CHAPTER IV.
That year, towards the breaking up of the south-west monsoon,
disquieting rumours reached Sambir. Captain Ford, coming up to
Almayer's house for an evening's chat, brought late numbers of
the Straits Times giving the news of Acheen war and of the
unsuccessful Dutch expedition. The Nakhodas of the rare trading
praus ascending the river paid visits to Lakamba, discussing with
that potentate the unsettled state of affairs, and wagged their
heads gravely over the recital of Orang Blanda exaction,
severity, and general tyranny, as exemplified in the total
stoppage of gunpowder trade and the rigorous visiting of all
suspicious craft trading in the straits of Macassar. Even the
loyal soul of Lakamba was stirred into a state of inward
discontent by the withdrawal of his license for powder and by the
abrupt confiscation of one hundred and fifty barrels of that
commodity by the gunboat Princess Amelia, when, after a hazardous
voyage, it had almost reached the mouth of the river. The
unpleasant news was given him by Reshid, who, after the
unsuccessful issue of his matrimonial projects, had made a long
voyage amongst the islands for trading purposes; had bought the
powder for his friend, and was overhauled and deprived of it on
his return when actually congratulating himself on his acuteness
in avoiding detection. Reshid's wrath was principally directed
against Almayer, whom he suspected of having notified the Dutch
authorities of the desultory warfare carried on by the Arabs and
the Rajah with the up-river Dyak tribes.
To Reshid's great surprise the Rajah received his complaints very
coldly, and showed no signs of vengeful disposition towards the
white man. In truth, Lakamba knew very well that Almayer was
perfectly innocent of any meddling in state affairs; and besides,
his attitude towards that much persecuted individual was wholly
changed in consequence of a reconciliation effected between him
and his old enemy by Almayer's newly-found friend, Dain Maroola.
Almayer had now a friend. Shortly after Reshid's departure on
his commercial journey, Nina, drifting slowly with the tide in
the canoe on her return home after one of her solitary
excursions, heard in one of the small creeks a splashing, as if
of heavy ropes dropping in the water, and the prolonged song of
Malay seamen when some heavy pulling is to be done. Through the
thick fringe of bushes hiding the mouth of the creek she saw the
tall spars of some European-rigged sailing vessel overtopping the
summits of the Nipa palms. A brig was being hauled out of the
small creek into the main stream. The sun had set, and during
the short moments of twilight Nina saw the brig, aided by the
evening breeze and the flowing tide, head towards Sambir under
her set foresail. The girl turned her canoe out of the main
river into one of the many narrow channels amongst the wooded
islets, and paddled vigorously over the black and sleepy
backwaters towards Sambir. Her canoe brushed the water-palms,
skirted the short spaces of muddy bank where sedate alligators
looked at her with lazy unconcern, and, just as darkness was
setting in, shot out into the broad junction of the two main
branches of the river, where the brig was already at anchor with
sails furled, yards squared, and decks seemingly untenanted by
any human being. Nina had to cross the river and pass pretty
close to the brig in order to reach home on the low promontory
between the two branches of the Pantai. Up both branches, in the
houses built on the banks and over the water, the lights twinkled
already, reflected in the still waters below. The hum of voices,
the occasional cry of a child, the rapid and abruptly interrupted
roll of a wooden drum, together with some distant hailing in the
darkness by the returning fishermen, reached her over the broad
expanse of the river. She hesitated a little before crossing,
the sight of such an unusual object as an European-rigged vessel
causing her some uneasiness, but the river in its wide expansion
was dark enough to render a small canoe invisible. She urged her
small craft with swift strokes of her paddle, kneeling in the
bottom and bending forward to catch any suspicious sound while
she steered towards the little jetty of Lingard and Co., to which
the strong light of the paraffin lamp shining on the whitewashed
verandah of Almayer's bungalow served as a convenient guide. The
jetty itself, under the shadow of the bank overgrown by drooping
bushes, was hidden in darkness. Before even she could see it she
heard the hollow bumping of a large boat against its rotten
posts, and heard also the murmur of whispered conversation in
that boat whose white paint and great dimensions, faintly visible
on nearer approach, made her rightly guess that it belonged to
the brig just anchored. Stopping her course by a rapid motion of
her paddle, with another swift stroke she sent it whirling away
from the wharf and steered for a little rivulet which gave access
to the back courtyard of the house. She landed at the muddy head
of the creek and made her way towards the house over the trodden
grass of the courtyard. To the left, from the cooking shed,
shone a red glare through the banana plantation she skirted, and
the noise of feminine laughter reached her from there in the
silent evening. She rightly judged her mother was not near,
laughter and Mrs. Almayer not being close neighbours. She must
be in the house, thought Nina, as she ran lightly up the inclined
plane of shaky planks leading to the back door of the narrow
passage dividing the house in two. Outside the doorway, in the
black shadow, stood the faithful Ali.
"Who is there?" asked Nina.
"A great Malay man has come," answered Ali, in a tone of
suppressed excitement. "He is a rich man. There are six men
with lances. Real Soldat, you understand. And his dress is very
brave. I have seen his dress. It shines! What jewels! Don't
go there, Mem Nina. Tuan said not; but the old Mem is gone.
Tuan will be angry. Merciful Allah! what jewels that man has
got!"
Nina slipped past the outstretched hand of the slave into the
dark passage where, in the crimson glow of the hanging curtain,
close by its other end, she could see a small dark form crouching
near the wall. Her mother was feasting her eyes and ears with
what was taking place on the front verandah, and Nina approached
to take her share in the rare pleasure of some novelty. She was
met by her mother's extended arm and by a low murmured warning
not to make a noise.
"Have you seen them, mother?" asked Nina, in a breathless
whisper.
Mrs. Almayer turned her face towards the girl, and her sunken
eyes shone strangely in the red half-light of the passage.
"I saw him," she said, in an almost inaudible tone, pressing her
daughter's hand with her bony fingers. "A great Rajah has come
to Sambir--a Son of Heaven," muttered the old woman to herself.
"Go away, girl!"
The two women stood close to the curtain, Nina wishing to
approach the rent in the stuff, and her mother defending the
position with angry obstinacy. On the other side there was a
lull in the conversation, but the breathing of several men, the
occasional light tinkling of some ornaments, the clink of metal
scabbards, or of brass siri-vessels passed from hand to hand, was
audible during the short pause. The women struggled silently,
when there was a shuffling noise and the shadow of Almayer's
burly form fell on the curtain.
The women ceased struggling and remained motionless. Almayer had
stood up to answer his guest, turning his back to the doorway,
unaware of what was going on on the other side. He spoke in a
tone of regretful irritation.
"You have come to the wrong house, Tuan Maroola, if you want to
trade as you say. I was a trader once, not now, whatever you may
have heard about me in Macassar. And if you want anything, you
will not find it here; I have nothing to give, and want nothing
myself. You should go to the Rajah here; you can see in the
daytime his houses across the river, there, where those fires are
burning on the shore. He will help you and trade with you. Or,
better still, go to the Arabs over there," he went on bitterly,
pointing with his hand towards the houses of Sambir. "Abdulla is
the man you want. There is nothing he would not buy, and there
is nothing he would not sell; believe me, I know him well."
He waited for an answer a short time, then added--
"All that I have said is true, and there is nothing more."
Nina, held back by her mother, heard a soft voice reply with a
calm evenness of intonation peculiar to the better class Malays--
"Who would doubt a white Tuan's words? A man seeks his friends
where his heart tells him. Is this not true also? I have come,
although so late, for I have something to say which you may be
glad to hear. To-morrow I will go to the Sultan; a trader wants
the friendship of great men. Then I shall return here to speak
serious words, if Tuan permits. I shall not go to the Arabs;
their lies are very great! What are they? Chelakka!"
Almayer's voice sounded a little more pleasantly in reply.
"Well, as you like. I can hear you to-morrow at any time if you
have anything to say. Bah! After you have seen the Sultan
Lakamba you will not want to return here, Inchi Dain. You will
see. Only mind, I will have nothing to do with Lakamba. You may
tell him so. What is your business with me, after all?"
"To-morrow we talk, Tuan, now I know you," answered the Malay.
"I speak English a little, so we can talk and nobody will
understand, and then--"
He interrupted himself suddenly, asking surprised, "What's that
noise, Tuan?"
Almayer had also heard the increasing noise of the scuffle
recommenced on the women's side of the curtain. Evidently Nina's
strong curiosity was on the point of overcoming Mrs. Almayer's
exalted sense of social proprieties. Hard breathing was
distinctly audible, and the curtain shook during the contest,
which was mainly physical, although Mrs. Almayer's voice was
heard in angry remonstrance with its usual want of strictly
logical reasoning, but with the well-known richness of invective.
"You shameless woman! Are you a slave?" shouted shrilly the
irate matron. "Veil your face, abandoned wretch! You white
snake, I will not let you!"
Almayer's face expressed annoyance and also doubt as to the
advisability of interfering between mother and daughter. He
glanced at his Malay visitor, who was waiting silently for the
end of the uproar in an attitude of amused expectation, and
waving his hand contemptuously he murmured--
"It is nothing. Some women."
The Malay nodded his head gravely, and his face assumed an
expression of serene indifference, as etiquette demanded after
such an explanation. The contest was ended behind the curtain,
and evidently the younger will had its way, for the rapid shuffle
and click of Mrs. Almayer's high-heeled sandals died away in the
distance. The tranquillised master of the house was going to
resume the conversation when, struck by an unexpected change in
the expression of his guest's countenance, he turned his head and
saw Nina standing in the doorway.
After Mrs. Almayer's retreat from the field of battle, Nina, with
a contemptuous exclamation, "It's only a trader," had lifted the
conquered curtain and now stood in full light, framed in the dark
background on the passage, her lips slightly parted, her hair in
disorder after the exertion, the angry gleam not yet faded out of
her glorious and sparkling eyes. She took in at a glance the
group of white-clad lancemen standing motionless in the shadow of
the far-off end of the verandah, and her gaze rested curiously on
the chief of that imposing cortege. He stood, almost facing her,
a little on one side, and struck by the beauty of the unexpected
apparition had bent low, elevating his joint hands above his head
in a sign of respect accorded by Malays only to the great of this
earth. The crude light of the lamp shone on the gold embroidery
of his black silk jacket, broke in a thousand sparkling rays on
the jewelled hilt of his kriss protruding from under the many
folds of the red sarong gathered into a sash round his waist, and
played on the precious stones of the many rings on his dark
fingers. He straightened himself up quickly after the low bow,
putting his hand with a graceful ease on the hilt of his heavy
short sword ornamented with brilliantly dyed fringes of
horsehair. Nina, hesitating on the threshold, saw an erect lithe
figure of medium height with a breadth of shoulder suggesting
great power. Under the folds of a blue turban, whose fringed
ends hung gracefully over the left shoulder, was a face full of
determination and expressing a reckless good-humour, not devoid,
however, of some dignity. The squareness of lower jaw, the full
red lips, the mobile nostrils, and the proud carriage of the head
gave the impression of a being half-savage, untamed, perhaps
cruel, and corrected the liquid softness of the almost feminine
eye, that general characteristic of the race. Now, the first
surprise over, Nina saw those eyes fixed upon her with such an
uncontrolled expression of admiration and desire that she felt a
hitherto unknown feeling of shyness, mixed with alarm and some
delight, enter and penetrate her whole being.
Confused by those unusual sensations she stopped in the doorway
and instinctively drew the lower part of the curtain across her
face, leaving only half a rounded cheek, a stray tress, and one
eye exposed, wherewith to contemplate the gorgeous and bold being
so unlike in appearance to the rare specimens of traders she had
seen before on that same verandah.
Dain Maroola, dazzled by the unexpected vision, forgot the
confused Almayer, forgot his brig, his escort staring in
open-mouthed admiration, the object of his visit and all things
else, in his overpowering desire to prolong the contemplation of
so much loveliness met so suddenly in such an unlikely place--as
he thought.
"It is my daughter," said Almayer, in an embarrassed manner. "It
is of no consequence. White women have their customs, as you
know Tuan, having travelled much, as you say. However, it is
late; we will finish our talk to-morrow."
Dain bent low trying to convey in a last glance towards the girl
the bold expression of his overwhelming admiration. The next
minute he was shaking Almayer's hand with grave courtesy, his
face wearing a look of stolid unconcern as to any feminine
presence. His men filed off, and he followed them quickly,
closely attended by a thick-set, savage-looking Sumatrese he had
introduced before as the commander of his brig. Nina walked to
the balustrade of the verandah and saw the sheen of moonlight on
the steel spear-heads and heard the rhythmic jingle of brass
anklets as the men moved in single file towards the jetty. The
boat shoved off after a little while, looming large in the full
light of the moon, a black shapeless mass in the slight haze
hanging over the water. Nina fancied she could distinguish the
graceful figure of the trader standing erect in the stern sheets,
but in a little while all the outlines got blurred, confused, and
soon disappeared in the folds of white vapour shrouding the
middle of the river.
Almayer had approached his daughter, and leaning with both arms
over the rail, was looking moodily down on the heap of rubbish
and broken bottles at the foot of the verandah.
"What was all that noise just now?" he growled peevishly, without
looking up. "Confound you and your mother! What did she want?
What did you come out for?"
"She did not want to let me come out," said Nina. "She is angry.
She says the man just gone is some Rajah. I think she is right
now."
"I believe all you women are crazy," snarled Almayer. "What's
that to you, to her, to anybody? The man wants to collect
trepang and birds' nests on the islands. He told me so, that
Rajah of yours. He will come to-morrow. I want you both to keep
away from the house, and let me attend to my business in peace."
Dain Maroola came the next day and had a long conversation with
Almayer. This was the beginning of a close and friendly
intercourse which, at first, was much remarked in Sambir, till
the population got used to the frequent sight of many fires
burning in Almayer's campong, where Maroola's men were warming
themselves during the cold nights of the north-east monsoon,
while their master had long conferences with the Tuan Putih--as
they styled Almayer amongst themselves. Great was the curiosity
in Sambir on the subject of the new trader. Had he seen the
Sultan? What did the Sultan say? Had he given any presents?
What would he sell? What would he buy? Those were the questions
broached eagerly by the inhabitants of bamboo houses built over
the river. Even in more substantial buildings, in Abdulla's
house, in the residences of principal traders, Arab, Chinese, and
Bugis, the excitement ran high, and lasted many days. With
inborn suspicion they would not believe the simple account of
himself the young trader was always ready to give. Yet it had
all the appearance of truth. He said he was a trader, and sold
rice. He did not want to buy gutta-percha or beeswax, because he
intended to employ his numerous crew in collecting trepang on the
coral reefs outside the river, and also in seeking for bird's
nests on the mainland. Those two articles he professed himself
ready to buy if there were any to be obtained in that way. He
said he was from Bali, and a Brahmin, which last statement he
made good by refusing all food during his often repeated visits
to Lakamba's and Almayer's houses. To Lakamba he went generally
at night and had long audiences. Babalatchi, who was always a
third party at those meetings of potentate and trader, knew how
to resist all attempts on the part of the curious to ascertain
the subject of so many long talks. When questioned with languid
courtesy by the grave Abdulla he sought refuge in a vacant stare
of his one eye, and in the affectation of extreme simplicity.
"I am only my master's slave," murmured Babalatchi, in a
hesitating manner. Then as if making up his mind suddenly for a
reckless confidence he would inform Abdulla of some transaction
in rice, repeating the words, "A hundred big bags the Sultan
bought; a hundred, Tuan!" in a tone of mysterious solemnity.
Abdulla, firmly persuaded of the existence of some more important
dealings, received, however, the information with all the signs
of respectful astonishment. And the two would separate, the Arab
cursing inwardly the wily dog, while Babalatchi went on his way
walking on the dusty path, his body swaying, his chin with its
few grey hairs pushed forward, resembling an inquisitive goat
bent on some unlawful expedition. Attentive eyes watched his
movements. Jim-Eng, descrying Babalatchi far away, would shake
off the stupor of an habitual opium smoker and, tottering on to
the middle of the road, would await the approach of that
important person, ready with hospitable invitation. But
Babalatchi's discretion was proof even against the combined
assaults of good fellowship and of strong gin generously
administered by the open-hearted Chinaman. Jim-Eng, owning
himself beaten, was left uninformed with the empty bottle, and
gazed sadly after the departing form of the statesman of Sambir
pursuing his devious and unsteady way, which, as usual, led him
to Almayer's compound. Ever since a reconciliation had been
effected by Dain Maroola between his white friend and the Rajah,
the one-eyed diplomatist had again become a frequent guest in the
Dutchman's house. To Almayer's great disgust he was to be seen
there at all times, strolling about in an abstracted kind of way
on the verandah, skulking in the passages, or else popping round
unexpected corners, always willing to engage Mrs. Almayer in
confidential conversation. He was very shy of the master
himself, as if suspicious that the pent-up feelings of the white
man towards his person might find vent in a sudden kick. But the
cooking shed was his favourite place, and he became an habitual
guest there, squatting for hours amongst the busy women, with his
chin resting on his knees, his lean arms clasped round his legs,
and his one eye roving uneasily--the very picture of watchful
ugliness. Almayer wanted more than once to complain to Lakamba
of his Prime Minister's intrusion, but Dain dissuaded him. "We
cannot say a word here that he does not hear," growled Almayer.
"Then come and talk on board the brig," retorted Dain, with a
quiet smile. "It is good to let the man come here. Lakamba
thinks he knows much. Perhaps the Sultan thinks I want to run
away. Better let the one-eyed crocodile sun himself in your
campong, Tuan."
And Almayer assented unwillingly muttering vague threats of
personal violence, while he eyed malevolently the aged statesman
sitting with quiet obstinacy by his domestic rice-pot.
