'Twixt Land & Sea.txt

'Twixt Land & Sea Tales







by Joseph Conrad

























Contents











A Smile of Fortune



The Secret Sharer



Freya of the Seven Isles



















A SMILE OF FORTUNE - HARBOUR STORY



















Ever since the sun rose I had been looking ahead.  The ship glided



gently in smooth water.  After a sixty days' passage I was anxious



to make my landfall, a fertile and beautiful island of the tropics.



The more enthusiastic of its inhabitants delight in describing it



as the "Pearl of the Ocean."  Well, let us call it the "Pearl."



It's a good name.  A pearl distilling much sweetness upon the



world.







This is only a way of telling you that first-rate sugar-cane is



grown there.  All the population of the Pearl lives for it and by



it.  Sugar is their daily bread, as it were.  And I was coming to



them for a cargo of sugar in the hope of the crop having been good



and of the freights being high.







Mr. Burns, my chief mate, made out the land first; and very soon I



became entranced by this blue, pinnacled apparition, almost



transparent against the light of the sky, a mere emanation, the



astral body of an island risen to greet me from afar.  It is a rare



phenomenon, such a sight of the Pearl at sixty miles off.  And I



wondered half seriously whether it was a good omen, whether what



would meet me in that island would be as luckily exceptional as



this beautiful, dreamlike vision so very few seamen have been



privileged to behold.







But horrid thoughts of business interfered with my enjoyment of an



accomplished passage.  I was anxious for success and I wished, too,



to do justice to the flattering latitude of my owners' instructions



contained in one noble phrase:  "We leave it to you to do the best



you can with the ship." . . . All the world being thus given me for



a stage, my abilities appeared to me no bigger than a pinhead.







Meantime the wind dropped, and Mr. Burns began to make disagreeable



remarks about my usual bad luck.  I believe it was his devotion for



me which made him critically outspoken on every occasion.  All the



same, I would not have put up with his humours if it had not been



my lot at one time to nurse him through a desperate illness at sea.



After snatching him out of the jaws of death, so to speak, it would



have been absurd to throw away such an efficient officer.  But



sometimes I wished he would dismiss himself.







We were late in closing in with the land, and had to anchor outside



the harbour till next day.  An unpleasant and unrestful night



followed.  In this roadstead, strange to us both, Burns and I



remained on deck almost all the time.  Clouds swirled down the



porphyry crags under which we lay.  The rising wind made a great



bullying noise amongst the naked spars, with interludes of sad



moaning.  I remarked that we had been in luck to fetch the



anchorage before dark.  It would have been a nasty, anxious night



to hang off a harbour under canvas.  But my chief mate was



uncompromising in his attitude.







"Luck, you call it, sir!  Ay - our usual luck.  The sort of luck to



thank God it's no worse!"







And so he fretted through the dark hours, while I drew on my fund



of philosophy.  Ah, but it was an exasperating, weary, endless



night, to be lying at anchor close under that black coast!  The



agitated water made snarling sounds all round the ship.  At times a



wild gust of wind out of a gully high up on the cliffs struck on



our rigging a harsh and plaintive note like the wail of a forsaken



soul.















CHAPTER I















By half-past seven in the morning, the ship being then inside the



harbour at last and moored within a long stone's-throw from the



quay, my stock of philosophy was nearly exhausted.  I was dressing



hurriedly in my cabin when the steward came tripping in with a



morning suit over his arm.







Hungry, tired, and depressed, with my head engaged inside a white



shirt irritatingly stuck together by too much starch, I desired him



peevishly to "heave round with that breakfast."  I wanted to get



ashore as soon as possible.







"Yes, sir.  Ready at eight, sir.  There's a gentleman from the



shore waiting to speak to you, sir."







This statement was curiously slurred over.  I dragged the shirt



violently over my head and emerged staring.







"So early!" I cried.  "Who's he?  What does he want?"







On coming in from sea one has to pick up the conditions of an



utterly unrelated existence.  Every little event at first has the



peculiar emphasis of novelty.  I was greatly surprised by that



early caller; but there was no reason for my steward to look so



particularly foolish.







"Didn't you ask for the name?" I inquired in a stern tone.







"His name's Jacobus, I believe," he mumbled shamefacedly.







"Mr. Jacobus!" I exclaimed loudly, more surprised than ever, but



with a total change of feeling.  "Why couldn't you say so at once?"







But the fellow had scuttled out of my room.  Through the



momentarily opened door I had a glimpse of a tall, stout man



standing in the cuddy by the table on which the cloth was already



laid; a "harbour" table-cloth, stainless and dazzlingly white.  So



far good.







I shouted courteously through the closed door, that I was dressing



and would be with him in a moment.  In return the assurance that



there was no hurry reached me in the visitor's deep, quiet



undertone.  His time was my own.  He dared say I would give him a



cup of coffee presently.







"I am afraid you will have a poor breakfast," I cried



apologetically.  "We have been sixty-one days at sea, you know."







A quiet little laugh, with a "That'll be all right, Captain," was



his answer.  All this, words, intonation, the glimpsed attitude of



the man in the cuddy, had an unexpected character, a something



friendly in it - propitiatory.  And my surprise was not diminished



thereby.  What did this call mean?  Was it the sign of some dark



design against my commercial innocence?







Ah!  These commercial interests - spoiling the finest life under



the sun.  Why must the sea be used for trade - and for war as well?



Why kill and traffic on it, pursuing selfish aims of no great



importance after all?  It would have been so much nicer just to



sail about with here and there a port and a bit of land to stretch



one's legs on, buy a few books and get a change of cooking for a



while.  But, living in a world more or less homicidal and



desperately mercantile, it was plainly my duty to make the best of



its opportunities.







My owners' letter had left it to me, as I have said before, to do



my best for the ship, according to my own judgment.  But it



contained also a postscript worded somewhat as follows:







"Without meaning to interfere with your liberty of action we are



writing by the outgoing mail to some of our business friends there



who may be of assistance to you.  We desire you particularly to



call on Mr. Jacobus, a prominent merchant and charterer.  Should



you hit it off with him he may be able to put you in the way of



profitable employment for the ship."







Hit it off!  Here was the prominent creature absolutely on board



asking for the favour of a cup of coffee!  And life not being a



fairy-tale the improbability of the event almost shocked me.  Had I



discovered an enchanted nook of the earth where wealthy merchants



rush fasting on board ships before they are fairly moored?  Was



this white magic or merely some black trick of trade?  I came in



the end (while making the bow of my tie) to suspect that perhaps I



did not get the name right.  I had been thinking of the prominent



Mr. Jacobus pretty frequently during the passage and my hearing



might have been deceived by some remote similarity of sound. . .



The steward might have said Antrobus - or maybe Jackson.







But coming out of my stateroom with an interrogative "Mr. Jacobus?"



I was met by a quiet "Yes," uttered with a gentle smile.  The "yes"



was rather perfunctory.  He did not seem to make much of the fact



that he was Mr. Jacobus.  I took stock of a big, pale face, hair



thin on the top, whiskers also thin, of a faded nondescript colour,



heavy eyelids.  The thick, smooth lips in repose looked as if glued



together.  The smile was faint.  A heavy, tranquil man.  I named my



two officers, who just then came down to breakfast; but why Mr.



Burns's silent demeanour should suggest suppressed indignation I



could not understand.







While we were taking our seats round the table some disconnected



words of an altercation going on in the companionway reached my



ear.  A stranger apparently wanted to come down to interview me,



and the steward was opposing him.







"You can't see him."







"Why can't I?"







"The Captain is at breakfast, I tell you.  He'll be going on shore



presently, and you can speak to him on deck."







"That's not fair.  You let - "







"I've had nothing to do with that."







"Oh, yes, you have.  Everybody ought to have the same chance.  You



let that fellow - "







The rest I lost.  The person having been repulsed successfully, the



steward came down.  I can't say he looked flushed - he was a



mulatto - but he looked flustered.  After putting the dish...