The Island of Doctor Moreau - H. G. Wells (little readers txt) 📗

thing happened to tell save a series of innumerable

small unpleasant details and the fretting of an incessant uneasiness.

So that I prefer to make no chronicle for that gap of time,

to tell only one cardinal incident of the ten months I spent as an

intimate of these half-humanised brutes. There is much that sticks

in my memory that I could write,—things that I would cheerfully

give my right hand to forget; but they do not help the telling of

the story.

 

In the retrospect it is strange to remember how soon I fell

in with these monsters’ ways, and gained my confidence again.

I had my quarrels with them of course, and could show some of

their teeth-marks still; but they soon gained a wholesome respect

for my trick of throwing stones and for the bite of my hatchet.

And my Saint-Bernard-man’s loyalty was of infinite service to me.

I found their simple scale of honour was based mainly on the capacity

for inflicting trenchant wounds. Indeed, I may say—without vanity,

I hope—that I held something like pre-eminence among them.

One or two, whom in a rare access of high spirits I had scarred

rather badly, bore me a grudge; but it vented itself chiefly

behind my back, and at a safe distance from my missiles,

in grimaces.

 

The Hyena-swine avoided me, and I was always on the alert for him.

My inseparable Dog-man hated and dreaded him intensely.

I really believe that was at the root of the brute’s attachment to me.

It was soon evident to me that the former monster had tasted blood,

and gone the way of the Leopard-man. He formed a lair somewhere in

the forest, and became solitary. Once I tried to induce the Beast Folk to

hunt him, but I lacked the authority to make them co-operate for one end.

Again and again I tried to approach his den and come upon him unaware;

but always he was too acute for me, and saw or winded me and got away.

He too made every forest pathway dangerous to me and my ally

with his lurking ambuscades. The Dog-man scarcely dared to leave

my side.

 

In the first month or so the Beast Folk, compared with their

latter condition, were human enough, and for one or two besides

my canine friend I even conceived a friendly tolerance.

The little pink sloth-creature displayed an odd affection for me,

and took to following me about. The Monkey-man bored me, however;

he assumed, on the strength of his five digits, that he was my equal,

and was for ever jabbering at me,—jabbering the most arrant nonsense.

One thing about him entertained me a little: he had a fantastic trick

of coining new words. He had an idea, I believe, that to gabble

about names that meant nothing was the proper use of speech.

He called it “Big Thinks” to distinguish it from “Little Thinks,”

the sane every-day interests of life. If ever I made a remark

he did not understand, he would praise it very much, ask me to say

it again, learn it by heart, and go off repeating it, with a word

wrong here or there, to all the milder of the Beast People.

He thought nothing of what was plain and comprehensible.

I invented some very curious “Big Thinks” for his especial use.

I think now that he was the silliest creature I ever met;

he had developed in the most wonderful way the distinctive silliness

of man without losing one jot of the natural folly of a monkey.

 

This, I say, was in the earlier weeks of my solitude among these brutes.

During that time they respected the usage established by the Law,

and behaved with general decorum. Once I found another rabbit torn

to pieces,—by the Hyena-swine, I am assured,—but that was all.

It was about May when I first distinctly perceived a growing difference

in their speech and carriage, a growing coarseness of articulation,

a growing disinclination to talk. My Monkey-man’s jabber multiplied

in volume but grew less and less comprehensible, more and more simian.

Some of the others seemed altogether slipping their hold upon speech,

though they still understood what I said to them at that time.

(Can you imagine language, once clear-cut and exact, softening and

guttering, losing shape and import, becoming mere limps of sound again?)

And they walked erect with an increasing difficulty. Though they

evidently felt ashamed of themselves, every now and then I would come

upon one or another running on toes and finger-tips, and quite unable

to recover the vertical attitude. They held things more clumsily;

drinking by suction, feeding by gnawing, grew commoner every day.

I realised more keenly than ever what Moreau had told me about

the “stubborn beast-flesh.” They were reverting, and reverting very

rapidly.

 

Some of them—the pioneers in this, I noticed with some surprise,

were all females—began to disregard the injunction of decency,

deliberately for the most part. Others even attempted public outrages

upon the institution of monogamy. The tradition of the Law was clearly

losing its force. I cannot pursue this disagreeable subject.

 

My Dog-man imperceptibly slipped back to the dog again; day by day

he became dumb, quadrupedal, hairy. I scarcely noticed the transition

from the companion on my right hand to the lurching dog at my side.

 

As the carelessness and disorganisation increased from day to day,

the lane of dwelling places, at no time very sweet, became so

loathsome that I left it, and going across the island made myself

a hovel of boughs amid the black ruins of Moreau’s enclosure.

Some memory of pain, I found, still made that place the safest from

the Beast Folk.

 

It would be impossible to detail every step of the lapsing of

these monsters,—to tell how, day by day, the human semblance left them;

how they gave up bandagings and wrappings, abandoned at last every

stitch of clothing; how the hair began to spread over the exposed limbs;

how their foreheads fell away and their faces projected;

how the quasi-human intimacy I had permitted myself with some

of them in the first month of my loneliness became a shuddering

horror to recall.

 

The change was slow and inevitable. For them and for me it came

without any definite shock. I still went among them in safety,

because no jolt in the downward glide had released the increasing

charge of explosive animalism that ousted the human day by day.

But I began to fear that soon now that shock must come.

My Saint-Bernard-brute followed me to the enclosure every night,

and his vigilance enabled me to sleep at times in something like peace.

The little pink sloth-thing became shy and left me, to crawl back

to its natural life once more among the tree-branches. We were in just

the state of equilibrium that would remain in one of those “Happy Family”

cages which animal-tamers exhibit, if the tamer were to leave it

for ever.

 

Of course these creatures did not decline into such beasts as

the reader has seen in zoological gardens,—into ordinary bears,

wolves, tigers, oxen, swine, and apes. There was still something

strange about each; in each Moreau had blended this animal with that.

One perhaps was ursine chiefly, another feline chiefly, another

bovine chiefly; but each was tainted with other creatures,—a kind

of generalised animalism appearing through the specific dispositions.

And the dwindling shreds of the humanity still startled me every

now and then,—a momentary recrudescence of speech perhaps,

an unexpected dexterity of the fore-feet, a pitiful attempt to

walk erect.

 

I too must have undergone strange changes. My clothes hung about

me as yellow rags, through whose rents showed the tanned skin.

My hair grew long, and became matted together. I am told that

even now my eyes have a strange brightness, a swift alertness

of movement.

 

At first I spent the daylight hours on the southward beach

watching for a ship, hoping and praying for a ship.

I counted on the “Ipecacuanha” returning as the year wore on;

but she never came. Five times I saw sails, and thrice smoke;

but nothing ever touched the island. I always had a bonfire ready,

but no doubt the volcanic reputation of the island was taken to account

for that.

 

It was only about September or October that I began to think of making

a raft. By that time my arm had healed, and both my hands were at

my service again. At first, I found my helplessness appalling.

I had never done any carpentry or such-like work in my life, and I spent

day after day in experimental chopping and binding among the trees.

I had no ropes, and could hit on nothing wherewith to make ropes;

none of the abundant creepers seemed limber or strong enough,

and with all my litter of scientific education I could not devise

any way of making them so. I spent more than a fortnight

grubbing among the black ruins of the enclosure and on

the beach where the boats had been burnt, looking for nails

and other stray pieces of metal that might prove of service.

Now and then some Beast-creature would watch me, and go leaping

off when I called to it. There came a season of thunder-storms

and heavy rain, which greatly retarded my work; but at last the raft

was completed.

 

I was delighted with it. But with a certain lack of practical sense

which has always been my bane, I had made it a mile or more from the sea;

and before I had dragged it down to the beach the thing had fallen

to pieces. Perhaps it is as well that I was saved from launching it;

but at the time my misery at my failure was so acute that for some

days I simply moped on the beach, and stared at the water and thought

of death.

 

I did not, however, mean to die, and an incident occurred that warned

me unmistakably of the folly of letting the days pass so,—for each

fresh day was fraught with increasing danger from the Beast People.

 

I was lying in the shade of the enclosure wall, staring out to sea,

when I was startled by something cold touching the skin of my heel,

and starting round found the little pink sloth-creature blinking

into my face. He had long since lost speech and active movement,

and the lank hair of the little brute grew thicker every day and his

stumpy claws more askew. He made a moaning noise when he was he had

attracted my attention, went a little way towards the bushes and looked

back at me.

 

At first I did not understand, but presently it occurred to me that

he wished me to follow him; and this I did at last,—slowly, for the day

was hot. When we reached the trees he clambered into them, for he could

travel better among their swinging creepers than on the ground.

And suddenly in a trampled space I came upon a ghastly group.

My Saint-Bernard-creature lay on the ground, dead; and near

his body crouched the Hyena-swine, gripping the quivering flesh

with its misshapen claws, gnawing at it, and snarling with delight.

As I approached, the monster lifted its glaring eyes to mine,

its lips went trembling back from its red-stained teeth,

and it growled menacingly. It was not afraid and not ashamed;

the last vestige of the human taint had vanished. I advanced a step

farther, stopped, and pulled out my revolver. At last I had him face

to face.

 

The brute made no sign of retreat; but its ears went back,

its hair bristled, and its body crouched together.

I aimed between the eyes and fired. As I did so, the Thing rose

straight at me in a leap, and I was knocked over like a