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 poop, 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.
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