n the river! Come and see! A dead--stranger!"

The women of the nearest house were already outside kindling the fires
and husking the morning rice. They took up the cry shrilly, and it
travelled so from house to house, dying away in the distance. The men
rushed out excited but silent, and ran towards the muddy point where the
unconscious logs tossed and ground and bumped and rolled over the dead
stranger with the stupid persistency of inanimate things. The women
followed, neglecting their domestic duties and disregarding the
possibilities of domestic discontent, while groups of children brought up
the rear, warbling joyously, in the delight of unexpected excitement.

Almayer called aloud for his wife and daughter, but receiving no
response, stood listening intently. The murmur of the crowd reached him
faintly, bringing with it the assurance of some unusual event. He
glanced at the river just as he was going to leave the verandah and
checked himself at the sight of a small canoe crossing over from the
Rajah's landing-place. The solitary occupant (in whom Almayer soon
recognised Babalatchi) effected the crossing a little below the house and
paddled up to the Lingard jetty in the dead water under the bank.
Babalatchi clambered out slowly and went on fastening his canoe with
fastidious care, as if not in a hurry to meet Almayer, whom he saw
looking at him from the verandah. This delay gave Almayer time to notice
and greatly wonder at Babalatchi's official get-up. The statesman of
Sambir was clad in a costume befitting his high rank. A loudly checkered
sarong encircled his waist, and from its many folds peeped out the silver
hilt of the kriss that saw the light only on great festivals or during
official receptions. Over the left shoulder and across the otherwise
unclad breast of the aged diplomatist glistened a patent leather belt
bearing a brass plate with the arms of Netherlands under the inscription,
"Sultan of Sambir." Babalatchi's head was covered by a red turban, whose
fringed ends falling over the left cheek and shoulder gave to his aged
face a ludicrous expression of joyous recklessness. When the canoe was
at last fastened to his satisfaction he straightened himself up, shaking
down the folds of his sarong, and moved with long strides towards
Almayer's house, swinging regularly his long ebony staff, whose gold head
ornamented with precious stones flashed in the morning sun. Almayer
waved his hand to th