they could tell him of their sense of vision. He shot his hand out and
asked them if they knew what movement he had made. Every time (though
they had no idea of what he was trying to find out) they told him
precisely what he had done. Then going close to one large flower he
passed his hand all round it; and the blossom turned its head and faced
the moving hand all the way round the circle.
There was no doubt in our minds whatever, when we had finished our
experiments, that the Vanity Lilies could in their own way see—though
where the machinery called eyes was placed in their anatomy we could not
as yet discover.
The Doctor spent hours and days trying to solve this problem. But, he
told me, he met with very little success. For a while he was forced to
the conclusion (since he could not find in the flowers any eyes such as
we knew) that what he had taken for a sense of vision was only some
other sense, highly developed, which produced the same results as
seeing.
[Illustration: “_He passed his hand all around it_”]
“After all, Stubbins,” said he, “just because we ourselves only have
five senses, it doesn’t follow that other creatures can’t have more. It
has long been supposed that certain birds had a sixth sense. Still, the
way those flowers feel light, can tell colors, movement, and form, makes
it look very much as though they had found a way of seeing—even if they
haven’t got eyes. . . . Humph! Yes, one might quite possibly see with
other things besides eyes.”
Going through his baggage that night after our day’s work was done, the
Doctor discovered among his papers an illustrated catalogue which had
somehow got packed by accident. John Dolittle, always a devoted
gardener, had catalogues sent to him from nearly every seed merchant and
nurseryman in England.
“Why, Stubbins!” he cried, turning over the pages of gorgeous annuals in
high glee—“Here’s a chance: if those lilies can see we can test them
with this.—Pictures of flowers in color!”
The next day he interviewed the Vanity Lilies with the catalogue and his
work was rewarded with very good results. Taking the brightly colored
pictures of petunias, chrysanthemums and hollyhocks, he held them in a
good light before the faces of the lilies. Even Chee-Chee and I could
see at once that this caused quite a sensation. The great trumpet-shaped
blossoms swayed downwards and forwards on their slender stems to get a
closer view of the pages. Then they turned to one another as though in
critical conversation.
Later the Doctor interpreted to me the comments they had made and I
booked them among the notes. They seemed most curious to know _who_
these flowers were. They spoke of them (or rather of their species) in a
peculiarly personal way. This was one of the first occasions when we got
some idea or glimpses of lunar _Vegetable Society_, as the Doctor later
came to call it. It almost seemed as though these beautiful creatures
were surprised, like human ladies, at the portraits displayed and wanted
to know all about these foreign beauties and the lives they led.
[Illustration: “_He held them before the lilies_”]
This interest in personal appearance on the part of the lilies was, as a
matter of fact, what originally led the Doctor to call their species the
Vanity Lily. In their own strange tongue they questioned him for hours
and hours about these outlandish flowers whose pictures he had shown
them. They seemed very disappointed when he told them the actual size of
most earthly flowers. But they seemed a little pleased that their
sisters of the other world could not at least compete with them in that.
They were also much mystified when John Dolittle explained to them that
with us no flowers or plants (so far as was known) had communicated with
Man, birds, or any other members of the Animal Kingdom.
Questioning them further on this point of personal appearance, the
Doctor was quite astonished to find to what an extent it occupied their
attention. He found that they always tried to get near water so that
they could see their own reflections in the surface. They got terribly
upset if some bee or bird came along and disturbed the pollen powder on
their gorgeous petals or set awry the angle of their pistils.
The Doctor talked to various groups and individuals; and in the course
of his investigations he came across several plants who, while they had
begun their peaceful lives close to a nice pool or stream which they
could use as a mirror, had sadly watched while the water had dried up
and left nothing but sun-baked clay for them to look into.
So then and there John Dolittle halted his questioning of the Vanity
Lilies for a spell while he set to work to provide these unfortunates,
whose natural mirrors had dried up, with something in which they could
see themselves.
We had no regular looking-glasses of course, beyond the Doctor’s own
shaving mirror, which he could not very we part with. But from the
provisions we dug out various caps and bottoms of preserved fruits and
sardine tins. These we polished with clay and rigged up on sticks so
that the lilies could see themselves in them.
“It is a fact, Stubbins,” said the Doctor, “that the natural tendency is
always to grow the way you want to grow. These flowers have a definite
conscious idea of what they consider beautiful and what they consider
ugly. These contrivances we have given them, poor though they are, will
therefore have a decided effect on their evolution.”
[Illustration: “_These we rigged up on sticks_”]
That is one of the pictures from our adventures in the Moon which always
stands out in my memory: the Vanity Lilies, happy in the possession of
their new mirrors, turning their heads this way and that to see how
their pollen-covered petals glowed in the soft light, swaying with the
wind, comparing, whispering and gossiping.
I truly believe that if other events had not interfered, the Doctor
would have been occupied quite contentedly with his study of these very
advanced plants for months. And there was certainly a great deal to be
learned from them. They told him for instance of another species of lily
that he later came to call the _Poison Lily_ or _Vampire Lily_. This
flower liked to have plenty of room and it obtained it by sending out
deadly scents (much more serious in their effects than those unpleasant
ones which the Vanities used) and nothing round about it could exist for
long.
Following the directions given by the Vanity Lilies we finally ran some
of these plants down and actually conversed with them—though we were in
continual fear that they would be displeased with us and might any
moment send out their poisonous gases to destroy us.
From still other plants which the Vanities directed us to the Doctor
learned a great deal about what he called “methods of propagating.”
Certain bushes, for example, could crowd out weeds and other shrubs by
increasing the speed of their growth at will and by spreading their seed
abroad several times a year.
In our wanderings, looking for these latter plants, we came across great
fields of the “moon-bells” flourishing and growing under natural
conditions. And very gorgeous indeed they looked, acres and acres of
brilliant orange. The air was full of their invigorating perfume. The
Doctor wondered if we would see anything of our giant moth near these
parts. But though we hung about for several hours we saw very few signs
of insect life.
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
Making New Clothes
“I don’t understand it at all,” John Dolittle muttered. “What reason at
least can the moth who brought us here have for keeping out of our way?”
“His reasons may not be his own,” murmured Polynesia.
“What do you mean?” asked the Doctor.
“Well,” said she, “others may be keeping him—and the rest, away from
us.”
“You mean the Moon Man?” said John Dolittle.
But to this Polynesia made no reply and the subject was dropped.
“That isn’t the thing that’s bothering me so much,” said Chee-Chee.
There was a pause. And before he went on I know that all of us were
quite sure what was in his mind.
“It’s our getting back home,” he said at last. “Getting here was done
for us by these moon folks—for whatever reason they had. But we’d stand
a mighty poor chance of ever reaching the Earth again if they’re going
to stand off and leave us to ourselves to get back.”
Another short spell of silence—during which we all did a little serious
and gloomy thinking.
“Oh, well,” said the Doctor, “come, come! Don’t let’s bother about the
stiles till we reach them. After all we don’t know for certain that
these—er—whoever it is—are definitely unfriendly to us. They may have
reasons of their own for working slowly. You must remember that we are
just as strange and outlandish to them as they and their whole world are
to us. We mustn’t let any idea of that kind become a nightmare. We have
only been here, let’s see, not much over two weeks. It is a pleasant
land and there is lots to be learned. The Vegetable Kingdom is clearly
well disposed towards us. And if we give them time I’m sure that
the—er—others will be too, in the end.”
[Illustration: “‘_Tommy, you seem to be getting enormously tall_’”]
Another matter which came up about this time was the effect of moon food
on ourselves. Polynesia was the first to remark upon it.
“Tommy,” said she one day, “you seem to be getting enormously tall—and
fat, aren’t you?”
“Er—am I?” said I. “Well, I _had_ noticed my belt seemed a bit tight.
But I thought it was just ordinary growing.”
“And the Doctor too,” the parrot went on. “I’ll swear he’s
bigger—unless my eyesight is getting queer.”
“Well, we can soon prove that,” said John Dolittle. “I know my height
exactly—five feet two and a half. I have a two-foot rule in the
baggage. I’ll measure myself against a tree right away.”
When the Doctor had accomplished this he was astonished to find that his
height had increased some three inches since he had been on the Moon. Of
what my own had been before I landed, I was not so sure; but measurement
made it too a good deal more than I had thought it. And as to my waist
line, there was no doubt that it had grown enormously. Even Chee-Chee,
when we came to look at him, seemed larger and heavier. Polynesia was of
course so small that it would need an enormous increase in her figure to
make difference enough to see.
[Illustration: “_His height had increased some three inches_”]
But there was no question at all that the rest of us had grown
considerably since we had been here.
“Well,” said the Doctor, “I suppose it is reasonable enough. All the
vegetable and insect world here is tremendously much larger than
corresponding species in our own world. Whatever helped them to
grow—climate, food, atmosphere, air pressure, etc.—should make us do
the same. There is a great deal in this for the investigation of
biologists and physiologists. I suppose the long seasons—or almost no
seasons at all, you might say—and the other things which contribute to
the long life of the animal and vegetable species would lengthen our
lives to hundreds of years, if we lived here continually. You know when
I was talking to the Vampire Lilies the other day they told me that even
cut flowers—which with them would mean of course only blossoms that
were broken off by the wind or accident—live perfectly fresh for weeks
and even months—provided they get a little moisture. That accounts for
the moon-bells which the moth brought down with him lasting so well in
Puddleby. No, we’ve got to regard this climate as something entirely
different from the Earth’s. There is no end to the surprises it may
spring on us yet. Oh, well, I suppose we will shrink back to our
ordinary size when we return home. Still I hope we don’t grow too
gigantic. My waistcoat feels most uncomfortably tight already. It’s
funny we didn’t notice it earlier. But, goodness knows, we have had
enough to keep our attention occupied.”
It had been indeed this absorbing interest in all the new things that
the Moon presented to our eyes that had prevented us from noticing our
own changed condition. The following few days, however, our growth went
forward at such an amazing pace that I began seriously to worry about
it. My clothes were literally splitting and the Doctor’s also. Finally,
taking counsel on the matter, we proceeded to look into what means this
world offered of making new ones.
Luckily the Doctor, while he knew nothing about tailoring, did know
something about the natural history of those plants and materials that
supply clothes and textile fabrics for Man.
“Let me see,” said he one afternoon when we had decided that almost
everything we wore had become too small to be kept any longer: “Cotton
is out of the question. The spinning would take too long, even if we had
any, to say nothing of the weaving. Linen? No, likewise.—I haven’t seen
anything that looked like a flax plant. About all that remains is
root-fiber, though heaven help us if we have to wear that kind of
material next to our skins! Well, we must investigate and see what we
can find.”
With the aid of Chee-Chee we searched the woods. It took us several days
to discover anything suitable, but finally we did. It was an odd-looking
swamp tree whose leaves were wide and soft. We found that when these
were dried in the proper way they kept a certain pliability without
becoming stiff or brittle. And yet they were tough enough to be sewn
without tearing. Chee-Chee and Polynesia supplied us with the thread we
needed. This they obtained from certain vine tendrils—very fine—which
they shredded and twisted into yarn. Then one evening we set to work and
cut out our new suits.
[Illustration: “‘_We look like a family of Robinson Crusoes_’”]
“Better make them large enough,” said the Doctor, waving a pair of
scissors over our rock worktable. “Goodness only knows how soon we’ll
outgrow them.”
We had a lot of fun at one another’s expense when at length the suits
were completed and we tried them on.
“We look like a family of Robinson Crusoes,” said John Dolittle. “No
matter: they will serve our purpose. Any port in a storm.”
For underwear we cut up all we had and made one garment out of two or
three. We were afraid as yet to try our new tailoring next the skin.
Luckily we only had to provide for a very mild climate.
“Now what about footwear?” said I when I had my coat and trousers on.
“My shoes are all split across the top.”
“That part is easy,” said Chee-Chee. “I know a tree in the jungle which
I found when hunting for fruits. The bark strips off easily and you can
cut it into sandals that will last quite a while. The only hard part
will be plaiting thongs strong enough to keep them in place on your
feet.”
He guided us to the tree he had spoken of and we soon had outfitted
ourselves with footgear which would last us at least a week.
“Good!” said the Doctor. “Now we need not worry about clothes for a
while anyway and can give our attention to more serious matters.”
THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER
Monkey Memories of the Moon
It was when we were on our way to visit still another new kind of plant
that the subject of the Moon’s early history came up again in
conversation. The Doctor had heard of a “whispering vine” which used, as
a method of conversation, the rattling or whispering of its leaves.
“Do you remember, Chee-Chee?” the Doctor asked, “if your grandmother
ever spoke, in her stories of very ancient times, of any peculiar or
extraordinary plants or trees?”
“I don’t think so, Doctor,” he replied. “My grandmother in her talks of
the Time Before There Was a Moon kept pretty much to animals and people.
She hardly ever mentioned the trees or vegetable world, except to say of
this country or that, that it was heavily wooded, or bare and desert.
Why?”
“Well, of course in my mind there is no doubt that the Moon was once a
part of the Earth, as many scientists believe. And if so I am wondering
why we do not see more plants and trees of our own home kinds here.”
“Well, but we have, Doctor,” said Polynesia. “How about the Asparagus
Forests?”
“Quite so,” said the Doctor. “There have been many that reminded one of
earthly species in their shapes, even if they have grown into giants
here. But this speech among plants and trees—and other evidences of
social advance and development in the Vegetable Kingdom—is something so
established and accepted here I am all the time wondering if something
like it had not started on the Earth long ago—say in the Days Before
There Was a Moon. And it was merely because our naturalists were not
quick enough to—er—catch on to it, that we supposed there was no means
of communication among flowers and trees.”
[Illustration: “_‘Let me think,’ said Chee-Chee_”]
“Let me think,” said Chee-Chee, and he held his forehead tightly with
both hands.
“No,” he said after a while. “I don’t recall my grandmother’s speaking
of things like that at all. I remember in her story of Otho Bludge, the
pre-historic artist, that she told us about certain woods he used to
make handles for his flint chisels and other tools and household
implements. She described the wood, for instance, that he used to make
bowls out of for carrying water in. But she never spoke of trees and
plants that could talk.”
It was about midday and we had halted for lunch on our excursion in
search of the Whispering Vines we had been told of. We were not more
than two or three hours’ walk from our old base camp. But that, with the
speed so easy in moon marching, means a much greater distance than it
does on the Earth. From this camp where the Doctor had set up his
apparatus for his special botanical studies, we had now for nearly a
week been making daily expeditions in search of the various new species
that the Vanity Lilies had described for us. But we always got back
before nightfall. Well, this noon the Doctor was leaning back, munching
a large piece of yellow yam—a vegetable we got from the edges of the
jungle and which we had found so nourishing we had made it almost our
chief article of diet.
“Tell me, Chee-Chee,” said he: “what was the end of that story about
Otho Bludge the pre-historic artist? It was a most fascinating tale.”
[Illustration: “_Leaning back munching a piece of yellow yam_”]
“Well, I think I have told you,” said Chee-Chee, “pretty nearly all
there was to tell. In the Days Before There Was a Moon, as Grandmother
always began, Otho Bludge was a man alone, a man apart. Making pictures
on horn and bone with a stone knife, that was his hobby. His great
ambition was to make a picture of Man. But there was no one to draw
from, for Otho Bludge was a man alone. One day, when he wished aloud for
some one to make a picture from, he saw this beautiful girl—Pippiteepa
was her name—kneeling on a rock waiting for him to make a portrait of
her. He made it—the best work he ever did, carved into the flat of a
reindeer’s antler. About her right ankle she wore a string of blue stone
beads. When the picture was finished she started to disappear again into
the mountains’ evening mist, as mysteriously as she had come. Otho
called to her to stay. She was the only human being he had ever seen
besides his own image in the pools. He wanted her company, poor Otho
Bludge, the carver of horn, the man apart. But even as she passed into
the twilight forever she cried out to him that she could not stay—for
she was of the Fairy Folk and not of his kin. He rushed to the rock
where she had knelt; but all he found was the string of blue stone beads
which she had worn about her ankle. Otho, broken-hearted, took them and
bound them on his own wrist where he wore them night and day, hoping
always that she would come back.
“There is nothing more. We youngsters used to pester my grandmother for
a continuance of the tale. It seemed so sad, so unsatisfying, an ending.
But the old lady insisted that that was the end. Not long after
apparently Otho Bludge, the carver of horn and the man apart, just
disappeared, completely, as though the Earth had swallowed him up.”
“Humph!” muttered the Doctor. “Have you any idea when?”
“No,” said the monkey. “You see, even my grandmother’s ideas of time and
place in these stories she told us were very hazy. She had only had them
handed down to her by her parents and grandparents, just as she passed
them on to us. But I am pretty sure it was around the time of the Great
Flood. Grandmother used to divide her stories into two periods: those
belonging to The Days Before There Was a Moon and those that happened
after. The name of Otho Bludge the artist only came into those before.”
“I see,” said the Doctor thoughtfully. “But tell me: can you recall
anything your grandmother said about the time of the change—I mean,
when the one period left off and the other began?”
“Not a very great deal,” said Chee-Chee. “It was the same when we
questioned her about the Flood. That that event had taken place, there
was no doubt; but, except for a few details, very little seemed to have
been handed down as to how it came about, or of what was going on on the
Earth at the time, or immediately after it. I imagine they were both
great catastrophes—perhaps both came together—and such confusion fell
upon all creatures that they were far too busy to take notes, and too
scattered afterwards to keep a very clear picture in their minds. But I
do remember that my grandmother said the first night when the Moon
appeared in the sky some of our monkey ancestors saw a group of men
kneeling on a mountain-top worshiping it. They had always been
sun-worshipers and were now offering up prayers to the Moon also, saying
it must be the Sun’s Wife.”
“But,” asked the Doctor, “did not Man know that the Moon must have flown
off from the Earth?”
“That is not very clear,” said Chee-Chee. “We often questioned my
grandmother on this point. But there were certainly some awful big gaps
in her information. It was like a history put together from odd bits
that had been seen from different sides of the Earth and filled in by
gossip and hearsay generations after. It seems that to begin with the
confusion was terrible. Darkness covered the Earth, the noise of a
terrible explosion followed and there was great loss of life. Then the
sea rushed into the hole that had been made, causing more havoc and
destruction still. Man and beast slunk into caves for shelter or ran
wild across the mountains, or just lay down and covered their eyes to
shut out the dreadful vision. From what Monkey History has to relate,
none lived who had actually seen the thing take place. But that I have
always doubted. And much later there was a regular war among mankind
when human society had pulled itself together again sufficiently to get
back to something like the old order.”
“What was the war about?” asked the Doctor.
[Illustration: “_A terrible explosion followed_”]
“Well, by that time,” said Chee-Chee, “Man had multiplied considerably
and there were big cities everywhere. The war was over the question: Was
the Moon a goddess, or was she not? The old sun-worshipers said she was
the wife or daughter of the Sun and was therefore entitled to adoration.
Those who said the Moon had flown off from the flanks of the Earth had
given up worshiping the Sun. They held that if the Earth had the power
to shoot off another world like that, that _it_ should be adored, as the
Mother Earth from which we got everything, and not the Sun. They said it
showed the Earth was the center of all things, since the Sun had never
shot off children. Then there were others who said that the Sun and the
new Earth should be adored as gods—and yet others that wanted all
three, Sun and Earth and Moon, to form a great triangle of Almighty
Power. The war was a terrible one, men killing one another in
thousands—greatly to the astonishment of the Monkey People. For to us
it did not seem that any of the various parties really _knew_ anything
for certain about the whole business.”
“Dear, dear,” the Doctor muttered as Chee-Chee ended. “The first
religious strife—the first of so many. What a pity!—Just as though it
mattered to any one what his neighbor believed so long as he himself led
a sincere and useful life and was happy!”
THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER
We Hear of “The Council”
This expedition on the trail of the Whispering Vines proved to be one of
the most fruitful and satisfactory of all our excursions.
When we finally arrived at the home of this species, we found it a very
beautiful place. It was a rocky gulch hard by the jungle, where a dense
curtain of creepers hung down into a sort of pocket precipice with a
spring-fed pool at the bottom. In such a place you could imagine fairies
dancing in the dusk, wild beasts of the forest sheltering, or outlaws
making their headquarters.
With a squawk Polynesia flew up and settled in the hanging tendrils that
draped the rock wall. Instantly we saw a general wave of movement go
through the vines and a whispering noise broke out which could be
plainly heard by any ears. Evidently the vines were somewhat disturbed
at this invasion by a bird they did not know. Polynesia, a little upset
herself, flew back to us at once.
“Shiver my timbers!” said she in a disgruntled mutter. “This country
would give a body the creeps. Those vines actually moved and squirmed
like snakes when I took a hold of them.”
“They are not used to you, Polynesia,” laughed the Doctor. “You probably
scared them to death. Let us see if we can get into conversation with
them.”
Here the Doctor’s experience with the Singing Trees came in very
helpfully. I noticed as I watched him go to work with what small
apparatus he had brought with him that he now seemed much surer of how
to begin. And it was indeed a surprisingly short time before he was
actually in conversation with them, as though he had almost been talking
with them all his life.
[Illustration: “_It was a rocky gulch_”]
Presently he turned to me and spoke almost the thought that was in my
mind.
“Stubbins,” he said, “the ease with which these plants answer me would
almost make me think _they have spoken with a man before_! Look, I can
actually make responses with the lips, like ordinary human speech.”
He dropped the little contrivance he held in his hands and hissing
softly through his teeth he gave out a sort of whispered cadence. It was
a curious combination between some one humming a tune and hissing a
conversational sentence.
Usually it had taken John Dolittle some hours, occasionally some days,
to establish a communication with these strange almost human moon trees
good enough to exchange ideas with them. But both Chee-Chee and I
grunted with astonishment at the way they instantly responded to his
whispered speech. Swinging their leafy tendrils around to meet the
breeze at a certain angle, they instantly gave back a humming, hissing
message that might have been a repetition of that made by the Doctor
himself.
“They say they are glad to see us, Stubbins,” he jerked out over his
shoulder.
“Why, Doctor,” I said, “this is marvelous! You got results right away. I
never saw anything like it.”
“They have spoken with a man before,” he repeated. “Not a doubt of it. I
can tell by the way they—Good gracious, what’s this?”
He turned and found Chee-Chee tugging at his left sleeve. I have never
seen the poor monkey so overcome with fright. He stuttered and jibbered
but no intelligible sounds came through his chattering teeth.
“Why, Chee-Chee!” said the Doctor. “What is it?—What’s wrong?”
“Look!”—was all he finally managed to gulp.
He pointed down to the margin of the pond lying at the foot of the
cliff. We had scaled up to a shelf of rock to get nearer to the vines
for convenience. Where the monkey now pointed there was clearly visible
in the yellow sand of the pool’s beach two enormous foot-prints such as
we had seen by the shores of the lake.
“_The Moon Man!_” the Doctor whispered.—“Well, I was sure of it—that
these vines had spoken with a man before. I wonder—”
“Sh!” Polynesia interrupted. “Don’t let them see you looking. But when
you get a chance glance up towards the left-hand shoulder of the gulch.”
Both the Doctor and I behaved as though we were proceeding with our
business of conversing with the vines. Then pretending I was scratching
my ear I looked up in the direction the parrot had indicated. There I
saw several birds. They were trying to keep themselves hidden among the
leaves. But there was no doubt that they were there on the watch.
As we turned back to our work an enormous shadow passed over us,
shutting off the light of the sun. We looked up, fearing as any one
would, some attack or danger from the air. Slowly a giant moth of the
same kind that had brought us to this mysterious world sailed across the
heavens and disappeared.
[Illustration: “_There was no doubt that they were on the watch_”]
A general silence fell over us all that must have lasted a good three
minutes.
“Well,” said the Doctor at length, “if this means that the Animal
Kingdom has decided finally to make our acquaintance, so much the
better. Those are the first birds we have seen—and that was the first
insect—since our moth left us. Curious, to find the bird life so much
smaller than the insect. However, I suppose they will let us know more
when they are ready. Meantime we have plenty to do here. Have you a
notebook, Stubbins?”
“Yes, Doctor,” said I. “I’m quite prepared whenever you are.”
Thereupon the Doctor proceeded with his conversation with the Whispering
Vines and fired off questions and answers so fast that I was kept more
than busy booking what he said.
It was indeed, as I have told you, by far the most satisfactory inquiry
we had made into the life of the Moon, animal or vegetable, up to that
time. Because while these vines had not the almost human appearance of
the Vanity Lilies, they did seem to be in far closer touch with the
general life of the Moon. The Doctor asked them about this warfare which
we had heard of from the last plants we had visited—the struggle that
occurred when one species of plant wished for more room and had to push
away its intruding neighbors. And it was then for the first time we
heard about the Council.
[Illustration: “_Proceeded with his conversation with the vines_”]
“Oh,” said they, “you mustn’t get the idea that one species of plant is
allowed to make war for its own benefit regardless of the lives or
rights of others. Oh, dear, no! We folk of the Moon have long since got
past that. There was a day when we had constant strife, species against
species, plants against plants, birds against insects, and so on. But
not any more.”
“Well, how do you manage?” asked the Doctor, “when two different species
want the same thing?”
“It’s all arranged by the Council,” said the vines.
“Er—excuse me,” said the Doctor. “I don’t quite understand. What
council?”
“Well, you see,” said the vines, “some hundreds of years ago—that is of
course well within the memory of most of us, we—”
“Excuse me again,” the Doctor interrupted. “Do you mean that most of the
plants and insects and birds here have been living several centuries
already?”
“Why, certainly,” said the Whispering Vines. “Some of course are older
than others. But here on the Moon we consider a plant or a bird or a
moth quite young if he has seen no more than two hundred years. And
there are several trees, and a few members of the Animal Kingdom too,
whose memories go back to over a thousand years.”
“You don’t say!” murmured the Doctor. “I realized of course that your
lives were much longer than ours on the Earth. But I had no idea you
went as far back as that. Goodness me!—Well, please go on.”
“In the old days, then, before we instituted the Council,” the vines
continued, “there was a terrible lot of waste and slaughter. They tell
of one time when a species of big lizard overran the whole Moon. They
grew so enormous that they ate up almost all the green stuff there was.
No tree or bush or plant got a chance to bring itself to seeding-time
because as soon as it put out a leaf it was gobbled up by those hungry
brutes. Then the rest of us got together to see what we could do.”
[Illustration: “_A species of big lizard overran the Moon_”]
“Er—pardon,” said the Doctor. “But how do you mean, got together? You
plants could not move, could you?”
“Oh, no,” said the vines. “We couldn’t move. But we could communicate
with the rest—take part in conferences, as it were, by means of
messengers—birds and insects, you know.”
“How long ago was that?” asked the Doctor.—“I mean for how long has the
animal and vegetable world here been able to communicate with one
another?”
“Precisely,” said the vines, “we can’t tell you. Of course some sort of
communication goes back a perfectly enormous long way, some hundreds of
thousands of years. But it was not always as good as it is now. It has
been improving all the time. Nowadays it would be impossible for
anything of any importance at all to happen in our corner of the Moon
without its being passed along through plants and trees and insects and
birds to every other corner of our globe within a few moments. For
instance we have known almost every movement you and your party have
made since you landed in our world.”
“Dear me!” muttered the Doctor. “I had no idea. However, please
proceed.”
“Of course,” they went on, “it was not always so. But after the
institution of the Council communication and cooperation became much
better and continued to grow until it reached its present stage.”
THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
The President
The Whispering Vines then went on to tell the Doctor in greater detail
of that institution which they had vaguely spoken of already, “The
Council.” This was apparently a committee or general government made up
of members from both the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms. Its main purpose
was to regulate life on the Moon in such a way that there should be no
more warfare. For example, if a certain kind of shrub wanted more room
for expansion, and the territory it wished to take over was already
occupied by, we’ll say, bullrushes, it was not allowed to thrust out its
neighbors without first submitting the case to the Council. Or if a
certain kind of butterfly wished to feed upon the honey of some flower
and was interfered with by a species of bee or beetle, again the
argument had to be put to the vote of this all-powerful committee before
any action could be taken.
This information explained a great deal which had heretofore puzzled us.
“You see, Stubbins,” said the Doctor, “the great size of almost all life
here, the development of intelligence in plant forms, and much more
besides, could not possibly have come about if this regulation had not
been in force. Our world could learn a lot from the Moon, Stubbins—the
Moon, its own child whom it presumes to despise! We have no balancing or
real protection of life. With us it is, and always has been, ‘dog eat
dog.’”
The Doctor shook his head and gazed off into space to where the globe of
our mother Earth glowed dimly. Just so had I often seen the Moon from
Puddleby by daylight.
[Illustration: “_Where the globe of the Earth glowed dimly_”]
“Yes,” he repeated, his manner becoming of a sudden deeply serious, “our
world that thinks itself so far advanced has not the wisdom, the
foresight, Stubbins, which we have seen here. Fighting, fighting,
fighting, always fighting!—So it goes on down there with us. . . . The
‘survival of the fittest’! . . . I’ve spent my whole life trying to help
the animal, the so-called lower, forms of life. I don’t mean I am
complaining. Far from it. I’ve had a very good time getting in touch
with the beasts and winning their friendship. If I had my life over
again I’d do just the same thing. But often, so often, I have felt that
in the end it was bound to be a losing game. It is this thing here, this
Council of Life—of life adjustment—that could have saved the day and
brought happiness to all.”
“Yes, Doctor,” said I, “but listen: compared with our world, they have
no animal life here at all, so far as we’ve seen. Only insects and
birds. They’ve no lions or tigers who have to hunt for deer and wild
goats to get a living, have they?”
“True, Stubbins—probably true,” said he. “But don’t forget that that
same warfare of species against species goes on in the Insect Kingdom as
well as among the larger carnivora. In another million years from now
some scientist may show that the war going on between Man and the House
Fly to-day is the most important thing in current history.—And besides,
who shall say what kind of a creature the tiger was before he took to a
diet of meat?”
John Dolittle then turned back to the vines and asked some further
questions. These were mostly about the Council; how it worked; of what
it was composed; how often it met, etc. And the answers that they gave
filled out a picture which we had already half guessed and half seen of
Life on the Moon.
When I come to describe it I find myself wishing that I were a great
poet, or at all events a great writer. For this moon-world was indeed a
land of wondrous rest. Trees that sang; flowers that could see;
butterflies and bees that conversed with one another and with the plants
on which they fed, watched over by a parent council that guarded the
interests of great and small, strong and weak, alike—the whole
community presented a world of peace, goodwill and happiness which no
words of mine could convey a fair idea of.
“One thing I don’t quite understand,” said the Doctor to the vines, “is
how you manage about seeding. Don’t some of the plants throw down too
much seed and bring forth a larger crop than is desirable?”
“That,” said the Whispering Vines, “is taken care of by the birds. They
have orders to eat up all the seed except a certain quantity for each
species of plant.”
“Humph!” said the Doctor. “I hope I have not upset things for the
Council. I did a little experimental planting myself when I first
arrived here. I had brought several kinds of seed with me from the Earth
and I wanted to see how they would do in this climate. So far, however,
the seeds have not come up at all.”
The vines swayed slightly with a rustling sound that might easily have
been a titter of amusement.
“You have forgotten, Doctor,” said they, “that news travels fast in the
Moon. Your gardening experiments were seen and immediately reported to
the Council. And after you had gone back to your camp every single seed
that you had planted was carefully dug up by long-billed birds and
destroyed. The Council is awfully particular about seeds. It has to be.
If we got overrun by any plant, weed or shrub all of our peaceful
balance would be upset and goodness knows what might happen. Why, the
President—”
The particular vines which were doing the talking were three large ones
that hung close by the Doctor’s shoulder. In a very sudden and curious
manner they had broken off in the middle of what they were saying like a
person who had let something slip out in conversation which had been
better left unsaid. Instantly a tremendous excitement was visible
throughout all the creepers that hung around the gulch. You never saw
such swaying, writhing, twisting and agitation. With squawks of alarm a
number of brightly colored birds fluttered out of the curtain of leaves
and flew away over the rocky shoulders above our heads.
[Illustration: “_Every single seed was carefully dug up by long-billed
birds_”]
“What’s the matter?—What has happened, Doctor?” I asked as still more
birds left the concealment of the creepers and disappeared in the
distance.
“I’ve no idea, Stubbins,” said he. “Some one has said a little too much,
I fancy. Tell me,” he asked turning to the vines again: “Who is the
President?”
“The President of the Council,” they replied after a pause.
“Yes, that I understand,” said the Doctor. “But what, who, is he?”
For a little there was no answer, while the excitement and agitation
broke out with renewed confusion among the long tendrils that draped the
rocky alcove. Evidently some warnings and remarks were being exchanged
which we were not to understand.
At last the original vines which had acted as spokesmen in the
conversation addressed John Dolittle again.
“We are sorry,” they said, “but we have our orders. Certain things we
have been forbidden to tell you.”
“Who forbade you?” asked the Doctor.
But from then on not a single word would they answer. The Doctor made
several attempts to get them talking again but without success. Finally
we were compelled to give it up and return to camp—which we reached
very late.
“I think,” said Polynesia, as the Doctor, Chee-Chee and I set about
preparing the vegetarian supper, “that we sort of upset Society in the
Moon this afternoon. Gracious, I never saw such a land in my life I—And
I’ve seen a few. I suppose that by now every bumblebee and weed on the
whole globe is talking about the Whispering Vines and the slip they made
in mentioning the President. _President!_ Shiver my timbers! You’d think
he were St. Peter himself! What are they making such a mystery about,
I’d like to know?”
“We’ll probably learn pretty soon now,” said the Doctor, cutting into a
huge melon-like fruit. “I have a feeling that they won’t think it
worthwhile to hold aloof from us much longer.—I hope not anyway.”
[Illustration: “_Still more birds left the concealment of the
creepers_”]
“Me too,” said Chee-Chee. “Frankly, this secrecy is beginning to get
under my skin. I’d like to feel assured that we are going to be given a
passage back to Puddleby. For a while, anyway, I’ve had enough of
adventure.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry,” said the Doctor. “I still feel convinced that
we’ll be taken care of. Whoever it was that got us up here did so with
some good intention. When I have done what it is that’s wanted of me,
arrangements will be made for putting us back on the Earth, never fear.”
“Humph!” grunted Polynesia, who was cracking nuts on a limb above our
heads. “I hope you’re right. I’m none too sure, myself—No, none too
sure.”
THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER
The Moon Man
That night was, I think, the most disturbed one that we spent in the
whole course of our stay on the Moon. Not one of us slept soundly or
continuously. For one thing, our growth had proceeded at an alarming and
prodigious rate; and what bedding we had (we slept in that mild climate
with the blankets under us instead of over us) had become absurdly short
and insufficient for our new figures. Knees and elbows spilled over the
sides and got dreadfully sore on the hard earth. But besides that
discomfort, we were again conscious throughout the whole night of
mysterious noises and presences. Every one of us seemed to be uneasy in
his mind. I remember waking up one time and hearing the Doctor,
Chee-Chee and Polynesia all talking in their sleep at the same time.
Hollow-eyed and unrested we finally, at daybreak, crawled out of our
various roosts and turned silently to the business of getting breakfast.
That veteran campaigner Polynesia was the first to pull herself
together. She came back from examining the ground about the camp with a
very serious look on her old face.
“Well,” said she, “if there’s any one in the Moon who _hasn’t_ been
messing round our bunks while we slept I’d like to know who it is.”
“Why?” asked the Doctor. “Anything unusual?”
“Come and see,” said the parrot and led the way out into the clearing
that surrounded our bunks and baggage.
[Illustration: “_With a very serious look on her old face_”]
Well, we were accustomed to finding tracks around our home, but this
which Polynesia showed us was certainly something quite out of the
ordinary. For a belt of a hundred yards or more about our headquarters
the earth and sand and mud was a mass of foot-prints. Strange insect
tracks, the marks of enormous birds, and—most evident of
all—numberless prints of that gigantic human foot which we had seen
before.
“Tut, tut!” said the Doctor peevishly. “They don’t do us any harm
anyway. What does it matter if they come and look at us in our sleep?
I’m not greatly interested, Polynesia. Let us take breakfast. A few
extra tracks don’t make much difference.”
We sat down and started the meal.
But John Dolittle’s prophecy that the Animal Kingdom would not delay
much longer in getting in touch with us was surprisingly and suddenly
fulfilled. I had a piece of yam smeared with honey half-way to my mouth
when I became conscious of an enormous shadow soaring over me. I looked
up and there was the giant moth who had brought us from Puddleby! I
could hardly believe my eyes. With a graceful sweep of his gigantic
wings he settled down beside me—a battleship beside a mouse—as though
such exact and accurate landings were no more than a part of the
ordinary day’s work.
We had no time to remark on the moth’s arrival before two or three more
of the same kind suddenly swept up from nowhere, fanned the dust all
over us with their giant wings and settled down beside their brother.
Next, various birds appeared. Some species among these we had already
seen in the vines. But there were many we had not: enormous storks,
geese, swans and several others. Half of them seemed little bigger than
their own kind on the Earth. But others were unbelievably large and were
colored and shaped somewhat differently—though you could nearly always
tell to what family they belonged.
Again more than one of us opened his mouth to say something and then
closed it as some new and stranger arrival made its appearance and
joined the gathering. The bees were the next. I remembered then seeing
different kinds on the Earth, though I had never made a study of them.
Here they all came trooping, magnified into great terrible-looking
monsters out of a dream: the big black bumble bee, the little yellow
bumble bee, the common honey bee, the bright green, fast-flying, slender
bee. And with them came all their cousins and relatives, though there
never seemed to be more than two or three specimens of each kind.
[Illustration: “_Others were unbelievably large_”]
I could see that poor Chee-Chee was simply scared out of his wits. And
little wonder! Insects of this size gathering silently about one were
surely enough to appall the stoutest heart. Yet to me they were not
entirely terrible. Perhaps I was merely taking my cue from the Doctor
who was clearly more interested than alarmed. But besides that, the
manner of the creatures did not appear unfriendly. Serious and orderly
they seemed to be gathering according to a set plan; and I felt sure
that very soon something was going to happen which would explain it all.
And sure enough, a few moments later, when the ground about our camp was
literally one solid mass of giant insects and birds, we heard a tread.
Usually a football in the open air makes little or no sound at
all—though it must not be forgotten that we had found that sound of any
kind traveled much more readily on the Moon than on the Earth. But this
was something quite peculiar. Actually it shook the ground under us in a
way that might have meant an earthquake. Yet somehow one _knew_ it was a
tread.
Chee-Chee ran to the Doctor and hid under his coat. Polynesia never
moved, just sat there on her tree-branch, looking rather peeved and
impatient but evidently interested. I followed the direction of her gaze
with my own eyes for I knew that her instinct was always a good guide. I
found that she was watching the woods that surrounded the clearing where
we had established our camp. Her beady little eyes were fixed immovably
on a V-shaped cleft in the horizon of trees away to my left.
It is curious how in those important moments I always seemed to keep an
eye on old Polynesia. I don’t mean to say that I did not follow the
Doctor and stand ready to take his orders. But whenever anything unusual
or puzzling like this came up, especially a case where animals were
concerned, it was my impulse to keep an eye on the old parrot to see how
she was taking it.
Now I saw her cocking her head on one side—in a quite characteristic
pose—looking upward towards the cleft in the forest wall. She was
muttering something beneath her breath (probably in Swedish, her
favorite swearing language) but I could not make out more than a low
peevish murmur. Presently, watching with her, I thought I saw the trees
sway. Then something large and round seemed to come in view above them
in the cleft.
It was now growing dusk. It had taken, we suddenly realized, a whole day
for the creatures to gather; and in our absorbed interest we had not
missed our meals. One could not be certain of his vision. I noticed the
Doctor suddenly half rise, spilling poor old Chee-Chee out upon the
ground. The big round thing above the tree-tops grew bigger and higher;
it swayed gently as it came forward and with it the forest swayed also,
as grass moves when a cat stalks through it.
Any minute I was expecting the Doctor to say something. The creature
approaching, whatever—whoever—it was, must clearly be so monstrous
that everything we had met with on the Moon so far would dwindle into
insignificance in comparison.
And still old Polynesia sat motionless on her limb muttering and
spluttering like a fire-cracker on a damp night.
Very soon we could hear other sounds from the oncoming creature besides
his earth-shaking footfall. Giant trees snapped and crackled beneath his
tread like twigs under a mortal’s foot. I confess that an ominous terror
clutched at my heart too now. I could sympathize with poor Chee-Chee’s
timidity. Oddly enough though at this, the most terrifying moment in all
our experience on the Moon, the monkey did not try to conceal himself.
He was standing beside the Doctor fascinatedly watching the great shadow
towering above the trees.
[Illustration: “It was human!”]
Onward, nearer, came the lumbering figure. Soon there was no mistaking
its shape. It had cleared the woods now. The gathered insects and
waiting birds were making way for it. Suddenly we realized that it was
towering over us, quite near, its long arms hanging at its sides. _It
was human._
We had seen the Moon Man at last!
“Well, for pity’s sake!” squawked Polynesia, breaking the awed silence.
“You may be a frightfully important person here. But my goodness! It has
taken you an awfully long time to come and call on us!”
Serious as the occasion was in all conscience, Polynesia’s remarks,
continued in an uninterrupted stream of annoyed criticism, finally gave
me the giggles. And after I once got started I couldn’t have kept a
straight face if I had been promised a fortune.
The dusk had now settled down over the strange assembly. Starlight
glowed weirdly in the eyes of the moths and birds that stood about us,
like a lamp’s flame reflected in the eyes of a cat. As I made another
effort to stifle my silly titters I saw John Dolittle, the size of his
figure looking perfectly absurd in comparison with the Moon Man’s, rise
to meet the giant who had come to visit us.
“I am glad to meet you—at last,” said he in dignified well-bred
English. A curious grunt of incomprehension was all that met his
civility.
Then seeing that the Moon Man evidently did not follow his language,
John Dolittle set to work to find some tongue that would be
understandable to him. I suppose there never was, and probably never
will be, any one who had the command of languages that the Doctor had.
One by one he ran through most of the earthly human tongues that are
used to-day or have been preserved from the past. None of them had the
slightest effect upon the Moon Man. Turning to animal languages however,
the Doctor met with slightly better results. A word here and there
seemed to be understood.
But it was when John Dolittle fell back on the languages of the Insect
and Vegetable Kingdoms that the Moon Man at last began to wake up and
show interest. With fixed gaze Chee-Chee, Polynesia and I watched the
two figures as they wrestled with the problems of common speech. Minute
after minute went by, hour after hour. Finally the Doctor made a signal
to me behind his back and I knew that now he was really ready. I picked
up my notebook and pencil from the ground.
[Illustration: “‘_Look!_—the right wrist—_look!_’”]
As I laid back a page in preparation for dictation there came a strange
cry from Chee-Chee.
“Look!—_The right wrist!_—Look!”
We peered through the twilight. . . . Yes, there _was_ something around
the giant’s wrist, but so tight that it was almost buried in the flesh.
The Doctor touched it gently. But before he could say anything
Chee-Chee’s voice broke out again, his words cutting the stillness in a
curious, hoarse, sharp whisper.
“_The blue stone beads!_—Don’t you see them? . . . They don’t fit him
any more since he’s grown a giant. But he’s Otho Bludge the artist.
That’s the bracelet he got from Pippiteepa the grandmother of the
Fairies!—It is he, Doctor, Otho Bludge, who was blown off the Earth in
the _Days Before There Was a Moon_!”
THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER
The Doctor and the Giant
“All right, Chee-Chee, all right,” said the Doctor hurriedly. “Wait now.
We’ll see what we can find out. Don’t get excited.”
In spite of the Doctor’s reassuring words I could see that he himself
was by this time quite a little agitated. And for that no one could
blame him. After weeks in this weird world where naught but
extraordinary things came up day after day we had been constantly
wondering when we’d see the strange Human whose traces and influence
were everywhere so evident. Now at last he had appeared.
I gazed up at the gigantic figure rearing away into the skies above our
heads. With one of his feet he could easily have crushed the lot of us
like so many cockroaches. Yet he, with the rest of the gathering, seemed
not unfriendly to us, if a bit puzzled by our size. As for John
Dolittle, he may have been a little upset by Chee-Chee’s announcement,
but he certainly wasn’t scared. He at once set to work to get into touch
with this strange creature who had called on us. And, as was usual with
his experiments of this kind, the other side seemed more than willing to
help.
The giant wore very little clothes. A garment somewhat similar to our
own, made from the flexible bark and leaves we had discovered in the
forest, covered his middle from the arm-pits down to the lower thighs.
His hair was long and shaggy, falling almost to his shoulders. The
Doctor measured up to a line somewhere near his ankle-bone. Apparently
realizing that it was difficult for John Dolittle to talk with him at
that range, the giant made a movement with his hand and at once the
insects nearest to us rose and crawled away. In the space thus cleared
the man-monster sat down to converse with his visitors from the Earth.
It was curious that after this I too no longer feared the enormous
creature who looked like something from a fairy tale or a nightmare.
Stretching down a tremendous hand, he lifted the Doctor, as though he
had been a doll, and set him upon his bare knee. From this height—at
least thirty feet above my head—John Dolittle clambered still further
up the giant’s frame till he stood upon his shoulder.
Here he apparently had much greater success in making himself understood
than he had had lower down. By standing on tip-toe he could just reach
the Moon Man’s ear. Presently descending to the knee again, he began
calling to me.
“Stubbins—I say, Stubbins! Have you got a notebook handy?”
“Yes, Doctor. In my pocket. Do you want me to take dictation?”
“Please,” he shouted back—for all the world like a foreman yelling
orders from a high building. “Get this down. I have hardly established
communication yet, but I want you to book some preliminary notes. Are
you ready?”
As a matter of fact the Doctor in his enthusiasm had misjudged how easy
he’d find it to converse with the Moon Man. For a good hour I stood
waiting with my pencil poised and no words for dictation were handed
down. Finally the Doctor called to me that he would have to delay
matters a little till he got in close touch with our giant visitor.
“Humph!” grunted Polynesia. “I don’t see why he bothers. I never saw
such an unattractive enormous brute.—Doesn’t look as though he had the
wits of a caterpillar anyway. And to think that it was this great lump
of unintelligent mutton that has kept the Doctor—John Dolittle,
M.D.—and the rest of us, hanging about till it suited him to call on
us!—After sending for us, mind you! That’s the part that rattles me!”
[Illustration: “‘_Stubbins!—I say, Stubbins!_’”]
“Oh, but goodness!” muttered Chee-Chee peering up at the towering figure
in the dusk. “Think—_think_ how old he is! That man was living when the
Moon separated from the Earth—thousands, maybe millions, of years ago!
Golly, what an age!”
“Yes: he’s old enough to know better,” snapped the parrot—“better
manners anyway. Just because he’s fat and overgrown is no reason why he
should treat his guests with such outrageous rudeness.”
“Oh, but come now, Polynesia,” I said, “we must not forget that this is
a human being who has been separated from his own kind for centuries and
centuries. And even such civilization as he knew on the Earth, way back
in those Stone Age days, was not, I imagine, anything to boast of.
Pretty crude, I’ll bet it was, the world then. The wonder is, to my way
of thinking, that he has any mind at all—with no other humans to mingle
with through all that countless time. I’m not surprised that John
Dolittle finds it difficult to talk with him.”
“Oh, well now, Tommy Stubbins,” said she, “that may sound all very
scientific and high-falutin’. But just the same there’s no denying that
this overgrown booby was the one who got us up here. And the least he
could have done was to see that we were properly received and cared
for—instead of letting us fish for ourselves with no one to guide us or
to put us on to the ropes. Very poor hospitality, I call it.”
“You seem to forget, Polynesia,” I said mildly, “that in spite of our
small size, we may have seemed—as the Doctor said—quite as fearful to
him and his world as he and his have been to us—even if he did arrange
to get us here. Did you notice that he limped?”
“I did,” said she, tossing her head. “He dragged his left foot after him
with an odd gait. Pshaw! I’ll bet that’s what he got the Doctor up here
for—rheumatism or a splinter in his toe. Still, what I _don’t_
understand is how he heard of John Dolittle, famous though he is, with
no communication between his world and ours.”
[Illustration: “‘_Very poor hospitality, I call it_’”]
It was very interesting to me to watch the Doctor trying to talk with
the Moon Man. I could not make the wildest guess at what sort of
language it could be that they would finally hit upon. After all that
time of separation from his fellows, how much could this strange
creature remember of a mother tongue?
As a matter of fact, I did not find out that evening at all. The Doctor
kept at his experiments, in his usual way, entirely forgetful of time or
anything else. After I had watched for a while Chee-Chee’s head nodding
sleepily I finally dozed off myself.
When I awoke it was daylight. The Doctor was still engaged with the
giant in his struggles to understand and be understood. However, I could
see at once that he was encouraged. I shouted up to him that it was
breakfast time. He heard, nodded back to me and then apparently asked
the giant to join us at our meal. I was surprised and delighted to see
with what ease he managed to convey this idea to our big friend. For the
Moon Man at once sat him down upon the ground near our tarpaulin which
served as a table-cloth and gazed critically over the foodstuffs laid
out. We offered him some of our famous yellow yam. At this he shook his
head vigorously. Then with signs and grunts he proceeded to explain
something to John Dolittle.
“He tells me, Stubbins,” said the Doctor presently, “that the yellow yam
is the principal cause of rapid growth. Everything in this world, it
seems, tends towards size; but this particular food is the worst. He
advises us to drop it—unless we want to grow as big as he is. He has
been trying to get back to our size, apparently, for ever so long.”
“Try him with some of the melon, Doctor,” said Chee-Chee.
This, when offered to the Moon Man, was accepted gladly; and for a
little we all munched in silence.
“How are you getting on with his language, Doctor?” I asked presently.
[Illustration: “_I watched Chee-Chee’s head nodding sleepily_”]
“Oh, so so,” he grumbled. “It’s odd—awfully strange. At first I
supposed it would be something like most human languages, a variation of
vocal sounds. And I tried for hours to get in touch with him along those
lines. But it was only a few vague far-off memories that I could bring
out. I was, of course, particularly interested to link up a connection
with some earthly language. Finally I went on to the languages of the
insects and the plants and found that he spoke all dialects, in both,
perfectly. On the whole I am awfully pleased with my experiments. Even
if I cannot link him up with some of our own dead languages, at least
his superior knowledge of the insect and vegetable tongues will be of
great value to me.”
“Has he said anything so far about why he got you up here?” asked
Polynesia.
“Not as yet,” said the Doctor. “But we’ve only just begun, you know. All
in good time, Polynesia, all in good time.”
THE TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER
How Otho Bludge Came to the Moon
The Doctor’s warning to the parrot that perhaps we were just as
terrifying to the Moon Man (in spite of his size) as he and his world
were to us, proved to be quite true. After breakfast was over and I got
out the usual notebook for dictation it soon appeared that this giant,
the dread President of the Council, was the mildest creature living. He
let us crawl all over him and seemed quite pleased that we took so much
interest in him. This did not appear to surprise the Doctor, who from
the start had regarded him as a friend. But to Chee-Chee and myself, who
had thought that he might gobble us up at any moment, it was, to say the
least, a great relief.
I will not set down here in detail that first talk between the Moon Man
and the Doctor. It was very long and went into a great many matters of
languages and natural history that might not be of great interest to the
general reader. But here and there in my report of that conversation I
may dictate it word for word, where such a course may seem necessary to
give a clear picture of the ideas exchanged. For it was certainly an
interview of great importance.
The Doctor began by questioning the giant on the history that Chee-Chee
had told us as it had been handed down to him by his grandmother. Here
the Moon Man’s memory seemed very vague; but when prompted with details
from the Monkeys’ History, he occasionally responded and more than once
agreed with the Doctor’s statements or corrected them with a good deal
of certainty and firmness.
I think I ought perhaps to say something here about the Moon Man’s face.
In the pale daylight of a lunar dawn it looked clever and intelligent
enough, but not nearly so old as one would have expected. It is indeed
hard to describe that face. It wasn’t brutish and yet it had in it
something quite foreign to the average human countenance as seen on the
Earth. I imagine that his being separated from human kind for so long
may have accounted for this. Beyond question it was an animal-like
countenance and yet it was entirely free from anything like ferocity. If
one could imagine a kindly animal who had used all his faculties in the
furtherance of helpful and charitable ends one would have the nearest
possible idea of the face of the Moon Man, as I saw it clearly for the
first time when he took breakfast with us that morning.
In the strange tongues of insects and plants John Dolittle fired off
question after question at our giant guest. Yes, he admitted, he
probably was Otho Bludge, the pre-historic artist. This bracelet?—Yes,
he wore it because some one. . . . And then his memory failed him. . . .
What some one? . . . Well anyway he remembered that it had first been
worn by a woman before he had it. What matter, after all? It was long
ago, terribly long. Was there anything else that we would like to know?
There was a question I myself wanted to ask. The night before, in my
wanderings with Chee-Chee over the giant’s huge body, I had discovered a
disc or plate hanging to his belt. In the dusk then I had not been able
to make out what it was. But this morning I got a better view of it: the
most exquisite picture of a girl kneeling with a bow and arrow in her
hands, carved upon a plate of reindeer horn. I asked the Doctor did he
not want to question the Moon Man about it. We all guessed, of course,
from Chee-Chee’s story, what it was. But I thought it might prompt the
giant’s memory to things out of the past that would be of value to the
Doctor. I even whispered to John Dolittle that the giant might be
persuaded to give it to us or barter it for something. Even I knew
enough about museum relics to realize its tremendous value.
The Doctor indeed did speak of it to him. The giant raised it from his
belt, where it hung by a slender thong of bark and gazed at it a while.
A spark of recollection lit up his eyes for a moment. Then, with a
pathetic fumbling sort of gesture, he pressed it to his heart a moment
while that odd fuddled look came over his countenance once more. The
Doctor and I, I think, both felt we had been rather tactless and did not
touch upon the subject again.
I have often been since—though I certainly was not at the time—amused
at the way the Doctor took charge of the situation and raced all over
this enormous creature as though he were some new kind of specimen to be
labeled and docketed for a natural history museum. Yet he did it in such
a way as not to give the slightest offense.
“Yes. Very good,” said he. “We have now established you as Otho Bludge,
the Stone Age artist, who was blown off the Earth when the Moon set
herself up in the sky. But how about this Council? I understand you are
President of it and can control its workings. Is that so?”
The great giant swung his enormous head round and regarded for a moment
the pigmy figure of the Doctor standing, just then, on his forearm.
“The Council?” said he dreamily. “Oh, ah, yes, to be sure, the
Council. . . . Well, we had to establish that, you know. At one time it
was nothing but war—war, war all the time. We saw that if we did not
arrange a balance we would have an awful mess. Too many seeds. Plants
spread like everything. Birds laid too many eggs. Bees swarmed too
often. Terrible!—You’ve seen that down there on the Earth, I imagine,
have you not?”
“Yes, yes, to be sure,” said the Doctor. “Go on, please.”
“Well, there isn’t much more to that. We just made sure, by means of the
Council, that there should be _no more warfare_.”
“Humph!” the Doctor grunted. “But tell me: how is it you yourself have
lived so long? No one knows how many years ago it is that the Moon broke
away from the Earth. And your age, compared with the life of Man in our
world, must be something staggering.”
“Well, of course,” said the Moon Man, “just how I got here is something
that I have never been able to explain completely, even to myself. But
why bother? Here I am. What recollections I have of that time are
awfully hazy. Let me see: when I came to myself I could hardly breathe.
I remember that. The air—everything—was so different. But I was
determined to survive. That, I think, is what must have saved me. I was
_determined_ to survive. This piece of land, I recollect, when it
stopped swirling was pretty barren. But it had the remnants of trees and
plants which it had brought with it from the Earth. I lived on roots and
all manner of stuff to begin with. Many a time I thought that I would
have to perish. But I didn’t—_because I was determined to survive_. And
in the end I did. After a while plants began to grow; insects, which had
come with the plants, flourished. Birds the same way—they, like me,
were determined to survive. A new world was formed. Years after I
realized that I was the one to steer and guide its destiny since I
had—at that time anyway—more intelligence than the other forms of
life. I saw what this fighting of kind against kind must lead to. So I
formed the Council. Since then—oh, dear, how long ago!—vegetable and
animal species have come to—Well, you see it here. . . . That’s all.
It’s quite simple.”
[Illustration: “‘_I lived on roots_’”]
“Yes, yes,” said the Doctor hurriedly. “I quite understand that—the
necessities that led you to establish the Council.—And an exceedingly
fine thing it is, in my opinion. We will come back to that later. In the
meantime I am greatly puzzled as to how you came to hear of me—with no
communication between your world and ours. Your moth came to Puddleby
and asked me to accompany him back here. It was you who sent him, I
presume?”
“Well, it was I and the Council who sent him,” the Moon Man corrected.
“As for the ways in which your reputation reached us, communication is,
as you say, very rare between the two worlds. But it does occur once in
a long while. Some disturbance takes place in your globe that throws
particles so high that they get beyond the influence of earth gravity
and come under the influence of our gravity. Then they are drawn to the
Moon and stay here. I remember, many centuries ago, a great whirlwind or
some other form of rumpus in your world occurred which tossed shrubs and
stones to such a height that they lost touch with the Earth altogether
and finally landed here. And a great nuisance they were too. The shrubs
seeded and spread like wildfire before we realized they had arrived and
we had a terrible time getting them under control.”
“That is most interesting,” said the Doctor, glancing in my direction,
as he translated, to make sure I got the notes down in my book. “But
please tell me of the occasion by which you first learned of me and
decided you wanted me up here.”
“That,” said the Moon Man, “came about through something which was, I
imagine, a volcanic eruption. From what I can make out, one of your big
mountains down there suddenly blew its head off, after remaining quiet
and peaceful for many years. It was an enormous and terribly powerful
explosion and tons of earth and trees and stuff were fired off into
space. Some of this material that started away in the direction of the
Moon finally came within the influence of our attraction and was drawn
to us. And, as you doubtless know, when earth or plants are shot away
some animal life nearly always goes with it. In this case a bird, a
kingfisher, in fact, who was building her nest in the banks of a
mountain lake, was carried off. Several pieces of the earth landed on
the Moon. Some, striking land, were smashed to dust and any animal life
they carried—mostly insect of course—was destroyed. But the piece on
which the kingfisher traveled fell into one of our lakes.”
[Illustration: “‘_The piece fell into one of our lakes_’”]
It was an astounding story and yet I believe it true. For how else could
the Doctor’s fame have reached the Moon? Of course any but a water bird
would have been drowned because apparently the mass plunged down fifty
feet below the surface, but the kingfisher at once came up and flew off
for the shore. It was a marvel that she was alive. I imagine her trip
through the dead belt had been made at such tremendous speed that she
managed to escape suffocation without the artificial breathing devices
which we had been compelled to use.
THE TWENTY-SECOND CHAPTER
How the Moon Folk Heard of Doctor Dolittle
The bird the Moon Man had spoken of (it seems she had since been elected
to the Council) was presently brought forward and introduced to the
Doctor. She gave us some valuable information about her trip to the Moon
and how she had since adapted herself to new conditions.
She admitted it was she who had told the Moon Folk about John Dolittle
and his wonderful skill in treating sicknesses, of his great reputation
among the birds, beasts and fishes of the Earth.
It was through this introduction also that we learned that the gathering
about us was nothing less than a full assembly of the Council
itself—with the exception, of course, of the Vegetable Kingdom, who
could not come. That community was however represented by different
creatures from the Insect and Bird Worlds who were there to see to it
that its interests were properly looked after.
This was evidently a big day for the Moon People. After our interview
with the kingfisher we could see that arguments were going on between
different groups and parties all over the place. At times it looked like
a political meeting of the rowdiest kind. These discussions the Doctor
finally put down quite firmly by demanding of the Moon Man in a loud
voice the reason for his being summoned here.
“After all,” said he when some measure of quiet had been restored, “you
must realize that I am a very busy man. I appreciate it as a great honor
that I have been asked to come here. But I have duties and obligations
to perform on the Earth which I have left. I presume that you asked me
here for some special purpose. Won’t you please let me know what it is?”
[Illustration: “_The bird was introduced to the Doctor_”]
A silent pause spread over the chattering assembly. I glanced round the
queer audience of birds and bugs who squatted, listening. The Doctor,
quite apart from his demand for attention had evidently touched upon a
ticklish subject. Even the Moon Man himself seemed somewhat ill at ease.
“Well,” he said at last, “the truth is we were sorely in need of a good
physician. I myself have been plagued by a bad pain in the foot. And
then many of the bigger insects—the grasshoppers especially—have been
in very poor health now for some time. From what the kingfisher told me,
I felt you were the only one who could help us—that you—er—perhaps
wouldn’t mind if we got you up here where your skill was so sorely
needed. Tell me now: you were not put out by the confidence we placed in
you? We had no one in our own world who could help us. Therefore we
agreed, in a special meeting of the Council, to send down and try to get
you.”
The Doctor made no reply.
“You must realize,” the Moon Man went on, his voice dropping to a still
more apologetic tone, “that this moth we sent took his life in his hand.
We cast lots among the larger birds, moths, butterflies and other
insects. It had to be one of our larger kinds. It was a long trip,
requiring enormous staying power. . . .”
The Moon Man spread out his giant hands in protest—a gesture very
suggestive of the other world from which he originally came. The Doctor
hastened to reassure him.
“Why, of course, of course,” said he. “I—we—were most glad to come. In
spite of the fact that I am always terribly busy down there, this was
something so new and promising in natural history I laid every interest
aside in my eagerness to get here. With the moth you sent the difficulty
of language did not permit me to make the preparations I would have
liked. But pray do not think that I have regretted coming. I would not
have missed this experience for worlds. It is true I could have wished
that you had seen your way to getting in touch with us sooner. But
there—I imagine you too have your difficulties. I suppose you must be
kept pretty busy.”
“Busy?” said the Moon Man blankly. “Oh, no. I’m not busy. Life is very
quiet and pleasant here.—Sometimes too quiet, we think. A session with
the Council every now and then and a general inspection of the globe
every so often: that is all I have to bother with. The reason I didn’t
come and see you sooner, to be quite honest, was because I was a bit
scared. It was something so new, having human folks visit you from
another world. There was no telling what you might turn out to be—what
you might do. For another thing, I expected you to be alone. For weeks
past I have had the birds and insects—and the plants too—send me
reports of your movements and character. You see, I had relied solely on
the statements of a kingfisher. No matter how kind and helpful you had
been to the creatures of your own world, it did not follow that you
would be the same way inclined towards the Moon Folk. I am sorry if I
did not appear properly hospitable. But you must make allowances. It—it
was all so—so new.”
“Oh, quite, quite,” said the Doctor, again most anxious to make his host
feel at ease. “Say no more, please, of that. I understand perfectly.
There are a few points, however, on which I would like to have some
light thrown. For one thing, we thought we saw smoke on the Moon, from
Puddleby, shortly after your moth arrived. Can you tell us anything
about that?”
“Why, of course,” said the Moon Man quickly. “I did that. We were quite
worried about the moth. As I told you, we felt kind of guilty about the
risky job we had given him. It was Jamaro who finally drew the marked
card in the lottery.”
“Jamaro!” muttered the Doctor, slightly bewildered—“Lottery?—I—er—”
[Illustration: “‘_I had the birds bring me reports of your movements_’”]
“The lottery to decide who should go,” the Moon Man explained. “I told
you: we drew lots. Jamaro Bumblelily was the moth who drew the ticket
which gave the task to him.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Doctor—“Jamaro. Yes, yes. You give your insects
names in this land. Very natural and proper of course, where they are so
large and take such an important part in the life and government of the
community. You can no doubt tell all these insects one from another,
even when they belong to the same species?”
“Certainly,” said the Moon Man. “We have, I suppose, several hundreds of
thousands of bees in the Moon. But I know each one by his first name, as
well as his swarm, or family name. Anyhow, to continue: it was then
Jamaro Bumblelily who drew the ticket that gave him the job of going to
the Earth after you. He was very sportsmanlike and never grumbled a bit.
But we were naturally anxious. It is true that creatures had come, at
rare intervals, from the Earth to our world. But so far none had gone
from us to the Earth. We had only the vaguest idea of what your world
would be like—from the descriptions of the kingfisher. And even in
getting those we had been greatly handicapped by language. It had only
been after days and weeks of work that we had been able to understand
one another in the roughest way. So we had arranged with Jamaro
Bumblelily that as soon as he landed he was to try and find some way to
signal us to let us know he was all right. And we were to signal back to
him. It seems he made a bad landing and lay helpless in your garden for
some days. For a long while we waited in great anxiety. We feared he
must have perished in his heroic exploit. Then we thought that maybe if
we signaled to him he would be encouraged and know that we were still
expecting his return. So we set off the smoke smudge.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “I saw it, even if Jamaro didn’t. But tell me:
how did you manage to raise such an enormous smudge? It must have been
as big as a mountain.”
“True,” said the Moon Man. “For twenty days before Jamaro’s departure I
and most of the larger birds and insects had gathered the Jing-jing bark
from the forest.”
“Gathered the _what_?” asked the Doctor.
[Illustration: “‘_I set the pile off with a live ember_’”]
“The Jing-jing bark,” the Moon Man repeated. “It is a highly explosive
bark from a certain tree we have here.”
“But how did you light it?” asked the Doctor.
“By friction,” said the Moon Man—“drilling a hard-wood stick into a
soft-wood log. We had tons and tons of the bark piled in a barren rocky
valley where it would be safe from firing the bush or jungle. We are
always terrified of bush-fires here—our world is not large, you know. I
set the pile off with a live ember which I carried on a slate. Then I
sprang back behind a rock bluff to defend my eyes. The explosion was
terrific and the smoke kept us all coughing for days before it finally
cleared away.”
THE TWENTY-THIRD CHAPTER
The Man Who Made Himself a King
We were frequently reminded during this long conversation (it lasted
over a full day and a half) that the strange crowd about us was the
great Council itself. Questions every now and then were hurled at the
Moon Man from the dimness of the rear. He was continually turning his
head as messages and enquiries were carried across to him from mouth to
mouth. Sometimes without consulting the Doctor further he would answer
them himself in queer sounds and signs. It was quite evident that the
Council was determined to keep in touch with any negotiations that were
going on.
As for John Dolittle, there was so much that he wanted to find out it
looked—in spite of his hurry to get back to the Earth—as though his
queries would never end—which, in a first meeting between two worlds,
is not after all to be wondered at.
“Can you remember,” he asked, “when you first felt the Moon steadying
herself, how you got accustomed to the new conditions? We had on our
arrival a perfectly terrible time, you know. Different air, different
gravity, different hearing and the rest. Tell me: how did you manage?”
Frowning, the Moon Man passed his gigantic hand across his brow.
“Really—it’s so long ago,” he muttered. “As I told you, I nearly died,
many times. Getting enough food to stay alive on kept me busy the first
few months. Then when I was sure that that problem was solved I began to
watch. Soon I saw that the birds and insects were faced with the same
difficulties as I was. I searched the Moon globe from end to end. There
were no others of my own kind here. I was the only man. I needed company
badly. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’ll study the Insect and Bird Kingdoms.’
The birds adapted themselves much quicker than I did to the new
conditions. I soon found that they, being in the same boat as myself,
were only too glad to cooperate with me in anything that would
contribute to our common good. Of course I was careful to kill nothing.
For one thing I had no desire to; and for another I realized that if, on
such a little globe, I started to make enemies I could not last long.
From the beginning I had done my best to live and let live. With no
other human to talk with I can’t tell you how terribly, desperately
lonely I felt. Then I decided I’d try to learn the language of the
birds. Clearly they had a language. No one could listen to their
warblings and not see that. For years I worked at it—often terribly
discouraged at my poor progress. Finally—don’t ask me when—I got to
the point where I could whistle short conversations with them. Then came
the insects—the birds helped me in that too. Then the plant languages.
The bees started me. They knew all the dialects. And . . . well . . .”
“Go on,” said the Doctor. The tone of his voice was calm and quiet, but
I could see that he was deeply, intensely interested.
[Illustration: “‘_I could whistle short conversations_’”]
“Oh, dear me,” sighed the Moon Man, almost petulantly, “my memory, you
know, for dates as far back as that, is awfully poor. To-day it seems as
though I had talked Heron and Geranium all my life. But just when it
was, actually, that I reached the point where I could converse freely
with the insects and plants, I couldn’t give you the vaguest idea. I do
know that it took me far, far longer to get in touch with the vegetable
forms of life than it did with either the insects or the birds. I am
afraid that our keeping count of time throughout has been pretty
sketchy—certainly in our earlier history anyway. But then you must
remember we were occupied with a great number of far more serious tasks.
Recently—the last thousand years or so—we have been making an effort
to keep a history and we can show you, I think, a pretty good record of
most of the more important events within that time. The trouble is that
nearly all of the dates you want are earlier than that.”
“Well, never mind,” said the Doctor. “We are getting on very well under
the circumstances. I would like very much to see that record you speak
of and will ask you to show it to me, if you will be so good, later.”
He then entered into a long examination of the Moon Man (carefully
avoiding all dates, periods and references to time) on a whole host of
subjects. The majority of them were concerned with insect and plant
evolution and he kept a strict eye on me to see that all questions and
replies were jotted down in the notebook. Gracious! What an unending
list it seemed to my tired mind! How had the Moon Man first realized
that the plants were anxious to talk and cooperate with him? What had
led him to believe that the bees were in communication with the flowers
they fed on? Which fruits and vegetables had he found were good for
human food and how had he discovered their nutritious qualities without
poisoning himself? etc., etc., etc. It went on for hours. I got most of
it down, with very few mistakes, I think. But I know I was more than
half asleep during the last hours of the interview.
The only trouble with most of it was this same old bug-bear of time.
After all these ages of living without human company the poor giant’s
mind had got to the point where it simply didn’t use time. Even in this
record of the last thousand years, which he had proudly told us was
properly dated, we found, when he showed it to us, an error of a century
more or less meant very little.
This history had been carved in pictures and signs on the face of a wide
flat rock. The workmanship of Otho the pre-historic artist showed up
here to great advantage. While the carvings were not by any means to be
compared with his masterpiece of the kneeling girl, they nevertheless
had a dash and beauty of design that would arrest the attention of
almost any one.
[Illustration: “_This history had been carved in pictures on the face of
a rock_”]
Nevertheless despite the errors of time, both in his recollections and
his graven history, we got down the best booking that we could in the
circumstances. And with all its slips and gaps it was a most thrilling
and exciting document. It was the story of a new world’s evolution; of
how a man, suddenly transported into space with nothing but what his two
hands held at the moment of the catastrophe, had made himself the kindly
monarch of a kingdom—a kingdom more wondrous than the wildest
imaginings of the mortals he had left behind. For he was indeed a king,
even if he called himself no more than the President of the Council. And
what hardships and terrible difficulties he had overcome in doing it,
only we could realize—we, who had come here with advantages and aids
which he had never known.
Finally a lull did come in this long, long conversation between the
Doctor and the Moon Man. And while I lay back and stretched my right
hand, cramped from constant writing, Polynesia gave vent to a great deal
which she had evidently had on her mind for some time.
“Well,” she grunted, lifting her eyebrows, “what did I tell you, Tommy?
Rheumatism! That’s what the Doctor has come all this way
for—_rheumatism_! I wouldn’t mind it so much in the case of the Moon
Man himself. Because he certainly is a man in a hundred. But
_grasshoppers_! Think of it—Think of bringing John Dolittle, M.D.,
billions of miles” (Polynesia’s ideas on geographical measurement were a
bit sketchy) “just to wait on a bunch of grasshoppers! I—”
But the remainder of her indignant speech got mixed up with some of her
favorite Swedish swear words and the result was something that no one
could make head or tail of.
Very soon this pause in the conversation between the Doctor and the Moon
Man was filled up by a great deal of talking among the Council. Every
member of that important parliament apparently wanted to know exactly
what had been said and decided on and what new measures—if any—were to
be put in force. We could see that the poor President was being kept
very busy.
[Illustration: “‘_But_ grasshoppers!’”]
At length the Doctor turned once more to the giant and said:
“Well now, when would it be convenient for you and the insect patients
to be examined? I shall be most happy to do everything possible for you
all, but you must realize that I would like to get back to the Earth as
soon as I conveniently can.”
Before answering the Moon Man proceeded to consult his Council behind
him. And, to judge from the length of the discussions that followed, he
was meeting with quite a little criticism in whatever plans he was
proposing. But finally he managed to quiet them; and addressing John
Dolittle once more, he said:
“Thank you. If it will not inconvenience you, we will come to-morrow and
have you minister to us. You have been very kind to come at all. I hope
we will not seem too large an undertaking for you. At least, since you
have approved of our system and government here, you will have the
satisfaction of knowing that you are assisting us in a time of great
need.”
“Why, of course, of course,” said the Doctor at once. “I shall be only
too glad. That is what I am for, after all. I am a doctor, you know, a
physician—even if I have become a naturalist in my later years. At what
hour will you be ready for me?”
“At dawn,” said the Moon Man. Even in these modern days ideas of time on
the Moon seemed strangely simple. “We will wait on you at sunrise. Till
then, pleasant dreams and good rest!”
THE TWENTY-FOURTH CHAPTER
Doctor Dolittle Opens His Surgery on the Moon
Even the garrulous Polynesia was too tired to talk much more that night.
For all of us it had been a long and steady session, that interview,
tense with excitement. The Moon Man and his Council had barely departed
before every one of us was dozing off without a change of clothes or a
bite to eat. I am sure that nothing on Earth—or Moon—could have
disturbed our slumbers.
The daylight was just beginning to show when we were awakened. I am not
certain who was the first to arouse himself (probably John Dolittle) but
I do know that I was the first to get up.
What a strange sight! In the dim light hundreds, perhaps thousands, of
gigantic insects, all invalids, stood about our camp staring at the tiny
human physician who had come so far to cure their ailments. Some of
these creatures we had not so far seen and never even suspected their
presence on the Moon: caterpillars as long as a village street with gout
in a dozen feet; immense beetles suffering from an affliction of the
eyes; grasshoppers as tall as a three-storey house with crude bandages
on their gawky joints; enormous birds with a wing held painfully in an
odd position. The Doctor’s home had become once more a clinic; and all
the halt and lame of Moon Society had gathered at his door.
The great man, when I finally roused him, swallowed two or three gulps
of melon, washed them down with a draft of honey and water, took off his
coat and set to work.
[Illustration: “_Grasshoppers with crude bandages on their gawky
joints_”]
Of course the poor little black bag, which had done such yeoman service
for many years in many lands, was not equal to a demand like this. The
first thing to run out was the supply of bandages. Chee-Chee and I tore
up blankets and shirts to make more. Then the embrocation became
exhausted; next the iodine and the rest of the antiseptics. But in his
botanical studies of the trees and plants of this world the Doctor had
observed and experimented with several things which he had found helpful
in rheumatic conditions and other medical uses. Chee-Chee and Polynesia
were despatched at once to find the herbs and roots and leaves that he
wanted.
For hours and hours he worked like a slave. It seemed as though the end
of the line of patients would never be reached. But finally he did get
the last of them fixed up and despatched. It was only then he realized
that the Moon Man had let all the other sufferers come forward ahead of
himself. Dusk was coming on. The Doctor peered round the great space
about our camp. It was empty, save for a giant figure that squatted
silent, motionless and alone, by the forest’s edge.
“My goodness!” muttered the Doctor. “I had entirely forgotten him. And
he never uttered a word. Well, no one can say he is selfish. That, I
fancy, is why he rules here. I must see what is the matter with him at
once.”
John Dolittle hurried across the open space and questioned the giant. An
enormous left leg was stretched out for his examination. Like a fly, the
Doctor traveled rapidly up and down it, pinching and squeezing and
testing here and there.
“More gout,” he said at last with definite decision. “A bad enough case
too. Now listen, Otho Bludge.”
Then he lectured his big friend for a long time. Mostly it seemed about
diet but there was a great deal concerning anatomy, exercise, dropsy and
_starch_ in it too.
At the end of it the Moon Man seemed quite a little impressed, much
happier in his mind and a great deal more lively and hopeful. Finally,
after thanking the Doctor at great length, he departed, while the ground
shook again beneath his limping tread.
Once more we were all fagged out and desperately sleepy.
[Illustration: “_Then he lectured his big friend_”]
“Well,” said the Doctor as he arranged his one remaining blanket on his
bed, “I think that’s about all we can do. To-morrow—or maybe the next
day—we will, if all goes well, start back for Puddleby.”
“_Sh!_” whispered Polynesia. “There’s some one listening. I’m sure—over
behind those trees.”
“Oh, pshaw!” said the Doctor. “No one could hear us at that range.”
“Don’t forget how sound travels on the Moon,” warned the parrot.
“But my goodness!” said the Doctor. “They _know_ we’ve got to go some
time. We can’t stay here forever. Didn’t I tell the President himself I
had jobs to attend to on the Earth? If I felt they needed me badly
enough I wouldn’t mind staying quite a while yet. But there’s Stubbins
here. He came away without even telling his parents where he was going
or how long it might be before he returned. I don’t know what Jacob
Stubbins may be thinking, or his good wife. Probably worried to death.
I—”
“Sh!—_Sh!_—Will you be quiet?” whispered Polynesia again. “Didn’t you
hear that? I tell you there’s some one listening—or I’m a Double
Dutchman. Pipe down, for pity’s sake. There are ears all around us. Go
to sleep!”
We all took the old parrot’s advice—only too willingly. And very soon
every one of us was snoring.
This time we did not awaken early. We had no jobs to attend to and we
took advantage of a chance to snooze away as long as we wished.
It was nearly midday again when we finally got stirring. We were in need
of water for breakfast. Getting the water had always been Chee-Chee’s
job. This morning, however, the Doctor wanted him to hunt up a further
supply of medicinal plants for his surgical work. I volunteered
therefore to act as water-carrier.
With several vessels which we had made from gourds I started out for the
forests.
I had once or twice performed this same office of emergency
water-carrier before. I was therefore able on reaching the edge of the
jungle to make straight for the place where we usually got our supplies.