CHAPTER IX
The morning the _Makambo_ entered Sydney harbour, Captain Duncan hadanother try for Michael. The port doctor's launch was coming alongside,when he nodded up to Daughtry, who was passing along the deck:
"Steward, I'll give you twenty pounds."
"No, sir, thank you, sir," was Dag Daughtry's answer. "I couldn't bearto part with him."
"Twenty-five pounds, then. I can't go beyond that. Besides, there areplenty more Irish terriers in the world."
"That's what I'm thinkin', sir. An' I'll get one for you. Right here inSydney. An' it won't cost you a penny, sir."
"But I want Killeny Boy," the captain persisted.
"An' so do I, which is the worst of it, sir. Besides, I got him first."
"Twenty-five sovereigns is a lot of money . . . for a dog," CaptainDuncan said.
"An' Killeny Boy's a lot of dog . . . for the money," the stewardretorted. "Why, sir, cuttin' out all sentiment, his tricks is worth more'n that. Him not recognizing me when I don't want 'm to is worth fiftypounds of itself. An' there's his countin' an' his singin', an' all therest of his tricks. Now, no matter how I got him, he didn't have themtricks. Them tricks are mine. I taught him them. He ain't the dog hewas when he come on board. He's a whole lot of me now, an' sellin' himwould be like sellin' a piece of myself."
"Thirty pounds," said the captain with finality.
"No, sir, thankin' you just the same, sir," was Daughtry's refusal.
And Captain Duncan was forced to turn away in order to greet the portdoctor coming over the side.
Scarcely had the _Makambo_ passed quarantine, and while on her way upharbour to dock, when a trim man-of-war launch darted in to her side anda trim lieutenant mounted the _Makambo's_ boarding-ladder. His missionwas quickly explained. The _Albatross_, British cruiser of the secondclass, of which he was fourth lieutenant, had called in at Tulagi withdispatches from the High Commissioner of the English South Seas. A scanttwelve hours having intervened between her arrival and the _Makambo's_departure, the Commissioner of the Solomons and Captain Kellar had beenof the opinion that the missing dog had been carried away on the steamer.Knowing that the _Albatross_ would beat her to Sydney, the captain of the_Albatross_ had undertaken to look up the dog. Was the dog, an Irishterrier answering to the name of Michael, on board?
Captain Duncan truthfully admitted that it was, though he mostunveraciously shielded Dag Daughtry by repeating his yarn of the dogcoming on board of itself. How to return the dog to Captain Kellar?--wasthe next question; for the _Albatross_ was bound on to New Zealand.Captain Duncan settled the matter.
"The _Makambo_ will be back in Tulagi in eight weeks," he told thelieutenant, "and I'll undertake personally to deliver the dog to itsowner. In the meantime we'll take good care of it. Our steward has sortof adopted it, so it will be in good hands."
* * * * *
"Seems we don't either of us get the dog," Daughtry commented resignedly,when Captain Duncan had explained the situation.
But when Daughtry turned his back and started off along the deck, hisconstitutional obstinacy tightened his brows so that the Shortlandsplanter, observing it, wondered what the captain had been rowing himabout.
* * * * *
Despite his six quarts a day and all his easy-goingness of disposition,Dag Daughtry possessed certain integrities. Though he could steal a dog,or a cat, without a twinge of conscience, he could not but be faithful tohis salt, being so made. He could not draw wages for being a shipsteward without faithfully performing the functions of ship steward.Though his mind was firmly made up, during the several days of the_Makambo_ in Sydney, lying alongside the Burns Philp Dock, he saw toevery detail of the cleaning up after the last crowd of outgoingpassengers, and to every detail of preparation for the next crowd ofincoming passengers who had tickets bought for the passage far away tothe coral seas and the cannibal isles.
In the midst of this devotion to his duty, he took a night off and partof two afternoons. The night off was devoted to the public-houses whichsailors frequent, and where can be learned the latest gossip and news ofships and of men who sail upon the sea. Such information did he gather,over many bottles of beer, that the next afternoon, hiring a small launchat a cost of ten shillings, he journeyed up the harbour to Jackson Bay,where lay the lofty-poled, sweet-lined, three-topmast American schooner,the _Mary Turner_.
Once on board, explaining his errand, he was taken below into the maincabin, where he interviewed, and was interviewed by, a quartette of menwhom Daughtry qualified to himself as "a rum bunch."
It was because he had talked long with the steward who had left the ship,that Dag Daughtry recognized and identified each of the four men. That,surely, was the "Ancient Mariner," sitting back and apart with washedeyes of such palest blue that they seemed a faded white. Long thin wispsof silvery, unkempt hair framed his face like an aureole. He was slenderto emaciation, cavernously checked, roll after roll of skin, no longerencasing flesh or muscle, hanging grotesquely down his neck and swathingthe Adam's apple so that only occasionally, with queer swallowingmotions, did it peep out of the mummy-wrappings of skin and sink backagain from view.
A proper ancient mariner, thought Daughtry. Might be seventy-five, mightjust as well be a hundred and five, or a hundred and seventy-five.
Beginning at the right temple, a ghastly scar split the cheek-bone, sankinto the depths of the hollow cheek, notched across the lower jaw, andplunged to disappearance among the prodigious skin-folds of the neck. Thewithered lobes of both ears were perforated by tiny gypsy-like circles ofgold. On the skeleton fingers of his right hand were no less than fiverings--not men's rings, nor women's, but foppish rings--"that would fetcha price," Daughtry adjudged. On the left hand were no rings, for therewere no fingers to wear them. Only was there a thumb; and, for thatmatter, most of the hand was missing as well, as if it had been cut offby the same slicing edge that had cleaved him from temple to jaw andheaven alone knew how far down that skin-draped neck.
The Ancient Mariner's washed eyes seemed to bore right through Daughtry(or at least so Daughtry felt), and rendered him so uncomfortable as tomake him casually step to the side for the matter of a yard. This waspossible, because, a servant seeking a servant's billet, he was expectedto stand and face the four seated ones as if they were judges on thebench and he the felon in the dock. Nevertheless, the gaze of theancient one pursued him, until, studying it more closely, he decided thatit did not reach to him at all. He got the impression that those washedpale eyes were filmed with dreams, and that the intelligence, the_thing_, that dwelt within the skull, fluttered and beat against thedream-films and no farther.
"How much would you expect?" the captain was asking,--a most unsealikecaptain, in Daughtry's opinion; rather, a spick-and-span, brisk littlebusiness-man or floor-walker just out of a bandbox.
"He shall not share," spoke up another of the four, huge, raw-boned,middle-aged, whom Daughtry identified by his ham-like hands as theCalifornia wheat-farmer described by the departed steward.
"Plenty for all," the Ancient Mariner startled Daughtry by cacklingshrilly. "Oodles and oodles of it, my gentlemen, in cask and chest, incask and chest, a fathom under the sand."
"Share--_what_, sir?" Daughtry queried, though well he knew, the othersteward having cursed to him the day he sailed from San Francisco on ablind lay instead of straight wages. "Not that it matters, sir," hehastened to add. "I spent a whalin' voyage once, three years of it, an'paid off with a dollar. Wages for mine, an' sixty gold a month, seein'there's only four of you."
"And a mate," the captain added.
"And a mate," Daughtry repeated. "Very good, sir. An' no share."
"But yourself?" spoke up the fourth man, a huge-bulking, colossal-bodied,greasy-seeming grossness of flesh--the Armenian Jew and San Franciscopawnbroker the previous steward had warned Daughtry about. "Have youpapers--letters of recommendation, the documents you receive when you arepaid off before the shipping co
mmissioners?"
"I might ask, sir," Dag Daughtry brazened it, "for your own papers. Thisain't no regular cargo-carrier or passenger-carrier, no more than yougentlemen are a regular company of ship-owners, with regular offices,doin' business in a regular way. How do I know if you own the ship even,or that the charter ain't busted long ago, or that you're being libelledashore right now, or that you won't dump me on any old beach anywhereswithout a soo-markee of what's comin' to me? Howsoever"--he anticipatedby a bluff of his own the show of wrath from the Jew that he knew wouldbe wind and bluff--"howsoever, here's my papers . . . "
With a swift dip of his hand into his inside coat-pocket he scattered outin a wealth of profusion on the cabin table all the papers, sealed andstamped, that he had collected in forty-five years of voyaging, thelatest date of which was five years back.
"I don't ask your papers," he went on. "What I ask is, cash payment infull the first of each month, sixty dollars a month gold--"
"Oodles and oodles of it, gold and gold and better than gold, in cask andchest, in cask and chest, a fathom under the sand," the Ancient Marinerassured him in beneficent cackles. "Kings, principalities andpowers!--all of us, the least of us. And plenty more, my gentlemen,plenty more. The latitude and longitude are mine, and the bearings fromthe oak ribs on the shoal to Lion's Head, and the cross-bearings from thepoints unnamable, I only know. I only still live of all that brave, mad,scallywag ship's company . . . "
"Will you sign the articles to that?" the Jew demanded, cutting in on theancient's maunderings.
"What port do you wind up the cruise in?" Daughtry asked.
"San Francisco."
"I'll sign the articles that I'm to sign off in San Francisco then."
The Jew, the captain, and the farmer nodded.
"But there's several other things to be agreed upon," Daughtry continued."In the first place, I want my six quarts a day. I'm used to it, and I'mtoo old a stager to change my habits."
"Of spirits, I suppose?" the Jew asked sarcastically.
"No; of beer, good English beer. It must be understood beforehand, nomatter what long stretches we may be at sea, that a sufficient supply istaken along."
"Anything else?" the captain queried.
"Yes, sir," Daughtry answered. "I got a dog that must come along."
"Anything else?--a wife or family maybe?" the farmer asked.
"No wife or family, sir. But I got a nigger, a perfectly good nigger,that's got to come along. He can sign on for ten dollars a month if heworks for the ship all his time. But if he works for me all the time,I'll let him sign on for two an' a half a month."
"Eighteen days in the longboat," the Ancient Mariner shrilled, toDaughtry's startlement. "Eighteen days in the longboat, eighteen days ofscorching hell."
"My word," quoth Daughtry, "the old gentleman'd give one the jumps.There'll sure have to be plenty of beer."
"Sea stewards put on some style, I must say," commented the wheat-farmer,oblivious to the Ancient Mariner, who still declaimed of the heat of thelongboat.
"Suppose we don't see our way to signing on a steward who travels in suchstyle?" the Jew asked, mopping the inside of his collar-band with acoloured silk handkerchief.
"Then you'll never know what a good steward you've missed, sir," Daughtryresponded airily.
"I guess there's plenty more stewards on Sydney beach," the captain saidbriskly. "And I guess I haven't forgotten old days, when I hired themlike so much dirt, yes, by Jinks, so much dirt, there were so many ofthem."
"Thank you, Mr. Steward, for looking us up," the Jew took up the ideawith insulting oiliness. "We very much regret our inability to meet yourwishes in the matter--"
"And I saw it go under the sand, a fathom under the sand, oncross-bearings unnamable, where the mangroves fade away, and the coconutsgrow, and the rise of land lifts from the beach to the Lion's Head."
"Hold your horses," the wheat-farmer said, with a flare of irritation,directed, not at the Ancient Mariner, but at the captain and the Jew."Who's putting up for this expedition? Don't I get no say so? Ain't myopinion ever to be asked? I like this steward. Strikes me he's the realgoods. I notice he's as polite as all get-out, and I can see he can takean order without arguing. And he ain't no fool by a long shot."
"That's the very point, Grimshaw," the Jew answered soothingly."Considering the unusualness of our . . . of the expedition, we'd bebetter served by a steward who is more of a fool. Another point, whichI'd esteem a real favour from you, is not to forget that you haven't puta red copper more into this trip than I have--"
"And where'd either of you be, if it wasn't for me with my knowledge ofthe sea?" the captain demanded aggrievedly. "To say nothing of themortgage on my house and on the nicest little best paying flat buildingin San Francisco since the earthquake."
"But who's still putting up?--all of you, I ask you." The wheat-farmerleaned forward, resting the heels of his hands on his knees so that thefingers hung down his long shins, in Daughtry's appraisal, half-way tohis feet. "You, Captain Doane, can't raise another penny on yourproperties. My land still grows the wheat that brings the ready. You,Simon Nishikanta, won't put up another penny--yet your loan-shark officesare doing business at the same old stands at God knows what per cent. todrunken sailors. And you hang the expedition up here in this hole-in-the-wall waiting for my agent to cable more wheat-money. Well, I guess we'lljust sign on this steward at sixty a month and all he asks, or I'll justnaturally quit you cold on the next fast steamer to San Francisco."
He stood up abruptly, towering to such height that Daughtry looked to seethe crown of his head collide with the deck above.
"I'm sick and tired of you all, yes, I am," he continued. "Get busy!Well, let's get busy. My money's coming. It'll be here by to-morrow.Let's be ready to start by hiring a steward that is a steward. I don'tcare if he brings two families along."
"I guess you're right, Grimshaw," Simon Nishikanta said appeasingly. "Thetrip is beginning to get on all our nerves. Forget it if I fly off thehandle. Of course we'll take this steward if you want him. I thought hewas too stylish for you."
He turned to Daughtry.
"Naturally, the least said ashore about us the better."
"That's all right, sir. I can keep my mouth shut, though I might as welltell you there's some pretty tales about you drifting around the beachright now."
"The object of our expedition?" the Jew queried quickly.
Daughtry nodded.
"Is that why you want to come?" was demanded equally quickly.
Daughtry shook his head.
"As long as you give me my beer each day, sir, I ain't goin' to beinterested in your treasure-huntin'. It ain't no new tale to me. TheSouth Seas is populous with treasure-hunters--" Almost could Daughtryhave sworn that he had seen a flash of anxiety break through the dream-films that bleared the Ancient Mariner's eyes. "And I must say, sir," hewent on easily, though saying what he would not have said had it not beenfor what he was almost certain he sensed of the ancient's anxiousness,"that the South Seas is just naturally lousy with buried treasure.There's Keeling-Cocos, millions 'n' millions of it, pounds sterling, Imean, waiting for the lucky one with the right steer."
This time Daughtry could have sworn to having sensed a change towardrelief in the Ancient Mariner, whose eyes were again filmy with dreams.
"But I ain't interested in treasure, sir," Daughtry concluded. "It'sbeer I'm interested in. You can chase your treasure, an' I don't carehow long, just as long as I've got six quarts to open each day. But Igive you fair warning, sir, before I sign on: if the beer dries up, I'mgoin' to get interested in what you're after. Fair play is my motto."
"Do you expect us to pay for your beer in addition?" Simon Nishikantademanded.
To Daughtry it was too good to be true. Here, with the Jew healing thebreach with the wheat-farmer whose agents still cabled money, was thetime to take advantage.
"Sure, it's one of our agreements, sir. Wh
at time would it suit you,sir, to-morrow afternoon, for me to sign on at the shippingcommissioner's?"
"Casks and chests of it, casks and chests of it, oodles and oodles, afathom under the sand," chattered the Ancient Mariner.
"You're all touched up under the roof," Daughtry grinned. "Which ain'tgot nothing to do with me as long as you furnish the beer, pay me due an'proper what's comin' to me the first of each an' every month, an' pay meoff final in San Francisco. As long as you keep up your end, I'll sailwith you to the Pit 'n' back an' watch you sweatin' the casks 'n' chestsout of the sand. What I want is to sail with you if you want me to sailwith you enough to satisfy me."
Simon Nishikanta glanced about. Grimshaw and Captain Doane nodded.
"At three o'clock to-morrow afternoon, at the shipping commissioner's,"the Jew agreed. "When will you report for duty?"
"When will you sail, sir?" Daughtry countered.
"Bright and early next morning."
"Then I'll be on board and on duty some time to-morrow night, sir."
And as he went up the cabin companion, he could hear the Ancient Marinermaundering: "Eighteen days in the longboat, eighteen days of scorchinghell . . . "