conviction replacing his previous voluble delivery—the
gentleman was already “in the similitude of a
corpse.” “What? What do you say?”
I asked. He assumed a startlingly ferocious demeanour,
and imitated to perfection the act of stabbing from
behind. “Already like the body of one deported,”
he explained, with the insufferably conceited air
of his kind after what they imagine a display of cleverness.
Behind him I perceived Jim smiling silently at me,
and with a raised hand checking the exclamation on
my lips.
’Then, while the half-caste, bursting with importance,
shouted his orders, while the yards swung creaking
and the heavy boom came surging over, Jim and I, alone
as it were, to leeward of the mainsail, clasped each
other’s hands and exchanged the last hurried
words. My heart was freed from that dull resentment
which had existed side by side with interest in his
fate. The absurd chatter of the half-caste had
given more reality to the miserable dangers of his
path than Stein’s careful statements. On
that occasion the sort of formality that had been always
present in our intercourse vanished from our speech;
I believe I called him “dear boy,” and
he tacked on the words “old man” to some
half-uttered expression of gratitude, as though his
risk set off against my years had made us more equal
in age and in feeling. There was a moment of
real and profound intimacy, unexpected and short-lived
like a glimpse of some everlasting, of some saving
truth. He exerted himself to soothe me as though
he had been the more mature of the two. “All
right, all right,” he said, rapidly, and with
feeling. “I promise to take care of myself.
Yes; I won’t take any risks. Not a single
blessed risk. Of course not. I mean to hang
out. Don’t you worry. Jove! I
feel as if nothing could touch me. Why! this
is luck from the word Go. I wouldn’t spoil
such a magnificent chance!” .
. . A magnificent
chance! Well, it was magnificent, but
chances are what men make them, and how was I to know?
As he had said, even I—even I remembered—his—his
misfortune against him. It was true. And
the best thing for him was to go.
’My gig had dropped in the wake of the brigantine,
and I saw him aft detached upon the light of the westering
sun, raising his cap high above his head. I heard
an indistinct shout, “You—shall—hear—of—me.”
Of me, or from me, I don’t know which.
I think it must have been of me. My eyes were
too dazzled by the glitter of the sea below his feet
to see him clearly; I am fated never to see him clearly;
but I can assure you no man could have appeared less
“in the similitude of a corpse,” as that
half-caste croaker had put it. I could see the
little wretch’s face, the shape and colour of
a ripe pumpkin, poked out somewhere under Jim’s
elbow. He, too, raised his arm as if for a downward
thrust. Absit omen!’
