The days glided rapidly by, and still Hilton and Chumbley remained
prisoners. They were well attended to; their diet, though Eastern in
character, was admirably prepared: they had wine and cigars, capital
coffee, and an abundance of fruit, but no liberty.
The Inche Maida was either away, or else she had taken such deadly
offence that she was determined to see her prisoners no more for the
present, until they were in a better frame of mind as regarded her
wishes.
The slaves who attended upon them were ready to obey their slightest
wishes, running eagerly to fetch coffee or fruit, or a kind of sherbet
which was _very_ pleasant to drink during the heat of the day.
But there was, with all the attention, a strict watch kept, Chumbley
noticing that there was always an ostentatious display of force as if to
show the prisoners that it was hopeless to attempt to escape.
Armed men sat about outside the door, and from the window the prisoners
could see other armed men sitting about chewing betel, or practising
throwing the limbing--the javelin with a blade of razor keenness--which
they hurled with such unerring aim that the least skilful would have
been certain to strike a man at thirty yards.
But all the same, the hearts of the prisoners were set upon scheming
their escape; and they sat and smoked, and made their calculations as to
how it was to be compassed.
"I'm sorry I was so rough with the poor woman," said Hilton one evening,
as they sat by the open window sipping their coffee, and gazing at the
rich orange glow in the sky above the dark green foliage of the trees.
"Well, you were pretty rough upon her for displaying a remarkable
feminine weakness in your favour," replied Chumbley.
"Well, rough or no, I'm tired of this," said Hilton. "It is evident
that Harley is making no effort to find us out."
"Perhaps he is, but can't find the place. I've been trying hard to make
out where we are."
"So have I, but I'm puzzled. One thing is evident; we are a long way
from the river."
"So we cannot be at the Inche Maida's seat."
"No; I suppose this is a sort of private, lodge or hunting-box somewhere
away in the jungle."
"Yes; a place of retreat in case of danger."
Then there was a pause, during which the prisoners sat gazing through
the bars of the window at the glories of the sky, Chumbley disgusting
his friend by continuously spitting.
"The Princess's home is on the right bank of the river," said Hilton, at
last.
"Granted, oh! Solomon the wise!"
"_Ergo_" continued Hilton, "we are upon the right bank of the river."
"Unless her ladyship's dominions extend to the other side."
"Take it for granted that they do not," said Hilton.
"What then?"
"Why, we can pretty well tell where the river is."
"Where is it then?"
"Due north from where we sit."
"Humph!" said Chumbley. "Sun sets in the west. I'm looking at the sun,
and the river, then, is straight away from my right shoulder?"
"Of course!"
"Then if we got out of this window, and walked straight through the
jungle--which we could not do--we should come right upon the river?"
"Sooner or later," said Hilton. "Then all would be plain sailing."
"Don't see it. No boat," said Chumbley, spitting again.
"Why, my dear boy, we should journey along with the stream till we came
to some campong, and then cut adrift a boat and escape in that."
"But suppose the owner objected?"
"Knock him down with one of his own cocoa-nuts, or your fist. You're
big enough, Chumbley."
"All right, I'll try," was the reply; "but that isn't the difficulty."
"No, of course not. You mean how are we to get away from here?"
"Exactly."
"Well, I have a plan at last."
"A good one?" said Chumbley, spitting through the window again.
"No, for all my good plans that I have invented turn out to have a bad
flaw in them. This is the poorest of the lot, but it seems the most
likely."
"Well, let's have it," said Chumbley coolly; "not that I feel in any
hurry to get back to duty, for I am very comfortable here."
"Hang it all, Chum, I believe you would settle down as soon as not."
"I don't know. Perhaps I would. But how about this plan?"
"It is simply to wait till about one or two in the morning, when
everyone will most likely be asleep, and then to climb up the side of
the room here, and force our way through the thatch."
"Go on," said Chumbley, spitting again, and making his friend wince.
"Then we could climb along the ridge of the roof till we get to the
farther end, where there is a big tree resting its boughs over the
place. Once there. I think we could get down."
"And if we could not?"
"We'd get down some other way."
"Why didn't we try that before?" said Chumbley; "it is quite easy."
"Because it was so easy that we did not think it worth trying."
"Humph!" ejaculated Chumbley. "I've been thinking out a plan too, which
perhaps might do as well. I was going to tell you about it to-night,
only oddly enough, you proposed this."
"What is your plan?" said Hilton, yawning.
"Well, you see, I thought of getting out by the roof, breaking through
the walls, and cutting the bars of the window; but they neither of them
seemed to fit, so I tried another plan."
"And what was that?"
"It seemed so much better to go through the bottom, so I have been at
work at the bamboos."
"Where--where?" cried Hilton, excitedly.
"Take it quietly, old fellow, or you may excite attention," said
Chumbley, spitting through the window. "Well, the fact is, I've been at
work night after night, when you were asleep, upon the bamboos under my
bed."
"And you have cut through them?"
"Yes; through two of them, so that one has only to pull my bed aside,
lift the two pieces of wood--"
"Chumbley!" ejaculated Hilton, joyously.
"Hullo!"
"Why, I've been giving you the credit of being ready to settle down here
in the most _nonchalant_ way."
"Yes, I saw you did. That's why I chiselled away so, to get through
those bamboos."
"While I was asleep?"
"While you were asleep," said Chumbley, spitting vigorously.
"Ah, my dear fellow, I shall--"
"Hold your row. Light a cigar, or they'll be suspicious."
Hilton obeyed without a word, and Chumbley went on:
"So when you are ready we'll pocket a table-knife apiece, fill our
pockets with portable meat of some kind, and then be off."
"Why not to-night?"
"I don't see why not," replied Chumbley, coolly; "I'm ready. It will do
you good--a bit of a scamper through the jungle, even if we get caught."
"No scoundrel shall catch me alive."
"I say, old man, don't talk as if the Malays were fly-papers and you
were a pretty insect."
"Don't be absurd," said Hilton excitedly. "Shall we try to-night?"
"Well, no; let's leave it till to-morrow, when we can devote the day to
storing up cigars and food; and then if they don't find out the hole I
have made, we can slip through and make for the river."
"But suppose they find out the hole you have made."
"Well, then we must try another plan: your way through the thatch."
"Yes, of course. But, by the way, old fellow, I wish you would drop
that habit you have just taken up of spitting through the window."
"Certainly I will," said Chumbley, coolly; "but don't you see, old
fellow, I've had to get rid of a lot of bamboo chips, and that was the
only way I could destroy them. They're awfully harsh chewing, by the
way."
Hilton looked at him with a kind of admiration.
"And to think that I've been abusing you for your indolence!" he cried.
"Didn't hurt me a bit," said Chumbley. "Go it. I don't mind."
That night and the next day seemed as if they would never pass. Every
time a native servant entered Hilton felt sure that he had some
suspicion about the loosened bamboos, and it seemed as if his eyes were
directed towards the pile of mats upon which Chumbley slept.
But at last, after a false alarm of the Princess coming, the night fell,
and with a beating heart Hilton set about filling his pockets and a
handkerchief with provisions for the journey, Chumbley seeming all the
while to be plunged into a state of lethargy.
"Come, Chum," whispered Hilton, at last, "be stirring, man."
"Heaps of time yet, my boy," replied the other. "Lie down and have a
nap."
"Will nothing stir you?" whispered Hilton, wrathfully. "Good Heavens,
man, rouse yourself!"
"Shan't. I'm resting. There's heaps to do when we start, and I want to
be fresh. Lie down."
"Hang it, don't speak as if I were a dog," cried Hilton, sharply.
"Have the goodness to lie down and rest yourself, my dear boy," said
Chumbley in a polite drawl. "It is of no use for us to attempt to stir
till the fellows are all asleep, so save yourself up."
Hilton obeyed, lying down upon the matting, and in spite of his
excitement, he felt a strangely-delicious drowsy sensation stealing over
him, to which he yielded, and the next moment--so it seemed to him--
Chumbley laid a great hand over his lips, and whispered:
"Time's up!"
He rose to his knees, to find that it was intensely dark, and saving an
occasional howl from the forest, all was perfectly still.
"I've got the bamboos up," whispered Chumbley, "and you are going first,
because I can then hold your hands and lower you softly down. Don't
speak, but do as I bid you."
Hilton felt ready to resist his companion's autocratic ways, but he
obeyed him in silence, Chumbley lowering him through the hole to the
open space below the house, the building being raised some eight feet
above the ground upon huge bamboo piles, as a protection from floods and
the prowling tiger.
The next minute there was a faint rustle, a heavy breathing, a slight
crack or two, and Hilton received a heavy kick.
Then Chumbley dropped to his feet.
"I got stuck," he whispered, as he took his friend's hand; "thought I
should not have got through. Now then, the river lies straight before
us, under that great star. 'Ware guards and tigers, and we shall be
safe."
It was intensely dark beneath the house, and but little better as they
emerged from the piles upon which it was built, to stand with the dense
jungle before them, impenetrable save where there was a path; and they
were about to step boldly forth, when something bright seemed to twinkle
for a moment between them and the stars, and by straining their eyes
they made out that straight before them were the misty-looking forms of
a couple of their Malay guards.