by Jack London
CHAPTER III
In the meanwhile, Michael. Lifted through the air, exchanged intoinvisible hands that drew him through a narrow diameter of brass into alighted room, Michael looked about him in expectancy of Jerry. ButJerry, at that moment, lay cuddled beside Villa Kennan's sleeping-cot onthe slant deck of the _Ariel_, as that trim craft, the Shortlands asternand New Guinea dead ahead, heeled her scuppers a-whisper and garrulous tothe sea-welter alongside as she logged her eleven knots under the pressof the freshening trades. Instead of Jerry, from whom he had last partedon board a boat, Michael saw Kwaque.
Kwaque? Well, Kwaque was Kwaque, an individual, more unlike all othermen than most men are unlike one another. No queerer estray ever driftedalong the stream of life. Seventeen years old he was, as men measuretime; but a century was measured in his lean-lined face, his wrinkledforehead, his hollowed temples, and his deep-sunk eyes. From his thinlegs, fragile-looking as windstraws, the bones of which were sheathed inwithered skin with apparently no muscle padding in between--from suchfrail stems sprouted the torso of a fat man. The huge and protuberantstomach was amply supported by wide and massive hips, and the shoulderswere broad as those of a Hercules. But, beheld sidewise, there was nodepth to those shoulders and the top of the chest. Almost, at that partof his anatomy, he seemed builded in two dimensions. Thin his arms wereas his legs, and, as Michael first beheld him, he had all the seeming ofa big-bellied black spider.
He proceeded to dress, a matter of moments, slipping into duck trousersand blouse, dirty and frayed from long usage. Two fingers of his lefthand were doubled into a permanent bend, and, to an expert, would haveadvertised that he was a leper. Although he belonged to Dag Daughtryjust as much as if the steward possessed a chattel bill of sale of him,his owner did not know that his anaesthetic twist of ravaged nervestokened the dread disease.
The manner of the ownership was simple. At King William Island, in theAdmiralties, Kwaque had made, in the parlance of the South Pacific, apier-head jump. So to speak, leprosy and all, he had jumped into DagDaughtry's arms. Strolling along the native runways in the fringe ofjungle just beyond the beach, as was his custom, to see whatever he mightpick up, the steward had picked up Kwaque. And he had picked him up inextremity.
Pursued by two very active young men armed with fire-hardened spears,tottering along with incredible swiftness on his two spindle legs, Kwaquehad fallen exhausted at Daughtry's feet and looked up at him with thebeseeching eyes of a deer fleeing from the hounds. Daughtry had inquiredinto the matter, and the inquiry was violent; for he had a wholesome fearof germs and bacilli, and when the two active young men tried to run himthrough with their filth-corroded spears, he caught the spear of oneyoung man under his arm and put the other young man to sleep with a lefthook to the jaw. A moment later the young man whose spear he held hadjoined the other in slumber.
The elderly steward was not satisfied with the mere spears. While therescued Kwaque continued to moan and slubber thankfulness at his feet, heproceeded to strip them that were naked. Nothing they wore in the way ofclothing, but from around each of their necks he removed a necklace ofporpoise teeth that was worth a gold sovereign in mere exchange value.From the kinky locks of one of the naked young men he drew a hand-carved,fine-toothed comb, the lofty back of which was inlaid withmother-of-pearl, which he later sold in Sydney to a curio shop for eightshillings. Nose and ear ornaments of bone and turtle-shell he alsorifled, as well as a chest-crescent of pearl shell, fourteen inchesacross, worth fifteen shillings anywhere. The two spears ultimatelyfetched him five shillings each from the tourists at Port Moresby. Notlightly may a ship steward undertake to maintain a six-quart reputation.
When he turned to depart from the active young men, who, back toconsciousness, were observing him with bright, quick, wild-animal eyes,Kwaque followed so close at his heels as to step upon them and make himstumble. Whereupon he loaded Kwaque with his trove and put him in frontto lead along the runway to the beach. And for the rest of the way tothe steamer, Dag Daughtry grinned and chuckled at sight of his plunderand at sight of Kwaque, who fantastically titubated and ambled along,barrel-like, on his pipe-stems.
On board the steamer, which happened to be the _Cockspur_, Daughtrypersuaded the captain to enter Kwaque on the ship's articles as steward'shelper with a rating of ten shillings a month. Also, he learned Kwaque'sstory.
It was all an account of a pig. The two active young men were brotherswho lived in the next village to his, and the pig had been theirs--soKwaque narrated in atrocious beche-de-mer English. He, Kwaque, had neverseen the pig. He had never known of its existence until after it wasdead. The two young men had loved the pig. But what of that? It didnot concern Kwaque, who was as unaware of their love for the pig as hewas unaware of the pig itself.
The first he knew, he averred, was the gossip of the village that the pigwas dead, and that somebody would have to die for it. It was all right,he said, in reply to a query from the steward. It was the custom.Whenever a loved pig died its owners were in custom bound to go out andkill somebody, anybody. Of course, it was better if they killed the onewhose magic had made the pig sick. But, failing that one, any one woulddo. Hence Kwaque was selected for the blood-atonement.
Dag Daughtry drank a seventh quart as he listened, so carried away was heby the sombre sense of romance of this dark jungle event wherein menkilled even strangers because a pig was dead.
Scouts out on the runways, Kwaque continued, brought word of the comingof the two bereaved pig-owners, and the village had fled into the jungleand climbed trees--all except Kwaque, who was unable to climb trees.
"My word," Kwaque concluded, "me no make 'm that fella pig sick."
"My word," quoth Dag Daughtry, "you devil-devil along that fella pig toomuch. You look 'm like hell. You make 'm any fella thing sick lookalong you. You make 'm me sick too much."
It became quite a custom for the steward, as he finished his sixth bottlebefore turning in, to call upon Kwaque for his story. It carried himback to his boyhood when he had been excited by tales of wild cannibalsin far lands and dreamed some day to see them for himself. And here hewas, he would chuckle to himself, with a real true cannibal for a slave.
A slave Kwaque was, as much as if Daughtry had bought him on the auction-block. Whenever the steward transferred from ship to ship of the BurnsPhilp fleet, he always stipulated that Kwaque should accompany him and beduly rated at ten shillings. Kwaque had no say in the matter. Even hadhe desired to escape in Australian ports, there was no need for Daughtryto watch him. Australia, with her "all-white" policy, attended to that.No dark-skinned human, whether Malay, Japanese, or Polynesian, could landon her shore without putting into the Government's hand a cash securityof one hundred pounds.
Nor at the other islands visited by the _Makambo_ had Kwaque any desireto cut and run for it. King William Island, which was the only land hehad ever trod, was his yard-stick by which he measured all other islands.And since King William Island was cannibalistic, he could only concludethat the other islands were given to similar dietary practice.
As for King William Island, the _Makambo_, on the former run of the_Cockspur_, stopped there every ten weeks; but the direst threat Daughtryever held over him was the putting ashore of him at the place where thetwo active young men still mourned their pig. In fact, it was theirregular programme, each trip, to paddle out and around the _Makambo_ andmake ferocious grimaces up at Kwaque, who grimaced back at them from overthe rail. Daughtry even encouraged this exchange of facial amenities forthe purpose of deterring him from ever hoping to win ashore to thevillage of his birth.
For that matter, Kwaque had little desire to leave his master, who, afterall, was kindly and just, and never lifted a hand to him. Havingsurvived sea-sickness at the first, and never setting foot upon the landso that he never again knew sea-sickness, Kwaque was certain he lived inan earthly paradise. He never had to regret his inability to climbtrees, because danger never threatened him.
He had food regularly, andall he wanted, and it was such food! No one in his village could havedreamed of any delicacy of the many delicacies which he consumed all thetime. Because of these matters he even pulled through a light attack ofhome-sickness, and was as contented a human as ever sailed the seas.
And Kwaque it was who pulled Michael through the port-hole into DagDaughtry's stateroom and waited for that worthy to arrive by theroundabout way of the door. After a quick look around the room and asniff of the bunk and under the bunk which informed him that Jerry wasnot present, Michael turned his attention to Kwaque.
Kwaque tried to be friendly. He uttered a clucking noise inadvertisement of his friendliness, and Michael snarled at this black whohad dared to lay hands upon him--a contamination, according to Michael'straining--and who now dared to address him who associated only with whitegods.
Kwaque passed off the rebuff with a silly gibbering laugh and started tostep nearer the door to be in readiness to open it at his master'scoming. But at first lift of his leg, Michael flew at it. Kwaqueimmediately put it down, and Michael subsided, though he kept a watchfulguard. What did he know of this strange black, save that he was a blackand that, in the absence of a white master, all blacks required watching?Kwaque tried slowly sliding his foot along the floor, but Michael knewthe trick and with bristle and growl put a stop to it.
It was upon this tableau that Daughtry entered, and, while he admiredMichael much under the bright electric light, he realized the situation.
"Kwaque, you make 'm walk about leg belong you," he commanded, in orderto make sure.
Kwaque's glance of apprehension at Michael was convincing enough, but thesteward insisted. Kwaque gingerly obeyed, but scarcely had his footmoved an inch when Michael's was upon him. The foot and leg petrified,while Michael stiff-leggedly drew a half-circle of intimidation abouthim.
"Got you nailed to the floor, eh?" Daughtry chuckled. "Somenigger-chaser, my word, any amount."
"Hey, you, Kwaque, go fetch 'm two fella bottle of beer stop 'm alongicey-chestis," he commanded in his most peremptory manner.
Kwaque looked beseechingly, but did not stir. Nor did he stir at aharsher repetition of the order.
"My word!" the steward bullied. "Suppose 'm you no fetch 'm beer closeup, I knock 'm eight bells 'n 'a dog-watch onta you. Suppose 'm you nofetch 'm close up, me make 'm you go ashore 'n' walk about along KingWilliam Island."
"No can," Kwaque murmured timidly. "Eye belong dog look along me toomuch. Me no like 'm dog kai-kai along me."
"You fright along dog?" his master demanded.
"My word, me fright along dog any amount."
Dag Daughtry was delighted. Also, he was thirsty from his trip ashoreand did not prolong the situation.
"Hey, you, dog," he addressed Michael. "This fella boy he all right.Savvee? He all right."
Michael bobbed his tail and flattened his ears in token that he wastrying to understand. When the steward patted the black on the shoulder,Michael advanced and sniffed both the legs he had kept nailed to thefloor.
"Walk about," Daughtry commanded. "Walk about slow fella," he cautioned,though there was little need.
Michael bristled, but permitted the first timid step. At the second heglanced up at Daughtry to make certain.
"That's right," he was reassured. "That fella boy belong me. He allright, you bet."
Michael smiled with his eyes that he understood, and turned casuallyaside to investigate an open box on the floor which contained plates ofturtle-shell, hack-saws, and emery paper.
* * * * *
"And now," Dag Daughtry muttered weightily aloud, as, bottle in hand, heleaned back in his arm-chair while Kwaque knelt at his feet to unlace hisshoes, "now to consider a name for you, Mister Dog, that will be just toyour breeding and fair to my powers of invention."