Remember old Nelson!  Certainly.  And to begin with, his name was not Nelson.  The Englishmen in the Archipelago called him Nelson because it was more convenient, I suppose, and he never protested.  It would have been mere pedantry.  The true form of his name was Nielsen.  He had come out East long before the advent of telegraph cables, had served English firms, had married an English girl, had been one of us for years, trading and sailing in all directions through the Eastern Archipelago, across and around, transversely, diagonally, perpendicularly, in semi-circles, and zigzags, and figures of eights, for years and years.

There was no nook or cranny of these tropical waters that the enterprise of old Nelson (or Nielsen) had not penetrated in an eminently pacific way.  His tracks, if plotted out, would have covered the map of the Archipelago like a cobweb—­all of it, with the sole exception of the Philippines.  He would never approach that part, from a strange dread of Spaniards, or, to be exact, of the Spanish authorities.  What he imagined they could do to him it is impossible to say.  Perhaps at some time in his life he had read some stories of the Inquisition.

But he was in general afraid of what he called “authorities”; not the English authorities, which he trusted and respected, but the other two of that part of the world.  He was not so horrified at the Dutch as he was at the Spaniards, but he was even more mistrustful of them.  Very mistrustful indeed.  The Dutch, in his view, were capable of “playing any ugly trick on a man” who had the misfortune to displease them.  There were their laws and regulations, but they had no notion of fair play in applying them.  It was really pitiable to see the anxious circumspection of his dealings with some official or other, and remember that this man had been known to stroll up to a village of cannibals in New Guinea in a quiet, fearless manner (and note that he was always fleshy all his life, and, if I may say so, an appetising morsel) on some matter of barter that did not amount perhaps to fifty pounds in the end.

Remember old Nelson!  Rather!  Truly, none of us in my generation had known him in his active days.  He was “retired” in our time.  He had bought, or else leased, part of a small island from the Sultan of a little group called the Seven Isles, not far north from Banka.  It was, I suppose, a legitimate transaction, but I have no doubt that had he been an Englishman the Dutch would have discovered a reason to fire him out without ceremony.  In this connection the real form of his name stood him in good stead.  In the character of an unassuming Dane whose conduct was most correct, they let him be.  With all his money engaged in cultivation he was naturally careful not to give even the shadow of offence, and it was mostly for prudential reasons of that sort that he did not look with a favourable eye on Jasper Allen.  But of that later.