uneven skin after smart lipo

-chapter 20 'late in the evening i entered his study,after traversing an imposing but empty dining-room very dimly lit.the house was silent. i was preceded by an elderly grim javaneseservant in a sort of livery of white jacket and yellow sarong, who, after throwing thedoor open, exclaimed low, "o master!" and stepping aside, vanished in a mysterious way as though he had been a ghost onlymomentarily embodied for that particular service. stein turned round with the chair, and inthe same movement his spectacles seemed to

get pushed up on his forehead.he welcomed me in his quiet and humorous voice. only one corner of the vast room, thecorner in which stood his writing-desk, was strongly lighted by a shaded reading-lamp,and the rest of the spacious apartment melted into shapeless gloom like a cavern. narrow shelves filled with dark boxes ofuniform shape and colour ran round the walls, not from floor to ceiling, but in asombre belt about four feet broad. catacombs of beetles. wooden tablets were hung above at irregularintervals.

the light reached one of them, and the wordcoleoptera written in gold letters glittered mysteriously upon a vast dimness. the glass cases containing the collectionof butterflies were ranged in three long rows upon slender-legged little tables. one of these cases had been removed fromits place and stood on the desk, which was bestrewn with oblong slips of paperblackened with minute handwriting. '"so you see me--so," he said. his hand hovered over the case where abutterfly in solitary grandeur spread out dark bronze wings, seven inches or moreacross, with exquisite white veinings and a

gorgeous border of yellow spots. "only one specimen like this they have inyour london, and then--no more. to my small native town this my collectioni shall bequeath. something of me. the best."'he bent forward in the chair and gazed intently, his chin over the front of thecase. i stood at his back. "marvellous," he whispered, and seemed toforget my presence. his history was curious.

he had been born in bavaria, and when ayouth of twenty-two had taken an active part in the revolutionary movement of 1848. heavily compromised, he managed to make hisescape, and at first found a refuge with a poor republican watchmaker in trieste. from there he made his way to tripoli witha stock of cheap watches to hawk about,-- not a very great opening truly, but itturned out lucky enough, because it was there he came upon a dutch traveller--a rather famous man, i believe, but i don'tremember his name. it was that naturalist who, engaging him asa sort of assistant, took him to the east.

they travelled in the archipelago togetherand separately, collecting insects and birds, for four years or more. then the naturalist went home, and stein,having no home to go to, remained with an old trader he had come across in hisjourneys in the interior of celebes--if celebes may be said to have an interior. this old scotsman, the only white manallowed to reside in the country at the time, was a privileged friend of the chiefruler of wajo states, who was a woman. i often heard stein relate how that chap,who was slightly paralysed on one side, had introduced him to the native court a shorttime before another stroke carried him off.

he was a heavy man with a patriarchal whitebeard, and of imposing stature. he came into the council-hall where all therajahs, pangerans, and headmen were assembled, with the queen, a fat wrinkledwoman (very free in her speech, stein said), reclining on a high couch under acanopy. he dragged his leg, thumping with hisstick, and grasped stein's arm, leading him right up to the couch. "look, queen, and you rajahs, this is myson," he proclaimed in a stentorian voice. "i have traded with your fathers, and wheni die he shall trade with you and your sons."

'by means of this simple formality steininherited the scotsman's privileged position and all his stock-in-trade,together with a fortified house on the banks of the only navigable river in thecountry. shortly afterwards the old queen, who wasso free in her speech, died, and the country became disturbed by variouspretenders to the throne. stein joined the party of a younger son,the one of whom thirty years later he never spoke otherwise but as "my poor mohammedbonso." they both became the heroes of innumerableexploits; they had wonderful adventures, and once stood a siege in the scotsman'shouse for a month, with only a score of

followers against a whole army. i believe the natives talk of that war tothis day. meantime, it seems, stein never failed toannex on his own account every butterfly or beetle he could lay hands on. after some eight years of war,negotiations, false truces, sudden outbreaks, reconciliation, treachery, andso on, and just as peace seemed at last permanently established, his "poor mohammed bonso" was assassinated at the gate of hisown royal residence while dismounting in the highest spirits on his return from asuccessful deer-hunt.

this event rendered stein's positionextremely insecure, but he would have stayed perhaps had it not been that a shorttime afterwards he lost mohammed's sister ("my dear wife the princess," he used to say solemnly), by whom he had had adaughter--mother and child both dying within three days of each other from someinfectious fever. he left the country, which this cruel losshad made unbearable to him. thus ended the first and adventurous partof his existence. what followed was so different that, butfor the reality of sorrow which remained with him, this strange part must haveresembled a dream.

he had a little money; he started lifeafresh, and in the course of years acquired a considerable fortune. at first he had travelled a good dealamongst the islands, but age had stolen upon him, and of late he seldom left hisspacious house three miles out of town, with an extensive garden, and surrounded by stables, offices, and bamboo cottages forhis servants and dependants, of whom he had many. he drove in his buggy every morning totown, where he had an office with white and chinese clerks.

he owned a small fleet of schooners andnative craft, and dealt in island produce on a large scale. for the rest he lived solitary, but notmisanthropic, with his books and his collection, classing and arrangingspecimens, corresponding with entomologists in europe, writing up a descriptivecatalogue of his treasures. such was the history of the man whom i hadcome to consult upon jim's case without any definite hope. simply to hear what he would have to saywould have been a relief. i was very anxious, but i respected theintense, almost passionate, absorption with

which he looked at a butterfly, as thoughon the bronze sheen of these frail wings, in the white tracings, in the gorgeous markings, he could see other things, animage of something as perishable and defying destruction as these delicate andlifeless tissues displaying a splendour unmarred by death. '"marvellous!" he repeated, looking up atme. "look!the beauty--but that is nothing--look at the accuracy, the harmony. and so fragile!and so strong!

and so exact!this is nature--the balance of colossal forces. every star is so--and every blade of grassstands so--and the mighty kosmos il perfect equilibrium produces--this.this wonder; this masterpiece of nature-- the great artist." '"never heard an entomologist go on likethis," i observed cheerfully. "masterpiece!and what of man?" '"man is amazing, but he is not amasterpiece," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the glass case."perhaps the artist was a little mad.

eh? what do you think?sometimes it seems to me that man is come where he is not wanted, where there is noplace for him; for if not, why should he want all the place? why should he run about here and theremaking a great noise about himself, talking about the stars, disturbing the blades ofgrass?..." '"catching butterflies," i chimed in. 'he smiled, threw himself back in hischair, and stretched his legs. "sit down," he said."i captured this rare specimen myself one

very fine morning. and i had a very big emotion.you don't know what it is for a collector to capture such a rare specimen.you can't know." 'i smiled at my ease in a rocking-chair. his eyes seemed to look far beyond the wallat which they stared; and he narrated how, one night, a messenger arrived from his"poor mohammed," requiring his presence at the "residenz"--as he called it--which was distant some nine or ten miles by a bridle-path over a cultivated plain, with patches of forest here and there.

early in the morning he started from hisfortified house, after embracing his little emma, and leaving the "princess," his wife,in command. he described how she came with him as faras the gate, walking with one hand on the neck of his horse; she had on a whitejacket, gold pins in her hair, and a brown leather belt over her left shoulder with arevolver in it. "she talked as women will talk," he said,"telling me to be careful, and to try to get back before dark, and what a greatwikedness it was for me to go alone. we were at war, and the country was notsafe; my men were putting up bullet-proof shutters to the house and loading theirrifles, and she begged me to have no fear

for her. she could defend the house against anybodytill i returned. and i laughed with pleasure a little.i liked to see her so brave and young and strong. i too was young then.at the gate she caught hold of my hand and gave it one squeeze and fell back. i made my horse stand still outside till iheard the bars of the gate put up behind me. there was a great enemy of mine, a greatnoble--and a great rascal too--roaming with

a band in the neighbourhood. i cantered for four or five miles; therehad been rain in the night, but the musts had gone up, up--and the face of the earthwas clean; it lay smiling to me, so fresh and innocent--like a little child. suddenly somebody fires a volley--twentyshots at least it seemed to me. i hear bullets sing in my ear, and my hatjumps to the back of my head. it was a little intrigue, you understand. they got my poor mohammed to send for meand then laid that ambush. i see it all in a minute, and i think--thiswants a little management.

my pony snort, jump, and stand, and i fallslowly forward with my head on his mane. he begins to walk, and with one eye i couldsee over his neck a faint cloud of smoke hanging in front of a clump of bamboos tomy left. i think--aha! my friends, why you not waitlong enough before you shoot? this is not yet gelungen.oh no! i get hold of my revolver with my righthand--quiet--quiet. after all, there were only seven of theserascals. they get up from the grass and startrunning with their sarongs tucked up, waving spears above their heads, andyelling to each other to look out and catch

the horse, because i was dead. i let them come as close as the door here,and then bang, bang, bang--take aim each time too.one more shot i fire at a man's back, but i miss. too far already.and then i sit alone on my horse with the clean earth smiling at me, and there arethe bodies of three men lying on the ground. one was curled up like a dog, another onhis back had an arm over his eyes as if to keep off the sun, and the third man hedraws up his leg very slowly and makes it

with one kick straight again. i watch him very carefully from my horse,but there is no more--bleibt ganz ruhig-- keep still, so. and as i looked at his face for some signof life i observed something like a faint shadow pass over his forehead.it was the shadow of this butterfly. look at the form of the wing. this species fly high with a strong flight.i raised my eyes and i saw him fluttering away.i think--can it be possible? and then i lost him.

i dismounted and went on very slow, leadingmy horse and holding my revolver with one hand and my eyes darting up and down andright and left, everywhere! at last i saw him sitting on a small heapof dirt ten feet away. at once my heart began to beat quick. i let go my horse, keep my revolver in onehand, and with the other snatch my soft felt hat off my head.one step. steady. another step.flop! i got him!

when i got up i shook like a leaf withexcitement, and when i opened these beautiful wings and made sure what a rareand so extraordinary perfect specimen i had, my head went round and my legs became so weak with emotion that i had to sit onthe ground. i had greatly desired to possess myself ofa specimen of that species when collecting for the professor. i took long journeys and underwent greatprivations; i had dreamed of him in my sleep, and here suddenly i had him in myfingers--for myself! in the words of the poet" (he pronounced it"boet")--

"'so halt' ich's endlich denn in meinenhanden, und nenn' es in gewissem sinne mein.'" he gave to the last word the emphasis of asuddenly lowered voice, and withdrew his eyes slowly from my face. he began to charge a long-stemmed pipebusily and in silence, then, pausing with his thumb on the orifice of the bowl,looked again at me significantly. '"yes, my good friend. on that day i had nothing to desire; i hadgreatly annoyed my principal enemy; i was young, strong; i had friendship; i had thelove" (he said "lof") "of woman, a child i

had, to make my heart very full--and even what i had once dreamed in my sleep hadcome into my hand too!" 'he struck a match, which flared violently.his thoughtful placid face twitched once. '"friend, wife, child," he said slowly,gazing at the small flame--"phoo!" the match was blown out.he sighed and turned again to the glass case. the frail and beautiful wings quiveredfaintly, as if his breath had for an instant called back to life that gorgeousobject of his dreams. '"the work," he began suddenly, pointing tothe scattered slips, and in his usual

gentle and cheery tone, "is making greatprogress. i have been this rare specimendescribing....na! and what is your good news?" '"to tell you the truth, stein," i saidwith an effort that surprised me, "i came here to describe a specimen...."'"butterfly?" he asked, with an unbelieving and humorous eagerness. '"nothing so perfect," i answered, feelingsuddenly dispirited with all sorts of doubts."a man!" '"ach so!" he murmured, and his smilingcountenance, turned to me, became grave.

then after looking at me for a while hesaid slowly, "well--i am a man too." 'here you have him as he was; he knew howto be so generously encouraging as to make a scrupulous man hesitate on the brink ofconfidence; but if i did hesitate it was not for long. 'he heard me out, sitting with crossedlegs. sometimes his head would disappearcompletely in a great eruption of smoke, and a sympathetic growl would come out fromthe cloud. when i finished he uncrossed his legs, laiddown his pipe, leaned forward towards me earnestly with his elbows on the arms ofhis chair, the tips of his fingers

together. '"i understand very well.he is romantic." 'he had diagnosed the case for me, and atfirst i was quite startled to find how simple it was; and indeed our conferenceresembled so much a medical consultation-- stein, of learned aspect, sitting in an arm-chair before his desk; i, anxious, inanother, facing him, but a little to one side--that it seemed natural to ask--'"what's good for it?" 'he lifted up a long forefinger. '"there is only one remedy!one thing alone can us from being ourselves

cure!"the finger came down on the desk with a smart rap. the case which he had made to look sosimple before became if possible still simpler--and altogether hopeless.there was a pause. "yes," said i, "strictly speaking, thequestion is not how to get cured, but how to live."'he approved with his head, a little sadly as it seemed. "ja! ja!in general, adapting the words of your great poet: that is the question...."he went on nodding sympathetically...."how

to be! ach!how to be." 'he stood up with the tips of his fingersresting on the desk. '"we want in so many different ways to be,"he began again. "this magnificent butterfly finds a littleheap of dirt and sits still on it; but man he will never on his heap of mud keepstill. he want to be so, and again he want to beso...." he moved his hand up, then down.... "he wants to be a saint, and he wants to bea devil--and every time he shuts his eyes

he sees himself as a very fine fellow--sofine as he can never be....in a dream...." 'he lowered the glass lid, the automaticlock clicked sharply, and taking up the case in both hands he bore it religiouslyaway to its place, passing out of the bright circle of the lamp into the ring offainter light--into shapeless dusk at last. it had an odd effect--as if these few stepshad carried him out of this concrete and perplexed world. his tall form, as though robbed of itssubstance, hovered noiselessly over invisible things with stooping andindefinite movements; his voice, heard in that remoteness where he could be glimpsed

mysteriously busy with immaterial cares,was no longer incisive, seemed to roll voluminous and grave--mellowed by distance. '"and because you not always can keep youreyes shut there comes the real trouble--the heart pain--the world pain. i tell you, my friend, it is not good foryou to find you cannot make your dream come true, for the reason that you not strongenough are, or not clever enough.... ja!...and all the time you are such a finefellow too! wie?was? gott im himmel!

how can that be?ha! ha! ha!" 'the shadow prowling amongst the graves ofbutterflies laughed boisterously. '"yes! very funny this terrible thing is.a man that is born falls into a dream like a man who falls into the sea. if he tries to climb out into the air asinexperienced people endeavour to do, he drowns--nicht wahr?...no! i tell you! the way is to the destructive elementsubmit yourself, and with the exertions of

your hands and feet in the water make thedeep, deep sea keep you up. so if you ask me--how to be?" 'his voice leaped up extraordinarilystrong, as though away there in the dusk he had been inspired by some whisper ofknowledge. "i will tell you! for that too there is only one way."'with a hasty swish-swish of his slippers he loomed up in the ring of faint light,and suddenly appeared in the bright circle of the lamp. his extended hand aimed at my breast like apistol; his deepset eyes seemed to pierce

through me, but his twitching lips utteredno word, and the austere exaltation of a certitude seen in the dusk vanished fromhis face. the hand that had been pointing at mybreast fell, and by-and-by, coming a step nearer, he laid it gently on my shoulder. there were things, he said mournfully, thatperhaps could never be told, only he had lived so much alone that sometimes heforgot--he forgot. the light had destroyed the assurance whichhad inspired him in the distant shadows. he sat down and, with both elbows on thedesk, rubbed his forehead. "and yet it is true--it is true.

in the destructive element immerse."...hespoke in a subdued tone, without looking at me, one hand on each side of his face."that was the way. to follow the dream, and again to followthe dream--and so--ewig--usque ad finem...." the whisper of his conviction seemed toopen before me a vast and uncertain expanse, as of a crepuscular horizon on aplain at dawn--or was it, perchance, at the coming of the night? one had not the courage to decide; but itwas a charming and deceptive light, throwing the impalpable poesy of itsdimness over pitfalls--over graves.

his life had begun in sacrifice, inenthusiasm for generous ideas; he had travelled very far, on various ways, onstrange paths, and whatever he followed it had been without faltering, and thereforewithout shame and without regret. in so far he was right.that was the way, no doubt. yet for all that, the great plain on whichmen wander amongst graves and pitfalls remained very desolate under the impalpablepoesy of its crepuscular light, overshadowed in the centre, circled with a bright edge as if surrounded by an abyssfull of flames. when at last i broke the silence it was toexpress the opinion that no one could be

more romantic than himself. 'he shook his head slowly, and afterwardslooked at me with a patient and inquiring glance.it was a shame, he said. there we were sitting and talking like twoboys, instead of putting our heads together to find something practical--a practicalremedy--for the evil--for the great evil-- he repeated, with a humorous and indulgentsmile. for all that, our talk did not grow morepractical. we avoided pronouncing jim's name as thoughwe had tried to keep flesh and blood out of our discussion, or he were nothing but anerring spirit, a suffering and nameless

shade. "na!" said stein, rising."to-night you sleep here, and in the morning we shall do something practical--practical...." he lit a two-branched candlestick and ledthe way. we passed through empty dark rooms,escorted by gleams from the lights stein carried. they glided along the waxed floors,sweeping here and there over the polished surface of a table, leaped upon afragmentary curve of a piece of furniture, or flashed perpendicularly in and out of

distant mirrors, while the forms of two menand the flicker of two flames could be seen for a moment stealing silently across thedepths of a crystalline void. he walked slowly a pace in advance withstooping courtesy; there was a profound, as it were a listening, quietude on his face;the long flaxen locks mixed with white threads were scattered thinly upon hisslightly bowed neck. '"he is romantic--romantic," he repeated."and that is very bad--very bad....very good, too," he added. "but is he?"i queried. '"gewiss," he said, and stood still holdingup the candelabrum, but without looking at

"evident!what is it that by inward pain makes him know himself?what is it that for you and me makes him-- exist?" 'at that moment it was difficult to believein jim's existence--starting from a country parsonage, blurred by crowds of men as byclouds of dust, silenced by the clashing claims of life and death in a material world--but his imperishable reality came tome with a convincing, with an irresistible force! i saw it vividly, as though in our progressthrough the lofty silent rooms amongst

fleeting gleams of light and the suddenrevelations of human figures stealing with flickering flames within unfathomable and pellucid depths, we had approached nearerto absolute truth, which, like beauty itself, floats elusive, obscure, halfsubmerged, in the silent still waters of mystery. "perhaps he is," i admitted with a slightlaugh, whose unexpectedly loud reverberation made me lower my voicedirectly; "but i am sure you are." with his head dropping on his breast andthe light held high he began to walk again. "well--i exist, too," he said.'he preceded me.

my eyes followed his movements, but what idid see was not the head of the firm, the welcome guest at afternoon receptions, thecorrespondent of learned societies, the entertainer of stray naturalists; i saw only the reality of his destiny, which hehad known how to follow with unfaltering footsteps, that life begun in humblesurroundings, rich in generous enthusiasms, in friendship, love, war--in all theexalted elements of romance. at the door of my room he faced me. "yes," i said, as though carrying on adiscussion, "and amongst other things you dreamed foolishly of a certain butterfly;but when one fine morning your dream came

in your way you did not let the splendidopportunity escape. did you?whereas he ..." stein lifted his hand. "and do you know how many opportunities ilet escape; how many dreams i had lost that had come in my way?"he shook his head regretfully. "it seems to me that some would have beenvery fine--if i had made them come true. do you know how many?perhaps i myself don't know." "whether his were fine or not," i said, "heknows of one which he certainly did not catch."

"everybody knows of one or two like that,"said stein; "and that is the trouble--the great trouble...."'he shook hands on the threshold, peered into my room under his raised arm. "sleep well.and to-morrow we must do something practical--practical...."'though his own room was beyond mine i saw him return the way he came. he was going back to his butterflies.' > -chapter 21

'i don't suppose any of you have ever heardof patusan?' marlow resumed, after a silence occupied inthe careful lighting of a cigar. 'it does not matter; there's many aheavenly body in the lot crowding upon us of a night that mankind had never heard of,it being outside the sphere of its activities and of no earthly importance to anybody but to the astronomers who are paidto talk learnedly about its composition, weight, path--the irregularities of itsconduct, the aberrations of its light--a sort of scientific scandal-mongering. thus with patusan.

it was referred to knowingly in the innergovernment circles in batavia, especially as to its irregularities and aberrations,and it was known by name to some few, very few, in the mercantile world. nobody, however, had been there, and isuspect no one desired to go there in person, just as an astronomer, i shouldfancy, would strongly object to being transported into a distant heavenly body, where, parted from his earthly emoluments,he would be bewildered by the view of an unfamiliar heavens. however, neither heavenly bodies norastronomers have anything to do with

patusan.it was jim who went there. i only meant you to understand that hadstein arranged to send him into a star of the fifth magnitude the change could nothave been greater. he left his earthly failings behind him andwhat sort of reputation he had, and there was a totally new set of conditions for hisimaginative faculty to work upon. entirely new, entirely remarkable. and he got hold of them in a remarkableway. 'stein was the man who knew more aboutpatusan than anybody else. more than was known in the governmentcircles i suspect.

i have no doubt he had been there, eitherin his butterfly-hunting days or later on, when he tried in his incorrigible way toseason with a pinch of romance the fattening dishes of his commercial kitchen. there were very few places in thearchipelago he had not seen in the original dusk of their being, before light (and evenelectric light) had been carried into them for the sake of better morality and--and--well--the greater profit, too. it was at breakfast of the morningfollowing our talk about jim that he mentioned the place, after i had quotedpoor brierly's remark: "let him creep twenty feet underground and stay there."

he looked up at me with interestedattention, as though i had been a rare insect."this could be done, too," he remarked, sipping his coffee. "bury him in some sort," i explained."one doesn't like to do it of course, but it would be the best thing, seeing what heis." "yes; he is young," stein mused. "the youngest human being now inexistence," i affirmed. "schon. there's patusan," he went on in the sametone...."and the woman is dead now," he

added incomprehensibly. 'of course i don't know that story; i canonly guess that once before patusan had been used as a grave for some sin,transgression, or misfortune. it is impossible to suspect stein. the only woman that had ever existed forhim was the malay girl he called "my wife the princess," or, more rarely, in momentsof expansion, "the mother of my emma." who was the woman he had mentioned inconnection with patusan i can't say; but from his allusions i understand she hadbeen an educated and very good-looking dutch-malay girl, with a tragic or perhaps

only a pitiful history, whose most painfulpart no doubt was her marriage with a malacca portuguese who had been clerk insome commercial house in the dutch colonies. i gathered from stein that this man was anunsatisfactory person in more ways than one, all being more or less indefinite andoffensive. it was solely for his wife's sake thatstein had appointed him manager of stein & co.'s trading post in patusan; butcommercially the arrangement was not a success, at any rate for the firm, and now the woman had died, stein was disposed totry another agent there.

the portuguese, whose name was cornelius,considered himself a very deserving but ill-used person, entitled by his abilitiesto a better position. this man jim would have to relieve. "but i don't think he will go away from theplace," remarked stein. "that has nothing to do with me. it was only for the sake of the woman thati...but as i think there is a daughter left, i shall let him, if he likes to stay,keep the old house." 'patusan is a remote district of a native-ruled state, and the chief settlement bears the same name.

at a point on the river about forty milesfrom the sea, where the first houses come into view, there can be seen rising abovethe level of the forests the summits of two steep hills very close together, and separated by what looks like a deepfissure, the cleavage of some mighty stroke. as a matter of fact, the valley between isnothing but a narrow ravine; the appearance from the settlement is of one irregularlyconical hill split in two, and with the two halves leaning slightly apart. on the third day after the full, the moon,as seen from the open space in front of

jim's house (he had a very fine house inthe native style when i visited him), rose exactly behind these hills, its diffused light at first throwing the two masses intointensely black relief, and then the nearly perfect disc, glowing ruddily, appeared,gliding upwards between the sides of the chasm, till it floated away above the summits, as if escaping from a yawninggrave in gentle triumph. "wonderful effect," said jim by my side."worth seeing. is it not?" 'and this question was put with a note ofpersonal pride that made me smile, as

though he had had a hand in regulating thatunique spectacle. he had regulated so many things in patusan--things that would have appeared as much beyond his control as the motions of themoon and the stars. 'it was inconceivable. that was the distinctive quality of thepart into which stein and i had tumbled him unwittingly, with no other notion than toget him out of the way; out of his own way, be it understood. that was our main purpose, though, i own,i might have had another motive which had influenced me a little.

i was about to go home for a time; and itmay be i desired, more than i was aware of myself, to dispose of him--to dispose ofhim, you understand--before i left. i was going home, and he had come to mefrom there, with his miserable trouble and his shadowy claim, like a man panting undera burden in a mist. i cannot say i had ever seen himdistinctly--not even to this day, after i had my last view of him; but it seemed tome that the less i understood the more i was bound to him in the name of that doubt which is the inseparable part of ourknowledge. i did not know so much more about myself.

and then, i repeat, i was going home--tothat home distant enough for all its hearthstones to be like one hearthstone, bywhich the humblest of us has the right to sit. we wander in our thousands over the face ofthe earth, the illustrious and the obscure, earning beyond the seas our fame, ourmoney, or only a crust of bread; but it seems to me that for each of us going homemust be like going to render an account. we return to face our superiors, ourkindred, our friends--those whom we obey, and those whom we love; but even they whohave neither, the most free, lonely, irresponsible and bereft of ties,--even

those for whom home holds no dear face, nofamiliar voice,--even they have to meet the spirit that dwells within the land, underits sky, in its air, in its valleys, and on its rises, in its fields, in its waters and its trees--a mute friend, judge, andinspirer. say what you like, to get its joy, tobreathe its peace, to face its truth, one must return with a clear conscience. all this may seem to you sheersentimentalism; and indeed very few of us have the will or the capacity to lookconsciously under the surface of familiar emotions.

there are the girls we love, the men welook up to, the tenderness, the friendships, the opportunities, thepleasures! but the fact remains that you must touchyour reward with clean hands, lest it turn to dead leaves, to thorns, in your grasp. i think it is the lonely, without afireside or an affection they may call their own, those who return not to adwelling but to the land itself, to meet its disembodied, eternal, and unchangeable spirit--it is those who understand best itsseverity, its saving power, the grace of its secular right to our fidelity, to ourobedience.

yes! few of us understand, but we all feelit though, and i say all without exception, because those who do not feel do not count. each blade of grass has its spot on earthwhence it draws its life, its strength; and so is man rooted to the land from which hedraws his faith together with his life. i don't know how much jim understood; but iknow he felt, he felt confusedly but powerfully, the demand of some such truthor some such illusion--i don't care how you call it, there is so little difference, andthe difference means so little. the thing is that in virtue of his feelinghe mattered. he would never go home now.

not he.never. had he been capable of picturesquemanifestations he would have shuddered at the thought and made you shudder too. but he was not of that sort, though he wasexpressive enough in his way. before the idea of going home he would growdesperately stiff and immovable, with lowered chin and pouted lips, and withthose candid blue eyes of his glowering darkly under a frown, as if before something unbearable, as if beforesomething revolting. there was imagination in that hard skull ofhis, over which the thick clustering hair

fitted like a cap. as to me, i have no imagination (i would bemore certain about him today, if i had), and i do not mean to imply that i figuredto myself the spirit of the land uprising above the white cliffs of dover, to ask me what i--returning with no bones broken, soto speak--had done with my very young brother.i could not make such a mistake. i knew very well he was of those about whomthere is no inquiry; i had seen better men go out, disappear, vanish utterly, withoutprovoking a sound of curiosity or sorrow. the spirit of the land, as becomes theruler of great enterprises, is careless of

innumerable lives.woe to the stragglers! we exist only in so far as we hangtogether. he had straggled in a way; he had not hungon; but he was aware of it with an intensity that made him touching, just as aman's more intense life makes his death more touching than the death of a tree. i happened to be handy, and i happened tobe touched. that's all there is to it.i was concerned as to the way he would go out. it would have hurt me if, for instance, hehad taken to drink.

the earth is so small that i was afraid of,some day, being waylaid by a blear-eyed, swollen-faced, besmirched loafer, with nosoles to his canvas shoes, and with a flutter of rags about the elbows, who, on the strength of old acquaintance, would askfor a loan of five dollars. you know the awful jaunty bearing of thesescarecrows coming to you from a decent past, the rasping careless voice, the half-averted impudent glances--those meetings more trying to a man who believes in the solidarity of our lives than the sight ofan impenitent death-bed to a priest. that, to tell you the truth, was the onlydanger i could see for him and for me; but

i also mistrusted my want of imagination. it might even come to something worse, insome way it was beyond my powers of fancy to foresee. he wouldn't let me forget how imaginativehe was, and your imaginative people swing farther in any direction, as if given alonger scope of cable in the uneasy anchorage of life. they do.they take to drink too. it may be i was belittling him by such afear. how could i tell?

even stein could say no more than that hewas romantic. i only knew he was one of us.and what business had he to be romantic? i am telling you so much about my owninstinctive feelings and bemused reflections because there remains so littleto be told of him. he existed for me, and after all it is onlythrough me that he exists for you. i've led him out by the hand; i haveparaded him before you. were my commonplace fears unjust? i won't say--not even now.you may be able to tell better, since the proverb has it that the onlookers see mostof the game.

at any rate, they were superfluous. he did not go out, not at all; on thecontrary, he came on wonderfully, came on straight as a die and in excellent form,which showed that he could stay as well as spurt. i ought to be delighted, for it is avictory in which i had taken my part; but i am not so pleased as i would have expectedto be. i ask myself whether his rush had reallycarried him out of that mist in which he loomed interesting if not very big, withfloating outlines--a straggler yearning inconsolably for his humble place in theranks.

and besides, the last word is not said,--probably shall never be said. are not our lives too short for that fullutterance which through all our stammerings is of course our only and abidingintention? i have given up expecting those last words,whose ring, if they could only be pronounced, would shake both heaven andearth. there is never time to say our last word--the last word of our love, of our desire, faith, remorse, submissions, revolt. the heaven and the earth must not beshaken, i suppose--at least, not by us who know so many truths about either.my last words about jim shall be few.

i affirm he had achieved greatness; but thething would be dwarfed in the telling, or rather in the hearing.frankly, it is not my words that i mistrust but your minds. i could be eloquent were i not afraid youfellows had starved your imaginations to feed your bodies. i do not mean to be offensive; it isrespectable to have no illusions--and safe- -and profitable--and dull. yet you, too, in your time must have knownthe intensity of life, that light of glamour created in the shock of trifles, asamazing as the glow of sparks struck from a

cold stone--and as short-lived, alas!' chapter 22 'the conquest of love, honour, men'sconfidence--the pride of it, the power of it, are fit materials for a heroic tale;only our minds are struck by the externals of such a success, and to jim's successesthere were no externals. thirty miles of forest shut it off from thesight of an indifferent world, and the noise of the white surf along the coastoverpowered the voice of fame. the stream of civilisation, as if dividedon a headland a hundred miles north of patusan, branches east and south-east,leaving its plains and valleys, its old

trees and its old mankind, neglected and isolated, such as an insignificant andcrumbling islet between the two branches of a mighty, devouring stream.you find the name of the country pretty often in collections of old voyages. the seventeenth-century traders went therefor pepper, because the passion for pepper seemed to burn like a flame of love in thebreast of dutch and english adventurers about the time of james the first. where wouldn't they go for pepper! for a bag of pepper they would cut eachother's throats without hesitation, and

would forswear their souls, of which theywere so careful otherwise: the bizarre obstinacy of that desire made them defy death in a thousand shapes--the unknownseas, the loathsome and strange diseases; wounds, captivity, hunger, pestilence, anddespair. it made them great! by heavens! it made them heroic; and itmade them pathetic too in their craving for trade with the inflexible death levying itstoll on young and old. it seems impossible to believe that meregreed could hold men to such a steadfastness of purpose, to such a blindpersistence in endeavour and sacrifice.

and indeed those who adventured theirpersons and lives risked all they had for a slender reward. they left their bones to lie bleaching ondistant shores, so that wealth might flow to the living at home. to us, their less tried successors, theyappear magnified, not as agents of trade but as instruments of a recorded destiny,pushing out into the unknown in obedience to an inward voice, to an impulse beatingin the blood, to a dream of the future. they were wonderful; and it must be ownedthey were ready for the wonderful. they recorded it complacently in theirsufferings, in the aspect of the seas, in

the customs of strange nations, in theglory of splendid rulers. 'in patusan they had found lots of pepper,and had been impressed by the magnificence and the wisdom of the sultan; but somehow,after a century of chequered intercourse, the country seems to drop gradually out ofthe trade. perhaps the pepper had given out. be it as it may, nobody cares for it now;the glory has departed, the sultan is an imbecile youth with two thumbs on his lefthand and an uncertain and beggarly revenue extorted from a miserable population andstolen from him by his many uncles. 'this of course i have from stein.he gave me their names and a short sketch

of the life and character of each. he was as full of information about nativestates as an official report, but infinitely more amusing.he had to know. he traded in so many, and in somedistricts--as in patusan, for instance--his firm was the only one to have an agency byspecial permit from the dutch authorities. the government trusted his discretion, andit was understood that he took all the risks. the men he employed understood that too,but he made it worth their while apparently.he was perfectly frank with me over the

breakfast-table in the morning. as far as he was aware (the last news wasthirteen months old, he stated precisely), utter insecurity for life and property wasthe normal condition. there were in patusan antagonistic forces,and one of them was rajah allang, the worst of the sultan's uncles, the governor of theriver, who did the extorting and the stealing, and ground down to the point of extinction the country-born malays, who,utterly defenceless, had not even the resource of emigrating--"for indeed," asstein remarked, "where could they go, and how could they get away?"

no doubt they did not even desire to getaway. the world (which is circumscribed by loftyimpassable mountains) has been given into the hand of the high-born, and this rajahthey knew: he was of their own royal house. i had the pleasure of meeting the gentlemanlater on. he was a dirty, little, used-up old manwith evil eyes and a weak mouth, who swallowed an opium pill every two hours,and in defiance of common decency wore his hair uncovered and falling in wild stringylocks about his wizened grimy face. when giving audience he would clamber upona sort of narrow stage erected in a hall like a ruinous barn with a rotten bamboofloor, through the cracks of which you

could see, twelve or fifteen feet below, the heaps of refuse and garbage of allkinds lying under the house. that is where and how he received us when,accompanied by jim, i paid him a visit of ceremony. there were about forty people in the room,and perhaps three times as many in the great courtyard below.there was constant movement, coming and going, pushing and murmuring, at our backs. a few youths in gay silks glared from thedistance; the majority, slaves and humble dependants, were half naked, in raggedsarongs, dirty with ashes and mud-stains.

i had never seen jim look so grave, soself-possessed, in an impenetrable, impressive way. in the midst of these dark-faced men, hisstalwart figure in white apparel, the gleaming clusters of his fair hair, seemedto catch all the sunshine that trickled through the cracks in the closed shutters of that dim hall, with its walls of matsand a roof of thatch. he appeared like a creature not only ofanother kind but of another essence. had they not seen him come up in a canoethey might have thought he had descended upon them from the clouds.

he did, however, come in a crazy dug-out,sitting (very still and with his knees together, for fear of overturning thething)--sitting on a tin box--which i had lent him--nursing on his lap a revolver of the navy pattern--presented by me onparting--which, through an interposition of providence, or through some wrong-headednotion, that was just like him, or else from sheer instinctive sagacity, he haddecided to carry unloaded. that's how he ascended the patusan river. nothing could have been more prosaic andmore unsafe, more extravagantly casual, more lonely.

strange, this fatality that would cast thecomplexion of a flight upon all his acts, of impulsive unreflecting desertion of ajump into the unknown. 'it is precisely the casualness of it thatstrikes me most. neither stein nor i had a clear conceptionof what might be on the other side when we, metaphorically speaking, took him up andhove him over the wall with scant ceremony. at the moment i merely wished to achievehis disappearance; stein characteristically enough had a sentimental motive. he had a notion of paying off (in kind, isuppose) the old debt he had never forgotten.indeed he had been all his life especially

friendly to anybody from the british isles. his late benefactor, it is true, was ascot--even to the length of being called alexander mcneil--and jim came from a longway south of the tweed; but at the distance of six or seven thousand miles great britain, though never diminished, looksforeshortened enough even to its own children to rob such details of theirimportance. stein was excusable, and his hintedintentions were so generous that i begged him most earnestly to keep them secret fora time. i felt that no consideration of personaladvantage should be allowed to influence

jim; that not even the risk of suchinfluence should be run. we had to deal with another sort ofreality. he wanted a refuge, and a refuge at thecost of danger should be offered him-- nothing more. 'upon every other point i was perfectlyfrank with him, and i even (as i believed at the time) exaggerated the danger of theundertaking. as a matter of fact i did not do itjustice; his first day in patusan was nearly his last--would have been his lastif he had not been so reckless or so hard on himself and had condescended to loadthat revolver.

i remember, as i unfolded our preciousscheme for his retreat, how his stubborn but weary resignation was graduallyreplaced by surprise, interest, wonder, and by boyish eagerness. this was a chance he had been dreaming of. he couldn't think how he merited thati...he would be shot if he could see to what he owed...and it was stein, stein themerchant, who...but of course it was me he had to...i cut him short. he was not articulate, and his gratitudecaused me inexplicable pain. i told him that if he owed this chance toany one especially, it was to an old scot

of whom he had never heard, who had diedmany years ago, of whom little was remembered besides a roaring voice and arough sort of honesty. there was really no one to receive histhanks. stein was passing on to a young man thehelp he had received in his own young days, and i had done no more than to mention hisname. upon this he coloured, and, twisting a bitof paper in his fingers, he remarked bashfully that i had always trusted him. 'i admitted that such was the case, andadded after a pause that i wished he had been able to follow my example.

"you think i don't?" he asked uneasily, andremarked in a mutter that one had to get some sort of show first; then brighteningup, and in a loud voice he protested he would give me no occasion to regret myconfidence, which--which ... '"do not misapprehend," i interrupted."it is not in your power to make me regret anything." there would be no regrets; but if therewere, it would be altogether my own affair: on the other hand, i wished him tounderstand clearly that this arrangement, this--this--experiment, was his own doing;he was responsible for it and no one else. "why?why," he stammered, "this is the very thing

that i ..." i begged him not to be dense, and he lookedmore puzzled than ever. he was in a fair way to make lifeintolerable to himself..."do you think so?" he asked, disturbed; but in a moment addedconfidently, "i was going on though. was i not?" it was impossible to be angry with him: icould not help a smile, and told him that in the old days people who went on likethis were on the way of becoming hermits in a wilderness. "hermits be hanged!" he commented withengaging impulsiveness.

of course he didn't mind a wilderness...."iwas glad of it," i said. that was where he would be going to. he would find it lively enough, i venturedto promise. "yes, yes," he said, keenly. he had shown a desire, i continuedinflexibly, to go out and shut the door after him...."did i?" he interrupted in astrange access of gloom that seemed to envelop him from head to foot like theshadow of a passing cloud. he was wonderfully expressive after all.wonderfully! "did i?" he repeated bitterly.

"you can't say i made much noise about it.and i can keep it up, too--only, confound it! you show me a door."..."very well.pass on," i struck in. i could make him a solemn promise that itwould be shut behind him with a vengeance. his fate, whatever it was, would beignored, because the country, for all its rotten state, was not judged ripe forinterference. once he got in, it would be for the outsideworld as though he had never existed. he would have nothing but the soles of histwo feet to stand upon, and he would have first to find his ground at that. "never existed--that's it, by jove," hemurmured to himself.

his eyes, fastened upon my lips, sparkled. if he had thoroughly understood theconditions, i concluded, he had better jump into the first gharry he could see anddrive on to stein's house for his final instructions. he flung out of the room before i hadfairly finished speaking.' -chapter 'he did not return till next morning.he had been kept to dinner and for the night.there never had been such a wonderful man as mr. stein.

he had in his pocket a letter for cornelius("the johnnie who's going to get the sack," he explained, with a momentary drop in hiselation), and he exhibited with glee a silver ring, such as natives use, worn down very thin and showing faint traces ofchasing. 'this was his introduction to an old chapcalled doramin--one of the principal men out there--a big pot--who had been mr.stein's friend in that country where he had all these adventures. mr. stein called him "war-comrade."war-comrade was good. wasn't it?and didn't mr. stein speak english

wonderfully well? said he had learned it in celebes--of allplaces! that was awfully funny.was it not? he did speak with an accent--a twang--did inotice? that chap doramin had given him the ring.they had exchanged presents when they parted for the last time. sort of promising eternal friendship.he called it fine--did i not? they had to make a dash for dear life outof the country when that mohammed-- mohammed--what's-his-name had been killed.

i knew the story, of course.seemed a beastly shame, didn't it?... 'he ran on like this, forgetting his plate,with a knife and fork in hand (he had found me at tiffin), slightly flushed, and withhis eyes darkened many shades, which was with him a sign of excitement. the ring was a sort of credential--("it'slike something you read of in books," he threw in appreciatively)--and doramin woulddo his best for him. mr. stein had been the means of saving thatchap's life on some occasion; purely by accident, mr. stein had said, but he--jim--had his own opinion about that. mr. stein was just the man to look out forsuch accidents.

no matter.accident or purpose, this would serve his turn immensely. hoped to goodness the jolly old beggar hadnot gone off the hooks meantime. mr. stein could not tell. there had been no news for more than ayear; they were kicking up no end of an all-fired row amongst themselves, and theriver was closed. jolly awkward, this; but, no fear; he wouldmanage to find a crack to get in. 'he impressed, almost frightened, me withhis elated rattle. he was voluble like a youngster on the eveof a long holiday with a prospect of

delightful scrapes, and such an attitude ofmind in a grown man and in this connection had in it something phenomenal, a littlemad, dangerous, unsafe. i was on the point of entreating him totake things seriously when he dropped his knife and fork (he had begun eating, orrather swallowing food, as it were, unconsciously), and began a search allround his plate. the ring!the ring! where the devil...ah! here it was...he closed his big hand on it,and tried all his pockets one after another.jove! wouldn't do to lose the thing.

he meditated gravely over his fist. had it?would hang the bally affair round his neck! and he proceeded to do this immediately,producing a string (which looked like a bit of a cotton shoe-lace) for the purpose. there!that would do the trick! it would be the deuce if...he seemed tocatch sight of my face for the first time, and it steadied him a little. i probably didn't realise, he said with anaive gravity, how much importance he attached to that token.it meant a friend; and it is a good thing

to have a friend. he knew something about that. he nodded at me expressively, but before mydisclaiming gesture he leaned his head on his hand and for a while sat silent,playing thoughtfully with the bread-crumbs on the cloth..."slam the door--that was jolly well put," he cried, and jumping up,began to pace the room, reminding me by the set of the shoulders, the turn of his head,the headlong and uneven stride, of that night when he had paced thus, confessing, explaining--what you will--but, in the lastinstance, living--living before me, under

his own little cloud, with all hisunconscious subtlety which could draw consolation from the very source of sorrow. it was the same mood, the same anddifferent, like a fickle companion that to- day guiding you on the true path, with thesame eyes, the same step, the same impulse, to-morrow will lead you hopelessly astray. his tread was assured, his straying,darkened eyes seemed to search the room for something. one of his footfalls somehow sounded louderthan the other--the fault of his boots probably--and gave a curious impression ofan invisible halt in his gait.

one of his hands was rammed deep into histrousers' pocket, the other waved suddenly above his head."slam the door!" he shouted. "i've been waiting for that. i'll show yet...i'll...i'm ready for anyconfounded thing...i've been dreaming of it...jove!get out of this. jove! this is luck at last...you wait.i'll ..." 'he tossed his head fearlessly, and iconfess that for the first and last time in our acquaintance i perceived myselfunexpectedly to be thoroughly sick of him.

why these vapourings? he was stumping about the room flourishinghis arm absurdly, and now and then feeling on his breast for the ring under hisclothes. where was the sense of such exaltation in aman appointed to be a trading-clerk, and in a place where there was no trade--at that?why hurl defiance at the universe? this was not a proper frame of mind toapproach any undertaking; an improper frame of mind not only for him, i said, but forany man. he stood still over me. did i think so? he asked, by no meanssubdued, and with a smile in which i seemed

to detect suddenly something insolent.but then i am twenty years his senior. youth is insolent; it is its right--itsnecessity; it has got to assert itself, and all assertion in this world of doubts is adefiance, is an insolence. he went off into a far corner, and comingback, he, figuratively speaking, turned to rend me. i spoke like that because i--even i, whohad been no end kind to him--even i remembered--remembered--against him--what--what had happened. and what about others--the--the--world? where's the wonder he wanted to get out,meant to get out, meant to stay out--by

heavens!and i talked about proper frames of mind! '"it is not i or the world who remember,"i shouted. "it is you--you, who remember." 'he did not flinch, and went on with heat,"forget everything, everybody, everybody."...his voice fell..."but you," he added. '"yes--me too--if it would help," i said,also in a low tone. after this we remained silent and languidfor a time as if exhausted. then he began again, composedly, and toldme that mr. stein had instructed him to wait for a month or so, to see whether itwas possible for him to remain, before he

began building a new house for himself, soas to avoid "vain expense." he did make use of funny expressions--steindid. "vain expense" was good....remain? why! of course.he would hang on. let him only get in--that's all; he wouldanswer for it he would remain. never get out. it was easy enough to remain.'"don't be foolhardy," i said, rendered uneasy by his threatening tone."if you only live long enough you will want to come back."

'"come back to what?" he asked absently,with his eyes fixed upon the face of a clock on the wall.'i was silent for a while. "is it to be never, then?" i said."never," he repeated dreamily without looking at me, and then flew into suddenactivity. "jove! two o'clock, and i sail at four!"'it was true. a brigantine of stein's was leaving for thewestward that afternoon, and he had been instructed to take his passage in her, onlyno orders to delay the sailing had been

given. i suppose stein forgot.he made a rush to get his things while i went aboard my ship, where he promised tocall on his way to the outer roadstead. he turned up accordingly in a great hurryand with a small leather valise in his hand. this wouldn't do, and i offered him an oldtin trunk of mine supposed to be water- tight, or at least damp-tight. he effected the transfer by the simpleprocess of shooting out the contents of his valise as you would empty a sack of wheat.

i saw three books in the tumble; two small,in dark covers, and a thick green-and-gold volume--a half-crown complete shakespeare."you read this?" i asked. "yes.best thing to cheer up a fellow," he said hastily.i was struck by this appreciation, but there was no time for shakespearian talk. a heavy revolver and two small boxes ofcartridges were lying on the cuddy-table. "pray take this," i said."it may help you to remain." no sooner were these words out of my mouththan i perceived what grim meaning they

could bear."may help you to get in," i corrected myself remorsefully. he however was not troubled by obscuremeanings; he thanked me effusively and bolted out, calling good-bye over hisshoulder. i heard his voice through the ship's sideurging his boatmen to give way, and looking out of the stern-port i saw the boatrounding under the counter. he sat in her leaning forward, exciting hismen with voice and gestures; and as he had kept the revolver in his hand and seemed tobe presenting it at their heads, i shall never forget the scared faces of the four

javanese, and the frantic swing of theirstroke which snatched that vision from under my eyes. then turning away, the first thing i sawwere the two boxes of cartridges on the cuddy-table.he had forgotten to take them. 'i ordered my gig manned at once; but jim'srowers, under the impression that their lives hung on a thread while they had thatmadman in the boat, made such excellent time that before i had traversed half the distance between the two vessels i caughtsight of him clambering over the rail, and of his box being passed up.

all the brigantine's canvas was loose, hermainsail was set, and the windlass was just beginning to clink as i stepped upon herdeck: her master, a dapper little half- caste of forty or so, in a blue flannel suit, with lively eyes, his round face thecolour of lemon-peel, and with a thin little black moustache drooping on eachside of his thick, dark lips, came forward smirking. he turned out, notwithstanding his self-satisfied and cheery exterior, to be of a careworn temperament. in answer to a remark of mine (while jimhad gone below for a moment) he said, "oh

yes.patusan." he was going to carry the gentleman to themouth of the river, but would "never ascend."his flowing english seemed to be derived from a dictionary compiled by a lunatic. had mr. stein desired him to "ascend," hewould have "reverentially"--(i think he wanted to say respectfully--but devil onlyknows)--"reverentially made objects for the safety of properties." if disregarded, he would have presented"resignation to quit." twelve months ago he had made his lastvoyage there, and though mr. cornelius

"propitiated many offertories" to mr. rajahallang and the "principal populations," on conditions which made the trade "a snare and ashes in the mouth," yet his ship hadbeen fired upon from the woods by "irresponsive parties" all the way down theriver; which causing his crew "from exposure to limb to remain silent in hidings," the brigantine was nearlystranded on a sandbank at the bar, where she "would have been perishable beyond theact of man." the angry disgust at the recollection, thepride of his fluency, to which he turned an attentive ear, struggled for the possessionof his broad simple face.

he scowled and beamed at me, and watchedwith satisfaction the undeniable effect of his phraseology. dark frowns ran swiftly over the placidsea, and the brigantine, with her fore- topsail to the mast and her main-boomamidships, seemed bewildered amongst the cat's-paws. he told me further, gnashing his teeth,that the rajah was a "laughable hyaena" (can't imagine how he got hold of hyaenas);while somebody else was many times falser than the "weapons of a crocodile." keeping one eye on the movements of hiscrew forward, he let loose his volubility--

comparing the place to a "cage of beastsmade ravenous by long impenitence." i fancy he meant impunity. he had no intention, he cried, to "exhibithimself to be made attached purposefully to robbery." the long-drawn wails, giving the time forthe pull of the men catting the anchor, came to an end, and he lowered his voice."plenty too much enough of patusan," he concluded, with energy. 'i heard afterwards he had been soindiscreet as to get himself tied up by the neck with a rattan halter to a post plantedin the middle of a mud-hole before the

rajah's house. he spent the best part of a day and a wholenight in that unwholesome situation, but there is every reason to believe the thinghad been meant as a sort of joke. he brooded for a while over that horridmemory, i suppose, and then addressed in a quarrelsome tone the man coming aft to thehelm. when he turned to me again it was to speakjudicially, without passion. he would take the gentleman to the mouth ofthe river at batu kring (patusan town "being situated internally," he remarked,"thirty miles"). but in his eyes, he continued--a tone ofbored, weary conviction replacing his

previous voluble delivery--the gentlemanwas already "in the similitude of a corpse." "what?what do you say?" he assumed a startlingly ferociousdemeanour, and imitated to perfection the act of stabbing from behind. "already like the body of one deported," heexplained, with the insufferably conceited air of his kind after what they imagine adisplay of cleverness. behind him i perceived jim smiling silentlyat me, and with a raised hand checking the exclamation on my lips.

'then, while the half-caste, bursting withimportance, shouted his orders, while the yards swung creaking and the heavy boomcame surging over, jim and i, alone as it were, to leeward of the mainsail, clasped each other's hands and exchanged the lasthurried words. my heart was freed from that dullresentment which had existed side by side with interest in his fate. the absurd chatter of the half-caste hadgiven more reality to the miserable dangers of his path than stein's carefulstatements. on that occasion the sort of formality thathad been always present in our intercourse

vanished from our speech; i believe icalled him "dear boy," and he tacked on the words "old man" to some half-uttered expression of gratitude, as though his riskset off against my years had made us more equal in age and in feeling. there was a moment of real and profoundintimacy, unexpected and short-lived like a glimpse of some everlasting, of some savingtruth. he exerted himself to soothe me as thoughhe had been the more mature of the two. "all right, all right," he said, rapidly,and with feeling. "i promise to take care of myself.

yes; i won't take any risks.not a single blessed risk. of course not.i mean to hang out. don't you worry. jove!i feel as if nothing could touch me. why! this is luck from the word go.i wouldn't spoil such a magnificent chance!"...a magnificent chance! well, it was magnificent, but chances arewhat men make them, and how was i to know? as he had said, even i--even i remembered--his--his misfortune against him. it was true.

and the best thing for him was to go.'my gig had dropped in the wake of the brigantine, and i saw him aft detached uponthe light of the westering sun, raising his cap high above his head. i heard an indistinct shout, "you--shall--hear--of--me." of me, or from me, i don't know which.i think it must have been of me. my eyes were too dazzled by the glitter ofthe sea below his feet to see him clearly; i am fated never to see him clearly; but ican assure you no man could have appeared less "in the similitude of a corpse," asthat half-caste croaker had put it. i could see the little wretch's face, theshape and colour of a ripe pumpkin, poked

out somewhere under jim's elbow. he, too, raised his arm as if for adownward thrust. absit omen!' chapter 24 'the coast of patusan (i saw it nearly twoyears afterwards) is straight and sombre, and faces a misty ocean. red trails are seen like cataracts of ruststreaming under the dark-green foliage of bushes and creepers clothing the lowcliffs. swampy plains open out at the mouth ofrivers, with a view of jagged blue peaks

beyond the vast forests. in the offing a chain of islands, dark,crumbling shapes, stand out in the everlasting sunlit haze like the remnantsof a wall breached by the sea. 'there is a village of fisher-folk at themouth of the batu kring branch of the estuary. the river, which had been closed so long,was open then, and stein's little schooner, in which i had my passage, worked her wayup in three tides without being exposed to a fusillade from "irresponsive parties." such a state of affairs belonged already toancient history, if i could believe the

elderly headman of the fishing village, whocame on board to act as a sort of pilot. he talked to me (the second white man hehad ever seen) with confidence, and most of his talk was about the first white man hehad ever seen. he called him tuan jim, and the tone of hisreferences was made remarkable by a strange mixture of familiarity and awe. they, in the village, were under thatlord's special protection, which showed that jim bore no grudge.if he had warned me that i would hear of him it was perfectly true. i was hearing of him.there was already a story that the tide had

turned two hours before its time to helphim on his journey up the river. the talkative old man himself had steeredthe canoe and had marvelled at the phenomenon.moreover, all the glory was in his family. his son and his son-in-law had paddled; butthey were only youths without experience, who did not notice the speed of the canoetill he pointed out to them the amazing fact. 'jim's coming to that fishing village was ablessing; but to them, as to many of us, the blessing came heralded by terrors. so many generations had been released sincethe last white man had visited the river

that the very tradition had been lost. the appearance of the being that descendedupon them and demanded inflexibly to be taken up to patusan was discomposing; hisinsistence was alarming; his generosity more than suspicious. it was an unheard-of request.there was no precedent. what would the rajah say to this?what would he do to them? the best part of the night was spent inconsultation; but the immediate risk from the anger of that strange man seemed sogreat that at last a cranky dug-out was got ready.

the women shrieked with grief as it putoff. a fearless old hag cursed the stranger. 'he sat in it, as i've told you, on his tinbox, nursing the unloaded revolver on his lap. he sat with precaution--than which there isnothing more fatiguing--and thus entered the land he was destined to fill with thefame of his virtues, from the blue peaks inland to the white ribbon of surf on thecoast. at the first bend he lost sight of the seawith its labouring waves for ever rising, sinking, and vanishing to rise again--thevery image of struggling mankind--and faced

the immovable forests rooted deep in the soil, soaring towards the sunshine,everlasting in the shadowy might of their tradition, like life itself. and his opportunity sat veiled by his sidelike an eastern bride waiting to be uncovered by the hand of the master.he too was the heir of a shadowy and mighty tradition! he told me, however, that he had never inhis life felt so depressed and tired as in that canoe. all the movement he dared to allow himselfwas to reach, as it were by stealth, after

the shell of half a cocoa-nut floatingbetween his shoes, and bale some of the water out with a carefully restrainedaction. he discovered how hard the lid of a block-tin case was to sit upon. he had heroic health; but several timesduring that journey he experienced fits of giddiness, and between whiles he speculatedhazily as to the size of the blister the sun was raising on his back. for amusement he tried by looking ahead todecide whether the muddy object he saw lying on the water's edge was a log of woodor an alligator. only very soon he had to give that up.

no fun in it.always alligator. one of them flopped into the river and allbut capsized the canoe. but this excitement was over directly. then in a long empty reach he was verygrateful to a troop of monkeys who came right down on the bank and made aninsulting hullabaloo on his passage. such was the way in which he wasapproaching greatness as genuine as any man ever achieved. principally, he longed for sunset; andmeantime his three paddlers were preparing to put into execution their plan ofdelivering him up to the rajah.

'"i suppose i must have been stupid withfatigue, or perhaps i did doze off for a time," he said.the first thing he knew was his canoe coming to the bank. he became instantaneously aware of theforest having been left behind, of the first houses being visible higher up, of astockade on his left, and of his boatmen leaping out together upon a low point ofland and taking to their heels. instinctively he leaped out after them. at first he thought himself deserted forsome inconceivable reason, but he heard excited shouts, a gate swung open, and alot of people poured out, making towards

him. at the same time a boat full of armed menappeared on the river and came alongside his empty canoe, thus shutting off hisretreat. '"i was too startled to be quite cool--don't you know? and if that revolver had been loaded i would have shot somebody--perhaps two, three bodies, and that would have been the end of me. but it wasn't....""why not?" "well, i couldn't fight the wholepopulation, and i wasn't coming to them as if i were afraid of my life," he said, withjust a faint hint of his stubborn sulkiness

in the glance he gave me. i refrained from pointing out to him thatthey could not have known the chambers were actually empty.he had to satisfy himself in his own way.... "anyhow it wasn't," he repeated good-humouredly, "and so i just stood still and asked them what was the matter.that seemed to strike them dumb. i saw some of these thieves going off withmy box. that long-legged old scoundrel kassim (i'llshow him to you to-morrow) ran out fussing to me about the rajah wanting to see me.

i said, 'all right.'i too wanted to see the rajah, and i simply walked in through the gate and--and--here iam." he laughed, and then with unexpectedemphasis, "and do you know what's the best in it?" he asked."i'll tell you. it's the knowledge that had i been wipedout it is this place that would have been the loser." 'he spoke thus to me before his house onthat evening i've mentioned--after we had watched the moon float away above the chasmbetween the hills like an ascending spirit out of a grave; its sheen descended, coldand pale, like the ghost of dead sunlight.

there is something haunting in the light ofthe moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of itsinconceivable mystery. it is to our sunshine, which--say what youlike--is all we have to live by, what the echo is to the sound: misleading andconfusing whether the note be mocking or sad. it robs all forms of matter--which, afterall, is our domain--of their substance, and gives a sinister reality to shadows alone. and the shadows were very real around us,but jim by my side looked very stalwart, as though nothing--not even the occult powerof moonlight--could rob him of his reality

in my eyes. perhaps, indeed, nothing could touch himsince he had survived the assault of the dark powers.all was silent, all was still; even on the river the moonbeams slept as on a pool. it was the moment of high water, a momentof immobility that accentuated the utter isolation of this lost corner of the earth. the houses crowding along the wide shiningsweep without ripple or glitter, stepping into the water in a line of jostling,vague, grey, silvery forms mingled with black masses of shadow, were like a

spectral herd of shapeless creaturespressing forward to drink in a spectral and lifeless stream. here and there a red gleam twinkled withinthe bamboo walls, warm, like a living spark, significant of human affections, ofshelter, of repose. 'he confessed to me that he often watchedthese tiny warm gleams go out one by one, that he loved to see people go to sleepunder his eyes, confident in the security of to-morrow. "peaceful here, eh?" he asked.he was not eloquent, but there was a deep meaning in the words that followed."look at these houses; there's not one

where i am not trusted. jove!i told you i would hang on. ask any man, woman, or child ..."he paused. "well, i am all right anyhow." 'i observed quickly that he had found thatout in the end. i had been sure of it, i added.he shook his head. "were you?" he pressed my arm lightly above the elbow."well, then--you were right." 'there was elation and pride, there was awealmost, in that low exclamation.

"jove!" he cried, "only think what it is tome." again he pressed my arm."and you asked me whether i thought of leaving. good god!i! want to leave! especially now after what you told me ofmr. stein's...leave! why! that's what i was afraid of.it would have been--it would have been harder than dying.no--on my word. don't laugh.

i must feel--every day, every time i openmy eyes--that i am trusted--that nobody has a right--don't you know?leave! for where? what for?to get what?" 'i had told him (indeed it was the mainobject of my visit) that it was stein's intention to present him at once with thehouse and the stock of trading goods, on certain easy conditions which would make the transaction perfectly regular andvalid. he began to snort and plunge at first."confound your delicacy!"

i shouted. "it isn't stein at all.it's giving you what you had made for yourself. and in any case keep your remarks formcneil--when you meet him in the other world.i hope it won't happen soon...." he had to give in to my arguments, becauseall his conquests, the trust, the fame, the friendships, the love--all these thingsthat made him master had made him a captive, too. he looked with an owner's eye at the peaceof the evening, at the river, at the

houses, at the everlasting life of theforests, at the life of the old mankind, at the secrets of the land, at the pride of his own heart; but it was they thatpossessed him and made him their own to the innermost thought, to the slightest stir ofblood, to his last breath. 'it was something to be proud of. i, too, was proud--for him, if not socertain of the fabulous value of the bargain.it was wonderful. it was not so much of his fearlessness thati thought. it is strange how little account i took ofit: as if it had been something too

conventional to be at the root of thematter. no. i was more struck by the other gifts he haddisplayed. he had proved his grasp of the unfamiliarsituation, his intellectual alertness in that field of thought. there was his readiness, too!amazing. and all this had come to him in a mannerlike keen scent to a well-bred hound. he was not eloquent, but there was adignity in this constitutional reticence, there was a high seriousness in hisstammerings.

he had still his old trick of stubbornblushing. now and then, though, a word, a sentence,would escape him that showed how deeply, how solemnly, he felt about that work whichhad given him the certitude of rehabilitation. that is why he seemed to love the land andthe people with a sort of fierce egoism, with a contemptuous tenderness.' -chapter 25 '"this is where i was prisoner for threedays," he murmured to me (it was on the occasion of our visit to the rajah), whilewe were making our way slowly through a

kind of awestruck riot of dependants acrosstunku allang's courtyard. "filthy place, isn't it? and i couldn't get anything to eat either,unless i made a row about it, and then it was only a small plate of rice and a friedfish not much bigger than a stickleback-- confound them! jove!i've been hungry prowling inside this stinking enclosure with some of thesevagabonds shoving their mugs right under my nose. i had given up that famous revolver ofyours at the first demand.

glad to get rid of the bally thing.look like a fool walking about with an empty shooting-iron in my hand." at that moment we came into the presence,and he became unflinchingly grave and complimentary with his late captor.oh! magnificent! i want to laugh when i think of it. but i was impressed, too. the old disreputable tunku allang could nothelp showing his fear (he was no hero, for all the tales of his hot youth he was fondof telling); and at the same time there was a wistful confidence in his manner towardshis late prisoner.

note!even where he would be most hated he was still trusted. jim--as far as i could follow theconversation--was improving the occasion by the delivery of a lecture. some poor villagers had been waylaid androbbed while on their way to doramin's house with a few pieces of gum or beeswaxwhich they wished to exchange for rice. "it was doramin who was a thief," burst outthe rajah. a shaking fury seemed to enter that oldfrail body. he writhed weirdly on his mat,gesticulating with his hands and feet,

tossing the tangled strings of his mop--animpotent incarnation of rage. there were staring eyes and dropping jawsall around us. jim began to speak. resolutely, coolly, and for some time heenlarged upon the text that no man should be prevented from getting his food and hischildren's food honestly. the other sat like a tailor at his board,one palm on each knee, his head low, and fixing jim through the grey hair that fellover his very eyes. when jim had done there was a greatstillness. nobody seemed to breathe even; no one madea sound till the old rajah sighed faintly,

and looking up, with a toss of his head,said quickly, "you hear, my people! no more of these little games." this decree was received in profoundsilence. a rather heavy man, evidently in a positionof confidence, with intelligent eyes, a bony, broad, very dark face, and a cheerilyof officious manner (i learned later on he was the executioner), presented to us two cups of coffee on a brass tray, which hetook from the hands of an inferior attendant."you needn't drink," muttered jim very rapidly.

i didn't perceive the meaning at first, andonly looked at him. he took a good sip and sat composedly,holding the saucer in his left hand. in a moment i felt excessively annoyed. "why the devil," i whispered, smiling athim amiably, "do you expose me to such a stupid risk?" i drank, of course, there was nothing forit, while he gave no sign, and almost immediately afterwards we took our leave. while we were going down the courtyard toour boat, escorted by the intelligent and cheery executioner, jim said he was verysorry.

it was the barest chance, of course. personally he thought nothing of poison.the remotest chance. he was--he assured me--considered to beinfinitely more useful than dangerous, and so..."but the rajah is afraid of youabominably. anybody can see that," i argued with, iown, a certain peevishness, and all the time watching anxiously for the first twistof some sort of ghastly colic. i was awfully disgusted. "if i am to do any good here and preservemy position," he said, taking his seat by my side in the boat, "i must stand therisk: i take it once every month, at least.

many people trust me to do that--for them. afraid of me!that's just it. most likely he is afraid of me because i amnot afraid of his coffee." then showing me a place on the north frontof the stockade where the pointed tops of several stakes were broken, "this is wherei leaped over on my third day in patusan. they haven't put new stakes there yet. good leap, eh?"a moment later we passed the mouth of a muddy creek."this is my second leap. i had a bit of a run and took this oneflying, but fell short.

thought i would leave my skin there.lost my shoes struggling. and all the time i was thinking to myselfhow beastly it would be to get a jab with a bally long spear while sticking in the mudlike this. i remember how sick i felt wriggling inthat slime. i mean really sick--as if i had bittensomething rotten." 'that's how it was--and the opportunity ranby his side, leaped over the gap, floundered in the mud...still veiled. the unexpectedness of his coming was theonly thing, you understand, that saved him from being at once dispatched with krissesand flung into the river.

they had him, but it was like getting holdof an apparition, a wraith, a portent. what did it mean?what to do with it? was it too late to conciliate him? hadn't he better be killed without moredelay? but what would happen then? wretched old allang went nearly mad withapprehension and through the difficulty of making up his mind. several times the council was broken up,and the advisers made a break helter- skelter for the door and out on to theverandah.

one--it is said--even jumped down to theground--fifteen feet, i should judge--and broke his leg. the royal governor of patusan had bizarremannerisms, and one of them was to introduce boastful rhapsodies into everyarduous discussion, when, getting gradually excited, he would end by flying off hisperch with a kriss in his hand. but, barring such interruptions, thedeliberations upon jim's fate went on night and day. 'meanwhile he wandered about the courtyard,shunned by some, glared at by others, but watched by all, and practically at themercy of the first casual ragamuffin with a

chopper, in there. he took possession of a small tumble-downshed to sleep in; the effluvia of filth and rotten matter incommoded him greatly: itseems he had not lost his appetite though, because--he told me--he had been hungry allthe blessed time. now and again "some fussy ass" deputed fromthe council-room would come out running to him, and in honeyed tones would administeramazing interrogatories: "were the dutch coming to take the country? would the white man like to go back downthe river? what was the object of coming to such amiserable country?

the rajah wanted to know whether the whiteman could repair a watch?" they did actually bring out to him a nickelclock of new england make, and out of sheer unbearable boredom he busied himself intrying to get the alarum to work. it was apparently when thus occupied in hisshed that the true perception of his extreme peril dawned upon him. he dropped the thing--he says--"like a hotpotato," and walked out hastily, without the slightest idea of what he would, orindeed could, do. he only knew that the position wasintolerable. he strolled aimlessly beyond a sort oframshackle little granary on posts, and his

eyes fell on the broken stakes of thepalisade; and then--he says--at once, without any mental process as it were, without any stir of emotion, he set abouthis escape as if executing a plan matured for a month. he walked off carelessly to give himself agood run, and when he faced about there was some dignitary, with two spearmen inattendance, close at his elbow ready with a question. he started off "from under his very nose,"went over "like a bird," and landed on the other side with a fall that jarred all hisbones and seemed to split his head.

he picked himself up instantly. he never thought of anything at the time;all he could remember--he said--was a great yell; the first houses of patusan werebefore him four hundred yards away; he saw the creek, and as it were mechanically puton more pace. the earth seemed fairly to fly backwardsunder his feet. he took off from the last dry spot, felthimself flying through the air, felt himself, without any shock, planted uprightin an extremely soft and sticky mudbank. it was only when he tried to move his legsand found he couldn't that, in his own words, "he came to himself."he began to think of the "bally long

spears." as a matter of fact, considering that thepeople inside the stockade had to run to the gate, then get down to the landing-place, get into boats, and pull round a point of land, he had more advance than heimagined. besides, it being low water, the creek waswithout water--you couldn't call it dry-- and practically he was safe for a time fromeverything but a very long shot perhaps. the higher firm ground was about six feetin front of him. "i thought i would have to die there allthe same," he said. he reached and grabbed desperately with hishands, and only succeeded in gathering a

horrible cold shiny heap of slime againsthis breast--up to his very chin. it seemed to him he was burying himselfalive, and then he struck out madly, scattering the mud with his fists.it fell on his head, on his face, over his eyes, into his mouth. he told me that he remembered suddenly thecourtyard, as you remember a place where you had been very happy years ago.he longed--so he said--to be back there again, mending the clock. mending the clock--that was the idea. he made efforts, tremendous sobbing,gasping efforts, efforts that seemed to

burst his eyeballs in their sockets andmake him blind, and culminating into one mighty supreme effort in the darkness to crack the earth asunder, to throw it offhis limbs--and he felt himself creeping feebly up the bank.he lay full length on the firm ground and saw the light, the sky. then as a sort of happy thought the notioncame to him that he would go to sleep. he will have it that he did actually go tosleep; that he slept--perhaps for a minute, perhaps for twenty seconds, or only for onesecond, but he recollects distinctly the violent convulsive start of awakening.

he remained lying still for a while, andthen he arose muddy from head to foot and stood there, thinking he was alone of hiskind for hundreds of miles, alone, with no help, no sympathy, no pity to expect fromany one, like a hunted animal. the first houses were not more than twentyyards from him; and it was the desperate screaming of a frightened woman trying tocarry off a child that started him again. he pelted straight on in his socks,beplastered with filth out of all semblance to a human being.he traversed more than half the length of the settlement. the nimbler women fled right and left, theslower men just dropped whatever they had

in their hands, and remained petrified withdropping jaws. he was a flying terror. he says he noticed the little childrentrying to run for life, falling on their little stomachs and kicking. he swerved between two houses up a slope,clambered in desperation over a barricade of felled trees (there wasn't a weekwithout some fight in patusan at that time), burst through a fence into a maize- patch, where a scared boy flung a stick athim, blundered upon a path, and ran all at once into the arms of several startled men.he just had breath enough to gasp out,

"doramin! doramin!" he remembers being half-carried, half-rushed to the top of the slope, and in a vast enclosure with palms and fruit treesbeing run up to a large man sitting massively in a chair in the midst of thegreatest possible commotion and excitement. he fumbled in mud and clothes to producethe ring, and, finding himself suddenly on his back, wondered who had knocked himdown. they had simply let him go--don't youknow?--but he couldn't stand. at the foot of the slope random shots werefired, and above the roofs of the

settlement there rose a dull roar ofamazement. but he was safe. doramin's people were barricading the gateand pouring water down his throat; doramin's old wife, full of business andcommiseration, was issuing shrill orders to her girls. "the old woman," he said softly, "made ato-do over me as if i had been her own son. they put me into an immense bed--her statebed--and she ran in and out wiping her eyes to give me pats on the back. i must have been a pitiful object.i just lay there like a log for i don't

know how long."'he seemed to have a great liking for doramin's old wife. she on her side had taken a motherly fancyto him. she had a round, nut-brown, soft face, allfine wrinkles, large, bright red lips (she chewed betel assiduously), and screwed up,winking, benevolent eyes. she was constantly in movement, scoldingbusily and ordering unceasingly a troop of young women with clear brown faces and biggrave eyes, her daughters, her servants, her slave-girls. you know how it is in these households:it's generally impossible to tell the

difference. she was very spare, and even her ampleouter garment, fastened in front with jewelled clasps, had somehow a skimpyeffect. her dark bare feet were thrust into yellowstraw slippers of chinese make. i have seen her myself flitting about withher extremely thick, long, grey hair falling about her shoulders. she uttered homely shrewd sayings, was ofnoble birth, and was eccentric and arbitrary. in the afternoon she would sit in a veryroomy arm-chair, opposite her husband,

gazing steadily through a wide opening inthe wall which gave an extensive view of the settlement and the river. 'she invariably tucked up her feet underher, but old doramin sat squarely, sat imposingly as a mountain sits on a plain. he was only of the nakhoda or merchantclass, but the respect shown to him and the dignity of his bearing were very striking.he was the chief of the second power in patusan. the immigrants from celebes (about sixtyfamilies that, with dependants and so on, could muster some two hundred men "wearingthe kriss") had elected him years ago for

their head. the men of that race are intelligent,enterprising, revengeful, but with a more frank courage than the other malays, andrestless under oppression. they formed the party opposed to the rajah. of course the quarrels were for trade. this was the primary cause of factionfights, of the sudden outbreaks that would fill this or that part of the settlementwith smoke, flame, the noise of shots and shrieks. villages were burnt, men were dragged intothe rajah's stockade to be killed or

tortured for the crime of trading withanybody else but himself. only a day or two before jim's arrivalseveral heads of households in the very fishing village that was afterwards takenunder his especial protection had been driven over the cliffs by a party of the rajah's spearmen, on suspicion of havingbeen collecting edible birds' nests for a celebes trader. rajah allang pretended to be the onlytrader in his country, and the penalty for the breach of the monopoly was death; buthis idea of trading was indistinguishable from the commonest forms of robbery.

his cruelty and rapacity had no otherbounds than his cowardice, and he was afraid of the organised power of thecelebes men, only--till jim came--he was not afraid enough to keep quiet. he struck at them through his subjects, andthought himself pathetically in the right. the situation was complicated by awandering stranger, an arab half-breed, who, i believe, on purely religiousgrounds, had incited the tribes in the interior (the bush-folk, as jim himself called them) to rise, and had establishedhimself in a fortified camp on the summit of one of the twin hills.

he hung over the town of patusan like ahawk over a poultry-yard, but he devastated the open country. whole villages, deserted, rotted on theirblackened posts over the banks of clear streams, dropping piecemeal into the waterthe grass of their walls, the leaves of their roofs, with a curious effect of natural decay as if they had been a form ofvegetation stricken by a blight at its very root. the two parties in patusan were not surewhich one this partisan most desired to plunder.the rajah intrigued with him feebly.

some of the bugis settlers, weary withendless insecurity, were half inclined to call him in. the younger spirits amongst them, chaffing,advised to "get sherif ali with his wild men and drive the rajah allang out of thecountry." doramin restrained them with difficulty. he was growing old, and, though hisinfluence had not diminished, the situation was getting beyond him. this was the state of affairs when jim,bolting from the rajah's stockade, appeared before the chief of the bugis, produced thering, and was received, in a manner of

speaking, into the heart of the community.' chapter 26 'doramin was one of the most remarkable menof his race i had ever seen. his bulk for a malay was immense, but hedid not look merely fat; he looked imposing, monumental. this motionless body, clad in rich stuffs,coloured silks, gold embroideries; this huge head, enfolded in a red-and-goldheadkerchief; the flat, big, round face, wrinkled, furrowed, with two semicircular heavy folds starting on each side of wide,fierce nostrils, and enclosing a thick-

lipped mouth; the throat like a bull; thevast corrugated brow overhanging the staring proud eyes--made a whole that, onceseen, can never be forgotten. his impassive repose (he seldom stirred alimb when once he sat down) was like a display of dignity. he was never known to raise his voice.it was a hoarse and powerful murmur, slightly veiled as if heard from adistance. when he walked, two short, sturdy youngfellows, naked to the waist, in white sarongs and with black skull-caps on thebacks of their heads, sustained his elbows; they would ease him down and stand behind

his chair till he wanted to rise, when hewould turn his head slowly, as if with difficulty, to the right and to the left,and then they would catch him under his armpits and help him up. for all that, there was nothing of acripple about him: on the contrary, all his ponderous movements were likemanifestations of a mighty deliberate force. it was generally believed he consulted hiswife as to public affairs; but nobody, as far as i know, had ever heard them exchangea single word. when they sat in state by the wide openingit was in silence.

they could see below them in the declininglight the vast expanse of the forest country, a dark sleeping sea of sombregreen undulating as far as the violet and purple range of mountains; the shining sinuosity of the river like an immenseletter s of beaten silver; the brown ribbon of houses following the sweep of bothbanks, overtopped by the twin hills uprising above the nearer tree-tops. they were wonderfully contrasted: she,light, delicate, spare, quick, a little witch-like, with a touch of motherlyfussiness in her repose; he, facing her, immense and heavy, like a figure of a man

roughly fashioned of stone, with somethingmagnanimous and ruthless in his immobility. the son of these old people was a mostdistinguished youth. 'they had him late in life. perhaps he was not really so young as helooked. four- or five-and-twenty is not so youngwhen a man is already father of a family at eighteen. when he entered the large room, lined andcarpeted with fine mats, and with a high ceiling of white sheeting, where the couplesat in state surrounded by a most deferential retinue, he would make his way

straight to doramin, to kiss his hand--which the other abandoned to him, majestically--and then would step across tostand by his mother's chair. i suppose i may say they idolised him, buti never caught them giving him an overt glance.those, it is true, were public functions. the room was generally thronged. the solemn formality of greetings andleave-takings, the profound respect expressed in gestures, on the faces, in thelow whispers, is simply indescribable. "it's well worth seeing," jim had assuredme while we were crossing the river, on our way back."they are like people in a book, aren't

they?" he said triumphantly. "and dain waris--their son--is the bestfriend (barring you) i ever had. what mr. stein would call a good 'war-comrade.' i was in luck. jove!i was in luck when i tumbled amongst them at my last gasp." he meditated with bowed head, then rousinghimself he added--'"of course i didn't go to sleep over it, but ..."he paused again. "it seemed to come to me," he murmured.

"all at once i saw what i had to do ..."'there was no doubt that it had come to him; and it had come through war, too, asis natural, since this power that came to him was the power to make peace. it is in this sense alone that might sooften is right. you must not think he had seen his way atonce. when he arrived the bugis community was ina most critical position. "they were all afraid," he said to me--"each man afraid for himself; while i could see as plain as possible that they must dosomething at once, if they did not want to go under one after another, what betweenthe rajah and that vagabond sherif."

but to see that was nothing. when he got his idea he had to drive itinto reluctant minds, through the bulwarks of fear, of selfishness.he drove it in at last. and that was nothing. he had to devise the means.he devised them--an audacious plan; and his task was only half done. he had to inspire with his own confidence alot of people who had hidden and absurd reasons to hang back; he had to conciliateimbecile jealousies, and argue away all sorts of senseless mistrusts.

without the weight of doramin's authority,and his son's fiery enthusiasm, he would have failed. dain waris, the distinguished youth, wasthe first to believe in him; theirs was one of those strange, profound, rarefriendships between brown and white, in which the very difference of race seems to draw two human beings closer by some mysticelement of sympathy. of dain waris, his own people said withpride that he knew how to fight like a white man. this was true; he had that sort of courage--the courage in the open, i may say--but he

had also a european mind. you meet them sometimes like that, and aresurprised to discover unexpectedly a familiar turn of thought, an unobscuredvision, a tenacity of purpose, a touch of altruism. of small stature, but admirably wellproportioned, dain waris had a proud carriage, a polished, easy bearing, atemperament like a clear flame. his dusky face, with big black eyes, was inaction expressive, and in repose thoughtful. he was of a silent disposition; a firmglance, an ironic smile, a courteous

deliberation of manner seemed to hint atgreat reserves of intelligence and power. such beings open to the western eye, sooften concerned with mere surfaces, the hidden possibilities of races and landsover which hangs the mystery of unrecorded ages. he not only trusted jim, he understood him,i firmly believe. i speak of him because he had captivatedme. his--if i may say so--his causticplacidity, and, at the same time, his intelligent sympathy with jim'saspirations, appealed to me. i seemed to behold the very origin offriendship.

if jim took the lead, the other hadcaptivated his leader. in fact, jim the leader was a captive inevery sense. the land, the people, the friendship, thelove, were like the jealous guardians of his body. every day added a link to the fetters ofthat strange freedom. i felt convinced of it, as from day to dayi learned more of the story. 'the story! haven't i heard the story? i've heard it on the march, in camp (hemade me scour the country after invisible

game); i've listened to a good part of iton one of the twin summits, after climbing the last hundred feet or so on my hands andknees. our escort (we had volunteer followers fromvillage to village) had camped meantime on a bit of level ground half-way up theslope, and in the still breathless evening the smell of wood-smoke reached our nostrils from below with the penetratingdelicacy of some choice scent. voices also ascended, wonderful in theirdistinct and immaterial clearness. jim sat on the trunk of a felled tree, andpulling out his pipe began to smoke. a new growth of grass and bushes wasspringing up; there were traces of an

earthwork under a mass of thorny twigs. "it all started from here," he said, aftera long and meditative silence. on the other hill, two hundred yards acrossa sombre precipice, i saw a line of high blackened stakes, showing here and thereruinously--the remnants of sherif ali's impregnable camp. 'but it had been taken, though.that had been his idea. he had mounted doramin's old ordnance onthe top of that hill; two rusty iron 7- pounders, a lot of small brass cannon--currency cannon. but if the brass guns represent wealth,they can also, when crammed recklessly to

the muzzle, send a solid shot to somelittle distance. the thing was to get them up there. he showed me where he had fastened thecables, explained how he had improvised a rude capstan out of a hollowed log turningupon a pointed stake, indicated with the bowl of his pipe the outline of theearthwork. the last hundred feet of the ascent hadbeen the most difficult. he had made himself responsible for successon his own head. he had induced the war party to work hardall night. big fires lighted at intervals blazed alldown the slope, "but up here," he

explained, "the hoisting gang had to flyaround in the dark." from the top he saw men moving on thehillside like ants at work. he himself on that night had kept onrushing down and climbing up like a squirrel, directing, encouraging, watchingall along the line. old doramin had himself carried up the hillin his arm-chair. they put him down on the level place uponthe slope, and he sat there in the light of one of the big fires--"amazing old chap--real old chieftain," said jim, "with his little fierce eyes--a pair of immenseflintlock pistols on his knees. magnificent things, ebony, silver-mounted,with beautiful locks and a calibre like an

old blunderbuss. a present from stein, it seems--in exchangefor that ring, you know. used to belong to good old mcneil.god only knows how he came by them. there he sat, moving neither hand nor foot,a flame of dry brushwood behind him, and lots of people rushing about, shouting andpulling round him--the most solemn, imposing old chap you can imagine. he wouldn't have had much chance if sherifali had let his infernal crew loose at us and stampeded my lot.eh? anyhow, he had come up there to die ifanything went wrong.

no mistake!jove! it thrilled me to see him there--like arock. but the sherif must have thought us mad,and never troubled to come and see how we got on. nobody believed it could be done.why! i think the very chaps who pulled andshoved and sweated over it did not believe it could be done! upon my word i don't think they did...."'he stood erect, the smouldering brier-wood in his clutch, with a smile on his lips anda sparkle in his boyish eyes.

i sat on the stump of a tree at his feet,and below us stretched the land, the great expanse of the forests, sombre under thesunshine, rolling like a sea, with glints of winding rivers, the grey spots of villages, and here and there a clearing,like an islet of light amongst the dark waves of continuous tree-tops. a brooding gloom lay over this vast andmonotonous landscape; the light fell on it as if into an abyss. the land devoured the sunshine; only faroff, along the coast, the empty ocean, smooth and polished within the faint haze,seemed to rise up to the sky in a wall of

steel. 'and there i was with him, high in thesunshine on the top of that historic hill of his.he dominated the forest, the secular gloom, the old mankind. he was like a figure set up on a pedestal,to represent in his persistent youth the power, and perhaps the virtues, of racesthat never grow old, that have emerged from the gloom. i don't know why he should always haveappeared to me symbolic. perhaps this is the real cause of myinterest in his fate.

i don't know whether it was exactly fair tohim to remember the incident which had given a new direction to his life, but atthat very moment i remembered very distinctly. it was like a shadow in the light.'