“Yes. He was afraid of it being lost in the setting.”
“I assure you he never gave the order. He may think he did, but he never
gave it. He stood there with me on the break of the poop after the
main topsail blew away, and whimpered about our last hope--positively
whimpered about it and nothing else--and the night coming on! To hear
one’s skipper go on like that in such weather was enough to drive any
fellow out of his mind. It worked me up into a sort of desperation. I
just took it into my own hands and went away from him, boiling, and--But
what’s the use telling you? _You_ know!... Do you think that if I
had not been pretty fierce with them I should have got the men to do
anything? Not I! The bo’s’n perhaps? Perhaps! It wasn’t a heavy sea--it
was a sea gone mad! I suppose the end of the world will be something
like that; and a man may have the heart to see it coming once and be
done with it--but to have to face it day after day--I don’t blame
anybody. I was precious little better than the rest. Only--I was an
officer of that old coal wagon, anyhow--”
“I quite understand,” I conveyed that sincere assurance into his ear.
He was out of breath with whispering; I could hear him pant slightly.
It was all very simple. The same strung-up force which had given
twenty-four men a chance, at least, for their lives, had, in a sort of
recoil, crushed an unworthy mutinous existence.
But I had no leisure to weigh the merits of the matter--footsteps in
the saloon, a heavy knock. “There’s enough wind to get under way with,
sir.” Here was the call of a new claim upon my thoughts and even upon my
feelings.
“Turn the hands up,” I cried through the door. “I’ll be on deck
directly.”
I was going out to make the acquaintance of my ship. Before I left
the cabin our eyes met--the eyes of the only two strangers on board. I
pointed to the recessed part where the little campstool awaited him and
laid my finger on my lips. He made a gesture--somewhat vague--a little
mysterious, accompanied by a faint smile, as if of regret.
This is not the place to enlarge upon the sensations of a man who feels
for the first time a ship move under his feet to his own independent
word. In my case they were not unalloyed. I was not wholly alone with my
command; for there was that stranger in my cabin. Or rather, I was
not completely and wholly with her. Part of me was absent. That mental
feeling of being in two places at once affected me physically as if the
mood of secrecy had penetrated my very soul. Before an hour had elapsed
since the ship had begun to move, having occasion to ask the mate (he
stood by my side) to take a compass bearing of the pagoda, I caught
myself reaching up to his ear in whispers. I say I caught myself, but
enough had escaped to startle the man. I can’t describe it otherwise
than by saying that he shied. A grave, preoccupied manner, as though he
were in possession of some perplexing intelligence, did not leave him
henceforth. A little later I moved away from the rail to look at the
compass with such a stealthy gait that the helmsman noticed it--and
I could not help noticing the unusual roundness of his eyes. These
are trifling instances, though it’s to no commander’s advantage to be
suspected of ludicrous eccentricities. But I was also more seriously
affected. There are to a seaman certain words, gestures, that should in
given conditions come as naturally, as instinctively as the winking of
a menaced eye. A certain order should spring on to his lips without
thinking; a certain sign should get itself made, so to speak, without
reflection. But all unconscious alertness had abandoned me. I had to
make an effort of will to recall myself back (from the cabin) to the
conditions of the moment. I felt that I was appearing an irresolute
commander to those people who were watching me more or less critically.
And, besides, there were the scares. On the second day out, for
instance, coming off the deck in the afternoon (I had straw slippers
on my bare feet) I stopped at the open pantry door and spoke to the
steward. He was doing something there with his back to me. At the sound
of my voice he nearly jumped out of his skin, as the saying is, and
incidentally broke a cup.
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” I asked, astonished.
He was extremely confused. “Beg your pardon, sir. I made sure you were
in your cabin.”
“You see I wasn’t.”
“No, sir. I could have sworn I had heard you moving in there not a
moment ago. It’s most extraordinary... very sorry, sir.”
I passed on with an inward shudder. I was so identified with my secret
double that I did not even mention the fact in those scanty, fearful
whispers we exchanged. I suppose he had made some slight noise of some
kind or other. It would have been miraculous if he hadn’t at one time
or another. And yet, haggard as he appeared, he looked always perfectly
self-controlled, more than calm--almost invulnerable. On my suggestion
he remained almost entirely in the bathroom, which, upon the whole,
was the safest place. There could be really no shadow of an excuse for
anyone ever wanting to go in there, once the steward had done with it.
It was a very tiny place. Sometimes he reclined on the floor, his legs
bent, his head sustained on one elbow. At others I would find him on the
campstool, sitting in his gray sleeping suit and with his cropped dark
hair like a patient, unmoved convict. At night I would smuggle him into
my bed place, and we would whisper together, with the regular footfalls
of the officer of the watch passing and repassing over our heads. It
was an infinitely miserable time. It was lucky that some tins of fine
preserves were stowed in a locker in my stateroom; hard bread I could
always get hold of; and so he lived on stewed chicken, _Pate de Foie
Gras_, asparagus, cooked oysters, sardines--on all sorts of abominable
sham delicacies out of tins. My early-morning coffee he always drank;
and it was all I dared do for him in that respect.
Every day there was the horrible maneuvering to go through so that my
room and then the bathroom should be done in the usual way. I came to
hate the sight of the steward, to abhor the voice of that harmless man.
I felt that it was he who would bring on the disaster of discovery. It
hung like a sword over our heads.
The fourth day out, I think (we were then working down the east side of
the Gulf of Siam, tack for tack, in light winds and smooth water)--the
fourth day, I say, of this miserable juggling with the unavoidable,
as we sat at our evening meal, that man, whose slightest movement I
dreaded, after putting down the dishes ran up on deck busily. This could
not be dangerous. Presently he came down again; and then it appeared
that he had remembered a coat of mine which I had thrown over a rail to
dry after having been wetted in a shower which had passed over the ship
in the afternoon. Sitting stolidly at the head of the table I became
terrified at the sight of the garment on his arm. Of course he made for
my door. There was no time to lose.
“Steward,” I thundered. My nerves were so shaken that I could not govern
my voice and conceal my agitation. This was the sort of thing that made
my terrifically whiskered mate tap his forehead with his forefinger.
I had detected him using that gesture while talking on deck with a
confidential air to the carpenter. It was too far to hear a word, but
I had no doubt that this pantomime could only refer to the strange new
captain.
“Yes, sir,” the pale-faced steward turned resignedly to me. It was this
maddening course of being shouted at, checked without rhyme or reason,
arbitrarily chased out of my cabin, suddenly called into it, sent flying
out of his pantry on incomprehensible errands, that accounted for the
growing wretchedness of his expression.
“Where are you going with that coat?”
“To your room, sir.”
“Is there another shower coming?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Shall I go up again and see, sir?”
“No! never mind.”
My object was attained, as of course my other self in there would have
heard everything that passed. During this interlude my two officers
never raised their eyes off their respective plates; but the lip of that
confounded cub, the second mate, quivered visibly.
I expected the steward to hook my coat on and come out at once. He was
very slow about it; but I dominated my nervousness sufficiently not
to shout after him. Suddenly I became aware (it could be heard plainly
enough) that the fellow for some reason or other was opening the door of
the bathroom. It was the end. The place was literally not big enough to
swing a cat in. My voice died in my throat and I went stony all over. I
expected to hear a yell of surprise and terror, and made a movement, but
had not the strength to get on my legs. Everything remained still. Had
my second self taken the poor wretch by the throat? I don’t know what I
could have done next moment if I had not seen the steward come out of my
room, close the door, and then stand quietly by the sideboard.
“Saved,” I thought. “But, no! Lost! Gone! He was gone!”
I laid my knife and fork down and leaned back in my chair. My head swam.
After a while, when sufficiently recovered to speak in a steady voice, I
instructed my mate to put the ship round at eight o’clock himself.
“I won’t come on deck,” I went on. “I think I’ll turn in, and unless the
wind shifts I don’t want to be disturbed before midnight. I feel a bit
seedy.”
“You did look middling bad a little while ago,” the chief mate remarked
without showing any great concern.
They both went out, and I stared at the steward clearing the table.
There was nothing to be read on that wretched man’s face. But why did he
avoid my eyes, I asked myself. Then I thought I should like to hear the
sound of his voice.
“Steward!”
“Sir!” Startled as usual.
“Where did you hang up that coat?”
“In the bathroom, sir.” The usual anxious tone. “It’s not quite dry yet,
sir.”
For some time longer I sat in the cuddy. Had my double vanished as
he had come? But of his coming there was an explanation, whereas his
disappearance would be inexplicable.... I went slowly into my dark
room, shut the door, lighted the lamp, and for a time dared not turn
round. When at last I did I saw him standing bolt-upright in the
narrow recessed part. It would not be true to say I had a shock, but an
irresistible doubt of his bodily existence flitted through my mind. Can
it be, I asked myself, that he is not visible to other eyes than mine?
It was like being haunted. Motionless, with a grave face, he raised his
hands slightly at me in a gesture which meant clearly, “Heavens! what
a narrow escape!” Narrow indeed. I think I had come creeping quietly as
near insanity as any man who has not actually gone over the border. That
gesture restrained me, so to speak.
The mate with the terrific whiskers was now putting the ship on the
other tack. In the moment of profound silence which follows upon the
hands going to their stations I heard on the poop his raised voice:
“Hard alee!” and the distant shout of the order repeated on the
main-deck. The sails, in that light breeze, made but a faint fluttering
noise. It ceased. The ship was coming round slowly: I held my breath
in the renewed stillness of expectation; one wouldn’t have thought
that there was a single living soul on her decks. A sudden brisk shout,
“Mainsail haul!” broke the spell, and in the noisy cries and rush
overhead of the men running away with the main brace we two, down in my
cabin, came together in our usual position by the bed place.
He did not wait for my question. “I heard him fumbling here and just
managed to squat myself down in the bath,” he whispered to me. “The
fellow only opened the door and put his arm in to hang the coat up. All
the same--”
“I never thought of that,” I whispered back, even more appalled than
before at the closeness of the shave, and marveling at that something
unyielding in his character which was carrying him through so finely.
There was no agitation in his whisper. Whoever was being driven
distracted, it was not he. He was sane. And the proof of his sanity was
continued when he took up the whispering again.
“It would never do for me to come to life again.”
It was something that a ghost might have said. But what he was alluding
to was his old captain’s reluctant admission of the theory of suicide.
It would obviously serve his turn--if I had understood at all the view
which seemed to govern the unalterable purpose of his action.
“You must maroon me as soon as ever you can get amongst these islands
off the Cambodge shore,” he went on.
“Maroon you! We are not living in a boy’s adventure tale,” I protested.
His scornful whispering took me up.
“We aren’t indeed! There’s nothing of a boy’s tale in this. But there’s
nothing else for it. I want no more. You don’t suppose I am afraid of
what can be done to me? Prison or gallows or whatever they may please.
But you don’t see me coming back to explain such things to an old fellow
in a wig and twelve respectable tradesmen, do you? What can they know
whether I am guilty or not--or of _what_ I am guilty, either? That’s my
affair. What does the Bible say? ‘Driven off the face of the earth.’
Very well, I am off the face of the earth now. As I came at night so I
shall go.”
“Impossible!” I murmured. “You can’t.”
“Can’t?... Not naked like a soul on the Day of Judgment. I shall
freeze on to this sleeping suit. The Last Day is not yet--and... you
have understood thoroughly. Didn’t you?”
I felt suddenly ashamed of myself. I may say truly that I
understood--and my hesitation in letting that man swim away from my
ship’s side had been a mere sham sentiment, a sort of cowardice.
“It can’t be done now till next night,” I breathed out. “The ship is on
the off-shore tack and the wind may fail us.”
“As long as I know that you understand,” he whispered. “But of course
you do. It’s a great satisfaction to have got somebody to understand.
You seem to have been there on purpose.” And in the same whisper, as if
we two whenever we talked had to say things to each other which were not
fit for the world to hear, he added, “It’s very wonderful.”
We remained side by side talking in our secret way--but sometimes
silent or just exchanging a whispered word or two at long intervals. And
as usual he stared through the port. A breath of wind came now and again
into our faces. The ship might have been moored in dock, so gently and
on an even keel she slipped through the water, that did not murmur even
at our passage, shadowy and silent like a phantom sea.
At midnight I went on deck, and to my mate’s great surprise put the
ship round on the other tack. His terrible whiskers flitted round me
in silent criticism. I certainly should not have done it if it had
been only a question of getting out of that sleepy gulf as quickly as
possible. I believe he told the second mate, who relieved him, that it
was a great want of judgment. The other only yawned. That intolerable
cub shuffled about so sleepily and lolled against the rails in such a
slack, improper fashion that I came down on him sharply.
“Aren’t you properly awake yet?”
“Yes, sir! I am awake.”
“Well, then, be good enough to hold yourself as if you were. And keep
a lookout. If there’s any current we’ll be closing with some islands
before daylight.”
The east side of the gulf is fringed with islands, some solitary, others
in groups. On the blue background of the high coast they seem to float
on silvery patches of calm water, arid and gray, or dark green and
rounded like clumps of evergreen bushes, with the larger ones, a mile
or two long, showing the outlines of ridges, ribs of gray rock under the
dark mantle of matted leafage. Unknown to trade, to travel, almost to
geography, the manner of life they harbor is an unsolved secret. There
must be villages--settlements of fishermen at least--on the largest
of them, and some communication with the world is probably kept up by
native craft. But all that forenoon, as we headed for them, fanned along
by the faintest of breezes, I saw no sign of man or canoe in the field
of the telescope I kept on pointing at the scattered group.
At noon I gave no orders for a change of course, and the mate’s whiskers
became much concerned and seemed to be offering themselves unduly to my
notice. At last I said:
“I am going to stand right in. Quite in--as far as I can take her.”
The stare of extreme surprise imparted an air of ferocity also to his
eyes, and he looked truly terrific for a moment.
“We’re not doing well in the middle of the gulf,” I continued, casually.
“I am going to look for the land breezes tonight.”
“Bless my soul! Do you mean, sir, in the dark amongst the lot of all
them islands and reefs and shoals?”
“Well--if there are any regular land breezes at all on this coast one
must get close inshore to find them, mustn’t one?”
“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed again under his breath. All that afternoon
he wore a dreamy, contemplative appearance which in him was a mark of
perplexity. After dinner I went into my stateroom as if I meant to take
some rest. There we two bent our dark heads over a half-unrolled chart
lying on my bed.
“There,” I said. “It’s got to be Koh-ring. I’ve been looking at it
ever since sunrise. It has got two hills and a low point. It must be
inhabited. And on the coast opposite there is what looks like the mouth
of a biggish river--with some towns, no doubt, not far up. It’s the best
chance for you that I can see.”
“Anything. Koh-ring let it be.”
He looked thoughtfully at the chart as if surveying chances and
distances from a lofty height--and following with his eyes his own
figure wandering on the blank land of Cochin-China, and then passing off
that piece of paper clean out of sight into uncharted regions. And it
was as if the ship had two captains to plan her course for her. I had
been so worried and restless running up and down that I had not had the
patience to dress that day. I had remained in my sleeping suit, with
straw slippers and a soft floppy hat. The closeness of the heat in
the gulf had been most oppressive, and the crew were used to seeing me
wandering in that airy attire.
“She will clear the south point as she heads now,” I whispered into his
ear. “Goodness only knows when, though, but certainly after dark. I’ll
edge her in to half a mile, as far as I may be able to judge in the
dark--”
“Be careful,” he murmured, warningly--and I realized suddenly that
all my future, the only future for which I was fit, would perhaps go
irretrievably to pieces in any mishap to my first command.
I could not stop a moment longer in the room. I motioned him to get out
of sight and made my way on the poop. That unplayful cub had the watch.
I walked up and down for a while thinking things out, then beckoned him
over.
“Send a couple of hands to open the two quarter-deck ports,” I said,
mildly.
He actually had the impudence, or else so forgot himself in his wonder
at such an incomprehensible order, as to repeat:
“Open the quarter-deck ports! What for, sir?”
“The only reason you need concern yourself about is because I tell you
to do so. Have them open wide and fastened properly.”
He reddened and went off, but I believe made some jeering remark to
the carpenter as to the sensible practice of ventilating a ship’s
quarter-deck. I know he popped into the mate’s cabin to impart the fact
to him because the whiskers came on deck, as it were by chance, and
stole glances at me from below--for signs of lunacy or drunkenness, I
suppose.
A little before supper, feeling more restless than ever, I rejoined,
for a moment, my second self. And to find him sitting so quietly was
surprising, like something against nature, inhuman.