The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows

  IX

  The letter went on to enlarge on the intrigues of Tengga, the waveringconduct of Belarab, and the state of the public mind. It noted everygust of opinion and every event, with an earnestness of belief in theirimportance befitting the chronicle of a crisis in the history of anempire. The shade of Jorgenson had, indeed, stepped back into the lifeof men. The old adventurer looked on with a perfect understanding ofthe value of trifles, using his eyes for that other man whose consciencewould have the task to unravel the tangle. Lingard lived through thosedays in the Settlement and was thankful to Jorgenson; only as he livednot from day to day but from sentence to sentence of the writing, therewas an effect of bewildering rapidity in the succession of events thatmade him grunt with surprise sometimes or growl--"What?" to himselfangrily 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 heread:

  --and I began to think I could keep things quiet till you came or thosewretched white people got their schooner off, when Sherif Daman arrivedfrom 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 twoIllanun pangerans round his little finger. The two praus are large andarmed. They came up the creek, flags and streamers flying, beating drumsand gongs, and entered the lagoon with their decks full of armed menbrandishing two-handed swords and sounding the war cry. It is a fineforce for you, only Belarab who is a perverse devil would not receiveSherif Daman at once. So Daman went to see Tengga who detained him avery long time. Leaving Tengga he came on board the Emma, and I couldsee directly there was something up.

  He began by asking me for the ammunition and weapons they are to getfrom you, saying he was anxious to sail at once toward Wajo, since itwas agreed he was to precede you by a few days. I replied that thatwas true enough but that I could not think of giving him the powderand muskets till you came. He began to talk about you and hinted thatperhaps you will never come. "And no matter," says he, "here is RajahHassim and the Lady Immada and we would fight for them if no white manwas left in the world. Only we must have something to fight with." Hepretended then to forget me altogether and talked with Hassim while Isat 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 besideherself with fear of something happening that would put a stopper onthe Wajo expedition. She has set her mind on getting her country back.Hassim is very reserved but he is very anxious, too. Daman got nothingfrom me, and that very evening the praus were ordered by Belarab toleave the lagoon. He does not trust the Illanuns--and small blame tohim. Sherif Daman went like a lamb. He has no powder for his guns. Asthe praus passed by the Emma he shouted to me he was going to wait foryou outside the creek. Tengga has given him a man who would show him theplace. All this looks very queer to me.

  Look out outside then. The praus are dodging amongst the islets. Damanvisits Tengga. Tengga called on me as a good friend to try and persuademe to give Daman the arms and gunpowder he is so anxious to get. Somehowor other they tried to get around Belarab, who came to see me last nightand hinted I had better do so. He is anxious for these Illanuns to leavethe neighbourhood. He thinks that if they loot the schooner they will beoff at once. That's all he wants now. Immada has been to see Belarab'swomen and stopped two nights in the stockade. Belarab's youngestwife--he got married six weeks ago--is on the side of Tengga's partybecause she thinks Belarab would get a share of the loot and she gotinto her silly head there are jewels and silks in that schooner. Whatbetween 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 topray at his father's tomb. So for the last two days he has been awaycamping in that unhealthy place. When he comes back he will be down withfever as sure as fate and then he will be no good for anything. Tenggalights up smoky fires often. Some signal to Daman. I go ashore withHassim's men and put them out. This is risking a fight every time--forTengga's men look very black at us. I don't know what the next move maybe. Hassim's as true as steel. Immada is very unhappy. They will tellyou many details I have no time to write.

  The last page fluttered on the table out of Lingard's fingers. He satvery still for a moment looking straight before him, then went on deck.

  "Our boats back yet?" he asked Shaw, whom he saw prowling on thequarter-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, andhe moved away to lean on the rail, looking moodily to seaward. After awhile: "There seems to be commotion on board that yacht," he said."I see a lot of lights moving about her decks. Anything wrong, do youthink, sir?"

  "No, I know what it is," said Lingard in a tone of elation. She has doneit! he thought.

  He returned to the cabin, put away Jorgenson's letter and pulled out thedrawer of the table. It was full of cartridges. He took a musket down,loaded it, then took another and another. He hammered at the waddingswith fierce joyousness. The ramrods rang and jumped. It seemed to himhe was doing his share of some work in which that woman was playing herpart faithfully. "She has done it," he repeated, mentally. "She will sitin the cuddy. She will sleep in my berth. Well, I'm not ashamed of thebrig. By heavens--no! I shall keep away: never come near them as I'vepromised. Now there's nothing more to say. I've told her everything atonce. There's nothing more."

  He felt a heaviness in his burning breast, in all his limbs as if theblood 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 seeher every day till the yacht was afloat. No, he wouldn't intrude, but hewas master and owner of the brig after all. He didn't mean to skulk likea whipped cur about his own decks.

  "It'll be ten days before the schooner is ready. I'll take every scrapof ballast out of her. I'll strip her--I'll take her lower masts outof her, by heavens! I'll make sure. Then another week to fitout--and--goodbye. Wish I had never seen them. Good-bye--forever. Home'sthe place for them. Not for me. On another coast she would not havelistened. Ah, but she is a woman--every inch of her. I shall shakehands. Yes. I shall take her hand--just before she goes. Why the devilnot? I am master here after all--in this brig--as good as any one--byheavens, 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 canfight as well as I can handle the brig. Two praus. Only two praus. Iwouldn't mind if there were twenty. I would sweep 'em off the sea--Iwould 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 midstof an uproar and as powerless as a feather in a hurricane. He shudderedprofoundly. His arms hung down, and he stood before the table staringlike a man overcome by some fatal intelligence.

  Shaw, going into the waist to receive what he thought was one of thebrig'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 wantnow?"

  "I want to see your skipper."

  "Well, you can't," declared Shaw, viciously. "He's turned in for thenight."

  "He expects me," said Carter, stamping his foot. "I've got to tell himwhat 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 todo. Shaw, though surprised by it, enjoyed the effect he had produced.

  "Damn me, if I did not think so," murmured Carter to himself; thendrawling coolly asked--"And perhaps you know, too?"

  "What do you think? Think I am a dummy here? I ain't mate of this brigfor 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 notparticular 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, youyacht-swabbing brass-buttoned imposter."

  "What's this? Any of our boats back?" asked Lingard from the poop. "Letthe 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 ladderlowered. Bear a hand, serang! Mr. Shaw! Burn the flare up aft. Two ofthem! 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?" shoutedLingard in English and Malay. "This way, come here! Put it on a rocketstick--can't you? Hold over the side--thus! Stand by with the lines forthe boats forward there. Mr. Shaw--we want more light!"

  "Aye, aye, sir," called out Shaw, but he did not move, as if dazed bythe vehemence of his commander.

  "That's what we want," muttered Carter under his breath. "Imposter! Whatdo 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, crudelylighted, had a fierce and changing expression in the sway of flames.

  "What can be his game?" thought Carter, impressed by the powerfuland wild aspect of that figure. "He's changed somehow since I saw himfirst," he reflected. It struck him the change was serious, not exactlyfor the worse, perhaps--and yet. . . . Lingard smiled at him from thepoop.

  Carter went up the steps and without pausing informed him of what hadhappened.

  "Mrs. Travers told me to go to you at once. She's very upset as you mayguess," he drawled, looking Lingard hard in the face. Lingard knittedhis eyebrows. "The hands, too, are scared," Carter went on. "They fancythe savages, or whatever they may be who stole the owner, are going toboard 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, "themen are startled and no mistake, but I can't blame them very much. Thereisn't enough even of carving knives aboard to go round. One old signalgun! 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 slowlyalong the bank looking out, expecting to see them walking back. Hemade the trunk of a tree apparently stranded on the sand and as he wassculling past he says a man jumped up from behind that log, flung astick at him and went off running. He backed water at once and began toshout, 'Are you there, sir?' No one answered. He could hear the bushesrustle and some strange noises like whisperings. It was very dark. Aftercalling out several times, and waiting on his oars, he got frightenedand pulled back to the yacht. That is clear enough. The only doubt inmy 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 thinkingof 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 aspear!"

  "That's it!" assented Carter, "but I didn't say anything. I onlywondered 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 withbowed head in the glare of the flares.

  "I suppose you think it's my doing?" he asked, sharply, without lookingup.

  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'vestopped it, haven't you? How she got to know God only knows. Shewas sorry she spoke, too, but it wasn't so much of news to me as shethought. I can put two and two together, sometimes. Those rockets, lastnight, eh? I wished I had bitten my tongue out before I told you aboutour 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 betweenyou and me on board this brig, not twenty-four hours ago. Things lookdifferent now, all of a sudden. Enough to scare a woman, but she isthe best man of them all on board. The others are fairly off the chumpbecause 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," headded.

  "That's your trouble, is it?" said Lingard, slowly.

  "Aye, Captain. Is it all clear to you? Stopping boats, kidnappinggentlemen. That's fun in a way, only--I am a youngster to you--but is itall 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 atits foot the mast near by, like a lofty column, ascended in the greatdarkness. A lot of ropes ran up slanting into a dark void and werelost to sight, but high aloft a brace block gleamed white, the end of ayard-arm could be seen suspended in the air and as if glowing with itsown 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. Ican't! No! Nothing!"

  He stared straight out afar, and after looking at him Carter felt movedby a bit of youthful intuition to murmur, "That's bad," in a tonethat almost in spite of himself hinted at the dawning of a befoggedcompassion.

  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 withold Robinson in the Ly-e-moon. And yet he had seen and taken part insome queer doings that were not clear to him at the time. They weresecret but they suggested something comprehensible. This affair did not.It had somehow a subtlety that affected him. He was uneasy as if therehad been a breath of magic on events and men giving to this complicationof a yachting voyage a significance impossible to perceive, but feltin the words, in the gestures, in the events, which made them allstrangely, obscurely startling.

  He was not one who could keep track of his sensations, and besides hehad not the leisure. He had to answer Lingard's questions about thepeople of the yacht. No, he couldn't say Mrs. Travers was what you maycall frightened. She seemed to have something in her mind. Oh, yes! Thechaps were in a funk. Would they fight? Anybody would fight when drivento it, funk or no funk. That was his experience. Naturally one likedto have something better than a handspike to do it with. Still--In thepause Carter seemed to weigh with composure the chances of men withhandspikes.

  "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; "itisn'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 yourmen 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 onboard. 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 amongstthem, but the rest are struck all of a heap. Not to-night. Give themtime to get steady a bit if you want them to fight."

  He gave facts and opinions with a mixture of loyalty and mistrust. Hisown state puzzled him exceedingly. He couldn't make out anything, he didnot know what to believe and yet he had an impulsive desire, an inspireddesire to help the man. At times it appeared a necessity--at otherspolicy; between whiles a great folly, which perhaps did not matterbecause he suspected himself of being helpless anyway. Then he hadmoments of anger. In those moments he would feel in his pocket thebutt of a loaded pistol. He had provided himself with the weapon, whendirected by Mrs. Travers to go on board the brig.

  "If he wants to interfere with me, I'll let drive at him and take mychance of getting away," he had explained hurriedly.

  He remembered how startled Mrs. Travers looked. Of course, a woman likethat--not used to hear such talk. Therefore it was no use listening toher, except for good manners' sake. Once bit twice shy. He had no mindto be kidnapped, not he, nor bullied either.

  "I can't let him nab me, too. You will want me now, Mrs. Travers," hehad said; "and I promise you not to fire off the old thing unless hejolly well forces me to."

  He was youthfully wise in his resolution not to give way to herentreaties, though her extraordinary agitation did stagger him for amoment. When the boat was already on its way to the brig, he rememberedher calling out after him:

  "You must not! You don't understand."

  Her voice coming faintly in the darkness moved him, it resembled so mucha cry of distress.

  "Give way, boys, give way," he urged his men.

  He was wise, resolute, and he was also youthful enough to almost wishit should "come to it." And with foresight he even instructed the boat'screw 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 fordear life."

  Somehow just then he was not so anxious for a shot, but he held on witha determined mental grasp to his fine resolution, lest it should slipaway 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 aboutshe is ready to trust you. She is waiting for some kind of answer, Isuppose."

  "Ready to trust me," repeated Lingard. His eyes lit up fiercely.

  Every sway of flares tossed slightly to and fro the massy shadows ofthe main deck, where here and there the figure of a man could be seenstanding 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 theowner'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 theside; his rubicund cheeks quivered, his round eyes seemed starting outof his head, and his mouth was open as though he had been ready to chokewith 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 darkeningfrown seemed to fall out of the night upon his forehead and swiftlypassed 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 tobelieve the man's heart had undergone within the last second the trialof 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 withheat because a sense of regret was stealing slowly within him, asstealthily, as irresistibly as the flowing tide. "Who began thesetricks?" He withdrew his hand, empty, and raised his voice. "You are upto something I can't make out. You--you are not straight."

  The flares held on high streamed right up without swaying, and in thatinstant of profound calm the shadows on the brig's deck became as stillas the men.

  "You think not?" said Lingard, thoughtfully.

  Carter nodded. He resented the turn of the incident and the growingimpulse to surrender to that man.

  "Mrs. Travers trusts me though," went on Lingard with gentle triumph asif advancing an unanswerable argument.

  "So she says," grunted Carter; "I warned her. She's a baby. They're allas innocent as babies there. And you know it. And I know it. I've heardof your kind. You would dump the lot of us overboard if it served yourturn. That's what I think."

  "And that's all."

  Carter nodded slightly and looked away. There was a silence. Lingard'seyes travelled over the brig. The lighted part of the vessel appeared inbright and wavering detail walled and canopied by the night. He felt alight breath on his face. The air was stirring, but the Shallows, silentand lost in the darkness, gave no sound of life.

  This stillness oppressed Lingard. The world of his endeavours and hishopes seemed dead, seemed gone. His desire existed homeless in theobscurity that had devoured his corner of the sea, this stretch of thecoast, his certitude of success. And here in the midst of what was thedomain of his adventurous soul there was a lost youngster ready to shoothim on suspicion of some extravagant treachery. Came ready to shoot!That's good, too! He was too weary to laugh--and perhaps too sad. Alsothe danger of the pistol-shot, which he believed real--the young arerash--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 thiscomplication of a yachting voyage, that he seemed to have them allwithin his breast.

  "Shoot me! He is quite up to that trick--damn him. Yet I would trust himsooner than any man in that yacht."

  Such were his thoughts while he looked at Carter, who was biting hislips, in the vexation of the long silence. When they spoke again to eachother they talked soberly, with a sense of relief, as if they had comeinto cool air from an overheated room and when Carter, dismissed, wentinto his boat, he had practically agreed to the line of action tracedby Lingard for the crew of the yacht. He had agreed as if in implicitconfidence. It was one of the absurdities of the situation which had tobe 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; "Iwill work with you so far anyhow."

  "Mrs. Travers trusts me," remarked Lingard again.

  "By the Lord Harry!" cried Carter, giving way suddenly to some latentconviction. "I was warning her against you. Say, Captain, you are adevil 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 overthe side.

  Shaw took this opportunity to approach. Beginning with hesitation: "Aword 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, hehad children, he abhorred illegality. The light played about his obesefigure, he had flung his mushroom hat on the deck, he was not afraid tospeak the truth. The grey moustache stood out aggressively, his glanceswere uneasy; he pressed his hands to hi
s stomach convulsively, openedhis thick, short arms wide, wished it to be understood he had beenchief-officer of home ships, with a spotless character and he hoped"quite up to his work." He was a peaceable man, none more; disposedto stretch a point when it "came to a difference with niggers of somekind--they had to be taught manners and reason" and he was not averse ata pinch to--but here were white people--gentlemen, ladies, not to speakof the crew. He had never spoken to a superior like this before,and this was prudence, his conviction, a point of view, a point ofprinciple, a conscious superiority and a burst of resentment hoardedthrough years against all the successive and unsatisfactory captains ofhis existence. There never had been such an opportunity to show he couldnot be put upon. He had one of them on a string and he was going to leadhim a dance. There was courage, too, in it, since he believed himselffallen unawares into the clutches of a particularly desperate man andbeyond the reach of law.

  A certain small amount of calculation entered the audacity of hisremonstrance. Perhaps--it flashed upon him--the yacht's gentry will hearI stood up for them. This could conceivably be of advantage to a manwho wanted a lift in the world. "Owner of a yacht--badly scared--agentleman--money nothing to him." Thereupon Shaw declared with heat thathe couldn't be an accessory either after or before the fact. Thosethat 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, afamily, a little house--paid for--with difficulty. He followed the searespectably out and home, all regular, not vagabonding here and there,chumming with the first nigger that came along and laying traps for hisbetters.

  One of the two flare bearers sighed at his elbow, and shifted his weightto the other foot.

  These two had been keeping so perfectly still that the movement wasas startling as if a statue had changed its pose. After looking at theoffender with cold malevolence, Shaw went on to speak of law-courts,of trials, and of the liberty of the subject; then he pointed out thecertitude and the inconvenience of being found out, affecting for themoment the dispassionateness of wisdom.

  "There will be fifteen years in gaol at the end of this job foreverybody," 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 deadcertain here to catch it along with you. The missus will break her heartunless she starves first. Home sold up."

  He saw a mysterious iniquity in a dangerous relation to himself andbegan to lose his head. What he really wanted was to have hisexistence left intact, for his own cherishing and pride. It was a moralaspiration, but in his alarm the native grossness of his nature cameclattering 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, kissthe book, say what he thought, let all the world know . . . and when hepaused to draw breath, all around him was silent and still. Before theimpetus of that respectable passion his words were scattered like chaffdriven by a gale and rushed headlong into the night of the Shallows. Andin the great obscurity, imperturbable, it heard him say he "washed hishands of everything."

  "And the brig?" asked Lingard, suddenly.

  Shaw was checked. For a second the seaman in him instinctively admittedthe claim of the ship.

  "The brig. The brig. She's right enough," he mumbled. He had nothing tosay against the brig--not he. She wasn't like the big ships he was usedto, but of her kind the best craft he ever. . . . And with a brusquereturn upon himself, he protested that he had been decoyed on boardunder 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! Thatwas the name for it or his own name was not Shaw. He said this glaringowlishly. Lingard, perfectly still and mute, bore the blows without asign.

  The silly fuss of that man seared his very soul. There was no end tothis 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 theycame and blind they would go out. He admitted reluctantly, but withoutdoubt, that as if pushed by a force from outside he would have totry and save two of them. To this end he foresaw the probable need ofleaving 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 beable sometimes to speak--to have near him. Who would have believed sucha fool-man could exist on the face of the sea! Who? Leave the brig withhim. The brig!

  Ever since sunset, the breeze kept off by the heat of the day had beentrying to re-establish in the darkness its sway over the Shoals. Itsapproaches had been heard in the night, its patient murmurs, its foiledsighs; 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 hadbeen victoriously carried. The flames borne down streamed bluishly,horizontal and noisy at the end of tall sticks, like flutteringpennants; and behold, the shadows on the deck went mad and jostled eachother as if trying to escape from a doomed craft, the darkness, heldup dome-like by the brilliant glare, seemed to tumble headlong upon thebrig in an overwhelming downfall, the men stood swaying as if readyto fall under the ruins of a black and noiseless disaster. The blurredoutlines of the brig, the masts, the rigging, seemed to shudder in theterror 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 inthe breath had passed, was gone.

  A discord of three voices raised together in a drawling wail trailed onthe sudden immobility of the air.

  "Brig ahoy! Give us a rope!"

  The first boat-load from the yacht emerged floating slowly into thepool of purple light wavering round the brig on the black water. Two mensqueezed in the bows pulled uncomfortably; in the middle, on a heap ofseamen's canvas bags, another sat, insecure, propped with both arms,stiff-legged, angularly helpless. The light from the poop broughteverything out in lurid detail, and the boat floating slowly toward thebrig had a suspicious and pitiful aspect. The shabby load lumberingher looked somehow as if it had been stolen by those men who resembledcastaways. 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 indeedif--fend off there, John; fend off, old reliable, if you care a pinfor your salty hide. I like the old chap," he said, when he stood byLingard's side looking down at the boat which was being rapidly clearedby whites and Malays working shoulder to shoulder in silence. "I likehim. He don't belong to that yachting lot either. They picked him upon the road somewhere. Look at the old dog--carved out of a ship'stimber--as talkative as a fish--grim as a gutted wreck. That's the manfor me. All the others there are married, or going to be, or oughtto be, or sorry they ain't. Every man jack of them has a petticoat intow--dash me! Never heard in all my travels such a jabber about wivesand kids. Hurry up with your dunnage--below there! Aye! I had nodifficulty in getting them to clear out from the yacht. They never sawa pair of gents stolen before--you understand. It upset all their littlenotions of what a stranding means, hereabouts. Not that mine aren'tmixed 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 thebrig's quarter-deck. "Look. Don't they mean to sleep soft--and dream ofhome--maybe. Home. Think of that, Captain. These chaps can't get clearaway 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 ajob worth staying at home for. Mother writes sometimes, but they can'tmiss me much. There's fourteen of us altogether--eight at home yet. Nofear of the old country ever getting undermanned--let die who must. Onlylet it be a fair game, Captain. L
et's have a fair show."

  Lingard assured him briefly he should have it. That was the very reasonhe wanted the yacht's crew in the brig, he added. Then quiet and gravehe 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 yousee, that was heavy on my chest. Last night is very far off though--andI will be hanged if I know what I meant exactly when I took the oldthing from its nail. There. More I can't say till all's settled one wayor another. Will that do?"

  Flushing brick red, he suspended his judgment and stayed his hand withthe generosity of youth.

  . . . . . . .

  Apparently it suited Lingard to be reprieved in that form. He bowedhis head slowly. It would do. To leave his life to that youngster'signorance seemed to redress the balance of his mind against a lot ofsecret intentions. It was distasteful and bitter as an expiation shouldbe. 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 noprice permit itself to be wasted. It would not be--and there was anend of it. All he could do was to throw in another risk into the seaof risks. Thus was he enabled to recognize that a drop of water inthe ocean makes a great difference. His very desire, unconquered, butexiled, had left the place where he could constantly hear its voice. Hesaw it, he saw himself, the past, the future, he saw it all, shiftingand indistinct like those shapes the strained eye of a wanderer outlinesin darker strokes upon the face of the night.