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.
XVIII.
THE FINDING OF MOREAU.
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 _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.
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 _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.
XIX.
MONTGOMERY’S “BANK HOLIDAY.”
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,—_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 _I_ to join
on? It’s all very well for _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?”
“_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 _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.