dain was not long in crossing the river after leaving almayer. he landed at the water-gate of the stockade enclosing the group of houses which composed the residence of the rajah of sambir. evidently somebody was expected there, for the gate was open, and men with torches were ready to precede the visitor up the inclined plane of planks leading to the largest house where lakamba actually resided, and where all the business of state was invariably transacted. the other buildings within the enclosure served only to accommodate the numerous household and the wives of the ruler.
lakamba’s own house was a strong structure of solid planks, raised on high piles, with a verandah of split bamboos surrounding it on all sides; the whole was covered in by an immensely high-pitched roof of palm-leaves, resting on beams blackened by the smoke of many torches.
the building stood parallel to the river, one of its long sides facing the water-gate of the stockade. there was a door in the short side looking up the river, and the inclined plank-way led straight from the gate to that door. by the uncertain light of smoky torches, dain noticed the vague outlines of a group of armed men in the dark shadows to his right. from that group babalatchi stepped forward to open the door, and dain entered the audience chamber of the rajah’s residence. about one-third of the house was curtained off, by heavy stuff of european manufacture, for that purpose; close to the curtain there was a big arm-chair of some black wood, much carved, and before it a rough deal table. otherwise the room was only furnished with mats in great profusion. to the left of the entrance stood a rude arm-rack, with three rifles with fixed bayonets in it. by the wall, in the shadow, the body-guard of lakamba—all friends or relations—slept in a confused heap of brown arms, legs, and multi-coloured garments, from whence issued an occasional snore or a subdued groan of some uneasy sleeper. an european lamp with a green shade standing on the table made all this indistinctly visible to dain.
“you are welcome to your rest here,” said babalatchi, looking at dain interrogatively.
“i must speak to the rajah at once,” answered dain.
babalatchi made a gesture of assent, and, turning to the brass gong suspended under the arm-rack, struck two sharp blows.
the ear-splitting din woke up the guard. the snores ceased; outstretched legs were drawn in; the whole heap moved, and slowly resolved itself into individual forms, with much yawning and rubbing of sleepy eyes; behind the curtains there was a burst of feminine chatter; then the bass voice of lakamba was heard.
“is that the arab trader?”
“no, tuan,” answered babalatchi; “dain has returned at last. he is here for an important talk, bitcharra—if you mercifully consent.”
evidently lakamba’s mercy went so far—for in a short while he came out from behind the curtain—but it did not go to the length of inducing him to make an extensive toilet. a short red sarong tightened hastily round his hips was his only garment. the merciful ruler of sambir looked sleepy and rather sulky. he sat in the arm-chair, his knees well apart, his elbows on the arm-rests, his chin on his breast, breathing heavily and waiting malevolently for dain to open the important talk.
but dain did not seem anxious to begin. he directed his gaze towards babalatchi, squatting comfortably at the feet of his master, and remained silent with a slightly bent head as if in attentive expectation of coming words of wisdom.
babalatchi coughed discreetly, and, leaning forward, pushed over a few mats for dain to sit upon, then lifting up his squeaky voice he assured him with eager volubility of everybody’s delight at this long-looked-for return. his heart had hungered for the sight of dain’s face, and his ears were withering for the want of the refreshing sound of his voice. everybody’s hearts and ears were in the same sad predicament, according to babalatchi, as he indicated with a sweeping gesture the other bank of the river where the settlement slumbered peacefully, unconscious of the great joy awaiting it on the morrow when dain’s presence amongst them would be disclosed. “for”—went on babalatchi—“what is the joy of a poor man if not the open hand of a generous trader or of a great—”
here he checked himself abruptly with a calculated embarrassment of manner, and his roving eye sought the floor, while an apologetic smile dwelt for a moment on his misshapen lips. once or twice during this opening speech an amused expression flitted across dain’s face, soon to give way, however, to an appearance of grave concern. on lakamba’s brow a heavy frown had settled, and his lips moved angrily as he listened to his prime minister’s oratory. in the silence that fell upon the room when babalatchi ceased speaking arose a chorus of varied snores from the corner where the body-guard had resumed their interrupted slumbers, but the distant rumble of thunder filling then nina’s heart with apprehension for the safety of her lover passed unheeded by those three men intent each on their own purposes, for life or death.
after a short silence, babalatchi, discarding now the flowers of polite eloquence, spoke again, but in short and hurried sentences and in a low voice. they had been very uneasy. why did dain remain so long absent? the men dwelling on the lower reaches of the river heard the reports of big guns and saw a fire-ship of the dutch amongst the islands of the estuary. so they were anxious. rumours of a disaster had reached abdulla a few days ago, and since then they had been waiting for dain’s return under the apprehension of some misfortune. for days they had closed their eyes in fear, and woke up alarmed, and walked abroad trembling, like men before an enemy. and all on account of dain. would he not allay their fears for his safety, not for themselves? they were quiet and faithful, and devoted to the great rajah in batavia—may his fate lead him ever to victory for the joy and profit of his servants! “and here,” went on babalatchi, “lakamba my master was getting thin in his anxiety for the trader he had taken under his protection; and so was abdulla, for what would wicked men not say if perchance—”
“be silent, fool!” growled lakamba, angrily.
babalatchi subsided into silence with a satisfied smile, while dain, who had been watching him as if fascinated, turned with a sigh of relief towards the ruler of sambir. lakamba did not move, and, without raising his head, looked at dain from under his eyebrows, breathing audibly, with pouted lips, in an air of general discontent.
“speak! o dain!” he said at last. “we have heard many rumours. many nights in succession has my friend reshid come here with bad tidings. news travels fast along the coast. but they may be untrue; there are more lies in men’s mouths in these days than when i was young, but i am not easier to deceive now.”
“all my words are true,” said dain, carelessly. “if you want to know what befell my brig, then learn that it is in the hands of the dutch. believe me, rajah,” he went on, with sudden energy, “the orang blanda have good friends in sambir, or else how did they know i was coming thence?”
lakamba gave dain a short and hostile glance. babalatchi rose quietly, and, going to the arm-rack, struck the gong violently.
outside the door there was a shuffle of bare feet; inside, the guard woke up and sat staring in sleepy surprise.
“yes, you faithful friend of the white rajah,” went on dain, scornfully, turning to babalatchi, who had returned to his place, “i have escaped, and i am here to gladden your heart. when i saw the dutch ship i ran the brig inside the reefs and put her ashore. they did not dare to follow with the ship, so they sent the boats. we took to ours and tried to get away, but the ship dropped fireballs at us, and killed many of my men. but i am left, o babalatchi! the dutch are coming here. they are seeking for me. they are coming to ask their faithful friend lakamba and his slave babalatchi. rejoice!”
but neither of his hearers appeared to be in a joyful mood. lakamba had put one leg over his knee, and went on gently scratching it with a meditative air, while babalatchi, sitting cross-legged, seemed suddenly to become smaller and very limp, staring straight before him vacantly. the guard evinced some interest in the proceedings, stretching themselves full length on the mats to be nearer the speaker. one of them got up and now stood leaning against the arm-rack, playing absently with the fringes of his sword-hilt.
dain waited till the crash of thunder had died away in distant mutterings before he spoke again.
“are you dumb, o ruler of sambir, or is the son of a great rajah unworthy of your notice? i am come here to seek refuge and to warn you, and want to know what you intend doing.”
“you came here because of the white man’s daughter,” retorted lakamba, quickly. “your refuge was with your father, the rajah of bali, the son of heaven, the ‘anak agong’ himself. what am i to protect great princes? only yesterday i planted rice in a burnt clearing; to-day you say i hold your life in my hand.”
babalatchi glanced at his master. “no man can escape his fate,” he murmured piously. “when love enters a man’s heart he is like a child—without any understanding. be merciful, lakamba,” he added, twitching the corner of the rajah’s sarong warningly.
lakamba snatched away the skirt of the sarong angrily. under the dawning comprehension of intolerable embarrassments caused by dain’s return to sambir he began to lose such composure as he had been, till then, able to maintain; and now he raised his voice loudly above the whistling of the wind and the patter of rain on the roof in the hard squall passing over the house.
“you came here first as a trader with sweet words and great promises, asking me to look the other way while you worked your will on the white man there. and i did. what do you want now? when i was young i fought. now i am old, and want peace. it is easier for me to have you killed than to fight the dutch. it is better for me.”
the squall had now passed, and, in the short stillness of the lull in the storm, lakamba repeated softly, as if to himself, “much easier. much better.”
dain did not seem greatly discomposed by the rajah’s threatening words. while lakamba was speaking he had glanced once rapidly over his shoulder, just to make sure that there was nobody behind him, and, tranquillised in that respect, he had extracted a siri-box out of the folds of his waist-cloth, and was wrapping carefully the little bit of betel-nut and a small pinch of lime in the green leaf tendered him politely by the watchful babalatchi. he accepted this as a peace-offering from the silent statesman—a kind of mute protest against his master’s undiplomatic violence, and as an omen of a possible understanding to be arrived at yet. otherwise dain was not uneasy. although recognising the justice of lakamba’s surmise that he had come back to sambir only for the sake of the white man’s daughter, yet he was not conscious of any childish lack of understanding, as suggested by babalatchi. in fact, dain knew very well that lakamba was too deeply implicated in the gunpowder smuggling to care for an investigation the dutch authorities into that matter. when sent off by his father, the independent rajah of bali, at the time when the hostilities between dutch and malays threatened to spread from sumatra over the whole archipelago, dain had found all the big traders deaf to his guarded proposals, and above the temptation of the great prices he was ready to give for gunpowder. he went to sambir as a last and almost hopeless resort, having heard in macassar of the white man there, and of the regular steamer trading from singapore—allured also by the fact that there was no dutch resident on the river, which would make things easier, no doubt. his hopes got nearly wrecked against the stubborn loyalty of lakamba arising from well-understood self-interest; but at last the young man’s generosity, his persuasive enthusiasm, the prestige of his father’s great name, overpowered the prudent hesitation of the ruler of sambir. lakamba would have nothing to do himself with any illegal traffic. he also objected to the arabs being made use of in that matter; but he suggested almayer, saying that he was a weak man easily persuaded, and that his friend, the english captain of the steamer, could be made very useful—very likely even would join in the business, smuggling the powder in the steamer without abdulla’s knowledge. there again dain met in almayer with unexpected resistance; lakamba had to send babalatchi over with the solemn promise that his eyes would be shut in friendship for the white man, dain paying for the promise and the friendship in good silver guilders of the hated orang blanda. almayer, at last consenting, said the powder would be obtained, but dain must trust him with dollars to send to singapore in payment for it. he would induce ford to buy and smuggle it in the steamer on board the brig. he did not want any money for himself out of the transaction, but dain must help him in his great enterprise after sending off the brig. almayer had explained to dain that he could not trust lakamba alone in that matter; he would be afraid of losing his treasure and his life through the cupidity of the rajah; yet the rajah had to be told, and insisted on taking a share in that operation, or else his eyes would remain shut no longer. to this almayer had to submit. had dain not seen nina he would have probably refused to engage himself and his men in the projected expedition to gunong mas—the mountain of gold. as it was he intended to return with half of his men as soon as the brig was clear of the reefs, but the persistent chase given him by the dutch frigate had forced him to run south and ultimately to wreck and destroy his vessel in order to preserve his liberty or perhaps even his life. yes, he had come back to sambir for nina, although aware that the dutch would look for him there, but he had also calculated his chances of safety in lakamba’s hands. for all his ferocious talk, the merciful ruler would not kill him, for he had long ago been impressed with the notion that dain possessed the secret of the white man’s treasure; neither would he give him up to the dutch, for fear of some fatal disclosure of complicity in the treasonable trade. so dain felt tolerably secure as he sat meditating quietly his answer to the rajah’s bloodthirsty speech. yes, he would point out to him the aspect of his position should he—dain—fall into the hands of the dutch and should he speak the truth. he would have nothing more to lose then, and he would speak the truth. and if he did return to sambir, disturbing thereby lakamba’s peace of mind, what then? he came to look after his property. did he not pour a stream of silver into mrs. almayer’s greedy lap? he had paid, for the girl, a price worthy of a great prince, although unworthy of that delightfully maddening creature for whom his untamed soul longed in an intensity of desire far more tormenting than the sharpest pain. he wanted his happiness. he had the right to be in sambir.
he rose, and, approaching the table, leaned both his elbows on it; lakamba responsively edged his seat a little closer, while babalatchi scrambled to his feet and thrust his inquisitive head between his master’s and dain’s. they interchanged their ideas rapidly, speaking in whispers into each other’s faces, very close now, dain suggesting, lakamba contradicting, babalatchi conciliating and anxious in his vivid apprehension of coming difficulties. he spoke most, whispering earnestly, turning his head slowly from side to side so as to bring his solitary eye to bear upon each of his interlocutors in turn. why should there be strife? said he. let tuan dain, whom he loved only less than his master, go trustfully into hiding. there were many places for that. bulangi’s house away in the clearing was best.
bulangi was a safe man. in the network of crooked channels no white man could find his way. white men were strong, but very foolish. it was undesirable to fight them, but deception was easy. they were like silly women—they did not know the use of reason, and he was a match for any of them—went on babalatchi, with all the confidence of deficient experience. probably the dutch would seek almayer. maybe they would take away their countryman if they were suspicious of him. that would be good. after the dutch went away lakamba and dain would get the treasure without any trouble, and there would be one person less to share it. did he not speak wisdom? will tuan dain go to bulangi’s house till the danger is over, go at once?
dain accepted this suggestion of going into hiding with a certain sense of conferring a favour upon lakamba and the anxious statesman, but he met the proposal of going at once with a decided no, looking babalatchi meaningly in the eye. the statesman sighed as a man accepting the inevitable would do, and pointed silently towards the other bank of the river. dain bent his head slowly.
“yes, i am going there,” he said.
“before the day comes?” asked babalatchi.
“i am going there now,” answered dain, decisively. “the orang blanda will not be here before to-morrow night, perhaps, and i must tell almayer of our arrangements.”
“no, tuan. no; say nothing,” protested babalatchi. “i will go over myself at sunrise and let him know.”
“i will see,” said dain, preparing to go.
the thunderstorm was recommencing outside, the heavy clouds hanging low overhead now.
there was a constant rumble of distant thunder punctuated by the nearer sharp crashes, and in the continuous play of blue lightning the woods and the river showed fitfully, with all the elusive distinctness of detail characteristic of such a scene. outside the door of the rajah’s house dain and babalatchi stood on the shaking verandah as if dazed and stunned by the violence of the storm. they stood there amongst the cowering forms of the rajah’s slaves and retainers seeking shelter from the rain, and dain called aloud to his boatmen, who responded with an unanimous “ada! tuan!” while they looked uneasily at the river.
“this is a great flood!” shouted babalatchi into dain’s ear. “the river is very angry. look! look at the drifting logs! can you go?”
dain glanced doubtfully on the livid expanse of seething water bounded far away on the other side by the narrow black line of the forests. suddenly, in a vivid white flash, the low point of land with the bending trees on it and almayer’s house, leaped into view, flickered and disappeared. dain pushed babalatchi aside and ran down to the water-gate followed by his shivering boatmen.
babalatchi backed slowly in and closed the door, then turned round and looked silently upon lakamba. the rajah sat still, glaring stonily upon the table, and babalatchi gazed curiously at the perplexed mood of the man he had served so many years through good and evil fortune. no doubt the one-eyed statesman felt within his savage and much sophisticated breast the unwonted feelings of sympathy with, and perhaps even pity for, the man he called his master. from the safe position of a confidential adviser, he could, in the dim vista of past years, see himself—a casual cut-throat—finding shelter under that man’s roof in the modest rice-clearing of early beginnings. then came a long period of unbroken success, of wise counsels, and deep plottings resolutely carried out by the fearless lakamba, till the whole east coast from poulo laut to tanjong batu listened to babalatchi’s wisdom speaking through the mouth of the ruler of sambir. in those long years how many dangers escaped, how many enemies bravely faced, how many white men successfully circumvented! and now he looked upon the result of so many years of patient toil: the fearless lakamba cowed by the shadow of an impending trouble. the ruler was growing old, and babalatchi, aware of an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach, put both his hands there with a suddenly vivid and sad perception of the fact that he himself was growing old too; that the time of reckless daring was past for both of them, and that they had to seek refuge in prudent cunning. they wanted peace; they were disposed to reform; they were ready even to retrench, so as to have the wherewithal to bribe the evil days away, if bribed away they could be. babalatchi sighed for the second time that night as he squatted again at his master’s feet and tendered him his betel-nut box in mute sympathy. and they sat there in close yet silent communion of betel-nut chewers, moving their jaws slowly, expectorating decorously into the wide-mouthed brass vessel they passed to one another, and listening to the awful din of the battling elements outside.
“there is a very great flood,” remarked babalatchi, sadly.
“yes,” said lakamba. “did dain go?”
“he went, tuan. he ran down to the river like a man possessed of the sheitan himself.”
there was another long pause.
“he may get drowned,” suggested lakamba at last, with some show of interest.
“the floating logs are many,” answered babalatchi, “but he is a good swimmer,” he added languidly.
“he ought to live,” said lakamba; “he knows where the treasure is.”
babalatchi assented with an ill-humoured grunt. his want of success in penetrating the white man’s secret as to the locality where the gold was to be found was a sore point with the statesman of sambir, as the only conspicuous failure in an otherwise brilliant career.
a great peace had now succeeded the turmoil of the storm. only the little belated clouds, which hurried past overhead to catch up the main body flashing silently in the distance, sent down short showers that pattered softly with a soothing hiss over the palm-leaf roof.
lakamba roused himself from his apathy with an appearance of having grasped the situation at last.
“babalatchi,” he called briskly, giving him a slight kick.
“ada tuan! i am listening.”
“if the orang blanda come here, babalatchi, and take almayer to batavia to punish him for smuggling gunpowder, what will he do, you think?”
“i do not know, tuan.”
“you are a fool,” commented lakamba, exultingly. “he will tell them where the treasure is, so as to find mercy. he will.”
babalatchi looked up at his master and nodded his head with by no means a joyful surprise. he had not thought of this; there was a new complication.
“almayer must die,” said lakamba, decisively, “to make our secret safe. he must die quietly, babalatchi. you must do it.”
babalatchi assented, and rose wearily to his feet. “to-morrow?” he asked.
“yes; before the dutch come. he drinks much coffee,” answered lakamba, with seeming irrelevancy.
babalatchi stretched himself yawning, but lakamba, in the flattering consciousness of a knotty problem solved by his own unaided intellectual efforts, grew suddenly very wakeful.
“babalatchi,” he said to the exhausted statesman, “fetch the box of music the white captain gave me. i cannot sleep.”
at this order a deep shade of melancholy settled upon babalatchi’s features. he went reluctantly behind the curtain and soon reappeared carrying in his arms a small hand-organ, which he put down on the table with an air of deep dejection. lakamba settled himself comfortably in his arm-chair.
“turn, babalatchi, turn,” he murmured, with closed eyes.
babalatchi’s hand grasped the handle with the energy of despair, and as he turned, the deep gloom on his countenance changed into an expression of hopeless resignation. through the open shutter the notes of verdi’s music floated out on the great silence over the river and forest. lakamba listened with closed eyes and a delighted smile; babalatchi turned, at times dozing off and swaying over, then catching himself up in a great fright with a few quick turns of the handle. nature slept in an exhausted repose after the fierce turmoil, while under the unsteady hand of the statesman of sambir the trovatore fitfully wept, wailed, and bade good-bye to his leonore again and again in a mournful round of tearful and endless iteration.
