________________________________________________
_ 'He did not return till next morning. He had been kept to dinner
and for the night. There never had been such a wonderful man as
Mr. Stein. He had in his pocket a letter for Cornelius ("the Johnnie
who's going to get the sack," he explained, with a momentary drop
in his elation), and he exhibited with glee a silver ring, such
as natives use, worn down very thin and showing faint traces of
chasing.
'This was his introduction to an old chap called Doramin--one of the
principal men out there--a big pot--who had been Mr. Stein's friend
in that country where he had all these adventures. Mr. Stein called
him "war-comrade." War-comrade was good. Wasn't it? And didn't Mr.
Stein speak English wonderfully well? Said he had learned it in
Celebes--of all places! That was awfully funny. Was it not? He did
speak with an accent--a twang--did I notice? That chap Doramin had
given him the ring. They had exchanged presents when they parted
for the last time. Sort of promising eternal friendship. He called
it fine--did I not? They had to make a dash for dear life out of
the country when that Mohammed--Mohammed--What's-his-name had been
killed. I knew the story, of course. Seemed a beastly shame, didn't
it? . . .
'He ran on like this, forgetting his plate, with a knife and fork
in hand (he had found me at tiffin), slightly flushed, and with his
eyes darkened many shades, which was with him a sign of excitement.
The ring was a sort of credential--("It's like something you read
of in books," he threw in appreciatively)--and Doramin would
do his best for him. Mr. Stein had been the means of saving that
chap's life on some occasion; purely by accident, Mr. Stein had
said, but he--Jim--had his own opinion about that. Mr. Stein was
just the man to look out for such accidents. No matter. Accident or
purpose, this would serve his turn immensely. Hoped to goodness
the jolly old beggar had not gone off the hooks meantime. Mr. Stein
could not tell. There had been no news for more than a year; they
were kicking up no end of an all-fired row amongst themselves, and
the river was closed. Jolly awkward, this; but, no fear; he would
manage to find a crack to get in.
'He impressed, almost frightened, me with his elated rattle. He
was voluble like a youngster on the eve of a long holiday with a
prospect of delightful scrapes, and such an attitude of mind in a
grown man and in this connection had in it something phenomenal,
a little mad, dangerous, unsafe. I was on the point of entreating
him to take things seriously when he dropped his knife and fork
(he had begun eating, or rather swallowing food, as it were,
unconsciously), and began a search all round his plate. The ring! The
ring! Where the devil . . . Ah! Here it was . . . He closed his big
hand on it, and tried all his pockets one after another. Jove!
wouldn't do to lose the thing. He meditated gravely over his fist.
Had it? Would hang the bally affair round his neck! And he proceeded
to do this immediately, producing a string (which looked like a bit of
a cotton shoe-lace) for the purpose. There! That would do the trick!
It would be the deuce if . . . He seemed to catch sight of my face for
the first time, and it steadied him a little. I probably didn't
realise, he said with a naive gravity, how much importance he attached
to that token. It meant a friend; and it is a good thing to have a
friend. He knew something about that. He nodded at me expressively,
but before my disclaiming gesture he leaned his head on his hand and
for a while sat silent, playing thoughtfully with the bread-crumbs on
the cloth . . . "Slam the door--that was jolly well put," he cried,
and jumping up, began to pace the room, reminding me by the set of the
shoulders, the turn of his head, the headlong and uneven stride, of
that night when he had paced thus, confessing, explaining--what you
will--but, in the last instance, living--living before me, under his
own little cloud, with all his unconscious subtlety which could draw
consolation from the very source of sorrow. It was the same mood, the
same and different, like a fickle companion that to-day guiding you on
the true path, with the same eyes, the same step, the same impulse,
to-morrow will lead you hopelessly astray. His tread was assured,
his straying, darkened eyes seemed to search the room for something.
One of his footfalls somehow sounded louder than the other--the fault
of his boots probably--and gave a curious impression of an invisible halt
in his gait. One of his hands was rammed deep into his trousers'
pocket, the other waved suddenly above his head. "Slam the door!"
he shouted. "I've been waiting for that. I'll show yet . . . I'll . . .
I'm ready for any confounded thing . . . I've been dreaming of
it . . . Jove! Get out of this. Jove! This is luck at last . . . You wait.
I'll . . ."
'He tossed his head fearlessly, and I confess that for the first and
last time in our acquaintance I perceived myself unexpectedly to be
thoroughly sick of him. Why these vapourings? He was stumping
about the room flourishing his arm absurdly, and now and then
feeling on his breast for the ring under his clothes. Where was the
sense of such exaltation in a man appointed to be a trading-clerk,
and in a place where there was no trade--at that? Why hurl defiance
at the universe? This was not a proper frame of mind to approach
any undertaking; an improper frame of mind not only for him, I
said, but for any man. He stood still over me. Did I think so? he
asked, by no means subdued, and with a smile in which I seemed
to detect suddenly something insolent. But then I am twenty years
his senior. Youth is insolent; it is its right--its necessity; it has got
to assert itself, and all assertion in this world of doubts is a defiance,
is an insolence. He went off into a far corner, and coming back, he,
figuratively speaking, turned to rend me. I spoke like that because
I--even I, who had been no end kind to him--even I remembered--
remembered--against him--what--what had happened. And what
about others--the--the--world? Where's the wonder he wanted to
get out, meant to get out, meant to stay out--by heavens! And I
talked about proper frames of mind!
' "It is not I or the world who remember," I shouted. "It is you--you,
who remember."
'He did not flinch, and went on with heat, "Forget everything,
everybody, everybody." . . . His voice fell. . . "But you," he
added.
' "Yes--me too--if it would help," I said, also in a low tone.
After this we remained silent and languid for a time as if exhausted.
Then he began again, composedly, and told me that Mr. Stein had
instructed him to wait for a month or so, to see whether it was
possible for him to remain, before he began building a new house
for himself, so as to avoid "vain expense." He did make use of
funny expressions--Stein did. "Vain expense" was good. . . . Remain?
Why! of course. He would hang on. Let him only get in--that's all;
he would answer for it he would remain. Never get out. It was easy
enough to remain.
' "Don't be foolhardy," I said, rendered uneasy by his threatening
tone. "If you only live long enough you will want to come back."
' "Come back to what?" he asked absently, with his eyes fixed
upon the face of a clock on the wall.
'I was silent for a while. "Is it to be never, then?" I said. "Never,"
he repeated dreamily without looking at me, and then flew into
sudden activity. "Jove! Two o'clock, and I sail at four!"
'It was true. A brigantine of Stein's was leaving for the westward
that afternoon, and he had been instructed to take his passage in
her, only no orders to delay the sailing had been given. I suppose
Stein forgot. He made a rush to get his things while I went aboard
my ship, where he promised to call on his way to the outer roadstead.
He turned up accordingly in a great hurry and with a small leather
valise in his hand. This wouldn't do, and I offered him an old tin
trunk of mine supposed to be water-tight, or at least damp-tight.
He effected the transfer by the simple process of shooting out the
contents of his valise as you would empty a sack of wheat. I saw
three books in the tumble; two small, in dark covers, and a thick
green-and-gold volume--a half-crown complete Shakespeare. "You
read this?" I asked. "Yes. Best thing to cheer up a fellow," he said
hastily. I was struck by this appreciation, but there was no time
for Shakespearian talk. A heavy revolver and two small boxes of
cartridges were lying on the cuddy-table. "Pray take this," I said.
"It may help you to remain." No sooner were these words out of
my mouth than I perceived what grim meaning they could bear.
"May help you to get in," I corrected myself remorsefully. He
however was not troubled by obscure meanings; he thanked me
effusively and bolted out, calling Good-bye over his shoulder. I
heard his voice through the ship's side urging his boatmen to give
way, and looking out of the stern-port I saw the boat rounding
under the counter. He sat in her leaning forward, exciting his men
with voice and gestures; and as he had kept the revolver in his hand
and seemed to be presenting it at their heads, I shall never forget
the scared faces of the four Javanese, and the frantic swing of their
stroke which snatched that vision from under my eyes. Then turning
away, the first thing I saw were the two boxes of cartridges on
the cuddy-table. He had forgotten to take them.
'I ordered my gig manned at once; but Jim's rowers, under the
impression that their lives hung on a thread while they had that
madman in the boat, made such excellent time that before I had
traversed half the distance between the two vessels I caught sight
of him clambering over the rail, and of his box being passed up. All
the brigantine's canvas was loose, her mainsail was set, and the
windlass was just beginning to clink as I stepped upon her deck:
her master, a dapper little half-caste of forty or so, in a blue flannel
suit, with lively eyes, his round face the colour of lemon-peel, and
with a thin little black moustache drooping on each side of his thick,
dark lips, came forward smirking. He turned out, notwithstanding
his self-satisfied and cheery exterior, to be of a careworn temperament.
In answer to a remark of mine (while Jim had gone below for a moment)
he said, "Oh yes. Patusan." He was going to carry the gentleman to the
mouth of the river, but would "never ascend." His flowing English
seemed to be derived from a dictionary compiled by a lunatic. Had Mr.
Stein desired him to "ascend," he would have "reverentially"--(I think
he wanted to say respectfully--but devil only knows)--"reverentially
made objects for the safety of properties." If disregarded, he would
have presented "resignation to quit." Twelve months ago he had made
his last voyage there, and though Mr. Cornelius "propitiated many
offertories" to Mr. Rajah Allang and the "principal populations," on
conditions which made the trade "a snare and ashes in the mouth," yet
his ship had been fired upon from the woods by "irresponsive parties"
all the way down the river; which causing his crew "from exposure to
limb to remain silent in hidings," the brigantine was nearly stranded
on a sandbank at the bar, where she "would have been perishable
beyond the act of man." The angry disgust at the recollection, the
pride of his fluency, to which he turned an attentive ear, struggled
for the possession of his broad simple face. He scowled and beamed
at me, and watched with satisfaction the undeniable effect of his
phraseology. Dark frowns ran swiftly over the placid sea, and the
brigantine, with her fore-topsail to the mast and her main-boom
amidships, seemed bewildered amongst the cat's-paws. He told me
further, gnashing his teeth, that the Rajah was a "laughable hyaena"
(can't imagine how he got hold of hyaenas); while somebody else
was many times falser than the "weapons of a crocodile." Keeping
one eye on the movements of his crew forward, he let loose his
volubility--comparing the place to a "cage of beasts made ravenous
by long impenitence." I fancy he meant impunity. He had no intention,
he cried, to "exhibit himself to be made attached purposefully to
robbery." The long-drawn wails, giving the time for the pull of the
men catting the anchor, came to an end, and he lowered his voice.
"Plenty too much enough of Patusan," he concluded, with energy.
'I heard afterwards he had been so indiscreet as to get himself
tied up by the neck with a rattan halter to a post planted in the
middle of a mud-hole before the Rajah's house. He spent the best
part of a day and a whole night in that unwholesome situation, but
there is every reason to believe the thing had been meant as a sort
of joke. He brooded for a while over that horrid memory, I suppose,
and then addressed in a quarrelsome tone the man coming aft to
the helm. When he turned to me again it was to speak judicially,
without passion. He would take the gentleman to the mouth of the
river at Batu Kring (Patusan town "being situated internally," he
remarked, "thirty miles"). But in his eyes, he continued--a tone
of bored, weary conviction replacing his previous voluble delivery--
the gentleman was already "in the similitude of a corpse." "What?
What do you say?" I asked. He assumed a startlingly ferocious
demeanour, and imitated to perfection the act of stabbing from
behind. "Already like the body of one deported," he explained,
with the insufferably conceited air of his kind after what they
imagine a display of cleverness. Behind him I perceived Jim smiling
silently at me, and with a raised hand checking the exclamation on
my lips.
'Then, while the half-caste, bursting with importance, shouted
his orders, while the yards swung creaking and the heavy boom
came surging over, Jim and I, alone as it were, to leeward of the
mainsail, clasped each other's hands and exchanged the last hurried
words. My heart was freed from that dull resentment which had
existed side by side with interest in his fate. The absurd chatter of
the half-caste had given more reality to the miserable dangers of his
path than Stein's careful statements. On that occasion the sort of
formality that had been always present in our intercourse vanished
from our speech; I believe I called him "dear boy," and he tacked
on the words "old man" to some half-uttered expression of gratitude,
as though his risk set off against my years had made us more equal
in age and in feeling. There was a moment of real and profound
intimacy, unexpected and short-lived like a glimpse of some everlasting,
of some saving truth. He exerted himself to soothe me as though he had
been the more mature of the two. "All right, all right," he said,
rapidly, and with feeling. "I promise to take care of myself. Yes; I
won't take any risks. Not a single blessed risk. Of course not. I mean
to hang out. Don't you worry. Jove! I feel as if nothing could touch
me. Why! this is luck from the word Go. I wouldn't spoil such a
magnificent chance!" . . . A magnificent chance! Well, it _was_
magnificent, but chances are what men make them, and how was I to
know? As he had said, even I--even I remembered--his--his misfortune
against him. It was true. And the best thing for him was to go.
'My gig had dropped in the wake of the brigantine, and I saw
him aft detached upon the light of the westering sun, raising his
cap high above his head. I heard an indistinct shout, "You--shall--
hear--of--me." Of me, or from me, I don't know which. I think
it must have been of me. My eyes were too dazzled by the glitter of
the sea below his feet to see him clearly; I am fated never to see him
clearly; but I can assure you no man could have appeared less "in
the similitude of a corpse," as that half-caste croaker had put it. I
could see the little wretch's face, the shape and colour of a ripe
pumpkin, poked out somewhere under Jim's elbow. He, too, raised
his arm as if for a downward thrust. Absit omen!' _
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