The circumstances were so grave, that directly after the return of the
Resident's boat with the prisoners and the captured naga, special
communication was sent to the seat of the Straits Government, and
pending a reply to the despatch, the Residency island was placed
thoroughly in a state of defence.
The Europeans in Sindang held themselves in perfect readiness to flee to
the island for safety at a moment's notice; and every man went armed,
and every lady went about as a walking magazine of cartridges, ready for
the use of husband or friend.
They were troublous times, full of anxieties, without taking into
consideration the cares of the sick in body and mind.
The prisoners were secured in the little fort on the island, where Murad
preserved a sulky dignity, remaining perfectly silent; and whenever an
attempt was made to question him about the chaplain, he either closed
his eyes, stared scornfully at his questioners, or turned his back.
Rigid watch and ward was kept, the men's pouches were filled with
ball-cartridges, and every one fully expected an attack from the people
of Sindang, to rescue their Sultan, and avenge the insult of his being
placed in captivity.
Among other preparations, the doctor set Mrs Bolter to work to scrape
linen for lint in case of the demand exceeding the official supply; but
somehow the days glided on, and there was no need for it, not a shot
being fired, not a kris or spear used. The people ashore looked gloomy
and taciturn, but offered no violence.
On the contrary, they seemed disposed to make advances to the daring,
conquering people, who had not scrupled to seize their chief and keep
him confined--they, a mere handful of people amongst thousands.
The fact was, they were completely cowed, knowing, as they did, how
easily help could be procured, and how formidable that help would be.
But the English at the station could not realise this. They only knew
that they were dwelling upon a volcano which might at any time burst
forth and involve them in destruction; the military portion feeling
certain that sooner or later an attempt would be made to rescue the
Rajah.
The days glided by, and the topics of conversation remained the same--
another week had passed and there had been no attack.
How was Miss Perowne--had anyone seen her?
Was she never to be "Fair Helen" again?
Was it true that the Rajah had made a daring attempt to escape?
Had the Inche Maida sworn to rescue him, and was she coming down the
river like a new Boadicea, with a hundred water war-chariots to sweep
the British invader from the land?
Was Helen Perowne dying, and had Mr Perowne died in the night?
These are specimens of the questions that were asked, for the little
community was in a perfect ferment. The loveliness of the weather, the
brilliant days and delicious nights passed unnoticed, for everyone was
intent on danger alone.
It was, then, a matter of intense relief to hear, time after time, that
the manufactured dangers were merely the fictions of some of the most
timid; and though the rumour was again and again repeated that the Inche
Maida was coming, she did not come, but remained quiescent at her home,
truth to say, though, with boats manned and armed, not for attack, but
ready to take her and her chief people to a place of safety, should the
English visit her with inimical intent. She had sinned against them,
and could not know how chivalrously Chumbley had kept the matter secret
and prevailed upon his friend.
Meanwhile, in the midst of these anxieties, when rumour ran riot through
the place, and the more nervous shivered and started at every sound, and
took no step without feeling that a kris was ready to strike, Helen--the
main cause of all the station troubles--lay happily unconscious of what
was passing.
For Doctor Bolter was right; the excitement had borne its seeds, and
after her system had bravely battled with disease for a time, fighting
it back during all the most trying of her adventures--no sooner was she
in safety at the station, than it claimed its own, and she lay now at
the doctor's cottage sick unto death.
Never had sufferer more devoted attention than that which Helen received
from her old schoolfellow and Mrs Bolter; while the doctor himself was
in almost constant attendance, watching each change, and denying himself
rest in his efforts to save the life that seemed to be trembling in the
balance.
"This is a pleasant place to have brought you to, Mary," he said, more
than once. "It was a shame! but I never could foresee such troubles as
this; and after all, I am not so very sorry."
"Not sorry?" she replied.
"Well, of course, my dear, I am awfully sorry about the way in which
Arthur is missing; but as to myself, one does get very selfish in
middle-age."
"Selfish? Is this a time to talk of being selfish?" said the little
lady, reproachfully.
"Well, perhaps not," the doctor replied; "but really I'm glad I've got
you here, Mary, for I don't know what I should have done without you.
You're a perfect treasure."
Mrs Doctor looked pacified, and worked harder than ever.
"Here, I generally bring you bad news," said old, Stuart, coming in one
day to see his nurse, as he called Grey, who had become a permanent
dweller at the cottage, "but I've got some good for you this time."
"What is it?" said the doctor. "Have they found Rosebury?"
"No; but you need not be so nervous any more, for here is a gun-boat
coming up the river."
_Boom_!
"There it is announcing itself," said old Stuart, with a chuckle.
"That's the sort of thing to keep the natives in awe, a great gun like
that."
The coming of the powerful war-steamer with reinforcements, and a tender
in the shape of a swift despatch-boat, did act as a repressing power,
and silenced for good any latent ideas of rising against the English;
and in obedience to the despatch received by the Resident, Murad and a
couple of his officers were at once placed on board under a strong
guard; and, within an hour of the arrival of the steamer and the
despatch-boat, he was on his way to Singapore to take his trial.
There was no attempt at resistance, the prisoners meeting their fate in
a stolid, indifferent way, while after a short consultation at the
Residency, the crew of the Sultan's boat were brought out from the fort
and questioned.
To a man they denied all knowledge of the whereabouts of the chaplain;
and when offered their liberty on condition of his being found, they
calmly accepted their position, and expressed their readiness to go back
to prison.
Harley was the president of the little court; and at last he addressed
them, and offered them their liberty on another condition.
"Murad will never return here," he said, "and you are clear of all
allegiance to him. I am empowered to offer you your freedom if you will
all swear henceforth to serve the English Government."
They all brightened up at once, and expressed themselves ready to obey.
"Then you are free," said the Resident; "you can return to your homes."
The men stared. They could not believe in such clemency; but no sooner
had they realised the fact, than their stolid, sulky look was exchanged
for one of extravagant joy, and their delight after having resigned
themselves to death knew no bounds.
"Now," exclaimed the Resident, "tell me at once--where is the chaplain?"
Only one man spoke:
"We do not know, my lord."
"Is--is he dead?"
"Why should he be dead, my lord?" said the man. "Why should Murad kill
him? No; he had reasons, and we know that he had him taken away with
the lady--that is all."
"But where did he imprison him?"
"Allah and our lord the Sultan only know," said the man, impressively.
"Murad was wise. When he made plans it was in his own mind, and he told
them to none but the slaves who were to do his bidding. Let us free,
and we may perhaps find the Christian priest. If we do, we will bring
him back."
There was nothing more to be done, and the station was relieved of the
presence of a danger that seemed imminent so long as Murad was there.
The time glided on, and still there was no news of the chaplain. The
Inche Maida's home had been visited again and again, but she either did
not know or would confess nothing, preserving a studied dignity, and
seeming to be neither friend nor enemy now; while, this being the case,
the chaplain's absence began to be accepted as a necessity, and there
were days when Mrs Barlow was the only one who mourned his loss.
"It's mind--mind--mind," said the doctor, as he came out of Helen's
room, over and over again; and the questioner he addressed was Neil
Harley. "It's mind, sir, mind; and until that is at rest, I see no
chance of her recovery. Medicine? Bah! it's throwing good drugs away."
The constant attention went on, and as almost hourly the Resident or one
of the officers came to inquire, there seemed to be times when Doctor
Bolter did not know whether Helen or her father would be the first to
pass away. He was constantly going to and fro; and after many days of
suffering, when Sindang had pretty well sunk into its normal state of
quietude, and Helen's fever began to subside, it left her so weak that
the doctor threw up his hands almost in despair.
"It lies with you two now, more than with me," he said to Grey and Mrs
Bolter; and with tears in their eyes, they were compelled to own their
helplessness as well.
It was on one of the hottest and most breathless days of the tropic
summer, that, with her eyes red, and weary with long watching, Grey
Stuart sat in her old school-companion's chamber, thinking of the
changes that had taken place since that morning when Helen and she were
summoned to the Miss Twettenhams' room regarding the levity displayed,
as the ladies called it, towards Helen's first admirer.
Fair Helen then--now she looked more like a native woman than ever, with
her piteous great eyes gazing wildly at her friend, as if asking her for
help.
But that she had wept till the fount of her tears seemed dry, Grey could
have thrown herself sobbing at Helen's side; now she could only take her
wasted hand and try to whisper some few comforting words.
"Has Mr Rosebury been found?" she exclaimed, suddenly; and on being
answered in the negative, as she had been fifty times before, she wrung
her hands and sobbed wildly.
"My fault--my cruel fault!" she cried, in a weak, high-pitched voice;
"you will all curse me when I am dead."
"My child--my dear child," sobbed Mrs Bolter; and then, unable to
contain herself, she hurried from the room, and Grey strove to calm the
excited girl. She had tended her constantly, telling herself that it
was a duty; but the task had been a bitter one, for ever, in the hours
of Helen's delirium, she had listened to her wild words as she spoke
constantly of him and his love, reproaching him for not coming to save
her from Murad, and neglecting her when she was praying for him to come.
Grey felt a pang at every word; and as Helen spoke in this way, she
recalled the tender scenes she had witnessed, and the young officer's
infatuation with her beauty.
And now on this particular day her trial seemed to be harder than ever,
for suddenly Helen turned her weary head towards her, and clasping her
hands with spasmodic energy, she whispered:
"Grey, I have been cruel and hard to you, I know. I stood between you
and your love--but you forgive me now?"
"Oh, yes, yes, that is all past and gone!" cried Grey, excitedly.
"Yes, yes, that is all past and gone, and now you will do this for me.
I think I am going--I cannot live long like this--tell him, then,
quickly--tell him I must see him--tell him that he must come."
Grey's heart sank within her, and she rose slowly from her seat, and
loosed the two thin hands she had held. It was like signing her own
death-warrant to send this message, for if Captain Hilton did not know
of her wanderings, and this, Helen's last wish, he--who was, perhaps,
forgetting more and more his love--would hardly dwell upon it again. To
do this was to revive it, for she told herself that Hilton would be too
generous not to respond.
But Grey Stuart was a heroine--one of those women ready at any sacrifice
of self to do a duty; and she turned to go just as Mrs Bolter entered
the room.
"What is it--what does she want?" whispered the little lady eagerly.
"Helen wishes to see--" began Grey, in a choking voice.
"Yes, yes, I must--I will see him, to humble myself before I die!"
moaned Helen.
"Will you--send at once," panted Grey, with her hand pressed upon her
side, for she could hardly speak the words--"send for Captain Hilton to
come?"
She forced the words from her lips, and then sank back in her chair with
a blank feeling of misery upon her, to gather force to enable her to
flee from a house where she told herself that she could no longer stay.
It was but momentary this sensation, and then she uttered a sob, and the
tears began silently to flow, for she heard Helen say, in a quick,
harsh, peevish voice:
"No, no, you mistake me! I want Mr Harley quick, or--too late!"