English
Miranda,thePurpleBird-of-Paradisehadprophesiedrightlywhenshehadforetoldagoodspellofweather.
ForthreeweeksthegoodshipCurlewplowedherwaythroughsmilingseasbeforeasteadypowerfulwind.
Isupposemostrealsailorswouldhavefoundthispartofthevoyagedull.ButnotI.
AswegotfurtherSouthandfurtherWestthefaceoftheseaseemeddifferenteveryday.
Andallthelittlethingsofavoyagewhichanoldhandwouldhavehardlybotheredtonoticeweremattersofgreatinterestformyeagereyes.
Wedidnotpassmanyships.Whenwedidseeone,theDoctorwouldgetouthistelescopeandwewouldalltakealookatit.
Sometimeshewouldsignaltoit,askingfornews,byhaulinguplittlecoloredflagsuponthemast;andtheshipwouldsignalbacktousinthesameway.
ThemeaningofallthesignalswasprintedinabookwhichtheDoctorkeptinthecabin.
HetoldmeitwasthelanguageoftheseaandthatallshipscouldunderstanditwhethertheybeEnglish,Dutch,orFrench.
Ourgreatesthappeningduringthosefirstweekswaspassinganiceberg.
Whenthesunshoneonititburstintoahundredcolors,sparklinglikeajeweledpalaceinafairy-story.
Throughthetelescopewesawamotherpolarbearwithacubsittingonit,watchingus.
TheDoctorrecognizedherasoneofthebearswhohadspokentohimwhenhewasdiscoveringtheNorthPole.
SohesailedtheshipupcloseandofferedtotakeherandherbabyontotheCurlewifshewishedit.
Butsheonlyshookherhead,thankinghim;shesaiditwouldbefartoohotforthecubonthedeckofourship,withnoicetokeephisfeetcool.
Ithadbeenindeedaveryhotday;butthenearnessofthatgreatmountainoficemadeusallturnupourcoat-collarsandshiverwiththecold.
DuringthosequietpeacefuldaysIimprovedmyreadingandwritingagreatdealwiththeDoctor'shelp.
Igotonsowellthatheletmekeeptheship'slog.
Thisisabigbookkeptoneveryship,akindofdiary,inwhichthenumberofmilesrun,thedirectionofyourcourseandeverythingelsethathappensiswrittendown.
TheDoctortoo,inwhatsparetimehehad,wasnearlyalwayswriting—inhisnote-books.
Iusedtopeepintothesesometimes,nowthatIcouldread,butIfoundithardworktomakeouttheDoctor'shandwriting.
Manyofthesenote-booksseemedtobeaboutseathings.
Thereweresixthickonesfilledfullwithnotesandsketchesofdifferentseaweeds;andtherewereothersonseabirds;othersonseaworms;othersonseashells.
Theywereallsomedaytobere-written,printedandboundlikeregularbooks.
Oneafternoonwesaw,floatingaroundus,greatquantitiesofstuffthatlookedlikedeadgrass.TheDoctortoldmethiswasgulf-weed.
Alittlefurtheronitbecamesothickthatitcoveredallthewaterasfarastheeyecouldreach;itmadetheCurlewlookasthoughsheweremovingacrossameadowinsteadofsailingtheAtlantic.
Crawlingaboutuponthisweed,manycrabsweretobeseen.
AndthesightofthemremindedtheDoctorofhisdreamoflearningthelanguageoftheshellfish.
Hefishedseveralofthesecrabsupwithanetandputtheminhislistening-tanktoseeifhecouldunderstandthem.
Amongthecrabshealsocaughtastrange-looking,chubby,littlefishwhichhetoldmewascalledaSilverFidgit.
Afterhehadlistenedtothecrabsforawhilewithnosuccess,heputthefidgitintothetankandbegantolistentothat.
Ihadtoleavehimatthismomenttogoandattendtosomedutiesonthedeck.
ButpresentlyIheardhimbelowshoutingformetocomedownagain.
"Stubbins,"hecriedassoonashesawme—"amostextraordinarything—Quiteunbelievable—I'mnotsurewhetherI'mdreaming—Can'tbelievemyownsenses.I—I—I—"
"Why,Doctor,"Isaid,"whatisit?—What'sthematter?"
"Thefidgit,"hewhispered,pointingwithatremblingfingertothelistening-tankinwhichthelittleroundfishwasstillswimmingquietly,"hetalksEnglish!
And—and—andHEWHISTLESTUNES—Englishtunes!"
"TalksEnglish!"Icried—"Whistles!—Why,it'simpossible."
"It'safact,"saidtheDoctor,whiteinthefacewithexcitement.
"It'sonlyafewwords,scattered,withnoparticularsensetothem—allmixedupwithhisownlanguagewhichIcan'tmakeoutyet.
Butthey'reEnglishwords,unlessthere'ssomethingverywrongwithmyhearing—Andthetunehewhistles,it'sasplainasanything—always,thesametune.
Nowyoulistenandtellmewhatyoumakeofit.Tellmeeverythingyouhear.Don'tmissaword."
IwenttotheglasstankuponthetablewhiletheDoctorgrabbedanote-bookandapencil.
UndoingmycollarIstoodupontheemptypacking-casehehadbeenusingforastandandputmyrighteardownunderthewater.
ForsomemomentsIdetectednothingatall—except,withmydryear,theheavybreathingoftheDoctorashewaited,allstiffandanxious,formetosaysomething.
Atlastfromwithinthewater,soundinglikeachildsingingmilesandmilesaway,Iheardanunbelievablythin,smallvoice.
"Ah!"Isaid.
"Whatisit?"askedtheDoctorinahoarse,tremblywhisper."Whatdoeshesay?"
"Ican'tquitemakeitout,"Isaid."It'smostlyinsomestrangefishlanguage—Oh,butwaitaminute!
—Yes,nowIgetit—'Nosmoking'....'My,here'saqueerone!'
'Popcornandpicturepostcardshere....Thiswayout....Don'tspit'—Whatfunnythingstosay,Doctor!—Oh,butwait!—Nowhe'swhistlingthetune."
"Whattuneisit?"gaspedtheDoctor.
"JohnPeel."
"Ahhah,"criedtheDoctor,"that'swhatImadeitouttobe."Andhewrotefuriouslyinhisnote-book.
Iwentonlistening.
"Thisismostextraordinary,"theDoctorkeptmutteringtohimselfashispencilwentwigglingoverthepage—"Mostextraordinary—butfrightfullythrilling.Iwonderwherehe—"
"Here'ssomemore,"Icried—"somemoreEnglish....'THEBIGTANKNEEDSCLEANING'....That'sall.Nowhe'stalkingfish-talkagain."
"Thebigtank!"theDoctormurmuredfrowninginapuzzledkindofway."Iwonderwhereonearthhelearned—"
Thenheboundedupoutofhischair.
"Ihaveit,"heyelled,"thisfishhasescapedfromanaquarium.Why,ofcourse!
Lookatthekindofthingshehaslearned:'Picturepostcards'—theyalwaysselltheminaquariums;'Don'tspit';'Nosmoking';'Thiswayout'—thethingstheattendantssay.Andthen,'My,here'saqueerone!'
That'sthekindofthingthatpeopleexclaimwhentheylookintothetanks.Itallfits.
There'snodoubtaboutit,Stubbins:wehavehereafishwhohasescapedfromcaptivity.
Andit'squitepossible—notcertain,byanymeans,butquitepossible—thatImaynow,throughhim,beabletoestablishcommunicationwiththeshellfish.Thisisagreatpieceofluck."
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