If they had not been English, the probabilities are that Bob Roberts and
Tom Long would have hugged each other. As it was they seemed to think
it quite the correct thing to shake hands over and over again, and then
walk up and down under the palm-trees of the enclosure, flushed,
excited, and as full of swagger as they could possibly be.
"Blest if they don't look like a couple o' young game cocks who have
just killed their birds," said old Dick to Billy Mustard. "My word,
they are cocky! But where are you going, old man?"
"To fetch my instrument," said Billy.
"What, yer fiddle? What do you want that 'ere for?"
"The young gents wants it," said Billy.
So with a nod he went into his quarters, to return with his beloved
violin in its green baize bag, which he bore to where Bob and Tom were
now seated at one of the tables beneath a shady tree.
On the strength of their adventure they were indulging themselves with
bitter beer, into which they dropped lumps of ice, and as soon as Billy
Mustard came, the violin was brought out, tuned, and the harmonious
sound produced had the effect of soon gathering together an audience in
the soft mellow hour before sunset.
Several officers seated themselves at the table, and followed the
youngsters' example; soldiers and sailors gathered at a little distance
beneath the trees; and unseen by the party below, Rachel Linton and Mary
Sinclair appeared at a mat-shaded window.
"Tom Long's going to sing `The Englishman,'" shouted Bob Roberts
suddenly, and there was a loud tapping upon the rough deal table.
"No, no, I really can't, 'pon honour," said the ensign, looking very
much more flushed than before.
"Yes, yes, he is," said Bob, addressing those around. "He is--in honour
of the occasion; and gentlemen, let's sing out the chorus so loudly that
those niggers in the campong can hear our sentiments, and shiver in
their shoes, where they've got any."
"Hear! hear!" said a young lieutenant.
"But really, you know, I hav'n't a voice," exclaimed the ensign in
expostulation.
"Gammon!" cried Bob. "He can sing like a bird, gentlemen. Silence,
please, for our national song, `The Englishman'!"
"I can't sing it--indeed I can't," cried the ensign.
"Oh, yes, you can; go on," said the young lieutenant who had previously
spoken.
"To be sure he will," cried Bob Roberts. "Heave ahead, Tom, and I'll
help whenever I can. It's your duty to sing it, for the niggers to hear
our sentiments with regard to slavery!"
"Hear, hear!" cried several of the officers, laughing; and the men gave
a cheer.
"Slavery and the British flag!" cried Bob Roberts, who was getting
excited. "No man, or woman either, who has once sought protection
beneath the folds of the glorious red white and blue, can ever return to
slavery!"
"Hear, hear, hear!" shouted the officers again, and the men threw up
their caps, cried "Hoorar!" and the sentry on the roof presented arms.
"Now then, play up, Private Mustard--`The Englishman,'" cried Bob
Roberts. "Get ready, Tom, and run it out with all your might!"
"Must I?" said the ensign, nervously.
"To be sure you must. Wait a minute, though, and let him play the
introduction."
Billy Mustard gave the bow a preliminary scrape, and the audience grew
larger.
"What key shall I play it in, sir?" said Billy.
"Any key you like," cried Bob, excitedly. "Play it in a whole bunch of
keys, my lad, only go ahead, or we shall forget all the words."
Off went the fiddle with a flourish over the first strain of the
well-known song, and then, after a couple of efforts to sing, Tom Long
broke down, and Bob Roberts took up the strain, singing it in a cheery
rollicking boyish way, growing more confident every moment, and proving
that he had a musical tenor voice. Then as he reached the end of the
first verse, he waved his puggaree on high, jumped upon the table to the
upsetting of a couple of glasses, and led the chorus, which was lustily
trolled out by all present.
On went Bob Roberts, declaring how the flag waved on every sea, and
should never float over a slave, throwing so much enthusiasm into the
song that to a man all rose, and literally roared the chorus, ending
with three cheers, and one cheer more for the poor girls; and as Bob
Roberts stood upon the table flushed and hot, he felt quite a hero, and
ready to go on that very night and rescue half-a-dozen more poor slave
girls from tyranny, if they would only appeal to him for help.
"Three cheers for Mr Roberts," shouted Dick, the sailor, as Billy
Mustard was confiding to a friend that "a fiddle soon got outer toon in
that climate."
"Yes, and three cheers for Mr Long," shouted Bob. "Come up here, Tom,
old man; you did more than I did."
Tom Long was prevailed upon to mount the table, where he bowed again and
again as the men cheered; when, as a lull came in the cheering, Billy
Mustard, whose fiddle had been musically whispering to itself in answer
to the well-drawn bow, suddenly made himself heard in the strain of
"Rule Britannia," which was sung in chorus with vigour, especially when
the singers declared that Britons never, _never_, NEVER should be
slaves; which rang out far over the attap roofs of the drowsy campong.
So satisfied were the singers that they followed up with the National
Anthem, which was just concluded when the resident sent one of his
servants to express a hope that the noise was nearly at an end.
"Well, I think we have been going it," said Bob Roberts, jumping down.
"Come along, Tom. I've got two splendid cigars--real Manillas."
Tom Long, to whom this public recognition had been extremely painful,
was only too glad to join his companion on a form beneath a tree, where
the two genuine Manillas were lit, and for a quarter of an hour the
youths smoked on complacently, when just as the exultation of the public
singing was giving way to a peculiar sensation of depression and
sickness, and each longed to throw away half his cigar, but did not
dare, Adam Gray came up to where they were seated, gradually growing
pale and wan.
"Ah, Gray," said the ensign, "what is it?"
"The major, sir, requests that you will favour him with your company
directly."
"My company?" cried the ensign; "what's the matter?"
"Don't know, sir; but I think it's something about those slave girls.
And Captain Horton requested me to tell you to come too, sir," he
continued, turning to Bob Roberts.
"We're going to get promotion, I know, Tom," said the middy.
"No, no," said the ensign, dolefully, "it's a good wigging."
Bob Roberts, although feeling far from exalted now, did not in anywise
believe in the possibility of receiving what his companion euphoniously
termed a "wigging," and with a good deal of his customary independent,
and rather impudent, swagger he followed the orderly to a cool lamp-lit
room, where sat in solemn conclave, the resident, Major Sandars, and
Captain Horton.
"That will do, Gray," said Major Sandars, as the youths entered, and
saluted the three officers seated like judges at a table, "but be within
hearing."
"Might ask us to sit down," thought Bob, as he saw from the aspect of
the three gentlemen that something serious was afloat.
But the new arrivals were not asked to sit down, and they stood before
the table feeling very guilty, and like a couple of prisoners; though of
what they had been guilty, and why they were brought there, they could
not imagine.
"It's only their serious way," thought Bob; "they are going to
compliment us."
He stared at the shaded lamp, round which four or five moths and a big
beetle were wildly circling in a frantic desire to commit suicide, but
kept from a fiery end by gauze wire over the chimney.
"What fools moths and beetles are!" thought Bob, and then his attention
was taken up by the officers.
"Will you speak, Major Sandars?" said the resident.
"No, I think it should come from you, Mr Linton. What do you say,
Captain Horton?"
"I quite agree with you, Major Sandars," said the captain stiffly.
"What the dickens have we been doing?" thought Bob; and then he stared
hard at the resident, and wished heartily that Rachel Linton's father
had not been chosen to give him what he felt sure was a setting down for
some reason or another.
"As you will, gentlemen," said the resident firmly, and he then placed
his elbows on the table and joined his fingers, while the light from the
lamp shone full upon his forehead.
"Mr Ensign Long--Mr Midshipman Roberts," he began. "He might have
placed me first," thought Bob. "I wish someone would catch those
wretched moths."
"You have been out on an expedition to-day?"
He waited for an answer, and as Tom Long had been placed first, Bob
waited, too; but as his companion did not speak, Bob exclaimed quickly--
"Yes, sir, snipe shooting;" and as the resident bowed his head, Bob
added, "two brace."
"Confound you--you young dogs!" cried Captain Horton, "and you brought a
brace of something else. I beg your pardon, Mr Linton; go on."
Mr Linton bowed, while Bob uttered a barely audible whistle, and
glanced at his companion.
"Then it's about those two girls," he thought.
"It seems, young gentlemen," continued the resident, "that while you
were out, you met two young Malay girls?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who had run away from their master?"
"From their owner, as he seemed to consider himself, sir," said Bob,
who, to use his own words, felt as if all the fat was in the fire now,
and blazed up accordingly. "You see, sir," he said quickly, "we were
watching for something that we saw in the reeds, close to the boggy
ground, you know, and Tom here thought it was pig, but I thought it
might be a deer. So we stood quite still till we heard sounds in the
distance, when out jumped two dark creatures, and I was going to fire,
when we saw that they were girls."
"And they ran up to us," said Tom Long.
"Like winking," said Bob, "and threw themselves on their knees, and
clung to our legs, and wouldn't let go. Then up came half-a-dozen of
the niggers--"
"I think, Mr Roberts, we will call people by their right names," said
the resident, quietly; "suppose we say Malays."
"Yes, sir, Malays; and laid hold of the girls to drag them away. They
screamed out, and that roused us, and we sent the nig--Malays staggering
back. For you see, sir, as Englishmen--"
"English what--Mr Roberts?" said Captain Horton.
"Men, sir. I'm a midshipman, sir," said Bob, sharply; and the captain
grunted out something that sounded like "impudent young puppy!" but he
did not look angry.
"Go on, Mr Roberts," said the resident.
"Well, sir, being English--boys--big boys, who felt like men just
then--" said Bob, rather sarcastically.
"That's not bad, Mr Roberts," said Major Sandars, with a glance at the
naval captain.
"Well, sir, as the poor girls had regularly appealed to us to protect
them, and the nig--Malays, sir, whipped out their krises, we presented
arms, and would have given them a peppering of snipe shot, if they
hadn't sheered off when we brought the two poor weeping slave girls
under the protection of the British flag, and set them free. Didn't we,
Tom?"
"Yes," said Tom Long, looking nervously at the resident, and wondering
what Rachel Linton thought about their feat.
There was a dead silence for a few moments, during which Bob Roberts
wiped his streaming forehead, for he felt uncomfortably hot. Then the
resident began--
"I think I am speaking the sentiments of my friends here, young
gentlemen, when I say that you both behaved just as two brave British
lads would be expected to behave under the circumstances."
"Yes," said Major Sandars, "Ensign Long, I felt sure, would not be
wanting, if called upon."
Tom Long's face grew the colour of his best uniform.
"Very plucky act," said Captain Horton; and he nodded in so friendly a
way at the middy, that Bob felt quite beaming.
"But," continued the resident, speaking very slowly, and as if weighing
every word he said, "what is very beautiful in sentiment, and very brave
and manly if judged according to our own best feelings, young gentlemen,
becomes very awkward sometimes if viewed through the spectacles of
diplomacy."
"I--I don't understand you, sir," faltered Bob.
"Let me be explicit then, young gentlemen. You both were, it seems,
granted leave of absence to-day, for indulging in a little innocent
sport, but by your brave, though very indiscreet conduct, you have, I
fear, completely overset the friendly relations that we have been trying
so hard to establish with these extremely sensitive people."
"But, sir," began Bob, "the poor girls--"
"Yes, I know all that," said the resident quietly; "but slavery is a
domestic institution among these people, and to-morrow I feel sure that
I shall have a visit from some of the sultan's chief men, demanding that
these poor girls be given up."
"But they can't be now, sir," said Tom Long.
"No, Mr Long, we cannot return the poor girls to a state of slavery;
but do you not see into what an awkward position your act has brought
us?"
"I'm very sorry, sir."
"Yes, but sorrow will not mend it. We have been, and are, living on the
edge of a volcano here, young gentlemen, and the slightest thing may
cause an eruption. This act of yours, I greatly fear, will bring the
flames about our heads."
Bob Roberts turned pale, as he thought of the ladies.
"But they'd never dare, sir," he began.
"Dare? I believe the Malays are quite daring enough to attack us,
should they feel disposed. But there, we need not discuss that matter.
You young gentlemen have, however, been very jubilant over your rescue
of these poor girls, and you have been summoned here to warn you, while
your respective officers take into consideration what punishment is
awarded to you, that your noisy demonstrations are very much out of
place."
"Punishment, sir!" said Bob, who looked aghast.
"Yes," said the resident sharply, "punishment. You do not seem to
realise, young gentleman, that your act to-day has fired a train.
Besides which, it is a question of such import that I must make it the
basis of a special despatch to the colonial secretary at Whitehall."
Bob Roberts turned round and stared at Tom Long, but the latter was
staring at Major Sandars.
"I don't think I need say any more, young gentlemen," said the resident
quietly, "and I fervently hope that I may be able to peaceably settle
this matter; but it is quite on the cards that it may be the cause of a
deadly strife. And I sincerely trust that whatever may be the upshot of
this affair, it may be a warning to you, as young English officers, to
think a little more, and consider, before you take any serious step in
your careers; for sometimes a very slight error may result in the loss
of life. In this case, yours has not been a slight error, but a grave
one."
"Though we all own as quite true," said Captain Horton, "that we don't
see how you could have acted differently; eh, Sandars?"
"Yes, yes, of course. But, hang it all, Long, how could you go and get
into such a confounded pickle? It's too bad, sir, 'pon my soul, sir; it
is too bad--much too bad."
"Are we to be under arrest, sir?" said Bob Roberts, rather blankly.
"Not if you'll both promise to keep within bounds," said Captain Horton.
"No nonsense."
"No, sir," said Bob glumly.
"Of course not, sir," said Tom.
"That will do then, young gentlemen," said the resident gravely; and the
two youths went blankly off to their several quarters.
"Poor boys! I'm sorry for them," said the resident sadly.
"Yes, it's a confounded nuisance, Linton," said Major Sandars, "but you
must diplomatise, and set all right somehow or another."
"That's a fine boy, that Roberts," said Captain Horton. "I'll try my
best, gentlemen," said the resident, "for all our sakes; but we have a
curious people to deal with, and I fear that this may turn out a very
serious affair."