d not be worked at
present because it was haunted by some particularly atrocious ghosts.
I had heard of him in a place called Dongola, in the Island of Celebes,
when the Rajah of that little-known seaport (you can get no anchorage
there in less than fifteen fathom, which is extremely inconvenient) came
on board in a friendly way, with only two attendants, and drank bottle
after bottle of soda-water on the after-sky light with my good friend
and commander, Captain C----. At least I heard his name distinctly
pronounced several times in a lot of talk in Malay language. Oh, yes,
I heard it quite distinctly--Almayer, Almayer--and saw Captain C----
smile, while the fat, dingy Rajah laughed audibly. To hear a Malay Rajah
laugh outright is a rare experience, I can as sure you. And I overheard
more of Almayer's name among our deck passengers (mostly wandering
traders of good repute) as they sat all over the ship--each man fenced
round with bundles and boxes--on mats, on pillows, on quilts, on billets
of wood, conversing of Island affairs. Upon my word, I heard the mutter
of Almayer's name faintly at midnight, while making my way aft from the
bridge to look at the patent taffrail-log tinkling its quarter miles in
the great silence of the sea. I don't mean to say that our passengers
dreamed aloud of Almayer, but it is indubitable that two of them at
least, who could not sleep, apparently, and were trying to charm away
the trouble of insomnia by a little whispered talk at that ghostly hour,
were referring in some way or other to Almayer. It was really impossible
on board that ship to get away definitely from Almayer; and a very small
pony tied up forward and whisking its tail inside the galley, to the
great embarrassment of our Chinaman cook, was destined for Almayer. What
he wanted with a pony goodness only knows, since I am perfectly certain
he could not ride it; but here you have the man, ambitious, aiming at
the grandiose, importing a pony, whereas in the whole settlement at
which he used to shake daily his impotent fist there was only one path
that was practicable for a pony: a quarter of a mile at most, hedged
in by hundreds of square leagues of virgin forest. But who knows? The
importation of that Bali pony might have been part of some deep scheme,
of some diplomatic plan, of some hopeful intrigue. With Almayer one
could never tell. He governed his conduct by considerations removed
from the obvious, by incredible assumptions,