wanted time to stretch themselves and to shiver a little. Some

wanted food. One said he was sick. Nobody knew where the rudder
was. Ali darted here and there, ordering, abusing, pushing one,

then another, and stopping in his exertions at times to wring his
hands hastily and groan, because the whale-boat was much slower

than the worst canoe and his master would not listen to his
protestations.

Almayer saw the boat go off at last, pulled anyhow by men that
were cold, hungry, and sulky; and he remained on the jetty

watching it down the reach. It was broad day then, and the sky
was perfectly cloudless. Almayer went up to the house for a

moment. His household was all astir and wondering at the strange
disappearance of the Sirani woman, who had taken her child and

had left her luggage. Almayer spoke to no one, got his revolver,
and went down to the river again. He jumped into a small canoe

and paddled himself towards the schooner. He worked very
leisurely, but as soon as he was nearly alongside he began to

hail the silent craft with the tone and appearance of a man in a
tremendous hurry.

"Schooner ahoy! schooner ahoy!" he shouted.
A row of blank faces popped up above the bulwark. After a while a

man with a woolly head of hair said--
"Sir!"

"The mate! the mate! Call him, steward!" said Almayer,
excitedly, making a frantic grab at a rope thrown down to him by

somebody.
In less than a minute the mate put his head over. He asked,

surprised--
"What can I do for you, Mr. Almayer?"

"Let me have the gig at once, Mr. Swan--at once. I ask in
Captain Lingard's name. I must have it. Matter of life and

death."
The mate was impressed by Almayer's agitation

"You shall have it, sir. . . . Man the gig there! Bear a hand,
serang! . . . It's hanging astern, Mr. Almayer," he said,

looking down again. "Get into it, sir. The men are coming down
by the painter."

By the time Almayer had clambered over into the stern sheets,
four calashes were in the boat and the oars were being passed

over the taffrail. The mate was looking on. Suddenly he said--
"Is it dangerous work? Do you want any help? I would come . . ."

"Yes, yes!" cried Almayer. "Come along. Don't lose a moment.
Go and get your revolver. Hurry up! hurry up!"

Yet, notwithstanding his feverishanxiety to be off, he lolled
back very quiet and unconcerned till the mate got in and, passing

over the thwarts, sat down by his side. Then he seemed to wake
up, and called out--

"Let go--let go the painter!"
"Let go the painter--the painter!" yelled the bowman, jerking at

it.
People on board also shouted "Let go!" to one another, till it

occurred at last to somebody to cast off the rope; and the boat
drifted rapidly away from the schooner in the sudden silencing of

all voices.
Almayer steered. The mate sat by his side, pushing the

cartridges into the chambers of his revolver. When the weapon was
loaded he asked--

"What is it? Are you after somebody?"
"Yes," said Almayer, curtly, with his eyes fixed ahead on the

river. "We must catch a dangerous man."
"I like a bit of a chase myself," declared the mate, and then,

discouraged by Almayer's aspect of severe thoughtfulness, said
nothing more.

Nearly an hour passed. The calashes stretched forward head first
and lay back with their faces to the sky, alternately, in a

regular swing that sent the boat flying through the water; and
the two sitters, very upright in the stern sheets, swayed

rhythmically a little at every stroke of the long oars plied
vigorously.

The mate observed: "The tide is with us."
"The current always runs down in this river," said Almayer.

"Yes--I know," retorted the other; "but it runs faster on the
ebb. Look by the land at the way we get over the ground! A

five-knot current here, I should say."
"H'm!" growled Almayer. Then suddenly: "There is a passage

between two islands that will save us four miles. But at low
water the two islands, in the dry season, are like one with only

a mud ditch between them. Still, it's worth trying."
"Ticklish job that, on a falling tide," said the mate, coolly.

"You know best whether there's time to get through."
"I will try," said Almayer, watching the shore intently. "Look

out now!"
He tugged hard at the starboard yoke-line.

"Lay in your oars!" shouted the mate.
The boat swept round and shot through the narrow opening of a

creek that broadened out before the craft had time to lose its
way.

"Out oars! . . . Just room enough," muttered the mate.
It was a sombre creek of black water speckled with the gold of

scattered sunlight falling through the boughs that met overhead
in a soaring, restless arc full of gentle whispers passing,

tremulous, aloft amongst the thick leaves. The creepers climbed
up the trunks of serried trees that leaned over, looking insecure

and undermined by floods which had eaten away the earth from
under their roots. And the pungent, acrid smell of rotting

leaves, of flowers, of blossoms and plants dying in that
poisonous and cruel gloom, where they pined for sunshine in vain,

seemed to lay heavy, to press upon the shiny and stagnant water
in its tortuous windings amongst the everlasting and invincible

shadows.
Almayer looked anxious. He steered badly. Several times the

blades of the oars got foul of the bushes on one side or the
other, checking the way of the gig. During one of those

occurrences, while they were getting clear, one of the calashes
said something to the others in a rapid whisper. They looked

down at the water. So did the mate.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "Eh, Mr. Almayer! Look! The water is

running out. See there! We will be caught."
"Back! back! We must go back!" cried Almayer.

"Perhaps better go on."
"No; back! back!"

He pulled at the steering line, and ran the nose of the boat into
the bank. Time was lost again in getting clear.

"Give way, men! give way!" urged the mate, anxiously.
The men pulled with set lips and dilated nostrils, breathing

hard.
"Too late," said the mate, suddenly. "The oars touch the bottom

already. We are done."
The boat stuck. The men laid in the oars, and sat, panting, with

crossed arms.
"Yes, we are caught," said Almayer, composedly. "That is

unlucky!"
The water was falling round the boat. The mate watched the

patches of mud coming to the surface. Then in a moment he
laughed, and pointing his finger at the creek--