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 pyjamas 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 in till this evening," he remarked

suspiciously.
I don'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 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 my statement. This patheticmistrust 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 something, 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 spoilt 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 lying

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 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.
"Oh, nonsense! He's all right now. He can't move."

By that time the cargo-chain had been hooked to the broad canvas