The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows

  III

  A slight change of expression which passed away almost directly showedthat Lingard heard the passionate cry wrung from her by the distress ofher mind. He made no sign. She perceived clearly the extreme difficultyof her position. The situation was dangerous; not so much the factsof it as the feeling of it. At times it appeared no more actual than atradition; and she thought of herself as of some woman in a ballad, whohas 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, itwas an imperative need, it was an irresistible mission. Yet she had toreflect upon the horrors of a cruel and obscure death before she couldfeel for them the pity they deserved. It was when she looked at Lingardthat her heart was wrung by an extremity of compassion. The others werepitiful, but he, the victim of his own extravagant impulses, appearedtragic, fascinating, and culpable. Lingard lifted his head. Whisperswere heard at the door and Hassim followed by Immada entered the cabin.

  Mrs. Travers looked at Lingard, because of all the faces in the cabinhis was the only one that was intelligible to her. Hassim began to speakat once, and when he ceased Immada's deep sigh was heard in the suddensilence. Then Lingard looked at Mrs. Travers and said:

  "The gentlemen are alive. Rajah Hassim here has seen them less than twohours ago, and so has the girl. They are alive and unharmed, so far. Andnow. . . ."

  He paused. Mrs. Travers, leaning on her elbow, shaded her eyes under theglint of suspended thunderbolts.

  "You must hate us," she murmured.

  "Hate you," he repeated with, as she fancied, a tinge of disdain in histone. "No. I hate myself."

  "Why yourself?" she asked, very low.

  "For not knowing my mind," he answered. "For not knowing my mind. Fornot 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 toMrs. Travers the time to wonder how it was that this man had succeededin penetrating into the very depths of her compassion, he hit the tablesuch a blow that all the heavy muskets seemed to jump a little.

  Mrs. Travers heard Hassim pronounce a few words earnestly, and a moan ofdistress 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 onhim watchfully and Immada's dark and sorrowful eyes rested on the faceof the white woman. Mrs. Travers felt as though she were engaged ina contest with them; in a struggle for the possession of that man'sstrength and of that man's devotion. When she looked up at Lingard shesaw on his face--which should have been impassive or exalted, the faceof a stern leader or the face of a pitiless dreamer--an expressionof utter forgetfulness. He seemed to be tasting the delight of someprofound and amazing sensation. And suddenly in the midst of her appealto 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--lookaway. . . ." Hassim threw one arm round the girl's neck. Her voice sank."O! Master--look at us." Hassim, drawing her to himself, covered herlips with his hand. She struggled a little like a snared bird andsubmitted, hiding her face on his shoulder, very quiet, sobbing withoutnoise.

  "What do they say to you?" asked Mrs. Travers with a faint and painedsmile. "What can they say? It is intolerable to think that their wordswhich 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 makemyself understood as well as they. And yet I speak the language of yourchildhood, the language of the man for whom there is no hope but in yourgenerosity."

  He shook his head. She gazed at him anxiously for a moment. "In yourmemories then," she said and was surprised by the expression of profoundsadness that over-spread his attentive face.

  "Do you know what I remember?" he said. "Do you want to know?" Shelistened with slightly parted lips. "I will tell you. Poverty, hardwork--and death," he went on, very quietly. "And now I've told you, andyou don't know. That's how it is between us. You talk to me--I talk toyou--and we don't know."

  Her eyelids dropped.

  "What can I find to say?" she went on. "What can I do? I mustn'tgive in. Think! Amongst your memories there must be some face--somevoice--some name, if nothing more. I can not believe that there isnothing but bitterness."

  "There's no bitterness," he murmured.

  "O! Brother, my heart is faint with fear," whispered Immada. Lingardturned 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 effortsto reach the shore, perceives that the undertow is taking him to sea. Hewould go with the mysterious current; he would go swiftly--and see theend, the fulfilment both blissful and terrible.

  With this state of exaltation in which he saw himself in someincomprehensible way always victorious, whatever might befall, there wasmingled a tenacity of purpose. He could not sacrifice his intention,the intention of years, the intention of his life; he could no morepart with it and exist than he could cut out his heart and live. Theadventurer held fast to his adventure which made him in his own sightexactly what he was.

  He considered the problem with cool audacity, backed by a belief inhis own power. It was not these two men he had to save; he had to savehimself! And looked upon in this way the situation appeared familiar.

  Hassim had told him the two white men had been taken by their captorsto Daman's camp. The young Rajah, leaving his sister in the canoe, hadlanded on the sand and had crept to the very edge of light thrown by thefires by which the Illanuns were cooking. Daman was sitting apart by alarger blaze. Two praus rode in shallow water near the sandbank; on theridge, a sentry walked watching the lights of the brig; the camp wasfull of quiet whispers. Hassim returned to his canoe, then he and hissister, paddling cautiously round the anchored praus, in which women'svoices could be heard, approached the other end of the camp. The lightof the big blaze there fell on the water and the canoe skirted itwithout a splash, keeping in the night. Hassim, landing for the secondtime, crept again close to the fires. Each prau had, according to thecustoms of the Illanun rovers when on a raiding expedition, a smallerwar-boat and these being light and manageable were hauled up on the sandnot far from the big blaze; they sat high on the shelving shore throwingheavy shadows. Hassim crept up toward the largest of them and thenstanding on tiptoe could look at the camp across the gunwales. Theconfused 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 shoreshrilly. 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 faceaddressed him earnestly and at great length. Daman sat cross-legged upona little carpet with an open Koran on his knees and chanted the versetsswaying to and fro with his eyes shut.

  The Illanun chiefs reclining wrapped in cloaks on the ground raisedthemselves on their elbows to look at the whites. When the short whiteman finished speaking he gazed down at them for a while, then stampedhis foot. He looked angry because no one understood him. Then suddenlyhe looked very sad; he covered his face with his hands; the tall man puthis hand on the short man's shoulder and whispered into his ear. The drywood of the fires crackled, the Illanun
s slept, cooked, talked, butwith their weapons at hand. An armed man or two came up to stare at theprisoners and then returned to their fire. The two whites sank down inthe sand in front of Daman. Their clothes were soiled, there was sand intheir hair. The tall man had lost his hat; the glass in the eye of theshort man glittered very much; his back was muddy and one sleeve of hiscoat torn up to the elbow.

  All this Hassim saw and then retreated undetected to that part ofthe shore where Immada waited for him, keeping the canoe afloat. TheIllanuns, trusting to the sea, kept very bad watch on their prisoners,and had he been able to speak with them Hassim thought an escape couldhave been effected. But they could not have understood his signs andstill less his words. He consulted with his sister. Immada murmuredsadly; at their feet the ripple broke with a mournful sound no louderthan their voices.

  Hassim's loyalty was unshaken, but now it led him on not in the brightlight of hopes but in the deepened shadow of doubt. He wanted to obtaininformation for his friend who was so powerful and who perhaps wouldknow how to be constant. When followed by Immada he approached the campagain--this time openly--their appearance did not excite much surprise.It was well known to the Chiefs of the Illanuns that the Rajah for whomthey were to fight--if God so willed--was upon the shoals looking outfor the coming of the white man who had much wealth and a store ofweapons and who was his servant. Daman, who alone understood the exactrelation, welcomed them with impenetrable gravity. Hassim took hisseat on the carpet at his right hand. A consultation was being heldhalf-aloud in short and apparently careless sentences, with longintervals of silence between. Immada, nestling close to her brother,leaned one arm on his shoulder and listened with serious attention andwith outward calm as became a princess of Wajo accustomed to consortwith warriors and statesmen in moments of danger and in the hours ofdeliberation. Her heart was beating rapidly, and facing her the silentwhite men stared at these two known faces, as if across a gulf.Four Illanun chiefs sat in a row. Their ample cloaks fell from theirshoulders, and lay behind them on the sand in which their four longlances were planted upright, each supporting a small oblong shield ofwood, carved on the edges and stained a dull purple. Daman stretched outhis arm and pointed at the prisoners. The faces of the white men werevery quiet. Daman looked at them mutely and ardently, as if consumed byan unspeakable longing.

  The Koran, in a silk cover, hung on his breast by a crimson cord. Itrested over his heart and, just below, the plain buffalo-horn handle ofa kris, stuck into the twist of his sarong, protruded ready to his hand.The clouds thickening over the camp made the darkness press heavily onthe glow of scattered fires. "There is blood between me and the whites,"he pronounced, violently. The Illanun chiefs remained impassive. Therewas blood between them and all mankind. Hassim remarked dispassionatelythat there was one white man with whom it would be wise to remainfriendly; and besides, was not Daman his friend already? Daman smiledwith half-closed eyes. He was that white man's friend, not his slave.The Illanuns playing with their sword-handles grunted assent. Why, askedDaman, did these strange whites travel so far from their country? Thegreat white man whom they all knew did not want them. No one wantedthem. Evil would follow in their footsteps. They were such men as aresent by rulers to examine the aspects of far-off countries and talk ofpeace and make treaties. Such is the beginning of great sorrows. TheIllanuns 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 hadcome to see? Was there nothing to look at in their own country?

  He talked in an ironic and subdued tone. The scattered heaps of embersglowed a deeper red; the big blaze of the chief's fire sank low andgrew dim before he ceased. Straight-limbed figures rose, sank, moved,whispered on the beach. Here and there a spear-blade caught a red gleamabove the black shape of a head.

  "The Illanuns seek booty on the sea," cried Daman. "Their fathers andthe fathers of their fathers have done the same, being fearless likethose who embrace death closely."

  A low laugh was heard. "We strike and go," said an exulting voice. "Welive and die with our weapons in our hands." The Illanuns leaped totheir feet. They stamped on the sand, flourishing naked blades over theheads of their prisoners. A tumult arose.

  When it subsided Daman stood up in a cloak that wrapped him to his feetand spoke again giving advice.

  The white men sat on the sand and turned their eyes from face to faceas if trying to understand. It was agreed to send the prisoners into thelagoon where their fate would be decided by the ruler of the land. TheIllanuns only wanted to plunder the ship. They did not care what becameof the men. "But Daman cares," remarked Hassim to Lingard, when relatingwhat took place. "He cares, O Tuan!"

  Hassim had learned also that the Settlement was in a state of unrestas if on the eve of war. Belarab with his followers was encamped by hisfather's tomb in the hollow beyond the cultivated fields. His stockadewas 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 cookingfires. Tengga's followers meantime swaggered about the Settlementbehaving tyrannically to those who were peaceable. A great madness haddescended upon the people, a madness strong as the madness of love, themadness of battle, the desire to spill blood. A strange fear also hadmade them wild. The big smoke seen that morning above the forests ofthe coast was some agreed signal from Tengga to Daman but what it meantHassim 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 thecaptives into the lagoon, he and his sister left the camp quietly andgot away in their canoe. The flares of the brig, reflected in a faintloom upon the clouds, enabled them to make straight for the vesselacross the banks. Before they had gone half way these flames went outand the darkness seemed denser than any he had known before. But it wasno greater than the darkness of his mind--he added. He had looked uponthe white men sitting unmoved and silent under the edge of swords; hehad looked at Daman, he had heard bitter words spoken; he was lookingnow at his white friend--and the issue of events he could not see. Onecan 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 truein every word.