The Island of Doctor Moreau Study Guide
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Chapter III — The Strange Face

Chapter Summary

Prendick and Montgomery emerge from the cabin to find a grotesque, dark-faced man blocking the companion ladder. The man's deformed, muzzle-like features shock Prendick, who also experiences an uncanny sense of prior acquaintance. Montgomery sharply orders the man forward, and on deck Prendick observes a filthy schooner crammed with caged animals — staghounds, a puma, rabbits, and a llama.

The black-faced man reappears from below and is violently knocked down by the drunken, red-haired captain, whose dogs savage him while the sailors cheer. Montgomery confronts the captain, who reveals the man has been harassed since boarding and calls him a devil. Prendick intervenes to prevent a brawl, absorbing the captain's drunken fury himself, and reflects ruefully on his own powerless position as an unpaid passenger.

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Original Text
We left the cabin and found a man at the companion obstructing our way. He was standing on the ladder with his back to us, peering over the combing of the hatchway. He was, I could see, a misshapen man, short, broad, and clumsy, with a crooked back, a hairy neck, and a head sunk between his shoulders. He was dressed in dark-blue serge, and had peculiarly thick, coarse, black hair. I heard the unseen dogs growl furiously, and forthwith he ducked back,—coming into contact with the hand I put out to fend him off from myself. He turned with animal swiftness. In some indefinable way the black face thus flashed upon me shocked me profoundly. It was a singularly deformed one. The facial part projected, forming something dimly suggestive of a muzzle, and the huge half-open mouth showed as big white teeth as I had ever seen in a human mouth. His eyes were blood-shot at the edges, with scarcely a rim of white round the hazel pupils. There was a curious glow of excitement in his face. “Confound you!” said Montgomery. “Why the devil don’t you get out of the way?” The black-faced man started aside without a word. I went on up the companion, staring at him instinctively as I did so. Montgomery stayed at the foot for a moment. “You have no business here, you know,” he said in a deliberate tone. “Your place is forward.” The black-faced man cowered. “They—won’t have me forward.” He spoke slowly, with a queer, hoarse quality in his voice. “Won’t have you forward!” said Montgomery, in a menacing voice. “But I tell you to go!” He was on the brink of saying something further, then looked up at me suddenly and followed me up the ladder. I had paused half way through the hatchway, looking back, still astonished beyond measure at the grotesque ugliness of this black-faced creature. I had never beheld such a repulsive and extraordinary face before, and yet—if the contradiction is credible—I experienced at the same time an odd feeling that in some way I _had_ already encountered exactly the features and gestures that now amazed me. Afterwards it occurred to me that probably I had seen him as I was lifted aboard; and yet that scarcely satisfied my suspicion of a previous acquaintance. Yet how one could have set eyes on so singular a face and yet have forgotten the precise occasion, passed my imagination. Montgomery’s movement to follow me released my attention, and I turned and looked about me at the flush deck of the little schooner. I was already half prepared by the sounds I had heard for what I saw. Certainly I never beheld a deck so dirty. It was littered with scraps of carrot, shreds of green stuff, and indescribable filth. Fastened by chains to the mainmast were a number of grisly staghounds, who now began leaping and barking at me, and by the mizzen a huge puma was cramped in a little iron cage far too small even to give it turning room. Farther under the starboard bulwark were some big hutches containing a number of rabbits, and a solitary llama was squeezed in a mere box of a cage forward. The dogs were muzzled by leather straps. The only human being on deck was a gaunt and silent sailor at the wheel. The patched and dirty spankers were tense before the wind, and up aloft the little ship seemed carrying every sail she had. The sky was clear, the sun midway down the western sky; long waves, capped by the breeze with froth, were running with us. We went past the steersman to the taffrail, and saw the water come foaming under the stern and the bubbles go dancing and vanishing in her wake. I turned and surveyed the unsavoury length of the ship. “Is this an ocean menagerie?” said I. “Looks like it,” said Montgomery. “What are these beasts for? Merchandise, curios? Does the captain think he is going to sell them somewhere in the South Seas?” “It looks like it, doesn’t it?” said Montgomery, and turned towards the wake again. Suddenly we heard a yelp and a volley of furious blasphemy from the companion hatchway, and the deformed man with the black face came up hurriedly. He was immediately followed by a heavy red-haired man in a white cap. At the sight of the former the staghounds, who had all tired of barking at me by this time, became furiously excited, howling and leaping against their chains. The black hesitated before them, and this gave the red-haired man time to come up with him and deliver a tremendous blow between the shoulder-blades. The poor devil went down like a felled ox, and rolled in the dirt among the furiously excited dogs. It was lucky for him that they were muzzled. The red-haired man gave a yawp of exultation and stood staggering, and as it seemed to me in serious danger of either going backwards down the companion hatchway or forwards upon his victim. So soon as the second man had appeared, Montgomery had started forward. “Steady on there!” he cried, in a tone of remonstrance. A couple of sailors appeared on the forecastle. The black-faced man, howling in a singular voice rolled about under the feet of the dogs. No one attempted to help him. The brutes did their best to worry him, butting their muzzles at him. There was a quick dance of their lithe grey-figured bodies over the clumsy, prostrate figure. The sailors forward shouted, as though it was admirable sport. Montgomery gave an angry exclamation, and went striding down the deck, and I followed him. The black-faced man scrambled up and staggered forward, going and leaning over the bulwark by the main shrouds, where he remained, panting and glaring over his shoulder at the dogs. The red-haired man laughed a satisfied laugh. “Look here, Captain,” said Montgomery, with his lisp a little accentuated, gripping the elbows of the red-haired man, “this won’t do!” I stood behind Montgomery. The captain came half round, and regarded him with the dull and solemn eyes of a drunken man. “Wha’ won’t do?” he said, and added, after looking sleepily into Montgomery’s face for a minute, “Blasted Sawbones!” With a sudden movement he shook his arms free, and after two ineffectual attempts stuck his freckled fists into his side pockets. “That man’s a passenger,” said Montgomery. “I’d advise you to keep your hands off him.” “Go to hell!” said the captain, loudly. He suddenly turned and staggered towards the side. “Do what I like on my own ship,” he said. I think Montgomery might have left him then, seeing the brute was drunk; but he only turned a shade paler, and followed the captain to the bulwarks. “Look you here, Captain,” he said; “that man of mine is not to be ill-treated. He has been hazed ever since he came aboard.” For a minute, alcoholic fumes kept the captain speechless. “Blasted Sawbones!” was all he considered necessary. I could see that Montgomery had one of those slow, pertinacious tempers that will warm day after day to a white heat, and never again cool to forgiveness; and I saw too that this quarrel had been some time growing. “The man’s drunk,” said I, perhaps officiously; “you’ll do no good.” Montgomery gave an ugly twist to his dropping lip. “He’s always drunk. Do you think that excuses his assaulting his passengers?” “My ship,” began the captain, waving his hand unsteadily towards the cages, “was a clean ship. Look at it now!” It was certainly anything but clean. “Crew,” continued the captain, “clean, respectable crew.” “You agreed to take the beasts.” “I wish I’d never set eyes on your infernal island. What the devil—want beasts for on an island like that? Then, that man of yours—understood he was a man. He’s a lunatic; and he hadn’t no business aft. Do you think the whole damned ship belongs to you?” “Your sailors began to haze the poor devil as soon as he came aboard.” “That’s just what he is—he’s a devil! an ugly devil! My men can’t stand him. _I_ can’t stand him. None of us can’t stand him. Nor _you_ either!” Montgomery turned away. “_You_ leave that man alone, anyhow,” he said, nodding his head as he spoke. But the captain meant to quarrel now. He raised his voice. “If he comes this end of the ship again I’ll cut his insides out, I tell you. Cut out his blasted insides! Who are _you_, to tell _me_ what _I’m_ to do? I tell you I’m captain of this ship,—captain and owner. I’m the law here, I tell you,—the law and the prophets. I bargained to take a man and his attendant to and from Arica, and bring back some animals. I never bargained to carry a mad devil and a silly Sawbones, a—” Well, never mind what he called Montgomery. I saw the latter take a step forward, and interposed. “He’s drunk,” said I. The captain began some abuse even fouler than the last. “Shut up!” I said, turning on him sharply, for I had seen danger in Montgomery’s white face. With that I brought the downpour on myself. However, I was glad to avert what was uncommonly near a scuffle, even at the price of the captain’s drunken ill-will. I do not think I have ever heard quite so much vile language come in a continuous stream from any man’s lips before, though I have frequented eccentric company enough. I found some of it hard to endure, though I am a mild-tempered man; but, certainly, when I told the captain to “shut up” I had forgotten that I was merely a bit of human flotsam, cut off from my resources and with my fare unpaid; a mere casual dependant on the bounty, or speculative enterprise, of the ship. He reminded me of it with considerable vigour; but at any rate I prevented a fight.
Source text: Project Gutenberg #159. Public domain worldwide.
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Chapter III introduces the black-faced man as the novel's first sustained encounter with bodily ambiguity. Wells constructs his appearance through a carefully layered series of animal signifiers — the projecting facial part "dimly suggestive of a muzzle," the blood-shot eyes, the coarse hair — that stop just short of explicit identification. This deliberate withholding enacts the chapter's central epistemological problem: Prendick cannot classify what he sees, and neither can the reader. The uncanny sensation of prior acquaintance that Prendick cannot explain is a classic instance of Freud's Unheimlich avant la lettre, signalling that the creature disturbs because it is simultaneously familiar and wrong.

The ship as social microcosm is established with considerable economy. The filthy deck — littered with carrots, green shreds, and animal waste — mirrors the moral disorder aboard: the captain is drunk, the crew brutalises a passenger, and the chain of command is openly contested. Wells uses the caged animals (puma, staghounds, llama, rabbits) not merely as exotic cargo but as a symbolic anticipation of Moreau's island, where the boundary between captivity and freedom, beast and human, will be the central preoccupation. The animals' muzzles and chains foreshadow the Law that the Beast People will be forced to recite.

The captain's drunken authority dramatises the corruption of legitimate power. His declaration — "I'm the law here, I tell you — the law and the prophets" — is both comic and ominous: it parodies the divine-right rhetoric that Moreau will later embody with far greater menace. Where the captain's law is merely alcoholic bluster, Moreau's will be surgical and absolute; yet Wells invites us to see them on a continuum. Montgomery's "slow, pertinacious temper" is sketched with psychological precision, hinting at a man capable of sustained, dangerous resentment — a trait that will matter later in the narrative.

Prendick's narrative voice performs a careful class and moral self-positioning. He intervenes to prevent violence, yet his own admission — that he is "a bit of human flotsam, cut off from my resources" — undercuts any heroic self-image. This self-deprecating honesty is a recurring feature of Wells's first-person narration: Prendick is a witness rather than an agent, and his helplessness aboard ship prefigures his helplessness on the island. The phrase "human flotsam" is particularly resonant, aligning him momentarily with the marginalised black-faced man and subtly questioning the hierarchies the chapter otherwise takes for granted.

Wells's prose in this chapter is notable for its sensory accumulation: the growling dogs, the yelp and blasphemy from the hatchway, the foaming wake, the stench implied by the filthy deck. This technique grounds the Gothic strangeness of the black-faced man in a credibly physical world, making the horror feel empirical rather than supernatural — entirely consistent with Wells's scientific-romance method. The chapter thus performs double duty, advancing plot and establishing the novel's governing tension between rational observation and inexplicable, visceral dread.

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