He left us, and seemed straightway to step into the glorious splendour of his stage, to wrap himself in the illusion of unavoidable success.  For a moment he stood erect, one foot over the gangway, one hand on the hilt of his kriss, in a martial pose; and, relieved from the fear of outer darkness, he held his head high, he swept a serene look over his conquered foothold on the earth.  The boats far off took up the cry of greeting; a great clamour rolled on the water; the hills echoed it, and seemed to toss back at him the words invoking long life and victories.

He descended into a canoe, and as soon as he was clear of the side we gave him three cheers.  They sounded faint and orderly after the wild tumult of his loyal subjects, but it was the best we could do.  He stood up in the boat, lifted up both his arms, then pointed to the infallible charm.  We cheered again; and the Malays in the boats stared—­very much puzzled and impressed.  I wondered what they thought; what he thought; . . . what the reader thinks?

We towed out slowly.  We saw him land and watch us from the beach.  A figure approached him humbly but openly—­not at all like a ghost with a grievance.  We could see other men running towards him.  Perhaps he had been missed?  At any rate there was a great stir.  A group formed itself rapidly near him, and he walked along the sands, followed by a growing cortege and kept nearly abreast of the schooner.  With our glasses we could see the blue ribbon on his neck and a patch of white on his brown chest.  The bay was waking up.  The smokes of morning fires stood in faint spirals higher than the heads of palms; people moved between the houses; a herd of buffaloes galloped clumsily across a green slope; the slender figures of boys brandishing sticks appeared black and leaping in the long grass; a coloured line of women, with water bamboos on their heads, moved swaying through a thin grove of fruit-trees.  Karain stopped in the midst of his men and waved his hand; then, detaching himself from the splendid group, walked alone to the water’s edge and waved his hand again.  The schooner passed out to sea between the steep headlands that shut in the bay, and at the same instant Karain passed out of our life forever.

But the memory remains.  Some years afterwards I met Jackson, in the Strand.  He was magnificent as ever.  His head was high above the crowd.  His beard was gold, his face red, his eyes blue; he had a wide-brimmed gray hat and no collar or waistcoat; he was inspiring; he had just come home—­had landed that very day!  Our meeting caused an eddy in the current of humanity.  Hurried people would run against us, then walk round us, and turn back to look at that giant.  We tried to compress seven years of life into seven exclamations; then, suddenly appeased, walked sedately along, giving one another the news of yesterday.  Jackson gazed about him, like a man who looks for landmarks, then stopped before Bland’s window.  He always had a passion for firearms; so he stopped short and contemplated the row of weapons, perfect and severe, drawn up in a line behind the black-framed panes.  I stood by his side.  Suddenly he said—­