








THE SECRET SHARER

By Joseph Conrad




I


On my right hand there were lines of fishing stakes resembling a
mysterious system of half-submerged bamboo fences, incomprehensible in
its division of the domain of tropical fishes, and crazy of aspect as if
abandoned forever by some nomad tribe of fishermen now gone to the other
end of the ocean; for there was no sign of human habitation as far as
the eye could reach. To the left a group of barren islets, suggesting
ruins of stone walls, towers, and blockhouses, had its foundations set
in a blue sea that itself looked solid, so still and stable did it lie
below my feet; even the track of light from the westering sun shone
smoothly, without that animated glitter which tells of an imperceptible
ripple. And when I turned my head to take a parting glance at the tug
which had just left us anchored outside the bar, I saw the straight line
of the flat shore joined to the stable sea, edge to edge, with a perfect
and unmarked closeness, in one leveled floor half brown, half blue under
the enormous dome of the sky. Corresponding in their insignificance to
the islets of the sea, two small clumps of trees, one on each side of
the only fault in the impeccable joint, marked the mouth of the river
Meinam we had just left on the first preparatory stage of our homeward
journey; and, far back on the inland level, a larger and loftier mass,
the grove surrounding the great Paknam pagoda, was the only thing on
which the eye could rest from the vain task of exploring the monotonous
sweep of the horizon. Here and there gleams as of a few scattered pieces
of silver marked the windings of the great river; and on the nearest of
them, just within the bar, the tug steaming right into the land became
lost to my sight, hull and funnel and masts, as though the impassive
earth had swallowed her up without an effort, without a tremor. My eye
followed the light cloud of her smoke, now here, now there, above the
plain, according to the devious curves of the stream, but always fainter
and farther away, till I lost it at last behind the miter-shaped hill
of the great pagoda. And then I was left alone with my ship, anchored at
the head of the Gulf of Siam.

She floated at the starting point of a long journey, very still in an
immense stillness, the shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her decks. There was not
a sound in her--and around us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in the sky. In this
breathless pause at the threshold of a long passage we seemed to be
measuring our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise, the appointed
task of both our existences to be carried out, far from all human eyes,
with only sky and sea for spectators and for judges.

There must have been some glare in the air to interfere with one’s
sight, because it was only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the principal islet of the
group something which did away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with tropical suddenness a
swarm of stars came out above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship’s rail as if on the shoulder of a
trusted friend. But, with all that multitude of celestial bodies staring
down at one, the comfort of quiet communion with her was gone for good.
And there were also disturbing sounds by this time--voices, footsteps
forward; the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily ministering
spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently under the poop deck....

I found my two officers waiting for me near the supper table, in the
lighted cuddy. We sat down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
said:

“Are you aware that there is a ship anchored inside the islands? I saw
her mastheads above the ridge as the sun went down.”

He raised sharply his simple face, overcharged by a terrible growth of
whisker, and emitted his usual ejaculations: “Bless my soul, sir! You
don’t say so!”

My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent young man, grave beyond his
years, I thought; but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a slight
quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It was not my part to
encourage sneering on board my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew
very little of my officers. In consequence of certain events of no
particular significance, except to myself, I had been appointed to the
command only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much of the hands
forward. All these people had been together for eighteen months or so,
and my position was that of the only stranger on board. I mention this
because it has some bearing on what is to follow. But what I felt most
was my being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth must be
told, I was somewhat of a stranger to myself. The youngest man on board
(barring the second mate), and untried as yet by a position of the
fullest responsibility, I was willing to take the adequacy of the others
for granted. They had simply to be equal to their tasks; but I wondered
how far I should turn out faithful to that ideal conception of one’s own
personality every man sets up for himself secretly.

Meantime the chief mate, with an almost visible effect of collaboration
on the part of his round eyes and frightful whiskers, was trying to
evolve a theory of the anchored ship. His dominant trait was to take all
things into earnest consideration. He was of a painstaking turn of mind.
As he used to say, he “liked to account to himself” for practically
everything that came in his way, down to a miserable scorpion he had
found in his cabin a week before. The why and the wherefore of that
scorpion--how it got on board and came to select his room rather than
the pantry (which was a dark place and more what a scorpion would be
partial to), and how on earth it managed to drown itself in the inkwell
of his writing desk--had exercised him infinitely. The ship within the
islands was much more easily accounted for; and just as we were about
to rise from table he made his pronouncement. She was, he doubted not, a
ship from home lately arrived. Probably she drew too much water to cross
the bar except at the top of spring tides. Therefore she went into that
natural harbor to wait for a few days in preference to remaining in an
open roadstead.

“That’s so,” confirmed the second mate, suddenly, in his slightly hoarse
voice. “She draws over twenty feet. She’s the Liverpool ship Sephora
with a cargo of coal. Hundred and twenty-three days from Cardiff.”

We looked at him in surprise.

“The tugboat skipper told me when he came on board for your letters,
sir,” explained the young man. “He expects to take her up the river the
day after tomorrow.”

After thus overwhelming us with the extent of his information he slipped
out of the cabin. The mate observed regretfully that he “could not
account for that young fellow’s whims.” What prevented him telling us
all about it at once, he wanted to know.

I detained him as he was making a move. For the last two days the crew
had had plenty of hard work, and the night before they had very little
sleep. I felt painfully that I--a stranger--was doing something unusual
when I directed him to let all hands turn in without setting an
anchor watch. I proposed to keep on deck myself till one o’clock or
thereabouts. I would get the second mate to relieve me at that hour.

“He will turn out the cook and the steward at four,” I concluded, “and
then give you a call. Of course at the slightest sign of any sort of
wind we’ll have the hands up and make a start at once.”

He concealed his astonishment. “Very well, sir.” Outside the cuddy he
put his head in the second mate’s door to inform him of my unheard-of
caprice to take a five hours’ anchor watch on myself. I heard the other
raise his voice incredulously--“What? The Captain himself?” Then a few
more murmurs, a door closed, then another. A few moments later I went on
deck.

My strangeness, which had made me sleepless, had prompted that
unconventional arrangement, as if I had expected in those solitary hours
of the night to get on terms with the ship of which I knew nothing,
manned by men of whom I knew very little more. Fast alongside a wharf,
littered like any ship in port with a tangle of unrelated things,
invaded by unrelated shore people, I had hardly seen her yet properly.
Now, as she lay cleared for sea, the stretch of her main-deck seemed to
me very fine under the stars. Very fine, very roomy for her size,
and very inviting. I descended the poop and paced the waist, my mind
picturing to myself the coming passage through the Malay Archipelago,
down the Indian Ocean, and up the Atlantic. All its phases were familiar
enough to me, every characteristic, all the alternatives which were
likely to face me on the high seas--everything!... except the novel
responsibility of command. But I took heart from the reasonable thought
that the ship was like other ships, the men like other men, and that
the sea was not likely to keep any special surprises expressly for my
discomfiture.

Arrived at that comforting conclusion, I bethought myself of a cigar and
went below to get it. All was still down there. Everybody at the
after end of the ship was sleeping profoundly. I came out again on
the quarter-deck, agreeably at ease in my sleeping suit on that warm
breathless night, barefooted, a glowing cigar in my teeth, and, going
forward, I was met by the profound silence of the fore end of the ship.
Only as I passed the door of the forecastle, I heard a deep, quiet,
trustful sigh of some sleeper inside. And suddenly I rejoiced in the
great security of the sea as compared with the unrest of the land, in
my choice of that untempted life presenting no disquieting
problems, invested with an elementary moral beauty by the absolute
straightforwardness of its appeal and by the singleness of its purpose.

The riding light in the forerigging burned with a clear, untroubled, as
if symbolic, flame, confident and bright in the mysterious shades of
the night. Passing on my way aft along the other side of the ship, I
observed that the rope side ladder, put over, no doubt, for the master
of the tug when he came to fetch away our letters, had not been hauled
in as it should have been. I became annoyed at this, for exactitude in
some small matters is the very soul of discipline. Then I reflected that
I had myself peremptorily dismissed my officers from duty, and by my
own act had prevented the anchor watch being formally set and things
properly attended to. I asked myself whether it was wise ever to
interfere with the established routine of duties even from the kindest
of motives. My action might have made me appear eccentric. Goodness only
knew how that absurdly whiskered mate would “account” for my conduct,
and what the whole ship thought of that informality of their new
captain. I was vexed with myself.

Not from compunction certainly, but, as it were mechanically, I
proceeded to get the ladder in myself. Now a side ladder of that sort
is a light affair and comes in easily, yet my vigorous tug, which should
have brought it flying on board, merely recoiled upon my body in a
totally unexpected jerk. What the devil!... I was so astounded by
the immovableness of that ladder that I remained stock-still, trying to
account for it to myself like that imbecile mate of mine. In the end, of
course, I put my head over the rail.

The side of the ship made an opaque belt of shadow on the darkling
glassy shimmer of the sea. But I saw at once something elongated and
pale floating very close to the ladder. Before I could form a guess a
faint flash of phosphorescent light, which seemed to issue suddenly
from the naked body of a man, flickered in the sleeping water with the
elusive, silent play of summer lightning in a night sky. With a gasp I
saw revealed to my stare a pair of feet, the long legs, a broad livid
back immersed right up to the neck in a greenish cadaverous glow. One
hand, awash, clutched the bottom rung of the ladder. He was complete
but for the head. A headless corpse! The cigar dropped out of my gaping
mouth with a tiny plop and a short hiss quite audible in the absolute
stillness of all things under heaven. At that I suppose he raised up his
face, a dimly pale oval in the shadow of the ship’s side. But even then
I could only barely make out down there the shape of his black-haired
head. However, it was enough for the horrid, frost-bound sensation
which had gripped me about the chest to pass off. The moment of vain
exclamations was past, too. I only climbed on the spare spar and leaned
over the rail as far as I could, to bring my eyes nearer to that mystery
floating alongside.

As he hung by the ladder, like a resting swimmer, the sea lightning
played about his limbs at every stir; and he appeared in it ghastly,
silvery, fishlike. He remained as mute as a fish, too. He made no motion
to get out of the water, either. It was inconceivable that he should
not attempt to come on board, and strangely troubling to suspect that
perhaps he did not want to. And my first words were prompted by just
that troubled incertitude.

“What’s the matter?” I asked in my ordinary tone, speaking down to the
face upturned exactly under mine.

“Cramp,” it answered, no louder. Then slightly anxious, “I say, no need
to call anyone.”

“I was not going to,” I said.

“Are you alone on deck?”

“Yes.”

I had somehow the impression that he was on the point of letting go the
ladder to swim away beyond my ken--mysterious as he came. But, for the
moment, this being appearing as if he had risen from the bottom of the
sea (it was certainly the nearest land to the ship) wanted only to know
the time. I told him. And he, down there, tentatively:

“I suppose your captain’s turned in?”

“I am sure he isn’t,” I said.

He seemed to struggle with himself, for I heard something like the low,
bitter murmur of doubt. “What’s the good?” His next words came out with
a hesitating effort.

“Look here, my man. Could you call him out quietly?”

I thought the time had come to declare myself.

“I am the captain.”

I heard a “By Jove!” whispered at the level of the water. The
phosphorescence flashed in the swirl of the water all about his limbs,
his other hand seized the ladder.

“My name’s Leggatt.”

The voice was calm and resolute. A good voice. The self-possession of
that man had somehow induced a corresponding state in myself. It was
very quietly that I remarked:

“You must be a good swimmer.”

“Yes. I’ve been in the water practically since nine o’clock. The
question for me now is whether I am to let go this ladder and go on
swimming till I sink from exhaustion, or--to come on board here.”

I felt this was no mere formula of desperate speech, but a real
alternative in the view of a strong soul. I should have gathered from
this that he was young; indeed, it is only the young who are ever
confronted by such clear issues. But at the time it was pure intuition
on my part. A mysterious communication was established already between
us two--in the face of that silent, darkened tropical sea. I was
young, too; young enough to make no comment. The man in the water began
suddenly to climb up the ladder, and I hastened away from the rail to
fetch some clothes.

Before entering the cabin I stood still, listening in the lobby at the
foot of the stairs. A faint snore came through the closed door of the
chief mate’s room. The second mate’s door was on the hook, but the
darkness in there was absolutely soundless. He, too, was young and could
sleep like a stone. Remained the steward, but he was not likely to
wake up before he was called. I got a sleeping suit out of my room and,
coming back on deck, saw the naked man from the sea sitting on the main
hatch, glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body in a
sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one I was wearing
and followed me like my double on the poop. Together we moved right aft,
barefooted, silent.

“What is it?” I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp out
of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.

“An ugly business.”

He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under somewhat
heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth on his
cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped, round chin. His
expression was concentrated, meditative, under the inspecting light of
the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking hard in solitude
might wear. My sleeping suit was just right for his size. A well-knit
young fellow of twenty-five at most. He caught his lower lip with the
edge of white, even teeth.

“Yes,” I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle. The warm, heavy
tropical night closed upon his head again.

“There’s a ship over there,” he murmured.

“Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?”

“Hadn’t the slightest idea. I am the mate of her--” He paused and
corrected himself. “I should say I _was_.”

“Aha! Something wrong?”

“Yes. Very wrong indeed. I’ve killed a man.”

“What do you mean? Just now?”

“No, on the passage. Weeks ago. Thirty-nine south. When I say a man--”

“Fit of temper,” I suggested, confidently.

The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the
ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had
been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense
mirror.

“A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy,” murmured my
double, distinctly.

“You’re a Conway boy?”

“I am,” he said, as if startled. Then, slowly... “Perhaps you too--”

It was so; but being a couple of years older I had left before he
joined. After a quick interchange of dates a silence fell; and I thought
suddenly of my absurd mate with his terrific whiskers and the “Bless my
soul--you don’t say so” type of intellect. My double gave me an inkling
of his thoughts by saying: “My father’s a parson in Norfolk. Do you see
me before a judge and jury on that charge? For myself I can’t see the
necessity. There are fellows that an angel from heaven--And I am not
that. He was one of those creatures that are just simmering all the time
with a silly sort of wickedness. Miserable devils that have no business
to live at all. He wouldn’t do his duty and wouldn’t let anybody else do
theirs. But what’s the good of talking! You know well enough the sort of
ill-conditioned snarling cur--”

He appealed to me as if our experiences had been as identical as
our clothes. And I knew well enough the pestiferous danger of such a
character where there are no means of legal repression. And I knew well
enough also that my double there was no homicidal ruffian. I did not
think of asking him for details, and he told me the story roughly in
brusque, disconnected sentences. I needed no more. I saw it all going on
as though I were myself inside that other sleeping suit.

“It happened while we were setting a reefed foresail, at dusk. Reefed
foresail! You understand the sort of weather. The only sail we had left
to keep the ship running; so you may guess what it had been like for
days. Anxious sort of job, that. He gave me some of his cursed insolence
at the sheet. I tell you I was overdone with this terrific weather that
seemed to have no end to it. Terrific, I tell you--and a deep ship. I
believe the fellow himself was half crazed with funk. It was no time for
gentlemanly reproof, so I turned round and felled him like an ox. He up
and at me. We closed just as an awful sea made for the ship. All hands
saw it coming and took to the rigging, but I had him by the throat, and
went on shaking him like a rat, the men above us yelling, ‘Look out!
look out!’ Then a crash as if the sky had fallen on my head. They
say that for over ten minutes hardly anything was to be seen of the
ship--just the three masts and a bit of the forecastle head and of the
poop all awash driving along in a smother of foam. It was a miracle that
they found us, jammed together behind the forebitts. It’s clear that I
meant business, because I was holding him by the throat still when they
picked us up. He was black in the face. It was too much for them.
It seems they rushed us aft together, gripped as we were, screaming
‘Murder!’ like a lot of lunatics, and broke into the cuddy. And the ship
running for her life, touch and go all the time, any minute her last in
a sea fit to turn your hair gray only a-looking at it. I understand that
the skipper, too, started raving like the rest of them. The man had been
deprived of sleep for more than a week, and to have this sprung on him
at the height of a furious gale nearly drove him out of his mind. I
wonder they didn’t fling me overboard after getting the carcass of their
precious shipmate out of my fingers. They had rather a job to separate
us, I’ve been told. A sufficiently fierce story to make an old judge and
a respectable jury sit up a bit. The first thing I heard when I came to
myself was the maddening howling of that endless gale, and on that the
voice of the old man. He was hanging on to my bunk, staring into my face
out of his sou’wester.

“‘Mr. Leggatt, you have killed a man. You can act no longer as chief
mate of this ship.’”

His care to subdue his voice made it sound monotonous. He rested a hand
on the end of the skylight to steady himself with, and all that time did
not stir a limb, so far as I could see. “Nice little tale for a quiet
tea party,” he concluded in the same tone.

One of my hands, too, rested on the end of the skylight; neither did
I stir a limb, so far as I knew. We stood less than a foot from each
other. It occurred to me that if old “Bless my soul--you don’t say so”
 were to put his head up the companion and catch sight of us, he would
think he was seeing double, or imagine himself come upon a scene of
weird witchcraft; the strange captain having a quiet confabulation
by the wheel with his own gray ghost. I became very much concerned to
prevent anything of the sort. I heard the other’s soothing undertone.

“My father’s a parson in Norfolk,” it said. Evidently he had forgotten
he had told me this important fact before. Truly a nice little tale.

“You had better slip down into my stateroom now,” I said, moving off
stealthily. My double followed my movements; our bare feet made no
sound; I let him in, closed the door with care, and, after giving a call
to the second mate, returned on deck for my relief.

“Not much sign of any wind yet,” I remarked when he approached.

“No, sir. Not much,” he assented, sleepily, in his hoarse voice, with
just enough deference, no more, and barely suppressing a yawn.

“Well, that’s all you have to look out for. You have got your orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

I paced a turn or two on the poop and saw him take up his position face
forward with his elbow in the ratlines of the mizzen rigging before I
went below. The mate’s faint snoring was still going on peacefully.
The cuddy lamp was burning over the table on which stood a vase with
flowers, a polite attention from the ship’s provision merchant--the
last flowers we should see for the next three months at the very least.
Two bunches of bananas hung from the beam symmetrically, one on each
side of the rudder casing. Everything was as before in the ship--except
that two of her captain’s sleeping suits were simultaneously in use, one
motionless in the cuddy, the other keeping very still in the captain’s
stateroom.

It must be explained here that my cabin had the form of the capital
letter L, the door being within the angle and opening into the short
part of the letter. A couch was to the left, the bed place to the right;
my writing desk and the chronometers’ table faced the door. But anyone
opening it, unless he stepped right inside, had no view of what I call
the long (or vertical) part of the letter. It contained some lockers
surmounted by a bookcase; and a few clothes, a thick jacket or two,
caps, oilskin coat, and such like, hung on hooks. There was at the
bottom of that part a door opening into my bathroom, which could be
entered also directly from the saloon. But that way was never used.

The mysterious arrival had discovered the advantage of this particular
shape. Entering my room, lighted strongly by a big bulkhead lamp swung
on gimbals above my writing desk, I did not see him anywhere till he
stepped out quietly from behind the coats hung in the recessed part.

“I heard somebody moving about, and went in there at once,” he
whispered.

I, too, spoke under my breath.

“Nobody is likely to come in here without knocking and getting
permission.”

He nodded. His face was thin and the sunburn faded, as though he had
been ill. And no wonder. He had been, I heard presently, kept under
arrest in his cabin for nearly seven weeks. But there was nothing sickly
in his eyes or in his expression. He was not a bit like me, really; yet,
as we stood leaning over my bed place, whispering side by side, with our
dark heads together and our backs to the door, anybody bold enough to
open it stealthily would have been treated to the uncanny sight of a
double captain busy talking in whispers with his other self.

“But all this doesn’t tell me how you came to hang on to our side
ladder,” I inquired, in the hardly audible murmurs we used, after he had
told me something more of the proceedings on board the Sephora once the
bad weather was over.

“When we sighted Java Head I had had time to think all those matters out
several times over. I had six weeks of doing nothing else, and with only
an hour or so every evening for a tramp on the quarter-deck.”

He whispered, his arms folded on the side of my bed place, staring
through the open port. And I could imagine perfectly the manner of this
thinking out--a stubborn if not a steadfast operation; something of
which I should have been perfectly incapable.

“I reckoned it would be dark before we closed with the land,” he
continued, so low that I had to strain my hearing near as we were to
each other, shoulder touching shoulder almost. “So I asked to speak to
the old man. He always seemed very sick when he came to see me--as if he
could not look me in the face. You know, that foresail saved the ship.
She was too deep to have run long under bare poles. And it was I
that managed to set it for him. Anyway, he came. When I had him in my
cabin--he stood by the door looking at me as if I had the halter round
my neck already--I asked him right away to leave my cabin door unlocked
at night while the ship was going through Sunda Straits. There would
be the Java coast within two or three miles, off Angier Point. I wanted
nothing more. I’ve had a prize for swimming my second year in the
Conway.”

“I can believe it,” I breathed out.

“God only knows why they locked me in every night. To see some of
their faces you’d have thought they were afraid I’d go about at night
strangling people. Am I a murdering brute? Do I look it? By Jove! If I
had been he wouldn’t have trusted himself like that into my room. You’ll
say I might have chucked him aside and bolted out, there and then--it
was dark already. Well, no. And for the same reason I wouldn’t think of
trying to smash the door. There would have been a rush to stop me at the
noise, and I did not mean to get into a confounded scrimmage. Somebody
else might have got killed--for I would not have broken out only to
get chucked back, and I did not want any more of that work. He refused,
looking more sick than ever. He was afraid of the men, and also of
that old second mate of his who had been sailing with him for years--a
gray-headed old humbug; and his steward, too, had been with him devil
knows how long--seventeen years or more--a dogmatic sort of loafer who
hated me like poison, just because I was the chief mate. No chief mate
ever made more than one voyage in the Sephora, you know. Those two old
chaps ran the ship. Devil only knows what the skipper wasn’t afraid of
(all his nerve went to pieces altogether in that hellish spell of bad
weather we had)--of what the law would do to him--of his wife, perhaps.
Oh, yes! she’s on board. Though I don’t think she would have meddled.
She would have been only too glad to have me out of the ship in any way.
The ‘brand of Cain’ business, don’t you see. That’s all right. I was
ready enough to go off wandering on the face of the earth--and that was
price enough to pay for an Abel of that sort. Anyhow, he wouldn’t listen
to me. ‘This thing must take its course. I represent the law here.’ He
was shaking like a leaf. ‘So you won’t?’ ‘No!’ ‘Then I hope you will
be able to sleep on that,’ I said, and turned my back on him. ‘I wonder
that you can,’ cries he, and locks the door.

“Well after that, I couldn’t. Not very well. That was three weeks ago.
We have had a slow passage through the Java Sea; drifted about Carimata
for ten days. When we anchored here they thought, I suppose, it was
all right. The nearest land (and that’s five miles) is the ship’s
destination; the consul would soon set about catching me; and there
would have been no object in holding to these islets there. I don’t
suppose there’s a drop of water on them. I don’t know how it was, but
tonight that steward, after bringing me my supper, went out to let me
eat it, and left the door unlocked. And I ate it--all there was, too.
After I had finished I strolled out on the quarter-deck. I don’t know
that I meant to do anything. A breath of fresh air was all I wanted, I
believe. Then a sudden temptation came over me. I kicked off my slippers
and was in the water before I had made up my mind fairly. Somebody heard
the splash and they raised an awful hullabaloo. ‘He’s gone! Lower the
boats! He’s committed suicide! No, he’s swimming.’ Certainly I was
swimming. It’s not so easy for a swimmer like me to commit suicide by
drowning. I landed on the nearest islet before the boat left the ship’s
side. I heard them pulling about in the dark, hailing, and so on, but
after a bit they gave up. Everything quieted down and the anchorage
became still as death. I sat down on a stone and began to think. I felt
certain they would start searching for me at daylight. There was no
place to hide on those stony things--and if there had been, what would
have been the good? But now I was clear of that ship, I was not going
back. So after a while I took off all my clothes, tied them up in a
bundle with a stone inside, and dropped them in the deep water on the
outer side of that islet. That was suicide enough for me. Let them think
what they liked, but I didn’t mean to drown myself. I meant to swim till
I sank--but that’s not the same thing. I struck out for another of these
little islands, and it was from that one that I first saw your riding
light. Something to swim for. I went on easily, and on the way I came
upon a flat rock a foot or two above water. In the daytime, I dare say,
you might make it out with a glass from your poop. I scrambled up on it
and rested myself for a bit. Then I made another start. That last spell
must have been over a mile.”

His whisper was getting fainter and fainter, and all the time he stared
straight out through the porthole, in which there was not even a star
to be seen. I had not interrupted him. There was something that made
comment impossible in his narrative, or perhaps in himself; a sort of
feeling, a quality, which I can’t find a name for. And when he ceased,
all I found was a futile whisper: “So you swam for our light?”

“Yes--straight for it. It was something to swim for. I couldn’t see any
stars low down because the coast was in the way, and I couldn’t see the
land, either. The water was like glass. One might have been swimming in
a confounded thousand-feet deep cistern with no place for scrambling out
anywhere; but what I didn’t like was the notion of swimming round and
round like a crazed bullock before I gave out; and as I didn’t mean to
go back... No. Do you see me being hauled back, stark naked, off one
of these little islands by the scruff of the neck and fighting like a
wild beast? Somebody would have got killed for certain, and I did not
want any of that. So I went on. Then your ladder--”

“Why didn’t you hail the ship?” I asked, a little louder.

He touched my shoulder lightly. Lazy footsteps came right over our heads
and stopped. The second mate had crossed from the other side of the poop
and might have been hanging over the rail for all we knew.

“He couldn’t hear us talking--could he?” My double breathed into my very
ear, anxiously.

His anxiety was in answer, a sufficient answer, to the question I had
put to him. An answer containing all the difficulty of that situation. I
closed the porthole quietly, to make sure. A louder word might have been
overheard.

“Who’s that?” he whispered then.

“My second mate. But I don’t know much more of the fellow than you do.”

And I told him a little about myself. I had been appointed to take
charge while I least expected anything of the sort, not quite a
fortnight ago. I didn’t know either the ship or the people. Hadn’t had
the time in port to look about me or size anybody up. And as to the
crew, all they knew was that I was appointed to take the ship home.
For the rest, I was almost as much of a stranger on board as himself,
I said. And at the moment I felt it most acutely. I felt that it would
take very little to make me a suspect person in the eyes of the ship’s
company.

He had turned about meantime; and we, the two strangers in the ship,
faced each other in identical attitudes.

“Your ladder--” he murmured, after a silence. “Who’d have thought of
finding a ladder hanging over at night in a ship anchored out here! I
felt just then a very unpleasant faintness. After the life I’ve been
leading for nine weeks, anybody would have got out of condition. I
wasn’t capable of swimming round as far as your rudder chains. And, lo
and behold! there was a ladder to get hold of. After I gripped it I said
to myself, ‘What’s the good?’ When I saw a man’s head looking over I
thought I would swim away presently and leave him shouting--in whatever
language it was. I didn’t mind being looked at. I--I liked it. And then
you speaking to me so quietly--as if you had expected me--made me hold
on a little longer. It had been a confounded lonely time--I don’t mean
while swimming. I was glad to talk a little to somebody that didn’t
belong to the Sephora. As to asking for the captain, that was a mere
impulse. It could have been no use, with all the ship knowing about me
and the other people pretty certain to be round here in the morning. I
don’t know--I wanted to be seen, to talk with somebody, before I went
on. I don’t know what I would have said.... ‘Fine night, isn’t it?’
or something of the sort.”

“Do you think they will be round here presently?” I asked with some
incredulity.

“Quite likely,” he said, faintly.

“He looked extremely haggard all of a sudden. His head rolled on his
shoulders.

“H’m. We shall see then. Meantime get into that bed,” I whispered. “Want
help? There.”

It was a rather high bed place with a set of drawers underneath. This
amazing swimmer really needed the lift I gave him by seizing his leg. He
tumbled in, rolled over on his back, and flung one arm across his eyes.
And then, with his face nearly hidden, he must have looked exactly as I
used to look in that bed. I gazed upon my other self for a while before
drawing across carefully the two green serge curtains which ran on a
brass rod. I thought for a moment of pinning them together for greater
safety, but I sat down on the couch, and once there I felt unwilling
to rise and hunt for a pin. I would do it in a moment. I was extremely
tired, in a peculiarly intimate way, by the strain of stealthiness, by
the effort of whispering and the general secrecy of this excitement. It
was three o’clock by now and I had been on my feet since nine, but I
was not sleepy; I could not have gone to sleep. I sat there, fagged
out, looking at the curtains, trying to clear my mind of the confused
sensation of being in two places at once, and greatly bothered by an
exasperating knocking in my head. It was a relief to discover suddenly
that it was not in my head at all, but on the outside of the door.
Before I could collect myself the words “Come in” were out of my mouth,
and the steward entered with a tray, bringing in my morning coffee. I
had slept, after all, and I was so frightened that I shouted, “This way!
I am here, steward,” as though he had been miles away. He put down the
tray on the table next the couch and only then said, very quietly, “I
can see you are here, sir.” I felt him give me a keen look, but I dared
not meet his eyes just then. He must have wondered why I had drawn the
curtains of my bed before going to sleep on the couch. He went out,
hooking the door open as usual.

I heard the crew washing decks above me. I knew I would have been told
at once if there had been any wind. Calm, I thought, and I was doubly
vexed. Indeed, I felt dual more than ever. The steward reappeared
suddenly in the doorway. I jumped up from the couch so quickly that he
gave a start.

“What do you want here?”

“Close your port, sir--they are washing decks.”

“It is closed,” I said, reddening.

“Very well, sir.” But he did not move from the doorway and returned my
stare in an extraordinary, equivocal manner for a time. Then his eyes
wavered, all his expression changed, and in a voice unusually gentle,
almost coaxingly:

“May I come in to take the empty cup away, sir?”

“Of course!” I turned my back on him while he popped in and out. Then
I unhooked and closed the door and even pushed the bolt. This sort of
thing could not go on very long. The cabin was as hot as an oven, too. I
took a peep at my double, and discovered that he had not moved, his arm
was still over his eyes; but his chest heaved; his hair was wet; his
chin glistened with perspiration. I reached over him and opened the
port.

“I must show myself on deck,” I reflected.

Of course, theoretically, I could do what I liked, with no one to say
nay to me within the whole circle of the horizon; but to lock my cabin
door and take the key away I did not dare. Directly I put my head out
of the companion I saw the group of my two officers, the second mate
barefooted, the chief mate in long India-rubber boots, near the break of
the poop, and the steward halfway down the poop ladder talking to them
eagerly. He happened to catch sight of me and dived, the second ran down
on the main-deck shouting some order or other, and the chief mate came
to meet me, touching his cap.

There was a sort of curiosity in his eye that I did not like. I don’t
know whether the steward had told them that I was “queer” only, or
downright drunk, but I know the man meant to have a good look at me. I
watched him coming with a smile which, as he got into point-blank range,
took effect and froze his very whiskers. I did not give him time to open
his lips.

“Square the yards by lifts and braces before the hands go to breakfast.”

It was the first particular order I had given on board that ship; and I
stayed on deck to see it executed, too. I had felt the need of asserting
myself without loss of time. That sneering young cub got taken down a
peg or two on that occasion, and I also seized the opportunity of having
a good look at the face of every foremast man as they filed past me
to go to the after braces. At breakfast time, eating nothing myself, I
presided with such frigid dignity that the two mates were only too glad
to escape from the cabin as soon as decency permitted; and all the
time the dual working of my mind distracted me almost to the point of
insanity. I was constantly watching myself, my secret self, as dependent
on my actions as my own personality, sleeping in that bed, behind that
door which faced me as I sat at the head of the table. It was very much
like being mad, only it was worse because one was aware of it.

I had to shake him for a solid minute, but when at last he opened his
eyes it was in the full possession of his senses, with an inquiring
look.

“All’s well so far,” I whispered. “Now you must vanish into the
bathroom.”

He did so, as noiseless as a ghost, and then I rang for the steward,
and facing him boldly, directed him to tidy up my stateroom while I
was having my bath--“and be quick about it.” As my tone admitted of
no excuses, he said, “Yes, sir,” and ran off to fetch his dustpan and
brushes. I took a bath and did most of my dressing, splashing, and
whistling softly for the steward’s edification, while the secret sharer
of my life stood drawn up bolt upright in that little space, his face
looking very sunken in daylight, his eyelids lowered under the stern,
dark line of his eyebrows drawn together by a slight frown.

When I left him there to go back to my room the steward was finishing
dusting. I sent for the mate and engaged him in some insignificant
conversation. It was, as it were, trifling with the terrific character
of his whiskers; but my object was to give him an opportunity for a
good look at my cabin. And then I could at last shut, with a clear
conscience, the door of my stateroom and get my double back into the
recessed part. There was nothing else for it. He had to sit still on a
small folding stool, half smothered by the heavy coats hanging there.
We listened to the steward going into the bathroom out of the saloon,
filling the water bottles there, scrubbing the bath, setting things
to rights, whisk, bang, clatter--out again into the saloon--turn the
key--click. Such was my scheme for keeping my second self invisible.
Nothing better could be contrived under the circumstances. And there
we sat; I at my writing desk ready to appear busy with some papers, he
behind me out of sight of the door. It would not have been prudent to
talk in daytime; and I could not have stood the excitement of that queer
sense of whispering to myself. Now and then, glancing over my shoulder,
I saw him far back there, sitting rigidly on the low stool, his
bare feet close together, his arms folded, his head hanging on his
breast--and perfectly still. Anybody would have taken him for me.

I was fascinated by it myself. Every moment I had to glance over my
shoulder. I was looking at him when a voice outside the door said:

“Beg pardon, sir.”

“Well!...” I kept my eyes on him, and so when the voice outside the
door announced, “There’s a ship’s boat coming our way, sir,” I saw him
give a start--the first movement he had made for hours. But he did not
raise his bowed head.

“All right. Get the ladder over.”

I hesitated. Should I whisper something to him? But what? His immobility
seemed to have been never disturbed. What could I tell him he did not
know already?... Finally I went on deck.




II

The skipper of the Sephora had a thin red whisker all round his face,
and the sort of complexion that goes with hair of that color; also the
particular, rather smeary shade of blue in the eyes. He was not exactly
a showy figure; his shoulders were high, his stature but middling--one
leg slightly more bandy than the other. He shook hands, looking vaguely
around. A spiritless tenacity was his main characteristic, I judged. I
behaved with a politeness which seemed to disconcert him. Perhaps he was
shy. He mumbled to me as if he were ashamed of what he was saying; gave
his name (it was something like Archbold--but at this distance of years
I hardly am sure), his ship’s name, and a few other particulars of
that sort, in the manner of a criminal making a reluctant and
doleful confession. He had had terrible weather on the passage
out--terrible--terrible--wife aboard, too.

By this time we were seated in the cabin and the steward brought in a
tray with a bottle and glasses. “Thanks! No.” Never took liquor. Would
have some water, though. He drank two tumblerfuls. Terrible thirsty
work. Ever since daylight had been exploring the islands round his ship.

“What was that for--fun?” I asked, with an appearance of polite
interest.

“No!” He sighed. “Painful duty.”

As he persisted in his mumbling and I wanted my double to hear every
word, I hit upon the notion of informing him that I regretted to say I
was hard of hearing.

“Such a young man, too!” he nodded, keeping his smeary blue,
unintelligent eyes fastened upon me. “What was the cause of it--some
disease?” he inquired, without the least sympathy and as if he thought
that, if so, I’d got no more than I deserved.

“Yes; disease,” I admitted in a cheerful tone which seemed to shock him.
But my point was gained, because he had to raise his voice to give me
his tale. It is not worth while to record his version. It was just over
two months since all this had happened, and he had thought so much
about it that he seemed completely muddled as to its bearings, but still
immensely impressed.

“What would you think of such a thing happening on board your own
ship? I’ve had the Sephora for these fifteen years. I am a well-known
shipmaster.”

He was densely distressed--and perhaps I should have sympathized with
him if I had been able to detach my mental vision from the unsuspected
sharer of my cabin as though he were my second self. There he was on the
other side of the bulkhead, four or five feet from us, no more, as we
sat in the saloon. I looked politely at Captain Archbold (if that was
his name), but it was the other I saw, in a gray sleeping suit, seated
on a low stool, his bare feet close together, his arms folded, and every
word said between us falling into the ears of his dark head bowed on his
chest.

“I have been at sea now, man and boy, for seven-and-thirty years, and
I’ve never heard of such a thing happening in an English ship. And that
it should be my ship. Wife on board, too.”

I was hardly listening to him.

“Don’t you think,” I said, “that the heavy sea which, you told me, came
aboard just then might have killed the man? I have seen the sheer weight
of a sea kill a man very neatly, by simply breaking his neck.”

“Good God!” he uttered, impressively, fixing his smeary blue eyes on
me. “The sea! No man killed by the sea ever looked like that.” He seemed
positively scandalized at my suggestion. And as I gazed at him certainly
not prepared for anything original on his part, he advanced his head
close to mine and thrust his tongue out at me so suddenly that I
couldn’t help starting back.

After scoring over my calmness in this graphic way he nodded wisely. If
I had seen the sight, he assured me, I would never forget it as long as
I lived. The weather was too bad to give the corpse a proper sea burial.
So next day at dawn they took it up on the poop, covering its face with
a bit of bunting; he read a short prayer, and then, just as it was, in
its oilskins and long boots, they launched it amongst those mountainous
seas that seemed ready every moment to swallow up the ship herself and
the terrified lives on board of her.

“That reefed foresail saved you,” I threw in.

“Under God--it did,” he exclaimed fervently. “It was by a special mercy,
I firmly believe, that it stood some of those hurricane squalls.”

“It was the setting of that sail which--” I began.

“God’s own hand in it,” he interrupted me. “Nothing less could have
done it. I don’t mind telling you that I hardly dared give the order.
It seemed impossible that we could touch anything without losing it, and
then our last hope would have been gone.”

The terror of that gale was on him yet. I let him go on for a bit, then
said, casually--as if returning to a minor subject:

“You were very anxious to give up your mate to the shore people, I
believe?”

He was. To the law. His obscure tenacity on that point had in it
something incomprehensible and a little awful; something, as it were,
mystical, quite apart from his anxiety that he should not be suspected
of “countenancing any doings of that sort.” Seven-and-thirty virtuous
years at sea, of which over twenty of immaculate command, and the last
fifteen in the Sephora, seemed to have laid him under some pitiless
obligation.

“And you know,” he went on, groping shame-facedly amongst his feelings,
“I did not engage that young fellow. His people had some interest with
my owners. I was in a way forced to take him on. He looked very smart,
very gentlemanly, and all that. But do you know--I never liked him,
somehow. I am a plain man. You see, he wasn’t exactly the sort for the
chief mate of a ship like the Sephora.”

I had become so connected in thoughts and impressions with the secret
sharer of my cabin that I felt as if I, personally, were being given to
understand that I, too, was not the sort that would have done for the
chief mate of a ship like the Sephora. I had no doubt of it in my mind.

“Not at all the style of man. You understand,” he insisted,
superfluously, looking hard at me.

I smiled urbanely. He seemed at a loss for a while.

“I suppose I must report a suicide.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Suicide! That’s what I’ll have to write to my owners directly I get
in.”

“Unless you manage to recover him before tomorrow,” I assented,
dispassionately.... “I mean, alive.”

He mumbled something which I really did not catch, and I turned my ear
to him in a puzzled manner. He fairly bawled:

“The land--I say, the mainland is at least seven miles off my
anchorage.”

“About that.”

My lack of excitement, of curiosity, of surprise, of any sort of
pronounced interest, began to arouse his distrust. But except for the
felicitous pretense of deafness I had not tried to pretend anything. I
had felt utterly incapable of playing the part of ignorance properly,
and therefore was afraid to try. It is also certain that he had brought
some ready-made suspicions with him, and that he viewed my politeness
as a strange and unnatural phenomenon. And yet how else could I have
received him? Not heartily! That was impossible for psychological
reasons, which I need not state here. My only object was to keep off his
inquiries. Surlily? Yes, but surliness might have provoked a point-blank
question. From its novelty to him and from its nature, punctilious
courtesy was the manner best calculated to restrain the man. But there
was the danger of his breaking through my defense bluntly. I could
not, I think, have met him by a direct lie, also for psychological (not
moral) reasons. If he had only known how afraid I was of his putting
my feeling of identity with the other to the test! But, strangely
enough--(I thought of it only afterwards)--I believe that he was not
a little disconcerted by the reverse side of that weird situation, by
something in me that reminded him of the man he was seeking--suggested a
mysterious similitude to the young fellow he had distrusted and disliked
from the first.

However that might have been, the silence was not very prolonged. He
took another oblique step.

“I reckon I had no more than a two-mile pull to your ship. Not a bit
more.”

“And quite enough, too, in this awful heat,” I said.

Another pause full of mistrust followed. Necessity, they say, is mother
of invention, but fear, too, is not barren of ingenious suggestions. And
I was afraid he would ask me point-blank for news of my other self.

“Nice little saloon, isn’t it?” I remarked, as if noticing for the first
time the way his eyes roamed from one closed door to the other. “And
very well fitted out, too. Here, for instance,” I continued, reaching
over the back of my seat negligently and flinging the door open, “is my
bathroom.”

He made an eager movement, but hardly gave it a glance. I got up, shut
the door of the bathroom, and invited him to have a look round, as if I
were very proud of my accommodation. He had to rise and be shown round,
but he went through the business without any raptures whatever.

“And now we’ll have a look at my stateroom,” I declared, in a voice as
loud as I dared to make it, crossing the cabin to the starboard side
with purposely heavy steps.

He followed me in and gazed around. My intelligent double had vanished.
I played my part.

“Very convenient--isn’t it?”

“Very nice. Very comf...” He didn’t finish and went out brusquely as
if to escape from some unrighteous wiles of mine. But it was not to be.
I had been too frightened not to feel vengeful; I felt I had him on the
run, and I meant to keep him on the run. My polite insistence must have
had something menacing in it, because he gave in suddenly. And I did
not let him off a single item; mate’s room, pantry, storerooms, the very
sail locker which was also under the poop--he had to look into them
all. When at last I showed him out on the quarter-deck he drew a long,
spiritless sigh, and mumbled dismally that he must really be going back
to his ship now. I desired my mate, who had joined us, to see to the
captain’s boat.

The man of whiskers gave a blast on the whistle which he used to wear
hanging round his neck, and yelled, “Sephora’s away!” My double down
there in my cabin must have heard, and certainly could not feel more
relieved than I. Four fellows came running out from somewhere forward
and went over the side, while my own men, appearing on deck too, lined
the rail. I escorted my visitor to the gangway ceremoniously, and nearly
overdid it. He was a tenacious beast. On the very ladder he lingered,
and in that unique, guiltily conscientious manner of sticking to the
point:

“I say... you... you don’t think that--”

I covered his voice loudly:

“Certainly not.... I am delighted. Good-by.”

I had an idea of what he meant to say, and just saved myself by the
privilege of defective hearing. He was too shaken generally to insist,
but my mate, close witness of that parting, looked mystified and his
face took on a thoughtful cast. As I did not want to appear as if
I wished to avoid all communication with my officers, he had the
opportunity to address me.

“Seems a very nice man. His boat’s crew told our chaps a very
extraordinary story, if what I am told by the steward is true. I suppose
you had it from the captain, sir?”

“Yes. I had a story from the captain.”

“A very horrible affair--isn’t it, sir?”

“It is.”

“Beats all these tales we hear about murders in Yankee ships.”

“I don’t think it beats them. I don’t think it resembles them in the
least.”

“Bless my soul--you don’t say so! But of course I’ve no acquaintance
whatever with American ships, not I, so I couldn’t go against your
knowledge. It’s horrible enough for me.... But the queerest part is
that those fellows seemed to have some idea the man was hidden aboard
here. They had really. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“Preposterous--isn’t it?”

We were walking to and fro athwart the quarter-deck. No one of the crew
forward could be seen (the day was Sunday), and the mate pursued:

“There was some little dispute about it. Our chaps took offense. ‘As
if we would harbor a thing like that,’ they said. ‘Wouldn’t you like to
look for him in our coal-hole?’ Quite a tiff. But they made it up in the
end. I suppose he did drown himself. Don’t you, sir?”

“I don’t suppose anything.”

“You have no doubt in the matter, sir?”

“None whatever.”

I left him suddenly. I felt I was producing a bad impression, but with
my double down there it was most trying to be on deck. And it was almost
as trying to be below. Altogether a nerve-trying situation. But on the
whole I felt less torn in two when I was with him. There was no one in
the whole ship whom I dared take into my confidence. Since the hands had
got to know his story, it would have been impossible to pass him off for
anyone else, and an accidental discovery was to be dreaded now more than
ever....

The steward being engaged in laying the table for dinner, we could talk
only with our eyes when I first went down. Later in the afternoon we
had a cautious try at whispering. The Sunday quietness of the ship was
against us; the stillness of air and water around her was against us;
the elements, the men were against us--everything was against us in our
secret partnership; time itself--for this could not go on forever. The
very trust in Providence was, I suppose, denied to his guilt. Shall I
confess that this thought cast me down very much? And as to the chapter
of accidents which counts for so much in the book of success, I could
only hope that it was closed. For what favorable accident could be
expected?

“Did you hear everything?” were my first words as soon as we took up our
position side by side, leaning over my bed place.

He had. And the proof of it was his earnest whisper, “The man told you
he hardly dared to give the order.”

I understood the reference to be to that saving foresail.

“Yes. He was afraid of it being lost in the setting.”

“I assure you he never gave the order. He may think he did, but he never
gave it. He stood there with me on the break of the poop after the
main topsail blew away, and whimpered about our last hope--positively
whimpered about it and nothing else--and the night coming on! To hear
one’s skipper go on like that in such weather was enough to drive any
fellow out of his mind. It worked me up into a sort of desperation. I
just took it into my own hands and went away from him, boiling, and--But
what’s the use telling you? _You_ know!... Do you think that if I
had not been pretty fierce with them I should have got the men to do
anything? Not I! The bo’s’n perhaps? Perhaps! It wasn’t a heavy sea--it
was a sea gone mad! I suppose the end of the world will be something
like that; and a man may have the heart to see it coming once and be
done with it--but to have to face it day after day--I don’t blame
anybody. I was precious little better than the rest. Only--I was an
officer of that old coal wagon, anyhow--”

“I quite understand,” I conveyed that sincere assurance into his ear.
He was out of breath with whispering; I could hear him pant slightly.
It was all very simple. The same strung-up force which had given
twenty-four men a chance, at least, for their lives, had, in a sort of
recoil, crushed an unworthy mutinous existence.

But I had no leisure to weigh the merits of the matter--footsteps in
the saloon, a heavy knock. “There’s enough wind to get under way with,
sir.” Here was the call of a new claim upon my thoughts and even upon my
feelings.

“Turn the hands up,” I cried through the door. “I’ll be on deck
directly.”

I was going out to make the acquaintance of my ship. Before I left
the cabin our eyes met--the eyes of the only two strangers on board. I
pointed to the recessed part where the little campstool awaited him and
laid my finger on my lips. He made a gesture--somewhat vague--a little
mysterious, accompanied by a faint smile, as if of regret.

This is not the place to enlarge upon the sensations of a man who feels
for the first time a ship move under his feet to his own independent
word. In my case they were not unalloyed. I was not wholly alone with my
command; for there was that stranger in my cabin. Or rather, I was
not completely and wholly with her. Part of me was absent. That mental
feeling of being in two places at once affected me physically as if the
mood of secrecy had penetrated my very soul. Before an hour had elapsed
since the ship had begun to move, having occasion to ask the mate (he
stood by my side) to take a compass bearing of the pagoda, I caught
myself reaching up to his ear in whispers. I say I caught myself, but
enough had escaped to startle the man. I can’t describe it otherwise
than by saying that he shied. A grave, preoccupied manner, as though he
were in possession of some perplexing intelligence, did not leave him
henceforth. A little later I moved away from the rail to look at the
compass with such a stealthy gait that the helmsman noticed it--and
I could not help noticing the unusual roundness of his eyes. These
are trifling instances, though it’s to no commander’s advantage to be
suspected of ludicrous eccentricities. But I was also more seriously
affected. There are to a seaman certain words, gestures, that should in
given conditions come as naturally, as instinctively as the winking of
a menaced eye. A certain order should spring on to his lips without
thinking; a certain sign should get itself made, so to speak, without
reflection. But all unconscious alertness had abandoned me. I had to
make an effort of will to recall myself back (from the cabin) to the
conditions of the moment. I felt that I was appearing an irresolute
commander to those people who were watching me more or less critically.

And, besides, there were the scares. On the second day out, for
instance, coming off the deck in the afternoon (I had straw slippers
on my bare feet) I stopped at the open pantry door and spoke to the
steward. He was doing something there with his back to me. At the sound
of my voice he nearly jumped out of his skin, as the saying is, and
incidentally broke a cup.

“What on earth’s the matter with you?” I asked, astonished.

He was extremely confused. “Beg your pardon, sir. I made sure you were
in your cabin.”

“You see I wasn’t.”

“No, sir. I could have sworn I had heard you moving in there not a
moment ago. It’s most extraordinary... very sorry, sir.”

I passed on with an inward shudder. I was so identified with my secret
double that I did not even mention the fact in those scanty, fearful
whispers we exchanged. I suppose he had made some slight noise of some
kind or other. It would have been miraculous if he hadn’t at one time
or another. And yet, haggard as he appeared, he looked always perfectly
self-controlled, more than calm--almost invulnerable. On my suggestion
he remained almost entirely in the bathroom, which, upon the whole,
was the safest place. There could be really no shadow of an excuse for
anyone ever wanting to go in there, once the steward had done with it.
It was a very tiny place. Sometimes he reclined on the floor, his legs
bent, his head sustained on one elbow. At others I would find him on the
campstool, sitting in his gray sleeping suit and with his cropped dark
hair like a patient, unmoved convict. At night I would smuggle him into
my bed place, and we would whisper together, with the regular footfalls
of the officer of the watch passing and repassing over our heads. It
was an infinitely miserable time. It was lucky that some tins of fine
preserves were stowed in a locker in my stateroom; hard bread I could
always get hold of; and so he lived on stewed chicken, _Pate de Foie
Gras_, asparagus, cooked oysters, sardines--on all sorts of abominable
sham delicacies out of tins. My early-morning coffee he always drank;
and it was all I dared do for him in that respect.

Every day there was the horrible maneuvering to go through so that my
room and then the bathroom should be done in the usual way. I came to
hate the sight of the steward, to abhor the voice of that harmless man.
I felt that it was he who would bring on the disaster of discovery. It
hung like a sword over our heads.

The fourth day out, I think (we were then working down the east side of
the Gulf of Siam, tack for tack, in light winds and smooth water)--the
fourth day, I say, of this miserable juggling with the unavoidable,
as we sat at our evening meal, that man, whose slightest movement I
dreaded, after putting down the dishes ran up on deck busily. This could
not be dangerous. Presently he came down again; and then it appeared
that he had remembered a coat of mine which I had thrown over a rail to
dry after having been wetted in a shower which had passed over the ship
in the afternoon. Sitting stolidly at the head of the table I became
terrified at the sight of the garment on his arm. Of course he made for
my door. There was no time to lose.

“Steward,” I thundered. My nerves were so shaken that I could not govern
my voice and conceal my agitation. This was the sort of thing that made
my terrifically whiskered mate tap his forehead with his forefinger.
I had detected him using that gesture while talking on deck with a
confidential air to the carpenter. It was too far to hear a word, but
I had no doubt that this pantomime could only refer to the strange new
captain.

“Yes, sir,” the pale-faced steward turned resignedly to me. It was this
maddening course of being shouted at, checked without rhyme or reason,
arbitrarily chased out of my cabin, suddenly called into it, sent flying
out of his pantry on incomprehensible errands, that accounted for the
growing wretchedness of his expression.

“Where are you going with that coat?”

“To your room, sir.”

“Is there another shower coming?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, sir. Shall I go up again and see, sir?”

“No! never mind.”

My object was attained, as of course my other self in there would have
heard everything that passed. During this interlude my two officers
never raised their eyes off their respective plates; but the lip of that
confounded cub, the second mate, quivered visibly.

I expected the steward to hook my coat on and come out at once. He was
very slow about it; but I dominated my nervousness sufficiently not
to shout after him. Suddenly I became aware (it could be heard plainly
enough) that the fellow for some reason or other was opening the door of
the bathroom. It was the end. The place was literally not big enough to
swing a cat in. My voice died in my throat and I went stony all over. I
expected to hear a yell of surprise and terror, and made a movement, but
had not the strength to get on my legs. Everything remained still. Had
my second self taken the poor wretch by the throat? I don’t know what I
could have done next moment if I had not seen the steward come out of my
room, close the door, and then stand quietly by the sideboard.

“Saved,” I thought. “But, no! Lost! Gone! He was gone!”

I laid my knife and fork down and leaned back in my chair. My head swam.
After a while, when sufficiently recovered to speak in a steady voice, I
instructed my mate to put the ship round at eight o’clock himself.

“I won’t come on deck,” I went on. “I think I’ll turn in, and unless the
wind shifts I don’t want to be disturbed before midnight. I feel a bit
seedy.”

“You did look middling bad a little while ago,” the chief mate remarked
without showing any great concern.

They both went out, and I stared at the steward clearing the table.
There was nothing to be read on that wretched man’s face. But why did he
avoid my eyes, I asked myself. Then I thought I should like to hear the
sound of his voice.

“Steward!”

“Sir!” Startled as usual.

“Where did you hang up that coat?”

“In the bathroom, sir.” The usual anxious tone. “It’s not quite dry yet,
sir.”

For some time longer I sat in the cuddy. Had my double vanished as
he had come? But of his coming there was an explanation, whereas his
disappearance would be inexplicable.... I went slowly into my dark
room, shut the door, lighted the lamp, and for a time dared not turn
round. When at last I did I saw him standing bolt-upright in the
narrow recessed part. It would not be true to say I had a shock, but an
irresistible doubt of his bodily existence flitted through my mind. Can
it be, I asked myself, that he is not visible to other eyes than mine?
It was like being haunted. Motionless, with a grave face, he raised his
hands slightly at me in a gesture which meant clearly, “Heavens! what
a narrow escape!” Narrow indeed. I think I had come creeping quietly as
near insanity as any man who has not actually gone over the border. That
gesture restrained me, so to speak.

The mate with the terrific whiskers was now putting the ship on the
other tack. In the moment of profound silence which follows upon the
hands going to their stations I heard on the poop his raised voice:
“Hard alee!” and the distant shout of the order repeated on the
main-deck. The sails, in that light breeze, made but a faint fluttering
noise. It ceased. The ship was coming round slowly: I held my breath
in the renewed stillness of expectation; one wouldn’t have thought
that there was a single living soul on her decks. A sudden brisk shout,
“Mainsail haul!” broke the spell, and in the noisy cries and rush
overhead of the men running away with the main brace we two, down in my
cabin, came together in our usual position by the bed place.

He did not wait for my question. “I heard him fumbling here and just
managed to squat myself down in the bath,” he whispered to me. “The
fellow only opened the door and put his arm in to hang the coat up. All
the same--”

“I never thought of that,” I whispered back, even more appalled than
before at the closeness of the shave, and marveling at that something
unyielding in his character which was carrying him through so finely.
There was no agitation in his whisper. Whoever was being driven
distracted, it was not he. He was sane. And the proof of his sanity was
continued when he took up the whispering again.

“It would never do for me to come to life again.”

It was something that a ghost might have said. But what he was alluding
to was his old captain’s reluctant admission of the theory of suicide.
It would obviously serve his turn--if I had understood at all the view
which seemed to govern the unalterable purpose of his action.

“You must maroon me as soon as ever you can get amongst these islands
off the Cambodge shore,” he went on.

“Maroon you! We are not living in a boy’s adventure tale,” I protested.
His scornful whispering took me up.

“We aren’t indeed! There’s nothing of a boy’s tale in this. But there’s
nothing else for it. I want no more. You don’t suppose I am afraid of
what can be done to me? Prison or gallows or whatever they may please.
But you don’t see me coming back to explain such things to an old fellow
in a wig and twelve respectable tradesmen, do you? What can they know
whether I am guilty or not--or of _what_ I am guilty, either? That’s my
affair. What does the Bible say? ‘Driven off the face of the earth.’
Very well, I am off the face of the earth now. As I came at night so I
shall go.”

“Impossible!” I murmured. “You can’t.”

“Can’t?... Not naked like a soul on the Day of Judgment. I shall
freeze on to this sleeping suit. The Last Day is not yet--and... you
have understood thoroughly. Didn’t you?”

I felt suddenly ashamed of myself. I may say truly that I
understood--and my hesitation in letting that man swim away from my
ship’s side had been a mere sham sentiment, a sort of cowardice.

“It can’t be done now till next night,” I breathed out. “The ship is on
the off-shore tack and the wind may fail us.”

“As long as I know that you understand,” he whispered. “But of course
you do. It’s a great satisfaction to have got somebody to understand.
You seem to have been there on purpose.” And in the same whisper, as if
we two whenever we talked had to say things to each other which were not
fit for the world to hear, he added, “It’s very wonderful.”

We remained side by side talking in our secret way--but sometimes
silent or just exchanging a whispered word or two at long intervals. And
as usual he stared through the port. A breath of wind came now and again
into our faces. The ship might have been moored in dock, so gently and
on an even keel she slipped through the water, that did not murmur even
at our passage, shadowy and silent like a phantom sea.

At midnight I went on deck, and to my mate’s great surprise put the
ship round on the other tack. His terrible whiskers flitted round me
in silent criticism. I certainly should not have done it if it had
been only a question of getting out of that sleepy gulf as quickly as
possible. I believe he told the second mate, who relieved him, that it
was a great want of judgment. The other only yawned. That intolerable
cub shuffled about so sleepily and lolled against the rails in such a
slack, improper fashion that I came down on him sharply.

“Aren’t you properly awake yet?”

“Yes, sir! I am awake.”

“Well, then, be good enough to hold yourself as if you were. And keep
a lookout. If there’s any current we’ll be closing with some islands
before daylight.”

The east side of the gulf is fringed with islands, some solitary, others
in groups. On the blue background of the high coast they seem to float
on silvery patches of calm water, arid and gray, or dark green and
rounded like clumps of evergreen bushes, with the larger ones, a mile
or two long, showing the outlines of ridges, ribs of gray rock under the
dark mantle of matted leafage. Unknown to trade, to travel, almost to
geography, the manner of life they harbor is an unsolved secret. There
must be villages--settlements of fishermen at least--on the largest
of them, and some communication with the world is probably kept up by
native craft. But all that forenoon, as we headed for them, fanned along
by the faintest of breezes, I saw no sign of man or canoe in the field
of the telescope I kept on pointing at the scattered group.

At noon I gave no orders for a change of course, and the mate’s whiskers
became much concerned and seemed to be offering themselves unduly to my
notice. At last I said:

“I am going to stand right in. Quite in--as far as I can take her.”

The stare of extreme surprise imparted an air of ferocity also to his
eyes, and he looked truly terrific for a moment.

“We’re not doing well in the middle of the gulf,” I continued, casually.
“I am going to look for the land breezes tonight.”

“Bless my soul! Do you mean, sir, in the dark amongst the lot of all
them islands and reefs and shoals?”

“Well--if there are any regular land breezes at all on this coast one
must get close inshore to find them, mustn’t one?”

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed again under his breath. All that afternoon
he wore a dreamy, contemplative appearance which in him was a mark of
perplexity. After dinner I went into my stateroom as if I meant to take
some rest. There we two bent our dark heads over a half-unrolled chart
lying on my bed.

“There,” I said. “It’s got to be Koh-ring. I’ve been looking at it
ever since sunrise. It has got two hills and a low point. It must be
inhabited. And on the coast opposite there is what looks like the mouth
of a biggish river--with some towns, no doubt, not far up. It’s the best
chance for you that I can see.”

“Anything. Koh-ring let it be.”

He looked thoughtfully at the chart as if surveying chances and
distances from a lofty height--and following with his eyes his own
figure wandering on the blank land of Cochin-China, and then passing off
that piece of paper clean out of sight into uncharted regions. And it
was as if the ship had two captains to plan her course for her. I had
been so worried and restless running up and down that I had not had the
patience to dress that day. I had remained in my sleeping suit, with
straw slippers and a soft floppy hat. The closeness of the heat in
the gulf had been most oppressive, and the crew were used to seeing me
wandering in that airy attire.

“She will clear the south point as she heads now,” I whispered into his
ear. “Goodness only knows when, though, but certainly after dark. I’ll
edge her in to half a mile, as far as I may be able to judge in the
dark--”

“Be careful,” he murmured, warningly--and I realized suddenly that
all my future, the only future for which I was fit, would perhaps go
irretrievably to pieces in any mishap to my first command.

I could not stop a moment longer in the room. I motioned him to get out
of sight and made my way on the poop. That unplayful cub had the watch.
I walked up and down for a while thinking things out, then beckoned him
over.

“Send a couple of hands to open the two quarter-deck ports,” I said,
mildly.

He actually had the impudence, or else so forgot himself in his wonder
at such an incomprehensible order, as to repeat:

“Open the quarter-deck ports! What for, sir?”

“The only reason you need concern yourself about is because I tell you
to do so. Have them open wide and fastened properly.”

He reddened and went off, but I believe made some jeering remark to
the carpenter as to the sensible practice of ventilating a ship’s
quarter-deck. I know he popped into the mate’s cabin to impart the fact
to him because the whiskers came on deck, as it were by chance, and
stole glances at me from below--for signs of lunacy or drunkenness, I
suppose.

A little before supper, feeling more restless than ever, I rejoined,
for a moment, my second self. And to find him sitting so quietly was
surprising, like something against nature, inhuman.

I developed my plan in a hurried whisper.

“I shall stand in as close as I dare and then put her round. I will
presently find means to smuggle you out of here into the sail locker,
which communicates with the lobby. But there is an opening, a sort
of square for hauling the sails out, which gives straight on the
quarter-deck and which is never closed in fine weather, so as to give
air to the sails. When the ship’s way is deadened in stays and all the
hands are aft at the main braces you will have a clear road to slip out
and get overboard through the open quarter-deck port. I’ve had them both
fastened up. Use a rope’s end to lower yourself into the water so as
to avoid a splash--you know. It could be heard and cause some beastly
complication.”

He kept silent for a while, then whispered, “I understand.”

“I won’t be there to see you go,” I began with an effort. “The rest
... I only hope I have understood, too.”

“You have. From first to last”--and for the first time there seemed to
be a faltering, something strained in his whisper. He caught hold of my
arm, but the ringing of the supper bell made me start. He didn’t though;
he only released his grip.

After supper I didn’t come below again till well past eight o’clock. The
faint, steady breeze was loaded with dew; and the wet, darkened sails
held all there was of propelling power in it. The night, clear and
starry, sparkled darkly, and the opaque, lightless patches shifting
slowly against the low stars were the drifting islets. On the port bow
there was a big one more distant and shadowily imposing by the great
space of sky it eclipsed.

On opening the door I had a back view of my very own self looking at a
chart. He had come out of the recess and was standing near the table.

“Quite dark enough,” I whispered.

He stepped back and leaned against my bed with a level, quiet glance.
I sat on the couch. We had nothing to say to each other. Over our heads
the officer of the watch moved here and there. Then I heard him move
quickly. I knew what that meant. He was making for the companion; and
presently his voice was outside my door.

“We are drawing in pretty fast, sir. Land looks rather close.”

“Very well,” I answered. “I am coming on deck directly.”

I waited till he was gone out of the cuddy, then rose. My double moved
too. The time had come to exchange our last whispers, for neither of us
was ever to hear each other’s natural voice.

“Look here!” I opened a drawer and took out three sovereigns. “Take this
anyhow. I’ve got six and I’d give you the lot, only I must keep a little
money to buy some fruit and vegetables for the crew from native boats as
we go through Sunda Straits.”

He shook his head.

“Take it,” I urged him, whispering desperately. “No one can tell what--”

He smiled and slapped meaningly the only pocket of the sleeping jacket.
It was not safe, certainly. But I produced a large old silk handkerchief
of mine, and tying the three pieces of gold in a corner, pressed it on
him. He was touched, I supposed, because he took it at last and tied it
quickly round his waist under the jacket, on his bare skin.

Our eyes met; several seconds elapsed, till, our glances still mingled,
I extended my hand and turned the lamp out. Then I passed through the
cuddy, leaving the door of my room wide open.... “Steward!”

He was still lingering in the pantry in the greatness of his zeal,
giving a rub-up to a plated cruet stand the last thing before going to
bed. Being careful not to wake up the mate, whose room was opposite, I
spoke in an undertone.

He looked round anxiously. “Sir!”

“Can you get me a little hot water from the galley?”

“I am afraid, sir, the galley fire’s been out for some time now.”

“Go and see.”

He flew up the stairs.

“Now,” I whispered, loudly, into the saloon--too loudly, perhaps, but I
was afraid I couldn’t make a sound. He was by my side in an instant--the
double captain slipped past the stairs--through a tiny dark passage
... a sliding door. We were in the sail locker, scrambling on our knees
over the sails. A sudden thought struck me. I saw myself wandering
barefooted, bareheaded, the sun beating on my dark poll. I snatched
off my floppy hat and tried hurriedly in the dark to ram it on my other
self. He dodged and fended off silently. I wonder what he thought had
come to me before he understood and suddenly desisted. Our hands met
gropingly, lingered united in a steady, motionless clasp for a second.
... No word was breathed by either of us when they separated.

I was standing quietly by the pantry door when the steward returned.

“Sorry, sir. Kettle barely warm. Shall I light the spirit lamp?”

“Never mind.”

I came out on deck slowly. It was now a matter of conscience to shave
the land as close as possible--for now he must go overboard whenever the
ship was put in stays. Must! There could be no going back for him. After
a moment I walked over to leeward and my heart flew into my mouth at the
nearness of the land on the bow. Under any other circumstances I would
not have held on a minute longer. The second mate had followed me
anxiously.

I looked on till I felt I could command my voice.

“She will weather,” I said then in a quiet tone.

“Are you going to try that, sir?” he stammered out incredulously.

I took no notice of him and raised my tone just enough to be heard by
the helmsman.

“Keep her good full.”

“Good full, sir.”

The wind fanned my cheek, the sails slept, the world was silent. The
strain of watching the dark loom of the land grow bigger and denser was
too much for me. I had shut my eyes--because the ship must go closer.
She must! The stillness was intolerable. Were we standing still?

When I opened my eyes the second view started my heart with a thump. The
black southern hill of Koh-ring seemed to hang right over the ship
like a towering fragment of everlasting night. On that enormous mass of
blackness there was not a gleam to be seen, not a sound to be heard. It
was gliding irresistibly towards us and yet seemed already within reach
of the hand. I saw the vague figures of the watch grouped in the waist,
gazing in awed silence.

“Are you going on, sir?” inquired an unsteady voice at my elbow.

I ignored it. I had to go on.

“Keep her full. Don’t check her way. That won’t do now,” I said
warningly.

“I can’t see the sails very well,” the helmsman answered me, in strange,
quavering tones.

Was she close enough? Already she was, I won’t say in the shadow of the
land, but in the very blackness of it, already swallowed up as it were,
gone too close to be recalled, gone from me altogether.

“Give the mate a call,” I said to the young man who stood at my elbow as
still as death. “And turn all hands up.”

My tone had a borrowed loudness reverberated from the height of the
land. Several voices cried out together: “We are all on deck, sir.”

Then stillness again, with the great shadow gliding closer, towering
higher, without a light, without a sound. Such a hush had fallen on
the ship that she might have been a bark of the dead floating in slowly
under the very gate of Erebus.

“My God! Where are we?”

It was the mate moaning at my elbow. He was thunderstruck, and as it
were deprived of the moral support of his whiskers. He clapped his hands
and absolutely cried out, “Lost!”

“Be quiet,” I said, sternly.

He lowered his tone, but I saw the shadowy gesture of his despair. “What
are we doing here?”

“Looking for the land wind.”

He made as if to tear his hair, and addressed me recklessly.

“She will never get out. You have done it, sir. I knew it’d end in
something like this. She will never weather, and you are too close now
to stay. She’ll drift ashore before she’s round. Oh my God!”

I caught his arm as he was raising it to batter his poor devoted head,
and shook it violently.

“She’s ashore already,” he wailed, trying to tear himself away.

“Is she?... Keep good full there!”

“Good full, sir,” cried the helmsman in a frightened, thin, childlike
voice.

I hadn’t let go the mate’s arm and went on shaking it. “Ready about,
do you hear? You go forward”--shake--“and stop there”--shake--“and hold
your noise”--shake--“and see these head-sheets properly
overhauled”--shake, shake--shake.

And all the time I dared not look towards the land lest my heart should
fail me. I released my grip at last and he ran forward as if fleeing for
dear life.

I wondered what my double there in the sail locker thought of this
commotion. He was able to hear everything--and perhaps he was able to
understand why, on my conscience, it had to be thus close--no less. My
first order “Hard alee!” re-echoed ominously under the towering shadow
of Koh-ring as if I had shouted in a mountain gorge. And then I watched
the land intently. In that smooth water and light wind it was impossible
to feel the ship coming-to. No! I could not feel her. And my second self
was making now ready to ship out and lower himself overboard. Perhaps he
was gone already...?

The great black mass brooding over our very mastheads began to pivot
away from the ship’s side silently. And now I forgot the secret stranger
ready to depart, and remembered only that I was a total stranger to the
ship. I did not know her. Would she do it? How was she to be handled?

I swung the mainyard and waited helplessly. She was perhaps stopped, and
her very fate hung in the balance, with the black mass of Koh-ring like
the gate of the everlasting night towering over her taffrail. What would
she do now? Had she way on her yet? I stepped to the side swiftly, and
on the shadowy water I could see nothing except a faint phosphorescent
flash revealing the glassy smoothness of the sleeping surface. It was
impossible to tell--and I had not learned yet the feel of my ship. Was
she moving? What I needed was something easily seen, a piece of paper,
which I could throw overboard and watch. I had nothing on me. To run
down for it I didn’t dare. There was no time. All at once my strained,
yearning stare distinguished a white object floating within a yard of
the ship’s side. White on the black water. A phosphorescent flash passed
under it. What was that thing?... I recognized my own floppy hat. It
must have fallen off his head... and he didn’t bother. Now I had what
I wanted--the saving mark for my eyes. But I hardly thought of my other
self, now gone from the ship, to be hidden forever from all friendly
faces, to be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, with no brand of
the curse on his sane forehead to stay a slaying hand... too proud to
explain.

And I watched the hat--the expression of my sudden pity for his mere
flesh. It had been meant to save his homeless head from the dangers of
the sun. And now--behold--it was saving the ship, by serving me for a
mark to help out the ignorance of my strangeness. Ha! It was drifting
forward, warning me just in time that the ship had gathered sternaway.

“Shift the helm,” I said in a low voice to the seaman standing still
like a statue.

The man’s eyes glistened wildly in the binnacle light as he jumped round
to the other side and spun round the wheel.

I walked to the break of the poop. On the over-shadowed deck all hands
stood by the forebraces waiting for my order. The stars ahead seemed to
be gliding from right to left. And all was so still in the world that
I heard the quiet remark, “She’s round,” passed in a tone of intense
relief between two seamen.

“Let go and haul.”

The foreyards ran round with a great noise, amidst cheery cries. And
now the frightful whiskers made themselves heard giving various orders.
Already the ship was drawing ahead. And I was alone with her. Nothing!
no one in the world should stand now between us, throwing a shadow on
the way of silent knowledge and mute affection, the perfect communion of
a seaman with his first command.

Walking to the taffrail, I was in time to make out, on the very edge
of a darkness thrown by a towering black mass like the very gateway of
Erebus--yes, I was in time to catch an evanescent glimpse of my white
hat left behind to mark the spot where the secret sharer of my cabin and
of my thoughts, as though he were my second self, had lowered himself
into the water to take his punishment: a free man, a proud swimmer
striking out for a new destiny.







