Part IV Chapter 7 Doctor Dolittle's Garden by Hugh Lofting
THE TWO SIDES OF THE MOON
In one of these passages of deaf and dumb conversation between the Doctor and myself, I got the impression that he was making remarks about the quality of the moon air on which we were now being carried. There was no doubt that it was changing at enormous rate. Finding anything outside my flower that I could breathe in at all, I was becoming quite adventurous and independent. I even went so far as to leave the flower entirely and walk, or crawl, down to where the Doctor squatted. But a violent attack of coughing just as I was about to say something to him made me beat a hasty retreat.
"Still," I said to myself as I dropped down with my head in my own blossom, "it is something to have got to him. Back there a little while ago I felt as though I could never see or get to anyone any more."
Presently the Doctor paid me a flying visit. He too had to make it short. But we had the satisfaction of feeling that we were in contact. We had not been sure up to this that we could hear one another's voices in moon air. The Doctor had often spoken in Puddleby, when the voyage had first been contemplated, of a danger from this source.
"The ether," he had said, "is what carries sound with us here on the Earth. We can by no means be sure that up there there will be any ether at all. If there isn't, ordinary speech will be impossible."
And with this in mind he had perfected between himself and Chee-Chee a kind of deaf-and-dumb sign language. Too-Too had told me of this and I had secretly watched their practice and gained some knowledge of the system.
So you can imagine how glad we were to find that up here also there was ether which could carry our voices. We found presently however that it carried them much more easily than it did on the Earth. As we approached the Moon and its new atmosphere became more apparent, we found that we had to speak lower and lower. It was very peculiar. Finally, if we did not want to break one another's ear drums we had to talk in the faintest whispers—which could be heard at quite a long distance.
Another very peculiar thing was the light. The Doctor and I had the longest arguments later on trying to settle whether we landed on the Moon by earth-light or by sun-light. It would at first seem of course that there could be no question whatever on such a point. One would suppose that on the Moon earth-light would be very little stronger than moonlight on the Earth; while sunlight would be a hundred times as brilliant. But not at all. Something about the lunar atmosphere seemed to soften the sunlight down so that up there it appeared very little stronger than the light thrown by the Earth This had a very peculiar and definite effect upon colours.
Presently as the moon gravity became stronger, the Doctor and I were able to get up from our lying positions. We still carried our flowers with us so that we could take a "whiff" every once in a while if we felt we needed it. But we could talk together in low tones and, in a fashion, make observations. It wasn't long after we thus "came to life" that John Dolittle asked the moth through his antennæ communication-cord to slow his pace down a little. We felt that it would be easier for us if we got used to this moon air slowly. It certainly had a very invigorating and exciting effect upon the human system.
Another point over which the Doctor and I argued a great deal afterwards was: on which side of the Moon did we land? The earth people have, as every one knows, only seen one side of the Moon. Maps and careful examinations have been made of that. Now, in spite of bringing with us the latest moon-maps, it was not easy to decide on which side we were landing. Close to, the mountains looked very different from what they did through the telescope from the Earth. I always maintained—and do still—that the moth deliberately went round to the far side before he attempted to make a landing. The Doctor swears he didn't.
How can I describe the last moments of that voyage? To say that I felt like Columbus first sighting a new world does not convey the idea at all. I must admit I was scared to death. And so, I know, was poor Chee-Chee. As for the Doctor and Polynesia, I can't say. I don't believe that hardened old adventurer of a parrot ever got a real scare in her life. With Polynesia one always had the feeling that she dictated to Life, instead of having Life dictate to her. But that may have been partly due to her look of complete independence.
The Doctor?—Well, I doubt if he was scared either. He had often told me that he had many times been mortally afraid in the course of his career. But I imagine it was never at moments such as this, when the lure of scientific discovery shut out every other feeling.
That he was thrilled it is certain. Even the tough worldly-wise Polynesia admitted afterwards that she had the thrill of her life when the droning wings of the giant moth suddenly shut off their mighty beating and stiffened out flat, as we began to sail downward towards the surface of this new world which no earthly creature had yet set foot upon before.