t was a moral
aspiration, but in his alarm the native grossness of his nature came
clattering out like a devil out of a trap. He would blow the gaff,
split, give away the whole show, he would back up honest people, kiss
the book, say what he thought, let all the world know . . . and when he
paused to draw breath, all around him was silent and still. Before the
impetus of that respectable passion his words were scattered like chaff
driven by a gale and rushed headlong into the night of the Shallows. And
in the great obscurity, imperturbable, it heard him say he "washed his
hands of everything."

"And the brig?" asked Lingard, suddenly.

Shaw was checked. For a second the seaman in him instinctively admitted
the claim of the ship.

"The brig. The brig. She's right enough," he mumbled. He had nothing to
say against the brig--not he. She wasn't like the big ships he was used
to, but of her kind the best craft he ever. . . . And with a brusque
return upon himself, he protested that he had been decoyed on board
under false pretences. It was as bad as being shanghaied when in liquor.
It was--upon his soul. And into a craft next thing to a pirate! That
was the name for it or his own name was not Shaw. He said this glaring
owlishly. Lingard, perfectly still and mute, bore the blows without a
sign.

The silly fuss of that man seared his very soul. There was no end to
this plague of fools coming to him from the forgotten ends of the earth.
A fellow like that could not be told. No one could be told. Blind they
came and blind they would go out. He admitted reluctantly, but without
doubt, that as if pushed by a force from outside he would have to
try and save two of them. To this end he foresaw the probable need of
leaving his brig for a time. He would have to leave her with that man.
The mate. He had engaged him himself--to make his insurance valid--to be
able sometimes to speak--to have near him. Who would have believed such
a fool-man could exist on the face of the sea! Who? Leave the brig with
him. The brig!

Ever since sunset, the breeze kept off by the heat of the day had been
trying to re-establish in the darkness its sway over the Shoals. Its
approaches had been heard in the night, its patient murmurs, its foiled
sighs; but now a surprisingly heavy puff came in a free rush as if,
far away there to the northward, the last defence of the calm had
been victoriously carried. The flames borne down streamed bluishly,
horizon