Jorgenson nodded then and would say: "Remember that unless you young
chaps are like we men who ranged about here years ago, what I could tell
you would be worse than poison."

It was from Jorgenson, who had his favourites with whom he was less
silent, that Lingard had heard of Darat-es-Salam, the "Shore of Refuge."
Jorgenson had, as he expressed it, "known the inside of that country
just after the high old times when the white-clad Padris preached and
fought all over Sumatra till the Dutch shook in their shoes." Only he
did not say "shook" and "shoes" but the above paraphrase conveys well
enough his contemptuous meaning. Lingard tried now to remember and piece
together the practical bits of old Jorgenson's amazing tales; but all
that had remained with him was an approximate idea of the locality and
a very strong but confused notion of the dangerous nature of its
approaches. He hesitated, and the brig, answering in her movements to
the state of the man's mind, lingered on the road, seemed to hesitate
also, swinging this way and that on the days of calm.

It was just because of that hesitation that a big New York ship, loaded
with oil in cases for Japan, and passing through the Billiton passage,
sighted one morning a very smart brig being hove-to right in the
fair-way and a little to the east of Carimata. The lank skipper, in a
frock-coat, and the big mate with heavy moustaches, judged her almost
too pretty for a Britisher, and wondered at the man on board laying his
topsail to the mast for no reason that they could see. The big ship's
sails fanned her along, flapping in the light air, and when the brig was
last seen far astern she had still her mainyard aback as if waiting for
someone. But when, next day, a London tea-clipper passed on the same
track, she saw no pretty brig hesitating, all white and still at the