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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Doctor
Dolittle in the Moon
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.
Language: English
Copyright, 1928, by
Hugh Lofting
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I
n writing the story of our adventures in the Moon I, Thomas
Stubbins, secretary to John Dolittle, M.D. (and son of Jacob
Stubbins, the cobbler of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh), find myself
greatly puzzled. It is not an easy task, remembering day by day and
hour by hour those crowded and exciting weeks. It is true I made
many notes for the Doctor, books full of them. But that information
was nearly all of a highly scientific kind. And I feel that I should tell
the story here not for the scientist so much as for the general
reader. And it is in that I am perplexed.
For the story could be told in many ways. People are so different
in what they want to know about a voyage. I had thought at one
time Jip could help me; and after reading him some chapters as I
had first set them down I asked for his opinion. I discovered he was
mostly interested in whether we had seen any rats in the Moon. I
found I could not tell him. I didn’t remember seeing any; and yet I
am sure there must have been some—or some sort of creature like a
rat.
Then I asked Gub-Gub. And what he was chiefly concerned to
hear was the kind of vegetables we had fed on. (Dab-Dab snorted at
me for my pains and said I should have known better than to ask
him.) I tried my mother. She wanted to know how we had managed
when our underwear wore out—and a whole lot of other matters
about our living conditions, hardly any of which I could answer. Next
I went to Matthew Mugg. And the things he wanted to learn were
worse than either my mother’s or Jip’s: Were there any shops in the
Moon? What were the dogs and cats like? The good Cats’-meat-Man
seemed to have imagined it a place not very different from Puddleby
or the East End of London.
No, trying to get at what most people wanted to read concerning
the Moon did not bring me much profit. I couldn’t seem to tell them
any of the things they were most anxious to know. It reminded me
of the first time I had come to the Doctor’s house, hoping to be
hired as his assistant, and dear old Polynesia the parrot had
questioned me. “Are you a good noticer?” she had asked. I had
always thought I was—pretty good anyhow. But now I felt I had
been a very poor noticer. For it seemed I hadn’t noticed any of the
things I should have done to make the story of our voyage
interesting to the ordinary public.
The trouble was of course attention. Human attention is like
butter: you can only spread it so thin and no thinner. If you try to
spread it over too many things at once you just don’t remember
them. And certainly during all our waking hours upon the Moon
there was so much for our ears and eyes and minds to take in it is a
wonder, I often think, that any clear memories at all remain.
The one who could have been of most help to me in writing my
impressions of the Moon was Jamaro Bumblelily, the giant moth who
carried us there. But as he was nowhere near me when I set to work
upon this book I decided I had better not consider the particular
wishes of Jip, Gub-Gub, my mother, Matthew or any one else, but
set the story down in my own way. Clearly the tale must be in any
case an imperfect, incomplete one. And the only thing to do is to go
forward with it, step by step, to the best of my recollection, from
where the great insect hovered, with our beating hearts pressed
close against his broad back, over the near and glowing landscape of
the Moon.
Any one could tell that the moth knew every detail of the country
we were landing in. Planing, circling and diving, he brought his wide-
winged body very deliberately down towards a little valley fenced in
with hills. The bottom of this, I saw as we drew nearer, was level,
sandy and dry.
The hills struck one at once as unusual. In fact all the mountains
as well (for much greater heights could presently be seen towering
away in the dim greenish light behind the nearer, lower ranges) had
one peculiarity. The tops seemed to be cut off and cup-like. The
Doctor afterwards explained to me that they were extinct volcanoes.
Nearly all these peaks had once belched fire and molten lava but
were now cold and dead. Some had been fretted and worn by winds
and weather and time into quite curious shapes; and yet others had
been filled up or half buried by drifting sand so that they had nearly
lost the appearance of volcanoes. I was reminded of “The
Whispering Rocks” which we had seen in Spidermonkey Island. And
though this scene was different in many things, no one who had
ever looked upon a volcanic landscape before could have mistaken it
for anything else.
The little valley, long and narrow, which we were apparently
making for did not show many signs of life, vegetable or animal. But
we were not disturbed by that. At least the Doctor wasn’t. He had
seen a tree and he was satisfied that before long he would find
water, vegetation and creatures.
At last when the moth had dropped within twenty feet of the
ground he spread his wings motionless and like a great kite gently
touched the sand, in hops at first, then ran a little, braced himself
and came to a standstill.
We had landed on the Moon!
By this time we had had a chance to get a little more used to the
new air. But before we made any attempt to “go ashore” the Doctor
thought it best to ask our gallant steed to stay where he was a
while, so that we could still further accustom ourselves to the new
atmosphere and conditions.
This request was willingly granted. Indeed the poor insect
himself, I imagine, was glad enough to rest a while. From
somewhere in his packages John Dolittle produced an emergency
ration of chocolate which he had been saving up. All four of us
munched in silence, too hungry and too awed by our new
surroundings to say a word.
The light changed unceasingly. It reminded me of the Northern
Lights, the Aurora Borealis. You would gaze at the mountains above
you, then turn away a moment, and on looking back find everything
that had been pink was now green, the shadows that had been
violet were rose.
Breathing was still kind of difficult. We were compelled for the
moment to keep the “moon-bells” handy. These were the great
orange-colored flowers that the moth had brought down for us. It
was their perfume (or gas) that had enabled us to cross the airless
belt that lay between the Moon and the Earth. A fit of coughing was
always liable to come on if one left them too long. But already we
felt that we could in time get used to this new air and soon do
without the bells altogether.
The gravity too was very confusing. It required hardly any effort
to rise from a sitting position to a standing one. Walking was no
effort at all—for the muscles—but for the lungs it was another
question. The most extraordinary sensation was jumping. The least
little spring from the ankles sent you flying into the air in the most
fantastic fashion. If it had not been for this problem of breathing
properly (which the Doctor seemed to feel we should approach with
great caution on account of its possible effect on the heart) we
would all have given ourselves up to this most light-hearted feeling
which took possession of us. I remember, myself, singing songs—the
melody was somewhat indistinct on account of a large mouthful of
chocolate—and I was most anxious to get down off the moth’s back
and go bounding away across the hills and valleys to explore this
new world.
But I realize now that John Dolittle was very wise in making us
wait. He issued orders (in the low whispers which we found
necessary in this new clear air) to each and all of us that for the
present the flowers were not to be left behind for a single moment.
They were cumbersome things to carry but we obeyed orders.
No ladder was needed now to descend by. The gentlest jump sent
one flying off the insect’s back to the ground where you landed from
a twenty-five-foot drop with ease and comfort.
Zip! The spring was made. And we were wading in the sands of a
new world.
THE SECOND CHAPTER
The Land of Colors and Perfumes
W
e were after all, when you come to think of it, a very odd
party, this, which made the first landing on a new world.
But in a great many ways it was a peculiarly good
combination. First of all, Polynesia: she was the kind of bird which
one always supposed would exist under any conditions, drought,
floods, fire or frost. I’ve no doubt that at that time in my boyish way
I exaggerated Polynesia’s adaptability and endurance. But even to
this day I can never quite imagine any circumstances in which that
remarkable bird would perish. If she could get a pinch of seed (of
almost any kind) and a sip of water two or three times a week she
would not only carry on quite cheerfully but would scarcely even
remark upon the strange nature or scantiness of the rations.
Then Chee-Chee: he was not so easily provided for in the matter
of food. But he always seemed to be able to provide for himself
anything that was lacking. I have never known a better forager than
Chee-Chee. When every one was hungry he could go off into an
entirely new forest and just by smelling the wild fruits and nuts he
could tell if they were safe to eat. How he did this even John Dolittle
could never find out. Indeed Chee-Chee himself didn’t know.
Then myself: I had no scientific qualifications but I had learned
how to be a good secretary on natural history expeditions and I
knew a good deal about the Doctor’s ways.
Finally there was the Doctor. No naturalist has ever gone afield to
grasp at the secrets of a new land with the qualities John Dolittle
possessed. He never claimed to know anything, beforehand, for
certain. He came to new problems with a child-like innocence which
made it easy for himself to learn and the others to teach.
“By smelling he could tell if they were safe to eat”
S
o we rested on our bundles a spell while Polynesia gave an
imitation of a soaring vulture and straight above our heads
climbed and climbed. At about a thousand feet she paused and
circled. Then slowly came down again. The Doctor, watching her,
grew impatient at her speed. I could not quite make out why he was
so unwilling to have her away from his side but I asked no
questions.
Yes, she had seen the tree, she told us, but it still seemed a long
way off. The Doctor wanted to know why she had taken so long in
coming down and she said she had been making sure of her
bearings so that she would be able to act as guide. Indeed, with the
usual accuracy of birds, she had a very clear idea of the direction we
should take. And we set off again, feeling more at ease and
confident.
The truth of it was of course that seen from a great height, as
the tree had first appeared to us, the distance had seemed much
less than it actually was. Two more things helped to mislead us.
One, that the Moon air, as we now discovered, made everything look
nearer than it actually was in spite of the soft dim light. And the
other was that we had supposed the tree to be one of ordinary
earthly size and had made an unconscious guess at its distance in
keeping with a fair-sized oak or elm. Whereas when we did actually
reach it we found it to be unimaginably huge.
“It was different from any tree I have ever seen”
I shall never forget that tree. It was our first experience of moon
life, in the Moon. Darkness was coming on when we finally halted
beneath it. When I say darkness I mean that strange kind of twilight
which was the nearest thing to night which we ever saw in the
Moon. The tree’s height, I should say, would be at least three
hundred feet and the width of it across the trunk a good forty or
fifty. Its appearance in general was most uncanny. The whole design
of it was different from any tree I have ever seen. Yet there was no
mistaking it for anything else. It seemed—how shall I describe it?—
alive. Poor Chee-Chee was so scared of it his hair just stood up on
the nape of his neck and it was a long time before the Doctor and I
persuaded him to help us pitch camp beneath its boughs.
Indeed we were a very subdued party that prepared to spend its
first night on the Moon. No one knew just what it was that
oppressed us but we were all conscious of a definite feeling of
disturbance. The wind still blew—in that gentle, steady way that the
moon winds always blew. The light was clear enough to see outlines
by, although most of the night the Earth was invisible and there was
no reflection whatever.
I remember how the Doctor, while we were unpacking and laying
out the rest of our chocolate ration for supper, kept glancing uneasily
up at those strange limbs of the tree overhead.
Of course it was the wind that was moving them—no doubt of
that at all. Yet the wind was so deadly regular and even. And the
movement of the boughs wasn’t regular at all. That was the weird
part of it. It almost seemed as though the tree were doing some
moving on its own, like an animal chained by its feet in the ground.
And still you could never be sure—because after all the wind was
blowing all the time.
And besides it moaned. Well, we knew trees moaned in the wind
at home. But this one did it differently—it didn’t seem in keeping
with that regular even wind which we felt upon our faces.
I could see that even the worldly-wise practical Polynesia was
perplexed and upset. And it took a great deal to disturb her. Yet a
bird’s senses towards trees and winds are much keener than a
man’s. I kept hoping she would venture into the branches of the
tree; but she didn’t. And as for Chee-Chee, also a natural denizen of
the forest, no power on earth, I felt sure, would persuade him to
investigate the mysteries of this strange specimen of a Vegetable
Kingdom we were as yet only distantly acquainted with.
“The Doctor kept glancing up uneasily”
After supper was despatched, the Doctor kept me busy for some
hours taking down notes. There was much to be recorded of this
first day in a new world. The temperature; the direction and force of
the wind; the time of our arrival—as near as it could be guessed; the
air pressure (he had brought along a small barometer among his
instruments) and many other things which, while they were dry stuff
for the ordinary mortal, were highly important for the scientist.
Often and often I have wished that I had one of those memories
that seem to be able to recall all impressions no matter how small
and unimportant. For instance I have often wanted to remember
exactly the first awakening on the Moon. We had all been weary
enough with excitement and exercise, when we went to bed, to
sleep soundly. All I can remember of my waking up is spending at
least ten minutes working out where I was. And I doubt if I could
have done it even then if I had not finally realized that John Dolittle
was awake ahead of me and already pottering around among his
instruments, taking readings.
The immediate business now on hand was food. There was
literally nothing for breakfast. The Doctor began to regret his hasty
departure from the moth. Indeed it was only now, many, many
hours after we had left him in our unceremonious haste to find the
tree and explore the new world, that we realized that we had not as
yet seen any signs of animal life. Still it seemed a long way to go
back and consult him; and it was by no means certain that he would
still be there.
Just the same, we needed food and food we were going to find.
Hastily we bundled together what things we had unpacked for the
night’s camping. Which way to go? Clearly if we had here reached
one tree, there must be some direction in which others lay, where
we could find that water which the Doctor was so sure must exist.
But we could scan the horizon with staring eyes or telescope as
much as we wished and not another leaf of a tree could we see.
This time without waiting to be ordered Polynesia soared into the
air to do a little scouting.
“Well,” she said on her return, “I don’t see any actual trees at all.
The beastly landscape is more like the Sahara Desert than any
scenery I’ve ever run into. But over there behind that higher range—
the one with the curious hat-shaped peak in the middle—you see the
one I mean?”
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “I see. Go on.”
“Well, behind that there is a dark horizon different from any other
quarter. I won’t swear it is trees. But myself, I feel convinced that
there is something else there besides sand. We had better get
moving. It is no short walk.”
Indeed it was no short walk. It came to be a forced march or
race between us and starvation. On starting out we had not foreseen
anything of the kind. Going off without breakfast was nothing after
all. Each one of us had done that before many a time. But as hour
after hour went by and still the landscape remained a desert of
rolling sand-dunes, hills and dead dry volcanoes, our spirits fell lower
and lower.
This was one of the times when I think I saw John Dolittle really
at his best. I know, although I had not questioned him, that he had
already been beset with anxiety over several matters on the first
steps of our march. Later he spoke of them to me: not at the time.
And as conditions grew worse, as hunger gnawed at our vitals and
the most terrible thirst parched our tongues—as strength and vitality
began to give way and mere walking became the most terrible
hardship, the Doctor grew cheerier and cheerier. He didn’t crack dry
jokes in an irritating way either. But by some strange means he
managed to keep the whole party in good mood. If he told a funny
story it was always at the right time and set us all laughing at our
troubles. In talking to him afterwards about this I learned that he
had, when a young man, been employed on more than one
exploration trip to keep the expedition in good humor. It was, he
said, the only way he could persuade the chief to take him, since at
that time he had no scientific training to recommend him.
Anyway I sincerely doubt whether our party would have held out
if it had not been for his sympathetic and cheering company. The
agonies of thirst were something new to me. Every step I thought
must be my last.
“I remember Chee-Chee trickling something cool between my
lips”
W
hen I awoke I felt very much ashamed of myself. What an
explorer! The Doctor was moving around already—and, of
course, Chee-Chee and Polynesia. John Dolittle came to my
side immediately he saw I was awake.
As though he knew the thoughts that were in my mind he at
once started to reprimand me for feeling ashamed of my
performance. He pointed out that after all Chee-Chee and Polynesia
were accustomed to traveling in hot dry climates and that so, for
that matter, was he himself.
“Taken all in all, Stubbins,” said he, “your own performance has
been extremely good. You made the trip, the whole way, and only
collapsed when relief was in sight. No one could ask for more than
that. I have known many experienced explorers who couldn’t have
done nearly as well. It was a hard lap—a devilish hard lap. You were
magnificent. Sit up and have some breakfast. Thank goodness,
we’ve reached food at last!”
Weak and frowsty, I sat up. Arranged immediately around me
was a collection of what I later learned were fruits. The reliable
Chee-Chee, scared though he might be of a moving tree or a
whispering wind, had served the whole party with that wonderful
sense of his for scenting out wild foodstuffs. Not one of the strange
courses on the bill of fare had I or the Doctor seen before. But if
Chee-Chee said they were safe we knew we need not fear.
Some of the fruits were as big as a large trunk; some as small as
a walnut. But, starving as we were, we just dived in and ate and ate
and ate. Water there was too, gathered in the shells of enormous
nuts and odd vessels made from twisted leaves. Never has a
breakfast tasted so marvelous as did that one of fruits which I could
not name.