II
An ingeniously constructed framework of light posts and thin lathsoccupied the greater part of the deck amidships of the Emma. The fourwalls of that airy structure were made of muslin. It was comparativelylofty. A door-like arrangement of light battens filled with calicowas further protected by a system of curtains calculated to baffle thepursuit of mosquitoes that haunted the shores of the lagoon in greatsinging clouds from sunset till sunrise. A lot of fine mats coveredthe deck space within the transparent shelter devised by Lingard andJorgenson to make Mrs. Travers' existence possible during the time whenthe fate of the two men, and indeed probably of everybody else on boardthe Emma, had to hang in the balance. Very soon Lingard's unbidden andfatal guests had learned the trick of stepping in and out of the placequickly. Mr. d'Alcacer performed the feat without apparent haste, almostnonchalantly, yet as well as anybody. It was generally conceded that hehad never let a mosquito in together with himself. Mr. Travers dodged inand out without grace and was obviously much irritated at the necessity.Mrs. Travers did it in a manner all her own, with marked clevernessand an unconscious air. There was an improvised table in there and somewicker armchairs which Jorgenson had produced from somewhere in thedepths of the ship. It was hard to say what the inside of the Emmadid not contain. It was crammed with all sorts of goods like a generalstore. That old hulk was the arsenal and the war-chest of Lingard'spolitical action; she was stocked with muskets and gunpowder, with balesof longcloth, of cotton prints, of silks; with bags of rice and currencybrass guns. She contained everything necessary for dealing death anddistributing 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 enemiesof the cause. She held wealth and power in her flanks, that groundedship that would swim no more, without masts and with the best partof her deck cumbered by the two structures of thin boards and oftransparent muslin.
Within the latter lived the Europeans, visible in the daytime to the fewMalays on board as if through a white haze. In the evening the lightingof the hurricane lamps inside turned them into dark phantoms surroundedby a shining mist, against which the insect world rushing in itsmillions out of the forest on the bank was baffled mysteriously in itsassault. Rigidly enclosed by transparent walls, like captives ofan enchanted cobweb, they moved about, sat, gesticulated, conversedpublicly during the day; and at night when all the lanterns but one wereextinguished, their slumbering shapes covered all over by white cottonsheets 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 netwhich everybody called the "Cage" without any humorous intention. Atmeal times the party from the yacht had the company of Lingard whoattached to this ordeal a sense of duty performed at the altar ofcivility and conciliation. He could have no conception how much hispresence added to the exasperation of Mr. Travers because Mr. Travers'manner was too intensely consistent to present any shades. It wasdetermined by an ineradicable conviction that he was a victim held toransom on some incomprehensible terms by an extraordinary and outrageousbandit. This conviction, strung to the highest pitch, never left him fora moment, being the object of indignant meditation to his mind, and evenclinging, as it were, to his very body. It lurked in his eyes, in hisgestures, in his ungracious mutters, and in his sinister silences. Theshock to his moral being had ended by affecting Mr. Travers' physicalmachine. He was aware of hepatic pains, suffered from accesses ofsomnolence and suppressed gusts of fury which frightened him secretly.His complexion had acquired a yellow tinge, while his heavy eyes hadbecome bloodshot because of the smoke of the open wood fires duringhis three days' detention inside Belarab's stockade. His eyes had beenalways very sensitive to outward conditions. D'Alcacer's fine black eyeswere more enduring and his appearance did not differ very much from hisordinary appearance on board the yacht. He had accepted with smilingthanks the offer of a thin blue flannel tunic from Jorgenson. Those twomen were much of the same build, though of course d'Alcacer, quietlyalive and spiritually watchful, did not resemble Jorgenson, who, withoutbeing exactly macabre, behaved more like an indifferent but restlesscorpse. Those two could not be said to have ever conversed together.Conversation with Jorgenson was an impossible thing. Even Lingard neverattempted the feat. He propounded questions to Jorgenson much as amagician would interrogate an evoked shade, or gave him curt directionsas one would make use of some marvellous automaton. And that wasapparently the way in which Jorgenson preferred to be treated. Lingard'sreal company on board the Emma was d'Alcacer. D'Alcacer had met Lingardon the easy terms of a man accustomed all his life to good society inwhich the very affectations must be carried on without effort. Whetheraffectation, or nature, or inspired discretion, d'Alcacer never let theslightest curiosity pierce the smoothness of his level, grave courtesylightened frequently by slight smiles which often had not muchconnection with the words he uttered, except that somehow they made themsound kindly and as it were tactful. In their character, however, thosewords were strictly neutral.
The only time when Lingard had detected something of a deepercomprehension in d'Alcacer was the day after the long negotiationsinside Belarab's stockade for the temporary surrender of the prisoners.That move had been suggested to him, exactly as Mrs. Travers had toldher husband, by the rivalries of the parties and the state of publicopinion in the Settlement deprived of the presence of the man who,theoretically at least, was the greatest power and the visible rulerof the Shore of Refuge. Belarab still lingered at his father's tomb.Whether that man of the embittered and pacific heart had withdrawn thereto meditate upon the unruliness of mankind and the thankless nature ofhis task; or whether he had gone there simply to bathe in a particularlyclear pool which was a feature of the place, give himself up to theenjoyment of a certain fruit which grew in profusion there and indulgefor a time in a scrupulous performance of religious exercises, hisabsence from the Settlement was a fact of the utmost gravity. It is truethat the prestige of a long-unquestioned rulership and the long-settledmental habits of the people had caused the captives to be taken straightto Belarab's stockade as a matter of course. Belarab, at a distance,could still outweigh the power on the spot of Tengga, whose secretpurposes were no better known, who was jovial, talkative, outspoken andpugnacious; but who was not a professed servant of God famed for manycharities and a scrupulous performance of pious practices, and who alsohad no father who had achieved a local saintship. But Belarab, withhis glamour of asceticism and melancholy together with a reputation forseverity (for a man so pious would be naturally ruthless), was not onthe spot. The only favourable point in his absence was the fact thathe had taken with him his latest wife, the same lady whom Jorgenson hadmentioned in his letter to Lingard as anxious to bring about battle,murder, and the looting of the yacht, not because of inborn wickednessof heart but from a simple desire for silks, jewels and other objectsof personal adornment, quite natural in a girl so young and elevated tosuch a high position. Belarab had selected her to be the companion ofhis retirement and Lingard was glad of it. He was not afraid of herinfluence over Belarab. He knew his man. No words, no blandishments, nosulks, scoldings, or whisperings of a favourite could affect either theresolves or the irresolutions of that Arab whose action ever seemedto hang in mystic suspense between the contradictory speculations andjudgments disputing the possession of his will. It was not what Belarabwould either suddenly do or leisurely determine upon that Lingard wasafraid of. The danger was that in his taciturn hesitation, which hadsomething hopelessly godlike in its remote calmness, the man would donothing and leave his white friend face to face with unruly impulsesagainst which Lingard had no means of action but force which he darednot use since it would mean the destruction of his plans and thedownfall of his hopes; and worse still would wear an aspect of treacheryto Hassim and Immada, those fugitives whom he had snatched away fromthe jaws of death on a night of storm and had promised to lead backin triumph to their own country he had se
en but once, sleeping unmovedunder the wrath and fire of heaven.
On the afternoon of the very day he had arrived with her on board theEmma--to the infinite disgust of Jorgenson--Lingard held with Mrs.Travers (after she had had a couple of hours' rest) a long, fiery, andperplexed conversation. From the nature of the problem it could not beexhaustive; but toward the end of it they were both feeling thoroughlyexhausted. Mrs. Travers had no longer to be instructed as to facts andpossibilities. She was aware of them only too well and it was not herpart 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 watchingthe passionate conflict within the man who was both so desperatelyreckless and so rigidly restrained in the very ardour of his heart andthe greatness of his soul. It was a spectacle that made her forgetthe actual questions at issue. This was no stage play; and yet she hadcaught herself looking at him with bated breath as at a great actor on adarkened stage in some simple and tremendous drama. He extorted from hera response to the forces that seemed to tear at his single-mindedbrain, at his guileless breast. He shook her with his own struggles, hepossessed her with his emotions and imposed his personality as if itstragedy were the only thing worth considering in this matter. Andyet what had she to do with all those obscure and barbarous things?Obviously nothing. Unluckily she had been taken into the confidence ofthat man's passionate perplexity, a confidence provoked apparently bynothing but the power of her personality. She was flattered, and evenmore, she was touched by it; she was aware of something that resembledgratitude and provoked a sort of emotional return as between equals whohad secretly recognized each other's value. Yet at the same time sheregretted 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 impossibleto say how much precise, unaccountable, intuitive knowledge was buriedunder his unruffled manner.
D'Alcacer was the sort of man whom it would be much easier to suspectof anything in the world than ignorance--or stupidity. Naturally hecouldn't know anything definite or even guess at the bare outline of thefacts but somehow he must have scented the situation in those few daysof contact with Lingard. He was an acute and sympathetic observer in allhis secret aloofness from the life of men which was so very differentfrom Jorgenson's secret divorce from the passions of this earth. Mrs.Travers would have liked to share with d'Alcacer the burden (for itwas a burden) of Lingard's story. After all, she had not provoked thoseconfidences, neither had that unexpected adventurer from the sea laid onher an obligation of secrecy. No, not even by implication. He had neversaid to her that she was the _only_ person whom he wished to know thatstory.
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 drawit from him. That was the sense and nothing more. Yes, it would havebeen a relief to tell d'Alcacer. It would have been a relief to herfeeling of being shut off from the world alone with Lingard as if withinthe four walls of a romantic palace and in an exotic atmosphere. Yes,that relief and also another: that of sharing the responsibility withsomebody fit to understand. Yet she shrank from it, with unaccountablereserve, as if by talking of Lingard with d'Alcacer she was bound togive him an insight into herself. It was a vague uneasiness and yet sopersistent that she felt it, too, when she had to approach and talk toLingard under d'Alcacer's eyes. Not that Mr. d'Alcacer would ever dreamof staring or even casting glances. But was he averting his eyes onpurpose? That would be even more offensive.
"I am stupid," whispered Mrs. Travers to herself, with a complete andreassuring conviction. Yet she waited motionless till the footsteps ofthe 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 herhusband. As if in intended contrast to the conflicts of men a greataspect of serenity lay upon all visible things. Mr. Travers had goneinside the Cage in which he really looked like a captive and thoroughlyout of place. D'Alcacer had gone in there, too, but he preserved--or wasit an illusion?--an air of independence. It was not that he put iton. Like Mr. Travers he sat in a wicker armchair in very much the sameattitude as the other gentleman and also silent; but there was somewherea subtle difference which did away with the notion of captivity.Moreover, d'Alcacer had that peculiar gift of never looking out of placein any surroundings. Mrs. Travers, in order to save her European bootsfor active service, had been persuaded to use a pair of leather sandalsalso extracted from that seaman's chest in the deckhouse. An additionalfastening had been put on them but she could not avoid making a delicateclatter as she walked on the deck. No part of her costume made her feelso exotic. It also forced her to alter her usual gait and move withquick, 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 suchhigh rank would never dream of wearing anything that had been worn bysomebody else.
At the slight noise of Mrs. Travers' sandals d'Alcacer looked over theback 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 herhand, looked across the calm surface of the lagoon, idly.
She was turning her back on the Cage, the fore-part of the deck andthe edge of the nearest forest. That great erection of enormous solidtrunks, dark, rugged columns festooned with writhing creepers andsteeped in gloom, was so close to the bank that by looking over theside of the ship she could see inverted in the glassy belt of waterits massive and black reflection on the reflected sky that gave theimpression of a clear blue abyss seen through a transparent film. Andwhen she raised her eyes the same abysmal immobility seemed to reignover the whole sun-bathed enlargement of that lagoon which was one ofthe secret places of the earth. She felt strongly her isolation. She wasso much the only being of her kind moving within this mystery that evento herself she looked like an apparition without rights and withoutdefence and that must end by surrendering to those forces which seemedto her but the expression of the unconscious genius of the place. Herswas 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 todistinguish above all others on that deck were heard suddenly behindher. She did not turn her head.
Since that afternoon when the gentlemen, as Lingard called them, hadbeen brought on board, Mrs. Travers and Lingard had not exchanged onesignificant word.
When Lingard had decided to proceed by way of negotiation she had askedhim on what he based his hope of success; and he had answered her: "Onmy luck." What he really depended on was his prestige; but even if hehad been aware of such a word he would not have used it, since it wouldhave sounded like a boast. And, besides, he did really believe in hisluck. 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 saidso 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 themacross 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 intohis strong open palm on which an expert in palmistry could havedistinguished other lines than the line of luck. Lingard's hand closedon hers with a gentle pressure. She looked at him, speechless. He waitedfor a moment, then in an unconsciously tender voice he said: "Well, wishme luck then."
She remained silent. And he still holding her hand looked surprised ather hesitation. It seemed to her that she could not let him go, and shedidn't know what to say till it occurred to her to make use of the powershe knew she had over him. She would try it again. "I am coming withyou," she declared with decision. "You don't suppose I could remain herein suspense for hours, perhaps."
He dropped her hand suddenly as if it had burnt h
im--"Oh, yes, ofcourse," he mumbled with an air of confusion. One of the men over therewas her husband! And nothing less could be expected from such a woman.He had really nothing to say but she thought he hesitated.--"Do youthink my presence would spoil everything? I assure you I am a luckyperson, too, in a way. . . . As lucky as you, at least," she had addedin 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 havingfound 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 hebowed his head. After all, if things came to the worst, she would be assafe between him and Jorgenson as left alone on board the Emma witha few Malay spearmen for all defence. For a moment Lingard thoughtof picking up the pistols he had taken out of his belt preparatory tojoining Jorgenson in the boat, thinking it would be better to go to abig talk completely unarmed. They were lying on the rail but he didn'tpick them up. Four shots didn't matter. They could not matter if theworld of his creation were to go to pieces. He said nothing of that toMrs. Travers but busied himself in giving her the means to alter herpersonal appearance. It was then that the sea-chest in the deckhousewas opened for the first time before the interested Mrs. Travers who hadfollowed him inside. Lingard handed to her a Malay woman's light cottoncoat with jewelled clasps to put over her European dress. It coveredhalf of her yachting skirt. Mrs. Travers obeyed him without comment. Hepulled out a long and wide scarf of white silk embroidered heavily onthe edges and ends, and begged her to put it over her head and arrangethe ends so as to muffle her face, leaving little more than her eyesexposed to view.--"We are going amongst a lot of Mohammedans," heexplained.--"I see. You want me to look respectable," she jested.--"Iassure you, Mrs. Travers," he protested, earnestly, "that most of thepeople there and certainly all the great men have never seen a whitewoman in their lives. But perhaps you would like better one of thoseother scarves? There are three in there."--"No, I like this one wellenough. They are all very gorgeous. I see that the Princess is to besent back to her land with all possible splendour. What a thoughtful manyou 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 intothe boat where the Malays stared in silence while Jorgenson, stiff andangular, gave no sign of life, not even so much as a movement of theeyes. Lingard settled her in the stern sheets and sat down by her side.The ardent sunshine devoured all colours. The boat swam forward on theglare heading for the strip of coral beach dazzling like a crescent ofmetal raised to a white heat. They landed. Gravely, Jorgenson openedabove Mrs. Travers' head a big white cotton parasol and she advancedbetween the two men, dazed, as if in a dream and having no other contactwith the earth but through the soles of her feet. Everything was still,empty, incandescent, and fantastic. Then when the gate of the stockadewas thrown open she perceived an expectant and still multitude of bronzefigures draped in coloured stuffs. They crowded the patches of shadeunder the three lofty forest trees left within the enclosure between thesun-smitten empty spaces of hard-baked ground. The broad blades of thespears decorated with crimson tufts of horsehair had a cool gleam underthe outspread boughs. To the left a group of buildings on piles withlong verandahs and immense roofs towered high in the air above theheads of the crowd, and seemed to float in the glare, looking much lesssubstantial than their heavy shadows. Lingard, pointing to one of thesmallest, said in an undertone, "I lived there for a fortnight when Ifirst came to see Belarab"; and Mrs. Travers felt more than ever as ifwalking in a dream when she perceived beyond the rails of its verandahand visible from head to foot two figures in an armour of chain mailwith pointed steel helmets crested with white and black feathers andguarding the closed door. A high bench draped in turkey cloth stoodin 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 satdown between them the whole throng before her eyes sank to the groundwith one accord disclosing in the distance of the courtyard a lonelyfigure leaning against the smooth trunk of a tree. A white cloth wasfastened round his head by a yellow cord. Its pointed ends fell onhis shoulders, framing a thin dark face with large eyes, a silk cloakstriped black and white fell to his feet, and in the distance he lookedaloof and mysterious in his erect and careless attitude suggestingassurance and power.
Lingard, bending slightly, whispered into Mrs. Travers' ear that thatman, apart and dominating the scene, was Daman, the supreme leader ofthe Illanuns, the one who had ordered the capture of those gentlemen inorder perhaps to force his hand. The two barbarous, half-naked figurescovered with ornaments and charms, squatting at his feet with theirheads enfolded in crimson and gold handkerchiefs and with straightswords lying across their knees, were the Pangerans who carried out theorder, and had brought the captives into the lagoon. But the two men inchain armour on watch outside the door of the small house were Belarab'stwo particular body-guards, who got themselves up in that way only onvery great occasions. They were the outward and visible sign that theprisoners were in Belarab's keeping, and this was good, so far. The pitywas that the Great Chief himself was not there. Then Lingard assumed aformal pose and Mrs. Travers stared into the great courtyard and withrows and rows of faces ranged on the ground at her feet felt a littlegiddy for a moment.
Every movement had died in the crowd. Even the eyes were still under thevariegated mass of coloured headkerchiefs: while beyond the open gate anoble palm tree looked intensely black against the glitter of the lagoonand the pale incandescence of the sky. Mrs. Travers gazing that waywondered at the absence of Hassim and Immada. But the girl might havebeen somewhere within one of the houses with the ladies of Belarab'sstockade. Then suddenly Mrs. Travers became aware that another benchhad been brought out and was already occupied by five men dressed ingorgeous silks, and embroidered velvets, round-faced and grave. Theirhands reposed on their knees; but one amongst them clad in a white robeand with a large nearly black turban on his head leaned forward a littlewith his chin in his hand. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes remainedfixed on the ground as if to avoid looking at the infidel woman.
She became aware suddenly of a soft murmur, and glancing at Lingardshe saw him in an attitude of impassive attention. The momentousnegotiations had begun, and it went on like this in low undertones withlong pauses and in the immobility of all the attendants squatting on theground, with the distant figure of Daman far off in the shade toweringover all the assembly. But in him, too, Mrs. Travers could not detectthe slightest movement while the slightly modulated murmurs went onenveloping her in a feeling of peace.
The fact that she couldn't understand anything of what was said soothedher apprehensions. Sometimes a silence fell and Lingard bending towardher would whisper, "It isn't so easy," and the stillness would be soperfect that she would hear the flutter of a pigeon's wing somewherehigh up in the great overshadowing trees. And suddenly one of the menbefore her without moving a limb would begin another speech renderedmore mysterious still by the total absence of action or play of feature.Only the watchfulness of the eyes which showed that the speaker wasnot communing with himself made it clear that this was not a spokenmeditation but a flow of argument directed to Lingard who now and thenuttered a few words either with a grave or a smiling expression. Theywere always followed by murmurs which seemed mostly to her to conveyassent; and then a reflective silence would reign again and theimmobility of the crowd would appear more perfect than before.
When Lingard whispered to her that it was now his turn to make aspeech Mrs. Travers expected him to get up and assert himself by somecommanding gesture. But he did not. He remained seated, only his voicehad a vibrating quality though he obviously tried to restrain it, andit travelled masterfully far into the silence. He spoke for a long timewhile the sun climbing the unstained sky shifted the diminished shadowsof the trees, pouring on the heads of men its heat through the
thick andmotionless foliage. Whenever murmurs arose he would stop and glancingfearlessly at the assembly, wait till they subsided. Once or twice, theyrose to a loud hum and Mrs. Travers could hear on the other side of herJorgenson muttering something in his moustache. Beyond the rows of headsDaman under the tree had folded his arms on his breast. The edge ofthe white cloth concealed his forehead and at his feet the two Illanunchiefs, half naked and bedecked with charms and ornaments of brightfeathers, of shells, with necklaces of teeth, claws, and shining beads,remained cross-legged with their swords across their knees like twobronze idols. Even the plumes of their head-dresses stirred not.
"Sudah! It is finished!" A movement passed along all the heads, theseated bodies swayed to and fro. Lingard had ceased speaking. Heremained seated for a moment looking his audience all over and when hestood up together with Mrs. Travers and Jorgenson the whole assemblyrose from the ground together and lost its ordered formation. Someof Belarab's retainers, young broad-faced fellows, wearing a sort ofuniform of check-patterned sarongs, black silk jackets and crimsonskull-caps set at a rakish angle, swaggered through the broken groupsand ranged themselves in two rows before the motionless Daman and hisIllanun chiefs in martial array. The members of the council who hadleft their bench approached the white people with gentle smilesand deferential movements of the hands. Their bearing was faintlypropitiatory; 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 verydifficult?" she asked.--"No," he said, conscious in his heart that hehad strained to the fullest extent the prestige of his good name andthat habit of deference to his slightest wish established by the glamourof his wealth and the fear of his personality in this great talk whichafter all had done nothing except put off the decisive hour. He offeredMrs. Travers his arm ready to lead her away, but at the last moment didnot move.
With an authoritative gesture Daman had parted the ranks of Belarab'syoung followers with the red skullcaps and was seen advancing toward thewhites striking into an astonished silence all the scattered groups inthe courtyard. But the broken ranks had closed behind him. The Illanunchiefs, for all their truculent aspect, were much too prudent to attemptto move. They had not needed for that the faint warning murmur fromDaman. He advanced alone. The plain hilt of a sword protruded from theopen edges of his cloak. The parted edges disclosed also the butts oftwo flintlock pistols. The Koran in a velvet case hung on his breast bya red cord of silk. He was pious, magnificent, and warlike, with calmmovements and a straight glance from under the hem of the simple pieceof linen covering his head. He carried himself rigidly and his bearinghad a sort of solemn modesty. Lingard said hurriedly to Mrs. Traversthat the man had met white people before and that, should he attempt toshake hands with her, she ought to offer her own covered with the endof her scarf.--"Why?" she asked. "Propriety?"--"Yes, it will be better,"said Lingard and the next moment Mrs. Travers felt her enveloped handpressed gently by slender dark fingers and felt extremely Orientalherself when, with her face muffled to the eyes, she encountered thelustrous black stare of the sea-robbers' leader. It was only for aninstant, because Daman turned away at once to shake hands with Lingard.In the straight, ample folds of his robes he looked very slender facingthe robust white man.
"Great is your power," he said, in a pleasant voice. "The white men aregoing to be delivered to you."
"Yes, they pass into my keeping," said Lingard, returning the other'sbright smile but otherwise looking grim enough with the frown whichhad settled on his forehead at Daman's approach. He glanced over hisshoulder at a group of spearmen escorting the two captives who had comedown the steps from the hut. At the sight of Daman barring as it wereLingard's way they had stopped at some distance and had closed round thetwo white men. Daman also glanced dispassionately that way.
"They were my guests," he murmured. "Please God I shall come soon to askyou 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 onlyto quarrel. Would you have preferred to see them pass into Tengga'skeeping?"
"Tengga is fat and full of wiles," said Daman, disdainfully, "a mereshopkeeper smitten by a desire to be a chief. He is nothing. But you andI are men that have real power. Yet there is a truth that you and I canconfess 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, andtheir thoughts not to be trusted. You are a great chief they say. Do notforget 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 aneffect that startled Mrs. Travers.--"Yes. But do you see?" Mrs. Travers,her hand resting lightly on Lingard's arm, had the sensation of actingin a gorgeously got up play on the brilliantly lighted stage of anexotic opera whose accompaniment was not music but the varied strainsof the all-pervading silence.--"Yes, I see," Lingard replied with asurprisingly confidential intonation. "But power, too, is in the handsof a great leader."
Mrs. Travers watched the faint movements of Daman's nostrils as thoughthe man were suffering from some powerful emotion, while under herfingers Lingard's forearm in its white sleeve was as steady as a limb ofmarble. Without looking at him she seemed to feel that with one movementhe could crush that nervous figure in which lived the breath of thegreat desert haunted by his nomad, camel-riding ancestors.--"Power isin the hand of God," he said, all animation dying out of his face, andpaused to wait for Lingard's "Very true," then continued with a finesmile, "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 againstthem in your heart."
The low exclamation, "Against those!" and a slight dismissing gestureof a meagre dark hand out of the folds of the cloak were almostunderstandable to Mrs. Travers in the perfection of their melancholycontempt, and gave Lingard a further insight into the character ofthe ally secured to him by the diplomacy of Belarab. He was only halfreassured by this assumption of superior detachment. He trusted to theman's self-interest more; for Daman no doubt looked to the reconqueredkingdom for the reward of dignity and ease. His father and grandfather(the men of whom Jorgenson had written as having been hanged for anexample twelve years before) had been friends of Sultans, advisers ofRulers, wealthy financiers of the great raiding expeditions of thepast. It was hatred that had turned Daman into a self-made outcast,till Belarab's diplomacy had drawn him out from some obscure and uneasyretreat.
In a few words Lingard assured Daman of the complete safety of hisfollowers as long as they themselves made no attempt to get possessionof the stranded yacht. Lingard understood very well that the capture ofTravers and d'Alcacer was the result of a sudden fear, a move directedby Daman to secure his own safety. The sight of the stranded yacht shookhis confidence completely. It was as if the secrets of the place hadbeen betrayed. After all, it was perhaps a great folly to trust anywhite 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 brigappeared to him a formidable engine of war. He did not know what tothink and the motive for getting hold of the two white men was reallythe wish to secure hostages. Distrusting the fierce impulses of hisfollowers he had hastened to put them into Belarab's keeping. Buteverything in the Settlement seemed to him suspicious: Belarab'sabsence, Jorgenson's refusal to make over at once the promised supplyof arms and ammunition. And now that white man had by the power of hisspeech got them away from Belarab's people. So much influence filledDaman with wonder and awe. A recluse for many years in the most obscurecorner of the Archipelago he felt himself surrounded by intrigues. Butthe alliance was a great thing, too. He did not want to quarrel. He wasquite will
ing for the time being to accept Lingard's assurance that noharm should befall his people encamped on the sandbanks. Attentive andslight, he seemed to let Lingard's deliberate words sink into him. Theforce of that unarmed big man seemed overwhelming. He bowed his headslowly.
"Allah is our refuge," he murmured, accepting the inevitable.
He delighted Mrs. Travers not as a living being but like a cleversketch in colours, a vivid rendering of an artist's vision of some soul,delicate and fierce. His bright half-smile was extraordinary, sharp likeclear steel, painfully penetrating. Glancing right and left Mrs. Traverssaw the whole courtyard smitten by the desolating fury of sunshine andpeopled with shadows, their forms and colours fading in the violence ofthe light. The very brown tones of roof and wall dazzled the eye. ThenDaman stepped aside. He was no longer smiling and Mrs. Travers advancedwith her hand on Lingard's arm through a heat so potent that it seemedto have a taste, a feel, a smell of its own. She moved on as if floatingin it with Lingard's support.
"Where are they?" she asked.
"They are following us all right," he answered. Lingard was so certainthat the prisoners would be delivered to him on the beach that he neverglanced back till, after reaching the boat, he and Mrs. Travers turnedabout.
The group of spearmen parted right and left, and Mr. Travers andd'Alcacer walked forward alone looking unreal and odd like their ownday-ghosts. Mr. Travers gave no sign of being aware of his wife'spresence. It was certainly a shock to him. But d'Alcacer advancedsmiling, as if the beach were a drawing room.
With a very few paddlers the heavy old European-built boat movedslowly over the water that seemed as pale and blazing as the sky above.Jorgenson had perched himself in the bow. The other four white peoplesat 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. Nothingis finished. You are out on my bare word."
While Lingard was speaking Mr. Travers turned his face away butd'Alcacer listened courteously. Not another word was spoken for the restof the way. The two gentlemen went up the ship's side first. Lingardremained to help Mrs. Travers at the foot of the ladder. She pressed hishand 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. Itwas as if she had said nothing. Then he whispered, admiringly, "Youunderstand everything."
She moved her eyes away and had to disengage her hand to which he clungfor a moment, giddy, like a man falling out of the world.