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_ His tale was as startling as the discovery of a new world. She
was being taken along the boundary of an exciting existence, and
she looked into it through the guileless enthusiasm of the
narrator. The heroic quality of the feelings concealed what was
disproportionate and absurd in that gratitude, in that
friendship, in that inexplicable devotion. The headlong
fierceness of purpose invested his obscure design of conquest
with the proportions of a great enterprise. It was clear that no
vision of a subjugated world could have been more inspiring to
the most famous adventurer of history.
From time to time he interrupted himself to ask, confidently, as
if he had been speaking to an old friend, "What would you have
done?" and hurried on without pausing for approval.
It struck her that there was a great passion in all this, the
beauty of an implanted faculty of affection that had found
itself, its immediate need of an object and the way of expansion;
a tenderness expressed violently; a tenderness that could only be
satisfied by backing human beings against their own destiny.
Perhaps her hatred of convention, trammelling the frankness of
her own impulses, had rendered her more alert to perceive what is
intrinsically great and profound within the forms of human folly,
so simple and so infinitely varied according to the region of the
earth and to the moment of time.
What of it that the narrator was only a roving seaman; the
kingdom of the jungle, the men of the forest, the lives obscure!
That simple soul was possessed by the greatness of the idea;
there was nothing sordid in its flaming impulses. When she once
understood that, the story appealed to the audacity of her
thoughts, and she became so charmed with what she heard that she
forgot where she was. She forgot that she was personally close to
that tale which she saw detached, far away from her, truth or
fiction, presented in picturesque speech, real only by the
response of her emotion.
Lingard paused. In the cessation of the impassioned murmur she
began to reflect. And at first it was only an oppressive notion
of there being some significance that really mattered in this
man's story. That mattered to her. For the first time the shadow
of danger and death crossed her mind. Was that the significance?
Suddenly, in a flash of acute discernment, she saw herself
involved helplessly in that story, as one is involved in a
natural cataclysm.
He was speaking again. He had not been silent more than a minute.
It seemed to Mrs. Travers that years had elapsed, so different
now was the effect of his words. Her mind was agitated as if his
coming to speak and confide in her had been a tremendous
occurrence. It was a fact of her own existence; it was part of
the story also. This was the disturbing thought. She heard him
pronounce several names: Belarab, Daman, Tengga, Ningrat. These
belonged now to her life and she was appalled to find she was
unable to connect these names with any human appearance. They
stood out alone, as if written on the night; they took on a
symbolic shape; they imposed themselves upon her senses. She
whispered as if pondering: "Belarab, Daman, Ningrat," and these
barbarous sounds seemed to possess an exceptional energy, a fatal
aspect, the savour of madness.
"Not one of them but has a heavy score to settle with the whites.
What's that to me! I had somehow to get men who would fight. I
risked my life to get that lot. I made them promises which I
shall keep--or--! Can you see now why I dared to stop your boat?
I am in so deep that I care for no Sir John in the world. When I
look at the work ahead I care for nothing. I gave you one
chance--one good chance. That I had to do. No! I suppose I didn't
look enough of a gentleman. Yes! Yes! That's it. Yet I know what
a gentleman is. I lived with them for years. I chummed with them-
-yes--on gold-fields and in other places where a man has got to
show the stuff that's in him. Some of them write from home to me
here--such as you see me, because I--never mind! And I know what
a gentleman would do. Come! Wouldn't he treat a stranger fairly?
Wouldn't he remember that no man is a liar till you prove him so?
Wouldn't he keep his word wherever given? Well, I am going to do
that. Not a hair of your head shall be touched as long as I
live!"
She had regained much of her composure but at these words she
felt that staggering sense of utter insecurity which is given one
by the first tremor of an earthquake. It was followed by an
expectant stillness of sensations. She remained silent. He
thought she did not believe him.
"Come! What on earth do you think brought me here--to--to--talk
like this to you? There was Hassim--Rajah Tulla, I should
say--who was asking me this afternoon: 'What will you do now with
these, your people?' I believe he thinks yet I fetched you here
for some reason. You can't tell what crooked notion they will get
into their thick heads. It's enough to make one swear." He swore.
"My people! Are you? How much? Say--how much? You're no more mine
than I am yours. Would any of you fine folks at home face black
ruin to save a fishing smack's crew from getting drowned?"
Notwithstanding that sense of insecurity which lingered faintly
in her mind she had no image of death before her. She felt
intensely alive. She felt alive in a flush of strength, with an
impression of novelty as though life had been the gift of this
very moment. The danger hidden in the night gave no sign to
awaken her terror, but the workings of a human soul, simple and
violent, were laid bare before her and had the disturbing charm
of an unheard-of experience. She was listening to a man who
concealed nothing. She said, interrogatively:
"And yet you have come?"
"Yes," he answered, "to you--and for you only."
The flood tide running strong over the banks made a placid
trickling sound about the yacht's rudder.
"I would not be saved alone."
"Then you must bring them over yourself," he said in a sombre
tone. "There's the brig. You have me--my men--my guns. You know
what to do.
"I will try," she said.
"Very well. I am sorry for the poor devils forward there if you
fail. But of course you won't. Watch that light on the brig. I
had it hoisted on purpose. The trouble may be nearer than we
think. Two of my boats are gone scouting and if the news they
bring me is bad the light will be lowered. Think what that means.
And I've told you what I have told nobody. Think of my feelings
also. I told you because I--because I had to."
He gave a shove against the yacht's side and glided away from
under her eyes. A rippling sound died out.
She walked away from the rail. The lamp and the skylights shone
faintly along the dark stretch of the decks. This evening was
like the last--like all the evenings before.
"Is all this I have heard possible?" she asked herself. "No--but
it is true."
She sat down in a deck chair to think and found she could only
remember. She jumped up. She was sure somebody was hailing the
yacht faintly. Was that man hailing? She listened, and hearing
nothing was annoyed with herself for being haunted by a voice.
"He said he could trust me. Now, what is this danger? What is
danger?" she meditated.
Footsteps were coming from forward. The figure of the watchman
flitted vaguely over the gangway. He was whistling softly and
vanished. Hollow sounds in the boat were succeeded by a splash of
oars. The night swallowed these slight noises. Mrs. Travers sat
down again and found herself much calmer.
She had the faculty of being able to think her own thoughts--and
the courage. She could take no action of any kind till her
husband's return. Lingard's warnings were not what had impressed
her most. This man had presented his innermost self unclothed by
any subterfuge. There were in plain sight his desires, his
perplexities, affections, doubts, his violence, his folly; and
the existence they made up was lawless but not vile. She had too
much elevation of mind to look upon him from any other but a
strictly human standpoint. If he trusted her (how strange; why
should he? Was he wrong?) she accepted the trust with scrupulous
fairness. And when it dawned upon her that of all the men in the
world this unquestionably was the one she knew best, she had a
moment of wonder followed by an impression of profound sadness.
It seemed an unfortunate matter that concerned her alone.
Her thought was suspended while she listened attentively for the
return of the yacht's boat. She was dismayed at the task before
her. Not a sound broke the stillness and she felt as if she were
lost in empty space. Then suddenly someone amidships yawned
immensely and said: "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" A voice asked: "Ain't
they back yet?" A negative grunt answered.
Mrs. Travers found that Lingard was touching, because he could be
understood. How simple was life, she reflected. She was frank
with herself. She considered him apart from social organization.
She discovered he had no place in it. How delightful! Here was a
human being and the naked truth of things was not so very far
from her notwithstanding the growth of centuries. Then it
occurred to her that this man by his action stripped her at once
of her position, of her wealth, of her rank, of her past. "I am
helpless. What remains?" she asked herself. Nothing! Anybody
there might have suggested: "Your presence." She was too
artificial yet to think of her beauty; and yet the power of
personality is part of the naked truth of things.
She looked over her shoulder, and saw the light at the brig's
foreyard-arm burning with a strong, calm flame in the dust of
starlight suspended above the coast. She heard the heavy bump as
of a boat run headlong against the ladder. They were back! She
rose in sudden and extreme agitation. What should she say? How
much? How to begin? Why say anything? It would be absurd, like
talking seriously about a dream. She would not dare! In a moment
she was driven into a state of mind bordering on distraction. She
heard somebody run up the gangway steps. With the idea of gaining
time she walked rapidly aft to the taffrail. The light of the
brig faced her without a flicker, enormous amongst the suns
scattered in the immensity of the night.
She fixed her eyes on it. She thought: "I shan't tell him
anything. Impossible. No! I shall tell everything." She expected
every moment to hear her husband's voice and the suspense was
intolerable because she felt that then she must decide. Somebody
on deck was babbling excitedly. She devoutly hoped d'Alcacer
would speak first and thus put off the fatal moment. A voice said
roughly: "What's that?" And in the midst of her distress she
recognized Carter's voice, having noticed that young man who was
of a different stamp from the rest of the crew. She came to the
conclusion that the matter could be related jocularly, or--why
not pretend fear? At that moment the brig's yard-arm light she
was looking at trembled distinctly, and she was dumfounded as if
she had seen a commotion in the firmament. With her lips open for
a cry she saw it fall straight down several feet, flicker, and go
out. All perplexity passed from her mind. This first fact of the
danger gave her a thrill of quite a new emotion. Something had to
be done at once. For some remote reason she felt ashamed of her
hesitations.
She moved swiftly forward and under the lamp came face to face
with Carter who was coming aft. Both stopped, staring, the light
fell on their faces, and both were struck by each other's
expression. The four eyes shone wide.
"You have seen?" she asked, beginning to tremble.
"How do you know?" he said, at the same time, evidently
surprised.
Suddenly she saw that everybody was on deck.
"The light is down," she stammered.
"The gentlemen are lost," said Carter. Then he perceived she did
not seem to understand. "Kidnapped off the sandbank," he
continued, looking at her fixedly to see how she would take it.
She seemed calm. "Kidnapped like a pair of lambs! Not a squeak,"
he burst out with indignation. "But the sandbank is long and they
might have been at the other end. You were on deck, ma'am?" he
asked.
"Yes," she murmured. "In the chair here."
"We were all down below. I had to rest a little. When I came up
the watchman was asleep. He swears he wasn't, but I know better.
Nobody heard any noise, unless you did. But perhaps you were
asleep?" he asked, deferentially.
"Yes--no--I must have been," she said, faintly. _
Read next: PART III. THE CAPTURE: CHAPTER VIII
Read previous: PART III. THE CAPTURE: CHAPTER VI
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