Erewhon Revisited Twenty Years Later, Both by the Original Discoverer of the Country and by His SonButler, Samuel
Philosophy
Erewhon Revisited Twenty Years Later, Both by the Original Discoverer of the Country and by His Son
Butler, Samuel
Satire; Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
Tired with his climb, during which he had not rested to take food, but
had eaten biscuits, as he walked, he gave himself a good long rest, and
when refreshed, he ran down a couple of dozen quails, some of which he
meant to eat when he camped for the night, while the others would help
him out of a difficulty which had been troubling him for some time.
What was he to say when people asked him, as they were sure to do,
how he was living? And how was he to get enough Erewhonian money to
keep him going till he could find some safe means of selling a few of
his nuggets? He had had a little Erewhonian money when he went up in
the balloon, but had thrown it over, with everything else except the
clothes he wore and his MSS., when the balloon was nearing the water.
He had nothing with him that he dared offer for sale, and though he had
plenty of gold, was in reality penniless.
When, therefore, he saw the quails, he again felt as though some
friendly spirit was smoothing his way before him. What more easy than
to sell them at Coldharbour (for so the name of the town in which he
had been imprisoned should be translated), where he knew they were a
delicacy, and would fetch him the value of an English shilling a piece?
It took him between two and three hours to catch two dozen. When he
had thus got what he considered a sufficient stock, he tied their legs
together with rushes, and ran a stout stick through the whole lot. Soon
afterwards he came upon a wood of stunted pines, which, though there
was not much undergrowth, nevertheless afforded considerable shelter
and enabled him to gather wood enough to make himself a good fire. This
was acceptable, for though the days were long, it was now evening, and
as soon as the sun had gone the air became crisp and frosty.
Here he resolved to pass the night. He chose a part where the trees
were thickest, lit his fire, plucked and cleaned four quails, filled
his billy with water from the stream hard by, made tea in his pannikin,
grilled two of his birds on the embers, ate them, and when he had done
all this, he lit his pipe and began to think things over. “So far so
good,” said he to himself; but hardly had the words passed through
his mind before he was startled by the sound of voices, still at some
distance, but evidently drawing towards him.
He instantly gathered up his billy, pannikin, tea, biscuits, and
blanket, all of which he had determined to discard and hide on the
following morning; everything that could betray him he carried full
haste into the wood some few yards off, in the direction opposite to
that from which the voices were coming, but he let his quails lie where
they were, and put his pipe and tobacco in his pocket.
The voices drew nearer and nearer, and it was all my father could do to
get back and sit down innocently by his fire, before he could hear what
was being said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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