The Island of Doctor Moreau
Chapter 5: The Man Who Had Nowhere to Go
In the early morning (it was the second morning after my recovery, and I believe the fourth after I was picked up), I awoke through an avenue of tumultuous dreams,—dreams of guns and howling mobs,—and became sensible of a hoarse shouting above me. I rubbed my eyes and lay listening to the noise, doubtful for a little while of my whereabouts. Then came a sudden pattering of bare feet, the sound of heavy objects being thrown about, a violent creaking and the rattling of chains. I heard the swish of the water as the ship was suddenly brought round, and a foamy yellow-green wave flew across the little round window and left it streaming. I jumped into my clothes and went on deck.
As I came up the ladder I saw against the flushed sky—for the sun was just rising—the broad back and red hair of the captain, and over his shoulder the puma spinning from a tackle rigged on to the mizzen spanker-boom.
The poor brute seemed horribly scared, and crouched in the bottom of its little cage.
“Overboard with ’em!” bawled the captain. “Overboard with ’em! We’ll have a clean ship soon of the whole bilin’ of ’em.”
He stood in my way, so that I had perforce to tap his shoulder to come on deck. He came round with a start, and staggered back a few paces to stare at me. It needed no expert eye to tell that the man was still drunk.
“Hullo!” said he, stupidly; and then with a light coming into his eyes, “Why, it’s Mister—Mister?”
“Prendick,” said I.
“Prendick be damned!” said he. “Shut-up,—that’s your name. Mister Shut-up.”
It was no good answering the brute; but I certainly did not expect his next move. He held out his hand to the gangway by which Montgomery stood talking to a massive grey-haired man in dirty-blue flannels, who had apparently just come aboard.
“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up! that way!” roared the captain.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“That way, Mister Blasted Shut-up,—that’s what I mean! Overboard, Mister Shut-up,—and sharp! We’re cleaning the ship out,—cleaning the whole blessed ship out; and overboard you go!”
I stared at him dumfounded. Then it occurred to me that it was exactly the thing I wanted. The lost prospect of a journey as sole passenger with this quarrelsome sot was not one to mourn over. I turned towards Montgomery.
“Can’t have you,” said Montgomery’s companion, concisely.
“You can’t have me!” said I, aghast. He had the squarest and most resolute face I ever set eyes upon.
“Look here,” I began, turning to the captain.
“Overboard!” said the captain. “This ship aint for beasts and cannibals and worse than beasts, any more. Overboard you go, Mister Shut-up. If they can’t have you, you goes overboard. But, anyhow, you go—with your friends. I’ve done with this blessed island for evermore, amen! I’ve had enough of it.”
“But, Montgomery,” I appealed.
He distorted his lower lip, and nodded his head hopelessly at the grey-haired man beside him, to indicate his powerlessness to help