III
There was in the bows of the Emma an elevated grating over the heel ofher bowsprit whence the eye could take in the whole range of herdeck and see every movement of her crew. It was a spot safe fromeaves-droppers, though, of course, exposed to view. The sun had just seton the supreme content of Carter when Jorgenson and Jaffir sat downside by side between the knightheads of the Emma and, public butunapproachable, impressive and secret, began to converse in low tones.
Every Wajo fugitive who manned the hulk felt the approach of a decisivemoment. Their minds were made up and their hearts beat steadily. Theywere all desperate men determined to fight and to die and troubling notabout the manner of living or dying. This was not the case with Mrs.Travers who, having shut herself up in the deckhouse, was profoundlytroubled about those very things, though she, too, felt desperate enoughto welcome almost any solution.
Of all the people on board she alone did not know anything of thatconference. In her deep and aimless thinking she had only become awareof the absence of the slightest sound on board the Emma. Not a rustle,not a footfall. The public view of Jorgenson and Jaffir in deepconsultation had the effect of taking all wish to move from every man.
Twilight enveloped the two figures forward while they talked, looking inthe stillness of their pose like carved figures of European and Asiaticcontrasted in intimate contact. The deepening dusk had nearly effacedthem when at last they rose without warning, as it were, and thrillingthe heart of the beholders by the sudden movement. But they did notseparate at once. They lingered in their high place as if awaiting thefall of complete darkness, a fit ending to their mysterious communion.Jaffir had given Jorgenson the whole story of the ring, the symbol of afriendship matured and confirmed on the night of defeat, on the night offlight from a far-distant land sleeping unmoved under the wrath and fireof heaven.
"Yes, Tuan," continued Jaffir, "it was first sent out to the white man,on a night of mortal danger, a present to remember a friend by. I wasthe bearer of it then even as I am now. Then, as now, it was given to meand I was told to save myself and hand the ring over in confirmation ofmy message. I did so and that white man seemed to still the very stormto save my Rajah. He was not one to depart and forget him whom he hadonce called his friend. My message was but a message of good-bye, butthe charm of the ring was strong enough to draw all the power of thatwhite man to the help of my master. Now I have no words to say. RajahHassim asks for nothing. But what of that? By the mercy of Allah allthings are the same, the compassion of the Most High, the power ofthe ring, the heart of the white man. Nothing is changed, only thefriendship is a little older and love has grown because of the shareddangers and long companionship. Therefore, Tuan, I have no fear. But howam I to get the ring to the Rajah Laut? Just hand it to him. The lastbreath would be time enough if they were to spear me at his feet. Butalas! the bush is full of Tengga's men, the beach is open and I couldnever even hope to reach the gate."
Jorgenson, with his hands deep in the pockets of his tunic, listened,looking down. Jaffir showed as much consternation as his nature wascapable of.
"Our refuge is with God," he murmured. "But what is to be done? Has yourwisdom no stratagem, O Tuan?"
Jorgenson did not answer. It appeared as though he had no stratagem. ButGod is great and Jaffir waited on the other's immobility, anxious butpatient, perplexed yet hopeful in his grim way, while the night flowingon from the dark forest near by hid their two figures from the sightof observing men. Before the silence of Jorgenson Jaffir began to talkpractically. Now that Tengga had thrown off the mask Jaffir did notthink that he could land on the beach without being attacked, captured,nay killed, since a man like he, though he could save himself by takingflight at the order of his master, could not be expected to surrenderwithout a fight. He mentioned that in the exercise of his importantfunctions he knew how to glide like a shadow, creep like a snake, andalmost burrow his way underground. He was Jaffir who had never beenfoiled. No bog, morass, great river or jungle could stop him. He wouldhave welcomed them. In many respects they were the friends of a craftymessenger. But that was an open beach, and there was no other way, andas things stood now every bush around, every tree trunk, every deepshadow of house or fence would conceal Tengga's men or such of Daman'sinfuriated partisans as had already made their way to the Settlement.How could he hope to traverse the distance between the water's edgeand Belarab's gate which now would remain shut night and day? Not onlyhimself but anybody from the Emma would be sure to be rushed upon andspeared in twenty places.
He reflected for a moment in silence.
"Even you, Tuan, could not accomplish the feat."
"True," muttered Jorgenson.
When, after a period of meditation, he looked round, Jaffir was nolonger by his side. He had descended from the high place and wasprobably squatting on his heels in some dark nook on the fore deck.Jorgenson knew Jaffir too well to suppose that he would go to sleep.He would sit there thinking himself into a state of fury, then get awayfrom the Emma in some way or other, go ashore and perish fighting. Hewould, in fact, run amok; for it looked as if there could be no way outof the situation. Then, of course, Lingard would know nothing of Hassimand Immada's captivity for the ring would never reach him--the ring thatcould tell its own tale. No, Lingard would know nothing. He would knownothing about anybody outside Belarab's stockade till the end came,whatever the end might be, for all those people that lived the life ofmen. Whether to know or not to know would be good for Lingard Jorgensoncould not tell. He admitted to himself that here there was somethingthat he, Jorgenson, could not tell. All the possibilities were wrappedup in doubt, uncertain, like all things pertaining to the life of men.It was only when giving a short thought to himself that Jorgenson had nodoubt. He, of course, would know what to do.
On the thin face of that old adventurer hidden in the night not afeature moved, not a muscle twitched, as he descended in his turn andwalked aft along the decks of the Emma. His faded eyes, which had seenso much, did not attempt to explore the night, they never gave a glanceto the silent watchers against whom he brushed. Had a light been flashedon him suddenly he would have appeared like a man walking in his sleep:the somnambulist of an eternal dream. Mrs. Travers heard his footstepspass along the side of the deckhouse. She heard them--and let her headfall again on her bare arms thrown over the little desk before which shesat.
Jorgenson, standing by the taffrail, noted the faint reddish glow in themassive blackness of the further shore. Jorgenson noted things quickly,cursorily, perfunctorily, as phenomena unrelated to his own apparitionalexistence of a visiting ghost. They were but passages in the game of menwho were still playing at life. He knew too well how much that game wasworth to be concerned about its course. He had given up the habitof thinking for so long that the sudden resumption of it irked himexceedingly, especially as he had to think on toward a conclusion. Inthat world of eternal oblivion, of which he had tasted before Lingardmade him step back into the life of men, all things were settledonce for all. He was irritated by his own perplexity which was like areminder of that mortality made up of questions and passions from whichhe had fancied he had freed himself forever. By a natural associationhis contemptuous annoyance embraced the existence of Mrs. Travers, too,for how could he think of Tom Lingard, of what was good or bad for KingTom, without thinking also of that woman who had managed to put theghost of a spark even into his own extinguished eyes? She was of noaccount; but Tom's integrity was. It was of Tom that he had to think, ofwhat was good or bad for Tom in that absurd and deadly game of his life.Finally he reached the conclusion that to be given the ring would begood for Tom Lingard. Just to be given the ring and no more. The ringand no more.
"It will help him to make up his mind," muttered Jorgenson in hismoustache, as if compelled by an obscure conviction. It was only thenthat he stirred slightly and turned away from the loom of the fires onthe distant shore. Mrs. Travers heard his footsteps passing again alongthe side of the deckhouse--and this time never raised
her head. Thatman was sleepless, mad, childish, and inflexible. He was impossible. Hehaunted the decks of that hulk aimlessly. . . .
It was, however, in pursuance of a very distinct aim that Jorgenson hadgone forward again to seek Jaffir.
The first remark he had to offer to Jaffir's consideration was thatthe only person in the world who had the remotest chance of reachingBelarab's gate on that night was that tall white woman the Rajah Lauthad brought on board, the wife of one of the captive white chiefs.Surprise made Jaffir exclaim, but he wasn't prepared to deny that. Itwas possible that for many reasons, some quite simple and others verysubtle, those sons of the Evil One belonging to Tengga and Daman wouldrefrain from killing a white woman walking alone from the water'sedge to Belarab's gate. Yes, it was just possible that she might walkunharmed.
"Especially if she carried a blazing torch," muttered Jorgenson in hismoustache. He told Jaffir that she was sitting now in the dark, mourningsilently in the manner of white women. She had made a great outcry inthe morning to be allowed to join the white men on shore. He, Jorgenson,had refused her the canoe. Ever since she had secluded herself in thedeckhouse in great distress.
Jaffir listened to it all without particular sympathy. And whenJorgenson added, "It is in my mind, O Jaffir, to let her have her willnow," he answered by a "Yes, by Allah! let her go. What does it matter?"of the greatest unconcern, till Jorgenson added:
"Yes. And she may carry the ring to the Rajah Laut."
Jorgenson saw Jaffir, the grim and impassive Jaffir, give a perceptiblestart. It seemed at first an impossible task to persuade Jaffir to partwith the ring. The notion was too monstrous to enter his mind, to movehis heart. But at last he surrendered in an awed whisper, "God is great.Perhaps it is her destiny."
Being a Wajo man he did not regard women as untrustworthy or unequalto a task requiring courage and judgment. Once he got over the personalfeeling he handed the ring to Jorgenson with only one reservation, "Youknow, Tuan, that she must on no account put it on her finger."
"Let her hang it round her neck," suggested Jorgenson, readily.
As Jorgenson moved toward the deckhouse it occurred to him that perhapsnow that woman Tom Lingard had taken in tow might take it into her headto refuse to leave the Emma. This did not disturb him very much. Allthose people moved in the dark. He himself at that particular moment wasmoving in the dark. Beyond the simple wish to guide Lingard's thought inthe direction of Hassim and Immada, to help him to make up his mind atlast to a ruthless fidelity to his purpose Jorgenson had no other aim.The existence of those whites had no meaning on earth. They were thesort of people that pass without leaving footprints. That woman wouldhave to act in ignorance. And if she refused to go then in ignorance shewould have to stay on board. He would tell her nothing.
As a matter of fact, he discovered that Mrs. Travers would simply havenothing to do with him. She would not listen to what he had to say. Shedesired him, a mere weary voice confined in the darkness of the deckcabin, to go away and trouble her no more. But the ghost of Jorgensonwas not easily exorcised. He, too, was a mere voice in the outerdarkness, inexorable, insisting that she should come out on deck andlisten. At last he found the right words to say.
"It is something about Tom that I want to tell you. You wish him well,don't you?"
After this she could not refuse to come out on deck, and once there shelistened patiently to that white ghost muttering and mumbling above herdrooping head.
"It seems to me, Captain Jorgenson," she said after he had ceased,"that you are simply trifling with me. After your behaviour to me thismorning, I can have nothing to say to you."
"I have a canoe for you now," mumbled Jorgenson.
"You have some new purpose in view now," retorted Mrs. Travers withspirit. "But you won't make it clear to me. What is it that you have inyour mind?"
"Tom's interest."
"Are you really his friend?"
"He brought me here. You know it. He has talked a lot to you."
"He did. But I ask myself whether you are capable of being anybody'sfriend."
"You ask yourself!" repeated Jorgenson, very quiet and morose. "If I amnot his friend I should like to know who is."
Mrs. Travers asked, quickly: "What's all this about a ring? What ring?"
"Tom's property. He has had it for years."
"And he gave it to you? Doesn't he care for it?"
"Don't know. It's just a thing."
"But it has a meaning as between you and him. Is that so?"
"Yes. It has. He will know what it means."
"What does it mean?"
"I am too much his friend not to hold my tongue."
"What! To me!"
"And who are you?" was Jorgenson's unexpected remark. "He has told youtoo much already."
"Perhaps he has," whispered Mrs. Travers, as if to herself. "And youwant that ring to be taken to him?" she asked, in a louder tone.
"Yes. At once. For his good."
"Are you certain it is for his good? Why can't you. . . ."
She checked herself. That man was hopeless. He would never tellanything and there was no means of compelling him. He was invulnerable,unapproachable. . . . He was dead.
"Just give it to him," mumbled Jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixedidea. "Just slip it quietly into his hand. He will understand."
"What is it? Advice, warning, signal for action?"
"It may be anything," uttered Jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in amollified tone. "It's meant for his good."
"Oh, if I only could trust that man!" mused Mrs. Travers, half aloud.
Jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for anexpression of sympathy. But he remained silent.
"Really, this is most extraordinary!" cried Mrs. Travers, suddenlyaroused. "Why did you come to me? Why should it be my task? Why shouldyou want me specially to take it to him?"
"I will tell you why," said Jorgenson's blank voice. "It's because thereis no one on board this hulk that can hope to get alive inside thatstockade. This morning you told me yourself that you were ready todie--for Tom--or with Tom. Well, risk it then. You are the only one thathas half a chance to get through--and Tom, maybe, is waiting."
"The only one," repeated Mrs. Travers with an abrupt movement forwardand an extended hand before which Jorgenson stepped back a pace. "Riskit! Certainly! Where's that mysterious ring?"
"I have got it in my pocket," said Jorgenson, readily; yet nearly halfa minute elapsed before Mrs. Travers felt the characteristic shape beingpressed into her half-open palm. "Don't let anybody see it," Jorgensonadmonished her in a murmur. "Hide it somewhere about you. Why not hangit round your neck?"
Mrs. Travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. "Yes, that willdo," she murmured, hastily. "I'll be back in a moment. Get everythingready." With those words she disappeared inside the deckhouse andpresently threads of light appeared in the interstices of the boards.Mrs. Travers had lighted a candle in there. She was busy hanging thatring round her neck. She was going. Yes--taking the risk for Tom's sake.
"Nobody can resist that man," Jorgenson muttered to himself withincreasing moroseness. "_I_ couldn't."
IV
Jorgenson, after seeing the canoe leave the ship's side, ceased to liveintellectually. There was no need for more thinking, for any displayof mental ingenuity. He had done with it all. All his notions wereperfectly fixed and he could go over them in the same ghostly way inwhich he haunted the deck of the Emma. At the sight of the ring Lingardwould return to Hassim and Immada, now captives, too, though Jorgensoncertainly did not think them in any serious danger. What had happenedreally was that Tengga was now holding hostages, and those Jorgensonlooked upon as Lingard's own people. They were his. He had gone in withthem deep, very deep. They had a hold and a claim on King Tom just asmany years ago people of that very race had had a hold and a claimon him, Jorgenson. Only Tom was a much bigger man. A very big man.Nevertheless, Jorgenson didn't see why he should escape his ownfate--J
orgenson's fate--to be absorbed, captured, made their own eitherin failure or in success. It was an unavoidable fatality and Jorgensonfelt certain that the ring would compel Lingard to face it withoutflinching. What he really wanted Lingard to do was to cease to take theslightest interest in those whites--who were the sort of people thatleft no footprints.
Perhaps at first sight, sending that woman to Lingard was not the bestway toward that end. Jorgenson, however, had a distinct impression inwhich his morning talk with Mrs. Travers had only confirmed him, thatthose two had quarrelled for good. As, indeed, was unavoidable. What didTom Lingard want with any woman? The only woman in Jorgenson's life hadcome in by way of exchange for a lot of cotton stuffs and severalbrass guns. This fact could not but affect Jorgenson's judgment sinceobviously in this case such a transaction was impossible. Thereforethe case was not serious. It didn't exist. What did exist was Lingard'srelation to the Wajo exiles, a great and warlike adventure such as norover in those seas had ever attempted.
That Tengga was much more ready to negotiate than to fight, the oldadventurer had not the slightest doubt. How Lingard would deal with himwas not a concern of Jorgenson's. That would be easy enough. Nothingprevented Lingard from going to see Tengga and talking to him withauthority. All that ambitious person really wanted was to have a sharein Lingard's wealth, in Lingard's power, in Lingard's friendship. A yearbefore Tengga had once insinuated to Jorgenson, "In what way am I lessworthy of being a friend than Belarab?"
It was a distinct overture, a disclosure of the man's innermost mind.Jorgenson, of course, had met it with a profound silence. His task wasnot diplomacy but the care of stores.
After the effort of connected mental processes in order to bring aboutMrs. Travers' departure he was anxious to dismiss the whole matter fromhis mind. The last thought he gave to it was severely practical. Itoccurred to him that it would be advisable to attract in some way orother Lingard's attention to the lagoon. In the language of the seaa single rocket is properly a signal of distress, but, in thecircumstances, a group of three sent up simultaneously would convey awarning. He gave his orders and watched the rockets go up finely with atrail of red sparks, a bursting of white stars high up in the air, andthree loud reports in quick succession. Then he resumed his pacing ofthe whole length of the hulk, confident that after this Tom would guessthat something was up and set a close watch over the lagoon. No doubtthese mysterious rockets would have a disturbing effect on Tengga andhis friends and cause a great excitement in the Settlement; but for thatJorgenson did not care. The Settlement was already in such a turmoilthat a little more excitement did not matter. What Jorgenson did notexpect, however, was the sound of a musket-shot fired from the junglefacing the bows of the Emma. It caused him to stop dead short. He hadheard distinctly the bullet strike the curve of the bow forward. "Somehot-headed ass fired that," he said to himself, contemptuously. Itsimply disclosed to him the fact that he was already besieged on theshore side and set at rest his doubts as to the length Tengga wasprepared to go. Any length! Of course there was still time for Tom toput everything right with six words, unless . . . Jorgenson smiled,grimly, in the dark and resumed his tireless pacing.
What amused him was to observe the fire which had been burning nightand day before Tengga's residence suddenly extinguished. He picturedto himself the wild rush with bamboo buckets to the lagoon shore, theconfusion, the hurry and jostling in a great hissing of water midstclouds of steam. The image of the fat Tengga's consternation appealed toJorgenson's sense of humour for about five seconds. Then he took up thebinoculars from the roof of the deckhouse.
The bursting of the three white stars over the lagoon had given hima momentary glimpse of the black speck of the canoe taking over Mrs.Travers. He couldn't find it again with the glass, it was too dark; butthe part of the shore for which it was steered would be somewhere nearthe angle of Belarab's stockade nearest to the beach. This Jorgensoncould make out in the faint rosy glare of fires burning inside.Jorgenson was certain that Lingard was looking toward the Emma throughthe most convenient loophole he could find.
As obviously Mrs. Travers could not have paddled herself across, two menwere taking her over; and for the steersman she had Jaffir. Though hehad assented to Jorgenson's plan Jaffir was anxious to accompany thering as near as possible to its destination. Nothing but dire necessityhad induced him to part with the talisman. Crouching in the stern andflourishing his paddle from side to side he glared at the back of thecanvas deck-chair which had been placed in the middle for Mrs. Travers.Wrapped up in the darkness she reclined in it with her eyes closed,faintly aware of the ring hung low on her breast. As the canoe wasrather large it was moving very slowly. The two men dipped their paddleswithout a splash: and surrendering herself passively, in a temporaryrelaxation of all her limbs, to this adventure Mrs. Travers had no senseof motion at all. She, too, like Jorgenson, was tired of thinking. Sheabandoned herself to the silence of that night full of roused passionsand deadly purposes. She abandoned herself to an illusory feeling; tothe impression that she was really resting. For the first time in manydays she could taste the relief of being alone. The men with her wereless than nothing. She could not speak to them; she could not understandthem; the canoe might have been moving by enchantment--if it did moveat all. Like a half-conscious sleeper she was on the verge of saying toherself, "What a strange dream I am having."
The low tones of Jaffir's voice stole into it quietly telling the men tocease paddling, and the long canoe came to a rest slowly, no more thanten yards from the beach. The party had been provided with a torch whichwas to be lighted before the canoe touched the shore, thus giving acharacter of openness to this desperate expedition. "And if it drawsfire on us," Jaffir had commented to Jorgenson, "well, then, we shallsee whose fate it is to die on this night."
"Yes," had muttered Jorgenson. "We shall see."
Jorgenson saw at last the small light of the torch against the blacknessof the stockade. He strained his hearing for a possible volley ofmusketry fire but no sound came to him over the broad surface of thelagoon. Over there the man with the torch, the other paddler, and Jaffirhimself impelling with a gentle motion of his paddle the canoe towardthe shore, had the glistening eyeballs and the tense faces of silentexcitement. The ruddy glare smote Mrs. Travers' closed eyelids but shedidn't open her eyes till she felt the canoe touch the strand. The twomen leaped instantly out of it. Mrs. Travers rose, abruptly. Nobody madea sound. She stumbled out of the canoe on to the beach and almost beforeshe had recovered her balance the torch was thrust into her hand.The heat, the nearness of the blaze confused and blinded her till,instinctively, she raised the torch high above her head. For a momentshe stood still, holding aloft the fierce flame from which a few sparkswere falling slowly.
A naked bronze arm lighted from above pointed out the direction and Mrs.Travers began to walk toward the featureless black mass of the stockade.When after a few steps she looked back over her shoulder, the lagoon,the beach, the canoe, the men she had just left had become alreadyinvisible. She was alone bearing up a blazing torch on an earth that wasa dumb shadow shifting under her feet. At last she reached firmer groundand the dark length of the palisade untouched as yet by the light of thetorch seemed to her immense, intimidating. She felt ready to drop fromsheer emotion. But she moved on.
"A little more to the left," shouted a strong voice.
It vibrated through all her fibres, rousing like the call of a trumpet,went far beyond her, filled all the space. Mrs. Travers stood still fora moment, then casting far away from her the burning torch ran forwardblindly with her hands extended toward the great sound of Lingard'svoice, leaving behind her the light flaring and spluttering on theground. She stumbled and was only saved from a fall by her hands comingin contact with the rough stakes. The stockade rose high above herhead and she clung to it with widely open arms, pressing her whole bodyagainst the rugged surface of that enormous and unscalable palisade. Sheheard through it low voices inside, heavy thuds; and felt at every blowa
slight vibration of the ground under her feet. She glanced fearfullyover her shoulder and saw nothing in the darkness but the expiring glowof the torch she had thrown away and the sombre shimmer of the lagoonbordering the opaque darkness of the shore. Her strained eyeballs seemedto detect mysterious movements in the darkness and she gave way toirresistible terror, to a shrinking agony of apprehension. Was she to betransfixed by a broad blade, to the high, immovable wall of wood againstwhich she was flattening herself desperately, as though she could hopeto penetrate it by the mere force of her fear? She had no idea whereshe was, but as a matter of fact she was a little to the left of theprincipal gate and almost exactly under one of the loopholes of thestockade. Her excessive anguish passed into insensibility. She ceased tohear, to see, and even to feel the contact of the surface to whichshe clung. Lingard's voice somewhere from the sky above her head wasdirecting her, distinct, very close, full of concern.
"You must stoop low. Lower yet."
The stagnant blood of her body began to pulsate languidly. She stoopedlow--lower yet--so low that she had to sink on her knees, and thenbecame aware of a faint smell of wood smoke mingled with the confusedmurmur of agitated voices. This came to her through an opening no higherthan her head in her kneeling posture, and no wider than the breadth oftwo stakes. Lingard was saying in a tone of distress:
"I couldn't get any of them to unbar the gate."
She was unable to make a sound.--"Are you there?" Lingard asked,anxiously, so close to her now that she seemed to feel the very breathof his words on her face. It revived her completely; she understood whatshe had to do. She put her head and shoulders through the opening, wasat once seized under the arms by an eager grip and felt herself pulledthrough with an irresistible force and with such haste that her scarfwas dragged off her head, its fringes having caught in the rough timber.The same eager grip lifted her up, stood her on her feet without herhaving to make any exertion toward that end. She became aware thatLingard was trying to say something, but she heard only a confusedstammering expressive of wonder and delight in which she caught thewords "You . . . you . . ." deliriously repeated. He didn't release hishold of her; his helpful and irresistible grip had changed into a closeclasp, a crushing embrace, the violent taking possession by an embodiedforce that had broken loose and was not to be controlled any longer.As his great voice had done a moment before, his great strength,too, seemed able to fill all space in its enveloping and undeniableauthority. Every time she tried instinctively to stiffen herself againstits might, it reacted, affirming its fierce will, its uplifting power.Several times she lost the feeling of the ground and had a sensation ofhelplessness without fear, of triumph without exultation. The inevitablehad come to pass. She had foreseen it--and all the time in that darkplace and against the red glow of camp fires within the stockade theman in whose arms she struggled remained shadowy to her eyes--to herhalf-closed eyes. She thought suddenly, "He will crush me to deathwithout knowing it."
He was like a blind force. She closed her eyes altogether. Her head fellback a little. Not instinctively but with wilful resignation and asit were from a sense of justice she abandoned herself to his arms. Theeffect was as though she had suddenly stabbed him to the heart. He lether go so suddenly and completely that she would have fallen down ina heap if she had not managed to catch hold of his forearm. He seemedprepared for it and for a moment all her weight hung on it withoutmoving its rigidity by a hair's breadth. Behind her Mrs. Travers heardthe heavy thud of blows on wood, the confused murmurs and movements ofmen.
A voice said suddenly, "It's done," with such emphasis that though,of course, she didn't understand the words it helped her to regainpossession of herself; and when Lingard asked her very little above awhisper: "Why don't you say something?" she answered readily, "Let meget my breath first."
Round them all sounds had ceased. The men had secured again theopening through which those arms had snatched her into a moment ofself-forgetfulness which had left her out of breath but uncrushed. Asif something imperative had been satisfied she had a moment of inwardserenity, a period of peace without thought while, holding to that armthat trembled no more than an arm of iron, she felt stealthily over theground for one of the sandals which she had lost. Oh, yes, there was nodoubt of it, she had been carried off the earth, without shame, withoutregret. But she would not have let him know of that dropped sandal foranything in the world. That lost sandal was as symbolic as a droppedveil. But he did not know of it. He must never know. Where was thatthing? She felt sure that they had not moved an inch from that spot.Presently her foot found it and still gripping Lingard's forearm shestooped to secure it properly. When she stood up, still holding his arm,they confronted each other, he rigid in an effort of self-command butfeeling as if the surges of the heaviest sea that he could remember inhis life were running through his heart; and the woman as if emptiedof all feeling by her experience, without thought yet, but beginning toregain her sense of the situation and the memory of the immediate past.
"I have been watching at that loophole for an hour, ever since they camerunning to me with that story of the rockets," said Lingard. "I was shutup with Belarab then. I was looking out when the torch blazed and youstepped ashore. I thought I was dreaming. But what could I do? I felt Imust rush to you but I dared not. That clump of palms is full of men. Soare the houses you saw that time you came ashore with me. Full of men.Armed men. A trigger is soon pulled and when once shooting begins. . . .And you walking in the open with that light above your head! I didn'tdare. You were safer alone. I had the strength to hold myself in andwatch you come up from the shore. No! No man that ever lived had seensuch a sight. What did you come for?"
"Didn't you expect somebody? I don't mean me, I mean a messenger?"
"No!" said Lingard, wondering at his own self-control. "Why did he letyou come?"
"You mean Captain Jorgenson? Oh, he refused at first. He said that hehad your orders."
"How on earth did you manage to get round him?" said Lingard in hissoftest tones.
"I did not try," she began and checked herself. Lingard's question,though he really didn't seem to care much about an answer, had arousedafresh her suspicion of Jorgenson's change of front. "I didn't haveto say very much at the last," she continued, gasping yet a little andfeeling her personality, crushed to nothing in the hug of those arms,expand again to its full significance before the attentive immobilityof that man. "Captain Jorgenson has always looked upon me as a nuisance.Perhaps he had made up his mind to get rid of me even against yourorders. Is he quite sane?"
She released her firm hold of that iron forearm which fell slowlyby Lingard's side. She had regained fully the possession of herpersonality. There remained only a fading, slightly breathlessimpression of a short flight above that earth on which her feet werefirmly planted now. "And is that all?" she asked herself, not bitterly,but with a sort of tender contempt.
"He is so sane," sounded Lingard's voice, gloomily, "that if I hadlistened to him you would not have found me here."
"What do you mean by here? In this stockade?"
"Anywhere," he said.
"And what would have happened then?"
"God knows," he answered. "What would have happened if the world had notbeen made in seven days? I have known you for just about that time. Itbegan by me coming to you at night--like a thief in the night. Where thedevil did I hear that? And that man you are married to thinks I am nobetter than a thief."
"It ought to be enough for you that I never made a mistake as to whatyou are, that I come to you in less than twenty-four hours after youleft me contemptuously to my distress. Don't pretend you didn't hear mecall after you. Oh, yes, you heard. The whole ship heard me for I had noshame."
"Yes, you came," said Lingard, violently. "But have you really come? Ican't believe my eyes! Are you really here?"
"This is a dark spot, luckily," said Mrs. Travers. "But can you reallyhave any doubt?" she added, significantly.
He made a sudden movement toward her,
betraying so much passion thatMrs. Travers thought, "I shan't come out alive this time," and yet hewas there, motionless before her, as though he had never stirred. Itwas more as though the earth had made a sudden movement under his feetwithout being able to destroy his balance. But the earth under Mrs.Travers' feet had made no movement and for a second she was overwhelmedby wonder not at this proof of her own self-possession but at the man'simmense power over himself. If it had not been for her strange inwardexhaustion she would perhaps have surrendered to that power. But itseemed to her that she had nothing in her worth surrendering, and itwas in a perfectly even tone that she said, "Give me your arm, CaptainLingard. We can't stay all night on this spot."
As they moved on she thought, "There is real greatness in that man."He was great even in his behaviour. No apologies, no explanations, noabasement, no violence, and not even the slightest tremor of the frameholding that bold and perplexed soul. She knew that for certain becauseher fingers were resting lightly on Lingard's arm while she walkedslowly by his side as though he were taking her down to dinner. And yetshe couldn't suppose for a moment, that, like herself, he was emptied ofall emotion. She never before was so aware of him as a dangerous force."He is really ruthless," she thought. They had just left the shadow ofthe inner defences about the gate when a slightly hoarse, apologeticvoice was heard behind them repeating insistently, what even Mrs.Travers' ear detected to be a sort of formula. The words were: "Thereis this thing--there is this thing--there is this thing." They turnedround.
"Oh, my scarf," said Mrs. Travers.
A short, squat, broad-faced young fellow having for all costume a pairof white drawers was offering the scarf thrown over both his arms, asif they had been sticks, and holding it respectfully as far as possiblefrom his person. Lingard took it from him and Mrs. Travers claimed itat once. "Don't forget the proprieties," she said. "This is also my faceveil."
She was arranging it about her head when Lingard said, "There is noneed. I am taking you to those gentlemen."--"I will use it all thesame," said Mrs. Travers. "This thing works both ways, as a matter ofpropriety or as a matter of precaution. Till I have an opportunity oflooking into a mirror nothing will persuade me that there isn't somechange in my face." Lingard swung half round and gazed down at her.Veiled now she confronted him boldly. "Tell me, Captain Lingard, howmany eyes were looking at us a little while ago?"
"Do you care?" he asked.
"Not in the least," she said. "A million stars were looking on, too, andwhat did it matter? They were not of the world I know. And it's just thesame with the eyes. They are not of the world I live in."
Lingard thought: "Nobody is." Never before had she seemed to him moreunapproachable, more different and more remote. The glow of a number ofsmall fires lighted the ground only, and brought out the black bulkof men lying down in the thin drift of smoke. Only one of these fires,rather apart and burning in front of the house which was the quarter ofthe prisoners, might have been called a blaze and even that was not agreat one. It didn't penetrate the dark space between the piles and thedepth of the verandah above where only a couple of heads and the glintof a spearhead could be seen dimly in the play of the light. But downon the ground outside, the black shape of a man seated on a bench hadan intense relief. Another intensely black shadow threw a handful ofbrushwood on the fire and went away. The man on the bench got up. It wasd'Alcacer. He let Lingard and Mrs. Travers come quite close up to him.Extreme surprise seemed to have made him dumb.
"You didn't expect . . ." began Mrs. Travers with some embarrassmentbefore that mute attitude.
"I doubted my eyes," struck in d'Alcacer, who seemed embarrassed, too.Next moment he recovered his tone and confessed simply: "At the momentI wasn't thinking of you, Mrs. Travers." He passed his hand over hisforehead. "I hardly know what I was thinking of."
In the light of the shooting-up flame Mrs. Travers could see d'Alcacer'sface. There was no smile on it. She could not remember ever seeing himso grave and, as it were, so distant. She abandoned Lingard's arm andmoved closer to the fire.
"I fancy you were very far away, Mr. d'Alcacer," she said.
"This is the sort of freedom of which nothing can deprive us," heobserved, looking hard at the manner in which the scarf was drawn acrossMrs. Travers' face. "It's possible I was far away," he went on, "but Ican assure you that I don't know where I was. Less than an hour ago wehad a great excitement here about some rockets, but I didn't share init. There was no one I could ask a question of. The captain here was,I understood, engaged in a most momentous conversation with the king orthe governor of this place."
He addressed Lingard, directly. "May I ask whether you have reached anyconclusion as yet? That Moor is a very dilatory person, I believe."
"Any direct attack he would, of course, resist," said Lingard. "And, sofar, you are protected. But I must admit that he is rather angry withme. He's tired of the whole business. He loves peace above anything inthe world. But I haven't finished with him yet."
"As far as I understood from what you told me before," said Mr.d'Alcacer, with a quick side glance at Mrs. Travers' uncovered andattentive eyes, "as far as I can see he may get all the peace he wantsat once by driving us two, I mean Mr. Travers and myself, out of thegate on to the spears of those other enraged barbarians. And there aresome of his counsellors who advise him to do that very thing no laterthan the break of day I understand."
Lingard stood for a moment perfectly motionless.
"That's about it," he said in an unemotional tone, and went away witha heavy step without giving another look at d'Alcacer and Mrs. Travers,who after a moment faced each other.
"You have heard?" said d'Alcacer. "Of course that doesn't affect yourfate in any way, and as to him he is much too prestigious to be killedlight-heartedly. When all this is over you will walk triumphantly on hisarm out of this stockade; for there is nothing in all this to affect hisgreatness, his absolute value in the eyes of those people--and indeed inany other eyes." D'Alcacer kept his glance averted from Mrs. Travers andas soon as he had finished speaking busied himself in dragging the bencha little way further from the fire. When they sat down on it he kept hisdistance from Mrs. Travers. She made no sign of unveiling herself andher eyes without a face seemed to him strangely unknown and disquieting.
"The situation in a nutshell," she said. "You have arranged it allbeautifully, even to my triumphal exit. Well, and what then? No, youneedn't answer, it has no interest. I assure you I came here not withany notion of marching out in triumph, as you call it. I came here, tospeak in the most vulgar way, to save your skin--and mine."
Her voice came muffled to d'Alcacer's ears with a changed character,even to the very intonation. Above the white and embroidered scarf hereyes in the firelight transfixed him, black and so steady that even thered sparks of the reflected glare did not move in them. He concealed thestrong impression she made. He bowed his head a little.
"I believe you know perfectly well what you are doing."
"No! I don't know," she said, more quickly than he had ever heard herspeak before. "First of all, I don't think he is so safe as you imagine.Oh, yes, he has prestige enough, I don't question that. But you areapportioning life and death with too much assurance. . . ."
"I know my portion," murmured d'Alcacer, gently. A moment of silencefell in which Mrs. Travers' eyes ended by intimidating d'Alcacer,who looked away. The flame of the fire had sunk low. In the darkagglomeration of buildings, which might have been called Belarab'spalace, there was a certain animation, a flitting of people, voicescalling and answering, the passing to and fro of lights that wouldilluminate suddenly a heavy pile, the corner of a house, the eaves of alow-pitched roof, while in the open parts of the stockade the armed menslept by the expiring fires.
Mrs. Travers said, suddenly, "That Jorgenson is not friendly to us."
"Possibly."
With clasped hands and leaning over his knees d'Alcacer had assentedin a very low tone. Mrs. Travers, unobserved, pressed her hands to herbreast and
felt the shape of the ring, thick, heavy, set with a bigstone. It was there, secret, hung against her heart, and enigmatic. Whatdid it mean? What could it mean? What was the feeling it could arouse orthe action it could provoke? And she thought with compunction that sheought to have given it to Lingard at once, without thinking, withouthesitating. "There! This is what I came for. To give you this." Yes, butthere had come an interval when she had been able to think of nothing,and since then she had had the time to reflect--unfortunately. Toremember Jorgenson's hostile, contemptuous glance enveloping her fromhead to foot at the break of a day after a night of lonely anguish. Andnow while she sat there veiled from his keen sight there was that otherman, that d'Alcacer, prophesying. O yes, triumphant. She knew alreadywhat that was. Mrs. Travers became afraid of the ring. She felt ready topluck it from her neck and cast it away.
"I mistrust him," she said.--"You do!" exclaimed d'Alcacer,very low.--"I mean that Jorgenson. He seems a merciless sort ofcreature."--"He is indifferent to everything," said d'Alcacer.--"It maybe a mask."--"Have you some evidence, Mrs. Travers?"
"No," said Mrs. Travers without hesitation. "I have my instinct."
D'Alcacer remained silent for a while as though he were pursuing anothertrain of thought altogether, then in a gentle, almost playful tone: "IfI were a woman," he said, turning to Mrs. Travers, "I would always trustmy intuition."--"If you were a woman, Mr. d'Alcacer, I would not bespeaking to you in this way because then I would be suspect to you."
The thought that before long perhaps he would be neither man nor womanbut a lump of cold clay, crossed d'Alcacer's mind, which was living,alert, and unsubdued by the danger. He had welcomed the arrival of Mrs.Travers simply because he had been very lonely in that stockade, Mr.Travers having fallen into a phase of sulks complicated with shiveringfits. Of Lingard d'Alcacer had seen almost nothing since they hadlanded, for the Man of Fate was extremely busy negotiating in therecesses of Belarab's main hut; and the thought that his life was beinga matter of arduous bargaining was not agreeable to Mr. d'Alcacer. TheChief's dependents and the armed men garrisoning the stockade paid verylittle attention to him apparently, and this gave him the feeling of hiscaptivity being very perfect and hopeless. During the afternoon, whilepacing to and fro in the bit of shade thrown by the glorified sort ofhut inside which Mr. Travers shivered and sulked misanthropically, hehad been aware of the more distant verandahs becoming filled now andthen by the muffled forms of women of Belarab's household taking adistant and curious view of the white man. All this was irksome. Hefound his menaced life extremely difficult to get through. Yes, hewelcomed the arrival of Mrs. Travers who brought with her a tragic noteinto the empty gloom.
"Suspicion is not in my nature, Mrs. Travers, I assure you, and Ihope that you on your side will never suspect either my reserve or myfrankness. I respect the mysterious nature of your conviction but hasn'tJorgenson given you some occasion to. . ."
"He hates me," said Mrs. Travers, and frowned at d'Alcacer's incipientsmile. "It isn't a delusion on my part. The worst is that he hates menot for myself. I believe he is completely indifferent to my existence.Jorgenson hates me because as it were I represent you two who are indanger, because it is you two that are the trouble and I . . . Well!"
"Yes, yes, that's certain," said d'Alcacer, hastily. "But Jorgenson iswrong in making you the scapegoat. For if you were not here cool reasonwould step in and would make Lingard pause in his passion to make a kingout of an exile. If we were murdered it would certainly make some stirin the world in time and he would fall under the suspicion of complicitywith those wild and inhuman Moors. Who would regard the greatness of hisday-dreams, his engaged honour, his chivalrous feelings? Nothing couldsave him from that suspicion. And being what he is, you understand me,Mrs. Travers (but you know him much better than I do), it would morallykill him."
"Heavens!" whispered Mrs. Travers. "This has never occurred to me."Those words seemed to lose themselves in the folds of the scarf withoutreaching d'Alcacer, who continued in his gentle tone:
'"However, as it is, he will be safe enough whatever happens. He willhave your testimony to clear him."
Mrs. Travers stood up, suddenly, but still careful to keep her facecovered, she threw the end of the scarf over her shoulder.
"I fear that Jorgenson," she cried with suppressed passion. "One can'tunderstand what that man means to do. I think him so dangerous that if Iwere, for instance, entrusted with a message bearing on the situation, Iwould . . . suppress it."
D'Alcacer was looking up from the seat, full of wonder. Mrs. Traversappealed to him in a calm voice through the folds of the scarf:
"Tell me, Mr. d'Alcacer, you who can look on it calmly, wouldn't I beright?"
"Why, has Jorgenson told you anything?"
"Directly--nothing, except a phrase or two which really I could notunderstand. They seemed to have a hidden sense and he appeared to attachsome mysterious importance to them that he dared not explain to me."
"That was a risk on his part," exclaimed d'Alcacer. "And he trusted you.Why you, I wonder!"
"Who can tell what notions he has in his head? Mr. d'Alcacer, I believehis only object is to call Captain Lingard away from us. I understood itonly a few minutes ago. It has dawned upon me. All he wants is to callhim off."
"Call him off," repeated d'Alcacer, a little bewildered by the arousedfire of her conviction. "I am sure I don't want him called off any morethan you do; and, frankly, I don't believe Jorgenson has any such power.But upon the whole, and if you feel that Jorgenson has the power, Iwould--yes, if I were in your place I think I would suppress anything Icould not understand."
Mrs. Travers listened to the very end. Her eyes--they appearedincredibly sombre to d'Alcacer--seemed to watch the fall of everydeliberate word and after he had ceased they remained still for anappreciable time. Then she turned away with a gesture that seemed tosay: "So be it."
D'Alcacer raised his voice suddenly after her. "Stay! Don't forget thatnot only your husband's but my head, too, is being played at that game.My judgment is not . . ."
She stopped for a moment and freed her lips. In the profound stillnessof the courtyard her clear voice made the shadows at the nearest firesstir a little with low murmurs of surprise.
"Oh, yes, I remember whose heads I have to save," she cried. "But in allthe world who is there to save that man from himself?"
The Rescue: A Romance of the Shallows Page 35
