The Island of Doctor Moreau

In the early morning (it was the second morning after my recovery, and I believe the fourth after I was picked up), I awoke through an avenue of tumultuous dreams,—­dreams of guns and howling mobs,—­and became sensible of a hoarse shouting above me.  I rubbed my eyes and lay listening to the noise, doubtful for a little while of my whereabouts.  Then came a sudden pattering of bare feet, the sound of heavy objects being thrown about, a violent creaking and the rattling of chains.  I heard the swish of the water as the ship was suddenly brought round, and a foamy yellow-green wave flew across the little round window and left it streaming.  I jumped into my clothes and went on deck.

As I came up the ladder I saw against the flushed sky—­for the sun was just rising—­the broad back and red hair of the captain, and over his shoulder the puma spinning from a tackle rigged on to the mizzen spanker-boom.

The poor brute seemed horribly scared, and crouched in the bottom of its little cage.

“Overboard with ’em!” bawled the captain.  “Overboard with ’em!  We’ll have a clean ship soon of the whole bilin’ of ’em.”

He stood in my way, so that I had perforce to tap his shoulder to come on deck.  He came round with a start, and staggered back a few paces to stare at me.  It needed no expert eye to tell that the man was still drunk.

“Hullo!” said he, stupidly; and then with a light coming into his eyes, “Why, it’s Mister—­Mister?”

“Prendick,” said I.

“Prendick be damned!” said he.  “Shut-up,—­that’s your name.  Mister Shut-up.”

It was no good answering the brute; but I certainly did not expect his next move.  He held out his hand to the gangway by which Montgomery stood talking to a massive grey-haired man in dirty-blue flannels, who had apparently just come aboard.

“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up! that way!” roared the captain.

Montgomery and his companion turned as he spoke.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up,—­that’s what I mean!  Overboard, Mister Shut-up,—­and sharp!  We’re cleaning the ship out,—­cleaning the whole blessed ship out; and overboard you go!”

I stared at him dumfounded.  Then it occurred to me that it was exactly the thing I wanted.  The lost prospect of a journey as sole passenger with this quarrelsome sot was not one to mourn over.  I turned towards Montgomery.

“Can’t have you,” said Montgomery’s companion, concisely.

“You can’t have me!” said I, aghast.  He had the squarest and most resolute face I ever set eyes upon.

“Look here,” I began, turning to the captain.

“Overboard!” said the captain.  “This ship aint for beasts and cannibals and worse than beasts, any more.  Overboard you go, Mister Shut-up.  If they can’t have you, you goes overboard.  But, anyhow, you go—­with your friends.  I’ve done with this blessed island for evermore, amen!  I’ve had enough of it.”

“But, Montgomery,” I appealed.

He distorted his lower lip, and nodded his head hopelessly at the grey-haired man beside him, to indicate his powerlessness to help me.

“I’ll see to you, presently,” said the captain.

Then began a curious three-cornered altercation.  Alternately I appealed to one and another of the three men,—­first to the grey-haired man to let me land, and then to the drunken captain to keep me aboard.  I even bawled entreaties to the sailors.  Montgomery said never a word, only shook his head.  “You’re going overboard, I tell you,” was the captain’s refrain.  “Law be damned!  I’m king here.”  At last I must confess my voice suddenly broke in the middle of a vigorous threat.  I felt a gust of hysterical petulance, and went aft and stared dismally at nothing.

Meanwhile the sailors progressed rapidly with the task of unshipping the packages and caged animals.  A large launch, with two standing lugs, lay under the lea of the schooner; and into this the strange assortment of goods were swung.  I did not then see the hands from the island that were receiving the packages, for the hull of the launch was hidden from me by the side of the schooner.  Neither Montgomery nor his companion took the slightest notice of me, but busied themselves in assisting and directing the four or five sailors who were unloading the goods.  The captain went forward interfering rather than assisting.  I was alternately despairful and desperate.  Once or twice as I stood waiting there for things to accomplish themselves, I could not resist an impulse to laugh at my miserable quandary.  I felt all the wretcheder for the lack of a breakfast.  Hunger and a lack of blood-corpuscles take all the manhood from a man.  I perceived pretty clearly that I had not the stamina either to resist what the captain chose to do to expel me, or to force myself upon Montgomery and his companion.  So I waited passively upon fate; and the work of transferring Montgomery’s possessions to the launch went on as if I did not exist.

Presently that work was finished, and then came a struggle.  I was hauled, resisting weakly enough, to the gangway.  Even then I noticed the oddness of the brown faces of the men who were with Montgomery in the launch; but the launch was now fully laden, and was shoved off hastily.  A broadening gap of green water appeared under me, and I pushed back with all my strength to avoid falling headlong.  The hands in the launch shouted derisively, and I heard Montgomery curse at them; and then the captain, the mate, and one of the seamen helping him, ran me aft towards the stern.

The dingey of the “Lady Vain” had been towing behind; it was half full of water, had no oars, and was quite unvictualled.  I refused to go aboard her, and flung myself full length on the deck.  In the end, they swung me into her by a rope (for they had no stern ladder), and then they cut me adrift.  I drifted slowly from the schooner.  In a kind of stupor I watched all hands take to the rigging, and slowly but surely she came round to the wind; the sails fluttered, and then bellied out as the wind came into them.  I stared at her weather-beaten side heeling steeply towards me; and then she passed out of my range of view.

I did not turn my head to follow her.  At first I could scarcely believe what had happened.  I crouched in the bottom of the dingey, stunned, and staring blankly at the vacant, oily sea.  Then I realised that I was in that little hell of mine again, now half swamped; and looking back over the gunwale, I saw the schooner standing away from me, with the red-haired captain mocking at me over the taffrail, and turning towards the island saw the launch growing smaller as she approached the beach.

Abruptly the cruelty of this desertion became clear to me.  I had no means of reaching the land unless I should chance to drift there.  I was still weak, you must remember, from my exposure in the boat; I was empty and very faint, or I should have had more heart.  But as it was I suddenly began to sob and weep, as I had never done since I was a little child.  The tears ran down my face.  In a passion of despair I struck with my fists at the water in the bottom of the boat, and kicked savagely at the gunwale.  I prayed aloud for God to let me die.