Part II Chapter 4 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
Pippinella Finds a Clue
The next evening as the Dolittle household took their places as the little table in the wagon to hear the continuation of the canary's story, Gub–Gub appeared to be in a great state of excitement. He was the first to sit down. He provided himself with an extra high cushion and he kept whispering to his neighbours.
'The window–cleaner's coming back this time. I know it. Goodness! He has taken an age, hasn't he? But it's all right. He wasn't killed. He's coming back into the story tonight, sure as you're alive.'
'Sh!' said the Doctor, tapping his notebook with a pencil.
When everyone was settled Pippinella hopped up on to the tobacco box and began:
'One day, about a week after I had left the company of the other birds and returned to my solitary life, I decided to fly over to the small island which lay south of Ebony Island. Perhaps it would help to take my mind off my loneliness; for my friend, the window–cleaner, was still very much in my thoughts. It was the first clear day we had had for weeks and I was able to see again the shore of the smaller island. I came to a place where big shoulders of rocks jutted right down into the sea. In such places as this little berry bushes often grew. I flew up on to the rocks to hunt for fruit. On the top I found a flat, level place from which you could get a fine view of the sea in front. Behind one the mountains rose straight, like a wall. And in the face of this wall of rock there was an opening to a cave.
'Out of idle curiosity I went into the cave to explore it. It wasn't very deep. I hopped around the floor awhile and then started to come out. Suddenly I stood back still, my attention held spellbound by a stick that leaned against the wall of the cave near the entrance. The stick, about six feet long, had a square piece of rag tied to its top, like a flag. There was nothing very extraordinary in that. Even though I felt sure the island wasn't inhabited now, there was no reason why it shouldn't have been in times past—by some shipwrecked seamen who had taken refuge in this cave. But it was the rag that held me there, gazing motionless with open bill and staring eyes. For I knew that rag as well as I know my own feathers. It was the cloth my friend the window–cleaner used to clean windows with!
'How often had I studied it as he rubbed it over the glass not more than six inches from my nose at Aunt Rosie's! How many times had I watched him wash it out in the kitchen sink at the windmill when he returned from work and then hang it up to dry, close to my cage over the stove! I remembered that it had a rent close to one corner which had been stitched up clumsily with heavy thread. I sprang up on to the top of the stick and pulled its hanging folds out with my bill. And there was the mended tear. There could be no mistake. It was my window–cleaner's rag.
'Suddenly I found myself weeping. Just why I didn't know. But one thing was made clear to me at last! I knew now why I couldn't settle down a happy old maid; I knew why all my songs were sad; I knew why I couldn't content myself with the company of other island birds. I was lonely for people. It was natural. I had been born and bred a cage bird. I had grown to love the haunts of men. And all this time I had been longing to get back to them. I thought of all the good people—friends that I had known—old Jack, the merry driver of the night coach from the North; the kindly Marchioness who lived in the castle; the scarred–faced old sergeant and my comrades of the Fusiliers, and, finally, the one I had loved the best of all, the odd, studious window–cleaner who wrote books in a windmill. What had I to do with the blue and yellow macaws that climbed the orchid vines in gorgeous jungle land? People was what I wanted. And him whom I wanted most, he had been here, lived in this cave! Yet I was certain, after my thorough exploration of the island, that he was here no longer. Where—where was he now?
'After that I thought of nothing else but getting away—or getting back to civilization and the haunts of men. I would return, I was determined, to the windmill, and there I would wait till my friend the window–cleaner made his way back to his old home.
'I returned to the main island and prepared to set out for home. But getting away was no easy matter. The autumnal equinox was just beginning. For days on end strong winds blew across my island and whipped the sea into a continuous state of unrest. Such birds of passage as passed over were all going the wrong way for me. It was now the Season of Return. Once again I, the exile, the cage bird, was trying to make my way against the current of traffic, instead of with it.
'I was afraid, alone and inexperienced, to pit my feeble strength against tempestuous weather. This time I was not desperate or in any such foolhardy state of mind as when I launched out after I left Nippit. Now life meant much; the future held promise. And if I was to get back to my window–cleaner philosopher I must not take any crazy chances.
'For days I watched the sea, waiting for calmer weather. But the blustering winds continued, and when I tried my strength against them over the land, to see if I could make any headway, I found that I was like a feather and they could drive me where they would.
'One afternoon when I was sitting on the rocks looking out to sea I saw a big ship come over the horizon. The wind had changed its direction earlier in the day, and now, with a powerful breeze behind it, this boat was travelling along at quite a good speed. It seemed to be going pretty much the way I wanted. And it occurred to me that if I followed this boat I might easily come to the land I had left. At the worst, if I got exhausted, I would have something to land on.
'The ship came nearer and nearer. At one time I thought it was actually going to call at the islands. But I was wrong. When it had come within less than half a mile of a steep mountainous cape at one corner it changed its course slightly, rounded the angle of the coast and passed on. At that close range I could see men moving on the deck. The sight of them made me more homesick than ever for human company. As the boat grew smaller, moving away from me now, I made up my mind. I leaped off the rocks and shot out over the sea to follow it.
'Well, I was still an inexperienced navigator. I very soon found out that my little plan, which had seemed perfectly simple, just didn't work. For one thing, on the side of the island where I had been standing one was protected from the weather. And it was only after I had got well out away from the shore that the full strength of the wind hit me. When it had changed it had changed for the worse—growing stronger with its new direction.
'Further, on getting close to the ship, I found that its pace was dreadfully slow, in spite of the wind behind it. It was pitching clumsily in the swell and seemed heavy laden. If it had taken me a whole day to make the voyage at seventy miles an hour it would take this vessel a week at least. During that week I would be starved to death twice over. I realized in a moment that my plan was no good. I must head back for the island and reach it before that drenching shower reached me.
'I returned. And, oh, my! I thought I had known how strong that wind was. But I hadn't any idea of it until I swung around and faced it. It was a veritable gale. I flapped my wings as fast as I could, and the only result I got was to stand still. Even that I couldn't keep up. And soon, slowly, I found I was moving backwards while working to get forwards like mad.
'And, then, slish! The rain squall hit me in the face and in a moment I was drenched to the skin.
'So there I was, fairly caught, a good three miles off shore, unable to regain the land in the teeth of that terrible wind. What a fool I had been to leave my snug, safe harbour before calm weather came!
'The soaking of the rain squall made flying doubly hard. After a few moments of it I decided not to try to beat into the wind at all. That was hopeless. I must wait till the fury of the gale let up. In the meantime I was compelled to give all my attention to keeping up above the level of the sea, for with my drenched and soggy feathers I found myself descending all the time nearer and nearer to the tossing surface of the water.
'But far from weakening the force of the wind got suddenly stronger. I felt myself now being swept along like a leaf. The curtain of the rain had shut out all view of the island. You couldn't see more than a few yards in any direction. Above and below and around all was grey—just grey wetness.
'As the wind hurled me along over the sea I presently caught sight of the ship. The gale was driving me right past it—beyond into the hopeless waste of the angry ocean. I remember the picture of it very clearly as it hove up in the dim veil of rain. It looked like a great grey horse mired and floundering in a field of grey mud. I suddenly realized that this vessel was my last and only chance. If I got driven beyond it, it was all up with me.
'Frantically I flapped at the wet air to change the angle of my flight—to descend sideways and strike the vessel's deck.
'Well, somehow I managed it. As the squall drove me through the rigging I clutched at a rope ladder stretched between the rail and the masthead. I grabbed it with my claws and threw my wings around it, rather like a monkey climbing on a pole. For the present I didn't attempt to move up or down. I decided to let well enough alone. I was on the ship. That was the main thing. I would stay where I was until the rain shower passed on.
'By that time I was numbed with the cold and the wet. The air cleared and the sun came out, as it does, suddenly, after those squalls at sea. But still the wind held very strong. I set about making my way down to some more sheltered place. For the first time I had a chance to look around me and take in the details of the ship I had boarded. I was about seven feet above the level of the deck. Not far away from me there was a little house with round windows and a door in it. If I could get close up against the wall of this, I thought I would be protected from the wind and would still have the sunshine to dry my feathers in. I was afraid to fly the short distance, lest the wind catch me up and carry me overboard. So, like a sailor, I started climbing down my rope ladder hand over hand.
'In my hurry to get to some warmer, safer place I had not noticed much about the ship beyond just a glimpse which told me it was a vessel of considerable size. And on my way down the rope I was much too busy clinging tight and battling with the wind—which seemed determined to tear me loose and hurl me into the sea—to notice anything around me.
'Anyway, suddenly I felt a large hand close around my whole body and lift me off the rope like a fly. I looked up and found myself staring into the brown face of an enormous sailor dressed in a tarpaulin coat and hat. A wild bird, I suppose, would have been scared to death. But I had often been held in people's hands before and that in itself did not greatly alarm me. The sailor had kind eyes and I knew he would do me no harm. But I also knew that this probably meant the end of my freedom for the present, because sailors are fond of pets and most ships have one cage of canaries at least aboard them.
'"Hulloa, hulloa!" said the big man. "What's cher climbing in the rigging for? Don't you know no better than that? You ain't been to sea long, I'll warrant. Why, if we was to ship water with you tight–rope walking like that you'd go overboard before you could blink! I reckon you signed on as we passed the island, eh? Well, well! Bless me, ain't you wet! You come below, mate, and get dried out where it's snug and warm."
'Then the man moved forward across the pitching, rolling deck to the little house and opened the door. Inside there was a flight of steps and down this he carried me. We entered a small, low room, with beds set in the wall all around, like shelves. A lamp hung from the centre of the ceiling and swung from side to side with the motion of the ship. On the tables and chairs coats and capes had been thrown. There was a warm smell of tar and tobacco and wet clothes. In two of the bunks men were snoring, with their mouths open.
'My captor, still holding me firmly in his hand, opened a heavy wooden locker and brought forth a small cage. Into this he put me and then filled the drawer with seed and the pot with water.
'"There you are, mate," says he. "Now you're all fixed up. Get your feathers dry and then you'll feel better."
'And so I entered on still another chapter in my varied career. After the dead quiet of the island, the cheerful bustle of that ship was most invigorating. It was, as I have told you, quite a large vessel, and it carried both cargo and passengers. To begin with, my cage was kept in that little cabin to which I had first been taken. It was the bunkroom for the crew. There was nearly always somebody sleeping there, because the men took it in turn in watches to work the ship.
'Later, when the weather got fair again, I was put outside on the wall of the little deckhouse. This was much nicer. Lots and lots of people came to talk to me—especially the passengers, who seemed to have nothing to do to occupy their time beyond walking up and down the deck in smart clothes.
'And, although I was terribly annoyed at being caged up again before I had got back to my window–cleaner, I counted myself lucky on the whole. I had escaped the dangers of the sea when escape seemed impossible. There was always a good chance that I might still get away and reach the windmill—after we got to land—if I kept my eye open for the opportunity. In the meantime, I was back again among pleasant people and agreeable scenes.
'There was another canary aboard the ship. I heard him singing the first day that I was put outside on the deck. Singing is hardly the word for it, for the poor fellow had only a few squeaky calls without any melody to them. But he was very persevering and seemed determined to work up a song of some kind. Just whereabouts on the vessel he was I couldn't make out—nearer amidships than I was, by the sound if it. His unmusical efforts sort of annoyed me after a while and presently I gave a performance myself—more to drown his racket in self–defence than anything else.
'But my singing caused something of a sensation. Passengers, sailors, stewards and officers, gathered around to listen to me. Inquiries were made as to whom I belonged. And finally I was bought from the big sailor who had caught me and taken to quite a different part of the ship.
'The man who bought me turned out to be the ship's barber. I was carried to a little cabin on the main deck, in the centre of the passenger's quarters. This was the barber's shop, all fitted up with shaving chairs and basins, like a regular hairdressing establishment on land.
'And there I discovered the other canary, hanging in a cage from the ceiling. It was the barber's idea, apparently, that I should teach this other bird how to sing.
'I was now in a very much better position to keep in touch with the life of the ship than I was before. For nearly everyone on board came, sooner or later, to the barber's shop. My new master was patronized not only by the passengers, but the officers and even the crew, in the early hours of the morning before the shop was supposed to be open, came to be shaved or to have their hair cut.
'And while the customers were being attended to or waiting their turn the barber would chat and gossip with them. And from their conversation I learned a good deal. And then the other canary, the funny little squeaker to whom I was supposed to give singing lessons, he had been on the ship quite a number of voyages, and he, too, gave me a lot of information.
'He was really a decent sort of a bird—even if he couldn't sing. And he explained many things to me about the life of the sea and the running of a ship that I had never known before. As for teaching him to sing, that was a pretty hopeless task, for he had no voice to speak of at all. Still, he improved a good deal, and after about a week his gratey squeaks and shrill whistles were not nearly so harsh to the ear.
'One song that I composed at this time I was rather proud of. I called it The Razor Strop Duet. Listening to the barber stropping this razor gave me the idea, the motif, for it. You know the clip–clop, clip–clop, clip–clop that a razor makes when it is sharpened on leather? Well, I imitated that and mixed it up with the sound of a shaving brush lathering in a mug. But it was a little difficult to do the two with one voice. So I did the razor and I made the other canary do the shaving brush. As a song it could not compare with some of my other compositions—with The Midget Mascot, for instance, or The Harness Jingle. It was a sort of comic song. The Razor Strop Duet. But it was a great success and the barber was forever showing us off to his customers by giving his razor an extra stropping, for he knew that that would always set us going.
'I questioned the other canary very minutely as to the places we would touch and about our port of destination. For all this time, you must understand, I had one idea very much in mind, that was to escape from my cage and the ship as soon as we dropped anchor in a convenient harbour. I gathered from what he told me that our next port of call was the land which I had left—the land of the windmill and the window–cleaner.
'Continually now I was trying my utmost to show the barber how tame I was. When he cleaned out the cage I would hop on to his finger. And after a little he would sometimes close the doors and windows and allow me to go free in the room. I would fly from the floor to the table on to his hand. And finally he would let me out even with the doors open. This was what I wanted. I did not attempt to escape yet, of course, because we were still at sea. And whenever he wished me to return into the cage I would go back as good as gold.
'But I was only biding my time. When we were in port he would, if all went well, let me out of my cage once too often.'