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 the right towards the point of land, to him invisible,
but in full view from the jetty.

"Oh, Babalatchi! oh!" he called out; "what is the matter there? can you
see?"

Babalatchi stopped and gazed intently at the crowd on the river bank, and
after a little while the astonished Almayer saw him leave the path,
gather up his sarong in one hand, and break into a trot through the grass
towards the muddy point. Almayer, now greatly interested, ran down the
steps of the verandah. The murmur of men's voices and the shrill cries
of women reached him quite distinctly now, and as soon as he turned the