PART II. THE SHORE OF REFUGE
I
The coast off which the little brig, floating upright above her anchor,seemed to guard the high hull of the yacht has no distinctive features.It is land without form. It stretches away without cape or bluff, longand low--indefinitely; and when the heavy gusts of the northeast monsoondrive the thick rain slanting over the sea, it is seen faintly under thegrey sky, black and with a blurred outline like the straight edge of adissolving shore. In the long season of unclouded days, it presents toview only a narrow band of earth that appears crushed flat upon the vastlevel of waters by the weight of the sky, whose immense dome rests on itin a line as fine and true as that of the sea horizon itself.
Notwithstanding its nearness to the centres of European power, thiscoast has been known for ages to the armed wanderers of these seasas "The Shore of Refuge." It has no specific name on the charts, andgeography manuals don't mention it at all; but the wreckage of manydefeats unerringly drifts into its creeks. Its approaches are extremelydifficult for a stranger. Looked at from seaward, the innumerable isletsfringing what, on account of its vast size, may be called the mainland,merge into a background that presents not a single landmark to point theway through the intricate channels. It may be said that in a belt of seatwenty miles broad along that low shore there is much more coral, mud,sand, and stones than actual sea water. It was amongst the outlyingshoals of this stretch that the yacht had gone ashore and the eventsconsequent upon her stranding took place.
The diffused light of the short daybreak showed the open water to thewestward, sleeping, smooth and grey, under a faded heaven. The straightcoast threw a heavy belt of gloom along the shoals, which, in the calmof expiring night, were unmarked by the slightest ripple. In the faintdawn the low clumps of bushes on the sandbanks appeared immense.
Two figures, noiseless like two shadows, moved slowly over the beach ofa rocky islet, and stopped side by side on the very edge of the water.Behind them, between the mats from which they had arisen, a small heapof black embers smouldered quietly. They stood upright and perfectlystill, but for the slight movement of their heads from right to left andback again as they swept their gaze through the grey emptiness of thewaters where, about two miles distant, the hull of the yacht loomed upto seaward, black and shapeless, against the wan sky.
The two figures looked beyond without exchanging as much as a murmur.The taller of the two grounded, at arm's length, the stock of a gun witha long barrel; the hair of the other fell down to its waist; and, nearby, the leaves of creepers drooping from the summit of the steep rockstirred no more than the festooned stone. The faint light, disclosinghere and there a gleam of white sandbanks and the blurred hummocks ofislets scattered within the gloom of the coast, the profound silence,the vast stillness all round, accentuated the loneliness of the twohuman beings who, urged by a sleepless hope, had risen thus, at break ofday, to look afar upon the veiled face of the sea.
"Nothing!" said the man with a sigh, and as if awakening from a longperiod of musing.
He was clad in a jacket of coarse blue cotton, of the kind a poorfisherman might own, and he wore it wide open on a muscular chest thecolour and smoothness of bronze. From the twist of threadbare sarongwound tightly on the hips protruded outward to the left the ivory hilt,ringed with six bands of gold, of a weapon that would not have disgraceda ruler. Silver glittered about the flintlock and the hardwood stockof his gun. The red and gold handkerchief folded round his head was ofcostly stuff, such as is woven by high-born women in the households ofchiefs, only the gold threads were tarnished and the silk frayed in thefolds. His head was thrown back, the dropped eyelids narrowed the gleamof his eyes. His face was hairless, the nose short with mobile nostrils,and the smile of careless good-humour seemed to have been permanentlywrought, as if with a delicate tool, into the slight hollows aboutthe corners of rather full lips. His upright figure had a negligentelegance. But in the careless face, in the easy gestures of the wholeman there was something attentive and restrained.
After giving the offing a last searching glance, he turned and, facingthe rising sun, walked bare-footed on the elastic sand. The trailed buttof his gun made a deep furrow. The embers had ceased to smoulder. Helooked down at them pensively for a while, then called over his shoulderto the girl who had remained behind, still scanning the sea:
"The fire is out, Immada."
At the sound of his voice the girl moved toward the mats. Her black hairhung like a mantle. Her sarong, the kilt-like garment which both sexeswear, had the national check of grey and red, but she had not completedher attire by the belt, scarves, the loose upper wrappings, and thehead-covering of a woman. A black silk jacket, like that of a man ofrank, was buttoned over her bust and fitted closely to her slenderwaist. The edge of a stand-up collar, stiff with gold embroidery,rubbed her cheek. She had no bracelets, no anklets, and although dressedpractically in man's clothes, had about her person no weapon of anysort. Her arms hung down in exceedingly tight sleeves slit a little wayup from the wrist, gold-braided and with a row of small gold buttons.She walked, brown and alert, all of a piece, with short steps, the eyeslively in an impassive little face, the arched mouth closed firmly; andher whole person breathed in its rigid grace the fiery gravity of youthat the beginning of the task of life--at the beginning of beliefs andhopes.
This was the day of Lingard's arrival upon the coast, but, as is known,the brig, delayed by the calm, did not appear in sight of the shallowstill the morning was far advanced. Disappointed in their hope to see theexpected sail shining in the first rays of the rising sun, the man andthe woman, without attempting to relight the fire, lounged on theirsleeping mats. At their feet a common canoe, hauled out of the water,was, for more security, moored by a grass rope to the shaft of a longspear planted firmly on the white beach, and the incoming tide lappedmonotonously against its stern.
The girl, twisting up her black hair, fastened it with slender woodenpins. The man, reclining at full length, had made room on his mat forthe gun--as one would do for a friend--and, supported on his elbow,looked toward the yacht with eyes whose fixed dreaminess like atransparent veil would show the slow passage of every gloomy thought bydeepening gradually into a sombre stare.
"We have seen three sunrises on this islet, and no friend came from thesea," he said without changing his attitude, with his back toward thegirl who sat on the other side of the cold embers.
"Yes; and the moon is waning," she answered in a low voice. "The moonis waning. Yet he promised to be here when the nights are light and thewater covers the sandbanks as far as the bushes."
"The traveller knows the time of his setting out, but not the time ofhis return," observed the man, calmly.
The girl sighed.
"The nights of waiting are long," she murmured.
"And sometimes they are vain," said the man with the same composure."Perhaps he will never return."
"Why?" exclaimed the girl.
"The road is long and the heart may grow cold," was the answer in aquiet voice. "If he does not return it is because he has forgotten."
"Oh, Hassim, it is because he is dead," cried the girl, indignantly.
The man, looking fixedly to seaward, smiled at the ardour of her tone.
They were brother and sister, and though very much alike, the familyresemblance was lost in the more general traits common to the wholerace.
They were natives of Wajo and it is a common saying amongst the Malayrace that to be a successful traveller and trader a man must have someWajo blood in his veins. And with those people trading, which means alsotravelling afar, is a romantic and an honourable occupation. The tradermust possess an adventurous spirit and a keen understanding; he shouldhave the fearlessness of youth and the sagacity of age; he should bediplomatic and courageous, so as to secure the favour of the great andinspire fear in evil-doers.
These qualities naturally are not expected in a shopkeeper or a Chinamanpedlar; they are considered indispensable only for a man who, of n
oblebirth and perhaps related to the ruler of his own country, wanders overthe seas in a craft of his own and with many followers; carries fromisland to island important news as well as merchandise; who may betrusted with secret messages and valuable goods; a man who, in short,is as ready to intrigue and fight as to buy and sell. Such is the idealtrader of Wajo.
Trading, thus understood, was the occupation of ambitious men who playedan occult but important part in all those national risings, religiousdisturbances, and also in the organized piratical movements on a largescale which, during the first half of the last century, affected thefate of more than one native dynasty and, for a few years at least,seriously endangered the Dutch rule in the East. When, at the cost ofmuch blood and gold, a comparative peace had been imposed on theislands the same occupation, though shorn of its glorious possibilities,remained attractive for the most adventurous of a restless race. Theyounger sons and relations of many a native ruler traversed the seas ofthe Archipelago, visited the innumerable and little-known islands, andthe then practically unknown shores of New Guinea; every spot whereEuropean trade had not penetrated--from Aru to Atjeh, from Sumbawa toPalawan.
The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows Page 6
