The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle

Part One

CHAPTER PAGE PROLOGUE 1 I THE COBBLER’S SON 3 II I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST 8 III THE DOCTOR’S HOME 15 IV THE WIFF-WAFF 24 V POLYNESIA 32 VI THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL 41 VII SHELLFISH TALK 45 VIII ARE YOU A GOOD NOTICER? 50 IX THE GARDEN OF DREAMS 55 X THE PRIVATE ZOO 60 XI MY SCHOOLMASTER, POLYNESIA 65 XII MY GREAT IDEA 70 XIII A TRAVELER ARRIVES 75 XIV CHEE-CHEE’S VOYAGE 80 XV I BECOME A DOCTOR’S ASSISTANT 84

Part Two

I THE CREW OF “THE CURLEW” 88 II LUKE THE HERMIT 91 III JIP AND THE SECRET 95 IV BOB 99 V MENDOZA 105 VI THE JUDGE’S DOG 111 VII THE END OF THE MYSTERY 116 VIII THREE CHEERS 121 IX THE PURPLE BIRD-OF-PARADISE 126 X LONG ARROW, THE SON OF GOLDEN ARROW 129 XI BLIND TRAVEL 135 XII DESTINY AND DESTINATION 140

Part Three

I THE THIRD MAN 144 II GOOD-BYE! 151 III OUR TROUBLES BEGIN 155 IV OUR TROUBLES CONTINUE 160 V POLYNESIA HAS A PLAN 167 VI THE BED-MAKER OF MONTEVERDE 172 VII THE DOCTOR’S WAGER 177 VIII THE GREAT BULLFIGHT 184 IX WE DEPART IN A HURRY 193

Part Four

I SHELLFISH LANGUAGES AGAIN 198 II THE FIDGIT’S STORY 205 III BAD WEATHER 221 IV WRECKED! 225 V LAND! 233 VI THE JABIZRI 239 VII HAWK’S-HEAD MOUNTAIN 245

Part Five

I A GREAT MOMENT 253 II “THE MEN OF THE MOVING LAND” 262 III FIRE 266 IV WHAT MAKES AN ISLAND FLOAT 271 V WAR! 275 VI GENERAL POLYNESIA 282 VII THE PEACE OF THE PARROTS 287 VIII THE HANGING STONE 291 IX THE ELECTION 300 X THE CORONATION OF KING JONG 308

Part Six

I NEW POPSIPETEL 314 II THOUGHTS OF HOME 322 III THE RED MAN’S SCIENCE 328 IV THE SEA-SERPENT 332 V THE SHELLFISH RIDDLE SOLVED AT LAST 340 VI THE LAST CABINET MEETING 346 VII THE DOCTOR’S DECISION 350

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Popsipetel Picture-History of King Jong Thinkalot (in colors) Frontispiece PAGE “I would sit on the river-wall with my feet dangling over the water” 5 “And in her right foot she carried a lighted candle!” 22 “‘Being a good noticer is terribly important’” 53 A traveler arrives 77 “On the bed sat the Hermit” 101 “Sat scowling down upon the amazed and gaping jury” 115 “‘What else can I think?’” 133 “‘Boy, where’s the skipper?’” 147 “In these lower levels we came upon the shadowy shapes of dead ships” (in colors) 162 “The Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the bed-maker” 175 “Did acrobatics on the beast’s horns” 189 “‘He talks English!’” 201 “I was alone in the ocean!” 226 “It was a great moment” 257 The Terrible Three 279 “Working away with their noses against the end of the island” 293 “The Whispering Rocks” 295 “Had to chase his butterflies with a crown upon his head” 317 “‘Tiptoe incognito,’ whispered Bumpo” 353

THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE

THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE

PROLOGUE

ALL that I have written so far about Doctor Dolittle I heard long after it happened from those who had known him—indeed a great deal of it took place before I was born. But I now come to set down that part of the great man’s life which I myself saw and took part in.

Many years ago the Doctor gave me permission to do this. But we were both of us so busy then voyaging around the world, having adventures and filling note-books full of natural history that I never seemed to get time to sit down and write of our doings.

Now of course, when I am quite an old man, my memory isn’t so good any more. But whenever I am in doubt and have to hesitate and think, I always ask Polynesia, the parrot.

That wonderful bird (she is now nearly two hundred and fifty years old) sits on the top of my desk, usually humming sailor songs to herself, while I write this book. And, as every one who ever met her knows, Polynesia’s memory is the most marvelous memory in the world. If there is any happening I am not quite sure of, she is always able to put me right, to tell me exactly how it took place, who was there and everything about it. In fact sometimes I almost think I ought to say that this book was written by Polynesia instead of me.

Very well then, I will begin. And first of all I must tell you something about myself and how I came to meet the Doctor.

PART I

THE FIRST CHAPTER

THE COBBLER’S SON

MY name was Tommy Stubbins, son of Jacob Stubbins, the cobbler of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh; and I was nine and a half years old. At that time Puddleby was only quite a small town. A river ran through the middle of it; and over this river there was a very old stone bridge, called Kingsbridge, which led you from the market-place on one side to the churchyard on the other.

Sailing-ships came up this river from the sea and anchored near the bridge. I used to go down and watch the sailors unloading the ships upon the river-wall. The sailors sang strange songs as they pulled upon the ropes; and I learned these songs by heart. And I would sit on the river-wall with my feet dangling over the water and sing with the men, pretending to myself that I too was a sailor.

For I longed always to sail away with those brave ships when they turned their backs on Puddleby Church and went creeping down the river again, across the wide lonely marshes to the sea. I longed to go with them out into the world to seek my fortune in foreign lands—Africa, India, China and Peru! When they got round the bend in the river and the water was hidden from view, you could still see their huge brown sails towering over the roofs of the town, moving onward slowly—like some gentle giants that walked among the houses without noise. What strange things would they have seen, I wondered, when next they came back to anchor at Kingsbridge! And, dreaming of the lands I had never seen, I’d sit on there, watching till they were out of sight.

Three great friends I had in Puddleby in those days. One was Joe, the mussel-man, who lived in a tiny hut by the edge of the water under the bridge. This old man was simply marvelous at making things. I never saw a man so clever with his hands. He used to mend my toy ships for me which I sailed upon the river; he built windmills out of packing-cases and barrel-staves; and he could make the most wonderful kites from old umbrellas.

Joe would sometimes take me in his mussel-boat, and when the tide was running out we would paddle down the river as far as the edge of the sea to get mussels and lobsters to sell. And out there on the cold lonely marshes we would see wild geese flying, and curlews and redshanks and many other kinds of seabirds that live among the samfire and the long grass of the great salt fen. And as we crept up the river in the evening, when the tide had turned, we would see the lights on Kingsbridge twinkle in the dusk, reminding us of tea-time and warm fires.

Another friend I had was Matthew Mugg, the cat’s-meat-man. He was a funny old person with a bad squint. He looked rather awful but he was really quite nice to talk to. He knew everybody in Puddleby; and he knew all the dogs and all the cats. In those times being a cat’s-meat-man was a regular business. And you could see one nearly any day going through the streets with a wooden tray full of pieces of meat stuck on skewers crying, “Meat! M-E-A-T!” People paid him to give this meat to their cats and dogs instead of feeding them on dog-biscuits or the scraps from the table.

I enjoyed going round with old Matthew and seeing the cats and dogs come running to the garden-gates whenever they heard his call. Sometimes he let me give the meat to the animals myself; and I thought this was great fun. He knew a lot about dogs and he would tell me the names of the different kinds as we went through the town. He had several dogs of his own; one, a whippet, was a very fast runner, and Matthew used to win prizes with her at the Saturday coursing races; another, a terrier, was a fine ratter. The cat’s-meat-man used to make a business of rat-catching for the millers and farmers as well as his other trade of selling cat’s-meat.

My third great friend was Luke the Hermit. But of him I will tell you more later on.

I did not go to school; because my father was not rich enough to send me. But I was extremely fond of animals. So I used to spend my time collecting birds’ eggs and butterflies, fishing in the river, rambling through the countryside after blackberries and mushrooms and helping the mussel-man mend his nets.

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