The_island_of_Dr._Moreau/main.tex

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\frontmatter

\thispagestyle{empty}
\begin{titlepage}
    \centering
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    {\Huge\bfseries The Island of Doctor Moreau\par}
    \vspace*{4cm}
    {\huge H. G. Wells\par}
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    \small % Use a smaller font size for this information

    This text is in the public domain.\par % Use \par for a line break
    Sourced from Project Gutenberg.\par
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% Sumário
\tableofcontents

\mainmatter

\chapter*{INTRODUCTION}
\pagestyle{fancy}
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\cleardoublepage

\fancyhead[l]{INTRODUCTION}
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\include{chapters/Introduction}

\fancyhead[LO]{\nouppercase{\leftmark}} % Página Ímpar: Título (apenas o nome) no lado Esquerdo (interno)
\fancyhead[RE]{\nouppercase{\leftmark}} % Página Par: Título (apenas o nome) no lado Direito (interno)

\fancyhead[LE]{\thepage}             % Página Par: Número da página no lado Esquerdo (Externo)
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\chapter{IN THE DINGEY OF THE \emph{LADY VAIN}.}
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\cleardoublepage
\include{chapters/In the Dingey of Lady Vain}

\chapter{THE MAN WHO WAS GOING NOWHERE}
\cleardoublepage
\include{chapters/The man who was going nowhere}

\chapter{THE STRANGE FACE}
\cleardoublepage

\include{chapters/The Strange Face}

\chapter{AT THE SCHOONER’S RAIL}
\cleardoublepage

\include{chapters/At the Schooners Rail}

\chapter{THE MAN WHO HAD NOWHERE TO GO}
\cleardoublepage 

\include{chapters/The man who had nowhere to go}

\chapter{THE EVIL-LOOKING BOATMEN}
\cleardoublepage

\include{chapters/The evil looking boatmen}

\chapter{THE LOCKED DOOR}
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\include{chapters/Locked Door}

\chapter{THE CRYING OF THE PUMA}
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\include{chapters/The Crying of the puma}

\chapter{THE THING IN THE FOREST}
\cleardoublepage

\include{chapters/The thing in the forest}

\chapter{THE CRYING OF THE MAN}
\cleardoublepage

\include{chapters/The Crying of the man}

\chapter{THE HUNTING OF THE MAN}
\cleardoublepage
It came before my mind with an unreasonable hope of escape that the
outer door of my room was still open to me. I was convinced now,
absolutely assured, that Moreau had been vivisecting a human being. All
the time since I had heard his name, I had been trying to link in my
mind in some way the grotesque animalism of the islanders with his
abominations; and now I thought I saw it all. The memory of his work on
the transfusion of blood recurred to me. These creatures I had seen
were the victims of some hideous experiment. These sickening scoundrels
had merely intended to keep me back, to fool me with their display of
confidence, and presently to fall upon me with a fate more horrible
than death,—with torture; and after torture the most hideous
degradation it is possible to conceive,—to send me off a lost soul, a
beast, to the rest of their Comus rout.

I looked round for some weapon. Nothing. Then with an inspiration I
turned over the deck chair, put my foot on the side of it, and tore
away the side rail. It happened that a nail came away with the wood,
and projecting, gave a touch of danger to an otherwise petty weapon. I
heard a step outside, and incontinently flung open the door and found
Montgomery within a yard of it. He meant to lock the outer door! I
raised this nailed stick of mine and cut at his face; but he sprang
back. I hesitated a moment, then turned and fled, round the corner of
the house. “Prendick, man!” I heard his astonished cry, “don’t be a
silly ass, man!”

Another minute, thought I, and he would have had me locked in, and as
ready as a hospital rabbit for my fate. He emerged behind the corner,
for I heard him shout, “Prendick!” Then he began to run after me,
shouting things as he ran. This time running blindly, I went
northeastward in a direction at right angles to my previous expedition.
Once, as I went running headlong up the beach, I glanced over my
shoulder and saw his attendant with him. I ran furiously up the slope,
over it, then turning eastward along a rocky valley fringed on either
side with jungle I ran for perhaps a mile altogether, my chest
straining, my heart beating in my ears; and then hearing nothing of
Montgomery or his man, and feeling upon the verge of exhaustion, I
doubled sharply back towards the beach as I judged, and lay down in the
shelter of a canebrake. There I remained for a long time, too fearful
to move, and indeed too fearful even to plan a course of action. The
wild scene about me lay sleeping silently under the sun, and the only
sound near me was the thin hum of some small gnats that had discovered
me. Presently I became aware of a drowsy breathing sound, the soughing
of the sea upon the beach.

After about an hour I heard Montgomery shouting my name, far away to
the north. That set me thinking of my plan of action. As I interpreted
it then, this island was inhabited only by these two vivisectors and
their animalised victims. Some of these no doubt they could press into
their service against me if need arose. I knew both Moreau and
Montgomery carried revolvers; and, save for a feeble bar of deal spiked
with a small nail, the merest mockery of a mace, I was unarmed.

So I lay still there, until I began to think of food and drink; and at
that thought the real hopelessness of my position came home to me. I
knew no way of getting anything to eat. I was too ignorant of botany to
discover any resort of root or fruit that might lie about me; I had no
means of trapping the few rabbits upon the island. It grew blanker the
more I turned the prospect over. At last in the desperation of my
position, my mind turned to the animal men I had encountered. I tried
to find some hope in what I remembered of them. In turn I recalled each
one I had seen, and tried to draw some augury of assistance from my
memory.

Then suddenly I heard a staghound bay, and at that realised a new
danger. I took little time to think, or they would have caught me then,
but snatching up my nailed stick, rushed headlong from my hiding-place
towards the sound of the sea. I remember a growth of thorny plants,
with spines that stabbed like pen-knives. I emerged bleeding and with
torn clothes upon the lip of a long creek opening northward. I went
straight into the water without a minute’s hesitation, wading up the
creek, and presently finding myself kneedeep in a little stream. I
scrambled out at last on the westward bank, and with my heart beating
loudly in my ears, crept into a tangle of ferns to await the issue. I
heard the dog (there was only one) draw nearer, and yelp when it came
to the thorns. Then I heard no more, and presently began to think I had
escaped.

The minutes passed; the silence lengthened out, and at last after an
hour of security my courage began to return to me. By this time I was
no longer very much terrified or very miserable. I had, as it were,
passed the limit of terror and despair. I felt now that my life was
practically lost, and that persuasion made me capable of daring
anything. I had even a certain wish to encounter Moreau face to face;
and as I had waded into the water, I remembered that if I were too hard
pressed at least one path of escape from torment still lay open to
me,—they could not very well prevent my drowning myself. I had half a
mind to drown myself then; but an odd wish to see the whole adventure
out, a queer, impersonal, spectacular interest in myself, restrained
me. I stretched my limbs, sore and painful from the pricks of the spiny
plants, and stared around me at the trees; and, so suddenly that it
seemed to jump out of the green tracery about it, my eyes lit upon a
black face watching me. I saw that it was the simian creature who had
met the launch upon the beach. He was clinging to the oblique stem of a
palm-tree. I gripped my stick, and stood up facing him. He began
chattering. “You, you, you,” was all I could distinguish at first.
Suddenly he dropped from the tree, and in another moment was holding
the fronds apart and staring curiously at me.

I did not feel the same repugnance towards this creature which I had
experienced in my encounters with the other Beast Men. “You,” he said,
“in the boat.” He was a man, then,—at least as much of a man as
Montgomery’s attendant,—for he could talk.

“Yes,” I said, “I came in the boat. From the ship.”

“Oh!” he said, and his bright, restless eyes travelled over me, to my
hands, to the stick I carried, to my feet, to the tattered places in my
coat, and the cuts and scratches I had received from the thorns. He
seemed puzzled at something. His eyes came back to my hands. He held
his own hand out and counted his digits slowly, “One, two, three, four,
five—eigh?”

I did not grasp his meaning then; afterwards I was to find that a great
proportion of these Beast People had malformed hands, lacking sometimes
even three digits. But guessing this was in some way a greeting, I did
the same thing by way of reply. He grinned with immense satisfaction.
Then his swift roving glance went round again; he made a swift
movement—and vanished. The fern fronds he had stood between came
swishing together.

I pushed out of the brake after him, and was astonished to find him
swinging cheerfully by one lank arm from a rope of creepers that looped
down from the foliage overhead. His back was to me.

“Hullo!” said I.

He came down with a twisting jump, and stood facing me.

“I say,” said I, “where can I get something to eat?”

“Eat!” he said. “Eat Man’s food, now.” And his eye went back to the
swing of ropes. “At the huts.”

“But where are the huts?”

“Oh!”

“I’m new, you know.”

At that he swung round, and set off at a quick walk. All his motions
were curiously rapid. “Come along,” said he.

I went with him to see the adventure out. I guessed the huts were some
rough shelter where he and some more of these Beast People lived. I
might perhaps find them friendly, find some handle in their minds to
take hold of. I did not know how far they had forgotten their human
heritage.

My ape-like companion trotted along by my side, with his hands hanging
down and his jaw thrust forward. I wondered what memory he might have
in him. “How long have you been on this island?” said I.

“How long?” he asked; and after having the question repeated, he held
up three fingers.

The creature was little better than an idiot. I tried to make out what
he meant by that, and it seems I bored him. After another question or
two he suddenly left my side and went leaping at some fruit that hung
from a tree. He pulled down a handful of prickly husks and went on
eating the contents. I noted this with satisfaction, for here at least
was a hint for feeding. I tried him with some other questions, but his
chattering, prompt responses were as often as not quite at cross
purposes with my question. Some few were appropriate, others quite
parrot-like.

I was so intent upon these peculiarities that I scarcely noticed the
path we followed. Presently we came to trees, all charred and brown,
and so to a bare place covered with a yellow-white incrustation, across
which a drifting smoke, pungent in whiffs to nose and eyes, went
drifting. On our right, over a shoulder of bare rock, I saw the level
blue of the sea. The path coiled down abruptly into a narrow ravine
between two tumbled and knotty masses of blackish scoriae. Into this we
plunged.

It was extremely dark, this passage, after the blinding sunlight
reflected from the sulphurous ground. Its walls grew steep, and
approached each other. Blotches of green and crimson drifted across my
eyes. My conductor stopped suddenly. “Home!” said he, and I stood in a
floor of a chasm that was at first absolutely dark to me. I heard some
strange noises, and thrust the knuckles of my left hand into my eyes. I
became aware of a disagreeable odor, like that of a monkey’s cage
ill-cleaned. Beyond, the rock opened again upon a gradual slope of
sunlit greenery, and on either hand the light smote down through narrow
ways into the central gloom.

\chapter{THE SAYERS OF THE LAW}
\cleardoublepage
Then something cold touched my hand. I started violently, and saw close
to me a dim pinkish thing, looking more like a flayed child than
anything else in the world. The creature had exactly the mild but
repulsive features of a sloth, the same low forehead and slow gestures.

As the first shock of the change of light passed, I saw about me more
distinctly. The little sloth-like creature was standing and staring at
me. My conductor had vanished. The place was a narrow passage between
high walls of lava, a crack in the knotted rock, and on either side
interwoven heaps of sea-mat, palm-fans, and reeds leaning against the
rock formed rough and impenetrably dark dens. The winding way up the
ravine between these was scarcely three yards wide, and was disfigured
by lumps of decaying fruit-pulp and other refuse, which accounted for
the disagreeable stench of the place.

The little pink sloth-creature was still blinking at me when my Ape-man
reappeared at the aperture of the nearest of these dens, and beckoned
me in. As he did so a slouching monster wriggled out of one of the
places, further up this strange street, and stood up in featureless
silhouette against the bright green beyond, staring at me. I hesitated,
having half a mind to bolt the way I had come; and then, determined to
go 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; \emph{that} is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to chase other Men; \emph{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.

“\emph{His} is the House of Pain.
“\emph{His} is the Hand that makes.
“\emph{His} is the Hand that wounds.
“\emph{His} is the Hand that heals.”


And so on for another long series, mostly quite incomprehensible
gibberish to me about \emph{Him}, whoever he might be. I could have fancied
it was a dream, but never before have I heard chanting in a dream.

“\emph{His} is the lightning flash,” we sang. “\emph{His} is the deep, salt sea.”

A horrible fancy came into my head that Moreau, after animalising these
men, had infected their dwarfed brains with a kind of deification of
himself. However, I was too keenly aware of white teeth and strong
claws about me to stop my chanting on that account.

“\emph{His} are the stars in the sky.”


At last that song ended. I saw the Ape-man’s face shining with
perspiration; and my eyes being now accustomed to the darkness, I saw
more distinctly the figure in the corner from which the voice came. It
was the size of a man, but it seemed covered with a dull grey hair
almost like a Skye-terrier. What was it? What were they all? Imagine
yourself surrounded by all the most horrible cripples and maniacs it is
possible to conceive, and you may understand a little of my feelings
with these grotesque caricatures of humanity about me.

“He is a five-man, a five-man, a five-man—like me,” said the Ape-man.

I held out my hands. The grey creature in the corner leant forward.

“Not to run on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?” he said.

He put out a strangely distorted talon and gripped my fingers. The
thing was almost like the hoof of a deer produced into claws. I could
have yelled with surprise and pain. His face came forward and peered at
my nails, came forward into the light of the opening of the hut and I
saw with a quivering disgust that it was like the face of neither man
nor beast, but a mere shock of grey hair, with three shadowy
over-archings to mark the eyes and mouth.

“He has little nails,” said this grisly creature in his hairy beard.
“It is well.”

He threw my hand down, and instinctively I gripped my stick.

“Eat roots and herbs; it is His will,” said the Ape-man.

“I am the Sayer of the Law,” said the grey figure. “Here come all that
be new to learn the Law. I sit in the darkness and say the Law.”

“It is even so,” said one of the beasts in the doorway.

“Evil are the punishments of those who break the Law. None escape.”

“None escape,” said the Beast Folk, glancing furtively at one another.

“None, none,” said the Ape-man,—“none escape. See! I did a little
thing, a wrong thing, once. I jabbered, jabbered, stopped talking. None
could understand. I am burnt, branded in the hand. He is great. He is
good!”

“None escape,” said the grey creature in the corner.

“None escape,” said the Beast People, looking askance at one another.

“For every one the want that is bad,” said the grey Sayer of the Law.
“What you will want we do not know; we shall know. Some want to follow
things that move, to watch and slink and wait and spring; to kill and
bite, bite deep and rich, sucking the blood. It is bad. ‘Not to chase
other Men; that is the Law. Are we not Men? Not to eat Flesh or Fish;
that is the Law. Are we not Men?’”

“None escape,” said a dappled brute standing in the doorway.

“For every one the want is bad,” said the grey Sayer of the Law. “Some
want to go tearing with teeth and hands into the roots of things,
snuffing into the earth. It is bad.”

“None escape,” said the men in the door.

“Some go clawing trees; some go scratching at the graves of the dead;
some go fighting with foreheads or feet or claws; some bite suddenly,
none giving occasion; some love uncleanness.”

“None escape,” said the Ape-man, scratching his calf.

“None escape,” said the little pink sloth-creature.

“Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the Law. Say the words.”

And incontinently he began again the strange litany of the Law, and
again I and all these creatures began singing and swaying. My head
reeled with this jabbering and the close stench of the place; but I
kept on, trusting to find presently some chance of a new development.

“Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?”

We were making such a noise that I noticed nothing of a tumult outside,
until some one, who I think was one of the two Swine Men I had seen,
thrust his head over the little pink sloth-creature and shouted
something excitedly, something that I did not catch. Incontinently
those at the opening of the hut vanished; my Ape-man rushed out; the
thing that had sat in the dark followed him (I only observed that it
was big and clumsy, and covered with silvery hair), and I was left
alone. Then before I reached the aperture I heard the yelp of a
staghound.

In another moment I was standing outside the hovel, my chair-rail in my
hand, every muscle of me quivering. Before me were the clumsy backs of
perhaps a score of these Beast People, their misshapen heads half
hidden by their shoulder-blades. They were gesticulating excitedly.
Other half-animal faces glared interrogation out of the hovels. Looking
in the direction in which they faced, I saw coming through the haze
under the trees beyond the end of the passage of dens the dark figure
and awful white face of Moreau. He was holding the leaping staghound
back, and close behind him came Montgomery revolver in hand.

For a moment I stood horror-struck. I turned and saw the passage behind
me blocked by another heavy brute, with a huge grey face and twinkling
little eyes, advancing towards me. I looked round and saw to the right
of me and a half-dozen yards in front of me a narrow gap in the wall of
rock through which a ray of light slanted into the shadows.

“Stop!” cried Moreau as I strode towards this, and then, “Hold him!”

At that, first one face turned towards me and then others. Their
bestial minds were happily slow. I dashed my shoulder into a clumsy
monster who was turning to see what Moreau meant, and flung him forward
into another. I felt his hands fly round, clutching at me and missing
me. The little pink sloth-creature dashed at me, and I gashed down its
ugly face with the nail in my stick and in another minute was
scrambling up a steep side pathway, a kind of sloping chimney, out of
the ravine. I heard a howl behind me, and cries of “Catch him!” “Hold
him!” and the grey-faced creature appeared behind me and jammed his
huge bulk into the cleft. “Go on! go on!” they howled. I clambered up
the narrow cleft in the rock and came out upon the sulphur on the
westward side of the village of the Beast Men.

That gap was altogether fortunate for me, for the narrow chimney,
slanting obliquely upward, must have impeded the nearer pursuers. I ran
over the white space and down a steep slope, through a scattered growth
of trees, and came to a low-lying stretch of tall reeds, through which
I pushed into a dark, thick undergrowth that was black and succulent
under foot. As I plunged into the reeds, my foremost pursuers emerged
from the gap. I broke my way through this undergrowth for some minutes.
The air behind me and about me was soon full of threatening cries. I
heard the tumult of my pursuers in the gap up the slope, then the
crashing of the reeds, and every now and then the crackling crash of a
branch. Some of the creatures roared like excited beasts of prey. The
staghound yelped to the left. I heard Moreau and Montgomery shouting in
the same direction. I turned sharply to the right. It seemed to me even
then that I heard Montgomery shouting for me to run for my life.

Presently the ground gave rich and oozy under my feet; but I was
desperate and went headlong into it, struggled through kneedeep, and so
came to a winding path among tall canes. The noise of my pursuers
passed away to my left. In one place three strange, pink, hopping
animals, about the size of cats, bolted before my footsteps. This
pathway ran up hill, across another open space covered with white
incrustation, and plunged into a canebrake again. Then suddenly it
turned parallel with the edge of a steep-walled gap, which came without
warning, like the ha-ha of an English park,—turned with an unexpected
abruptness. I was still running with all my might, and I never saw this
drop until I was flying headlong through the air.

I fell on my forearms and head, among thorns, and rose with a torn ear
and bleeding face. I had fallen into a precipitous ravine, rocky and
thorny, full of a hazy mist which drifted about me in wisps, and with a
narrow streamlet from which this mist came meandering down the centre.
I was astonished at this thin fog in the full blaze of daylight; but I
had no time to stand wondering then. I turned to my right, down-stream,
hoping to come to the sea in that direction, and so have my way open to
drown myself. It was only later I found that I had dropped my nailed
stick in my fall.

Presently the ravine grew narrower for a space, and carelessly I
stepped into the stream. I jumped out again pretty quickly, for the
water was almost boiling. I noticed too there was a thin sulphurous
scum drifting upon its coiling water. Almost immediately came a turn in
the ravine, and the indistinct blue horizon. The nearer sea was
flashing the sun from a myriad facets. I saw my death before me; but I
was hot and panting, with the warm blood oozing out on my face and
running pleasantly through my veins. I felt more than a touch of
exultation too, at having distanced my pursuers. It was not in me then
to go out and drown myself yet. I stared back the way I had come.

I listened. Save for the hum of the gnats and the chirp of some small
insects that hopped among the thorns, the air was absolutely still.
Then came the yelp of a dog, very faint, and a chattering and
gibbering, the snap of a whip, and voices. They grew louder, then
fainter again. The noise receded up the stream and faded away. For a
while the chase was over; but I knew now how much hope of help for me
lay in the Beast People.

\chapter{A PARLEY}
\cleardoublepage 
I turned again and went on down towards the sea. I found the hot stream
broadened out to a shallow, weedy sand, in which an abundance of crabs
and long-bodied, many-legged creatures started from my footfall. I
walked to the very edge of the salt water, and then I felt I was safe.
I turned and stared, arms akimbo, at the thick green behind me, into
which the steamy ravine cut like a smoking gash. But, as I say, I was
too full of excitement and (a true saying, though those who have never
known danger may doubt it) too desperate to die.

Then it came into my head that there was one chance before me yet.
While Moreau and Montgomery and their bestial rabble chased me through
the island, might I not go round the beach until I came to their
enclosure,—make a flank march upon them, in fact, and then with a rock
lugged out of their loosely-built wall, perhaps, smash in the lock of
the smaller door and see what I could find (knife, pistol, or what not)
to fight them with when they returned? It was at any rate something to
try.

So I turned to the westward and walked along by the water’s edge. The
setting sun flashed his blinding heat into my eyes. The slight Pacific
tide was running in with a gentle ripple. Presently the shore fell away
southward, and the sun came round upon my right hand. Then suddenly,
far in front of me, I saw first one and then several figures emerging
from the bushes,—Moreau, with his grey staghound, then Montgomery, and
two others. At that I stopped.

They saw me, and began gesticulating and advancing. I stood watching
them approach. The two Beast Men came running forward to cut me off
from the undergrowth, inland. Montgomery came, running also, but
straight towards me. Moreau followed slower with the dog.

At last I roused myself from my inaction, and turning seaward walked
straight into the water. The water was very shallow at first. I was
thirty yards out before the waves reached to my waist. Dimly I could
see the intertidal creatures darting away from my feet.

“What are you doing, man?” cried Montgomery.

I turned, standing waist deep, and stared at them. Montgomery stood
panting at the margin of the water. His face was bright-red with
exertion, his long flaxen hair blown about his head, and his dropping
nether lip showed his irregular teeth. Moreau was just coming up, his
face pale and firm, and the dog at his hand barked at me. Both men had
heavy whips. Farther up the beach stared the Beast Men.

“What am I doing? I am going to drown myself,” said I.

Montgomery and Moreau looked at each other. “Why?” asked Moreau.

“Because that is better than being tortured by you.”

“I told you so,” said Montgomery, and Moreau said something in a low
tone.

“What makes you think I shall torture you?” asked Moreau.

“What I saw,” I said. “And those—yonder.”

“Hush!” said Moreau, and held up his hand.

“I will not,” said I. “They were men: what are they now? I at least
will not be like them.”

I looked past my interlocutors. Up the beach were M’ling, Montgomery’s
attendant, and one of the white-swathed brutes from the boat. Farther
up, in the shadow of the trees, I saw my little Ape-man, and behind him
some other dim figures.

“Who are these creatures?” said I, pointing to them and raising my
voice more and more that it might reach them. “They were men, men like
yourselves, whom you have infected with some bestial taint,—men whom
you have enslaved, and whom you still fear.

“You who listen,” I cried, pointing now to Moreau and shouting past him
to the Beast Men,—“You who listen! Do you not see these men still fear
you, go in dread of you? Why, then, do you fear them? You are many—”

“For God’s sake,” cried Montgomery, “stop that, Prendick!”

“Prendick!” cried Moreau.

They both shouted together, as if to drown my voice; and behind them
lowered the staring faces of the Beast Men, wondering, their deformed
hands hanging down, their shoulders hunched up. They seemed, as I
fancied, to be trying to understand me, to remember, I thought,
something of their human past.

I went on shouting, I scarcely remember what,—that Moreau and
Montgomery could be killed, that they were not to be feared: that was
the burden of what I put into the heads of the Beast People. I saw the
green-eyed man in the dark rags, who had met me on the evening of my
arrival, come out from among the trees, and others followed him, to
hear me better. At last for want of breath I paused.

“Listen to me for a moment,” said the steady voice of Moreau; “and then
say what you will.”

“Well?” said I.

He coughed, thought, then shouted: “Latin, Prendick! bad Latin,
schoolboy Latin; but try and understand. \emph{Hi non sunt homines; sunt
animalia qui nos habemus}—vivisected. A humanising process. I will
explain. Come ashore.”

I laughed. “A pretty story,” said I. “They talk, build houses. They
were men. It’s likely I’ll come ashore.”

“The water just beyond where you stand is deep—and full of sharks.”

“That’s my way,” said I. “Short and sharp. Presently.”

“Wait a minute.” He took something out of his pocket that flashed back
the sun, and dropped the object at his feet. “That’s a loaded
revolver,” said he. “Montgomery here will do the same. Now we are going
up the beach until you are satisfied the distance is safe. Then come
and take the revolvers.”

“Not I! You have a third between you.”

“I want you to think over things, Prendick. In the first place, I never
asked you to come upon this island. If we vivisected men, we should
import men, not beasts. In the next, we had you drugged last night, had
we wanted to work you any mischief; and in the next, now your first
panic is over and you can think a little, is Montgomery here quite up
to the character you give him? We have chased you for your good.
Because this island is full of inimical phenomena. Besides, why should
we want to shoot you when you have just offered to drown yourself?”

“Why did you set—your people onto me when I was in the hut?”

“We felt sure of catching you, and bringing you out of danger.
Afterwards we drew away from the scent, for your good.”

I mused. It seemed just possible. Then I remembered something again.
“But I saw,” said I, “in the enclosure—”

“That was the puma.”

“Look here, Prendick,” said Montgomery, “you’re a silly ass! Come out
of the water and take these revolvers, and talk. We can’t do anything
more than we could do now.”

I will confess that then, and indeed always, I distrusted and dreaded
Moreau; but Montgomery was a man I felt I understood.

“Go up the beach,” said I, after thinking, and added, “holding your
hands up.”

“Can’t do that,” said Montgomery, with an explanatory nod over his
shoulder. “Undignified.”

“Go up to the trees, then,” said I, “as you please.”

“It’s a damned silly ceremony,” said Montgomery.

Both turned and faced the six or seven grotesque creatures, who stood
there in the sunlight, solid, casting shadows, moving, and yet so
incredibly unreal. Montgomery cracked his whip at them, and forthwith
they all turned and fled helter-skelter into the trees; and when
Montgomery and Moreau were at a distance I judged sufficient, I waded
ashore, and picked up and examined the revolvers. To satisfy myself
against the subtlest trickery, I discharged one at a round lump of
lava, and had the satisfaction of seeing the stone pulverised and the
beach splashed with lead. Still I hesitated for a moment.

“I’ll take the risk,” said I, at last; and with a revolver in each hand
I walked up the beach towards them.

“That’s better,” said Moreau, without affectation. “As it is, you have
wasted the best part of my day with your confounded imagination.” And
with a touch of contempt which humiliated me, he and Montgomery turned
and went on in silence before me.

The knot of Beast Men, still wondering, stood back among the trees. I
passed them as serenely as possible. One started to follow me, but
retreated again when Montgomery cracked his whip. The rest stood
silent—watching. They may once have been animals; but I never before
saw an animal trying to think.

\chapter{DOCTOR MOREAU EXPLAINS}
\cleardoublepage
“And now, Prendick, I will explain,” said Doctor Moreau, so soon as we
had eaten and drunk. “I must confess that you are the most dictatorial
guest I ever entertained. I warn you that this is the last I shall do
to oblige you. The next thing you threaten to commit suicide about, I
shan’t do,—even at some personal inconvenience.”

He sat in my deck chair, a cigar half consumed in his white,
dexterous-looking fingers. The light of the swinging lamp fell on his
white hair; he stared through the little window out at the starlight. I
sat as far away from him as possible, the table between us and the
revolvers to hand. Montgomery was not present. I did not care to be
with the two of them in such a little room.

“You admit that the vivisected human being, as you called it, is, after
all, only the puma?” said Moreau. He had made me visit that horror in
the inner room, to assure myself of its inhumanity.

“It is the puma,” I said, “still alive, but so cut and mutilated as I
pray I may never see living flesh again. Of all vile—”

“Never mind that,” said Moreau; “at least, spare me those youthful
horrors. Montgomery used to be just the same. You admit that it is the
puma. Now be quiet, while I reel off my physiological lecture to you.”

And forthwith, beginning in the tone of a man supremely bored, but
presently warming a little, he explained his work to me. He was very
simple and convincing. Now and then there was a touch of sarcasm in his
voice. Presently I found myself hot with shame at our mutual positions.

The creatures I had seen were not men, had never been men. They were
animals, humanised animals,—triumphs of vivisection.

“You forget all that a skilled vivisector can do with living things,”
said Moreau. “For my own part, I’m puzzled why the things I have done
here have not been done before. Small efforts, of course, have been
made,—amputation, tongue-cutting, excisions. Of course you know a
squint may be induced or cured by surgery? Then in the case of
excisions you have all kinds of secondary changes, pigmentary
disturbances, modifications of the passions, alterations in the
secretion of fatty tissue. I have no doubt you have heard of these
things?”

“Of course,” said I. “But these foul creatures of yours—”

“All in good time,” said he, waving his hand at me; “I am only
beginning. Those are trivial cases of alteration. Surgery can do better
things than that. There is building up as well as breaking down and
changing. You have heard, perhaps, of a common surgical operation
resorted to in cases where the nose has been destroyed: a flap of skin
is cut from the forehead, turned down on the nose, and heals in the new
position. This is a kind of grafting in a new position of part of an
animal upon itself. Grafting of freshly obtained material from another
animal is also possible,—the case of teeth, for example. The grafting
of skin and bone is done to facilitate healing: the surgeon places in
the middle of the wound pieces of skin snipped from another animal, or
fragments of bone from a victim freshly killed. Hunter’s
cock-spur—possibly you have heard of that—flourished on the bull’s
neck; and the rhinoceros rats of the Algerian zouaves are also to be
thought of,—monsters manufactured by transferring a slip from the tail
of an ordinary rat to its snout, and allowing it to heal in that
position.”

“Monsters manufactured!” said I. “Then you mean to tell me—”

“Yes. These creatures you have seen are animals carven and wrought into
new shapes. To that, to the study of the plasticity of living forms, my
life has been devoted. I have studied for years, gaining in knowledge
as I go. I see you look horrified, and yet I am telling you nothing
new. It all lay in the surface of practical anatomy years ago, but no
one had the temerity to touch it. It is not simply the outward form of
an animal which I can change. The physiology, the chemical rhythm of
the creature, may also be made to undergo an enduring modification,—of
which vaccination and other methods of inoculation with living or dead
matter are examples that will, no doubt, be familiar to you. A similar
operation is the transfusion of blood,—with which subject, indeed, I
began. These are all familiar cases. Less so, and probably far more
extensive, were the operations of those mediaeval practitioners who
made dwarfs and beggar-cripples, show-monsters,—some vestiges of whose
art still remain in the preliminary manipulation of the young
mountebank or contortionist. Victor Hugo gives an account of them in
‘L’Homme qui Rit.’—But perhaps my meaning grows plain now. You begin to
see that it is a possible thing to transplant tissue from one part of
an animal to another, or from one animal to another; to alter its
chemical reactions and methods of growth; to modify the articulations
of its limbs; and, indeed, to change it in its most intimate structure.

“And yet this extraordinary branch of knowledge has never been sought
as an end, and systematically, by modern investigators until I took it
up! Some such things have been hit upon in the last resort of surgery;
most of the kindred evidence that will recur to your mind has been
demonstrated as it were by accident,—by tyrants, by criminals, by the
breeders of horses and dogs, by all kinds of untrained clumsy-handed
men working for their own immediate ends. I was the first man to take
up this question armed with antiseptic surgery, and with a really
scientific knowledge of the laws of growth. Yet one would imagine it
must have been practised in secret before. Such creatures as the
Siamese Twins—And in the vaults of the Inquisition. No doubt their
chief aim was artistic torture, but some at least of the inquisitors
must have had a touch of scientific curiosity.”

“But,” said I, “these things—these animals talk!”

He said that was so, and proceeded to point out that the possibility of
vivisection does not stop at a mere physical metamorphosis. A pig may
be educated. The mental structure is even less determinate than the
bodily. In our growing science of hypnotism we find the promise of a
possibility of superseding old inherent instincts by new suggestions,
grafting upon or replacing the inherited fixed ideas. Very much indeed
of what we call moral education, he said, is such an artificial
modification and perversion of instinct; pugnacity is trained into
courageous self-sacrifice, and suppressed sexuality into religious
emotion. And the great difference between man and monkey is in the
larynx, he continued,—in the incapacity to frame delicately different
sound-symbols by which thought could be sustained. In this I failed to
agree with him, but with a certain incivility he declined to notice my
objection. He repeated that the thing was so, and continued his account
of his work.

I asked him why he had taken the human form as a model. There seemed to
me then, and there still seems to me now, a strange wickedness for that
choice.

He confessed that he had chosen that form by chance. “I might just as
well have worked to form sheep into llamas and llamas into sheep. I
suppose there is something in the human form that appeals to the
artistic turn of mind more powerfully than any animal shape can. But
I’ve not confined myself to man-making. Once or twice—” He was silent,
for a minute perhaps. “These years! How they have slipped by! And here
I have wasted a day saving your life, and am now wasting an hour
explaining myself!”

“But,” said I, “I still do not understand. Where is your justification
for inflicting all this pain? The only thing that could excuse
vivisection to me would be some application—”

“Precisely,” said he. “But, you see, I am differently constituted. We
are on different platforms. You are a materialist.”

“I am \emph{not} a materialist,” I began hotly.

“In my view—in my view. For it is just this question of pain that parts
us. So long as visible or audible pain turns you sick; so long as your
own pains drive you; so long as pain underlies your propositions about
sin,—so long, I tell you, you are an animal, thinking a little less
obscurely what an animal feels. This pain—”

I gave an impatient shrug at such sophistry.

“Oh, but it is such a little thing! A mind truly opened to what science
has to teach must see that it is a little thing. It may be that save in
this little planet, this speck of cosmic dust, invisible long before
the nearest star could be attained—it may be, I say, that nowhere else
does this thing called pain occur. But the laws we feel our way
towards—Why, even on this earth, even among living things, what pain is
there?”

As he spoke he drew a little penknife from his pocket, opened the
smaller blade, and moved his chair so that I could see his thigh. Then,
choosing the place deliberately, he drove the blade into his leg and
withdrew it.

“No doubt,” he said, “you have seen that before. It does not hurt a
pin-prick. But what does it show? The capacity for pain is not needed
in the muscle, and it is not placed there,—is but little needed in the
skin, and only here and there over the thigh is a spot capable of
feeling pain. Pain is simply our intrinsic medical adviser to warn us
and stimulate us. Not all living flesh is painful; nor is all nerve,
not even all sensory nerve. There’s no taint of pain, real pain, in the
sensations of the optic nerve. If you wound the optic nerve, you merely
see flashes of light,—just as disease of the auditory nerve merely
means a humming in our ears. Plants do not feel pain, nor the lower
animals; it’s possible that such animals as the starfish and crayfish
do not feel pain at all. Then with men, the more intelligent they
become, the more intelligently they will see after their own welfare,
and the less they will need the goad to keep them out of danger. I
never yet heard of a useless thing that was not ground out of existence
by evolution sooner or later. Did you? And pain gets needless.

“Then I am a religious man, Prendick, as every sane man must be. It may
be, I fancy, that I have seen more of the ways of this world’s Maker
than you,—for I have sought his laws, in \emph{my} way, all my life, while
you, I understand, have been collecting butterflies. And I tell you,
pleasure and pain have nothing to do with heaven or hell. Pleasure and
pain—bah! What is your theologian’s ecstasy but Mahomet’s houri in the
dark? This store which men and women set on pleasure and pain,
Prendick, is the mark of the beast upon them,—the mark of the beast
from which they came! Pain, pain and pleasure, they are for us only so
long as we wriggle in the dust.

“You see, I went on with this research just the way it led me. That is
the only way I ever heard of true research going. I asked a question,
devised some method of obtaining an answer, and got a fresh question.
Was this possible or that possible? You cannot imagine what this means
to an investigator, what an intellectual passion grows upon him! You
cannot imagine the strange, colourless delight of these intellectual
desires! The thing before you is no longer an animal, a
fellow-creature, but a problem! Sympathetic pain,—all I know of it I
remember as a thing I used to suffer from years ago. I wanted—it was
the one thing I wanted—to find out the extreme limit of plasticity in a
living shape.”

“But,” said I, “the thing is an abomination—”

“To this day I have never troubled about the ethics of the matter,” he
continued. “The study of Nature makes a man at last as remorseless as
Nature. I have gone on, not heeding anything but the question I was
pursuing; and the material has—dripped into the huts yonder. It is
nearly eleven years since we came here, I and Montgomery and six
Kanakas. I remember the green stillness of the island and the empty
ocean about us, as though it was yesterday. The place seemed waiting
for me.

“The stores were landed and the house was built. The Kanakas founded
some huts near the ravine. I went to work here upon what I had brought
with me. There were some disagreeable things happened at first. I began
with a sheep, and killed it after a day and a half by a slip of the
scalpel. I took another sheep, and made a thing of pain and fear and
left it bound up to heal. It looked quite human to me when I had
finished it; but when I went to it I was discontented with it. It
remembered me, and was terrified beyond imagination; and it had no more
than the wits of a sheep. The more I looked at it the clumsier it
seemed, until at last I put the monster out of its misery. These
animals without courage, these fear-haunted, pain-driven things,
without a spark of pugnacious energy to face torment,—they are no good
for man-making.

“Then I took a gorilla I had; and upon that, working with infinite care
and mastering difficulty after difficulty, I made my first man. All the
week, night and day, I moulded him. With him it was chiefly the brain
that needed moulding; much had to be added, much changed. I thought him
a fair specimen of the negroid type when I had finished him, and he lay
bandaged, bound, and motionless before me. It was only when his life
was assured that I left him and came into this room again, and found
Montgomery much as you are. He had heard some of the cries as the thing
grew human,—cries like those that disturbed \emph{you} so. I didn’t take him
completely into my confidence at first. And the Kanakas too, had
realised something of it. They were scared out of their wits by the
sight of me. I got Montgomery over to me—in a way; but I and he had the
hardest job to prevent the Kanakas deserting. Finally they did; and so
we lost the yacht. I spent many days educating the brute,—altogether I
had him for three or four months. I taught him the rudiments of
English; gave him ideas of counting; even made the thing read the
alphabet. But at that he was slow, though I’ve met with idiots slower.
He began with a clean sheet, mentally; had no memories left in his mind
of what he had been. When his scars were quite healed, and he was no
longer anything but painful and stiff, and able to converse a little, I
took him yonder and introduced him to the Kanakas as an interesting
stowaway.

“They were horribly afraid of him at first, somehow,—which offended me
rather, for I was conceited about him; but his ways seemed so mild, and
he was so abject, that after a time they received him and took his
education in hand. He was quick to learn, very imitative and adaptive,
and built himself a hovel rather better, it seemed to me, than their
own shanties. There was one among the boys a bit of a missionary, and
he taught the thing to read, or at least to pick out letters, and gave
him some rudimentary ideas of morality; but it seems the beast’s habits
were not all that is desirable.

“I rested from work for some days after this, and was in a mind to
write an account of the whole affair to wake up English physiology.
Then I came upon the creature squatting up in a tree and gibbering at
two of the Kanakas who had been teasing him. I threatened him, told him
the inhumanity of such a proceeding, aroused his sense of shame, and
came home resolved to do better before I took my work back to England.
I have been doing better. But somehow the things drift back again: the
stubborn beast-flesh grows day by day back again. But I mean to do
better things still. I mean to conquer that. This puma—

“But that’s the story. All the Kanaka boys are dead now; one fell
overboard of the launch, and one died of a wounded heel that he
poisoned in some way with plant-juice. Three went away in the yacht,
and I suppose and hope were drowned. The other one—was killed. Well, I
have replaced them. Montgomery went on much as you are disposed to do
at first, and then—

“What became of the other one?” said I, sharply,—“the other Kanaka who
was killed?”

“The fact is, after I had made a number of human creatures I made a
Thing—” He hesitated.

“Yes?” said I.

“It was killed.”

“I don’t understand,” said I; “do you mean to say—”

“It killed the Kanaka—yes. It killed several other things that it
caught. We chased it for a couple of days. It only got loose by
accident—I never meant it to get away. It wasn’t finished. It was
purely an experiment. It was a limbless thing, with a horrible face,
that writhed along the ground in a serpentine fashion. It was immensely
strong, and in infuriating pain. It lurked in the woods for some days,
until we hunted it; and then it wriggled into the northern part of the
island, and we divided the party to close in upon it. Montgomery
insisted upon coming with me. The man had a rifle; and when his body
was found, one of the barrels was curved into the shape of an S and
very nearly bitten through. Montgomery shot the thing. After that I
stuck to the ideal of humanity—except for little things.”

He became silent. I sat in silence watching his face.

“So for twenty years altogether—counting nine years in England—I have
been going on; and there is still something in everything I do that
defeats me, makes me dissatisfied, challenges me to further effort.
Sometimes I rise above my level, sometimes I fall below it; but always
I fall short of the things I dream. The human shape I can get now,
almost with ease, so that it is lithe and graceful, or thick and
strong; but often there is trouble with the hands and the
claws,—painful things, that I dare not shape too freely. But it is in
the subtle grafting and reshaping one must needs do to the brain that
my trouble lies. The intelligence is often oddly low, with
unaccountable blank ends, unexpected gaps. And least satisfactory of
all is something that I cannot touch, somewhere—I cannot determine
where—in the seat of the emotions. Cravings, instincts, desires that
harm humanity, a strange hidden reservoir to burst forth suddenly and
inundate the whole being of the creature with anger, hate, or fear.
These creatures of mine seemed strange and uncanny to you so soon as
you began to observe them; but to me, just after I make them, they seem
to be indisputably human beings. It’s afterwards, as I observe them,
that the persuasion fades. First one animal trait, then another, creeps
to the surface and stares out at me. But I will conquer yet! Each time
I dip a living creature into the bath of burning pain, I say, ‘This
time I will burn out all the animal; this time I will make a rational
creature of my own!’ After all, what is ten years? Men have been a
hundred thousand in the making.” He thought darkly. “But I am drawing
near the fastness. This puma of mine—” After a silence, “And they
revert. As soon as my hand is taken from them the beast begins to creep
back, begins to assert itself again.” Another long silence.

“Then you take the things you make into those dens?” said I.

“They go. I turn them out when I begin to feel the beast in them, and
presently they wander there. They all dread this house and me. There is
a kind of travesty of humanity over there. Montgomery knows about it,
for he interferes in their affairs. He has trained one or two of them
to our service. He’s ashamed of it, but I believe he half likes some of
those beasts. It’s his business, not mine. They only sicken me with a
sense of failure. I take no interest in them. I fancy they follow in
the lines the Kanaka missionary marked out, and have a kind of mockery
of a rational life, poor beasts! There’s something they call the Law.
Sing hymns about ‘all thine.’ They build themselves their dens, gather
fruit, and pull herbs—marry even. But I can see through it all, see
into their very souls, and see there nothing but the souls of beasts,
beasts that perish, anger and the lusts to live and gratify
themselves.—Yet they’re odd; complex, like everything else alive. There
is a kind of upward striving in them, part vanity, part waste sexual
emotion, part waste curiosity. It only mocks me. I have some hope of
this puma. I have worked hard at her head and brain—

“And now,” said he, standing up after a long gap of silence, during
which we had each pursued our own thoughts, “what do you think? Are you
in fear of me still?”

I looked at him, and saw but a white-faced, white-haired man, with calm
eyes. Save for his serenity, the touch almost of beauty that resulted
from his set tranquillity and his magnificent build, he might have
passed muster among a hundred other comfortable old gentlemen. Then I
shivered. By way of answer to his second question, I handed him a
revolver with either hand.

“Keep them,” he said, and snatched at a yawn. He stood up, stared at me
for a moment, and smiled. “You have had two eventful days,” said he. “I
should advise some sleep. I’m glad it’s all clear. Good-night.” He
thought me over for a moment, then went out by the inner door.

I immediately turned the key in the outer one. I sat down again; sat
for a time in a kind of stagnant mood, so weary, emotionally, mentally,
and physically, that I could not think beyond the point at which he had
left me. The black window stared at me like an eye. At last with an
effort I put out the light and got into the hammock. Very soon I was
asleep.

\chapter{CONCERNING THE BEAST FOLK}
\cleardoublepage
I woke early. Moreau’s explanation stood before my mind, clear and
definite, from the moment of my awakening. I got out of the hammock and
went to the door to assure myself that the key was turned. Then I tried
the window-bar, and found it firmly fixed. That these man-like
creatures were in truth only bestial monsters, mere grotesque
travesties of men, filled me with a vague uncertainty of their
possibilities which was far worse than any definite fear.

A tapping came at the door, and I heard the glutinous accents of M’ling
speaking. I pocketed one of the revolvers (keeping one hand upon it),
and opened to him.

“Good-morning, sair,” he said, bringing in, in addition to the
customary herb-breakfast, an ill-cooked rabbit. Montgomery followed
him. His roving eye caught the position of my arm and he smiled askew.

The puma was resting to heal that day; but Moreau, who was singularly
solitary in his habits, did not join us. I talked with Montgomery to
clear my ideas of the way in which the Beast Folk lived. In particular,
I was urgent to know how these inhuman monsters were kept from falling
upon Moreau and Montgomery and from rending one another. He explained
to me that the comparative safety of Moreau and himself was due to the
limited mental scope of these monsters. In spite of their increased
intelligence and the tendency of their animal instincts to reawaken,
they had certain fixed ideas implanted by Moreau in their minds, which
absolutely bounded their imaginations. They were really hypnotised; had
been told that certain things were impossible, and that certain things
were not to be done, and these prohibitions were woven into the texture
of their minds beyond any possibility of disobedience or dispute.

Certain matters, however, in which old instinct was at war with
Moreau’s convenience, were in a less stable condition. A series of
propositions called the Law (I had already heard them recited) battled
in their minds with the deep-seated, ever-rebellious cravings of their
animal natures. This Law they were ever repeating, I found, and ever
breaking. Both Montgomery and Moreau displayed particular solicitude to
keep them ignorant of the taste of blood; they feared the inevitable
suggestions of that flavour. Montgomery told me that the Law,
especially among the feline Beast People, became oddly weakened about
nightfall; that then the animal was at its strongest; that a spirit of
adventure sprang up in them at the dusk, when they would dare things
they never seemed to dream about by day. To that I owed my stalking by
the Leopard-man, on the night of my arrival. But during these earlier
days of my stay they broke the Law only furtively and after dark; in
the daylight there was a general atmosphere of respect for its
multifarious prohibitions.

And here perhaps I may give a few general facts about the island and
the Beast People. The island, which was of irregular outline and lay
low upon the wide sea, had a total area, I suppose, of seven or eight
square miles.\footnote{This description corresponds in every respect to Noble’s Isle.—C.
E. P.} It was volcanic in origin, and was now fringed on
three sides by coral reefs; some fumaroles to the northward, and a hot
spring, were the only vestiges of the forces that had long since
originated it. Now and then a faint quiver of earthquake would be
sensible, and sometimes the ascent of the spire of smoke would be
rendered tumultuous by gusts of steam; but that was all. The population
of the island, Montgomery informed me, now numbered rather more than
sixty of these strange creations of Moreau’s art, not counting the
smaller monstrosities which lived in the undergrowth and were without
human form. Altogether he had made nearly a hundred and twenty; but
many had died, and others—like the writhing Footless Thing of which he
had told me—had come by violent ends. In answer to my question,
Montgomery said that they actually bore offspring, but that these
generally died. When they lived, Moreau took them and stamped the human
form upon them. There was no evidence of the inheritance of their
acquired human characteristics. The females were less numerous than the
males, and liable to much furtive persecution in spite of the monogamy
the Law enjoined.

 


It would be impossible for me to describe these Beast People in detail;
my eye has had no training in details, and unhappily I cannot sketch.
Most striking, perhaps, in their general appearance was the
disproportion between the legs of these creatures and the length of
their bodies; and yet—so relative is our idea of grace—my eye became
habituated to their forms, and at last I even fell in with their
persuasion that my own long thighs were ungainly. Another point was the
forward carriage of the head and the clumsy and inhuman curvature of
the spine. Even the Ape-man lacked that inward sinuous curve of the
back which makes the human figure so graceful. Most had their shoulders
hunched clumsily, and their short forearms hung weakly at their sides.
Few of them were conspicuously hairy, at least until the end of my time
upon the island.

The next most obvious deformity was in their faces, almost all of which
were prognathous, malformed about the ears, with large and protuberant
noses, very furry or very bristly hair, and often strangely-coloured or
strangely-placed eyes. None could laugh, though the Ape-man had a
chattering titter. Beyond these general characters their heads had
little in common; each preserved the quality of its particular species:
the human mark distorted but did not hide the leopard, the ox, or the
sow, or other animal or animals, from which the creature had been
moulded. The voices, too, varied exceedingly. The hands were always
malformed; and though some surprised me by their unexpected human
appearance, almost all were deficient in the number of the digits,
clumsy about the finger-nails, and lacking any tactile sensibility.

The two most formidable Animal Men were my Leopard-man and a creature
made of hyena and swine. Larger than these were the three
bull-creatures who pulled in the boat. Then came the silvery-hairy-man,
who was also the Sayer of the Law, M’ling, and a satyr-like creature of
ape and goat. There were three Swine-men and a Swine-woman, a
mare-rhinoceros-creature, and several other females whose sources I did
not ascertain. There were several wolf-creatures, a bear-bull, and a
Saint-Bernard-man. I have already described the Ape-man, and there was
a particularly hateful (and evil-smelling) old woman made of vixen and
bear, whom I hated from the beginning. She was said to be a passionate
votary of the Law. Smaller creatures were certain dappled youths and my
little sloth-creature. But enough of this catalogue.

At first I had a shivering horror of the brutes, felt all too keenly
that they were still brutes; but insensibly I became a little
habituated to the idea of them, and moreover I was affected by
Montgomery’s attitude towards them. He had been with them so long that
he had come to regard them as almost normal human beings. His London
days seemed a glorious, impossible past to him. Only once in a year or
so did he go to Africa to deal with Moreau’s agent, a trader in animals
there. He hardly met the finest type of mankind in that seafaring
village of Spanish mongrels. The men aboard-ship, he told me, seemed at
first just as strange to him as the Beast Men seemed to me,—unnaturally
long in the leg, flat in the face, prominent in the forehead,
suspicious, dangerous, and cold-hearted. In fact, he did not like men:
his heart had warmed to me, he thought, because he had saved my life. I
fancied even then that he had a sneaking kindness for some of these
metamorphosed brutes, a vicious sympathy with some of their ways, but
that he attempted to veil it from me at first.

M’ling, the black-faced man, Montgomery’s attendant, the first of the
Beast Folk I had encountered, did not live with the others across the
island, but in a small kennel at the back of the enclosure. The
creature was scarcely so intelligent as the Ape-man, but far more
docile, and the most human-looking of all the Beast Folk; and
Montgomery had trained it to prepare food, and indeed to discharge all
the trivial domestic offices that were required. It was a complex
trophy of Moreau’s horrible skill,—a bear, tainted with dog and ox, and
one of the most elaborately made of all his creatures. It treated
Montgomery with a strange tenderness and devotion. Sometimes he would
notice it, pat it, call it half-mocking, half-jocular names, and so
make it caper with extraordinary delight; sometimes he would ill-treat
it, especially after he had been at the whiskey, kicking it, beating
it, pelting it with stones or lighted fusees. But whether he treated it
well or ill, it loved nothing so much as to be near him.

I say I became habituated to the Beast People, that a thousand things
which had seemed unnatural and repulsive speedily became natural and
ordinary to me. I suppose everything in existence takes its colour from
the average hue of our surroundings. Montgomery and Moreau were too
peculiar and individual to keep my general impressions of humanity well
defined. I would see one of the clumsy bovine-creatures who worked the
launch treading heavily through the undergrowth, and find myself
asking, trying hard to recall, how he differed from some really human
yokel trudging home from his mechanical labours; or I would meet the
Fox-bear woman’s vulpine, shifty face, strangely human in its
speculative cunning, and even imagine I had met it before in some city
byway.

Yet every now and then the beast would flash out upon me beyond doubt
or denial. An ugly-looking man, a hunch-backed human savage to all
appearance, squatting in the aperture of one of the dens, would stretch
his arms and yawn, showing with startling suddenness scissor-edged
incisors and sabre-like canines, keen and brilliant as knives. Or in
some narrow pathway, glancing with a transitory daring into the eyes of
some lithe, white-swathed female figure, I would suddenly see (with a
spasmodic revulsion) that she had slit-like pupils, or glancing down
note the curving nail with which she held her shapeless wrap about her.
It is a curious thing, by the bye, for which I am quite unable to
account, that these weird creatures—the females, I mean—had in the
earlier days of my stay an instinctive sense of their own repulsive
clumsiness, and displayed in consequence a more than human regard for
the decency and decorum of extensive costume.

\chapter{HOW THE BEAST FOLK TASTE BLOOD}
\cleardoublepage
My inexperience as a writer betrays me, and I wander from the thread of
my story.

After I had breakfasted with Montgomery, he took me across the island
to see the fumarole and the source of the hot spring into whose
scalding waters I had blundered on the previous day. Both of us carried
whips and loaded revolvers. While going through a leafy jungle on our
road thither, we heard a rabbit squealing. We stopped and listened, but
we heard no more; and presently we went on our way, and the incident
dropped out of our minds. Montgomery called my attention to certain
little pink animals with long hind-legs, that went leaping through the
undergrowth. He told me they were creatures made of the offspring of
the Beast People, that Moreau had invented. He had fancied they might
serve for meat, but a rabbit-like habit of devouring their young had
defeated this intention. I had already encountered some of these
creatures,—once during my moonlight flight from the Leopard-man, and
once during my pursuit by Moreau on the previous day. By chance, one
hopping to avoid us leapt into the hole caused by the uprooting of a
wind-blown tree; before it could extricate itself we managed to catch
it. It spat like a cat, scratched and kicked vigorously with its
hind-legs, and made an attempt to bite; but its teeth were too feeble
to inflict more than a painless pinch. It seemed to me rather a pretty
little creature; and as Montgomery stated that it never destroyed the
turf by burrowing, and was very cleanly in its habits, I should imagine
it might prove a convenient substitute for the common rabbit in
gentlemen’s parks.

We also saw on our way the trunk of a tree barked in long strips and
splintered deeply. Montgomery called my attention to this. “Not to claw
bark of trees,\emph{that} is the Law,” he said. “Much some of them care for
it!” It was after this, I think, that we met the Satyr and the Ape-man.
The Satyr was a gleam of classical memory on the part of Moreau,—his
face ovine in expression, like the coarser Hebrew type; his voice a
harsh bleat, his nether extremities Satanic. He was gnawing the husk of
a pod-like fruit as he passed us. Both of them saluted Montgomery.

“Hail,” said they, “to the Other with the Whip!”

“There’s a Third with a Whip now,” said Montgomery. “So you’d better
mind!”

“Was he not made?” said the Ape-man. “He said—he said he was made.”

The Satyr-man looked curiously at me. “The Third with the Whip, he that
walks weeping into the sea, has a thin white face.”

“He has a thin long whip,” said Montgomery.

“Yesterday he bled and wept,” said the Satyr. “You never bleed nor
weep. The Master does not bleed or weep.”

“Ollendorffian beggar!” said Montgomery, “you’ll bleed and weep if you
don’t look out!”

“He has five fingers, he is a five-man like me,” said the Ape-man.

“Come along, Prendick,” said Montgomery, taking my arm; and I went on
with him.

The Satyr and the Ape-man stood watching us and making other remarks to
each other.

“He says nothing,” said the Satyr. “Men have voices.”

“Yesterday he asked me of things to eat,” said the Ape-man. “He did not
know.”

Then they spoke inaudible things, and I heard the Satyr laughing.

It was on our way back that we came upon the dead rabbit. The red body
of the wretched little beast was rent to pieces, many of the ribs
stripped white, and the backbone indisputably gnawed.

At that Montgomery stopped. “Good God!” said he, stooping down, and
picking up some of the crushed vertebrae to examine them more closely.
“Good God!” he repeated, “what can this mean?”

“Some carnivore of yours has remembered its old habits,” I said after a
pause. “This backbone has been bitten through.”

He stood staring, with his face white and his lip pulled askew. “I
don’t like this,” he said slowly.

“I saw something of the same kind,” said I, “the first day I came
here.”

“The devil you did! What was it?”

“A rabbit with its head twisted off.”

“The day you came here?”

“The day I came here. In the undergrowth at the back of the enclosure,
when I went out in the evening. The head was completely wrung off.”

He gave a long, low whistle.

“And what is more, I have an idea which of your brutes did the thing.
It’s only a suspicion, you know. Before I came on the rabbit I saw one
of your monsters drinking in the stream.”

“Sucking his drink?”

“Yes.”

“‘Not to suck your drink; that is the Law.’ Much the brutes care for
the Law, eh? when Moreau’s not about!”

“It was the brute who chased me.”

“Of course,” said Montgomery; “it’s just the way with carnivores. After
a kill, they drink. It’s the taste of blood, you know.—What was the
brute like?” he continued. “Would you know him again?” He glanced about
us, standing astride over the mess of dead rabbit, his eyes roving
among the shadows and screens of greenery, the lurking-places and
ambuscades of the forest that bounded us in. “The taste of blood,” he
said again.

He took out his revolver, examined the cartridges in it and replaced
it. Then he began to pull at his dropping lip.

“I think I should know the brute again,” I said. “I stunned him. He
ought to have a handsome bruise on the forehead of him.”

“But then we have to \emph{prove} that he killed the rabbit,” said
Montgomery. “I wish I’d never brought the things here.”

I should have gone on, but he stayed there thinking over the mangled
rabbit in a puzzle-headed way. As it was, I went to such a distance
that the rabbit’s remains were hidden.

“Come on!” I said.

Presently he woke up and came towards me. “You see,” he said, almost in
a whisper, “they are all supposed to have a fixed idea against eating
anything that runs on land. If some brute has by any accident tasted
blood—”

We went on some way in silence. “I wonder what can have happened,” he
said to himself. Then, after a pause again: “I did a foolish thing the
other day. That servant of mine—I showed him how to skin and cook a
rabbit. It’s odd—I saw him licking his hands—It never occurred to me.”

Then: “We must put a stop to this. I must tell Moreau.”

He could think of nothing else on our homeward journey.

Moreau took the matter even more seriously than Montgomery, and I need
scarcely say that I was affected by their evident consternation.

“We must make an example,” said Moreau. “I’ve no doubt in my own mind
that the Leopard-man was the sinner. But how can we prove it? I wish,
Montgomery, you had kept your taste for meat in hand, and gone without
these exciting novelties. We may find ourselves in a mess yet, through
it.”

“I was a silly ass,” said Montgomery. “But the thing’s done now; and
you said I might have them, you know.”

“We must see to the thing at once,” said Moreau. “I suppose if anything
should turn up, M’ling can take care of himself?”

“I’m not so sure of M’ling,” said Montgomery. “I think I ought to know
him.”

In the afternoon, Moreau, Montgomery, myself, and M’ling went across
the island to the huts in the ravine. We three were armed; M’ling
carried the little hatchet he used in chopping firewood, and some coils
of wire. Moreau had a huge cowherd’s horn slung over his shoulder.

“You will see a gathering of the Beast People,” said Montgomery. “It is
a pretty sight!”

Moreau said not a word on the way, but the expression of his heavy,
white-fringed face was grimly set.

We crossed the ravine down which smoked the stream of hot water, and
followed the winding pathway through the canebrakes until we reached a
wide area covered over with a thick, powdery yellow substance which I
believe was sulphur. Above the shoulder of a weedy bank the sea
glittered. We came to a kind of shallow natural amphitheatre, and here
the four of us halted. Then Moreau sounded the horn, and broke the
sleeping stillness of the tropical afternoon. He must have had strong
lungs. The hooting note rose and rose amidst its echoes, to at last an
ear-penetrating intensity.

“Ah!” said Moreau, letting the curved instrument fall to his side
again.

Immediately there was a crashing through the yellow canes, and a sound
of voices from the dense green jungle that marked the morass through
which I had run on the previous day. Then at three or four points on
the edge of the sulphurous area appeared the grotesque forms of the
Beast People hurrying towards us. I could not help a creeping horror,
as I perceived first one and then another trot out from the trees or
reeds and come shambling along over the hot dust. But Moreau and
Montgomery stood calmly enough; and, perforce, I stuck beside them.

First to arrive was the Satyr, strangely unreal for all that he cast a
shadow and tossed the dust with his hoofs. After him from the brake
came a monstrous lout, a thing of horse and rhinoceros, chewing a straw
as it came; then appeared the Swine-woman and two Wolf-women; then the
Fox-bear witch, with her red eyes in her peaked red face, and then
others,—all hurrying eagerly. As they came forward they began to cringe
towards Moreau and chant, quite regardless of one another, fragments of
the latter half of the litany of the Law,—“His is the Hand that wounds;
His is the Hand that heals,” and so forth. As soon as they had
approached within a distance of perhaps thirty yards they halted, and
bowing on knees and elbows began flinging the white dust upon their
heads.

Imagine the scene if you can! We three blue-clad men, with our
misshapen black-faced attendant, standing in a wide expanse of sunlit
yellow dust under the blazing blue sky, and surrounded by this circle
of crouching and gesticulating monstrosities,—some almost human save in
their subtle expression and gestures, some like cripples, some so
strangely distorted as to resemble nothing but the denizens of our
wildest dreams; and, beyond, the reedy lines of a canebrake in one
direction, a dense tangle of palm-trees on the other, separating us
from the ravine with the huts, and to the north the hazy horizon of the
Pacific Ocean.

“Sixty-two, sixty-three,” counted Moreau. “There are four more.”

“I do not see the Leopard-man,” said I.

Presently Moreau sounded the great horn again, and at the sound of it
all the Beast People writhed and grovelled in the dust. Then, slinking
out of the canebrake, stooping near the ground and trying to join the
dust-throwing circle behind Moreau’s back, came the Leopard-man. The
last of the Beast People to arrive was the little Ape-man. The earlier
animals, hot and weary with their grovelling, shot vicious glances at
him.

“Cease!” said Moreau, in his firm, loud voice; and the Beast People sat
back upon their hams and rested from their worshipping.

“Where is the Sayer of the Law?” said Moreau, and the hairy-grey
monster bowed his face in the dust.

“Say the words!” said Moreau.

Forthwith all in the kneeling assembly, swaying from side to side and
dashing up the sulphur with their hands,—first the right hand and a
puff of dust, and then the left,—began once more to chant their strange
litany. When they reached, “Not to eat Flesh or Fish, that is the Law,”
Moreau held up his lank white hand.

“Stop!” he cried, and there fell absolute silence upon them all.

I think they all knew and dreaded what was coming. I looked round at
their strange faces. When I saw their wincing attitudes and the furtive
dread in their bright eyes, I wondered that I had ever believed them to
be men.

“That Law has been broken!” said Moreau.

“None escape,” from the faceless creature with the silvery hair. “None
escape,” repeated the kneeling circle of Beast People.

“Who is he?” cried Moreau, and looked round at their faces, cracking
his whip. I fancied the Hyena-swine looked dejected, so too did the
Leopard-man. Moreau stopped, facing this creature, who cringed towards
him with the memory and dread of infinite torment.

“Who is he?” repeated Moreau, in a voice of thunder.

“Evil is he who breaks the Law,” chanted the Sayer of the Law.

Moreau looked into the eyes of the Leopard-man, and seemed to be
dragging the very soul out of the creature.

“Who breaks the Law—” said Moreau, taking his eyes off his victim, and
turning towards us (it seemed to me there was a touch of exultation in
his voice).

“Goes back to the House of Pain,” they all clamoured,—“goes back to the
House of Pain, O Master!”

“Back to the House of Pain,—back to the House of Pain,” gabbled the
Ape-man, as though the idea was sweet to him.

“Do you hear?” said Moreau, turning back to the criminal, “my
friend—Hullo!”

For the Leopard-man, released from Moreau’s eye, had risen straight
from his knees, and now, with eyes aflame and his huge feline tusks
flashing out from under his curling lips, leapt towards his tormentor.
I am convinced that only the madness of unendurable fear could have
prompted this attack. The whole circle of threescore monsters seemed to
rise about us. I drew my revolver. The two figures collided. I saw
Moreau reeling back from the Leopard-man’s blow. There was a furious
yelling and howling all about us. Every one was moving rapidly. For a
moment I thought it was a general revolt. The furious face of the
Leopard-man flashed by mine, with M’ling close in pursuit. I saw the
yellow eyes of the Hyena-swine blazing with excitement, his attitude as
if he were half resolved to attack me. The Satyr, too, glared at me
over the Hyena-swine’s hunched shoulders. I heard the crack of Moreau’s
pistol, and saw the pink flash dart across the tumult. The whole crowd
seemed to swing round in the direction of the glint of fire, and I too
was swung round by the magnetism of the movement. In another second I
was running, one of a tumultuous shouting crowd, in pursuit of the
escaping Leopard-man.

That is all I can tell definitely. I saw the Leopard-man strike Moreau,
and then everything spun about me until I was running headlong. M’ling
was ahead, close in pursuit of the fugitive. Behind, their tongues
already lolling out, ran the Wolf-women in great leaping strides. The
Swine folk followed, squealing with excitement, and the two Bull-men in
their swathings of white. Then came Moreau in a cluster of the Beast
People, his wide-brimmed straw hat blown off, his revolver in hand, and
his lank white hair streaming out. The Hyena-swine ran beside me,
keeping pace with me and glancing furtively at me out of his feline
eyes, and the others came pattering and shouting behind us.

The Leopard-man went bursting his way through the long canes, which
sprang back as he passed, and rattled in M’ling’s face. We others in
the rear found a trampled path for us when we reached the brake. The
chase lay through the brake for perhaps a quarter of a mile, and then
plunged into a dense thicket, which retarded our movements exceedingly,
though we went through it in a crowd together,—fronds flicking into our
faces, ropy creepers catching us under the chin or gripping our ankles,
thorny plants hooking into and tearing cloth and flesh together.

“He has gone on all-fours through this,” panted Moreau, now just ahead
of me.

“None escape,” said the Wolf-bear, laughing into my face with the
exultation of hunting. We burst out again among rocks, and saw the
quarry ahead running lightly on all-fours and snarling at us over his
shoulder. At that the Wolf Folk howled with delight. The Thing was
still clothed, and at a distance its face still seemed human; but the
carriage of its four limbs was feline, and the furtive droop of its
shoulder was distinctly that of a hunted animal. It leapt over some
thorny yellow-flowering bushes, and was hidden. M’ling was halfway
across the space.

Most of us now had lost the first speed of the chase, and had fallen
into a longer and steadier stride. I saw as we traversed the open that
the pursuit was now spreading from a column into a line. The
Hyena-swine still ran close to me, watching me as it ran, every now and
then puckering its muzzle with a snarling laugh. At the edge of the
rocks the Leopard-man, realising that he was making for the projecting
cape upon which he had stalked me on the night of my arrival, had
doubled in the undergrowth; but Montgomery had seen the manoeuvre, and
turned him again. So, panting, tumbling against rocks, torn by
brambles, impeded by ferns and reeds, I helped to pursue the
Leopard-man who had broken the Law, and the Hyena-swine ran, laughing
savagely, by my side. I staggered on, my head reeling and my heart
beating against my ribs, tired almost to death, and yet not daring to
lose sight of the chase lest I should be left alone with this horrible
companion. I staggered on in spite of infinite fatigue and the dense
heat of the tropical afternoon.

At last the fury of the hunt slackened. We had pinned the wretched
brute into a corner of the island. Moreau, whip in hand, marshalled us
all into an irregular line, and we advanced now slowly, shouting to one
another as we advanced and tightening the cordon about our victim. He
lurked noiseless and invisible in the bushes through which I had run
from him during that midnight pursuit.

“Steady!” cried Moreau, “steady!” as the ends of the line crept round
the tangle of undergrowth and hemmed the brute in.

“Ware a rush!” came the voice of Montgomery from beyond the thicket.

I was on the slope above the bushes; Montgomery and Moreau beat along
the beach beneath. Slowly we pushed in among the fretted network of
branches and leaves. The quarry was silent.

“Back to the House of Pain, the House of Pain, the House of Pain!”
yelped the voice of the Ape-man, some twenty yards to the right.

When I heard that, I forgave the poor wretch all the fear he had
inspired in me. I heard the twigs snap and the boughs swish aside
before the heavy tread of the Horse-rhinoceros upon my right. Then
suddenly through a polygon of green, in the half darkness under the
luxuriant growth, I saw the creature we were hunting. I halted. He was
crouched together into the smallest possible compass, his luminous
green eyes turned over his shoulder regarding me.

It may seem a strange contradiction in me,—I cannot explain the
fact,—but now, seeing the creature there in a perfectly animal
attitude, with the light gleaming in its eyes and its imperfectly human
face distorted with terror, I realised again the fact of its humanity.
In another moment other of its pursuers would see it, and it would be
overpowered and captured, to experience once more the horrible tortures
of the enclosure. Abruptly I slipped out my revolver, aimed between its
terror-struck eyes, and fired. As I did so, the Hyena-swine saw the
Thing, and flung itself upon it with an eager cry, thrusting thirsty
teeth into its neck. All about me the green masses of the thicket were
swaying and cracking as the Beast People came rushing together. One
face and then another appeared.

“Don’t kill it, Prendick!” cried Moreau. “Don’t kill it!” and I saw him
stooping as he pushed through under the fronds of the big ferns.

In another moment he had beaten off the Hyena-swine with the handle of
his whip, and he and Montgomery were keeping away the excited
carnivorous Beast People, and particularly M’ling, from the still
quivering body. The hairy-grey Thing came sniffing at the corpse under
my arm. The other animals, in their animal ardour, jostled me to get a
nearer view.

“Confound you, Prendick!” said Moreau. “I wanted him.”

“I’m sorry,” said I, though I was not. “It was the impulse of the
moment.” I felt sick with exertion and excitement. Turning, I pushed my
way out of the crowding Beast People and went on alone up the slope
towards the higher part of the headland. Under the shouted directions
of Moreau I heard the three white-swathed Bull-men begin dragging the
victim down towards the water.

It was easy now for me to be alone. The Beast People manifested a quite
human curiosity about the dead body, and followed it in a thick knot,
sniffing and growling at it as the Bull-men dragged it down the beach.
I went to the headland and watched the bull-men, black against the
evening sky as they carried the weighted dead body out to sea; and like
a wave across my mind came the realisation of the unspeakable
aimlessness of things upon the island. Upon the beach among the rocks
beneath me were the Ape-man, the Hyena-swine, and several other of the
Beast People, standing about Montgomery and Moreau. They were all still
intensely excited, and all overflowing with noisy expressions of their
loyalty to the Law; yet I felt an absolute assurance in my own mind
that the Hyena-swine was implicated in the rabbit-killing. A strange
persuasion came upon me, that, save for the grossness of the line, the
grotesqueness of the forms, I had here before me the whole balance of
human life in miniature, the whole interplay of instinct, reason, and
fate in its simplest form. The Leopard-man had happened to go under:
that was all the difference. Poor brute!

Poor brutes! I began to see the viler aspect of Moreau’s cruelty. I had
not thought before of the pain and trouble that came to these poor
victims after they had passed from Moreau’s hands. I had shivered only
at the days of actual torment in the enclosure. But now that seemed to
me the lesser part. Before, they had been beasts, their instincts fitly
adapted to their surroundings, and happy as living things may be. Now
they stumbled in the shackles of humanity, lived in a fear that never
died, fretted by a law they could not understand; their mock-human
existence, begun in an agony, was one long internal struggle, one long
dread of Moreau—and for what? It was the wantonness of it that stirred
me.

Had Moreau had any intelligible object, I could have sympathised at
least a little with him. I am not so squeamish about pain as that. I
could have forgiven him a little even, had his motive been only hate.
But he was so irresponsible, so utterly careless! His curiosity, his
mad, aimless investigations, drove him on; and the Things were thrown
out to live a year or so, to struggle and blunder and suffer, and at
last to die painfully. They were wretched in themselves; the old animal
hate moved them to trouble one another; the Law held them back from a
brief hot struggle and a decisive end to their natural animosities.

In those days my fear of the Beast People went the way of my personal
fear for Moreau. I fell indeed into a morbid state, deep and enduring,
and alien to fear, which has left permanent scars upon my mind. I must
confess that I lost faith in the sanity of the world when I saw it
suffering the painful disorder of this island. A blind Fate, a vast
pitiless mechanism, seemed to cut and shape the fabric of existence and
I, Moreau (by his passion for research), Montgomery (by his passion for
drink), the Beast People with their instincts and mental restrictions,
were torn and crushed, ruthlessly, inevitably, amid the infinite
complexity of its incessant wheels. But this condition did not come all
at once: I think indeed that I anticipate a little in speaking of it
now.

\chapter{A CATASTROPHE}
\cleardoublepage
Scarcely six weeks passed before I had lost every feeling but dislike
and abhorrence for this infamous experiment of Moreau’s. My one idea
was to get away from these horrible caricatures of my Maker’s image,
back to the sweet and wholesome intercourse of men. My
fellow-creatures, from whom I was thus separated, began to assume
idyllic virtue and beauty in my memory. My first friendship with
Montgomery did not increase. His long separation from humanity, his
secret vice of drunkenness, his evident sympathy with the Beast People,
tainted him to me. Several times I let him go alone among them. I
avoided intercourse with them in every possible way. I spent an
increasing proportion of my time upon the beach, looking for some
liberating sail that never appeared,—until one day there fell upon us
an appalling disaster, which put an altogether different aspect upon my
strange surroundings.

It was about seven or eight weeks after my landing,—rather more, I
think, though I had not troubled to keep account of the time,—when this
catastrophe occurred. It happened in the early morning—I should think
about six. I had risen and breakfasted early, having been aroused by
the noise of three Beast Men carrying wood into the enclosure.

After breakfast I went to the open gateway of the enclosure, and stood
there smoking a cigarette and enjoying the freshness of the early
morning. Moreau presently came round the corner of the enclosure and
greeted me. He passed by me, and I heard him behind me unlock and enter
his laboratory. So indurated was I at that time to the abomination of
the place, that I heard without a touch of emotion the puma victim
begin another day of torture. It met its persecutor with a shriek,
almost exactly like that of an angry virago.

Then suddenly something happened,—I do not know what, to this day. I
heard a short, sharp cry behind me, a fall, and turning saw an awful
face rushing upon me,—not human, not animal, but hellish, brown, seamed
with red branching scars, red drops starting out upon it, and the
lidless eyes ablaze. I threw up my arm to defend myself from the blow
that flung me headlong with a broken forearm; and the great monster,
swathed in lint and with red-stained bandages fluttering about it,
leapt over me and passed. I rolled over and over down the beach, tried
to sit up, and collapsed upon my broken arm. Then Moreau appeared, his
massive white face all the more terrible for the blood that trickled
from his forehead. He carried a revolver in one hand. He scarcely
glanced at me, but rushed off at once in pursuit of the puma.

I tried the other arm and sat up. The muffled figure in front ran in
great striding leaps along the beach, and Moreau followed her. She
turned her head and saw him, then doubling abruptly made for the
bushes. She gained upon him at every stride. I saw her plunge into
them, and Moreau, running slantingly to intercept her, fired and missed
as she disappeared. Then he too vanished in the green confusion. I
stared after them, and then the pain in my arm flamed up, and with a
groan I staggered to my feet. Montgomery appeared in the doorway,
dressed, and with his revolver in his hand.

“Great God, Prendick!” he said, not noticing that I was hurt, “that
brute’s loose! Tore the fetter out of the wall! Have you seen them?”
Then sharply, seeing I gripped my arm, “What’s the matter?”

“I was standing in the doorway,” said I.

He came forward and took my arm. “Blood on the sleeve,” said he, and
rolled back the flannel. He pocketed his weapon, felt my arm about
painfully, and led me inside. “Your arm is broken,” he said, and then,
“Tell me exactly how it happened—what happened?”

I told him what I had seen; told him in broken sentences, with gasps of
pain between them, and very dexterously and swiftly he bound my arm
meanwhile. He slung it from my shoulder, stood back and looked at me.

“You’ll do,” he said. “And now?”

He thought. Then he went out and locked the gates of the enclosure. He
was absent some time.

I was chiefly concerned about my arm. The incident seemed merely one
more of many horrible things. I sat down in the deck chair, and I must
admit swore heartily at the island. The first dull feeling of injury in
my arm had already given way to a burning pain when Montgomery
reappeared. His face was rather pale, and he showed more of his lower
gums than ever.

“I can neither see nor hear anything of him,” he said. “I’ve been
thinking he may want my help.” He stared at me with his expressionless
eyes. “That was a strong brute,” he said. “It simply wrenched its
fetter out of the wall.” He went to the window, then to the door, and
there turned to me. “I shall go after him,” he said. “There’s another
revolver I can leave with you. To tell you the truth, I feel anxious
somehow.”

He obtained the weapon, and put it ready to my hand on the table; then
went out, leaving a restless contagion in the air. I did not sit long
after he left, but took the revolver in hand and went to the doorway.

The morning was as still as death. Not a whisper of wind was stirring;
the sea was like polished glass, the sky empty, the beach desolate. In
my half-excited, half-feverish state, this stillness of things
oppressed me. I tried to whistle, and the tune died away. I swore
again,—the second time that morning. Then I went to the corner of the
enclosure and stared inland at the green bush that had swallowed up
Moreau and Montgomery. When would they return, and how? Then far away
up the beach a little grey Beast Man appeared, ran down to the water’s
edge and began splashing about. I strolled back to the doorway, then to
the corner again, and so began pacing to and fro like a sentinel upon
duty. Once I was arrested by the distant voice of Montgomery bawling,
“Coo-ee—Moreau!” My arm became less painful, but very hot. I got
feverish and thirsty. My shadow grew shorter. I watched the distant
figure until it went away again. Would Moreau and Montgomery never
return? Three sea-birds began fighting for some stranded treasure.

Then from far away behind the enclosure I heard a pistol-shot. A long
silence, and then came another. Then a yelling cry nearer, and another
dismal gap of silence. My unfortunate imagination set to work to
torment me. Then suddenly a shot close by. I went to the corner,
startled, and saw Montgomery,—his face scarlet, his hair disordered,
and the knee of his trousers torn. His face expressed profound
consternation. Behind him slouched the Beast Man, M’ling, and round
M’ling’s jaws were some queer dark stains.

“Has he come?” said Montgomery.

“Moreau?” said I. “No.”

“My God!” The man was panting, almost sobbing. “Go back in,” he said,
taking my arm. “They’re mad. They’re all rushing about mad. What can
have happened? I don’t know. I’ll tell you, when my breath comes.
Where’s some brandy?”

Montgomery limped before me into the room and sat down in the deck
chair. M’ling flung himself down just outside the doorway and began
panting like a dog. I got Montgomery some brandy-and-water. He sat
staring in front of him at nothing, recovering his breath. After some
minutes he began to tell me what had happened.

He had followed their track for some way. It was plain enough at first
on account of the crushed and broken bushes, white rags torn from the
puma’s bandages, and occasional smears of blood on the leaves of the
shrubs and undergrowth. He lost the track, however, on the stony ground
beyond the stream where I had seen the Beast Man drinking, and went
wandering aimlessly westward shouting Moreau’s name. Then M’ling had
come to him carrying a light hatchet. M’ling had seen nothing of the
puma affair; had been felling wood, and heard him calling. They went on
shouting together. Two Beast Men came crouching and peering at them
through the undergrowth, with gestures and a furtive carriage that
alarmed Montgomery by their strangeness. He hailed them, and they fled
guiltily. He stopped shouting after that, and after wandering some time
farther in an undecided way, determined to visit the huts.

He found the ravine deserted.

Growing more alarmed every minute, he began to retrace his steps. Then
it was he encountered the two Swine-men I had seen dancing on the night
of my arrival; blood-stained they were about the mouth, and intensely
excited. They came crashing through the ferns, and stopped with fierce
faces when they saw him. He cracked his whip in some trepidation, and
forthwith they rushed at him. Never before had a Beast Man dared to do
that. One he shot through the head; M’ling flung himself upon the
other, and the two rolled grappling. M’ling got his brute under and
with his teeth in its throat, and Montgomery shot that too as it
struggled in M’ling’s grip. He had some difficulty in inducing M’ling
to come on with him. Thence they had hurried back to me. On the way,
M’ling had suddenly rushed into a thicket and driven out an under-sized
Ocelot-man, also blood-stained, and lame through a wound in the foot.
This brute had run a little way and then turned savagely at bay, and
Montgomery—with a certain wantonness, I thought—had shot him.

“What does it all mean?” said I.

He shook his head, and turned once more to the brandy.

\chapter{THE FINDING OF MOREAU}
\cleardoublepage

When I saw Montgomery swallow a third dose of brandy, I took it upon
myself to interfere. He was already more than half fuddled. I told him
that some serious thing must have happened to Moreau by this time, or
he would have returned before this, and that it behoved us to ascertain
what that catastrophe was. Montgomery raised some feeble objections,
and at last agreed. We had some food, and then all three of us started.

It is possibly due to the tension of my mind, at the time, but even now
that start into the hot stillness of the tropical afternoon is a
singularly vivid impression. M’ling went first, his shoulder hunched,
his strange black head moving with quick starts as he peered first on
this side of the way and then on that. He was unarmed; his axe he had
dropped when he encountered the Swine-man. Teeth were \emph{his} weapons,
when it came to fighting. Montgomery followed with stumbling footsteps,
his hands in his pockets, his face downcast; he was in a state of
muddled sullenness with me on account of the brandy. My left arm was in
a sling (it was lucky it was my left), and I carried my revolver in my
right. Soon we traced a narrow path through the wild luxuriance of the
island, going northwestward; and presently M’ling stopped, and became
rigid with watchfulness. Montgomery almost staggered into him, and then
stopped too. Then, listening intently, we heard coming through the
trees the sound of voices and footsteps approaching us.

“He is dead,” said a deep, vibrating voice.

“He is not dead; he is not dead,” jabbered another.

“We saw, we saw,” said several voices.

“\emph{Hul}-lo!” suddenly shouted Montgomery, “Hullo, there!”

“Confound you!” said I, and gripped my pistol.

There was a silence, then a crashing among the interlacing vegetation,
first here, then there, and then half-a-dozen faces appeared,—strange
faces, lit by a strange light. M’ling made a growling noise in his
throat. I recognised the Ape-man: I had indeed already identified his
voice, and two of the white-swathed brown-featured creatures I had seen
in Montgomery’s boat. With these were the two dappled brutes and that
grey, horribly crooked creature who said the Law, with grey hair
streaming down its cheeks, heavy grey eyebrows, and grey locks pouring
off from a central parting upon its sloping forehead,—a heavy, faceless
thing, with strange red eyes, looking at us curiously from amidst the
green.

For a space no one spoke. Then Montgomery hiccoughed, “Who—said he was
dead?”

The Monkey-man looked guiltily at the hairy-grey Thing. “He is dead,”
said this monster. “They saw.”

There was nothing threatening about this detachment, at any rate. They
seemed awestricken and puzzled.

“Where is he?” said Montgomery.

“Beyond,” and the grey creature pointed.

“Is there a Law now?” asked the Monkey-man. “Is it still to be this and
that? Is he dead indeed?”

“Is there a Law?” repeated the man in white. “Is there a Law, thou
Other with the Whip?”

“He is dead,” said the hairy-grey Thing. And they all stood watching
us.

“Prendick,” said Montgomery, turning his dull eyes to me. “He’s dead,
evidently.”

I had been standing behind him during this colloquy. I began to see how
things lay with them. I suddenly stepped in front of Montgomery and
lifted up my voice:—“Children of the Law,” I said, “he is \emph{not} dead!”
M’ling turned his sharp eyes on me. “He has changed his shape; he has
changed his body,” I went on. “For a time you will not see him. He
is—there,” I pointed upward, “where he can watch you. You cannot see
him, but he can see you. Fear the Law!”

I looked at them squarely. They flinched.

“He is great, he is good,” said the Ape-man, peering fearfully upward
among the dense trees.

“And the other Thing?” I demanded.

“The Thing that bled, and ran screaming and sobbing,—that is dead too,”
said the grey Thing, still regarding me.

“That’s well,” grunted Montgomery.

“The Other with the Whip—” began the grey Thing.

“Well?” said I.

“Said he was dead.”

But Montgomery was still sober enough to understand my motive in
denying Moreau’s death. “He is not dead,” he said slowly, “not dead at
all. No more dead than I am.”

“Some,” said I, “have broken the Law: they will die. Some have died.
Show us now where his old body lies,—the body he cast away because he
had no more need of it.”

“It is this way, Man who walked in the Sea,” said the grey Thing.

And with these six creatures guiding us, we went through the tumult of
ferns and creepers and tree-stems towards the northwest. Then came a
yelling, a crashing among the branches, and a little pink homunculus
rushed by us shrieking. Immediately after appeared a monster in
headlong pursuit, blood-bedabbled, who was amongst us almost before he
could stop his career. The grey Thing leapt aside. M’ling, with a
snarl, flew at it, and was struck aside. Montgomery fired and missed,
bowed his head, threw up his arm, and turned to run. I fired, and the
Thing still came on; fired again, point-blank, into its ugly face. I
saw its features vanish in a flash: its face was driven in. Yet it
passed me, gripped Montgomery, and holding him, fell headlong beside
him and pulled him sprawling upon itself in its death-agony.

I found myself alone with M’ling, the dead brute, and the prostrate
man. Montgomery raised himself slowly and stared in a muddled way at
the shattered Beast Man beside him. It more than half sobered him. He
scrambled to his feet. Then I saw the grey Thing returning cautiously
through the trees.

“See,” said I, pointing to the dead brute, “is the Law not alive? This
came of breaking the Law.”

He peered at the body. “He sends the Fire that kills,” said he, in his
deep voice, repeating part of the Ritual. The others gathered round and
stared for a space.

At last we drew near the westward extremity of the island. We came upon
the gnawed and mutilated body of the puma, its shoulder-bone smashed by
a bullet, and perhaps twenty yards farther found at last what we
sought. Moreau lay face downward in a trampled space in a canebrake.
One hand was almost severed at the wrist and his silvery hair was
dabbled in blood. His head had been battered in by the fetters of the
puma. The broken canes beneath him were smeared with blood. His
revolver we could not find. Montgomery turned him over. Resting at
intervals, and with the help of the seven Beast People (for he was a
heavy man), we carried Moreau back to the enclosure. The night was
darkling. Twice we heard unseen creatures howling and shrieking past
our little band, and once the little pink sloth-creature appeared and
stared at us, and vanished again. But we were not attacked again. At
the gates of the enclosure our company of Beast People left us, M’ling
going with the rest. We locked ourselves in, and then took Moreau’s
mangled body into the yard and laid it upon a pile of brushwood. Then
we went into the laboratory and put an end to all we found living
there.
\chapter{MONTGOMERY’S \emph{BANK HOLIDAY}}
\cleardoublepage
When this was accomplished, and we had washed and eaten, Montgomery and
I went into my little room and seriously discussed our position for the
first time. It was then near midnight. He was almost sober, but greatly
disturbed in his mind. He had been strangely under the influence of
Moreau’s personality: I do not think it had ever occurred to him that
Moreau could die. This disaster was the sudden collapse of the habits
that had become part of his nature in the ten or more monotonous years
he had spent on the island. He talked vaguely, answered my questions
crookedly, wandered into general questions.

“This silly ass of a world,” he said; “what a muddle it all is! I
haven’t had any life. I wonder when it’s going to begin. Sixteen years
being bullied by nurses and schoolmasters at their own sweet will; five
in London grinding hard at medicine, bad food, shabby lodgings, shabby
clothes, shabby vice, a blunder,—\emph{I} didn’t know any better,—and
hustled off to this beastly island. Ten years here! What’s it all for,
Prendick? Are we bubbles blown by a baby?”

It was hard to deal with such ravings. “The thing we have to think of
now,” said I, “is how to get away from this island.”

“What’s the good of getting away? I’m an outcast. Where am \emph{I} to join
on? It’s all very well for \emph{you}, Prendick. Poor old Moreau! We can’t
leave him here to have his bones picked. As it is—And besides, what
will become of the decent part of the Beast Folk?”

“Well,” said I, “that will do to-morrow. I’ve been thinking we might
make the brushwood into a pyre and burn his body—and those other
things. Then what will happen with the Beast Folk?”

“\emph{I} don’t know. I suppose those that were made of beasts of prey will
make silly asses of themselves sooner or later. We can’t massacre the
lot—can we? I suppose that’s what \emph{your} humanity would suggest? But
they’ll change. They are sure to change.”

He talked thus inconclusively until at last I felt my temper going.

“Damnation!” he exclaimed at some petulance of mine; “can’t you see I’m
in a worse hole than you are?” And he got up, and went for the brandy.
“Drink!” he said returning, “you logic-chopping, chalky-faced saint of
an atheist, drink!”

“Not I,” said I, and sat grimly watching his face under the yellow
paraffine flare, as he drank himself into a garrulous misery.

I have a memory of infinite tedium. He wandered into a maudlin defence
of the Beast People and of M’ling. M’ling, he said, was the only thing
that had ever really cared for him. And suddenly an idea came to him.

“I’m damned!” said he, staggering to his feet and clutching the brandy
bottle.

By some flash of intuition I knew what it was he intended. “You don’t
give drink to that beast!” I said, rising and facing him.

“Beast!” said he. “You’re the beast. He takes his liquor like a
Christian. Come out of the way, Prendick!”

“For God’s sake,” said I.

“Get—out of the way!” he roared, and suddenly whipped out his revolver.

“Very well,” said I, and stood aside, half-minded to fall upon him as
he put his hand upon the latch, but deterred by the thought of my
useless arm. “You’ve made a beast of yourself,—to the beasts you may
go.”

He flung the doorway open, and stood half facing me between the yellow
lamp-light and the pallid glare of the moon; his eye-sockets were
blotches of black under his stubbly eyebrows.

“You’re a solemn prig, Prendick, a silly ass! You’re always fearing and
fancying. We’re on the edge of things. I’m bound to cut my throat
to-morrow. I’m going to have a damned Bank Holiday to-night.” He turned
and went out into the moonlight. “M’ling!” he cried; “M’ling, old
friend!”

Three dim creatures in the silvery light came along the edge of the wan
beach,—one a white-wrapped creature, the other two blotches of
blackness following it. They halted, staring. Then I saw M’ling’s
hunched shoulders as he came round the corner of the house.

“Drink!” cried Montgomery, “drink, you brutes! Drink and be men! Damme,
I’m the cleverest. Moreau forgot this; this is the last touch. Drink, I
tell you!” And waving the bottle in his hand he started off at a kind
of quick trot to the westward, M’ling ranging himself between him and
the three dim creatures who followed.

I went to the doorway. They were already indistinct in the mist of the
moonlight before Montgomery halted. I saw him administer a dose of the
raw brandy to M’ling, and saw the five figures melt into one vague
patch.

“Sing!” I heard Montgomery shout,—“sing all together, ‘Confound old
Prendick!’ That’s right; now again, ‘Confound old Prendick!’”

The black group broke up into five separate figures, and wound slowly
away from me along the band of shining beach. Each went howling at his
own sweet will, yelping insults at me, or giving whatever other vent
this new inspiration of brandy demanded. Presently I heard Montgomery’s
voice shouting, “Right turn!” and they passed with their shouts and
howls into the blackness of the landward trees. Slowly, very slowly,
they receded into silence.

The peaceful splendour of the night healed again. The moon was now past
the meridian and travelling down the west. It was at its full, and very
bright riding through the empty blue sky. The shadow of the wall lay, a
yard wide and of inky blackness, at my feet. The eastward sea was a
featureless grey, dark and mysterious; and between the sea and the
shadow the grey sands (of volcanic glass and crystals) flashed and
shone like a beach of diamonds. Behind me the paraffine lamp flared hot
and ruddy.

Then I shut the door, locked it, and went into the enclosure where
Moreau lay beside his latest victims,—the staghounds and the llama and
some other wretched brutes,—with his massive face calm even after his
terrible death, and with the hard eyes open, staring at the dead white
moon above. I sat down upon the edge of the sink, and with my eyes upon
that ghastly pile of silvery light and ominous shadows began to turn
over my plans. In the morning I would gather some provisions in the
dingey, and after setting fire to the pyre before me, push out into the
desolation of the high sea once more. I felt that for Montgomery there
was no help; that he was, in truth, half akin to these Beast Folk,
unfitted for human kindred.

I do not know how long I sat there scheming. It must have been an hour
or so. Then my planning was interrupted by the return of Montgomery to
my neighbourhood. I heard a yelling from many throats, a tumult of
exultant cries passing down towards the beach, whooping and howling,
and excited shrieks that seemed to come to a stop near the water’s
edge. The riot rose and fell; I heard heavy blows and the splintering
smash of wood, but it did not trouble me then. A discordant chanting
began.

My thoughts went back to my means of escape. I got up, brought the
lamp, and went into a shed to look at some kegs I had seen there. Then
I became interested in the contents of some biscuit-tins, and opened
one. I saw something out of the tail of my eye,—a red figure,—and
turned sharply.

Behind me lay the yard, vividly black-and-white in the moonlight, and
the pile of wood and faggots on which Moreau and his mutilated victims
lay, one over another. They seemed to be gripping one another in one
last revengeful grapple. His wounds gaped, black as night, and the
blood that had dripped lay in black patches upon the sand. Then I saw,
without understanding, the cause of my phantom,—a ruddy glow that came
and danced and went upon the wall opposite. I misinterpreted this,
fancied it was a reflection of my flickering lamp, and turned again to
the stores in the shed. I went on rummaging among them, as well as a
one-armed man could, finding this convenient thing and that, and
putting them aside for to-morrow’s launch. My movements were slow, and
the time passed quickly. Insensibly the daylight crept upon me.

The chanting died down, giving place to a clamour; then it began again,
and suddenly broke into a tumult. I heard cries of, “More! more!” a
sound like quarrelling, and a sudden wild shriek. The quality of the
sounds changed so greatly that it arrested my attention. I went out
into the yard and listened. Then cutting like a knife across the
confusion came the crack of a revolver.

I rushed at once through my room to the little doorway. As I did so I
heard some of the packing-cases behind me go sliding down and smash
together with a clatter of glass on the floor of the shed. But I did
not heed these. I flung the door open and looked out.

Up the beach by the boathouse a bonfire was burning, raining up sparks
into the indistinctness of the dawn. Around this struggled a mass of
black figures. I heard Montgomery call my name. I began to run at once
towards this fire, revolver in hand. I saw the pink tongue of
Montgomery’s pistol lick out once, close to the ground. He was down. I
shouted with all my strength and fired into the air. I heard some one
cry, “The Master!” The knotted black struggle broke into scattering
units, the fire leapt and sank down. The crowd of Beast People fled in
sudden panic before me, up the beach. In my excitement I fired at their
retreating backs as they disappeared among the bushes. Then I turned to
the black heaps upon the ground.

Montgomery lay on his back, with the hairy-grey Beast-man sprawling
across his body. The brute was dead, but still gripping Montgomery’s
throat with its curving claws. Near by lay M’ling on his face and quite
still, his neck bitten open and the upper part of the smashed
brandy-bottle in his hand. Two other figures lay near the fire,—the one
motionless, the other groaning fitfully, every now and then raising its
head slowly, then dropping it again.

I caught hold of the grey man and pulled him off Montgomery’s body; his
claws drew down the torn coat reluctantly as I dragged him away.
Montgomery was dark in the face and scarcely breathing. I splashed
sea-water on his face and pillowed his head on my rolled-up coat.
M’ling was dead. The wounded creature by the fire—it was a Wolf-brute
with a bearded grey face—lay, I found, with the fore part of its body
upon the still glowing timber. The wretched thing was injured so
dreadfully that in mercy I blew its brains out at once. The other brute
was one of the Bull-men swathed in white. He too was dead. The rest of
the Beast People had vanished from the beach.

I went to Montgomery again and knelt beside him, cursing my ignorance
of medicine. The fire beside me had sunk down, and only charred beams
of timber glowing at the central ends and mixed with a grey ash of
brushwood remained. I wondered casually where Montgomery had got his
wood. Then I saw that the dawn was upon us. The sky had grown brighter,
the setting moon was becoming pale and opaque in the luminous blue of
the day. The sky to the eastward was rimmed with red.

Suddenly I heard a thud and a hissing behind me, and, looking round,
sprang to my feet with a cry of horror. Against the warm dawn great
tumultuous masses of black smoke were boiling up out of the enclosure,
and through their stormy darkness shot flickering threads of blood-red
flame. Then the thatched roof caught. I saw the curving charge of the
flames across the sloping straw. A spurt of fire jetted from the window
of my room.

I knew at once what had happened. I remembered the crash I had heard.
When I had rushed out to Montgomery’s assistance, I had overturned the
lamp.

The hopelessness of saving any of the contents of the enclosure stared
me in the face. My mind came back to my plan of flight, and turning
swiftly I looked to see where the two boats lay upon the beach. They
were gone! Two axes lay upon the sands beside me; chips and splinters
were scattered broadcast, and the ashes of the bonfire were blackening
and smoking under the dawn. Montgomery had burnt the boats to revenge
himself upon me and prevent our return to mankind!

A sudden convulsion of rage shook me. I was almost moved to batter his
foolish head in, as he lay there helpless at my feet. Then suddenly his
hand moved, so feebly, so pitifully, that my wrath vanished. He
groaned, and opened his eyes for a minute. I knelt down beside him and
raised his head. He opened his eyes again, staring silently at the
dawn, and then they met mine. The lids fell.

“Sorry,” he said presently, with an effort. He seemed trying to think.
“The last,” he murmured, “the last of this silly universe. What a
mess—”

I listened. His head fell helplessly to one side. I thought some drink
might revive him; but there was neither drink nor vessel in which to
bring drink at hand. He seemed suddenly heavier. My heart went cold. I
bent down to his face, put my hand through the rent in his blouse. He
was dead; and even as he died a line of white heat, the limb of the
sun, rose eastward beyond the projection of the bay, splashing its
radiance across the sky and turning the dark sea into a weltering
tumult of dazzling light. It fell like a glory upon his death-shrunken
face.

I let his head fall gently upon the rough pillow I had made for him,
and stood up. Before me was the glittering desolation of the sea, the
awful solitude upon which I had already suffered so much; behind me the
island, hushed under the dawn, its Beast People silent and unseen. The
enclosure, with all its provisions and ammunition, burnt noisily, with
sudden gusts of flame, a fitful crackling, and now and then a crash.
The heavy smoke drove up the beach away from me, rolling low over the
distant tree-tops towards the huts in the ravine. Beside me were the
charred vestiges of the boats and these five dead bodies.

Then out of the bushes came three Beast People, with hunched shoulders,
protruding heads, misshapen hands awkwardly held, and inquisitive,
unfriendly eyes and advanced towards me with hesitating gestures.

\chapter{ALONE WITH THE BEAST FOLK}
\cleardoublepage
I faced these people, facing my fate in them, single-handed
now,—literally single-handed, for I had a broken arm. In my pocket was
a revolver with two empty chambers. Among the chips scattered about the
beach lay the two axes that had been used to chop up the boats. The
tide was creeping in behind me. There was nothing for it but courage. I
looked squarely into the faces of the advancing monsters. They avoided
my eyes, and their quivering nostrils investigated the bodies that lay
beyond me on the beach. I took half-a-dozen steps, picked up the
blood-stained whip that lay beneath the body of the Wolf-man, and
cracked it. They stopped and stared at me.

“Salute!” said I. “Bow down!”

They hesitated. One bent his knees. I repeated my command, with my
heart in my mouth, and advanced upon them. One knelt, then the other
two.

I turned and walked towards the dead bodies, keeping my face towards
the three kneeling Beast Men, very much as an actor passing up the
stage faces the audience.

“They broke the Law,” said I, putting my foot on the Sayer of the Law.
“They have been slain,—even the Sayer of the Law; even the Other with
the Whip. Great is the Law! Come and see.”

“None escape,” said one of them, advancing and peering.

“None escape,” said I. “Therefore hear and do as I command.” They stood
up, looking questioningly at one another.

“Stand there,” said I.

I picked up the hatchets and swung them by their heads from the sling
of my arm; turned Montgomery over; picked up his revolver still loaded
in two chambers, and bending down to rummage, found half-a-dozen
cartridges in his pocket.

“Take him,” said I, standing up again and pointing with the whip; “take
him, and carry him out and cast him into the sea.”

They came forward, evidently still afraid of Montgomery, but still more
afraid of my cracking red whip-lash; and after some fumbling and
hesitation, some whip-cracking and shouting, they lifted him gingerly,
carried him down to the beach, and went splashing into the dazzling
welter of the sea.

“On!” said I, “on! Carry him far.”

They went in up to their armpits and stood regarding me.

“Let go,” said I; and the body of Montgomery vanished with a splash.
Something seemed to tighten across my chest.

“Good!” said I, with a break in my voice; and they came back, hurrying
and fearful, to the margin of the water, leaving long wakes of black in
the silver. At the water’s edge they stopped, turning and glaring into
the sea as though they presently expected Montgomery to arise therefrom
and exact vengeance.

“Now these,” said I, pointing to the other bodies.

They took care not to approach the place where they had thrown
Montgomery into the water, but instead, carried the four dead Beast
People slantingly along the beach for perhaps a hundred yards before
they waded out and cast them away.

As I watched them disposing of the mangled remains of M’ling, I heard a
light footfall behind me, and turning quickly saw the big Hyena-swine
perhaps a dozen yards away. His head was bent down, his bright eyes
were fixed upon me, his stumpy hands clenched and held close by his
side. He stopped in this crouching attitude when I turned, his eyes a
little averted.

For a moment we stood eye to eye. I dropped the whip and snatched at
the pistol in my pocket; for I meant to kill this brute, the most
formidable of any left now upon the island, at the first excuse. It may
seem treacherous, but so I was resolved. I was far more afraid of him
than of any other two of the Beast Folk. His continued life was I knew
a threat against mine.

I was perhaps a dozen seconds collecting myself. Then cried I, “Salute!
Bow down!”

His teeth flashed upon me in a snarl. “Who are \emph{you} that I should—”

Perhaps a little too spasmodically I drew my revolver, aimed quickly
and fired. I heard him yelp, saw him run sideways and turn, knew I had
missed, and clicked back the cock with my thumb for the next shot. But
he was already running headlong, jumping from side to side, and I dared
not risk another miss. Every now and then he looked back at me over his
shoulder. He went slanting along the beach, and vanished beneath the
driving masses of dense smoke that were still pouring out from the
burning enclosure. For some time I stood staring after him. I turned to
my three obedient Beast Folk again and signalled them to drop the body
they still carried. Then I went back to the place by the fire where the
bodies had fallen and kicked the sand until all the brown blood-stains
were absorbed and hidden.

I dismissed my three serfs with a wave of the hand, and went up the
beach into the thickets. I carried my pistol in my hand, my whip thrust
with the hatchets in the sling of my arm. I was anxious to be alone, to
think out the position in which I was now placed. A dreadful thing that
I was only beginning to realise was, that over all this island there
was now no safe place where I could be alone and secure to rest or
sleep. I had recovered strength amazingly since my landing, but I was
still inclined to be nervous and to break down under any great stress.
I felt that I ought to cross the island and establish myself with the
Beast People, and make myself secure in their confidence. But my heart
failed me. I went back to the beach, and turning eastward past the
burning enclosure, made for a point where a shallow spit of coral sand
ran out towards the reef. Here I could sit down and think, my back to
the sea and my face against any surprise. And there I sat, chin on
knees, the sun beating down upon my head and unspeakable dread in my
mind, plotting how I could live on against the hour of my rescue (if
ever rescue came). I tried to review the whole situation as calmly as I
could, but it was difficult to clear the thing of emotion.

I began turning over in my mind the reason of Montgomery’s despair.
“They will change,” he said; “they are sure to change.” And Moreau,
what was it that Moreau had said? “The stubborn beast-flesh grows day
by day back again.” Then I came round to the Hyena-swine. I felt sure
that if I did not kill that brute, he would kill me. The Sayer of the
Law was dead: worse luck. They knew now that we of the Whips could be
killed even as they themselves were killed. Were they peering at me
already out of the green masses of ferns and palms over yonder,
watching until I came within their spring? Were they plotting against
me? What was the Hyena-swine telling them? My imagination was running
away with me into a morass of unsubstantial fears.

My thoughts were disturbed by a crying of sea-birds hurrying towards
some black object that had been stranded by the waves on the beach near
the enclosure. I knew what that object was, but I had not the heart to
go back and drive them off. I began walking along the beach in the
opposite direction, designing to come round the eastward corner of the
island and so approach the ravine of the huts, without traversing the
possible ambuscades of the thickets.

Perhaps half a mile along the beach I became aware of one of my three
Beast Folk advancing out of the landward bushes towards me. I was now
so nervous with my own imaginings that I immediately drew my revolver.
Even the propitiatory gestures of the creature failed to disarm me. He
hesitated as he approached.

“Go away!” cried I.

There was something very suggestive of a dog in the cringing attitude
of the creature. It retreated a little way, very like a dog being sent
home, and stopped, looking at me imploringly with canine brown eyes.

“Go away,” said I. “Do not come near me.”

“May I not come near you?” it said.

“No; go away,” I insisted, and snapped my whip. Then putting my whip in
my teeth, I stooped for a stone, and with that threat drove the
creature away.

So in solitude I came round by the ravine of the Beast People, and
hiding among the weeds and reeds that separated this crevice from the
sea I watched such of them as appeared, trying to judge from their
gestures and appearance how the death of Moreau and Montgomery and the
destruction of the House of Pain had affected them. I know now the
folly of my cowardice. Had I kept my courage up to the level of the
dawn, had I not allowed it to ebb away in solitary thought, I might
have grasped the vacant sceptre of Moreau and ruled over the Beast
People. As it was I lost the opportunity, and sank to the position of a
mere leader among my fellows.

Towards noon certain of them came and squatted basking in the hot sand.
The imperious voices of hunger and thirst prevailed over my dread. I
came out of the bushes, and, revolver in hand, walked down towards
these seated figures. One, a Wolf-woman, turned her head and stared at
me, and then the others. None attempted to rise or salute me. I felt
too faint and weary to insist, and I let the moment pass.

“I want food,” said I, almost apologetically, and drawing near.

“There is food in the huts,” said an Ox-boar-man, drowsily, and looking
away from me.

I passed them, and went down into the shadow and odours of the almost
deserted ravine. In an empty hut I feasted on some specked and
half-decayed fruit; and then after I had propped some branches and
sticks about the opening, and placed myself with my face towards it and
my hand upon my revolver, the exhaustion of the last thirty hours
claimed its own, and I fell into a light slumber, hoping that the
flimsy barricade I had erected would cause sufficient noise in its
removal to save me from surprise.
\chapter{THE REVERSION OF THE BEAST FOLK}
\cleardoublepage
In this way I became one among the Beast People in the Island of Doctor
Moreau. When I awoke, it was dark about me. My arm ached in its
bandages. I sat up, wondering at first where I might be. I heard coarse
voices talking outside. Then I saw that my barricade had gone, and that
the opening of the hut stood clear. My revolver was still in my hand.

I heard something breathing, saw something crouched together close
beside me. I held my breath, trying to see what it was. It began to
move slowly, interminably. Then something soft and warm and moist
passed across my hand. All my muscles contracted. I snatched my hand
away. A cry of alarm began and was stifled in my throat. Then I just
realised what had happened sufficiently to stay my fingers on the
revolver.

“Who is that?” I said in a hoarse whisper, the revolver still pointed.

“\emph{I}—Master.”

“Who are \emph{you?}”

“They say there is no Master now. But I know, I know. I carried the
bodies into the sea, O Walker in the Sea! the bodies of those you slew.
I am your slave, Master.”

“Are you the one I met on the beach?” I asked.

“The same, Master.”

The Thing was evidently faithful enough, for it might have fallen upon
me as I slept. “It is well,” I said, extending my hand for another
licking kiss. I began to realise what its presence meant, and the tide
of my courage flowed. “Where are the others?” I asked.

“They are mad; they are fools,” said the Dog-man. “Even now they talk
together beyond there. They say, ‘The Master is dead. The Other with
the Whip is dead. That Other who walked in the Sea is as we are. We
have no Master, no Whips, no House of Pain, any more. There is an end.
We love the Law, and will keep it; but there is no Pain, no Master, no
Whips for ever again.’ So they say. But I know, Master, I know.”

I felt in the darkness, and patted the Dog-man’s head. “It is well,” I
said again.

“Presently you will slay them all,” said the Dog-man.

“Presently,” I answered, “I will slay them all,—after certain days and
certain things have come to pass. Every one of them save those you
spare, every one of them shall be slain.”

“What the Master wishes to kill, the Master kills,” said the Dog-man
with a certain satisfaction in his voice.

“And that their sins may grow,” I said, “let them live in their folly
until their time is ripe. Let them not know that I am the Master.”

“The Master’s will is sweet,” said the Dog-man, with the ready tact of
his canine blood.

“But one has sinned,” said I. “Him I will kill, whenever I may meet
him. When I say to you, ‘\emph{That is he},’ see that you fall upon him. And
now I will go to the men and women who are assembled together.”

For a moment the opening of the hut was blackened by the exit of the
Dog-man. Then I followed and stood up, almost in the exact spot where I
had been when I had heard Moreau and his staghound pursuing me. But now
it was night, and all the miasmatic ravine about me was black; and
beyond, instead of a green, sunlit slope, I saw a red fire, before
which hunched, grotesque figures moved to and fro. Farther were the
thick trees, a bank of darkness, fringed above with the black lace of
the upper branches. The moon was just riding up on the edge of the
ravine, and like a bar across its face drove the spire of vapour that
was for ever streaming from the fumaroles of the island.

“Walk by me,” said I, nerving myself; and side by side we walked down
the narrow way, taking little heed of the dim Things that peered at us
out of the huts.

None about the fire attempted to salute me. Most of them disregarded
me, ostentatiously. I looked round for the Hyena-swine, but he was not
there. Altogether, perhaps twenty of the Beast Folk squatted, staring
into the fire or talking to one another.

“He is dead, he is dead! the Master is dead!” said the voice of the
Ape-man to the right of me. “The House of Pain—there is no House of
Pain!”

“He is not dead,” said I, in a loud voice. “Even now he watches us!”

This startled them. Twenty pairs of eyes regarded me.

“The House of Pain is gone,” said I. “It will come again. The Master
you cannot see; yet even now he listens among you.”

“True, true!” said the Dog-man.

They were staggered at my assurance. An animal may be ferocious and
cunning enough, but it takes a real man to tell a lie.

“The Man with the Bandaged Arm speaks a strange thing,” said one of the
Beast Folk.

“I tell you it is so,” I said. “The Master and the House of Pain will
come again. Woe be to him who breaks the Law!”

They looked curiously at one another. With an affectation of
indifference I began to chop idly at the ground in front of me with my
hatchet. They looked, I noticed, at the deep cuts I made in the turf.

Then the Satyr raised a doubt. I answered him. Then one of the dappled
things objected, and an animated discussion sprang up round the fire.
Every moment I began to feel more convinced of my present security. I
talked now without the catching in my breath, due to the intensity of
my excitement, that had troubled me at first. In the course of about an
hour I had really convinced several of the Beast Folk of the truth of
my assertions, and talked most of the others into a dubious state. I
kept a sharp eye for my enemy the Hyena-swine, but he never appeared.
Every now and then a suspicious movement would startle me, but my
confidence grew rapidly. Then as the moon crept down from the zenith,
one by one the listeners began to yawn (showing the oddest teeth in the
light of the sinking fire), and first one and then another retired
towards the dens in the ravine; and I, dreading the silence and
darkness, went with them, knowing I was safer with several of them than
with one alone.

In this manner began the longer part of my sojourn upon this Island of
Doctor Moreau. But from that night until the end came, there was but
one thing happened to tell save a series of innumerable small
unpleasant details and the fretting of an incessant uneasiness. So that
I prefer to make no chronicle for that gap of time, to tell only one
cardinal incident of the ten months I spent as an intimate of these
half-humanised brutes. There is much that sticks in my memory that I
could write,—things that I would cheerfully give my right hand to
forget; but they do not help the telling of the story.

In the retrospect it is strange to remember how soon I fell in with
these monsters’ ways, and gained my confidence again. I had my quarrels
with them of course, and could show some of their teeth-marks still;
but they soon gained a wholesome respect for my trick of throwing
stones and for the bite of my hatchet. And my Saint-Bernard-man’s
loyalty was of infinite service to me. I found their simple scale of
honour was based mainly on the capacity for inflicting trenchant
wounds. Indeed, I may say—without vanity, I hope—that I held something
like pre-eminence among them. One or two, whom in a rare access of high
spirits I had scarred rather badly, bore me a grudge; but it vented
itself chiefly behind my back, and at a safe distance from my missiles,
in grimaces.

The Hyena-swine avoided me, and I was always on the alert for him. My
inseparable Dog-man hated and dreaded him intensely. I really believe
that was at the root of the brute’s attachment to me. It was soon
evident to me that the former monster had tasted blood, and gone the
way of the Leopard-man. He formed a lair somewhere in the forest, and
became solitary. Once I tried to induce the Beast Folk to hunt him, but
I lacked the authority to make them co-operate for one end. Again and
again I tried to approach his den and come upon him unaware; but always
he was too acute for me, and saw or winded me and got away. He too made
every forest pathway dangerous to me and my ally with his lurking
ambuscades. The Dog-man scarcely dared to leave my side.

In the first month or so the Beast Folk, compared with their latter
condition, were human enough, and for one or two besides my canine
friend I even conceived a friendly tolerance. The little pink
sloth-creature displayed an odd affection for me, and took to following
me about. The Monkey-man bored me, however; he assumed, on the strength
of his five digits, that he was my equal, and was for ever jabbering at
me,—jabbering the most arrant nonsense. One thing about him entertained
me a little: he had a fantastic trick of coining new words. He had an
idea, I believe, that to gabble about names that meant nothing was the
proper use of speech. He called it “Big Thinks” to distinguish it from
“Little Thinks,” the sane every-day interests of life. If ever I made a
remark he did not understand, he would praise it very much, ask me to
say it again, learn it by heart, and go off repeating it, with a word
wrong here or there, to all the milder of the Beast People. He thought
nothing of what was plain and comprehensible. I invented some very
curious “Big Thinks” for his especial use. I think now that he was the
silliest creature I ever met; he had developed in the most wonderful
way the distinctive silliness of man without losing one jot of the
natural folly of a monkey.

This, I say, was in the earlier weeks of my solitude among these
brutes. During that time they respected the usage established by the
Law, and behaved with general decorum. Once I found another rabbit torn
to pieces,—by the Hyena-swine, I am assured,—but that was all. It was
about May when I first distinctly perceived a growing difference in
their speech and carriage, a growing coarseness of articulation, a
growing disinclination to talk. My Monkey-man’s jabber multiplied in
volume but grew less and less comprehensible, more and more simian.
Some of the others seemed altogether slipping their hold upon speech,
though they still understood what I said to them at that time. (Can you
imagine language, once clear-cut and exact, softening and guttering,
losing shape and import, becoming mere lumps of sound again?) And they
walked erect with an increasing difficulty. Though they evidently felt
ashamed of themselves, every now and then I would come upon one or
another running on toes and finger-tips, and quite unable to recover
the vertical attitude. They held things more clumsily; drinking by
suction, feeding by gnawing, grew commoner every day. I realised more
keenly than ever what Moreau had told me about the “stubborn
beast-flesh.” They were reverting, and reverting very rapidly.

Some of them—the pioneers in this, I noticed with some surprise, were
all females—began to disregard the injunction of decency, deliberately
for the most part. Others even attempted public outrages upon the
institution of monogamy. The tradition of the Law was clearly losing
its force. I cannot pursue this disagreeable subject.

My Dog-man imperceptibly slipped back to the dog again; day by day he
became dumb, quadrupedal, hairy. I scarcely noticed the transition from
the companion on my right hand to the lurching dog at my side.

As the carelessness and disorganisation increased from day to day, the
lane of dwelling places, at no time very sweet, became so loathsome
that I left it, and going across the island made myself a hovel of
boughs amid the black ruins of Moreau’s enclosure. Some memory of pain,
I found, still made that place the safest from the Beast Folk.

It would be impossible to detail every step of the lapsing of these
monsters,—to tell how, day by day, the human semblance left them; how
they gave up bandagings and wrappings, abandoned at last every stitch
of clothing; how the hair began to spread over the exposed limbs; how
their foreheads fell away and their faces projected; how the
quasi-human intimacy I had permitted myself with some of them in the
first month of my loneliness became a shuddering horror to recall.

The change was slow and inevitable. For them and for me it came without
any definite shock. I still went among them in safety, because no jolt
in the downward glide had released the increasing charge of explosive
animalism that ousted the human day by day. But I began to fear that
soon now that shock must come. My Saint-Bernard-brute followed me to
the enclosure every night, and his vigilance enabled me to sleep at
times in something like peace. The little pink sloth-thing became shy
and left me, to crawl back to its natural life once more among the
tree-branches. We were in just the state of equilibrium that would
remain in one of those “Happy Family” cages which animal-tamers
exhibit, if the tamer were to leave it for ever.

Of course these creatures did not decline into such beasts as the
reader has seen in zoological gardens,—into ordinary bears, wolves,
tigers, oxen, swine, and apes. There was still something strange about
each; in each Moreau had blended this animal with that. One perhaps was
ursine chiefly, another feline chiefly, another bovine chiefly; but
each was tainted with other creatures,—a kind of generalised animalism
appearing through the specific dispositions. And the dwindling shreds
of the humanity still startled me every now and then,—a momentary
recrudescence of speech perhaps, an unexpected dexterity of the
fore-feet, a pitiful attempt to walk erect.

I too must have undergone strange changes. My clothes hung about me as
yellow rags, through whose rents showed the tanned skin. My hair grew
long, and became matted together. I am told that even now my eyes have
a strange brightness, a swift alertness of movement.

At first I spent the daylight hours on the southward beach watching for
a ship, hoping and praying for a ship. I counted on the \emph{Ipecacuanha}
returning as the year wore on; but she never came. Five times I saw
sails, and thrice smoke; but nothing ever touched the island. I always
had a bonfire ready, but no doubt the volcanic reputation of the island
was taken to account for that.

It was only about September or October that I began to think of making
a raft. By that time my arm had healed, and both my hands were at my
service again. At first, I found my helplessness appalling. I had never
done any carpentry or such-like work in my life, and I spent day after
day in experimental chopping and binding among the trees. I had no
ropes, and could hit on nothing wherewith to make ropes; none of the
abundant creepers seemed limber or strong enough, and with all my
litter of scientific education I could not devise any way of making
them so. I spent more than a fortnight grubbing among the black ruins
of the enclosure and on the beach where the boats had been burnt,
looking for nails and other stray pieces of metal that might prove of
service. Now and then some Beast-creature would watch me, and go
leaping off when I called to it. There came a season of thunder-storms
and heavy rain, which greatly retarded my work; but at last the raft
was completed.

I was delighted with it. But with a certain lack of practical sense
which has always been my bane, I had made it a mile or more from the
sea; and before I had dragged it down to the beach the thing had fallen
to pieces. Perhaps it is as well that I was saved from launching it;
but at the time my misery at my failure was so acute that for some days
I simply moped on the beach, and stared at the water and thought of
death.

I did not, however, mean to die, and an incident occurred that warned
me unmistakably of the folly of letting the days pass so,—for each
fresh day was fraught with increasing danger from the Beast People.

I was lying in the shade of the enclosure wall, staring out to sea,
when I was startled by something cold touching the skin of my heel, and
starting round found the little pink sloth-creature blinking into my
face. He had long since lost speech and active movement, and the lank
hair of the little brute grew thicker every day and his stumpy claws
more askew. He made a moaning noise when he saw he had attracted my
attention, went a little way towards the bushes and looked back at me.

At first I did not understand, but presently it occurred to me that he
wished me to follow him; and this I did at last,—slowly, for the day
was hot. When we reached the trees he clambered into them, for he could
travel better among their swinging creepers than on the ground. And
suddenly in a trampled space I came upon a ghastly group. My
Saint-Bernard-creature lay on the ground, dead; and near his body
crouched the Hyena-swine, gripping the quivering flesh with its
misshapen claws, gnawing at it, and snarling with delight. As I
approached, the monster lifted its glaring eyes to mine, its lips went
trembling back from its red-stained teeth, and it growled menacingly.
It was not afraid and not ashamed; the last vestige of the human taint
had vanished. I advanced a step farther, stopped, and pulled out my
revolver. At last I had him face to face.

The brute made no sign of retreat; but its ears went back, its hair
bristled, and its body crouched together. I aimed between the eyes and
fired. As I did so, the Thing rose straight at me in a leap, and I was
knocked over like a ninepin. It clutched at me with its crippled hand,
and struck me in the face. Its spring carried it over me. I fell under
the hind part of its body; but luckily I had hit as I meant, and it had
died even as it leapt. I crawled out from under its unclean weight and
stood up trembling, staring at its quivering body. That danger at least
was over; but this, I knew was only the first of the series of relapses
that must come.

I burnt both of the bodies on a pyre of brushwood; but after that I saw
that unless I left the island my death was only a question of time. The
Beast People by that time had, with one or two exceptions, left the
ravine and made themselves lairs according to their taste among the
thickets of the island. Few prowled by day, most of them slept, and the
island might have seemed deserted to a new-comer; but at night the air
was hideous with their calls and howling. I had half a mind to make a
massacre of them; to build traps, or fight them with my knife. Had I
possessed sufficient cartridges, I should not have hesitated to begin
the killing. There could now be scarcely a score left of the dangerous
carnivores; the braver of these were already dead. After the death of
this poor dog of mine, my last friend, I too adopted to some extent the
practice of slumbering in the daytime in order to be on my guard at
night. I rebuilt my den in the walls of the enclosure, with such a
narrow opening that anything attempting to enter must necessarily make
a considerable noise. The creatures had lost the art of fire too, and
recovered their fear of it. I turned once more, almost passionately
now, to hammering together stakes and branches to form a raft for my
escape.

I found a thousand difficulties. I am an extremely unhandy man (my
schooling was over before the days of Slöjd); but most of the
requirements of a raft I met at last in some clumsy, circuitous way or
other, and this time I took care of the strength. The only
insurmountable obstacle was that I had no vessel to contain the water I
should need if I floated forth upon these untravelled seas. I would
have even tried pottery, but the island contained no clay. I used to go
moping about the island trying with all my might to solve this one last
difficulty. Sometimes I would give way to wild outbursts of rage, and
hack and splinter some unlucky tree in my intolerable vexation. But I
could think of nothing.

And then came a day, a wonderful day, which I spent in ecstasy. I saw a
sail to the southwest, a small sail like that of a little schooner; and
forthwith I lit a great pile of brushwood, and stood by it in the heat
of it, and the heat of the midday sun, watching. All day I watched that
sail, eating or drinking nothing, so that my head reeled; and the
Beasts came and glared at me, and seemed to wonder, and went away. It
was still distant when night came and swallowed it up; and all night I
toiled to keep my blaze bright and high, and the eyes of the Beasts
shone out of the darkness, marvelling. In the dawn the sail was nearer,
and I saw it was the dirty lug-sail of a small boat. But it sailed
strangely. My eyes were weary with watching, and I peered and could not
believe them. Two men were in the boat, sitting low down,—one by the
bows, the other at the rudder. The head was not kept to the wind; it
yawed and fell away.

As the day grew brighter, I began waving the last rag of my jacket to
them; but they did not notice me, and sat still, facing each other. I
went to the lowest point of the low headland, and gesticulated and
shouted. There was no response, and the boat kept on her aimless
course, making slowly, very slowly, for the bay. Suddenly a great white
bird flew up out of the boat, and neither of the men stirred nor
noticed it; it circled round, and then came sweeping overhead with its
strong wings outspread.

Then I stopped shouting, and sat down on the headland and rested my
chin on my hands and stared. Slowly, slowly, the boat drove past
towards the west. I would have swum out to it, but something—a cold,
vague fear—kept me back. In the afternoon the tide stranded the boat,
and left it a hundred yards or so to the westward of the ruins of the
enclosure. The men in it were dead, had been dead so long that they
fell to pieces when I tilted the boat on its side and dragged them out.
One had a shock of red hair, like the captain of the \emph{Ipecacuanha}, and
a dirty white cap lay in the bottom of the boat.

As I stood beside the boat, three of the Beasts came slinking out of
the bushes and sniffing towards me. One of my spasms of disgust came
upon me. I thrust the little boat down the beach and clambered on board
her. Two of the brutes were Wolf-beasts, and came forward with
quivering nostrils and glittering eyes; the third was the horrible
nondescript of bear and bull. When I saw them approaching those
wretched remains, heard them snarling at one another and caught the
gleam of their teeth, a frantic horror succeeded my repulsion. I turned
my back upon them, struck the lug and began paddling out to sea. I
could not bring myself to look behind me.

I lay, however, between the reef and the island that night, and the
next morning went round to the stream and filled the empty keg aboard
with water. Then, with such patience as I could command, I collected a
quantity of fruit, and waylaid and killed two rabbits with my last
three cartridges. While I was doing this I left the boat moored to an
inward projection of the reef, for fear of the Beast People.

\chapter{THE MAN ALONE}
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In the evening I started, and drove out to sea before a gentle wind
from the southwest, slowly, steadily; and the island grew smaller and
smaller, and the lank spire of smoke dwindled to a finer and finer line
against the hot sunset. The ocean rose up around me, hiding that low,
dark patch from my eyes. The daylight, the trailing glory of the sun,
went streaming out of the sky, was drawn aside like some luminous
curtain, and at last I looked into the blue gulf of immensity which the
sunshine hides, and saw the floating hosts of the stars. The sea was
silent, the sky was silent. I was alone with the night and silence.

So I drifted for three days, eating and drinking sparingly, and
meditating upon all that had happened to me,—not desiring very greatly
then to see men again. One unclean rag was about me, my hair a black
tangle: no doubt my discoverers thought me a madman.

It is strange, but I felt no desire to return to mankind. I was only
glad to be quit of the foulness of the Beast People. And on the third
day I was picked up by a brig from Apia to San Francisco. Neither the
captain nor the mate would believe my story, judging that solitude and
danger had made me mad; and fearing their opinion might be that of
others, I refrained from telling my adventure further, and professed to
recall nothing that had happened to me between the loss of the \emph{Lady
Vain} and the time when I was picked up again,—the space of a year.

I had to act with the utmost circumspection to save myself from the
suspicion of insanity. My memory of the Law, of the two dead sailors,
of the ambuscades of the darkness, of the body in the canebrake,
haunted me; and, unnatural as it seems, with my return to mankind came,
instead of that confidence and sympathy I had expected, a strange
enhancement of the uncertainty and dread I had experienced during my
stay upon the island. No one would believe me; I was almost as queer to
men as I had been to the Beast People. I may have caught something of
the natural wildness of my companions. They say that terror is a
disease, and anyhow I can witness that for several years now a restless
fear has dwelt in my mind,—such a restless fear as a half-tamed lion
cub may feel.

My trouble took the strangest form. I could not persuade myself that
the men and women I met were not also another Beast People, animals
half wrought into the outward image of human souls, and that they would
presently begin to revert,—to show first this bestial mark and then
that. But I have confided my case to a strangely able man,—a man who
had known Moreau, and seemed half to credit my story; a mental
specialist,—and he has helped me mightily, though I do not expect that
the terror of that island will ever altogether leave me. At most times
it lies far in the back of my mind, a mere distant cloud, a memory, and
a faint distrust; but there are times when the little cloud spreads
until it obscures the whole sky. Then I look about me at my fellow-men;
and I go in fear. I see faces, keen and bright; others dull or
dangerous; others, unsteady, insincere,—none that have the calm
authority of a reasonable soul. I feel as though the animal was surging
up through them; that presently the degradation of the Islanders will
be played over again on a larger scale. I know this is an illusion;
that these seeming men and women about me are indeed men and women,—men
and women for ever, perfectly reasonable creatures, full of human
desires and tender solicitude, emancipated from instinct and the slaves
of no fantastic Law,—beings altogether different from the Beast Folk.
Yet I shrink from them, from their curious glances, their inquiries and
assistance, and long to be away from them and alone. For that reason I
live near the broad free downland, and can escape thither when this
shadow is over my soul; and very sweet is the empty downland then,
under the wind-swept sky.

When I lived in London the horror was well-nigh insupportable. I could
not get away from men: their voices came through windows; locked doors
were flimsy safeguards. I would go out into the streets to fight with
my delusion, and prowling women would mew after me; furtive, craving
men glance jealously at me; weary, pale workers go coughing by me with
tired eyes and eager paces, like wounded deer dripping blood; old
people, bent and dull, pass murmuring to themselves; and, all
unheeding, a ragged tail of gibing children. Then I would turn aside
into some chapel,—and even there, such was my disturbance, it seemed
that the preacher gibbered “Big Thinks,” even as the Ape-man had done;
or into some library, and there the intent faces over the books seemed
but patient creatures waiting for prey. Particularly nauseous were the
blank, expressionless faces of people in trains and omnibuses; they
seemed no more my fellow-creatures than dead bodies would be, so that I
did not dare to travel unless I was assured of being alone. And even it
seemed that I too was not a reasonable creature, but only an animal
tormented with some strange disorder in its brain which sent it to
wander alone, like a sheep stricken with gid.

This is a mood, however, that comes to me now, I thank God, more
rarely. I have withdrawn myself from the confusion of cities and
multitudes, and spend my days surrounded by wise books,—bright windows
in this life of ours, lit by the shining souls of men. I see few
strangers, and have but a small household. My days I devote to reading
and to experiments in chemistry, and I spend many of the clear nights
in the study of astronomy. There is—though I do not know how there is
or why there is—a sense of infinite peace and protection in the
glittering hosts of heaven. There it must be, I think, in the vast and
eternal laws of matter, and not in the daily cares and sins and
troubles of men, that whatever is more than animal within us must find
its solace and its hope. I \emph{hope}, or I could not live.
\par
And so, in hope and solitude, my story ends.
\par
\vspace*{1cm}
EDWARD PRENDICK.
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\centering
NOTE.
\\

The substance of the chapter entitled “Doctor Moreau explains,” which
contains the essential idea of the story, appeared as a middle article
in the \emph{Saturday Review} in January, 1895. This is the only portion of
this story that has been previously published, and it has been entirely
recast to adapt it to the narrative form.
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