That tropical daybreak was chilly. The Malay quartermaster, coming up
to get something from the lockers on the bridge, shivered visibly. The
forests above and below and on the opposite bank looked black and dank;
wet dripped from the rigging upon the tightly stretched deck awnings,
and it was in the middle of a shuddering yawn that I caught sight
of Almayer. He was moving across a patch of burned grass, a blurred,
shadowy shape with the blurred bulk of a house behind him, a low house
of mats, bamboos, and palm leaves, with a high-pitched roof of grass.

He stepped upon the jetty. He was clad simply in flapping pajamas of
cretonne pattern (enormous flowers with yellow petals on a disagreeable
blue ground) and a thin cotton singlet with short sleeves. His arms,
bare to the elbow, were crossed on his chest. His black hair looked
as if it had not been cut for a very long time, and a curly wisp of
it strayed across his forehead. I had heard of him at Singapore; I had
heard of him on board; I had heard of him early in the morning and late
at night; I had heard of him at tiffin and at dinner; I had heard of
him in a place called Pulo Laut from a half-caste gentleman there, who
described himself as the manager of a coal-mine; which sounded civilized
and progressive till you heard that the mine could not be worked at
present because it was haunted by some particularly atrocious ghosts.
I had heard of him in a place called Dongola, in the Island of Celebes,
when the Rajah of that little-known seaport (you can get no anchorage
there in less than fifteen fathom, which is extremely inconvenient) came
on board in a friendly way, with only two attendants, and drank bottle
after bottle of soda-water on the after-sky light with my good friend
and commander, Captain C----. At least I heard his name distinctly
pronounced several times in a lot of talk in Malay language. Oh, yes,
I heard it quite distinctly--Almayer, Almayer--and saw Captain C----
smile, while the fat, dingy Rajah laughed audibly. To hear a Malay Rajah