V
The very day that Travers and d'Alcacer had come on board the EmmaHassim and Immada had departed on their mission; for Lingard, of course,could not think of leaving the white people alone with Jorgenson.Jorgenson was all right, but his ineradicable habit of muttering in hismoustache about "throwing a lighted match amongst the powder barrels"had inspired Lingard with a certain amount of mistrust. And, moreover,he did not want to go away from Mrs. Travers.
It was the only correct inspiration on Carter's part to send Jaffir withhis report to Lingard. That stout-hearted fighter, swimmer, and devotedfollower of the princely misfortunes of Hassim and Immada, had lookedupon his mission to catch the chief officer of the yacht (which he hadreceived from Lingard in Carimata) as a trifling job. It took him alittle longer than he expected but he had got back to the brig just intime to be sent on to Lingard with Carter's letter after a couple ofhours' rest. He had the story of all the happenings from Wasub before heleft and though his face preserved its grave impassivity, in his hearthe did not like it at all.
Fearless and wily, Jaffir was the man for difficult missions and a bornmessenger--as he expressed it himself--"to bear weighty words betweengreat men." With his unfailing memory he was able to reproduce themexactly, whether soft or hard, in council or in private; for he knew nofear. With him there was no need for writing which might fall into thehands of the enemy. If he died on the way the message would die withhim. He had also the gift of getting at the sense of any situationand an observant eye. He was distinctly one of those men from whomtrustworthy information can be obtained by the leaders of greatenterprises. Lingard did put several questions to him, but in thisinstance, of course, Jaffir could have only very little to say. OfCarter, whom he called the "young one," he said that he looked as whitemen look when they are pleased with themselves; then added withoutwaiting for a definite question--"The ships out there are now safeenough, O, Rajah Laut!" There was no elation in his tone.
Lingard looked at him blankly. When the Greatest of White Men remarkedthat there was yet a price to be paid for that safety, Jaffir assentedby a "Yes, by Allah!" without losing for a moment his grim composure.When told that he would be required to go and find his master andthe lady Immada who were somewhere in the back country, in Belarab'stravelling camp, he declared himself ready to proceed at once. He hadeaten his fill and had slept three hours on board the brig and he wasnot tired. When he was young he used to get tired sometimes; but formany years now he had known no such weakness. He did not require theboat with paddlers in which he had come up into the lagoon. He would goalone in a small canoe. This was no time, he remarked, for publicity andostentation. His pent-up anxiety burst through his lips. "It is in mymind, Tuan, that death has not been so near them since that night whenyou came sailing in a black cloud and took us all out of the stockade."
Lingard said nothing but there was in Jaffir a faith in that white manwhich was not easily shaken.
"How are you going to save them this time, O Rajah Laut?" he asked,simply.
"Belarab is my friend," murmured Lingard.
In his anxiety Jaffir was very outspoken. "A man of peace!" he exclaimedin a low tone. "Who could be safe with a man like that?" he asked,contemptuously.
"There is no war," said Lingard
"There is suspicion, dread, and revenge, and the anger of armed men,"retorted Jaffir. "You have taken the white prisoners out of their handsby the force of your words alone. Is that so, Tuan?"
"Yes," said Lingard.
"And you have them on board here?" asked Jaffir, with a glance over hisshoulder at the white and misty structure within which by the light of asmall oil flame d'Alcacer and Mrs. Travers were just then conversing.
"Yes, I have them here."
"Then, Rajah Laut," whispered Jaffir, "you can make all safe by givingthem back."
"Can I do that?" were the words breathed out through Lingard's lips tothe faithful follower of Hassim and Immada.
"Can you do anything else?" was the whispered retort of Jaffir themessenger accustomed to speak frankly to the great of the earth. "Youare a white man and you can have only one word. And now I go."
A small, rough dug-out belonging to the Emma had been brought round tothe ladder. A shadowy calash hovering respectfully in the darkness ofthe deck had already cleared his throat twice in a warning manner.
"Yes, Jaffir, go," said Lingard, "and be my friend."
"I am the friend of a great prince," said the other, sturdily. "But you,Rajah Laut, were even greater. And great you will remain while you arewith us, people of this sea and of this land. But what becomes of thestrength of your arms before your own white people? Where does it go to,I say? Well, then, we must trust in the strength of your heart."
"I hope that will never fail," said Lingard, and Jaffir emitted a gruntof satisfaction. "But God alone sees into men's hearts."
"Yes. Our refuge is with Allah," assented Jaffir, who had acquiredthe habit of pious turns of speech in the frequentation of professedlyreligious men, of whom there were many in Belarab's stockade. As amatter of fact, he reposed all his trust in Lingard who had with himthe prestige of a providential man sent at the hour of need by heavenitself. He waited a while, then: "What is the message I am to take?" heasked.
"Tell the whole tale to the Rajah Hassim," said Lingard. "And tell himto make his way here with the lady his sister secretly and with speed.The time of great trouble has come. Let us, at least, be together."
"Right! Right!" Jaffir approved, heartily. "To die alone under theweight of one's enemies is a dreadful fate."
He stepped back out of the sheen of the lamp by which they had beentalking and making his way down into the small canoe he took up a paddleand without a splash vanished on the dark lagoon.
It was then that Mrs. Travers and d'Alcacer heard Lingard call aloud forJorgenson. Instantly the familiar shadow stood at Lingard's elbow andlistened in detached silence. Only at the end of the tale it marvelledaudibly: "Here's a mess for you if you like." But really nothing in theworld could astonish or startle old Jorgenson. He turned away mutteringin his moustache. Lingard remained with his chin in his hand andJaffir's last words took gradual possession of his mind. Then brusquelyhe picked up the lamp and went to seek Mrs. Travers. He went to seek herbecause he actually needed her bodily presence, the sound of her voice,the dark, clear glance of her eyes. She could do nothing for him. Onhis way he became aware that Jorgenson had turned out the few Malayson board the Emma and was disposing them about the decks to watchthe lagoon in all directions. On calling Mrs. Travers out of the CageLingard was, in the midst of his mental struggle, conscious of a certainsatisfaction in taking her away from d'Alcacer. He couldn't spare any ofher attention to any other man, not the least crumb of her time, notthe least particle of her thought! He needed it all. To see it withdrawnfrom him for the merest instant was irritating--seemed a disaster.
D'Alcacer, left alone, wondered at the imperious tone of Lingard's call.To this observer of shades the fact seemed considerable. "Sheer nerves,"he concluded, to himself. "The man is overstrung. He must have had somesort of shock." But what could it be--he wondered to himself. In thetense stagnation of those days of waiting the slightest tremor had anenormous importance. D'Alcacer did not seek his camp bedstead. He didn'teven sit down. With the palms of his hands against the edge of the tablehe leaned back against it. In that negligent attitude he preserved analert mind which for a moment wondered whether Mrs. Travers hadnot spoiled Lingard a little. Yet in the suddenness of the forcedassociation, where, too, d'Alcacer was sure there was some moral problemin the background, he recognized the extreme difficulty of weighingaccurately the imperious demands against the necessary reservations, theexact proportions of boldness and caution. And d'Alcacer admired uponthe whole Mrs. Travers' cleverness.
There could be no doubt that she had the situation in her hands. That,of course, did not mean safety. She had it in her hands as one may holdsome highly explosive and uncertain compound. D'Alcacer thought of
herwith profound sympathy and with a quite unselfish interest. Sometimesin a street we cross the path of personalities compelling sympathy andwonder but for all that we don't follow them home. D'Alcacer refrainedfrom following Mrs. Travers any further. He had become suddenly awarethat Mr. Travers was sitting up on his camp bedstead. He must have doneit very suddenly. Only a moment before he had appeared plunged inthe deepest slumber, and the stillness for a long time now had beenperfectly unbroken. D'Alcacer was startled enough for an exclamationand Mr. Travers turned his head slowly in his direction. D'Alcacerapproached the bedstead with a certain reluctance.
"Awake?" he said.
"A sudden chill," said Mr. Travers. "But I don't feel cold now. Strange!I had the impression of an icy blast."
"Ah!" said d'Alcacer.
"Impossible, of course!" went on Mr. Travers. "This stagnating air nevermoves. It clings odiously to one. What time is it?"
"Really, I don't know."
"The glass of my watch was smashed on that night when we were sotreacherously assailed by the savages on the sandbank," grumbled Mr.Travers.
"I must say I was never so surprised in my life," confessed d'Alcacer."We had stopped and I was lighting a cigar, you may remember."
"No," said Mr. Travers. "I had just then pulled out my watch. Of courseit flew out of my hand but it hung by the chain. Somebody trampled onit. The hands are broken off short. It keeps on ticking but I can't tellthe time. It's absurd. Most provoking."
"Do you mean to say," asked d'Alcacer, "that you have been winding it upevery evening?"
Mr. Travers looked up from his bedstead and he also seemed surprised."Why! I suppose I have." He kept silent for a while. "It isn't somuch blind habit as you may think. My habits are the outcome of strictmethod. I had to order my life methodically. You know very well, my deard'Alcacer, that without strict method I would not have been able to getthrough my work and would have had no time at all for social duties,which, of course, are of very great importance. I may say that,materially, method has been the foundation of my success in public life.There were never any empty moments in my day. And now this! . . ." Helooked all round the Cage. . . . "Where's my wife?" he asked.
"I was talking to her only a moment ago," answered d'Alcacer. "I don'tknow the time. My watch is on board the yacht; but it isn't late, youknow."
Mr. Travers flung off with unwonted briskness the light cotton sheetwhich covered him. He buttoned hastily the tunic which he had unfastenedbefore lying down, and just as d'Alcacer was expecting him to swinghis feet to the deck impetuously, he lay down again on the pillow andremained perfectly still.
D'Alcacer waited awhile and then began to pace the Cage. After a coupleof turns he stopped and said, gently:
"I am afraid, Travers, you are not very well."
"I don't know what illness is," answered the voice from the pillow tothe great relief of d'Alcacer who really had not expected an answer."Good health is a great asset in public life. Illness may make you missa unique opportunity. I was never ill."
All this came out deadened in tone, as if the speaker's face had beenburied in the pillow. D'Alcacer resumed his pacing.
"I think I asked you where my wife was," said the muffled voice.
With great presence of mind d'Alcacer kept on pacing the Cage as ifhe had not heard.--"You know, I think she is mad," went on the muffledvoice. "Unless I am."
Again d'Alcacer managed not to interrupt his regular pacing. "Do youknow what I think?" he said, abruptly. "I think, Travers, that youdon't want to talk about her. I think that you don't want to talk aboutanything. And to tell you the truth I don't want to, either."
D'Alcacer caught a faint sigh from the pillow and at the same time sawa small, dim flame appear outside the Cage. And still he kept on hispacing. Mrs. Travers and Lingard coming out of the deckhouse stoppedjust outside the door and Lingard stood the deck-lamp on its roof. Theywere too far from d'Alcacer to be heard, but he could make them out:Mrs. Travers, as straight as an arrow, and the heavy bulk of the man whofaced her with a lowered head. He saw it in profile against the lightand as if deferential in its slight droop. They were looking straight ateach other. Neither of them made the slightest gesture.
"There is that in me," Lingard murmured, deeply, "which would set myheart harder than a stone. I am King Tom, Rajah Laut, and fit tolook any man hereabouts in the face. I have my name to take care of.Everything rests on that."
"Mr. d'Alcacer would express this by saying that everything rested onhonour," commented Mrs. Travers with lips that did not tremble, thoughfrom time to time she could feel the accelerated beating of her heart.
"Call it what you like. It's something that a man needs to draw a freebreath. And look!--as you see me standing before you here I care for itno longer."
"But I do care for it," retorted Mrs. Travers. "As you see me standinghere--I do care. This is something that is your very own. You have aright to it. And I repeat I do care for it."
"Care for something of my own," murmured Lingard, very close to herface. "Why should you care for my rights?"
"Because," she said, holding her ground though their foreheads werenearly touching, "because if I ever get back to my life I don't want tomake it more absurd by real remorse."
Her tone was soft and Lingard received the breath of those words like acaress on his face. D'Alcacer, in the Cage, made still another effortto keep up his pacing. He didn't want to give Mr. Travers the slightestexcuse for sitting up again and looking round.
"That I should live to hear anybody say they cared anything for whatwas mine!" whispered Lingard. "And that it should be you--you, who havetaken all hardness out of me."
"I don't want your heart to be made hard. I want it to be made firm."
"You couldn't have said anything better than what you have said just nowto make it steady," flowed the murmur of Lingard's voice with somethingtender in its depth. "Has anybody ever had a friend like this?" heexclaimed, raising his head as if taking the starry night to witness.
"And I ask myself is it possible that there should be another man onearth that I could trust as I trust you. I say to you: Yes! Go and savewhat you have a right to and don't forget to be merciful. I will notremind you of our perfect innocence. The earth must be small indeed thatwe should have blundered like this into your life. It's enough to makeone believe in fatality. But I can't find it in me to behave like afatalist, to sit down with folded hands. Had you been another kind ofman I might have been too hopeless or too disdainful. Do you know whatMr. d'Alcacer calls you?"
Inside the Cage d'Alcacer, casting curious glances in their direction,saw Lingard shake his head and thought with slight uneasiness: "He isrefusing her something."
"Mr. d'Alcacer's name for you is the 'Man of Fate'," said Mrs. Travers,a little breathlessly.
"A mouthful. Never mind, he is a gentleman. It's what you. . . ."
"I call you all but by your Christian name," said Mrs. Travers, hastily."Believe me, Mr. d'Alcacer understands you."
"He is all right," interjected Lingard.
"And he is innocent. I remember what you have said--that the innocentmust take their chance. Well, then, do what is right."
"You think it would be right? You believe it? You feel it?"
"At this time, in this place, from a man like you--Yes, it is right."
Lingard thought that woman wonderfully true to him and wonderfullyfearless with herself. The necessity to take back the two captives tothe stockade was so clear and unavoidable now, that he believed nothingon earth could have stopped him from doing so, but where was thereanother woman in the world who would have taken it like this? And hereflected that in truth and courage there is found wisdom. It seemed tohim that till Mrs. Travers came to stand by his side he had never knownwhat truth and courage and wisdom were. With his eyes on her face andhaving been told that in her eyes he appeared worthy of being bothcommanded and entreated, he felt an instant of complete content, amoment of, as it were, perfect emotional repose.
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bsp; During the silence Mrs. Travers with a quick side-glance noticedd'Alcacer as one sees a man in a mist, his mere dark shape arrestedclose to the muslin screen. She had no doubt that he was looking intheir direction and that he could see them much more plainly than shecould see him. Mrs. Travers thought suddenly how anxious he must be; andshe remembered that he had begged her for some sign, for some warning,beforehand, at the moment of crisis. She had understood very well hishinted request for time to get prepared. If he was to get more than afew minutes, _this_ was the moment to make him a sign--the sign he hadsuggested himself. Mrs. Travers moved back the least bit so as to letthe light fall in front of her and with a slow, distinct movement sheput her left hand to her forehead.
"Well, then," she heard Lingard's forcible murmur, "well, then, Mrs.Travers, it must be done to-night."
One may be true, fearless, and wise, and yet catch one's breathbefore the simple finality of action. Mrs. Travers caught her breath:"To-night! To-night!" she whispered. D'Alcacer's dark and mistysilhouette became more blurred. He had seen her sign and had retreateddeeper within the Cage.
"Yes, to-night," affirmed Lingard. "Now, at once, within the hour, thismoment," he murmured, fiercely, following Mrs. Travers in her recoilingmovement. She felt her arm being seized swiftly. "Don't you see thatif it is to do any good, that if they are not to be delivered to mereslaughter, it must be done while all is dark ashore, before an armed mobin boats comes clamouring alongside? Yes. Before the night is an hourolder, so that I may be hammering at Belarab's gate while all theSettlement is still asleep."
Mrs. Travers didn't dream of protesting. For the moment she was unableto speak. This man was very fierce and just as suddenly as it had beengripped (making her think incongruously in the midst of her agitationthat there would be certainly a bruise there in the morning) she felther arm released and a penitential tone come into Lingard's murmuringvoice.
"And even now it's nearly too late! The road was plain, but I saw you onit and my heart failed me. I was there like an empty man and I darednot face you. You must forgive me. No, I had no right to doubt you fora moment. I feel as if I ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon forforgetting what you are, for daring to forget."
"Why, King Tom, what is it?"
"It seems as if I had sinned," she heard him say. He seized her by theshoulders, turned her about, moved her forward a step or two. His handswere heavy, his force irresistible, though he himself imagined he washandling her gently. "Look straight before you," he growled into herear. "Do you see anything?" Mrs. Travers, passive between the rigidarms, could see nothing but, far off, the massed, featureless shadows ofthe shore.
"No, I see nothing," she said.
"You can't be looking the right way," she heard him behind her. And nowshe felt her head between Lingard's hands. He moved it the least bit tothe right. "There! See it?"
"No. What am I to look for?"
"A gleam of light," said Lingard, taking away his hands suddenly. "Agleam that will grow into a blaze before our boat can get half wayacross the lagoon."
Even as Lingard spoke Mrs. Travers caught sight of a red spark faraway. She had looked often enough at the Settlement, as on the face ofa painting on a curtain, to have its configuration fixed in her mind,to know that it was on the beach at its end furthest from Belarab'sstockade.
"The brushwood is catching," murmured Lingard in her ear. "If they hadsome dry grass the whole pile would be blazing by now."
"And this means. . . ."
"It means that the news has spread. And it is before Tengga's enclosureon his end of the beach. That's where all the brains of the Settlementare. It means talk and excitement and plenty of crafty words. Tengga'sfire! I tell you, Mrs. Travers, that before half an hour has passedDaman will be there to make friends with the fat Tengga, who is ready tosay to him, 'I told you so'."
"I see," murmured Mrs. Travers. Lingard drew her gently to the rail.
"And now look over there at the other end of the beach where the shadowsare heaviest. That is Belarab's fort, his houses, his treasure, hisdependents. That's where the strength of the Settlement is. I kept itup. I made it last. But what is it now? It's like a weapon in the handof a dead man. And yet it's all we have to look to, if indeed there isstill time. I swear to you I wouldn't dare land them in daylight forfear they should be slaughtered on the beach."
"There is no time to lose," whispered Mrs. Travers, and Lingard, too,spoke very low.
"No, not if I, too, am to keep what is my right. It's you who have saidit."
"Yes, I have said it," she whispered, without lifting her head. Lingardmade a brusque movement at her elbow and bent his head close to hershoulder.
"And I who mistrusted you! Like Arabs do to their great men, I ought tokiss the hem of your robe in repentance for having doubted the greatnessof your heart."
"Oh! my heart!" said Mrs. Travers, lightly, still gazing at the fire,which had suddenly shot up to a tall blaze. "I can assure you it hasbeen of very little account in the world." She paused for a moment tosteady her voice, then said, firmly, "Let's get this over."
"To tell you the truth the boat has been ready for some time."
"Well, then. . . ."
"Mrs. Travers," said Lingard with an effort, "they are people of yourown kind." And suddenly he burst out: "I cannot take them ashore boundhand and foot."
"Mr. d'Alcacer knows. You will find him ready. Ever since the beginninghe has been prepared for whatever might happen."
"He is a man," said Lingard with conviction. "But it's of the other thatI am thinking."
"Ah, the other," she repeated. "Then, what about my thoughts? Luckily wehave Mr. d'Alcacer. I shall speak to him first."
She turned away from the rail and moved toward the Cage.
"Jorgenson," the voice of Lingard resounded all along the deck, "get alight on the gangway." Then he followed Mrs. Travers slowly.