4L-fc_.^."- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS 
 
BOOKS BY JOSEPH CONRAD 
 
 ALMAYER'S FOLLY 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLAND 
 
 ARROW OF GOLD, THE 
 
 CHANCE 
 
 FALK. AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 LORD JIM: A ROMANCE 
 
 MIRROR OF THE SEA, THE 
 
 NIGGER OF THE NARCISSUS, THE ' 
 
 NOSTROMO: A TALE OF THE SEABOARD 
 
 PERSONAL RECORD, A 
 
 RESCUE, THE 
 
 SECRET AGENT, THE 
 
 SET OF SIX. A 
 
 SHADOW LINE. THE 
 
 TALES OF UNREST 
 
 •TWIXT LAND AND SEA 
 
 TYPHOON 
 
 UNDER WESTERN EYES 
 
 VICTORY 
 
 WITHIN THE TIDES 
 
 YOUTH: A NARRATIVE 
 
 WITH FORD M. HUEFFER 
 
 INHERITORS, THE: AN EXTRAVAGANT 
 STORY 
 
 ROMANCE: A NOVEL 
 
^ 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF 
 THE ISLANDS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH CONRAD 
 
 Pues el delito mayor 
 
 Del hombre es haber nacito 
 
 — Calderon 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1922 
 
To R"''" 
 
 A 
 
 osi6^ 
 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
 
 INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
 
 AT 
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 
 
TO 
 
 EDWARD LANCELOT SANDERSON, 
 
 520704 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 PART I. 
 I. 
 
 When he stepped off the straight and narrow path 
 of his pecuHar honesty, it was with an inward asser- 
 tion of unflinching resolve to fall back again into the 
 monotonous but safe stride of virtue as soon as his 
 little excursion into the wayside quagmires had pro- 
 duced the desired effect. It was going to be a short 
 episode — a sentence in brackets, so to speak — in the 
 flowing tale of his life: a thing of no moment, to be 
 done unwillingly, yet neatly, and to be quickly for- 
 gotten. He imagined that he could go on afterwards 
 looking at the sunshine, enjoying the shade, breathing 
 in the perfume of flowers in the small garden before 
 his house. He fancied that nothing would be changed, 
 that he would be able as heretofore to tyrannise good- 
 liumouredly over his half-caste wife, to notice with 
 tender contempt his pale yellow child, to patronise 
 loftily his dark-skinned brother-in-law, who loved 
 pink neckties and wore patent-leather boots on his 
 little feet, and was so humble before the white hus- 
 band of the lucky sister. Those were the delights of 
 his life, and he was unable to conceive that the moral 
 significance of any act of his could interfere with the 
 very nature of things, could dim the light of the sun, 
 could destroy the perfume of the flowers, the submis- 
 sion of his wife, the smile of his child, the awe-struck 
 
 I 
 
2 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 respect of Leonard da Souza and of all the Da Souza 
 family. That family's admiration was the great lux- 
 ury of his life. It rounded and completed his exist- 
 ence in a perpetual assurance of unquestionable su- 
 periority. He loved to breathe the coarse incense they 
 offered before the shrine of the successful white man; 
 the man that had done them the honour to marry 
 their daughter, sister, cousin; the rising man sure to 
 climb very high; the confidential clerk of Hudig & 
 Co. They were a numerous and unclean crowd, liv- 
 ing in ruined bamboo houses, surrounded by neglected 
 compounds, on the outskirts of Macassar. He kept 
 them at arm's length and even further off, perhaps, 
 having no illusions as to their worth. They were a half- 
 caste, lazy lot, and he saw them as they were — ragged, 
 lean, unwashed, under-sized men of various ages, 
 shuffling about aimlessly in slippers; motionless old 
 women who looked like monstrous bags of pink calico 
 stuffed with shapeless lumps of fat, and deposited 
 askew upon decaying rattan chairs in shady corners 
 of dusty verandahs; young women, slim and yellowy 
 big-eyed, long-haired, moving languidly amongst the 
 dirt and rubbish of their dwellings as if every step they 
 took was going to be their very last. He heard their 
 shrill quarrellings, the squalling of their children, the 
 grunting of their pigs; he smelt the odours of the 
 heaps of garbage in their courtyards: and he was 
 greatly disgusted. But he fed and clothed that shabby 
 multitude; those degenerate descendants of Portu- 
 guese conquerors; he was their providence; he kept 
 them singing his praises in the midst of their laziness, 
 of their dirt, of their immense and hopeless squalor: 
 and he was greatly delighted. They wanted much, 
 but he could give them all they wanted without ruin- 
 ing himself. In exchange he had their silent fear, 
 their loquacious love, their noisy veneration. It is a- 
 fine thing to be a providence, and to be told so on every 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 3 
 
 day of one's life. It gives one a feeling of enormously 
 remote superiority, and Willems revelled in it. He 
 did not analyse the state of his mind, but probably his 
 greatest delight lay in the unexpressed but intimate 
 conviction that, should he close his hand, all those 
 admiring human beings would starve. His munifi- 
 cence had demorahsed them. An easy task. Since 
 he descended amongst them and married Joanna they 
 had lost the little aptitude and strength for work they 
 might have had to put forth under the stress of ex- 
 treme necessity. They lived now by the grace of his 
 will. This was power. Willems loved it. 
 
 In another, and perhaps a lower plane, his days did 
 not want for their less complex but more obvious 
 pleasures. He liked the simple games of skill — bill- 
 iards; also games not so simple, and calling for quite 
 another kind of skill — poker. He had been the aptest 
 pupil of a steady-eyed, sententious American, who had 
 drifted mysteriously into Macassar from the wastes 
 of the Pacific, and, after knocking about for a time in 
 the eddies of town life, had drifted out enigmatically 
 into the sunny solitudes of the Indian Ocean. The 
 memory of the Californian stranger was perpetuated 
 in the game of poker — which became popular in the 
 capital of Celebes from that time — and in a powerful 
 cocktail, the recipe for wdiich is transmitted — in the 
 Kwang-tung dialect — from head boy to head boy of 
 the Chinese servants in the Sunda Hotel even to this 
 day. Willems was a connoisseur in the drink and an 
 adept at the game. Of those accomplishments he was 
 moderately proud. Of the confidence reposed in him 
 by Hudig — the master — he w^as boastfully and obtru- 
 sively proud. This arose from his great benevolence, 
 and from an exalted sense of his duty to himself and 
 the world at large. He experienced that 4n?esistib le 
 (li^apulse to irn^ar t int ormatjion_whi ch is insepa rable 
 from g'rosslgnorance. There is always some one thing 
 
4 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 which the ignorant man knows, and that thing is the 
 onTything worth knowing; it fills^ttie Ignorant man's 
 uiliy£rse. Willems knew^alTaboiTr himself. On the 
 day when, with many misgivings, he ran away from a 
 Dutch East-Indiaman in Samarang roads, he had com- 
 menced that study of himself, of his own ways, of his 
 own abilities, of those fate-compelling qualities of his 
 which led him towards that lucrative position which 
 he now filled. Being of a modest and diffident na- 
 ture, his successes amazed, almost frightened him, and 
 ended — as he got over the succeeding shocks of sur- 
 prise — by making him ferociously conceitedx. He be- 
 lieved in his genius and in his knowledge of the world. 
 Others should know of it also; for their own good 
 and for his greater glory. ^All those friendly men who 
 slapped him on the back and greeted him noisily should 
 have the benefit of his example. For that he must 
 talk. He talked to them conscientiously. Lin the after- 
 noon he expounded his theory of success over the 
 little tables, dipping now and then his moustache in 
 the crushed ice of the cocktails; in the evening he 
 would often hold forth, cue in hand, to a young listener 
 across the billiard table^The billiard balls stood still 
 as if listening also, under the vivid brilliance of the 
 shaded oil lamps hung low over the cloth ; while away 
 in the shadows of the big room the Chinaman marker 
 would lean wearily against the wall, the blank mask 
 of his face looking pale under the mahogany marking- 
 board; his eyelids dropped in the drowsy fatigue of 
 late hours and in the buzzing monotony of the unin- 
 telligible stream of words poured out by the white man. 
 In a sudden pause of the talk the game would recom- 
 mence with a sharp click and go on for a time in the 
 flowing soft whirr and the subdued thuds as the balls 
 rolled zig-zagging towards the inevitably successful 
 cannon. Through the big windows and the open doors 
 the salt dampness of the sea, the vague smell of mould 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 5 
 
 and flowers from the garden of the hotel drifted in and 
 mingled with the odour of lamp oil, growing heavier 
 as the night advanced. The players' heads dived into 
 the light as they bent down for the stroke, springing 
 back again smartly into the greenish gloom of broad 
 lamp-shades; the clock ticked methodically; the un- 
 moved Chinaman continuously repeated the score in a 
 lifeless voice, like a big talking doll — and Willems 
 would win the game. With a remark that it was get- 
 ting late, and that he was a married man, he would 
 say a patronising good-night and step out into the 
 long, empty street. At that hour its white dust was like 
 a dazzling streak of moonlight where the eye sought 
 repose in the dimmer gleam of rare oil lamps. Wil- 
 lems walked homewards, following the line of walls 
 overtopped by the luxuriant vegetation of the front 
 gardens. The houses right and left were hidden be- 
 hind the black masses of flowering shrubs. Willems 
 had the street to himself. 'He would walk in the mid- 
 dle, his shadow gliding obsequiously before him. He 
 looked down on it complacently. The -hadow of a 
 successful man! He would be slightly dzzy with the 
 cocktails and wfthFthe intoxication of his own glor^J 
 As he often told people, he came east fourteen years 
 ago — a cabin boy. A small boy. His shadow must 
 have been very small at that time; he thought with a 
 smile that he was not aware then he had anything — 
 even a shadow — which he dared call his own. And 
 now he was looking at the shadow of the confidential 
 clerk of Hudig & Co. going home. How glorious! 
 How good was life for those that were on the win- 
 ning side! He had won the game of Hfe; also the 
 game of billiards. He walked faster, jingling his win- 
 nings, and thinking of the white stone days that had 
 marked the path of his existence. He thought of the 
 trip to Lombok for ponies — that first important trans- 
 action confided to him by Hudig; then he reviewed 
 
6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the more important affairs: the quiet deal in opium, 
 the illegal traffic in gunpowder; the great affair of 
 smuggled firearms, the difficult business of the Rajah 
 of Goak. He carried that last through by sheer pluck; 
 he had bearded the savage old ruler in his council 
 room; he had bribed him with a gilt glass coach, 
 which, rumour said, was used as a hen-coop now; he 
 had overpersuaded him; he had bested him in every 
 way. That was the way to get on. He disapproved 
 of the elementary dishonesty that dips the hand in 
 the cash-box, but one could evade the laws and push 
 the principles of trade to their furthest consequences. 
 Some call that cheating. Those are the fools^ the weak, 
 the contemptible. IThe wise, the strong, the respected, 
 have no scruples. Where there are scruples ther^ can 
 be no power. On that text he preached often to the 
 young men. It was his doctrine, and h^, himself, was 
 a shining example of its truth./ 
 
 Night after night he went home thus, after a day 
 of toil and pleasure, drunk with the_ sound of his own 
 voice celebrating his own prosperity. On his thirtieth 
 birthday he went home thus. He had spent in good 
 company a nice, noisy evening, and, as he walked 
 along the empty street, the feeling of his own great- 
 ness grew upon him, lifted him above the white dust 
 of Macassar road, and filled him with exultation and 
 regrets. He had not done himself justice over there 
 in the hotel, he had not talked enough about himself, 
 he had not impressed his hearers enough. Never 
 mind. Some other time. Now he would go home 
 and make his wife get up and listen to him. Why 
 should she not get up? — and mix a cocktail for him 
 ■ — and listen patiently. Just so. She shall. If he 
 wanted he could make all the Da Souza family get 
 up. He had only to say a word and they would all 
 come and sit silently in their night vestments on the 
 hard, cold ground of his compound and listen, as long 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 7 
 
 as he wished to go on explaining to them from the 
 top of the stairs, how great and good he was. They 
 would. However, his wife would do — for to-night. 
 
 His wife! He winced inwardly. A dismal woman 
 with startled eyes and dolorously drooping mouth, that 
 would listen to him in pained wonder and mute still- 
 ness. She was used to those night-discourses now. 
 She had rebelled once— at the beginning. Only once. 
 Now, while he sprawled in the long chair and drank 
 and talked, she would stand at the further end of the 
 table, her hands resting on the edge, her frightened 
 eyes watching his lips, without a sound, without a 
 stir, hardly breathing, till he dismissed her with a con- 
 temptuous : " Go to bed, dummy." She would draw 
 a long breath then and trail out of the room, reheved 
 but unmoved. Nothing could startle her, make her 
 scold or make her cry. She did not complain, she did 
 not rebel. That first difference of theirs was decisive. 
 Too decisive, thought Willems, discontentedly. It 
 had frightened the soul out of her body apparently. 
 A dismal woman! A damn'd business altogether! 
 What the devil did he want to go and saddle himself. 
 . . . Ah! Well! he wanted a home, and the match 
 seemed to please Hudig, and Hudig gave him the 
 bungalow, that flower-bowered "house to which he was 
 wending his way in the cool moonlight. And he had 
 the worship of the Da Souza tribe. A man of his stamp 
 could carry off. anything, do anything, aspire to any- 
 thing. In another five years those white people who 
 attended the Sunday card-parties of the Governor 
 would accept him — half-caste wife and all! Hooray! 
 He saw his shadow dart forward and wave a hat, as big 
 as a rum barrel, at the end of an arm several yards 
 long. . . . Who shouted hooray? ... He smiled 
 shamefacedly to himself, and, pushing his hands deep 
 into his pockets, walked faster 'with a suddenly grave 
 face. 
 
8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Behind him — to the left — a cigar end glowed in 
 the ^gateway of Mr. Vinck's front yard. .Leaning 
 against one of the brick pillars, Mr. Vinck, the cashier 
 of Hudig & Co., smoked the last cheroot of the even- 
 ing. Amongst the shadows of the trimmed bushes 
 Mrs. Vinck crunched slowly, with measured steps, 
 the gravel of the circular path before the house. 
 
 " There's Willems going home on foot — and drunk 
 I fancy," said Mr. Vinck over his shoulder. '' I saw 
 him jump and wave his hat." 
 
 The crunching of the gravel stopped. 
 
 " Horrid man," said Mrs. Vinck, calmly. '' I have 
 heard he beats his wife." 
 
 " Oh no, my dear, no," muttered absently Mr. 
 Vinck, with a vague gesture. The aspect of Willems 
 as a wife-beater presented to him no interest. How 
 women do misjudge! If Willems wanted to torture 
 his wife he would have recourse to less primitive meth- 
 ods. Mr. Vinck knew Willems well, and believed him 
 to be very able, very smart — objectionably so. As he 
 took the last quick draws at the stump of his cheroot, 
 Mr. Vinck reflected that the confidence accorded by 
 Hudig to Willems was open, under the circumstances, 
 to loyal criticism from Hudig's cashier. 
 
 " He is becoming dangerous; he knows too much. 
 He will have to be got rid of," said Mr. Vinck aloud. 
 But Mrs. Vinck had gone in already, and after shaking 
 his head he threw away his cheroot and followed her 
 slowly. 
 
 Willems walked on homeward weaving the splen- 
 did web of his future. The road'to greatness lay plain- 
 ly before his eyes, straight and shining, without any 
 obstacle that he could see. He had stepped ofif the 
 path of honesty, as he understood it, but he would 
 soon regain it, never to leave it any more! It was a 
 very small matter. He would soon put it right again. 
 Meantime his duty was not to be found out, and he 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. g 
 
 trusted in his skill, in his luck, in his well-estabHshed 
 reputation that would disarm suspicion if anybody 
 dared to suspect. But nobody would dare! True, 
 he was conscious of a sHght deterioration. He had 
 appropriated temporarily some of Hudig's money. A 
 deplorable necessity. But he judged himself with the 
 indulgence that should be extended to the weaknesses 
 of genius. He would make reparation and all would 
 be as before; nobody would be the loser for it, and he 
 would go on unchecked towards the brilliant goal of 
 his ambition. 
 
 Hudig's partner! 
 
 Before going up the steps of his house he stood for 
 awhile, his feet well apart, chin in hand, contemplat- 
 ing mentally Hudig's future partner. A glorious oc- 
 cupation. He saw him quite safe; soHd as the hills; 
 deep — deep as an abyss; discreet as the gr?ve- 
 
 n. 
 
 The sea, perhaps because of its saltness, roughens 
 the outside but keeps sweet the kernel of its servants' 
 soul. The old sea; the sea of many years ago, whose 
 servants were devoted slaves and went from youth to 
 age or to a sudden grave without needing to open the 
 book of life, because they could look at eternity re- 
 flected on the element that gave the life and dealt the 
 death. Like a beautiful and unscrupulous woman, the 
 sea of the past was glorious in its smiles, irresistible 
 in its anger, capricious, enticing, illogical, irresponsi- 
 ble; a thing to love, a thing to fear. It cast a spell, 
 it gave joy, it lulled gently into boundless faith; then 
 with quick and causeless anger it killed. But its 
 cruelty was redeemed by the charm of its inscrutable 
 
lO AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 mystery, by the immensity of its promise, by the su- 
 preme witchery of its possible favour. Strong men 
 with childHke hearts were faithful to it, were content 
 to live by its grace — to die by its will. That was the 
 sea before the time when the French mind set the 
 Egyptian muscle in motion and produced a dismal but 
 profitable ditch. Then a great pall of smoke sent out 
 by countless steamboats was spread over the restless 
 mirror of the Infinite. The hand of the engineer tore 
 down the veil of the terrible beauty in order that greedy 
 and faithless landlubbers might pocket dividends. 
 The mystery was destroyed. Like all mysteries, it 
 lived only in the hearts of its worshippers. The hearts 
 changed; the men changed. The once loving and 
 devoted servants went out armed with fire and iron, 
 and conquering the fe^r of their own hearts became 
 a calculating crowd of cold and exacting masters. The 
 sea of the past was an incomparably beautiful mistress, 
 with inscrutable face, with cruel and promising eyes. 
 The sea of to-day is a used-up drudge, wrinkled and 
 defaced by the churned-up wakes of brutal propellers, 
 robbed of the enslaving charm of its vastness, stripped 
 of its beauty, of its mystery and of its promise. 
 
 Tom_Lingai;d was a master, a lover, a servant of 
 the sea. The sea took him young, fashioned him body 
 and soul; gave him his fierce aspect, his loud voice, 
 his fearless eyes, his stupidly guileless heart. Gener- 
 ously it gave him his absurd faith in himself, his uni- 
 versal love of creation, his wide indulgence, his con- 
 temptuous severity, his straightforward simplicity of 
 motive and honesty of aim. Having made him what 
 he was, wQman like, the sea served him humbly and 
 let him bask unTiarmed in the sunshine of its terribly 
 uncertain favour. Tom Lingard grew rich on the sea 
 and by the sea. He loved it with the ardent affection 
 of a lover, he made light of it with the assurance of 
 perfect mastery, he feared it with the wise fear of a 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. n 
 
 brave man, and he took liberties with it as a spoiled 
 child might do with a paternal and good-natured ogre. 
 He was grateful to it, with the gratitude of an honest 
 heart. His greatest pride lay in his profound con- 
 viction of its faithfulness — in the deep sense of his un- 
 erring knowledge of its treachery. 
 
 The little brig Flash was the instrument of Lin- 
 gard's fortune. They came north together— both 
 young — out of an Australian port, and after a very 
 few years there was not a white man in the islands, 
 from Palembang to Ternate, from Ombawa to Pala- 
 wan, that did not know Captain Tom and his lucky 
 craft. He was liked for his reckless generosity, for 
 his unswerving honesty, and at first was a little feared 
 on account of his violent temper. Very soon, how- 
 ever, they found him out, and the word went round 
 that Captain Tom's fury was less dangerous than many 
 a man's smile. He prospered greatly. After his first 
 —and successful — fight with the sea robbers, when he 
 rescued, as rumour had it, the yacht of some big wig 
 from home, somewhere down Carimata way, his great 
 popularity began. As years went on it grew apace. 
 Always visiting out-of-the-way places of that part of 
 the world, always in search of new markets for his 
 cargoes — not so much for profit as* for the pleasure 
 of finding them — he soon became known to the Ma- 
 lays, and by his succ*sful recklessness in several en- 
 counters with pirates, established the terror of his 
 name. Those white men with whom he had business, 
 and who naturally were on the look-out for his weak- 
 nesses, could easily see that it was enough to give him 
 his Malay title to flatter him greatly. So when there 
 was anything to be srained by it, and sometimes out 
 of pure' and unprofitable good nature, they would drop 
 the ceremonious ''Captain Lingard " and address " 
 him half seriously as Rajah Laut— the King of th e ^Xi^j 
 Sea. / 
 
12 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He carried the name bravely on his broad shoul- 
 ders. He had carried it many years already when the 
 boy Willems ran barefooted on the deck of the ship 
 Kosmopoliet IV. in Samarang roads, looking with 
 innocent eyes on the strange shore and objurgating 
 his immediate surroundings with blasphemous lips, 
 while his childish brain worked upon the heroic idea 
 of running away. From the poop of the Flash Lin- 
 gard saw in the early morning the Dutch ship get 
 lumberingly under weigh, bound for the eastern ports. 
 Very late in the evening of the same day he stood on 
 the quay of the landing canal, ready to go on board of 
 his brig. The night was starry and clear; the little 
 custom-house building was shut up, and as the gharry 
 that brought him down disappeared up the long avenue 
 of dusty trees leading to the town, Lingard thought 
 himself alone on the quay. He roused up his sleeping 
 boat-crew and stood waiting for them to get ready, 
 when he felt a tug at his coat and a thin voice said, very 
 distinctly — 
 
 *' English captain." 
 
 Lingard turned round quickly, and what seemed to 
 be a very lean boy jumped back with commendable 
 activity. 
 
 *' Who are you? Where do you spring from?" 
 asked Lingard, in startled surprise. 
 
 From a safe distance the boy pointed towards a 
 cargo lighter moored to the quay. 
 
 "Been hiding there, have you?" said Lingard. 
 " Well, what do you want? Speak out, confound you. 
 You did not come here to scare me to death, for fun, 
 did you?" 
 
 The boy tried to explain in imperfect English, but 
 very soon Lingard interrupted him. 
 
 " I see," he exclaimed, *' you ran away from the 
 big ship that sailed this morning. Well, why don't 
 you go to your countrymen here?" 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 1 3 
 
 " Ship gone only a little way — to Sourabaya. Make 
 me go back to the ship," explained the boy. 
 
 *' Best thing for you," affirmed Lingard with con- 
 viction. 
 
 " No," retorted the boy; " me want stop here; not 
 want go home. Get money here; home no good." 
 
 '' This beats all my going a-fishing," commented 
 the astonished Lingard. " It's money you want? 
 Well! well! And you were not afraid to run away, 
 you bag of bones, you ! " 
 
 The boy intimated that he was frightened of noth- 
 ing but of being sent back to the ship. Lingard looked 
 at him in meditative silence. 
 
 '* Come closer," he said at last. He took the boy 
 by the chin, and turning up his face gave him a search- 
 ing look. " How old are you? " 
 " Seventeen." 
 
 " There's not much of you for seventeen. Are you 
 hungry ? " 
 " A little." 
 
 *' Will you come with me, in that brig there? " 
 The boy moved without a word towards the boat 
 and scrambled into the bows. 
 
 " Knows his place," muttered Lingard to himself 
 as he stepped heavily into the stern sheets and took 
 up the yoke lines. " Give way there." 
 
 The Malay boat crew lay back together, and the 
 gig sprang away from the quay heading towards the 
 brig's riding Hght. 
 
 Sucli ^as the begia ning^ of .Willems^career. 
 Cingard learned in half an hour all that there was 
 of Willems' commonplace story. Father outdoor clerk 
 of some ship-broker in Rotterdam ; mother dead. The 
 boy quick in learning, but idle in school. The strait- 
 ened circumstances in the house filled with small 
 brothers and sisters, sufficiently clothed and fed but 
 otherwise running wild, while the disconsolate widow- 
 
14 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 er tramped about all day in a shabby overcoat and im- 
 perfect boots on the muddy quays, and in the evening 
 piloted wearily the half-intoxicated foreign skippers 
 amongst the places of cheap delights, returning home 
 late, sick with too much smoking and drinking — for 
 company's sake — with these men, who expected such 
 attentions in the way of business. Then the offer of 
 the good-natured captain of Kosmopoliet IV., who was 
 pleased to do something for the patient and obliging 
 fellow; young Willems' great joy, his still greater dis- 
 appointment with the sea that looked so charming from 
 afar, but proved so hard and exacting on closer ac- 
 quaintance — and then this running away by a sudden 
 impulse. The boy was hopelessly at variance with the 
 spirit of the sea. He had an instinctive contempt for 
 the honest simplicity of that work which led to noth- 
 ing he cared for. Lingard soon found this out. He 
 offered to send him home in an English ship, but the 
 boy begged hard to be permitted to remain. He wrote 
 a beautiful hand, became soon perfect in English, was 
 quick at figures ; and Lingard made him useful in that 
 way. As he grew older his trading instincts developed 
 themselves astonishingly, and Lingard left him often 
 to trade in one island or another while he, himself, 
 made an intermediate trip to some out-of-the-way 
 place. On Willems expressing a wish to that effect, 
 Lingard let him enter Hudig's service. He felt a lit- 
 tle sore at that abandonment because he had attached 
 himself, in a way, to his protege. Still he was proud 
 of him, and spoke up for him loyally. At first it was, 
 " Smart boy that — never make a seaman though." 
 Then when Willems was helping in the trading he 
 referred to him as " that clever young fellow." Later 
 on, when Willems became the confidential agent of 
 Hudig, employed in many a delicate affair, the simple- 
 hearted old seaman would point an admiring finger at 
 his back and whisper to whoever stood near at the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 1 5 
 
 moment, " Long-headed chap that; deuced long- 
 headed chap. Look at him. Confidential man of old 
 Hudig. I picked him up in a ditch, you may say, 
 like a starved cat. Skin and bone. Ton my word I 
 did. And now he knows more than I do about island 
 trading. Fact. I am not joking. More than I do," 
 he would repeat, seriously, with iniiocent pride in his 
 honest eyes. 
 
 From the safe elevation of his commercial suc- 
 cesses Willems patronised Lingard. He had a liking 
 for his benefactor, not unmixed with some disdain for 
 the crude directness of the old fellow's methods of 
 conduct. There were, however, certain sides of Lin- 
 gard's character for which Willems felt a qualified re- 
 spect. The talkative seaman knew how to be silent 
 on certain matters that to Willems were very inter- 
 esting. Besides, Lingard was rich, and that in itself 
 was enough to compel Willems' unwilling admira- 
 tion. In his confidential chats with Hudig, Willems 
 generally alluded to the benevolent Englishman as 
 the " lucky old fool " in a very distinct tone of vexa- 
 tion; Hudig would grunt an unquahfied assent, and 
 then the two would look at each other in a sudden 
 immobility of pupils fixed by a stare of unexpressed 
 thought. 
 
 " You can't find out where he gets all that india- 
 rubber, hey, Willems? " Hudig would ask at last, turn- 
 ing away and bending over the papers on his desk.^ 
 " No, Mr. Hudig. Not yet. But I am trying," 
 was Willems' invariable reply, delivered with a ring 
 of regretful deprecation. 
 
 "Try! Always try! You may try! You think 
 yourself clever perhaps," rumbled on Hudig, without 
 looking up. " I have been trading with him twenty 
 —thirty years now. The old fox. And I have tried. 
 Bah!" 
 
 He stretched out a short, podgy leg and contem- 
 
l6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 plated the bare Instep and the grass shpper hanging 
 by the toes. '' You can't make him drunk? " he would 
 add, after a pause of stertorous breathing. 
 
 " No, Mr. Hudig, I can't really," protested Wil- 
 lems, earnestly. 
 
 " Well, don't try. I know him. Don't try," ad- 
 vised the master, and, bending again over his desk, 
 his staring bloodshot eyes close to the paper, he would 
 go on tracing laboriously with his thick fingers the 
 slim unsteady letters of his correspondence, while 
 Willems waited respectfully for his further good pleas- 
 ure before asking, with great deference — 
 
 "Any orders, Mr. Hudig?" 
 
 " Hm! yes. Go to Bun-Hin yourself and see the 
 dollars of that payment counted and packed, and have 
 them put on board the mail-boat for Ternate. She's 
 due here this afternoon." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Hudig." 
 
 " And, look here. If the boat is late, leave the case 
 in Bun-Hin's godown till to-morrow. Seal it up. 
 Eight seals as usual. Don't take it away till the boat 
 is here." 
 
 " No, Mr. Hudig." 
 
 '' And don't forget about these opium cases. It's 
 for to-night. Use my own boatmen. Tranship them 
 from the Caroline to the Arab barque," went on the 
 master in his hoarse undertone. " And don't you 
 come to me with another story of a case dropped over- 
 board Hke last time," he added, with sudden ferocity, 
 looking up at his confidential clerk. 
 
 " No, Mr. Hudig. I will take care." 
 
 " That's all. Tell that pig as you go out that if he 
 doesn't make the punkah go a little better I will break 
 every bone in his body," finished up Hudig, wiping 
 his purple face with a red silk handke4xhiei-iiearly as 
 big as a counterpane. 
 
 Noiselessly Willems went out, shutting carefully 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 17 
 
 behind him the httle green door through which he 
 passed to the warehouse. Hudig, pen in hand, hstened 
 to him buhying the punkah boy with profane violence, 
 born of unbounded zeal for the master's comfort, be- 
 fore he returned to his writing amid the rustling of 
 papers fluttering in the wind sent down by the punkah 
 that waved in wide sweeps above his head. 
 
 Willems would nod familiarly to Mr. Vinck, who 
 had his desk close to the little door of the private office, 
 and march down the warehouse with an important 
 air. Mr. Vinck — extreme dislike lurking in every 
 wrinkle of his gentlemanly countenance — would follow 
 with his eyes the white figure flitting in the gloom 
 amongst the piles of bales and cases till it passed out 
 through the big archway into the glare of the street. 
 
 III. 
 
 The opportunity and the temptation were too much 
 for Willems, and under the pressure of sudden neces- 
 sity he abused that trust which was his pride, the per- 
 petual sign of his cleverness and a load too heav} for 
 him to carry. A run of bad luck at cards, the failure 
 of a small speculation undertaken on his own account, 
 an unexpected demand for money from one or an- 
 other member of the Da Souza family — and almost 
 before he was well aware of it he was off the path of 
 his peculiar honesty. It was such a faint and ill-de- 
 fined track that it took him some time to find out how 
 far he had strayed amongst the brambles of the dan- 
 gerous wilderness he had been skirting for so many 
 years, without any other guide than his own con- 
 venience and that doctrine of success which he had 
 found for himself in the bgok of life — in those inter- 
 
l8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 esting chapters that the Devil has been permitted to 
 write in it, to test the sharpness of men's eyesight and 
 the steadfastness of their hearts. For one short, dark 
 and sohtary moment he was dismayed, but he had 
 .thaJxourag£L.that_:^iItnQt_&caleJieig±it^^ 
 bravelx throug h the mud — if there be no other roa d. 
 He apphed himself to the task of restitution, and de- 
 voted himself to the duty of not being found out. On 
 his thirtieth birthday he had almost accomplished the 
 task — and the duty had been faithfully and cleverly 
 performed. He saw himself safe. Again he could look 
 hopefully towards the goal of his legitimate ambition. 
 Nobody would dare to suspect him, and in a few days 
 there would be nothing to suspect. He was elated. 
 He did not know that his prosperity had touched then 
 its high-water mark, and that the tide was already on 
 the turn. 
 
 Two days afterwards he knew. ]\Ir. Vinck, hear- 
 ing the rattle of the door-handle, jumped up from his 
 desk — where he had been tremulously listening to the 
 loud voices in the private office — and buried his face 
 in the big safe with nervous haste. For the last time 
 Willems passed through the little green door leading 
 to Hudig's sanctum, which, during the past half-hour, 
 might have been taken — from the fiendish noise within 
 — for the cavern of some wild beast. Willems' trou- 
 bled eyes took in the quick impression of men and 
 things as he came out from the place of his humilia- 
 tion. He saw the scared expression of the punkah 
 boy; the Chinamen tellers sitting on their heels with 
 unmovable faces turned up blankly towards him, while 
 their arrested hands hovered over the little piles of 
 bright guilders ranged on the floor; Mr. Vinck's 
 shoulder-blades with the fleshy rims of two red ears 
 above. He saw the long avenue of gin cases stretch- 
 ing from where he stood to the arched doorway be- 
 yond which he would be able to breathe perhaps. A 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. jg 
 
 thin rope's end lay across his path and he saw it dis- 
 tinctly, yet stumbled heavily over it as if it had been a 
 bar of iron. Then he found himself in the street at last, 
 but could not find air enough to fill his lungs. He 
 walked towards his home, gasping. 
 
 As the sound of Hudig's insults that lingered in his 
 ears grew fainter by the lapse of time, the feeling of 
 shame was replaced slowly by a passion of anger 
 against himself and still more against the stupid con- 
 course of circumstances that had driven him into his 
 idiotic indiscretion. Idiotic indiscretion; that is how 
 he defined his guilt to himself. Could there be any- 
 thing worse from the point of view of his undeniable 
 cleverness? What a fatal aberration of an acute mind! 
 He did not recognise himself there. He must have 
 been mad. That's it. A sudden gust of madness. And 
 now the work of long years was destroyed utterly. 
 What would become of him? 
 
 Before he could answer that question he found 
 himself in the garden before his house, Hudig's wed- 
 ding gift. He looked at it with a vague surprise to 
 find it there. His past was so utterly gone from him 
 that the dwelling which belonged to it appeared to 
 him incongruous standing there intact, neat, and 
 cheerful in the sunshine of the hot afternoon. The 
 house was a pretty Httle structure all doors and win- 
 dows, surrounded on all sides by the deep verandah 
 supported on slender columns clothed in the green 
 foliage of creepers, which also fringed the overhanging 
 eaves of the high-pitched roof. Slowly, Willems 
 mounted the dozen steps that led to the verandah. He 
 paused at every step. He must tell his wife. He felt 
 frightened at the prospect, and his alarm dismayed 
 him. Frightened to face her! Nothing could give 
 him a better measure of the greatness of the change 
 around him, and in him. Another man — and another 
 life with the faith in himself g'one. He could not 
 
20 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 be worth much if he was afraid to face that wo- 
 man. 
 
 He dared not enter the house through the open 
 door of the dining-room, but stood irresolute by the 
 httle work-table where trailed a white piece of calico, 
 with a needle stuck in it, as if the work had been left 
 hurriedly. The pink-crested cockatoo started, on his 
 appearance, into clumsy activity and began to climb 
 laboriously up and down his perch, calling " Joanna " 
 with indistinct loudness and a persistent screech that 
 prolonged the last syllable of the name as if in a peal 
 of insane laughter. The screen in the doorway moved 
 gently once or twice in the breeze, and each time Wil- 
 lems started slightly, expecting his wife, but he never 
 lifted his eyes, although straining his ears for the sound 
 of her footsteps. Gradually he lost himself in his 
 thoughts, in the endless speculation as to the manner 
 in which she would receive his news — and his orders. 
 In this preoccupation he almost forgot the fear of her 
 presence. No doubt she will cry, she will lament, she 
 will be helpless and frightened and passive as ever. 
 And he would have to drag that limp weight on and 
 on through the darkness of a spoiled life. Horrible! 
 Of course he could not abandon her and the child to 
 certain misery or possible starvation. The wife and 
 the child of Willems. Willems the successful, the 
 smart; Willems the conf .... Pah! And what was 
 Willems now? Willems the .... He strangled the 
 half-born thought, and cleared his throat to stifle a 
 groan. Ah! Won't they talk to-night in the billiard- 
 room — his world, where he had been first — all those 
 men to whom he had been so superciliously conde- 
 scending. Won't they talk with surprise, and afifected 
 regret, and grave faces, and wise nods. Some of them 
 owed him money, but he never pressed anybody. 
 Not he. Willems, the prince of good fellows, they 
 called him. And now they will rejoice, no doubt, at his 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 2 1 
 
 downfall. A crowd of imbeciles. In his abasement 
 he was yet aware of his superiority over those fellows, 
 who were merely honest or simply not found out yet. 
 A crowd of imbeciles! He shook his fist at the evoked 
 image of his friends, and the startled parrot fluttered 
 its wings and shrieked in desperate fright. 
 
 In a short glance upwards Willems saw his wife 
 come round the corner of the house. He lowered his 
 eyelids quickly, and waited silently till she came near 
 and stood on the other side of the little table. He 
 would not look at her face, but he could see the red 
 dressing-gown he knew so well. She trailed through 
 life in that red dressing-gown, with its row of dirty 
 blue bows down the front, stained, and hooked on 
 awry; a torn flounce at the bottom following her like 
 a snake as she moved languidly about, with her hair 
 negligently caught up, and a tangled wisp straggling 
 untidily down her back. His gaze travelled upwards 
 from bow to bow, noticing those that hung only by 
 a thread, but it did not go beyond her chin. He looked 
 at her lean throat, at the obtrusive collar-bone visible 
 in the disarray of the upper part of her attire. He saw 
 the thin arm and the bony hand clasping the child she 
 carried, and he felt an immense distaste for those en- 
 cumbrances of his life. He waited for her to say some- 
 thing, but as he felt her eyes rest on him in unbroken 
 silence he sighed and began to speak. 
 
 It was a hard task. He spoke slowly, lingering 
 amongst the memories of this early life in his reluc- 
 tance to confess that this was the end of it and the 
 beginning of a less splendid existence. In his con- 
 viction of having made her happiness in the full satis- 
 faction of all material wants he never doubted for a 
 moment that she was ready to keep him company on 
 no matter how hard and stony a road. He was not 
 elated by this certitude. He had married her to please 
 Hudig, and the greatness of his sacrifice ought to have 
 
22 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 made her happy without any further exertion on his 
 part. She had years of glory as Willems' wife, and 
 years of comfort, of loyal care, and of such tenderness 
 as she deserved. He had guarded her carefully from 
 any bodily hurt; and of^any other_ suffering he had no 
 conception. The assertion of his superiority was only 
 another benefit conferred on her. All this was a mat- 
 ter of course, but he told her all this so as to bring 
 vividly before her the greatness of her loss. She was 
 so dull of understanding that she would not grasp it 
 else. And now it was at an end. They would have to 
 go. Leave this house, leave this island, go far away 
 where he was unknown. To the English Strait-Set- 
 tlements perhaps. He would find an opening there 
 for his abilities — and juster men to deal with than old 
 Hudig. He laughed bitterly. 
 
 " You have the money I left at home this morning, 
 Joanna? " he asked. '' We will want it all now." 
 
 As he spoke those words he thought he was a fine 
 fellow. Nothing new that. Still, he surpassed there 
 his own expectations. Hang it all, there are sacred 
 things in life, after all. The marriage tie was one of 
 them, and he was not the man to break it. The solid- 
 ity of his principles caused him great satisfaction, but 
 he did not care to look at his wife, for all that. He 
 waited for her to speak. Then he shall have to con- 
 sole her; tell her not to be a crying fool; to get ready 
 to go. Go where? How? When? He shook his 
 head. They must leave at once; that was the prin- 
 cipal thing. He felt a sudden need to hurry up his 
 departure. 
 
 " Well, Joanna," he said, a little impatiently — 
 "don't stand there in a trance. Do you hear? We 
 must . . ." 
 
 He looked up at his wife, and whatever he was 
 going to add remained unspoken. She was staring at 
 him with her big, slanting eyes, that seemed to hiro 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 23 
 
 twice their natural size. The child, its dirty little face 
 pressed to its mothers shoulder, was sleeping peace- 
 fully. The deep silence of the house was not broken, 
 but rather accentuated, by the low mutter of the cocka- 
 too, now very still on its perch. As Willems was look- 
 ing at Joanna her upper lip was drawn up on one side, 
 giving to her melancholy face a vicious expression 
 altogether new to his experience. He stepped back 
 in his surprise. 
 
 "Oh! You great man!" she said distinctly, but 
 in a voice that was hardly above a whisper. 
 
 Those words, and still more her tone, stunned him 
 as if somebody had fired a gun close to his ear. He 
 stared back at her stupidly. 
 
 ''Oh! you great man!" she repeated slowly, 
 glancing right and left as if meditating a sudden es- 
 cape. " And you think that I am going to starve with 
 you. You are nobody now. You think my mamma 
 and Leonard would let me go away? And with you! 
 With you," she repeated scornfully, raising her voice, 
 which woke up the child and caused it to whimper 
 feebly. 
 
 "Joanna!" exclaimed Willems. 
 
 " Do not speak to me. I have heard what I have 
 waited for all these years. You are less than dirt, you 
 that have wiped your feet on me. I have waited for 
 this. I am not afraid now. I do not want you; do 
 not come near me. Ah — ^h ! " she screamed shrilly, as 
 he held out his hand in an entreating gesture — " Ah! 
 Keep ofif me! Keep off me! Keep off! " 
 
 She backed away, looking at him with eyes both 
 angry and frightened. Willems stared motionless, in 
 dumb amazement at the mystery of anger and revolt 
 in the head of his wife. Why? What had he ever 
 done to her? This was the day of injustice indeed. 
 First Hudig — and now his wife. He felt a terror at 
 this hate that had lived stealthily so near him for years. 
 
24 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He tried to speak, but she shrieked again, and it was 
 Hke a needle through his heart. Again he raised his 
 hand. 
 
 " Help! " called Mrs. Willems, in a piercing voice. 
 "Help!" 
 
 ''Be quiet! You fool!" shouted Willems, trying 
 to drown the noise of his wife and child in his own 
 angry accents and rattling violently the little zinc table 
 in his exasperation. 
 
 From under the house, where there were bath- 
 rooms and a tool closet, appeared Leonard, a rusty iron 
 bar in his hand. He called threateningly from the 
 bottom of the stairs. 
 
 " Do not hurt her, Mr. Willems. You are a sav- 
 age. Not at all like we, whites." 
 
 "You too!" said the bewildered Willems. "I 
 haven't touched her. Is this a madhouse?" He 
 moved towards the stairs, and Leonard dropped the 
 bar with a clang and made for the gate of the com- 
 pound. Willems turned back to his wife. 
 
 " So you expected this," he said. " It is a con- 
 spiracy. Who's that sobbing and groaning in the 
 room? Some more of your precious family. Hey? " 
 
 She was more calm now, and putting hastily the 
 crying child in the big chair walked towards him with 
 sudden fearlessness. 
 
 " My mother," she said, " my mother who came to 
 defend me from you — man from nowhere; a vaga- 
 bond!" 
 
 " You did not call me a vagabond when you hung 
 round my neck — before we were married," said Wil- 
 lems, contemptuously. 
 
 " You took good care that I should not hang round 
 your neck after we were," she answered, clenching 
 her hands, and putting her face close to his. " You 
 boasted while I suffered and said nothing. What has 
 become of your greatness; of our greatness — you 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 25 
 
 were always speaking about? Now I am going to live 
 on the charity of your master. Yes. That is true. 
 He sent Leonard to tell me so. And you will go and 
 boast somewhere else, and starve. So! Ah! I can 
 breathe now! This house is mine." 
 
 " Enough! " said Willems, slowly, with an arrest- 
 ing gesture. 
 
 She leaped back, the fright again in her eyes, 
 snatched up the child, pressed it to her breast, and, 
 falling into a chair, drummed insanely with her heels 
 on the resounding floor of the verandah. 
 
 '' I shall go," said Willems, steadily. " I thank 
 you. For the first time in your life you make me hap- 
 py. You were a stone round my neck; you under- 
 stand. I did not mean to tell you that as long as you 
 lived, but you made me — now. Before I pass this gate 
 you shall be gone from my mind. You made it very 
 easy. I thank you." 
 
 He turned and went down the steps without giv- 
 ing her a glance, while she sat upright and quiet, with 
 wide-open eyes, the child crying querulously in her 
 arms. At the gate he came suddenly upon Leonard, 
 who had been dodging about there and failed to get 
 out of the way in time. 
 
 '' Do not be brutal, Mr. Willems," said Leonard, 
 hurriedly. " It is unbecoming between white men 
 with all those natives looking on." Leonard's legs trem- 
 bled very much, and his voice wavered between high 
 and low tones without any attempt at control on his 
 part. '' Restrain your improper violence," he went on 
 mumbhng rapidly. *' I am a respectable man of very 
 good family, while you ... it is regrettable . . . they 
 all say so . . ." 
 
 "What?" thundered Willems. He felt a sudden 
 impulse of mad anger, and before he knew what had 
 happened he was looking at Leonard da Souza rolHng 
 in the dust at his feet. He stepped over his prostrate 
 
26 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 brother-in-law and tore blindly down the street, every- 
 body making way for the frantic white man. 
 
 When he came to himself he was beyond the out- 
 skirts of the town, stumbling on the hard and cracked 
 earth of reaped rice fields. How did he get there? It 
 was dark. He must get back. As he walked towards 
 the town slowly, his mind reviewed the events of the 
 day and he felt a sense of bitter loneliness. His wife 
 had turned him out of his own house. He had as- 
 saulted brutally his brother-in-law, a member of the 
 Da Souza family — of that band of his worshippers. 
 He did. Well, no! It was some other man. Another 
 man was coming back. A man without a past, with- 
 out a future, yet full of pain and shame and anger. He 
 stopped and looked round. A dog or two glided across 
 the empty street and rushed past him with a frightened 
 snarl. He was now in the midst of the Malay quarter 
 whose bamboo houses, hidden in the verdure of their 
 little gardens, were dark and silent. Men, women and 
 children slept in there. Human beings. Would he 
 ever sleep, and where? He felt as if he was the out- 
 cast of all mankind, and as he looked hopelessly round, 
 before resuming his weary march, it seemed to him 
 that the world was bigger, the night more vast and 
 more black; but he went on doggedly with his head 
 down as if pushing his way through some thick bram- 
 bles. Then suddenly he felt planks under his feet and, 
 looking up, saw the red light at the end of the jetty. 
 He walked quite to the end and stood leaning against 
 the post, under the lamp, looking at the roadstead 
 where two vessels at anchor swayed their slender rig- 
 ging amongst the stars. The end of the jetty ; and here 
 in one step more the end of life ; the end of everything. 
 Better so. What else could he do? Nothing ever 
 comes back. He saw it clearly. The respect and ad- 
 miration of them all, the old habits and old affections 
 finished abruptly in the clear perception of the cause 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 27 
 
 of his disgrace. He saw all this; and for a time he 
 came out of himself, out of his selfishness — out of the 
 constant preoccupation of his interests and his desires 
 • — out of the temple of self and the concentration of 
 personal thought. 
 
 His thoughts now wandered home. Standing in 
 the tepid stillness of a starry tropical night he felt the 
 breath of the bitter east wind, he saw the high and 
 narrow fronts of tall houses under the gloom of a 
 clouded sky; and on muddy quays he saw the shabby, 
 high-shouldered figure — the patient, faded face of the 
 weary man earning bread for the children that waited 
 for him in a dingy home. It was miserable, miserable. 
 But it would never come back. What was there in 
 common between those things and Willems the clever, 
 Willems the successful. He' had cut himself adrift 
 from that home many years ago. Better for him then. 
 Better for them now. All this was gone, never to 
 come back again; and suddenly he shivered, seeing 
 himself alone in the presence of unknown and terrible 
 dangers. 
 
 For the first time in his life he felt afraid of the 
 future, because he had lost his faith, the faith in his 
 own success. And he had destroyed it foolishly with 
 his own hands! 
 
 IV. 
 
 His meditation which resembled slow drifting into 
 suicide was interrupted by Lingard, who, with a loud 
 " I've got you at last! " dropped his hand heavily on 
 Willems' shoulder. This time it was the old seaman 
 himself going out of his way to pick up the uninter- 
 esting waif — all that there was left of that sudden ^nd 
 sordid shipwreck. To Willems, the rough, friendly 
 
 4 
 
28 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 voice was a quick and fleeting relief followed by a 
 sharper pang of anger and unavailing regret. That 
 voice carried him back to the beginning of his promis- 
 ing career, the end of which was very visible now from 
 the jetty where they both stood. He shook himself 
 free from the friendly grasp, saying with ready bitter- 
 ness — 
 
 '' It's all your fault. Give me a push now, do, and 
 send me over. I have been standing here waiting for 
 help. You are the man — of all men. You helped at 
 the beginning; you ought to have a hand in the end." 
 
 " I have better use for you than to throw you to 
 the fishes," said Lingard, seriously, taking Willems 
 by the arm and forcing him gently to walk up the 
 1 jetty. " I have been buzzing over this town like a 
 bluebottle fly, looking for you high and low. I have 
 heard a lot. 1 will tell you what, Willems; you are 
 no saint, that's a fact. And you have not been over- 
 wise either. I am not throwing stones," he added, 
 hastily, as Willems made an effort to get away, *' but 
 I am not going to mince matters. Never could! You 
 keep quiet while I talk. Can't you?" 
 
 With a gesture of resignation and a half-stifled 
 groan Willems submitted to the stronger will, and the 
 two men paced slowly up and down the resounding 
 planks, while Lingard disclosed to Willems the exact 
 manner of his undoing. After the first shock Willems 
 lost the faculty of surprise in the overpowering feeling 
 of indignation. So it was Vinck and Leonard who 
 had served him so. They had watched him, tracked 
 his misdeeds, reported them to Hudig. They had 
 bribed obscure Chinamen, wormed out confidences 
 from tipsy skippers, got at various boatmen, and had 
 pieced out in that way the story of his irregularities. 
 The blackness of this dark intrigue filled him with 
 horror. He could understand Vinck. There was no 
 love lost between them. But Leonard! Leonard! 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 29 
 
 " Why, Captain Lingard," he burst out, " the fel- 
 low licked my boots." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," said Lingard, testily, " we know 
 that, and you did your best to cram your boot down 
 his throat. No man likes that, my boy." 
 
 " I was always giving money to all that hungry 
 lot," went on Willems, passionately. " Always 
 my hand in my pocket. They never had to ask 
 twice." 
 
 *' Just so. Your generosity frightened them. They 
 asked themselves where all that came from, and con- 
 cluded that it was safer to throw you overboard. After 
 all, Hudig is a much greater man than you, my friend, 
 and they have a claim on him also." 
 
 "What do you mean. Captain Lingard?" 
 
 " What do I mean? " repeated Lingard, slowly. 
 " Why, you are not going to make me believe you did 
 not know your wife was Hudig's daughter. Come> 
 now ! " 
 
 Willems stopped suddenly and swayed about. 
 
 '' Ah! I understand," he gasped. '' I never heard. 
 . . . Lately I thought there was . . . But no, I never 
 guessed." 
 
 "Oh, you simpleton!" said Lingard, pityingly. 
 " Ton my word," he muttered to himself, " I don't 
 believe the fellow knew. Well! well! Steady now. 
 Pull yourself together. What's wrong there. She is 
 a good wife to you." 
 
 " Excellent wife," said Willems, in a dreary voice, 
 looking far over the black and scintillating water. 
 
 " Very well then," went on Lingard, with increas- 
 ing friendliness. " Nothing wrong there. But did you 
 really think that Hudig was marrying you ofif and giv- 
 ing you a house and I don't know what, out of love for 
 you?" 
 
 " I had served him well," answered Willems. 
 " How well, you know yourself — through thick and 
 
30 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 thin. No matter what work and what risk, I was al- 
 ways there; ahvays ready." 
 
 How well he saw the greatness of his work and 
 the immensity of that injustice which was his reward 
 She was that man's daughter! In the light of this dis- 
 closure the facts of the last five years of his life stood 
 clearly revealed in their full meaning. He had spoken 
 first to Joanna at the gate of their dwelling as he went 
 to his work in the brilliant flush of the early morning, 
 when women and flowers are charming even to the 
 dullest eyes. A most respectable family — two women 
 and a young man — were his next-door neighbours. 
 Nobody ever came to their Httle house but the priest, 
 a native from the Spanish islands, now and then. The 
 young man Leonard he had met in town, and was flat- 
 tered by the little fellow's immense respect for the 
 great Willems. He let him bring chairs, call the wait- 
 ers, chalk his cues when playing billiards, express his 
 admiration in choice words. He even condescended 
 to listen patiently to Leonard's allusions to " our be- 
 loved father," a man of official position, a government 
 agent in Koti, where he died of cholera, alas! a victim 
 to duty, like a good Catholic and a good man. It 
 sounded very respectable, and Willems approved of 
 those feeling references. Moreover, he prided him- 
 self upon having no colour-prejudices and no racial 
 antipathies. He consented to drink curaqoa one after- 
 noon on the verandah of Mrs. da Souza's house. He 
 remembered Joanna that day, swinging in a hammock. 
 She was untidy even then, he remembered, and that 
 was the only impression he carried away from that 
 visit. He had no time for love in those glorious days, 
 no time even for a passing fancy, but gradually he 
 fell into the habit of calling almost every day at that 
 little house where he was greeted by Mrs. da Souza's 
 shrill voice screaming for Joanna to come and enter- 
 tain the gentleman from Hudig & Co. And then the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 31 
 
 sudden and unexpected visit of the priest. He remem- 
 bered the man's flat, yellow face, his thin legs, his pro- 
 pitiatory smile, his beaming black eyes, his conciliat- 
 ing manner, his veiled hints which he did not under- 
 stand at the time. How he wondered what the man 
 wanted, and how unceremoniously he got rid of him. 
 And then came vividly into his recollection the morn- 
 ing when he met again that fellow coming out of Hu- 
 dig's office, and how he was amused at the incongruous 
 visit. And that morning with Hudig! Would he ever 
 forget it? Would he ever forget his surprise as the 
 master, instead of plunging at once into business, 
 looked at him thoughtfully before turning, with a fur- 
 tive smile, to the papers on the desk? He could hear 
 him now, his nose in the paper before him, dropping 
 astonishing words in the intervals of wheezy breath- 
 ing. 
 
 " Heard said . . . called there often . . . most re- 
 spectable ladies . . . knew the father very well . . . 
 estimable . . . best thing for a young man . . . settle 
 down. . . . Personally, very glad to hear . . . thing 
 arranged. . . . Suitable recognition of valuable ser- 
 vices. . . . Best thing — best thing to do." 
 
 And he believed! What credulity! What an ass! 
 Hudig knew the father! Rather. And so did every- 
 body else probably; all except himself. How proud 
 he had been of Hudig's benevolent interest in his fate! 
 How proud he was when invited by Hudig to stay 
 with him at his little house in the country — where he 
 could meet men, men of official position — as a friend. 
 Vinck had been green with envy- Oh, yes! He had 
 believed in the best thing, and took the girl like a gift 
 of fortune. How he boasted to Hudig of being free] 
 from prejudices. The old scoundrel must have been 
 laughing in his sleeve at his fool of a confidential clerk. 
 He took the girl, guessing nothing How could he? 
 There had been a father of some kind to the common 
 
32 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 knowledge. Men knew him; spoke about him. A 
 lank man of hopelessly mixed descent, but otherwise 
 — apparently — unobjectionable. The shady relations 
 came out afterwards, but — with his freedom from 
 prejudices — he did not mind them, because, with their 
 humble dependence, they completed his triumphant 
 life. Taken in! taken in! Hudig had found an easy 
 way to provide for the begging crowd. He had shifted 
 the burden of his youthful vagaries on to the shoulders 
 of his confidential clerk; and while he worked for the 
 master, the master had cheated him; had stolen his 
 very self from him. He was married. He belonged 
 to that woman, no matter what she might do! . . . 
 Had sworn ... for all life! . . . Thrown himself 
 away. . . . And that man dared this very morning 
 call him a thief! Damnation! 
 
 '* Let go, Lingard!" he shouted, trying to get 
 away by a sudden jerk from the watchful old seaman. 
 " Let me go and kill that . . ." 
 
 "No you don't!" panted Lingard, hanging on 
 manfully. '' You want to kill, do you? You lunatic. 
 Ah! — I've got you now! Be quiet, I say! " 
 
 They struggled violently, Lingard forcing Willems 
 slowly toward the guard-rail. Under their feet the 
 jetty sounded like a drum in the quiet night. On the 
 shore end the native caretaker of the wharf watched 
 the combat, squatting behind the safe shelter of some 
 big cases. The next day he informed his friends, with 
 calm satisfaction, that two drunken white men had 
 fought on the jetty. It had been a great fight. They 
 fought without arms, like wild beasts, after the manner 
 of white men. No! nobody was killed, or there would 
 have been trouble and a report to make. How could 
 he know why they fought? White men have no rea- 
 son when they are like that. 
 
 Just as Lingard was beginning to fear that he 
 would be unable to restrain much longer the violence 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 33 
 
 of the younger man, he felt Willems' muscles relax- 
 ing, and took advantage of this opportunity to pin him, 
 by a last effort, to the rail. They both panted heavily, 
 speechless, their faces very close. 
 
 " All right," muttered Willems at last. '' Don't 
 break my back over this infernal rail. I will be quiet." 
 
 " Now you are reasonable," said Lingard, much 
 reheved. ''What made you fly into that passion?" 
 he asked, leading him back to the end of the jetty, 
 and, still holding him prudently with one hand, he 
 fumbled with the other for his whistle and blew a shrill 
 and prolonged blast. Over the smooth water of the 
 roadstead came in answer a faint cry from one of the 
 ships at anchor. 
 
 " My boat will be here directly," said Lingard. 
 " Think of what you are going to do. I sail to-night." 
 
 *' What is there for me to do, except one thing?" 
 said Willems, gloomily. 
 
 " Look here," said Lingard; " I picked you up as 
 a boy, and consider myself responsible for you in a 
 way. You took your life into your own hands many 
 years ago — but still . . ." 
 
 He paused, listening, till he heard the regular grind 
 of the oars in the rowlocks of the approaching boat, 
 then went on again. 
 
 " I have made it all right with Hudig. You owe 
 him nothing now. Go back to your wife. She is a 
 good woman. Go back to her." 
 
 ** Why, Captain Lingard," exclaimed Willems, 
 "she . . ." 
 
 " It was most affecting," went on Lingard, without 
 heeding him. " I went to your house to look for you 
 and there I saw her despair. It was heart-breaking. 
 She called for you ; she entreated me to find you. She 
 spoke wildly, poor woman, as if all this was her fault." 
 
 Willems Hstened amazed. The blind old idiot! 
 How queerly he misunderstood! But if it was true, 
 
34 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 if it was even true, the very idea of seeing her filled 
 his soul with intense loathing. He did not break his 
 oath, but he would not go back to her. Let hers Be 
 the sin of that separation; of the sacred bond broken. 
 He revelled in the extreme purity of his heart, and he 
 would not go back to her. Let her come back to him. 
 He had the comfortable conviction that he would never 
 see her again, and that through her own fault only. 
 In this conviction he told himself solemnly that if she 
 would come to him he would receive her with gener- 
 ous forgiveness, because such was the praiseworthy 
 solidity of his principles. But he hesitated whether 
 he would or would not disclose to Lingard the revolt- 
 ing completeness of his humiliation. Turned out of 
 his house — and by his wife; that woman who hardly 
 dared to breathe in his presence, yesterday. He re- 
 mained perplexed and silent. No. He lacked the 
 courage to tell the ignoble story. 
 
 As the boat of the brig appeared suddenly on the 
 black water close to the jetty, Lingard broke the pain- 
 ful silence. 
 
 '' I always thought," he said, sadly, *' I always 
 thought you were somewhat heartless, Willems, and 
 apt to cast adrift those that thought most of you. I 
 appeal to what is best in you; do not abandon that 
 woman." 
 
 '' I have not abandoned her," answered Willems, 
 quickly, with conscious truthfulness. " Why should 
 I? As you so justly observed, she has been a good 
 wife to me. A very good, quiet, obedient, loving 
 wife, and I love her as much as she loves me. Every 
 bit. But as to going back now, to that place where 
 I ... To walk again amongst those men who yes- 
 terday were ready to crawl before me, and then feel 
 on my back the sting of their pitying or satisfied smiles 
 — no! I can't. I would rather hide from them at the 
 bottom of the sea," he went on, with resolute energy. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 35 
 
 " I don't think, Captain Lingard," he added, more 
 quietly, " I don't think that you reahse what my posi- 
 tion was there." 
 
 In a wide sweep of his hand he took in the sleeping 
 sliore from north to south, as if wishing it a proud and 
 threatening good-bye. For a short moment he forgot 
 his downfall in the recollection of his brilliant triumphs. 
 Amongst the men of his class and occupation who 
 slept in those dark houses he had been indeed the first. 
 
 " It is hard," muttered Lingard, pensively. " But 
 whose the fault? Whose the fault?" 
 
 ''Captain Lingard!" cried Willems, under the 
 sudden impulse of a felicitous inspiration, " if you leave 
 me here on this jetty — it's murder. I shall never re- 
 turn to that place alive, wife or no wife. You may just 
 as well cut my throat at once." 
 
 The old seaman started. 
 
 " Don't try to frighten me, Willems," he said, with 
 great severity, and paused. 
 
 Above the accents of Willems' brazen despair he 
 heard, with considerable uneasiness, thg^^whisp^ of his 
 gy^n a bsurd conscien jC£. He meditated for awhile with 
 an irresolute air. 
 
 " I could tell you to go and drown yourself, and be 
 damned to you," he said, with an unsuccessful assump- 
 tion of brutality in his manner, " but I won't. We 
 are responsible for one another — worse luck. I am 
 almost ashamed of myself, but I can understand your 
 dirty pride. I can! By . . ." 
 
 He broke ofif with a loud sigh and' walked briskly 
 to the steps, at the bottom of which lay his boat, rising 
 and falling gently on the slight and invisible swell. 
 
 " Below there! Got a lamp in the boat? Well, 
 Hght it and bring it up, one of you. Hurry now! " 
 
 He tore out a page of his pocket-book, moistened 
 his pencil with great energy and waited, stamping his 
 feet impatiently. 
 
36 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " I will see this thing through," he muttered to 
 himself. " And I will have it all square and shipshape; 
 see if I don't! Are you going to bring that lamp, you 
 son of a crippled mud-turtle? I am waiting." 
 
 The gleam of the light on the paper placated his 
 professional anger, and he wrote rapidly, the final dash 
 of his signature curling the paper up in a triangular 
 tear. 
 
 '* Take that to this white Tuan's house. I will send 
 the boat back for you in half an hour." 
 
 The coxswain raised his lamp deliberately to Wil- 
 lems' face. 
 
 *' This Tuan? Tau! I know." 
 
 "Quick then!" said Lingard, taking the lamp 
 from him — and the man went off at a run. 
 
 " Kassi mem! To the lady herself," called Lin- 
 gard after him. 
 
 Then, when the man disappeared, he turned to 
 Willems. 
 
 " I have written to your wife," he said. " If you 
 do not return for good, you do not go back to that 
 house only for another parting. You must come as 
 you stand. I won't have that poor woman tormented. 
 I will see to it that you are not separated for long. 
 Trust me !" 
 
 Willems shivered, then smiled in the darkness. 
 
 " No fear of that," he muttered, enigmatically. " I 
 trust you implicitly. Captain Lingard," he added, in 
 a louder tone. 
 
 Lingard led the way down the steps, swinging the 
 lamp and speaking over his shoulder. 
 
 " It is the second time, Willems, I take you in hand. 
 Mind it is the last. The second time; and the only 
 difference between then and now is that you were 
 barefooted then and have boots now. In fourteen 
 years. With all your smartness! A poor recult that. 
 A very poor result." 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 37 
 
 He stood for awhile on the lowest platform of the 
 steps, the light of the lamp falling on the upturned 
 face of the stroke oar, who held the gunwale of the 
 boat close alongside, ready for the captain to step in. 
 
 " You see," he went on, argumentatively, fumbling 
 about the top of the lamp, " you got yourself so 
 crooked amongst those 'longshore quill-drivers that 
 you could not run clear in any way. That's what 
 comes of such talk as yours, and of such a life. A 
 man sees so much falsehood that he begins to lie to 
 himself. Pah! " he said, in disgust, " there's only one 
 place for an honest man. The sea, my boy, the sea! 
 But you never would; didn't think there was enough 
 money in it; and now — look! " 
 
 He blew the light out, and, stepping into the boat, 
 stretched quickly his hand towards Willems, with 
 friendly care. Willems sat by him in silence, and the 
 boat shoved off, sweeping in a wide circle towards the 
 brig. 
 
 " Your compassion is all for my wife. Captain Lin- 
 gard," said Willems, moodily. " Do you think I am 
 so very happy? " 
 
 " No! no! " said Lingard, heartily. " Not a word 
 more shall pass my Hps. I had to speak my mind once, 
 seeing that I knew you from a child, so to speak. And 
 now I shall forget; but you are young yet. Life is 
 very long," he went on, with unconscious sadness; 
 " let this be a lesson to you." 
 
 He laid his hand affectionately on Willems' shoul- 
 der, and they both sat silent till the boat came along- 
 side the ship's ladder. 
 
 When on board Lingard gave orders to his mate, 
 and leading Willems on the poop, sat on the breech 
 of one of the brass six-pounders with which his vessel 
 was armed. The boat went off again to bring back 
 the messenger. As soon as it was seen returning dark 
 forms appeared on the brig's spars; then the sails fell 
 
38 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 in festoons with a swish of their heavy folds, and hung 
 motionless under the yards in the dead calm of the 
 clear and dewy night. From the forward end came 
 the clink of the windlass, and soon afterwards the hail 
 of the chief mate informing Lingard that the cable was 
 hove short. 
 
 " Hold on everything," hailed back Lingard; " we 
 must wait for the land-breeze before we let go our 
 hold of the ground." 
 
 He approached Willems, who sat on the skylight, 
 his body bent down, his head low, and his hands hang- 
 ing listlessly between his knees. 
 
 " I am going to take you to Sambir," he said. 
 " You've never heard of the place, have you? Well, 
 it's up that river of mine about which people talk so 
 much and know so little. I've found out the entrance 
 for a ship of Flash's size. It isn't easy. You'll see. 
 I will show you. You have been at sea long enough 
 to take an interest. . . . Pity you didn't stick to it. 
 Well, I am going there. I have my own trading post 
 in the place. Almayer is my partner. You knew him 
 when he was at Hudig's. Oh, he lives there as happy 
 as a king. D'ye see, I have them all in my pocket. 
 The rajah is an old friend of mine. My word is law 
 — and I am the only trader. No other white man but 
 Almayer had ever been in that settlement. You will 
 live quietly there till I come back from my next cruise 
 to the westward. We shall see then what can be 
 done for you. Never fear. I have no doubt my secret 
 will be safe with you. Keep mum about my river when 
 you get amongst the traders again. There's many 
 would give their ears for the knowledge of it. I'll 
 tell you something: that's where I get all my guttah 
 and rattans. Simply inexhaustible, my boy." 
 
 While Lingard spoke Willems looked up quickly, 
 but soon his head fell on his breast in the discouraging 
 certitude that the knowledge he and Hudig had wished 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 39 
 
 for SO much had come tc him too late. He sat in a 
 listless attitude. 
 
 " You will help Almayer in his trading if you have 
 a heart for it," continued Lingard, '' just to kill time 
 till I come back for you. Only six weeks or so." 
 
 Over their heads the damp sails fluttered noisily in 
 the first faint puff of the breeze; then, as the airs fresh- 
 ened, the brig tended to the wind, and the silenced 
 canvas lay quietly aback. The mate spoke with low 
 distinctness from the shadows of the quarter-deck. 
 
 '' There's the breeze. Which way do you want 
 to cast her head. Captain Lingard? " 
 
 Lingard's eyes, that had been fixed aloft, glanced 
 down at the dejected figure of the man sitting on the 
 skylight. He seemed to hesitate for a minute. 
 
 " To the northward, to the northward," he an- 
 swered, testily, as if annoyed at his own fleeting 
 thought, " and bear a hand there. Every puff of wind 
 is worth money in these seas." 
 
 He remained motionless, listening to the rattle of 
 blocks and the creaking of trusses as the head-yards 
 were hauled round. Sail was made on the ship and 
 the windlass manned again while he stood still, lost in 
 thought. He only roused himself when a barefooted 
 seacannie glided past him silently on his way to the 
 wheel. 
 
 ''Put the helm aport! Hard over!" he said, in 
 his harsh sea-voice, to the man whose face appeared 
 suddenly out of the darkness in the circle of light 
 thrown upwards from the binnacle lamps. 
 
 The anchor was secured, the yards trimmed, and 
 the brig began to move out of the roadstead. The 
 sea woke up under the push of the sharp cutwater, 
 and whispered softly to the gliding craft in that tender 
 and rippling murmur in which it speaks sometimes to 
 those it nurses and loves. Lingard stood by the taff- 
 rail listening, with a pleased smile till the Flash began 
 
I 
 
 40 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. ^ 
 
 to draw close to the only other vessel in the anchor- 
 age. 
 
 " Here, Willems," he said, calling him to his side, 
 " d'ye see that barque here? That's an Arab vessel. 
 White men have mostly given up the game, but this 
 fellow drops in my wake often, and lives in hopes of 
 cutting me out in that settlement. Not while I live, 
 I trust. You see, Willems, I brought prosperity to 
 that place. I composed their quarrels, and saw them 
 grow under my eyes. There's peace and happiness 
 there. I am more master there than his Dutch Ex- 
 cellency down in Batavia ever will be when some day 
 a lazy man-of-war blunders at last against the river. 
 I mean to keep the Arabs out of it, with their lies and 
 their intrigues. I shall keep the venomous breed out, 
 if it costs me my fortune." 
 
 The Flash drew quietly abreast of the barque, and 
 was beginning to drop it astern when a white hgure 
 started up on the poop of the Arab vessel, and a voice 
 called out — 
 
 '' Greeting to the Rajah Laut! " 
 
 *' To you greeting!" answered Lingard, after a 
 moment of hesitating surprise. Then he turned to 
 Willems with a grim smile. " That's^AbdullaJs voice," 
 he said. " Mighty civil all of a sudden, isn't he? I 
 wonder what it means. Just like his impudence! No 
 matter! His civility or his impudence are all one to 
 me. I know that this fellow will be under way and after 
 me like a shot. I don't care! I have the heels of any- 
 thing that floats in these seas," he added, while his 
 proud and loving glance ran over and rested fondly 
 amongst the brig's lofty and graceful spars. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 41 
 
 V. - 
 
 " It was the writing on his forehead," said Baba- 
 iaichi, adding a couple of small sticks to the Httle fire 
 by which he was squatting, and without looking at 
 Lakamba who lay down supported on his elbow on 
 the other side of the embers. " It was written when 
 he was born that he should end his life in darkness, 
 and now he is like a man walking in a black night — 
 with his eyes open, yet seeing not. I knew him well 
 when he had slaves, and many wives, and" much mer- 
 chandise, and trading praus, and praus for fighting. 
 Hay — ya! He was a great fighter in the days before 
 the breath of the Merciful put out the light in his eyes. 
 He was a pilgrim, and had many virtues: he was 
 brave, his hand was open, and he was a great robber. 
 For many years he led the men that drank blood on the 
 sea: first in prayer and first in fight! Have I not 
 stood behind him when his face was turned to the 
 West? Have I not watched by his side ships with high 
 masts burning in a straight flame on the calm water? 
 Have I not followed him on dark nights amongst 
 sleeping men that woke up only to die? His sword 
 was swifter than the fire from Heaven, and struck be- 
 fore it flashed. Ha'i! Tuan! Those were the days 
 and that was a leader, and I myself was younger; and 
 in those days there were not so many fireships with 
 guns that deal fiery death from afar. Over the hill and 
 over the forest— 6 ! Tuan Lakamba! they dropped 
 whistling fireballs into the creek where our praus took 
 refuge, and where they dared not follow men who had 
 arms in their hands." 
 
 He shook his head with mournful regret and threw 
 another handful of fuel on the fire. The burst of clear 
 flame lit up his broad, dark, and pock-marked face, 
 where the big lips, stained with betel-juice, looked 
 
42 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 like a deep and bleeding gash of a fresh wound. The 
 reflection of the firelight gleamed brightly in his soli- 
 tary eye, lending it for a moment a fierce animation 
 that died out together with the short-lived flame. 
 With quick touches of his bare hands he raked the 
 embers into a heap, then, wiping the warm ash on his 
 waistcloth — his only garment — he clasped his thin legs 
 with his entwined fingers, and rested his chin on his 
 drawn-up knees. Lakamba stirred slightly without 
 changing his position or taking his eyes ofif the glow- 
 ing coals, on which they had been fixed in dreamy 
 immobility. 
 
 " Yes," went on Babalatchi, in a low monotone, as 
 if pursuing aloud a train of thought that had its begin- 
 ning in the silent contemplation of the unstable nature 
 of earthly greatness — " yes. He has been rich and 
 strong, and now he lives on alms: old, feeble, blind 
 and without companions, but for his daughter. The 
 Rajah Patalolo gives him rice, and the pale woman — 
 his daughter — cooks it for him, for he has no slave." 
 
 ** I saw her from afar," muttered Lakamba, dis- 
 paragingly. ** A she-dog with white-teeth, like a 
 woman of the Orang-Putih." 
 
 ''Right, right," assented Babalatchi; "but you 
 have not seen her near. Her mother was a woman 
 from the west; a Baghdad! woman with veiled face. 
 Now she goes uncovered, like our women do, for she 
 is poor and he is blind, and nobody ever comes near 
 them unless to ask for a charm or a blessing and de- 
 part quickly for fear of his anger and of the Rajah's 
 hand. You have not been on that side of the river? " 
 
 " Not for a long time. If I go . . ." 
 
 ''True! true!" interrupted Babalatchi, soothing- 
 ly, " but I go often alone — for your good — and look — 
 and listen. When the time comes; when we both go 
 together towards the Rajah's campong, it will be to 
 enter — and to remain." 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 43 
 
 Lakamba sat up and looked at Babalatchi gloomily. 
 
 ''This is good talk, once, twice; when it is heard 
 too often it becomes foolish, like the prattle of chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " Many, many times have I seen the cloudy sky and 
 have heard the wind of the rainy seasons," said Baba- 
 latchi, impressively. 
 
 " And where is your wisdom? It must be with 
 the wind and the clouds of seasons past, for I do not 
 hear it in your talk." 
 
 " Those are the words of the ungrateful! " shouted 
 Babalatchi, with sudden exasperation. " Verily, our 
 only refuge is with the One, the Mighty, the Re- 
 dresser of . . ." 
 
 "Peace! peace!" growled the startled Lakamba. 
 " It is but a friend's talk." 
 
 Babalachi subsided into his former attitude, mut- 
 tering to himself. After awhile he went on again in a 
 louder voice — 
 
 " Since the Rajah Laut left another white man here 
 in Sambir, the daughter of the bhnd Omar el Badavi 
 has spoken to other ears than mine." 
 
 " Would a white man listen to a beggar's daugh- 
 ter? " said Lakamba, doubtingly. 
 
 " Ha'i ! I have seen . . ." 
 
 "And what did you see? O one-eyed one!" ex- 
 claimed Lakamba, contemptuously. 
 
 " I have seen the strange white man walking on 
 the narrow path before the sun could dry the drops of 
 dew on the bushes, and I have heard the whisper of 
 his voice when he spoke through the smoke of the 
 morning fire to that woman with big eyes and a pale 
 skin. Woman in body, but in heart a man! She 
 knows no fear and no shame. I have heard her voice 
 too." 
 
 He nodded twice at Lakamba sagaciously and gave 
 himself up to silent musing, his solitary eye fixed im- 
 
44 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 movably upon the straight wall of forest on the oppo- 
 site bank. Lakamba lay silent, staring vacantly. 
 Under them Lingard's own river rippled softly 
 amongst the piles supporting the bamboo platform of 
 the little watch-house before which they were lying. 
 Behind the house the ground rose in a gentle swell of 
 a low hill cleared of the big timber, but thickly over- 
 grown with the grass and bushes, now withered and 
 burnt up in the long drought of the dry season. This 
 old rice clearing, which had been several years lying 
 fallow, was framed on three sides by the impenetrable 
 and tangled growth of the untouched forest, and on 
 the fourth came down to the muddy river bank. 
 There was not a breath of wind on the land or river, 
 but high above, in the transparent sky, little clouds 
 rus^.ed past the moon, now appearing in her diffused 
 rays with the brilliance of silver, now obscuring her 
 face with the blackness of ebony. Far away, in the 
 middle of the river, a fish would leap now and then 
 with a short splash, the very loudness of which meas- 
 ured the profundity of the overpowering silence that 
 swallowed up the sharp sound suddenly. 
 
 Lakamba dozed uneasily oflf, but the wakeful Baba- 
 latchi sat thinking deeply, sighing from time to time, 
 and slapping himself over his naked torso incessantly 
 in a vain endeavour to keep off an occasional and 
 wandering mosquito that, rising as high as the plat- 
 form above the swarms of the riverside, would settle 
 with a ping of triumph on the unexpected victim. The 
 moon, pursuing her silent and toilsome path, attained 
 her highest elevation, and chasing the shadow of the 
 roof-eaves from Lakamba's face, seemed to hang ar- 
 rested over their heads. Babalatchi revived the fire 
 and woke up his companion, who sat up yawning and 
 shivering discontentedly. 
 
 Babalatchi spoke again in a voice which was like 
 the murmur of a brook that runs over the stones: 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 45 
 
 low, monotonous, persistent; irresistible in its power 
 to wear out and to destroy the hardest obstacles. La- 
 kamba listened, silent but interested. They were 
 Malay adventurers; ambitious men of that place and 
 time; the Bohemians of their race. In the early days 
 of the settlement, before the ruler Patalolo had shaken 
 ofif his allegiance to the Sultan of Koti, Lakamba 
 appeared in the river with two small trading vessels. 
 He was disappointed to find already some semblance 
 of organisation amongst the settlers of various races 
 who recognised the unobtrusive sway of old Patalolo, 
 and he was not politic enough to conceal his disap- 
 pointment. He declared himself to be a man from 
 the east, from those parts where no white man ruled, 
 and to be of an oppressed race, but of a princely family. 
 And truly enough he had all the gifts of an exiled 
 prince. He was discontented, ungrateful, turbulent; 
 a man full of envy and ready for intrigue, with brave 
 words and empty promises for ever on his lips. He 
 was obstinate, but his will was made up of short im- 
 pulses that never lasted long enough to carry him to 
 the goal of his ambition. Received coldly by the sus- 
 picious Patalolo, he persisted — permission or no per- 
 mission — in clearing the ground on a good spot some 
 fourteen miles down the river from Sambir, and built 
 himself a house there, which he fortified by a high 
 palisade. As he had many followers and seemed very 
 reckless, the old Rajah did not think it prudent at 
 the time to interfere with him by force. Once settled, 
 he began to intrigue. The quarrel of Patalolo with 
 the Sultan of Koti was of his fomenting, but failed to 
 produce the result he expected because the Sultan 
 could not back him up effectively at such a great dis- 
 tance. Disappointed in that scheme, he promptly or- 
 ganised an outbreak of the Bugis settlers, and besieged 
 the old Rajah in his stockade with much noisy valour 
 and a fair chance of success; but Lingard then ap- 
 
46 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 peared on the scene with the armed brig, and the old 
 seaman's hairy forefinger, shaken menacingly in his 
 face, quelled his martial ardour. No man cared to 
 encounter the Rajah Laut, and Lakamba, with mo- 
 mentary resignation, subsided into a half-cultivator, 
 half-trader, and nursed in his fortified house his wrath 
 and his ambition, keeping it for use on a more pro- 
 pitious occasion. Still faithful to his character of a 
 prince-pretender, he would not recognise the consti- 
 tuted authorities, answering sulkily the Rajah's mes- 
 senger, who claimed the tribute for the cultivated 
 fields, that the Rajah had better come and take it him- 
 self. By Lingard's advice he was left alone, notwith- 
 standing his rebellious mood; and for many days he 
 lived undisturbed amongst his wives and retainers, 
 cherishing that persistent and causeless hope of better 
 times, the possession of which seems to be the uni- 
 versal privilege of exiled greatness. 
 
 But the passing days brought no change. The 
 hope grew faint and the hot ambition burnt itself out, 
 leaving only a feeble and expiring spark amongst a 
 heap of dull and tepid ashes of indolent acquiescence 
 with the decrees of Fate, till Babalatchi fanned it again 
 into a bright flame. Babalatchi had blundered upon 
 the river while in search of a safe refuge for his dis- 
 reputable head. He was a vagabond of the seas, a true 
 Orang-Laut, living by rapine and plunder of coasts 
 and ships in his prosperous days; earning his living 
 by honest and irksome toil when the days of adversity 
 were upon him. So, although at times leading the 
 Sulu rovers, he had also served as Serang of country 
 ships, and in that wise had visited the distant seas, be- 
 held the glories of Bombay, the might of the IMascati 
 Sultan; had even struggled in a pious throng for the 
 privilege of touching with his Hps the Sacred Stone of 
 the Holy City. He gathered experience and wisdom 
 in many lands, and after attaching himself to Omar el 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 47 
 
 Badavi, he affected great piety (as became a pilgrim), 
 although unable to read the inspired words of the 
 Prophet. He was brave and bloodthirsty without any 
 affectation, and he hated the white men who interfered 
 with the manly pursuits of throat-cutting, kidnapping, 
 slave-dealing, and fire-raising, that were the only pos- 
 sible occupation for a true man of the sea. He found 
 favour in the eyes of his chief, the fearless Omar el 
 Badavi, the leader of Brunei rovers, whom he followed 
 with unquestioning loyalty through the long years of 
 successful depredation. And when that long career 
 of murder, robbery and violence received its first seri- 
 ous check at the hands of white men, he stood faith- 
 fully by his chief, looked steadily at the bursting shells, 
 was undismayed by the flames of the burning strong- 
 hold, by the death of his companions, by the shrieks 
 of their women, the waiHng of their children ; by the 
 sudden ruin and destruction of all that he deemed 
 indispensable to a happy and glorious existence. The 
 beaten ground between the houses was slippery with 
 blood, and the dark mangroves of the muddy creeks 
 were full of sighs of the dying men who were stricken 
 down before they could see their enemy. They died 
 helplessly, for into the tangled forest there was no 
 escape, and their swift praus, in which they had so 
 often scoured the coast and the seas, now wedged to- 
 gether in the narrow creek, were burning fiercely. 
 Babalatchi, with the clear perception of the coming 
 end, devoted all his energies to saving if it was but 
 only one of them. He succeeded in time. When the 
 end came in the explosion of the stored powder-bar- 
 rels, he was ready to look for his chief. He found him 
 half dead and totally blinded, with nobody near him 
 but his daughter A'issa: — the sons had fallen earlier 
 in the day, as became men of their courage. Helped 
 by the girl with the steadfast heart, Babalatchi car- 
 ried Omar on board the light prau and succeeded in 
 
48 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 escaping, but with very few companions only. As they 
 hauled their craft into the network of dark and silent 
 creeks, they could hear the cheering of the crews of 
 the man-of-war's boats dashing to the attack of the 
 rover's village. A'issa, sitting on the high after-deck, 
 her father's blackened and bleeding head in her lap, 
 looked up with fearless eyes at Babalatchi. " They 
 shall find only smoke, blood and dead men, and women 
 mad with fear there, but nothing else living," she said, 
 mournfully. Babalatchi, pressing with his right hand 
 the deep gash on his shoulder, answered sadly: '' They 
 are very strong. When we fight with them we can 
 only die. Yet," he added, menancingly — '* some of us 
 still live! Some of us still live! " 
 
 For a short time he dreamed of vengeance, but 
 his dream was dispelled by the cold reception of the 
 Sultan of Sulu, with whom they sought refuge at first 
 and who gave them only a contemptuous and grudg- 
 ing hospitality. While Omar, nursed by A'issa, was 
 recovering from his wounds, Babalatchi attended in- 
 dustriously before the exalted Presence that had ex- 
 tended to them the hand of protection. For all that, 
 when Babalatchi spoke into the Sultan's ear certain 
 proposals of a great and profitable raid, that was to 
 sweep the islands from Ternate to Acheen, the Sultan 
 was very angry. " I know you, you men from the 
 west," he exclaimed, angrily. " Your words are poison 
 in a Ruler's ears. Your talk is of fire and murder and 
 booty — but on our heads falls the vengeance of the 
 blood you drink. Begone! " 
 
 There was nothing to be done. Times were 
 changed. So changed that, when a Spanish frigate 
 appeared before the island and a demand was sent to 
 the Sultan to deliver Omar and his companions, Baba- 
 latchi was not surprised to hear that they were going 
 to be made the victims of political expediency. But 
 from that sane appreciation of danger to tame sub- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 49 
 
 mission was a very long step. And then began Omar's 
 second flight. It began arms in hand, for the Httle 
 band had to fight in the night on the beach for the 
 possession of the small canoes in which those that sur- 
 vived got away at last. The story of that escape lives 
 in the hearts of brave men even to this day. They talk 
 of Babalatchi and of the strong woman who carried 
 her blind father through the surf under the fire of the 
 warship from the north. The companions of that 
 piratical and son-less ^neas are dead now, but their 
 ghosts wander over the waters and the islands at night 
 —after the manner of ghosts — and haunt the fires by 
 which sit armed men, as is meet for the spirits of fear- 
 less warriors who died in battle. There they may hear 
 the story of their own deeds, of their own courage, 
 suffering and death, on the lips of living men. That 
 story is told in many places. On the cool mats in 
 breezy verandahs of Rajahs' houses il is alluded to 
 disdainfully by impassible statesmen, but amongst 
 armed men that throng the courtyards it is a tale w^iich 
 stills the murmur of voices and the tinkle of anklets; 
 arrests the passage of the siri-vessel, and fixes the eyes 
 in absorbed gaze. They talk of the fight, of the fear- 
 less woman, of the wise man ; of long suffering on the 
 thirsty sea in leaky canoes; of those who died. . . . 
 Many died. A few survived. The chief, the woman, 
 and another one who became great. 
 
 There was no hint of incipient greatness in Baba- 
 latchi's unostentatious arrival in Sambir. He came 
 with Omar and Aissa in a small prau loaded with green 
 cocoanuts, and claimed the ownership of both vessel 
 and cargo. How it came to pass that Babalatchi, flee- 
 ing for his life in a small canoe, managed to end his 
 hazardous journey in a vessel full of a valuable com- 
 modity, is one of those secrets of the sea that baffle 
 the most searching inquiry. In truth nobody inquired 
 much. There were rumours of a missino^ trading prau 
 
50 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 belonging to Menado, but they were vague and re- 
 mained mysterious. Babalatchi told a story which — 
 it must be said in justice to Patalolo's knowledge^ of 
 the world — was not believed. When the Rajah ven- 
 tured to state his doubts, Babalatchi asked him in 
 tones of calm remonstrance whether he could rea- 
 sonably suppose that two oldish men — who had only 
 one eye amongst them — and a young woman were 
 likely to gain possession of anything whatever by vio- 
 lence? Charity was a virtue recommended by the 
 Prophet. There were charitable people, and their hand 
 was open to the deserving. Patalolo wagged his aged 
 head doubtingly, and Babalatchi withdrew with a 
 shocked mien and put himself forthwith under Lakam- 
 'ba's protection. The two men who completed the 
 prau's crew followed him into that magnate's cam- 
 pong. The blind Omar, with A'issa, remained under 
 the care of the Rajah, and the Rajah confiscated the 
 cargo. The prau hauled up on the mud-bank, at the 
 junction of the two branches of the Pantai, rotted in 
 the rain, warped in the sun, fell to pieces and gradually 
 vanished into the smoke of household fires of the set- 
 tlement. Only a forgotten plank and a rib or two, 
 sticking neglected in the shiny ooze for a long time, 
 served to remind Babalatchi during many months that 
 he was a stranger in the land. 
 
 Otherwise, he felt perfectly at home in Lakamba's 
 establishment, where his peculiar position and influ- 
 ence were quickly recognised and soon submitted to 
 even by the women. He had all a true vagabond's plia- 
 bility to circumstances and adaptiveness to momentary 
 surroundings. In his readiness to learn from experi- 
 ence that contempt for early principles so necessary 
 to a true statesman, he equalled the most successful 
 politicians of any age ; and he had enough persuasive- 
 ness and firmness of purpose to acquire a complete 
 mastery over Lakamba's vacillating mind — where 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 51 
 
 there was nothing stable but an all-pervading discon- 
 tent. He kept the discontent alive, he rekindled the 
 expiring ambition, he moderated the poor exile's not 
 unnatural impatience to attain a high and lucrative 
 position. He — the man of violence — deprecated the 
 use of force, for he had a clear comprehension of the 
 difficult situation. From the same cause, he — the 
 hater of white men — would to some extent admit the 
 eventual expediency of Dutch protection. But noth- 
 ing should be done in a hurry. Whatever his master 
 Lakamba might think, there was no use in poisoning 
 old Patalolo, he maintained. It could be done, of 
 course; but what then? As long as Lingard's influ-. 
 ence was paramount — as long as Almayer, Lingard's 
 representative, was the only great trader of the settle- 
 ment, it was not worth Lakamba's while — even if it 
 had been possible — to grasp the rule of the young 
 state. Killing Almayer and Lingard was so difficult 
 and so risky that it might be dismissed as impractica- 
 ble. What was wanted was an alliance; somebody 
 to set up against the white men's influence — and some- 
 body who, while favourable to Lakamba, would at 
 the same time be a person of a good standing with the 
 Dutch authorities. A rich and considered trader was 
 wanted. Such a person once firmly established in 
 Sambir would help them to oust the old Rajah, to re- 
 move him from power or from life if there was no other 
 way. Then it would be time to apply to the Orang 
 Blanda for a flag; for a recognition of their meritori- 
 ous services; for that protection which would make 
 them safe for ever! The word of a rich and loyal 
 trader would mean something with the Ruler down in 
 Batavia. The first thing to do was to find such an 
 ally and to induce him to settle in Sambir. A white 
 trader would not do. A white man would not fall in 
 v;ith their ideas — would not be trustworthy. The man 
 they wanted should be rich, unscrupulous, have many 
 
52 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 followers, and be a well-known personality In the isl- 
 ands. Such a man might be found amongst the Arab 
 traders. Lingard's jealousy, said Babalatchi, kept all 
 the traders out of the river. Some were afraid, and 
 some did not know how to get there; others ignored 
 the very existence of Sambir; a good many did not 
 think it worth their while to run the risk of Lingard's 
 enmity for the doubtful advantage of trade with a com- 
 paratively unknown settlement. The great majority 
 were undesirable or untrustworthy. And Babalatchi 
 mentioned regretfully the men he had known in his 
 young days: wealthy, resolute, courageous, reckless, 
 ready for any enterprise! But why lament the past 
 and speak about the dead? There is one man — living 
 — great — not far ofT. . . . 
 
 Such was Babalatchi's line of policy laid before his 
 ambitious protector. Lakamba assented, his only ob- 
 jection being that it was very slow work. In his 
 extreme desire to grasp dollars and power, the unintel- 
 lectual exile was ready to throw himself into the arms 
 of any wandering cut-throat whose help could be se- 
 cured, and Babalatchi experienced great difficulty in 
 restraining him from unconsidered violence. It would 
 not do to let it be seen that they had any hand in in- 
 troducing a new element into the social and political 
 life of Sambir. There was always a possibility of fail- 
 ure, and in that case Lingard's vengeance would be 
 swift and certain. No risk should be run. They must 
 wait. 
 
 Meantime he pervaded the settlement, squatting in 
 the course of each day by many household fires, testing 
 the public temper and public opinion — and always 
 talking about his impending departure. At night he 
 would often take Lakamba's smallest canoe and depart 
 silently to pay mysterious visits to his old chief on the 
 other side of the river. Omar lived in odour of sanc- 
 tity under the wing of Patalolo. Between the bamboo 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 53 
 
 fence, enclosing the houses of the Rajah, and the wild 
 forest, there was a banana plantation, and on its fur- 
 ther edge stood two little houses built on low piles 
 under a few precious fruit trees that grew on the banks 
 of a clear brook, which, bubbling up behind the house, 
 ran in its short and rapid course down to the big river. 
 Along the brook a narrow path led through the dense 
 second growth of a neglected clearing to the banana 
 plantation and to the houses in it which the Rajah had 
 given for residence to Omar. The Rajah was greatly 
 impressed by Omar's ostentatious piety, by his oracu- 
 lar wisdom, by his many misfortunes, by the solemn 
 fortitude with which he bore his affliction. Often the 
 old ruler of Sambir would visit informally the blind 
 Arab and listen gravely to his talk during the hot 
 hours of an afternoon. In the night, Babalatchi would 
 call and interrupt Omar's repose, unrebuked. Aissa, 
 standing silently at the door of one of the huts, could 
 see the two old friends as they sat very still by the fire 
 in the middle of the beaten ground between the two 
 houses, talking in an indistinct murmur far into the 
 night. She could not hear their words, but she watched 
 the two formless shadows curiously. Finally Baba- 
 latchi would rise and, taking her father by the wrist, 
 would lead him back to the house, arrange his mats 
 for him, and go out quietly. Instead of going away, 
 Babalatchi, unconscious of Aissa's eyes, often sat again 
 by the fire, in a long and deep meditation. Aissa 
 looked with respect on that wise and brave man — she 
 was accustomed to see at her father's side as long as 
 she could remember — sitting alone and thoughtful in 
 the silent night by the dying fire, his body motionless 
 and his mind wandering in the land of memories, or 
 — who knows? — perhaps groping for a road in the 
 waste spaces of the uncertain future. 
 
 Babalatchi noted the arrival of Willems with alarm 
 at this new accession to the white men's strength. 
 
54 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Afterwards he changed his opinion. He met Willems 
 one night on the path leading to Omar's house, and 
 noticed later on, with only a moderate surprise, that 
 the blind Arab did not seem to be aware of the new 
 white man's visits to the neighbourhood of his dwell- 
 ing. Once, coming unexpectedly in the daytime, 
 Babalatchi fancied he could see the gleam of a white 
 jacket in the bushes on the other side of the brook. 
 That day he watched Aissa pensively as she moved 
 about preparing the evening rice; but after awhile he 
 went hurriedly away before sunset, refusing Omar's 
 hospitable invitation, in the name of Allah, to share 
 their meal. That same evening he startled Lakamba 
 by announcing that the time had come at last to make 
 the first move in their long-deferred game. Lakamba 
 asked excitedly for explanation. Babalatchi shook 
 his head and pointed to the flitting shadows of moving 
 women and to the vague forms of men sitting by the 
 evening fires in the courtyard. Not a word would he 
 speak here, he declared. But when the whole house- 
 hold was reposing, Babalatchi and Lakamba passed 
 silently amongst sleeping groups to the riverside, and, 
 taking a canoe, paddled of¥ stealthily on their way to 
 the dilapidated guard-hut in the old rice-clearing. 
 There they were safe from all eyes and ears, and could 
 account, if need be, for their excursion by the wish 
 to kill a deer, the spot being well known as the drink- 
 ing-place of all kinds of game. In the seclusion of 
 its quiet solitude Babalatchi explained his plan to the 
 attentive Lakamba. His idea was to make use of Wil- 
 lems for the destruction of Lingard's influence. 
 
 " I know the white men, Tuan," he said, in con- 
 clusion. ''In many lands have I seen them; always 
 the slaves of their desires, always ready to give up 
 their strength and their reason into the hands of some 
 woman. The fate of the Believers is written by tlie 
 hand of the Mighty One, but they who worship many 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 55 
 
 gods are thrown into the world with smooth fore- 
 heads, for any woman's hand to mark their destruc- 
 tion there. Let one white man destroy another. The 
 will of the Most High is that they should be fools. 
 They know how to keep faith with their enemies, but 
 towards each other they know only deception. Hai! 
 I have seen! I have seen!" 
 
 He stretched himself full length before the fire, 
 and closed his eye in real or simulated sleep. Lakam- 
 ba, not quite convinced, sat for a long time with his 
 gaze riveted on the dull embers. As the night ad- 
 vanced, a slight white mist rose'from the river, and the 
 decliniri"^ moori, bowed over the tops of the forest, 
 seemed to seek the repose of the earth, like a wayward 
 and wandering lover who returns at last to lay his tired 
 and silent head on his beloved's breast. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Lend me your gun, Almayer," said Willems, 
 across the table on which a smoky lamp shone redly 
 above the disorder of a finished meal. '' I have a mind 
 to go and look for a deer when the moon rises to- 
 night." 
 
 Almayer, sitting sidewise to the table, his elbow 
 pushed amongst the dirty plates, his chin on his breast 
 and his legs stretched stiffly out, kept his eyes steadily 
 on the toes of his grass slippers and laughed abruptly. 
 
 " You might say yes or no instead of making that 
 unpleasant noise," remarked Willems, with calm irri- 
 tation. 
 
 '' If I believed one word of what you say, I would," 
 answered Almayer without changing his attitude and 
 speaking slowly, with pauses, as if dropping his words 
 
56 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 on the floor. "As it is — what's the use? You know 
 where the gun is; you may take it or leave it. Gun. 
 Deer. Bosh! Hunt deer! Pah! It's a . . . gazelle 
 you are after, my honoured guest. You want gold 
 inklets and silk sarongs for that game — my mighty 
 hunter. And you won't get those for the asking, I 
 promise you. All day amongst the natives. A fine 
 help you are to me." 
 
 *' You shouldn't drink so much, Almayer," said 
 Willems, disguising his fury under an affected drawl. 
 " You have no head. Never had, as far as I can re- 
 member, in the old days in Macassar. You drink too 
 much." 
 
 *' I drink my own," retorted Almayer, lifting his 
 head quickly and darting an angry glance at Willems. 
 
 Those two sj)ecimens of the superior race glared at 
 each other savagely for a minute, then turned away 
 their heads at the same moment as if by previous ar- 
 rangement, and both got up. Almayer kicked off his 
 slippers and scrambled into his hammock, which hung 
 between two wooden columns of the verandah so as 
 to catch every rare breeze of the dry season, and Wil- 
 lems, after standing irresolutely by the table for a 
 short time, walked without a word down the steps 
 of the house and over the courtyard towards the little 
 wooden jetty, where several small canoes and a couple 
 of big white whale-boats were made fast, tugging at 
 their short painters and bumping together in the swift 
 current of the river. He jumped into the smallest 
 canoe, balancing himself clumsily, slipped the rattan 
 painter, and gave an unnecessary and violent shove, 
 which nearly sent him headlong overboard. By the 
 time he regained his balance the canoe had drifted 
 some fifty yards down the river. He knelt in the bot- 
 tom of his little craft and fought the current with long 
 sweeps of the paddle. Almayer sat up in his hammock, 
 grasping his feet and peering over the river with parted 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 57 
 
 lips till he made out the shadowy form of man and 
 canoe as they struggled past the jetty again. 
 
 " I thought you would go,", he shouted. " Won't 
 you take the gun? Hey?" ihe yelled, straining his 
 voice. Then he fell back in his hammock and laughed 
 to himself feebly till he fell asleep. On the river, Wil- 
 lems, his eyes fixed intently ahead, swept his paddle 
 right and left, unheeding the words that reached him 
 faintly. 
 
 It was now three months since Lingard had landed 
 Willems in Sambir and had departed hurriedly, leav- 
 ing him in Almayer's care. The two white men did 
 not get on well together. Almayer, remembering the 
 time when they both served Hudig, and when the su- 
 perior Willems treated him with ofifensive condescen- 
 sion, felt a great dislike towards his guest. He was 
 also jealous of Lingard's favour. Almayer had mar- 
 ried a Malay girl whom the old seaman had adopted 
 in one of his accesses of unreasoning benevolence, and 
 as the marriage was not a happy one from a domestic 
 point of view, he looked to Lingard's fortune for com- 
 pensation in his matrimonial unhappiness. The ap- 
 pearance of that man, who seemed to have a claim of 
 some sort upon Lingard, filled him with considerable 
 uneasiness, the more so because the old seaman did 
 not choose to acquaint the husband of his adopted 
 daughter with Willems' history, or to confide to him 
 his intentions as to that individual's future fate. Sus- 
 picious from the first, Almayer discouraged Willems' 
 attempts to help him in his trading, and then when 
 Willems drew back, he made, with characteristic per- 
 verseness, a grievance of his unconcern. From cold 
 civility in their relations, the two men drifted into si- 
 lent hostility, then into outspoken enmity, and both 
 wished ardently for Lingard's return and the end of 
 a situation that grew more intolerable from day to day. 
 The time dragged slowly. Willems watched the sue- 
 
58 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 ceeding sunrises wondering dismally whether before 
 the evening some change would occur in the deadly 
 dulness of his life. He missed the commercial activity 
 of that existence which seemed to him far ofi, irrep- 
 arably lost, buried out of sight under the ruins of 
 his past success — now gone from him beyond the pos- 
 sibility of redemption. He mooned disconsolately 
 about Almayer's courtyard, watching from afar, with 
 uninterested eyes, the upcountry canoes discharging 
 guttah or rattans, and loading rice or European goods 
 on the little wharf of Lingard & Co. Big as was the 
 extent of ground owned by Almayer, Willems yet felt 
 that there was not enough room for him inside those 
 neat fences. The man who, during long years, be- 
 came accustomed to think of himself as indispensable 
 to others, felt a bitter and savage rage at the cruel con- 
 sciousness of his superfluity, of his uselessness; at the 
 cold hostility visible in every look of the only white 
 man in this barbarous corner of the world. He gnashed 
 his teeth when he thought of the wasted days, of the 
 life thrown away in the unwilling company of that 
 peevish and suspicious fool. He heard the reproach 
 of his idleness in the murmurs of the river, in the un- 
 ceasing whisper of the great forests. Round him 
 everything stirred, moved, swept by in a rush; the 
 earth under his feet and the heavens above his head. 
 The very savages around him strove, struggled, fought, 
 worked — if only to prolong a miserable existence ; but 
 they lived, they lived! And it was only himself that 
 seemed to be left outside the scheme of creation in a 
 hopeless immobility filled with tormenting anger and 
 with ever-stinging regret. 
 
 He took to wandering about the settlement. The 
 afterwards flourishing Sambir was born in a swamp 
 and passed its youth in malodorous mud. The houses 
 crowded the bank, and, as if to get away from the 
 unhealthy shore, stepped boldly irrto the river, shoot- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 S9 
 
 ing over it in a close row of bamboo platforms elevated 
 on high piles, amongst which the current below spoke 
 in a soft and unceasing plaint of murmuring eddies. 
 Thei_ was only one path in the whole town and it 
 ran al the back of the houses along the succession of 
 blackened circular patches that marked the place of 
 the household fires. On the other side the virgin 
 forest bordered the path, coming close to it, as if to 
 provoke impudently any passer-by to the solution of 
 the gloomy problem of its depths. Nobody would 
 accept the deceptive challenge. There were only a 
 few feeble attempts at a clearing here and there, but 
 the ground was low and the river, retiring after its 
 yearly floods, left on each a gradually diminishing 
 mud-hole, where the imported buffaloes of the Bugis 
 settlers wallowed happily during the heat of the day. 
 When Willems walked on the path, the indolent men 
 stretched on the shady side of the houses looked at 
 him with calm curiosity, the women busy round the 
 cooking fires would send after him wondering and 
 timid glances, while the children would only look once, 
 and then run away yelling with fright at the horrible 
 appearance of the man wnth a red and white face. 
 These manifestations of childish diso-ust and fear stung 
 Willems with a sense of absurd humiliation; he sought 
 in his walks the comparative solitude of the rudi- 
 mentary clearings, but the ve*-v buffaloes snorted with 
 alarm at his sight, scrambled lumberingly out of the 
 cool mud and stared wildly in a compact herd at him 
 as he tried to slink unperceived along the edge of the 
 forest. One day, at some un2:uarded and sudden 
 movement of his, the whole herd stampeded down the 
 path, scattered the fires, sent the women flying with 
 shrill cries, and left behind a track of smashed pots, 
 trampled rice, overturned children, and a crowd of 
 anqry men brandishing sticks in loud-voiced pursuit. 
 The mnocent cause of that disturbance ran shama- 
 
6o AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 facedly the gauntlet of black looks and unfriendly re- 
 marks, and hastily sought refuge in Almayer's cam- 
 pong. After that he left the settlement alone. 
 
 Later on, when the enforced confinement grew 
 irksome, Willems took one of Almayer's many canoes 
 and crossed the main branch of the Pantai in search 
 of some solitary spot where he could hide his dis- 
 couragement and his weariness. He skirted in his 
 little craft the wall of tangled verdure, keeping in the 
 dead water close to the bank where the spreading nipa 
 palms nodded their broad leaves over his head as if 
 in contemptuous pity of the wandering outcast. Here 
 and there he could see the beginnings of chopped-out 
 pathways, and, with the fixed idea of getting out of 
 sight of the busy river, he would land and follow the 
 narrow and winding path, only to find that it led no- 
 where, ending abruptly in the discouragement of 
 thorny thickets. He would go back slowly, with a 
 bitter sense of unreasonable disappointment and sad- 
 ness; oppressed by the hot smell of earth, dampness, 
 and decay in that forest which seemed to push him 
 mercilessly back into the glittering sunshine of the 
 river. And he would recommence paddling with tired 
 arms to seek another opening, to find another decep- 
 tion. 
 
 As he paddled up to the point where the Rajah's 
 stockade came down to the river, the nipas were left 
 behind rattling their leaves over the brown water, and 
 the big trees would appear on the bank, tall, strong, 
 indifferent in the immense solidity of their life, which 
 endures for ages, to that short and fleeting life in the 
 heart of the man who crept painfully amongst their 
 shadows in search of a refuge from the unceasing re- 
 proach of his thoughts. Amongst their smooth trunks 
 a clear brook meandered for a time in twining lacets 
 before it made up its mind to take a leap into the hur- 
 rying river, over the edge of the steep bank. There 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 6l 
 
 was also a pathway there and it seemed frequented. 
 Willems landed, and following the capricious promise 
 of the track soon found himself in a comparatively 
 clear space, where the confused tracery of sunlight 
 fell through the branches and the foliage overhead, 
 and lay on the stream that shone in an easy curve 
 like a bright swordblade dropped amongst the long 
 and feathery grass. Further on, the path continued 
 narrowed again in the thick undergrowth. At the end 
 of the first turning Willems saw a flash of white and 
 colour, a gleam of gold like a sun-ray lost in shadow, 
 and a vision of blackness darker than the deepest 
 shade of the forest. He stopped, surprised, and fancied 
 he had heard light footsteps — growing lighter — ceas- 
 ing. He looked around. The grass on the bank of 
 the stream trembled and a tremulous path of its shiv- 
 ering, silver-grey tops ran from the water to the be- 
 ginning of the thicket. And yet there was not a breath 
 of wind. Somebody had passed there. He looked 
 pensive while the tremor died out in a quick tremble 
 under his eyes; and the grass stood high, unstirring, 
 with dropping heads in the warm and motionless air. 
 He hurried on, driven by a suddenly awakened 
 curiosity, and entered the narrow way between the 
 bushes. At the next turn of the path he caught again 
 the glimpse of coloured stufT and of a woman's black 
 hair before him. He hastened his pace and came in 
 full view of the object of his pursuit. The woman, 
 who was carrying two bamboo vessels full of water, 
 heard his footsteps, stopped, and putting the bamboos 
 down half turned to look back. Willems also stood 
 still for a minute, then walked steadily on with a firm 
 tread, while the woman moved aside to let him pass. 
 He kept his eyes fixed straight before him, yet almost 
 unconsciously he took in every detail of the tall and 
 graceful figure. As he approached her the woman 
 tossed her head slightly back, and with a free gesture 
 
62 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 of her strong, round arm, caught up the mass of loose 
 black hair and brought it over her shoulder and across 
 the lower part of her face. The next moment he was 
 passing her close, walking rigidly, like a man in a 
 trance. He heard her rapid breathing and he felt the 
 touch of a look darted at him from half-open eyes. It 
 touched his brain and his heart together. It seemed 
 to him to be something loud and stirring like a shout, 
 silent and penetrating like an inspiration. The mo- 
 mentum of his motion carried him past her, but an in- 
 visible force made up of surprise and curiosity and 
 desire spun him round as soon as he had passed. 
 
 She had taken up her burden already, with the in- 
 tention of pursuing her path. His sudden movement 
 arrested her at the first step, and again she stood 
 straight, slim, expectant, with a readiness to dart away 
 suggested in the light immobility of her pose. High 
 above, the branches of the trees met in a transparent 
 shimmer of waving green mist, through which the 
 rain of yellow rays descended upon her head, streamed 
 in glints down her black tresses, shone with the chang- 
 ing glow of liquid metal on her face, and lost itself 
 in vanishing sparks in the sombre depths of her eyes 
 that, wide open now, with enlarged pupils, looked 
 steadily at the man in her path. And Willems stared 
 at her, charmed with a charm that carries with it a 
 sense of irreparable loss, tingling with that feeling 
 which begins like a caress and ends in a blow, in that 
 sudden hurt of a new emotion making its way into a 
 human heart, with the brusque stirring of sleeping 
 sensations awakening suddenly to the rush of new 
 hopes, new fears, new desires — and to the flight of 
 one's old self. 
 
 She moved a step forward and again halted. A 
 breath of wind that came through the trees, but in 
 Willems' fancy seemed to be driven by her moving 
 figure, rippled in a hot wave round his body and 
 
 r>y%/ 
 
 . J 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 63 
 
 scorched his face in a burning touch. He drew it in 
 with a long breath, the breath that gives courage 
 to confront the menace of death or the storm of pas- 
 sion. 
 
 Who was she? Where did she come from? Won- 
 deringly he took his eyes ofif her face to look round 
 at the serried trees of the forest that stood big and 
 still and straight, as if watching him and her breath- 
 lessly. He had been baffled, repelled, almost fright- 
 ened by the intensity of that tropical life which wants 
 the sunshine but works in gloom; which seems to be 
 all grace of colour and form, all brilliance, all smiles, 
 but is only the blossoming of the dead; whose mystery 
 holds the promise of joy and beauty, yet contains noth- 
 ing but poison and decay. He had been frightened 
 by the vague perception of danger before, but now, 
 as he looked at that life again, his eyes seemed able 
 to pierce the fantastic veil of creepers and leaves, to 
 look past the solid trunks, to see through the forbid- 
 ding gloom — and the mystery was disclosed — enchant- 
 ing, subduing, beautiful. He looked at the woman. 
 Through the checkered light between them she ap- 
 peared to him with the impalpable distinctness of a 
 dream. She seemed to him at once enticing and bril- 
 Hant — sombre and repelHng: the very spirit of that 
 land of mysterious forests, standing before him, with 
 the vague beauty of wavering outline; like an appari- 
 tion behind a transparent veil — a veil woven of sun- 
 beams and shadows. 
 
 She had approached him still nearer. He felt a 
 strange impatience within him at her advance. Con- 
 fused thoughts rushed through his head, disordered, 
 shapeless, stunning. Then he heard his own voice 
 asking — 
 
 " Who are you? " 
 
 " I am the daughter of the blind Omar," she an- 
 swered, in a low but steady tone. " And you," she 
 
64 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 went on, a little louder, " you are the white trader — 
 the great man of this place." 
 
 ** Yes," said Willems, holding her eyes wdth his in 
 a sense of extreme effort, " Yes, I am white." Then 
 he added, feeling as if he spoke about some other man, 
 " But I am the outcast of my people." 
 
 She listened to him gravely. Through the mesh 
 of scattered hair her face looked like the face of a 
 golden statue with living eyes. The heavy eyelids 
 dropped slightly, and from between the long eyelashes 
 she sent out a sidelong look: hard, keen, and narrow, 
 like the gleam of sharp steel. Her lips were firm and 
 composed in a graceful curve, but the distended nos- 
 trils, the upward poise of the half-averted head, gave to 
 her whole person the expression of a wild and resent- 
 ful defiance. 
 
 A shadow passed over Willems' face. He put his 
 hand over his lips as if to keep back the words that 
 wanted to come out in a surge of impulsive necessity, 
 the outcome of dominant thought that rushes from 
 the heart to the brain and must be spoken in the face 
 of doubt, of danger, of fear, of destruction itself. 
 
 '' You are beautiful," he whispered. 
 
 She looked at him again with a glance that running 
 in one quick flash of her eyes over his sunburnt fea- 
 tures, his broad shoulders, his straight, tall, motion- 
 less figure, rested at last on the ground at his feet. 
 Then she smiled. In the sombre beauty of her face 
 that smile was like a gleam of dawn on a stormy morn- 
 ing; like the first ray of eastern light that darts evanes- 
 cent and pale through the gloomy clouds: the fore- 
 runner of sunrise and of thunder. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 65 
 
 There_aTejn_aur_]iy£s_sliQ^ no 
 
 place in memory biij.t_onjy_as^jtIie reoolkLCtion of a feel- 
 ing! There is no remembrance of gesture, of action, 
 oT^any outward manifestation of life; those are lost 
 in the unearthly brilliance or in the unearthly gloom 
 of such moments. We are absorbed in the contempla- 
 tion of that something, within our bodies, which re- 
 joices or suffers while the body goes on breathing, 
 instinctively runs away or, not less instinctively, fights 
 — perhaps dies. But death in such a moment is the 
 privilege of the fortunate, it is a high and rare favour, 
 a supreme grace. 
 
 Willems never remembered how and when he 
 parted from Aissa. He caught himself drinking the 
 muddy water out of the hollow of his hand, while his 
 canoe was drifting in mid-stream past the last houses 
 of Sambir. With his returning wits came the fear 
 of something unknown that had taken possession of his 
 heart, of something inarticulate and masterful which 
 could not speak and would be obeyed. His first im- 
 pulse was that of revolt. He would never go back 
 there. Never! He looked round slowly at the bril- 
 liance of things in the deadly sunshine and took up 
 his paddle! How changed everything seemed! The 
 river was broader, the sky was higher. How fast 
 the canoe flew under the strokes of his paddle! Since 
 when had he acquired the strength of two men or 
 more? He looked up and down the reach at the for- 
 ests of the bank with a confused notion that with one 
 sweep of his hand he could tumble all these trees into 
 the stream. His face felt burning. He drank again, 
 and shuddered with a depraved sense of pleasure at 
 the after-tfme of -slime in the water. 
 
 It was late when he reached Almayer's house, but 
 
e6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 he crossed the dark and uneven courtyard without 
 stumbling, unhesitatingly, walking lightly in the radi- 
 ance of some light of his own that was invisible to 
 other eyes. His host's sulky greeting jarred him like 
 a sudden fall down a great height. He took his place 
 at the table opposite Almayer and tried to speak 
 cheerfully to his gloomy companion, but when the 
 meal was ended and they sat smoking in silence he 
 felt an abrupt discouragement, a lassitude in all his 
 limbs, a sense of immense sadness as after some great 
 and irreparable loss. The light died out and the dark- 
 ness of the night entered his heart, bringing with it 
 doubt and hesitation and dull anger with himself and 
 all the world. He had an impulse to shout horrible 
 curses, to quarrel with Almayer, to do something vio- 
 lent. Quite without any immediate provocation he 
 thought he would like to assault the wretched, sulky 
 beast. He glanced at him ferociously from under his 
 eyebrows. The unconscious Almayer smoked thought- 
 fully, planning to-morrow's work probably. The 
 man's composure seemed to Willems an unpardon- 
 able insult. Why didn't that idiot talk to-night when 
 he wanted him to? ... on other nights he was ready 
 enough to chatter. And such dull nonsense too! And 
 Willems, trying hard to repress his own senseless rage, 
 looked fixedly through the thick tobacco-smoke at 
 the stained tablecloth. 
 
 They retired early, as usual, but in the middle of 
 the night Willems leaped out of his hammock with 
 a stifled execration and ran down the steps into the 
 courtyard. The two night watchmen, who sat by a 
 little fire talking together in a monotonous undertone, 
 lifted their heads to look wonderingly at the discom- 
 posed features of the white man as he crossed the circle 
 of light thrown out by their fire. He disappeared in 
 the darkness and then came back again, passing them 
 close, but with no sign of consciousness of their pres- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. dj 
 
 ence on his face. Backwards and forwards he paced, 
 muttering to himself, and the two Malays, after a short 
 consultation in whispers left the fire quietly, not think- 
 ing it safe to remain in the vicinity of a white man who 
 behaved in such a strange manner. They retired round 
 the corner of the godown and watched Willems curi- 
 ously through the night, till the short daybreak was 
 followed by the sudden blaze of the rising sun, and 
 Almayer's establishment woke up to life and work. 
 
 As soon as he could get away unnoticed in the 
 bustle of the busy riverside, Willems crossed the river 
 on his way to the place where he had met A'issa. He 
 threw himself down in the grass by the side of the 
 brook and listened for the sound of her footsteps. The 
 brilliant light of day fell through the irregular opening 
 in the high branches of the trees and streamed down, 
 softened, amongst the shadows of big trunks. Here 
 and there a narrow sunbeam touched the rugged bark 
 of a tree with a golden splash, sparkled on the leaping 
 water of the brook, or rested on a leaf that stood out, 
 shimmering and distinct, on the monotonous back- 
 ground of sombre green tints. The clear gap of blue 
 above his head was crossed by the quick flight of white 
 rice-birds whose wings flashed in the sunlight, while 
 through it the heat poured down from the sky, clung 
 about the steaming earth, rolled among the trees, and 
 wrapped up Willems in the soft and odorous folds of 
 air heavy with the faint scent of blossoms and with 
 the acrid smell of decaying life. And in that atmos- 
 phere of Nature's workshop Willems felt soothed and 
 lulled into forgetfulness of his past, into indifference 
 as to his future. The recollections of his triumphs, 
 of his wrongs and of his ambition vanished in that 
 warmth, which seemed to melt all regrets, all hope, 
 all anger, all strength out of his heart. And he lay 
 there, dreamily contented, in the tepid and perfumed 
 shelter, thinking of A'issa's eyes; recalling the sound 
 
68 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 of her voice, the quiver of her lips — her frowns and 
 her smile. 
 
 She came, of course. To her he was something 
 new, unknown and strange. He was bigger, stronger 
 than any man she had seen before, and altogether 
 different from all those she knew. He was of the vic- 
 torious race. With a vivid remembrance of the great 
 catastrophe of her life he appeared to her with all the 
 fascination of a great and dangerous thing; of a terror 
 vanquished, surmounted, made a plaything of. They 
 spoke with just such a deep voice — those victorious 
 men; they looked with just such hard blue eyes at 
 their enemies. And she made that voice speak softly 
 to her, those eyes look tenderly at her face! He was 
 indeed a man. She could not understand all he told 
 her of his life, but the fragments she understood she 
 made up for herself into a story of a man great amongst 
 his own people, valorous and unfortunate; an un- 
 daunted fugitive dreaming of vengeance against his 
 enemies. He had all the attractiveness of the vague 
 and the unknown — of the unforeseen and of the sud- 
 den; of a being strong, dangerous, alive, and human, 
 ready to be enslaved. 
 
 She felt that he was ready. She felt it with the 
 unerring intuition of a primitive woman confronted 
 by a simple impulse. Day after day, when they met 
 and she stood a little way off, listening to his words, 
 holding him with her look, the undefined terror of the 
 new conquest became faint and blurred like the mem- 
 ory of a dream, and the certitude grew distinct, and 
 convincing, and visible to the eyes like some material 
 thing in full sunlight. It was a deep joy, a great pride, 
 a tangible sweetness that seemed to leave the taste of 
 honey on her lips. He lay stretched at her feet with- 
 out moving, for he knew from experience how a slight 
 movement of his could frighten her away in those first 
 days of their intercourse. He lay very quiet, with all 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 69 
 
 the ardour of his desire ringing in his voice and shin- 
 ing in his eyes, whilst his body was still, like death 
 itself. And he looked at her, standing above him, her 
 head lost in the shadow of broad and graceful leaves 
 that touched her cheek; while the slender spikes of 
 pale green orchids streamed down from amongst the 
 boughs and mingled with the black hair that framed 
 her face, as if all those plants claimed her for their 
 own — the animated and brilliant flower of all that ex- 
 uberant life which, born in gloom, struggles for ever 
 towards the sunshine. 
 
 Every day she came a little nearer. He watched 
 her slow progress — the gradual taming of that woman 
 by the words of his love. It was the monotonous song 
 of praise and desire that, commencing at creation, 
 wraps up the world like an atmosphere and shall end 
 only in the end of all things — when there are no lips 
 to sing and no ears to hear. He told her that she was 
 beautiful and desirable, and he repeated it again and 
 again ; for when he told her that, he had said all there 
 was within him — he had expressed his only thought, 
 his only feeling. And he watched the startled look of 
 wonder and mistrust vanish from her face with the 
 passing days, her eyes soften, the smile dwell longer 
 and longer on her lips; a smile as of one charmed by 
 a delightful dream, with the slight exaltation of intoxi- 
 cating triumph lurking in its dawning tenderness. 
 
 And while she was near there was nothing in the 
 whole world — for that idle man — but her look and her 
 smile. Nothing in the past, nothing in the future; 
 and in the present only the luminous fact of her exist- 
 ence. But in the sudden darkness of her going he 
 would be left weak and helpless, as though despoiled 
 violently of all that was himself. He who had lived 
 all his life with no preoccupation but that of his own 
 career, contemptuously indifferent to all feminine in- 
 fluence, full of scorn for men that would submit to it, 
 
70 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 if ever so little; he, so strong, so superior even in his 
 errors, realised at last that his very individuality was 
 snatched from within himself by the hand of a woman. 
 Where was the assurance and pride of his cleverness; 
 the belief in success, the anger of failure, the wish to 
 retrieve his fortune, the certitude of his ability to ac- 
 complish it yet? Gone. All gone. All that had been 
 a man within him was gone, and there remained only 
 the trouble of his heart — that heart which had become 
 a contemptible thing; which could be fluttered by a 
 look or a smile, tormented by a word, soothed by a 
 promise. 
 
 When the longed-for day came at last, when she 
 sank on the grass by his side and with a quick gesture 
 took his hand in hers, he sat up suddenly with the 
 movement and look of a man awakened by the crash 
 of his own falling house. All his blood, all his sensa- 
 tion, all his life seemed to rush into that hand leaving 
 him without strength, in a cold shiver, in the sudden 
 clamminess and collapse as of a deadly gun-shot 
 wound. He flung her hand away brutally, like some- 
 thing burning, and sat motionless, his head fallen for- 
 ward, staring on the ground and catching his breath 
 in painful gasps. His impulse of fear and apparent 
 horror did not dismay her in the least. Her face was 
 grave and her eyes looked seriously at him. Her fin- 
 gers touched the hair of his temple, ran in a light caress 
 down his cheek, twisted gently the end of his long 
 moustache ; and while he sat in the tremor of that con- 
 tact she ran off with startling fleetness and disappeared 
 in a peal of clear laughter, in the stir of grass, in the 
 nod of young twigs growing over the path; leaving 
 behind only a vanishing trail of motion and sound. 
 
 He scrambled to his feet slowly and painfully, like 
 a man with a burden on his shoulders, and walked 
 towards the riverside. He hugged to his breast the 
 recollection of his fear and of his delight, but told 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. ^f 
 
 himself seriously over and over again that this must 
 be the end of that adventure. After shoving off his 
 canoe into the stream he lifted his eyes to the bank 
 and gazed at it long and steadily, as if taking his last 
 look at a place of charming memories. He marched 
 up to Almayer's house with the concentrated expres- 
 sion and the determined step of a man who had just 
 taken a momentous resolution. His face was set and 
 rigid, his gestures and movements were guarded and 
 slow. He was keeping a tight hand on himself. A 
 very tight hand. He had a vivid illusion — as vivid as 
 reality almost — of being in charge of a sHppery pris- 
 oner. He sat opposite Almayer during that dinner 
 — which was their last meal together — with a perfectly 
 calm face and within him a growing terror of escape 
 from his own self. Now and then he would grasp the 
 edge of the table and set his teeth hard in a sudden 
 wave of acute despair, like one who, falling down a 
 smooth and rapid declivity that ends in a precipice, 
 digs his finger-nails into the yielding surface and 
 feels himself slipping helplessly to inevitable destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 Then, abruptly, came a relaxation of his muscles, 
 the giving way of his will. Something seemed to snap 
 in his head, and that wish, that idea kept back during 
 all those hours, darted into his brain with the heat and 
 noise of a conflagration. He must see her! See her 
 at once! Go now! To-night! He had the raging 
 regret of the lost hour, of every passing moment. 
 There was no thought of resistance now. Yet with 
 the instinctive fear of the irrevocable, with the innate 
 falseness of the human heart, he wanted to keep open 
 the way of retreat. He had never absented himself 
 during the night. What did Almayer know? What 
 would Almayer think? Better ask him for the gun. 
 A moonhght night. . . . Look for deer. ... A col- 
 ourable pretext. He would lie to Almayer. What did 
 
*j2 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 it matter! He lied to himself every minute of his Hfe. 
 And for what? For a woman. And such. . . . 
 
 Almayer's answer showed him that deception was 
 useless. Everything gets to be known, even in this 
 place. Well, he did not care. Cared for nothing but 
 for the lost seconds. What if he should suddenly die. 
 Die before he saw her. Before he could . . . 
 
 As, with the sound of Almayer's laughter in his 
 ears, he urged the canoe in a slanting course across the 
 rapid current, he tried to tell himself that he could 
 return at any moment. He would just go and look at 
 the place where they used to meet, at the tree under 
 w^hich he lay when she took his hand, at the spot where 
 she sat by his side. Just go there and then return — 
 nothing more; but when his little skif¥ touched the 
 bank he leaped out, forgetting the painter, and the 
 canoe hung for a moment amongst the bushes and 
 then swung out of sight before he had time to dash 
 into the water and secure it. He was thunderstruck 
 at first. Now he could not go back unless he called 
 up the Rajah's people to get a boat and rowers — and 
 the way to Patalolo's campong led past Aissa's house! 
 
 He went up the path with the eager eyes and re- 
 luctant steps of a man pursuing a phantom, and when 
 he found himself at a place where a narrow track 
 branched ofif to the left towards Omar's clearing he 
 stood still, with a look of strained attention on his face 
 as if listening to a far-ofif voice — the voice of his fate. 
 It w^as a sound inarticulate but full of meaning; and 
 following it there came a rending and tearing within 
 his breast. He twisted his fingers together, and the 
 joints of his hands and arms cracked. On his forehead 
 the perspiration stood out in small pearly drops. He 
 looked round wildly. Above the shapeless darkness 
 of the forest undergrowth rose the tree-tops with their 
 high boughs and leaves standing out black on the pale 
 sky — like fragments of night floating on moonbeams. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 73 
 
 Under his feet warm steam rose from the heated earth. 
 Round him there was a great silence. 
 
 He was looking round for help. This silence, this 
 immobility of his surroundings seemed to him a cold 
 rebuke, a stern refusal, a cruel unconcern. There was 
 no safety outside of himself — and in himself there was 
 no refuge; there was only the image of that woman. 
 He had a sudden moment of luc idity^zzoi-that-criiel 
 tggg ityThat comes on ceji^n^life t^ the most benighted. 
 A strange disclosure gjweakness, of want of logjc^ of 
 the usual blindness of our impulses. He seemed to 
 see wHallvenroirwithin him, and was horrified at the 
 strange sight. He, a white man! A man of practical 
 ambitions, whose worst fault till then had been a little 
 want of judgment and too much confidence in the 
 rectitude of his kind. That woman was a pretty sav- 
 age, and ... He tried to tell himself that the thing 
 was of no consequence. No consequence. It was a 
 vain effort. Hudig's partner was gone already, and 
 now the feeling that the clever Willems was going too 
 forced itself upon him. mercilessly. The novelty of the 
 sensations he had never experienced before in the 
 slightest degree, yet had despised on hearsay from his 
 safe position of a civilised man, destroyed his courage. 
 He was disappointed with himself. He seemed to be 
 surrendering to a wild creature the unstained purity 
 of his life, of his race, of his civilisation. He did not 
 tell himself all this, but he had a notion of being lost 
 amongst shapeless things that were dangerous and 
 ghastly. He struggled with the sense of certain de- 
 feat — lost his footing — fell back into the darkness. 
 With a faint cry and an upward throw of his arms he 
 gave up as a tired swimmer gives up: because the 
 swamped craft is gone from under his feet; because 
 the night is dark and the shore is far; — becau.^e deavb 
 is better than strife. 
 
PART II. 
 I. 
 
 The light and heat fell upon the settlement, the clear- 
 ings, and the river as if fiung down by an angry hand. 
 The land lay silent, still, and brilliant under the ava- 
 lanche of burning rays that had destroyed all sound 
 and all motion, had buried all shadows, had choked 
 every breath. No living thing dared to affront the 
 serenity of this cloudless sky, dared to revolt against 
 the oppression of this glorious and cruel sunshine. 
 Strength and resolution, body and mind alike were 
 helpless, and tried to hide before the rush of the fire 
 from heaven. Only the frail butterflies, the fearless 
 children of the sun, the capricious tyrants of the flow- 
 ers, fluttered audaciously in the open, and their minute 
 shadows hovered in swarms over the drooping blos- 
 soms, ran lightly on the withering grass, or glided on 
 the dry and cracked earth. No voice was heard in this 
 hot noontide but the faint murmur of the river that 
 hurried on in swirls and eddies, its sparkling wavelets 
 chasing each other in their joyous course to the shel- 
 tering depths, to the cool refuge of the sea. 
 
 Almayer had dismissed his workmen for the mid- 
 day rest, and, his little daughter on his shoulder, ran 
 quickly across the courtyard, making for the shade 
 of the verandah of his house. He laid the sleepy child 
 on the seat of the big rocking-chair, on a pillow which 
 he took out of his own hammock, and stood for a while 
 looking down at her with tender and pensive eyes. 
 
 74 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 75 
 
 The child, tired and hot, moved uneasily, sighed, and 
 looked up at him with the veiled look of sleepy fatigue. 
 He picked up from the floor a broken palm-leaf fan, 
 and began fanning gently the flushed little face. Her 
 eyelids fluttered and Almayer smiled. A responsive 
 smile brightened for a second her heavy eyes, broke 
 with a dimple the soft outline of her cheek; then the 
 eyelids dropped suddenly, she drew a long breath 
 through the parted lips — and was in a deep sleep be- 
 fore the fleeting smile could vanish from her face. 
 
 Almayer moved lightl}- ofif, took one of the wooden 
 armchairs, and placing it close to the balustrade of the 
 verandah sat down with a sigh of relief. He spread 
 his elbows on the top rail and resting his chin on his 
 clasped hands looked absently at the river, at the dance 
 of sunlight on the flowing water. Gradually the forest 
 of the further bank became smaller, as if sinking below 
 the level of the river. The outlines wavered, grew 
 thin, dissolved in the air. Before his eyes there was 
 now only a space of undulating blue — one big, empty 
 sky growing dark at times. . . . Where was the sun- 
 shine? . . . He felt soothed and happy, as if some 
 gentle and invisible hand had removed from his soul 
 the burden of his body. In another second he seemed 
 to float out into a cool brightness where there was no 
 such thing as memory or pain. Delicious. His eyes 
 closed — opened — closed again. 
 
 "Almayer!" 
 
 With a sudden jerk of his whole body he sat up, 
 grasping the front rail with both his hands, and blinked 
 stupidly. 
 
 "What? What's that?" he muttered, looking 
 round vaguely. 
 
 " Here! Down here, Almayer." 
 
 Half rising in his chair, Almayer looked over the 
 rail at the foot of the verandah, and fell back with a 
 low whistle of astonishment. 
 
•j6 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 "A ghost, by heavens!" he exclaimed softly to 
 himself. 
 
 *' Will you listen to me? " went on the husky voice 
 from the courtyard. " May I come up, Almayer? " 
 
 Almayer stood up and leaned over the rail. 
 
 " Don't you dare," he said, in a voice subdued but 
 distinct. " Don't you dare ! The child sleeps here. 
 And I don't want to hear you — ^or speak to you either." 
 
 ** You must listen to me! It's something impor^ 
 tant." 
 
 *' Not to me, surely." 
 
 ** Yes ! To you. Very important." 
 
 *' You were always a humbug," said Almayer, after 
 a short silence, in an indulgent tone. "Always! I 
 remember the old days. Some fellows used to say 
 there was no one like you for smartness — but you 
 never took me in. Not quite. I never quite believed 
 in you, Mr. Willems." 
 
 '' I admit your superior intelligence," retorted 
 Willems, with scornful impatience, from below. " Lis- 
 tening to me would be a further proof of it. You will 
 be sorry if you don't." 
 
 "Oh, you funny fellow!" said Almayer, banter- 
 ingly. " Well, come up. Don't make a noise, but 
 come up. You'll catch a sunstroke down there and 
 die on my doorstep perhaps. I don't want any tragedy 
 here. Come on! " 
 
 Before he finished speaking Willems' head ap- 
 peared above the level of the floor, then his shoulders 
 rose gradually and he stood at last before Almayer 
 — a masquerading spectre of the once so very confi- 
 dential clerk of the richest merchant in the islands. 
 His jacket was soiled and torn ; below the waist he was 
 clothed in a worn-out and faded sarong. He flung of¥ 
 his hat, uncovering his long, tangled hair that stuck 
 in wisps on his perspiring forehead and straggled over 
 his eyes, which glittered deep down in the sockets 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 17 
 
 like the last sparks amongst the black embers of a 
 burnt-out fire. An unclean beard grew out of the cav- 
 erns of his sunburnt cheeks. The hand he put out 
 towards Almayer was very unsteady. The once firm 
 mouth had the tell-tale droop of mental suffering and 
 physical exhaustion. He was barefooted. Almayer 
 surveyed him with leisurely composure. 
 
 ''Well!" he said at last, without taking the ex- 
 tended hand which dropped slowly along Willems' 
 body. 
 
 " I am come," began Willems. 
 
 " So I see," interrupted Almayer. *' You might 
 have spared me this treat without making me unhappy. 
 You have been away five weeks, if I am not mistaken. 
 I got on very well without you — and now you are here 
 you are not pretty to look at." 
 
 "Let me speak, will you!" exclaimed Willems. 
 
 '' Don't shout like this. Do you think yourself 
 in the forest with your . . . your friends? This is a 
 civilised man's house. A white man's. Understand? " 
 
 " I am come," began Willems again; " I am come 
 for your good and mine." 
 
 '' You look as if you had come for a good feed," 
 chimed in the irrepressible Almayer, while Willems 
 waved his hand in a discouraged gesture. '' Don't 
 they give you enough to eat," went on Almayer, in a 
 tone of easy banter, '' those — what am I to call them 
 —those new relations of yours? That old blind scoun- 
 drel must be dehghted with your company. You 
 know, he was the greatest thief and murderer of those 
 seas. Say! do you exchange confidences? Tell me, 
 Willems, did you kill somebody in Macassar, or did 
 you only steal something? " 
 
 "It is not true!" exclaimed Willems, hotly. "I 
 only borrowed. . . . They all lied! I . . ." 
 
 " Sh-sh ! " hissed Almayer, warningly, with a look 
 at the sleeping child. " So you did steal," he went 
 
75 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 on, with repressed exultation. " I thought there was 
 something of the kind. And now, here, you steal 
 again." 
 
 For the first time Willems raised his eyes to Al- 
 mayer's face. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean from me. I haven't missed any- 
 thing," said Almayer, with mocking haste. " But that 
 girl. Hey! You stole her. You did not pay the old 
 fellow. She is no good to him now, is she? " 
 
 "Stop that, Almayer!" 
 
 Something in Willems' tone caused Almayer to 
 pause. He looked narrowly at the man before him, 
 and could not help being shocked at his appearance. 
 
 " Almayer," went on Willems, " listen to me. If 
 you are a human being you will. I suffer horribly — 
 and for your sake." 
 
 Almayer lifted his eyebrows. " Indeed! How? 
 But you are raving," he added negligently. 
 
 " Ah ! You don't know," whispered Willems. 
 *' She is gone. Gone," he repeated, w4th tears in his 
 voice, " gone two days ago." 
 
 "No!" exclaimed the surprised Almayer. "Gone! 
 I haven't heard that news yet." He burst into a sub- 
 dued laugh. " How funny. Had enough of you al- 
 ready? You know it's not flattering for you, my su- 
 perior countryman." 
 
 Willems — as if not hearing him — leaned against 
 one of the columns of the roof and looked over the 
 river. " At first," he whispered, dreamily, " my life 
 was like a vision of heaven — or hell; I didn't know 
 which. Since she went I know what perdition means; 
 what darkness is. I know what it is to be torn to 
 pieces alive. That's how I feel." 
 
 " You may come and live with me again," said Al- 
 mayer, coldly. " After all, Lingard — whom I call my 
 father and respect as such — left you under my care. 
 You pleased yourself by going away. Very good. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 79 
 
 Now you want to come back. Be it so. I am no 
 friend of yours. I act for Captain Lingard." 
 
 '' Come back," repeated Willems, passionately. 
 " Come back to you and abandon her? Do you think 
 I am mad? Without her! Man! what are you made 
 of? To think that she moves, Hves, breathes out of 
 my sight. I am jealous of the wind that fans her, of 
 the air she breathes, of the earth that receives the 
 caress of her foot, of the sun that looks at her now, 
 while I ... I haven't seen her for two days — two 
 days." 
 
 The intensity of Willems' feeling moved Almayer 
 somewhat, but he affected to yawn elaborately. 
 
 *' You do bore me," he muttered. " Why don't 
 you go after her instead of coming here? " 
 
 "Why indeed?" 
 
 " Don't you know where she is? She can't be very 
 far. No native craft has left this river for the last fort- 
 night." 
 
 " No I not very far — and I will tell you where she 
 is. She is in Lakamba's campong." And Willems 
 fixed his eyes steadily on Almayer's face. 
 
 " Phew! Patalolo never sent to let me know. 
 Strange," said Almayer, thoughtfully. " Are you 
 afraid of that lot? " he added, after a short pause. 
 
 "I— afraid!" 
 
 *' Then is it the care of your dignity which pre- 
 vents you from following her there, my high-minded 
 friend?" asked Almayer, with mock solicitude. 
 " How noble of you ! " 
 
 There was a short silence; then Willems said, 
 quietly, " You are a fool. I should like to kick you." 
 
 "No fear," answered Almayer, carelessly; "you 
 are too weak for that. You look starved." 
 
 " I don't think I have eaten anything for the last 
 two days; perhaps more — I don't remember. It does 
 not matter. I am full of live embers," said Willems, 
 
80 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 gloomily. " Look! " and he bared an arm covered 
 with fresh scars. " I have been biting myself to for- 
 get in that pain the fire that hurts me there!" He 
 struck his breast violently with his fist, reeled under 
 his own blow, fell into a chair that stood near and 
 closed his eyes slowly. 
 
 " Disgoasting exhibition," said Almayer, loftily. 
 " What could father ever see in you?/ You are as es- 
 timable as a heap of garbage." 
 
 " You talk like that! You, who sold your soul for 
 a few guilders," muttered Willems, wearily, without 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 *' Not so few," said Almayer, with instinctive readi- 
 ness, and^stopped confused for a moment. He recov- 
 ered himself quickly, however, and went on: " But 
 you — you have thrown yours away for nothing ; flung 
 it under the feet of a damned savage woman who has 
 made you already the thing you are, and will kill you 
 very soon, one way or another, with her love or with 
 her hate. You spoke just now about guilders. You 
 meant Lingard's money, I suppose. Well, whatever 
 I have sold, and for whatever price, I never meant you 
 — you of all people — to spoil my bargain. I feel pretty 
 safe though. Even father, even Captain Lingard, 
 would not touch you now with a pair of tongs; not 
 with a ten-foot pole." 
 
 He spoke excitedly, all in one breath, and, ceasing 
 suddenly, glared at Willems and breathed hard through 
 his nose in an excess of sulky resentment. Willems 
 looked at him steadily for a moment, then got up. 
 
 *' Almayer," he said resolutely, " I want to become 
 a trader in this place." 
 
 Almayer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Yes. And you shall set me up. I want a house 
 and trade goods — perhaps a little money. I ask you 
 for it." 
 
 "Anything else you want? Perhaps this coat?" 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 8 1 
 
 and here Almayer unbuttoned his jacket — '' or my 
 house — or my boots? " 
 
 " After all it's natural," went on Willems, without 
 paying any attention to Almayer — '' it's natural that 
 she should expect the advantages which . . . and 
 then I could shut up that old wretch and then . . ." 
 
 He paused, his face brightened with the soft light 
 of dreamy enthusiasm, and he turned his eyes upwards. 
 With his gaunt figure and dilapidated appearance he 
 looked like some ascetic dweller in a wilderness, find- 
 ing the reward of a self-denying life in a vision of 
 dazzling glory. He went on in an impassioned mur- 
 mur — 
 
 " And then I would have her all to myself away 
 from her people — all to myself — under my own influ- 
 ence — to fashion — to mould — to adore — to soften — to 
 . . . Oh! Delight! And then — then go away to some 
 distant place where, far from all she knew, I would be 
 all the world to her! All the world to her! " 
 
 His face changed suddenly. His eyes wandered 
 for a while and then became steady all at once. 
 
 " I would repay every cent, of course," he said, in a 
 business-like tone, with something of his old assurance, 
 of his old belief in himself, in it. " Every cent. I need 
 not interfere with your business. I shall cut out the 
 small native traders. I have ideas — but never mind 
 that now. And Captain Lingard would approve, I 
 feel sure. After all it's a loan, and I shall be at hand. 
 Safe thing for you." 
 
 ''Ah! Captain Lingard would approve ! He would 
 app . . ." Almayer choked. The notion of Lingard 
 doing something for Willems enraged him. His face 
 was purple. He spluttered insulting words. Willems 
 looked at him coolly. 
 
 " I assure you, Almayer," he said, gently, " that I 
 have good grounds for my demand." 
 
 *' Your cursed impudence! " 
 
32 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Believe me, Almayer, your position here is not so 
 safe as you may think. An unscrupulous rival here 
 would destroy your trade in a year. It would be ruin. 
 Now Lingard's long absence gives courage to certain 
 individuals. You know? — I have heard much lately. 
 They made proposals to me . . . You are very much 
 alone here. Even Patalolo . . ." 
 
 *' Damn Patalolo! I am master in this place." 
 
 " But, Almayer, don't you see . . ." 
 
 " Yes, I see. I see a mysterious ass," interrupted 
 Almayer, violently. " What is the meaning of your 
 veiled threats? Don't you think I know something 
 also? They have been intriguing for years— and 
 nothing has happened. The Arabs have been hang- 
 ing about outside this river for years — and I am 
 still the only trader here; the master here. Do 
 you bring me a declaration of war? Then it's from 
 yourself only. I know all my other enemies. I ought 
 to knock you on the head. You are not worth powder 
 and shot though. You ought to be destroyed with a 
 Btick — like a snake." 
 
 Almayer's voice woke up the little girl, who sat up 
 on the pillow with a sharp cry. He rushed over to 
 the chair, caught up the child in his arms, walked back 
 blindly, stumbled against Willems' hat which lay on 
 the floor, and kicked it furiously down the steps. 
 
 *' Clear out of this! Clear out!" he shouted. 
 
 Willems made an attempt to speak, but Almayer 
 howled him down. 
 
 " Get out! Get out! Get out! Don't you see you 
 frighten the child — you scarecrow! No! no! dear," 
 he went on to his little daughter, soothingly, while 
 Willems walked down the steps slowly. " No. Don't 
 cry. See! Bad man going away. Look! He is afraid 
 of your papa. Nasty, bad man. Never come back 
 again. He shall live in the woods and never come 
 near my little girl. If he comes papa will kill him — 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 83 
 
 so! " He struck his fist on the rail of the bakistrade 
 to show how he would kill Willems, and, perching the 
 consoled child on Ins shoulder held her with one hand, 
 w^hile he pointed towards the retreating figure of his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Look how he runs away, dearest," he said, coax- 
 ingly. " Isn't he funny. Call ' pig ' after him, dearest. 
 Call after him." 
 
 The seriousness of her face vanished into dimples. 
 Under the long eyelashes, glistening with recent tears, 
 her big eyes sparkled and danced with fun. She took 
 firm hold of Almayer s hair with one hand, while she 
 waved the other joyously and called out with all her 
 might, in a clear note, soft and distinct like the tw^itter^ 
 of a bird: — 
 
 "Pig! Pig! Pig!" 
 
 11. 
 
 A sigh under the flaming blue, a shiver of the sleep- 
 ing sea, a cool breath as if a door had been swung upon 
 the frozen spaces of the universe, and with a stir of 
 leaves, with the nod of boughs, with the tremble of 
 slender branches the sea breeze struck the coast, rushed 
 up the river, swept round the broad reaches, and trav- 
 elled on in a soft ripple of darkening water, in the 
 w^hisper of branches, in the rustle of leaves of the awak- 
 ened forests. It fanned in Lakamba's campong the 
 dull red of expiring embers into a pale brilliance ; and, 
 under its touch, the slender, upright spirals of smoke 
 that rose from every glownng heap swayed, wavered, 
 and eddying down filled the twilight of clustered shade 
 trees with the aromatic scent of the burning wood. 
 The men who had been dozing in the shade during 
 
84 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the hot hours of the afternoon woke up, and the silence 
 of the big courtyard was broken by the hesitating mur- 
 mur of yet sleepy voices, by coughs and yawns, wuth 
 now and then a burst of laughter, a loud hail, a name 
 or a joke sent out in a soft drawl. Small groups 
 squatted round the little fires, and the monotonous 
 undertone of talk filled the enclosure; the talk of bar- 
 barians, persistent, steady, repeating itself in the soft 
 syllables, in musical tones of the never-ending dis- 
 courses of those men of the forests and the sea, who 
 can talk most of the day and all the night; who never 
 exhaust a subject, never seem able to thresh a matter 
 out; to whom that talk is poetry and painting and 
 music, all art, all history; their only accompHshment, 
 their only superiority, their only amusement. The talk 
 of camp fires, which speaks of bravery and cunning, 
 of strange events and of far countries, of the news oi 
 yesterday and the news of to-morrow. The talk about 
 the dead and the living — about those who fought and 
 those who loved. 
 
 Lakamba came out on the platform before his own 
 house and sat down — perspiring, half asleep, and sulky 
 — in a wooden armchair under the shade of the over- 
 hanging eaves. Through the darkness of the doorway 
 he could hear the soft warbling of his womenkind, 
 busy round the looms where they were weaving the 
 checkered pattern of his gala sarongs. Right and left 
 of him on the flexible bamboo floor those of his fol- 
 lowers to whom their distinguished birth, long de- 
 votion, or faithful service had given the privilege of 
 using the chief's house, were sleeping on mats or just 
 sat up rubbing their eyes: while the more wakeful had 
 mustered enough energy to draw a chessboard with 
 red clay on a fine mat and were now meditating si- 
 lently over their moves. Above the prostrate forms 
 of the players, who lay face downward supported on 
 elbow, the soles of their feet waving irresolutely about, 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 85 
 
 in the absorbed meditation of the game, there towered 
 here and there the straight figure of an attentive spec- 
 tator looking down with dispassionate but profound 
 interest. On the edge of the platform a row of high- 
 heeled leather sandals stood ranged carefully in a level 
 line, and against the rough wooden rail leaned the 
 slender shafts of the spears belonging to these gentle- 
 men, the broad blades of dulled steel looking very 
 black in the reddening light of approaching sunset. 
 
 A boy of about twelve — the personal attendant of 
 Lakamba— squatted at his master's feet and held up 
 towards him a silver siri box. Slowly Lakamba took 
 the box, opened it, and tearing off a piece of green 
 leaf deposited in it a pinch of hme, a morsel of gam- 
 bier, a small bit of areca nut, and wrapped up the whole 
 with a dexterous twist. He paused, morsel in hand, 
 seemed to miss something, turned his head from side 
 to side, slowly, like a man with a stiff neck, and ejacu- 
 lated in an ill-humoured bass — 
 
 '^Babalatchi!" 
 
 The players glanced up quickly, and looked down 
 again directly. Those men who were standing stirred 
 uneasily as if prodded by the sound of the chief's voice. 
 The one nearest to Lakamba repeated the call, after a 
 while, over the rail into the courtyard. There was a 
 movement of upturned faces below by the fires, and 
 the cry trailed over the enclosure in sing-song tones. 
 The thumping of wooden pestles husking the evening 
 rice stopped for a moment and Babalatchi's name rang 
 afresh shrilly on women's lips in various keys. A voice 
 far off shouted something — another, nearer, repeated 
 it; there was a short hubbub which died out with ex- 
 treme suddenness. The first crier turned to Lakamba, 
 saying indolently — 
 ^ " He is with the blind Omar." 
 
 Lakamba's lips moved inaudibly. The man who 
 had just spoken was again deeply absorbed in the 
 
86 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 game going on at his feet; and the chief — as if he had 
 forgotten all about it already — sat with a stolid face 
 amongst his silent followers, leaning back squarely in 
 his chair, his hands on the arms of his seat, his knees 
 apart, his big blood-shot eyes blinking solemnly, as if 
 dazzled by the noble vacuity of his thoughts. 
 
 Babalatchi had gone to see old Omar late in the 
 afternoon. The delicate manipulation of the ancient 
 pirate's susceptibilities, the skilful management of 
 Aissa's violent impulses engrossed him to the exclu- 
 sion of every other business — interfered with his regU' 
 lar attendance upon his chief and protector — even dis- 
 turbed his sleep for the last three nights, as his wife — 
 the gift of Lakamba — had remarked, with piercing and 
 reproachful volubility, more than once. That day when 
 he left his own bamboo hut — which stood amongst 
 others in Lakamba's campong — his heart was heavy 
 with anxiety and with doubt as to the success of his 
 intrigue. He walked slowly, with his usual air of de- 
 tachment from his surroundings, as if unaware that 
 many sleepy eyes watched from all parts of the court- 
 yard his progress towards a small gate at its upper end. 
 That gate gave access to a separate enclosure in which 
 a rather large house, built of planks, had been prepared 
 by Lakamba's orders for the reception of Omar and 
 Aissa. It was a superior kind of habitation which La- 
 kamba intended for the dwelling of his chief adviser 
 — whose abilities were worth that honour, he thought. 
 But after the consultation in the deserted clearing — • 
 when Babalatchi had disclosed his plan — they both 
 had agreed that the new house should be used at first 
 to shelter Omar and Aissa after they had been per- 
 suaded to leave the Raiah's place, or had been kid- 
 napped from there — as the case might be. Babalatchi 
 did not mind in the least the putting of¥ of his own oc- 
 cvipation of the house of honour, because it had many 
 advantages for the quiet working out of his plans. It 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 8/ 
 
 had a certain seclusion, having an enclosure of its own, 
 and that enclosure communicated also with Lakam- 
 ba's private courtyard at the back of his residence — 
 a place set apart for the female household of the chief. 
 The only communication with the river w^as through 
 the great front courtyard always full of armed men 
 and watchful eyes. Behind the whole group of build- 
 ings there stretched the level ground of rice-clearings, 
 which in their turn were closed in by the wall of un- 
 touched forests with undergrowth so thick and tangled 
 that nothing but a bullet — and that fired at pretty close 
 range — could penetrate any distance there. 
 
 Babalatchi slipped quietly through the little gate 
 and, closing it, tied up carefully the rattan fastenings. 
 Before the house there was a square space of ground, 
 beaten hard into the level smoothness of asphalte. 
 A big buttressed tree, a giant left there on purpose dur- 
 ing the process of clearing the land, roofed in the clear 
 space with a high canopy of gnarled boughs and thick, 
 sombre leaves. To the right — and some small dis- 
 tance away from the large house — a little hut of reeds, 
 covered with mats, had been put up for the special 
 convenience of Omar, who, being bHnd and infirm, 
 had some difificulty in ascending the steep plankway 
 that led to the more substantial dwelling, which was 
 built on low posts and had an uncovered verandah. 
 Close by the trunk of the tree, and facing the doorway 
 of the hut, the household fire glowed in a small handful 
 of embers in the midst of a large circle of white ashes. 
 An old woman — some humble relation of one of La- 
 kamba's wives, who had been ordered to attend on 
 Aissa — was squatting over the fire and lifted up her 
 bleared eyes to gaze at Babalatchi in an uninterested 
 manner, as he advanced rapidly across the courtyard. 
 
 Babalatchi took in the courtyard with a keen glance 
 of his solitary eye, and without looking down at the 
 old woman muttered a question. Silently, the woman 
 
88 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Stretched a tremulous and emaciated arm towards the 
 hut. Babalatchi made a few steps toward the door- 
 way, but stopped outside in the sunHght. 
 
 "O! Tuan Omar, Omar besar! It is I — Baba- 
 latchi!" 
 
 Within the hut there was a feeble groan, a fit of 
 coughing and an indistinct murmur in the broken 
 tones of a vague plaint. Encouraged evidently by those 
 signs of dismal life within, Babalatchi entered the hut, 
 and after some time came out leading with rigid care- 
 fulness the blind Omar, who followed with both his 
 hands on his guide's shoulders. There was a rude seat 
 under the tree, and there Babalatchi led his old chief, 
 who sat down with a sigh of relief and leaned wearily 
 against the rugged trunk. The rays of the setting sun, 
 darting under the spreading branches, rested on the 
 white-robed figure sitting with head thrown back in 
 stifif dignity, on the thin hands moving uneasily, and 
 on the stolid face with its eyelids dropped over the 
 destroyed eyeballs; a face set into the immobility of 
 a plaster cast yellowed by age. 
 
 " Is the sun near its setting?" asked Omar, in a 
 dull voice. 
 
 *' Very near," answered Babalatchi. 
 
 " Where am I ? Why have I been taken away from 
 the place which I knew — where I, blind, could move 
 without fear. It is like black night to those who see. 
 And the sun is near its setting — and I have not heard 
 the sound of her footsteps since the morning! Twice 
 a strange hand has given me my food to-day. Why? 
 Why? Where is she?" 
 
 " She is near," said Babalatchi. 
 
 " And he? " went on Omar, with sudden eagerness, 
 and a drop in his voice. " Where is he? Not here. 
 Not here! " he repeated, turning his head from side to 
 side as if in deliberate attempt to see. 
 
 " No! He is not here now," said Babalatchi, sooth- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 89 
 
 ingly. Then, after a pause, he added very low, " But 
 he shall soon return." 
 
 "Return! O crafty one! Will he return? I have 
 cursed him three times," exclaimed Omar, with weak 
 violence. 
 
 " He is — no doubt — accursed," assented Babalat- 
 chi, in a conciliating manner — " and yet he will be here 
 before very long — I know ! " 
 
 '' You are crafty and faithless. I have made you 
 great. You were dirt under my feet — less than dirt," 
 said Omar, with tremulous energy. 
 
 " I have fought by your side many times," said 
 Babalatchi, calmly. 
 
 " Why did he come? " went on Omar. " Did you 
 send him? Why did he come to defile the air I breathe 
 — to mock at my fate — to poison her mind and steal 
 her body. She has grown hard of heart to me. Hard 
 and merciless and stealthy like rocks that tear a ship's 
 life out under the smooth sea." He drew a long breath, 
 struggled with his anger, then broke down suddenly. 
 *' I have been hungry," he continued, in a whimpering 
 tone — " often I have been very hungry — and cold — 
 and neglected — and nobody near me. She has often 
 forgotten me — and my sons are dead, and that man 
 is an infidel and a dog. Why did he come? Did you 
 show him the way? " 
 
 " He found the way himself, O Leader of the 
 brave," said Babalatchi, sadly. " I only saw a way 
 for their destruction and our own greatness. And 
 if I saw aright, then you shall never suffer from hun- 
 ger any more. There shall be peace for us, and glory 
 and riches." 
 
 " And I shall die to-morrow," murmured Omar, 
 bitterly. 
 
 "Who knows? Those things have been written 
 since the beginning of the world," whispered Baba- 
 latchi, thoughtfully. 
 
QO AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 *' Do not let him come back," exclaimed Omar. 
 
 " Neither can he escape his fate," went on Baba- 
 latchi. " He shall come back, and the power of men 
 we always hated, you and I, shall crumble into dust in 
 our hand." Then he added with enthusiasm, '' They 
 shall fight amongst themselves and perish both." 
 
 " And you shall see all this, while, I . . ." 
 
 ''True!" murmured Babalatchi, regretfully. "To 
 you life is darkness." 
 
 " No! Flame! " exclaimed the old Arab, half ris- 
 ing, then falling back in his seat. " The flame of that 
 last day! I see it yet — the last thing I saw! And I 
 hear the noise of the rent earth — when they all died. 
 And I live to be the plaything of a crafty one," he 
 added, with inconsequential peevishness. 
 
 '' You are my master still," said Babalatchi, hum- 
 bly. " You are very wise — and in your wisdom you 
 shall speak to Syed Abdulla when he comes here — 
 you shall speak to him as I advised, I, your servant, 
 the man who fought at your right hand for many 
 years. I have heard by a messenger that the Syed 
 Abdulla is coming to-night, perhaps late; for those 
 things must be done secretly, lest the white man, the 
 trader up the river, should know of them. But he 
 will be here. There has been a surat delivered to La- 
 kamba. In it, Syed Abdulla says he will leave his 
 ship, which is anchored outside the river, at the hour 
 of noon to-day. He will be here before daylight if 
 Allah wills." 
 
 He spoke with his eye fixed on the ground, and 
 did not become aware of Aissa's presence till he lifted 
 his head when he ceased speaking. She had ap- 
 proached so quietly that even Omar did not hear her 
 footsteps, and she stood now looking at them with 
 troubled eyes and parted lips, as if she was going to 
 speak; but at Babalatchi's entreating gesture she re- 
 mained silent. Omar sat absorbed in thought. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 91 
 
 " Ay wa ! Even so ! " he said at last, in a weak 
 voice. " I am to speak your wisdom, O Babalatchi! 
 Tell him to trust the white man! I do not under- 
 stand. I am old and blind and weak. I do not un- 
 derstand. I am very cold," he continued, in a lower 
 tone, moving his shoulders uneasily. He ceased, then 
 went on rambhng in a faint whisper. " They are the 
 sons of witches, and their father is Satan the stoned. 
 Sons of witches. Sons of witches." After a short 
 silence he asked suddenly, in a firmer voice — " How 
 many white men are there here, O crafty one?" 
 
 " There are two here. Two white men to fight 
 one another," answered Babalatchi, with alacrity. 
 
 '' And how many will be left then? How many? 
 Tell me, you who are wise." 
 
 '' The downfall of an enemy is the consolation of 
 the unfortunate," said Babalatchi, sententiously. 
 ** They are on every sea; only the wisdom of the 
 Most High knows their number — but you shall know 
 that some of them sufifer." 
 
 '* Tell me, Babalatchi, will they die? Will they 
 both die?" asked Omar, in sudden agitation. 
 
 Ai'ssa made a movement. Babalatchi held up a 
 warning hand. 
 
 " They shall, surely, die," he said steadily, looking 
 at the girl with unflinching eye. 
 
 *' Ay wa! But die soon! So that I can pass my 
 hand over their faces when Allah has made them 
 stiff." 
 
 "' If such is their fate and yours," answered Baba- 
 latchi, without hesitation. " God is great! " 
 
 A violent fit of coughing doubled Omar up, and 
 he rocked himself to and fro, wheezing and moaning 
 in turns, while Babalatchi and the girl looked at him 
 in silence. Then he leaned back against the tree, ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 " I am alone, I am alone," he wailed feebly, grop- 
 9 
 
92 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 ing vaguely about with his trembhng hands. " Is 
 there anybody near me? Is there anybody? I am 
 afraid of this strange place." 
 
 " I am by your side, O Leader of the brave," said 
 Babalatchi, touching his shoulder lightly. '' Always 
 by your side as in the days when we both were young: 
 as in the time when we both went with arms in our 
 hands." 
 
 *' Has there been such a time, Babalatchi?" said 
 Omar, wildly; " I have forgotten. And now when 
 I die there will be no man, no fearless man to speak 
 of his father's bravery. There was a woman! A wo- 
 man! And she has forsaken me for an infidel dog. 
 The hand of the Compassionate is heavy on my head! 
 Oh, my calamity ! Oh, my shame ! " 
 
 He calmed down after a while, and asked quietly 
 —"Is the sun set, Babalatchi?" 
 
 " It is now as low as the highest tree I can see 
 from here," answered Babalatchi. 
 
 " It is the time of prayer," said Omar, attempting 
 to get up. 
 
 Dutifully Babalatchi helped his old chief to rise, 
 and they walked slowly towards the hut. Omar 
 waited outside, while Babalatchi went in and came 
 out directly, dragging after him the old Arab's pray- 
 ing carpet. Out of a brass vessel he poured the water 
 of absolution on Omar's outstretched hands, and 
 eased him carefully down into a kneeling posture, for 
 the venerable robber was far too infirm to be able to 
 stand. Then as Omar droned out the first words and 
 made his first bow towards the Holy City, Babalatchi 
 stepped noiselessly towards Aissa, who did not move 
 all that time. 
 
 Aissa looked steadily at the one-eyed sage, who 
 was approaching her slowly and with a great show 
 of deference. For a moment they stood facing each 
 other in silence. Babalatchi appeared embarrassed. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 03 
 
 With a sudden and quick gesture she caught hold 
 of his arm, and with the other hand pointed towards 
 the sinking red disc that glowed, rayless, through the 
 floating mists of the evening. 
 
 "The third sunset! The last! And he is not 
 here," she whispered; ''what have you done, man 
 without faith? What have you done?" 
 
 " Indeed I have kept my word," murmured Baba- 
 latchi, earnestly. '' This morning Bulangi went with 
 a canoe to look for him. He is a strange man, but 
 our friend, and shall keep close to him and watch him 
 without ostentation. And at the third hour of the 
 day I have sent another canoe with four rowers. In- 
 deed, the man you long for, O daughter of Omar! 
 may come when he likes." 
 
 " But he is not here! I waited for him yesterday. 
 To-day! To-morrow I shall go." 
 
 ''Not alive!" muttered Babalatchi to himself. 
 " And do you doubt your power," he went on in a 
 louder tone — " you that to him are more beautiful 
 than a houri of the seventh heaven. He is your slave." 
 
 " A slave does run away sometimes," she said, 
 gloomily, " and then the master must go and seek him 
 out." 
 
 " And do you want to live and die a beggar? " 
 asked Babalatchi, impatiently. 
 
 " I care not," she exclaimed, wringing her hands; 
 and the black pupils of her wide-open eyes darted 
 wildly here and there like petrels before the storm. 
 
 "Sh! Sh!" hissed Babalatchi, with a glance to- 
 wards Omar. " Do you think, O girl ! that he him- 
 self would live like a beggar, even with you?" 
 
 " He is great," she said, ardently. " He despises 
 you all! He despises you all! He is indeed a man! " 
 
 " Y©u know that best," muttered Babalatchi, with 
 a fmgitive smile — " but remember, woman with the 
 strong heart, that to hold him now you must be to 
 
94 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 him like the great sea to thirsty men — a never-ceasing 
 torment, and a madness." 
 
 He ceased and they stood in silence, both looking 
 on the ground, and for a time nothing was heard 
 above the crackling of the fire but the intoning of 
 Omar glorifying the God — his God, and the Faith — 
 his faith. Then Babalatchi cocked his head on one 
 side and appeared to listen intently to the hum of 
 voices in the big courtyard. The dull noise swelled 
 into distinct shouts, then into a great tumult of voices, 
 dying away, recommencing, growing louder, to cease 
 again abruptly; and in those short pauses the shrill 
 vociferations of women rushed up, as if released, to- 
 wards the (juiet heaven. Aissa and Babalatchi started, 
 but the latter gripped in his turn the girl's arm and 
 restrained her with a strong grasp. 
 
 *' Wait," he whispered. 
 
 The little door in the heavy stockade which sepa- 
 rated Lakamba's private ground from Omar's enclos- 
 ure swung back quickly, and the noble exile ap- 
 peared with disturbed mien and a naked short sword 
 in his hand. His turban was half unrolled, and the 
 end trailed on the ground behind him. His jacket 
 was open. He breathed thickly for a moment before 
 he spoke. 
 
 " He came in Bulangi's boat," he said, " and 
 walked quietly till he was in my presence, when the 
 senseless fury of white men caused him to rush upon 
 me. I have been in great danger," went on the am- 
 bitious nobleman in an aggrieved tone. " Do you 
 hear that, Babalatchi? That eater of swine aimed a 
 blow at my face with his unclean fist. He tried to 
 rush amongst my household. Six men are holding 
 him now." 
 
 A fresh outl)urst of yells stopped Lakamba's dis- 
 course. Angry voices shouted: "Hold him. Beat 
 him down. Strike at his head." Then the clamour 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 95 
 
 ceased with sudden completeness, as if strangled by a 
 mighty hand, and after a second of surprising silence 
 the voice of Willems was heard alone, howling male- 
 dictions in Malay, in Dutch, and in English. 
 
 " Listen," said Lakamba, speaking with unsteady 
 lips, '' he blasphemes his God. His speech is like the 
 raving of a mad dog. Can we hold him for ever? 
 He must be killed ! " 
 
 '* Fool! " muttered Babalatchi, looking up at A'is- 
 sa, who stood with set teeth, with gleaming eyes and 
 distended nostrils, yet obedient to the touch of his 
 restraining hand. " It is the third day, and I have 
 kept my promnse," he said to her, speaking very low. 
 " Remember," he added warningly — " like the sea to 
 the thirsty! And now," he said aloud, releasing her 
 and stepping back, ''go, fearless daughter, go!" 
 
 Like an arrow, rapid and silent she flew down the 
 enclosure, and disappeared through the gate of the 
 courtyard. Lakamba and Babalatchi looked after 
 her. They heard the renewed tumult, the girl's clear 
 voice calling out, '' Let him go! " Then after a pause 
 in the din no longer than half the human breath the 
 name of Aissa rang in a shout loud, discordant, and 
 piercing, which sent through them an involuntary 
 shudder. Old Omar collapsed on his carpet and 
 moaned feebly; Lakamba stared with gloomy con- 
 tempt in the direction of the inhuman sound; but 
 Babalatchi, forcing a smile, pushed his distinguished 
 protector through the narrow gate in the stockade, 
 followed him, and closed it quickly. 
 
 The old woman, who had been most of the time 
 kneeling by the fire, now rose, glanced round fear- 
 fully and crouched hiding behind the tree. The gate 
 of the great courtyard flew open with a great clatter 
 before a frantic kick, and Willems darted in carrying 
 Ai'ssa in his arms. He rushed up the enclosure like 
 a tornado, pressing the girl to his breast, her arms 
 
96 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 round his neck, her head hanging back over his arm, 
 lier eyes closed and her long hair nearly touching the 
 ground. They appeared for a second in the glare of 
 the fire, then, with immense strides, he dashed up the 
 planks and disappeared with his burden in the door- 
 way of the big house. 
 
 Inside and outside the enclosure there was silence. 
 Omar lay supporting himself on his elbow, his terri- 
 fied face with its closed eyes giving him the appear- 
 ance of a man tormented by a nightmare. 
 
 " What is it? Help! Help me to rise! " he called 
 out faintly. 
 
 The old hag, still crouching in the shadow, stared 
 with bleared eyes at the doorway of the big house, 
 and took no notice of his call. He listened for a while, 
 then his arm gave way, and, with a deep sigh of dis- 
 [Tfagement, he let himself fall on the carpet. 
 
 The boughs of the tree nodded and trembled in 
 the unsteady currents of the light wind. A leaf flut- 
 tered down slowly from some high branch and rested 
 on the ground, immobile, as if resting for ever, in the 
 glow of the fire; but soon it stirred, then soared sud- 
 denly, and flew, spinning and turning before the 
 breath of the perfumed breeze, driven helplessly into 
 the dark night that had closed over the land. 
 
 ni. 
 
 / A 
 ^^ ' 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 com- 
 mercial expedition, as his father's representative on 
 board a pilgrim ship chartered by the wealthy Arab 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 97 
 
 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. 1 he 
 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 un- 
 swerving piety of his heart and by the religious so- 
 lemnity 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 Cal- 
 cutta, 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 be- 
 yond his years, caused him to be recognised 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, an- 
 other in Palembang; husbands of numerous sisters; 
 cousins innumerable scattered north, south, east, and 
 west — in every place wdiere 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 a great deference 
 to Abdulla, listened to his advice, entered into his 
 plans — because he was wise, pious, and fortunate. 
 
^8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 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 chari- 
 table 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 re- 
 buke with severity those who attempted to touch his 
 knees with their finger-tips in gratitude or supplica- 
 tion. 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-Hpped mouth. His as- 
 pect was serene. He had a belief in his own pros- 
 perity which nothing could shake. 
 
 Restless, like all his people, he very seldom dwelt 
 for many days together in his splendid house in Pe- 
 nang. 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 house- 
 hold — 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-of^fices, 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 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 99 
 
 travel-Stained and weary men who would withdraw 
 from his presence calling upon Allah to bless the gen- 
 erous giver of splendid rewards. And the nevv^s were 
 always good, and all his attempts always succeeded, 
 and in his ears there rang always a chorus of admira- 
 tion, of gratitude, of humble entreaties. 
 
 A fortunate man. And his felicity was so com- 
 plete that the good genii, wdio ordered the stars at 
 liis birth, had not neglected — by a refinement of be- 
 nevolence strange in such primitive beings — to pro- 
 vide 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 de- 
 cisive 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, spread- 
 ing 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 adven- 
 turous 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. Meantim.e he returned encouraging an- 
 swers 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 
 'i'-ipected to see for the first time on the ni^jht of Wil- 
 
lOO AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 lems' return to Aissa. Babalatchi, who had been tor- 
 mented for three days by the fear of having over- 
 reached himself in his httle 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 car- 
 pets 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 dark- 
 ness 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 Ba- 
 balatchi 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 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. loi 
 
 Up the dark courtyard towards the house. The Httle 
 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 grow- 
 ing 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 AbduUa 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 ex- 
 changed 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 be- 
 tween the two lines of men holding torches, and met 
 Takamba 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 
 
TO? AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 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 w^ore 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 dovvn 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 
 semicircle, of which the point most distant from tlie 
 fire — some ten yards — was also the nearest to La- 
 kamba's dwelling. As soon as the principal person- 
 ages were seated, the verandah of the house was filled 
 silently by the muf^ed-up forms of Lakamba's female 
 belongings. They crowded close to the rail and 
 looked down, wdiispering faintly. Below, the formal 
 exchange of compliments went on for some time be- 
 tween 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 efifort, 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 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 103 
 
 Lakamba. At different points of the narrative he 
 would turn for confirmation toSahamin and Bahas- 
 soen, 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 con- 
 nected with Lingard's action at the critical period of 
 those internal dissensions. He spoke in a restrained 
 voice still, but with a grov/ing 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 Pata- 
 lolo'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 yea.r . . . 
 
 " Very true! " exclaimed Sahamin and Bahassoen 
 together. 
 
 Babalatchi glanced at them approvingly and 
 turned to Abdulla. 
 
 " Listen to those men, O Protector of the op- 
 pressed! " he exclaimed. "What could we do? A 
 man must trade. There was nobody else." 
 
 Sahamin got up, stafif in hand, and spoke to Ab- 
 dulla with ponderous courtesy, emphasising 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, wlio are no 
 better than monkeys. He buys from them guttah 
 
104 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 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, yoit are a 
 lucky man ' — remark, O First amongst the Believers! 
 that by those words he could have brought misfor- 
 tune 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, crisp- 
 ly. " We shall fight if there is help and a leader. 
 Tuan Abdulla, will you come among us?" 
 
 Abdulla did not answer at once. His Hps 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 hur- 
 ried indoors, and from the crowd that had kept dis- 
 creetly 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 Baba- 
 latchi, 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 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 105 
 
 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 back- 
 wards and forwards in the full light of the fire, looking 
 very warhke and reckless; the envy and admiration of 
 Laicamba'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 lis- 
 tened to him with deep interest. 
 
 ". . . We could have eighty men if there was 
 need," he was saying — " eighty men in fourteen ca- 
 noes. The only thing we want is gunpowder . . ." 
 
 " Hai! there will be no fighting," broke in Baba- 
 latchi. '' 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 Ba- 
 davi 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 furi- 
 ous 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 mo- 
 ment his grave composure. He turned to Babalatchi, 
 and said with decision — 
 
I06 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " 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 Ab- 
 dulla 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, al- 
 though appearing to listen with flattering attention. 
 When near the gate Babalatchi moved forward and 
 stopped, facing AbduUa, with his hand on the fasten- 
 ings. 
 
 " You shall see them both," he said. '' All my 
 words about them are true. When I saw him en- 
 slaved 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 lan- 
 guage, after the manner of white men. Afterv/ards, 
 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 . . . house- 
 hold. Then this red-faced man raged for three days 
 like a black panther that is hungry. And this even- 
 ing, 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. 
 " This 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." 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 107 
 
 *' 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 strok- 
 ing 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 mum- 
 bled 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. IMen in twos 
 or threes came out of the shadows into the light, 
 strolling slowly, and pas«ed again into the shadows. 
 
I08 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 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," br«athed out Babalatchi. "No! Not for 
 ever. Only while he serves your designs, O Dis- 
 penser 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 mur- 
 mured, 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! " 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 109 
 
 IV. 
 
 Babalatchi saw Abdulla pass through the low and 
 narrow entrance into the darkness of Omar's hut; 
 heard them exchange the usual greetings and the dis- 
 tinguished visitor's grave voice asking: "There is no 
 misfortune — please God — but the sight?" and then, 
 becoming aware of the disapproving looks of the two 
 Arabs who had accompanied Abdulla, he followed 
 their example and fell back out of earshot. He did it 
 unwillingly, although he did not ignore that what was 
 going to happen in there was now absolutely beyond 
 his control. He roamed irresolutely about for awhile, 
 and at last wandered with careless steps towards the 
 fire, which had been moved, from under the tree, close 
 to the hut and a little to windward of its entrance. He 
 squatted on his heels and began playing pensively 
 with live embers, as was his habit when engrossed in 
 thought, withdrawing his hand sharply and shaking 
 it above his head when he burnt his fingers in a fit of 
 deeper abstraction. Sitting there he could hear the 
 murmur of the talk inside the hut, and he ':,ould dis- 
 tinguish the voices but not the words. Abdulla spoke 
 in deep tones, and now and then this flowing mono- 
 tone was interrupted by a querulous exclamation, a 
 weak moan or a plaintive quaver of the old man. Yes. 
 It was annoying not to be able to make out what they 
 were saying, thought Babalatchi, as he sat gazing fix- 
 edly at the unsteady glow of the fire. But it will be 
 right. All will be right. Abdulla inspired him with 
 confidence. He came up fully to his expectation. 
 From the very first moment when he set his eye on 
 him he felt sure that this man — whom he had known 
 by reputation only — was very resolute. Perhaps too 
 resolute. Perhaps he would want to grasp too much 
 later on. A shadow flitted over Babalatchi's face. On 
 
no AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the eve of the accompHshment of his desires he felt the 
 bitter taste of that drop of doubt which is mixed with 
 the sweetness of every success. 
 
 When, hearing footsteps on the verandah of the big 
 house, he Hfted his head, the shadow had passed away 
 and on his face there was an expression of watchful 
 alertness. Willems was coming down the plankway, 
 into the courtyard. The light within trickled through 
 the cracks of the badly joined walls of the house, and 
 in the illuminated doorway appeared the moving form 
 of Aissa. She also passed into the night outside and 
 disappeared from view. Babalatchi wondered where 
 she had got to, and for the moment forgot the approach 
 of Willems. The voice of the white man speaking 
 roughly above his head made him jump to his feet as 
 if impelled upwards by a powerful spring. 
 
 "Where's Abdulla?" 
 
 Babalatchi waved his hand towards the hut and 
 stood listening intently. The voices within had ceased, 
 then recommenced again. He shot an oblique glance 
 at Willems, whose indistinct form towered above the 
 glow of dying embers. 
 
 '* Make up this fire," said Willems, abruptly. " I 
 want to see your face." 
 
 With obliging alacrity Babalatchi put some dry 
 brushwood on the coals from a handy pile, keeping 
 all the time a watchful eye on Willems. When he 
 straightened himself up his hand wandered almost in- 
 voluntarily towards his left side to feel the handle of 
 a kriss amongst the folds of his sarong, but he tried to 
 look unconcerned under the angry stare. 
 
 *' You are in good health, please God? " he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "Yes!" answered Willems, with an unexpected 
 loudness that caused Babalatchi to start nervously. 
 "Yes! . . . Health! . . . You . . ." 
 
 He made a long stride and dropped both his hands 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. ijl 
 
 on the Malay's shoulders. In the powerful grip Baba- 
 latchi swayed to and fro limply, but his face was as 
 peaceful as when he sat— a little while ago— dreaming 
 by the fire. With a final vicious jerk Willems let go 
 suddenly, and turning away on his heel stretched his 
 hands over the fire. Babalatchi stumbled backwards, 
 recovered himself, and wriggled his shoulders labori- 
 ously. 
 
 ''Tse! Tse! Tse!" he clicked, deprecatingly. 
 After a short silence he went on with accentuated ad- 
 miration: *' What a man it is! What a strong man! 
 A man Hke that " — he concluded, in a tone of medi- 
 tative wonder—*' a man like that could upset moun- 
 tains — mountains! " 
 
 He gazed hopefully for a while at Willems' broad 
 shoulders, and continued, addressing the inimical back, 
 in a low and persuasive voice — 
 
 '* But why be angry with me? With me who think 
 only of your good? Did I not give her refuge, in my 
 own house? Yes, Tuan! This is my own house. I 
 will let you have it without any recompense because 
 she must have a shelter. Therefore you and she shall 
 live here. Who can know a woman's mind? And 
 such a woman! If she wanted to go away from that 
 other place, who am I — to say no! I am Omar's ser- 
 vant. I said : ' Gladden my heart by taking my house.' 
 Did I say right?" 
 
 '' I'll tell you something," said Willems, without 
 changing his position; "if she takes a fancy to go 
 away from this place it is you who shall sufifer. I will 
 wring your neck." 
 
 '' When the heart is full of love there is no room in 
 it for justice," recommenced Babalatchi, with unmoved 
 and persistent softness. " Why slay me? You know, 
 Tuan, what she wants. A splendid destiny is her de- 
 sire — as of all women. You have been wronged and 
 cast out by your people. She knows that. But you 
 
115 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 are brave, you are strong — you are a man ; and, Tuan 
 — I am older than you — you are in her hand. Such 
 is the fate of strong men. And she is of noble birth 
 and cannot live like a slave. You know her — and you 
 are in her hand. You are like a snared bird, because 
 of your strength. And — remember I am a man that 
 has seen much — submit, Tuan! Submit! . . . Or 
 else . . ." 
 
 He drawled out the last words in a hesitating man- 
 ner and broke off his sentence. Still stretching his 
 hands in turn towards the blaze and without moving 
 his head, Willems gave a short, lugubrious laugh, and 
 asked — 
 
 " Or else — what?" 
 
 " She may go away again. Who knows? " finished 
 Babalatchi, in a gentle and insinuating tone. 
 
 This time Willems spun round sharply. Babalatchi 
 stepped back. 
 
 '' If she does it will be the worse for you," said Wil- 
 lems, in a menacing voice. *' It will be your doing, 
 and I . . ." 
 
 Babalatchi spoke, from beyond the circle of light, 
 with calm disdain. 
 
 " Hai — ya! I have heard before. If she goes — 
 then I die. Good! Will that bring her back do you 
 think — Tuan? If it is my doing it shall be well done, 
 O white man ! and — who knows — you will have to live 
 without her." 
 
 Willems gasped and started back like a confident 
 wayfarer who, pursuing a path he thinks safe, should 
 see just in time a bottomless chasm under his feet. 
 Babalatchi came into the light and approached Wil- 
 lems sideways, with his head thrown back and a little 
 on one side so as to bring his only eye to bear full on 
 the countenance of the tall white man. 
 
 " You threaten me," said Willems, indistinctlv. 
 
 "I, Tuan!" exclaimed Babalatchi, with a slight 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 113 
 
 suspicion of irony in the affected surprise of his tone. 
 "I, Tuan? Who spoke of death? Was it I? No! 
 I spoke of Hfe only. Only of life. Of a long life for 
 a lonely man! " 
 
 They stood with the fire between them, both silent, 
 both aware, each in his own way, of the importance 
 of the passing minutes. Babalatchi's fatalism gave 
 him only an insignificant relief in his suspense, be- 
 cause no fatalism can kill the thought of the future, 
 the desire of success, the pain of waiting for the dis- 
 closure of the immutable decrees of Heaven. Fatalism 
 is born of the fear of failure, for we all believe that we 
 carry success in our own hands, and we suspect that 
 our hands are weak. Babalatchi looked at Willems 
 and congratulated himself upon his ability to manage 
 that white man. There was a pilot for Abdulla — a vic- 
 tim to appease Lingard's anger in case of any mishap. 
 He would take good care to put him forward in every- 
 thing. In any case let the white men fight it out 
 amongst themselves. They were fools. He hated 
 them — the strong fools — and knew that for his right- 
 eous wisdom was reserved the safe triumph. 
 
 Willems measured dismally the depth of his degra- 
 dation. He — a white man, the admired of white men, 
 was held by those miserable savages whose tool he 
 was about to become. He felt for them all the hate 
 of his race, of his morality, of his intelligence. He 
 looked upon himself with dismay and pity. She had 
 him. He had heard of such things. He had heard 
 of women who . . . He would never believe such 
 stories. . . . Yet they were true. But his own cap- 
 tivity seemed more complete, terrible and final — with- 
 out the hope of any redemption. He wondered at the 
 wickedness of Providence that had made him what he 
 was; that, worse still, permitted such a creature as 
 Almayer to live. He had done his duty by going to 
 him. Why did he not understand? All men were 
 
114 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 fools. He gave him his chance. The fellow did not 
 see it. It was hard, very hard on himself — Willems. 
 He wanted to take her from amongst her own people. 
 That's why he had condescended to go to Almayer. 
 He examined himself. With a sinking heart he 
 thought that really he could not — somehow — live 
 without her. It was terrible and sweet. He remem- 
 bered the first days. Her appearance, her face, her 
 smile, her eyes, her words. A savage woman! Yet 
 he perceived that he could think of nothing else but 
 of the three days of their separation, of the few hours 
 since their reunion. Very well. If he could not take 
 her away, then he would go to her. . . . He had, for a 
 moment, a wicked pleasure in the thought that what 
 he had done could not be undone. He had given him- 
 self up. He felt proud of it. He was ready to face any- 
 thing, do anything. He cared for nothing, for nobody. 
 He thought himself very fearless, but as a matter of 
 fact he was only drunk; drunk with the poison of pas- 
 sionate memories. 
 
 He stretched his hands over the fire, looked round, 
 and called out — 
 
 "Aissa!" 
 
 She must have been near, for she appeared at once 
 within the light of the fire. The upper part of her body 
 was wrapped up in the thick folds of a head covering 
 which was pulled down over her brow, and one end 
 of it thrown across from shoulder to shoulder hid the 
 lower part of her face. Only her eyes were visible — 
 sombre and gleaming like a starry night. 
 
 Willems, looking at this strange, muffled figure, 
 felt exasperated, amazed and helpless. The ex-con- 
 fidential clerk of the rich Hudig would hug to his 
 breast settled conceptions of respectable conduct. He 
 sought refuge within his ideas of propriety from the 
 dismal mangroves, from the darkness of the forests 
 and of the heathen souls of the savages that were his 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 115 
 
 masters. She looked like an animated package of 
 cheap cotton goods! It made him furious. She had 
 disguised herself so because a man of her race was 
 near! He told her not to do it, and she did not obey. 
 Would his ideas ever change so as to agree with her 
 own notions of what was becoming, proper and re- 
 spectable? He was really afraid they would, in time. 
 It seemed to him awful. She would never change! 
 This manifestation of her sense of proprieties was an- 
 other sign of their hopeless diversity; something Hke 
 another step downwards for him. She was too dif- 
 ferent from him. He was so civiHsed! It struck him 
 suddenly that they had nothing in common — not a 
 thought, not a feeling; he could not make clear to 
 her the simplest motive of any act of his . . . and he 
 could not live without her. 
 
 The courageous man who stood facing Babalatchi 
 gasped unexpectedly with a gasp that was half a groan. 
 This little matter of her veiling herself against his wish 
 acted upon him like a disclosure of some great dis- 
 aster. It increased his contempt for himself as the 
 slave of a passion he had always derided, as the man 
 unable to assert his will. This will, all his sensations, 
 his personality — all this seemed to be lost in the 
 abominable desire, in the priceless promise of that 
 woman. He was not, of course, able to discern clearly 
 the causes of his misery; but there are none so igno- 
 rant as not to know sufifering, none so simple as not 
 to feel and suffer from the shock of warring impulses. 
 The ignorant must feel and suffer from their com- 
 plexity as well as the wisest; but to them the pain of 
 struggle and defeat appears strange, mysterious, reme- 
 diable and unjust. He stood watching her, watching 
 himself. He tingled with rage from head to foot, as 
 if he had been struck in the face. Suddenly he laughed; 
 but his laugh was like a distorted echo of some insin- 
 cere mirth very far away. 
 
n6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 From the other side of the fire Babalatchi spoke 
 hurriedly — 
 
 " Here is Tuan Abdulla." 
 
 V. 
 
 Directly on stepping outside Omar's hut Abdulla 
 caught sight of Willems. He expected, of course, to 
 see a white man, but not that white man, whom he 
 knew so well. Everybody who traded in the islands, 
 and who had any dealings with Hudig, knew Wil- 
 lems. For the last two years of his stay in Macassar 
 the confidential clerk had been managing all the local 
 trade of the house under a very slight supervision only 
 on the part of the master. So everybody knew Wil- 
 lems, Abdulla amongst others — but he was ignorant 
 of Willems' disgrace. As a matter of fact the thing 
 had been kept very quiet — so quiet that a good many 
 people in Macassar were expecting Willems' return 
 there, supposing him to be absent on some confidential 
 mission. Abdulla, in his surprise, hesitated on the 
 threshold. He had prepared himself to see some sea- 
 man — some old officer of Lingard; a common man — 
 perhaps difficult to deal with, but still no match for 
 him. Instead, he saw himself confronted by an indi- 
 vidual whose reputation for sagacity in business was 
 well known to him. How did he get here, and why? 
 Abdulla, recovering from his surprise, advanced in a 
 dignified manner towards the fire, keeping his eyes 
 fixed steadily on Willems. When within two paces 
 from Willems he stopped and lifted his right hand in 
 grave salutation. Willems nodded slightly and spoke 
 after a while. 
 
 " We know each other, Tuan Abdulla," he said 
 with an assumption of easy indifference. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 117 
 
 " We have traded together," answered Abdulla, 
 solemnly, " but it was far from here." 
 
 '' And we may trade here also," said Willems. 
 
 " The place does not matter. It is the open mind 
 and the true heart that are required in business." 
 
 " Very true. My heart is as open as my mind. I 
 will tell you why I am here." 
 
 " What need is there? In leaving home one learns 
 life. You travel. Travelling is victory! You shall 
 return with much wisdom." 
 
 " I shall never return," interrupted Willems. " I 
 have done with my people. I am a man without 
 brothers. Injustice destroys fidelity." 
 
 Abdulla expressed his surprise by elevating his eye- 
 brows. At the same time he made a vague gesture with 
 his arm that could be taken as an equivalent of an ap- 
 proving and conciliating *' just so! " 
 
 Till then the Arab had not taken any notice of 
 Aissa, who stood by the fire, but now she spoke in the 
 interval of silence following Willems' declaration. In 
 a voice that was much deadened by her wrappings she 
 addressed Abdulla in a few words of greeting, calling 
 him a kinsman. Abdulla glanced at her swiftly for a 
 second, and then, with perfect good breeding, fixed 
 his eyes on the ground. She put out towards him her 
 hand, covered with a corner of her face-veil, and he 
 took it, pressed it twice, and dropping it turned to- 
 wards Willems. She looked at the two men search- 
 ingly, then backed away and seemed to melt suddenly 
 into the night. 
 
 " I know what you came for, Tuan Abdulla," said 
 Willems; " I have been told by that man there." He 
 nodded towards Babalatchi, then went on slowly, *' It 
 will be a dif^cult thing." 
 
 *' Allah makes everything easy," interjected Baba- 
 latchi, piously, from a distance. 
 
 The two men turned quickly and stood looking at 
 
Il8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 him thoughtfully, as if in deep consideration of the 
 truth of that proposition. Under their sustained gaze 
 Babalatchi experienced an unwonted feeling of shy- 
 ness, and dared not approach nearer. At last Willems 
 moved sHghtly, AbduUa followed readily, and they 
 both walked down the courtyard, their voices dying 
 away in the darkness. Soon they were heard return- 
 ing, and the voices grew distinct as their forms came 
 out of the gloom. By the fire they wheeled again, and 
 Babalatchi caught a few words. Willems was saying — • 
 
 " I have been at sea with him many years when 
 young. I have used my knowledge to observe the 
 way into the river when coming in, this time." 
 
 Abdulla assented in general terms. 
 
 " In the variety of knowledge there is safety," he 
 said; and then they passed out of earshot. 
 
 Babalatchi ran to the tree and took up his position 
 in the solid blackness under its branches, leaning 
 against the trunk. There he was about midway be- 
 tween the fire and the other limit of the two men's 
 walk. They passed him close. Abdulla slim, very 
 straight, his head high, and his hands hanging before 
 him and twisting mechanically the string of beads; 
 Willems tall, broad, looking bigger and stronger in 
 contrast to the slight white figure by the side of which 
 he strolled carelessly, taking one step to the other's 
 two; his big arms in constant motion as he gesticu- 
 lated vehemently, bending forward to look Abdulla in 
 the face. 
 
 They passed and repassed close to Babalatchi some 
 half a dozen times, and, whenever they were between 
 him and the fire, he could see them plain enough. 
 Sometimes they would stop short, Willems speaking 
 emphatically, Abdulla listening with rigid attention, 
 then, when the other had ceased, bending his head 
 slightly as if consenting to some demand, or admitting 
 some statement. Now and then Babalatchi caught a 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 119 
 
 word here and there, a fragment of a sentence, a loud 
 exclamation. Impelled by curiosity he crept to the 
 very edge of the black shadow under the tree. They 
 were nearing him, and he heard Willems say — 
 
 " You will pay that money as soon as I come on 
 board. That I must have." 
 
 He could not catch Abdulla's reply. When they 
 went past again, Willems was saying — 
 
 *' My life is in your hand anyway. The boat that 
 brings me on board your ship shall take the money to 
 Omar. You must have it ready in a sealed bag." 
 
 Again they were out of hearing, but instead of com- 
 ing back they stopped by the fire facing each other. 
 Willems moved his arm, shook his hand on high talk- 
 ing all the time, then brought it down jerkily — stamped 
 his foot. A short period of immobility ensued. Baba- 
 latchi, gazing intently, saw AbduUa's lips move almost 
 imperceptibly. Suddenly Willems seized the Arab's 
 passive hand and shook it. Babalatchi drew the long 
 breath of relieved suspense. The conference was over. 
 All well, apparently. 
 
 He ventured now to approach the two men, who 
 saw him and waited in silence. Willems had retired 
 within himself already, and wore a look of grim in- 
 difference. Abdulla moved away a step or two. Baba- 
 latchi looked at him inquisitively. 
 
 '' I go now," said Abdulla, '' and shall wait for you 
 outside the river, Tuan Willems, till the second sun- 
 set. You have only one word, I know." 
 
 '' Only one word," repeated Willems. 
 
 Abdulla and Babalatchi walked together down the 
 enclosure, leaving the white man alone by the fire. 
 The two Arabs who had come with Abdulla preceded 
 them and passed at once through the little gate into 
 the light and the murmur of voices of the principal 
 courtyard, but Babalatchi and Abdulla stopped on this 
 side of it. Abdulla said — 
 
I20 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " It is well. We have spoken of many things. He 
 consents." 
 
 "When?" asked Babalatchi, eagerly. 
 
 " On the second day from this. I have promised 
 everything. I mean to keep much." 
 
 " Your hand is always open, O Most Generous 
 amongst Believers! You will not forget your servant 
 who called you here. Have I not spoken the truth? 
 She has made roast meat of his heart." 
 
 With a horizontal sweep of his arm Abdulla 
 seemed to push away that last statement, and said 
 slowly, with much meaning — 
 
 "He must be perfectly safe; do you understand? 
 Perfectly safe — as if he was amongst his own people — 
 till . . ." 
 
 "Till when?" whispered Babalatchi. 
 
 " Till I speak," said Abdulla. " As to Omar." He 
 hesitated for a moment, then went on very low: '* He 
 is very old." 
 
 " Hai — ya! Old and sick," murmured Babalatchi, 
 with sudden melancholy. 
 
 " He wanted me to kill that white man. He begged 
 me to have him killed at once," said Abdulla, con- 
 temptuously, moving again towards the gate. 
 
 " He is impatient, like those who feel death near 
 them," exclaimed Babalatchi, apologeticallv. 
 
 " Omar shall dwell with me," went on Abdulla, 
 "when . . . But no matter. Remember! The white 
 man must be safe." 
 
 " He lives in your shadow," answered Babalatchi, 
 solemnly. " It is enough! " He touched his forehead 
 and fell back to let Abdulla go first. 
 
 And now they are back in the courtyard where- 
 from, at their appearance, listlessness vanishes, and all 
 the faces become alert and interested once more. La- 
 kamba approaches his guest, but looks at Babalatchi, 
 who reassures him by a confident nod. Lakamba 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 12 1 
 
 clumsily attempts a smile, and looking, with natural 
 and ineradicable sulkiness, from under his eyebrows 
 at the man whom he wants to honour, asks whether 
 he would condescend to visit the place of sitting down 
 and take food. Or perhaps he would prefer to give 
 himself up to repose? The house is his, and what is 
 in it, and those many men that stand afar watching 
 the interview are his. Syed Abdulla presses his host's 
 hand to his breast, and informs him in a confidential 
 murmur that his habits are ascetic and his tempera- 
 ment inclines to melancholy. No rest; no food; no 
 use whatever for those many men who are his. Syed 
 Abdulla is impatient to be gone. Lakamba is sorrow- 
 ful but polite, in his hesitating, gloomy way. Tuan 
 Abdulla must have fresh boatmen, and many, to 
 shorten the dark and fatiguing road. Hai — ya! 
 There! Boats! 
 
 By the riverside indistinct forms leap into a noisy 
 and disorderly activity. There are cries, orders, ban- 
 ter, abuse. Torches blaze sending out much more 
 smoke than light, and in their red glare Babalatchi 
 comes up to say that the boats are ready. 
 
 Through that lurid glare Syed Abdulla, in his long 
 white gown, seems to glide fantastically, like a dig- 
 nified apparition attended by two inferior shades, and 
 stands for a moment at the landing-place to take leave 
 of his host and ally — whom he loves. Syed Abdulla 
 says so distinctly before embarking, and takes his seat 
 in the middle of the canoe under a small canopy of blue 
 calico stretched on four sticks. Before and behind 
 Syed Abdulla, the men squatting by the gunwales hold 
 high the blades of their paddles in readiness for a dip, 
 all together. Ready? Not yet. Hold on all! Syed 
 Abdulla speaks again, while Lakamba and Babalatchi 
 stand close on the bank to hear his words. His words 
 are encouraging. Before the sun rises for the second 
 time they shall meet, and Syed Abdulla's ship shall 
 
122 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 float on the waters of this river — at last! Lakamba 
 and Babalatchi have no doubt — if Allah wills. They 
 are in the hands of the Compassionate. No doubt. 
 And so is Syed Abduha, the great trader who does 
 not know what the word failure means; and so is the 
 white man — the smartest business man in the islands 
 — who is lying now by Omar's fire with his head on 
 Aissa's lap, while Syed AbduUa flies down the muddy 
 river with current and paddles between the sombre 
 walls of the sleeping forest; on his way to the clear 
 and open sea where the " Lord of the Isles " (formerly 
 of Greenock, but condemned, sold, and registered now 
 as of Penang) waits for its owner, and swings erratic- 
 ally at anchor in the currents of the capricious tide, 
 under the crumbling red cliffs of Tanjong jMirrah. 
 
 For some time Lakamba, Sahamin, and Bahassoen 
 looked silently into the humid darkness which had 
 swallowed the big canoe that carried Abdulla and his 
 unvarying good fortune. Then the two guests broke 
 into a talk expressive of their joyful anticipations. The 
 venerable Sahamin, as became his advanced age, found 
 his delight in speculation as to the activities of a rather 
 remote future. He would buy praus, he would send 
 expeditions up the river, he would enlarge his trade, 
 and, backed by Abdulla's capital, he would grow rich 
 in a very few years. Very few. Meamtime it would 
 be a good thing to interview Almayer to-morrow and, 
 profiting by the last day of the hated man's prosperity, 
 (obtain some goods from him on credit. Sahamin 
 thought it could be done by skilful wheedling. After 
 all, that son of Satan was a fool, and the thing was 
 worth doing, because the coming revolution would 
 wipe all debts out. Sahamin did not mind imparting 
 that idea to his companions, with much senile chuck- 
 ling, while they strolled together from the riverside 
 towards the residence. The bull-necked Lakamba, li*' 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 123 
 
 tcning with pouted lips without the sign of a smile, 
 without a gleam in his dull, bloodshot eyes, shuffled 
 slowly across the courtyard between his two guests. 
 But suddenly Bahassoen broke in upon the old man's 
 prattle with the generous enthusiasm of his youth. . . . 
 Trading was very good. But was the change that 
 would make them happy effected yet? The white 
 man should be despoiled with a strong hand! . . . He 
 grew excited, spoke very loud, and his further dis- 
 course, delivered with his hand on the hilt of his sword, 
 dealt incoherently with the honourable topics of throat- 
 cutting, fire-raising, and with the far-famed valour of 
 his ancestors. 
 
 Babalatchi remained behind, alone with the great- 
 ness of his conceptions. The sagacious statesman of 
 Sambir sent a scornful glance after his noble protector 
 and his noble protector's friends, and then stood medi- 
 tating about that future which to the others seemed 
 so assured. Not so to Babalatchi, who paid the penalty 
 of his wisdom by a vague sense of insecurity that kept 
 sleep at arm's length from his tired body. When he 
 thought at last of leaving the waterside, it was only 
 to strike a path for himself and to creep along the 
 fences, avoiding the middle of the courtyard where 
 small fires glimmered and winked as though the sinis- 
 ter darkness there had reflected the stars of the serene 
 heaven. He slunk past the wicket-gate of Omar's 
 enclosure, and crept on patiently along the light bam- 
 boo palisade till he was stopped by the angle where 
 it joined the heavy stockade of Lakamba's private 
 ground. Standing there, he could look over the fence 
 and see Omar's hut and the fire before its door. He 
 could also see the shadow of two human beings sitting 
 between him and the red glow. A man and a woman. 
 The sight seemed to inspire the careworn sage with 
 a frivolous desire to sing. It could hardly be called 
 '^song; it was more in the nature of a recitative with- 
 
124 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 out any rhythm, dehvered rapidly but distinctly in a 
 croaking and unsteady voice; and if Babalatchi con- 
 sidered it a song, then it was a song with a purpose 
 and, perhaps for that reason, artistically defective. ]t 
 had all the imperfections of unskilful improvisation 
 and its subject was gruesome. It told a tale of ship- 
 wreck and of thirst, and of one brother killing another 
 for the sake of a gourd of water. A repulsive story 
 which might have had a purpose but possessed no 
 moral whatever. Yet it must have pleased Babalatchi 
 for he repeated it twice, the second time even in louder 
 tones than at first, causing a disturbance amongst the 
 white rice-birds and the wild fruit-pigeons which 
 roosted on the boughs of the big tree growing in 
 Omar's compound. There was in the thick foliage 
 above the singer's head a confused beating of wings, 
 sleepy remarks in bird-language, a sharp stir of leaves. 
 The forms by the fire moved; the shadow of the wo- 
 man altered its shape, and Babalatchi's song was cut 
 short abruptly by a fit of soft and persistent coughing. 
 He did not try to resume his efforts after that interrup- 
 tion, but went away stealthily, to seek — if not sleep — • 
 then, at least, repose. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As soon as Abdulla and his companions had left the 
 enclosure, Aissa approached Willems and stood by his 
 side. He took no notice of her expectant attitude till 
 she touched him gently, when he turned furiously upon 
 her and, tearing off her face-veil, trampled upon it as 
 though it had been a mortal enemy. She looked at 
 him with the faint smile of patient curiosity, with the 
 puzzled interest of ignorance, watching the running 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 125 
 
 of a complicated piece of machinery. After he had 
 exhausted his rage, he stood again severe and unbend- 
 ing looking down at the fire, but the touch of her fin- 
 gers at the nape of his neck effaced instantly the hard 
 Hues round his mouth; his eyes wavered uneasily; his 
 lips trembled slightly. Starting with the unresisting 
 rapidity of a particle of iron — which, quiescent one 
 moment, leaps in the next to a powerful magnet — he 
 moved forward, caught her in his arms and pressed 
 her violently to his breast. He released her as sud- 
 denly, and she stumbled a little, stepped back, breathed 
 quickly through her parted lips, and said in a tone of 
 pleased reproof — 
 
 " O Fool-man! And if you had killed me in your 
 strong arms what would you have done?" 
 
 " You want to live . . . and to run away from me 
 again," he said, gently. "Tell me — do you?" 
 
 She moved towards him with very short steps, her 
 head a little on one side, hands on hips, with a slight 
 balancing of her body: an approach more tantalising 
 than an escape. He looked on, eager — charmed. She 
 spoke jestingly. 
 
 *' What am I to say to a man who has been away 
 three days from me? Three! " she repeated, holding 
 up playfully three fingers before Willems' eyes. He 
 snatched at the hand, but she was on her guard and 
 whisked it behind her back. 
 
 "No!" she said. "I cannot be caught. But I 
 will come. I am coming myself because I like. Do 
 not move. Do not touch me with your mighty hands, 
 O child!" 
 
 As she spoke she made a step nearer, then another. 
 Willems did not stir. Pressing against him she stood 
 on tiptoe to look into his eyes. With that look she 
 drew the man's soul away from him through his im- 
 mobile pupils, and from Willems' features the spark 
 of reason vanished under her gaze and was replaced 
 
126 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 by an appearance of physical well-being, an ecstasy 
 of the senses which had tak^n possession pf^ his rigid 
 body; an ecstasy that drove out regrets, hesitation 
 and doubt, and proclaimed its terrible work by an ap- 
 palling aspect of idiotic beatitude. 
 
 Presently she glanced up at the placid stars and 
 said — 
 
 " The night is half gone. We shall finish it by this 
 fire. By this fire you shall tell me all: your words 
 and Syed Abdulla's words; and listening to you I shall 
 forget the three days — because I am good. Tell me — ■ 
 am I good? " 
 
 He said " Yes " dreamily, and she ran off towards 
 the big house. 
 
 When she came back, balancing a roll of fine mats 
 on her head, he had replenished the fire and was ready 
 to help her in arranging a couch on the side of it near- 
 est to the hut. Then he whispered — *' I wish I could 
 die like this — now! " She looked at him with her big 
 sombre eyes, in which there was no responsive light. 
 His thought was so remote from her understanding 
 that she let the words pass by uni.oticed, like the breath 
 of the wind, like the flight of a cloud. Woman though 
 she was, she could not compiehend, in her simplicity, 
 the tremendous compliment of that speech, that whis- 
 per of deadly happiness, so sincere, so spontaneous, 
 coming _so_ straight fromjjie heart^3:likj£_£;Yery cor- 
 ruption. It was the voice of ^-ciness, of a delirious 
 peace, of happniess that is infamous, cowardly, and so 
 exquisite that the debased mind refuses to contemplate 
 its termination: for to the victims of such happiness 
 the moment of its ceasing is the beginning afresh of 
 that torture which is its price. 
 
 With her brows slightly knitted in the determined 
 preoccupation of her own desires, she said — 
 
 " Now tell me all. All the words spoken between 
 you and Syed Abdulla." 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 127 
 
 Tell what? What words? Her voice recalled back 
 the consciousness that had departed under her touch, 
 and he became aware of the passing minutes every 
 one of which was like a reproach; of those minutes 
 that falling, slow, reluctant, irresistible into the past 
 marked his footsteps on the way to perdition. Not that 
 he had any conviction about it, any notion of the pos- 
 sible ending on that painful road. It was an indistinct 
 feeHng, a threat of suffering like the confused warning 
 of coming disease, an inarticulate monition of evil 
 made up of fear and pleasure, of resignation and of 
 revolt. He was ashamed of his state of mind. After 
 all, what was he afraid of? Were those scruples? Why 
 that hesitation to think, to speak of what he intended 
 doing? Scruples were for imbeciles. His clear duty 
 was to make himself happy. Did he ever take an oath 
 of fidelity to Lingard? No. Well then — he would not 
 let any interest of that old fool stand between Willems 
 and Willems' happiness. Happiness? Was he not, 
 perchance, on a false track? Happiness meant money. 
 Much money. At least he had always thought so till 
 he had experienced those new sensations which . . . 
 
 Ai'ssa's question, repeated impatiently, interrupted 
 his musings, and looking up at her face shining above 
 him in the dim light of the fire he stretched his limbs 
 luxuriously and obedient to her desire, he spoke slowly 
 and hardly above his breath. She, with her head close 
 to his lips, listened absorbed, interested, in attentive 
 immobility. The many noises of the great courtyard 
 were hushed up gradually by the sleep that stilled all 
 voices and closed all eyes. Then somebody droned 
 out a song with a nasal drawl at the end of every verse. 
 He stirred. She put her hand suddenly on his lips and 
 sat upright. There was a feeble coughing, a rustle of 
 leaves, and then a complete silence took possession of 
 the land; a silence cold, mournful, profound; more 
 like death than peace; more hard to bear than the 
 
 y 
 
128 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 fiercest tumult. As soon as she removed her hand he 
 hastened to speak, so insupportable to him was that 
 stillness perfect and absolute in which his thoughts 
 seemed to ring with the loudness of shouts. 
 
 " Who was there making that noise? " he asked. 
 
 '* I do not know. He is gone now," she answered 
 hastily. " Tell me, you will not return to your people ; 
 not without me? Not with me. Do you promise?" 
 
 " I have promised already. I have no people of my 
 own. Have I not told you, that you are everybody 
 to me? " 
 
 " Ah, yes," she said slowly, " but I like to hear you 
 say that again — every day, and every night, whenever 
 I ask; and never to be angry because I ask. I am 
 afraid of white women who are shameless and have 
 fierce eyes." She scanned his features close for a mo- 
 ment and added: "Are they very beautiful? They 
 must be." 
 
 '* I do not know," he whispered thoughtfully. 
 " And if I ever did know, looking at you I have for- 
 gotten." 
 
 "Forgotten! And for three days and two nights 
 you have forgotten me also! Why? Why were you 
 angry with me when I spoke at first of Tuan AbduUa 
 in the days when we lived beside the brook? You 
 remembered somebody then. Somebody in the land 
 whence you come. Your tongue is false. You are 
 white indeed, and your heart is full of deception. I 
 know it. And yet I cannot help believing you when 
 you talk of your love for me. But I am afraid! " 
 
 He felt flattered and annoyed by her vehemence, 
 and said — 
 
 " Well, I am with you now. I did come back. And 
 it was you that went away." 
 
 " When vou have helped Abdulla against the Rajah 
 Laut, who is the first of white men, I shall not be 
 afraid any more," she whispered. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 129 
 
 " You must believe what I say when I tell you that 
 there never was another woman; that there is noth- 
 ing for me to regret, and nothing but my enemies to 
 remember/' 
 
 " Where do you come from?" she said, impulsive 
 aad inconsequent, in a passionate whisper. " What 
 is that land beyond the great sea from which you 
 come?_.A land of lies and of evil from which nothing 
 but misfortune) ever comes to us — who are not white. 
 Did you not at first ask me to go there with you? 
 That is why I went away." 
 
 '* I shall never ask you again." 
 
 " And there is no woman waiting for you there?" 
 
 " No ! " said Willems, firmly. 
 
 There was a long interval of silence. She stroked 
 his head with gentle touches, and he lay dreamily, per- 
 fectly happy but for the annoyance of an indistinct vi- 
 sion of a well-known figure ; a man going away from 
 him and diminishing in a long perspective of fantastic 
 trees, whose every leaf was an eye looking after that 
 man, who walked away growing smaller, but never 
 getting out of sight for all his steady progress. He 
 felt a desire to see him vanish, a hurried impatience 
 of his disappearance, and he watched for it with a care- 
 ful and irksome effort. There was something familiar 
 about that figure. Why! Himself! He gave a sudden 
 start and opened his eyes, quivering with the emotion 
 of that quick return from so far, of finding himself 
 back by the fire with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. 
 It had been half a dream; he had slumbered for a few 
 seconds. Only the beginning of a dream — nothing 
 more. But it was some time before he recovered from 
 the shock of seeing himself go away so deliberately, 
 so definitely, so unguardedly; and going away — 
 where? Now, if he had not woke up in time he would 
 never have come back again from there; from what- 
 ever place he was going to. He felt indignant. It was 
 
I30 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 like an evasion, like a prisoner breaking his parole 
 — that thing slinking off stealthily while he slept. He 
 was very indignant, and was also astonished at the 
 absurdity of his own emotions. 
 
 She felt him tremble, and murmuring tender words, 
 pressed his head to her breast. Again he felt very 
 peaceful with a peace that was as complete as the si- 
 lence round them. He muttered — 
 
 " You are tired, Aissa." 
 
 She answered so low that it was like a sigh shaped 
 into faint words. 
 
 " I shall watch your sleep, O child! " 
 
 He lay very quiet, and listened to the beating of 
 her heart. That sound, light, rapid, persistent and 
 steady; her very life beating against his cheek, gave 
 him a clear perception of secure ownership, strength- 
 ened his belief in his possession of that human being, 
 was like an assurance of the vague felicity of the future. 
 There were no regrets, no doubts, no hesitation now. 
 Had there ever been? All that seemed far away, ages 
 ago — as unreal and pale as the fading memory of some 
 delirium. All the anguish, suffering, strife of the past 
 days; the humiliation and anger of his downfall; all 
 that was an infamous nightmare, a thing born in sleep 
 to be forgotten and leave no trace — and true life was 
 this: this dreamy immobility with his head against her 
 heart that beat so steadily. 
 
 He was broad awake now, with that tingling wake- 
 fulness of the tired body which succeeds to the few 
 refreshing seconds of irresistible sleep, and his wide- 
 open eyes looked absently at the doorway of Omar's 
 hut. The reed walls glistened in the light of the fire, 
 the smoke of which, thin and blue, drifted slanting in 
 a succession of rings and spirals across the doorway, 
 whose emptv blackness seemed to him impenetrable 
 and enigmatical like a curtain hiding vast spaces full 
 of unexpected surprises. This was only his fancy, but 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 131 
 
 it was absorbing enough to make him accept the sud- 
 den appearance of a head, coming out of the gloom, 
 as part of his idle fantasy or as the beginning of an- 
 other short dream, of another vagary of his overtired 
 brain. A face with drooping eyelids, old, thin, and 
 yellow, above the scattered white of a long beard that 
 touched the earth. A head without a body, only a foot 
 above the ground, turning slightly from side to side 
 on the edge of the circle of light as if to catch the radi- 
 ating heat of the fire on either cheek in succession. He 
 watched it in passive amazement, growing distinct, as 
 if coming nearer to him, and the confused outlines of 
 a body crawling on all fours come out, creeping inch 
 by inch towards the fire, with a silent and all but im- 
 perceptible movement. He was astounded at the ap- 
 pearance of that blind head dragging that crippled 
 body behind, without a sound, without a change in 
 the composure of the sightless face, which was plain 
 one second, blurred the next in the play of the light 
 that drew it to itself steadily. A mute face with a kriss 
 between its lips. This was no dream. Omar's face. 
 But why? What was he after? 
 
 He was too indolent in the happy languor of the 
 moment to answer the question. It darted through 
 his brain and passed out, leaving him free to listen 
 again to the beating of her heart ; to that precious and 
 delicate sound which filled the quiet immensity of the 
 night. Glancing upwards he saw the motionless head 
 of the woman looking down at him in a tender gleam 
 of liquid white between the long eyelashes, whose 
 shadow rested on the soft curve of her cheek; and 
 under the caress of that look, the uneasy wonder and 
 the obscure fear of that apparition, crouching and 
 creeping in turns towards the fire that was its guide, 
 were lost — were drowned in the quietude of all his 
 senses, as pain is drowned in the flood of drowsy se- 
 renity that follows upon a dose of opium. 
 
132 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He altered the position of his head by ever so little, 
 and now could see easily that apparition which he had 
 seen a minute before and had nearly forgotten already. 
 It had moved closer, gliding and noiseless like the 
 shadow of some nightmare, and now it was there, very 
 near, motionless and still as if listening; one hand and 
 one knee advanced; the neck stretched out and the 
 head turned full towards the fire. He could see the 
 emaciated face, the skin shiny over the prominent 
 bones, tlie black shadows of the hollow temples and 
 sunken cheeks, and the two patches of blackness over 
 the eyes, over those eyes that were dead and could not 
 see. What was the impulse which drove out this blind 
 cripple into the night to creep and crawl towards that 
 fire? He looked at him, fascinated, but the face, with 
 its shifting lights and shadows, let out nothing, closed 
 and impenetrable like a walled door. 
 
 Omar raised himself to a kneeling posture and sank 
 on his heels, with his hands hanging down before him. 
 Willems, looking out of his dreary numbness, could 
 see plainly the kriss between the thin lips, a bar across 
 the face; the handle on one side where the polished 
 wood caught a red gleam from the fire and the thin 
 line of the blade running to a dull black point on the 
 other. He felt an inward shock, which left his body 
 passive, but filled his breast with a tumult of powerless 
 fear; and he perceived suddenly that it was his own 
 death that was groping towards him; that it was the 
 hate of himself and the hate of her love for him which 
 drove this helpless wreck, of a once brilliant and reso- 
 lute pirate, to attempt a desperate deed that would be 
 the glorious and supreme consolation of an unhappy 
 old age. And while he looked, paralysed with dread, 
 at the father who had resumed his cautious advance — 
 blind like fate, persistent like destiny — he listened with 
 greedy eagerness to the heart of the daughter beating 
 light, rapid, and steady against his head. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 133 
 
 He was in the grip of horrible fear; of a fear whose 
 cold hands robs its victim of all will and of all power; 
 of all wish to escape, to resist, or to move; which 
 destroys hope and despair alike, and holds the empty 
 and useless carcass as if in a vice under the coming 
 stroke. It was not the fear of death — he had faced 
 danger before — it was not even the fear of that par- 
 ticular form of death. It was not the fear of the end, 
 for he knew that the end would not come then. A 
 movement, a leap, a shout would save him from the 
 feeble hand of the blind old man, from that hand that 
 even now was, with cautious sweeps along the ground, 
 feeling for his body in the darkness. It was the un- 
 reasoning fear of this glimpse into the unknown things, 
 into those motives, impulses, desires he had ignored, 
 but that had lived in the breasts of despised men, close 
 by his side, and were revealed to him for a second, 
 to be hidden again behind the black mists of doubt 
 and deception. It_was not death thatjrighte ned him : 
 itwas^ the__hQrror _of bewildered life where he ^oul d 
 understand nothing and nobody round him ; where he 
 could guide, control, comprehend nothing and no one 
 — not even himself. 
 
 He felt a touch on his side. That contact, lighter 
 than the caress of a mother's hand on the cheek of a 
 sleeping child, had for him the force of a crushing 
 blow. Omar had crept close, and now, kneeling above 
 him, held the kriss in one hand while the other 
 skimmed over his jacket up towards his breast in gen- 
 tle touches; but the blind face, still turned to the heat 
 of the fire, was set and immovable in its aspect of 
 stony indifference to things it could not hope to see. 
 With an effort Willems took his eyes off the deathlike 
 mask and turned them up to Ai'ssa's head. She sat 
 motionless as if she had been part of the sleeping earth, 
 then suddenly he saw her big sombre eyes open out 
 wide in a piercing stare and felt the convulsive pressure 
 
134 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 of her hands pinning his arms along his body. A sec- 
 ond dragged itself out, slow and bitter, like a day of 
 mourning; a second full of regret and grief for that 
 faith in her which took its flight from the shattered 
 ruins of his trust. She was holding him! She too! 
 He felt her heart give a great leap, his head slipped 
 down on her knees, he closed his eyes and there was 
 nothing. Nothing! It was as if she had died; as 
 though her heart had leaped out into the night, aban- 
 doning him, defenceless and alone, in an empty world. 
 His head struck the ground heavily as she flung 
 him aside in her sudden rush. He lay as if stunned, 
 face up and, daring not move, did not see the struggle 
 but heard the piercing shriek of mad fear, her low 
 angry words; another shriek dying out in a moan. 
 When he got up at last he looked at Aissa kneeling 
 over her father, he saw her bent back in the effort of 
 holding him down, Omar's contorted limbs, a hand 
 thrown up above her head and her quick movement 
 grasping the wrist. He made an impulsive step for- 
 ward, but she turned a wild face to him and called out 
 over her shoulder — 
 
 "Keep back! Do not come near! Do not . . ." 
 And he stopped short, his arms hanging lifelessly 
 by his side, as if those words had changed him into 
 stone. She was afraid of his possible violence, but in 
 the unsettling of all his convictions he was struck with 
 the frightful thought that she preferred to kill her 
 father all by herself; and the last stage of their strug- 
 gle, at which he looked as though a red fog had filled 
 his eyes, loomed up with an unnatural ferocity, with 
 a sinister meaning; like something monstrous and de- 
 praved, forcing its complicity upon him under the 
 cover of that awful night. He was horrified and grate- 
 ful ; drawn irresistibly to her — and ready to run away. 
 He could not move at first — then he did not want to 
 stir. He wanted to see what would happen. He saw 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 1 35 
 
 her lift, with a tremendous effort, the apparently lifef- 
 less body into the hut, and remained standing, after 
 they disappeared, with the vivid image in his eyes of 
 that head swaying on her shoulder, the lower jaw 
 hanging down, collapsed, passive, meaningless, Hk«» 
 the head of a corpse. 
 
 Then after a while he heard her voice speaking 
 inside, harshly, with an agitated abruptness of tone; 
 and in answer there were groans and broken murmurs 
 of exhaustion. She spoke louder. He heard her say- 
 ing violently — "No! No! Never!" 
 
 And again a plaintive murmur of entreaty as of 
 some one begging for a supreme favour with a last 
 breath. Then she said — 
 
 ''Never! I would sooner strike it into my own 
 heart." 
 
 She came out, stood panting for a short moment 
 in the doorway, and then stepped into the firelight. 
 Behind her, through the darkness came the sound of 
 words calling the vengeance of heaven on her head, 
 rising higher, shrill, strained, repeating the curse over 
 and over again — till the voice cracked in a passionate 
 shriek that died out into hoarse muttering ending with 
 a deep and prolonged sigh. She stood facing Willems, 
 one hand behind her back, the other raised in a gesture 
 compelling attention, and she listened in that attitude 
 till all was still inside the hut. Then she made another 
 step forward and her hand dropped slowly. 
 
 " Nothing but misfortune," she whispered, absent- 
 ly, to herself. " Nothing but misfortune to us who are 
 not white." The anger and excitement died out of 
 her face, and she looked straight at Willems with an 
 intense and mournful gaze. 
 
 He recovered his senses and his power of speech 
 with a sudden start. 
 
 " Aissa," he exclaimed, and the words broke out 
 through his lips with hurried nervousness. '* Aissa i 
 
136 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 How can I live here? Trust me. Believe in me. Let 
 us go away from here. Go very far away! Very far; 
 you and I! " 
 
 He dicl not stop to ask himself whether he could 
 escape, and how, and where. He was carried away 
 by the flood of hate, disgust and contempt of a white 
 man for that blood which is not his blood, for that 
 race which is not his race; for the brown skins; for 
 the hearts false like the sea, blacker than night. This 
 feeling of repulsion overmastered his reason in a clear 
 conviction of the impossibility for him to live with her 
 people. He urged her passionately to fly with him 
 because out of all that abhorred crowd he wanted this 
 one woman, but wanted her away from them, away 
 from that race of slaves and cut-throats from which 
 she sprang. He wanted her for himself — far from 
 everybody, in some safe and dumb solitude. And as 
 he spoke his anger and contempt rose, his hate became 
 almost fear; and his desire of her grew immense, burn- 
 ing, illogical and merciless; crying to him through 
 all his senses; louder than his hate, stronger than his 
 fear, deeper than his contempt — irresistible and certain 
 like death itself. 
 
 Standing at a little distance, just within the light- 
 but on the threshold of that darkness from which she 
 had come — she listened, one hand still behind her back, 
 the other arm stretched out with the hand half open 
 as if to catch the fleeting words that rang around her, 
 passionate, menacing, imploring, but all tinged with 
 the anguish of his sufifering, all hurried by the impa- 
 tience that gnawed his breast. And while she listened 
 she felt like a slowing down of her heart-beats as the 
 meaning of his appeal grew clearer before her indig- 
 nant eyes, as she saw with rage and pain the edifice 
 of her love, her own work, crumble slowly to pieces, 
 destroyed by that man's fears, by that man's falseness. 
 Her memory recalled the days by the brook when she 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 137 
 
 had listened to other words — to other thoughts — to 
 promises and to pleadings for other things, which came 
 from that man's lips at the bidding of her look or her 
 smile, at the nod of her head, at the whisper of her 
 lips. Was there then in his heart something else than 
 her image, other desires than the desires of her love, 
 other fears than the fear of losing her? How could 
 that be? Had she grown ugly or old in a moment? 
 She was appalled, surprised and angry with the anger 
 of unexpected humiliation; and her eyes looked fix- 
 edly, sombre and steady, at that man born in the land 
 of violence and of evil wherefrom nothing but mis- 
 fortune comes to those who are not white. Instead 
 of thinking of her, he was thinking yet of his people ; 
 of that people that steals every land, masters every 
 sea, that knows no mercy and no truth — knows noth- 
 ing but its own strength. O man of strong arm and 
 of false heart! Go with him to a far country, be lost 
 in the throng of cold eyes and false hearts — lose him 
 there! Never! He was mad — mad with fear; but he 
 should not escape her! She would keep him here a 
 slave and a master; here where he was alone with her; 
 where he must live for her — or die. She had a right 
 to his love which was of her making, to the love that 
 was in him now, while he spoke those words without 
 sense. She must put between him and other white 
 men a barrier of hate. He must not only stay, but he 
 must also keep his promise to Abdulla, the fulfilment 
 of which would make her safe. . . . 
 
 " Aissa, let us go ! With you by my side I would 
 attack them with my naked hands. Or no! To-mor- 
 row we shall be outside, on board Abdulla's ship. You 
 shall come with me and then I could ... If the ship 
 went ashore by some chance, then we could steal a 
 canoe and escape in the confusion. . . . You are not 
 afraid of the sea ... of the sea that would give me 
 freedom . . ." 
 
138 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He was approaching her gradually with extended 
 arms, while he pleaded ardently in incoherent words 
 that ran over and tripped each other in the extreme 
 eagerness of his speech. She stepped back, keeping 
 her distance, her eyes on his face, watching on it the 
 play of his doubts and of his hopes with a piercing 
 gaze, that seemed to search out the innermost recesses 
 of his thought; and it was as if she had drawn slowly 
 the darkness round her, wrapping herself in its un- 
 dulating folds that made her indistinct and vague. 
 He followed her step by step till at last they both 
 stopped, facing each other under the big tree of the 
 enclosure. The solitary exile of the forests, great, 
 motionless and solemn in his abandonment, left alone 
 by the life of ages that had been pushed away from 
 him by those pigmies that crept at his foot, towered 
 high and straight above their heads. He seemed to 
 look on, dispassionate and imposing, in his lonely 
 greatness, spreading his branches wide in a gesture 
 of lofty protection, as if to hide them in the sombre 
 shelter of innumerable leaves; as if moved by the dis- 
 dainful compassion of the strong, by the scornful pity 
 of an aged giant, to screen this struggle of two human 
 hearts from the cold scrutiny of glittering stars. 
 
 The last cry of his appeal to her mercy rose loud, 
 vibrated under the sombre canopy, darted among the 
 boughs startling the white birds that slept wing to 
 wing — and died without an echo, strangled in the dense 
 mass of unstirring leaves. He could not see her face, 
 but he heard her sighs and the distracted murmur of 
 indistinct words. Then, as he Hstened holding his 
 breath, she exclaimed suddenly — 
 
 " Have you heard him? He has cursed me because 
 I love you. You brought me suffering and strife — « 
 and his curse. And now you want to take me far 
 away where I would lose you, lose my life; because 
 your love is my life now. What else is there? Do 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 139 
 
 not move," she cried violently, as he stirred a little — 
 *' do not speak! Take this! Sleep in peace! " 
 
 He saw a shadowy movement of her arm. Some- 
 thing whizzed past and struck the ground behind him, 
 close to the fire. Instinctively he turned round to look 
 at it. A kriss without its sheath lay by the embers; 
 a sinuous dark object, looking like something that 
 had been alive and was now crushed, dead and very 
 inoffensive; a black wavy outline very distinct and 
 still in the dull red glow. Without thinking he moved 
 to pick it up, stooping with the sad and humble move- 
 ment of a beggar gathering the alms flung into the 
 dust of the roadside. Was this the answer to his plead- 
 ing, to the hot and living words that came from his 
 heart? Was this the answer thrown at him like an 
 insult, that thing made of wood and iron, insignificant 
 and venomous, fragile and deadly? He held it by the 
 blade and looked at the handle stupidly for a moment 
 before he let it fall again at his feet; and when he 
 turned round he faced only the night: — the night im- 
 mense, profound and quiet; a sea of darkness in which 
 she had disappeared without leaving a trace. 
 
 He moved forward with uncertain steps, putting 
 out both his hands before him with the anguish of a 
 man blinded suddenly. 
 
 ''Aissa!" he cried — "come to me at once." 
 
 Let him touch her only; speak to her while he held 
 fter in his arms, under the gaze of his eyes, close, face 
 to face! In the tenderness of his caress he would melt 
 her obstinacy, destroy her fears, and talking to her 
 the only language common to them both — that speech 
 without words, the language of the senses — he would 
 make her understand, he would obtain her consent to 
 any wish of his. Again he called out, and this time 
 his voice trembled with eagerness and apprehension — • 
 
 "Aissa!" 
 
 He peered and listened, but saw nothing, heard 
 10 
 
1^0 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 nothing. After a while the solid blackness seemed to 
 wave before his eyes like a curtain disclosing move- 
 ments but hiding forms, and he heard light and hurried 
 footsteps, then the short clatter of the gate leading 
 to Lakamba's private enclosure. He sprang forward 
 and brought up against the rough timber in time to 
 hear the words, "Quick! Quick!" and the sound 
 of the wooden bar dropped on the other side, securing 
 the gate. With his arms thrown up, the palms against 
 the paling, he slid down in a heap on the ground. 
 
 '' Aissa," he said, pleadingly, pressing his lips to 
 a chink between the stakes. " Aissa, do you hear me? 
 Come back ! I will do what you want, give you all you 
 desire — if I have to set the whole Sambir on fire and 
 put that fire out with blood. Only come back. Now! 
 At once! Are you there? Do you hear me? Aissa! " 
 
 On the other side there were startled whispers of 
 feminine voices; a frightened little laugh suddenly in- 
 terrupted; some woman's admiring murmur — "This 
 is brave talk! " Then after a short silence Aissa cried — 
 
 " Sleep in peace — for the time of your going is nean 
 Now I am afraid of you. Afraid of your fear. When 
 you return with Tuan Abdulla you shall be great. You 
 will find me here. And there will be nothing but love. 
 Nothing else! — Always! — Till we die!" 
 
 He listened to the shuffle of footsteps going away, 
 and staggered to his feet, mute with the excess of his 
 passionate anger against that being so savage and so 
 charming; loathing her, himself, everybody he had 
 ever known; the earth, the sky, the very air he drew 
 into his oppressed chest; loathing it because it made 
 him live, loathing her because she made him suffer. 
 But he could not leave that gate through which she 
 had passed. He wandered a little way off, then swerved 
 round, came back and fell down again by the stockade 
 only to rise suddenly in another attempt to break away 
 from the spell that held him, that brought him back 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 141 
 
 there, dumb, obedient and furious. And under the 
 immobiHsed gesture of lofty protection in the branches 
 outspread wide above his head, under the high 
 branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the 
 shelter of countless leaves, he tossed like a grain of dust 
 in a whirlwind — sinking and rising — round and round 
 — always near that gate. All through the languid still- 
 ness of that night he fought with the impalpable; he 
 fought with the shadows, with the darkness, with the 
 silence. He fought without a sound, striking futile 
 blows, dashing from side to side; obstinate, hopeless, 
 and always beaten back; like a man bewitched within 
 the invisible sweep of a magic circle. 
 
PART III. 
 
 "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 
 
 142 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 143 
 
 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 Hfe. Wasn't that 
 fooHsh? 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 after- 
 wards you go and do that mad trick — for a lot of China- 
 men too. Chinamen ! Y on haye no m orality. 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 be- 
 loved crew!- Do you call that honest?" 
 
 ''Well, well!" muttered Lingard, chewing nerv- 
 ously 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, con- 
 temptuously 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 speak- 
 ing. 
 
 " I might have been left then in an awkward hole — 
 all on account of your absurd disregard for your safety 
 
144 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 — 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 w4th 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 
 ofT 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 ofif." 
 
 *' 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 salaam- 
 ing — to you and to me. But our day is over. And 
 not by my fault either. You can't say that. It's all 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 145 
 
 the doing of that pet rascal of yours. Ah! He is a 
 beauty! You should have seen^him leading that hell- 
 ish crowd. You would have been proud of your old 
 favourite." 
 
 " Smart fellow that," muttered Lingard, thought- 
 fully. Almayer jumped up with a shriek. 
 
 '* And that's all you have to say! Smart fellow! 
 OLord!" 
 
 " 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 every- 
 body," said Almayer, who sat down again, with a re- 
 signed 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 La- 
 kamba's place where almost everybody in Sambir at- 
 tended. 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 
 dav. Mostly lies. Is there anything else in Sam- 
 bir? " 
 
 " 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. 
 
146 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " He had been away from the house for a couple oi 
 months 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 court- 
 yard, 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 ofif 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 dan- 
 ger. I could deal with anybody here — but when Ab- 
 dulla came. . . . That barque of his is armed. He 
 carries twelve brass six-pounders, and about thirty 
 men. Desperate beggars. Sumatra men, from Deli 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 14/ 
 
 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. 
 Willenis 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 won- 
 der. 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 La- 
 kamba'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 Ab- 
 dulla 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 
 
,148 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Up and down with a quarter-deck swing, tormenting 
 >?nd 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. Want- 
 ed 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 
 kried to get at me. I did feel a little uneasy then. Pata- 
 Jolo 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 par- 
 rot, 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 male- 
 factor 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 veran- 
 dah 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 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 149 
 
 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. 
 
 " Ali brought it: ' The Rajah sends a friend's greet- 
 ing, 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 an- 
 other. 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 lis- 
 tened 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 
 
I50 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 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 be- 
 tween the two men. Lingard struck at it with hia 
 hat. The fly swerved, and Almayer dodged his head 
 out of the way. Then Lingard aimed another ineffec- 
 tual 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-ofif 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 in- 
 tent upon killing the intruder. But suddenly the buz? 
 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 por- 
 tentous failure. 
 
 *' Look at that! " muttered Lingard. '' Got away 
 after all." 
 
 " Nuisance," said Almayer in the same tone. " Riv- 
 erside 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 mad6 
 for!" 
 
 II. 
 
 After a long silence, during which Almayer had 
 moved towards the table and sat down, his head be- 
 tween his hands, staring straight before him, Lingard, 
 who had recommenced walking, cleared his throat an<J 
 said — 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 151 
 
 " What was it you were saying? " 
 
 " Ah! Yes! You should have seen this settlement 
 that night. I don't think anybody went to bed. I 
 walked down to the point, and could see then. They 
 had a big bonfire in the palm grove, and the talk went 
 on there till the morning. When I came back here 
 and sat in the dark verandah in this quiet house I felt 
 so frightfully lonely that I stole in and took the child 
 out of her cot and brought her here into my ham- 
 mock. If it hadn't been for her I am sure I would 
 have gone mad; I felt so utterly alone and helpless. 
 Remember, I hadn't heard from you for four months. 
 Didn't know whether you were alive or dead. Pata- 
 lolo would have nothing to do with me. My own men 
 were deserting me like rats do a sinking hulk. That 
 was a black night for me, Captain Lingard. A black 
 night as I sat here not knowing what would happen 
 next. They were so excited and rowdy that I really 
 feared they would come and burn the house over my 
 head. I went and brought my revolver. Laid it loaded 
 on the table. There were such awful yells now and 
 then. Luckily the child slept through it, and seeing 
 her so pretty and peaceful steadied me somehow. 
 Couldn't beHeve there was any violence in this world, 
 looking at her lying so quiet and so unconscious of 
 what went on. But it was very hard. Everything was 
 at an end. You must understand that on that night 
 there was no government in Sambir. Nothing to re- 
 strain those fellows. Patalolo had collapsed. I was 
 abandoned by my own people, and all that lot could 
 vent their spite on me if they wanted. They know no 
 gratitude. How many times haven't I saved this set- 
 tlement from starvation. Absolute starvation. Only 
 three months ago I distributed again a lot of rice on 
 credit. There was nothing to eat in this infernal place. 
 They came begging on their knees. There isn't a man 
 in Sambir, big or little, who is not in debt to Lingard 
 
152 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 & Co. Not one. You ought to be satisfied. You 
 always said that was the right poHcy for us. Well, I 
 carried it out. Ah! Captain Lingard, a policy like 
 that should be backed by loaded rifles . . ." 
 
 " You had them! " exclaimed Lingard in the midst 
 of his promenade, that went on more rapid as Almayer 
 talked: the headlong tramp of a man hurrying on to 
 do something violent. The verandah was full of dust, 
 oppressive and choking, which rose under the old 
 seaman's feet, and made Almayer cough again and 
 again. 
 
 '' Yes, I had! Twenty. And not a finger to pull 
 a trigger. It's easy to talk," he spluttered, his face very 
 red. 
 
 Lingard dropped into a chair, and leaned back with 
 one hand stretched out at length upon the table, the 
 other thrown over the back of his seat. The dust set- 
 tled, and the sun surging above the forest flooded the 
 verandah with a clear light. Almayer got up and 
 busied himself in lowering the split rattan screens that 
 hung between the columns of the verandah. 
 
 ''Phew!" said Lingard, "it will be a hot day. 
 That's right, my boy. Keep the sun out. We don't 
 want to be roasted alive here." 
 
 Almayer came back, sat down, and spoke very 
 calmly — 
 
 " In the morning I went across to see Patalolo. I 
 took the child with me, of course. I found the water- 
 gate barred, and had to walk round through the bushes. 
 Patalolo received me lying on the floor, in the dark, 
 all the shutters closed. I could get nothing out of him 
 but lamentations and groans. He said you must be 
 dead. That Lakamba was coming now with Abdulla's 
 guns to kill everybody. Said he did not mind being 
 killed, as he was an old man, but that the wish of his 
 heart was to make a pilgrimage. He was tired of men's 
 ingratitude — he had no heirs — he wanted to go to 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 153 
 
 Mecca and die there. He would ask AbduUa to let 
 him go. Then he abused Lakamba — between sobs — 
 and you, a little. You prevented him from asking for 
 a flag that would have been respected — he was right 
 there — and now when his enemies were strong he was 
 weak, and you were not there to help him. When I 
 tried to put some heart into him, telling him he had 
 four big guns — you know the brass six-pounders you 
 left here last year — and that I would get powder, and 
 that, perhaps, together we could make head against 
 Lakamba, he simply howled at me. No matter which 
 way he turned — he shrieked — the white men would be 
 the death of him, while he wanted only to be a pilgrim 
 and be at peace. My belief is," added Almayer, after 
 a short pause, and fixing a dull stare upon Lingard, 
 " that the old fool saw this thing coming for a long 
 time, and was not only too frightened to do anything 
 himself, but actually too scared to let you or me know 
 of his suspicions. Another of your particular pets! 
 Well! You have a lucky hand, I must say!" 
 
 Lingard struck a sudden blow on the table with his 
 clenched hand. There was a sharp crack of splitting 
 wood. Almayer started up violently, then fell back 
 in his chair and looked at the table. 
 
 *' There! " he said moodily, " you don't know your 
 own strength. This table is completely ruined. The 
 only table I had been able to save from my wife. By 
 and by I will have to eat squatting on the floor like a 
 native." 
 
 Lingard laughed heartily. " Well then, don't nag 
 at me like a woman at a drunken husband! " He be- 
 came very serious after awhile, and added, '* If it hadn't 
 been for the loss of the Flash I would have been here 
 three months ago, and all would have been well. No 
 use crying over that. Don't you be uneasy, Kaspar. 
 We will have everything ship-shape here in a very 
 short time." 
 
154 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 '' What? You don't mean to expel Abdulla out of 
 here by force! I tell you, you can't." 
 
 "Not I!" exclaimed Lingard. *' That's all over, 
 I am afraid. Great pity. They will suffer for it. He 
 will squeeze them. Great pity. Blast it! I feel so sorry 
 for them that if I had the Flash here I would try force. 
 Eh! Why not? However, the poor Flash is gone, 
 and there is the end of it. Poor old hooker. Hey, Al- 
 mayer? You made a voyage or two with me. Wasn't 
 she a sweet craft? Could make her do anything but 
 talk. She was better than a wafe to me. Never scolded. 
 Hey? . . . And to think that it should come to this. 
 That I should leave her poor old bones sticking on a 
 reef as though I had been a blasted fool of a southern- 
 going man who must have half a mile of water under 
 his keel to be safe! Well! well! It's only those who 
 do nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose. But it's 
 hard. Hard." 
 
 He nodded his head sadly, with his eyes on the 
 ground. Almayer looked at him with growing indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Upon my word, you are heartless," he burst out; 
 *' perfectly heartless — and selfish. It does not seem to 
 strike you — in all that — that in losing your ship — by 
 your recklessness, I am sure — you ruin me — us, and 
 my little Nina. What's going to become of me and 
 of her? That's what I want to know. You brought 
 me here, made me your partner, and now, when every- 
 thing is gone to the devil — through your fault, mind 
 you — you talk about your ship . . . ship! You can 
 get another. But here. This trade. That's gone now, 
 thanks to Willems. . . . Your dear Willems!" 
 
 " Never you mind about Willems. I will look after 
 him," said Lingard, severely. " And as to the trade 
 ... I will make your fortune yet, my boy. Never fear. 
 Have you got any cargo for the schooner that brought 
 me here?" 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 155 
 
 " The shed is full of rattans," answered Almayer, 
 " and I have about eighty tons of guttah in the well. 
 The last lot I ever will have, no doubt," he added, bit- 
 terly. 
 
 '' So, after all, there was no robbery. You've lost 
 nothing actually. Well, then, you must . . . Hallo! 
 What's the matter! . . . Here! . . ." 
 
 "Robbery! No!" screamed Almayer, throwing 
 up his hands. 
 
 He fell back in the chair and his face became pur- 
 ple. A little white foam appeared on his Hps and 
 trickled down his chin, while he lay back, showing 
 the whites of his upturned eyes. When he came to 
 himself he saw Lingard standing over him, with an 
 empty water-chatty in his hand. 
 
 " You had a fit of some kind," said the old seaman 
 with much concern. " What is it? You did give me 
 a fright. So very sudden." 
 
 Almayer, his hair all wet and stuck to his head, as 
 if he had been diving, sat up and gasped. 
 
 "Outrage! A fiendish outrage. I . . ." 
 
 Lingard put the chatty on the table and looked at 
 him in attentive silence. Almayer passed his hand 
 over his forehead and went on in an unsteady tone: 
 
 " When I remember that, I lose all control," he 
 said. " I told you he anchored Abdulla's ship abreast 
 our jetty, but over to the other shore, near the Rajah's 
 place. The ship was surrounded with boats. From 
 here it looked as if she had been landed on a raft. 
 Every dugout in Sambir was there. Through my glass 
 I could distinguish the faces of people on the poop — 
 Abdulla, Willems, Lakamba — everybody. That old 
 cringing scoundrel Sahamin was there. I could see 
 quite plain. There seemed to be much talk and dis- 
 cussion. Finally I saw a ship's boat lowered. Some 
 Arab got into her, and the boat went towards Pata- 
 lolo's landing-place. It seems they had been refused 
 iz 
 
156 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 admittance — so they say. I think myself that the 
 water-gate was not unbarred quick enough to please 
 the exalted messenger. At any rate I saw the boat 
 come back almost directly. I was looking on, rather 
 interested, when I saw Willems and some more go 
 forward — very busy about something there. That 
 woman was also amongst them. Ah, that woman. . . ." 
 
 Almayer choked, and seemed on the point of hav- 
 ing a relapse, but by a violent efifort regained a com- 
 parative composure. 
 
 ''All of a sudden," he continued — "bang! They 
 fired a shot into Patalolo's gate, and before I had time 
 to catch my breath — I was startled, you may believe 
 — they sent another and burst the gate open. Where- 
 upon, I suppose, they thought they had done enough 
 for a while, and probably felt hungry, for a feast began 
 aft. Abdulla sat amongst them like an idol, cross- 
 legged, his hands on his lap. He's too great altogether 
 to eat when others do, but he presided, you see. Wil- 
 lems kept on dodging about forward, aloof from the 
 crowd, and looking at my house through the ship's 
 long glass. I could not resist it. I shook my fist at 
 him." 
 
 *' Just so," said Lingard, gravely. *' That was the 
 thing to do, of course. If you can't fight a man the 
 best thing is to exasperate him." 
 
 Almayer waved his hand in a superior manner, and 
 continued, unmoved: 
 
 " You may say what you like. You can't realise 
 my feelings. He saw me, and, with his eye still at the 
 small end of the glass, lifted his arm as if answering 
 a hail. I thought my turn to be shot at would come 
 next after Patalolo, so I ran up the Union Jack to the 
 flagstaff in the yard, I had no other protection. There 
 were only three men besides Ali that stuck to me — 
 three cripples, for that matter, too sick to get away. 
 I would have fought singlehanded, I think, I was that 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 157 
 
 angry, but there was the child. What to do with her? 
 Couldn't send her up the river with the mother. You 
 know I can't trust my wife. I decided to keep very 
 quiet, but to let nobody land on our shore. Private 
 property, that; under a deed from Patalolo. I was 
 within my right — wasn't I? The morning was very 
 quiet. After they had a feed on board the barque with 
 Abdulla most of them went home; only the big people 
 remained. Towards three o'clock Sahamin crossed 
 alone in a small canoe. I went down on our wharf 
 with my gun to speak to him, but didn't let him land. 
 The old hypocrite said Abdulla sent greetings and 
 wished to talk with me on business ; would I come on 
 board? I said no; I would not. Told him that Ab- 
 dulla may write and I would answer, but no interview, 
 neither on board his ship or on shore. I also said that 
 if anybody attempted to land within my fences I would 
 shoot — no matter whom. On that he lifted his hands 
 to heaven, scandalised, and then paddled away pretty 
 smartly — to report, I suppose. An hour or so after- 
 wards I saw Willems land a boat party at the Rajah's. 
 It was very quiet. Not a shot was fired, and there 
 was hardly any shouting. They tumbled those brass 
 guns you presented to Patalolo last year down the 
 bank into the river. It's deep there close to. The 
 channel runs that way, you know\ About five, Wil- 
 lems went back on board, and I saw him join Abdulla 
 by the wheel, aft. He talked a lot, swinging his arms 
 about — seemed to explain things — pointed at my 
 house, then down the reach. Finally, just before sun- 
 set, they hove upon the cable and dredged the ship 
 down nearly half a mile to the junction of the two 
 branches of the river — where she is now, as you might 
 have seen." 
 
 Lingard nodded. 
 
 " That evening, after dark — I am informed — Ab- 
 dulla landed for the first time in Sambir. He was 
 
158 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 entertained in Sahamin's house. I sent Ali to the set- 
 tlement for news. He returned about nine, and re- 
 ported that Patalolo was sitting on Abdulla's left hand 
 before Sahamin's fire. There was a great council. Ali 
 seemed to think that Patalolo was a prisoner, but he 
 was wrong there. They did the trick very neatly. Be- 
 fore midnight everything was arranged as I can make 
 out. Patalolo went back to his demolished stockade, 
 escorted by a dozen boats with torches. It appears 
 he begged Abdulla to let him have a passage in the 
 Lord of the Isles to Penang. From there he would 
 go to Mecca. The firing business was alluded to as a 
 mistake. No doubt it was in a sense. Patalolo never 
 meant resisting. So he is going as soon as the ship 
 is ready for sea. He went on board next day with 
 three women and half a dozen fellows as old as himself. 
 By Abdulla's orders he was received with a salute of 
 seven guns, and he has been living on board ever since 
 — five weeks. I doubt whether he will leave the river 
 alive. At any rate he won't live to reach Penang. La- 
 kamba took over all his goods, and gave him a draft 
 on Abdulla's house, payable in Penang. He is bound 
 to die before he gets there. Don't you see! " 
 
 He sat silent for awhile in dejected meditation, then 
 went on: 
 
 " Of course there were several rows during the 
 night. Various fellows took the opportunity of the 
 unsettled state of affairs to pay off old scores and set- 
 tle old grudges. I passed the night in that chair there, 
 dozing uneasily. Now and then there would be a great 
 tumult and yelling;- which would make m.e sit up re- 
 volver in hand. However, nobody was killed. A few 
 broken heads — that's all. Early in the morning Wil- 
 Icms caused them to make a fresh move which I must 
 say surprised me not a little. As soon as there was 
 daylight they busied themselves in setting up a flag- 
 pole on the open space at the other end of the settle- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 159 
 
 ment; where Abdulla is having his houses built now. 
 Shortly after sunrise there was a great gathering at 
 the flag-pole. All went there. Willems was standing 
 leaning against the mast, one arm over that woman's 
 shoulders. They had brought an armchair for Pata- 
 lolo, and Lakamba stood on the right hand of the old 
 man, who made a speech. Everybody in Sambir was 
 there: women, slaves, children — everybody! Then 
 Patalolo spoke. He said that by the mercy of the 
 Most High he was going on a Pilgrimage. The dear- 
 est wish of his heart was to be accomplished. Then, 
 turning to Lakamba, he begged him to rule justly dur- 
 ing his — Patalolo's — absence. There was a bit of play- 
 acting there. Lakamba said he was unworthy of the 
 honourable burden, and Patalolo insisted. Poor old 
 fool! It must have been bitter to him. They made 
 him actually entreat that scoundrel. Fancy a man 
 compelled to beg of a robber to despoil him! But the 
 old Rajah was so frightened. Anyway, he did it, and 
 Lakamba accepted at last. Then Willems made a 
 speech to the crowd. Said that on his way to the west 
 the Rajah — he meant Patalolo — would see the Great 
 White Ruler in Batavia and obtain his protection for 
 Sambir. Meantime, he went on, I, an Orang Blanda 
 and your friend, hoist the flag under the shadow of 
 which there is safety. With that he ran up a Dutch 
 flag to the mast-head. It was made hurriedly, during 
 the night, of cotton stufTs, and, being heavy, hung 
 down the mast, while the crowd stared. Ali told me 
 there was a great sigh of surprise, but not a word was 
 spoken till Lakamba advanced and proclaimed in a 
 loud voice that during all that day every one passing 
 by the flagstaff must uncover his head and salaam be- 
 fore the emblem." 
 
 '' But, hang it all! " exclaimed Lingard — " Abdulla 
 is British!" 
 
 " Abdulla wasn't there at all — did not go on shore 
 
l6o AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 that day. Yet Ali, who has his wits about him, no- 
 ticed that the space where the crowd stood was under 
 the guns of the Lord of the Isles. They had put a coir 
 warp ashore, and gave the barque a cant in the current, 
 so as to bring the broadside to bear on the flagstaff. 
 Clever! Eh? But nobody dreamt of resistance. 
 When they recovered from the surprise there was a 
 little quiet jeering, and Bahassoen abused Lakamba 
 violently till one of Lakamba's men hit him on the 
 head with a staff. Frightful crack, I am told. Then 
 they left off jeering. Meantime Patalolo went away, 
 and Lakamba sat in the chair at the foot of the flag- 
 staff, while the crowd surged around, as if they could 
 not make up their minds to go. Suddenly there was 
 a great noise behind Lakamba's chair. It was that 
 woman, who went for Willems. Ali says she was like 
 a wild beast, but he twisted her wrist and made her 
 grovel in the dust. Nobody knows exactly what it 
 was about. Some say it was about that flag. He car- 
 ried her off, flung her into a canoe, and went on board 
 Abdulla's ship. After that Sahamin was the first to 
 salaam to the flag. Others followed suit. Before noon 
 everything was quiet in the settlement, and Ali came 
 back and told me all this." 
 
 Almayer drew a long breath. Lingard stretched 
 out his legs. 
 
 " Go on! " he said. 
 
 Almayer seemed to struggle with himself. At last 
 he spluttered out: 
 
 " The hardest is to tell yet. The most unheard-of 
 thing! An outrage! A fiendish outrage!" 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. i6l 
 
 III. 
 
 " Well ! Let's know all about it. I can't im- 
 agine . . .'' began Lingard, after waiting for some 
 time in silence. 
 
 " Can't imagine! I should think you couldn't," 
 interrupted Almayer. ''Why! . . . You just listen. 
 When Ali came back I felt a little easier in my mind. 
 There was then some semblance of order in Sambir. 
 I had the Jack up since the morning and began to feel 
 safer. Some of my men turned up in the afternoon. 
 I did not ask any questions; set them to work as if 
 nothing had happened. Towards the evening — it 
 might have been five or half-past — I was on our jetty 
 with the child when I heard shouts at the far-off end 
 of the settlement. At first I didn't take much notice. 
 By and by Ali came to me and says, ' Master, give me 
 the child, there is much trouble in the settlement.' So 
 I gave him Nina and went in, took my revolver, and 
 passed through the house into the back courtyard. As 
 I came down the steps I saw all the serving girls clear 
 out from the cooking shed, and I heard a big crowd 
 howling on the other side of the dry ditch which is 
 the limit of our ground. Could not see them on ac- 
 count of the fringe of bushes along the ditch, but I 
 knew that crowd was angry and after somebody. As 
 I stood wondering, that Jim-Eng — you know the 
 Chinaman who settled here a couple of years ago?" 
 
 " He was my passenger; I brought him here," ex- 
 claimed Lingard. " A first-class Chinaman that." 
 
 '' Did you? I had forgotten. Well, that Jim-Eng, 
 he burst through the bush and fell into my arms, so to 
 speak. He told me, panting, that they were after him 
 because he wouldn't take off his hat to the flag. He 
 was not so much scared, but he was very angry and 
 indignant. Of course he had to run for it; there were 
 
l62 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 some fifty men after him — Lakamba's friends — but he 
 was full of fight. Said he was an Englishman, and 
 would not take off his hat to any flag but English. I 
 tried to soothe him while the crowd was shouting on 
 the other side of the ditch. I told him he must take 
 one of my canoes and cross the river. Stop on the 
 other side for a couple of days. He wouldn't. Not he. 
 He was English, and he would fight the whole lot. 
 Says he : ' They are only black fellows. We white 
 men,' meaning me and himself, * can fight everybody 
 in Sambir.' He was mad with passion. The crowd 
 quieted a little, and I thought I could shelter Jim-Eng 
 without much risk, when all of a sudden I heard Wil- 
 lems' voice. He shouted to me in English : ' Let four 
 men enter your compound to get that Chinaman! ' I 
 said nothing. Told Jim-Eng to keep quiet too. Then 
 after a while Willems shouts again: ' Don't resist, Al- 
 mayer. I give you good advice. I am keeping this 
 crowd back. Don't resist them! ' That beggar's voice 
 enraged me; I could not help it. I cried to him: 'You 
 are a liar! ' and just then Jim-Eng, who had flung off 
 his jacket and had tucked up his trousers ready for a 
 fight; just then that fellow he snatches the revolver 
 out of my hand and lets fly at them through the bush. 
 There was a sharp cry — he must have hit somebody — 
 and a great yell, and before I could wink twice they 
 were over the ditch and through the bush and on top 
 of us! Simply rolled over us! There wasn't the slight- 
 est chance to resist. I was trampled under foot, Jim- 
 Eng got a dozen gashes about his body, and we were 
 carried half-way up the yard in the first rush. My eyes 
 and mouth were full of dust; I was on my back with 
 three or four fellows sitting on me. I could hear Jim- 
 Eng trying to shout curses not very far from me. Now 
 and then they would throttle him and he would gurgle. 
 I could hardly breathe myself with two heavy fellows 
 on my chest. Willems came up running and ordered 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 63 
 
 them to raise me, but to keep good hold. They led 
 me into the verandah. I looked round, but did not see 
 either AH or the child. Felt easier. Struggled a little. 
 . . . Oh, my God!" 
 
 Almayer's face was distorted with a passing spasm 
 of rage. Lingard moved in his chair slightly. Al- 
 mayer went on after a short pause: 
 
 '' They held me, shouting threats in my face. Wil- 
 lems took down my hammock and threw it to them. 
 He pulled out the drawer of this table, and found there 
 a palm and needle and some sail-twine. We were mak- 
 ing awnings for your brig, as you had asked me last 
 voyage before you left. He knew, of course, where to 
 look for what he wanted. By his orders they laid me 
 out on the floor, wrapped me in my hammock, and he 
 started to stitch me in, as if I had been a corpse, begin- 
 ning at the feet. While he worked he laughed wick- 
 edly. I called him all the names I could think of. He 
 told them to put their dirty paws over my mouth and 
 nose. I was nearly choked. Whenever I moved they 
 punched me in the ribs. He went on taking fresh 
 needlefuls as he wanted them, and working steadily. 
 Sewed me up to my throat. Then he rose, saying, 
 ' That will do ; let go.' That woman had been stand- 
 ing by; they must have been reconciled. She clapped 
 her hands. I lay on the floor like a bale of goods while 
 he stared at me, and the woman shrieked with delight. 
 Like a bale of goods! There was a grin on every face, 
 and the verandah was full of them. I wished myself 
 dead — 'pon my word. Captain Lingard, I did! I do 
 now whenever I think of it! " 
 
 Lingard's face expressed a sympathetic indigna- 
 tion, but it brought no comfort to Almayer, who 
 dropped his head upon his arms on the table, and spoke 
 in that position in an indistinct and mufifled voice, with- 
 out looking up. 
 
 " Finally, by his directions, they flung me into the 
 
164 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 big rocking-chair. I was sewed in so tight that I was 
 stiff Uke a piece of wood. He was giving orders in a 
 very loud voice, and that man Babalatchi saw that they 
 were executed. They obeyed him impHcitly. Mean- 
 time I lay there in the chair like a log, and that woman 
 capered before me and made faces; snapped her fin- 
 gers before my nose. Women are bad! — ain't they? I 
 never saw her before, as far as I know. Never done 
 anything to her. Yet she was perfectly fiendish. Can 
 you understand it? Now and then she would leave 
 me alone to hang round his neck for awhile, and then 
 she would return before my chair and begin her ex- 
 ercises again. He looked on, indulgent. The per- 
 spiration ran down my face, got into my eyes — my 
 arms were sewn in. I was blinded half the time; at 
 times I could see better. She drags him before my 
 chair. ' I am like white women,' she says, her arms 
 round his neck. You should have seen the faces of 
 the fellows in the verandah! They were scandalised 
 and ashamed of themselves to see her behaviour. 
 Suddenly she asks him, alluding to me: 'When are 
 you going to kill him? ' Imagine how I felt. I must 
 have swooned; I don't remember exactlv. I fancy 
 there was a row ; he was angry. When I got my wits 
 again he was sitting close to me, and she was gone. 
 T understood he sent her to my wife, who was hiding 
 in the back room and never came out during this af- 
 fair. Willems says to me — I fancy I can hear his voice, 
 hoarse and dull — he says to me : ' Not a hair of your 
 head shall be touched.' I made no sound. Then he 
 goes on : ' Please rgm^pk'that the flag you have hoisted 
 ' — which, by the by, is not yours — has been respected. 
 Tell Captain Lingard so when you do see him. But,' 
 he says, ' you first fired at the crowd.' ' You are a liar, 
 you blackguard ! ' I shouted. He winced, I am sure . 
 It hiirt him to see I was not frightened. ' Anyway,' 
 he says, ' a shot had been fired out of your compound 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 165 
 
 and a man was hit. Still, all your property shall be 
 respected on account of the Union Jack. Moreover, 
 I have no quarrel with Captain Lingard, who is the 
 senior partner in this business. As to you,' he con- 
 tinued, ' you will not forget this day — not if you live 
 to be a hundred years old — or I don't know your na- 
 ture. You will keep the bitter taste of this humiliation 
 to the last day of your Hfe, and so your kindness to 
 me shall be repaid. I shall remove all the powder you 
 have. This coast is under the protection of the Nether- 
 lands, and you have no right to have any powder. 
 There are the Governor's Orders in Council to that 
 effect, and you know it. Tell me where the key of the 
 small storehouse is? ' I said not a word, and he waited 
 a little, then rose, saying: * It's your own fault if there 
 is any damage done.' He ordered Babalatchi to have 
 the lock of the ofBce-room forced, and went in — rum- 
 maged amongst my drawers — could not find the key. 
 Then that woman Aissa asked my wife, and she gave 
 them the key. After awhile they tumbled every barrel 
 into the river. Eighty-three hundredweight! He su- 
 perintended himself, and saw every barrel roll into the 
 water. There were mutterings. Babalatchi was angry 
 and tried to expostulate, but he gave him a good shak- 
 ing. I must say he was perfectly fearless with those 
 fellows. Then he came back to the verandah, sat down 
 by me again, and says : ' We found your man AH with 
 your little daughter hiding in the bushes up the river. 
 We brought them in. They are perfectly safe, of 
 course. Let me congratulate you, Almayer, upon the 
 cleverness of your child. She recognised me at once, 
 and cried " pig " as naturally as you would yourself. 
 Circumstances alter feelings. You should have seen 
 how frightened your man Ali was. Clapped his hands 
 over her mouth. I think you spoil her, Almayer. But 
 I am not angry. Really, you look so ridiculous in this 
 chair that I can't feel angry.' I made a frantic efifort 
 
l66 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 to burst out of my hammock to get at that scoundrel's 
 throat, but I only fell of¥ and upset the chair over my- 
 self. He laughed and said only : ' I leave you half of 
 your revolver cartridges and take half myself; they will 
 fit mine. We are both white men, and should back 
 each other up. I may want them.' I shouted at him 
 from under the chair: ' You are a thief,' but he never 
 looked, and went away, one hand round that woman's 
 waist, the other on Babalatchi's shoulder, to whom he 
 was talking — laying down the law about something or 
 other. In less than five minutes there was nobody in- 
 side our fences. After awhile Ali came to look for 
 me and cut me free. I haven't seen Willems since — 
 nor anybody else for that matter. I have been left 
 alone. I offered sixty dollars to the man who had 
 been wounded, which were accepted. They released 
 Jim-Eng the next day, when the flag had been hauled 
 down. He sent six cases of opium to me for safe keep- 
 ing but has not left his house. I think he is safe enough 
 now. Everything is very quiet." 
 
 Towards the end of his narrative Almayer lifted his 
 head off the table, and now sat back in his chair and 
 stared at the bamboo rafters of the roof above him. 
 Lingard lolled in his seat with his legs stretched out. 
 In the peaceful gloom of the verandah, with its low- 
 ered screens, they heard faint noises from the world 
 outside in the blazing sunshine: a hail on the river, 
 the answer from the shore, the creak of a pulley; sounds 
 short, interrupted, as if lost suddenly in the brilliance 
 of noonday. Lingard got up slowly, walked to the 
 front rail, and holding one of the screens aside, looked 
 out in silence. Over the water and the empty court- 
 yard came a distinct voice from a small schooner an- 
 chored abreast of the Lingard jetty. 
 
 " Serang! Take a pull at the main peak halyards. 
 This gaff is down on the boom.'* 
 
 There was a shrill pipe dying in long-drawn ca- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 167 
 
 dence, the song of the men swinging on the rope. The 
 voice said sharply: "That will do!" Another voice 
 — the serang's probably — shouted: "Ikat!" and as 
 Lingard dropped the blind and turned away all was 
 silent again, as if there had been nothing on the other 
 side of the swaying screen; nothing but the light, 
 brilliant, crude, heavy, lying on a dead land like a pall 
 of fire. Lingard sat down again, facing Almayer, his 
 elbow on the table, in a thoughtful attitude. 
 
 '' Nice little schooner," muttered Almayer, wearily. 
 " Did you buy her? " 
 
 " No," answered Lingard. " After I lost the Flash 
 we got to Palembang in our boats. I chartered her 
 there, for six months. From young Ford, you know. 
 Belongs to him. He wanted a spell ashore, so I took 
 charge myself. Of course all Ford's people on board. 
 Strangers to me. I had to go to Singapore about the 
 insurance; then I went to Macassar, of course. Had 
 long passages. No wind. It was like a curse on me. 
 I had lots of trouble with old Hudig. That delayed 
 me much." 
 
 "Ah! Hudig! Why with Hudig?" asked Al- 
 mayer, in a perfunctory manner. 
 
 " Oh ! about a ... a woman," mumbled Lingard. 
 
 Almayer looked at him with languid surprise. The 
 old seaman had twisted his white beard into a point, 
 and now was busy giving his moustaches a fierce curl. 
 His little red eyes — those eyes that had smarted under 
 the salt sprays of every sea, that had looked unwink- 
 ing to windward in the gales of all latitudes — now 
 glared at Almayer from behind the lowered eyebrows 
 Hke a pair of frightened wild beasts crouching in a bush. 
 
 "Extraordinary! So like you! What can you 
 have to do with Hudig's women? The old sinner!" 
 said Almayer, negligently. 
 
 "What are you talking about! Wife of a friend 
 of ... I mean of a man I know . . ." 
 
l68 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 *' Still, I don't see . . ." interjected Almayer, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " Of a man you know too. Well. Very well." 
 
 " I knew so many men before you made me bury 
 myself in this hole! " growled Almayer, unamiably. 
 *' If she had anything to do with Hudig — that wife 
 — then she can't be up to much. I would be sorry 
 for the man," added Almayer, brightening up with 
 the recollection of the scandalous tittle-tattle of 
 the past, when he was a young man in the sec- 
 ond capital of the Islands — and so well informed, so 
 well informed. He laughed. Lingard's frown deep- 
 ened. 
 
 " Don't talk foohsh! It's Willems' wife." 
 
 Almayer grasped the sides of his seat, his eyes and 
 mouth opened wide. 
 
 "What? Why!" he exclaimed, bewildered. 
 
 " Willems' — wife," repeated Lingard, distinctly. 
 " You ain't deaf, are you? The wife of Willems. Just 
 so. As to why ! There was a promise. And I did not 
 know what had happened here." 
 
 " What is it. You've been giving her money, I 
 bet," cried Almayen 
 
 "Well, no!" said Lingard, deliberately. "Al- 
 though I suppose I shall have to . . ." 
 
 Almayer groaned. 
 
 " The fact is," went on Lingard, speaking slowly 
 and steadily, " the fact is that I have ... I have 
 brought her here. Here. To Sambir." 
 
 "In heaven's name! why?" shouted Almayer, 
 jumping up. The chair tilted and fell slowly over. He 
 raised his clasped hands above his head and brought 
 them down jerkily, separating his fingers with an ef- 
 fort, as if tearing them apart. Lingard nodded, quick- 
 ly, several times. 
 
 " I have. Awkward. Hey?" he said, with a puz- 
 zled look upwards. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 169 
 
 " Upon my word," said Almayer, tearfully. " I 
 can't understand you at all. What will you do next! 
 Willems' wife! " 
 
 " Wife and child. Small boy, you know. They 
 are on board the schooner." 
 
 Almayer looked at Lingard with sudden suspicion, 
 then turning away busied himself in picking up the 
 chair, sat down in it turning his back upon the old sea- 
 man, and tried to whistle, but gave it up directly. Lin- 
 gard went on — 
 
 " Fact is, the fellow got into trouble with Hudig. 
 Worked upon my feelings. I promised to arrange 
 matters. I did. With much trouble. Hudig was 
 angry with her for wishing to join her husband. Un- 
 principled old fellow. You know she is his daughter. 
 Well, I said I would see her through it all right ; help 
 Willems to a fresh start and so on. I spoke to Craig 
 in Palembang. He is getting on in years, and wanted 
 a manager or partner. I promised to guarantee Wil- 
 lems' good behaviour. We settled all that. Craig is 
 an old crony of mine. Been shipmates in the forties. 
 He's waiting for him now. A pretty mess! What do 
 you think? " 
 
 Almayer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " That woman broke with Hudig on my assurance 
 that all would be well," went on Lingard, with grow- 
 ing dismay. ** She did. Proper thing, of course. 
 Wife, husband . . . together ... as it should be 
 . . . Smart fellow . . . Impossible scoundrel . . . 
 Jolly old go! Oh! damn!" 
 
 Almayer laughed spitefully. 
 
 " How delighted he will be," he said, softly. " You 
 will make two people happy. Two at least!" He 
 laughed again, while Lingard looked at his shaking 
 shoulders in consternation. 
 
 " I am jammed on a lee shore this time, if ever I 
 was," muttered Lingard. 
 
I-TQ AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " Send her back quick," suggested Almayer, stifling 
 another laugh. 
 
 '' What are you sniggering at? " growled Lingard, 
 angrily. " I'll work it out all clear yet. Meantime 
 you must receive her into this house." 
 
 *' My house!" cried Almayer, turning round. 
 
 " It's mine too — a little — isn't it? " said Lingard. 
 " Don't argue," he shouted, as Almayer opened his 
 mouth. " Obey orders and hold your tongue! " 
 
 " Oh! If you take it in that tone! " mumbled Al- 
 Aiayer, sulkily, with a gesture of assent. 
 
 *' You are so aggravating too, my boy," said the 
 old seaman, with unexpected placidity. " You must 
 give me time to turn round. I can't keep her on board 
 all the time. I must tell her something. Say, for in- 
 stance, that he is gone up the river. Expected back 
 every day. That's it. D'ye hear? You must put her 
 on that tack and dodge her along easy, while I take 
 the kinks out of the situation. By God!" he ex- 
 claimed, mournfully, after a short pause, '' life is foul! 
 Foul like a lee forebrace on a dirty night. And yet. 
 And yet. One must see it clear for running before 
 going below — for good. Now you attend to what I 
 said," he added, sharply, " if you don't want to quarrel 
 with me, my boy." 
 
 " I don't want to quarrel with you," murmured 
 Almayer with unwilling deference. '' Only I wish I 
 could understand you. I know you are my best friend. 
 Captain Lingard; only, upon my word I can't make 
 you out sometimes! I wish I could . . ." 
 
 Lingard burst into a loud laugh which ended 
 shortly in a deep sigh. He closed his eyes, tilting his 
 head over the back of his armchair; and on his face, 
 baked by the unclouded suns of many hard years, there 
 appeared for a moment a weariness and a look of age 
 which startled Almayer, Hke an unexpected disclosure 
 of evil. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 171 
 
 *' I am done up," said Lingard, gently. *' Perfectly 
 done up. All night on deck getting that schooner 
 up the river. Then talking with you. Seems to me 
 I could go to sleep on a clothes-line. I should like to 
 eat something though. Just see about that, Kaspar." 
 
 Almayer clapped his hands, and receiving no re- 
 sponse was going to call, when in the central passage 
 of the house, behind the red curtain of the doorway 
 opening upon the verandah, they heard a child's im- 
 perious voice speaking shrilly. 
 
 '' Take me up at once. I want to be carried into 
 the verandah. I shall be very angry. Take me up." 
 
 A man's voice answered, subdued, in humble re- 
 monstrance. The faces of Almayer and Lingard 
 brightened at once. The old seaman called out — 
 
 ''Bring the child. Lekas!" 
 
 " You will see how she has grown," exclaimed Al- 
 mayer, in a jubilant tone. 
 
 Through the curtained doorway Ali appeared with 
 little Nina Almayer in his arms. The child had one 
 arm round his neck, and with the other she hugged a 
 ripe pumelo nearly as big as her own head. Her little 
 pink, sleeveless robe had half slipped ofT her shoulders, 
 but the long black hair, that framed her olive face, 
 in which the big black eyes looked out in childish 
 solemnity, fell in luxuriant profusion over her shoul- 
 ders, all round her and over Ali's arms, like a close- 
 meshed and delicate net of silken threads. Lingard 
 got up to meet Ali, and as soon as she caught sight of 
 the old seaman she dropped the fruit and put out both 
 her hands with a cry of delight. He took her from 
 the Malay, and she laid hold of his moustaches with 
 an affectionate goodwill that brought unaccustomed 
 tears into his little red eyes. 
 
 " Not so hard, little one, not so hard," he mur- 
 mured, pressing with an enormous hand, that covered 
 it entirely, the child's head to his face. 
 
 12 
 
1^2 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 "Pick up my pumelo, O Rajah of the sea!" she 
 said, speaking in a high-pitched, clear voice with great 
 volubihty. " There, under the table. I want it quick! 
 Quick! You have been away fighting with many men. 
 AH says so. You are a mighty fighter. Ali says so. 
 On the great sea far away, away, away." 
 
 She waved her hand, staring with dreamy vacancy, 
 while Lingard looked at her, and squatting down 
 groped under the table after the pumelo. 
 
 "Where does she get those notions?" said Lin- 
 gard, getting up cautiously, to Almayer, who had been 
 giving orders to Ali. 
 
 " She is always with the men. Many a time Fve 
 found her with her fingers in their rice dish, of an even- 
 ing. She does not care for her mother though — I am 
 glad to say. How^^etty she is — and so sharp. My 
 ve ry ima ge ! " ? 
 
 Lingard had put the child on the table, and both 
 men stood looking at her with radiant faces. 
 
 " A perfect little woman," whispered Lingard. 
 " Yes, my dear boy, we shall make her somebody. 
 You'll see! " 
 
 " Very little chance of that now," remarked Al- 
 mayer, sadly. 
 
 " You do not know! " exclaimed Lingard, taking 
 up the child again, and beginning to walk up and down 
 the verandah. " I have my plans. I have — listen." 
 
 And he began to explain to the interested Almayer 
 his plans for the future. He would interview Abdulla 
 and Lakamba. There must be some understanding 
 with those fellows now they had the upper hand. 
 Here he interrupted himself to swear freely, while the 
 child, who had been diligently fumbling about his 
 neck, had found his whistle and blew a loud blast now 
 and then close to his ear — which made him wince and 
 laugh as he put her hands down, scolding her lovingly. 
 Yes — that would be easily settled. He was a man to 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 173 
 
 be reckoned with yet. Nobody knew that better than 
 Almayer. Very well. Then he must patiently try and 
 keep some little trade together. It would be all right. 
 But the great thing — and here Lingard spoke lower, 
 bringing himself to a sudden standstill before the en- 
 tranced Almayer — the great thing would be the gold 
 hunt up the river. He — Lingard — would devote him- 
 self to it. He had been in the interior before. There 
 were immense deposits of alluvial gold there. Fabu- 
 lous. He felt sure. Had seen places. Dangerous 
 work? Of course! But wdiat a reward! He would 
 explore — and find. Not a shadow of doubt. Hang 
 the danger. They would first get as much as they 
 could for themselves. Keep the thing quiet. Then 
 after a time form a Company. In Batavia or in Eng- 
 land. Yes, in England. Much better. Splendid! 
 Why, of course. And that baby would be the richest 
 woman in the world. He — Lingard — would not, per- 
 haps, see it — although he felt good for many years yet 
 — but Almayer would. Here was something to live 
 for yet! Hey? 
 
 But the richest woman in the world had been for 
 the last five minutes shouting shrilly — "Rajah Laut! 
 Rajah Laut! Hai! Give ear! " while the old seaman 
 had been speaking louder, unconsciously, to make his 
 deep bass heard above the impatient clamour. He 
 stopped now and said tenderly — 
 
 *' What is it, little woman? " 
 
 " I am not a little woman. I am a white child. 
 Anak Putih. A white child; and the white men are 
 my brothers. Father says so. And AH says so too. 
 Ali knows as much as father. Everything." 
 
 Almayer almost danced with paternal delight. 
 
 *' I_taught hen I taught her," he repeated, laugh- 
 ingjyyith tears Jn -his eyes. " Isn't she sharp? " 
 
 " I am the slave of the white child," said Lingard, 
 with playful solemnity. " What is the order? " 
 
174 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " I want a house," she warbled, with great eager- 
 ness. " I want a house, and another house on the roof, 
 and another on the roof — high. High! Like the 
 places where they dwell — my brothers — in the land 
 where the sun sleeps." 
 
 " To the westward," explained Almayer, under his 
 breath. " She remembers everything. She wants you 
 to build a house of cards. You did, last time you were 
 here." 
 
 Lingard sat down with the child on his knees, and 
 Almayer pulled out violently one drawer after another, 
 looking for the cards, as if the fate of the world de- 
 pended upon his haste. He produced a dirty double 
 pack which was only used during Lingard's visits to 
 Sambir, when he would sometimes play — of an even- 
 ing — with Almayer, a game which he called Chinese 
 bezique. It bored Almayer, but the old seaman de- 
 lighted in it, considering it a remarkable product of 
 Chinese genius — a race for which he had an unac- 
 countable liking and admiration. 
 
 " Now we will get on, lAy little pearl," he said, 
 putting together with extreme precaution two cards 
 that looked absurdly flimsy between his big fingers. 
 Little Nina watched him with intense seriousness as 
 he went on erecting the ground floor, while he con- 
 tinued to speak to Almayer with his head over his 
 shoulder so as not to endanger the structure with his 
 breath. 
 
 " I know what I am talking about. . . . Been in 
 California in forty-nine. . . . Not that I made much 
 . . . then in Victoria in the early days. ... I know 
 all about it. Trust me. Moreover a blind man could 
 ... Be quiet, little sister, or you will knock this affair 
 down. . . . My hand pretty steady yet! Hey, Kas- 
 par? . . . Now, delight of my heart, we shall put a 
 third house on the top of these two . . . keep very 
 quiet. ... As I was saying, you got only to stoop 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. iJ^J 
 
 and gather handfuls of gold . . . dust . . . there. 
 Now here we are. Three houses on top of one another. 
 Grand!" 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, one hand on the child's 
 head, which he smoothed mechanically, and gesticu- 
 lated with the other, speaking to Almayer. 
 
 " Once on the spot, there would be only the trouble 
 to pick up the stuff. Then we shall all go to Europe. 
 The child must be educated. We shall be rich. Rich 
 is no name for it. Down in Devonshire where I be- 
 long, there was a fellow who built a house near Teign- 
 mouth which had as many windows as a three-decker 
 has ports. Made all his money somewhere out here 
 in the good old days. People around said he had been 
 a pirate. We boys — I was a boy in a Brixham trawler 
 then — certainly believed that. He went about in a 
 bath-chair in his grounds. Had a glass eye . . ." 
 
 " Higher! Higher! " called out Nina, pulling the 
 old seaman's beard. 
 
 "You do worry me — don't you?" said Lingard, 
 gently, giving her a tender kiss. *' What? One more 
 house on top of all these? Well! I will try." 
 
 The child watched him breathlessly. When the 
 difficult feat was accomplished she clapped her hands, 
 looked on steadily, and after a while gave a great sigh 
 of content. 
 
 "Oh! Look out!" shouted Almayer. 
 
 The structure collapsed suddenly before the child's 
 light breath. Lingard looked discomposed for a mo- 
 ment. Almayer laughed, but the little girl began to 
 cry. 
 
 " Take her," said the old seaman, abruptly. Then, 
 after Almayer went away with the crying child, he re- 
 mained sitting by the table, looking gloomily at the 
 heap of cards. 
 
 " Damn this Willems," he muttered to himself. 
 "But I will do it yet!" 
 
176 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He got up, and with an angry push of his hand 
 swept the cards off the table. Then he fell back in 
 his chair. 
 
 '' Tired as a dog," he sighed out, closing his eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Consciously or unconsciously, men are proud of 
 their firmness, steadfastness of purpose, directness of 
 aim. They go straight towards their desire, to the 
 accomplishment of virtue — sometimes of crime — in an 
 uplifting persuasion of their firmness. They walk the 
 road of life, the road fenced in by their tastes, preju- 
 dices, disdains or enthusiasms, generally hon est, in- 
 variabl y stup id, and are proud of never losing their 
 way. If they do stop, it is to look for a moment over 
 the hedges that make them safe, to look at the misty 
 valleys, at the distant peaks, at cHfifs and morasses, at 
 the dark forests and the hazy plains where other human 
 beings grope their days painfully away, stumbling over 
 the bones of the wise, over the unburied remains of 
 their predecessors who died alone, in gloom or in sun- 
 shine, half-way from anywhere. The man of purpose 
 does not understand, and goes on. full of contempt. 
 He never loses his way. He knows where he is going 
 and what he wants. Travelling on, he achieves great 
 length without any breadth, and battered, besmirched, 
 and weary, he touches the goal at last; he grasps the 
 reward of his perseverance, of his virtue, of his healthy 
 optimism: an untruthful tombstone over a dark and 
 soon forgotten grave. 
 
 Lingard had never hesitated in his life. Why 
 should he? He had been a most successful trader, 
 and a man lucky in his fights, skilful in navigation, 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 177 
 
 undeniably first in seamanship in those seas. He knew 
 it. Had he not heard the voice of common consent? 
 The voice of the world that respected him so much; 
 the whole world to him — for to us the limits of the 
 universe are strictly defined by those we know. There 
 is nothing for us outside the babble of praise and blame 
 on familiar lips, and beyond our last acquaintance 
 there lies only a vast chaos; a chaos of laughter and 
 tears which concerns us not; laughter and tears un- 
 pleasant, wicked, morbid, contemptible — because 
 heard imperfectly by ears rebeUious to strange sounds. 
 To Lingard — simple himself — all things were simple. 
 He seldom read. Books were not much in his way, 
 and he had to work hard navigating, trading, and also, 
 in obedience to his benevolent instincts, shaping stray 
 lives he found here and there under his busy hand. He 
 remembered the Sunday-school teachings of his na- 
 tive village and the discourses of the black-coated gen- 
 tleman connected with the Mission to Fishermen and 
 Seamen, whose yawl-rigged boat darting through 
 rain-squalls amongst the coasters wind-bound in Fal- 
 mouth Bay, was part of those precious pictures of his 
 youthful days that Hngered in his memory. " As 
 clever a sky-pilot as you could wish to see," he would 
 say with conviction, " and the best man to handle a 
 boat in any weather I ever did meet! " Such were the 
 agencies that had roughly shaped his young soul be- 
 fore he went away to see the world in a southern-going 
 ship — before he went, ignorant and happy, heavy of 
 hand, pure in heart, profane in speech, to give himself 
 up to the great sea that took his life and gave him his 
 fortune. When thinking of his rise in the world — 
 commander of ships, then shipowner, then a man of 
 much capital, respected wherever he went, Lingard in 
 a word, the Rajah Laut — he was amazed and awed by 
 his fate, that seertied to his ill-informed mind the most 
 wondrous known in the annals of men. His experi- 
 
1^8 . AN' OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 ence appeared to him immense and conclusive, teach- 
 ing him the lesson of the simplicity of life. In life — 
 as in seamanship — there were only two ways of doing 
 a thing : the right way and the wrong way. Common 
 sense and experience taught a man the way that was 
 right. The other was for lubbers and fools, and led, 
 in seamanship, to loss of spars and sails or shipwreck; 
 in life, to loss of money and consideration, or to an 
 unlucky knock on the head. He did not consider it 
 his duty to be angry with rascals. He was only angry 
 with things he could not understand, but for the weak- 
 nesses of humanity he could find a contemptuous tol- 
 erance. It being manifest that he was wise and lucky 
 —otherwise how could he have been as successful in Hfe 
 as he had been?— he had an inclination to set right 
 the Hves of other people, just as he could hardly re- 
 frain — in defiance of nautical etiquette— from interfer- 
 ing with his chief officer when the crew was sending 
 up a new topmast, or generally when busy about, what 
 he called, '' a heavy job." He was meddlesome with 
 Derfect modesty ; if he knew a thing or two there was 
 no merit in it. " Hard knocks taught me wisdom, my 
 boy," he used to say, '' and you had better take the 
 advice of a man who has been a fool in his time. Have 
 another." And " my boy " as a rule took the cool 
 drink, the advice, and the consequent help which Lin- 
 gard felt himself bound in honour to give, so as to back 
 up his opinion like an honest man. Captain Tom went 
 saihng from island to island, appearing unexpectedly 
 in various localities, beaming, noisy, anecdotal, com- 
 mendatory or comminatory, but alwavs welcome. 
 
 It was only since his return to Sambir that the old 
 seaman had for the first time known doubt and un- 
 happiness. The loss of the F/a^/z— planted firmly and 
 for ever on a ledge of rock at the north end of Caspar 
 Straits in the uncertain light of a cloudy morning — 
 shook him considerably ; and the amazing news which 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. lyg 
 
 he heard on his arrival in Sambir were not made to 
 soothe his feeHngs. A good many years ago — prompt- 
 ed by his love of adventure — he, with infinite trouble, 
 had found out and surveyed — for his own benefit only 
 — the entrances to that river, where, as he had heard 
 through native report, a new settlement of Malays was 
 forming. No doubt he thought at the time mostly 
 of personal gain; but, received with hearty friendli- 
 ness by Patalolo, he soon came to like the ruler and 
 the people, offered his counsel and his help, and — • 
 knowing nothing of Arcadia — he dreamed of Arca- 
 dian happiness for that little corner of the world which 
 he loved to think all his own. His deep-seated and im- 
 movable conviction that only he — he, Lingard — knew 
 what was good for them was characteristic of him, and, 
 after all, not so very far wrong. He would make them 
 happy whether or no, he said, and he meant it. His 
 trade brought prosperity to the young state, and the 
 fear of his heavy hand secured its internal peace for 
 many years. 
 
 He looked proudly upon his work. With every 
 passing year he loved- more the land, the people, the 
 muddy river that, if he could help it, would carry no 
 other craft but the Flash on its unclean and friendly 
 surface. As he slowly warped his vessel up-stream he 
 would scan with knowing looks the riverside clearings, 
 and pronounce solemn judgment upon the prospects 
 of the season's rice-crop. He knew every settler on 
 the banks between the sea and Sambir; he knew their 
 wives, their children; he knew every individual of the 
 multi-coloured groups that, standing on the flimsy 
 platforms of tiny reed dwellings built over the w^ater, 
 waved their hands and shouted shrilly: "O! Kapal 
 layer! Hai!" while the Flash swept slowly through 
 the populated reach, to enter the lonely stretches of 
 sparkling brown water bordered by the dense and 
 silent forest, whose big trees nodded their outspread 
 
l80 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 boughs gently in the faint, warm breeze — as if in sign 
 of tender but melancholy welcome. He loved it all: 
 the landscape of brown golds and brilliant emeralds 
 under the dome of hot sapphire; the whispering big 
 trees; the loquacious nipa-palnis that rattled their 
 leaves volubly in the night breeze, as if in haste to 
 tell him all the secrets of the great forest behind them. 
 He loved the heavy scents of blossoms and black earth, 
 that breath of life and of death which lingered over 
 his brig in the damp air of tepid and peaceful nights. 
 He loved the narrow and sombre creeks, strangers to 
 sunshine: black, smooth, tortuous — like byways of 
 despair. He liked even the troops of sorrowful-faced 
 monkeys that profaned the quiet spots with capricious 
 gambols and insane gestures of inhuman madness. 
 He loved everything there, animated or inanimated; 
 the very mud of the riverside; the very alligators, 
 enormous and stolid, basking on it with impertinent 
 unconcern. Their size was a source of pride to him. 
 "Immense fellows! Make two of them Palembang 
 reptiles! I tell you, old man! " he would shout, pok- 
 ing some crony of his playfully in the ribs : " I tell you, 
 big as you are, they could swallow you in one gulp, 
 hat, boots and all! Magnificent beggars! Wouldn't 
 you like to see them? Wouldn't you! Ha! ha! ha! " 
 His thunderous laughter filled the verandah, rolled 
 over the hotel garden, overflowed into the street, par- 
 alysing for a short moment the noiseless traffic of bare 
 brown feet; and its loud reverberations would even 
 startle the landlord's tame bird — a shameless mynah 
 — into a momentary propriety of behaviour under the 
 nearest chair. In the big billiard-room perspiring men 
 in thin cotton singlets would stop the game, listen, 
 cue in hand, for a while through the open windows, 
 then nod their moist faces at each other sagaciously 
 and whisper: "The old fellow is talking about his 
 river." 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. igl 
 
 His river! The whispers of curious men, the mys- 
 tery of the thing, were to Lingard a source of never- 
 ending dehght. The common talk of ignorance ex- 
 aggerated the profits of his queer monopoly, and, 
 although strictly truthful in general, he liked, on that 
 matter, to mislead speculation still further by boasts 
 full of cold raillery. His river! By it he was not only 
 rich — he was interesting. This secret of his which 
 made him different to the other traders of those seas 
 gave intimate satisfaction to that desire for singularity ; 
 which he shared with the rest of mankind, without i 
 being aware of its presence within his breast. It was 
 the greater part of his happiness, but he only knew it 
 after its loss, so unforeseen, so sudden and so cruel. 
 
 After his conversation with Almayer he went on 
 board the schooner, sent Joanna on shore, and shut 
 himself up in his cabin, feeling very unwell. He made 
 the most of his indisposition to Almayer, who came 
 to visit him twice a day. It was an excuse for doing 
 nothing just yet. He wanted to think. He was very 
 angry. Angry with himself, with Willems. Angry 
 at what Willems had done — and also angry at what 
 he had left undone. T he sco undrel was not complete. 
 The conception was perfect, but the execution, unac- 
 countably, fell short. Why? He ought to have cut 
 Almayer's throat and burnt the place to ashes — then 
 cleared out. Got out of his way; of him, Lingard! 
 Yet he didn't. Was it impudence, contempt — or what? 
 He felt hurt at the implied disrespect of his power, and 
 the incomplete rascality of the proceeding disturbed 
 him exceedingly. There was something short, some- 
 thing wanting, something that would have given him 
 a free hand in the work of retribution. The obvious, 
 the right thing to do, was to shoot Willems. Yet how 
 could he? Had the fellow resisted, showed fight, or 
 ran away; had he shown any consciousness of harm 
 done, it would have been more possible, more natural. 
 
l82 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 But no! The fellow actually had sent him a message. 
 Wanted to see him. What for? The thing could not 
 be explained. An unexampled, cold-blooded treach- 
 ery, awful, incomprehensible. Why did he do it? 
 Why? Why? The old seaman in the stuffy solitude 
 of his little cabin on board the schooner groaned out 
 many times that question, striking with an open palm 
 his perplexed forehead. 
 
 During his four days of seclusion he had received 
 two messages from the outer world; from that world 
 of Sambir which had, so suddenly and so finally, 
 slipped from his grasp. One, a few words from Wil- 
 lems written on a torn-out page of a small note-book; 
 the other, a communication from Abdulla caligraphed 
 carefully on a large sheet of paper, nearly as stiff as 
 cardboard, and delivered to him in a green silk wrap- 
 per. The first he could not understand. It said: 
 " Come and see me. I am not afraid. Are you? W." 
 He tore it up angrily, but before the small bits of dirty 
 paper had the time to flutter down and settle on the 
 floor, the anger was gone and was replaced by a senti- 
 ment that induced him to go on his knees, pick up the 
 fragments of the torn message, piece it together on the 
 top of his chronometer box, and contemplate it long 
 and thoughtfully, as if he had hoped to read the answer 
 of the horrible riddle in the very form of the letters 
 that went to make up that fresh insult. Abdulla's let- 
 ter he read carefully and rammed it into his pocket, 
 also with anger, but with anger that ended in a half- 
 resigned, half-amused smile. He would never give in 
 as long as there was a chance. *' It's generally the 
 safest way to stick to the ship as long as she will swim," 
 was one of his favourite sayings: '' The safest and the 
 right way. To abandon a craft because it leaks is easy 
 — but poor work. Poor work ! " Yet he was intelli- 
 gent enough to know when he was beaten, and to ac- 
 cept the situation like a man, without repining. When 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 183 
 
 Almayer came on board that afternoon he handed him 
 the letter without comment. 
 
 Almayer read it, returned it in silence, and leaning 
 over the taffrail (the two men were on deck) looked 
 down for some time at the play of the eddies round 
 the schooner's rudder. At last he said without look- 
 ing up— 
 
 '' That's a decent enough letter. Abdulla gives him 
 up to you. I told you they were getting sick of him. 
 What are you going to do? " 
 
 Lingard cleared his throat, shufifled his feet, opened 
 his mouth with great determination, but said nothing 
 for a while. At last he murmured — 
 
 " I'll be hanged if I know — just yet." 
 
 " I wish you would do something soon . . ." 
 
 " What's the hurry? " interrupted Lingard. " He 
 can't get away. As it stands he is at my mercy, as far 
 as I can see." 
 
 '' Yes," said Almayer, reflectively — '' and very little 
 mercy he deserves too. Abdulla's meaning — as I can 
 make it out amongst all those compliments — is: ' Get 
 rid for me of that white man — and we shall live in 
 peace and share the trade.' " 
 
 "You believe that?" asked Lingard, contemptu- 
 ously. 
 
 " Not altogether," answered Almayer. " No doubt 
 we will share the trade for a time — till he can grab the 
 lot. Well, what are you going to do? " 
 
 He looked up as he spoke and was surprised to see 
 Lingard's discomposed face. 
 
 " You -air^'t well. Pain anywhere? " he asked, with 
 real solicitude. 
 
 " I have been queer — you know — these last few 
 days, but no pain." He struck his broad chest several 
 times, cleared his throat with a powerful "Hem!" 
 and repeated: " No. No pain. Good for a few years 
 yet. But I am bothered with all this, I can tell you! " 
 
I84 -^N OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 ** You must take care of yourself," said Almayer. 
 Then after a pause he added: '* You will see AbduUa. 
 Won't you?" 
 
 " I don't know. Not yet. There's plenty of time," 
 said Lingard, impatiently. 
 
 " I wish you would do something," urged Almayer, 
 moodily. " You know, that woman is a perfect nui- 
 sance to me. She and her brat! Yelps all day. And 
 the children don't get on together. Yesterday the 
 little devil wanted to fight with my Nina. Scratched 
 her face too. A perfect savage! Like his honourable 
 oapa. Yes, really. She worries about her husband, 
 and whimpers from morning to night. When she isn't 
 weeping she is furious with me. Yesterday she tor- 
 mented me to tell her when he would be back, and 
 cried because he was engaged in such dangerous work. 
 I said something about it being all right — no neces- 
 sity to make a fool of herself, when she turned upon 
 me like a wild cat. Called me a brute, selfish, heart- 
 less; raved about her beloved Peter risking his life 
 for my benefit, while I did not care. Said I took ad- 
 vantage of his generous good-nature to get him to 
 do dangerous work — my work. That he was worth 
 twenty of the likes of me. That she would tell you — 
 open your eyes as to the kind of man I was, and so on. 
 That*s what I've got to put up with for your sake. 
 You really might consider me a little. I haven't robbed 
 anybody," went on Almayer, with an attempt at bitter 
 irony — " or sold my best friend, but still you ought 
 to have some pity on me. It's like living in a hot fever. 
 She is out of her wits. You make my house a refuge 
 for scoundrels and lunatics. It isn't fair. 'Pon my 
 word it isn't! When she is in her tantrums she is 
 ridiculously ugly and screeches so — it sets my teeth on 
 edge. Thank God ! my wife got a fit of the sulks and 
 cleared out of the house. Lives in a riverside hut since 
 that afifair — you know. But this Willems' wife by her- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 185 
 
 self is almost more than I can bear. And I ask myself 
 why should I? You are exacting and no mistake. 
 This morning I thought she was going to claw me. 
 Only think! She wanted to go prancing about the 
 settlement. She might have heard something there, 
 so I told her she mustn't. It wasn't safe outside our 
 fences, I said. Thereupon she rushes at me with her 
 ten nails up to my eyes. * You miserable man,' she 
 yells, ' even this place is not safe, and you've sent him 
 up this awful river where he may lose his head. If he 
 dies before forgiving me, Heaven will punish you for 
 your crime . . .' My crime! I ask myself sometimes 
 whether I am dreaming! It will make me ill, all this. 
 I've lost my appetite already." 
 
 He flung his hat on deck and laid hold of his hair 
 despairingly. Lingard looked at him with sympathetic 
 concern. 
 
 " What did she mean by it?" he muttered, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Mean! She is crazy, I tell you — and I will be, 
 very soon, if this lasts! " 
 
 " Just a little patience, Kaspar," pleaded Lingard. 
 " A day or so more." 
 
 Relieved or tired by his violent outburst, Almayer 
 calmed down, picked up his hat and, leaning against 
 the bulwark, commenced to fan himself with it. 
 
 " Days do pass," he said, resignedly — " but that 
 kind of thing makes a man old before his time. What 
 is there to think about? — I can't imagine! AbduUa 
 says plainly that if you undertake to pilot his ship out 
 and instruct the half-caste, he will drop Willems like 
 a hot potato and be vour friend ever after. I believe 
 him perfectly, as to Willems. It's so natural. As to 
 being your friend it's a lie of course, but we need not 
 bother about that just yet. You just say yes to Ab- 
 dulla, and then whatever happens to Willems will be 
 nobody's business." 
 
Ig6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He interrupted himself and remained silent for a 
 while, glaring about with set teeth and dilated nostrils. 
 
 '' You leave it to me. I'll see to it that something 
 happens to him," he said at last, with calm ferocity. 
 Lingard smiled faintly. 
 
 " The fellow isn't worth a shot. Not the trouble 
 of it," he whispered, as if to himself. Almayer fired 
 up suddenly. 
 
 " That's what you think," he cried. " You haven't 
 been sewn up in your hammock to be made a laugh- 
 ing-stock of before a parcel of savages. Why! I 
 daren't look anybody here in the face while that scoun- 
 drel is alive. I will ... I will settle him." 
 
 " I don't think you will," growled Lingard. 
 
 " Do you think I am afraid of him? " 
 
 "Bless you! no!" said Lingard with alacrity. 
 " Afraid! Not you. I know you. I don't doubt your 
 courage. It's your head, my boy, your head that 
 I . . ." 
 
 " That's it," said the aggrieved Almayer. " Go on. 
 Why don't you call me a fool at once? " 
 
 '* Because I don't want to," burst out Lingard, with 
 nervous irritability. " If I wanted to call you a fool, 
 I would do so without asking your leave." He began 
 to walk athwart the narrow quarter-deck, kicking 
 ropes' ends out of his way and growling to himself: 
 " Delicate gentleman . . . what next? . . . I've done 
 man's work before you could toddle. Understand 
 . . . say what I like." 
 
 "Well! well!" said Almayer, with affected resig- 
 nation. " There's no talking to you these last few 
 days." He put on his hat, strolled to the gangway and 
 stopped, one foot on the little inside ladder, as if hesi- 
 tating, came back and planted himself in Lingard's 
 way, compelling him to stand still and listen. 
 
 " Of course you will do what you like. You never 
 take advice — I know that; but let me tell you that 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 187 
 
 it wouldn't be honest to let that fellow get away from 
 here. If you do nothing, that scoundrel will leave in 
 Abdulla's ship for sure. Abdulla will make use of him 
 to hurt you and others elsewhere. Willems knows too 
 much about your affairs. He will cause you lots of 
 trouble. You mark my words. Lots of trouble. To 
 you — and to others perhaps. Think of that, Captain 
 Lingard. That's all I've got to say. Now I must go 
 back on shore. There's lots of work. We will begin 
 loading this schooner to-morrow morning, first thing. 
 All the bundles are ready. If you should want me for 
 anything, hoist some kind of flag on the mainmast. 
 At night two shots will fetch me." Then he added, in 
 a friendly tone, " Won't you come and dine in the 
 house to-night? It can't be good for you to stew on 
 board like that, day after day." 
 
 Lingard did not answer. The image evoked by 
 Almayer; the picture of Willems ranging over the 
 islands and disturbing the harmony of the universe 
 by robbery, treachery, and violence, held him silent, 
 entranced — painfully spellbound. Almayer, after wait- 
 ing for a little while, moved reluctantly towards the 
 gangway, lingered there, then sighed and got over 
 the side, going down step by step. His head disap- 
 peared slowly below the rail. Lingard, who had been 
 staring at him absently, started suddenly, ran to the 
 side, and looking over, called out — 
 
 *' Hey! Kaspar! Hold on a bit! " 
 
 Almayer signed to his boatmen to cease paddling, 
 and turned his head towards the schooner. The boat 
 drifted back slowly abreast of Lingard, nearly along- 
 side. 
 
 " Look here," said Lingard, looking down — " I 
 want a good canoe with four men to-day." 
 
 " Do you want it now? " asked Almayer. 
 
 "No! Catch this rope. Oh, you clumsy devil! 
 . . . No, Kaspar," went on Lingard, after the bow- 
 
l88 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 man had got hold of the end of the brace he had thrown 
 down into the canoe — " No, Kaspar. The sun is too 
 much for me. And it would be better to keep my af- 
 fairs quiet, too. Send the canoe — four good paddlers, 
 mind, and your canvas chair for me to sit in. Send it 
 about sunset. D'ye hear?" 
 
 " All right, father," said Almayer, cheerfully—" I 
 will send Ali for a steersman, and the best men I've 
 got. Anything else? " 
 
 " No, my lad. Only don't let them be late." 
 
 *' I suppose it's no use asking you where you are 
 going," said Almayer, tentatively. '' Because if it is 
 to see Abdulla, I . . ." 
 
 " I am not going to see Abdulla. Not to-day. 
 Now be off with you." 
 
 He watched the canoe dart away shorewards, 
 waved his hand in response to Almayer's nod, and 
 walked to the taffrail smoothing out Abdulla's letter, 
 which he had pulled out of his pocket. He read it 
 over carefully, crumpled it up slowly, smiling the while 
 and closing his fingers firmly over the crackling paper 
 as though he had hold there of Abdulla's throat. Half- 
 way to his pocket he changed his mind, and flinging 
 the ball overboard looked at it thoughtfully as it spun 
 round in the eddies for a moment, before the current 
 bore it away down-stream, towards the sea. 
 
PART IV. 
 
 The night was very dark. For the first time in many 
 months the East Coast slept unseen by the stars under 
 a veil of motionless cloud that, driven before the first 
 breath of the rainy monsoon, had drifted slowly from 
 the eastward all the afternoon; pursuing the declining 
 sun with its masses of black and grey that seemed to 
 chase the light with wicked intent, and with an omi- 
 nous and gloomy steadiness, as though conscious of the 
 message of violence and turmoil they carried. At the 
 sun's disappearance below the western horizon, the 
 immense cloud, in quickened motion, grappled with 
 the glow of retreating light, and rolling down to the 
 clear and jagged outline of the distant mountains, 
 hung arrested above the steaming forests; hanging 
 low, silent and menacing over the unstirring tree-tops ; 
 withholding the blessing of rain, nursing the wrath of 
 its thunder; undecided — as if brooding over its own 
 power for good or for evil. 
 
 Babalatchi, coming out of the red and smoky light 
 of his little bamboo house, glanced upwards, drew in 
 a long breath of the warm and stagnant air, and stood 
 for a moment with his good eye closed tightly, as if 
 intimidated by the unwonted and deep silence of La- 
 kamba's courtyard. When he opened his eye he had 
 recovered his sight so far, that he could distinguish 
 the various degrees of formless blackness which 
 marked the places of trees, of abandoned houses, of 
 
 l8q 
 
190 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 riverside bushes, on the dark background of the night. 
 The careworn sage walked cautiously down the de- 
 serted courtyard to the waterside, and stood on the 
 bank listening to the voice of the invisible river that 
 flowed at his feet; listening to the soft whispers, to the 
 deep murmurs, to the sudden gurgles and the short 
 hisses of the swift current racing along the bank 
 through the hot darkness. 
 
 He stood with his face turned to the river, and it 
 seemed to him that he could breathe easier with the 
 knowledge of the clear vast space before him; then, 
 after a while, he leaned heavily forward on his staflf, 
 his chin fell on his breast, and a deep sigh was his an- 
 swer to the selfish discourse of the river that hurried 
 on unceasing and fast, regardless of joy or sorrow, 
 of suffering and of strife, of failures and triumphs that 
 lived on its banks. The brown water was there, ready 
 to carry friends or enemies, to nurse love or hate on 
 its submissive and heartless bosom, to help or to 
 hinder, to save life or give death; the great and rapid 
 river: a deliverance, a prison, a refuge or a grave. 
 
 Perchance such thoughts as these caused Babalat- 
 chi to send another mournful sigh into the trailing 
 mists of the unconcerned Pantai. The barbarous poli- 
 tician had forgotten the recent success of his plottings 
 in the melancholy contemplation of a sorrow that made 
 the night blacker, the clammy heat more oppressive, 
 the still air more heavy, the dumb solitude more sig- 
 nificant of torment than of peace. He had spent the 
 night before by the side of the dying Omar, and now, 
 after twenty-four hours, his memory persisted in re- 
 turning to that low and sombre reed hut from which 
 the fierce spirit of the incomparably accomplished 
 pirate took its flight, to learn too late, in a worse world, 
 the error of its earthly ways. The mind of the savage 
 statesman, chastened by bereavement, felt for a mo- 
 ment the weight of his loneliness with keen percep- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 191 
 
 tion worthy even of a sensibility exasperated by all 
 the refinements of tender sentiment that a glorious 
 civilisation brings in its train, among other blessings 
 and virtues, into this excellent world. For the space 
 of about thirty seconds, a half-naked, betel-chewing 
 pessimist stood upon the bank of the tropical river, 
 on the edge of the still and immense forests; a man 
 angry, powerless, empty-handed, with a cry of bitter 
 discontent ready on his lips; a cry that, had it come 
 out, would have rung through the virgin solitudes of 
 the woods, as true, as great, as profound, as any philo- 
 sophical shriek that ever came from the depths of an 
 easy-chair to disturb the impure wilderness of chim- 
 neys and roofs. 
 
 For half a minute and no more did Babalatchi face 
 the gods in the sublime privilege of his revolt, and 
 then the one-eyed puller of wires became himself 
 again, full of care and wisdom and far-reaching plans, 
 and a victim to the tormenting superstitions of his 
 race. The night, no matter how quiet, is never per- 
 fectly silent to attentive ears, and now Babalatchi fan- 
 cied he could detect in it other noises than those caused 
 by the ripples and eddies of the river. He turned his 
 head sharply to the right and to the left in succession, 
 and then spun round quickly in a startled and watch- 
 ful manner, as if he had expected to see the blind ghost 
 of his departed leader wanderin.gf in the obscurity of 
 the empty courtyard behind his back. Nothing there. 
 Yet he had heard a noise; a strange noise! No doubt 
 a ghostly voice of a complaining- and angfry spirit. He 
 listened. Not a sound. Reassured, Babalatchi made 
 a few paces towards his house, when a very human 
 noise, that of hoarse coughing, reached him from the 
 river. He stopned, listened attentivelv. but now with- 
 out any sign of emotion, and moving briskly back to 
 the waterside stood expectant with parted lips, trying 
 to pierce with his eye the wavering curtain of mist that 
 
192 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 hung low over the water. He could see nothing, yet 
 some people in a canoe must have been very near, for 
 he heard words spoken in an ordinary tone. 
 
 ** Do you think this is the place, AH? I can see 
 nothing." 
 
 '* It must be near here, Tuan," answered another 
 voice. *' Shall we try the banks?" 
 
 " No! . . . Let drift a little. If you go poking 
 into the bank in the dark you might stove the canoe 
 on some log. We must be careful. . . . Let drift! 
 Let drift! . . . This does seem to be a clearing of 
 some sort. We may see a light by and by from some 
 house or other. In Lakamba's campong there are 
 many houses? Hey?" 
 
 " A great number, Tuan ... I do not see any 
 light." 
 
 " Nor I," grumbled the first voice again, this time 
 nearly abreast of the silent Babalatchi who looked 
 uneasily towards his own house, the doorway of which 
 glowed with the dim light of a torch burning within. 
 The house stood end on to the river, and its doorway 
 faced down-stream, so Babalatchi reasoned rapidly 
 that the strangers on the river could not see the light 
 from the position their boat was in at the moment. 
 He could not make up his mind to call out to them, 
 and while he hesitated he heard the voices again, but 
 now some way below the landing-place where he stood. 
 
 *' Nothing. This cannot be it. Let them give way, 
 Ali! Dayong there! " 
 
 That order was followed by the splash of paddles, 
 then a sudden cry — 
 
 " I see a light. I see it! Now I know where to 
 land, Tuan." 
 
 There was more splashing as the canoe was pad- 
 dled sharply round and came back up-stream close to 
 the bank. 
 
 " Call out," said very near a deep voice, which 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 193 
 
 Babalatchi felt sure must belong to a white man. 
 '' Call out — and somebody may come with a torch. I 
 can't see anything." 
 
 The loud hail that succeeded these words was 
 emitted nearly under the silent listener's nose. Baba- 
 latchi, to preserve appearances, ran with long but 
 noiseless strides half-way up the courtyard, and only 
 then shouted in answer and kept on shouting as he 
 walked slowly back again towards the river bank. He 
 saw there an indistinct shape of a boat, not quite along' 
 side the landing-place. 
 
 " Who speaks on the river? " asked Babalatchi, 
 throwing a tone of surprise into his question. 
 
 " A white man," answered Lingard from the canoe. 
 " Is there not one torch in rich Lakamba's campong 
 to light a guest on his landing? " 
 
 " There are no torches and no men. I am alone 
 here," said Babalatchi, with some hesitation. 
 
 "Alone!" exclaimed Lingard. *' Who are you?" 
 
 " Only a servant of Lakamba. But land, Tuan 
 Putih, and see my face. Here is my hand. No! 
 Here! ... By your mercy. . . . Ada! . . . Now you 
 are safe." 
 
 " And you are alone here?" said Lingard, moving 
 with precaution a few steps into the courtyard. " How 
 dark it is," he muttered to hinjself — " one would think 
 the world had been painted blac:j<:." 
 
 " Yes. Alone. What more did you say, Tuan? 
 I did not understand your talk." 
 
 " It is nothing. I expected to find here . . . But 
 where are they all? " 
 
 " What matters where they are?" said Babalatchi, 
 gloomily. " Have you come to see my people? The 
 last departed on a long journey — and I am alone. To- 
 morrow I go too." 
 
 " I came to see a white man," said Lingard, walk* 
 ing on slowly. " He is not gone, is he? " 
 
194 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 "No!" answered Babalatchi, at his elbow. "A 
 man with a red skin and hard eyes," he went on, mus- 
 ingly, " whose hand is strong, and whose heart is fool- 
 ish and weak. A white man indeed . . . But still a 
 man." 
 
 They were now at the foot of the short ladder which 
 led to the split-bamboo platform surrounding Baba- 
 latchi's habitation. The faint light from the doorway 
 fell down upon the two men's faces as they stood look- 
 ing at each other curiously. 
 
 " Is he there? " asked Lingard, in a low voice, with 
 a wave of his hand upwards. 
 
 Babalatchi, staring hard at his long-expected vis- 
 itor, did not answer at once. 
 
 " No, not there," he said at last, placing his foot 
 on the lowest rung and looking back. " Not there, 
 Tuan — yet not very far. Will you sit down in my 
 dwelling? There may be rice and fish and clear water 
 — not from the river, but from a spring . . ." 
 
 '* I am not hungry," interrupted Lingard, curtly, 
 " and I did not come here to sit in your dwelling. 
 Lead me to the white man who expects me. I have 
 no time to lose." 
 
 " The night is long, Tuan," went on Babalatchi, 
 softly, " and there are other nights and other days. 
 Long. Very long . . . How much time it takes for 
 a man to die! O Rajah Laut!" 
 
 Lingard started. 
 
 " You know me! " he exclaimed, 
 
 "Ay — wa! I have seen your face and felt your 
 hand before — many years ago," said Babalatchi, hold- 
 ing on half-way up the ladder, and bending down from 
 above to peer into Lingard's upturned face. *' You 
 do not remember — but I have not forgotten. There 
 are many men like me: there is only one Rajah Laut." 
 
 He climbed with sudden agility the last few steps, 
 and stood on the platform waving his hand invitingly 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 195 
 
 to Lingard, who followed after a short moment of in- 
 decision. 
 
 The elastic bamboo floor of the hut bent under the 
 heavy weight of the old seaman, who, standing within 
 the threshold, tried to look into the smoky gloom of 
 the low dwelling. Under the torch, thrust into the 
 cleft of a stick, fastened at a right angle to the middle 
 stay of the ridge pole, lay a red patch of light, show- 
 ing a few shabby mats and a corner of a big w^ooden 
 chest the rest of which was lost in shadow. In the ob- 
 scurity of the more remote parts of the house a lance- 
 head, a brass tray hung on the wall, the long barrel 
 of a gun leaning against the chest, caught the stray 
 rays of the smoky illumination in trembling gleams 
 that wavered, disappeared, reappeared, went out, came 
 back — as if engaged in a doubtful struggle with the 
 darkness that, lying in wait in distant corners, seemed 
 to dart out viciously towards its feeble enemy. The 
 vast space under the high pitch of the roof was filled 
 with a thick cloud of smoke, whose under-side — level 
 like a ceiling — reflected the light of the swaying dull 
 flame, while at the top it oozed out through the im- 
 perfect thatch of dried palm leaves. An indescribable 
 and complicated smell, made up of the exhalation of 
 damp earth below, of the taint of dried fish and of the 
 efifluvia of rotting vegetable matter, pervaded the place 
 and caused Lingard to sniff strongly as he strode over, 
 sat on the chest, and, leaning his elbows on his knees, 
 took his head between his hands and stared at the door- 
 way thoughtfully. 
 
 Babalatchi moved about in the shadows, whisper- 
 ing to an indistinct form or two that flitted about at 
 the far end of the hut. There was a noiseless vibration 
 of cautious footsteps, subdued exclamations, a sigh, 
 an impatient louder word, directly repressed — then si- 
 lence in which the breathing of several persons was 
 distinctly audible to Lingard. Without stirring he 
 
iq6 an outcast of the islands. 
 
 glanced sideways, and caught sight of muffled-up hu- 
 man shapes that hovered for a moment near the edge 
 of Hght and retreated suddenly back into the darkness. 
 Babalatchi approached, and sat at Lingard's feet on a 
 rolled-up bundle of mats. 
 
 *' Will you eat rice and drink sagueir? " he said. 
 " I have waked up my household." 
 
 " My friend," said Lingard, without looking at him, 
 " when I come to see Lakamba, or any of Lakamba's 
 ■servants, I am never hungry and never thirsty. Tau! 
 Savee! Never! Do you think I am devoid of reason? 
 That there is nothing there?" 
 
 He sat up, and, fixing abruptly his eyes on Baba- 
 latchi, tapped his own forehead significantly. 
 
 *'Tse! Tse! Tse! How can you talk like that, 
 Tuanl" exclaimed Babalatchi, in a horrified tone. 
 
 " I talk as I think. I have lived many years," said 
 Lingard, stretching his arm negligently to take up the 
 gun, which he began to examine knowingly, cocking 
 it, and easing down the hammer several times. " This 
 is good. Mataram make. Old, too," he went on. 
 
 "Hai!" broke in Babalatchi, eagerly. "I got it 
 when I was young. He was an Aru trader, a man with 
 a big stomach and a loud voice, and brave — very brave. 
 When we came up with his prau in the grey morning, 
 he stood aft shouting to his men and fired this gun 
 at us once. Only once!" ... He paused, laughed 
 softly, and went on in a low, dreamy voice. " In the 
 grey morning we came up: forty silent men in a swift 
 Sulu prau ; and when the sun was so high " — here he 
 held up his hands about three feet apart — " when the 
 sun was only so high, Tuan, our work was done — and 
 there was a feast ready for the fishes of the sea." 
 
 " Aye! aye! " muttered Lingard, nodding his head 
 slowly. " I see. You should not let it get rusty like 
 this," he added. 
 
 He let the gun fall between his knees, and moving 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 197 
 
 back on his seat, leaned his head against the wall of 
 the hut, crossing his arms on his breast. 
 
 " A good gun," went on Babalatchi. '' Carry far 
 and true. Better than this — there." 
 
 With the tips of his fingers he touched gently the 
 butt of a revolver peeping out of the right pocket of 
 Lingard's white jacket. 
 
 " Take your hand off," said Lingard sharply, but 
 in a good-humoured tone and without making the 
 slightest movement. 
 
 Babalatchi smiled and hitched his seat a little fur- 
 ther off. 
 
 For some time they sat in siknce. Lingard, with 
 his head tilted back, looked downwards with lowered 
 eyelids at Babalatchi, who was tracing invisible lines 
 with his finger on the mat between his feet. Outside, 
 they could hear Ali and the other boatmen chattering 
 and laughing round the fire they had lighted in the big 
 and deserted courtyard. 
 
 ''Well, what about that white man?" said Lin- 
 gard, quietly. 
 
 It seemed as if Babalatchi had not heard the ques- 
 tion. He went on tracing elaborate patterns on the 
 floor for a good while. Lingard waited motionless. 
 At last the Malay lifted his head. 
 
 '' Hai! The white man. I know! " he murmured 
 absently. " This white man or another. . . . Tuan," 
 he said aloud with unexpected animation, " you are a 
 man of the sea? " 
 
 "You know me. Why ask?" said Lingard, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 '* Yes. A man of the sea — even as we are. A true 
 Orang Laut," went on Babalatchi, thoughtfully, " not 
 like the rest of the white men." 
 
 " I am like other whites, and do not wish to speak 
 many words when the truth is short. I came here to 
 see the white man that helped Lakamba against Pata- 
 
igS 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 lolo, who is my friend. Show me where that white 
 man Hves; I want him to hear my talk." 
 
 "Talk only? Tuan! Why hurry? The night is 
 long and death is swift — as you ought to know; you 
 who have dealt it to so many of my people. Many 
 years ago I have faced you, arms in hand. Do you 
 not remember? It was in Carimata — far from here." 
 
 " I cannot remember every vagabond that came in 
 my way," protested Lingard, seriously. 
 
 " Hai! Ha'i!" continued Babalatchi, unmoved and 
 dreamy, " many years ago. Then all this " — and look- 
 ing up suddenly at Lingard's beard, he flourished his 
 fingers below his own beardless chin — " then all this 
 was like gold in sunlight, now it is like the foam of an 
 angry sea." 
 
 " Maybe, maybe," said Lingard, patiently, paying 
 the involuntary tribute of a faint sigh to the memories 
 of the past evoked by Babalatchi's words. 
 
 He had been living with Malays so long and so 
 close that the extreme deliberation and deviousness of 
 their mental proceedings had ceased to irritate him 
 much. To-night, perhaps, he was less prone to im- 
 patience than ever. He was disposed, if not to listen 
 to Babalatchi, then to let him talk. It was evident 
 to him that the man had something to say, and he 
 hoped that from the talk a ray of light would shoot 
 through the thick blackness of inexplicable treachery, 
 to show him clearly — if only for a second — the man 
 upon whom he would have to execute the verdict of 
 justice. Justice only! Nothing was further from his 
 thoughts than such an useless thing as revenge. Jus- 
 tice only. It was his dutv that justice should be done 
 — and by his own hand. He did not like to think how. 
 To him, as to Babalatchi, it seemed that the night 
 would be lone enoueh for the work he had to do. But 
 he did not define to himself the nature of the work, and 
 he sat very still, and willingly dilatory, under the fear- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 199 
 
 some oppression of his call. What was the good to 
 think about it? It was inevitable, and its time was 
 near. Yet he could not command his memories that 
 came crowding round him in that evil-smelling hut, 
 while Babalatchi talked on in a flowing monotone, 
 nothing of him moving but the lips, in the artificially 
 inanimated face. Lingard, like an anchored ship that 
 had broken her sheer, darted about here and there on 
 the rapid tide of his recollections. The subdued sound 
 of soft words rang around him, but his thoughts were 
 lost, now in the contemplation of the past sweetness 
 and strife of Carimata days, now in the uneasy wonder 
 at the failure of his judgment; at the fatal blindness 
 of accident that had caused him, many years ago, to 
 rescue a half-starved runaway from a Dutch ship in 
 Samarang roads. How he had liked the man : his as- 
 surance, his push, his desire to get on, his conceited 
 good-humour and his selfish eloquence. He had liked 
 his very faults — those faults that had so many, to him, 
 sympathetic sides. And he had always dealt fairly by 
 him from the very beginning; and he would deal fairly 
 by him now — to the very end. This last thought dark- 
 ened Lingard's features with a responsive and men- 
 acing frown. The doer of justice sat with compressed 
 lips and a heavy heart, while in the calm darkness out- 
 side the silent world seemed to be waiting breathlessly 
 for that justice he held in his hand — in his strong hand: 
 — ready to strike — reluctant to move. 
 
 11. 
 
 Babalatchi ceased speaking. Lingard moved his 
 feet a little, uncrossed his arms, and shook his head 
 slowly. The narrative of the event* in Sambir, related 
 
200 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 from the point of view of the astute statesman, the 
 sense of which had been caught here and there by his 
 inattentive ears, had been yet like a thread to guide 
 him out of the sombre labyrinth of his thoughts; and 
 now he had come to the end of it, out of the tangled 
 past into the pressing necessities of the present. With 
 the palms of his hands on his knees, his elbows squared 
 out, he looked down on Babalatchi who sat in a stiff 
 attitude, inexpressive and mute as a talking doll the 
 mechanism of which had at length run down. 
 
 " You people did all this," said Lingard at last, 
 *' and you will be sorry for it before the dry wind be- 
 gins to blow again. Abdulla's voice will bring the 
 Dutch rule here." 
 
 Babalatchi waved his hand towards the dark door- 
 way. 
 
 " There are forests there. Lakamba rules the land 
 now. Tell me, Tuan, do you think the big trees know 
 the name of the ruler? No. They are born, they 
 grow, they live and they die — yet know not, feel not. 
 It is their land." 
 
 " Even a big tree may be killed by a small axe," 
 said Lingard, drily. *' And, remember, my one-eyed 
 friend, that axes are made by white hands. You will 
 soon find that out, since you have hoisted the flag of 
 the Dutch." 
 
 " Ay — wa! " said Babalatchi, slowly. " It is writ- 
 ten that the earth belongs to those who have fair skins 
 and hard but foolish hearts. The farther away is the 
 master, the easier it is for the slave, Tuan! You were 
 too near. Your voice rang in our ears always. Now 
 it is not going to be so. The great Rajah in Batavia 
 is strong, but he may be deceived. He must speak 
 very loud to be heard here. But if we have need to 
 shout, then he must hear the many voices that call for 
 protection. He is but a white man." 
 
 " If I ever spoke to Patalolo, like an elder brother, 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 20I 
 
 it was for your good — for the good of all," said Lin- 
 gard with great earnestness. 
 
 " This is a white man's talk," exclaimed Babalatchi, 
 with bitter exultation. *' I know you. That is how 
 you all talk while you load your guns and sharpen 
 your swords; and when you are ready, then to those 
 who are weak you say : * Obey me and be happy, or 
 die ! ' You are strange, you white men. You think 
 it is only your wisdom and your virtue and your hap- 
 piness that are true. You are stronger than the wild 
 beasts, but not so wise. A black tiger knows when he 
 is not hungry — you do not. He knows the difference 
 between himself and those that can speak; you do 
 not understand the difference between yourselves and 
 us — who are men. You are wise and great — and you 
 shall always be fools." 
 
 He threw up both his hands, stirring the sleeping 
 cloud of smoke that hung above his head, and brought 
 the open palms on the flimsy floor on each side of his 
 outstretched legs. The whole hut shook. Lingard 
 looked at the excited statesman curiously. 
 
 ** Apa! Apa! What's the matter? " he murmured, 
 soothingly. " Whom did I kill here? Where are my 
 guns? What have I done? What have I eaten up? " 
 
 Babalatchi calmed down, and spoke with studied 
 courtesy. 
 
 " You, Tuan, are of the sea, and more Hke what 
 we are. Therefore I speak to you all the words that 
 are in my heart. . . . Only once has the sea been 
 stronger than the Rajah of the sea." 
 
 "You know it; do you?" said Lingard, with 
 pained sharpness. 
 
 " Hai ! We have heard about your ship — and some 
 rejoiced. Not I. Amongst the whites, who are devils, 
 you are a man." 
 
 '' Trima kassi! I give you thanks," said Lingard, 
 gravely. 
 
202 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Babalatchi looked down with a bashful smile, but 
 his face became saddened directly, and when he spoke 
 again it was in a mournful tone. 
 
 '' Had you come a day sooner, Tuan, you would 
 have seen an enemy die. You would have seen him 
 die poor, blind, unhappy — with no son to dig his grave 
 and speak of his wisdom and courage. Yes; you 
 would have seen the man that fought you in Carimata 
 many years ago, die alone — but for one friend. A 
 great sight to you." 
 
 '' Not to me," answered Lingard. *' I did not even 
 remember him till you spoke his name just now. You 
 do not understand us. We fight, we vanquish — and 
 we forget." 
 
 "True, true," said Babalatchi, with polite irony; 
 " you whites are so great that you disdain to remem- 
 ber your enemies. No ! No ! " he went on, in the 
 same tone, '' you have so much mercy for us, that 
 there is no room for any remembrance. Oh, you are 
 great and good! But it is in my mind that amongst 
 yourselves you know how to remember. Is it not so, 
 Tuan?" 
 
 Lingard said nothing. His shoulders moved im- 
 perceptibly. He laid his gun across his knees and 
 stared at the flint lock absently. 
 
 *' Yes," went on Babalatchi, falling again into a 
 mournful mood, '' yes, he died in darkness. I sat by 
 his side and held his hand, but he could not see the 
 face of him who watched the faint breath on his lips. 
 She, whom he had cursed because of the white man, 
 was there too, and wept with covered face. The 
 white man walked about the courtyard making many 
 noises. Now and then he would come to the door- 
 way and glare at us who mourned. He stared 
 with wicked eyes, and then I was glad that he who 
 was dying was blind. This is true talk. I was glad; 
 for a white man's eyes are not good to see when 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 203 
 
 the devil that Hves within is looking out through 
 them." 
 
 " Devil! Hey?" said Lingard, half aloud to him- 
 self, as if struck with the obviousness of some novel 
 idea. Babalatchi went on: 
 
 *' At the first hour of the morning he sat up — he so 
 weak — and said plainly some words that were not 
 meant for human ears. I held his hand tightly, but it 
 was time for the leader of brave men to go amongst 
 the Faithful who are happy. They of my household 
 brought a white sheet, and I began to dig a grave in 
 the hut in which he died. She mourned aloud. The 
 white man came to the doorway and shouted. He 
 was angry. Angry with her because she beat her 
 breast, and tore her hair, and mourned with shrill cries 
 as a woman should. Do you understand what I say, 
 Tuan? That white man came inside the hut with 
 great fury, and took her by the shoulder, and dragged 
 her out. Yes, Tuan. I saw Omar dead, and I saw 
 her at the feet of that white dog who has deceived me. 
 I saw his face gray, like the cold mist of the morning; 
 I saw his pale eyes looking down at Omar's daughter 
 beating her head on the ground at his feet. At the 
 feet of him who is Abdulla's slave. Yes, he lives by 
 Abdulla's will. That is why I held my hand while I 
 saw all this. I held my hand because we are now 
 under the flag of the Orang Blanda, and Abdulla can 
 speak into the ears of the great. We must not have 
 any trouble with white men. Abdulla has spoken — 
 and I must obey." 
 
 "That's it, is it?" growled Lingard in his mous- 
 tache. Then in Malay, " It seems that you are angry, 
 O Babalatchi!" 
 
 " No; I am not angry, Tuan," answered Babalat- 
 chi, descending from-the insecure heights of his indig- 
 nation into th^ insincere depths of safe humility. " I 
 am not angry .^What am I to be angry? I am only 
 u 
 
204 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 an Orang Laut, and I have fled before your people 
 many times. Servant of this one — protected of an- 
 other: I have given my counsel here and there for a 
 handful of rice. What am I, to be angry with a white 
 man? What is_arig"er^ withouM;he power to strike? 
 But you whites have taken all: the land, the sea, and 
 the power to strike! And there is nothing left for us 
 in the islands but your white man's justice; your great 
 justice that knows not anger." 
 
 He got up and stood for a moment in the doorway, 
 sniffing the hot air of the courtyard, then turned back 
 and leaned against the stay of the ridge pole, facing 
 Lingard who kept his seat on the chest. The torch, 
 consumed nearly to the end, burned noisily. Small 
 explosions took place in the heart of the flame, driving 
 through its smoky blaze strings of hard, round pufTs 
 of white smoke, no bigger than peas, which rolled out 
 of doors in the faint draught that came from invisible 
 cracks of the bamboo walls. At times a spark would 
 wander hesitatingly downwards, die on the road, and 
 add on the floor-mat at the foot of the pole another 
 minute black speck to the grimy record of sparks that 
 went out before. Round Lingard the pungent taint 
 of unclean things below and about the hut grew 
 heavier, weighing down his resolution and his thoughts 
 in an irresistible numbness of the brain. He thought 
 drowsily of himself and of that man who wanted to 
 see him — who waited to see him. Who waited! Night 
 and dav. Waited. ... A spiteful but vaporous idea 
 floated through his brain that such waiting could not 
 be very pleasant to the fellow. Well, let him wait. 
 He would see him soon enough. And for how long? 
 Five seconds — five minutes — say nothing — say some- 
 thing. What? No! Just give him time to take one 
 good look, and then . . . 
 
 Suddenlv Babalatchi beean to speak in a soft voice. 
 Lingard blinked, cleared his throat — sat up straight. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 205 
 
 '' You know all now, Tuan. Lakamba dwells in 
 the stockaded house of Patalolo; AbduUa has begun 
 to build godowns of plank and stone; and now that 
 Omar is dead, I myself shall depart from this place 
 and live with Lakamba and speak in his ear. I have 
 served many. The best of them all sleeps in the 
 ground in a white sheet, with nothing to mark his 
 grave but the ashes of the hut in which he died. Yes, 
 Tuan! the white man destroyed it himself. With a 
 blazing brand in his hand he strode around, shouting 
 to me to come out — shouting to me, who was throw- 
 ing earth on the body of a great leader. Yes; swear- 
 ing to me by the name of your God and ours that he 
 would burn me and her in there if we did not make 
 haste. . . . Hai! The white men are very masterful 
 and wise. I dragged her out quickly!" 
 
 " Oh, damn it! " exclaimed Lingard — then went 
 on in Malay, speaking earnestly. '' Listen. That man 
 is not like other white men. You know he is not. He 
 is not a man at all. He is ... I don't know." 
 
 Babalatchi lifted his hand deprecatingly. His eye 
 twinkled, and his red-stained big lips, parted by an 
 expressionless grin, uncovered a stumpy row of black 
 teeth filed evenly to the gums. 
 
 *'Hai! Hai! Not like you. Not like you," he 
 said, increasing the softness of his tones as he neared 
 the object uppermost in his mind during that much- 
 desired interview. '* Not like you, Tuan, who are like 
 ourselves, only wiser and stronger. Yet he, also, is 
 full of great cunning, and speaks of you without any 
 respect, after the manner of white men when they talk 
 of one another." 
 
 Lingard leaped in his seat as if he had been 
 prodded. 
 
 *' He speaks! What does he say?" he shouted. 
 
 " Nay, Tuan," protested the composed Babalatchi; 
 " what matters his talk if he is not a man? I am noth- 
 
2o6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 ing before you — why should I repeat words of one 
 white man about another? He did boast to Abdulla 
 of having learned much from your wisdom in years 
 past. Other words I have forgotten. Indeed, Tuan, 
 I have . . ." 
 
 Lingard cut short Babalatchi's protestations by a 
 contemptuous wave of the hand and reseated himself 
 with dignity. 
 
 '' I shall go," said Babalatchi, " and the white man 
 will remain here, alone with the spirit of the dead and 
 with her who has been the delight of his heart. He, 
 being white, cannot hear the voice of those that died. 
 . . . Tell me, Tuan," he went on, looking at Lingard 
 with curiosity — " tell me, Tuan, do you white people 
 ever hear the voices of the invisible ones? " 
 
 " We do not," answered Lingard, " because those 
 that we cannot see do not speak." 
 
 " Never speak! And never complain with sounds 
 that are not words?" exclaimed Babalatchi, doubt- 
 ingly. " It may be so — or your ears are dull. We 
 Malays hear many sounds near the places where men 
 are buried. To-night I heard . . . Yes, even I have 
 heard. ... I do not want to hear any more," he added, 
 nervously. ■'' Perhaps I was wrong when I . . . There 
 are things I regret. The trouble was heavy in his 
 heart when he died. Sometimes I think I was wrong 
 . . . but I do not want to hear the complaint of in- 
 visible lips. Therefore I go, Tuan. Let the unquiet 
 spirit speak to his enemy the white man who knows 
 not fear, or love, or mercy — knows nothing but con- 
 tempt and violence. I have been wrong! I have! 
 Hai! Hai!" 
 
 He stood for awhile with his elbow in the palm of 
 his left hand, the fingers of the other over his lips as 
 if to stifle the expression of inconvenient remorse^ ^ 
 then after glancing at the torch, burnt out nearly to 
 its end, he moved towards the wall by the chest, fum- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 207 
 
 bled about there and suddenly flung open a large shut- 
 ter of attaps woven in a light framework of sticks. 
 Lingard swung his legs quickly round the corner of 
 his seat. 
 
 "Hallo!" he said, surprised. 
 
 The cloud of smoke stirred, and a slow wisp curled 
 out through the new opening. The torch flickered, 
 hissed, and went out, the glowing end falling on the 
 mat, whence Babalatchi snatched it up and tossed it 
 outside through the open square. It described a van- 
 ishing curve of red light, and lay below, shining feebly 
 in the vast darkness. Babalatchi remained with his 
 arm stretched out into the empty night. 
 
 " There," he said, " you can see the white man's 
 courtyard, Tuan, and his house." 
 
 '' I can see nothing," answered Lingard, putting 
 his head through the shutter-hole. " It's too dark." 
 
 " Wait, Tuan," urged Babalatchi. " You have 
 been looking long at the burning torch. You will soon 
 see. Mind the gun, Tuan. It is loaded." 
 
 " There is no flint in it. You could not find a fire- 
 stone for a hundred miles round this spot," said Lin- 
 gard, testily. " Foolish thing to load that gun." 
 
 '' I have a stone. I had it from a man wise and 
 pious that lives in Menang Kabau. A very pious man 
 — very good fire. He spoke words over that stone 
 that make its sparks good. And the gun is good — 
 carries straight and far. Would carry from here to 
 the door of the white man's house, I believe, Tuan." 
 
 " Tida apa. Never mind your gun," muttered Lin- 
 gard, peering into the formless darkness. " Is that 
 the house — that black thing over there?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes," answered Babalatchi ; " that is his house. 
 He lives there by the will of Abdulla, and shall live 
 there till . . . From where you stand, Tuan, you can 
 look over the fence and across the courtyard straight 
 at the door — at the door from which he comes out 
 
2o8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 every morning, looking like a man that had seen Je- 
 hannum in his sleep." 
 
 Lingard drew his head in. Babalatchi touched his 
 shoulder with a groping hand. 
 
 " Wait a little, Tuan. Sit still. The morning is 
 not far off now — a morning without sun after a night 
 without stars. But there will be light enough to see 
 the man who said not many days ago that he alone 
 has made you less than a child in Sambir." 
 
 He felt a slight tremor under his hand, but took it 
 off directly and began feeling all over the lid of the 
 chest, behind Lingard's back, for the gun. 
 
 "What are you at?" said Lingard, impatiently. 
 *' You do worry about that rotten gun. You had 
 better get a light." 
 
 " A light! I tell you, Tuan, that the light of heaven 
 is very near," said Babalatchi, who had now obtained 
 possession of the object of his solicitude, and grasp- 
 ing it strongly by its long barrel, grounded the stock 
 at his feet. 
 
 '' Perhaps it is near," said Lingard, leaning both 
 his elbows on the lower cross-piece of the primitive 
 window and looking out. " It is very black outside 
 yet," he remarked carelessly. 
 
 Babalatchi fidgeted about. 
 
 " It is not good for you to sit where you may be 
 seen," he muttered. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Lingard. 
 
 " The white man sleeps, it is true," explained Baba- 
 latchi, softly; " yet he may come out early, and he has 
 arms." 
 
 "Ah! he has arms?" said Lingard. 
 
 "Yes; a short gun that fires many times — like 
 yours here. Abdulla had to give it to him." 
 
 Lingard heard Babalatchi's words, but made no 
 movement. To the old adventurer the idea that fire- 
 arms could be dangerous in other hands than his own 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 209 
 
 did not occur readily, and certainly not in connection 
 with Willeras. He was so busy with the thoughts 
 about what he considered his own sacred duty, that 
 le could not give any consideration to the probable 
 actions of the man of whom he thought — as one may 
 think of an executed criminal — with wondering in- 
 dignation tempered by scornful pity. While he sat 
 staring into the darkness, that every minute grew 
 thinner before his pensive eyes, like a dispersing mist, 
 Willems appeared to him as a figure belonging already 
 wholly to the past — a figure that could come in no way 
 into his life again. He had made up his mind, and 
 the thing was as well as done. In his weary thoughts 
 he had closed this fatal, inexplicable, and horrible epi- 
 sode in his life. The worst had happened. The com- 
 ing days would see the retribution. 
 
 He had removed an enemy once or twice before, 
 out of his path; he had paid ofif some very heavy 
 scores a good many times. Captain Tom had been a 
 good friend to many : but it was generally understood, 
 from Honolulu round about to Diego Suarez, that 
 Captain Tom's enmity was rather more than any man 
 single-handed could easily manage. He would not, 
 as he said often, hurt a fly as long as the fly left him 
 alone ; y,et_ajTiajn,,d©es--r^t-4iv€-4oi^£ars beyond -the 
 ^le of civilised laws without evolving for himself some 
 qiieePn2iQn&_iaf-44istice. Nobody of those he knew 
 nadever cared to point out to him the errors of his 
 conceptions. It was not worth anybody's while to run 
 counter to Lingard's ideas of the fitness of things — 
 that fact was acquired to the floating wisdom of the 
 South Seas, of the Eastern Archipelago, and was no- 
 where better understood than in out-of-the-way nooks 
 of the world; in those nooks which he filled, unre- 
 sisted and masterful, with the echoes of his noisy pres- 
 ence. There is not much use in arguing with a man 
 who boasts of never having regretted a single action 
 
^^ 
 
 2IO AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 of his life, whose answer to a mild criticism is a good- 
 natured shout — " You know nothing about it. I 
 would do it again. Yes, sir!" His associates and 
 his acquaintances accepted him, his opinions, his 
 actions like things preordained and unchangeable; 
 looked upon his many-sided manifestations with pas- 
 sive wonder not unmixed with that admiration which 
 is only the rightful due of a successful man. But no- 
 body had ever seen him in the mood he was in now. 
 Nobody had seen Lingard doubtful and giving way 
 to doubt, unable to make up his mind and unwilling 
 to act; Lingard timid and hesitating one minute, 
 angry yet inactive the next; Lingard puzzled, in a 
 word, because confronted with a situation that dis- 
 composed him by its unprovoked malevolence, by its 
 ghastly injustice, that to his rough but unsophisticated 
 palate tasted distinctly of sulphurous fumes from the 
 deepest hell. 
 
 He had never thought about a line of conduct so 
 much in his life — thought so bitterly and to so little 
 purpose. He could understand a thief, a murderer, a 
 liar, a pirate : even a mutineer — that greatest sinner of 
 all — and he knew how to deal with any of them ; how 
 to defend himself, how to punish, how to avenge either 
 his own wrongs or outraged justice, ^jit _now it 
 seemed to Jhim,thatiie-wo«Mhav^-toxor|iLQnt the„y_ery 
 devil himself^^ and he ha^ almid oX a, glimnier^ ^^Ji^^' 
 sciousness within him that _ he might prove unequal 
 to the task. He felt suddenly old, worn out and tired 
 with his night travelling and with Babalatchi's talk; 
 disgusted with mankind and sick of his work, past 
 and to come. For the first time in his life he ceased 
 to be himself, and consequently felt profoundly un- 
 happy. 
 
 The smooth darkness filling the shutter-hole grew 
 paler and became blotchy with ill-defined shapes, as if 
 a new universe was being evolved out of sombre chaos 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 2II 
 
 Then outlines came out, defining forms without any 
 details, indicating here a tree, there a bush; a black 
 belt of forest far off; the straight lines of a house, the 
 ridge of a high roof near by. Inside the hut, Baba- 
 latchi, who lately had been only a persuasive voice, 
 became a human shape leaning its chin imprudently 
 on the muzzle of a gun and rolling an uneasy eye over 
 the reappearing world. The day came rapidly, dismal 
 and oppressed by the fog of the river and by the heavy 
 vapours of the sky — a day without colour and without 
 sunshine: incomplete, disappointing, and sad. 
 
 Babalatchi twitched gently Lingard's sleeve, and 
 when the old seaman had lifted up his head interroga- 
 tively, he stretched out an arm and a pointing forefin- 
 ger towards Willems' house, now plainly visible to the 
 right and beyond the big tree of the courtyard. 
 
 '' Look, Tuan! " he said. " He lives there. That 
 is the door — his door. Through it he will appear soon, 
 with his hair in disorder and his mouth full of curses. 
 That is so. He is a white man, and never satisfied. 
 It is in my mind he is angry even in his sleep. A dan- 
 gerous man. As Tuan may observe," he went on, 
 obsequiously, *' his door faces this opening, where you 
 condescend to sit, which is concealed from all eyes. 
 Faces it — straight — and not far. Observe, Tuan, not 
 at all far." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I can see. I shall see him when he 
 wakes." 
 
 " No doubt, Tuan. When he wakes. ... If you 
 remain here he will not see you. That is good. No 
 eye will see you. I shall withdraw quickly and pre- 
 pare my canoe myself. I am only a poor m.an, and 
 must go to Sambir to greet Lakamba when he opens 
 his eyes. I must bow before Abdulla, who has strength 
 — even more strength than you. Now if you remain 
 here, you shall easily behold the man who boasted to 
 Abdulla that he had been your friend, even while he 
 
212 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 prepared to fight those who called you protector. Yes, 
 he plotted with Abdulla for that cursed flag. Lakam- 
 ba was blind then, and I was deceived. But you, Tuan ! 
 Remember, he deceived you more. Of that he boasted 
 before all men." 
 
 He leaned the gun quietly against the wall close to 
 the window, and said softly: " Shall I go now, Tuan? 
 Be careful of the gun. I have put the fire-stone in. 
 The fire-stone of the wise man, which never fails." 
 
 Lingard's eyes were fastened on the distant door- 
 way. Across his line of sight, in the grey emptiness 
 of the courtyard, a big fruit-pigeon flapped languidly 
 towards the forests with a loud booming cry, Hke the 
 note of a deep gong: a brilliant bird looking in the 
 gloom of threatening day as black as a crow. A ser- 
 ried flock of white rice birds rose above the trees with 
 a faint scream, and hovered, swaying in a disordered 
 mass that suddenly scattered in all directions, as if 
 burst asunder by a silent explosion. Behind his back 
 Lingard heard a shuffle of feet — women leaving the 
 hut. In the other courtyard a voice was heard com- 
 plainino^ of cold, and coming very feeble, but exceed- 
 ingly distinct, out of the vast silence of the abandoned 
 houses and clearings. Babalatchi coughed discreetly. 
 From under the house the thumping of wooden pestles 
 husking the rice started with unexpected abruptness. 
 The weak but clear voice in the yard again urged, 
 " Blow up the embers, O brother! " Another voice 
 answered, drawling in modulated, thin sing-song, 
 ** Do it yourself, O shivering pig!" and the drawl of 
 the last word stopped short, as if the man had fallen 
 into a deep hole. Babalatchi coughed again a little 
 impatiently, and said in a confidential tone — 
 
 *' Do you think it is time for me to go, Tuan? 
 Will you take care of my gun, Tuan? I am a man 
 that knows how to obey; even obey Abdulla, who has 
 deceived me. Nevertheless this gun carries far and 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 213 
 
 true — if you would want to know, Tuan. And I have 
 put in a double measure of powder and three slugs. 
 Yes, Tuan. Now — perhaps — I go." 
 
 When Babalatchi commenced speaking, Lingard 
 turned slowly round and gazed upon him with the dull 
 and unwilling look of a sick man waking to another 
 day of suffering. As the astute statesman proceeded, 
 Lingard's eyebrows came close, his eyes became ani- 
 mated, and a big vein stood out on his forehead, ac- 
 centuating a lowering frown. When speaking his last 
 words Babalatchi faltered, then stopped, confused, be- 
 fore the steady gaze of the old seaman, 
 
 Lingard rose. His face cleared, and he looked 
 down at the anxious Babalatchi with sudden benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 '* So! That's what you were after," he said, laying 
 a heavy hand on Babalatchi's yielding shoulder. " You 
 thought I came here to murder him. Hey? Speak! 
 You faithful dog of an Arab trader! " 
 
 "And what else, Tuan?" shrieked Babalatchi, 
 exasperated into sincerity. " What else, Tuan! Re- 
 member what he has done ; he poisoned our ears with 
 his talk about you. You are a man. If you did not 
 come to kill, Tuan, then either I am a fool or . . ." 
 He paused, struck his naked breast with his open palm, 
 and finished in a discouraged whisper — " or, Tuan, 
 you are." 
 
 Lingard looked down at him with scornful seren- 
 ity. After his long and painful gropings amongst the 
 obscure abominations of Willems' conduct, the logical 
 if tortuous evolutions of Babalatchi's diplomatic mind 
 were to him welcome as daylight. There was some- 
 thing at last he could understand — the clear effect of a 
 simple cause. He felt indulgent towards the disap- 
 pointed sage. 
 
 " So you are angry with your friend, O one-eyed 
 one! " he said slowly, nodding his fierce countenance 
 
214 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 close to Babalatchi's discomfited face. " It seems to 
 me that you must have had much to do with what 
 happened in Sambir lately. Hey? You son of a burnt 
 father." 
 
 " May I perish under your hand, O Rajah of the 
 sea, if my words are not true! " said Babalatchi, with 
 reckless excitement. " You are here in the midst of 
 your enemies. He the greatest. Abdulla would do 
 nothing without him, and I could do nothing without 
 Abdulla. Strike me — so that you strike all ! " 
 
 " Who are you," exclaimed Lingard, contemptu- 
 ously — " who are you to dare call yourself my enemy! 
 Dirt! Nothing! Go out first," he went on severely. 
 ** Lakas! quick. March out!" 
 
 He pushed Babalatchi through the doorway and 
 followed him down the short ladder into the court- 
 yard. The boatmen squatting over the fire turned 
 their slow eyes with apparent difficulty towards the 
 two men; then, unconcerned, huddled close together 
 again, stretching forlornly their hands over the em- 
 bers. The women stopped in their work and with up- 
 lifted pestles flashed quick and curious glances from 
 the gloom under the house. 
 
 *' Is that the way?" asked Lingard with a nod of 
 his head towards the little wicket-gate of Willems' en- 
 closure. 
 
 '* If you seek death, that is surely the way," an- 
 swered Babalatchi in a dispassionate voice, as if he had 
 exhausted all the emotions. " He lives there : he who 
 destroyed your friends; who hastened Omar's death; 
 who plotted with Abdulla first against you, then 
 against me. I have been like a child. O shame! . . . 
 But go, Tuan. Go there." 
 
 " I go where I like," said Lingard, emphatically, 
 " and you may go to the devil ; I do not want you any 
 more. The islands of these seas will sink before I, 
 Rajah Laut, serve the will of any of your people. Tau? 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 215 
 
 But I tell you this: I do not care what you do with 
 him after to-day. And I say that because I am merci- 
 ful" 
 
 " Tida! I do nothing," said Babalatchi, shaking his 
 head with bitter apathy. " I am in Abdulla's hand 
 and care not, even as you do. No! no!" he added, 
 turning away, " I have learned much wisdom this 
 morning. There are no men anywhere. You whites 
 are cruel to your friends and merciful to your enemies 
 — which is the work of fools." 
 
 He went away towards the riverside, and, without 
 once looking back, disappeared in the low bank of mist 
 that lay over the water and the shore, Lingard fol- 
 lowed him with his eyes thoughtfully. After awhile 
 he roused himself and called out to his boatmen — 
 
 '' Hai — ya there! After you have eaten rice, wait 
 for me with your paddles in your hands. You hear? " 
 
 "Ada, Tuan!" answered AH through the smoke 
 of the morning fire that was spreading itself, low and 
 gentle, over the courtyard — "we hear!" 
 
 Lingard opened slowly the little wicket-gate, made 
 a few steps into the empty enclosure, and stopped. He 
 had felt about his head the short breath of a puff of 
 wind that passed him, made every leaf of the big tree 
 shiver — and died out in a hardly perceptible tremor of 
 branches and twigs. Instinctively he glanced upwards 
 with a seaman's impulse. Above him, under the grey 
 motionless waste of a stormy sky, drifted low black 
 vapours, in stretching bars, in shapeless patches, in 
 sinuous wisps and tormented spirals. Over the court- 
 yard and the house floated a round, sombre, and lin- 
 gering cloud, dragging behind a tail of tangled and 
 filmy streamers — like the dishevelled hair of a mourn- 
 ing woman. 
 
2i6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 III. 
 
 "Beware!" 
 
 The tremulous effort and the broken, inadequate 
 tone of the faint cry, surprised Lingard more than 
 the unexpected suddenness of the warning conveyed, 
 he did not know by whom and to whom. Besides him- 
 self there was no one in the courtyard as far as he 
 could see. The cry was not renewed, and his watch- 
 ful eyes, scanning warily the misty solitude of Willems' 
 enclosure, were met everywhere only by the stolid 
 impassiveness of inanimate things: the big sombre- 
 looking tree, the shut-up, sightless house, the glisten- 
 ing bamboo fences, the damp and drooping bushes 
 further off — all these things, that condemned to look 
 for ever at the incomprehensible afiflictions or joys of 
 mankind, assert in their aspect of cold unconcern the 
 high dignity of lifeless matter that surrounds, incuri- 
 ous and unmoved, the restless mysteries of the ever- 
 changing, of the never-ending Hfe. 
 
 Lingard, stepping aside, put the trunk of the tree 
 between himself and the house, then, moving cau- 
 tiously round one of the projecting buttresses, had to 
 tread short in order to avoid scattering a small heap of 
 black embers upon which he came unexpectedly on 
 the other side. A thin, wizened, little old woman, 
 who, standing behind the tree, had been looking at 
 the house, turned towards him with a start, gazed 
 with faded, expressionless eyes at the intruder, then 
 made a Hmping attempt to get away. She seemed, 
 however, to realise directly the hopelessness or the 
 difficulty of the undertaking, stopped, hesitated, tot- 
 tered back slowly; then, after blinking dully, fell sud- 
 denly on her knees amongst the white ashes, and, 
 bending over the heap of smouldering coals, distended 
 her sunken cheeks in a steady effort to blow up the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 217 
 
 hidden sparks into a useful blaze. Lingard looked 
 down on her, but she seemed to have made up her 
 mind that there was not enough life left in her lean 
 body for anything else than the discharge of the simple 
 domestic duty, and, apparently, she begrudged him the 
 least moment of attention. After waiting for awhile, 
 Lingard asked — 
 
 " Why did you call, O daughter? " 
 
 " I saw you enter," she croaked feebly, still grovel- 
 ling with her face near the ashes and without looking 
 up, " and I called — the cry of warning. It was her 
 order. Her order," she repeated, with a moaning 
 sigh. 
 
 " And did she hear? " pursued Lingard, with gentle 
 composure. 
 
 Her projecting shoulder-blades moved uneasily 
 under the thin stufif of the tight body jacket. She 
 scrambled up with difficulty to her feet, and hobbled 
 away, muttering peevishly to herself, towards a pile of 
 dry brushwood heaped up against the fence. 
 
 Lingard, looking idl> "fter her, heard the rattle of 
 loose planks that led from the ground to the door of 
 the house. He moved his head beyond the shelter of 
 the tree and saw Aissa coming down the inclined way 
 into the courtyard. After making a few hurried paces 
 towards the tree, she stopped with one foot advanced 
 in an appearance of sudden terror, and her eyes 
 glanced wildly right and left. Her head was uncov- 
 ered. A blue cloth wrapped her from her head to foot 
 in close slanting folds, with one end thrown over her 
 shoulder. A tress of her black hair strayed across her 
 bosom. Her bare arms pressed down close to her 
 body, with hands open and outstretched fingers; her 
 slightly elevated shoulders and the backward inclina- 
 tion of her torso gave her the aspect of one defiant 
 yet shrinking from a coming blow. She had closed 
 the door of the house behind her; and as she stood 
 
2i8 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 solitary in the unnatural and threatening twilight of 
 the murky day, with everything unchanged around 
 her, she appeared to Lingard as if she had been made 
 there, on the spot, out of the black vapours of the sky 
 and of the sinister gleams of feeble sunshine that strug- 
 gled, through the thickening clouds, into the colour* 
 less desolation of the world. 
 
 After a short but attentive glance towards the shut- 
 up house, Lingard stepped out from behind the tree 
 and advanced slowly towards her. The sudden fixity 
 of her — till then — restless eyes and a slight twitch of 
 her hands were the only signs she gave at first of hav- 
 ing seen him; but as he went on, as if to pass her on 
 his way to the house, she made a long stride forward, 
 and putting herself right in his path, stretched her 
 arms across; her black eyes opened wide, her lips 
 parted as if in an uncertain attempt to speak — but no 
 sound came out to break the significant silence of their 
 meeting. Somewhat embarrassed, Lingard stopped 
 and looked at her with stern curiosity. After a while 
 he said composedly — 
 
 " Let me pass. I came here to talk to a man. Does 
 he hide? Has he sent you? " 
 
 She made a step nearer, her arms fell by her side, 
 then she put them straight out nearly touching Lin- 
 gard's breast. 
 
 " He knows not fear," she said, speaking low, with 
 a forward throw of her head, in a voice trembling but 
 distinct. '' It is my own fear that has sent me here. 
 He sleeps." 
 
 " He has slept long enough," said Lingard, in 
 measured tones. " I am come — and now is the time 
 of his waking. Go and tell him this — or else my own 
 voice will call him up. A voice he knows well." 
 
 He put her hands down firmly and again made as if 
 to pass by her. 
 
 " Do not! " she exclaimed, and fell at his feet as if 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 219 
 
 she had been cut down by a scythe. The unexpected 
 suddenness of her movement startled Lingard, who 
 stepped back. 
 
 "What's this?" he exclaimed in a wondering 
 whisper — then added in a tone of sharp command: 
 ** Stand up!" 
 
 She rose at once and stood looking at him, obedi- 
 ent and resisting — timorous and fearless: hesitating, 
 as if she longed to flee, yet with a fire of recklessness 
 burning in her eyes that made clear her resolve to pur- 
 sue her purpose — even to the death. Lingard went 
 on in a severe voice — 
 
 *' Go out of my path. You are Omar's daughter, 
 and you ought to know that when men meet in day- 
 light women must be silent and abide their fate." 
 
 "Women!" she retorted, with subdued vehe- 
 mence. " Yes, I am a woman! Your eyes see that, 
 O Rajah Laut, but can you see my Hfe? I also have 
 heard — O man of many fights — I also have heard the 
 voice of fire-arms ; I also have felt the rain of young 
 twigs and of leaves cut up by bullets fall down about 
 my head ; I also know how to look in silence at angry 
 faces and at strong hands raised high grasping sharp 
 steel. I also saw men fall dead around me without a 
 cry of fear and of mourning ; and I have watched the 
 sleep of weary fugitives, and looked at night shadows 
 full of menace and death with eyes that knew nothing 
 but watchfulness. And," she went on, with a mourn- 
 ful drop in her voice, " I have faced the heartless sea, 
 held on my lap the heads of those who died raving 
 from thirst, and from their cold hands took the paddle 
 and worked so that those with me did not know that 
 one man more was dead. I did all this. What more 
 have you done? That was my life. What has been 
 yours?" 
 
 The matter and the manner of her speech held Lin- 
 gard motionless, attentive and approving against his 
 
220 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 will. When she ceased speaking she drew a long 
 breath, and from her staring black eyes that glittered, 
 big, steady and round, with a narrow border of white 
 above and below, a double ray of her very soul 
 streamed out in a fierce desire to Hght up the most 
 obscure designs of his heart. After a long silence, 
 which served to emphasise the meaning of her words, 
 she added in the whisper of bitter regret — 
 
 "And I have knelt at your feet! And I am 
 afraid!" 
 
 " You," said Lingard, deliberately, and returning 
 
 her look with an interested gaze, " you are a woman 
 
 whose heart, I believe, is great enough to fill a man's 
 
 breast: but still you are a woman, and to you, I, Rajah 
 
 JLaut^.aye nothing to say." 
 
 She listened bending her head in a movement of 
 forced attention; and his voice sounded to her un- 
 expected, far off, with the distant and unearthly ring 
 of voices that we hear in dreams, saying faintly things 
 startling, cruel or absurd, to which there is no possible 
 reply. To her he had nothing to say! She wrung 
 her hands, glanced over the courtyard with that eager 
 and distracted look that sees nothing, then looked up 
 at the hopeless sky of livid grey and drifting black; 
 at the unquiet mourning of the hot and brilliant heaven 
 that had seen the beginning of her love, that had heard 
 his entreaties and her answers, that had seen his desire 
 and her fear; that had seen her joy, her surrender — 
 and his defeat. Lingard moved a little, and this slight 
 stir near her precipitated her disordered and shapeless 
 thoughts into hurried words. 
 
 " Wait! " she exclaimed in a stifled voice, and went 
 on disconnectedly and rapidly — " Stay. I have heard. 
 Men often spoke by the fires . . . men of my people. 
 And they said of you — the first on the sea — they said 
 that to men's cries you were deaf in battle, but after 
 , . . No ! even while you fought, your ears were open 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 221 
 
 to the voice of children and women. They said . . . 
 that. Now I, a woman, I . . ." 
 
 She broke off suddenly and stood before him with 
 dropped eyelids and parted lips, so still now that she 
 seemed to have been changed into a breathless, an un- 
 hearing, an unseeing figure, without knowledge of 
 fear or hope, of anger or despair. In the astounding 
 repose that came on her face unexpected, desperate 
 and firm, nothing moved but the delicate nostrils that 
 expanded and collapsed quickly, fiutteringly, in inter- 
 rupted beats, like the wings of a snared bird. 
 
 " I am white," said Lingard, proudly, looking at 
 her with a steady gaze where simple curiosity was giv- 
 ing way to a pitying annoyance, " and men you have 
 heard, spoke only what is true over the evening fires. 
 My ears are open to your prayer. But listen to me 
 before you speak. For yourself you need not be afraid. 
 You can come even now with me and you shall find 
 refuge in the household of Syed Abdulla — who is of 
 your own faith. And this also you must know : noth- 
 ing that you may say will change my purpose towards 
 the man who is sleeping — or hiding — in that house." 
 
 Again she gave him the look that was like a stab, 
 not of anger but of desire; of the intense, overpower- 
 ing desire to see in, to see through, to understand 
 everything: every thought, emotion, purpose; every 
 impulse, every hesitation inside that man; inside that 
 white-clad foreign being who looked at her, who spoke 
 to her, who breathed before her like any other man, 
 but bigger, red-faced, white-haired and mysterious. 
 It was the future clothed in flesh; the to-morrow; the 
 day after; all the days, all the years of her life standing 
 there before her alive and secret, with all their good 
 or evil shut up within the breast of that man; of that 
 man who could be persuaded, cajoled, entreated, per- 
 haps touched, worried; frightened — who knows? — if 
 only first he could be understood! She had seen a 
 
\ 
 
 222 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 long time ago whither events were tending. She had 
 noted the contemptuous yet menacing coldness of Ab- 
 dulla; she had heard — alarmed yet unbelieving— 
 Babalatchi's gloomy hints, covert allusions and veiled 
 suggestions to abandon the useless white man whose 
 fate would be the price of the peace secured by the wise 
 and good who had no need of him any more. And he 
 — himself! She clung to him. There was nobody else. 
 Nothing else. She would try to cling to him always 
 — all the life! And yet he was far from her. Further 
 every day. Every day he seemed more distant, and 
 she followed him patiently, hopefully, blindly, but 
 steadily, through all the devious wanderings of his 
 mind. She followed as well as she could. Yet at times 
 — very often lately — she had felt lost like one strayed 
 in the thickets of tangled undergrowth in the great 
 forest — pushing on till he can go no further, and held 
 at last in the maze of branches and creepers, seeing 
 nothing but thick leaves, tough green twigs, obstinate 
 tendrils, clinging parasites; seeing all the interlaced 
 confusion of those many things close before his eyes 
 — yet unable to see the ground on which he stands. 
 She was like one lost in a wilderness impenetrable and 
 heavy, in a wilderness devoid of hope but full of sur- 
 prises; one held captive amongst the restlessness of 
 unseen forces that are silent and destructive, danger- 
 ous and indifferent, incomprehensible and strong. To 
 her the ex-clerk of old Hudig appeared as remote, as 
 brilliant, as terrible, as necessary, as the sun that gives 
 life to these lands: the sun of unclouded skies that 
 dazzles and withers; the sun beneficent and wicked 
 — the giver of light, perfume, and pestilence. She had 
 watched him — watched him close; fascinated by love, 
 fascinated by danger. He was alone now — but for her; 
 and she saw — she thought she saw — that he was like a 
 man afraid of something. Was it possible? He afraid? 
 Of what? Was it oTthat old white man who was com- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 223 
 
 ing? Who had come! Possibly. She had heard of 
 that man ever since she could remember. The bravest 
 were afraid of him! And now what was in the mind 
 of this old, old man who looked so strong? What 
 was he going to do with the light of her Hfe? Put it 
 out? Take it away? Take it away for ever! — for 
 ever! — and leave her in darkness: — not in the stirring, 
 whispering, expectant night in which the hushed world 
 awaits the return of sunshine; but in the night with- 
 out end, the night of the grave, where nothing 
 breathes, nothing moves, nothing thinks — the last 
 darkness of cold and silence without hope of another 
 sunrise. 
 
 She cried — "Your purpose! You know nothing. 
 I must . . ." 
 
 He interrupted — unreasonably excited, as if she 
 had, by her look, inoculated him with some of her own 
 distress. 
 
 " I know enough." 
 
 She approached, and stood facing him at arm's 
 length, with both her hands on his shoulders; and 
 he, surprised by that audacity, closed and opened his 
 eyes two or three times, aware of some emotion aris- 
 ing within him, from her words, her tone, her contact; 
 an emotion unknown, singular, penetrating and sad 
 — at the close sight of that strange woman, of that 
 being savage and tender, strong and delicate, fearful 
 and resolute, that had got entangled so fatally between 
 their two lives — his own and that other white man's, 
 the abominable scoundrel. 
 
 ''How can you know?" she went on, in a per- 
 suasive tone that seemed to flow out of her verv heart 
 • — " how can you know? I live with him all the days. 
 All the nights. I look at him; I see his everv breath, 
 every glance of his eye, every movement of his lips. 
 I see nothing else! What else is there? And even 
 I do not understand. I do not understand him ! — Him I 
 
224 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 — My life! Him who to me is so great that his 
 presence hides the earth and the water from my 
 sight!" 
 
 Lingard stood straight, with his hands deep in the 
 pockets of his jacket. His eyes winked quickly, be- 
 cause she spoke very close to his face. She disturbed 
 him much, and he had a sense of the efforts he was 
 making to get hold of her meaning, while all the time 
 he could not help telling himself that all this was of 
 no use. 
 
 She added after a pause — " There has been a time 
 when I could understand him. When I knew what 
 was in his mind better than he knew it himself. When 
 I felt him. When I held him. . . . And now he has 
 escaped." 
 
 "Escaped? What? Gone!" shouted Lingard. 
 
 "Escaped from me," she said; "left me alone. 
 Alone. And I am ever near him. Yet alone." 
 
 Her hands slipped slowly off Lingard's shoulders 
 and her arms fell by her side, listless, discouraged, as 
 if to her — to her, the savage, violent, and ignorant 
 creature — had been revealed clearly in that moment 
 the tremendous fact of our isolation, of the loneliness 
 impenetrable and transparent, elusive and everlasting; 
 of the indestructible loneliness that surrounds, envel- 
 opes, clothes every human soul from the cradle to the 
 grave, and, perhaps, beyond. 
 
 " Aye ! Very well ! I understand. His face is 
 turned away from you," said Lingard. " Now, what 
 do you want? " 
 
 " I want ... I have looked — for help . . . every- 
 where . . . against men. . . . All men ... I do not 
 know. First they came, the invisible whites, and dealt 
 death from afar . . . then he came. He came to me 
 who was alone and sad. He came; angry with his 
 brothers; great amongst his own people; angry with 
 those I have not seen: with the people where men 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 22$ 
 
 have no mercy and women have no shame. He was 
 of them, and great amongst them. For he was great? " 
 
 Lingard shook his head shghtly. She frowned at 
 him, and went on in disordered haste — 
 
 " Listen. I saw him. I have Hved by the side of 
 brave men ... of chiefs. When he came I was the 
 daughter of a beggar — of a bhnd man without strength 
 and hope. He spoke to me as if I had been brighter 
 than the sunshine — more dehghtful than the cool water 
 of the brook by which we met — more . . ." 
 
 Her anxious eyes saw some shade of expression 
 pass on her hstener's face that made her hold her 
 breath for a second, and then explode into pained fury 
 so violent that it drove Lingard back a pace, like an 
 unexpected blast of wind. He lifted both his hands, 
 incongruously paternal in his venerable aspect, be- 
 wildered and soothing, while she stretched her neck 
 forward and shouted at him. 
 
 " I tell you I was all that to him. I know it! I 
 saw it! . . . There are times when even you white 
 men speak the truth. I saw his eyes. I felt his eyes, 
 I tell you! I saw him tremble when I came near — 
 when I spoke — when I touched him. Look at me! 
 You have been young. Look at me. Look, Rajah 
 Laut!" 
 
 She stared at Lingard with provoking fixity, then, 
 turning her head quickly, she sent over her shoulder 
 a glance, full of humble fear, at the house that stood 
 high behind her back — ^(iarkj_closed, rickety, and silent 
 on its crooked posts. 
 
 Lingard's eyes followed her look, and remained 
 gazing expectantly at the house. After a minute or 
 so he muttered, glancing at her suspiciously — 
 
 " If he has not heard your voice now, then he must 
 be far away — or dead." 
 
 " He is there," she whispered, a little calmed but 
 still anxious — " he is there. For three days he waited. 
 
226 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Waited for you night and day. And I waited with 
 him. I waited, watching his face, his eyes, his Hps; 
 listening to his words. — To the words I could not 
 understand. — To the words he spoke in daylight; to 
 the words he spoke at night in his short sleep. I lis- 
 tened. He spoke to himself walking up and down here 
 — by the river; by the bushes. And I followed. I 
 wanted to know — and I could not! He was tormented 
 by things that made him speak in the words of his 
 own people. Speak to himself — not to me. Not to 
 me! What was he saying? What was he going to 
 do? Was he afraid of you? — Of death? What was 
 in his heart? . . . Fear? ... Or anger? . . . What 
 desire? . . . What sadness? He spoke; spoke; many 
 words. All the time! And I could not know! I 
 wanted to speak to him. He was deaf to me. I fol- 
 lowed him everywhere, watching for some word I 
 could understand; but his mind was in the land of his 
 people — away from me. When I touched him he was 
 angry — so ! " 
 
 She imitated the movement of some one shaking 
 off roughly an importunate hand, and looked at Lin- 
 gard with tearful and unsteady eyes. 
 
 After a short interval of laboured panting, as if she 
 had been out of breath with running or fighting, she 
 looked down and went on — 
 
 *' Day after day, night after night, I lived watch- 
 ing him — seeing nothing. And my heart was heavy — 
 heavy with the presence of death that dwelt amongst 
 us. I could not believe. I thought he was afraid. 
 Afraid of you! Then I, myself, knew fear. . . . Tell 
 me. Rajah Laut, do you know the fear without voice 
 — the fear of silence — the fear that comes when there 
 is no one near — when there is no battle, no cries, no 
 angry faces or armed hands anywhere? . . . The fear 
 from which there is no escape ! '*' 
 
 She paused, fastened her eyes again on puzzled- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 227 
 
 looking Lingard, and hurried on in a tone of de- 
 spair — 
 
 " And I knew then he would not fight you! Be- 
 fore — many days ago — I went away twice to make him 
 obey my desire; to make him strike at his own people 
 so that he could be mine — mine! O calamity! His 
 Iiand was false as your white hearts. It struck for- 
 wards, pushed by my desire — by his desire of me. . . . 
 It struck that strong hand, and — O shame! — it killed 
 nobody ! Its fierce and lying blow woke up hate with- 
 out any fear. Round me all was lies. His strength 
 was a lie. My own people lied to me — and to him. 
 And to meet you — you, the great! — he had no one but 
 me? But me — with my rage, my pain, my weakness. 
 Only me! And to me he would not even speak. The 
 fool!" 
 
 She came up close to Lingard, with the wild and 
 stealthy aspect of a lunatic longing to whisper out an 
 insane secret — one of those misshapen, heart-rending, 
 and ludicrous secrets; one of those thoughts that, like 
 monsters — cruel, fantastic, and mournful, wander 
 about terrible and unceasing in the night of madness. 
 Lingard looked at her, astounded but unflinching. 
 She spoke in his face, very low. 
 
 "He is all! Everything. He is my breath, my 
 light, my heart. ... Go away. . . . Forget him. . . . 
 He has no courage and no wisdom any more . . . and 
 I have lost my power. ... Go away and forget. There 
 are other enemies. . . . Leave him to me. He had 
 been a man once. . . . You are too great. Nobody 
 can withstand you. ... I tried. ... I know now. 
 ... I cry for mercy. Leave him to me and go away." 
 
 The fragments of her supplicating sentences were 
 as if tossed on the crest of her sobs ; of sobs long, roll- 
 ing, and deep like the waves of the open sea under 
 the tormenting breath of strong winds; the miser- 
 able wreckage of her passion, her thoughts, her d«a- 
 
>y 
 
 228 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 sires rising and falling and beating, black, sinister and 
 torn up, in the white foam at the foot of hard rocks 
 that belong to the solid and motionless earth. Lin- 
 gard, standing outwardly impassible, with his eyes 
 fixed on the house, felt the recoil of all the fibres of 
 his being before that prayer; experienced that feeling 
 of condemnation, deep-seated, persuasive, and master- 
 ful; that illogical impulse of disapproval which is half 
 disgust, half vague fear, and that wakes up in our 
 hearts in the presence of anything new or unusual, of 
 anything that is not run into the mould of our own 
 conscience; the accursed feehng made up of disdain, 
 of anger, and of the sense of superior virtue that leaves 
 us deaf, blind, contemptuous and stupid before any- 
 thing which is not like ourselves. 
 
 He answered, not looking at her at first, but speak- 
 ing towards the house that fascinated him — 
 
 *' I go away! He wanted me to come — he himself 
 did ! . . . You must go away. You do not know what 
 you ask. Look. He is done. Go to your own people. 
 Leave him. He is . . ." 
 
 He paused, looked down at her with his steady red 
 eyes; hesitated, as if seeking an adequate expression; 
 then snapped his fingers, and said — 
 
 " Finish." 
 
 She stepped back, her eyes on the ground, and 
 pressed her temples with both her hands, which she 
 raised to her head in a slow and ample movement full 
 of unconscious tragedy. The tone of her words was 
 gentle and vibrating, like a loud meditation. She 
 said — 
 
 "Tell the brook not to run to the river; tell the 
 river not to run to the sea. Speak loud. Speak an- 
 grily. Maybe thev will obey. But it is in my mind 
 that the brook will not care. The brook that springs 
 out of the hillside and runs to the great river. He 
 v^^ould not care for your words: he that cares not for 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 229 
 
 the very mountain that gave him Hfe; he that tears 
 the earth from which he springs. Tears it, eats it, 
 destroys it — to hurry faster to the river — to the river 
 in which he is lost for ever . . . O Rajah Laut! . . . 
 I do not care." 
 
 She drew close again to Lingard, approaching 
 slowly, reluctantly, as if pushed by an invisible hand, 
 and added in words that seemed to be torn out of 
 her — 
 
 *' I cared not for my own father. For him that 
 died. I would have rather . . . You do not know 
 what I have done . . . I . . ." 
 
 '' You shall have his life," said Lingard, hastily. 
 
 They stood together, crossing their glances; she 
 suddenly appeased, and Lingard thoughtful and un- 
 easy under a vague sense of defeat. And yet there 
 was no defeat. He never intended to kill the fellow 
 — not after the first moment of anger, a long time ago. 
 The days of bitter wonder had killed anger; had left 
 only a bitter indignation and a bitter wish for com- 
 plete justice. He felt discontented and surprised. Un- 
 expectedly he had come upon a human being — a 
 woman at that — who had made him disclose his will 
 before its time. This was a matter strictly between 
 Willems and himself. He had an unpleasant notion 
 of having been cheated. Never before in all his life 
 had he been induced to let a mortal creature know in 
 advance of any design of his. When the thing was 
 done tliey would see. And now he went and told 
 her. That woman! Why? He did not know. He 
 thought he must be getting old — and soft; unaware 
 that some va.eue remnant of the fisher-boy lurking 
 wnthin him had suddenly revolted, had been honestly 
 ready to imagine the worst and so would not let him 
 hear all she had to sav: a horrible confession. He 
 heard lik^an indistinct voice speaking between him 
 and her; k voice saying that if she had committed 
 
 / . ; i 
 
iSO 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 some horrible crime for that scoundrel, and the scoun- 
 drel let her, then the scoundrel must at once die — ■ 
 which would be less than justice. But had she? Oh! 
 Nonsense. What was she going to tell when he . . . 
 She must be told, she must know that for such men 
 as Willems there was no favour and no grace. 
 
 " Understand," he said slowly^ " that I give you-his 
 life not in mercy but in punishment." 
 
 SFe started, watched every word on his lips, and 
 after he finished speaking she remained still and mute 
 in astonished immobility. Hk single big drop of rain, 
 a drop enormous, pellucid and heavy — like a super- 
 human tear coming straight and rapid from above, 
 as if it had torn its way through the sombre sky — 
 struck loudly the dry ground between them in a starred 
 splash. She wrung her hands in the bewilderment 
 of the new and incomprehensible fear. The anguish 
 of her whisper was more piercing than the shrillest 
 cry.^ 
 
 "What punishment! Will you take him away? 
 Away from me? Listen to what I have done. ... It 
 IS I who . . ." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Lingard, who had been looking 
 at the house. 
 
 " Don't you believe her, Captain Lingard," shouted 
 Willems from the doorway, where he appeared with 
 swollen eyelids and bared breast. He stood for a 
 while, his hands grasping the lintels on each side of 
 the door, and writhed about, glaring wildly, as if he 
 had been crucified there. Then he made a sudden rush 
 head foremost down the plankway that responded with 
 hollow, short noises to every footstep. 
 
 She heard him. A sHght thrill passed on her face 
 and the words that were on her lips fell back unspoken 
 into her benighted heart; fell back amongst the mud, 
 the stones — and the flowers, that are at the bottom of 
 every heart 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 23 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 When he felt the solid ground of the courtyard 
 under his feet, Willenis pulled himself up in his head- 
 long rush and moved forward with a moderate gait. 
 He paced stiffly, looking with extreme exactitude at 
 Lingard's face; looking neither to the right nor to 
 the left but at the face only, as if there was nothing in 
 the world but those features familiar and dreaded; 
 that white-haired, rough and severe head upon which 
 he gazed in a fixed effort of his eyes, like a man try- 
 ing to read small print at the full range of human 
 vision. As soon as Willems' feet had left the planks, 
 the silence which had been lifted up by the jerky rattle 
 of his footsteps fell down again upon the courtyard; 
 the silence of the cloudy sky and of the windless air, 
 the sullen silence of the earth oppressed by the aspect 
 of coming turmoil, the silence of the world collecting 
 its faculties to withstand the storm. 
 
 Through this silence Willems pushed his way, feel- 
 ing its resistance at every step, feeling it grow heavy, 
 thick, troublesome to get through — impenetrable and 
 solid at last like a sheet of iron. He stopped about 
 six feet from Lingard. He stopped simply because 
 he could go no further. He had started from the door 
 with the reckless purpose of clapping the old fellow 
 on the shoulder. He had no idea that the man would 
 turn out to be so tall, so big and so unapproachable. 
 It seemed to him that he had never, never in his life, 
 seen Lingard. 
 
 He tried to say — 
 
 " Do not believe . . ." 
 
 A fit of coughing checked his sentence in a faint 
 splutter; a fit of soft, low coughing that could not be 
 kept in to save his life and that shook him from head 
 to foot, irresistible and gentle, like the warning of 
 
332 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 great strength to extreme weakness. Directly after- 
 wards he swallowed — as it were — a couple of pebbles, 
 throwing his chin up in the act; and Lingard, who 
 looked at him narrowly, saw a bone, sharp and tri- 
 angular like the head of a snake, dart up and down 
 twice under the skin of his throat. Then that, too, 
 did not move. Nothing moved. 
 
 " Well," said Lingard, and with that word he came 
 unexpectedly to the end of his speech. His hand in 
 his pocket closed firmly round the butt of his revolver 
 bulging his jacket on the hip, and he thought how soon 
 and how quickly he could terminate his quarrel with 
 that man who had been so anxious to deliver himself 
 into his hands — and how inadequate would be that 
 ending! He could not bear the idea of that man 
 escaping from him by going out of life ; escaping from 
 fear, from doubt, from remorse into the peaceful certi- 
 tude of death. He held him now. And he was not 
 going to let him go — to let him disappear for ever in 
 the faint blue smoke of a pistol shot. His anger grew 
 within him. He felt a touch as of a burning hand on 
 his heart. Not on the flesh of his breast, but a touch 
 on his heart itself, on the palpitating and untiring 
 particle of matter that responds to every emotion of 
 the soul; that leaps with joy, with terror, or with 
 anger. 
 
 He drew a long breath. He could see before him 
 the bare chest of the man expanding and collapsing 
 under the wide-open jacket. He glanced aside, and 
 saw the bosom of the woman near him rise and fall 
 in quick respirations that moved slightly up and down 
 her hand, which was pressed to her breast with all the 
 fingers spread out and a little curved, as if grasping 
 something too big for its span. They stood all three 
 under the low sky, inhaling painfully the tepid, misty 
 and perfidious air; the air poisonous and corrupted; 
 the breath of death that trailed about them under the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 233 
 
 heavy clouds, crept towards them from the forests, 
 from the marshes, from the uncovered mud-flats of 
 the starved river. And nearly a minute passed. One 
 of those minutes that stand out forbidding and som- 
 bre like barren islets in the sea of time — ready for 
 harm, useless for refuge. One of those minutes when 
 the voice is silenced, while the thoughts flutter in the 
 head, like captive birds inside a cage, in rushes desper- 
 ate, exhausting and vain. 
 
 During that minute of silence Lingard's anger kept 
 rising, immense and towering, such as a crested wave 
 running over the troubled shallows of the sands. Its 
 roar filled his ears; a roar so powerful and distract- 
 ing that, it seemed to him, his head must burst directly 
 with the expanding volume of that sound. He looked 
 at that man. That thing! That infamous figure up- 
 right on its feet, still, rigid, with stony eyes, as if its 
 rotten soul had departed that moment and the carcass 
 hadn't had the time yet to topple over. For the frac- 
 tion of a second he had the illusion and the fear of the 
 damned scoundrel having died there before the en- 
 raged glance of his eyes. Willems' eyelids fluttered, 
 and the unconscious and passing tremor in that stiffly 
 erect body exasperated Lingard like a fresh outrage. 
 The fellow dared to stir! Dared to wink, to breathe, 
 to exist; here, right before his eyes! His grip on the 
 revolver relaxed gradually. As the transport of his 
 rage increased, so also his contempt for the instru- 
 ments that pierce or stab, that interpose themselves 
 between the hand and the object of hate. He wanted 
 another kind of satisfaction. Naked hands, by heaven! 
 No firearms. Hands that could take him by the throat, 
 beat down his defence, batter his face into shapeless 
 flesh; hands that could feel all the desperation of his 
 resistance and overpower it in the violent delight of 
 a contact lingering and furious, intimate and brutal. 
 
 He let go the revolver altogether, stood hesitating^ 
 
 J j 
 
234 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 then throwing his hands out, strode forward — and 
 everything passed from his sight. He could not see 
 the man, the woman, the earth, the sky — saw nothing, 
 as if in that one stride he had left the visible world 
 behind to step into a black and deserted space. He 
 heard screams round him in that obscurity, screams 
 like the melancholy and pitiful cries of sea-birds that 
 dwell on the lonely reefs of great oceans. Then sud- 
 denly a face appeared within a few inches of his own. 
 His face. He felt something in his left hand. His 
 throat . . . Ah! the thing like a snake's head that 
 darts up and down . . . He squeezed hard. He w^as 
 back in the world. He could see the quick beating 
 of eyelids over a pair of eyes that were all w^hites, the 
 grin of a drawn-up lip, a row of teeth gleaming 
 through the drooping hair of a moustache . . . Strong 
 white teeth. Knock them down his lying throat . . . 
 He drew back his right hand, the fist up to the shoul- 
 der, knuckles out. From under his feet rose the 
 screams of sea-birds. Thousands of them. Some- 
 thing held his legs . . . What the devil ... He de- 
 livered his blow straight from the shoulder, felt the jar 
 right up his arm, and realised suddenly that he was 
 striking something passive and unresisting. His heart 
 sank within him with disappointment, with rage, with 
 mortification. He pushed with his left arm, opening 
 the hand with haste, as if he had just perceived that 
 he got hold by accident of something repulsive — and 
 he watched with stupefied eyes Willems tottering 
 backwards in groping strides, the white sleeve of his 
 jacket across his face. He watched his distance from 
 that man increase, while he remained motionless, with- 
 out being able to account to himself for the fact that 
 so much empty space had come in between them. It 
 should have been the other way. They ought to have 
 been very close, and . . . Ah! He wouldn't fight, he 
 wouldn't resist, he wouldn't defend himself! A cur! 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 235 
 
 Evidently a cur! ... He was amazed and aggrieved 
 — profoundly — bitterly — with the immense and blank 
 desolation of a small child robbed of a toy. He shouted 
 — unbelieving: 
 
 '' Will you be a cheat to the end? " 
 
 He waited for some answer. He waited anxiously 
 with an impatience that seemed to lift him off his feet. 
 He waited like one that sees coming out of the future 
 an unheard-of fortune or sudden disaster. He waited 
 for some word, some sign; for some threatening stir. 
 Nothing! Only two unwinking eyes glittered in- 
 tently at him above the white sleeve. He saw the 
 raised arm detach itself from the face and sink along 
 the body. A white-clad arm, with a big stain on the 
 white sleeve. A red stain. There was a cut on the 
 cheek. It bled. The nose bled too. The blood ran 
 down, made one moustache look like a dark rag stuck 
 over the lip, and went on in a wet streak down the 
 clipped beard on one side of the chin. A drop of blood 
 hung on the end of some hairs that were glued to- 
 gether; it hung for a while and took a leap down on 
 the ground. Many more followed, leaping one after 
 another in close file. One aHghted on the breast and 
 glided down instantly with devious vivacity, like a 
 small insect running away ; it left a narrow dark track 
 on the white skin. He looked at it, looked at the tiny 
 and active drops, looked at what he had done, with 
 obscure satisfaction, with anger, with regret. This 
 wasn't much like an act of justice. He had a desire 
 to go up nearer to the man, to hear him speak, to hear 
 him say something atrocious and wicked that would 
 justify the violence of the blow. He made an attempt 
 to move, and became aware of a close embrace round 
 both his legs, just above the ankles. Instinctively, he 
 kicked out with his foot, broke through the close bond 
 and felt at once the clasp transferred to his other leg; 
 the clasp warm, desperate and soft, of human arms. 
 16 
 
236 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He looked down bewildered. He saw the body of the 
 woman stretched at length, flattened on the ground 
 like a dark-blue rag. She trailed face downwards, 
 clinging to his leg with both arms in a tenacious hug. 
 He saw the top of her head, the long black hair stream- 
 ing over his foot, all over the beaten earth, around 
 his boot. He couldn't see his foot for it. He heard 
 the short and repeated moaning of her breath. He 
 imagined the invisible face close to his heel. With one 
 kick into that face he could free himself. Hejiared-flot 
 _stir, and shouted down — 
 
 " Let go! Let go! Let go! " 
 
 The only result of his shouting was a tightening 
 of the pressure of her arms. With a tremendous effort 
 he tried to bring his right foot up to his left, and suc- 
 ceeded partly. He heard distinctly the rub of her body 
 on the ground as he jerked her along. He tried to 
 disengage himself by drawing up his foot. He 
 stamped. He heard a voice saying sharply — 
 
 "Steady, Captain Lingard, steady!" 
 
 His eyes flew back to Willems at the sound of that 
 voice, and, in the quick awakening of sleeping memo- 
 ries, Lingard stood suddenly still, appeased by the 
 clear ring of familiar words. Appeased as in days 
 of old, when they were trading together, when Wil- 
 lems was his trusted and helpful companion in out- 
 of-the-way and dangerous places; when that fellow, 
 who could keep his temper so much better than he 
 could himself, had spared him many a difflculty, had 
 s^ved him from many an act of hasty violence by the 
 timely and good-humoured warning, whispered or 
 shouted, " Steady, Captain Lingard, steady." A smart 
 fellow. He had brought him up. The smartest fellow 
 in the islands. If he had only stayed with him, then 
 all this . . . He called out to Willems — 
 
 " Tell her to let me go or . . ." 
 
 He heard Willems shouting something, waited for 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 237 
 
 awhile, then glanced vaguely down and saw the woman 
 still stretched out perfectly mute and unstirring, with 
 her head at his feet. He felt a nervous impatience 
 that, somehow, resembled fear. 
 
 *• Tell her to let go, to go away, Willems, I tell you. 
 Fve had enough of this," he cried. 
 
 " All right. Captain Lingard," answered the calm 
 voice of Willems, " she has let go. Take your foot 
 ofif her hair; she can't get up." 
 
 Lingard leaped aside, clean away, and spun round 
 quickly. He saw her sit up and cover her face with 
 both hands, then he turned slowly on his heel and 
 looked at the man. Willems held himself very 
 straight, but was unsteady on his feet, and moved 
 about nearly on the same spot, like a tipsy man at- 
 tempting to preserve his balance. After gazing at 
 him for a while, Lingard called, rancorous and irri- 
 table— 
 
 ** W^hat have you got to say for yourself? " 
 
 Willems began to walk towards him. He walked 
 slowly, reeling a little before he took each step, and 
 Lingard saw him put his hand to his face, then look 
 at it holding it up to his eyes, as if he had there, con- 
 cealed in the hollow of the palm, some small object 
 which he wanted to examine secretly. Suddenly he 
 drew it, with a brusque movement, down the front of 
 his jacket and left a long smudge. 
 
 " That's a fine thing to do," said Willems. 
 
 He stood in front of Lingard, one of his eyes sunk 
 deep in the increasing swelling of his cheek, still re- 
 peating mechanically the movement of feeling his 
 damaged face; and every time he did this he pressed 
 the palm to some clean spot on his jacket, covering 
 the white cotton with bloody imprints as of some de- 
 formed and monstrous hand. Lingard said nothing, 
 looking on. At last Willems left off staunching the 
 blood and stood, his arms hanging by his side, with 
 
238 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 his face stiff and distorted under the patches of co- 
 agulated blood; and he seemed as though he had been 
 set up there for a warning: an incomprehensible 
 figure marked all over with some awful and symbolic 
 signs of deadly import. Speaking with difficulty, he 
 repeated in a reproachful tone — 
 
 " That was a fine thing to do." 
 
 '' After all," answered Lingard, bitterly, " I had 
 too good an opinion of you." 
 
 " And I of you. Don't you see that I could have 
 had that fool over there killed and the whole thing 
 burnt to the ground, swept off the face of the earth. 
 You wouldn't have found as much as a heap of ashes 
 had I liked. I could have done all that. And I 
 wouldn't." 
 
 " You — could — not. You dared not. You scoun- 
 drel! " cried Lingard. 
 
 "What's the use of calling me names?" 
 
 " True," retorted Lingard — " there's no name bad 
 enough for you." 
 
 There was a short interval of silence. At the sound 
 of their rapidly exchanged words, Aissa had got up 
 from the ground where she had been sitting, in a sor- 
 rowful and dejected pose, and approached the two 
 men. She stood on one side and looked on eagerly. 
 Her eyes would watch on the moving lips the quiver 
 of last words, then would leap in a flash to the other 
 face, forestalling the first tremor of the lips that were 
 going to speak. She looked on helpless, bewildered, 
 in a desperate effort of her brain, with the quick and 
 distracted eyes of a person trying for her life to pene- 
 trate the meaning of sentences uttered in a foreign 
 tongue: the meaning portentous and fateful that lurks 
 in the sounds of mysterious words ; in the sounds sur- 
 prising, unknown and strange. 
 
 Willems let the last speech of Lingard pass by; 
 seemed by a slight movement of his hand to help it 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 239 
 
 on its way to join the other shadows of the past. Then 
 he said — 
 
 " You have struck me ; you have insulted me . . ." 
 
 ** Insulted you!" interrupted Lingard, passionate- 
 ly. " Who— what can insult you . . . you . . ." 
 
 He choked, advanced a step. 
 
 " Steady! steady! " said Willems, calmly. " I tell 
 you I sha'n't fight. Is it clear enough to you that I 
 sha'n't ? I— shall— not— lift— a— finger." 
 
 As he spoke, slowly punctuating each word with a 
 slight jerk of his head, he stared at Lingard, his right 
 eye open and big, the left small and nearly closed by 
 the swelHng of one half of his face, that appeared all 
 drawn out on one side Hke faces seen in a concave 
 glass. And they stood exactly opposite each other: 
 one tall, sHght and disfigured; the other tall, heavy 
 and severe. 
 
 Willems went on — 
 
 " If I had wanted to hurt you — if I had wanted to 
 destroy you, it was easy. I stood in the doorway long 
 enough to pull a trigger — and you know I shoot 
 straight." 
 
 " You would have missed," said Lingard, with as- 
 surance. *' There is, under heaven, such a thing as 
 justice." 
 
 The sound of that word on his own lips made him 
 pause, confused, like an unexpected and unanswerable 
 rebuke. The anger of his outraged pride, the anger 
 of his outraged heart, had gone out in the blow; and 
 there remained nothing but the sense of some immense 
 infamy — of something vague, disgusting and terrible, 
 which seemed to surround him on all sides, hover 
 about him with shadowy and stealthy movements, like 
 a band of assassins in the darkness of vast and unsafe 
 places. Was there, under heaven, such a thing as 
 justice? He looked at the man before him with such 
 an intensity of prolonged glance that he seemed to see 
 
240 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 right through him, that at last he saw but a floating 
 and unsteady mist in human shape. Would it blow 
 away before the first breath of the breeze and leave 
 nothing behind? Nothing to lay hold of? No mo- 
 tive, no reason, no cause, nothing to justify to his 
 simple heart the strange workings of Providence that 
 allowed such a thing to live, to He, to do harm; that 
 gave it eyes to search out, hps to deceive, a brain to 
 plan infamous treacheries. To plan them, to execute 
 them — and to go on breathing, moving, confronting 
 men, speaking to them — impudent and safe. He, him- 
 self, felt an intolerable shame when looking at that 
 creature before him. He felt somehow the weight of 
 his responsibility for its continued existence; and he 
 was so appalled by the thought that had the world 
 that moment come to an end, had it crumbled to pieces, 
 dissolved, drifted away in fragments from under his 
 feet, he would not have felt the slightest surprise. 
 
 The sound of Willems' voice made him start vio- 
 lently. Willems was saying — 
 
 " I have always led a virtuous life ; you know I 
 have. You always praised me for my steadiness; you 
 know you have. You know also I never stole — if 
 that's what you're thinking of. I borrowed. You 
 know how much I repaid. It was an error of judg- 
 ment. But then consider my position there. I had 
 been a little unlucky in my private affairs, and had 
 debts. Could I let myself go under before the eyes 
 of all those men who envied me? But that's all over. 
 It was an error of judgment. I've paid for it. An 
 error of judo^ment." 
 
 Lin.o-ard, astounded into perfect stillness, looked 
 down. He looked down at Willems' bare feet. Then, 
 as the other had paused, he repeated in a blank tone — > 
 
 " An error of iud|n;-ment . . ." 
 
 " Yes," drawled out Willems, thoughtfullv, and 
 went on with increasing animation : " As I said, I have 
 
an outcast of the islands. 241 
 
 always led a virtuous life. More so than Hudig — than 
 you. Yes, than you. i drank a, little, 1 played cards 
 a little. Who doesn't? But I had principles from a 
 boy. Yes, principles. Business is business, and I 
 never was an ass. I never respected fools. They had 
 to suffer for their folly when they dealt with me. The 
 evil was in them, not in me. But as to principles, it's 
 another matter. I kept clear of women. It's forbidden 
 — I had no time — and I despised them. Now I hate 
 them!" 
 
 He put his tongue out a Httle; a tongue whose 
 pink and moist end ran here and there, like some- 
 thing independently alive, under his swollen and black- 
 ened lip; he touched with the tips of his fingers the cut 
 on his cheek, felt all round it with precaution: and 
 the unharmed side of his face appeared for a moment 
 to be preoccupied and uneasy about the state of that 
 other side which was so very sore and stiff. 
 
 He recommenced speaking, and his voice vibrated 
 as though with repressed emotion of some kind. 
 
 " You ask my wife, when you see her in Macassar, 
 whether I have no reason to hate her. She was no- 
 body, and I made her Mrs. Willems. A half-caste 
 girl! You ask her how she showed her gratitude to 
 me. You ask . . . Never mind that. Well, you came 
 and dumped me here like a load of rubbish; dumped 
 me here and left me with nothing to do — nothing good 
 to remember — and damn little to hope for. You left 
 me here at the mercy of that fool, Almayer, who sus- 
 pected me of something. Of what? Devil only knows. 
 But he suspected and hated me from the first; I sup- 
 pose because you befriended me. Oh! I could read 
 him like a book. He isn't very deep, your Sambir 
 partner, Captain Lingard, but he knows how to be 
 disagreeable. Months passed. I thought I would die 
 of sheer weariness, of my thoughts, of my regrets. 
 And then . . ." 
 
242 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He made a quick step nearer to Lingard, and as ii 
 moved by the same thought, by the same instinct, by 
 the impulse of his will, Aissa also stepped nearer to 
 them. They stood in a close group, and the two men 
 could feel the calm air between their faces stirred by 
 the light breath of the anxious woman who enveloped 
 them both in the uncomprehending, in the despair- 
 ing and wondering glances of her wild and mournful 
 eyes. 
 
 Willems turned a little from her and spoke lower. 
 
 '' Look at that," he said, with an almost imper- 
 ceptible movement of his head towards the woman to 
 whom he was presenting his shoulder. " Look at 
 that! Don't believe her! What has she been saying 
 to you? What? I have been asleep. Had to sleep 
 at last. I've been waiting for you three days and 
 nights. I had to sleep some time. Hadn't I? I told 
 her to remain awake and watch for you, and call me 
 at once. She did watch. You can't believe her. You 
 can't believe any woman. Who can tell what's inside 
 their heads? No one. You can know nothing. The 
 only thing you can know is that it isn't anything like 
 what comes through their lips. They live by the side 
 of you. They seem to hate you, or they seem to love 
 you; they caress or torment you; they throw you over 
 or stick to you closer than your skin for some inscruta- 
 ble and awful reason of their own — which you can 
 never know! Look at her — and look at me. At me! 
 — her infernal work. What has she been saying? " 
 
 His voice had sunk to a whisper. Lingard listened 
 with great attention, holding his chin in his hand, 
 which grasped a great handful of his white beard. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 243 
 
 His elbow was in the palm of his other hand, and 
 his eyes were still fixed on the ground. He murmured, 
 without looking up — 
 
 " She begged me for your life — if you want to know 
 — as if the thing was worth giving or taking ! " 
 
 " And for three days she begged me to take yours," 
 said Willems quickly. '* For three days she wouldn't 
 give me any peace. She was never still. She planned 
 ambushes. She has been looking for places all over 
 here where I could hide and drop you with a safe shot 
 as you walked up. It's true. I give you my word." 
 
 " Your word," muttered Lingard, contemptuously. 
 
 Willems took no notice. 
 
 "Ah! She is a ferocious creature," he went on. 
 " You don't know ... I wanted to pass the time — 
 to do something — to have something to think about — 
 to forget my troubles till you came back. And . . . 
 look at her . . . she took me as if I did not belong to 
 myself. She did. I did not know there was some- 
 thing in me she could get hold of. She, a savage. 
 I, a civilised European, and clever! She that knew 
 no more than a wild animal! Well, she found out 
 something in me. She found it out, and I was lost. 
 I knew it. She tormented me. I was ready to do 
 anything. I resisted — but I was ready. I knew that 
 too. That frightened me more than anything; more 
 than my own sufferings; and that was frightful 
 enough, I assure you." 
 
 Lingard listened, fascinated and amazed like a child 
 listening to a fairy tale, and, when Willems stopped for 
 breath, he shuffled his feet a little. 
 
 ''What does he say?" cried out Aissa, suddenly. 
 
 The two men looked at her quickly, and then 
 looked at one another. 
 
 Willems began again, speaking hurriedly — 
 
 " I tried to do something. Take her away from 
 those people. I went to Almayer; the biggest blind 
 
244 ^^ OUTCAST OF TKE ISLANDS. 
 
 fool that you ever . . . Then Abdulla came — and she 
 went away. She took away with her something of 
 me which I had to get back. I had to do it. As far 
 as you are concerned, the change here had to happen 
 sooner or later; you couldn't be master here for ever. 
 It isn't what I have done that torments me. It is the 
 why. It's the madness that drove me to it. It's that 
 thing that came over me. That may come again some 
 day." 
 
 " It will do no harm to anybody then, I promise 
 you," said Lingard, significantly. 
 
 Willems looked at him for a second with a blank 
 stare, then went on — 
 
 " I fought against her. She goaded me to violence 
 and to murder. Nobody knows why. She pushed 
 me to it persistently, desperately, all the time. For- 
 tunately Abdulla had sense. I don't know what I 
 wouldn't have done. She held me then. Held me 
 like a nightmare tiiat is terrible and sweet. By and 
 by it was another life. I woke up. I found myself 
 beside an animal as full of harm as a wild cat. You 
 don't know through what I have passed. Her father 
 tried to kill me — and she very nearly killed him. I 
 believe she would have stuck at nothing. I don't 
 know which was more terrible! She would have stuck 
 at nothing to defend her own. And when I think that 
 it was me — me — Willems ... I hate her. To-mor- 
 row she may want my life. How can I know what's 
 in her? She may want to kill me next! " 
 
 He paused in great trepidation, then added in a 
 scared tone — 
 
 " I don't want to die here." 
 
 " Don't you? " said Lingard, thoughtfully. 
 
 Willems turned towards Aissa and pointed at her 
 with a bony forefinger. 
 
 "Look at her! Always there. Always near. Al- 
 ways watching, watching ... for something. Look 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 245 
 
 at her eyes. Ain't they big? Don't they stare? You 
 wouldn't think she can shut them Hke human beings 
 do. I don't beheve she ever does. I go to sleep, if I 
 can, under their stare, and when I wake up I see them 
 fixed on me and moving no more than the eyes of a 
 corpse. While I am still they are still. By God! she 
 can't move them till I stir, and then they follow me 
 like a pair of jailers. They watch me; when I stop 
 they seem to wait patient and glistening till I am off 
 my guard — for to do something. To do something 
 horrible. Look at them! You can see nothing in 
 them. They are big, menacing — and empty. The 
 eyes of a savage; of a damned mongrel, half- Arab, 
 half-Malay. They hurt me! I am white! I swear to 
 you I can't stand this! Take me away. I am white! 
 All white!" 
 
 He shouted towards the sombre heaven, proclaim- 
 ing desperately under the frown of thickening clouds 
 the fact of his pure and superior descent. He shouted, 
 his head thrown up, his arms swinging about wildly; 
 lean, ragged, disfigured; a ^1 jnadman making a 
 great disturbance about something invisible; a being 
 'aBsurH^TepuTsTveT^atHetic, and droll. Lingard, who 
 was looking down as if absorbed in deep thought, 
 gave him a quick glance from under his eyebrows: 
 A'issa stood with clasped hands. At the other end of 
 the courtyard the old woman, like a vague and de- 
 crepit apparition, r^s^^lioTselessly to look, then sank 
 down again with a stealthy movement and crouched 
 low over the small glow of the fire. Willems' voice 
 filled the enclosure, rising louder with every word, 
 and then, suddenly, at its very loudest, stopped short 
 — like water stops running from an overturned vessel. 
 As soon as it had ceased the thunder seemed to take 
 up the burden in a low growl coming from the inland 
 hills. The noise approached in confused mutterings 
 which kept on increasing, swelling into a roar that 
 
246 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 came nearer, rushed down the river, passed close in a 
 tearing crash — and instantly sounded faint, dying 
 away in monotonous and dull repetitions amongst the 
 endless sinuosities of the lower reaches. Over the 
 great forests, over all the innumerable people of un- 
 stirring trees — over all that living people immense, 
 motionless, and mute — the silence, that had rushed in 
 on the track of the passing tumult, remained sus- 
 pended as deep and complete as if it had never been 
 disturbed from the beginning of remote ages. Then, 
 through it, after a time, came to Lingard's ears the 
 voice of the running river; a voice low, discreet, and 
 sad, Hke the persistent and gentle voices that speak of 
 the past in the silence of dreams. 
 
 He felt a great emptiness in his heart. It seemed 
 to him that there was within his breast a great space 
 without any light, where his thoughts wandered for- 
 lornly, unable to escape, unable to rest, unable to die, 
 to vanish — and to relieve him from the fearful oppres- 
 sion of their existence. Speech, action, anger, forgive- 
 ness, all appeared to him alike useless and vain, ap- 
 peared to him unsatisfactory, not worth the effort of 
 hand or brain that was needed to give them effect. 
 He could not see why he should not remain standing 
 there, without ever doing anything, to the end of time. 
 He felt something, something like a heavy chain, that 
 held him there. This wouldn't do. He backed away 
 a little from Willems and Ai'ssa, leaving them close 
 together, then stopped and looked at both. The man 
 and the woman appeared to him much further than 
 they really were. He had made only about three steps 
 backward, but he believed for a moment that another 
 step would take him out of earshot for ever. They 
 appeared to him slightly under life size, and with a 
 great cleanness of outlines, like figures carved with 
 great precision of detail and highly finished by a skilful 
 hand. He pulled himself together. The strong con- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 247 
 
 sciousness of his own personality came back to him. 
 He had a notion of surveying them from a great and 
 inaccessible height. 
 
 He said slowly: "You have been possessed of a 
 devil." 
 
 " Yes," answered Willems gloomily, and looking at 
 Aissa. " Isn't it pretty?" 
 
 " I've heard this kind of talk before," said Lingard, 
 in a scornful tone; then paused, and went on steadily 
 after a while : " I regret nothing. I picked you up 
 by the waterside, like a starving cat — by God. I re- 
 gret nothing; nothing that I have done. Abdulla — 
 twenty others — no doubt Hudig himself, were after 
 me. That's business — for them. But that you should 
 . . . Money belongs to him who picks it up and is 
 strong enough to keep it — but this thing was different. 
 It was part of my life. ... I am an old fool." 
 
 He was. The breath of his words, of the very 
 words he spoke, fanned the spark of divine folly in his 
 breast, the spark that made him — the hard-headed, 
 heavy-handed adventurer — stand out from the crowd, 
 from the sordid, from the joyous, unscrupulous, and 
 noisy crowd of men that were so much like himself. 
 
 Willems said hurriedly : " It wasn't me. The evil 
 was not in me. Captain Lingard." 
 
 " And where^else— confound you! Where else?" 
 interrupted Lingard, raising his voice. " Did you ever 
 see me cheat and lie and steal? Tell me that. Did 
 you? Hey? I wonder where in perdition you came 
 from when I found you under my feet. . . . No mat- 
 ter. You will do no more harm." 
 
 Willems moved nearer, gazing upon him anxiously. 
 Lingard went on with distinct deliberation — 
 
 " What did you expect when you asked me to see 
 you? What? You know me. I am Lingard. You 
 lived with me. You've heard men speak. You knew 
 what you had done. Well! What did you expect?" 
 
248 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " How can I know? " groaned Willems, wringing 
 his hands; *' I was alone in that infernal savage crowd. 
 I was delivered into their hands. After the thing was 
 done, I felt so lost and weak that I would have called 
 the devil himself to my aid if it had been any good — 
 if he hadn't put in all his work already. In the whole 
 world there was only one man that had ever cared for 
 me. Only one white man. You! Hate is better than 
 being alone! Death is better! I expected . . . any- 
 thing. Something to expect. Something to take me 
 out of this. Out of her sight! " 
 
 He laughed. His laugh seemed to be torn out from 
 him against his will, seemed to be brought violently 
 on the surface from under his bitterness, his self-con- 
 tempt, from under his despairing wonder at his own 
 nature. 
 
 " When I think that when I first knew her it 
 seemed to me that my whole life wouldn't be enough 
 to . . . And now when I look at her! She did it all. 
 I must have been mad. I was mad. Every time I 
 look at her I remember my madness. It frightens 
 me. . . . And when I think that of all my life, of all 
 my past, of all my future, of my intelligence, of my 
 work, there is nothing left but she, the cause of my 
 ruin, and you whom I have mortally offended . . ." 
 
 He hid his face for a moment in his hands, and 
 when he took them away he had lost the appearance 
 of comparative calm and gave way to a wild distress. 
 
 " Captain Lingard . . . anything ... a deserted 
 island . . . anywhere ... I promise . . ." 
 
 "Shut up!" shouted Lingard, roughly. 
 
 He became dumb, suddenly, completely. 
 
 The wan light of the clouded morning retired slow- 
 ly from the courtyard, from the clearings, from the 
 river, as if it had gone unwillingly to hide in the enig- 
 matical solitudes of the gloomy and silent forests. The 
 clouds over their heads thickened into a low vault 
 
I 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 249 
 
 of uniform blackness. The air was still and inexpres- 
 sibly oppressive. Lingard unbuttoned his jacket, flung 
 it wide open, and, inclining his body sideways a little, 
 wiped his forehead with his hand, which he jerked 
 sharply afterwards. Then he looked at Willems and 
 said — 
 
 '* No promise of yours is any good to me. I am 
 going to take your conduct into my own hands. Pay 
 attention to what I am going to say. You are my 
 prisoner." 
 
 Willems' head moved imperceptibly; then he be- 
 came rigid and still. He seemed not to breathe. 
 
 " You shall stay here," continued Lingard, with 
 sombre deliberation. '' You are not fit to go amongst 
 people. Who could suspect, who could guess, who 
 could imagine what's in you? I couldn't! You are 
 my mistake. I shall hide you here. If I let you out 
 you would go amongst unsuspecting men, and lie, 
 and steal, and cheat for a little money or for some 
 woman. I don't care about shooting you. It would 
 be the safest way though. But I won't. Do not ex- 
 pect me to forgive you. To forgive one must have 
 been angry and become contemptuous, and there is 
 nothing in me now — no anger, no contempt, no dis- 
 appointment. To me you are not Willems, the man 
 I befriended and helped through thick and thin, and 
 thought much of . . . You are not a human being 
 that may be destroyed or forgiven. You are a bitter 
 thought, a something without a body and that must be 
 hidden . . . You are my shame." 
 
 He ceased and looked slowly round. How dark it 
 was! It seemed to him that the Hght was dying pre- 
 maturely out of the world and that the air was already 
 dead. Again his big, hairy hand swept the perspira- 
 tion from his forehead, and he shook the moisture 
 ofif the fingers, projecting his arm clear away from 
 his body. 
 
250 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " Of course," he went on, " I shall see to it tha* 
 you don't starve." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that I must live here. 
 Captain Lingard?" said Willems, in a kind of me- 
 chanical voice without any inflections. 
 
 '* Did you ever hear me say something I did not 
 mean?" asked Lingard. " You said you didn't want 
 to die here — well, you must live . . . Unless you 
 change your mind," he added, as if in involuntary after- 
 thought. 
 
 He looked at Willems narrowly, then shook his 
 head. 
 
 " You are alone," he went on. " Nothing can help 
 you. Nobody will. You are neither white nor brown. 
 You have no colour as you have no heart. Your ac- 
 complices have abandoned you to me because I am 
 still somebody to be reckoned with. You are alone 
 but for that woman there. You say you did this for 
 her. Well, you have her." 
 
 Willems mumbled something, and then suddenly 
 caught his hair with both his hands and remained 
 standing so. A'issa, who had been looking at him. 
 turned to Lingard. 
 
 " What did you say, Rajah Laut? " she cried. 
 
 There was a slight stir amongst the filmy threads 
 of her disorderer hair, the bushes by the river sides 
 trembled, the big tree nodded precipitately over them 
 with an abrupt rustle, as if waking with a start from 
 a troubled sleep — and the breath of hot breeze passed, 
 light, rapid, and scorching, under the clouds that 
 whirled round, unbroken but undulating, like a rest- 
 less phantom of a sombre sea. 
 
 Lingard looked at her pityingly before he said — 
 
 " I have told him that he must live here all his life 
 . . . and with you." 
 
 The sun seemed to have gone out at last like a 
 flickering light away up beyond the clouds, and in the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 251 
 
 Stifling gloom of the courtyard the three figures stood 
 colourless and shadowy, as if surrounded by a black 
 and superheated mist. Aissa looked at Willems, who 
 remained still, as though he had been changed into 
 stone in the very act of tearing his hair. Then she 
 turned her head towards Lingard and shouted — 
 
 '' You lie! You lie! . . . White man. Like you 
 all do. You . . . whom AbduUa made small. You 
 lie!" 
 
 Her words rang out shrill and venomous with her 
 secret scorn, with her overpowering desire to wound 
 regardless of consequences; in her woman's reckless 
 desire to cause suffering at any cost, to cause it by the 
 sound of her own voice — by her own voice, that would 
 carry the poison of her thought into the hated heart. 
 
 Willems let his hands fall, and began to mumble 
 again. Lingard turned his ear towards him instinc- 
 tively, caught something that sounded like '' Very 
 well " — then some more mumbling — then a sigh. 
 
 " As far as the rest of the world is concerned," 
 said Lingard, after waiting for awhile in an attentive 
 attitude, " your life is finished. Nobody will be able 
 to throw any of your villainies in my teeth; nobody 
 will be able to point at you and say, * Here goes a 
 scoundrel of Lingard's up-bringing.' You are buried 
 here." 
 
 " And you think that I will stay . . . that I will 
 submit?" exclaimed Willems, as if he had suddenly 
 recovered the power of speech. 
 
 " You needn't stay here — on this spot," said Lin- 
 gard, drily. " There are the forests — and here is the 
 river. You may swim. Fifteen miles up, or forty 
 down. At one end you will meet Almayer, at the other 
 the sea. Take your choice." 
 
 He burst into a short, joyless laugh, then added 
 with severe gravity — 
 
 " There is also another way." 
 
252 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " If you want to drive my soul into damnation by 
 trying to drive me to suicide you will not succeed," 
 said Willems in wild excitement. " I will live. I shall 
 repent. I may escape. . . . Take that woman away — 
 she is sin." 
 
 A liooked dart of fire tore in two the darkness of 
 the distant horizon and lit up the gloom of the earth 
 with a dazzling and ghastly flame. Then the thunder 
 was heard far away, like an incredibly enormous voice 
 muttering menaces. 
 
 Lingard said — 
 
 " I don't care what happens, but I may tell you 
 that without that woman your life is not worth much 
 — not twopence. There is ji fellow here who . . . and 
 Abdulla himself wouldn't stand on any ceremony. 
 Think of that! And then she won't go." 
 
 He began, even while he spoke, to walk slowly 
 down towards the little gate. He didn't look, but he 
 felt as sure that Willems was following him as if he 
 had been leading him by a string. Directly he had 
 passed through the wicket-gate into the big courtyard 
 he heard a voice, behind his back, saying — 
 
 '' I think she was right. I ought to have shot you. 
 I couldn't have been worse of¥." 
 
 " Time yet," answered Lingard, without stopping 
 or looking back. " But, you see, you can't. There 
 is not even that in you." 
 
 " Don't provoke me. Captain Lingard," cried Wil- 
 lems. 
 
 Lingard turned round sharply. Willems and Aissa 
 stopped. Another forked flash of lightning split up the 
 clouds overhead, and threw upon their faces a sudden 
 burst of light — of light violent, sinister and fleeting; 
 and in the same instant they were deafened by a near, 
 single crash of thunder, which was followed by a rush- 
 ing noise like a frightened sigh of the startled earth. 
 
 " Provoke you! " said the old adventurer, as soon 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 253 
 
 as he could make himself heard. " Provoke you! 
 Hey! What's there in you to provoke? What do I 
 care ? " 
 
 " It is easy to speak like that when you know that 
 in the whole world — in the whole world — I have no 
 friend," said Willems. 
 
 '' Whose fault? " said Lingard, sharply. 
 
 Their voices, after the deep and tremendous noise, 
 sounded to them very unsatisfactory — thin and frail, 
 like the voices of pigmies — and they became suddenly 
 silent, as if on that account. From up the courtyard 
 Lingard's boatmen came down and passed them, keep- 
 ing step in a single file, their paddles on shoulder, and 
 holding their heads straight with their eyes fixed on 
 the river. Ali, who was walking last, stopped before 
 Lingard, very stifif and upright. He said — 
 
 " That one-eyed Babalatchi is gone, with all his 
 women. He took everything. All the pots and boxes. 
 Big. Heavy. Three boxes." 
 
 He grinned as if the thing had been amusing, then 
 added with an appearance of anxious concern, *' Rain 
 coming." 
 
 " We return," said Lingard. " Make ready." 
 
 *' Aye, aye, sir! " ejaculated Ali with precision, and 
 moved on. He had been quartermaster with Lingard 
 before making up his mind to stay in Sambir as Al- 
 mayer's head man. He strutted towards the landing- 
 place thinking proudly that he was not like those other 
 ignorant boatmen, and knew how to answer properly 
 the very greatest of white captains. 
 
 " You have misunderstood me from the first, CapjA'' 
 tain Eingard," said Willems. H \ 
 
 *^Have I? It's all right,_as lQiig_as there is no 
 mistake about my meaning," answered Lingard, stroll- 
 ing"sIowly to the landing-place. Willems followed 
 him, and Aissa followed Willems. 
 
 Two hands were extended to help Lingard in em- 
 
254 ^^ OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 barking. He stepped cautiously and heavily into the 
 long and narrow canoe, and sat in the canvas folding- 
 chair that had been placed in the middle. He leaned 
 back and turned his head to the two figures that stood 
 on the bank a little above him. A'issa's eyes were 
 fastened on his face in a visible impatience to see him 
 gone. Willems' look went straight above the canoe, 
 straight at the forest on the other side of the river. 
 
 *' All right, Ali," said Lingard, in a low voice. 
 
 A slight stir animated the faces, and a faint murmur 
 ran along the line of paddlers. The foremost man 
 pushed with the point of his paddle, canted the fore 
 end out of the dead water into the current; and the 
 canoe fell rapidly off before the rush of brown water, 
 the stern rubbing gently against the low bank. 
 
 "We will meet again. Captain Lingard!" cried 
 Willems, in an unsteady voice. 
 
 " Never! " said Lingard, turning half round in his 
 chair to look at Willems. His fierce red eyes glittered 
 remorselessly over the high back of his seat. 
 
 " Must cross the river. Water less quick over 
 there," said Ali. 
 
 He pushed In his turn now with all his strength, 
 throwing his body recklessly right out over the stern. 
 Then he recovered himself just In time into the squat- 
 ting attitude of a monkey perched on a high shelf, and 
 shouted: " Dayong! " 
 
 The paddles struck the water tog^ether. The canoe 
 darted forward and went on steadilv crossing the river 
 with a sidewavs motion made up of Its own speed and 
 the downward drift of the current. 
 
 Lingard watched the shore astern. The woman 
 shook her hand at him, and then squatted at the feet 
 of the man who stood motionless. After a while she 
 got up and stood beside him, reaching up to his head 
 — and Lingard saw then that she had wetted some part 
 of her covering and was trying to wash the dried blood 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 255 
 
 off the man's immovable face, which did not seem to 
 know anything about it. Lingard turned away and 
 threw himself back in his chair, stretching his legs 
 out with a sigh of fatigue. His head fell forward; and 
 under his red face the white beard lay fan-like on his 
 breast ; the ends of fine long hairs all astir in the faint 
 draught made by the rapid motion of the craft that 
 carried him away from his prisoner, from the only 
 thing in his life he wished to hide. 
 
 In its course across the river the canoe came into 
 the line of Willems' sight and his eyes caught the 
 image, followed it eagerly as it glided, small but dis- 
 tinct, on the dark background of the forest. The low 
 canoe itself was almost invisible, appearing only like 
 a narrow, dark, and progressing stroke on the light- 
 brown surface of the river, but he could see plainly 
 the figure of the man sitting in the middle. All his 
 life he had felt that man behind his back, a reassuring 
 presence ready with help, with commendation, with 
 advice; friendly in reproof, enthusiastic in approba- 
 tion; a man inspiring confidence by his strength, by 
 his fearlessness, .by the very^weakness of his simple 
 heart. Seeing him go away beyond his reach, Wil- 
 fems realised how much of himself belonged to that 
 man; what an immense place that man had in his life, 
 in his thoughts, in his belief in his own future; in all 
 his actions and in all his hopes. In his struggles with 
 himself, with temptation; in his revolt and in his de- 
 feat, in his recklessness and in his remorse, he had 
 always looked unconsciously towards the image of 
 that man. And now that man was going away. He 
 must call him back. 
 
 He shouted, and his words, which he wanted to 
 throw across the river, seemed to fall helplessly at his 
 feet. Aissa put her hand on his arm in a restraining 
 attempt, but he shook it off. He wanted to call back 
 his very Hfe that was going away from him. He 
 
256 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 shouted again — and this time he did not even hear 
 himself. No use. He would never return. And he 
 stood in sullen silence looking at the white figure 
 over there, lying back in the chair in the middle of 
 the boat; a figure that struck him suddenly as very 
 terrible, heartless and astonishing, with its unnatural 
 appearance of running over the water in an attitude 
 of languid repose. 
 
 For a time nothing on earth stirred, seemingly, but 
 the canoe, which glided up-stream with a motion so 
 even and smooth that it did not convey any sense of 
 movement; and the craft's change of place along the 
 succession of perpendicular trunks in the forest on its 
 other side seemed to be only a persistent and inex- 
 plicable error of the eye. Overhead, the massed 
 clouds appeared solid and steady as if held there in a 
 powerful grip, but on their uneven surface there was a 
 continuous and trembling glimmer, a faint reflection of 
 the distant lightning from the thunderstorm that had 
 broken already on the coast and was working its way 
 up the river with low and angry growls. Willems 
 looked on, as motionless as everything round him and 
 above him. Only his eyes seemed to live, as they 
 followed the canoe on its course that carried it away 
 from him, steadily, unhesitatingly, finally; as if it was 
 going, not up the great river into the momentous ex- 
 citement of Sambir, but straight into the past, into 
 the past crowded yet empty like an old cemetery full 
 of neglected graves, where lie dead hopes that never 
 return. 
 
 From time to time he felt on his face the passing 
 warm touch of an immense breath coming from be- 
 yond the forest, like the short panting of an oppressed 
 world. Then the heavy air round him, the air full of 
 heat, odorous and sickly, was pierced by a sharp g^ust 
 of wind, bringing with it the fresh, damp feel of the 
 falling rain; and all the innumerable tree-tops of for- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 257 
 
 ests before his eyes swayed to the left and sprang back 
 again in a tumultuous balancing of nodding branches 
 and shuddering leaves. A light frown ran over the 
 river, the clouds stirred slowly, changing their aspect 
 but not their place, as if they had turned ponderously 
 over; and when the sudden movement had died out 
 in a quickened tremor of the slenderest twigs, there 
 was a short period of formidable immobility above 
 and below, during which the voice of the thunder was 
 heard, speaking in a sustained emphatic and vibrating 
 roll, with violent louder bursts of crashing sound, like 
 a wrathful and threatening discourse of an angry god. 
 For a moment it died out, and then another gust of 
 wind passed, driving before it a white mist which filled 
 the space with a cloud of water-dust that hid suddenly 
 from Willems the canoe, the forests, the river itself; 
 that woke him up from his numbness in a forlorn 
 shiver; that made him look round despairingly to see 
 nothing but the whirling drift of rain spray before 
 the freshening breeze, while through it the heavy big 
 drops fell about him with sonorous and rapid beats 
 upon the dry earth. He made a few hurried steps up 
 the courtyard and was arrested by an immense sheet 
 of water that fell all at once on him, fell sudden and 
 overwhelming from the clouds, cutting his respiration, 
 streaming over his head, clinging to him, running 
 down his body, off his arms, off his legs. He stood 
 ,c:asping while the water beat him in a vertical down- 
 pour, drove on him slanting in squalls, and he felt the 
 drops striking him from above, from everywhere; 
 drops thick, pressed and dashing at him as if flung 
 from all sides by a mob of infuriated hands. From 
 under his feet a great vapour of broken water floated 
 UD, and he felt the ground become soft — melt under 
 him — and saw the water spring out from the dry earth 
 to meet the water that fell from the sombre heaven. 
 An insane dread took possession of him, the dread 
 
258 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 of all that water around him, of the water that ran 
 down the courtyard towards him, of the water that 
 pressed him on every side, of the slanting water that 
 drove across his face in wavering sheets which gleamed 
 pale red with the flicker of lightning streaming 
 through them, as if fire and water were falling to- 
 gether, monstrously mixed, upon the stunted earth; 
 were falling continuous and mingled in a piercing hiss 
 — a hiss, loud, prolonged, persistent and indestructi- 
 ble — that vanished in every burst of crashing and tear- 
 ing noise amongst the invisible clouds : only to return 
 and fill the waste of falling water with the sound of 
 its distinct and passionless whisper. 
 
 He wanted to run away, but when he moved it was 
 to slide about painfully and slowly upon that earth 
 which had become mud so suddenly under his feet. 
 He fought his way up the courtyard like a man push- 
 ing through a crowd, his head down, one shoulder 
 forward, stopping often, and sometimes carried back a 
 pace or two in the rush of water which his heart was 
 not stout enough to face. Aissa followed him step 
 by step, stopping when he stopped, recoiling with him, 
 moving forward with him in his toilsome way up the 
 slippery declivity of the courtyard, of that courtyard, 
 from which everything seemed to have been swept 
 away by the first rush of the mighty downpour. They 
 could see nothing. The tree, the bushes, the house, 
 and the fences — all had disappeared in the thickness 
 of the falHng rain; and they seemed to progress into 
 an infinite space full only of deafening sound, of blind- 
 ing fire, and of water falling vertical and heavy. Their 
 hair stuck, streaming, to their heads; their clothing 
 clung to them, beaten close to their bodies; water 
 ran ofT them, off their heads over his shoulders, as they 
 moved, patient, upright, slow and dark, in the gleam 
 clear or fiery of the falling drops, under the roll of 
 unceasing thunder which they seemed not to hear. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 259 
 
 And they appeared like two wandering ghosts of the 
 drowned that, condemned to haunt the water for ever, 
 had come up from the river to look at the world under 
 a deluge. 
 
 On the left the tree seemed to step out to meet 
 them, appearing vaguely, high, motionless, and pa- 
 tient, with a rustling plaint of its innumerable leaves 
 through which every drop of water tore its separate 
 way with cruel haste. And then, to the right, the house 
 surged up in the midst, very black and clamorous, with 
 the patter of rain on its high-pitched roof — the quick, 
 loud patter that rang sharp and distracting above the 
 steady plash of the water running off the eaves. Down 
 the plankway leading to the door flowed a thin and 
 pellucid stream, and when Willems began his ascent 
 it broke over his foot as if he were going up a steep 
 ravine in the bed of a rapid and shallow torrent. Be- 
 hind his heels two streaming smudges of mud stained 
 for an instant the purity of the rushing water, and 
 then he splashed his way up with a spurt and stood 
 on the bamboo platform before the open door under 
 the shelter of the overhanging eaves — under shelter 
 at last! 
 
 A low moan ending in a broken and plaintive mut- 
 ter arrested Willems on the threshold. He peered 
 round in the half-light under the roof and saw the old 
 woman crouching close to the wall in a shapeless heap, 
 and while he looked he felt a touch of two arms on 
 his shoulders. Aissa! He had forgotten her. He 
 turned quickly, and she clasped him round the neck 
 instantly, pressing close to him as if afraid of violence 
 or escape. He stiffened himself in repulsion, in hor- 
 ror, in the mysterious revolt of his heart, and she clung 
 to him — clung to him as if he was a refuge from misery, 
 from storm, from weariness, from fear, from despair; 
 and it was on the part of that being an embrace 
 terrible, enraged and mournful, in which all her 
 
26o AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 strength went out to make him captive, to hold him 
 for ever. 
 
 He said nothing. He looked into her eyes while 
 he struggled with her fingers about the nape of his 
 neck, and suddenly he tore her hands apart, holding 
 her arms up in a strong grip of her wrists, and bend- 
 ing his swollen face close over hers, he said — 
 
 " It is all your doing. You . . ." 
 
 She did not understand him — not a word. He 
 spoke in the language of his people — of his people that 
 know no mercy and no shame. And he was angry. 
 Alas! he was always angry now, and always speak- 
 ing words that she could not understand. She stood 
 in silence, with dolorous wonder looking at him 
 through her patient eyes, while he shook her arms a 
 little and then flung them down. 
 
 '' Don't go in there ! " he shouted. " I want to be 
 alone — I mean to be left alone ! " 
 
 He went in, leaving the door open. 
 
 She did not move. What need to understand the 
 words when they are spoken in such a voice? In that 
 voice which did not seem to be his voice — his voice 
 when he spoke by the brook, when he was never angry 
 and always smiling? Her eyes were fixed upon the 
 dark doorway, but her hands strayed mechanically 
 upwards; she took up all her hair, and, incHning her 
 head slightly over her shoulder, wrung out the long 
 black tresses, twisting them persistently, while she 
 stood, sad and absorbed, like one listening to an in- 
 ward voice — the voice of bitter, of unavailing regret. 
 The thunder had ceased, the wind had died out, and 
 the rain fell perpendicular and steady through a great 
 pale clearness — the light of remote sun coming vic- 
 torious from amongst the dissolving blackness of the 
 clouds. She stood near the doorway. He was there 
 — alone. She could hear his breathing in the gloom 
 of the dwelling. He was there. He spoke not. What 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 261 
 
 was in his mind now? What fear? What desire? 
 Not the desire of her as in the days when he used to 
 smile . . . How could she know? . . . 
 
 And a sigh coming from the bottom of her heart, 
 flew out into the world through her parted lips. A 
 sigh faint, profound, and broken; a sigh full of pain 
 and fear, like the sigh of those who are about to face 
 the unknown: to face it in loneliness, in doubt, and 
 without hope. She let go her hair, that fell scattered 
 over her shoulders like a funeral veil, and she sank 
 down suddenly by the door. Her hands clasped her 
 ankles; she rested her head on her drawn-up knees, 
 and remained still, very still, under the streaming 
 mourning of her hair. She was thinking of him, of 
 the days by the brook; she was thinking of all that 
 had been their love — and she sat in the abandoned 
 posture of those who sit weeping by the dead, of those 
 who watch and mourn over a corp«c. 
 
 "^^M^ ^l ^ 
 
PART V. 
 I. 
 
 Almayer sat alone on the verandah of his house, and, 
 with both his elbows on the table, held his head be- 
 tween his hands staring before him away over the 
 stretch of sprouting young grass in his courtyard, and 
 over the short jetty with its cluster of small canoes, 
 amongst which his big whaleboat floated high, like 
 a white mother of all that dark and aquatic brood. 
 He stared on the river, past the schooner anchored in 
 mid-stream, past the forests of the left bank ; he stared 
 through and past the illusion of the material world; 
 and his gaze glided over, glided between the crowd 
 of tangible things — things indifferent, solid, and un- 
 necessary — which appeared to him offensive in their 
 ignorance of the thought that dwelt amongst them, 
 beyond them, above them; of the thought intangible 
 and real, invisible and tenacious; of the thought that, 
 born in his brain, had flowed out into the world and 
 lay now, like a film transparent and disquieting, upon 
 the colour, upon the movement, upon the form of all 
 things alive and dead. 
 
 The sun was sinking. Under the sky was stretched 
 a network of white threads, a network fine and close- 
 meshed, where here and there were caught thicker 
 white vapours of globular shape ; and to the eastward, 
 above the ragged barrier of the forests, surged the 
 summits of a chain of great clouds, growing bigger 
 slowly, in imperceptible motion, as they climbed up 
 
 262 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 263 
 
 above the tree-tops, climbed noiseless and gentle, as 
 if careful not to disturb the glowing stillness of the 
 earth and of the sky. Abreast of the house the river 
 was empty but for the motionless schooner. Higher 
 up, a solitary log came out from the bend above and 
 went on drifting slowly down the straight reach: a 
 dead and wandering tree going out to its grave in the 
 sea between two ranks of trees motionless and living. 
 
 And Almayer sat, his chin in his hands, looking on 
 and hating all this: the muddy river; the faded blue 
 of the sky; the black log passing by on its first and 
 last voyage; the green sea of leaves — the sea that 
 glowed, shimmered, and stirred above the uniform and 
 impenetrable gloom of the forests — the joyous sea of 
 living green powdered with the brilliant dust of oblique 
 sunrays. He hated all this; he begrudged every day 
 — every minute — of his life spent amongst all these 
 things, of his life that wxnt in payment of his future; 
 he begrudged it bitterly, angrily, with enraged and 
 immense regret, like a miser compelled to give up 
 some of his treasure to a near relation. And yet all 
 this was very precious to him. It was the present 
 sign of a splendid future. 
 
 He pushed the table away impatiently, got up, 
 made a few steps aimlessly, then stood by the balus- 
 trade and again looked at the river — at that river 
 which would have been the instrument for the making 
 of his fortune if . . . if . . . 
 
 " What an abominable brute! " he said. 
 
 He was alone, but he spoke aloud, as one is apt to 
 do under the impulse of a strong, of an overmastering 
 thought. 
 
 *' What a brute! " he muttered again. 
 
 The river was dark now, and the schooner lay on 
 it, a black, a lonely, and a graceful form, with the slen- 
 der masts darting upwards from it in two frail and 
 raking lines. The shadows of the evening crept up 
 
264 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the trees, crept up from bough to bough, till at last 
 the long sunbeams coursing from the western horizon 
 skimmed lightly over the topmast branches, then flew 
 upwards amongst the piled-up clouds, giving them a 
 sombre and fiery aspect in the last flush of light. And 
 suddenly the light disappeared as if lost in the im- 
 mensity of the great, blue, and empty hollow over- 
 head. The sun had set, and the forests became a 
 straight wall of formless blackness. Above them, on 
 the edge of the lingering clouds, a single star glim- 
 mered fitfully, obscured now and then by the rapid 
 flight of high and invisible vapours. 
 
 Almayer fought with the uneasiness within his 
 breast. He heard Ali, who moved behind him pre- 
 paring his evening meal, and he listened with strange 
 attention to the sounds the man made — to the short, 
 dry bang of the plate put upon the table, to the clink 
 of glass and the metallic rattle of knife and fork. The 
 man went away. Now he was coming back. He 
 would speak directly; and Almayer, notwithstanding 
 the absorbing gravity of his thoughts, listened for the 
 sound of expected words. He heard them, spoken in 
 English with painstaking distinctness. 
 
 "Ready, sir!" 
 
 " All right," said Almayer, curtly. He did not 
 move. He remained pensive, with his back to the 
 table upon which stood the lighted lamp brought by 
 Ali. He was thinking: Where was Lingard now? 
 Half-way down the river probably, in Abdulla's ship. 
 He would be back in about three days — perhaps less. 
 And then? Then the schooner would have to be got 
 out of the river, and when that craft was gone they 
 — he and Lingard — would remain here; alone with 
 the constant thought of that other man, that other 
 man living near them! What an extraordinary idea 
 to keep him there for ever. For ever! What did that 
 mean — for ever? Perhaps a year, perhaps ten years. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 265 
 
 Preposterous! Keep him there ten years — or may be 
 twenty! The fellow was capable of living more than 
 twenty years. And for all that time he would have to 
 be watched, fed, looked after. There was nobody but 
 Lingard to have such insane notions. Twenty years! 
 Why, no! In less than ten years their fortune would 
 be made and they would leave this place, first for 
 Batavia — yes, Batavia — and then for Europe. Eng- 
 land, no doubt. Lingard would want to go to Eng- 
 land. And would they leave that man here? How 
 would that fellow look in ten years? Very old prob- 
 ably. Well, devil take him. Nina would be fifteen. 
 She would be rich and very pretty, and he himself 
 would not be so old then . . . 
 
 Almayer smiled into the night. 
 
 . . . Yes, rich! Why! Of course! Captain Lin- 
 gard was a resourceful man, and he had plenty of 
 money even now. They were rich already; but not 
 enough. Decidedly not enough. Money brings 
 money. That gold business was good. Famous! 
 Captain Lingard was a remarkable man. He said the 
 gold was there — and it was there. Lingard knew what 
 he was talking about. But he had queer ideas. For 
 instance", about Willems. Now what did he want to 
 keep him alive for? Why? 
 
 "That scoundrel," muttered Almayer again. 
 
 " Makan Tuan ! " ejaculated AH suddenly, very 
 loud in a pressing tone. 
 
 Almayer walked to the table, sat down, and his 
 anxious visage dropped from above into the light 
 thrown down by the lamp-shade. He helped himself 
 absently, and began to eat in great mouthfuls. 
 
 . . . Undoubtedly, Lingard was the man to stick 
 to! The man undismayed, masterful and ready. How 
 quickly he had planned a new future when Willems' 
 treachery destroyed their established position in Sam- 
 bif ! And the position SYStk now was not so bad 
 
266 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 What an immense prestige that Lingard had with all 
 those people — Arabs, Malays and all. Ah, it was good 
 to be able to call a man like that father. Fine! Won- 
 der how much money really the old fellow had. Peo- 
 ple talked — they exaggerated surely, but if he had only 
 half of what they said . . . 
 
 He drank, throwing his head up, and fell to again. 
 
 . . . Now if that Willems had known how to play 
 his cards well, had he stuck to the old fellow he would 
 have been in his position, he would be now married 
 to Lingard's adopted daughter with his future assured 
 — splendid . . . 
 
 "The beast!" growled Almayer, between two 
 mouthfuls. 
 
 Ali stood rigidly straight with an uninterested face, 
 his gaze lost in the night which pressed round the 
 small circle of light that shone on the table, on the 
 glass, on the bottle, and on Almayer's head as he 
 leaned over his plate moving his jaws. 
 
 ... A famous man Lingard — yet you never knew 
 what h€ would do next. It was notorious that he had 
 shot a white man once for less than Willems had done. 
 For less? . . . Why, for nothing, so to speak! It 
 was not even his own quarrel. It was about some 
 Malay returning from pilsrimage with wife and chil- 
 dren. Kidnapped, or robbed, or something. A stupid 
 story — an old storv. And now he goes to see that 
 Willems and — nothing. Comes back talking big 
 about his prisoner; but after all he said very little. 
 What did that Willems tell him? What passed be- 
 tween them? The old fellow must have had some- 
 thing in his mind when he let that scoundrel of¥. And 
 Joanna! She would get round the old fellow. Sure. 
 Then he would forsrive perhaps. Impossible. But 
 at any rate he would waste a lot of money on them. 
 The old man was tenacious in his hates, but also in 
 bis affections. He had known that beast Willems from 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 267 
 
 a boy. They would make it up in a year or so. Every- 
 thing is possible: why did he not rush off at first and 
 kill the brute? That would have been more like Lin- 
 gard. . . . 
 
 Almayer laid down his spoon suddenly, and push- 
 ing his plate away, threw himself back in the chair. 
 
 . . . Unsafe. Decidedly unsafe. He had no mind 
 to share Lingard's money with anybody. Lingard's 
 money was Nina's money in a sense. And if Willems 
 managed to become friendly with the old man it would 
 be dangerous for him — Almayer. Such an unscrupu- 
 lous scoundrel! He would oust him from his position. 
 He would lie and slander. Everything would be lost. 
 Lost. Poor Nina. What would become of her? Poor 
 child. For her sake he must remove that Willems. 
 Must. But how? Lingard wanted to be obeyed. Im- 
 possible to kill Willems. Lingard might be angry. 
 Incredible, but so it was. He might . . . 
 
 A wave of heat passed through Almayer's body, 
 flushed his face, and broke out of him in copious per- 
 spiration. He wriggled in his chair, and pressed his 
 hands together under the table. What an awful pros- 
 pect! He fancied he could see Lingard and Willems 
 reconciled and going away arm-in-arm, leaving him 
 alone in this God-forsaken hole — in Sambir — in this 
 deadly swamp! And all his sacrifices, the sacrifice of 
 his independence, of his best years, his surrender to 
 Lingard's fancies and caprices, would go for nothing! 
 Horrible! Then he thought of his little daughter — 
 his daughter! — and the ghastliness of his supposition 
 overpowered him. He had a deep emotion, a sudden 
 emotion that made him feel quite faint at the idea of 
 that young- life spoiled before it had fairly begun. His 
 dear child's life! Lying back in his chair he covered 
 his face with both his hands. 
 
 Ali glanced down at him and said, unconcernedly 
 —"Master finish?" 
 x8 
 
268 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Almayer was lost in the immensity of his com- 
 miseration for himself, for his daughter, who was — 
 perhaps — not going to be the richest woman in the 
 world — notwithstanding Lingard's promises. He did 
 not understand the other's question, and muttered 
 through his fingers in a doleful tone — 
 
 " What did you say? What? Finish what? " 
 
 *' Clear up meza," explained AH. 
 
 ''Clear up!" burst out Almayer, with incompre- 
 hensible exasperation. " Devil take you and the table. 
 Go! Stupid! Chatterer! Chelakka! Go! go!" 
 
 He leaned forward, glaring at his head man, then 
 sank back in his seat with his arms hanging straight 
 down on each side of the chair. And he sat motion- 
 less in a meditation so concentrated and so absorbing, 
 with all his power of thought so deep within himself, 
 that all expression disappeared from his face in an 
 aspect of staring vacancy. 
 
 AH was clearing the table. He dropped negligently 
 the tumbler into the greasy dish, flung there the spoon 
 and fork, then slipped in the plate with a push amongst 
 the remnants of food. He took up the dish, tucked 
 up the bottle under his armpit, and went ofif. 
 
 "My hammock!" shouted Almayer after him. 
 
 " Ada! I come soon," answered AH from the door- 
 way in an offended tone, looking back over his shoul- 
 der. . . . How could he clear the table and hang the 
 hammock at the same time. Ya — wa! Those white 
 men were all aHke. Wanted everything at once. Like 
 children ... 
 
 The indistinct murmur of his criticism went away, 
 faded and died out together with the soft footfall of his 
 bare feet in the dark passage. 
 
 For some time Almayer did not move. His 
 thoughts were busy at work shaping a momentous 
 resolution, and in the perfect silence of the house he 
 beHeved that he could hear the noise of the operation 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 269 
 
 as if the work had been done with a hammer. He 
 certainly felt a thumping of strokes, faint, profound, 
 and startling, somewhere low down in his breast; and 
 he was aware of a sound of dull knocking, abrupt and 
 rapid, in his ears. Now and then he held his breath, 
 unconsciously, too long, and had to reHeve himself 
 by a deep expiration that whistled dully through his 
 pursed lips. The lamp standing on the far side of the 
 table threw a section of a lighted circle on the floor, 
 where his outstretched legs stuck out from under the 
 table with feet rigid and turned up like the feet of a 
 corpse; and his set face with fixed eyes would have 
 been also like the face of the dead, but for its vacant 
 yet conscious aspect; the hard, the stupid, the stony 
 aspect of one not dead, but only buried under the dust, 
 ashes, and corruption of personal thoughts, of base 
 fears, of selfish desires. 
 
 "I will do it!" 
 
 Not till he heard his own voice did he know that 
 he had spoken. It startled him. He stood up. The 
 knuckles of his hand, somewhat behind him, were rest- 
 ing on the edge of the table as he remained still with 
 one foot advanced, his lips a little open, and thought: 
 It would not do to fool with Lingard. But I must 
 risk it. It's the only way I can see. I must tell her. 
 She has some little sense. I wish they were a thou- 
 sand miles ofif already. A hundred thousand miles. 
 I do. And if it fails. And she blabs out then to Lin- 
 gard? She seemed a fool. No; probably they will 
 get away. And if they did, would Lingard believe 
 me? Yes. I never lied to him. He would believe. 
 I don't know . . . Perhaps he won't. ..." I must do 
 it. Must! " he argued aloud to himself. 
 
 For a long time he stood still, looking before him 
 with an intense gaze, a gaze rapt and immobile, that 
 seemed to watch the minute quivering of a delicate 
 balance, coming to a rest. 
 
270 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 To the left of him, in the whitewashed wall of the 
 house that formed the back of the verandah, there 
 was a closed door. Black letters were painted on it 
 proclaiming the fact that behind that door there was 
 the ofifice of Lingard & Co. The interior had been 
 furnished by Lingard when he had built the house 
 'for his adopted daughter and her husband, and it had 
 been furnished with reckless prodigality. There was 
 an office desk, a revolving chair, bookshelves, a safe: 
 all to humour the weakness of Almayer, who thought 
 all those paraphernalia necessary to successful trading. 
 Lingard had laughed, but had taken immense trouble 
 to get the things. It pleased him to make his protege, 
 his adopted son-in-law, happy. It had been the sensa- 
 tion of Sambir some five years ago. While the things 
 were being landed, the whole settlement literally lived 
 on the river bank in front of the Rajah Laut's house, 
 to look, to wonder, to admire. . . . What a big meza, 
 with many boxes fitted all over it and under it! What 
 did the white man do with such a table? And look, 
 look, O Brothers! There is a green square box, with 
 a gold plate on it, a box so heavy that those twenty 
 men cannot drag it up the bank. Let us go, brothers, 
 and help pull at the ropes, and perchance we may see 
 what's inside. Treasure, no doubt. Gold is heavy 
 and hard to hold, O Brothers! Let us go and earn 
 a recompense from the fierce Rajah of the Sea who 
 shouts over there, with a red face. See! There is a 
 man carrying a pile of books from the boat! What a 
 number of books. What were they for? . . . And an 
 old invalided jurumudi, who had travelled over many 
 seas and had heard holy men speak in far-ofif coun- 
 tries, explained to a small knot of unsophisticated citi- 
 zens of Sambir that those books were books of magic 
 — of magic that guides the white men's ships over 
 the seas, that gives them their wicked wisdom and 
 their strength; of magic that makes them great, pow- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 271 
 
 erful, and irresistible while they live, and — praise be 
 to Allah! — the victims of Satan, the slaves of Jehan- 
 num when they die. 
 
 And when he saw the room furnished Almayer 
 had felt proud. In his exultation of an empty-headed 
 quill-driver, he thought himself, by the virtue of that 
 furniture, at the head of a serious business. He had 
 sold himself to Lingard for these things — married the 
 Malay girl of his adoption for the reward of these 
 things and of the great wealth that must necessarily 
 follow upon conscientious book-keeping. He found 
 out very soon that trade in Sambir meant something 
 entirely different. He could not guide Patalolo, con- 
 trol the irrepressible old Sahamin, or restrain the 
 youthful vagaries of the fierce Bahassoen with pen, 
 ink, and paper. He found no successful magic in the 
 blank pages of his ledgers; and gradually he lost his 
 old point of view in the saner appreciation of his situa- 
 tion. The room known as the office became neglected 
 then Hke a temple of an exploded superstition. At 
 first, when his wife reverted to her original savagery, 
 Almayer, now and again, had sought refuge from her 
 there; but after their child began to speak, to know 
 him, he became braver, for he found courage and con- 
 solation in his unreasoning and fierce affection for his 
 daughter — in the impenetrable mantle of selfishness 
 he wrapped round both their lives : round himself, and 
 that young life that was also his. 
 
 When Lingard ordered him to receive Joanna into 
 his house, he had a truckle bed put into the office — 
 the only room he could spare. The big ofBce desk 
 was pushed on one side, and Joanna came with her 
 little shabby trunk and with her child and took pos- 
 session in her dreamy, slack, half-asleep way; took 
 possession of the dust, dirt, and squalor, where she ap- 
 peared naturally at home, where she dragged a melan- 
 choly and dull existence; an existence made of sad 
 
2/2 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 remorse and frightened hope amongst the hopeless 
 disorder — the senseless and vain decay of all these em- 
 blems and civilised commerce. Bits of white stuff; 
 rags yellow, pink, blue: rags limp, brilHant and soiled, 
 trailed on the floor, lay on the desk amongst the som- 
 bre covers of books soiled, grimy, but stiff-backed, 
 in virtue, perhaps, of their European origin. The 
 biggest set of bookshelves was partly hidden by a 
 petticoat, the waistband of which was caught upon the 
 back of a slender book pulled a little out of the row 
 so as to make an improvised clothes-peg. The fold- 
 ing canvas bedstead stood nearly in the middle of the 
 room, stood anyhow, parallel to no wall, as if it had 
 been, in the process of transportation to some remote 
 place, dropped casually there by tired bearers. And 
 on the tumbled blankets that lay in a disordered heap 
 on its edge, Joanna sat almost all day with her stock- 
 ingless feet upon one of the bed pillows that were 
 somehow always kicking about the floor. She sat 
 there, vaguely tormented at times by the thought of 
 her absent husband, but most of the time thinking 
 tearfully of nothing at all, looking with swimming 
 eyes at her Httle son — at the big-headed, pasty-faced 
 and sickly Louis Willems — who rolled a glass ink- 
 stand, solid with dried ink, about the floor, and tot- 
 tered after it with the portentous gravity of demeanour 
 and absolute absorption by the business in hand that 
 characterise the pursuits of early childhood. Through 
 the half-open shutter a ray of sunlight, a ray merci- 
 less and crude, came into the room, beat in the early 
 morning upon the safe in the far-oif corner, then, trav- 
 elling against the sun, cut at midday the big desk in 
 two with its solid and clean-edged brilliance; with its 
 hot brilliance in which a swarm of flies hovered in 
 dancing flight over some dirty plate forgotten there 
 amongst yellow papers for many a day. And towards 
 the evening the cynical ray seemed to cling to the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 273 
 
 ragged petticoat, lingered on it with wicked enjoy- 
 ment of that misery it had exposed all day; lingered 
 on the corner of the dusty bookshelf, in a red glow 
 intense and mocking, till it was suddenly snatched 
 by the setting sun out of the way of the coming night. 
 And the night entered the room. The night abrupt, 
 impenetrable and all-filling with its flood of darkness; 
 the night cool and merciful; the blind night that saw 
 nothing, but could hear the fretful whimpering of the 
 child, the creak of the bedstead, Joanna's deep sighs 
 as she turned over, sleepless, in the confused con- 
 viction of her wickedness, thinking of that man mas- 
 terful, fair-headed and strong — a man hard perhaps, 
 but her husband; her clever and handsome husband 
 to whom she had acted so cruelly on the advice of badj 
 people, if her own people; and of her poor, dear, de 
 ceived mother. 
 
 To Almayer, Joanna's presence was a constant 
 worry, a worry unobtrusive yet intolerable; a con- 
 stant, but mostly mute, warning of possible danger. 
 In view of the absurd softness of Lingard's heart, every 
 one in whom Lingard manifested the slightest interest 
 was to Almayer a natural enemy. He was quite alive 
 to that feeling, and in the intimacy of the secret inter- 
 course with his inner self had often congratulated him- 
 self upon his own wide-awake comprehension of his 
 position. In that way, and impelled by that motive. 
 Almayer had hated many and various persons at vari- 
 ous times. But he never had hated and feared any- 
 body so much as he did hate and fear Willems. Even 
 after Willems' treachery, which seemed to remove him 
 beyond the pale of all human sympathy, Almayer mis- 
 trusted the situation and groaned in spirit every time 
 he caught sight of Joanna. 
 
 He saw her very seldom in the daytime. But in 
 the short and opal-tinted twilights, or in the azure 
 dusk of starry evenings, he often saw, before he slept. 
 
 I 
 
274 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the slender and tall figure trailing to and fro the ragged 
 tail of its white gown over the dried mud of the river- 
 side in front of the house. Once or twice when he sat 
 late on the verandah, with his feet upon the deal table 
 on a level with the lamp, reading the seven months 
 old copy of the North China Herald brought by Lin- 
 gard, he heard the stairs creak, and, looking round 
 the paper, he saw her frail and meagre form rise step 
 by step and toil across the verandah, carrying with 
 difficulty the big, fat child, whose head, lying on the 
 mother's bony shoulder, seemed of the same size as 
 Joanna's own. Several times she had assailed him 
 with tearful clamour or mad entreaties asking about 
 her husband, wanting to know where he was, when he 
 would be back; and ending every such outburst with 
 despairing and incoherent self-reproaches that were 
 absolutely incomprehensible to Almayer. On one or 
 two occasions she had overwhelmed her host with 
 vituperative abuse, making him responsible for her 
 husband's absence. Those scenes, begun without 
 any warning, ended abruptly in a sobbing flight and 
 a bang of the door; stirred the house with a sudden, 
 a fierce, and an evanescent disturbance; like those in- 
 explicable whirlwinds that rise, run, and vanish with- 
 out apparent cause upon the sun-scorched dead level 
 of arid and lamentable plains. 
 
 But to-night the house was quiet, deadly quiet, 
 while Almayer stood still, watching that delicate bal- 
 ance where he was weighing all his chances, Joanna's 
 intelligence, Lingard's credulitv, Willems' reckless 
 audacity, desire to escape, readiness to seize an un- 
 expected opportunitv. He weighed, anxious and at- 
 tentive, his fears and his desires against the tremendous 
 risk of a quarrel with Lingard. . . . Yes. Lingard 
 would be angry. Lingard might suspect him of some 
 connivance in his prisoner's escape — but surely he 
 would not quarrel with him — Almayer — about those 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 2/5 
 
 people once they were gone— gone to the devil in their 
 own way. And then he had hold of Lingard through 
 the little girl. Good. What an annoyance. A prison- 
 er! As if one could keep him in there. He was bound 
 to get away some time or other. Of course. A situa- 
 tion like that can't last. Anybody could see that. 
 Lingard's eccentricity passed all bounds. You may 
 kill a man, but you mustn't torture him. It was almost 
 criminal. It caused worry, trouble, and unpleasant- 
 ness. . . . Almayer for a moment felt very angry with 
 Lingard. He made him responsible for the anguish 
 he suffered from, for the anguish of doubt and fear; 
 for compelling him— the practical and innocent Al- 
 layer— to such painful efforts of mind in order to 
 find out some issue for absurd situations created by 
 the unreasonable sentimentality of Lingard's unprac- 
 tical impulses. ^^ 
 *' Now if the fellow were dead it would be all right, 
 said Almayer to the verandah. 
 
 He stirred a little, and, scratching his nose thought- 
 fully, revelled in a short flight of fancy, showing him 
 his own image crouching in a big boat, that floated 
 arrested— say fifty yards off— abreast of Willems' 
 landing-place. In the bottom of the boat there was 
 a gun. A loaded gun. One of the boatmen would 
 shout, and Willems would answer— from the bushes. 
 The rascal would be suspicious. Of course. Then 
 the man would wave a piece of paper urging Willems 
 to come to the landing-place to receive an important 
 message. " From the Rajah Laut " the man would 
 yell as the boat edged in-shore, and that would fetch 
 Willems out. Wouldn't it? Rather! And Almayer 
 saw himself jumping up at the right moment, taking 
 aim, pulling the trigger— and Willems tumbUng over, 
 his head in the water— the swine! 
 
 He seemed to hear the report of the shot. It made 
 him thrillfrom head to foot where he stood. . . . How 
 
276 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 Simple! . . . Unfortunately . . . Lingard . . . He 
 sighed, shook his head. Pity. Couldn't be done. And 
 couldn't leave him there either! Suppose the Arabs 
 were to get hold of him again — for instance to lead 
 an expedition up the river! Goodness only knows 
 what harm would come of it. . . . 
 
 The balance was at rest now and inclining to the 
 side of immediate action. Almayer walked to the door, 
 walked up very close to it, knocked loudly, and turned 
 his head away, looking frightened for a moment at 
 what he had done. After waiting for a while he put 
 his ear against the panel and Hstened. Nothing. He 
 composed his features into an agreeable expression 
 while he stood listening and thinking to himself. " I 
 hear her. Crying. Eh? I believe she has lost the 
 little wits she had and is crying night and day since 
 I began to prepare her for the news of her husband's 
 death — as Lingard told me. I wonder what she thinks. 
 It's just like father to make me invent all these stories 
 for nothing at all. Out of kindness. Kindness! 
 Damn! . . . She isn't deaf, surely." 
 
 He knocked again, then said in a friendly tone, 
 grinning benevolently at the closed door — 
 
 " It's me, Mrs. Willems. I want to speak to you. 
 I have . . . have . , . important news. . . ." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 '' News," repeated Almayer, distinctly. " News 
 about your husband. Your husband! . . . Damn 
 him! " he added, under his breath. 
 
 He heard a stumbling rush inside. Things were 
 overturned. Joanna's agitated voice cried — 
 
 " News! What? What? I am coming out." 
 
 " No," shouted Almayer. " Put on some clothes, 
 Mrs. Willems, and let me in. It's . . . very confiden- 
 tial. You have a candle, haven't you?" 
 
 She was knocking herself about blindly amongst 
 the furniture in that room. The candlestick was upset. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 277 
 
 Matches were struck ineffectually. The matchbox 
 fell. He heard her drop on her knees and grope over 
 the floor while she kept on moaning in maddened dis- 
 traction. 
 
 *' Oh, my God! News! Yes . . . yes. ... Ah! 
 where . . . where . . . candle. Oh, my God! ... I 
 can't find . . . Don't go away, for the love of Heav- 
 en . . ." 
 
 " I don't want to go away," said Almayer, impa- 
 tiently, through the keyhole; "but look sharp. It's 
 confi . . . it's pressing." 
 
 He stamped his foot lightly, waiting with his hand 
 on the door-handle. He thought anxiously: The 
 woman's a perfect idiot. Why should I go away? She 
 will be off her head. She will never catch my mean- 
 ing. She's too stupid. 
 
 She was moving now inside the room hurriedly and 
 in silence. He waited. There was a moment of per- 
 fect stillness in there, and then she spoke in an ex- 
 hausted voice, in words that were shaped out of an 
 expiring sigh — out of a sigh light and profound, like 
 words breathed out by a woman before going off into 
 a dead faint — 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 He pushed the door. AH, coming through the 
 passage with an armful of pillows and blankets pressed 
 to his breast high up under his chin, caught sight of 
 his master before the door closed behind him. He 
 was so astonished that he dropped his bundle and 
 stood staring at the door for a long time. He heard 
 the voice of his master talking. Talking to that Sirani 
 woman! Who was she? He had never thought about 
 that really. He speculated for a while hazily upon 
 things in general. She was a Sirani woman — and ugly. 
 He made a disdainful grimace, picked up the bed- 
 ding, and went about his work, slinging the hammock 
 between two uprights of the verandah. . . . Those 
 
2/8 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 things did not concern him. She was ugly, and 
 brought here by the Rajah Laut, and his master spoke 
 to her in the night. Very well. He, AH, had his work 
 to do. Sling the hammock — go round and see that 
 the watchmen were awake — take a look at the moor- 
 ings of the boats, at the padlock of the big storehouse 
 — then go to sleep. To sleep! He shivered pleasantly. 
 He leaned with both arms over his master's hammock 
 and fell into a light doze. 
 
 A scream, unexpected, piercing — a scream begin- 
 ning at once in the highest pitch of a woman's voic* 
 and then cut short, so short that it suggested the swift 
 work of death — caused Ali to jump on one side away 
 from the hammock, and the silence that succeeded 
 seemed to him as startling as the awful shriek. He 
 was thunderstruck with surprise. Almayer came out 
 of the office, leaving the door ajar, passed close to his 
 servant without taking any notice, and made straight 
 for the water-chatty hung on a nail in a draughty place. 
 He took it down and came back, missing the petrified 
 Ali by an inch. He moved with long strides, yet, 
 notwithstanding his haste, stopped short before the 
 door, and, throwing his head back, poured a thin 
 stream of water down his throat. While he came and 
 went, while he stopped to drink, while he did all this, 
 there came steadily from the dark room the sound of 
 feeble and persistent crying, the crying of a sleepy and 
 frightened child. After he had drunk, Almayer went 
 in, closing the door carefully. 
 
 Ali did not budge. That Sirani woman shrieked! 
 He felt an immense curiosity very unusual to his stolid 
 disposition. He could not take his eyes ofif the door. 
 Was she dead in there? How interesting and funny! 
 He stood with open mouth till he heard again the rat- 
 tle of the door-handle. Master coming out. He piv- 
 oted on his heels with great rapidity and made believe 
 to be absorbed in the contemplation of the night out- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 279 
 
 side. He heard Almayer moving about behind his 
 back. Chairs were displaced. His master sat down. 
 
 '* AH," said Almayer. 
 
 His face was gloomy and thoughtful. He looked 
 at his head man, who had approached the table, then 
 he pulled out his watch. It was going. Whenever 
 Lingard was in Sambir Almayer's watch was going. 
 He would set it by the cabin clock, telhng himself 
 every time that he must really keep that watch going 
 for the future. And every time, when Lingard went 
 away, he would let it run down and would measure 
 his weariness by sunrises and sunsets in an apathetic 
 indifference to mere hours; to hours only; to hours 
 that had no importance in Sambir life, in the tired 
 stagnation of empty days; when nothing mattered to 
 him but the quality of guttah and the size of rattans; 
 where there were no small hopes to be watched for; 
 where to him there was nothing interesting, nothing 
 supportable, nothing desirable to expect; nothing bit- 
 ter but the slowness of the passing days; nothing 
 sweet but the hope, the distant and glorious hope — 
 the hope wearying, aching and precious, of getting 
 away. 
 
 He looked at the watch. Half-past eight. Ali 
 waited stolidly. 
 
 " Go to the settlement," said Almayer, '' and tell 
 Mahmet Banjer to come and speak to me to-night." 
 
 Ali went off muttering. He did not like his er- 
 rand. Banjer and his two brothers were Bajow vaga- 
 bonds who had appeared lately in Sambir and had 
 been allowed to take possession of a tumbledown 
 abandoned hut, on three posts, belonging to Lingard 
 &: Co., and standing just outside their fence. Ali dis- 
 approved of the favour shown to those strangers. Any 
 kind of dwelling was valuable in Sambir at that time, 
 and if master did not want that old rotten house he 
 might have given it to him, Ali, who was his servant. 
 
28o AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 instead of bestowing it upon those bad men. Every- 
 body knew they were bad. It was well known that 
 they had stolen a boat from Hinopari, who was very 
 aged and feeble and had no sons ; and that afterwards, 
 by the truculent recklessness of their demeanour, they 
 had frightened the poor old man into holding his 
 tongue about it. Yet everybody knew of it. It was 
 one of the tolerated scandals of Sambir, disapproved 
 and accepted, a manifestation^ofjhat base acquiescence 
 in ^uccess, of that inexpressed and coy^a^ 
 of strength th^ exists, infamous and irremediable, at 
 the bottom of all hearts, in all societjesj whenever 
 men congregaFe; in bigger and more virtuous places 
 than Sambir, and in Sambir also, where, as in other 
 places, one man could steal a boat with impunity while 
 another would have no right to look at a paddle. 
 
 Almayer, leaning back in his chair, meditated. The 
 more he thought, the more he felt convinced that Ban- 
 jer and his brothers were exactly the men he wanted. 
 Those fellows were sea gipsies, and could disappear 
 without attracting notice; and if they returned, no- 
 body — and Lingard least of all — would dream of seek- 
 ing information from them. Moreover, they had no 
 personal interest of any kind in Sambir affairs — had 
 taken no sides — would know nothing anyway. 
 He called in a strong voice: ** Mrs. Willems!" 
 She came out quickly, almost startling him, so 
 much did she appear as though she had surged up 
 through the floor, on the other side of the table. The 
 lamp was between them, and Almayer moved it aside, 
 looking up at her from his chair. She was crying. 
 She was crying gently, silently, in a ceaseless welling 
 up of tears that did not fall in drops, but seemed to 
 overflow in a clear sheet from under her eyelids — • 
 seemed to flow at once all over her face, her cheeks, 
 and over her chin that glistened with moisture in the 
 li^ht. Her breast and her shoulders were shaken re- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 28 1 
 
 peatedly by a convulsive and noiseless catching in 
 her breath, and after every spasmodic sob her sorrow- 
 ful little head, tied up in a red kerchief, trembled on 
 her long neck, round which her bony hand gathered 
 and clasped the disarranged dress. 
 
 " Compose yourself, Mrs. Willems," said Almayer. 
 
 She emitted an inarticulate sound that seemed to 
 be a faint, a very far off, a hardly audible cry of mortal 
 distress. Then the tears went on flowing in profound 
 stillness. 
 
 " You must understand that I have told you all this 
 because I am your friend — real friend," said Almayer, 
 after looking at her for some time with visible dissatis- 
 faction. *' You, his wife, ought to know the danger 
 he is in. Captain Lingard is a terrible man, you 
 know." 
 
 She blubbered out, sniffing and sobbing together. 
 
 *' Do you . . . you . . . speak . . . the . . . the 
 truth now?" 
 
 " Upon my word of honour. On the head of my 
 child," protested Almayer. " I had to deceive you till 
 now because of Captain Lingard. But I couldn't bear 
 it. Think only what a risk I run in telling you — if 
 ever Lingard was to know ! Why should I do it? Pure 
 friendship. Qjear Peter was my colleague in Macassar 
 for years, you know." 
 
 '* What shall I do . . . what shall I do! " she ex- 
 claimed, faintly, looking around on every side as if 
 she could not make up her mind which way to rush off. 
 
 ** You must help him to clear out, now Lingard is 
 away. He offended Lingard, and that's no joke. Lin- 
 gard said he would kill him. He will do it, too," said 
 Almayer, earnestly. 
 
 She wrung her hands. "Oh! the wicked man. 
 The wicked, wicked man! " she moaned, swaying her 
 body from side to side. 
 
 *'Yes. Yes! He is terrible," assented Almayer. 
 
282 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 '' You must not lose any time. I say! Do you under- 
 stand me, Mrs. Willems? Think of your husband. 
 Of your poor husband. How happy he will be. You 
 will bring him his life — actually his life. Think of him." 
 
 She ceased her swaying movement, and now, with 
 her head sunk between her shoulders, she hugged her- 
 self with both her arms; and she stared at Almayer 
 with wild eyes, while her teeth chattered, rattling vio- 
 lently and uninterruptedly, with a very loud sound, 
 in the deep peace of the house. 
 
 '* Oh! Mother of God!" she wailed. *' I am a 
 miserable woman. Will he forgive me? The poor, 
 innocent man. Will he forgive me? Oh, Mr. Al- 
 mayer, he is so severe. Oh! help me. ... I dare not. 
 . . . You don't know what I've done to him. ... I 
 daren't ! . . . I can't ! . . . God help me ! " 
 
 The last words came in a despairing cry. Had she 
 been flayed alive she could not have sent to heaven a 
 more terrible, a more heartrending and anguished 
 plaint. 
 
 " Sh! Sh! " hissed Almayer, jumping up. " You 
 will wake up everybody with your shouting." 
 
 She kept on sobbing then without any noise, and 
 Almayer stared at her in boundless astonishment. 
 The idea that, maybe, he had gone wrong by con- 
 fiding in her, upset him so much that for a moment 
 he could not find a connected thought in his head. 
 
 At last he said: " I swear to you that your husband 
 is in such a position that he would welcome the devil 
 . . . listen well to me . . . the devil himself if the 
 devil came to him in a canoe. Unless I am much mis- 
 taken," he added, under his breath. Then again, 
 loudly: " If you have any little difference to make up 
 with him, I assure you — I swear to you — this is your 
 time!" 
 
 The ardentlv persuasive tone of his words— he 
 thought — would have carried irresistible conviction to 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 283 
 
 a graven image. He noticed with satisfaction that 
 Joanna seemed to have got some inkhng of his mean- 
 ing. He continued, speaking slowly — 
 
 " Look here, Mrs. Willems. I can't do anything. 
 Daren't. But I will tell you what I will do. There 
 will come here in about ten minutes a Bugis man — 
 you know the language; you are from Macassar. He 
 has a large canoe; he can take you there. To the 
 new Rajah's clearing, tell him. They are three broth- 
 ers, ready for anything if you pay them . . . you have 
 some money. Haven't you? " 
 
 She stood — perhaps listening — but giving no sign 
 of intelligence, and stared at the floor in sudden immo- 
 bility, as if the horror of the situation, the overwhelm- 
 ing sense of her own wickedness and of her husband's 
 great danger, had stunned her brain, her heart, her 
 will — had left her no faculty but that of breathing 
 and of keeping on her feet. Almayer swore to him- 
 self with much mental profanity that he had never 
 seen a more useless, a more stupid being. 
 
 " D'ye hear me? " he said, raising his voice. " Do 
 try to understand. Have you any money? Money. 
 Dollars. Guilders. Money! What's the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 Without raising her eyes she said, in a voice that 
 sounded weak and undecided as if she had been mak- 
 ing a desperate effort of memory — 
 
 " The house has been sold. Mr. Hudig was 
 angry." 
 
 Almayer gripped the edge of the table with all his 
 strength. He resisted manfully an almost uncontrolla- 
 ble impulse to fly at her and box her ears. 
 
 " It was sold for money, I suppose," he said with 
 studied and incisive calmness. " Have you got it? 
 Who has got it?" 
 
 She looked up at him, raising her swollen eyelids 
 with a great effort, in a sorrowful expression of hei 
 19 
 
284 ^^ OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 drooping mouth, of her whole besmudged and tear- 
 stained face. She whispered resignedly — 
 
 " Leonard had some. He wanted to get married. 
 And uncle Antonio; he sat at the door and would 
 not go away. And Aghostina — she is so poor . . . 
 and so many, many children — little children. And 
 Luiz the engineer. He never spoke a word against 
 my husband. Also our cousin Maria. She came and 
 shouted, and my head was so bad, and my heart was 
 worse. Then cousin Salvator and old Daniel da Souza, 
 who . . ." 
 
 Almayer had listened to her speechless with rage. 
 He thought: I must give money now to that idiot. 
 Must! Must get her out of the way now before Lin- 
 gard is back. He made two attempts to speak before 
 he managed to burst out — 
 
 *' I don't want to know their blasted names! Tell 
 me, did all those infernal people leave you anything? 
 To you! That's what I want to know! " 
 
 " I have two hundred and fifteen dollars," said 
 Joanna, in a frightened tone. 
 
 Almayer breathed freely. He spoke with great 
 friendliness — 
 
 " That will do. It isn't much, but it will do. Now 
 when the man comes I will be out of the way. You 
 speak to him. Give him some money; only a little, 
 mind! And promise more. Then when you get there 
 you will be guided by your husband, of course. And 
 don't forget to tell him that Captain Lingard is at the 
 mouth of the river — the northern entrance. You will 
 remember. Won't you? The northern branch. Lin- 
 gard is — death." 
 
 Joanna shivered. Almayer went on rapidly — 
 
 " I would have given you money if you had wanted 
 it. 'Pon my word! Tell your husband I've sent you 
 to him. And tell him not to lose any time. And also 
 say to him from me that we shall meet — some day 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 285 
 
 That I could not die happy unless I met him once 
 more. Only once. I love him, you know. I prove 
 it. Tremendous risk to me — this business is!" 
 
 Joanna snatched his hand and before he knew what 
 she would be at, pressed it to her lips. 
 
 *' Mrs. Willems! Don't. What are you . . ." cried 
 the abashed Almayer, tearing his hand away. 
 
 " Oh, you are good ! " she cried, with sudden ex- 
 altation. " You are noble ... I shall pray every day. 
 ... to all the saints ... I shall . . ." 
 
 "Never mind . . . never mind!" stammered out 
 Almayer, confusedly, without knowing very well what 
 he was saying. " Only look out for Lingard. ... I 
 am happy to be able ... in your sad situation . . . be- 
 lieve me. . . ." 
 
 They stood with the table between them, Joanna 
 looking down, and her face, in the half-light above 
 the lamp, appeared like a soiled carving of old ivory — 
 a carving, with accentuated anxious hollows, of old, 
 very old ivory. Almayer looked at her, mistrustful, 
 hopeful. He was saying to himself: How frail she 
 is! I could upset her by blowing at her. She seems 
 to have got some idea of what must be done, but will 
 she have the strength to carry it through? I must 
 trust to luck now! 
 
 Somewhere far in the back courtyard Ali's voice 
 rang suddenly in angry remonstrance — 
 
 " Why did you shut the gate, O father of all mis- 
 chief! You a watchman! You are onlv a wnld man. 
 Did I not tell you I was coming back? You . . ." 
 
 '' I am of¥, Mrs. Willems," exclaimed Almaver. 
 " That man is here — with my servant. Be calm. Try 
 to . . ." 
 
 He heard the footsteps of the two men in the pas- 
 sage, and without finishing his sentence ran rapidly 
 down the steps towards the riverside. 
 
286 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 II. 
 
 For the next half-hour Almayer, who wanted to 
 give Joanna plenty of time, stumbling amongst the 
 lumber in distant parts of his enclosure, sneaked along 
 the fences, or held his breath, flattened against grass 
 walls behind various outhouses; all this to escape Ali's 
 inconveniently zealous search for his master. He 
 heard him talk with the head watchman — sometimes 
 quite close to him in the darkness — then moving oflf, 
 coming back, wondering, and, as the time passed, 
 growing uneasy. 
 
 " He did not fall into the river? — say, thou blind 
 watcher! " AH was growling in a bullying tone, to the 
 other man. " He told me to fetch Mahmat, and when 
 I came back swiftly I found him not in the house. 
 There is that Sirani woman there, so that Mahmat 
 cannot steal anything, but it is in my mind, the night 
 will be half gone before I rest." 
 
 He shouted — 
 
 ** Master! O master! O mast . . ." 
 
 " What are you making that noise for? " said Al- 
 mayer, with severity, stepping out close to them. 
 
 The two Malays leaped aw^ay from each other in 
 their surprise. 
 
 *' You may go. I don't want you any more to- 
 night, Ali," went on Almayer. " Is Mahmat there?" 
 
 " Unless the ill-behaved savage got tired of wait- 
 ing. Those men know not politeness. They should 
 not be spoken to by white men," said Ali, resent- 
 fully. 
 
 Almayer went towards the house, leaving his ser- 
 vants to wonder where he had sprung from so unex- 
 pectedly. The watchman hinted obscurely at powers 
 of invisibility possessed by the master, who often at 
 night . . . Ali interrupted him with great scorn. Not 
 
 I 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 287 
 
 every white man had the power. Now, the Rajah 
 Laut could make himself invisible. Also, he could be 
 in two places at once, as everybody knew; except he 
 — the useless watchman — who knew no more about 
 white men than a wild pig! Ya-wa! 
 
 And AH strolled towards his hut yawning loudly. 
 
 As Almayer ascended the steps he heard the noise 
 of a door flung to, and when he entered the verandah 
 he saw only Mahmat there, close to the doorway of 
 the passage. Mahmat seemed to be caught in the very 
 act of slinking away, and Almayer noticed that with 
 satisfaction. Seeing the white man, the Malay gave 
 up his attempt and leaned against the wall. He was 
 a short, thick, broad-shouldered man with very dark 
 skin and a wide, stained, bright-red mouth that un- 
 covered, when he spoke, a close row of black and glis- 
 tening teeth. His eyes were big, prominent, dreamy 
 and restless. He said sulkily, looking all over the 
 place from under his eyebrows — 
 
 " White Tuan, you are great and strong — and I 
 a poor man. Tell me what is your will, and let me 
 go in the name of God. It is late." 
 
 Almayer examined the man thoughtfully. How 
 could he find out whether . . . He had it! Lately 
 he had employed that man and his two brothers as 
 extra boatmen to carry stores, provisions, and new 
 axes to a camp of rattan cutters some distance up the 
 river. A three days' expedition. He would test him 
 now that way. He said negligently — 
 
 " I want you to start at once for the camp, with a 
 surat for the Kavitan. One dollar a day." 
 
 The man appeared plunged in dull hesitation, but 
 Almayer, who knew his Malays, felt pretty sure from 
 his aspect that nothing would induce the fellow to go. 
 He urged — 
 
 " It is important — and if you are swift I shall give 
 two dollars for the last day." 
 
288 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 '' No, Tuan. We do not go," said the man, in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " We start on another journey." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " To a place we know of," said Mahmat, a little 
 louder, in a stubborn manner, and looking at the floor. 
 
 Almayer experienced a feeling of immense joy. He 
 said, with affected annoyance — 
 
 " You men live in my house — and it is as if it were 
 your own. I may want my house soon." 
 
 Mahmat looked up. 
 
 " We are men of the sea and care not for a roof 
 when we have a canoe that will hold three, and a pad- 
 dle apiece. The sea is our house. Peace be with you, 
 Tuan." 
 
 He turned and went away rapidly, and Almayer 
 heard him directly afterwards in the courtyard calling 
 to the watchman to open the gate. Mahmat passed 
 through the gate in silence, but before the bar had 
 been put up behind him he had made up his mind 
 that if the white man ever wanted to eject him from 
 his hut, he would burn it and also as many of the 
 white man's other buildings as he could safely get at. 
 And he began to call to his brothers before he was 
 inside the dilapidated dwelling. 
 
 " All's well! " muttered Almayer to himself, taking 
 some loose Java tobacco from a drawer in the table. 
 " Now if anything comes out I am clear. I asked the 
 man to go up the river. I urged him. He will say 
 so himself. Good." 
 
 He began to charge the china bowl of his pipe, a 
 pipe with a long cherry stem and a curved mouth- 
 piece, pressing the tobacco down with his thumb and 
 thinking. No. I sha'n't see her again. Don't want 
 to. I will give her a good start, then go in chase — 
 and send an express boat after father. Yes! that's it. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 289 
 
 He approached the door of the office and said, 
 holding his pipe away from his hps — 
 
 " Good luck to you, Mrs. Willems. Don't lose 
 any time. You may get along by the bushes; the 
 fence there is out of repair. Don't lose time. Don't 
 forget that it is a matter of . . . life and death. And 
 don't forget that I know nothing. I trust you." 
 
 He heard inside a noise as of a chest-lid falling 
 down. She made a few steps. Then a sigh, profound 
 and long, and some faint words w^hich he did not 
 catch. He moved away from the door on tiptoe, kicked 
 ofif his sHppers in a corner of the verandah, then en- 
 tered the passage puffing at his pipe; entered cau- 
 tiously in a gentle creaking of planks and turned into 
 a curtained entrance to the left. There was a big room. 
 On the floor a small binnacle lamp — that had found 
 its way to the house years ago from the lumber-room 
 of the Flash — did duty for a night-light. It glimmered 
 minute and dull in the great darkness. Almayer 
 walked to it, and picking it up revived the flame by 
 pulling the wick with his fingers, which he shook di- 
 rectly after with a grimace of pain. Sleeping shapes, 
 covered — head and all — with white sheets, lay about 
 on the mats on the floor. In the middle of the room 
 a small cot, under a square white mosquito net, stood 
 — the only piece of furniture between the four walls 
 ■ — looking like an altar of transparent marble in a 
 gloomy temple. A woman, half-lying on the floor 
 with her head dropped on her arms, which were 
 crossed on the foot of the cot, woke up as Almayer 
 strode over her outstretched legs. She sat up with- 
 out a word, leaning forward, and, clasping her knees, 
 stared down with sad eyes, full of sleep. 
 
 Almayer, the smoky light in one hand, his pipe in 
 the other, stood before the curtained cot looking at 
 his daughter — at his little Nina — at that part of him- 
 self, at that small and unconscious particle of humanity 
 
290 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 that seemed to him to contain all his soul. And it 
 was as if he had been bathed in a bright and warm 
 wave of tenderness, in a tenderness greater than the 
 world, more precious than life; the only thing real, 
 living, sweet, tangible, beautiful and safe amongst the 
 elusive, the distorted and menacing shadows of exist- 
 ence. On his face, lit up indistinctly by the short yel- 
 low flame of the lamp, came a look of rapt attention 
 while he looked into her future. And he could see 
 things there! Things charming and splendid pass- 
 ing before him in a magic unrolling of resplendent 
 pictures; pictures of events brilliant, happy, inexpres- 
 sibly glorious, that would make up her life. He would 
 do it! He would do it. He would! He would — for 
 that child! And as he stood in the still night, lost 
 in his enchanting and gorgeous dreams, while the as- 
 cending, thin thread of tobacco smoke spread into a 
 faint bluish cloud above his head, he appeared strange- 
 ly impressive and ecstatic: like a devout and mystic 
 worshipper, adoring, transported and mute; burning 
 incense before a shrine, a diaphanous shrine of a child- 
 idol with closed eyes; before a pure and vaporous 
 shrine of a small god — fragile, powerless, unconscious 
 and sleeping. 
 
 When Ali, roused by loud and repeated shouting 
 of his name, stumbled outside the door of his hut, he 
 saw a narrow streak of trembling gold above the for- 
 ests and a pale sky with faded stars overhead: signs 
 of the coming day. His master stood before the door 
 waving a piece of paper in his hand and shouting ex- 
 citedly — ''Quick, Ali! Quick!" When he saw his 
 servant he rushed forward, and pressing the paper on 
 him objurgated him, in tones which induced AH to 
 think that something awful had happened, to hurry 
 up and get the whale-boat ready to go immediately 
 — at once, at once — after Captain Lingard. Ali re- 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 291 
 
 monstrated, agitated also, having caught the infection 
 of distracted haste. 
 
 '' If must go quick, better canoe. Whale-boat no 
 can catch, same as small canoe." 
 
 " No! no! Whale-boat! whale-boat! You dolt! 
 you wretch!" howled Almayer, with all the appear- 
 ance of having gone mad. *' Call the men! Go! 
 Fly!" 
 
 And AH rushed about the courtyard kicking the 
 doors of huts open to put his head in and yell fright- 
 fully inside; and as he dashed from hovel to hovel, 
 men shivering and sleepy were coming out, looking 
 after him stupidly, while they scratched their ribs with 
 bewildered apathy. It was hard work to put them in 
 motion. They wanted time to stretch themselves and 
 to shiver a little. Some wanted food. One said he 
 was sick. Nobody knew where the rudder was. AH 
 darted here and there, ordering, abusing, pushing one, 
 then another, and stopping in his exertions at times 
 to wring his hands hastily and groan, because the 
 whale-boat was much slower than the worst canoe and 
 his master would not Hsten to his protestations. 
 
 Almayer saw the boat go ofT at last, pulled anyhow 
 by men that were cold, hungry, and sulky; and he 
 remained on the jetty watching it down the reach. 
 It was broad day then, and the sky was perfectly cloud- 
 less. Almayer went up to the house for a moment. 
 His household was all astir and wondering at the 
 strange disappearance of the Sirani woman, who had 
 taken her child and had left her luggage. Almayer 
 spoke to no one, got his revolver, and went down to 
 the river again. He jumped into a small canoe and 
 paddled himself towards the schooner. He worked 
 very leisurely, but as soon as he was nearly alongside 
 he began to hail the silent craft with the tone and ap- 
 pearance of a man in a tremendous hurry. 
 
 " Schooner ahoy! schooner ahoy! " he shouted. 
 
2Q2 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 A row of blank faces popped up above the bulwark. 
 After a while a man with a woolly head of hair said — 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "The mate! the mate! Call him, steward!" said 
 Almayer, excitedly, making a frantic grab at a rope 
 thrown down to him by somebody. 
 
 In less than a minute the mate put his head over. 
 He asked, surprised — 
 
 " What can I do for you, Mr. Almayer? " 
 
 " Let me have the gig at once, Mr. Swan — at once. 
 I ask in Captain Lingard's name. I must have it. 
 Matter of life and death." 
 
 The mate was impressed by Almayer's agitation. 
 
 "You shall have it, sir. . . . Man the gig there! 
 Bear a hand, serang! . . . It's hanging astern, Mr. 
 Almayer," he said, looking down again. " Get into 
 it, sir. The men are coming down by the painter." 
 
 By the time Almayer had clambered over into the 
 stern sheets, four calashes were in the boat and the 
 oars were being passed over the tafifrail. The mate 
 was looking on. Suddenly he said — 
 
 " Is it dangerous work? Do you want any help? 
 I would come . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes! " cried Almayer. " Come along. Don't 
 lose a moment. Go and get your revolver. Hurry 
 up ! hurry up ! " 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding his feverish anxiety to be ofif, 
 he lolled back very quiet and unconcerned till the mate 
 got in and, passing over the thwarts, sat down by his 
 side. Then he seemed to wake up, and called out — 
 
 " Let go — let go the painter! " 
 
 " Let go the painter — the painter! " yelled the 
 bowman, jerking at it. 
 
 People on board also shouted " Let go! " to one 
 another, till it occurred at last to somebody to cast oflF 
 the rope; and the boat drifted rapidly away from the 
 schooner in the sudden silencing of all voices. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 293 
 
 Almayer steered. The mate sat by his side, push- 
 ing the cartridges into the chambers of his revolver. 
 When the weapon was loaded he asked — 
 
 " What is it? Are you after somebody?" 
 
 " Yes," said Almayer, curtly, with his eyes fixed 
 ahead on the river. " We must catch a dangerous 
 man." 
 
 '* I like a bit of a chase myself," declared the mate, 
 and then, discouraged by Almayer's aspect of severe 
 thoughtfulness, said nothing more. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed. The calashes stretched 
 forward head first and lay back with their faces to the 
 sky, alternatively, in a regular swing that sent the 
 boat flying through the water; and the two sitters, 
 very upright in the stern sheets, swayed rhythmically 
 a little at every stroke of the long oars plied vigor- 
 ously. 
 
 The mate observed: "The tide is with us." 
 
 " The current always runs down in this river," said 
 Almayer. 
 
 "Yes — I know," retorted the other; "but it runs 
 faster on the ebb. Look by the land at the way we 
 go over the ground ! A five-knot current here, I should 
 say." 
 
 "H'm!" growled Almayer. Then suddenly: 
 " There is a passage between two islands that will save 
 us four miles. But at low water the two islands, in 
 the dry season, are like one with only a mud ditch be- 
 tween them. Still, it's worth trying." 
 
 " Ticklish job that on a faUing tide," said the mate, 
 coolly. " You know best whether there's time to get 
 through." 
 
 " I will try," said Almayer, watching the shore in- 
 tently. " Look out now! " 
 
 He tugged hard at the starboard yoke-line. 
 
 " Lay in your oars! " shouted the mate. 
 
 The boat swept round and shot through the narrow 
 
294 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 opening of a creek that broadened out before the craft 
 had time to lose its way. 
 
 '' Out oars! . . . Just room enough," muttered the 
 mate. 
 
 It was a sombre creek of black water speckled 
 with gold, with the gold of scattered sunlight falling 
 through the boughs that met overhead in a soaring, 
 restless arch full of gentle whispers passing, tremulous, 
 aloft amongst the thick leaves. The creepers climbed 
 up the trunks of serried trees that leaned over, looking 
 insecure and undermined by floods which had eaten 
 away the earth from under their roots. And the 
 pungent, acrid smell of rotting leaves, of flowers, of 
 blossoms and plants dying in that poisonous and cruel 
 gloom, where they pined for sunshine in vain, seemed 
 to lay heavy, to press upon the shiny and stagnant 
 water in its tortuous windings amongst the everlasting 
 and invincible shadows. 
 
 Almayer looked anxious. He steered badly. Sev- 
 eral times the blades of the oars got foul of the bushes 
 on one side or the other, checking the way of the gig. 
 During one of those occurrences, while they were get- 
 ting clear, one of the calashes said something to the 
 others in a rapid whisper. They looked down at the 
 water. So did the mate. 
 
 "Hallo!" he exclaimed. ''Eh, Mr. Almayer! 
 Look! The water is running out. See there! We 
 will be caught." 
 
 "Back! back! We must go back!" cried Al- 
 mayer. 
 
 " Perhaps better go on." 
 
 "No; back! back!" 
 
 He pulled at the steering line, and ran the nose of 
 the boat into the bank. Time was lost again in get- 
 ting clear. 
 
 "Give way, men! give way!" urged the mate, 
 anxiously. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 295 
 
 The men pulled with set lips and dilated nostrils, 
 breathing hard. 
 
 " Too late," said the mate, suddenly. '' The oars 
 touch the bottom already. We are done." 
 
 The boat stuck. The men laid in the oars, and 
 sat, panting, with crossed arms. 
 
 " Yes, we are caught," said Almayer, composedly. 
 " That is unlucky! " 
 
 The water was falling round the boat. The mate 
 watched the patches of mud coming to the surface. 
 Then in a moment he laughed, and pointing his finger 
 at the creek — 
 
 "Look!" he said; ''the blamed river is running 
 away from us. Here's the last drop of water clearing 
 out round that bend." 
 
 Almayer lifted his head. The water was gone, and 
 he looked only at a curved track of mud — of mud soft 
 and black, hiding fever, rottenness, and evil under its 
 level and glazed surface. 
 
 *' We are in for it till the evening," he said, with 
 cheerful resignation. '' I did my best. Couldn't 
 help it." 
 
 '' We must sleep the day away," said the mate. 
 " There's nothing to eat," he added, gloomily. 
 
 Almayer stretched himself in the stern sheets. The 
 ^Malays curled down between thwarts. 
 
 " Well, I'm jiggered! " said the mate, starting up 
 after a long pause. " I was in a devil of a hurry to 
 go and pass the day stuck in the mud. Here's a holi- 
 day for you! Well! well!" 
 
 They slept or sat unmoving and patient. As the 
 sun mounted higher the breeze died out, and perfect 
 stillness reigned in the empty creek. A troop of long- 
 nosed monkeys appeared, and, crowding on the outer 
 boughs, contemplating the boat and the motionless 
 men in it with grave and sorrowful intensity, disturbed 
 now and then by irrational outbreaks of mad gesticula- 
 
296 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 tion. A little bird with sapphire breast balanced a 
 slender twig across a slanting beam of light, and 
 flashed in it to and fro like a gem dropped from the 
 sky. His minute round eye stared at the strange and 
 tranquil creatures in the boat. After a while he sent 
 out a thin twitter that sounded impertinent and funny 
 in the solemn silence of the great wilderness, in the 
 great silence full of struggle and death. 
 
 III. 
 
 On Lingard's departure solitude and silence closed 
 round Willems; the cruel solitude of one abandoned 
 by men; the reproachful silence which surrounds an 
 outcast rejected by his kind, the silence unbroken by 
 the slightest whisper of hope; an immense and im- 
 penetrable silence that swallows up without echo the 
 murmur of regret and the cry of revolt. The bitter 
 peace of the abandoned clearings entered his heart, in 
 which nothing could live now but the memory and 
 hate of his past. Not remorse. In the breast of a 
 man possessed by the masterful consciousness of his 
 individuality with its desires and its rights; by the 
 immovable conviction of his own importance, of an 
 importance so indisputable and final that it clothes all 
 his wishes, endeavours, and mistakes with the dignity 
 of unavoidable fate, there could be no place for such a 
 feeling as that of remorse. 
 
 The days passed. They passed unnoticed, unseen, 
 in the rapid blaze of glaring sunrises, in the short 
 glow of tender sunsets, in the crushing oppression 
 of high noons without a cloud. How many days? 
 Two — three — or more? He did not know. To him, 
 since Lingard had gone, the time seemed to roll on 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 297 
 
 in profound darkness. All was night within him. All 
 was gone from his sight. He walked about blindly 
 in the deserted courtyards, amongst the empty houses 
 that perched high on their posts, looked down inimi- 
 cally on him, a white stranger, a man from other lands ; 
 seemed to look hostile and mute out of all the memo- 
 ries of native life that lingered between their decaying 
 walls. His wandering feet stumbled against the black- 
 ened brands of extinct fires, kicking up a light black 
 dust of cold ashes that flew in drifting cloud and set- 
 tled to leeward on the fresh grass sprouting from the 
 hard ground, between the shade trees. He moved on, 
 and on; ceaseless, unresting in widening circles, in zig- 
 zaging paths that led to no issue; and the marks of 
 his footsteps, pressed deep into the soft mud of the 
 bank, were filled slowly behind him by the percolating 
 water of the rising river, caught the light and shone 
 in a chain of small reflected suns along the broad ex- 
 panse of black slime, of the dull and quivering mire 
 where he struggled on, objectless, unappeased: strug- 
 gled on wearily with a set, distressed face behind 
 which, in his tired brain, seethed his thoughts: rest- 
 less, sombre, tangled, chilling, horrible and venomous, 
 like a nestful of snakes. 
 
 From afar, the bleared eyes of the old serving 
 woman, the sombre gaze of Aissa followed the gaunt 
 and tottering figure in its unceasing prowl along the 
 fences, between the houses, amongst the wild luxuri- 
 ance of riverside thickets. Those three human beings 
 abandoned by all were like shipwrecked people left 
 on an insecure and slippery ledge by the retiring tide 
 of an angry sea — listening to its distant roar, living 
 anguished between the menace of its return and the 
 hopeless horror of their solitude — in the midst of a 
 tempest of passion, of regret, of disgust, of despair. 
 The breath of the storm had cast two of them there, 
 robbed of everythin§^ — even of resignation. The third. 
 
298 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the decrepit witness of their struggle and their tor- 
 ture, accepted her own dull conception of facts; of 
 strength and youth gone; of her useless old age; of 
 her last servitude; of being thrown away by her chief, 
 by her nearest, to use up the last and worthless rem- 
 nant of flickering life between those two incompre- 
 hensible and sombre outcasts: a shrivelled, an un- 
 moved, a passive companion of their disaster. 
 
 To the river Willems turned his eyes like a captive 
 that looks fixedly at the door of his cell. If there was 
 any hope in the world it would come from the river, by 
 the river. For hours together he would stand in sun- 
 light while the sea breeze sweeping over the lonely 
 reach fluttered his ragged garments; the keen salt 
 breeze that made him shiver now and then under the 
 flood of intense heat. He looked at the brown and 
 sparkling solitude of the flowing water, of the water 
 flowing ceaseless and free in a soft, cool murmur of 
 ripples at his feet; and he tried to find a promise of 
 release in the vivid glitter of innumerable suns re- 
 flected by the running wavelets of the stream. The 
 world seemed to end there. The forests of the other 
 bank appeared unattainable, enigmatical, for ever be- 
 yond reach, like the stars of heaven — and as indiffer- 
 ent. Above and below, the forests on his side of the 
 river came down to the water in a serried multitude of 
 tall, immense trees towering in a great spread of 
 twisted boughs above the thick undergrowth; great, 
 solid trees, looking sombre, severe, and malevolently 
 stolid, like a giant crowd of pitiless enemies pressing 
 round silently to witness his slow agony. He was 
 alone, small, crushed. He thought of escape — of 
 something to be done. What? A raft! He imagined 
 himself working at it, feverishly, desperately; cutting 
 down trees, fastening the logs together and then drift- 
 ing down with the current, down to the sea into the 
 straits. There were ships there — ships^ help, white 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 299 
 
 men. Men like himself. Good men who would res- 
 cue him, take him away, take him far away where 
 there was trade, and houses, and other men that could 
 understand him exactly, appreciate his capabilities; 
 where there was proper food, and money ; where there 
 were beds, knives, forks, carriages, brass bands, cool 
 drinks, churches with well-dressed people praying in 
 them. He would pray also. The superior land ol 
 refined delights where he could sit on z chair, eat his 
 tiffin off a white tablecloth, nod to fellows — good fel- 
 lows; he would be popular; always was — where he 
 could be virtuous, correct, do business, draw a salary, 
 smoke cigars, buy things in shops — have boots . . . 
 be happy, free, become rich. O God! What was 
 wanted? Cut down a few trees. No! One would do. 
 They used to make canoes by burning out a tree trunk, 
 he had heard. Yes! One would do. One tree to cut 
 down . . . He rushed forward, and suddenly stood 
 still as if rooted in the ground — he had a pocket- 
 knife. 
 
 And he would throw himself down on the ground 
 by the riverside. He was tired, exhausted; as if that 
 raft had been made, the voyage accomplished, the 
 fortune attained. A glaze came over his staring eyes, 
 over his eyes that gazed hopelessly at the rising river 
 where big logs and uprooted trees drifted in the shine 
 of mid-stream : a long procession of black and ragged 
 specks. He could swim out and drift away on one of 
 these trees. Anything to escape! Anything! Any 
 risk! He could fasten himself up between the dead 
 branches. He was torn by desire, by fear; his heart 
 was wrung by the faltering of his courage. He turned 
 over, face downwards, his head on his arms. He had 
 a terrible vision of shadowless horizons where the blue 
 sky and the blue sea met; of a circular and blazing 
 emptiness where a dead tree and a dead man drifted 
 together, endlessly, up and down, upon the brilliant 
 
300 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 undulations of the straits. No ships there. Only 
 death. And the river led to it. 
 
 He sat up with a profound groan. 
 
 Yes, death. Why should he die? No! Better 
 solitude, better hopeless waiting, alone. Alone. No! 
 he was not alone, he saw death looking at him from 
 everywhere; from the bushes, from the clouds — he 
 heard her speaking to him in the murmur of the river, 
 filling the space, touching his heart, his brain with a 
 cold hand. He could see and think of nothing else. 
 He saw it — the sure death — everywhere. He saw it 
 so close that he was always on the point of throwing 
 out his arms to keep it off. It poisoned all he saw, all 
 he did; the miserable food he ate, the muddy water 
 he drank; it gave a frightful aspect to sunrises and 
 sunsets, to the brightness of hot noon, to the cooling 
 shadows of the evenings. He saw the horrible form 
 among the big trees, in the network of creepers in 
 the fantastic outlines of leaves, of the great indented 
 leaves that seemed to be so many enormous hands 
 with big broad palms, with stiff fingers outspread to 
 lay hold of him; hands gently stirring on hands ar- 
 rested in a frightful immobility, with a stillness atten- 
 tive and watching for the opportunity to take him, 
 to enlace him, to strangle him, to hold him till he 
 died; hands that would hold him dead, that would 
 never let go, that would cling to his body for ever till 
 it perished — disappeared in their frantic and tenacious 
 grasp. 
 
 And yet the world was full of life. All the things, 
 all the men he knew, existed, moved, breathed; and 
 he saw them in a long perspective, far off, diminished, 
 distinct, desirable, unattainable, precious . . . lost for 
 ever. Round him, ceaselessly, there went on without 
 a sound the mad turmoil of tropical life. After he 
 had died all this would remain! He wanted to clasp, 
 to embrace solid things; he had an immense craving 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 301 
 
 for sensations; for touching, pressing, seeing, hand- 
 ling, holding on, to all these things. All this would 
 remain — remain for years, for ages, for ever. After 
 he had miserably died there, all this would remain, 
 would live, would exist in joyous sunlight, would 
 breathe in the coolness of serene nights. What for, 
 then? He would be dead. He would be stretched 
 upon the warm moisture of the ground, feeling noth- 
 ing, seeing nothing, knowing nothing; he would lie 
 stiff, passive; while over him, under him, through 
 him — unopposed, busy, hurried — the endless and mi- 
 nute throngs of insects, little shining monsters of re- 
 pulsive shapes, with horns, with claws, with pincers, 
 would swarm in streams, in rushes, in eager struggle 
 for his body ; would swarm countless, persistent, fero- 
 cious and greedy — till there would remain nothing but 
 the white gleam of bleaching bones in the long grass; 
 in the long grass that would shoot its feathery heads 
 between the bare and polished ribs. There would be 
 that only left of him; nobody would miss him; no 
 one would remember him. 
 
 Nonsense! It could not be. There were ways 
 out of this. Somebody would turn up. Some human 
 beings would come. He would speak, entreat — use 
 force to extort help from them. He felt strong; he 
 was very strong. He would . . . The discourage- 
 ment, the conviction of the futility of his hopes would 
 return in an acute sensation of pain in his heart. He 
 w^ould begin again his aimless wanderings. He 
 tramped till he was reaj^y to drop, without being able 
 to calm by bodily fatigue the trouble of his soul. 
 There was no rest, no peace within the cleared grounds 
 of his prison. There was no relief but in the black 
 release of sleep, of sleep without memory and without 
 dreams; in the sleep coming brutal and heavy, like 
 the lead that kills. To forget in annihilating sleep; 
 to tumble headlong, as if stunned, out of daylight into 
 
302 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 the night of oblivion, was for him the only, the rare 
 respite from this existence which he lacked the cour- 
 age to endure — or to end. 
 
 He lived, he struggled with the inarticulate deliri- 
 um of his thoughts under the eyes of the silent Aissa. 
 She shared his torment in the poignant wonder, in the 
 acute longing, in the despairing inability to under- 
 stand the cause of his anger and of his repulsion; the 
 hate of his looks; the mystery of his silence; the men- 
 ace of his rare words — of those words in the speech 
 of white people that were thrown at her with rage, 
 with contempt, with the evident desire to hurt her; 
 to hurt her who had given herself, her life — all she 
 had to give — to that white man ; to hurt her who had 
 wanted to show him the way to true greatness, who 
 had tried to help him, in her woman's dream of ever- 
 lasting, enduring, unchangeable affection. From the 
 short contact with the whites in the crashing collapse 
 of her old life, there remained with her the imposing 
 idea of irresistible power and of ruthless strength. She 
 had found a man of their race — and with all their quali- 
 ties. All whites are alike. But this man's heart was 
 full of anger against his own people, full of anger ex- 
 isting there by the side of his desire of her. And to 
 her it had been an intoxication of hope for great things 
 born in the proud and tender consciousness of her 
 influence. She had heard the passing whisper of won- 
 der and fear in the presence of his hesitation of his 
 resistance, of his compromises; and yet with a wom- 
 an's belief in the durable steadfastness of hearts, in the 
 irresistible charm of her own personality, she had 
 pushed him forward, trusting the future, blindly, hope- 
 fully; sure to attain by his side her glorious ideal of 
 life, if she could only push him far beyond the pos- 
 sibility of retreat. She did not know, and could not 
 conceive, anything of his — so exalted — ideals. She 
 thought the man a warrior and a chief, ready for battle, 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 303 
 
 violence, and treachery to his own people — for her. 
 What more natural? Was he not a great, strong man? 
 Those two, surrounded each by the impenetrable wall 
 of their aspirations, were hopelessly alone, out of sight, 
 out of earshot of each other; each the centre of dis- 
 similar and distant horizons; standing each on a dif- 
 ferent earth, under a diflferent sky. She remembered 
 his words, his eyes, his trembling lips, his outstretched 
 hands; she remembered the great, the immeasurable 
 sweetness of her surrender, that beginning of her 
 power which was to last until death. He remembered 
 the quaysides and the warehouses; the excitement of 
 a life in a whirl of silver coins; the glorious vmcer- 
 tainty of a money hunt; his numerous successes, the 
 lost possibiHties of wealth and consequent glory. She, 
 a woman, was the victim of her heart, of her woman's 
 belief that there is nothing in the world but love — the 
 everlasting thing. He was the victim of his strange 
 principles, of his continence, of his blind belief in him- 
 self, of his solemn veneration for the voice of his 
 boundless ignorance. 
 
 In a moment of his idleness, of suspense, of dis- 
 couragement, she had come — that creature — and by 
 the touch of her hand had destroyed his future, his 
 dignity of a clever and civilised man; had awakened 
 in his breast the infamous thing which had driven him 
 to what he had done, and to end miserably in the 
 wilderness and be forgotten, or else remembered with 
 hate or contempt. He dared not look at her, because 
 now whenever he looked at her his thought seemed to 
 touch crime, like an outstretched hand. She could 
 only look at him — and at nothing else. W^hat else 
 was there? She followed him with a timorous gaze, 
 with a gaze for ever expecting, patient and entreating. 
 And in her eyes there was the wonder and desolation 
 of an animal that knows only suffering, of the incom- 
 plete soul that knows pain but knows not hope; that 
 
304 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 can find no refuge from the facts of life in the illusory 
 conviction of its dignity, of an exalted destiny beyond ; 
 in the heavenly consolation of a belief in the moment- 
 ous origin of its hate. 
 
 For the first three days after Lingard went away 
 he would not even speak to her. She preferred his 
 silence to the sound of hatred and incomprehensible 
 words he had been lately addressing to her with a 
 wild violence of manner, passing at once into complete 
 apathy. And during these three days he hardly ever 
 left the river, as if on that muddy bank he had felt him- 
 self nearer to his freedom. He would stay late; he 
 would stay till sunset; he would look at the glow of 
 gold passing away amongst sombre clouds in a bright 
 red flush, like a splash of warm blood. It seemed to 
 him ominous and ghastly with a foreboding of violent 
 death that beckoned him from everywhere — even from 
 the sky. 
 
 One evening he remained by the riverside long 
 after sunset, regardless of the night mist that had 
 closed round him, had wrapped him up and clung to 
 him like a wet winding-sheet. A slight shiver recalled 
 him to his senses, and he walked up the courtyard 
 towards his house. Aissa rose from before the fire, 
 that glimmered red through its own smoke, which 
 hung thickening under the boughs of the big tree. 
 She approached him from the side as he neared the 
 plankway of the house. He saw her stop to let him 
 begin his ascent. In the darkness her figure was like 
 the shadow of a woman with clasped hands put out 
 beseechingly. He stopped— could not help glancing 
 at her. In all the sombre gracefulness of the straight 
 figure, her limbs, features — all was indistinct and 
 vague but the gleam of her eyes in the faint starlight. 
 He turned his head away and moved on. He could 
 feel her footsteps behind him on the bending planks, 
 but he walked up without turning his head. He knew 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 305 
 
 what she wanted. She wanted to come in there. He 
 shuddered at the thought of what might happen in 
 the impenetrable darkness of that house if they were 
 to find themselves alone — even for a moment. He 
 stopped in the doorway, and heard her say — 
 
 " Let me come in. Why this anger? Why this 
 silence? . . . Let me watch ... by your side. . . . 
 Have I not watched faithfully? Did harm ever come 
 to you when you closed your eyes while I was by? 
 ... I have waited ... I have waited for your smile, 
 for your words. ... I can wait no more. . . . Look 
 at me . . . speak to me. Is there a bad spirit in you? 
 A bad spirit that has eaten up your courage and your 
 love? Let me touch you. Forget all . . . All. For- 
 get the wicked hearts, the angry faces . . . and re- 
 member only the day I came to you ... to you ! O ! 
 my heart! O! my life!" 
 
 The pleading sadness of her appeal filled the space 
 with the tremor of her low tones, that seemed to carry 
 tenderness and tears into the great peace of the sleep- 
 ing world. All around them the forests, the clearings, 
 the river, covered by the silent veil of night, seemed 
 to wake up and listen to her words in attentive still- 
 ness. After the sound of her voice had died out in a 
 stifled sigh they appeared to listen yet; and nothing 
 stirred among the shapeless shadows but the mnumer- 
 able fireflies that twinkled in changing clusters, in 
 gliding pairs, in wandering and solitary points — like 
 the glimmering drift of scattered star-dust. 
 
 Willems turned round slowly, reluctantly, as if 
 compelled by main force. Her face was hidden in her 
 hands, and he looked above her bent head, into the 
 sombre brilliance of the night. It was one of those 
 nights that give the impression of extreme vastness, 
 when the sky seems higher, when the passing puflfs of 
 tepid breeze seem to bring with them faint whispers 
 from beyond the stars. The air was full of sweet 
 
3o6 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 scent, of the scent charming, penetrating and violent 
 like the impulse of love. He looked into that great 
 dark place odorous with the breath of Hfe, with the 
 mystery of existence, renewed, fecund, indestructible; 
 and he felt afraid of his solitude, of the solitude of his 
 body, of the loneliness of his soul in the presence of 
 this unconscious and ardent strife; of this lofty in- 
 difference; of this merciless and mysterious purpose, 
 perpetuating strife and death through the march of 
 ages. For the second time in his life he felt, in a sud- 
 den sense of his insignificance, the need to send a cry 
 for help into the wilderness, and for the second time 
 he realised the hopelessness of its unconcern. He 
 could shout for help on every side — and nobody would 
 answer. He could stretch out his hands, he could call 
 for aid, for support, for sympathy, for relief — and no- 
 body would come. Nobody. There was no one there 
 — but that woman. 
 
 His heart was moved, softened with pity at his own 
 abandonment. His anger against her, against her 
 who was the cause of all his misfortunes, vanished 
 before his extreme need for some kind of consolation. 
 Perhaps — if he must resign himself to his fate — she 
 might help him to forget; to forget! For a moment, 
 in an access of despair so profound that it seemed like 
 the beginning of peace, he planned the deliberate de- 
 scent from his pedestal, the throwing away of his 
 superiority, of all his hopes, of old ambitions, of the 
 ungrateful civilisation. For a moment, forgetfulness 
 seemed possible; and lured by that possibility the sem- 
 blance of renewed desire possessed his breast in a burst 
 of reckless contempt for everything outside himself 
 — in a savage disdain of Earth and of Heaven. He 
 said to himself that he would not repent. The pun- 
 ishment for his only sin was too heavy. There was 
 no mercy under heaven. He did not want anv. He 
 thought, desperately, that if he could find with her 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 307 
 
 again the madness of the past, the strange delirium 
 that had changed him, that had worked his undoing, 
 he would be ready to pay for it with an eternity of 
 perdition. He was intoxicated by the subtle perfumes 
 of the night; he was carried away by the suggestive 
 stir of the warm breeze; he was possessed by the ex- 
 altation of the solitude, of the silence, of his memories, 
 in the presence of that figure offering herself in a sub- 
 missive and patient devotion; coming to him in the 
 name of the past, in the name of those days when he 
 cold see nothing, think of nothing, desire nothing — 
 but that pressure. 
 
 He took her suddenly in his arms, and she clasped 
 her hands round his neck with a low cry of joy and 
 surprise. He took her in his arms and waited for the 
 sensations remembered and lost; and while she sobbed 
 gently on his breast he held her and felt cold, sick, 
 tired, exasperated with his failure — and ended by curs- 
 ing himself. She clung to him trembling with the in- 
 tensity of her happiness and her love. He heard her 
 whispering — her face hidden on his shoulder — of past 
 sorrow, of coming joy that would last for ever; of her 
 unshaken belief in his love. She had always believed. 
 Always! Even while his face was turned away from 
 her in the dark days while his mind was wandering 
 in his own land, amongst his own people. But it would 
 never wander away from her any more now it had 
 come back. He would forget the cold faces and the 
 hard hearts of the cruel people. What was there to 
 remember? Nothing? Was it not so? . . . 
 
 He listened hopelessly to the faint murmur. He 
 stood still and rigid, pressing her mechanically to his 
 breast while he thought that there was nothing for 
 him in the world. He was robbed of everything; 
 robbed of his passion, of his liberty, of forgetfulness, 
 of consolation. She, wild with delight, whispered on 
 rapidly, of love, of light, of peace, of long years. . . . 
 
308 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 He looked drearily above her head down into the 
 deeper gloom of the courtyard. And, all at once, it 
 seemed to him that he was peering into a sombre 
 hollow, into a deep black hole full of decay and of 
 whitened bones; into an immense and inevitable grave 
 full of corruption where sooner or later he must, un- 
 avoidably, fall. 
 
 In the morning he came out early, and stood for a 
 time in the doorway listening to the light breathing 
 behind him — in the house. She slept. He had not 
 closed his eyes through all that night. He stood sway- 
 ing — then leaned against the lintel of the door. He 
 was exhausted, done up; fancied himself hardly alive. 
 He had a disgusted horror of himself that, as he looked 
 at the level sea of mist at his feet, faded quickly into 
 dull indiflference. It was like a sudden and final de- 
 crepitude of his senses, of his body, of his thoughts. 
 Standing on the high platform, he looked over the 
 expanse of low night fog above which, here and there, 
 stood out the feathery heads of tall bamboo clumps 
 and the round tops of single trees, resembling small 
 islets emerging black and solid from a ghostly and 
 impalpable sea. Further on, upon the faintly luminous 
 background of the eastern sky, the sombre line of the 
 great forests bounded that smooth sea of white vapours 
 with an appearance of a fantastic and unattainable 
 shore. He looked without seeing anything — thinking 
 of himself. Before his eyes the light of the rising sun 
 burst above the forest with the suddenness of an ex- 
 plosion. He saw nothing. Then, after a time, he 
 murmured with conviction — speaking half aloud to 
 himself in the shock of the penetrating thought: 
 
 " I am a lost man." 
 
 He shook his hand above his head in a gesture 
 careless and tragic, then walked down into the mist 
 that closed above him in shining undulations under 
 the first breath of the morning breeze. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 309 
 
 Willems moved languidly towards the river, then 
 retraced his steps to the tree and let himself fall on 
 the seat under its shade. On the other side of the 
 immense trunk he could hear the old woman moving 
 about, sighing loudly, muttering to herself, snapping 
 dry sticks, blowing up the fire. After a while a whifif 
 of smoke drifted round to where he sat. It made him 
 feel hungry, and that feeling was like a new indignity 
 added to an intolerable load of humiliations. He felt 
 inclined to cry. He felt very weak. He held up his 
 arm before his eyes and watched for a little while the 
 trembling of the lean limb. Skin and bone, by God! 
 How thin he was! . . . He had suffered from fever 
 a good deal, and now he thought with tearful dismay 
 that Lingard, although he had sent him food — and 
 what food, great Lord: a little rice and dried fish; 
 quite unfit for a white man — had not sent him any 
 medicine. Did the old savage think that he was likd 
 the wild beasts that are never ill? He wanted qui- 
 nine. 
 
 He leaned the back of his head against the tree 
 and closed his eyes. He thought feebly that if he 
 could get hold of Lingard he would like to flay him 
 alive ; but it was only a blurred, a short and a passing 
 thought. His imagination, exhausted by the repeated 
 delineations of his own fate, had not enough strength 
 left to grip the idea of revenge. He was not indignant 
 and rebellious. He was cowed. He was cowed by 
 the immense cataclysm of his disaster. Like most 
 men, he had carried solemnly within his breast the 
 whole universe, and the approaching end of all things 
 in the destruction of his own personality filled him 
 with paralysing awe. Everything was toppling over. 
 He blinked his eyes guickly, and it seemed to him 
 
3IO AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 that the very sunshine of the morning disclosed in its 
 brightness a suggestion of some hidden and sinister 
 meaning. In his unreasoning fear he tried to hide 
 within himself. He drew his feet up, his head sank 
 between his shoulders, his arms hugged his sides. 
 Under the high and enormous tree soaring superbly 
 out of the mist in a vigorous spread of lofty boughs, 
 with a restless and eager flutter of its innumerable 
 leaves in the clear sunshine, he remained motionless, 
 huddled up on his seat: terrified and still. He looked 
 like a heap of soiled rags thrown over a lot of bones 
 and topped by a mournful and fleshless head with a 
 pair of big, shining eyes, that moved slowly in their 
 sockets, wandering and stupid. 
 
 Willems' gaze roamed over the ground, and then 
 he watched with idiotic fixity half a dozen black ants 
 entering courageously a tuft of long grass which, to 
 them, must have appeared a dark and a dangerous 
 jungle. Suddenly he thought: There must be some- 
 thing dead in there. Some dead insect. Death every- 
 where! He closed his eyes again in an access of trem- 
 bling panic. Death everywhere — wherever one looks. 
 He did not want to see the ants. He did not want 
 to see anybody or anything. He sat in the darkness 
 of his own making, reflecting bitterly that there was 
 no peace for him. He heard voices now. . . . Illu- 
 sion! Misery! Torment! Who would come? Who 
 would speak to him? What business had he to hear 
 voices? . . . yet he heard them faintly, from the river. 
 Faintly, as if shouted far ofif over there, came the 
 words : " We come back soon." . . . Delirium and 
 mockery! Who would come back? Nobody ever 
 comes back. Fever comes back. He had it on 
 him this morning. That was it. . . . He heard un- 
 expectedly the old woman muttering something near 
 by. She had come round to his side of the tree. He 
 opened his eyes and saw her bent back before him 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 311 
 
 She stood, with her hand shading her eyes, looking 
 towards the landing-place. Then she glided away. 
 She had seen — and now she was going back to her 
 cooking; a woman incurious; expecting nothing; 
 without fear and without hope. 
 
 She had gone back behind the tree, and now Wil- 
 lems could see a human figure on the path to the land- 
 ing-place. It appeared to him to be a woman, in a 
 red gown, holding some heavy bundle in her arms; 
 it was an apparition unexpected, familiar and odd. He 
 cursed through his teeth ... It had wanted only this ! 
 See things like that in broad daylight! He was very 
 bad — very bad. . . . He was horribly scared at this 
 awful symptom of the desperate state of his health. 
 
 This scare lasted for the space of a flash of light- 
 ning, and in the next moment it was revealed to him 
 that the woman was real ; that she was coming towards 
 him; that she was his wife! He put his feet down 
 to the ground quickly, but made no other movement. 
 His eyes opened wide. He was so amazed that for a 
 time he absolutely forgot his own existence. The only 
 idea in his head was: Why on earth did she come 
 here? 
 
 Joanna was coming up the courtyard with eager, 
 hurried steps. She carried in her arms the child, 
 wrapped up in one of Almayer's white blankets that 
 she had snatched off the bed at the last moment, before 
 leaving the house. She seemed to be dazed by the 
 sun in her eyes; bewildered by her strange surround- 
 ings. She moved on, looking quickly right and left 
 in impatient expectation of seeing her husband at any 
 moment. Then, approaching the tree, she perceived 
 suddenly _a kind qf_a^jdrkd-u2_ Ig^^Q^ co rpse, sitting 
 very stiff oiTaTench in the shade and looking at her 
 with big eyes that were alive. That was her husband. 
 
 She stopped dead short. They stared at one an- 
 other in profound stillness with astounded eyes, with 
 
312 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 eyes maddened by the memories of things far off that 
 seemed lost m the lapse of time. Their looks crossed, 
 passed each other, and appeared to dart at them 
 through fantastic distances, to come straight from the 
 Incredible. 
 
 Looking at him steadily she came nearer, and de- 
 posited the blanket with the child in it on the bench. 
 Little Louis, after howling with terror in the darkness 
 of the river most of the night, now slept soundly and 
 did not wake. Willems' eyes followed his wife, his 
 head turning slowly after her. He accepted her pres- 
 ence there with a tired acquiescence in its fabulous 
 improbability. Anything might happen. What did 
 she come for? She was part of the general scheme 
 of his misfortune. He half expected that she would 
 rush at him, pull his hair, and scratch his face. Why 
 not? Anything might happen! In an exaggerated 
 sense of his great bodily weakness he felt somewhat 
 apprehensive of possible assault. At any rate, she 
 would scream at him. He knew her of old. She could 
 screech. He had thought that he was rid of her for 
 ever. She came now probably to see the end. . . . 
 
 Suddenly she turned, and embracing him slid 
 gently to the ground. This startled him. With her 
 forehead on his knees she sobbed noiselessly. He 
 looked down dismally at the top of her head. What 
 was she up to? He had not the strength to move — 
 to get away. He heard her whispering something, 
 and bent over to listen. He caught the word '' For- 
 give." 
 
 That was what she came for! All that way. Wom- 
 en are queer. Forgive. Not he ! . . . All at once this 
 thought darted through his brain: How did she come? 
 In a boat. Boat! boat! 
 
 He shouted " Boat! " and jumped up, knocking 
 her over. Before she had time to pick herself up he 
 pounced upon her and was dragging her up by the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 313 
 
 shoulders. No sooner had she regained her feet than 
 she clasped him tightly round the neck, covering his 
 face, his eyes, his mouth, his nose with desperate 
 kisses. He dodged his head about, shaking her arms, 
 trying to keep her ofif, to speak, to ask her. . . . She 
 came in a boat, boat, boat! . . . They struggled and 
 swung round, tramping in a semicircle. He blurted 
 out, " Leave ofif. Listen," while he tore at her hands. 
 This meeting of lawful love and sincere joy resem- 
 bled a fight. Louis Willems slept peacefully under 
 his blanket. 
 
 At last Willems managed to free himself, and held 
 her off, pressing her arms down. He looked at her. 
 He had half a suspicion that he was dreaming. Her 
 lips trembled; her eyes wandered unsteadily, always 
 coming back to his face. He saw her the same as 
 ever, in his presence. She appeared startled, tremu- 
 lous, ready to cry. She did not inspire him with con- 
 fidence. He shouted — 
 
 " How did you come?" 
 
 She answered in hurried words, looking at him 
 intently — 
 
 *' In a big canoe with three men. I know every- 
 thing. Lingard's away. I come to save you. I know. 
 . . . Almayer told me." 
 
 " Canoe ! . . . Almayer. . . . Lies. Told you. . . , 
 You!" stammered Willems in a distracted manner. 
 "Why you? . . . told what?" 
 
 Words failed him. He stared at his wife, thinking 
 with fear that she — stupid woman — had been made a 
 tool in some plan of treachery ... in some deadly 
 plot. 
 
 She began to cry — 
 
 " Don't look at me like that, Peter. What have 
 I done? I come to beg ... to beg . . . forgiveness, 
 . . . Save . . . Lingard . . . danger." 
 
 He trembled with impatience, with hope, with fear. 
 
314 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 She looked at him and sobbed out in a fresh outburst 
 of grief — 
 
 "Oh! Peter. What's the matter? . . . Are you 
 ill? . . . Oh! you look so ill . . ." 
 
 He shook her violently into a terrified and wonder- 
 ing silence. 
 
 " How dare you! ... I am well . . . perfectly 
 well. . . . Where's that boat? Will you tell me where 
 that boat is — at last? The boat, I say. . . . You! . . ." 
 
 " You hurt me," she moaned. 
 
 He let her go, and, mastering her terror, she stood 
 quivering and looking at him with strange intensity. 
 Then she made a movement forward, but he lifted his 
 finger, and she restrained herself with a long sigh. 
 He calmed down suddenly and surveyed her with cold 
 criticism, with the same appearance as when, in the 
 old days, he used to find fault with the household 
 expenses. She found a kind of fearful delight in this 
 abrupt return into the past, into her old subjection. 
 
 He stood outwardly collected now, and listened to 
 her disconnected story. Her words seemed to fall 
 round him with the distracting clatter of stunning 
 hail. He caught the meaning here and there, and 
 straightway would lose himself in a tremendous effort 
 to shape out some intelligible theory of events. There 
 was a boat. A boat. A big boat that could take him 
 to sea if necessary. That much was clear. She 
 brought it. Why did Almayer lie to her so? Was 
 it a plan to decoy him into some ambush? Better 
 that than hopeless solitude. She had money. The 
 men were ready to go anywhere . . . she said. 
 
 He interrupted her — 
 
 " Where are they now? " 
 
 " They are coming directly," she answered, tear- 
 fully. " Directly. There are some fishing stakes near 
 here — they said. They are coming directly." 
 
 Again she was talking and sobbing together. She 
 
AN 0UTCA3T OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 315 
 
 wanted to be forgiven. Forgiven? What for? Ah! 
 the scene in Macassar. As if he had time to think 
 of that ! What did he care what she had done months 
 ago? He seemed to struggle in the toils of compli- 
 cated dreams where everything was impossible, yet a 
 matter of course, where the past took the aspects of 
 the future and the present lay heavy on his heart — 
 seemed to take him by the throat like the hand of an 
 enemy. And while she begged, entreated, kissed his 
 hands, wept on his shoulder, adjured him in the name 
 of God, to forgive, to forget, to speak the word for 
 which she longed, to look at his boy, to believe in her 
 sorrow and in her devotion — his eyes, in the fascinated 
 immobility of shining pupils, looked far away, far be- 
 yond her, beyond the river, beyond this land, through 
 days, weeks, months; looked into liberty, into the fu- 
 ture, into his triumph . . . into a great possibility of 
 a startling revenge. 
 
 He felt a sudden desire to dance and shout. He 
 shouted — 
 
 *' After all, we shall meet again. Captain Lingard." 
 
 " Oh, no! No! " she cried, joining her hands. 
 
 He looked at her with surprise. He had forgotten 
 she was there till the break of her cry in the monoto- 
 nous tones of her prayer recalled him into that court- 
 yard from the glorious turmoil of his dreams. It was 
 very strange to see her there — near him. He felt al- 
 most afifectionate towards her. After all, she came 
 just in time. Then he thought: That other one. I 
 must get away without a scene. Who knows; she 
 may be dangerous! . . . And all at once he felt he 
 hated Aissa with an immense hatred that seemed to 
 choke him. He said to his wife — 
 
 " Wait a moment." 
 
 She, obedient, seemed to gulp down some words 
 which wanted to come out. He muttered : " Stay 
 here," and disappeared round the tree. 
 
3i6 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 The water in the iron pan on the cooking fire boiled 
 furiously, belching out volumes of white steam that 
 mixed with the thin black thread of smoke. The old 
 woman appeared to him through this as if in a fog, 
 squatting on her heels, impassive and weird. 
 
 Willems came up near and asked, " Where is 
 she? " 
 
 The woman did not even lift her head, but ansv/ered 
 at once, readily, as though she had expected the ques- 
 tion for a long time. 
 
 *' When you were asleep under the tree, before the 
 strange canoe came, she went out of the house. I saw 
 her look at you and pass on with a great light in her 
 eyes. A great light. And she went towards the place 
 where our master Lakamba had his fruit trees. When 
 we were many here. Many, many. Men with arms 
 by their side. Many . . . men. And talk . . . and 
 songs . . ." 
 
 She went on like that, raving gently to herself for 
 a long time after Willems had left her. 
 
 Willems went back to his wife. He came up close 
 to her and found he had nothing to say. Now all his 
 faculties were concentrated upon his wish to avoid 
 A'lssa. She might stay all the morning in that grove. 
 Why did those rascally boatmen go. He had a physi- 
 cal repugnance to set eyes on her. And somewhere, 
 at the very bottom of his heart, there was a fear of 
 her. Why? What could she do? Nothing on earth 
 could stop him now. He felt strong, reckless, piti- 
 less, and superior to everything. He wanted to pre- 
 serve before his wife the lofty purity of his character. 
 He thought: She does not know. Almayer held his 
 tongue about Aissa. But if she finds out, I am lost. 
 If it hadn't been for the boy I would . . . free of both 
 of them. . . . The idea darted through his head. Not 
 he! Married. . . . Swore solemnly. No . . . sacred 
 tic. . . . Looking on his wife, he felt for the first time 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 317 
 
 in his life something approaching remorse. Remorse, 
 arising from his conception of the awful nature of an 
 oath before the altar. . . . She mustn't find out. . . . 
 Oh for that boat! He must go and get his revolver. 
 Couldn't think of trusting himself unarmed with those 
 Bajow fellows. Get it now while she is away. Oh 
 for that boat! ... He dared not go to the river and 
 hail. He thought: She might hear me. ... I go and 
 get . . . cartridges . . . then will be all ready . . . 
 nothing else. No. 
 
 And while he stood meditating profoundly before 
 he could make up his mind to run to the house, Joanna 
 pleaded, holding to his arm— pleaded despairingly, 
 broken-hearted, hopeless whenever she glanced up at 
 his face, which to her seemed to wear the aspect of 
 unforgiving rectitude, of virtuous severity, of merci- 
 less justice. And she pleaded humbly — abashed be- 
 fore him, before the unmoved appearance of the man 
 she had wronged in defiance of human and divine laws. 
 He heard not a word of what she said until she raised 
 her voice in a final appeal — 
 
 ". . . Don't you see I loved you always? They 
 told me horrible things about you. . . . My own 
 mother! They told me . . . you have been . . . you 
 have been unfaithful to me, and I . . ." 
 
 " It's a damned lie! " shouted Willems, waking up 
 for a moment into righteous indignation. 
 
 " I know! I know. ... Be generous. . . . Think 
 of my misery since you went away. . . . Oh ! I could 
 have torn my tongue out. ... I will never believe 
 anybody. . . . Look at the boy. ... Be merciful. 
 ... I could never rest till I found you. . . . Say . . . 
 a word . . . one word . . ." 
 
 " What the devil do you want? " exclaimed Wil- 
 lems, looking towards the river. "Where's that 
 damned boat? Why did you let them go away? You 
 stupid!" 
 
318 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 " Oh, Peter! ... I know that in your heart you 
 have forgiven me. . . . You are so generous. ... I 
 want to hear you say so. . . . Tell me ... do you?" 
 
 ''Yes! yes!" said Willems, impatiently. "I for- 
 give you. Don't be a fool." 
 
 " Don't go away. Don't leave me alone here. 
 Where is the danger? I am so frightened. . . . Are 
 you alone here? Sure? . . . Let us go away! " 
 
 " That's sense," said Willems, still looking anx- 
 iously towards the river. 
 
 She sobbed gently, leaning on his arm. 
 
 *' Let me go," he said. 
 
 He had seen above the steep bank the heads of 
 three men glide along smoothly. Then, where the 
 shore shelved down to the landing-place, appeared a 
 big canoe which came slowly to land. 
 
 *' Here they are," he went on briskly. *' I'll go 
 and get my revolver." 
 
 He made a few hurried paces towards the house, 
 but seemed to catch sight of something, turned short 
 round and came back to his wife. She stared at him, 
 alarmed by the sudden change in his face. He ap- 
 peared much discomposed. He stammered a little as 
 he began to speak. 
 
 " Go. Take the child. Go down to the boat and tell 
 them to drop it out of sight, quick, behind the bushes. 
 Do you hear? Hurry! I will come to you there di- 
 rectly. Hurry up! " 
 
 " Peter! What is it? I won't leave you. There 
 is some danger in this horrible place." 
 
 " Will you go? " said Willems, in an irritable whis- 
 per. " I tell you I am coming. Run! I tell you." 
 
 " No! no! no! I won't leave you. I will not lose 
 you again. Tell me, what is it? " 
 
 From beyond the house came a faint voice singing. 
 Willems shook his wife by the shoulder. 
 
 " Do what I tell you! Go at once! " 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 319 
 
 She gripped his arm and clung to him desperately. 
 He looked up to heaven as if taking it to witness of 
 that woman's infernal folly. The song grew louder, 
 then ceased suddenly, and Aissa appeared in sight, 
 walking slowly, her hands full of flowers. 
 
 She had turned the corner of the house, coming 
 out into the full sunshine, and the light seemed to 
 leap upon her in a stream brilliant, tender, and ca- 
 ressing, as if attracted by the radiant happiness of her 
 face. She had dressed herself for a festive day, for 
 the memorable day of his return to her, of his return 
 to an affection that would last for ever. The rays of 
 the morning sun were caught by the oval clasp of the 
 embroidered belt that held the silk sarong round her 
 waist. The dazzling white stufif of her body jacket 
 was crossed by a bar of yellow and silver of her scarf, 
 and in the black hair twisted high on her small head 
 shone the round balls of gold pins amongst crimson 
 blossoms and white star-shaped flowers, with which 
 she had crowned herself to charm his eyes; those eyes 
 that were henceforth to see nothing in the world but 
 her own resplendent image. And she moved slowly, 
 bending her face over the mass of pure white cham- 
 pakas and jasmine pressed to her breast, in a dreamy 
 intoxication of sweet scents and of sweeter hopes. 
 
 She did not seem to see anything, stopped for a 
 moment at the foot of the plankway leading to the 
 house, then, leaving her high-heeled wooden sandals 
 there, ascended the planks in a light run; straight, 
 graceful, flexible and noiseless, as if she had soared up 
 to the door on invisible wings. Willems pushed his 
 wife roughly behind the tree, and made up his mind 
 quickly for a rush to the house, to get his revolver 
 and . . . Thoughts, doubts, expedients seemed to 
 boil in his brain. He had a flashing vision of deliver- 
 ing a stunning blow, of tying up that flower bedecked 
 woman in the dark house — a vision of things done 
 
320 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 swiftly with enraged haste — to save his prestige, his 
 superiority — something of immense importance. . . . 
 had not made two steps when Joanna bounded after 
 him, caught the back of his ragged jacket, tore out 
 a big piece, and instantly hooked herself with both 
 hands to the collar, nearly dragging him down on 
 his back. Although taken by surprise, he managed 
 to keep his feet. From behind she panted into his 
 ear — 
 
 "That woman! Who's that woman? Ah! that's 
 what those boatmen were talking about. I heard 
 them . . . heard them . . . heard ... in the night. 
 They spoke about some woman. I dared not under- 
 stand. I would not ask . . . listen . . . believe! 
 How could I? Then it's true. No. Say no. . . . 
 Who's that woman? " 
 
 He swayed, tugging forward. She jerked at him 
 till the button gave way, and then he slipped half out 
 of his jacket and, turning round, remained strangely 
 motionless. His heart seemed to beat in his throat. 
 He choked — tried to speak — could *aot find any words. 
 He thought with fury I will kill both of them. 
 
 For a second nothing moved about the courtyard 
 in the great vivid clearness of the day. Only down by 
 the landing-place a waringan-tree, all in a blaze of clus- 
 tering red berries, seemed alive with the stir of little 
 birds that filled with the feverish flutter of their feath- 
 ers the tangle of overloaded branches. Suddenly the 
 variegated flock rose spinning in a soft whirr and dis- 
 persed, slashing the sunlit haze with the sharp out- 
 lines of stiffened wings. Mahmat and one of his 
 brothers appeared coming up from the landing-place, 
 their lances in their hands, to look for their passengers. 
 
 Aissa coming now empty-handed out of the house, 
 caught sight of the two armed men. In her surprise 
 she emitted a faint cry, vanished back and in a fiash 
 reappeared in the doorway with Willems' revolver in 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 321 
 
 her hand. To her the presence of any man there 
 could only have an ominous meaning. There was 
 nothing in the outer world but enemies. She and the 
 man she loved were alone, with nothing round them 
 but menacing dangers. She did not mind that, for if 
 death came, no matter from what hand, they would 
 die together. 
 
 Her resolute eyes took in the courtyard in a circular 
 glance. She noticed that the two strangers had ceased 
 to advance and now were standing close together 
 leaning on the polished shafts of their weapons. The 
 next moment she saw Willems, with his back towards 
 her, apparently struggling under the tree with some 
 one. She saw nothing distinctly, and, unhesitating, 
 she flew down the plankway calling out: " I come! " 
 
 He heard her cry, and with an unexpected rush 
 drove his wife backwards to the seat. She fell on itj 
 he jerked himself altogether out of his jacket, and she 
 covered her face with the soiled rags. He put his lips 
 close to her, asking — 
 
 " For the last time, will you take the child and go? " 
 
 She groaned behind the unclean ruins of his upper 
 garment. She mumbled something. He bent lower 
 to hear. She was saying — 
 
 *' I won't go. Order that woman away. 1 can't 
 look at her!" 
 
 "You fool!" 
 
 He seemed to spit the words at her, then, making 
 up his mind, spun round to face Aissa. She was 
 coming towards them slowly now, with a look of un- 
 bounded amazement on her face. Then she stopped 
 and stared at him — who stood there stripped to the 
 w^aist, bareheaded and sombre. 
 
 Some way off, Mahmat and his brother exchanged 
 rapid words in calm undertones. . . . This was the 
 strong daughter of the holy man who had died. The 
 white man is very tall. There would be three women 
 
322 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 and the child to take in the boat, besides that white 
 man who had the money. . . . The brother went 
 away back to the boat, and Mahmat remained looking 
 on. He stood Hke a sentinel, the leaf-shaped blade 
 of his lance glinting above his head, somnolent and 
 upright under the cataract of sun-rays. 
 
 Willems spoke suddenly. 
 
 *' Give me this," he said, stretching his hand to- 
 wards the revolver. 
 
 Aissa stepped back. Her lips trembled. She said 
 very low: "Your people?" 
 
 He nodded slightly. She shook her head thought- 
 fully, and a few delicate petals of the flowers dying in 
 her hair fell like big drops of crimson and white at 
 her feet. 
 
 " Did you know? " she whispered. 
 
 *' No! " said Willems. '' They sent for me." 
 
 *' Tell them to go. They are accursed. What is 
 there between them and you — and you who carry my 
 life in your heart! " 
 
 Willems said nothing. He stood before her look- 
 ing down on the ground and repeating to himself: I 
 m.ust get that revolver away from her, at once, at once. 
 I can't think of trusting myself with those men with- 
 out firearms. I must have it. 
 
 She asked, after gazing in silence at Joanna, who 
 was sobbing gently — 
 
 ''Who is she?" 
 
 " My wife," answered Willems, without looking up. 
 " My wife according to our white law, which comes 
 from God!" 
 
 "Your law! Your God!" murmured Aissa, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Give me this revolver," said Willems, in a per- 
 emptory tone. He felt an unwillingness to close with 
 her, to get it by force. 
 
 She took no notice and went on — 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 323 
 
 " Your law ... or your lies? What am I to be- 
 lieve? I came — I ran to defend you when I saw the 
 strange men. You lied to me with your lips, with 
 your eyes. You crooked heart! . . . Ah!" she 
 added, after an abrupt pause. " She is the first! Am 
 I then to be a slave? " 
 
 " You may be what you like," said Willems, brutal- 
 ly. " I am going." 
 
 Her gaze was fastened on the blanket under which 
 she had detected a slight movement. She made a long 
 stride towards it. Willems turned half round. His 
 legs seemed to him to be made of lead. He felt faint 
 and so weak that, for a moment, the fear of dying 
 there where he stood, before he could escape from sin 
 and disaster, passed through his mind in a wave of 
 despair. 
 
 She Hfted up one corner of the blanket, and when 
 she saw the sleeping child a sudden quick shudder 
 shook her as though she had seen something inex- 
 pressibly horrible. She looked at Louis Willems with 
 eyes fixed in an unbelieving and terrified stare. Then 
 her fingers opened slowly, and a shadow seemed to 
 settle on her face as if something obscure and fatal 
 had come between her and the sunshine. She stood 
 looking down, absorbed, as though she had watched at 
 the bottom of a gloomy abyss the mournful procession 
 of her thoughts. 
 
 Willems did not move. All his faculties were con- 
 centrated upon the idea of his release. And it was 
 only then, in that minute, when the assurance of it 
 came to him with such force that he seemed to hear a 
 loud voice shouting in the heavens that all was over, 
 that in another five, ten minutes, he would step into 
 another existence; that all this, the woman, the mad- 
 ness, the sin, the regrets, all would go, rush into the 
 past, disappear, become as dust, as smoke, as drifting 
 clouds — as nothing! Yes! All would vanish in the 
 
324 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 unappeasable past which would swallow up all — even 
 the very memory of his temptation and of his down- 
 fall. Nothing mattered. He cared for nothing. He 
 had forgotten A'issa, his wife, Lingard, Hudig — every- 
 body, in the rapid vision of his hopeful future. 
 
 After a while he heard Aissa saying — 
 
 "A child! A child! What have I done to be 
 made to devour this sorrow and this grief? And while 
 your man-child and the mother lived you told me there 
 was nothing for you to remember in the land from 
 which you came! And I thought you could be mine. 
 I thought that I would . . ." 
 
 Her voice ceased in a broken murmur, and with 
 it, in her heart, seemed to die the greater and most 
 precious hope of her new life. She had hoped that 
 in the future the frail arms of a child would bind their 
 two lives together in a bond which nothing on earth 
 could break, a bond of afifection, of gratitude, of tender 
 respect. She the first — the only one! But in the in- 
 stant she saw the son of that other woman she felt 
 herself removed into the cold, the darkness, the silence 
 of a solitude impenetrable and immense — very far from 
 him, beyond the possibility of any hope, into an infinity 
 of wrongs without any redress. 
 
 She strode nearer to Joanna. She felt towards that 
 woman anger, envy, jealousy. Before her she felt 
 humiliated and enraged. She seized the hanging 
 sleeve of the jacket in which Joanna was hiding 
 her face and tore it out of her hands, exclaiming 
 loudly — 
 
 " Let me see the face of her before whom I am only 
 a servant and a slave. Ya-wa! I see you! " 
 
 Her unexpected shout seemed to fill the sunlit 
 space of cleared grounds, rise high and run on far into 
 the land over the unstirring tree-tops of the forests. 
 She stood in sudden stillness, looking at Joanna with 
 surprised contempt. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 325 
 
 " A Sirani woman ! " she said, slowly, in a tone of 
 wonder. 
 
 Joanna rushed at Willems — clung to him, shriek- 
 ing: " Defend me, Peter! Defend me from that 
 woman! " 
 
 " Be quiet. There is no danger," muttered Wil- 
 lems, thickly. 
 
 Aissa looked at them with scorn. " God is great! 
 I sit in the dust at your feet," she exclaimed jeeringly, 
 joining her hands above her head in a gesture of mock 
 humility. " Before you I am as nothing." She turned 
 to Willems fiercely, opening her arms wide. " What 
 have you made of me?" she cried, "you lying child 
 of an accursed mother! What have you made of me? 
 The slave of a slave. Don't speak! Your words are 
 worse than the poison of snakes. A Sirani woman. 
 A woman of a people despised by all." 
 
 She pointed her finger at Joanna, stepped back, 
 and began to laugh. 
 
 "Make her stop, Peter!" screamed Joanna. 
 " That heathen woman. Heathen! Heathen! Beat 
 her, Peter." 
 
 Willems caught sight of the revolver which Aissa 
 had laid on the seat near the child. He spoke in Dutch 
 to his wife without moving his head. 
 
 " Go. Snatch the boy— and my revolver there. 
 See. Run to the boat. I will keep her back. Now's 
 the time." 
 
 Aissa came nearer. She stared at Joanna, while 
 between the short gusts of broken laughter she raved, 
 fumbling distractedly at the buckle of her belt. 
 
 "To her! To her — the mother of him who will 
 speak of your wisdom, of your courage. All to her. 
 I have nothing. Nothing. Take, take." 
 
 She tore the belt off and threw it at Joanna's feet. 
 She fiung down with haste the armlets, the gold pins, 
 the flowers; and the long hair, released, fell scattered 
 
326 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 over her shoulders, framing in its blackness the wild 
 exaltation of her face. 
 
 " Drive her off, Peter. Drive off the heathen sav- 
 age," persisted Joanna. She seemed to have lost her 
 head altogether. She stamped, clinging to Willems' 
 arm with both her hands. 
 
 " Look," cried A'issa. '' Look at the mother of 
 your son! She is afraid. Why does she not go from 
 before my face? Look at her. She is ugly." 
 
 Joanna seemed to understand the scornful tone of 
 the words. As Aissa stepped back again nearer to 
 the tree she let go her husband's arm, rushed at her 
 madly, slapped her face, then, swerving round, darted 
 at the child who, unnoticed, had been wailing for 
 some time, and, snatching him up, flew down to the 
 waterside, sending shriek after shriek in an access of 
 insane terror. 
 
 Willems made for the revolver. Aissa passed swift- 
 ly, giving him an unexpected push that sent him stag- 
 gering away from the tree. She caught up the weapon, 
 put it behind her back, and cried — 
 
 " You shall not have it. Go after her. Go to meet 
 danger. ... Go to meet death. ... Go unarmed. 
 ... Go with empty hands and sweet words ... as 
 you came to me. . . . Go helpless and lie to the for- 
 ests, to the sea ... to the death that waits for 
 you " 
 
 She ceased as if strangled. She saw in the horror 
 of the passing seconds the half-naked, wild-looking 
 man before her; she heard the faint shrillness of Jo- 
 anna's insane shrieks for help somewhere down by 
 the riverside. The sunlight streamed on her, on him, 
 on the mute land, on the murmuring river — the gentle 
 brilliance of a serene morning that, to her, seemed 
 traversed by ghastly flashes of uncertain darkness. 
 Hate filled the world, filled the space between them 
 —the hate of race, the hate of hopeless diversity, the 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 327 
 
 hate of blood; the hate against the man born in the 
 land of gloom and of evil from which nothing but mis- 
 fortune comes to those who are not white. And as 
 she stood, maddened, she heard a whisper near her, 
 the whisper of the dead Omar's voice saying in her 
 ear: "KiU! Kill!" 
 
 She cried, seeing him move — 
 
 " Do not come near me ... or you die now! Go 
 while I remember yet . . . remember. . . ." 
 
 Willems pulled himself together for a struggle. He 
 dared not go unarmed. He made a long stride, and 
 saw her raise the revolver. He noticed that she had 
 not cocked it, and said to himself that, even if she did 
 fire, she would surely miss. Go too high; it was a 
 stiff trigger. He made a step nearer — saw the long 
 barrel moving unsteadily at the end of her extended 
 arm. He thought: This is my time . . . He bent his 
 knees slightly, throwing his body forward, and took 
 off with a long bound for a tearing rush. 
 
 He saw a burst of red flame before his eyes, and 
 was deafened by a report that seemed to him louder 
 than a clap of thunder. Something stopped him short, 
 and he stood aspiring in his nostrils the acrid smell 
 of the blue smoke that drifted from before his eyes 
 like an immense cloud. . . . Missed, by Heaven! . . . 
 Thought so ! . . . And he saw her very far off, throw- 
 ing her arms up, while the revolver, very small, lay on 
 the ground between them. . . . Missed! . . . He 
 would go and pick it up now. Never before did he 
 understand, as in that second, the joy, the triumphant 
 delight of sunshine and of life. His mouth was full 
 of something salt and warm. He tried to cough ; spat 
 out. . . . Who shrieks: In the name of God, he dies! 
 — he dies! — Who dies? — Must pick up — What? — 
 
 Night. . . . Night already. . . . 
 
 ****** 
 
 Many years afterwards Almayer was telling the 
 
328 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 story of the great revolution in Sambir to a chance 
 visitor from Europe. He was a Roumanian, half 
 naturalist, half orchid-hunter for commercial purposes, 
 who used to declare to everybody in the first five min- 
 utes of acquaintance his intention of writing a scien- 
 tific book about tropical countries. On his way to the 
 interior he had quartered himself upon Almayer. He 
 was a man of some education, but he drank his gin 
 neat, or only, at most, would squeeze the juice ol 
 half a small lime into the raw spirit. He said it was 
 good for his health, and, with that medicine before 
 him, he would relate to the surprised Almayer the 
 wonders of European capitals; while Almayer, in ex- 
 change, bored him by expounding, with gusto, his 
 unfavourable opinions of Sambir's social and poHtical 
 life. They talked far into the night, across the deal 
 table on the verandah, while, between them, clear- 
 winged, small, and flabby insects, dissatisfied with 
 moonlight, streamed in and perished in thousands 
 round the smoky light of the evil-smelling lamp. 
 Almayer, his face flushed, was saying — 
 '* Of course, I did not see that. I told you I was 
 stuck in the creek on account of father's — Captain 
 Lingard's — susceptible temper. I am sure I did it all 
 for the best in trying to facilitate the fellow's escape; 
 but Captain Lingard was that kind of man — you know 
 — one couldn't argue with. Just before sunset the 
 water was high enough, and we got out of the creek. 
 We got to Lakamba's clearing about dark. All very 
 quiet; I thought they were gone, of course, and felt 
 very glad. We walked up the courtyard — saw a big 
 heap of something lying in the middle. Out of that 
 she rose and rushed at us. By God. . . . You know 
 those stories of faithful dogs watching their masters' 
 corpses . . . don't let anybody approach . . . got to 
 beat them oflF — and all that. . . . Well, 'pon my word 
 we had to beat her ofif. Had to! She was like a fury. 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 329 
 
 Wouldn't let us touch him. Dead — of course. Should 
 think so. Shot through the lung, on the left side, 
 rather high up, and at pretty close quarters too, for 
 the two holes were small. Bullet came out through 
 the shoulder-blade. After we had overpowered her — 
 you can't imagine how strong that woman was; it 
 took three of us — we got the body into the boat and 
 shoved off. We thought she had fainted then, but 
 she got up and rushed into the water. Well, I let 
 her clamber in. What could I do? The river's full 
 of alligators, and she would swim after us. I will 
 never forget that pull up-stream in the night as long 
 as I live. She sat in the bottom of the boat, holding 
 his head in her lap, and now and again wiping his face 
 with her hair. There was a lot of blood dried about 
 his mouth and chin. And for all the six hours of that 
 journey she kept on whispering tenderly to that 
 corpse! ... I had the mate of the schooner with me. 
 The man said afterwards that he wouldn't go through 
 it again — not for a handful of diamonds. And I be- 
 lieved him — I did. It makes me shiver. Do you think 
 he heard? No! I mean somebody — something — 
 heard? . . ." 
 
 *' I am a materialist," declared the man of science, 
 tilting the bottle shakily over the emptied glass. 
 Almayer nodded his head and went on — 
 " Nobody saw what really happened but that man 
 Mahmat. He always said that he was no further ofif 
 from them than two lengths of his lance. It appears 
 the two women rowed each other while that Willems 
 stood between them. Then Mahmat says that when 
 Joanna struck her and ran off, the other two seemed 
 to become sudden mad together. They rushed here 
 and there. Mahmat says — those were his very words : 
 ' I saw her standing holding the pistol that fires many 
 times and pointing it all over the campong. I was 
 afraid — lest she might shoot me, and jumped on one 
 
330 
 
 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 side. Then I saw the white man coming at her swiftly. 
 He came Hke our master the tiger when he rushes out 
 of the jungle at the spears held by men. She did not 
 take aim. The barrel of her weapon went like this 
 — from side to side, but in her eyes I could see sud- 
 denly a great fear. There was only one shot. She 
 shrieked while the white man stood blinking his eyes 
 and very straight, till you could count slowly one, 
 two, three; then he coughed and fell on his face. The 
 daughter of Omar shrieked without drawing breath, 
 till he fell, I went away then and left silence behind 
 me. These things did not concern me, and in my boat 
 there was that other woman who had promised me 
 money. We left directly, paying no attention to her 
 cries. We are only poor men, and had but a small 
 reward for our trouble ! ' That's what Mahmat said. 
 Never varied. You ask him yourself. He's the man 
 you hired the boats from, for your journey up the 
 river." 
 
 " The most rapacious thief I ever met! " exclaimed 
 the traveller, quickly. 
 
 " Ah! He is a respectable man. His two brothers 
 got themselves speared — served them right. They 
 went in for robbing Dyak graves. Gold ornaments in 
 them, you know. Serve them right. But he kept re- 
 spectable and got on. Aye! Everybody got on — but 
 I. And all through that scoundrel who brought the 
 Arabs here." 
 
 *' De mortuis nil ni . . . num," muttered Almay- 
 er's guest. 
 
 " I wish you would speak English instead of jab- 
 bering in your own language, which no one can un- 
 derstand," said Almayer, sulkily. 
 
 " Don't be angry," hiccoughed the other. " It's 
 Latin, and it's wisdom. It means: Don't waste your 
 breath in abusing shadows. No ofiFence there. I like 
 you. You have a quarrel with proyidence — so 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 331 
 
 have I. I was meant to be a professor, while — 
 look." 
 
 His head nodded. He sat grasping the glass. Al- 
 mayer walked up and down, then stopped suddenly. 
 
 ** Yes, they all got on but I. Why? I am better 
 than any of them. Lakamba calls himself a Sultan, 
 and when I go to see him on business sends that one- 
 eyed fiend of his — Babalatchi — to tell me that the 
 ruler is asleep; and shall sleep for a long time. And 
 that Babalatchi! He is the Shahbandar of the State 
 — if you please. Oh, Lord! Shahbandar! The pig! 
 A vagabond I wouldn't let come up these steps 
 when he first came here. . . . Look at Abdulla now. 
 He lives here because — he says — here he is away from 
 white men. But he has hundreds of thousands. Has 
 a house in Penang. Ships. What did he not have 
 when he stole my trade from me ! He knocked every- 
 thing here into a cocked hat; drove father to gold- 
 hunting — then to Europe, where he disappeared. 
 Fancy a man like Captain Lingard disappearing as 
 though he had been a common coolie. Friends of 
 mine wrote to London asking about him. Nobody 
 ever heard of him there! Fancy! Never heard of 
 Captain Lingard ! " 
 
 The learned gatherer of orchids lifted his head. 
 
 " He was a sen . . . sentimen . . . tal old buc 
 . . . buccaneer," he stammered out, " I like him. I'm 
 sent ... tal myself." 
 
 He winked slowly at Almayer, who laughed. 
 
 "Yes! I told you about that gravestone. Yes! 
 Another hundred and twenty dollars thrown away. 
 Wish I had them now. He would do it. And the 
 inscription. Ha! ha! ha! ' Peter Willems, Delivered 
 by the Mercy of God from his enemy.' What enemy 
 — unless Captain Lingard himself? And then it has 
 no sense. He was a great man — father was — but 
 strange in many ways. . . . You haven't seen the 
 
332 AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 grave? On the top of that hill, there, on the other 
 side of the river. I must show you. We will go there." 
 
 " Not I ! " said the other. " No interest ... in 
 the sun . . . too tiring. . . . Unless you carry me 
 there." 
 
 As a matter of fact he was carried there a few 
 months afterwards, and his was the second white man's 
 grave in Sambir; but at present he was aHve if rather 
 drunk. He asked abruptly — 
 
 " And the woman? " 
 
 " Oh! Lingard, of course, kept her and her ugly 
 brat in Macassar. Sinful waste of money — that! 
 Devil only knows what became of them since father 
 went home. I had my daughter to look after. I 
 shall give you a word to Mrs. Vinck in Singapore 
 when you go back. You shall see her. Lucky man. 
 She is beautiful, and I hear so accomplished, so . . ." 
 
 " I have heard already twenty ... a hundred 
 rimes about your daughter. What ab . . . about 
 . . . that . . . that other one, Ai . . . ssa?" 
 
 "She! Oh! we kept her here. She was mad for 
 a long time in a quiet sort of way. Father thought a 
 lot of her. We gave her a house to live in, in my cam- 
 pong. She wandered about, speaking to nobody un- 
 less she caught sight of Abdulla, when she would have 
 a fit of fury, and shriek and curse like anything. Very 
 often she would disappear — and then we had all to 
 turn out and hunt for her, because father would worry 
 till she was brought back. Found her in all kinds of 
 places. Once in the abandoned campong of Lakam- 
 ba. Sometimes simply wandering in the bush. She 
 had one favourite spot we always made for at first. 
 It was ten to one on finding her there — a kind of a 
 grassy glade on the banks of a small brook. Why she 
 preferred that place, I can't imagine! And such a 
 job to get her away from there. Had to drag her away 
 by main force. Then, as the time passed, she became 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 333 
 
 quieter and more settled, like. Still, all my people 
 feared her greatly. It was my Nina that tamed her. 
 You see the child was naturally fearless, and used to 
 have her own way, so she would go to her and pull 
 at her sarong, and order her about, as she did every- 
 body. Finally she, I verily believe, came to love the 
 child. Nothing could resist that little one — you know. 
 She made a capital nurse. Once when the little devil 
 ran away from me and fell into the river off the end 
 of the jetty, she jumped in and pulled her out in no 
 time. I very nearly died of fright. Now of course 
 she lives with my serving girls, but does what she 
 likes. As long as I have a handful of rice or a piece 
 of cotton in the store she sha'n't want for anything. 
 You have seen her. She brought in the dinner with 
 Ali." 
 
 "What! That doubled-up crone?" 
 
 ''Ah!" said Almayer. "They age quickly here. 
 And long foggy nights spent in the bush will soon 
 break the strongest backs — as you will find out your- 
 self soon." 
 
 " Dis . . . disgusting," growled the traveller. 
 
 He dozed off. Almayer stood by the balustrade 
 looking out at the bluish sheen of the moonlit night. 
 The forests, unchanged and sombre, seemed to hang 
 over the water, listening to the unceasing whisper of 
 the great river; and above their dark wall the hill on 
 which Lingard had buried the body of his late prisoner 
 rose in a black, rounded mass upon the silver paleness 
 of the sky. Almayer looked for a long time at the 
 clean-cut outline of the summit, as if trying to make 
 out through darkness and distance the shape of that 
 expensive tombstone. When he turned round at last 
 he saw his guest sleeping, his arms on the table, his 
 head on his arms. 
 
 " Now, look here! " he shouted, slapping the table 
 with the palm of his hand, 
 
334 AN OUrCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 
 
 The naturalist woke up, and sat all in a heap, star- 
 ing owlishly. 
 
 "Here!" went on Almayer, speaking very loud 
 and thumping the table, '' I want to know. You, 
 who say you have read all the books, just tell me . . . 
 why such damned things are ever born. Here I am! 
 Done harm to nobody, lived an honest life . . . and a 
 scoundrel like that is born in Rotterdam or some such 
 damn'd place at the other end of the world somewhere, 
 travels out here, robs his employer, runs away from his 
 wife, and ruins me and my Nina — he ruined me, I 
 tell you — and gets himself shot at last by a poor mis- 
 erable savage, that knows nothing at all about him 
 really. Where's the sense of all this? Where's your 
 providence? Where's the good for anybody in all 
 this? The world's a swindle! A swindle! Why 
 should I suffer? What have I done to be treated so? " 
 
 He howled out his string of questions, and sud- 
 denly became silent. The man who ought to have 
 been a professor made a tremendous effort to articulate 
 distinctly — 
 
 '' My dear fellow, don't . . . don't you see that the 
 ba . . . bare fac . . . the fact of your existence is off 
 . . . offensive. ... I ... I like you . . . like . . ." 
 
 He fell forward on the table, and ended his remarks 
 by an expected and prolonged snore. 
 
 Almayer shrugged his shoulders and walked back 
 to the balustrade. He drank his own trade gin very 
 seldom, but, when he did, a ridiculously small quantity 
 of the stuff could induce him to assume a rebellious 
 attitude towards the scheme of the universe. And 
 now, throwing his body over the rail he shouted im- 
 pudently into the night, turning his face towards that 
 far-off and invisible slab of imported granite upon 
 which Lingard had thought fit to record God's mercy 
 and Willems' escape. 
 
 "Father was wrong — wrong!" he yelled, "I 
 
AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS. 335 
 
 want you to smart for it. You must smart for it! 
 Where are you, Willems? Hey? . . . Hey? . . . 
 Where there is no mercy for you — I hope ! " 
 
 " Hope," repeated in a whispering echo the startled 
 forests, the river and the hills ; but Almayer, who stood 
 waiting with his head on one side and a smile of tipsy 
 attention on his lips, heard no other answer. 
 
 a> 
 
 THE END. 
 
1 
 
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