The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle

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 marketplace 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.

“Will the light be long in coming?” I asked. “Some animal is sitting on my foot and my toes are going to sleep.”

“No, only a minute,” said the Doctor. “She’ll be back in a minute.”

And just then I saw the first glimmerings of a light around the landing above. At once all the animals kept quiet.

“I thought you lived alone,” I said to the Doctor.

“So I do,” said he. “It is Dab-Dab who is bringing the light.”

I looked up the stairs trying to make out who was coming. I could not see around the landing but I heard the most curious footstep on the upper flight. It sounded like someone hopping down from one step to the other, as though he were using only one leg.

As the light came lower, it grew brighter and began to throw strange jumping shadows on the walls.

“Ah⁠—at last!” said the Doctor. “Good old Dab-Dab!”

And then I thought I really must be dreaming. For there, craning her neck round the bend of the landing, hopping down the stairs on one leg, came a spotless white duck. And in her right foot she carried a lighted candle!

“I protest, I protest!” yelled the long-nosed Prosecutor. “This is a scandal, an outrage to the Bar!”

“Sit down!” said the judge in a very stern voice.

“What animal does Your Honor wish me to talk with?” asked the Doctor.

“I would like you to talk to my own dog,” said the judge. “He is outside in the cloakroom. I will have him brought in; and then we shall see what you can do.”

Then someone went out and fetched the judge’s dog, a lovely great Russian wolfhound with slender legs and a shaggy coat. He was a proud and beautiful creature.

“Now, Doctor,” said the judge, “did you ever see this dog before?⁠—Remember you are in the witness-stand and under oath.”

“No, Your Honor, I never saw him before.”

“Very well then, will you please ask him to tell you what I had for supper last night? He was with me and watched me while I ate.”

Then the Doctor and the dog started talking to one another in signs and sounds; and they kept at it for quite a long time. And the Doctor began to giggle and get so interested that he seemed to forget all about the Court and the judge and everything else.

“What a time he takes!” I heard a fat woman in front of me whispering. “He’s only pretending. Of course he can’t do it! Who ever heard of talking to a dog? He must think we’re children.”

“Tell me,” said the Doctor as though he had been impatiently waiting to say something for a long time: “what did Long Arrow say when you gave him my message?”

The Purple Bird-of-Paradise hung her head.

“That’s the worst part of it,” she said. “I might almost as well have not come at all. I wasn’t able to deliver your message. I couldn’t find him. Long Arrow, the son of Golden Arrow, has disappeared!”

“Disappeared!” cried the Doctor. “Why, what’s become of him?”

“Nobody knows,” Miranda answered. “He had often disappeared before, as I have told you⁠—so that the Indians didn’t know where he was. But it’s a mighty hard thing to hide away from the birds. I had always been able to find some owl or martin who could tell me where he was⁠—if I wanted to know. But not this time. That’s why I’m nearly a fortnight late in coming to you: I kept hunting and hunting, asking everywhere. I went over the whole length and breadth of South America. But there wasn’t a living thing could tell me where he was.”

While we were admiring one of these the Doctor suddenly said, “Sh!⁠—A Jabizri!⁠—Don’t you hear it?”

We listened and heard, somewhere in the air about us, an extraordinarily musical hum⁠—like a bee, but not just one note. This hum rose and fell, up and down⁠—almost like someone singing.

“No other insect but the Jabizri beetle hums like that,” said the Doctor. “I wonder where he is⁠—quite near, by the sound⁠—flying among the trees probably. Oh, if I only had my butterfly-net! Why didn’t I think to strap that around my waist too. Confound the storm: I may miss the chance of a lifetime now of getting the rarest beetle in the world⁠—Oh look! There he goes!”

A huge beetle, easily three inches long I should say, suddenly flew by our noses. The Doctor got frightfully excited. He took off his hat to use as a net, swooped at the beetle and caught it. He nearly fell down a precipice on to the rocks below in his wild hurry, but that didn’t bother him in the least. He knelt down, chortling, upon the ground with the Jabizri safe under his hat. From his pocket he brought out a glass-topped box, and into this he very skilfully made the beetle walk from under the rim of the hat. Then he rose up, happy as a child, to examine his new treasure through the glass lid.

It certainly was a most beautiful insect. It was pale blue underneath; but its back was glossy black with huge red spots on it.