the skipper of the sephora had a thin red whisker all round his face, and the sort of complexion that goes with hair of that color; also the particular, rather smeary shade of blue in the eyes. he was not exactly a showy figure; his shoulders were high, his stature but middling—one leg slightly more bandy than the other. he shook hands, looking vaguely around. a spiritless tenacity was his main characteristic, i judged. i behaved with a politeness which seemed to disconcert him. perhaps he was shy. he mumbled to me as if he were ashamed of what he was saying; gave his name (it was something like archbold—but at this distance of years i hardly am sure), his ship’s name, and a few other particulars of that sort, in the manner of a criminal making a reluctant and doleful confession. he had had terrible weather on the passage out—terrible—terrible—wife aboard, too.
by this time we were seated in the cabin and the steward brought in a tray with a bottle and glasses. “thanks! no.” never took liquor. would have some water, though. he drank two tumblerfuls. terrible thirsty work. ever since daylight had been exploring the islands round his ship.
“what was that for—fun?” i asked, with an appearance of polite interest.
“no!” he sighed. “painful duty.”
as he persisted in his mumbling and i wanted my double to hear every word, i hit upon the notion of informing him that i regretted to say i was hard of hearing.
“such a young man, too!” he nodded, keeping his smeary blue, unintelligent eyes fastened upon me. “what was the cause of it—some disease?” he inquired, without the least sympathy and as if he thought that, if so, i’d got no more than i deserved.
“yes; disease,” i admitted in a cheerful tone which seemed to shock him. but my point was gained, because he had to raise his voice to give me his tale. it is not worth while to record his version. it was just over two months since all this had happened, and he had thought so much about it that he seemed completely muddled as to its bearings, but still immensely impressed.
“what would you think of such a thing happening on board your own ship? i’ve had the sephora for these fifteen years. i am a well-known shipmaster.”
he was densely distressed—and perhaps i should have sympathized with him if i had been able to detach my mental vision from the unsuspected sharer of my cabin as though he were my second self. there he was on the other side of the bulkhead, four or five feet from us, no more, as we sat in the saloon. i looked politely at captain archbold (if that was his name), but it was the other i saw, in a gray sleeping suit, seated on a low stool, his bare feet close together, his arms folded, and every word said between us falling into the ears of his dark head bowed on his chest.
“i have been at sea now, man and boy, for seven-and-thirty years, and i’ve never heard of such a thing happening in an english ship. and that it should be my ship. wife on board, too.”
i was hardly listening to him.
“don’t you think,” i said, “that the heavy sea which, you told me, came aboard just then might have killed the man? i have seen the sheer weight of a sea kill a man very neatly, by simply breaking his neck.”
“good god!” he uttered, impressively, fixing his smeary blue eyes on me. “the sea! no man killed by the sea ever looked like that.” he seemed positively scandalized at my suggestion. and as i gazed at him certainly not prepared for anything original on his part, he advanced his head close to mine and thrust his tongue out at me so suddenly that i couldn’t help starting back.
after scoring over my calmness in this graphic way he nodded wisely. if i had seen the sight, he assured me, i would never forget it as long as i lived. the weather was too bad to give the corpse a proper sea burial. so next day at dawn they took it up on the poop, covering its face with a bit of bunting; he read a short prayer, and then, just as it was, in its oilskins and long boots, they launched it amongst those mountainous seas that seemed ready every moment to swallow up the ship herself and the terrified lives on board of her.
“that reefed foresail saved you,” i threw in.
“under god—it did,” he exclaimed fervently. “it was by a special mercy, i firmly believe, that it stood some of those hurricane squalls.”
“it was the setting of that sail which—” i began.
“god’s own hand in it,” he interrupted me. “nothing less could have done it. i don’t mind telling you that i hardly dared give the order. it seemed impossible that we could touch anything without losing it, and then our last hope would have been gone.”
the terror of that gale was on him yet. i let him go on for a bit, then said, casually—as if returning to a minor subject:
“you were very anxious to give up your mate to the shore people, i believe?”
he was. to the law. his obscure tenacity on that point had in it something incomprehensible and a little awful; something, as it were, mystical, quite apart from his anxiety that he should not be suspected of “countenancing any doings of that sort.” seven-and-thirty virtuous years at sea, of which over twenty of immaculate command, and the last fifteen in the sephora, seemed to have laid him under some pitiless obligation.
“and you know,” he went on, groping shame-facedly amongst his feelings, “i did not engage that young fellow. his people had some interest with my owners. i was in a way forced to take him on. he looked very smart, very gentlemanly, and all that. but do you know—i never liked him, somehow. i am a plain man. you see, he wasn’t exactly the sort for the chief mate of a ship like the sephora.”
i had become so connected in thoughts and impressions with the secret sharer of my cabin that i felt as if i, personally, were being given to understand that i, too, was not the sort that would have done for the chief mate of a ship like the sephora. i had no doubt of it in my mind.
“not at all the style of man. you understand,” he insisted, superfluously, looking hard at me.
i smiled urbanely. he seemed at a loss for a while.
“i suppose i must report a suicide.”
“beg pardon?”
“suicide! that’s what i’ll have to write to my owners directly i get in.”
“unless you manage to recover him before tomorrow,” i assented, dispassionately.... “i mean, alive.”
he mumbled something which i really did not catch, and i turned my ear to him in a puzzled manner. he fairly bawled:
“the land—i say, the mainland is at least seven miles off my anchorage.”
“about that.”
my lack of excitement, of curiosity, of surprise, of any sort of pronounced interest, began to arouse his distrust. but except for the felicitous pretense of deafness i had not tried to pretend anything. i had felt utterly incapable of playing the part of ignorance properly, and therefore was afraid to try. it is also certain that he had brought some ready-made suspicions with him, and that he viewed my politeness as a strange and unnatural phenomenon. and yet how else could i have received him? not heartily! that was impossible for psychological reasons, which i need not state here. my only object was to keep off his inquiries. surlily? yes, but surliness might have provoked a point-blank question. from its novelty to him and from its nature, punctilious courtesy was the manner best calculated to restrain the man. but there was the danger of his breaking through my defense bluntly. i could not, i think, have met him by a direct lie, also for psychological (not moral) reasons. if he had only known how afraid i was of his putting my feeling of identity with the other to the test! but, strangely enough—(i thought of it only afterwards)—i believe that he was not a little disconcerted by the reverse side of that weird situation, by something in me that reminded him of the man he was seeking—suggested a mysterious similitude to the young fellow he had distrusted and disliked from the first.
however that might have been, the silence was not very prolonged. he took another oblique step.
“i reckon i had no more than a two-mile pull to your ship. not a bit more.”
“and quite enough, too, in this awful heat,” i said.
another pause full of mistrust followed. necessity, they say, is mother of invention, but fear, too, is not barren of ingenious suggestions. and i was afraid he would ask me point-blank for news of my other self.
“nice little saloon, isn’t it?” i remarked, as if noticing for the first time the way his eyes roamed from one closed door to the other. “and very well fitted out, too. here, for instance,” i continued, reaching over the back of my seat negligently and flinging the door open, “is my bathroom.”
he made an eager movement, but hardly gave it a glance. i got up, shut the door of the bathroom, and invited him to have a look round, as if i were very proud of my accommodation. he had to rise and be shown round, but he went through the business without any raptures whatever.
“and now we’ll have a look at my stateroom,” i declared, in a voice as loud as i dared to make it, crossing the cabin to the starboard side with purposely heavy steps.
he followed me in and gazed around. my intelligent double had vanished. i played my part.
“very convenient—isn’t it?”
“very nice. very comf...” he didn’t finish and went out brusquely as if to escape from some unrighteous wiles of mine. but it was not to be. i had been too frightened not to feel vengeful; i felt i had him on the run, and i meant to keep him on the run. my polite insistence must have had something menacing in it, because he gave in suddenly. and i did not let him off a single item; mate’s room, pantry, storerooms, the very sail locker which was also under the poop—he had to look into them all. when at last i showed him out on the quarter-deck he drew a long, spiritless sigh, and mumbled dismally that he must really be going back to his ship now. i desired my mate, who had joined us, to see to the captain’s boat.
the man of whiskers gave a blast on the whistle which he used to wear hanging round his neck, and yelled, “sephora’s away!” my double down there in my cabin must have heard, and certainly could not feel more relieved than i. four fellows came running out from somewhere forward and went over the side, while my own men, appearing on deck too, lined the rail. i escorted my visitor to the gangway ceremoniously, and nearly overdid it. he was a tenacious beast. on the very ladder he lingered, and in that unique, guiltily conscientious manner of sticking to the point:
“i say... you... you don’t think that—”
i covered his voice loudly:
“certainly not.... i am delighted. good-by.”
i had an idea of what he meant to say, and just saved myself by the privilege of defective hearing. he was too shaken generally to insist, but my mate, close witness of that parting, looked mystified and his face took on a thoughtful cast. as i did not want to appear as if i wished to avoid all communication with my officers, he had the opportunity to address me.
“seems a very nice man. his boat’s crew told our chaps a very extraordinary story, if what i am told by the steward is true. i suppose you had it from the captain, sir?”
“yes. i had a story from the captain.”
“a very horrible affair—isn’t it, sir?”
“it is.”
“beats all these tales we hear about murders in yankee ships.”
“i don’t think it beats them. i don’t think it resembles them in the least.”
“bless my soul—you don’t say so! but of course i’ve no acquaintance whatever with american ships, not i, so i couldn’t go against your knowledge. it’s horrible enough for me.... but the queerest part is that those fellows seemed to have some idea the man was hidden aboard here. they had really. did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“preposterous—isn’t it?”
we were walking to and fro athwart the quarter-deck. no one of the crew forward could be seen (the day was sunday), and the mate pursued:
“there was some little dispute about it. our chaps took offense. ‘as if we would harbor a thing like that,’ they said. ‘wouldn’t you like to look for him in our coal-hole?’ quite a tiff. but they made it up in the end. i suppose he did drown himself. don’t you, sir?”
“i don’t suppose anything.”
“you have no doubt in the matter, sir?”
“none whatever.”
i left him suddenly. i felt i was producing a bad impression, but with my double down there it was most trying to be on deck. and it was almost as trying to be below. altogether a nerve-trying situation. but on the whole i felt less torn in two when i was with him. there was no one in the whole ship whom i dared take into my confidence. since the hands had got to know his story, it would have been impossible to pass him off for anyone else, and an accidental discovery was to be dreaded now more than ever....
the steward being engaged in laying the table for dinner, we could talk only with our eyes when i first went down. later in the afternoon we had a cautious try at whispering. the sunday quietness of the ship was against us; the stillness of air and water around her was against us; the elements, the men were against us—everything was against us in our secret partnership; time itself—for this could not go on forever. the very trust in providence was, i suppose, denied to his guilt. shall i confess that this thought cast me down very much? and as to the chapter of accidents which counts for so much in the book of success, i could only hope that it was closed. for what favorable accident could be expected?
“did you hear everything?” were my first words as soon as we took up our position side by side, leaning over my bed place.
he had. and the proof of it was his earnest whisper, “the man told you he hardly dared to give the order.”
i understood the reference to be to that saving foresail.
“yes. he was afraid of it being lost in the setting.”
“i assure you he never gave the order. he may think he did, but he never gave it. he stood there with me on the break of the poop after the main topsail blew away, and whimpered about our last hope—positively whimpered about it and nothing else—and the night coming on! to hear one’s skipper go on like that in such weather was enough to drive any fellow out of his mind. it worked me up into a sort of desperation. i just took it into my own hands and went away from him, boiling, and—but what’s the use telling you? you know!... do you think that if i had not been pretty fierce with them i should have got the men to do anything? not i! the bo’s’n perhaps? perhaps! it wasn’t a heavy sea—it was a sea gone mad! i suppose the end of the world will be something like that; and a man may have the heart to see it coming once and be done with it—but to have to face it day after day—i don’t blame anybody. i was precious little better than the rest. only—i was an officer of that old coal wagon, anyhow—”
“i quite understand,” i conveyed that sincere assurance into his ear. he was out of breath with whispering; i could hear him pant slightly. it was all very simple. the same strung-up force which had given twenty-four men a chance, at least, for their lives, had, in a sort of recoil, crushed an unworthy mutinous existence.
but i had no leisure to weigh the merits of the matter—footsteps in the saloon, a heavy knock. “there’s enough wind to get under way with, sir.” here was the call of a new claim upon my thoughts and even upon my feelings.
“turn the hands up,” i cried through the door. “i’ll be on deck directly.”
i was going out to make the acquaintance of my ship. before i left the cabin our eyes met—the eyes of the only two strangers on board. i pointed to the recessed part where the little campstool awaited him and laid my finger on my lips. he made a gesture—somewhat vague—a little mysterious, accompanied by a faint smile, as if of regret.
this is not the place to enlarge upon the sensations of a man who feels for the first time a ship move under his feet to his own independent word. in my case they were not unalloyed. i was not wholly alone with my command; for there was that stranger in my cabin. or rather, i was not completely and wholly with her. part of me was absent. that mental feeling of being in two places at once affected me physically as if the mood of secrecy had penetrated my very soul. before an hour had elapsed since the ship had begun to move, having occasion to ask the mate (he stood by my side) to take a compass bearing of the pagoda, i caught myself reaching up to his ear in whispers. i say i caught myself, but enough had escaped to startle the man. i can’t describe it otherwise than by saying that he shied. a grave, preoccupied manner, as though he were in possession of some perplexing intelligence, did not leave him henceforth. a little later i moved away from the rail to look at the compass with such a stealthy gait that the helmsman noticed it—and i could not help noticing the unusual roundness of his eyes. these are trifling instances, though it’s to no commander’s advantage to be suspected of ludicrous eccentricities. but i was also more seriously affected. there are to a seaman certain words, gestures, that should in given conditions come as naturally, as instinctively as the winking of a menaced eye. a certain order should spring on to his lips without thinking; a certain sign should get itself made, so to speak, without reflection. but all unconscious alertness had abandoned me. i had to make an effort of will to recall myself back (from the cabin) to the conditions of the moment. i felt that i was appearing an irresolute commander to those people who were watching me more or less critically.
and, besides, there were the scares. on the second day out, for instance, coming off the deck in the afternoon (i had straw slippers on my bare feet) i stopped at the open pantry door and spoke to the steward. he was doing something there with his back to me. at the sound of my voice he nearly jumped out of his skin, as the saying is, and incidentally broke a cup.
“what on earth’s the matter with you?” i asked, astonished.
he was extremely confused. “beg your pardon, sir. i made sure you were in your cabin.”
“you see i wasn’t.”
“no, sir. i could have sworn i had heard you moving in there not a moment ago. it’s most extraordinary... very sorry, sir.”
i passed on with an inward shudder. i was so identified with my secret double that i did not even mention the fact in those scanty, fearful whispers we exchanged. i suppose he had made some slight noise of some kind or other. it would have been miraculous if he hadn’t at one time or another. and yet, haggard as he appeared, he looked always perfectly self-controlled, more than calm—almost invulnerable. on my suggestion he remained almost entirely in the bathroom, which, upon the whole, was the safest place. there could be really no shadow of an excuse for anyone ever wanting to go in there, once the steward had done with it. it was a very tiny place. sometimes he reclined on the floor, his legs bent, his head sustained on one elbow. at others i would find him on the campstool, sitting in his gray sleeping suit and with his cropped dark hair like a patient, unmoved convict. at night i would smuggle him into my bed place, and we would whisper together, with the regular footfalls of the officer of the watch passing and repassing over our heads. it was an infinitely miserable time. it was lucky that some tins of fine preserves were stowed in a locker in my stateroom; hard bread i could always get hold of; and so he lived on stewed chicken, pate de foie gras, asparagus, cooked oysters, sardines—on all sorts of abominable sham delicacies out of tins. my early-morning coffee he always drank; and it was all i dared do for him in that respect.
every day there was the horrible maneuvering to go through so that my room and then the bathroom should be done in the usual way. i came to hate the sight of the steward, to abhor the voice of that harmless man. i felt that it was he who would bring on the disaster of discovery. it hung like a sword over our heads.
the fourth day out, i think (we were then working down the east side of the gulf of siam, tack for tack, in light winds and smooth water)—the fourth day, i say, of this miserable juggling with the unavoidable, as we sat at our evening meal, that man, whose slightest movement i dreaded, after putting down the dishes ran up on deck busily. this could not be dangerous. presently he came down again; and then it appeared that he had remembered a coat of mine which i had thrown over a rail to dry after having been wetted in a shower which had passed over the ship in the afternoon. sitting stolidly at the head of the table i became terrified at the sight of the garment on his arm. of course he made for my door. there was no time to lose.
“steward,” i thundered. my nerves were so shaken that i could not govern my voice and conceal my agitation. this was the sort of thing that made my terrifically whiskered mate tap his forehead with his forefinger. i had detected him using that gesture while talking on deck with a confidential air to the carpenter. it was too far to hear a word, but i had no doubt that this pantomime could only refer to the strange new captain.
“yes, sir,” the pale-faced steward turned resignedly to me. it was this maddening course of being shouted at, checked without rhyme or reason, arbitrarily chased out of my cabin, suddenly called into it, sent flying out of his pantry on incomprehensible errands, that accounted for the growing wretchedness of his expression.
“where are you going with that coat?”
“to your room, sir.”
“is there another shower coming?”
“i’m sure i don’t know, sir. shall i go up again and see, sir?”
“no! never mind.”
my object was attained, as of course my other self in there would have heard everything that passed. during this interlude my two officers never raised their eyes off their respective plates; but the lip of that confounded cub, the second mate, quivered visibly.
i expected the steward to hook my coat on and come out at once. he was very slow about it; but i dominated my nervousness sufficiently not to shout after him. suddenly i became aware (it could be heard plainly enough) that the fellow for some reason or other was opening the door of the bathroom. it was the end. the place was literally not big enough to swing a cat in. my voice died in my throat and i went stony all over. i expected to hear a yell of surprise and terror, and made a movement, but had not the strength to get on my legs. everything remained still. had my second self taken the poor wretch by the throat? i don’t know what i could have done next moment if i had not seen the steward come out of my room, close the door, and then stand quietly by the sideboard.
“saved,” i thought. “but, no! lost! gone! he was gone!”
i laid my knife and fork down and leaned back in my chair. my head swam. after a while, when sufficiently recovered to speak in a steady voice, i instructed my mate to put the ship round at eight o’clock himself.
“i won’t come on deck,” i went on. “i think i’ll turn in, and unless the wind shifts i don’t want to be disturbed before midnight. i feel a bit seedy.”
“you did look middling bad a little while ago,” the chief mate remarked without showing any great concern.
they both went out, and i stared at the steward clearing the table. there was nothing to be read on that wretched man’s face. but why did he avoid my eyes, i asked myself. then i thought i should like to hear the sound of his voice.
“steward!”
“sir!” startled as usual.
“where did you hang up that coat?”
“in the bathroom, sir.” the usual anxious tone. “it’s not quite dry yet, sir.”
for some time longer i sat in the cuddy. had my double vanished as he had come? but of his coming there was an explanation, whereas his disappearance would be inexplicable.... i went slowly into my dark room, shut the door, lighted the lamp, and for a time dared not turn round. when at last i did i saw him standing bolt-upright in the narrow recessed part. it would not be true to say i had a shock, but an irresistible doubt of his bodily existence flitted through my mind. can it be, i asked myself, that he is not visible to other eyes than mine? it was like being haunted. motionless, with a grave face, he raised his hands slightly at me in a gesture which meant clearly, “heavens! what a narrow escape!” narrow indeed. i think i had come creeping quietly as near insanity as any man who has not actually gone over the border. that gesture restrained me, so to speak.
the mate with the terrific whiskers was now putting the ship on the other tack. in the moment of profound silence which follows upon the hands going to their stations i heard on the poop his raised voice: “hard alee!” and the distant shout of the order repeated on the main-deck. the sails, in that light breeze, made but a faint fluttering noise. it ceased. the ship was coming round slowly: i held my breath in the renewed stillness of expectation; one wouldn’t have thought that there was a single living soul on her decks. a sudden brisk shout, “mainsail haul!” broke the spell, and in the noisy cries and rush overhead of the men running away with the main brace we two, down in my cabin, came together in our usual position by the bed place.
he did not wait for my question. “i heard him fumbling here and just managed to squat myself down in the bath,” he whispered to me. “the fellow only opened the door and put his arm in to hang the coat up. all the same—”
“i never thought of that,” i whispered back, even more appalled than before at the closeness of the shave, and marveling at that something unyielding in his character which was carrying him through so finely. there was no agitation in his whisper. whoever was being driven distracted, it was not he. he was sane. and the proof of his sanity was continued when he took up the whispering again.
“it would never do for me to come to life again.”
it was something that a ghost might have said. but what he was alluding to was his old captain’s reluctant admission of the theory of suicide. it would obviously serve his turn—if i had understood at all the view which seemed to govern the unalterable purpose of his action.
“you must maroon me as soon as ever you can get amongst these islands off the cambodge shore,” he went on.
“maroon you! we are not living in a boy’s adventure tale,” i protested. his scornful whispering took me up.
“we aren’t indeed! there’s nothing of a boy’s tale in this. but there’s nothing else for it. i want no more. you don’t suppose i am afraid of what can be done to me? prison or gallows or whatever they may please. but you don’t see me coming back to explain such things to an old fellow in a wig and twelve respectable tradesmen, do you? what can they know whether i am guilty or not—or of what i am guilty, either? that’s my affair. what does the bible say? ‘driven off the face of the earth.’ very well, i am off the face of the earth now. as i came at night so i shall go.”
“impossible!” i murmured. “you can’t.”
“can’t?... not naked like a soul on the day of judgment. i shall freeze on to this sleeping suit. the last day is not yet—and... you have understood thoroughly. didn’t you?”
i felt suddenly ashamed of myself. i may say truly that i understood—and my hesitation in letting that man swim away from my ship’s side had been a mere sham sentiment, a sort of cowardice.
“it can’t be done now till next night,” i breathed out. “the ship is on the off-shore tack and the wind may fail us.”
“as long as i know that you understand,” he whispered. “but of course you do. it’s a great satisfaction to have got somebody to understand. you seem to have been there on purpose.” and in the same whisper, as if we two whenever we talked had to say things to each other which were not fit for the world to hear, he added, “it’s very wonderful.”
we remained side by side talking in our secret way—but sometimes silent or just exchanging a whispered word or two at long intervals. and as usual he stared through the port. a breath of wind came now and again into our faces. the ship might have been moored in dock, so gently and on an even keel she slipped through the water, that did not murmur even at our passage, shadowy and silent like a phantom sea.
at midnight i went on deck, and to my mate’s great surprise put the ship round on the other tack. his terrible whiskers flitted round me in silent criticism. i certainly should not have done it if it had been only a question of getting out of that sleepy gulf as quickly as possible. i believe he told the second mate, who relieved him, that it was a great want of judgment. the other only yawned. that intolerable cub shuffled about so sleepily and lolled against the rails in such a slack, improper fashion that i came down on him sharply.
“aren’t you properly awake yet?”
“yes, sir! i am awake.”
“well, then, be good enough to hold yourself as if you were. and keep a lookout. if there’s any current we’ll be closing with some islands before daylight.”
the east side of the gulf is fringed with islands, some solitary, others in groups. on the blue background of the high coast they seem to float on silvery patches of calm water, arid and gray, or dark green and rounded like clumps of evergreen bushes, with the larger ones, a mile or two long, showing the outlines of ridges, ribs of gray rock under the dark mantle of matted leafage. unknown to trade, to travel, almost to geography, the manner of life they harbor is an unsolved secret. there must be villages—settlements of fishermen at least—on the largest of them, and some communication with the world is probably kept up by native craft. but all that forenoon, as we headed for them, fanned along by the faintest of breezes, i saw no sign of man or canoe in the field of the telescope i kept on pointing at the scattered group.
at noon i gave no orders for a change of course, and the mate’s whiskers became much concerned and seemed to be offering themselves unduly to my notice. at last i said:
“i am going to stand right in. quite in—as far as i can take her.”
the stare of extreme surprise imparted an air of ferocity also to his eyes, and he looked truly terrific for a moment.
“we’re not doing well in the middle of the gulf,” i continued, casually. “i am going to look for the land breezes tonight.”
“bless my soul! do you mean, sir, in the dark amongst the lot of all them islands and reefs and shoals?”
“well—if there are any regular land breezes at all on this coast one must get close inshore to find them, mustn’t one?”
“bless my soul!” he exclaimed again under his breath. all that afternoon he wore a dreamy, contemplative appearance which in him was a mark of perplexity. after dinner i went into my stateroom as if i meant to take some rest. there we two bent our dark heads over a half-unrolled chart lying on my bed.
“there,” i said. “it’s got to be koh-ring. i’ve been looking at it ever since sunrise. it has got two hills and a low point. it must be inhabited. and on the coast opposite there is what looks like the mouth of a biggish river—with some towns, no doubt, not far up. it’s the best chance for you that i can see.”
“anything. koh-ring let it be.”
he looked thoughtfully at the chart as if surveying chances and distances from a lofty height—and following with his eyes his own figure wandering on the blank land of cochin-china, and then passing off that piece of paper clean out of sight into uncharted regions. and it was as if the ship had two captains to plan her course for her. i had been so worried and restless running up and down that i had not had the patience to dress that day. i had remained in my sleeping suit, with straw slippers and a soft floppy hat. the closeness of the heat in the gulf had been most oppressive, and the crew were used to seeing me wandering in that airy attire.
“she will clear the south point as she heads now,” i whispered into his ear. “goodness only knows when, though, but certainly after dark. i’ll edge her in to half a mile, as far as i may be able to judge in the dark—”
“be careful,” he murmured, warningly—and i realized suddenly that all my future, the only future for which i was fit, would perhaps go irretrievably to pieces in any mishap to my first command.
i could not stop a moment longer in the room. i motioned him to get out of sight and made my way on the poop. that unplayful cub had the watch. i walked up and down for a while thinking things out, then beckoned him over.
“send a couple of hands to open the two quarter-deck ports,” i said, mildly.
he actually had the impudence, or else so forgot himself in his wonder at such an incomprehensible order, as to repeat:
“open the quarter-deck ports! what for, sir?”
“the only reason you need concern yourself about is because i tell you to do so. have them open wide and fastened properly.”
he reddened and went off, but i believe made some jeering remark to the carpenter as to the sensible practice of ventilating a ship’s quarter-deck. i know he popped into the mate’s cabin to impart the fact to him because the whiskers came on deck, as it were by chance, and stole glances at me from below—for signs of lunacy or drunkenness, i suppose.
a little before supper, feeling more restless than ever, i rejoined, for a moment, my second self. and to find him sitting so quietly was surprising, like something against nature, inhuman.
i developed my plan in a hurried whisper.
“i shall stand in as close as i dare and then put her round. i will presently find means to smuggle you out of here into the sail locker, which communicates with the lobby. but there is an opening, a sort of square for hauling the sails out, which gives straight on the quarter-deck and which is never closed in fine weather, so as to give air to the sails. when the ship’s way is deadened in stays and all the hands are aft at the main braces you will have a clear road to slip out and get overboard through the open quarter-deck port. i’ve had them both fastened up. use a rope’s end to lower yourself into the water so as to avoid a splash—you know. it could be heard and cause some beastly complication.”
he kept silent for a while, then whispered, “i understand.”
“i won’t be there to see you go,” i began with an effort. “the rest ... i only hope i have understood, too.”
“you have. from first to last”—and for the first time there seemed to be a faltering, something strained in his whisper. he caught hold of my arm, but the ringing of the supper bell made me start. he didn’t though; he only released his grip.
after supper i didn’t come below again till well past eight o’clock. the faint, steady breeze was loaded with dew; and the wet, darkened sails held all there was of propelling power in it. the night, clear and starry, sparkled darkly, and the opaque, lightless patches shifting slowly against the low stars were the drifting islets. on the port bow there was a big one more distant and shadowily imposing by the great space of sky it eclipsed.
on opening the door i had a back view of my very own self looking at a chart. he had come out of the recess and was standing near the table.
“quite dark enough,” i whispered.
he stepped back and leaned against my bed with a level, quiet glance. i sat on the couch. we had nothing to say to each other. over our heads the officer of the watch moved here and there. then i heard him move quickly. i knew what that meant. he was making for the companion; and presently his voice was outside my door.
“we are drawing in pretty fast, sir. land looks rather close.”
“very well,” i answered. “i am coming on deck directly.”
i waited till he was gone out of the cuddy, then rose. my double moved too. the time had come to exchange our last whispers, for neither of us was ever to hear each other’s natural voice.
“look here!” i opened a drawer and took out three sovereigns. “take this anyhow. i’ve got six and i’d give you the lot, only i must keep a little money to buy some fruit and vegetables for the crew from native boats as we go through sunda straits.”
he shook his head.
“take it,” i urged him, whispering desperately. “no one can tell what—”
he smiled and slapped meaningly the only pocket of the sleeping jacket. it was not safe, certainly. but i produced a large old silk handkerchief of mine, and tying the three pieces of gold in a corner, pressed it on him. he was touched, i supposed, because he took it at last and tied it quickly round his waist under the jacket, on his bare skin.
our eyes met; several seconds elapsed, till, our glances still mingled, i extended my hand and turned the lamp out. then i passed through the cuddy, leaving the door of my room wide open.... “steward!”
he was still lingering in the pantry in the greatness of his zeal, giving a rub-up to a plated cruet stand the last thing before going to bed. being careful not to wake up the mate, whose room was opposite, i spoke in an undertone.
he looked round anxiously. “sir!”
“can you get me a little hot water from the galley?”
“i am afraid, sir, the galley fire’s been out for some time now.”
“go and see.”
he flew up the stairs.
“now,” i whispered, loudly, into the saloon—too loudly, perhaps, but i was afraid i couldn’t make a sound. he was by my side in an instant—the double captain slipped past the stairs—through a tiny dark passage ... a sliding door. we were in the sail locker, scrambling on our knees over the sails. a sudden thought struck me. i saw myself wandering barefooted, bareheaded, the sun beating on my dark poll. i snatched off my floppy hat and tried hurriedly in the dark to ram it on my other self. he dodged and fended off silently. i wonder what he thought had come to me before he understood and suddenly desisted. our hands met gropingly, lingered united in a steady, motionless clasp for a second. ... no word was breathed by either of us when they separated.
i was standing quietly by the pantry door when the steward returned.
“sorry, sir. kettle barely warm. shall i light the spirit lamp?”
“never mind.”
i came out on deck slowly. it was now a matter of conscience to shave the land as close as possible—for now he must go overboard whenever the ship was put in stays. must! there could be no going back for him. after a moment i walked over to leeward and my heart flew into my mouth at the nearness of the land on the bow. under any other circumstances i would not have held on a minute longer. the second mate had followed me anxiously.
i looked on till i felt i could command my voice.
“she will weather,” i said then in a quiet tone.
“are you going to try that, sir?” he stammered out incredulously.
i took no notice of him and raised my tone just enough to be heard by the helmsman.
“keep her good full.”
“good full, sir.”
the wind fanned my cheek, the sails slept, the world was silent. the strain of watching the dark loom of the land grow bigger and denser was too much for me. i had shut my eyes—because the ship must go closer. she must! the stillness was intolerable. were we standing still?
when i opened my eyes the second view started my heart with a thump. the black southern hill of koh-ring seemed to hang right over the ship like a towering fragment of everlasting night. on that enormous mass of blackness there was not a gleam to be seen, not a sound to be heard. it was gliding irresistibly towards us and yet seemed already within reach of the hand. i saw the vague figures of the watch grouped in the waist, gazing in awed silence.
“are you going on, sir?” inquired an unsteady voice at my elbow.
i ignored it. i had to go on.
“keep her full. don’t check her way. that won’t do now,” i said warningly.
“i can’t see the sails very well,” the helmsman answered me, in strange, quavering tones.
was she close enough? already she was, i won’t say in the shadow of the land, but in the very blackness of it, already swallowed up as it were, gone too close to be recalled, gone from me altogether.
“give the mate a call,” i said to the young man who stood at my elbow as still as death. “and turn all hands up.”
my tone had a borrowed loudness reverberated from the height of the land. several voices cried out together: “we are all on deck, sir.”
then stillness again, with the great shadow gliding closer, towering higher, without a light, without a sound. such a hush had fallen on the ship that she might have been a bark of the dead floating in slowly under the very gate of erebus.
“my god! where are we?”
it was the mate moaning at my elbow. he was thunderstruck, and as it were deprived of the moral support of his whiskers. he clapped his hands and absolutely cried out, “lost!”
“be quiet,” i said, sternly.
he lowered his tone, but i saw the shadowy gesture of his despair. “what are we doing here?”
“looking for the land wind.”
he made as if to tear his hair, and addressed me recklessly.
“she will never get out. you have done it, sir. i knew it’d end in something like this. she will never weather, and you are too close now to stay. she’ll drift ashore before she’s round. oh my god!”
i caught his arm as he was raising it to batter his poor devoted head, and shook it violently.
“she’s ashore already,” he wailed, trying to tear himself away.
“is she?... keep good full there!”
“good full, sir,” cried the helmsman in a frightened, thin, childlike voice.
i hadn’t let go the mate’s arm and went on shaking it. “ready about, do you hear? you go forward”—shake—“and stop there”—shake—“and hold your noise”—shake—“and see these head-sheets properly overhauled”—shake, shake—shake.
and all the time i dared not look towards the land lest my heart should fail me. i released my grip at last and he ran forward as if fleeing for dear life.
i wondered what my double there in the sail locker thought of this commotion. he was able to hear everything—and perhaps he was able to understand why, on my conscience, it had to be thus close—no less. my first order “hard alee!” re-echoed ominously under the towering shadow of koh-ring as if i had shouted in a mountain gorge. and then i watched the land intently. in that smooth water and light wind it was impossible to feel the ship coming-to. no! i could not feel her. and my second self was making now ready to ship out and lower himself overboard. perhaps he was gone already...?
the great black mass brooding over our very mastheads began to pivot away from the ship’s side silently. and now i forgot the secret stranger ready to depart, and remembered only that i was a total stranger to the ship. i did not know her. would she do it? how was she to be handled?
i swung the mainyard and waited helplessly. she was perhaps stopped, and her very fate hung in the balance, with the black mass of koh-ring like the gate of the everlasting night towering over her taffrail. what would she do now? had she way on her yet? i stepped to the side swiftly, and on the shadowy water i could see nothing except a faint phosphorescent flash revealing the glassy smoothness of the sleeping surface. it was impossible to tell—and i had not learned yet the feel of my ship. was she moving? what i needed was something easily seen, a piece of paper, which i could throw overboard and watch. i had nothing on me. to run down for it i didn’t dare. there was no time. all at once my strained, yearning stare distinguished a white object floating within a yard of the ship’s side. white on the black water. a phosphorescent flash passed under it. what was that thing?... i recognized my own floppy hat. it must have fallen off his head... and he didn’t bother. now i had what i wanted—the saving mark for my eyes. but i hardly thought of my other self, now gone from the ship, to be hidden forever from all friendly faces, to be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, with no brand of the curse on his sane forehead to stay a slaying hand... too proud to explain.
and i watched the hat—the expression of my sudden pity for his mere flesh. it had been meant to save his homeless head from the dangers of the sun. and now—behold—it was saving the ship, by serving me for a mark to help out the ignorance of my strangeness. ha! it was drifting forward, warning me just in time that the ship had gathered sternaway.
“shift the helm,” i said in a low voice to the seaman standing still like a statue.
the man’s eyes glistened wildly in the binnacle light as he jumped round to the other side and spun round the wheel.
i walked to the break of the poop. on the over-shadowed deck all hands stood by the forebraces waiting for my order. the stars ahead seemed to be gliding from right to left. and all was so still in the world that i heard the quiet remark, “she’s round,” passed in a tone of intense relief between two seamen.
“let go and haul.”
the foreyards ran round with a great noise, amidst cheery cries. and now the frightful whiskers made themselves heard giving various orders. already the ship was drawing ahead. and i was alone with her. nothing! no one in the world should stand now between us, throwing a shadow on the way of silent knowledge and mute affection, the perfect communion of a seaman with his first command.
walking to the taffrail, i was in time to make out, on the very edge of a darkness thrown by a towering black mass like the very gateway of erebus—yes, i was in time to catch an evanescent glimpse of my white hat left behind to mark the spot where the secret sharer of my cabin and of my thoughts, as though he were my second self, had lowered himself into the water to take his punishment: a free man, a proud swimmer striking out for a new destiny.
