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_