Upton Sinclair - "The Machine"

Cuthbert Bede - "The Adventures of Mr. Verdant Green"

Sir Walter Scott - "Waverley, Volume I"

Friedrich Schiller, Translated by Rev. A. J. W. Morrison, M.A. - "The History of the Thirty Years' War"

Within the Tides

J >> Joseph Conrad >> Within the Tides




"All was still around Davidson. Whether she had run on board or
not, this silence meant that the Frenchman had lost her in the
dark.

"Davidson, relieved, but still very anxious, turned towards the
river-side. He had not made two steps in that direction when
another shriek burst out behind him, again close to the house.

"He thinks that the Frenchman had lost sight of the poor woman
right enough. Then came that period of silence. But the horrible
ruffian had not given up his murderous purpose. He reasoned that
she would try to steal back to her child, and went to lie in wait
for her near the house.

"It must have been something like that. As she entered the light
falling about the house-ladder, he had rushed at her too soon,
impatient for vengeance. She had let out that second scream of
mortal fear when she caught sight of him, and turned to run for
life again.

"This time she was making for the river, but not in a straight
line. Her shrieks circled about Davidson. He turned on his heels,
following the horrible trail of sound in the darkness. He wanted
to shout 'This way, Anne! I am here!' but he couldn't. At the
horror of this chase, more ghastly in his imagination than if he
could have seen it, the perspiration broke out on his forehead,
while his throat was as dry as tinder. A last supreme scream was
cut short suddenly.

"The silence which ensued was even more dreadful. Davidson felt
sick. He tore his feet from the spot and walked straight before
him, gripping the revolver and peering into the obscurity
fearfully. Suddenly a bulky shape sprang from the ground within a
few yards of him and bounded away. Instinctively he fired at it,
started to run in pursuit, and stumbled against something soft
which threw him down headlong.

"Even as he pitched forward on his head he knew it could be nothing
else but Laughing Anne's body. He picked himself up and, remaining
on his knees, tried to lift her in his arms. He felt her so limp
that he gave it up. She was lying on her face, her long hair
scattered on the ground. Some of it was wet. Davidson, feeling
about her head, came to a place where the crushed bone gave way
under his fingers. But even before that discovery he knew that she
was dead. The pursuing Frenchman had flung her down with a kick
from behind, and, squatting on her back, was battering in her skull
with the weight she herself had fastened to his stump, when the
totally unexpected Davidson loomed up in the night and scared him
away.

"Davidson, kneeling by the side of that woman done so miserably to
death, was overcome by remorse. She had died for him. His manhood
was as if stunned. For the first time he felt afraid. He might
have been pounced upon in the dark at any moment by the murderer of
Laughing Anne. He confesses to the impulse of creeping away from
that pitiful corpse on his hands and knees to the refuge of the
ship. He even says that he actually began to do so. . .

"One can hardly picture to oneself Davidson crawling away on all
fours from the murdered woman--Davidson unmanned and crushed by the
idea that she had died for him in a sense. But he could not have
gone very far. What stopped him was the thought of the boy,
Laughing Anne's child, that (Davidson remembered her very words)
would not have a dog's chance.

"This life the woman had left behind her appeared to Davidson's
conscience in the light of a sacred trust. He assumed an erect
attitude and, quaking inwardly still, turned about and walked
towards the house.

"For all his tremors he was very determined; but that smashed skull
had affected his imagination, and he felt very defenceless in the
darkness, in which he seemed to hear faintly now here, now there,
the prowling footsteps of the murderer without hands. But he never
faltered in his purpose. He got away with the boy safely after
all. The house he found empty. A profound silence encompassed him
all the time, except once, just as he got down the ladder with Tony
in his arms, when a faint groan reached his ears. It seemed to
come from the pitch-black space between the posts on which the
house was built, but he did not stop to investigate.

"It's no use telling you in detail how Davidson got on board with
the burden Anne's miserably cruel fate had thrust into his arms;
how next morning his scared crew, after observing from a distance
the state of affairs on board, rejoined with alacrity; how Davidson
went ashore and, aided by his engineer (still half dead with
fright), rolled up Laughing Anne's body in a cotton sheet and
brought it on board for burial at sea later. While busy with this
pious task, Davidson, glancing about, perceived a huge heap of
white clothes huddled up against the corner-post of the house.
That it was the Frenchman lying there he could not doubt. Taking
it in connection with the dismal groan he had heard in the night,
Davidson is pretty sure that his random shot gave a mortal hurt to
the murderer of poor Anne.

"As to the others, Davidson never set eyes on a single one of them.
Whether they had concealed themselves in the scared settlement, or
bolted into the forest, or were hiding on board Niclaus's prau,
which could be seen lying on the mud a hundred yards or so higher
up the creek, the fact is that they vanished; and Davidson did not
trouble his head about them. He lost no time in getting out of the
creek directly the Sissie floated. After steaming some twenty
miles clear of the coast, he (in his own words) 'committed the body
to the deep.' He did everything himself. He weighted her down
with a few fire-bars, he read the service, he lifted the plank, he
was the only mourner. And while he was rendering these last
services to the dead, the desolation of that life and the atrocious
wretchedness of its end cried aloud to his compassion, whispered to
him in tones of self-reproach.

"He ought to have handled the warning she had given him in another
way. He was convinced now that a simple display of watchfulness
would have been enough to restrain that vile and cowardly crew.
But the fact was that he had not quite believed that anything would
be attempted.

"The body of Laughing Anne having been 'committed to the deep' some
twenty miles S.S.W. from Cape Selatan, the task before Davidson was
to commit Laughing Anne's child to the care of his wife. And there
poor, good Davidson made a fatal move. He didn't want to tell her
the whole awful story, since it involved the knowledge of the
danger from which he, Davidson, had escaped. And this, too, after
he had been laughing at her unreasonable fears only a short time
before.

"'I thought that if I told her everything,' Davidson explained to
me, 'she would never have a moment's peace while I was away on my
trips.'

"He simply stated that the boy was an orphan, the child of some
people to whom he, Davidson, was under the greatest obligation, and
that he felt morally bound to look after him. Some day he would
tell her more, he said, and meantime he trusted in the goodness and
warmth of her heart, in her woman's natural compassion.

"He did not know that her heart was about the size of a parched
pea, and had the proportional amount of warmth; and that her
faculty of compassion was mainly directed to herself. He was only
startled and disappointed at the air of cold surprise and the
suspicious look with which she received his imperfect tale. But
she did not say much. She never had much to say. She was a fool
of the silent, hopeless kind.

"What story Davidson's crew thought fit to set afloat in Malay town
is neither here nor there. Davidson himself took some of his
friends into his confidence, besides giving the full story
officially to the Harbour Master.

"The Harbour Master was considerably astonished. He didn't think,
however, that a formal complaint should be made to the Dutch
Government. They would probably do nothing in the end, after a lot
of trouble and correspondence. The robbery had not come off, after
all. Those vagabonds could be trusted to go to the devil in their
own way. No amount of fuss would bring the poor woman to life
again, and the actual murderer had been done justice to by a chance
shot from Davidson. Better let the matter drop.

"This was good common sense. But he was impressed.

"'Sounds a terrible affair, Captain Davidson.'

"'Aye, terrible enough,' agreed the remorseful Davidson. But the
most terrible thing for him, though he didn't know it yet then, was
that his wife's silly brain was slowly coming to the conclusion
that Tony was Davidson's child, and that he had invented that lame
story to introduce him into her pure home in defiance of decency,
of virtue--of her most sacred feelings.

"Davidson was aware of some constraint in his domestic relations.
But at the best of times she was not demonstrative; and perhaps
that very coldness was part of her charm in the placid Davidson's
eyes. Women are loved for all sorts of reasons and even for
characteristics which one would think repellent. She was watching
him and nursing her suspicions.

"Then, one day, Monkey-faced Ritchie called on that sweet, shy Mrs.
Davidson. She had come out under his care, and he considered
himself a privileged person--her oldest friend in the tropics. He
posed for a great admirer of hers. He was always a great
chatterer. He had got hold of the story rather vaguely, and he
started chattering on that subject, thinking she knew all about it.
And in due course he let out something about Laughing Anne.

"'Laughing Anne,' says Mrs. Davidson with a start. 'What's that?'

Ritchie plunged into circumlocution at once, but she very soon
stopped him. 'Is that creature dead?' she asks.

"'I believe so,' stammered Ritchie. 'Your husband says so.'

"'But you don't know for certain?'

"'No! How could I, Mrs. Davidson!'

"'That's all wanted to know,' says she, and goes out of the room.

"When Davidson came home she was ready to go for him, not with
common voluble indignation, but as if trickling a stream of cold
clear water down his back. She talked of his base intrigue with a
vile woman, of being made a fool of, of the insult to her dignity.

"Davidson begged her to listen to him and told her all the story,
thinking that it would move a heart of stone. He tried to make her
understand his remorse. She heard him to the end, said 'Indeed!'
and turned her back on him.

"'Don't you believe me?' he asked, appalled.

"She didn't say yes or no. All she said was, 'Send that brat away
at once.'

"'I can't throw him out into the street,' cried Davidson. 'You
don't mean it.'

"'I don't care. There are charitable institutions for such
children, I suppose.'

"'That I will never do,' said Davidson.

"'Very well. That's enough for me.'

"Davidson's home after this was like a silent, frozen hell for him.
A stupid woman with a sense of grievance is worse than an unchained
devil. He sent the boy to the White Fathers in Malacca. This was
not a very expensive sort of education, but she could not forgive
him for not casting the offensive child away utterly. She worked
up her sense of her wifely wrongs and of her injured purity to such
a pitch that one day, when poor Davidson was pleading with her to
be reasonable and not to make an impossible existence for them
both, she turned on him in a chill passion and told him that his
very sight was odious to her.

"Davidson, with his scrupulous delicacy of feeling, was not the man
to assert his rights over a woman who could not bear the sight of
him. He bowed his head; and shortly afterwards arranged for her to
go back to her parents. That was exactly what she wanted in her
outraged dignity. And then she had always disliked the tropics and
had detested secretly the people she had to live amongst as
Davidson's wife. She took her pure, sensitive, mean little soul
away to Fremantle or somewhere in that direction. And of course
the little girl went away with her too. What could poor Davidson
have done with a little girl on his hands, even if she had
consented to leave her with him--which is unthinkable.

"This is the story that has spoiled Davidson's smile for him--which
perhaps it wouldn't have done so thoroughly had he been less of a
good fellow."

Hollis ceased. But before we rose from the table I asked him if he
knew what had become of Laughing Anne's boy.

He counted carefully the change handed him by the Chinaman waiter,
and raised his head.

"Oh! that's the finishing touch. He was a bright, taking little
chap, as you know, and the Fathers took very special pains in his
bringing up. Davidson expected in his heart to have some comfort
out of him. In his placid way he's a man who needs affection.
Well, Tony has grown into a fine youth--but there you are! He
wants to be a priest; his one dream is to be a missionary. The
Fathers assure Davidson that it is a serious vocation. They tell
him he has a special disposition for mission work, too. So
Laughing Anne's boy will lead a saintly life in China somewhere; he
may even become a martyr; but poor Davidson is left out in the
cold. He will have to go downhill without a single human affection
near him because of these old dollars."

Jan. 1914




Footnotes:

{1} The gallows, supposed to be widowed of the last executed
criminal and waiting for another.

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