CHAPTER VI "I was the Flail of the Lord"

Andnowmypatientreaders,Icanaddressyoudirectlynolonger.Fromnowonwards(if,indeed,anycontinuationofthisnarrativeshouldeverreachyou)itcanonlybethroughthepaperwhichIrepresent.InthehandsoftheeditorIleavethisaccountoftheeventswhichhaveleduptooneofthemostremarkableexpeditionsofalltime,sothatifIneverreturntoEnglandthereshallbesomerecordastohowtheaffaircameabout.IamwritingtheselastlinesinthesaloonoftheBoothlinerFrancisca,andtheywillgobackbythepilottothekeepingofMr.McArdle.LetmedrawonelastpicturebeforeIclosethenotebook—apicturewhichisthelastmemoryoftheoldcountrywhichIbearawaywithme.Itisawet,foggymorninginthelatespringathin,coldrainisfalling.Threeshiningmackintoshedfiguresarewalkingdownthequay,makingforthegang-plankofthegreatlinerfromwhichtheblue-peterisflying.Infrontofthemaporterpushesatrolleypiledhighwithtrunks,wraps,andgun-cases.ProfessorSummerlee,along,melancholyfigure,walkswithdraggingstepsanddroopinghead,asonewhoisalreadyprofoundlysorryforhimself.LordJohnRoxtonstepsbriskly,andhisthin,eagerfacebeamsforthbetweenhishunting-capandhismuffler.Asformyself,Iamgladtohavegotthebustlingdaysofpreparationandthepangsofleave-takingbehindme,andIhavenodoubtthatIshowitinmybearing.Suddenly,justaswereachthevessel,thereisashoutbehindus.ItisProfessorChallenger,whohadpromisedtoseeusoff.Herunsafterus,apuffing,red-faced,irasciblefigure. "Nothankyou,"sayshe"Ishouldmuchprefernottogoaboard.Ihaveonlyafewwordstosaytoyou,andtheycanverywellbesaidwhereweare.IbegyounottoimaginethatIaminanywayindebtedtoyouformakingthisjourney.Iwouldhaveyoutounderstandthatitisamatterofperfectindifferencetome,andIrefusetoentertainthemostremotesenseofpersonalobligation.Truthistruth,andnothingwhichyoucanreportcanaffectitinanyway,thoughitmayexcitetheemotionsandallaythecuriosityofanumberofveryineffectualpeople.Mydirectionsforyourinstructionandguidanceareinthissealedenvelope.YouwillopenitwhenyoureachatownupontheAmazonwhichiscalledManaos,butnotuntilthedateandhourwhichismarkedupontheoutside.HaveImademyselfclear?Ileavethestrictobservanceofmyconditionsentirelytoyourhonor.No,Mr.Malone,Iwillplacenorestrictionuponyourcorrespondence,sincetheventilationofthefactsistheobjectofyourjourneybutIdemandthatyoushallgivenoparticularsastoyourexactdestination,andthatnothingbeactuallypublisheduntilyourreturn.Good-bye,sir.Youhavedonesomethingtomitigatemyfeelingsfortheloathsomeprofessiontowhichyouunhappilybelong.Good-bye,LordJohn.Scienceis,asIunderstand,asealedbooktoyoubutyoumaycongratulateyourselfuponthehunting-fieldwhichawaitsyou.Youwill,nodoubt,havetheopportunityofdescribingintheFieldhowyoubroughtdowntherocketingdimorphodon.Andgood-byetoyoualso,ProfessorSummerlee.Ifyouarestillcapableofself-improvement,ofwhichIamfranklyunconvinced,youwillsurelyreturntoLondonawiserman." Soheturneduponhisheel,andaminutelaterfromthedeckIcouldseehisshort,squatfigurebobbingaboutinthedistanceashemadehiswaybacktohistrain.Well,wearewelldownChannelnow.There'sthelastbellforletters,andit'sgood-byetothepilot.We'llbe"down,hull-down,ontheoldtrail"fromnowon.Godblessallweleavebehindus,andsendussafelyback.