Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) (557 page)

“All right,” said Carter at last. “I will stick to your brig as though she were my own; but I would like to see clear through all this. Look here — you are going off somewhere? Alone, you said?”

“Yes. Alone.”

“Very well. Mind, then, that you don’t come back with a crowd of those brown friends of yours — or by the Heavens above us I won’t let you come within hail of your own ship. Am I to keep this key?”

“Captain Lingard,” said Mrs. Travers suddenly. “Would it not be better to tell him everything?”

“Tell him everything?” repeated Lingard. “Everything! Yesterday it might have been done. Only yesterday! Yesterday, did I say? Only six hours ago — only six hours ago I had something to tell. You heard it. And now it’s gone. Tell him! There’s nothing to tell any more.” He remained for a time with bowed head, while before him Mrs. Travers, who had begun a gesture of protest, dropped her arms suddenly. In a moment he looked up again.

“Keep the key,” he said, calmly, “and when the time comes step forward and take charge. I am satisfied.”

“I would like to see clear through all this though,” muttered Carter again. “And for how long are you leaving us, Captain?” Lingard made no answer. Carter waited awhile. “Come, sir,” he urged. “I ought to have some notion. What is it? Two, three days?” Lingard started.

“Days,” he repeated. “Ah, days. What is it you want to know? Two . . . three — what did the old fellow say — perhaps for life.” This was spoken so low that no one but Carter heard the last words. — ”Do you mean it?” he murmured. Lingard nodded. — ”Wait as long as you can — then go,” he said in the same hardly audible voice. “Go where?” — ”Where you like, nearest port, any port.” — ”Very good. That’s something plain at any rate,” commented the young man with imperturbable good humour.

“I go, O Hassim!” began Lingard and the Malay made a slow inclination of the head which he did not raise again till Lingard had ceased speaking. He betrayed neither surprise nor any other emotion while Lingard in a few concise and sharp sentences made him acquainted with his purpose to bring about singlehanded the release of the prisoners. When Lingard had ended with the words: “And you must find a way to help me in the time of trouble, O Rajah Hassim,” he looked up and said:

“Good. You never asked me for anything before.”

He smiled at his white friend. There was something subtle in the smile and afterward an added firmness in the repose of the lips. Immada moved a step forward. She looked at Lingard with terror in her black and dilated eyes. She exclaimed in a voice whose vibration startled the hearts of all the hearers with an indefinable sense of alarm, “He will perish, Hassim! He will perish alone!”

“No,” said Hassim. “Thy fear is as vain to-night as it was at sunrise. He shall not perish alone.”

Her eyelids dropped slowly. From her veiled eyes the tears fell, vanishing in the silence. Lingard’s forehead became furrowed by folds that seemed to contain an infinity of sombre thoughts. “Remember, O Hassim, that when I promised you to take you back to your country you promised me to be a friend to all white men. A friend to all whites who are of my people, forever.”

“My memory is good, O Tuan,” said Hassim; “I am not yet back in my country, but is not everyone the ruler of his own heart? Promises made by a man of noble birth live as long as the speaker endures.”

“Good-bye,” said Lingard to Mrs. Travers. “You will be safe here.” He looked all around the cabin. “I leave you,” he began again and stopped short. Mrs. Travers’ hand, resting lightly on the edge of the table, began to tremble. “It’s for you . . . Yes. For you alone . . . and it seems it can’t be. . . .”

It seemed to him that he was saying good-bye to all the world, that he was taking a last leave of his own self. Mrs. Travers did not say a word, but Immada threw herself between them and cried:

“You are a cruel woman! You are driving him away from where his strength is. You put madness into his heart, O! Blind — without pity — without shame! . . .”

“Immada,” said Hassim’s calm voice. Nobody moved.

“What did she say to me?” faltered Mrs. Travers and again repeated in a voice that sounded hard, “What did she say?”

“Forgive her,” said Lingard. “Her fears are for me . . .” — ”It’s about your going?” Mrs. Travers interrupted, swiftly.

“Yes, it is — and you must forgive her.” He had turned away his eyes with something that resembled embarrassment but suddenly he was assailed by an irresistible longing to look again at that woman. At the moment of parting he clung to her with his glance as a man holds with his hands a priceless and disputed possession. The faint blush that overspread gradually Mrs. Travers’ features gave her face an air of extraordinary and startling animation.

“The danger you run?” she asked, eagerly. He repelled the suggestion by a slighting gesture of the hand. — ”Nothing worth looking at twice. Don’t give it a thought,” he said. “I’ve been in tighter places.” He clapped his hands and waited till he heard the cabin door open behind his back. “Steward, my pistols.” The mulatto in slippers, aproned to the chin, glided through the cabin with unseeing eyes as though for him no one there had existed. . . . — ”Is it my heart that aches so?” Mrs. Travers asked herself, contemplating Lingard’s motionless figure. “How long will this sensation of dull pain last? Will it last forever. . . .” — ”How many changes of clothes shall I put up, sir?” asked the steward, while Lingard took the pistols from him and eased the hammers after putting on fresh caps. — ”I will take nothing this time, steward.” He received in turn from the mulatto’s hands a red silk handkerchief, a pocket book, a cigar-case. He knotted the handkerchief loosely round his throat; it was evident he was going through the routine of every departure for the shore; he even opened the cigar-case to see whether it had been filled. — ”Hat, sir,” murmured the half-caste. Lingard flung it on his head. — ”Take your orders from this lady, steward — till I come back. The cabin is hers — do you hear?” He sighed ready to go and seemed unable to lift a foot. — ”I am coming with you,” declared Mrs. Travers suddenly in a tone of unalterable decision. He did not look at her; he did not even look up; he said nothing, till after Carter had cried: “You can’t, Mrs. Travers!” — when without budging he whispered to himself: — ”Of course.” Mrs. Travers had pulled already the hood of her cloak over her head and her face within the dark cloth had turned an intense and unearthly white, in which the violet of her eyes appeared unfathomably mysterious. Carter started forward. — ”You don’t know this man,” he almost shouted.

“I do know him,” she said, and before the reproachfully unbelieving attitude of the other she added, speaking slowly and with emphasis: “There is not, I verily believe, a single thought or act of his life that I don’t know.” — ”It’s true — it’s true,” muttered Lingard to himself. Carter threw up his arms with a groan. “Stand back,” said a voice that sounded to him like a growl of thunder, and he felt a grip on his hand which seemed to crush every bone. He jerked it away. — ”Mrs. Travers! stay,” he cried. They had vanished through the open door and the sound of their footsteps had already died away. Carter turned about bewildered as if looking for help. — ”Who is he, steward? Who in the name of all the mad devils is he?” he asked, wildly. He was confounded by the cold and philosophical tone of the answer: — ”‘Tain’t my place to trouble about that, sir — nor yours I guess.” — ”Isn’t it!” shouted Carter. “Why, he has carried the lady off.” The steward was looking critically at the lamp and after a while screwed the light down. — ”That’s better,” he mumbled. — ”Good God! What is a fellow to do?” continued Carter, looking at Hassim and Immada who were whispering together and gave him only an absent glance. He rushed on deck and was struck blind instantly by the night that seemed to have been lying in wait for him; he stumbled over something soft, kicked something hard, flung himself on the rail. “Come back,” he cried. “Come back. Captain! Mrs. Travers! — or let me come, too.”

He listened. The breeze blew cool against his cheek. A black bandage seemed to lie over his eyes. “Gone,” he groaned, utterly crushed. And suddenly he heard Mrs. Travers’ voice remote in the depths of the night. — ”Defend the brig,” it said, and these words, pronouncing themselves in the immensity of a lightless universe, thrilled every fibre of his body by the commanding sadness of their tone. “Defend, defend the brig.” . . . “I am damned if I do,” shouted Carter in despair. “Unless you come back! . . . Mrs. Travers!”

“. . . as though — I were — on board — myself,” went on the rising cadence of the voice, more distant now, a marvel of faint and imperious clearness.

Carter shouted no more; he tried to make out the boat for a time, and when, giving it up, he leaped down from the rail, the heavy obscurity of the brig’s main deck was agitated like a sombre pool by his jump, swayed, eddied, seemed to break up. Blotches of darkness recoiled, drifted away, bare feet shuffled hastily, confused murmurs died out. “Lascars,” he muttered, “The crew is all agog.” Afterward he listened for a moment to the faintly tumultuous snores of the white men sleeping in rows, with their heads under the break of the poop. Somewhere about his feet, the yacht’s black dog, invisible, and chained to a deck-ringbolt, whined, rattled the thin links, pattered with his claws in his distress at the unfamiliar surroundings, begging for the charity of human notice. Carter stooped impulsively, and was met by a startling lick in the face. — ”Hallo, boy!” He thumped the thick curly sides, stroked the smooth head — ”Good boy, Rover. Down. Lie down, dog. You don’t know what to make of it — do you, boy?” The dog became still as death. “Well, neither do I,” muttered Carter. But such natures are helped by a cheerful contempt for the intricate and endless suggestions of thought. He told himself that he would soon see what was to come of it, and dismissed all speculation. Had he been a little older he would have felt that the situation was beyond his grasp; but he was too young to see it whole and in a manner detached from himself. All these inexplicable events filled him with deep concern — but then on the other hand he had the key of the magazine and he could not find it in his heart to dislike Lingard. He was positive about this at last, and to know that much after the discomfort of an inward conflict went a long way toward a solution. When he followed Shaw into the cabin he could not repress a sense of enjoyment or hide a faint and malicious smile.

“Gone away — did you say? And carried off the lady with him?” discoursed Shaw very loud in the doorway. “Did he? Well, I am not surprised. What can you expect from a man like that, who leaves his ship in an open roadstead without — I won’t say orders — but without as much as a single word to his next in command? And at night at that! That just shows you the kind of man. Is this the way to treat a chief mate? I apprehend he was riled at the little al-ter-cation we had just before you came on board. I told him a truth or two — but — never mind. There’s the law and that’s enough for me. I am captain as long as he is out of the ship, and if his address before very long is not in one of Her Majesty’s jails or other I au-tho-rize you to call me a Dutchman. You mark my words.”

He walked in masterfully, sat down and surveyed the cabin in a leisurely and autocratic manner; but suddenly his eyes became stony with amazement and indignation; he pointed a fat and trembling forefinger.

“Niggers,” he said, huskily. “In the cuddy! In the cuddy!” He appeared bereft of speech for a time.

Since he entered the cabin Hassim had been watching him in thoughtful and expectant silence. “I can’t have it,” he continued with genuine feeling in his voice. “Damme! I’ve too much respect for myself.” He rose with heavy deliberation; his eyes bulged out in a severe and dignified stare. “Out you go!” he bellowed; suddenly, making a step forward. — ”Great Scott! What are you up to, mister?” asked in a tone of dispassionate surprise the steward whose head appeared in the doorway. “These are the Captain’s friends.” “Show me a man’s friends and . . .” began Shaw, dogmatically, but abruptly passed into the tone of admonition. “You take your mug out of the way, bottle-washer. They ain’t friends of mine. I ain’t a vagabond. I know what’s due to myself. Quit!” he hissed, fiercely. Hassim, with an alert movement, grasped the handle of his kris. Shaw puffed out his cheeks and frowned. — ”Look out! He will stick you like a prize pig,” murmured Carter without moving a muscle. Shaw looked round helplessly. — ”And you would enjoy the fun — wouldn’t you?” he said with slow bitterness. Carter’s distant non-committal smile quite overwhelmed him by its horrid frigidity. Extreme despondency replaced the proper feeling of racial pride in the primitive soul of the mate. “My God! What luck! What have I done to fall amongst that lot?” he groaned, sat down, and took his big grey head in his hands. Carter drew aside to make room for Immada, who, in obedience to a whisper from her brother, sought to leave the cabin. She passed out after an instant of hesitation, during which she looked up at Carter once. Her brother, motionless in a defensive attitude, protected her retreat. She disappeared; Hassim’s grip on his weapon relaxed; he looked in turn at every object in the cabin as if to fix its position in his mind forever, and following his sister, walked out with noiseless footfalls.

They entered the same darkness which had received, enveloped, and hidden the troubled souls of Lingard and Edith, but to these two the light from which they had felt themselves driven away was now like the light of forbidden hopes; it had the awful and tranquil brightness that a light burning on the shore has for an exhausted swimmer about to give himself up to the fateful sea. They looked back; it had disappeared; Carter had shut the cabin door behind them to have it out with Shaw. He wanted to arrive at some kind of working compromise with the nominal commander, but the mate was so demoralized by the novelty of the assaults made upon his respectability that the young defender of the brig could get nothing from him except lamentations mingled with mild blasphemies. The brig slept, and along her quiet deck the voices raised in her cabin — Shaw’s appeals and reproaches directed vociferously to heaven, together with Carter’s inflexible drawl mingled into one deadened, modulated, and continuous murmur. The lockouts in the waist, motionless and peering into obscurity, one ear turned to the sea, were aware of that strange resonance like the ghost of a quarrel that seemed to hover at their backs. Wasub, after seeing Hassim and Immada into their canoe, prowled to and fro the whole length of the vessel vigilantly. There was not a star in the sky and no gleam on the water; there was no horizon, no outline, no shape for the eye to rest upon, nothing for the hand to grasp. An obscurity that seemed without limit in space and time had submerged the universe like a destroying flood.