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diff --git a/1712-0.txt b/1712-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8d87f3 --- /dev/null +++ b/1712-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14853 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rescue, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Rescue + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #1712] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RESCUE *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + + + + + +THE RESCUE + +A ROMANCE OF THE SHALLOWS + + +By Joseph Conrad + + +'Allas!' quod she, 'that ever this sholde happe! For wende I never, +by possibilitee, That swich a monstre or merveille mighte be!'--THE +FRANKELEYN'S TALE + + +TO FREDERIC COURTLAND PENFIELD LAST AMBASSADOR OF THE UNITED STATES OF +AMERICA TO THE LATE AUSTRIAN EMPIRE, THIS OLD TIME TALE IS GRATEFULLY +INSCRIBED IN MEMORY OF THE RESCUE OF CERTAIN DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS +EFFECTED BY HIM IN THE WORLD'S GREAT STORM OF THE YEAR 1914 + + + + +AUTHOR'S NOTE + +Of the three long novels of mine which suffered an interruption, “The +Rescue” was the one that had to wait the longest for the good pleasure +of the Fates. I am betraying no secret when I state here that it had +to wait precisely for twenty years. I laid it aside at the end of the +summer of 1898 and it was about the end of the summer of 1918 that I +took it up again with the firm determination to see the end of it and +helped by the sudden feeling that I might be equal to the task. + +This does not mean that I turned to it with elation. I was well aware +and perhaps even too much aware of the dangers of such an adventure. +The amazingly sympathetic kindness which men of various temperaments, +diverse views and different literary tastes have been for years +displaying towards my work has done much for me, has done all--except +giving me that over-weening self-confidence which may assist an +adventurer sometimes but in the long run ends by leading him to the +gallows. + +As the characteristic I want most to impress upon these short Author's +Notes prepared for my first Collected Edition is that of absolute +frankness, I hasten to declare that I founded my hopes not on my +supposed merits but on the continued goodwill of my readers. I may say +at once that my hopes have been justified out of all proportion to my +deserts. I met with the most considerate, most delicately expressed +criticism free from all antagonism and in its conclusions showing +an insight which in itself could not fail to move me deeply, but was +associated also with enough commendation to make me feel rich beyond the +dreams of avarice--I mean an artist's avarice which seeks its treasure +in the hearts of men and women. + +No! Whatever the preliminary anxieties might have been this adventure +was not to end in sorrow. Once more Fortune favoured audacity; and yet +I have never forgotten the jocular translation of _Audaces fortuna juvat_ +offered to me by my tutor when I was a small boy: “The Audacious get +bitten.” However he took care to mention that there were various kinds +of audacity. Oh, there are, there are! . . . There is, for instance, the +kind of audacity almost indistinguishable from impudence. . . . I +must believe that in this case I have not been impudent for I am not +conscious of having been bitten. + +The truth is that when “The Rescue” was laid aside it was not laid aside +in despair. Several reasons contributed to this abandonment and, no +doubt, the first of them was the growing sense of general difficulty in +the handling of the subject. The contents and the course of the story I +had clearly in my mind. But as to the way of presenting the facts, and +perhaps in a certain measure as to the nature of the facts themselves, +I had many doubts. I mean the telling, representative facts, helpful +to carry on the idea, and, at the same time, of such a nature as not to +demand an elaborate creation of the atmosphere to the detriment of +the action. I did not see how I could avoid becoming wearisome in the +presentation of detail and in the pursuit of clearness. I saw the action +plainly enough. What I had lost for the moment was the sense of the +proper formula of expression, the only formula that would suit. This, +of course, weakened my confidence in the intrinsic worth and in the +possible interest of the story--that is in my invention. But I suspect +that all the trouble was, in reality, the doubt of my prose, the doubt +of its adequacy, of its power to master both the colours and the shades. + +It is difficult to describe, exactly as I remember it, the complex state +of my feelings; but those of my readers who take an interest in artistic +perplexities will understand me best when I point out that I dropped +“The Rescue” not to give myself up to idleness, regrets, or dreaming, +but to begin “The Nigger of the 'Narcissus'” and to go on with it +without hesitation and without a pause. A comparison of any page of +“The Rescue” with any page of “The Nigger” will furnish an ocular +demonstration of the nature and the inward meaning of this first crisis +of my writing life. For it was a crisis undoubtedly. The laying aside of +a work so far advanced was a very awful decision to take. It was +wrung from me by a sudden conviction that _there_ only was the road of +salvation, the clear way out for an uneasy conscience. The finishing +of “The Nigger” brought to my troubled mind the comforting sense of +an accomplished task, and the first consciousness of a certain sort +of mastery which could accomplish something with the aid of propitious +stars. Why I did not return to “The Rescue” at once then, was not for +the reason that I had grown afraid of it. Being able now to assume a +firm attitude I said to myself deliberately: “That thing can wait.” At +the same time I was just as certain in my mind that “Youth,” a story +which I had then, so to speak, on the tip of my pen, could _not_ wait. +Neither could “Heart of Darkness” be put off; for the practical reason +that Mr. Wm. Blackwood having requested me to write something for the +No. M of his magazine I had to stir up at once the subject of that tale +which had been long lying quiescent in my mind, because, obviously, the +venerable Maga at her patriarchal age of 1000 numbers could not be kept +waiting. Then “Lord Jim,” with about seventeen pages already written at +odd times, put in his claim which was irresistible. Thus every stroke +of the pen was taking me further away from the abandoned “Rescue,” not +without some compunction on my part but with a gradually diminishing +resistance; till at last I let myself go as if recognising a superior +influence against which it was useless to contend. + +The years passed and the pages grew in number, and the long reveries of +which they were the outcome stretched wide between me and the deserted +“Rescue” like the smooth hazy spaces of a dreamy sea. Yet I never +actually lost sight of that dark speck in the misty distance. It +had grown very small but it asserted itself with the appeal of old +associations. It seemed to me that it would be a base thing for me to +slip out of the world leaving it out there all alone, waiting for its +fate--that would never come? + +Sentiment, pure sentiment as you see, prompted me in the last instance +to face the pains and hazards of that return. As I moved slowly towards +the abandoned body of the tale it loomed up big amongst the glittering +shallows of the coast, lonely but not forbidding. There was nothing +about it of a grim derelict. It had an air of expectant life. One after +another I made out the familiar faces watching my approach with faint +smiles of amused recognition. They had known well enough that I was +bound to come back to them. But their eyes met mine seriously as was +only to be expected since I, myself, felt very serious as I stood +amongst them again after years of absence. At once, without wasting +words, we went to work together on our renewed life; and every moment +I felt more strongly that They Who had Waited bore no grudge to the man +who however widely he may have wandered at times had played truant only +once in his life. + +1920. J. C. + + + + +CONTENTS + +PART I. THE MAN AND THE BRIG + +PART II. THE SHORE OF REFUGE + +PART III. THE CAPTURE + +PART IV. THE GIFT OF THE SHALLOWS + +PART V. THE POINT OF HONOUR AND THE POINT OF PASSION + +PART VI. THE CLAIM OF LIFE AND THE TOLL OF DEATH + + + + +PART I. THE MAN AND THE BRIG + +The shallow sea that foams and murmurs on the shores of the thousand +islands, big and little, which make up the Malay Archipelago has been +for centuries the scene of adventurous undertakings. The vices and the +virtues of four nations have been displayed in the conquest of that +region that even to this day has not been robbed of all the mystery +and romance of its past--and the race of men who had fought against +the Portuguese, the Spaniards, the Dutch and the English, has not been +changed by the unavoidable defeat. They have kept to this day their +love of liberty, their fanatical devotion to their chiefs, their +blind fidelity in friendship and hate--all their lawful and unlawful +instincts. Their country of land and water--for the sea was as much +their country as the earth of their islands--has fallen a prey to the +western race--the reward of superior strength if not of superior virtue. +To-morrow the advancing civilization will obliterate the marks of a long +struggle in the accomplishment of its inevitable victory. + +The adventurers who began that struggle have left no descendants. The +ideas of the world changed too quickly for that. But even far into the +present century they have had successors. Almost in our own day we have +seen one of them--a true adventurer in his devotion to his impulse--a +man of high mind and of pure heart, lay the foundation of a flourishing +state on the ideas of pity and justice. He recognized chivalrously the +claims of the conquered; he was a disinterested adventurer, and the +reward of his noble instincts is in the veneration with which a strange +and faithful race cherish his memory. + +Misunderstood and traduced in life, the glory of his achievement has +vindicated the purity of his motives. He belongs to history. But there +were others--obscure adventurers who had not his advantages of birth, +position, and intelligence; who had only his sympathy with the people of +forests and sea he understood and loved so well. They can not be said +to be forgotten since they have not been known at all. They were lost +in the common crowd of seamen-traders of the Archipelago, and if +they emerged from their obscurity it was only to be condemned as +law-breakers. Their lives were thrown away for a cause that had no right +to exist in the face of an irresistible and orderly progress--their +thoughtless lives guided by a simple feeling. + +But the wasted lives, for the few who know, have tinged with romance the +region of shallow waters and forest-clad islands, that lies far east, +and still mysterious between the deep waters of two oceans. + + +I + +Out of the level blue of a shallow sea Carimata raises a lofty +barrenness of grey and yellow tints, the drab eminence of its arid +heights. Separated by a narrow strip of water, Suroeton, to the west, +shows a curved and ridged outline resembling the backbone of a stooping +giant. And to the eastward a troop of insignificant islets stand +effaced, indistinct, with vague features that seem to melt into the +gathering shadows. The night following from the eastward the retreat of +the setting sun advanced slowly, swallowing the land and the sea; the +land broken, tormented and abrupt; the sea smooth and inviting with its +easy polish of continuous surface to wanderings facile and endless. + +There was no wind, and a small brig that had lain all the afternoon a +few miles to the northward and westward of Carimata had hardly altered +its position half a mile during all these hours. The calm was absolute, +a dead, flat calm, the stillness of a dead sea and of a dead atmosphere. +As far as the eye could reach there was nothing but an impressive +immobility. Nothing moved on earth, on the waters, and above them in the +unbroken lustre of the sky. On the unruffled surface of the straits the +brig floated tranquil and upright as if bolted solidly, keel to keel, +with its own image reflected in the unframed and immense mirror of +the sea. To the south and east the double islands watched silently the +double ship that seemed fixed amongst them forever, a hopeless captive +of the calm, a helpless prisoner of the shallow sea. + +Since midday, when the light and capricious airs of these seas had +abandoned the little brig to its lingering fate, her head had swung +slowly to the westward and the end of her slender and polished jib-boom, +projecting boldly beyond the graceful curve of the bow, pointed at the +setting sun, like a spear poised high in the hand of an enemy. Right +aft by the wheel the Malay quartermaster stood with his bare, brown feet +firmly planted on the wheel-grating, and holding the spokes at right +angles, in a solid grasp, as though the ship had been running before a +gale. He stood there perfectly motionless, as if petrified but ready +to tend the helm as soon as fate would permit the brig to gather way +through the oily sea. + +The only other human being then visible on the brig's deck was the +person in charge: a white man of low stature, thick-set, with shaven +cheeks, a grizzled moustache, and a face tinted a scarlet hue by the +burning suns and by the sharp salt breezes of the seas. He had thrown +off his light jacket, and clad only in white trousers and a thin cotton +singlet, with his stout arms crossed on his breast--upon which they +showed like two thick lumps of raw flesh--he prowled about from side to +side of the half-poop. On his bare feet he wore a pair of straw sandals, +and his head was protected by an enormous pith hat--once white but now +very dirty--which gave to the whole man the aspect of a phenomenal +and animated mushroom. At times he would interrupt his uneasy shuffle +athwart the break of the poop, and stand motionless with a vague gaze +fixed on the image of the brig in the calm water. He could also see down +there his own head and shoulders leaning out over the rail and he would +stand long, as if interested by his own features, and mutter vague +curses on the calm which lay upon the ship like an immovable burden, +immense and burning. + +At last, he sighed profoundly, nerved himself for a great effort, and +making a start away from the rail managed to drag his slippers as far +as the binnacle. There he stopped again, exhausted and bored. From under +the lifted glass panes of the cabin skylight near by came the feeble +chirp of a canary, which appeared to give him some satisfaction. He +listened, smiled faintly muttered “Dicky, poor Dick--” and fell back +into the immense silence of the world. His eyes closed, his head hung +low over the hot brass of the binnacle top. Suddenly he stood up with a +jerk and said sharply in a hoarse voice: + +“You've been sleeping--you. Shift the helm. She has got stern way on +her.” + +The Malay, without the least flinch of feature or pose, as if he had +been an inanimate object called suddenly into life by some hidden magic +of the words, spun the wheel rapidly, letting the spokes pass through +his hands; and when the motion had stopped with a grinding noise, caught +hold again and held on grimly. After a while, however, he turned his +head slowly over his shoulder, glanced at the sea, and said in an +obstinate tone: + +“No catch wind--no get way.” + +“No catch--no catch--that's all you know about it,” growled the +red-faced seaman. “By and by catch Ali--” he went on with sudden +condescension. “By and by catch, and then the helm will be the right +way. See?” + +The stolid seacannie appeared to see, and for that matter to hear, +nothing. The white man looked at the impassive Malay with disgust, +then glanced around the horizon--then again at the helmsman and ordered +curtly: + +“Shift the helm back again. Don't you feel the air from aft? You are +like a dummy standing there.” + +The Malay revolved the spokes again with disdainful obedience, and the +red-faced man was moving forward grunting to himself, when through the +open skylight the hail “On deck there!” arrested him short, attentive, +and with a sudden change to amiability in the expression of his face. + +“Yes, sir,” he said, bending his ear toward the opening. “What's the +matter up there?” asked a deep voice from below. + +The red-faced man in a tone of surprise said: + +“Sir?” + +“I hear that rudder grinding hard up and hard down. What are you up to, +Shaw? Any wind?” + +“Ye-es,” drawled Shaw, putting his head down the skylight and speaking +into the gloom of the cabin. “I thought there was a light air, and--but +it's gone now. Not a breath anywhere under the heavens.” + +He withdrew his head and waited a while by the skylight, but heard +only the chirping of the indefatigable canary, a feeble twittering that +seemed to ooze through the drooping red blossoms of geraniums growing in +flower-pots under the glass panes. He strolled away a step or two before +the voice from down below called hurriedly: + +“Hey, Shaw? Are you there?” + +“Yes, Captain Lingard,” he answered, stepping back. “Have we drifted +anything this afternoon?” + +“Not an inch, sir, not an inch. We might as well have been at anchor.” + +“It's always so,” said the invisible Lingard. His voice changed its tone +as he moved in the cabin, and directly afterward burst out with a +clear intonation while his head appeared above the slide of the cabin +entrance: + +“Always so! The currents don't begin till it's dark, when a man can't +see against what confounded thing he is being drifted, and then the +breeze will come. Dead on end, too, I don't doubt.” + +Shaw moved his shoulders slightly. The Malay at the wheel, after making +a dive to see the time by the cabin clock through the skylight, rang a +double stroke on the small bell aft. Directly forward, on the main deck, +a shrill whistle arose long drawn, modulated, dying away softly. The +master of the brig stepped out of the companion upon the deck of his +vessel, glanced aloft at the yards laid dead square; then, from the +door-step, took a long, lingering look round the horizon. + +He was about thirty-five, erect and supple. He moved freely, more like +a man accustomed to stride over plains and hills, than like one who from +his earliest youth had been used to counteract by sudden swayings of his +body the rise and roll of cramped decks of small craft, tossed by the +caprice of angry or playful seas. + +He wore a grey flannel shirt, and his white trousers were held by a blue +silk scarf wound tightly round his narrow waist. He had come up only for +a moment, but finding the poop shaded by the main-topsail he remained +on deck bareheaded. The light chestnut hair curled close about his +well-shaped head, and the clipped beard glinted vividly when he passed +across a narrow strip of sunlight, as if every hair in it had been +a wavy and attenuated gold wire. His mouth was lost in the heavy +moustache; his nose was straight, short, slightly blunted at the end; +a broad band of deeper red stretched under the eyes, clung to the cheek +bones. The eyes gave the face its remarkable expression. The eyebrows, +darker than the hair, pencilled a straight line below the wide and +unwrinkled brow much whiter than the sunburnt face. The eyes, as if +glowing with the light of a hidden fire, had a red glint in their +greyness that gave a scrutinizing ardour to the steadiness of their +gaze. + +That man, once so well known, and now so completely forgotten amongst +the charming and heartless shores of the shallow sea, had amongst his +fellows the nickname of “Red-Eyed Tom.” He was proud of his luck but not +of his good sense. He was proud of his brig, of the speed of his craft, +which was reckoned the swiftest country vessel in those seas, and proud +of what she represented. + +She represented a run of luck on the Victorian goldfields; his sagacious +moderation; long days of planning, of loving care in building; the +great joy of his youth, the incomparable freedom of the seas; a perfect +because a wandering home; his independence, his love--and his anxiety. +He had often heard men say that Tom Lingard cared for nothing on earth +but for his brig--and in his thoughts he would smilingly correct the +statement by adding that he cared for nothing _living_ but the brig. + +To him she was as full of life as the great world. He felt her live in +every motion, in every roll, in every sway of her tapering masts, +of those masts whose painted trucks move forever, to a seaman's +eye, against the clouds or against the stars. To him she was always +precious--like old love; always desirable--like a strange woman; always +tender--like a mother; always faithful--like the favourite daughter of a +man's heart. + +For hours he would stand elbow on rail, his head in his hand and +listen--and listen in dreamy stillness to the cajoling and promising +whisper of the sea, that slipped past in vanishing bubbles along the +smooth black-painted sides of his craft. What passed in such moments +of thoughtful solitude through the mind of that child of generations of +fishermen from the coast of Devon, who like most of his class was +dead to the subtle voices, and blind to the mysterious aspects of the +world--the man ready for the obvious, no matter how startling, how +terrible or menacing, yet defenceless as a child before the shadowy +impulses of his own heart; what could have been the thoughts of such a +man, when once surrendered to a dreamy mood, it is difficult to say. + +No doubt he, like most of us, would be uplifted at times by the awakened +lyrism of his heart into regions charming, empty, and dangerous. But +also, like most of us, he was unaware of his barren journeys above the +interesting cares of this earth. Yet from these, no doubt absurd and +wasted moments, there remained on the man's daily life a tinge as that +of a glowing and serene half-light. It softened the outlines of his +rugged nature; and these moments kept close the bond between him and his +brig. + +He was aware that his little vessel could give him something not to be +had from anybody or anything in the world; something specially his own. +The dependence of that solid man of bone and muscle on that obedient +thing of wood and iron, acquired from that feeling the mysterious +dignity of love. She--the craft--had all the qualities of a living +thing: speed, obedience, trustworthiness, endurance, beauty, capacity +to do and to suffer--all but life. He--the man--was the inspirer of that +thing that to him seemed the most perfect of its kind. His will was +its will, his thought was its impulse, his breath was the breath of +its existence. He felt all this confusedly, without ever shaping this +feeling into the soundless formulas of thought. To him she was unique +and dear, this brig of three hundred and fourteen tons register--a +kingdom! + +And now, bareheaded and burly, he walked the deck of his kingdom with a +regular stride. He stepped out from the hip, swinging his arms with +the free motion of a man starting out for a fifteen-mile walk into open +country; yet at every twelfth stride he had to turn about sharply and +pace back the distance to the taffrail. + +Shaw, with his hands stuck in his waistband, had hooked himself with +both elbows to the rail, and gazed apparently at the deck between his +feet. In reality he was contemplating a little house with a tiny front +garden, lost in a maze of riverside streets in the east end of London. +The circumstance that he had not, as yet, been able to make the +acquaintance of his son--now aged eighteen months--worried him slightly, +and was the cause of that flight of his fancy into the murky atmosphere +of his home. But it was a placid flight followed by a quick return. +In less than two minutes he was back in the brig. “All there,” as his +saying was. He was proud of being always “all there.” + +He was abrupt in manner and grumpy in speech with the seamen. To his +successive captains, he was outwardly as deferential as he knew how, and +as a rule inwardly hostile--so very few seemed to him of the “all there” + kind. Of Lingard, with whom he had only been a short time--having been +picked up in Madras Roads out of a home ship, which he had to leave +after a thumping row with the master--he generally approved, although he +recognized with regret that this man, like most others, had some absurd +fads; he defined them as “bottom-upwards notions.” + +He was a man--as there were many--of no particular value to anybody but +himself, and of no account but as the chief mate of the brig, and the +only white man on board of her besides the captain. He felt himself +immeasurably superior to the Malay seamen whom he had to handle, and +treated them with lofty toleration, notwithstanding his opinion that at +a pinch those chaps would be found emphatically “not there.” + +As soon as his mind came back from his home leave, he detached himself +from the rail and, walking forward, stood by the break of the poop, +looking along the port side of the main deck. Lingard on his own side +stopped in his walk and also gazed absentmindedly before him. In the +waist of the brig, in the narrow spars that were lashed on each side of +the hatchway, he could see a group of men squatting in a circle around a +wooden tray piled up with rice, which stood on the just swept deck. +The dark-faced, soft-eyed silent men, squatting on their hams, fed +decorously with an earnestness that did not exclude reserve. + +Of the lot, only one or two wore sarongs, the others having +submitted--at least at sea--to the indignity of European trousers. Only +two sat on the spars. One, a man with a childlike, light yellow face, +smiling with fatuous imbecility under the wisps of straight coarse hair +dyed a mahogany tint, was the tindal of the crew--a kind of boatswain's +or serang's mate. The other, sitting beside him on the booms, was a +man nearly black, not much bigger than a large ape, and wearing on +his wrinkled face that look of comical truculence which is often +characteristic of men from the southwestern coast of Sumatra. + +This was the kassab or store-keeper, the holder of a position of dignity +and ease. The kassab was the only one of the crew taking their evening +meal who noticed the presence on deck of their commander. He muttered +something to the tindal who directly cocked his old hat on one +side, which senseless action invested him with an altogether foolish +appearance. The others heard, but went on somnolently feeding with +spidery movements of their lean arms. + +The sun was no more than a degree or so above the horizon, and from the +heated surface of the waters a slight low mist began to rise; a mist +thin, invisible to the human eye; yet strong enough to change the sun +into a mere glowing red disc, a disc vertical and hot, rolling down to +the edge of the horizontal and cold-looking disc of the shining sea. +Then the edges touched and the circular expanse of water took on +suddenly a tint, sombre, like a frown; deep, like the brooding +meditation of evil. + +The falling sun seemed to be arrested for a moment in his descent by the +sleeping waters, while from it, to the motionless brig, shot out on +the polished and dark surface of the sea a track of light, straight and +shining, resplendent and direct; a path of gold and crimson and purple, +a path that seemed to lead dazzling and terrible from the earth straight +into heaven through the portals of a glorious death. It faded slowly. +The sea vanquished the light. At last only a vestige of the sun +remained, far off, like a red spark floating on the water. It lingered, +and all at once--without warning--went out as if extinguished by a +treacherous hand. + +“Gone,” cried Lingard, who had watched intently yet missed the last +moment. “Gone! Look at the cabin clock, Shaw!” + +“Nearly right, I think, sir. Three minutes past six.” + +The helmsman struck four bells sharply. Another barefooted seacannie +glided on the far side of the poop to relieve the wheel, and the serang +of the brig came up the ladder to take charge of the deck from Shaw. He +came up to the compass, and stood waiting silently. + +“The course is south by east when you get the wind, serang,” said Shaw, +distinctly. + +“Sou' by eas',” repeated the elderly Malay with grave earnestness. + +“Let me know when she begins to steer,” added Lingard. + +“Ya, Tuan,” answered the man, glancing rapidly at the sky. “Wind +coming,” he muttered. + +“I think so, too,” whispered Lingard as if to himself. + +The shadows were gathering rapidly round the brig. A mulatto put his +head out of the companion and called out: + +“Ready, sir.” + +“Let's get a mouthful of something to eat, Shaw,” said Lingard. “I say, +just take a look around before coming below. It will be dark when we +come up again.” + +“Certainly, sir,” said Shaw, taking up a long glass and putting it to +his eyes. “Blessed thing,” he went on in snatches while he worked the +tubes in and out, “I can't--never somehow--Ah! I've got it right at +last!” + +He revolved slowly on his heels, keeping the end of the tube on the +sky-line. Then he shut the instrument with a click, and said decisively: + +“Nothing in sight, sir.” + +He followed his captain down below rubbing his hands cheerfully. + +For a good while there was no sound on the poop of the brig. Then the +seacannie at the wheel spoke dreamily: + +“Did the malim say there was no one on the sea?” + +“Yes,” grunted the serang without looking at the man behind him. + +“Between the islands there was a boat,” pronounced the man very softly. + +The serang, his hands behind his back, his feet slightly apart, stood +very straight and stiff by the side of the compass stand. His face, now +hardly visible, was as inexpressive as the door of a safe. + +“Now, listen to me,” insisted the helmsman in a gentle tone. + +The man in authority did not budge a hair's breadth. The seacannie bent +down a little from the height of the wheel grating. + +“I saw a boat,” he murmured with something of the tender obstinacy of +a lover begging for a favour. “I saw a boat, O Haji Wasub! Ya! Haji +Wasub!” + +The serang had been twice a pilgrim, and was not insensible to the sound +of his rightful title. There was a grim smile on his face. + +“You saw a floating tree, O Sali,” he said, ironically. + +“I am Sali, and my eyes are better than the bewitched brass thing that +pulls out to a great length,” said the pertinacious helmsman. “There was +a boat, just clear of the easternmost island. There was a boat, and +they in her could see the ship on the light of the west--unless they are +blind men lost on the sea. I have seen her. Have you seen her, too, O +Haji Wasub?” + +“Am I a fat white man?” snapped the serang. “I was a man of the sea +before you were born, O Sali! The order is to keep silence and mind the +rudder, lest evil befall the ship.” + +After these words he resumed his rigid aloofness. He stood, his legs +slightly apart, very stiff and straight, a little on one side of the +compass stand. His eyes travelled incessantly from the illuminated card +to the shadowy sails of the brig and back again, while his body was +motionless as if made of wood and built into the ship's frame. Thus, +with a forced and tense watchfulness, Haji Wasub, serang of the brig +Lightning, kept the captain's watch unwearied and wakeful, a slave to +duty. + +In half an hour after sunset the darkness had taken complete possession +of earth and heavens. The islands had melted into the night. And on the +smooth water of the Straits, the little brig lying so still, seemed +to sleep profoundly, wrapped up in a scented mantle of star light and +silence. + + + +II + +It was half-past eight o'clock before Lingard came on deck again. +Shaw--now with a coat on--trotted up and down the poop leaving behind +him a smell of tobacco smoke. An irregularly glowing spark seemed to run +by itself in the darkness before the rounded form of his head. Above the +masts of the brig the dome of the clear heaven was full of lights that +flickered, as if some mighty breathings high up there had been swaying +about the flame of the stars. There was no sound along the brig's decks, +and the heavy shadows that lay on it had the aspect, in that silence, +of secret places concealing crouching forms that waited in perfect +stillness for some decisive event. Lingard struck a match to light his +cheroot, and his powerful face with narrowed eyes stood out for a moment +in the night and vanished suddenly. Then two shadowy forms and two red +sparks moved backward and forward on the poop. A larger, but a paler +and oval patch of light from the compass lamps lay on the brasses of +the wheel and on the breast of the Malay standing by the helm. Lingard's +voice, as if unable altogether to master the enormous silence of the +sea, sounded muffled, very calm--without the usual deep ring in it. + +“Not much change, Shaw,” he said. + +“No, sir, not much. I can just see the island--the big one--still in +the same place. It strikes me, sir, that, for calms, this here sea is a +devil of locality.” + +He cut “locality” in two with an emphatic pause. It was a good word. He +was pleased with himself for thinking of it. He went on again: + +“Now--since noon, this big island--” + +“Carimata, Shaw,” interrupted Lingard. + +“Aye, sir; Carimata--I mean. I must say--being a stranger hereabouts--I +haven't got the run of those--” + +He was going to say “names” but checked himself and said, +“appellations,” instead, sounding every syllable lovingly. + +“Having for these last fifteen years,” he continued, “sailed regularly +from London in East-Indiamen, I am more at home over there--in the Bay.” + +He pointed into the night toward the northwest and stared as if he could +see from where he stood that Bay of Bengal where--as he affirmed--he +would be so much more at home. + +“You'll soon get used--” muttered Lingard, swinging in his rapid walk +past his mate. Then he turned round, came back, and asked sharply. + +“You said there was nothing afloat in sight before dark? Hey?” + +“Not that I could see, sir. When I took the deck again at eight, I asked +that serang whether there was anything about; and I understood him to +say there was no more as when I went below at six. This is a lonely sea +at times--ain't it, sir? Now, one would think at this time of the year +the homeward-bounders from China would be pretty thick here.” + +“Yes,” said Lingard, “we have met very few ships since we left Pedra +Branca over the stern. Yes; it has been a lonely sea. But for all that, +Shaw, this sea, if lonely, is not blind. Every island in it is an eye. +And now, since our squadron has left for the China waters--” + +He did not finish his sentence. Shaw put his hands in his pockets, and +propped his back against the sky-light, comfortably. + +“They say there is going to be a war with China,” he said in a gossiping +tone, “and the French are going along with us as they did in the Crimea +five years ago. It seems to me we're getting mighty good friends with +the French. I've not much of an opinion about that. What do you think, +Captain Lingard?” + +“I have met their men-of-war in the Pacific,” said Lingard, slowly. “The +ships were fine and the fellows in them were civil enough to me--and +very curious about my business,” he added with a laugh. “However, I +wasn't there to make war on them. I had a rotten old cutter then, for +trade, Shaw,” he went on with animation. + +“Had you, sir?” said Shaw without any enthusiasm. “Now give me a big +ship--a ship, I say, that one may--” + +“And later on, some years ago,” interrupted Lingard, “I chummed with +a French skipper in Ampanam--being the only two white men in the whole +place. He was a good fellow, and free with his red wine. His English +was difficult to understand, but he could sing songs in his own language +about ah-moor--Ah-moor means love, in French--Shaw.” + +“So it does, sir--so it does. When I was second mate of a Sunderland +barque, in forty-one, in the Mediterranean, I could pay out their lingo +as easy as you would a five-inch warp over a ship's side--” + +“Yes, he was a proper man,” pursued Lingard, meditatively, as if for +himself only. “You could not find a better fellow for company ashore. He +had an affair with a Bali girl, who one evening threw a red blossom at +him from within a doorway, as we were going together to pay our respects +to the Rajah's nephew. He was a good-looking Frenchman, he was--but the +girl belonged to the Rajah's nephew, and it was a serious matter. The +old Rajah got angry and said the girl must die. I don't think the nephew +cared particularly to have her krissed; but the old fellow made a great +fuss and sent one of his own chief men to see the thing done--and the +girl had enemies--her own relations approved! We could do nothing. Mind, +Shaw, there was absolutely nothing else between them but that unlucky +flower which the Frenchman pinned to his coat--and afterward, when the +girl was dead, wore under his shirt, hung round his neck in a small box. +I suppose he had nothing else to put it into.” + +“Would those savages kill a woman for that?” asked Shaw, incredulously. + +“Aye! They are pretty moral there. That was the first time in my life +I nearly went to war on my own account, Shaw. We couldn't talk those +fellows over. We couldn't bribe them, though the Frenchman offered the +best he had, and I was ready to back him to the last dollar, to the last +rag of cotton, Shaw! No use--they were that blamed respectable. So, says +the Frenchman to me: 'My friend, if they won't take our gunpowder for a +gift let us burn it to give them lead.' I was armed as you see now; +six eight-pounders on the main deck and a long eighteen on the +forecastle--and I wanted to try 'em. You may believe me! However, the +Frenchman had nothing but a few old muskets; and the beggars got to +windward of us by fair words, till one morning a boat's crew from the +Frenchman's ship found the girl lying dead on the beach. That put an end +to our plans. She was out of her trouble anyhow, and no reasonable man +will fight for a dead woman. I was never vengeful, Shaw, and--after +all--she didn't throw that flower at me. But it broke the Frenchman up +altogether. He began to mope, did no business, and shortly afterward +sailed away. I cleared a good many pence out of that trip, I remember.” + +With these words he seemed to come to the end of his memories of that +trip. Shaw stifled a yawn. + +“Women are the cause of a lot of trouble,” he said, dispassionately. +“In the Morayshire, I remember, we had once a passenger--an old +gentleman--who was telling us a yarn about them old-time Greeks fighting +for ten years about some woman. The Turks kidnapped her, or something. +Anyway, they fought in Turkey; which I may well believe. Them Greeks and +Turks were always fighting. My father was master's mate on board one of +the three-deckers at the battle of Navarino--and that was when we went +to help those Greeks. But this affair about a woman was long before that +time.” + +“I should think so,” muttered Lingard, hanging over the rail, and +watching the fleeting gleams that passed deep down in the water, along +the ship's bottom. + +“Yes. Times are changed. They were unenlightened in those old days. My +grandfather was a preacher and, though my father served in the navy, I +don't hold with war. Sinful the old gentleman called it--and I think so, +too. Unless with Chinamen, or niggers, or such people as must be kept in +order and won't listen to reason; having not sense enough to know +what's good for them, when it's explained to them by their +betters--missionaries, and such like au-tho-ri-ties. But to fight ten +years. And for a woman!” + +“I have read the tale in a book,” said Lingard, speaking down over the +side as if setting his words gently afloat upon the sea. “I have read +the tale. She was very beautiful.” + +“That only makes it worse, sir--if anything. You may depend on it she +was no good. Those pagan times will never come back, thank God. Ten +years of murder and unrighteousness! And for a woman! Would anybody do +it now? Would you do it, sir? Would you--” + +The sound of a bell struck sharply interrupted Shaw's discourse. High +aloft, some dry block sent out a screech, short and lamentable, like a +cry of pain. It pierced the quietness of the night to the very core, and +seemed to destroy the reserve which it had imposed upon the tones of the +two men, who spoke now loudly. + +“Throw the cover over the binnacle,” said Lingard in his duty voice. +“The thing shines like a full moon. We mustn't show more lights than we +can help, when becalmed at night so near the land. No use in being seen +if you can't see yourself--is there? Bear that in mind, Mr. Shaw. There +may be some vagabonds prying about--” + +“I thought all this was over and done for,” said Shaw, busying himself +with the cover, “since Sir Thomas Cochrane swept along the Borneo coast +with his squadron some years ago. He did a rare lot of fighting--didn't +he? We heard about it from the chaps of the sloop Diana that was +refitting in Calcutta when I was there in the Warwick Castle. They took +some king's town up a river hereabouts. The chaps were full of it.” + +“Sir Thomas did good work,” answered Lingard, “but it will be a long +time before these seas are as safe as the English Channel is in peace +time. I spoke about that light more to get you in the way of things to +be attended to in these seas than for anything else. Did you notice how +few native craft we've sighted for all these days we have been drifting +about--one may say--in this sea?” + +“I can't say I have attached any significance to the fact, sir.” + +“It's a sign that something is up. Once set a rumour afloat in these +waters, and it will make its way from island to island, without any +breeze to drive it along.” + +“Being myself a deep-water man sailing steadily out of home ports nearly +all my life,” said Shaw with great deliberation, “I cannot pretend to +see through the peculiarities of them out-of-the-way parts. But I can +keep a lookout in an ordinary way, and I have noticed that craft of any +kind seemed scarce, for the last few days: considering that we had land +aboard of us--one side or another--nearly every day.” + +“You will get to know the peculiarities, as you call them, if you remain +any time with me,” remarked Lingard, negligently. + +“I hope I shall give satisfaction, whether the time be long or short!” + said Shaw, accentuating the meaning of his words by the distinctness +of his utterance. “A man who has spent thirty-two years of his life on +saltwater can say no more. If being an officer of home ships for the +last fifteen years I don't understand the heathen ways of them there +savages, in matters of seamanship and duty, you will find me all there, +Captain Lingard.” + +“Except, judging from what you said a little while ago--except in the +matter of fighting,” said Lingard, with a short laugh. + +“Fighting! I am not aware that anybody wants to fight me. I am a +peaceable man, Captain Lingard, but when put to it, I could fight as +well as any of them flat-nosed chaps we have to make shift with, instead +of a proper crew of decent Christians. Fighting!” he went on with +unexpected pugnacity of tone, “Fighting! If anybody comes to fight me, +he will find me all there, I swear!” + +“That's all right. That's all right,” said Lingard, stretching his arms +above his head and wriggling his shoulders. “My word! I do wish a breeze +would come to let us get away from here. I am rather in a hurry, Shaw.” + +“Indeed, sir! Well, I never yet met a thorough seafaring man who was not +in a hurry when a con-demned spell of calm had him by the heels. When a +breeze comes . . . just listen to this, sir!” + +“I hear it,” said Lingard. “Tide-rip, Shaw.” + +“So I presume, sir. But what a fuss it makes. Seldom heard such a--” + +On the sea, upon the furthest limits of vision, appeared an advancing +streak of seething foam, resembling a narrow white ribbon, drawn rapidly +along the level surface of the water by its two ends, which were lost in +the darkness. It reached the brig, passed under, stretching out on each +side; and on each side the water became noisy, breaking into numerous +and tiny wavelets, a mimicry of an immense agitation. Yet the vessel in +the midst of this sudden and loud disturbance remained as motionless and +steady as if she had been securely moored between the stone walls of a +safe dock. In a few moments the line of foam and ripple running swiftly +north passed at once beyond sight and earshot, leaving no trace on the +unconquerable calm. + +“Now this is very curious--” began Shaw. + +Lingard made a gesture to command silence. He seemed to listen yet, as +if the wash of the ripple could have had an echo which he expected to +hear. And a man's voice that was heard forward had something of the +impersonal ring of voices thrown back from hard and lofty cliffs upon +the empty distances of the sea. It spoke in Malay--faintly. + +“What?” hailed Shaw. “What is it?” + +Lingard put a restraining hand for a moment on his chief officer's +shoulder, and moved forward smartly. Shaw followed, puzzled. The rapid +exchange of incomprehensible words thrown backward and forward through +the shadows of the brig's main deck from his captain to the lookout man +and back again, made him feel sadly out of it, somehow. + +Lingard had called out sharply--“What do you see?” The answer direct and +quick was--“I hear, Tuan. I hear oars.” + +“Whereabouts?” + +“The night is all around us. I hear them near.” + +“Port or starboard?” + +There was a short delay in answer this time. On the quarter-deck, +under the poop, bare feet shuffled. Somebody coughed. At last the voice +forward said doubtfully: + +“Kanan.” + +“Call the serang, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard, calmly, “and have the hands +turned up. They are all lying about the decks. Look sharp now. There's +something near us. It's annoying to be caught like this,” he added in a +vexed tone. + +He crossed over to the starboard side, and stood listening, one hand +grasping the royal back-stay, his ear turned to the sea, but he could +hear nothing from there. The quarter-deck was filled with subdued +sounds. Suddenly, a long, shrill whistle soared, reverberated loudly +amongst the flat surfaces of motionless sails, and gradually grew faint +as if the sound had escaped and gone away, running upon the water. Haji +Wasub was on deck and ready to carry out the white man's commands. Then +silence fell again on the brig, until Shaw spoke quietly. + +“I am going forward now, sir, with the tindal. We're all at stations.” + +“Aye, Mr. Shaw. Very good. Mind they don't board you--but I can hear +nothing. Not a sound. It can't be much.” + +“The fellow has been dreaming, no doubt. I have good ears, too, and--” + +He went forward and the end of his sentence was lost in an indistinct +growl. Lingard stood attentive. One by one the three seacannies off duty +appeared on the poop and busied themselves around a big chest that stood +by the side of the cabin companion. A rattle and clink of steel weapons +turned out on the deck was heard, but the men did not even whisper. +Lingard peered steadily into the night, then shook his head. + +“Serang!” he called, half aloud. + +The spare old man ran up the ladder so smartly that his bony feet did +not seem to touch the steps. He stood by his commander, his hands behind +his back; a figure indistinct but straight as an arrow. + +“Who was looking out?” asked Lingard. + +“Badroon, the Bugis,” said Wasub, in his crisp, jerky manner. + +“I can hear nothing. Badroon heard the noise in his mind.” + +“The night hides the boat.” + +“Have you seen it?” + +“Yes, Tuan. Small boat. Before sunset. By the land. Now coming +here--near. Badroon heard him.” + +“Why didn't you report it, then?” asked Lingard, sharply. + +“Malim spoke. He said: 'Nothing there,' while I could see. How could I +know what was in his mind or yours, Tuan?” + +“Do you hear anything now?” + +“No. They stopped now. Perhaps lost the ship--who knows? Perhaps +afraid--” + +“Well!” muttered Lingard, moving his feet uneasily. “I believe you lie. +What kind of boat?” + +“White men's boat. A four-men boat, I think. Small. Tuan, I hear him +now! There!” + +He stretched his arm straight out, pointing abeam for a time, then his +arm fell slowly. + +“Coming this way,” he added with decision. + +From forward Shaw called out in a startled tone: + +“Something on the water, sir! Broad on this bow!” + +“All right!” called back Lingard. + +A lump of blacker darkness floated into his view. From it came over the +water English words--deliberate, reaching him one by one; as if each had +made its own difficult way through the profound stillness of the night. + +“What--ship--is--that--pray?” + +“English brig,” answered Lingard, after a short moment of hesitation. + +“A brig! I thought you were something bigger,” went on the voice from +the sea with a tinge of disappointment in its deliberate tone. “I am +coming alongside--if--you--please.” + +“No! you don't!” called Lingard back, sharply. The leisurely drawl of +the invisible speaker seemed to him offensive, and woke up a hostile +feeling. “No! you don't if you care for your boat. Where do you spring +from? Who are you--anyhow? How many of you are there in that boat?” + +After these emphatic questions there was an interval of silence. During +that time the shape of the boat became a little more distinct. She must +have carried some way on her yet, for she loomed up bigger and nearly +abreast of where Lingard stood, before the self-possessed voice was +heard again: + +“I will show you.” + +Then, after another short pause, the voice said, less loud but very +plain: + +“Strike on the gunwale. Strike hard, John!” and suddenly a blue light +blazed out, illuminating with a livid flame a round patch in the +night. In the smoke and splutter of that ghastly halo appeared a white, +four-oared gig with five men sitting in her in a row. Their heads were +turned toward the brig with a strong expression of curiosity on their +faces, which, in this glare, brilliant and sinister, took on a deathlike +aspect and resembled the faces of interested corpses. Then the bowman +dropped into the water the light he held above his head and the +darkness, rushing back at the boat, swallowed it with a loud and angry +hiss. + +“Five of us,” said the composed voice out of the night that seemed now +darker than before. “Four hands and myself. We belong to a yacht--a +British yacht--” + +“Come on board!” shouted Lingard. “Why didn't you speak at once? I +thought you might have been some masquerading Dutchmen from a dodging +gunboat.” + +“Do I speak like a blamed Dutchman? Pull a stroke, boys--oars! Tend bow, +John.” + +The boat came alongside with a gentle knock, and a man's shape began to +climb at once up the brig's side with a kind of ponderous agility. It +poised itself for a moment on the rail to say down into the boat--“Sheer +off a little, boys,” then jumped on deck with a thud, and said to Shaw +who was coming aft: “Good evening . . . Captain, sir?” + +“No. On the poop!” growled Shaw. + +“Come up here. Come up,” called Lingard, impatiently. + +The Malays had left their stations and stood clustered by the mainmast +in a silent group. Not a word was spoken on the brig's decks, while the +stranger made his way to the waiting captain. Lingard saw approaching +him a short, dapper man, who touched his cap and repeated his greeting +in a cool drawl: + +“Good evening. . . Captain, sir?” + +“Yes, I am the master--what's the matter? Adrift from your ship? Or +what?” + +“Adrift? No! We left her four days ago, and have been pulling that gig +in a calm, nearly ever since. My men are done. So is the water. Lucky +thing I sighted you.” + +“You sighted me!” exclaimed Lingard. “When? What time?” + +“Not in the dark, you may be sure. We've been knocking about amongst +some islands to the southward, breaking our hearts tugging at the oars +in one channel, then in another--trying to get clear. We got round an +islet--a barren thing, in shape like a loaf of sugar--and I caught sight +of a vessel a long way off. I took her bearing in a hurry and we buckled +to; but another of them currents must have had hold of us, for it was a +long time before we managed to clear that islet. I steered by the +stars, and, by the Lord Harry, I began to think I had missed you +somehow--because it must have been you I saw.” + +“Yes, it must have been. We had nothing in sight all day,” assented +Lingard. “Where's your vessel?” he asked, eagerly. + +“Hard and fast on middling soft mud--I should think about sixty miles +from here. We are the second boat sent off for assistance. We parted +company with the other on Tuesday. She must have passed to the northward +of you to-day. The chief officer is in her with orders to make for +Singapore. I am second, and was sent off toward the Straits here on the +chance of falling in with some ship. I have a letter from the owner. Our +gentry are tired of being stuck in the mud and wish for assistance.” + +“What assistance did you expect to find down here?” + +“The letter will tell you that. May I ask, Captain, for a little water +for the chaps in my boat? And I myself would thank you for a drink. +We haven't had a mouthful since this afternoon. Our breaker leaked out +somehow.” + +“See to it, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard. “Come down the cabin, Mr.--” + +“Carter is my name.” + +“Ah! Mr. Carter. Come down, come down,” went on Lingard, leading the way +down the cabin stairs. + +The steward had lighted the swinging lamp, and had put a decanter and +bottles on the table. The cuddy looked cheerful, painted white, with +gold mouldings round the panels. Opposite the curtained recess of the +stern windows there was a sideboard with a marble top, and, above it, +a looking-glass in a gilt frame. The semicircular couch round the stern +had cushions of crimson plush. The table was covered with a black +Indian tablecloth embroidered in vivid colours. Between the beams of the +poop-deck were fitted racks for muskets, the barrels of which glinted +in the light. There were twenty-four of them between the four beams. As +many sword-bayonets of an old pattern encircled the polished teakwood of +the rudder-casing with a double belt of brass and steel. All the doors +of the state-rooms had been taken off the hinges and only curtains +closed the doorways. They seemed to be made of yellow Chinese silk, and +fluttered all together, the four of them, as the two men entered the +cuddy. + +Carter took in all at a glance, but his eyes were arrested by a circular +shield hung slanting above the brass hilts of the bayonets. On its +red field, in relief and brightly gilt, was represented a sheaf of +conventional thunderbolts darting down the middle between the two +capitals T. L. Lingard examined his guest curiously. He saw a young +man, but looking still more youthful, with a boyish smooth face much +sunburnt, twinkling blue eyes, fair hair and a slight moustache. He +noticed his arrested gaze. + +“Ah, you're looking at that thing. It's a present from the builder of +this brig. The best man that ever launched a craft. It's supposed to be +the ship's name between my initials--flash of lightning--d'you see? The +brig's name is Lightning and mine is Lingard.” + +“Very pretty thing that: shows the cabin off well,” murmured Carter, +politely. + +They drank, nodding at each other, and sat down. + +“Now for the letter,” said Lingard. + +Carter passed it over the table and looked about, while Lingard took +the letter out of an open envelope, addressed to the commander of any +British ship in the Java Sea. The paper was thick, had an embossed +heading: “Schooner-yacht Hermit” and was dated four days before. The +message said that on a hazy night the yacht had gone ashore upon some +outlying shoals off the coast of Borneo. The land was low. The opinion +of the sailing-master was that the vessel had gone ashore at the top +of high water, spring tides. The coast was completely deserted to all +appearance. During the four days they had been stranded there they +had sighted in the distance two small native vessels, which did +not approach. The owner concluded by asking any commander of a +homeward-bound ship to report the yacht's position in Anjer on his way +through Sunda Straits--or to any British or Dutch man-of-war he might +meet. The letter ended by anticipatory thanks, the offer to pay any +expenses in connection with the sending of messages from Anjer, and the +usual polite expressions. + +Folding the paper slowly in the old creases, Lingard said--“I am not +going to Anjer--nor anywhere near.” + +“Any place will do, I fancy,” said Carter. + +“Not the place where I am bound to,” answered Lingard, opening the +letter again and glancing at it uneasily. “He does not describe very +well the coast, and his latitude is very uncertain,” he went on. “I +am not clear in my mind where exactly you are stranded. And yet I know +every inch of that land--over there.” + +Carter cleared his throat and began to talk in his slow drawl. He seemed +to dole out facts, to disclose with sparing words the features of the +coast, but every word showed the minuteness of his observation, the +clear vision of a seaman able to master quickly the aspect of a strange +land and of a strange sea. He presented, with concise lucidity, the +picture of the tangle of reefs and sandbanks, through which the yacht +had miraculously blundered in the dark before she took the ground. + +“The weather seems clear enough at sea,” he observed, finally, and +stopped to drink a long draught. Lingard, bending over the table, had +been listening with eager attention. Carter went on in his curt and +deliberate manner: + +“I noticed some high trees on what I take to be the mainland to the +south--and whoever has business in that bight was smart enough to +whitewash two of them: one on the point, and another farther in. +Landmarks, I guess. . . . What's the matter, Captain?” + +Lingard had jumped to his feet, but Carter's exclamation caused him to +sit down again. + +“Nothing, nothing . . . Tell me, how many men have you in that yacht?” + +“Twenty-three, besides the gentry, the owner, his wife and a Spanish +gentleman--a friend they picked up in Manila.” + +“So you were coming from Manila?” + +“Aye. Bound for Batavia. The owner wishes to study the Dutch colonial +system. Wants to expose it, he says. One can't help hearing a lot when +keeping watch aft--you know how it is. Then we are going to Ceylon +to meet the mail-boat there. The owner is going home as he came out, +overland through Egypt. The yacht would return round the Cape, of +course.” + +“A lady?” said Lingard. “You say there is a lady on board. Are you +armed?” + +“Not much,” replied Carter, negligently. “There are a few muskets and +two sporting guns aft; that's about all--I fancy it's too much, or not +enough,” he added with a faint smile. + +Lingard looked at him narrowly. + +“Did you come out from home in that craft?” he asked. + +“Not I! I am not one of them regular yacht hands. I came out of the +hospital in Hongkong. I've been two years on the China coast.” + +He stopped, then added in an explanatory murmur: + +“Opium clippers--you know. Nothing of brass buttons about me. My ship +left me behind, and I was in want of work. I took this job but I didn't +want to go home particularly. It's slow work after sailing with old +Robinson in the Ly-e-moon. That was my ship. Heard of her, Captain?” + +“Yes, yes,” said Lingard, hastily. “Look here, Mr. Carter, which way was +your chief officer trying for Singapore? Through the Straits of Rhio?” + +“I suppose so,” answered Carter in a slightly surprised tone; “why do +you ask?” + +“Just to know . . . What is it, Mr. Shaw?” + +“There's a black cloud rising to the northward, sir, and we shall get a +breeze directly,” said Shaw from the doorway. + +He lingered there with his eyes fixed on the decanters. + +“Will you have a glass?” said Lingard, leaving his seat. “I will go up +and have a look.” + +He went on deck. Shaw approached the table and began to help himself, +handling the bottles in profound silence and with exaggerated caution, +as if he had been measuring out of fragile vessels a dose of some deadly +poison. Carter, his hands in his pockets, and leaning back, examined +him from head to foot with a cool stare. The mate of the brig raised the +glass to his lips, and glaring above the rim at the stranger, drained +the contents slowly. + +“You have a fine nose for finding ships in the dark, Mister,” he said, +distinctly, putting the glass on the table with extreme gentleness. + +“Eh? What's that? I sighted you just after sunset.” + +“And you knew where to look, too,” said Shaw, staring hard. + +“I looked to the westward where there was still some light, as any +sensible man would do,” retorted the other a little impatiently. “What +are you trying to get at?” + +“And you have a ready tongue to blow about yourself--haven't you?” + +“Never saw such a man in my life,” declared Carter, with a return of his +nonchalant manner. “You seem to be troubled about something.” + +“I don't like boats to come sneaking up from nowhere in particular, +alongside a ship when I am in charge of the deck. I can keep a lookout +as well as any man out of home ports, but I hate to be circumvented by +muffled oars and such ungentlemanlike tricks. Yacht officer--indeed. +These seas must be full of such yachtsmen. I consider you played a mean +trick on me. I told my old man there was nothing in sight at sunset--and +no more there was. I believe you blundered upon us by chance--for all +your boasting about sunsets and bearings. Gammon! I know you came +on blindly on top of us, and with muffled oars, too. D'ye call that +decent?” + +“If I did muffle the oars it was for a good reason. I wanted to slip +past a cove where some native craft were moored. That was common +prudence in such a small boat, and not armed--as I am. I saw you right +enough, but I had no intention to startle anybody. Take my word for it.” + +“I wish you had gone somewhere else,” growled Shaw. “I hate to be put in +the wrong through accident and untruthfulness--there! Here's my old man +calling me--” + +He left the cabin hurriedly and soon afterward Lingard came down, +and sat again facing Carter across the table. His face was grave but +resolute. + +“We shall get the breeze directly,” he said. + +“Then, sir,” said Carter, getting up, “if you will give me back that +letter I shall go on cruising about here to speak some other ship. I +trust you will report us wherever you are going.” + +“I am going to the yacht and I shall keep the letter,” answered Lingard +with decision. “I know exactly where she is, and I must go to the rescue +of those people. It's most fortunate you've fallen in with me, Mr. +Carter. Fortunate for them and fortunate for me,” he added in a lower +tone. + +“Yes,” drawled Carter, reflectively. “There may be a tidy bit of salvage +money if you should get the vessel off, but I don't think you can do +much. I had better stay out here and try to speak some gunboat--” + +“You must come back to your ship with me,” said Lingard, +authoritatively. “Never mind the gunboats.” + +“That wouldn't be carrying out my orders,” argued Carter. “I've got to +speak a homeward-bound ship or a man-of-war--that's plain enough. I am +not anxious to knock about for days in an open boat, but--let me fill my +fresh-water breaker, Captain, and I will be off.” + +“Nonsense,” said Lingard, sharply. “You've got to come with me to show +the place and--and help. I'll take your boat in tow.” + +Carter did not seem convinced. Lingard laid a heavy hand on his +shoulder. + +“Look here, young fellow. I am Tom Lingard and there's not a white man +among these islands, and very few natives, that have not heard of me. My +luck brought you into my ship--and now I've got you, you must stay. You +must!” + +The last “must” burst out loud and sharp like a pistol-shot. Carter +stepped back. + +“Do you mean you would keep me by force?” he asked, startled. + +“Force,” repeated Lingard. “It rests with you. I cannot let you speak +any vessel. Your yacht has gone ashore in a most inconvenient place--for +me; and with your boats sent off here and there, you would bring every +infernal gunboat buzzing to a spot that was as quiet and retired as the +heart of man could wish. You stranding just on that spot of the whole +coast was my bad luck. And that I could not help. You coming upon me +like this is my good luck. And that I hold!” + +He dropped his clenched fist, big and muscular, in the light of the +lamp on the black cloth, amongst the glitter of glasses, with the strong +fingers closed tight upon the firm flesh of the palm. He left it there +for a moment as if showing Carter that luck he was going to hold. And he +went on: + +“Do you know into what hornet's nest your stupid people have blundered? +How much d'ye think their lives are worth, just now? Not a brass +farthing if the breeze fails me for another twenty-four hours. You may +well open your eyes. It is so! And it may be too late now, while I am +arguing with you here.” + +He tapped the table with his knuckles, and the glasses, waking up, +jingled a thin, plaintive finale to his speech. Carter stood leaning +against the sideboard. He was amazed by the unexpected turn of the +conversation; his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes never swerved for a +moment from Lingard's face. The silence in the cabin lasted only a few +seconds, but to Carter, who waited breathlessly, it seemed very long. +And all at once he heard in it, for the first time, the cabin clock tick +distinctly, in pulsating beats, as though a little heart of metal behind +the dial had been started into sudden palpitation. + +“A gunboat!” shouted Lingard, suddenly, as if he had seen only in +that moment, by the light of some vivid flash of thought, all the +difficulties of the situation. “If you don't go back with me there will +be nothing left for you to go back to--very soon. Your gunboat won't +find a single ship's rib or a single corpse left for a landmark. That +she won't. It isn't a gunboat skipper you want. I am the man you +want. You don't know your luck when you see it, but I know mine, I +do--and--look here--” + +He touched Carter's chest with his forefinger, and said with a sudden +gentleness of tone: + +“I am a white man inside and out; I won't let inoffensive people--and a +woman, too--come to harm if I can help it. And if I can't help, nobody +can. You understand--nobody! There's no time for it. But I am like any +other man that is worth his salt: I won't let the end of an undertaking +go by the board while there is a chance to hold on--and it's like +this--” + +His voice was persuasive--almost caressing; he had hold now of a coat +button and tugged at it slightly as he went on in a confidential manner: + +“As it turns out, Mr. Carter, I would--in a manner of speaking--I would +as soon shoot you where you stand as let you go to raise an alarm +all over this sea about your confounded yacht. I have other lives to +consider--and friends--and promises--and--and myself, too. I shall keep +you,” he concluded, sharply. + +Carter drew a long breath. On the deck above, the two men could +hear soft footfalls, short murmurs, indistinct words spoken near the +skylight. Shaw's voice rang out loudly in growling tones: + +“Furl the royals, you tindal!” + +“It's the queerest old go,” muttered Carter, looking down on to the +floor. “You are a strange man. I suppose I must believe what you +say--unless you and that fat mate of yours are a couple of escaped +lunatics that got hold of a brig by some means. Why, that chap up there +wanted to pick a quarrel with me for coming aboard, and now you threaten +to shoot me rather than let me go. Not that I care much about that; for +some time or other you would get hanged for it; and you don't look like +a man that will end that way. If what you say is only half true, I ought +to get back to the yacht as quick as ever I can. It strikes me that your +coming to them will be only a small mercy, anyhow--and I may be of some +use--But this is the queerest. . . . May I go in my boat?” + +“As you like,” said Lingard. “There's a rain squall coming.” + +“I am in charge and will get wet along of my chaps. Give us a good long +line, Captain.” + +“It's done already,” said Lingard. “You seem a sensible sailorman and +can see that it would be useless to try and give me the slip.” + +“For a man so ready to shoot, you seem very trustful,” drawled Carter. +“If I cut adrift in a squall, I stand a pretty fair chance not to see +you again.” + +“You just try,” said Lingard, drily. “I have eyes in this brig, young +man, that will see your boat when you couldn't see the ship. You are of +the kind I like, but if you monkey with me I will find you--and when I +find you I will run you down as surely as I stand here.” + +Carter slapped his thigh and his eyes twinkled. + +“By the Lord Harry!” he cried. “If it wasn't for the men with me, I +would try for sport. You are so cocksure about the lot you can do, +Captain. You would aggravate a saint into open mutiny.” + +His easy good humour had returned; but after a short burst of laughter, +he became serious. + +“Never fear,” he said, “I won't slip away. If there is to be any +throat-cutting--as you seem to hint--mine will be there, too, I promise +you, and. . . .” + +He stretched his arms out, glanced at them, shook them a little. + +“And this pair of arms to take care of it,” he added, in his old, +careless drawl. + +But the master of the brig sitting with both his elbows on the table, +his face in his hands, had fallen unexpectedly into a meditation so +concentrated and so profound that he seemed neither to hear, see, nor +breathe. The sight of that man's complete absorption in thought was to +Carter almost more surprising than any other occurrence of that night. +Had his strange host vanished suddenly from before his eyes, it could +not have made him feel more uncomfortably alone in that cabin where +the pertinacious clock kept ticking off the useless minutes of the calm +before it would, with the same steady beat, begin to measure the aimless +disturbance of the storm. + + + +III + +After waiting a moment, Carter went on deck. The sky, the sea, the +brig itself had disappeared in a darkness that had become impenetrable, +palpable, and stifling. An immense cloud had come up running over the +heavens, as if looking for the little craft, and now hung over it, +arrested. To the south there was a livid trembling gleam, faint and sad, +like a vanishing memory of destroyed starlight. To the north, as if +to prove the impossible, an incredibly blacker patch outlined on the +tremendous blackness of the sky the heart of the coming squall. The +glimmers in the water had gone out and the invisible sea all around lay +mute and still as if it had died suddenly of fright. + +Carter could see nothing. He felt about him people moving; he heard +them in the darkness whispering faintly as if they had been exchanging +secrets important or infamous. The night effaced even words, and its +mystery had captured everything and every sound--had left nothing free +but the unexpected that seemed to hover about one, ready to stretch out +its stealthy hand in a touch sudden, familiar, and appalling. Even the +careless disposition of the young ex-officer of an opium-clipper was +affected by the ominous aspect of the hour. What was this vessel? +What were those people? What would happen to-morrow? To the yacht? To +himself? He felt suddenly without any additional reason but the darkness +that it was a poor show, anyhow, a dashed poor show for all hands. The +irrational conviction made him falter for a second where he stood and he +gripped the slide of the companionway hard. + +Shaw's voice right close to his ear relieved and cleared his troubled +thoughts. + +“Oh! it's you, Mister. Come up at last,” said the mate of the brig +slowly. “It appears we've got to give you a tow now. Of all the rum +incidents, this beats all. A boat sneaks up from nowhere and turns +out to be a long-expected friend! For you are one of them friends the +skipper was going to meet somewhere here. Ain't you now? Come! I know +more than you may think. Are we off to--you may just as well tell--off +to--h'm ha . . . you know?” + +“Yes. I know. Don't you?” articulated Carter, innocently. + +Shaw remained very quiet for a minute. + +“Where's my skipper?” he asked at last. + +“I left him down below in a kind of trance. Where's my boat?” + +“Your boat is hanging astern. And my opinion is that you are as uncivil +as I've proved you to be untruthful. Egzz-actly.” + +Carter stumbled toward the taffrail and in the first step he made came +full against somebody who glided away. It seemed to him that such a +night brings men to a lower level. He thought that he might have been +knocked on the head by anybody strong enough to lift a crow-bar. He felt +strangely irritated. He said loudly, aiming his words at Shaw whom he +supposed somewhere near: + +“And my opinion is that you and your skipper will come to a sudden bad +end before--” + +“I thought you were in your boat. Have you changed your mind?” asked +Lingard in his deep voice close to Carter's elbow. + +Carter felt his way along the rail, till his hand found a line that +seemed, in the calm, to stream out of its own accord into the darkness. +He hailed his boat, and directly heard the wash of water against her +bows as she was hauled quickly under the counter. Then he loomed up +shapeless on the rail, and the next moment disappeared as if he had +fallen out of the universe. Lingard heard him say: + +“Catch hold of my leg, John.” There were hollow sounds in the boat; a +voice growled, “All right.” + +“Keep clear of the counter,” said Lingard, speaking in quiet warning +tones into the night. “The brig may get a lot of sternway on her should +this squall not strike her fairly.” + +“Aye, aye. I will mind,” was the muttered answer from the water. + +Lingard crossed over to the port side, and looked steadily at the sooty +mass of approaching vapours. After a moment he said curtly, “Brace up +for the port tack, Mr. Shaw,” and remained silent, with his face to +the sea. A sound, sorrowful and startling like the sigh of some immense +creature, travelling across the starless space, passed above the +vertical and lofty spars of the motionless brig. + +It grew louder, then suddenly ceased for a moment, and the taut rigging +of the brig was heard vibrating its answer in a singing note to this +threatening murmur of the winds. A long and slow undulation lifted the +level of the waters, as if the sea had drawn a deep breath of anxious +suspense. The next minute an immense disturbance leaped out of the +darkness upon the sea, kindling upon it a livid clearness of foam, and +the first gust of the squall boarded the brig in a stinging flick of +rain and spray. As if overwhelmed by the suddenness of the fierce onset, +the vessel remained for a second upright where she floated, shaking with +tremendous jerks from trucks to keel; while high up in the night the +invisible canvas was heard rattling and beating about violently. + +Then, with a quick double report, as of heavy guns, both topsails filled +at once and the brig fell over swiftly on her side. Shaw was thrown +headlong against the skylight, and Lingard, who had encircled the +weather rail with his arm, felt the vessel under his feet dart forward +smoothly, and the deck become less slanting--the speed of the brig +running off a little now, easing the overturning strain of the wind upon +the distended surfaces of the sails. It was only the fineness of the +little vessel's lines and the perfect shape of her hull that saved the +canvas, and perhaps the spars, by enabling the ready craft to get way +upon herself with such lightning-like rapidity. Lingard drew a long +breath and yelled jubilantly at Shaw who was struggling up against wind +and rain to his commander's side. + +“She'll do. Hold on everything.” + +Shaw tried to speak. He swallowed great mouthfuls of tepid water +which the wind drove down his throat. The brig seemed to sail through +undulating waves that passed swishing between the masts and swept over +the decks with the fierce rush and noise of a cataract. From every spar +and every rope a ragged sheet of water streamed flicking to leeward. The +overpowering deluge seemed to last for an age; became unbearable--and, +all at once, stopped. In a couple of minutes the shower had run its +length over the brig and now could be seen like a straight grey wall, +going away into the night under the fierce whispering of dissolving +clouds. The wind eased. To the northward, low down in the darkness, +three stars appeared in a row, leaping in and out between the crests +of waves like the distant heads of swimmers in a running surf; and the +retreating edge of the cloud, perfectly straight from east to west, +slipped along the dome of the sky like an immense hemispheric, iron +shutter pivoting down smoothly as if operated by some mighty engine. An +inspiring and penetrating freshness flowed together with the shimmer +of light, through the augmented glory of the heaven, a glory exalted, +undimmed, and strangely startling as if a new world had been created +during the short flight of the stormy cloud. It was a return to life, +a return to space; the earth coming out from under a pall to take its +place in the renewed and immense scintillation of the universe. + +The brig, her yards slightly checked in, ran with an easy motion under +the topsails, jib and driver, pushing contemptuously aside the turbulent +crowd of noisy and agitated waves. As the craft went swiftly ahead she +unrolled behind her over the uneasy darkness of the sea a broad ribbon +of seething foam shot with wispy gleams of dark discs escaping from +under the rudder. Far away astern, at the end of a line no thicker than +a black thread, which dipped now and then its long curve in the bursting +froth, a toy-like object could be made out, elongated and dark, racing +after the brig over the snowy whiteness of her wake. + +Lingard walked aft, and, with both his hands on the taffrail, looked +eagerly for Carter's boat. The first glance satisfied him that the +yacht's gig was towing easily at the end of the long scope of line, and +he turned away to look ahead and to leeward with a steady gaze. It was +then half an hour past midnight and Shaw, relieved by Wasub, had gone +below. Before he went, he said to Lingard, “I will be off, sir, if +you're not going to make more sail yet.” “Not yet for a while,” had +answered Lingard in a preoccupied manner; and Shaw departed aggrieved at +such a neglect of making the best of a good breeze. + +On the main deck dark-skinned men, whose clothing clung to their +shivering limbs as if they had been overboard, had finished recoiling +the braces, and clearing the gear. The kassab, after having hung the +fore-topsail halyards in the becket, strutted into the waist toward a +row of men who stood idly with their shoulders against the side of the +long boat amidships. He passed along looking up close at the stolid +faces. Room was made for him, and he took his place at the end. + +“It was a great rain and a mighty wind, O men,” he said, dogmatically, +“but no wind can ever hurt this ship. That I knew while I stood minding +the sail which is under my care.” + +A dull and inexpressive murmur was heard from the men. Over the high +weather rail, a topping wave flung into their eyes a handful of heavy +drops that stung like hail. There were low groans of indignation. A man +sighed. Another emitted a spasmodic laugh through his chattering teeth. +No one moved away. The little kassab wiped his face and went on in his +cracked voice, to the accompaniment of the swishing sounds made by the +seas that swept regularly astern along the ship's side. + +“Have you heard him shout at the wind--louder than the wind? I have +heard, being far forward. And before, too, in the many years I served +this white man I have heard him often cry magic words that make all +safe. Ya-wa! This is truth. Ask Wasub who is a Haji, even as I am.” + +“I have seen white men's ships with their masts broken--also wrecked +like our own praus,” remarked sadly a lean, lank fellow who shivered +beside the kassab, hanging his head and trying to grasp his shoulder +blades. + +“True,” admitted the kassab. “They are all the children of Satan but to +some more favour is shown. To obey such men on the sea or in a fight +is good. I saw him who is master here fight with wild men who eat their +enemies--far away to the eastward--and I dealt blows by his side without +fear; for the charms he, no doubt, possesses protect his servants also. +I am a believer and the Stoned One can not touch my forehead. Yet the +reward of victory comes from the accursed. For six years have I sailed +with that white man; first as one who minds the rudder, for I am a +man of the sea, born in a prau, and am skilled in such work. And now, +because of my great knowledge of his desires, I have the care of all +things in this ship.” + +Several voices muttered, “True. True.” They remained apathetic and +patient, in the rush of wind, under the repeated short flights of +sprays. The slight roll of the ship balanced them stiffly all together +where they stood propped against the big boat. The breeze humming +between the inclined masts enveloped their dark and silent figures in +the unceasing resonance of its breath. + +The brig's head had been laid so as to pass a little to windward of the +small islands of the Carimata group. They had been till then hidden in +the night, but now both men on the lookout reported land ahead in one +long cry. Lingard, standing to leeward abreast of the wheel, watched +the islet first seen. When it was nearly abeam of the brig he gave his +orders, and Wasub hurried off to the main deck. The helm was put down, +the yards on the main came slowly square and the wet canvas of the +main-topsail clung suddenly to the mast after a single heavy flap. The +dazzling streak of the ship's wake vanished. The vessel lost her way +and began to dip her bows into the quick succession of the running head +seas. And at every slow plunge of the craft, the song of the wind would +swell louder amongst the waving spars, with a wild and mournful note. + +Just as the brig's boat had been swung out, ready for lowering, the +yacht's gig hauled up by its line appeared tossing and splashing on +the lee quarter. Carter stood up in the stern sheets balancing himself +cleverly to the disordered motion of his cockleshell. He hailed the brig +twice to know what was the matter, not being able from below and in the +darkness to make out what that confused group of men on the poop were +about. He got no answer, though he could see the shape of a man standing +by himself aft, and apparently watching him. He was going to repeat his +hail for the third time when he heard the rattling of tackles followed +by a heavy splash, a burst of voices, scrambling hollow sounds--and a +dark mass detaching itself from the brig's side swept past him on the +crest of a passing wave. For less than a second he could see on the +shimmer of the night sky the shape of a boat, the heads of men, the +blades of oars pointing upward while being got out hurriedly. Then +all this sank out of sight, reappeared once more far off and hardly +discernible, before vanishing for good. + +“Why, they've lowered a boat!” exclaimed Carter, falling back in his +seat. He remembered that he had seen only a few hours ago three native +praus lurking amongst those very islands. For a moment he had the idea +of casting off to go in chase of that boat, so as to find out. . . . +Find out what? He gave up his idea at once. What could he do? + +The conviction that the yacht, and everything belonging to her, were in +some indefinite but very real danger, took afresh a strong hold of him, +and the persuasion that the master of the brig was going there to +help did not by any means assuage his alarm. The fact only served to +complicate his uneasiness with a sense of mystery. + +The white man who spoke as if that sea was all his own, or as if people +intruded upon his privacy by taking the liberty of getting wrecked on a +coast where he and his friends did some queer business, seemed to him an +undesirable helper. That the boat had been lowered to communicate with +the praus seen and avoided by him in the evening he had no doubt. The +thought had flashed on him at once. It had an ugly look. Yet the best +thing to do after all was to hang on and get back to the yacht and warn +them. . . . Warn them against whom? The man had been perfectly open with +him. Warn them against what? It struck him that he hadn't the slightest +conception of what would happen, of what was even likely to happen. That +strange rescuer himself was bringing the news of danger. Danger from the +natives of course. And yet he was in communication with those natives. +That was evident. That boat going off in the night. . . . Carter swore +heartily to himself. His perplexity became positive bodily pain as he +sat, wet, uncomfortable, and still, one hand on the tiller, thrown up +and down in headlong swings of his boat. And before his eyes, towering +high, the black hull of the brig also rose and fell, setting her stern +down in the sea, now and again, with a tremendous and foaming splash. +Not a sound from her reached Carter's ears. She seemed an abandoned +craft but for the outline of a man's head and body still visible in a +watchful attitude above the taffrail. + +Carter told his bowman to haul up closer and hailed: + +“Brig ahoy. Anything wrong?” + +He waited, listening. The shadowy man still watched. After some time a +curt “No” came back in answer. + +“Are you going to keep hove-to long?” shouted Carter. + +“Don't know. Not long. Drop your boat clear of the ship. Drop clear. Do +damage if you don't.” + +“Slack away, John!” said Carter in a resigned tone to the elderly seaman +in the bow. “Slack away and let us ride easy to the full scope. They +don't seem very talkative on board there.” + +Even while he was speaking the line ran out and the regular undulations +of the passing seas drove the boat away from the brig. Carter turned +a little in his seat to look at the land. It loomed up dead to leeward +like a lofty and irregular cone only a mile or a mile and a half +distant. The noise of the surf beating upon its base was heard against +the wind in measured detonations. The fatigue of many days spent in the +boat asserted itself above the restlessness of Carter's thoughts and, +gradually, he lost the notion of the passing time without altogether +losing the consciousness of his situation. + +In the intervals of that benumbed stupor--rather than sleep--he was +aware that the interrupted noise of the surf had grown into a continuous +great rumble, swelling periodically into a loud roar; that the high +islet appeared now bigger, and that a white fringe of foam was visible +at its feet. Still there was no stir or movement of any kind on board +the brig. He noticed that the wind was moderating and the sea going down +with it, and then dozed off again for a minute. When next he opened his +eyes with a start, it was just in time to see with surprise a new star +soar noiselessly straight up from behind the land, take up its position +in a brilliant constellation--and go out suddenly. Two more followed, +ascending together, and after reaching about the same elevation, expired +side by side. + +“Them's rockets, sir--ain't they?” said one of the men in a muffled +voice. + +“Aye, rockets,” grunted Carter. “And now, what's the next move?” he +muttered to himself dismally. + +He got his answer in the fierce swishing whirr of a slender ray of +fire that, shooting violently upward from the sombre hull of the brig, +dissolved at once into a dull red shower of falling sparks. Only one, +white and brilliant, remained alone poised high overhead, and after +glowing vividly for a second, exploded with a feeble report. Almost at +the same time he saw the brig's head fall off the wind, made out the +yards swinging round to fill the main topsail, and heard distinctly the +thud of the first wave thrown off by the advancing bows. The next minute +the tow-line got the strain and his boat started hurriedly after the +brig with a sudden jerk. + +Leaning forward, wide awake and attentive, Carter steered. His men +sat one behind another with shoulders up, and arched backs, dozing, +uncomfortable but patient, upon the thwarts. The care requisite to steer +the boat properly in the track of the seething and disturbed water left +by the brig in her rapid course prevented him from reflecting much upon +the incertitude of the future and upon his own unusual situation. + +Now he was only exceedingly anxious to see the yacht again, and it was +with a feeling of very real satisfaction that he saw all plain sail +being made on the brig. Through the remaining hours of the night he sat +grasping the tiller and keeping his eyes on the shadowy and high pyramid +of canvas gliding steadily ahead of his boat with a slight balancing +movement from side to side. + + + +IV + +It was noon before the brig, piloted by Lingard through the deep +channels between the outer coral reefs, rounded within pistol-shot a low +hummock of sand which marked the end of a long stretch of stony ledges +that, being mostly awash, showed a black head only, here and there +amongst the hissing brown froth of the yellow sea. As the brig drew +clear of the sandy patch there appeared, dead to windward and beyond a +maze of broken water, sandspits, and clusters of rocks, the black hull +of the yacht heeling over, high and motionless upon the great expanse of +glittering shallows. Her long, naked spars were inclined slightly as +if she had been sailing with a good breeze. There was to the lookers-on +aboard the brig something sad and disappointing in the yacht's aspect +as she lay perfectly still in an attitude that in a seaman's mind is +associated with the idea of rapid motion. + +“Here she is!” said Shaw, who, clad in a spotless white suit, came just +then from forward where he had been busy with the anchors. “She is well +on, sir--isn't she? Looks like a mudflat to me from here.” + +“Yes. It is a mudflat,” said Lingard, slowly, raising the long glass to +his eye. “Haul the mainsail up, Mr. Shaw,” he went on while he took a +steady look at the yacht. “We will have to work in short tacks here.” + +He put the glass down and moved away from the rail. For the next hour +he handled his little vessel in the intricate and narrow channel with +careless certitude, as if every stone, every grain of sand upon the +treacherous bottom had been plainly disclosed to his sight. He handled +her in the fitful and unsteady breeze with a matter-of-fact audacity +that made Shaw, forward at his station, gasp in sheer alarm. When +heading toward the inshore shoals the brig was never put round till the +quick, loud cries of the leadsmen announced that there were no more than +three feet of water under her keel; and when standing toward the steep +inner edge of the long reef, where the lead was of no use, the helm +would be put down only when the cutwater touched the faint line of the +bordering foam. Lingard's love for his brig was a man's love, and was +so great that it could never be appeased unless he called on her to put +forth all her qualities and her power, to repay his exacting affection +by a faithfulness tried to the very utmost limit of endurance. Every +flutter of the sails flew down from aloft along the taut leeches, to +enter his heart in a sense of acute delight; and the gentle murmur of +water alongside, which, continuous and soft, showed that in all her +windings his incomparable craft had never, even for an instant, ceased +to carry her way, was to him more precious and inspiring than the soft +whisper of tender words would have been to another man. It was in such +moments that he lived intensely, in a flush of strong feeling that made +him long to press his little vessel to his breast. She was his perfect +world full of trustful joy. + +The people on board the yacht, who watched eagerly the first sail they +had seen since they had been ashore on that deserted part of the coast, +soon made her out, with some disappointment, to be a small merchant brig +beating up tack for tack along the inner edge of the reef--probably with +the intention to communicate and offer assistance. The general opinion +among the seafaring portion of her crew was that little effective +assistance could be expected from a vessel of that description. Only +the sailing-master of the yacht remarked to the boatswain (who had the +advantage of being his first cousin): “This man is well acquainted here; +you can see that by the way he handles his brig. I shan't be sorry to +have somebody to stand by us. Can't tell when we will get off this mud, +George.” + +A long board, sailed very close, enabled the brig to fetch the southern +limit of discoloured water over the bank on which the yacht had +stranded. On the very edge of the muddy patch she was put in stays for +the last time. As soon as she had paid off on the other tack, sail was +shortened smartly, and the brig commenced the stretch that was to bring +her to her anchorage, under her topsails, lower staysails and jib. There +was then less than a quarter of a mile of shallow water between her and +the yacht; but while that vessel had gone ashore with her head to the +eastward the brig was moving slowly in a west-northwest direction, and +consequently, sailed--so to speak--past the whole length of the yacht. +Lingard saw every soul in the schooner on deck, watching his advent in +a silence which was as unbroken and perfect as that on board his own +vessel. + +A little man with a red face framed in white whiskers waved a gold-laced +cap above the rail in the waist of the yacht. Lingard raised his arm in +return. Further aft, under the white awnings, he could see two men and +a woman. One of the men and the lady were in blue. The other man, +who seemed very tall and stood with his arm entwined round an awning +stanchion above his head, was clad in white. Lingard saw them plainly. +They looked at the brig through binoculars, turned their faces to +one another, moved their lips, seemed surprised. A large dog put his +forepaws on the rail, and, lifting up his big, black head, sent out +three loud and plaintive barks, then dropped down out of sight. A sudden +stir and an appearance of excitement amongst all hands on board the +yacht was caused by their perceiving that the boat towing astern of the +stranger was their own second gig. + +Arms were outstretched with pointing fingers. Someone shouted out a +long sentence of which not a word could be made out; and then the brig, +having reached the western limit of the bank, began to move diagonally +away, increasing her distance from the yacht but bringing her stern +gradually into view. The people aft, Lingard noticed, left their places +and walked over to the taffrail so as to keep him longer in sight. + +When about a mile off the bank and nearly in line with the stern of the +yacht the brig's topsails fluttered and the yards came down slowly +on the caps; the fore and aft canvas ran down; and for some time she +floated quietly with folded wings upon the transparent sheet of water, +under the radiant silence of the sky. Then her anchor went to the bottom +with a rumbling noise resembling the roll of distant thunder. In a +moment her head tended to the last puffs of the northerly airs and the +ensign at the peak stirred, unfurled itself slowly, collapsed, flew out +again, and finally hung down straight and still, as if weighted with +lead. + +“Dead calm, sir,” said Shaw to Lingard. “Dead calm again. We got into +this funny place in the nick of time, sir.” + +They stood for a while side by side, looking round upon the coast and +the sea. The brig had been brought up in the middle of a broad belt of +clear water. To the north rocky ledges showed in black and white lines +upon the slight swell setting in from there. A small island stood out +from the broken water like the square tower of some submerged building. +It was about two miles distant from the brig. To the eastward the coast +was low; a coast of green forests fringed with dark mangroves. There was +in its sombre dullness a clearly defined opening, as if a small piece +had been cut out with a sharp knife. The water in it shone like a patch +of polished silver. Lingard pointed it out to Shaw. + +“This is the entrance to the place where we are going,” he said. + +Shaw stared, round-eyed. + +“I thought you came here on account of this here yacht,” he stammered, +surprised. + +“Ah. The yacht,” said Lingard, musingly, keeping his eyes on the break +in the coast. “The yacht--” He stamped his foot suddenly. “I would give +all I am worth and throw in a few days of life into the bargain if I +could get her off and away before to-night.” + +He calmed down, and again stood gazing at the land. A little within the +entrance from behind the wall of forests an invisible fire belched out +steadily the black and heavy convolutions of thick smoke, which stood +out high, like a twisted and shivering pillar against the clear blue of +the sky. + +“We must stop that game, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard, abruptly. + +“Yes, sir. What game?” asked Shaw, looking round in wonder. + +“This smoke,” said Lingard, impatiently. “It's a signal.” + +“Certainly, sir--though I don't see how we can do it. It seems far +inland. A signal for what, sir?” + +“It was not meant for us,” said Lingard in an unexpectedly savage tone. +“Here, Shaw, make them put a blank charge into that forecastle gun. Tell +'em to ram hard the wadding and grease the mouth. We want to make a good +noise. If old Jorgenson hears it, that fire will be out before you have +time to turn round twice. . . . In a minute, Mr. Carter.” + +The yacht's boat had come alongside as soon as the brig had been brought +up, and Carter had been waiting to take Lingard on board the yacht. They +both walked now to the gangway. Shaw, following his commander, stood by +to take his last orders. + +“Put all the boats in the water, Mr. Shaw,” Lingard was saying, with one +foot on the rail, ready to leave his ship, “and mount the four-pounder +swivel in the longboat's bow. Cast off the sea lashings of the guns, +but don't run 'em out yet. Keep the topsails loose and the jib ready for +setting, I may want the sails in a hurry. Now, Mr. Carter, I am ready +for you.” + +“Shove off, boys,” said Carter as soon as they were seated in the boat. +“Shove off, and give way for a last pull before you get a long rest.” + +The men lay back on their oars, grunting. Their faces were drawn, grey +and streaked with the dried salt sprays. They had the worried expression +of men who had a long call made upon their endurance. Carter, heavy-eyed +and dull, steered for the yacht's gangway. Lingard asked as they were +crossing the brig's bows: + +“Water enough alongside your craft, I suppose?” + +“Yes. Eight to twelve feet,” answered Carter, hoarsely. “Say, Captain! +Where's your show of cutthroats? Why! This sea is as empty as a church +on a week-day.” + +The booming report, nearly over his head, of the brig's eighteen-pounder +interrupted him. A round puff of white vapour, spreading itself lazily, +clung in fading shreds about the foreyard. Lingard, turning half round +in the stern sheets, looked at the smoke on the shore. Carter remained +silent, staring sleepily at the yacht they were approaching. Lingard +kept watching the smoke so intensely that he almost forgot where he +was, till Carter's voice pronouncing sharply at his ear the words “way +enough,” recalled him to himself. + +They were in the shadow of the yacht and coming alongside her ladder. +The master of the brig looked upward into the face of a gentleman, +with long whiskers and a shaved chin, staring down at him over the side +through a single eyeglass. As he put his foot on the bottom step he +could see the shore smoke still ascending, unceasing and thick; but even +as he looked the very base of the black pillar rose above the ragged +line of tree-tops. The whole thing floated clear away from the earth, +and rolling itself into an irregularly shaped mass, drifted out to +seaward, travelling slowly over the blue heavens, like a threatening and +lonely cloud. + + + +PART II. THE SHORE OF REFUGE + +I + +The coast off which the little brig, floating upright above her anchor, +seemed to guard the high hull of the yacht has no distinctive features. +It is land without form. It stretches away without cape or bluff, long +and low--indefinitely; and when the heavy gusts of the northeast monsoon +drive the thick rain slanting over the sea, it is seen faintly under the +grey sky, black and with a blurred outline like the straight edge of a +dissolving shore. In the long season of unclouded days, it presents to +view only a narrow band of earth that appears crushed flat upon the vast +level of waters by the weight of the sky, whose immense dome rests on it +in a line as fine and true as that of the sea horizon itself. + +Notwithstanding its nearness to the centres of European power, this +coast has been known for ages to the armed wanderers of these seas +as “The Shore of Refuge.” It has no specific name on the charts, and +geography manuals don't mention it at all; but the wreckage of many +defeats unerringly drifts into its creeks. Its approaches are extremely +difficult for a stranger. Looked at from seaward, the innumerable islets +fringing what, on account of its vast size, may be called the mainland, +merge into a background that presents not a single landmark to point the +way through the intricate channels. It may be said that in a belt of sea +twenty miles broad along that low shore there is much more coral, mud, +sand, and stones than actual sea water. It was amongst the outlying +shoals of this stretch that the yacht had gone ashore and the events +consequent upon her stranding took place. + +The diffused light of the short daybreak showed the open water to the +westward, sleeping, smooth and grey, under a faded heaven. The straight +coast threw a heavy belt of gloom along the shoals, which, in the calm +of expiring night, were unmarked by the slightest ripple. In the faint +dawn the low clumps of bushes on the sandbanks appeared immense. + +Two figures, noiseless like two shadows, moved slowly over the beach of +a rocky islet, and stopped side by side on the very edge of the water. +Behind them, between the mats from which they had arisen, a small heap +of black embers smouldered quietly. They stood upright and perfectly +still, but for the slight movement of their heads from right to left and +back again as they swept their gaze through the grey emptiness of the +waters where, about two miles distant, the hull of the yacht loomed up +to seaward, black and shapeless, against the wan sky. + +The two figures looked beyond without exchanging as much as a murmur. +The taller of the two grounded, at arm's length, the stock of a gun with +a long barrel; the hair of the other fell down to its waist; and, near +by, the leaves of creepers drooping from the summit of the steep rock +stirred no more than the festooned stone. The faint light, disclosing +here and there a gleam of white sandbanks and the blurred hummocks of +islets scattered within the gloom of the coast, the profound silence, +the vast stillness all round, accentuated the loneliness of the two +human beings who, urged by a sleepless hope, had risen thus, at break of +day, to look afar upon the veiled face of the sea. + +“Nothing!” said the man with a sigh, and as if awakening from a long +period of musing. + +He was clad in a jacket of coarse blue cotton, of the kind a poor +fisherman might own, and he wore it wide open on a muscular chest the +colour and smoothness of bronze. From the twist of threadbare sarong +wound tightly on the hips protruded outward to the left the ivory hilt, +ringed with six bands of gold, of a weapon that would not have disgraced +a ruler. Silver glittered about the flintlock and the hardwood stock +of his gun. The red and gold handkerchief folded round his head was of +costly stuff, such as is woven by high-born women in the households of +chiefs, only the gold threads were tarnished and the silk frayed in the +folds. His head was thrown back, the dropped eyelids narrowed the gleam +of his eyes. His face was hairless, the nose short with mobile nostrils, +and the smile of careless good-humour seemed to have been permanently +wrought, as if with a delicate tool, into the slight hollows about +the corners of rather full lips. His upright figure had a negligent +elegance. But in the careless face, in the easy gestures of the whole +man there was something attentive and restrained. + +After giving the offing a last searching glance, he turned and, facing +the rising sun, walked bare-footed on the elastic sand. The trailed butt +of his gun made a deep furrow. The embers had ceased to smoulder. He +looked down at them pensively for a while, then called over his shoulder +to the girl who had remained behind, still scanning the sea: + +“The fire is out, Immada.” + +At the sound of his voice the girl moved toward the mats. Her black hair +hung like a mantle. Her sarong, the kilt-like garment which both sexes +wear, had the national check of grey and red, but she had not completed +her attire by the belt, scarves, the loose upper wrappings, and the +head-covering of a woman. A black silk jacket, like that of a man of +rank, was buttoned over her bust and fitted closely to her slender +waist. The edge of a stand-up collar, stiff with gold embroidery, +rubbed her cheek. She had no bracelets, no anklets, and although dressed +practically in man's clothes, had about her person no weapon of any +sort. Her arms hung down in exceedingly tight sleeves slit a little way +up from the wrist, gold-braided and with a row of small gold buttons. +She walked, brown and alert, all of a piece, with short steps, the eyes +lively in an impassive little face, the arched mouth closed firmly; and +her whole person breathed in its rigid grace the fiery gravity of youth +at the beginning of the task of life--at the beginning of beliefs and +hopes. + +This was the day of Lingard's arrival upon the coast, but, as is known, +the brig, delayed by the calm, did not appear in sight of the shallows +till the morning was far advanced. Disappointed in their hope to see the +expected sail shining in the first rays of the rising sun, the man and +the woman, without attempting to relight the fire, lounged on their +sleeping mats. At their feet a common canoe, hauled out of the water, +was, for more security, moored by a grass rope to the shaft of a long +spear planted firmly on the white beach, and the incoming tide lapped +monotonously against its stern. + +The girl, twisting up her black hair, fastened it with slender wooden +pins. The man, reclining at full length, had made room on his mat for +the gun--as one would do for a friend--and, supported on his elbow, +looked toward the yacht with eyes whose fixed dreaminess like a +transparent veil would show the slow passage of every gloomy thought by +deepening gradually into a sombre stare. + +“We have seen three sunrises on this islet, and no friend came from the +sea,” he said without changing his attitude, with his back toward the +girl who sat on the other side of the cold embers. + +“Yes; and the moon is waning,” she answered in a low voice. “The moon +is waning. Yet he promised to be here when the nights are light and the +water covers the sandbanks as far as the bushes.” + +“The traveller knows the time of his setting out, but not the time of +his return,” observed the man, calmly. + +The girl sighed. + +“The nights of waiting are long,” she murmured. + +“And sometimes they are vain,” said the man with the same composure. +“Perhaps he will never return.” + +“Why?” exclaimed the girl. + +“The road is long and the heart may grow cold,” was the answer in a +quiet voice. “If he does not return it is because he has forgotten.” + +“Oh, Hassim, it is because he is dead,” cried the girl, indignantly. + +The man, looking fixedly to seaward, smiled at the ardour of her tone. + +They were brother and sister, and though very much alike, the family +resemblance was lost in the more general traits common to the whole +race. + +They were natives of Wajo and it is a common saying amongst the Malay +race that to be a successful traveller and trader a man must have some +Wajo blood in his veins. And with those people trading, which means also +travelling afar, is a romantic and an honourable occupation. The trader +must possess an adventurous spirit and a keen understanding; he should +have the fearlessness of youth and the sagacity of age; he should be +diplomatic and courageous, so as to secure the favour of the great and +inspire fear in evil-doers. + +These qualities naturally are not expected in a shopkeeper or a Chinaman +pedlar; they are considered indispensable only for a man who, of noble +birth and perhaps related to the ruler of his own country, wanders over +the seas in a craft of his own and with many followers; carries from +island to island important news as well as merchandise; who may be +trusted with secret messages and valuable goods; a man who, in short, +is as ready to intrigue and fight as to buy and sell. Such is the ideal +trader of Wajo. + +Trading, thus understood, was the occupation of ambitious men who played +an occult but important part in all those national risings, religious +disturbances, and also in the organized piratical movements on a large +scale which, during the first half of the last century, affected the +fate of more than one native dynasty and, for a few years at least, +seriously endangered the Dutch rule in the East. When, at the cost of +much blood and gold, a comparative peace had been imposed on the +islands the same occupation, though shorn of its glorious possibilities, +remained attractive for the most adventurous of a restless race. The +younger sons and relations of many a native ruler traversed the seas of +the Archipelago, visited the innumerable and little-known islands, and +the then practically unknown shores of New Guinea; every spot where +European trade had not penetrated--from Aru to Atjeh, from Sumbawa to +Palawan. + + + +II + +It was in the most unknown perhaps of such spots, a small bay on the +coast of New Guinea, that young Pata Hassim, the nephew of one of the +greatest chiefs of Wajo, met Lingard for the first time. + +He was a trader after the Wajo manner, and in a stout sea-going prau +armed with two guns and manned by young men who were related to his +family by blood or dependence, had come in there to buy some birds +of paradise skins for the old Sultan of Ternate; a risky expedition +undertaken not in the way of business but as a matter of courtesy toward +the aged Sultan who had entertained him sumptuously in that dismal brick +palace at Ternate for a month or more. + +While lying off the village, very much on his guard, waiting for the +skins and negotiating with the treacherous coast-savages who are the +go-betweens in that trade, Hassim saw one morning Lingard's brig come +to an anchor in the bay, and shortly afterward observed a white man of +great stature with a beard that shone like gold, land from a boat and +stroll on unarmed, though followed by four Malays of the brig's crew, +toward the native village. + +Hassim was struck with wonder and amazement at the cool recklessness of +such a proceeding; and, after; in true Malay fashion, discussing with +his people for an hour or so the urgency of the case, he also landed, +but well escorted and armed, with the intention of going to see what +would happen. + +The affair really was very simple, “such as”--Lingard would say--“such +as might have happened to anybody.” He went ashore with the intention +to look for some stream where he could conveniently replenish his water +casks, this being really the motive which had induced him to enter the +bay. + +While, with his men close by and surrounded by a mop-headed, sooty +crowd, he was showing a few cotton handkerchiefs, and trying to explain +by signs the object of his landing, a spear, lunged from behind, grazed +his neck. Probably the Papuan wanted only to ascertain whether such a +creature could be killed or hurt, and most likely firmly believed that +it could not; but one of Lingard's seamen at once retaliated by striking +at the experimenting savage with his parang--three such choppers brought +for the purpose of clearing the bush, if necessary, being all the +weapons the party from the brig possessed. + +A deadly tumult ensued with such suddenness that Lingard, turning round +swiftly, saw his defender, already speared in three places, fall forward +at his feet. Wasub, who was there, and afterward told the story once a +week on an average, used to horrify his hearers by showing how the man +blinked his eyes quickly before he fell. Lingard was unarmed. To the +end of his life he remained incorrigibly reckless in that respect, +explaining that he was “much too quick tempered to carry firearms on the +chance of a row. And if put to it,” he argued, “I can make shift to kill +a man with my fist anyhow; and then--don't ye see--you know what +you're doing and are not so apt to start a trouble from sheer temper or +funk--see?” + +In this case he did his best to kill a man with a blow from the shoulder +and catching up another by the middle flung him at the naked, wild +crowd. “He hurled men about as the wind hurls broken boughs. He made a +broad way through our enemies!” related Wasub in his jerky voice. It is +more probable that Lingard's quick movements and the amazing aspect of +such a strange being caused the warriors to fall back before his rush. + +Taking instant advantage of their surprise and fear, Lingard, followed +by his men, dashed along the kind of ruinous jetty leading to the +village which was erected as usual over the water. They darted into one +of the miserable huts built of rotten mats and bits of decayed canoes, +and in this shelter showing daylight through all its sides, they +had time to draw breath and realize that their position was not much +improved. + +The women and children screaming had cleared out into the bush, while +at the shore end of the jetty the warriors capered and yelled, preparing +for a general attack. Lingard noticed with mortification that his +boat-keeper apparently had lost his head, for, instead of swimming off +to the ship to give the alarm, as he was perfectly able to do, the +man actually struck out for a small rock a hundred yards away and was +frantically trying to climb up its perpendicular side. The tide being +out, to jump into the horrible mud under the houses would have been +almost certain death. Nothing remained therefore--since the miserable +dwelling would not have withstood a vigorous kick, let alone a +siege--but to rush back on shore and regain possession of the boat. To +this Lingard made up his mind quickly and, arming himself with a crooked +stick he found under his hand, sallied forth at the head of his three +men. As he bounded along, far in advance, he had just time to perceive +clearly the desperate nature of the undertaking, when he heard two shots +fired to his right. The solid mass of black bodies and frizzly heads in +front of him wavered and broke up. They did not run away, however. + +Lingard pursued his course, but now with that thrill of exultation which +even a faint prospect of success inspires in a sanguine man. He heard a +shout of many voices far off, then there was another report of a shot, +and a musket ball fired at long range spurted a tiny jet of sand between +him and his wild enemies. His next bound would have carried him into +their midst had they awaited his onset, but his uplifted arm found +nothing to strike. Black backs were leaping high or gliding horizontally +through the grass toward the edge of the bush. + +He flung his stick at the nearest pair of black shoulders and stopped +short. The tall grasses swayed themselves into a rest, a chorus of yells +and piercing shrieks died out in a dismal howl, and all at once the +wooded shores and the blue bay seemed to fall under the spell of a +luminous stillness. The change was as startling as the awakening from a +dream. The sudden silence struck Lingard as amazing. + +He broke it by lifting his voice in a stentorian shout, which arrested +the pursuit of his men. They retired reluctantly, glaring back angrily +at the wall of a jungle where not a single leaf stirred. The strangers, +whose opportune appearance had decided the issue of that adventure, did +not attempt to join in the pursuit but halted in a compact body on the +ground lately occupied by the savages. + +Lingard and the young leader of the Wajo traders met in the splendid +light of noonday, and amidst the attentive silence of their followers, +on the very spot where the Malay seaman had lost his life. Lingard, +striding up from one side, thrust out his open palm; Hassim responded at +once to the frank gesture and they exchanged their first hand-clasp over +the prostrate body, as if fate had already exacted the price of a death +for the most ominous of her gifts--the gift of friendship that sometimes +contains the whole good or evil of a life. + +“I'll never forget this day,” cried Lingard in a hearty tone; and the +other smiled quietly. + +Then after a short pause--“Will you burn the village for vengeance?” + asked the Malay with a quick glance down at the dead Lascar who, on his +face and with stretched arms, seemed to cling desperately to that earth +of which he had known so little. + +Lingard hesitated. + +“No,” he said, at last. “It would do good to no one.” + +“True,” said Hassim, gently, “but was this man your debtor--a slave?” + +“Slave?” cried Lingard. “This is an English brig. Slave? No. A free man +like myself.” + +“Hai. He is indeed free now,” muttered the Malay with another glance +downward. “But who will pay the bereaved for his life?” + +“If there is anywhere a woman or child belonging to him, I--my serang +would know--I shall seek them out,” cried Lingard, remorsefully. + +“You speak like a chief,” said Hassim, “only our great men do not go +to battle with naked hands. O you white men! O the valour of you white +men!” + +“It was folly, pure folly,” protested Lingard, “and this poor fellow has +paid for it.” + +“He could not avoid his destiny,” murmured the Malay. “It is in my mind +my trading is finished now in this place,” he added, cheerfully. + +Lingard expressed his regret. + +“It is no matter, it is no matter,” assured the other courteously, and +after Lingard had given a pressing invitation for Hassim and his two +companions of high rank to visit the brig, the two parties separated. + +The evening was calm when the Malay craft left its berth near the shore +and was rowed slowly across the bay to Lingard's anchorage. The end of a +stout line was thrown on board, and that night the white man's brig and +the brown man's prau swung together to the same anchor. + +The sun setting to seaward shot its last rays between the headlands, +when the body of the killed Lascar, wrapped up decently in a white +sheet, according to Mohammedan usage, was lowered gently below the +still waters of the bay upon which his curious glances, only a few +hours before, had rested for the first time. At the moment the dead man, +released from slip-ropes, disappeared without a ripple before the eyes +of his shipmates, the bright flash and the heavy report of the brig's +bow gun were succeeded by the muttering echoes of the encircling shores +and by the loud cries of sea birds that, wheeling in clouds, seemed +to scream after the departing seaman a wild and eternal good-bye. The +master of the brig, making his way aft with hanging head, was followed +by low murmurs of pleased surprise from his crew as well as from the +strangers who crowded the main deck. In such acts performed simply, from +conviction, what may be called the romantic side of the man's nature +came out; that responsive sensitiveness to the shadowy appeals made by +life and death, which is the groundwork of a chivalrous character. + +Lingard entertained his three visitors far into the night. A sheep from +the brig's sea stock was given to the men of the prau, while in the +cabin, Hassim and his two friends, sitting in a row on the stern settee, +looked very splendid with costly metals and flawed jewels. The talk +conducted with hearty friendship on Lingard's part, and on the part of +the Malays with the well-bred air of discreet courtesy, which is natural +to the better class of that people, touched upon many subjects and, in +the end, drifted to politics. + +“It is in my mind that you are a powerful man in your own country,” said +Hassim, with a circular glance at the cuddy. + +“My country is upon a far-away sea where the light breezes are as strong +as the winds of the rainy weather here,” said Lingard; and there were +low exclamations of wonder. “I left it very young, and I don't know +about my power there where great men alone are as numerous as the poor +people in all your islands, Tuan Hassim. But here,” he continued, “here, +which is also my country--being an English craft and worthy of it, +too--I am powerful enough. In fact, I am Rajah here. This bit of my +country is all my own.” + +The visitors were impressed, exchanged meaning glances, nodded at each +other. + +“Good, good,” said Hassim at last, with a smile. “You carry your country +and your power with you over the sea. A Rajah upon the sea. Good!” + +Lingard laughed thunderously while the others looked amused. + +“Your country is very powerful--we know,” began again Hassim after a +pause, “but is it stronger than the country of the Dutch who steal our +land?” + +“Stronger?” cried Lingard. He opened a broad palm. “Stronger? We +could take them in our hand like this--” and he closed his fingers +triumphantly. + +“And do you make them pay tribute for their land?” enquired Hassim with +eagerness. + +“No,” answered Lingard in a sobered tone; “this, Tuan Hassim, you see, +is not the custom of white men. We could, of course--but it is not the +custom.” + +“Is it not?” said the other with a sceptical smile. “They are stronger +than we are and they want tribute from us. And sometimes they get +it--even from Wajo where every man is free and wears a kris.” + +There was a period of dead silence while Lingard looked thoughtful and +the Malays gazed stonily at nothing. + +“But we burn our powder amongst ourselves,” went on Hassim, gently, “and +blunt our weapons upon one another.” + +He sighed, paused, and then changing to an easy tone began to urge +Lingard to visit Wajo “for trade and to see friends,” he said, laying +his hand on his breast and inclining his body slightly. + +“Aye. To trade with friends,” cried Lingard with a laugh, “for such a +ship”--he waved his arm--“for such a vessel as this is like a household +where there are many behind the curtain. It is as costly as a wife and +children.” + +The guests rose and took their leave. + +“You fired three shots for me, Panglima Hassim,” said Lingard, +seriously, “and I have had three barrels of powder put on board your +prau; one for each shot. But we are not quits.” + +The Malay's eyes glittered with pleasure. + +“This is indeed a friend's gift. Come to see me in my country!” + +“I promise,” said Lingard, “to see you--some day.” + +The calm surface of the bay reflected the glorious night sky, and the +brig with the prau riding astern seemed to be suspended amongst the +stars in a peace that was almost unearthly in the perfection of its +unstirring silence. The last hand-shakes were exchanged on deck, and the +Malays went aboard their own craft. Next morning, when a breeze sprang +up soon after sunrise, the brig and the prau left the bay together. When +clear of the land Lingard made all sail and sheered alongside to say +good-bye before parting company--the brig, of course, sailing three feet +to the prau's one. Hassim stood on the high deck aft. + +“Prosperous road,” hailed Lingard. + +“Remember the promise!” shouted the other. “And come soon!” he went on, +raising his voice as the brig forged past. “Come soon--lest what perhaps +is written should come to pass!” + +The brig shot ahead. + +“What?” yelled Lingard in a puzzled tone, “what's written?” + +He listened. And floating over the water came faintly the words: + +“No one knows!” + + + +III + +“My word! I couldn't help liking the chap,” would shout Lingard when +telling the story; and looking around at the eyes that glittered at him +through the smoke of cheroots, this Brixham trawler-boy, afterward a +youth in colliers, deep-water man, gold-digger, owner and commander of +“the finest brig afloat,” knew that by his listeners--seamen, traders, +adventurers like himself--this was accepted not as the expression of a +feeling, but as the highest commendation he could give his Malay friend. + +“By heavens! I shall go to Wajo!” he cried, and a semicircle of +heads nodded grave approbation while a slightly ironical voice said +deliberately--“You are a made man, Tom, if you get on the right side of +that Rajah of yours.” + +“Go in--and look out for yourself,” cried another with a laugh. + +A little professional jealousy was unavoidable, Wajo, on account of its +chronic state of disturbance, being closed to the white traders; but +there was no real ill-will in the banter of these men, who, rising with +handshakes, dropped off one by one. Lingard went straight aboard his +vessel and, till morning, walked the poop of the brig with measured +steps. The riding lights of ships twinkled all round him; the lights +ashore twinkled in rows, the stars twinkled above his head in a black +sky; and reflected in the black water of the roadstead twinkled far +below his feet. And all these innumerable and shining points were +utterly lost in the immense darkness. Once he heard faintly the rumbling +chain of some vessel coming to an anchor far away somewhere outside +the official limits of the harbour. A stranger to the port--thought +Lingard--one of us would have stood right in. Perhaps a ship from home? +And he felt strangely touched at the thought of that ship, weary with +months of wandering, and daring not to approach the place of rest. At +sunrise, while the big ship from the West, her sides streaked with rust +and grey with the salt of the sea, was moving slowly in to take up +a berth near the shore, Lingard left the roadstead on his way to the +eastward. + +A heavy gulf thunderstorm was raging, when after a long passage and at +the end of a sultry calm day, wasted in drifting helplessly in sight +of his destination, Lingard, taking advantage of fitful gusts of wind, +approached the shores of Wajo. With characteristic audacity, he held on +his way, closing in with a coast to which he was a stranger, and on a +night that would have appalled any other man; while at every dazzling +flash, Hassim's native land seemed to leap nearer at the brig--and +disappear instantly as though it had crouched low for the next spring +out of an impenetrable darkness. During the long day of the calm, he had +obtained from the deck and from aloft, such good views of the coast, +and had noted the lay of the land and the position of the dangers so +carefully that, though at the precise moment when he gave the order to +let go the anchor, he had been for some time able to see no further +than if his head had been wrapped in a woollen blanket, yet the next +flickering bluish flash showed him the brig, anchored almost exactly +where he had judged her to be, off a narrow white beach near the mouth +of a river. + +He could see on the shore a high cluster of bamboo huts perched upon +piles, a small grove of tall palms all bowed together before the blast +like stalks of grass, something that might have been a palisade +of pointed stakes near the water, and far off, a sombre background +resembling an immense wall--the forest-clad hills. Next moment, all this +vanished utterly from his sight, as if annihilated and, before he had +time to turn away, came back to view with a sudden crash, appearing +unscathed and motionless under hooked darts of flame, like some +legendary country of immortals, withstanding the wrath and fire of +Heaven. + +Made uneasy by the nature of his holding ground, and fearing that in one +of the terrific off-shore gusts the brig would start her anchor, Lingard +remained on deck to watch over the safety of his vessel. With one hand +upon the lead-line which would give him instant warning of the brig +beginning to drag, he stood by the rail, most of the time deafened +and blinded, but also fascinated, by the repeated swift visions of an +unknown shore, a sight always so inspiring, as much perhaps by its vague +suggestion of danger as by the hopes of success it never fails to awaken +in the heart of a true adventurer. And its immutable aspect of profound +and still repose, seen thus under streams of fire and in the midst of a +violent uproar, made it appear inconceivably mysterious and amazing. + +Between the squalls there were short moments of calm, while now and then +even the thunder would cease as if to draw breath. During one of those +intervals. Lingard, tired and sleepy, was beginning to doze where he +stood, when suddenly it occurred to him that, somewhere below, the sea +had spoken in a human voice. It had said, “Praise be to God--” and the +voice sounded small, clear, and confident, like the voice of a child +speaking in a cathedral. Lingard gave a start and thought--I've dreamed +this--and directly the sea said very close to him, “Give a rope.” + +The thunder growled wickedly, and Lingard, after shouting to the men on +deck, peered down at the water, until at last he made out floating close +alongside the upturned face of a man with staring eyes that gleamed at +him and then blinked quickly to a flash of lightning. By that time all +hands in the brig were wildly active and many ropes-ends had been thrown +over. Then together with a gust of wind, and, as if blown on board, a +man tumbled over the rail and fell all in a heap upon the deck. Before +any one had the time to pick him up, he leaped to his feet, causing the +people around him to step back hurriedly. A sinister blue glare showed +the bewildered faces and the petrified attitudes of men completely +deafened by the accompanying peal of thunder. After a time, as if to +beings plunged in the abyss of eternal silence, there came to their ears +an unfamiliar thin, far-away voice saying: + +“I seek the white man.” + +“Here,” cried Lingard. Then, when he had the stranger, dripping and +naked but for a soaked waistcloth, under the lamp of the cabin, he said, +“I don't know you.” + +“My name is Jaffir, and I come from Pata Hassim, who is my chief and +your friend. Do you know this?” + +He held up a thick gold ring, set with a fairly good emerald. + +“I have seen it before on the Rajah's finger,” said Lingard, looking +very grave. + +“It is the witness of the truth I speak--the message from Hassim +is--'Depart and forget!'” + +“I don't forget,” said Lingard, slowly. “I am not that kind of man. What +folly is this?” + +It is unnecessary to give at full length the story told by Jaffir. It +appears that on his return home, after the meeting with Lingard, +Hassim found his relative dying and a strong party formed to oppose +his rightful successor. The old Rajah Tulla died late at night and--as +Jaffir put it--before the sun rose there were already blows exchanged in +the courtyard of the ruler's dalam. This was the preliminary fight of a +civil war, fostered by foreign intrigues; a war of jungle and river, +of assaulted stockades and forest ambushes. In this contest, both +parties--according to Jaffir--displayed great courage, and one of them +an unswerving devotion to what, almost from the first, was a lost cause. +Before a month elapsed Hassim, though still chief of an armed band, was +already a fugitive. He kept up the struggle, however, with some vague +notion that Lingard's arrival would turn the tide. + +“For weeks we lived on wild rice; for days we fought with nothing +but water in our bellies,” declaimed Jaffir in the tone of a true +fire-eater. + +And then he went on to relate, how, driven steadily down to the sea, +Hassim, with a small band of followers, had been for days holding the +stockade by the waterside. + +“But every night some men disappeared,” confessed Jaffir. “They were +weary and hungry and they went to eat with their enemies. We are only +ten now--ten men and a woman with the heart of a man, who are tonight +starving, and to-morrow shall die swiftly. We saw your ship afar all +day; but you have come too late. And for fear of treachery and lest harm +should befall you--his friend--the Rajah gave me the ring and I crept +on my stomach over the sand, and I swam in the night--and I, Jaffir, the +best swimmer in Wajo, and the slave of Hassim, tell you--his message to +you is 'Depart and forget'--and this is his gift--take!” + +He caught hold suddenly of Lingard's hand, thrust roughly into it the +ring, and then for the first time looked round the cabin with wondering +but fearless eyes. They lingered over the semicircle of bayonets and +rested fondly on musket-racks. He grunted in admiration. + +“Ya-wa, this is strength!” he murmured as if to himself. “But it has +come too late.” + +“Perhaps not,” cried Lingard. + +“Too late,” said Jaffir, “we are ten only, and at sunrise we go out to +die.” He went to the cabin door and hesitated there with a puzzled air, +being unused to locks and door handles. + +“What are you going to do?” asked Lingard. + +“I shall swim back,” replied Jaffir. “The message is spoken and the +night can not last forever.” + +“You can stop with me,” said Lingard, looking at the man searchingly. + +“Hassim waits,” was the curt answer. + +“Did he tell you to return?” asked Lingard. + +“No! What need?” said the other in a surprised tone. + +Lingard seized his hand impulsively. + +“If I had ten men like you!” he cried. + +“We are ten, but they are twenty to one,” said Jaffir, simply. + +Lingard opened the door. + +“Do you want anything that a man can give?” he asked. + +The Malay had a moment of hesitation, and Lingard noticed the sunken +eyes, the prominent ribs, and the worn-out look of the man. + +“Speak out,” he urged with a smile; “the bearer of a gift must have a +reward.” + +“A drink of water and a handful of rice for strength to reach the +shore,” said Jaffir sturdily. “For over there”--he tossed his head--“we +had nothing to eat to-day.” + +“You shall have it--give it to you with my own hands,” muttered Lingard. + +He did so, and thus lowered himself in Jaffir's estimation for a time. +While the messenger, squatting on the floor, ate without haste but with +considerable earnestness, Lingard thought out a plan of action. In his +ignorance as to the true state of affairs in the country, to save +Hassim from the immediate danger of his position was all that he could +reasonably attempt. To that end Lingard proposed to swing out his +long-boat and send her close inshore to take off Hassim and his men. He +knew enough of Malays to feel sure that on such a night the besiegers, +now certain of success, and being, Jaffir said, in possession of +everything that could float, would not be very vigilant, especially on +the sea front of the stockade. The very fact of Jaffir having managed +to swim off undetected proved that much. The brig's boat could--when the +frequency of lightning abated--approach unseen close to the beach, and +the defeated party, either stealing out one by one or making a rush in a +body, would embark and be received in the brig. + +This plan was explained to Jaffir, who heard it without the slightest +mark of interest, being apparently too busy eating. When the last grain +of rice was gone, he stood up, took a long pull at the water bottle, +muttered: “I hear. Good. I will tell Hassim,” and tightening the rag +round his loins, prepared to go. “Give me time to swim ashore,” he said, +“and when the boat starts, put another light beside the one that burns +now like a star above your vessel. We shall see and understand. And +don't send the boat till there is less lightning: a boat is bigger than +a man in the water. Tell the rowers to pull for the palm-grove and cease +when an oar, thrust down with a strong arm, touches the bottom. Very +soon they will hear our hail; but if no one comes they must go away +before daylight. A chief may prefer death to life, and we who are left +are all of true heart. Do you understand, O big man?” + +“The chap has plenty of sense,” muttered Lingard to himself, and when +they stood side by side on the deck, he said: “But there may be enemies +on the beach, O Jaffir, and they also may shout to deceive my men. So +let your hail be Lightning! Will you remember?” + +For a time Jaffir seemed to be choking. + +“Lit-ing! Is that right? I say--is that right, O strong man?” Next +moment he appeared upright and shadowy on the rail. + +“Yes. That's right. Go now,” said Lingard, and Jaffir leaped off, +becoming invisible long before he struck the water. Then there was a +splash; after a while a spluttering voice cried faintly, “Lit-ing! Ah, +ha!” and suddenly the next thunder-squall burst upon the coast. In the +crashing flares of light Lingard had again and again the quick vision of +a white beach, the inclined palm-trees of the grove, the stockade by +the sea, the forest far away: a vast landscape mysterious and +still--Hassim's native country sleeping unmoved under the wrath and fire +of Heaven. + + + +IV + +A Traveller visiting Wajo to-day may, if he deserves the confidence of +the common people, hear the traditional account of the last civil war, +together with the legend of a chief and his sister, whose mother had +been a great princess suspected of sorcery and on her death-bed had +communicated to these two the secrets of the art of magic. The chief's +sister especially, “with the aspect of a child and the fearlessness of a +great fighter,” became skilled in casting spells. They were defeated by +the son of their uncle, because--will explain the narrator simply--“The +courage of us Wajo people is so great that magic can do nothing against +it. I fought in that war. We had them with their backs to the sea.” + And then he will go on to relate in an awed tone how on a certain night +“when there was such a thunderstorm as has been never heard of before +or since” a ship, resembling the ships of white men, appeared off the +coast, “as though she had sailed down from the clouds. She moved,” he +will affirm, “with her sails bellying against the wind; in size she was +like an island; the lightning played between her masts which were as +high as the summits of mountains; a star burned low through the clouds +above her. We knew it for a star at once because no flame of man's +kindling could have endured the wind and rain of that night. It was such +a night that we on the watch hardly dared look upon the sea. The heavy +rain was beating down our eyelids. And when day came, the ship was +nowhere to be seen, and in the stockade where the day before there were +a hundred or more at our mercy, there was no one. The chief, Hassim, was +gone, and the lady who was a princess in the country--and nobody knows +what became of them from that day to this. Sometimes traders from our +parts talk of having heard of them here, and heard of them there, but +these are the lies of men who go afar for gain. We who live in the +country believe that the ship sailed back into the clouds whence the +Lady's magic made her come. Did we not see the ship with our own eyes? +And as to Rajah Hassim and his sister, Mas Immada, some men say one +thing and some another, but God alone knows the truth.” + +Such is the traditional account of Lingard's visit to the shores of +Boni. And the truth is he came and went the same night; for, when the +dawn broke on a cloudy sky the brig, under reefed canvas and smothered +in sprays, was storming along to the southward on her way out of the +Gulf. Lingard, watching over the rapid course of his vessel, looked +ahead with anxious eyes and more than once asked himself with wonder, +why, after all, was he thus pressing her under all the sail she could +carry. His hair was blown about by the wind, his mind was full of care +and the indistinct shapes of many new thoughts, and under his feet, the +obedient brig dashed headlong from wave to wave. + +Her owner and commander did not know where he was going. That adventurer +had only a confused notion of being on the threshold of a big adventure. +There was something to be done, and he felt he would have to do it. It +was expected of him. The seas expected it; the land expected it. Men +also. The story of war and of suffering; Jaffir's display of fidelity, +the sight of Hassim and his sister, the night, the tempest, the coast +under streams of fire--all this made one inspiring manifestation of a +life calling to him distinctly for interference. But what appealed to +him most was the silent, the complete, unquestioning, and apparently +uncurious, trust of these people. They came away from death straight +into his arms as it were, and remained in them passive as though +there had been no such thing as doubt or hope or desire. This amazing +unconcern seemed to put him under a heavy load of obligation. + +He argued to himself that had not these defeated men expected everything +from him they could not have been so indifferent to his action. Their +dumb quietude stirred him more than the most ardent pleading. Not a +word, not a whisper, not a questioning look even! They did not ask! It +flattered him. He was also rather glad of it, because if the unconscious +part of him was perfectly certain of its action, he, himself, did not +know what to do with those bruised and battered beings a playful fate +had delivered suddenly into his hands. + +He had received the fugitives personally, had helped some over the rail; +in the darkness, slashed about by lightning, he had guessed that not one +of them was unwounded, and in the midst of tottering shapes he wondered +how on earth they had managed to reach the long-boat that had brought +them off. He caught unceremoniously in his arms the smallest of these +shapes and carried it into the cabin, then without looking at his light +burden ran up again on deck to get the brig under way. While shouting +out orders he was dimly aware of someone hovering near his elbow. It was +Hassim. + +“I am not ready for war,” he explained, rapidly, over his shoulder, +“and to-morrow there may be no wind.” Afterward for a time he forgot +everybody and everything while he conned the brig through the few +outlying dangers. But in half an hour, and running off with the wind on +the quarter, he was quite clear of the coast and breathed freely. It +was only then that he approached two others on that poop where he was +accustomed in moments of difficulty to commune alone with his craft. +Hassim had called his sister out of the cabin; now and then Lingard +could see them with fierce distinctness, side by side, and with twined +arms, looking toward the mysterious country that seemed at every flash +to leap away farther from the brig--unscathed and fading. + +The thought uppermost in Lingard's mind was: “What on earth am I going +to do with them?” And no one seemed to care what he would do. Jaffir +with eight others quartered on the main hatch, looked to each other's +wounds and conversed interminably in low tones, cheerful and quiet, like +well-behaved children. Each of them had saved his kris, but Lingard had +to make a distribution of cotton cloth out of his trade-goods. Whenever +he passed by them, they all looked after him gravely. Hassim and Immada +lived in the cuddy. The chief's sister took the air only in the evening +and those two could be heard every night, invisible and murmuring in the +shadows of the quarter-deck. Every Malay on board kept respectfully away +from them. + +Lingard, on the poop, listened to the soft voices, rising and falling, +in a melancholy cadence; sometimes the woman cried out as if in anger or +in pain. He would stop short. The sound of a deep sigh would float up +to him on the stillness of the night. Attentive stars surrounded the +wandering brig and on all sides their light fell through a vast silence +upon a noiseless sea. Lingard would begin again to pace the deck, +muttering to himself. + +“Belarab's the man for this job. His is the only place where I can look +for help, but I don't think I know enough to find it. I wish I had old +Jorgenson here--just for ten minutes.” + +This Jorgenson knew things that had happened a long time ago, and lived +amongst men efficient in meeting the accidents of the day, but who did +not care what would happen to-morrow and who had no time to remember +yesterday. Strictly speaking, he did not live amongst them. He only +appeared there from time to time. He lived in the native quarter, with +a native woman, in a native house standing in the middle of a plot +of fenced ground where grew plantains, and furnished only with mats, +cooking pots, a queer fishing net on two sticks, and a small mahogany +case with a lock and a silver plate engraved with the words “Captain H. +C. Jorgenson. Barque Wild Rose.” + +It was like an inscription on a tomb. The Wild Rose was dead, and so was +Captain H. C. Jorgenson, and the sextant case was all that was left +of them. Old Jorgenson, gaunt and mute, would turn up at meal times on +board any trading vessel in the Roads, and the stewards--Chinamen +or mulattos--would sulkily put on an extra plate without waiting for +orders. When the seamen traders foregathered noisily round a glittering +cluster of bottles and glasses on a lighted verandah, old Jorgenson +would emerge up the stairs as if from a dark sea, and, stepping up with +a kind of tottering jauntiness, would help himself in the first tumbler +to hand. + +“I drink to you all. No--no chair.” + +He would stand silent over the talking group. His taciturnity was as +eloquent as the repeated warning of the slave of the feast. His flesh +had gone the way of all flesh, his spirit had sunk in the turmoil of his +past, but his immense and bony frame survived as if made of iron. His +hands trembled but his eyes were steady. He was supposed to know details +about the end of mysterious men and of mysterious enterprises. He was an +evident failure himself, but he was believed to know secrets that would +make the fortune of any man; yet there was also a general impression +that his knowledge was not of that nature which would make it profitable +for a moderately prudent person. + +This powerful skeleton, dressed in faded blue serge and without any kind +of linen, existed anyhow. Sometimes, if offered the job, he piloted +a home ship through the Straits of Rhio, after, however, assuring the +captain: + +“You don't want a pilot; a man could go through with his eyes shut. But +if you want me, I'll come. Ten dollars.” + +Then, after seeing his charge clear of the last island of the group he +would go back thirty miles in a canoe, with two old Malays who seemed +to be in some way his followers. To travel thirty miles at sea under +the equatorial sun and in a cranky dug-out where once down you must not +move, is an achievement that requires the endurance of a fakir and the +virtue of a salamander. Ten dollars was cheap and generally he was in +demand. When times were hard he would borrow five dollars from any of +the adventurers with the remark: + +“I can't pay you back, very soon, but the girl must eat, and if you want +to know anything, I can tell you.” + +It was remarkable that nobody ever smiled at that “anything.” The usual +thing was to say: + +“Thank you, old man; when I am pushed for a bit of information I'll come +to you.” + +Jorgenson nodded then and would say: “Remember that unless you young +chaps are like we men who ranged about here years ago, what I could tell +you would be worse than poison.” + +It was from Jorgenson, who had his favourites with whom he was less +silent, that Lingard had heard of Darat-es-Salam, the “Shore of Refuge.” + Jorgenson had, as he expressed it, “known the inside of that country +just after the high old times when the white-clad Padris preached and +fought all over Sumatra till the Dutch shook in their shoes.” Only he +did not say “shook” and “shoes” but the above paraphrase conveys well +enough his contemptuous meaning. Lingard tried now to remember and piece +together the practical bits of old Jorgenson's amazing tales; but all +that had remained with him was an approximate idea of the locality and +a very strong but confused notion of the dangerous nature of its +approaches. He hesitated, and the brig, answering in her movements to +the state of the man's mind, lingered on the road, seemed to hesitate +also, swinging this way and that on the days of calm. + +It was just because of that hesitation that a big New York ship, loaded +with oil in cases for Japan, and passing through the Billiton passage, +sighted one morning a very smart brig being hove-to right in the +fair-way and a little to the east of Carimata. The lank skipper, in a +frock-coat, and the big mate with heavy moustaches, judged her almost +too pretty for a Britisher, and wondered at the man on board laying his +topsail to the mast for no reason that they could see. The big ship's +sails fanned her along, flapping in the light air, and when the brig was +last seen far astern she had still her mainyard aback as if waiting for +someone. But when, next day, a London tea-clipper passed on the same +track, she saw no pretty brig hesitating, all white and still at the +parting of the ways. All that night Lingard had talked with Hassim while +the stars streamed from east to west like an immense river of sparks +above their heads. Immada listened, sometimes exclaiming low, sometimes +holding her breath. She clapped her hands once. A faint dawn appeared. + +“You shall be treated like my father in the country,” Hassim was saying. +A heavy dew dripped off the rigging and the darkened sails were black +on the pale azure of the sky. “You shall be the father who advises for +good--” + +“I shall be a steady friend, and as a friend I want to be treated--no +more,” said Lingard. “Take back your ring.” + +“Why do you scorn my gift?” asked Hassim, with a sad and ironic smile. + +“Take it,” said Lingard. “It is still mine. How can I forget that, when +facing death, you thought of my safety? There are many dangers before +us. We shall be often separated--to work better for the same end. If +ever you and Immada need help at once and I am within reach, send me a +message with this ring and if I am alive I will not fail you.” He looked +around at the pale daybreak. “I shall talk to Belarab straight--like we +whites do. I have never seen him, but I am a strong man. Belarab must +help us to reconquer your country and when our end is attained I won't +let him eat you up.” + +Hassim took the ring and inclined his head. + +“It's time for us to be moving,” said Lingard. He felt a slight tug at +his sleeve. He looked back and caught Immada in the act of pressing her +forehead to the grey flannel. “Don't, child!” he said, softly. + +The sun rose above the faint blue line of the Shore of Refuge. + +The hesitation was over. The man and the vessel, working in accord, had +found their way to the faint blue shore. Before the sun had descended +half-way to its rest the brig was anchored within a gunshot of the slimy +mangroves, in a place where for a hundred years or more no white man's +vessel had been entrusted to the hold of the bottom. The adventurers +of two centuries ago had no doubt known of that anchorage for they were +very ignorant and incomparably audacious. If it is true, as some say, +that the spirits of the dead haunt the places where the living have +sinned and toiled, then they might have seen a white long-boat, pulled +by eight oars and steered by a man sunburnt and bearded, a cabbage-leaf +hat on head, and pistols in his belt, skirting the black mud, full of +twisted roots, in search of a likely opening. + +Creek after creek was passed and the boat crept on slowly like a +monstrous water-spider with a big body and eight slender legs. . . . Did +you follow with your ghostly eyes the quest of this obscure adventurer +of yesterday, you shades of forgotten adventurers who, in leather +jerkins and sweating under steel helmets, attacked with long rapiers the +palisades of the strange heathen, or, musket on shoulder and match in +cock, guarded timber blockhouses built upon the banks of rivers that +command good trade? You, who, wearied with the toil of fighting, slept +wrapped in frieze mantles on the sand of quiet beaches, dreaming of +fabulous diamonds and of a far-off home. + +“Here's an opening,” said Lingard to Hassim, who sat at his side, just +as the sun was setting away to his left. “Here's an opening big enough +for a ship. It's the entrance we are looking for, I believe. We shall +pull all night up this creek if necessary and it's the very devil if we +don't come upon Belarab's lair before daylight.” + +He shoved the tiller hard over and the boat, swerving sharply, vanished +from the coast. + +And perhaps the ghosts of old adventurers nodded wisely their ghostly +heads and exchanged the ghost of a wistful smile. + + + +V + +“What's the matter with King Tom of late?” would ask someone when, all +the cards in a heap on the table, the traders lying back in their chairs +took a spell from a hard gamble. + +“Tom has learned to hold his tongue, he must be up to some dam' good +thing,” opined another; while a man with hooked features and of German +extraction who was supposed to be agent for a Dutch crockery house--the +famous “Sphinx” mark--broke in resentfully: + +“Nefer mind him, shentlemens, he's matt, matt as a Marsh Hase. Dree +monats ago I call on board his prig to talk pizness. And he says like +dis--'Glear oudt.' 'Vat for?' I say. 'Glear oudt before I shuck you +oferboard.' Gott-for-dam! Iss dat the vay to talk pizness? I vant sell +him ein liddle case first chop grockery for trade and--” + +“Ha, ha, ha! I don't blame Tom,” interrupted the owner of a pearling +schooner, who had come into the Roads for stores. “Why, Mosey, there +isn't a mangy cannibal left in the whole of New Guinea that hasn't got a +cup and saucer of your providing. You've flooded the market, savee?” + +Jorgenson stood by, a skeleton at the gaming table. + +“Because you are a Dutch spy,” he said, suddenly, in an awful tone. + +The agent of the Sphinx mark jumped up in a sudden fury. + +“Vat? Vat? Shentlemens, you all know me!” Not a muscle moved in +the faces around. “Know me,” he stammered with wet lips. “Vat, funf +year--berfegtly acquaint--grockery--Verfluchte sponsher. Ich? Spy. Vat +for spy? Vordamte English pedlars!” + +The door slammed. “Is that so?” asked a New England voice. “Why don't +you let daylight into him?” + +“Oh, we can't do that here,” murmured one of the players. “Your deal, +Trench, let us get on.” + +“Can't you?” drawled the New England voice. “You law-abiding, +get-a-summons, act-of--parliament lot of sons of Belial--can't you? +Now, look a-here, these Colt pistols I am selling--” He took the pearler +aside and could be heard talking earnestly in the corner. “See--you +load--and--see?” There were rapid clicks. “Simple, isn't it? And if +any trouble--say with your divers”--_click, click, click_--“Through and +through--like a sieve--warranted to cure the worst kind of cussedness +in any nigger. Yes, siree! A case of twenty-four or single specimens--as +you like. No? Shot-guns--rifles? No! Waal, I guess you're of no use to +me, but I could do a deal with that Tom--what d'ye call him? Where d'ye +catch him? Everywhere--eh? Waal--that's nowhere. But I shall find him +some day--yes, siree.” + +Jorgenson, utterly disregarded, looked down dreamily at the falling +cards. “Spy--I tell you,” he muttered to himself. “If you want to know +anything, ask me.” + +When Lingard returned from Wajo--after an uncommonly long +absence--everyone remarked a great change. He was less talkative and +not so noisy, he was still hospitable but his hospitality was less +expansive, and the man who was never so happy as when discussing +impossibly wild projects with half a dozen congenial spirits often +showed a disinclination to meet his best friends. In a word, he +returned much less of a good fellow than he went away. His visits to the +Settlements were not less frequent, but much shorter; and when there he +was always in a hurry to be gone. + +During two years the brig had, in her way, as hard a life of it as the +man. Swift and trim she flitted amongst the islands of little known +groups. She could be descried afar from lonely headlands, a white +speck travelling fast over the blue sea; the apathetic keepers of rare +lighthouses dotting the great highway to the east came to know the cut +of her topsails. They saw her passing east, passing west. They had faint +glimpses of her flying with masts aslant in the mist of a rain-squall, +or could observe her at leisure, upright and with shivering sails, +forging ahead through a long day of unsteady airs. Men saw her battling +with a heavy monsoon in the Bay of Bengal, lying becalmed in the Java +Sea, or gliding out suddenly from behind a point of land, graceful and +silent in the clear moonlight. Her activity was the subject of excited +but low-toned conversations, which would be interrupted when her master +appeared. + +“Here he is. Came in last night,” whispered the gossiping group. + +Lingard did not see the covert glances of respect tempered by irony; he +nodded and passed on. + +“Hey, Tom! No time for a drink?” would shout someone. + +He would shake his head without looking back--far away already. + +Florid and burly he could be seen, for a day or two, getting out of +dusty gharries, striding in sunshine from the Occidental Bank to the +Harbour Office, crossing the Esplanade, disappearing down a street of +Chinese shops, while at his elbow and as tall as himself, old Jorgenson +paced along, lean and faded, obstinate and disregarded, like a haunting +spirit from the past eager to step back into the life of men. + +Lingard ignored this wreck of an adventurer, sticking to him closer than +his shadow, and the other did not try to attract attention. He waited +patiently at the doors of offices, would vanish at tiffin time, would +invariably turn up again in the evening and then he kept his place +till Lingard went aboard for the night. The police peons on duty looked +disdainfully at the phantom of Captain H. C. Jorgenson, Barque Wild +Rose, wandering on the silent quay or standing still for hours at the +edge of the sombre roadstead speckled by the anchor lights of ships--an +adventurous soul longing to recross the waters of oblivion. + +The sampan-men, sculling lazily homeward past the black hull of the brig +at anchor, could hear far into the night the drawl of the New England +voice escaping through the lifted panes of the cabin skylight. Snatches +of nasal sentences floated in the stillness around the still craft. + +“Yes, siree! Mexican war rifles--good as new--six in a case--my people +in Baltimore--that's so. Hundred and twenty rounds thrown in for +each specimen--marked to suit your requirements. Suppose--musical +instruments, this side up with care--how's that for your taste? No, no! +Cash down--my people in Balt--Shooting sea-gulls you say? Waal! It's +a risky business--see here--ten per cent. discount--it's out of my own +pocket--” + +As time wore on, and nothing happened, at least nothing that one could +hear of, the excitement died out. Lingard's new attitude was accepted +as only “his way.” There was nothing in it, maintained some. Others +dissented. A good deal of curiosity, however, remained and the faint +rumour of something big being in preparation followed him into every +harbour he went to, from Rangoon to Hongkong. + +He felt nowhere so much at home as when his brig was anchored on the +inner side of the great stretch of shoals. The centre of his life had +shifted about four hundred miles--from the Straits of Malacca to the +Shore of Refuge--and when there he felt himself within the circle of +another existence, governed by his impulse, nearer his desire. Hassim +and Immada would come down to the coast and wait for him on the islet. +He always left them with regret. + +At the end of the first stage in each trip, Jorgenson waited for him +at the top of the boat-stairs and without a word fell into step at his +elbow. They seldom exchanged three words in a day; but one evening about +six months before Lingard's last trip, as they were crossing the +short bridge over the canal where native craft lie moored in clusters, +Jorgenson lengthened his stride and came abreast. It was a moonlight +night and nothing stirred on earth but the shadows of high clouds. +Lingard took off his hat and drew in a long sigh in the tepid breeze. +Jorgenson spoke suddenly in a cautious tone: “The new Rajah Tulla +smokes opium and is sometimes dangerous to speak to. There is a lot of +discontent in Wajo amongst the big people.” + +“Good! Good!” whispered Lingard, excitedly, off his guard for once. +Then--“How the devil do you know anything about it?” he asked. + +Jorgenson pointed at the mass of praus, coasting boats, and sampans +that, jammed up together in the canal, lay covered with mats and flooded +by the cold moonlight with here and there a dim lantern burning amongst +the confusion of high sterns, spars, masts and lowered sails. + +“There!” he said, as they moved on, and their hatted and clothed shadows +fell heavily on the queer-shaped vessels that carry the fortunes of +brown men upon a shallow sea. “There! I can sit with them, I can talk +to them, I can come and go as I like. They know me now--it's +time-thirty-five years. Some of them give a plate of rice and a bit of +fish to the white man. That's all I get--after thirty-five years--given +up to them.” + +He was silent for a time. + +“I was like you once,” he added, and then laying his hand on Lingard's +sleeve, murmured--“Are you very deep in this thing?” + +“To the very last cent,” said Lingard, quietly, and looking straight +before him. + +The glitter of the roadstead went out, and the masts of anchored ships +vanished in the invading shadow of a cloud. + +“Drop it,” whispered Jorgenson. + +“I am in debt,” said Lingard, slowly, and stood still. + +“Drop it!” + +“Never dropped anything in my life.” + +“Drop it!” + +“By God, I won't!” cried Lingard, stamping his foot. + +There was a pause. + +“I was like you--once,” repeated Jorgenson. “Five and thirty +years--never dropped anything. And what you can do is only child's play +to some jobs I have had on my hands--understand that--great man as you +are, Captain Lingard of the Lightning. . . . You should have seen the +Wild Rose,” he added with a sudden break in his voice. + +Lingard leaned over the guard-rail of the pier. Jorgenson came closer. + +“I set fire to her with my own hands!” he said in a vibrating tone and +very low, as if making a monstrous confession. + +“Poor devil,” muttered Lingard, profoundly moved by the tragic enormity +of the act. “I suppose there was no way out?” + +“I wasn't going to let her rot to pieces in some Dutch port,” said +Jorgenson, gloomily. “Did you ever hear of Dawson?” + +“Something--I don't remember now--” muttered Lingard, who felt a chill +down his back at the idea of his own vessel decaying slowly in some +Dutch port. “He died--didn't he?” he asked, absently, while he +wondered whether he would have the pluck to set fire to the brig--on an +emergency. + +“Cut his throat on the beach below Fort Rotterdam,” said Jorgenson. His +gaunt figure wavered in the unsteady moonshine as though made of mist. +“Yes. He broke some trade regulation or other and talked big about +law-courts and legal trials to the lieutenant of the Komet. 'Certainly,' +says the hound. 'Jurisdiction of Macassar, I will take your schooner +there.' Then coming into the roads he tows her full tilt on a ledge of +rocks on the north side--smash! When she was half full of water he takes +his hat off to Dawson. 'There's the shore,' says he--'go and get your +legal trial, you--Englishman--'” He lifted a long arm and shook his fist +at the moon which dodged suddenly behind a cloud. “All was lost. Poor +Dawson walked the streets for months barefooted and in rags. Then one +day he begged a knife from some charitable soul, went down to take a +last look at the wreck, and--” + +“I don't interfere with the Dutch,” interrupted Lingard, impatiently. “I +want Hassim to get back his own--” + +“And suppose the Dutch want the things just so,” returned Jorgenson. +“Anyway there is a devil in such work--drop it!” + +“Look here,” said Lingard, “I took these people off when they were in +their last ditch. That means something. I ought not to have meddled and +it would have been all over in a few hours. I must have meant something +when I interfered, whether I knew it or not. I meant it then--and did +not know it. Very well. I mean it now--and do know it. When you save +people from death you take a share in their life. That's how I look at +it.” + +Jorgenson shook his head. + +“Foolishness!” he cried, then asked softly in a voice that trembled with +curiosity--“Where did you leave them?” + +“With Belarab,” breathed out Lingard. “You knew him in the old days.” + +“I knew him, I knew his father,” burst out the other in an excited +whisper. “Whom did I not know? I knew Sentot when he was King of the +South Shore of Java and the Dutch offered a price for his head--enough +to make any man's fortune. He slept twice on board the Wild Rose when +things had begun to go wrong with him. I knew him, I knew all his +chiefs, the priests, the fighting men, the old regent who lost heart and +went over to the Dutch, I knew--” he stammered as if the words could not +come out, gave it up and sighed--“Belarab's father escaped with me,” he +began again, quietly, “and joined the Padris in Sumatra. He rose to be +a great leader. Belarab was a youth then. Those were the times. I ranged +the coast--and laughed at the cruisers; I saw every battle fought in the +Battak country--and I saw the Dutch run; I was at the taking of Singal +and escaped. I was the white man who advised the chiefs of Manangkabo. +There was a lot about me in the Dutch papers at the time. They said I +was a Frenchman turned Mohammedan--” he swore a great oath, and, reeling +against the guard-rail, panted, muttering curses on newspapers. + +“Well, Belarab has the job in hand,” said Lingard, composedly. “He is +the chief man on the Shore of Refuge. There are others, of course. He +has sent messages north and south. We must have men.” + +“All the devils unchained,” said Jorgenson. “You have done it and +now--look out--look out. . . .” + +“Nothing can go wrong as far as I can see,” argued Lingard. “They all +know what's to be done. I've got them in hand. You don't think Belarab +unsafe? Do you?” + +“Haven't seen him for fifteen years--but the whole thing's unsafe,” + growled Jorgenson. + +“I tell you I've fixed it so that nothing can go wrong. It would be +better if I had a white man over there to look after things generally. +There is a good lot of stores and arms--and Belarab would bear +watching--no doubt. Are you in any want?” he added, putting his hand in +his pocket. + +“No, there's plenty to eat in the house,” answered Jorgenson, curtly. +“Drop it,” he burst out. “It would be better for you to jump overboard +at once. Look at me. I came out a boy of eighteen. I can speak English, +I can speak Dutch, I can speak every cursed lingo of these islands--I +remember things that would make your hair stand on end--but I have +forgotten the language of my own country. I've traded, I've fought, I +never broke my word to white or native. And, look at me. If it hadn't +been for the girl I would have died in a ditch ten years ago. Everything +left me--youth, money, strength, hope--the very sleep. But she stuck by +the wreck.” + +“That says a lot for her and something for you,” said Lingard, cheerily. + +Jorgenson shook his head. + +“That's the worst of all,” he said with slow emphasis. “That's the +end. I came to them from the other side of the earth and they took me +and--see what they made of me.” + +“What place do you belong to?” asked Lingard. + +“Tromso,” groaned out Jorgenson; “I will never see snow again,” he +sobbed out, his face in his hands. + +Lingard looked at him in silence. + +“Would you come with me?” he said. “As I told you, I am in want of a--” + +“I would see you damned first!” broke out the other, savagely. “I am +an old white loafer, but you don't get me to meddle in their infernal +affairs. They have a devil of their own--” + +“The thing simply can't fail. I've calculated every move. I've guarded +against everything. I am no fool.” + +“Yes--you are. Good-night.” + +“Well, good-bye,” said Lingard, calmly. + +He stepped into his boat, and Jorgenson walked up the jetty. Lingard, +clearing the yoke lines, heard him call out from a distance: + +“Drop it!” + +“I sail before sunrise,” he shouted in answer, and went on board. + +When he came up from his cabin after an uneasy night, it was dark yet. A +lank figure strolled across the deck. + +“Here I am,” said Jorgenson, huskily. “Die there or here--all one. But, +if I die there, remember the girl must eat.” + +Lingard was one of the few who had seen Jorgenson's girl. She had a +wrinkled brown face, a lot of tangled grey hair, a few black stumps +of teeth, and had been married to him lately by an enterprising young +missionary from Bukit Timah. What her appearance might have been once +when Jorgenson gave for her three hundred dollars and several brass +guns, it was impossible to say. All that was left of her youth was a +pair of eyes, undimmed and mournful, which, when she was alone, seemed +to look stonily into the past of two lives. When Jorgenson was near +they followed his movements with anxious pertinacity. And now within the +sarong thrown over the grey head they were dropping unseen tears while +Jorgenson's girl rocked herself to and fro, squatting alone in a corner +of the dark hut. + +“Don't you worry about that,” said Lingard, grasping Jorgenson's hand. +“She shall want for nothing. All I expect you to do is to look a little +after Belarab's morals when I am away. One more trip I must make, and +then we shall be ready to go ahead. I've foreseen every single thing. +Trust me!” + +In this way did the restless shade of Captain H. C. Jorgenson recross +the water of oblivion to step back into the life of men. + + + +VI + +For two years, Lingard, who had thrown himself body and soul into the +great enterprise, had lived in the long intoxication of slowly preparing +success. No thought of failure had crossed his mind, and no price +appeared too heavy to pay for such a magnificent achievement. It was +nothing less than bringing Hassim triumphantly back to that country +seen once at night under the low clouds and in the incessant tumult of +thunder. When at the conclusion of some long talk with Hassim, who for +the twentieth time perhaps had related the story of his wrongs and his +struggle, he lifted his big arm and shaking his fist above his head, +shouted: “We will stir them up. We will wake up the country!” he was, +without knowing it in the least, making a complete confession of the +idealism hidden under the simplicity of his strength. He would wake up +the country! That was the fundamental and unconscious emotion on which +were engrafted his need of action, the primitive sense of what was due +to justice, to gratitude, to friendship, the sentimental pity for the +hard lot of Immada--poor child--the proud conviction that of all the +men in the world, in his world, he alone had the means and the pluck “to +lift up the big end” of such an adventure. + +Money was wanted and men were wanted, and he had obtained enough of both +in two years from that day when, pistols in his belt and a cabbage-leaf +hat on head, he had unexpectedly, and at early dawn, confronted in +perfect silence that mysterious Belarab, who himself was for a moment +too astounded for speech at the sight of a white face. + +The sun had not yet cleared the forests of the interior, but a sky +already full of light arched over a dark oval lagoon, over wide fields +as yet full of shadows, that seemed slowly changing into the whiteness +of the morning mist. There were huts, fences, palisades, big houses +that, erected on lofty piles, were seen above the tops of clustered +fruit trees, as if suspended in the air. + +Such was the aspect of Belarab's settlement when Lingard set his eyes +on it for the first time. There were all these things, a great number +of faces at the back of the spare and muffled-up figure confronting him, +and in the swiftly increasing light a complete stillness that made the +murmur of the word “Marhaba” (welcome), pronounced at last by the chief, +perfectly audible to every one of his followers. The bodyguards who +stood about him in black skull-caps and with long-shafted lances, +preserved an impassive aspect. Across open spaces men could be seen +running to the waterside. A group of women standing on a low knoll gazed +intently, and nothing of them but the heads showed above the unstirring +stalks of a maize field. Suddenly within a cluster of empty huts near +by the voice of an invisible hag was heard scolding with shrill fury an +invisible young girl: + +“Strangers! You want to see the strangers? O devoid of all decency! +Must I so lame and old husk the rice alone? May evil befall thee and the +strangers! May they never find favour! May they be pursued with swords! +I am old. I am old. There is no good in strangers! O girl! May they +burn.” + +“Welcome,” repeated Belarab, gravely, and looking straight into +Lingard's eyes. + +Lingard spent six days that time in Belarab's settlement. Of these, +three were passed in observing each other without a question being asked +or a hint given as to the object in view. Lingard lounged on the fine +mats with which the chief had furnished a small bamboo house outside a +fortified enclosure, where a white flag with a green border fluttered on +a high and slender pole but still below the walls of long, high-roofed +buildings, raised forty feet or more on hard-wood posts. + +Far away the inland forests were tinted a shimmering blue, like the +forests of a dream. On the seaward side the belt of great trunks and +matted undergrowth came to the western shore of the oval lagoon; and in +the pure freshness of the air the groups of brown houses reflected in +the water or seen above the waving green of the fields, the clumps of +palm trees, the fenced-in plantations, the groves of fruit trees, made +up a picture of sumptuous prosperity. + +Above the buildings, the men, the women, the still sheet of water and +the great plain of crops glistening with dew, stretched the exalted, +the miraculous peace of a cloudless sky. And no road seemed to lead +into this country of splendour and stillness. One could not believe the +unquiet sea was so near, with its gifts and its unending menace. Even +during the months of storms, the great clamour rising from the whitened +expanse of the Shallows dwelt high in the air in a vast murmur, now +feeble now stronger, that seemed to swing back and forth on the wind +above the earth without any one being able to tell whence it came. It +was like the solemn chant of a waterfall swelling and dying away above +the woods, the fields, above the roofs of houses and the heads of men, +above the secret peace of that hidden and flourishing settlement of +vanquished fanatics, fugitives, and outcasts. + +Every afternoon Belarab, followed by an escort that stopped outside +the door, entered alone the house of his guest. He gave the salutation, +inquired after his health, conversed about insignificant things with an +inscrutable mien. But all the time the steadfast gaze of his thoughtful +eyes seemed to seek the truth within that white face. In the cool of +the evening, before the sun had set, they talked together, passing and +repassing between the rugged pillars of the grove near the gate of the +stockade. The escort away in the oblique sunlight, followed with their +eyes the strolling figures appearing and vanishing behind the trees. +Many words were pronounced, but nothing was said that would disclose +the thoughts of the two men. They clasped hands demonstratively before +separating, and the heavy slam of the gate was followed by the triple +thud of the wooden bars dropped into iron clamps. + +On the third night, Lingard was awakened from a light sleep by the sound +of whispering outside. A black shadow obscured the stars in the doorway, +and a man entering suddenly, stood above his couch while another could +be seen squatting--a dark lump on the threshold of the hut. + +“Fear not. I am Belarab,” said a cautious voice. + +“I was not afraid,” whispered Lingard. “It is the man coming in the dark +and without warning who is in danger.” + +“And did you not come to me without warning? I said 'welcome'--it was as +easy for me to say 'kill him.'” + +“You were within reach of my arm. We would have died together,” retorted +Lingard, quietly. + +The other clicked his tongue twice, and his indistinct shape seemed to +sink half-way through the floor. + +“It was not written thus before we were born,” he said, sitting +cross-legged near the mats, and in a deadened voice. “Therefore you are +my guest. Let the talk between us be straight like the shaft of a spear +and shorter than the remainder of this night. What do you want?” + +“First, your long life,” answered Lingard, leaning forward toward the +gleam of a pair of eyes, “and then--your help.” + + + +VII + +The faint murmur of the words spoken on that night lingered for a long +time in Lingard's ears, more persistent than the memory of an uproar; he +looked with a fixed gaze at the stars burning peacefully in the square +of the doorway, while after listening in silence to all he had to say, +Belarab, as if seduced by the strength and audacity of the white man, +opened his heart without reserve. He talked of his youth surrounded by +the fury of fanaticism and war, of battles on the hills, of +advances through the forests, of men's unswerving piety, of their +unextinguishable hate. Not a single wandering cloud obscured the gentle +splendour of the rectangular patch of starlight framed in the opaque +blackness of the hut. Belarab murmured on of a succession of reverses, +of the ring of disasters narrowing round men's fading hopes and +undiminished courage. He whispered of defeat and flight, of the days +of despair, of the nights without sleep, of unending pursuit, of the +bewildered horror and sombre fury, of their women and children killed in +the stockade before the besieged sallied forth to die. + +“I have seen all this before I was in years a man,” he cried, low. + +His voice vibrated. In the pause that succeeded they heard a light sigh +of the sleeping follower who, clasping his legs above his ankles, rested +his forehead on his knees. + +“And there was amongst us,” began Belarab again, “one white man who +remained to the end, who was faithful with his strength, with his +courage, with his wisdom. A great man. He had great riches but a greater +heart.” + +The memory of Jorgenson, emaciated and grey-haired, and trying to borrow +five dollars to get something to eat for the girl, passed before Lingard +suddenly upon the pacific glitter of the stars. + +“He resembled you,” pursued Belarab, abruptly. “We escaped with him, and +in his ship came here. It was a solitude. The forest came near to the +sheet of water, the rank grass waved upon the heads of tall men. Telal, +my father, died of weariness; we were only a few, and we all nearly died +of trouble and sadness--here. On this spot! And no enemies could tell +where we had gone. It was the Shore of Refuge--and starvation.” + +He droned on in the night, with rising and falling inflections. He told +how his desperate companions wanted to go out and die fighting on the +sea against the ships from the west, the ships with high sides and white +sails; and how, unflinching and alone, he kept them battling with the +thorny bush, with the rank grass, with the soaring and enormous trees. +Lingard, leaning on his elbow and staring through the door, recalled +the image of the wide fields outside, sleeping now, in an immensity of +serenity and starlight. This quiet and almost invisible talker had done +it all; in him was the origin, the creation, the fate; and in the +wonder of that thought the shadowy murmuring figure acquired a gigantic +greatness of significance, as if it had been the embodiment of some +natural force, of a force forever masterful and undying. + +“And even now my life is unsafe as if I were their enemy,” said Belarab, +mournfully. “Eyes do not kill, nor angry words; and curses have no +power, else the Dutch would not grow fat living on our land, and I would +not be alive to-night. Do you understand? Have you seen the men who +fought in the old days? They have not forgotten the times of war. I have +given them homes and quiet hearts and full bellies. I alone. And they +curse my name in the dark, in each other's ears--because they can never +forget.” + +This man, whose talk had been of war and violence, discovered +unexpectedly a passionate craving for security and peace. No one would +understand him. Some of those who would not understand had died. His +white teeth gleamed cruelly in the dark. But there were others he could +not kill. The fools. He wanted the land and the people in it to be +forgotten as if they had been swallowed by the sea. But they had neither +wisdom nor patience. Could they not wait? They chanted prayers five +times every day, but they had not the faith. + +“Death comes to all--and to the believers the end of trouble. But you +white men who are too strong for us, you also die. You die. And there +is a Paradise as great as all earth and all Heaven together, but not for +you--not for you!” + +Lingard, amazed, listened without a sound. The sleeper snored faintly. +Belarab continued very calm after this almost involuntary outburst of +a consoling belief. He explained that he wanted somebody at his back, +somebody strong and whom he could trust, some outside force that would +awe the unruly, that would inspire their ignorance with fear, and make +his rule secure. He groped in the dark and seizing Lingard's arm above +the elbow pressed it with force--then let go. And Lingard understood why +his temerity had been so successful. + +Then and there, in return for Lingard's open support, a few guns and a +little money, Belarab promised his help for the conquest of Wajo. There +was no doubt he could find men who would fight. He could send messages +to friends at a distance and there were also many unquiet spirits in his +own district ready for any adventure. He spoke of these men with +fierce contempt and an angry tenderness, in mingled accents of envy and +disdain. He was wearied by their folly, by their recklessness, by their +impatience--and he seemed to resent these as if they had been gifts of +which he himself had been deprived by the fatality of his wisdom. They +would fight. When the time came Lingard had only to speak, and a sign +from him would send them to a vain death--those men who could not wait +for an opportunity on this earth or for the eternal revenge of Heaven. + +He ceased, and towered upright in the gloom. + +“Awake!” he exclaimed, low, bending over the sleeping man. + +Their black shapes, passing in turn, eclipsed for two successive moments +the glitter of the stars, and Lingard, who had not stirred, remained +alone. He lay back full length with an arm thrown across his eyes. + +When three days afterward he left Belarab's settlement, it was on a calm +morning of unclouded peace. All the boats of the brig came up into the +lagoon armed and manned to make more impressive the solemn fact of a +concluded alliance. A staring crowd watched his imposing departure in +profound silence and with an increased sense of wonder at the mystery of +his apparition. The progress of the boats was smooth and slow while they +crossed the wide lagoon. Lingard looked back once. A great stillness had +laid its hand over the earth, the sky, and the men; upon the immobility +of landscape and people. Hassim and Immada, standing out clearly by +the side of the chief, raised their arms in a last salutation; and the +distant gesture appeared sad, futile, lost in space, like a sign of +distress made by castaways in the vain hope of an impossible help. + +He departed, he returned, he went away again, and each time those two +figures, lonely on some sandbank of the Shallows, made at him the same +futile sign of greeting or good-bye. Their arms at each movement seemed +to draw closer around his heart the bonds of a protecting affection. +He worked prosaically, earning money to pay the cost of the romantic +necessity that had invaded his life. And the money ran like water out of +his hands. The owner of the New England voice remitted not a little of +it to his people in Baltimore. But import houses in the ports of the +Far East had their share. It paid for a fast prau which, commanded by +Jaffir, sailed into unfrequented bays and up unexplored rivers, carrying +secret messages, important news, generous bribes. A good part of it went +to the purchase of the Emma. + +The Emma was a battered and decrepit old schooner that, in the decline +of her existence, had been much ill-used by a paunchy white trader of +cunning and gluttonous aspect. This man boasted outrageously afterward +of the good price he had got “for that rotten old hooker of mine--you +know.” The Emma left port mysteriously in company with the brig and +henceforth vanished from the seas forever. Lingard had her towed up the +creek and ran her aground upon that shore of the lagoon farthest from +Belarab's settlement. There had been at that time a great rise of +waters, which retiring soon after left the old craft cradled in the mud, +with her bows grounded high between the trunks of two big trees, and +leaning over a little as though after a hard life she had settled +wearily to an everlasting rest. There, a few months later, Jorgenson +found her when, called back into the life of men, he reappeared, +together with Lingard, in the Land of Refuge. + +“She is better than a fort on shore,” said Lingard, as side by side they +leant over the taffrail, looking across the lagoon on the houses and +palm groves of the settlement. “All the guns and powder I have got +together so far are stored in her. Good idea, wasn't it? There will +be, perhaps, no other such flood for years, and now they can't come +alongside unless right under the counter, and only one boat at a time. +I think you are perfectly safe here; you could keep off a whole fleet of +boats; she isn't easy to set fire to; the forest in front is better than +a wall. Well?” + +Jorgenson assented in grunts. He looked at the desolate emptiness of the +decks, at the stripped spars, at the dead body of the dismantled little +vessel that would know the life of the seas no more. The gloom of the +forest fell on her, mournful like a winding sheet. The bushes of the +bank tapped their twigs on the bluff of her bows, and a pendent spike of +tiny brown blossoms swung to and fro over the ruins of her windlass. + +Hassim's companions garrisoned the old hulk, and Jorgenson, left +in charge, prowled about from stem to stern, taciturn and anxiously +faithful to his trust. He had been received with astonishment, +respect--and awe. Belarab visited him often. Sometimes those whom he had +known in their prime years ago, during a struggle for faith and life, +would come to talk with the white man. Their voices were like the echoes +of stirring events, in the pale glamour of a youth gone by. They nodded +their old heads. Do you remember?--they said. He remembered only too +well! He was like a man raised from the dead, for whom the fascinating +trust in the power of life is tainted by the black scepticism of the +grave. + +Only at times the invincible belief in the reality of existence would +come back, insidious and inspiring. He squared his shoulders, held +himself straight, and walked with a firmer step. He felt a glow within +him and the quickened beat of his heart. Then he calculated in silent +excitement Lingard's chances of success, and he lived for a time with +the life of that other man who knew nothing of the black scepticism of +the grave. The chances were good, very good. + +“I should like to see it through,” Jorgenson muttered to himself +ardently; and his lustreless eyes would flash for a moment. + + + +PART III. THE CAPTURE + +I + +“Some people,” said Lingard, “go about the world with their eyes shut. +You are right. The sea is free to all of us. Some work on it, and some +play the fool on it--and I don't care. Only you may take it from me +that I will let no man's play interfere with my work. You want me to +understand you are a very great man--” + +Mr. Travers smiled, coldly. + +“Oh, yes,” continued Lingard, “I understand that well enough. But +remember you are very far from home, while I, here, I am where I belong. +And I belong where I am. I am just Tom Lingard, no more, no less, +wherever I happen to be, and--you may ask--” A sweep of his hand along +the western horizon entrusted with perfect confidence the remainder of +his speech to the dumb testimony of the sea. + +He had been on board the yacht for more than an hour, and nothing, +for him, had come of it but the birth of an unreasoning hate. To the +unconscious demand of these people's presence, of their ignorance, of +their faces, of their voices, of their eyes, he had nothing to give but +a resentment that had in it a germ of reckless violence. He could tell +them nothing because he had not the means. Their coming at this moment, +when he had wandered beyond that circle which race, memories, early +associations, all the essential conditions of one's origin, trace round +every man's life, deprived him in a manner of the power of speech. He +was confounded. It was like meeting exacting spectres in a desert. + +He stared at the open sea, his arms crossed, with a reflective +fierceness. His very appearance made him utterly different from everyone +on board that vessel. The grey shirt, the blue sash, one rolled-up +sleeve baring a sculptural forearm, the negligent masterfulness of his +tone and pose were very distasteful to Mr. Travers, who, having made +up his mind to wait for some kind of official assistance, regarded +the intrusion of that inexplicable man with suspicion. From the moment +Lingard came on board the yacht, every eye in that vessel had been fixed +upon him. Only Carter, within earshot and leaning with his elbow upon +the rail, stared down at the deck as if overcome with drowsiness or lost +in thought. + +Of the three other persons aft, Mr. Travers kept his hands in the side +pockets of his jacket and did not conceal his growing disgust. + +On the other side of the deck, a lady, in a long chair, had a passive +attitude that to Mr. d'Alcacer, standing near her, seemed characteristic +of the manner in which she accepted the necessities of existence. Years +before, as an attache of his Embassy in London, he had found her an +interesting hostess. She was even more interesting now, since a chance +meeting and Mr. Travers' offer of a passage to Batavia had given him an +opportunity of studying the various shades of scorn which he suspected +to be the secret of her acquiescence in the shallowness of events and +the monotony of a worldly existence. + +There were things that from the first he had not been able to +understand; for instance, why she should have married Mr. Travers. It +must have been from ambition. He could not help feeling that such a +successful mistake would explain completely her scorn and also her +acquiescence. The meeting in Manila had been utterly unexpected to +him, and he accounted for it to his uncle, the Governor-General of the +colony, by pointing out that Englishmen, when worsted in the struggle +of love or politics, travel extensively, as if by encompassing a large +portion of earth's surface they hoped to gather fresh strength for a +renewed contest. As to himself, he judged--but did not say--that his +contest with fate was ended, though he also travelled, leaving behind +him in the capitals of Europe a story in which there was nothing +scandalous but the publicity of an excessive feeling, and nothing more +tragic than the early death of a woman whose brilliant perfections were +no better known to the great world than the discreet and passionate +devotion she had innocently inspired. + +The invitation to join the yacht was the culminating point of many +exchanged civilities, and was mainly prompted by Mr. Travers' desire +to have somebody to talk to. D'Alcacer had accepted with the reckless +indifference of a man to whom one method of flight from a relentless +enemy is as good as another. Certainly the prospect of listening to long +monologues on commerce, administration, and politics did not promise +much alleviation to his sorrow; and he could not expect much else from +Mr. Travers, whose life and thought, ignorant of human passion, were +devoted to extracting the greatest possible amount of personal advantage +from human institutions. D'Alcacer found, however, that he could attain +a measure of forgetfulness--the most precious thing for him now--in the +society of Edith Travers. + +She had awakened his curiosity, which he thought nothing and nobody on +earth could do any more. + +These two talked of things indifferent and interesting, certainly not +connected with human institutions, and only very slightly with human +passions; but d'Alcacer could not help being made aware of her latent +capacity for sympathy developed in those who are disenchanted with life +or death. How far she was disenchanted he did not know, and did +not attempt to find out. This restraint was imposed upon him by the +chivalrous respect he had for the secrets of women and by a conviction +that deep feeling is often impenetrably obscure, even to those it +masters for their inspiration or their ruin. He believed that even she +herself would never know; but his grave curiosity was satisfied by the +observation of her mental state, and he was not sorry that the stranding +of the yacht prolonged his opportunity. + +Time passed on that mudbank as well as anywhere else, and it was not +from a multiplicity of events, but from the lapse of time alone, that +he expected relief. Yet in the sameness of days upon the Shallows, time +flowing ceaselessly, flowed imperceptibly; and, since every man clings +to his own, be it joy, be it grief, he was pleased after the unrest +of his wanderings to be able to fancy the whole universe and even time +itself apparently come to a standstill; as if unwilling to take him away +further from his sorrow, which was fading indeed but undiminished, as +things fade, not in the distance but in the mist. + + +II + +D'Alcacer was a man of nearly forty, lean and sallow, with hollow eyes +and a drooping brown moustache. His gaze was penetrating and direct, his +smile frequent and fleeting. He observed Lingard with great interest. +He was attracted by that elusive something--a line, a fold, perhaps +the form of the eye, the droop of an eyelid, the curve of a cheek, that +trifling trait which on no two faces on earth is alike, that in each +face is the very foundation of expression, as if, all the rest being +heredity, mystery, or accident, it alone had been shaped consciously by +the soul within. + +Now and then he bent slightly over the slow beat of a red fan in the +curve of the deck chair to say a few words to Mrs. Travers, who answered +him without looking up, without a modulation of tone or a play of +feature, as if she had spoken from behind the veil of an immense +indifference stretched between her and all men, between her heart and +the meaning of events, between her eyes and the shallow sea which, like +her gaze, appeared profound, forever stilled, and seemed, far off in the +distance of a faint horizon, beyond the reach of eye, beyond the power +of hand or voice, to lose itself in the sky. + +Mr. Travers stepped aside, and speaking to Carter, overwhelmed him with +reproaches. + +“You misunderstood your instructions,” murmured Mr. Travers rapidly. +“Why did you bring this man here? I am surprised--” + +“Not half so much as I was last night,” growled the young seaman, +without any reverence in his tone, very provoking to Mr. Travers. + +“I perceive now you were totally unfit for the mission I entrusted you +with,” went on the owner of the yacht. + +“It's he who got hold of me,” said Carter. “Haven't you heard him +yourself, sir?” + +“Nonsense,” whispered Mr. Travers, angrily. “Have you any idea what his +intentions may be?” + +“I half believe,” answered Carter, “that his intention was to shoot me +in his cabin last night if I--” + +“That's not the point,” interrupted Mr. Travers. “Have you any opinion +as to his motives in coming here?” + +Carter raised his weary, bloodshot eyes in a face scarlet and peeling as +though it had been licked by a flame. “I know no more than you do, sir. +Last night when he had me in that cabin of his, he said he would just as +soon shoot me as let me go to look for any other help. It looks as if +he were desperately bent upon getting a lot of salvage money out of a +stranded yacht.” + +Mr. Travers turned away, and, for a moment, appeared immersed in deep +thought. This accident of stranding upon a deserted coast was annoying +as a loss of time. He tried to minimize it by putting in order the notes +collected during the year's travel in the East. He had sent off for +assistance; his sailing-master, very crestfallen, made bold to say that +the yacht would most likely float at the next spring tides; d'Alcacer, +a person of undoubted nobility though of inferior principles, was better +than no company, in so far at least that he could play picquet. + +Mr. Travers had made up his mind to wait. Then suddenly this rough +man, looking as if he had stepped out from an engraving in a book about +buccaneers, broke in upon his resignation with mysterious allusions to +danger, which sounded absurd yet were disturbing; with dark and warning +sentences that sounded like disguised menaces. + +Mr. Travers had a heavy and rather long chin which he shaved. His eyes +were blue, a chill, naive blue. He faced Lingard untouched by travel, +without a mark of weariness or exposure, with the air of having been +born invulnerable. He had a full, pale face; and his complexion was +perfectly colourless, yet amazingly fresh, as if he had been reared in +the shade. + +He thought: + +“I must put an end to this preposterous hectoring. I won't be +intimidated into paying for services I don't need.” + +Mr. Travers felt a strong disgust for the impudence of the attempt; and +all at once, incredibly, strangely, as though the thing, like a contest +with a rival or a friend, had been of profound importance to his career, +he felt inexplicably elated at the thought of defeating the secret +purposes of that man. + +Lingard, unconscious of everything and everybody, contemplated the sea. +He had grown on it, he had lived with it; it had enticed him away from +home; on it his thoughts had expanded and his hand had found work to do. +It had suggested endeavour, it had made him owner and commander of the +finest brig afloat; it had lulled him into a belief in himself, in +his strength, in his luck--and suddenly, by its complicity in a fatal +accident, it had brought him face to face with a difficulty that looked +like the beginning of disaster. + +He had said all he dared to say--and he perceived that he was not +believed. This had not happened to him for years. It had never happened. +It bewildered him as if he had suddenly discovered that he was no longer +himself. He had come to them and had said: “I mean well by you. I am +Tom Lingard--” and they did not believe! Before such scepticism he was +helpless, because he had never imagined it possible. He had said: “You +are in the way of my work. You are in the way of what I can not give up +for any one; but I will see you through all safe if you will only +trust me--me, Tom Lingard.” And they would not believe him! It was +intolerable. He imagined himself sweeping their disbelief out of his +way. And why not? He did not know them, he did not care for them, he +did not even need to lift his hand against them! All he had to do was to +shut his eyes now for a day or two, and afterward he could forget that +he had ever seen them. It would be easy. Let their disbelief vanish, +their folly disappear, their bodies perish. . . . It was that--or ruin! + + + +III + +Lingard's gaze, detaching itself from the silent sea, travelled slowly +over the silent figures clustering forward, over the faces of the seamen +attentive and surprised, over the faces never seen before yet suggesting +old days--his youth--other seas--the distant shores of early memories. +Mr. Travers gave a start also, and the hand which had been busy with +his left whisker went into the pocket of his jacket, as though he +had plucked out something worth keeping. He made a quick step toward +Lingard. + +“I don't see my way to utilize your services,” he said, with cold +finality. + +Lingard, grasping his beard, looked down at him thoughtfully for a short +time. + +“Perhaps it's just as well,” he said, very slowly, “because I did not +offer my services. I've offered to take you on board my brig for a +few days, as your only chance of safety. And you asked me what were +my motives. My motives! If you don't see them they are not for you to +know.” + +And these men who, two hours before had never seen each other, stood +for a moment close together, antagonistic, as if they had been life-long +enemies, one short, dapper and glaring upward, the other towering +heavily, and looking down in contempt and anger. + +Mr. d'Alcacer, without taking his eyes off them, bent low over the deck +chair. + +“Have you ever seen a man dashing himself at a stone wall?” he asked, +confidentially. + +“No,” said Mrs. Travers, gazing straight before her above the slow +flutter of the fan. “No, I did not know it was ever done; men burrow +under or slip round quietly while they look the other way.” + +“Ah! you define diplomacy,” murmured d'Alcacer. “A little of it here +would do no harm. But our picturesque visitor has none of it. I've a +great liking for him.” + +“Already!” breathed out Mrs. Travers, with a smile that touched her lips +with its bright wing and was flown almost before it could be seen. + +“There is liking at first sight,” affirmed d'Alcacer, “as well as love +at first sight--the coup de foudre--you know.” + +She looked up for a moment, and he went on, gravely: “I think it is the +truest, the most profound of sentiments. You do not love because of what +is in the other. You love because of something that is in you--something +alive--in yourself.” He struck his breast lightly with the tip of one +finger. “A capacity in you. And not everyone may have it--not everyone +deserves to be touched by fire from heaven.” + +“And die,” she said. + +He made a slight movement. + +“Who can tell? That is as it may be. But it is always a privilege, even +if one must live a little after being burnt.” + +Through the silence between them, Mr. Travers' voice came plainly, +saying with irritation: + +“I've told you already that I do not want you. I've sent a messenger to +the governor of the Straits. Don't be importunate.” + +Then Lingard, standing with his back to them, growled out something +which must have exasperated Mr. Travers, because his voice was pitched +higher: + +“You are playing a dangerous game, I warn you. Sir John, as it happens, +is a personal friend of mine. He will send a cruiser--” and Lingard +interrupted recklessly loud: + +“As long as she does not get here for the next ten days, I don't care. +Cruisers are scarce just now in the Straits; and to turn my back on you +is no hanging matter anyhow. I would risk that, and more! Do you hear? +And more!” + +He stamped his foot heavily, Mr. Travers stepped back. + +“You will gain nothing by trying to frighten me,” he said. “I don't know +who you are.” + +Every eye in the yacht was wide open. The men, crowded upon each +other, stared stupidly like a flock of sheep. Mr. Travers pulled out +a handkerchief and passed it over his forehead. The face of the +sailing-master who leaned against the main mast--as near as he dared +to approach the gentry--was shining and crimson between white whiskers, +like a glowing coal between two patches of snow. + +D'Alcacer whispered: + +“It is a quarrel, and the picturesque man is angry. He is hurt.” + +Mrs. Travers' fan rested on her knees, and she sat still as if waiting +to hear more. + +“Do you think I ought to make an effort for peace?” asked d'Alcacer. + +She did not answer, and after waiting a little, he insisted: + +“What is your opinion? Shall I try to mediate--as a neutral, as a +benevolent neutral? I like that man with the beard.” + +The interchange of angry phrases went on aloud, amidst general +consternation. + +“I would turn my back on you only I am thinking of these poor devils +here,” growled Lingard, furiously. “Did you ask them how they feel about +it?” + +“I ask no one,” spluttered Mr. Travers. “Everybody here depends on my +judgment.” + +“I am sorry for them then,” pronounced Lingard with sudden deliberation, +and leaning forward with his arms crossed on his breast. + +At this Mr. Travers positively jumped, and forgot himself so far as to +shout: + +“You are an impudent fellow. I have nothing more to say to you.” + +D'Alcacer, after muttering to himself, “This is getting serious,” made a +movement, and could not believe his ears when he heard Mrs. Travers say +rapidly with a kind of fervour: + +“Don't go, pray; don't stop them. Oh! This is truth--this is +anger--something real at last.” + +D'Alcacer leaned back at once against the rail. + +Then Mr. Travers, with one arm extended, repeated very loudly: + +“Nothing more to say. Leave my ship at once!” + +And directly the black dog, stretched at his wife's feet, muzzle on +paws and blinking yellow eyes, growled discontentedly at the noise. Mrs. +Travers laughed a faint, bright laugh, that seemed to escape, to glide, +to dart between her white teeth. D'Alcacer, concealing his amazement, +was looking down at her gravely: and after a slight gasp, she said with +little bursts of merriment between every few words: + +“No, but this is--such--such a fresh experience for me to hear--to see +something--genuine and human. Ah! ah! one would think they had waited +all their lives for this opportunity--ah! ah! ah! All their lives--for +this! ah! ah! ah!” + +These strange words struck d'Alcacer as perfectly just, as throwing an +unexpected light. But after a smile, he said, seriously: + +“This reality may go too far. A man who looks so picturesque is capable +of anything. Allow me--” And he left her side, moving toward Lingard, +loose-limbed and gaunt, yet having in his whole bearing, in his walk, in +every leisurely movement, an air of distinction and ceremony. + +Lingard spun round with aggressive mien to the light touch on his +shoulder, but as soon as he took his eyes off Mr. Travers, his anger +fell, seemed to sink without a sound at his feet like a rejected +garment. + +“Pardon me,” said d'Alcacer, composedly. The slight wave of his hand was +hardly more than an indication, the beginning of a conciliating gesture. +“Pardon me; but this is a matter requiring perfect confidence on both +sides. Don Martin, here, who is a person of importance. . . .” + +“I've spoken my mind plainly. I have said as much as I dare. On my word +I have,” declared Lingard with an air of good temper. + +“Ah!” said d'Alcacer, reflectively, “then your reserve is a matter of +pledged faith--of--of honour?” + +Lingard also appeared thoughtful for a moment. + +“You may put it that way. And I owe nothing to a man who couldn't see my +hand when I put it out to him as I came aboard.” + +“You have so much the advantage of us here,” replied d'Alcacer, “that +you may well be generous and forget that oversight; and then just a +little more confidence. . . .” + +“My dear d'Alcacer, you are absurd,” broke in Mr. Travers, in a calm +voice but with white lips. “I did not come out all this way to shake +hands promiscuously and receive confidences from the first adventurer +that comes along.” + +D'Alcacer stepped back with an almost imperceptible inclination of the +head at Lingard, who stood for a moment with twitching face. + +“I _am_ an adventurer,” he burst out, “and if I hadn't been an +adventurer, I would have had to starve or work at home for such people +as you. If I weren't an adventurer, you would be most likely lying dead +on this deck with your cut throat gaping at the sky.” + +Mr. Travers waved this speech away. But others also had heard. Carter +listened watchfully and something, some alarming notion seemed to dawn +all at once upon the thick little sailing-master, who rushed on his +short legs, and tugging at Carter's sleeve, stammered desperately: + +“What's he saying? Who's he? What's up? Are the natives unfriendly? My +book says--'Natives friendly all along this coast!' My book says--” + +Carter, who had glanced over the side, jerked his arm free. + +“You go down into the pantry, where you belong, Skipper, and read that +bit about the natives over again,” he said to his superior officer, with +savage contempt. “I'll be hanged if some of them ain't coming aboard now +to eat you--book and all. Get out of the way, and let the gentlemen have +the first chance of a row.” + +Then addressing Lingard, he drawled in his old way: + +“That crazy mate of yours has sent your boat back, with a couple of +visitors in her, too.” + +Before he apprehended plainly the meaning of these words, Lingard caught +sight of two heads rising above the rail, the head of Hassim and the +head of Immada. Then their bodies ascended into view as though these two +beings had gradually emerged from the Shallows. They stood for a moment +on the platform looking down on the deck as if about to step into the +unknown, then descended and walking aft entered the half-light under the +awning shading the luxurious surroundings, the complicated emotions of +the, to them, inconceivable existences. + +Lingard without waiting a moment cried: + +“What news, O Rajah?” + +Hassim's eyes made the round of the schooner's decks. He had left his +gun in the boat and advanced empty handed, with a tranquil assurance as +if bearing a welcome offering in the faint smile of his lips. Immada, +half hidden behind his shoulder, followed lightly, her elbows pressed +close to her side. The thick fringe of her eyelashes was dropped like +a veil; she looked youthful and brooding; she had an aspect of shy +resolution. + +They stopped within arm's length of the whites, and for some time nobody +said a word. Then Hassim gave Lingard a significant glance, and uttered +rapidly with a slight toss of the head that indicated in a manner the +whole of the yacht: + +“I see no guns!” + +“N--no!” said Lingard, looking suddenly confused. It had occurred to him +that for the first time in two years or more he had forgotten, utterly +forgotten, these people's existence. + +Immada stood slight and rigid with downcast eyes. Hassim, at his ease, +scrutinized the faces, as if searching for elusive points of similitude +or for subtle shades of difference. + +“What is this new intrusion?” asked Mr. Travers, angrily. + +“These are the fisher-folk, sir,” broke in the sailing-master, “we've +observed these three days past flitting about in a canoe; but they +never had the sense to answer our hail; and yet a bit of fish for +your breakfast--” He smiled obsequiously, and all at once, without +provocation, began to bellow: + +“Hey! Johnnie! Hab got fish? Fish! One peecee fish! Eh? Savee? Fish! +Fish--” He gave it up suddenly to say in a deferential tone--“Can't +make them savages understand anything, sir,” and withdrew as if after a +clever feat. + +Hassim looked at Lingard. + +“Why did the little white man make that outcry?” he asked, anxiously. + +“Their desire is to eat fish,” said Lingard in an enraged tone. + +Then before the air of extreme surprise which incontinently appeared on +the other's face, he could not restrain a short and hopeless laugh. + +“Eat fish,” repeated Hassim, staring. “O you white people! O you white +people! Eat fish! Good! But why make that noise? And why did you send +them here without guns?” After a significant glance down upon the slope +of the deck caused by the vessel being on the ground, he added with a +slight nod at Lingard--“And without knowledge?” + +“You should not have come here, O Hassim,” said Lingard, testily. “Here +no one understands. They take a rajah for a fisherman--” + +“Ya-wa! A great mistake, for, truly, the chief of ten fugitives without +a country is much less than the headman of a fishing village,” observed +Hassim, composedly. Immada sighed. “But you, Tuan, at least know the +truth,” he went on with quiet irony; then after a pause--“We came here +because you had forgotten to look toward us, who had waited, sleeping +little at night, and in the day watching with hot eyes the empty water +at the foot of the sky for you.” + +Immada murmured, without lifting her head: + +“You never looked for us. Never, never once.” + +“There was too much trouble in my eyes,” explained Lingard with that +patient gentleness of tone and face which, every time he spoke to the +young girl, seemed to disengage itself from his whole person, enveloping +his fierceness, softening his aspect, such as the dreamy mist that in +the early radiance of the morning weaves a veil of tender charm about a +rugged rock in mid-ocean. “I must look now to the right and to the +left as in a time of sudden danger,” he added after a moment and she +whispered an appalled “Why?” so low that its pain floated away in the +silence of attentive men, without response, unheard, ignored, like the +pain of an impalpable thought. + + + +IV + +D'Alcacer, standing back, surveyed them all with a profound and alert +attention. Lingard seemed unable to tear himself away from the yacht, +and remained, checked, as it were in the act of going, like a man who +has stopped to think out the last thing to say; and that stillness of a +body, forgotten by the labouring mind, reminded Carter of that moment +in the cabin, when alone he had seen this man thus wrestling with his +thought, motionless and locked in the grip of his conscience. + +Mr. Travers muttered audibly through his teeth: + +“How long is this performance going to last? I have desired you to go.” + +“Think of these poor devils,” whispered Lingard, with a quick glance at +the crew huddled up near by. + +“You are the kind of man I would be least disposed to trust--in any +case,” said Mr. Travers, incisively, very low, and with an inexplicable +but very apparent satisfaction. “You are only wasting your time here.” + +“You--You--” He stammered and stared. He chewed with growls some +insulting word and at last swallowed it with an effort. “My time pays +for your life,” he said. + +He became aware of a sudden stir, and saw that Mrs. Travers had risen +from her chair. + +She walked impulsively toward the group on the quarter-deck, making +straight for Immada. Hassim had stepped aside and his detached gaze of a +Malay gentleman passed by her as if she had been invisible. + +She was tall, supple, moving freely. Her complexion was so dazzling +in the shade that it seemed to throw out a halo round her head. Upon +a smooth and wide brow an abundance of pale fair hair, fine as silk, +undulating like the sea, heavy like a helmet, descended low without a +trace of gloss, without a gleam in its coils, as though it had never +been touched by a ray of light; and a throat white, smooth, palpitating +with life, a round neck modelled with strength and delicacy, supported +gloriously that radiant face and that pale mass of hair unkissed by +sunshine. + +She said with animation: + +“Why, it's a girl!” + +Mrs. Travers extorted from d'Alcacer a fresh tribute of curiosity. A +strong puff of wind fluttered the awnings and one of the screens blowing +out wide let in upon the quarter-deck the rippling glitter of the +Shallows, showing to d'Alcacer the luminous vastness of the sea, with +the line of the distant horizon, dark like the edge of the encompassing +night, drawn at the height of Mrs. Travers' shoulder. . . . Where was +it he had seen her last--a long time before, on the other side of the +world? There was also the glitter of splendour around her then, and an +impression of luminous vastness. The encompassing night, too, was there, +the night that waits for its time to move forward upon the glitter, the +splendour, the men, the women. + +He could not remember for the moment, but he became convinced that of +all the women he knew, she alone seemed to be made for action. Every one +of her movements had firmness, ease, the meaning of a vital fact, +the moral beauty of a fearless expression. Her supple figure was not +dishonoured by any faltering of outlines under the plain dress of dark +blue stuff moulding her form with bold simplicity. + +She had only very few steps to make, but before she had stopped, +confronting Immada, d'Alcacer remembered her suddenly as he had seen +her last, out West, far away, impossibly different, as if in another +universe, as if presented by the fantasy of a fevered memory. He saw +her in a luminous perspective of palatial drawing rooms, in the restless +eddy and flow of a human sea, at the foot of walls high as cliffs, under +lofty ceilings that like a tropical sky flung light and heat upon the +shallow glitter of uniforms, of stars, of diamonds, of eyes sparkling +in the weary or impassive faces of the throng at an official reception. +Outside he had found the unavoidable darkness with its aspect of patient +waiting, a cloudy sky holding back the dawn of a London morning. It was +difficult to believe. + +Lingard, who had been looking dangerously fierce, slapped his thigh and +showed signs of agitation. + +“By heavens, I had forgotten all about you!” he pronounced in dismay. + +Mrs. Travers fixed her eyes on Immada. Fairhaired and white she asserted +herself before the girl of olive face and raven locks with the maturity +of perfection, with the superiority of the flower over the leaf, of the +phrase that contains a thought over the cry that can only express an +emotion. Immense spaces and countless centuries stretched between +them: and she looked at her as when one looks into one's own heart +with absorbed curiosity, with still wonder, with an immense compassion. +Lingard murmured, warningly: + +“Don't touch her.” + +Mrs. Travers looked at him. + +“Do you think I could hurt her?” she asked, softly, and was so startled +to hear him mutter a gloomy “Perhaps,” that she hesitated before she +smiled. + +“Almost a child! And so pretty! What a delicate face,” she said, while +another deep sigh of the sea breeze lifted and let fall the screens, so +that the sound, the wind, and the glitter seemed to rush in together and +bear her words away into space. “I had no idea of anything so charmingly +gentle,” she went on in a voice that without effort glowed, caressed, +and had a magic power of delight to the soul. “So young! And she lives +here--does she? On the sea--or where? Lives--” Then faintly, as if she +had been in the act of speaking, removed instantly to a great distance, +she was heard again: “How does she live?” + +Lingard had hardly seen Edith Travers till then. He had seen no one +really but Mr. Travers. He looked and listened with something of the +stupor of a new sensation. + +Then he made a distinct effort to collect his thoughts and said with a +remnant of anger: + +“What have you got to do with her? She knows war. Do you know anything +about it? And hunger, too, and thirst, and unhappiness; things you have +only heard about. She has been as near death as I am to you--and what is +all that to any of you here?” + +“That child!” she said in slow wonder. + +Immada turned upon Mrs. Travers her eyes black as coal, sparkling and +soft like a tropical night; and the glances of the two women, their +dissimilar and inquiring glances met, seemed to touch, clasp, hold each +other with the grip of an intimate contact. They separated. + +“What are they come for? Why did you show them the way to this place?” + asked Immada, faintly. + +Lingard shook his head in denial. + +“Poor girl,” said Mrs. Travers. “Are they all so pretty?” + +“Who-all?” mumbled Lingard. “There isn't an other one like her if you +were to ransack the islands all round the compass.” + +“Edith!” ejaculated Mr. Travers in a remonstrating, acrimonious voice, +and everyone gave him a look of vague surprise. + +Then Mrs. Travers asked: + +“Who is she?” + +Lingard very red and grave declared curtly: + +“A princess.” + +Immediately he looked round with suspicion. No one smiled. D'Alcacer, +courteous and nonchalant, lounged up close to Mrs. Travers' elbow. + +“If she is a princess, then this man is a knight,” he murmured with +conviction. “A knight as I live! A descendant of the immortal hidalgo +errant upon the sea. It would be good for us to have him for a friend. +Seriously I think that you ought--” + +The two stepped aside and spoke low and hurriedly. + +“Yes, you ought--” + +“How can I?” she interrupted, catching the meaning like a ball. + +“By saying something.” + +“Is it really necessary?” she asked, doubtfully. + +“It would do no harm,” said d'Alcacer with sudden carelessness; “a +friend is always better than an enemy.” + +“Always?” she repeated, meaningly. “But what could I say?” + +“Some words,” he answered; “I should think any words in your voice--” + +“Mr. d'Alcacer!” + +“Or you could perhaps look at him once or twice as though he were not +exactly a robber,” he continued. + +“Mr. d'Alcacer, are you afraid?” + +“Extremely,” he said, stooping to pick up the fan at her feet. “That is +the reason I am so anxious to conciliate. And you must not forget that +one of your queens once stepped on the cloak of perhaps such a man.” + +Her eyes sparkled and she dropped them suddenly. + +“I am not a queen,” she said, coldly. + +“Unfortunately not,” he admitted; “but then the other was a woman with +no charm but her crown.” + +At that moment Lingard, to whom Hassim had been talking earnestly, +protested aloud: + +“I never saw these people before.” + +Immada caught hold of her brother's arm. Mr. Travers said harshly: + +“Oblige me by taking these natives away.” + +“Never before,” murmured Immada as if lost in ecstasy. D'Alcacer glanced +at Mrs. Travers and made a step forward. + +“Could not the difficulty, whatever it is, be arranged, Captain?” he +said with careful politeness. “Observe that we are not only men here--” + +“Let them die!” cried Immada, triumphantly. + +Though Lingard alone understood the meaning of these words, all on board +felt oppressed by the uneasy silence which followed her cry. + +“Ah! He is going. Now, Mrs. Travers,” whispered d'Alcacer. + +“I hope!” said Mrs. Travers, impulsively, and stopped as if alarmed at +the sound. + +Lingard stood still. + +“I hope,” she began again, “that this poor girl will know happier +days--” She hesitated. + +Lingard waited, attentive and serious. + +“Under your care,” she finished. “And I believe you meant to be friendly +to us.” + +“Thank you,” said Lingard with dignity. + +“You and d'Alcacer,” observed Mr. Travers, austerely, “are unnecessarily +detaining this--ah--person, and--ah--friends--ah!” + +“I had forgotten you--and now--what? One must--it is hard--hard--” went +on Lingard, disconnectedly, while he looked into Mrs. Travers' +violet eyes, and felt his mind overpowered and troubled as if by the +contemplation of vast distances. “I--you don't know--I--you--cannot +. . . Ha! It's all that man's doing,” he burst out. + +For a time, as if beside himself, he glared at Mrs. Travers, then flung +up one arm and strode off toward the gangway, where Hassim and Immada +waited for him, interested and patient. With a single word “Come,” he +preceded them down into the boat. Not a sound was heard on the yacht's +deck, while these three disappeared one after another below the rail as +if they had descended into the sea. + + + +V + +The afternoon dragged itself out in silence. Mrs. Travers sat pensive +and idle with her fan on her knees. D'Alcacer, who thought the incident +should have been treated in a conciliatory spirit, attempted to +communicate his view to his host, but that gentleman, purposely +misunderstanding his motive, overwhelmed him with so many apologies +and expressions of regret at the irksome and perhaps inconvenient delay +“which you suffer from through your good-natured acceptance of our +invitation” that the other was obliged to refrain from pursuing the +subject further. + +“Even my regard for you, my dear d'Alcacer, could not induce me to +submit to such a bare-faced attempt at extortion,” affirmed Mr. Travers +with uncompromising virtue. “The man wanted to force his services +upon me, and then put in a heavy claim for salvage. That is the whole +secret--you may depend on it. I detected him at once, of course.” The +eye-glass glittered perspicuously. “He underrated my intelligence; and +what a violent scoundrel! The existence of such a man in the time we +live in is a scandal.” + +D'Alcacer retired, and, full of vague forebodings, tried in vain for +hours to interest himself in a book. Mr. Travers walked up and down +restlessly, trying to persuade himself that his indignation was based +on purely moral grounds. The glaring day, like a mass of white-hot iron +withdrawn from the fire, was losing gradually its heat and its glare +in a richer deepening of tone. At the usual time two seamen, walking +noiselessly aft in their yachting shoes, rolled up in silence the +quarter-deck screens; and the coast, the shallows, the dark islets and +the snowy sandbanks uncovered thus day after day were seen once more +in their aspect of dumb watchfulness. The brig, swung end on in the +foreground, her squared yards crossing heavily the soaring symmetry of +the rigging, resembled a creature instinct with life, with the power of +springing into action lurking in the light grace of its repose. + +A pair of stewards in white jackets with brass buttons appeared on deck +and began to flit about without a sound, laying the table for dinner on +the flat top of the cabin skylight. The sun, drifting away toward +other lands, toward other seas, toward other men; the sun, all red in a +cloudless sky raked the yacht with a parting salvo of crimson rays that +shattered themselves into sparks of fire upon the crystal and silver +of the dinner-service, put a short flame into the blades of knives, and +spread a rosy tint over the white of plates. A trail of purple, like a +smear of blood on a blue shield, lay over the sea. + +On sitting down Mr. Travers alluded in a vexed tone to the necessity of +living on preserves, all the stock of fresh provisions for the passage +to Batavia having been already consumed. It was distinctly unpleasant. + +“I don't travel for my pleasure, however,” he added; “and the belief +that the sacrifice of my time and comfort will be productive of some +good to the world at large would make up for any amount of privations.” + +Mrs. Travers and d'Alcacer seemed unable to shake off a strong aversion +to talk, and the conversation, like an expiring breeze, kept on dying +out repeatedly after each languid gust. The large silence of the +horizon, the profound repose of all things visible, enveloping the +bodies and penetrating the souls with their quieting influence, stilled +thought as well as voice. For a long time no one spoke. Behind the +taciturnity of the masters the servants hovered without noise. + +Suddenly, Mr. Travers, as if concluding a train of thought, muttered +aloud: + +“I own with regret I did in a measure lose my temper; but then you will +admit that the existence of such a man is a disgrace to civilization.” + +This remark was not taken up and he returned for a time to the nursing +of his indignation, at the bottom of which, like a monster in a fog, +crept a bizarre feeling of rancour. He waved away an offered dish. + +“This coast,” he began again, “has been placed under the sole protection +of Holland by the Treaty of 1820. The Treaty of 1820 creates special +rights and obligations. . . .” + +Both his hearers felt vividly the urgent necessity to hear no more. +D'Alcacer, uncomfortable on a campstool, sat stiff and stared at the +glass stopper of a carafe. Mrs. Travers turned a little sideways and +leaning on her elbow rested her head on the palm of her hand like one +thinking about matters of profound import. Mr. Travers talked; he talked +inflexibly, in a harsh blank voice, as if reading a proclamation. +The other two, as if in a state of incomplete trance, had their ears +assailed by fragments of official verbiage. + +“An international understanding--the duty to civilize--failed to carry +out--compact--Canning--” D'Alcacer became attentive for a moment. +“--not that this attempt, almost amusing in its impudence, influences my +opinion. I won't admit the possibility of any violence being offered to +people of our position. It is the social aspect of such an incident I am +desirous of criticising.” + +Here d'Alcacer lost himself again in the recollection of Mrs. Travers +and Immada looking at each other--the beginning and the end, the +flower and the leaf, the phrase and the cry. Mr. Travers' voice went +on dogmatic and obstinate for a long time. The end came with a certain +vehemence. + +“And if the inferior race must perish, it is a gain, a step toward the +perfecting of society which is the aim of progress.” + +He ceased. The sparks of sunset in crystal and silver had gone out, +and around the yacht the expanse of coast and Shallows seemed to await, +unmoved, the coming of utter darkness. The dinner was over a long time +ago and the patient stewards had been waiting, stoical in the downpour +of words like sentries under a shower. + +Mrs. Travers rose nervously and going aft began to gaze at the coast. +Behind her the sun, sunk already, seemed to force through the mass of +waters the glow of an unextinguishable fire, and below her feet, on each +side of the yacht, the lustrous sea, as if reflecting the colour of her +eyes, was tinged a sombre violet hue. + +D'Alcacer came up to her with quiet footsteps and for some time they +leaned side by side over the rail in silence. Then he said--“How quiet +it is!” and she seemed to perceive that the quietness of that evening +was more profound and more significant than ever before. Almost without +knowing it she murmured--“It's like a dream.” Another long silence +ensued; the tranquillity of the universe had such an August ampleness +that the sounds remained on the lips as if checked by the fear of +profanation. The sky was limpid like a diamond, and under the last +gleams of sunset the night was spreading its veil over the earth. There +was something precious and soothing in the beautifully serene end of +that expiring day, of the day vibrating, glittering and ardent, and +dying now in infinite peace, without a stir, without a tremor, without a +sigh--in the certitude of resurrection. + +Then all at once the shadow deepened swiftly, the stars came out in a +crowd, scattering a rain of pale sparks upon the blackness of the water, +while the coast stretched low down, a dark belt without a gleam. Above +it the top-hamper of the brig loomed indistinct and high. + +Mrs. Travers spoke first. + +“How unnaturally quiet! It is like a desert of land and water without a +living soul.” + +“One man at least dwells in it,” said d'Alcacer, lightly, “and if he is +to be believed there are other men, full of evil intentions.” + +“Do you think it is true?” Mrs. Travers asked. + +Before answering d'Alcacer tried to see the expression of her face but +the obscurity was too profound already. + +“How can one see a dark truth on such a dark night?” he said, evasively. +“But it is easy to believe in evil, here or anywhere else.” + +She seemed to be lost in thought for a while. + +“And that man himself?” she asked. + +After some time d'Alcacer began to speak slowly. “Rough, uncommon, +decidedly uncommon of his kind. Not at all what Don Martin thinks him to +be. For the rest--mysterious to me. He is _your_ countryman after all--” + +She seemed quite surprised by that view. + +“Yes,” she said, slowly. “But you know, I can not--what shall I +say?--imagine him at all. He has nothing in common with the mankind I +know. There is nothing to begin upon. How does such a man live? What are +his thoughts? His actions? His affections? His--” + +“His conventions,” suggested d'Alcacer. “That would include everything.” + +Mr. Travers appeared suddenly behind them with a glowing cigar in +his teeth. He took it between his fingers to declare with persistent +acrimony that no amount of “scoundrelly intimidation” would prevent him +from having his usual walk. There was about three hundred yards to the +southward of the yacht a sandbank nearly a mile long, gleaming a silvery +white in the darkness, plumetted in the centre with a thicket of dry +bushes that rustled very loud in the slightest stir of the heavy night +air. The day after the stranding they had landed on it “to stretch their +legs a bit,” as the sailing-master defined it, and every evening since, +as if exercising a privilege or performing a duty, the three paced there +for an hour backward and forward lost in dusky immensity, threading at +the edge of water the belt of damp sand, smooth, level, elastic to the +touch like living flesh and sweating a little under the pressure of +their feet. + +This time d'Alcacer alone followed Mr. Travers. Mrs. Travers heard them +get into the yacht's smallest boat, and the night-watchman, tugging at +a pair of sculls, pulled them off to the nearest point. Then the man +returned. He came up the ladder and she heard him say to someone on +deck: + +“Orders to go back in an hour.” + +His footsteps died out forward, and a somnolent, unbreathing repose took +possession of the stranded yacht. + + + +VI + +After a time this absolute silence which she almost could feel pressing +upon her on all sides induced in Mrs. Travers a state of hallucination. +She saw herself standing alone, at the end of time, on the brink of +days. All was unmoving as if the dawn would never come, the stars would +never fade, the sun would never rise any more; all was mute, still, +dead--as if the shadow of the outer darkness, the shadow of the +uninterrupted, of the everlasting night that fills the universe, the +shadow of the night so profound and so vast that the blazing suns lost +in it are only like sparks, like pin-points of fire, the restless shadow +that like a suspicion of an evil truth darkens everything upon the earth +on its passage, had enveloped her, had stood arrested as if to remain +with her forever. + +And there was such a finality in that illusion, such an accord with the +trend of her thought that when she murmured into the darkness a faint +“so be it” she seemed to have spoken one of those sentences that resume +and close a life. + +As a young girl, often reproved for her romantic ideas, she had +dreams where the sincerity of a great passion appeared like the ideal +fulfilment and the only truth of life. Entering the world she discovered +that ideal to be unattainable because the world is too prudent to +be sincere. Then she hoped that she could find the truth of life an +ambition which she understood as a lifelong devotion to some unselfish +ideal. Mr. Travers' name was on men's lips; he seemed capable of +enthusiasm and of devotion; he impressed her imagination by his +impenetrability. She married him, found him enthusiastically devoted to +the nursing of his own career, and had nothing to hope for now. + +That her husband should be bewildered by the curious misunderstanding +which had taken place and also permanently grieved by her disloyalty +to his respectable ideals was only natural. He was, however, perfectly +satisfied with her beauty, her brilliance, and her useful connections. +She was admired, she was envied; she was surrounded by splendour and +adulation; the days went on rapid, brilliant, uniform, without a glimpse +of sincerity or true passion, without a single true emotion--not even +that of a great sorrow. And swiftly and stealthily they had led her on +and on, to this evening, to this coast, to this sea, to this moment of +time and to this spot on the earth's surface where she felt unerringly +that the moving shadow of the unbroken night had stood still to remain +with her forever. + +“So be it!” she murmured, resigned and defiant, at the mute and smooth +obscurity that hung before her eyes in a black curtain without a +fold; and as if in answer to that whisper a lantern was run up to the +foreyard-arm of the brig. She saw it ascend swinging for a. short space, +and suddenly remain motionless in the air, piercing the dense night +between the two vessels by its glance of flame that strong and steady +seemed, from afar, to fall upon her alone. + +Her thoughts, like a fascinated moth, went fluttering toward that +light--that man--that girl, who had known war, danger, seen death near, +had obtained evidently the devotion of that man. The occurrences of the +afternoon had been strange in themselves, but what struck her artistic +sense was the vigour of their presentation. They outlined themselves +before her memory with the clear simplicity of some immortal legend. +They were mysterious, but she felt certain they were absolutely true. +They embodied artless and masterful feelings; such, no doubt, as had +swayed mankind in the simplicity of its youth. She envied, for a moment, +the lot of that humble and obscure sister. Nothing stood between that +girl and the truth of her sensations. She could be sincerely courageous, +and tender and passionate and--well--ferocious. Why not ferocious? She +could know the truth of terror--and of affection, absolutely, without +artificial trammels, without the pain of restraint. + +Thinking of what such life could be Mrs. Travers felt invaded by that +inexplicable exaltation which the consciousness of their physical +capacities so often gives to intellectual beings. She glowed with a +sudden persuasion that she also could be equal to such an existence; and +her heart was dilated with a momentary longing to know the naked truth +of things; the naked truth of life and passion buried under the growth +of centuries. + +She glowed and, suddenly, she quivered with the shock of coming to +herself as if she had fallen down from a star. There was a sound of +rippling water and a shapeless mass glided out of the dark void she +confronted. A voice below her feet said: + +“I made out your shape--on the sky.” A cry of surprise expired on her +lips and she could only peer downward. Lingard, alone in the brig's +dinghy, with another stroke sent the light boat nearly under the yacht's +counter, laid his sculls in, and rose from the thwart. His head and +shoulders loomed up alongside and he had the appearance of standing upon +the sea. Involuntarily Mrs. Travers made a movement of retreat. + +“Stop,” he said, anxiously, “don't speak loud. No one must know. Where +do your people think themselves, I wonder? In a dock at home? And you--” + +“My husband is not on board,” she interrupted, hurriedly. + +“I know.” + +She bent a little more over the rail. + +“Then you are having us watched. Why?” + +“Somebody must watch. Your people keep such a good look-out--don't they? +Yes. Ever since dark one of my boats has been dodging astern here, in +the deep water. I swore to myself I would never see one of you, never +speak to one of you here, that I would be dumb, blind, deaf. And--here I +am!” + +Mrs. Travers' alarm and mistrust were replaced by an immense curiosity, +burning, yet quiet, too, as if before the inevitable work of destiny. +She looked downward at Lingard. His head was bared, and, with one hand +upon the ship's side, he seemed to be thinking deeply. + +“Because you had something more to tell us,” Mrs. Travers suggested, +gently. + +“Yes,” he said in a low tone and without moving in the least. + +“Will you come on board and wait?” she asked. + +“Who? I!” He lifted his head so quickly as to startle her. “I have +nothing to say to him; and I'll never put my foot on board this craft. +I've been told to go. That's enough.” + +“He is accustomed to be addressed deferentially,” she said after a +pause, “and you--” + +“Who is he?” asked Lingard, simply. + +These three words seemed to her to scatter her past in the air--like +smoke. They robbed all the multitude of mankind of every vestige of +importance. She was amazed to find that on this night, in this place, +there could be no adequate answer to the searching naiveness of that +question. + +“I didn't ask for much,” Lingard began again. “Did I? Only that you all +should come on board my brig for five days. That's all. . . . Do I +look like a liar? There are things I could not tell him. I couldn't +explain--I couldn't--not to him--to no man--to no man in the world--” + +His voice dropped. + +“Not to myself,” he ended as if in a dream. + +“We have remained unmolested so long here,” began Mrs. Travers a little +unsteadily, “that it makes it very difficult to believe in danger, now. +We saw no one all these days except those two people who came for you. +If you may not explain--” + +“Of course, you can't be expected to see through a wall,” broke in +Lingard. “This coast's like a wall, but I know what's on the other side. +. . . A yacht here, of all things that float! When I set eyes on her I +could fancy she hadn't been more than an hour from home. Nothing but the +look of her spars made me think of old times. And then the faces of the +chaps on board. I seemed to know them all. It was like home coming to me +when I wasn't thinking of it. And I hated the sight of you all.” + +“If we are exposed to any peril,” she said after a pause during which +she tried to penetrate the secret of passion hidden behind that man's +words, “it need not affect you. Our other boat is gone to the Straits +and effective help is sure to come very soon.” + +“Affect me! Is that precious watchman of yours coming aft? I don't want +anybody to know I came here again begging, even of you. Is he coming +aft? . . . Listen! I've stopped your other boat.” + +His head and shoulders disappeared as though he had dived into a denser +layer of obscurity floating on the water. The watchman, who had the +intention to stretch himself in one of the deck chairs, catching sight +of the owner's wife, walked straight to the lamp that hung under the +ridge pole of the awning, and after fumbling with it for a time went +away forward with an indolent gait. + +“You dared!” Mrs. Travers whispered down in an intense tone; and +directly, Lingard's head emerged again below her with an upturned face. + +“It was dare--or give up. The help from the Straits would have been too +late anyhow if I hadn't the power to keep you safe; and if I had the +power I could see you through it--alone. I expected to find a reasonable +man to talk to. I ought to have known better. You come from too far to +understand these things. Well, I dared; I've sent after your other boat +a fellow who, with me at his back, would try to stop the governor of +the Straits himself. He will do it. Perhaps it's done already. You +have nothing to hope for. But I am here. You said you believed I meant +well--” + +“Yes,” she murmured. + +“That's why I thought I would tell you everything. I had to begin with +this business about the boat. And what do you think of me now? I've cut +you off from the rest of the earth. You people would disappear like a +stone in the water. You left one foreign port for another. Who's there +to trouble about what became of you? Who would know? Who could guess? It +would be months before they began to stir.” + +“I understand,” she said, steadily, “we are helpless.” + +“And alone,” he added. + +After a pause she said in a deliberate, restrained voice: + +“What does this mean? Plunder, captivity?” + +“It would have meant death if I hadn't been here,” he answered. + +“But you have the power to--” + +“Why, do you think, you are alive yet?” he cried. “Jorgenson has been +arguing with them on shore,” he went on, more calmly, with a swing of +his arm toward where the night seemed darkest. “Do you think he would +have kept them back if they hadn't expected me every day? His words +would have been nothing without my fist.” + +She heard a dull blow struck on the side of the yacht and concealed in +the same darkness that wrapped the unconcern of the earth and sea, the +fury and the pain of hearts; she smiled above his head, fascinated by +the simplicity of images and expressions. + +Lingard made a brusque movement, the lively little boat being unsteady +under his feet, and she spoke slowly, absently, as if her thought had +been lost in the vagueness of her sensations. + +“And this--this--Jorgenson, you said? Who is he?” + +“A man,” he answered, “a man like myself.” + +“Like yourself?” + +“Just like myself,” he said with strange reluctance, as if admitting a +painful truth. “More sense, perhaps, but less luck. Though, since your +yacht has turned up here, I begin to think that my luck is nothing much +to boast of either.” + +“Is our presence here so fatal?” + +“It may be death to some. It may be worse than death to me. And it rests +with you in a way. Think of that! I can never find such another chance +again. But that's nothing! A man who has saved my life once and that I +passed my word to would think I had thrown him over. But that's nothing! +Listen! As true as I stand here in my boat talking to you, I believe the +girl would die of grief.” + +“You love her,” she said, softly. + +“Like my own daughter,” he cried, low. + +Mrs. Travers said, “Oh!” faintly, and for a moment there was a silence, +then he began again: + +“Look here. When I was a boy in a trawler, and looked at you yacht +people, in the Channel ports, you were as strange to me as the Malays +here are strange to you. I left home sixteen years ago and fought my way +all round the earth. I had the time to forget where I began. What are +you to me against these two? If I was to die here on the spot would you +care? No one would care at home. No one in the whole world--but these +two.” + +“What can I do?” she asked, and waited, leaning over. + +He seemed to reflect, then lifting his head, spoke gently: + +“Do you understand the danger you are in? Are you afraid?” + +“I understand the expression you used, of course. Understand the +danger?” she went on. “No--decidedly no. And--honestly--I am not +afraid.” + +“Aren't you?” he said in a disappointed voice. “Perhaps you don't +believe me? I believed you, though, when you said you were sure I meant +well. I trusted you enough to come here asking for your help--telling +you what no one knows.” + +“You mistake me,” she said with impulsive earnestness. “This is so +extraordinarily unusual--sudden--outside my experience.” + +“Aye!” he murmured, “what would you know of danger and trouble? You! But +perhaps by thinking it over--” + +“You want me to think myself into a fright!” Mrs. Travers laughed +lightly, and in the gloom of his thought this flash of joyous sound +was incongruous and almost terrible. Next moment the night appeared +brilliant as day, warm as sunshine; but when she ceased the returning +darkness gave him pain as if it had struck heavily against his breast. +“I don't think I could do that,” she finished in a serious tone. + +“Couldn't you?” He hesitated, perplexed. “Things are bad enough to make +it no shame. I tell you,” he said, rapidly, “and I am not a timid man, I +may not be able to do much if you people don't help me.” + +“You want me to pretend I am alarmed?” she asked, quickly. + +“Aye, to pretend--as well you may. It's a lot to ask of you--who perhaps +never had to make-believe a thing in your life--isn't it?” + +“It is,” she said after a time. + +The unexpected bitterness of her tone struck Lingard with dismay. + +“Don't be offended,” he entreated. “I've got to plan a way out of this +mess. It's no play either. Could you pretend?” + +“Perhaps, if I tried very hard. But to what end?” + +“You must all shift aboard the brig,” he began, speaking quickly, “and +then we may get over this trouble without coming to blows. Now, if you +were to say that you wish it; that you feel unsafe in the yacht--don't +you see?” + +“I see,” she pronounced, thoughtfully. + +“The brig is small but the cuddy is fit for a lady,” went on Lingard +with animation. + +“Has it not already sheltered a princess?” she commented, coolly. + +“And I shall not intrude.” + +“This is an inducement.” + +“Nobody will dare to intrude. You needn't even see me.” + +“This is almost decisive, only--” + +“I know my place.” + +“Only, I might not have the influence,” she finished. + +“That I can not believe,” he said, roughly. “The long and the short of +it is you don't trust me because you think that only people of your own +condition speak the truth always.” + +“Evidently,” she murmured. + +“You say to yourself--here's a fellow deep in with pirates, thieves, +niggers--” + +“To be sure--” + +“A man I never saw the like before,” went on Lingard, headlong, +“a--ruffian.” + +He checked himself, full of confusion. After a time he heard her saying, +calmly: + +“You are like other men in this, that you get angry when you can not +have your way at once.” + +“I angry!” he exclaimed in deadened voice. “You do not understand. I am +thinking of you also--it is hard on me--” + +“I mistrust not you, but my own power. You have produced an unfortunate +impression on Mr. Travers.” + +“Unfortunate impression! He treated me as if I had been a long-shore +loafer. Never mind that. He is your husband. Fear in those you care for +is hard to bear for any man. And so, he--” + +“What Machiavellism!” + +“Eh, what did you say?” + +“I only wondered where you had observed that. On the sea?” + +“Observed what?” he said, absently. Then pursuing his idea--“One word +from you ought to be enough.” + +“You think so?” + +“I am sure of it. Why, even I, myself--” + +“Of course,” she interrupted. “But don't you think that after parting +with you on such--such--inimical terms, there would be a difficulty in +resuming relations?” + +“A man like me would do anything for money--don't you see?” + +After a pause she asked: + +“And would you care for that argument to be used?” + +“As long as you know better!” + +His voice vibrated--she drew back disturbed, as if unexpectedly he had +touched her. + +“What can there be at stake?” she began, wonderingly. + +“A kingdom,” said Lingard. + +Mrs. Travers leaned far over the rail, staring, and their faces, one +above the other, came very close together. + +“Not for yourself?” she whispered. + +He felt the touch of her breath on his forehead and remained still for +a moment, perfectly still as if he did not intend to move or speak any +more. + +“Those things,” he began, suddenly, “come in your way, when you don't +think, and they get all round you before you know what you mean to +do. When I went into that bay in New Guinea I never guessed where that +course would take me to. I could tell you a story. You would understand! +You! You!” + +He stammered, hesitated, and suddenly spoke, liberating the visions +of two years into the night where Mrs. Travers could follow them as if +outlined in words of fire. + + + +VII + +His tale was as startling as the discovery of a new world. She was being +taken along the boundary of an exciting existence, and she looked into +it through the guileless enthusiasm of the narrator. The heroic quality +of the feelings concealed what was disproportionate and absurd in +that gratitude, in that friendship, in that inexplicable devotion. The +headlong fierceness of purpose invested his obscure design of conquest +with the proportions of a great enterprise. It was clear that no vision +of a subjugated world could have been more inspiring to the most famous +adventurer of history. + +From time to time he interrupted himself to ask, confidently, as if +he had been speaking to an old friend, “What would you have done?” and +hurried on without pausing for approval. + +It struck her that there was a great passion in all this, the beauty of +an implanted faculty of affection that had found itself, its immediate +need of an object and the way of expansion; a tenderness expressed +violently; a tenderness that could only be satisfied by backing human +beings against their own destiny. Perhaps her hatred of convention, +trammelling the frankness of her own impulses, had rendered her more +alert to perceive what is intrinsically great and profound within the +forms of human folly, so simple and so infinitely varied according to +the region of the earth and to the moment of time. + +What of it that the narrator was only a roving seaman; the kingdom of +the jungle, the men of the forest, the lives obscure! That simple soul +was possessed by the greatness of the idea; there was nothing sordid in +its flaming impulses. When she once understood that, the story appealed +to the audacity of her thoughts, and she became so charmed with what she +heard that she forgot where she was. She forgot that she was personally +close to that tale which she saw detached, far away from her, truth or +fiction, presented in picturesque speech, real only by the response of +her emotion. + +Lingard paused. In the cessation of the impassioned murmur she began to +reflect. And at first it was only an oppressive notion of there being +some significance that really mattered in this man's story. That +mattered to her. For the first time the shadow of danger and death +crossed her mind. Was that the significance? Suddenly, in a flash of +acute discernment, she saw herself involved helplessly in that story, as +one is involved in a natural cataclysm. + +He was speaking again. He had not been silent more than a minute. It +seemed to Mrs. Travers that years had elapsed, so different now was the +effect of his words. Her mind was agitated as if his coming to speak and +confide in her had been a tremendous occurrence. It was a fact of her +own existence; it was part of the story also. This was the disturbing +thought. She heard him pronounce several names: Belarab, Daman, Tengga, +Ningrat. These belonged now to her life and she was appalled to find she +was unable to connect these names with any human appearance. They stood +out alone, as if written on the night; they took on a symbolic shape; +they imposed themselves upon her senses. She whispered as if pondering: +“Belarab, Daman, Ningrat,” and these barbarous sounds seemed to possess +an exceptional energy, a fatal aspect, the savour of madness. + +“Not one of them but has a heavy score to settle with the whites. What's +that to me! I had somehow to get men who would fight. I risked my life +to get that lot. I made them promises which I shall keep--or--! Can you +see now why I dared to stop your boat? I am in so deep that I care +for no Sir John in the world. When I look at the work ahead I care for +nothing. I gave you one chance--one good chance. That I had to do. No! I +suppose I didn't look enough of a gentleman. Yes! Yes! That's it. Yet +I know what a gentleman is. I lived with them for years. I chummed with +them--yes--on gold-fields and in other places where a man has got +to show the stuff that's in him. Some of them write from home to me +here--such as you see me, because I--never mind! And I know what a +gentleman would do. Come! Wouldn't he treat a stranger fairly? Wouldn't +he remember that no man is a liar till you prove him so? Wouldn't he +keep his word wherever given? Well, I am going to do that. Not a hair of +your head shall be touched as long as I live!” + +She had regained much of her composure but at these words she felt that +staggering sense of utter insecurity which is given one by the first +tremor of an earthquake. It was followed by an expectant stillness of +sensations. She remained silent. He thought she did not believe him. + +“Come! What on earth do you think brought me here--to--to--talk like +this to you? There was Hassim--Rajah Tulla, I should say--who was asking +me this afternoon: 'What will you do now with these, your people?' I +believe he thinks yet I fetched you here for some reason. You can't tell +what crooked notion they will get into their thick heads. It's enough to +make one swear.” He swore. “My people! Are you? How much? Say--how much? +You're no more mine than I am yours. Would any of you fine folks at home +face black ruin to save a fishing smack's crew from getting drowned?” + +Notwithstanding that sense of insecurity which lingered faintly in her +mind she had no image of death before her. She felt intensely alive. +She felt alive in a flush of strength, with an impression of novelty as +though life had been the gift of this very moment. The danger hidden in +the night gave no sign to awaken her terror, but the workings of a +human soul, simple and violent, were laid bare before her and had the +disturbing charm of an unheard-of experience. She was listening to a man +who concealed nothing. She said, interrogatively: + +“And yet you have come?” + +“Yes,” he answered, “to you--and for you only.” + +The flood tide running strong over the banks made a placid trickling +sound about the yacht's rudder. + +“I would not be saved alone.” + +“Then you must bring them over yourself,” he said in a sombre tone. +“There's the brig. You have me--my men--my guns. You know what to do. + +“I will try,” she said. + +“Very well. I am sorry for the poor devils forward there if you fail. +But of course you won't. Watch that light on the brig. I had it hoisted +on purpose. The trouble may be nearer than we think. Two of my boats +are gone scouting and if the news they bring me is bad the light will +be lowered. Think what that means. And I've told you what I have told +nobody. Think of my feelings also. I told you because I--because I had +to.” + +He gave a shove against the yacht's side and glided away from under her +eyes. A rippling sound died out. + +She walked away from the rail. The lamp and the skylights shone +faintly along the dark stretch of the decks. This evening was like the +last--like all the evenings before. + +“Is all this I have heard possible?” she asked herself. “No--but it is +true.” + +She sat down in a deck chair to think and found she could only remember. +She jumped up. She was sure somebody was hailing the yacht faintly. Was +that man hailing? She listened, and hearing nothing was annoyed with +herself for being haunted by a voice. + +“He said he could trust me. Now, what is this danger? What is danger?” + she meditated. + +Footsteps were coming from forward. The figure of the watchman flitted +vaguely over the gangway. He was whistling softly and vanished. Hollow +sounds in the boat were succeeded by a splash of oars. The night +swallowed these slight noises. Mrs. Travers sat down again and found +herself much calmer. + +She had the faculty of being able to think her own thoughts--and the +courage. She could take no action of any kind till her husband's return. +Lingard's warnings were not what had impressed her most. This man had +presented his innermost self unclothed by any subterfuge. There were +in plain sight his desires, his perplexities, affections, doubts, his +violence, his folly; and the existence they made up was lawless but not +vile. She had too much elevation of mind to look upon him from any other +but a strictly human standpoint. If he trusted her (how strange; +why should he? Was he wrong?) she accepted the trust with scrupulous +fairness. And when it dawned upon her that of all the men in the world +this unquestionably was the one she knew best, she had a moment of +wonder followed by an impression of profound sadness. It seemed an +unfortunate matter that concerned her alone. + +Her thought was suspended while she listened attentively for the return +of the yacht's boat. She was dismayed at the task before her. Not a +sound broke the stillness and she felt as if she were lost in empty +space. Then suddenly someone amidships yawned immensely and said: “Oh, +dear! Oh, dear!” A voice asked: “Ain't they back yet?” A negative grunt +answered. + +Mrs. Travers found that Lingard was touching, because he could be +understood. How simple was life, she reflected. She was frank with +herself. She considered him apart from social organization. She +discovered he had no place in it. How delightful! Here was a human +being and the naked truth of things was not so very far from her +notwithstanding the growth of centuries. Then it occurred to her that +this man by his action stripped her at once of her position, of her +wealth, of her rank, of her past. “I am helpless. What remains?” she +asked herself. Nothing! Anybody there might have suggested: “Your +presence.” She was too artificial yet to think of her beauty; and yet +the power of personality is part of the naked truth of things. + +She looked over her shoulder, and saw the light at the brig's +foreyard-arm burning with a strong, calm flame in the dust of starlight +suspended above the coast. She heard the heavy bump as of a boat run +headlong against the ladder. They were back! She rose in sudden and +extreme agitation. What should she say? How much? How to begin? Why say +anything? It would be absurd, like talking seriously about a dream. +She would not dare! In a moment she was driven into a state of mind +bordering on distraction. She heard somebody run up the gangway steps. +With the idea of gaining time she walked rapidly aft to the taffrail. +The light of the brig faced her without a flicker, enormous amongst the +suns scattered in the immensity of the night. + +She fixed her eyes on it. She thought: “I shan't tell him anything. +Impossible. No! I shall tell everything.” She expected every moment to +hear her husband's voice and the suspense was intolerable because she +felt that then she must decide. Somebody on deck was babbling excitedly. +She devoutly hoped d'Alcacer would speak first and thus put off the +fatal moment. A voice said roughly: “What's that?” And in the midst of +her distress she recognized Carter's voice, having noticed that young +man who was of a different stamp from the rest of the crew. She came to +the conclusion that the matter could be related jocularly, or--why not +pretend fear? At that moment the brig's yard-arm light she was looking +at trembled distinctly, and she was dumfounded as if she had seen a +commotion in the firmament. With her lips open for a cry she saw it fall +straight down several feet, flicker, and go out. All perplexity passed +from her mind. This first fact of the danger gave her a thrill of quite +a new emotion. Something had to be done at once. For some remote reason +she felt ashamed of her hesitations. + +She moved swiftly forward and under the lamp came face to face with +Carter who was coming aft. Both stopped, staring, the light fell on +their faces, and both were struck by each other's expression. The four +eyes shone wide. + +“You have seen?” she asked, beginning to tremble. + +“How do you know?” he said, at the same time, evidently surprised. + +Suddenly she saw that everybody was on deck. + +“The light is down,” she stammered. + +“The gentlemen are lost,” said Carter. Then he perceived she did not +seem to understand. “Kidnapped off the sandbank,” he continued, looking +at her fixedly to see how she would take it. She seemed calm. “Kidnapped +like a pair of lambs! Not a squeak,” he burst out with indignation. “But +the sandbank is long and they might have been at the other end. You were +on deck, ma'am?” he asked. + +“Yes,” she murmured. “In the chair here.” + +“We were all down below. I had to rest a little. When I came up the +watchman was asleep. He swears he wasn't, but I know better. Nobody +heard any noise, unless you did. But perhaps you were asleep?” he asked, +deferentially. + +“Yes--no--I must have been,” she said, faintly. + + + +VIII + +Lingard's soul was exalted by his talk with Mrs. Travers, by the strain +of incertitude and by extreme fatigue. On returning on board he asked +after Hassim and was told that the Rajah and his sister had gone off in +their canoe promising to return before midnight. The boats sent to scout +between the islets north and south of the anchorage had not come back +yet. He went into his cabin and throwing himself on the couch closed his +eyes thinking: “I must sleep or I shall go mad.” + +At times he felt an unshaken confidence in Mrs. Travers--then he +remembered her face. Next moment the face would fade, he would make an +effort to hold on to the image, fail--and then become convinced without +the shadow of a doubt that he was utterly lost, unless he let all these +people be wiped off the face of the earth. + +“They all heard that man order me out of his ship,” he thought, and +thereupon for a second or so he contemplated without flinching the lurid +image of a massacre. “And yet I had to tell her that not a hair of her +head shall be touched. Not a hair.” + +And irrationally at the recollection of these words there seemed to be +no trouble of any kind left in the world. Now and then, however, there +were black instants when from sheer weariness he thought of nothing at +all; and during one of these he fell asleep, losing the consciousness +of external things as suddenly as if he had been felled by a blow on the +head. + +When he sat up, almost before he was properly awake, his first alarmed +conviction was that he had slept the night through. There was a light in +the cuddy and through the open door of his cabin he saw distinctly Mrs. +Travers pass out of view across the lighted space. + +“They did come on board after all,” he thought--“how is it I haven't +been called!” + +He darted into the cuddy. Nobody! Looking up at the clock in the +skylight he was vexed to see it had stopped till his ear caught the +faint beat of the mechanism. It was going then! He could not have been +asleep more than ten minutes. He had not been on board more than twenty! + +So it was only a deception; he had seen no one. And yet he remembered +the turn of the head, the line of the neck, the colour of the hair, +the movement of the passing figure. He returned spiritlessly to his +state-room muttering, “No more sleep for me to-night,” and came out +directly, holding a few sheets of paper covered with a high, angular +handwriting. + +This was Jorgenson's letter written three days before and entrusted to +Hassim. Lingard had read it already twice, but he turned up the lamp a +little higher and sat down to read it again. On the red shield above his +head the gilt sheaf of thunderbolts darting between the initials of his +name seemed to be aimed straight at the nape of his neck as he sat with +bared elbows spread on the table, poring over the crumpled sheets. The +letter began: + +Hassim and Immada are going out to-night to look for you. You are behind +your time and every passing day makes things worse. + +Ten days ago three of Belarab's men, who had been collecting turtles' +eggs on the islets, came flying back with a story of a ship stranded on +the outer mudflats. Belarab at once forbade any boat from leaving the +lagoon. So far good. There was a great excitement in the village. I +judge it must be a schooner--probably some fool of a trader. However, +you will know all about her when you read this. You may say I might +have pulled out to sea to have a look for myself. But besides Belarab's +orders to the contrary, which I would attend to for the sake of example, +all you are worth in this world, Tom, is here in the Emma, under my +feet, and I would not leave my charge even for half a day. Hassim +attended the council held every evening in the shed outside Belarab's +stockade. That holy man Ningrat was for looting that vessel. Hassim +reproved him saying that the vessel probably was sent by you because +no white men were known to come inside the shoals. Belarab backed up +Hassim. Ningrat was very angry and reproached Belarab for keeping him, +Ningrat, short of opium to smoke. He began by calling him “O! son,” + and ended by shouting, “O! you worse than an unbeliever!” There was a +hullabaloo. The followers of Tengga were ready to interfere and you +know how it is between Tengga and Belarab. Tengga always wanted to oust +Belarab, and his chances were getting pretty good before you turned up +and armed Belarab's bodyguard with muskets. However, Hassim stopped that +row, and no one was hurt that time. Next day, which was Friday, Ningrat +after reading the prayers in the mosque talked to the people outside. He +bleated and capered like an old goat, prophesying misfortune, ruin, and +extermination if these whites were allowed to get away. He is mad but +then they think him a saint, and he had been fighting the Dutch for +years in his young days. Six of Belarab's guard marched down the village +street carrying muskets at full cock and the crowd cleared out. Ningrat +was spirited away by Tengga's men into their master's stockade. If it +was not for the fear of you turning up any moment there would have been +a party-fight that evening. I think it is a pity Tengga is not chief +of the land instead of Belarab. A brave and foresighted man, however +treacherous at heart, can always be trusted to a certain extent. One can +never get anything clear from Belarab. Peace! Peace! You know his fad. +And this fad makes him act silly. The peace racket will get him into a +row. It may cost him his life in the end. However, Tengga does not feel +himself strong enough yet to act with his own followers only and Belarab +has, on my advice, disarmed all villagers. His men went into the houses +and took away by force all the firearms and as many spears as they +could lay hands on. The women screamed abuse of course, but there was no +resistance. A few men were seen clearing out into the forest with their +arms. Note this, for it means there is another power beside Belarab's in +the village: the growing power of Tengga. + +One morning--four days ago--I went to see Tengga. I found him by the +shore trimming a plank with a small hatchet while a slave held an +umbrella over his head. He is amusing himself in building a boat just +now. He threw his hatchet down to meet me and led me by the hand to +a shady spot. He told me frankly he had sent out two good swimmers to +observe the stranded vessel. These men stole down the creek in a canoe +and when on the sea coast swam from sandbank to sandbank until they +approached unobserved--I think--to about fifty yards from that schooner +What can that craft be? I can't make it out. The men reported there +were three chiefs on board. One with a glittering eye, one a lean man +in white, and another without any hair on the face and dressed in a +different style. Could it be a woman? I don't know what to think. I wish +you were here. After a lot of chatter Tengga said: “Six years ago I was +ruler of a country and the Dutch drove me out. The country was small but +nothing is too small for them to take. They pretended to give it back +to my nephew--may he burn! I ran away or they would have killed me. I am +nothing here--but I remember. These white people out there can not run +away and they are very few. There is perhaps a little to loot. I would +give it to my men who followed me in my calamity because I am their +chief and my father was the chief of their fathers.” I pointed out the +imprudence of this. He said: “The dead do not show the way.” To this I +remarked that the ignorant do not give information. Tengga kept quiet +for a while, then said: “We must not touch them because their skin is +like yours and to kill them would be wrong, but at the bidding of you +whites we may go and fight with people of our own skin and our own +faith--and that is good. I have promised to Tuan Lingard twenty men and +a prau to make war in Wajo. The men are good and look at the prau; it +is swift and strong.” I must say, Tom, the prau is the best craft of +the kind I have ever seen. I said you paid him well for the help. “And +I also would pay,” says he, “if you let me have a few guns and a little +powder for my men. You and I shall share the loot of that ship outside, +and Tuan Lingard will not know. It is only a little game. You have +plenty of guns and powder under your care.” He meant in the Emma. On +that I spoke out pretty straight and we got rather warm until at last +he gave me to understand that as he had about forty followers of his own +and I had only nine of Hassim's chaps to defend the Emma with, he could +very well go for me and get the lot. “And then,” says he, “I would be so +strong that everybody would be on my side.” I discovered in the course +of further talk that there is a notion amongst many people that you have +come to grief in some way and won't show up here any more. After this +I saw the position was serious and I was in a hurry to get back to the +Emma, but pretending I did not care I smiled and thanked Tengga for +giving me warning of his intentions about me and the Emma. At this he +nearly choked himself with his betel quid and fixing me with his little +eyes, muttered: “Even a lizard will give a fly the time to say its +prayers.” I turned my back on him and was very thankful to get beyond +the throw of a spear. I haven't been out of the Emma since. + + + +IX + +The letter went on to enlarge on the intrigues of Tengga, the wavering +conduct of Belarab, and the state of the public mind. It noted every +gust of opinion and every event, with an earnestness of belief in their +importance befitting the chronicle of a crisis in the history of an +empire. The shade of Jorgenson had, indeed, stepped back into the life +of men. The old adventurer looked on with a perfect understanding of +the value of trifles, using his eyes for that other man whose conscience +would have the task to unravel the tangle. Lingard lived through those +days in the Settlement and was thankful to Jorgenson; only as he lived +not from day to day but from sentence to sentence of the writing, there +was an effect of bewildering rapidity in the succession of events that +made him grunt with surprise sometimes or growl--“What?” to himself +angrily and turn back several lines or a whole page more than once. +Toward the end he had a heavy frown of perplexity and fidgeted as he +read: + +--and I began to think I could keep things quiet till you came or those +wretched white people got their schooner off, when Sherif Daman arrived +from the north on the very day he was expected, with two Illanun praus. +He looks like an Arab. It was very evident to me he can wind the two +Illanun pangerans round his little finger. The two praus are large and +armed. They came up the creek, flags and streamers flying, beating drums +and gongs, and entered the lagoon with their decks full of armed men +brandishing two-handed swords and sounding the war cry. It is a fine +force for you, only Belarab who is a perverse devil would not receive +Sherif Daman at once. So Daman went to see Tengga who detained him a +very long time. Leaving Tengga he came on board the Emma, and I could +see directly there was something up. + +He began by asking me for the ammunition and weapons they are to get +from you, saying he was anxious to sail at once toward Wajo, since it +was agreed he was to precede you by a few days. I replied that that +was true enough but that I could not think of giving him the powder +and muskets till you came. He began to talk about you and hinted that +perhaps you will never come. “And no matter,” says he, “here is Rajah +Hassim and the Lady Immada and we would fight for them if no white man +was left in the world. Only we must have something to fight with.” He +pretended then to forget me altogether and talked with Hassim while I +sat listening. He began to boast how well he got along the Bruni coast. +No Illanun prau had passed down that coast for years. + +Immada wanted me to give the arms he was asking for. The girl is beside +herself with fear of something happening that would put a stopper on +the Wajo expedition. She has set her mind on getting her country back. +Hassim is very reserved but he is very anxious, too. Daman got nothing +from me, and that very evening the praus were ordered by Belarab to +leave the lagoon. He does not trust the Illanuns--and small blame to +him. Sherif Daman went like a lamb. He has no powder for his guns. As +the praus passed by the Emma he shouted to me he was going to wait for +you outside the creek. Tengga has given him a man who would show him the +place. All this looks very queer to me. + +Look out outside then. The praus are dodging amongst the islets. Daman +visits Tengga. Tengga called on me as a good friend to try and persuade +me to give Daman the arms and gunpowder he is so anxious to get. Somehow +or other they tried to get around Belarab, who came to see me last night +and hinted I had better do so. He is anxious for these Illanuns to leave +the neighbourhood. He thinks that if they loot the schooner they will be +off at once. That's all he wants now. Immada has been to see Belarab's +women and stopped two nights in the stockade. Belarab's youngest +wife--he got married six weeks ago--is on the side of Tengga's party +because she thinks Belarab would get a share of the loot and she got +into her silly head there are jewels and silks in that schooner. What +between Tengga worrying him outside and the women worrying him at home, +Belarab had such a lively time of it that he concluded he would go to +pray at his father's tomb. So for the last two days he has been away +camping in that unhealthy place. When he comes back he will be down with +fever as sure as fate and then he will be no good for anything. Tengga +lights up smoky fires often. Some signal to Daman. I go ashore with +Hassim's men and put them out. This is risking a fight every time--for +Tengga's men look very black at us. I don't know what the next move may +be. Hassim's as true as steel. Immada is very unhappy. They will tell +you many details I have no time to write. + +The last page fluttered on the table out of Lingard's fingers. He sat +very still for a moment looking straight before him, then went on deck. + +“Our boats back yet?” he asked Shaw, whom he saw prowling on the +quarter-deck. + +“No, sir, I wish they were. I am waiting for them to go and turn in,” + answered the mate in an aggrieved manner. + +“Lower that lantern forward there,” cried Lingard, suddenly, in Malay. + +“This trade isn't fit for a decent man,” muttered Shaw to himself, and +he moved away to lean on the rail, looking moodily to seaward. After a +while: “There seems to be commotion on board that yacht,” he said. +“I see a lot of lights moving about her decks. Anything wrong, do you +think, sir?” + +“No, I know what it is,” said Lingard in a tone of elation. She has done +it! he thought. + +He returned to the cabin, put away Jorgenson's letter and pulled out the +drawer of the table. It was full of cartridges. He took a musket down, +loaded it, then took another and another. He hammered at the waddings +with fierce joyousness. The ramrods rang and jumped. It seemed to him +he was doing his share of some work in which that woman was playing her +part faithfully. “She has done it,” he repeated, mentally. “She will sit +in the cuddy. She will sleep in my berth. Well, I'm not ashamed of the +brig. By heavens--no! I shall keep away: never come near them as I've +promised. Now there's nothing more to say. I've told her everything at +once. There's nothing more.” + +He felt a heaviness in his burning breast, in all his limbs as if the +blood in his veins had become molten lead. + +“I shall get the yacht off. Three, four days--no, a week.” + +He found he couldn't do it under a week. It occurred to him he would see +her every day till the yacht was afloat. No, he wouldn't intrude, but he +was master and owner of the brig after all. He didn't mean to skulk like +a whipped cur about his own decks. + +“It'll be ten days before the schooner is ready. I'll take every scrap +of ballast out of her. I'll strip her--I'll take her lower masts out +of her, by heavens! I'll make sure. Then another week to fit +out--and--goodbye. Wish I had never seen them. Good-bye--forever. Home's +the place for them. Not for me. On another coast she would not have +listened. Ah, but she is a woman--every inch of her. I shall shake +hands. Yes. I shall take her hand--just before she goes. Why the devil +not? I am master here after all--in this brig--as good as any one--by +heavens, better than any one--better than any one on earth.” + +He heard Shaw walk smartly forward above his head hailing: + +“What's that--a boat?” + +A voice answered indistinctly. + +“One of my boats is back,” thought Lingard. “News about Daman perhaps. +I don't care if he kicks. I wish he would. I would soon show her I can +fight as well as I can handle the brig. Two praus. Only two praus. I +wouldn't mind if there were twenty. I would sweep 'em off the sea--I +would blow 'em out of the water--I would make the brig walk over them. +'Now,' I'd say to her, 'you who are not afraid, look how it's done!'” + +He felt light. He had the sensation of being whirled high in the midst +of an uproar and as powerless as a feather in a hurricane. He shuddered +profoundly. His arms hung down, and he stood before the table staring +like a man overcome by some fatal intelligence. + +Shaw, going into the waist to receive what he thought was one of the +brig's boats, came against Carter making his way aft hurriedly. + +“Hullo! Is it you again?” he said, swiftly, barring the way. + +“I come from the yacht,” began Carter with some impatience. + +“Where else could you come from?” said Shaw. “And what might you want +now?” + +“I want to see your skipper.” + +“Well, you can't,” declared Shaw, viciously. “He's turned in for the +night.” + +“He expects me,” said Carter, stamping his foot. “I've got to tell him +what happened.” + +“Don't you fret yourself, young man,” said Shaw in a superior manner; +“he knows all about it.” + +They stood suddenly silent in the dark. Carter seemed at a loss what to +do. Shaw, though surprised by it, enjoyed the effect he had produced. + +“Damn me, if I did not think so,” murmured Carter to himself; then +drawling coolly asked--“And perhaps you know, too?” + +“What do you think? Think I am a dummy here? I ain't mate of this brig +for nothing.” + +“No, you are not,” said Carter with a certain bitterness of tone. +“People do all kinds of queer things for a living, and I am not +particular myself, but I would think twice before taking your billet.” + +“What? What do you in-si-nu-ate. My billet? You ain't fit for it, you +yacht-swabbing brass-buttoned imposter.” + +“What's this? Any of our boats back?” asked Lingard from the poop. “Let +the seacannie in charge come to me at once.” + +“There's only a message from the yacht,” began Shaw, deliberately. + +“Yacht! Get the deck lamps along here in the waist! See the ladder +lowered. Bear a hand, serang! Mr. Shaw! Burn the flare up aft. Two of +them! Give light to the yacht's boats that will be coming alongside. +Steward! Where's that steward? Turn him out then.” + +Bare feet began to patter all round Carter. Shadows glided swiftly. + +“Are these flares coming? Where's the quartermaster on duty?” shouted +Lingard in English and Malay. “This way, come here! Put it on a rocket +stick--can't you? Hold over the side--thus! Stand by with the lines for +the boats forward there. Mr. Shaw--we want more light!” + +“Aye, aye, sir,” called out Shaw, but he did not move, as if dazed by +the vehemence of his commander. + +“That's what we want,” muttered Carter under his breath. “Imposter! What +do you call yourself?” he said half aloud to Shaw. + +The ruddy glare of the flares disclosed Lingard from head to foot, +standing at the break of the poop. His head was bare, his face, crudely +lighted, had a fierce and changing expression in the sway of flames. + +“What can be his game?” thought Carter, impressed by the powerful +and wild aspect of that figure. “He's changed somehow since I saw him +first,” he reflected. It struck him the change was serious, not exactly +for the worse, perhaps--and yet. . . . Lingard smiled at him from the +poop. + +Carter went up the steps and without pausing informed him of what had +happened. + +“Mrs. Travers told me to go to you at once. She's very upset as you may +guess,” he drawled, looking Lingard hard in the face. Lingard knitted +his eyebrows. “The hands, too, are scared,” Carter went on. “They fancy +the savages, or whatever they may be who stole the owner, are going to +board the yacht every minute. I don't think so myself but--” + +“Quite right--most unlikely,” muttered Lingard. + +“Aye, I daresay you know all about it,” continued Carter, coolly, “the +men are startled and no mistake, but I can't blame them very much. There +isn't enough even of carving knives aboard to go round. One old signal +gun! A poor show for better men than they.” + +“There's no mistake I suppose about this affair?” asked Lingard. + +“Well, unless the gentlemen are having a lark with us at hide and seek. +The man says he waited ten minutes at the point, then pulled slowly +along the bank looking out, expecting to see them walking back. He +made the trunk of a tree apparently stranded on the sand and as he was +sculling past he says a man jumped up from behind that log, flung a +stick at him and went off running. He backed water at once and began to +shout, 'Are you there, sir?' No one answered. He could hear the bushes +rustle and some strange noises like whisperings. It was very dark. After +calling out several times, and waiting on his oars, he got frightened +and pulled back to the yacht. That is clear enough. The only doubt in +my mind is if they are alive or not. I didn't let on to Mrs. Travers. +That's a kind of thing you keep to yourself, of course.” + +“I don't think they are dead,” said Lingard, slowly, and as if thinking +of something else. + +“Oh! If you say so it's all right,” said Carter with deliberation. + +“What?” asked Lingard, absently; “fling a stick, did they? Fling a +spear!” + +“That's it!” assented Carter, “but I didn't say anything. I only +wondered if the same kind of stick hadn't been flung at the owner, +that's all. But I suppose you know your business best, Captain.” + +Lingard, grasping his whole beard, reflected profoundly, erect and with +bowed head in the glare of the flares. + +“I suppose you think it's my doing?” he asked, sharply, without looking +up. + +Carter surveyed him with a candidly curious gaze. “Well, Captain, Mrs. +Travers did let on a bit to me about our chief-officer's boat. You've +stopped it, haven't you? How she got to know God only knows. She +was sorry she spoke, too, but it wasn't so much of news to me as she +thought. I can put two and two together, sometimes. Those rockets, last +night, eh? I wished I had bitten my tongue out before I told you about +our first gig. But I was taken unawares. Wasn't I? I put it to you: +wasn't I? And so I told her when she asked me what passed between +you and me on board this brig, not twenty-four hours ago. Things look +different now, all of a sudden. Enough to scare a woman, but she is +the best man of them all on board. The others are fairly off the chump +because it's a bit dark and something has happened they ain't used to. +But she has something on her mind. I can't make her out!” He paused, +wriggled his shoulders slightly--“No more than I can make you out,” he +added. + +“That's your trouble, is it?” said Lingard, slowly. + +“Aye, Captain. Is it all clear to you? Stopping boats, kidnapping +gentlemen. That's fun in a way, only--I am a youngster to you--but is it +all clear to you? Old Robinson wasn't particular, you know, and he--” + +“Clearer than daylight,” cried Lingard, hotly. “I can't give up--” + +He checked himself. Carter waited. The flare bearers stood rigid, +turning their faces away from the flame, and in the play of gleams at +its foot the mast near by, like a lofty column, ascended in the great +darkness. A lot of ropes ran up slanting into a dark void and were +lost to sight, but high aloft a brace block gleamed white, the end of a +yard-arm could be seen suspended in the air and as if glowing with its +own light. The sky had clouded over the brig without a breath of wind. + +“Give up,” repeated Carter with an uneasy shuffle of feet. + +“Nobody,” finished Lingard. “I can't. It's as clear as daylight. I +can't! No! Nothing!” + +He stared straight out afar, and after looking at him Carter felt moved +by a bit of youthful intuition to murmur, “That's bad,” in a tone +that almost in spite of himself hinted at the dawning of a befogged +compassion. + +He had a sense of confusion within him, the sense of mystery without. +He had never experienced anything like it all the time when serving with +old Robinson in the Ly-e-moon. And yet he had seen and taken part in +some queer doings that were not clear to him at the time. They were +secret but they suggested something comprehensible. This affair did not. +It had somehow a subtlety that affected him. He was uneasy as if there +had been a breath of magic on events and men giving to this complication +of a yachting voyage a significance impossible to perceive, but felt +in the words, in the gestures, in the events, which made them all +strangely, obscurely startling. + +He was not one who could keep track of his sensations, and besides he +had not the leisure. He had to answer Lingard's questions about the +people of the yacht. No, he couldn't say Mrs. Travers was what you may +call frightened. She seemed to have something in her mind. Oh, yes! The +chaps were in a funk. Would they fight? Anybody would fight when driven +to it, funk or no funk. That was his experience. Naturally one liked +to have something better than a handspike to do it with. Still--In the +pause Carter seemed to weigh with composure the chances of men with +handspikes. + +“What do you want to fight us for?” he asked, suddenly. + +Lingard started. + +“I don't,” he said; “I wouldn't be asking you.” + +“There's no saying what you would do, Captain,” replied Carter; “it +isn't twenty-four hours since you wanted to shoot me.” + +“I only said I would, rather than let you go raising trouble for me,” + explained Lingard. + +“One night isn't like another,” mumbled Carter, “but how am I to know? +It seems to me you are making trouble for yourself as fast as you can.” + +“Well, supposing I am,” said Lingard with sudden gloominess. “Would your +men fight if I armed them properly?” + +“What--for you or for themselves?” asked Carter. + +“For the woman,” burst out Lingard. “You forget there's a woman on +board. I don't care _that_ for their carcases.” + +Carter pondered conscientiously. + +“Not to-night,” he said at last. “There's one or two good men amongst +them, but the rest are struck all of a heap. Not to-night. Give them +time to get steady a bit if you want them to fight.” + +He gave facts and opinions with a mixture of loyalty and mistrust. His +own state puzzled him exceedingly. He couldn't make out anything, he did +not know what to believe and yet he had an impulsive desire, an inspired +desire to help the man. At times it appeared a necessity--at others +policy; between whiles a great folly, which perhaps did not matter +because he suspected himself of being helpless anyway. Then he had +moments of anger. In those moments he would feel in his pocket the +butt of a loaded pistol. He had provided himself with the weapon, when +directed by Mrs. Travers to go on board the brig. + +“If he wants to interfere with me, I'll let drive at him and take my +chance of getting away,” he had explained hurriedly. + +He remembered how startled Mrs. Travers looked. Of course, a woman like +that--not used to hear such talk. Therefore it was no use listening to +her, except for good manners' sake. Once bit twice shy. He had no mind +to be kidnapped, not he, nor bullied either. + +“I can't let him nab me, too. You will want me now, Mrs. Travers,” he +had said; “and I promise you not to fire off the old thing unless he +jolly well forces me to.” + +He was youthfully wise in his resolution not to give way to her +entreaties, though her extraordinary agitation did stagger him for a +moment. When the boat was already on its way to the brig, he remembered +her calling out after him: + +“You must not! You don't understand.” + +Her voice coming faintly in the darkness moved him, it resembled so much +a cry of distress. + +“Give way, boys, give way,” he urged his men. + +He was wise, resolute, and he was also youthful enough to almost wish +it should “come to it.” And with foresight he even instructed the boat's +crew to keep the gig just abaft the main rigging of the brig. + +“When you see me drop into her all of a sudden, shove off and pull for +dear life.” + +Somehow just then he was not so anxious for a shot, but he held on with +a determined mental grasp to his fine resolution, lest it should slip +away from him and perish in a sea of doubts. + +“Hadn't I better get back to the yacht?” he asked, gently. + +Getting no answer he went on with deliberation: + +“Mrs. Travers ordered me to say that no matter how this came about +she is ready to trust you. She is waiting for some kind of answer, I +suppose.” + +“Ready to trust me,” repeated Lingard. His eyes lit up fiercely. + +Every sway of flares tossed slightly to and fro the massy shadows of +the main deck, where here and there the figure of a man could be seen +standing very still with a dusky face and glittering eyeballs. + +Carter stole his hand warily into his breast pocket: + +“Well, Captain,” he said. He was not going to be bullied, let the +owner's wife trust whom she liked. + +“Have you got anything in writing for me there?” asked Lingard, +advancing a pace, exultingly. + +Carter, alert, stepped back to keep his distance. Shaw stared from the +side; his rubicund cheeks quivered, his round eyes seemed starting out +of his head, and his mouth was open as though he had been ready to choke +with pent-up curiosity, amazement, and indignation. + +“No! Not in writing,” said Carter, steadily and low. + +Lingard had the air of being awakened by a shout. A heavy and darkening +frown seemed to fall out of the night upon his forehead and swiftly +passed into the night again, and when it departed it left him so calm, +his glance so lucid, his mien so composed that it was difficult to +believe the man's heart had undergone within the last second the trial +of humiliation and of danger. He smiled sadly: + +“Well, young man,” he asked with a kind of good-humoured resignation, +“what is it you have there? A knife or a pistol?” + +“A pistol,” said Carter. “Are you surprised, Captain?” He spoke with +heat because a sense of regret was stealing slowly within him, as +stealthily, as irresistibly as the flowing tide. “Who began these +tricks?” He withdrew his hand, empty, and raised his voice. “You are up +to something I can't make out. You--you are not straight.” + +The flares held on high streamed right up without swaying, and in that +instant of profound calm the shadows on the brig's deck became as still +as the men. + +“You think not?” said Lingard, thoughtfully. + +Carter nodded. He resented the turn of the incident and the growing +impulse to surrender to that man. + +“Mrs. Travers trusts me though,” went on Lingard with gentle triumph as +if advancing an unanswerable argument. + +“So she says,” grunted Carter; “I warned her. She's a baby. They're all +as innocent as babies there. And you know it. And I know it. I've heard +of your kind. You would dump the lot of us overboard if it served your +turn. That's what I think.” + +“And that's all.” + +Carter nodded slightly and looked away. There was a silence. Lingard's +eyes travelled over the brig. The lighted part of the vessel appeared in +bright and wavering detail walled and canopied by the night. He felt a +light breath on his face. The air was stirring, but the Shallows, silent +and lost in the darkness, gave no sound of life. + +This stillness oppressed Lingard. The world of his endeavours and his +hopes seemed dead, seemed gone. His desire existed homeless in the +obscurity that had devoured his corner of the sea, this stretch of the +coast, his certitude of success. And here in the midst of what was the +domain of his adventurous soul there was a lost youngster ready to shoot +him on suspicion of some extravagant treachery. Came ready to shoot! +That's good, too! He was too weary to laugh--and perhaps too sad. Also +the danger of the pistol-shot, which he believed real--the young are +rash--irritated him. The night and the spot were full of contradictions. +It was impossible to say who in this shadowy warfare was to be an enemy, +and who were the allies. So close were the contacts issuing from this +complication of a yachting voyage, that he seemed to have them all +within his breast. + +“Shoot me! He is quite up to that trick--damn him. Yet I would trust him +sooner than any man in that yacht.” + +Such were his thoughts while he looked at Carter, who was biting his +lips, in the vexation of the long silence. When they spoke again to each +other they talked soberly, with a sense of relief, as if they had come +into cool air from an overheated room and when Carter, dismissed, went +into his boat, he had practically agreed to the line of action traced +by Lingard for the crew of the yacht. He had agreed as if in implicit +confidence. It was one of the absurdities of the situation which had to +be accepted and could never be understood. + +“Do I talk straight now?” had asked Lingard. + +“It seems straight enough,” assented Carter with an air of reserve; “I +will work with you so far anyhow.” + +“Mrs. Travers trusts me,” remarked Lingard again. + +“By the Lord Harry!” cried Carter, giving way suddenly to some latent +conviction. “I was warning her against you. Say, Captain, you are a +devil of a man. How did you manage it?” + +“I trusted her,” said Lingard. + +“Did you?” cried the amazed Carter. “When? How? Where--” + +“You know too much already,” retorted Lingard, quietly. “Waste no time. +I will be after you.” + +Carter whistled low. + +“There's a pair of you I can't make out,” he called back, hurrying over +the side. + +Shaw took this opportunity to approach. Beginning with hesitation: “A +word with you, sir,” the mate went on to say he was a respectable man. +He delivered himself in a ringing, unsteady voice. He was married, he +had children, he abhorred illegality. The light played about his obese +figure, he had flung his mushroom hat on the deck, he was not afraid to +speak the truth. The grey moustache stood out aggressively, his glances +were uneasy; he pressed his hands to his stomach convulsively, opened +his thick, short arms wide, wished it to be understood he had been +chief-officer of home ships, with a spotless character and he hoped +“quite up to his work.” He was a peaceable man, none more; disposed +to stretch a point when it “came to a difference with niggers of some +kind--they had to be taught manners and reason” and he was not averse at +a pinch to--but here were white people--gentlemen, ladies, not to speak +of the crew. He had never spoken to a superior like this before, +and this was prudence, his conviction, a point of view, a point of +principle, a conscious superiority and a burst of resentment hoarded +through years against all the successive and unsatisfactory captains of +his existence. There never had been such an opportunity to show he could +not be put upon. He had one of them on a string and he was going to lead +him a dance. There was courage, too, in it, since he believed himself +fallen unawares into the clutches of a particularly desperate man and +beyond the reach of law. + +A certain small amount of calculation entered the audacity of his +remonstrance. Perhaps--it flashed upon him--the yacht's gentry will hear +I stood up for them. This could conceivably be of advantage to a man +who wanted a lift in the world. “Owner of a yacht--badly scared--a +gentleman--money nothing to him.” Thereupon Shaw declared with heat that +he couldn't be an accessory either after or before the fact. Those +that never went home--who had nothing to go to perhaps--he interjected, +hurriedly, could do as they liked. He couldn't. He had a wife, a +family, a little house--paid for--with difficulty. He followed the sea +respectably out and home, all regular, not vagabonding here and there, +chumming with the first nigger that came along and laying traps for his +betters. + +One of the two flare bearers sighed at his elbow, and shifted his weight +to the other foot. + +These two had been keeping so perfectly still that the movement was +as startling as if a statue had changed its pose. After looking at the +offender with cold malevolence, Shaw went on to speak of law-courts, +of trials, and of the liberty of the subject; then he pointed out the +certitude and the inconvenience of being found out, affecting for the +moment the dispassionateness of wisdom. + +“There will be fifteen years in gaol at the end of this job for +everybody,” said Shaw, “and I have a boy that don't know his father yet. +Fine things for him to learn when he grows up. The innocent are dead +certain here to catch it along with you. The missus will break her heart +unless she starves first. Home sold up.” + +He saw a mysterious iniquity in a dangerous relation to himself and +began to lose his head. What he really wanted was to have his +existence left intact, for his own cherishing and pride. It was a moral +aspiration, but in his alarm the native grossness of his nature came +clattering out like a devil out of a trap. He would blow the gaff, +split, give away the whole show, he would back up honest people, kiss +the book, say what he thought, let all the world know . . . and when he +paused to draw breath, all around him was silent and still. Before the +impetus of that respectable passion his words were scattered like chaff +driven by a gale and rushed headlong into the night of the Shallows. And +in the great obscurity, imperturbable, it heard him say he “washed his +hands of everything.” + +“And the brig?” asked Lingard, suddenly. + +Shaw was checked. For a second the seaman in him instinctively admitted +the claim of the ship. + +“The brig. The brig. She's right enough,” he mumbled. He had nothing to +say against the brig--not he. She wasn't like the big ships he was used +to, but of her kind the best craft he ever. . . . And with a brusque +return upon himself, he protested that he had been decoyed on board +under false pretences. It was as bad as being shanghaied when in liquor. +It was--upon his soul. And into a craft next thing to a pirate! That +was the name for it or his own name was not Shaw. He said this glaring +owlishly. Lingard, perfectly still and mute, bore the blows without a +sign. + +The silly fuss of that man seared his very soul. There was no end to +this plague of fools coming to him from the forgotten ends of the earth. +A fellow like that could not be told. No one could be told. Blind they +came and blind they would go out. He admitted reluctantly, but without +doubt, that as if pushed by a force from outside he would have to +try and save two of them. To this end he foresaw the probable need of +leaving his brig for a time. He would have to leave her with that man. +The mate. He had engaged him himself--to make his insurance valid--to be +able sometimes to speak--to have near him. Who would have believed such +a fool-man could exist on the face of the sea! Who? Leave the brig with +him. The brig! + +Ever since sunset, the breeze kept off by the heat of the day had been +trying to re-establish in the darkness its sway over the Shoals. Its +approaches had been heard in the night, its patient murmurs, its foiled +sighs; but now a surprisingly heavy puff came in a free rush as if, +far away there to the northward, the last defence of the calm had +been victoriously carried. The flames borne down streamed bluishly, +horizontal and noisy at the end of tall sticks, like fluttering +pennants; and behold, the shadows on the deck went mad and jostled each +other as if trying to escape from a doomed craft, the darkness, held +up dome-like by the brilliant glare, seemed to tumble headlong upon the +brig in an overwhelming downfall, the men stood swaying as if ready +to fall under the ruins of a black and noiseless disaster. The blurred +outlines of the brig, the masts, the rigging, seemed to shudder in the +terror of coming extinction--and then the darkness leaped upward again, +the shadows returned to their places, the men were seen distinct, +swarthy, with calm faces, with glittering eyeballs. The destruction in +the breath had passed, was gone. + +A discord of three voices raised together in a drawling wail trailed on +the sudden immobility of the air. + +“Brig ahoy! Give us a rope!” + +The first boat-load from the yacht emerged floating slowly into the +pool of purple light wavering round the brig on the black water. Two men +squeezed in the bows pulled uncomfortably; in the middle, on a heap of +seamen's canvas bags, another sat, insecure, propped with both arms, +stiff-legged, angularly helpless. The light from the poop brought +everything out in lurid detail, and the boat floating slowly toward the +brig had a suspicious and pitiful aspect. The shabby load lumbering +her looked somehow as if it had been stolen by those men who resembled +castaways. In the sternsheets Carter, standing up, steered with his leg. +He had a smile of youthful sarcasm. + +“Here they are!” he cried to Lingard. “You've got your own way, Captain. +I thought I had better come myself with the first precious lot--” + +“Pull around the stern. The brig's on the swing,” interrupted Lingard. + +“Aye, aye! We'll try not to smash the brig. We would be lost indeed +if--fend off there, John; fend off, old reliable, if you care a pin +for your salty hide. I like the old chap,” he said, when he stood by +Lingard's side looking down at the boat which was being rapidly cleared +by whites and Malays working shoulder to shoulder in silence. “I like +him. He don't belong to that yachting lot either. They picked him up +on the road somewhere. Look at the old dog--carved out of a ship's +timber--as talkative as a fish--grim as a gutted wreck. That's the man +for me. All the others there are married, or going to be, or ought +to be, or sorry they ain't. Every man jack of them has a petticoat in +tow--dash me! Never heard in all my travels such a jabber about wives +and kids. Hurry up with your dunnage--below there! Aye! I had no +difficulty in getting them to clear out from the yacht. They never saw +a pair of gents stolen before--you understand. It upset all their little +notions of what a stranding means, hereabouts. Not that mine aren't +mixed a bit, too--and yet I've seen a thing or two.” + +His excitement was revealed in this boyish impulse to talk. + +“Look,” he said, pointing at the growing pile of bags and bedding on the +brig's quarter-deck. “Look. Don't they mean to sleep soft--and dream of +home--maybe. Home. Think of that, Captain. These chaps can't get clear +away from it. It isn't like you and me--” + +Lingard made a movement. + +“I ran away myself when so high. My old man's a Trinity pilot. That's a +job worth staying at home for. Mother writes sometimes, but they can't +miss me much. There's fourteen of us altogether--eight at home yet. No +fear of the old country ever getting undermanned--let die who must. Only +let it be a fair game, Captain. Let's have a fair show.” + +Lingard assured him briefly he should have it. That was the very reason +he wanted the yacht's crew in the brig, he added. Then quiet and grave +he inquired whether that pistol was still in Carter's pocket. + +“Never mind that,” said the young man, hurriedly. “Remember who began. +To be shot at wouldn't rile me so much--it's being threatened, don't you +see, that was heavy on my chest. Last night is very far off though--and +I will be hanged if I know what I meant exactly when I took the old +thing from its nail. There. More I can't say till all's settled one way +or another. Will that do?” + +Flushing brick red, he suspended his judgment and stayed his hand with +the generosity of youth. + +. . . . . . . + +Apparently it suited Lingard to be reprieved in that form. He bowed +his head slowly. It would do. To leave his life to that youngster's +ignorance seemed to redress the balance of his mind against a lot of +secret intentions. It was distasteful and bitter as an expiation should +be. He also held a life in his hand; a life, and many deaths besides, +but these were like one single feather in the scales of his conscience. +That he should feel so was unavoidable because his strength would at no +price permit itself to be wasted. It would not be--and there was an +end of it. All he could do was to throw in another risk into the sea +of risks. Thus was he enabled to recognize that a drop of water in +the ocean makes a great difference. His very desire, unconquered, but +exiled, had left the place where he could constantly hear its voice. He +saw it, he saw himself, the past, the future, he saw it all, shifting +and indistinct like those shapes the strained eye of a wanderer outlines +in darker strokes upon the face of the night. + + + +X + +When Lingard went to his boat to follow Carter, who had gone back to the +yacht, Wasub, mast and sail on shoulder, preceded him down the ladder. +The old man leaped in smartly and busied himself in getting the dinghy +ready for his commander. + +In that little boat Lingard was accustomed to traverse the Shallows +alone. She had a short mast and a lug-sail, carried two easily, floated +in a few inches of water. In her he was independent of a crew, and, if +the wind failed, could make his way with a pair of sculls taking short +cuts over shoal places. There were so many islets and sandbanks that in +case of sudden bad weather there was always a lee to be found, and when +he wished to land he could pull her up a beach, striding ahead, painter +in hand, like a giant child dragging a toy boat. When the brig was +anchored within the Shallows it was in her that he visited the lagoon. +Once, when caught by a sudden freshening of the sea-breeze, he had waded +up a shelving bank carrying her on his head and for two days they had +rested together on the sand, while around them the shallow waters raged +lividly, and across three miles of foam the brig would time after time +dissolve in the mist and re-appear distinct, nodding her tall spars that +seemed to touch a weeping sky of lamentable greyness. + +Whenever he came into the lagoon tugging with bare arms, Jorgenson, +who would be watching the entrance of the creek ever since a muffled +detonation of a gun to seaward had warned him of the brig's arrival on +the Shore of Refuge, would mutter to himself--“Here's Tom coming in his +nutshell.” And indeed she was in shape somewhat like half a nutshell and +also in the colour of her dark varnished planks. The man's shoulders and +head rose high above her gunwales; loaded with Lingard's heavy frame she +would climb sturdily the steep ridges, slide squatting into the hollows +of the sea, or, now and then, take a sedate leap over a short wave. Her +behaviour had a stout trustworthiness about it, and she reminded one of +a surefooted mountain-pony carrying over difficult ground a rider much +bigger than himself. + +Wasub wiped the thwarts, ranged the mast and sail along the side, +shipped the rowlocks. Lingard looked down at his old servant's spare +shoulders upon which the light from above fell unsteady but vivid. Wasub +worked for the comfort of his commander and his singleminded absorption +in that task flashed upon Lingard the consolation of an act of +friendliness. The elderly Malay at last lifted his head with a +deferential murmur; his wrinkled old face with half a dozen wiry hairs +pendulous at each corner of the dark lips expressed a kind of weary +satisfaction, and the slightly oblique worn eyes stole a discreet upward +glance containing a hint of some remote meaning. Lingard found himself +compelled by the justice of that obscure claim to murmur as he stepped +into the boat: + +“These are times of danger.” + +He sat down and took up the sculls. Wasub held on to the gunwale as to a +last hope of a further confidence. He had served in the brig five years. +Lingard remembered that very well. This aged figure had been intimately +associated with the brig's life and with his own, appearing silently +ready for every incident and emergency in an unquestioning expectation +of orders; symbolic of blind trust in his strength, of an unlimited +obedience to his will. Was it unlimited? + +“We shall require courage and fidelity,” added Lingard, in a tentative +tone. + +“There are those who know me,” snapped the old man, readily, as if the +words had been waiting for a long time. “Observe, Tuan. I have filled +with fresh water the little breaker in the bows.” + +“I know you, too,” said Lingard. + +“And the wind--and the sea,” ejaculated the serang, jerkily. “These +also are faithful to the strong. By Allah! I who am a pilgrim and have +listened to words of wisdom in many places, I tell you, Tuan, there is +strength in the knowledge of what is hidden in things without life, as +well as in the living men. Will Tuan be gone long?” + +“I come back in a short time--together with the rest of the whites from +over there. This is the beginning of many stratagems. Wasub! Daman, the +son of a dog, has suddenly made prisoners two of my own people. My face +is made black.” + +“Tse! Tse! What ferocity is that! One should not offer shame to a friend +or to a friend's brother lest revenge come sweeping like a flood. Yet +can an Illanun chief be other than tyrannical? My old eyes have seen +much but they never saw a tiger change its stripes. Ya-wa! The tiger can +not. This is the wisdom of us ignorant Malay men. The wisdom of white +Tuans is great. They think that by the power of many speeches the tiger +may--” He broke off and in a crisp, busy tone said: “The rudder dwells +safely under the aftermost seat should Tuan be pleased to sail the boat. +This breeze will not die away before sunrise.” Again his voice changed +as if two different souls had been flitting in and out of his body. “No, +no, kill the tiger and then the stripes may be counted without fear--one +by one, thus.” + +He pointed a frail brown finger and, abruptly, made a mirthless dry +sound as if a rattle had been sprung in his throat. + +“The wretches are many,” said Lingard. + +“Nay, Tuan. They follow their great men even as we in the brig follow +you. That is right.” + +Lingard reflected for a moment. + +“My men will follow me then,” he said. + +“They are poor calashes without sense,” commented Wasub with pitying +superiority. “Some with no more comprehension than men of the bush +freshly caught. There is Sali, the foolish son of my sister and by your +great favour appointed to mind the tiller of this ship. His stupidity is +extreme, but his eyes are good--nearly as good as mine that by praying +and much exercise can see far into the night.” + +Lingard laughed low and then looked earnestly at the serang. Above their +heads a man shook a flare over the side and a thin shower of sparks +floated downward and expired before touching the water. + +“So you can see in the night, O serang! Well, then, look and speak. +Speak! Fight--or no fight? Weapons or words? Which folly? Well, what do +you see?” + +“A darkness, a darkness,” whispered Wasub at last in a frightened tone. +“There are nights--” He shook his head and muttered. “Look. The tide has +turned. Ya, Tuan. The tide has turned.” + +Lingard looked downward where the water could be seen, gliding past the +ship's side, moving smoothly, streaked with lines of froth, across the +illumined circle thrown round the brig by the lights on her poop. +Air bubbles sparkled, lines of darkness, ripples of glitter appeared, +glided, went astern without a splash, without a trickle, without a +plaint, without a break. The unchecked gentleness of the flow captured +the eye by a subtle spell, fastened insidiously upon the mind a +disturbing sense of the irretrievable. The ebbing of the sea athwart the +lonely sheen of flames resembled the eternal ebb-tide of time; and when +at last Lingard looked up, the knowledge of that noiseless passage of +the waters produced on his mind a bewildering effect. For a moment the +speck of light lost in vast obscurity the brig, the boat, the hidden +coast, the Shallows, the very walls and roof of darkness--the seen +and the unseen alike seemed to be gliding smoothly onward through the +enormous gloom of space. Then, with a great mental effort, he brought +everything to a sudden standstill; and only the froth and bubbles went +on streaming past ceaselessly, unchecked by the power of his will. + +“The tide has turned--you say, serang? Has it--? Well, perhaps it has, +perhaps it has,” he finished, muttering to himself. + +“Truly it has. Can not Tuan see it run under his own eyes?” said Wasub +with an alarmed earnestness. “Look. Now it is in my mind that a prau +coming from amongst the southern islands, if steered cunningly in the +free set of the current, would approach the bows of this, our brig, +drifting silently as a shape without a substance.” + +“And board suddenly--is that it?” said Lingard. + +“Daman is crafty and the Illanuns are very bloodthirsty. Night is +nothing to them. They are certainly valorous. Are they not born in the +midst of fighting and are they not inspired by the evil of their hearts +even before they can speak? And their chiefs would be leading them while +you, Tuan, are going from us even now--” + +“You don't want me to go?” asked Lingard. + +For a time Wasub listened attentively to the profound silence. + +“Can we fight without a leader?” he began again. “It is the belief in +victory that gives courage. And what would poor calashes do, sons of +peasants and fishermen, freshly caught--without knowledge? They believe +in your strength--and in your power--or else--Will those whites that +came so suddenly avenge you? They are here like fish within the stakes. +Ya-wa! Who will bring the news and who will come to find the truth and +perchance to carry off your body? You go alone, Tuan!” + +“There must be no fighting. It would be a calamity,” insisted Lingard. +“There is blood that must not be spilt.” + +“Hear, Tuan!” exclaimed Wasub with heat. “The waters are running out +now.” He punctuated his speech by slight jerks at the dinghy. “The +waters go and at the appointed time they shall return. And if between +their going and coming the blood of all the men in the world were poured +into it, the sea would not rise higher at the full by the breadth of my +finger nail.” + +“But the world would not be the same. You do not see that, serang. Give +the boat a good shove.” + +“Directly,” said the old Malay and his face became impassive. “Tuan +knows when it is best to go, and death sometimes retreats before a firm +tread like a startled snake. Tuan should take a follower with him, not +a silly youth, but one who has lived--who has a steady heart--who would +walk close behind watchfully--and quietly. Yes. Quietly and with quick +eyes--like mine--perhaps with a weapon--I know how to strike.” + +Lingard looked at the wrinkled visage very near his own and into the +peering old eyes. They shone strangely. A tense eagerness was expressed +in the squatting figure leaning out toward him. On the other +side, within reach of his arm, the night stood like a wall +-discouraging--opaque--impenetrable. No help would avail. The darkness +he had to combat was too impalpable to be cleft by a blow--too dense to +be pierced by the eye; yet as if by some enchantment in the words that +made this vain offer of fidelity, it became less overpowering to his +sight, less crushing to his thought. He had a moment of pride which +soothed his heart for the space of two beats. His unreasonable and +misjudged heart, shrinking before the menace of failure, expanded freely +with a sense of generous gratitude. In the threatening dimness of his +emotions this man's offer made a point of clearness, the glimmer of +a torch held aloft in the night. It was priceless, no doubt, but +ineffectual; too small, too far, too solitary. It did not dispel the +mysterious obscurity that had descended upon his fortunes so that his +eyes could no longer see the work of his hands. The sadness of defeat +pervaded the world. + +“And what could you do, O Wasub?” he said. + +“I could always call out--'Take care, Tuan.'” + +“And then for these charm-words of mine. Hey? Turn danger aside? What? +But perchance you would die all the same. Treachery is a strong magic, +too--as you said.” + +“Yes, indeed! The order might come to your servant. But I--Wasub--the +son of a free man, a follower of Rajahs, a fugitive, a slave, a +pilgrim--diver for pearls, serang of white men's ships, I have had too +many masters. Too many. You are the last.” After a silence he said in an +almost indifferent voice: “If you go, Tuan, let us go together.” + +For a time Lingard made no sound. + +“No use,” he said at last. “No use, serang. One life is enough to pay +for a man's folly--and you have a household.” + +“I have two--Tuan; but it is a long time since I sat on the ladder of +a house to talk at ease with neighbours. Yes. Two households; one in--” + Lingard smiled faintly. “Tuan, let me follow you.” + +“No. You have said it, serang--I am alone. That is true, and alone I +shall go on this very night. But first I must bring all the white people +here. Push.” + +“Ready, Tuan? Look out!” + +Wasub's body swung over the sea with extended arms. Lingard caught up +the sculls, and as the dinghy darted away from the brig's side he had +a complete view of the lighted poop--Shaw leaning massively over the +taffrail in sulky dejection, the flare bearers erect and rigid, the +heads along the rail, the eyes staring after him above the bulwarks. The +fore-end of the brig was wrapped in a lurid and sombre mistiness; the +sullen mingling of darkness and of light; her masts pointing straight up +could be tracked by torn gleams and vanished above as if the trucks +had been tall enough to pierce the heavy mass of vapours motionless +overhead. She was beautifully precious. His loving eyes saw her floating +at rest in a wavering halo, between an invisible sky and an invisible +sea, like a miraculous craft suspended in the air. He turned his +head away as if the sight had been too much for him at the moment of +separation, and, as soon as his little boat had passed beyond the limit +of the light thrown upon the water, he perceived very low in the black +void of the west the stern lantern of the yacht shining feebly like a +star about to set, unattainable, infinitely remote--belonging to another +universe. + + + +PART IV. THE GIFT OF THE SHALLOWS + +I + +Lingard brought Mrs. Travers away from the yacht, going alone with her +in the little boat. During the bustle of the embarkment, and till the +last of the crew had left the schooner, he had remained towering and +silent by her side. It was only when the murmuring and uneasy voices +of the sailors going away in the boats had been completely lost in the +distance that his voice was heard, grave in the silence, pronouncing the +words--“Follow me.” She followed him; their footsteps rang hollow and +loud on the empty deck. At the bottom of the steps he turned round and +said very low: + +“Take care.” + +He got into the boat and held on. It seemed to him that she was +intimidated by the darkness. She felt her arm gripped firmly--“I've got +you,” he said. She stepped in, headlong, trusting herself blindly to his +grip, and sank on the stern seat catching her breath a little. She heard +a slight splash, and the indistinct side of the deserted yacht melted +suddenly into the body of the night. + +Rowing, he faced her, a hooded and cloaked shape, and above her head he +had before his eyes the gleam of the stern lantern expiring slowly on +the abandoned vessel. When it went out without a warning flicker he +could see nothing of the stranded yacht's outline. She had vanished +utterly like a dream; and the occurrences of the last twenty-four hours +seemed also to be a part of a vanished dream. The hooded and cloaked +figure was part of it, too. It spoke not; it moved not; it would vanish +presently. Lingard tried to remember Mrs. Travers' features, even as +she sat within two feet of him in the boat. He seemed to have taken +from that vanished schooner not a woman but a memory--the tormenting +recollection of a human being he would see no more. + +At every stroke of the short sculls Mrs. Travers felt the boat leap +forward with her. Lingard, to keep his direction, had to look over his +shoulder frequently--“You will be safe in the brig,” he said. She was +silent. A dream! A dream! He lay back vigorously; the water slapped +loudly against the blunt bows. The ruddy glow thrown afar by the flares +was reflected deep within the hood. The dream had a pale visage, the +memory had living eyes. + +“I had to come for you myself,” he said. + +“I expected it of you.” These were the first words he had heard her say +since they had met for the third time. + +“And I swore--before you, too--that I would never put my foot on board +your craft.” + +“It was good of you to--” she began. + +“I forgot somehow,” he said, simply. + +“I expected it of you,” she repeated. He gave three quick strokes before +he asked very gently: + +“What more do you expect?” + +“Everything,” she said. He was rounding then the stern of the brig and +had to look away. Then he turned to her. + +“And you trust me to--” he exclaimed. + +“I would like to trust you,” she interrupted, “because--” + +Above them a startled voice cried in Malay, “Captain coming.” The +strange sound silenced her. Lingard laid in his sculls and she saw +herself gliding under the high side of the brig. A dark, staring face +appeared very near her eyes, black fingers caught the gunwale of the +boat. She stood up swaying. “Take care,” said Lingard again, but this +time, in the light, did not offer to help her. She went up alone and he +followed her over the rail. + +The quarter-deck was thronged by men of two races. Lingard and Mrs. +Travers crossed it rapidly between the groups that moved out of the +way on their passage. Lingard threw open the cabin door for her, but +remained on deck to inquire about his boats. They had returned while he +was on board the yacht, and the two men in charge of them came aft to +make their reports. The boat sent north had seen nothing. The boat +which had been directed to explore the banks and islets to the south had +actually been in sight of Daman's praus. The man in charge reported +that several fires were burning on the shore, the crews of the two praus +being encamped on a sandbank. Cooking was going on. They had been near +enough to hear the voices. There was a man keeping watch on the ridge; +they knew this because they heard him shouting to the people below, by +the fires. Lingard wanted to know how they had managed to remain unseen. +“The night was our hiding place,” answered the man in his deep growling +voice. He knew nothing of any white men being in Daman's camp. Why +should there be? Rajah Hassim and the Lady, his sister, appeared +unexpectedly near his boat in their canoe. Rajah Hassim had ordered him +then in whispers to go back to the brig at once, and tell Tuan what he +had observed. Rajah Hassim said also that he would return to the brig +with more news very soon. He obeyed because the Rajah was to him a +person of authority, “having the perfect knowledge of Tuan's mind as we +all know.”--“Enough,” cried Lingard, suddenly. + +The man looked up heavily for a moment, and retreated forward without +another word. Lingard followed him with irritated eyes. A new power had +come into the world, had possessed itself of human speech, had imparted +to it a sinister irony of allusion. To be told that someone had “a +perfect knowledge of his mind” startled him and made him wince. It made +him aware that now he did not know his mind himself--that it seemed +impossible for him ever to regain that knowledge. And the new power not +only had cast its spell upon the words he had to hear, but also upon the +facts that assailed him, upon the people he saw, upon the thoughts he +had to guide, upon the feelings he had to bear. They remained what +they had ever been--the visible surface of life open in the sun to the +conquering tread of an unfettered will. Yesterday they could have been +discerned clearly, mastered and despised; but now another power had come +into the world, and had cast over them all the wavering gloom of a dark +and inscrutable purpose. + + + +II + +Recovering himself with a slight start Lingard gave the order to +extinguish all the lights in the brig. Now the transfer of the crew from +the yacht had been effected there was every advantage in the darkness. +He gave the order from instinct, it being the right thing to do in the +circumstances. His thoughts were in the cabin of his brig, where there +was a woman waiting. He put his hand over his eyes, collecting himself +as if before a great mental effort. He could hear about him the excited +murmurs of the white men whom in the morning he had so ardently desired +to have safe in his keeping. He had them there now; but accident, +ill-luck, a cursed folly, had tricked him out of the success of his +plan. He would have to go in and talk to Mrs. Travers. The idea dismayed +him. Of necessity he was not one of those men who have the mastery of +expression. To liberate his soul was for him a gigantic undertaking, +a matter of desperate effort, of doubtful success. “I must have it +out with her,” he murmured to himself as though at the prospect of +a struggle. He was uncertain of himself, of her; he was uncertain of +everything and everybody; but he was very certain he wanted to look at +her. + +At the moment he turned to the door of the cabin both flares went out +together and the black vault of the night upheld above the brig by the +fierce flames fell behind him and buried the deck in sudden darkness. +The buzz of strange voices instantly hummed louder with a startled note. +“Hallo!”--“Can't see a mortal thing”--“Well, what next?”--insisted a +voice--“I want to know what next?” + +Lingard checked himself ready to open the door and waited absurdly for +the answer as though in the hope of some suggestion. “What's up with +you? Think yourself lucky,” said somebody.--“It's all very well--for +to-night,” began the voice.--“What are you fashing yourself for?” + remonstrated the other, reasonably, “we'll get home right enough.”--“I +am not so sure; the second mate he says--” “Never mind what he says; +that 'ere man who has got this brig will see us through. The owner's +wife will talk to him--she will. Money can do a lot.” The two voices +came nearer, and spoke more distinctly, close behind Lingard. “Suppose +them blooming savages set fire to the yacht. What's to prevent +them?”--“And suppose they do. This 'ere brig's good enough to get away +in. Ain't she? Guns and all. We'll get home yet all right. What do you +say, John?” + +“I say nothing and care less,” said a third voice, peaceful and faint. + +“D'you mean to say, John, you would go to the bottom as soon as you +would go home? Come now!”--“To the bottom,” repeated the wan voice, +composedly. “Aye! That's where we all are going to, in one way or +another. The way don't matter.” + +“Ough! You would give the blues to the funny man of a blooming circus. +What would my missus say if I wasn't to turn up never at all?”--“She +would get another man; there's always plenty of fools about.” A quiet +and mirthless chuckle was heard in the pause of shocked silence. +Lingard, with his hand on the door, remained still. Further off a growl +burst out: “I do hate to be chucked in the dark aboard a strange ship. +I wonder where they keep their fresh water. Can't get any sense out of +them silly niggers. We don't seem to be more account here than a lot of +cattle. Likely as not we'll have to berth on this blooming quarter-deck +for God knows how long.” Then again very near Lingard the first voice +said, deadened discreetly--“There's something curious about this here +brig turning up sudden-like, ain't there? And that skipper of her--now? +What kind of a man is he--anyhow?” + +“Oh, he's one of them skippers going about loose. The brig's his own, I +am thinking. He just goes about in her looking for what he may pick up +honest or dishonest. My brother-in-law has served two commissions in +these seas, and was telling me awful yarns about what's going on in them +God-forsaken parts. Likely he lied, though. Them man-of-war's men are +a holy terror for yarns. Bless you, what do I care who this skipper is? +Let him do his best and don't trouble your head. You won't see him again +in your life once we get clear.” + +“And can he do anything for the owner?” asked the first voice +again.--“Can he! We can do nothing--that's one thing certain. The owner +may be lying clubbed to death this very minute for all we know. By all +accounts these savages here are a crool murdering lot. Mind you, I am +sorry for him as much as anybody.”--“Aye, aye,” muttered the other, +approvingly.--“He may not have been ready, poor man,” began again the +reasonable voice. Lingard heard a deep sigh.--“If there's anything as +can be done for him, the owner's wife she's got to fix it up with this +'ere skipper. Under Providence he may serve her turn.” + +Lingard flung open the cabin door, entered, and, with a slam, shut the +darkness out. + +“I am, under Providence, to serve your turn,” he said after standing +very still for a while, with his eyes upon Mrs. Travers. The brig's +swing-lamp lighted the cabin with an extraordinary brilliance. Mrs. +Travers had thrown back her hood. The radiant brightness of the little +place enfolded her so close, clung to her with such force that it might +have been part of her very essence. There were no shadows on her face; +it was fiercely lighted, hermetically closed, of impenetrable fairness. + +Lingard looked in unconscious ecstasy at this vision, so amazing that it +seemed to have strayed into his existence from beyond the limits of +the conceivable. It was impossible to guess her thoughts, to know her +feelings, to understand her grief or her joy. But she knew all that +was at the bottom of his heart. He had told her himself, impelled by +a sudden thought, going to her in darkness, in desperation, in absurd +hope, in incredible trust. He had told her what he had told no one +on earth, except perhaps, at times, himself, but without words--less +clearly. He had told her and she had listened in silence. She had +listened leaning over the rail till at last her breath was on his +forehead. He remembered this and had a moment of soaring pride and of +unutterable dismay. He spoke, with an effort. + +“You've heard what I said just now? Here I am.” + +“Do you expect me to say something?” she asked. “Is it necessary? Is it +possible?” + +“No,” he answered. “It is said already. I know what you expect from me. +Everything.” + +“Everything,” she repeated, paused, and added much lower, “It is the +very least.” He seemed to lose himself in thought. + +“It is extraordinary,” he reflected half aloud, “how I dislike that +man.” She leaned forward a little. + +“Remember those two men are innocent,” she began. + +“So am I--innocent. So is everybody in the world. Have you ever met a +man or a woman that was not? They've got to take their chances all the +same.” + +“I expect you to be generous,” she said. + +“To you?” + +“Well--to me. Yes--if you like to me alone.” + +“To you alone! And you know everything!” His voice dropped. “You want +your happiness.” + +She made an impatient movement and he saw her clench the hand that was +lying on the table. + +“I want my husband back,” she said, sharply. + +“Yes. Yes. It's what I was saying. Same thing,” he muttered with strange +placidity. She looked at him searchingly. He had a large simplicity that +filled one's vision. She found herself slowly invaded by this masterful +figure. He was not mediocre. Whatever he might have been he was not +mediocre. The glamour of a lawless life stretched over him like the sky +over the sea down on all sides to an unbroken horizon. Within, he moved +very lonely, dangerous and romantic. There was in him crime, sacrifice, +tenderness, devotion, and the madness of a fixed idea. She thought with +wonder that of all the men in the world he was indeed the one she knew +the best and yet she could not foresee the speech or the act of the next +minute. She said distinctly: + +“You've given me your confidence. Now I want you to give me the life of +these two men. The life of two men whom you do not know, whom to-morrow +you will forget. It can be done. It must be done. You cannot refuse them +to me.” She waited. + +“Why can't I refuse?” he whispered, gloomily, without looking up. + +“You ask!” she exclaimed. He made no sign. He seemed at a loss for +words. + +“You ask . . . Ah!” she cried. “Don't you see that I have no kingdoms to +conquer?” + + + +III + +A slight change of expression which passed away almost directly showed +that Lingard heard the passionate cry wrung from her by the distress of +her mind. He made no sign. She perceived clearly the extreme difficulty +of her position. The situation was dangerous; not so much the facts +of it as the feeling of it. At times it appeared no more actual than a +tradition; and she thought of herself as of some woman in a ballad, who +has to beg for the lives of innocent captives. To save the lives of Mr. +Travers and Mr. d'Alcacer was more than a duty. It was a necessity, it +was an imperative need, it was an irresistible mission. Yet she had to +reflect upon the horrors of a cruel and obscure death before she could +feel for them the pity they deserved. It was when she looked at Lingard +that her heart was wrung by an extremity of compassion. The others were +pitiful, but he, the victim of his own extravagant impulses, appeared +tragic, fascinating, and culpable. Lingard lifted his head. Whispers +were heard at the door and Hassim followed by Immada entered the cabin. + +Mrs. Travers looked at Lingard, because of all the faces in the cabin +his was the only one that was intelligible to her. Hassim began to speak +at once, and when he ceased Immada's deep sigh was heard in the sudden +silence. Then Lingard looked at Mrs. Travers and said: + +“The gentlemen are alive. Rajah Hassim here has seen them less than two +hours ago, and so has the girl. They are alive and unharmed, so far. And +now. . . .” + +He paused. Mrs. Travers, leaning on her elbow, shaded her eyes under the +glint of suspended thunderbolts. + +“You must hate us,” she murmured. + +“Hate you,” he repeated with, as she fancied, a tinge of disdain in his +tone. “No. I hate myself.” + +“Why yourself?” she asked, very low. + +“For not knowing my mind,” he answered. “For not knowing my mind. For +not knowing what it is that's got hold of me since--since this morning. +I was angry then. . . . Nothing but very angry. . . .” + +“And now?” she murmured. + +“I am . . . unhappy,” he said. After a moment of silence which gave to +Mrs. Travers the time to wonder how it was that this man had succeeded +in penetrating into the very depths of her compassion, he hit the table +such a blow that all the heavy muskets seemed to jump a little. + +Mrs. Travers heard Hassim pronounce a few words earnestly, and a moan of +distress from Immada. + +“I believed in you before you . . . before you gave me your confidence,” + she began. “You could see that. Could you not?” + +He looked at her fixedly. “You are not the first that believed in me,” + he said. + +Hassim, lounging with his back against the closed door, kept his eye on +him watchfully and Immada's dark and sorrowful eyes rested on the face +of the white woman. Mrs. Travers felt as though she were engaged in +a contest with them; in a struggle for the possession of that man's +strength and of that man's devotion. When she looked up at Lingard she +saw on his face--which should have been impassive or exalted, the face +of a stern leader or the face of a pitiless dreamer--an expression +of utter forgetfulness. He seemed to be tasting the delight of some +profound and amazing sensation. And suddenly in the midst of her appeal +to his generosity, in the middle of a phrase, Mrs. Travers faltered, +becoming aware that she was the object of his contemplation. + +“Do not! Do not look at that woman!” cried Immada. “O! Master--look +away. . . .” Hassim threw one arm round the girl's neck. Her voice sank. +“O! Master--look at us.” Hassim, drawing her to himself, covered her +lips with his hand. She struggled a little like a snared bird and +submitted, hiding her face on his shoulder, very quiet, sobbing without +noise. + +“What do they say to you?” asked Mrs. Travers with a faint and pained +smile. “What can they say? It is intolerable to think that their words +which have no meaning for me may go straight to your heart. . . .” + +“Look away,” whispered Lingard without making the slightest movement. + +Mrs. Travers sighed. + +“Yes, it is very hard to think that I who want to touch you cannot make +myself understood as well as they. And yet I speak the language of your +childhood, the language of the man for whom there is no hope but in your +generosity.” + +He shook his head. She gazed at him anxiously for a moment. “In your +memories then,” she said and was surprised by the expression of profound +sadness that over-spread his attentive face. + +“Do you know what I remember?” he said. “Do you want to know?” She +listened with slightly parted lips. “I will tell you. Poverty, hard +work--and death,” he went on, very quietly. “And now I've told you, and +you don't know. That's how it is between us. You talk to me--I talk to +you--and we don't know.” + +Her eyelids dropped. + +“What can I find to say?” she went on. “What can I do? I mustn't +give in. Think! Amongst your memories there must be some face--some +voice--some name, if nothing more. I can not believe that there is +nothing but bitterness.” + +“There's no bitterness,” he murmured. + +“O! Brother, my heart is faint with fear,” whispered Immada. Lingard +turned swiftly to that whisper. + +“Then, they are to be saved,” exclaimed Mrs. Travers. “Ah, I knew. . . .” + +“Bear thy fear in patience,” said Hassim, rapidly, to his sister. + +“They are to be saved. You have said it,” Lingard pronounced aloud, +suddenly. He felt like a swimmer who, in the midst of superhuman efforts +to reach the shore, perceives that the undertow is taking him to sea. He +would go with the mysterious current; he would go swiftly--and see the +end, the fulfilment both blissful and terrible. + +With this state of exaltation in which he saw himself in some +incomprehensible way always victorious, whatever might befall, there was +mingled a tenacity of purpose. He could not sacrifice his intention, +the intention of years, the intention of his life; he could no more +part with it and exist than he could cut out his heart and live. The +adventurer held fast to his adventure which made him in his own sight +exactly what he was. + +He considered the problem with cool audacity, backed by a belief in +his own power. It was not these two men he had to save; he had to save +himself! And looked upon in this way the situation appeared familiar. + +Hassim had told him the two white men had been taken by their captors +to Daman's camp. The young Rajah, leaving his sister in the canoe, had +landed on the sand and had crept to the very edge of light thrown by the +fires by which the Illanuns were cooking. Daman was sitting apart by a +larger blaze. Two praus rode in shallow water near the sandbank; on the +ridge, a sentry walked watching the lights of the brig; the camp was +full of quiet whispers. Hassim returned to his canoe, then he and his +sister, paddling cautiously round the anchored praus, in which women's +voices could be heard, approached the other end of the camp. The light +of the big blaze there fell on the water and the canoe skirted it +without a splash, keeping in the night. Hassim, landing for the second +time, crept again close to the fires. Each prau had, according to the +customs of the Illanun rovers when on a raiding expedition, a smaller +war-boat and these being light and manageable were hauled up on the sand +not far from the big blaze; they sat high on the shelving shore throwing +heavy shadows. Hassim crept up toward the largest of them and then +standing on tiptoe could look at the camp across the gunwales. The +confused talking of the men was like the buzz of insects in a forest. +A child wailed on board one of the praus and a woman hailed the shore +shrilly. Hassim unsheathed his kris and held it in his hand. + +Very soon--he said--he saw the two white men walking amongst the fires. +They waved their arms and talked together, stopping from time to time; +they approached Daman; and the short man with the hair on his face +addressed him earnestly and at great length. Daman sat cross-legged upon +a little carpet with an open Koran on his knees and chanted the versets +swaying to and fro with his eyes shut. + +The Illanun chiefs reclining wrapped in cloaks on the ground raised +themselves on their elbows to look at the whites. When the short white +man finished speaking he gazed down at them for a while, then stamped +his foot. He looked angry because no one understood him. Then suddenly +he looked very sad; he covered his face with his hands; the tall man put +his hand on the short man's shoulder and whispered into his ear. The dry +wood of the fires crackled, the Illanuns slept, cooked, talked, but +with their weapons at hand. An armed man or two came up to stare at the +prisoners and then returned to their fire. The two whites sank down in +the sand in front of Daman. Their clothes were soiled, there was sand in +their hair. The tall man had lost his hat; the glass in the eye of the +short man glittered very much; his back was muddy and one sleeve of his +coat torn up to the elbow. + +All this Hassim saw and then retreated undetected to that part of +the shore where Immada waited for him, keeping the canoe afloat. The +Illanuns, trusting to the sea, kept very bad watch on their prisoners, +and had he been able to speak with them Hassim thought an escape could +have been effected. But they could not have understood his signs and +still less his words. He consulted with his sister. Immada murmured +sadly; at their feet the ripple broke with a mournful sound no louder +than their voices. + +Hassim's loyalty was unshaken, but now it led him on not in the bright +light of hopes but in the deepened shadow of doubt. He wanted to obtain +information for his friend who was so powerful and who perhaps would +know how to be constant. When followed by Immada he approached the camp +again--this time openly--their appearance did not excite much surprise. +It was well known to the Chiefs of the Illanuns that the Rajah for whom +they were to fight--if God so willed--was upon the shoals looking out +for the coming of the white man who had much wealth and a store of +weapons and who was his servant. Daman, who alone understood the exact +relation, welcomed them with impenetrable gravity. Hassim took his +seat on the carpet at his right hand. A consultation was being held +half-aloud in short and apparently careless sentences, with long +intervals of silence between. Immada, nestling close to her brother, +leaned one arm on his shoulder and listened with serious attention and +with outward calm as became a princess of Wajo accustomed to consort +with warriors and statesmen in moments of danger and in the hours of +deliberation. Her heart was beating rapidly, and facing her the silent +white men stared at these two known faces, as if across a gulf. +Four Illanun chiefs sat in a row. Their ample cloaks fell from their +shoulders, and lay behind them on the sand in which their four long +lances were planted upright, each supporting a small oblong shield of +wood, carved on the edges and stained a dull purple. Daman stretched out +his arm and pointed at the prisoners. The faces of the white men were +very quiet. Daman looked at them mutely and ardently, as if consumed by +an unspeakable longing. + +The Koran, in a silk cover, hung on his breast by a crimson cord. It +rested over his heart and, just below, the plain buffalo-horn handle of +a kris, stuck into the twist of his sarong, protruded ready to his hand. +The clouds thickening over the camp made the darkness press heavily on +the glow of scattered fires. “There is blood between me and the whites,” + he pronounced, violently. The Illanun chiefs remained impassive. There +was blood between them and all mankind. Hassim remarked dispassionately +that there was one white man with whom it would be wise to remain +friendly; and besides, was not Daman his friend already? Daman smiled +with half-closed eyes. He was that white man's friend, not his slave. +The Illanuns playing with their sword-handles grunted assent. Why, asked +Daman, did these strange whites travel so far from their country? The +great white man whom they all knew did not want them. No one wanted +them. Evil would follow in their footsteps. They were such men as are +sent by rulers to examine the aspects of far-off countries and talk of +peace and make treaties. Such is the beginning of great sorrows. The +Illanuns were far from their country, where no white man dared to come, +and therefore they were free to seek their enemies upon the open waters. +They had found these two who had come to see. He asked what they had +come to see? Was there nothing to look at in their own country? + +He talked in an ironic and subdued tone. The scattered heaps of embers +glowed a deeper red; the big blaze of the chief's fire sank low and +grew dim before he ceased. Straight-limbed figures rose, sank, moved, +whispered on the beach. Here and there a spear-blade caught a red gleam +above the black shape of a head. + +“The Illanuns seek booty on the sea,” cried Daman. “Their fathers and +the fathers of their fathers have done the same, being fearless like +those who embrace death closely.” + +A low laugh was heard. “We strike and go,” said an exulting voice. “We +live and die with our weapons in our hands.” The Illanuns leaped to +their feet. They stamped on the sand, flourishing naked blades over the +heads of their prisoners. A tumult arose. + +When it subsided Daman stood up in a cloak that wrapped him to his feet +and spoke again giving advice. + +The white men sat on the sand and turned their eyes from face to face +as if trying to understand. It was agreed to send the prisoners into the +lagoon where their fate would be decided by the ruler of the land. The +Illanuns only wanted to plunder the ship. They did not care what became +of the men. “But Daman cares,” remarked Hassim to Lingard, when relating +what took place. “He cares, O Tuan!” + +Hassim had learned also that the Settlement was in a state of unrest +as if on the eve of war. Belarab with his followers was encamped by his +father's tomb in the hollow beyond the cultivated fields. His stockade +was shut up and no one appeared on the verandahs of the houses within. +You could tell there were people inside only by the smoke of the cooking +fires. Tengga's followers meantime swaggered about the Settlement +behaving tyrannically to those who were peaceable. A great madness had +descended upon the people, a madness strong as the madness of love, the +madness of battle, the desire to spill blood. A strange fear also had +made them wild. The big smoke seen that morning above the forests of +the coast was some agreed signal from Tengga to Daman but what it meant +Hassim had been unable to find out. He feared for Jorgenson's safety. +He said that while one of the war-boats was being made ready to take the +captives into the lagoon, he and his sister left the camp quietly and +got away in their canoe. The flares of the brig, reflected in a faint +loom upon the clouds, enabled them to make straight for the vessel +across the banks. Before they had gone half way these flames went out +and the darkness seemed denser than any he had known before. But it was +no greater than the darkness of his mind--he added. He had looked upon +the white men sitting unmoved and silent under the edge of swords; he +had looked at Daman, he had heard bitter words spoken; he was looking +now at his white friend--and the issue of events he could not see. One +can see men's faces but their fate, which is written on their foreheads, +one cannot see. He had no more to say, and what he had spoken was true +in every word. + + + +IV + +Lingard repeated it all to Mrs. Travers. Her courage, her intelligence, +the quickness of her apprehension, the colour of her eyes and the +intrepidity of her glance evoked in him an admiring enthusiasm. She +stood by his side! Every moment that fatal illusion clung closer to his +soul--like a garment of light--like an armour of fire. + +He was unwilling to face the facts. All his life--till that day--had +been a wrestle with events in the daylight of this world, but now he +could not bring his mind to the consideration of his position. It +was Mrs. Travers who, after waiting awhile, forced on him the pain +of thought by wanting to know what bearing Hassim's news had upon the +situation. + +Lingard had not the slightest doubt Daman wanted him to know what had +been done with the prisoners. That is why Daman had welcomed Hassim, and +let him hear the decision and had allowed him to leave the camp on the +sandbank. There could be only one object in this; to let him, Lingard, +know that the prisoners had been put out of his reach as long as he +remained in his brig. Now this brig was his strength. To make him leave +his brig was like removing his hand from his sword. + +“Do you understand what I mean, Mrs. Travers?” he asked. “They are +afraid of me because I know how to fight this brig. They fear the +brig because when I am on board her, the brig and I are one. An armed +man--don't you see? Without the brig I am disarmed, without me she can't +strike. So Daman thinks. He does not know everything but he is not far +off the truth. He says to himself that if I man the boats to go after +these whites into the lagoon then his Illanuns will get the yacht for +sure--and perhaps the brig as well. If I stop here with my brig he holds +the two white men and can talk as big as he pleases. Belarab believes in +me no doubt, but Daman trusts no man on earth. He simply does not know +how to trust any one, because he is always plotting himself. He came to +help me and as soon as he found I was not there he began to plot with +Tengga. Now he has made a move--a clever move; a cleverer move than he +thinks. Why? I'll tell you why. Because I, Tom Lingard, haven't a single +white man aboard this brig I can trust. Not one. I only just discovered +my mate's got the notion I am some kind of pirate. And all your yacht +people think the same. It is as though you had brought a curse on me +in your yacht. Nobody believes me. Good God! What have I come to! Even +those two--look at them--I say look at them! By all the stars they doubt +me! Me! . . .” + +He pointed at Hassim and Immada. The girl seemed frightened. Hassim +looked on calm and intelligent with inexhaustible patience. Lingard's +voice fell suddenly. + +“And by heavens they may be right. Who knows? You? Do you know? They +have waited for years. Look. They are waiting with heavy hearts. Do you +think that I don't care? Ought I to have kept it all in--told no one--no +one--not even you? Are they waiting for what will never come now?” + +Mrs. Travers rose and moved quickly round the table. “Can we give +anything to this--this Daman or these other men? We could give them more +than they could think of asking. I--my husband. . . .” + +“Don't talk to me of your husband,” he said, roughly. “You don't know +what you are doing.” She confronted the sombre anger of his eyes--“But I +must,” she asserted with heat.--“Must,” he mused, noticing that she was +only half a head less tall than himself. “Must! Oh, yes. Of course, you +must. Must! Yes. But I don't want to hear. Give! What can you give? You +may have all the treasures of the world for all I know. No! You can't +give anything. . . .” + +“I was thinking of your difficulty when I spoke,” she interrupted. His +eyes wandered downward following the line of her shoulder.--“Of me--of +me!” he repeated. + +All this was said almost in whispers. The sound of slow footsteps was +heard on deck above their heads. Lingard turned his face to the open +skylight. + +“On deck there! Any wind?” + +All was still for a moment. Somebody above answered in a leisurely tone: + +“A steady little draught from the northward.” + +Then after a pause added in a mutter: + +“Pitch dark.” + +“Aye, dark enough,” murmured Lingard. He must do something. Now. At +once. The world was waiting. The world full of hopes and fear. +What should he do? Instead of answering that question he traced the +ungleaming coils of her twisted hair and became fascinated by a stray +lock at her neck. What should he do? No one to leave his brig to. The +voice that had answered his question was Carter's voice. “He is hanging +about keeping his eye on me,” he said to Mrs. Travers. She shook her +head and tried to smile. The man above coughed discreetly. “No,” said +Lingard, “you must understand that you have nothing to give.” + +The man on deck who seemed to have lingered by the skylight was heard +saying quietly, “I am at hand if you want me, Mrs. Travers.” Hassim and +Immada looked up. “You see,” exclaimed Lingard. “What did I tell you? +He's keeping his eye on me! On board my own ship. Am I dreaming? Am I in +a fever? Tell him to come down,” he said after a pause. Mrs. Travers +did so and Lingard thought her voice very commanding and very sweet. +“There's nothing in the world I love so much as this brig,” he went on. +“Nothing in the world. If I lost her I would have no standing room on +the earth for my feet. You don't understand this. You can't.” + +Carter came in and shut the cabin door carefully. He looked with +serenity at everyone in turn. + +“All quiet?” asked Lingard. + +“Quiet enough if you like to call it so,” he answered. “But if you only +put your head outside the door you'll hear them all on the quarter-deck +snoring against each other, as if there were no wives at home and no +pirates at sea.” + +“Look here,” said Lingard. “I found out that I can't trust my mate.” + +“Can't you?” drawled Carter. “I am not exactly surprised. I must say +_he_ does not snore but I believe it is because he is too crazy to +sleep. He waylaid me on the poop just now and said something about evil +communications corrupting good manners. Seems to me I've heard that +before. Queer thing to say. He tried to make it out somehow that if he +wasn't corrupt it wasn't your fault. As if this was any concern of mine. +He's as mad as he's fat--or else he puts it on.” Carter laughed a little +and leaned his shoulders against a bulkhead. + +Lingard gazed at the woman who expected so much from him and in the +light she seemed to shed he saw himself leading a column of armed boats +to the attack of the Settlement. He could burn the whole place to the +ground and drive every soul of them into the bush. He could! And +there was a surprise, a shock, a vague horror at the thought of the +destructive power of his will. He could give her ever so many lives. He +had seen her yesterday, and it seemed to him he had been all his life +waiting for her to make a sign. She was very still. He pondered a plan +of attack. He saw smoke and flame--and next moment he saw himself alone +amongst shapeless ruins with the whispers, with the sigh and moan of the +Shallows in his ears. He shuddered, and shaking his hand: + +“No! I cannot give you all those lives!” he cried. + +Then, before Mrs. Travers could guess the meaning of this outburst, he +declared that as the two captives must be saved he would go alone into +the lagoon. He could not think of using force. “You understand why,” he +said to Mrs. Travers and she whispered a faint “Yes.” He would run the +risk alone. His hope was in Belarab being able to see where his true +interest lay. “If I can only get at him I would soon make him see,” he +mused aloud. “Haven't I kept his power up for these two years past? And +he knows it, too. He feels it.” Whether he would be allowed to reach +Belarab was another matter. Lingard lost himself in deep thought. “He +would not dare,” he burst out. Mrs. Travers listened with parted lips. +Carter did not move a muscle of his youthful and self-possessed face; +only when Lingard, turning suddenly, came up close to him and asked with +a red flash of eyes and in a lowered voice, “Could you fight this brig?” + something like a smile made a stir amongst the hairs of his little fair +moustache. + +“'Could I?” he said. “I could try, anyhow.” He paused, and added hardly +above his breath, “For the lady--of course.” + +Lingard seemed staggered as though he had been hit in the chest. “I was +thinking of the brig,” he said, gently. + +“Mrs. Travers would be on board,” retorted Carter. + +“What! on board. Ah yes; on board. Where else?” stammered Lingard. + +Carter looked at him in amazement. “Fight! You ask!” he said, slowly. +“You just try me.” + +“I shall,” ejaculated Lingard. He left the cabin calling out “serang!” A +thin cracked voice was heard immediately answering, “Tuan!” and the door +slammed to. + +“You trust him, Mrs. Travers?” asked Carter, rapidly. + +“You do not--why?” she answered. + +“I can't make him out. If he was another kind of man I would say he was +drunk,” said Carter. “Why is he here at all--he, and this brig of his? +Excuse my boldness--but have you promised him anything?” + +“I--I promised!” exclaimed Mrs. Travers in a bitter tone which silenced +Carter for a moment. + +“So much the better,” he said at last. “Let him show what he can do +first and . . .” + +“Here! Take this,” said Lingard, who re-entered the cabin fumbling about +his neck. Carter mechanically extended his hand. + +“What's this for?” he asked, looking at a small brass key attached to a +thin chain. + +“Powder magazine. Trap door under the table. The man who has this key +commands the brig while I am away. The serang understands. You have her +very life in your hand there.” + +Carter looked at the small key lying in his half-open palm. + +“I was just telling Mrs. Travers I didn't trust you--not +altogether. . . .” + +“I know all about it,” interrupted Lingard, contemptuously. “You carry +a blamed pistol in your pocket to blow my brains out--don't you? What's +that to me? I am thinking of the brig. I think I know your sort. You +will do.” + +“Well, perhaps I might,” mumbled Carter, modestly. + +“Don't be rash,” said Lingard, anxiously. “If you've got to fight use +your head as well as your hands. If there's a breeze fight under way. If +they should try to board in a calm, trust to the small arms to hold them +off. Keep your head and--” He looked intensely into Carter's eyes; his +lips worked without a sound as though he had been suddenly struck dumb. +“Don't think about me. What's that to you who I am? Think of the ship,” + he burst out. “Don't let her go!--Don't let her go!” The passion in his +voice impressed his hearers who for a time preserved a profound silence. + +“All right,” said Carter at last. “I will stick to your brig as though +she were my own; but I would like to see clear through all this. Look +here--you are going off somewhere? Alone, you said?” + +“Yes. Alone.” + +“Very well. Mind, then, that you don't come back with a crowd of those +brown friends of yours--or by the Heavens above us I won't let you come +within hail of your own ship. Am I to keep this key?” + +“Captain Lingard,” said Mrs. Travers suddenly. “Would it not be better +to tell him everything?” + +“Tell him everything?” repeated Lingard. “Everything! Yesterday it might +have been done. Only yesterday! Yesterday, did I say? Only six hours +ago--only six hours ago I had something to tell. You heard it. And now +it's gone. Tell him! There's nothing to tell any more.” He remained for +a time with bowed head, while before him Mrs. Travers, who had begun a +gesture of protest, dropped her arms suddenly. In a moment he looked up +again. + +“Keep the key,” he said, calmly, “and when the time comes step forward +and take charge. I am satisfied.” + +“I would like to see clear through all this though,” muttered Carter +again. “And for how long are you leaving us, Captain?” Lingard made no +answer. Carter waited awhile. “Come, sir,” he urged. “I ought to have +some notion. What is it? Two, three days?” Lingard started. + +“Days,” he repeated. “Ah, days. What is it you want to know? Two . . . +three--what did the old fellow say--perhaps for life.” This was spoken +so low that no one but Carter heard the last words.--“Do you mean it?” + he murmured. Lingard nodded.--“Wait as long as you can--then go,” he +said in the same hardly audible voice. “Go where?”--“Where you like, +nearest port, any port.”--“Very good. That's something plain at any +rate,” commented the young man with imperturbable good humour. + +“I go, O Hassim!” began Lingard and the Malay made a slow inclination of +the head which he did not raise again till Lingard had ceased speaking. +He betrayed neither surprise nor any other emotion while Lingard in a +few concise and sharp sentences made him acquainted with his purpose to +bring about singlehanded the release of the prisoners. When Lingard had +ended with the words: “And you must find a way to help me in the time of +trouble, O Rajah Hassim,” he looked up and said: + +“Good. You never asked me for anything before.” + +He smiled at his white friend. There was something subtle in the smile +and afterward an added firmness in the repose of the lips. Immada moved +a step forward. She looked at Lingard with terror in her black and +dilated eyes. She exclaimed in a voice whose vibration startled the +hearts of all the hearers with an indefinable sense of alarm, “He will +perish, Hassim! He will perish alone!” + +“No,” said Hassim. “Thy fear is as vain to-night as it was at sunrise. +He shall not perish alone.” + +Her eyelids dropped slowly. From her veiled eyes the tears fell, +vanishing in the silence. Lingard's forehead became furrowed by folds +that seemed to contain an infinity of sombre thoughts. “Remember, O +Hassim, that when I promised you to take you back to your country you +promised me to be a friend to all white men. A friend to all whites who +are of my people, forever.” + +“My memory is good, O Tuan,” said Hassim; “I am not yet back in my +country, but is not everyone the ruler of his own heart? Promises made +by a man of noble birth live as long as the speaker endures.” + +“Good-bye,” said Lingard to Mrs. Travers. “You will be safe here.” He +looked all around the cabin. “I leave you,” he began again and stopped +short. Mrs. Travers' hand, resting lightly on the edge of the table, +began to tremble. “It's for you . . . Yes. For you alone . . . and it +seems it can't be. . . .” + +It seemed to him that he was saying good-bye to all the world, that +he was taking a last leave of his own self. Mrs. Travers did not say a +word, but Immada threw herself between them and cried: + +“You are a cruel woman! You are driving him away from where his strength +is. You put madness into his heart, O! Blind--without pity--without +shame! . . .” + +“Immada,” said Hassim's calm voice. Nobody moved. + +“What did she say to me?” faltered Mrs. Travers and again repeated in a +voice that sounded hard, “What did she say?” + +“Forgive her,” said Lingard. “Her fears are for me . . .”--“It's about +your going?” Mrs. Travers interrupted, swiftly. + +“Yes, it is--and you must forgive her.” He had turned away his eyes with +something that resembled embarrassment but suddenly he was assailed by +an irresistible longing to look again at that woman. At the moment of +parting he clung to her with his glance as a man holds with his hands +a priceless and disputed possession. The faint blush that overspread +gradually Mrs. Travers' features gave her face an air of extraordinary +and startling animation. + +“The danger you run?” she asked, eagerly. He repelled the suggestion by +a slighting gesture of the hand.--“Nothing worth looking at twice. Don't +give it a thought,” he said. “I've been in tighter places.” He clapped +his hands and waited till he heard the cabin door open behind his back. +“Steward, my pistols.” The mulatto in slippers, aproned to the chin, +glided through the cabin with unseeing eyes as though for him no one +there had existed. . . .--“Is it my heart that aches so?” Mrs. Travers +asked herself, contemplating Lingard's motionless figure. “How long will +this sensation of dull pain last? Will it last forever. . . .”--“How +many changes of clothes shall I put up, sir?” asked the steward, while +Lingard took the pistols from him and eased the hammers after putting +on fresh caps.--“I will take nothing this time, steward.” He received in +turn from the mulatto's hands a red silk handkerchief, a pocket book, a +cigar-case. He knotted the handkerchief loosely round his throat; it +was evident he was going through the routine of every departure for +the shore; he even opened the cigar-case to see whether it had been +filled.--“Hat, sir,” murmured the half-caste. Lingard flung it on his +head.--“Take your orders from this lady, steward--till I come back. The +cabin is hers--do you hear?” He sighed ready to go and seemed unable to +lift a foot.--“I am coming with you,” declared Mrs. Travers suddenly in +a tone of unalterable decision. He did not look at her; he did not even +look up; he said nothing, till after Carter had cried: “You can't, Mrs. +Travers!”--when without budging he whispered to himself:--“Of course.” + Mrs. Travers had pulled already the hood of her cloak over her head +and her face within the dark cloth had turned an intense and unearthly +white, in which the violet of her eyes appeared unfathomably mysterious. +Carter started forward.--“You don't know this man,” he almost shouted. + +“I do know him,” she said, and before the reproachfully unbelieving +attitude of the other she added, speaking slowly and with emphasis: +“There is not, I verily believe, a single thought or act of his life +that I don't know.”--“It's true--it's true,” muttered Lingard to +himself. Carter threw up his arms with a groan. “Stand back,” said a +voice that sounded to him like a growl of thunder, and he felt a grip +on his hand which seemed to crush every bone. He jerked it away.--“Mrs. +Travers! stay,” he cried. They had vanished through the open door and +the sound of their footsteps had already died away. Carter turned about +bewildered as if looking for help.--“Who is he, steward? Who in the name +of all the mad devils is he?” he asked, wildly. He was confounded by the +cold and philosophical tone of the answer:--“'Tain't my place to trouble +about that, sir--nor yours I guess.”--“Isn't it!” shouted Carter. “Why, +he has carried the lady off.” The steward was looking critically at +the lamp and after a while screwed the light down.--“That's better,” he +mumbled.--“Good God! What is a fellow to do?” continued Carter, looking +at Hassim and Immada who were whispering together and gave him only an +absent glance. He rushed on deck and was struck blind instantly by the +night that seemed to have been lying in wait for him; he stumbled over +something soft, kicked something hard, flung himself on the rail. “Come +back,” he cried. “Come back. Captain! Mrs. Travers!--or let me come, +too.” + +He listened. The breeze blew cool against his cheek. A black bandage +seemed to lie over his eyes. “Gone,” he groaned, utterly crushed. +And suddenly he heard Mrs. Travers' voice remote in the depths of +the night.--“Defend the brig,” it said, and these words, pronouncing +themselves in the immensity of a lightless universe, thrilled every +fibre of his body by the commanding sadness of their tone. “Defend, +defend the brig.” . . . “I am damned if I do,” shouted Carter in +despair. “Unless you come back! . . . Mrs. Travers!” + +“. . . as though--I were--on board--myself,” went on the rising +cadence of the voice, more distant now, a marvel of faint and imperious +clearness. + +Carter shouted no more; he tried to make out the boat for a time, and +when, giving it up, he leaped down from the rail, the heavy obscurity +of the brig's main deck was agitated like a sombre pool by his jump, +swayed, eddied, seemed to break up. Blotches of darkness recoiled, +drifted away, bare feet shuffled hastily, confused murmurs died out. +“Lascars,” he muttered, “The crew is all agog.” Afterward he listened +for a moment to the faintly tumultuous snores of the white men sleeping +in rows, with their heads under the break of the poop. Somewhere +about his feet, the yacht's black dog, invisible, and chained to a +deck-ringbolt, whined, rattled the thin links, pattered with his claws +in his distress at the unfamiliar surroundings, begging for the charity +of human notice. Carter stooped impulsively, and was met by a startling +lick in the face.--“Hallo, boy!” He thumped the thick curly sides, +stroked the smooth head--“Good boy, Rover. Down. Lie down, dog. You +don't know what to make of it--do you, boy?” The dog became still as +death. “Well, neither do I,” muttered Carter. But such natures are +helped by a cheerful contempt for the intricate and endless suggestions +of thought. He told himself that he would soon see what was to come of +it, and dismissed all speculation. Had he been a little older he would +have felt that the situation was beyond his grasp; but he was too +young to see it whole and in a manner detached from himself. All these +inexplicable events filled him with deep concern--but then on the other +hand he had the key of the magazine and he could not find it in his +heart to dislike Lingard. He was positive about this at last, and to +know that much after the discomfort of an inward conflict went a long +way toward a solution. When he followed Shaw into the cabin he could not +repress a sense of enjoyment or hide a faint and malicious smile. + +“Gone away--did you say? And carried off the lady with him?” discoursed +Shaw very loud in the doorway. “Did he? Well, I am not surprised. What +can you expect from a man like that, who leaves his ship in an open +roadstead without--I won't say orders--but without as much as a single +word to his next in command? And at night at that! That just shows you +the kind of man. Is this the way to treat a chief mate? I apprehend he +was riled at the little al-ter-cation we had just before you came on +board. I told him a truth or two--but--never mind. There's the law and +that's enough for me. I am captain as long as he is out of the ship, and +if his address before very long is not in one of Her Majesty's jails or +other I au-tho-rize you to call me a Dutchman. You mark my words.” + +He walked in masterfully, sat down and surveyed the cabin in a leisurely +and autocratic manner; but suddenly his eyes became stony with amazement +and indignation; he pointed a fat and trembling forefinger. + +“Niggers,” he said, huskily. “In the cuddy! In the cuddy!” He appeared +bereft of speech for a time. + +Since he entered the cabin Hassim had been watching him in thoughtful +and expectant silence. “I can't have it,” he continued with genuine +feeling in his voice. “Damme! I've too much respect for myself.” He rose +with heavy deliberation; his eyes bulged out in a severe and +dignified stare. “Out you go!” he bellowed; suddenly, making a step +forward.--“Great Scott! What are you up to, mister?” asked in a tone of +dispassionate surprise the steward whose head appeared in the doorway. +“These are the Captain's friends.” “Show me a man's friends and . . .” + began Shaw, dogmatically, but abruptly passed into the tone of +admonition. “You take your mug out of the way, bottle-washer. They ain't +friends of mine. I ain't a vagabond. I know what's due to myself. Quit!” + he hissed, fiercely. Hassim, with an alert movement, grasped the handle +of his kris. Shaw puffed out his cheeks and frowned.--“Look out! He +will stick you like a prize pig,” murmured Carter without moving +a muscle. Shaw looked round helplessly.--“And you would enjoy the +fun--wouldn't you?” he said with slow bitterness. Carter's distant +non-committal smile quite overwhelmed him by its horrid frigidity. +Extreme despondency replaced the proper feeling of racial pride in the +primitive soul of the mate. “My God! What luck! What have I done to fall +amongst that lot?” he groaned, sat down, and took his big grey head in +his hands. Carter drew aside to make room for Immada, who, in obedience +to a whisper from her brother, sought to leave the cabin. She passed +out after an instant of hesitation, during which she looked up at Carter +once. Her brother, motionless in a defensive attitude, protected her +retreat. She disappeared; Hassim's grip on his weapon relaxed; he looked +in turn at every object in the cabin as if to fix its position in +his mind forever, and following his sister, walked out with noiseless +footfalls. + +They entered the same darkness which had received, enveloped, and hidden +the troubled souls of Lingard and Edith, but to these two the light from +which they had felt themselves driven away was now like the light of +forbidden hopes; it had the awful and tranquil brightness that a light +burning on the shore has for an exhausted swimmer about to give himself +up to the fateful sea. They looked back; it had disappeared; Carter had +shut the cabin door behind them to have it out with Shaw. He wanted to +arrive at some kind of working compromise with the nominal commander, +but the mate was so demoralized by the novelty of the assaults made upon +his respectability that the young defender of the brig could get nothing +from him except lamentations mingled with mild blasphemies. The brig +slept, and along her quiet deck the voices raised in her cabin--Shaw's +appeals and reproaches directed vociferously to heaven, together with +Carter's inflexible drawl mingled into one deadened, modulated, and +continuous murmur. The lockouts in the waist, motionless and peering +into obscurity, one ear turned to the sea, were aware of that strange +resonance like the ghost of a quarrel that seemed to hover at their +backs. Wasub, after seeing Hassim and Immada into their canoe, prowled +to and fro the whole length of the vessel vigilantly. There was not +a star in the sky and no gleam on the water; there was no horizon, no +outline, no shape for the eye to rest upon, nothing for the hand to +grasp. An obscurity that seemed without limit in space and time had +submerged the universe like a destroying flood. + +A lull of the breeze kept for a time the small boat in the neighbourhood +of the brig. The hoisted sail, invisible, fluttered faintly, +mysteriously, and the boat rising and falling bodily to the passage of +each invisible undulation of the waters seemed to repose upon a living +breast. Lingard, his hand on the tiller, sat up erect, expectant and +silent. Mrs. Travers had drawn her cloak close around her body. Their +glances plunged infinitely deep into a lightless void, and yet they were +still so near the brig that the piteous whine of the dog, mingled with +the angry rattling of the chain, reached their ears faintly, evoking +obscure images of distress and fury. A sharp bark ending in a plaintive +howl that seemed raised by the passage of phantoms invisible to men, +rent the black stillness, as though the instinct of the brute inspired +by the soul of night had voiced in a lamentable plaint the fear of the +future, the anguish of lurking death, the terror of shadows. Not far +from the brig's boat Hassim and Immada in their canoe, letting their +paddles trail in the water, sat in a silent and invincible torpor as +if the fitful puffs of wind had carried to their hearts the breath of a +subtle poison that, very soon, would make them die.--“Have you seen +the white woman's eyes?” cried the girl. She struck her palms together +loudly and remained with her arms extended, with her hands clasped. “O +Hassim! Have you seen her eyes shining under her eyebrows like rays of +light darting under the arched boughs in a forest? They pierced me. I +shuddered at the sound of her voice! I saw her walk behind him--and +it seems to me that she does not live on earth--that all this is +witchcraft.” + +She lamented in the night. Hassim kept silent. He had no illusions and +in any other man but Lingard he would have thought the proceeding no +better than suicidal folly. For him Travers and d'Alcacer were two +powerful Rajahs--probably relatives of the Ruler of the land of the +English whom he knew to be a woman; but why they should come and +interfere with the recovery of his own kingdom was an obscure problem. +He was concerned for Lingard's safety. That the risk was incurred mostly +for his sake--so that the prospects of the great enterprise should not +be ruined by a quarrel over the lives of these whites--did not strike +him so much as may be imagined. There was that in him which made such +an action on Lingard's part appear all but unavoidable. Was he not Rajah +Hassim and was not the other a man of strong heart, of strong arm, of +proud courage, a man great enough to protect highborn princes--a friend? +Immada's words called out a smile which, like the words, was lost in the +darkness. “Forget your weariness,” he said, gently, “lest, O Sister, we +should arrive too late.” The coming day would throw its light on some +decisive event. Hassim thought of his own men who guarded the Emma and +he wished to be where they could hear his voice. He regretted Jaffir was +not there. Hassim was saddened by the absence from his side of that man +who once had carried what he thought would be his last message to his +friend. It had not been the last. He had lived to cherish new hopes and +to face new troubles and, perchance, to frame another message yet, while +death knocked with the hands of armed enemies at the gate. The breeze +steadied; the succeeding swells swung the canoe smoothly up the unbroken +ridges of water travelling apace along the land. They progressed slowly; +but Immada's heart was more weary than her arms, and Hassim, dipping the +blade of his paddle without a splash, peered right and left, trying to +make out the shadowy forms of islets. A long way ahead of the canoe and +holding the same course, the brig's dinghy ran with broad lug extended, +making for that narrow and winding passage between the coast and the +southern shoals, which led to the mouth of the creek connecting the +lagoon with the sea. + +Thus on that starless night the Shallows were peopled by uneasy souls. +The thick veil of clouds stretched over them, cut them off from the +rest of the universe. At times Mrs. Travers had in the darkness the +impression of dizzy speed, and again it seemed to her that the boat was +standing still, that everything in the world was standing still and only +her fancy roamed free from all trammels. Lingard, perfectly motionless +by her side, steered, shaping his course by the feel of the wind. +Presently he perceived ahead a ghostly flicker of faint, livid light +which the earth seemed to throw up against the uniform blackness of +the sky. The dinghy was approaching the expanse of the Shallows. The +confused clamour of broken water deepened its note. + +“How long are we going to sail like this?” asked Mrs. Travers, gently. +She did not recognize the voice that pronounced the word “Always” in +answer to her question. It had the impersonal ring of a voice without a +master. Her heart beat fast. + +“Captain Lingard!” she cried. + +“Yes. What?” he said, nervously, as if startled out of a dream. + +“I asked you how long we were going to sail like this,” she repeated, +distinctly. + +“If the breeze holds we shall be in the lagoon soon after daybreak. That +will be the right time, too. I shall leave you on board the hulk with +Jorgenson.” + +“And you? What will you do?” she asked. She had to wait for a while. + +“I will do what I can,” she heard him say at last. There was another +pause. “All I can,” he added. + +The breeze dropped, the sail fluttered. + +“I have perfect confidence in you,” she said. “But are you certain of +success?” + +“No.” + +The futility of her question came home to Mrs. Travers. In a few hours +of life she had been torn away from all her certitudes, flung into +a world of improbabilities. This thought instead of augmenting her +distress seemed to soothe her. What she experienced was not doubt and +it was not fear. It was something else. It might have been only a great +fatigue. + +She heard a dull detonation as if in the depth of the sea. It was hardly +more than a shock and a vibration. A roller had broken amongst the +shoals; the livid clearness Lingard had seen ahead flashed and flickered +in expanded white sheets much nearer to the boat now. And all this--the +wan burst of light, the faint shock as of something remote and immense +falling into ruins, was taking place outside the limits of her +life which remained encircled by an impenetrable darkness and by an +impenetrable silence. Puffs of wind blew about her head and expired; +the sail collapsed, shivered audibly, stood full and still in turn; +and again the sensation of vertiginous speed and of absolute immobility +succeeding each other with increasing swiftness merged at last into +a bizarre state of headlong motion and profound peace. The darkness +enfolded her like the enervating caress of a sombre universe. It was +gentle and destructive. Its languor seduced her soul into surrender. +Nothing existed and even all her memories vanished into space. She was +content that nothing should exist. + +Lingard, aware all the time of their contact in the narrow stern sheets +of the boat, was startled by the pressure of the woman's head drooping +on his shoulder. He stiffened himself still more as though he had +tried on the approach of a danger to conceal his life in the breathless +rigidity of his body. The boat soared and descended slowly; a region +of foam and reefs stretched across her course hissing like a gigantic +cauldron; a strong gust of wind drove her straight at it for a moment +then passed on and abandoned her to the regular balancing of the swell. +The struggle of the rocks forever overwhelmed and emerging, with the sea +forever victorious and repulsed, fascinated the man. He watched it as he +would have watched something going on within himself while Mrs. Travers +slept sustained by his arm, pressed to his side, abandoned to his +support. The shoals guarding the Shore of Refuge had given him his first +glimpse of success--the solid support he needed for his action. The +Shallows were the shelter of his dreams; their voice had the power to +soothe and exalt his thoughts with the promise of freedom for his hopes. +Never had there been such a generous friendship. . . . A mass of white +foam whirling about a centre of intense blackness spun silently past the +side of the boat. . . . That woman he held like a captive on his arm had +also been given to him by the Shallows. + +Suddenly his eyes caught on a distant sandbank the red gleam of Daman's +camp fire instantly eclipsed like the wink of a signalling lantern along +the level of the waters. It brought to his mind the existence of the two +men--those other captives. If the war canoe transporting them into the +lagoon had left the sands shortly after Hassim's retreat from Daman's +camp, Travers and d'Alcacer were by this time far away up the creek. +Every thought of action had become odious to Lingard since all he could +do in the world now was to hasten the moment of his separation from that +woman to whom he had confessed the whole secret of his life. + +And she slept. She could sleep! He looked down at her as he would have +looked at the slumbering ignorance of a child, but the life within him +had the fierce beat of supreme moments. Near by, the eddies sighed along +the reefs, the water soughed amongst the stones, clung round the rocks +with tragic murmurs that resembled promises, good-byes, or prayers. From +the unfathomable distances of the night came the booming of the swell +assaulting the seaward face of the Shallows. He felt the woman's +nearness with such intensity that he heard nothing. . . . Then suddenly +he thought of death. + +“Wake up!” he shouted in her ear, swinging round in his seat. Mrs. +Travers gasped; a splash of water flicked her over the eyes and she felt +the separate drops run down her cheeks, she tasted them on her lips, +tepid and bitter like tears. A swishing undulation tossed the boat on +high followed by another and still another; and then the boat with the +breeze abeam glided through still water, laying over at a steady angle. + +“Clear of the reef now,” remarked Lingard in a tone of relief. + +“Were we in any danger?” asked Mrs. Travers in a whisper. + +“Well, the breeze dropped and we drifted in very close to the rocks,” he +answered. “I had to rouse you. It wouldn't have done for you to wake up +suddenly struggling in the water.” + +So she had slept! It seemed to her incredible that she should have +closed her eyes in this small boat, with the knowledge of their +desperate errand, on so disturbed a sea. The man by her side leaned +forward, extended his arm, and the boat going off before the wind went +on faster on an even keel. A motionless black bank resting on the sea +stretched infinitely right in their way in ominous stillness. She called +Lingard's attention to it. “Look at this awful cloud.” + +“This cloud is the coast and in a moment we shall be entering the +creek,” he said, quietly. Mrs. Travers stared at it. Was it land--land! +It seemed to her even less palpable than a cloud, a mere sinister +immobility above the unrest of the sea, nursing in its depth the unrest +of men who, to her mind, were no more real than fantastic shadows. + + + +V + +What struck Mrs. Travers most, directly she set eyes on him, was the +other-world aspect of Jorgenson. He had been buried out of sight so long +that his tall, gaunt body, his unhurried, mechanical movements, his +set face and his eyes with an empty gaze suggested an invincible +indifference to all the possible surprises of the earth. That appearance +of a resuscitated man who seemed to be commanded by a conjuring spell +strolled along the decks of what was even to Mrs. Travers' eyes the mere +corpse of a ship and turned on her a pair of deep-sunk, expressionless +eyes with an almost unearthly detachment. Mrs. Travers had never been +looked at before with that strange and pregnant abstraction. Yet she +didn't dislike Jorgenson. In the early morning light, white from head to +foot in a perfectly clean suit of clothes which seemed hardly to contain +any limbs, freshly shaven (Jorgenson's sunken cheeks with their withered +colouring always had a sort of gloss as though he had the habit of +shaving every two hours or so), he looked as immaculate as though he +had been indeed a pure spirit superior to the soiling contacts of the +material earth. He was disturbing but he was not repulsive. He gave no +sign of greeting. + +Lingard addressed him at once. + +“You have had a regular staircase built up the side of the hulk, +Jorgenson,” he said. “It was very convenient for us to come aboard now, +but in case of an attack don't you think . . .” + +“I did think.” There was nothing so dispassionate in the world as the +voice of Captain H. C. Jorgenson, ex Barque Wild Rose, since he had +recrossed the Waters of Oblivion to step back into the life of men. “I +did think, but since I don't want to make trouble. . . .” + +“Oh, you don't want to make trouble,” interrupted Lingard. + +“No. Don't believe in it. Do you, King Tom?” + +“I may have to make trouble.” + +“So you came up here in this small dinghy of yours like this to start +making trouble, did you?” + +“What's the matter with you? Don't you know me yet, Jorgenson?” + +“I thought I knew you. How could I tell that a man like you would come +along for a fight bringing a woman with him?” + +“This lady is Mrs. Travers,” said Lingard. “The wife of one of the +luckless gentlemen Daman got hold of last evening. . . . This is +Jorgenson, the friend of whom I have been telling you, Mrs. Travers.” + +Mrs. Travers smiled faintly. Her eyes roamed far and near and the +strangeness of her surroundings, the overpowering curiosity, the +conflict of interest and doubt gave her the aspect of one still new to +life, presenting an innocent and naive attitude before the surprises +of experience. She looked very guileless and youthful between those two +men. Lingard gazed at her with that unconscious tenderness mingled with +wonder, which some men manifest toward girlhood. There was nothing of +a conqueror of kingdoms in his bearing. Jorgenson preserved his +amazing abstraction which seemed neither to hear nor see anything. But, +evidently, he kept a mysterious grip on events in the world of living +men because he asked very naturally: + +“How did she get away?” + +“The lady wasn't on the sandbank,” explained Lingard, curtly. + +“What sandbank?” muttered Jorgenson, perfunctorily. . . . “Is the yacht +looted, Tom?” + +“Nothing of the kind,” said Lingard. + +“Ah, many dead?” inquired Jorgenson. + +“I tell you there was nothing of the kind,” said Lingard, impatiently. + +“What? No fight!” inquired Jorgenson again without the slightest sign of +animation. + +“No.” + +“And you a fighting man.” + +“Listen to me, Jorgenson. Things turned out so that before the time came +for a fight it was already too late.” He turned to Mrs. Travers still +looking about with anxious eyes and a faint smile on her lips. “While I +was talking to you that evening from the boat it was already too late. +No. There was never any time for it. I have told you all about myself, +Mrs. Travers, and you know that I speak the truth when I say too late. +If you had only been alone in that yacht going about the seas!” + +“Yes,” she struck in, “but I was not alone.” + +Lingard dropped his chin on his breast. Already a foretaste of noonday +heat staled the sparkling freshness of the morning. The smile had +vanished from Edith Travers' lips and her eyes rested on Lingard's bowed +head with an expression no longer curious but which might have appeared +enigmatic to Jorgenson if he had looked at her. But Jorgenson looked at +nothing. He asked from the remoteness of his dead past, “What have you +left outside, Tom? What is there now?” + +“There's the yacht on the shoals, my brig at anchor, and about a hundred +of the worst kind of Illanun vagabonds under three chiefs and with two +war-praus moored to the edge of the bank. Maybe Daman is with them, too, +out there.” + +“No,” said Jorgenson, positively. + +“He has come in,” cried Lingard. “He brought his prisoners in himself +then.” + +“Landed by torchlight,” uttered precisely the shade of Captain +Jorgenson, late of the Barque Wild Rose. He swung his arm pointing +across the lagoon and Mrs. Travers turned about in that direction. + +All the scene was but a great light and a great solitude. Her gaze +travelled over the lustrous, dark sheet of empty water to a shore +bordered by a white beach empty, too, and showing no sign of human life. +The human habitations were lost in the shade of the fruit trees, masked +by the cultivated patches of Indian corn and the banana plantations. +Near the shore the rigid lines of two stockaded forts could be +distinguished flanking the beach, and between them with a great open +space before it, the brown roof slope of an enormous long building that +seemed suspended in the air had a great square flag fluttering above it. +Something like a small white flame in the sky was the carved white coral +finial on the gable of the mosque which had caught full the rays of +the sun. A multitude of gay streamers, white and red, flew over the +half-concealed roofs, over the brilliant fields and amongst the sombre +palm groves. But it might have been a deserted settlement decorated and +abandoned by its departed population. Lingard pointed to the stockade on +the right. + +“That's where your husband is,” he said to Mrs. Travers. + +“Who is the other?” uttered Jorgenson's voice at their backs. He also +was turned that way with his strange sightless gaze fixed beyond them +into the void. + +“A Spanish gentleman I believe you said, Mrs Travers,” observed Lingard. + +“It is extremely difficult to believe that there is anybody there,” + murmured Mrs. Travers. + +“Did you see them both, Jorgenson?” asked Lingard. + +“Made out nobody. Too far. Too dark.” + +As a matter of fact Jorgenson had seen nothing, about an hour before +daybreak, but the distant glare of torches while the loud shouts of an +excited multitude had reached him across the water only like a faint +and tempestuous murmur. Presently the lights went away processionally +through the groves of trees into the armed stockades. The distant glare +vanished in the fading darkness and the murmurs of the invisible crowd +ceased suddenly as if carried off by the retreating shadow of the night. +Daylight followed swiftly, disclosing to the sleepless Jorgenson the +solitude of the shore and the ghostly outlines of the familiar forms of +grouped trees and scattered human habitations. He had watched the varied +colours come out in the dawn, the wide cultivated Settlement of +many shades of green, framed far away by the fine black lines of the +forest-edge that was its limit and its protection. + +Mrs. Travers stood against the rail as motionless as a statue. Her face +had lost all its mobility and her cheeks were dead white as if all the +blood in her body had flowed back into her heart and had remained there. +Her very lips had lost their colour. Lingard caught hold of her arm +roughly. + +“Don't, Mrs. Travers. Why are you terrifying yourself like this? If you +don't believe what I say listen to me asking Jorgenson. . . .” + +“Yes, ask me,” mumbled Jorgenson in his white moustache. + +“Speak straight, Jorgenson. What do you think? Are the gentlemen alive?” + +“Certainly,” said Jorgenson in a sort of disappointed tone as though he +had expected a much more difficult question. + +“Is their life in immediate danger?” + +“Of course not,” said Jorgenson. + +Lingard turned away from the oracle. “You have heard him, Mrs. Travers. +You may believe every word he says. There isn't a thought or a purpose +in that Settlement,” he continued, pointing at the dumb solitude of the +lagoon, “that this man doesn't know as if they were his own.” + +“I know. Ask me,” muttered Jorgenson, mechanically. + +Mrs. Travers said nothing but made a slight movement and her whole rigid +figure swayed dangerously. Lingard put his arm firmly round her waist +and she did not seem aware of it till after she had turned her head and +found Lingard's face very near her own. But his eyes full of concern +looked so close into hers that she was obliged to shut them like a woman +about to faint. + +The effect this produced upon Lingard was such that she felt the +tightening of his arm and as she opened her eyes again some of the +colour returned to her face. She met the deepened expression of his +solicitude with a look so steady, with a gaze that in spite of herself +was so profoundly vivid that its clearness seemed to Lingard to throw +all his past life into shade.--“I don't feel faint. It isn't that at +all,” she declared in a perfectly calm voice. It seemed to Lingard as +cold as ice. + +“Very well,” he agreed with a resigned smile. “But you just catch hold +of that rail, please, before I let you go.” She, too, forced a smile on +her lips. + +“What incredulity,” she remarked, and for a time made not the slightest +movement. At last, as if making a concession, she rested the tips of her +fingers on the rail. Lingard gradually removed his arm. “And pray don't +look upon me as a conventional 'weak woman' person, the delicate lady of +your own conception,” she said, facing Lingard, with her arm extended to +the rail. “Make that effort please against your own conception of what +a woman like me should be. I am perhaps as strong as you are, Captain +Lingard. I mean it literally. In my body.”--“Don't you think I have +seen that long ago?” she heard his deep voice protesting.--“And as to +my courage,” Mrs. Travers continued, her expression charmingly undecided +between frowns and smiles; “didn't I tell you only a few hours ago, only +last evening, that I was not capable of thinking myself into a fright; +you remember, when you were begging me to try something of the kind. +Don't imagine that I would have been ashamed to try. But I couldn't have +done it. No. Not even for the sake of somebody else's kingdom. Do you +understand me?” + +“God knows,” said the attentive Lingard after a time, with an unexpected +sigh. “You people seem to be made of another stuff.” + +“What has put that absurd notion into your head?” + +“I didn't mean better or worse. And I wouldn't say it isn't good stuff +either. What I meant to say is that it's different. One feels it. And +here we are.” + +“Yes, here we are,” repeated Mrs. Travers. “And as to this moment of +emotion, what provoked it is not a concern for anybody or anything +outside myself. I felt no terror. I cannot even fix my fears upon any +distinct image. You think I am shamelessly heartless in telling you +this.” + +Lingard made no sign. It didn't occur to him to make a sign. He +simply hung on Mrs. Travers' words as it were only for the sake of the +sound.--“I am simply frank with you,” she continued. “What do I know of +savagery, violence, murder? I have never seen a dead body in my life. +The light, the silence, the mysterious emptiness of this place have +suddenly affected my imagination, I suppose. What is the meaning of this +wonderful peace in which we stand--you and I alone?” + +Lingard shook his head. He saw the narrow gleam of the woman's teeth +between the parted lips of her smile, as if all the ardour of her +conviction had been dissolved at the end of her speech into wistful +recognition of their partnership before things outside their knowledge. +And he was warmed by something a little helpless in that smile. Within +three feet of them the shade of Jorgenson, very gaunt and neat, stared +into space. + +“Yes. You are strong,” said Lingard. “But a whole long night sitting in +a small boat! I wonder you are not too stiff to stand.” + +“I am not stiff in the least,” she interrupted, still smiling. “I am +really a very strong woman,” she added, earnestly. “Whatever happens you +may reckon on that fact.” + +Lingard gave her an admiring glance. But the shade of Jorgenson, perhaps +catching in its remoteness the sound of the word woman, was suddenly +moved to begin scolding with all the liberty of a ghost, in a flow of +passionless indignation. + +“Woman! That's what I say. That's just about the last touch--that you, +Tom Lingard, red-eyed Tom, King Tom, and all those fine names, that you +should leave your weapons twenty miles behind you, your men, your guns, +your brig that is your strength, and come along here with your mouth +full of fight, bare-handed and with a woman in tow.--Well--well!” + +“Don't forget, Jorgenson, that the lady hears you,” remonstrated Lingard +in a vexed tone. . . . “He doesn't mean to be rude,” he remarked to Mrs. +Travers quite loud, as if indeed Jorgenson were but an immaterial and +feelingless illusion. “He has forgotten.” + +“The woman is not in the least offended. I ask for nothing better than +to be taken on that footing.” + +“Forgot nothing!” mumbled Jorgenson with a sort of ghostly assertiveness +and as it were for his own satisfaction. “What's the world coming to?” + +“It was I who insisted on coming with Captain Lingard,” said Mrs. +Travers, treating Jorgenson to a fascinating sweetness of tone. + +“That's what I say! What is the world coming to? Hasn't King Tom a mind +of his own? What has come over him? He's mad! Leaving his brig with a +hundred and twenty born and bred pirates of the worst kind in two praus +on the other side of a sandbank. Did you insist on that, too? Has he put +himself in the hands of a strange woman?” + +Jorgenson seemed to be asking those questions of himself. Mrs. Travers +observed the empty stare, the self-communing voice, his unearthly lack +of animation. Somehow it made it very easy to speak the whole truth to +him. + +“No,” she said, “it is I who am altogether in his hands.” + +Nobody would have guessed that Jorgenson had heard a single word of that +emphatic declaration if he had not addressed himself to Lingard with the +question neither more nor less abstracted than all his other speeches. + +“Why then did you bring her along?” + +“You don't understand. It was only right and proper. One of the +gentlemen is the lady's husband.” + +“Oh, yes,” muttered Jorgenson. “Who's the other?” + +“You have been told. A friend.” + +“Poor Mr. d'Alcacer,” said Mrs. Travers. “What bad luck for him to have +accepted our invitation. But he is really a mere acquaintance.” + +“I hardly noticed him,” observed Lingard, gloomily. “He was talking to +you over the back of your chair when I came aboard the yacht as if he +had been a very good friend.” + +“We always understood each other very well,” said Mrs. Travers, picking +up from the rail the long glass that was lying there. “I always liked +him, the frankness of his mind, and his great loyalty.” + +“What did he do?” asked Lingard. + +“He loved,” said Mrs. Travers, lightly. “But that's an old story.” She +raised the glass to her eyes, one arm extended fully to sustain the long +tube, and Lingard forgot d'Alcacer in admiring the firmness of her pose +and the absolute steadiness of the heavy glass. She was as firm as a +rock after all those emotions and all that fatigue. + +Mrs. Travers directed the glass instinctively toward the entrance of the +lagoon. The smooth water there shone like a piece of silver in the dark +frame of the forest. A black speck swept across the field of her vision. +It was some time before she could find it again and then she saw, +apparently so near as to be within reach of the voice, a small canoe +with two people in it. She saw the wet paddles rising and dipping with +a flash in the sunlight. She made out plainly the face of Immada, who +seemed to be looking straight into the big end of the telescope. The +chief and his sister, after resting under the bank for a couple of +hours in the middle of the night, had entered the lagoon and were making +straight for the hulk. They were already near enough to be perfectly +distinguishable to the naked eye if there had been anybody on board to +glance that way. But nobody was even thinking of them. They might not +have existed except perhaps in the memory of old Jorgenson. But that was +mostly busy with all the mysterious secrets of his late tomb. + +Mrs. Travers lowered the glass suddenly. Lingard came out from a sort of +trance and said: + +“Mr. d'Alcacer. Loved! Why shouldn't he?” + +Mrs. Travers looked frankly into Lingard's gloomy eyes. “It isn't that +alone, of course,” she said. “First of all he knew how to love and then. +. . . You don't know how artificial and barren certain kinds of life +can be. But Mr. d'Alcacer's life was not that. His devotion was worth +having.” + +“You seem to know a lot about him,'” said Lingard, enviously. “Why do +you smile?” She continued to smile at him for a little while. The long +brass tube over her shoulder shone like gold against the pale fairness +of her bare head.--“At a thought,” she answered, preserving the low tone +of the conversation into which they had fallen as if their words could +have disturbed the self-absorption of Captain H. C. Jorgenson. “At the +thought that for all my long acquaintance with Mr. d'Alcacer I don't +know half as much about him as I know about you.” + +“Ah, that's impossible,” contradicted Lingard. “Spaniard or no Spaniard, +he is one of your kind.” + +“Tarred with the same brush,” murmured Mrs. Travers, with only a +half-amused irony. But Lingard continued: + +“He was trying to make it up between me and your husband, wasn't he? I +was too angry to pay much attention, but I liked him well enough. What +pleased me most was the way in which he gave it up. That was done like a +gentleman. Do you understand what I mean, Mrs. Travers?” + +“I quite understand.” + +“Yes, you would,” he commented, simply. “But just then I was too angry +to talk to anybody. And so I cleared out on board my own ship and stayed +there, not knowing what to do and wishing you all at the bottom of the +sea. Don't mistake me, Mrs. Travers; it's you, the people aft, that I +wished at the bottom of the sea. I had nothing against the poor devils +on board, They would have trusted me quick enough. So I fumed there +till--till. . . .” + +“Till nine o'clock or a little after,” suggested Mrs. Travers, +impenetrably. + +“No. Till I remembered you,” said Lingard with the utmost innocence. + +“Do you mean to say that you forgot my existence so completely till +then? You had spoken to me on board the yacht, you know.” + +“Did I? I thought I did. What did I say?” + +“You told me not to touch a dusky princess,” answered Mrs. Travers with +a short laugh. Then with a visible change of mood as if she had suddenly +out of a light heart been recalled to the sense of the true situation: +“But indeed I meant no harm to this figure of your dream. And, look over +there. She is pursuing you.” Lingard glanced toward the north shore and +suppressed an exclamation of remorse. For the second time he discovered +that he had forgotten the existence of Hassim and Immada. The canoe was +now near enough for its occupants to distinguish plainly the heads of +three people above the low bulwark of the Emma. Immada let her paddle +trail suddenly in the water, with the exclamation, “I see the white +woman there.” Her brother looked over his shoulder and the canoe +floated, arrested as if by the sudden power of a spell.--“They are no +dream to me,” muttered Lingard, sturdily. Mrs. Travers turned abruptly +away to look at the further shore. It was still and empty to the naked +eye and seemed to quiver in the sunshine like an immense painted curtain +lowered upon the unknown. + +“Here's Rajah Hassim coming, Jorgenson. I had an idea he would perhaps +stay outside.” Mrs. Travers heard Lingard's voice at her back and the +answering grunt of Jorgenson. She raised deliberately the long glass to +her eye, pointing it at the shore. + +She distinguished plainly now the colours in the flutter of the +streamers above the brown roofs of the large Settlement, the stir of +palm groves, the black shadows inland and the dazzling white beach of +coral sand all ablaze in its formidable mystery. She swept the whole +range of the view and was going to lower the glass when from behind +the massive angle of the stockade there stepped out into the brilliant +immobility of the landscape a man in a long white gown and with an +enormous black turban surmounting a dark face. Slow and grave he +paced the beach ominously in the sunshine, an enigmatical figure in an +Oriental tale with something weird and menacing in its sudden emergence +and lonely progress. + +With an involuntary gasp Mrs. Travers lowered the glass. All at once +behind her back she heard a low musical voice beginning to pour out +incomprehensible words in a tone of passionate pleading. Hassim and +Immada had come on board and had approached Lingard. Yes! It was +intolerable to feel that this flow of soft speech which had no meaning +for her could make its way straight into that man's heart. + + + +PART V. THE POINT OF HONOUR AND THE POINT OF PASSION + +I + +“May I come in?” + +“Yes,” said a voice within. “The door is open.” It had a wooden latch. +Mr. Travers lifted it while the voice of his wife continued as he +entered. “Did you imagine I had locked myself in? Did you ever know me +lock myself in?” + +Mr. Travers closed the door behind him. “No, it has never come to that,” + he said in a tone that was not conciliatory. In that place which was a +room in a wooden hut and had a square opening without glass but with a +half-closed shutter he could not distinguish his wife very well at once. +She was sitting in an armchair and what he could see best was her +fair hair all loose over the back of the chair. There was a moment +of silence. The measured footsteps of two men pacing athwart the +quarter-deck of the dead ship Emma commanded by the derelict shade of +Jorgenson could be heard outside. + +Jorgenson, on taking up his dead command, had a house of thin boards +built on the after deck for his own accommodation and that of Lingard +during his flying visits to the Shore of Refuge. A narrow passage +divided it in two and Lingard's side was furnished with a camp bedstead, +a rough desk, and a rattan armchair. On one of his visits Lingard had +brought with him a black seaman's chest and left it there. Apart from +these objects and a small looking-glass worth about half a crown and +nailed to the wall there was nothing else in there whatever. What was +on Jorgenson's side of the deckhouse no one had seen, but from external +evidence one could infer the existence of a set of razors. + +The erection of that primitive deckhouse was a matter of propriety +rather than of necessity. It was proper that the white men should have a +place to themselves on board, but Lingard was perfectly accurate when he +told Mrs. Travers that he had never slept there once. His practice was +to sleep on deck. As to Jorgenson, if he did sleep at all he slept very +little. It might have been said that he haunted rather than commanded +the Emma. His white form flitted here and there in the night or stood +for hours, silent, contemplating the sombre glimmer of the lagoon. Mr. +Travers' eyes accustomed gradually to the dusk of the place could +now distinguish more of his wife's person than the great mass of +honey-coloured hair. He saw her face, the dark eyebrows and her eyes +that seemed profoundly black in the half light. He said: + +“You couldn't have done so here. There is neither lock nor bolt.” + +“Isn't there? I didn't notice. I would know how to protect myself +without locks and bolts.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said Mr. Travers in a sullen tone and fell +silent again surveying the woman in the chair. “Indulging your taste for +fancy dress,” he went on with faint irony. + +Mrs. Travers clasped her hands behind her head. The wide sleeves +slipping back bared her arms to her shoulders. She was wearing a Malay +thin cotton jacket, cut low in the neck without a collar and fastened +with wrought silver clasps from the throat downward. She had replaced +her yachting skirt by a blue check sarong embroidered with threads of +gold. Mr. Travers' eyes travelling slowly down attached themselves to +the gleaming instep of an agitated foot from which hung a light leather +sandal. + +“I had no clothes with me but what I stood in,” said Mrs. Travers. “I +found my yachting costume too heavy. It was intolerable. I was soaked +in dew when I arrived. So when these things were produced for my +inspection. . . .” + +“By enchantment,” muttered Mr. Travers in a tone too heavy for sarcasm. + +“No. Out of that chest. There are very fine stuffs there.” + +“No doubt,” said Mr. Travers. “The man wouldn't be above plundering the +natives. . . .” He sat down heavily on the chest. “A most appropriate +costume for this farce,” he continued. “But do you mean to wear it in +open daylight about the decks?” + +“Indeed I do,” said Mrs. Travers. “D'Alcacer has seen me already and he +didn't seem shocked.” + +“You should,” said Mr. Travers, “try to get yourself presented with some +bangles for your ankles so that you may jingle as you walk.” + +“Bangles are not necessities,” said Mrs. Travers in a weary tone and +with the fixed upward look of a person unwilling to relinquish her +dream. Mr. Travers dropped the subject to ask: + +“And how long is this farce going to last?” + +Mrs. Travers unclasped her hands, lowered her glance, and changed her +whole pose in a moment. + +“What do you mean by farce? What farce?” + +“The one which is being played at my expense.” + +“You believe that?” + +“Not only believe. I feel deeply that it is so. At my expense. It's a +most sinister thing,” Mr. Travers pursued, still with downcast eyes and +in an unforgiving tone. “I must tell you that when I saw you in that +courtyard in a crowd of natives and leaning on that man's arm, it gave +me quite a shock.” + +“Did I, too, look sinister?” said Mrs. Travers, turning her head +slightly toward her husband. “And yet I assure you that I was glad, +profoundly glad, to see you safe from danger for a time at least. To +gain time is everything. . . .” + +“I ask myself,” Mr. Travers meditated aloud, “was I ever in danger? Am +I safe now? I don't know. I can't tell. No! All this seems an abominable +farce.” + +There was that in his tone which made his wife continue to look at him +with awakened interest. It was obvious that he suffered from a distress +which was not the effect of fear; and Mrs. Travers' face expressed real +concern till he added in a freezing manner: “The question, however, is +as to your discretion.” + +She leaned back again in the chair and let her hands rest quietly in her +lap. “Would you have preferred me to remain outside, in the yacht, in +the near neighbourhood of these wild men who captured you? Or do you +think that they, too, were got up to carry on a farce?” + +“Most decidedly.” Mr. Travers raised his head, though of course not his +voice. “You ought to have remained in the yacht amongst white men, your +servants, the sailing-master, the crew whose duty it was to. . . . Who +would have been ready to die for you.” + +“I wonder why they should have--and why I should have asked them for +that sacrifice. However, I have no doubt they would have died. Or would +you have preferred me to take up my quarters on board that man's brig? +We were all fairly safe there. The real reason why I insisted on coming +in here was to be nearer to you--to see for myself what could be or was +being done. . . . But really if you want me to explain my motives then I +may just as well say nothing. I couldn't remain outside for days without +news, in a state of horrible doubt. We couldn't even tell whether you +and d'Alcacer were still alive till we arrived here. You might have been +actually murdered on the sandbank, after Rajah Hassim and that girl had +gone away; or killed while going up the river. And I wanted to know at +once, as soon as possible. It was a matter of impulse. I went off in +what I stood in without delaying a moment.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Travers. “And without even thinking of having a +few things put up for me in a bag. No doubt you were in a state of +excitement. Unless you took such a tragic view that it seemed to you +hardly worth while to bother about my clothes.” + +“It was absolutely the impulse of the moment. I could have done nothing +else. Won't you give me credit for it?” + +Mr. Travers raised his eyes again to his wife's face. He saw it calm, +her attitude reposeful. Till then his tone had been resentful, dull, +without sarcasm. But now he became slightly pompous. + +“No. As a matter of fact, as a matter of experience, I can't credit +you with the possession of feelings appropriate to your origin, social +position, and the ideas of the class to which you belong. It was the +heaviest disappointment of my life. I had made up my mind not to mention +it as long as I lived. This, however, seems an occasion which you have +provoked yourself. It isn't at all a solemn occasion. I don't look upon +it as solemn at all. It's very disagreeable and humiliating. But it +has presented itself. You have never taken a serious interest in the +activities of my life which of course are its distinction and its value. +And why you should be carried away suddenly by a feeling toward the mere +man I don't understand.” + +“Therefore you don't approve,” Mrs. Travers commented in an even +tone. “But I assure you, you may safely. My feeling was of the most +conventional nature, exactly as if the whole world were looking on. +After all, we are husband and wife. It's eminently fitting that I should +be concerned about your fate. Even the man you distrust and dislike so +much (the warmest feeling, let me tell you, that I ever saw you display) +even that man found my conduct perfectly proper. His own word. Proper. +So eminently proper that it altogether silenced his objections.” + +Mr. Travers shifted uneasily on his seat. + +“It's my belief, Edith, that if you had been a man you would have led +a most irregular life. You would have been a frank adventurer. I mean +morally. It has been a great grief to me. You have a scorn in you for +the serious side of life, for the ideas and the ambitions of the social +sphere to which you belong.” + +He stopped because his wife had clasped again her hands behind her head +and was no longer looking at him. + +“It's perfectly obvious,” he began again. “We have been living amongst +most distinguished men and women and your attitude to them has been +always so--so negative! You would never recognize the importance of +achievements, of acquired positions. I don't remember you ever admiring +frankly any political or social success. I ask myself what after all you +could possibly have expected from life.” + +“I could never have expected to hear such a speech from you. As to what +I did expect! . . . I must have been very stupid.” + +“No, you are anything but that,” declared Mr. Travers, conscientiously. +“It isn't stupidity.” He hesitated for a moment. “It's a kind of +wilfulness, I think. I preferred not to think about this grievous +difference in our points of view, which, you will admit, I could not +have possibly foreseen before we. . . .” + +A sort of solemn embarrassment had come over Mr. Travers. Mrs. Travers, +leaning her chin on the palm of her hand, stared at the bare matchboard +side of the hut. + +“Do you charge me with profound girlish duplicity?” she asked, very +softly. + +The inside of the deckhouse was full of stagnant heat perfumed by +a slight scent which seemed to emanate from the loose mass of Mrs. +Travers' hair. Mr. Travers evaded the direct question which struck him +as lacking fineness even to the point of impropriety. + +“I must suppose that I was not in the calm possession of my insight and +judgment in those days,” he said. “I--I was not in a critical state of +mind at the time,” he admitted further; but even after going so far +he did not look up at his wife and therefore missed something like +the ghost of a smile on Mrs. Travers' lips. That smile was tinged with +scepticism which was too deep-seated for anything but the faintest +expression. Therefore she said nothing, and Mr. Travers went on as if +thinking aloud: + +“Your conduct was, of course, above reproach; but you made for yourself +a detestable reputation of mental superiority, expressed ironically. You +inspired mistrust in the best people. You were never popular.” + +“I was bored,” murmured Mrs. Travers in a reminiscent tone and with her +chin resting in the hollow of her hand. + +Mr. Travers got up from the seaman's chest as unexpectedly as if he had +been stung by a wasp, but, of course, with a much slower and more solemn +motion. + +“The matter with you, Edith, is that at heart you are perfectly +primitive.” Mrs. Travers stood up, too, with a supple, leisurely +movement, and raising her hands to her hair turned half away with a +pensive remark: + +“Imperfectly civilized.” + +“Imperfectly disciplined,” corrected Mr. Travers after a moment of +dreary meditation. + +She let her arms fall and turned her head. + +“No, don't say that,” she protested with strange earnestness. “I am the +most severely disciplined person in the world. I am tempted to say that +my discipline has stopped at nothing short of killing myself. I suppose +you can hardly understand what I mean.” + +Mr. Travers made a slight grimace at the floor. + +“I shall not try,” he said. “It sounds like something that a barbarian, +hating the delicate complexities and the restraints of a nobler life, +might have said. From you it strikes me as wilful bad taste. . . . +I have often wondered at your tastes. You have always liked +extreme opinions, exotic costumes, lawless characters, romantic +personalities--like d'Alcacer . . .” + +“Poor Mr. d'Alcacer,” murmured Mrs. Travers. + +“A man without any ideas of duty or usefulness,” said Mr. Travers, +acidly. “What are you pitying him for?” + +“Why! For finding himself in this position out of mere good-nature. +He had nothing to expect from joining our voyage, no advantage for his +political ambitions or anything of the kind. I suppose you asked him on +board to break our tete-a-tete which must have grown wearisome to you.” + +“I am never bored,” declared Mr. Travers. “D'Alcacer seemed glad to +come. And, being a Spaniard, the horrible waste of time cannot matter to +him in the least.” + +“Waste of time!” repeated Mrs. Travers, indignantly. + +“He may yet have to pay for his good nature with his life.” + +Mr. Travers could not conceal a movement of anger. + +“Ah! I forgot those assumptions,” he said between his clenched teeth. +“He is a mere Spaniard. He takes this farcical conspiracy with perfect +nonchalance. Decayed races have their own philosophy.” + +“He takes it with a dignity of his own.” + +“I don't know what you call his dignity. I should call it lack of +self-respect.” + +“Why? Because he is quiet and courteous, and reserves his judgment. And +allow me to tell you, Martin, that you are not taking our troubles very +well.” + +“You can't expect from me all those foreign affectations. I am not in +the habit of compromising with my feelings.” + +Mrs. Travers turned completely round and faced her husband. “You sulk,” + she said. . . . Mr. Travers jerked his head back a little as if to let +the word go past.--“I am outraged,” he declared. Mrs. Travers recognized +there something like real suffering.--“I assure you,” she said, +seriously (for she was accessible to pity), “I assure you that this +strange Lingard has no idea of your importance. He doesn't know anything +of your social and political position and still less of your great +ambitions.” Mr. Travers listened with some attention.--“Couldn't you +have enlightened him?” he asked.--“It would have been no use; his mind +is fixed upon his own position and upon his own sense of power. He is +a man of the lower classes. . . .”--“He is a brute,” said Mr. Travers, +obstinately, and for a moment those two looked straight into each +other's eyes.--“Oh,” said Mrs. Travers, slowly, “you are determined not +to compromise with your feelings!” An undertone of scorn crept into her +voice. “But shall I tell you what I think? I think,” and she advanced +her head slightly toward the pale, unshaven face that confronted her +dark eyes, “I think that for all your blind scorn you judge the man +well enough to feel that you can indulge your indignation with perfect +safety. Do you hear? With perfect safety!” Directly she had spoken she +regretted these words. Really it was unreasonable to take Mr. Travers' +tricks of character more passionately on this spot of the Eastern +Archipelago full of obscure plots and warring motives than in the more +artificial atmosphere of the town. After all what she wanted was simply +to save his life, not to make him understand anything. Mr. Travers +opened his mouth and without uttering a word shut it again. His wife +turned toward the looking-glass nailed to the wall. She heard his voice +behind her. + +“Edith, where's the truth in all this?” + +She detected the anguish of a slow mind with an instinctive dread of +obscure places wherein new discoveries can be made. She looked over her +shoulder to say: + +“It's on the surface, I assure you. Altogether on the surface.” + +She turned again to the looking-glass where her own face met her with +dark eyes and a fair mist of hair above the smooth forehead; but her +words had produced no soothing effect. + +“But what does it mean?” cried Mr. Travers. “Why doesn't the fellow +apologize? Why are we kept here? Are we being kept here? Why don't we +get away? Why doesn't he take me back on board my yacht? What does he +want from me? How did he procure our release from these people on shore +who he says intended to cut our throats? Why did they give us up to him +instead?” + +Mrs. Travers began to twist her hair on her head. + +“Matters of high policy and of local politics. Conflict of personal +interests, mistrust between the parties, intrigues of individuals--you +ought to know how that sort of thing works. His diplomacy made use of +all that. The first thing to do was not to liberate you but to get you +into his keeping. He is a very great man here and let me tell you that +your safety depends on his dexterity in the use of his prestige rather +than on his power which he cannot use. If you would let him talk to +you I am sure he would tell you as much as it is possible for him to +disclose.” + +“I don't want to be told about any of his rascalities. But haven't you +been taken into his confidence?” + +“Completely,” admitted Mrs. Travers, peering into the small +looking-glass. + +“What is the influence you brought to bear upon this man? It looks to me +as if our fate were in your hands.” + +“Your fate is not in my hands. It is not even in his hands. There is a +moral situation here which must be solved.” + +“Ethics of blackmail,” commented Mr. Travers with unexpected sarcasm. It +flashed through his wife's mind that perhaps she didn't know him so well +as she had supposed. It was as if the polished and solemn crust of hard +proprieties had cracked slightly, here and there, under the strain, +disclosing the mere wrongheadedness of a common mortal. But it was +only manner that had cracked a little; the marvellous stupidity of +his conceit remained the same. She thought that this discussion was +perfectly useless, and as she finished putting up her hair she said: “I +think we had better go on deck now.” + +“You propose to go out on deck like this?” muttered Mr. Travers with +downcast eyes. + +“Like this? Certainly. It's no longer a novelty. Who is going to be +shocked?” + +Mr. Travers made no reply. What she had said of his attitude was very +true. He sulked at the enormous offensiveness of men, things, and +events; of words and even of glances which he seemed to feel physically +resting on his skin like a pain, like a degrading contact. He managed +not to wince. But he sulked. His wife continued, “And let me tell +you that those clothes are fit for a princess--I mean they are of the +quality, material and style custom prescribes for the highest in the +land, a far-distant land where I am informed women rule as much as the +men. In fact they were meant to be presented to an actual princess in +due course. They were selected with the greatest care for that child +Immada. Captain Lingard. . . .” + +Mr. Travers made an inarticulate noise partaking of a groan and a grunt. + +“Well, I must call him by some name and this I thought would be the +least offensive for you to hear. After all, the man exists. But he is +known also on a certain portion of the earth's surface as King Tom. +D'Alcacer is greatly taken by that name. It seems to him wonderfully +well adapted to the man, in its familiarity and deference. And if you +prefer. . . .” + +“I would prefer to hear nothing,” said Mr. Travers, distinctly. “Not a +single word. Not even from you, till I am a free agent again. But words +don't touch me. Nothing can touch me; neither your sinister warnings nor +the moods of levity which you think proper to display before a man whose +life, according to you, hangs on a thread.” + +“I never forget it for a moment,” said Mrs. Travers. “And I not only +know that it does but I also know the strength of the thread. It is a +wonderful thread. You may say if you like it has been spun by the same +fate which made you what you are.” + +Mr. Travers felt awfully offended. He had never heard anybody, let alone +his own self, addressed in such terms. The tone seemed to question his +very quality. He reflected with shocked amazement that he had lived with +that woman for eight years! And he said to her gloomily: + +“You talk like a pagan.” + +It was a very strong condemnation which apparently Mrs. Travers had +failed to hear for she pursued with animation: + +“But really, you can't expect me to meditate on it all the time or shut +myself up here and mourn the circumstances from morning to night. It +would be morbid. Let us go on deck.” + +“And you look simply heathenish in this costume,” Mr. Travers went on +as though he had not been interrupted, and with an accent of deliberate +disgust. + +Her heart was heavy but everything he said seemed to force the tone +of levity on to her lips. “As long as I don't look like a guy,” she +remarked, negligently, and then caught the direction of his lurid stare +which as a matter of fact was fastened on her bare feet. She checked +herself, “Oh, yes, if you prefer it I will put on my stockings. But you +know I must be very careful of them. It's the only pair I have here. I +have washed them this morning in that bathroom which is built over the +stern. They are now drying over the rail just outside. Perhaps you will +be good enough to pass them to me when you go on deck.” + +Mr. Travers spun round and went on deck without a word. As soon as she +was alone Mrs. Travers pressed her hands to her temples, a gesture of +distress which relieved her by its sincerity. The measured footsteps of +two men came to her plainly from the deck, rhythmic and double with +a suggestion of tranquil and friendly intercourse. She distinguished +particularly the footfalls of the man whose life's orbit was most remote +from her own. And yet the orbits had cut! A few days ago she could +not have even conceived of his existence, and now he was the man whose +footsteps, it seemed to her, her ears could single unerringly in the +tramp of a crowd. It was, indeed, a fabulous thing. In the half light of +her over-heated shelter she let an irresolute, frightened smile pass off +her lips before she, too, went on deck. + + + +II + +An ingeniously constructed framework of light posts and thin laths +occupied the greater part of the deck amidships of the Emma. The four +walls of that airy structure were made of muslin. It was comparatively +lofty. A door-like arrangement of light battens filled with calico +was further protected by a system of curtains calculated to baffle the +pursuit of mosquitoes that haunted the shores of the lagoon in great +singing clouds from sunset till sunrise. A lot of fine mats covered +the deck space within the transparent shelter devised by Lingard and +Jorgenson to make Mrs. Travers' existence possible during the time when +the fate of the two men, and indeed probably of everybody else on board +the Emma, had to hang in the balance. Very soon Lingard's unbidden and +fatal guests had learned the trick of stepping in and out of the place +quickly. Mr. d'Alcacer performed the feat without apparent haste, almost +nonchalantly, yet as well as anybody. It was generally conceded that he +had never let a mosquito in together with himself. Mr. Travers dodged in +and out without grace and was obviously much irritated at the necessity. +Mrs. Travers did it in a manner all her own, with marked cleverness +and an unconscious air. There was an improvised table in there and some +wicker armchairs which Jorgenson had produced from somewhere in the +depths of the ship. It was hard to say what the inside of the Emma +did not contain. It was crammed with all sorts of goods like a general +store. That old hulk was the arsenal and the war-chest of Lingard's +political action; she was stocked with muskets and gunpowder, with bales +of longcloth, of cotton prints, of silks; with bags of rice and currency +brass guns. She contained everything necessary for dealing death and +distributing bribes, to act on the cupidity and upon the fears of men, +to march and to organize, to feed the friends and to combat the enemies +of the cause. She held wealth and power in her flanks, that grounded +ship that would swim no more, without masts and with the best part +of her deck cumbered by the two structures of thin boards and of +transparent muslin. + +Within the latter lived the Europeans, visible in the daytime to the few +Malays on board as if through a white haze. In the evening the lighting +of the hurricane lamps inside turned them into dark phantoms surrounded +by a shining mist, against which the insect world rushing in its +millions out of the forest on the bank was baffled mysteriously in its +assault. Rigidly enclosed by transparent walls, like captives of +an enchanted cobweb, they moved about, sat, gesticulated, conversed +publicly during the day; and at night when all the lanterns but one were +extinguished, their slumbering shapes covered all over by white cotton +sheets on the camp bedsteads, which were brought in every evening, +conveyed the gruesome suggestion of dead bodies reposing on stretchers. +The food, such as it was, was served within that glorified mosquito net +which everybody called the “Cage” without any humorous intention. At +meal times the party from the yacht had the company of Lingard who +attached to this ordeal a sense of duty performed at the altar of +civility and conciliation. He could have no conception how much his +presence added to the exasperation of Mr. Travers because Mr. Travers' +manner was too intensely consistent to present any shades. It was +determined by an ineradicable conviction that he was a victim held to +ransom on some incomprehensible terms by an extraordinary and outrageous +bandit. This conviction, strung to the highest pitch, never left him for +a moment, being the object of indignant meditation to his mind, and even +clinging, as it were, to his very body. It lurked in his eyes, in his +gestures, in his ungracious mutters, and in his sinister silences. The +shock to his moral being had ended by affecting Mr. Travers' physical +machine. He was aware of hepatic pains, suffered from accesses of +somnolence and suppressed gusts of fury which frightened him secretly. +His complexion had acquired a yellow tinge, while his heavy eyes had +become bloodshot because of the smoke of the open wood fires during +his three days' detention inside Belarab's stockade. His eyes had been +always very sensitive to outward conditions. D'Alcacer's fine black eyes +were more enduring and his appearance did not differ very much from his +ordinary appearance on board the yacht. He had accepted with smiling +thanks the offer of a thin blue flannel tunic from Jorgenson. Those two +men were much of the same build, though of course d'Alcacer, quietly +alive and spiritually watchful, did not resemble Jorgenson, who, without +being exactly macabre, behaved more like an indifferent but restless +corpse. Those two could not be said to have ever conversed together. +Conversation with Jorgenson was an impossible thing. Even Lingard never +attempted the feat. He propounded questions to Jorgenson much as a +magician would interrogate an evoked shade, or gave him curt directions +as one would make use of some marvellous automaton. And that was +apparently the way in which Jorgenson preferred to be treated. Lingard's +real company on board the Emma was d'Alcacer. D'Alcacer had met Lingard +on the easy terms of a man accustomed all his life to good society in +which the very affectations must be carried on without effort. Whether +affectation, or nature, or inspired discretion, d'Alcacer never let the +slightest curiosity pierce the smoothness of his level, grave courtesy +lightened frequently by slight smiles which often had not much +connection with the words he uttered, except that somehow they made them +sound kindly and as it were tactful. In their character, however, those +words were strictly neutral. + +The only time when Lingard had detected something of a deeper +comprehension in d'Alcacer was the day after the long negotiations +inside Belarab's stockade for the temporary surrender of the prisoners. +That move had been suggested to him, exactly as Mrs. Travers had told +her husband, by the rivalries of the parties and the state of public +opinion in the Settlement deprived of the presence of the man who, +theoretically at least, was the greatest power and the visible ruler +of the Shore of Refuge. Belarab still lingered at his father's tomb. +Whether that man of the embittered and pacific heart had withdrawn there +to meditate upon the unruliness of mankind and the thankless nature of +his task; or whether he had gone there simply to bathe in a particularly +clear pool which was a feature of the place, give himself up to the +enjoyment of a certain fruit which grew in profusion there and indulge +for a time in a scrupulous performance of religious exercises, his +absence from the Settlement was a fact of the utmost gravity. It is true +that the prestige of a long-unquestioned rulership and the long-settled +mental habits of the people had caused the captives to be taken straight +to Belarab's stockade as a matter of course. Belarab, at a distance, +could still outweigh the power on the spot of Tengga, whose secret +purposes were no better known, who was jovial, talkative, outspoken and +pugnacious; but who was not a professed servant of God famed for many +charities and a scrupulous performance of pious practices, and who also +had no father who had achieved a local saintship. But Belarab, with +his glamour of asceticism and melancholy together with a reputation for +severity (for a man so pious would be naturally ruthless), was not on +the spot. The only favourable point in his absence was the fact that +he had taken with him his latest wife, the same lady whom Jorgenson had +mentioned in his letter to Lingard as anxious to bring about battle, +murder, and the looting of the yacht, not because of inborn wickedness +of heart but from a simple desire for silks, jewels and other objects +of personal adornment, quite natural in a girl so young and elevated to +such a high position. Belarab had selected her to be the companion of +his retirement and Lingard was glad of it. He was not afraid of her +influence over Belarab. He knew his man. No words, no blandishments, no +sulks, scoldings, or whisperings of a favourite could affect either the +resolves or the irresolutions of that Arab whose action ever seemed +to hang in mystic suspense between the contradictory speculations and +judgments disputing the possession of his will. It was not what Belarab +would either suddenly do or leisurely determine upon that Lingard was +afraid of. The danger was that in his taciturn hesitation, which had +something hopelessly godlike in its remote calmness, the man would do +nothing and leave his white friend face to face with unruly impulses +against which Lingard had no means of action but force which he dared +not use since it would mean the destruction of his plans and the +downfall of his hopes; and worse still would wear an aspect of treachery +to Hassim and Immada, those fugitives whom he had snatched away from +the jaws of death on a night of storm and had promised to lead back +in triumph to their own country he had seen but once, sleeping unmoved +under the wrath and fire of heaven. + +On the afternoon of the very day he had arrived with her on board the +Emma--to the infinite disgust of Jorgenson--Lingard held with Mrs. +Travers (after she had had a couple of hours' rest) a long, fiery, and +perplexed conversation. From the nature of the problem it could not be +exhaustive; but toward the end of it they were both feeling thoroughly +exhausted. Mrs. Travers had no longer to be instructed as to facts and +possibilities. She was aware of them only too well and it was not her +part to advise or argue. She was not called upon to decide or to plead. +The situation was far beyond that. But she was worn out with watching +the passionate conflict within the man who was both so desperately +reckless and so rigidly restrained in the very ardour of his heart and +the greatness of his soul. It was a spectacle that made her forget +the actual questions at issue. This was no stage play; and yet she had +caught herself looking at him with bated breath as at a great actor on a +darkened stage in some simple and tremendous drama. He extorted from her +a response to the forces that seemed to tear at his single-minded +brain, at his guileless breast. He shook her with his own struggles, he +possessed her with his emotions and imposed his personality as if its +tragedy were the only thing worth considering in this matter. And +yet what had she to do with all those obscure and barbarous things? +Obviously nothing. Unluckily she had been taken into the confidence of +that man's passionate perplexity, a confidence provoked apparently by +nothing but the power of her personality. She was flattered, and even +more, she was touched by it; she was aware of something that resembled +gratitude and provoked a sort of emotional return as between equals who +had secretly recognized each other's value. Yet at the same time she +regretted not having been left in the dark; as much in the dark as Mr. +Travers himself or d'Alcacer, though as to the latter it was impossible +to say how much precise, unaccountable, intuitive knowledge was buried +under his unruffled manner. + +D'Alcacer was the sort of man whom it would be much easier to suspect +of anything in the world than ignorance--or stupidity. Naturally he +couldn't know anything definite or even guess at the bare outline of the +facts but somehow he must have scented the situation in those few days +of contact with Lingard. He was an acute and sympathetic observer in all +his secret aloofness from the life of men which was so very different +from Jorgenson's secret divorce from the passions of this earth. Mrs. +Travers would have liked to share with d'Alcacer the burden (for it +was a burden) of Lingard's story. After all, she had not provoked those +confidences, neither had that unexpected adventurer from the sea laid on +her an obligation of secrecy. No, not even by implication. He had never +said to her that she was the _only_ person whom he wished to know that +story. + +No. What he had said was that she was the only person to whom he _could_ +tell the tale himself, as if no one else on earth had the power to draw +it from him. That was the sense and nothing more. Yes, it would have +been a relief to tell d'Alcacer. It would have been a relief to her +feeling of being shut off from the world alone with Lingard as if within +the four walls of a romantic palace and in an exotic atmosphere. Yes, +that relief and also another: that of sharing the responsibility with +somebody fit to understand. Yet she shrank from it, with unaccountable +reserve, as if by talking of Lingard with d'Alcacer she was bound to +give him an insight into herself. It was a vague uneasiness and yet so +persistent that she felt it, too, when she had to approach and talk to +Lingard under d'Alcacer's eyes. Not that Mr. d'Alcacer would ever dream +of staring or even casting glances. But was he averting his eyes on +purpose? That would be even more offensive. + +“I am stupid,” whispered Mrs. Travers to herself, with a complete and +reassuring conviction. Yet she waited motionless till the footsteps of +the two men stopped outside the deckhouse, then separated and died away, +before she went out on deck. She came out on deck some time after her +husband. As if in intended contrast to the conflicts of men a great +aspect of serenity lay upon all visible things. Mr. Travers had gone +inside the Cage in which he really looked like a captive and thoroughly +out of place. D'Alcacer had gone in there, too, but he preserved--or was +it an illusion?--an air of independence. It was not that he put it +on. Like Mr. Travers he sat in a wicker armchair in very much the same +attitude as the other gentleman and also silent; but there was somewhere +a subtle difference which did away with the notion of captivity. +Moreover, d'Alcacer had that peculiar gift of never looking out of place +in any surroundings. Mrs. Travers, in order to save her European boots +for active service, had been persuaded to use a pair of leather sandals +also extracted from that seaman's chest in the deckhouse. An additional +fastening had been put on them but she could not avoid making a delicate +clatter as she walked on the deck. No part of her costume made her feel +so exotic. It also forced her to alter her usual gait and move with +quick, short steps very much like Immada. + +“I am robbing the girl of her clothes,” she had thought to herself, +“besides other things.” She knew by this time that a girl of such +high rank would never dream of wearing anything that had been worn by +somebody else. + +At the slight noise of Mrs. Travers' sandals d'Alcacer looked over the +back of his chair. But he turned his head away at once and Mrs. Travers, +leaning her elbow on the rail and resting her head on the palm of her +hand, looked across the calm surface of the lagoon, idly. + +She was turning her back on the Cage, the fore-part of the deck and +the edge of the nearest forest. That great erection of enormous solid +trunks, dark, rugged columns festooned with writhing creepers and +steeped in gloom, was so close to the bank that by looking over the +side of the ship she could see inverted in the glassy belt of water +its massive and black reflection on the reflected sky that gave the +impression of a clear blue abyss seen through a transparent film. And +when she raised her eyes the same abysmal immobility seemed to reign +over the whole sun-bathed enlargement of that lagoon which was one of +the secret places of the earth. She felt strongly her isolation. She was +so much the only being of her kind moving within this mystery that even +to herself she looked like an apparition without rights and without +defence and that must end by surrendering to those forces which seemed +to her but the expression of the unconscious genius of the place. Hers +was the most complete loneliness, charged with a catastrophic tension. +It lay about her as though she had been set apart within a magic circle. +It cut off--but it did not protect. The footsteps that she knew how to +distinguish above all others on that deck were heard suddenly behind +her. She did not turn her head. + +Since that afternoon when the gentlemen, as Lingard called them, had +been brought on board, Mrs. Travers and Lingard had not exchanged one +significant word. + +When Lingard had decided to proceed by way of negotiation she had asked +him on what he based his hope of success; and he had answered her: “On +my luck.” What he really depended on was his prestige; but even if he +had been aware of such a word he would not have used it, since it would +have sounded like a boast. And, besides, he did really believe in his +luck. Nobody, either white or brown, had ever doubted his word and that, +of course, gave him great assurance in entering upon the negotiation. +But the ultimate issue of it would be always a matter of luck. He said +so distinctly to Mrs. Travers at the moment of taking leave of her, +with Jorgenson already waiting for him in the boat that was to take them +across the lagoon to Belarab's stockade. + +Startled by his decision (for it had come suddenly clinched by the words +“I believe I can do it”), Mrs. Travers had dropped her hand into +his strong open palm on which an expert in palmistry could have +distinguished other lines than the line of luck. Lingard's hand closed +on hers with a gentle pressure. She looked at him, speechless. He waited +for a moment, then in an unconsciously tender voice he said: “Well, wish +me luck then.” + +She remained silent. And he still holding her hand looked surprised at +her hesitation. It seemed to her that she could not let him go, and she +didn't know what to say till it occurred to her to make use of the power +she knew she had over him. She would try it again. “I am coming with +you,” she declared with decision. “You don't suppose I could remain here +in suspense for hours, perhaps.” + +He dropped her hand suddenly as if it had burnt him--“Oh, yes, of +course,” he mumbled with an air of confusion. One of the men over there +was her husband! And nothing less could be expected from such a woman. +He had really nothing to say but she thought he hesitated.--“Do you +think my presence would spoil everything? I assure you I am a lucky +person, too, in a way. . . . As lucky as you, at least,” she had added +in a murmur and with a smile which provoked his responsive mutter--“Oh, +yes, we are a lucky pair of people.”--“I count myself lucky in having +found a man like you to fight my--our battles,” she said, warmly. +“Suppose you had not existed? . . . . You must let me come with you!” + For the second time before her expressed wish to stand by his side he +bowed his head. After all, if things came to the worst, she would be as +safe between him and Jorgenson as left alone on board the Emma with +a few Malay spearmen for all defence. For a moment Lingard thought +of picking up the pistols he had taken out of his belt preparatory to +joining Jorgenson in the boat, thinking it would be better to go to a +big talk completely unarmed. They were lying on the rail but he didn't +pick them up. Four shots didn't matter. They could not matter if the +world of his creation were to go to pieces. He said nothing of that to +Mrs. Travers but busied himself in giving her the means to alter her +personal appearance. It was then that the sea-chest in the deckhouse +was opened for the first time before the interested Mrs. Travers who had +followed him inside. Lingard handed to her a Malay woman's light cotton +coat with jewelled clasps to put over her European dress. It covered +half of her yachting skirt. Mrs. Travers obeyed him without comment. He +pulled out a long and wide scarf of white silk embroidered heavily on +the edges and ends, and begged her to put it over her head and arrange +the ends so as to muffle her face, leaving little more than her eyes +exposed to view.--“We are going amongst a lot of Mohammedans,” he +explained.--“I see. You want me to look respectable,” she jested.--“I +assure you, Mrs. Travers,” he protested, earnestly, “that most of the +people there and certainly all the great men have never seen a white +woman in their lives. But perhaps you would like better one of those +other scarves? There are three in there.”--“No, I like this one well +enough. They are all very gorgeous. I see that the Princess is to be +sent back to her land with all possible splendour. What a thoughtful man +you are, Captain Lingard. That child will be touched by your generosity. +. . . Will I do like this?” + +“Yes,” said Lingard, averting his eyes. Mrs. Travers followed him into +the boat where the Malays stared in silence while Jorgenson, stiff and +angular, gave no sign of life, not even so much as a movement of the +eyes. Lingard settled her in the stern sheets and sat down by her side. +The ardent sunshine devoured all colours. The boat swam forward on the +glare heading for the strip of coral beach dazzling like a crescent of +metal raised to a white heat. They landed. Gravely, Jorgenson opened +above Mrs. Travers' head a big white cotton parasol and she advanced +between the two men, dazed, as if in a dream and having no other contact +with the earth but through the soles of her feet. Everything was still, +empty, incandescent, and fantastic. Then when the gate of the stockade +was thrown open she perceived an expectant and still multitude of bronze +figures draped in coloured stuffs. They crowded the patches of shade +under the three lofty forest trees left within the enclosure between the +sun-smitten empty spaces of hard-baked ground. The broad blades of the +spears decorated with crimson tufts of horsehair had a cool gleam under +the outspread boughs. To the left a group of buildings on piles with +long verandahs and immense roofs towered high in the air above the +heads of the crowd, and seemed to float in the glare, looking much less +substantial than their heavy shadows. Lingard, pointing to one of the +smallest, said in an undertone, “I lived there for a fortnight when I +first came to see Belarab”; and Mrs. Travers felt more than ever as if +walking in a dream when she perceived beyond the rails of its verandah +and visible from head to foot two figures in an armour of chain mail +with pointed steel helmets crested with white and black feathers and +guarding the closed door. A high bench draped in turkey cloth stood +in an open space of the great audience shed. Lingard led her up to it, +Jorgenson on her other side closed the parasol calmly, and when she sat +down between them the whole throng before her eyes sank to the ground +with one accord disclosing in the distance of the courtyard a lonely +figure leaning against the smooth trunk of a tree. A white cloth was +fastened round his head by a yellow cord. Its pointed ends fell on +his shoulders, framing a thin dark face with large eyes, a silk cloak +striped black and white fell to his feet, and in the distance he looked +aloof and mysterious in his erect and careless attitude suggesting +assurance and power. + +Lingard, bending slightly, whispered into Mrs. Travers' ear that that +man, apart and dominating the scene, was Daman, the supreme leader of +the Illanuns, the one who had ordered the capture of those gentlemen in +order perhaps to force his hand. The two barbarous, half-naked figures +covered with ornaments and charms, squatting at his feet with their +heads enfolded in crimson and gold handkerchiefs and with straight +swords lying across their knees, were the Pangerans who carried out the +order, and had brought the captives into the lagoon. But the two men in +chain armour on watch outside the door of the small house were Belarab's +two particular body-guards, who got themselves up in that way only on +very great occasions. They were the outward and visible sign that the +prisoners were in Belarab's keeping, and this was good, so far. The pity +was that the Great Chief himself was not there. Then Lingard assumed a +formal pose and Mrs. Travers stared into the great courtyard and with +rows and rows of faces ranged on the ground at her feet felt a little +giddy for a moment. + +Every movement had died in the crowd. Even the eyes were still under the +variegated mass of coloured headkerchiefs: while beyond the open gate a +noble palm tree looked intensely black against the glitter of the lagoon +and the pale incandescence of the sky. Mrs. Travers gazing that way +wondered at the absence of Hassim and Immada. But the girl might have +been somewhere within one of the houses with the ladies of Belarab's +stockade. Then suddenly Mrs. Travers became aware that another bench +had been brought out and was already occupied by five men dressed in +gorgeous silks, and embroidered velvets, round-faced and grave. Their +hands reposed on their knees; but one amongst them clad in a white robe +and with a large nearly black turban on his head leaned forward a little +with his chin in his hand. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes remained +fixed on the ground as if to avoid looking at the infidel woman. + +She became aware suddenly of a soft murmur, and glancing at Lingard +she saw him in an attitude of impassive attention. The momentous +negotiations had begun, and it went on like this in low undertones with +long pauses and in the immobility of all the attendants squatting on the +ground, with the distant figure of Daman far off in the shade towering +over all the assembly. But in him, too, Mrs. Travers could not detect +the slightest movement while the slightly modulated murmurs went on +enveloping her in a feeling of peace. + +The fact that she couldn't understand anything of what was said soothed +her apprehensions. Sometimes a silence fell and Lingard bending toward +her would whisper, “It isn't so easy,” and the stillness would be so +perfect that she would hear the flutter of a pigeon's wing somewhere +high up in the great overshadowing trees. And suddenly one of the men +before her without moving a limb would begin another speech rendered +more mysterious still by the total absence of action or play of feature. +Only the watchfulness of the eyes which showed that the speaker was +not communing with himself made it clear that this was not a spoken +meditation but a flow of argument directed to Lingard who now and then +uttered a few words either with a grave or a smiling expression. They +were always followed by murmurs which seemed mostly to her to convey +assent; and then a reflective silence would reign again and the +immobility of the crowd would appear more perfect than before. + +When Lingard whispered to her that it was now his turn to make a +speech Mrs. Travers expected him to get up and assert himself by some +commanding gesture. But he did not. He remained seated, only his voice +had a vibrating quality though he obviously tried to restrain it, and +it travelled masterfully far into the silence. He spoke for a long time +while the sun climbing the unstained sky shifted the diminished shadows +of the trees, pouring on the heads of men its heat through the thick and +motionless foliage. Whenever murmurs arose he would stop and glancing +fearlessly at the assembly, wait till they subsided. Once or twice, they +rose to a loud hum and Mrs. Travers could hear on the other side of her +Jorgenson muttering something in his moustache. Beyond the rows of heads +Daman under the tree had folded his arms on his breast. The edge of +the white cloth concealed his forehead and at his feet the two Illanun +chiefs, half naked and bedecked with charms and ornaments of bright +feathers, of shells, with necklaces of teeth, claws, and shining beads, +remained cross-legged with their swords across their knees like two +bronze idols. Even the plumes of their head-dresses stirred not. + +“Sudah! It is finished!” A movement passed along all the heads, the +seated bodies swayed to and fro. Lingard had ceased speaking. He +remained seated for a moment looking his audience all over and when he +stood up together with Mrs. Travers and Jorgenson the whole assembly +rose from the ground together and lost its ordered formation. Some +of Belarab's retainers, young broad-faced fellows, wearing a sort of +uniform of check-patterned sarongs, black silk jackets and crimson +skull-caps set at a rakish angle, swaggered through the broken groups +and ranged themselves in two rows before the motionless Daman and his +Illanun chiefs in martial array. The members of the council who had +left their bench approached the white people with gentle smiles +and deferential movements of the hands. Their bearing was faintly +propitiatory; only the man in the big turban remained fanatically aloof, +keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. + +“I have done it,” murmured Lingard to Mrs. Travers.--“Was it very +difficult?” she asked.--“No,” he said, conscious in his heart that he +had strained to the fullest extent the prestige of his good name and +that habit of deference to his slightest wish established by the glamour +of his wealth and the fear of his personality in this great talk which +after all had done nothing except put off the decisive hour. He offered +Mrs. Travers his arm ready to lead her away, but at the last moment did +not move. + +With an authoritative gesture Daman had parted the ranks of Belarab's +young followers with the red skullcaps and was seen advancing toward the +whites striking into an astonished silence all the scattered groups in +the courtyard. But the broken ranks had closed behind him. The Illanun +chiefs, for all their truculent aspect, were much too prudent to attempt +to move. They had not needed for that the faint warning murmur from +Daman. He advanced alone. The plain hilt of a sword protruded from the +open edges of his cloak. The parted edges disclosed also the butts of +two flintlock pistols. The Koran in a velvet case hung on his breast by +a red cord of silk. He was pious, magnificent, and warlike, with calm +movements and a straight glance from under the hem of the simple piece +of linen covering his head. He carried himself rigidly and his bearing +had a sort of solemn modesty. Lingard said hurriedly to Mrs. Travers +that the man had met white people before and that, should he attempt to +shake hands with her, she ought to offer her own covered with the end +of her scarf.--“Why?” she asked. “Propriety?”--“Yes, it will be better,” + said Lingard and the next moment Mrs. Travers felt her enveloped hand +pressed gently by slender dark fingers and felt extremely Oriental +herself when, with her face muffled to the eyes, she encountered the +lustrous black stare of the sea-robbers' leader. It was only for an +instant, because Daman turned away at once to shake hands with Lingard. +In the straight, ample folds of his robes he looked very slender facing +the robust white man. + +“Great is your power,” he said, in a pleasant voice. “The white men are +going to be delivered to you.” + +“Yes, they pass into my keeping,” said Lingard, returning the other's +bright smile but otherwise looking grim enough with the frown which +had settled on his forehead at Daman's approach. He glanced over his +shoulder at a group of spearmen escorting the two captives who had come +down the steps from the hut. At the sight of Daman barring as it were +Lingard's way they had stopped at some distance and had closed round the +two white men. Daman also glanced dispassionately that way. + +“They were my guests,” he murmured. “Please God I shall come soon to ask +you for them . . . as a friend,” he added after a slight pause. + +“And please God you will not go away empty handed,” said Lingard, +smoothing his brow. “After all you and I were not meant to meet only +to quarrel. Would you have preferred to see them pass into Tengga's +keeping?” + +“Tengga is fat and full of wiles,” said Daman, disdainfully, “a mere +shopkeeper smitten by a desire to be a chief. He is nothing. But you and +I are men that have real power. Yet there is a truth that you and I can +confess to each other. Men's hearts grow quickly discontented. Listen. +The leaders of men are carried forward in the hands of their followers; +and common men's minds are unsteady, their desires changeable, and +their thoughts not to be trusted. You are a great chief they say. Do not +forget that I am a chief, too, and a leader of armed men.” + +“I have heard of you, too,” said Lingard in a composed voice. + +Daman had cast his eyes down. Suddenly he opened them very wide with an +effect that startled Mrs. Travers.--“Yes. But do you see?” Mrs. Travers, +her hand resting lightly on Lingard's arm, had the sensation of acting +in a gorgeously got up play on the brilliantly lighted stage of an +exotic opera whose accompaniment was not music but the varied strains +of the all-pervading silence.--“Yes, I see,” Lingard replied with a +surprisingly confidential intonation. “But power, too, is in the hands +of a great leader.” + +Mrs. Travers watched the faint movements of Daman's nostrils as though +the man were suffering from some powerful emotion, while under her +fingers Lingard's forearm in its white sleeve was as steady as a limb of +marble. Without looking at him she seemed to feel that with one movement +he could crush that nervous figure in which lived the breath of the +great desert haunted by his nomad, camel-riding ancestors.--“Power is +in the hand of God,” he said, all animation dying out of his face, and +paused to wait for Lingard's “Very true,” then continued with a fine +smile, “but He apportions it according to His will for His own purposes, +even to those that are not of the Faith.” + +“Such being the will of God you should harbour no bitterness against +them in your heart.” + +The low exclamation, “Against those!” and a slight dismissing gesture +of a meagre dark hand out of the folds of the cloak were almost +understandable to Mrs. Travers in the perfection of their melancholy +contempt, and gave Lingard a further insight into the character of +the ally secured to him by the diplomacy of Belarab. He was only half +reassured by this assumption of superior detachment. He trusted to the +man's self-interest more; for Daman no doubt looked to the reconquered +kingdom for the reward of dignity and ease. His father and grandfather +(the men of whom Jorgenson had written as having been hanged for an +example twelve years before) had been friends of Sultans, advisers of +Rulers, wealthy financiers of the great raiding expeditions of the +past. It was hatred that had turned Daman into a self-made outcast, +till Belarab's diplomacy had drawn him out from some obscure and uneasy +retreat. + +In a few words Lingard assured Daman of the complete safety of his +followers as long as they themselves made no attempt to get possession +of the stranded yacht. Lingard understood very well that the capture of +Travers and d'Alcacer was the result of a sudden fear, a move directed +by Daman to secure his own safety. The sight of the stranded yacht shook +his confidence completely. It was as if the secrets of the place had +been betrayed. After all, it was perhaps a great folly to trust any +white man, no matter how much he seemed estranged from his own people. +Daman felt he might have been the victim of a plot. Lingard's brig +appeared to him a formidable engine of war. He did not know what to +think and the motive for getting hold of the two white men was really +the wish to secure hostages. Distrusting the fierce impulses of his +followers he had hastened to put them into Belarab's keeping. But +everything in the Settlement seemed to him suspicious: Belarab's +absence, Jorgenson's refusal to make over at once the promised supply +of arms and ammunition. And now that white man had by the power of his +speech got them away from Belarab's people. So much influence filled +Daman with wonder and awe. A recluse for many years in the most obscure +corner of the Archipelago he felt himself surrounded by intrigues. But +the alliance was a great thing, too. He did not want to quarrel. He was +quite willing for the time being to accept Lingard's assurance that no +harm should befall his people encamped on the sandbanks. Attentive and +slight, he seemed to let Lingard's deliberate words sink into him. The +force of that unarmed big man seemed overwhelming. He bowed his head +slowly. + +“Allah is our refuge,” he murmured, accepting the inevitable. + +He delighted Mrs. Travers not as a living being but like a clever +sketch in colours, a vivid rendering of an artist's vision of some soul, +delicate and fierce. His bright half-smile was extraordinary, sharp like +clear steel, painfully penetrating. Glancing right and left Mrs. Travers +saw the whole courtyard smitten by the desolating fury of sunshine and +peopled with shadows, their forms and colours fading in the violence of +the light. The very brown tones of roof and wall dazzled the eye. Then +Daman stepped aside. He was no longer smiling and Mrs. Travers advanced +with her hand on Lingard's arm through a heat so potent that it seemed +to have a taste, a feel, a smell of its own. She moved on as if floating +in it with Lingard's support. + +“Where are they?” she asked. + +“They are following us all right,” he answered. Lingard was so certain +that the prisoners would be delivered to him on the beach that he never +glanced back till, after reaching the boat, he and Mrs. Travers turned +about. + +The group of spearmen parted right and left, and Mr. Travers and +d'Alcacer walked forward alone looking unreal and odd like their own +day-ghosts. Mr. Travers gave no sign of being aware of his wife's +presence. It was certainly a shock to him. But d'Alcacer advanced +smiling, as if the beach were a drawing room. + +With a very few paddlers the heavy old European-built boat moved +slowly over the water that seemed as pale and blazing as the sky above. +Jorgenson had perched himself in the bow. The other four white people +sat in the stern sheets, the ex-prisoners side by side in the middle. +Lingard spoke suddenly. + +“I want you both to understand that the trouble is not over yet. Nothing +is finished. You are out on my bare word.” + +While Lingard was speaking Mr. Travers turned his face away but +d'Alcacer listened courteously. Not another word was spoken for the rest +of the way. The two gentlemen went up the ship's side first. Lingard +remained to help Mrs. Travers at the foot of the ladder. She pressed his +hand strongly and looking down at his upturned face: + +“This was a wonderful success,” she said. + +For a time the character of his fascinated gaze did not change. It +was as if she had said nothing. Then he whispered, admiringly, “You +understand everything.” + +She moved her eyes away and had to disengage her hand to which he clung +for a moment, giddy, like a man falling out of the world. + + + +III + +Mrs. Travers, acutely aware of Lingard behind her, remained gazing over +the lagoon. After a time he stepped forward and placed himself beside +her close to the rail. She went on staring at the sheet of water turned +to deep purple under the sunset sky. + +“Why have you been avoiding me since we came back from the stockade?” + she asked in a deadened voice. + +“There is nothing to tell you till Rajah Hassim and his sister Immada +return with some news,” Lingard answered in the same tone. “Has my +friend succeeded? Will Belarab listen to any arguments? Will he consent +to come out of his shell? Is he on his way back? I wish I knew! . . . +Not a whisper comes from there! He may have started two days ago and +he may be now near the outskirts of the Settlement. Or he may have gone +into camp half way down, from some whim or other; or he may be already +arrived for all I know. We should not have seen him. The road from the +hills does not lead along the beach.” + +He snatched nervously at the long glass and directed it at the dark +stockade. The sun had sunk behind the forests leaving the contour of the +tree-tops outlined by a thread of gold under a band of delicate green +lying across the lower sky. Higher up a faint crimson glow faded into +the darkened blue overhead. The shades of the evening deepened over the +lagoon, clung to the sides of the Emma and to the forms of the further +shore. Lingard laid the glass down. + +“Mr. d'Alcacer, too, seems to have been avoiding me,” said Mrs. Travers. +“You are on very good terms with him, Captain Lingard.” + +“He is a very pleasant man,” murmured Lingard, absently. “But he says +funny things sometimes. He inquired the other day if there were any +playing cards on board, and when I asked him if he liked card-playing, +just for something to say, he told me with that queer smile of his that +he had read a story of some people condemned to death who passed the +time before execution playing card games with their guards.” + +“And what did you say?” + +“I told him that there were probably cards on board somewhere--Jorgenson +would know. Then I asked him whether he looked on me as a gaoler. He was +quite startled and sorry for what he said.” + +“It wasn't very kind of you, Captain Lingard.” + +“It slipped out awkwardly and we made it up with a laugh.” + +Mrs. Travers leaned her elbows on the rail and put her head into her +hands. Every attitude of that woman surprised Lingard by its enchanting +effect upon himself. He sighed, and the silence lasted for a long while. + +“I wish I had understood every word that was said that morning.” + +“That morning,” repeated Lingard. “What morning do you mean?” + +“I mean the morning when I walked out of Belarab's stockade on your arm, +Captain Lingard, at the head of the procession. It seemed to me that I +was walking on a splendid stage in a scene from an opera, in a gorgeous +show fit to make an audience hold its breath. You can't possibly guess +how unreal all this seemed, and how artificial I felt myself. An opera, +you know. . . .” + +“I know. I was a gold digger at one time. Some of us used to come down +to Melbourne with our pockets full of money. I daresay it was poor +enough to what you must have seen, but once I went to a show like that. +It was a story acted to music. All the people went singing through it +right to the very end.” + +“How it must have jarred on your sense of reality,” said Mrs. Travers, +still not looking at him. “You don't remember the name of the opera?” + +“No. I never troubled my head about it. We--our lot never did.” + +“I won't ask you what the story was like. It must have appeared to +you like the very defiance of all truth. Would real people go singing +through their life anywhere except in a fairy tale?” + +“These people didn't always sing for joy,” said Lingard, simply. “I +don't know much about fairy tales.” + +“They are mostly about princesses,” murmured Mrs. Travers. + +Lingard didn't quite hear. He bent his ear for a moment but she wasn't +looking at him and he didn't ask her to repeat her remark. “Fairy tales +are for children, I believe,” he said. “But that story with music I am +telling you of, Mrs. Travers, was not a tale for children. I assure you +that of the few shows I have seen that one was the most real to me. More +real than anything in life.” + +Mrs. Travers, remembering the fatal inanity of most opera librettos, was +touched by these words as if there had been something pathetic in this +readiness of response; as if she had heard a starved man talking of the +delight of a crust of dry bread. “I suppose you forgot yourself in that +story, whatever it was,” she remarked in a detached tone. + +“Yes, it carried me away. But I suppose you know the feeling.” + +“No. I never knew anything of the kind, not even when I was a chit of +a girl.” Lingard seemed to accept this statement as an assertion of +superiority. He inclined his head slightly. Moreover, she might have +said what she liked. What pleased him most was her not looking at him; +for it enabled him to contemplate with perfect freedom the curve of her +cheek, her small ear half hidden by the clear mesh of fine hair, +the fascination of her uncovered neck. And her whole person was an +impossible, an amazing and solid marvel which somehow was not so much +convincing to the eye as to something within him that was apparently +independent of his senses. Not even for a moment did he think of her as +remote. Untouchable--possibly! But remote--no. Whether consciously or +unconsciously he took her spiritually for granted. It was materially +that she was a wonder of the sort that is at the same time familiar and +sacred. + +“No,” Mrs. Travers began again, abruptly. “I never forgot myself in a +story. It was not in me. I have not even been able to forget myself on +that morning on shore which was part of my own story.” + +“You carried yourself first rate,” said Lingard, smiling at the nape of +her neck, her ear, the film of escaped hair, the modelling of the corner +of her eye. He could see the flutter of the dark eyelashes: and the +delicate flush on her cheek had rather the effect of scent than of +colour. + +“You approved of my behaviour.” + +“Just right, I tell you. My word, weren't they all struck of a heap when +they made out what you were.” + +“I ought to feel flattered. I will confess to you that I felt only half +disguised and was half angry and wholly uncomfortable. What helped me, I +suppose, was that I wanted to please. . . .” + +“I don't mean to say that they were exactly pleased,” broke in Lingard, +conscientiously. “They were startled more.” + +“I wanted to please you,” dropped Mrs. Travers, negligently. A faint, +hoarse, and impatient call of a bird was heard from the woods as if +calling to the oncoming night. Lingard's face grew hot in the deepening +dusk. The delicate lemon yellow and ethereal green tints had vanished +from the sky and the red glow darkened menacingly. The sun had set +behind the black pall of the forest, no longer edged with a line of +gold. “Yes, I was absurdly self-conscious,” continued Mrs. Travers in a +conversational tone. “And it was the effect of these clothes that you +made me put on over some of my European--I almost said disguise; because +you know in the present more perfect costume I feel curiously at home; +and yet I can't say that these things really fit me. The sleeves of this +silk under-jacket are rather tight. My shoulders feel bound, too, and as +to the sarong it is scandalously short. According to rule it should have +been long enough to fall over my feet. But I like freedom of movement. I +have had very little of what I liked in life.” + +“I can hardly believe that,” said Lingard. “If it wasn't for your saying +so. . . .” + +“I wouldn't say so to everybody,” she said, turning her head for a +moment to Lingard and turning it away again to the dusk which seemed to +come floating over the black lagoon. Far away in its depth a couple of +feeble lights twinkled; it was impossible to say whether on the shore +or on the edge of the more distant forest. Overhead the stars were +beginning to come out, but faint yet, as if too remote to be reflected +in the lagoon. Only to the west a setting planet shone through the red +fog of the sunset glow. “It was supposed not to be good for me to have +much freedom of action. So at least I was told. But I have a suspicion +that it was only unpleasing to other people.” + +“I should have thought,” began Lingard, then hesitated and stopped. It +seemed to him inconceivable that everybody should not have loved to make +that woman happy. And he was impressed by the bitterness of her tone. +Mrs. Travers did not seem curious to know what he wanted to say and +after a time she added, “I don't mean only when I was a child. I don't +remember that very well. I daresay I was very objectionable as a child.” + +Lingard tried to imagine her as a child. The idea was novel to him. +Her perfection seemed to have come into the world complete, mature, and +without any hesitation or weakness. He had nothing in his experience +that could help him to imagine a child of that class. The children he +knew played about the village street and ran on the beach. He had been +one of them. He had seen other children, of course, since, but he +had not been in touch with them except visually and they had not been +English children. Her childhood, like his own, had been passed in +England, and that very fact made it almost impossible for him to imagine +it. He could not even tell whether it was in town or in the country, or +whether as a child she had even seen the sea. And how could a child of +that kind be objectionable? But he remembered that a child disapproved +of could be very unhappy, and he said: + +“I am sorry.” + +Mrs. Travers laughed a little. Within the muslin cage forms had turned +to blurred shadows. Amongst them the form of d'Alcacer arose and moved. +The systematic or else the morbid dumbness of Mr. Travers bored and +exasperated him, though, as a matter of fact, that gentleman's speeches +had never had the power either to entertain or to soothe his mind. + +“It's very nice of you. You have a great capacity for sympathy, but +after all I am not certain on which side your sympathies lie. With me, +or those much-tried people,” said Mrs. Travers. + +“With the child,” said Lingard, disregarding the bantering tone. “A +child can have a very bad time of it all to itself.” + +“What can you know of it?” she asked. + +“I have my own feelings,” he answered in some surprise. + +Mrs. Travers, with her back to him, was covered with confusion. Neither +could she depict to herself his childhood as if he, too, had come +into the world in the fullness of his strength and his purpose. She +discovered a certain naiveness in herself and laughed a little. He made +no sound. + +“Don't be angry,” she said. “I wouldn't dream of laughing at your +feelings. Indeed your feelings are the most serious thing that ever came +in my way. I couldn't help laughing at myself--at a funny discovery I +made.” + +“In the days of your childhood?” she heard Lingard's deep voice asking +after a pause. + +“Oh, no. Ages afterward. No child could have made that discovery. Do +you know the greatest difference there is between us? It is this: That I +have been living since my childhood in front of a show and that I +never have been taken in for a moment by its tinsel and its noise or +by anything that went on on the stage. Do you understand what I mean, +Captain Lingard?” + +There was a moment of silence. “What does it matter? We are no children +now.” There was an infinite gentleness in Lingard's deep tones. “But if +you have been unhappy then don't tell me that it has not been made up to +you since. Surely you have only to make a sign. A woman like you.” + +“You think I could frighten the whole world on to its knees?” + +“No, not frighten.” The suggestion of a laugh in the deadened voice +passed off in a catch of the breath. Then he was heard beginning +soberly: “Your husband. . . .” He hesitated a little and she took the +opportunity to say coldly: + +“His name is Mr. Travers.” + +Lingard didn't know how to take it. He imagined himself to have been +guilty of some sort of presumption. But how on earth was he to call the +man? After all he was her husband. That idea was disagreeable to him +because the man was also inimical in a particularly unreasonable and +galling manner. At the same time he was aware that he didn't care a +bit for his enmity and had an idea that he would not have cared for his +friendship either. And suddenly he felt very much annoyed. + +“Yes. That's the man I mean,” he said in a contemptuous tone. “I don't +particularly like the name and I am sure I don't want to talk about him +more than I can help. If he hadn't been your husband I wouldn't have put +up with his manners for an hour. Do you know what would have happened to +him if he hadn't been your husband?” + +“No,” said Mrs. Travers. “Do you, Captain Lingard?” + +“Not exactly,” he admitted. “Something he wouldn't have liked, you may +be sure.” + +“While of course he likes this very much,” she observed. Lingard gave an +abrupt laugh. + +“I don't think it's in my power to do anything that he would like,” he +said in a serious tone. “Forgive me my frankness, Mrs. Travers, but he +makes it very difficult sometimes for me to keep civil. Whatever I have +had to put up with in life I have never had to put up with contempt.” + +“I quite believe that,” said Mrs. Travers. “Don't your friends call you +King Tom?” + +“Nobody that I care for. I have no friends. Oh, yes, they call me +that . . .” + +“You have no friends?” + +“Not I,” he said with decision. “A man like me has no chums.” + +“It's quite possible,” murmured Mrs. Travers to herself. + +“No, not even Jorgenson. Old crazy Jorgenson. He calls me King Tom, too. +You see what that's worth.” + +“Yes, I see. Or rather I have heard. That poor man has no tone, and so +much depends on that. Now suppose I were to call you King Tom now +and then between ourselves,” Mrs. Travers' voice proposed, distantly +tentative in the night that invested her person with a colourless +vagueness of form. + +She waited in the stillness, her elbows on the rail and her face in her +hands as if she had already forgotten what she had said. She heard at +her elbow the deep murmur of: + +“Let's hear you say it.” + +She never moved the least bit. The sombre lagoon sparkled faintly with +the reflection of the stars. + +“Oh, yes, I will let you hear it,” she said into the starlit space in a +voice of unaccented gentleness which changed subtly as she went on. “I +hope you will never regret that you came out of your friendless mystery +to speak to me, King Tom. How many days ago it was! And here is another +day gone. Tell me how many more of them there must be? Of these blinding +days and nights without a sound.” + +“Be patient,” he murmured. “Don't ask me for the impossible.” + +“How do you or I know what is possible?” she whispered with a strange +scorn. “You wouldn't dare guess. But I tell you that every day that +passes is more impossible to me than the day before.” + +The passion of that whisper went like a stab into his breast. “What am +I to tell you?” he murmured, as if with despair. “Remember that every +sunset makes it a day less. Do you think I want you here?” + +A bitter little laugh floated out into the starlight. Mrs. Travers heard +Lingard move suddenly away from her side. She didn't change her pose by +a hair's breadth. Presently she heard d'Alcacer coming out of the Cage. +His cultivated voice asked half playfully: + +“Have you had a satisfactory conversation? May I be told something of +it?” + +“Mr. d'Alcacer, you are curious.” + +“Well, in our position, I confess. . . . You are our only refuge, +remember.” + +“You want to know what we were talking about,” said Mrs. Travers, +altering slowly her position so as to confront d'Alcacer whose face was +almost undistinguishable. “Oh, well, then, we talked about opera, the +realities and illusions of the stage, of dresses, of people's names, and +things of that sort.” + +“Nothing of importance,” he said courteously. Mrs. Travers moved forward +and he stepped to one side. Inside the Cage two Malay hands were hanging +round lanterns, the light of which fell on Mr. Travers' bowed head as he +sat in his chair. + +When they were all assembled for the evening meal Jorgenson strolled up +from nowhere in particular as his habit was, and speaking through the +muslin announced that Captain Lingard begged to be excused from joining +the company that evening. Then he strolled away. From that moment till +they got up from the table and the camp bedsteads were brought in not +twenty words passed between the members of the party within the net. The +strangeness of their situation made all attempts to exchange ideas very +arduous; and apart from that each had thoughts which it was distinctly +useless to communicate to the others. Mr. Travers had abandoned himself +to his sense of injury. He did not so much brood as rage inwardly in +a dull, dispirited way. The impossibility of asserting himself in any +manner galled his very soul. D'Alcacer was extremely puzzled. Detached +in a sense from the life of men perhaps as much even as Jorgenson +himself, he took yet a reasonable interest in the course of events and +had not lost all his sense of self-preservation. Without being able to +appreciate the exact values of the situation he was not one of those men +who are ever completely in the dark in any given set of circumstances. +Without being humorous he was a good-humoured man. His habitual, gentle +smile was a true expression. More of a European than of a Spaniard he +had that truly aristocratic nature which is inclined to credit every +honest man with something of its own nobility and in its judgment is +altogether independent of class feeling. He believed Lingard to be an +honest man and he never troubled his head to classify him, except in +the sense that he found him an interesting character. He had a sort of +esteem for the outward personality and the bearing of that seaman. He +found in him also the distinction of being nothing of a type. He was a +specimen to be judged only by its own worth. With his natural gift of +insight d'Alcacer told himself that many overseas adventurers of history +were probably less worthy because obviously they must have been less +simple. He didn't, however, impart those thoughts formally to Mrs. +Travers. In fact he avoided discussing Lingard with Mrs. Travers who, he +thought, was quite intelligent enough to appreciate the exact shade of +his attitude. If that shade was fine, Mrs. Travers was fine, too; and +there was no need to discuss the colours of this adventure. Moreover, +she herself seemed to avoid all direct discussion of the Lingard element +in their fate. D'Alcacer was fine enough to be aware that those two +seemed to understand each other in a way that was not obvious even to +themselves. Whenever he saw them together he was always much tempted to +observe them. And he yielded to the temptation. The fact of one's +life depending on the phases of an obscure action authorizes a certain +latitude of behaviour. He had seen them together repeatedly, communing +openly or apart, and there was in their way of joining each other, +in their poses and their ways of separating, something special and +characteristic and pertaining to themselves only, as if they had been +made for each other. + +What he couldn't understand was why Mrs. Travers should have put off his +natural curiosity as to her latest conference with the Man of Fate by +an incredible statement as to the nature of the conversation. Talk about +dresses, opera, people's names. He couldn't take this seriously. She +might have invented, he thought, something more plausible; or simply +have told him that this was not for him to know. She ought to have known +that he would not have been offended. Couldn't she have seen already +that he accepted the complexion of mystery in her relation to that man +completely, unquestionably; as though it had been something preordained +from the very beginning of things? But he was not annoyed with Mrs. +Travers. After all it might have been true. She would talk exactly as +she liked, and even incredibly, if it so pleased her, and make the man +hang on her lips. And likewise she was capable of making the man talk +about anything by a power of inspiration for reasons simple or perverse. +Opera! Dresses! Yes--about Shakespeare and the musical glasses! For a +mere whim or for the deepest purpose. Women worthy of the name were like +that. They were very wonderful. They rose to the occasion and sometimes +above the occasion when things were bound to occur that would be comic +or tragic (as it happened) but generally charged with trouble even to +innocent beholders. D'Alcacer thought these thoughts without bitterness +and even without irony. With his half-secret social reputation as a man +of one great passion in a world of mere intrigues he liked all women. +He liked them in their sentiment and in their hardness, in the tragic +character of their foolish or clever impulses, at which he looked with a +sort of tender seriousness. + +He didn't take a favourable view of the position but he considered Mrs. +Travers' statement about operas and dresses as a warning to keep off the +subject. For this reason he remained silent through the meal. + +When the bustle of clearing away the table was over he strolled toward +Mrs. Travers and remarked very quietly: + +“I think that in keeping away from us this evening the Man of Fate was +well inspired. We dined like a lot of Carthusian monks.” + +“You allude to our silence?” + +“It was most scrupulous. If we had taken an eternal vow we couldn't have +kept it better.” + +“Did you feel bored?” + +“Pas du tout,” d'Alcacer assured her with whimsical gravity. “I felt +nothing. I sat in a state of blessed vacuity. I believe I was the +happiest of us three. Unless you, too, Mrs. Travers. . . .” + +“It's absolutely no use your fishing for my thoughts, Mr. d'Alcacer. If +I were to let you see them you would be appalled.” + +“Thoughts really are but a shape of feelings. Let me congratulate you +on the impassive mask you can put on those horrors you say you nurse in +your breast. It was impossible to tell anything by your face.” + +“You will always say flattering things.” + +“Madame, my flatteries come from the very bottom of my heart. I have +given up long ago all desire to please. And I was not trying to get at +your thoughts. Whatever else you may expect from me you may count on my +absolute respect for your privacy. But I suppose with a mask such as you +can make for yourself you really don't care. The Man of Fate, I noticed, +is not nearly as good at it as you are.” + +“What a pretentious name. Do you call him by it to his face, Mr. +d'Alcacer?” + +“No, I haven't the cheek,” confessed d'Alcacer, equably. “And, besides, +it's too momentous for daily use. And he is so simple that he might +mistake it for a joke and nothing could be further from my thoughts. +Mrs. Travers, I will confess to you that I don't feel jocular in the +least. But what can he know about people of our sort? And when I reflect +how little people of our sort can know of such a man I am quite content +to address him as Captain Lingard. It's common and soothing and most +respectable and satisfactory; for Captain is the most empty of all +titles. What is a Captain? Anybody can be a Captain; and for Lingard +it's a name like any other. Whereas what he deserves is something +special, significant, and expressive, that would match his person, his +simple and romantic person.” + +He perceived that Mrs. Travers was looking at him intently. They +hastened to turn their eyes away from each other. + +“He would like your appreciation,” Mrs. Travers let drop negligently. + +“I am afraid he would despise it.” + +“Despise it! Why, that sort of thing is the very breath of his +nostrils.” + +“You seem to understand him, Mrs. Travers. Women have a singular +capacity for understanding. I mean subjects that interest them; because +when their imagination is stimulated they are not afraid of letting it +go. A man is more mistrustful of himself, but women are born much +more reckless. They push on and on under the protection of secrecy and +silence, and the greater the obscurity of what they wish to explore the +greater their courage.” + +“Do you mean seriously to tell me that you consider me a creature of +darkness?” + +“I spoke in general,” remonstrated d'Alcacer. “Anything else would +have been an impertinence. Yes, obscurity is women's best friend. Their +daring loves it; but a sudden flash of light disconcerts them. Generally +speaking, if they don't get exactly at the truth they always manage to +come pretty near to it.” + +Mrs. Travers had listened with silent attention and she allowed the +silence to continue for some time after d'Alcacer had ceased. When she +spoke it was to say in an unconcerned tone that as to this subject she +had had special opportunities. Her self-possessed interlocutor +managed to repress a movement of real curiosity under an assumption +of conventional interest. “Indeed,” he exclaimed, politely. “A special +opportunity. How did you manage to create it?” + +This was too much for Mrs. Travers. “I! Create it!” she exclaimed, +indignantly, but under her breath. “How on earth do you think I could +have done it?” + +Mr. d'Alcacer, as if communing with himself, was heard to murmur +unrepentantly that indeed women seldom knew how they had “done it,” to +which Mrs. Travers in a weary tone returned the remark that no two +men were dense in the same way. To this Mr. d'Alcacer assented without +difficulty. “Yes, our brand presents more varieties. This, from a +certain point of view, is obviously to our advantage. We interest. . . . +Not that I imagine myself interesting to you, Mrs. Travers. But what +about the Man of Fate?” + +“Oh, yes,” breathed out Mrs. Travers. + +“I see! Immensely!” said d'Alcacer in a tone of mysterious +understanding. “Was his stupidity so colossal?” + +“It was indistinguishable from great visions that were in no sense mean +and made up for him a world of his own.” + +“I guessed that much,” muttered d'Alcacer to himself. “But that, you +know, Mrs. Travers, that isn't good news at all to me. World of dreams, +eh? That's very bad, very dangerous. It's almost fatal, Mrs. Travers.” + +“Why all this dismay? Why do you object to a world of dreams?” + +“Because I dislike the prospect of being made a sacrifice of by those +Moors. I am not an optimist like our friend there,” he continued in a +low tone nodding toward the dismal figure of Mr. Travers huddled up in +the chair. “I don't regard all this as a farce and I have discovered +in myself a strong objection to having my throat cut by those gorgeous +barbarians after a lot of fatuous talk. Don't ask me why, Mrs. Travers. +Put it down to an absurd weakness.” + +Mrs. Travers made a slight movement in her chair, raising her hands to +her head, and in the dim light of the lanterns d'Alcacer saw the mass of +her clear gleaming hair fall down and spread itself over her shoulders. +She seized half of it in her hands which looked very white, and with her +head inclined a little on one side she began to make a plait. + +“You are terrifying,” he said after watching the movement of her fingers +for a while. + +“Yes . . . ?” she accentuated interrogatively. + +“You have the awfulness of the predestined. You, too, are the prey of +dreams.” + +“Not of the Moors, then,” she uttered, calmly, beginning the other +plait. D'Alcacer followed the operation to the end. Close against her, +her diaphanous shadow on the muslin reproduced her slightest movements. +D'Alcacer turned his eyes away. + +“No! No barbarian shall touch you. Because if it comes to that I believe +_he_ would be capable of killing you himself.” + +A minute elapsed before he stole a glance in her direction. She was +leaning back again, her hands had fallen on her lap and her head with a +plait of hair on each side of her face, her head incredibly changed in +character and suggesting something medieval, ascetic, drooped dreamily +on her breast. + +D'Alcacer waited, holding his breath. She didn't move. In the dim gleam +of jewelled clasps, the faint sheen of gold embroideries and the shimmer +of silks, she was like a figure in a faded painting. Only her neck +appeared dazzlingly white in the smoky redness of the light. D'Alcacer's +wonder approached a feeling of awe. He was on the point of moving away +quietly when Mrs. Travers, without stirring in the least, let him hear +the words: + +“I have told him that every day seemed more difficult to live. Don't you +see how impossible this is?” + +D'Alcacer glanced rapidly across the Cage where Mr. Travers seemed to +be asleep all in a heap and presenting a ruffled appearance like a sick +bird. Nothing was distinct of him but the bald patch on the top of his +head. + +“Yes,” he murmured, “it is most unfortunate. . . . I understand your +anxiety, Mrs. Travers, but . . .” + +“I am frightened,” she said. + +He reflected a moment. “What answer did you get?” he asked, softly. + +“The answer was: 'Patience.'” + +D'Alcacer laughed a little.--“You may well laugh,” murmured Mrs. Travers +in a tone of anguish.--“That's why I did,” he whispered. “Patience! +Didn't he see the horror of it?”--“I don't know. He walked away,” said +Mrs. Travers. She looked immovably at her hands clasped in her lap, +and then with a burst of distress, “Mr. d'Alcacer, what is going to +happen?”--“Ah, you are asking yourself the question at last. _That_ +will happen which cannot be avoided; and perhaps you know best what it +is.”--“No. I am still asking myself what he will do.”--“Ah, that is not +for me to know,” declared d'Alcacer. “I can't tell you what he will do, +but I know what will happen to him.”--“To him, you say! To him!” she +cried.--“He will break his heart,” said d'Alcacer, distinctly, bending +a little over the chair with a slight gasp at his own audacity--and +waited. + +“Croyez-vous?” came at last from Mrs. Travers in an accent so coldly +languid that d'Alcacer felt a shudder run down his spine. + +Was it possible that she was that kind of woman, he asked himself. +Did she see nothing in the world outside herself? Was she above the +commonest kind of compassion? He couldn't suspect Mrs. Travers of +stupidity; but she might have been heartless and, like some women of +her class, quite unable to recognize any emotion in the world except her +own. D'Alcacer was shocked and at the same time he was relieved because +he confessed to himself that he had ventured very far. However, in her +humanity she was not vulgar enough to be offended. She was not the slave +of small meannesses. This thought pleased d'Alcacer who had schooled +himself not to expect too much from people. But he didn't know what to +do next. After what he had ventured to say and after the manner in +which she had met his audacity the only thing to do was to change the +conversation. Mrs. Travers remained perfectly still. “I will pretend +that I think she is asleep,” he thought to himself, meditating a retreat +on tip-toe. + +He didn't know that Mrs. Travers was simply trying to recover the full +command of her faculties. His words had given her a terrible shock. +After managing to utter this defensive “croyez-vous” which came out of +her lips cold and faint as if in a last effort of dying strength, she +felt herself turn rigid and speechless. She was thinking, stiff all over +with emotion: “D'Alcacer has seen it! How much more has he been able to +see?” She didn't ask herself that question in fear or shame but with +a reckless resignation. Out of that shock came a sensation of peace. A +glowing warmth passed through all her limbs. If d'Alcacer had peered +by that smoky light into her face he might have seen on her lips a +fatalistic smile come and go. But d'Alcacer would not have dreamed of +doing such a thing, and, besides, his attention just then was drawn in +another direction. He had heard subdued exclamations, had noticed a stir +on the decks of the Emma, and even some sort of noise outside the ship. + +“These are strange sounds,” he said. + +“Yes, I hear,” Mrs. Travers murmured, uneasily. + +Vague shapes glided outside the Cage, barefooted, almost noiseless, +whispering Malay words secretly. + +“It seems as though a boat had come alongside,” observed d'Alcacer, +lending an attentive ear. “I wonder what it means. In our +position. . . .” + +“It may mean anything,” interrupted Mrs. Travers. + +“Jaffir is here,” said a voice in the darkness of the after end of the +ship. Then there were some more words in which d'Alcacer's attentive ear +caught the word “surat.” + +“A message of some sort has come,” he said. “They will be calling +Captain Lingard. I wonder what thoughts or what dreams this call will +interrupt.” He spoke lightly, looking now at Mrs. Travers who had +altered her position in the chair; and by their tones and attitudes +these two might have been on board the yacht sailing the sea in perfect +safety. “You, of course, are the one who will be told. Don't you feel a +sort of excitement, Mrs. Travers?” + +“I have been lately exhorted to patience,” she said in the same easy +tone. “I can wait and I imagine I shall have to wait till the morning.” + +“It can't be very late yet,” he said. “Time with us has been standing +still for ever so long. And yet this may be the hour of fate.” + +“Is this the feeling you have at this particular moment?” + +“I have had that feeling for a considerable number of moments already. +At first it was exciting. Now I am only moderately anxious. I have +employed my time in going over all my past life.” + +“Can one really do that?” + +“Yes. I can't say I have been bored to extinction. I am still alive, as +you see; but I have done with that and I feel extremely idle. There is +only one thing I would like to do. I want to find a few words that could +convey to you my gratitude for all your friendliness in the past, at the +time when you let me see so much of you in London. I felt always +that you took me on my own terms and that so kindly that often I felt +inclined to think better of myself. But I am afraid I am wearying you, +Mrs. Travers.” + +“I assure you you have never done that--in the past. And as to the +present moment I beg you not to go away. Stay by me please. We are not +going to pretend that we are sleepy at this early hour.” + +D'Alcacer brought a stool close to the long chair and sat down on it. +“Oh, yes, the possible hour of fate,” he said. “I have a request to +make, Mrs. Travers. I don't ask you to betray anything. What would be +the good? The issue when it comes will be plain enough. But I should +like to get a warning, just something that would give me time to pull +myself together, to compose myself as it were. I want you to promise me +that if the balance tips against us you will give me a sign. You could, +for instance, seize the opportunity when I am looking at you to put your +left hand to your forehead like this. It is a gesture that I have never +seen you make, and so. . . .” + +“Jorgenson!” Lingard's voice was heard forward where the light of a +lantern appeared suddenly. Then, after a pause, Lingard was heard again: +“Here!” + +Then the silent minutes began to go by. Mrs. Travers reclining in her +chair and d'Alcacer sitting on the stool waited motionless without a +word. Presently through the subdued murmurs and agitation pervading the +dark deck of the Emma Mrs. Travers heard a firm footstep, and, lantern +in hand, Lingard appeared outside the muslin cage. + +“Will you come out and speak to me?” he said, loudly. “Not you. The +lady,” he added in an authoritative tone as d'Alcacer rose hastily from +the stool. “I want Mrs. Travers.” + +“Of course,” muttered d'Alcacer to himself and as he opened the door of +the Cage to let Mrs. Travers slip through he whispered to her, “This is +the hour of fate.” + +She brushed past him swiftly without the slightest sign that she had +heard the words. On the after deck between the Cage and the deckhouse +Lingard waited, lantern in hand. Nobody else was visible about; but +d'Alcacer felt in the air the presence of silent and excited beings +hovering outside the circle of light. Lingard raised the lantern as Mrs. +Travers approached and d'Alcacer heard him say: + +“I have had news which you ought to know. Let us go into the deckhouse.” + +D'Alcacer saw their heads lighted up by the raised lantern surrounded by +the depths of shadow with an effect of a marvellous and symbolic vision. +He heard Mrs. Travers say “I would rather not hear your news,” in a +tone that made that sensitive observer purse up his lips in wonder. He +thought that she was over-wrought, that the situation had grown too much +for her nerves. But this was not the tone of a frightened person. It +flashed through his mind that she had become self-conscious, and there +he stopped in his speculation. That friend of women remained discreet +even in his thoughts. He stepped backward further into the Cage and +without surprise saw Mrs. Travers follow Lingard into the deckhouse. + + + +IV + +Lingard stood the lantern on the table. Its light was very poor. He +dropped on to the sea-chest heavily. He, too, was over-wrought. His +flannel shirt was open at the neck. He had a broad belt round his waist +and was without his jacket. Before him, Mrs. Travers, straight and tall +in the gay silks, cottons, and muslins of her outlandish dress, with the +ends of the scarf thrown over her head, hanging down in front of her, +looked dimly splendid and with a black glance out of her white face. He +said: + +“Do you, too, want to throw me over? I tell you you can't do that now.” + +“I wasn't thinking of throwing you over, but I don't even know what you +mean. There seem to be no end of things I can't do. Hadn't you better +tell me of something that I could do? Have you any idea yourself what +you want from me?” + +“You can let me look at you. You can listen to me. You can speak to me.” + +“Frankly, I have never shirked doing all those things, whenever you +wanted me to. You have led me . . .” + +“I led you!” cried Lingard. + +“Oh! It was my fault,” she said, without anger. “I must have dreamed +then that it was you who came to me in the dark with the tale of your +impossible life. Could I have sent you away?” + +“I wish you had. Why didn't you?” + +“Do you want me to tell you that you were irresistible? How could I have +sent you away? But you! What made you come back to me with your very +heart on your lips?” + +When Lingard spoke after a time it was in jerky sentences. + +“I didn't stop to think. I had been hurt. I didn't think of you people +as ladies and gentlemen. I thought of you as people whose lives I held +in my hand. How was it possible to forget you in my trouble? It is your +face that I brought back with me on board my brig. I don't know why. I +didn't look at you more than at anybody else. It took me all my time to +keep my temper down lest it should burn you all up. I didn't want to be +rude to you people, but I found it wasn't very easy because threats were +the only argument I had. Was I very offensive, Mrs. Travers?” + +She had listened tense and very attentive, almost stern. And it was +without the slightest change of expression that she said: + +“I think that you bore yourself appropriately to the state of life to +which it has pleased God to call you.” + +“What state?” muttered Lingard to himself. “I am what I am. They call me +Rajah Laut, King Tom, and such like. I think it amused you to hear it, +but I can tell you it is no joke to have such names fastened on one, +even in fun. And those very names have in them something which makes all +this affair here no small matter to anybody.” + +She stood before him with a set, severe face.--“Did you call me out +in this alarming manner only to quarrel with me?”--“No, but why do you +choose this time to tell me that my coming for help to you was nothing +but impudence in your sight? Well, I beg your pardon for intruding +on your dignity.”--“You misunderstood me,” said Mrs. Travers, without +relaxing for a moment her contemplative severity. “Such a flattering +thing had never happened to me before and it will never happen to me +again. But believe me, King Tom, you did me too much honour. Jorgenson +is perfectly right in being angry with you for having taken a woman in +tow.”--“He didn't mean to be rude,” protested Lingard, earnestly. Mrs. +Travers didn't even smile at this intrusion of a point of manners into +the atmosphere of anguish and suspense that seemed always to arise +between her and this man who, sitting on the sea-chest, had raised his +eyes to her with an air of extreme candour and seemed unable to take +them off again. She continued to look at him sternly by a tremendous +effort of will. + +“How changed you are,” he murmured. + +He was lost in the depths of the simplest wonder. She appeared to him +vengeful and as if turned forever into stone before his bewildered +remorse. Forever. Suddenly Mrs. Travers looked round and sat down in the +chair. Her strength failed her but she remained austere with her hands +resting on the arms of her seat. Lingard sighed deeply and dropped +his eyes. She did not dare relax her muscles for fear of breaking down +altogether and betraying a reckless impulse which lurked at the bottom +of her dismay, to seize the head of d'Alcacer's Man of Fate, press it +to her breast once, fling it far away, and vanish herself, vanish out +of life like a wraith. The Man of Fate sat silent and bowed, yet with +a suggestion of strength in his dejection. “If I don't speak,” Mrs. +Travers said to herself, with great inward calmness, “I shall burst into +tears.” She said aloud, “What could have happened? What have you dragged +me in here for? Why don't you tell me your news?” + +“I thought you didn't want to hear. I believe you really don't want to. +What is all this to you? I believe that you don't care anything about +what I feel, about what I do and how I end. I verily believe that you +don't care how you end yourself. I believe you never cared for your own +or anybody's feelings. I don't think it is because you are hard, I think +it is because you don't know, and don't want to know, and are angry with +life.” + +He flourished an arm recklessly, and Mrs. Travers noticed for the first +time that he held a sheet of paper in his hand. + +“Is that your news there?” she asked, significantly. “It's difficult to +imagine that in this wilderness writing can have any significance. And +who on earth here could send you news on paper? Will you let me see it? +Could I understand it? Is it in English? Come, King Tom, don't look at +me in this awful way.” + +She got up suddenly, not in indignation, but as if at the end of her +endurance. The jewelled clasps, the gold embroideries, gleamed elusively +amongst the folds of her draperies which emitted a mysterious rustle. + +“I can't stand this,” she cried. “I can't stand being looked at like +this. No woman could stand it. No woman has ever been looked at like +this. What can you see? Hatred I could understand. What is it you think +me capable of?” + +“You are very extraordinary,” murmured Lingard, who had regained his +self-possession before that outburst. + +“Very well, and you are extraordinary, too. That's understood--here we +are both under that curse and having to face together whatever may turn +up. But who on earth could have sent you this writing?” + +“Who?” repeated Lingard. “Why, that young fellow that blundered on my +brig in the dark, bringing a boatload of trouble alongside on that +quiet night in Carimata Straits. The darkest night I have ever known. An +accursed night.” + +Mrs. Travers bit her lip, waited a little, then asked quietly: + +“What difficulty has he got into now?” + +“Difficulty!” cried Lingard. “He is immensely pleased with himself, the +young fool. You know, when you sent him to talk to me that evening you +left the yacht, he came with a loaded pistol in his pocket. And now he +has gone and done it.” + +“Done it?” repeated Mrs. Travers blankly. “Done what?” + +She snatched from Lingard's unresisting palm the sheet of paper. While +she was smoothing it Lingard moved round and stood close at her elbow. +She ran quickly over the first lines, then her eyes steadied. At the end +she drew a quick breath and looked up at Lingard. Their faces had never +been so close together before and Mrs. Travers had a surprising second +of a perfectly new sensation. She looked away.--“Do you understand what +this news means?” he murmured. Mrs. Travers let her hand fall by her +side. “Yes,” she said in a low tone. “The compact is broken.” + +Carter had begun his letter without any preliminaries: + +You cleared out in the middle of the night and took the lady away with +you. You left me no proper orders. But as a sailorman I looked upon +myself as left in charge of two ships while within half a mile on that +sandbank there were more than a hundred piratical cut-throats watching +me as closely as so many tigers about to leap. Days went by without a +word of you or the lady. To leave the ships outside and go inland to +look for you was not to be thought of with all those pirates within +springing distance. Put yourself in my place. Can't you imagine my +anxiety, my sleepless nights? Each night worse than the night before. +And still no word from you. I couldn't sit still and worry my head off +about things I couldn't understand. I am a sailorman. My first duty was +to the ships. I had to put an end to this impossible situation and I +hope you will agree that I have done it in a seamanlike way. One misty +morning I moved the brig nearer the sandbank and directly the mist +cleared I opened fire on the praus of those savages which were anchored +in the channel. We aimed wide at first to give those vagabonds that +were on board a chance to clear out and join their friends camped on the +sands. I didn't want to kill people. Then we got the long gun to bear +and in about an hour we had the bottom knocked out of the two praus. The +savages on the bank howled and screamed at every shot. They are mighty +angry but I don't care for their anger now, for by sinking their praus +I have made them as harmless as a flock of lambs. They needn't starve on +their sandbank because they have two or three dugouts hauled up on +the sand and they may ferry themselves and their women to the mainland +whenever they like. + +I fancy I have acted as a seaman and as a seaman I intend to go on +acting. Now I have made the ships safe I shall set about without loss of +time trying to get the yacht off the mud. When that's done I shall arm +the boats and proceed inshore to look for you and the yacht's gentry, +and shan't rest till I know whether any or all of you are above the +earth yet. + +I hope these words will reach you. Just as we had done the business +of those praus the man you sent off that night in Carimata to stop our +chief officer came sailing in from the west with our first gig in +tow and the boat's crew all well. Your serang tells me he is a most +trustworthy messenger and that his name is Jaffir. He seems only too +anxious to try to get to you as soon as possible. I repeat, ships and +men have been made safe and I don't mean to give you up dead or alive. + +“You are quick in taking the point,” said Lingard in a dull voice, while +Mrs. Travers, with the sheet of paper gripped in her hand, looked into +his face with anxious eyes. “He has been smart and no mistake.” + +“He didn't know,” murmured Mrs. Travers. + +“No, he didn't know. But could I take everybody into my confidence?” + protested Lingard in the same low tone. “And yet who else could I trust? +It seemed to me that he must have understood without being told. But he +is too young. He may well be proud according to his lights. He has done +that job outside very smartly--damn his smartness! And here we are with +all our lives depending on my word--which is broken now, Mrs. Travers. +It is broken.” + +Mrs. Travers nodded at him slightly. + +“They would sooner have expected to see the sun and the moon fall out of +the sky,” Lingard continued with repressed fire. Next moment it seemed +to have gone out of him and Mrs. Travers heard him mutter a disconnected +phrase. . . . “The world down about my ears.” + +“What will you do?” she whispered. + +“What will I do?” repeated Lingard, gently. “Oh, yes--do. Mrs. Travers, +do you see that I am nothing now? Just nothing.” + +He had lost himself in the contemplation of her face turned to him with +an expression of awed curiosity. The shock of the world coming down +about his ears in consequence of Carter's smartness was so terrific that +it had dulled his sensibilities in the manner of a great pain or of a +great catastrophe. What was there to look at but that woman's face, in +a world which had lost its consistency, its shape, and its promises in a +moment? + +Mrs. Travers looked away. She understood that she had put to Lingard an +impossible question. What was presenting itself to her as a problem was +to that man a crisis of feeling. Obviously Carter's action had broken +the compact entered into with Daman, and she was intelligent enough to +understand that it was the sort of thing that could not be explained +away. It wasn't horror that she felt, but a sort of consternation, +something like the discomfiture of people who have just missed their +train. It was only more intense. The real dismay had yet to make its way +into her comprehension. To Lingard it was a blow struck straight at his +heart. + +He was not angry with Carter. The fellow had acted like a seaman. +Carter's concern was for the ships. In this fatality Carter was a mere +incident. The real cause of the disaster was somewhere else, was other, +and more remote. And at the same time Lingard could not defend himself +from a feeling that it was in himself, too, somewhere in the unexplored +depths of his nature, something fatal and unavoidable. He muttered to +himself: + +“No. I am not a lucky man.” + +This was but a feeble expression of the discovery of the truth that +suddenly had come home to him as if driven into his breast by a +revealing power which had decided that this was to be the end of his +fling. But he was not the man to give himself up to the examination +of his own sensations. His natural impulse was to grapple with the +circumstances and that was what he was trying to do; but he missed now +that sense of mastery which is half the battle. Conflict of some sort +was the very essence of his life. But this was something he had never +known before. This was a conflict within himself. He had to face +unsuspected powers, foes that he could not go out to meet at the gate. +They were within, as though he had been betrayed by somebody, by some +secret enemy. He was ready to look round for that subtle traitor. A +sort of blankness fell on his mind and he suddenly thought: “Why! It's +myself.” + +Immediately afterward he had a clear, merciless recollection of Hassim +and Immada. He saw them far off beyond the forests. Oh, yes, they +existed--within his breast! + +“That was a night!” he muttered, looking straight at Mrs. Travers. He +had been looking at her all the time. His glance had held her under a +spell, but for a whole interminable minute he had not been aware of her +at all. At the murmur of his words she made a slight movement and he saw +her again.--“What night?” she whispered, timidly, like an intruder. She +was astonished to see him smile.--“Not like this one,” he said. “You +made me notice how quiet and still it was. Yes. Listen how still it is.” + +Both moved their heads slightly and seemed to lend an ear. There was not +a murmur, sigh, rustle, splash, or footfall. No whispers, no tremors, +not a sound of any kind. They might have been alone on board the Emma, +abandoned even by the ghost of Captain Jorgenson departed to rejoin +the Barque Wild Rose on the shore of the Cimmerian sea.--“It's like the +stillness of the end,” said Mrs. Travers in a low, equable voice.--“Yes, +but that, too, is false,” said Lingard in the same tone.--“I don't +understand,” Mrs. Travers began, hurriedly, after a short silence. “But +don't use that word. Don't use it, King Tom! It frightens me by its mere +sound.” + +Lingard made no sign. His thoughts were back with Hassim and Immada. The +young chief and his sister had gone up country on a voluntary mission +to persuade Belarab to return to his stockade and to take up again the +direction of affairs. They carried urgent messages from Lingard, who for +Belarab was the very embodiment of truth and force, that unquestioned +force which had permitted Belarab to indulge in all his melancholy +hesitations. But those two young people had also some personal prestige. +They were Lingard's heart's friends. They were like his children. But +beside that, their high birth, their warlike story, their wanderings, +adventures, and prospects had given them a glamour of their own. + + + +V + +The very day that Travers and d'Alcacer had come on board the Emma +Hassim and Immada had departed on their mission; for Lingard, of course, +could not think of leaving the white people alone with Jorgenson. +Jorgenson was all right, but his ineradicable habit of muttering in his +moustache about “throwing a lighted match amongst the powder barrels” + had inspired Lingard with a certain amount of mistrust. And, moreover, +he did not want to go away from Mrs. Travers. + +It was the only correct inspiration on Carter's part to send Jaffir with +his report to Lingard. That stout-hearted fighter, swimmer, and devoted +follower of the princely misfortunes of Hassim and Immada, had looked +upon his mission to catch the chief officer of the yacht (which he had +received from Lingard in Carimata) as a trifling job. It took him a +little longer than he expected but he had got back to the brig just in +time to be sent on to Lingard with Carter's letter after a couple of +hours' rest. He had the story of all the happenings from Wasub before he +left and though his face preserved its grave impassivity, in his heart +he did not like it at all. + +Fearless and wily, Jaffir was the man for difficult missions and a born +messenger--as he expressed it himself--“to bear weighty words between +great men.” With his unfailing memory he was able to reproduce them +exactly, whether soft or hard, in council or in private; for he knew no +fear. With him there was no need for writing which might fall into the +hands of the enemy. If he died on the way the message would die with +him. He had also the gift of getting at the sense of any situation +and an observant eye. He was distinctly one of those men from whom +trustworthy information can be obtained by the leaders of great +enterprises. Lingard did put several questions to him, but in this +instance, of course, Jaffir could have only very little to say. Of +Carter, whom he called the “young one,” he said that he looked as white +men look when they are pleased with themselves; then added without +waiting for a definite question--“The ships out there are now safe +enough, O, Rajah Laut!” There was no elation in his tone. + +Lingard looked at him blankly. When the Greatest of White Men remarked +that there was yet a price to be paid for that safety, Jaffir assented +by a “Yes, by Allah!” without losing for a moment his grim composure. +When told that he would be required to go and find his master and +the lady Immada who were somewhere in the back country, in Belarab's +travelling camp, he declared himself ready to proceed at once. He had +eaten his fill and had slept three hours on board the brig and he was +not tired. When he was young he used to get tired sometimes; but for +many years now he had known no such weakness. He did not require the +boat with paddlers in which he had come up into the lagoon. He would go +alone in a small canoe. This was no time, he remarked, for publicity and +ostentation. His pent-up anxiety burst through his lips. “It is in my +mind, Tuan, that death has not been so near them since that night when +you came sailing in a black cloud and took us all out of the stockade.” + +Lingard said nothing but there was in Jaffir a faith in that white man +which was not easily shaken. + +“How are you going to save them this time, O Rajah Laut?” he asked, +simply. + +“Belarab is my friend,” murmured Lingard. + +In his anxiety Jaffir was very outspoken. “A man of peace!” he exclaimed +in a low tone. “Who could be safe with a man like that?” he asked, +contemptuously. + +“There is no war,” said Lingard + +“There is suspicion, dread, and revenge, and the anger of armed men,” + retorted Jaffir. “You have taken the white prisoners out of their hands +by the force of your words alone. Is that so, Tuan?” + +“Yes,” said Lingard. + +“And you have them on board here?” asked Jaffir, with a glance over his +shoulder at the white and misty structure within which by the light of a +small oil flame d'Alcacer and Mrs. Travers were just then conversing. + +“Yes, I have them here.” + +“Then, Rajah Laut,” whispered Jaffir, “you can make all safe by giving +them back.” + +“Can I do that?” were the words breathed out through Lingard's lips to +the faithful follower of Hassim and Immada. + +“Can you do anything else?” was the whispered retort of Jaffir the +messenger accustomed to speak frankly to the great of the earth. “You +are a white man and you can have only one word. And now I go.” + +A small, rough dug-out belonging to the Emma had been brought round to +the ladder. A shadowy calash hovering respectfully in the darkness of +the deck had already cleared his throat twice in a warning manner. + +“Yes, Jaffir, go,” said Lingard, “and be my friend.” + +“I am the friend of a great prince,” said the other, sturdily. “But you, +Rajah Laut, were even greater. And great you will remain while you are +with us, people of this sea and of this land. But what becomes of the +strength of your arms before your own white people? Where does it go to, +I say? Well, then, we must trust in the strength of your heart.” + +“I hope that will never fail,” said Lingard, and Jaffir emitted a grunt +of satisfaction. “But God alone sees into men's hearts.” + +“Yes. Our refuge is with Allah,” assented Jaffir, who had acquired +the habit of pious turns of speech in the frequentation of professedly +religious men, of whom there were many in Belarab's stockade. As a +matter of fact, he reposed all his trust in Lingard who had with him +the prestige of a providential man sent at the hour of need by heaven +itself. He waited a while, then: “What is the message I am to take?” he +asked. + +“Tell the whole tale to the Rajah Hassim,” said Lingard. “And tell him +to make his way here with the lady his sister secretly and with speed. +The time of great trouble has come. Let us, at least, be together.” + +“Right! Right!” Jaffir approved, heartily. “To die alone under the +weight of one's enemies is a dreadful fate.” + +He stepped back out of the sheen of the lamp by which they had been +talking and making his way down into the small canoe he took up a paddle +and without a splash vanished on the dark lagoon. + +It was then that Mrs. Travers and d'Alcacer heard Lingard call aloud for +Jorgenson. Instantly the familiar shadow stood at Lingard's elbow and +listened in detached silence. Only at the end of the tale it marvelled +audibly: “Here's a mess for you if you like.” But really nothing in the +world could astonish or startle old Jorgenson. He turned away muttering +in his moustache. Lingard remained with his chin in his hand and +Jaffir's last words took gradual possession of his mind. Then brusquely +he picked up the lamp and went to seek Mrs. Travers. He went to seek her +because he actually needed her bodily presence, the sound of her voice, +the dark, clear glance of her eyes. She could do nothing for him. On +his way he became aware that Jorgenson had turned out the few Malays +on board the Emma and was disposing them about the decks to watch +the lagoon in all directions. On calling Mrs. Travers out of the Cage +Lingard was, in the midst of his mental struggle, conscious of a certain +satisfaction in taking her away from d'Alcacer. He couldn't spare any of +her attention to any other man, not the least crumb of her time, not +the least particle of her thought! He needed it all. To see it withdrawn +from him for the merest instant was irritating--seemed a disaster. + +D'Alcacer, left alone, wondered at the imperious tone of Lingard's call. +To this observer of shades the fact seemed considerable. “Sheer nerves,” + he concluded, to himself. “The man is overstrung. He must have had some +sort of shock.” But what could it be--he wondered to himself. In the +tense stagnation of those days of waiting the slightest tremor had an +enormous importance. D'Alcacer did not seek his camp bedstead. He didn't +even sit down. With the palms of his hands against the edge of the table +he leaned back against it. In that negligent attitude he preserved an +alert mind which for a moment wondered whether Mrs. Travers had +not spoiled Lingard a little. Yet in the suddenness of the forced +association, where, too, d'Alcacer was sure there was some moral problem +in the background, he recognized the extreme difficulty of weighing +accurately the imperious demands against the necessary reservations, the +exact proportions of boldness and caution. And d'Alcacer admired upon +the whole Mrs. Travers' cleverness. + +There could be no doubt that she had the situation in her hands. That, +of course, did not mean safety. She had it in her hands as one may hold +some highly explosive and uncertain compound. D'Alcacer thought of her +with profound sympathy and with a quite unselfish interest. Sometimes +in a street we cross the path of personalities compelling sympathy and +wonder but for all that we don't follow them home. D'Alcacer refrained +from following Mrs. Travers any further. He had become suddenly aware +that Mr. Travers was sitting up on his camp bedstead. He must have done +it very suddenly. Only a moment before he had appeared plunged in +the deepest slumber, and the stillness for a long time now had been +perfectly unbroken. D'Alcacer was startled enough for an exclamation +and Mr. Travers turned his head slowly in his direction. D'Alcacer +approached the bedstead with a certain reluctance. + +“Awake?” he said. + +“A sudden chill,” said Mr. Travers. “But I don't feel cold now. Strange! +I had the impression of an icy blast.” + +“Ah!” said d'Alcacer. + +“Impossible, of course!” went on Mr. Travers. “This stagnating air never +moves. It clings odiously to one. What time is it?” + +“Really, I don't know.” + +“The glass of my watch was smashed on that night when we were so +treacherously assailed by the savages on the sandbank,” grumbled Mr. +Travers. + +“I must say I was never so surprised in my life,” confessed d'Alcacer. +“We had stopped and I was lighting a cigar, you may remember.” + +“No,” said Mr. Travers. “I had just then pulled out my watch. Of course +it flew out of my hand but it hung by the chain. Somebody trampled on +it. The hands are broken off short. It keeps on ticking but I can't tell +the time. It's absurd. Most provoking.” + +“Do you mean to say,” asked d'Alcacer, “that you have been winding it up +every evening?” + +Mr. Travers looked up from his bedstead and he also seemed surprised. +“Why! I suppose I have.” He kept silent for a while. “It isn't so +much blind habit as you may think. My habits are the outcome of strict +method. I had to order my life methodically. You know very well, my dear +d'Alcacer, that without strict method I would not have been able to get +through my work and would have had no time at all for social duties, +which, of course, are of very great importance. I may say that, +materially, method has been the foundation of my success in public life. +There were never any empty moments in my day. And now this! . . .” He +looked all round the Cage. . . . “Where's my wife?” he asked. + +“I was talking to her only a moment ago,” answered d'Alcacer. “I don't +know the time. My watch is on board the yacht; but it isn't late, you +know.” + +Mr. Travers flung off with unwonted briskness the light cotton sheet +which covered him. He buttoned hastily the tunic which he had unfastened +before lying down, and just as d'Alcacer was expecting him to swing +his feet to the deck impetuously, he lay down again on the pillow and +remained perfectly still. + +D'Alcacer waited awhile and then began to pace the Cage. After a couple +of turns he stopped and said, gently: + +“I am afraid, Travers, you are not very well.” + +“I don't know what illness is,” answered the voice from the pillow to +the great relief of d'Alcacer who really had not expected an answer. +“Good health is a great asset in public life. Illness may make you miss +a unique opportunity. I was never ill.” + +All this came out deadened in tone, as if the speaker's face had been +buried in the pillow. D'Alcacer resumed his pacing. + +“I think I asked you where my wife was,” said the muffled voice. + +With great presence of mind d'Alcacer kept on pacing the Cage as if +he had not heard.--“You know, I think she is mad,” went on the muffled +voice. “Unless I am.” + +Again d'Alcacer managed not to interrupt his regular pacing. “Do you +know what I think?” he said, abruptly. “I think, Travers, that you +don't want to talk about her. I think that you don't want to talk about +anything. And to tell you the truth I don't want to, either.” + +D'Alcacer caught a faint sigh from the pillow and at the same time saw +a small, dim flame appear outside the Cage. And still he kept on his +pacing. Mrs. Travers and Lingard coming out of the deckhouse stopped +just outside the door and Lingard stood the deck-lamp on its roof. They +were too far from d'Alcacer to be heard, but he could make them out: +Mrs. Travers, as straight as an arrow, and the heavy bulk of the man who +faced her with a lowered head. He saw it in profile against the light +and as if deferential in its slight droop. They were looking straight at +each other. Neither of them made the slightest gesture. + +“There is that in me,” Lingard murmured, deeply, “which would set my +heart harder than a stone. I am King Tom, Rajah Laut, and fit to +look any man hereabouts in the face. I have my name to take care of. +Everything rests on that.” + +“Mr. d'Alcacer would express this by saying that everything rested on +honour,” commented Mrs. Travers with lips that did not tremble, though +from time to time she could feel the accelerated beating of her heart. + +“Call it what you like. It's something that a man needs to draw a free +breath. And look!--as you see me standing before you here I care for it +no longer.” + +“But I do care for it,” retorted Mrs. Travers. “As you see me standing +here--I do care. This is something that is your very own. You have a +right to it. And I repeat I do care for it.” + +“Care for something of my own,” murmured Lingard, very close to her +face. “Why should you care for my rights?” + +“Because,” she said, holding her ground though their foreheads were +nearly touching, “because if I ever get back to my life I don't want to +make it more absurd by real remorse.” + +Her tone was soft and Lingard received the breath of those words like a +caress on his face. D'Alcacer, in the Cage, made still another effort +to keep up his pacing. He didn't want to give Mr. Travers the slightest +excuse for sitting up again and looking round. + +“That I should live to hear anybody say they cared anything for what +was mine!” whispered Lingard. “And that it should be you--you, who have +taken all hardness out of me.” + +“I don't want your heart to be made hard. I want it to be made firm.” + +“You couldn't have said anything better than what you have said just now +to make it steady,” flowed the murmur of Lingard's voice with something +tender in its depth. “Has anybody ever had a friend like this?” he +exclaimed, raising his head as if taking the starry night to witness. + +“And I ask myself is it possible that there should be another man on +earth that I could trust as I trust you. I say to you: Yes! Go and save +what you have a right to and don't forget to be merciful. I will not +remind you of our perfect innocence. The earth must be small indeed that +we should have blundered like this into your life. It's enough to make +one believe in fatality. But I can't find it in me to behave like a +fatalist, to sit down with folded hands. Had you been another kind of +man I might have been too hopeless or too disdainful. Do you know what +Mr. d'Alcacer calls you?” + +Inside the Cage d'Alcacer, casting curious glances in their direction, +saw Lingard shake his head and thought with slight uneasiness: “He is +refusing her something.” + +“Mr. d'Alcacer's name for you is the 'Man of Fate',” said Mrs. Travers, +a little breathlessly. + +“A mouthful. Never mind, he is a gentleman. It's what you. . . .” + +“I call you all but by your Christian name,” said Mrs. Travers, hastily. +“Believe me, Mr. d'Alcacer understands you.” + +“He is all right,” interjected Lingard. + +“And he is innocent. I remember what you have said--that the innocent +must take their chance. Well, then, do what is right.” + +“You think it would be right? You believe it? You feel it?” + +“At this time, in this place, from a man like you--Yes, it is right.” + +Lingard thought that woman wonderfully true to him and wonderfully +fearless with herself. The necessity to take back the two captives to +the stockade was so clear and unavoidable now, that he believed nothing +on earth could have stopped him from doing so, but where was there +another woman in the world who would have taken it like this? And he +reflected that in truth and courage there is found wisdom. It seemed to +him that till Mrs. Travers came to stand by his side he had never known +what truth and courage and wisdom were. With his eyes on her face and +having been told that in her eyes he appeared worthy of being both +commanded and entreated, he felt an instant of complete content, a +moment of, as it were, perfect emotional repose. + +During the silence Mrs. Travers with a quick side-glance noticed +d'Alcacer as one sees a man in a mist, his mere dark shape arrested +close to the muslin screen. She had no doubt that he was looking in +their direction and that he could see them much more plainly than she +could see him. Mrs. Travers thought suddenly how anxious he must be; and +she remembered that he had begged her for some sign, for some warning, +beforehand, at the moment of crisis. She had understood very well his +hinted request for time to get prepared. If he was to get more than a +few minutes, _this_ was the moment to make him a sign--the sign he had +suggested himself. Mrs. Travers moved back the least bit so as to let +the light fall in front of her and with a slow, distinct movement she +put her left hand to her forehead. + +“Well, then,” she heard Lingard's forcible murmur, “well, then, Mrs. +Travers, it must be done to-night.” + +One may be true, fearless, and wise, and yet catch one's breath +before the simple finality of action. Mrs. Travers caught her breath: +“To-night! To-night!” she whispered. D'Alcacer's dark and misty +silhouette became more blurred. He had seen her sign and had retreated +deeper within the Cage. + +“Yes, to-night,” affirmed Lingard. “Now, at once, within the hour, this +moment,” he murmured, fiercely, following Mrs. Travers in her recoiling +movement. She felt her arm being seized swiftly. “Don't you see that +if it is to do any good, that if they are not to be delivered to mere +slaughter, it must be done while all is dark ashore, before an armed mob +in boats comes clamouring alongside? Yes. Before the night is an hour +older, so that I may be hammering at Belarab's gate while all the +Settlement is still asleep.” + +Mrs. Travers didn't dream of protesting. For the moment she was unable +to speak. This man was very fierce and just as suddenly as it had been +gripped (making her think incongruously in the midst of her agitation +that there would be certainly a bruise there in the morning) she felt +her arm released and a penitential tone come into Lingard's murmuring +voice. + +“And even now it's nearly too late! The road was plain, but I saw you on +it and my heart failed me. I was there like an empty man and I dared +not face you. You must forgive me. No, I had no right to doubt you for +a moment. I feel as if I ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon for +forgetting what you are, for daring to forget.” + +“Why, King Tom, what is it?” + +“It seems as if I had sinned,” she heard him say. He seized her by the +shoulders, turned her about, moved her forward a step or two. His hands +were heavy, his force irresistible, though he himself imagined he was +handling her gently. “Look straight before you,” he growled into her +ear. “Do you see anything?” Mrs. Travers, passive between the rigid +arms, could see nothing but, far off, the massed, featureless shadows of +the shore. + +“No, I see nothing,” she said. + +“You can't be looking the right way,” she heard him behind her. And now +she felt her head between Lingard's hands. He moved it the least bit to +the right. “There! See it?” + +“No. What am I to look for?” + +“A gleam of light,” said Lingard, taking away his hands suddenly. “A +gleam that will grow into a blaze before our boat can get half way +across the lagoon.” + +Even as Lingard spoke Mrs. Travers caught sight of a red spark far +away. She had looked often enough at the Settlement, as on the face of +a painting on a curtain, to have its configuration fixed in her mind, +to know that it was on the beach at its end furthest from Belarab's +stockade. + +“The brushwood is catching,” murmured Lingard in her ear. “If they had +some dry grass the whole pile would be blazing by now.” + +“And this means. . . .” + +“It means that the news has spread. And it is before Tengga's enclosure +on his end of the beach. That's where all the brains of the Settlement +are. It means talk and excitement and plenty of crafty words. Tengga's +fire! I tell you, Mrs. Travers, that before half an hour has passed +Daman will be there to make friends with the fat Tengga, who is ready to +say to him, 'I told you so'.” + +“I see,” murmured Mrs. Travers. Lingard drew her gently to the rail. + +“And now look over there at the other end of the beach where the shadows +are heaviest. That is Belarab's fort, his houses, his treasure, his +dependents. That's where the strength of the Settlement is. I kept it +up. I made it last. But what is it now? It's like a weapon in the hand +of a dead man. And yet it's all we have to look to, if indeed there is +still time. I swear to you I wouldn't dare land them in daylight for +fear they should be slaughtered on the beach.” + +“There is no time to lose,” whispered Mrs. Travers, and Lingard, too, +spoke very low. + +“No, not if I, too, am to keep what is my right. It's you who have said +it.” + +“Yes, I have said it,” she whispered, without lifting her head. Lingard +made a brusque movement at her elbow and bent his head close to her +shoulder. + +“And I who mistrusted you! Like Arabs do to their great men, I ought to +kiss the hem of your robe in repentance for having doubted the greatness +of your heart.” + +“Oh! my heart!” said Mrs. Travers, lightly, still gazing at the fire, +which had suddenly shot up to a tall blaze. “I can assure you it has +been of very little account in the world.” She paused for a moment to +steady her voice, then said, firmly, “Let's get this over.” + +“To tell you the truth the boat has been ready for some time.” + +“Well, then. . . .” + +“Mrs. Travers,” said Lingard with an effort, “they are people of your +own kind.” And suddenly he burst out: “I cannot take them ashore bound +hand and foot.” + +“Mr. d'Alcacer knows. You will find him ready. Ever since the beginning +he has been prepared for whatever might happen.” + +“He is a man,” said Lingard with conviction. “But it's of the other that +I am thinking.” + +“Ah, the other,” she repeated. “Then, what about my thoughts? Luckily we +have Mr. d'Alcacer. I shall speak to him first.” + +She turned away from the rail and moved toward the Cage. + +“Jorgenson,” the voice of Lingard resounded all along the deck, “get a +light on the gangway.” Then he followed Mrs. Travers slowly. + + + +VI + +D'Alcacer, after receiving his warning, stepped back and leaned against +the edge of the table. He could not ignore in himself a certain emotion. +And indeed, when he had asked Mrs. Travers for a sign he expected to +be moved--but he had not expected the sign to come so soon. He expected +this night to pass like other nights, in broken slumbers, bodily +discomfort, and the unrest of disconnected thinking. At the same time +he was surprised at his own emotion. He had flattered himself on the +possession of more philosophy. He thought that this famous sense of +self-preservation was a queer thing, a purely animal thing. “For, as +a thinking man,” he reflected, “I really ought not to care.” It was +probably the unusual that affected him. Clearly. If he had been lying +seriously ill in a room in a hotel and had overheard some ominous +whispers he would not have cared in the least. Ah, but then he would +have been ill--and in illness one grows so indifferent. Illness is a +great help to unemotional behaviour, which of course is the correct +behaviour for a man of the world. He almost regretted he was not very +ill. But, then, Mr. Travers was obviously ill and it did not seem to +help him much. D'Alcacer glanced at the bedstead where Mr. Travers +preserved an immobility which struck d'Alcacer as obviously affected. +He mistrusted it. Generally he mistrusted Mr. Travers. One couldn't tell +what he would do next. Not that he could do much one way or another, but +that somehow he threatened to rob the situation of whatever dignity it +may have had as a stroke of fate, as a call on courage. Mr. d'Alcacer, +acutely observant and alert for the slightest hints, preferred to look +upon himself as the victim not of a swindle but of a rough man naively +engaged in a contest with heaven's injustice. D'Alcacer did not examine +his heart, but some lines of a French poet came into his mind, to the +effect that in all times those who fought with an unjust heaven had +possessed the secret admiration and love of men. He didn't go so far as +love but he could not deny to himself that his feeling toward Lingard +was secretly friendly and--well, appreciative. Mr. Travers sat up +suddenly. What a horrible nuisance, thought d'Alcacer, fixing his eyes +on the tips of his shoes with the hope that perhaps the other would lie +down again. Mr. Travers spoke. + +“Still up, d'Alcacer?” + +“I assure you it isn't late. It's dark at six, we dined before seven, +that makes the night long and I am not a very good sleeper; that is, I +cannot go to sleep till late in the night.” + +“I envy you,” said Mr. Travers, speaking with a sort of drowsy apathy. +“I am always dropping off and the awakenings are horrible.” + +D'Alcacer, raising his eyes, noticed that Mrs. Travers and Lingard had +vanished from the light. They had gone to the rail where d'Alcacer +could not see them. Some pity mingled with his vexation at Mr. Travers' +snatchy wakefulness. There was something weird about the man, he +reflected. “Jorgenson,” he began aloud. + +“What's that?” snapped Mr. Travers. + +“It's the name of that lanky old store-keeper who is always about the +decks.” + +“I haven't seen him. I don't see anybody. I don't know anybody. I prefer +not to notice.” + +“I was only going to say that he gave me a pack of cards; would you like +a game of piquet?” + +“I don't think I could keep my eyes open,” said Mr. Travers in an +unexpectedly confidential tone. “Isn't it funny, d'Alcacer? And then I +wake up. It's too awful.” + +D'Alcacer made no remark and Mr. Travers seemed not to have expected +any. + +“When I said my wife was mad,” he began, suddenly, causing d'Alcacer +to start, “I didn't mean it literally, of course.” His tone sounded +slightly dogmatic and he didn't seem to be aware of any interval during +which he had appeared to sleep. D'Alcacer was convinced more than ever +that he had been shamming, and resigned himself wearily to listen, +folding his arms across his chest. “What I meant, really,” continued Mr. +Travers, “was that she is the victim of a craze. Society is subject to +crazes, as you know very well. They are not reprehensible in themselves, +but the worst of my wife is that her crazes are never like those of the +people with whom she naturally associates. They generally run counter to +them. This peculiarity has given me some anxiety, you understand, in the +position we occupy. People will begin to say that she is eccentric. Do +you see her anywhere, d'Alcacer?” + +D'Alcacer was thankful to be able to say that he didn't see Mrs. +Travers. He didn't even hear any murmurs, though he had no doubt that +everybody on board the Emma was wide awake by now. But Mr. Travers +inspired him with invincible mistrust and he thought it prudent to add: + +“You forget that your wife has a room in the deckhouse.” + +This was as far as he would go, for he knew very well that she was not +in the deckhouse. Mr. Travers, completely convinced by the statement, +made no sound. But neither did he lie down again. D'Alcacer gave himself +up to meditation. The night seemed extremely oppressive. At Lingard's +shout for Jorgenson, that in the profound silence struck his ears +ominously, he raised his eyes and saw Mrs. Travers outside the door of +the Cage. He started forward but she was already within. He saw she was +moved. She seemed out of breath and as if unable to speak at first. + +“Hadn't we better shut the door?” suggested d'Alcacer. + +“Captain Lingard's coming in,” she whispered to him. “He has made up his +mind.” + +“That's an excellent thing,” commented d'Alcacer, quietly. “I conclude +from this that we shall hear something.” + +“You shall hear it all from me,” breathed out Mrs. Travers. + +“Ah!” exclaimed d'Alcacer very low. + +By that time Lingard had entered, too, and the decks of the Emma were +all astir with moving figures. Jorgenson's voice was also heard giving +directions. For nearly a minute the four persons within the Cage +remained motionless. A shadowy Malay in the gangway said suddenly: +“Sudah, Tuan,” and Lingard murmured, “Ready, Mrs. Travers.” + +She seized d'Alcacer's arm and led him to the side of the Cage furthest +from the corner in which Mr. Travers' bed was placed, while Lingard +busied himself in pricking up the wick of the Cage lantern as if it had +suddenly occurred to him that this, whatever happened, should not be a +deed of darkness. Mr. Travers did nothing but turn his head to look over +his shoulder. + +“One moment,” said d'Alcacer, in a low tone and smiling at Mrs. Travers' +agitation. “Before you tell me anything let me ask you: 'Have _you_ made +up your mind?'” He saw with much surprise a widening of her eyes. Was it +indignation? A pause as of suspicion fell between those two people. Then +d'Alcacer said apologetically: “Perhaps I ought not to have asked that +question,” and Lingard caught Mrs. Travers' words, “Oh, I am not afraid +to answer that question.” + +Then their voices sank. Lingard hung the lamp up again and stood idle in +the revived light; but almost immediately he heard d'Alcacer calling him +discreetly. + +“Captain Lingard!” + +He moved toward them at once. At the same instant Mr. Travers' head +pivoted away from the group to its frontal position. + +D'Alcacer, very serious, spoke in a familiar undertone. + +“Mrs. Travers tells me that we must be delivered up to those Moors on +shore.” + +“Yes, there is nothing else for it,” said Lingard. + +“I confess I am a bit startled,” said d'Alcacer; but except for a +slightly hurried utterance nobody could have guessed at anything +resembling emotion. + +“I have a right to my good name,” said Lingard, also very calm, while +Mrs. Travers near him, with half-veiled eyes, listened impassive like a +presiding genius. + +“I wouldn't question that for a moment,” conceded d'Alcacer. “A point +of honour is not to be discussed. But there is such a thing as humanity, +too. To be delivered up helplessly. . . .” + +“Perhaps!” interrupted Lingard. “But you needn't feel hopeless. I am +not at liberty to give up my life for your own. Mrs. Travers knows why. +That, too, is engaged.” + +“Always on your honour?” + +“I don't know. A promise is a promise.” + +“Nobody can be held to the impossible,” remarked d'Alcacer. + +“Impossible! What is impossible? I don't know it. I am not a man to talk +of the impossible or dodge behind it. I did not bring you here.” + +D'Alcacer lowered his head for a moment. “I have finished,” he said, +gravely. “That much I had to say. I hope you don't think I have appeared +unduly anxious.” + +“It's the best policy, too.” Mrs. Travers made herself heard suddenly. +Nothing of her moved but her lips, she did not even raise her eyes. +“It's the only possible policy. You believe me, Mr. d'Alcacer? . . .” He +made an almost imperceptible movement of the head. . . . “Well, then, +I put all my hope in you, Mr. d'Alcacer, to get this over as easily as +possible and save us all from some odious scene. You think perhaps that +it is I who ought to. . . .” + +“No, no! I don't think so,” interrupted d'Alcacer. “It would be +impossible.” + +“I am afraid it would,” she admitted, nervously. + +D'Alcacer made a gesture as if to beg her to say no more and at once +crossed over to Mr. Travers' side of the Cage. He did not want to give +himself time to think about his task. Mr. Travers was sitting up on +the camp bedstead with a light cotton sheet over his legs. He stared at +nothing, and on approaching him d'Alcacer disregarded the slight sinking +of his own heart at this aspect which seemed to be that of extreme +terror. “This is awful,” he thought. The man kept as still as a hare in +its form. + +The impressed d'Alcacer had to make an effort to bring himself to tap +him lightly on the shoulder. + +“The moment has come, Travers, to show some fortitude,” he said with +easy intimacy. Mr. Travers looked up swiftly. “I have just been talking +to your wife. She had a communication from Captain Lingard for us both. +It remains for us now to preserve as much as possible our dignity. I +hope that if necessary we will both know how to die.” + +In a moment of profound stillness, d'Alcacer had time to wonder whether +his face was as stony in expression as the one upturned to him. But +suddenly a smile appeared on it, which was certainly the last thing +d'Alcacer expected to see. An indubitable smile. A slightly contemptuous +smile. + +“My wife has been stuffing your head with some more of her nonsense.” + Mr. Travers spoke in a voice which astonished d'Alcacer as much as the +smile, a voice that was not irritable nor peevish, but had a distinct +note of indulgence. “My dear d'Alcacer, that craze has got such a hold +of her that she would tell you any sort of tale. Social impostors, +mediums, fortune-tellers, charlatans of all sorts do obtain a strange +influence over women. You have seen that sort of thing yourself. I had a +talk with her before dinner. The influence that bandit has got over her +is incredible. I really believe the fellow is half crazy himself. They +often are, you know. I gave up arguing with her. Now, what is it you +have got to tell me? But I warn you that I am not going to take it +seriously.” + +He rejected briskly the cotton sheet, put his feet to the ground and +buttoned his jacket. D'Alcacer, as he talked, became aware by the slight +noise behind him that Mrs. Travers and Lingard were leaving the Cage, +but he went on to the end and then waited anxiously for the answer. + +“See! She has followed him out on deck,” were Mr. Travers' first words. +“I hope you understand that it is a mere craze. You can't help seeing +that. Look at her costume. She simply has lost her head. Luckily the +world needn't know. But suppose that something similar had happened at +home. It would have been extremely awkward. Oh! yes, I will come. I will +go anywhere. I can't stand this hulk, those people, this infernal Cage. +I believe I should fall ill if I were to remain here.” + +The inward detached voice of Jorgenson made itself heard near the +gangway saying: “The boat has been waiting for this hour past, King +Tom.” + +“Let us make a virtue of necessity and go with a good grace,” said +d'Alcacer, ready to take Mr. Travers under the arm persuasively, for he +did not know what to make of that gentleman. + +But Mr. Travers seemed another man. “I am afraid, d'Alcacer, that you, +too, are not very strong-minded. I am going to take a blanket off this +bedstead. . . .” He flung it hastily over his arm and followed d'Alcacer +closely. “What I suffer mostly from, strange to say, is cold.” + +Mrs. Travers and Lingard were waiting near the gangway. To everybody's +extreme surprise Mr. Travers addressed his wife first. + +“You were always laughing at people's crazes,” was what he said, “and +now you have a craze of your own. But we won't discuss that.” + +D'Alcacer passed on, raising his cap to Mrs. Travers, and went down the +ship's side into the boat. Jorgenson had vanished in his own manner like +an exorcised ghost, and Lingard, stepping back, left husband and wife +face to face. + +“Did you think I was going to make a fuss?” asked Mr. Travers in a very +low voice. “I assure you I would rather go than stay here. You didn't +think that? You have lost all sense of reality, of probability. I was +just thinking this evening that I would rather be anywhere than here +looking on at you. At your folly. . . .” + +Mrs. Travers' loud, “Martin!” made Lingard wince, caused d'Alcacer +to lift his head down there in the boat, and even Jorgenson, forward +somewhere out of sight, ceased mumbling in his moustache. The only +person who seemed not to have heard that exclamation was Mr. Travers +himself, who continued smoothly: + +“. . . at the aberration of your mind, you who seemed so superior to +common credulities. You are not yourself, not at all, and some day you +will admit to me that . . . No, the best thing will be to forget it, as +you will soon see yourself. We shall never mention that subject in the +future. I am certain you will be only too glad to agree with me on that +point.” + +“How far ahead are you looking?” asked Mrs. Travers, finding her voice +and even the very tone in which she would have addressed him had they +been about to part in the hall of their town house. She might have been +asking him at what time he expected to be home, while a footman held the +door open and the brougham waited in the street. + +“Not very far. This can't last much longer.” Mr. Travers made a movement +as if to leave her exactly as though he were rather pressed to keep +an appointment. “By the by,” he said, checking himself, “I suppose the +fellow understands thoroughly that we are wealthy. He could hardly doubt +that.” + +“It's the last thought that would enter his head,” said Mrs. Travers. + +“Oh, yes, just so,” Mr. Travers allowed a little impatience to pierce +under his casual manner. “But I don't mind telling you that I have had +enough of this. I am prepared to make--ah!--to make concessions. A large +pecuniary sacrifice. Only the whole position is so absurd! He might +conceivably doubt my good faith. Wouldn't it be just as well if you, +with your particular influence, would hint to him that with me he would +have nothing to fear? I am a man of my word.” + +“That is the first thing he would naturally think of any man,” said Mrs. +Travers. + +“Will your eyes never be opened?” Mr. Travers began, irritably, then +gave it up. “Well, so much the better then. I give you a free hand.” + +“What made you change your attitude like this?” asked Mrs. Travers, +suspiciously. + +“My regard for you,” he answered without hesitation. + +“I intended to join you in your captivity. I was just trying to persuade +him. . . .” + +“I forbid you absolutely,” whispered Mr. Travers, forcibly. “I am glad +to get away. I don't want to see you again till your craze is over.” + +She was confounded by his secret vehemence. But instantly succeeding his +fierce whisper came a short, inane society laugh and a much louder, “Not +that I attach any importance . . .” + +He sprang away, as it were, from his wife, and as he went over the +gangway waved his hand to her amiably. + +Lighted dimly by the lantern on the roof of the deckhouse Mrs. Travers +remained very still with lowered head and an aspect of profound +meditation. It lasted but an instant before she moved off and brushing +against Lingard passed on with downcast eyes to her deck cabin. Lingard +heard the door shut. He waited awhile, made a movement toward the +gangway but checked himself and followed Mrs. Travers into her cabin. + +It was pitch dark in there. He could see absolutely nothing and was +oppressed by the profound stillness unstirred even by the sound of +breathing. + +“I am going on shore,” he began, breaking the black and deathlike +silence enclosing him and the invisible woman. “I wanted to say +good-bye.” + +“You are going on shore,” repeated Mrs. Travers. Her voice was +emotionless, blank, unringing. + +“Yes, for a few hours, or for life,” Lingard said in measured tones. “I +may have to die with them or to die maybe for others. For you, if I +only knew how to manage it, I would want to live. I am telling you this +because it is dark. If there had been a light in here I wouldn't have +come in.” + +“I wish you had not,” uttered the same unringing woman's voice. “You are +always coming to me with those lives and those deaths in your hand.” + +“Yes, it's too much for you,” was Lingard's undertoned comment. “You +could be no other than true. And you are innocent! Don't wish me life, +but wish me luck, for you are innocent--and you will have to take your +chance.” + +“All luck to you, King Tom,” he heard her say in the darkness in which +he seemed now to perceive the gleam of her hair. “I will take my chance. +And try not to come near me again for I am weary of you.” + +“I can well believe it,” murmured Lingard, and stepped out of the cabin, +shutting the door after him gently. For half a minute, perhaps, the +stillness continued, and then suddenly the chair fell over in the +darkness. Next moment Mrs. Travers' head appeared in the light of the +lamp left on the roof of the deckhouse. Her bare arms grasped the door +posts. + +“Wait a moment,” she said, loudly, into the shadows of the deck. She +heard no footsteps, saw nothing moving except the vanishing white shape +of the late Captain H. C. Jorgenson, who was indifferent to the life of +men. “Wait, King Tom!” she insisted, raising her voice; then, “I didn't +mean it. Don't believe me!” she cried, recklessly. + +For the second time that night a woman's voice startled the hearts of +men on board the Emma. All except the heart of old Jorgenson. The Malays +in the boat looked up from their thwarts. D'Alcacer, sitting in the +stern sheets beside Lingard, felt a sinking of his heart. + +“What's this?” he exclaimed. “I heard your name on deck. You are wanted, +I think.” + +“Shove off,” ordered Lingard, inflexibly, without even looking at +d'Alcacer. Mr. Travers was the only one who didn't seem to be aware +of anything. A long time after the boat left the Emma's side he leaned +toward d'Alcacer. + +“I have a most extraordinary feeling,” he said in a cautious undertone. +“I seem to be in the air--I don't know. Are we on the water, d'Alcacer? +Are you quite sure? But of course, we are on the water.” + +“Yes,” said d'Alcacer, in the same tone. “Crossing the Styx--perhaps.” + He heard Mr. Travers utter an unmoved “Very likely,” which he did not +expect. Lingard, his hand on the tiller, sat like a man of stone. + +“Then your point of view has changed,” whispered d'Alcacer. + +“I told my wife to make an offer,” went on the earnest whisper of the +other man. “A sum of money. But to tell you the truth I don't believe +very much in its success.” + +D'Alcacer made no answer and only wondered whether he didn't like better +Mr. Travers' other, unreasonable mood. There was no denying the fact +that Mr. Travers was a troubling person. Now he suddenly gripped +d'Alcacer's fore-arm and added under his breath: “I doubt everything. I +doubt whether the offer will ever be made.” + +All this was not very impressive. There was something pitiful in it: +whisper, grip, shudder, as of a child frightened in the dark. But the +emotion was deep. Once more that evening, but this time aroused by the +husband's distress, d'Alcacer's wonder approached the borders of awe. + + + +PART VI. THE CLAIM OF LIFE AND THE TOLL OF DEATH + +I + +“Have you got King Tom's watch in there?” said a voice that seemed not +to attach the slightest importance to the question. Jorgenson, outside +the door of Mrs. Travers' part of the deckhouse, waited for the answer. +He heard a low cry very much like a moan, the startled sound of pain +that may be sometimes heard in sick rooms. But it moved him not at all. +He would never have dreamt of opening the door unless told to do so, +in which case he would have beheld, with complete indifference, Mrs. +Travers extended on the floor with her head resting on the edge of the +camp bedstead (on which Lingard had never slept), as though she had +subsided there from a kneeling posture which is the attitude of prayer, +supplication, or defeat. The hours of the night had passed Mrs. Travers +by. After flinging herself on her knees, she didn't know why, since she +could think of nothing to pray for, had nothing to invoke, and was too +far gone for such a futile thing as despair, she had remained there till +the sense of exhaustion had grown on her to the point in which she lost +her belief in her power to rise. In a half-sitting attitude, her head +resting against the edge of the couch and her arms flung above her head, +she sank into an indifference, the mere resignation of a worn-out body +and a worn-out mind which often is the only sort of rest that comes to +people who are desperately ill and is welcome enough in a way. The voice +of Jorgenson roused her out of that state. She sat up, aching in every +limb and cold all over. + +Jorgenson, behind the door, repeated with lifeless obstinacy: + +“Do you see King Tom's watch in there?” + +Mrs. Travers got up from the floor. She tottered, snatching at the air, +and found the back of the armchair under her hand. + +“Who's there?” + +She was also ready to ask: “Where am I?” but she remembered and at once +became the prey of that active dread which had been lying dormant for +a few hours in her uneasy and prostrate body. “What time is it?” she +faltered out. + +“Dawn,” pronounced the imperturbable voice at the door. It seemed to +her that it was a word that could make any heart sink with apprehension. +Dawn! She stood appalled. And the toneless voice outside the door +insisted: + +“You must have Tom's watch there!” + +“I haven't seen it,” she cried as if tormented by a dream. + +“Look in that desk thing. If you push open the shutter you will be able +to see.” + +Mrs. Travers became aware of the profound darkness of the cabin. +Jorgenson heard her staggering in there. After a moment a woman's voice, +which struck even him as strange, said in faint tones: + +“I have it. It's stopped.” + +“It doesn't matter. I don't want to know the time. There should be a key +about. See it anywhere?” + +“Yes, it's fastened to the watch,” the dazed voice answered from within. +Jorgenson waited before making his request. “Will you pass it out to me? +There's precious little time left now!” + +The door flew open, which was certainly something Jorgenson had not +expected. He had expected but a hand with the watch protruded through +a narrow crack, But he didn't start back or give any other sign of +surprise at seeing Mrs. Travers fully dressed. Against the faint +clearness in the frame of the open shutter she presented to him the dark +silhouette of her shoulders surmounted by a sleek head, because her +hair was still in the two plaits. To Jorgenson Mrs. Travers in her +un-European dress had always been displeasing, almost monstrous. Her +stature, her gestures, her general carriage struck his eye as +absurdly incongruous with a Malay costume, too ample, too free, too +bold--offensive. To Mrs. Travers, Jorgenson, in the dusk of the passage, +had the aspect of a dim white ghost, and he chilled her by his ghost's +aloofness. + +He picked up the watch from her outspread palm without a word of thanks, +only mumbling in his moustache, “H'm, yes, that's it. I haven't yet +forgotten how to count seconds correctly, but it's better to have a +watch.” + +She had not the slightest notion what he meant. And she did not care. +Her mind remained confused and the sense of bodily discomfort oppressed +her. She whispered, shamefacedly, “I believe I've slept.” + +“I haven't,” mumbled Jorgenson, growing more and more distinct to her +eyes. The brightness of the short dawn increased rapidly as if the sun +were impatient to look upon the Settlement. “No fear of that,” he added, +boastfully. + +It occurred to Mrs. Travers that perhaps she had not slept either. Her +state had been more like an imperfect, half-conscious, quivering death. +She shuddered at the recollection. + +“What an awful night,” she murmured, drearily. + +There was nothing to hope for from Jorgenson. She expected him to +vanish, indifferent, like a phantom of the dead carrying off the +appropriately dead watch in his hand for some unearthly purpose. +Jorgenson didn't move. His was an insensible, almost a senseless +presence! Nothing could be extorted from it. But a wave of anguish as +confused as all her other sensations swept Mrs. Travers off her feet. + +“Can't you tell me something?” she cried. + +For half a minute perhaps Jorgenson made no sound; then: “For years +I have been telling anybody who cared to ask,” he mumbled in his +moustache. “Telling Tom, too. And Tom knew what he wanted to do. How's +one to know what _you_ are after?” + +She had never expected to hear so many words from that rigid shadow. Its +monotonous mumble was fascinating, its sudden loquacity was shocking. +And in the profound stillness that reigned outside it was as if there +had been no one left in the world with her but the phantom of that old +adventurer. He was heard again: “What I could tell you would be worse +than poison.” + +Mrs. Travers was not familiar with Jorgenson's consecrated phrases. The +mechanical voice, the words themselves, his air of abstraction appalled +her. And he hadn't done yet; she caught some more of his unconcerned +mumbling: “There is nothing I don't know,” and the absurdity of the +statement was also appalling. Mrs. Travers gasped and with a wild little +laugh: + +“Then you know why I called after King Tom last night.” + +He glanced away along his shoulder through the door of the deckhouse at +the growing brightness of the day. She did so, too. It was coming. It +had come! Another day! And it seemed to Mrs. Travers a worse calamity +than any discovery she had made in her life, than anything she could +have imagined to come to her. The very magnitude of horror steadied her, +seemed to calm her agitation as some kinds of fatal drugs do before they +kill. She laid a steady hand on Jorgenson's sleeve and spoke quietly, +distinctly, urgently. + +“You were on deck. What I want to know is whether I was heard?” + +“Yes,” said Jorgenson, absently, “I heard you.” Then, as if roused a +little, he added less mechanically: “The whole ship heard you.” + +Mrs. Travers asked herself whether perchance she had not simply +screamed. It had never occurred to her before that perhaps she had. At +the time it seemed to her she had no strength for more than a whisper. +Had she been really so loud? And the deadly chill, the night that had +gone by her had left in her body, vanished from her limbs, passed out of +her in a flush. Her face was turned away from the light, and that +fact gave her courage to continue. Moreover, the man before her was so +detached from the shames and prides and schemes of life that he seemed +not to count at all, except that somehow or other he managed at times to +catch the mere literal sense of the words addressed to him--and answer +them. And answer them! Answer unfailingly, impersonally, without any +feeling. + +“You saw Tom--King Tom? Was he there? I mean just then, at the moment. +There was a light at the gangway. Was he on deck?” + +“No. In the boat.” + +“Already? Could I have been heard in the boat down there? You say the +whole ship heard me--and I don't care. But could he hear me?” + +“Was it Tom you were after?” said Jorgenson in the tone of a negligent +remark. + +“Can't you answer me?” she cried, angrily. + +“Tom was busy. No child's play. The boat shoved off,” said Jorgenson, as +if he were merely thinking aloud. + +“You won't tell me, then?” Mrs. Travers apostrophized him, fearlessly. +She was not afraid of Jorgenson. Just then she was afraid of nothing and +nobody. And Jorgenson went on thinking aloud. + +“I guess he will be kept busy from now on and so shall I.” + +Mrs. Travers seemed ready to take by the shoulders and shake that +dead-voiced spectre till it begged for mercy. But suddenly her strong +white arms fell down by her side, the arms of an exhausted woman. + +“I shall never, never find out,” she whispered to herself. + +She cast down her eyes in intolerable humiliation, in intolerable +desire, as though she had veiled her face. Not a sound reached the +loneliness of her thought. But when she raised her eyes again Jorgenson +was no longer standing before her. + +For an instant she saw him all black in the brilliant and narrow +doorway, and the next moment he had vanished outside, as if devoured by +the hot blaze of light. The sun had risen on the Shore of Refuge. + +When Mrs. Travers came out on deck herself it was as it were with a +boldly unveiled face, with wide-open and dry, sleepless eyes. Their +gaze, undismayed by the sunshine, sought the innermost heart of things +each day offered to the passion of her dread and of her impatience. The +lagoon, the beach, the colours and the shapes struck her more than ever +as a luminous painting on an immense cloth hiding the movements of an +inexplicable life. She shaded her eyes with her hand. There were figures +on the beach, moving dark dots on the white semicircle bounded by the +stockades, backed by roof ridges above the palm groves. Further back the +mass of carved white coral on the roof of the mosque shone like a white +day-star. Religion and politics--always politics! To the left, before +Tengga's enclosure, the loom of fire had changed into a pillar of smoke. +But there were some big trees over there and she couldn't tell whether +the night council had prolonged its sitting. Some vague forms were still +moving there and she could picture them to herself: Daman, the supreme +chief of sea-robbers, with a vengeful heart and the eyes of a gazelle; +Sentot, the sour fanatic with the big turban, that other saint with +a scanty loin cloth and ashes in his hair, and Tengga whom she could +imagine from hearsay, fat, good-tempered, crafty, but ready to spill +blood on his ambitious way and already bold enough to flaunt a yellow +state umbrella at the very gate of Belarab's stockade--so they said. + +She saw, she imagined, she even admitted now the reality of those +things no longer a mere pageant marshalled for her vision with barbarous +splendour and savage emphasis. She questioned it no longer--but she did +not feel it in her soul any more than one feels the depth of the sea +under its peaceful glitter or the turmoil of its grey fury. Her eyes +ranged afar, unbelieving and fearful--and then all at once she became +aware of the empty Cage with its interior in disorder, the camp +bedsteads not taken away, a pillow lying on the deck, the dying flame +like a shred of dull yellow stuff inside the lamp left hanging over +the table. The whole struck her as squalid and as if already decayed, +a flimsy and idle phantasy. But Jorgenson, seated on the deck with his +back to it, was not idle. His occupation, too, seemed fantastic and so +truly childish that her heart sank at the man's utter absorption in it. +Jorgenson had before him, stretched on the deck, several bits of rather +thin and dirty-looking rope of different lengths from a couple of inches +to about a foot. He had (an idiot might have amused himself in that +way) set fire to the ends of them. They smouldered with amazing energy, +emitting now and then a splutter, and in the calm air within the +bulwarks sent up very slender, exactly parallel threads of smoke, +each with a vanishing curl at the end; and the absorption with which +Jorgenson gave himself up to that pastime was enough to shake all +confidence in his sanity. + +In one half-opened hand he was holding the watch. He was also provided +with a scrap of paper and the stump of a pencil. Mrs. Travers was +confident that he did not either hear or see her. + +“Captain Jorgenson, you no doubt think. . . .” + +He tried to wave her away with the stump of the pencil. He did not want +to be interrupted in his strange occupation. He was playing very gravely +indeed with those bits of string. “I lighted them all together,” he +murmured, keeping one eye on the dial of the watch. Just then the +shortest piece of string went out, utterly consumed. Jorgenson made +a hasty note and remained still while Mrs. Travers looked at him with +stony eyes thinking that nothing in the world was any use. The other +threads of smoke went on vanishing in spirals before the attentive +Jorgenson. + +“What are you doing?” asked Mrs. Travers, drearily. + +“Timing match . . . precaution. . . .” + +He had never in Mrs. Travers' experience been less spectral than then. +He displayed a weakness of the flesh. He was impatient at her intrusion. +He divided his attention between the threads of smoke and the face of +the watch with such interest that the sudden reports of several guns +breaking for the first time for days the stillness of the lagoon and the +illusion of the painted scene failed to make him raise his head. He only +jerked it sideways a little. Mrs. Travers stared at the wisps of +white vapour floating above Belarab's stockade. The series of sharp +detonations ceased and their combined echoes came back over the lagoon +like a long-drawn and rushing sigh. + +“What's this?” cried Mrs. Travers. + +“Belarab's come home,” said Jorgenson. + +The last thread of smoke disappeared and Jorgenson got up. He had lost +all interest in the watch and thrust it carelessly into his pocket, +together with the bit of paper and the stump of pencil. He had resumed +his aloofness from the life of men, but approaching the bulwark he +condescended to look toward Belarab's stockade. + +“Yes, he is home,” he said very low. + +“What's going to happen?” cried Mrs. Travers. “What's to be done?” + Jorgenson kept up his appearance of communing with himself. + +“I know what to do,” he mumbled. + +“You are lucky,” said Mrs. Travers, with intense bitterness. + +It seemed to her that she was abandoned by all the world. The opposite +shore of the lagoon had resumed its aspect of a painted scene that would +never roll up to disclose the truth behind its blinding and soulless +splendour. It seemed to her that she had said her last words to all of +them: to d'Alcacer, to her husband, to Lingard himself--and that they +had all gone behind the curtain forever out of her sight. Of all the +white men Jorgenson alone was left, that man who had done with life so +completely that his mere presence robbed it of all heat and mystery, +leaving nothing but its terrible, its revolting insignificance. And Mrs. +Travers was ready for revolt. She cried with suppressed passion: + +“Are you aware, Captain Jorgenson, that I am alive?” + +He turned his eyes on her, and for a moment she was daunted by their +cold glassiness. But before they could drive her away, something like +the gleam of a spark gave them an instant's animation. + +“I want to go and join them. I want to go ashore,” she said, firmly. +“There!” + +Her bare and extended arm pointed across the lagoon, and Jorgenson's +resurrected eyes glided along the white limb and wandered off into +space. + +“No boat,” he muttered. + +“There must be a canoe. I know there is a canoe. I want it.” + +She stepped forward compelling, commanding, trying to concentrate in +her glance all her will power, the sense of her own right to dispose of +herself and her claim to be served to the last moment of her life. It +was as if she had done nothing. Jorgenson didn't flinch. + +“Which of them are you after?” asked his blank, unringing voice. + +She continued to look at him; her face had stiffened into a severe mask; +she managed to say distinctly: + +“I suppose you have been asking yourself that question for some time, +Captain Jorgenson?” + +“No. I am asking you now.” + +His face disclosed nothing to Mrs. Travers' bold and weary eyes. +“What could you do over there?” Jorgenson added as merciless, as +irrepressible, and sincere as though he were the embodiment of that +inner voice that speaks in all of us at times and, like Jorgenson, is +offensive and difficult to answer. + +“Remember that I am not a shadow but a living woman still, Captain +Jorgenson. I can live and I can die. Send me over to share their fate.” + +“Sure you would like?” asked the roused Jorgenson in a voice that had an +unexpected living quality, a faint vibration which no man had known in +it for years. “There may be death in it,” he mumbled, relapsing into +indifference. + +“Who cares?” she said, recklessly. “All I want is to ask Tom a question +and hear his answer. That's what I would like. That's what I must have.” + + + +II + +Along the hot and gloomy forest path, neglected, overgrown and strangled +in the fierce life of the jungle, there came a faint rustle of leaves. +Jaffir, the servant of princes, the messenger of great men, walked, +stooping, with a broad chopper in his hand. He was naked from the waist +upward, his shoulders and arms were scratched and bleeding. A multitude +of biting insects made a cloud about his head. He had lost his costly +and ancient head-kerchief, and when in a slightly wider space he stopped +in a listening attitude anybody would have taken him for a fugitive. + +He waved his arms about, slapping his shoulders, the sides of his head, +his heaving flanks; then, motionless, listened again for a while. A +sound of firing, not so much made faint by distance as muffled by the +masses of foliage, reached his ears, dropping shots which he could have +counted if he had cared to. “There is fighting in the forest already,” + he thought. Then putting his head low in the tunnel of vegetation he +dashed forward out of the horrible cloud of flies, which he actually +managed for an instant to leave behind him. But it was not from the +cruelty of insects that he was flying, for no man could hope to drop +that escort, and Jaffir in his life of a faithful messenger had been +accustomed, if such an extravagant phrase may be used, to be eaten +alive. Bent nearly double he glided and dodged between the trees, +through the undergrowth, his brown body streaming with sweat, his firm +limbs gleaming like limbs of imperishable bronze through the mass +of green leaves that are forever born and forever dying. For all his +desperate haste he was no longer a fugitive; he was simply a man in a +tremendous hurry. His flight, which had begun with a bound and a rush +and a general display of great presence of mind, was a simple issue +from a critical situation. Issues from critical situations are generally +simple if one is quick enough to think of them in time. He became aware +very soon that the attempt to pursue him had been given up, but he had +taken the forest path and had kept up his pace because he had left his +Rajah and the lady Immada beset by enemies on the edge of the forest, as +good as captives to a party of Tengga's men. + +Belarab's hesitation had proved too much even for Hassim's hereditary +patience in such matters. It is but becoming that weighty negotiations +should be spread over many days, that the same requests and arguments +should be repeated in the same words, at many successive interviews, and +receive the same evasive answers. Matters of state demand the dignity of +such a procedure as if time itself had to wait on the power and wisdom +of rulers. Such are the proceedings of embassies and the dignified +patience of envoys. But at this time of crisis Hassim's impatience +obtained the upper hand; and though he never departed from the tradition +of soft speech and restrained bearing while following with his sister in +the train of the pious Belarab, he had his moments of anger, of anxiety, +of despondency. His friendships, his future, his country's destinies +were at stake, while Belarab's camp wandered deviously over the back +country as if influenced by the vacillation of the ruler's thought, the +very image of uncertain fate. + +Often no more than the single word “Good” was all the answer vouchsafed +to Hassim's daily speeches. The lesser men, companions of the Chief, +treated him with deference; but Hassim could feel the opposition from +the women's side of the camp working against his cause in subservience +to the mere caprice of the new wife, a girl quite gentle and kind to her +dependents, but whose imagination had run away with her completely and +had made her greedy for the loot of the yacht from mere simplicity and +innocence. What could Hassim, that stranger, wandering and poor, offer +for her acceptance? Nothing. The wealth of his far-off country was but +an idle tale, the talk of an exile looking for help. + +At night Hassim had to listen to the anguished doubts of Immada, the +only companion of his life, child of the same mother, brave as a man, +but in her fears a very woman. She whispered them to him far into the +night while the camp of the great Belarab was hushed in sleep and the +fires had sunk down to mere glowing embers. Hassim soothed her gravely. +But he, too, was a native of Wajo where men are more daring and quicker +of mind than other Malays. More energetic, too, and energy does not go +without an inner fire. Hassim lost patience and one evening he declared +to his sister Immada: “To-morrow we leave this ruler without a mind and +go back to our white friend.” + +Therefore next morning, letting the camp move on the direct road to +the settlement, Hassim and Immada took a course of their own. It was +a lonely path between the jungle and the clearings. They had two +attendants with them, Hassim's own men, men of Wajo; and so the lady +Immada, when she had a mind to, could be carried, after the manner of +the great ladies of Wajo who need not put foot to the ground unless they +like. The lady Immada, accustomed to the hardships that are the lot +of exiles, preferred to walk, but from time to time she let herself +be carried for a short distance out of regard for the feelings of her +attendants. The party made good time during the early hours, and Hassim +expected confidently to reach before evening the shore of the lagoon +at a spot very near the stranded Emma. At noon they rested in the shade +near a dark pool within the edge of the forest; and it was there that +Jaffir met them, much to his and their surprise. It was the occasion +of a long talk. Jaffir, squatting on his heels, discoursed in measured +tones. He had entranced listeners. The story of Carter's exploit amongst +the Shoals had not reached Belarab's camp. It was a great shock to +Hassim, but the sort of half smile with which he had been listening to +Jaffir never altered its character. It was the Princess Immada who cried +out in distress and wrung her hands. A deep silence fell. + +Indeed, before the fatal magnitude of the fact it seemed even to those +Malays that there was nothing to say and Jaffir, lowering his head, +respected his Prince's consternation. Then, before that feeling could +pass away from that small group of people seated round a few smouldering +sticks, the noisy approach of a large party of men made them all leap +to their feet. Before they could make another movement they perceived +themselves discovered. The men were armed as if bound on some warlike +expedition. Amongst them Sentot, in his loin cloth and with unbound wild +locks, capered and swung his arms about like the lunatic he was. The +others' astonishment made them halt, but their attitude was obviously +hostile. In the rear a portly figure flanked by two attendants carrying +swords was approaching prudently. Rajah Hassim resumed quietly his seat +on the trunk of a fallen tree, Immada rested her hand lightly on her +brother's shoulder, and Jaffir, squatting down again, looked at the +ground with all his faculties and every muscle of his body tensely on +the alert. + +“Tengga's fighters,” he murmured, scornfully. + +In the group somebody shouted, and was answered by shouts from afar. +There could be no thought of resistance. Hassim slipped the emerald +ring from his finger stealthily and Jaffir got hold of it by an almost +imperceptible movement. The Rajah did not even look at the trusty +messenger. + +“Fail not to give it to the white man,” he murmured. “Thy servant hears, +O Rajah. It's a charm of great power.” + +The shadows were growing to the westward. Everybody was silent, and +the shifting group of armed men seemed to have drifted closer. Immada, +drawing the end of a scarf across her face, confronted the advance +with only one eye exposed. On the flank of the armed men Sentot was +performing a slow dance but he, too, seemed to have gone dumb. + +“Now go,” breathed out Rajah Hassim, his gaze levelled into space +immovably. + +For a second or more Jaffir did not stir, then with a sudden leap from +his squatting posture he flew through the air and struck the jungle in +a great commotion of leaves, vanishing instantly like a swimmer diving +from on high. A deep murmur of surprise arose in the armed party, a +spear was thrown, a shot was fired, three or four men dashed into the +forest, but they soon returned crestfallen with apologetic smiles; while +Jaffir, striking an old path that seemed to lead in the right direction, +ran on in solitude, raising a rustle of leaves, with a naked parang in +his hand and a cloud of flies about his head. The sun declining to the +westward threw shafts of light across his dark path. He ran at a springy +half-trot, his eyes watchful, his broad chest heaving, and carrying +the emerald ring on the forefinger of a clenched hand as though he were +afraid it should slip off, fly off, be torn from him by an invisible +force, or spirited away by some enchantment. Who could tell what +might happen? There were evil forces at work in the world, powerful +incantations, horrible apparitions. The messenger of princes and of +great men, charged with the supreme appeal of his master, was afraid +in the deepening shade of the forest. Evil presences might have been +lurking in that gloom. Still the sun had not set yet. He could see its +face through the leaves as he skirted the shore of the lagoon. But what +if Allah's call should come to him suddenly and he die as he ran! + +He drew a long breath on the shore of the lagoon within about a hundred +yards from the stranded bows of the Emma. The tide was out and he +walked to the end of a submerged log and sent out a hail for a boat. +Jorgenson's voice answered. The sun had sunk behind the forest belt of +the coast. All was still as far as the eye could reach over the black +water. A slight breeze came along it and Jaffir on the brink, waiting +for a canoe, shivered a little. + +At the same moment Carter, exhausted by thirty hours of uninterrupted +toil at the head of whites and Malays in getting the yacht afloat, +dropped into Mrs. Travers' deck chair, on board the Hermit, said to the +devoted Wasub: “Let a good watch be kept to-night, old man,” glanced +contentedly at the setting sun and fell asleep. + + + +III + +There was in the bows of the Emma an elevated grating over the heel of +her bowsprit whence the eye could take in the whole range of her +deck and see every movement of her crew. It was a spot safe from +eaves-droppers, though, of course, exposed to view. The sun had just set +on the supreme content of Carter when Jorgenson and Jaffir sat down +side by side between the knightheads of the Emma and, public but +unapproachable, impressive and secret, began to converse in low tones. + +Every Wajo fugitive who manned the hulk felt the approach of a decisive +moment. Their minds were made up and their hearts beat steadily. They +were all desperate men determined to fight and to die and troubling not +about the manner of living or dying. This was not the case with Mrs. +Travers who, having shut herself up in the deckhouse, was profoundly +troubled about those very things, though she, too, felt desperate enough +to welcome almost any solution. + +Of all the people on board she alone did not know anything of that +conference. In her deep and aimless thinking she had only become aware +of the absence of the slightest sound on board the Emma. Not a rustle, +not a footfall. The public view of Jorgenson and Jaffir in deep +consultation had the effect of taking all wish to move from every man. + +Twilight enveloped the two figures forward while they talked, looking in +the stillness of their pose like carved figures of European and Asiatic +contrasted in intimate contact. The deepening dusk had nearly effaced +them when at last they rose without warning, as it were, and thrilling +the heart of the beholders by the sudden movement. But they did not +separate at once. They lingered in their high place as if awaiting the +fall of complete darkness, a fit ending to their mysterious communion. +Jaffir had given Jorgenson the whole story of the ring, the symbol of a +friendship matured and confirmed on the night of defeat, on the night of +flight from a far-distant land sleeping unmoved under the wrath and fire +of heaven. + +“Yes, Tuan,” continued Jaffir, “it was first sent out to the white man, +on a night of mortal danger, a present to remember a friend by. I was +the bearer of it then even as I am now. Then, as now, it was given to me +and I was told to save myself and hand the ring over in confirmation of +my message. I did so and that white man seemed to still the very storm +to save my Rajah. He was not one to depart and forget him whom he had +once called his friend. My message was but a message of good-bye, but +the charm of the ring was strong enough to draw all the power of that +white man to the help of my master. Now I have no words to say. Rajah +Hassim asks for nothing. But what of that? By the mercy of Allah all +things are the same, the compassion of the Most High, the power of +the ring, the heart of the white man. Nothing is changed, only the +friendship is a little older and love has grown because of the shared +dangers and long companionship. Therefore, Tuan, I have no fear. But how +am I to get the ring to the Rajah Laut? Just hand it to him. The last +breath would be time enough if they were to spear me at his feet. But +alas! the bush is full of Tengga's men, the beach is open and I could +never even hope to reach the gate.” + +Jorgenson, with his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic, listened, +looking down. Jaffir showed as much consternation as his nature was +capable of. + +“Our refuge is with God,” he murmured. “But what is to be done? Has your +wisdom no stratagem, O Tuan?” + +Jorgenson did not answer. It appeared as though he had no stratagem. But +God is great and Jaffir waited on the other's immobility, anxious but +patient, perplexed yet hopeful in his grim way, while the night flowing +on from the dark forest near by hid their two figures from the sight +of observing men. Before the silence of Jorgenson Jaffir began to talk +practically. Now that Tengga had thrown off the mask Jaffir did not +think that he could land on the beach without being attacked, captured, +nay killed, since a man like he, though he could save himself by taking +flight at the order of his master, could not be expected to surrender +without a fight. He mentioned that in the exercise of his important +functions he knew how to glide like a shadow, creep like a snake, and +almost burrow his way underground. He was Jaffir who had never been +foiled. No bog, morass, great river or jungle could stop him. He would +have welcomed them. In many respects they were the friends of a crafty +messenger. But that was an open beach, and there was no other way, and +as things stood now every bush around, every tree trunk, every deep +shadow of house or fence would conceal Tengga's men or such of Daman's +infuriated partisans as had already made their way to the Settlement. +How could he hope to traverse the distance between the water's edge +and Belarab's gate which now would remain shut night and day? Not only +himself but anybody from the Emma would be sure to be rushed upon and +speared in twenty places. + +He reflected for a moment in silence. + +“Even you, Tuan, could not accomplish the feat.” + +“True,” muttered Jorgenson. + +When, after a period of meditation, he looked round, Jaffir was no +longer by his side. He had descended from the high place and was +probably squatting on his heels in some dark nook on the fore deck. +Jorgenson knew Jaffir too well to suppose that he would go to sleep. +He would sit there thinking himself into a state of fury, then get away +from the Emma in some way or other, go ashore and perish fighting. He +would, in fact, run amok; for it looked as if there could be no way out +of the situation. Then, of course, Lingard would know nothing of Hassim +and Immada's captivity for the ring would never reach him--the ring that +could tell its own tale. No, Lingard would know nothing. He would know +nothing about anybody outside Belarab's stockade till the end came, +whatever the end might be, for all those people that lived the life of +men. Whether to know or not to know would be good for Lingard Jorgenson +could not tell. He admitted to himself that here there was something +that he, Jorgenson, could not tell. All the possibilities were wrapped +up in doubt, uncertain, like all things pertaining to the life of men. +It was only when giving a short thought to himself that Jorgenson had no +doubt. He, of course, would know what to do. + +On the thin face of that old adventurer hidden in the night not a +feature moved, not a muscle twitched, as he descended in his turn and +walked aft along the decks of the Emma. His faded eyes, which had seen +so much, did not attempt to explore the night, they never gave a glance +to the silent watchers against whom he brushed. Had a light been flashed +on him suddenly he would have appeared like a man walking in his sleep: +the somnambulist of an eternal dream. Mrs. Travers heard his footsteps +pass along the side of the deckhouse. She heard them--and let her head +fall again on her bare arms thrown over the little desk before which she +sat. + +Jorgenson, standing by the taffrail, noted the faint reddish glow in the +massive blackness of the further shore. Jorgenson noted things quickly, +cursorily, perfunctorily, as phenomena unrelated to his own apparitional +existence of a visiting ghost. They were but passages in the game of men +who were still playing at life. He knew too well how much that game was +worth to be concerned about its course. He had given up the habit +of thinking for so long that the sudden resumption of it irked him +exceedingly, especially as he had to think on toward a conclusion. In +that world of eternal oblivion, of which he had tasted before Lingard +made him step back into the life of men, all things were settled +once for all. He was irritated by his own perplexity which was like a +reminder of that mortality made up of questions and passions from which +he had fancied he had freed himself forever. By a natural association +his contemptuous annoyance embraced the existence of Mrs. Travers, too, +for how could he think of Tom Lingard, of what was good or bad for King +Tom, without thinking also of that woman who had managed to put the +ghost of a spark even into his own extinguished eyes? She was of no +account; but Tom's integrity was. It was of Tom that he had to think, of +what was good or bad for Tom in that absurd and deadly game of his life. +Finally he reached the conclusion that to be given the ring would be +good for Tom Lingard. Just to be given the ring and no more. The ring +and no more. + +“It will help him to make up his mind,” muttered Jorgenson in his +moustache, as if compelled by an obscure conviction. It was only then +that he stirred slightly and turned away from the loom of the fires on +the distant shore. Mrs. Travers heard his footsteps passing again along +the side of the deckhouse--and this time never raised her head. That +man was sleepless, mad, childish, and inflexible. He was impossible. He +haunted the decks of that hulk aimlessly. . . . + +It was, however, in pursuance of a very distinct aim that Jorgenson had +gone forward again to seek Jaffir. + +The first remark he had to offer to Jaffir's consideration was that +the only person in the world who had the remotest chance of reaching +Belarab's gate on that night was that tall white woman the Rajah Laut +had brought on board, the wife of one of the captive white chiefs. +Surprise made Jaffir exclaim, but he wasn't prepared to deny that. It +was possible that for many reasons, some quite simple and others very +subtle, those sons of the Evil One belonging to Tengga and Daman would +refrain from killing a white woman walking alone from the water's +edge to Belarab's gate. Yes, it was just possible that she might walk +unharmed. + +“Especially if she carried a blazing torch,” muttered Jorgenson in his +moustache. He told Jaffir that she was sitting now in the dark, mourning +silently in the manner of white women. She had made a great outcry in +the morning to be allowed to join the white men on shore. He, Jorgenson, +had refused her the canoe. Ever since she had secluded herself in the +deckhouse in great distress. + +Jaffir listened to it all without particular sympathy. And when +Jorgenson added, “It is in my mind, O Jaffir, to let her have her will +now,” he answered by a “Yes, by Allah! let her go. What does it matter?” + of the greatest unconcern, till Jorgenson added: + +“Yes. And she may carry the ring to the Rajah Laut.” + +Jorgenson saw Jaffir, the grim and impassive Jaffir, give a perceptible +start. It seemed at first an impossible task to persuade Jaffir to part +with the ring. The notion was too monstrous to enter his mind, to move +his heart. But at last he surrendered in an awed whisper, “God is great. +Perhaps it is her destiny.” + +Being a Wajo man he did not regard women as untrustworthy or unequal +to a task requiring courage and judgment. Once he got over the personal +feeling he handed the ring to Jorgenson with only one reservation, “You +know, Tuan, that she must on no account put it on her finger.” + +“Let her hang it round her neck,” suggested Jorgenson, readily. + +As Jorgenson moved toward the deckhouse it occurred to him that perhaps +now that woman Tom Lingard had taken in tow might take it into her head +to refuse to leave the Emma. This did not disturb him very much. All +those people moved in the dark. He himself at that particular moment was +moving in the dark. Beyond the simple wish to guide Lingard's thought in +the direction of Hassim and Immada, to help him to make up his mind at +last to a ruthless fidelity to his purpose Jorgenson had no other aim. +The existence of those whites had no meaning on earth. They were the +sort of people that pass without leaving footprints. That woman would +have to act in ignorance. And if she refused to go then in ignorance she +would have to stay on board. He would tell her nothing. + +As a matter of fact, he discovered that Mrs. Travers would simply have +nothing to do with him. She would not listen to what he had to say. She +desired him, a mere weary voice confined in the darkness of the deck +cabin, to go away and trouble her no more. But the ghost of Jorgenson +was not easily exorcised. He, too, was a mere voice in the outer +darkness, inexorable, insisting that she should come out on deck and +listen. At last he found the right words to say. + +“It is something about Tom that I want to tell you. You wish him well, +don't you?” + +After this she could not refuse to come out on deck, and once there she +listened patiently to that white ghost muttering and mumbling above her +drooping head. + +“It seems to me, Captain Jorgenson,” she said after he had ceased, +“that you are simply trifling with me. After your behaviour to me this +morning, I can have nothing to say to you.” + +“I have a canoe for you now,” mumbled Jorgenson. + +“You have some new purpose in view now,” retorted Mrs. Travers with +spirit. “But you won't make it clear to me. What is it that you have in +your mind?” + +“Tom's interest.” + +“Are you really his friend?” + +“He brought me here. You know it. He has talked a lot to you.” + +“He did. But I ask myself whether you are capable of being anybody's +friend.” + +“You ask yourself!” repeated Jorgenson, very quiet and morose. “If I am +not his friend I should like to know who is.” + +Mrs. Travers asked, quickly: “What's all this about a ring? What ring?” + +“Tom's property. He has had it for years.” + +“And he gave it to you? Doesn't he care for it?” + +“Don't know. It's just a thing.” + +“But it has a meaning as between you and him. Is that so?” + +“Yes. It has. He will know what it means.” + +“What does it mean?” + +“I am too much his friend not to hold my tongue.” + +“What! To me!” + +“And who are you?” was Jorgenson's unexpected remark. “He has told you +too much already.” + +“Perhaps he has,” whispered Mrs. Travers, as if to herself. “And you +want that ring to be taken to him?” she asked, in a louder tone. + +“Yes. At once. For his good.” + +“Are you certain it is for his good? Why can't you. . . .” + +She checked herself. That man was hopeless. He would never tell +anything and there was no means of compelling him. He was invulnerable, +unapproachable. . . . He was dead. + +“Just give it to him,” mumbled Jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixed +idea. “Just slip it quietly into his hand. He will understand.” + +“What is it? Advice, warning, signal for action?” + +“It may be anything,” uttered Jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in a +mollified tone. “It's meant for his good.” + +“Oh, if I only could trust that man!” mused Mrs. Travers, half aloud. + +Jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for an +expression of sympathy. But he remained silent. + +“Really, this is most extraordinary!” cried Mrs. Travers, suddenly +aroused. “Why did you come to me? Why should it be my task? Why should +you want me specially to take it to him?” + +“I will tell you why,” said Jorgenson's blank voice. “It's because there +is no one on board this hulk that can hope to get alive inside that +stockade. This morning you told me yourself that you were ready to +die--for Tom--or with Tom. Well, risk it then. You are the only one that +has half a chance to get through--and Tom, maybe, is waiting.” + +“The only one,” repeated Mrs. Travers with an abrupt movement forward +and an extended hand before which Jorgenson stepped back a pace. “Risk +it! Certainly! Where's that mysterious ring?” + +“I have got it in my pocket,” said Jorgenson, readily; yet nearly half +a minute elapsed before Mrs. Travers felt the characteristic shape being +pressed into her half-open palm. “Don't let anybody see it,” Jorgenson +admonished her in a murmur. “Hide it somewhere about you. Why not hang +it round your neck?” + +Mrs. Travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. “Yes, that will +do,” she murmured, hastily. “I'll be back in a moment. Get everything +ready.” With those words she disappeared inside the deckhouse and +presently threads of light appeared in the interstices of the boards. +Mrs. Travers had lighted a candle in there. She was busy hanging that +ring round her neck. She was going. Yes--taking the risk for Tom's sake. + +“Nobody can resist that man,” Jorgenson muttered to himself with +increasing moroseness. “_I_ couldn't.” + + +IV + +Jorgenson, after seeing the canoe leave the ship's side, ceased to live +intellectually. There was no need for more thinking, for any display +of mental ingenuity. He had done with it all. All his notions were +perfectly fixed and he could go over them in the same ghostly way in +which he haunted the deck of the Emma. At the sight of the ring Lingard +would return to Hassim and Immada, now captives, too, though Jorgenson +certainly did not think them in any serious danger. What had happened +really was that Tengga was now holding hostages, and those Jorgenson +looked upon as Lingard's own people. They were his. He had gone in with +them deep, very deep. They had a hold and a claim on King Tom just as +many years ago people of that very race had had a hold and a claim +on him, Jorgenson. Only Tom was a much bigger man. A very big man. +Nevertheless, Jorgenson didn't see why he should escape his own +fate--Jorgenson's fate--to be absorbed, captured, made their own either +in failure or in success. It was an unavoidable fatality and Jorgenson +felt certain that the ring would compel Lingard to face it without +flinching. What he really wanted Lingard to do was to cease to take the +slightest interest in those whites--who were the sort of people that +left no footprints. + +Perhaps at first sight, sending that woman to Lingard was not the best +way toward that end. Jorgenson, however, had a distinct impression in +which his morning talk with Mrs. Travers had only confirmed him, that +those two had quarrelled for good. As, indeed, was unavoidable. What did +Tom Lingard want with any woman? The only woman in Jorgenson's life had +come in by way of exchange for a lot of cotton stuffs and several +brass guns. This fact could not but affect Jorgenson's judgment since +obviously in this case such a transaction was impossible. Therefore +the case was not serious. It didn't exist. What did exist was Lingard's +relation to the Wajo exiles, a great and warlike adventure such as no +rover in those seas had ever attempted. + +That Tengga was much more ready to negotiate than to fight, the old +adventurer had not the slightest doubt. How Lingard would deal with him +was not a concern of Jorgenson's. That would be easy enough. Nothing +prevented Lingard from going to see Tengga and talking to him with +authority. All that ambitious person really wanted was to have a share +in Lingard's wealth, in Lingard's power, in Lingard's friendship. A year +before Tengga had once insinuated to Jorgenson, “In what way am I less +worthy of being a friend than Belarab?” + +It was a distinct overture, a disclosure of the man's innermost mind. +Jorgenson, of course, had met it with a profound silence. His task was +not diplomacy but the care of stores. + +After the effort of connected mental processes in order to bring about +Mrs. Travers' departure he was anxious to dismiss the whole matter from +his mind. The last thought he gave to it was severely practical. It +occurred to him that it would be advisable to attract in some way or +other Lingard's attention to the lagoon. In the language of the sea +a single rocket is properly a signal of distress, but, in the +circumstances, a group of three sent up simultaneously would convey a +warning. He gave his orders and watched the rockets go up finely with a +trail of red sparks, a bursting of white stars high up in the air, and +three loud reports in quick succession. Then he resumed his pacing of +the whole length of the hulk, confident that after this Tom would guess +that something was up and set a close watch over the lagoon. No doubt +these mysterious rockets would have a disturbing effect on Tengga and +his friends and cause a great excitement in the Settlement; but for that +Jorgenson did not care. The Settlement was already in such a turmoil +that a little more excitement did not matter. What Jorgenson did not +expect, however, was the sound of a musket-shot fired from the jungle +facing the bows of the Emma. It caused him to stop dead short. He had +heard distinctly the bullet strike the curve of the bow forward. “Some +hot-headed ass fired that,” he said to himself, contemptuously. It +simply disclosed to him the fact that he was already besieged on the +shore side and set at rest his doubts as to the length Tengga was +prepared to go. Any length! Of course there was still time for Tom to +put everything right with six words, unless . . . Jorgenson smiled, +grimly, in the dark and resumed his tireless pacing. + +What amused him was to observe the fire which had been burning night +and day before Tengga's residence suddenly extinguished. He pictured +to himself the wild rush with bamboo buckets to the lagoon shore, the +confusion, the hurry and jostling in a great hissing of water midst +clouds of steam. The image of the fat Tengga's consternation appealed to +Jorgenson's sense of humour for about five seconds. Then he took up the +binoculars from the roof of the deckhouse. + +The bursting of the three white stars over the lagoon had given him +a momentary glimpse of the black speck of the canoe taking over Mrs. +Travers. He couldn't find it again with the glass, it was too dark; but +the part of the shore for which it was steered would be somewhere near +the angle of Belarab's stockade nearest to the beach. This Jorgenson +could make out in the faint rosy glare of fires burning inside. +Jorgenson was certain that Lingard was looking toward the Emma through +the most convenient loophole he could find. + +As obviously Mrs. Travers could not have paddled herself across, two men +were taking her over; and for the steersman she had Jaffir. Though he +had assented to Jorgenson's plan Jaffir was anxious to accompany the +ring as near as possible to its destination. Nothing but dire necessity +had induced him to part with the talisman. Crouching in the stern and +flourishing his paddle from side to side he glared at the back of the +canvas deck-chair which had been placed in the middle for Mrs. Travers. +Wrapped up in the darkness she reclined in it with her eyes closed, +faintly aware of the ring hung low on her breast. As the canoe was +rather large it was moving very slowly. The two men dipped their paddles +without a splash: and surrendering herself passively, in a temporary +relaxation of all her limbs, to this adventure Mrs. Travers had no sense +of motion at all. She, too, like Jorgenson, was tired of thinking. She +abandoned herself to the silence of that night full of roused passions +and deadly purposes. She abandoned herself to an illusory feeling; to +the impression that she was really resting. For the first time in many +days she could taste the relief of being alone. The men with her were +less than nothing. She could not speak to them; she could not understand +them; the canoe might have been moving by enchantment--if it did move +at all. Like a half-conscious sleeper she was on the verge of saying to +herself, “What a strange dream I am having.” + +The low tones of Jaffir's voice stole into it quietly telling the men to +cease paddling, and the long canoe came to a rest slowly, no more than +ten yards from the beach. The party had been provided with a torch which +was to be lighted before the canoe touched the shore, thus giving a +character of openness to this desperate expedition. “And if it draws +fire on us,” Jaffir had commented to Jorgenson, “well, then, we shall +see whose fate it is to die on this night.” + +“Yes,” had muttered Jorgenson. “We shall see.” + +Jorgenson saw at last the small light of the torch against the blackness +of the stockade. He strained his hearing for a possible volley of +musketry fire but no sound came to him over the broad surface of the +lagoon. Over there the man with the torch, the other paddler, and Jaffir +himself impelling with a gentle motion of his paddle the canoe toward +the shore, had the glistening eyeballs and the tense faces of silent +excitement. The ruddy glare smote Mrs. Travers' closed eyelids but she +didn't open her eyes till she felt the canoe touch the strand. The two +men leaped instantly out of it. Mrs. Travers rose, abruptly. Nobody made +a sound. She stumbled out of the canoe on to the beach and almost before +she had recovered her balance the torch was thrust into her hand. +The heat, the nearness of the blaze confused and blinded her till, +instinctively, she raised the torch high above her head. For a moment +she stood still, holding aloft the fierce flame from which a few sparks +were falling slowly. + +A naked bronze arm lighted from above pointed out the direction and Mrs. +Travers began to walk toward the featureless black mass of the stockade. +When after a few steps she looked back over her shoulder, the lagoon, +the beach, the canoe, the men she had just left had become already +invisible. She was alone bearing up a blazing torch on an earth that was +a dumb shadow shifting under her feet. At last she reached firmer ground +and the dark length of the palisade untouched as yet by the light of the +torch seemed to her immense, intimidating. She felt ready to drop from +sheer emotion. But she moved on. + +“A little more to the left,” shouted a strong voice. + +It vibrated through all her fibres, rousing like the call of a trumpet, +went far beyond her, filled all the space. Mrs. Travers stood still for +a moment, then casting far away from her the burning torch ran forward +blindly with her hands extended toward the great sound of Lingard's +voice, leaving behind her the light flaring and spluttering on the +ground. She stumbled and was only saved from a fall by her hands coming +in contact with the rough stakes. The stockade rose high above her +head and she clung to it with widely open arms, pressing her whole body +against the rugged surface of that enormous and unscalable palisade. She +heard through it low voices inside, heavy thuds; and felt at every blow +a slight vibration of the ground under her feet. She glanced fearfully +over her shoulder and saw nothing in the darkness but the expiring glow +of the torch she had thrown away and the sombre shimmer of the lagoon +bordering the opaque darkness of the shore. Her strained eyeballs seemed +to detect mysterious movements in the darkness and she gave way to +irresistible terror, to a shrinking agony of apprehension. Was she to be +transfixed by a broad blade, to the high, immovable wall of wood against +which she was flattening herself desperately, as though she could hope +to penetrate it by the mere force of her fear? She had no idea where +she was, but as a matter of fact she was a little to the left of the +principal gate and almost exactly under one of the loopholes of the +stockade. Her excessive anguish passed into insensibility. She ceased to +hear, to see, and even to feel the contact of the surface to which +she clung. Lingard's voice somewhere from the sky above her head was +directing her, distinct, very close, full of concern. + +“You must stoop low. Lower yet.” + +The stagnant blood of her body began to pulsate languidly. She stooped +low--lower yet--so low that she had to sink on her knees, and then +became aware of a faint smell of wood smoke mingled with the confused +murmur of agitated voices. This came to her through an opening no higher +than her head in her kneeling posture, and no wider than the breadth of +two stakes. Lingard was saying in a tone of distress: + +“I couldn't get any of them to unbar the gate.” + +She was unable to make a sound.--“Are you there?” Lingard asked, +anxiously, so close to her now that she seemed to feel the very breath +of his words on her face. It revived her completely; she understood what +she had to do. She put her head and shoulders through the opening, was +at once seized under the arms by an eager grip and felt herself pulled +through with an irresistible force and with such haste that her scarf +was dragged off her head, its fringes having caught in the rough timber. +The same eager grip lifted her up, stood her on her feet without her +having to make any exertion toward that end. She became aware that +Lingard was trying to say something, but she heard only a confused +stammering expressive of wonder and delight in which she caught the +words “You . . . you . . .” deliriously repeated. He didn't release his +hold of her; his helpful and irresistible grip had changed into a close +clasp, a crushing embrace, the violent taking possession by an embodied +force that had broken loose and was not to be controlled any longer. +As his great voice had done a moment before, his great strength, +too, seemed able to fill all space in its enveloping and undeniable +authority. Every time she tried instinctively to stiffen herself against +its might, it reacted, affirming its fierce will, its uplifting power. +Several times she lost the feeling of the ground and had a sensation of +helplessness without fear, of triumph without exultation. The inevitable +had come to pass. She had foreseen it--and all the time in that dark +place and against the red glow of camp fires within the stockade the +man in whose arms she struggled remained shadowy to her eyes--to her +half-closed eyes. She thought suddenly, “He will crush me to death +without knowing it.” + +He was like a blind force. She closed her eyes altogether. Her head fell +back a little. Not instinctively but with wilful resignation and as +it were from a sense of justice she abandoned herself to his arms. The +effect was as though she had suddenly stabbed him to the heart. He let +her go so suddenly and completely that she would have fallen down in +a heap if she had not managed to catch hold of his forearm. He seemed +prepared for it and for a moment all her weight hung on it without +moving its rigidity by a hair's breadth. Behind her Mrs. Travers heard +the heavy thud of blows on wood, the confused murmurs and movements of +men. + +A voice said suddenly, “It's done,” with such emphasis that though, +of course, she didn't understand the words it helped her to regain +possession of herself; and when Lingard asked her very little above a +whisper: “Why don't you say something?” she answered readily, “Let me +get my breath first.” + +Round them all sounds had ceased. The men had secured again the +opening through which those arms had snatched her into a moment of +self-forgetfulness which had left her out of breath but uncrushed. As +if something imperative had been satisfied she had a moment of inward +serenity, a period of peace without thought while, holding to that arm +that trembled no more than an arm of iron, she felt stealthily over the +ground for one of the sandals which she had lost. Oh, yes, there was no +doubt of it, she had been carried off the earth, without shame, without +regret. But she would not have let him know of that dropped sandal for +anything in the world. That lost sandal was as symbolic as a dropped +veil. But he did not know of it. He must never know. Where was that +thing? She felt sure that they had not moved an inch from that spot. +Presently her foot found it and still gripping Lingard's forearm she +stooped to secure it properly. When she stood up, still holding his arm, +they confronted each other, he rigid in an effort of self-command but +feeling as if the surges of the heaviest sea that he could remember in +his life were running through his heart; and the woman as if emptied +of all feeling by her experience, without thought yet, but beginning to +regain her sense of the situation and the memory of the immediate past. + +“I have been watching at that loophole for an hour, ever since they came +running to me with that story of the rockets,” said Lingard. “I was shut +up with Belarab then. I was looking out when the torch blazed and you +stepped ashore. I thought I was dreaming. But what could I do? I felt I +must rush to you but I dared not. That clump of palms is full of men. So +are the houses you saw that time you came ashore with me. Full of men. +Armed men. A trigger is soon pulled and when once shooting begins. . . . +And you walking in the open with that light above your head! I didn't +dare. You were safer alone. I had the strength to hold myself in and +watch you come up from the shore. No! No man that ever lived had seen +such a sight. What did you come for?” + +“Didn't you expect somebody? I don't mean me, I mean a messenger?” + +“No!” said Lingard, wondering at his own self-control. “Why did he let +you come?” + +“You mean Captain Jorgenson? Oh, he refused at first. He said that he +had your orders.” + +“How on earth did you manage to get round him?” said Lingard in his +softest tones. + +“I did not try,” she began and checked herself. Lingard's question, +though he really didn't seem to care much about an answer, had aroused +afresh her suspicion of Jorgenson's change of front. “I didn't have +to say very much at the last,” she continued, gasping yet a little and +feeling her personality, crushed to nothing in the hug of those arms, +expand again to its full significance before the attentive immobility +of that man. “Captain Jorgenson has always looked upon me as a nuisance. +Perhaps he had made up his mind to get rid of me even against your +orders. Is he quite sane?” + +She released her firm hold of that iron forearm which fell slowly +by Lingard's side. She had regained fully the possession of her +personality. There remained only a fading, slightly breathless +impression of a short flight above that earth on which her feet were +firmly planted now. “And is that all?” she asked herself, not bitterly, +but with a sort of tender contempt. + +“He is so sane,” sounded Lingard's voice, gloomily, “that if I had +listened to him you would not have found me here.” + +“What do you mean by here? In this stockade?” + +“Anywhere,” he said. + +“And what would have happened then?” + +“God knows,” he answered. “What would have happened if the world had not +been made in seven days? I have known you for just about that time. It +began by me coming to you at night--like a thief in the night. Where the +devil did I hear that? And that man you are married to thinks I am no +better than a thief.” + +“It ought to be enough for you that I never made a mistake as to what +you are, that I come to you in less than twenty-four hours after you +left me contemptuously to my distress. Don't pretend you didn't hear me +call after you. Oh, yes, you heard. The whole ship heard me for I had no +shame.” + +“Yes, you came,” said Lingard, violently. “But have you really come? I +can't believe my eyes! Are you really here?” + +“This is a dark spot, luckily,” said Mrs. Travers. “But can you really +have any doubt?” she added, significantly. + +He made a sudden movement toward her, betraying so much passion that +Mrs. Travers thought, “I shan't come out alive this time,” and yet he +was there, motionless before her, as though he had never stirred. It +was more as though the earth had made a sudden movement under his feet +without being able to destroy his balance. But the earth under Mrs. +Travers' feet had made no movement and for a second she was overwhelmed +by wonder not at this proof of her own self-possession but at the man's +immense power over himself. If it had not been for her strange inward +exhaustion she would perhaps have surrendered to that power. But it +seemed to her that she had nothing in her worth surrendering, and it +was in a perfectly even tone that she said, “Give me your arm, Captain +Lingard. We can't stay all night on this spot.” + +As they moved on she thought, “There is real greatness in that man.” + He was great even in his behaviour. No apologies, no explanations, no +abasement, no violence, and not even the slightest tremor of the frame +holding that bold and perplexed soul. She knew that for certain because +her fingers were resting lightly on Lingard's arm while she walked +slowly by his side as though he were taking her down to dinner. And yet +she couldn't suppose for a moment, that, like herself, he was emptied of +all emotion. She never before was so aware of him as a dangerous force. +“He is really ruthless,” she thought. They had just left the shadow of +the inner defences about the gate when a slightly hoarse, apologetic +voice was heard behind them repeating insistently, what even Mrs. +Travers' ear detected to be a sort of formula. The words were: “There +is this thing--there is this thing--there is this thing.” They turned +round. + +“Oh, my scarf,” said Mrs. Travers. + +A short, squat, broad-faced young fellow having for all costume a pair +of white drawers was offering the scarf thrown over both his arms, as +if they had been sticks, and holding it respectfully as far as possible +from his person. Lingard took it from him and Mrs. Travers claimed it +at once. “Don't forget the proprieties,” she said. “This is also my face +veil.” + +She was arranging it about her head when Lingard said, “There is no +need. I am taking you to those gentlemen.”--“I will use it all the +same,” said Mrs. Travers. “This thing works both ways, as a matter of +propriety or as a matter of precaution. Till I have an opportunity of +looking into a mirror nothing will persuade me that there isn't some +change in my face.” Lingard swung half round and gazed down at her. +Veiled now she confronted him boldly. “Tell me, Captain Lingard, how +many eyes were looking at us a little while ago?” + +“Do you care?” he asked. + +“Not in the least,” she said. “A million stars were looking on, too, and +what did it matter? They were not of the world I know. And it's just the +same with the eyes. They are not of the world I live in.” + +Lingard thought: “Nobody is.” Never before had she seemed to him more +unapproachable, more different and more remote. The glow of a number of +small fires lighted the ground only, and brought out the black bulk +of men lying down in the thin drift of smoke. Only one of these fires, +rather apart and burning in front of the house which was the quarter of +the prisoners, might have been called a blaze and even that was not a +great one. It didn't penetrate the dark space between the piles and the +depth of the verandah above where only a couple of heads and the glint +of a spearhead could be seen dimly in the play of the light. But down +on the ground outside, the black shape of a man seated on a bench had +an intense relief. Another intensely black shadow threw a handful of +brushwood on the fire and went away. The man on the bench got up. It was +d'Alcacer. He let Lingard and Mrs. Travers come quite close up to him. +Extreme surprise seemed to have made him dumb. + +“You didn't expect . . .” began Mrs. Travers with some embarrassment +before that mute attitude. + +“I doubted my eyes,” struck in d'Alcacer, who seemed embarrassed, too. +Next moment he recovered his tone and confessed simply: “At the moment +I wasn't thinking of you, Mrs. Travers.” He passed his hand over his +forehead. “I hardly know what I was thinking of.” + +In the light of the shooting-up flame Mrs. Travers could see d'Alcacer's +face. There was no smile on it. She could not remember ever seeing him +so grave and, as it were, so distant. She abandoned Lingard's arm and +moved closer to the fire. + +“I fancy you were very far away, Mr. d'Alcacer,” she said. + +“This is the sort of freedom of which nothing can deprive us,” he +observed, looking hard at the manner in which the scarf was drawn across +Mrs. Travers' face. “It's possible I was far away,” he went on, “but I +can assure you that I don't know where I was. Less than an hour ago we +had a great excitement here about some rockets, but I didn't share in +it. There was no one I could ask a question of. The captain here was, +I understood, engaged in a most momentous conversation with the king or +the governor of this place.” + +He addressed Lingard, directly. “May I ask whether you have reached any +conclusion as yet? That Moor is a very dilatory person, I believe.” + +“Any direct attack he would, of course, resist,” said Lingard. “And, so +far, you are protected. But I must admit that he is rather angry with +me. He's tired of the whole business. He loves peace above anything in +the world. But I haven't finished with him yet.” + +“As far as I understood from what you told me before,” said Mr. +d'Alcacer, with a quick side glance at Mrs. Travers' uncovered and +attentive eyes, “as far as I can see he may get all the peace he wants +at once by driving us two, I mean Mr. Travers and myself, out of the +gate on to the spears of those other enraged barbarians. And there are +some of his counsellors who advise him to do that very thing no later +than the break of day I understand.” + +Lingard stood for a moment perfectly motionless. + +“That's about it,” he said in an unemotional tone, and went away with +a heavy step without giving another look at d'Alcacer and Mrs. Travers, +who after a moment faced each other. + +“You have heard?” said d'Alcacer. “Of course that doesn't affect your +fate in any way, and as to him he is much too prestigious to be killed +light-heartedly. When all this is over you will walk triumphantly on his +arm out of this stockade; for there is nothing in all this to affect his +greatness, his absolute value in the eyes of those people--and indeed in +any other eyes.” D'Alcacer kept his glance averted from Mrs. Travers and +as soon as he had finished speaking busied himself in dragging the bench +a little way further from the fire. When they sat down on it he kept his +distance from Mrs. Travers. She made no sign of unveiling herself and +her eyes without a face seemed to him strangely unknown and disquieting. + +“The situation in a nutshell,” she said. “You have arranged it all +beautifully, even to my triumphal exit. Well, and what then? No, you +needn't answer, it has no interest. I assure you I came here not with +any notion of marching out in triumph, as you call it. I came here, to +speak in the most vulgar way, to save your skin--and mine.” + +Her voice came muffled to d'Alcacer's ears with a changed character, +even to the very intonation. Above the white and embroidered scarf her +eyes in the firelight transfixed him, black and so steady that even the +red sparks of the reflected glare did not move in them. He concealed the +strong impression she made. He bowed his head a little. + +“I believe you know perfectly well what you are doing.” + +“No! I don't know,” she said, more quickly than he had ever heard her +speak before. “First of all, I don't think he is so safe as you imagine. +Oh, yes, he has prestige enough, I don't question that. But you are +apportioning life and death with too much assurance. . . .” + +“I know my portion,” murmured d'Alcacer, gently. A moment of silence +fell in which Mrs. Travers' eyes ended by intimidating d'Alcacer, +who looked away. The flame of the fire had sunk low. In the dark +agglomeration of buildings, which might have been called Belarab's +palace, there was a certain animation, a flitting of people, voices +calling and answering, the passing to and fro of lights that would +illuminate suddenly a heavy pile, the corner of a house, the eaves of a +low-pitched roof, while in the open parts of the stockade the armed men +slept by the expiring fires. + +Mrs. Travers said, suddenly, “That Jorgenson is not friendly to us.” + +“Possibly.” + +With clasped hands and leaning over his knees d'Alcacer had assented +in a very low tone. Mrs. Travers, unobserved, pressed her hands to her +breast and felt the shape of the ring, thick, heavy, set with a big +stone. It was there, secret, hung against her heart, and enigmatic. What +did it mean? What could it mean? What was the feeling it could arouse or +the action it could provoke? And she thought with compunction that she +ought to have given it to Lingard at once, without thinking, without +hesitating. “There! This is what I came for. To give you this.” Yes, but +there had come an interval when she had been able to think of nothing, +and since then she had had the time to reflect--unfortunately. To +remember Jorgenson's hostile, contemptuous glance enveloping her from +head to foot at the break of a day after a night of lonely anguish. And +now while she sat there veiled from his keen sight there was that other +man, that d'Alcacer, prophesying. O yes, triumphant. She knew already +what that was. Mrs. Travers became afraid of the ring. She felt ready to +pluck it from her neck and cast it away. + +“I mistrust him,” she said.--“You do!” exclaimed d'Alcacer, +very low.--“I mean that Jorgenson. He seems a merciless sort of +creature.”--“He is indifferent to everything,” said d'Alcacer.--“It may +be a mask.”--“Have you some evidence, Mrs. Travers?” + +“No,” said Mrs. Travers without hesitation. “I have my instinct.” + +D'Alcacer remained silent for a while as though he were pursuing another +train of thought altogether, then in a gentle, almost playful tone: “If +I were a woman,” he said, turning to Mrs. Travers, “I would always trust +my intuition.”--“If you were a woman, Mr. d'Alcacer, I would not be +speaking to you in this way because then I would be suspect to you.” + +The thought that before long perhaps he would be neither man nor woman +but a lump of cold clay, crossed d'Alcacer's mind, which was living, +alert, and unsubdued by the danger. He had welcomed the arrival of Mrs. +Travers simply because he had been very lonely in that stockade, Mr. +Travers having fallen into a phase of sulks complicated with shivering +fits. Of Lingard d'Alcacer had seen almost nothing since they had +landed, for the Man of Fate was extremely busy negotiating in the +recesses of Belarab's main hut; and the thought that his life was being +a matter of arduous bargaining was not agreeable to Mr. d'Alcacer. The +Chief's dependents and the armed men garrisoning the stockade paid very +little attention to him apparently, and this gave him the feeling of his +captivity being very perfect and hopeless. During the afternoon, while +pacing to and fro in the bit of shade thrown by the glorified sort of +hut inside which Mr. Travers shivered and sulked misanthropically, he +had been aware of the more distant verandahs becoming filled now and +then by the muffled forms of women of Belarab's household taking a +distant and curious view of the white man. All this was irksome. He +found his menaced life extremely difficult to get through. Yes, he +welcomed the arrival of Mrs. Travers who brought with her a tragic note +into the empty gloom. + +“Suspicion is not in my nature, Mrs. Travers, I assure you, and I +hope that you on your side will never suspect either my reserve or my +frankness. I respect the mysterious nature of your conviction but hasn't +Jorgenson given you some occasion to. . .” + +“He hates me,” said Mrs. Travers, and frowned at d'Alcacer's incipient +smile. “It isn't a delusion on my part. The worst is that he hates me +not for myself. I believe he is completely indifferent to my existence. +Jorgenson hates me because as it were I represent you two who are in +danger, because it is you two that are the trouble and I . . . Well!” + +“Yes, yes, that's certain,” said d'Alcacer, hastily. “But Jorgenson is +wrong in making you the scapegoat. For if you were not here cool reason +would step in and would make Lingard pause in his passion to make a king +out of an exile. If we were murdered it would certainly make some stir +in the world in time and he would fall under the suspicion of complicity +with those wild and inhuman Moors. Who would regard the greatness of his +day-dreams, his engaged honour, his chivalrous feelings? Nothing could +save him from that suspicion. And being what he is, you understand me, +Mrs. Travers (but you know him much better than I do), it would morally +kill him.” + +“Heavens!” whispered Mrs. Travers. “This has never occurred to me.” + Those words seemed to lose themselves in the folds of the scarf without +reaching d'Alcacer, who continued in his gentle tone: + +'“However, as it is, he will be safe enough whatever happens. He will +have your testimony to clear him.” + +Mrs. Travers stood up, suddenly, but still careful to keep her face +covered, she threw the end of the scarf over her shoulder. + +“I fear that Jorgenson,” she cried with suppressed passion. “One can't +understand what that man means to do. I think him so dangerous that if I +were, for instance, entrusted with a message bearing on the situation, I +would . . . suppress it.” + +D'Alcacer was looking up from the seat, full of wonder. Mrs. Travers +appealed to him in a calm voice through the folds of the scarf: + +“Tell me, Mr. d'Alcacer, you who can look on it calmly, wouldn't I be +right?” + +“Why, has Jorgenson told you anything?” + +“Directly--nothing, except a phrase or two which really I could not +understand. They seemed to have a hidden sense and he appeared to attach +some mysterious importance to them that he dared not explain to me.” + +“That was a risk on his part,” exclaimed d'Alcacer. “And he trusted you. +Why you, I wonder!” + +“Who can tell what notions he has in his head? Mr. d'Alcacer, I believe +his only object is to call Captain Lingard away from us. I understood it +only a few minutes ago. It has dawned upon me. All he wants is to call +him off.” + +“Call him off,” repeated d'Alcacer, a little bewildered by the aroused +fire of her conviction. “I am sure I don't want him called off any more +than you do; and, frankly, I don't believe Jorgenson has any such power. +But upon the whole, and if you feel that Jorgenson has the power, I +would--yes, if I were in your place I think I would suppress anything I +could not understand.” + +Mrs. Travers listened to the very end. Her eyes--they appeared +incredibly sombre to d'Alcacer--seemed to watch the fall of every +deliberate word and after he had ceased they remained still for an +appreciable time. Then she turned away with a gesture that seemed to +say: “So be it.” + +D'Alcacer raised his voice suddenly after her. “Stay! Don't forget that +not only your husband's but my head, too, is being played at that game. +My judgment is not . . .” + +She stopped for a moment and freed her lips. In the profound stillness +of the courtyard her clear voice made the shadows at the nearest fires +stir a little with low murmurs of surprise. + +“Oh, yes, I remember whose heads I have to save,” she cried. “But in all +the world who is there to save that man from himself?” + + + +V + +D'Alcacer sat down on the bench again. “I wonder what she knows,” he +thought, “and I wonder what I have done.” He wondered also how far he +had been sincere and how far affected by a very natural aversion from +being murdered obscurely by ferocious Moors with all the circumstances +of barbarity. It was a very naked death to come upon one suddenly. It +was robbed of all helpful illusions, such as the free will of a suicide, +the heroism of a warrior, or the exaltation of a martyr. “Hadn't I +better make some sort of fight of it?” he debated with himself. He saw +himself rushing at the naked spears without any enthusiasm. Or wouldn't +it be better to go forth to meet his doom (somewhere outside the +stockade on that horrible beach) with calm dignity. “Pah! I shall be +probably speared through the back in the beastliest possible fashion,” + he thought with an inward shudder. It was certainly not a shudder of +fear, for Mr. d'Alcacer attached no high value to life. It was a shudder +of disgust because Mr. d'Alcacer was a civilized man and though he had +no illusions about civilization he could not but admit the superiority +of its methods. It offered to one a certain refinement of form, a +comeliness of proceedings and definite safeguards against deadly +surprises. “How idle all this is,” he thought, finally. His next thought +was that women were very resourceful. It was true, he went on meditating +with unwonted cynicism, that strictly speaking they had only one +resource but, generally, it served--it served. + +He was surprised by his supremely shameless bitterness at this juncture. +It was so uncalled for. This situation was too complicated to be +entrusted to a cynical or shameless hope. There was nothing to trust to. +At this moment of his meditation he became aware of Lingard's approach. +He raised his head eagerly. D'Alcacer was not indifferent to his fate +and even to Mr. Travers' fate. He would fain learn. . . . But one look +at Lingard's face was enough. “It's no use asking him anything,” he said +to himself, “for he cares for nothing just now.” + +Lingard sat down heavily on the other end of the bench, and d'Alcacer, +looking at his profile, confessed to himself that this was the most +masculinely good-looking face he had ever seen in his life. It was +an expressive face, too, but its present expression was also beyond +d'Alcacer's past experience. At the same time its quietness set up a +barrier against common curiosities and even common fears. No, it was +no use asking him anything. Yet something should be said to break the +spell, to call down again this man to the earth. But it was Lingard who +spoke first. “Where has Mrs. Travers gone?” + +“She has gone . . . where naturally she would be anxious to go first of +all since she has managed to come to us,” answered d'Alcacer, wording +his answer with the utmost regard for the delicacy of the situation. + +The stillness of Lingard seemed to have grown even more impressive. He +spoke again. + +“I wonder what those two can have to say to each other.” + +He might have been asking that of the whole darkened part of the globe, +but it was d'Alcacer who answered in his courteous tones. + +“Would it surprise you very much, Captain Lingard, if I were to tell you +that those two people are quite fit to understand each other thoroughly? +Yes? It surprises you! Well, I assure you that seven thousand miles from +here nobody would wonder.” + +“I think I understand,” said Lingard, “but don't you know the man is +light-headed? A man like that is as good as mad.” + +“Yes, he had been slightly delirious since seven o'clock,” said +d'Alcacer. “But believe me, Captain Lingard,” he continued, earnestly, +and obeying a perfectly disinterested impulse, “that even in his +delirium he is far more understandable to her and better able to +understand her than . . . anybody within a hundred miles from here.” + +“Ah!” said Lingard without any emotion, “so you don't wonder. You don't +see any reason for wonder.” + +“No, for, don't you see, I do know.” + +“What do you know?” + +“Men and women, Captain Lingard, which you. . . .” + +“I don't know any woman.” + +“You have spoken the strictest truth there,” said d'Alcacer, and for the +first time Lingard turned his head slowly and looked at his neighbour on +the bench. + +“Do you think she is as good as mad, too?” asked Lingard in a startled +voice. + +D'Alcacer let escape a low exclamation. No, certainly he did not think +so. It was an original notion to suppose that lunatics had a sort of +common logic which made them understandable to each other. D'Alcacer +tried to make his voice as gentle as possible while he pursued: “No, +Captain Lingard, I believe the woman of whom we speak is and will always +remain in the fullest possession of herself.” + +Lingard, leaning back, clasped his hands round his knees. He seemed +not to be listening and d'Alcacer, pulling a cigarette case out of his +pocket, looked for a long time at the three cigarettes it contained. It +was the last of the provision he had on him when captured. D'Alcacer +had put himself on the strictest allowance. A cigarette was only to be +lighted on special occasions; and now there were only three left and +they had to be made to last till the end of life. They calmed, they +soothed, they gave an attitude. And only three left! One had to be +kept for the morning, to be lighted before going through the gate of +doom--the gate of Belarab's stockade. A cigarette soothed, it gave an +attitude. Was this the fitting occasion for one of the remaining two? +D'Alcacer, a true Latin, was not afraid of a little introspection. In +the pause he descended into the innermost depths of his being, then +glanced up at the night sky. Sportsman, traveller, he had often looked +up at the stars before to see how time went. It was going very slowly. +He took out a cigarette, snapped-to the case, bent down to the embers. +Then he sat up and blew out a thin cloud of smoke. The man by his side +looked with his bowed head and clasped knee like a masculine rendering +of mournful meditation. Such attitudes are met with sometimes on the +sculptures of ancient tombs. D'Alcacer began to speak: + +“She is a representative woman and yet one of those of whom there are +but very few at any time in the world. Not that they are very rare but +that there is but little room on top. They are the iridescent gleams on +a hard and dark surface. For the world is hard, Captain Lingard, it is +hard, both in what it will remember and in what it will forget. It +is for such women that people toil on the ground and underground and +artists of all sorts invoke their inspiration.” + +Lingard seemed not to have heard a word. His chin rested on his breast. +D'Alcacer appraised the remaining length of his cigarette and went on in +an equable tone through which pierced a certain sadness: + +“No, there are not many of them. And yet they are all. They decorate our +life for us. They are the gracious figures on the drab wall which lies +on this side of our common grave. They lead a sort of ritual dance, that +most of us have agreed to take seriously. It is a very binding agreement +with which sincerity and good faith and honour have nothing to do. +Very binding. Woe to him or her who breaks it. Directly they leave the +pageant they get lost.” + +Lingard turned his head sharply and discovered d'Alcacer looking at him +with profound attention. + +“They get lost in a maze,” continued d'Alcacer, quietly. “They wander in +it lamenting over themselves. I would shudder at that fate for anything +I loved. Do you know, Captain Lingard, how people lost in a maze end?” + he went on holding Lingard by a steadfast stare. “No? . . . I will +tell you then. They end by hating their very selves, and they die in +disillusion and despair.” + +As if afraid of the force of his words d'Alcacer laid a soothing hand +lightly on Lingard's shoulder. But Lingard continued to look into the +embers at his feet and remained insensible to the friendly touch. Yet +d'Alcacer could not imagine that he had not been heard. He folded his +arms on his breast. + +“I don't know why I have been telling you all this,” he said, +apologetically. “I hope I have not been intruding on your thoughts.” + +“I can think of nothing,” Lingard declared, unexpectedly. “I only know +that your voice was friendly; and for the rest--” + +“One must get through a night like this somehow,” said d'Alcacer. +“The very stars seem to lag on their way. It's a common belief that a +drowning man is irresistibly compelled to review his past experience. +Just now I feel quite out of my depth, and whatever I have said has come +from my experience. I am sure you will forgive me. All that it amounts +to is this: that it is natural for us to cry for the moon but it would +be very fatal to have our cries heard. For what could any one of us do +with the moon if it were given to him? I am speaking now of us--common +mortals.” + +It was not immediately after d'Alcacer had ceased speaking but only +after a moment that Lingard unclasped his fingers, got up, and walked +away. D'Alcacer followed with a glance of quiet interest the big, +shadowy form till it vanished in the direction of an enormous forest +tree left in the middle of the stockade. The deepest shade of the night +was spread over the ground of Belarab's fortified courtyard. The very +embers of the fires had turned black, showing only here and there a mere +spark; and the forms of the prone sleepers could hardly be distinguished +from the hard ground on which they rested, with their arms lying +beside them on the mats. Presently Mrs. Travers appeared quite close to +d'Alcacer, who rose instantly. + +“Martin is asleep,” said Mrs. Travers in a tone that seemed to have +borrowed something of the mystery and quietness of the night. + +“All the world's asleep,” observed d'Alcacer, so low that Mrs. Travers +barely caught the words, “Except you and me, and one other who has left +me to wander about in the night.” + +“Was he with you? Where has he gone?” + +“Where it's darkest I should think,” answered d'Alcacer, secretly. “It's +no use going to look for him; but if you keep perfectly still and hold +your breath you may presently hear his footsteps.” + +“What did he tell you?” breathed out Mrs. Travers. + +“I didn't ask him anything. I only know that something has happened +which has robbed him of his power of thinking . . . Hadn't I better go +to the hut? Don Martin ought to have someone with him when he wakes up.” + Mrs. Travers remained perfectly still and even now and then held her +breath with a vague fear of hearing those footsteps wandering in the +dark. D'Alcacer had disappeared. Again Mrs. Travers held her breath. No. +Nothing. Not a sound. Only the night to her eyes seemed to have grown +darker. Was that a footstep? “Where could I hide myself?” she thought. +But she didn't move. + +After leaving d'Alcacer, Lingard threading his way between the fires +found himself under the big tree, the same tree against which Daman had +been leaning on the day of the great talk when the white prisoners had +been surrendered to Lingard's keeping on definite conditions. Lingard +passed through the deep obscurity made by the outspread boughs of the +only witness left there of a past that for endless ages had seen no +mankind on this shore defended by the Shallows, around this lagoon +overshadowed by the jungle. In the calm night the old giant, without +shudders or murmurs in its enormous limbs, saw the restless man drift +through the black shade into the starlight. + +In that distant part of the courtyard there were only a few sentries +who, themselves invisible, saw Lingard's white figure pace to and fro +endlessly. They knew well who that was. It was the great white man. A +very great man. A very rich man. A possessor of fire-arms, who could +dispense valuable gifts and deal deadly blows, the friend of their +Ruler, the enemy of his enemies, known to them for years and always +mysterious. At their posts, flattened against the stakes near convenient +loopholes, they cast backward glances and exchanged faint whispers from +time to time. + +Lingard might have thought himself alone. He had lost touch with the +world. What he had said to d'Alcacer was perfectly true. He had no +thought. He was in the state of a man who, having cast his eyes through +the open gates of Paradise, is rendered insensible by that moment's +vision to all the forms and matters of the earth; and in the extremity +of his emotion ceases even to look upon himself but as the subject of +a sublime experience which exalts or unfits, sanctifies or damns--he +didn't know which. Every shadowy thought, every passing sensation was +like a base intrusion on that supreme memory. He couldn't bear it. + +When he had tried to resume his conversation with Belarab after Mrs. +Travers' arrival he had discovered himself unable to go on. He had just +enough self-control to break off the interview in measured terms. He +pointed out the lateness of the hour, a most astonishing excuse to +people to whom time is nothing and whose life and activities are not +ruled by the clock. Indeed Lingard hardly knew what he was saying or +doing when he went out again leaving everybody dumb with astonishment +at the change in his aspect and in his behaviour. A suspicious silence +reigned for a long time in Belarab's great audience room till the Chief +dismissed everybody by two quiet words and a slight gesture. + +With her chin in her hand in the pose of a sybil trying to read the +future in the glow of dying embers, Mrs. Travers, without holding +her breath, heard quite close to her the footsteps which she had been +listening for with mingled alarm, remorse, and hope. + +She didn't change her attitude. The deep red glow lighted her up dimly, +her face, the white hand hanging by her side, her feet in their sandals. +The disturbing footsteps stopped close to her. + +“Where have you been all this time?” she asked, without looking round. + +“I don't know,” answered Lingard. He was speaking the exact truth. +He didn't know. Ever since he had released that woman from his arms +everything but the vaguest notions had departed from him. Events, +necessities, things--he had lost his grip on them all. And he didn't +care. They were futile and impotent; he had no patience with them. The +offended and astonished Belarab, d'Alcacer with his kindly touch and +friendly voice, the sleeping men, the men awake, the Settlement full of +unrestful life and the restless Shallows of the coast, were removed from +him into an immensity of pitying contempt. Perhaps they existed. Perhaps +all this waited for him. Well, let all this wait; let everything wait, +till to-morrow or to the end of time, which could now come at any moment +for all he cared--but certainly till to-morrow. + +“I only know,” he went on with an emphasis that made Mrs. Travers raise +her head, “that wherever I go I shall carry you with me--against my +breast.” + +Mrs. Travers' fine ear caught the mingled tones of suppressed exultation +and dawning fear, the ardour and the faltering of those words. She was +feeling still the physical truth at the root of them so strongly that +she couldn't help saying in a dreamy whisper: + +“Did you mean to crush the life out of me?” + +He answered in the same tone: + +“I could not have done it. You are too strong. Was I rough? I didn't +mean to be. I have been often told I didn't know my own strength. You +did not seem able to get through that opening and so I caught hold +of you. You came away in my hands quite easily. Suddenly I thought to +myself, 'now I will make sure.'” + +He paused as if his breath had failed him. Mrs. Travers dared not make +the slightest movement. Still in the pose of one in quest of hidden +truth she murmured, “Make sure?” + +“Yes. And now I am sure. You are here--here! Before I couldn't tell.” + +“Oh, you couldn't tell before,” she said. + +“No.” + +“So it was reality that you were seeking.” + +He repeated as if speaking to himself: “And now I am sure.” + +Her sandalled foot, all rosy in the glow, felt the warmth of the embers. +The tepid night had enveloped her body; and still under the impression +of his strength she gave herself up to a momentary feeling of quietude +that came about her heart as soft as the night air penetrated by the +feeble clearness of the stars. “This is a limpid soul,” she thought. + +“You know I always believed in you,” he began again. “You know I did. +Well. I never believed in you so much as I do now, as you sit there, +just as you are, and with hardly enough light to make you out by.” + +It occurred to her that she had never heard a voice she liked so +well--except one. But that had been a great actor's voice; whereas this +man was nothing in the world but his very own self. He persuaded, he +moved, he disturbed, he soothed by his inherent truth. He had wanted to +make sure and he had made sure apparently; and too weary to resist +the waywardness of her thoughts Mrs. Travers reflected with a sort of +amusement that apparently he had not been disappointed. She thought, “He +believes in me. What amazing words. Of all the people that might have +believed in me I had to find this one here. He believes in me more than +in himself.” A gust of sudden remorse tore her out from her quietness, +made her cry out to him: + +“Captain Lingard, we forget how we have met, we forget what is going on. +We mustn't. I won't say that you placed your belief wrongly but I have +to confess something to you. I must tell you how I came here to-night. +Jorgenson . . .” + +He interrupted her forcibly but without raising his voice. + +“Jorgenson. Who's Jorgenson? You came to me because you couldn't help +yourself.” + +This took her breath away. “But I must tell you. There is something in +my coming which is not clear to me.” + +“You can tell me nothing that I don't know already,” he said in +a pleading tone. “Say nothing. Sit still. Time enough to-morrow. +To-morrow! The night is drawing to an end and I care for nothing in the +world but you. Let me be. Give me the rest that is in you.” + +She had never heard such accents on his lips and she felt for him a +great and tender pity. Why not humour this mood in which he wanted to +preserve the moments that would never come to him again on this earth? +She hesitated in silence. She saw him stir in the darkness as if he +could not make up his mind to sit down on the bench. But suddenly he +scattered the embers with his foot and sank on the ground against her +feet, and she was not startled in the least to feel the weight of his +head on her knee. Mrs. Travers was not startled but she felt profoundly +moved. Why should she torment him with all those questions of freedom +and captivity, of violence and intrigue, of life and death? He was not +in a state to be told anything and it seemed to her that she did not +want to speak, that in the greatness of her compassion she simply could +not speak. All she could do for him was to rest her hand lightly on his +head and respond silently to the slight movement she felt, sigh or sob, +but a movement which suddenly immobilized her in an anxious emotion. + +About the same time on the other side of the lagoon Jorgenson, raising +his eyes, noted the stars and said to himself that the night would not +last long now. He wished for daylight. He hoped that Lingard had already +done something. The blaze in Tengga's compound had been re-lighted. +Tom's power was unbounded, practically unbounded. And he was +invulnerable. + +Jorgenson let his old eyes wander amongst the gleams and shadows of the +great sheet of water between him and that hostile shore and fancied he +could detect a floating shadow having the characteristic shape of a man +in a small canoe. + +“O! Ya! Man!” he hailed. “What do you want?” Other eyes, too, had +detected that shadow. Low murmurs arose on the deck of the Emma. “If you +don't speak at once I shall fire,” shouted Jorgenson, fiercely. + +“No, white man,” returned the floating shape in a solemn drawl. “I am +the bearer of friendly words. A chief's words. I come from Tengga.” + +“There was a bullet that came on board not a long time ago--also from +Tengga,” said Jorgenson. + +“That was an accident,” protested the voice from the lagoon. “What else +could it be? Is there war between you and Tengga? No, no, O white man! +All Tengga desires is a long talk. He has sent me to ask you to come +ashore.” + +At these words Jorgenson's heart sank a little. This invitation meant +that Lingard had made no move. Was Tom asleep or altogether mad? + +“The talk would be of peace,” declared impressively the shadow which had +drifted much closer to the hulk now. + +“It isn't for me to talk with great chiefs,” Jorgenson returned, +cautiously. + +“But Tengga is a friend,” argued the nocturnal messenger. “And by that +fire there are other friends--your friends, the Rajah Hassim and the +lady Immada, who send you their greetings and who expect their eyes to +rest on you before sunrise.” + +“That's a lie,” remarked Jorgenson, perfunctorily, and fell into +thought, while the shadowy bearer of words preserved a scandalized +silence, though, of course, he had not expected to be believed for a +moment. But one could never tell what a white man would believe. He +had wanted to produce the impression that Hassim and Immada were the +honoured guests of Tengga. It occurred to him suddenly that perhaps +Jorgenson didn't know anything of the capture. And he persisted. + +“My words are all true, Tuan. The Rajah of Wajo and his sister are with +my master. I left them sitting by the fire on Tengga's right hand. Will +you come ashore to be welcomed amongst friends?” + +Jorgenson had been reflecting profoundly. His object was to gain as much +time as possible for Lingard's interference which indeed could not fail +to be effective. But he had not the slightest wish to entrust himself to +Tengga's friendliness. Not that he minded the risk; but he did not see +the use of taking it. + +“No!” he said, “I can't go ashore. We white men have ways of our own +and I am chief of this hulk. And my chief is the Rajah Laut, a white man +like myself. All the words that matter are in him and if Tengga is such +a great chief let him ask the Rajah Laut for a talk. Yes, that's the +proper thing for Tengga to do if he is such a great chief as he says.” + +“The Rajah Laut has made his choice. He dwells with Belarab, and with +the white people who are huddled together like trapped deer in Belarab's +stockade. Why shouldn't you meantime go over where everything is lighted +up and open and talk in friendship with Tengga's friends, whose hearts +have been made sick by many doubts; Rajah Hassim and the lady Immada and +Daman, the chief of the men of the sea, who do not know now whom they +can trust unless it be you, Tuan, the keeper of much wealth?” + +The diplomatist in the small dugout paused for a moment to give special +weight to the final argument: + +“Which you have no means to defend. We know how many armed men there are +with you.” + +“They are great fighters,” Jorgenson observed, unconcernedly, spreading +his elbows on the rail and looking over at the floating black patch of +characteristic shape whence proceeded the voice of the wily envoy of +Tengga. “Each man of them is worth ten of such as you can find in the +Settlement.” + +“Yes, by Allah. Even worth twenty of these common people. Indeed, you +have enough with you to make a great fight but not enough for victory.” + +“God alone gives victory,” said suddenly the voice of Jaffir, who, very +still at Jorgenson's elbow, had been listening to the conversation. + +“Very true,” was the answer in an extremely conventional tone. “Will you +come ashore, O white man; and be the leader of chiefs?” + +“I have been that before,” said Jorgenson, with great dignity, “and now +all I want is peace. But I won't come ashore amongst people whose minds +are so much troubled, till Rajah Hassim and his sister return on board +this ship and tell me the tale of their new friendship with Tengga.” + +His heart was sinking with every minute, the very air was growing +heavier with the sense of oncoming disaster, on that night that was +neither war nor peace and whose only voice was the voice of Tengga's +envoy, insinuating in tone though menacing in words. + +“No, that cannot be,” said that voice. “But, Tuan, verily Tengga himself +is ready to come on board here to talk with you. He is very ready to +come and indeed, Tuan, he means to come on board here before very long.” + +“Yes, with fifty war-canoes filled with the ferocious rabble of the +Shore of Refuge,” Jaffir was heard commenting, sarcastically, over the +rail; and a sinister muttered “It may be so,” ascended alongside from +the black water. + +Jorgenson kept silent as if waiting for a supreme inspiration and +suddenly he spoke in his other-world voice: “Tell Tengga from me that as +long as he brings with him Rajah Hassim and the Rajah's sister, he and +his chief men will be welcome on deck here, no matter how many boats +come along with them. For that I do not care. You may go now.” + +A profound silence succeeded. It was clear that the envoy was gone, +keeping in the shadow of the shore. Jorgenson turned to Jaffir. + +“Death amongst friends is but a festival,” he quoted, mumbling in his +moustache. + +“It is, by Allah,” assented Jaffir with sombre fervour. + + + +VI + +Thirty-six hours later Carter, alone with Lingard in the cabin of the +brig, could almost feel during a pause in his talk the oppressive, the +breathless peace of the Shallows awaiting another sunset. + +“I never expected to see any of you alive,” Carter began in his easy +tone, but with much less carelessness in his bearing as though his days +of responsibility amongst the Shoals of the Shore of Refuge had matured +his view of the external world and of his own place therein. + +“Of course not,” muttered Lingard. + +The listlessness of that man whom he had always seen acting under +the stress of a secret passion seemed perfectly appalling to Carter's +youthful and deliberate energy. Ever since he had found himself +again face to face with Lingard he had tried to conceal the shocking +impression with a delicacy which owed nothing to training but was as +intuitive as a child's. + +While justifying to Lingard his manner of dealing with the situation +on the Shore of Refuge, he could not for the life of him help asking +himself what was this new mystery. He was also young enough to long for +a word of commendation. + +“Come, Captain,” he argued; “how would you have liked to come out and +find nothing but two half-burnt wrecks stuck on the sands--perhaps?” + +He waited for a moment, then in sheer compassion turned away his eyes +from that fixed gaze, from that harassed face with sunk cheeks, from +that figure of indomitable strength robbed of its fire. He said to +himself: “He doesn't hear me,” and raised his voice without altering its +self-contained tone: + +“I was below yesterday morning when we felt the shock, but the noise +came to us only as a deep rumble. I made one jump for the companion but +that precious Shaw was before me yelling, 'Earthquake! Earthquake!' and +I am hanged if he didn't miss his footing and land down on his head at +the bottom of the stairs. I had to stop to pick him up but I got on deck +in time to see a mighty black cloud that seemed almost solid pop up from +behind the forest like a balloon. It stayed there for quite a long time. +Some of our Calashes on deck swore to me that they had seen a red flash +above the tree-tops. But that's hard to believe. I guessed at once that +something had blown up on shore. My first thought was that I would never +see you any more and I made up my mind at once to find out all the truth +you have been keeping away from me. No, sir! Don't you make a mistake! I +wasn't going to give you up, dead or alive.” + +He looked hard at Lingard while saying these words and saw the first +sign of animation pass over that ravaged face. He saw even its lips move +slightly; but there was no sound, and Carter looked away again. + +“Perhaps you would have done better by telling me everything; but you +left me behind on my own to be your man here. I put my hand to the +work I could see before me. I am a sailor. There were two ships to look +after. And here they are both for you, fit to go or to stay, to fight or +to run, as you choose.” He watched with bated breath the effort Lingard +had to make to utter the two words of the desired commendation: + +“Well done!” + +“And I am your man still,” Carter added, impulsively, and hastened to +look away from Lingard, who had tried to smile at him and had failed. +Carter didn't know what to do next, remain in the cabin or leave that +unsupported strong man to himself. With a shyness completely foreign to +his character and which he could not understand himself, he suggested +in an engaging murmur and with an embarrassed assumption of his right to +give advice: + +“Why not lie down for a bit, sir? I can attend to anything that may turn +up. You seem done up, sir.” + +He was facing Lingard, who stood on the other side of the table in a +leaning forward attitude propped up on rigid arms and stared fixedly at +him--perhaps? Carter felt on the verge of despair. This couldn't last. +He was relieved to see Lingard shake his head slightly. + +“No, Mr. Carter. I think I will go on deck,” said the Captain of the +famous brig Lightning, while his eyes roamed all over the cabin. Carter +stood aside at once, but it was some little time before Lingard made a +move. + +The sun had sunk already, leaving that evening no trace of its glory on +a sky clear as crystal and on the waters without a ripple. All colour +seemed to have gone out of the world. The oncoming shadow rose as subtle +as a perfume from the black coast lying athwart the eastern semicircle; +and such was the silence within the horizon that one might have fancied +oneself come to the end of time. Black and toylike in the clear depths +and the final stillness of the evening the brig and the schooner lay +anchored in the middle of the main channel with their heads swung the +same way. Lingard, with his chin on his breast and his arms folded, +moved slowly here and there about the poop. Close and mute like his +shadow, Carter, at his elbow, followed his movements. He felt an anxious +solicitude. . . . + +It was a sentiment perfectly new to him. He had never before felt this +sort of solicitude about himself or any other man. His personality was +being developed by new experience, and as he was very simple he received +the initiation with shyness and self-mistrust. He had noticed with +innocent alarm that Lingard had not looked either at the sky or over +the sea, neither at his own ship nor the schooner astern; not along the +decks, not aloft, not anywhere. He had looked at nothing! And somehow +Carter felt himself more lonely and without support than when he had +been left alone by that man in charge of two ships entangled amongst the +Shallows and environed by some sinister mystery. Since that man had come +back, instead of welcome relief Carter felt his responsibility rest on +his young shoulders with tenfold weight. His profound conviction was +that Lingard should be roused. + +“Captain Lingard,” he burst out in desperation; “you can't say I have +worried you very much since this morning when I received you at the +side, but I must be told something. What is it going to be with us? +Fight or run?” + +Lingard stopped short and now there was no doubt in Carter's mind that +the Captain was looking at him. There was no room for any doubt before +that stern and enquiring gaze. “Aha!” thought Carter. “This has +startled him”; and feeling that his shyness had departed he pursued his +advantage. “For the fact of the matter is, sir, that, whatever happens, +unless I am to be your man you will have no officer. I had better tell +you at once that I have bundled that respectable, crazy, fat Shaw out of +the ship. He was upsetting all hands. Yesterday I told him to go and get +his dunnage together because I was going to send him aboard the yacht. +He couldn't have made more uproar about it if I had proposed to chuck +him overboard. I warned him that if he didn't go quietly I would have +him tied up like a sheep ready for slaughter. However, he went down the +ladder on his own feet, shaking his fist at me and promising to have me +hanged for a pirate some day. He can do no harm on board the yacht. And +now, sir, it's for you to give orders and not for me--thank God!” + +Lingard turned away, abruptly. Carter didn't budge. After a moment he +heard himself called from the other side of the deck and obeyed with +alacrity. + +“What's that story of a man you picked up on the coast last evening?” + asked Lingard in his gentlest tone. “Didn't you tell me something about +it when I came on board?” + +“I tried to,” said Carter, frankly. “But I soon gave it up. You didn't +seem to pay any attention to what I was saying. I thought you wanted to +be left alone for a bit. What can I know of your ways, yet, sir? Are you +aware, Captain Lingard, that since this morning I have been down five +times at the cabin door to look at you? There you sat. . . .” + +He paused and Lingard said: “You have been five times down in the +cabin?” + +“Yes. And the sixth time I made up my mind to make you take some notice +of me. I can't be left without orders. There are two ships to look +after, a lot of things to be done. . . .” + +“There is nothing to be done,” Lingard interrupted with a mere murmur +but in a tone which made Carter keep silent for a while. + +“Even to know that much would have been something to go by,” he ventured +at last. “I couldn't let you sit there with the sun getting pretty low +and a long night before us.” + +“I feel stunned yet,” said Lingard, looking Carter straight in the face, +as if to watch the effect of that confession. + +“Were you very near that explosion?” asked the young man with +sympathetic curiosity and seeking for some sign on Lingard's person. +But there was nothing. Not a single hair of the Captain's head seemed to +have been singed. + +“Near,” muttered Lingard. “It might have been my head.” He pressed it +with both hands, then let them fall. “What about that man?” he asked, +brusquely. “Where did he come from? . . . I suppose he is dead now,” he +added in an envious tone. + +“No, sir. He must have as many lives as a cat,” answered Carter. “I will +tell you how it was. As I said before I wasn't going to give you up, +dead or alive, so yesterday when the sun went down a little in the +afternoon I had two of our boats manned and pulled in shore, taking +soundings to find a passage if there was one. I meant to go back and +look for you with the brig or without the brig--but that doesn't +matter now. There were three or four floating logs in sight. One of the +Calashes in my boat made out something red on one of them. I thought it +was worth while to go and see what it was. It was that man's sarong. It +had got entangled among the branches and prevented him rolling off into +the water. I was never so glad, I assure you, as when we found out +that he was still breathing. If we could only nurse him back to life, I +thought, he could perhaps tell me a lot of things. The log on which he +hung had come out of the mouth of the creek and he couldn't have been +more than half a day on it by my calculation. I had him taken down the +main hatchway and put into a hammock in the 'tween-decks. He only just +breathed then, but some time during the night he came to himself and +got out of the hammock to lie down on a mat. I suppose he was more +comfortable that way. He recovered his speech only this morning and I +went down at once and told you of it, but you took no notice. I told you +also who he was but I don't know whether you heard me or not.” + +“I don't remember,” said Lingard under his breath. + +“They are wonderful, those Malays. This morning he was only half alive, +if that much, and now I understand he has been talking to Wasub for an +hour. Will you go down to see him, sir, or shall I send a couple of men +to carry him on deck?” + +Lingard looked bewildered for a moment. + +“Who on earth is he?” he asked. + +“Why, it's that fellow whom you sent out, that night I met you, to catch +our first gig. What do they call him? Jaffir, I think. Hasn't he been +with you ashore, sir? Didn't he find you with the letter I gave him for +you? A most determined looking chap. I knew him again the moment we got +him off the log.” + +Lingard seized hold of the royal backstay within reach of his hand. +Jaffir! Jaffir! Faithful above all others; the messenger of supreme +moments; the reckless and devoted servant! Lingard felt a crushing sense +of despair. “No, I can't face this,” he whispered to himself, looking +at the coast black as ink now before his eyes in the world's shadow that +was slowly encompassing the grey clearness of the Shallow Waters. “Send +Wasub to me. I am going down into the cabin.” + +He crossed over to the companion, then checking himself suddenly: “Was +there a boat from the yacht during the day?” he asked as if struck by +a sudden thought.--“No, sir,” answered Carter. “We had no communication +with the yacht to-day.”--“Send Wasub to me,” repeated Lingard in a stern +voice as he went down the stairs. + +The old serang coming in noiselessly saw his Captain as he had seen him +many times before, sitting under the gilt thunderbolts, apparently as +strong in his body, in his wealth, and in his knowledge of secret words +that have a power over men and elements, as ever. The old Malay squatted +down within a couple of feet from Lingard, leaned his back against +the satinwood panel of the bulkhead, then raising his old eyes with a +watchful and benevolent expression to the white man's face, clasped his +hands between his knees. + +“Wasub, you have learned now everything. Is there no one left alive but +Jaffir? Are they all dead?” + +“May you live!” answered Wasub; and Lingard whispered an appalled “All +dead!” to which Wasub nodded slightly twice. His cracked voice had a +lamenting intonation. “It is all true! It is all true! You are left +alone, Tuan; you are left alone!” + +“It was their destiny,” said Lingard at last, with forced calmness. “But +has Jaffir told you of the manner of this calamity? How is it that he +alone came out alive from it to be found by you?” + +“He was told by his lord to depart and he obeyed,” began Wasub, fixing +his eyes on the deck and speaking just loud enough to be heard by +Lingard, who, bending forward in his seat, shrank inwardly from every +word and yet would not have missed a single one of them for anything. + +For the catastrophe had fallen on his head like a bolt from the blue in +the early morning hours of the day before. At the first break of dawn he +had been sent for to resume, his talk with Belarab. He had felt +suddenly Mrs. Travers remove her hand from his head. Her voice speaking +intimately into his ear: “Get up. There are some people coming,” had +recalled him to himself. He had got up from the ground. The light was +dim, the air full of mist; and it was only gradually that he began to +make out forms above his head and about his feet: trees, houses, men +sleeping on the ground. He didn't recognize them. It was but a cruel +change of dream. Who could tell what was real in this world? He looked +about him, dazedly; he was still drunk with the deep draught of oblivion +he had conquered for himself. Yes--but it was she who had let him snatch +the cup. He looked down at the woman on the bench. She moved not. She +had remained like that, still for hours, giving him a waking dream +of rest without end, in an infinity of happiness without sound and +movement, without thought, without joy; but with an infinite ease of +content, like a world-embracing reverie breathing the air of sadness and +scented with love. For hours she had not moved. + +“You are the most generous of women,” he said. He bent over her. Her +eyes were wide open. Her lips felt cold. It did not shock him. After he +stood up he remained near her. Heat is a consuming thing, but she with +her cold lips seemed to him indestructible--and, perhaps, immortal! + +Again he stooped, but this time it was only to kiss the fringe of her +head scarf. Then he turned away to meet the three men, who, coming round +the corner of the hut containing the prisoners, were approaching him +with measured steps. They desired his presence in the Council room. +Belarab was awake. + +They also expressed their satisfaction at finding the white man awake, +because Belarab wanted to impart to him information of the greatest +importance. It seemed to Lingard that he had been awake ever since he +could remember. It was as to being alive that he felt not so sure. +He had no doubt of his existence; but was this life--this profound +indifference, this strange contempt for what his eyes could see, this +distaste for words, this unbelief in the importance of things and men? +He tried to regain possession of himself, his old self which had things +to do, words to speak as well as to hear. But it was too difficult. He +was seduced away by the tense feeling of existence far superior to +the mere consciousness of life, and which in its immensity of +contradictions, delight, dread, exultation and despair could not be +faced and yet was not to be evaded. There was no peace in it. But who +wanted peace? Surrender was better, the dreadful ease of slack limbs in +the sweep of an enormous tide and in a divine emptiness of mind. If this +was existence then he knew that he existed. And he knew that the +woman existed, too, in the sweep of the tide, without speech, without +movement, without heat! Indestructible--and, perhaps, immortal! + + + +VII + +With the sublime indifference of a man who has had a glimpse through the +open doors of Paradise and is no longer careful of mere life, Lingard +had followed Belarab's anxious messengers. The stockade was waking up +in a subdued resonance of voices. Men were getting up from the ground, +fires were being rekindled. Draped figures flitted in the mist amongst +the buildings; and through the mat wall of a bamboo house Lingard heard +the feeble wailing of a child. A day of mere life was beginning; but in +the Chief's great Council room several wax candles and a couple of cheap +European lamps kept the dawn at bay, while the morning mist which could +not be kept out made a faint reddish halo round every flame. + +Belarab was not only awake, but he even looked like a man who had not +slept for a long time. The creator of the Shore of Refuge, the weary +Ruler of the Settlement, with his scorn of the unrest and folly of men, +was angry with his white friend who was always bringing his desires and +his troubles to his very door. Belarab did not want any one to die but +neither did he want any one in particular to live. What he was concerned +about was to preserve the mystery and the power of his melancholy +hesitations. These delicate things were menaced by Lingard's brusque +movements, by that passionate white man who believed in more than +one God and always seemed to doubt the power of Destiny. Belarab was +profoundly annoyed. He was also genuinely concerned, for he liked +Lingard. He liked him not only for his strength, which protected his +clear-minded scepticism from those dangers that beset all rulers, but he +liked him also for himself. That man of infinite hesitations, born from +a sort of mystic contempt for Allah's creation, yet believed absolutely +both in Lingard's power and in his boldness. Absolutely. And yet, in the +marvellous consistency of his temperament, now that the moment had come, +he dreaded to put both power and fortitude to the test. + +Lingard could not know that some little time before the first break of +dawn one of Belarab's spies in the Settlement had found his way inside +the stockade at a spot remote from the lagoon, and that a very few +moments after Lingard had left the Chief in consequence of Jorgenson's +rockets, Belarab was listening to an amazing tale of Hassim and Immada's +capture and of Tengga's determination, very much strengthened by +that fact, to obtain possession of the Emma, either by force or by +negotiation, or by some crafty subterfuge in which the Rajah and +his sister could be made to play their part. In his mistrust of the +universe, which seemed almost to extend to the will of God himself, +Belarab was very much alarmed, for the material power of Daman's +piratical crowd was at Tengga's command; and who could tell whether this +Wajo Rajah would remain loyal in the circumstances? It was also very +characteristic of him whom the original settlers of the Shore of Refuge +called the Father of Safety, that he did not say anything of this to +Lingard, for he was afraid of rousing Lingard's fierce energy which +would even carry away himself and all his people and put the peace of so +many years to the sudden hazard of a battle. + +Therefore Belarab set himself to persuade Lingard on general +considerations to deliver the white men, who really belonged to Daman, +to that supreme Chief of the Illanuns and by this simple proceeding +detach him completely from Tengga. Why should he, Belarab, go to war +against half the Settlement on their account? It was not necessary, it +was not reasonable. It would be even in a manner a sin to begin a strife +in a community of True Believers. Whereas with an offer like that in his +hand he could send an embassy to Tengga who would see there at once the +downfall of his purposes and the end of his hopes. At once! That moment! +. . . Afterward the question of a ransom could be arranged with Daman in +which he, Belarab, would mediate in the fullness of his recovered power, +without a rival and in the sincerity of his heart. And then, if need be, +he could put forth all his power against the chief of the sea-vagabonds +who would, as a matter of fact, be negotiating under the shadow of the +sword. + +Belarab talked, low-voiced and dignified, with now and then a subtle +intonation, a persuasive inflexion or a half-melancholy smile in the +course of the argument. What encouraged him most was the changed aspect +of his white friend. The fierce power of his personality seemed to have +turned into a dream. Lingard listened, growing gradually inscrutable in +his continued silence, but remaining gentle in a sort of rapt patience +as if lapped in the wings of the Angel of Peace himself. Emboldened by +that transformation, Belarab's counsellors seated on the mats murmured +loudly their assent to the views of the Chief. Through the thickening +white mist of tropical lands, the light of the tropical day filtered +into the hall. One of the wise men got up from the floor and with +prudent fingers began extinguishing the waxlights one by one. He +hesitated to touch the lamps, the flames of which looked yellow and +cold. A puff of the morning breeze entered the great room, faint and +chill. Lingard, facing Belarab in a wooden armchair, with slack +limbs and in the divine emptiness of a mind enchanted by a glimpse of +Paradise, shuddered profoundly. + +A strong voice shouted in the doorway without any ceremony and with a +sort of jeering accent: + +“Tengga's boats are out in the mist.” + +Lingard half rose from his seat, Belarab himself could not repress a +start. Lingard's attitude was a listening one, but after a moment +of hesitation he ran out of the hall. The inside of the stockade was +beginning to buzz like a disturbed hive. + +Outside Belarab's house Lingard slowed his pace. The mist still hung. A +great sustained murmur pervaded it and the blurred forms of men were all +moving outward from the centre toward the palisades. Somewhere amongst +the buildings a gong clanged. D'Alcacer's raised voice was heard: + +“What is happening?” + +Lingard was passing then close to the prisoners' house. There was a +group of armed men below the verandah and above their heads he saw Mrs. +Travers by the side of d'Alcacer. The fire by which Lingard had spent +the night was extinguished, its embers scattered, and the bench itself +lay overturned. Mrs. Travers must have run up on the verandah at the +first alarm. She and d'Alcacer up there seemed to dominate the tumult +which was now subsiding. Lingard noticed the scarf across Mrs. Travers' +face. D'Alcacer was bareheaded. He shouted again: + +“What's the matter?” + +“I am going to see,” shouted Lingard back. + +He resisted the impulse to join those two, dominate the tumult, let it +roll away from under his feet--the mere life of men, vain like a dream +and interfering with the tremendous sense of his own existence. +He resisted it, he could hardly have told why. Even the sense of +self-preservation had abandoned him. There was a throng of people +pressing close about him yet careful not to get in his way. Surprise, +concern, doubt were depicted on all those faces; but there were some who +observed that the great white man making his way to the lagoon side of +the stockade wore a fixed smile. He asked at large: + +“Can one see any distance over the water?” + +One of Belarab's headmen who was nearest to him answered: + +“The mist has thickened. If you see anything, Tuan, it will be but a +shadow of things.” + +The four sides of the stockade had been manned by that time. Lingard, +ascending the banquette, looked out and saw the lagoon shrouded in +white, without as much as a shadow on it, and so still that not even the +sound of water lapping the shore reached his ears. He found himself in +profound accord with this blind and soundless peace. + +“Has anything at all been seen?” he asked incredulously. + +Four men were produced at once who had seen a dark mass of boats moving +in the light of the dawn. Others were sent for. He hardly listened to +them. His thought escaped him and he stood motionless, looking out into +the unstirring mist pervaded by the perfect silence. Presently Belarab +joined him, escorted by three grave, swarthy men, himself dark-faced, +stroking his short grey beard with impenetrable composure. He said to +Lingard, “Your white man doesn't fight,” to which Lingard answered, +“There is nothing to fight against. What your people have seen, Belarab, +were indeed but shadows on the water.” Belarab murmured, “You ought to +have allowed me to make friends with Daman last night.” + +A faint uneasiness was stealing into Lingard's breast. + +A moment later d'Alcacer came up, inconspicuously watched over by two +men with lances, and to his anxious inquiry Lingard said: “I don't think +there is anything going on. Listen how still everything is. The only way +of bringing the matter to a test would be to persuade Belarab to let +his men march out and make an attack on Tengga's stronghold this moment. +Then we would learn something. But I couldn't persuade Belarab to march +out into this fog. Indeed, an expedition like this might end badly. I +myself don't believe that all Tengga's people are on the lagoon. . . . +Where is Mrs. Travers?” + +The question made d'Alcacer start by its abruptness which revealed the +woman's possession of that man's mind. “She is with Don Martin, who is +better but feels very weak. If we are to be given up, he will have to +be carried out to his fate. I can depict to myself the scene. Don Martin +carried shoulder high surrounded by those barbarians with spears, and +Mrs. Travers with myself walking on each side of the stretcher. Mrs. +Travers has declared to me her intention to go out with us.” + +“Oh, she has declared her intention,” murmured Lingard, absent-mindedly. + +D'Alcacer felt himself completely abandoned by that man. And within +two paces of him he noticed the group of Belarab and his three swarthy +attendants in their white robes, preserving an air of serene detachment. +For the first time since the stranding on the coast d'Alcacer's heart +sank within him. “But perhaps,” he went on, “this Moor may not in the +end insist on giving us up to a cruel death, Captain Lingard.” + +“He wanted to give you up in the middle of the night, a few hours ago,” + said Lingard, without even looking at d'Alcacer who raised his hands +a little and let them fall. Lingard sat down on the breech of a heavy +piece mounted on a naval carriage so as to command the lagoon. He folded +his arms on his breast. D'Alcacer asked, gently: + +“We have been reprieved then?” + +“No,” said Lingard. “It's I who was reprieved.” + +A long silence followed. Along the whole line of the manned stockade the +whisperings had ceased. The vibrations of the gong had died out, too. +Only the watchers perched in the highest boughs of the big tree made a +slight rustle amongst the leaves. + +“What are you thinking of, Captain Lingard?” d'Alcacer asked in a low +voice. Lingard did not change his position. + +“I am trying to keep it off,” he said in the same tone. + +“What? Trying to keep thought off?” + +“Yes.” + +“Is this the time for such experiments?” asked d'Alcacer. + +“Why not? It's my reprieve. Don't grudge it to me, Mr. d'Alcacer.” + +“Upon my word I don't. But isn't it dangerous?” + +“You will have to take your chance.” + +D'Alcacer had a moment of internal struggle. He asked himself whether he +should tell Lingard that Mrs. Travers had come to the stockade with some +sort of message from Jorgenson. He had it on the tip of his tongue +to advise Lingard to go and see Mrs. Travers and ask her point blank +whether she had anything to tell him; but before he could make up +his mind the voices of invisible men high up in the tree were heard +reporting the thinning of the fog. This caused a stir to run along the +four sides of the stockade. + +Lingard felt the draught of air in his face, the motionless mist began +to drive over the palisades and, suddenly, the lagoon came into view +with a great blinding glitter of its wrinkled surface and the faint +sound of its wash rising all along the shore. A multitude of hands went +up to shade the eager eyes, and exclamations of wonder burst out from +many men at the sight of a crowd of canoes of various sizes and kinds +lying close together with the effect as of an enormous raft, a little +way off the side of the Emma. The excited voices rose higher and higher. +There was no doubt about Tengga's being on the lagoon. But what was +Jorgenson about? The Emma lay as if abandoned by her keeper and her +crew, while the mob of mixed boats seemed to be meditating an attack. + +For all his determination to keep thought off to the very last possible +moment, Lingard could not defend himself from a sense of wonder and +fear. What was Jorgenson about? For a moment Lingard expected the side +of the Emma to wreath itself in puffs of smoke, but an age seemed to +elapse without the sound of a shot reaching his ears. + +The boats were afraid to close. They were hanging off, irresolute; but +why did Jorgenson not put an end to their hesitation by a volley or +two of musketry if only over their heads? Through the anguish of his +perplexity Lingard found himself returning to life, to mere life with +its sense of pain and mortality, like a man awakened from a dream by a +stab in the breast. What did this silence of the Emma mean? Could she +have been already carried in the fog? But that was unthinkable. Some +sounds of resistance must have been heard. No, the boats hung off +because they knew with what desperate defence they would meet; and +perhaps Jorgenson knew very well what he was doing by holding his fire +to the very last moment and letting the craven hearts grow cold with +the fear of a murderous discharge that would have to be faced. What was +certain was that this was the time for Belarab to open the great gate +and let his men go out, display his power, sweep through the further end +of the Settlement, destroy Tengga's defences, do away once for all with +the absurd rivalry of that intriguing amateur boat-builder. Lingard +turned eagerly toward Belarab but saw the Chief busy looking across the +lagoon through a long glass resting on the shoulder of a stooping slave. +He was motionless like a carving. Suddenly he let go the long glass +which some ready hands caught as it fell and said to Lingard: + +“No fight.” + +“How do you know?” muttered Lingard, astounded. + +“There are three empty sampans alongside the ladder,” said Belarab in a +just audible voice. “There is bad talk there.” + +“Talk? I don't understand,” said Lingard, slowly. + +But Belarab had turned toward his three attendants in white robes, +with shaven polls under skull-caps of plaited grass, with prayer beads +hanging from their wrists, and an air of superior calm on their dark +faces: companions of his desperate days, men of blood once and now +imperturbable in their piety and wisdom of trusted counsellors. + +“This white man is being betrayed,” he murmured to them with the +greatest composure. + +D'Alcacer, uncomprehending, watched the scene: the Man of Fate puzzled +and fierce like a disturbed lion, the white-robed Moors, the multitude +of half-naked barbarians, squatting by the guns, standing by the +loopholes in the immobility of an arranged display. He saw Mrs. Travers +on the verandah of the prisoners' house, an anxious figure with a white +scarf over her head. Mr. Travers was no doubt too weak after his fit of +fever to come outside. If it hadn't been for that, all the whites would +have been in sight of each other at the very moment of the catastrophe +which was to give them back to the claims of their life, at the cost +of other lives sent violently out of the world. D'Alcacer heard Lingard +asking loudly for the long glass and saw Belarab make a sign with his +hand, when he felt the earth receive a violent blow from underneath. +While he staggered to it the heavens split over his head with a crash in +the lick of a red tongue of flame; and a sudden dreadful gloom fell all +round the stunned d'Alcacer, who beheld with terror the morning sun, +robbed of its rays, glow dull and brown through the sombre murk which +had taken possession of the universe. The Emma had blown up; and when +the rain of shattered timbers and mangled corpses falling into the +lagoon had ceased, the cloud of smoke hanging motionless under the livid +sun cast its shadow afar on the Shore of Refuge where all strife had +come to an end. + +A great wail of terror ascended from the Settlement and was succeeded +by a profound silence. People could be seen bolting in unreasoning panic +away from the houses and into the fields. On the lagoon the raft of +boats had broken up. Some of them were sinking, others paddling away in +all directions. What was left above water of the Emma had burst into a +clear flame under the shadow of the cloud, the great smoky cloud that +hung solid and unstirring above the tops of the forest, visible for +miles up and down the coast and over the Shallows. + +The first person to recover inside the stockade was Belarab himself. +Mechanically he murmured the exclamation of wonder, “God is great,” and +looked at Lingard. But Lingard was not looking at him. The shock of the +explosion had robbed him of speech and movement. He stared at the Emma +blazing in a distant and insignificant flame under the sinister shadow +of the cloud created by Jorgenson's mistrust and contempt for the +life of men. Belarab turned away. His opinion had changed. He regarded +Lingard no longer as a betrayed man but the effect was the same. He was +no longer a man of any importance. What Belarab really wanted now was +to see all the white people clear out of the lagoon as soon as possible. +Presently he ordered the gate to be thrown open and his armed men poured +out to take possession of the Settlement. Later Tengga's houses were +set on fire and Belarab, mounting a fiery pony, issued forth to make a +triumphal progress surrounded by a great crowd of headmen and guards. + +That night the white people left the stockade in a cortege of torch +bearers. Mr. Travers had to be carried down to the beach, where two of +Belarab's war-boats awaited their distinguished passengers. Mrs. Travers +passed through the gate on d'Alcacer's arm. Her face was half veiled. +She moved through the throng of spectators displayed in the torchlight +looking straight before her. Belarab, standing in front of a group of +headmen, pretended not to see the white people as they went by. With +Lingard he shook hands, murmuring the usual formulas of friendship; and +when he heard the great white man say, “You shall never see me again,” + he felt immensely relieved. Belarab did not want to see that white man +again, but as he responded to the pressure of Lingard's hand he had a +grave smile. + +“God alone knows the future,” he said. + +Lingard walked to the beach by himself, feeling a stranger to all men +and abandoned by the All-Knowing God. By that time the first boat with +Mr. and Mrs. Travers had already got away out of the blood-red light +thrown by the torches upon the water. D'Alcacer and Lingard followed +in the second. Presently the dark shade of the creek, walled in by the +impenetrable forest, closed round them and the splash of the paddles +echoed in the still, damp air. + +“How do you think this awful accident happened?” asked d'Alcacer, who +had been sitting silent by Lingard's side. + +“What is an accident?” said Lingard with a great effort. “Where did you +hear of such a thing? Accident! Don't disturb me, Mr. d'Alcacer. I have +just come back to life and it has closed on me colder and darker than +the grave itself. Let me get used . . . I can't bear the sound of a +human voice yet.” + + + +VIII + +And now, stoical in the cold and darkness of his regained life, Lingard +had to listen to the voice of Wasub telling him Jaffir's story. The +old serang's face expressed a profound dejection and there was infinite +sadness in the flowing murmur of his words. + +“Yes, by Allah! They were all there: that tyrannical Tengga, noisy +like a fool; the Rajah Hassim, a ruler without a country; Daman, the +wandering chief, and the three Pangerans of the sea-robbers. They came +on board boldly, for Tuan Jorgenson had given them permission, and their +talk was that you, Tuan, were a willing captive in Belarab's stockade. +They said they had waited all night for a message of peace from you or +from Belarab. But there was nothing, and with the first sign of day they +put out on the lagoon to make friends with Tuan Jorgenson; for, they +said, you, Tuan, were as if you had not been, possessing no more power +than a dead man, the mere slave of these strange white people, and +Belarab's prisoner. Thus Tengga talked. God had taken from him all +wisdom and all fear. And then he must have thought he was safe while +Rajah Hassim and the lady Immada were on board. I tell you they sat +there in the midst of your enemies, captive! The lady Immada, with her +face covered, mourned to herself. The Rajah Hassim made a sign to Jaffir +and Jaffir came to stand by his side and talked to his lord. The main +hatch was open and many of the Illanuns crowded there to look down at +the goods that were inside the ship. They had never seen so much loot in +their lives. Jaffir and his lord could hear plainly Tuan Jorgenson and +Tengga talking together. Tengga discoursed loudly and his words were the +words of a doomed man, for he was asking Tuan Jorgenson to give up the +arms and everything that was on board the Emma to himself and to Daman. +And then, he said, 'We shall fight Belarab and make friends with these +strange white people by behaving generously to them and letting them +sail away unharmed to their own country. We don't want them here. You, +Tuan Jorgenson, are the only white man I care for.' They heard Tuan +Jorgenson say to Tengga: 'Now you have told me everything there is +in your mind you had better go ashore with your friends and return +to-morrow.' And Tengga asked: 'Why! would you fight me to-morrow rather +than live many days in peace with me?' and he laughed and slapped his +thigh. And Tuan Jorgenson answered: + +“'No, I won't fight you. But even a spider will give the fly time to say +its prayers.' + +“Tuan Jorgenson's voice sounded very strange and louder than ever +anybody had heard it before. O Rajah Laut, Jaffir and the white man had +been waiting, too, all night for some sign from you; a shot fired or a +signal-fire, lighted to strengthen their hearts. There had been nothing. +Rajah Hassim, whispering, ordered Jaffir to take the first opportunity +to leap overboard and take to you his message of friendship and +good-bye. Did the Rajah and Jaffir know what was coming? Who can tell? +But what else could they see than calamity for all Wajo men, whatever +Tuan Jorgenson had made up his mind to do? Jaffir prepared to obey his +lord, and yet with so many enemies' boats in the water he did not think +he would ever reach the shore; and as to yourself he was not at all sure +that you were still alive. But he said nothing of this to his Rajah. +Nobody was looking their way. Jaffir pressed his lord's hand to his +breast and waited his opportunity. The fog began to blow away and +presently everything was disclosed to the sight. Jorgenson was on his +feet, he was holding a lighted cigar between his fingers. Tengga was +sitting in front of him on one of the chairs the white people had used. +His followers were pressing round him, with Daman and Sentot, who were +muttering incantations; and even the Pangerans had moved closer to the +hatchway. Jaffir's opportunity had come but he lingered by the side +of his Rajah. In the clear air the sun shone with great force. Tuan +Jorgenson looked once more toward Belarab's stockade, O Rajah Laut! But +there was nothing there, not even a flag displayed that had not been +there before. Jaffir looked that way, too, and as he turned his head he +saw Tuan Jorgenson, in the midst of twenty spear-blades that could in an +instant have been driven into his breast, put the cigar in his mouth and +jump down the hatchway. At that moment Rajah Hassim gave Jaffir a push +toward the side and Jaffir leaped overboard. + +“He was still in the water when all the world was darkened round him as +if the life of the sun had been blown out of it in a crash. A great wave +came along and washed him on shore, while pieces of wood, iron, and the +limbs of torn men were splashing round him in the water. He managed to +crawl out of the mud. Something had hit him while he was swimming and he +thought he would die. But life stirred in him. He had a message for you. +For a long time he went on crawling under the big trees on his hands +and knees, for there is no rest for a messenger till the message is +delivered. At last he found himself on the left bank of the creek. +And still he felt life stir in him. So he started to swim across, for if +you were in this world you were on the other side. While he swam he felt +his strength abandoning him. He managed to scramble on to a drifting log +and lay on it like one who is dead, till we pulled him into one of our +boats.” + +Wasub ceased. It seemed to Lingard that it was impossible for mortal +man to suffer more than he suffered in the succeeding moment of silence +crowded by the mute images as of universal destruction. He felt +himself gone to pieces as though the violent expression of Jorgenson's +intolerable mistrust of the life of men had shattered his soul, leaving +his body robbed of all power of resistance and of all fortitude, a prey +forever to infinite remorse and endless regrets. + +“Leave me, Wasub,” he said. “They are all dead--but I would sleep.” + +Wasub raised his dumb old eyes to the white man's face. + +“Tuan, it is necessary that you should hear Jaffir,” he said, patiently. + +“Is he going to die?” asked Lingard in a low, cautious tone as though he +were afraid of the sound of his own voice. + +“Who can tell?” Wasub's voice sounded more patient than ever. “There is +no wound on his body but, O Tuan, he does not wish to live.” + +“Abandoned by his God,” muttered Lingard to himself. + +Wasub waited a little before he went on, “And, Tuan, he has a message +for you.” + +“Of course. Well, I don't want to hear it.” + +“It is from those who will never speak to you again,” Wasub persevered, +sadly. “It is a great trust. A Rajah's own words. It is difficult for +Jaffir to die. He keeps on muttering about a ring that was for you, and +that he let pass out of his care. It was a great talisman!” + +“Yes. But it did not work this time. And if I go and tell Jaffir why he +will be able to tell his Rajah, O Wasub, since you say that he is going +to die. . . . I wonder where they will meet,” he muttered to himself. + +Once more Wasub raised his eyes to Lingard's face. “Paradise is the lot +of all True Believers,” he whispered, firm in his simple faith. + +The man who had been undone by a glimpse of Paradise exchanged a +profound look with the old Malay. Then he got up. On his passage to the +main hatchway the commander of the brig met no one on the decks, as if +all mankind had given him up except the old man who preceded him and +that other man dying in the deepening twilight, who was awaiting his +coming. Below, in the light of the hatchway, he saw a young Calash with +a broad yellow face and his wiry hair sticking up in stiff wisps through +the folds of his head-kerchief, holding an earthenware water-jar to the +lips of Jaffir extended on his back on a pile of mats. + +A languid roll of the already glazed eyeballs, a mere stir of black +and white in the gathering dusk showed that the faithful messenger of +princes was aware of the presence of the man who had been so long known +to him and his people as the King of the Sea. Lingard knelt down close +to Jaffir's head, which rolled a little from side to side and then +became still, staring at a beam of the upper deck. Lingard bent his ear +to the dark lips. “Deliver your message” he said in a gentle tone. + +“The Rajah wished to hold your hand once more,” whispered Jaffir so +faintly that Lingard had to guess the words rather than hear them. “I +was to tell you,” he went on--and stopped suddenly. + +“What were you to tell me?” + +“To forget everything,” said Jaffir with a loud effort as if beginning a +long speech. After that he said nothing more till Lingard murmured, “And +the lady Immada?” + +Jaffir collected all his strength. “She hoped no more,” he uttered, +distinctly. “The order came to her while she mourned, veiled, apart. I +didn't even see her face.” + +Lingard swayed over the dying man so heavily that Wasub, standing near +by, hastened to catch him by the shoulder. Jaffir seemed unaware of +anything, and went on staring at the beam. + +“Can you hear me, O Jaffir?” asked Lingard. + +“I hear.” + +“I never had the ring. Who could bring it to me?” + +“We gave it to the white woman--may Jehannum be her lot!” + +“No! It shall be my lot,” said Lingard with despairing force, while +Wasub raised both his hands in dismay. “For, listen, Jaffir, if she had +given the ring to me it would have been to one that was dumb, deaf, and +robbed of all courage.” + +It was impossible to say whether Jaffir had heard. He made no sound, +there was no change in his awful stare, but his prone body moved under +the cotton sheet as if to get further away from the white man. Lingard +got up slowly and making a sign to Wasub to remain where he was, went up +on deck without giving another glance to the dying man. Again it seemed +to him that he was pacing the quarter-deck of a deserted ship. The +mulatto steward, watching through the crack of the pantry door, saw the +Captain stagger into the cuddy and fling-to the door behind him with +a crash. For more than an hour nobody approached that closed door till +Carter coming down the companion stairs spoke without attempting to open +it. + +“Are you there, sir?” The answer, “You may come in,” comforted the young +man by its strong resonance. He went in. + +“Well?” + +“Jaffir is dead. This moment. I thought you would want to know.” + +Lingard looked persistently at Carter, thinking that now Jaffir was +dead there was no one left on the empty earth to speak to him a word of +reproach; no one to know the greatness of his intentions, the bond of +fidelity between him and Hassim and Immada, the depth of his affection +for those people, the earnestness of his visions, and the unbounded +trust that was his reward. By the mad scorn of Jorgenson flaming up +against the life of men, all this was as if it had never been. It had +become a secret locked up in his own breast forever. + +“Tell Wasub to open one of the long-cloth bales in the hold, Mr. Carter, +and give the crew a cotton sheet to bury him decently according to their +faith. Let it be done to-night. They must have the boats, too. I suppose +they will want to take him on the sandbank.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Carter. + +“Let them have what they want, spades, torches. . . . Wasub will chant +the right words. Paradise is the lot of all True Believers. Do you +understand me, Mr. Carter? Paradise! I wonder what it will be for him! +Unless he gets messages to carry through the jungle, avoiding ambushes, +swimming in storms and knowing no rest, he won't like it.” + +Carter listened with an unmoved face. It seemed to him that the Captain +had forgotten his presence. + +“And all the time he will be sleeping on that sandbank,” Lingard began +again, sitting in his old place under the gilt thunderbolts suspended +over his head with his elbows on the table and his hands to his temples. +“If they want a board to set up at the grave let them have a piece of an +oak plank. It will stay there--till the next monsoon. Perhaps.” + +Carter felt uncomfortable before that tense stare which just missed +him and in that confined cabin seemed awful in its piercing and far-off +expression. But as he had not been dismissed he did not like to go away. + +“Everything will be done as you wish it, sir,” he said. “I suppose the +yacht will be leaving the first thing to-morrow morning, sir.” + +“If she doesn't we must give her a solid shot or two to liven her +up--eh, Mr. Carter?” + +Carter did not know whether to smile or to look horrified. In the end he +did both, but as to saying anything he found it impossible. But Lingard +did not expect an answer. + +“I believe you are going to stay with me, Mr. Carter?” + +“I told you, sir, I am your man if you want me.” + +“The trouble is, Mr. Carter, that I am no longer the man to whom you +spoke that night in Carimata.” + +“Neither am I, sir, in a manner of speaking.” + +Lingard, relaxing the tenseness of his stare, looked at the young man, +thoughtfully. + +“After all, it is the brig that will want you. She will never change. +The finest craft afloat in these seas. She will carry me about as she +did before, but . . .” + +He unclasped his hands, made a sweeping gesture. + +Carter gave all his naive sympathy to that man who had certainly rescued +the white people but seemed to have lost his own soul in the attempt. +Carter had heard something from Wasub. He had made out enough of this +story from the old serang's pidgin English to know that the Captain's +native friends, one of them a woman, had perished in a mysterious +catastrophe. But the why of it, and how it came about, remained still +quite incomprehensible to him. Of course, a man like the Captain would +feel terribly cut up. . . . + +“You will be soon yourself again, sir,” he said in the kindest possible +tone. + +With the same simplicity Lingard shook his head. He was thinking of the +dead Jaffir with his last message delivered and untroubled now by all +these matters of the earth. He had been ordered to tell him to forget +everything. Lingard had an inward shudder. In the dismay of his heart he +might have believed his brig to lie under the very wing of the Angel of +Desolation--so oppressive, so final, and hopeless seemed the silence in +which he and Carter looked at each other, wistfully. + +Lingard reached for a sheet of paper amongst several lying on the table, +took up a pen, hesitated a moment, and then wrote: + +“Meet me at day-break on the sandbank.” + +He addressed the envelope to Mrs. Travers, Yacht Hermit, and pushed it +across the table. + +“Send this on board the schooner at once, Mr. Carter. Wait a moment. +When our boats shove off for the sandbank have the forecastle gun fired. +I want to know when that dead man has left the ship.” + +He sat alone, leaning his head on his hand, listening, listening +endlessly, for the report of the gun. Would it never come? When it came +at last muffled, distant, with a slight shock through the body of the +brig he remained still with his head leaning on his hand but with a +distinct conviction, with an almost physical certitude, that under the +cotton sheet shrouding the dead man something of himself, too, had left +the ship. + + + +IX + +In a roomy cabin, furnished and fitted with austere comfort, Mr. Travers +reposed at ease in a low bed-place under a snowy white sheet and a light +silk coverlet, his head sunk in a white pillow of extreme purity. A +faint scent of lavender hung about the fresh linen. Though lying on his +back like a person who is seriously ill Mr. Travers was conscious +of nothing worse than a great fatigue. Mr. Travers' restfulness had +something faintly triumphant in it. To find himself again on board +his yacht had soothed his vanity and had revived his sense of his own +importance. He contemplated it in a distant perspective, restored to its +proper surroundings and unaffected by an adventure too extraordinary to +trouble a superior mind or even to remain in one's memory for any length +of time. He was not responsible. Like many men ambitious of +directing the affairs of a nation, Mr. Travers disliked the sense of +responsibility. He would not have been above evading it in case of need, +but with perverse loftiness he really, in his heart, scorned it. That +was the reason why he was able to lie at rest and enjoy a sense of +returning vigour. But he did not care much to talk as yet, and that was +why the silence in the stateroom had lasted for hours. The bulkhead lamp +had a green silk shade. It was unnecessary to admit for a moment the +existence of impudence or ruffianism. A discreet knocking at the cabin +door sounded deferential. + +Mrs. Travers got up to see what was wanted, and returned without +uttering a single word to the folding armchair by the side of the +bed-place, with an envelope in her hand which she tore open in the +greenish light. Mr. Travers remained incurious but his wife handed to +him an unfolded sheet of paper which he condescended to hold up to his +eyes. It contained only one line of writing. He let the paper fall on +the coverlet and went on reposing as before. It was a sick man's repose. +Mrs. Travers in the armchair, with her hands on the arm-rests, had a +great dignity of attitude. + +“I intend to go,” she declared after a time. + +“You intend to go,” repeated Mr. Travers in a feeble, deliberate voice. +“Really, it doesn't matter what you decide to do. All this is of so +little importance. It seems to me that there can be no possible object.” + +“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But don't you think that the uttermost +farthing should always be paid?” + +Mr. Travers' head rolled over on the pillow and gave a covertly scared +look at that outspoken woman. But it rolled back again at once and the +whole man remained passive, the very embodiment of helpless exhaustion. +Mrs. Travers noticed this, and had the unexpected impression that Mr. +Travers was not so ill as he looked. “He's making the most of it. It's +a matter of diplomacy,” she thought. She thought this without irony, +bitterness, or disgust. Only her heart sank a little lower and she felt +that she could not remain in the cabin with that man for the rest of the +evening. For all life--yes! But not for that evening. + +“It's simply monstrous,” murmured the man, who was either very +diplomatic or very exhausted, in a languid manner. “There is something +abnormal in you.” + +Mrs. Travers got up swiftly. + +“One comes across monstrous things. But I assure you that of all the +monsters that wait on what you would call a normal existence the one I +dread most is tediousness. A merciless monster without teeth or claws. +Impotent. Horrible!” + +She left the stateroom, vanishing out of it with noiseless resolution. +No power on earth could have kept her in there for another minute. On +deck she found a moonless night with a velvety tepid feeling in the air, +and in the sky a mass of blurred starlight, like the tarnished tinsel of +a worn-out, very old, very tedious firmament. The usual routine of the +yacht had been already resumed, the awnings had been stretched aft, a +solitary round lamp had been hung as usual under the main boom. Out of +the deep gloom behind it d'Alcacer, a long, loose figure, lounged in the +dim light across the deck. D'Alcacer had got promptly in touch with +the store of cigarettes he owed to the Governor General's generosity. A +large, pulsating spark glowed, illuminating redly the design of his +lips under the fine dark moustache, the tip of his nose, his lean chin. +D'Alcacer reproached himself for an unwonted light-heartedness which +had somehow taken possession of him. He had not experienced that sort of +feeling for years. Reprehensible as it was he did not want anything to +disturb it. But as he could not run away openly from Mrs. Travers he +advanced to meet her. + +“I do hope you have nothing to tell me,” he said with whimsical +earnestness. + +“I? No! Have you?” + +He assured her he had not, and proffered a request. “Don't let us tell +each other anything, Mrs. Travers. Don't let us think of anything. I +believe it will be the best way to get over the evening.” There was real +anxiety in his jesting tone. + +“Very well,” Mrs. Travers assented, seriously. “But in that case we had +better not remain together.” She asked, then, d'Alcacer to go below and +sit with Mr. Travers who didn't like to be left alone. “Though he, too, +doesn't seem to want to be told anything,” she added, parenthetically, +and went on: “But I must ask you something else, Mr. d'Alcacer. I +propose to sit down in this chair and go to sleep--if I can. Will you +promise to call me about five o'clock? I prefer not to speak to any one +on deck, and, moreover, I can trust you.” + +He bowed in silence and went away slowly. Mrs. Travers, turning her +head, perceived a steady light at the brig's yard-arm, very bright among +the tarnished stars. She walked aft and looked over the taffrail. It was +exactly like that other night. She half expected to hear presently the +low, rippling sound of an advancing boat. But the universe remained +without a sound. When she at last dropped into the deck chair she was +absolutely at the end of her power of thinking. “I suppose that's +how the condemned manage to get some sleep on the night before the +execution,” she said to herself a moment before her eyelids closed as if +under a leaden hand. + +She woke up, with her face wet with tears, out of a vivid dream of +Lingard in chain-mail armour and vaguely recalling a Crusader, but +bare-headed and walking away from her in the depths of an impossible +landscape. She hurried on to catch up with him but a throng of +barbarians with enormous turbans came between them at the last moment +and she lost sight of him forever in the flurry of a ghastly sand-storm. +What frightened her most was that she had not been able to see his face. +It was then that she began to cry over her hard fate. When she woke up +the tears were still rolling down her cheeks and she perceived in the +light of the deck-lamp d'Alcacer arrested a little way off. + +“Did you have to speak to me?” she asked. + +“No,” said d'Alcacer. “You didn't give me time. When I came as far as +this I fancied I heard you sobbing. It must have been a delusion.” + +“Oh, no. My face is wet yet. It was a dream. I suppose it is five +o'clock. Thank you for being so punctual. I have something to do before +sunrise.” + +D'Alcacer moved nearer. “I know. You have decided to keep an appointment +on the sandbank. Your husband didn't utter twenty words in all these +hours but he managed to tell me that piece of news.” + +“I shouldn't have thought,” she murmured, vaguely. + +“He wanted me to understand that it had no importance,” stated d'Alcacer +in a very serious tone. + +“Yes. He knows what he is talking about,” said Mrs. Travers in such +a bitter tone as to disconcert d'Alcacer for a moment. “I don't see a +single soul about the decks,” Mrs. Travers continued, almost directly. + +“The very watchmen are asleep,” said d'Alcacer. + +“There is nothing secret in this expedition, but I prefer not to call +any one. Perhaps you wouldn't mind pulling me off yourself in our small +boat.” + +It seemed to her that d'Alcacer showed some hesitation. She added: “It +has no importance, you know.” + +He bowed his assent and preceded her down the side in silence. When she +entered the boat he had the sculls ready and directly she sat down he +shoved off. It was so dark yet that but for the brig's yard-arm light he +could not have kept his direction. He pulled a very deliberate stroke, +looking over his shoulder frequently. It was Mrs. Travers who saw first +the faint gleam of the uncovered sandspit on the black, quiet water. + +“A little more to the left,” she said. “No, the other way. . . .” + D'Alcacer obeyed her directions but his stroke grew even slower than +before. She spoke again. “Don't you think that the uttermost farthing +should always be paid, Mr. d'Alcacer?” + +D'Alcacer glanced over his shoulder, then: “It would be the only +honourable way. But it may be hard. Too hard for our common fearful +hearts.” + +“I am prepared for anything.” + +He ceased pulling for a moment . . . “Anything that may be found on +a sandbank,” Mrs. Travers went on. “On an arid, insignificant, and +deserted sandbank.” + +D'Alcacer gave two strokes and ceased again. + +“There is room for a whole world of suffering on a sandbank, for all the +bitterness and resentment a human soul may be made to feel.” + +“Yes, I suppose you would know,” she whispered while he gave a stroke or +two and again glanced over his shoulder. She murmured the words: + +“Bitterness, resentment,” and a moment afterward became aware of the +keel of the boat running up on the sand. But she didn't move, and +d'Alcacer, too, remained seated on the thwart with the blades of his +sculls raised as if ready to drop them and back the dinghy out into deep +water at the first sign. + +Mrs. Travers made no sign, but she asked, abruptly: “Mr. d'Alcacer, do +you think I shall ever come back?” + +Her tone seemed to him to lack sincerity. But who could tell what +this abruptness covered--sincere fear or mere vanity? He asked himself +whether she was playing a part for his benefit, or only for herself. + +“I don't think you quite understand the situation, Mrs. Travers. I +don't think you have a clear idea, either of his simplicity or of his +visionary's pride.” + +She thought, contemptuously, that there were other things which +d'Alcacer didn't know and surrendered to a sudden temptation to +enlighten him a little. + +“You forget his capacity for passion and that his simplicity doesn't +know its own strength.” + +There was no mistaking the sincerity of that murmur. “She has felt it,” + d'Alcacer said to himself with absolute certitude. He wondered when, +where, how, on what occasion? Mrs. Travers stood up in the stern sheets +suddenly and d'Alcacer leaped on the sand to help her out of the boat. + +“Hadn't I better hang about here to take you back again?” he suggested, +as he let go her hand. + +“You mustn't!” she exclaimed, anxiously. “You must return to the yacht. +There will be plenty of light in another hour. I will come to this spot +and wave my handkerchief when I want to be taken off.” + +At their feet the shallow water slept profoundly, the ghostly gleam of +the sands baffled the eye by its lack of form. Far off, the growth of +bushes in the centre raised a massive black bulk against the stars to +the southward. Mrs. Travers lingered for a moment near the boat as if +afraid of the strange solitude of this lonely sandbank and of this lone +sea that seemed to fill the whole encircling universe of remote stars +and limitless shadows. “There is nobody here,” she whispered to herself. + +“He is somewhere about waiting for you, or I don't know the man,” + affirmed d'Alcacer in an undertone. He gave a vigorous shove which sent +the little boat into the water. + +D'Alcacer was perfectly right. Lingard had come up on deck long before +Mrs. Travers woke up with her face wet with tears. The burial party had +returned hours before and the crew of the brig were plunged in +sleep, except for two watchmen, who at Lingard's appearance retreated +noiselessly from the poop. Lingard, leaning on the rail, fell into +a sombre reverie of his past. Reproachful spectres crowded the air, +animated and vocal, not in the articulate language of mortals but +assailing him with faint sobs, deep sighs, and fateful gestures. When he +came to himself and turned about they vanished, all but one dark shape +without sound or movement. Lingard looked at it with secret horror. + +“Who's that?” he asked in a troubled voice. + +The shadow moved closer: “It's only me, sir,” said Carter, who had left +orders to be called directly the Captain was seen on deck. + +“Oh, yes, I might have known,” mumbled Lingard in some confusion. He +requested Carter to have a boat manned and when after a time the young +man told him that it was ready, he said “All right!” and remained +leaning on his elbow. + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Carter after a longish silence, “but are +you going some distance?” + +“No, I only want to be put ashore on the sandbank.” + +Carter was relieved to hear this, but also surprised. “There is nothing +living there, sir,” he said. + +“I wonder,” muttered Lingard. + +“But I am certain,” Carter insisted. “The last of the women and children +belonging to those cut-throats were taken off by the sampans which +brought you and the yacht-party out.” + +He walked at Lingard's elbow to the gangway and listened to his orders. + +“Directly there is enough light to see flags by, make a signal to the +schooner to heave short on her cable and loose her sails. If there +is any hanging back give them a blank gun, Mr. Carter. I will have no +shilly-shallying. If she doesn't go at the word, by heavens, I will +drive her out. I am still master here--for another day.” + +The overwhelming sense of immensity, of disturbing emptiness, which +affects those who walk on the sands in the midst of the sea, intimidated +Mrs. Travers. The world resembled a limitless flat shadow which was +motionless and elusive. Then against the southern stars she saw a human +form that isolated and lone appeared to her immense: the shape of a +giant outlined amongst the constellations. As it approached her +it shrank to common proportions, got clear of the stars, lost its +awesomeness, and became menacing in its ominous and silent advance. Mrs. +Travers hastened to speak. + +“You have asked for me. I am come. I trust you will have no reason to +regret my obedience.” + +He walked up quite close to her, bent down slightly to peer into her +face. The first of the tropical dawn put its characteristic cold sheen +into the sky above the Shore of Refuge. + +Mrs. Travers did not turn away her head. + +“Are you looking for a change in me? No. You won't see it. Now I know +that I couldn't change even if I wanted to. I am made of clay that is +too hard.” + +“I am looking at you for the first time,” said Lingard. “I never could +see you before. There were too many things, too many thoughts, too many +people. No, I never saw you before. But now the world is dead.” + +He grasped her shoulders, approaching his face close to hers. She never +flinched. + +“Yes, the world is dead,” she said. “Look your fill then. It won't be +for long.” + +He let her go as suddenly as though she had struck him. The cold white +light of the tropical dawn had crept past the zenith now and the expanse +of the shallow waters looked cold, too, without stir or ripple within +the enormous rim of the horizon where, to the west, a shadow lingered +still. + +“Take my arm,” he said. + +She did so at once, and turning their backs on the two ships they began +to walk along the sands, but they had not made many steps when Mrs. +Travers perceived an oblong mound with a board planted upright at one +end. Mrs. Travers knew that part of the sands. It was here she used to +walk with her husband and d'Alcacer every evening after dinner, +while the yacht lay stranded and her boats were away in search of +assistance--which they had found--which they had found! This was +something that she had never seen there before. Lingard had suddenly +stopped and looked at it moodily. She pressed his arm to rouse him and +asked, “What is this?” + +“This is a grave,” said Lingard in a low voice, and still gazing at the +heap of sand. “I had him taken out of the ship last night. Strange,” he +went on in a musing tone, “how much a grave big enough for one man only +can hold. His message was to forget everything.” + +“Never, never,” murmured Mrs. Travers. “I wish I had been on board the +Emma. . . . You had a madman there,” she cried out, suddenly. They moved +on again, Lingard looking at Mrs. Travers who was leaning on his arm. + +“I wonder which of us two was mad,” he said. + +“I wonder you can bear to look at me,” she murmured. Then Lingard spoke +again. + +“I had to see you once more.” + +“That abominable Jorgenson,” she whispered to herself. + +“No, no, he gave me my chance--before he gave me up.” + +Mrs. Travers disengaged her arm and Lingard stopped, too, facing her in +a long silence. + +“I could not refuse to meet you,” said Mrs. Travers at last. “I could +not refuse you anything. You have all the right on your side and I don't +care what you do or say. But I wonder at my own courage when I think of +the confession I have to make.” She advanced, laid her hand on Lingard's +shoulder and spoke earnestly. “I shuddered at the thought of meeting you +again. And now you must listen to my confession.” + +“Don't say a word,” said Lingard in an untroubled voice and never taking +his eyes from her face. “I know already.” + +“You can't,” she cried. Her hand slipped off his shoulder. “Then why +don't you throw me into the sea?” she asked, passionately. “Am I to live +on hating myself?” + +“You mustn't!” he said with an accent of fear. “Haven't you understood +long ago that if you had given me that ring it would have been just the +same?” + +“Am I to believe this? No, no! You are too generous to a mere sham. You +are the most magnanimous of men but you are throwing it away on me. +Do you think it is remorse that I feel? No. If it is anything it is +despair. But you must have known that--and yet you wanted to look at me +again.” + +“I told you I never had a chance before,” said Lingard in an unmoved +voice. “It was only after I heard they gave you the ring that I felt the +hold you have got on me. How could I tell before? What has hate or love +to do with you and me? Hate. Love. What can touch you? For me you stand +above death itself; for I see now that as long as I live you will never +die.” + +They confronted each other at the southern edge of the sands as if +afloat on the open sea. The central ridge heaped up by the winds masked +from them the very mastheads of the two ships and the growing brightness +of the light only augmented the sense of their invincible solitude +in the awful serenity of the world. Mrs. Travers suddenly put her arm +across her eyes and averted her face. + +Then he added: + +“That's all.” + +Mrs. Travers let fall her arm and began to retrace her steps, +unsupported and alone. Lingard followed her on the edge of the sand +uncovered by the ebbing tide. A belt of orange light appeared in the +cold sky above the black forest of the Shore of Refuge and faded quickly +to gold that melted soon into a blinding and colourless glare. It was +not till after she had passed Jaffir's grave that Mrs. Travers stole a +backward glance and discovered that she was alone. Lingard had left her +to herself. She saw him sitting near the mound of sand, his back bowed, +his hands clasping his knees, as if he had obeyed the invincible call of +his great visions haunting the grave of the faithful messenger. Shading +her eyes with her hand Mrs. Travers watched the immobility of that man +of infinite illusions. He never moved, he never raised his head. It was +all over. He was done with her. She waited a little longer and then went +slowly on her way. + +Shaw, now acting second mate of the yacht, came off with another hand +in a little boat to take Mrs. Travers on board. He stared at her like an +offended owl. How the lady could suddenly appear at sunrise waving her +handkerchief from the sandbank he could not understand. For, even if she +had managed to row herself off secretly in the dark, she could not have +sent the empty boat back to the yacht. It was to Shaw a sort of improper +miracle. + +D'Alcacer hurried to the top of the side ladder and as they met on deck +Mrs. Travers astonished him by saying in a strangely provoking tone: + +“You were right. I have come back.” Then with a little laugh which +impressed d'Alcacer painfully she added with a nod downward, “and +Martin, too, was perfectly right. It was absolutely unimportant.” + +She walked on straight to the taffrail and d'Alcacer followed her aft, +alarmed at her white face, at her brusque movements, at the nervous way +in which she was fumbling at her throat. He waited discreetly till she +turned round and thrust out toward him her open palm on which he saw a +thick gold ring set with a large green stone. + +“Look at this, Mr. d'Alcacer. This is the thing which I asked you +whether I should give up or conceal--the symbol of the last hour--the +call of the supreme minute. And he said it would have made no +difference! He is the most magnanimous of men and the uttermost farthing +has been paid. He has done with me. The most magnanimous . . . but there +is a grave on the sands by which I left him sitting with no glance +to spare for me. His last glance on earth! I am left with this thing. +Absolutely unimportant. A dead talisman.” With a nervous jerk she flung +the ring overboard, then with a hurried entreaty to d'Alcacer, “Stay +here a moment. Don't let anybody come near us,” she burst into tears and +turned her back on him. + +Lingard returned on board his brig and in the early afternoon the +Lightning got under way, running past the schooner to give her a lead +through the maze of Shoals. Lingard was on deck but never looked once +at the following vessel. Directly both ships were in clear water he went +below saying to Carter: “You know what to do.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Carter. + +Shortly after his Captain had disappeared from the deck Carter laid the +main topsail to the mast. The Lightning lost her way while the schooner +with all her light kites abroad passed close under her stern holding on +her course. Mrs. Travers stood aft very rigid, gripping the rail with +both hands. The brim of her white hat was blown upward on one side and +her yachting skirt stirred in the breeze. By her side d'Alcacer waved +his hand courteously. Carter raised his cap to them. + +During the afternoon he paced the poop with measured steps, with a pair +of binoculars in his hand. At last he laid the glasses down, glanced at +the compass-card and walked to the cabin skylight which was open. + +“Just lost her, sir,” he said. All was still down there. He raised his +voice a little: + +“You told me to let you know directly I lost sight of the yacht.” + +The sound of a stifled groan reached the attentive Carter and a weary +voice said, “All right, I am coming.” + +When Lingard stepped out on the poop of the Lightning the open water +had turned purple already in the evening light, while to the east the +Shallows made a steely glitter all along the sombre line of the shore. +Lingard, with folded arms, looked over the sea. Carter approached him +and spoke quietly. + +“The tide has turned and the night is coming on. Hadn't we better get +away from these Shoals, sir?” + +Lingard did not stir. + +“Yes, the night is coming on. You may fill the main topsail, Mr. +Carter,” he said and he relapsed into silence with his eyes fixed in +the southern board where the shadows were creeping stealthily toward the +setting sun. Presently Carter stood at his elbow again. + +“The brig is beginning to forge ahead, sir,” he said in a warning tone. + +Lingard came out of his absorption with a deep tremor of his powerful +frame like the shudder of an uprooted tree. + +“How was the yacht heading when you lost sight of her?” he asked. + +“South as near as possible,” answered Carter. “Will you give me a course +to steer for the night, sir?” + +Lingard's lips trembled before he spoke but his voice was calm. + +“Steer north,” he said. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rescue, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RESCUE *** + +***** This file should be named 1712-0.txt or 1712-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/1/1712/ + +Produced by Judy Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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