With these words he seemed to come to the end of his memories of that trip. Shaw stifled a yawn.
“Women are the cause of a lot of trouble,” he said, dispassionately. “In the Morayshire, I remember, we had once a passenger—an old gentleman—who was telling us a yarn about them old-time Greeks fighting for ten years about some woman. The Turks kidnapped her, or something. Anyway, they fought in Turkey; which I may well believe. Them Greeks and Turks were always fighting. My father was master’s mate on board one of the three-deckers at the battle of Navarino—and that was when we went to help those Greeks. But this affair about a woman was long before that time.”
“I should think so,” muttered Lingard, hanging over the rail, and watching the fleeting gleams that passed deep down in the water, along the ship’s bottom.
“Yes. Times are changed. They were unenlightened in those old days. My grandfather was a preacher and, though my father served in the navy, I don’t hold with war. Sinful the old gentleman called it—and I think so, too. Unless with Chinamen, or niggers, or such people as must be kept in order and won’t listen to reason; having not sense enough to know what’s good for them, when it’s explained to them by their betters—missionaries, and suchlike au‑tho‑ri‑ties. But to fight ten years. And for a woman!”
“I have read the tale in a book,” said Lingard, speaking down over the side as if setting his words gently afloat upon the sea. “I have read the tale. She was very beautiful.”
“That only makes it worse, sir—if anything. You may depend on it she was no good. Those pagan times will never come back, thank God. Ten years of murder and unrighteousness! And for a woman! Would anybody do it now? Would you do it, sir? Would you—”
The sound of a bell struck sharply interrupted Shaw’s discourse. High aloft, some dry block sent out a screech, short and lamentable, like a cry of pain. It pierced the quietness of the night to the very core, and seemed to destroy the reserve which it had imposed upon the tones of the two men, who spoke now loudly.
“Throw the cover over the binnacle,” said Lingard in his duty voice. “The thing shines like a full moon. We mustn’t show more lights than we can help, when becalmed at night so near the land. No use in being seen if you can’t see yourself—is there? Bear that in mind, Mr. Shaw. There may be some vagabonds prying about—”
“I thought all this was over and done for,” said Shaw, busying himself with the cover, “since Sir Thomas Cochrane swept along the Borneo coast with his squadron some years ago. He did a rare lot of fighting—didn’t he? We heard about it from the chaps of the sloop Diana that was refitting in Calcutta when I was there in the Warwick Castle. They took some king’s town up a river hereabouts. The chaps were full of it.”
“Sir Thomas did good work,” answered Lingard, “but it will be a long time before these seas are as safe as the English Channel is in peace time. I spoke about that light more to get you in the way of things to be attended to in these seas than for anything else. Did you notice how few native craft we’ve sighted for all these days we have been drifting about—one may say—in this sea?”
“I can’t say I have attached any significance to the fact, sir.”
“It’s a sign that something is up. Once set a rumour afloat in these waters, and it will make its way from island to island, without any breeze to drive it along.”
“Being myself a deep-water man sailing steadily out of home ports nearly all my life,” said Shaw with great deliberation, “I cannot pretend to see through the peculiarities of them out-of-the-way parts. But I can keep a lookout in an ordinary way, and I have noticed that craft of any kind seemed scarce, for the last few days: considering that we had land aboard of us—one side or another—nearly every day.”
“You will get to know the peculiarities, as you call them, if you remain any time with me,” remarked Lingard, negligently.
“I hope I shall give satisfaction, whether the time be long or short!” said Shaw, accentuating the meaning of his words by the distinctness of his utterance. “A man who has spent thirty-two years of his life on saltwater can say no more. If being an officer of home ships for the last fifteen years I don’t understand the heathen ways of them there savages, in matters of seamanship and duty, you will find me all there, Captain Lingard.”
“Except, judging from what you said a little while ago—except in the matter of fighting,” said Lingard, with a short laugh.
“Fighting! I am not aware that anybody wants to fight me. I am a peaceable man, Captain Lingard, but when put to it, I could fight as well as any of them flat-nosed chaps we have to make shift with, instead of a proper crew of decent Christians. Fighting!” he went on with unexpected pugnacity of tone, “Fighting! If anybody comes to fight me, he will find me all there, I swear!”
“That’s all right. That’s all right,” said Lingard, stretching his arms above his head and wriggling his shoulders. “My word! I do wish a breeze would come to let us get away from here. I am rather in a hurry, Shaw.”
“Indeed, sir! Well, I never yet met a thorough seafaring man who was not in a hurry when a con‑demned spell of calm had him by
