Middy and Ensign

G. Manville Fenn

"Middy and Ensign"

Chapter One.

On Board The “Startler”.

The close of a hot day on board Her Majesty’s ship “Startler,” whose engines kept up a regular pulsation as the screw-propeller churned the water astern into golden and orange foam. The dappled sky and the rippled sea were a blaze of colour; crimson, scarlet, burnished copper, orange chrome, dead, and flashing gold,—all were there, on cloud edge and wave slope, mingled with purples, and greens, and blues, as the sun slowly descended to his rest.

There had been a general disposition all day long to lie under awnings, and pant “like tired dogs,” so Bob Roberts the midshipman said; but now officers and men, in the lightest of garments, were eagerly looking for the cool evening breeze, and leaning over the bulwarks, gazing at the wondrous sunset sky and gorgeous sea.

The deck of the clean, smart-looking vessel had a very picturesque aspect, dotted as it was with groups of officers and men; for in addition to the crew, the “Startler” carried four companies of Her Majesty’s somethingth foot, the escort of the British Resident and his suite, bound for Campong Allee, the chief town of Rajah Hamet, on the Parang River, west coast of the Malay peninsula.

The Resident was to be the help and adviser of the Mohammedan potentate, who had sought the protection of the British Government; and to fix him in his position, and save him from the assaults of the various inimical petty rajahs around, the corvette was to lie for some months in the river, and the residency was to be turned into a fort, garrisoned by the troops under Major Sandars.

Bob Roberts, a fair, good-looking, curly-headed lad of sixteen, was standing with his back leaned against the bulwarks, his cap thrust back, and his hands deep in his pockets, staring defiantly across the deck at a lad of about a year or so older, who, as he stood very stiff and upright by the cabin ladder, returned the stare with interest.

The latter had just buckled on his sword, and, in spite of the heat, buttoned up his undress coatee to the chin, ready for the short spell of drill which he knew would take place before the officers dined; and after giving the finishing-touch to his gloves, he rather ostentatiously raised his sword, then hanging to the full length of its slings, and hooked it on to his belt.

“What a jolly shame it is that we should only carry a beggarly little dirk,” said Bob Roberts to himself, as he tried to look sneeringly at the young ensign before him; for the latter came across the deck with rather a swaggering stride, and stood before the midshipman.

“Well, young Jack tar,” he said, with a touch of contempt in his tone.

“Well, young Pipeclay,” retorted the middy. “I say, how tightly you’ve laced your stays to-day. Mind where you go, or you’ll get some pitch on your lovely uniform. My word, how handsome you look!”

“I tell you what it is, Master Bob, or Robert Roberts,” said the young ensign, flushing, “if I did not feel that I was stooping by so doing, I should tell you that you were an impudent puppy of a boy, and give you a good caning.”

“No, no! please pray don’t do that, Mr Ensign Long, or Tom Long, or Long Tom, or whatever you call yourself,” retorted the middy, assuming an aspect of mock terror. “You frighten me into fits almost; and if you did try to cane me you’d split that coatee of yours all up the back, or break your staylace, or do yourself some mischief, and—”

Just then there was the sound of a bugle, followed by the tramp of feet; and the young officer, scowling fiercely, turned half-right, and as he did so let his sword down, so that the end of the scabbard might clatter against the white deck as he marched off to where the men were assembling, while the middy burst into a hearty laugh.

“You two gents is allus a quarrelling,” growled a wonderfully copper-faced old sailor, giving his lower jaw a twist. “You puts me in mind of the gamecocks as the Malay niggers we’re going amongst keeps, to strut up and shake out their hackles afore they has a set-to.”

“Well, he is so cocky, Dick,” said the middy, “and struts about, and—”

“That’s what I say, sir,” said the old sailor, leaning his arms on the bulwark, “just like a gamecock.”

“And assumes such an air of superiority,” continued the middy.

“Just like you do, sir, to’rds us common sailors,” said the man, chuckling.

“Don’t you tell lies, Dick,” said the lad sharply. “I always treat the sailors as an officer and a gentleman should.”

“So you do, sir, so you do! and it was only my gammon. But you do wish you was a swaddy now, and wore a red coat instead of a blue.”

“No I don’t, Dick,” said the lad colouring; “but I do think we naval officers ought to wear swords, the same as those boy-soldiers.”

“So you ought, sir;” said the sailor, winking to himself; “but never you mind about that, sir. If so be as it comes to a brush with the niggers, I’ll grind you up a cutlash, with a hedge so sharp as you might shave yourself with it. Perhaps you’d like me to do it now, sir, if your razor is feeling a bit dull?”

“Now, look here, old Dick Dunnage,” said the middy; “that’s cheek; and I won’t have cheek from you, so I tell you.”

“Cheek, sir,” said the old sailor, with assumed innocence. “I didn’t mean to shave only your cheek, sir, but your chin as well.”

“Now that’ll do, Dick. I’m not ashamed of having no beard, and I’m not ashamed of being a boy, so now then.”

“Course you ain’t, sir. There, I didn’t mean nothing disrespectful. It was only my fun. This here ’bacca as you give me, sir, baint the best I ever had. Lor! how hot them poor fellows do look, buttoned and belted up as they is,” he continued, as the soldiers fell into line. “It’s a deal better to be a sailor, Master Bob.”

“Ever so much, Dick,” said the middy. “How long is it since you were out here, Dick?”

“How long, sir?” and the sailor thoughtfully, as he sprinkled the sea with a little tobacco juice; “six year.”

“And have you been more than once, Dick?”

“Four times altogether, sir. Let’s see: I was at Singapore, and at Penang, and Malacky, and up the country at a place they called Bang, or Clang, or something or another.”

“And what sort of a country is it, Dick?” said the boy eagerly.

“Wonderful country; all palm-trees and jungles, and full of rivers and creeks, where the long row-boats, as they call prahus, runs up.”

“Those are the pirates’ boats, Dick?”

“That’s right, sir; and precious awkward things they are to catch, Lord love you! I’ve been after ’em in cutter and pinnace, firing our bow gun among them, and the men pulling like mad to get up alongside; but they generally dodged in and out of some of these mangrove creeks till they give us the slip, and we had to pull back.”

“Shouldn’t I like to be in chase of one of the scoundrelly prahus!” cried the lad, with his eyes flashing.

“That you would, sir, I’ll lay,” said the old sailor; “and wouldn’t you lay into ’em with that very sharp-edged cutlash I touches up for you!”

“Now look here, Dick, you’re chaffing,” said the lad; “now just drop it.”

“All right, sir,” said the man, with a laugh twinkling at the corner of his lips.

“It is a very fine country though, isn’t it, Dick?”

“Wonderful, sir. There’s gold, and tin, and copper, and precious stones.”

“Did you ever find any, Dick?”

“Well no, sir; but I’ve known them as has found gold in the rivers. The Chinees gets most on it.”

“There now you’re chaffing again, Dick,” cried the lad. “Chinese indeed! Why we’re not going to China.”

“’Course we aint, sir, but the Chinees swarm in the place we’re going to. I ant chaffing now; this here’s all true—as true as that the chaps all wears a dagger sort of a thing with a crooked handle, and calls it a crease.”

“Yes, I know they all wear the kris,” said the lad.

“Yes, sir, and a plaid kilt, just like a Scotchman.”

“What?”

“A plaid kilt, like a Scotchman, sir, and they calls it a say rong; and the big swell princes has it made of silk, and the common folks of cotton.”

“Is this gammon, Dick?”

“Not a bit on it, sir. They wears that crease stuck in it; and they carries spears—limbings they calls ’em—and they can throw ’em a wonderful way.”

“They poison the kris, don’t they, Dick?”

“No, sir, I don’t think they do,” said the sailor. “I asked one man out there if they didn’t; and he pulls his’n out of its sheath, and it was all dingy like, and as sharp as a razor, and he says in his barbarous lingo, as a man put into English for me, as his knife would kill a man without poison.”

“What sort of wild beasts are there, Dick?”

“Tigers, sir.”

“Honour bright, Dick?”

“Honour bright, sir; lots on ’em. They feeds ’em on Chinees.”

“Feed them on Chinese, Dick?”

“Well sir, the tigers help theirselves to the coolies when they’re at work.”

“Anything else, Dick?”

“Lor, bless you! yes, sir; there’s elephants.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, sir. I’ve seen ’em, heaps o’ times; and rhinosseress, and hippypotimies, and foreign birds, and snakes.”

“Are there snakes, Dick?”

“Are there snakes! He says, are there snakes?” said Dick, apostrophising the sea. “Why the last time as ever I was there, they caught a boa-constrictor as was—”

“Don’t make him too long, Dick,” said the boy laughing.

“I won’t make him too long,” said the sailor solemnly. “Let’s see, sir; this here ship’s ’bout hundred and fifty foot long.”

“Yes, Dick, but the boa-constrictor was longer than that,” said the lad, laughing.

“I won’t go to deceive you, Mister Roberts,” said Dick, “no more than I did when I was learning you how to knot and splice. That there boa-constrictor was quite a hundred foot long.”

“Get out!”

“Well, say fifty, sir.”

“No, nor yet fifty, Dick.”

“Well, sir, not to zaggerate about such things, if that there sarpent as I see with my own eyes—”

“Why you couldn’t see it with anybody else’s, Dick.”

“No, sir, but I might have seen it wi’ a spy glass. This there sarpent as I see it lying down stretched out straight was a good twenty-five foot.”

“Perhaps that may have been, Dick,” said Bob Roberts, thoughtfully.

“Yes, sir, it were all that; and when it was alive it must have been fifty foot at least.”

“Why, Dick?”

“Cause they stretches out so, sir, just like worms in the garden at home do.”

“Gammon, Dick. Serpents don’t stretch.”

“Don’t stretch, sir! Just you wait till you get a thirty-footer twissen and twining round you, and see if they don’t stretch.”

“All right, Dick; and when he does, you come and pinch his tail, and make him open his mouth; and when he does that you pop in a bit of your nasty tobacco, and he’ll leave off, and go like a shot.”

The old sailor chuckled, and said something about Mister Bob Roberts being a nice boy, while the party in question walked aft to see the company of soldiers on deck put through half-an-hour’s drill, making a point of staring hard and derisively at the young ensign, who saw the lad’s looks, grew angry, from growing angry became confused, and incurred the captain’s anger by giving the wrong order to the men, some of whom went right, knowing what he ought to have said, while others went wrong, and got the company hopelessly confused.

The result was that Ensign Long, of her Majesty’s somethingth foot, was severely snubbed, just as Mr Linton the resident, and his daughter Rachel Linton, were looking on.

“I wouldn’t have cared if they had not been there,” said Ensign Long to himself; “but if I don’t serve that little wretch of a middy out for this, my name is not Long.”

Chapter Two.

Introduces more Friends; with a few Words on the River Parang.

The men were dismissed, and gladly got rid of coatee, rifle, and belt, to have a lounge in the cool of the evening; the dinner was ready in the captain’s cabin, where lights already appeared; and, soon after, the tropic night came on, as if with a bound. The sky was of a purple black, studded with its myriads of stars, which were reflected with dazzling lustre from the smooth surface of the sea. But not only were the bright star shapes there to give splendour to the wave, for as far down as eye could reach through the clear water it was peopled with tiny phosphorescent atoms, moving slowly here and there, and lighting up the depths of the sea with a wonderful effulgence that was glorious to behold.

Under the vessel’s prow the divided waters flowed to right and left like liquid gold, while, where the propeller revolved beneath the stern, the sea was one lambent blaze of fire ever flashing right away, covered with starry spots that glistened, and rose, and fell, on the heaving wave.

As the evening crept on, the various lights of the ship shone out clear and bright, notably that from the binnacle, which was like a halo round the face of the sailor at the wheel. There was a faint glow from the skylights too, and a lantern was hung here and there about the quarter-deck, where soon after the officers assembled to chat and smoke, while their men in turn enjoyed their ease.

The ship rushed swiftly on its way, having passed Penang the previous day; and it was expected that on the next they would be at the mouth of the river, a native city upon which was to be the home of all for many months, perhaps for years.

The officers were discussing the character of the rajah, some being of opinion that he was a bloodthirsty tyrant and upholder of slavery, whom the British Government were making a great mistake in protecting, while others declared that according to their experience the Malays were not the cruel treacherous race they had been considered, but that they were noble, proud, and thorough gentlemen by nature, and that if they were properly treated the life of an Englishman amongst them was perfectly safe.

“Well, gentlemen,” said a little fat man, who seemed to do nothing but perspire and mop his forehead, “they say the proof of the pudding is in the eating. I know one thing, however, Parang is a glorious country for botanical specimens.”

“Just the thing for you, doctor,” said Mr Linton, the resident.

“But it won’t be just the thing for you, gentlemen,” said the little man, “for as sure as my name’s Bolter, if you don’t strictly follow out my orders some of you will be losing the number of your mess.”

“Come, that sounds well,” said a quiet-looking man in white jacket and trousers; “we are going to Parang to help to put down slavery, and we are to be put into a state of slavery by the doctor here.”

“He’ll deal gently with you sometimes,” said the grey-haired major in command of the troops. “Never turn a deaf ear to his discourses on plants, then you will be indulged.”

“What a nice revenge I could have on you, major!” said the doctor, laughing, and rubbing his hands. “Ha, ha, ha! and I could double your dose.”

“Yes,” laughed the major; “and after all it is the doctor who really commands these expeditions.”

“Ah, well,” said the little gentleman, “I’ll do the best I can for all of you. But don’t be rash, my dear boys. You must avoid night dews, and too much fruit, and over-exertion.”

“There, there, doctor,” said the major, laughing; “you needn’t trouble yourself about the last. I’ll undertake to say that none of my fellows will over-exert themselves.”

“Unless, sir, they are called upon to fight,” said a rather important voice.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure, Mr Long,” said the major seriously. “Of course we shall not study trouble then.”

The officers smiled, and looked from one to the other, greatly to Mr Tom Long’s annoyance. In fact he felt so much aggrieved at the way in which his remark had been received, that he proceeded to light a very large cigar before rising to seek another part of the deck.

“If you smoke that big strong cigar you’ll be ill, Mr Long,” said the doctor quietly.

“I’d cut it in half, Long,” said Captain Smithers, “and give the other half to young Roberts.”

“I know what I can smoke, sir,” replied the youth haughtily. “Perhaps you will take one.”

“I! No, thanks. They are too strong for me.” And with what was meant for a very haughty, injured look, Ensign Long strode slowly away.

“Thank you, doctor,” said Major Sandars. “It’s just as well to snub that young gentleman sometimes. He’s a fine young fellow, and will make a splendid officer; but really there are times when I get wondering whether we have changed places, and he is in command.”

“Oh, all boys go through that stage,” said the resident quietly. “He has just arrived at the hair-brushing, make-yourself-look-nice age, and feels at least eight-and-twenty.”

“When he is only eighteen,” said Captain Smithers.

“He is only seventeen, I believe,” said the major, “and the youngest ensign in the service. By the way, Linton, I believe Long has formed a desperate attachment for your daughter.”

“Yes, I had noticed it,” said the resident drily; “and as Ensign Long is seventeen, and my daughter twenty-three, it will be a most suitable match. But he has a rival, I see.”

Captain Smithers started slightly as the major exclaimed,—

“Who may that be?”

“Our dashing young friend, Mr Bob Roberts.”

There was a bit of a scuffle here as the whole party burst into a roar of laughter.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Roberts,” said the resident. “I did not know you were there.”

Bob Roberts felt red hot with shame and annoyance, as he made a rush and retreated from the group by whom his presence had been unperceived.

“I hope, Linton,” said Captain Horton, in command of the “Startler,” “that my youngster there has not been behaving impertinently to Miss Linton.”

“Not at all,” said the resident quietly; “both Mr Long and Mr Roberts have been full of respectful admiration for the young lady, who has sufficient common sense to behave to the silly young gentlemen as they deserve. It is all connected with the hair-brushing stage, and will, I have no doubt, help to make them both grow into fine manly young fellows by-and-by.”

“Why, I can see through the mill-stone now,” said the doctor, laughing.

“What mill-stone, doctor?”

“Why, I have been puzzling myself as to why it was those two boys were always squabbling together. I see now; they’re as jealous as can be. I say, Mr Linton, you ought not to bring such a bone of contention on board as that daughter of yours, and her cousin.”

“Seriously, my dear doctor,” said the resident, “I do sometimes feel that I am to blame for bringing those two motherless girls out into the jungle; but Rachel declared that she would not be separated from me; and Miss Sinclair, my sister’s child, seems more like one of my own, and shared her cousin’s feelings.”

“They are two ladies, Linton,” said the major, “for whom we feel the deepest respect; and, speaking selfishly, I am only too glad that my wife has a couple of such charming companions.”

“Yes,” said Captain Horton; “and if I had known what I know now, I should have let Mrs Horton have her wish, and accompany me.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said the resident, rather sadly, “I don’t know, but I have a sort of presentiment that it would have been better if we had been without ladies, or soldiers’ wives, if you come to that; for I cannot conceal from myself that we are bound upon a very risky expedition, one out of which I hope we shall all come safely.”

“Oh, we shall be safe enough,” said the major.

“Do you think there is really any danger, Mr Linton?” said Captain Smithers, rather hoarsely.

“Why, you are not afraid, are you, Smithers? Come, you must not show the white feather!”

“I am not afraid for myself, Major Sandars,” said the young captain, quietly; “and I hope I shall never show the white feather; but when there are women and children in an expedition—”

“Oh, come, come,” said the resident, gaily; “I am afraid I have been croaking. There may be danger; but when we are surrounded by such brave men as the officers and crew of the ‘Startler,’ and her Majesty’s somethingth foot, I see, after all, nothing whatever to fear.”

“Fear? no!” said Captain Horton. “Why, we could blow the whole place to Cape Horn with my guns; and the Malays would never face Sandars’ boys, with their bayonets.”

“Did you notice that sentry, Smithers?” asked the little doctor, in a low voice, of his companion, as the conversation now became less general.

“Sentry? which one?”

“This one,” said the doctor. “Don’t speak aloud, or he’ll hear you.”

“Private Gray? No, I did not notice anything. What do you mean?”

“The light of that lantern shines full on his face, and he made a movement that drew my attention when we were talking of there being danger.”

“Indeed?” said the captain.

“Yes; he was evidently listening to the conversation, and I saw him start so that he nearly dropped his piece; his face was quite convulsed, and he turned of a sickly pallor. The light was so strong upon him that I could see his lips whiten.”

“Or was it fancy, doctor?”

“Fancy? No, my lad, that was no fancy; and I hope we have not many more like him in the regiment.”

“Well, for my part,” said Captain Smithers, quietly, “I have often wished that my company was composed of Adam Grays.”

“Adam, eh? To be sure; I remember the fellow now. Well, he’s a poor descendant of the first Adam, for if that fellow is not an arrant coward my name isn’t Bolter.”

“Really, doctor, I think you do the man an injustice. He is a very superior, well educated fellow; and it has often puzzled me how he became a private soldier.”

“Scamp!” said the doctor, shortly. “Some runaway or another. The ranks of the army are made a receptacle for blackguards!”

“Hang it, doctor!” cried the young captain, warmly, “I cannot sit here and listen to such heresy. I confess that we do get some scoundrels into the army; but as a rule our privates are a thoroughly trustworthy set of fellows, ready to go through fire and water for their officers; and I only wish the country would make better provision for them when their best days are past.”

“Ah, that’s right enough,” said the doctor; “they are all what you say, and they do deserve better treatment of their country. I mean, ha, ha, ha! to make teetotallers of them this trip. I’m not going to have the men poisoned with that red hot country arrack, I can tell them.”

“It is terrible stuff, I believe.”

“Terrible? It’s liquid poison, sir! and I don’t know that I sha’n’t try and set up a private brewery of my own, so as to supply the poor fellows with a decent glass of beer.”

“Poor fellows! eh, doctor? Why, you said just now they were a set of scoundrels.”

“Well, well, well; I didn’t mean all. But look at that fellow Sim—there’s a pretty rascal for you! He’s always on the sick-list, and it’s nearly always sham.”

“I’m afraid he is a bit of a black sheep,” said Captain Smithers.

“Inky black, Smithers, inky black. I shall poison that fellow some day. But I say, my dear boy, the brewery.”

“What about it?”

“What about it? Why, it would be splendid. I mean to say it is a grand idea. I’ll get the major to let me do it.”

“My dear doctor,” said Captain Smithers, laughing, “I’m afraid if you did brew some beer, and supply it to the men, fancy would go such a long way that they would find medicinal qualities in it, and refuse to drink a drop.”

“Then they would be a set of confoundedly ungrateful scoundrels,” said the doctor, angrily, “for I should only use malt and hops.”

“And never serve it as you did the coffee that day, doctor?”

“Well, well, I suppose I must take the credit of that. I did doctor it a little; but it was only with an astringent corrective, to keep the poor boys from suffering from too much fruit.”

“Poor boys! eh, doctor? Come, come, you don’t think my brave lads are a set of scoundrels then?”

“I said before, not all—not all,” replied the doctor.

“Ah, doctor,” said Captain Smithers, “like a good many more of us, you say more than you mean sometimes, and I know you have the welfare of the men at heart.”

“Not I, my lad, not I. It’s all pure selfishness; I don’t care a pin about the rascals. All I want is to keep them quite well, so that they may not have to come bothering me, when I want my time to go botanising; that’s all.”

“And so we have fewer men on the sick-list than any regiment out here?”

“Tut! tut! Nonsense!”

Just then the ladies came up from the principal cabin, and began to walk slowly up and down the quarter-deck, evidently enjoying the delicious coolness of the night air, and the beauty of the sea and sky.

Captain Smithers sat watching them intently for a time, and then, as he happened to turn his head, he caught sight of the sentry, Adam Gray, and it struck him that he, too, was attentively watching the group of ladies. So convinced did the young officer become of this, that he could not refrain from watching him.

Once or twice he thought it was only fancy, but at last he felt sure; and a strange angry sensation sprang up in his breast as he saw the sentry’s countenance change when the ladies passed him.

“An insolent scoundrel!” he muttered. “How dare he?”

Then, as the ladies took their seats at some distance, he began thinking over what the doctor had said, and wondering whether this man, in whom he had heretofore taken a great deal of interest, was such a coward; and in spite of his angry feelings, he could only come to the conclusion that the doctor was wrong.

But at the same time what he had heard and seen that evening had not been without its effect, and he found himself irritable and vexed against this man, while his previous good feelings seemed to be completely swept away.

At last he rose impatiently, and strolled towards where the ladies were sitting, and joined in the conversation that was going on round a bucket of water that the doctor had just had dipped from over the side, and which he had displayed, full of brilliantly shining points of light, some of which emitted flashes as he stirred the water with his hands, or dipped glasses full of it, to hold up for the fair passengers to see.

“All peculiar forms of jelly-fish,” he said aloud, as if he were delivering a lecture, “and all possessing the power of emitting that beautiful phosphorescent light. There you see, ladies, if I had a spoon I could skim it off the top of this bucket of water, just like so much golden cream, and pour it into a glass. Very wonderful, is it not?”

“Look, look, doctor!” said one of the ladies, pointing to the sea, where a series of vivid flashes rapidly followed one another.

“Yes, my dear, I see,” he replied; “that was some fish darting through the water, and disturbing the medusae. If you watch you can see the same thing going on all round.”

So glorious was the aspect of the sea that the conversation gradually ceased, and all on the quarter-deck watched the ever-widening lines of golden water that parted at the stem of the corvette and gradually died away, or were mingled with the glistening foam churned up by the propeller.

For the sea seemed to be one blaze of soft lambent light, that flashed angrily wherever it was disturbed by the steamer, or the startled fish, that dashed away on every side as they swiftly ran on towards the land of swamp and jungle, of nipah and betel palm, where the rivers were bordered by mangroves, the home of the crocodile; a land where the night’s conversation had roused up thoughts of its being perhaps the burial-place of many a one of the brave hearts throbbing within the timbers of that stout ship—hearts that were to play active parts in the adventurous scenes to come.

Chapter Three.

Doctor Bolter cures one Patient, and is left with another.

“Is that Parang, that dim light out yonder, captain?” said the major, pointing to what looked like a cloud touching the water.

“Oh, no,” was the reply. “That is part of Sumatra. Our destination lies off the other bow, due east from where we are lying now.”

It was a glorious morning, and the sun at that early hour had not yet attained to its greater power. The ladies were on deck, enjoying the morning air; the soldiers were having morning parade, and looked clean and smart in their white clothes and puggarees. The sailors were giving the last touches to brass rails and cabin windows, and were coiling ropes into neat rings; and altogether the deck of the “Startler,” with its burnished guns, presented a bright and animated spectacle, every one seeming to have some business on hand.

There was a little bit bustle about the steerage ladder, where four sailors were hauling a sick man up on deck; and as soon as they had him lying in the sunshine upon a mattress, the doctor bustled up—Bob Roberts, seeing Ensign Long at hand, going up and looking on, after the two youths had exchanged a short distant nod.

“Well, Sim,” said the doctor, briskly, “how are you this morning?”

“Very—very bad, sir,” replied the invalid, a big bony-faced man, who looked very yellow.

“Put out your tongue,” said the doctor.

Private Sim put out such an enormously long tongue that Bob Roberts gave his trousers a hitch, and made believe to haul it forth by the yard, very much to the ensign’s disgust.

“That’ll do,” said the doctor, feeling the patient’s pulse, and then dropping the hand, “Now what am I to prescribe for you, Sim, eh? You feel a terrible sense of sinking, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir; terrible.”

“As if you needed strengthening food?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And some kind of stimulating drink—say wine?”

“Yes, sir,” said the patient, rolling his eyes. “I feel as if a little wine would do me good.”

“Has the buzzing sensation left your head?”

“Very nearly, sir.”

“And you don’t feel so much pressure on your chest?”

“Well, sir, not just now.”

“Less pain too, under your left shoulder?”

The major walked up just now.

“Yes, sir; it’s not quite so painful.”

“But you slept well?”

“Pretty well, sir, for me; I should think I had quite an hour’s sleep last night.”

“A whole hour, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, doctor,” said the major, “what do you think of your patient? I hope you are better, Sim?”

“Thanky kindly, sir,” said Private Sim, screwing up a terrible face.

“I was thinking which I ought to prescribe,” said the doctor, very seriously. “Sim’s is a peculiar case. There’s pressure on the brain, and also congestion of the vascular system of the spinal column.”

“Indeed!” said the major.

“Yes, sir,” replied the doctor, pursing up his lips, “and I’m hesitating between two courses.”

“Try ’em both, doctor,” said Bob Roberts, laughing with his eyes.

“Right, youngster,” said the doctor, clapping him on the shoulder, “I will. We’ll have the moist application first, and the warm dry application after.”

Private Sim screwed up his face a little tighter.

“If I might make so bold, sir,” he said in a whining voice, “I think what you’ve given me’s done me ever so much good, and all I want now is rest.”

“Rest, my man!” said the doctor. “Nonsense man! You want the most brisk and active treatment. Yours is a sluggish system, but we’ll soon put you right. Here, my lads,” he continued to the sailors, “bring a stout rope, and lash it round his chest. We’ll give him four dips overboard for the head pressure, and then four dozen on the back to increase the circulation.”

“Oh, doctor!” groaned the man, looking round for sympathy; but only to see everyone within hearing on the grin.

“Don’t you be afraid, Sim; I’ll soon put you right,” said the doctor kindly. “I’ll make a man of you.”

“I don’t think I could bear it, doctor. I mean I do really feel better, sir.”

“Let’s see if you can stand, Sim,” said the doctor.

The man rose groaning, and held on by one of the sailors, who, at a word from the doctor, slipped away, and left the invalid standing.

“You are better, decidedly, Sim. You couldn’t have done that two days ago.”

“No, sir.”

“There, now walk across the deck.”

“If I’m able to walk, sir, shall I have to be dipped?”

“Walk away, and go below to your mess, you idle, shamming scoundrel,” cried the doctor.

Private Sim opened his lips to speak, but the look he received was too much for him, and he slowly walked off, trying hard to appear ill-used, till he reached the companion ladder, down which he shuffled to the intense delight of the men.

There was no land in sight, but the sea was glorious in the brilliant sunshine—so clear and blue that the darting fish could be seen far below; and before long, Bob Roberts had borrowed a fishing-line from Dick, the old sailor, baited the hooks, and was trailing it behind the vessel, in the hope of catching enough fish for a dinner for his mess.

At first his sport was not very good; but after a time he captured a large glistening fish, evidently, from its silvery skin, belonging to the mackerel family; and this so excited Ensign Long, who had been looking on rather contemptuously, that he borrowed a line of the boatswain, and was also soon at work fishing.

The lads had such good sport that the officers looked on quite amused, and the ladies under the awning asked from time to time to be shown the glistening captives that had been taken.

Soon after the doctor joined the party, to discourse learnedly about the various fishes, which he classified as he pointed out their peculiarities, assuring his fair hearers that far more beautiful specimens might yet be taken.

Rachel Linton, a fair, very intelligent looking girl, was much interested in the doctor’s descriptions, as was also her cousin, Mary Sinclair, a dark, handsome, but delicate, brunette, of nineteen, full of questions, which the doctor took great delight in answering.

Bob Roberts and the young ensign vied one with the other in hurrying up with their fish, as they were successful, Ensign Long looking hopelessly disgusted as he saw the middy catch and carry three fish in succession beneath the awning, while he could not get a bite.

Soon, however, his turn came, and with a look of triumph he bore a long silvery fish with bars of azure blue across its scaly armour, to where the ladies were seated, Bob Roberts biting his lips as he heard the exclamations of pleasure uttered by each of the cousins in turn.

“Never mind,” he muttered, “I shall have a startler directly, see if I don’t,” and he fished away, changing his bait, or replacing it as it was lost in consequence of the rapid motion of the steamer through the water; but all in vain; not a single fish came to his side, while on the other side Ensign Long was having tremendous luck.

Wearied out with trying, the lad sat at last holding his line in one hand, but paying no heed to it, for his eyes were directed beneath the awning, where all looked dim as compared with the sun-glare outside; and here from time to time he saw Long enter with some new prize, which the doctor took, and held up to the ladies, the more brilliantly coloured being consigned to one or the other of a couple of buckets of water, which one of the soldiers in undress uniform, whom the middy recognised as the sentry of the previous night, kept replenishing with fresh water dipped from the sea.

“He isn’t a bad-looking chap,” said the young midshipman, as he sat on the bulwarks in a very insecure position. “I wish I was filling the buckets and holding up the fish for the ladies to see.”

He glanced once at his trailing line, and saw the bait flash in the water, then he glanced back at the party beneath the awning.

“How black Captain Smithers looks,” he said. “That soldier must have splashed him, or something, for he looks as if he was going to have him tried by court-martial. Here I think I shall drop it. Hang it all! if that fellow Long hasn’t caught another. What did she say?” he cried, drawing in his breath with a hiss. “‘You are ever so much more fortunate than Mr Roberts.’ Oh, I’d give something to have her say that to me, and—murder! I’ve got him this time—”

He made a convulsive grasp at a rope, and just saved himself from falling overboard, for a vigorous snatch made by a large fish at his bait had been quite sufficient to disturb his equilibrium, his activity alone saving him from a terrible ducking, if not from being drowned.

He recovered himself though, and thought no more of his escape in the excitement of finding that he had hooked a heavyish fish, and which took a good deal of playing; for just as it seemed exhausted, there was a fierce, furious snatch at the line, and the captive appeared to have grown heavier.

“He’s almost too heavy to lift out, Dick,” he cried to the old sailor who came up.

“Ease him then, sir, and take it easy,” said Dick; “tire him quite out, and then haul in quickly.”

Bob Roberts obeyed, and to his intense delight, gradually hauled his fish to the surface, where he could not make out what it was by its shape, only that it was a blaze of blue, and gold, and silver, flashing in the sun.

“Hi, doctor! I’ve got such a beauty!” he shouted, dragging at the stout line, till with a rush he hoisted his fish on to the deck.

“Well, that’s a rum ’un, sir,” cried the sailor. “Why it’s a young sea sarpent.”

“What have you got?” said the doctor eagerly, as the lad hurried excitedly beneath the awning with his prize.

“I don’t know, doctor,” said the lad. “But look, Miss Linton—Miss Sinclair, isn’t it curious?”

The lad’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled with delight, as he held up by the line what seemed to be a good-sized fish, of five or six pounds’ weight, with a very long brilliantly-coloured eel twined tightly round and round it, in a perfect spiral, several feet in length.

“Why, you’ve caught a fish, boy,” said the doctor, examining the prize through his glasses, “and it has been seized and constricted by a sea snake. Dear me! bliss my soul! that’s very curious. Look here, Captain Smithers, and ladies. Gray, a fresh bucket of water. Most singular thing!”

“I thought he got precious heavy all at once, doctor,” said the lad, looking from one to the other. “That chap darted at him then.”

“Ye–es, I suppose so,” said the doctor. “Lovely colouring, to be sure! See how tightly it has constricted the fish, ladies. Just like a piece of woodbine round a stick, only the coils are more close.”

“It is very beautiful,” said Miss Linton, approaching more closely, so that she could feast her eyes on the vivid colouring of the water-snake, which was about five feet in length, but whose coils seemed to grow more close as the fish ceased to flap as it was held up by the middy.

“I’m glad you like it, Miss Linton,” he said, darting a triumphant glance at where Ensign Long was now fishing in vain. “He didn’t catch two at once,” the boy muttered to himself.

“I wouldn’t go too close, Miss Linton,” said the doctor, “for some of these sea snakes are reputed to be poisonous. Lovely thing, isn’t it, Smithers?”

“Very,” said the young captain drily; “but pray take care, Miss Linton.”

“I am not afraid,” said the lady, looking up at him with a quiet air of confidence, just as Private Gray bore in a fresh bucket of limpid sea water, and set it down at her feet.

“Now then,” said the doctor; “hold still, Roberts.”

“All right, sir; but it’s jolly heavy,” said the boy.

“Then give the line a shake, and the snake will fall into the bucket. Or stop; I will.”

But he was too late, for the lad had already given the line a quick shake, with the result that the snake uncoiled like lightning, and darted at the nearest object, that object being Miss Linton’s arm, round which it coiled with the rapidity of the thong of a whip round a stick.

The resident’s daughter was brave and strong minded, but as she felt the contact of the creature’s cold scales upon her bare arm she could not forbear from shrieking aloud; but even as she uttered the cry, the young soldier, Gray, had caught the snake round the neck, causing it to loosen its hold, but only to coil round his own bare arm, round which it twisted, and twice seized the wrist with its little mouth.

“The snake has bitten me,” said the young man, hoarsely, as he dashed its head rapidly against one of the chairs, and then cast it, broken but writhing, upon the white deck.

All this took but a few moments, and then Private Gray stood, gazing with a strange wild longing look at Miss Linton, as the doctor exclaimed,—

“Quick, Roberts, to my cabin; the ammonia. Ladies, go away, please, quickly.”

He caught the young soldier, and forced him back in one of the chairs as he spoke, for already a ghastly pallor was overspreading his countenance.

“Is it—is it poisonous, doctor?” whispered Miss Linton, as she darted a horrified look at Gray.

“Deadly! my dear young lady,” he replied hastily. “The poor fellow has saved your life. And only last night,” he thought, “I said he was a coward.”

Chapter Four.

Doctor Bolter rubs his Hands, and Captain Smithers looks Green.

As soon as Bob Roberts returned with the ammonia, and realised what was wrong, he pulled out his pocket-knife, placed his foot on the reptile’s neck, as it still writhed feebly, and cut off its head.

He had hardly completed his task though, before he was summoned by the doctor to assist him. Here, however, he was forestalled by Miss Linton, who, ignoring the request to go, had in the most business-like way helped to lower the fainting man upon the deck, and supported his head while the stimulant was administered.

“Pray go away, Miss Linton,” exclaimed Doctor Bolter then; “this is only a task for a trained nurse.”

“I am a trained nurse,” said Rachel Linton, quietly; and drawing a cushion from a chair, she placed it on the deck, lowered the injured man’s head upon it, and then, seeing the doctor’s intention, held the patient’s arm while he freely used a lancet about the tiny marks made by the serpent’s teeth, and rubbed in the ammonia.

Captain Smithers meanwhile had not spoken, but stood watching Miss Linton, with a strange look upon his countenance, shuddering, though, once or twice, as he saw the ghastly face of the injured man, and his fixed half-closed eyes.

“What can I do next, doctor?” said Miss Linton, in a quiet, eager voice.

“Nothing at present, my dear young lady,” he said, looking at her admiringly. “Why, what a brave-hearted girl you are!”

“Brave?” she said. “What, to do this for one who saved me perhaps from death? But tell me, doctor, will he live?”

“I don’t know; I hope so; it is impossible to say. It is such a rare thing for a man to be bitten by one of these creatures. I never had such a case before, and I ought to have known better; but I did not know it was a dangerous species of snake.”

He held the soldier’s pulse as he spoke, and then frowned, and mixing more ammonia and water, raised the poor fellow’s head, and poured the liquid between his half-clenched teeth.

“Try and swallow it, Gray, my good fellow.”

The young man opened his eyes as if awakened from sleep, stared about till they rested on Miss Linton, when they closed again, and he drank the stimulant with difficulty.

“Stand back, please. Captain Smithers, keep every one away, and let us have all the air we can.”

Thus appealed to, the young officer motioned back those who pressed forward, the news of the accident having spread through the ship, and all who dared ascending to the quarter-deck.

“How provoking!” exclaimed Major Sandars. “One of my best men too, doctor. Really, Bolter, I must put a stop to your natural history researches.”

“Confound it all, major!” cried the little doctor, angrily; “it was an accident. That young dog caught the snake, and—no—no! it’s all right, Roberts. It was my fault; I ought to have foreseen what would happen.”

Ensign Long had begun to congratulate himself on the fact that Bob Roberts was about to have a good wigging, but found out that he was wrong, and felt annoyed to see how important a part the lad played in the proceedings to fight back the effects of the deadly poison.

“Take my coat off, Roberts,” said the doctor. “Gently, boy, gently. That’s right. Now the ammonia; good. Raise his head a little. Poor fellow, we mustn’t let him slip through our fingers. That’s it, Miss Linton. Miss Sinclair, will you get a big fan, and give him all the air you can?”

He was obeyed to the letter; while Captain Horton and the resident stood near, ready to help in any way they could, for the news had caused the deepest concern through out the ship.

“Yah!” cried Private Sim, with an ugly snarl; “there’s yer nasty favouritism. See how they’re all a-cuddling and messing that there Gray up, orficers and women and all. Might ha’ died afore they’d ha’ done anything for me.”

“Why, you caulking, miching lubber,” growled old Dick, “you had ten times as much trouble ’stowed on you as you deserved. Tell you what, my lads,” he continued, addressing a crowd of soldiers and sailors who had been discussing the event forward, “it’s this here sorter thing as makes me saddersfied to be a common sailor. Yer orficers may row and bully yer sometimes for not being smart enough; but I never knowed a orficer yet as wasn’t ready to run the same risks as the men; and when you’re down, Lor’ bless my ’art, nothin’s too good for you. ’Member the skipper coming and bringing us horindges, Joe Tomson, when we had the feckshus fever?”

“Ay, ay, mate,” growled a big sun-tanned sailor.

“Right you are, mate,” said a big sergeant. “It’s just so with us. I’ve knowed our officers run out under fire to bring in wounded men, and get shot down theirselves. You remember Captain Smithers doing that, out in China, Billy Mustard?”

“That I do,” said a fair red-faced private, with a merry look in his eyes. “He brought me in on his back. I’m waiting to see him down some day, and carry him in.”

“To be sure,” growled old Dick. “Orficers is orficers, and there ’aint one aboard this ship as wouldn’t jump overboard to save any man, even if it was such a grumbling warmint as old Sim here.”

Private Sim snarled, and showed a set of yellow teeth, as he held out the palm of his left hand to give it a severe punch with his right fist; after which ebullition he seemed to feel much better, and went and leaned over the side.

“I hope Private Gray will get better,” said Billy Mustard, who was a great favourite with the men from the fact that he was famous as a fiddler, and could rattle off anything from “Money Musk” up to “The Triumph;” and as to hornpipes, the somethingth said there wasn’t a man in the service who could touch him. Billy Mustard had won the hearts of the sailors, too, during the voyage, from the way in which he sang “The Death of Nelson,” with many another naval ditty, to which the whole forecastle could rattle out a hearty chorus. “I hope Private Gray will get better,” said Billy.

“Ah, we all hope that,” said Sergeant Lund. “Not that Adam Gray’s a friend of mine. He’s too much of a gentleman; and when he’s going through his drill, it always seems as if one was putting a young officer through his facings. Not that I wish him any harm; but if he’s a gentleman he ought to have got his commission, and kept out of the ranks.”

“Well, sergeant,” said Billy Mustard, “I don’t see that it matters much what a man is, so long as he’s ready for dooty, and I will say as Gray never sticks himself up, but does his dooty like a man.”

“Yah! he’ll turn out no good,” snarled Private Sim, looking round.

“Well, for my part,” said old Dick, “if I was to go in for being cunnle of a regiment, I should like that there regiment to be all private Simses, and then I’d have all the officers doctors.”

“And a big hospital for barracks,” said the sergeant, laughing. “And rations of physic served out every day,” cried Billy Mustard.

There was a hearty laugh at this; but it was checked directly, as the men recalled that one of their number was lying in grievous peril; while Private Sim glanced round, uttered a snarl like that of a hyena, then turned back and gave his left hand another punch.

“Laugh at me, will yer?” he growled, “when I’m so jolly ill. Just let me get hold o’ that there fiddle o’ yours, Master Billy Mustard, and I’ll smash it, see if I don’t.”

He seemed to feel better after this threat, and stood leaning over the bulwarks, and spitting down into the sea, while one of the sailors went aft to learn some tidings concerning Adam Gray.

Meanwhile, the centre of an anxious knot of observers, the young soldier lay breathing very feebly in spite of the stimulants frequently administered; and Bob Roberts, as he knelt close by on the deck, watched with a strange feeling of heart-sickness coming over him. He could not conceal from himself the fact that he had been the cause of all the suffering; and full of self-reproach, he knelt there, considering whether he should ever forget that scene, with the pale face of the fine young fellow lying before him.

Gray seemed to be in no great pain, but to be suffering more from a strange delirium caused by the working of the tiny drops of poison injected in his veins. He muttered a few words occasionally, and started convulsively from time to time; but when spoken to, he calmed down, and lay, apparently, waiting for his end.

“Don’t know; can’t say,” was all that could be got from the doctor, as the hours crept on—hours when the heat of the sun was terrible; but no one left the injured man’s side.

The specimens in the buckets were forgotten, and died; the cause of the misfortune grew dry and shrivelled, where it had twined and wriggled itself, half a dozen yards away, the dangerous head being thrown overboard by Bob Roberts, and swallowed by a fish before it had descended many feet.

Both the resident and the captain had tried to persuade the ladies to leave the sick man’s side; but they had declined to go, and Doctor Bolter had nodded approval.

“Thank you, my dears, thank you,” he said. “It’s very kind of you; and I’m glad enough, I can tell you, to find that you’ve both got something in you besides fine young ladyism.”

“I wish we could do more,” said Rachel Linton, quietly.

“So do I, my dear,” said the little doctor; “and I wish I could do more, but I have done all I can. Nature must do the rest.”

The long, hot day passed on, and evening was approaching before the doctor took anything more than a glass of wine and water and a biscuit; and at last, when every one had judged by poor Gray’s aspect that all now was over, and Major Sandars came up and thanked him for his patient endeavours to save the poor fellow’s life, the doctor felt his patient’s pulse once more, raised the closed eyelids and gazed at the pupils, and then rose up, dropped into a cane lounging chair, and began softly rubbing his knees.

“Now, ladies,” he said firmly, “go below and dine. I order it. Sandars—Horton—if you have any good feeling left in you, you’ll send relays of Jacks and privates to rub my poor knees. I say,” he said, looking round with a smile, “that was a close shave, wasn’t it?”

“Close shave?” said the major, as the ladies drew back, apparently hurt at the doctor’s levity; and poor Bob Roberts, kneeling at the injured man’s feet, lowered his head so that those near should not see the unmanly tears gathering in his eyes, though he was somewhat comforted on seeing that Ensign Long was almost as much moved.

“Yes,” said the doctor; “you might have got all the nobs of the profession, and I don’t believe they could have done better.”

“No,” said Captain Horton rather coldly. “You have worked hard, Doctor Bolter.”

“Hard? I should think I have. I tell you what it is, sir, you would not have felt more pleased than I do if you had been made an admiral.”

“But the man is dying fast, Bolter,” said Major Sandars.

“Dying, sir? why he has been dying fast all day.”

“Then is not this rather unseemly before ladies?” said Captain Horton.

“Unseemly? Before ladies?” said the doctor in a puzzled way. “Why, can’t you see for yourselves? Ha, ha, ha!” he said, laughing softly. “Don’t you see the remedies have beaten the poison. There’s a delightful sleep he has dropped into.”

“Sleep?” exclaimed Miss Linton.

“To be sure, my dear. Look what a lovely perspiration is coming out on his forehead. There, come away, and let him sleep. He’ll be nearly well by to-morrow morning.”

Bob Roberts leaped up from the deck, as if sent by a sling, made a dash at Ensign Long, swung him round, indulged in a kind of war dance indicative of triumph; then looked extremely ashamed of himself, and dashed off into the gun-room to spread the news that the doctor had saved Gray’s life.

“That’s not a bad sort of boy,” said the doctor, looking after Bob; and then, as Ensign Long raised his chin in the air, and looked very dignified, “tell you what Sandars, if I were you I’d get Captain Horton to make a swop. Let’s give him Tom Long in exchange for the middy. What do you say?”

Tom Long marched off, looking very much disgusted; and Sergeant Lund having been summoned to bring a file to watch by the sick man, the much relieved party went down to dinner.

Chapter Five.

Up the Parang River.

That evening the anchor was dropped off the mouth of the Parang river; and as the night closed in all eyes were directed to the thickly-wooded country on each side of the stream, whose banks were hidden by the dense growth of mangrove trees, which, now that the tide was up, seemed to be growing right out of the water, which those on board could see through their glasses to be smoothly flowing amidst the stems.

Further inland tall columnar nipah palms could be seen fringing the tidal way, and apparently growing amidst the mangroves, with the water washing their roots.

Dense green vegetation, and a broad flowing muddy river—that was all that greeted the eyes of the eager lookers-on, till darkness set in. Not a trace of town or village, not even a fisherman’s hut or a boat. All was vegetation and the flowing river.

Once Bob Roberts thought he saw a boat coming down the stream, and in the distance it very strangely resembled some little craft with upright mast and dark sail; but as it came nearer it proved to be a patch of root-matted vegetable soil, washed from the bank, and having in the centre a small nipah palm, which slowly passed from might, to be cast ashore upon some mud bank, and again take root.

But as the darkness fell, the distant glitter as of tiny sparks amidst the trees took the attention of all. They were too distant to see the phenomenon to perfection; but the faint sparkle was very beautiful as the myriads of fire-flies, by which it was caused, flitted and changed from place to place, which was now dark, now scintillating in a most peculiar manner.

The captain had decided not to attempt the passage of the river till morning, all on board being very ignorant of its entrance, though, judging from the configuration of the coast, the most they had to dread was being grounded for a time on some bank of mud or sand. This part of the coast was so sheltered that there was no surf; and when the anchor was let go, the corvette swung round easily, to lie almost without motion on the calm still waters of the river’s mouth.

But though no sign of human habitation had been visible, as the night wore on those on board became fully aware of the fact that the jungle had plenty of denizens, for from time to time strange roarings were heard, and then splashings in the water, as of wild creatures bathing. Once or twice too, as Bob Roberts and Ensign Long, companions for the time being, if not friends, leaned over the bulwarks, they fancied they could hear some great beast swimming towards them.

“What can it be?” said Bob in an awe-stricken whisper, as the strange snorting and splashing grew nearer.

“’Nosserus,” said Dick the sailor, who generally contrived to be pretty close to the youths, and depended upon them largely for his supplies of tobacco. “It’s one on ’em having a wallow, like a big pig, somewhere in the shallows.”

“That’s a tiger, isn’t it!” said Tom Long, as a hoarse roar came over the smooth surface of the water.

“Shouldn’t wonder, young gentlemen, if it were; but I’ll say good night, for ’taint my watch, and I think a turn in won’t be bad preparation for a hard day to-morrow.”

Everyone expected a busy day upon the morrow; but it was long before the two youths could tear themselves away from the side of the vessel, for there was something so mysterious and weird in the look of the black water, in which the stars just glimmered; while right before them all looked dark and strange, save where there was the distant twinkling of the fire-flies, ever changing in position.

“Hark!” whispered Long; “there’s a splash again. That can’t be close to the shore.”

“No, that’s not a hundred yards from the ship. I say, Long,” whispered Bob with a shudder, “I shouldn’t much like to swim ashore. I’ll be bound to say that was a crocodile.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” was the reply; and they still stood trying to make out the cause of the strange splashing noises, till, utterly tired out, they sought their cots, and were soon fast asleep.

The getting up of the anchor roused the two lads soon after daybreak, by which time steam was up; and with the faint morning mists slowly rising like silver gauze above the dense belts of trees, the steamer began slowly to move ahead.

The tide was flowing, and the mangroves were deep in the water, though not so deep but that their curious network of roots could be seen, like a rugged scaffold planted in the mud to support each stem; while as they slowly went on, the dense beds of vegetation, in place of being a mile off on either side, grew to be a half a mile, and soon after but a hundred yards, as the steamer seemed to be going straight into a broad bank ahead.

As they approached, though, a broad opening became visible, where the course of the stream swung round to the right; and after passing a point, the river rapidly contracted to about a hundred yards in width, and soon after was narrower, but still a smoothly flowing stream by the eternal mangroves. At last some signs of life began to appear, in the shape of an occasional crocodile, which glided off a muddy bank amidst the mangrove roots, into the water. Here and there, too, the long snout of one of these hideous reptiles could be seen, prone on the surface of the water, just above which appeared the eyes, with their prominences, as the reptile turned its head slowly from side to side, in search of some floating object that might prove to be good for food.

The sight of these beasts was too much for the officers, who were soon armed with rifles, making shots at the muddy-hued creatures, apparently with no other effect than for the long horny head to slowly sink beneath the water.

Captain Smithers proved himself to be the best shot, for after splashing the water with a bullet close to the head of one of the saurians, his attention was drawn to another, between the steamer and the shore, apparently quite unconscious that the vessel could injure it in the least.

Judging from the size of the head, this was apparently the largest crocodile that had been seen; and taking long and careful aim, Captain Smithers at last fired, when the monster lashed the water furiously for a few moments with its tail.

“He’s hit, and badly,” said Doctor Bolter. “It’s a big one, too. What a splendid specimen it would make!”

As he spoke, his words as to the size of the creature were verified, for the crocodile suddenly shot itself half out of the water, showing its head, shoulders, and a good deal of its horny back, before turning over and diving down, displaying its hind legs and tail before it disappeared.

“That was eighteen feet long if it was an inch,” said the doctor, excitedly; “but he has gone to the bottom.”

“Yes,” said Captain Smithers, quietly reloading, “we shall not see it again. How is your patient, Bolter?”

“Oh, pretty well all right again, thanks. It was a lucky escape for the poor fellow.”

“Very!” said Captain Smithers, thoughtfully. “What bird is that, doctor?”

“A white eagle,” was the reply, as the doctor followed with his glasses the flight of a magnificent bird that rose from a stunted tree, flew across the river, and away over the mangroves on the other side.

Soon after, as the steamer still made its way onward in mid-stream, the river being very deep, as shown by the man busy in the chains with the lead, a flame of blue suddenly seemed to dart from a mangrove root, and then another and another, as some of the gorgeously-coloured kingfishers of the peninsula shot off along the surface up the stream.

On still, and on, with every one on board eagerly on the look-out for novelties, but all growing somewhat tired of the unbroken succession of dull green mangroves. At last, however, after many hours of slow and cautious progress, the mangroves gave place to tall and beautiful palms, showing evidently that the steamer was now beyond the reach of the tide; and this was farther proved by the fact that the stream was now dead against them, running pretty swiftly, but, in place of being muddy, delightfully clear.

Faces that had looked long and solemn as the supposition had grown stronger that the country was nothing better than a mangrove swamp, became more cheery of aspect, especially when, through an opening in the dense clumps of palms with their feathery tops, the blue line of a distant range of hills could be seen.

Then came, as they rounded a point, the first trace of human habitation, in the shape of a Malay village, which in the distance bore a marvellous resemblance, in its steep gabled roofs thatched with palm-leaves, to some collection of cottages in far-distant England. But soon it was seen that every cottage was raised upon posts, that the walls were of woven reed or split bamboo, and that the trees that shaded them were cocoa-nut and areca palms.

Onward still, but more slowly and cautiously, lest the steamer should take the ground. Now and then scattered patches of cultivation were seen, in the shape of paddy fields; clusters of fruit-trees stood here and there; native boats were drawn right up on the mud, or secured to posts; and now and then buffaloes could be seen, standing knee-deep in the water, with dark-skinned children running to and fro, terribly excited at the sight of the strange ship.

Onward still, hour after hour, past village after village, wonderfully same in appearance, and the river still kept broad and deep enough for the navigation of the steamer, till night came on, and she was anchored in mid-stream, with the wild jungle coming close down to the water’s edge on either side.

At early morn the journey was continued till a broad reach of the river was ascended, at the far end of which was a good-sized island, in which was a palm-thatched building of some consequence, while, only separated from it by a narrow arm of the river, stood the largest collection of houses they had seen, with what was evidently a mosque by the river side. There was an abundance of boats too, and what strongly resembled a stockade; but what most took up the attention of all on board were a couple of long, low, well-made vessels, each displaying a curious figure-head bearing a faint resemblance to some fabulous monster; and in these armed boats both the soldiers and sailors of the little expedition were quite right in believing that they saw nothing more nor less than the much-talked-of vessels of the kris-bearing pirates of Malaya, the well-known, much-dreaded prahus.

Chapter Six.

How Tom Long tried the Durian.

A little bustle on deck, the rattling of chains, the splash of an anchor, and Her Majesty’s ship “Startler”—well manned, and armed with guns that could send shot and shell crashing through the town on the river’s right bank—swinging to her moorings; for she had reached her destination—the campong, or village, of Sultan Hamet, the native Malay potentate, who was under British protection, and who sought our aid to rule his land beneficially, after our manners and customs, and who now professed the most ardent friendship for those who were ready to do their duty; though the trust they felt in the Malays was not untempered by suspicion—in some cases, perhaps, with fear.

It was a very busy time for all, and after the “Startler” had been made what Dick the sailor called snug—that is to say, firmly anchored head to stream, for they were now far above the reach of the tide—a strong party of the blue-jackets were landed upon the pleasantly umbrageous island, along with the soldiers; for this island was to be the site of the residency, and it proved to have four good-sized buildings amidst the trees, which had been roughly prepared by Sultan Hamet’s orders.

Doctor Bolter was almost the first man to land, and for a long time he was fussily perspiring about, as he abused the sanitary arrangements of the place to every man he met, pausing last of all to stand mopping his face in front of Bob Roberts and Tom Long.

“Pretty sort of a wilderness to bring us to, young gentlemen!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what to start at next. The place will be a very hot-bed of fever, and we shall all be swept away.”

“What do you say to this for a neat spot, doctor?” said Bob Roberts.

“Neat spot? what for?”

“Burying ground.”

“Burying ground? What do you mean, sir?”

“To bury us all decently, doctor,” said Bob, grinning. “And I say, doctor, who’s to bury the last man?”

“If you were under my charge, Master Bob Roberts,” said the doctor, panting with the heat, “I should reduce that vital force of yours a little, sir.”

“Thanky, doctor. But I say, doctor, which is to be the resident’s house?”

“That, sir; and those three buildings are to be turned into barracks, and fort, and officers’ quarters; and how I am to get them all into a sanitary state, I don’t know.”

But the doctor did manage it somehow in the following days, when, in spite of the heat, every one worked with a will; the resident’s house was improved, and boats were constantly going to and from the “Startler,” whose hold was something like a conjuring trick, as it constantly turned out household necessaries and furniture. Handy workmen amidst the soldiers and Jacks were busy, fitting, hammering, and nailing; so that in a very short time the resident’s house began to grow ship-shape.

At the same time the officers’ quarters were being prepared, and the barracks as well; while plans were made to strengthen the fort, dig ditch, form glacis, and generally make the place tenable against a possible enemy.

Plenty of Malays were enlisted to help; but beyond bringing wood, and acting as carriers, they did not prove to be very valuable workers. But all the same, the preparations went on, various chiefs coming across in their boats from time to time, watching with no little wonder the changes that were being effected, talking together a good deal about the stands of arms in the little barracks, and the nine-pounder field-pieces that were brought ashore from the “Startler’s” hold.

The inexhaustible bottle was nothing to that ship, for no sooner did the adjutant make out a list of requisitions, and send in, than the hold began to disgorge, and boat-loads of stores came ashore; till, in a marvellously short time, the white tents, saving one or two large ones, disappeared from where they had been first set up amongst the trees, and with a celerity that perfectly astounded the Malay visitors, the island assumed an aspect that seemed to say the English visitors meant to stay.

Meanwhile, the country people grew less shy, and boats came with fruit and rice for sale, one of the first being visited by Bob Roberts—Tom Long, who had evidently meant to be there before him, coming directly after.

The ladies had landed and taken possession of their new abode, where several of the soldiers were busy forming a garden; and it had struck both the admirers of Miss Linton that an offering or two of fruit and flowers would be very acceptable, after the long confinement on ship board.

The sampan, or native boat, that the two lads had come to visit, was fastened to a rough bamboo landing-stage, that had been one of the first things fitted up at the island; and, to their great delight, they could see that the boat was stored with various vegetable productions, some of which were sufficiently attractive to make the lads’ mouths water, to the forgetting of the main object of their visit.

“Hallo, soldier!” said Bob Roberts, as he saw Tom Long come up, looking very aggressive.

“Hallo, sailor boy!” said Tom Long, superciliously; and then they stood looking at each other, quite unconsciously like a couple of Malay game cocks in bamboo cages, on the afterpart of the sampan. These two pugnacious birds were evincing a strong desire for a regular duel; but as the bamboo bars of their cages prevented a near approach, they stood there ruffling their plumes, and staring hard in each other’s faces.

“Seems a strange thing that a man can’t come down to buy a little fruit and some flowers, without your watching him,” said Bob, at last.

“I wasn’t watching you, boy,” said Tom Long, superciliously. “There, spend your penny, my man, and go about your business.”

“Look here, my stuck-up red herring,” cried Bob, setting his teeth hard, “Captain Horton said that the naval officers were to set an example of gentlemanly behaviour before the natives, or I’ll be blowed, Mr Tom Long, if I wouldn’t punch your head.”

“Blowed—punch head,” sneered Tom Long; “that’s gentlemanly, certainly.”

“Look here,” said Bob, who was stung to the quick by the truth of this remark; “do you want to fight, Mr Tom Long?”

“Mr T. Long presents his compliments to the middy boy of the ‘Startler,’ and begs to inform him that when her Majesty’s officers fight, it is with some one worthy of their steel.”

“Ha, ha! Haw, haw! Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Bob, cutting a caper expressive of his great amusement. “Her Majesty’s officers—some one worthy of their steel. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I say, Tom Long, how happy and contented her Majesty must feel, knowing as she does that the gallant officer, Ensign Long, is always ready to draw his sword in her defence. Here, you stop! I got here first.”

“Sahib wants my beautiful fruit,” said one of the dark-faced men in the sampan, towards which Tom Long had stepped.

“Hallo!” said Bob, going up. “You are not a Malay?”

“No, sahib: I Kling, from Madras. Sell fruit—flowers. This Malaya man.”

He pointed to a flat-nosed, high-cheek-boned man with him, who was dressed in the inevitable plaid sarong of bright colours, and wore a natty little plaited-grass cap upon his head.

Bob turned, and saw that this man carried a kris stuck in the folds of his sarong, which had slipped from the hilt, and he was now busy with a little brass box and a leaf. This leaf of one of the pepper plants he was smearing with a little creamy-looking mixed lime from the brass box, on which he placed a fragment of betel-nut, rolled it in the leaf, thrust it into his mouth, which it seemed to distort, and then began to expectorate a nasty red juice, with which he stained the pure water.

“Hope you feel better now,” said Bob, who, in his interest in the Malay’s proceedings, had forgotten all about the squabble with Tom Long. “Ugh! the dirty brute! Chewing tobacco’s bad enough; but as for that—I’d just like to get the armourer’s tongs and fetch that out of your mouth, and then swab it clean.”

“No speak English; Malaya man,” said the Kling laughing. “Chew betel, very good, sahib. Like try?”

“Try! No,” said Bob, with a gesture of disgust. “Here, I say; we’ll buy some fruit directly: let’s have a look at your kris.”

The Kling, who seemed to have quite adopted the customs of the people amongst whom he was, hesitated for a moment, looking suspiciously at the two lads, and then took the weapon he wore from his waist, and held it out.

Bob took it, and Tom Long closed up, being as much interested as the midshipman.

“I say, Tom Long,” the latter said, with a laugh, “which of us two will get the first taste of that brown insect’s sting?”

“You, Bob,” said Tom Long, coolly. “It would let out a little of your confounded impudence.”

“Thanky,” said Bob, as he proceeded to examine the weapon with the greatest interest, from its wooden sheath, with a clumsy widened portion by the hilt, to the hilt itself, which, to European eyes, strongly resembled the awkwardly formed hook of an umbrella or walking-stick, and seemed a clumsy handle by which to wield the kris.

“Pull it out,” said Tom Long, eagerly; and Bob drew it, to show a dull ragged-looking two-edged blade, and of a wavy form. It was about fifteen inches long, and beginning about three inches wide, rapidly narrowed down to less than one inch, and finished in a sharp point.

“It’s a miserable-looking little tool,” said Bob.

“Good as a middy’s dirk,” said Tom Long, laughing.

“I don’t know so much about that,” said Bob, making a stab at nothing with the kris. “I say, old chap, this is poisoned, isn’t it?”

“No, sahib,” said the Kling, displaying his white teeth.

“But the Malay krises are poisoned,” said Bob. “Is his?”

He nodded in the direction of the Malay, who was trying to understand what was said.

“No, sahib, no poison. What for poison kris?”

“Make it kill people, of course,” said Bob, returning the rusty looking weapon to its scabbard.

“Kris kill people all same, no poison,” said the Kling, taking back his dagger. “’Tick kris through man, no want no poison, sahib.”

“He’s about right there, middy,” said Tom Long. “Here, let’s look at some fruit.”

This brought Bob Roberts back to the object of his mission; and realising at once that Tom Long’s object was a present, he, by what he considered to be a lucky inspiration, turned his attention to the flowers that were in the boat.

For the Malays are a flower-loving people, and there is nothing the dark beauties of this race like better than decking their jetty-black hair with white and yellow sweet-scented blossoms.

Bob was not long in securing a large bunch of arums, all soft and white, with the great yellow seed vessel within. To this he added a great bunch of delicately tinted lotus, and then sat down on the edge of the boat to see what Long would purchase.

Tom Long was hard to please; now he would decide on a bunch of delicious golden plantains, and then set them aside in favour of some custard apples. Then he wondered whether the ladies would not prefer some mangoes; but recollecting that they had had plenty of mangoes, and the delicious mangosteen in India, he decided upon some limes and a couple of cocoanuts, when the Kling exclaimed, “Why not sahib buy durian?”

“What the dickens is durian?” said Tom.

“Durian best nice fruit that grow, sahib.”

“Oh, is it?” said Tom. “Then let’s have a look.”

The Kling said something to the Malay, who stooped down, and solemnly produced what looked like a great spiney nut, about as large as a boy’s head.

“That durian, sahib,” said the Kling, smiling.

“Oh, that’s durian, is it?” said Tom, taking the great fruit in his hands, and turning it over and over.

“Nice-looking offering for a lady,” said Bob Roberts, laughing. Tom Long looked up sharply, and was about to speak; but he said nothing, only kept turning the great fruit over and over.

“Taste nice, most nice all fruit, sahib,” said the Kling.

“Here, let’s try one,” said Bob, laying down his flowers; and the Kling signed to his companion to give him another, which the Malay did with solemn importance, not a smile appearing on his face, nor a look suggestive of his being anxious to sell the fruit in the boat.

The Kling took the great wooden fruit, laid it on the thwart of the boat, and reaching a heavy knife from the side, he inserted it at the head of a faint line, one of five to be seen running down the wooden shell of the fruit, and following this mark, he was able to open the curious production, and divide it into portions like an orange. In each of these quarters, or fifths, were two or three great seeds, as large as chestnuts, and these were set in a quantity of thick buttery cream or custard.

“Well, all I can say is that it’s precious rum-looking stuff,” said Bob. “Which do you eat, the kernels, or this custardy stuff?”

“No eat seeds, sahib; eat other part,” said the Kling.

“Come along, soldier,” said Bob; “I’ll eat one bit, if you will?”

Tom Long looked too much disgusted to speak, but in a half-offended manner he picked up another quarter of the durian, and examined it attentively.

“Phew!” ejaculated Bob, looking round. “What a horrible smell. There must be something floating down the river.”

They both glanced at the flowing silvery waters of the river, but nothing was in sight.

“It’s getting worse,” said Tom Long. “Why, it’s perfectly dreadful!”

“It’s this precious fruit,” exclaimed Bob suddenly; and raising his portion to his nose, “Murder!” he cried; “how horrid!” and he pitched his piece overboard.

“Why, it’s a bad one,” said Tom Long, sharply: and he followed the middy’s suit.

The Kling raised his hands in dismay; but leaning over the side, he secured the two pieces of durian before they were out of reach, and turned to his customers.

“Good durian—buteful durian,” he exclaimed. “Alway smell so fashion.”

“What!” cried Bob, “do you mean to tell me that stuff’s fit to eat?”

The Kling took up the fruit; and smelt it with his eyes half-closed, and then drawing in a long breath, he sighed gently, as if with regret that he might not indulge in such delicacies.

“Bess durian,” he said, in an exaggerated ecstatic manner. “Quite bess ripe.”

Bob stooped down and retook a portion of the strange fruit, smelt it cautiously, and then, taking out a knife, prepared to taste it.

“You are never going to eat any of that disgusting thing, are you, sailor?” cried Tom Long.

“I’m going to try it, soldier,” said Bob coolly. “Come and have a taste, lad.”

In the most matter-of-fact way, though quite out of bravado on account of Tom Long’s disgusted looks, Bob took a long sniff at the durian.

“Well, it is a little high,” he said, quietly. “Not unlike bad brick-kiln burning, with a dash of turpentine.”

“Carrion, you mean,” said Tom Long.

“No, not carrion,” said Bob, picking out a good-sized fragment of the fruit upon his knife; “it’s what the captain calls sui generis.”

“All burra sahib like durian,” said the Kling, showing his white teeth.

“Then the burra sahibs have got precious bad taste,” said Tom Long, just as Bob put the first piece of the fruit into his mouth, rolled his eyes, and looked as if he were about to eject it into the stream, but did not; gave it a twist round, tasted it; looked less serious; began to masticate; and swallowing the piece, proceeded to take a little more.

“There, it won’t do, Bob Roberts,” said Tom Long; “say it’s horrible, like a man. You can’t deceive me. What does it taste like?”

“Don’t know yet,” said Bob trying the second piece.

“What a jackass you are to torture yourself like that, to try and take me in, middy!”

Bob helped himself to a little more.

“Well, what does it taste like?”

“Custard,” said Bob, working away hard, and speaking between every dig of his knife; “candles, cream cheese, onion sauce, tipsy cake, bad butter, almonds, sherry and bitters, banana, old shoes, turpentine, honey, peach and beeswax. Here, I say; give us a bit more, old cock.”

Tom Long was astounded, for after finishing the first piece of the evil-smelling dainty, Bob had begun the second, and was toiling at it with a patient industry that showed thorough appreciation of the most peculiar fruit in the world.

“Tipsy cake, bad butter, old shoes, peach and beeswax,” and the other incongruities, rang in Long’s ear; and to prove that he was not deceiving him, there was Bob eating away as if his soul were in the endeavour to prove how much he could dispose of at one go.

It was too much for Tom Long; his curiosity was roused to the highest point, and as the Kling was smilingly watching Bob, Tom signed to the Malay to give him a piece.

The solemn-looking Asiatic picked up another fruit, and while Tom looked impatiently on, it was opened, and a piece handed to him, which he took, and with Bob’s example before his eyes took a greedy bite—uttered a cry of disgust—and flung the piece in hand at the giver.

The Malayan character has been aptly described as volcanic. The pent-up fire of his nature slumbers long sometimes beneath his calm, imperturbable, dignified exterior; but the fire lies smouldering within, and upon occasions it bursts out, carrying destruction before it.

In this case Tom Long’s folly—worse, his insult to the master of the sampan—roused the fiery Malay on the instant to fury, as he realised the fact that the youth he looked upon as an infidel and an intruder had dared to offer to him, a son of the faithful, such an offence; then with a cry of rage, he sprang at the ensign, bore him backwards to the bottom of the boat; and as the midshipman started up, it was to see the Malay’s deadly, flame-shaped kris waving in the air.

Chapter Seven.

How Dick related the Visit.

With a cry of horror Bob Roberts leaped forward, and caught the Malay’s wrist in time to avert the blow, the Kling starting forward the next instant, and helping to hold the infuriate Asiatic; while Tom Long struggled up and leaped ashore, where a knot of soldiers and sailors were gathering.

“Don’t say anything, Tom,” cried Bob. “Here you—tell him he did not mean to offend him,” he continued to the Kling, who repeated the words; and the Malay, who had been ready to turn on the midshipman, seemed to calm down and sheathed his kris; while the Kling spoke to him again with the result that the offended man sat himself down in the boat, gazing vindictively at the young ensign ashore.

“Here, no more durian to-day, thank you,” said Bob, handing the Kling a dollar. “And look here, you sir; don’t let that fellow get whipping out his kris on any of our men, or he’ll be hung to the yard-arm as sure as he’s alive.”

“He much angry, sahib,” said the Kling, whose swarthy visage had turned of a dirty clay colour. “Soldier sahib hurt him much.”

“Yes, but if we hadn’t stopped him he’d have hurt my friend much more.”

As he spoke Bob nodded shortly to the Kling, and leaped ashore. “Sahib not take his flowers,” said the latter, and dipping them in the river, and giving them a shake, he left the boat and handed the beautiful blossoms to the young sailor, who directly after joined Tom Long, who looked, in spite of his sunburnt visage, rather “white about the gills,” to use Bob’s expression.

“That fellow ought to be shot. I shall report this case,” cried the ensign angrily.

“I don’t think I should,” said Bob quietly. “You see you did upset the poor fellow, and they are an awfully touchy lot.”

“It was all your fault for playing me that confounded trick,” cried Tom Long, passionately.

“Trick? I played no trick,” said Bob, indignant to a degree at the accusation.

“You did,” cried Tom Long, “humbugging me into eating that filthy fruit.”

“Why, it was delicious,” cried Bob. “I should have gone on and finished mine if you hadn’t made that upset.”

“I don’t care; it was a nasty practical joke,” cried Tom Long, “and—I beg your pardon, Roberts,” he said, suddenly changing his tone, and holding out his hand. “I believe you saved my life.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Bob. “He only meant to prick you with his kris.”

“Heaven defend me from all such pricks!” said Tom Long, devoutly, as he held the middy’s hand in his. “I say, Bob Roberts, I wish you and I could agree better.”

“So do I,” said Bob, giving the hand he held a hearty shake; “But we never shall. I always feel as if I wanted to quarrel with you, as soon as we meet.”

“So do I,” said Tom Long. “You are such an aggravating little beggar.”

“It is my nature to,” said Bob, laughing. “But you won’t say anything about this affair, shall you? It will be a lesson how to deal with the natives.”

“If you think I had better not, I won’t,” said Tom Long, thoughtfully. Then, with a shudder, “I say, I felt just as if I was going to have that horrid kris in me. I shall never forget this, Bob Roberts.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense! Here, I say, have one of these bunches of flowers, old fellow.”

“No, no; I don’t want them,” said the ensign, colouring up.

“Yes, yes; take one. Quick, here are the ladies. I’m going to give my lotuses to Miss Sinclair,” he said quietly. And as Tom Long’s fingers closed upon the arums, the ladies, who were walking with the resident came close up.

“Ah, Mr Long,” said the latter, “what a lovely bunch of arums!”

“Yes sir,” said Tom, looking very red in the face; “they’re for the mess table.”

“Your lotuses are lovely, Mr Midshipman Roberts,” said Miss Linton, smilingly greeting the frank-faced lad.

“Aren’t they, Miss Linton?” said Bob. “I’m just going to send them aboard to the first luff; he’s rather poorly.”

They parted; and it was quite true, for after looking rather shame-facedly the one at the other, the ensign bore off his arums to the mess-room, and the lotuses were sent on board the “Startler” by the very next boat.

There was nothing more said respecting the adventure with the Malay boatman; but the two youths, who were a good deal puzzled in their own minds as to whether they were friends or enemies, exchanged glances a day or two later, when stringent orders were issued respecting the behaviour of the Englishmen to the natives. The men of both services were warned to be very careful, especially as it was the custom for the Malays to carry the deadly kris. The character of the people too was enlarged upon, their pride and self-esteem; and strict orders were given, to be followed by severe punishment if disobeyed, that the people and their belongings were to be treated with the greatest respect.

Every one was as busy as could be, for there was an immense amount of labour necessary to get the place into a state satisfactory to the various officers. Great preparations were being made too for the first meeting with Sultan Hamet, though it was a matter of doubt whether he would come to the residency in state, or expect the English to call upon him in his palm-thatched palace.

“He’s a rum sort of a chap,” Dick the sailor said, freely giving his opinion. “Sultan, indeed! What call have they to say he’s a sultan? Why, Sergeant Lund, Billy Mustard, and that sick chap Sim, who went ashore with despatches, come back last night, and they say it’s no more a palace as he lives in than a pig-sty. It’s for all the world like a big bamboo barn, thatched with leaves.”

“What’s that?” said Bob Roberts, coming up, with the young ensign, to where two or three of the sailors were, under the trees, talking to a group of soldiers.

“I was a telling of ’em about what Sergeant Lund told me, sir,” said Dick, pulling his forelock, “that this here sultan as we’ve come here to protect lives in a place as is just like a big bamboo barn standing on stilts. And Lor’ ha’ mercy, they say it was a sight: with leaves, and cabbage stumps, and potato parings chucked about under the place!”

“Now come, Dick,” cried the middy; “no yarns, please.”

“Well sir, of course I don’t mean real English cabbage stumps and potato parings, same as we has at home, but what answers for ’em here, and coky-nut huxes and shells, and banana rinds, and a nasty bad smelling kind o’ fruit as they calls doorings.”

Bob gave the ensign a comical look.

“Why Billy Mustard says—and this here’s a fack—as the smell o’ them doorings.”

“Durians, Dick.”

“All right, sir,” said the old sailor; “that don’t make ’em smell a bit better—the smell o’ them things knocked him slap off his feet.”

The men laughed, and old Dick went on—

“Everything about the place was as ontidy as a bilge hole; and when our ambassadors—”

“Our what?” said Bob.

“Well, them as carried the despatches, sir—got close up, they was told to wait because the sultan was asleep. When seeing as a reg’lar party of the Malays, every man with his bit of a toasting fork by his side, come round to stare at ’em, Sergeant Lund he says to himself, ‘Lor’! what a pity it is as I haven’t got Private Tomkins, or Private Binns, or two or three more nice smart, handsome chaps o’ that kind with me, instead of such a scuffy couple o’ fellows as Sim and Mustard.’”

Here, of course, there was a roar of laughter, for Privates Tomkins and Binns were amongst the listeners.

“Come away,” said Tom Long, frowning. “I don’t like mixing with our men.”

“No, no: stop,” cried Bob. “They won’t think any the less of us; we’re off duty now.”

Tom Long wanted to hear what was said, so he remained.

“And one of our nice hansum young orficers,” continued Dick, in the most solemn way, “and a middy and some smart Jacks.”

“And Dick Dunnage,” said one of the soldiers.

“Well, he did mention me, but I was too modest to say so.”

Here there was another laugh.

“‘How so be,’” continued Dick, “he sez; ‘must make the best o’ what material we got,’ so he pulls his men together, squares their yards, and coils down all their ropes tidy, tightens the breechings o’ their guns, and lets the poor benighted savages of niggers have their fill o’ staring at real British sodgers. Then they turned civil, and brought ’em out drinks, and fruit, and pipes; and they was very comfortable, till some one come out and said as the sultan was awake, and wanted his cocks, so the chap as went as interpreter told them; and then there was a bustle, and some three or four chaps went and fetched some fighting-cocks, and took ’em inside the barn—I mean the palace; and our fellows was kept waiting till the sergeant hears a reg’lar cock-a-doodle-doo, just for all the world as if he was at home, and he know’d by that as one of the birds had won. Just about a minute after some one come and beckoned him, and he goes up the steps into the palace, as had bamboo floors, and carpets lying about; and there was the sultan up at one end, sitting on carpet, and all his wives and people about him.”

“How many wives had he got, Dick?” said the midshipman.

“About a dozen, sir. But I’ll just tell you how many he’d have had if my missus had been one on ’em.”

“How many, Dick?”

“Just one, sir; she’d clear out all the others in a brace o’ shakes. She wouldn’t stand none o’ that nonsense. Why, bless yer ’art, there was one had got a golden pestle and mortar—”

“Gently, Dick! gently!” said the midshipman.

“It’s a fack, sir, and as sure as I stand here; and she was a bruising up betel-nuts for him to chew, and another was mixing up lime, and another spreading leaves, whilst—there, I dursn’t hardly tell you this here, because you won’t believe it.”

“Let it off gently, Dick,” said the middy, “and we’ll try and bear it.”

“Well, sir, hang me if one of his wives—the oldest and ugliest of ’em—wasn’t sitting there holden a golden spittoon ready for him to use whenever he wanted.”

There was another roar of laughter, and Dick exclaimed,—

“There, you ask Sergeant Lund if every word a’most I’ve said ain’t quite true,”—which, with the exception of Dick’s embellishment about the handsome sailors and soldiers, proved to be the case.

Chapter Eight.

Tom Long’s Wound.

Doctor Bolter had been very proud of the cure he had effected in the case of Adam Gray, whom, from that day forward, he looked upon in quite a different light, obtaining his services as often as possible in carrying out what he called his measures for preserving the camp in health, and he was constantly sending Gray on missions to the major. But the doctor and his plans were set aside one morning, when there was an order for a general parade; and it was evident that there was something important on the way, for a good deal of bustle was visible on the deck of the steamer.

The news soon leaked out that the resident and officers were to make a state visit, full of ceremony, to the sultan; and in consequence there was a general turn out, in full review order, with the band. The sailors landed, and were drawn up on the shore, looking smart in their white, easy-fitting dress; and the steamer’s cutters were soon after busy, landing the greater portion of the troops with their officers, in full uniform; while quite a crowd of Malays assembled on the beach, staring, some in wonderment, some manifestly in dislike, at the strangers.

The grand muster took place beneath the shade of some large trees, as far as was possible, for the heat was intense. Every one was in his best; and Ensign Long marched by Bob Roberts with a very bright sword beneath his arm, and putting on a pair of white kid gloves.

The middy tried to take matters coolly; but the thoroughly consequential air of his companion roused his ire, and he longed to do something to upset him.

That was, however, impossible, for the arrangements were complete; and the march inland, about a couple of miles, commenced with the Malays now drawing off into the woods, till—what looked rather ominous—the little force was left entirely alone.

The officers commented upon the fact, and felt a little suspicious, but their doubts were set aside by the appearance of a little party, of evidently some importance, for two, who seemed to be chiefs, were mounted upon small elephants, and these, by the voice of one of the party—a handsome, dark youth, in brilliant silk sarong and baju—announced themselves as coming from the sultan to act as guides.

This changed the state of affairs, and the idea that there might be treachery afoot was completely dismissed from the minds of all, save when, now and then, the gleam of a spear head was seen amidst the trees in the jungle; and Major Sandars pointed out how easily they might be led into an ambush.

Captain Horton was by his side, and that officer agreed that it would be easy; but, at the same time, gave it as his opinion that the best policy they could affect was an appearance of full confidence in the Malay potentate, while they kept strictly on their guard.

Farther back in the line of troops Private Gray was marching along, feeling anything but easy in his mind; for as he glanced now and then to his left, he kept making out the gleam of steel, or the white garments of some Malay amidst the trees; and at last, just as Captain Smithers was abreast, he pointed out to him the fact.

The captain felt disposed to resent it as a breach of discipline; but the young man’s manner was so earnest, that he nodded, and watchfully turned his head in the same direction.

“What do you think then, Gray?” said the captain. “They are only people taking an interest in what is, to them, a great sight.”

“I’m suspicious, sir, by nature,” said Gray, “and I can’t help feeling that we are living on the edge of a volcano.”

“Do you always make use of such fine language, Gray?” said Captain Smithers with a sneer.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” was the reply; “I was trying to speak respectfully to my officer,” replied Gray.

Captain Smithers frowned, and felt annoyed with himself for his meanness.

“Yes, yes, of course, Gray,” he said, hastily; “but there is nothing to fear.”

“Nothing to fear!” thought Private Gray; “and we are trusting ourselves entirely to these people, who are known to be treacherous; and the ladies and the women of the regiment are all on that island, protected by only a weak force!”

Strangely enough, Captain Smithers had very similar thoughts to these as they rambled on, in tolerable coolness now, for they were beneath the trees.

They both thought afterwards that their fears were needless; and following the guides, they soon after were formed up in front of the sultan’s house and those of his principal men, all of which, though certainly somewhat better than the sergeant’s account to Dick Dunnage, would have led any one to expect, were of an extremely simple and lowly character.

Here the officers waited for their audience of the great man, Mr Linton being particularly anxious to make arrangements for carrying out the political business upon which he was engaged; but after waiting half an hour, one of the principal chiefs came out to announce that the sultan was too unwell to receive them.

The English officers flushed up, and looked upon the message as an insult, and for the moment there seemed a disposition to resent it; but the wise counsels of Mr Linton prevailed, and the order was given to march back.

Just then the young chief who had acted as interpreter before, and who spoke very good English, approached the place where Bob Roberts and the ensign were standing.

“I am very sorry,” he said; “I meant to ask you to refreshments. Will you take cigars?”

They had only time to thank the young chief for his courtesy and take their places, as the march back was commenced—this time without guides, for none came forward, which was looked upon as so ominous a sign that extra care was taken, the men marching with loaded arms.

The precautions were not unnecessary; for they had hardly effected half their march, when there was the loud beating of a gong heard upon their right, followed by the same deafening din on the left.

The men were steadied in the ranks, and every one was on the alert; but still there came nothing more to cause alarm till they had arrived within half a mile of their landing-place, when, as they were passing through a more open portion of the track, there was a shout, and a shower of limbings came whizzing past them. Again a shout, this time on their left, and another shower of the keenly-pointed spears whizzed by.

There was a short, sharp command or two as the soldiers faced outwards, and every other man fired, sending a ringing volley crashing through the forest.

There was another din, made by the beating of gongs, and a few more spears were thrown, one of which struck Ensign Long; and these were replied to by another sharp volley, which crashed through the trees, making the twigs and leaves rattle as they pattered down. Then there was a dead silence, as the troops waited for fresh orders.

Bob Roberts, who was close by the ensign, turned pale as ashes as he saw the ensign stagger back, to stand literally pinned to a tree, in which the blade of the limbing had buried itself. All feeling of jealousy had passed away, and, catching Long by the hand, he gazed earnestly in his face.

“Are you much hurt, old fellow?” he cried hoarsely, as he realised the fact that the keen spear had passed diagonally through the youth’s breast before it buried itself in the soft endogenous tree.

“I don’t know yet,” said Tom Long quietly; “but the brutes have ruined my best tunic.”

“Hang your tunic!” cried Bob, excitedly. “Here, fetch the doctor. No; help here to get Mr Long to the residency. Bring up a dhooly.”

“I suppose I shall feel it when they draw out the spear,” said Tom Long calmly.

“Do you feel faint?” cried the middy. “Here, who has a little rack?”

“Here’s some water, sir, in my canteen,” said Sergeant Lund. “Forward!” rang out from behind just then; and then the voice of Captain Smithers made itself heard,—

“Who’s that down?”

“Ensign Long, sir,” some one said.

“Poor lad! poor lad!” cried the captain. “Ah, Long, my dear boy, how is it with you? Good heavens! Quick, my lads; bring up a dhooly.”

“Hadn’t we better get the spear out, sir?” said Bob Roberts, anxiously.

“Yes, out of the tree, of course,” said the captain; “but mind—steady! Here, let me. I won’t hurt you more than I can help,” he continued, as he drew the spear out of the palm, and then hesitated as to how they were to manage to carry the injured man, with the lengthy shaft passing through his chest.

Tom Long solved the question himself by taking hold of the spear handle with both hands and giving it a tug, while every one present gazed at him with horror, expecting to see the terrible stains that must follow.

Bob Roberts dragged out his handkerchief and rapidly doubled it, ready to form a pad to staunch the bleeding—rushing forward to clap it to the wound, as the ensign tore the spear from his breast.

“Open his tunic first,” cried Captain Smithers; and he bore Tom Long back on to the ground, tearing open his scarlet uniform, while the injured object of his attentions began to work his left arm about.

“I say, gently,” he said. “I don’t think I’m much hurt.”

“You don’t feel it yet,” cried Bob Roberts.

“Look out there!” cried a voice in authority somewhere behind; and then a couple of men ran up with a light hospital litter for wounded or sick men.

“It went—it went—” said Tom Long, slowly.

“Why, confound you, Long,” said Captain Smithers; “you’ve not been scratched.”

“No; I do not think I am,” said the ensign, getting up, feeling himself carefully about the chest. “It went through my tunic and under my left arm.”

“Why, you’ve got about six inches of padding in your coat,” said Bob Roberts, whose hands were busy about the young man’s breast.

“Yes,” said Tom Long; “more or less.”

“Forward!” shouted Captain Smithers; and the march was resumed, with Tom Long looking very woeful about the two holes that had been made in his scarlet tunic, and gradually growing terribly annoyed, as he saw Bob Roberts pretending to stifle his laughter; while the men, in spite of the danger on either side, tittered and grinned as they kept catching sight of the young officer’s scarlet cloth wounds.

Major Sandars was equally anxious with the resident to get back to the island, for a feeling of dread had risen up that the residency might have been attacked during their absence. In fact, it seemed now that they had been out-generalled; and if their fort, and provisions, and stores should be in the hands of the Malays, their position would be perilous in the extreme.

As Bob Roberts went on, he found the men eagerly discussing the matter, not from a feeling of fear, but of love of excitement; and, among others, Private Sim was saying in a low voice, that if he had only been well and strong, nothing would have pleased him better than fighting his way back through the jungle, “anywheres—to the world’s end if they liked.”

Meanwhile, though it was evident that there was a large body of Malays on their right, the answer they had got to their first attack had kept them off, and the long line of troops and blue-jackets went on unmolested by their enemies. Every precaution was taken; and in some of the denser portions of the jungle they regularly felt their way with advance guards and flankers, who, poor fellows, had a most tough job to force their way through the tangled creepers and undergrowth.

At length, however, the river was reached, and it was evident, to the great delight and relief of all, that the island was safe, and the steamer lay in its old position, unmolested by prahu or attack from the shore.

Every man breathed more freely on seeing this; and the boats coming off, the whole party were rapidly transferred to steamer and to isle, where a council was called, and the situation discussed.

It was a peculiar position for the little force which had been sent up the country to help and protect Sultan Hamet, who, in return,—had refused to see Her Majesty’s representative, and allowed them to be attacked by his people on their way back.

The question to decide was, whether, after such an insult as they had received, the little force ought not to at once retire from their position, though the bolder spirits were in favour of holding it at all costs, and trying to read the sultan such a lesson as should scare his people from venturing to molest the English any more.

The council was interrupted by an embassy of a couple of chiefs from the sultan himself, who solved the difficulty by announcing that the attack was not made by their ruler’s people, but by a certain rajah, whose campong, or village, was a few miles up the river. This chief was a respecter of no one, but levied black mail of all who passed down the stream. Every boat laden with slabs of tin or bags of rice had to pay toll for permission to pass on in peace; and if resistance was offered, he had guns mounted upon his stockade, and a couple of well-armed prahus, whose crews liked nothing better than confiscating any boat whose owner endeavoured to resist the rajah’s demands.

Any doubts as to the truth of this story were set aside by the sultan’s earnest request that the English officers should at once proceed up the river and severely punish this rajah, who was a thorn in Hamet’s side.

With the promise that the matter should have proper consideration, the two chiefs took their departure; and the rest of the evening was spent in examining different Malays from the village, all of whom told the same story, that it was Rajah Gantang who had made the attack, and that he was a perfect scourge to the people round.

The next day further investigations were made; and had any doubt remained, it was chased away by the appearance of two long war prahus, pulled by a large number of rowers, and crammed with Malays.

These vessels were allowed to float gently down with the stream, stern foremost, when, as much out of bravado as anything, several shots were fired from the small brass swivel guns on board, the little balls rattling through the steep roof of the men’s quarters; while before a gun could be brought to bear, the oars rapidly plashed the water, and the two prahus were swept back round a wooded point up stream, well out of sight.

This was sufficient for the officers in command, who issued such orders as placed all the men in a state of the most intense excitement, for it was evident that there was to be an expedition up the river to punish the audacious chief, who was probably in profound ignorance of the strength of the power he had braved.

Chapter Nine.

A Night Attack, and a Misfortune.

It seems a curious thing to a man of peace that a man of war should be in a state of high delight at the prospect of an engagement wherein he may lose his life; but the fact is, that when two or three hundred men are bound to attack some enemy, each single individual knows full well that somebody will be wounded, perhaps killed, but believes that it will not be himself.

So it was then that on board the “Startler” there was no little excitement. The grindstone was in full use to sharpen cutlasses, and in addition there was a great demand made on the armourer for files to give to the lethal weapons a keener edge, one which was tried over and over again, as various messmates consulted together as to the probability of taking off a Malay’s head at a blow.

“What you’ve got to do, my lads,” said old Dick, “is to keep ’em off. You as has rifles and bagnets always show ’em the pynte; and you as fights with your cutlashes, keep ’em well away off your sword arm; then you’ll be all right.”

Capital advice if it could be acted upon, and a way of avoiding all kris wounds, but useless against the Malays’ other dangerous weapon, the limbing or lance.

All the preparations were made over-night, so that long before daybreak the expedition could be well on the way, the object being to surprise the stockade and its defenders, and burn the bamboo fortification and the prahus.

The force was to consist of fifty soldiers, twenty-five marines, and fifty blue-jackets, who were to embark in the steamer’s boats, two of which were provided with small breech-loading pieces running on slides, and under the charge of the sailors.

Water, provisions, plenty of spare ammunition, all were handed down, and two hours after midnight, the boats that were to convey the soldiers ranged up alongside the landing-place, and in due time the embarkation took place, the soldiers being under the command of Captain Smithers, the sailors under that of the first lieutenant of the “Startler.”

A guide had been found in the person of a native fisherman, who, upon coming to the island the day before, had been detained, so that he should not communicate with the shore, and so give warning of the expedition. Not that there was any fear, for the Malay was in a high state of delight at the idea of the rajah meeting his match.

From this man they learned that for many years past Rajah Gangtang had been a perfect scourge to the river. He was famous for his piracies and his daring. Sultan Hamet dreaded him; and it was only to strengthen his position against the warlike rajah, who was too strong for him, that Hamet had entered into his alliance with the British, and invited the presence of a resident and the troops.

This was satisfactory, for the idea of the sultan proving treacherous was a suggestion of a complicated knot that it would take no end of policy to undo. Whereas, if it was all true about Rajah Gantang, his defeat and the breaking up of his power would be hailed with delight, and work greatly towards the pacification of a country terribly broken up by petty quarrels, strengthen Hamet’s position, and give inimical chiefs a lesson on the power of the British forces that they were not likely to forget.

It was soon after two o’clock that the soldiers were mustered down to the boats, and silently took their places, just as through the mist, and with muffled oars, three more boats came slowly abreast of them, and after a brief colloquy moved off, with instructions that there should be no talking on board.

Fortunately for the expedition, though it was misty it was not so dark but that the leaders could follow the little light sampan of the Malay fisherman, who, apparently without any difficulty, sent his frail boat onward against the stream.

It was a weird procession through the mist, which gave the boats a fantastic, unreal appearance, while the shores looked, where the fog broke or floated up, strange, dark, and full of mystery. Every now and then there was a low echoing splash in the water, which told of some great reptile disturbed from its resting-place upon a muddy bank. Then those in the boats heard strange cries coming from a distance in the jungle, to be answered by other calls, some farther distant, some near at hand, telling that the various nocturnal creatures were busy securing food before the sun should drive them to their hiding-places in the darkest recesses of the forest.

“What’s that?” whispered Bob Roberts to old Dick, who was beside him in the foremost boat.

“Sounds like something swimming, sir. There, you can hear it blowing.”

“Do you think one of the boats has upset,” whispered Bob, excitedly, as he leaned over the gunwale and tried to pierce the mist.

“’Taint likely, sir. Wouldn’t they shout if they was turned up! Leastwise our chaps would; there’s no counting for what soldiers might do, though. I shouldn’t say as they’d let their selves drown without a squeak. That there’s a tiger swimming ’crost the river, that’s what that is.”

“Get out,” exclaimed the middy; “just as if a great cat would take to the water. Hist! I say, Doctor Bolter!”

“Yes,” was whispered back from the next boat.

“Would tigers swim?”

“Yes. There’s one trying to cross the river now.”

“What did I tell you, Mr Roberts?” growled old Dick, softly.

“Here, give me your rifle, marine;” said Bob, excitedly. “I should like a shot at a tiger.”

“Silence in that boat!” said Captain Smithers sharply; and the oars went on dipping softly, while Bob Roberts sat and listened till the panting noise of the swimming creature died away.

“I wonder whether Ensign Long’s in the expedition?” said Bob, after a pause.

“Yes, sir; please I see him,” said one of the sailors. “He got into one of the boats, wrapped up in a big grey great-coat.”

“I hope he won’t get wounded this time,” said Bob. And the men all laughed; for Ensign Long’s wound was a subject that afforded them no little amusement.

Then the procession went on, the boats gliding along in wonderful silence. Sometimes a glimpse of the dark foliage told them that they were a little too near either bank, but on the whole the Malay led them a very correct course along the centre of the stream, which wound here and there, sometimes contracting its banks, sometimes widening out, but always running swift, deep, and strongly, downward towards the sea.

The mist grew thicker, and hung so low down upon the water that at last the boats had to proceed very slowly, a rope being paid out from one to the other, so that there should be no mistake, otherwise it was quite within the range of possibility that one or the other would go astray, and be wanting at some critical time. A similar plan was carried out with the sampan, during the latter part of the journey, for it was often invisible; and so at last they felt their way onward in silence, till the Malay allowed his sampan to drift alongside the bows of the leading boat, and whispered to the interpreter his conviction that they were close up to the stockade.

“Might be anywhere,” muttered the midshipman.

“Yes, sir, it’s a thick ’un,” growled old Dick; “and if I was in command o’ this here expedition, I should give orders for all the Jacks to out cutlashes and cut the fog in pieces, while the sogers and marines forked it over with their bay’nets.”

“Silence, there!” came from one of the officers, just as a faint breeze began to spring up, as if to solve the difficulty; breaking the fog into patches, and then forcing a way right through, so that it was swept to right and left of the river, passing under the trees.

The change was almost magical, for at the end of ten minutes the river was quite clear, and by the glittering starlight they could see the stockade on their right, while moored in front of it were two large prahus.

The boats closed in for the officer in command to give his final orders for the attack, and every man’s heart beat fast with excitement, as he clutched his weapons.

They had no knowledge of the enemy’s strength; but trusting to a night surprise, they felt satisfied of being able to put him to flight; so two boats were sent to board the prahus, while the three others made for the stockade, one to attack in front, while the others landed on either side, to take it in the rear, expecting an easy task, for there was not a sign of life as far as they could see.

But if the leaders of the expedition counted upon trapping the Malays asleep, they were mistaken. There is too much of his native tiger in the Malays’ nature for such a march to be stolen upon them; and, just as the boats separated, and began rapidly to advance, the silence was broken by the deafening clangour of a gong, lights appeared suddenly in the stockade and in both the prahus, and to the astonishment of the attacking force, there was the flashing of muskets, the louder roar of the lelahs or small brass guns, and the surface of the river was splashed up in all directions by the bullets.

Fortunately the aim was bad, and the boats had separated, so that no one was injured, as, with a loud cheer, the sailors made their oars bend, the waters lapped and splashed beneath the bows of the boats, and soldier and marine waited eagerly for the command to fire.

But this was not given; for Captain Smithers felt that if the task was to be done, it must be achieved at the point of the bayonet; so, bidding his men be steady, he waited till the boat he was in crashed amongst the thick reeds and grass growing along the water’s edge; and then leaping out, lead his little company through the dense undergrowth, round to where he expected to find the entrance to the stockade, from which a lively fire was now being kept up, while a deep-toned roar told that the large gun in the boat attacking the face of the stockade had begun to speak.

The party Ensign Long was with, under one of the lieutenants, had to make for the other side of the stockade, while the boat in which was Bob Roberts, being manned entirely by sailors and marines, had to attack the largest prahu.

The men were sanguine and full of spirit, their only regret being that they had so far to go before they could reach the sides of the long prahu, which they found now on the move, her anchor having been slipped, so that she was slowly floating down the stream, as she kept up a lively fire against the boat.

It seemed long, but not a minute could have elapsed before the boat was alongside, the bowman driving a Malay head over heels with the boat-hook, and then making fast, while the sailors let their well-secured oars swing, seized their rifles, and began to spring up the sides.

“Up with you, my lads,” roared Bob Roberts, who was armed with a cutlass far too large for him to handle in comfort. But it was easy enough to say, “Up with you!” while it was excessively difficult to obey. Man after man tried to climb the side of the prahu, but only to slip back into the boat; while those who had better success found it impossible to surmount the stout bamboo basket-work or matting, with which the sides were protected from assault.

Through this, spear after spear was thrust; and after several ineffectual attempts to reach the deck, the sailors and marines began to retaliate by thrusting bayonet and cutlass through in return. A few shots were fired, but there was nothing to aim at; though the Malays were not of that opinion, for they kept loading and firing the two lelahs on board, making a great deal of noise, but necessarily doing no mischief.

“Back into the boat, my lads,” cried the lieutenant in command, as they floated down with the prahu, which evidently swarmed with men; “we’ll try round the other side.”

“Let me board them first, Mr Johnson,” cried Bob excitedly.

“No, no, my lad,” was the reply. “What the men cannot do, you cannot.”

In the excitement of the men firing and making a fresh effort, as the boat was worked round the stem of the prahu, the lieutenant lost sight of Bob Roberts, who, after feeling terribly alarmed for the first few inmates, had become accustomed to the firing and shouting, and then grown so excited and angry that he felt as if he could not stay in his place. Getting hold of a rifle, laid down by one of the men who tried to board the prahu, he had given vent to some of his excitement by loading and firing as fast as he could, sending bullet after bullet whistling through the tough screen, but doing no mischief to a soul; and still the prahu floated steadily down the stream, getting farther and farther away from where the firing was on the increase; the boats’ guns sending an echoing report to roll along the surface of the water, and giving ample notice to those at the residency that the business was going on.

As the boat Bob Roberts was in reached the other side of the prahu, the Malays, uttering loud yells, rushed over, and once more there was a desultory attack kept up and repelled; for do all they could, not a sailor was able to surmount the tall screen.

Several wounds had been received from the limbings, and the men believed that they had pretty well retaliated with the bayonet, but they could see nothing; and checked as they had been, again and again, they were growing disheartened, and thinking what else they could do, when a loud yelling from the prahu, and the reports of several muskets, told of something fresh.

“Where’s Mr Roberts?” said the lieutenant, suddenly.

“Here he is, sir,” replied old Dick; and in the same breath, “No he ain’t, sir. He was here just now.”

“Look out, my lads! Seize those sweeps,” said the lieutenant, as several long oars were now thrust out beneath the bamboo screen, and the Malays stabbed at the boat with them, trying to drive a hole through her bottom.

Several of the sailors seized the long oars on the instant, and hung on, while some of their messmates tried to fire through the holes, with the result that long spears were now thrust through, and desperate stabs made at the attacking party.

It was a wretched desultory fight, and the lieutenant was almost at his wits’ end, for his spirit forbade his giving up, and all the time, no matter how bravely his men tried, they could not get on board the prahu.

Just then it was observed by the men who held on by the sweeps, that a brass lelah was being thrust through a hole, and brought to bear upon them, when the result would have been death to several, and the sinking of the boat, if it was fired. The danger was, however, averted by old Dick, who seized a boat-hook, and hitching it on the prahu’s side, gave so sturdy a haul that he drew the boat some six feet along, and closer alongside.

He was just in time, for as the boat grated against the prahu there was a sharp ringing report, and the water was thrown up close astern.

A sharp volley from the boat replied to this, probably with as good results; and then thrusting with spear and bayonet went on in the darkness.

“Confound it all, my lads! we must get aboard her somehow,” cried the lieutenant, stamping his foot with rage, as he stood up in the boat. “Here, make ready some of you, and follow me. Dick Dunnage, you keep her fast with the boat-hook.”

As he spoke the lieutenant parried a thrust with his sword, and replied to it with a shot from his revolver, letting both weapons then hang from his wrists by sword-knot and lanyard as, seizing one of the sweeps, he began to clamber up, followed by a dozen of the men. There was a confused roar of shouts, yells, and cheers mingled, as those left in the boat ceased firing, so as not to injure the boarding party, who made a desperate effort now to climb over the bamboo screen, little thinking that the missing midshipman had boldly climbed up a little ahead of where they were, mounted to the great bamboo spar that held up the screen, and then with a miserably ineffective weapon, to wit, his pocket-knife, set to work as he sat astride it, and sawn away at the rattans that held it up.

It was a brave act, but an unlucky one. He had nearly succeeded in getting through, and he would have shouted out a warning, but that would have brought upon him the spears of the Malays; so he cut away, and had been so successful that, as the boarding party made their desperate dash, down came the great bamboo with a rush. The screen went outwards, over the sailors, who fell back beneath it into the boat, while Bob Roberts felt himself describing a half circle in the air, before plunging out of semi-darkness into that which was total, as he went down, yards away from the boat, into the cold black water, one thought alone filling his mind, and that thought was—crocodiles.

Chapter Ten.

How Bob Roberts was not Drowned.

For a few minutes it was a question of whether the boat would be swamped or no, as she lay beneath the great bamboo screen, which completely paralysed the efforts of the crew. The prahu was still floating with the stream, and the boat being dragged along in her wake, while, awaking now to a sense of their assailants’ position, the Malays hurriedly thrust out sweeps, and others fired, and hurled their spears, a couple of dozen of which stuck in the bamboo mat. Dick in the stern, and a couple of the men in the bows, however, began a steady fire at the prahu, loading as rapidly as they could, while the men amidships cast off the awkward canopy, and, half stunned, but panting with rage and excitement, the lieutenant once more gave his orders.

“Oars, lads!” he cried, “and give way. We shall have ’em yet.”

“Boat ahoy!” came from out the darkness.

“Why, that’s young Roberts, sir,” cried Dick. “Ahoy-oy-oy.”

“Help here!” came from the stern again.

“We shall lose the prahu,” cried the lieutenant.

“But we must have Mr Roberts, sir,” cried old Dick, excitedly. “Give the word, sir—starn all—and we’ll overtake her arterwards.”

“Starn all, my lads, and do your best.”

“Ahoy!” came once more, faintly, out of the darkness.

“We’re going away from him,” cried the lieutenant. “Pull round, my lads,” he cried, seizing the tiller. “Now then, steady. Be smart there with a boat-hook. Roberts, ahoy!”

“Help, help,” came again, from somewhere astern now, for the poor fellow was growing weak.

For as he had plunged down, with the thought of the great reptiles uppermost in his mind, Bob Roberts had felt a chill of horror run through him that seemed for the moment to rob him of all power; but as he rose to the surface again, and felt that he could breathe, he struck out manfully in the direction of the firing; but in his confusion, after swimming for a minute, he found from the noise behind that he was making for the stockade, and he turned hastily to swim after the boat.

It was no light task, dressed as he was. He had a sword in his belt, and on the other side a revolver, and his first thought was to rid himself of them; but a strange feeling of dislike to parting with his weapons made him put off the act of throwing them away until he should feel that he was sinking; so, guided by the flashes of the pieces that were being fired, he swam lustily in the direction in which he felt the boat must be.

He called for help several times, but his voice was not heard by those to whom he appealed; and as he felt himself being left behind, a cold chill of horror once more seized upon him, making his limbs seem heavy as lead, and paralysing his efforts in a way that was terribly suggestive of death.

Thoughts of the great slimy monsters being at hand to seize upon him, sent his blood rushing to his face in a way that made him giddy, and for a few moments he felt half mad with fear; but calling upon his manhood, he mastered the nervous trepidation.

“’Taint English—’taint game,” he cried aloud, with the water at his lip; and checking the frantic desire to beat the surface with his hands in the natural last effort of a drowning creature, he swam steadily on, hailing the boat at intervals, but more and more feebly, as his despair increased; for he felt that he was only a lad, and that his life was a mere nothing compared to a successful capture of the prahu.

“They have gone after her,” he groaned, as he uttered a despairing hail. And then the bright light of hope seemed to cross the darkness, for he heard a shout in reply, and then other answering hails to his cry for help, and he knew now that it was only a question of holding out till the boat could reach his side.

Shouts came again and again out of the darkness, and he answered—each time more feebly, for his strength was ebbing fast. He could see the stars flashing in the water, and he fancied he could hear the splash of oars, and the sounds of voices; then, too, he heard the crackle of distant musketry, and the roar of one of the boat-guns. Then, as if he were in a dream, he could hear some one close at hand hailing him—but he could not answer now, only swim feebly on, with his clothes, and the weapons, and cartridges in his pouch, dragging him down.

Then the stars above, and the stars on the water, seemed to be blotted out, and he was in utter darkness—strangling, but swimming still, beneath the stream. Then he seemed to see the stars again in a dim way, and he heard a shout; but he could not reply, for all was dark once more; and lastly, in a dim misty state he felt a spasm, and a sensation of being dragged beneath the water, and he thought that one of the reptiles of the river had seized him; and then he knew that he was lying in the bottom of the boat, and someone was pouring brandy between his lips.

“I just ketched the glint of his white face under the water,” said a voice which seemed to be Dick’s, “and ketched hold of his jacket. It was a near touch, and no mistake.”

“Give way, my lads, give way!” was the next thing Bob Roberts heard; and as if in a dream he made out that they were rowing fast in chase of the prahu, which, with all her sweeps out on either side, was going rapidly through the water, her object being to get down to the tidal way at the lower part of the river, where there were mangrove-fringed creeks and inlets by the hundred, offering her a secure hiding-place from her indefatigable assailant.

“We shan’t never ketch her, sir,” growled Dick.

“No,” replied the lieutenant, sharply, “but we’ll hang on to her to the last. How far are we now from the steamer?”

“Not two miles, I should think, sir.”

“Make ready then, marines,” he cried, “and fire after her; hit her, if you can. Two fire at a time—mind, slowly and steadily. They will hear it on board, and be on the look-out, and if they don’t sink her as she goes by them, why, it’s a wonder.”

Almost directly after there was the report of a couple of rifles, and then two more at half-minute intervals, while right on ahead, in the darkness, they could hear the heavy beat of the prahu’s sweeps, and knew that she was going more rapidly than they.

“How are you now, Roberts?” said the lieutenant, kindly.

“Coming round, Mr Johnson,” said Bob. “Thank-ye for picking me up.”

“Keep your thanks for to-morrow, Roberts,” said the lieutenant, bitterly. “How vexatious to make such a mess of the affair?”

“There’s another one a-coming, sir,” said Dick, softly. “You can hear the oars beating right behind us, sir.”

The lieutenant listened.

“There must be a great curve in the river here,” he said, “one that we did not notice in the fog.”

“Then it’s a precious big curve, sir, that’s all I can say,” exclaimed old Dick; “for if that ain’t t’other prahu coming down, with all sweeps out, I’m a Dutchman.”

“They never can have failed the same as we have,” exclaimed the lieutenant, listening. “No—yes—no. You are right, Dick, my man. Cease firing there. Make ready, my lads, and we’ll plump every shot we have into this one as she comes abreast, and then lay the boat alongside, and board her in the confusion. Be ready, my lads, and then, you know, down with your rifles. Cutlasses must do it afterwards.”

A few minutes of intense excitement followed, during which time every man sat with his finger on the trigger, listening to the regular beat of the prahu’s long oars as she came sweeping down at a rapid rate, evidently bent upon making her escape, like her consort, out to sea.

“If we only had a bow gun,” muttered the lieutenant. “No you be still, Roberts,” he continued; “you are weak and done up.”

“I think I could manage a rifle now, Mr Johnson,” said the lad, with his teeth chattering from cold.

“I don’t,” was the abrupt reply. “Now, my lads, not a sound; we have a disgrace to wipe out, and this prahu must be ours.”

By this time the long swift boat was rapidly approaching, quite invisible to the little party of English, but audible enough; and they waited eagerly till it seemed as if she was bearing down upon them, when, with a short, sharp warning first to be ready, the lieutenant gave the word Fire! when about fifteen rifles went off almost like one, their flashes lighting up the darkness for an instant, and displaying close upon them the long dark prahu, with a long bank of oars, coming down fast.

“Oars! Give way!” shouted the lieutenant; and almost as he spoke, the prahu changed her course so rapidly that there was but little rowing needed, for instead of avoiding them, the vessel came right at the English boat, trying to run her down, being so nearly successful that she ripped her down to the water’s edge just by the bows. There was a crash of breaking oars; but the Malay boat dashed rapidly away, leaving the English helpless and sinking on the river.

“Catch this boat cloak,” cried the lieutenant who was ready enough in the emergency. “Stuff it in, and one of you sit back against it.”

“It’ll take two on us, sir,” cried the man, who rapidly obeyed orders, and to some extent checked the rush of water.

“Two of you begin baling,” cried the lieutenant next; and then, as he saw that all their efforts would only just keep them afloat, “There, my lads,” he said, “we’ve done our best. One more volley and then I think we had better run her ashore.”

Another volley was fired, to give warning to the steamer that there was something extraordinary on the way, and then the boat’s head was turned to the shore; but as they found that by constant baling they could just keep afloat, the lieutenant altered their direction, and they rowed on, with the gunwale nearly level with the water’s edge, and proceeding very slowly, but ever carried by the stream nearer to the steamer and the isle.

“A nice night’s work, Roberts,” said the lieutenant dolefully, as they sat deep in the water that washed from side to side; “lost both prahus, and got the boat crippled.”

“But we haven’t lost any men, sir,” said Bob, by way of comforting him.

“No; but several of the poor lads are wounded. There’s only one thing that would give me any comfort for my ill-luck, Roberts, and that is to hear—”

“There’s the ‘Startler’ a-talking to one, sir,” cried Dick, forgetting discipline in his excitement, as the boom of a big gun not very far-off met their ears. “There she goes again, sir,” he continued, as there was another shot, and another, and another, all showing that the captain had heard the firing and been prepared.

A couple more shots were heard, and then all was silent till the boat slowly drifted by the lights of the island, answering the sentries’ challenges, and then sighting the lights and open portholes of the steamer, to whose side they managed to struggle, answering the challenges as they approached.

In spite of all their efforts, it was doubtful whether the boat could have floated another minute, but on reaching the side the falls were hooked on, and she was slowly run up to the davits, with the water rushing out, the lieutenant then reporting his ill-success to the captain.

“Not one man killed, though,” he said.

“How many wounded?”

“Six, sir, but only slightly.”

“Mr Johnson, I hope the other boats have done better,” said the captain. “I’m afraid you will not get any promotion on the strength of this job.”

“No, sir,” said the lieutenant dolefully. “But did you sink either of the prahus?”

“Sink them, no,” said the captain, testily. “I don’t believe they were either of them touched; they went by us like the wind. There, go below all of you, and get into dry clothes.” The captain went forward to see that the look-out was doing its best; while the prahus were safely making their way to a mud creek, where the chiefs who commanded them felt that they could laugh at any force the English might send to redeem the failure of the past night; and to work such mischief in the future as was little imagined at the time.

Chapter Eleven.

How Bob Roberts had a Lesson on Common Sense.

The sun rose over the dense forest, turning the river mists into gauzy veils, that floated rapidly away, leaving the rapid stream sparkling in the soft morning breeze. The brightly-coloured parroquets flew shrieking from bank to bank; and in the thick jungle, across from the end of the island, the noisy chattering of a party of monkeys could be heard.

But bright as was the scene in all the gorgeous tints of tropic scenery, no one on the isle or in the steamer had a thought for anything but the expedition. At the residency, Rachel Linton and her cousin had watched the starting of the boats in the dim starlight, and they had sat ever since at their window, listening for tidings. The noise of the distant firing had reached them, making their breath come short as they started at each volley. Even by the very faintly-heard pattering of the small arms, broken occasionally by the loud report of boat-gun or lelah, they knew that quite a sharp fight must be raging.

Twice over they were visited by the major’s wife, for the major could not rest, but kept going to the steamer to consult with Captain Horton as to whether they had done everything possible to ensure success.

Mrs Major Sandars found the two ladies pale and anxious to a degree; and though she refrained from saying so, she shook her head, telling herself that this excess of anxiety was due to something more than the absence of a father and uncle, especially as the resident was not a fighting man.

She sat with them for long at a time, trying to comfort them, as she saw their agitation, and then grew as anxious herself, especially when the tide of the little war swept their way, and she heard the volleys bred from the boat, as the two prahus came down the stream.

At last, just as a couple of Malay fishermen had been engaged to help pilot the steamer up the river, where Captain Horton had determined to go in quest of the missing expedition, the sentry at the point of the island challenged, and the ship’s boats were seen coming round a point, the sun gleaming brightly on the barrels of the rifles, while the white jackets and frocks of the soldiers and sailors gave life to a scene that was one series of gloriously tinted greens.

Glasses were brought to bear, and it was evident that it was no dejected beaten party returning, for no sooner did they see that they were observed than the men began cheering, their shouts bringing the Malays flocking down to the river side, where several chiefs were seen embarking in a naga, or dragon-boat, eager, though looking very stolid, to hear the news.

It was on the whole good, for on the party landing it was to announce that they had, after a sharp fight, captured the stockade, driving the Malays, who were headed by the Rajah Gantang himself, to take refuge in another stockade, in a ravine some three miles inland, and then the river fort was set on fire.

The officer who had attacked the second prahu had met with similar ill-success to Lieutenant Johnson, and upon relating the incidents of the fight, found but little sympathy from the late occupants of the other boat, who were rather rejoiced to find they had not been excelled.

The escape of the second prahu was followed by a short council; and several Malays being found ready enough to act as guides to the stockade to which the rajah and his men had fled, it was decided to follow him up, and read him a second severe lesson.

It was a risky proceeding, for the guides might prove treacherous and lead them into an ambush; but after giving them notice that they would receive no mercy if they proved false, a small portion of the little force was left in charge of the boats, and, lightly equipped, the men went off in search of the second stronghold.

It proved to be an arduous task, for the way was through one of the jungle-paths, with walls of dense vegetation right and left, of the most impenetrable nature. Every here and there, too, the enemy had cut down a tree, so that it fell with the branches towards the pursuers, who were compelled to force a way through the dense mass that choked the narrow path.

But these impediments were laughed at by the Jacks, who hacked and hewed, and soon made a passage, through which, in the darkness of the forest, the little force crept on till they halted, panting, for the Malay guides to go on first, and act the part of scouts.

“Perhaps to give warning of our coming,” said Captain Smithers.

“No,” said Tom Long, “I don’t think that. I should say that they have had spies out all along the path, and that they know our position to an inch.”

“You are right, Long,” said Captain Smithers, as, one after the other, several reports rang out. “They are firing on our friendly Malays.”

So it proved, for the men came running back to say that they had been fired upon as soon as they neared the stockade; and now, as there was no chance of a surprise, the men were divided, and, each party under its leader, started off to try and flank the place.

This was something new to the Malays, who looked upon it as unfair fighting, and the result was, that after five minutes’ sharp, hand-to-hand engagement, the rajah and his men once more took to the woods, and the second stockade was burned.

This was so satisfactory a termination, that it seemed to make up for the loss of the two prahus. These, however, Captain Horton said the ship’s boats would soon hunt out; and the Malay chiefs went back to the sultan, to announce to him the defeat of his old enemy; while at the island every one was occupied about the hospital and the wounded men, who, poor fellows, were carefully lifted ashore, the doctor saying that the sailors would be far better on the island, in a tent beneath the shady trees, than on shipboard.

“Ten wounded, major,” he said sharply, “and not a man dangerously. I’ll soon set them right. Steady there, my boys; lift them carefully.”

A goodly group had assembled by the landing-place when the men were brought ashore, the ladies being ready with fruit and cool drink for the poor fellows; and Bob Roberts, who had come to the landing-place with Captain Horton in the gig, felt quite envious.

An hour or two’s sleep had set him right, and he felt none the worse for his adventure; but there was Tom Long being lifted carefully ashore by two of the sailors, and Rachel Linton and Mary Sinclair eagerly waiting on the youth, for he had received a real wound this time, and looked most interestingly pale.

“Just like my luck,” grumbled Bob. “He gets comfortably wounded, and they will be taking him fruit and flowers every day. I shouldn’t wonder if they had him carried up to the residency, so that he would be handy, and—hang me if it ain’t too bad. Oh! ’pon my word, I can’t stand this; they are having him carried up to the house. Just my luck. I get a contemptible ducking, and no one wants to wait upon me.”

Bob ground his teeth and looked on, while Tom Long was sympathised with and talked to on his way up to the residency, where, after swallowing his wrath, as the middy expressed it, he got leave to go up and see his friend.

“My friend!” he said, half aloud, as he walked on through the brilliant sunshine. “Lor’, how I do hate that fellow! I wish I had had the kris. I’d have given the Malay such a oner as he wouldn’t have forgotten in a hurry. Poor old Tommy, though I I hope he isn’t hurt much. How do you do, Miss Linton?” he said stiffly, as he encountered Rachel Linton in the verandah.

“Quite well, I thank you, Mr Roberts,” said Rachel, imitating his pompous stiffness, and curtseying profoundly; “how do you do?”

“Oh! I say; don’t, Miss Linton. What a jolly shame it is,” he cried, throwing off all form. “You always laugh and poke fun at me.”

“Not I, Mr Roberts,” she replied. “When you are stiff and formal, I shape my conduct to suit yours; when you come as the nice, frank, manly boy that we are always so glad to see, I am sure I never laugh at you then.”

“Boy? Yes, of course, you always treat me like a boy,” said Bob, dolefully. “Is a fellow never going to be a man?”

“Far too soon, I should think,” said Miss Linton, holding out her hand.

“Oh! I’m only a boy,” said Bob, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and looking so sadly injured, and in so comical a way, that Miss Linton could hardly refrain from laughing.

“Such a boy as I’m sure we are all very proud of,” said Miss Linton. “We have heard from my father and Lieutenant Johnson how bravely you behaved last night.”

“Gammon!” said Bob, blushing scarlet. “I only behaved like a boy. How is the wounded man you have had brought up here—Mr Ensign Long?”

“Poor boy!” said Rachel Linton quietly; “he has a nasty wound.”

“Say that again, Miss Linton,” cried Bob excitedly; “it does me good.”

“He has a nasty wound. Are you so pleased, then, that your friend is badly hurt?” said Miss Linton gravely.

“No, no; of course not. I mean the other,” cried Bob.

“Why, what did I say?”

“You said ‘Poor boy!’” exclaimed the middy.

“Of course I did,” said Miss Linton, raising her eyebrows.

“Say it again, please,” said Bob.

“Poor boy! I am very sorry for him.”

“That does me a deal of good,” cried Bob excitedly. “You know I can’t stand it, Miss Linton, for you to think of him as a man and of me as only a boy.”

“Why, you silly, foolish boy!” she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and gazing full in his face, “of course I think of you both as what you are—a pair of very brave lads, who will some day grow to be officers of whom England will be very proud.”

“If—if I’m not a man now,” said Bob, in a low, husky voice, “I shall never grow to be one.”

“Not grow to be a man? Why, what do you mean?” said Miss Linton.

“I don’t know,” faltered Bob, “only that it’s precious miserable, and—and I wish one of the jolly old Malays would stick his old kris right through my heart, for there don’t seem anything worth living for when one can’t have what one wants.”

Rachel Linton gazed at him half sad and half amused.

“Do you wish me to think of you, Robert Roberts, with respect and esteem?”

“I’d give all the world to be one of your dogs, Miss Linton, or your bird.”

“Do you mean to be a goose?” said Miss Linton, laughing. “There, I did not mean to hurt your feelings,” she added frankly; “but come, now, give up all this silly nonsense, and try to remember that you are after all but a boy, whom I want to look upon as a very dear friend.”

“Do you really?” said Bob.

“I do, really,” said Miss Linton, holding out her hand; “a friend whom I can believe in and trust, out in this dangerous place, and one who will not make my life wretched by being silly, romantic, and sentimental.”

Bob gripped the hand extended to him, and held it for a few moments.

“There,” he said firmly, as he seemed to shake himself together, “I see it now. It’s all right, Miss Linton; and it’s better to be a brick of a boy than a weak, puling noodle of a man, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is,” cried Miss Linton, laughing merrily.

“There, I’m your man—I mean I’m your boy,” cried Bob; “and I’ll let you see that I’m a very different fellow to what you think. Now I want to go and see poor old Tom Long. I am sorry he’s hurt.”

“You are now more like the Bob Roberts, midshipman,” said Miss Linton, “whom I saw first some months ago, than I have seen for a long time.”

“All right,” said Bob; “now let’s go and see the other poor boy.”

“Come along, then,” she said, smiling; “but I’m afraid that Tom Long will not be so easy to convince that he has not yet arrived at years of discretion.”

As she spoke Miss Linton softly opened the door unseen, and let Bob Roberts enter a cool and airy well-shaded room, closing the door upon him, and herself gliding away.

Chapter Twelve.

A Discussion upon Wounds.

“Avast there! what cheer, my hearty? Heave ahead, my military swab. How goes it!” cried Bob, as Tom raised himself a little on his couch, evidently very glad to see his old companion.

“Oh, not quite killed,” he said. “Gently; don’t shake a fellow to pieces.”

“Where’s the wound?” cried Bob. “Ain’t going to send in the number of your mess, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” cried Tom Long, flushing up; “and if I ever do come across the chief fellow who gave me such a nasty dig, he’ll remember it to the end of his days.”

“What was it—a spear or a kris?” said Bob.

“Kris, right through my left shoulder. Doctor Bolter says if it had been four inches lower it would have been fatal.”

“Bother!” cried Bob. “If it had been four inches higher it would have missed you altogether.”

“Yes, of course,” said Tom; “but it’s precious unpleasant to have a fellow stick his skewer right through you.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Bob, who had made up his mind that the proper thing was to try and cheer the ensign, and not to let him think he was very bad. “I think I’d just as soon have it right through as only half-way.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to laugh at, I can tell you,” said Tom Long, “I don’t see why you mightn’t just as well have had it as me. You always get off all right.”

“I didn’t last night, or rather this morning,” said Bob. “I was right into the prahu we tried to take—first man, sir—I mean boy, sir; and I was sawing away at a mat with my knife, when all came down by the run, and I was pitched into the river.”

“And picked out,” said the ensign impatiently.

“Yes, but not before I’d been swimming for a quarter of an hour—good measure. Oh, I say, Tom, didn’t I think of the crocodiles!”

“You’re such a cheeky little beggar, I wonder they didn’t get you,” said Tom, who looked feverish and excited. “I say, Bob Roberts, you know what that chap, that Kling fellow, said to us about the krises.”

“Yes, of course. What then?”

“Do you think they are poisoned?”

“No, not a bit. Do you?”

“Yes,” said the young ensign; “and I am sure this one was, for I can feel the wound throbbing and stabbing, and a curious sensation running to my finger ends.”

“Well, so one did when one had a bad cut,” said Bob sharply. “Bah! poisoned! it’s all rubbish. Why, if you had been poisoned you’d have been sleepy and stupid.”

“I feel so now.”

“What—stupid?” said Bob, grinning. “Well that’s natural: you always were?”

“I can’t get up and cane you, Bob Roberts,” said the ensign, slowly.

“Of course you can’t, old man. But there, don’t you worry; that kris wasn’t poisoned, or you’d feel very different to what you do now.”

“Think so?”

“Sure of it.”

“How do you know?” said Tom Long, peevishly. “You were never wounded by a poisoned weapon.”

“No, but I’ve seen somebody else, and watched him.”

“What was he wounded with?”

“Serpent’s tooth,” said Bob; “Private Gray.”

“Why, that’s a different thing altogether,” said Long.

“No it isn’t, Mr Clevershakes. The snake’s poison goes into the blood, don’t it, same as that of a kris, and the symptoms would be just the same.”

Tom Long seemed to think there was something in this, and he lay thinking for a minute.

“How did Gray look?” he said. “I don’t remember.”

“Just the same as you don’t look,” said Bob, sharply; “so don’t be a stupid and frighten yourself worse. Malay krises are not poisoned, and it’s all a cock-and-bull story.”

“What is?” said Doctor Bolter, entering the room.

“About krises being poisoned, doctor.”

Doctor Bolter felt his patient’s pulse.

“Have you been putting him up to thinking his wound was poisoned?” he said, angrily.

“No, doctor,” said Tom Long, quietly; “it was my idea, and I feel sure it is.”

“Tom Long,” said Doctor Bolter, “you’re only a boy, and if you weren’t so ill, I’d box your ears. You’ve been frightening yourself into a belief that you are poisoned, and here’s your pulse up, the dickens knows how high. Now look here, sir, what’s the use of your placing yourself in the hands of a surgeon, and then pretending to know better yourself?”

“I don’t pretend, doctor.”

“Yes, you do, sir. You set up a theory of your own that your blood is poisoned, in opposition to mine that it is not.”

“But are you sure it is not, doctor?”

“Am I sure? Why, by this time if that kris had been poisoned you would have had lock-jaw.”

“And Locke on the Understanding,” put in Bob.

“Yes,” laughed the doctor; “and been locked up altogether. There, there, my dear boy, keep yourself quiet, and trust me to bring you round. You, Bob Roberts, don’t let him talk, and don’t talk much yourself. You’d better go to sleep, Long.”

“Wound pains me too much, doctor. It throbs so. Isn’t that a sign of poison?”

“I’ll go and mix you up a dose of poison that shall send you to sleep for twelve hours, my fine fellow, if you don’t stop all that nonsense. Your wound is not poisoned, neither is that of any other man who came back from the expedition; and if it’s any satisfaction to you to know it, you’ve got the ugliest dig of any man—I mean boy—amongst the wounded.”

The doctor arranged the matting-screen so as to admit more air, and bustled towards the door—but stopped short on hearing a buzzing sound at the open window, went back on tiptoe, and cleverly captured a large insect.

“A splendid longicorn,” he said, fishing a pill-box from his pocket, and carefully imprisoning his captive. “Ah, my dear boys, what a pity it is that you do not take to collecting while you are young! What much better men you would make!”

“There,” said Bob, as soon as they were alone, “how do you feel about your poison now?”

“He says it is not, just to cheer me up,” said Tom Long, dolefully. “I say, Bob Roberts, if I die—”

“If you what?” cried Bob, in a tone of disgust.

“I say, if I die.”

“Oh, ah, of course. Now then, let’s have it. Do you want me to write a verse for your tombstone?”

“They’d pitch me overboard,” said Long, dolefully.

“Not they,” said Bob. “This promising young officer, who had taken it into his head that he had been wounded by a poisoned kris, was buried under a palm tree, to the great relief of all who knew him, for they found him the most conceited—”

“Bob Roberts!”

“Consequential—”

“I tell you what it is—”

“Cocky—”

“I never heard—”

“Unpleasant fellow that ever wore Her Majesty’s uniform.”

“Just wait till I get well, Master Bob Roberts,” said Tom Long, excitedly, “and if I don’t make you pay for all this, my name’s not what it is.”

“Thought you had made up your mind to die,” said Bob, laughing. “There, it won’t do, young man; so now go to sleep. I’ve got another half-hour, and I’ll sit here and keep the flies from visiting your noble corpus too roughly; and when you wake up, if you find I am not here it is because I am gone. D’ye hear?”

“Yes,” said Tom Long, drowsily; and in five minutes he was fast asleep, seeing which Bob sat till the last minute, and then went out on tiptoe to run and learn whether the boat was waiting by the landing-stage.

Chapter Thirteen.

An Unpleasant Interruption.

The feeling of satisfaction was very general at the lesson given the rajah; and though his two prahus had escaped, his power had received a most severe blow.

Sultan Hamet was sincere enough in his demonstrations of pleasure, sending presents five or six times a day to the resident, the various officers, and, above all, fruit for the wounded men.

The presents were but of little value, but they showed the Malay’s gratitude, and the officers were very pleased with what they looked upon as curiosities. Even Bob Roberts and Tom Long were not forgotten, each receiving an ivory-mounted kris, the young chief Ali being the bearer.

The resident, however, felt that the sultan was not meeting him in quite a proper spirit, and he was rather suspicious, till a fresh embassy of the principal chiefs arrived, and brought a formal invitation for the resident and the officers to visit him upon a fixed day.

As before, an imposing force was got ready, and once more the march to what Bob had nick-named Palm Tree Palace, took place, the middy coming afterwards to Tom Long’s room, and telling him how the affair had gone off.

“It was no end of a game,” he said to the young ensign, who was rapidly gaining strength, the fancy that his wound was poisoned having passed away. “We started just as we did last time, and marched through the jungle till we came to the sultan’s barns, where the men were drawn up, and no end of the niggers came to wait on them, bringing them a kind of drink made of rice, and plenty of fruit and things, while we officers had to go into the sultan’s dining-room—a place hung round with cotton print—and there we all sat down, cross-legged, like a lot of jolly tailors, with the sultan up at the top, the major on one side, and our skipper on the other.”

“But they didn’t sit down cross-legged?” said Tom Long.

“Didn’t they, my boy? But they just did; and it was a game to see our skipper letting himself down gently for fear of cracking his best white uniform sit-in-ems. Your major split some stitches somewhere, for I heard them go. Then there was the doctor; you should have seen him! He came to an anchor right enough, but when he tried to square his yards—I mean his legs—he nearly went over backwards, and looked savage enough to eat me, because I laughed.”

“Poor old doctor!” said Tom Long, smiling.

“Oh, we were all in difficulties, being cast upon our beam-ends as it were; but we got settled down in our berths at last, and then the dinner began.”

“Was it good?” said Tom Long, whose appetite was growing as he began to get better.

“Jolly!” said Bob, “capital! I say, though, how hot this place is.”

“Yes,” said the ensign, “the lamp makes it hot; but the window is wide open.”

Bob glanced out into the darkness, to see the dark gleaming leaves, and the bright fire-flies dancing in the air, while right before them lay the smooth river, reflecting the brilliant stars.

“There was no cloth; but it was no end of fun. Mr Sultan is going in for English manners and customs, and he mixes them up with his own most gloriously. By way of ornaments there was a common black japanned cruet-stand, with some trumpery bottles. There was one of those brown earthenware teapots, and an old willow-pattern soup tureen, without cover or stand, but full of flowers. Besides which, there were knives and forks, and spoons, regular cheap Sheffield kitchen ones, and as rusty as an old ring-bolt.”

“Indeed!” said Tom Long.

“I looked at our officers, and they had hard work to keep solemn; and I half expected to see a pound of sausages, and some potatoes in their skins, for the banquet. But wait a bit; those were the English things brought out in compliment to us. Mr Sultan had plenty of things of his own, some of silver, some of gold. He had some beautiful china too; and the feed itself—tlat!” said Bob, smacking his lips. “I wish you had been there.”

“I wish I had,” sighed Tom Long. “Getting well’s worse than being wounded.”

“Never mind; you’ll soon be all right,” continued Bob. “Well, we had some good fish, nicely cooked, and some stunning curry; the best I ever ate; and we had sambals, as they call ’em, with it.”

“What the dickens are sambals?” said Tom Long.

“Well, it’s either pickles or curry, whichever you like to call it,” continued Bob. “These sambals are so many little saucers on a silver tray, and they are to eat with your curry. One had smashed up cocoa-nut in milk; another chillies; another dried shrimps, chutney, green ginger, no end of things of that kind—and jolly good they were! Then we had rice in all sorts of shapes, and some toddy and rice wine, and some sweets of sago, and cocoa-nut and sugar.”

“But you didn’t eat all those things?” said Tom Long, peevishly.

“Didn’t I, my boy? but I just did. I thought once that the sultan might be going to poison us all; and, as they say there’s safety in a big dose, and death in a small, I went in for a regular big go. But I say, the fruits! they were tip-top: mangosteens and guavas, and mangoes, and cocoa-nuts, and durians, and some of the best bananas I ever ate in my life.”

“You didn’t try one of those filthy durians again?”

“Bless ’em, that I did; and I mean to try ’em again and again, as long as a heart beats in the bosom of yours very faithfully, Bob Roberts. They’re glorious!”

“Bah!”

“That’s right,” said Bob. “You say ‘Bah!’ and I’ll eat the durians. But I didn’t tell you about the drinks. We had coffee, and pipes, and cigars, and said pretty things to each other; and then the sultan told Mr Linton he was going to bring out some choice English nectar in our honour.”

“And did he?”

“He just did, my boy. A nigger came round with a little silver tray, covered with tiny gold cups in which was something thick and red.”

“Liqueur, I suppose,” said Tom Long, uneasily.

“Wait a wee, dear boy,” said Bob. “Here’s the pyson at last, I says to myself; and when my turn came, I did as the others did, bowed to the sultan, feeling just like a tombola, and nearly going over; then I drank—and what do you think it was?”

“I don’t know; go on.”

“Raspberry vinegar, and—ah!”

Tom Long started back, looking deadly white in the feeble light of the lamp; for, as Bob ejaculated loudly, a Malay spear whizzed past his ear, and stuck in the wooden partition behind him, having evidently been thrown through the window by some lurking foe.

Chapter Fourteen.

How Bob Roberts made a Firm Friend.

Bob Roberts seized his sword and dashed to the window, leaping boldly out, and shouting for help; and as he did so he heard the bushes rapidly parted, the crackling of twigs on ahead, and then, as he neared the river in pursuit of the assailant, there was a loud splash, followed by the challenge of a sentry and the report of his piece.

A brisk time of excitement followed, during which a thorough search was made, but no one was found; and it was evident that the spear had been thrown by an enemy who had come alone; but the incident was sufficient to create a general feeling of uneasiness at the residency. The sentries were doubled, and orders were given that the place should be carefully patrolled; for though the English were upon an island, the Malays were such expert swimmers that they could start up stream and let themselves float down to the head of the island and land.

It was some few days before Bob Roberts was able to pay another visit to the residency, for he had been out twice with the steamer’s boats, in search of the two escaped Malay prahus, each time on insufficient information; and after a weary pull through a winding mangrove creek, had come back without seeing them.

Meantime the relations with the Malays were daily growing in friendliness. A brisk trade with the shore was carried on, and sampans from far up the river came laden with fruit, fish, and rice; some brought poultry, and green sugar-cane for eating; others cocoa-nuts, and quaint articles for barter. But somehow there was an uneasy feeling on the island, that though the sultan and his people were friendly, some of the rajahs detested the English, as being likely to put a stop to their piratical practices, the destruction of Rajah Gantang’s stockade, while it gave plenty of satisfaction in some parts, being looked upon with disfavour in others.

“Pretty well all right again, old man?” said Bob, sauntering in one day, to find the ensign reading.

“Yes, I’m stronger by a good deal than I was,” said Tom Long, holding out his hand.

“No more limbings pitched in at the window, eh?”

“No,” said Tom Long with a slight shudder; “I hope that sort of thing is not going to happen again.”

“To which I say ditto,” said Bob. “But I say, I know who pitched that spear at you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, it was that Malay chap you offended with the durian.”

“Then he must be taken and punished.”

“First catch your brown hare, master officer of infantry,” said Bob, smiling. “He won’t set foot here again, depend upon it, unless he slinks in at night. By George, what a malicious lot they must be, to act like that!”

“Yes, it’s not pleasant,” said Tom Long, with an involuntary shudder, as, in imagination, he saw the dark face of his enemy always on the watch for an opportunity to assassinate him.

“I never finished my account of the trip to the sultan’s,” said Bob, at last.

“Was there anything more to tell?”

“Yes, one thing,” replied Bob; “the best of the whole lot.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t get riled if I tell you.”

“Pooh! how can it rile me?”

“Oh, I don’t know; only it may. It was a proposal made by the sultan to Mr Linton.”

“Proposal! What proposal?”

“Well, I’ll tell you; only don’t go into fits. It was after we’d been sitting smoking for a bit, and just before we were coming away. Master Sultan had shown us all his best things—his gold and silver, and his slaves, and the dingy beauties with great earrings, and bangles on their arms and legs, who have the honour of being his wives; and at last he said something to Mr Linton, who understands his lingo as well as you and I do French.”

“Well, but what did he propose?” said Long, eagerly.

“I got to know afterwards from Captain Smithers,” continued Bob, “that he said he had been thinking very seriously about his position in connexion with the English, and that he saw how a strong alliance would be best for all; that it would settle him in his government, and make it a very excellent match for the English, who would be able to get tin and rice from the sultan’s people, and gold.”

“You’re as prosy as an old woman,” said Tom Long, impatiently.

“Yes, it’s an accomplishment of mine,” said Bob coolly. “Well, as I was telling you, he said the proper thing was a very strong alliance; and the resident said we had already made one. He said he wanted a stronger one; and he thought the best thing would be for him to marry Miss Linton and her cousin, and then it would be all right.”

“Why, confound his insolence!” said Tom Long, starting up.

“No, no, you must say something else,” cried Bob. “I said that as soon as I heard it.”

“Did not Mr Linton knock him down?” cried Tom Long.

“No, he did not. He heard him out, and said it must be a matter of consideration; and then we came away.”

“But it’s monstrous!” cried Tom Long.

“Of course it is,” said Bob, coolly; “but don’t you see it was of no use to break with the fellow at once. It was a case of diplomacy. We don’t want to quarrel with Master Sultan Hamet: we want to keep friends.”

“But it was such an insult to the ladies!”

“He looked as if he thought he was doing them an honour, Master Long, so it wouldn’t have done to fall out with him. There, don’t look so fierce, we’ve got a difficult game to play here, and our great point is not to quarrel with the Malays, unless we want spears thrown in at every dark window while we stay.”

Tom Long sat biting his nails, for Bob had touched him in a very tender part, and he knew it. In fact, the middy rather enjoyed his companion’s vexation, for he had begun, since his memorable conversation with Miss Linton, to look upon his feelings towards her with a more matter-of-fact eye.

“I shall have to get about at once,” said Tom Long, speaking as if his weight in the scale would completely make Sultan Hamet kick the beam; but upon seeing the mirthful look in Bob Roberts’ eye, he changed the subject, and began talking about how he longed to be out and about again.

“I thought we should get no end of fishing and shooting out here,” he said, “and we’ve had none as yet.”

“Get well, then, and we’ll have a try for some,” Rob suggested. “There must be plenty;” and with the understanding that the ensign was to declare himself fit to be off the doctor’s hands as soon as possible, Bob Roberts returned to the steamer, and then finding it terribly close, he did what he had acquired a habit of doing when the weather was very hot, found a snug shady place on deck, and went off to sleep.

That was very easy in those latitudes. Whether the sun shone or whether it was gloomy, black, and precursive of a thunder-storm, an European had only to sit down in a rocking chair, or swing in a hammock, and he went off into a delicious slumber almost on the instant.

So far so good; the difficulty was to keep asleep; and so Bob Roberts found.

He had settled himself in a low basket-work chair, beneath a stout piece of awning which shed a mellow twilight upon the deck, and loosening his collar, he had dropped off at once; but hardly was he asleep before “burr-urr-urr boom-oom-oom, boozz-oozz-oozz” came a great fly, banging itself against the awning, sailing round and round, now up, now down, as if Bob’s head were the centre of its attraction, and he could not get farther away. Now it seemed to have made up its mind to beat itself to pieces against the canvas, and now to try how near it could go to the midshipman’s nose without touching, and keeping up all the time such an aggravating, irritating buzz that it woke Bob directly.

There was plenty of room for the ridiculous insect to have flown right out from beneath the awning and over the flashing river to the jungle; but no, that did not seem to suit its ideas, and it kept on with its monotonous buzz, round and round, and round and round.

Half awake, half asleep, Bob fidgeted a little, changed his position, and with his eyes shut hit out sharply at his tormentor, but of course without effect.

He turned over, turned back; laid his head on one side; then on the other; and at last, as the miserable buzzing noise continued, he jumped up in a rage, picked up a book for a weapon, and followed the fly about, trying to get a fair blow—but all in vain. He hit at it flying, settled on the canvas roof; on the arms of chairs, and on the deck, and twice upon a rope—but all in vain: the wretched insect kept up its irritating buzz, till, hot, panting, his brows throbbing with the exertion, Bob made a furious dash at it, and with one tremendous blow crushed it flat.

The middy drew a long breath, wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and, panting and weary, threw himself back in the chair, and closed his eyes.

He was a clever sleeper, Bob Roberts. Like the Irishman who went to sleep for two or three days, when Bob went to sleep, he “paid attintion to it.” In a few seconds then he was fast, and—truth must be told—with his mouth open, and a very unpleasant noise arising therefrom.

Vain hope of rest. Even as he threw himself back, a little many-legged creature, about two inches long, was industriously making its way over the deck towards where one of the middy’s limbs lay outstretched, and in a few seconds it had mounted his shoe, examined it with a pair of long thin antenna, and then given the leather a pinch with a pair of hooked claws at its tail.

Apparently dissatisfied, the long thin yellow insect ran on to the sleeper’s sock, carefully examined its texture, tasted it with its tail, and still not satisfied, proceeded to walk up one of the very wide open duck trouser legs, that must have been to it like the entrance to some grand tunnel, temptingly inviting investigation.

The insect disappeared; Bob snored, and there was the loud buzzing murmur of men’s voices, talking drowsily together, when, as if suddenly electrified, Bob leaped up with a sharp cry, slapped his leg vigorously, and stood shaking his trousers till the long thin insect tumbled on to the white deck, and was duly crushed.

“Scissors! how it stings!” cried Bob, rubbing the place. “O Lor’! what a place this is to be sure. Who the dickens can get a nod?”

Bob Roberts was determined upon having one evidently, for having given the obnoxious remains another stamp, he took a look round, to see if any other pest, winged or legged, had been brought from the shore, and seeing nothing, he again settled himself down, gave a turn or two and a twist to get himself comfortable, ending by sitting with his legs stretched straight out, his head thrown back, and his nose pointed straight up at the awning.

This time Bob went off fast asleep; his cap fell on to the deck, but it did not disturb him; and he was evidently making up for lost time, when a very industrious spider, who had made his home in the awning, came boldly out of a fold by a seam of the canvas, and with busy legs proceeded to examine the state and tension of some threads, which it had previously stretched as the basis of a web upon a geometrical plan, expressly to catch mosquitoes.

Apparently satisfied, the spider set to work busily, its dark, heavy body showing plainly against the yellowish canvas; and in a very short time a main rope was attached to the roof, and the architect of fly-nets began slowly to descend in search of a point to which the other end of the said main-stay could be attacked.

Now fate had so arranged it, that the point exactly beneath the spider as it slowly descended was the tip of Bob Roberts’ nose, and to this point in the course of a minute the insect nearly arrived.

It may be thought that its next act would be to alight and fix its rope; but this was not so easy, for the soft zephyr-like breaths the middy exhaled drove the swinging architect to and fro. Now it came near, now it was driven away; but at last it got near enough to grasp at the sleeper’s most prominent feature, just brushing it with its legs, and setting up an irritating tickling that made Bob snort and scratch his face.

The spider swung to and fro for some seconds, and then there was another terrible tickle, to which Bob responded by fiercely rubbing the offending organ.

The spider was driven to a distance by this; but it was back again directly, with its legs stretched out, tickling as before.

Bob was not asleep, and he was not awake, and he could neither sink into oblivion, nor thoroughly rouse himself. All he could do was to bestow an irritable scratch at his nose, and the spider came back again.

At last, spider or no spider, he dropped into a strange dreamy state, in which he believed that Tom Long came and loomed over him on purpose to bend down and tickle him, out of spite and jealousy, with the long thin feather from a paroquet’s tail.

“Don’t! Bother!” said Bob, in his sleep; but the tickling went on, and he felt ready to leap up and strike his tormentor; but he seemed to be held down by some strange power which kept him from moving, and the tickling still went on.

Then he could hear voices talking, and people seemed to be about, laughing at and enjoying the trick that was being played upon him; and then he started into wakefulness, for a voice exclaimed,—

“Come, Mr Roberts, are you going to wake up?”

It was Lieutenant Johnson who spoke; and on the middy jumping up, he found standing by him, with the lieutenant, the dark-faced youth who had met them and acted as guide on the occasion when they made their first visit to the sultan’s home.

He was dressed similarly to the way in which he made his first appearance before the English party; that is to say, he wore the silken jacket and sarong of the Malay chiefs, with a natty little embroidered cap, set jauntily upon his head like that of a cavalry soldier; but in addition he wore the trousers, white shirt-front, and patent leather boots of an Englishman, and the middy saw that he had a gold albert chain and straw-coloured kid gloves.

“This gentleman is the son of the Tumongong of Parang, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant, “and he has come on board to see the ship. Take him round and show him everything, especially the armoury, and let him understand the power of the guns. Captain Horton wishes it.”

The lieutenant looked meaningly at the middy, who saluted, and then nodded his head in a way that showed he comprehended his task.

“The skipper wants these people to know that it is of no good to try and tackle us,” thought Bob. “Yes, sir,” he said aloud, “I’ll take him round;” and then the lieutenant, who had been interrupted in a nap, saluted the young chief; who salaamed to him gravely, and the two young men were left alone, gazing straight at one another, each apparently trying to read the other’s thoughts.

“This is a jolly nice sort of a game,” said Bob to himself! “How am I to make him understand? What a jolly fool old Johnson is. Now, my sun-brown-o cockywax, comment vous portez-vous? as we say in French. Me no understandy curse Malay’s lingo not at all-oh. Bismillah! wallah! Come oh! and have a bottle oh! of Bass’s ale oh!”

“With much pleasure,” said the young Malay, laughing. “I am thirsty.”

Bob Roberts turned as red as a turkey-cock with vexation.

“What! Can you understand English?” he stammered.

“Rather!” was the reply. “I couldn’t make out all you said—not quite,” he added, laughing meaningly.

“Oh! I say, I am sorry,” said Bob frankly. “I didn’t know you could understand a word.”

“It’s all right,” said the young Malay, showing his white teeth, and speaking fair idiomatic English, though with a peculiar accent. “I’ve been a great deal at Penang and Singapore. I like English ways.”

“I say, you know,” cried Bob, holding out his hand, “it was only my fun. I wouldn’t have chaffed you like that for a moment if I had thought you could understand.”

“No, I suppose not,” said the young Malay. “Never mind, I wanted to see you. That’s why I came. Where’s the young soldier?”

“What Tom—I mean Ensign Long?”

“Yes, En-sign Long.”

“Knocked up. Ill with his wound. He got hurt up the river.”

“I did not know it was he,” said the young Malay. “Poor fellow!”

“He was in an awful state,” said Bob. “Got a kris through his shoulder, and thought it was poisoned.”

“What, the kris? Oh, no. That is nonsense. Our people don’t poison their krises and limbings. The Sakais poison their arrows.”