for the spirits of fearless warriors who died in battle. There

they may hear the story of their own deeds, of their own courage,
suffering and death, on the lips of living men. That story is

told in many places. On the cool mats in breezy verandahs of
Rajahs' houses it is alluded to disdainfully by impassive

statesmen, but amongst armed men that throng the courtyards it is
a tale which stills the murmur of voices and the tinkle of

anklets; arrests the passage of the siri-vessel, and fixes the
eyes in absorbed gaze. They talk of the fight, of the fearless

woman, of the wise man; of long suffering on the thirsty sea in
leaky canoes; of those who died. . . . Many died. A few

survived. The chief, the woman, and another one who became
great.

There was no hint of incipient greatness in Babalatchi's
unostentatious arrival in Sambir. He came with Omar and Aissa in

a small prau loaded with green cocoanuts, and claimed the
ownership of both vessel and cargo. How it came to pass that

Babalatchi, fleeing for his life in a small canoe, managed to end
his hazardous journey in a vessel full of a valuable commodity,

is one of those secrets of the sea that baffle the most searching
inquiry. In truth nobody inquired much. There were rumours of a

missing trading prau belonging to Menado, but they were vague and
remained mysterious. Babalatchi told a story which--it must be

said in justice to Patalolo's knowledge of the world--was not
believed. When the Rajah ventured to state his doubts,

Babalatchi asked him in tones of calm remonstrance whether he
could reasonably suppose that two oldish men--who had only one

eye amongst them--and a young woman were likely to gain
possession of anything whatever by violence? Charity was a

virtue recommended by the Prophet. There were charitable people,
and their hand was open to the deserving. Patalolo wagged his

aged head doubtingly, and Babalatchi withdrew with a shocked mien
and put himself forthwith under Lakamba's protection. The two

men who completed the prau's crew followed him into that
magnate's campong. The blind Omar, with Aissa, remained under

the care of the Rajah, and the Rajah confiscated the cargo. The
prau hauled up on the mud-bank, at the junction of the two

branches of the Pantai, rotted in the rain, warped in the sun,
fell to pieces and gradually vanished into the smoke of household

fires of the settlement. Only a forgotten plank and a rib or
two, sticking neglected in the shiny ooze for a long time, served

to remind Babalatchi during many months that he was a stranger in
the land.

Otherwise, he felt perfectly at home in Lakamba's establishment,
where his peculiar position and influence were quickly recognized

and soon submitted to even by the women. He had all a true
vagabond's pliability to circumstances and adaptiveness to

momentary surroundings. In his readiness to learn from
experience that contempt for early principles so necessary to a

true statesman, he equalled the most successful politicians of
any age; and he had enough persuasiveness and firmness of purpose

to acquire a complete mastery over Lakamba's vacillating
mind--where there was nothing stable but an all-pervading

discontent. He kept the discontent alive, he rekindled the
expiring ambition, he moderated the poor exile's not unnatural

impatience to attain a high and lucrative position. He--the man
of violence--deprecated the use of force, for he had a clear

comprehension of the difficult situation. From the same cause,
he--the hater of white men--would to some extent admit the

eventual expediency of Dutch protection. But nothing should be
done in a hurry. Whatever his master Lakamba might think, there

was no use in poisoning old Patalolo, he maintained. It could be
done, of course; but what then? As long as Lingard's influence

was paramount--as long as Almayer, Lingard's representative, was
the only great trader of the settlement, it was not worth

Lakamba's while--even if it had been possible--to grasp the rule
of the young state. Killing Almayer and Lingard was so difficult

and so risky that it might be dismissed as impracticable. What
was wanted was an alliance; somebody to set up against the white

men's influence--and somebody who, while favourable to Lakamba,
would at the same time be a person of a good standing with the

Dutch authorities. A rich and considered trader was wanted.
Such a person once firmly established in Sambir would help them

to oust the old Rajah, to remove him from power or from life if
there was no other way. Then it would be time to apply to the

Orang Blanda for a flag; for a recognition of their meritorious
services; for that protection which would make them safe for

ever! The word of a rich and loyal trader would mean something
with the Ruler down in Batavia. The first thing to do was to

find such an ally and to induce him to settle in Sambir. A white
trader would not do. A white man would not fall in with their

ideas--would not be trustworthy. The man they wanted should be
rich, unscrupulous, have many followers, and be a well-known

personality in the islands. Such a man might be found amongst
the Arab traders. Lingard's jealousy, said Babalatchi, kept all

the traders out of the river. Some were afraid, and some did not
know how to get there; others ignored the very existence of

Sambir; a good many did not think it worth their while to run the
risk of Lingard's enmity for the doubtfuladvantage of trade with

a comparatively unknown settlement. The great majority were
undesirable or untrustworthy. And Babalatchi mentioned

regretfully the men he had known in his young days: wealthy,
resolute, courageous, reckless, ready for any enterprise! But

why lament the past and speak about the dead? There is one
man--living--great--not far off . . .

Such was Babalatchi's line of policy laid before his ambitious
protector. Lakamba assented, his only objection being that it

was very slow work. In his extreme desire to grasp dollars and
power, the unintellectual exile was ready to throw himself into

the arms of any wandering cut-throat whose help could be secured,
and Babalatchi experienced great difficulty in restraining him

from unconsidered violence. It would not do to let it be seen
that they had any hand in introducing a new element into the

social and political life of Sambir. There was always a
possibility of failure, and in that case Lingard's vengeance

would be swift and certain. No risk should be run. They must
wait.

Meantime he pervaded the settlement, squatting in the course of
each day by many household fires, testing the public temper and

public opinion--and always talking about his impending departure.
At night he would often take Lakamba's smallest canoe and depart

silently to pay mysterious visits to his old chief on the other
side of the river. Omar lived in odour of sanctity under the

wing of Patalolo. Between the bamboo fence, enclosing the houses
of the Rajah, and the wild forest, there was a bananaplantation,

and on its further edge stood two little houses built on low
piles under a few precious fruit trees that grew on the banks of

a clear brook, which, bubbling up behind the house, ran in its
short and rapid course down to the big river. Along the brook a

narrow path led through the dense second growth of a neglected
clearing to the bananaplantation and to the houses in it which

the Rajah had given for residence to Omar. The Rajah was greatly
impressed by Omar's ostentatious piety, by his oracular wisdom,

by his many misfortunes, by the solemnfortitude with which he
bore his affliction. Often the old ruler of Sambir would visit

informally the blind Arab and listen gravely to his talk during
the hot hours of an afternoon. In the night, Babalatchi would

call and interrupt Omar's repose, unrebuked. Aissa, standing
silently at the door of one of the huts, could see the two old

friends as they sat very still by the fire in the middle of the
beaten ground between the two houses, talking in an indistinct

murmur far into the night. She could not hear their words, but
she watched the two formless shadows curiously. Finally

Babalatchi would rise and, taking her father by the wrist, would
lead him back to the house, arrange his mats for him, and go out