VIII
And now, stoical in the cold and darkness of his regained life, Lingardhad to listen to the voice of Wasub telling him Jaffir's story. Theold serang's face expressed a profound dejection and there was infinitesadness in the flowing murmur of his words.
"Yes, by Allah! They were all there: that tyrannical Tengga, noisylike a fool; the Rajah Hassim, a ruler without a country; Daman, thewandering chief, and the three Pangerans of the sea-robbers. They cameon board boldly, for Tuan Jorgenson had given them permission, and theirtalk was that you, Tuan, were a willing captive in Belarab's stockade.They said they had waited all night for a message of peace from you orfrom Belarab. But there was nothing, and with the first sign of day theyput out on the lagoon to make friends with Tuan Jorgenson; for, theysaid, you, Tuan, were as if you had not been, possessing no more powerthan a dead man, the mere slave of these strange white people, andBelarab's prisoner. Thus Tengga talked. God had taken from him allwisdom and all fear. And then he must have thought he was safe whileRajah Hassim and the lady Immada were on board. I tell you they satthere in the midst of your enemies, captive! The lady Immada, with herface covered, mourned to herself. The Rajah Hassim made a sign to Jaffirand Jaffir came to stand by his side and talked to his lord. The mainhatch was open and many of the Illanuns crowded there to look down atthe goods that were inside the ship. They had never seen so much loot intheir lives. Jaffir and his lord could hear plainly Tuan Jorgenson andTengga talking together. Tengga discoursed loudly and his words were thewords of a doomed man, for he was asking Tuan Jorgenson to give up thearms and everything that was on board the Emma to himself and to Daman.And then, he said, 'We shall fight Belarab and make friends with thesestrange white people by behaving generously to them and letting themsail away unharmed to their own country. We don't want them here. You,Tuan Jorgenson, are the only white man I care for.' They heard TuanJorgenson say to Tengga: 'Now you have told me everything there isin your mind you had better go ashore with your friends and returnto-morrow.' And Tengga asked: 'Why! would you fight me to-morrow ratherthan live many days in peace with me?' and he laughed and slapped histhigh. And Tuan Jorgenson answered:
"'No, I won't fight you. But even a spider will give the fly time to sayits prayers.'
"Tuan Jorgenson's voice sounded very strange and louder than everanybody had heard it before. O Rajah Laut, Jaffir and the white man hadbeen waiting, too, all night for some sign from you; a shot fired or asignal-fire, lighted to strengthen their hearts. There had been nothing.Rajah Hassim, whispering, ordered Jaffir to take the first opportunityto leap overboard and take to you his message of friendship andgood-bye. Did the Rajah and Jaffir know what was coming? Who can tell?But what else could they see than calamity for all Wajo men, whateverTuan Jorgenson had made up his mind to do? Jaffir prepared to obey hislord, and yet with so many enemies' boats in the water he did not thinkhe would ever reach the shore; and as to yourself he was not at all surethat you were still alive. But he said nothing of this to his Rajah.Nobody was looking their way. Jaffir pressed his lord's hand to hisbreast and waited his opportunity. The fog began to blow away andpresently everything was disclosed to the sight. Jorgenson was on hisfeet, he was holding a lighted cigar between his fingers. Tengga wassitting in front of him on one of the chairs the white people had used.His followers were pressing round him, with Daman and Sentot, who weremuttering incantations; and even the Pangerans had moved closer to thehatchway. Jaffir's opportunity had come but he lingered by the sideof his Rajah. In the clear air the sun shone with great force. TuanJorgenson looked once more toward Belarab's stockade, O Rajah Laut! Butthere was nothing there, not even a flag displayed that had not beenthere before. Jaffir looked that way, too, and as he turned his head hesaw Tuan Jorgenson, in the midst of twenty spear-blades that could in aninstant have been driven into his breast, put the cigar in his mouth andjump down the hatchway. At that moment Rajah Hassim gave Jaffir a pushtoward the side and Jaffir leaped overboard.
"He was still in the water when all the world was darkened round him asif the life of the sun had been blown out of it in a crash. A great wavecame along and washed him on shore, while pieces of wood, iron, and thelimbs of torn men were splashing round him in the water. He managed tocrawl out of the mud. Something had hit him while he was swimming and hethought he would die. But life stirred in him. He had a message for you.For a long time he went on crawling under the big trees on his handsand knees, for there is no rest for a messenger till the message isdelivered. At last he found himself on the left bank of the creek.And still he felt life stir in him. So he started to swim across, for ifyou were in this world you were on the other side. While he swam he felthis strength abandoning him. He managed to scramble on to a drifting logand lay on it like one who is dead, till we pulled him into one of ourboats."
Wasub ceased. It seemed to Lingard that it was impossible for mortalman to suffer more than he suffered in the succeeding moment of silencecrowded by the mute images as of universal destruction. He felthimself gone to pieces as though the violent expression of Jorgenson'sintolerable mistrust of the life of men had shattered his soul, leavinghis body robbed of all power of resistance and of all fortitude, a preyforever to infinite remorse and endless regrets.
"Leave me, Wasub," he said. "They are all dead--but I would sleep."
Wasub raised his dumb old eyes to the white man's face.
"Tuan, it is necessary that you should hear Jaffir," he said, patiently.
"Is he going to die?" asked Lingard in a low, cautious tone as though hewere afraid of the sound of his own voice.
"Who can tell?" Wasub's voice sounded more patient than ever. "There isno wound on his body but, O Tuan, he does not wish to live."
"Abandoned by his God," muttered Lingard to himself.
Wasub waited a little before he went on, "And, Tuan, he has a messagefor you."
"Of course. Well, I don't want to hear it."
"It is from those who will never speak to you again," Wasub persevered,sadly. "It is a great trust. A Rajah's own words. It is difficult forJaffir to die. He keeps on muttering about a ring that was for you, andthat he let pass out of his care. It was a great talisman!"
"Yes. But it did not work this time. And if I go and tell Jaffir why hewill be able to tell his Rajah, O Wasub, since you say that he is goingto die. . . . I wonder where they will meet," he muttered to himself.
Once more Wasub raised his eyes to Lingard's face. "Paradise is the lotof all True Believers," he whispered, firm in his simple faith.
The man who had been undone by a glimpse of Paradise exchanged aprofound look with the old Malay. Then he got up. On his passage to themain hatchway the commander of the brig met no one on the decks, as ifall mankind had given him up except the old man who preceded him andthat other man dying in the deepening twilight, who was awaiting hiscoming. Below, in the light of the hatchway, he saw a young Calash witha broad yellow face and his wiry hair sticking up in stiff wisps throughthe folds of his head-kerchief, holding an earthenware water-jar to thelips of Jaffir extended on his back on a pile of mats.
A languid roll of the already glazed eyeballs, a mere stir of blackand white in the gathering dusk showed that the faithful messenger ofprinces was aware of the presence of the man who had been so long knownto him and his people as the King of the Sea. Lingard knelt down closeto Jaffir's head, which rolled a little from side to side and thenbecame still, staring at a beam of the upper deck. Lingard bent his earto the dark lips. "Deliver your message" he said in a gentle tone.
"The Rajah wished to hold your hand once more," whispered Jaffir sofaintly that Lingard had to guess the words rather than hear them. "Iwas to tell you," he went on--and stopped suddenly.
"What were you to tell me?"
"To forget everything," said Jaffir with a loud effort as if beginning along speech. After that he said nothing more till Lingard murmured, "Andthe lady Immada?"
Jaffir collected all his strength. "She hoped no more," he uttered,distinctly. "T
he order came to her while she mourned, veiled, apart. Ididn't even see her face."
Lingard swayed over the dying man so heavily that Wasub, standing nearby, hastened to catch him by the shoulder. Jaffir seemed unaware ofanything, and went on staring at the beam.
"Can you hear me, O Jaffir?" asked Lingard.
"I hear."
"I never had the ring. Who could bring it to me?"
"We gave it to the white woman--may Jehannum be her lot!"
"No! It shall be my lot," said Lingard with despairing force, whileWasub raised both his hands in dismay. "For, listen, Jaffir, if she hadgiven the ring to me it would have been to one that was dumb, deaf, androbbed of all courage."
It was impossible to say whether Jaffir had heard. He made no sound,there was no change in his awful stare, but his prone body moved underthe cotton sheet as if to get further away from the white man. Lingardgot up slowly and making a sign to Wasub to remain where he was, went upon deck without giving another glance to the dying man. Again it seemedto him that he was pacing the quarter-deck of a deserted ship. Themulatto steward, watching through the crack of the pantry door, saw theCaptain stagger into the cuddy and fling-to the door behind him witha crash. For more than an hour nobody approached that closed door tillCarter coming down the companion stairs spoke without attempting to openit.
"Are you there, sir?" The answer, "You may come in," comforted the youngman by its strong resonance. He went in.
"Well?"
"Jaffir is dead. This moment. I thought you would want to know."
Lingard looked persistently at Carter, thinking that now Jaffir wasdead there was no one left on the empty earth to speak to him a word ofreproach; no one to know the greatness of his intentions, the bond offidelity between him and Hassim and Immada, the depth of his affectionfor those people, the earnestness of his visions, and the unboundedtrust that was his reward. By the mad scorn of Jorgenson flaming upagainst the life of men, all this was as if it had never been. It hadbecome a secret locked up in his own breast forever.
"Tell Wasub to open one of the long-cloth bales in the hold, Mr. Carter,and give the crew a cotton sheet to bury him decently according to theirfaith. Let it be done to-night. They must have the boats, too. I supposethey will want to take him on the sandbank."
"Yes, sir," said Carter.
"Let them have what they want, spades, torches. . . . Wasub will chantthe right words. Paradise is the lot of all True Believers. Do youunderstand me, Mr. Carter? Paradise! I wonder what it will be for him!Unless he gets messages to carry through the jungle, avoiding ambushes,swimming in storms and knowing no rest, he won't like it."
Carter listened with an unmoved face. It seemed to him that the Captainhad forgotten his presence.
"And all the time he will be sleeping on that sandbank," Lingard beganagain, sitting in his old place under the gilt thunderbolts suspendedover his head with his elbows on the table and his hands to his temples."If they want a board to set up at the grave let them have a piece of anoak plank. It will stay there--till the next monsoon. Perhaps."
Carter felt uncomfortable before that tense stare which just missedhim and in that confined cabin seemed awful in its piercing and far-offexpression. But as he had not been dismissed he did not like to go away.
"Everything will be done as you wish it, sir," he said. "I suppose theyacht will be leaving the first thing to-morrow morning, sir."
"If she doesn't we must give her a solid shot or two to liven herup--eh, Mr. Carter?"
Carter did not know whether to smile or to look horrified. In the end hedid both, but as to saying anything he found it impossible. But Lingarddid not expect an answer.
"I believe you are going to stay with me, Mr. Carter?"
"I told you, sir, I am your man if you want me."
"The trouble is, Mr. Carter, that I am no longer the man to whom youspoke that night in Carimata."
"Neither am I, sir, in a manner of speaking."
Lingard, relaxing the tenseness of his stare, looked at the young man,thoughtfully.
"After all, it is the brig that will want you. She will never change.The finest craft afloat in these seas. She will carry me about as shedid before, but . . ."
He unclasped his hands, made a sweeping gesture.
Carter gave all his naive sympathy to that man who had certainly rescuedthe white people but seemed to have lost his own soul in the attempt.Carter had heard something from Wasub. He had made out enough of thisstory from the old serang's pidgin English to know that the Captain'snative friends, one of them a woman, had perished in a mysteriouscatastrophe. But the why of it, and how it came about, remained stillquite incomprehensible to him. Of course, a man like the Captain wouldfeel terribly cut up. . . .
"You will be soon yourself again, sir," he said in the kindest possibletone.
With the same simplicity Lingard shook his head. He was thinking of thedead Jaffir with his last message delivered and untroubled now by allthese matters of the earth. He had been ordered to tell him to forgeteverything. Lingard had an inward shudder. In the dismay of his heart hemight have believed his brig to lie under the very wing of the Angel ofDesolation--so oppressive, so final, and hopeless seemed the silence inwhich he and Carter looked at each other, wistfully.
Lingard reached for a sheet of paper amongst several lying on the table,took up a pen, hesitated a moment, and then wrote:
"Meet me at day-break on the sandbank."
He addressed the envelope to Mrs. Travers, Yacht Hermit, and pushed itacross the table.
"Send this on board the schooner at once, Mr. Carter. Wait a moment.When our boats shove off for the sandbank have the forecastle gun fired.I want to know when that dead man has left the ship."
He sat alone, leaning his head on his hand, listening, listeningendlessly, for the report of the gun. Would it never come? When it cameat last muffled, distant, with a slight shock through the body of thebrig he remained still with his head leaning on his hand but with adistinct conviction, with an almost physical certitude, that under thecotton sheet shrouding the dead man something of himself, too, had leftthe ship.