Chapter 1

"Kaspar! Makan!"

The well-known shrill voice startled Almayer from his dream of splendid
future into the unpleasant realities of the present hour. An unpleasant
voice too. He had heard it for many years, and with every year he liked
it less. No matter; there would be an end to all this soon.

He shuffled uneasily, but took no further notice of the call. Leaning
with both his elbows on the balustrade of the verandah, he went on
looking fixedly at the great river that flowed--indifferent and
hurried--before his eyes. He liked to look at it about the time of
sunset; perhaps because at that time the sinking sun would spread a
glowing gold tinge on the waters of the Pantai, and Almayer's thoughts
were often busy with gold; gold he had failed to secure; gold the others
had secured--dishonestly, of course--or gold he meant to secure yet,
through his own honest exertions, for himself and Nina. He absorbed
himself in his dream of wealth and power away from this coast where he
had dwelt for so many years, forgetting the bitterness of toil and strife
in the vision of a great and splendid reward. They would live in Europe,
he and his daughter. They would be rich and respected. Nobody would
think of her mixed blood in the presence of her great beauty and of his
immense wealth. Witnessing her triumphs he would grow young again, he
would forget the twenty-five years of heart-breaking struggle on this
coast where he felt like a prisoner. All this was nearly within his
reach. Let only Dain return! And return soon he must--in his own
interest, for his own share. He was now more than a week late! Perhaps
he would return to-night. Such were Almayer's thoughts as, standing on
the verandah of his new but already decaying house--that last failure of
his life--he looked on the broad river. There was no tinge of gold on it
this evening, for it had been swollen by the rains, and rolled an angry
and muddy flood under his inattentive eyes, carrying small drift-wood and
big dead logs, and whole uprooted trees with branches and foliage,
amongst which the water swirled and roared angrily.

One of those drifting trees grounded on the shelving shore, just by the
house, and Almayer, neglecting his dream, watched it with languid
interest. The tree swung slowly round, amid the hiss and foam of the
water, and soon getting free of the obstruction began to move down stream
again, rolling slowly over, raising upwards a long, denuded branch, like
a hand lifted in mute appeal to heaven against the river's brutal and
unnecessary violence. Almayer's interest in the fate of that tree
increased rapidly. He leaned over to see if it would clear the low point
below. It did; then he drew back, thinking that now its course was free
down