Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

But was it?—well, it was something dark on the water, and as there were no other boats about…. It was small—well, far off and probably end on…. He had heard no sound of rowing—lying on her oars…. He could see nothing now—well, here goes, on the chance.

Without stirring a limb he took a long breath and let out the shout of “Boat ahoy” with all the force of his lungs. The volume of tone astonished himself. It seemed to fill the whole of the harbour so effectually that he felt he need not shout again, and he remained as still as a statue. The effect on his neighbours was that both gave a violent start, which set the boat rolling slightly, and in their bewilderment they bent forward to peer into his face with immense eyes. After a time one of them asked in an awestruck murmur: “What’s the matter, signore?” and seized his cloak. The other Cosmo heard distinctly whisper to himself: “That was a war–cry,” while he also grabbed the cloak The clasp being undone it slipped off Cosmo’s shoulders and then they clung to his arms. It struck Cosmo as remarkable that the old boatman had not ceased his feeble rowing for a moment.

The shout had done Cosmo good. It re–established his self–respect somehow, and it sent the blood moving through his veins as if indeed it had been a war–cry. He had shaken their nerves. If they had not remained perfectly motionless holding his arms, there would have started a scrimmage in that boat which would certainly have ended in the water. But their grip was feeble. They did nothing, but bending towards each other in front of Cosmo till their heads almost touched, watched his lips from which such an extraordinary shout had come. Cosmo stared stonily ahead, as if unconscious of their existence, and again he had that strange illusion of a dark spot ahead of the boat. He thought: “That’s no illusion. What a fool I was. It must be a mooring–buoy.” A couple of minutes elapsed before he thought again: “That old fellow will be right into it, presently.”

He did not consider it his business to utter a warning, because the bump he expected happened almost immediately. He had misjudged the distance. Owing to the slow pace the impact was very slight, slighter even than Cosmo expected, against such a heavy body as a mooring–buoy would be. It was really more like a feeble hollow sound than a shock. Cosmo, who was prepared for it, was really the one that felt it at once, and the ancient boatman looked sharply over his shoulder. He uttered no sound and did not even attempt to rise from the thwart. He simply, as it seemed to Cosmo, let go the oars. The sbirri only became aware of something having happened after the hollow bump was repeated, and Cosmo had become aware that the object on the water was not a buoy, but another boat not much bigger than theirs. Then they both exclaimed, and in their surprise their grip relaxed. One of them cried in astonishment: “An empty boat!” It was indeed a surprising occurrence. With no particular purpose in his mind Cosmo stood up, while one of the sbirri stood up too, either to catch hold of the boat or push it away, for the two boats were alongside each other by that time. A strange voice in the dark said very loud: “The man in the hat,” and as if by enchantment three figures appeared standing in a row. Cosmo had not even time to feel surprised. The two boats started knocking about considerably, and he felt himself seized by the collar and one arm, and dragged away violently from between the two sbirri by the power of irresistible arms, which as suddenly let him go as if he were an inanimate object, and he fell heavily in the bottom of the second boat almost before his legs were altogether clear of the other. During this violent translation his hat fell off his head without any scheming on his part.

He was not exactly frightened, but he was excusably flustered. One is not kidnapped like this without any preliminaries every day. He was painfully aware of being in the way of his new captors. He was kicked in the ribs and his legs were trodden upon. He heard blows being struck against hard substances, which he knew were human skulls, because of the abortive yells, ending in groans. There was a determination and ferocity in this attack, combined with the least possible amount of noise. All he could hear were the heavy blows and the hard breathing of the assailants. Then came a sort of helpless splash. “Somebody will get drowned,” he thought.

He made haste to pull himself forward from under the feet of the combatants. Luckily for his ribs they were bare, which also added to the quietness of that astonishing development. Once in the bows he sat up, and by that time everything was over. Three shadowy forms were standing in a row in the boat, motionless, like labourers who had accomplished a notable task. The boat out of which he had been dragged was floating within a yard or two, apparently empty. The whole affair, which could not have lasted more than a minute, seemed to Cosmo to have been absolutely instantaneous. Not a sound came from the shipping along the quays, not even from the brig and the zebec, which were the nearest. A sense of final stillness such as follows, for instance, the explosion of a mine and resembles the annihilation of all one’s perceptive faculties took possession of Cosmo for a moment. Presently he heard a very earnest but low voice cautioning the silent world: “If you dare make a noise I will come back and kill you.” It was perfectly impersonal; it had no direction, no particular destination. Cosmo, who heard the words distinctly, could connect no image of a human being with them. He was roused at last when, dropping his hand on the gunwale, he felt human fingers under it. He snatched his hand away as if burnt and only then looked over. The white hair of the old boatman seemed to rest on the water right against the boat’s side. He was holding on silently, even in this position displaying the meek patience of his venerable age—and Cosmo contemplated him in silence. A voice, not at all impersonal this time, said from the stern–sheets: “Get out your oars.”

“There is a man in the water here,” said Cosmo, wondering at his own voice being heard in those fantastic conditions. It produced, however, the desired effect, and almost as soon as he had spoken, Cosmo had to help a bearded sailor, who was a complete stranger to him, to haul the old man inside the boat. He was no great weight to get over the gunwale, but they had to handle him as if he had been drowned. He never attempted to help himself. The other men in the boat took an interest in the proceedings.

“Is he dead?” came a subdued inquiry from aft.

“He is very old and feeble,” explained Cosmo in an undertone. Somebody swore long but softly, ending with the remark: “Here’s a complication.”

“That scoundrel Barbone dragged out a dying man,” began Cosmo impulsively.

“ Va bene, va bene. … Bundle him in and come aft, signore.”

Cosmo obeying this injunction, found himself sitting in the stern–sheets by the side of a man whose first act was to put his hand lightly upon his shoulder in a way that conveyed a sort of gentle exultation. The discovery that the man was Attilio was too startling for comment at the first moment. The next it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

“It seems as if nothing could keep us apart,” said that extraordinary man in a low voice. He took his hand off Cosmo’s shoulder and directed the two rowers—who, Cosmo surmised, were the whisperers of the tower—to pull under the bows of the brig. “We must hide from those custom–house fellows,” he said. “I fancy the galley is coming along.”

No other word was uttered till one of the men got hold of the brig’s cable and the boat came to a rest with her side against the stern of that vessel, when Cosmo, who now could himself hear the faint noise of rowing, asked Attilio in a whisper: “Are they after you?”