CHAPTER THREE
For upwards of forty years Abdulla had walked in the way of his
Lord. Son of the rich Syed Selim bin Sali, the great Mohammedan
trader of the Straits, he went forth at the age of seventeen on
his first commercial expedition, as his father's representative
on board a pilgrim ship chartered by the wealthy Arab to convey a
crowd of pious Malays to the Holy Shrine. That was in the days
when steam was not in those seas--or, at least, not so much as
now. The voyage was long, and the young man's eyes were opened
to the wonders of many lands. Allah had made it his fate to
become a pilgrim very early in life. This was a great favour of
Heaven, and it could not have been bestowed upon a man who prized
it more, or who made himself more worthy of it by the unswerving
piety of his heart and by the religious solemnity of his
demeanour. Later on it became clear that the book of his destiny
contained the programme of a wandering life. He visited Bombay
and Calcutta, looked in at the Persian Gulf, beheld in due course
the high and barren coasts of the Gulf of Suez, and this was the
limit of his wanderings westward. He was then twenty-seven, and
the writing on his forehead decreed that the time had come for
him to return to the Straits and take from his dying father's
hands the many threads of a business that was spread over all the
Archipelago: from Sumatra to New Guinea, from Batavia to Palawan.
Very soon his ability, his will--strong to obstinacy--his wisdom
beyond his years, caused him to be recognized as the head of a
family whose members and connections were found in every part of
those seas. An uncle here--a brother there; a father-in-law in
Batavia, another in Palembang; husbands of numerous sisters;
cousins innumerable scattered north, south, east, and west--in
every place where there was trade: the great family lay like a
network over the islands. They lent money to princes, influenced
the council-rooms, faced--if need be--with peaceful intrepidity
the white rulers who held the land and the sea under the edge of
sharp swords; and they all paid great deference to Abdulla,
listened to his advice, entered into his plans--because he was
wise, pious, and fortunate.
He bore himself with the humility becoming a Believer, who never
forgets, even for one moment of his waking life, that he is the
servant of the Most High. He was largely charitable because the
charitable man is the friend of Allah, and when he walked out of
his house--built of stone, just outside the town of Penang--on
his way to his godowns in the port, he had often to snatch his
hand away sharply from under the lips of men of his race and
creed; and often he had to murmur deprecating words, or even to
rebuke with severity those who attempted to touch his knees with
their finger-tips in gratitude or supplication. He was very
handsome, and carried his small head high with meek gravity. His
lofty brow, straight nose, narrow, dark face with its chiselled
delicacy of feature, gave him an aristocratic appearance which
proclaimed his pure descent. His beard was trimmed close and to
a rounded point. His large brown eyes looked out steadily with a
sweetness that was belied by the expression of his thin-lipped
mouth. His aspect was serene. He had a belief in his own
prosperity which nothing could shake.
Restless, like all his people, he very seldom dwelt for many days
together in his splendid house in Penang. Owner of ships, he was
often on board one or another of them, traversing in all
directions the field of his operations. In every port he had a
household--his own or that of a relation--to hail his advent with
demonstrative joy. In every port there were rich and influential
men eager to see him, there was business to talk over, there were
important letters to read: an immense correspondence, enclosed
in silk envelopes--a correspondence which had nothing to do with
the infidels of colonial post-offices, but came into his hands by
devious, yet safe, ways. It was left for him by taciturn
nakhodas of native trading craft, or was delivered with profound
salaams by travel-stained and weary men who would withdraw from
his presence calling upon Allah to bless the generous giver of
splendid rewards. And the news was always good, and all his
attempts always succeeded, and in his ears there rang always a
chorus of admiration, of gratitude, of humble entreaties.
A fortunate man. And his felicity was so complete that the good
genii, who ordered the stars at his birth, had not neglected--by
a refinement of benevolence strange in such primitive beings--to
provide him with a desire difficult to attain, and with an enemy
hard to overcome. The envy of Lingard's political and commercial
successes, and the wish to get the best of him in every way,
became Abdulla's mania, the paramount interest of his life, the
salt of his existence.
For the last few months he had been receiving mysterious messages
from Sambir urging him to decisive action. He had found the
river a couple of years ago, and had been anchored more than once
off that estuary where the, till then, rapid Pantai, spreading
slowly over the lowlands, seems to hesitate, before it flows
gently through twenty outlets; over a maze of mudflats, sandbanks
and reefs, into the expectant sea. He had never attempted the
entrance, however, because men of his race, although brave and
adventurous travellers, lack the true seamanlike instincts, and
he was afraid of getting wrecked. He could not bear the idea of
the Rajah Laut being able to boast that Abdulla bin Selim, like
other and lesser men, had also come to grief when trying to wrest
his secret from him. Meantime he returned encouraging answers to
his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited for his opportunity in
the calm certitude of ultimate triumph.
Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for
the first time on the night of Willems' return to Aissa.
Babalatchi, who had been tormented for three days by the fear of
having over-reached himself in his little plot, now, feeling sure
of his white man, felt lighthearted and happy as he superintended
the preparations in the courtyard for Abdulla's reception.
Half-way between Lakamba's house and the river a pile of dry wood
was made ready for the torch that would set fire to it at the
moment of Abdulla's landing. Between this and the house again
there was, ranged in a semicircle, a set of low bamboo frames,
and on those were piled all the carpets and cushions of Lakamba's
household. It had been decided that the reception was to take
place in the open air, and that it should be made impressive by
the great number of Lakamba's retainers, who, clad in clean
white, with their red sarongs gathered round their waists,
chopper at side and lance in hand, were moving about the compound
or, gathering into small knots, discussed eagerly the coming
ceremony.
Two little fires burned brightly on the water's edge on each side
of the landing place. A small heap of damar-gum torches lay by
each, and between them Babalatchi strolled backwards and
forwards, stopping often with his face to the river and his head
on one side, listening to the sounds that came from the darkness
over the water. There was no moon and the night was very clear
overhead, but, after the afternoon breeze had expired in fitful
puffs, the vapours hung thickening over the glancing surface of
the Pantai and clung to the shore, hiding from view the middle of
the stream.
A cry in the mist--then another--and, before Babalatchi could
answer, two little canoes dashed up to the landing-place, and two
of the principal citizens of Sambir, Daoud Sahamin and Hamet
Bahassoen, who had been confidentially invited to meet Abdulla,
landed quickly and after greeting Babalatchi walked up the dark
courtyard towards the house. The little stir caused by their
arrival soon subsided, and another silent hour dragged its slow
length while Babalatchi tramped up and down between the fires,
his face growing more anxious with every passing moment.
At last there was heard a loud hail from down the river. At a
call from Babalatchi men ran down to the riverside and, snatching
the torches, thrust them into the fires, then waved them above
their heads till they burst into a flame. The smoke ascended in
thick, wispy streams, and hung in a ruddy cloud above the glare
that lit up the courtyard and flashed over the water, showing
three long canoes manned by many paddlers lying a little off; the
men in them lifting their paddles on high and dipping them down
together, in an easy stroke that kept the small flotilla
motionless in the strong current, exactly abreast of the landing-
place. A man stood up in the largest craft and called out--
"Syed Abdulla bin Selim is here!"
Babalatchi answered aloud in a formal tone--
"Allah gladdens our hearts! Come to the land!"
Abdulla landed first, steadying himself by the help of
Babalatchi's extended hand. In the short moment of his passing
from the boat to the shore they exchanged sharp glances and a few
rapid words.
"Who are you?"
"Babalatchi. The friend of Omar. The protected of Lakamba."
"You wrote?"
"My words were written, O Giver of alms!"
And then Abdulla walked with composed face between the two lines
of men holding torches, and met Lakamba in front of the big fire
that was crackling itself up into a great blaze. For a moment
they stood with clasped hands invoking peace upon each other's
head, then Lakamba, still holding his honoured guest by the hand,
led him round the fire to the prepared seats. Babalatchi
followed close behind his protector. Abdulla was accompanied by
two Arabs. He, like his companions, was dressed in a white robe
of starched muslin, which fell in stiff folds straight from the
neck. It was buttoned from the throat halfway down with a close
row of very small gold buttons; round the tight sleeves there was
a narrow braid of gold lace. On his shaven head he wore a small
skull-cap of plaited grass. He was shod in patent leather
slippers over his naked feet. A rosary of heavy wooden beads
hung by a round turn from his right wrist. He sat down slowly in
the place of honour, and, dropping his slippers, tucked up his
legs under him decorously.
The improvised divan was arranged in a wide semi-circle, of which
the point most distant from the fire--some ten yards--was also
the nearest to Lakamba's dwelling. As soon as the principal
personages were seated, the verandah of the house was filled
silently by the muffled-up forms of Lakamba's female belongings.
They crowded close to the rail and looked down, whispering
faintly. Below, the formal exchange of compliments went on for
some time between Lakamba and Abdulla, who sat side by side.
Babalatchi squatted humbly at his protector's feet, with nothing
but a thin mat between himself and the hard ground.
Then there was a pause. Abdulla glanced round in an expectant
manner, and after a while Babalatchi, who had been sitting very
still in a pensive attitude, seemed to rouse himself with an
effort, and began to speak in gentle and persuasive tones. He
described in flowing sentences the first beginnings of Sambir,
the dispute of the present ruler, Patalolo, with the Sultan of
Koti, the consequent troubles ending with the rising of Bugis
settlers under the leadership of Lakamba. At different points of
the narrative he would turn for confirmation to Sahamin and
Bahassoen, who sat listening eagerly and assented together with a
"Betul! Betul! Right! Right!" ejaculated in a fervent
undertone.
Warming up with his subject as the narrative proceeded,
Babalatchi went on to relate the facts connected with Lingard's
action at the critical period of those internal dissensions. He
spoke in a restrained voice still, but with a growing energy of
indignation. What was he, that man of fierce aspect, to keep all
the world away from them? Was he a government? Who made him
ruler? He took possession of Patalolo's mind and made his heart
hard; he put severe words into his mouth and caused his hand to
strike right and left. That unbeliever kept the Faithful panting
under the weight of his senseless oppression. They had to trade
with him--accept such goods as he would give--such credit as he
would accord. And he exacted payment every year . . .
"Very true!" exclaimed Sahamin and Bahassoen together.
Babalatchi glanced at them approvingly and turned to Abdulla.
"Listen to those men, O Protector of the oppressed!" he
exclaimed. "What could we do? A man must trade. There was
nobody else."
Sahamin got up, staff in hand, and spoke to Abdulla with
ponderous courtesy, emphasizing his words by the solemn
flourishes of his right arm.
"It is so. We are weary of paying our debts to that white man
here, who is the son of the Rajah Laut. That white man--may the
grave of his mother be defiled!--is not content to hold us all in
his hand with a cruel grasp. He seeks to cause our very death.
He trades with the Dyaks of the forest, who are no better than
monkeys. He buys from them guttah and rattans--while we starve.
Only two days ago I went to him and said, 'Tuan Almayer'--even
so; we must speak politely to that friend of Satan--'Tuan
Almayer, I have such and such goods to sell. Will you buy?' And
he spoke thus--because those white men have no understanding of
any courtesy--he spoke to me as if I was a slave: 'Daoud, you are
a lucky man'--remark, O First amongst the Believers! that by
those words he could have brought misfortune on my head--'you are
a lucky man to have anything in these hard times. Bring your
goods quickly, and I shall receive them in payment of what you
owe me from last year.' And he laughed, and struck me on the
shoulder with his open hand. May Jehannum be his lot!"
"We will fight him," said young Bahassoen, crisply. "We shall
fight if there is help and a leader. Tuan Abdulla, will you come
among us?"
Abdulla did not answer at once. His lips moved in an inaudible
whisper and the beads passed through his fingers with a dry
click. All waited in respectful silence. "I shall come if my
ship can enter this river," said Abdulla at last, in a solemn
tone.
"It can, Tuan," exclaimed Babalatchi. "There is a white man here
who . . ."
"I want to see Omar el Badavi and that white man you wrote
about," interrupted Abdulla.
Babalatchi got on his feet quickly, and there was a general move.
The women on the verandah hurried indoors, and from the crowd
that had kept discreetly in distant parts of the courtyard a
couple of men ran with armfuls of dry fuel, which they cast upon
the fire. One of them, at a sign from Babalatchi, approached
and, after getting his orders, went towards the little gate and
entered Omar's enclosure. While waiting for his return, Lakamba,
Abdulla, and Babalatchi talked together in low tones. Sahamin
sat by himself chewing betel-nut sleepily with a slight and
indolent motion of his heavy jaw. Bahassoen, his hand on the
hilt of his short sword, strutted backwards and forwards in the
full light of the fire, looking very warlike and reckless; the
envy and admiration of Lakamba's retainers, who stood in groups
or flitted about noiselessly in the shadows of the courtyard.
The messenger who had been sent to Omar came back and stood at a
distance, waiting till somebody noticed him. Babalatchi beckoned
him close.
"What are his words?" asked Babalatchi.
"He says that Syed Abdulla is welcome now," answered the man.
Lakamba was speaking low to Abdulla, who listened to him with
deep interest.
". . . We could have eighty men if there was need," he was
saying--"eighty men in fourteen canoes. The only thing we want is
gunpowder . . ."
"Hai! there will be no fighting," broke in Babalatchi. "The fear
of your name will be enough and the terror of your coming."
"There may be powder too," muttered Abdulla with great
nonchalance, "if only the ship enters the river safely."
"If the heart is stout the ship will be safe," said Babalatchi.
"We will go now and see Omar el Badavi and the white man I have
here."
Lakamba's dull eyes became animated suddenly.
"Take care, Tuan Abdulla," he said, "take care. The behaviour of
that unclean white madman is furious in the extreme. He offered
to strike . . ."
"On my head, you are safe, O Giver of alms!" interrupted
Babalatchi.
Abdulla looked from one to the other, and the faintest flicker of
a passing smile disturbed for a moment his grave composure. He
turned to Babalatchi, and said with decision--
"Let us go."
"This way, O Uplifter of our hearts!" rattled on Babalatchi, with
fussy deference. "Only a very few paces and you shall behold
Omar the brave, and a white man of great strength and cunning.
This way."
He made a sign for Lakamba to remain behind, and with respectful
touches on the elbow steered Abdulla towards the gate at the
upper end of the court-yard. As they walked on slowly, followed
by the two Arabs, he kept on talking in a rapid undertone to the
great man, who never looked at him once, although appearing to
listen with flattering attention. When near the gate Babalatchi
moved forward and stopped, facing Abdulla, with his hand on the
fastenings.
"You shall see them both," he said. "All my words about them are
true. When I saw him enslaved by the one of whom I spoke, I knew
he would be soft in my hand like the mud of the river. At first
he answered my talk with bad words of his own language, after the
manner of white men. Afterwards, when listening to the voice he
loved, he hesitated. He hesitated for many days--too many. I,
knowing him well, made Omar withdraw here with his . . .
household. Then this red-faced man raged for three days like a
black panther that is hungry. And this evening, this very
evening, he came. I have him here. He is in the grasp of one
with a merciless heart. I have him here," ended Babalatchi,
exultingly tapping the upright of the gate with his hand.
"That is good," murmured Abdulla.
"And he shall guide your ship and lead in the fight--if fight
there be," went on Babalatchi. "If there is any killing--let him
be the slayer. You should give him arms--a short gun that fires
many times."
"Yes, by Allah!" assented Abdulla, with slow thoughtfulness.
"And you will have to open your hand, O First amongst the
generous!" continued Babalatchi. "You will have to satisfy the
rapacity of a white man, and also of one who is not a man, and
therefore greedy of ornaments."
"They shall be satisfied," said Abdulla; "but . . ." He
hesitated, looking down on the ground and stroking his beard,
while Babalatchi waited, anxious, with parted lips. After a
short time he spoke again jerkily in an indistinct whisper, so
that Babalatchi had to turn his head to catch the words. "Yes.
But Omar is the son of my father's uncle . . . and all belonging
to him are of the Faith . . . while that man is an unbeliever.
It is most unseemly . . . very unseemly. He cannot live under my
shadow. Not that dog. Penitence! I take refuge with my God,"
he mumbled rapidly. "How can he live under my eyes with that
woman, who is of the Faith? Scandal! O abomination!"
He finished with a rush and drew a long breath, then added
dubiously--
"And when that man has done all we want, what is to be done with
him?"
They stood close together, meditative and silent, their eyes
roaming idly over the courtyard. The big bonfire burned
brightly, and a wavering splash of light lay on the dark earth at
their feet, while the lazy smoke wreathed itself slowly in
gleaming coils amongst the black boughs of the trees. They could
see Lakamba, who had returned to his place, sitting hunched up
spiritlessly on the cushions, and Sahamin, who had got on his
feet again and appeared to be talking to him with dignified
animation. Men in twos or threes came out of the shadows into
the light, strolling slowly, and passed again into the shadows,
their faces turned to each other, their arms moving in restrained
gestures. Bahassoen, his head proudly thrown back, his
ornaments, embroideries, and sword-hilt flashing in the light,
circled steadily round the fire like a planet round the sun. A
cool whiff of damp air came from the darkness of the riverside;
it made Abdulla and Babalatchi shiver, and woke them up from
their abstraction.
"Open the gate and go first," said Abdulla; "there is no danger?"
"On my life, no!" answered Babalatchi, lifting the rattan ring.
"He is all peace and content, like a thirsty man who has drunk
water after many days."
He swung the gate wide, made a few paces into the gloom of the
enclosure, and retraced his steps suddenly.
"He may be made useful in many ways," he whispered to Abdulla,
who had stopped short, seeing him come back.
"O Sin! O Temptation!" sighed out Abdulla, faintly. "Our refuge
is with the Most High. Can I feed this infidel for ever and for
ever?" he added, impatiently.
"No," breathed out Babalatchi. "No! Not for ever. Only while
he serves your designs, O Dispenser of Allah's gifts! When the
time comes--and your order . . ."
He sidled close to Abdulla, and brushed with a delicate touch the
hand that hung down listlessly, holding the prayer-beads.
"I am your slave and your offering," he murmured, in a distinct
and polite tone, into Abdulla's ear. "When your wisdom speaks,
there may be found a little poison that will not lie. Who
knows?"
