VII
With the sublime indifference of a man who has had a glimpse through theopen doors of Paradise and is no longer careful of mere life, Lingardhad followed Belarab's anxious messengers. The stockade was waking upin a subdued resonance of voices. Men were getting up from the ground,fires were being rekindled. Draped figures flitted in the mist amongstthe buildings; and through the mat wall of a bamboo house Lingard heardthe feeble wailing of a child. A day of mere life was beginning; but inthe Chief's great Council room several wax candles and a couple of cheapEuropean lamps kept the dawn at bay, while the morning mist which couldnot be kept out made a faint reddish halo round every flame.
Belarab was not only awake, but he even looked like a man who had notslept for a long time. The creator of the Shore of Refuge, the wearyRuler of the Settlement, with his scorn of the unrest and folly of men,was angry with his white friend who was always bringing his desires andhis troubles to his very door. Belarab did not want any one to die butneither did he want any one in particular to live. What he was concernedabout was to preserve the mystery and the power of his melancholyhesitations. These delicate things were menaced by Lingard's brusquemovements, by that passionate white man who believed in more thanone God and always seemed to doubt the power of Destiny. Belarab wasprofoundly annoyed. He was also genuinely concerned, for he likedLingard. He liked him not only for his strength, which protected hisclear-minded scepticism from those dangers that beset all rulers, but heliked him also for himself. That man of infinite hesitations, born froma sort of mystic contempt for Allah's creation, yet believed absolutelyboth in Lingard's power and in his boldness. Absolutely. And yet, in themarvellous consistency of his temperament, now that the moment had come,he dreaded to put both power and fortitude to the test.
Lingard could not know that some little time before the first break ofdawn one of Belarab's spies in the Settlement had found his way insidethe stockade at a spot remote from the lagoon, and that a very fewmoments after Lingard had left the Chief in consequence of Jorgenson'srockets, Belarab was listening to an amazing tale of Hassim and Immada'scapture and of Tengga's determination, very much strengthened bythat fact, to obtain possession of the Emma, either by force or bynegotiation, or by some crafty subterfuge in which the Rajah andhis sister could be made to play their part. In his mistrust of theuniverse, which seemed almost to extend to the will of God himself,Belarab was very much alarmed, for the material power of Daman'spiratical crowd was at Tengga's command; and who could tell whether thisWajo Rajah would remain loyal in the circumstances? It was also verycharacteristic of him whom the original settlers of the Shore of Refugecalled the Father of Safety, that he did not say anything of this toLingard, for he was afraid of rousing Lingard's fierce energy whichwould even carry away himself and all his people and put the peace of somany years to the sudden hazard of a battle.
Therefore Belarab set himself to persuade Lingard on generalconsiderations to deliver the white men, who really belonged to Daman,to that supreme Chief of the Illanuns and by this simple proceedingdetach him completely from Tengga. Why should he, Belarab, go to waragainst half the Settlement on their account? It was not necessary, itwas not reasonable. It would be even in a manner a sin to begin a strifein a community of True Believers. Whereas with an offer like that in hishand he could send an embassy to Tengga who would see there at once thedownfall of his purposes and the end of his hopes. At once! That moment!. . . Afterward the question of a ransom could be arranged with Daman inwhich he, Belarab, would mediate in the fullness of his recovered power,without a rival and in the sincerity of his heart. And then, if need be,he could put forth all his power against the chief of the sea-vagabondswho would, as a matter of fact, be negotiating under the shadow of thesword.
Belarab talked, low-voiced and dignified, with now and then a subtleintonation, a persuasive inflexion or a half-melancholy smile in thecourse of the argument. What encouraged him most was the changed aspectof his white friend. The fierce power of his personality seemed to haveturned into a dream. Lingard listened, growing gradually inscrutable inhis continued silence, but remaining gentle in a sort of rapt patienceas if lapped in the wings of the Angel of Peace himself. Emboldened bythat transformation, Belarab's counsellors seated on the mats murmuredloudly their assent to the views of the Chief. Through the thickeningwhite mist of tropical lands, the light of the tropical day filteredinto the hall. One of the wise men got up from the floor and withprudent fingers began extinguishing the waxlights one by one. Hehesitated to touch the lamps, the flames of which looked yellow andcold. A puff of the morning breeze entered the great room, faint andchill. Lingard, facing Belarab in a wooden armchair, with slacklimbs and in the divine emptiness of a mind enchanted by a glimpse ofParadise, shuddered profoundly.
A strong voice shouted in the doorway without any ceremony and with asort of jeering accent:
"Tengga's boats are out in the mist."
Lingard half rose from his seat, Belarab himself could not repress astart. Lingard's attitude was a listening one, but after a momentof hesitation he ran out of the hall. The inside of the stockade wasbeginning to buzz like a disturbed hive.
Outside Belarab's house Lingard slowed his pace. The mist still hung. Agreat sustained murmur pervaded it and the blurred forms of men were allmoving outward from the centre toward the palisades. Somewhere amongstthe buildings a gong clanged. D'Alcacer's raised voice was heard:
"What is happening?"
Lingard was passing then close to the prisoners' house. There was agroup of armed men below the verandah and above their heads he saw Mrs.Travers by the side of d'Alcacer. The fire by which Lingard had spentthe night was extinguished, its embers scattered, and the bench itselflay overturned. Mrs. Travers must have run up on the verandah at thefirst alarm. She and d'Alcacer up there seemed to dominate the tumultwhich was now subsiding. Lingard noticed the scarf across Mrs. Travers'face. D'Alcacer was bareheaded. He shouted again:
"What's the matter?"
"I am going to see," shouted Lingard back.
He resisted the impulse to join those two, dominate the tumult, let itroll away from under his feet--the mere life of men, vain like a dreamand interfering with the tremendous sense of his own existence.He resisted it, he could hardly have told why. Even the sense ofself-preservation had abandoned him. There was a throng of peoplepressing close about him yet careful not to get in his way. Surprise,concern, doubt were depicted on all those faces; but there were some whoobserved that the great white man making his way to the lagoon side ofthe stockade wore a fixed smile. He asked at large:
"Can one see any distance over the water?"
One of Belarab's headmen who was nearest to him answered:
"The mist has thickened. If you see anything, Tuan, it will be but ashadow of things."
The four sides of the stockade had been manned by that time. Lingard,ascending the banquette, looked out and saw the lagoon shrouded inwhite, without as much as a shadow on it, and so still that not even thesound of water lapping the shore reached his ears. He found himself inprofound accord with this blind and soundless peace.
"Has anything at all been seen?" he asked incredulously.
Four men were produced at once who had seen a dark mass of boats movingin the light of the dawn. Others were sent for. He hardly listened tothem. His thought escaped him and he stood motionless, looking out intothe unstirring mist pervaded by the perfect silence. Presently Belarabjoined him, escorted by three grave, swarthy men, himself dark-faced,stroking his short grey beard with impenetrable composure. He said toLingard, "Your white man doesn't fight," to which Lingard answered,"There is nothing to fight against. What your people have seen, Belarab,were indeed but shadows on the water." Belarab murmured, "You ought tohave allowed me to make friends with Daman last night."
A faint uneasiness was stealing into Lingard's breast.
A moment later d'Alcacer came up, inconspicuously watched over by twomen with lances, and to his anxious inquiry Lingard said: "I don'
t thinkthere is anything going on. Listen how still everything is. The only wayof bringing the matter to a test would be to persuade Belarab to lethis men march out and make an attack on Tengga's stronghold this moment.Then we would learn something. But I couldn't persuade Belarab to marchout into this fog. Indeed, an expedition like this might end badly. Imyself don't believe that all Tengga's people are on the lagoon. . . .Where is Mrs. Travers?"
The question made d'Alcacer start by its abruptness which revealed thewoman's possession of that man's mind. "She is with Don Martin, who isbetter but feels very weak. If we are to be given up, he will have tobe carried out to his fate. I can depict to myself the scene. Don Martincarried shoulder high surrounded by those barbarians with spears, andMrs. Travers with myself walking on each side of the stretcher. Mrs.Travers has declared to me her intention to go out with us."
"Oh, she has declared her intention," murmured Lingard, absent-mindedly.
D'Alcacer felt himself completely abandoned by that man. And withintwo paces of him he noticed the group of Belarab and his three swarthyattendants in their white robes, preserving an air of serene detachment.For the first time since the stranding on the coast d'Alcacer's heartsank within him. "But perhaps," he went on, "this Moor may not in theend insist on giving us up to a cruel death, Captain Lingard."
"He wanted to give you up in the middle of the night, a few hours ago,"said Lingard, without even looking at d'Alcacer who raised his handsa little and let them fall. Lingard sat down on the breech of a heavypiece mounted on a naval carriage so as to command the lagoon. He foldedhis arms on his breast. D'Alcacer asked, gently:
"We have been reprieved then?"
"No," said Lingard. "It's I who was reprieved."
A long silence followed. Along the whole line of the manned stockade thewhisperings had ceased. The vibrations of the gong had died out, too.Only the watchers perched in the highest boughs of the big tree made aslight rustle amongst the leaves.
"What are you thinking of, Captain Lingard?" d'Alcacer asked in a lowvoice. Lingard did not change his position.
"I am trying to keep it off," he said in the same tone.
"What? Trying to keep thought off?"
"Yes."
"Is this the time for such experiments?" asked d'Alcacer.
"Why not? It's my reprieve. Don't grudge it to me, Mr. d'Alcacer."
"Upon my word I don't. But isn't it dangerous?"
"You will have to take your chance."
D'Alcacer had a moment of internal struggle. He asked himself whether heshould tell Lingard that Mrs. Travers had come to the stockade with somesort of message from Jorgenson. He had it on the tip of his tongueto advise Lingard to go and see Mrs. Travers and ask her point blankwhether she had anything to tell him; but before he could make uphis mind the voices of invisible men high up in the tree were heardreporting the thinning of the fog. This caused a stir to run along thefour sides of the stockade.
Lingard felt the draught of air in his face, the motionless mist beganto drive over the palisades and, suddenly, the lagoon came into viewwith a great blinding glitter of its wrinkled surface and the faintsound of its wash rising all along the shore. A multitude of hands wentup to shade the eager eyes, and exclamations of wonder burst out frommany men at the sight of a crowd of canoes of various sizes and kindslying close together with the effect as of an enormous raft, a littleway off the side of the Emma. The excited voices rose higher and higher.There was no doubt about Tengga's being on the lagoon. But what wasJorgenson about? The Emma lay as if abandoned by her keeper and hercrew, while the mob of mixed boats seemed to be meditating an attack.
For all his determination to keep thought off to the very last possiblemoment, Lingard could not defend himself from a sense of wonder andfear. What was Jorgenson about? For a moment Lingard expected the sideof the Emma to wreath itself in puffs of smoke, but an age seemed toelapse without the sound of a shot reaching his ears.
The boats were afraid to close. They were hanging off, irresolute; butwhy did Jorgenson not put an end to their hesitation by a volley ortwo of musketry if only over their heads? Through the anguish of hisperplexity Lingard found himself returning to life, to mere life withits sense of pain and mortality, like a man awakened from a dream by astab in the breast. What did this silence of the Emma mean? Could shehave been already carried in the fog? But that was unthinkable. Somesounds of resistance must have been heard. No, the boats hung offbecause they knew with what desperate defence they would meet; andperhaps Jorgenson knew very well what he was doing by holding his fireto the very last moment and letting the craven hearts grow cold withthe fear of a murderous discharge that would have to be faced. What wascertain was that this was the time for Belarab to open the great gateand let his men go out, display his power, sweep through the further endof the Settlement, destroy Tengga's defences, do away once for all withthe absurd rivalry of that intriguing amateur boat-builder. Lingardturned eagerly toward Belarab but saw the Chief busy looking across thelagoon through a long glass resting on the shoulder of a stooping slave.He was motionless like a carving. Suddenly he let go the long glasswhich some ready hands caught as it fell and said to Lingard:
"No fight."
"How do you know?" muttered Lingard, astounded.
"There are three empty sampans alongside the ladder," said Belarab in ajust audible voice. "There is bad talk there."
"Talk? I don't understand," said Lingard, slowly.
But Belarab had turned toward his three attendants in white robes,with shaven polls under skull-caps of plaited grass, with prayer beadshanging from their wrists, and an air of superior calm on their darkfaces: companions of his desperate days, men of blood once and nowimperturbable in their piety and wisdom of trusted counsellors.
"This white man is being betrayed," he murmured to them with thegreatest composure.
D'Alcacer, uncomprehending, watched the scene: the Man of Fate puzzledand fierce like a disturbed lion, the white-robed Moors, the multitudeof half-naked barbarians, squatting by the guns, standing by theloopholes in the immobility of an arranged display. He saw Mrs. Traverson the verandah of the prisoners' house, an anxious figure with a whitescarf over her head. Mr. Travers was no doubt too weak after his fit offever to come outside. If it hadn't been for that, all the whites wouldhave been in sight of each other at the very moment of the catastrophewhich was to give them back to the claims of their life, at the costof other lives sent violently out of the world. D'Alcacer heard Lingardasking loudly for the long glass and saw Belarab make a sign with hishand, when he felt the earth receive a violent blow from underneath.While he staggered to it the heavens split over his head with a crash inthe lick of a red tongue of flame; and a sudden dreadful gloom fell allround the stunned d'Alcacer, who beheld with terror the morning sun,robbed of its rays, glow dull and brown through the sombre murk whichhad taken possession of the universe. The Emma had blown up; and whenthe rain of shattered timbers and mangled corpses falling into thelagoon had ceased, the cloud of smoke hanging motionless under the lividsun cast its shadow afar on the Shore of Refuge where all strife hadcome to an end.
A great wail of terror ascended from the Settlement and was succeededby a profound silence. People could be seen bolting in unreasoning panicaway from the houses and into the fields. On the lagoon the raft ofboats had broken up. Some of them were sinking, others paddling away inall directions. What was left above water of the Emma had burst into aclear flame under the shadow of the cloud, the great smoky cloud thathung solid and unstirring above the tops of the forest, visible formiles up and down the coast and over the Shallows.
The first person to recover inside the stockade was Belarab himself.Mechanically he murmured the exclamation of wonder, "God is great," andlooked at Lingard. But Lingard was not looking at him. The shock of theexplosion had robbed him of speech and movement. He stared at the Emmablazing in a distant and insignificant flame under the sinister shadowof the cloud created by Jorgenson's mistrust and contempt for thelife of
men. Belarab turned away. His opinion had changed. He regardedLingard no longer as a betrayed man but the effect was the same. He wasno longer a man of any importance. What Belarab really wanted now wasto see all the white people clear out of the lagoon as soon as possible.Presently he ordered the gate to be thrown open and his armed men pouredout to take possession of the Settlement. Later Tengga's houses wereset on fire and Belarab, mounting a fiery pony, issued forth to make atriumphal progress surrounded by a great crowd of headmen and guards.
That night the white people left the stockade in a cortege of torchbearers. Mr. Travers had to be carried down to the beach, where two ofBelarab's war-boats awaited their distinguished passengers. Mrs. Traverspassed through the gate on d'Alcacer's arm. Her face was half veiled.She moved through the throng of spectators displayed in the torchlightlooking straight before her. Belarab, standing in front of a group ofheadmen, pretended not to see the white people as they went by. WithLingard he shook hands, murmuring the usual formulas of friendship; andwhen he heard the great white man say, "You shall never see me again,"he felt immensely relieved. Belarab did not want to see that white managain, but as he responded to the pressure of Lingard's hand he had agrave smile.
"God alone knows the future," he said.
Lingard walked to the beach by himself, feeling a stranger to all menand abandoned by the All-Knowing God. By that time the first boat withMr. and Mrs. Travers had already got away out of the blood-red lightthrown by the torches upon the water. D'Alcacer and Lingard followedin the second. Presently the dark shade of the creek, walled in by theimpenetrable forest, closed round them and the splash of the paddlesechoed in the still, damp air.
"How do you think this awful accident happened?" asked d'Alcacer, whohad been sitting silent by Lingard's side.
"What is an accident?" said Lingard with a great effort. "Where did youhear of such a thing? Accident! Don't disturb me, Mr. d'Alcacer. I havejust come back to life and it has closed on me colder and darker thanthe grave itself. Let me get used . . . I can't bear the sound of ahuman voice yet."