Herland | Page 5

We had known each other years and years, and in spite of
our differences we had a good deal in common. All of us were
interested in science.

Terry was rich enough to do as he pleased. His great aim
was
exploration. He used to make all kinds of a row because there
was nothing left to explore now, only patchwork and filling
in,
he said. He filled in well enough--he had a lot of talents--great
on mechanics and electricity. Had all kinds of boats and
motorcars,
and was one of the best of our airmen.

We never could have done the thing at all without Terry.

Jeff Margrave was born to be a poet, a botanist--or both--but
his folks persuaded him to be a doctor instead. He was a good
one, for his age, but his real interest was in what he loved
to call
"the wonders of science."

As for me, sociology's my major. You have to back that
up
with a lot of other sciences, of course. I'm interested in
them all.

Terry was strong on facts--geography and meteorology and
those; Jeff could beat him any time on biology, and I didn't
care
what it was they talked about, so long as it connected with
human life, somehow. There are few things that don't.

We three had a chance to join a big scientific expedition.
They
needed a doctor, and that gave Jeff an excuse for dropping his
just
opening practice; they needed Terry's experience, his machine,
and his money; and as for me, I got in through Terry's influence.

The expedition was up among the thousand tributaries and
enormous hinterland of a great river, up where the maps had
to
be made, savage dialects studied, and all manner of strange
flora
and fauna expected.

But this story is not about that expedition. That was only
the
merest starter for ours.


M y interest was first roused by talk among our guides. I'm
quick at languages, know a good many, and pick them up readily.
What with that and a really good interpreter we took with us,
I made out quite a few legends and folk myths of these scattered
tribes.

And as we got farther and farther upstream, in a dark tangle
of rivers, lakes, morasses, and dense forests, with here and
there
an unexpected long spur running out from the big mountains
beyond,
I noticed that more and more of these savages had a story about
a
strange and terrible Woman Land in the high distance.

"Up yonder," "Over there," "Way up"--was all the direction
they could offer, but their legends all agreed on the main
point
--that there was this strange country where no men lived--only
women and girl children.

None of them had ever seen it. It was dangerous, deadly,
they
said, for any man to go there. But there were tales of long
ago,

when some brave investigator had seen it--a Big Country, Big
Houses, Plenty People--All Women.

Had no one else gone? Yes--a good many--but they never
came back. It was no place for men--of that they seemed sure.

I told the boys about these stories, and they laughed at
them.