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When Lingard went to his boat to follow Carter, who had gone back to theyacht, Wasub, mast and sail on shoulder, preceded him down the ladder.The old man leaped in smartly and busied himself in getting the dinghyready for his commander.
In that little boat Lingard was accustomed to traverse the Shallowsalone. She had a short mast and a lug-sail, carried two easily, floatedin a few inches of water. In her he was independent of a crew, and, ifthe wind failed, could make his way with a pair of sculls taking shortcuts over shoal places. There were so many islets and sandbanks that incase of sudden bad weather there was always a lee to be found, and whenhe wished to land he could pull her up a beach, striding ahead, painterin hand, like a giant child dragging a toy boat. When the brig wasanchored 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 wadedup a shelving bank carrying her on his head and for two days they hadrested together on the sand, while around them the shallow waters ragedlividly, and across three miles of foam the brig would time after timedissolve in the mist and re-appear distinct, nodding her tall spars thatseemed 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 muffleddetonation of a gun to seaward had warned him of the brig's arrival onthe Shore of Refuge, would mutter to himself--"Here's Tom coming in hisnutshell." And indeed she was in shape somewhat like half a nutshell andalso in the colour of her dark varnished planks. The man's shoulders andhead rose high above her gunwales; loaded with Lingard's heavy frame shewould climb sturdily the steep ridges, slide squatting into the hollowsof the sea, or, now and then, take a sedate leap over a short wave. Herbehaviour had a stout trustworthiness about it, and she reminded one ofa surefooted mountain-pony carrying over difficult ground a rider muchbigger 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 spareshoulders upon which the light from above fell unsteady but vivid. Wasubworked for the comfort of his commander and his singleminded absorptionin that task flashed upon Lingard the consolation of an act offriendliness. The elderly Malay at last lifted his head with adeferential murmur; his wrinkled old face with half a dozen wiry hairspendulous at each corner of the dark lips expressed a kind of wearysatisfaction, and the slightly oblique worn eyes stole a discreet upwardglance containing a hint of some remote meaning. Lingard found himselfcompelled by the justice of that obscure claim to murmur as he steppedinto the boat:
"These are times of danger."
He sat down and took up the sculls. Wasub held on to the gunwale as to alast hope of a further confidence. He had served in the brig five years.Lingard remembered that very well. This aged figure had been intimatelyassociated with the brig's life and with his own, appearing silentlyready for every incident and emergency in an unquestioning expectationof orders; symbolic of blind trust in his strength, of an unlimitedobedience to his will. Was it unlimited?
"We shall require courage and fidelity," added Lingard, in a tentativetone.
"There are those who know me," snapped the old man, readily, as if thewords had been waiting for a long time. "Observe, Tuan. I have filledwith fresh water the little breaker in the bows."
"I know you, too," said Lingard.
"And the wind--and the sea," ejaculated the serang, jerkily. "Thesealso are faithful to the strong. By Allah! I who am a pilgrim and havelistened to words of wisdom in many places, I tell you, Tuan, there isstrength in the knowledge of what is hidden in things without life, aswell as in the living men. Will Tuan be gone long?"
"I come back in a short time--together with the rest of the whites fromover there. This is the beginning of many stratagems. Wasub! Daman, theson of a dog, has suddenly made prisoners two of my own people. My faceis made black."
"Tse! Tse! What ferocity is that! One should not offer shame to a friendor to a friend's brother lest revenge come sweeping like a flood. Yetcan an Illanun chief be other than tyrannical? My old eyes have seenmuch but they never saw a tiger change its stripes. Ya-wa! The tiger cannot. This is the wisdom of us ignorant Malay men. The wisdom of whiteTuans is great. They think that by the power of many speeches the tigermay--" He broke off and in a crisp, busy tone said: "The rudder dwellssafely under the aftermost seat should Tuan be pleased to sail the boat.This breeze will not die away before sunrise." Again his voice changedas 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--oneby one, thus."
He pointed a frail brown finger and, abruptly, made a mirthless drysound 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 followyou. 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 pityingsuperiority. "Some with no more comprehension than men of the bushfreshly caught. There is Sali, the foolish son of my sister and by yourgreat favour appointed to mind the tiller of this ship. His stupidity isextreme, but his eyes are good--nearly as good as mine that by prayingand much exercise can see far into the night."
Lingard laughed low and then looked earnestly at the serang. Above theirheads a man shook a flare over the side and a thin shower of sparksfloated 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 doyou 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 hasturned. Ya, Tuan. The tide has turned."
Lingard looked downward where the water could be seen, gliding past theship's side, moving smoothly, streaked with lines of froth, across theillumined 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 aplaint, without a break. The unchecked gentleness of the flow capturedthe eye by a subtle spell, fastened insidiously upon the mind adisturbing sense of the irretrievable. The ebbing of the sea athwart thelonely sheen of flames resembled the eternal ebb-tide of time; and whenat last Lingard looked up, the knowledge of that noiseless passage ofthe waters produced on his mind a bewildering effect. For a moment thespeck of light lost in vast obscurity the brig, the boat, the hiddencoast, the Shallows, the very walls and roof of darkness--the seenand the unseen alike seemed to be gliding smoothly onward through theenormous gloom of space. Then, with a great mental effort, he broughteverything to a sudden standstill; and only the froth and bubbles wenton 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 Wasubwith an alarmed earnestness. "Look. Now it is in my mind that a praucoming from amongst the southern islands, if steered cunningly in thefree 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 isnothing to them. They are certainly valorous. Are they not born in themidst of fighting and are they not inspired by the evil of their heartseven before they can speak? And their chiefs would be leading them whileyou, 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 invictory that gives courage. And what would poor calashes do, sons
ofpeasants and fishermen, freshly caught--without knowledge? They believein your strength--and in your power--or else--Will those whites thatcame 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 andperchance 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 outnow." He punctuated his speech by slight jerks at the dinghy. "Thewaters go and at the appointed time they shall return. And if betweentheir going and coming the blood of all the men in the world were pouredinto it, the sea would not rise higher at the full by the breadth of myfinger nail."
"But the world would not be the same. You do not see that, serang. Givethe boat a good shove."
"Directly," said the old Malay and his face became impassive. "Tuanknows when it is best to go, and death sometimes retreats before a firmtread like a startled snake. Tuan should take a follower with him, nota silly youth, but one who has lived--who has a steady heart--who wouldwalk close behind watchfully--and quietly. Yes. Quietly and with quickeyes--like mine--perhaps with a weapon--I know how to strike."
Lingard looked at the wrinkled visage very near his own and into thepeering old eyes. They shone strangely. A tense eagerness was expressedin the squatting figure leaning out toward him. On the otherside, within reach of his arm, the night stood like a wall-discouraging--opaque--impenetrable. No help would avail. The darknesshe had to combat was too impalpable to be cleft by a blow--too dense tobe pierced by the eye; yet as if by some enchantment in the words thatmade this vain offer of fidelity, it became less overpowering to hissight, less crushing to his thought. He had a moment of pride whichsoothed his heart for the space of two beats. His unreasonable andmisjudged heart, shrinking before the menace of failure, expanded freelywith a sense of generous gratitude. In the threatening dimness of hisemotions this man's offer made a point of clearness, the glimmer ofa torch held aloft in the night. It was priceless, no doubt, butineffectual; too small, too far, too solitary. It did not dispel themysterious obscurity that had descended upon his fortunes so that hiseyes could no longer see the work of his hands. The sadness of defeatpervaded 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--theson of a free man, a follower of Rajahs, a fugitive, a slave, apilgrim--diver for pearls, serang of white men's ships, I have had toomany masters. Too many. You are the last." After a silence he said in analmost 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 payfor 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 ofa 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 Ishall go on this very night. But first I must bring all the white peoplehere. Push."
"Ready, Tuan? Look out!"
Wasub's body swung over the sea with extended arms. Lingard caught upthe sculls, and as the dinghy darted away from the brig's side he hada complete view of the lighted poop--Shaw leaning massively over thetaffrail in sulky dejection, the flare bearers erect and rigid, theheads along the rail, the eyes staring after him above the bulwarks. Thefore-end of the brig was wrapped in a lurid and sombre mistiness; thesullen mingling of darkness and of light; her masts pointing straight upcould be tracked by torn gleams and vanished above as if the truckshad been tall enough to pierce the heavy mass of vapours motionlessoverhead. She was beautifully precious. His loving eyes saw her floatingat rest in a wavering halo, between an invisible sky and an invisiblesea, like a miraculous craft suspended in the air. He turned hishead away as if the sight had been too much for him at the moment ofseparation, and, as soon as his little boat had passed beyond the limitof the light thrown upon the water, he perceived very low in the blackvoid of the west the stern lantern of the yacht shining feebly like astar about to set, unattainable, infinitely remote--belonging to anotheruniverse.