CHAPTER III.
The deliberations conducted in London have a far-reaching
importance, and so the decision issued from the fog-veiled
offices of the Borneo Company darkened for Almayer the brilliant
sunshine of the Tropics, and added another drop of bitterness to
the cup of his disenchantments. The claim to that part of the
East Coast was abandoned, leaving the Pantai river under the
nominal power of Holland. In Sambir there was joy and
excitement. The slaves were hurried out of sight into the forest
and jungle, and the flags were run up to tall poles in the
Rajah's compound in expectation of a visit from Dutch man-of-war
boats.
The frigate remained anchored outside the mouth of the river, and
the boats came up in tow of the steam launch, threading their way
cautiously amongst a crowd of canoes filled with gaily dressed
Malays. The officer in command listened gravely to the loyal
speeches of Lakamba, returned the salaams of Abdulla, and assured
those gentlemen in choice Malay of the great Rajah's--down in
Batavia--friendship and goodwill towards the ruler and
inhabitants of this model state of Sambir.
Almayer from his verandah watched across the river the festive
proceedings, heard the report of brass guns saluting the new flag
presented to Lakamba, and the deep murmur of the crowd of
spectators surging round the stockade. The smoke of the firing
rose in white clouds on the green background of the forests, and
he could not help comparing his own fleeting hopes to the rapidly
disappearing vapour. He was by no means patriotically elated by
the event, yet he had to force himself into a gracious behaviour
when, the official reception being over, the naval officers of
the Commission crossed the river to pay a visit to the solitary
white man of whom they had heard, no doubt wishing also to catch
a glimpse of his daughter. In that they were disappointed, Nina
refusing to show herself; but they seemed easily consoled by the
gin and cheroots set before them by the hospitable Almayer; and
sprawling comfortably on the lame armchairs under the shade of
the verandah, while the blazing sunshine outside seemed to set
the great river simmering in the heat, they filled the little
bungalow with the unusual sounds of European languages, with
noise and laughter produced by naval witticisms at the expense of
the fat Lakamba whom they had been complimenting so much that
very morning. The younger men in an access of good fellowship
made their host talk, and Almayer, excited by the sight of
European faces, by the sound of European voices, opened his heart
before the sympathising strangers, unaware of the amusement the
recital of his many misfortunes caused to those future admirals.
They drank his health, wished him many big diamonds and a
mountain of gold, expressed even an envy of the high destinies
awaiting him yet. Encouraged by so much friendliness, the
grey-headed and foolish dreamer invited his guests to visit his
new house. They went there through the long grass in a
straggling procession while their boats were got ready for the
return down the river in the cool of the evening. And in the
great empty rooms where the tepid wind entering through the
sashless windows whirled gently the dried leaves and the dust of
many days of neglect, Almayer in his white jacket and flowered
sarong, surrounded by a circle of glittering uniforms, stamped
his foot to show the solidity of the neatly-fitting floors and
expatiated upon the beauties and convenience of the building.
They listened and assented, amazed by the wonderful simplicity
and the foolish hopefulness of the man, till Almayer, carried
away by his excitement, disclosed his regret at the non-arrival
of the English, "who knew how to develop a rich country," as he
expressed it. There was a general laugh amongst the Dutch
officers at that unsophisticated statement, and a move was made
towards the boats; but when Almayer, stepping cautiously on the
rotten boards of the Lingard jetty, tried to approach the chief
of the Commission with some timid hints anent the protection
required by the Dutch subject against the wily Arabs, that salt
water diplomat told him significantly that the Arabs were better
subjects than Hollanders who dealt illegally in gunpowder with
the Malays. The innocent Almayer recognised there at once the
oily tongue of Abdulla and the solemn persuasiveness of Lakamba,
but ere he had time to frame an indignant protest the steam
launch and the string of boats moved rapidly down the river
leaving him on the jetty, standing open-mouthed in his surprise
and anger. There are thirty miles of river from Sambir to the
gem-like islands of the estuary where the frigate was awaiting
the return of the boats. The moon rose long before the boats had
traversed half that distance, and the black forest sleeping
peacefully under her cold rays woke up that night to the ringing
laughter in the small flotilla provoked by some reminiscence of
Almayer's lamentable narrative. Salt-water jests at the poor
man's expense were passed from boat to boat, the non-appearance
of his daughter was commented upon with severe displeasure, and
the half-finished house built for the reception of Englishmen
received on that joyous night the name of "Almayer's Folly" by
the unanimous vote of the lighthearted seamen.
For many weeks after this visit life in Sambir resumed its even
and uneventful flow. Each day's sun shooting its morning rays
above the tree-tops lit up the usual scene of daily activity.
Nina walking on the path that formed the only street in the
settlement saw the accustomed sight of men lolling on the shady
side of the houses, on the high platforms; of women busily
engaged in husking the daily rice; of naked brown children racing
along the shady and narrow paths leading to the clearings.
Jim-Eng, strolling before his house, greeted her with a friendly
nod before climbing up indoors to seek his beloved opium pipe.
The elder children clustered round her, daring from long
acquaintance, pulling the skirts of her white robe with their
dark fingers, and showing their brilliant teeth in expectation
of a shower of glass beads. She greeted them with a quiet smile,
but always had a few friendly words for a Siamese girl, a slave
owned by Bulangi, whose numerous wives were said to be of a
violent temper. Well-founded rumour said also that the domestic
squabbles of that industrious cultivator ended generally in a
combined assault of all his wives upon the Siamese slave. The
girl herself never complained--perhaps from dictates of prudence,
but more likely through the strange, resigned apathy of
half-savage womankind. From early morning she was to be seen on
the paths amongst the houses--by the riverside or on the jetties,
the tray of pastry, it was her mission to sell, skilfully
balanced on her head. During the great heat of the day she
usually sought refuge in Almayer's campong, often finding shelter
in a shady corner of the verandah, where she squatted with her
tray before her, when invited by Nina. For "Mem Putih" she had
always a smile, but the presence of Mrs. Almayer, the very sound
of her shrill voice, was the signal for a hurried departure.
To this girl Nina often spoke; the other inhabitants of Sambir
seldom or never heard the sound of her voice. They got used to
the silent figure moving in their midst calm and white-robed, a
being from another world and incomprehensible to them. Yet
Nina's life for all her outward composure, for all the seeming
detachment from the things and people surrounding her, was far
from quiet, in consequence of Mrs. Almayer being much too active
for the happiness and even safety of the household. She had
resumed some intercourse with Lakamba, not personally, it is true
(for the dignity of that potentate kept him inside his stockade),
but through the agency of that potentate's prime minister,
harbour master, financial adviser, and general factotum. That
gentleman--of Sulu origin--was certainly endowed with
statesmanlike qualities, although he was totally devoid of
personal charms. In truth he was perfectly repulsive, possessing
only one eye and a pockmarked face, with nose and lips horribly
disfigured by the small-pox. This unengaging individual often
strolled into Almayer's garden in unofficial costume, composed of
a piece of pink calico round his waist. There at the back of the
house, squatting on his heels on scattered embers, in close
proximity to the great iron boiler, where the family daily rice
was being cooked by the women under Mrs. Almayer's
superintendence, did that astute negotiator carry on long
conversations in Sulu language with Almayer's wife. What the
subject of their discourses was might have been guessed from the
subsequent domestic scenes by Almayer's hearthstone.
Of late Almayer had taken to excursions up the river. In a small
canoe with two paddlers and the faithful Ali for a steersman he
would disappear for a few days at a time. All his movements were
no doubt closely watched by Lakamba and Abdulla, for the man once
in the confidence of Rajah Laut was supposed to be in possession
of valuable secrets. The coast population of Borneo believes
implicitly in diamonds of fabulous value, in gold mines of
enormous richness in the interior. And all those imaginings are
heightened by the difficulty of penetrating far inland,
especially on the north-east coast, where the Malays and the
river tribes of Dyaks or Head-hunters are eternally quarrelling.
It is true enough that some gold reaches the coast in the hands
of those Dyaks when, during short periods of truce in the
desultory warfare, they visit the coast settlements of Malays.
And so the wildest exaggerations are built up and added to on the
slight basis of that fact.
Almayer in his quality of white man--as Lingard before him--had
somewhat better relations with the up-river tribes. Yet even his
excursions were not without danger, and his returns were eagerly
looked for by the impatient Lakamba. But every time the Rajah
was disappointed. Vain were the conferences by the rice-pot of
his factotum Babalatchi with the white man's wife. The white man
himself was impenetrable--impenetrable to persuasion, coaxing,
abuse; to soft words and shrill revilings; to desperate
beseechings or murderous threats; for Mrs. Almayer, in her
extreme desire to persuade her husband into an alliance with
Lakamba, played upon the whole gamut of passion. With her soiled
robe wound tightly under the armpits across her lean bosom, her
scant grayish hair tumbled in disorder over her projecting
cheek-bones, in suppliant attitude, she depicted with shrill
volubility the advantages of close union with a man so good and
so fair dealing.
"Why don't you go to the Rajah?" she screamed. "Why do you go
back to those Dyaks in the great forest? They should be killed.
You cannot kill them, you cannot; but our Rajah's men are brave!
You tell the Rajah where the old white man's treasure is. Our
Rajah is good! He is our very grandfather, Datu Besar! He will
kill those wretched Dyaks, and you shall have half the treasure.
Oh, Kaspar, tell where the treasure is! Tell me! Tell me out of
the old man's surat where you read so often at night"
On those occasions Almayer sat with rounded shoulders bending to
the blast of this domestic tempest, accentuating only each pause
in the torrent of his wife's eloquence by an angry growl, "There
is no treasure! Go away, woman!" Exasperated by the sight of
his patiently bent back, she would at last walk round so as to
face him across the table, and clasping her robe with one hand
she stretched the other lean arm and claw-like hand to emphasise,
in a passion of anger and contempt, the rapid rush of scathing
remarks and bitter cursings heaped on the head of the man
unworthy to associate with brave Malay chiefs. It ended
generally by Almayer rising slowly, his long pipe in hand, his
face set into a look of inward pain, and walking away in silence.
He descended the steps and plunged into the long grass on his way
to the solitude of his new house, dragging his feet in a state of
physical collapse from disgust and fear before that fury. She
followed to the head of the steps, and sent the shafts of
indiscriminate abuse after the retreating form. And each of
those scenes was concluded by a piercing shriek, reaching him far
away. "You know, Kaspar, I am your wife! your own Christian wife
after your own Blanda law!" For she knew that this was the
bitterest thing of all; the greatest regret of that man's life.
All these scenes Nina witnessed unmoved. She might have been
deaf, dumb, without any feeling as far as any expression of
opinion went. Yet oft when her father had sought the refuge of
the great dusty rooms of "Almayer's Folly," and her mother,
exhausted by rhetorical efforts, squatted wearily on her heels
with her back against the leg of the table, Nina would approach
her curiously, guarding her skirts from betel juice besprinkling
the floor, and gaze down upon her as one might look into the
quiescent crater of a volcano after a destructive eruption. Mrs.
Almayer's thoughts, after these scenes, were usually turned into
a channel of childhood reminiscences, and she gave them
utterance in a kind of monotonous recitative--slightly
disconnected, but generally describing the glories of the Sultan
of Sulu, his great splendour, his power, his great prowess; the
fear which benumbed the hearts of white men at the sight of his
swift piratical praus. And these muttered statements of her
grandfather's might were mixed up with bits of later
recollections, where the great fight with the "White Devil's"
brig and the convent life in Samarang occupied the principal
place. At that point she usually dropped the thread of her
narrative, and pulling out the little brass cross, always
suspended round her neck, she contemplated it with superstitious
awe. That superstitious feeling connected with some vague
talismanic properties of the little bit of metal, and the still
more hazy but terrible notion of some bad Djinns and horrible
torments invented, as she thought, for her especial punishment by
the good Mother Superior in case of the loss of the above charm,
were Mrs. Almayer's only theological luggage for the stormy road
of life. Mrs. Almayer had at least something tangible to cling
to, but Nina, brought up under the Protestant wing of the proper
Mrs. Vinck, had not even a little piece of brass to remind her of
past teaching. And listening to the recital of those savage
glories, those barbarous fights and savage feasting, to the story
of deeds valorous, albeit somewhat bloodthirsty, where men of her
mother's race shone far above the Orang Blanda, she felt herself
irresistibly fascinated, and saw with vague surprise the narrow
mantle of civilised morality, in which good-meaning people had
wrapped her young soul, fall away and leave her shivering and
helpless as if on the edge of some deep and unknown abyss.
Strangest of all, this abyss did not frighten her when she was
under the influence of the witch-like being she called her
mother. She seemed to have forgotten in civilised surroundings
her life before the time when Lingard had, so to speak, kidnapped
her from Brow. Since then she had had Christian teaching, social
education, and a good glimpse of civilised life. Unfortunately
her teachers did not understand her nature, and the education
ended in a scene of humiliation, in an outburst of contempt from
white people for her mixed blood. She had tasted the whole
bitterness of it and remembered distinctly that the virtuous Mrs.
Vinck's indignation was not so much directed against the young
man from the bank as against the innocent cause of that young
man's infatuation. And there was also no doubt in her mind that
the principal cause of Mrs. Vinck's indignation was the thought
that such a thing should happen in a white nest, where her
snow-white doves, the two Misses Vinck, had just returned from
Europe, to find shelter under the maternal wing, and there await
the coming of irreproachable men of their destiny. Not even the
thought of the money so painfully scraped together by Almayer,
and so punctually sent for Nina's expenses, could dissuade Mrs.
Vinck from her virtuous resolve. Nina was sent away, and in
truth the girl herself wanted to go, although a little frightened
by the impending change. And now she had lived on the river for
three years with a savage mother and a father walking about
amongst pitfalls, with his head in the clouds, weak, irresolute,
and unhappy. She had lived a life devoid of all the decencies of
civilisation, in miserable domestic conditions; she had breathed
in the atmosphere of sordid plottings for gain, of the no less
disgusting intrigues and crimes for lust or money; and those
things, together with the domestic quarrels, were the only events
of her three years' existence. She did not die from despair and
disgust the first month, as she expected and almost hoped for.
On the contrary, at the end of half a year it had seemed to her
that she had known no other life. Her young mind having been
unskilfully permitted to glance at better things, and then thrown
back again into the hopeless quagmire of barbarism, full of
strong and uncontrolled passions, had lost the power to
discriminate. It seemed to Nina that there was no change and no
difference. Whether they traded in brick godowns or on the muddy
river bank; whether they reached after much or little; whether
they made love under the shadows of the great trees or in the
shadow of the cathedral on the Singapore promenade; whether they
plotted for their own ends under the protection of laws and
according to the rules of Christian conduct, or whether they
sought the gratification of their desires with the savage cunning
and the unrestrained fierceness of natures as innocent of culture
as their own immense and gloomy forests, Nina saw only the same
manifestations of love and hate and of sordid greed chasing the
uncertain dollar in all its multifarious and vanishing shapes.
To her resolute nature, however, after all these years, the
savage and uncompromising sincerity of purpose shown by her
Malay kinsmen seemed at last preferable to the sleek hypocrisy,
to the polite disguises, to the virtuous pretences of such white
people as she had had the misfortune to come in contact with.
After all it was her life; it was going to be her life, and so
thinking she fell more and more under the influence of her
mother. Seeking, in her ignorance, a better side to that life,
she listened with avidity to the old woman's tales of the
departed glories of the Rajahs, from whose race she had sprung,
and she became gradually more indifferent, more contemptuous of
the white side of her descent represented by a feeble and
traditionless father.
Almayer's difficulties were by no means diminished by the girl's
presence in Sambir. The stir caused by her arrival had died out,
it is true, and Lakamba had not renewed his visits; but about a
year after the departure of the man-of-war boats the nephew of
Abdulla, Syed Reshid, returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca,
rejoicing in a green jacket and the proud title of Hadji. There
was a great letting off of rockets on board the steamer which
brought him in, and a great beating of drums all night in
Abdulla's compound, while the feast of welcome was prolonged far
into the small hours of the morning. Reshid was the favourite
nephew and heir of Abdulla, and that loving uncle, meeting
Almayer one day by the riverside, stopped politely to exchange
civilities and to ask solemnly for an interview. Almayer
suspected some attempt at a swindle, or at any rate something
unpleasant, but of course consented with a great show of
rejoicing. Accordingly the next evening, after sunset, Abdulla
came, accompanied by several other grey-beards and by his nephew.
That young man--of a very rakish and dissipated appearance--
affected the greatest indifference as to the whole of the
proceedings. When the torch-bearers had grouped themselves below
the steps, and the visitors had seated themselves on various lame
chairs, Reshid stood apart in the shadow, examining his
aristocratically small hands with great attention. Almayer,
surprised by the great solemnity of his visitors, perched himself
on the corner of the table with a characteristic want of dignity
quickly noted by the Arabs with grave disapproval. But Abdulla
spoke now, looking straight past Almayer at the red curtain
hanging in the doorway, where a slight tremor disclosed the
presence of women on the other side. He began by neatly
complimenting Almayer upon the long years they had dwelt together
in cordial neighbourhood, and called upon Allah to give him many
more years to gladden the eyes of his friends by his welcome
presence. He made a polite allusion to the great consideration
shown him (Almayer) by the Dutch "Commissie," and drew thence the
flattering inference of Almayer's great importance amongst his
own people. He--Abdulla--was also important amongst all the
Arabs, and his nephew Reshid would be heir of that social
position and of great riches. Now Reshid was a Hadji. He was
possessor of several Malay women, went on Abdulla, but it was
time he had a favourite wife, the first of the four allowed by
the Prophet. And, speaking with well-bred politeness, he
explained further to the dumbfounded Almayer that, if he would
consent to the alliance of his offspring with that true believer
and virtuous man Reshid, she would be the mistress of all the
splendours of Reshid's house, and first wife of the first Arab in
the Islands, when he--Abdulla--was called to the joys of Paradise
by Allah the All-merciful. "You know, Tuan," he said, in
conclusion, "the other women would be her slaves, and Reshid's
house is great. From Bombay he has brought great divans, and
costly carpets, and European furniture. There is also a great
looking-glass in a frame shining like gold. What could a girl
want more?" And while Almayer looked upon him in silent dismay
Abdulla spoke in a more confidential tone, waving his attendants
away, and finished his speech by pointing out the material
advantages of such an alliance, and offering to settle upon
Almayer three thousand dollars as a sign of his sincere
friendship and the price of the girl.
Poor Almayer was nearly having a fit. Burning with the desire of
taking Abdulla by the throat, he had but to think of his helpless
position in the midst of lawless men to comprehend the necessity
of diplomatic conciliation. He mastered his impulses, and spoke
politely and coldly, saying the girl was young and as the apple
of his eye. Tuan Reshid, a Faithful and a Hadji, would not want
an infidel woman in his harem; and, seeing Abdulla smile
sceptically at that last objection, he remained silent, not
trusting himself to speak more, not daring to refuse point-blank,
nor yet to say anything compromising. Abdulla understood the
meaning of that silence, and rose to take leave with a grave
salaam. He wished his friend Almayer "a thousand years," and
moved down the steps, helped dutifully by Reshid. The torch-
bearers shook their torches, scattering a shower of sparks into
the river, and the cortege moved off, leaving Almayer agitated
but greatly relieved by their departure. He dropped into a chair
and watched the glimmer of the lights amongst the tree trunks
till they disappeared and complete silence succeeded the tramp of
feet and the murmur of voices. He did not move till the curtain
rustled and Nina came out on the verandah and sat in the
rocking-chair, where she used to spend many hours every day. She
gave a slight rocking motion to her seat, leaning back with
half-closed eyes, her long hair shading her face from the smoky
light of the lamp on the table. Almayer looked at her furtively,
but the face was as impassible as ever. She turned her head
slightly towards her father, and, speaking, to his great
surprise, in English, asked--
"Was that Abdulla here?"
"Yes," said Almayer--"just gone."
"And what did he want, father?"
"He wanted to buy you for Reshid," answered Almayer, brutally,
his anger getting the better of him, and looking at the girl as
if in expectation of some outbreak of feeling. But Nina remained
apparently unmoved, gazing dreamily into the black night outside.
"Be careful, Nina," said Almayer, after a short silence and
rising from his chair, "when you go paddling alone into the
creeks in your canoe. That Reshid is a violent scoundrel, and
there is no saying what he may do. Do you hear me?"
She was standing now, ready to go in, one hand grasping the
curtain in the doorway. She turned round, throwing her heavy
tresses back by a sudden gesture.
"Do you think he would dare?" she asked, quickly, and then turned
again to go in, adding in a lower tone, "He would not dare.
Arabs are all cowards."
Almayer looked after her, astonished. He did not seek the repose
of his hammock. He walked the floor absently, sometimes stopping
by the balustrade to think. The lamp went out. The first streak
of dawn broke over the forest; Almayer shivered in the damp air.
"I give it up," he muttered to himself, lying down wearily.
"Damn those women! Well! If the girl did not look as if she
wanted to be kidnapped!"
And he felt a nameless fear creep into his heart, making him
shiver again.
