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.