Next, it must be recorded that the same day the gunboat _Neptun_,
steering east, passed the brig _Bonito_ becalmed in sight of Carimata,
with her head to the eastward, too. Her captain, Jasper Allen, giving
himself up consciously to a tender, possessive reverie of his Freya, did
not get out of his long chair on the poop to look at the _Neptun_ which
passed so close that the smoke belching out suddenly from her short black
funnel rolled between the masts of the Bonito, obscuring for a moment the
sunlit whiteness of her sails, consecrated to the service of love.
Jasper did not even turn his head for a glance. But Heemskirk, on the
bridge, had gazed long and earnestly at the brig from the distance,
gripping hard the brass rail in front of him, till, the two ships
closing, he lost all confidence in himself, and retreating to the
chartroom, pulled the door to with a crash. There, his brows knitted,
his mouth drawn on one side in sardonic meditation, he sat through many
still hours—a sort of Prometheus in the bonds of unholy desire, having
his very vitals torn by the beak and claws of humiliated passion.
That species of fowl is not to be shooed off as easily as a chicken.
Fooled, cheated, deceived, led on, outraged, mocked at—beak and claws! A
sinister bird! The lieutenant had no mind to become the talk of the
Archipelago, as the naval officer who had had his face slapped by a girl.
Was it possible that she really loved that rascally trader? He tried not
to think, but, worse than thoughts, definite impressions beset him in his
retreat. He saw her—a vision plain, close to, detailed, plastic,
coloured, lighted up—he saw her hanging round the neck of that fellow.
And he shut his eyes, only to discover that this was no remedy. Then a
piano began to play near by, very plainly; and he put his fingers to his
ears with no better effect. It was not to be borne—not in solitude. He
bolted out of the chartroom, and talked of indifferent things somewhat
wildly with the officer of the watch on the bridge, to the mocking
accompaniment of a ghostly piano.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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