menu_book Chapter 12

CHAPTER III A few weeks later, coming early one morning into Singapore from a journey to the southward, I saw the Brig lying at anchor, in all her usual symmetry and splendour of aspect, as though she had been taken out of a glass case and put delicately into the water that very moment. She was well out in the roadstead, but I steamed in and took up my habitual berth close

in front of the town. Before we had finished breakfast, a quartermaster came to tell me that Captain Allen's boat was coming our way. His smart gig dashed alongside, and in two bounds he was up our accommodation ladder and shaking me by the hand with his nervous grip, his eyes snapping inquisitively, for he supposed I had called at the Seven Isles group on my way. I reached into my pocket for a nicely folded little note, which he grabbed out of my hand without ceremony and

carried off on the bridge to read by himself. After a decent interval, I followed him up there and found him pacing to and fro, for the nature of his emotions made him restless even in his most thoughtful moments. He shook his head at me triumphantly. Well, my dear boy, he said, I shall be counting the days now. I understood what he meant. I knew that those young people had settled already on a runaway match with artificial preliminaries. This was really a

logical decision. Old Nelson or Nielsen would never have agreed to give up Freya peaceably to this compromising Jasper. Heavens! What would the Dutch authorities say to such a match? It sounded too ridiculous for words, but there's nothing in the word more selfishly hard than a timorous man in a fright about his little estate, as Old Nelson used to call it, in apologetic accents. A heart permeated by a particular sort of funk is proof against sense, feeling and

ridicule. It's a flint. Jasper would have made his request all the same and then taken his own way, but it was Freya who decided that nothing should be said, on the ground that Papa would only worry himself to distraction. He was capable of making himself ill, and then she wouldn't have the heart to leave him. Here you have the sanity of feminine outlook and the frankness of feminine reasoning. And for the rest, Miss Freya could read Poor Dear Papa in the way a woman reads a man,

like an open book. His daughter once gone, Old Nelson would not worry himself. He would raise a great outcry and make no end of lamentable fuss, but that's not the same thing. The real agonies of indecision, the anguish of conflicting feelings, would be spared to him. And as he was too unassuming to rage, he would, after a period of lamentation, devote himself to his little estate and to keeping on good terms with the authorities. Time would do the rest. And Freya thought she

could afford to wait while ruling over her own home in the beautiful brig and over the man who loved her. This was the life for her who had learned to walk on a ship's deck. She was a ship child, a ship girl if ever there was one. And of course she loved Jasper and trusted him, but there was a shade of anxiety in her pride. It is very fine and romantic to possess for your very own a finely tempered and trusty sword blade, but whether it is the best weapon to counter with the

common cudgel play of fate, that's another question. She knew that she had the more substance of the two. You needn't try any cheap jokes, I'm not talking of their weights. She was just a little anxious while he was away, and she had me, who, being a tried confidant, took the liberty to whisper frequently the sooner the better. But there was a peculiar vein of obstinacy in Miss Freya, and her reason for delay was characteristic. Not before my twenty-first birthday, so that there

should be no mistake in people's minds as to me being old enough to know what I am doing. Jasper's feelings were in such subjection that he had never even remonstrated against the decree. She was just splendid, whatever she did or said, and there was an end of it for him. I believe that he was subtle enough to be even flattered at bottom, at times. And then, to console him, he had the brig, which seemed pervaded by the spirit of Freya, since whatever

he did on board was always done under the supreme sanction of his love. Yes, I'll soon begin to count the days, he repeated. Eleven months more. I'll have to crowd three trips into that. Mind you, don't come to grief trying to do too much, I admonished him. But he dismissed my caution with a laugh and an elated gesture. Poor, nothing! Nothing could happen to the brig, he cried, as if the flame of his heart could light

up the dark nights of uncharted seas, and the image of Freya served for an unerring beacon amongst hidden shoals, as if the winds had to wait on his future, the stars fight for it in their courses, as if the magic of his passion had the power to float a ship on a drop of dew or sail it through the eye of a needle, simply because it was her magnificent lot to be the servant of a love so full of grace as to make all the ways of the earth safe, resplendent and easy.

I suppose, I said, after he had finished laughing at my innocent enough remark, I suppose you'll be off today. That was what he meant to do. He had not gone at daylight, only because he expected me to come in. And don't you fancy what has happened yesterday, he went on. My maid left me suddenly. Had to. And as there's nobody to be found at a short notice, I'm going to take Shultz with me. The notorious Shultz. Why don't you jump out of your skin?

I tell you, I went and unearthed Shultz late last evening, after no end of trouble. I'm your man, Captain, he says, in that wonderful voice of his. But I am sorry to confess I have practically no clothes to my back. I have had to sell all my wardrobe to get little food from day to day. What a voice that man has got. Talk about moving stones. But people seem to get used to it. I had never seen him before, and upon my word I felt suddenly tears rising to my eyes. Luckily,

it was dusk. He was sitting very quiet under a tree, in a native compound as thin as a lath, and when I peered down at him, all he had on was an old cotton singlet and a pair of ragged pyjamas. I bought him six white suits and two pairs of canvas shoes. Can't clear the ship without a mate. Must have somebody. I'm going on shore presently to sign him on, and I shall take him with me as I go back on board to get under way. Now, I am a lunatic. Am I not? Mad, of course. Come on. Lay

it on thick. Let yourself go. I like to see you get excited. He so evidently expected me to scold that I took a special pleasure in exaggerating the calmness of my attitude. The worst that can be brought up against Schultz, I began, folding my arms and speaking dispassionately, is an awkward habit of stealing the stores of every ship he has ever been in. He will do it. That's really all that's wrong. I don't credit absolutely that story Captain Robinson tells of Schultz conspiring in

Shantabun with some ruffians in a Chinese junk to steal the anchor off the starboard bow of the Bohemian girl schooner. Robinson's story is too ingenious altogether. That other tale of the engineers of the Nanshan finding Schultz at midnight in the engine room, busy hammering at the brass bearings to carry them off for sale on shore seems to me more authentic. Apart from this little weakness, let me tell you that Schultz is a smarter sailor than many who

never took a drop of drink in their lives, and perhaps no worse morally than some men you and I know who have never stolen the value of a penny. He may not be a desirable person to have on board one ship, but since you have no choice, he may be made to do, I believe. The important thing is to understand his psychology. Don't give him any money till you have done with him. Not a cent, if he begs ever so. For as sure as fate, the moment you give him any money, he will begin to

steal. Just remember that. I enjoyed Jasper's incredulous surprise. The devil he will, he cried. What on earth for? Aren't you trying to pull my leg, old boy? No, I'm not. You must understand Schultz's psychology. He's neither a loafer nor a cadger. He's not likely to wander about looking for somebody to stand him drinks. But suppose he goes onshore with five dollars, or fifty for that matter, in his pocket. After the third or fourth

glass, he becomes fuddled and charitable. He either drops his money all over the place or else distributes the lot around, gives it to anyone who will take it. Then it occurs to him that the night is young yet, and that he may require a good many more drinks for himself and his friends before morning. So he starts off cheerfully for his ship. His legs never get affected, nor his head either in the usual way. He gets aboard and simply grabs the first thing that seems to him suitable,

the cabin lamp, a coil of rope, a bag of biscuits, a drum of oil, and converts it into money without thinking twice about it. This is the process and no other. You have only to look out that he doesn't get a start, that's all. Confound his psychology, muttered Jasper. But a man with a voice like his is fit to talk to the angels. Is he incurable, do you think? I said that I thought so. Nobody had prosecuted him yet,

but no one would employ him any longer. His end would be, I feared, to starve in some hole or other. Ah well, reflected Jasper. The Bonito isn't trading to any ports of civilization. That'll make it easier for him to keep straight. That was true. The brig's business was on uncivilized coasts, with obscure Rajahs dwelling in nearly unknown bays, with native settlements up mysterious rivers opening their sombre forest-lined estuaries among a welter of pale green reefs and dazzling sand

banks, in lonely straits of calm blue water, all a glitter with sunshine. Alone, far from the beaten tracks, she glided, all white, round dark frowning headlands, stole out, silent like a ghost, from behind points of land stretching out all black in the moonlight, or lay hove too, like a sleeping sea-bird, under the shadow of some nameless mountain, waiting for a signal. She would be glimpsed suddenly on misty squally days, dashing disdainfully aside the short

aggressive waves of the Java Sea, or be seen far, far away, a tiny dazzling white speck, flying across the brooding purple masses of thunderclouds piled up on the horizon. Sometimes, on the rear mail tracks, where civilization brushes against wild mystery, when the naive passengers crowding along the rail exclaimed, pointing at her with interest, Oh, here's a yacht! the Dutch captain, with a hostile glance, would grunt contemptuously,

yacht! No, that's only English Jasper, a peddler. A good seaman, you say, ejaculated Jasper, still in the matter of the hopeless Schultz, with the wonderfully touching voice. First rate, ask anyone, quite worth having, only impossible, I declared. He shall have his chance to reform in the brig, said Jasper, There will be no temptations either to drink or steal where I am going to this time.

I didn't press him for anything more definite on that point. In fact, intimate as we were, I had a pretty clear notion of the general run of his business. But as we were going ashore in his gig, he asked suddenly, By the way, do you know where Heemskirk is? I eyed him covertly, and was reassured. He had asked the question not as a lover, but as a trader. I told him that I had heard in Palembang that the Nepchen was on duty down about Flores in Tsumbawa, quite out of

his way. He expressed his satisfaction. You know, he went on, that fellow, when he gets on the Borneo coast, amuses himself by knocking down my beacons. I've had to put up a few to help me in and out of the rivers. Early this year a Salibi's trader becalmed in a prow as watching him at it. He steamed the gumboat full-tilted to them, one after another, smashing them to pieces, and then lowered a boat on purpose to pull out a third, which I had a lot of trouble six months

ago to stick up in the middle of a mudflat for a tide-mart. Did you ever hear of anything more provoking, eh? I wouldn't quarrel with the beggar, I observed casually, yet disliking that piece of news strongly. It isn't worth while. I quarrel, cried Jasper. I don't want to quarrel. I don't want to hurt a single hair of his ugly head. My dear fellow, when I think of Freya's 21st birthday, all the world's, my friend, Eameskirk included. It's a nasty spiteful amusement all the same.

We parted rather hurriedly on the quay, each of us having his own pressing business to attend to. I would have been very much cut up if I had known that this hurried grasp of the hand with so long, oh boy, good luck to you, was the last of our partings. On his returns to the Straits I was away and he was gone again before I got back. He was trying to achieve three trips before Freya's 21st birthday. At Nelson's Cove I missed him again by only a couple of days. Freya and I

talked of that lunatic and perfect idiot with great delight and infinite appreciation. She was very radiant with a more pronounced gaiety notwithstanding that she had just parted from Jasper, but this was to be their last separation. Do get aboard as soon as you can, Miss Freya, I entreated. She looked me straight in the face, her colour a little heightened and with a sort of solemn ardour, if there was a little catch in her voice. The very next day. Ah yes, the very next

day after her 21st birthday. I was pleased at this hint of deep feeling. It was as if she had grown impatient at last of the self-imposed delay. I suppose that Jasper's recent visit had told heavily. That's right, I said approvingly. I should be much easier in my mind when I know you have taken charge of that lunatic. Don't you lose a minute? He, of course, will be on time unless heavens fail. Yes, unless, she repeated in a thoughtful whisper, racing her eyes to the evening sky without a speck

of cloud anywhere. Silent for a time, we let our eyes wander over the waters below, looking mysteriously still in the twilight, as if trustfully composed for a long, long dream in the warm tropical night. And the peace all round us seemed without limits and without end. And then we began again to talk Jasper over in our usual strain. We agreed that he was too reckless in many ways. Luckily, the brig was equal to the situation. Nothing apparently was too much for her.

A perfect darling, Evership said Miss Freyer. She and her father had spent an afternoon on board. Jasper had given them some tea. Papa was grumpy. I had a vision of old Nelson under the brig's snowy awnings, nursing his unassuming vexation and fanning himself with his hat. A comedy, father. As a new instance of Jasper's lunacy, I was told that he was distressed at his inability to have solid silver handles fitted to all the cabin doors. As if I would have let him, commented Miss Freyer

with amused indignation. Incidentally, I learned also that Schultz, the nautical kleptomaniac with the pathetic voice, was still hanging on to his job with Miss Freyer's approval. Jasper had confided to the lady of his heart his purpose of straightening out the fellow's psychology. Yes, indeed. All the world was his friend because it breathed the same air with Freyer. Somehow or other, I brought Hiemskirk's name into conversation and, to my great surprise,

startled Miss Freyer. Her eyes expressed something like distressed, while she bit her lip as if to contain an explosion of laughter. Oh, yes, Hiemskirk was at the bungalow at the same time with Jasper, but he arrived the day after. He left the same day as the brig, but a few hours later. What a nuisance he must have been to you too, I said feelingly. Her eyes flashed at me a sort of frightened merriment, and suddenly she exploded into a clear burst of laughter.

I echoed it heartily, but not with the same charming tone. Isn't he grotesque? And the ludicrousness of old Nelson's inanely fierce round eyes, in association with his conciliatory manner to the lieutenant, presenting itself to my mind, brought on another fit. He looks, I spluttered, he looks amongst you three like an unhappy black beetle. She gave out another ringing peal, ran off into her own room, and slammed the door behind

her, leaving me profoundly astounded. I stopped laughing at once. What's the joke? asked old Nelson's voice, half way down the steps. He came up, sat down, and blew out his cheeks, looking inexpressibly fatuous. But I didn't want to laugh any more, and what on earth, I asked myself, have we been laughing at in this uncontrollable fashion? I felt suddenly depressed. Oh yes, fryer had started it, the girls over-roared, I thought,

and really one couldn't wonder at it. I had no answer to old Nelson's question, but he was too aggrieved at Jasper's visit to think of anything else. He as good as asked me whether I wouldn't undertake to hint to Jasper that he was not wanted at the Seven Isles group. I declared that it was not necessary. From certain circumstances which had come to my knowledge lately, I had reason to think that he would not be much troubled by Jasper Allen in the future.

He admitted an earnest thank God, which nearly set me laughing again, but he did not brighten up proportionately. It seemed Heemskerk had taken special pains to make himself disagreeable. The lieutenant had frightened old Nelson very much by expressing a sinister wonder at the government permitting a white man to settle down in that part at all. It is against our declared policy, he had remarked. He had also charged him with being,

in reality, no better than an Englishman. He had even tried to pick a quarrel with him for not learning to speak Dutch. I told him I was too old to learn now, sighed out old Nelson, old Nielsen dismally. He said I ought to have learned Dutch long before. I had been making my living in Dutch dependencies. It was disgraceful of me not to speak Dutch, he said. He was as savage with me as if I had been a Chinaman. It was plain he had been viciously badgered.

He did not mention how many bottles of his best clarity he had offered up on the altar of conciliation. It must have been a generous libation. But old Nelson or Nielsen was really hospitable. He didn't mind that, and I only regretted that this virtue should be lavished on the Lieutenant-Commander of the Neptune. I longed to tell him that in all probability he would be relieved from Hiemskirk's visitations also. I did not do so only from the fear, absurd,

I admit, of arousing some sort of suspicion in his mind. As if with this guileless comedy father such a thing were possible. Strangely enough, the last words on the subject of Hiemskirk were spoken by Freya, and in that very sense. The Lieutenant was turning up persistently in old Nelson's conversation at dinner. At last I mattered a half audible. Damn the Lieutenant! I could see that the girl was getting exasperated too.

And he wasn't well at all, was he, Freya? Old Nelson went on moaning. Perhaps it was that which made him so snappish, eh, Freya? He looked very bad when he left us so suddenly. His liver must be in a bad state too. Oh, he will end by getting over it, said Freya impatiently. And do live off worrying about him, papa. Very likely you won't see much of him for a long time to come. The look she gave me in exchange for my discreet smile had no hidden mirth in it.

Her eyes seemed hollowed, her face gone worn in a couple of hours. We had been laughing too much, overwrought, overwrought by the approach of the decisive moment. After all, sincere, courageous, and self-reliant as she was, she must have felt both the passion and the compunction of her resolve. The very strength of love which had carried her up to that point must have put her under a great moral strain, in which there might have been a little simple remorse too. For she was honest,

and there across the table sat poor old Nelson, staring at her, round-eyed, and so pathetically comic in his fierce aspect as to touch the most lightsome heart. He retired early to his room to soothe himself for a night's rest by perusing his account books. We too remained on the veranda for another hour or so, but we exchanged only languid phrases on things without importance, as though we had been emotionally jaded by her long day's talk on the only momentous subject. And yet there was

something she might have told a friend, but she didn't. We parted silently. She distrusted my masculine lack of common sense, perhaps. Oh Freya! Going down the precipitous path to the landing stage, I was confronted in the shadows of boulders and bushes by a draped feminine figure whose appearance startled me at first. It glided into my way suddenly from behind a piece of rock, but in a moment it occurred to me that it could be no one else but Freya's maid,

a half-caste Malacca Portuguese. One caught fleeting glimpses of her olive face and dazzling white teeth about the house. I had observed her at times from a distance, as she sat within call under the shade of some fruit trees, brushing and plaiting her long raven logs. It seemed to be the principal occupation of her leisure hours. We had often exchanged nods and smiles, and a few words, too. She was a pretty creature, and once I had watched her approvingly making funny and

expressive grimaces behind Hiems Kirk's back. I understood from Jasper that she was in the secret, like a comedy camarista. She was to accompany Freya on her irregular way to matrimony and ever after happiness. Why should she be roaming by night near the cove, unless on some love affair of her own? I asked myself. But there was nobody suitable within the Seven Isles group, as far as I knew. It flashed upon me that it was myself she had been lying

in wait for. She hesitated, muffled from head to foot, shadowy and bashful. I advanced another pace, and how I felt is nobody's business. What is it? I asked very low. Nobody knows I am here, she whispered. And nobody can see us, I whispered back. The murmur of words, I've been so frightened, reached me. Just then, forty feet above our head, from the yet lighted veranda, unexpected and startling, Freya's voice rang out in a clear,

imperious call, ANTONIA! With a stifled exclamation, the hesitating girl vanished out of the path. A bush nearby rustled, then silence. I waited, wondering. The lights on the veranda went out. I waited a while longer, then continued down the path to my boat, wondering more than ever. I remember the occurrence of that visit especially, because this was the last time I saw the Nelson bungalow. On arriving at the Straits,

I found cable messages which made it necessary for me to throw up my employment at a moment's notice and go home at once. I had a desperate scramble to catch the mailboat, which was due to leave next day, but I found time to write two short notes, one to Freya, the other to Jasper. Later on, I wrote at length, this time to Alan alone. I got no answer. I hunted up then his brother, or rather half-brother, a solicitor in the city, a sallow, calm little man who looked

at me over his spectacles thoughtfully. Jasper was the only child of his father's second marriage, a transaction which had failed to commend itself to the first grown-up family. You haven't heard for ages, I repeated with secret annoyance. May I ask what for ages means in this connection? It means that I don't care whether I ever hear from him or not, retorted the little man of law, turning nasty suddenly.

I could not blame Jasper for not wasting his time in correspondence with such an outrageous relative. But why didn't he write to me, a decent sort of friend, after all? Enough of a friend to find for his silence the excuse of forgetfulness, natural to a state of transcendental bliss. I waited indulgently, but nothing ever came, and the East seemed to drop out of my life without an echo, like a stone falling into a well of prodigious depth.

End of chapter 3