Doctor Dolittle's Garden

1 Bumpo Clears the Garden

After Bumpo had got really awake and I was able to make him fully understand what was wanted of him he was not slow in coming to the rescue.

"Why, I never heard of such cheek!" said he as he climbed into his clothes. "What do they think the Doctor's home is, I'd like to know—a sort of general information bureau, open all night? Where was it you saw these miscreants last, Tommy?"

"Too–Too said he saw them down in the front garden hiding in the shadow of the wall. But listen, Bumpo: it is most terribly important that we don't raise a row. If you can grab them quietly and make them understand that they've got to go, that's what we want. We can't have a rumpus, you understand?"

"Of course I understand," said Bumpo jerking on his coat and reaching for a club which stood in a corner by his bed. "They'll understand too. Such cheek! I never heard anything like it. This, after all our watching! Well, well! Come with me. We'll soon make them shift along."

In the game of moving in the dark, of seeing without being seen, Bumpo was almost as good as Too–Too himself. Jungle training had brought him a gift which all his college education had not dulled. Ahead of me he went down the stairs, feeling his way without a light, till he reached the ground floor. There without hesitation he made his way to the front door, opened it and passed out almost without sound. He signalled to me to hang back a few paces in the rear and then slipped across the gravel path to the wall.

In spite of his instructions I was not far behind him. I was pretty sure the Doctor could hardly hear us here unless we made a great lot of noise. Bumpo felt his way along the wall and presently from the jump he gave I knew he had met his quarry. Stealthily I moved a little nearer and in the dim light I could see he had the two men by the scruffs of their necks.

"Listen," he whispered in a curious fierce hiss: "Get out of this garden as quick as possible and never come near it again. There's the gate. Go!"

Beside the two shadows near the wall his great bulk towered up like a giant. Not waiting for an answer he conducted or shoved them towards the head of the steps that led down to the road.

Here at the gate I saw, for the first time, the faces of our visitors by the light of a street lamp. They certainly looked scared—for which they could hardly be blamed. To be grabbed unexpectedly from under a hedge by a negro of Bumpo's size and appearance was enough to upset anyone.

"He conducted them towards the head of the steps"

They did not wait for any second orders to depart but bundled down the steps as fast as they could go, only too glad to escape with whole skins.

His job finished, the good Bumpo was immediately overcome with a desire to finish his night's sleep. I thanked him for his assistance and he at once returned to his room. As I wished him a very late good night I noticed that the dawn was beginning to show, a faint grey behind the poplar trees to the eastward. This I felt must mean that John Dolittle would either hurry up his departure before real daylight appeared, or else give up the project till the following night. I wasted no further time in speculation but made my way, as quickly as I could without being heard or seen, round to the back lawn to find out what was happening.

I discovered the Doctor in a state of considerable excitement conversing with the moth. He appeared to have made great advances in means of communication with the giant insect since I had last seen him so engaged. The apparatus he was now using was little more than a tuning fork. Indeed, it almost seemed as though he had found a way of speaking with his guest direct. When I first got a glimpse of him he had his head down close to that of the moth's and held his left hand on one of its antennæ. Once in a while he would consult the tuning fork grasped in his right hand.

From the moth's movements, little jerks of the head and tremors of the legs, it looked as though he was busily engaged in getting some message to the Doctor. I guessed the argument was over whether the start should be made to–night or postponed on account of the approaching daylight. I crept nearer to the back end of the giant creature to be ready in case the decision were made for departure right away.

Of course in describing that whole night it is very hard to give a proper idea of the difficulties that beset me. The hour before dawn is generally supposed to be the darkest. Be that as it may, the Moon certainly hung very low and the light was faint enough. I had no idea of how prepared the Doctor was. I knew from what I had seen, and from what Too–Too had told me, that he had moved certain baggage out into the back garden. But it was almost impossible to determine under the circumstances how far he had perfected his plans.

However after a few moments more of watching him, prepared at any moment to spring on to the moth's deep fur if he should make a move to fly, I decided that they had both given up the project for to–night. For presently I saw the Doctor's dim figure move away from the moth and conceal some packages beneath the shrubs. Also I got a vague impression that there was a hurried conversation between the Doctor and Polynesia who appeared to be perched somewhere in the direction of a lilac bush.

As you can imagine, I was weary with the long watch and the excitement and everything. As soon as I saw the Doctor start towards the house I felt I was relieved from further need of watchfulness for the present at all events. Bleary–eyed for want of sleep, I waited till I heard the Doctor enter the house and lock the door. Then I made my way to a window which I knew was not latched, slid up the sash and crawled in.

I knew my trusty lieutenant Too–Too was somewhere abroad still and that I could rely on him to let me know if any occasion should arise requiring my presence. My head had no sooner touched the pillow than I went off into a dead sleep.

My dreams however were soon disturbed by all manner of dreadful visions of myself and the Doctor flying through the air on the back of a dragon, landing on a moon made of green cheese and peopled by a giant race of beetles and other dreadful fantastic insects whose one ambition was to gobble us both up.

Again I was awakened by the good Too–Too.

"What is it now?" I asked. "Don't tell me the Doctor's gone!"

"No," said he. "He's asleep—for once in his life. Seeing how he has worked the last weeks, I wouldn't wonder if he didn't wake up for a fortnight. But we're having visitors some more. I don't know what to do about it. Those wretched newspaper men must have told the whole town. For all sorts of people are peering in at the garden gate. It is now about ten o'clock. And ever since daybreak children and nurse–maids and every kind of folk have been hanging round as though they expected a balloon to go up or something. Bumpo of course is still dead to the world—he would be. And no one else is stirring but Dab–Dab and Chee–Chee. I think you ought to get down and take a look at things. It seems to me as though we'd have the whole town around us before long. And some of them are so cheeky! You never saw anything like it, coming into the garden and picking the flowers as though the place belonged to them."

"All right, Too–Too," said I. "I'll get up. You might go and see what you can do towards getting Bumpo under way, will you? It does take such an unconscionable time to get him round."

Too–Too promising he would do what he could in that direction left my room: and only half rested as I was—for it had been little more than five hours since I had gone to bed—crawled out and started to dress.

Arriving downstairs I found that he had not exaggerated matters in the least. I peered through the study windows and saw that there was a large group of people gathered at the front gate. Most of them had not dared to come in. But there were a few bolder spirits who were already wandering about the front garden, peeping round the corners of the house and whispering together as though they expected some strange performance to begin any minute.

"Peeping round the corners of the house"

While I was cudgelling my brains for some means of dealing with the situation Bumpo happily arrived on the scene.

"Don't let them think we're hiding anything, Bumpo," I said. "But they must be kept out of the back garden. The moth must not be disturbed or scared."

I must admit that Bumpo did very well. He began by herding out those who had strayed inside the gate. A few who were more obstinate he assisted by taking them by the coat–collar or sleeve and showing them where the private premises left off and the public highway began. But for the most part he conducted the clearance with great tact and politeness.

It was quite evident however from the remarks of the people that the wretched newspaper men had blabbed their story in the town. Also, though they had not of course guessed the Doctor's destination, they had, it seemed, announced that he was about to take a voyage on the moth's back. This of course was natural since they had seen John Dolittle preparing and gathering his baggage in the garden.

"When is he going to start?" the crowd asked. "Where is he going?" … "Will he really fly on the big moth?" … "Can't we see the creature?" …"Where are you keeping the animal?" etc., etc.

Bumpo in his best Oxford manner was very discreet and most courteous.

"Sh!" said he. "Doctor John Dolittle will make his own announcements to the press in due course. Meantime be good enough to leave the premises. He is sleeping after many hours of heavy work and study. He cannot be disturbed."

A large fat man climbed over the wall beside the gate. Bumpo took two strides, pushed him gently but firmly in the face with his gigantic hand and the man fell heavily to the roadway.

"It is not polite," said Bumpo, "to force your way into a gentleman's garden without invitation."

2 The Mounted Police

But our troubles by no means came to an end with clearing the garden of our inquisitive visitors. I have often thought since that some means of distracting their attention in other directions would have been a better way for us to deal with the problem than turning them off the premises.

Because they did not go away. They were surer than ever now that something extraordinary was going on which we did not wish known. And while we had the right to forbid their trespass on the Doctor's premises we had no authority to prevent their gathering in the road. And they did gather, without any question. I suppose that when I came downstairs there must have been about fifty persons. But when these had hung around the gate talking for about an hour their number was multiplied by ten.

The bigger the crowd became the faster it seemed to grow. Every tradesman's errand–boy, every carter going into town, every pedlar—in fact every passerby, stopped and inquired what was the matter. Heaven knows what tales they were told. The Doctor's reputation was fantastic enough for anything already. It only needed a whisper that he was going to fly away on a moth to make any country yokel want to stop in expectation of a show.

"Every tradesman's errand–boy stopped and inquired"

John Dolittle himself had not yet woken up. I was in the deepest despair. The road was now jammed; and farm–carts, carriages and delivery wagons, utterly unable to pass, were lined up on either side of the crowd that thronged about the gate. Anyone coming down the Oxenthorpe Road now just had to stop whether he was interested or not, simply because he couldn't get by.

"Tell me, Too–Too," I said: "what on earth do you think we had better do? If this goes on we'll have to get some assistance from outside. I never saw anything like it."

"Look," said he peering out of the window beside me: "Here come some police—mounted police too. They'll soon clear the crowd away."

"I hope so," said I.–"Two—no, three—four of them. It will keep them busy to get this mob scattered."

Well, the arrival of the police did clear the roadway, it is true. But that is all it did. So far as the people's interest was concerned however, it made the situation worse rather than better. It was a little added excitement and sensation. The crowd obeyed orders and gathered on the pavements, leaving the roadway clear for carts and carriages to pass. But still it stayed.

Presently I saw one of the policemen come up to the foot of our steps. He dismounted, tied his horse to the lamp–post and started to ascend.

"You'd better go and see what he wants, Tommy," said Too–Too. "I suppose he'll ask what has caused the disturbance."

I went to the front door and opened it. The constable was very polite. He asked if I could tell him what had brought the crowd around and if there was anything I could do to make the throng go home.

For a moment I couldn't think of a thing to suggest. Finally Too–Too, who was sitting on my shoulder, whispered, "You'll have to wake the Doctor, Tommy. We've done all we can."

I asked the constable to come in and went upstairs to John Dolittle's room. I hated to wake him. He was sleeping like a log and I knew how much he needed his rest. Very gently I shook him by the shoulder.

"What is it, Stubbins?" he asked, opening his eyes.

"'What is it, Stubbins?' he asked"

"Doctor," said I, "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you. But we felt it just couldn't be helped. It seems that the moth's presence here has leaked out."

"Yes, I know," said he. "It can't be helped. These wretched newspaper fellows—you can't keep them out. Two of them came to see me in the garden last night."

"But the truth is," I said, "that they have blabbed their story to the whole of Puddleby, it seems. The road is just blocked by the crowd who have come to see you fly to the Moon. The police have finally arrived on the scene and they want to know if there is anything we can do to make the throng go home. They are quite polite. But we couldn't think of anything to suggest. So I came to ask you what you thought should be done."

The Doctor's handling of the situation was, I decided afterward, extraordinarily good.

"Well," he said, climbing out of bed with a yawn, "I suppose I must speak to the crowd. Just let me get my clothes on and I will see what I can do."

I left him and returned to Too–Too downstairs.

"Keep an eye on him," said the owl, when I had explained what had passed between us. "You see his hand has been forced, as it were. And—well—anything might happen now, you know, any moment."

I didn't quite understand what he meant. But I realized the need of keeping an eye on John Dolittle. I had no opportunity to ask the owl further what exactly he had in mind, because the Doctor at that moment came down fully dressed and interrupted our conversation.

After a few minutes' talk with the policeman he went out into the garden and from the top of the steps addressed the crowd in the road below. He began by giving them a general chatty sort of lecture on natural history, touching on various branches of study with which he had lately been occupied. This had the excellent effect of getting the crowd into a good humour and dismissed from their minds a good deal of their suspicions that he was keeping things from them. Presently he went on to explain that unfortunately he could not invite them in to see the garden and his collections just now as he was particularly busy at the moment and things were not in order for public exhibition. They would realize, he said, that by blocking up the road and causing a disturbance they had—quite unintentionally, he felt sure—interrupted his work. If they would be so good as to retire peacefully they would confer a great favour on him and the police. And possibly at some future date, if they would call again, arrangements could be made to show them over his establishment in which they had shown so kind an interest.

To my great amazement the simple speech had precisely the right effect: The crowd actually seemed to realize for the first time that its behaviour had been discourteous; and in almost an apologetic mood it at once began to break up and disperse.

"There's no doubt about it, Tommy," sighed Too–Too, as together we watched the throng fade away down the road, "they may call him a crank—but he's a great man."

3 The Errand

So for the present we were relieved of that worry. But it was not very long after the crowd had gone that I almost wished it back again. The people, while they were a nuisance and one did not know what they might do if they continued to gather, were at all events a protection against something that both Too–Too and I greatly feared. And that was the Doctor's escaping alone with the Moon moth. We felt that there was little danger of his making an attempt with all that mob present.

But when, shortly after lunch time, John Dolittle came and asked me to go off on an errand for him to Oxenthorpe, which would keep me away from the house, I knew, till after nightfall, I got really alarmed. Stuttering and stammering, I made all the excuses I could possibly think of on the spur of the moment. I said I felt tired and asked could not Bumpo go in my place. But Bumpo, it seemed, had already been sent away on another errand. All my other efforts to get out of the trip failed likewise. There was nothing to do but accept the job. But as soon as I parted from the Doctor I went and sought out Too–Too.

"Tommy," said he when I had explained matters, "you just can't go. That's all there is about it."

"But what am I to do?" I said. "I'm his assistant after all. I can't refuse to obey orders."

"No," said the owl, putting his head on one side and winking a large eye knowingly. "You don't refuse—that would be most unwise—but you don't go. It is very simple. You just keep out of sight."

"But what can I say," I asked, "to–morrow, if he is still here, and asks me about the errand?"

"To–morrow's to–morrow," said Too–Too. "And it can take care of itself. Even if he hasn't gone he's not going to kill you for disobeying orders. We can think up some excuse. But don't go off the premises. The fact that he is so urgent about this trip he is sending you on—and I don't know of any really pressing business he has had in Oxenthorpe for years—makes me suspicious. Also Bumpo's being already got rid of on some other job looks to me like clearing the decks for action.—No, don't worry about to–morrow. By that time, if I guess correctly, John Dolittle will be on his way to the Moon."

I finally decided the little owl was probably right. So with some excuse for re–entering the back garden, I bade the Doctor good–bye and with all appearances of dutifully obeying orders started off down the road, presumably bound for the little inn about half a mile from our house, where the coaches stopped on the way from Puddleby to Oxenthorpe. But as soon as I was well out of sight I loitered about till the coach went rattling by. Then I made my way round to a narrow lane which skirted the Doctor's property at the back. There I scrambled up the wall and dropped down on the other side.

This part of John Dolittle's grounds was nearly all dense shrubbery. Of recent years he had found it hard, with all the studies that claimed his attention, to keep the whole of his garden in good order; and on this side there was an acre or two of tangled orchard and overgrown bushes which had been allowed to struggle and survive as best they could. It was excellent cover. Through it I noiselessly made my way till I was within a few yards of the back lawn and the tail of the moon moth himself.

And then began several hours of waiting. I was well concealed, and from behind some high laurels could see all that took place on the lawn. For a long time nothing seemed to happen at all and I began to wonder if Too–Too had guessed wrong. Once in a while I'd see the Doctor's head through the windows of the house as he passed from one room to another. But finally, somewhere about half–past six, when the sun had dropped well down to the horizon and a coolness in the air spoke of coming darkness, John Dolittle opened the back door and hurried out on to the lawn. With him were Chee–Chee, Polynesia and Jip. As he came up to the side of the moth he was talking in a quick businesslike way to Jip.

"I'm sorry," he was saying. "I can't take you, Jip. Please don't ask me any more. It takes so long to explain and I've only a few minutes. Remember those letters I've left on the study table. There's one for Stubbins, one for Bumpo and one for Matthew. Show Stubbins where they are when he gets back and ask him to explain to every one how sorry I am to rush away in this sudden sort of manner without saying good–bye. But I'm so afraid of those townsfolk and newspaper people coming back and stopping me if I don't get away now while I can. Stubbins will look after the Zoo and Bumpo and Matthew everything else. Get those packages out from under the lilacs, Chee–Chee. And, Jip, you'd better go off and keep Gub–Gub amused while we slip away. I sent him down into the kitchen garden to dig up some radishes."

"Yes, Jip," put in Polynesia, "for goodness' sake keep that wretched pig occupied. If he knows the Doctor is leaving for the Moon he'll bawl the whole town around us in five minutes. What about the flowers, Doctor?"

"I've got them," I heard the Doctor whisper. "They're hidden behind the privet hedge. I'll get the packages up first, and then we'll attend to them. Where did I put that ladder? I wish Chee–Chee would hurry up. Keep an eye open, Polynesia, and let me know if you hear any sound."

The Doctor seemed much more upset about the possibility of being disturbed before he got away than he was over embarking on this perilous expedition. For me, my heart was thumping like a sledgehammer, for I realized that Too–Too had been right and there was every chance that the flight would be made immediately. With the greatest care, lest my movements be detected by the watchful Polynesia, I crept a foot or two nearer and measured with my eye how far I'd have to spring to get hold of the deep fur on the moth's tail. Once I had got a grip I felt I could easily manage to haul myself up his spine to the wider spaces of his back. These were now covered by his folded wings; but I knew that as soon as he took flight, provided I hang on at the take–off, I could scramble up later.

Finding the ladder, the Doctor placed it against the great insect's right side and climbed a few rungs. Then he waited till Chee–Chee emerged from the lilacs with the packages in his arms. These John Dolittle took from him and stowed away somewhere up on the shoulders—though what method he used to fasten them by I could not see.

When this was done he came down and with Chee–Chee's help brought the big moon flowers out and stowed them away also. One however he laid down in front of the moth's head. This was grasped by the insect and drawn in close by his two front legs.

At length the Doctor descended again and took a final look round.

"Is there anything we've forgotten, Polynesia?" he whispered.

"You've left a light burning in the cellar," said the parrot.

"No matter," said the Doctor. "Stubbins or Bumpo will find it. Good! If we're all ready we'll go aboard. You follow me up, Chee–Chee, and we'll push the ladder down from the top."

4 The Stowaway

John Dolittle wasted no time in sentimental farewells. It wasn't his way on ordinary earthly voyages; and one might be sure that his manner would be equally free from theatrical gestures when he was leaving for the Moon. As soon as Chee–Chee had climbed up behind him he thrust the head of the ladder away with his hand and it fell gently into the shrubbery. That thrust was, as it were, the breaking of the last tie that bound him to the Earth, yet he made it as though he were merely brushing off a crumb from his coat.

As the moth's wings began to lift I knew that the moment had come. The great creature was facing down the long sward of the lawn and he had some hundred yards to rise in before he would have to clear the willows at the south end. I was terribly anxious. I did not know this insect's particular flying form, whether he rose steeply or slantingly, suddenly or slowly. Yet I was terribly afraid of jumping too soon; for if the Doctor or Polynesia should see me I would certainly get put off. I must not be discovered before we were well on our way to the Moon.

I finally ended by deciding that it was better to be too soon than too late. If I should be caught and turned off I might still stand a chance of persuading the Doctor to take me or of stowing away a second time. But if I jumped too late then there was nothing to be said or done.

Luckily, both Chee–Chee and Polynesia started talking at the exact moment I hit upon to spring. This covered up what noise I made in leaving the laurels. I was in great fear, as I took hold of huge handfuls of the moth's deep fur, that the insect would make some complaint to the Doctor—with whom, as far as I could make out, he had now established pretty complete conversational communication without the use of instruments or apparatus of any kind.

But my fears were unnecessary. I imagine the moth took my invasion of his fur coat as merely some more packing on of bundles. The hair was so deep that I found myself almost buried, as I drew closer to his body. This was a good thing, because there was still a little twilight left; and had the Doctor or Polynesia come astern of their flying ship to make a final inspection I need have no fear of being seen.

And so I clung expecting every moment to feel my feet leave the ground.

I'm sure, on thinking over it afterwards, that not more than five seconds could have passed from the time that I grasped the moth's furry coat to the moment he started. But it felt like an hour.

I could just see the outline of the trees and the house–roof against the darkening sky when those great wings beat the air for the first time. The draught was terrific and, despite the covering of deep fur in which I was half buried, my cap was torn off my head and sent flying into the laurel bushes behind. The rest of what happened was for quite a while entirely confused in my mind. The sensation of going up and up; the need to cling on in a very perilous position; the rush of the air as the moth gained speed, altogether the experience, for one who had never known it before, was bewildering to say the least.

I remember vaguely hoping that the insect's hair was strong enough to hold my weight, as I saw we were over the willow tops, with a hundred feet to spare and still mounting, mounting! It required all my courage not to scramble up right away to the more level ground of the moth's back where I could find the comforting company of the Doctor and Chee–Chee. I admit I felt very lonely back there when I realized we had actually left the world behind and the lights of Puddleby began to twinkle so far—oh, so far!—below me.

Up and up, and up! My head reeled when I looked down. So I decided it was better not to look down. We were in for it now, as the school boy says, and the most sensible thing was to make the best we could of the situation.

I shut my eyes tight and just held on. How long I remained so I can't say—probably about an hour. Then I began to feel cold. My hands were numb with clutching tense. Some part of my confused mind decided that this was the time for me to climb to the level of the moth's back where I could lie down and rest. Glancing upwards I saw that the big wings were beating the air well away from the moth's body. I need not fear that my ascent would interfere with the machinery of flight. I kicked my shoes off and let them fall thousands of feet—to the Earth we had left. Then, grasping as best I could the moth's hairy body with hands and feet, I started. I must reach level lying soon or my strength would give out.

"I kicked my shoes off and let them fall"

I suppose it was a good thing for me that I could not see the Earth swimming and disappearing below me as I made that crazy climb. It didn't take so very long. But when later I did gaze down on the Earth a round ball with little lights stuck all over it—I realized that I might have been a great deal more scared than I had been.

I had not found either the Doctor or Chee–Chee yet. For the first few moments when I felt I didn't have to cling I was quite satisfied to stretch myself out on this level part of the moth's back and just rest. Indeed I was sorely in need of repose. My arms and hands were so stiff from clutching that the muscles were numb and sore.

I was still somewhat unhappy about speaking to the Doctor. After all I had deliberately disobeyed orders. Presently, when I rose and looked about me, I saw him. I made out first the shape of his high hat, surely the most absurd thing that mortal eyes ever met with in such circumstances. But I don't remember ever having caught a glimpse of anything that was more comforting and reassuring. It was pressed well down on his head and next to it Chee–Chee's skull, sharply ape–like, stood out against the blue–green moonlit sky.

"Next to it Chee–Chee's skull stood out against the moonlit sky"

Yes, I admit I was very much afraid. You see, I had never disobeyed the Doctor before. It is true he was no stern disciplinarian. To me, as to every one, he had always been the most easy–going, indulgent of employers.

But this was something new and different. In everything he had been the leader whose orders were obeyed without question. Here for the first time I had acted on my own in a matter of serious moment and importance. What would happen when he knew?

Very slowly I crept still further forward through the moth's deep fur. Then, gently, I touched the Doctor on the shoulder. At the moment he was looking earthward through his telescope. He started violently as though some supernatural hand had grasped him.

"What?—Who is it?" he asked, peering backward into the gloom behind.

5 The Doctor's Reception

"It is I, Doctor,—Stubbins," I said. "I couldn't let you go alone. I got on at the last minute."

"Stubbins!" said he, lowering his telescope. "Stubbins! why, I thought you were in Oxenthorpe."

"'Stubbins!' said he, lowering his telescope"

"I didn't go, Doctor," I said shamefacedly. "I—well, I wanted to come for myself and I did feel that you shouldn't be allowed to make the trip all alone."

For a moment there was silence broken only by the steady hum of the moth's wings. I wondered what was coming, what he would say or do. Would he ask the moth to go back and land me on the Earth? I noticed Chee–Chee's head turn and in the pale moonlight a sickly grin of pleasure spread over his scared face as he realized there was more company on this perilous trip.

"Well," said John Dolittle at length, and my heart sank at the cold almost stern ring in his voice which he had never so far used to me, "I don't quite see why you should begin now, Stubbins, to take it on yourself to worry about my safety and—er—disobey me."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But—"

I stopped silent. After all there wasn't anything more to be said. For a minute or two I sat wondering gloomily if this was the end of our relationship. It was, I had to admit, an enormously cheeky thing that I had done. I suppose as a matter of fact I might not have embarked on it without Too–Too's support.

But my anxious thoughts were agreeably interrupted. Suddenly in the gloom the Doctor's strong big hand gripped my arm in a friendly comforting grasp.

"Just the same, Stubbins," I heard him say (and in the dark, without being able to see it, I could imagine the typical smile that accompanied his words), "I can't tell you how glad I am to have you with me. At the very moment when you touched me I was thinking how nice it would be if you were here. Heaven send us luck, Stubbins! Did you tell your parents you were coming?"

"No," said I. "I didn't have a chance. There was no time. Besides I was so afraid that if I left the premises, you'd slip away without me."

"Oh, well," said John Dolittle, "let's not borrow trouble. No doubt we'll worry through all right."

"You usually do, Doctor," said I. "I'm not afraid so long as you're with me."

He laughed.

"That's a pretty good reputation to have," said he. "I hope I deserve it. Look, you see that big patch of lights down there?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's London," he said. "And the white streak running away from it to the eastward is the River Thames. This bunch of lights over to the northwest is Oxford, I imagine. Look, you can see the moonlight reflected on the river all the way up from London. And that big white area is the sea, the Channel."

The map of the British Isles was indeed at this height almost completely revealed to us. It was a cloudless windless night. And the moth's flight was steady, smooth and undisturbed as his great wings purred their way upward, putting goodness only knows how many miles between us and Puddleby every minute.

Suddenly I realized that from being scared to death with the newness of this situation I was, as usual with the Doctor's comfortable company, accepting the adventure with a calm enjoyable interest. I found myself looking down on the world we had left behind and picking out geographical details as though I were merely gazing from a coach window.

He himself was like a child in his delight at the new experience. And he kept pointing to this and that and telling me what it was, as our great living flying machine lifted us further and further and made more and more of the globe visible.

But presently he panted and coughed.

"Air's getting thin, Stubbins," he said. "We are approaching the dead belt. Must be close on twenty thousand feet altitude up here. Let's get those flowers out and fasten them on. We've got one for all of us, luckily—five. Hulloa there, Polynesia!–And Chee–Chee! The flowers! Remember what I told you. Keep your noses well into them. Come, Stubbins: we'll get them unstrapped."

As I moved in answer to the Doctor's summons I became conscious myself of how thin the air was. The least effort made me breathe heavily.

Somewhere amidships on the moth's body the flowers had been fastened down to a long belt that went about his middle. I joined the Doctor and Chee–Chee in their efforts to get the blossoms loose. The rush of wind made this difficult; and in the dim moonlight I realized that John Dolittle was asking the moth to slow his pace down till we had the work done. As far as I could make out, he did this by means of the creature's antennæ. Those long whisker–like arrangements were laid down flat along the back in flight and within easy reach.

"He did this by means of the creature's antennæ"

It gave me a much greater feeling of security as I saw that the Doctor thus had his ship in control. It only took him a second to communicate his wishes to the insect. And then we hovered. The great wings still beat the air with giant strokes. But the ceasing of the rush of wind past one's ears told me that he was merely holding his position and, as it were, treading air.

"All right, Stubbins," said the Doctor, handing me one of the great blooms, "here's yours. Chee–Chee, you take this one. And we'll put this further up towards the shoulders for Polynesia. Now remember, everybody, life itself may depend on our keeping these within reach. If you have the least difficulty in breathing take a deep sniff of the perfume. Later we'll probably have to keep our heads inside them altogether, when we reach the levels where there is no air at all. Is everybody ready? Get the flowers well down into the fur so they are not blown away when I give the order to go ahead."

In a moment or two Captain Dolittle was satisfied that his crew were prepared for the rest of the journey. And reaching for the antennæ communication–cord, he gave the order for full steam ahead.

Instantly the wings above us redoubled their speed and the whistle of rushing air recommenced.

I found it not so easy now to look over the side, because I was afraid to leave my moon flower lest it be blown away. I gave up studying the map of the disappearing world and fell to watching the Moon above and ahead of us.

6 Crossing "the Dead Belt"

Throughout I tried very hard to realize and remember every detail of that night's voyage. For I knew that later on, if I survived, I would want to write it down. After all it was the great chapter in John Dolittle's astounding and eventful life. Also I knew the practical Doctor would never bother to remember those things that were not of scientific value to the world. Yet he and I were the only ones to see it who could write—though, as a matter of fact, both Chee–Chee and Polynesia remembered what they were able to see better than either of us.

Still I must confess for me it was not easy. The moon moth put on his greatest speed when the Doctor gave the order to go ahead the second time. The noise, the rush of air past our ears, was positively terrific. It actually seemed to numb the senses and make it almost impossible to take in impressions at all. Soon I found the air getting so thin that I had to keep my head almost constantly buried in the blossom; and communication with the Doctor became an impossibility.

But worse was to come. We finally reached those levels where there was no air at all. Then what happened is entirely confused in my mind and, for that matter, in the Doctor's also. Moreover, no amount of questioning of the moth afterwards enlightened us on how he had performed the apparently impossible feat of crossing that "dead belt" from where the air of the Earth left off and the atmosphere of the Moon began. I came to the conclusion at last that the giant insect did not himself know how the deed was done. But of course it may very well have been that the moth's lack of scientific knowledge and John Dolittle's faulty acquaintance (good though it was in the circumstances) with the insect's language, accounted between them for our never learning how an apparent impossibility had been overcome.

It is indeed no wonder that we, the passengers on this strange airship, saw and realized little enough of what was taking place during that phase. As we got further and further into the parts the Doctor had described as the dead belt, the moth's pace slackened till he was hardly moving at all. He kept working, in fact his great wings beat harder and faster. But the trouble was, that there was nothing there for him to beat against. And soon the gravity of the Earth itself, which was what he relied upon to maintain his position, seemed to grow fainter.

The result of this was that our flying ship seemed entirely to lose his sense of balance; and we, the passengers, all got desperately seasick. For hours, as far as I could make out, the great creature turned over and over, apparently helpless to get himself into any kind of position at all, utterly unable to go up, down, forward or backward.

"For hours and hours the great creature turned over and over, apparently helpless"

For our part, we were occupied with only one thing; and that was making sure we got enough oxygen into our lungs to go on breathing. We hardly dared now to bring our noses out of the flowers for more than a glimpse. There was very little to see anyway. The Moon appeared to have grown much larger; and the Earth was just a tiny round pebble away, away off in space.

One curious thing was that we now had to make very little effort to stick on. It didn't seem to matter a great deal whether our heads or our heels were pointing to the Earth. The force of the gravity was so faint it seemed you could stay clinging to the moth's fur as long as you did not actually push yourself off. And even if you did that you felt you would merely move away a few yards into space and stay there.

We did not however, you may be sure, try any experiments of this kind. We just sat tight, breathed in the perfume of the flowers and hoped for the best. Never have I felt so ill and helpless in all my life. The sensation was something quite indescribable. It was as though gravity itself had been cut off and yet enough of it remaining to make you feel queer in your stomach every time you went round. Finally I just shut my eyes. My nose was bleeding like a running tap and there was a dreadful drumming in my ears.

How long we stayed wallowing there in space I have no idea. I felt as one sometimes does in bad weather at sea, as though the end of the world had come and that it didn't really matter so long as it hurried up and got finished with the job. I wasn't interested in anything. I just wanted to die—and the sooner the better.

At last, after what appeared like eternities of this helpless, aimless turning and tossing, our craft seemed to calm itself somewhat and I opened my eyes. Withdrawing my head a little from the depths of the moon flower, I took a peep outside. I could not look long because the lack of air made that impossible. It was almost as though some one were holding his hand over your mouth and nose—a very curious sensation in the open. But before I ducked my head into the flower again I bad from that short survey of my surroundings drawn great comfort. I had seen that the positions of the Earth and Moon were now reversed. The world we had left was over our heads, and the Moon, to which we were coming, was beneath us.

"I took a peep outside"

Of course this only meant that our moth had turned himself about and was headed towards the Moon, instead of away from the Earth. But, much more important than this, I realized that he now seemed steadied in his flight. And, while he still had only a poor atmosphere to work in, he was going forward and was no longer turning around helpless and out of control. As I popped my head back into the moon flower I congratulated myself that the worst stage of the journey was probably over and that very soon we should for the first time in human experience be able to feel and breathe the atmosphere of the moon world.

Also with our ship once more in control and flying forward on a level keel, I suddenly found that I felt much better inside. I could open my eyes and think, without feeling that the end of all things was at hand. I wondered how the Doctor and Chee–Chee were getting on; but as yet of course I could not get into communication with them.

Little by little I felt the gravity of the Moon asserting itself. At no time did it become nearly as strong as the Earth's, which we had left. But you cannot imagine what a sensation of comfort it was to be held by gravity at all. That feeling—happily past—that you were tied to nothing; that there was no "up" and no "down" and no "sideways"; that if you got up too suddenly you might never get seated again, which we experienced going through the dead belt was, beyond all question, the most terrible experience I have ever known.

My sense of time on this expedition was just as completely destroyed as my sense of direction and, indeed, of anything else. Later when communication became easier I asked the Doctor how long he thought we had taken over the trip. He told me that during the passage of the dead belt his watch had stopped. Gravity—or the lack of it again—we supposed accounted for it. And that later when we got within the Moon's influence and were steadily, if feebly, pulled towards her surface, his watch had started itself again. But how many hours it had remained without working he could not say.

He told me that probably our best instrument for reckoning how long we had been on the voyage was our stomachs. Certainly we were both desperately hungry shortly after we had passed the dead belt. But since we had all been seasick for many hours, that is not to be wondered at; and it did not help us much in determining how long we had taken over the trip.

The Doctor also later went into long calculations about the light: when the Earth was illumined by sunlight; when it grew dark; when the Moon ceased to show sunlight and began to show earthlight, etc., etc. He covered pages and pages, calculating. But the fact remained that during the passage of that dreadful dead belt we had all been so ill and confused that no observations had been taken at all. The Moon might have set and the Sun risen and the Earth both risen and set a dozen times, without any of our party knowing the difference. All we were sure of was that the Doctor's watch had stopped going as we passed beyond earthly gravity and recommenced when we came within lunar gravity.

Moreover, with the weaker strength of the lunar gravity, his watch probably went at an entirely new rate of speed after we left earthly influence. So, all in all, our calculations on the trip were not of much exact scientific value. Seasickness is a nasty thing.

From the time that I took that first glimpse out of my moon flower I began to keep a much more definite record of what was happening. As the moon air grew stronger I felt more and more myself. It wasn't the same as earth air. There was no question about that. It was much more, what should one call it?—"heady." This apparently was because it contained more oxygen than ours did.

I could see, as presently I grew bolder and took more frequent glimpses, that both John Dolittle and Chee–Chee were also picking up and generally taking notice. Polynesia, I found out afterwards, was the only one who had not been badly disturbed by the dead belt. Swirling in mid–air was to her, as it was to all the flying creatures, mere child's play. If she had only been scientifically educated she could have told us how long we had taken over the trip. But the old parrot had always had a curious contempt for human science, maintaining that Man went to a whole lot of unnecessary trouble to calculate things that birds knew by common sense, just as soon as they were born.

After a little the Doctor and I began to exchange signals. We did not yet attempt to leave our places as we still felt a bit unsteady on our legs. But, like seasick passengers in ships' deck–chairs, we smiled encouragingly at one another and endeavoured to show by gestures and signs that we thought the worst of the weather was over.

7 The Two Sides of the Moon

In one of these passages of deaf and dumb conversation between the Doctor and myself, I got the impression that he was making remarks about the quality of the moon air on which we were now being carried. There was no doubt that it was changing at enormous rate. Finding anything outside my flower that I could breathe in at all, I was becoming quite adventurous and independent. I even went so far as to leave the flower entirely and walk, or crawl, down to where the Doctor squatted. But a violent attack of coughing just as I was about to say something to him made me beat a hasty retreat.

"Still," I said to myself as I dropped down with my head in my own blossom, "it is something to have got to him. Back there a little while ago I felt as though I could never see or get to anyone any more."

Presently the Doctor paid me a flying visit. He too had to make it short. But we had the satisfaction of feeling that we were in contact. We had not been sure up to this that we could hear one another's voices in moon air. The Doctor had often spoken in Puddleby, when the voyage had first been contemplated, of a danger from this source.

"The ether," he had said, "is what carries sound with us here on the Earth. We can by no means be sure that up there there will be any ether at all. If there isn't, ordinary speech will be impossible."

And with this in mind he had perfected between himself and Chee–Chee a kind of deaf–and–dumb sign language. Too–Too had told me of this and I had secretly watched their practice and gained some knowledge of the system.

So you can imagine how glad we were to find that up here also there was ether which could carry our voices. We found presently however that it carried them much more easily than it did on the Earth. As we approached the Moon and its new atmosphere became more apparent, we found that we had to speak lower and lower. It was very peculiar. Finally, if we did not want to break one another's ear drums we had to talk in the faintest whispers—which could be heard at quite a long distance.

Another very peculiar thing was the light. The Doctor and I had the longest arguments later on trying to settle whether we landed on the Moon by earth–light or by sun–light. It would at first seem of course that there could be no question whatever on such a point. One would suppose that on the Moon earth–light would be very little stronger than moonlight on the Earth; while sunlight would be a hundred times as brilliant. But not at all. Something about the lunar atmosphere seemed to soften the sunlight down so that up there it appeared very little stronger than the light thrown by the Earth This had a very peculiar and definite effect upon colours.

Presently as the moon gravity became stronger, the Doctor and I were able to get up from our lying positions. We still carried our flowers with us so that we could take a "whiff" every once in a while if we felt we needed it. But we could talk together in low tones and, in a fashion, make observations. It wasn't long after we thus "came to life" that John Dolittle asked the moth through his antennæ communication–cord to slow his pace down a little. We felt that it would be easier for us if we got used to this moon air slowly. It certainly had a very invigorating and exciting effect upon the human system.

Another point over which the Doctor and I argued a great deal afterwards was: on which side of the Moon did we land? The earth people have, as every one knows, only seen one side of the Moon. Maps and careful examinations have been made of that. Now, in spite of bringing with us the latest moon–maps, it was not easy to decide on which side we were landing. Close to, the mountains looked very different from what they did through the telescope from the Earth. I always maintained—and do still—that the moth deliberately went round to the far side before he attempted to make a landing. The Doctor swears he didn't.

How can I describe the last moments of that voyage? To say that I felt like Columbus first sighting a new world does not convey the idea at all. I must admit I was scared to death. And so, I know, was poor Chee–Chee. As for the Doctor and Polynesia, I can't say. I don't believe that hardened old adventurer of a parrot ever got a real scare in her life. With Polynesia one always had the feeling that she dictated to Life, instead of having Life dictate to her. But that may have been partly due to her look of complete independence.

The Doctor?—Well, I doubt if he was scared either. He had often told me that he had many times been mortally afraid in the course of his career. But I imagine it was never at moments such as this, when the lure of scientific discovery shut out every other feeling.

That he was thrilled it is certain. Even the tough worldly–wise Polynesia admitted afterwards that she had the thrill of her life when the droning wings of the giant moth suddenly shut off their mighty beating and stiffened out flat, as we began to sail downward towards the surface of this new world which no earthly creature had yet set foot upon before.

8 The Tree

I must here speak again of this question of light. At no time, as I have said, was it very powerful. And one of its effects was to soften the colours in a very peculiar way. As we descended we found that the Moon had a whole range of colours of its own which we had never seen on the Earth. I cannot describe them because the human eye, being trained only to the colours of the Earth, would have nothing to compare them with and no way of imagining them. The best I can do is to say that the landscape, as we slowly descended upon it, looked like some evening landscape done in pastels—with a tremendous variety of soft new tones which became more and more visible the closer we got.

I think there can be no question that the Doctor and I were both more or less right in our argument about which side of the Moon we landed on. In other words, we landed between the two. I know that looking backward as we came down I saw that both the Earth and the Sun were visible. The Earth pale and dim in the heavens—as one sees the Moon often by daylight—and the Sun brighter but by no means as glaring as it appears when seen from the Earth.

We were still at a great height from the surface. But already the roundness was beginning to fade out of the eye's grasp and details were taking on greater importance. The Doctor, after again asking the moth to make the descent as slowly as he could, so that we should have a chance to grow gradually accustomed to the new air, had his telescope out and was very busy pointing to this crater and that mountain and the other plateau as features which were already known to us from the astronomers' moon maps.

"The Doctor had his telescope out"

From a certain height it was easy to see the night–and–day line, on our side of which the Moon's surface was only dimly lit by the Earth's pale light, and on the other more brilliantly illuminated by the rays of the Sun.

Of course I suppose anyone trying to land on the Moon by mechanical means could quite easily have lost his senses and life itself in the attempt. But with a living airship which could accommodate itself to one's needs we had a tremendous advantage. For example, as we dropped lower and found the air more difficult to deal with, the Doctor again grasped the antennæ communication–cord and asked the moth to hover a few hours while we got accustomed to it. The great insect immediately responded to this demand and hung motionless in mid–air while we prepared ourselves for the final descent.

Captain Dolittle then called the roll of his crew and found that we were all at least alive and kicking—also terribly hungry. Sandwiches and drinks had been put aboard before we left. But these were long since used up. I have never felt so hungry in my life.

Over that last lap of the descent we took a long time. With the communication–cord constantly in his hand, the Doctor approached the Moon at his own pace. The night–and–day line moved of course very rapidly. Moreover, how much of that was confused with our own movement (we did not descend in a straight line by any means) it is hard to say. This accounts largely for the difference of opinion between John Dolittle and myself as to which side of the surface we actually landed on. Close up, the details of all the moon maps no longer meant much, because those details which we had seen through telescopes as mere fractions of an inch were now become mountains and continents.

I suppose the greatest anxiety in the minds of all of us was water. Would we find it on the Moon? Moon creatures might exist without it: but we must perish if it was not there.

Lower and lower in circles slowly we sank. At first prospects looked very blue. The landscape, or moonscape, immediately beneath us was all, it seemed, volcanoes, old craters and new craters—mile upon mile.

But towards that night–and–day line which showed round the globe we turned hopeful eyes.

I have seen the Doctor enthusiastic many times—when for example he discovered something new in any of his unnumbered branches of natural history research. But I never remember his getting so excited as he did when watching that ever–moving day–and–night line on our slow descent, he suddenly grabbed me by the shoulder. Forgetting for the moment how the moon atmosphere carried sound, he nearly deafened me with with—

"Stubbins, look!—A tree! You see that, way over there at the foot of the mountain? I'll swear it's a tree. And if it is, we're all right. It means water, Stubbins, Water! And we can manage to exist here.—Water and Life!"

THE END