Doctor Bolter nearly let fall the cigar he was smoking, for his jaw
suddenly dropped; but by a clever snatch of the hand he caught it, and
replaced it in his lips, as he glanced at the showily-dressed steersman
to see if he had noticed the display of agitation.
"I say, Chumbley, don't be a stupid," he said, in a low voice, as he
brushed some of the cigar-ash from his white linen tunic.
"Certainly not," replied the lieutenant, coolly. "I only said what I
thought."
"But you don't think such a thing as that possible, do you?"
"Don't know. Can't say. It's rather awkward out here, though, to be in
a place where you can't call in the police if you want them."
"Dear me! Bless my soul!" ejaculated the doctor, taking his cigar in
his hand, and looking at the burning end. "But, oh, no! it's all
nonsense. He wouldn't dare to do such a thing."
"No," drawled Chumbley; "I don't suppose he would."
"Then why the dickens did you put forth such an idea?" cried the doctor,
angrily. "Bah! that's the worst cigar I ever smoked."
He threw it over the side, and it gave an angry hiss as it fell into the
water.
"Try another, doctor," said Chumbley, offering his case. "It's of no
use to make yourself miserable about it if it is as I say."
"But the ladies!" cried the doctor. "My poor little wife," he added,
softly.
"Well, they would be no better off if we make ourselves wretched," said
Chumbley, coolly.
"Bight away from all help! Not so much as a bottle of quinine at hand!"
exclaimed the doctor.
"Ah, that's a pity," said Chumbley. "Here, light a fresh cigar, man,
and don't look like that amiable person who pulled Priam's curtains in
the dead of the night. Come, doctor, I thought you fellows were always
calm."
"So we are," cried the doctor, feeling his own pulse. "Ninety-four!
That's pretty good for this climate. Yes, I'll take another cigar. But
I say, Chumbley, this is very awkward."
"Would be very awkward, you mean."
"Yes, of course. And we are all unarmed."
"Well, not quite all," said Chumbley. "Being a sort of man-at-arms--a
kind of wasp amongst the human insects--I always carry my sting."
"What! have you anything with you?"
"Pistol and a few cartridges," replied Chumbley, coolly.
"And I should have had my gun. You know my little double-barrelled
Adams, don't you?"
"Yes; the one with the dent in the stock."
"That's the one, my lad! Well, I should have had that with me if it had
not been for Mrs Bolter. I wanted to bring it, so as to collect a
little, and she said it was folly, so I had to put it away. Have the
others any arms?"
"Two apiece," said Chumbley. "Fleshy."
"And you can joke at a time like this?" exclaimed the doctor excitedly,
while the swarthy steersman looked down at him wonderingly.
"Well, where's the use of doing anything else about what was only a
passing fancy on my part. Come, doctor, smoke your cigar in peace.
Perhaps, after all, Murad means to be as amiable as host can be, and we
shall all get back to the station, having found no worse enemies than
the sun and the champagne."
"Champagne? Nonsense, man. We shall have to drink palm wine."
"Perhaps so; but I'll make an affidavit, as the lawyers call it, that
there are half a dozen cases on board with the brand _Pfungst, Epernay_
upon them, and--"
"Look--look!" exclaimed the doctor, laying his hand upon his companion's
arm.
"What--what at?" said Chumbley, coolly. "I don't see anything
dangerous."
"Dangerous--no! Look at that tree laden with blossoms to the water's
edge."
"Yes, I see it. Very pretty. Can you see a tiger's nose poking
through?"
"No, no, man; but look at the magnificent butterflies--four of them.
Why, they must be nine inches across the wings. Where's Rosebury?"
"Oh! come, doctor: you are better," exclaimed Chumbley, smiling.
"That's right; don't think any more about my scare."
"This trip is completely spoiled," exclaimed the doctor, excitedly. "No
shooting--no collecting! Oh! for goodness' sake, look at that bird,
Chumbley!"
"What, that little humpbacked chap on the dry twig?"
"Yes."
"Hah! he looks as if he has got the pip."
"My dear fellow, that's one of the lovely cinnamon-backed trogons. Look
at his crimson breast and pencilled wings."
"Yes, very pretty," said Chumbley; "but I often think, doctor, that I'd
give something to see half a dozen sooty London sparrows in a genuine
old English fog."
"Nonsense, man. There, too--look!" he cried, pointing, as like a streak
of white light a great bird flew across the river. "That's a white
eagle. I never have such chances as this when I'm out collecting."
"S'pose not," said Chumbley, drily. "It's always the case when a fellow
has no gun. Precious good job for the birds."
"Oh! this is maddening!" cried the doctor. "Look--look at that,
Chumbley," and he pointed to the dead branch of a tree, upon which a
bird sat motionless, with the sun's rays seeming to flash from its
feathers.
"Yes, that is rather a pretty chap," said Chumbley. "Plays lawn tennis
evidently. Look at his tail."
"Yes, that is one of the lovely racket-tailed kingfishers, Chumbley.
Ah! I wish, my dear boy, you had a little more taste for natural
history. That is a very, very rare specimen, and I'd give almost
anything to possess it."
"Aren't those long feathers in his way when he dives after fish?" said
Chumbley.
"There it is, you see," cried the doctor. "You unobservant men display
your ignorance the moment you open your lips. These Malay kingfishers
do not dive after fish, but chase the beetles and butterflies."
"Poor beetles! and poor butterflies!" said Chumbley, with his eyes half
closed. "I say, doctor, this is very delightful and dreamy. I begin to
wish I was a rajah somewhere up the river here, with plenty of slaves
and a boat, and no harassing drills, and tight uniform, and no one to
bully me--not even a wife. I say, old fellow, if I am missing some day,
don't let them look for me, because I shall have taken to the jungle.
I'm sick of civilisation and all its shams."
"Hallo! you two," cried a voice. "Come, I say, this isn't fair. Here
they are, Hilton."
It was the Resident who spoke, and Captain Hilton also appeared the next
moment, the four gentlemen so completely filling up the space that the
steersman hardly had room to work his oar.
"It's all right," said Chumbley, coolly. "The doctor was giving me a
lesson in natural history."
"With the help of a cigar," said Hilton. "Shall we join them, Harley?"
"Yes--no. We had better get back. The Rajah might think himself
slighted if we stayed away."
"Yes, you're right," exclaimed Chumbley; and getting up slowly, they all
made their way back to the covered-in portion of the boat, where the
beauties of the river were being discussed, and where Hilton found a
seat beside Helen Perowne.
"How nice little Stuart looks in her white dress!" thought Chumbley to
himself. "A fellow might do worse than marry her. Humph! Is Mr Rajah
Murad going to try it on there, as he has been disappointed in Helen
Perowne? No; it is only civility. 'Pon my word the fellow is quite the
natural gentleman, and can't have such ideas in his head as those for
which I gave him credit."
Chumbley chatted first with one and then with another; while in his
soft, quiet way, looking handsome and full of desire to please his
guests, the Rajah threw off his Eastern lethargy of manner, and seemed
to be constantly on the watch for some fresh way of adding to the
pleasures of the trip.
Not that it wanted additions, for to sit there in the shade, listening
to the plash of oars and the musical ripple of the clear water against
the sides of the boat, while the ever-changing panorama of green trees
waving, rich bright blossoms, with now and then a glimpse of purple
mountain and pale blue hazy hill, was sufficiently interesting to
gratify the most exacting mind.
Now and then they passed a native village or campong, with its bamboo
houses raised on platforms, the gable-ended roofs thatched with
palm-leaves, and the walls frequently ingeniously woven in checkered
patterns with strips of cane. The boats attached to posts or palm-tree
trunks told of the aquatic lives of the people, this being a roadless
country, and the rivers forming the highway from village to village or
town to town.
The easy motion of the boat, the musical ripple of the water, the
rhythmical sweep of the oars, and the ever-changing scenery in that pure
atmosphere, redolent with the almost cloying scent of the flowers,
seemed to produce its effect on all, and the conversation soon gave
place to a dreamy silence, in which the beauty of the river was watched
with half-closed eyes, till after some hours' rowing against stream, a
loud drumming and beating of gongs was heard, making the doctor and
Chumbley exchange glances, and the former whispered to the lieutenant:
"Does that mean mischief?"
"Don't know: can't say," was the reply. "It may mean welcome. All we
can do is to keep quiet and our eyes open, then we shall see."
"Very philosophical, but precious unsatisfactory," muttered the doctor,
as the boats went on towards where a cluster of houses showed their
pointed roofs amidst the cocoa-palm, and here a couple of flags were
flying, one yellow, the other the familiar union-jack; while under the
trees could be seen a party of gaily-dressed women, among whom, by the
aid of a lorgnette, Hilton could make out the tall, commanding figure of
the Malay Princess.
"Looks more like peace than war," thought Chumbley, as the boats neared
the landing-place--a roughly-constructed platform of bamboo, alongside
of which the steersman cleverly laid the first naga, the second boat
being steered beside the first and there made fast. The Inche Maida,
with her female attendants, then came slowly up between two lines of her
slaves to welcome with floral offerings the party of guests.
"Oh, it's all nonsense, Chumbley," whispered the doctor to the
lieutenant.
"Yes. I think it is," was the reply, "unless," he added, with a laugh,
"they come one of the Borgia tricks and poison the cups. I mean to
drink with the Princess so as to be safe."
"I don't mean to think any more about it," said the doctor.
As there was a good deal of ceremony observed by the Princess in coming
to meet them, something in the form of a procession was made, the Rajah
with great courtesy and good taste offering his arm to the oldest lady
of the party--Mrs Doctor Bolter; and the pleasant little lady flushed
slightly as she was led up to the Princess, who took her by the hands,
kissed her on both cheeks, bidding her welcome and thanking her for
coming; and then taking a magnificent bouquet of sweet-scented flowers
from one of her attendants, she presented it to her guest.
Chumbley was one of the next to approach with the lady of a merchant
settled at the station; and the Princess's eyes flashed as the bright
look of welcome to the great manly young fellow changed into one of
anger.
It was but a flash though, and the next moment she was smiling as if in
contempt of her suspicions, for the lady Chumbley escorted was sallow
and grey, and the greeting to her was made as warm and affectionate as
that to the doctor's lady.
Then the Princess held out her plump, brown, well-shaped hand to
Chumbley.
"I am glad to see you," she said, with a smile, and her eyes seemed to
rest with satisfaction upon his goodly proportions. "Take that," she
added, as she removed a great yellow jasmine sprig from her rich black
hair; and Chumbley bowed, and placed it in his buttonhole.
They passed on, and other guests approached to be presented to the
Princess in this sylvan drawing-room, held in the pale green light of
the shade beneath the palms and lacing ferns, through which an arrowy
rain of silver threads of sunlight seemed to be ever falling, flashing
and scintillating the while.
The Resident was greeted with the most friendly warmth; and Grey, who
held his arm, was folded in quite a warm embrace. The choicest bouquet
of sweetly-scented flowers being placed in her hands, the fair English
girl flushed with pleasure as her tawny hostess said, softly:
"Don't go away, Miss Stuart. You will stay and sit near me."
"You seem to have thoroughly won the Inche Maida's heart, Miss Stuart,"
said the Resident, looking smilingly into his companion's face.
"I like her very much," replied Grey. "She seems to be very natural and
feminine. I hope she means it all."
"Yes; it would be unpleasant to find out that it was all glaze," said
the Resident, thoughtfully. "But do you know," he continued, speaking
very slowly, and watching the continuation of the reception the while,
"I think she is a very jolly, good-hearted sort of woman, and--I--
should--think--she--is--very genuine. Yes," he added, after a pause and
speaking now quickly, "I am sure now that she has no more dissimulation
in her than a fly. What do you say?"
"Oh, Mr Harley, what does that mean?"