by Jack London
CHAPTER VI
The adventure that was so to alter the future occurred when Michael, inno uncertain manner, announced to all and sundry his presence on the_Makambo_. It was due to Kwaque's carelessness, to commence with, forKwaque left the stateroom without tight-closing the door. As the_Makambo_ rolled on an easy sea the door swung back and forth, remainingwide open for intervals and banging shut but not banging hard enough tolatch itself.
Michael crossed the high threshold with the innocent intention ofexploring no farther than the immediate vicinity. But scarcely was hethrough, when a heavier roll slammed the door and latched it. Andimmediately Michael wanted to get back. Obedience was strong in him, forit was his heart's desire to serve his lord's will, and from the fewdays' confinement he sensed, or guessed, or divined, without thinkingabout it, that it was Steward's will for him to stay in the stateroom.
For a long time he sat down before the closed door, regarding itwistfully but being too wise to bark or speak to such inanimate object.It had been part of his early puppyhood education to learn that only livethings could be moved by plea or threat, and that while things not alivedid move, as the door had moved, they never moved of themselves, and weredeaf to anything life might have to say to them. Occasionally he trotteddown the short cross-hall upon which the stateroom opened, and gazed upand down the long hall that ran fore and aft.
For the better part of an hour he did this, returning always to the doorthat would not open. Then he achieved a definite idea. Since the doorwould not open, and since Steward and Kwaque did not return, he would goin search of them. Once with this concept of action clear in his brain,without timidities of hesitation and irresolution, he trotted aft downthe long hall. Going around the right angle in which it ended, heencountered a narrow flight of steps. Among many scents, he recognizedthose of Kwaque and Steward and knew they had passed that way.
Up the stairs and on the main deck, he began to meet passengers. Beingwhite gods, he did not resent their addresses to him, though he did notlinger and went out on the open deck where more of the favoured godsreclined in steamer-chairs. Still no Kwaque or Steward. Another flightof narrow, steep stairs invited, and he came out on the boat-deck. Here,under the wide awnings, were many more of the gods--many times more thanhe had that far seen in his life.
The for'ard end of the boat-deck terminated in the bridge, which, insteadof being raised above it, was part of it. Trotting around thewheel-house to the shady lee-side of it, he came upon his fate; for be itknown that Captain Duncan possessed on board in addition to twofox-terriers, a big Persian cat, and that cat possessed a litter ofkittens. Her chosen nursery was the wheel-house, and Captain Duncan hadhumoured her, giving her a box for her kittens and threatening thequartermasters with all manner of dire fates did they so much as step onone of the kittens.
But Michael knew nothing of this. And the big Persian knew of hisexistence before he did of hers. In fact, the first he knew was when shelaunched herself upon him out of the open wheel-house doorway. Even ashe glimpsed this abrupt danger, and before he could know what it was, heleaped sideways and saved himself. From his point of view, the assaultwas unprovoked. He was staring at her with bristling hair, recognizingher for what she was, a cat, when she sprang again, her tail the size ofa large man's arm, all claws and spitting fury and vindictiveness.
This was too much for a self-respecting Irish terrier. His wrath wasimmediate with her second leap, and he sprang to the side to avoid herclaws, and in from the side to meet her, his jaws clamping together onher spinal column with a jerk while she was still in mid-air. The nextmoment she lay sprawling and struggling on the deck with a broken back.
But for Michael this was only the beginning. A shrill yelling, ratherthan yelping, of more enemies made him whirl half about, but not quickenough. Struck in flank by two full-grown fox-terriers, he was slashedand rolled on the deck. The two, by the way, had long before made theirfirst appearance on the _Makambo_ as little puppies in Dag Daughtry'scoat pockets--Daughtry, in his usual fashion, having appropriated themashore in Sydney and sold them to Captain Duncan for a guinea apiece.
By this time, scrambling to his feet, Michael was really angry. Intruth, it was raining cats and dogs, such belligerent shower allunprovoked by him who had picked no quarrels nor even been aware of hisenemies until they assailed him. Brave the fox-terriers were, despitethe hysterical rage they were in, and they were upon him as he got hislegs under him. The fangs of one clashed with his, cutting the lips ofboth of them, and the lighter dog recoiled from the impact. The othersucceeded in taking Michael in flank, fetching blood and hurt with histeeth. With an instant curve, that was almost spasmodic, of his body,Michael flung his flank clear, leaving the other's mouth full of hishair, and at the same moment drove his teeth through an ear till theymet. The fox-terrier, with a shrill yelp of pain, sprang back soimpetuously as to ribbon its ear as Michael's teeth combed through it.
The first terrier was back upon him, and he was whirling to meet it, whena new and equally unprovoked assault was made upon him. This time it wasCaptain Duncan, in a rage at sight of his slain cat. The instep of hisfoot caught Michael squarely under the chest, half knocking the breathout of him and wholly lifting him into the air, so that he fell heavilyon his side. The two terriers were upon him, filling their mouths withhis straight, wiry hair as they sank their teeth in. Still on his side,as he was beginning to struggle to his feet, he clipped his jaws togetheron a leg of one, who screamed with pain and retreated on three legs,holding up the fourth, a fore leg, the bone of which Michael's teeth hadall but crushed.
Twice Michael slashed the other four-footed foe and then pursued him in acircle with Captain Duncan pursuing him in turn. Shortening the distanceby leaping across a chord of the arc of the other's flight, Michaelclosed his jaws on the back and side of the neck. Such abrupt arrest inmid-flight by the heavier dog brought the fox-terrier down on deck with,a heavy thump. Simultaneous with this, Captain Duncan's second kicklanded, communicating such propulsion to Michael as to tear his clenchedteeth through the flesh and out of the flesh of the fox-terrier.
And Michael turned on the Captain. What if he were a white god? In hisrage at so many assaults of so many enemies, Michael, who had beenpeacefully looking for Kwaque and Steward, did not stop to reckon.Besides, it was a strange white god upon whom he had never before laideyes.
At the beginning he had snarled and growled. But it was a more seriousaffair to attack a god, and no sound came from him as he leaped to meetthe leg flying toward him in another kick. As with the cat, he did notleap straight at it. To the side to avoid, and in with a curve of bodyas it passed, was his way. He had learned the trick with many blacks atMeringe and on board the _Eugenie_, so that as often he succeeded asfailed at it. His teeth came together in the slack of the white ducktrousers. The consequent jerk on Captain Duncan's leg made thatinfuriated mariner lose his balance. Almost he fell forward on his face,part recovered himself with a violent effort, stumbled over Michael whowas in for another bite, tottered wildly around, and sat down on thedeck.
How long he might have sat there to recover his breath is problematical,for he rose as rapidly as his stoutness would permit, spurred on byMichael's teeth already sunk into the fleshy part of his shoulder.Michael missed his calf as he uprose, but tore the other leg of thetrousers to shreds and received a kick that lifted him a yard above thedeck in a half-somersault and landed him on his back on deck.
Up to this time the Captain had been on the ferocious offensive, and hewas in the act of following up the kick when Michael regained his feetand soared up in the air, not for leg or thigh, but for the throat. Toohigh it was for him to reach it, but his teeth closed on the flowingblack scarf and tore it to tatters as his weight drew him back to deck.
It was not this so much that turned Captain Duncan to the pure defensiveand started him retreating backward, as it was the silence of Michael.Ominous as death it was. There were no snarls nor th
roat-threats. Witheyes straight-looking and unblinking, he sprang and sprang again. Neitherdid he growl when he attacked nor yelp when he was kicked. Fear of theblow was not in him. As Tom Haggin had so often bragged of Biddy andTerrence, they bred true in Jerry and Michael in the matter of notwincing at a blow. Always--they were so made--they sprang to meet theblow and to encounter the creature who delivered the blow. With asilence that was invested with the seriousness of death, they were wontto attack and to continue to attack.
And so Michael. As the Captain retreated kicking, he attacked, leapingand slashing. What saved Captain Duncan was a sailor with a deck mop onthe end of a stick. Intervening, he managed to thrust it into Michael'smouth and shove him away. This first time his teeth closed automaticallyupon it. But, spitting it out, he declined thereafter to bite it,knowing it for what it was, an inanimate thing upon which his teeth couldinflict no hurt.
Nor, beyond trying to avoid him, was he interested in the sailor. It wasCaptain Duncan, leaning his back against the rail, breathing heavily, andwiping the streaming sweat from his face, who was Michael's meat. Longas it has taken to tell the battle, beginning with the slaying of thePersian cat to the thrusting of the mop into Michael's jaws, so swift hadbeen the rush of events that the passengers, springing from their deck-chairs and hurrying to the scene, were just arriving when Michael eludedthe mop of the sailor by a successful dodge and plunged in on CaptainDuncan, this time sinking his teeth so savagely into a rotund calf as tocause its owner to splutter an incoherent curse and howl of wrathfulsurprise.
A fortunate kick hurled Michael away and enabled the sailor to interveneonce again with the mop. And upon the scene came Dag Daughtry, to beholdhis captain, frayed and bleeding and breathing apoplectically, Michaelraging in ghastly silence at the end of a mop, and a large Persian mother-cat writhing with a broken back.
"Killeny Boy!" the steward cried imperatively.
Through no matter what indignation and rage that possessed him, hislord's voice penetrated his consciousness, so that, cooling almostinstantly, Michael's ears flattened, his bristling hair lay down, and hislips covered his fangs as he turned his head to look acknowledgment.
"Come here, Killeny!"
Michael obeyed--not crouching cringingly, but trotting eagerly, gladly,to Steward's feet.
"Lie down, Boy."
He turned half around as he flumped himself down with a sigh of relief,and, with a red flash of tongue, kissed Steward's foot.
"Your dog, Steward?" Captain Duncan demanded in a smothered voice whereinstruggled anger and shortness of breath.
"Yes, sir. My dog. What's he been up to, sir?"
The totality of what Michael had been up to choked the Captaincompletely. He could only gesture around from the dying cat to his tornclothes and bleeding wounds and the fox-terriers licking their injuriesand whimpering at his feet.
"It's too bad, sir . . . " Daughtry began.
"Too bad, hell!" the captain shut him off. "Bo's'n! Throw that dogoverboard."
"Throw the dog overboard, sir, yes, sir," the boatswain repeated, buthesitated.
Dag Daughtry's face hardened unconsciously with the stiffening of hiswill to dogged opposition, which, in its own slow quiet way, would go toany length to have its way. But he answered respectfully enough, hisfeatures, by a shrewd effort, relaxing into a seeming of his customarygood-nature.
"He's a good dog, sir, and an unoffending dog. I can't imagine whatcould a-made 'm break loose this way. He must a-had cause, sir--"
"He had," one of the passengers, a coconut planter from the Shortlands,interjected.
The steward threw him a grateful glance and continued.
"He's a good dog, sir, a most obedient dog, sir--look at the way heminded me right in the thick of the scrap an' come 'n' lay down. He'ssmart as chain-lightnin', sir; do anything I tell him. I'll make himmake friends. See. . . "
Stepping over to the two hysterical terriers, Daughtry called Michael tohim.
"He's all right, savvee, Killeny, he all right," he crooned, at the sametime resting one hand on a terrier and the other on Michael.
The terrier whimpered and backed solidly against Captain Duncan's legs,but Michael, with a slow bob of tail and unbelligerent ears, advanced tohim, looked up to Steward to make sure, then sniffed his late antagonist,and even ran out his tongue in a caress to the side of the other's ear.
"See, sir, no bad feelings," Daughtry exulted. "He plays the game, sir.He's a proper dog, he's a man-dog.--Here, Killeny! The other one. Heall right. Kiss and make up. That's the stuff."
The other fox-terrier, the one with the injured foreleg, enduredMichael's sniff with no more than hysterical growls deep in the throat;but the flipping out of Michael's tongue was too much. The woundedterrier exploded in a futile snap at Michael's tongue and nose.
"He all right, Killeny, he all right, sure," Steward warned quickly.
With a bob of his tail in token of understanding, without a shade ofresentment, Michael lifted a paw and with a playful casual stroke, dab-like, brought its weight on the other's neck and rolled him,head-downward, over on the deck. Though he snarled wrathily, Michaelturned away composedly and looked up into Steward's face for approval.
A roar of laughter from the passengers greeted the capsizing of the fox-terrier and the good-natured gravity of Michael. But not alone at thisdid they laugh, for at the moment of the snap and the turning over,Captain Duncan's unstrung nerves had exploded, causing him to jump as hetensed his whole body.
"Why, sir," the steward went on with growing confidence, "I bet I canmake him friends with you, too, by this time to-morrow . . . "
"By this time five minutes he'll be overboard," the captain answered."Bo's'n! Over with him!"
The boatswain advanced a tentative step, while murmurs of protest arosefrom the passengers.
"Look at my cat, and look at me," Captain Duncan defended his action.
The boatswain made another step, and Dag Daughtry glared a threat at him.
"Go on!" the Captain commanded.
"Hold on!" spoke up the Shortlands planter. "Give the dog a square deal.I saw the whole thing. He wasn't looking for trouble. First the catjumped him. She had to jump twice before he turned loose. She'd havescratched his eyes out. Then the two dogs jumped him. He hadn'tbothered them. Then you jumped him. He hadn't bothered you. And thencame that sailor with the mop. And now you want the bo's'n to jump himand throw him overboard. Give him a square deal. He's only beendefending himself. What do you expect any dog that is a dog to do?--liedown and be walked over by every strange dog and cat that comes along?Play the game, Skipper. You gave him some mighty hard kicks. He onlydefended himself."
"He's some defender," Captain Duncan grinned, with a hint of the returnof his ordinary geniality, at the same time tenderly pressing hisbleeding shoulder and looking woefully down at his tattered ducktrousers. "All right, Steward. If you can make him friends with me infive minutes, he stays on board. But you'll have to make it up to mewith a new pair of trousers."
"And gladly, sir, thank you, sir," Daughtry cried. "And I'll make it upwith a new cat as well, sir--Come on, Killeny Boy. This big fellamarster he all right, you bet."
And Michael listened. Not with the smouldering, smothering, chokinghysteria that still worked in the fox-terriers did he listen, nor withquivering of muscles and jumps of over-wrought nerves, but coolly,composedly, as if no battle royal had just taken place and no rips ofteeth and kicks of feet still burned and ached his body.
He could not help bristling, however, when first he sniffed a trousers'leg into which his teeth had so recently torn.
"Put your hand down on him, sir," Daughtry begged.
And Captain Duncan, his own good self once more, bent and rested a firm,unhesitating hand on Michael's head. Nay, more; he even caressed theears and rubbed about the roots of them. And Michael the merry-hearted,who fought like a lion and forgave and forgot like a man, laid his neckhair smoothly
down, wagged his stump tail, smiled with his eyes and earsand mouth, and kissed with his tongue the hand with which a short timebefore he had been at war.
