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    The Island of Doctor Moreau: "Illustrated"
    The Island of Doctor Moreau: "Illustrated"
    The Island of Doctor Moreau: "Illustrated"
    Ebook170 pages3 hours

    The Island of Doctor Moreau: "Illustrated"

    By Murat Ukray and H. G. Wells

    3.5/5

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    Suddenly we heard a yelp and a volley of furious blasphemy from the companion hatchway, and the deformed man with the black face came up hurriedly. He was immediately followed by a heavy red-haired man in a white cap. At the sight of the former the staghounds, who had all tired of barking at me by this time, became furiously excited, howling and leaping against their chains. The black hesitated before them, and this gave the red-haired man time to come up with him and deliver a tremendous blow between the shoulder-blades. The poor devil went down like a felled ox, and rolled in the dirt among the furiously excited dogs. It was lucky for him that they were muzzled. The red-haired man gave a yawp of exultation and stood staggering, and as it seemed to me in serious danger of either going backwards down the companion hatchway or forwards upon his victim.


    So soon as the second man had appeared, Montgomery had started forward. “Steady on there!” he cried, in a tone of remonstrance. A couple of sailors appeared on the forecastle. The black-faced man, howling in a singular voice rolled about under the feet of the dogs. No one attempted to help him. The brutes did their best to worry him, butting their muzzles at him. There was a quick dance of their lithe grey-figured bodies over the clumsy, prostrate figure. The sailors forward shouted, as though it was admirable sport. Montgomery gave an angry exclamation, and went striding down the deck, and I followed him. The black-faced man scrambled up and staggered forward, going and leaning over the bulwark by the main shrouds, where he remained, panting and glaring over his shoulder at the dogs. The red-haired man laughed a satisfied laugh.


    “Look here, Captain,” said Montgomery, with his lisp a little accentuated, gripping the elbows of the red-haired man, “this won't do!”


    I stood behind Montgomery. The captain came half round, and regarded him with the dull and solemn eyes of a drunken man. “Wha' won't do?” he said, and added, after looking sleepily into Montgomery's face for a minute, “Blasted Sawbones!”


    With a sudden movement he shook his arms free, and after two ineffectual attempts stuck his freckled fists into his side pockets.
    “That man's a passenger,” said Montgomery. “I'd advise you to keep your hands off him.”


    “Go to hell!” said the captain, loudly. He suddenly turned and staggered towards the side. “Do what I like on my own ship,” he said.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublishereKitap Projesi
    Release dateApr 9, 2015
    ISBN9786155564963
    The Island of Doctor Moreau: "Illustrated"
    Author

    Murat Ukray

    YAZAR: MURAT UKRAY Yetkinlikler: Aynı zamanda bir yazar olan ve yaklaşık genel araştırma konuları ile fizikle ve birleşik alan kramı ile ilgili 2006'dan beri kaleme aldığı yaklaşık 12 eseri bulunan Murat UKRAY, yine bunları kendi kurmuş olduğu çeşitli web siteleri üzerinden, kitaplarını sadece dijital elektronik ortamda, hem düzenli olarak yılda yazmış veya yayınlamış olduğu diğer eserleri de yayın hayatına e-KİTAP ve POD (Print on Demand -talebe göre yayıncılık-) sistemine göre yayın hayatına geçirerek okurlarına sunmayı ilke olarak edinirken; diğer yandan da, projenin SOSYAL yönü olan doğayı korumak amaçlı başlattığı "e-KİTAP PROJESİ" isimli yayıncılık sistemiyle KİTABINI KLASİK SİSTEMLE YAYINLAYAMAYAN "AMATÖR YAZARLAR" için, elektronik ortamda kitap yayıncılığı ile kitaplarını bu sistemle yayınlatmak isteyen PROFESYONEL yayıncılar ve yazarlar için de hemen hemen her çeşit kitabın (MAKALE, AKADEMİK DERS KİTABI, ŞİİR, ROMAN, HİKAYE, DENEME, GÜNLÜK TASLAK) elektronik ortamda yayıncılığının önünü açan e-YAYINCILIĞA 2010 yılı başlarından beri başlamıştır ve halen daha ilgili projeleri yürütmektedir.. Aynı zamanda YAZAR KOÇLUĞU ve KUANTUM & BİRLEŞİK ANA KURAMI doğrultusunda, kişisel gelişim uzmanlığı konularında da faaliyet göstermektedir.. Çalışma alanları: Köşe yazarlığı yapmak, Profesyonel yazarlık (12 yıldır), Blog yazarlığı, web sitesi kurulumu, PHP Programlama, elektronik ticaret sistemleri, Sanal kütüphane uygulamaları, e-Kitap Uygulamaları ve Yazılımları, Kişisel gelişim, Kuantum mekaniği ve Birleşik Alan teorisi ile ilgili Kuramsal ve Uygulama çalışmaları..

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    Reviews for The Island of Doctor Moreau

    3.5/5

    1,668 ratings94 reviews

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    • 4/5
      This is the first book I'm certain I've read by H.G. Wells. His writing is not exceptional. But when I had done with the book I had much the same feeling as when I have awoken from a very bad dream. It is a hard book to get out of your head, but I'm not really sure what it is about.
    • 4/5
      This is a clever and disturbing story. I found it reminiscent of Lord of the Flies but almost in reverse. The description of the hybrid beast-men is graphic enough to be unpleasant, yet the creatures still retain enough humanity to be sympathetic. A thought provoking read.
    • 2/5
      2 - 2.5 stars. Not a bad book by any means, but perhaps the fact that I knew the basic story and ideas that would be presented caused it to have less impact for me. Wells was laying the ground work for what would become the basic ideas and concerns of the science fiction genre in his ouvre, but this does mean that coming to it "after the fact" can make the book seem predictable even though he's generally the first person to have done it.
      We have the story of a shipwrecked man rescued from drowning only to be taken to a perhaps worse fate: a year on the strange island of Doctor Moreau where he comes face-to-face with the surgically altered horrors of the eponymous doctor. I was surprised to see that the society of beast men was more or less a creation of these creatures themselves and that Moreau had little interest in them after his experiemnts on them were complete as he was obsessed with moving forward in his search for the ultimate "plasticity of the flesh" and seemed to view each completed experiment as at least a partial failure on this road. The movies I have seen made it seem more like Moreau was purposely building a slave race to rule over, so the difference was interesting.
      Overall though, while I readily concede that this book is a foundational classic in the genre, I just wasn't very captivated with the story overall.
    • 5/5
      Through vivisection, Moreau evolves animals into far cries of men and women. He makes them stand up and walk like humans and refines their throats so that they can talk. He succeeds so well in his latest experiments that Prendick, unwilling witness of all this, can hardly tell the servants from the animals Moreau has used as building matter.

      But Moreau hasn’t always been as successful, and the whole island he has found refuge on, reeks with the half-experiments and failed attempts he’s carried out in the last ten years in an abominable show of horrors.

      Moreau’s ultimate goal is immediate evolution at all costs and one wonders if, in his mind, even human beings have a place for further development.

      Wells’ theme in this story goes beyond the mere portrayal of a crazed scientist who uses torture. In many ways, Moreau is Wells’ attempt to look into the obscure abyss that is our subconscious. For the chasm from where Moreau draws his talking animals is also mankind’s abyss of unknown, where our past and our common fears and hopes dwell.

      Prendick's escape from Moreau’s madness brings him to the “huts,” where these creatures live in a half-human state. Never fully civilized, they live in a twilight between their former nature and the human they are supposed to mimic.

      Even if Moreau has forced them into a religion which only enforces his undisputed powers of a god, his best experiments are short-lived. The more he perfects his creations, the more the trouble he has at controlling them until, in one last attempt to bring order, Moreau is killed. As soon as the driving spark of the mind that is Moreau vanishes, his experiments revert to being the animals they were in the first instance.

      In the attempt of confronting the animal which lies within the human lies Wells’ most exceptional modernity.
    • 3/5
      One thing I've found to be true about science fiction is that even though sci-fi authors aspire to speculate on future technology and culture, alien races, and faraway worlds, what they ultimately end up documenting most tellingly is their own time and place. What really shows up in the pages are the philosophical and cultural concerns of the author's own era, the timeless questions that come of being human, and a view of the future that is constrained by the limits of scientific knowledge at the time the book was written.

      Because of this, the sci-fi that ages most gracefully tends to be that sci-fi that makes the fewest specific predictions about future technology. A good example of this is Wells' own The Time Machine, which wisely steers clear of trying to explain in detail how the titular machine works. As a result, a 21st century reader can enjoy the book for its many strengths - as a fantastic tale of adventure, a disturbing commentary on class distinctions in the late 19th Century, etc. - rather than concentrating on hopelessly quaint and outdated science.

      Unfortunately, The Island of Dr. Moreau is not so circumspectly written. The way in which the good doctor goes about his aims is far too well described, and comes off as positively laughable by the standards of even 1960s science, let alone that of 2011. It ended up diminishing my enjoyment of the rest of the story, which is a shame because the book has a lot going for it. For one, it's exciting: Wells writes fast-paced action scenes better than just about any other writer of his era. Also, for as silly as the biology babble is, the actual end results are creepy as hell. And regarding "the philosophical and cultural concerns of the author's own era," this book shows the signs of having been written in the years directly after Darwin in much the same way that The Time Machine has to be viewed through the lens of being less than a generation removed from Karl Marx. It's fascinating as a mirror of the cultural issues of the day. There's even a dash of dry humor here and there, and the human characters in general (all four or five of them) are believable and well-developed.

      Definitely worth the read; just prepare to roll your eyes at some of the science.
    • 3/5
      Pure unadulterated paranoia and gore. Pretty fucking scary.
    • 3/5
      Fairly predictable, but a thrilling read none the less.
    • 5/5
      H. G. Wells presents a wonderful science fiction novel that dives straight into what it means to be a human being. We are a highly evolved species, but at our core, we are bloodthirsty animals as well. This is definitely one of the greatest science fiction novels of all-time, and can also serve as a great study about the human condition.
    • 3/5
      Before I read this short novel, my sense of the story was formed by the 1977 movie which didn't do much for me. The original is an oddly-dated, oddly-relevant exploration of bioethics disguised as an adventure tale.
    • 3/5
      I love some H. G. Wells, specifically the short stories, which are pure and unadulterated (tautology, anyone?) genius and the comic novels such as Kipps and Mr Polly. This one has some genius moments, but overall was not ultimately gripping. Of course, it's difficult to come at a novel such as this, where we all KNOW what's going on before we read a word, and experience the mystery the author intended, so that doesn't help. Perhaps that's part of the problem, as the first few chapters are all "Oh my goodness, what's going on here?"-type scene setting. Aside from that, I do like to be able to feel empathy on some level with at least one of the characters; they don't have to be perfect, or even nice, but I have to be able to make SOME sort of emotional connection with them. I wasn't able to with anyone/any creature in this book.

      Another issue, to my mind, is that I feel Wells' always had a bit of a problem figuring out how to end novels. Like Phillip K. Dick after him, the short story was his forté. This one ends *somewhat* satisfactorily, but overall I wasn't convinced. What happens to the creatures? What happens when somebody one day goes to survey the island and finds the ancestors? Unanswered question that bugged me a little too much.
    • 4/5
      Very well written but just not my kind of story. Too creepy! I had to watch some silly TV for a while after finishing to prevent myself from having nightmares!
    • 5/5
      I don't know if H.G. Wells was an atheist or not, but if this was the only writing he had left behind, I would have thought he was.

      Slow start, but the last 25% of the book more than makes up for it. A fabulous parody of the Christian creation myth and the myth of Jesus.

      EXCELLENT.
    • 5/5
      I was extremely surprised at how much I liked this book. Other reviews say it better than I do, so I'll just throw in my recommendation.
    • 3/5
      This story does not need me to review it, so I'll put some of my thoughts and impressions here instead. It is about a scientist who has no qualms about inflicting horrific pain on animals and for some mystifying reason thinks they would be better in the shape of humans. I believe the pointlessness of it all was what I didn't get, but then, I suppose that shows the madness of the doctor. Another thing which annoyed me, was that the storyteller seemed to be upset about it all for weird reasons. He kept going on about the abomination of the creatures because they weren't human. The abomination was that they were not allowed to be the beautiful creatures they were created to be. Even supposing it to be all medically possible, WHY would anyone want to do that? Animals are created perfectly for their function, and their function is necessary, so the abomination lies in not allowing them to be what they are, not in the fact that they could not be what the doctor was trying to twist them into. Also, his terror when they began reverting to animals again was off. I would have been happy to have them all be animals again, without the torment of mind and body. Much simpler to live with, I would think.
    • 3/5
      Another one for my SF/F class. I'm not sure what I'm going to write about for this one: Wells wrote with such clarity that it feels like everything is completely obvious. I don't find his work the most gripping stuff around, but I do enjoy reading it -- partly because of that sense of clarity: he knows exactly what he wants to say, and says it.There is something dispassionate about all his work, to me, but I can appreciate his ideas.
    • 3/5
      Much better than the movie - although that could be said of many works. But the novel is more about the moral issues around science "at any cost" and man's place in the animal kingdom than about a horror story about a man being changed into an animal (at least in the Michael York version I saw, which completely misses the point).
      A man is stranded on an island where a scientist is changing animals into people. Predictably, the animals transgress and revolt bringing about the death of the scientist. They revert to their animal selves and the man escapes back to "civilization".
    • 4/5
      A very quick read, but highly recommended. Considering this novel was originally published in 1896, the forsight of H.G. Wells is absolutely amazing. The fear that Edward feels when he hears the animal screams coming from behind the locked door, the panick of being lost in the woods, all of it is felt first hand thanks to Wells' magnificent writing.
    • 4/5
      This was a good book. It was pretty interesting, but there were a few parts where the story lagged and I found my mind wandering. This is my third Wells book, and I honestly found it not to be as good as the other two I've read so far (The Time Machine and The First Men in the Moon).
    • 4/5
      A horrific story that must have terrified many readers in 1896; even now it is unsettling in parts. It shows how the author was ahead of his time in his presentation of scientific and moral issues. A good read.
    • 3/5
      Creepy story of an island where tests are being done on animals.
    • 2/5
      A little too grizzly for my tastes...the narrator of the story does nothing to garner my sympathies and all in all it was not a book that made me want to keep turning the pages...
    • 4/5
      Trailblazing for its time, the lack of climax detracts from this eerie story which plods along describing the horrors of Dr. Moreau's experiments in turning beasts to men. I found it pretty dull. Perhaps I have just been spoiled by too many action flicks, but I greatly preferred his novel 'War of the Worlds'.
    • 5/5
      That Wells was a visionary, and one of the most far-sighted and innovative writers of imaginative literature the human race has ever produced… well, everyone says that, and it’s a bit of a cliche. What’s worth knowing about his stuff (and a lot of critics seem to underplay this) is that lots of his books are just REALLY GOOD FUN - and folks, this is a fine example. For a novel written more than a hundred and ten years ago it goes at a cracking pace: by just five pages in, the characters are stranded at sea, starving and drawing lots over who’s going to be cannibalized -- and, amazingly, the book never really lets up from there. It’s like a fever hallucination full of vivisection and mutants and horror, filtered through a contagious atmosphere of shimmering jungle heat. The ideas are great, sure, but the real triumph, it seems to me, is in how sure-footedly punchy and unpretentious the writing is: it’s wild and mad and deliriously evocative, but in its understated way it’s also real, it’s fierce, and it’s all over-and-out in just a hair under two hundred pages, without ever having lost its initial intensity. This was the second time I’ve read the book now and - like malaria - I fully expect to face bouts of reading it again and again every so often for the rest of my life. All I can say is, lucky me. And if you haven’t read The Island of Doctor Moreau yet, lucky /you/.
    • 3/5
      Boring and forgettable.
    • 3/5
      Another short novel by Wells with an over the top social commentary. On a secluded island in the Pacific, Dr. Moreau experiments on animals through physical and brain surgery in an attempt to make them human (or at least more human). Although he has some success, the story shows us how after time, all of the beast return to a state of being beasts. I think the purpose of the story is to show us the dangers of letting science get out of control. Also, it shows us how maybe we should enjoy the way we are and not always be looking to make things "better".
    • 5/5
      This is one of the most terrifying classics I’ve ever read. Wells builds the tension beautifully as he unveils the island’s true monster.
    • 4/5
      This was my first exposure to Wells's writing, and it was deliciously creepy! Following a shipwreck, Predrick finds himself on a remote island where renowned scientist Dr. Moreau has established his experimental labs. Dr. Moreau's life's work is based on vivisection; he is essentially a true "mad scientist" who through surgery and training attempts to make a variety of animals like humans. Is it possible for him to surgically remove the true essence of these creatures? Prendrick is not so sure... Considering the fact that the horror contained this novel was written over 100 years ago, and continues to be relevant today, if not more so, is a testament to the foresight and talent of the author. Thematic metaphors are present throughout the novel, providing commentary on everything from natural evolution, to playing God, to good vs. evil.
    • 3/5
      When I was a lad I found many scientific romances such as "The Island of Dr. Moreau" rather interesting and enchanting. All these years later, reading Moreau, now I find the storytelling manner rather naive even if it still entertains quite a bit. The story didn't really begin to engage me until perhaps a quarter of the way through, or more, and then I became much more caught up in the story. This isn't a bad book by any means, it just isn't the sort of thing that entertains a middle-aged me like it would have a 12 year old me. There are, however, some interesting adult issues to consider when reading this book, regarding the morality of man and scientific research. This is a cautionary tale with rather timeless issues.
    • 4/5
      This book was more or less as I expected it to be. It was gripping and I can see how it would have stirred some emotions in its day. But I'm also (just like amcamp mentioned) not able to think that this might ever happen. Not that humankind could not be so savage, I believe that there are those who might be as savage as Moreau and Montgomery. The science of the book just felt really wrong. (And I am by no means a scientist.) However my heart went out to the poor Brutes who were thrust into a life they could never understand even if they tried their hardest to live according to the Law!
    • 5/5
      This was my first H.G. Wells book. What a brilliant writer!!! He did an excellent job of making me feel as though I was in the story running alongside the main character. I could feel the tension. I downloaded several more of his books for my Kindle!

    Book preview

    The Island of Doctor Moreau - Murat Ukray

    Prendick.)

    In the Dingey of the Lady Vain.

    I DO not propose to add anything to what has already been written concerning the loss of the Lady Vain. As everyone knows, she collided with a derelict when ten days out from Callao. The longboat, with seven of the crew, was picked up eighteen days after by H. M. gunboat Myrtle, and the story of their terrible privations has become quite as well known as the far more horrible Medusa case. But I have to add to the published story of the Lady Vain another, possibly as horrible and far stranger. It has hitherto been supposed that the four men who were in the dingey perished, but this is incorrect. I have the best of evidence for this assertion: I was one of the four men.

    But in the first place I must state that there never were four men in the dingey,—the number was three. Constans, who was seen by the captain to jump into the gig,{1} luckily for us and unluckily for himself did not reach us. He came down out of the tangle of ropes under the stays of the smashed bowsprit, some small rope caught his heel as he let go, and he hung for a moment head downward, and then fell and struck a block or spar floating in the water. We pulled towards him, but he never came up.

    {1} Daily News, March 17, 1887.

    I say luckily for us he did not reach us, and I might almost say luckily for himself; for we had only a small beaker of water and some soddened ship's biscuits with us, so sudden had been the alarm, so unprepared the ship for any disaster. We thought the people on the launch would be better provisioned (though it seems they were not), and we tried to hail them. They could not have heard us, and the next morning when the drizzle cleared,—which was not until past midday,—we could see nothing of them. We could not stand up to look about us, because of the pitching of the boat. The two other men who had escaped so far with me were a man named Helmar, a passenger like myself, and a seaman whose name I don't know,—a short sturdy man, with a stammer.

    We drifted famishing, and, after our water had come to an end, tormented by an intolerable thirst, for eight days altogether. After the second day the sea subsided slowly to a glassy calm. It is quite impossible for the ordinary reader to imagine those eight days. He has not, luckily for himself, anything in his memory to imagine with. After the first day we said little to one another, and lay in our places in the boat and stared at the horizon, or watched, with eyes that grew larger and more haggard every day, the misery and weakness gaining upon our companions. The sun became pitiless. The water ended on the fourth day, and we were already thinking strange things and saying them with our eyes; but it was, I think, the sixth before Helmar gave voice to the thing we had all been thinking. I remember our voices were dry and thin, so that we bent towards one another and spared our words. I stood out against it with all my might, was rather for scuttling the boat and perishing together among the sharks that followed us; but when Helmar said that if his proposal was accepted we should have drink, the sailor came round to him.

    I would not draw lots however, and in the night the sailor whispered to Helmar again and again, and I sat in the bows with my clasp-knife in my hand, though I doubt if I had the stuff in me to fight; and in the morning I agreed to Helmar's proposal, and we handed halfpence to find the odd man. The lot fell upon the sailor; but he was the strongest of us and would not abide by it, and attacked Helmar with his hands. They grappled together and almost stood up. I crawled along the boat to them, intending to help Helmar by grasping the sailor's leg; but the sailor stumbled with the swaying of the boat, and the two fell upon the gunwale and rolled overboard together. They sank like stones. I remember laughing at that, and wondering why I laughed. The laugh caught me suddenly like a thing from without.

    I lay across one of the thwarts for I know not how long, thinking that if I had the strength I would drink sea-water and madden myself to die quickly. And even as I lay there I saw, with no more interest than if it had been a picture, a sail come up towards me over the sky-line. My mind must have been wandering, and yet I remember all that happened, quite distinctly. I remember how my head swayed with the seas, and the horizon with the sail above it danced up and down; but I also remember as distinctly that I had a persuasion that I was dead, and that I thought what a jest it was that they should come too late by such a little to catch me in my body.

    For an endless period, as it seemed to me, I lay with my head on the thwart watching the schooner (she was a little ship, schooner-rigged fore and aft) come up out of the sea. She kept tacking to and fro in a widening compass, for she was sailing dead into the wind. It never entered my head to attempt to attract attention, and I do not remember anything distinctly after the sight of her side until I found myself in a little cabin aft. There's a dim half-memory of being lifted up to the gangway, and of a big round countenance covered with freckles and surrounded with red hair staring at me over the bulwarks. I also had a disconnected impression of a dark face, with extraordinary eyes, close to mine; but that I thought was a nightmare, until I met it again. I fancy I recollect some stuff being poured in between my teeth; and that is all.

    The Man Who Was Going Nowhere.

    THE cabin in which I found myself was small and rather untidy. A youngish man with flaxen hair, a bristly straw-coloured moustache, and a dropping nether lip, was sitting and holding my wrist. For a minute we stared at each other without speaking. He had watery grey eyes, oddly void of expression. Then just overhead came a sound like an iron bedstead being knocked about, and the low angry growling of some large animal. At the same time the man spoke. He repeated his question,—How do you feel now?

    I think I said I felt all right. I could not recollect how I had got there. He must have seen the question in my face, for my voice was inaccessible to me.

    "You were picked up in a boat, starving. The name on the boat was the Lady Vain, and there were spots of blood on the gunwale."

    At the same time my eye caught my hand, so thin that it looked like a dirty skin-purse full of loose bones, and all the business of the boat came back to me.

    Have some of this, said he, and gave me a dose of some scarlet stuff, iced.

    It tasted like blood, and made me feel stronger.

    You were in luck, said he, to get picked up by a ship with a medical man aboard. He spoke with a slobbering articulation, with the ghost of a lisp.

    What ship is this? I said slowly, hoarse from my long silence.

    "It's a little trader from Arica and Callao. I never asked where she came from in the beginning,—out of the land of born fools, I guess. I'm a passenger myself, from Arica. The silly ass who owns her,—he's captain too, named Davies,—he's lost his certificate, or something. You know the kind of man,—calls the thing the Ipecacuanha, of all silly, infernal names; though when there's much of a sea without any wind, she certainly acts according."

    (Then the noise overhead began again, a snarling growl and the voice of a human being together. Then another voice, telling some Heaven-forsaken idiot to desist.)

    You were nearly dead, said my interlocutor. It was a very near thing, indeed. But I've put some stuff into you now. Notice your arm's sore? Injections. You've been insensible for nearly thirty hours.

    I thought slowly. (I was distracted now by the yelping of a number of dogs.) Am I eligible for solid food? I asked.

    Thanks to me, he said. Even now the mutton is boiling.

    Yes, I said with assurance; I could eat some mutton.

    But, said he with a momentary hesitation, "you know I'm dying to hear of how you came to be alone in that boat. Damn that howling!" I thought I detected a certain suspicion in his eyes.

    He suddenly left the cabin, and I heard him in violent controversy with some one, who seemed to me to talk gibberish in response to him. The matter sounded as though it ended in blows, but in that I thought my ears were mistaken. Then he shouted at the dogs, and returned to the cabin.

    Well? said he in the doorway. You were just beginning to tell me.

    I told him my name, Edward Prendick, and how I had taken to Natural History as a relief from the dulness of my comfortable independence.

    He seemed interested in this. I've done some science myself. I did my Biology at University College,—getting out the ovary of the earthworm and the radula of the snail, and all that. Lord! It's ten years ago. But go on! go on! tell me about the boat.

    He was evidently satisfied with the frankness of my story, which I told in concise sentences enough, for I felt horribly weak; and when it was finished he reverted at once to the topic of Natural History and his own biological studies. He began to question me closely about Tottenham Court Road and Gower Street. Is Caplatzi still flourishing? What a shop that was! He had evidently been a very ordinary medical student, and drifted incontinently to the topic of the music halls. He told me some anecdotes.

    Left it all, he said, ten years ago. How jolly it all used to be! But I made a young ass of myself,—played myself out before I was twenty-one. I daresay it's all different now. But I must look up that ass of a cook, and see what he's done to your mutton.

    The growling overhead was renewed, so suddenly and with so much savage anger that it startled me. What's that? I called after him, but the door had closed. He came back again with the boiled mutton, and I was so excited by the appetising smell of it that I forgot the noise of the beast that had troubled me.

    After a day of alternate sleep and feeding I was so far recovered as to be able to get from my bunk to the scuttle, and see the green seas trying to keep pace with us. I judged the schooner was running before the wind. Montgomery—that was the name of the flaxen-haired man—came in again as I stood there, and I asked him for some clothes. He lent me some duck things of his own, for those I had worn in the boat had been thrown overboard. They were rather loose for me, for he was large and long in his limbs. He told me casually that the captain was three-parts drunk in his own cabin. As I assumed the clothes, I began asking him some questions about the destination of the ship. He said the ship was bound to Hawaii, but that it had to land him first.

    Where? said I.

    It's an island, where I live. So far as I know, it hasn't got a name.

    He stared at me with his nether lip dropping, and looked so wilfully stupid of a sudden that it came into my head that he desired to avoid my questions. I had the discretion to ask no more.

    The Strange Face.

    WE left the cabin and found a man at the companion obstructing our way. He was standing on the ladder with his back to us, peering over the combing of the hatchway. He was, I could see, a misshapen man, short, broad, and clumsy, with a crooked back, a hairy neck, and a head sunk between his shoulders. He was dressed in dark-blue serge, and had peculiarly thick, coarse, black hair. I heard the unseen dogs growl furiously, and forthwith he ducked back,—coming into contact with the hand I put

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