The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle (18 page)

The Doctor carried the listening-tank to a porthole, opened it and
emptied the tank into the sea. "Good-bye!" he murmured as a faint splash
reached us from without.

I dropped my pencil on the table and leaned back with a sigh. My fingers
were so stiff with writers' cramp that I felt as though I should never
be able to open my hand again. But I, at least, had had a night's sleep.
As for the poor Doctor, he was so weary that he had hardly put the tank
back upon the table and dropped into a chair, when his eyes closed and
he began to snore.

In the passage outside Polynesia scratched angrily at the door. I rose
and let her in.

"A nice state of affairs!" she stormed. "What sort of a ship is this?
There's that colored man upstairs asleep under the wheel; the Doctor
asleep down here; and you making pot-hooks in a copy-book with a pencil!
Expect the ship to steer herself to Brazil? We're just drifting around
the sea like an empty bottle—and a week behind time as it is. What's
happened to you all?"

She was so angry that her voice rose to a scream. But it would have
taken more than that to wake the Doctor.

I put the note-book carefully in a drawer and went on deck to take the
wheel.

AS soon as I had the Curlew swung round upon her course again I noticed
something peculiar: we were not going as fast as we had been. Our
favorable wind had almost entirely disappeared.

This, at first, we did not worry about, thinking that at any moment it
might spring up again. But the whole day went by; then two days; then a
week,—ten days, and the wind grew no stronger. The Curlew just dawdled
along at the speed of a toddling babe.

I now saw that the Doctor was becoming uneasy. He kept getting out his
sextant (an instrument which tells you what part of the ocean you are
in) and making calculations. He was forever looking at his maps and
measuring distances on them. The far edge of the sea, all around us, he
examined with his telescope a hundred times a day.

"But Doctor," I said when I found him one afternoon mumbling to himself
about the misty appearance of the sky, "it wouldn't matter so much would
it, if we did take a little longer over the trip? We've got plenty to
eat on board now; and the Purple Bird-of-Paradise will know that we have
been delayed by something that we couldn't help."

"Yes, I suppose so," he said thoughtfully. "But I hate to keep her
waiting. At this season of the year she generally goes to the Peruvian
mountains—for her health. And besides, the good weather she prophesied
is likely to end any day now and delay us still further. If we could
only keep moving at even a fair speed, I wouldn't mind. It's this
hanging around, almost dead still, that gets me restless—Ah, here comes
a wind—Not very strong—but maybe it'll grow."

A gentle breeze from the Northeast came singing through the ropes; and
we smiled up hopefully at the Curlew's leaning masts.

"We've only got another hundred and fifty miles to make, to sight the
coast of Brazil," said the Doctor. "If that wind would just stay with
us, steady, for a full day we'd see land."

But suddenly the wind changed, swung to the East, then back to the
Northeast—then to the North. It came in fitful gusts, as though it
hadn't made up its mind which way to blow; and I was kept busy at the
wheel, swinging the Curlew this way and that to keep the right side of
it.

Presently we heard Polynesia, who was in the rigging keeping a look-out
for land or passing ships, screech down to us,

"Bad weather coming. That jumpy wind is an ugly sign. And look!—over
there in the East—see that black line, low down? If that isn't a
storm I'm a land-lubber. The gales round here are fierce, when they do
blow—tear your canvas out like paper. You take the wheel, Doctor:
it'll need a strong arm if it's a real storm. I'll go wake Bumpo and
Chee-Chee. This looks bad to me. We'd best get all the sail down right
away, till we see how strong she's going to blow."

Indeed the whole sky was now beginning to take on a very threatening
look. The black line to the eastward grew blacker as it came nearer and
nearer. A low, rumbly, whispering noise went moaning over the sea. The
water which had been so blue and smiling turned to a ruffled ugly
gray. And across the darkening sky, shreds of cloud swept like tattered
witches flying from the storm.

I must confess I was frightened. You see I had only so far seen the
sea in friendly moods: sometimes quiet and lazy; sometimes laughing,
venturesome and reckless; sometimes brooding and poetic, when moonbeams
turned her ripples into silver threads and dreaming snowy night-clouds
piled up fairy-castles in the sky. But as yet I had not known, or even
guessed at, the terrible strength of the Sea's wild anger.

When that storm finally struck us we leaned right over flatly on our
side, as though some in-visible giant had slapped the poor Curlew on the
cheek.

After that things happened so thick and so fast that what with the wind
that stopped your breath, the driving, blinding water, the deafening
noise and the rest, I haven't a very clear idea of how our shipwreck
came about.

I remember seeing the sails, which we were now trying to roll up upon
the deck, torn out of our hands by the wind and go overboard like a
penny balloon—very nearly carrying Chee-Chee with them. And I have a
dim recollection of Polynesia screeching somewhere for one of us to go
downstairs and close the port-holes.

In spite of our masts being bare of sail we were now scudding along to
the southward at a great pace. But every once in a while huge gray-black
waves would arise from under the ship's side like nightmare monsters,
swell and climb, then crash down upon us, pressing us into the sea; and
the poor Curlew would come to a standstill, half under water, like a
gasping, drowning pig.

While I was clambering along towards the wheel to see the Doctor,
clinging like a leech with hands and legs to the rails lest I be blown
overboard, one of these tremendous seas tore loose my hold, filled my
throat with water and swept me like a cork the full length of the deck.
My head struck a door with an awful bang. And then I fainted.

WHEN I awoke I was very hazy in my head. The sky was blue and the sea
was calm. At first I thought that I must have fallen asleep in the sun
on the deck of the Curlew. And thinking that I would be late for my turn
at the wheel, I tried to rise to my feet. I found I couldn't; my arms
were tied to something behind me with a piece of rope. By twisting my
neck around I found this to be a mast, broken off short. Then I realized
that I wasn't sitting on a ship at all; I was only sitting on a piece
of one. I began to feel uncomfortably scared. Screwing up my eyes, I
searched the rim of the sea North, East, South and West: no land: no
ships; nothing was in sight. I was alone in the ocean!

At last, little by little, my bruised head began to remember what had
happened: first, the coming of the storm; the sails going overboard;
then the big wave which had banged me against the door. But what had
become of the Doctor and the others? What day was this, to-morrow or the
day after?—And why was I sitting on only part of a ship?

Working my hand into my pocket, I found my penknife and cut the rope
that tied me. This reminded me of a shipwreck story which Joe had once
told me, of a captain who had tied his son to a mast in order that he
shouldn't be washed overboard by the gale. So of course it must have
been the Doctor who had done the same to me.

But where was he?

The awful thought came to me that the Doctor and the rest of them
must be drowned, since there was no other wreckage to be seen
upon the waters. I got to my feet and stared around the sea
again—Nothing—nothing but water and sky!

Presently a long way off I saw the small dark shape of a bird skimming
low down over the swell. When it came quite close I saw it was a Stormy
Petrel. I tried to talk to it, to see if it could give me news. But
unluckily I hadn't learned much sea-bird language and I couldn't even
attract its attention, much less make it understand what I wanted.

Twice it circled round my raft, lazily, with hardly a flip of the wing.
And I could not help wondering, in spite of the distress I was in,
where it had spent last night—how it, or any other living thing,
had weathered such a smashing storm. It made me realize the great big
difference between different creatures; and that size and strength are
not everything. To this petrel, a frail little thing of feathers, much
smaller and weaker than I, the Sea could do anything she liked, it
seemed; and his only answer was a lazy, saucy flip of the wing! HE was
the one who should be called the ABLE SEAMAN. For, come raging gale,
come sunlit calm, this wilderness of water was his home.

After swooping over the sea around me (just looking for food, I
supposed) he went off in the direction from which he had come. And I was
alone once more.

I found I was somewhat hungry—and a little thirsty too. I began to
think all sorts of miserable thoughts, the way one does when he is
lonesome and has missed breakfast. What was going to become of me now,
if the Doctor and the rest were drowned? I would starve to death or die
of thirst. Then the sun went behind some clouds and I felt cold. How
many hundreds or thousands of miles was I from any land? What if another
storm should come and smash up even this poor raft on which I stood?

I went on like this for a while, growing gloomier and gloomier, when
suddenly I thought of Polynesia. "You're always safe with the Doctor,"
she had said. "He gets there. Remember that."

I'm sure I wouldn't have minded so much if he had been here with me. It
was this being all alone that made me want to weep. And yet the petrel
was alone!—What a baby I was, I told myself, to be scared to the verge
of tears just by loneliness! I was quite safe where I was—for the
present anyhow. John Dolittle wouldn't get scared by a little thing like
this. He only got excited when he made a discovery, found a new bug
or something. And if what Polynesia had said was true, he couldn't be
drowned and things would come out all right in the end somehow.

I threw out my chest, buttoned up my collar and began walking up and
down the short raft to keep warm. I would be like John Dolittle. I
wouldn't cry—And I wouldn't get excited.

How long I paced back and forth I don't know. But it was a long
time—for I had nothing else to do.

At last I got tired and lay down to rest. And in spite of all my
troubles, I soon fell fast asleep.

This time when I woke up, stars were staring down at me out of a
cloudless sky. The sea was still calm; and my strange craft was rocking
gently under me on an easy swell. All my fine courage left me as I gazed
up into the big silent night and felt the pains of hunger and thirst set
to work in my stomach harder than ever.

"Are you awake?" said a high silvery voice at my elbow.

I sprang up as though some one had stuck a pin in me. And there, perched
at the very end of my raft, her beautiful golden tail glowing dimly in
the starlight, sat Miranda, the Purple Bird-of-Paradise!

Never have I been so glad to see any one in my life. I almost f ell into
the water as I leapt to hug her.

"I didn't want to wake you," said she. "I guessed you must be tired
after all you've been through—Don't squash the life out of me, boy: I'm
not a stuffed duck, you know."

"Oh, Miranda, you dear old thing," said I, "I'm so glad to see you. Tell
me, where is the Doctor? Is he alive?"

"Of course he's alive—and it's my firm belief he always will be. He's
over there, about forty miles to the westward."

"What's he doing there?"

"He's sitting on the other half of the Curlew shaving himself—or he
was, when I left him."

"Well, thank Heaven he's alive!" said I—"And Bumpo—and the animals,
are they all right?"

"Yes, they're with him. Your ship broke in half in the storm. The Doctor
had tied you down when he found you stunned. And the part you were on
got separated and floated away. Golly, it was a storm! One has to be a
gull or an albatross to stand that sort of weather. I had been watching
for the Doctor for three weeks, from a cliff-top; but last night I had
to take refuge in a cave to keep my tail-feathers from blowing out. As
soon as I found the Doctor, he sent me off with some porpoises to look
for you. A Stormy Petrel volunteered to help us in our search. There had
been quite a gathering of sea-birds waiting to greet the Doctor; but the
rough weather sort of broke up the arrangements that had been made to
welcome him properly. It was the petrel that first gave us the tip where
you were."

"Well, but how can I get to the Doctor, Miranda?—I haven't any oars."

"Get to him!—Why, you're going to him now. Look behind you."

I turned around. The moon was just rising on the sea's edge. And I now
saw that my raft was moving through the water, but so gently that I had
not noticed it before.

"What's moving us?" I asked.

"The porpoises," said Miranda.

I went to the back of the raft and looked down into the water. And just
below the surface I could see the dim forms of four big porpoises, their
sleek skins glinting in the moonlight, pushing at the raft with their
noses.

"They're old friends of the Doctor's," said Miranda. "They'd do anything
for John Dolittle. We should see his party soon now. We're pretty near
the place I left them—Yes, there they are! See that dark shape?—No,
more to the right of where you're looking. Can't you make out the figure
of the black man standing against the sky?—Now Chee-Chee spies us—he's
waving. Don't you see them?"

I didn't—for my eyes were not as sharp as Miranda's. But presently
from somewhere in the murky dusk I heard Bumpo singing his African comic
songs with the full force of his enormous voice. And in a little, by
peering and peering in the direction of the sound, I at last made out a
dim mass of tattered, splintered wreckage—all that remained of the poor
Curlew—floating low down upon the water.