The Rescue. Джозеф Конрад

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СКАЧАТЬ spare old man ran up the ladder so smartly that his bony feet did not seem to touch the steps. He stood by his commander, his hands behind his back; a figure indistinct but straight as an arrow.

      “Who was looking out?” asked Lingard.

      “Badroon, the Bugis,” said Wasub, in his crisp, jerky manner.

      “I can hear nothing. Badroon heard the noise in his mind.”

      “The night hides the boat.”

      “Have you seen it?”

      “Yes, Tuan. Small boat. Before sunset. By the land. Now coming here—near. Badroon heard him.”

      “Why didn't you report it, then?” asked Lingard, sharply.

      “Malim spoke. He said: 'Nothing there,' while I could see. How could I know what was in his mind or yours, Tuan?”

      “Do you hear anything now?”

      “No. They stopped now. Perhaps lost the ship—who knows? Perhaps afraid—”

      “Well!” muttered Lingard, moving his feet uneasily. “I believe you lie. What kind of boat?”

      “White men's boat. A four-men boat, I think. Small. Tuan, I hear him now! There!”

      He stretched his arm straight out, pointing abeam for a time, then his arm fell slowly.

      “Coming this way,” he added with decision.

      From forward Shaw called out in a startled tone:

      “Something on the water, sir! Broad on this bow!”

      “All right!” called back Lingard.

      A lump of blacker darkness floated into his view. From it came over the water English words—deliberate, reaching him one by one; as if each had made its own difficult way through the profound stillness of the night.

      “What—ship—is—that—pray?”

      “English brig,” answered Lingard, after a short moment of hesitation.

      “A brig! I thought you were something bigger,” went on the voice from the sea with a tinge of disappointment in its deliberate tone. “I am coming alongside—if—you—please.”

      “No! you don't!” called Lingard back, sharply. The leisurely drawl of the invisible speaker seemed to him offensive, and woke up a hostile feeling. “No! you don't if you care for your boat. Where do you spring from? Who are you—anyhow? How many of you are there in that boat?”

      After these emphatic questions there was an interval of silence. During that time the shape of the boat became a little more distinct. She must have carried some way on her yet, for she loomed up bigger and nearly abreast of where Lingard stood, before the self-possessed voice was heard again:

      “I will show you.”

      Then, after another short pause, the voice said, less loud but very plain:

      “Strike on the gunwale. Strike hard, John!” and suddenly a blue light blazed out, illuminating with a livid flame a round patch in the night. In the smoke and splutter of that ghastly halo appeared a white, four-oared gig with five men sitting in her in a row. Their heads were turned toward the brig with a strong expression of curiosity on their faces, which, in this glare, brilliant and sinister, took on a deathlike aspect and resembled the faces of interested corpses. Then the bowman dropped into the water the light he held above his head and the darkness, rushing back at the boat, swallowed it with a loud and angry hiss.

      “Five of us,” said the composed voice out of the night that seemed now darker than before. “Four hands and myself. We belong to a yacht—a British yacht—”

      “Come on board!” shouted Lingard. “Why didn't you speak at once? I thought you might have been some masquerading Dutchmen from a dodging gunboat.”

      “Do I speak like a blamed Dutchman? Pull a stroke, boys—oars! Tend bow, John.”

      The boat came alongside with a gentle knock, and a man's shape began to climb at once up the brig's side with a kind of ponderous agility. It poised itself for a moment on the rail to say down into the boat—“Sheer off a little, boys,” then jumped on deck with a thud, and said to Shaw who was coming aft: “Good evening … Captain, sir?”

      “No. On the poop!” growled Shaw.

      “Come up here. Come up,” called Lingard, impatiently.

      The Malays had left their stations and stood clustered by the mainmast in a silent group. Not a word was spoken on the brig's decks, while the stranger made his way to the waiting captain. Lingard saw approaching him a short, dapper man, who touched his cap and repeated his greeting in a cool drawl:

      “Good evening … Captain, sir?”

      “Yes, I am the master—what's the matter? Adrift from your ship? Or what?”

      “Adrift? No! We left her four days ago, and have been pulling that gig in a calm, nearly ever since. My men are done. So is the water. Lucky thing I sighted you.”

      “You sighted me!” exclaimed Lingard. “When? What time?”

      “Not in the dark, you may be sure. We've been knocking about amongst some islands to the southward, breaking our hearts tugging at the oars in one channel, then in another—trying to get clear. We got round an islet—a barren thing, in shape like a loaf of sugar—and I caught sight of a vessel a long way off. I took her bearing in a hurry and we buckled to; but another of them currents must have had hold of us, for it was a long time before we managed to clear that islet. I steered by the stars, and, by the Lord Harry, I began to think I had missed you somehow—because it must have been you I saw.”

      “Yes, it must have been. We had nothing in sight all day,” assented Lingard. “Where's your vessel?” he asked, eagerly.

      “Hard and fast on middling soft mud—I should think about sixty miles from here. We are the second boat sent off for assistance. We parted company with the other on Tuesday. She must have passed to the northward of you to-day. The chief officer is in her with orders to make for Singapore. I am second, and was sent off toward the Straits here on the chance of falling in with some ship. I have a letter from the owner. Our gentry are tired of being stuck in the mud and wish for assistance.”

      “What assistance did you expect to find down here?”

      “The letter will tell you that. May I ask, Captain, for a little water for the chaps in my boat? And I myself would thank you for a drink. We haven't had a mouthful since this afternoon. Our breaker leaked out somehow.”

      “See to it, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard. “Come down the cabin, Mr.—”

      “Carter is my name.”

      “Ah! Mr. Carter. Come down, come down,” went on Lingard, leading the way down the cabin stairs.

      The steward had lighted the swinging lamp, and had put a decanter СКАЧАТЬ