The five Sikhs were drawn up in battle array before the cabin door,
waiting for the word of command. I glanced at them and hesitated.
"Tid 'apa, Tuan" (never mind), Aboo Din whispered with a proud ring
in his voice.
"Baboo blow Orang Kayah's men away with the breath of his mouth."
As he spoke the branches above the bow were thrust aside and a dark
form hung for an instant as though in doubt, then shot straight down
upon the corrugated surface of the deck.
As before, a shriek of agony heralded the descent, followed by
Baboo's laugh, then the dim shape sprang wildly upon the bulwark,
lost its hold, and went over with a great splash among the labyrinth
of snakelike mangrove roots.
There was the rushing of many heavy forms through the red mud,
a snapping of great jaws, and there was no mistaking the almost
mortal cry that arose from out the darkness. I had often heard it
when paddling softly up one of the wild Malayan rivers.
It was the death cry of a wah-wah monkey facing the cruel jaws of
a crocodile.
I plunged my fingers into my ears to smother the sound. I understood
it all now. Baboo's pirates, the dreaded Orang Kayah's rebels, were the
troop of monkeys we had heard the night before in the tambusa trees.
"Baboo," I shouted, "come here! What does this all mean?"
The Tiger-Child glided from behind the protecting pile, and came
close up to my legs.
"Tuan," he whimpered, "Baboo see many faces behind trees. Baboo 'fraid
for Tuan,--Tuan great and good,--save Baboo from tiger,--Baboo break
up all glass bottles--old bottles--Tuan no want old bottle--Baboo
and Aboo Din, the father, put them on deck so when Orang Kayah's men
come out of jungle and drop from trees on deck they cut their feet
on glass. Baboo is through talking,--Tuan no whip Baboo!"
There was the pathetic little quaver in his voice that I knew so well.
"But they were monkeys, Baboo, not pirates."
Baboo shrugged his brown shoulders and kept his eyes on my feet.
"Allah is good!" he muttered.
Allah was good; they might have been pirates.
The snarl of the tiger was growing more insistent and near. I gave
the order, and the boat backed out into mid-stream.
As the sun was reducing the gloom of the sylvan tunnel to a translucent
twilight, we floated down the swift current toward the ocean.
I had given up all hope of finding the shipwrecked men, and decided
to ask the government to send a gunboat to demand their release.
As the bow of the launch passed the wreck of the Bunker Hill and
responded to the long even swell of the Pacific, Baboo beckoned
sheepishly to Aboo Din, and together they swept all trace of his
adventure into the green waters.
Among the souvenirs of my sojourn in Golden Chersonese is a bit
of amber-colored glass bearing the world-renowned name of a London
brewer. There is a dark stain on one side of it that came from the
hairy foot of one of Baboo's "pirates."