Herland. Gilman Charlotte Perkins
He made a brief address, including Jeff and me as partners in his enterprise, and with another bow presented this. Again his gift was accepted and, as before, passed out of sight.
“If they were only younger,” he muttered between his teeth. “What on earth is a fellow to say to a regiment of old Colonels like this?”
In all our discussions and speculations we had always unconsciously assumed that the women, whatever else they might be, would be young. Most men do think that way, I fancy.
“Woman” in the abstract is young, and, we assume, charming. As they get older they pass off the stage, somehow, into private ownership mostly, or out of it altogether. But these good ladies were very much on the stage, and yet any one of them might have been a grandmother.
We looked for nervousness – there was none.
For terror, perhaps – there was none.
For uneasiness, for curiosity, for excitement – and all we saw was what might have been a vigilance committee of women doctors, as cool as cucumbers, and evidently meaning to take us to task for being there.
Six of them stepped forward now, one on either side of each of us, and indicated that we were to go with them. We thought it best to accede, at first anyway, and marched along, one of these close at each elbow, and the others in close masses before, behind, on both sides.
A large building opened before us, a very heavy thick-walled impressive place, big, and old-looking; of gray stone, not like the rest of the town.
“This won’t do!” said Terry to us, quickly. “We mustn’t let them get us in this, boys. All together, now – ”
We stopped in our tracks. We began to explain, to make signs pointing away toward the big forest – indicating that we would go back to it – at once.
It makes me laugh, knowing all I do now, to think of us three boys – nothing else; three audacious impertinent boys – butting into an unknown country without any sort of a guard or defense. We seemed to think that if there were men we could fight them, and if there were only women – why, they would be no obstacles at all.
Jeff, with his gentle romantic old-fashioned notions of women as clinging vines. Terry, with his clear decided practical theories that there were two kinds of women – those he wanted and those he didn’t; Desirable and Undesirable was his demarcation. The latter as a large class, but negligible – he had never thought about them at all.
And now here they were, in great numbers, evidently indifferent to what he might think, evidently determined on some purpose of their own regarding him, and apparently well able to enforce their purpose.
We all thought hard just then. It had not seemed wise to object to going with them, even if we could have; our one chance was friendliness – a civilized attitude on both sides.
But once inside that building, there was no knowing what these determined ladies might do to us. Even a peaceful detention was not to our minds, and when we named it imprisonment it looked even worse.
So we made a stand, trying to make clear that we preferred the open country. One of them came forward with a sketch of our flier, asking by signs if we were the aerial visitors they had seen.
This we admitted.
They pointed to it again, and to the outlying country, in different directions – but we pretended we did not know where it was, and in truth we were not quite sure and gave a rather wild indication of its whereabouts.
Again they motioned us to advance, standing so packed about the door that there remained but the one straight path open. All around us and behind they were massed solidly – there was simply nothing to do but go forward – or fight.
We held a consultation.
“I never fought with women in my life,” said Terry, greatly perturbed, “but I’m not going in there. I’m not going to be – herded in – as if we were in a cattle chute.”
“We can’t fight them, of course,” Jeff urged. “They’re all women, in spite of their nondescript clothes; nice women, too; good strong sensible faces. I guess we’ll have to go in.”
“We may never get out, if we do,” I told them. “Strong and sensible, yes; but I’m not so sure about the good. Look at those faces!”
They had stood at ease, waiting while we conferred together, but never relaxing their close attention.
Their attitude was not the rigid discipline of soldiers; there was no sense of compulsion about them. Terry’s term of a “vigilance committee” was highly descriptive. They had just the aspect of sturdy burghers, gathered hastily to meet some common need or peril, all moved by precisely the same feelings, to the same end.
Never, anywhere before, had I seen women of precisely this quality. Fishwives and market women might show similar strength, but it was coarse and heavy. These were merely athletic – light and powerful. College professors, teachers, writers – many women showed similar intelligence but often wore a strained nervous look, while these were as calm as cows, for all their evident intellect.
We observed pretty closely just then, for all of us felt that it was a crucial moment.
The leader gave some word of command and beckoned us on, and the surrounding mass moved a step nearer.
“We’ve got to decide quick,” said Terry.
“I vote to go in,” Jeff urged. But we were two to one against him and he loyally stood by us. We made one more effort to be let go, urgent, but not imploring. In vain.
“Now for a rush, boys!” Terry said. “And if we can’t break ‘em, I’ll shoot in the air.”
Then we found ourselves much in the position of the suffragette trying to get to the Parliament buildings through a triple cordon of London police.
The solidity of those women was something amazing. Terry soon found that it was useless, tore himself loose for a moment, pulled his revolver, and fired upward. As they caught at it, he fired again – we heard a cry – .
Instantly each of us was seized by five women, each holding arm or leg or head; we were lifted like children, straddling helpless children, and borne onward, wriggling indeed, but most ineffectually.
We were borne inside, struggling manfully, but held secure most womanfully, in spite of our best endeavors.
So carried and so held, we came into a high inner hall, gray and bare, and were brought before a majestic gray-haired woman who seemed to hold a judicial position.
There was some talk, not much, among them, and then suddenly there fell upon each of us at once a firm hand holding a wetted cloth before mouth and nose – an order of swimming sweetness – anesthesia.
CHAPTER 3. A Peculiar Imprisonment
From a slumber as deep as death, as refreshing as that of a healthy child, I slowly awakened.
It was like rising up, up, up through a deep warm ocean, nearer and nearer to full light and stirring air. Or like the return to consciousness after concussion of the brain. I was once thrown from a horse while on a visit to a wild mountainous country quite new to me, and I can clearly remember the mental experience of coming back to life, through lifting veils of dream. When I first dimly heard the voices of those about me, and saw the shining snowpeaks of that mighty range, I assumed that this too would pass, and I should presently find myself in my own home.
That was precisely the experience of this awakening: receding waves of half-caught swirling vision, memories of home, the steamer, the boat, the airship, the forest – at last all sinking away one after another, till my eyes were wide open, my brain clear, and I realized what had happened.
The most prominent sensation was of absolute physical comfort. I was lying in a perfect bed: long, broad, smooth; firmly soft and level; with the finest linen, some warm light quilt of blanket, and a counterpane that was a joy to the eye. The sheet turned down some fifteen inches, yet I could stretch my feet at the foot of the bed free but warmly covered.
I felt as light and clean