was pleased with himself for thinking of it. He went on again:

"Now--since noon, this big island--"

"Carimata, Shaw," interrupted Lingard.

"Aye, sir; Carimata--I mean. I must say--being a stranger hereabouts--I
haven't got the run of those--"

He was going to say "names" but checked himself and said,
"appellations," instead, sounding every syllable lovingly.

"Having for these last fifteen years," he continued, "sailed regularly
from London in East-Indiamen, I am more at home over there--in the Bay."

He pointed into the night toward the northwest and stared as if he could
see from where he stood that Bay of Bengal where--as he affirmed--he
would be so much more at home.

"You'll soon get used--" muttered Lingard, swinging in his rapid walk
past his mate. Then he turned round, came back, and asked sharply.

"You said there was nothing afloat in sight before dark? Hey?"

"Not that I could see, sir. When I took the deck again at eight, I asked
that serang whether there was anything about; and I understood him to
say there was no more as when I went below at six. This is a lonely sea
at times--ain't it, sir? Now, one would think at this time of the year
the homeward-bounders from China would be pretty thick here."