Part 3 (1/2)
Lingard put a restraining hand for a moment on his chief officer's shoulder, and moved forward smartly. Shaw followed, puzzled. The rapid exchange of incomprehensible words thrown backward and forward through the shadows of the brig's main deck from his captain to the lookout man and back again, made him feel sadly out of it, somehow.
Lingard had called out sharply--”What do you see?” The answer direct and quick was--”I hear, Tuan. I hear oars.”
”Whereabouts?”
”The night is all around us. I hear them near.”
”Port or starboard?”
There was a short delay in answer this time. On the quarter-deck, under the p.o.o.p, bare feet shuffled. Somebody coughed. At last the voice forward said doubtfully:
”Kanan.”
”Call the serang, Mr. Shaw,” said Lingard, calmly, ”and have the hands turned up. They are all lying about the decks. Look sharp now. There's something near us. It's annoying to be caught like this,” he added in a vexed tone.
He crossed over to the starboard side, and stood listening, one hand grasping the royal back-stay, his ear turned to the sea, but he could hear nothing from there. The quarter-deck was filled with subdued sounds. Suddenly, a long, shrill whistle soared, reverberated loudly amongst the flat surfaces of motionless sails, and gradually grew faint as if the sound had escaped and gone away, running upon the water. Haji Wasub was on deck and ready to carry out the white man's commands. Then silence fell again on the brig, until Shaw spoke quietly.
”I am going forward now, sir, with the tindal. We're all at stations.”
”Aye, Mr. Shaw. Very good. Mind they don't board you--but I can hear nothing. Not a sound. It can't be much.”
”The fellow has been dreaming, no doubt. I have good ears, too, and--”
He went forward and the end of his sentence was lost in an indistinct growl. Lingard stood attentive. One by one the three seacannies off duty appeared on the p.o.o.p and busied themselves around a big chest that stood by the side of the cabin companion. A rattle and clink of steel weapons turned out on the deck was heard, but the men did not even whisper.
Lingard peered steadily into the night, then shook his head.
”Serang!” he called, half aloud.
The spare old man ran up the ladder so smartly that his bony feet did not seem to touch the steps. He stood by his commander, his hands behind his back; a figure indistinct but straight as an arrow.
”Who was looking out?” asked Lingard.
”Badroon, the Bugis,” said Wasub, in his crisp, jerky manner.
”I can hear nothing. Badroon heard the noise in his mind.”
”The night hides the boat.”
”Have you seen it?”
”Yes, Tuan. Small boat. Before sunset. By the land. Now coming here--near. Badroon heard him.”
”Why didn't you report it, then?” asked Lingard, sharply.
”Malim spoke. He said: 'Nothing there,' while I could see. How could I know what was in his mind or yours, Tuan?”
”Do you hear anything now?”
”No. They stopped now. Perhaps lost the s.h.i.+p--who knows? Perhaps afraid--”