The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells (best books to read for knowledge .txt) 📖

my heart beating in my ears;

and then hearing nothing of Montgomery or his man, and feeling

upon the verge of exhaustion, I doubled sharply back towards

the beach as I judged, and lay down in the shelter of a canebrake.

There I remained for a long time, too fearful to move, and indeed

too fearful even to plan a course of action. The wild scene about me

lay sleeping silently under the sun, and the only sound near me was

the thin hum of some small gnats that had discovered me. Presently I

became aware of a drowsy breathing sound, the soughing of the sea upon

the beach.

 

After about an hour I heard Montgomery shouting my name,

far away to the north. That set me thinking of my plan of action.

As I interpreted it then, this island was inhabited only by these two

vivisectors and their animalised victims. Some of these no doubt

they could press into their service against me if need arose.

I knew both Moreau and Montgomery carried revolvers; and, save for a feeble

bar of deal spiked with a small nail, the merest mockery of a mace,

I was unarmed.

 

So I lay still there, until I began to think of food and drink;

and at that thought the real hopelessness of my position came home to me.

I knew no way of getting anything to eat. I was too ignorant of botany

to discover any resort of root or fruit that might lie about me;

I had no means of trapping the few rabbits upon the island.

It grew blanker the more I turned the prospect over. At last in

the desperation of my position, my mind turned to the animal men I

had encountered. I tried to find some hope in what I remembered of them.

In turn I recalled each one I had seen, and tried to draw some augury

of assistance from my memory.

 

Then suddenly I heard a staghound bay, and at that realised a new danger.

I took little time to think, or they would have caught me then,

but snatching up my nailed stick, rushed headlong from my hiding-place

towards the sound of the sea. I remember a growth of thorny plants,

with spines that stabbed like pen-knives. I emerged bleeding and

with torn clothes upon the lip of a long creek opening northward.

I went straight into the water without a minute’s hesitation, wading up

the creek, and presently finding myself kneedeep in a little stream.

I scrambled out at last on the westward bank, and with my heart beating

loudly in my ears, crept into a tangle of ferns to await the issue.

I heard the dog (there was only one) draw nearer, and yelp when it came

to the thorns. Then I heard no more, and presently began to think I

had escaped.

 

The minutes passed; the silence lengthened out, and at last

after an hour of security my courage began to return to me.

By this time I was no longer very much terrified or very miserable.

I had, as it were, passed the limit of terror and despair.

I felt now that my life was practically lost, and that persuasion

made me capable of daring anything. I had even a certain wish

to encounter Moreau face to face; and as I had waded into the water,

I remembered that if I were too hard pressed at least one path

of escape from torment still lay open to me,—they could not

very well prevent my drowning myself. I had half a mind to drown

myself then; but an odd wish to see the whole adventure out,

a queer, impersonal, spectacular interest in myself, restrained me.

I stretched my limbs, sore and painful from the pricks of the spiny plants,

and stared around me at the trees; and, so suddenly that it seemed

to jump out of the green tracery about it, my eyes lit upon a black

face watching me. I saw that it was the simian creature who had

met the launch upon the beach. He was clinging to the oblique

stem of a palm-tree. I gripped my stick, and stood up facing him.

He began chattering. “You, you, you,” was all I could distinguish

at first. Suddenly he dropped from the tree, and in another

moment was holding the fronds apart and staring curiously

at me.

 

I did not feel the same repugnance towards this creature which I

had experienced in my encounters with the other Beast Men.

“You, he said, “in the boat.” He was a man, then,—at least as much

of a man as Montgomery’s attendant,—for he could talk.

 

“Yes,” I said, “I came in the boat. From the ship.”

 

“Oh!” he said, and his bright, restless eyes travelled over me,

to my hands, to the stick I carried, to my feet, to the tattered places

in my coat, and the cuts and scratches I had received from the thorns.

He seemed puzzled at something. His eyes came back to my hands.

He held his own hand out and counted his digits slowly, “One, two,

three, four, five—eigh?”

 

I did not grasp his meaning then; afterwards I was to find that

a great proportion of these Beast People had malformed hands,

lacking sometimes even three digits. But guessing this was

in some way a greeting, I did the same thing by way of reply.

He grinned with immense satisfaction. Then his swift roving

glance went round again; he made a swift movement—and vanished.

The fern fronds he had stood between came swishing together,

 

I pushed out of the brake after him, and was astonished to find

him swinging cheerfully by one lank arm from a rope of creeper

that looped down from the foliage overhead. His back was to me.

 

“Hullo!” said I.

 

He came down with a twisting jump, and stood facing me.

 

“I say,” said I, “where can I get something to eat?”

 

“Eat!” he said. “Eat Man’s food, now.” And his eye went back

to the swing of ropes. “At the huts.”

 

“But where are the huts?”

 

“Oh!”

 

“I’m new, you know.”

 

At that he swung round, and set off at a quick walk.

All his motions were curiously rapid. “Come along,” said he.

 

I went with him to see the adventure out. I guessed the huts were some

rough shelter where he and some more of these Beast People lived.

I might perhaps find them friendly, find some handle in their minds

to take hold of. I did not know how far they had forgotten their

human heritage.

 

My ape-like companion trotted along by my side, with his hands

hanging down and his jaw thrust forward. I wondered what memory

he might have in him. “How long have you been on this island?”

said I.

 

“How long?” he asked; and after having the question repeated,

he held up three fingers.

 

The creature was little better than an idiot. I tried

to make out what he meant by that, and it seems I bored him.

After another question or two he suddenly left my side and went

leaping at some fruit that hung from a tree. He pulled down

a handful of prickly husks and went on eating the contents.

I noted this with satisfaction, for here at least was a hint for feeding.

I tried him with some other questions, but his chattering, prompt responses

were as often as not quite at cross purposes with my question.

Some few were appropriate, others quite parrot-like.

 

I was so intent upon these peculiarities that I scarcely noticed the path

we followed. Presently we came to trees, all charred and brown,

and so to a bare place covered with a yellow-white incrustation,

across which a drifting smoke, pungent in whiffs to nose and eyes,

went drifting. On our right, over a shoulder of bare rock, I saw

the level blue of the sea. The path coiled down abruptly into a narrow

ravine between two tumbled and knotty masses of blackish scoria.

Into this we plunged.

 

It was extremely dark, this passage, after the blinding sunlight reflected

from the sulphurous ground. Its walls grew steep, and approached

each other. Blotches of green and crimson drifted across my eyes.

My conductor stopped suddenly. “Home!” said he, and I stood

in a floor of a chasm that was at first absolutely dark to me.

I heard some strange noises, and thrust the knuckles of my left hand

into my eyes. I became aware of a disagreeable odor, like that of

a monkey’s cage ill-cleaned. Beyond, the rock opened again upon

a gradual slope of sunlit greenery, and on either hand the light

smote down through narrow ways into the central gloom.

 

XII. THE SAYERS OF THE LAW.

 

THEN something cold touched my hand. I started violently,

and saw close to me a dim pinkish thing, looking more like a flayed

child than anything else in the world. The creature had exactly

the mild but repulsive features of a sloth, the same low forehead

and slow gestures.

 

As the first shock of the change of light passed, I saw about me

more distinctly. The little sloth-like creature was standing and

staring at me. My conductor had vanished. The place was a narrow

passage between high walls of lava, a crack in the knotted rock,

and on either side interwoven heaps of sea-mat, palm-fans, and reeds

leaning against the rock formed rough and impenetrably dark dens.

The winding way up the ravine between these was scarcely three yards wide,

and was disfigured by lumps of decaying fruit-pulp and other refuse,

which accounted for the disagreeable stench of the place.

 

The little pink sloth-creature was still blinking at me when my

Ape-man reappeared at the aperture of the nearest of these dens,

and beckoned me in. As he did so a slouching monster wriggled out

of one of the places, further up this strange street, and stood up in

featureless silhouette against the bright green beyond, staring at me.

I hesitated, having half a mind to bolt the way I had come; and then,

determined to go through with the adventure, I gripped my nailed stick

about the middle and crawled into the little evil-smelling lean-to

after my conductor.

 

It was a semi-circular space, shaped like the half of a bee-hive;

and against the rocky wall that formed the inner side of it was a pile

of variegated fruits, cocoa-nuts among others. Some rough vessels

of lava and wood stood about the floor, and one on a rough stool.

There was no fire. In the darkest corner of the hut sat a shapeless

mass of darkness that grunted “Hey!” as I came in, and my Ape-man

stood in the dim light of the doorway and held out a split cocoa-nut

to me as I crawled into the other corner and squatted down.

I took it, and began gnawing it, as serenely as possible, in spite of a

certain trepidation and the nearly intolerable closeness of the den.

The little pink sloth-creature stood in the aperture of the hut,

and something else with a drab face and bright eyes came staring over

its shoulder.

 

“Hey!” came out of the lump of mystery opposite. “It is a man.”

 

“It is a man,” gabbled my conductor, “a man, a man, a five-man,

like me.”

 

“Shut up!” said the voice from the dark, and grunted.

I gnawed my cocoa-nut amid an impressive stillness.

 

I peered hard into the blackness, but could distinguish nothing.

 

“It is a man,” the voice repeated. “He comes to live with us?”

 

It was a thick voice, with something in it—a kind of whistling overtone—

that struck me as peculiar; but the English accent was strangely good.

 

The