bundles and boxes--on mats, on pillows, on quilts, on billets of

wood, conversing of Island affairs. Upon my word, I heard the
mutter of Almayer's name faintly at midnight, while making my way

aft from the bridge to look at the patent taffrail-log tinkling
its quarter miles in the great silence of the sea. I don't mean

to say that our passengers dreamed aloud of Almayer, but it is
indubitable that two of them at least, who could not sleep,

apparently, and were trying to charm away the trouble of insomnia
by a little whispered talk at that ghostly hour, were referring

in some way or other to Almayer. It was really impossible on
board that ship to get away definitely from Almayer; and a very

small pony tied up forward and whisking its tail inside the
galley, to the great embarrassment of our Chinaman cook, was

destined for Almayer. What he wanted with a pony goodness only
knows, since I am perfectly certain he could not ride it; but

here you have the man, ambitious, aiming at the grandiose,
importing a pony, whereas in the whole settlement at which he

used to shake daily his impotent fist there was only one path
that was practicable for a pony: a quarter of a mile at most,

hedged in by hundreds of square leagues of virgin forest. But
who knows? The importation of that Bali pony might have been

part of some deep scheme, of some diplomatic plan, of some
hopeful intrigue. With Almayer one could never tell. He

governed his conduct by considerations removed from the obvious,
by incredible assumptions, which rendered his logic impenetrable

to any reasonable person. I learned all this later. That
morning, seeing the figure in pajamas moving in the mist, I said

to myself, "That's the man."
He came quite close to the ship's side and raised a harassed

countenance, round and flat, with that curl of black hair over
the forehead and a heavy, pained glance.

"Good morning."
"Good morning."

He looked hard at me: I was a new face, having just replaced the
chief mate he was accustomed to see; and I think that this

novelty inspired him, as things generally did, with deep-seated
mistrust.

"Didn't expect you till this evening," he remarked, suspiciously.
I didn't know why he should have been aggrieved, but he seemed to

be. I took pains to explain to him that, having picked up the
beacon at the mouth of the river just before dark and the tide

serving, Captain C---- was enabled to cross the bar and there was
nothing to prevent him going up the river at night.

"Captain C---- knows this river like his own pocket," I
concluded, discursively, trying to get on terms.

"Better," said Almayer.
Leaning over the rail of the bridge, I looked at Almayer, who

looked down at the wharf in aggrieved thought. He shuffled his
feet a little; he wore straw slippers with thick soles. The

morning fog had thickened considerably. Everything round us
dripped--the derricks, the rails, every single rope in the

ship--as if a fit of crying had come upon the universe.
Almayer again raised his head and, in the accents of a man

accustomed to the buffets of evil fortune, asked, hardly audibly:
"I suppose you haven't got such a thing as a pony on board?"

I told him, almost in a whisper, for he attuned my communications
to his minor key, that we had such a thing as a pony, and I

hinted, as gently as I could, that he was confoundedly in the
way, too. I was very anxious to have him landed before I began

to handle the cargo. Almayer remained looking up at me for a
long while, with incredulous and melancholy eyes, as though it

were not a safe thing to believe in my statement. This pathetic
mistrust in the favourable issue of any sort of affair touched me

deeply, and I added:
"He doesn't seem a bit the worse for the passage. He's a nice

pony, too."
Almayer was not to be cheered up; for all answer he cleared his

throat and looked down again at his feet. I tried to close with
him on another tack.

"By Jove!" I said. "Aren't you afraid of catching pneumonia or
bronchitis or some thing, walking about in a singlet in such a

wet fog?"
He was not to be propitiated by a show of interest in his health.

His answer was a sinister "No fear," as much as to say that even
that way of escape from inclement fortune was closed to him.

"I just came down . . ." he mumbled after a while.
"Well, then, now you're here I will land that pony for you at

once, and you can lead him home. I really don't want him on
deck. He's in the way."

Almayer seemed doubtful. I insisted:
"Why, I will just swing him out and land him on the wharf right

in front of you. I'd much rather do it before the hatches are
off. The little devil may jump down the hold or do some other

deadly thing."
"There's a halter?" postulated Almayer.

"Yes, of course there's a halter." And without waiting any more
I leaned over the bridge rail.

"Serang, land Tuan Almayer's pony."
The cook hastened to shut the door of the galley, and a moment

later a great scuffle began on deck. The pony kicked with
extreme energy, the kalashes skipped out of the way, the serang

issued many orders in a cracked voice. Suddenly the pony leaped
upon the fore-hatch. His little hoofs thundered tremendously; he

plunged and reared. He had tossed his mane and his forelock into
a state of amazing wildness, he dilated his nostrils, bits of

foam flecked his broad little chest, his eyes blazed. He was
something under eleven hands; he was fierce, terrible, angry,

warlike; he said ha! ha! distinctly; he raged and thumped--and
sixteen able-bodied kalashes stood round him like disconcerted

nurses round a spoiled and passionate child. He whisked his tail
incessantly; he arched his pretty neck; he was perfectly

delightful; he was charmingly naughty. There was not an atom of
vice in that performance; no savage baring of teeth and laying

back of ears. On the contrary, he pricked them forward in a
comically aggressive manner. He was totally unmoral and lovable;

I would have liked to give him bread, sugar, carrots. But life
is a stern thing and the sense of duty the only safe guide. So I

steeled my heart, and from my elevated position on the bridge I
ordered the men to fling themselves upon him in a body.

The elderly serang, emitting a strange, inarticulate cry, gave
the example. He was an excellent petty officer--very competent,

indeed, and a moderate opium-smoker. The rest of them in one
great rush smothered that pony. They hung on to his ears, to his

mane, to his tail; they lay in piles across his back, seventeen
in all. The carpenter, seizing the hook of the cargo-chain,

flung himself on the top of them. A very satisfactory petty
officer, too, but he stuttered. Have you ever heard a

light-yellow, lean, sad, earnest Chinaman stutter in
Pidgin-English? It's very weird, indeed. He made the

eighteenth. I could not see the pony at all; but from the
swaying and heaving of that heap of men I knew that there was

something alive inside.
From the wharf Almayer hailed, in quavering tones:

"Oh, I say!"
Where he stood he could not see what was going on on deck,

unless, perhaps, the tops of the men's heads; he could only hear
the scuffle, the mighty thuds, as if the ship were being knocked

to pieces. I looked over: "What is it?"
"Don't let them break his legs," he entreated me, plaintively.