But he did not know this new god as Dag Daughtry. Kwaque called him marster; but Michael heard other white men so addressed by the blacks. Many blacks had he heard call Captain Kellar marster. It was Captain Duncan who called the steward Steward. Michael came to hear him, and his officers, and all the passengers, so call him; and thus, to Michael, his gods name was Steward, and for ever after he was to know him and think of him as Steward.
There was the question of his own name. The next evening after he came on board, Dag Daughtry talked it over with him. Michael sat on his haunches, the length of his lower jaw resting on Daughtrys knee, the while his eyes dilated, contracted and glowed, his ears ever pricking and repricking to listen, his stump tail thumping ecstatically on the floor.
Its this way, son, the steward told him. Your father and mother were Irish. Now dont be denying it, you rascal
This, as Michael, encouraged by the unmistakable geniality and kindness in the voice, wriggled his whole body and thumped double knocks of delight with his tail. Not that he understood a word of it, but that he did understand the something behind the speech that informed the string of sounds with all the mysterious likeableness that white gods possessed.
Never be ashamed of your ancestry. An remember, God loves the Irish Kwaque! Go fetch m two bottle beer fella stop m along icey-chestis! Why, the very mug of you, my lad, sticks out Irish all over it. (Michaels tail beat a tattoo.) Now dont be blarneyin me. Tis well Im wise to your insidyous, snugglin, heart-stealin ways. Ill have ye know my hearts impervious. Tis soaked too long this many a day in beer. I stole you to sell you, not to be lovin you. I couldve loved you once; but that was before me and beer was introduced. Id sell you for twenty quid right now, coin down, if the chance offered. An I aint goin to love you, so you can put that in your pipe n smoke it.
But as I was about to say when so rudely interrupted by your fectionate ways
Here he broke off to tilt to his mouth the opened bottle Kwaque handed him. He sighed, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and proceeded.
Tis a strange thing, son, this silly matter of beer. Kwaque, the Methusalem-faced ape grinnin there, belongs to me. But by my faith do I belong to beer, bottles n bottles of it n mountains of bottles of it enough to sink the ship. Dog, truly I envy you, settin there comfortable-like inside your body thats untainted of alcohol. I may own you, and the man that gives me twenty quid will own you, but never will a mountain of bottles own you. Youre a freer man than I am, Mister Dog, though I dont know your name. Which reminds me
He drained the bottle, tossed it to Kwaque, and made signs for him to open the remaining one.
The namin of you, son, is not lightly to be considered. Irish, of course, but what shall it be? Paddy? Well may you shake your head. Theres no smack of distinction to it. Whod mistake you for a hod-carrier? Ballymena might do, but it sounds much like a lady, my boy. Ay, boy you are. Tis an idea. Boy! Lets see. Banshee Boy? Rotten. Lad of Erin!
He nodded approbation and reached for the second bottle. He drank and meditated, and drank again.
Ive got you, he announced solemnly. Killeny is a lovely name, and its Killeny Boy for you. Hows that strike your honourableness? high-soundin, dignified as a earl or.. or a retired brewer. Manys the one of that gentry Ive helped to retire in my day.
He finished his bottle, caught Michael suddenly by both jowls, and, leaning forward, rubbed noses with him. As suddenly released, with thumping tail and dancing eyes, Michael gazed up into the gods face. A definite soul, or entity, or spirit-thing glimmered behind his dogs eyes, already fond with affection for this hair-grizzled god who talked with him he knew not what, but whose very talking carried delicious and unguessable messages to his heart.
Hey! Kwaque, you!
Kwaque, squatted on the floor, his hams on his heels, paused from the rough-polishing of a shell comb designed and cut out by his master, and looked up, eager to receive command and serve.
Kwaque, you fella this time now savvee name stop along this fella dog. His name belong m him, Killeny Boy. You make m name stop m inside head belong you. All the time you speak m this fella dog, you speak m Killeny Boy. Savvee? Suppose m you no savvee, I knock m block off belong you. Killeny Boy, savvee! Killeny Boy. Killeny Boy.
As Kwaque removed his shoes and helped him undress, Daughtry regarded Michael with sleepy eyes.
Ive got you, laddy, he announced, as he stood up and swayed toward bed. Ive got your name, an heres your number I got that, too: high-strung but reasonable. It fits you like the paper on the wall.
High-strung but reasonable, thats what you are, Killeny Boy, high-strung but reasonable, he continued to mumble as Kwaque helped to roll him into his bunk.
Kwaque returned to his polishing. His lips stammered and halted in the making of noiseless whispers, as, with corrugated brows of puzzlement, he addressed the steward:
Marster, what name stop m along that fella dog?
Killeny Boy, you kinky-head man-eater, Killeny Boy, Killeny Boy, Dag Daughtry murmured drowsily. Kwaque, you black blood-drinker, run n fetch m one fella bottle stop m along icey-chestis.
No stop m, marster, the black quavered, with eyes alert for something to be thrown at him. Six fella bottle he finish altogether.
The stewards sole reply was a snore.
The black, with the twisted hand of leprosy and with a barely perceptible infiltration of the same disease thickening the skin of the forehead between the eyes, bent over his polishing, and ever his lips moved, repeating over and over, Killeny Boy.
CHAPTER V
For a number of days Michael saw only Steward and Kwaque. This was because he was confined to the stewards stateroom. Nobody else knew that he was on board, and Dag Daughtry, thoroughly aware that he had stolen a white mans dog, hoped to keep his presence secret and smuggle him ashore when the Makambo docked in Sydney.
Quickly the steward learned Michaels pre-eminent teachableness. In the course of his careful feeding of him, he gave him an occasional chicken bone. Two lessons, which would scarcely be called lessons, since both of them occurred within five minutes and each was not over half a minute in duration, sufficed to teach Michael that only on the floor of the room in the corner nearest the door could he chew chicken bones. Thereafter, without prompting, as a matter of course when handed a bone, he carried it to the corner.
And why not? He had the wit to grasp what Steward desired of him; he had the heart that made it a happiness for him to serve. Steward was a god who was kind, who loved him with voice and lip, who loved him with touch of hand, rub of nose, or enfolding arm. As all service flourishes in the soil of love, so with Michael. Had Steward commanded him to forego the chicken bone after it was in the corner, he would have served him by foregoing. Which is the way of the dog, the only animal that will cheerfully and gladly, with leaping body of joy, leave its food uneaten in order to accompany or to serve its human master.
Practically all his waking time off duty, Dag Daughtry spent with the imprisoned Michael, who, at command, had quickly learned to refrain from whining and barking. And during these hours of companionship Michael learned many things. Daughtry found that he already understood and obeyed simple things such as no, yes, get up, and lie down, and he improved on them, teaching him, Go into the bunk and lie down, Go under the bunk, Bring one shoe, Bring two shoes. And almost without any work at all, he taught him to roll over, to say his prayers, to play dead, to sit up and smoke a pipe with a hat on his head, and not merely to stand up on his hind legs but to walk on them.
Practically all his waking time off duty, Dag Daughtry spent with the imprisoned Michael, who, at command, had quickly learned to refrain from whining and barking. And during these hours of companionship Michael learned many things. Daughtry found that he already understood and obeyed simple things such as no, yes, get up, and lie down, and he improved on them, teaching him, Go into the bunk and lie down, Go under the bunk, Bring one shoe, Bring two shoes. And almost without any work at all, he taught him to roll over, to say his prayers, to play dead, to sit up and smoke a pipe with a hat on his head, and not merely to stand up on his hind legs but to walk on them.
Then, too, was the trick of no can and can do. Placing a savoury, nose-tantalising bit of meat or cheese on the edge of the bunk on a level with Michaels nose, Daughtry would simply say, No can. Nor would Michael touch the food till he received the welcome, Can do. Daughtry, with the no can still in force, would leave the stateroom, and, though he remained away half an hour or half a dozen hours, on his return he would find the food untouched and Michael, perhaps, asleep in the corner at the head of the bunk which had been allotted him for a bed. Early in this trick once when the steward had left the room and Michaels eager nose was within an inch of the prohibited morsel, Kwaque, playfully inclined, reached for the morsel himself and received a lacerated hand from the quick flash and clip of Michaels jaws.
None of the tricks that he was ever eager to do for Steward, would Michael do for Kwaque, despite the fact that Kwaque had no touch of meanness or viciousness in him. The point was that Michael had been trained, from his first dawn of consciousness, to differentiate between black men and white men. Black men were always the servants of white men or such had been his experience; and always they were objects of suspicion, ever bent on wreaking mischief and requiring careful watching. The cardinal duty of a dog was to serve his white god by keeping a vigilant eye on all blacks that came about.
Yet Michael permitted Kwaque to serve him in matters of food, water, and other offices, at first in the absence of Steward attending to his ship duties, and, later, at any time. For he realized, without thinking about it at all, that whatever Kwaque did for him, whatever food Kwaque spread for him, really proceeded, not from Kwaque, but from Kwaques master who was also his master. Yet Kwaque bore no grudge against Michael, and was himself so interested in his lords welfare and comfort this lord who had saved his life that terrible day on King William Island from the two grief-stricken pig-owners that he cherished Michael for his lords sake. Seeing the dog growing into his masters affection, Kwaque himself developed a genuine affection for Michael much in the same way that he worshipped anything of the stewards, whether the shoes he polished for him, the clothes he brushed and cleaned for him, or the six bottles of beer he put into the ice-chest each day for him.
In truth, there was nothing of the master-quality in Kwaque, while Michael was a natural aristocrat. Michael, out of love, would serve Steward, but Michael lorded it over the kinky-head. Kwaque possessed overwhelmingly the slave-nature, while in Michael there was little more of the slave-nature than was found in the North American Indians when the vain attempt was made to make them into slaves on the plantations of Cuba. All of which was no personal vice of Kwaque or virtue of Michael. Michaels heredity, rigidly selected for ages by man, was chiefly composed of fierceness and faithfulness. And fierceness and faithfulness, together, invariably produce pride. And pride cannot exist without honour, nor can honour without poise.
Michaels crowning achievement, under Daughtrys tutelage, in the first days in the stateroom, was to learn to count up to five. Many hours of work were required, however, in spite of his unusual high endowment of intelligence. For he had to learn, first, the spoken numerals; second, to see with his eyes and in his brain differentiate between one object, and all other groups of objects up to and including the group of five; and, third, in his mind, to relate an object, or any group of objects, with its numerical name as uttered by Steward.
In the training Dag Daughtry used balls of paper tied about with twine. He would toss the five balls under the bunk and tell Michael to fetch three, and neither two, nor four, but three would Michael bring forth and deliver into his hand. When Daughtry threw three under the bunk and demanded four, Michael would deliver the three, search about vainly for the fourth, then dance pleadingly with bobs of tail and half-leaps about Steward, and finally leap into the bed and secure the fourth from under the pillow or among the blankets.
It was the same with other known objects. Up to five, whether shoes or shirts or pillow-slips, Michael would fetch the number requested. And between the mathematical mind of Michael, who counted to five, and the mind of the ancient black at Tulagi, who counted sticks of tobacco in units of five, was a distance shorter than that between Michael and Dag Daughtry who could do multiplication and long division. In the same manner, up the same ladder of mathematical ability, a still greater distance separated Dag Daughtry from Captain Duncan, who by mathematics navigated the Makambo. Greatest mathematical distance of all was that between Captain Duncans mind and the mind of an astronomer who charted the heavens and navigated a thousand million miles away among the stars and who tossed, a mere morsel of his mathematical knowledge, the few shreds of information to Captain Duncan that enabled him to know from day to day the place of the Makambo on the sea.
In one thing only could Kwaque rule Michael. Kwaque possessed a jews harp, and, whenever the world of the Makambo and the servitude to the steward grew wearisome, he could transport himself to King William Island by thrusting the primitive instrument between his jaws and fanning weird rhythms from it with his hand, and when he thus crossed space and time, Michael sang or howled, rather, though his howl possessed the same soft mellowness as Jerrys. Michael did not want to howl, but the chemistry of his being was such that he reacted to music as compulsively as elements react on one another in the laboratory.
While he lay perdu in Stewards stateroom, his voice was the one thing that was not to be heard, so Kwaque was forced to seek the solace of his jews harp in the sweltering heat of the gratings over the fire-room. But this did not continue long, for, either according to blind chance, or to the lines of fate written in the book of life ere ever the foundations of the world were laid, Michael was scheduled for an adventure that was profoundly to affect, not alone his own destiny, but the destinies of Kwaque and Dag Daughtry and determine the very place of their death and burial.
CHAPTER VI
The adventure that was so to alter the future occurred when Michael, in no uncertain manner, announced to all and sundry his presence on the Makambo. It was due to Kwaques carelessness, to commence with, for Kwaque left the stateroom without tight-closing the door. As the Makambo rolled on an easy sea the door swung back and forth, remaining wide open for intervals and banging shut but not banging hard enough to latch itself.
Michael crossed the high threshold with the innocent intention of exploring no farther than the immediate vicinity. But scarcely was he through, when a heavier roll slammed the door and latched it. And immediately Michael wanted to get back. Obedience was strong in him, for it was his hearts desire to serve his lords will, and from the few days confinement he sensed, or guessed, or divined, without thinking about it, that it was Stewards will for him to stay in the stateroom.