freedom and the sea. But as month after
month went by, and we were left undisturbed, our hearts
grew heavy within our prison-walls of glass and we
spoke to one another less and less.
“One day, when the crowd was thickest in the big room,
a woman with a red face fainted from the heat. I
watched through the glass and saw that the rest of the
people got highly excited—though to me it did not seem
to be a matter of very great importance. They threw
cold water on her and carried her out into the open air.
“This made me think mightily; and presently a great
idea burst upon me.
“‘Sister,’ I said, turning to poor Clippa who was
sulking at the bottom of our prison trying to hide
behind a stone from the stupid gaze of the children who
thronged about our tank, ‘supposing that _we_ pretended
we were sick: do you think they would take us also from
this stuffy house?’
“‘Brother,’ said she wearily, ‘that they might do. But
most likely they would throw us on a rubbish-heap,
where we would die in the hot sun.’
“‘But,’ said I, ‘why should they go abroad to seek
a rubbish-heap, when the harbor is so close? While
we were being brought here I saw men throwing their
rubbish into the water. If they would only throw us
also there, we could quickly reach the sea.’
“‘The Sea!’ murmured poor Clippa with a far-away look
in her eyes (she had fine eyes, had my sister, Clippa).
‘How like a dream it sounds—the Sea! Oh brother, will
we ever swim in it again, think you? Every night as I
lie awake on the floor of this evil-smelling dungeon I
hear its hearty voice ringing in my ears. How I have
longed for it! Just to feel it once again, the nice,
big, wholesome homeliness of it all! To jump, just to
jump from the crest of an Atlantic wave, laughing in
the trade wind’s spindrift, down into the blue-green
swirling trough! To chase the shrimps on a summer
evening, when the sky is red and the light’s all pink
within the foam! To lie on the top, in the doldrums’
noonday calm, and warm your tummy in the tropic sun!
To wander hand in hand once more through the giant
seaweed forests of the Indian Ocean, seeking the
delicious eggs of the pop-pop! To play hide-and-seek
among the castles of the coral towns with their pearl
and jasper windows spangling the floor of the Spanish
Main! To picnic in the anemone-meadows, dim blue
and lilac-gray, that lie in the lowlands beyond the
South Sea Garden! To throw somersaults on the springy
sponge-beds of the Mexican Gulf! To poke about among
the dead ships and see what wonders and adventures lie
inside!—And then, on winter nights when the Northeaster
whips the water into froth, to swoop down and down to
get away from the cold, down to where the water’s warm
and dark, down and still down, till we spy the twinkle
of the fire-eels far below where our friends and
cousins sit chatting round the Council Grotto—chatting,
Brother, over the news and gossip of _the Sea_!... Oh—’
“And then she broke down completely, sniffling.
“‘Stop it!’ I said. ‘You make me homesick. Look here:
let’s pretend we’re sick—or better still, let’s pretend
we’re dead; and see what happens. If they throw us on a
rubbish-heap and we fry in the sun, we’ll not be much
worse off than we are here in this smelly prison. What
do you say? Will you risk it?’
“‘I will,’ she said—‘and gladly.’
“So next morning two fidgits were found by the keeper
floating on the top of the water in their tank, stiff
and dead. We gave a mighty good imitation of dead
fish—although I say it myself. The keeper ran and
got the old gentlemen with spectacles and whiskers.
They threw up their hands in horror when they saw us.
Lifting us carefully out of the water they laid us on
wet cloths. That was the hardest part of all. If you’re
a fish and get taken out of the water you have to keep
opening and shutting your mouth to breathe at all—and
even that you can’t keep up for long. And all this time
we had to stay stiff as sticks and breathe silently
through half-closed lips.
“Well, the old fellows poked us and felt us and pinched
us till I thought they’d never be done. Then, when
their backs were turned a moment, a wretched cat got
up on the table and nearly ate us. Luckily the old
men turned round in time and shooed her away. You may
be sure though that we took a couple of good gulps
of air while they weren’t looking; and that was the
only thing that saved us from choking. I wanted to
whisper to Clippa to be brave and stick it out. But I
couldn’t even do that; because, as you know, most kinds
of fish-talk cannot be heard—not even a shout—unless
you’re under water.
“Then, just as we were about to give it up and let on
that we were alive, one of the old men shook his head
sadly, lifted us up and carried us out of the building.
“‘Now for it!’ I thought to myself. ‘We’ll soon know
our fate: liberty or the garbage-can.’
“Outside, to our unspeakable horror, he made straight
for a large ash-barrel which stood against the wall on
the other side of a yard. Most happily for us, however,
while he was crossing this yard a very dirty man with a
wagon and horses drove up and took the ash-barrel away.
I suppose it was his property.
“Then the old man looked around for some other place to
throw us. He seemed about to cast us upon the ground.
But he evidently thought that this would make the yard
untidy and he desisted. The suspense was terrible. He
moved outside the yard-gate and my heart sank once more
as I saw that he now intended to throw us in the gutter
of the roadway. But (fortune was indeed with us that
day), a large man in blue clothes and silver buttons
stopped him in the nick of time. Evidently, from the
way the large man lectured and waved a short thick
stick, it was against the rules of the town to throw
dead fish in the streets.
“At last, to our unutterable joy, the old man turned
and moved off with us towards the harbor. He walked so
slowly, muttering to himself all the way and watching
the man in blue out of the corner of his eye, that I
wanted to bite his finger to make him hurry up. Both
Clippa and I were actually at our last gasp.
“Finally he reached the sea-wall and giving us one last
sad look he dropped us into the waters of the harbor.
“Never had we realized anything like the thrill of
that moment, as we felt the salt wetness close over
our heads. With one flick of our tails we came to life
again. The old man was so surprised that he fell right
into the water, almost on top of us. From this he was
rescued by a sailor with a boat-hook; and the last we
saw of him, the man in blue was dragging him away by
the coat-collar, lecturing him again. Apparently it was
also against the rules of the town to throw dead fish
into the harbor.
“But we?—What time or thought had we for his troubles?
_We were free!_ In lightning leaps, in curving spurts,
in crazy zig-zags—whooping, shrieking with delight, we
sped for home and the open sea!
“That is all of my story and I will now, as I promised
last night, try to answer any questions you may ask
about the sea, on condition that I am set at liberty as
soon as you have done.”
_The Doctor:_ “Is there any part of the sea deeper than
that known as the Nero Deep—I mean the one near the
Island of Guam?”
_The Fidgit:_ “Why, certainly. There’s one much deeper
than that near the mouth of the Amazon River. But it’s
small and hard to find. We call it ‘The Deep Hole.’ And
there’s another in the Antarctic Sea.”
_The Doctor:_ “Can you talk any shellfish language
yourself?”
_The Fidgit:_ “No, not a word. We regular fishes don’t
have anything to do with the shellfish. We consider
them a low class.”
_The Doctor:_ “But when you’re near them, can you hear
the sound they make talking—I mean without necessarily
understanding what they say?”
_The Fidgit:_ “Only with the very largest ones.
Shellfish have such weak small voices it is almost
impossible for any but their own kind to hear them. But
with the bigger ones it is different. They make a sad,
booming noise, rather like an iron pipe being knocked
with a stone—only not nearly so loud of course.”
_The Doctor:_ “I am most anxious to get down to the
bottom of the sea—to study many things. But we land
animals, as you no doubt know, are unable to breathe
under water. Have you any ideas that might help me?”
_The Fidgit:_ “I think that for both your difficulties
the best thing for you to do would be to try and get
hold of the Great Glass Sea Snail.”
_The Doctor:_ “Er—who, or what, is the Great Glass Sea
Snail?”
_The Fidgit:_ “He is an enormous salt-water snail,
one of the winkle family, but as large as a big house.
He talks quite loudly—when he speaks, but this is not
often. He can go to any part of the ocean, at all
depths because he doesn’t have to be afraid of any
creature in the sea. His shell is made of transparent
mother-o’-pearl so that you can see through it; but
it’s thick and strong. When he is out of his shell
and he carries it empty on his back, there is room in
it for a wagon and a pair of horses. He has been seen
carrying his food in it when traveling.”
_The Doctor:_ “I feel that that is just the creature
I have been looking for. He could take me and my
assistant inside his shell and we could explore the
deepest depths in safety. Do you think you could get
him for me?”
_The Fidgit:_ “Alas! no. I would willingly if I could;
but he is hardly ever seen by ordinary fish. He lives
at the bottom of the Deep Hole, and seldom comes
out—And into the Deep Hole, the lower waters of which
are muddy, fishes such as we are afraid to go.”
_The Doctor:_ “Dear me! That’s a terrible
disappointment. Are there many of this kind of snail in
the sea?”
_The Fidgit:_ “Oh no. He is the only one in existence,
since his second wife died long, long ago. He is the
last of the Giant Shellfish. He belongs to past ages
when the whales were land-animals and all that. They
say he is over seventy thousand years old.”
_The Doctor:_ “Good Gracious, what wonderful things he
could tell me! I do wish I could meet him.”
_The Fidgit:_ “Were there any more questions you wished
to ask me? This water in your tank is getting quite
warm and sickly. I’d like to be put back into the sea
as soon as you can spare me.”
_The Doctor:_ “Just one more thing: when Christopher
Columbus crossed the Atlantic in 1492, he threw
overboard two copies of his diary sealed up in barrels.
One of them was never found. It must have sunk. I would
like to get it for my library. Do you happen to know
where it is?”
_The Fidgit:_ “Yes, I do. That too is in the Deep Hole.
When the barrel sank the currents drifted it northwards
down what we call the Orinoco Slope, till it finally
disappeared into the Deep Hole. If it was any other
part of the sea I’d try and get it for you; but not
there.”
_The Doctor:_ “Well, that is all, I think. I hate to
put you back into the sea, because I know that as soon
as I do, I’ll think of a hundred other questions I
wanted to ask you. But I must keep my promise. Would
you care for anything before you go?—it seems a cold
day—some cracker-crumbs or something?”
_The Fidgit:_ “No, I won’t stop. All I want just at
present is fresh sea-water.”
_The Doctor:_ “I cannot thank you enough for all the
information you have given me. You have been very
helpful and patient.”
_The Fidgit:_ “Pray do not mention it. It has been a
real pleasure to be of assistance to the great John
Dolittle. You are, as of course you know, already quite
famous among the better class of fishes. Goodbye!—and
good luck to you, to your ship and to all your plans!”
The Doctor carried the listening-tank to a port-hole, opened it and
emptied the tank into the sea.
“Good-bye!” he murmured as a faint splash reached us from without.
I dropped my pencil on the table and leaned back with a sigh. My
fingers were so stiff with writers’ cramp that I felt as though I
should never be able to open my hand again. But I, at least, had had
a night’s sleep. As for the poor Doctor, he was so weary that he had
hardly put the tank back upon the table and dropped into a chair, when
his eyes closed and he began to snore.
In the passage outside Polynesia scratched angrily at the door. I rose
and let her in.
“A nice state of affairs!” she stormed. “What sort of a ship is this?
There’s that colored man upstairs asleep under the wheel; the Doctor
asleep down here; and you making pot-hooks in a copybook with a
pencil! Expect the ship to steer herself to Brazil? We’re just drifting
around the sea like an empty bottle—and a week behind time as it is.
What’s happened to you all?”
She was so angry that her voice rose to a scream. But it would have
taken more than that to wake the Doctor.
I put the note-book carefully in a drawer and went on deck to take the
wheel.
_THE THIRD CHAPTER_