Karain,AMemoryJosephConrad

Published:1897Categorie(s):Fiction,ShortStoriesSource:http://www.gutenberg.org

AboutConrad:Joseph Conrad (born

Teodor Józef KonradKorzeniowski, 3 December1857–3August1924)wasaPolish-bornnovelist.Someofhisworks have been labelledromantic: Conrad's supposed"romanticism" is heavilyimbuedwith ironyanda finesense of man's capacity forself-deception. Many criticsregard Conrad as animportant forerunner of

Modernistliterature.Conrad'snarrativestyleandanti-heroiccharacters have influencedmany writers, includingErnest Hemingway, D.H.Lawrence, Graham Greene,Joseph Heller and JerzyKosiński,aswellasinspiringsuch films as ApocalypseNow(whichwasdrawnfromConrad'sHeart ofDarkness).Source:Wikipedia

AlsoavailableonFeedbooks

Conrad:

HeartofDarkness(1902)LordJim(1900)TheSecretAgent(1907)APersonalRecord(1912)Nostromo:ATaleoftheSeaboard(1904)TheNiggerofthe'Narcissus'(1897)TheDuel(1908)AnOutpostofProgress

(1896)TheLagoon(1897)TheInformer(1906)

Copyright:ThisworkisavailableforcountrieswherecopyrightisLife+70andintheUSA.

Note:ThisbookisbroughttoyoubyFeedbookshttp://www.feedbooks.comStrictlyforpersonaluse,donotusethisfilefor

commercialpurposes.

1Chapter

We knew him in thoseunprotected days when wewere content to hold in ourhands our lives and ourproperty. None of us, Ibelieve, has any property

now, and I hear that many,negligently, have lost theirlives; but I am sure that thefew who survive are not yetsodim-eyedastomissinthebefogged respectability oftheir newspapers theintelligence of various nativerisings in the EasternArchipelago. Sunshinegleams between the lines ofthose short paragraphs—sunshineandtheglitterofthesea.Astrangenamewakesup

memories; the printed wordsscent the smoky atmosphereof to-day faintly, with thesubtle and penetratingperfume as of land breezesbreathing through thestarlight of bygone nights; asignalfiregleamslikeajewelonthehighbrowofasombrecliff;greattrees,theadvancedsentries of immense forests,stand watchful and still oversleeping stretches of openwater; a line of white surf

thunders on an empty beach,the shallow water foams onthe reefs; and green isletsscattered through thecalmofnoondaylieuponthelevelofapolishedsea, likeahandfulof emeralds on a buckler ofsteel.There are faces too—faces

dark, truculent, and smiling;the frank audacious faces ofmen barefooted, well armedand noiseless.They throngedthe narrow length of our

schooner's decks with theirornamented and barbarouscrowd, with the variegatedcoloursofcheckeredsarongs,red turbans, white jackets,embroideries;with the gleamof scabbards, gold rings,charms,armlets,lanceblades,and jewelled handles of theirweapons. They had anindependent bearing, resoluteeyes, a restrained manner;andweseemyettoheartheirsoft voices speaking of

battles, travels, and escapes;boasting with composure,joking quietly; sometimes inwell-bred murmurs extollingtheir own valour, ourgenerosity; or celebratingwith loyal enthusiasm thevirtues of their ruler. Werememberthefaces,theeyes,the voices, we see again thegleam of silk and metal; themurmuringstirofthatcrowd,brilliant, festive, andmartial;andweseemtofeelthetouch

of friendlybrownhands that,after one short grasp, returntorestonachasedhilt.Theywere Karain's people—adevoted following. Theirmovements hung on his lips;theyreadtheirthoughtsinhiseyes; he murmured to themnonchalantly of life anddeath, and they accepted hiswords humbly, like gifts offate.Theywereall freemen,and when speaking to himsaid, "Your slave." On his

passage voices died out asthough he had walkedguarded by silence; awedwhispers followedhim.Theycalledhimtheirwar-chief.Hewastherulerofthreevillagesonanarrowplain;themasterof an insignificant footholdon theearth—ofaconqueredfoothold that, shaped like ayoung moon, lay ignoredbetweenthehillsandthesea.From the deck of our

schooner, anchored in the

middle of the bay, heindicated by a theatricalsweep of his arm along thejaggedoutlineofthehillsthewholeofhisdomain;andtheample movement seemed todrive back its limits,augmenting it suddenly intosomething so immense andvague that for a moment itappeared to be bounded onlyby the sky. And really,looking at that place,landlocked from the sea and

shutoff from the landby theprecipitous slopes ofmountains, itwas difficult tobelieve in the existence ofany neighbourhood. It wasstill,complete,unknown,andfull of a life that went onstealthily with a troublingeffect of solitude; of a lifethat seemed unaccountablyemptyofanythingthatwouldstir the thought, touch theheart, give a hint of theominous sequenceofdays. It

appearedtousalandwithoutmemories,regrets,andhopes;a land where nothing couldsurvive the coming of thenight, and where eachsunrise,likeadazzlingactofspecial creation, wasdisconnected from the eveandthemorrow.Karainswepthishandover

it. "Allmine!"He struck thedeck with his long staff; thegold head flashed like afallingstar;veryclosebehind

him a silent old fellow in arichly embroidered blackjacketaloneofalltheMalaysaround did not follow themasterfulgesturewithalook.He did not even lift hiseyelids. He bowed his headbehind his master, andwithout stirring held hilt upoverhisrightshoulderalongbladeinasilverscabbard.Hewas there on duty, butwithoutcuriosity,andseemedweary,notwithage,butwith

the possession of aburdensome secret ofexistence. Karain, heavy andproud, had a lofty pose andbreathed calmly. It was ourfirst visit, and we lookedaboutcuriously.The bay was like a

bottomless pit of intenselight. The circular sheet ofwater reflected a luminoussky,and theshoresenclosingit made an opaque ring ofearthfloatinginanemptiness

oftransparentblue.Thehills,purple and arid, stood outheavily on the sky: theirsummits seemed to fade intoa coloured tremble as ofascending vapour; their steepsides were streaked with thegreen of narrow ravines; attheir foot lay rice-fields,plantain-patches, yellowsands.Atorrentwoundaboutlikeadroppedthread.Clumpsof fruit-trees marked thevillages; slimpalmsput their

noddingheadstogetherabovethe low houses; dried palm-leaf roofs shone afar, likeroofsofgold,behindthedarkcolonnades of tree-trunks;figures passed vivid andvanishing; the smokeof firesstood upright above themasses of flowering bushes;bamboo fences glittered,runningaway inbroken linesbetween the fields.A suddencry on the shore soundedplaintive in the distance, and

ceased abruptly, as if stifledin thedownpourof sunshine.Apuffofbreezemadeaflashof darkness on the smoothwater, touchedourfaces,andbecame forgotten. Nothingmoved.Thesunblazeddowninto a shadowless hollow ofcoloursandstillness.It was the stage where,

dressed splendidly for hispart, he strutted,incomparablydignified,madeimportant by the power he

had to awaken an absurdexpectation of somethingheroicgoingtotakeplace—aburstofactionorsong—uponthe vibrating tone of awonderful sunshine. He wasornateanddisturbing,foronecouldnotimaginewhatdepthof horrible void such anelaborate front could beworthy to hide. He was notmasked—therewastoomuchlife in him, and a mask isonly a lifeless thing; but he

presented himself essentiallyasanactor,asahumanbeingaggressively disguised. Hissmallest acts were preparedandunexpected,his speechesgrave, his sentences ominouslike hints and complicatedlike arabesques. He wastreatedwithasolemnrespectaccorded in the irreverentWestonlytothemonarchsofthestage,andheacceptedtheprofound homage with asustained dignity seen

nowhere else but behind thefootlights and in thecondensed falseness of somegrosslytragicsituation.Itwasalmost impossible torememberwhohewas—onlya petty chief of aconveniently isolated cornerofMindanao,wherewecouldin comparative safety breakthe law against the traffic infirearms and ammunitionwiththenatives.Whatwouldhappen should one of the

moribund Spanish gun-boatsbesuddenlygalvanizedintoaflicker of active life did nottrouble us, once we wereinside the bay—socompletely did it appear outof the reach of a meddlingworld; and besides, in thosedays we were imaginativeenoughtolookwithakindofjoyous equanimity on anychance there was of beingquietly hanged somewhereout of theway of diplomatic

remonstrance. As to Karain,nothing could happen to himunlesswhat happens to all—failure and death; but hisqualitywastoappearclothedintheillusionofunavoidablesuccess. He seemed tooeffective,toonecessarythere,too much of an essentialconditionfortheexistenceofhislandandhispeople,tobedestroyed by anything shortofanearthquake.Hesummedup his race, his country, the

elementalforceofardentlife,of tropical nature.He had itsluxuriant strength, itsfascination; and, like it, hecarried the seed of perilwithin.In many successive visits

we came to know his stagewell—the purple semicircleofhills,theslimtreesleaningover houses, the yellowsands, thestreaminggreenofravines.Allthathadthecrudeand blended colouring, the

appropriateness almostexcessive, the suspiciousimmobility of a paintedscene; and it enclosed soperfectly the accomplishedacting of his amazingpretences that the rest of theworld seemed shut outforever from the gorgeousspectacle. There could benothing outside. It was as ifthe earth had gone onspinning, and had left thatcrumbof its surface alone in

space.Heappearedutterlycutoff from everything but thesunshine, and that evenseemed to be made for himalone.Oncewhenaskedwhatwas on the other side of thehills,hesaid,withameaningsmile, "Friends and enemies—many enemies; else whyshould I buy your rifles andpowder?"Hewasalwayslikethis—word-perfect in hispart, playing up faithfully tothe mysteries and certitudes

of his surroundings. "Friendsand enemies"—nothing else.It was impalpable and vast.The earth had indeed rolledaway from under his land,and he, with his handful ofpeople,stoodsurroundedbyasilenttumultasofcontendingshades. Certainly no soundcame from outside. "Friendsandenemies!"Hemighthaveadded, "and memories," atleastasfarashehimselfwasconcerned; but he neglected

to make that point then. Itmade itself later on, though;but it was after the dailyperformance—in the wings,so to speak, and with thelightsout.Meantimehefilledthe stage with barbarousdignity. Some ten years agohe had led his people—ascratch lot of wanderingBugis—totheconquestofthebay, and now in his augustcaretheyhadforgottenallthepast,andhadlostallconcern

for the future.He gave themwisdom, advice, reward,punishment, life or death,with the same serenity ofattitude and voice. Heunderstood irrigation and theart of war—the qualities ofweapons and the craft ofboat-building. He couldconceal his heart; had moreendurance; he could swimlonger, and steer a canoebetter thananyofhispeople;hecouldshootstraighter,and

negotiate more tortuouslythan any man of his race Iknew. He was an adventurerof thesea,anoutcast, a ruler—andmyverygoodfriend.Iwish him a quick death in astand-up fight, a death insunshine; for he had knownremorse and power, and noman can demand more fromlife. Day after day heappeared before us,incomparably faithful to theillusions of the stage, and at

sunset the night descendedupon him quickly, like afalling curtain. The seamedhills became black shadowstowering high upon a clearsky;abovethemtheglitteringconfusion of stars resembleda mad turmoil stilled by agesture; sounds ceased, menslept, forms vanished—andthe reality of the universealone remained—amarvellous thing of darknessandglimmers.

2Chapter

But it was at night that hetalked openly, forgetting theexactions of his stage. In thedaytime therewere affairs tobe discussed in state. Therewereatfirstbetweenhimand

me his own splendour, myshabby suspicions, and thesceniclandscapethatintrudedupon the reality of our livesby its motionless fantasy ofoutline and colour. Hisfollowers thronged roundhim;abovehisheadthebroadbladesof theirspearsmadeaspiked halo of iron points,and they hedged him fromhumanity by the shimmer ofsilks, the gleam of weapons,the excited and respectful

hum of eager voices. Beforesunset he would take leavewith ceremony, and go offsitting under a red umbrella,and escorted by a score ofboats.Allthepaddlesflashedand struck together with amighty splash thatreverberated loudly in themonumental amphitheatre ofhills. A broad stream ofdazzling foam trailed behindthe flotilla. The canoesappeared very black on the

whitehissofwater; turbanedheadsswayedbackandforth;a multitude of arms incrimson and yellow rose andfell with one movement; thespearmenuprightinthebowsof canoes had variegatedsarongs and gleamingshoulders likebronzestatues;the muttered strophes of thepaddlers' song endedperiodically in a plaintiveshout.Theydiminishedinthedistance; the song ceased;

theyswarmedonthebeachinthe long shadows of thewestern hills. The sunlightlingeredon thepurple crests,andwecouldseehimleadingthe way to his stockade, aburly bareheaded figurewalking far in advance of astraggling cortege, andswinging regularly an ebonystaff taller than himself. Thedarkness deepened fast;torches gleamed fitfully,passingbehindbushes;along

hail or two trailed in thesilenceoftheevening;andatlast the night stretched itssmooth veil over the shore,thelights,andthevoices.Then, just as we were

thinking of repose, thewatchmen of the schoonerwouldhailasplashofpaddlesaway in the starlit gloom ofthe bay; a voice wouldrespondincautioustones,andour serang, putting his headdown the open skylight,

would inform us withoutsurprise, "That Rajah, hecoming. He here now."Karain appeared noiselesslyin the doorway of the littlecabin. He was simplicityitself then; all in white;muffled about his head; forarmsonlyakrisswithaplainbuffalo-horn handle, whichhe would politely concealwithin a fold of his sarongbefore stepping over thethreshold. The old sword-

bearer's face, the worn-outandmournfulfacesocoveredwith wrinkles that it seemedto look out through themeshes of a fine dark net,couldbeseencloseabovehisshoulders. Karain nevermovedwithoutthatattendant,whostoodorsquattedcloseathisback.Hehadadislikeofanopen spacebehindhim. Itwas more than a dislike—itresembled fear, a nervouspreoccupation of what went

on where he could not see.This, in view of the evidentand fierce loyalty thatsurrounded him, wasinexplicable. He was therealoneinthemidstofdevotedmen; he was safe fromneighbourly ambushes, fromfraternal ambitions; and yetmore thanoneofourvisitorshadassuredusthattheirrulercould not bear to be alone.They said, "Even when heeats and sleeps there is

alwaysoneonthewatchnearhim who has strength andweapons." There was indeedalways one near him, thoughour informants had noconception of that watcher'sstrength andweapons,whichwere both shadowy andterrible. We knew, but onlylater on, whenwe had heardthe story. Meantime wenoticed that, even during themost important interviews,Karain would often give a

start, and interrupting hisdiscourse, would sweep hisarm back with a suddenmovement, to feel whethertheoldfellowwasthere.Theold fellow, impenetrable andweary, was always there. Heshared his food, his repose,andhisthoughts;heknewhisplans, guarded his secrets;and, impassive behind hismaster's agitation, withoutstirring the least bit,murmuredabovehisheadina

soothing tone some wordsdifficulttocatch.It was only on board the

schooner, when surroundedbywhite faces,byunfamiliarsightsandsounds,thatKarainseemed to forget the strangeobsession that wound like ablack thread through thegorgeous pomp of his publiclife.At nightwe treated himin a free and easy manner,which just stopped short ofslappinghimontheback,for

there are liberties one mustnot take with a Malay. Hesaid himself that on suchoccasions he was only aprivate gentleman coming toseeothergentlemenwhomhesupposed as well born ashimself. I fancy that to thelast he believed us to beemissaries of Government,darkly official personsfurthering by our illegaltraffic some dark scheme ofhigh statecraft. Our denials

and protestations wereunavailing. He only smiledwith discreet politeness andinquired about the Queen.Every visit began with thatinquiry; he was insatiable ofdetails; he was fascinated bythe holder of a sceptre theshadow of which, stretchingfrom the westward over theearth and over the seas,passed far beyond his ownhand's-breadth of conqueredland.Hemultipliedquestions;

he couldnever knowenoughof theMonarch of whom hespoke with wonder andchivalrous respect—with akind of affectionate awe!Afterwards, when we hadlearnedthathewasthesonofa woman who had manyyearsagoruledasmallBugisstate,wecametosuspectthatthememoryofhismother(ofwhom he spoke withenthusiasm) mingledsomehowinhismindwiththe

image he tried to form forhimself of the far-off Queenwhom he called Great,Invincible, Pious, andFortunate. We had to inventdetails at last to satisfy hiscraving curiosity; and ourloyaltymustbepardoned,forwe tried tomake themfit forhis august and resplendentideal. We talked. The nightslippedoverus,over the stillschooner, over the sleepingland, and over the sleepless

sea that thundered amongstthereefsoutsidethebay.Hispaddlers, two trustworthymen,sleptinthecanoeatthefoot of our side-ladder. Theold confidant, relieved fromduty,dozedonhisheels,withhis back against thecompanion-doorway; andKarain sat squarely in theship's wooden armchair,under the slight sway of thecabin lamp, a cherootbetweenhisdarkfingers,and

a glass of lemonade beforehim. He was amused by thefizz of the thing, but after asip or two would let it getflat, and with a courteouswave of his hand ask for afresh bottle. He decimatedourslenderstock;butwedidnot begrudge it to him, for,when he began, he talkedwell. He must have been agreatBugisdandyinhistime,for even then (and when weknew him he was no longer

young) his splendour wasspotlessly neat, and he dyedhis hair a light shade ofbrown. The quiet dignity ofhis bearing transformed thedim-litcuddyoftheschoonerinto an audience-hall. Hetalked of inter-island politicswith an ironic andmelancholy shrewdness. Hehad travelled much, sufferednot a little, intrigued, fought.He knew native Courts,European Settlements, the

forests, the sea, and, as hesaid himself, had spoken inhis time to many great men.He liked to talk with mebecauseIhadknownsomeofthesemen:heseemedtothinkthat I could understand him,and, with a fine confidence,assumedthatI,atleast,couldappreciate howmuch greaterhe was himself. But hepreferredtotalkofhisnativecountry—a small Bugis stateon the island of Celebes. I

had visited it some timebefore, and he asked eagerlyfor news. As men's namescame up in conversation hewouldsay,"Weswamagainstone another when we wereboys"; or, "We hunted thedeer together—he could usethe noose and the spear aswell as I."Nowand thenhisbig dreamy eyes would rollrestlessly; he frowned orsmiled, or he would becomepensive, and, staring in

silence, would nod slightlyfor a time at some regrettedvisionofthepast.His mother had been the

ruler of a small semi-independent state on the sea-coast at the head of theGulfofBoni.Hespokeofherwithpride.Shehadbeenawomanresoluteinaffairsofstateandof her own heart. After thedeath of her first husband,undismayed by the turbulentopposition of the chiefs, she

married a rich trader, aKorinchi man of no family.Karain was her son by thatsecond marriage, but hisunfortunate descent hadapparentlynothingtodowithhis exile. He said nothing asto its cause, though once helet slipwith a sigh, "Ha!myland will not feel any moretheweight ofmybody."Buthe relatedwillingly the storyofhiswanderings,andtoldusall about the conquest of the

bay. Alluding to the peoplebeyond the hills, he wouldmurmur gently, with acareless wave of the hand,"They came over the hillsonce to fight us, but thosewho got away never cameagain." He thought for awhile, smiling to himself."Very few got away," headded, with proud serenity.Hecherishedtherecollectionsof his successes; he had anexulting eagerness for

endeavour; when he talked,his aspect was warlike,chivalrous, and uplifting. Nowonder his people admiredhim. We saw him oncewalking in daylight amongstthe houses of the settlement.Atthedoorsofhutsgroupsofwomen turned to look afterhim, warbling softly, andwith gleaming eyes; armedmen stood out of the way,submissive and erect; othersapproached from the side,

bending their backs toaddress him humbly; an oldwomanstretchedoutadrapedlean arm—"Blessings on thyhead!" she cried from a darkdoorway; a fiery-eyed manshowed above the low fenceof a plantain-patch astreaming face, a bare breastscarred in two places, andbellowed out pantingly afterhim,"Godgivevictorytoourmaster!" Karain walked fast,andwithfirmlongstrides;he

answered greetings right andleftbyquickpiercingglances.Childrenranforwardbetweenthe houses, peeped fearfullyround corners; young boyskept up with him, glidingbetween bushes: their eyesgleamed through the darkleaves.Theoldsword-bearer,shouldering the silverscabbard, shuffled hastily athis heels with bowed head,and his eyes on the ground.And in the midst of a great

stir they passed swift andabsorbed, like two menhurrying through a greatsolitude.In his council hall he was

surrounded by the gravity ofarmedchiefs,while two longrowsofoldheadmendressedin cotton stuffs squatted ontheir heels, with idle armshanging over their knees.Under the thatch roofsupported by smoothcolumns, of which each one

hadcostthelifeofastraight-stemmed young palm, thescent of flowering hedgesdrifted in warm waves. Thesunwas sinking. In the opencourtyard suppliants walkedthrough the gate, raising,whenyet faroff, their joinedhands above bowed heads,andbendinglowinthebrightstream of sunlight. Younggirls, with flowers in theirlaps, sat under the wide-spreading boughs of a big

tree.Thebluesmokeofwoodfires spread in a thin mistabove the high-pitched roofsof houses that had glisteningwallsofwovenreeds,andallround them rough woodenpillars under the slopingeaves.Hedispensedjusticeintheshade;fromahighseathegave orders, advice, reproof.Now and then the hum ofapprobation rose louder, andidle spearmen that loungedlistlessly against the posts,

looking at the girls, wouldturntheirheadsslowly.Tonoman had been given theshelter of so much respect,confidence, and awe. Yet attimes he would lean forwardand appear to listen as for afar-off note of discord, as ifexpecting to hear some faintvoice, the sound of lightfootsteps; or he would starthalfup inhis seat, as thoughhe had been familiarlytouched on the shoulder. He

glanced back withapprehension; his agedfollowerwhispered inaudiblyat his ear; the chiefs turnedtheireyesawayinsilence,forthe oldwizard, themanwhocould command ghosts andsend evil spirits againstenemies,wasspeakinglowtotheir ruler. Around the shortstillnessoftheopenplacethetrees rustled faintly, the softlaughterofgirlsplayingwiththe flowers rose in clear

burstsofjoyoussound.Attheend of upright spear-shaftsthe long tufts of dyed horse-hairwavedcrimsonandfilmyin the gust of wind; andbeyond the blaze of hedgesthe brook of limpid quickwater ran invisible and loudunder the drooping grass ofthe bank, with a greatmurmur, passionate andgentle.Aftersunset, faracross the

fields and over the bay,

clusters of torches could beseen burning under the highroofs of the council shed.Smokyredflamesswayedonhighpoles,andthefieryblazeflickeredover faces, clung tothe smooth trunks of palm-trees,kindledbrightsparksonthe rims of metal dishesstanding on fine floor-mats.That obscure adventurerfeasted like a king. Smallgroups of men crouched intight circles round the

woodenplatters;brownhandshoveredoversnowyheapsofrice. Sitting upon a roughcouch apart from the others,he leaned on his elbow withinclinedhead;andnearhimayouth improvised in a hightoneasongthatcelebratedhisvalour and wisdom. Thesinger rocked himself to andfro, rollingfrenziedeyes;oldwomen hobbled about withdishes, and men, squattinglow, lifted their heads to

listengravelywithoutceasingto eat. The song of triumphvibrated in thenight, and thestanzas rolled out mournfulandfiery like the thoughtsofahermit.Hesilenceditwithasign, "Enough!" An owlhooted far away, exulting inthe delight of deep gloom indense foliage; overheadlizardsranintheattapthatch,calling softly; the dry leavesof the roof rustled; therumour of mingled voices

grewloudersuddenly.Afteracircular and startled glance,as of a man waking upabruptly to the sense ofdanger, he would throwhimself back, and under thedownward gaze of the oldsorcerer take up, wide-eyed,the slender thread of hisdream. They watched hismoods; the swelling rumourofanimatedtalksubsidedlikea wave on a sloping beach.The chief is pensive. And

above the spreading whisperofloweredvoicesonlyalittlerattle of weapons would beheard, a single louder worddistinct and alone, or thegraveringofabigbrasstray.

3Chapter

For two years at shortintervalswe visited him.Wecametolikehim,totrusthim,almosttoadmirehim.Hewasplotting and preparing a warwith patience, with foresight

—with a fidelity to hispurpose and with asteadfastness of which Iwould have thought himraciallyincapable.Heseemedfearless of the future, and inhisplansdisplayedasagacitythat was only limited by hisprofound ignorance of therestoftheworld.Wetriedtoenlighten him, but ourattempts to make clear theirresistible nature of theforces which he desired to

arrestfailedtodiscouragehiseagernesstostrikeablowforhis own primitive ideas. Hedid not understand us, andreplied by arguments thatalmost drove one todesperation by their childishshrewdness. He was absurdand unanswerable.Sometimes we caughtglimpses of a sombre,glowing fury within him—abrooding and vague sense ofwrong, and a concentrated

lust of violence which isdangerous in a native. Heraved like one inspired. Onone occasion, after we hadbeentalkingtohimlateinhiscampong, he jumped up. Agreat, clear fire blazed in thegrove; lights and shadowsdanced together between thetrees; in the still night batsflitted in and out of theboughs like fluttering flakesof denser darkness. Hesnatched the sword from the

oldman,whizzeditoutofthescabbard,andthrustthepointinto theearth.Upon the thin,upright blade the silver hilt,released, swayed before himlike something alive. Hesteppedbackapace,andinadeadened tone spoke fiercelytothevibratingsteel:"Ifthereis virtue in the fire, in theiron, in the hand that forgedthee, in the words spokenoverthee,inthedesireofmyheart, and in the wisdom of

thy makers,—then we shallbe victorious together!" Hedrew it out, lookedalong theedge."Take,"hesaidoverhisshoulder to the old sword-bearer. The other, unmovedonhishams,wiped thepointwith a corner of his sarong,and returning the weapon toitsscabbard,satnursingitonhis knees without a singlelook upwards. Karain,suddenly very calm, reseatedhimself with dignity. We

gave up remonstrating afterthis,andlethimgohiswaytoan honourable disaster. Allwe could do for him was tosee to it that thepowderwasgood for the money and theriflesserviceable,ifold.But the game was

becoming at last toodangerous; and if we, whohad faced it pretty often,thoughtlittleofthedanger,itwas decided for us by somevery respectable people

sitting safely in counting-housesthattherisksweretoogreat,andthatonlyonemoretrip could be made. Aftergivingintheusualwaymanymisleading hints as to ourdestination, we slipped awayquietly,andafteraveryquickpassage entered the bay. Itwas earlymorning, and evenbeforetheanchorwenttothebottom the schooner wassurroundedbyboats.The first thing we heard

was that Karain's mysterioussword-bearer had died a fewdays ago. We did not attachmuchimportancetothenews.It was certainly difficult toimagine Karain without hisinseparable follower; but thefellowwasold, hehadneverspoken to one of us, wehardly ever had heard thesound of his voice; and wehadcometolookuponhimasuponsomethinginanimate,asapartofourfriend'strappings

of state—like that sword hehadcarried,orthefringedredumbrella displayed during anofficial progress. Karain didnotvisitusintheafternoonasusual.Amessageof greetingand a present of fruit andvegetables came off for usbeforesunset.Ourfriendpaidus like a banker, but treateduslikeaprince.Wesatupforhim till midnight. Under thesternawningbeardedJacksonjingled an old guitar and

sang, with an execrableaccent, Spanish love-songs;while young Hollis and I,sprawling on the deck, had agameofchessbythelightofa cargo lantern. Karain didnotappear.Nextdaywewerebusy unloading, and heardthat the Rajah was unwell.The expected invitation tovisit him ashore did notcome. We sent friendlymessages, but, fearing tointrude upon some secret

council, remained on board.Earlyonthethirddaywehadlanded all the powder andrifles, and also a six-pounderbrass gun with its carriagewhich we had subscribedtogether forapresent forourfriend. The afternoon wassultry.Raggededgesofblackclouds peeped over the hills,and invisible thunderstormscircledoutside,growling likewild beasts. We got theschooner ready for sea,

intending to leave nextmorningatdaylight.Alldayamerciless sun blazed downinto the bay, fierce and pale,as if at white heat. Nothingmovedontheland.Thebeachwas empty, the villagesseemeddeserted;thetreesfaroff stood in unstirringclumps, as if painted; thewhite smoke of someinvisible bush-fire spreaditself low over the shores ofthe bay like a settling fog.

Late in the day three ofKarain'schiefmen,dressedintheir best and armed to theteeth, came off in a canoe,bringing a case of dollars.They were gloomy andlanguid,and toldus theyhadnot seen their Rajah for fivedays. No one had seen him!We settled all accounts, andafter shaking hands in turnand inprofoundsilence, theydescended one after anotherinto their boat, and were

paddled to the shore, sittingclose together, clad in vividcolours, with hanging heads:thegoldembroideriesoftheirjackets flashed dazzlingly astheywentawayglidingonthesmoothwater,andnotoneofthem looked back once.Before sunset the growlingcloudscarriedwitharushtheridge of hills, and cametumbling down the innerslopes. Everythingdisappeared; black whirling

vapoursfilledthebay,andinthe midst of them theschooner swung here andthere in the shifting gusts ofwind. A single clap ofthunder detonated in thehollow with a violence thatseemed capable of burstinginto small pieces the ring ofhighland,andawarmdelugedescended. The wind diedout. We panted in the closecabin;ourfacesstreamed;thebay outside hissed as if

boiling; the water fell inperpendicularshaftsasheavyas lead; it swished about thedeck, poured off the spars,gurgled, sobbed, splashed,murmured in the blind night.Ourlampburnedlow.Hollis,stripped to the waist, laystretched out on the lockers,with closed eyes andmotionless like a despoiledcorpse; at his head Jacksontwanged the guitar, andgasped out in sighs a

mournful dirge abouthopeless love and eyes likestars. Thenwe heard startledvoices on deck crying in therain, hurried footstepsoverhead, and suddenlyKarain appeared in thedoorway of the cabin. Hisbare breast and his faceglistened in the light; hissarong, soaked, clung abouthis legs; he had his sheathedkriss in his left hand; andwisps of wet hair, escaping

from under his red kerchief,stuckoverhiseyesanddownhis cheeks. He stepped inwith a headlong stride andlookingoverhisshoulderlikeamanpursued.Hollis turnedon his side quickly andopened his eyes. Jacksonclappedhisbighandoverthestrings and the jinglingvibration died suddenly. Istoodup."We did not hear your

boat'shail!"Iexclaimed.

"Boat! The man's swumoff,"drawledoutHollisfromthelocker."Lookathim!"He breathed heavily,wild-

eyed,whilewelookedathimin silence. Water drippedfromhim,made a dark pool,and ran crookedly across thecabin floor. We could hearJackson,whohadgoneouttodriveawayourMalayseamenfrom the doorway of thecompanion; he sworemenacingly in thepatterof a

heavy shower, and therewasa great commotion on deck.Thewatchmen, scaredout oftheirwitsbytheglimpseofashadowy figure leaping overthe rail, straight out of thenightas itwere,hadalarmedallhands.Then Jackson, with

glittering drops of water onhishairandbeard,camebacklooking angry, and Hollis,who, being the youngest ofus, assumed an indolent

superiority, said withoutstirring, "Give him a drysarong—give him mine; it'shangingupinthebathroom."Karain laid the kriss on thetable, hilt inwards, andmurmured a few words in astrangledvoice."What's that?" asked

Hollis,whohadnotheard."Heapologizes forcoming

in with a weapon in hishand,"Isaid,dazedly."Ceremoniousbeggar.Tell

himweforgiveafriend…onsuch a night," drawled outHollis."What'swrong?"Karain slipped the dry

sarongoverhishead,droppedthe wet one at his feet, andsteppedoutofit.Ipointedtothe wooden armchair—hisarmchair. He sat down verystraight, said "Ha!" in astrong voice; a short shivershook his broad frame. Helooked over his shoulderuneasily,turnedasiftospeak

to us, but only stared in acurious blind manner, andagain looked back. Jacksonbellowedout,"Watchwellondeck there!" heard a faintanswer from above, andreaching out with his footslammed-tothecabindoor."Allrightnow,"hesaid.Karain's lips moved

slightly. A vivid flash oflightningmadethetworoundstern-ports facing himglimmer like a pair of cruel

andphosphorescenteyes.Theflame of the lamp seemed towitherintobrowndustforaninstant, and the looking-glassover the little sideboardleapedoutbehindhisbackina smooth sheet of livid light.The roll of thunder camenear, crashed over us; theschooner trembled, and thegreat voice went on,threatening terribly, into thedistance. For less than aminute a furious shower

rattled on the decks. Karainlooked slowly from face toface, and then the silencebecame so profound that weall could hear distinctly thetwo chronometers in mycabin ticking along withunflagging speed against oneanother.And we three, strangely

moved, could not take oureyes from him. He hadbecome enigmatical andtouching, in virtue of that

mysterious cause that haddriven him through the nightandthroughthethunderstormto the shelter of theschooner's cuddy.Notoneofus doubted that we werelooking at a fugitive,incredible as it appeared tous. He was haggard, asthough he had not slept forweeks; he had become lean,asthoughhehadnoteatenfordays. His cheeks werehollow, his eyes sunk, the

musclesofhischestandarmstwitchedslightlyasifafteranexhaustingcontest.Ofcourseithadbeenalongswimofftothe schooner; but his faceshowed another kind offatigue, the tormentedweariness, the anger and thefear of a struggle against athought, an idea—againstsomething that cannot begrappled, that never rests—ashadow, a nothing,unconquerable and immortal,

thatpreysuponlife.Weknewitasthoughhehadshouteditat us. His chest expandedtimeafter time, as if it couldnotcontainthebeatingofhisheart. For a moment he hadthepowerofthepossessed—the power to awaken in thebeholderswonder, pain, pity,and a fearful near sense ofthings invisible, of thingsdark andmute, that surroundthe loneliness of mankind.His eyes roamed about

aimlessly foramoment, thenbecame still. He said witheffort—"I came here … I leaped

outofmystockadeasafteradefeat.Iraninthenight.Thewater was black. I left himcalling on the edge of blackwater… . I left him standingalone on the beach. Iswam… he called out afterme…Iswam…"He trembled from head to

foot, sitting very upright and

gazing straight before him.Leftwhom?Whocalled?Wedid not know.We could notunderstand. I said at allhazards—"Befirm."The sound of my voice

seemed to steady him into asuddenrigidity,butotherwisehetooknonotice.Heseemedtolisten, toexpectsomethingforamoment,thenwenton—"He cannot come here—

therefore I sought you. You

men with white faces whodespise the invisible voices.He cannot abide yourunbeliefandyourstrength."He was silent for a while,

thenexclaimedsoftly—"Oh! the strength of

unbelievers!""There's no one here but

you—and we three," saidHollis, quietly. He reclinedwith his head supported onelbowanddidnotbudge."Iknow,"saidKarain."He

has never followed me here.Wasnotthewisemaneverbymy side? But since the oldwise man, who knew of mytrouble,hasdied,Ihaveheardthe voice every night. I shutmyself up—formany days—in the dark. I can hear thesorrowful murmurs ofwomen, the whisper of thewind, of the running waters;the clash of weapons in thehands of faithful men, theirfootsteps—and his voice! …

Near…So!Inmyear!I felthimnear…Hisbreathpassedover my neck. I leaped outwithout a cry. All about memensleptquietly.Irantothesea. He ran by my sidewithout footsteps,whispering, whispering oldwords—whispering into myearinhisoldvoice.Iranintothe sea; I swam off to you,with my kriss between myteeth.I,armed,Ifledbeforeabreath—to you. Take me

away to your land. Thewiseold man has died, and withhim isgone thepowerofhiswordsandcharms.AndIcantellnoone.Noone.There isno one here faithful enoughandwise enough to know. Itisonlynearyou,unbelievers,that my trouble fades like amistundertheeyeofday."Heturnedtome."With you I go!" he cried

in a contained voice. "Withyou, who know so many of

us.Iwanttoleavethisland—my people … and him—there!"He pointed a shaking

finger at random over hisshoulder.Itwashardforustobear the intensity of thatundisclosed distress. Hollisstared at him hard. I askedgently—"Whereisthedanger?""Everywhere outside this

place," he answered,mournfully. "In every place

where Iam.Hewaits formeon thepaths, under the trees,in the place where I sleep—everywherebuthere."He looked round the little

cabin,atthepaintedbeams,atthe tarnished varnish ofbulkheads; he looked roundas if appealing to all itsshabby strangeness, to thedisorderly jumble ofunfamiliar things that belongto an inconceivable life ofstress, of power, of

endeavour, of unbelief—tothe strong life ofwhitemen,whichrollsonirresistibleandhard on the edge of outerdarkness.Hestretchedouthisarms as if to embrace it andus.Wewaited.Thewindandrain had ceased, and thestillness of the night roundthe schooner was as dumband complete as if a deadworldhadbeenlaidtorestina grave of clouds. Weexpected him to speak. The

necessity within him tore athis lips.There are thosewhosay that a native will notspeak to a whiteman. Error.No man will speak to hismaster;buttoawandererandafriend,tohimwhodoesnotcome to teach or to rule, tohimwhoasksfornothingandaccepts all things, words arespoken by the camp-fires, inthesharedsolitudeofthesea,in riverside villages, inresting-places surrounded by

forests—words are spokenthat take no account of raceorcolour.Oneheartspeaks—another one listens; and theearth, the sea, the sky, thepassingwind and the stirringleaf, hear also the futile taleoftheburdenoflife.He spoke at last. It is

impossible to convey theeffect of his story. It isundying, it is but amemory,and its vividness cannot bemade clear to another mind,

any more than the vividemotions of a dream. Onemust have seen his innatesplendour, one must haveknownhimbefore—lookedathim then. The waveringgloomof the little cabin; thebreathless stillness outside,through which only thelapping of water against theschooner's sides could beheard;Hollis'spaleface,withsteady dark eyes; theenergetic head of Jackson

held up between two bigpalms, and with the longyellow hair of his beardflowingoverthestringsoftheguitar lying on the table;Karain's upright andmotionlesspose,histone—allthismade an impression thatcannotbeforgotten.Hefacedus across the table. His darkhead and bronze torsoappeared above the tarnishedslab of wood, gleaming andstill as if cast inmetal.Only

his lips moved, and his eyesglowed, went out, blazedagain, or stared mournfully.Hisexpressionscamestraightfromhistormentedheart.Hiswords sounded low, in a sadmurmur as of runningwater;at times they rang loud likethe clash of a war-gong—ortrailed slowly like wearytravellers—orrushedforwardwiththespeedoffear.

4Chapter

This is, imperfectly, what hesaid—"It was after the great

troublethatbroketheallianceofthefourstatesofWajo.Wefought amongst ourselves,

and the Dutch watched fromafartillwewereweary.Thenthe smoke of their fire-shipswasseenat themouthofourrivers, and their great mencameinboats fullofsoldierstotalktousofprotectionandpeace. We answered withcaution and wisdom, for ourvillages were burnt, ourstockades weak, the peopleweary, and the weaponsblunt. They came and went;therehadbeenmuchtalk,but

after they went awayeverything seemed to be asbefore, only their shipsremained in sight from ourcoast, and very soon theirtraders came amongst usunderapromiseofsafety.Mybrotherwas aRuler, andoneof those who had given thepromise. I was young then,and had fought in the war,and Pata Matara had foughtby my side. We had sharedhunger, danger, fatigue, and

victory. His eyes saw mydangerquickly,andtwicemyarmhadpreservedhis life. Itwas his destiny. He was myfriend. And he was greatamongst us—one of thosewho were near my brother,the Ruler. He spoke incouncil, his courage wasgreat, he was the chief ofmanyvillagesroundthegreatlake that is in the middle ofour countryas theheart is inthe middle of a man's body.

When his sword was carriedintoacamponginadvanceofhis coming, the maidenswhisperedwonderinglyunderthe fruit-trees, the rich menconsulted together in theshade, and a feast wasmadeready with rejoicing andsongs. He had the favour oftheRulerandtheaffectionofthe poor.He lovedwar, deerhunts, and the charms ofwomen.Hewasthepossessorof jewels, of luckyweapons,

and of men's devotion. Hewas a fierce man; and I hadnootherfriend."I was the chief of a

stockade at themouth of theriver, and collected tolls formy brother from the passingboats.OnedayIsawaDutchtrader go up the river. Hewentupwiththreeboats,andno toll was demanded fromhim, because the smoke ofDutch war-ships stood outfrom the open sea, and we

were too weak to forgettreaties.Hewentupunderthepromise of safety, and mybrother gave him protection.Hesaidhecametotrade.Helistenedtoourvoices,forweare men who speak openlyandwithout fear; he countedthe number of our spears, heexamined the trees, therunningwaters,thegrassesofthe bank, the slopes of ourhills.Hewentup toMatara'scountry and obtained

permission to build a house.He traded and planted. Hedespised our joys, ourthoughts, and our sorrows.Hisfacewasred,hishairlikeflame,andhiseyespale, likea river mist; he movedheavily, and spoke with adeepvoice;he laughedaloudlike a fool, and knew nocourtesy in his speech. Hewasabig,scornfulman,wholooked into women's facesand put his hand on the

shoulders of free men asthough he had been a noble-bornchief.Weborewithhim.Timepassed."Then Pata Matara's sister

fled from the campong andwent to live in theDutchman'shouse.Shewasagreat and wilful lady: I hadseenheroncecarriedhighonslaves'shouldersamongstthepeople, with uncovered face,and I had heard all men saythat her beautywas extreme,

silencing the reason andravishing the heart of thebeholders. The people weredismayed; Matara's face wasblackenedwith that disgrace,for she knew she had beenpromised to another man.Matara went to theDutchman's house, and said,'Give her up to die—she isthe daughter of chiefs.' Thewhite man refused and shuthimselfup,whilehisservantskeptguardnightanddaywith

loaded guns. Matara raged.My brother called a council.But the Dutch ships werenear, and watched our coastgreedily.My brother said, 'Ifhediesnowourlandwillpayfor his blood. Leave himalone till we grow strongerand the ships are gone.'Matara was wise; he waitedand watched. But the whiteman feared for her life andwentaway."He left his house, his

plantations, and his goods!He departed, armed andmenacing, and left all—forher! She had ravished hisheart! From my stockade Isaw him put out to sea in abig boat. Matara and Iwatched him from thefighting platform behind thepointed stakes. He sat cross-legged, with his gun in hishands,ontheroofatthesternofhisprau.Thebarrelofhisrifle glinted aslant before his

big red face.The broad riverwas stretched under him—level, smooth, shining, like aplain of silver; and his prau,looking very short and blackfrom the shore, glided alongthe silverplain andover intotheblueofthesea."Thrice Matara, standing

bymy side, called aloud hername with grief andimprecations. He stirred myheart. It leaped three times;andthreetimeswiththeeyes

of my mind I saw in thegloom within the enclosedspace of the prau a womanwith streaming hair goingaway from her land and herpeople. I was angry—andsorry.Why?And then I alsocried out insults and threats.Matara said, 'Now they haveleft our land their lives aremind.Ishallfollowandstrike—and,alone,paythepriceofblood.' A great wind wassweeping towards the setting

sun over the empty river. Icried,'ByyoursideIwillgo!'He lowered his head in signof assent. It was his destiny.Thesunhadset,andthetreesswayed their boughs with agreatnoiseaboveourheads."Onthethirdnightwetwo

left our land together in atradingprau."The sea met us—the sea,

wide, pathless, and withoutvoice. A sailing prau leavesnotrack.Wewentsouth.The

moon was full; and, lookingup, we said to one another,'When the next moon shinesas this one, we shall returnandtheywillbedead.'Itwasfifteen years ago. Manymoons have grown full andwitheredand Ihavenot seenmy land since. We sailedsouth; we overtook manypraus; we examined thecreeks and the bays; we sawthe end of our coast, of ourisland—a steep cape over a

disturbed strait, where driftthe shadows of shipwreckedpraus and drowned menclamour in the night. Thewide sea was all round usnow. We saw a greatmountain burning in themidst of water; we sawthousands of islets scatteredlike bits of iron fired from abiggun;wesawalongcoastof mountain and lowlandsstretching away in sunshinefromwesttoeast.ItwasJava.

Wesaid,'Theyarethere;theirtime is near, and we shallreturn or die cleansed fromdishonour.'"We landed. Is there

anything good in thatcountry? The paths runstraight and hard and dusty.Stonecampongs,fullofwhitefaces, are surrounded byfertile fields, but every manyou meet is a slave. Therulersliveundertheedgeofaforeign sword. We ascended

mountains, we traversedvalleys; at sunset we enteredvillages.We asked everyone,'Have you seen such awhiteman?' Some stared; otherslaughed; women gave usfood, sometimes, with fearandrespect,asthoughwehadbeen distracted by thevisitation of God; but somedid not understand ourlanguage, and some cursedus, or, yawning, asked withcontempt the reason of our

quest. Once, as we weregoing away, an old mancalledafterus,'Desist!'"We went on. Concealing

our weapons, we stoodhumbly aside before thehorsemen on the road; webowed low in the courtyardsof chiefswhowere no betterthanslaves.Welostourselvesin the fields, in the jungle;and one night, in a tangledforest,wecameuponaplacewhere crumbling old walls

had fallen amongst the trees,andwherestrangestoneidols—carved images of devilswith many arms and legs,with snakes twined roundtheir bodies, with twentyheads and holding a hundredswords—seemed to live andthreaten in the light of ourcamp fire.Nothing dismayedus.Andontheroad,byeveryfire, in resting-places, wealways talked of her and ofhim.Theirtimewasnear.We

spoke of nothing else. No!not of hunger, thirst,weariness, and falteringhearts. No!we spoke of himand her! Of her! And wethought of them—of her!Matarabroodedby the fire. Isat and thought and thought,tillsuddenlyIcouldseeagainthe image of a woman,beautiful, and young, andgreat and proud, and tender,goingawayfromherlandandher people. Matara said,

'Whenwefindthemweshallkill her first to cleanse thedishonour—then the manmust die.' I would say, 'Itshall be so; it is yourvengeance.'Hestared longatmewithhisbigsunkeneyes."We came back to the

coast.Ourfeetwerebleeding,our bodies thin. We slept inrags under the shadow ofstoneenclosures;weprowled,soiled and lean, about thegateways of white men's

courtyards. Their hairy dogsbarked at us, and theirservants shouted from afar,'Begone!'Low-bornwretches,that keep watch over thestreets of stone campongs,asked us who we were. Welied, we cringed, we smiledwith hate in our hearts, andwekeptlookinghere,lookingthereforthem—forthewhitemanwithhairlikeflame,andfor her, for the woman whohad broken faith, and

therefore must die. Welooked. At last in everywoman's face I thought Icould see hers. We ranswiftly. No! SometimesMatarawouldwhisper, 'Hereis the man,' and we waited,crouching. He came near. Itwas not the man—thoseDutchmen are all alike. Wesuffered the anguish ofdeception. Inmy sleep I sawherface,andwasbothjoyfuland sorry … . Why? … I

seemedtohearawhispernearme.Iturnedswiftly.Shewasnot there!Andaswetrudgedwearily from stone city tostonecity I seemed tohear alightfootstepnearme.AtimecamewhenIhearditalways,and I was glad. I thought,walking dizzy and weary insunshineonthehardpathsofwhite men I thought, She isthere—with us! … Matarawas sombre. We were oftenhungry.

"We sold the carvedsheaths of our krisses—theivory sheaths with goldenferules.Wesold the jewelledhilts. Butwe kept the blades—for them. The blades thatnevertouchbutkill—wekeptthe blades for her… . Why?Shewasalwaysbyourside….Westarved.Webegged.WeleftJavaatlast."We went West, we went

East. We saw many lands,crowdsof strange faces,men

thatliveintreesandmenwhoeat their old people. We cutrattans in the forest for ahandful of rice, and for alivingswept thedecksofbigshipsandheardcursesheapeduponourheads.We toiled invillages; we wandered uponthe seas with the Bajowpeople,whohavenocountry.We fought for pay;we hiredourselves towork forGorammen, and were cheated; andunder the orders of rough

white faces we dived forpearls in barren bays, dottedwith black rocks, upon acoast of sand and desolation.Andeverywherewewatched,we listened, we asked. Weasked traders, robbers, whitemen. We heard jeers,mockery, threats—words ofwonder and words ofcontempt. We never knewrest; we never thought ofhome, for our work was notdone. A year passed, then

another.Iceasedtocountthenumber of nights, of moons,of years. I watched overMatara. He had my lasthandful of rice; if there waswater enough for one hedrank it; I covered him upwhen he shivered with cold;and when the hot sicknesscameuponhimIsatsleeplessthrough many nights andfanned his face. He was afierceman,andmyfriend.Hespokeofherwith fury in the

daytime, with sorrow in thedark; he remembered her inhealth, in sickness. I saidnothing; but I saw her everyday—always! At first I sawonlyherhead,asofawomanwalking in the lowmistonariver bank. Then she sat byourfire.Isawher!Ilookedather!Shehad tendereyesanda ravishing face. Imurmuredto her in the night. Matarasaid sleepily sometimes, 'Towhom are you talking?Who

is there?' I answeredquickly,'Noone'… Itwas a lie!Sheneverleftme.Shesharedthewarmthofourfire,shesatonmy couch of leaves, sheswam on the sea to followme….Isawher!…ItellyouI saw her long black hairspread behind her upon themoonlit water as she struckoutwithbarearmsbythesideof a swift prau. She wasbeautiful, she was faithful,and in the silence of foreign

countries she spoke to mevery low in the language ofmy people. No one saw her;no one heard her; she wasmine only! In daylight shemoved with a swaying walkbefore me upon the wearypaths;her figurewas straightandflexiblelikethestemofaslender tree; the heels of herfeetwere roundandpolishedlike shells of eggs; with herroundarmshemadesigns.Atnight she looked into my

face. And she was sad! Hereyes were tender andfrightened;hervoicesoftandpleading.OnceImurmuredtoher, 'You shall not die,' andshe smiled… ever after shesmiled! … She gave mecouragetobearwearinessandhardships. Those were timesof pain, and she soothedme.We wandered patient in oursearch. We knew deception,false hopes; we knewcaptivity, sickness, thirst,

misery, despair… . Enough!Wefoundthem!…"Hecriedoutthelastwords

and paused. His face wasimpassive, and he kept stilllikeamanina trance.Hollissatupquickly,andspreadhiselbows on the table. Jacksonmade a brusque movement,and accidentally touched theguitar. A plaintive resonancefilledthecabinwithconfusedvibrations and died outslowly.ThenKarainbeganto

speak again. The restrainedfiercenessofhistoneseemedto rise like a voice fromoutside,likeathingunspokenbut heard; it filled the cabinand enveloped in its intenseand deadened murmur themotionlessfigureinthechair."We were on our way to

Atjeh, where there was war;but the vessel ran on asandbank,andwehadtolandin Delli. We had earned alittlemoney, and had bought

a gun from some Selangoretraders; only one gun, whichwas fired by the spark of astone; Matara carried it. Welanded. Many white menlived there, planting tobaccoon conquered plains, andMatara…Butnomatter.Hesaw him! … TheDutchman!…Atlast!…Wecrept and watched. Twonightsandadaywewatched.Hehadahouse—abighousein a clearing in the midst of

hisfields;flowersandbushesgrew around; there werenarrow paths of yellow earthbetween the cut grass, andthick hedges to keep peopleout.The thirdnightwecamearmed, and lay behind ahedge."A heavy dew seemed to

soak through our flesh andmade our very entrails cold.The grass, the twigs, theleaves,coveredwithdropsofwater, were gray in the

moonlight.Matara, curled upin the grass, shivered in hissleep.My teeth rattled inmyheadsoloudthatIwasafraidthe noise would wake up allthe land.Afar, thewatchmenofwhitemen's houses struckwooden clappers and hootedinthedarkness.And,aseverynight, I saw her bymy side.She smiled nomore!…Thefire of anguish burned inmybreast, and she whispered tome with compassion, with

pity, softly—as women will;she soothed the pain of mymind; she bent her face overme—the face of a womanwho ravishes the hearts andsilences the reason of men.Shewasallmine,andnoonecould see her—no one ofliving mankind! Stars shonethrough her bosom, throughher floating hair. I wasovercome with regret, withtenderness, with sorrow.Matara slept…Had I slept?

Matara was shaking me bythe shoulder, and the fire ofthesunwasdrying thegrass,thebushes, the leaves. Itwasday. Shreds of white misthungbetweenthebranchesoftrees."Wasitnightorday?Isaw

nothing again till I heardMatarabreathequicklywherehe lay, and then outside thehouse I saw her. I saw themboth.Theyhadcomeout.Shesatonabenchunderthewall,

and twigs ladenwith flowerscrept high above her head,hungoverherhair.Shehadaboxonherlap,andgazedintoit, counting the increase ofher pearls. The Dutchmanstood by looking on; hesmileddownather;hiswhiteteeth flashed; the hair on hislip was like two twistedflames. He was big and fat,and joyous,andwithout fear.Matara tipped fresh primingfrom the hollowof his palm,

scraped the flint with histhumb-nail,andgave theguntome.Tome!I took it…Ofate!"Hewhisperedintomyear,

lyingonhis stomach, 'I shallcreepcloseandthenamok…let her die bymy hand.Youtake aim at the fat swinethere. Let him see me strikemyshameoff the faceof theearth—and then … you aremy friend—kill with a sureshot.' I said nothing; there

wasnoairinmychest—therewas no air in the world.Matara had gone suddenlyfrom my side. The grassnodded.Then a bush rustled.Sheliftedherhead."Isawher!Theconsolerof

sleepless nights, of wearydays; the companion oftroubledyears!Isawher!Shelooked straight at the placewhere I crouched. She wasthere as I had seen her foryears—afaithfulwandererby

myside.Shelookedwithsadeyesandhadsmilinglips;shelookedatme…Smilinglips!Had I not promised that sheshouldnotdie!"Shewas far off and I felt

her near. Her touch caressedme,andhervoicemurmured,whispered above me, aroundme. 'Who shall be thycompanion, who shallconsoletheeifIdie?'Isawafloweringthickettotheleftofherstiralittle…Matarawas

ready … I cried aloud—'Return!'"She leaped up; the box

fell;thepearlsstreamedatherfeet. The big Dutchman byhersiderolledmenacingeyesthrough the still sunshine.The gun went up to myshoulder.IwaskneelingandIwas firm—firmer than thetrees, the rocks, themountains.Butinfrontofthesteady long barrel the fields,the house, the earth, the sky

swayed to and fro likeshadows in a forest on awindy day. Matara burst outof thethicket;beforehimthepetalsoftornflowerswhirledhighasifdrivenbyatempest.I heard her cry; I saw herspring with open arms infront of the white man. Shewas awoman ofmy countryandofnobleblood.Theyareso! I heard her shriek ofanguish and fear—and allstood still! The fields, the

house,theearth,theskystoodstill—whileMatara leaped atherwithupliftedarm.Ipulledthetrigger,sawaspark,heardnothing; the smoke drovebackintomyface,andthenIcould see Matara roll overhead first and lie withstretchedarmsatherfeet.Ha!Asureshot!Thesunshinefellon my back colder than therunningwater.Asure shot! Iflung the gun after the shot.Those two stood over the

deadmanasthoughtheyhadbeenbewitchedbyacharm.Ishouted at her, 'Live andremember!'Thenfora timeIstumbled about in a colddarkness."Behind me there were

great shouts, the running ofmany feet; strange mensurrounded me, criedmeaningless words into myface,pushedme,draggedme,supported me … I stoodbefore the big Dutchman: he

stared as if bereft of hisreason. He wanted to know,he talked fast, he spoke ofgratitude,heofferedmefood,shelter,gold—heaskedmanyquestions. I laughed in hisface. I said, 'I amaKorinchitraveller from Perak overthere, and know nothing ofthatdeadman. IwaspassingalongthepathwhenIheardashot, and your senselesspeople rushed out anddragged me here.' He lifted

his arms, he wondered, hecould not believe, he couldnotunderstand,heclamouredin his own tongue! She hadher arms clasped round hisneck, and over her shoulderstared back at me with wideeyes. I smiled and looked ather; I smiled and waited tohear the sound of her voice.The white man asked hersuddenly. 'Do you knowhim?'Ilistened—mylifewasinmyears!Shelookedatme

long, she looked at me withunflinching eyes, and saidaloud, 'No! I never saw himbefore.' … What! Neverbefore? Had she forgottenalready? Was it possible?Forgotten already—after somany years—so many yearsof wandering, ofcompanionship,oftrouble,oftender words! Forgottenalready!… I toremyself outfrom the hands that held meand went away without a

word…Theyletmego."Iwasweary.DidIsleep?

I do not know. I rememberwalking upon a broad pathunder a clear starlight; andthat strange country seemedsobig,therice-fieldssovast,that, as I looked around, myhead swam with the fear ofspace. Then I saw a forest.The joyous starlight washeavy upon me. I turned offthe path and entered theforest, which was very

sombreandverysad."

5Chapter

Karain's tone had beengetting lower and lower, asthough he had been goingaway from us, till the lastwordssoundedfaintbutclear,as if shouted on a calm day

from a very great distance.He moved not. He staredfixedly past the motionlesshead of Hollis, who facedhim, as still as himself.Jacksonhadturnedsideways,and with elbow on the tableshadedhiseyeswiththepalmofhishand.AndIlookedon,surprised and moved; Ilookedatthatman,loyaltoavision,betrayedbyhisdream,spurned by his illusion, andcoming to us unbelievers for

help—against a thought. Thesilence was profound; but itseemed full of noiselessphantoms, of thingssorrowful, shadowy, andmute, in whose invisiblepresence the firm, pulsatingbeat of the two ship'schronometers ticking offsteadily the seconds ofGreenwich Time seemed tome a protection and a relief.Karain stared stonily; andlooking at his rigid figure, I

thoughtofhiswanderings,ofthat obscure Odyssey ofrevenge, of all the men thatwander amongst illusionsfaithful, faithless; of theillusions that give joy, thatgive sorrow, that give pain,that give peace; of theinvincible illusions that canmake life and death appearserene, inspiring, tormented,orignoble.Amurmurwas heard; that

voicefromoutsideseemedto

flowoutofadreamingworldinto the lamp-light of thecabin.Karainwasspeaking."Ilivedintheforest."Shecamenomore.Never!

Never once! I lived alone.She had forgotten. It waswell. I did not want her; Iwanted no one. I found anabandoned house in an oldclearing. Nobody came near.Sometimes I heard in thedistance the voices of peoplegoing along a path. I slept; I

rested; there was wild rice,water from a running stream—and peace! Every night Isat alone by my small firebefore the hut. Many nightspassedovermyhead."Then,oneevening,asIsat

bymyfireafterhavingeaten,I lookeddownon thegroundand began to remember mywanderings.I liftedmyhead.I had heard no sound, norustle, no footsteps—but Ilifted my head. A man was

coming towards me acrossthe small clearing. I waited.He came up without agreeting and squatted downinto the firelight. Then heturned his face tome. ItwasMatara. He stared at mefiercely with his big sunkeneyes.Thenightwascold;theheatdiedsuddenlyoutof thefire, and he stared at me. Irose and went away fromthere, leavinghimbythefirethathadnoheat.

"Iwalkedallthatnight,allnext day, and in the eveningmade up a big blaze and satdown—to wait for him. Hehadnotcomeintothelight.Iheardhim in thebusheshereand there, whispering,whispering. I understood atlast—I had heard the wordsbefore, 'You aremy friend—killwithasureshot.'"IboreitaslongasIcould

—then leaped away, as onthis very night I leaped from

my stockade and swam toyou.Iran—Irancryinglikeachild left alone and far fromthe houses. He ran by myside, without footsteps,whispering, whispering—invisible and heard. I soughtpeople—I wanted menaroundme!Menwhohadnotdied! And again we twowandered. I sought danger,violence, and death. I foughtintheAtjehwar,andabravepeople wondered at the

valianceofastranger.Butwewere two; he warded off theblows … Why? I wantedpeace, not life. And no onecould see him; no one knew—I dared tell no one. Attimeshewouldleaveme,butnot for long; then he wouldreturn and whisper or stare.My heart was torn with astrange fear, but could notdie.ThenImetanoldman."Youallknewhim.People

here called himmy sorcerer,

myservantandsword-bearer;but to me he was father,mother, protection, refugeand peace. When I met himhe was returning from apilgrimage, and I heard himintoning theprayerofsunset.Hehadgonetotheholyplacewith his son, his son's wife,andalittlechild;andontheirreturn, by the favour of theMostHigh, theyall died: thestrong man, the youngmother, the little child—they

died;andtheoldmanreachedhis country alone. He was apilgrim serene and pious,very wise and very lonely. Itold him all. For a time welived together. He said overme words of compassion, ofwisdom, of prayer. Hewardedfrommetheshadeofthe dead. I begged him for acharm that would make mesafe. For a long time herefused; but at last, with asighandasmile,hegaveme

one. Doubtless he couldcommand a spirit strongerthan the unrest of my deadfriend,andagainIhadpeace;butIhadbecomerestless,andaloverofturmoilanddanger.The old man never left me.We travelled together. Wewerewelcomed by the great;his wisdom and my courageare remembered where yourstrength, O white men, isforgotten! We served theSultanofSula.Wefoughtthe

Spaniards. There werevictories, hopes, defeats,sorrow, blood, women'stears … What for? … Wefled.We collectedwanderersof a warlike race and camehere to fight again. The restyouknow.Iamtherulerofaconquered land, a lover ofwaranddanger,afighterandaplotter.Buttheoldmanhasdied,andIamagaintheslaveof the dead. He is not herenow to drive away the

reproachfulshade—tosilencethe lifelessvoice!Thepowerof his charm has died withhim.And I know fear; and Ihear the whisper, 'Kill! kill!kill!' … Have I not killedenough?…"Forthefirsttimethatnight

a sudden convulsion ofmadnessandragepassedoverhis face. His waveringglancesdartedhereand therelike scared birds in athunderstorm.He jumpedup,

shouting—"By the spirits that drink

blood: by the spirits that cryin thenight:byall thespiritsof fury, misfortune, anddeath, I swear—some day Iwill strike into every heart Imeet—I…"He looked so dangerous

thatweallthreeleapedtoourfeet,andHollis,withthebackof his hand, sent the krissflying off the table. I believeweshoutedtogether.Itwasa

short scare, and the nextmoment he was againcomposed in his chair, withthree white men standingover him in rather foolishattitudes. We felt a littleashamed of ourselves.Jackson picked up the kriss,and,afteraninquiringglanceat me, gave it to him. Hereceived it with a statelyinclination of the head andstuck it in the twist of hissarong, with punctilious care

to give his weapon a pacificposition. Then he looked upat us with an austere smile.We were abashed andreproved.Hollissatsidewayson the table and, holding hischin in his hand, scrutinizedhiminpensivesilence.Isaid—"Youmustabidewithyour

people. They need you. Andthere is forgetfulness in life.Eventhedeadceasetospeakintime."

"Am I a woman, to forgetlong years before an eyelidhas had the time to beattwice?" he exclaimed, withbitter resentment.He startledme. It was amazing. To himhis life—thatcruelmirageoflove and peace—seemed asreal, as undeniable, as theirswould be to any saint,philosopher,orfoolofusall.Hollismuttered—"You won't soothe him

withyourplatitudes."

Karainspoketome."You know us. You have

lived with us. Why?—wecannot know; but youunderstand our sorrows andour thoughts.Youhave livedwith my people, and youunderstand our desires andourfears.WithyouIwillgo.To your land—to yourpeople. To your people,wholiveinunbelief;towhomdayis day, and night is night—nothing more, because you

understand all things seen,anddespise all else!Toyourland of unbelief, where thedead do not speak, whereeveryman iswise,andalone—andatpeace!""Capital description,"

murmured Hollis, with theflickerofasmile.Karainhunghishead."I can toil, and fight—and

be faithful,"hewhispered, inawearytone,"butIcannotgobacktohimwhowaitsforme

on the shore. No! Take mewithyou…Or else givemesome of your strength—ofyour unbelief… . Acharm!…"He seemed utterly

exhausted."Yes,takehimhome,"said

Hollis, very low, as ifdebating with himself. "Thatwould be one way. Theghosts there are in society,and talkaffably to ladiesandgentlemen,butwouldscorna

nakedhumanbeing—likeourprincely friend… .Naked…Flayed! I should say. I amsorryforhim.Impossible—ofcourse. The end of all thisshallbe,"hewenton,lookingup at us—"the end of thisshall be, that some day hewill run amuck amongst hisfaithful subjects and send 'adpatres' ever somanyof thembefore they make up theirminds to the disloyalty ofknockinghimonthehead."

Inodded.Ithoughtitmorethanprobablethatsuchwouldbe the end of Karain. It wasevident that he had beenhunted by his thought alongthe very limit of humanendurance, and very littlemore pressingwas needed tomake him swerve over intotheformofmadnesspeculiartohisrace.Therespitehehadduring the old man's lifemade the return of thetorment unbearable. That

muchwasclear.He lifted his head

suddenly; we had imaginedfor a moment that he hadbeendozing."Give me your protection

—oryourstrength!"hecried."Acharm…aweapon!"Again his chin fell on his

breast. We looked at him,then looked at one anotherwith suspicious awe in oureyes, like men who comeunexpectedly upon the scene

of some mysterious disaster.He had given himself up tous; he had thrust into ourhands his errors and historment, his life and hispeace; and we did not knowwhat todowith thatproblemfrom the outer darkness.Wethree white men, looking attheMalay,couldnotfindoneword to thepurposeamongstus—if indeed there existed aword that could solve thatproblem. We pondered, and

our hearts sank. We felt asthough we three had beencalled to the very gate ofInfernal Regions to judge, todecide thefateofawanderercoming suddenly from aworld of sunshine andillusions."ByJove,heseemstohave

a great idea of our power,"whisperedHollis, hopelessly.And then again there was asilence, the feeble plash ofwater, the steady tick of

chronometers. Jackson, withbarearmscrossed, leanedhisshoulders against thebulkhead of the cabin. Hewas bending his head underthedeckbeam;his fairbeardspreadoutmagnificentlyoverhischest;he lookedcolossal,ineffectual, and mild. Therewas something lugubrious intheaspectofthecabin;theairin it seemed to becomeslowlychargedwiththecruelchillofhelplessness,withthe

pitiless anger of egoismagainst the incomprehensibleformofanintrudingpain.Wehad no idea what to do; webegan to resent bitterly thehard necessity to get rid ofhim.Hollis mused, muttered

suddenly with a short laugh,"Strength … Protection …Charm." He slipped off thetable and left the cuddywithout a look at us. Itseemed a base desertion.

Jackson and I exchangedindignant glances. We couldhear him rummaging in hispigeon-hole of a cabin. Wasthe fellow actually going tobed? Karain sighed. It wasintolerable!Then Hollis reappeared,

holdinginbothhandsasmallleather box. He put it downgentlyonthetableandlookedat us with a queer gasp, wethought, as though he hadfrom some cause become

speechless for a moment, orwereethicallyuncertainaboutproducingthatbox.Butinaninstant the insolent andunerringwisdomofhisyouthgavehimtheneededcourage.He said, as he unlocked thebox with a very small key,"Lookas solemnasyoucan,youfellows."Probably we looked only

surprised and stupid, for heglanced over his shoulder,andsaidangrily—

"This is no play; I amgoing to do something forhim.Look serious.Confoundit!…Can'tyouliealittle…forafriend!"Karain seemed to take no

noticeofus,butwhenHollisthrewopenthelidof theboxhis eyes flew to it—and sodidours.Thequiltedcrimsonsatin of the inside put aviolent patch of colour intothe sombre atmosphere; itwas something positive to

lookat—itwasfascinating.

6Chapter

Hollislookedsmilingintothebox. He had lately made adashhomethroughtheCanal.He had been away sixmonths, and only joined usagainjustintimeforthislast

trip. We had never seen thebox before. His handshovered above it; and hetalkedtousironically,buthisface became as grave asthough he were pronouncinga powerful incantation overthethingsinside."Everyoneofus,"hesaid,

with pauses that somehowweremoreoffensive thanhiswords—"every one of us,you'll admit, has beenhaunted by some woman …

And … as to friends …dropped by the way …Well!…askyourselves…"He paused. Karain stared.

A deep rumble was heardhigh up under the deck.Jacksonspokeseriously—"Don't be so beastly

cynical.""Ah! You are without

guile," said Hollis, sadly."Youwill learn…Meantimethis Malay has been ourfriend…"

He repeated several timesthoughtfully, "Friend …Malay. Friend, Malay," asthough weighing the wordsagainst one another, thenwentonmorebriskly—"A good fellow—a

gentleman in his way. Wecan't, so to speak, turn ourbacks on his confidence andbeliefinus.ThoseMalaysareeasily impressed—all nerves,youknow—therefore…"Heturnedtomesharply.

"You know him best," hesaid, in a practical tone. "Doyou think he is fanatical—Imeanverystrictinhisfaith?"I stammered in profound

amazement that "I did notthinkso.""It'sonaccountofitsbeing

a likeness—an engravedimage," muttered Hollis,enigmatically, turning to thebox. He plunged his fingersinto it. Karain's lips wereparted and his eyes shone.

Welookedintothebox.There were there a couple

ofreelsofcotton,apacketofneedles, a bit of silk ribbon,dark blue; a cabinetphotograph, at which Hollisstoleaglancebeforelayingiton the table facedownwards.A girl's portrait, I could see.Therewere, amongst a lot ofvarioussmallobjects,abunchof flowers, a narrow whiteglove with many buttons, aslim packet of letters

carefully tied up.Amulets ofwhite men! Charms andtalismans! Charms that keepthemstraight,thatdrivethemcrooked, that have thepowertomakeayoungmansigh,anoldman smile. Potent thingsthat procure dreams of joy,thoughtsofregret;thatsoftenhardhearts,andcantemperasoft one to the hardness ofsteel.Giftsofheaven—thingsofearth…Hollis rummaged in the

box.And it seemed to me,

during that moment ofwaiting, that the cabin of theschoonerwasbecomingfilledwithastirinvisibleandlivingas of subtle breaths. All theghosts driven out of theunbelieving West by menwho pretend to be wise andalone and at peace—all thehomeless ghosts of anunbelievingworld—appearedsuddenly round the figure of

Hollis bending over the box;all the exiled and charmingshades of loved women; allthe beautiful and tenderghostsofideals,remembered,forgotten, cherished,execrated;allthecast-outandreproachful ghosts of friendsadmired, trusted, traduced,betrayed,leftdeadbytheway—they all seemed to comefrom the inhospitable regionsoftheearthtocrowdintothegloomy cabin, as though it

had been a refuge and, in allthe unbelieving world, theonly place of avengingbelief….Itlastedasecond—all disappeared. Hollis wasfacing us alone withsomethingsmallthatglitteredbetweenhisfingers.Itlookedlikeacoin."Ah!hereitis,"hesaid.He held it up. It was a

sixpence—aJubileesixpence.It was gilt; it had a holepunched near the rim. Hollis

lookedtowardsKarain."A charm for our friend,"

hesaidtous."Thethingitselfis of great power—money,you know—and hisimaginationisstruck.Aloyalvagabond; if only hispuritanism doesn't shy at alikeness…"We said nothing. We did

not know whether to bescandalized, amused, orrelieved. Hollis advancedtowardsKarain,whostoodup

as if startled, and then,holdingthecoinup,spokeinMalay."This is the image of the

Great Queen, and the mostpowerfulthingthewhitemenknow,"hesaid,solemnly.Karain covered the handle

ofhiskrissinsignofrespect,and stared at the crownedhead."The Invincible, the

Pious,"hemuttered."Sheismorepowerfulthan

Suleiman the Wise, whocommanded thegenii,asyouknow," said Hollis, gravely."Ishallgivethistoyou."Heheldthesixpenceinthe

palmofhishand,andlookingatitthoughtfully,spoketousinEnglish."She commands a spirit,

too—the spirit of her nation;a masterful, conscientious,unscrupulous, unconquerabledevil … that does a lot ofgood—incidentally…alotof

good … at times—andwouldn't stand any fuss fromthe best ghost out for such alittle thing as our friend'sshot. Don't lookthunderstruck, you fellows.Helpmetomakehimbelieve—everything'sinthat.""His people will be

shocked,"Imurmured.Hollis looked fixedly at

Karain, who was theincarnation of the veryessence of still excitement.

He stood rigid, with headthrown back; his eyes rolledwildly, flashing; the dilatednostrilsquivered."Hangitall!"saidHollisat

last,"he isagoodfellow. I'llgive him something that Ishallreallymiss."He took the ribbon out of

the box, smiled at itscornfully,thenwithapairofscissors cut out a piece fromthepalmoftheglove."I shall make him a thing

like those Italian peasantswear,youknow."He sewed the coin in the

delicate leather, sewed theleather to the ribbon, tied theends together. He workedwith haste. Karain watchedhisfingersallthetime."Nowthen,"hesaid—then

stepped up to Karain. Theylooked close into oneanother's eyes. Those ofKarainstaredinalostglance,but Hollis's seemed to grow

darker and looked outmasterful and compelling.Theywereinviolentcontrasttogether—onemotionlessandthe colour of bronze, theother dazzling white andlifting his arms, where thepowerful muscles rolledslightly under a skin thatgleamed like satin. Jacksonmoved nearwith the air of amanclosinguptoachuminatight place. I saidimpressively, pointing to

Hollis—"He is young, but he is

wise.Believehim!"Karain bent his head:

Hollis threw lightly over itthe dark-blue ribbon andsteppedback."Forget,andbeatpeace!"I

cried.Karain seemed towakeup

fromadream.Hesaid,"Ha!"shook himself as if throwingoff a burden. He lookedround with assurance.

Someoneondeckdraggedoffthe skylight cover, and aflood of light fell into thecabin. It was morningalready."Timetogoondeck,"said

Jackson.Hollis put on a coat, and

wewentup,Karainleading.The sun had risen beyond

the hills, and their longshadows stretched far overthe bay in the pearly light.The air was clear, stainless,

and cool. I pointed at thecurvedlineofyellowsands."He is not there," I said,

emphatically, to Karain. "Hewaits no more. He hasdepartedforever."A shaft of bright hot rays

darted into the bay betweenthesummitsof twohills,andthewaterall roundbrokeoutasifbymagicintoadazzlingsparkle."No! He is not there

waiting," saidKarain, after a

long look over the beach. "Idonothearhim,"hewenton,slowly."No!"Heturnedtous."He has departed again—

forever!"hecried.We assented vigorously,

repeatedly, and withoutcompunction.Thegreatthingwas to impress himpowerfully; to suggestabsolute safety—the end ofall trouble.We did our best;and I hope we affirmed our

faith in the power ofHollis'scharm efficiently enough toput the matter beyond theshadow of a doubt. Ourvoices rang around himjoyously in the still air, andabove his head the sky,pellucid, pure, stainless,arched its tender blue fromshore to shore and over thebay, as if to envelop thewater, theearth,and themaninthecaressofitslight.The anchor was up, the

sails hung still, and half-a-dozen big boats were seensweepingoverthebaytogiveusatowout.Thepaddlersinthe first one that camealongside lifted their headsand saw their ruler standingamongstus.Alowmurmurofsurprise arose—then a shoutofgreeting.He left us, and seemed

straightway to step into theglorious splendour of hisstage, towrap himself in the

illusion of unavoidablesuccess. For a moment hestooderect,onefootoverthegangway,onehandonthehiltofhiskriss,inamartialpose;and,relievedfromthefearofouter darkness, he held hishead high, he swept a serenelook over his conqueredfoothold on the earth. Theboats far off took up the cryof greeting; a great clamourrolled on the water; the hillsechoedit,andseemedtotoss

back at him the wordsinvoking long life andvictories.Hedescendedintoacanoe,

andassoonashewasclearofthe side we gave him threecheers. They sounded faintand orderly after the wildtumult of his loyal subjects,but it was the best we coulddo. He stood up in the boat,lifted up both his arms, thenpointed to the infalliblecharm. We cheered again;

and the Malays in the boatsstared—very much puzzledand impressed. I wonderedwhat they thought; what hethought; … what the readerthinks?We towed out slowly.We

saw him land and watch usfrom the beach. A figureapproached him humbly butopenly—notatalllikeaghostwith a grievance. We couldsee other men runningtowards him. Perhaps he had

been missed? At any ratetherewasagreatstir.Agroupformed itself rapidly nearhim,andhewalkedalongthesands,followedbyagrowingcortege and kept nearlyabreastoftheschooner.Withour glasses we could see theblueribbononhisneckandapatch of white on his brownchest. The bay was wakingup. The smokes of morningfires stood in faint spiralshigher than the heads of

palms; people movedbetweenthehouses;aherdofbuffaloes galloped clumsilyacross a green slope; theslender figures of boysbrandishing sticks appearedblackand leaping in the longgrass; a coloured line ofwomen, with water bambooson their heads, movedswayingthroughathingroveof fruit-trees.Karain stoppedin the midst of his men andwaved his hand; then,

detaching himself from thesplendidgroup,walkedalonetothewater'sedgeandwavedhishandagain.Theschoonerpassedouttoseabetweenthesteep headlands that shut inthe bay, and at the sameinstant Karain passed out ofourlifeforever.But the memory remains.

Some years afterwards I metJackson, in the Strand. Hewasmagnificent as ever.Hishead was high above the

crowd. His beard was gold,hisfacered,hiseyesblue;hehadawide-brimmedgrayhatandnocollarorwaistcoat;hewas inspiring; he had justcomehome—had landed thatveryday!Ourmeetingcausedan eddy in the current ofhumanity. Hurried peoplewould run against us, thenwalkroundus,andturnbacktolookatthatgiant.Wetriedto compress seven years oflife into seven exclamations;

then, suddenly appeased,walkedsedatelyalong,givingone another the news ofyesterday. Jackson gazedabout him, like a man wholooks for landmarks, thenstopped before Bland'swindow. He always had apassion for firearms; so hestopped short andcontemplated the row ofweapons, perfect and severe,drawnupinalinebehindtheblack-framed panes. I stood

byhisside.Suddenlyhesaid—"Do you remember

Karain?"Inodded."Thesightofall thismade

methinkofhim,"hewenton,withhisfaceneartheglass…and I could see anotherman,powerful and bearded,peering at him intently fromamongst the dark andpolished tubes that can cureso many illusions. "Yes; it

made me think of him," hecontinued, slowly. "I saw apaper this morning; they arefightingoverthereagain.He'ssuretobeinit.Hewillmakeithotforthecaballeros.Well,goodlucktohim,poordevil!Hewasperfectlystunning."Wewalkedon."I wonder whether the

charm worked—youremember Hollis's charm, ofcourse.Ifitdid…Neverwasa sixpence wasted to better

advantage! Poor devil! Iwonderwhetherhegotridofthatfriendofhis.Hopeso….Do you know, I sometimesthinkthat—"I stood still and looked at

him."Yes … I mean, whether

the thing was so, youknow … whether it reallyhappenedtohim….Whatdoyouthink?""My dear chap," I cried,

"youhavebeentoolongaway

from home.What a questiontoask!Onlylookatallthis."A watery gleam of

sunshine flashed from thewest and went out betweentwo long lines of walls; andthen the broken confusion ofroofs,thechimney-stacks,thegold letters sprawling overthe fronts of houses, thesombre polish of windows,stood resigned and sullenunder the falling gloom. Thewhole length of the street,

deep as a well and narrowlike a corridor, was full of asombre and ceaseless stir.Our ears were filled by aheadlong shuffle and beat ofrapid footsteps and by anunderlying rumour—arumour vast, faint, pulsating,as of panting breaths, ofbeating hearts, of gaspingvoices. Innumerable eyesstared straight in front, feetmoved hurriedly, blank facesflowed,armsswung.Overall,

a narrow ragged strip ofsmoky sky wound aboutbetween the high roofs,extendedandmotionless,likeasoiledstreamerflyingabovetheroutofamob."Ye-e-e-s," said Jackson,

meditatively.Thebigwheelsofhansoms

turned slowly along the edgeof side-walks; a pale-facedyouth strolled, overcome byweariness, by the side of hisstickandwith the tailsofhis

overcoat flappinggentlynearhis heels; horses steppedgingerly on the greasypavement, tossing theirheads;twoyounggirlspassedby, talking vivaciously andwith shining eyes; a fine oldfellow strutted, red-faced,stroking a white moustache;and a line of yellow boardswith blue letters on themapproachedusslowly,tossingon high behind one anotherlike some queer wreckage

adriftuponariverofhats."Ye-e-es," repeated

Jackson. His clear blue eyeslooked about, contemptuous,amused and hard, like theeyes of a boy. A clumsystring of red, yellow, andgreen omnibuses rolledswaying, monstrous andgaudy; two shabby childrenranacrosstheroad;aknotofdirty men with redneckerchiefs round their barethroats lurched along,

discussing filthily; a raggedold man with a face ofdespair yelled horribly in themud the name of a paper;while far off, amongst thetossing heads of horses, thedull flash of harnesses, thejumbleoflustrouspanelsandroofs of carriages, we couldsee a policeman, helmetedand dark, stretching out arigid arm at the crossing ofthestreets."Yes; I see it," said

Jackson,slowly."Itisthere;itpants, it runs, it rolls; it isstrong and alive; it wouldsmash you if you didn't lookout;but I'llbehanged if it isyetasrealtomeas…astheother thing … say, Karain'sstory."I think that, decidedly, he

hadbeentoolongawayfromhome.

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