VII
His tale was as startling as the discovery of a new world. She was beingtaken along the boundary of an exciting existence, and she looked intoit through the guileless enthusiasm of the narrator. The heroic qualityof the feelings concealed what was disproportionate and absurd inthat gratitude, in that friendship, in that inexplicable devotion. Theheadlong fierceness of purpose invested his obscure design of conquestwith the proportions of a great enterprise. It was clear that no visionof a subjugated world could have been more inspiring to the most famousadventurer of history.
From time to time he interrupted himself to ask, confidently, as ifhe had been speaking to an old friend, "What would you have done?" andhurried on without pausing for approval.
It struck her that there was a great passion in all this, the beauty ofan implanted faculty of affection that had found itself, its immediateneed of an object and the way of expansion; a tenderness expressedviolently; a tenderness that could only be satisfied by backing humanbeings against their own destiny. Perhaps her hatred of convention,trammelling the frankness of her own impulses, had rendered her morealert to perceive what is intrinsically great and profound within theforms of human folly, so simple and so infinitely varied according tothe region of the earth and to the moment of time.
What of it that the narrator was only a roving seaman; the kingdom ofthe jungle, the men of the forest, the lives obscure! That simple soulwas possessed by the greatness of the idea; there was nothing sordid inits flaming impulses. When she once understood that, the story appealedto the audacity of her thoughts, and she became so charmed with what sheheard that she forgot where she was. She forgot that she was personallyclose to that tale which she saw detached, far away from her, truth orfiction, presented in picturesque speech, real only by the response ofher emotion.
Lingard paused. In the cessation of the impassioned murmur she began toreflect. And at first it was only an oppressive notion of there beingsome significance that really mattered in this man's story. Thatmattered to her. For the first time the shadow of danger and deathcrossed her mind. Was that the significance? Suddenly, in a flash ofacute discernment, she saw herself involved helplessly in that story, asone is involved in a natural cataclysm.
He was speaking again. He had not been silent more than a minute. Itseemed to Mrs. Travers that years had elapsed, so different now was theeffect of his words. Her mind was agitated as if his coming to speak andconfide in her had been a tremendous occurrence. It was a fact of herown existence; it was part of the story also. This was the disturbingthought. She heard him pronounce several names: Belarab, Daman, Tengga,Ningrat. These belonged now to her life and she was appalled to find shewas unable to connect these names with any human appearance. They stoodout alone, as if written on the night; they took on a symbolic shape;they imposed themselves upon her senses. She whispered as if pondering:"Belarab, Daman, Ningrat," and these barbarous sounds seemed to possessan exceptional energy, a fatal aspect, the savour of madness.
"Not one of them but has a heavy score to settle with the whites. What'sthat to me! I had somehow to get men who would fight. I risked my lifeto get that lot. I made them promises which I shall keep--or--! Can yousee now why I dared to stop your boat? I am in so deep that I carefor no Sir John in the world. When I look at the work ahead I care fornothing. I gave you one chance--one good chance. That I had to do. No! Isuppose I didn't look enough of a gentleman. Yes! Yes! That's it. YetI know what a gentleman is. I lived with them for years. I chummed withthem--yes--on gold-fields and in other places where a man has gotto show the stuff that's in him. Some of them write from home to mehere--such as you see me, because I--never mind! And I know what agentleman would do. Come! Wouldn't he treat a stranger fairly? Wouldn'the remember that no man is a liar till you prove him so? Wouldn't hekeep his word wherever given? Well, I am going to do that. Not a hair ofyour head shall be touched as long as I live!"
She had regained much of her composure but at these words she felt thatstaggering sense of utter insecurity which is given one by the firsttremor of an earthquake. It was followed by an expectant stillness ofsensations. She remained silent. He thought she did not believe him.
"Come! What on earth do you think brought me here--to--to--talk likethis to you? There was Hassim--Rajah Tulla, I should say--who was askingme this afternoon: 'What will you do now with these, your people?' Ibelieve he thinks yet I fetched you here for some reason. You can't tellwhat crooked notion they will get into their thick heads. It's enough tomake 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 homeface black ruin to save a fishing smack's crew from getting drowned?"
Notwithstanding that sense of insecurity which lingered faintly in hermind 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 asthough life had been the gift of this very moment. The danger hidden inthe night gave no sign to awaken her terror, but the workings of ahuman soul, simple and violent, were laid bare before her and had thedisturbing charm of an unheard-of experience. She was listening to a manwho 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 tricklingsound 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 hoistedon purpose. The trouble may be nearer than we think. Two of my boatsare gone scouting and if the news they bring me is bad the light willbe lowered. Think what that means. And I've told you what I have toldnobody. Think of my feelings also. I told you because I--because I hadto."
He gave a shove against the yacht's side and glided away from under hereyes. A rippling sound died out.
She walked away from the rail. The lamp and the skylights shonefaintly along the dark stretch of the decks. This evening was like thelast--like all the evenings before.
"Is all this I have heard possible?" she asked herself. "No--but it istrue."
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. Wasthat man hailing? She listened, and hearing nothing was annoyed withherself 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 flittedvaguely over the gangway. He was whistling softly and vanished. Hollowsounds in the boat were succeeded by a splash of oars. The nightswallowed these slight noises. Mrs. Travers sat down again and foundherself much calmer.
She had the faculty of being able to think her own thoughts--and thecourage. 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 hadpresented his innermost self unclothed by any subterfuge. There werein plain sight his desires, his perplexities, affections, doubts, hisviolence, his folly; and the existence they made up was lawless but notvile. She had too much elevation of mind to look upon him from any otherbut a strictly human standpoint. If he trusted her (how strange;why should he? Was he wrong?) she accepted the trust with scrupulousfairness. And when it dawned upon her that of all the men in the worldthis unquestionably was the one she knew best, she had a moment ofwonder followed by an impression of profound sadness. It seemed anunfortunate matter that concerned her alone.
Her thought was suspended while she listened attentively for the returnof the yacht's boat. She was dismayed at the task before her. Not asound broke the stillness and she felt as if she were lost in emptyspace. Then suddenly someone amidships yawned
immensely and said: "Oh,dear! Oh, dear!" A voice asked: "Ain't they back yet?" A negative gruntanswered.
Mrs. Travers found that Lingard was touching, because he could beunderstood. How simple was life, she reflected. She was frank withherself. She considered him apart from social organization. Shediscovered he had no place in it. How delightful! Here was a humanbeing and the naked truth of things was not so very far from hernotwithstanding the growth of centuries. Then it occurred to her thatthis man by his action stripped her at once of her position, of herwealth, of her rank, of her past. "I am helpless. What remains?" sheasked herself. Nothing! Anybody there might have suggested: "Yourpresence." She was too artificial yet to think of her beauty; and yetthe power of personality is part of the naked truth of things.
She looked over her shoulder, and saw the light at the brig'sforeyard-arm burning with a strong, calm flame in the dust of starlightsuspended above the coast. She heard the heavy bump as of a boat runheadlong against the ladder. They were back! She rose in sudden andextreme agitation. What should she say? How much? How to begin? Why sayanything? It would be absurd, like talking seriously about a dream.She would not dare! In a moment she was driven into a state of mindbordering 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 thesuns 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 tohear her husband's voice and the suspense was intolerable because shefelt that then she must decide. Somebody on deck was babbling excitedly.She devoutly hoped d'Alcacer would speak first and thus put off thefatal moment. A voice said roughly: "What's that?" And in the midst ofher distress she recognized Carter's voice, having noticed that youngman who was of a different stamp from the rest of the crew. She came tothe conclusion that the matter could be related jocularly, or--why notpretend fear? At that moment the brig's yard-arm light she was lookingat trembled distinctly, and she was dumfounded as if she had seen acommotion in the firmament. With her lips open for a cry she saw it fallstraight down several feet, flicker, and go out. All perplexity passedfrom her mind. This first fact of the danger gave her a thrill of quitea new emotion. Something had to be done at once. For some remote reasonshe felt ashamed of her hesitations.
She moved swiftly forward and under the lamp came face to face withCarter who was coming aft. Both stopped, staring, the light fell ontheir faces, and both were struck by each other's expression. The foureyes 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 notseem to understand. "Kidnapped off the sandbank," he continued, lookingat her fixedly to see how she would take it. She seemed calm. "Kidnappedlike a pair of lambs! Not a squeak," he burst out with indignation. "Butthe sandbank is long and they might have been at the other end. You wereon 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 thewatchman was asleep. He swears he wasn't, but I know better. Nobodyheard any noise, unless you did. But perhaps you were asleep?" he asked,deferentially.
"Yes--no--I must have been," she said, faintly.
The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows Page 18