by Hugh Lofting
Produced by Emmy, MWS and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)
_THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE_
I HIS LANDING ON THE ISLAND
II HIS MEETING WITH THE BEETLE
III HE LIBERATES THE LOST FAMILIES
IV HE MAKES FIRE
V HE LEADS THE PEOPLE TO VICTORY IN WAR
VI HE IS CROWNED KING
THE POPSIPETEL PICTURE-HISTORY OF KING JONG THINKALOT]
_The_ VOYAGES _of_ DOCTOR DOLITTLE
ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR
BY HUGH LOFTING
_Published by FREDK. A. STOKES Co. at 443 Fourth Avenue New York A.D. 1922_
_Copyright, 1922, by_ FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages_
First Printing, August 18, 1922 Second Printing, November 10, 1922 Third Printing, February 28, 1923 Fourth Printing, June 20, 1923 Fifth Printing, August 16, 1923 Sixth Printing, November 30, 1923 Seventh Printing, April 18, 1925 Eighth Printing, March 19, 1926 Ninth Printing, July 30, 1927 Tenth Printing, April 11, 1928 Eleventh Printing, June 19, 1929 Twelfth Printing, September 12, 1930 Thirteenth Printing, August 10, 1931 Fourteenth Printing, September 1, 1933
_Printed in the United States of America_
_To Colin and Elizabeth_
_CONTENTS_
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 afterit happened from those who had known him—indeed a great deal of it tookplace before I was born. But I now come to set down that part of thegreat man’s life which I myself saw and took part in.
Many years ago the Doctor gave me permission to do this. But we wereboth of us so busy then voyaging around the world, having adventuresand filling note-books full of natural history that I never seemed toget 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 anymore. But whenever I am in doubt and have to hesitate and think, Ialways 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. Ifthere is any happening I am not quite sure of, she is always able toput me right, to tell me exactly how it took place, who was there andeverything about it. In fact sometimes I almost think I ought to saythat this book was written by Polynes
ia instead of me.
Very well then, I will begin. And first of all I must tell yousomething 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 ofPuddleby-on-the-Marsh; and I was nine and a half years old. At thattime Puddleby was only quite a small town. A river ran through themiddle 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 tothe churchyard on the other.
Sailing-ships came up this river from the sea and anchored near thebridge. I used to go down and watch the sailors unloading the shipsupon the river-wall. The sailors sang strange songs as they pulled uponthe ropes; and I learned these songs by heart. And I would sit on theriver-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 theyturned their backs on Puddleby Church and went creeping down the riveragain, across the wide lonely marshes to the sea. I longed to go withthem 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 andthe water was hidden from view, you could still see their huge brownsails towering over the roofs of the town, moving onward slowly—likesome gentle giants that walked among the houses without noise. Whatstrange things would they have seen, I wondered, when next they cameback to anchor at Kingsbridge! And, dreaming of the lands I had neverseen, 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, themussel-man, who lived in a tiny hut by the edge of the water under thebridge. This old man was simply marvelous at making things. I never sawa man so clever with his hands. He used to mend my toy ships for mewhich I sailed upon the river; he built windmills out of packing-casesand barrel-staves; and he could make the most wonderful kites from oldumbrellas.
Joe would sometimes take me in his mussel-boat, and when the tidewas running out we would paddle down the river as far as the edge ofthe sea to get mussels and lobsters to sell. And out there on thecold lonely marshes we would see wild geese flying, and curlews andredshanks and many other kinds of seabirds that live among the samfireand the long grass of the great salt fen. And as we crept up the riverin the evening, when the tide had turned, we would see the lightson Kingsbridge twinkle in the dusk, reminding us of tea-time and warmfires.
“I would sit on the river-wall with my feet danglingover the water”]
Another friend I had was Matthew Mugg, the cat’s-meat-man. He was afunny old person with a bad squint. He looked rather awful but hewas 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 acat’s-meat-man was a regular business. And you could see one nearly anyday going through the streets with a wooden tray full of pieces of meatstuck on skewers crying, “Meat! M-E-A-T!” People paid him to give thismeat to their cats and dogs instead of feeding them on dog-biscuits orthe scraps from the table.
I enjoyed going round with old Matthew and seeing the cats and dogscome running to the garden-gates whenever they heard his call.Sometimes he let me give the meat to the animals myself; and I thoughtthis was great fun. He knew a lot about dogs and he would tell methe names of the different kinds as we went through the town. He hadseveral dogs of his own; one, a whippet, was a very fast runner, andMatthew 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 makea business of rat-catching for the millers and farmers as well as hisother trade of selling cat’s-meat.
My third great friend was Luke the Hermit. But of him I will tell youmore later on.
I did not go to school; because my father was not rich enough to sendme. But I was extremely fond of animals. So I used to spend my timecollecting birds’ eggs and butterflies, fishing in the river, ramblingthrough the countryside after blackberries and mushrooms and helpingthe mussel-man mend his nets.
Yes, it was a very pleasant life I lived in those days long ago—thoughof course I did not think so then. I was nine and a half years old;and, like all boys, I wanted to grow up—not knowing how well off I waswith no cares and nothing to worry me. Always I longed for the timewhen I should be allowed to leave my father’s house, to take passagein one of those brave ships, to sail down the river through the mistymarshes to the sea—out into the world to seek my fortune.
_THE SECOND CHAPTER_
I HEAR OF THE GREAT NATURALIST
ONE early morning in the Springtime, when I was wandering among thehills at the back of the town, I happened to come upon a hawk with asquirrel in its claws. It was standing on a rock and the squirrel wasfighting very hard for its life. The hawk was so frightened when I cameupon it suddenly like this, that it dropped the poor creature and flewaway. I picked the squirrel up and found that two of its legs werebadly hurt. So I carried it in my arms back to the town.
When I came to the bridge I went into the mussel-man’s hut and askedhim if he could do anything for it. Joe put on his spectacles andexamined it carefully. Then he shook his head.
“Yon crittur’s got a broken leg,” he said—“and another badly cut an’all. I can mend you your boats, Tom, but I haven’t the tools nor thelearning to make a broken squirrel seaworthy. This is a job for asurgeon—and for a right smart one an’ all. There be only one man I knowwho could save yon crittur’s life. And that’s John Dolittle.”
“Who is John Dolittle?” I asked. “Is he a vet?”
“No,” said the mussel-man. “He’s no vet. Doctor Dolittle is anacheralist.”
“What’s a nacheralist?”
“A nacheralist,” said Joe, putting away his glasses and starting tofill his pipe, “is a man who knows all about animals and butterfliesand plants and rocks an’ all. John Dolittle is a very greatnacheralist. I’m surprised you never heard of him—and you daft overanimals. He knows a whole lot about shellfish—that I know from my ownknowledge. He’s a quiet man and don’t talk much; but there’s folks whodo say he’s the greatest nacheralist in the world.”
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“Over on the Oxenthorpe Road, t’other side the town. Don’t know justwhich house it is, but ’most anyone ’cross there could tell you, Ireckon. Go and see him. He’s a great man.”
So I thanked the mussel-man, took up my squirrel again and started offtowards the Oxenthorpe Road.
The first thing I heard as I came into the market-place was some onecalling “Meat! M-E-A-T!”
“There’s Matthew Mugg,” I said to myself. “He’ll know where this Doctorlives. Matthew knows everyone.”
So I hurried across the market-place and caught him up.
“Matthew,” I said, “do you know Doctor Dolittle?”
“Do I know John Dolittle!” said he. “Well, I should think I do! I knowhim as well as I know my own wife—better, I sometimes think. He’s agreat man—a very great man.”
“Can you show me where he lives?” I asked. “I want to take thissquirrel to him. It has a broken leg.”
“Certainly,” said the cat’s-meat-man. “I’ll be going right by his housedirectly. Come along and I’ll show you.”
So off we went together.
“Oh, I’ve known John Dolittle for years and years,” said Matthew as wemade our way out of the market-place. “But I’m pretty sure he ain’thome just now. He’s away on a voyage. But he’s liable to be back anyday. I’ll show you his house and then you’ll know where to find him.”
All the way down the Oxenthorpe Road Matthew hardly stopped talkingabout his great friend, Doctor John Dolittle—“M. D.” He talked so muchthat he forgot all about calling out “Meat!” until we both suddenlynoticed that we had a whole procession of dogs following us patiently.
“Where did the Doctor go to on this voyage?” I asked as Matthew hand
edround the meat to them.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered. “Nobody never knows where he goes,nor when he’s going, nor when he’s coming back. He lives all aloneexcept for his pets. He’s made some great voyages and some wonderfuldiscoveries. Last time he came back he told me he’d found a tribe ofRed Indians in the Pacific Ocean—lived on two islands, they did. Thehusbands lived on one island and the wives lived on the other. Sensiblepeople, some of them savages. They only met once a year, when thehusbands came over to visit the wives for a great feast—Christmas-time,most likely. Yes, he’s a wonderful man is the Doctor. And as foranimals, well, there ain’t no one knows as much about ’em as what hedoes.”
“How did he get to know so much about animals?” I asked.
The cat’s-meat-man stopped and leant down to whisper in my ear.
“_He talks their language_,” he said in a hoarse, mysterious voice.
“The animals’ language?” I cried.
“Why certainly,” said Matthew. “All animals have some kind of alanguage. Some sorts talk more than others; some only speak insign-language, like deaf-and-dumb. But the Doctor, he understands themall—birds as well as animals. We keep it a secret though, him and me,because folks only laugh at you when you speak of it. Why, he caneven write animal-language. He reads aloud to his pets. He’s wrotehistory-books in monkey-talk, poetry in canary language and comicsongs for magpies to sing. It’s a fact. He’s now busy learning thelanguage of the shellfish. But he says it’s hard work—and he has caughtsome terrible colds, holding his head under water so much. He’s a greatman.”