Devereux got up slowly, gazing at us in wild alarm; then held out his arms to the woman. She struggled farther back into the bamboo thicket. Again he turned to us, drew himself together, and spoke with authority and defiance.
"She is my wife!" said he.
It was pathetic and terrible—the very devil of a scene. He fought and struggled; we had to take him to the carriage by main strength. A crowd had gathered. At last Devereux grew quiet. Nichols explained as best he could to the woman, while half a hundred ears listened eagerly to the astonishing tale. A rapid colloquy ensued; though I couldn't understand the words, I heard the woman's voice melt with pity.
"She wants to know whether your wife had a birthmark on her bosom" Nichols interpreted, turning to the carriage.
Devereux shook his head; he was still dazed with the struggle. The woman left cover, and came close to the carriage without fear. The upper part of her sarong slipped down, disclosing a broad red blotch on the dusky skin above her right breast. Leaning forward, she spoke a few words in a soothing voice.
"She says that you must be mistaken" repeated Nichols "She says she is sorry—but now you have seen that it cannot be"
Devereux stiffened in his seat, and the light suddenly went out of his eyes. He gazed at her a moment like a rudely awakened somnambulist. Then he slumped in the corner, as if felled by a sharp invisible blow. The woman nodded to us, and we drove rapidly away.
He was ill for several days after that, keeping close in his room. When he was able to come on deck again, we had reached well across the Celebes Sea, and were about to make Sibutu Passage on the coast of Borneo. We watched him anxiously that forenoon for signs of a return of his malady. But he'd evidently forgotten the incident in Macassar; he talked with us all day in a normal manner, without reference to his affairs. It seemed as if the worst of the attack was over.
A long, narrow island lies on the west side of Sibutu Passage, clear of the mainland and hiding several smaller islands behind it. This was sighted while we were at dinner that noon; when we came up for our cigars, it stood in plain view on the lee bow. Being an island against the main, with land rising behind it as we came on, we didn't think of it as a possible new source of excitement. As the afternoon passed, however, Nichols called my attention to Devereux, who was acting strangely again. For a while he would lean against the lee rail, talking rapidly to himself; suddenly he would leave that off and take to pacing the deck in short, quick turns, rubbing his hands together. His eyes, it was to be noticed, kept watching the island, now less than four miles away. His face worked with nervous energy. His whole air was one of suppressed excitement, mingled with a certain quiet elation.
"He's using that Polynesian dialect!" Nichols exclaimed in a worried whisper "What can we do with him? We must pass the island"