“Looking around as we talked, I saw away at sea a bright light traveling in the night.  ‘There’s a steamer passing the bay,’ I said.  She was not passing, she was entering, and she even came close and anchored.  ’I wish,’ said the old man, ’you would find out whether she is English.  Perhaps they could give us a passage somewhere.’  He seemed nervously anxious.  So by dint of punching and kicking I started one of my men into a state of somnambulism, and giving him an oar, took another and pulled towards the lights of the steamer.

“There was a murmur of voices in her, metallic hollow clangs of the engine-room, footsteps on the deck.  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.’

“’I thought you were a shore-boat.  Now, look here—­this infernal lazy scoundrel of a caretaker has gone to sleep again—­curse him.  The light is out, and I nearly ran foul of the end of this damned jetty.  This is the third time he plays me this trick.  Now, I ask you, can anybody stand this kind of thing?  It’s enough to drive a man out of his mind.  I’ll report him. . . .  I’ll get the Assistant Resident to give him the sack, by . . .  See—­there’s no light.  It’s out, isn’t it?  I take you to witness the light’s out.  There should be a light, you know.  A red light on the—­’

“‘There was a light,’ I said, mildly.

“’But it’s out, man!  What’s the use of talking like this?  You can see for yourself it’s out—­don’t you?  If you had to take a valuable steamer along this God-forsaken coast you would want a light too.  I’ll kick him from end to end of his miserable wharf.  You’ll see if I don’t.  I will—­’