The Shadow-Line by Joseph Conrad Read Free Book Online Page B

belonged to the same region the nature of which I knew, into whose very soul I seemed to have looked during the last months of that existence with which I had broken now, suddenly, as one parts with some enchanting company.
    â€œThe gulf . . . Ay! A funny piece of water—that,” said Captain Giles.
    Funny, in this connection, was a vague word. The whole thing sounded like an opinion uttered by a cautious person mindful of actions for slander.
    I didn’t inquire as to the nature of that funniness. There was really no time. But at the very last he volunteered a warning.
    â€œWhatever you do keep to the east side of it. The west side is dangerous at this time of the year. Don’t let anything tempt you over. You’ll find nothing but trouble there.”
    Though I could hardly imagine what could tempt me to involve my ship amongst the currents and reefs of the Malay shore, I thanked him for the advice.
    He gripped my extended arm warmly, and the end of our acquaintance came suddenly in the words: “Good night.”
    That was all he said: “Good night.” Nothing more. I don’t know what I intended to say, but surprise made me swallow it, whatever it was. I choked slightly, and then exclaimed with a sort of nervous haste: “Oh! Good night, Captain Giles, good night.”
    His movements were always deliberate, but his back had receded some distance along the deserted quay before I collected myself enough to follow his example and made a half turn in the direction of the jetty.
    Only my movements were not deliberate. I hurried down to the steps, and leaped into the launch. Before I had fairly landed in her stern sheets the slim little craft darted away from the jetty with a sudden swirl of her propeller and the hard, rapid puffing of the exhaust in her vaguely gleaming brass funnel amidships.
    The misty churning at her stern was the only sound in the world. The shore lay plunged in the silence of the deeper slumber. I watched the town recede still and soundless in the hot night, till the abrupt hail, “Steam-launch, ahoy!” made me spin round face forward. We were close to a white ghostly steamer. Lights shone on her decks, in her portholes. And the same voice shouted from her:
    â€œIs that our passenger?”
    â€œIt is,” I yelled.
    Her crew had been obviously on the jump. I could hear them running about. The modern spirit of haste was loudly vocal in the orders to “Heave away on the cable”—to “Lower the side ladder,” and in urgent requests to me to “Come along, sir! We have been delayed three hours for you. . . . Our time is seven o’clock, you know!”
    I stepped on the deck. I said “No! I don’t know.” The spirit of modern hurry was embodied in a thin, long-armed, long-legged man, with a closely clipped gray beard. His meagre hand was hot and dry. He declared feverishly:
    â€œI am hanged if I would have waited another five minutes harbour master or no harbour master.”
    â€œThat’s your own business,” I said. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me.”
    â€œI hope you don’t expect any supper,” he burst out. “This isn’t a boardinghouse afloat. You are the first passenger I ever had in my life and I hope to goodness you will be the last.”
    I made no answer to this hospitable communication; and, indeed, he didn’t wait for any, bolting away on to his bridge to get his ship under way.
    The three days he had me on board he did not depart from that half-hostile attitude. His ship having been delayed three hours on my account he couldn’t forgive me for not being a more distinguished person. He was not exactly outspoken about it, but that feeling of annoyed wonder was peeping out perpetually in his talk.
    He was absurd.
    He was also a man of much experience, which he liked to trot out; but no greater contrast with Captain Giles could have been imagined. He would have