Erewhon

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Title: Erewhon; Or, Over the Range

Author: Samuel Butler

Release date: September 1, 1999 [eBook #1906]
Most recently updated: August 5, 2025

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1906

Credits: Produced by David Price

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EREWHON; OR, OVER THE RANGE ***

[Illustration]

EREWHON

OR,
OVER THE RANGE

by Samuel Butler

“Τοῦ γὰρ εἰναι δοκοῦντος ἀγαθοῦ χάριν πάντα πράττουσι πάντες.”—ARIST.
_Pol_.

“There is no action save upon a balance of
considerations.”—_Paraphrase_.

Contents

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION

CHAPTER I. WASTE LANDS
CHAPTER II. IN THE WOOL-SHED
CHAPTER III. UP THE RIVER
CHAPTER IV. THE SADDLE
CHAPTER V. THE RIVER AND THE RANGE
CHAPTER VI. INTO EREWHON
CHAPTER VII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS
CHAPTER VIII. IN PRISON
CHAPTER IX. TO THE METROPOLIS
CHAPTER X. CURRENT OPINIONS
CHAPTER XI. SOME EREWHONIAN TRIALS
CHAPTER XII. MALCONTENTS
CHAPTER XIII. THE VIEWS OF THE EREWHONIANS CONCERNING DEATH
CHAPTER XIV. MAHAINA
CHAPTER XV. THE MUSICAL BANKS
CHAPTER XVI. AROWHENA
CHAPTER XVII. YDGRUN AND THE YDGRUNITES
CHAPTER XVIII. BIRTH FORMULAE
CHAPTER XIX. THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN
CHAPTER XX. WHAT THEY MEAN BY IT
CHAPTER XXI. THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON
CHAPTER XXII. THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON—Continued
CHAPTER XXIII. THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES
CHAPTER XXIV. THE MACHINES—continued
CHAPTER XXV. THE MACHINES—concluded
CHAPTER XXVI. THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PROPHET CONCERNING THE RIGHTS
OF ANIMALS
CHAPTER XXVII. THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PHILOSOPHER CONCERNING THE
RIGHTS OF VEGETABLES
CHAPTER XXVIII. ESCAPE
CHAPTER XXIX. CONCLUSION

Footnotes

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

The Author wishes it to be understood that Erewhon is pronounced as a
word of three syllables, all short—thus, Ĕ-rĕ-whŏn.

PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION

Having been enabled by the kindness of the public to get through an
unusually large edition of “Erewhon” in a very short time, I have taken
the opportunity of a second edition to make some necessary corrections,
and to add a few passages where it struck me that they would be
appropriately introduced; the passages are few, and it is my fixed
intention never to touch the work again.

I may perhaps be allowed to say a word or two here in reference to “The
Coming Race,” to the success of which book “Erewhon” has been very
generally set down as due. This is a mistake, though a perfectly
natural one. The fact is that “Erewhon” was finished, with the
exception of the last twenty pages and a sentence or two inserted from
time to time here and there throughout the book, before the first
advertisement of “The Coming Race” appeared. A friend having called my
attention to one of the first of these advertisements, and suggesting
that it probably referred to a work of similar character to my own, I
took “Erewhon” to a well-known firm of publishers on the 1st of May
1871, and left it in their hands for consideration. I then went abroad,
and on learning that the publishers alluded to declined the MS., I let
it alone for six or seven months, and, being in an out-of-the-way part
of Italy, never saw a single review of “The Coming Race,” nor a copy of
the work. On my return, I purposely avoided looking into it until I had
sent back my last revises to the printer. Then I had much pleasure in
reading it, but was indeed surprised at the many little points of
similarity between the two books, in spite of their entire independence
to one another.

I regret that reviewers have in some cases been inclined to treat the
chapters on Machines as an attempt to reduce Mr. Darwin’s theory to an
absurdity. Nothing could be further from my intention, and few things
would be more distasteful to me than any attempt to laugh at Mr.
Darwin; but I must own that I have myself to thank for the
misconception, for I felt sure that my intention would be missed, but
preferred not to weaken the chapters by explanation, and knew very well
that Mr. Darwin’s theory would take no harm. The only question in my
mind was how far I could afford to be misrepresented as laughing at
that for which I have the most profound admiration. I am surprised,
however, that the book at which such an example of the specious misuse
of analogy would seem most naturally levelled should have occurred to
no reviewer; neither shall I mention the name of the book here, though
I should fancy that the hint given will suffice.

I have been held by some whose opinions I respect to have denied men’s
responsibility for their actions. He who does this is an enemy who
deserves no quarter. I should have imagined that I had been
sufficiently explicit, but have made a few additions to the chapter on
Malcontents, which will, I think, serve to render further mistake
impossible.

An anonymous correspondent (by the hand-writing presumably a clergyman)
tells me that in quoting from the Latin grammar I should at any rate
have done so correctly, and that I should have written “agricolas”
instead of “agricolae”. He added something about any boy in the fourth
form, &c., &c., which I shall not quote, but which made me very
uncomfortable. It may be said that I must have misquoted from design,
from ignorance, or by a slip of the pen; but surely in these days it
will be recognised as harsh to assign limits to the all-embracing
boundlessness of truth, and it will be more reasonably assumed that
each of the three possible causes of misquotation must have had its
share in the apparent blunder. The art of writing things that shall
sound right and yet be wrong has made so many reputations, and affords
comfort to such a large number of readers, that I could not venture to
neglect it; the Latin grammar, however, is a subject on which some of
the younger members of the community feel strongly, so I have now
written “agricolas”. I have also parted with the word “infortuniam”
(though not without regret), but have not dared to meddle with other
similar inaccuracies.

For the inconsistencies in the book, and I am aware that there are not
a few, I must ask the indulgence of the reader. The blame, however,
lies chiefly with the Erewhonians themselves, for they were really a
very difficult people to understand. The most glaring anomalies seemed
to afford them no intellectual inconvenience; neither, provided they
did not actually see the money dropping out of their pockets, nor
suffer immediate physical pain, would they listen to any arguments as
to the waste of money and happiness which their folly caused them. But
this had an effect of which I have little reason to complain, for I was
allowed almost to call them life-long self-deceivers to their faces,
and they said it was quite true, but that it did not matter.

I must not conclude without expressing my most sincere thanks to my
critics and to the public for the leniency and consideration with which
they have treated my adventures.

June 9, 1872

PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION

My publisher wishes me to say a few words about the genesis of the
work, a revised and enlarged edition of which he is herewith laying
before the public. I therefore place on record as much as I can
remember on this head after a lapse of more than thirty years.

The first part of “Erewhon” written was an article headed “Darwin among
the Machines,” and signed Cellarius. It was written in the Upper
Rangitata district of the Canterbury Province (as it then was) of New
Zealand, and appeared at Christchurch in the Press Newspaper, June 13,
1863. A copy of this article is indexed under my books in the British
Museum catalogue. In passing, I may say that the opening chapters of
“Erewhon” were also drawn from the Upper Rangitata district, with such
modifications as I found convenient.

A second article on the same subject as the one just referred to
appeared in the Press shortly after the first, but I have no copy. It
treated Machines from a different point of view, and was the basis of
pp. 270-274 of the present edition of “Erewhon.”[1] This view
ultimately led me to the theory I put forward in “Life and Habit,”
published in November 1877. I have put a bare outline of this theory
(which I believe to be quite sound) into the mouth of an Erewhonian
philosopher in Chapter XXVII. of this book.

In 1865 I rewrote and enlarged “Darwin among the Machines” for the
Reasoner, a paper published in London by Mr. G. J. Holyoake. It
appeared July 1, 1865, under the heading, “The Mechanical Creation,”
and can be seen in the British Museum. I again rewrote and enlarged it,
till it assumed the form in which it appeared in the first edition of
“Erewhon.”

The next part of “Erewhon” that I wrote was the “World of the Unborn,”
a preliminary form of which was sent to Mr. Holyoake’s paper, but as I
cannot find it among those copies of the Reasoner that are in the
British Museum, I conclude that it was not accepted. I have, however,
rather a strong fancy that it appeared in some London paper of the same
character as the Reasoner, not very long after July 1, 1865, but I have
no copy.

I also wrote about this time the substance of what ultimately became
the Musical Banks, and the trial of a man for being in a consumption.
These four detached papers were, I believe, all that was written of
“Erewhon” before 1870. Between 1865 and 1870 I wrote hardly anything,
being hopeful of attaining that success as a painter which it has not
been vouchsafed me to attain, but in the autumn of 1870, just as I was
beginning to get occasionally hung at Royal Academy exhibitions, my
friend, the late Sir F. N. (then Mr.) Broome, suggested to me that I
should add somewhat to the articles I had already written, and string
them together into a book. I was rather fired by the idea, but as I
only worked at the MS. on Sundays it was some months before I had
completed it.

I see from my second Preface that I took the book to Messrs. Chapman &
Hall May 1, 1871, and on their rejection of it, under the advice of one
who has attained the highest rank among living writers, I let it sleep,
till I took it to Mr. Trübner early in 1872. As regards its rejection
by Messrs. Chapman & Hall, I believe their reader advised them quite
wisely. They told me he reported that it was a philosophical work,
little likely to be popular with a large circle of readers. I hope that
if I had been their reader, and the book had been submitted to myself,
I should have advised them to the same effect.

“Erewhon” appeared with the last day or two of March 1872. I attribute
its unlooked-for success mainly to two early favourable reviews—the
first in the Pall Mall Gazette of April 12, and the second in the
Spectator of April 20. There was also another cause. I was complaining
once to a friend that though “Erewhon” had met with such a warm
reception, my subsequent books had been all of them practically
still-born. He said, “You forget one charm that ‘Erewhon’ had, but
which none of your other books can have.” I asked what? and was
answered, “The sound of a new voice, and of an unknown voice.”

The first edition of “Erewhon” sold in about three weeks; I had not
taken moulds, and as the demand was strong, it was set up again
immediately. I made a few unimportant alterations and additions, and
added a Preface, of which I cannot say that I am particularly proud,
but an inexperienced writer with a head somewhat turned by unexpected
success is not to be trusted with a preface. I made a few further very
trifling alterations before moulds were taken, but since the summer of
1872, as new editions were from time to time wanted, they have been
printed from stereos then made.

Having now, I fear, at too great length done what I was asked to do, I
should like to add a few words on my own account. I am still fairly
well satisfied with those parts of “Erewhon” that were repeatedly
rewritten, but from those that had only a single writing I would gladly
cut out some forty or fifty pages if I could.

This, however, may not be, for the copyright will probably expire in a
little over twelve years. It was necessary, therefore, to revise the
book throughout for literary inelegancies—of which I found many more
than I had expected—and also to make such substantial additions as
should secure a new lease of life—at any rate for the copyright. If,
then, instead of cutting out, say fifty pages, I have been compelled to
add about sixty invitâ Minervâ—the blame rests neither with my
publisher nor with me, but with the copyright laws. Nevertheless I can
assure the reader that, though I have found it an irksome task to take
up work which I thought I had got rid of thirty years ago, and much of
which I am ashamed of, I have done my best to make the new matter
savour so much of the better portions of the old, that none but the
best critics shall perceive at what places the gaps of between thirty
and forty years occur.

Lastly, if my readers note a considerable difference between the
literary technique of “Erewhon” and that of “Erewhon Revisited,” I
would remind them that, as I have just shown, “Erewhon” took something
like ten years in writing, and even so was written with great
difficulty, while “Erewhon Revisited” was written easily between
November 1900 and the end of April 1901. There is no central idea
underlying “Erewhon,” whereas the attempt to realise the effect of a
single supposed great miracle dominates the whole of its successor. In
“Erewhon” there was hardly any story, and little attempt to give life
and individuality to the characters; I hope that in “Erewhon Revisited”
both these defects have been in great measure avoided. “Erewhon” was
not an organic whole, “Erewhon Revisited” may fairly claim to be one.
Nevertheless, though in literary workmanship I do not doubt that this
last-named book is an improvement on the first, I shall be agreeably
surprised if I am not told that “Erewhon,” with all its faults, is the
better reading of the two.

SAMUEL BUTLER.
August 7, 1901

CHAPTER I. WASTE LANDS

If the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing of my antecedents, nor
of the circumstances which led me to leave my native country; the
narrative would be tedious to him and painful to myself. Suffice it,
that when I left home it was with the intention of going to some new
colony, and either finding, or even perhaps purchasing, waste crown
land suitable for cattle or sheep farming, by which means I thought
that I could better my fortunes more rapidly than in England.

It will be seen that I did not succeed in my design, and that however
much I may have met with that was new and strange, I have been unable
to reap any pecuniary advantage.

It is true, I imagine myself to have made a discovery which, if I can
be the first to profit by it, will bring me a recompense beyond all
money computation, and secure me a position such as has not been
attained by more than some fifteen or sixteen persons, since the
creation of the universe. But to this end I must possess myself of a
considerable sum of money: neither do I know how to get it, except by
interesting the public in my story, and inducing the charitable to come
forward and assist me. With this hope I now publish my adventures; but
I do so with great reluctance, for I fear that my story will be doubted
unless I tell the whole of it; and yet I dare not do so, lest others
with more means than mine should get the start of me. I prefer the risk
of being doubted to that of being anticipated, and have therefore
concealed my destination on leaving England, as also the point from
which I began my more serious and difficult journey.

My chief consolation lies in the fact that truth bears its own impress,
and that my story will carry conviction by reason of the internal
evidences for its accuracy. No one who is himself honest will doubt my
being so.

I reached my destination in one of the last months of 1868, but I
dare not mention the season, lest the reader should gather in which
hemisphere I was. The colony was one which had not been opened up even
to the most adventurous settlers for more than eight or nine years,
having been previously uninhabited, save by a few tribes of savages who
frequented the seaboard. The part known to Europeans consisted of a
coast-line about eight hundred miles in length (affording three or four
good harbours), and a tract of country extending inland for a space
varying from two to three hundred miles, until it reached the offshoots
of an exceedingly lofty range of mountains, which could be seen from
far out upon the plains, and were covered with perpetual snow. The
coast was perfectly well known both north and south of the tract to
which I have alluded, but in neither direction was there a single
harbour for five hundred miles, and the mountains, which descended
almost into the sea, were covered with thick timber, so that none would
think of settling.

With this bay of land, however, the case was different. The harbours
were sufficient; the country was timbered, but not too heavily; it was
admirably suited for agriculture; it also contained millions on
millions of acres of the most beautifully grassed country in the world,
and of the best suited for all manner of sheep and cattle. The climate
was temperate, and very healthy; there were no wild animals, nor were
the natives dangerous, being few in number and of an intelligent
tractable disposition.

It may be readily understood that when once Europeans set foot upon
this territory they were not slow to take advantage of its
capabilities. Sheep and cattle were introduced, and bred with extreme
rapidity; men took up their 50,000 or 100,000 acres of country, going
inland one behind the other, till in a few years there was not an acre
between the sea and the front ranges which was not taken up, and
stations either for sheep or cattle were spotted about at intervals of
some twenty or thirty miles over the whole country. The front ranges
stopped the tide of squatters for some little time; it was thought that
there was too much snow upon them for too many months in the year,—that
the sheep would get lost, the ground being too difficult for
shepherding,—that the expense of getting wool down to the ship’s side
would eat up the farmer’s profits,—and that the grass was too rough and
sour for sheep to thrive upon; but one after another determined to try
the experiment, and it was wonderful how successfully it turned out.
Men pushed farther and farther into the mountains, and found a very
considerable tract inside the front range, between it and another which
was loftier still, though even this was not the highest, the great
snowy one which could be seen from out upon the plains. This second
range, however, seemed to mark the extreme limits of pastoral country;
and it was here, at a small and newly founded station, that I was
received as a cadet, and soon regularly employed. I was then just
twenty-two years old.

I was delighted with the country and the manner of life. It was my
daily business to go up to the top of a certain high mountain, and down
one of its spurs on to the flat, in order to make sure that no sheep
had crossed their boundaries. I was to see the sheep, not necessarily
close at hand, nor to get them in a single mob, but to see enough of
them here and there to feel easy that nothing had gone wrong; this was
no difficult matter, for there were not above eight hundred of them;
and, being all breeding ewes, they were pretty quiet.

There were a good many sheep which I knew, as two or three black ewes,
and a black lamb or two, and several others which had some
distinguishing mark whereby I could tell them. I would try and see all
these, and if they were all there, and the mob looked large enough, I
might rest assured that all was well. It is surprising how soon the eye
becomes accustomed to missing twenty sheep out of two or three hundred.
I had a telescope and a dog, and would take bread and meat and tobacco
with me. Starting with early dawn, it would be night before I could
complete my round; for the mountain over which I had to go was very
high. In winter it was covered with snow, and the sheep needed no
watching from above. If I were to see sheep dung or tracks going down
on to the other side of the mountain (where there was a valley with a
stream—a mere _cul de sac_), I was to follow them, and look out for
sheep; but I never saw any, the sheep always descending on to their own
side, partly from habit, and partly because there was abundance of good
sweet feed, which had been burnt in the early spring, just before I
came, and was now deliciously green and rich, while that on the other
side had never been burnt, and was rank and coarse.

It was a monotonous life, but it was very healthy and one does not much
mind anything when one is well. The country was the grandest that can
be imagined. How often have I sat on the mountain side and watched the
waving downs, with the two white specks of huts in the distance, and
the little square of garden behind them; the paddock with a patch of
bright green oats above the huts, and the yards and wool-sheds down on
the flat below; all seen as through the wrong end of a telescope, so
clear and brilliant was the air, or as upon a colossal model or map
spread out beneath me. Beyond the downs was a plain, going down to a
river of great size, on the farther side of which there were other high
mountains, with the winter’s snow still not quite melted; up the river,
which ran winding in many streams over a bed some two miles broad, I
looked upon the second great chain, and could see a narrow gorge where
the river retired and was lost. I knew that there was a range still
farther back; but except from one place near the very top of my own
mountain, no part of it was visible: from this point, however, I saw,
whenever there were no clouds, a single snow-clad peak, many miles
away, and I should think about as high as any mountain in the world.
Never shall I forget the utter loneliness of the prospect—only the
little far-away homestead giving sign of human handiwork;—the vastness
of mountain and plain, of river and sky; the marvellous atmospheric
effects—sometimes black mountains against a white sky, and then again,
after cold weather, white mountains against a black sky—sometimes seen
through breaks and swirls of cloud—and sometimes, which was best of
all, I went up my mountain in a fog, and then got above the mist; going
higher and higher, I would look down upon a sea of whiteness, through
which would be thrust innumerable mountain tops that looked like
islands.

I am there now, as I write; I fancy that I can see the downs, the huts,
the plain, and the river-bed—that torrent pathway of desolation, with
its distant roar of waters. Oh, wonderful! wonderful! so lonely and so
solemn, with the sad grey clouds above, and no sound save a lost lamb
bleating upon the mountain side, as though its little heart were
breaking. Then there comes some lean and withered old ewe, with deep
gruff voice and unlovely aspect, trotting back from the seductive
pasture; now she examines this gully, and now that, and now she stands
listening with uplifted head, that she may hear the distant wailing and
obey it. Aha! they see, and rush towards each other. Alas! they are
both mistaken; the ewe is not the lamb’s ewe, they are neither kin nor
kind to one another, and part in coldness. Each must cry louder, and
wander farther yet; may luck be with them both that they may find their
own at nightfall. But this is mere dreaming, and I must proceed.

I could not help speculating upon what might lie farther up the river
and behind the second range. I had no money, but if I could only find
workable country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and consider
myself a made man. True, the range looked so vast, that there seemed
little chance of getting a sufficient road through it or over it; but
no one had yet explored it, and it is wonderful how one finds that one
can make a path into all sorts of places (and even get a road for
pack-horses), which from a distance appear inaccessible; the river was
so great that it must drain an inner tract—at least I thought so; and
though every one said it would be madness to attempt taking sheep
farther inland, I knew that only three years ago the same cry had been
raised against the country which my master’s flock was now overrunning.
I could not keep these thoughts out of my head as I would rest myself
upon the mountain side; they haunted me as I went my daily rounds, and
grew upon me from hour to hour, till I resolved that after shearing I
would remain in doubt no longer, but saddle my horse, take as much
provision with me as I could, and go and see for myself.

But over and above these thoughts came that of the great range itself.
What was beyond it? Ah! who could say? There was no one in the whole
world who had the smallest idea, save those who were themselves on the
other side of it—if, indeed, there was any one at all. Could I hope to
cross it? This would be the highest triumph that I could wish for; but
it was too much to think of yet. I would try the nearer range, and see
how far I could go. Even if I did not find country, might I not find
gold, or diamonds, or copper, or silver? I would sometimes lie flat
down to drink out of a stream, and could see little yellow specks among
the sand; were these gold? People said no; but then people always said
there was no gold until it was found to be abundant: there was plenty
of slate and granite, which I had always understood to accompany gold;
and even though it was not found in paying quantities here, it might be
abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled my head, and I could
not banish them.

CHAPTER II. IN THE WOOL-SHED

At last shearing came; and with the shearers there was an old native,
whom they had nicknamed Chowbok—though, I believe, his real name was
Kahabuka. He was a sort of chief of the natives, could speak a little
English, and was a great favourite with the missionaries. He did not do
any regular work with the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards,
his real aim being to get the grog, which is always more freely
circulated at shearing-time: he did not get much, for he was apt to be
dangerous when drunk; and very little would make him so: still he did
get it occasionally, and if one wanted to get anything out of him, it
was the best bribe to offer him. I resolved to question him, and get as
much information from him as I could. I did so. As long as I kept to
questions about the nearer ranges, he was easy to get on with—he had
never been there, but there were traditions among his tribe to the
effect that there was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact, but stunted
timber and a few river-bed flats. It was very difficult to reach; still
there were passes: one of them up our own river, though not directly
along the river-bed, the gorge of which was not practicable; he had
never seen any one who had been there: was there not enough on this
side? But when I came to the main range, his manner changed at once. He
became uneasy, and began to prevaricate and shuffle. In a very few
minutes I could see that of this too there existed traditions in his
tribe; but no efforts or coaxing could get a word from him about them.
At last I hinted about grog, and presently he feigned consent: I gave
it him; but as soon as he had drunk it he began shamming intoxication,
and then went to sleep, or pretended to do so, letting me kick him
pretty hard and never budging.

I was angry, for I had to go without my own grog and had got nothing
out of him; so the next day I determined that he should tell me before
I gave him any, or get none at all.

Accordingly, when night came and the shearers had knocked off work and
had their supper, I got my share of rum in a tin pannikin and made a
sign to Chowbok to follow me to the wool-shed, which he willingly did,
slipping out after me, and no one taking any notice of either of us.
When we got down to the wool-shed we lit a tallow candle, and having
stuck it in an old bottle we sat down upon the wool bales and began to
smoke. A wool-shed is a roomy place, built somewhat on the same plan as
a cathedral, with aisles on either side full of pens for the sheep, a
great nave, at the upper end of which the shearers work, and a further
space for wool sorters and packers. It always refreshed me with a
semblance of antiquity (precious in a new country), though I very well
knew that the oldest wool-shed in the settlement was not more than
seven years old, while this was only two. Chowbok pretended to expect
his grog at once, though we both of us knew very well what the other
was after, and that we were each playing against the other, the one for
grog the other for information.

We had a hard fight: for more than two hours he had tried to put me off
with lies but had carried no conviction; during the whole time we had
been morally wrestling with one another and had neither of us
apparently gained the least advantage; at length, however, I had become
sure that he would give in ultimately, and that with a little further
patience I should get his story out of him. As upon a cold day in
winter, when one has churned (as I had often had to do), and churned in
vain, and the butter makes no sign of coming, at last one tells by the
sound that the cream has gone to sleep, and then upon a sudden the
butter comes, so I had churned at Chowbok until I perceived that he had
arrived, as it were, at the sleepy stage, and that with a continuance
of steady quiet pressure the day was mine. On a sudden, without a word
of warning, he rolled two bales of wool (his strength was very great)
into the middle of the floor, and on the top of these he placed another
crosswise; he snatched up an empty wool-pack, threw it like a mantle
over his shoulders, jumped upon the uppermost bale, and sat upon it. In
a moment his whole form was changed. His high shoulders dropped; he set
his feet close together, heel to heel and toe to toe; he laid his arms
and hands close alongside of his body, the palms following his thighs;
he held his head high but quite straight, and his eyes stared right in
front of him; but he frowned horribly, and assumed an expression of
face that was positively fiendish. At the best of times Chowbok was
very ugly, but he now exceeded all conceivable limits of the hideous.
His mouth extended almost from ear to ear, grinning horribly and
showing all his teeth; his eyes glared, though they remained quite
fixed, and his forehead was contracted with a most malevolent scowl.

I am afraid my description will have conveyed only the ridiculous side
of his appearance; but the ridiculous and the sublime are near, and the
grotesque fiendishness of Chowbok’s face approached this last, if it
did not reach it. I tried to be amused, but I felt a sort of creeping
at the roots of my hair and over my whole body, as I looked and
wondered what he could possibly be intending to signify. He continued
thus for about a minute, sitting bolt upright, as stiff as a stone, and
making this fearful face. Then there came from his lips a low moaning
like the wind, rising and falling by infinitely small gradations till
it became almost a shriek, from which it descended and died away; after
that, he jumped down from the bale and held up the extended fingers of
both his hands, as one who should say “Ten,” though I did not then
understand him.

For myself I was open-mouthed with astonishment. Chowbok rolled the
bales rapidly into their place, and stood before me shuddering as in
great fear; horror was written upon his face—this time quite
involuntarily—as though the natural panic of one who had committed an
awful crime against unknown and superhuman agencies. He nodded his head
and gibbered, and pointed repeatedly to the mountains. He would not
touch the grog, but, after a few seconds he made a run through the
wool-shed door into the moonlight; nor did he reappear till next day at
dinner-time, when he turned up, looking very sheepish and abject in his
civility towards myself.

Of his meaning I had no conception. How could I? All I could feel sure
of was, that he had a meaning which was true and awful to himself. It
was enough for me that I believed him to have given me the best he had
and all he had. This kindled my imagination more than if he had told me
intelligible stories by the hour together. I knew not what the great
snowy ranges might conceal, but I could no longer doubt that it would
be something well worth discovering.

I kept aloof from Chowbok for the next few days, and showed no desire
to question him further; when I spoke to him I called him Kahabuka,
which gratified him greatly: he seemed to have become afraid of me, and
acted as one who was in my power. Having therefore made up my mind that
I would begin exploring as soon as shearing was over, I thought it
would be a good thing to take Chowbok with me; so I told him that I
meant going to the nearer ranges for a few days’ prospecting, and that
he was to come too. I made him promises of nightly grog, and held out
the chances of finding gold. I said nothing about the main range, for I
knew it would frighten him. I would get him as far up our own river as
I could, and trace it if possible to its source. I would then either go
on by myself, if I felt my courage equal to the attempt, or return with
Chowbok. So, as soon as ever shearing was over and the wool sent off, I
asked leave of absence, and obtained it. Also, I bought an old
pack-horse and pack-saddle, so that I might take plenty of provisions,
and blankets, and a small tent. I was to ride and find fords over the
river; Chowbok was to follow and lead the pack-horse, which would also
carry him over the fords. My master let me have tea and sugar, ship’s
biscuits, tobacco, and salt mutton, with two or three bottles of good
brandy; for, as the wool was now sent down, abundance of provisions
would come up with the empty drays.

Everything being now ready, all the hands on the station turned out to
see us off, and we started on our journey, not very long after the
summer solstice of 1870.

CHAPTER III. UP THE RIVER

The first day we had an easy time, following up the great flats by the
river side, which had already been twice burned, so that there was no
dense undergrowth to check us, though the ground was often rough, and
we had to go a good deal upon the riverbed. Towards nightfall we had
made a matter of some five-and-twenty miles, and camped at the point
where the river entered upon the gorge.

The weather was delightfully warm, considering that the valley in which
we were encamped must have been at least two thousand feet above the
level of the sea. The river-bed was here about a mile and a half broad
and entirely covered with shingle over which the river ran in many
winding channels, looking, when seen from above, like a tangled skein
of ribbon, and glistening in the sun. We knew that it was liable to
very sudden and heavy freshets; but even had we not known it, we could
have seen it by the snags of trees, which must have been carried long
distances, and by the mass of vegetable and mineral _débris_ which was
banked against their lower side, showing that at times the whole
river-bed must be covered with a roaring torrent many feet in depth and
of ungovernable fury. At present the river was low, there being but
five or six streams, too deep and rapid for even a strong man to ford
on foot, but to be crossed safely on horseback. On either side of it
there were still a few acres of flat, which grew wider and wider down
the river, till they became the large plains on which we looked from my
master’s hut. Behind us rose the lowest spurs of the second range,
leading abruptly to the range itself; and at a distance of half a mile
began the gorge, where the river narrowed and became boisterous and
terrible. The beauty of the scene cannot be conveyed in language. The
one side of the valley was blue with evening shadow, through which
loomed forest and precipice, hillside and mountain top; and the other
was still brilliant with the sunset gold. The wide and wasteful river
with its ceaseless rushing—the beautiful water-birds too, which
abounded upon the islets and were so tame that we could come close up
to them—the ineffable purity of the air—the solemn peacefulness of the
untrodden region—could there be a more delightful and exhilarating
combination?

We set about making our camp, close to some large bush which came down
from the mountains on to the flat, and tethered out our horses upon
ground as free as we could find it from anything round which they might
wind the rope and get themselves tied up. We dared not let them run
loose, lest they might stray down the river home again. We then
gathered wood and lit the fire. We filled a tin pannikin with water and
set it against the hot ashes to boil. When the water boiled we threw in
two or three large pinches of tea and let them brew.

We had caught half a dozen young ducks in the course of the day—an easy
matter, for the old birds made such a fuss in attempting to decoy us
away from them—pretending to be badly hurt as they say the plover
does—that we could always find them by going about in the opposite
direction to the old bird till we heard the young ones crying: then we
ran them down, for they could not fly though they were nearly full
grown. Chowbok plucked them a little and singed them a good deal. Then
we cut them up and boiled them in another pannikin, and this completed
our preparations.

When we had done supper it was quite dark. The silence and freshness of
the night, the occasional sharp cry of the wood-hen, the ruddy glow of
the fire, the subdued rushing of the river, the sombre forest, and the
immediate foreground of our saddles packs and blankets, made a picture
worthy of a Salvator Rosa or a Nicolas Poussin. I call it to mind and
delight in it now, but I did not notice it at the time. We next to
never know when we are well off: but this cuts two ways,—for if we did,
we should perhaps know better when we are ill off also; and I have
sometimes thought that there are as many ignorant of the one as of the
other. He who wrote, “O fortunatos nimium sua si bona nôrint
agricolas,” might have written quite as truly, “O infortunatos nimium
sua si mala nôrint”; and there are few of us who are not protected from
the keenest pain by our inability to see what it is that we have done,
what we are suffering, and what we truly are. Let us be grateful to the
mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.

We found as soft a piece of ground as we could—though it was all
stony—and having collected grass and so disposed of ourselves that we
had a little hollow for our hip-bones, we strapped our blankets around
us and went to sleep. Waking in the night I saw the stars overhead and
the moonlight bright upon the mountains. The river was ever rushing; I
heard one of our horses neigh to its companion, and was assured that
they were still at hand; I had no care of mind or body, save that I had
doubtless many difficulties to overcome; there came upon me a delicious
sense of peace, a fulness of contentment which I do not believe can be
felt by any but those who have spent days consecutively on horseback,
or at any rate in the open air.

Next morning we found our last night’s tea-leaves frozen at the bottom
of the pannikins, though it was not nearly the beginning of autumn; we
breakfasted as we had supped, and were on our way by six o’clock. In
half an hour we had entered the gorge, and turning round a corner we
bade farewell to the last sight of my master’s country.

The gorge was narrow and precipitous; the river was now only a few
yards wide, and roared and thundered against rocks of many tons in
weight; the sound was deafening, for there was a great volume of water.
We were two hours in making less than a mile, and that with danger,
sometimes in the river and sometimes on the rock. There was that damp
black smell of rocks covered with slimy vegetation, as near some huge
waterfall where spray is ever rising. The air was clammy and cold. I
cannot conceive how our horses managed to keep their footing,
especially the one with the pack, and I dreaded the having to return
almost as much as going forward. I suppose this lasted three miles, but
it was well midday when the gorge got a little wider, and a small
stream came into it from a tributary valley. Farther progress up the
main river was impossible, for the cliffs descended like walls; so we
went up the side stream, Chowbok seeming to think that here must be the
pass of which reports existed among his people. We now incurred less of
actual danger but more fatigue, and it was only after infinite trouble,
owing to the rocks and tangled vegetation, that we got ourselves and
our horses upon the saddle from which this small stream descended; by
that time clouds had descended upon us, and it was raining heavily.
Moreover, it was six o’clock and we were tired out, having made perhaps
six miles in twelve hours.

On the saddle there was some coarse grass which was in full seed, and
therefore very nourishing for the horses; also abundance of anise and
sow-thistle, of which they are extravagantly fond, so we turned them
loose and prepared to camp. Everything was soaking wet and we were
half-perished with cold; indeed we were very uncomfortable. There was
brushwood about, but we could get no fire till we had shaved off the
wet outside of some dead branches and filled our pockets with the dry
inside chips. Having done this we managed to start a fire, nor did we
allow it to go out when we had once started it; we pitched the tent and
by nine o’clock were comparatively warm and dry. Next morning it was
fine; we broke camp, and after advancing a short distance we found
that, by descending over ground less difficult than yesterday’s, we
should come again upon the river-bed, which had opened out above the
gorge; but it was plain at a glance that there was no available sheep
country, nothing but a few flats covered with scrub on either side the
river, and mountains which were perfectly worthless. But we could see
the main range. There was no mistake about this. The glaciers were
tumbling down the mountain sides like cataracts, and seemed actually to
descend upon the river-bed; there could be no serious difficulty in
reaching them by following up the river, which was wide and open; but
it seemed rather an objectless thing to do, for the main range looked
hopeless, and my curiosity about the nature of the country above the
gorge was now quite satisfied; there was no money in it whatever,
unless there should be minerals, of which I saw no more signs than
lower down.

However, I resolved that I would follow the river up, and not return
until I was compelled to do so. I would go up every branch as far as I
could, and wash well for gold. Chowbok liked seeing me do this, but it
never came to anything, for we did not even find the colour. His
dislike of the main range appeared to have worn off, and he made no
objections to approaching it. I think he thought there was no danger of
my trying to cross it, and he was not afraid of anything on this side;
besides, we might find gold. But the fact was that he had made up his
mind what to do if he saw me getting too near it.

We passed three weeks in exploring, and never did I find time go more
quickly. The weather was fine, though the nights got very cold. We
followed every stream but one, and always found it lead us to a glacier
which was plainly impassable, at any rate without a larger party and
ropes. One stream remained, which I should have followed up already,
had not Chowbok said that he had risen early one morning while I was
yet asleep, and after going up it for three or four miles, had seen
that it was impossible to go farther. I had long ago discovered that he
was a great liar, so I was bent on going up myself: in brief, I did so:
so far from being impossible, it was quite easy travelling; and after
five or six miles I saw a saddle at the end of it, which, though
covered deep in snow, was not glaciered, and which did verily appear to
be part of the main range itself. No words can express the intensity of
my delight. My blood was all on fire with hope and elation; but on
looking round for Chowbok, who was behind me, I saw to my surprise and
anger that he had turned back, and was going down the valley as hard as
he could. He had left me.

CHAPTER IV. THE SADDLE

I cooeyed to him, but he would not hear. I ran after him, but he had
got too good a start. Then I sat down on a stone and thought the matter
carefully over. It was plain that Chowbok had designedly attempted to
keep me from going up this valley, yet he had shown no unwillingness to
follow me anywhere else. What could this mean, unless that I was now
upon the route by which alone the mysteries of the great ranges could
be revealed? What then should I do? Go back at the very moment when it
had become plain that I was on the right scent? Hardly; yet to proceed
alone would be both difficult and dangerous. It would be bad enough to
return to my master’s run, and pass through the rocky gorges, with no
chance of help from another should I get into a difficulty; but to
advance for any considerable distance without a companion would be next
door to madness. Accidents which are slight when there is another at
hand (as the spraining of an ankle, or the falling into some place
whence escape would be easy by means of an outstretched hand and a bit
of rope) may be fatal to one who is alone. The more I pondered the less
I liked it; and yet, the less could I make up my mind to return when I
looked at the saddle at the head of the valley, and noted the
comparative ease with which its smooth sweep of snow might be
surmounted: I seemed to see my way almost from my present position to
the very top. After much thought, I resolved to go forward until I
should come to some place which was really dangerous, but then to
return. I should thus, I hoped, at any rate reach the top of the
saddle, and satisfy myself as to what might be on the other side.

I had no time to lose, for it was now between ten and eleven in the
morning. Fortunately I was well equipped, for on leaving the camp and
the horses at the lower end of the valley I had provided myself
(according to my custom) with everything that I was likely to want for
four or five days. Chowbok had carried half, but had dropped his whole
swag—I suppose, at the moment of his taking flight—for I came upon it
when I ran after him. I had, therefore, his provisions as well as my
own. Accordingly, I took as many biscuits as I thought I could carry,
and also some tobacco, tea, and a few matches. I rolled all these
things (together with a flask nearly full of brandy, which I had kept
in my pocket for fear lest Chowbok should get hold of it) inside my
blankets, and strapped them very tightly, making the whole into a long
roll of some seven feet in length and six inches in diameter. Then I
tied the two ends together, and put the whole round my neck and over
one shoulder. This is the easiest way of carrying a heavy swag, for one
can rest one’s self by shifting the burden from one shoulder to the
other. I strapped my pannikin and a small axe about my waist, and thus
equipped began to ascend the valley, angry at having been misled by
Chowbok, but determined not to return till I was compelled to do so.

I crossed and recrossed the stream several times without difficulty,
for there were many good fords. At one o’clock I was at the foot of the
saddle; for four hours I mounted, the last two on the snow, where the
going was easier; by five, I was within ten minutes of the top, in a
state of excitement greater, I think, than I had ever known before. Ten
minutes more, and the cold air from the other side came rushing upon
me.

A glance. I was _not_ on the main range.

Another glance. There was an awful river, muddy and horribly angry,
roaring over an immense riverbed, thousands of feet below me.

It went round to the westward, and I could see no farther up the
valley, save that there were enormous glaciers which must extend round
the source of the river, and from which it must spring.

Another glance, and then I remained motionless.

There was an easy pass in the mountains directly opposite to me,
through which I caught a glimpse of an immeasurable extent of blue and
distant plains.

Easy? Yes, perfectly easy; grassed nearly to the summit, which was, as
it were, an open path between two glaciers, from which an
inconsiderable stream came tumbling down over rough but very possible
hillsides, till it got down to the level of the great river, and formed
a flat where there was grass and a small bush of stunted timber.

Almost before I could believe my eyes, a cloud had come up from the
valley on the other side, and the plains were hidden. What wonderful
luck was mine! Had I arrived five minutes later, the cloud would have
been over the pass, and I should not have known of its existence. Now
that the cloud was there, I began to doubt my memory, and to be
uncertain whether it had been more than a blue line of distant vapour
that had filled up the opening. I could only be certain of this much,
namely, that the river in the valley below must be the one next to the
northward of that which flowed past my master’s station; of this there
could be no doubt. Could I, however, imagine that my luck should have
led me up a wrong river in search of a pass, and yet brought me to the
spot where I could detect the one weak place in the fortifications of a
more northern basin? This was too improbable. But even as I doubted
there came a rent in the cloud opposite, and a second time I saw blue
lines of heaving downs, growing gradually fainter, and retiring into a
far space of plain. It was substantial; there had been no mistake
whatsoever. I had hardly made myself perfectly sure of this, ere the
rent in the clouds joined up again and I could see nothing more.

What, then, should I do? The night would be upon me shortly, and I was
already chilled with standing still after the exertion of climbing. To
stay where I was would be impossible; I must either go backwards or
forwards. I found a rock which gave me shelter from the evening wind,
and took a good pull at the brandy flask, which immediately warmed and
encouraged me.

I asked myself, Could I descend upon the river-bed beneath me? It was
impossible to say what precipices might prevent my doing so. If I were
on the river-bed, dare I cross the river? I am an excellent swimmer,
yet, once in that frightful rush of waters, I should be hurled
whithersoever it willed, absolutely powerless. Moreover, there was my
swag; I should perish of cold and hunger if I left it, but I should
certainly be drowned if I attempted to carry it across the river. These
were serious considerations, but the hope of finding an immense tract
of available sheep country (which I was determined that I would
monopolise as far as I possibly could) sufficed to outweigh them; and,
in a few minutes, I felt resolved that, having made so important a
discovery as a pass into a country which was probably as valuable as
that on our own side of the ranges, I would follow it up and ascertain
its value, even though I should pay the penalty of failure with life
itself. The more I thought, the more determined I became either to win
fame and perhaps fortune, by entering upon this unknown world, or give
up life in the attempt. In fact, I felt that life would be no longer
valuable if I were to have seen so great a prize and refused to grasp
at the possible profits therefrom.

I had still an hour of good daylight during which I might begin my
descent on to some suitable camping-ground, but there was not a moment
to be lost. At first I got along rapidly, for I was on the snow, and
sank into it enough to save me from falling, though I went forward
straight down the mountain side as fast as I could; but there was less
snow on this side than on the other, and I had soon done with it,
getting on to a coomb of dangerous and very stony ground, where a slip
might have given me a disastrous fall. But I was careful with all my
speed, and got safely to the bottom, where there were patches of coarse
grass, and an attempt here and there at brushwood: what was below this
I could not see. I advanced a few hundred yards farther, and found that
I was on the brink of a frightful precipice, which no one in his senses
would attempt descending. I bethought me, however, to try the creek
which drained the coomb, and see whether it might not have made itself
a smoother way. In a few minutes I found myself at the upper end of a
chasm in the rocks, something like Twll Dhu, only on a greatly larger
scale; the creek had found its way into it, and had worn a deep channel
through a material which appeared softer than that upon the other side
of the mountain. I believe it must have been a different geological
formation, though I regret to say that I cannot tell what it was.

I looked at this rift in great doubt; then I went a little way on
either side of it, and found myself looking over the edge of horrible
precipices on to the river, which roared some four or five thousand
feet below me. I dared not think of getting down at all, unless I
committed myself to the rift, of which I was hopeful when I reflected
that the rock was soft, and that the water might have worn its channel
tolerably evenly through the whole extent. The darkness was increasing
with every minute, but I should have twilight for another half-hour, so
I went into the chasm (though by no means without fear), and resolved
to return and camp, and try some other path next day, should I come to
any serious difficulty. In about five minutes I had completely lost my
head; the side of the rift became hundreds of feet in height, and
overhung so that I could not see the sky. It was full of rocks, and I
had many falls and bruises. I was wet through from falling into the
water, of which there was no great volume, but it had such force that I
could do nothing against it; once I had to leap down a not
inconsiderable waterfall into a deep pool below, and my swag was so
heavy that I was very nearly drowned. I had indeed a hair’s-breadth
escape; but, as luck would have it, Providence was on my side. Shortly
afterwards I began to fancy that the rift was getting wider, and that
there was more brushwood. Presently I found myself on an open grassy
slope, and feeling my way a little farther along the stream, I came
upon a flat place with wood, where I could camp comfortably; which was
well, for it was now quite dark.

My first care was for my matches; were they dry? The outside of my swag
had got completely wet; but, on undoing the blankets, I found things
warm and dry within. How thankful I was! I lit a fire, and was grateful
for its warmth and company. I made myself some tea and ate two of my
biscuits: my brandy I did not touch, for I had little left, and might
want it when my courage failed me. All that I did, I did almost
mechanically, for I could not realise my situation to myself, beyond
knowing that I was alone, and that return through the chasm which I had
just descended would be impossible. It is a dreadful feeling that of
being cut off from all one’s kind. I was still full of hope, and built
golden castles for myself as soon as I was warmed with food and fire;
but I do not believe that any man could long retain his reason in such
solitude, unless he had the companionship of animals. One begins
doubting one’s own identity.

I remember deriving comfort even from the sight of my blankets, and the
sound of my watch ticking—things which seemed to link me to other
people; but the screaming of the wood-hens frightened me, as also a
chattering bird which I had never heard before, and which seemed to
laugh at me; though I soon got used to it, and before long could fancy
that it was many years since I had first heard it.

I took off my clothes, and wrapped my inside blanket about me, till my
things were dry. The night was very still, and I made a roaring fire;
so I soon got warm, and at last could put my clothes on again. Then I
strapped my blanket round me, and went to sleep as near the fire as I
could.

I dreamed that there was an organ placed in my master’s wool-shed: the
wool-shed faded away, and the organ seemed to grow and grow amid a
blaze of brilliant light, till it became like a golden city upon the
side of a mountain, with rows upon rows of pipes set in cliffs and
precipices, one above the other, and in mysterious caverns, like that
of Fingal, within whose depths I could see the burnished pillars
gleaming. In the front there was a flight of lofty terraces, at the top
of which I could see a man with his head buried forward towards a
key-board, and his body swaying from side to side amid the storm of
huge arpeggioed harmonies that came crashing overhead and round. Then
there was one who touched me on the shoulder, and said, “Do you not
see? it is Handel”;—but I had hardly apprehended, and was trying to
scale the terraces, and get near him, when I awoke, dazzled with the
vividness and distinctness of the dream.

A piece of wood had burned through, and the ends had fallen into the
ashes with a blaze: this, I supposed, had both given me my dream and
robbed me of it. I was bitterly disappointed, and sitting up on my
elbow, came back to reality and my strange surroundings as best I
could.

I was thoroughly aroused—moreover, I felt a foreshadowing as though my
attention were arrested by something more than the dream, although no
sense in particular was as yet appealed to. I held my breath and
waited, and then I heard—was it fancy? Nay; I listened again and again,
and I _did_ hear a faint and extremely distant sound of music, like
that of an AEolian harp, borne upon the wind which was blowing fresh
and chill from the opposite mountains.

The roots of my hair thrilled. I listened, but the wind had died; and,
fancying that it must have been the wind itself—no; on a sudden I
remembered the noise which Chowbok had made in the wool-shed. Yes; it
was that.

Thank Heaven, whatever it was, it was over now. I reasoned with myself,
and recovered my firmness. I became convinced that I had only been
dreaming more vividly than usual. Soon I began even to laugh, and think
what a fool I was to be frightened at nothing, reminding myself that
even if I were to come to a bad end it would be no such dreadful matter
after all. I said my prayers, a duty which I had too often neglected,
and in a little time fell into a really refreshing sleep, which lasted
till broad daylight, and restored me. I rose, and searching among the
embers of my fire, I found a few live coals and soon had a blaze again.
I got breakfast, and was delighted to have the company of several small
birds, which hopped about me and perched on my boots and hands. I felt
comparatively happy, but I can assure the reader that I had had a far
worse time of it than I have told him; and I strongly recommend him to
remain in Europe if he can; or, at any rate, in some country which has
been explored and settled, rather than go into places where others have
not been before him. Exploring is delightful to look forward to and
back upon, but it is not comfortable at the time, unless it be of such
an easy nature as not to deserve the name.

CHAPTER V. THE RIVER AND THE RANGE

My next business was to descend upon the river. I had lost sight of the
pass which I had seen from the saddle, but had made such notes of it
that I could not fail to find it. I was bruised and stiff, and my boots
had begun to give, for I had been going on rough ground for more than
three weeks; but, as the day wore on, and I found myself descending
without serious difficulty, I became easier. In a couple of hours I got
among pine forests where there was little undergrowth, and descended
quickly till I reached the edge of another precipice, which gave me a
great deal of trouble, though I eventually managed to avoid it. By
about three or four o’clock I found myself on the river-bed.

From calculations which I made as to the height of the valley on the
other side the saddle over which I had come, I concluded that the
saddle itself could not be less than nine thousand feet high; and I
should think that the river-bed, on to which I now descended, was three
thousand feet above the sea-level. The water had a terrific current,
with a fall of not less than forty to fifty feet per mile. It was
certainly the river next to the northward of that which flowed past my
master’s run, and would have to go through an impassable gorge (as is
commonly the case with the rivers of that country) before it came upon
known parts. It was reckoned to be nearly two thousand feet above the
sea-level where it came out of the gorge on to the plains.

As soon as I got to the river side I liked it even less than I thought
I should. It was muddy, being near its parent glaciers. The stream was
wide, rapid, and rough, and I could hear the smaller stones knocking
against each other under the rage of the waters, as upon a seashore.
Fording was out of the question. I could not swim and carry my swag,
and I dared not leave my swag behind me. My only chance was to make a
small raft; and that would be difficult to make, and not at all safe
when it was made,—not for one man in such a current.

As it was too late to do much that afternoon, I spent the rest of it in
going up and down the river side, and seeing where I should find the
most favourable crossing. Then I camped early, and had a quiet
comfortable night with no more music, for which I was thankful, as it
had haunted me all day, although I perfectly well knew that it had been
nothing but my own fancy, brought on by the reminiscence of what I had
heard from Chowbok and by the over-excitement of the preceding evening.

Next day I began gathering the dry bloom stalks of a kind of flag or
iris-looking plant, which was abundant, and whose leaves, when torn
into strips, were as strong as the strongest string. I brought them to
the waterside, and fell to making myself a kind of rough platform,
which should suffice for myself and my swag if I could only stick to
it. The stalks were ten or twelve feet long, and very strong, but light
and hollow. I made my raft entirely of them, binding bundles of them at
right angles to each other, neatly and strongly, with strips from the
leaves of the same plant, and tying other rods across. It took me all
day till nearly four o’clock to finish the raft, but I had still enough
daylight for crossing, and resolved on doing so at once.

I had selected a place where the river was broad and comparatively
still, some seventy or eighty yards above a furious rapid. At this spot
I had built my raft. I now launched it, made my swag fast to the
middle, and got on to it myself, keeping in my hand one of the longest
blossom stalks, so that I might punt myself across as long as the water
was shallow enough to let me do so. I got on pretty well for twenty or
thirty yards from the shore, but even in this short space I nearly
upset my raft by shifting too rapidly from one side to the other. The
water then became much deeper, and I leaned over so far in order to get
the bloom rod to the bottom that I had to stay still, leaning on the
rod for a few seconds. Then, when I lifted up the rod from the ground,
the current was too much for me and I found myself being carried down
the rapid. Everything in a second flew past me, and I had no more
control over the raft; neither can I remember anything except hurry,
and noise, and waters which in the end upset me. But it all came right,
and I found myself near the shore, not more than up to my knees in
water and pulling my raft to land, fortunately upon the left bank of
the river, which was the one I wanted. When I had landed I found that I
was about a mile, or perhaps a little less, below the point from which
I started. My swag was wet upon the outside, and I was myself dripping;
but I had gained my point, and knew that my difficulties were for a
time over. I then lit my fire and dried myself; having done so I caught
some of the young ducks and sea-gulls, which were abundant on and near
the river-bed, so that I had not only a good meal, of which I was in
great want, having had an insufficient diet from the time that Chowbok
left me, but was also well provided for the morrow.

I thought of Chowbok, and felt how useful he had been to me, and in how
many ways I was the loser by his absence, having now to do all sorts of
things for myself which he had hitherto done for me, and could do
infinitely better than I could. Moreover, I had set my heart upon
making him a real convert to the Christian religion, which he had
already embraced outwardly, though I cannot think that it had taken
deep root in his impenetrably stupid nature. I used to catechise him by
our camp fire, and explain to him the mysteries of the Trinity and of
original sin, with which I was myself familiar, having been the
grandson of an archdeacon by my mother’s side, to say nothing of the
fact that my father was a clergyman of the English Church. I was
therefore sufficiently qualified for the task, and was the more
inclined to it, over and above my real desire to save the unhappy
creature from an eternity of torture, by recollecting the promise of
St. James, that if any one converted a sinner (which Chowbok surely
was) he should hide a multitude of sins. I reflected, therefore, that
the conversion of Chowbok might in some degree compensate for
irregularities and short-comings in my own previous life, the
remembrance of which had been more than once unpleasant to me during my
recent experiences.

Indeed, on one occasion I had even gone so far as to baptize him, as
well as I could, having ascertained that he had certainly not been both
christened and baptized, and gathering (from his telling me that he had
received the name William from the missionary) that it was probably the
first-mentioned rite to which he had been subjected. I thought it great
carelessness on the part of the missionary to have omitted the second,
and certainly more important, ceremony which I have always understood
precedes christening both in the case of infants and of adult converts;
and when I thought of the risks we were both incurring I determined
that there should be no further delay. Fortunately it was not yet
twelve o’clock, so I baptized him at once from one of the pannikins
(the only vessels I had) reverently, and, I trust, efficiently. I then
set myself to work to instruct him in the deeper mysteries of our
belief, and to make him, not only in name, but in heart a Christian.

It is true that I might not have succeeded, for Chowbok was very hard
to teach. Indeed, on the evening of the same day that I baptized him he
tried for the twentieth time to steal the brandy, which made me rather
unhappy as to whether I could have baptized him rightly. He had a
prayer-book—more than twenty years old—which had been given him by the
missionaries, but the only thing in it which had taken any living hold
upon him was the title of Adelaide the Queen Dowager, which he would
repeat whenever strongly moved or touched, and which did really seem to
have some deep spiritual significance to him, though he could never
completely separate her individuality from that of Mary Magdalene,
whose name had also fascinated him, though in a less degree.

He was indeed stony ground, but by digging about him I might have at
any rate deprived him of all faith in the religion of his tribe, which
would have been half way towards making him a sincere Christian; and
now all this was cut off from me, and I could neither be of further
spiritual assistance to him nor he of bodily profit to myself: besides,
any company was better than being quite alone.

I got very melancholy as these reflections crossed me, but when I had
boiled the ducks and eaten them I was much better. I had a little tea
left and about a pound of tobacco, which should last me for another
fortnight with moderate smoking. I had also eight ship biscuits, and,
most precious of all, about six ounces of brandy, which I presently
reduced to four, for the night was cold.

I rose with early dawn, and in an hour I was on my way, feeling
strange, not to say weak, from the burden of solitude, but full of hope
when I considered how many dangers I had overcome, and that this day
should see me at the summit of the dividing range.

After a slow but steady climb of between three and four hours, during
which I met with no serious hindrance, I found myself upon a tableland,
and close to a glacier which I recognised as marking the summit of the
pass. Above it towered a succession of rugged precipices and snowy
mountain sides. The solitude was greater than I could bear; the
mountain upon my master’s sheep-run was a crowded thoroughfare in
comparison with this sombre sullen place. The air, moreover, was dark
and heavy, which made the loneliness even more oppressive. There was an
inky gloom over all that was not covered with snow and ice. Grass there
was none.

Each moment I felt increasing upon me that dreadful doubt as to my own
identity—as to the continuity of my past and present existence—which is
the first sign of that distraction which comes on those who have lost
themselves in the bush. I had fought against this feeling hitherto, and
had conquered it; but the intense silence and gloom of this rocky
wilderness were too much for me, and I felt that my power of collecting
myself was beginning to be impaired.

I rested for a little while, and then advanced over very rough ground,
until I reached the lower end of the glacier. Then I saw another
glacier, descending from the eastern side into a small lake. I passed
along the western side of the lake, where the ground was easier, and
when I had got about half way I expected that I should see the plains
which I had already seen from the opposite mountains; but it was not to
be so, for the clouds rolled up to the very summit of the pass, though
they did not overlip it on to the side from which I had come. I
therefore soon found myself enshrouded by a cold thin vapour, which
prevented my seeing more than a very few yards in front of me. Then I
came upon a large patch of old snow, in which I could distinctly trace
the half-melted tracks of goats—and in one place, as it seemed to me,
there had been a dog following them. Had I lighted upon a land of
shepherds? The ground, where not covered with snow, was so poor and
stony, and there was so little herbage, that I could see no sign of a
path or regular sheep-track. But I could not help feeling rather uneasy
as I wondered what sort of a reception I might meet with if I were to
come suddenly upon inhabitants. I was thinking of this, and proceeding
cautiously through the mist, when I began to fancy that I saw some
objects darker than the cloud looming in front of me. A few steps
brought me nearer, and a shudder of unutterable horror ran through me
when I saw a circle of gigantic forms, many times higher than myself,
upstanding grim and grey through the veil of cloud before me.

I suppose I must have fainted, for I found myself some time afterwards
sitting upon the ground, sick and deadly cold. There were the figures,
quite still and silent, seen vaguely through the thick gloom, but in
human shape indisputably.

A sudden thought occurred to me, which would have doubtless struck me
at once had I not been prepossessed with forebodings at the time that I
first saw the figures, and had not the cloud concealed them from me—I
mean that they were not living beings, but statues. I determined that I
would count fifty slowly, and was sure that the objects were not alive
if during that time I could detect no sign of motion.

How thankful was I when I came to the end of my fifty and there had
been no movement!

I counted a second time—but again all was still.

I then advanced timidly forward, and in another moment I saw that my
surmise was correct. I had come upon a sort of Stonehenge of rude and
barbaric figures, seated as Chowbok had sat when I questioned him in
the wool-shed, and with the same superhumanly malevolent expression
upon their faces. They had been all seated, but two had fallen. They
were barbarous—neither Egyptian, nor Assyrian, nor Japanese—different
from any of these, and yet akin to all. They were six or seven times
larger than life, of great antiquity, worn and lichen grown. They were
ten in number. There was snow upon their heads and wherever snow could
lodge. Each statue had been built of four or five enormous blocks, but
how these had been raised and put together is known to those alone who
raised them. Each was terrible after a different kind. One was raging
furiously, as in pain and great despair; another was lean and
cadaverous with famine; another cruel and idiotic, but with the
silliest simper that can be conceived—this one had fallen, and looked
exquisitely ludicrous in his fall—the mouths of all were more or less
open, and as I looked at them from behind, I saw that their heads had
been hollowed.

I was sick and shivering with cold. Solitude had unmanned me already,
and I was utterly unfit to have come upon such an assembly of fiends in
such a dreadful wilderness and without preparation. I would have given
everything I had in the world to have been back at my master’s station;
but that was not to be thought of: my head was failing, and I felt sure
that I could never get back alive.

Then came a gust of howling wind, accompanied with a moan from one of
the statues above me. I clasped my hands in fear. I felt like a rat
caught in a trap, as though I would have turned and bitten at whatever
thing was nearest me. The wildness of the wind increased, the moans
grew shriller, coming from several statues, and swelling into a chorus.
I almost immediately knew what it was, but the sound was so unearthly
that this was but little consolation. The inhuman beings into whose
hearts the Evil One had put it to conceive these statues, had made
their heads into a sort of organ-pipe, so that their mouths should
catch the wind and sound with its blowing. It was horrible. However
brave a man might be, he could never stand such a concert, from such
lips, and in such a place. I heaped every invective upon them that my
tongue could utter as I rushed away from them into the mist, and even
after I had lost sight of them, and turning my head round could see
nothing but the storm-wraiths driving behind me, I heard their ghostly
chanting, and felt as though one of them would rush after me and grip
me in his hand and throttle me.

I may say here that, since my return to England, I heard a friend
playing some chords upon the organ which put me very forcibly in mind
of the Erewhonian statues (for Erewhon is the name of the country upon
which I was now entering). They rose most vividly to my recollection
the moment my friend began. They are as follows, and are by the
greatest of all musicians:—[2]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VI. INTO EREWHON

And now I found myself on a narrow path which followed a small
watercourse. I was too glad to have an easy track for my flight, to lay
hold of the full significance of its existence. The thought, however,
soon presented itself to me that I must be in an inhabited country, but
one which was yet unknown. What, then, was to be my fate at the hands
of its inhabitants? Should I be taken and offered up as a
burnt-offering to those hideous guardians of the pass? It might be so.
I shuddered at the thought, yet the horrors of solitude had now fairly
possessed me; and so dazed was I, and chilled, and woebegone, that I
could lay hold of no idea firmly amid the crowd of fancies that kept
wandering in upon my brain.

I hurried onward—down, down, down. More streams came in; then there was
a bridge, a few pine logs thrown over the water; but they gave me
comfort, for savages do not make bridges. Then I had a treat such as I
can never convey on paper—a moment, perhaps, the most striking and
unexpected in my whole life—the one I think that, with some three or
four exceptions, I would most gladly have again, were I able to recall
it. I got below the level of the clouds, into a burst of brilliant
evening sunshine, I was facing the north-west, and the sun was full
upon me. Oh, how its light cheered me! But what I saw! It was such an
expanse as was revealed to Moses when he stood upon the summit of Mount
Sinai, and beheld that promised land which it was not to be his to
enter. The beautiful sunset sky was crimson and gold; blue, silver, and
purple; exquisite and tranquillising; fading away therein were plains,
on which I could see many a town and city, with buildings that had
lofty steeples and rounded domes. Nearer beneath me lay ridge behind
ridge, outline behind outline, sunlight behind shadow, and shadow
behind sunlight, gully and serrated ravine. I saw large pine forests,
and the glitter of a noble river winding its way upon the plains; also
many villages and hamlets, some of them quite near at hand; and it was
on these that I pondered most. I sank upon the ground at the foot of a
large tree and thought what I had best do; but I could not collect
myself. I was quite tired out; and presently, feeling warmed by the
sun, and quieted, I fell off into a profound sleep.

I was awoke by the sound of tinkling bells, and looking up, I saw four
or five goats feeding near me. As soon as I moved, the creatures turned
their heads towards me with an expression of infinite wonder. They did
not run away, but stood stock still, and looked at me from every side,
as I at them. Then came the sound of chattering and laughter, and there
approached two lovely girls, of about seventeen or eighteen years old,
dressed each in a sort of linen gaberdine, with a girdle round the
waist. They saw me. I sat quite still and looked at them, dazzled with
their extreme beauty. For a moment they looked at me and at each other
in great amazement; then they gave a little frightened cry and ran off
as hard as they could.

“So that’s that,” said I to myself, as I watched them scampering. I
knew that I had better stay where I was and meet my fate, whatever it
was to be, and even if there were a better course, I had no strength
left to take it. I must come into contact with the inhabitants sooner
or later, and it might as well be sooner. Better not to seem afraid of
them, as I should do by running away and being caught with a hue and
cry to-morrow or next day. So I remained quite still and waited. In
about an hour I heard distant voices talking excitedly, and in a few
minutes I saw the two girls bringing up a party of six or seven men,
well armed with bows and arrows and pikes. There was nothing for it, so
I remained sitting quite still, even after they had seen me, until they
came close up. Then we all had a good look at one another.

Both the girls and the men were very dark in colour, but not more so
than the South Italians or Spaniards. The men wore no trousers, but
were dressed nearly the same as the Arabs whom I have seen in Algeria.
They were of the most magnificent presence, being no less strong and
handsome than the women were beautiful; and not only this, but their
expression was courteous and benign. I think they would have killed me
at once if I had made the slightest show of violence; but they gave me
no impression of their being likely to hurt me so long as I was quiet.
I am not much given to liking anybody at first sight, but these people
impressed me much more favourably than I should have thought possible,
so that I could not fear them as I scanned their faces one after
another. They were all powerful men. I might have been a match for any
one of them singly, for I have been told that I have more to glory in
the flesh than in any other respect, being over six feet and
proportionately strong; but any two could have soon mastered me, even
were I not so bereft of energy by my recent adventures. My colour
seemed to surprise them most, for I have light hair, blue eyes, and a
fresh complexion. They could not understand how these things could be;
my clothes also seemed quite beyond them. Their eyes kept wandering all
over me, and the more they looked the less they seemed able to make me
out.

At last I raised myself upon my feet, and leaning upon my stick, I
spoke whatever came into my head to the man who seemed foremost among
them. I spoke in English, though I was very sure that he would not
understand. I said that I had no idea what country I was in; that I had
stumbled upon it almost by accident, after a series of hairbreadth
escapes; and that I trusted they would not allow any evil to overtake
me now that I was completely at their mercy. All this I said quietly
and firmly, with hardly any change of expression. They could not
understand me, but they looked approvingly to one another, and seemed
pleased (so I thought) that I showed no fear nor acknowledgment of
inferiority—the fact being that I was exhausted beyond the sense of
fear. Then one of them pointed to the mountain, in the direction of the
statues, and made a grimace in imitation of one of them. I laughed and
shuddered expressively, whereon they all burst out laughing too, and
chattered hard to one another. I could make out nothing of what they
said, but I think they thought it rather a good joke that I had come
past the statues. Then one among them came forward and motioned me to
follow, which I did without hesitation, for I dared not thwart them;
moreover, I liked them well enough, and felt tolerably sure that they
had no intention of hurting me.

In about a quarter of an hour we got to a small hamlet built on the
side of a hill, with a narrow street and houses huddled up together.
The roofs were large and overhanging. Some few windows were glazed, but
not many. Altogether the village was exceedingly like one of those that
one comes upon in descending the less known passes over the Alps on to
Lombardy. I will pass over the excitement which my arrival caused.
Suffice it, that though there was abundance of curiosity, there was no
rudeness. I was taken to the principal house, which seemed to belong to
the people who had captured me. There I was hospitably entertained, and
a supper of milk and goat’s flesh with a kind of oatcake was set before
me, of which I ate heartily. But all the time I was eating I could not
help turning my eyes upon the two beautiful girls whom I had first
seen, and who seemed to consider me as their lawful prize—which indeed
I was, for I would have gone through fire and water for either of them.

Then came the inevitable surprise at seeing me smoke, which I will
spare the reader; but I noticed that when they saw me strike a match,
there was a hubbub of excitement which, it struck me, was not
altogether unmixed with disapproval: why, I could not guess. Then the
women retired, and I was left alone with the men, who tried to talk to
me in every conceivable way; but we could come to no understanding,
except that I was quite alone, and had come from a long way over the
mountains. In the course of time they grew tired, and I very sleepy. I
made signs as though I would sleep on the floor in my blankets, but
they gave me one of their bunks with plenty of dried fern and grass, on
to which I had no sooner laid myself than I fell fast asleep; nor did I
awake till well into the following day, when I found myself in the hut
with two men keeping guard over me and an old woman cooking. When I
woke the men seemed pleased, and spoke to me as though bidding me good
morning in a pleasant tone.

I went out of doors to wash in a creek which ran a few yards from the
house. My hosts were as engrossed with me as ever; they never took
their eyes off me, following every action that I did, no matter how
trifling, and each looking towards the other for his opinion at every
touch and turn. They took great interest in my ablutions, for they
seemed to have doubted whether I was in all respects human like
themselves. They even laid hold of my arms and overhauled them, and
expressed approval when they saw that they were strong and muscular.
They now examined my legs, and especially my feet. When they desisted
they nodded approvingly to each other; and when I had combed and
brushed my hair, and generally made myself as neat and well arranged as
circumstances would allow, I could see that their respect for me
increased greatly, and that they were by no means sure that they had
treated me with sufficient deference—a matter on which I am not
competent to decide. All I know is that they were very good to me, for
which I thanked them heartily, as it might well have been otherwise.

For my own part, I liked them and admired them, for their quiet
self-possession and dignified ease impressed me pleasurably at once.
Neither did their manner make me feel as though I were personally
distasteful to them—only that I was a thing utterly new and unlooked
for, which they could not comprehend. Their type was more that of the
most robust Italians than any other; their manners also were eminently
Italian, in their entire unconsciousness of self. Having travelled a
good deal in Italy, I was struck with little gestures of the hand and
shoulders, which constantly reminded me of that country. My feeling was
that my wisest plan would be to go on as I had begun, and be simply
myself for better or worse, such as I was, and take my chance
accordingly.

I thought of these things while they were waiting for me to have done
washing, and on my way back. Then they gave me breakfast—hot bread and
milk, and fried flesh of something between mutton and venison. Their
ways of cooking and eating were European, though they had only a skewer
for a fork, and a sort of butcher’s knife to cut with. The more I
looked at everything in the house, the more I was struck with its
quasi-European character; and had the walls only been pasted over with
extracts from the _Illustrated London News_ and _Punch_, I could have
almost fancied myself in a shepherd’s hut upon my master’s sheep-run.
And yet everything was slightly different. It was much the same with
the birds and flowers on the other side, as compared with the English
ones. On my arrival I had been pleased at noticing that nearly all the
plants and birds were very like common English ones: thus, there was a
robin, and a lark, and a wren, and daisies, and dandelions; not quite
the same as the English, but still very like them—quite like enough to
be called by the same name; so now, here, the ways of these two men,
and the things they had in the house, were all very nearly the same as
in Europe. It was not at all like going to China or Japan, where
everything that one sees is strange. I was, indeed, at once struck with
the primitive character of their appliances, for they seemed to be some
five or six hundred years behind Europe in their inventions; but this
is the case in many an Italian village.

All the time that I was eating my breakfast I kept speculating as to
what family of mankind they could belong to; and shortly there came an
idea into my head, which brought the blood into my cheeks with
excitement as I thought of it. Was it possible that they might be the
lost ten tribes of Israel, of whom I had heard both my grandfather and
my father make mention as existing in an unknown country, and awaiting
a final return to Palestine? Was it possible that I might have been
designed by Providence as the instrument of their conversion? Oh, what
a thought was this! I laid down my skewer and gave them a hasty survey.
There was nothing of a Jewish type about them: their noses were
distinctly Grecian, and their lips, though full, were not Jewish.

How could I settle this question? I knew neither Greek nor Hebrew, and
even if I should get to understand the language here spoken, I should
be unable to detect the roots of either of these tongues. I had not
been long enough among them to ascertain their habits, but they did not
give me the impression of being a religious people. This too was
natural: the ten tribes had been always lamentably irreligious. But
could I not make them change? To restore the lost ten tribes of Israel
to a knowledge of the only truth: here would be indeed an immortal
crown of glory! My heart beat fast and furious as I entertained the
thought. What a position would it not ensure me in the next world; or
perhaps even in this! What folly it would be to throw such a chance
away! I should rank next to the Apostles, if not as high as
they—certainly above the minor prophets, and possibly above any Old
Testament writer except Moses and Isaiah. For such a future as this I
would sacrifice all that I have without a moment’s hesitation, could I
be reasonably assured of it. I had always cordially approved of
missionary efforts, and had at times contributed my mite towards their
support and extension; but I had never hitherto felt drawn towards
becoming a missionary myself; and indeed had always admired, and
envied, and respected them, more than I had exactly liked them. But if
these people were the lost ten tribes of Israel, the case would be
widely different: the opening was too excellent to be lost, and I
resolved that should I see indications which appeared to confirm my
impression that I had indeed come upon the missing tribes, I would
certainly convert them.

I may here mention that this discovery is the one to which I alluded in
the opening pages of my story. Time strengthened the impression made
upon me at first; and, though I remained in doubt for several months, I
feel now no longer uncertain.

When I had done eating, my hosts approached, and pointed down the
valley leading to their own country, as though wanting to show that I
must go with them; at the same time they laid hold of my arms, and made
as though they would take me, but used no violence. I laughed, and
motioned my hand across my throat, pointing down the valley as though I
was afraid lest I should be killed when I got there. But they divined
me at once, and shook their heads with much decision, to show that I
was in no danger. Their manner quite reassured me; and in half an hour
or so I had packed up my swag, and was eager for the forward journey,
feeling wonderfully strengthened and refreshed by good food and sleep,
while my hope and curiosity were aroused to their very utmost by the
extraordinary position in which I found myself.

But already my excitement had begun to cool and I reflected that these
people might not be the ten tribes after all; in which case I could not
but regret that my hopes of making money, which had led me into so much
trouble and danger, were almost annihilated by the fact that the
country was full to overflowing, with a people who had probably already
developed its more available resources. Moreover, how was I to get
back? For there was something about my hosts which told me that they
had got me, and meant to keep me, in spite of all their goodness.

CHAPTER VII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

We followed an Alpine path for some four miles, now hundreds of feet
above a brawling stream which descended from the glaciers, and now
nearly alongside it. The morning was cold and somewhat foggy, for the
autumn had made great strides latterly. Sometimes we went through
forests of pine, or rather yew trees, though they looked like pine; and
I remember that now and again we passed a little wayside shrine,
wherein there would be a statue of great beauty, representing some
figure, male or female, in the very heyday of youth, strength, and
beauty, or of the most dignified maturity and old age. My hosts always
bowed their heads as they passed one of these shrines, and it shocked
me to see statues that had no apparent object, beyond the chronicling
of some unusual individual excellence or beauty, receive so serious a
homage. However, I showed no sign of wonder or disapproval; for I
remembered that to be all things to all men was one of the injunctions
of the Gentile Apostle, which for the present I should do well to heed.
Shortly after passing one of these chapels we came suddenly upon a
village which started up out of the mist; and I was alarmed lest I
should be made an object of curiosity or dislike. But it was not so. My
guides spoke to many in passing, and those spoken to showed much
amazement. My guides, however, were well known, and the natural
politeness of the people prevented them from putting me to any
inconvenience; but they could not help eyeing me, nor I them. I may as
well say at once what my after-experience taught me—namely, that with
all their faults and extraordinary obliquity of mental vision upon many
subjects, they are the very best-bred people that I ever fell in with.

The village was just like the one we had left, only rather larger. The
streets were narrow and unpaved, but very fairly clean. The vine grew
outside many of the houses; and there were some with sign-boards, on
which was painted a bottle and a glass, that made me feel much at home.
Even on this ledge of human society there was a stunted growth of
shoplets, which had taken root and vegetated somehow, though as in an
air mercantile of the bleakest. It was here as hitherto: all things
were generically the same as in Europe, the differences being of
species only; and I was amused at seeing in a window some bottles with
barley-sugar and sweetmeats for children, as at home; but the
barley-sugar was in plates, not in twisted sticks, and was coloured
blue. Glass was plentiful in the better houses.

Lastly, I should say that the people were of a physical beauty which
was simply amazing. I never saw anything in the least comparable to
them. The women were vigorous, and had a most majestic gait, their
heads being set upon their shoulders with a grace beyond all power of
expression. Each feature was finished, eyelids, eyelashes, and ears
being almost invariably perfect. Their colour was equal to that of the
finest Italian paintings; being of the clearest olive, and yet ruddy
with a glow of perfect health. Their expression was divine; and as they
glanced at me timidly but with parted lips in great bewilderment, I
forgot all thoughts of their conversion in feelings that were far more
earthly. I was dazzled as I saw one after the other, of whom I could
only feel that each was the loveliest I had ever seen. Even in middle
age they were still comely, and the old grey-haired women at their
cottage doors had a dignity, not to say majesty, of their own.

The men were as handsome as the women beautiful. I have always
delighted in and reverenced beauty; but I felt simply abashed in the
presence of such a splendid type—a compound of all that is best in
Egyptian, Greek and Italian. The children were infinite in number, and
exceedingly merry; I need hardly say that they came in for their full
share of the prevailing beauty. I expressed by signs my admiration and
pleasure to my guides, and they were greatly pleased. I should add that
all seemed to take a pride in their personal appearance, and that even
the poorest (and none seemed rich) were well kempt and tidy. I could
fill many pages with a description of their dress and the ornaments
which they wore, and a hundred details which struck me with all the
force of novelty; but I must not stay to do so.

When we had got past the village the fog rose, and revealed magnificent
views of the snowy mountains and their nearer abutments, while in front
I could now and again catch glimpses of the great plains which I had
surveyed on the preceding evening. The country was highly cultivated,
every ledge being planted with chestnuts, walnuts, and apple-trees from
which the apples were now gathering. Goats were abundant; also a kind
of small black cattle, in the marshes near the river, which was now
fast widening, and running between larger flats from which the hills
receded more and more. I saw a few sheep with rounded noses and
enormous tails. Dogs were there in plenty, and very English; but I saw
no cats, nor indeed are these creatures known, their place being
supplied by a sort of small terrier.

In about four hours of walking from the time we started, and after
passing two or three more villages, we came upon a considerable town,
and my guides made many attempts to make me understand something, but I
gathered no inkling of their meaning, except that I need be under no
apprehension of danger. I will spare the reader any description of the
town, and would only bid him think of Domodossola or Faido. Suffice it
that I found myself taken before the chief magistrate, and by his
orders was placed in an apartment with two other people, who were the
first I had seen looking anything but well and handsome. In fact, one
of them was plainly very much out of health, and coughed violently from
time to time in spite of manifest efforts to suppress it. The other
looked pale and ill but he was marvellously self-contained, and it was
impossible to say what was the matter with him. Both of them appeared
astonished at seeing one who was evidently a stranger, but they were
too ill to come up to me, and form conclusions concerning me. These two
were first called out; and in about a quarter of an hour I was made to
follow them, which I did in some fear, and with much curiosity.

The chief magistrate was a venerable-looking man, with white hair and
beard and a face of great sagacity. He looked me all over for about
five minutes, letting his eyes wander from the crown of my head to the
soles of my feet, up and down, and down and up; neither did his mind
seem in the least clearer when he had done looking than when he began.
He at length asked me a single short question, which I supposed meant
“Who are you?” I answered in English quite composedly as though he
would understand me, and endeavoured to be my very most natural self as
well as I could. He appeared more and more puzzled, and then retired,
returning with two others much like himself. Then they took me into an
inner room, and the two fresh arrivals stripped me, while the chief
looked on. They felt my pulse, they looked at my tongue, they listened
at my chest, they felt all my muscles; and at the end of each operation
they looked at the chief and nodded, and said something in a tone quite
pleasant, as though I were all right. They even pulled down my eyelids,
and looked, I suppose, to see if they were bloodshot; but it was not
so. At length they gave up; and I think that all were satisfied of my
being in the most perfect health, and very robust to boot. At last the
old magistrate made me a speech of about five minutes long, which the
other two appeared to think greatly to the point, but from which I
gathered nothing. As soon as it was ended, they proceeded to overhaul
my swag and the contents of my pockets. This gave me little uneasiness,
for I had no money with me, nor anything which they were at all likely
to want, or which I cared about losing. At least I fancied so, but I
soon found my mistake.

They got on comfortably at first, though they were much puzzled with my
tobacco-pipe and insisted on seeing me use it. When I had shown them
what I did with it, they were astonished but not displeased, and seemed
to like the smell. But by and by they came to my watch, which I had
hidden away in the inmost pocket that I had, and had forgotten when
they began their search. They seemed concerned and uneasy as soon as
they got hold of it. They then made me open it and show the works; and
when I had done so they gave signs of very grave displeasure, which
disturbed me all the more because I could not conceive wherein it could
have offended them.

I remember that when they first found it I had thought of Paley, and
how he tells us that a savage on seeing a watch would at once conclude
that it was designed. True, these people were not savages, but I none
the less felt sure that this was the conclusion they would arrive at;
and I was thinking what a wonderfully wise man Archbishop Paley must
have been, when I was aroused by a look of horror and dismay upon the
face of the magistrate, a look which conveyed to me the impression that
he regarded my watch not as having been designed, but rather as the
designer of himself and of the universe; or as at any rate one of the
great first causes of all things.

Then it struck me that this view was quite as likely to be taken as the
other by a people who had no experience of European civilisation, and I
was a little piqued with Paley for having led me so much astray; but I
soon discovered that I had misinterpreted the expression on the
magistrate’s face, and that it was one not of fear, but hatred. He
spoke to me solemnly and sternly for two or three minutes. Then,
reflecting that this was of no use, he caused me to be conducted
through several passages into a large room, which I afterwards found
was the museum of the town, and wherein I beheld a sight which
astonished me more than anything that I had yet seen.

It was filled with cases containing all manner of curiosities—such as
skeletons, stuffed birds and animals, carvings in stone (whereof I saw
several that were like those on the saddle, only smaller), but the
greater part of the room was occupied by broken machinery of all
descriptions. The larger specimens had a case to themselves, and
tickets with writing on them in a character which I could not
understand. There were fragments of steam engines, all broken and
rusted; among them I saw a cylinder and piston, a broken fly-wheel, and
part of a crank, which was laid on the ground by their side. Again,
there was a very old carriage whose wheels in spite of rust and decay,
I could see, had been designed originally for iron rails. Indeed, there
were fragments of a great many of our own most advanced inventions; but
they seemed all to be several hundred years old, and to be placed where
they were, not for instruction, but curiosity. As I said before, all
were marred and broken.

We passed many cases, and at last came to one in which there were
several clocks and two or three old watches. Here the magistrate
stopped, and opening the case began comparing my watch with the others.
The design was different, but the thing was clearly the same. On this
he turned to me and made me a speech in a severe and injured tone of
voice, pointing repeatedly to the watches in the case, and to my own;
neither did he seem in the least appeased until I made signs to him
that he had better take my watch and put it with the others. This had
some effect in calming him. I said in English (trusting to tone and
manner to convey my meaning) that I was exceedingly sorry if I had been
found to have anything contraband in my possession; that I had had no
intention of evading the ordinary tolls, and that I would gladly
forfeit the watch if my doing so would atone for an unintentional
violation of the law. He began presently to relent, and spoke to me in
a kinder manner. I think he saw that I had offended without knowledge;
but I believe the chief thing that brought him round was my not seeming
to be afraid of him, although I was quite respectful; this, and my
having light hair and complexion, on which he had remarked previously
by signs, as every one else had done.

I afterwards found that it was reckoned a very great merit to have fair
hair, this being a thing of the rarest possible occurrence, and greatly
admired and envied in all who were possessed of it. However that might
be, my watch was taken from me; but our peace was made, and I was
conducted back to the room where I had been examined. The magistrate
then made me another speech, whereon I was taken to a building hard by,
which I soon discovered to be the common prison of the town, but in
which an apartment was assigned me separate from the other prisoners.
The room contained a bed, table, and chairs, also a fireplace and a
washing-stand. There was another door, which opened on to a balcony,
with a flight of steps descending into a walled garden of some size.
The man who conducted me into this room made signs to me that I might
go down and walk in the garden whenever I pleased, and intimated that I
should shortly have something brought me to eat. I was allowed to
retain my blankets, and the few things which I had wrapped inside them,
but it was plain that I was to consider myself a prisoner—for how long
a period I could not by any means determine. He then left me alone.

CHAPTER VIII. IN PRISON

And now for the first time my courage completely failed me. It is
enough to say that I was penniless, and a prisoner in a foreign
country, where I had no friend, nor any knowledge of the customs or
language of the people. I was at the mercy of men with whom I had
little in common. And yet, engrossed as I was with my extremely
difficult and doubtful position, I could not help feeling deeply
interested in the people among whom I had fallen. What was the meaning
of that room full of old machinery which I had just seen, and of the
displeasure with which the magistrate had regarded my watch? The people
had very little machinery now. I had been struck with this over and
over again, though I had not been more than four-and-twenty hours in
the country. They were about as far advanced as Europeans of the
twelfth or thirteenth century; certainly not more so. And yet they must
have had at one time the fullest knowledge of our own most recent
inventions. How could it have happened that having been once so far in
advance they were now as much behind us? It was evident that it was not
from ignorance. They knew my watch as a watch when they saw it; and the
care with which the broken machines were preserved and ticketed, proved
that they had not lost the recollection of their former civilisation.
The more I thought, the less I could understand it; but at last I
concluded that they must have worked out their mines of coal and iron,
till either none were left, or so few, that the use of these metals was
restricted to the very highest nobility. This was the only solution I
could think of; and, though I afterwards found how entirely mistaken it
was, I felt quite sure then that it must be the right one.

I had hardly arrived at this opinion for above four or five minutes,
when the door opened, and a young woman made her appearance with a
tray, and a very appetising smell of dinner. I gazed upon her with
admiration as she laid a cloth and set a savoury-looking dish upon the
table. As I beheld her I felt as though my position was already much
ameliorated, for the very sight of her carried great comfort. She was
not more than twenty, rather above the middle height, active and
strong, but yet most delicately featured; her lips were full and sweet;
her eyes were of a deep hazel, and fringed with long and springing
eyelashes; her hair was neatly braided from off her forehead; her
complexion was simply exquisite; her figure as robust as was consistent
with the most perfect female beauty, yet not more so; her hands and
feet might have served as models to a sculptor. Having set the stew
upon the table, she retired with a glance of pity, whereon (remembering
pity’s kinsman) I decided that she should pity me a little more. She
returned with a bottle and a glass, and found me sitting on the bed
with my hands over my face, looking the very picture of abject misery,
and, like all pictures, rather untruthful. As I watched her, through my
fingers, out of the room again, I felt sure that she was exceedingly
sorry for me. Her back being turned, I set to work and ate my dinner,
which was excellent.

She returned in about an hour to take away; and there came with her a
man who had a great bunch of keys at his waist, and whose manner
convinced me that he was the jailor. I afterwards found that he was
father to the beautiful creature who had brought me my dinner. I am not
a much greater hypocrite than other people, and do what I would, I
could not look so very miserable. I had already recovered from my
dejection, and felt in a most genial humour both with my jailor and his
daughter. I thanked them for their attention towards me; and, though
they could not understand, they looked at one another and laughed and
chattered till the old man said something or other which I suppose was
a joke; for the girl laughed merrily and ran away, leaving her father
to take away the dinner things. Then I had another visitor, who was not
so prepossessing, and who seemed to have a great idea of himself and a
small one of me. He brought a book with him, and pens and paper—all
very English; and yet, neither paper, nor printing, nor binding, nor
pen, nor ink, were quite the same as ours.

He gave me to understand that he was to teach me the language and that
we were to begin at once. This delighted me, both because I should be
more comfortable when I could understand and make myself understood,
and because I supposed that the authorities would hardly teach me the
language if they intended any cruel usage towards me afterwards. We
began at once, and I learnt the names of everything in the room, and
also the numerals and personal pronouns. I found to my sorrow that the
resemblance to European things, which I had so frequently observed
hitherto, did not hold good in the matter of language; for I could
detect no analogy whatever between this and any tongue of which I have
the slightest knowledge,—a thing which made me think it possible that I
might be learning Hebrew.

I must detail no longer; from this time my days were spent with a
monotony which would have been tedious but for the society of Yram, the
jailor’s daughter, who had taken a great fancy for me and treated me
with the utmost kindness. The man came every day to teach me the
language, but my real dictionary and grammar were Yram; and I consulted
them to such purpose that I made the most extraordinary progress, being
able at the end of a month to understand a great deal of the
conversation which I overheard between Yram and her father. My teacher
professed himself well satisfied, and said he should make a favourable
report of me to the authorities. I then questioned him as to what would
probably be done with me. He told me that my arrival had caused great
excitement throughout the country, and that I was to be detained a
close prisoner until the receipt of advices from the Government. My
having had a watch, he said, was the only damaging feature in the case.
And then, in answer to my asking why this should be so, he gave me a
long story of which with my imperfect knowledge of the language I could
make nothing whatever, except that it was a very heinous offence,
almost as bad (at least, so I thought I understood him) as having
typhus fever. But he said he thought my light hair would save me.

I was allowed to walk in the garden; there was a high wall so that I
managed to play a sort of hand fives, which prevented my feeling the
bad effects of my confinement, though it was stupid work playing alone.
In the course of time people from the town and neighbourhood began to
pester the jailor to be allowed to see me, and on receiving handsome
fees he let them do so. The people were good to me; almost too good,
for they were inclined to make a lion of me, which I hated—at least the
women were; only they had to beware of Yram, who was a young lady of a
jealous temperament, and kept a sharp eye both on me and on my lady
visitors. However, I felt so kindly towards her, and was so entirely
dependent upon her for almost all that made my life a blessing and a
comfort to me, that I took good care not to vex her, and we remained
excellent friends. The men were far less inquisitive, and would not, I
believe, have come near me of their own accord; but the women made them
come as escorts. I was delighted with their handsome mien, and pleasant
genial manners.

My food was plain, but always varied and wholesome, and the good red
wine was admirable. I had found a sort of wort in the garden, which I
sweated in heaps and then dried, obtaining thus a substitute for
tobacco; so that what with Yram, the language, visitors, fives in the
garden, smoking, and bed, my time slipped by more rapidly and
pleasantly than might have been expected. I also made myself a small
flute; and being a tolerable player, amused myself at times with
playing snatches from operas, and airs such as “O where and oh where,”
and “Home, sweet home.” This was of great advantage to me, for the
people of the country were ignorant of the diatonic scale and could
hardly believe their ears on hearing some of our most common melodies.
Often, too, they would make me sing; and I could at any time make
Yram’s eyes swim with tears by singing “Wilkins and his Dinah,” “Billy
Taylor,” “The Ratcatcher’s Daughter,” or as much of them as I could
remember.

I had one or two discussions with them because I never would sing on
Sunday (of which I kept count in my pocket-book), except chants and
hymn tunes; of these I regret to say that I had forgotten the words, so
that I could only sing the tune. They appeared to have little or no
religious feeling, and to have never so much as heard of the divine
institution of the Sabbath, so they ascribed my observance of it to a
fit of sulkiness, which they remarked as coming over me upon every
seventh day. But they were very tolerant, and one of them said to me
quite kindly that she knew how impossible it was to help being sulky at
times, only she thought I ought to see some one if it became more
serious—a piece of advice which I then failed to understand, though I
pretended to take it quite as a matter of course.

Once only did Yram treat me in a way that was unkind and
unreasonable,—at least so I thought it at the time. It happened thus. I
had been playing fives in the garden and got much heated. Although the
day was cold, for autumn was now advancing, and Cold Harbour (as the
name of the town in which my prison was should be translated) stood
fully 3000 feet above the sea, I had played without my coat and
waistcoat, and took a sharp chill on resting myself too long in the
open air without protection. The next day I had a severe cold and felt
really poorly. Being little used even to the lightest ailments, and
thinking that it would be rather nice to be petted and cossetted by
Yram, I certainly did not make myself out to be any better than I was;
in fact, I remember that I made the worst of things, and took it into
my head to consider myself upon the sick list. When Yram brought me my
breakfast I complained somewhat dolefully of my indisposition,
expecting the sympathy and humouring which I should have received from
my mother and sisters at home. Not a bit of it. She fired up in an
instant, and asked me what I meant by it, and how I dared to presume to
mention such a thing, especially when I considered in what place I was.
She had the best mind to tell her father, only that she was afraid the
consequences would be so very serious for me. Her manner was so injured
and decided, and her anger so evidently unfeigned, that I forgot my
cold upon the spot, begging her by all means to tell her father if she
wished to do so, and telling her that I had no idea of being shielded
by her from anything whatever; presently mollifying, after having said
as many biting things as I could, I asked her what it was that I had
done amiss, and promised amendment as soon as ever I became aware of
it. She saw that I was really ignorant, and had had no intention of
being rude to her; whereon it came out that illness of any sort was
considered in Erewhon to be highly criminal and immoral; and that I was
liable, even for catching cold, to be had up before the magistrates and
imprisoned for a considerable period—an announcement which struck me
dumb with astonishment.

I followed up the conversation as well as my imperfect knowledge of the
language would allow, and caught a glimmering of her position with
regard to ill-health; but I did not even then fully comprehend it, nor
had I as yet any idea of the other extraordinary perversions of thought
which existed among the Erewhonians, but with which I was soon to
become familiar. I propose, therefore, to make no mention of what
passed between us on this occasion, save that we were reconciled, and
that she brought me surreptitiously a hot glass of spirits and water
before I went to bed, as also a pile of extra blankets, and that next
morning I was quite well. I never remember to have lost a cold so
rapidly.

This little affair explained much which had hitherto puzzled me. It
seemed that the two men who were examined before the magistrates on the
day of my arrival in the country, had been given in charge on account
of ill health, and were both condemned to a long term of imprisonment
with hard labour; they were now expiating their offence in this very
prison, and their exercise ground was a yard separated by my fives wall
from the garden in which I walked. This accounted for the sounds of
coughing and groaning which I had often noticed as coming from the
other side of the wall: it was high, and I had not dared to climb it
for fear the jailor should see me and think that I was trying to
escape; but I had often wondered what sort of people they could be on
the other side, and had resolved on asking the jailor; but I seldom saw
him, and Yram and I generally found other things to talk about.

Another month flew by, during which I made such progress in the
language that I could understand all that was said to me, and express
myself with tolerable fluency. My instructor professed to be astonished
with the progress I had made; I was careful to attribute it to the
pains he had taken with me and to his admirable method of explaining my
difficulties, so we became excellent friends.

My visitors became more and more frequent. Among them there were some,
both men and women, who delighted me entirely by their simplicity,
unconsciousness of self, kindly genial manners, and last, but not
least, by their exquisite beauty; there came others less well-bred, but
still comely and agreeable people, while some were snobs pure and
simple.

At the end of the third month the jailor and my instructor came
together to visit me and told me that communications had been received
from the Government to the effect that if I had behaved well and seemed
generally reasonable, and if there could be no suspicion at all about
my bodily health and vigour, and if my hair was really light, and my
eyes blue and complexion fresh, I was to be sent up at once to the
metropolis in order that the King and Queen might see me and converse
with me; but that when I arrived there I should be set at liberty, and
a suitable allowance would be made me. My te