He looked round the little cabin, at the painted beams, at the tarnished
varnish of bulkheads; he looked round as if appealing to all its shabby
strangeness, to the disorderly jumble of unfamiliar things that
belong to an inconceivable life of stress, of power, of endeavour, of
unbelief--to the strong life of white men, which rolls on irresistible
and hard on the edge of outer darkness. He stretched out his arms as if
to embrace it and us. We waited. The wind and rain had ceased, and the
stillness of the night round the schooner was as dumb and complete as if
a dead world had been laid to rest in a grave of clouds. We expected him
to speak. The necessity within him tore at his lips. There are those
who say that a native will not speak to a white man. Error. No man will
speak to his master; but to a wanderer and a friend, to him who does not
come to teach or to rule, to him who asks for nothing and accepts all
things, words are spoken by the camp-fires, in the shared solitude
of the sea, in riverside villages, in resting-places surrounded by
forests--words are spoken that take no account of race or colour. One
heart speaks--another one listens; and the earth, the sea, the sky, the
passing wind and the stirring leaf, hear also the futile tale of the
burden of life.

He spoke at last. It is impossible to convey the effect of his story. It
is undying, it is but a memory, and its vividness cannot be made clear
to another mind, any more than the vivid emotions of a dream. One must
have seen his innate splendour, one must have known him before--looked
at him then. The wavering gloom of the little cabin; the breathless
stillness outside, through which only the lapping of water against the
schooner's sides could be heard; Hollis's pale face, with steady dark
eyes; the energetic head of Jackson held up between two big palms, and
with the long yellow hair of his beard flowing over the strings of the