Read Online The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: H. G. Wells
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through with the adventure, I gripped my nailed stick
about the middle and crawled into the little evil-smelling lean-to
after my conductor.
It was a semi-circular space, shaped like the half of a bee-hive;
and against the rocky wall that formed the inner side of it was a pile
of variegated fruits, cocoa-nuts among others. Some rough vessels
of lava and wood stood about the floor, and one on a rough stool.
There was no fire. In the darkest corner of the hut sat a shapeless
mass of darkness that grunted "Hey!" as I came in, and my Ape-man
stood in the dim light of the doorway and held out a split cocoa-nut
to me as I crawled into the other corner and squatted down.
I took it, and began gnawing it, as serenely as possible, in spite of a
certain trepidation and the nearly intolerable closeness of the den.
The little pink sloth-creature stood in the aperture of the hut,
and something else with a drab face and bright eyes came staring over
its shoulder.
"Hey!" came out of the lump of mystery opposite. "It is a man."
"It is a man," gabbled my conductor, "a man, a man, a five-man,
like me."
"Shut up!" said the voice from the dark, and grunted.
I gnawed my cocoa-nut amid an impressive stillness.
I peered hard into the blackness, but could distinguish nothing.
"It is a man," the voice repeated. "He comes to live with us?"
It was a thick voice, with something in it—a kind of whistling
overtone—that struck me as peculiar; but the English accent was
strangely good.
The Ape-man looked at me as though he expected something.
I perceived the pause was interrogative. "He comes to live with you,"
I said.
"It is a man. He must learn the Law."
I began to distinguish now a deeper blackness in the black,
a vague outline of a hunched-up figure. Then I noticed
the opening of the place was darkened by two more black heads.
My hand tightened on my stick.
The thing in the dark repeated in a louder tone, "Say the words."
I had missed its last remark. "Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law,"
it repeated in a kind of sing-song.
I was puzzled.
"Say the words," said the Ape-man, repeating, and the figures
in the doorway echoed this, with a threat in the tone of their voices.
I realised that I had to repeat this idiotic formula; and then
began the insanest ceremony. The voice in the dark began intoning
a mad litany, line by line, and I and the rest to repeat it.
As they did so, they swayed from side to side in the oddest way,
and beat their hands upon their knees; and I followed their example.
I could have imagined I was already dead and in another world.
That dark hut, these grotesque dim figures, just flecked here and
there by a glimmer of light, and all of them swaying in unison and
chanting,
"Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to eat Fish or Flesh; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to claw the Bark of Trees; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to chase other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men?"
And so from the prohibition of these acts of folly,
on to the prohibition of what I thought then were the maddest,
most impossible, and most indecent things one could well imagine.
A kind of rhythmic fervour fell on all of us; we gabbled
and swayed faster and faster, repeating this amazing Law.
Superficially the contagion of these brutes was upon me, but deep
down within me the laughter and disgust struggled together.
We ran through a long list of prohibitions, and then the chant swung
round to a new formula.
"
His
is the House of Pain.
"
His
is the Hand that makes.
"
His
is the Hand that wounds.
"
His
is the Hand that heals."
And so on for another long series, mostly quite incomprehensible
gibberish to me about
Him
, whoever he might be. I could have fancied
it was a dream, but never before have I heard chanting in a dream.
"
His
is the lightning flash," we sang. "
His
is the deep, salt sea."
A horrible fancy came into my head that Moreau, after
about the middle and crawled into the little evil-smelling lean-to
after my conductor.
It was a semi-circular space, shaped like the half of a bee-hive;
and against the rocky wall that formed the inner side of it was a pile
of variegated fruits, cocoa-nuts among others. Some rough vessels
of lava and wood stood about the floor, and one on a rough stool.
There was no fire. In the darkest corner of the hut sat a shapeless
mass of darkness that grunted "Hey!" as I came in, and my Ape-man
stood in the dim light of the doorway and held out a split cocoa-nut
to me as I crawled into the other corner and squatted down.
I took it, and began gnawing it, as serenely as possible, in spite of a
certain trepidation and the nearly intolerable closeness of the den.
The little pink sloth-creature stood in the aperture of the hut,
and something else with a drab face and bright eyes came staring over
its shoulder.
"Hey!" came out of the lump of mystery opposite. "It is a man."
"It is a man," gabbled my conductor, "a man, a man, a five-man,
like me."
"Shut up!" said the voice from the dark, and grunted.
I gnawed my cocoa-nut amid an impressive stillness.
I peered hard into the blackness, but could distinguish nothing.
"It is a man," the voice repeated. "He comes to live with us?"
It was a thick voice, with something in it—a kind of whistling
overtone—that struck me as peculiar; but the English accent was
strangely good.
The Ape-man looked at me as though he expected something.
I perceived the pause was interrogative. "He comes to live with you,"
I said.
"It is a man. He must learn the Law."
I began to distinguish now a deeper blackness in the black,
a vague outline of a hunched-up figure. Then I noticed
the opening of the place was darkened by two more black heads.
My hand tightened on my stick.
The thing in the dark repeated in a louder tone, "Say the words."
I had missed its last remark. "Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law,"
it repeated in a kind of sing-song.
I was puzzled.
"Say the words," said the Ape-man, repeating, and the figures
in the doorway echoed this, with a threat in the tone of their voices.
I realised that I had to repeat this idiotic formula; and then
began the insanest ceremony. The voice in the dark began intoning
a mad litany, line by line, and I and the rest to repeat it.
As they did so, they swayed from side to side in the oddest way,
and beat their hands upon their knees; and I followed their example.
I could have imagined I was already dead and in another world.
That dark hut, these grotesque dim figures, just flecked here and
there by a glimmer of light, and all of them swaying in unison and
chanting,
"Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to eat Fish or Flesh; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to claw the Bark of Trees; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
"Not to chase other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men?"
And so from the prohibition of these acts of folly,
on to the prohibition of what I thought then were the maddest,
most impossible, and most indecent things one could well imagine.
A kind of rhythmic fervour fell on all of us; we gabbled
and swayed faster and faster, repeating this amazing Law.
Superficially the contagion of these brutes was upon me, but deep
down within me the laughter and disgust struggled together.
We ran through a long list of prohibitions, and then the chant swung
round to a new formula.
"
His
is the House of Pain.
"
His
is the Hand that makes.
"
His
is the Hand that wounds.
"
His
is the Hand that heals."
And so on for another long series, mostly quite incomprehensible
gibberish to me about
Him
, whoever he might be. I could have fancied
it was a dream, but never before have I heard chanting in a dream.
"
His
is the lightning flash," we sang. "
His
is the deep, salt sea."
A horrible fancy came into my head that Moreau, after
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