PART III
CHAPTER ONE
"Yes! Cat, dog, anything that can scratch or bite; as long as it
is harmful enough and mangy enough. A sick tiger would make you
happy--of all things. A half-dead tiger that you could weep over
and palm upon some poor devil in your power, to tend and nurse
for you. Never mind the consequences--to the poor devil. Let
him be mangled or eaten up, of course! You haven't any pity to
spare for the victims of your infernal charity. Not you! Your
tender heart bleeds only for what is poisonous and deadly. I
curse the day when you set your benevolent eyes on him. I curse
it . . ."
"Now then! Now then!" growled Lingard in his moustache.
Almayer, who had talked himself up to the choking point, drew a
long breath and went on--
"Yes! It has been always so. Always. As far back as I can
remember. Don't you recollect? What about that half-starved dog
you brought on board in Bankok in your arms. In your arms by . .
. ! It went mad next day and bit the serang. You don't mean to
say you have forgotten? The best serang you ever had! You said
so yourself while you were helping us to lash him down to the
chain-cable, just before he died in his fits. Now, didn't you?
Two wives and ever so many children the man left. That was your
doing. . . . And when you went out of your way and risked your
ship to rescue some Chinamen from a water-logged junk in Formosa
Straits, that was also a clever piece of business. Wasn't it?
Those damned Chinamen rose on you before forty-eight hours. They
were cut-throats, those poor fishermen. You knew they were
cut-throats before you made up your mind to run down on a lee
shore in a gale of wind to save them. A mad trick! If they
hadn't been scoundrels--hopeless scoundrels--you would not have
put your ship in jeopardy for them, I know. You would not have
risked the lives of your crew--that crew you loved so--and your
own life. Wasn't that foolish! And, besides, you were not
honest. Suppose you had been drowned? I would have been in a
pretty mess then, left alone here with that adopted daughter of
yours. Your duty was to myself first. I married that girl
because you promised to make my fortune. You know you did! And
then three months afterwards you go and do that mad trick--for a
lot of Chinamen too. Chinamen! You have no morality. I might
have been ruined for the sake of those murderous scoundrels that,
after all, had to be driven overboard after killing ever so many
of your crew--of your beloved crew! Do you call that honest?"
"Well, well!" muttered Lingard, chewing nervously the stump of
his cheroot that had gone out and looking at Almayer--who stamped
wildly about the verandah--much as a shepherd might look at a pet
sheep in his obedient flock turning unexpectedly upon him in
enraged revolt. He seemed disconcerted, contemptuously angry yet
somewhat amused; and also a little hurt as if at some bitter jest
at his own expense. Almayer stopped suddenly, and crossing his
arms on his breast, bent his body forward and went on speaking.
"I might have been left then in an awkward hole--all on account
of your absurd disregard for your safety--yet I bore no grudge.
I knew your weaknesses. But now--when I think of it! Now we are
ruined. Ruined! Ruined! My poor little Nina. Ruined!"
He slapped his thighs smartly, walked with small steps this way
and that, seized a chair, planted it with a bang before Lingard,
and sat down staring at the old seaman with haggard eyes.
Lingard, returning his stare steadily, dived slowly into various
pockets, fished out at last a box of matches and proceeded to
light his cheroot carefully, rolling it round and round between
his lips, without taking his gaze for a moment off the distressed
Almayer. Then from behind a cloud of tobacco smoke he said
calmly--
"If you had been in trouble as often as I have, my boy, you
wouldn't carry on so. I have been ruined more than once. Well,
here I am."
"Yes, here you are," interrupted Almayer. "Much good it is to
me. Had you been here a month ago it would have been of some
use. But now! . . You might as well be a thousand miles off."
"You scold like a drunken fish-wife," said Lingard, serenely. He
got up and moved slowly to the front rail of the verandah. The
floor shook and the whole house vibrated under his heavy step.
For a moment he stood with his back to Almayer, looking out on
the river and forest of the east bank, then turned round and
gazed mildly down upon him.
"It's very lonely this morning here. Hey?" he said.
Almayer lifted up his head.
"Ah! you notice it--don't you? I should think it is lonely!
Yes, Captain Lingard, your day is over in Sambir. Only a month
ago this verandah would have been full of people coming to greet
you. Fellows would be coming up those steps grinning and
salaaming--to you and to me. But our day is over. And not by my
fault either. You can't say that. It's all the doing of that
pet rascal of yours. Ah! He is a beauty! You should have seen
him leading that hellish crowd. You would have been proud of
your old favourite."
"Smart fellow that," muttered Lingard, thoughtfully. Almayer
jumped up with a shriek.
"And that's all you have to say! Smart fellow! O Lord!"
"Don't make a show of yourself. Sit down. Let's talk quietly.
I want to know all about it. So he led?"
"He was the soul of the whole thing. He piloted Abdulla's ship
in. He ordered everything and everybody," said Almayer, who sat
down again, with a resigned air.
"When did it happen--exactly?"
"On the sixteenth I heard the first rumours of Abdulla's ship
being in the river; a thing I refused to believe at first. Next
day I could not doubt any more. There was a great council held
openly in Lakamba's place where almost everybody in Sambir
attended. On the eighteenth the Lord of the Isles was anchored
in Sambir reach, abreast of my house. Let's see. Six weeks
to-day, exactly."
"And all that happened like this? All of a sudden. You never
heard anything--no warning. Nothing. Never had an idea that
something was up? Come, Almayer!"
"Heard! Yes, I used to hear something every day. Mostly lies.
Is there anything else in Sambir?"
"You might not have believed them," observed Lingard. "In fact
you ought not to have believed everything that was told to you,
as if you had been a green hand on his first voyage."
Almayer moved in his chair uneasily.
"That scoundrel came here one day," he said. "He had been away
from the house for a couple of months living with that woman. I
only heard about him now and then from Patalolo's people when
they came over. Well one day, about noon, he appeared in this
courtyard, as if he had been jerked up from hell-where he
belongs."
Lingard took his cheroot out, and, with his mouth full of white
smoke that oozed out through his parted lips, listened,
attentive. After a short pause Almayer went on, looking at the
floor moodily--
"I must say he looked awful. Had a bad bout of the ague
probably. The left shore is very unhealthy. Strange that only
the breadth of the river . . ."
He dropped off into deep thoughtfulness as if he had forgotten
his grievances in a bitter meditation upon the unsanitary
condition of the virgin forests on the left bank. Lingard took
this opportunity to expel the smoke in a mighty expiration and
threw the stump of his cheroot over his shoulder.
"Go on," he said, after a while. "He came to see you . . ."
"But it wasn't unhealthy enough to finish him, worse luck!" went
on Almayer, rousing himself, "and, as I said, he turned up here
with his brazen impudence. He bullied me, he threatened vaguely.
He wanted to scare me, to blackmail me. Me! And, by heaven--he
said you would approve. You! Can you conceive such impudence?
I couldn't exactly make out what he was driving at. Had I known,
I would have approved him. Yes! With a bang on the head. But
how could I guess that he knew enough to pilot a ship through the
entrance you always said was so difficult. And, after all, that
was the only danger. I could deal with anybody here--but when
Abdulla came. . . . That barque of his is armed. He carries
twelve brass six-pounders, and about thirty men. Desperate
beggars. Sumatra men, from Deli and Acheen. Fight all day and
ask for more in the evening. That kind."
"I know, I know," said Lingard, impatiently.
"Of course, then, they were cheeky as much as you please after he
anchored abreast of our jetty. Willems brought her up himself in
the best berth. I could see him from this verandah standing
forward, together with the half-caste master. And that woman was
there too. Close to him. I heard they took her on board off
Lakamba's place. Willems said he would not go higher without
her. Stormed and raged. Frightened them, I believe. Abdulla
had to interfere. She came off alone in a canoe, and no sooner
on deck than she fell at his feet before all hands, embraced his
knees, wept, raved, begged his pardon. Why? I wonder.
Everybody in Sambir is talking of it. They never heard tell or
saw anything like it. I have all this from Ali, who goes about
in the settlement and brings me the news. I had better know what
is going on--hadn't I? From what I can make out, they--he and
that woman--are looked upon as something mysterious--beyond
comprehension. Some think them mad. They live alone with an old
woman in a house outside Lakamba's campong and are greatly
respected--or feared, I should say rather. At least, he is. He
is very violent. She knows nobody, sees nobody, will speak to
nobody but him. Never leaves him for a moment. It's the talk of
the place. There are other rumours. From what I hear I suspect
that Lakamba and Abdulla are tired of him. There's also talk of
him going away in the Lord of the Isles--when she leaves here for
the southward--as a kind of Abdulla's agent. At any rate, he
must take the ship out. The half-caste is not equal to it as
yet."
Lingard, who had listened absorbed till then, began now to walk
with measured steps. Almayer ceased talking and followed him
with his eyes as he paced up and down with a quarter-deck swing,
tormenting and twisting his long white beard, his face perplexed
and thoughtful.
"So he came to you first of all, did he?" asked Lingard, without
stopping.
"Yes. I told you so. He did come. Came to extort money,
goods--I don't know what else. Wanted to set up as a trader--the
swine! I kicked his hat into the courtyard, and he went after
it, and that was the last of him till he showed up with Abdulla.
How could I know that he could do harm in that way? Or in any
way at that! Any local rising I could put down easy with my own
men and with Patalolo's help."
"Oh! yes. Patalolo. No good. Eh? Did you try him at all?"
"Didn't I!" exclaimed Almayer. "I went to see him myself on the
twelfth. That was four days before Abdulla entered the river.
In fact, same day Willems tried to get at me. I did feel a
little uneasy then. Patalolo assured me that there was no
human being that did not love me in Sambir. Looked as wise as an
owl. Told me not to listen to the lies of wicked people from
down the river. He was alluding to that man Bulangi, who lives
up the sea reach, and who had sent me word that a strange ship
was anchored outside--which, of course, I repeated to Patalolo.
He would not believe. Kept on mumbling 'No! No! No!' like an old
parrot, his head all of a tremble, all beslobbered with betel-nut
juice. I thought there was something queer about him. Seemed so
restless, and as if in a hurry to get rid of me. Well. Next day
that one-eyed malefactor who lives with Lakamba--what's his
name--Babalatchi, put in an appearance here! Came about mid-day,
casually like, and stood there on this verandah chatting about
one thing and another. Asking when I expected you, and so on.
Then, incidentally, he mentioned that they--his master and
himself--were very much bothered by a ferocious white man--my
friend--who was hanging about that woman--Omar's daughter. Asked
my advice. Very deferential and proper. I told him the white
man was not my friend, and that they had better kick him out.
Whereupon he went away salaaming, and protesting his friendship
and his master's goodwill. Of course I know now the infernal
nigger came to spy and to talk over some of my men. Anyway,
eight were missing at the evening muster. Then I took alarm.
Did not dare to leave my house unguarded. You know what my wife
is, don't you? And I did not care to take the child with me--it
being late--so I sent a message to Patalolo to say that we ought
to consult; that there were rumours and uneasiness in the
settlement. Do you know what answer I got?"
Lingard stopped short in his walk before Almayer, who went on,
after an impressive pause, with growing animation.
"All brought it: 'The Rajah sends a friend's greeting, and does
not understand the message.' That was all. Not a word more
could Ali get out of him. I could see that Ali was pretty well
scared. He hung about, arranging my hammock--one thing and
another. Then just before going away he mentioned that the
water-gate of the Rajah's place was heavily barred, but that he
could see only very few men about the courtyard. Finally he said,
'There is darkness in our Rajah's house, but no sleep. Only
darkness and fear and the wailing of women.' Cheerful, wasn't
it? It made me feel cold down my back somehow. After Ali
slipped away I stood here--by this table, and listened to the
shouting and drumming in the settlement. Racket enough for
twenty weddings. It was a little past midnight then."
Again Almayer stopped in his narrative with an abrupt shutting of
lips, as if he had said all that there was to tell, and Lingard
stood staring at him, pensive and silent. A big bluebottle fly
flew in recklessly into the cool verandah, and darted with loud
buzzing between the two men. Lingard struck at it with his hat.
The fly swerved, and Almayer dodged his head out of the way.
Then Lingard aimed another ineffectual blow; Almayer jumped up
and waved his arms about. The fly buzzed desperately, and the
vibration of minute wings sounded in the peace of the early
morning like a far-off string orchestra accompanying the hollow,
determined stamping of the two men, who, with heads thrown back
and arms gyrating on high, or again bending low with infuriated
lunges, were intent upon killing the intruder. But suddenly the
buzz died out in a thin thrill away in the open space of the
courtyard, leaving Lingard and Almayer standing face to face in
the fresh silence of the young day, looking very puzzled and
idle, their arms hanging uselessly by their sides--like men
disheartened by some portentous failure.
"Look at that!" muttered Lingard. "Got away after all."
"Nuisance," said Almayer in the same tone. "Riverside is overrun
with them. This house is badly placed . . . mosquitos . . . and
these big flies . . . . last week stung Nina . . . been ill four
days . . . poor child. . . . I wonder what such damned things
are made for!"
