Her ports shone, round like dilated
eyes. Shapes moved about, and there was a shadowy man high up on the
bridge. He heard my oars.
"And then, before I could open my lips, the East spoke to me, but it was
in a Western voice. A torrent of words was poured into the enigmatical,
the fateful silence; outlandish, angry words, mixed with words and even
whole sentences of good English, less strange but even more surprising.
The voice swore and cursed violently; it riddled the solemn peace of the
bay by a volley of abuse. It began by calling me Pig, and from that went
crescendo into unmentionable adjectives--in English. The man up there
raged aloud in two languages, and with a sincerity in his fury that
almost convinced me I had, in some way, sinned against the harmony of
the universe. I could hardly see him, but began to think he would work
himself into a fit.
"Suddenly he ceased, and I could hear him snorting and blowing like a
porpoise. I said--
"'What steamer is this, pray?'
"'Eh? What's this? And who are you?'
"'Castaway crew of an English barque burnt at sea. We came here
to-night. I am the second mate. The captain is in the long-boat, and
wishes to know if you would give us a passage somewhere.'
"'Oh, my goodness! I say . . . This is the Celestial from Singapore on
her return trip. I'll arrange with your captain in the morning . . .
and, . . . I say . . . did you hear me just now?'
"'I should think the whole bay heard you.
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