Complete Works

here I would try force. Eh! Why not? However, the poor Flash is gone, and there is an end of it. Poor old hooker. Hey, Almayer? You made a voyage or two with me. Wasn’t she a sweet craft? Could make her do anything but talk. She was better than a wife to me. Never scolded. Hey? . . . And to think that it should come to this. That I should leave her poor old bones sticking on a reef as though I had been a damned fool of a southern-going man who must have half a mile of water under his keel to be safe! Well! well! It’s only those who do nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose. But it’s hard. Hard.”
    He nodded sadly, with his eyes on the ground. Almayer looked at him with growing indignation.
    “Upon my word, you are heartless,” he burst out; “perfectly heartless — and selfish. It does not seem to strike you — in all that — that in losing your ship — by your recklessness, I am sure — you ruin me — us, and my little Nina. What’s going to become of me and of her? That’s what I want to know. You brought me here, made me your partner, and now, when everything is gone to the devil — through your fault, mind you — you talk about your ship . . . ship! You can get another. But here. This trade. That’s gone now, thanks to Willems. . . . Your dear Willems!”
    “Never you mind about Willems. I will look after him,” said Lingard, severely. “And as to the trade . . . I will make your fortune yet, my boy. Never fear. Have you got any cargo for the schooner that brought me here?”
    “The shed is full of rattans,” answered Almayer, “and I have about eighty tons of guttah in the well. The last lot I ever will have, no doubt,” he added, bitterly.
    “So, after all, there was no robbery. You’ve lost nothing actually. Well, then, you must . . . Hallo! What’s the matter! . . . Here! . . .”
    “Robbery! No!” screamed Almayer, throwing up his hands.
    He fell back in the chair and his face became purple. A little white foam appeared on his lips and trickled down his chin, while he lay back, showing the whites of his upturned eyes. When he came to himself he saw Lingard standing over him, with an empty water-chatty in his hand.
    “You had a fit of some kind,” said the old seaman with much concern. “What is it? You did give me a fright. So very sudden.”
    Almayer, his hair all wet and stuck to his head, as if he had been diving, sat up and gasped.
    “Outrage! A fiendish outrage. I . . .”
    Lingard put the chatty on the table and looked at him in attentive silence. Almayer passed his hand over his forehead and went on in an unsteady tone:
    “When I remember that, I lose all control,” he said. “I told you he anchored Abdulla’s ship abreast our jetty, but over to the other shore, near the Rajah’s place. The ship was surrounded with boats. From here it looked as if she had been landed on a raft. Every dugout in Sambir was there. Through my glass I could distinguish the faces of people on the poop — Abdulla, Willems, Lakamba — everybody. That old cringing scoundrel Sahamin was there. I could see quite plain. There seemed to be much talk and discussion. Finally I saw a ship’s boat lowered. Some Arab got into her, and the boat went towards Patalolo’s landing-place. It seems they had been refused admittance — so they say. I think myself that the water-gate was not unbarred quick enough to please the exalted messenger. At any rate I saw the boat come back almost directly. I was looking on, rather interested, when I saw Willems and some more go forward — very busy about something there. That woman was also amongst them. Ah, that woman . . .”
    Almayer choked, and seemed on the point of having a relapse, but by a violent effort regained a comparative composure.
    “All of a sudden,” he continued — ”bang! They fired a shot into Patalolo’s gate, and before I had time to catch my breath — I was startled, you may believe — they sent another and burst the gate open. Whereupon, I suppose, they thought they had done enough for a while, and probably felt hungry, for a feast began aft. Abdulla sat amongst them like an idol, cross-legged, his hands on his lap. He’s too great altogether to eat when others do, but he presided, you see. Willems kept on dodging about forward, aloof from the crowd, and looking at my house through the ship’s long glass. I could not resist it. I shook my fist at him.”
    “Just so,” said Lingard, gravely. “That was the thing to do,