CHAPTER IX.
"Can I believe what you tell me? It is like a tale for men that
listen only half awake by the camp fire, and it seems to have run
off a woman's tongue."
"Who is there here for me to deceive, O Rajah?" answered
Babalatchi. "Without you I am nothing. All I have told you I
believe to be true. I have been safe for many years in the
hollow of your hand. This is no time to harbour suspicions. The
danger is very great. We should advise and act at once, before
the sun sets."
"Right. Right," muttered Lakamba, pensively.
They had been sitting for the last hour together in the audience
chamber of the Rajah's house, for Babalatchi, as soon as he had
witnessed the landing of the Dutch officers, had crossed the
river to report to his master the events of the morning, and to
confer with him upon the line of conduct to pursue in the face of
altered circumstances. They were both puzzled and frightened by
the unexpected turn the events had taken. The Rajah, sitting
crosslegged on his chair, looked fixedly at the floor; Babalatchi
was squatting close by in an attitude of deep dejection.
"And where did you say he is hiding now?" asked Lakamba, breaking
at last the silence full of gloomy forebodings in which they both
had been lost for a long while.
"In Bulangi's clearing--the furthest one, away from the house.
They went there that very night. The white man's daughter took
him there. She told me so herself, speaking to me openly, for
she is half white and has no decency. She said she was waiting
for him while he was here; then, after a long time, he came out
of the darkness and fell at her feet exhausted. He lay like one
dead, but she brought him back to life in her arms, and made him
breathe again with her own breath. That is what she said,
speaking to my face, as I am speaking now to you, Rajah. She is
like a white woman and knows no shame."
He paused, deeply shocked. Lakamba nodded his head. "Well, and
then?" he asked.
"They called the old woman," went on Babalatchi, "and he told
them all--about the brig, and how he tried to kill many men. He
knew the Orang Blanda were very near, although he had said
nothing to us about that; he knew his great danger. He thought
he had killed many, but there were only two dead, as I have heard
from the men of the sea that came in the warship's boats."
"And the other man, he that was found in the river?" interrupted
Lakamba.
"That was one of his boatmen. When his canoe was overturned by
the logs those two swam together, but the other man must have
been hurt. Dain swam, holding him up. He left him in the bushes
when he went up to the house. When they all came down his heart
had ceased to beat; then the old woman spoke; Dain thought it was
good. He took off his anklet and broke it, twisting it round the
man's foot. His ring he put on that slave's hand. He took off
his sarong and clothed that thing that wanted no clothes, the two
women holding it up meanwhile, their intent being to deceive all
eyes and to mislead the minds in the settlement, so that they
could swear to the thing that was not, and that there could be no
treachery when the white-men came. Then Dain and the white woman
departed to call up Bulangi and find a hiding-place. The old
woman remained by the body."
"Hai!" exclaimed Lakamba. "She has wisdom."
"Yes, she has a Devil of her own to whisper counsel in her ear,"
assented Babalatchi. "She dragged the body with great toil to
the point where many logs were stranded. All these things were
done in the darkness after the storm had passed away. Then she
waited. At the first sign of daylight she battered the face of
the dead with a heavy stone, and she pushed him amongst the logs.
She remained near, watching. At sunrise Mahmat Banjer came and
found him. They all believed; I myself was deceived, but not for
long. The white man believed, and, grieving, fled to his house.
When we were alone I, having doubts, spoke to the woman, and she,
fearing my anger and your might, told me all, asking for help in
saving Dain."
"He must not fall into the hands of the Orang Blanda," said
Lakamba; "but let him die, if the thing can be done quietly."
"It cannot, Tuan! Remember there is that woman who, being half
white, is ungovernable, and would raise a great outcry. Also the
officers are here. They are angry enough already. Dain must
escape; he must go. We must help him now for our own safety."
"Are the officers very angry?" inquired Lakamba, with interest.
"They are. The principal chief used strong words when speaking
to me--to me when I salaamed in your name. I do not think,"
added Babalatchi, after a short pause and looking very
worried--"I do not think I saw a white chief so angry before. He
said we were careless or even worse. He told me he would speak
to the Rajah, and that I was of no account."
"Speak to the Rajah!" repeated Lakamba, thoughtfully. "Listen,
Babalatchi: I am sick, and shall withdraw; you cross over and
tell the white men."
"Yes," said Babalatchi, "I am going over at once; and as to
Dain?"
"You get him away as you can best. This is a great trouble in my
heart," sighed Lakamba.
Babalatchi got up, and, going close to his master, spoke
earnestly.
"There is one of our praus at the southern mouth of the river.
The Dutch warship is to the northward watching the main entrance.
I shall send Dain off to-night in a canoe, by the hidden
channels, on board the prau. His father is a great prince, and
shall hear of our generosity. Let the prau take him to Ampanam.
Your glory shall be great, and your reward in powerful
friendship. Almayer will no doubt deliver the dead body as
Dain's to the officers, and the foolish white men shall say,
'This is very good; let there be peace.' And the trouble shall be
removed from your heart, Rajah."
"True! true!" said Lakamba.
"And, this being accomplished by me who am your slave, you shall
reward with a generous hand. That I know! The white man is
grieving for the lost treasure, in the manner of white men who
thirst after dollars. Now, when all other things are in order,
we shall perhaps obtain the treasure from the white man. Dain
must escape, and Almayer must live."
"Now go, Babalatchi, go!" said Lakamba, getting off his chair.
"I am very sick, and want medicine. Tell the white chief so."
But Babalatchi was not to be got rid of in this summary manner.
He knew that his master, after the manner of the great, liked to
shift the burden of toil and danger on to his servants'
shoulders, but in the difficult straits in which they were now
the Rajah must play his part. He may be very sick for the white
men, for all the world if he liked, as long as he would take upon
himself the execution of part at least of Babalatchi's carefully
thought-of plan. Babalatchi wanted a big canoe manned by twelve
men to be sent out after dark towards Bulangi's clearing. Dain
may have to be overpowered. A man in love cannot be expected to
see clearly the path of safety if it leads him away from the
object of his affections, argued Babalatchi, and in that case
they would have to use force in order to make him go. Would the
Rajah see that trusty men manned the canoe? The thing must be
done secretly. Perhaps the Rajah would come himself, so as to
bring all the weight of his authority to bear upon Dain if he
should prove obstinate and refuse to leave his hiding-place. The
Rajah would not commit himself to a definite promise, and
anxiously pressed Babalatchi to go, being afraid of the white men
paying him an unexpected visit. The aged statesman reluctantly
took his leave and went into the courtyard.
Before going down to his boat Babalatchi stopped for a while in
the big open space where the thick-leaved trees put black patches
of shadow which seemed to float on a flood of smooth, intense
light that rolled up to the houses and down to the stockade and
over the river, where it broke and sparkled in thousands of
glittering wavelets, like a band woven of azure and gold edged
with the brilliant green of the forests guarding both banks of
the Pantai. In the perfect calm before the coming of the
afternoon breeze the irregularly jagged line of tree-tops stood
unchanging, as if traced by an unsteady hand on the clear blue of
the hot sky. In the space sheltered by the high palisades there
lingered the smell of decaying blossoms from the surrounding
forest, a taint of drying fish; with now and then a whiff of
acrid smoke from the cooking fires when it eddied down from under
the leafy boughs and clung lazily about the burnt-up grass.
As Babalatchi looked up at the flagstaff over-topping a group of
low trees in the middle of the courtyard, the tricolour flag of
the Netherlands stirred slightly for the first time since it had
been hoisted that morning on the arrival of the man-of-war boats.
With a faint rustle of trees the breeze came down in light puffs,
playing capriciously for a time with this emblem of Lakamba's
power, that was also the mark of his servitude; then the breeze
freshened in a sharp gust of wind, and the flag flew out straight
and steady above the trees. A dark shadow ran along the river,
rolling over and covering up the sparkle of declining sunlight.
A big white cloud sailed slowly across the darkening sky, and
hung to the westward as if waiting for the sun to join it there.
Men and things shook off the torpor of the hot afternoon and
stirred into life under the first breath of the sea breeze.
Babalatchi hurried down to the water-gate; yet before he passed
through it he paused to look round the courtyard, with its light
and shade, with its cheery fires, with the groups of Lakamba's
soldiers and retainers scattered about. His own house stood
amongst the other buildings in that enclosure, and the statesman
of Sambir asked himself with a sinking heart when and how would
it be given him to return to that house. He had to deal with a
man more dangerous than any wild beast of his experience: a proud
man, a man wilful after the manner of princes, a man in love.
And he was going forth to speak to that man words of cold and
worldly wisdom. Could anything be more appalling? What if that
man should take umbrage at some fancied slight to his honour or
disregard of his affections and suddenly "amok"? The wise
adviser would be the first victim, no doubt, and death would be
his reward. And underlying the horror of this situation there
was the danger of those meddlesome fools, the white men. A
vision of comfortless exile in far-off Madura rose up before
Babalatchi. Wouldn't that be worse than death itself? And there
was that half-white woman with threatening eyes. How could he
tell what an incomprehensible creature of that sort would or
would not do? She knew so much that she made the killing of Dain
an impossibility. That much was certain. And yet the sharp,
rough-edged kriss is a good and discreet friend, thought
Babalatchi, as he examined his own lovingly, and put it back in
the sheath, with a sigh of regret, before unfastening his canoe.
As he cast off the painter, pushed out into the stream, and took
up his paddle, he realised vividly how unsatisfactory it was to
have women mixed up in state affairs. Young women, of course.
For Mrs. Almayer's mature wisdom, and for the easy aptitude in
intrigue that comes with years to the feminine mind, he felt the
most sincere respect.
He paddled leisurely, letting the canoe drift down as he crossed
towards the point. The sun was high yet, and nothing pressed.
His work would commence only with the coming of darkness.
Avoiding the Lingard jetty, he rounded the point, and paddled up
the creek at the back of Almayer's house. There were many canoes
lying there, their noses all drawn together, fastened all to the
same stake. Babalatchi pushed his little craft in amongst them
and stepped on shore. On the other side of the ditch something
moved in the grass.
"Who's that hiding?" hailed Babalatchi. "Come out and speak to
me."
Nobody answered. Babalatchi crossed over, passing from boat to
boat, and poked his staff viciously in the suspicious place.
Taminah jumped up with a cry.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised. "I have nearly
stepped on your tray. Am I a Dyak that you should hide at my
sight?"
"I was weary, and--I slept," whispered Taminah, confusedly.
"You slept! You have not sold anything to-day, and you will be
beaten when you return home," said Babalatchi.
Taminah stood before him abashed and silent. Babalatchi looked
her over carefully with great satisfaction. Decidedly he would
offer fifty dollars more to that thief Bulangi. The girl pleased
him.
"Now you go home. It is late," he said sharply. "Tell Bulangi
that I shall be near his house before the night is half over, and
that I want him to make all things ready for a long journey. You
understand? A long journey to the southward. Tell him that
before sunset, and do not forget my words."
Taminah made a gesture of assent, and watched Babalatchi recross
the ditch and disappear through the bushes bordering Almayer's
compound. She moved a little further off the creek and sank in
the grass again, lying down on her face, shivering in dry-eyed
misery.
Babalatchi walked straight towards the cooking-shed looking for
Mrs. Almayer. The courtyard was in a great uproar. A strange
Chinaman had possession of the kitchen fire and was noisily
demanding another saucepan. He hurled objurgations, in the
Canton dialect and bad Malay, against the group of slave-girls
standing a little way off, half frightened, half amused, at his
violence. From the camping fires round which the seamen of the
frigate were sitting came words of encouragement, mingled with
laughter and jeering. In the midst of this noise and confusion
Babalatchi met Ali, an empty dish in his hand.
"Where are the white men?" asked Babalatchi.
"They are eating in the front verandah," answered Ali. "Do not
stop me, Tuan. I am giving the white men their food and am
busy."
"Where's Mem Almayer?"
"Inside in the passage. She is listening to the talk."
Ali grinned and passed on; Babalatchi ascended the plankway to
the rear verandah, and beckoning out Mrs. Almayer, engaged her in
earnest conversation. Through the long passage, closed at the
further end by the red curtain, they could hear from time to time
Almayer's voice mingling in conversation with an abrupt loudness
that made Mrs. Almayer look significantly at Babalatchi.
"Listen," she said. "He has drunk much."
"He has," whispered Babalatchi. "He will sleep heavily
to-night."
Mrs. Almayer looked doubtful.
"Sometimes the devil of strong gin makes him keep awake, and he
walks up and down the verandah all night, cursing; then we stand
afar off," explained Mrs. Almayer, with the fuller knowledge born
of twenty odd years of married life.
"But then he does not hear, nor understand, and his hand, of
course, has no strength. We do not want him to hear to-night."
"No," assented Mrs. Almayer, energetically, but in a cautiously
subdued voice. "If he hears he will kill."
Babalatchi looked incredulous.
"Hai Tuan, you may believe me. Have I not lived many years with
that man? Have I not seen death in that man's eyes more than
once when I was younger and he guessed at many things. Had he
been a man of my own people I would not have seen such a look
twice; but he--"
With a contemptuous gesture she seemed to fling unutterable scorn
on Almayer's weak-minded aversion to sudden bloodshed.
"If he has the wish but not the strength, then what do we fear?"
asked Babalatchi, after a short silence during which they both
listened to Almayer's loud talk till it subsided into the murmur
of general conversation. "What do we fear?" repeated Babalatchi
again.
"To keep the daughter whom he loves he would strike into your
heart and mine without hesitation," said Mrs. Almayer. "When the
girl is gone he will be like the devil unchained. Then you and I
had better beware."
"I am an old man and fear not death," answered Babalatchi, with a
mendacious assumption of indifference. "But what will you do?"
"I am an old woman, and wish to live," retorted Mrs. Almayer.
"She is my daughter also. I shall seek safety at the feet of our
Rajah, speaking in the name of the past when we both were young,
and he--"
Babalatchi raised his hand.
"Enough. You shall be protected," he said soothingly.
Again the sound of Almayer's voice was heard, and again
interrupting their talk, they listened to the confused but loud
utterance coming in bursts of unequal strength, with unexpected
pauses and noisy repetitions that made some words and sentences
fall clear and distinct on their ears out of the meaningless
jumble of excited shoutings emphasised by the thumping of
Almayer's fist upon the table. On the short intervals of
silence, the high complaining note of tumblers, standing close
together and vibrating to the shock, lingered, growing fainter,
till it leapt up again into tumultuous ringing, when a new idea
started a new rush of words and brought down the heavy hand
again. At last the quarrelsome shouting ceased, and the thin
plaint of disturbed glass died away into reluctant quietude.
Babalatchi and Mrs. Almayer had listened curiously, their bodies
bent and their ears turned towards the passage. At every louder
shout they nodded at each other with a ridiculous affectation of
scandalised propriety, and they remained in the same attitude for
some time after the noise had ceased.
"This is the devil of gin," whispered Mrs. Almayer. "Yes; he
talks like that sometimes when there is nobody to hear him."
"What does he say?" inquired Babalatchi, eagerly. "You ought to
understand."
"I have forgotten their talk. A little I understood. He spoke
without any respect of the white ruler in Batavia, and of
protection, and said he had been wronged; he said that several
times. More I did not understand. Listen! Again he speaks!"
"Tse! tse! tse!" clicked Babalatchi, trying to appear shocked,
but with a joyous twinkle of his solitary eye. "There will be
great trouble between those white men. I will go round now and
see. You tell your daughter that there is a sudden and a long
journey before her, with much glory and splendour at the end.
And tell her that Dain must go, or he must die, and that he will
not go alone."
"No, he will not go alone," slowly repeated Mrs. Almayer, with a
thoughtful air, as she crept into the passage after seeing
Babalatchi disappear round the corner of the house.
The statesman of Sambir, under the impulse of vivid curiosity,
made his way quickly to the front of the house, but once there he
moved slowly and cautiously as he crept step by step up the
stairs of the verandah. On the highest step he sat down quietly,
his feet on the steps below, ready for flight should his presence
prove unwelcome. He felt pretty safe so. The table stood nearly
endways to him, and he saw Almayer's back; at Nina he looked full
face, and had a side view of both officers; but of the four
persons sitting at the table only Nina and the younger officer
noticed his noiseless arrival. The momentary dropping of Nina's
eyelids acknowledged Babalatchi's presence; she then spoke at
once to the young sub, who turned towards her with attentive
alacrity, but her gaze was fastened steadily on her father's face
while Almayer was speaking uproariously.
" . . . disloyalty and unscrupulousness! What have you ever done
to make me loyal? You have no grip on this country. I had to
take care of myself, and when I asked for protection I was met
with threats and contempt, and had Arab slander thrown in my
face. I! a white man!"
"Don't be violent, Almayer," remonstrated the lieutenant; "I have
heard all this already."
"Then why do you talk to me about scruples? I wanted money, and
I gave powder in exchange. How could I know that some of your
wretched men were going to be blown up? Scruples! Pah!"
He groped unsteadily amongst the bottles, trying one after
another, grumbling to himself the while.
"No more wine," he muttered discontentedly.
"You have had enough, Almayer," said the lieutenant, as he
lighted a cigar. "Is it not time to deliver to us your prisoner?
I take it you have that Dain Maroola stowed away safely
somewhere. Still we had better get that business over, and then
we shall have more drink. Come! don't look at me like this."
Almayer was staring with stony eyes, his trembling fingers
fumbling about his throat.
"Gold," he said with difficulty. "Hem! A hand on the windpipe,
you know. Sure you will excuse. I wanted to say--a little gold
for a little powder. What's that?"
"I know, I know," said the lieutenant soothingly.
"No! You don't know. Not one of you knows!" shouted Almayer.
"The government is a fool, I tell you. Heaps of gold. I am the
man that knows; I and another one. But he won't speak. He is--"
He checked himself with a feeble smile, and, making an
unsuccessful attempt to pat the officer on the shoulder, knocked
over a couple of empty bottles.
"Personally you are a fine fellow," he said very distinctly, in a
patronising manner. His head nodded drowsily as he sat muttering
to himself.
The two officers looked at each other helplessly.
"This won't do," said the lieutenant, addressing his junior.
"Have the men mustered in the compound here. I must get some
sense out of him. Hi! Almayer! Wake up, man. Redeem your word.
You gave your word. You gave your word of honour, you know."
Almayer shook off the officer's hand with impatience, but his
ill-humour vanished at once, and he looked up, putting his
forefinger to the side of his nose.
"You are very young; there is time for all things," he said, with
an air of great sagacity.
The lieutenant turned towards Nina, who, leaning back in her
chair, watched her father steadily.
"Really I am very much distressed by all this for your sake," he
exclaimed. "I do not know;" he went on, speaking with some
embarrassment, "whether I have any right to ask you anything,
unless, perhaps, to withdraw from this painful scene, but I feel
that I must--for your father's good--suggest that you should--I
mean if you have any influence over him you ought to exert it now
to make him keep the promise he gave me before he--before he got
into this state."
He observed with discouragement that she seemed not to take any
notice of what he said sitting still with half-closed eyes.
"I trust--" he began again.
"What is the promise you speak of?" abruptly asked Nina, leaving
her seat and moving towards her father.
"Nothing that is not just and proper. He promised to deliver to
us a man who in time of profound peace took the lives of innocent
men to escape the punishment he deserved for breaking the law.
He planned his mischief on a large scale. It is not his fault if
it failed, partially. Of course you have heard of Dain Maroola.
Your father secured him, I understand. We know he escaped up
this river. Perhaps you--"
"And he killed white men!" interrupted Nina.
"I regret to say they were white. Yes, two white men lost their
lives through that scoundrel's freak."
"Two only!" exclaimed Nina.
The officer looked at her in amazement.
"Why! why! You- " he stammered, confused.
"There might have been more," interrupted Nina. "And when you
get this--this scoundrel will you go?"
The lieutenant, still speechless, bowed his assent.
"Then I would get him for you if I had to seek him in a burning
fire," she burst out with intense energy. "I hate the sight of
your white faces. I hate the sound of your gentle voices. That
is the way you speak to women, dropping sweet words before any
pretty face. I have heard your voices before. I hoped to live
here without seeing any other white face but this," she added in
a gentler tone, touching lightly her father's cheek.
Almayer ceased his mumbling and opened his eyes. He caught hold
of his daughter's hand and pressed it to his face, while Nina
with the other hand smoothed his rumpled grey hair, looking
defiantly over her father's head at the officer, who had now
regained his composure and returned her look with a cool, steady
stare. Below, in front of the verandah, they could hear the
tramp of seamen mustering there according to orders. The
sub-lieutenant came up the steps, while Babalatchi stood up
uneasily and, with finger on lip, tried to catch Nina's eye.
"You are a good girl," whispered Almayer, absently, dropping his
daughter's hand.
"Father! father!" she cried, bending over him with passionate
entreaty. "See those two men looking at us. Send them away. I
cannot bear it any more. Send them away. Do what they want and
let them go."
She caught sight of Babalatchi and ceased speaking suddenly, but
her foot tapped the floor with rapid beats in a paroxysm of
nervous restlessness. The two officers stood close together
looking on curiously.
"What has happened? What is the matter?" whispered the younger
man.
"Don't know," answered the other, under his breath. "One is
furious, and the other is drunk. Not so drunk, either. Queer,
this. Look!"
Almayer had risen, holding on to his daughter's arm. He
hesitated a moment, then he let go his hold and lurched half-way
across the verandah. There he pulled himself together, and stood
very straight, breathing hard and glaring round angrily.
"Are the men ready?" asked the lieutenant.
"All ready, sir."
"Now, Mr. Almayer, lead the way," said the lieutenant
Almayer rested his eyes on him as if he saw him for the first
time.
"Two men," he said thickly. The effort of speaking seemed to
interfere with his equilibrium. He took a quick step to save
himself from a fall, and remained swaying backwards and forwards.
"Two men," he began again, speaking with difficulty. "Two white
men--men in uniform--honourable men. I want to say--men of
honour. Are you?"
"Come! None of that," said the officer impatiently. "Let us have
that friend of yours."
"What do you think I am?" asked Almayer, fiercely.
"You are drunk, but not so drunk as not to know what you are
doing. Enough of this tomfoolery," said the officer sternly, "or
I will have you put under arrest in your own house."
"Arrest!" laughed Almayer, discordantly. "Ha! ha! ha! Arrest!
Why, I have been trying to get out of this infernal place for
twenty years, and I can't. You hear, man! I can't, and never
shall! Never!"
He ended his words with a sob, and walked unsteadily down the
stairs. When in the courtyard the lieutenant approached him, and
took him by the arm. The sub-lieutenant and Babalatchi followed
close.
"That's better, Almayer," said the officer encouragingly. "Where
are you going to? There are only planks there. Here," he went
on, shaking him slightly, "do we want the boats?"
"No," answered Almayer, viciously. "You want a grave."
"What? Wild again! Try to talk sense."
"Grave!" roared Almayer, struggling to get himself free. "A hole
in the ground. Don't you understand? You must be drunk. Let me
go! Let go, I tell you!"
He tore away from the officer's grasp, and reeled towards the
planks where the body lay under its white cover; then he turned
round quickly, and faced the semicircle of interested faces. The
sun was sinking rapidly, throwing long shadows of house and trees
over the courtyard, but the light lingered yet on the river,
where the logs went drifting past in midstream, looking very
distinct and black in the pale red glow. The trunks of the trees
in the forest on the east bank were lost in gloom while their
highest branches swayed gently in the departing sunlight. The
air felt heavy and cold in the breeze, expiring in slight puffs
that came over the water.
Almayer shivered as he made an effort to speak, and again with an
uncertain gesture he seemed to free his throat from the grip of
an invisible hand. His bloodshot eyes wandered aimlessly from
face to face.
"There!" he said at last. "Are you all there? He is a dangerous
man."
He dragged at the cover with hasty violence, and the body rolled
stiffly off the planks and fell at his feet in rigid
helplessness.
"Cold, perfectly cold," said Almayer, looking round with a
mirthless smile. "Sorry can do no better. And you can't hang
him, either. As you observe, gentlemen," he added gravely,
"there is no head, and hardly any neck."
The last ray of light was snatched away from the tree-tops, the
river grew suddenly dark, and in the great stillness the murmur
of the flowing water seemed to fill the vast expanse of grey
shadow that descended upon the land.
"This is Dain," went on Almayer to the silent group that
surrounded him. "And I have kept my word. First one hope, then
another, and this is my last. Nothing is left now. You think
there is one dead man here? Mistake, I 'sure you. I am much
more dead. Why don't you hang me?" he suggested suddenly, in a
friendly tone, addressing the lieutenant. "I assure, assure you
it would be a mat--matter of form altog--altogether."
These last words he muttered to himself, and walked zigzaging
towards his house. "Get out!" he thundered at Ali, who was
approaching timidly with offers of assistance. From afar, scared
groups of men and women watched his devious progress. He dragged
himself up the stairs by the banister, and managed to reach a
chair into which he fell heavily. He sat for awhile panting with
exertion and anger, and looking round vaguely for Nina; then
making a threatening gesture towards the compound, where he had
heard Babalatchi's voice, he overturned the table with his foot
in a great crash of smashed crockery. He muttered yet menacingly
to himself, then his head fell on his breast, his eyes closed,
and with a deep sigh he fell asleep.
That night--for the first time in its history--the peaceful and
flourishing settlement of Sambir saw the lights shining about
"Almayer's Folly." These were the lanterns of the boats hung up
by the seamen under the verandah where the two officers were
holding a court of inquiry into the truth of the story related to
them by Babalatchi. Babalatchi had regained all his importance.
He was eloquent and persuasive, calling Heaven and Earth to
witness the truth of his statements. There were also other
witnesses. Mahmat Banjer and a good many others underwent a
close examination that dragged its weary length far into the
evening. A messenger was sent for Abdulla, who excused himself
from coming on the score of his venerable age, but sent Reshid.
Mahmat had to produce the bangle, and saw with rage and
mortification the lieutenant put it in his pocket, as one of the
proofs of Dain's death, to be sent in with the official report of
the mission. Babalatchi's ring was also impounded for the same
purpose, but the experienced statesman was resigned to that loss
from the very beginning. He did not mind as long as he was sure,
that the white men believed. He put that question to himself
earnestly as he left, one of the last, when the proceedings came
to a close. He was not certain. Still, if they believed only
for a night, he would put Dain beyond their reach and feel safe
himself. He walked away fast, looking from time to time over his
shoulder in the fear of being followed, but he saw and heard
nothing.
"Ten o'clock," said the lieutenant, looking at his watch and
yawning. "I shall hear some of the captain's complimentary
remarks when we get back. Miserable business, this."
"Do you think all this is true?" asked the younger man.
"True! It is just possible. But if it isn't true what can we do?
If we had a dozen boats we could patrol the creeks; and that
wouldn't be much good. That drunken madman was right; we haven't
enough hold on this coast. They do what they like. Are our
hammocks slung?"
"Yes, I told the coxswain. Strange couple over there," said the
sub, with a wave of his hand towards Almayer's house.
"Hem! Queer, certainly. What have you been telling her? I was
attending to the father most of the time."
"I assure you I have been perfectly civil," protested the other
warmly.
"All right. Don't get excited. She objects to civility, then,
from what I understand. I thought you might have been tender.
You know we are on service."
"Well, of course. Never forget that. Coldly civil. That's
all."
They both laughed a little, and not feeling sleepy began to pace
the verandah side by side. The moon rose stealthily above the
trees, and suddenly changed the river into a stream of
scintillating silver. The forest came out of the black void and
stood sombre and pensive over the sparkling water. The breeze
died away into a breathless calm.
Seamanlike, the two officers tramped measuredly up and down
without exchanging a word. The loose planks rattled rhythmically
under their steps with obstrusive dry sound in the perfect
silence of the night. As they were wheeling round again the
younger man stood attentive.
"Did you hear that?" he asked.
"No!" said the other. "Hear what?"
"I thought I heard a cry. Ever so faint. Seemed a woman's
voice. In that other house. Ah! Again! Hear it?"
"No," said the lieutenant, after listening awhile. "You young
fellows always hear women's voices. If you are going to dream
you had better get into your hammock. Good-night."
The moon mounted higher, and the warm shadows grew smaller and
crept away as if hiding before the cold and cruel light.
