house and over the river. Inside they slept too: Bulangi by the door;
his wives further in; the children with their mothers. She could hear
their breathing; Bulangi's sleepy voice; the sharp cry of a child soon
hushed with tender words. And she closed her eyes to the murmur of the
water below her, to the whisper of the warm wind above, ignorant of the
never-ceasing life of that tropical nature that spoke to her in vain with
the thousand faint voices of the near forest, with the breath of tepid
wind; in the heavy scents that lingered around her head; in the white
wraiths of morning mist that hung over her in the solemn hush of all
creation before the dawn.

Such had been her existence before the coming of the brig with the
strangers. She remembered well that time; the uproar in the settlement,
the never-ending wonder, the days and nights of talk and excitement. She
remembered her own timidity with the strange men, till the brig moored to
the bank became in a manner part of the settlement, and the fear wore off
in the familiarity of constant intercourse. The call on board then
became part of her daily round. She walked hesitatingly up the slanting
planks of the gangway amidst the encouraging shouts and more or less
decent jokes of the men idling over the bulwarks. There she sold her
wares to those men that spoke so loud and carried themselves so free.
There was a throng, a constant coming and going; calls interchanged,
orders given and executed with shouts; the rattle of blocks, the flinging
about of coils of rope. She sat out of the way under the shade of the
awning, with her tray before her, the veil drawn well over her face,
feeling shy amongst so many men. She smiled at all buyers, but spoke to
none, letting their jests pass with stolid unconcern. She heard many
tales told around her of far-off countries, of strange customs, of events
stranger still. Those men were brave; but the most fearless of them
spoke of their chief with fear. Often the man they called their master