I saw the green-eyed man in the dark rags, who had met me on the evening of my arrival, come out from among the trees, and others followed him, to hear me better.
At last for want of breath I paused.
“Listen to me for a moment,” said the steady voice of Moreau; “and then say what you will.”
“Well?” said I.
He coughed, thought, then shouted:
“Latin, Prendick! bad Latin, schoolboy Latin; but try and understand.
Hi non sunt homines; sunt animalia qui nos habemus—vivisected.
A humanising process.
I will explain.
Come ashore.”
I laughed.
“A pretty story,” said I. “They talk, build houses.
They were men.
It's likely I'll come ashore.”
“The water just beyond where you stand is deep—and full of sharks.”
“That's my way,” said I. “Short and sharp.
Presently.”
“Wait a minute.” He took something out of his pocket that flashed back the sun, and dropped the object at his feet.
“That's a loaded revolver,” said he. “Montgomery here will do the same.
Now we are going up the beach until you are satisfied the distance is safe.
Then come and take the revolvers.”
“Not I!
You have a third between you.”
“I want you to think over things, Prendick.
In the first place, I never asked you to come upon this island.
If we vivisected men, we should import men, not beasts. In the next, we had you drugged last night, had we wanted to work you any mischief; and in the next, now your first panic is over and you can think a little, is Montgomery here quite up to the character you give him?
We have chased you for your good.
Because this island is full of inimical phenomena.
Besides, why should we want to shoot you when you have just offered to drown yourself?”
“Why did you set—your people onto me when I was in the hut?”
“We felt sure of catching you, and bringing you out of danger.
Afterwards we drew away from the scent, for your good.”
I mused.
It seemed just possible.
Then I remembered something again.
“But I saw,” said I, “in the enclosure—”
“That was the puma.”
“Look here, Prendick,” said Montgomery, “you're a silly ass!
Come out of the water and take these revolvers, and talk.
We can't do anything more than we could do now.”
I will confess that then, and indeed always, I distrusted and dreaded Moreau; but Montgomery was a man I felt I understood.
“Go up the beach,” said I, after thinking, and added, “holding your hands up.”
“Can't do that,” said Montgomery, with an explanatory nod over his shoulder. “Undignified.”
“Go up to the trees, then,” said I, “as you please.”
“It's a damned silly ceremony,” said Montgomery.
Both turned and faced the six or seven grotesque creatures, who stood there in the sunlight, solid, casting shadows, moving, and yet so incredibly unreal.
Montgomery cracked his whip at them, and forthwith they all turned and fled helter-skelter into the trees; and when Montgomery and Moreau were at a distance I judged sufficient, I waded ashore, and picked up and examined the revolvers.
To satisfy myself against the subtlest trickery, I discharged one at a round lump of lava, and had the satisfaction of seeing the stone pulverised and the beach splashed with lead.
Still I hesitated for a moment.
“I'll take the risk,” said I, at last; and with a revolver in each hand I walked up the beach towards them.