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.