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The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
THE PEACE OF THE PARROTS
THE next day we set out for the far end of the island, and reaching it in canoes (for we went by sea) after a journey of twenty-five hours, we remained no longer than was necessary in the City of Bag-jagderag.
When he threw himself into that fight at Popsipetel, I saw the Doctor really angry for the first time in my life. But his anger, once aroused, was slow to die. All the way down the coast of the island he never ceased to rail against this cowardly people who had attacked his friends, the Popsipetels, for no other reason but to rob them of their corn, because they were too idle to till the land themselves. And he was still angry when he reached the City of Bag-jagderag.
Long Arrow had not come with us for he was as yet too weak from his wound. But the Doctor—always clever at languages—was already getting familiar with the Indian tongue. Besides, among the half-dozen Popsipetels who accompanied us to paddle the canoes, was one boy to whom we had taught a little English. He and the Doctor between them managed to make themselves understood to the Bag-jagderags. This people, with the terrible parrots still blackening the hills about their stone town, waiting for the word to descend and attack, were, we found, in a very humble mood.
Leaving our canoes we passed up the main street to the palace of the chief. Bumpo and I couldn’t help smiling with satisfaction as we saw how the waiting crowds which lined the roadway bowed their heads to the ground, as the little, round, angry figure of the Doctor strutted ahead of us with his chin in the air.
At the foot of the palace-steps the chief and all the more important personages of the tribe were waiting to meet him, smiling humbly and holding out their hands in friendliness. The Doctor took not the slightest notice. He marched right by them, up the steps to the door of the palace. There he turned around and at once began to address the people in a firm voice.
I never heard such a speech in my life—and I am quite sure that they never did either. First he called them a long string of names: cowards, loafers, thieves, vagabonds, good-for-nothings, bullies and what not. Then he said he was still seriously thinking of allowing the parrots to drive them on into the sea, in order that this pleasant land might be rid, once for all, of their worthless carcases.
At this a great cry for mercy went up, and the chief and all of them fell on their knees, calling out that they would submit to any conditions of peace he wished.
Then the Doctor called for one of their scribes—that is, a man who did picture-writing. And on the stone walls of the palace of Bag-jagderag he bade him write down the terms of the peace as he dictated it. This peace is known as The Peace of The Parrots, and—unlike most peaces—was, and is, strictly kept—even to this day.
It was quite long in words. The half of the palace-front was covered with picture-writing, and fifty pots of paint were used, before the weary scribe had done. But the main part of it all was that there should be no more fighting; and that the two tribes should give solemn promise to help one another whenever there was corn-famine or other distress in the lands belonging to either.
This greatly surprised the Bag-jagderags. They had expected from the Doctor’s angry face that he would at least chop a couple of hundred heads off—and probably make the rest of them slaves for life.
But when they saw that he only meant kindly by them, their great fear of him changed to a tremendous admiration. And as he ended his long speech and walked briskly down the steps again on his way back to the canoes, the group of chieftains threw themselves at his feet and cried,
“Do but stay with us, Great Lord, and all the riches of Bag-jagderag shall be poured into your lap. Gold-mines we know of in the mountains and pearl-beds beneath the sea. Only stay with us, that your all-powerful wisdom may lead our Council and our people in prosperity and peace.”
The Doctor held up his hand for silence.
“No man,” said he, “would wish to be the guest of the Bag-jagderags till they had proved by their deeds that they are an honest race. Be true to the terms of the Peace and from yourselves shall come good government and prosperity—Farewell!”
Then he turned and followed by Bumpo, the Popsipetels and myself, walked rapidly down to the canoes.
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
THE HANGING STONE
BUT the change of heart in the Bag-jagderags was really sincere. The Doctor had made a great impression on them—a deeper one than even he himself realized at the time. In fact I sometimes think that that speech of his from the palace-steps had more effect upon the Indians of Spidermonkey Island than had any of his great deeds which, great though they were, were always magnified and exaggerated when the news of them was passed from mouth to mouth.
A sick girl was brought to him as he reached the place where the boats lay. She turned out to have some quite simple ailment which he quickly gave the remedy for. But this increased his popularity still more. And when he stepped into his canoe, the people all around us actually burst into tears. It seems (I learned this afterwards) that they thought he was going away across the sea, for good, to the mysterious foreign lands from which he had come.
Some of the chieftains spoke to the Popsipetels as we pushed off. What they said I did not understand; but we noticed that several canoes filled with Bag-jagderags followed us at a respectful distance all the way back to Popsipetel.
The Doctor had determined to return by the other shore, so that we should be thus able to make a complete trip round the island’s shores.
Shortly after we started, while still off the lower end of the island, we sighted a steep point on the coast where the sea was in a great state of turmoil, white with soapy froth. On going nearer, we found that this was caused by our friendly whales who were still faithfully working away with their noses against the end of the island, driving us northward. We had been kept so busy with the war that we had forgotten all about them. But as we paused and watched their mighty tails lashing and churning the sea, we suddenly realized that we had not felt cold in quite a long while. Speeding up our boat lest the island be carried away from us altogether, we passed on up the coast; and here and there we noticed that the trees on the shore already looked greener and more healthy. Spidermonkey Island was getting back into her home climates.
About halfway to Popsipetel we went ashore and spent two or three days exploring the central part of the island. Our Indian paddlers took us up into the mountains, very steep and high in this region, overhanging the sea. And they showed us what they called the Whispering Rocks.
This was a very peculiar and striking piece of scenery. It was like a great vast basin, or circus, in the mountains, and out of the centre of it there rose a table of rock with an ivory chair upon it. All around this the mountains went up like stairs, or theatre-seats, to a great height—except at one narrow end which was open to a view of the sea. You could imagine it a council-place or concert-hall for giants, and the rock table in the centre the stage for performers or the stand for the speaker.
We asked our guides why it was called the Whispering Rocks; and they said, “Go down into it and we will show you.”
The great bowl was miles deep and miles wide. We scrambled down the rocks and they showed us how, even when you stood far, far apart from one another, you merely had to whisper in that great place and every one in the theatre could hear you. This was, the Doctor said, on account of the echoes which played backwards and forwards between the high walls of rock.
Our guides told us that it was here, in days long gone by when the Popsipetels owned the whole of Spidermonkey Island, that the kings were crowned. The ivory chair upon the table was the throne in which they sat. And so great was the big theatre that all the Indians in the island were able to get seats in it to see the ceremony.
They showed us also an enormous hanging stone perched on the edge of a volcano’s crater—the highest summit in the whole island. Although it was very far below us, we could see it quite plainly; and it looked wobbly enough to be pushed off its perch with the hand. There was a legend among the people, they said, that when the greatest of all Popsipetel kings should be crowned in the ivory chair, this hanging stone would tumble into the volcano’s mouth and go straight down to the centre of the earth.
The Doctor said he would like to go and examine it closer.
And when we were come to the lip of the volcano (it took us half a day to get up to it) we found the stone was unbelievably large—big as a cathedral. Underneath it we could look right down into a black hole which seemed to have no bottom. The Doctor explained to us that volcanoes sometimes spurted up fire from these holes in their tops; but that those on floating islands were always cold and dead.
“Stubbins,” he said, looking up at the great stone towering above us, “do you know what would most likely happen if that boulder should fall in?”
“No,” said I, “what?”
“You remember the air-chamber which the porpoises told us lies under the centre of the island?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this stone is heavy enough, if it fell into the volcano, to break through into that air-chamber from above. And once it did, the air would escape and the floating island would float no more. It would sink.”
“But then everybody on it would be drowned, wouldn’t they?” said Bumpo.
“Oh no, not necessarily. That would depend on the depth of the sea where the sinking took place. The island might touch bottom when it had only gone down, say, a hundred feet. But there would be lots of it still sticking up above the water then, wouldn’t there?”
“Yes,” said Bumpo, “I suppose there would. Well, let us hope that the ponderous fragment does not lose its equilibriosity, for I don’t believe it would stop at the centre of the earth—more likely it would fall right through the world and come out the other side.”
Many other wonders there were which these men showed us in the central regions of their island. But I have not time or space to tell you of them now.
Descending towards the shore again, we noticed that we were still being watched, even here among the highlands, by the Bag-jagderags who had followed us. And when we put to sea once more a boatload of them proceeded to go ahead of us in the direction of Popsipetel. Having lighter canoes, they traveled faster than our party; and we judged that they should reach the village—if that was where they were going—many hours before we could.
The Doctor was now becoming anxious to see how Long Arrow was getting on, so we all took turns at the paddles and went on traveling by moonlight through the whole night.
We reached Popsipetel just as the dawn was breaking.
To our great surprise we found that not only we, but the whole village also, had been up all night. A great crowd was gathered about the dead chief’s house. And as we landed our canoes upon the beach we saw a large number of old men, the seniors of the tribe, coming out at the main door.
We inquired what was the meaning of all this; and were told that the election of a new chief had been going on all through the whole night. Bumpo asked the name of the new chief; but this, it seemed, had not yet been given out. It would be announced at mid-day.
As soon as the Doctor had paid a visit to Long Arrow and seen that he was doing nicely, we proceeded to our own house at the far end of the village. Here we ate some breakfast and then lay down to take a good rest.
Rest, indeed, we needed; for life had been strenuous and busy for us ever since we had landed on the island. And it wasn’t many minutes after our weary heads struck the pillows that the whole crew of us were sound asleep.
THE NINTH CHAPTER
THE ELECTION
WE were awakened by music. The glaring noonday sunlight was streaming in at our door, outside of which some kind of a band appeared to be playing. We got up and looked out. Our house was surrounded by the whole population of Popsipetel. We were used to having quite a number of curious and admiring Indians waiting at our door at all hours; but this was quite different. The vast crowd was dressed in its best clothes. Bright beads, gawdy feathers and gay blankets gave cheerful color to the scene. Every one seemed in very good humor, singing or playing on musical instruments—mostly painted wooden whistles or drums made from skins.
We found Polynesia—who while we slept had arrived back from Bag-jagderag—sitting on our door-post watching the show. We asked her what all the holiday-making was about.
“The result of the election has just been announced,” said she. “The name of the new chief was given out at noon.”
“And who is the new chief?” asked the Doctor.
“You are,” said Polynesia quietly.
“I!” gasped the Doctor—“Well, of all things!”
“Yes,” said she. “You’re the one—And what’s more, they’ve changed your surname for you. They didn’t think that Dolittle was a proper or respectful name for a man who had done so much. So you are now to be known as Jong Thinkalot. How do you like it?”
“But I don’t want to be a chief,” said the Doctor in an irritable voice.
“I’m afraid you’ll have hard work to get out of it now,” said she—“unless you’re willing to put to sea again in one of their rickety canoes. You see you’ve been elected not merely the Chief of the Popsipetels; you’re to be a king—the King of the whole of Spidermonkey Island. The Bag-jagderags, who were so anxious to have you govern them, sent spies and messengers ahead of you; and when they found that you had been elected Chief of the Popsipetels overnight they were bitterly disappointed. However, rather than lose you altogether, the Bag-jagderags were willing to give up their independence, and insisted that they and their lands be united to the Popsipetels in order that you could be made king of both. So now you’re in for it.”
“Oh Lord!” groaned the Doctor, “I do wish they wouldn’t be so enthusiastic! Bother it, I don’t want to be a king!”
“I should think, Doctor,” said I, “you’d feel rather proud and glad. I wish I had a chance to be a king.”
“Oh I know it sounds grand,” said he, pulling on his boots miserably. “But the trouble is, you can’t take up responsibilities and then just drop them again when you feel like it. I have my own work to do. Scarcely one moment have I had to give to natural history since I landed on this island. I’ve been doing some one else’s business all the time. And now they want me to go on doing it! Why, once I’m made King of the Popsipetels, that’s the end of me as a useful naturalist. I’d be too busy for anything. All I’d be then is just a er—er—just a king.”
“Well, that’s something!” said Bumpo. “My father is a king and has a hundred and twenty wives.”
“That would make it worse,” said the Doctor—“a hundred and twenty times worse. I have my work to do. I don’t want to be a king.”
“Look,” said Polynesia, “here come the head men to announce your election. Hurry up and get your boots laced.”
The throng before our door had suddenly parted asunder, making a long lane; and down this we now saw a group of personages coming towards us. The man in front, a handsome old Indian with a wrinkled face, carried in his hands a wooden crown—a truly beautiful and gorgeous crown, even though of wood. Wonderfully carved and painted, it had two lovely blue feathers springing from the front of it. Behind the old man came eight strong Indians bearing a litter, a sort of chair with long handles underneath to carry it by.
Kneeling down on one knee, bending his head almost to the ground, the old man addressed the Doctor who now stood in the doorway putting on his collar and tie.
“Oh, Mighty One,” said he, “we bring you word from the Popsipetel people. Great are your deeds beyond belief, kind is your heart and your wisdom, deeper than the sea. Our chief is dead. The people clamor for a worthy leader. Our old enemies, the Bag-jagderags are become, through you, our brothers and good friends. They too desire to bask beneath the sunshine of your smile. Behold then, I bring to you the Sacred Crown of Popsipetel which, since ancient days when this island and its peoples were one, beneath one monarch, has rested on no kingly brow. Oh Kindly One, we are bidden by the united voices of the peoples of this land to carry you to the Whispering Rocks, that there, with all respect and majesty, you may be crowned our king—King of all the Moving Land.”
The good Indians did not seem to have even considered the possibility of John Dolittle’s refusing. As for the poor Doctor, I never saw him so upset by anything. It was in fact the only time I have known him to get thoroughly fussed.
“Oh dear!” I heard him murmur, looking around wildly for some escape. “What shall I do?—Did any of you see where I laid that stud of mine?—How on earth can I get this collar on without a stud? What a day this is, to be sure!—Maybe it rolled under the bed, Bumpo—I do think they might have given me a day or so to think it over in. Who ever heard of waking a man right out of his sleep, and telling him he’s got to be a king, before he has even washed his face? Can’t any of you find it? Maybe you’re standing on it, Bumpo. Move your feet.”
“Oh don’t bother about your stud,” said Polynesia. “You will have to be crowned without a collar. They won’t know the difference.”
“I tell you I’m not going to be crowned,” cried the Doctor—“not if I can help it. I’ll make them a speech. Perhaps that will satisfy them.”
He turned back to the Indians at the door.
“My friends,” he said, “I am not worthy of this great honor you would do me. Little or no skill have I in the arts of kingcraft. Assuredly among your own brave men you will find many better fitted to lead you. For this compliment, this confidence and trust, I thank you. But, I pray you, do not think of me for such high duties which I could not possibly fulfil.”
The old man repeated his words to the people behind him in a louder voice. Stolidly they shook their heads, moving not an inch. The old man turned back to the Doctor.
“You are the chosen one,” said he. “They will have none but you.”
Into the Doctor’s perplexed face suddenly there came a flash of hope.
“I’ll go and see Long Arrow,” he whispered to me. “Perhaps he will know of some way to get me out of this.”
And asking the personages to excuse him a moment, he left them there, standing at his door, and hurried off in the direction of Long Arrow’s house. I followed him.
We found our big friend lying on a grass bed outside his home, where he had been moved that he might witness the holiday-making.
“Long Arrow,” said the Doctor speaking quickly in eagle tongue so that the bystanders should not overhear, “in dire peril I come to you for help. These men would make me their king. If such a thing befall me, all the great work I hoped to do must go undone, for who is there unfreer than a king? I pray you speak with them and persuade their kind well-meaning hearts that what they plan to do would be unwise.”
Long Arrow raised himself upon his elbow.
“Oh Kindly One,” said he (this seemed now to have become the usual manner of address when speaking to the Doctor), “sorely it grieves me that the first wish you ask of me I should be unable to grant. Alas! I can do nothing. These people have so set their hearts on keeping you for king that if I tried to interfere they would drive me from their land and likely crown you in the end in any case. A king you must be, if only for a while. We must so arrange the business of governing that you may have time to give to Nature’s secrets. Later we may be able to hit upon some plan to relieve you of the burden of the crown. But for now you must be king. These people are a headstrong tribe and they will have their way. There is no other course.”
Sadly the Doctor turned away from the bed and faced about. And there behind him stood the old man again, the crown still held in his wrinkled hands and the royal litter waiting at his elbow. With a deep reverence the bearers motioned towards the seat of the chair, inviting the white man to get in.
Once more the poor Doctor looked wildly, hopelessly about him for some means of escape. For a moment I thought he was going to take to his heels and run for it. But the crowd around us was far too thick and densely packed for anyone to break through it. A band of whistles and drums near by suddenly started the music of a solemn processional march. He turned back pleadingly again to Long Arrow in a last appeal for help. But the big Indian merely shook his head and pointed, like the bearers, to the waiting chair.
At last, almost in tears, John Dolittle stepped slowly into the litter and sat down. As he was hoisted on to the broad shoulders of the bearers I heard him still feebly muttering beneath his breath,
“Botheration take it!—I don’t want to be a king!”
“Farewell!” called Long Arrow from his bed, “and may good fortune ever stand within the shadow of your throne!”
“He comes!—He comes!” murmured the crowd. “Away! Away!—To the Whispering Rocks!”
And as the procession formed up to leave the village, the crowd about us began hurrying off in the direction of the mountains to make sure of good seats in the giant theatre where the crowning ceremony would take place.