Part II Chapter 6 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Window-cleaner's Adventures
'"You remember those books I used to write, Pip?" the window–cleaner began. "Well, they were books about governments—foreign governments. Before you knew me—before I was a window–cleaner—I had travelled the world a great deal. And in many countries I found that the people were not treated well. I tried to speak about it. But I wasn't allowed to. So I decided that I would go back to my own land and write about it. And that is what I did. I wrote in newspapers and magazines. But the government there didn't like the sort of thing I wrote—although it had not been written against them exactly. They sent to the editors of these magazines and newspapers and asked them not to allow me to write for them any more.
'"In those days I had a great many friends—and a good deal of money, too, for I was born of quite wealthy parents. But when my friends found that I was getting into hot water with the government many of them wouldn't be seen with me any more. Some of them thought I was just as harmless crank, sort of crazy, you know—the way people always do regard you if you do anything different from the herd.
'"And so," he went on, "I set out to disappear. One day I took a boat and went for a row on the sea. When there was no one around I upset the boat and swam to shore. Then I made my way secretly on foot a long distance from those parts and was never seen again by any of my friends or relatives. Of course, when the upturned boat was found people decided that I had been drowned. Most of my money and houses and property went to my younger brother as the next of kin and very soon I was forgotten.
'"In the meantime I had become a window–cleaner in the town where you met me. I rented that old ramshackle mill from a farmer for five shillings a month. And there I settled down to write the books with which I hoped to change the world. I have never been so happy in my life as I was there, Pip. I had never been so free before. And the first book that I wrote did change things—even more than I expected. It was printed in a foreign country and read by a great number of people. They decided that what I wrote was true and they began to make a whole lot of fuss and to try to change their government.
'"But they were not quite strong enough and their attempt failed. In the meantime the government men of that particular country got very busy trying to find out who had written the book that caused so much trouble and which nearly lost them their jobs."
'At that point,' Pippinella continued, 'the window–cleaner was interrupted by the ringing of six bells and the bugle for dinner. He excuses himself and left the cabin.
'In about half an hour he returned, bringing with him a piece of apple, a stump of celery and some other titbits from the table for me. While he was putting them in my cage the ship's doctor came to see him. He was still, of course, more or less under his care. The doctor examined my friend and seemed satisfied with his progress. But on leaving he ordered him to go to bed early and to avoid all serious exertion for the present.
''After the doctor had gone my friend started to undress and I supposed that I should have no more of the story for the present. But after he had got into the bed he continued talking to me. I have since thought that this was perhaps a sign that he was still very weak from all he had gone through. It seemed as though he just had to talk—but he was afraid to do it when they were any people around to hear him. So I, the canary, was his audience.
'"How that foreign government," he went on, "found out that it was I who wrote the books I do not know to this day. But I suppose they must have traced my letters because, after calling at the post office that Saturday when I left you outside on the wall, I was followed by three men as I came away. I did not see them until it was too late. At a lonely part of the road leading back towards the mill I was struck to the ground with a blow on the head.
'"When I woke up I was aboard a ship far out at sea. I demanded to know why I had been kidnapped. I was told that the ship was short of crew and they had to get an extra man somehow. This, of course, is—or was—often done by ships that were short–handed. But from the start I was suspicious. The town they had taken me from was a long way from the sea. And no ship would send so far in–land to shanghai sailors. Besides, nobody would ever take me for a seaman. Further, I soon noticed that there were a group of foreigners on board; and later I learned that the port we were bound for was in that country about which I had written my book.
'"I knew what would happen to me if I ever landed there, I would be arrested and thrown into prison on some false charge. So far as my relatives and friends were concerned, was I not dead long ago? No one in my own land would make inquiries. Once in the clutches of the government I had made an enemy of, I would never be heard of again."
'The window–cleaner lay back on his pillow as though exhausted from the effort of talking. He remained motionless so long that I began to think he had fallen asleep. And I was glad, because I did not want him to over tire himself. But presently he sat up again and drew my cage nearer to him across the table. With his feverish eyes burning more brightly than ever, he went on.
'"As the ship carried me away one thing, Pip, besides my own plight worried me dreadfully. And that was you—you, my companion, my only friend. I had left your cage outside hanging on the wall. Would you be frozen to death by the cold night? Who would feed you? I remembered what a lonely place that old mill was. What chance was there that any passer by would see you? And even if he did, there would be nothing to show him, unless he broke in and found the kitchen empty, that you had been deserted. I imagined what you must be thinking of me as the hours and days went by—starving days and freezing nights—waiting, waiting for me to return, while all the time that accursed ship carried me further and further away! … Poor Pip! Even now I can't believe it's you. Still, there you are, sure enough, with the yellow bars on your wings and the funny black patch across your throat and that cheeky trick of cocking your head on one side when you're listening—and—and everything."
'And then, still murmuring fitfully, at last the window–cleaner fell asleep. From my cage I looked at his haggard, pinched face on the pillow. I felt stupidly useless. I wished I were a person so I could take care of him and nurse him back to full health. For I realized now that he was still dreadfully ill. However, it was a great deal to be with him again. I put my head under my wing and prepared to settle down myself. But I didn't get much rest. For all night long he kept jumping and murmuring in his sleep.'
'But how did the window–cleaner come to be on the raft?' whined Gub–Gub. 'You've let him go to sleep now without telling us.'
'Well, he hasn't gone to sleep for ever,' said the white mouse. 'Give him a chance, can't you?'
'Oh, that pig,' sighed Dab–Dab. 'I don't know why we always have him in the party.'
'Myself,' growled Jip, 'I'd sooner have a nice, smooth round stone for company.'
'Quiet, please!' said the Doctor. 'Let Pippinella go on.'
'Well,' said the canary, 'in the morning while he was dressing, the window–cleaner told me the rest of his story. Realizing that if he had remained on that ship till the end of its journey he would be cast into prison—probably for the rest of his days—he determined to escape from it at any cost before it reached port. He had been given work to do about the ship like the other sailors; so fortunately he was still free—in appearance at all events. He bided his time and pretended not to be suspicious concerning his captor's intentions.
'After some days of sailing they passed an island at night time. The land was some three miles away at least, but its high mountain tops were visible in the moonlight. On account of the distance the men never dreamed that he would attempt to swim ashore. It was very late and no one was on deck. Taking a lifebelt from the rail my friend slipped quietly into the sea near the stern of the boat and struck out for the island.
'It was a tremendous, long swim. And if it had not been for the belt, he told me, he could never have done it. But finally, more dead than alive from exhaustion, he staggered up on to the beach in the moonlight and lay down to rest and sleep.'
Pippinella paused a moment while the whole Dolittle family waited eagerly for the rest of her story.
'I know!' shouted Gub–Gub. 'Don't tell me. Let me guess. He landed on Ebony Island—the same as you did!'
'No,' said the canary shaking her head. 'It would have been simple had he done that.—No, the island on which he landed was one of the same group—but it lay two or three miles to the South of my island. I only found that out later as he described his further adventures.'
'Incredible!' exclaimed John Dolittle. 'Why, he must have been there at the same time you were living on the larger one. I know that group of islands well; they're close enough together to make visibility very good. Strange you didn't see him.'
'Well, no, Doctor,' replied the canary. 'You see, it was the time of the autumn rains and the sky was overcast and grey from one day to the next. I could never have seen him from my island. But you will remember that I told you I occasionally visited the other islands just to relieve the monotony. I must have been on his while he was on mine. You'll see, as my story progresses, how that could have happened.'
'Quite so,' said the Doctor. 'Do go on Pippinella. I've never heard a more astonishing example of sheer coincidence.'
'When the window–cleaner awoke,' continued the canary, 'it was daylight and the first thing he saw was the ship about six or seven miles off, coming back to look for him.
'Fortunately he had lain down in the shadow of some bushes and had not yet been seen through the telescopes from the ship. Like a rabbit he made his way inland, keeping always in the cover of the underbrush. Reaching the far side of the island he crept up into the higher mountain levels, where from vantage points he could see without being seen.
'He watched the vessel draw near and send boats ashore with search parties. Then began a long game of hide–and–seek. About two dozen men in all were brought on to the island. And from these twenty–four he had to remain hidden.
'All day long my friend watched like a hunted fox, peering out from the bushes and rocks at his pursuers. Darkness began to fall and he supposed that the men would now return to their ship. But to his horror he saw that they were settling down for the night, putting up bivouacs of boughs and lighting camp fires.
'For two days this continued. You might wonder why I didn't see the ship and the fires and the boats going back and forth from the ship to the shore. But it all must have taken place on the other side of the island—out of sight of where I stayed most of the time. And then, too, the fog was so thick that seeing more than a few feet in any direction was impossible.
'Finally, when it began to look as though his pursuers were never going to leave the island, my friend hit upon a plan. At night time he went down to the beach on that side of the island where the ship had come to anchor. You remember the lifebelt that he used to come ashore with?'
'Yes,' said Gub–Gub, sneezing heartily.
'Well, he took that lifebelt, which had the ship's name written on it, and he flung it out beyond the surf. He watched it for a little to make sure that it was not washed back inshore, and then he made his way up again to his mountain retreats.
'Now at least once a day, sometimes more, boats passed between the island and the ship to get news of how the hunt was progressing or to bring supplies to the search parties. The following morning one of these boats sighted the lifebelt floating in the sea. It was captured and taken aboard the ship. When news of its discovery was brought to the captain he decided that my friend had been drowned in his attempt to reach the island, and he signalled to the search parties to rejoin the ship.
'About half an hour later the window–cleaner, watching from his mountain hiding places, saw the vessel weigh anchor and sail away. He described to me his great joy when he first realized that his plan had worked, that his enemies had at last departed and left him in peace. The first thing he did was to have a good sleep. Anxiety about the movements of his hunters had prevented his getting any real rest since he had seen the ship return.
'But after a while he found that his situation was by no means good anyway. Immediate danger from the men who had kidnapped him was over, to be sure. But he was now marooned on an uninhabited island, with every prospect of staying there indefinitely. As week after week went by and he never even sighted the sail of a passing ship, he came to the conclusion that this island was far out of the paths of ocean traffic.
'All this time anxiety about the safety of his book added to his other troubles. He begrudged every day—every hour—spent here in useless idleness when his enemies might be busy behind his back, ransacking his home for the work on which he had laboured so long.
'For food he subsisted on nuts, fish and fruit mostly. He took his quarters in that cave which I had explained. On the peak just above this he erected a flag made out of the cleaning rag which I found tied to the stick. This, he hoped, might catch the attention of some passing vessels. But none ever came.
'At last, when he had given up all hope of rescue from chance visitors, he decided that his only way of escape was to set out on a raft and try to get into the path of ships. So, somehow, with great patience, he fastened together a number of dry logs upon the beach. He fashioned a mast out of a pole and wove a sail by plaiting vines and leaves. Big sea shells and other queer vessels were prepared to carry a supply of fresh water. He laid in a large store of nuts and bananas. When everything was ready, he thrust his raft out into the surf and prepared to sail away.
'But everything was against him. The weather, which had been fairly decent for some days, suddenly worsened just as he put out to sea. A violent wind blew the small, ill–fitted raft in a wide circle and flung it—all battered and broken—on to the beach of Ebony Island. Of course, he didn't realize at first that he wasn't back on his own island; he only found it out after he had dragged himself to shelter and waited out the storm.
'It must have been during this same storm that I foolishly tried to follow the vessel which later was the means of saving my life. I suppose the reason he didn't see the ship was that he was lying exhausted in a small cove, waiting for the storm to subside.
'He told me how he began all over again to rebuild the raft; how he waited each day for some vessel to show up; and how, finally in desperation, he set out.
'I don't know when I have ever heard,' said Pippinella, 'anything more terrible than the window–cleaner's description of his voyage on that raft. With all his careful and thoughtful preparations, and because of the overcast sky, I suppose, he had neglected one important thing: some protection from the fierce rays of the sun. The first two days he had not realized his oversight, for a continual drift of light clouds across the sky shaded him even better than a parasol. But when on the third day the full glare of the tropical sun beat down on him, his little sailing boat had made such good progress before the wind, that he calculated he was three hundred miles from the island and going back was out of the question.
'For five days the window–cleaner drifted. By that time his fresh water was all gone and most of his food. A good deal of the time now he was out of his head entirely. He kept seeing imaginary ships appear on the skyline, he told me. He would get up and wave to them frantically, like a madman, then fall down in a state of utter collapse.
'Luckily he had not taken down his basketwork sail to use as a sunshade—sorely through he needed it. He was always hoping that a wind would come along and he feared that if he unlashed it from the mast he would not have strength to get it up again. It was this that saved him. Long after he had fallen unconscious for the last time it was sighted by the ship in which I was travelling. The captain told him afterwards that it was very doubtful if the raft would have been seen at all if it had not been for that queer sail—which stood up high above the water—especially as the ship's course was by no means heading in that direction, but would have carried us by him at a distance of over twelve miles.
'"However," the window–cleaner said to me, "all is well that ends well, Pip. Somehow my coming through this, my escape from the kidnappers, my rescue from the sea, make me feel I'm going to win through after all—so that the work I have begun will go forward to a successful end. It was a terrible experience. But I'm getting over it. And it has given me faith, Pip, faith in my star. I will yet upset that thieving government. I will yet live to see those people freed and happy."
'That morning it was announced that we would most likely reach our next port the day after tomorrow. The kind old passenger with the side–whiskers still stuck to my friend, the window–cleaner. He had gathered at the time of the discussion about the cage that my friend had no money. He came to our cabin later in the day and asked him what he proposed to do when he landed. The window–cleaner shrugged his shoulders and, with a smile, said:
'"Thank you, I don't just know exactly. But I'll manage somehow—get a job, I suppose, till I've made enough to buy a passage home."
'"But, look here," said the old gentleman, "this port we're coming to is inhabited by natives—very few white men, indeed. You'll have great difficulty, I fear, in securing employment. Besides, you're still far from well."
'Nevertheless, my friend insisted, while thanking the other for his kind interest, that he would be able to get along somehow. But the old gentleman shook his head. And as he left the cabin he murmured:
'"You're not strong enough yet. I must see if something can't be arranged."
'That old gentleman reminded me a good deal of Aunt Rosie. He was one of those unfortunate elderly person who, while apparently leading rather stupid lives, yet spend much time and thought doing good to others. He did arrange something, and that was a concert among the passengers. And the money they collected was presented to us. The window–cleaner for a long time refused to take it. But in the end they made him.
'And it was a good thing they did, too, for heaven only knows how we would have got along without it. Because when we finally reached the port we found it little more than a collection of huts. It was hard enough to get a bed and a decent meal there, let alone a job. None of the other passengers was landing here and our ship had only stopped to unload part of her cargo. The window–cleaner, after thanking everybody aboard for his kindness, was given a great send–off as he walked down the gangplank, his only baggage a bird cage beneath his arm. Both he and I were, I think, a little sorry to see the good ship weigh anchor and sail away. Certainly if it had not been for her hospitality both of us would have succumbed to the perils of the sea. He had paid the barber for his hair cut and shave out of the money he had received from the concert. In this way the barber suffered no loss. And I was glad of that. Because he was a real, decent fellow, that man, and his hair–dressing parlour had been quite a pleasant place to live in.'