“I will show you.”

Then, after another short pause, the voice said, less loud but very plain: 

“Strike on the gunwale.  Strike hard, John!” and suddenly a blue light blazed out, illuminating with a livid flame a round patch in the night.  In the smoke and splutter of that ghastly halo appeared a white, four-oared gig with five men sitting in her in a row.  Their heads were turned toward the brig with a strong expression of curiosity on their faces, which, in this glare, brilliant and sinister, took on a deathlike aspect and resembled the faces of interested corpses.  Then the bowman dropped into the water the light he held above his head and the darkness, rushing back at the boat, swallowed it with a loud and angry hiss.

“Five of us,” said the composed voice out of the night that seemed now darker than before.  “Four hands and myself.  We belong to a yacht—­a British yacht—­”

“Come on board!” shouted Lingard.  “Why didn’t you speak at once?  I thought you might have been some masquerading Dutchmen from a dodging gunboat.”

“Do I speak like a blamed Dutchman?  Pull a stroke, boys—­oars!  Tend bow, John.”

The boat came alongside with a gentle knock, and a man’s shape began to climb at once up the brig’s side with a kind of ponderous agility.  It poised itself for a moment on the rail to say down into the boat—­“Sheer off a little, boys,” then jumped on deck with a thud, and said to Shaw who was coming aft:  “Good evening . . .  Captain, sir?”

“No.  On the poop!” growled Shaw.

“Come up here.  Come up,” called Lingard, impatiently.

The Malays had left their stations and stood clustered by the mainmast in a silent group.  Not a word was spoken on the brig’s decks, while the stranger made his way to the waiting captain.  Lingard saw approaching him a short, dapper man, who touched his cap and repeated his greeting in a cool drawl: 

“Good evening. . .  Captain, sir?”

“Yes, I am the master—­what’s the matter?  Adrift from your ship?  Or what?”

“Adrift?  No!  We left her four days ago, and have been pulling that gig in a calm, nearly ever since.  My men are done.  So is the water.  Lucky thing I sighted you.”

“You sighted me!” exclaimed Lingard.  “When?  What time?”

“Not in the dark, you may be sure.  We’ve been knocking about amongst some islands to the southward, breaking our hearts tugging at the oars in one channel, then in another—­trying to get clear.  We got round an islet—­a barren thing, in shape like a loaf of sugar—­and I caught sight of a vessel a long way off.  I took her bearing in a hurry and we buckled to; but another of them currents must have had hold of us, for it was a long time before we managed to clear that islet.  I steered by the stars, and, by the Lord Harry, I began to think I had missed you somehow—­because it must have been you I saw.”

“Yes, it must have been.  We had nothing in sight all day,” assented Lingard.  “Where’s your vessel?” he asked, eagerly.