Chapter Twenty Six.How the two Companions were knocked off their Perch.If they had not been English, the probabilities are that Bob Roberts and Tom Long would have hugged each other. As it was they seemed to think it quite the correct thing to shake hands over and over again, and then walk up and down under the palm-trees of the enclosure, flushed, excited, and as full of swagger as they could possibly be.“Blest if they don’t look like a couple o’ young game cocks who have just killed their birds,” said old Dick to Billy Mustard. “My word, they are cocky! But where are you going, old man?”“To fetch my instrument,” said Billy.“What, yer fiddle? What do you want that ’ere for?”“The young gents wants it,” said Billy.So with a nod he went into his quarters, to return with his beloved violin in its green baize bag, which he bore to where Bob and Tom were now seated at one of the tables beneath a shady tree.On the strength of their adventure they were indulging themselves with bitter beer, into which they dropped lumps of ice, and as soon as Billy Mustard came, the violin was brought out, tuned, and the harmonious sound produced had the effect of soon gathering together an audience in the soft mellow hour before sunset.Several officers seated themselves at the table, and followed the youngsters’ example; soldiers and sailors gathered at a little distance beneath the trees; and unseen by the party below, Rachel Linton and Mary Sinclair appeared at a mat-shaded window.“Tom Long’s going to sing ‘The Englishman,’” shouted Bob Roberts suddenly, and there was a loud tapping upon the rough deal table.“No, no, I really can’t, ’pon honour,” said the ensign, looking very much more flushed than before.“Yes, yes, he is,” said Bob, addressing those around. “He is—in honour of the occasion; and gentlemen, let’s sing out the chorus so loudly that those niggers in the campong can hear our sentiments, and shiver in their shoes, where they’ve got any.”“Hear! hear!” said a young lieutenant.“But really, you know, I hav’n’t a voice,” exclaimed the ensign in expostulation.“Gammon!” cried Bob. “He can sing like a bird, gentlemen. Silence, please, for our national song, ‘The Englishman’!”“I can’t sing it—indeed I can’t,” cried the ensign.“Oh, yes, you can; go on,” said the young lieutenant who had previously spoken.“To be sure he will,” cried Bob Roberts. “Heave ahead, Tom, and I’ll help whenever I can. It’s your duty to sing it, for the niggers to hear our sentiments with regard to slavery!”“Hear, hear!” cried several of the officers, laughing; and the men gave a cheer.“Slavery and the British flag!” cried Bob Roberts, who was getting excited. “No man, or woman either, who has once sought protection beneath the folds of the glorious red white and blue, can ever return to slavery!”“Hear, hear, hear!” shouted the officers again, and the men threw up their caps, cried “Hoorar!” and the sentry on the roof presented arms.“Now then, play up, Private Mustard—‘The Englishman,’” cried Bob Roberts. “Get ready, Tom, and run it out with all your might!”“Must I?” said the ensign, nervously.“To be sure you must. Wait a minute, though, and let him play the introduction.”Billy Mustard gave the bow a preliminary scrape, and the audience grew larger.“What key shall I play it in, sir?” said Billy.“Any key you like,” cried Bob, excitedly. “Play it in a whole bunch of keys, my lad, only go ahead, or we shall forget all the words.”Off went the fiddle with a flourish over the first strain of the well-known song, and then, after a couple of efforts to sing, Tom Long broke down, and Bob Roberts took up the strain, singing it in a cheery rollicking boyish way, growing more confident every moment, and proving that he had a musical tenor voice. Then as he reached the end of the first verse, he waved his puggaree on high, jumped upon the table to the upsetting of a couple of glasses, and led the chorus, which was lustily trolled out by all present.On went Bob Roberts, declaring how the flag waved on every sea, and should never float over a slave, throwing so much enthusiasm into the song that to a man all rose, and literally roared the chorus, ending with three cheers, and one cheer more for the poor girls; and as Bob Roberts stood upon the table flushed and hot, he felt quite a hero, and ready to go on that very night and rescue half-a-dozen more poor slave girls from tyranny, if they would only appeal to him for help.“Three cheers for Mr Roberts,” shouted Dick, the sailor, as Billy Mustard was confiding to a friend that “a fiddle soon got outer toon in that climate.”“Yes, and three cheers for Mr Long,” shouted Bob. “Come up here, Tom, old man; you did more than I did.”Tom Long was prevailed upon to mount the table, where he bowed again and again as the men cheered; when, as a lull came in the cheering, Billy Mustard, whose fiddle had been musically whispering to itself in answer to the well-drawn bow, suddenly made himself heard in the strain of “Rule Britannia,” which was sung in chorus with vigour, especially when the singers declared that Britons never,never,nevershould be slaves; which rang out far over the attap roofs of the drowsy campong.So satisfied were the singers that they followed up with the National Anthem, which was just concluded when the resident sent one of his servants to express a hope that the noise was nearly at an end.“Well, I think we have been going it,” said Bob Roberts, jumping down. “Come along, Tom. I’ve got two splendid cigars—real Manillas.”Tom Long, to whom this public recognition had been extremely painful, was only too glad to join his companion on a form beneath a tree, where the two genuine Manillas were lit, and for a quarter of an hour the youths smoked on complacently, when just as the exultation of the public singing was giving way to a peculiar sensation of depression and sickness, and each longed to throw away half his cigar, but did not dare, Adam Gray came up to where they were seated, gradually growing pale and wan.“Ah, Gray,” said the ensign, “what is it?”“The major, sir, requests that you will favour him with your company directly.”“My company?” cried the ensign; “what’s the matter?”“Don’t know, sir; but I think it’s something about those slave girls. And Captain Horton requested me to tell you to come too, sir,” he continued, turning to Bob Roberts.“We’re going to get promotion, I know, Tom,” said the middy.“No, no,” said the ensign, dolefully, “it’s a good wigging.”Bob Roberts, although feeling far from exalted now, did not in anywise believe in the possibility of receiving what his companion euphoniously termed a “wigging,” and with a good deal of his customary independent, and rather impudent, swagger he followed the orderly to a cool lamp-lit room, where sat in solemn conclave, the resident, Major Sandars, and Captain Horton.“That will do, Gray,” said Major Sandars, as the youths entered, and saluted the three officers seated like judges at a table, “but be within hearing.”“Might ask us to sit down,” thought Bob, as he saw from the aspect of the three gentlemen that something serious was afloat.But the new arrivals were not asked to sit down, and they stood before the table feeling very guilty, and like a couple of prisoners; though of what they had been guilty, and why they were brought there, they could not imagine.“It’s only their serious way,” thought Bob; “they are going to compliment us.”He stared at the shaded lamp, round which four or five moths and a big beetle were wildly circling in a frantic desire to commit suicide, but kept from a fiery end by gauze wire over the chimney.“What fools moths and beetles are!” thought Bob, and then his attention was taken up by the officers.“Will you speak, Major Sandars?” said the resident.“No, I think it should come from you, Mr Linton. What do you say, Captain Horton?”“I quite agree with you, Major Sandars,” said the captain stiffly.“What the dickens have we been doing?” thought Bob; and then he stared hard at the resident, and wished heartily that Rachel Linton’s father had not been chosen to give him what he felt sure was a setting down for some reason or another.“As you will, gentlemen,” said the resident firmly, and he then placed his elbows on the table and joined his fingers, while the light from the lamp shone full upon his forehead.“Mr Ensign Long—Mr Midshipman Roberts,” he began. “He might have placed me first,” thought Bob. “I wish someone would catch those wretched moths.”“You have been out on an expedition to-day?”He waited for an answer, and as Tom Long had been placed first, Bob waited, too; but as his companion did not speak, Bob exclaimed quickly—“Yes, sir, snipe shooting;” and as the resident bowed his head, Bob added, “two brace.”“Confound you—you young dogs!” cried Captain Horton, “and you brought a brace of something else. I beg your pardon, Mr Linton; go on.”Mr Linton bowed, while Bob uttered a barely audible whistle, and glanced at his companion.“Then it’s about those two girls,” he thought.“It seems, young gentlemen,” continued the resident, “that while you were out, you met two young Malay girls?”“Yes, sir.”“Who had run away from their master?”“From their owner, as he seemed to consider himself, sir,” said Bob, who, to use his own words, felt as if all the fat was in the fire now, and blazed up accordingly. “You see, sir,” he said quickly, “we were watching for something that we saw in the reeds, close to the boggy ground, you know, and Tom here thought it was pig, but I thought it might be a deer. So we stood quite still till we heard sounds in the distance, when out jumped two dark creatures, and I was going to fire, when we saw that they were girls.”“And they ran up to us,” said Tom Long.“Like winking,” said Bob, “and threw themselves on their knees, and clung to our legs, and wouldn’t let go. Then up came half-a-dozen of the niggers—”“I think, Mr Roberts, we will call people by their right names,” said the resident, quietly; “suppose we say Malays.”“Yes, sir, Malays; and laid hold of the girls to drag them away. They screamed out, and that roused us, and we sent the nig— Malays staggering back. For you see, sir, as Englishmen—”“English what—Mr Roberts?” said Captain Horton.“Men, sir. I’m a midshipman, sir,” said Bob, sharply; and the captain grunted out something that sounded like “impudent young puppy!” but he did not look angry.“Go on, Mr Roberts,” said the resident.“Well, sir, being English—boys—big boys, who felt like men just then—” said Bob, rather sarcastically.“That’s not bad, Mr Roberts,” said Major Sandars, with a glance at the naval captain.“Well, sir, as the poor girls had regularly appealed to us to protect them, and the nig— Malays, sir, whipped out their krises, we presented arms, and would have given them a peppering of snipe shot if they hadn’t sheered off when we brought the two poor weeping slave girls under the protection of the British flag, and set them free. Didn’t we, Tom?”“Yes,” said Tom Long, looking nervously at the resident, and wondering what Rachel Linton thought about their feat.There was a dead silence for a few moments, during which Bob Roberts wiped his streaming forehead, for he felt uncomfortably hot. Then the resident began—“I think I am speaking the sentiments of my friends here, young gentlemen, when I say that you both behaved just as two brave British lads would be expected to behave under the circumstances.”“Yes,” said Major Sandars, “Ensign Long, I felt sure, would not be wanting, if called upon.”Tom Long’s face grew the colour of his best uniform.“Very plucky act,” said Captain Horton; and he nodded in so friendly a way at the middy, that Bob felt quite beaming.“But,” continued the resident, speaking very slowly, and as if weighing every word he said, “what is very beautiful in sentiment, and very brave and manly if judged according to our own best feelings, young gentlemen, becomes very awkward sometimes if viewed through the spectacles of diplomacy.”“I—I don’t understand you, sir,” faltered Bob.“Let me be explicit then, young gentlemen. You both were, it seems, granted leave of absence to-day, for indulging in a little innocent sport, but by your brave, though very indiscreet conduct, you have, I fear, completely overset the friendly relations that we have been trying so hard to establish with these extremely sensitive people.”“But, sir,” began Bob, “the poor girls—”“Yes, I know all that,” said the resident quietly; “but slavery is a domestic institution among these people, and to-morrow I feel sure that I shall have a visit from some of the sultan’s chief men, demanding that these poor girls be given up.”“But they can’t be now, sir,” said Tom Long.“No, Mr Long, we cannot return the poor girls to a state of slavery; but do you not see into what an awkward position your act has brought us?”“I’m very sorry, sir.”“Yes, but sorrow will not mend it. We have been, and are, living on the edge of a volcano here, young gentlemen, and the slightest thing may cause an eruption. This act of yours, I greatly fear, will bring the flames about our heads.”Bob Roberts turned pale, as he thought of the ladies.“But they’d never dare, sir,” he began.“Dare? I believe the Malays are quite daring enough to attack us, should they feel disposed. But there, we need not discuss that matter. You young gentlemen have, however, been very jubilant over your rescue of these poor girls, and you have been summoned here to warn you, while your respective officers take into consideration what punishment is awarded to you, that your noisy demonstrations are very much out of place.”“Punishment, sir!” said Bob, who looked aghast.“Yes,” said the resident sharply, “punishment. You do not seem to realise, young gentleman, that your act to-day has fired a train. Besides which, it is a question of such import that I must make it the basis of a special despatch to the colonial secretary at Whitehall.”Bob Roberts turned round and stared at Tom Long, but the latter was staring at Major Sandars.“I don’t think I need say any more, young gentlemen,” said the resident quietly, “and I fervently hope that I may be able to peaceably settle this matter; but it is quite on the cards that it may be the cause of a deadly strife. And I sincerely trust that whatever may be the upshot of this affair, it may be a warning to you, as young English officers, to think a little more, and consider, before you take any serious step in your careers; for sometimes a very slight error may result in the loss of life. In this case, yours has not been a slight error, but a grave one.”“Though we all own as quite true,” said Captain Horton, “that we don’t see how you could have acted differently; eh, Sandars?”“Yes, yes, of course. But, hang it all, Long, how could you go and get into such a confounded pickle? It’s too bad, sir, ’pon my soul, sir; it is too bad—much too bad.”“Are we to be under arrest, sir?” said Bob Roberts, rather blankly.“Not if you’ll both promise to keep within bounds,” said Captain Horton. “No nonsense.”“No, sir,” said Bob glumly.“Of course not, sir,” said Tom.“That will do then, young gentlemen,” said the resident gravely; and the two youths went blankly off to their several quarters.“Poor boys! I’m sorry for them,” said the resident sadly.“Yes, it’s a confounded nuisance, Linton,” said Major Sandars, “but you must diplomatise, and set all right somehow or another.”“That’s a fine boy, that Roberts,” said Captain Horton. “I’ll try my best, gentlemen,” said the resident, “for all our sakes; but we have a curious people to deal with, and I fear that this may turn out a very serious affair.”
If they had not been English, the probabilities are that Bob Roberts and Tom Long would have hugged each other. As it was they seemed to think it quite the correct thing to shake hands over and over again, and then walk up and down under the palm-trees of the enclosure, flushed, excited, and as full of swagger as they could possibly be.
“Blest if they don’t look like a couple o’ young game cocks who have just killed their birds,” said old Dick to Billy Mustard. “My word, they are cocky! But where are you going, old man?”
“To fetch my instrument,” said Billy.
“What, yer fiddle? What do you want that ’ere for?”
“The young gents wants it,” said Billy.
So with a nod he went into his quarters, to return with his beloved violin in its green baize bag, which he bore to where Bob and Tom were now seated at one of the tables beneath a shady tree.
On the strength of their adventure they were indulging themselves with bitter beer, into which they dropped lumps of ice, and as soon as Billy Mustard came, the violin was brought out, tuned, and the harmonious sound produced had the effect of soon gathering together an audience in the soft mellow hour before sunset.
Several officers seated themselves at the table, and followed the youngsters’ example; soldiers and sailors gathered at a little distance beneath the trees; and unseen by the party below, Rachel Linton and Mary Sinclair appeared at a mat-shaded window.
“Tom Long’s going to sing ‘The Englishman,’” shouted Bob Roberts suddenly, and there was a loud tapping upon the rough deal table.
“No, no, I really can’t, ’pon honour,” said the ensign, looking very much more flushed than before.
“Yes, yes, he is,” said Bob, addressing those around. “He is—in honour of the occasion; and gentlemen, let’s sing out the chorus so loudly that those niggers in the campong can hear our sentiments, and shiver in their shoes, where they’ve got any.”
“Hear! hear!” said a young lieutenant.
“But really, you know, I hav’n’t a voice,” exclaimed the ensign in expostulation.
“Gammon!” cried Bob. “He can sing like a bird, gentlemen. Silence, please, for our national song, ‘The Englishman’!”
“I can’t sing it—indeed I can’t,” cried the ensign.
“Oh, yes, you can; go on,” said the young lieutenant who had previously spoken.
“To be sure he will,” cried Bob Roberts. “Heave ahead, Tom, and I’ll help whenever I can. It’s your duty to sing it, for the niggers to hear our sentiments with regard to slavery!”
“Hear, hear!” cried several of the officers, laughing; and the men gave a cheer.
“Slavery and the British flag!” cried Bob Roberts, who was getting excited. “No man, or woman either, who has once sought protection beneath the folds of the glorious red white and blue, can ever return to slavery!”
“Hear, hear, hear!” shouted the officers again, and the men threw up their caps, cried “Hoorar!” and the sentry on the roof presented arms.
“Now then, play up, Private Mustard—‘The Englishman,’” cried Bob Roberts. “Get ready, Tom, and run it out with all your might!”
“Must I?” said the ensign, nervously.
“To be sure you must. Wait a minute, though, and let him play the introduction.”
Billy Mustard gave the bow a preliminary scrape, and the audience grew larger.
“What key shall I play it in, sir?” said Billy.
“Any key you like,” cried Bob, excitedly. “Play it in a whole bunch of keys, my lad, only go ahead, or we shall forget all the words.”
Off went the fiddle with a flourish over the first strain of the well-known song, and then, after a couple of efforts to sing, Tom Long broke down, and Bob Roberts took up the strain, singing it in a cheery rollicking boyish way, growing more confident every moment, and proving that he had a musical tenor voice. Then as he reached the end of the first verse, he waved his puggaree on high, jumped upon the table to the upsetting of a couple of glasses, and led the chorus, which was lustily trolled out by all present.
On went Bob Roberts, declaring how the flag waved on every sea, and should never float over a slave, throwing so much enthusiasm into the song that to a man all rose, and literally roared the chorus, ending with three cheers, and one cheer more for the poor girls; and as Bob Roberts stood upon the table flushed and hot, he felt quite a hero, and ready to go on that very night and rescue half-a-dozen more poor slave girls from tyranny, if they would only appeal to him for help.
“Three cheers for Mr Roberts,” shouted Dick, the sailor, as Billy Mustard was confiding to a friend that “a fiddle soon got outer toon in that climate.”
“Yes, and three cheers for Mr Long,” shouted Bob. “Come up here, Tom, old man; you did more than I did.”
Tom Long was prevailed upon to mount the table, where he bowed again and again as the men cheered; when, as a lull came in the cheering, Billy Mustard, whose fiddle had been musically whispering to itself in answer to the well-drawn bow, suddenly made himself heard in the strain of “Rule Britannia,” which was sung in chorus with vigour, especially when the singers declared that Britons never,never,nevershould be slaves; which rang out far over the attap roofs of the drowsy campong.
So satisfied were the singers that they followed up with the National Anthem, which was just concluded when the resident sent one of his servants to express a hope that the noise was nearly at an end.
“Well, I think we have been going it,” said Bob Roberts, jumping down. “Come along, Tom. I’ve got two splendid cigars—real Manillas.”
Tom Long, to whom this public recognition had been extremely painful, was only too glad to join his companion on a form beneath a tree, where the two genuine Manillas were lit, and for a quarter of an hour the youths smoked on complacently, when just as the exultation of the public singing was giving way to a peculiar sensation of depression and sickness, and each longed to throw away half his cigar, but did not dare, Adam Gray came up to where they were seated, gradually growing pale and wan.
“Ah, Gray,” said the ensign, “what is it?”
“The major, sir, requests that you will favour him with your company directly.”
“My company?” cried the ensign; “what’s the matter?”
“Don’t know, sir; but I think it’s something about those slave girls. And Captain Horton requested me to tell you to come too, sir,” he continued, turning to Bob Roberts.
“We’re going to get promotion, I know, Tom,” said the middy.
“No, no,” said the ensign, dolefully, “it’s a good wigging.”
Bob Roberts, although feeling far from exalted now, did not in anywise believe in the possibility of receiving what his companion euphoniously termed a “wigging,” and with a good deal of his customary independent, and rather impudent, swagger he followed the orderly to a cool lamp-lit room, where sat in solemn conclave, the resident, Major Sandars, and Captain Horton.
“That will do, Gray,” said Major Sandars, as the youths entered, and saluted the three officers seated like judges at a table, “but be within hearing.”
“Might ask us to sit down,” thought Bob, as he saw from the aspect of the three gentlemen that something serious was afloat.
But the new arrivals were not asked to sit down, and they stood before the table feeling very guilty, and like a couple of prisoners; though of what they had been guilty, and why they were brought there, they could not imagine.
“It’s only their serious way,” thought Bob; “they are going to compliment us.”
He stared at the shaded lamp, round which four or five moths and a big beetle were wildly circling in a frantic desire to commit suicide, but kept from a fiery end by gauze wire over the chimney.
“What fools moths and beetles are!” thought Bob, and then his attention was taken up by the officers.
“Will you speak, Major Sandars?” said the resident.
“No, I think it should come from you, Mr Linton. What do you say, Captain Horton?”
“I quite agree with you, Major Sandars,” said the captain stiffly.
“What the dickens have we been doing?” thought Bob; and then he stared hard at the resident, and wished heartily that Rachel Linton’s father had not been chosen to give him what he felt sure was a setting down for some reason or another.
“As you will, gentlemen,” said the resident firmly, and he then placed his elbows on the table and joined his fingers, while the light from the lamp shone full upon his forehead.
“Mr Ensign Long—Mr Midshipman Roberts,” he began. “He might have placed me first,” thought Bob. “I wish someone would catch those wretched moths.”
“You have been out on an expedition to-day?”
He waited for an answer, and as Tom Long had been placed first, Bob waited, too; but as his companion did not speak, Bob exclaimed quickly—
“Yes, sir, snipe shooting;” and as the resident bowed his head, Bob added, “two brace.”
“Confound you—you young dogs!” cried Captain Horton, “and you brought a brace of something else. I beg your pardon, Mr Linton; go on.”
Mr Linton bowed, while Bob uttered a barely audible whistle, and glanced at his companion.
“Then it’s about those two girls,” he thought.
“It seems, young gentlemen,” continued the resident, “that while you were out, you met two young Malay girls?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who had run away from their master?”
“From their owner, as he seemed to consider himself, sir,” said Bob, who, to use his own words, felt as if all the fat was in the fire now, and blazed up accordingly. “You see, sir,” he said quickly, “we were watching for something that we saw in the reeds, close to the boggy ground, you know, and Tom here thought it was pig, but I thought it might be a deer. So we stood quite still till we heard sounds in the distance, when out jumped two dark creatures, and I was going to fire, when we saw that they were girls.”
“And they ran up to us,” said Tom Long.
“Like winking,” said Bob, “and threw themselves on their knees, and clung to our legs, and wouldn’t let go. Then up came half-a-dozen of the niggers—”
“I think, Mr Roberts, we will call people by their right names,” said the resident, quietly; “suppose we say Malays.”
“Yes, sir, Malays; and laid hold of the girls to drag them away. They screamed out, and that roused us, and we sent the nig— Malays staggering back. For you see, sir, as Englishmen—”
“English what—Mr Roberts?” said Captain Horton.
“Men, sir. I’m a midshipman, sir,” said Bob, sharply; and the captain grunted out something that sounded like “impudent young puppy!” but he did not look angry.
“Go on, Mr Roberts,” said the resident.
“Well, sir, being English—boys—big boys, who felt like men just then—” said Bob, rather sarcastically.
“That’s not bad, Mr Roberts,” said Major Sandars, with a glance at the naval captain.
“Well, sir, as the poor girls had regularly appealed to us to protect them, and the nig— Malays, sir, whipped out their krises, we presented arms, and would have given them a peppering of snipe shot if they hadn’t sheered off when we brought the two poor weeping slave girls under the protection of the British flag, and set them free. Didn’t we, Tom?”
“Yes,” said Tom Long, looking nervously at the resident, and wondering what Rachel Linton thought about their feat.
There was a dead silence for a few moments, during which Bob Roberts wiped his streaming forehead, for he felt uncomfortably hot. Then the resident began—
“I think I am speaking the sentiments of my friends here, young gentlemen, when I say that you both behaved just as two brave British lads would be expected to behave under the circumstances.”
“Yes,” said Major Sandars, “Ensign Long, I felt sure, would not be wanting, if called upon.”
Tom Long’s face grew the colour of his best uniform.
“Very plucky act,” said Captain Horton; and he nodded in so friendly a way at the middy, that Bob felt quite beaming.
“But,” continued the resident, speaking very slowly, and as if weighing every word he said, “what is very beautiful in sentiment, and very brave and manly if judged according to our own best feelings, young gentlemen, becomes very awkward sometimes if viewed through the spectacles of diplomacy.”
“I—I don’t understand you, sir,” faltered Bob.
“Let me be explicit then, young gentlemen. You both were, it seems, granted leave of absence to-day, for indulging in a little innocent sport, but by your brave, though very indiscreet conduct, you have, I fear, completely overset the friendly relations that we have been trying so hard to establish with these extremely sensitive people.”
“But, sir,” began Bob, “the poor girls—”
“Yes, I know all that,” said the resident quietly; “but slavery is a domestic institution among these people, and to-morrow I feel sure that I shall have a visit from some of the sultan’s chief men, demanding that these poor girls be given up.”
“But they can’t be now, sir,” said Tom Long.
“No, Mr Long, we cannot return the poor girls to a state of slavery; but do you not see into what an awkward position your act has brought us?”
“I’m very sorry, sir.”
“Yes, but sorrow will not mend it. We have been, and are, living on the edge of a volcano here, young gentlemen, and the slightest thing may cause an eruption. This act of yours, I greatly fear, will bring the flames about our heads.”
Bob Roberts turned pale, as he thought of the ladies.
“But they’d never dare, sir,” he began.
“Dare? I believe the Malays are quite daring enough to attack us, should they feel disposed. But there, we need not discuss that matter. You young gentlemen have, however, been very jubilant over your rescue of these poor girls, and you have been summoned here to warn you, while your respective officers take into consideration what punishment is awarded to you, that your noisy demonstrations are very much out of place.”
“Punishment, sir!” said Bob, who looked aghast.
“Yes,” said the resident sharply, “punishment. You do not seem to realise, young gentleman, that your act to-day has fired a train. Besides which, it is a question of such import that I must make it the basis of a special despatch to the colonial secretary at Whitehall.”
Bob Roberts turned round and stared at Tom Long, but the latter was staring at Major Sandars.
“I don’t think I need say any more, young gentlemen,” said the resident quietly, “and I fervently hope that I may be able to peaceably settle this matter; but it is quite on the cards that it may be the cause of a deadly strife. And I sincerely trust that whatever may be the upshot of this affair, it may be a warning to you, as young English officers, to think a little more, and consider, before you take any serious step in your careers; for sometimes a very slight error may result in the loss of life. In this case, yours has not been a slight error, but a grave one.”
“Though we all own as quite true,” said Captain Horton, “that we don’t see how you could have acted differently; eh, Sandars?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But, hang it all, Long, how could you go and get into such a confounded pickle? It’s too bad, sir, ’pon my soul, sir; it is too bad—much too bad.”
“Are we to be under arrest, sir?” said Bob Roberts, rather blankly.
“Not if you’ll both promise to keep within bounds,” said Captain Horton. “No nonsense.”
“No, sir,” said Bob glumly.
“Of course not, sir,” said Tom.
“That will do then, young gentlemen,” said the resident gravely; and the two youths went blankly off to their several quarters.
“Poor boys! I’m sorry for them,” said the resident sadly.
“Yes, it’s a confounded nuisance, Linton,” said Major Sandars, “but you must diplomatise, and set all right somehow or another.”
“That’s a fine boy, that Roberts,” said Captain Horton. “I’ll try my best, gentlemen,” said the resident, “for all our sakes; but we have a curious people to deal with, and I fear that this may turn out a very serious affair.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.How Diplomacy worked in a Malay State.The Parang river looked like a belt of damasked silver studded with diamonds the next morning, while the waving feathery palms were of the brightest green. Mingled with these, on the shore farthest from the town, were the dadap trees, whose ripe scarlet blossoms stood out in rich relief as they gave colour to a landscape already dotted with the blooms of the chumpaka, both yellow and white, shedding a sweet scent that Doctor Bolter said was like Cape jasmin, but which Bob Roberts declared to resemble tea made with lavender water.The “Startler,” with her deck as white as hands could make it, lay looking smart and bright in her moorings below the island, her yards perfectly square, her sides glistening with fresh paint, her brass rails, bell, and guns flashing back the sun’s rays, and the awnings spread over the deck almost as white as snow.Here and there the Jacks, in their duck frocks and straws, were paddling about barefooted in the sunshine, giving the last touches to the rails and glass of the skylights.On the island the resident’s house and the barrack fort looked more like some ornamented set of buildings for summer pleasure, than a couple of places designed as a stronghold and retreat in case of danger. For the ditch and the earthwork were now carpetted with verdant growth, while the abattis, having been made of green wood, was putting forth fresh shoots.Both the resident and Major Sandars had been desirous of retaining all the shade possible, for the protection of the men; therefore, save where they were likely to afford harbour to the enemy, trees and bushes had been spared. The men too, having plenty of time at disposal, had been encouraged to take to gardening, and with Doctor Bolter for head instructor, the place had been made to present the appearance of a nursery ground, where one bed rivalled another in the perfection of its growing vegetables. Neat, well-kept walks led up to the fort and the resident’s house, which daily grew brighter and more picturesque, with its ornamented reed-woven walls, and carefully thatched roof of attap. The broad verandah, with its punkahs, was made gay with beautiful creepers, climbing the pillars of palm and bamboo, and festooning the edges, some of these being jasmines of great size and beauty; while rough rotan baskets hung at intervals, full of moss and dead wood, on which flourished the wonderful orchids and pitcher-plants that were the delight of the ladies of the residency.By the help of Doctor Bolter and Adam Gray, a large cask had been cut in half, and decorated on the outsides and edges with rough bark, in whose interstices were planted orchids, and the pretty maiden-hair fern; while upon these being both mounted upon a short rough stump, they formed a couple of rustic vases of huge size, standing just inside the broad verandah, on either side of the entrance door, and looked, when filled with water, and supplied with aquatic plants, no slight additions to the beauty of the place.Upon one of his excursions with net and can Doctor Bolter had succeeded in capturing several of the beautiful little chaetadons, or shooting-fish; tiny little broad fellows, beautifully banded, whose peculiarity was the adroitness with which they would lie in wait for any unfortunate fly that settled on the edge of an aquatic leaf, and then fire—or rather, water—off at it a tiny globule, with such unerring aim, that the insect was generally brought down into the water and swallowed. Three or four would sometimes sail round one after the other shooting at a fly in turn till it was knocked off, when a rush took place for the dainty prize.But the river and the little jungle streams abounded with miniature fish of great beauty, their peculiarity being the way in which they were coloured, some being of a most gorgeous scarlet, with broad bands of vivid blue across their sides.All on board the “Startler” was the perfection of neatness, and from a friendly rivalry the residency and fort were as smart and neat; perhaps never did they look to greater perfection than on the day after the adventure of Bob Roberts and Tom Long.The morning drill was over, and the sun was growing intensely hot, when there was heard the sound of a gong in the distance, and one of the sentries announced the coming of a boat.As it drew near it was seen to be one belonging to the sultan, with a couple of his principal officers therein.They landed, each in his gay silken sarong, in whose folds the handle of the kris was carefully wrapped, to indicate that they were bound on a friendly mission, and leaving their men at the bamboo landing-stage fitted up by the sailors, they made their way to the residency.No sooner had the news been given to Mr Linton of the approach of the sultan’s boat than a signal was hoisted, whose effect was that the captain’s gig was lowered down, and he arrived at the stage directly after, joining Major Sandars who had been fetched by an orderly, both officers being in full uniform.“I say, Tom,” said Bob Roberts to his companion, who had come across to the ship a short time before, “if I were you I’d go back and fig myself. I shall put on my best duds, for you see if we ar’n’t sent for to meet those two coffee-coloured swells.”Tom Long, who was rather low-spirited about the matter, took the middy’s advice, and went back to the island, where the visitors had already been ushered into the resident’s reception room, the captain and major dropping in directly after as if by accident.It was the most friendly of visits. The two officers were the tumongong, or chief magistrate, and the muntri, or chief adviser, of the sultan; and nothing could have been more amiable than their demeanour as they conversed with Mr Linton, who from time to time interpreted to the two British officers.Was there anything the sultan could do in the way of providing better supplies of rice, fruit, and meat? A great fish expedition was about to be set afoot, and more would be brought down the river and kept in floating tanks. If the resident would only speak, everything possible should be done.Nothing was required, so thanks were returned; when the tumongong smiled most agreeably, and said that he must now come to the chief object of his visit. The fact was, the sultan had decided to have a great tiger-hunt. Much mischief had of late been done by tigers. Several poor fellows, especially Chinamen, had been carried off from the rice-fields, and the sultan had decided to get together all his elephants, with a large number of beaters, and have a great hunt. Would the British officers bring their rifles and help? Elephants should be placed at their disposal, the largest the country produced, and every thing done to make the hunt a success.“Then it’s a mare’s nest after all, Sandars,” said Captain Horton. “They’re not going to take any notice of those boys’ tricks. What do you say; shall we go?”“I should enjoy it immensely,” said the major. “I long for a shot at a tiger.”“Wait a little, gentlemen,” said the resident, smiling; “the interview is not at an end. What shall I reply about the hunting-party?”“Oh, we shall be delighted to go. You’ll go too?” said Captain Horton, answering for both.“If matters are pleasantly settled,” said Mr Linton. Then turning to the two Malay officers, whose dark restless eyes had been scanning the faces in turn, he said that they would be most happy to accept the sultan’s invitation.The officers were delighted, and declared that the sultan’s joy would know no bounds.They had previously declined all refreshments, but now that their business was at an end they accepted cigars, and laughed and chatted, evidently enjoying the visit immensely, and accepting a proposal to walk round the grounds with alacrity.As they went into the verandah, the resident found a couple of the sultan’s men waiting, with a present of the choicest fruit the country produced; huge durians, and fine mangosteens, with the most select kinds of plantain known for the delicacy of their flavour.The visitors took an almost childish delight in the fish in the two fonts, and smiled with pleasure at the sight of the large selection of flowers; but a keen observer would have noticed that as they walked round the fort and earth-works, the muntri eagerly scanned every preparation for defence, though apparently more attracted by the uniforms of the sentries than anything else.As they were crossing the little parade ground, with its well-trampled soil, on their way back to their boat, Tom Long was encountered, on his way to the mess-room.He started on coming upon the little party so suddenly, but saluted and went on.Oddly enough that brought to the muntri’s memory a little affair that had happened on the previous day. Two young officers of the ship had been ashore shooting birds, and they found a party of the country people behaving rather ill to a couple of slave girls, and naturally enough, like all young men would, they took the girls under their protection, and brought them to the residency. Was it not so?“Yes,” the resident replied; “and they are now with the ladies.”That was so good and kind, and so like the English, who were a great and generous nation. The sultan had been terribly annoyed at his people behaving so ill to the poor girls, the muntri continued, and they had been punished, which was quite right—was it not?The resident perfectly agreed with the muntri, who smiled content, while the tumongong looked hurt and sad.He was so glad that Rajah Linton was satisfied at what the sultan had done, and the sultan would be greatly happy at his acts meeting such approval from the chief of the great queen. So that was settled. He thanked the resident more than he could tell, and he would give him no more trouble about the two poor girls, but take them back in the boat.This was very cleverly done, but the sultan’s officers had to deal with an equally clever man, one who was well versed in oriental wiles and diplomacy. Mr Linton was in no wise taken aback, since he had been waiting for this, and therefore was quite prepared to reply firmly that such a proceeding was impossible. The two girls had been brought beneath the British flag, and hence were slaves no longer. He could not therefore give them up.Of course the resident meant that he could not send them back then, the muntri observed, smiling. Perhaps the poor girls were ill with their fright, and the rajah resident would send them back when they were better.The resident assured his visitors that such a course was impossible, for according to the British laws the girls were now free, and could not be forced to go back.The two officers did not press the matter, but began to ask questions about a breech-loading cannon, and were greatly surprised at the ease with which it was charged.They had by this time finished their cigars, and being near the landing-stage, they took a most effusive leave of the three officers, entered their boat, and were rowed away.“Well, then,” said Captain Horton, as soon as he heard the parts of the conversation that he had not understood, “that game’s over, and they are beaten at diplomacy?”“Yes,” said Major Sandars. “I envy you your command of countenance, and knowledge of the language, Linton.”“Game? over?” said Mr Linton, smiling sadly. “No, my dear sirs, that is only the first move our adversaries have made—king’s pawn two squares forward; to which I have replied with queen’s pawn one square forward.”“And that’s a bad move, isn’t it, Horton?” exclaimed Major Sandars.“So the chess books make one think,” said the captain.“It all depends upon your adversary and your game,” said the resident, smiling. “Gentlemen, I hope I have done right.”“And what are you going to do now?” said Captain Horton.“Wait to see our adversary’s next move. Meanwhile, gentlemen, extra caution will do no harm, for we have touched the Malays in one of their most sensitive places.”“We? You mean those young scamps of boys,” said Captain Horton.“Oh, it’sweall the same,” said Major Sandars. “Well, what’s to be done?”“I should, without seeming to do anything, put on a few extra sentries, Major Sandars,” said the resident; “and, Captain Horton, I should be ready for action at a moment’s notice, and be cautious about who came on board, and what prahus anchored near.”“Quite right—quite right, Linton,” said Captain Horton. “You had no business to be a civilian. You ought to have been in the service.”The resident smiled, and they separated, as Mr Linton said, to wait for the enemy’s next move.
The Parang river looked like a belt of damasked silver studded with diamonds the next morning, while the waving feathery palms were of the brightest green. Mingled with these, on the shore farthest from the town, were the dadap trees, whose ripe scarlet blossoms stood out in rich relief as they gave colour to a landscape already dotted with the blooms of the chumpaka, both yellow and white, shedding a sweet scent that Doctor Bolter said was like Cape jasmin, but which Bob Roberts declared to resemble tea made with lavender water.
The “Startler,” with her deck as white as hands could make it, lay looking smart and bright in her moorings below the island, her yards perfectly square, her sides glistening with fresh paint, her brass rails, bell, and guns flashing back the sun’s rays, and the awnings spread over the deck almost as white as snow.
Here and there the Jacks, in their duck frocks and straws, were paddling about barefooted in the sunshine, giving the last touches to the rails and glass of the skylights.
On the island the resident’s house and the barrack fort looked more like some ornamented set of buildings for summer pleasure, than a couple of places designed as a stronghold and retreat in case of danger. For the ditch and the earthwork were now carpetted with verdant growth, while the abattis, having been made of green wood, was putting forth fresh shoots.
Both the resident and Major Sandars had been desirous of retaining all the shade possible, for the protection of the men; therefore, save where they were likely to afford harbour to the enemy, trees and bushes had been spared. The men too, having plenty of time at disposal, had been encouraged to take to gardening, and with Doctor Bolter for head instructor, the place had been made to present the appearance of a nursery ground, where one bed rivalled another in the perfection of its growing vegetables. Neat, well-kept walks led up to the fort and the resident’s house, which daily grew brighter and more picturesque, with its ornamented reed-woven walls, and carefully thatched roof of attap. The broad verandah, with its punkahs, was made gay with beautiful creepers, climbing the pillars of palm and bamboo, and festooning the edges, some of these being jasmines of great size and beauty; while rough rotan baskets hung at intervals, full of moss and dead wood, on which flourished the wonderful orchids and pitcher-plants that were the delight of the ladies of the residency.
By the help of Doctor Bolter and Adam Gray, a large cask had been cut in half, and decorated on the outsides and edges with rough bark, in whose interstices were planted orchids, and the pretty maiden-hair fern; while upon these being both mounted upon a short rough stump, they formed a couple of rustic vases of huge size, standing just inside the broad verandah, on either side of the entrance door, and looked, when filled with water, and supplied with aquatic plants, no slight additions to the beauty of the place.
Upon one of his excursions with net and can Doctor Bolter had succeeded in capturing several of the beautiful little chaetadons, or shooting-fish; tiny little broad fellows, beautifully banded, whose peculiarity was the adroitness with which they would lie in wait for any unfortunate fly that settled on the edge of an aquatic leaf, and then fire—or rather, water—off at it a tiny globule, with such unerring aim, that the insect was generally brought down into the water and swallowed. Three or four would sometimes sail round one after the other shooting at a fly in turn till it was knocked off, when a rush took place for the dainty prize.
But the river and the little jungle streams abounded with miniature fish of great beauty, their peculiarity being the way in which they were coloured, some being of a most gorgeous scarlet, with broad bands of vivid blue across their sides.
All on board the “Startler” was the perfection of neatness, and from a friendly rivalry the residency and fort were as smart and neat; perhaps never did they look to greater perfection than on the day after the adventure of Bob Roberts and Tom Long.
The morning drill was over, and the sun was growing intensely hot, when there was heard the sound of a gong in the distance, and one of the sentries announced the coming of a boat.
As it drew near it was seen to be one belonging to the sultan, with a couple of his principal officers therein.
They landed, each in his gay silken sarong, in whose folds the handle of the kris was carefully wrapped, to indicate that they were bound on a friendly mission, and leaving their men at the bamboo landing-stage fitted up by the sailors, they made their way to the residency.
No sooner had the news been given to Mr Linton of the approach of the sultan’s boat than a signal was hoisted, whose effect was that the captain’s gig was lowered down, and he arrived at the stage directly after, joining Major Sandars who had been fetched by an orderly, both officers being in full uniform.
“I say, Tom,” said Bob Roberts to his companion, who had come across to the ship a short time before, “if I were you I’d go back and fig myself. I shall put on my best duds, for you see if we ar’n’t sent for to meet those two coffee-coloured swells.”
Tom Long, who was rather low-spirited about the matter, took the middy’s advice, and went back to the island, where the visitors had already been ushered into the resident’s reception room, the captain and major dropping in directly after as if by accident.
It was the most friendly of visits. The two officers were the tumongong, or chief magistrate, and the muntri, or chief adviser, of the sultan; and nothing could have been more amiable than their demeanour as they conversed with Mr Linton, who from time to time interpreted to the two British officers.
Was there anything the sultan could do in the way of providing better supplies of rice, fruit, and meat? A great fish expedition was about to be set afoot, and more would be brought down the river and kept in floating tanks. If the resident would only speak, everything possible should be done.
Nothing was required, so thanks were returned; when the tumongong smiled most agreeably, and said that he must now come to the chief object of his visit. The fact was, the sultan had decided to have a great tiger-hunt. Much mischief had of late been done by tigers. Several poor fellows, especially Chinamen, had been carried off from the rice-fields, and the sultan had decided to get together all his elephants, with a large number of beaters, and have a great hunt. Would the British officers bring their rifles and help? Elephants should be placed at their disposal, the largest the country produced, and every thing done to make the hunt a success.
“Then it’s a mare’s nest after all, Sandars,” said Captain Horton. “They’re not going to take any notice of those boys’ tricks. What do you say; shall we go?”
“I should enjoy it immensely,” said the major. “I long for a shot at a tiger.”
“Wait a little, gentlemen,” said the resident, smiling; “the interview is not at an end. What shall I reply about the hunting-party?”
“Oh, we shall be delighted to go. You’ll go too?” said Captain Horton, answering for both.
“If matters are pleasantly settled,” said Mr Linton. Then turning to the two Malay officers, whose dark restless eyes had been scanning the faces in turn, he said that they would be most happy to accept the sultan’s invitation.
The officers were delighted, and declared that the sultan’s joy would know no bounds.
They had previously declined all refreshments, but now that their business was at an end they accepted cigars, and laughed and chatted, evidently enjoying the visit immensely, and accepting a proposal to walk round the grounds with alacrity.
As they went into the verandah, the resident found a couple of the sultan’s men waiting, with a present of the choicest fruit the country produced; huge durians, and fine mangosteens, with the most select kinds of plantain known for the delicacy of their flavour.
The visitors took an almost childish delight in the fish in the two fonts, and smiled with pleasure at the sight of the large selection of flowers; but a keen observer would have noticed that as they walked round the fort and earth-works, the muntri eagerly scanned every preparation for defence, though apparently more attracted by the uniforms of the sentries than anything else.
As they were crossing the little parade ground, with its well-trampled soil, on their way back to their boat, Tom Long was encountered, on his way to the mess-room.
He started on coming upon the little party so suddenly, but saluted and went on.
Oddly enough that brought to the muntri’s memory a little affair that had happened on the previous day. Two young officers of the ship had been ashore shooting birds, and they found a party of the country people behaving rather ill to a couple of slave girls, and naturally enough, like all young men would, they took the girls under their protection, and brought them to the residency. Was it not so?
“Yes,” the resident replied; “and they are now with the ladies.”
That was so good and kind, and so like the English, who were a great and generous nation. The sultan had been terribly annoyed at his people behaving so ill to the poor girls, the muntri continued, and they had been punished, which was quite right—was it not?
The resident perfectly agreed with the muntri, who smiled content, while the tumongong looked hurt and sad.
He was so glad that Rajah Linton was satisfied at what the sultan had done, and the sultan would be greatly happy at his acts meeting such approval from the chief of the great queen. So that was settled. He thanked the resident more than he could tell, and he would give him no more trouble about the two poor girls, but take them back in the boat.
This was very cleverly done, but the sultan’s officers had to deal with an equally clever man, one who was well versed in oriental wiles and diplomacy. Mr Linton was in no wise taken aback, since he had been waiting for this, and therefore was quite prepared to reply firmly that such a proceeding was impossible. The two girls had been brought beneath the British flag, and hence were slaves no longer. He could not therefore give them up.
Of course the resident meant that he could not send them back then, the muntri observed, smiling. Perhaps the poor girls were ill with their fright, and the rajah resident would send them back when they were better.
The resident assured his visitors that such a course was impossible, for according to the British laws the girls were now free, and could not be forced to go back.
The two officers did not press the matter, but began to ask questions about a breech-loading cannon, and were greatly surprised at the ease with which it was charged.
They had by this time finished their cigars, and being near the landing-stage, they took a most effusive leave of the three officers, entered their boat, and were rowed away.
“Well, then,” said Captain Horton, as soon as he heard the parts of the conversation that he had not understood, “that game’s over, and they are beaten at diplomacy?”
“Yes,” said Major Sandars. “I envy you your command of countenance, and knowledge of the language, Linton.”
“Game? over?” said Mr Linton, smiling sadly. “No, my dear sirs, that is only the first move our adversaries have made—king’s pawn two squares forward; to which I have replied with queen’s pawn one square forward.”
“And that’s a bad move, isn’t it, Horton?” exclaimed Major Sandars.
“So the chess books make one think,” said the captain.
“It all depends upon your adversary and your game,” said the resident, smiling. “Gentlemen, I hope I have done right.”
“And what are you going to do now?” said Captain Horton.
“Wait to see our adversary’s next move. Meanwhile, gentlemen, extra caution will do no harm, for we have touched the Malays in one of their most sensitive places.”
“We? You mean those young scamps of boys,” said Captain Horton.
“Oh, it’sweall the same,” said Major Sandars. “Well, what’s to be done?”
“I should, without seeming to do anything, put on a few extra sentries, Major Sandars,” said the resident; “and, Captain Horton, I should be ready for action at a moment’s notice, and be cautious about who came on board, and what prahus anchored near.”
“Quite right—quite right, Linton,” said Captain Horton. “You had no business to be a civilian. You ought to have been in the service.”
The resident smiled, and they separated, as Mr Linton said, to wait for the enemy’s next move.
Chapter Twenty Eight.How Sultan Hamet visited his Friends.The enemy, as the resident termed the sultan’s party, made no move for a couple of days, during which all went on as usual. There was the usual morning parade in the fort, and the soldiers gardened, idled, smoked, and told one another it was “jolly hot”—a fact that needed no telling. On board the “Startler” the men were beat to quarters, and went through their drill in the cool of the morning, before hammock rails, the sentries’ rifles, and the breeches of the glistening guns grew too hot to be touched with impunity. So hot was it, that, like the burnt child who fears the fire, Bob Roberts was exceedingly cautious about placing his hands in any spot where they were likely to be defiled by the pitch that cannot be touched without those consequences; for from between seams, and the strands of well-laid cables, it oozed, and even bubbled out, beneath the ardent wooing of the tropic sun.It was a listless life, but a pleasant one, for such strict discipline was observed, and stringent rules laid down by the medical officer of the corvette and the detachment, that the men kept in excellent health. They had plenty of amusements; fruit was abundant, and they had taken quite a taste for the coarse country tobacco, which many of the soldiers smoked after the Malay fashion, rolled up à la cigarette in the roko, or outer sheath of the palm leaf or the plantain. Some, too, adopted the Malay’s plan of rapidly cutting a pipe from a short joint of bamboo, which, with a hole bored in the side for the insertion of a thin reed or quill, formed a pipe much affected by the Jacks when they took their tobacco in smoke, instead of by the unpleasantly moist masticating process.At the residency all went on as usual; sometimes the ladies received, and there was the sound of music and singing in the pleasantly lit-up verandah; sometimes Captain Horton sent his gig, and the agreeable little reunions were held on board the “Startler,” in an improvised tent, draped with the ship’s colours, while the lights were reflected on the smooth surface of the hurrying stream, and the Malays on shore watched the figures that passed to and fro till the party was over.Captain Horton and Major Sandars both thought the rajah’s party had forgotten the affair; but the resident held to his opinion, which was strengthened by the imploring manner in which the two girls, who had attached themselves as attendants on Rachel Linton and her cousin, begged him not to let them be fetched away.“Suppose I did let them have you back,” said the resident to them one day in their native tongue, “what would happen?”One of the girls, a tall, dark, graceful creature, but with the protruding lips, high cheekbones, and flat distended nose of the Malay, rose with contracted eyebrows, took her companion, forced her upon her knees, and then drawing an imaginary kris, she placed the point on the girl’s shoulder, and struck the hilt with her right hand as if driving it perpendicularly down into her heart.“They would kill us—so!” she exclaimed, “and throw our bodies in the water to the crocodiles!”The other girl shuddered, and raised her frightened eyes to the faces of the ladies as if imploring them to intercede—and not in vain.“But they will not trouble about you now;” said the resident, tentatively.“Yes, yes,” they both exclaimed, “they will send a naga and many men, but you will not let us go?”“No,” said the resident, quietly. “Weshall not give you up,” and he went away thoughtfully to his room, to continue writing the despatch he had commenced some days before.That same evening the two principal officers came to have a chat, and over their cigars Major Sandars introduced the subject of the doubled sentries.“There is no longer any need for this,” he said. “Let’s see, Linton, it is now a week since those two fellows came. Don’t you think, Horton, it is an unnecessary precaution?”“Well, to be frank,” said Captain Horton, “I do; and I shall be glad to give up our strict discipline on board.”“What do you think, Captain Smithers?” said the resident to that officer, who was present.“I cannot help agreeing with the major,” he replied. “I see no reason for these extra precautions.”“Then I am in the minority,” said the resident, smiling.“Look out there, gentlemen,” he said, pointing through the open window. “What do you see?”“You tell him, Smithers,” said the major, “I’m too hot and tired to do more than breathe.”“I can see the bright river with the lights of the steamer glistening on its surface; the fire-flies are darting amongst the trees; the stars look soft and mellow; altogether it is a delightful picture, that reminds one of being in some delicious summer retreat on the banks of dear old Father Thames.”“Captain Smithers,” said the resident, gravely, “it is indeed a beautiful picture; the river flows peacefully on with the lights reflected from its bosom; but you know as well as I, that if a man attempted to breast those treacherous waters, he would, before he had swum many yards, have been drawn down by one of the hideous reptiles that swarm in the Parang. That river is to my mind a type of the Malay feeling towards us—the intruders upon his soil. So little am I satisfied with what seems to me to be a deceitful calm, that I have serious thoughts of asking you to increase the sentries.”“Nonsense, my dear Linton,” said Captain Horton; “we shall hear no more of the affair.”“We shall hear more,” said the resident. “Wait and see.”The resident was right; for the next day the sultan’s principal naga, or dragon-boat, with its uncouth figure-head, was seen coming swiftly down the stream, propelled by about thirty rowers, all clad in rich yellow jackets—the royal colour—and nattily-made scarlet caps. Their lower limbs were bare, save where covered by their scarlet and yellow sarongs. The men rowed well together; and as the word was passed by the sentries the officer on duty could plainly make out beneath the matting awning reaching nearly from end to end of the boat, the figures of the sultan and several of his officers.The sultan was easily distinguishable; for while his chief officers strictly adhered to their native costume, he wore a gorgeous semi-military uniform, that had specially been built—so Bob Roberts termed it—for him in England. It was one mass of rich embroidery, crossed by a jewelled belt, bearing a sabre set with precious stones, and upon his head he wore a little Astrakhan furkepi, surmounted by an egret’s plume, like a feathery fountain from a diamond jet.Orders were given for the guard to turn out, and the resident and Major Sandars hurriedly prepared to meet their distinguished guest, who, however, did not stop at the island, but went straight on to the corvette, where he was received by a guard of marines, the captain awaiting his visitor upon the quarter-deck.The visit was but short, for at the end of a few minutes Captain Horton accompanied the sultan on board the naga, and the long low vessel was swiftly turned, and rowed with no little skill to the island landing-place, where a sufficiently imposing military force, under Captain Smithers, was ready to receive him, the sultan walking up to the residency verandah, between a double line of infantry with bayonets fixed.The eastern potentate’s opal eyeballs rolled from side to side as, looking rather awkward in his ill-fitting European dress, he tried hard to emulate the dignity of his bronze followers in baju and sarong, each man with the handle of his kris carefully covered by a silken fold.On landing here, the sultan was followed by his kris and sword-bearers, each having his appointed station behind the monarch, holding the weapons by the sheath, with the hilt against the right shoulder, so that a very respectable procession, full of colour and glow, was formed from the landing-place to the residency.The most incongruous part of the following was the appearance of the officer who bore an umbrella to keep the rays of the sun from his liege’s head; but as in place of one of the gorgeous, gold-fringed, scarlet-clothed sunshades generally used for that purpose, this was an unmistakeable London-made chaise gingham, with a decidedly Gampish look, it robbed its master of some of his dignity, though he was so busily employed in trying to carry his richly-jewelled sabre with the ease of the English officers, and at the same time to show the splendid weapon to the best advantage, that he saw not the want of dignity in his umbrella, and walked awkwardly to where Mr Linton received him in company with Major Sandars, and such officers as could hurry on the uniforms they so scrupulously avoided in that torrid clime.Tom Long, who paid more attention to the embellishment of his person than any man in the detachment, was one of the officers present, and although nervous about the Sultan’s visit, and feeling certain that it had to do with the rescue of the slave girls, he could not help a smile at the umbrella, and a congratulatory sensation that Bob Roberts was not present, for he would have been sure to laugh, when an extension of the risible muscles might have been taken as an insult not to be endured.The august visitors were received in the wide verandah on account of their number, where the sultan took the seat placed for him; five of his principal men, including the former ambassadors, stood behind him; the rest, sword and umbrella-bearers, carriers of the potentate’s golden betel-box and spittoon, squatted down on their heels, and were as motionless as so many images of bronze.The various British officers remained with the resident, standing, out of respect to the sultan, whose heavy dark features seemed to express satisfaction; and he at once proceeded in a rather forced, excited manner to inform the resident that he had only been having a water-excursion, and had thought how much he should like to see his good friends at the residency.The resident was delighted, of course, at this mark of condescension, and hastened to assure the sultan of the fact.The latter then proceeded to announce that his grand tiger-hunt would take place in a fortnight’s time, and begged that all the officers would accept his invitation.As spokesman and interpreter, the resident assured his august visitor that as many as possible would be there; when in addition the sultan asked that a great many soldiers might be sent as well, to help keep the tigers from breaking back when the hunt was on.To this, Mr Linton, by Major Sandars’ permission, readily assented; and then, knowing of old his visitor’s taste in such matters, some champagne was produced. At the sight of the gold-foiled bottles the rajah’s eyes glistened, and he readily partook of a tumbler twice filled for him; after which he walked into the house with the resident, as an excuse for not being present when his followers partook of some of the wine.At length, after a walk round the fort, which was willingly accorded to him, that he might see that the residency and its protectors were well on thequi vive, the sultan took his departure, begging earnestly that all who could would come to the hunting expedition. Then the soldiers presented arms, and the little procession, gay of aspect, proceeded down to the bamboo landing-stage, where the visitor embarked with his following, and seated himself beneath the reed awning of his boat. Word was given, and the yellow and scarlet rowers bent to their oars, sending the long light naga vigorously up stream, one blaze of brilliant colour in the morning sun, till it disappeared round a verdant point about half-a-mile ahead.“Well, Linton,” said Major Sandars, “what do you say to it now?”“Ah, to be sure,” said Captain Horton. “Isn’t the storm blown over?”“Really, gentlemen, it looks like it,” said the resident, “and I must confess that I am heartily glad to find that I have been wrong.”“Wrong? yes,” said the Major. “Those fellows are no more fools than we are, and knowing what they do of the strength of our guns, and the discipline of our men, they would as soon think of measuring force with us, as of flying. Smithers, march the men back into quarters out of this raging sunshine, and to-night only put on the usual guard. What shall you do, Horton?”“Only have the customary watch,” was the reply.Tom Long conveyed to Bob Roberts an account of what had taken place, and the reduction of the guard at night; to which that sage young midshipman replied, that the British Lion was only going to withdraw his claws within their sheaths, but the claws were there still; and that it would be exceedingly uncomfortable for any Malay gentleman on shore if the said BL was to put his claws out once more.“But I say, Tom,” he exclaimed, “get the major to let you go to the tiger-hunt.”“Do you think you can get leave?” said the ensign.“I mean to try it on, my boy. The cap is sure to be huffy, on account of our last affair; but nothing venture, nothing gain, and I mean to go, somehow or another, so tigers beware. What are you laughing at?”“The idea of you shooting a tiger,” said Tom Long. “That’s all.”“I daresay I could if I tried,” said Bob shortly.“I daresay you could,” said Long, “but we’ll see. We have to get leave first.”“That’s soon got,” said Bob Roberts. “Depend upon it, I shall be there.”“And I, too,” said Tom Long; and the young fellows parted, each of them in secret vowing that he would have the skin of the tiger he meant to shoot, carefully dressed, lined with blue satin and scarlet cloth, and present it to Rachel Linton as a tribute of respect.But the tiger had first of all to be shot.
The enemy, as the resident termed the sultan’s party, made no move for a couple of days, during which all went on as usual. There was the usual morning parade in the fort, and the soldiers gardened, idled, smoked, and told one another it was “jolly hot”—a fact that needed no telling. On board the “Startler” the men were beat to quarters, and went through their drill in the cool of the morning, before hammock rails, the sentries’ rifles, and the breeches of the glistening guns grew too hot to be touched with impunity. So hot was it, that, like the burnt child who fears the fire, Bob Roberts was exceedingly cautious about placing his hands in any spot where they were likely to be defiled by the pitch that cannot be touched without those consequences; for from between seams, and the strands of well-laid cables, it oozed, and even bubbled out, beneath the ardent wooing of the tropic sun.
It was a listless life, but a pleasant one, for such strict discipline was observed, and stringent rules laid down by the medical officer of the corvette and the detachment, that the men kept in excellent health. They had plenty of amusements; fruit was abundant, and they had taken quite a taste for the coarse country tobacco, which many of the soldiers smoked after the Malay fashion, rolled up à la cigarette in the roko, or outer sheath of the palm leaf or the plantain. Some, too, adopted the Malay’s plan of rapidly cutting a pipe from a short joint of bamboo, which, with a hole bored in the side for the insertion of a thin reed or quill, formed a pipe much affected by the Jacks when they took their tobacco in smoke, instead of by the unpleasantly moist masticating process.
At the residency all went on as usual; sometimes the ladies received, and there was the sound of music and singing in the pleasantly lit-up verandah; sometimes Captain Horton sent his gig, and the agreeable little reunions were held on board the “Startler,” in an improvised tent, draped with the ship’s colours, while the lights were reflected on the smooth surface of the hurrying stream, and the Malays on shore watched the figures that passed to and fro till the party was over.
Captain Horton and Major Sandars both thought the rajah’s party had forgotten the affair; but the resident held to his opinion, which was strengthened by the imploring manner in which the two girls, who had attached themselves as attendants on Rachel Linton and her cousin, begged him not to let them be fetched away.
“Suppose I did let them have you back,” said the resident to them one day in their native tongue, “what would happen?”
One of the girls, a tall, dark, graceful creature, but with the protruding lips, high cheekbones, and flat distended nose of the Malay, rose with contracted eyebrows, took her companion, forced her upon her knees, and then drawing an imaginary kris, she placed the point on the girl’s shoulder, and struck the hilt with her right hand as if driving it perpendicularly down into her heart.
“They would kill us—so!” she exclaimed, “and throw our bodies in the water to the crocodiles!”
The other girl shuddered, and raised her frightened eyes to the faces of the ladies as if imploring them to intercede—and not in vain.
“But they will not trouble about you now;” said the resident, tentatively.
“Yes, yes,” they both exclaimed, “they will send a naga and many men, but you will not let us go?”
“No,” said the resident, quietly. “Weshall not give you up,” and he went away thoughtfully to his room, to continue writing the despatch he had commenced some days before.
That same evening the two principal officers came to have a chat, and over their cigars Major Sandars introduced the subject of the doubled sentries.
“There is no longer any need for this,” he said. “Let’s see, Linton, it is now a week since those two fellows came. Don’t you think, Horton, it is an unnecessary precaution?”
“Well, to be frank,” said Captain Horton, “I do; and I shall be glad to give up our strict discipline on board.”
“What do you think, Captain Smithers?” said the resident to that officer, who was present.
“I cannot help agreeing with the major,” he replied. “I see no reason for these extra precautions.”
“Then I am in the minority,” said the resident, smiling.
“Look out there, gentlemen,” he said, pointing through the open window. “What do you see?”
“You tell him, Smithers,” said the major, “I’m too hot and tired to do more than breathe.”
“I can see the bright river with the lights of the steamer glistening on its surface; the fire-flies are darting amongst the trees; the stars look soft and mellow; altogether it is a delightful picture, that reminds one of being in some delicious summer retreat on the banks of dear old Father Thames.”
“Captain Smithers,” said the resident, gravely, “it is indeed a beautiful picture; the river flows peacefully on with the lights reflected from its bosom; but you know as well as I, that if a man attempted to breast those treacherous waters, he would, before he had swum many yards, have been drawn down by one of the hideous reptiles that swarm in the Parang. That river is to my mind a type of the Malay feeling towards us—the intruders upon his soil. So little am I satisfied with what seems to me to be a deceitful calm, that I have serious thoughts of asking you to increase the sentries.”
“Nonsense, my dear Linton,” said Captain Horton; “we shall hear no more of the affair.”
“We shall hear more,” said the resident. “Wait and see.”
The resident was right; for the next day the sultan’s principal naga, or dragon-boat, with its uncouth figure-head, was seen coming swiftly down the stream, propelled by about thirty rowers, all clad in rich yellow jackets—the royal colour—and nattily-made scarlet caps. Their lower limbs were bare, save where covered by their scarlet and yellow sarongs. The men rowed well together; and as the word was passed by the sentries the officer on duty could plainly make out beneath the matting awning reaching nearly from end to end of the boat, the figures of the sultan and several of his officers.
The sultan was easily distinguishable; for while his chief officers strictly adhered to their native costume, he wore a gorgeous semi-military uniform, that had specially been built—so Bob Roberts termed it—for him in England. It was one mass of rich embroidery, crossed by a jewelled belt, bearing a sabre set with precious stones, and upon his head he wore a little Astrakhan furkepi, surmounted by an egret’s plume, like a feathery fountain from a diamond jet.
Orders were given for the guard to turn out, and the resident and Major Sandars hurriedly prepared to meet their distinguished guest, who, however, did not stop at the island, but went straight on to the corvette, where he was received by a guard of marines, the captain awaiting his visitor upon the quarter-deck.
The visit was but short, for at the end of a few minutes Captain Horton accompanied the sultan on board the naga, and the long low vessel was swiftly turned, and rowed with no little skill to the island landing-place, where a sufficiently imposing military force, under Captain Smithers, was ready to receive him, the sultan walking up to the residency verandah, between a double line of infantry with bayonets fixed.
The eastern potentate’s opal eyeballs rolled from side to side as, looking rather awkward in his ill-fitting European dress, he tried hard to emulate the dignity of his bronze followers in baju and sarong, each man with the handle of his kris carefully covered by a silken fold.
On landing here, the sultan was followed by his kris and sword-bearers, each having his appointed station behind the monarch, holding the weapons by the sheath, with the hilt against the right shoulder, so that a very respectable procession, full of colour and glow, was formed from the landing-place to the residency.
The most incongruous part of the following was the appearance of the officer who bore an umbrella to keep the rays of the sun from his liege’s head; but as in place of one of the gorgeous, gold-fringed, scarlet-clothed sunshades generally used for that purpose, this was an unmistakeable London-made chaise gingham, with a decidedly Gampish look, it robbed its master of some of his dignity, though he was so busily employed in trying to carry his richly-jewelled sabre with the ease of the English officers, and at the same time to show the splendid weapon to the best advantage, that he saw not the want of dignity in his umbrella, and walked awkwardly to where Mr Linton received him in company with Major Sandars, and such officers as could hurry on the uniforms they so scrupulously avoided in that torrid clime.
Tom Long, who paid more attention to the embellishment of his person than any man in the detachment, was one of the officers present, and although nervous about the Sultan’s visit, and feeling certain that it had to do with the rescue of the slave girls, he could not help a smile at the umbrella, and a congratulatory sensation that Bob Roberts was not present, for he would have been sure to laugh, when an extension of the risible muscles might have been taken as an insult not to be endured.
The august visitors were received in the wide verandah on account of their number, where the sultan took the seat placed for him; five of his principal men, including the former ambassadors, stood behind him; the rest, sword and umbrella-bearers, carriers of the potentate’s golden betel-box and spittoon, squatted down on their heels, and were as motionless as so many images of bronze.
The various British officers remained with the resident, standing, out of respect to the sultan, whose heavy dark features seemed to express satisfaction; and he at once proceeded in a rather forced, excited manner to inform the resident that he had only been having a water-excursion, and had thought how much he should like to see his good friends at the residency.
The resident was delighted, of course, at this mark of condescension, and hastened to assure the sultan of the fact.
The latter then proceeded to announce that his grand tiger-hunt would take place in a fortnight’s time, and begged that all the officers would accept his invitation.
As spokesman and interpreter, the resident assured his august visitor that as many as possible would be there; when in addition the sultan asked that a great many soldiers might be sent as well, to help keep the tigers from breaking back when the hunt was on.
To this, Mr Linton, by Major Sandars’ permission, readily assented; and then, knowing of old his visitor’s taste in such matters, some champagne was produced. At the sight of the gold-foiled bottles the rajah’s eyes glistened, and he readily partook of a tumbler twice filled for him; after which he walked into the house with the resident, as an excuse for not being present when his followers partook of some of the wine.
At length, after a walk round the fort, which was willingly accorded to him, that he might see that the residency and its protectors were well on thequi vive, the sultan took his departure, begging earnestly that all who could would come to the hunting expedition. Then the soldiers presented arms, and the little procession, gay of aspect, proceeded down to the bamboo landing-stage, where the visitor embarked with his following, and seated himself beneath the reed awning of his boat. Word was given, and the yellow and scarlet rowers bent to their oars, sending the long light naga vigorously up stream, one blaze of brilliant colour in the morning sun, till it disappeared round a verdant point about half-a-mile ahead.
“Well, Linton,” said Major Sandars, “what do you say to it now?”
“Ah, to be sure,” said Captain Horton. “Isn’t the storm blown over?”
“Really, gentlemen, it looks like it,” said the resident, “and I must confess that I am heartily glad to find that I have been wrong.”
“Wrong? yes,” said the Major. “Those fellows are no more fools than we are, and knowing what they do of the strength of our guns, and the discipline of our men, they would as soon think of measuring force with us, as of flying. Smithers, march the men back into quarters out of this raging sunshine, and to-night only put on the usual guard. What shall you do, Horton?”
“Only have the customary watch,” was the reply.
Tom Long conveyed to Bob Roberts an account of what had taken place, and the reduction of the guard at night; to which that sage young midshipman replied, that the British Lion was only going to withdraw his claws within their sheaths, but the claws were there still; and that it would be exceedingly uncomfortable for any Malay gentleman on shore if the said BL was to put his claws out once more.
“But I say, Tom,” he exclaimed, “get the major to let you go to the tiger-hunt.”
“Do you think you can get leave?” said the ensign.
“I mean to try it on, my boy. The cap is sure to be huffy, on account of our last affair; but nothing venture, nothing gain, and I mean to go, somehow or another, so tigers beware. What are you laughing at?”
“The idea of you shooting a tiger,” said Tom Long. “That’s all.”
“I daresay I could if I tried,” said Bob shortly.
“I daresay you could,” said Long, “but we’ll see. We have to get leave first.”
“That’s soon got,” said Bob Roberts. “Depend upon it, I shall be there.”
“And I, too,” said Tom Long; and the young fellows parted, each of them in secret vowing that he would have the skin of the tiger he meant to shoot, carefully dressed, lined with blue satin and scarlet cloth, and present it to Rachel Linton as a tribute of respect.
But the tiger had first of all to be shot.
Chapter Twenty Nine.How Ali fell into a Trap.They were very delightful days at the residency for the English party. The heat was certainly great, but the arrangements made as soon as they were settled down, warded that off to a great extent. The men enjoyed the life most thoroughly, especially as for sanitary reasons Doctor Bolter forbade that either the soldiers or the Jacks should be exposed to too much exertion.The days were days of unclouded sunshine as a rule, and when this rule was broken, the change was to a heavy thunder-storm, with a refreshing rain, and then the skies were once more blue.Fruit and flowers, and various other supplies, were brought now in abundance, especially since Dullah had been allowed to set up a trading station at the island. He monopolised the whole business, the various boats that came rowing straight to him; but he did it all in so pleasant a manner, that no one could complain. To the English people he was suavity itself. His courtesy—his gentlemanly bearing was the talk of the whole place; and regularly every morning one of his Malay slaves or bond-servants used to carry up and lay in the residency verandah a large bunch of deliciously fresh orchids, or pitcher-plants, or a great branch of some sweet-scented flowering shrub, for which he always received the ladies’ thanks in a calm, courteous way that quite won their confidence.Dullah’s reed hut, with its bamboo-supported verandah, became quite a favourite resort, and he very soon provided it with a frontage each way. In the one verandah he arranged to supply the resident, the ladies, and officers; and in the other the soldiers and sailors, and received his supplies from the boats.Sometimes the ladies walked down to buy fruit, sometimes it was the officers; but the two best customers were Tom Long and Bob Roberts, the former spending a great deal in flowers, to send to the residency—a very bad investment by the way—for the rapid rate at which they faded was astounding. Once his duty—as he called it—done, in sending a bunch of flowers, Tom Long used to indulge himself with fruit.Bob Roberts had given up sending flowers, so he had more money to spend upon his noble self in fruit, and he spent it where he was pretty well sure to encounter Tom Long, whenever he could get leave to run across to the island.Bob’s way of addressing Dullah was neither refined nor polite, for it was always, “Hallo, old cock,” and at first Dullah looked very serious; but as soon as his aide and companion interpreted to him the words, he smiled and seemed perfectly satisfied, always greeting the young midshipman with a display of his white teeth, for he considered his comparison to a fighting-cock, of which birds the Malays are passionately fond, quite a compliment.The result was that for a small sum Bob was always sure of a choice durian, which he feasted upon with great gusto, while Tom Long came and treated himself to mangosteens.Dullah always behaved to the young ensign with the greatest politeness, that young gentleman returning it with a sort of courteous condescension which said plainly enough that Dullah was to consider himself a being of an inferior race.But Dullah accepted it all in the calmest manner, smilingly removing the malodorous durians which Bob maliciously contrived to place near the seat Tom Long always occupied, and waiting upon the ensign as if he were a grandee of the first water.And here, as a matter of course, the subject of the approaching tiger-hunt was discussed, Dullah, by means of his companion, becoming quite animated about the matter, and enlarging as to the number and beauty of the tigers that would be shot.Both Tom Long and the middy were having a fruit feast one day, when Ali, who had been off to the steamer, and then came on to the island, made his appearance in search of his two friends, Dullah quietly disappearing into the back of his hut, to attend to some of the sailors who had come in, while his companion waited upon the young officers.Of course the tiger-hunt was the principal subject of discussion, and Ali promised to arrange to have one of the largest of the sultan’s elephants fitted with a roomy howdah, so that they three could be together.“I can manage that,” he said, “through my father, and we’ll have a grand day.”“But shall we get any tigers?” asked Bob.“No fear of that,” was the reply. “I’ll contrive that we shall be in the best part of the hunt.”“That will be close to the sultan, of course?”Ali’s dark eyes were raised inquiringly to the speaker’s face, but seeing that this was not meant sarcastically, he said drily,—“No; I shall arrange to be as far away from the sultan’s elephant as I can.”Bob looked at him keenly.“What, isn’t he fond of tigers?” he said sharply.“My father is the sultan’s officer, and greatly in his confidence,” said the young man quietly. “I don’t think the sultan is very fond of hunting, though.”Just at this moment, unseen, of course, by the three young men, Dullah was whispering to a rough-looking, half-naked Malay, into whose hands he placed a little roll of paper, which the man secured in the fold of his sarong, dropped into a sampan, and then hastily paddled to the mainland, where he plunged into the wood and disappeared.Meanwhile the three friends sat chatting, and Ali expressed his sorrow about the adventure the two young Englishmen had had with the slave girls.“Where are they now?” he quietly asked.“Oh, Miss Linton and her cousin have quite adopted them,” said Bob. “But surely you don’t think we did wrong.”“Speaking as the son of the Tumongong, I say yes,” replied Ali; “but as one who has imbibed English notions and ideas, I am bound to say that what you did only makes me feel more thoroughly how it is time we had a complete revolution in Parang.”“I say,” said Bob, “you’ll get stuck-up for high treason, young fellow, if you talk about revolution.”“No fear,” said Ali, laughing quietly. “My ideas are pretty well-known; but I am too insignificant a fellow for what I say to be noticed. Now if it was my father—”“Yes—if it was your father,” said Bob, “I suppose they would kris him?”Ali nodded, and after a quiet cigar under the trees, during which he complained more than once of the wrench the seizure by the crocodile had given to his muscles, he bade them good-bye, promising to have everything ready for the tiger-hunt, and, leaping into his boat, was rowed away.Ali had about a mile to walk along one of the jungle-paths to reach his father’s house, and he was going along very thoughtfully under the trees, quite alone—for he had left his men behind, to look after and secure the boat. It was comparatively cool in the shade, and he began thinking about the two young men he had left, and contrasting their civilised life with his. The savagery and barbarism by which he was surrounded disgusted him; and knowing well as he did, how the sultan and the various rajahs of the little states lived by oppressing and grinding down the wretched people around, he longed for the time when a complete change should come about, bringing with it just laws, and a salutary rule for his country. His own life troubled him in no small degree, for he saw nothing in the future but the career of a Malay chief, a ruler over slaves, living a life of voluptuous idleness, and such an existence he looked upon with horror.Could he not enter the British service in some way? he asked himself, and rise to a life of usefulness, in which he might do some good for the helpless, ground-down people amongst whom he was born?Such a life, he told himself, would be worth living, and— What was that?His hand involuntarily flew to his kris, as he heard a rustle amidst the tangled cane just ahead, and he advanced cautiously lest it should be some beast of prey, or one of the great serpents that had their existence amidst the dense undergrowth.There it was again; a quick sharp rustle amidst the trees, as of something hastily escaping, and his hand fell to his side, and he watched eagerly in advance, not hearing a cat-like step behind him, as a swarthy Malay came in his tracks, sprang upon the young man’s back, and pinioned his arms in an instant.Ali uttered a hoarse cry, and strove to draw his kris, but the effort was vain. Three more Malays darted from their hiding-places, and in a few minutes he was securely bound, with a portion of his sarong thrust into his mouth to keep him from crying for help; another Malay, who had been pulling a long rattan on ahead to imitate the sound of an escaping animal, coming from his hiding-place and smiling at the success of the ruse.“What does it mean?” Ali asked himself; but he was puzzled and confused, and his captors gave him no opportunity for further thought, but hurried him right away into the depths of the jungle through a long narrow winding track that was little used.“Why, this leads to the sultan’s old house, where the inchees were killed!” thought Ali. “Surely they are not going to kill me?”A shudder ran through him, and a strange sense of horror seemed to freeze his limbs as he was half thrust half earned along through the jungle, his captors having at times to use their heavy parangs to cut back the canes and various creepers that had made a tangle across the unfrequented track.It was as the young chief had surmised. They were taking him to the deserted house that had been formerly occupied by former inchees or princesses of the Malay people, who, for some political reason, had been cruelly assassinated by order of the present sultan, they having been krissed, and their bodies thrown into the river.Was this to be his fate? he asked himself; and if it was, in what way had he offended?The answer came to him at once. It was evident that the intercourse he had held with the English was not liked, and now in his own mind he began to have misgivings about the resident and his party. Sultan Hamet was, he knew, both cruel and treacherous. Was the position of the English people safe?Yes, he felt they were safe. He was the offender; and once more a shudder of fear ran through him at the thought of his young life being crushed out so soon; just, too, when he was so full of hopeful prospects and aspirations.His manhood asserted itself, though, directly. He was the son of a chief, he told himself; and these treacherous wretches who had seized him should see that he was no coward.Then he began to think of his father, and wondered whether it would be possible to communicate with him before he was killed.Then he felt a little more hopeful, for perhaps, after all, the instructions to his captors might not be to slay him. If it was, and he could only get his hands free, their task should not be so easy as they thought for.For two long hours was he forced through the tangled jungle, and every minute he became more convinced that his captors were bound for the place of whose existence he knew, having once come upon it during a shooting expedition, and, in spite of his followers’ horror, persisted in examining the ruins nearly choked even then with the rapid jungle growth.At last they reached the place, and the young man’s searching eye at once saw that some attempts had been made at cutting down the tangled trees.But very little time was afforded him to gratify his curiosity. He was rudely thrust forward, and then half dragged, half carried up the rough steps, some of which were broken away, and then pushed into the great centre room of what had been a large Malay house.It was very dark, for the holes in the roof had become choked with creepers, which had formed a new thatch in place of the old attap top. The bamboos that formed the floor were slippery here and there with damp moss and fungus, and in several places they were rotted away; but there was plenty to afford a fair space of flooring, and in a momentary glance Ali saw that the inner or women’s room of the house was dry, and not so much ruined as the place where he stood.“Did they kris the poor prisoners here?” he asked himself; and then his thoughts flew to the bright river upon which his boat had so often skimmed; to the clean, trim corvette, with its bright paint, smart sailors, and Bob Roberts, the merry, cheery young English lad. Then he thought of the residency, with the sweet graceful ladies, the pleasant officers, always so frank and hospitable; of Tom Long, whom he liked in spite of the ensign’s pride and stand-offishness; and lastly he asked himself what they would think of him for not keeping faith with them about the hunt, and whether they would ever know that he had been treacherously krissed in that out-of-the-way place.A grim smile crossed his lip as he wished that he might be thrown afterwards in the river, and his body float down to be seen by the English people, so that they might know why he had stopped away.And then a thrill ran through him, for a couple of his captors seized him, and in the dim green light of the place, with a few thin pencils of sunshine striking straight through like silver threads from roof to floor, he saw a third man draw his deadly kris.
They were very delightful days at the residency for the English party. The heat was certainly great, but the arrangements made as soon as they were settled down, warded that off to a great extent. The men enjoyed the life most thoroughly, especially as for sanitary reasons Doctor Bolter forbade that either the soldiers or the Jacks should be exposed to too much exertion.
The days were days of unclouded sunshine as a rule, and when this rule was broken, the change was to a heavy thunder-storm, with a refreshing rain, and then the skies were once more blue.
Fruit and flowers, and various other supplies, were brought now in abundance, especially since Dullah had been allowed to set up a trading station at the island. He monopolised the whole business, the various boats that came rowing straight to him; but he did it all in so pleasant a manner, that no one could complain. To the English people he was suavity itself. His courtesy—his gentlemanly bearing was the talk of the whole place; and regularly every morning one of his Malay slaves or bond-servants used to carry up and lay in the residency verandah a large bunch of deliciously fresh orchids, or pitcher-plants, or a great branch of some sweet-scented flowering shrub, for which he always received the ladies’ thanks in a calm, courteous way that quite won their confidence.
Dullah’s reed hut, with its bamboo-supported verandah, became quite a favourite resort, and he very soon provided it with a frontage each way. In the one verandah he arranged to supply the resident, the ladies, and officers; and in the other the soldiers and sailors, and received his supplies from the boats.
Sometimes the ladies walked down to buy fruit, sometimes it was the officers; but the two best customers were Tom Long and Bob Roberts, the former spending a great deal in flowers, to send to the residency—a very bad investment by the way—for the rapid rate at which they faded was astounding. Once his duty—as he called it—done, in sending a bunch of flowers, Tom Long used to indulge himself with fruit.
Bob Roberts had given up sending flowers, so he had more money to spend upon his noble self in fruit, and he spent it where he was pretty well sure to encounter Tom Long, whenever he could get leave to run across to the island.
Bob’s way of addressing Dullah was neither refined nor polite, for it was always, “Hallo, old cock,” and at first Dullah looked very serious; but as soon as his aide and companion interpreted to him the words, he smiled and seemed perfectly satisfied, always greeting the young midshipman with a display of his white teeth, for he considered his comparison to a fighting-cock, of which birds the Malays are passionately fond, quite a compliment.
The result was that for a small sum Bob was always sure of a choice durian, which he feasted upon with great gusto, while Tom Long came and treated himself to mangosteens.
Dullah always behaved to the young ensign with the greatest politeness, that young gentleman returning it with a sort of courteous condescension which said plainly enough that Dullah was to consider himself a being of an inferior race.
But Dullah accepted it all in the calmest manner, smilingly removing the malodorous durians which Bob maliciously contrived to place near the seat Tom Long always occupied, and waiting upon the ensign as if he were a grandee of the first water.
And here, as a matter of course, the subject of the approaching tiger-hunt was discussed, Dullah, by means of his companion, becoming quite animated about the matter, and enlarging as to the number and beauty of the tigers that would be shot.
Both Tom Long and the middy were having a fruit feast one day, when Ali, who had been off to the steamer, and then came on to the island, made his appearance in search of his two friends, Dullah quietly disappearing into the back of his hut, to attend to some of the sailors who had come in, while his companion waited upon the young officers.
Of course the tiger-hunt was the principal subject of discussion, and Ali promised to arrange to have one of the largest of the sultan’s elephants fitted with a roomy howdah, so that they three could be together.
“I can manage that,” he said, “through my father, and we’ll have a grand day.”
“But shall we get any tigers?” asked Bob.
“No fear of that,” was the reply. “I’ll contrive that we shall be in the best part of the hunt.”
“That will be close to the sultan, of course?”
Ali’s dark eyes were raised inquiringly to the speaker’s face, but seeing that this was not meant sarcastically, he said drily,—“No; I shall arrange to be as far away from the sultan’s elephant as I can.”
Bob looked at him keenly.
“What, isn’t he fond of tigers?” he said sharply.
“My father is the sultan’s officer, and greatly in his confidence,” said the young man quietly. “I don’t think the sultan is very fond of hunting, though.”
Just at this moment, unseen, of course, by the three young men, Dullah was whispering to a rough-looking, half-naked Malay, into whose hands he placed a little roll of paper, which the man secured in the fold of his sarong, dropped into a sampan, and then hastily paddled to the mainland, where he plunged into the wood and disappeared.
Meanwhile the three friends sat chatting, and Ali expressed his sorrow about the adventure the two young Englishmen had had with the slave girls.
“Where are they now?” he quietly asked.
“Oh, Miss Linton and her cousin have quite adopted them,” said Bob. “But surely you don’t think we did wrong.”
“Speaking as the son of the Tumongong, I say yes,” replied Ali; “but as one who has imbibed English notions and ideas, I am bound to say that what you did only makes me feel more thoroughly how it is time we had a complete revolution in Parang.”
“I say,” said Bob, “you’ll get stuck-up for high treason, young fellow, if you talk about revolution.”
“No fear,” said Ali, laughing quietly. “My ideas are pretty well-known; but I am too insignificant a fellow for what I say to be noticed. Now if it was my father—”
“Yes—if it was your father,” said Bob, “I suppose they would kris him?”
Ali nodded, and after a quiet cigar under the trees, during which he complained more than once of the wrench the seizure by the crocodile had given to his muscles, he bade them good-bye, promising to have everything ready for the tiger-hunt, and, leaping into his boat, was rowed away.
Ali had about a mile to walk along one of the jungle-paths to reach his father’s house, and he was going along very thoughtfully under the trees, quite alone—for he had left his men behind, to look after and secure the boat. It was comparatively cool in the shade, and he began thinking about the two young men he had left, and contrasting their civilised life with his. The savagery and barbarism by which he was surrounded disgusted him; and knowing well as he did, how the sultan and the various rajahs of the little states lived by oppressing and grinding down the wretched people around, he longed for the time when a complete change should come about, bringing with it just laws, and a salutary rule for his country. His own life troubled him in no small degree, for he saw nothing in the future but the career of a Malay chief, a ruler over slaves, living a life of voluptuous idleness, and such an existence he looked upon with horror.
Could he not enter the British service in some way? he asked himself, and rise to a life of usefulness, in which he might do some good for the helpless, ground-down people amongst whom he was born?
Such a life, he told himself, would be worth living, and— What was that?
His hand involuntarily flew to his kris, as he heard a rustle amidst the tangled cane just ahead, and he advanced cautiously lest it should be some beast of prey, or one of the great serpents that had their existence amidst the dense undergrowth.
There it was again; a quick sharp rustle amidst the trees, as of something hastily escaping, and his hand fell to his side, and he watched eagerly in advance, not hearing a cat-like step behind him, as a swarthy Malay came in his tracks, sprang upon the young man’s back, and pinioned his arms in an instant.
Ali uttered a hoarse cry, and strove to draw his kris, but the effort was vain. Three more Malays darted from their hiding-places, and in a few minutes he was securely bound, with a portion of his sarong thrust into his mouth to keep him from crying for help; another Malay, who had been pulling a long rattan on ahead to imitate the sound of an escaping animal, coming from his hiding-place and smiling at the success of the ruse.
“What does it mean?” Ali asked himself; but he was puzzled and confused, and his captors gave him no opportunity for further thought, but hurried him right away into the depths of the jungle through a long narrow winding track that was little used.
“Why, this leads to the sultan’s old house, where the inchees were killed!” thought Ali. “Surely they are not going to kill me?”
A shudder ran through him, and a strange sense of horror seemed to freeze his limbs as he was half thrust half earned along through the jungle, his captors having at times to use their heavy parangs to cut back the canes and various creepers that had made a tangle across the unfrequented track.
It was as the young chief had surmised. They were taking him to the deserted house that had been formerly occupied by former inchees or princesses of the Malay people, who, for some political reason, had been cruelly assassinated by order of the present sultan, they having been krissed, and their bodies thrown into the river.
Was this to be his fate? he asked himself; and if it was, in what way had he offended?
The answer came to him at once. It was evident that the intercourse he had held with the English was not liked, and now in his own mind he began to have misgivings about the resident and his party. Sultan Hamet was, he knew, both cruel and treacherous. Was the position of the English people safe?
Yes, he felt they were safe. He was the offender; and once more a shudder of fear ran through him at the thought of his young life being crushed out so soon; just, too, when he was so full of hopeful prospects and aspirations.
His manhood asserted itself, though, directly. He was the son of a chief, he told himself; and these treacherous wretches who had seized him should see that he was no coward.
Then he began to think of his father, and wondered whether it would be possible to communicate with him before he was killed.
Then he felt a little more hopeful, for perhaps, after all, the instructions to his captors might not be to slay him. If it was, and he could only get his hands free, their task should not be so easy as they thought for.
For two long hours was he forced through the tangled jungle, and every minute he became more convinced that his captors were bound for the place of whose existence he knew, having once come upon it during a shooting expedition, and, in spite of his followers’ horror, persisted in examining the ruins nearly choked even then with the rapid jungle growth.
At last they reached the place, and the young man’s searching eye at once saw that some attempts had been made at cutting down the tangled trees.
But very little time was afforded him to gratify his curiosity. He was rudely thrust forward, and then half dragged, half carried up the rough steps, some of which were broken away, and then pushed into the great centre room of what had been a large Malay house.
It was very dark, for the holes in the roof had become choked with creepers, which had formed a new thatch in place of the old attap top. The bamboos that formed the floor were slippery here and there with damp moss and fungus, and in several places they were rotted away; but there was plenty to afford a fair space of flooring, and in a momentary glance Ali saw that the inner or women’s room of the house was dry, and not so much ruined as the place where he stood.
“Did they kris the poor prisoners here?” he asked himself; and then his thoughts flew to the bright river upon which his boat had so often skimmed; to the clean, trim corvette, with its bright paint, smart sailors, and Bob Roberts, the merry, cheery young English lad. Then he thought of the residency, with the sweet graceful ladies, the pleasant officers, always so frank and hospitable; of Tom Long, whom he liked in spite of the ensign’s pride and stand-offishness; and lastly he asked himself what they would think of him for not keeping faith with them about the hunt, and whether they would ever know that he had been treacherously krissed in that out-of-the-way place.
A grim smile crossed his lip as he wished that he might be thrown afterwards in the river, and his body float down to be seen by the English people, so that they might know why he had stopped away.
And then a thrill ran through him, for a couple of his captors seized him, and in the dim green light of the place, with a few thin pencils of sunshine striking straight through like silver threads from roof to floor, he saw a third man draw his deadly kris.