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There again Dain met in Almayer with unexpected resistance; Lakamba had to send Babalatchi over with the solemn promise that his eyes would be shut in friendship for the white man, Dain paying for the promise and the friendship in good silver guilders of the hated Orang Blanda.
I have him here," ended Babalatchi, exultingly tapping the upright of the gate with his hand. "That is good," murmured Abdulla. "And he shall guide your ship and lead in the fight if fight there be," went on Babalatchi. "If there is any killing let him be the slayer. You should give him arms a short gun that fires many times." "Yes, by Allah!" assented Abdulla, with slow thoughtfulness.
Although recognising the justice of Lakamba's surmise that he had come back to Sambir only for the sake of the white man's daughter, yet he was not conscious of any childish lack of understanding, as suggested by Babalatchi. In fact, Dain knew very well that Lakamba was too deeply implicated in the gunpowder smuggling to care for an investigation the Dutch authorities into that matter.
And if I saw aright, then you shall never suffer from hunger any more. There shall be peace for us, and glory and riches." "And I shall die to-morrow," murmured Omar, bitterly. "Who knows? Those things have been written since the beginning of the world," whispered Babalatchi, thoughtfully. "Do not let him come back," exclaimed Omar. "Neither can he escape his fate," went on Babalatchi.
Babalatchi slipped quietly through the little gate and, closing it, tied up carefully the rattan fastenings. Before the house there was a square space of ground, beaten hard into the level smoothness of asphalte. A big buttressed tree, a giant left there on purpose during the process of clearing the land, roofed in the clear space with a high canopy of gnarled boughs and thick, sombre leaves.
"I, Tuan!" exclaimed Babalatchi, with a slight suspicion of irony in the affected surprise of his tone. "I, Tuan? Who spoke of death? Was it I? No! I spoke of life only. Only of life. Of a long life for a lonely man!" They stood with the fire between them, both silent, both aware, each in his own way, of the importance of the passing minutes.
"I have been hungry," he continued, in a whimpering tone "often I have been very hungry and cold and neglected and nobody near me. She has often forgotten me and my sons are dead, and that man is an infidel and a dog. Why did he come? Did you show him the way?" "He found the way himself, O Leader of the brave," said Babalatchi, sadly. "I only saw a way for their destruction and our own greatness.
Believe me, Rajah," he went on, with sudden energy, "the Orang Blanda have good friends in Sambir, or else how did they know I was coming thence?" Lakamba gave Dain a short and hostile glance. Babalatchi rose quietly, and, going to the arm-rack, struck the gong violently. Outside the door there was a shuffle of bare feet; inside, the guard woke up and sat staring in sleepy surprise.
The hope grew faint and the hot ambition burnt itself out, leaving only a feeble and expiring spark amongst a heap of dull and tepid ashes of indolent acquiescence with the decrees of Fate, till Babalatchi fanned it again into a bright flame. Babalatchi had blundered upon the river while in search of a safe refuge for his disreputable head.
It was inevitable, and its time was near. Yet he could not command his memories that came crowding round him in that evil-smelling hut, while Babalatchi talked on in a flowing monotone, nothing of him moving but the lips, in the artificially inanimated face. Lingard, like an anchored ship that had broken her sheer, darted about here and there on the rapid tide of his recollections.
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