The Rescue by Joseph Conrad Page B

silent over the talking group. His taciturnity was as
eloquent as the repeated warning of the slave of the feast. His flesh
had gone the way of all flesh, his spirit had sunk in the turmoil of his
past, but his immense and bony frame survived as if made of iron. His
hands trembled but his eyes were steady. He was supposed to know details
about the end of mysterious men and of mysterious enterprises. He was an
evident failure himself, but he was believed to know secrets that would
make the fortune of any man; yet there was also a general impression
that his knowledge was not of that nature which would make it profitable
for a moderately prudent person.
    This powerful skeleton, dressed in faded blue serge and without any kind
of linen, existed anyhow. Sometimes, if offered the job, he piloted
a home ship through the Straits of Rhio, after, however, assuring the
captain:
    "You don't want a pilot; a man could go through with his eyes shut. But
if you want me, I'll come. Ten dollars."
    Then, after seeing his charge clear of the last island of the group he
would go back thirty miles in a canoe, with two old Malays who seemed
to be in some way his followers. To travel thirty miles at sea under
the equatorial sun and in a cranky dug-out where once down you must not
move, is an achievement that requires the endurance of a fakir and the
virtue of a salamander. Ten dollars was cheap and generally he was in
demand. When times were hard he would borrow five dollars from any of
the adventurers with the remark:
    "I can't pay you back, very soon, but the girl must eat, and if you want
to know anything, I can tell you."
    It was remarkable that nobody ever smiled at that "anything." The usual
thing was to say:
    "Thank you, old man; when I am pushed for a bit of information I'll come
to you."
    Jorgenson nodded then and would say: "Remember that unless you young
chaps are like we men who ranged about here years ago, what I could tell
you would be worse than poison."
    It was from Jorgenson, who had his favourites with whom he was less
silent, that Lingard had heard of Darat-es-Salam, the "Shore of Refuge."
Jorgenson had, as he expressed it, "known the inside of that country
just after the high old times when the white-clad Padris preached and
fought all over Sumatra till the Dutch shook in their shoes." Only he
did not say "shook" and "shoes" but the above paraphrase conveys well
enough his contemptuous meaning. Lingard tried now to remember and piece
together the practical bits of old Jorgenson's amazing tales; but all
that had remained with him was an approximate idea of the locality and
a very strong but confused notion of the dangerous nature of its
approaches. He hesitated, and the brig, answering in her movements to
the state of the man's mind, lingered on the road, seemed to hesitate
also, swinging this way and that on the days of calm.
    It was just because of that hesitation that a big New York ship, loaded
with oil in cases for Japan, and passing through the Billiton passage,
sighted one morning a very smart brig being hove-to right in the
fair-way and a little to the east of Carimata. The lank skipper, in a
frock-coat, and the big mate with heavy moustaches, judged her almost
too pretty for a Britisher, and wondered at the man on board laying his
topsail to the mast for no reason that they could see. The big ship's
sails fanned her along, flapping in the light air, and when the brig was
last seen far astern she had still her mainyard aback as if waiting for
someone. But when, next day, a London tea-clipper passed on the same
track, she saw no pretty brig hesitating, all white and still at the
parting of the ways. All that night Lingard had talked with Hassim while
the stars streamed from east to west like an immense river of sparks
above their heads. Immada listened, sometimes exclaiming low, sometimes
holding her breath. She clapped her hands once. A faint dawn appeared.
    "You shall be treated like my father in the country," Hassim was