The Rescue (19 page)

"Not one of them but has a heavy score to settle with the whites. What's
that to me! I had somehow to get men who would fight. I risked my life
to get that lot. I made them promises which I shall keep—or—! Can you
see now why I dared to stop your boat? I am in so deep that I care
for no Sir John in the world. When I look at the work ahead I care for
nothing. I gave you one chance—one good chance. That I had to do. No! I
suppose I didn't look enough of a gentleman. Yes! Yes! That's it. Yet
I know what a gentleman is. I lived with them for years. I chummed with
them—yes—on gold-fields and in other places where a man has got
to show the stuff that's in him. Some of them write from home to me
here—such as you see me, because I—never mind! And I know what a
gentleman would do. Come! Wouldn't he treat a stranger fairly? Wouldn't
he remember that no man is a liar till you prove him so? Wouldn't he
keep his word wherever given? Well, I am going to do that. Not a hair of
your head shall be touched as long as I live!"

She had regained much of her composure but at these words she felt that
staggering sense of utter insecurity which is given one by the first
tremor of an earthquake. It was followed by an expectant stillness of
sensations. She remained silent. He thought she did not believe him.

"Come! What on earth do you think brought me here—to—to—talk like
this to you? There was Hassim—Rajah Tulla, I should say—who was asking
me this afternoon: 'What will you do now with these, your people?' I
believe he thinks yet I fetched you here for some reason. You can't tell
what crooked notion they will get into their thick heads. It's enough to
make one swear." He swore. "My people! Are you? How much? Say—how much?
You're no more mine than I am yours. Would any of you fine folks at home
face black ruin to save a fishing smack's crew from getting drowned?"

Notwithstanding that sense of insecurity which lingered faintly in her
mind she had no image of death before her. She felt intensely alive.
She felt alive in a flush of strength, with an impression of novelty as
though life had been the gift of this very moment. The danger hidden in
the night gave no sign to awaken her terror, but the workings of a
human soul, simple and violent, were laid bare before her and had the
disturbing charm of an unheard-of experience. She was listening to a man
who concealed nothing. She said, interrogatively:

"And yet you have come?"

"Yes," he answered, "to you—and for you only."

The flood tide running strong over the banks made a placid trickling
sound about the yacht's rudder.

"I would not be saved alone."

"Then you must bring them over yourself," he said in a sombre tone.
"There's the brig. You have me—my men—my guns. You know what to do.

"I will try," she said.

"Very well. I am sorry for the poor devils forward there if you fail.
But of course you won't. Watch that light on the brig. I had it hoisted
on purpose. The trouble may be nearer than we think. Two of my boats
are gone scouting and if the news they bring me is bad the light will
be lowered. Think what that means. And I've told you what I have told
nobody. Think of my feelings also. I told you because I—because I had
to."

He gave a shove against the yacht's side and glided away from under her
eyes. A rippling sound died out.

She walked away from the rail. The lamp and the skylights shone
faintly along the dark stretch of the decks. This evening was like the
last—like all the evenings before.

"Is all this I have heard possible?" she asked herself. "No—but it is
true."

She sat down in a deck chair to think and found she could only remember.
She jumped up. She was sure somebody was hailing the yacht faintly. Was
that man hailing? She listened, and hearing nothing was annoyed with
herself for being haunted by a voice.

"He said he could trust me. Now, what is this danger? What is danger?"
she meditated.

Footsteps were coming from forward. The figure of the watchman flitted
vaguely over the gangway. He was whistling softly and vanished. Hollow
sounds in the boat were succeeded by a splash of oars. The night
swallowed these slight noises. Mrs. Travers sat down again and found
herself much calmer.

She had the faculty of being able to think her own thoughts—and the
courage. She could take no action of any kind till her husband's return.
Lingard's warnings were not what had impressed her most. This man had
presented his innermost self unclothed by any subterfuge. There were
in plain sight his desires, his perplexities, affections, doubts, his
violence, his folly; and the existence they made up was lawless but not
vile. She had too much elevation of mind to look upon him from any other
but a strictly human standpoint. If he trusted her (how strange;
why should he? Was he wrong?) she accepted the trust with scrupulous
fairness. And when it dawned upon her that of all the men in the world
this unquestionably was the one she knew best, she had a moment of
wonder followed by an impression of profound sadness. It seemed an
unfortunate matter that concerned her alone.

Her thought was suspended while she listened attentively for the return
of the yacht's boat. She was dismayed at the task before her. Not a
sound broke the stillness and she felt as if she were lost in empty
space. Then suddenly someone amidships yawned immensely and said: "Oh,
dear! Oh, dear!" A voice asked: "Ain't they back yet?" A negative grunt
answered.

Mrs. Travers found that Lingard was touching, because he could be
understood. How simple was life, she reflected. She was frank with
herself. She considered him apart from social organization. She
discovered he had no place in it. How delightful! Here was a human
being and the naked truth of things was not so very far from her
notwithstanding the growth of centuries. Then it occurred to her that
this man by his action stripped her at once of her position, of her
wealth, of her rank, of her past. "I am helpless. What remains?" she
asked herself. Nothing! Anybody there might have suggested: "Your
presence." She was too artificial yet to think of her beauty; and yet
the power of personality is part of the naked truth of things.

She looked over her shoulder, and saw the light at the brig's
foreyard-arm burning with a strong, calm flame in the dust of starlight
suspended above the coast. She heard the heavy bump as of a boat run
headlong against the ladder. They were back! She rose in sudden and
extreme agitation. What should she say? How much? How to begin? Why say
anything? It would be absurd, like talking seriously about a dream.
She would not dare! In a moment she was driven into a state of mind
bordering on distraction. She heard somebody run up the gangway steps.
With the idea of gaining time she walked rapidly aft to the taffrail.
The light of the brig faced her without a flicker, enormous amongst the
suns scattered in the immensity of the night.

She fixed her eyes on it. She thought: "I shan't tell him anything.
Impossible. No! I shall tell everything." She expected every moment to
hear her husband's voice and the suspense was intolerable because she
felt that then she must decide. Somebody on deck was babbling excitedly.
She devoutly hoped d'Alcacer would speak first and thus put off the
fatal moment. A voice said roughly: "What's that?" And in the midst of
her distress she recognized Carter's voice, having noticed that young
man who was of a different stamp from the rest of the crew. She came to
the conclusion that the matter could be related jocularly, or—why not
pretend fear? At that moment the brig's yard-arm light she was looking
at trembled distinctly, and she was dumfounded as if she had seen a
commotion in the firmament. With her lips open for a cry she saw it fall
straight down several feet, flicker, and go out. All perplexity passed
from her mind. This first fact of the danger gave her a thrill of quite
a new emotion. Something had to be done at once. For some remote reason
she felt ashamed of her hesitations.

She moved swiftly forward and under the lamp came face to face with
Carter who was coming aft. Both stopped, staring, the light fell on
their faces, and both were struck by each other's expression. The four
eyes shone wide.

"You have seen?" she asked, beginning to tremble.

"How do you know?" he said, at the same time, evidently surprised.

Suddenly she saw that everybody was on deck.

"The light is down," she stammered.

"The gentlemen are lost," said Carter. Then he perceived she did not
seem to understand. "Kidnapped off the sandbank," he continued, looking
at her fixedly to see how she would take it. She seemed calm. "Kidnapped
like a pair of lambs! Not a squeak," he burst out with indignation. "But
the sandbank is long and they might have been at the other end. You were
on deck, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes," she murmured. "In the chair here."

"We were all down below. I had to rest a little. When I came up the
watchman was asleep. He swears he wasn't, but I know better. Nobody
heard any noise, unless you did. But perhaps you were asleep?" he asked,
deferentially.

"Yes—no—I must have been," she said, faintly.

Lingard's soul was exalted by his talk with Mrs. Travers, by the strain
of incertitude and by extreme fatigue. On returning on board he asked
after Hassim and was told that the Rajah and his sister had gone off in
their canoe promising to return before midnight. The boats sent to scout
between the islets north and south of the anchorage had not come back
yet. He went into his cabin and throwing himself on the couch closed his
eyes thinking: "I must sleep or I shall go mad."

At times he felt an unshaken confidence in Mrs. Travers—then he
remembered her face. Next moment the face would fade, he would make an
effort to hold on to the image, fail—and then become convinced without
the shadow of a doubt that he was utterly lost, unless he let all these
people be wiped off the face of the earth.

"They all heard that man order me out of his ship," he thought, and
thereupon for a second or so he contemplated without flinching the lurid
image of a massacre. "And yet I had to tell her that not a hair of her
head shall be touched. Not a hair."

And irrationally at the recollection of these words there seemed to be
no trouble of any kind left in the world. Now and then, however, there
were black instants when from sheer weariness he thought of nothing at
all; and during one of these he fell asleep, losing the consciousness
of external things as suddenly as if he had been felled by a blow on the
head.

When he sat up, almost before he was properly awake, his first alarmed
conviction was that he had slept the night through. There was a light in
the cuddy and through the open door of his cabin he saw distinctly Mrs.
Travers pass out of view across the lighted space.

"They did come on board after all," he thought—"how is it I haven't
been called!"

He darted into the cuddy. Nobody! Looking up at the clock in the
skylight he was vexed to see it had stopped till his ear caught the
faint beat of the mechanism. It was going then! He could not have been
asleep more than ten minutes. He had not been on board more than twenty!

So it was only a deception; he had seen no one. And yet he remembered
the turn of the head, the line of the neck, the colour of the hair,
the movement of the passing figure. He returned spiritlessly to his
state-room muttering, "No more sleep for me to-night," and came out
directly, holding a few sheets of paper covered with a high, angular
handwriting.

This was Jorgenson's letter written three days before and entrusted to
Hassim. Lingard had read it already twice, but he turned up the lamp a
little higher and sat down to read it again. On the red shield above his
head the gilt sheaf of thunderbolts darting between the initials of his
name seemed to be aimed straight at the nape of his neck as he sat with
bared elbows spread on the table, poring over the crumpled sheets. The
letter began:

Hassim and Immada are going out to-night to look for you. You are behind
your time and every passing day makes things worse.

Ten days ago three of Belarab's men, who had been collecting turtles'
eggs on the islets, came flying back with a story of a ship stranded on
the outer mudflats. Belarab at once forbade any boat from leaving the
lagoon. So far good. There was a great excitement in the village. I
judge it must be a schooner—probably some fool of a trader. However,
you will know all about her when you read this. You may say I might
have pulled out to sea to have a look for myself. But besides Belarab's
orders to the contrary, which I would attend to for the sake of example,
all you are worth in this world, Tom, is here in the Emma, under my
feet, and I would not leave my charge even for half a day. Hassim
attended the council held every evening in the shed outside Belarab's
stockade. That holy man Ningrat was for looting that vessel. Hassim
reproved him saying that the vessel probably was sent by you because
no white men were known to come inside the shoals. Belarab backed up
Hassim. Ningrat was very angry and reproached Belarab for keeping him,
Ningrat, short of opium to smoke. He began by calling him "O! son,"
and ended by shouting, "O! you worse than an unbeliever!" There was a
hullabaloo. The followers of Tengga were ready to interfere and you
know how it is between Tengga and Belarab. Tengga always wanted to oust
Belarab, and his chances were getting pretty good before you turned up
and armed Belarab's bodyguard with muskets. However, Hassim stopped that
row, and no one was hurt that time. Next day, which was Friday, Ningrat
after reading the prayers in the mosque talked to the people outside. He
bleated and capered like an old goat, prophesying misfortune, ruin, and
extermination if these whites were allowed to get away. He is mad but
then they think him a saint, and he had been fighting the Dutch for
years in his young days. Six of Belarab's guard marched down the village
street carrying muskets at full cock and the crowd cleared out. Ningrat
was spirited away by Tengga's men into their master's stockade. If it
was not for the fear of you turning up any moment there would have been
a party-fight that evening. I think it is a pity Tengga is not chief
of the land instead of Belarab. A brave and foresighted man, however
treacherous at heart, can always be trusted to a certain extent. One can
never get anything clear from Belarab. Peace! Peace! You know his fad.
And this fad makes him act silly. The peace racket will get him into a
row. It may cost him his life in the end. However, Tengga does not feel
himself strong enough yet to act with his own followers only and Belarab
has, on my advice, disarmed all villagers. His men went into the houses
and took away by force all the firearms and as many spears as they
could lay hands on. The women screamed abuse of course, but there was no
resistance. A few men were seen clearing out into the forest with their
arms. Note this, for it means there is another power beside Belarab's in
the village: the growing power of Tengga.