There was a lot about me in the Dutch papers at the time. They said I
was a Frenchman turned Mohammedan--" he swore a great oath, and, reeling
against the guard-rail, panted, muttering curses on newspapers.
"Well, Belarab has the job in hand," said Lingard, composedly. "He is
the chief man on the Shore of Refuge. There are others, of course. He
has sent messages north and south. We must have men."
"All the devils unchained," said Jorgenson. "You have done it and
now--look out--look out. . . ."
"Nothing can go wrong as far as I can see," argued Lingard. "They all
know what's to be done. I've got them in hand. You don't think Belarab
unsafe? Do you?"
"Haven't seen him for fifteen years--but the whole thing's unsafe,"
growled Jorgenson.
"I tell you I've fixed it so that nothing can go wrong. It would be
better if I had a white man over there to look after things generally.
There is a good lot of stores and arms--and Belarab would bear
watching--no doubt. Are you in any want?" he added, putting his hand in
his pocket.
"No, there's plenty to eat in the house," answered Jorgenson, curtly.
"Drop it," he burst out. "It would be better for you to jump overboard
at once. Look at me. I came out a boy of eighteen. I can speak English,
I can speak Dutch, I can speak every cursed lingo of these islands--I
remember things that would make your hair stand on end--but I have
forgotten the language of my own country.
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