And Jerry, understanding none of the words, with the exception of his own name, nevertheless knew that the sounds made by Skipper were broad of praise and warm of love.  And when Skipper stooped and rubbed his ears, or received a rose-kiss on extended fingers, or caught him up in his arms, Jerry’s heart was nigh to bursting.  For what greater ecstasy can be the portion of any creature than that it be loved by a god?  This was just precisely Jerry’s ecstasy.  This was a god, a tangible, real, three-dimensioned god, who went about and ruled his world in a loin-cloth and on two bare legs, and who loved him with crooning noises in throat and mouth and with two wide-spread arms that folded him in.

At four o’clock, measuring a glance at the afternoon sun and gauging the speed of the Arangi through the water in relation to the closeness of Su’u, Van Horn went below and roughly shook the mate awake.  Until both returned, Jerry held the deck alone.  But for the fact that the white-gods were there below and were certain to be back at any moment, not many moments would Jerry have held the deck, for every lessened mile between the return boys and Malaita contributed a rising of their spirits, and under the imminence of their old-time independence, Lerumie, as an instance of many of them, with strong gustatory sensations and a positive drooling at the mouth, regarded Jerry in terms of food and vengeance that were identical.

Flat-hauled on the crisp breeze, the Arangi closed in rapidly with the land.  Jerry peered through the barbed wire, sniffing the air, Skipper beside him and giving orders to the mate and helmsman.  The heap of trade-boxes was now unlashed, and the boys began opening and shutting them.  What gave them particular delight was the ringing of the bell with which each box was equipped and which rang whenever a lid was raised.  Their pleasure in the toy-like contrivance was that of children, and each went back again and again to unlock his own box and make the bell ring.

Fifteen of the boys were to be landed at Su’u and with wild gesticulations and cries they began to recognize and point out the infinitesimal details of the landfall of the only spot they had known on earth prior to the day, three years before, when they had been sold into slavery by their fathers, uncles, and chiefs.

A narrow neck of water, scarcely a hundred yards across, gave entrance to a long and tiny bay.  The shore was massed with mangroves and dense, tropical vegetation.  There was no sign of houses nor of human occupancy, although Van Horn, staring at the dense jungle so close at hand, knew as a matter of course that scores, and perhaps hundreds, of pairs of human eyes were looking at him.

“Smell ’m, Jerry, smell ’m,” he encouraged.

And Jerry’s hair bristled as he barked at the mangrove wall, for truly his keen scent informed him of lurking niggers.

“If I could smell like him,” the captain said to the mate, “there wouldn’t be any risk at all of my ever losing my head.”