The vessel of which Robin and his friends had thus become possessed, was
one of those numerous native pirate-ships which did, and we believe
still do, infest some parts of the Malay Archipelago--ships which can
assume the form and do the work of simple trading-vessels when
convenience requires, or can hoist the black flag when circumstances
favour. It was not laden with anything valuable at the time of its
capture. The slaves who wrought at the oars when wind failed, were
wretched creatures who had been captured among the various islands, and
many of them were in the last stage of exhaustion, having been worked
almost to death by their inhuman captors, though a good many were still
robust and fresh.
These latter it was resolved to keep still in fetters, as it was just
possible that some of them, if freed, might take a fancy to seize the
ship and become pirates on their own account. They were treated as well
as circumstances would admit of, however, and given to understand that
they should be landed and set free as soon as possible. Meanwhile, no
more work would be required of them than was absolutely necessary.
Those of them who were ill were freed at once from toil, carefully
nursed by Letta and doctored by Sam.
At first Robin and his comrades sailed away without any definite purpose
in view, but after things had been got into order, a council was held
and plans were discussed. It was then that Letta mentioned what the
pirates in the cavern had said about her having been taken from Sarawak.
"Sarawak!" exclaimed Robin, "why, that's the place that has been owned
and governed for many years by an Englishman named Brooke--Sir James
Brooke, if I remember rightly, and they call him Rajah Brooke. Perhaps
your mother lives there, Letta."
"Where is Sarawak?" asked Stumps, whose injuries in the recent fight
were not so severe as had at first been supposed.
"It's in the island of Borneo," replied Sam; "you're right, Robin--"
"No, he's Robin Wright," interrupted Slagg.
"Be quiet, Jim. I think it is highly probable that your parents are
there, Letta, and as we have no particular reason for going anywhere
else, and can't hope to make for England in a tub like this, we will
just lay her head for Sarawak."
This was accordingly done, their new course being nor'-east and by east.
It would extend our tale to undue proportions were we to give in detail
all the adventures they experienced, dangers they encountered, and
hairbreadth escapes they made, between that point on the wide southern
ocean and the Malay Archipelago. The reader must be content to skip
over the voyage, and to know that they ultimately arrived at the port of
Sarawak, where they were kindly treated by a deputy, the Rajah himself
being absent at the time.
During the voyage, the subject of finding Letta's parents became one of
engrossing and increasing interest,--so much so, indeed, that even
electricity and telegraph-cables sank into secondary importance. They
planned, over and over again, the way in which they would set about
making inquiries, and the various methods which they would adopt in
pursuit of their end. They even took to guessing who Letta's parents
would turn out to be, and Sam went so far as to invent and relate
romantic stories, in which the father and mother of Letta played a
conspicuous part. He called them Colonel and Mrs Montmorenci for
convenience, which Slagg reduced to Colonel and Mrs Monty, "for short."
In all this Letta took great delight, chiefly because it held the
conversation on that source of undying interest, "mamma," and partly
because she entered into the fun and enjoyed the romance of the thing,
while, poor child, her hopeful spirit never for a moment doubted that in
some form or other the romance would become a reality through Robin, on
whom she had bestowed her highest affections--next, of course, to mamma.
On landing at Sarawak, Sam Shipton went direct to the Government offices
to report the capture of the pirate vessel and to make inquiries as to
Letta's parents, leaving Robin and the others to watch the vessel.
"Isn't it strange," said John Johnson to Robin, as they leaned over the
side and looked down into the clear water, "that a Englishman should
become a Rajah, and get possession o' this here country?"
"I can give you only a slight reply to that question," replied Robin,
"but Sam will enlighten you more than I can; he seems to be acquainted
with the Rajah's strange career. All I know is, that he is said to
govern the country well."
"Coorious," said Johnson; "_I_ shouldn't like to settle down in sitch a
nest o' pirates. Hows'ever, every man to his taste, as Jack said when
the shark swallowed his sou'-wester. D'ee think it's likely, sir, that
we'll find out who the parents o' poor Miss Letta is?"
Robin shook his head. "I'm not very hopeful. We have so little
information to go upon--just one word,--Sarawak! Nevertheless, I don't
despair, and I'll certainly not be beat without trying hard. But here
comes Sam; he looks pleased. I think--I hope, he has good news for us."
"I've got something, but not much," replied Sam to the eager inquiries
with which he was assailed. "The gentleman whom I saw knew nothing
about a little girl having been kidnapped from this region within the
last two or three years, but an old clerk or secretary, who heard us
talking about it, came up scratching his nose with the feather of his
quill, and humbly said that he had heard something about a girl
disappearing at a fire somewhere, though he couldn't recollect the name
of the place, as he was ill at the time, besides being new to the
country, but he thought there was a Malay, a drunken old fellow, living
some five miles inland, who used to talk about something of the sort,
and who had, he fancied, been in the service of the people whose house
had been burned. But, altogether, he was very hazy on the subject."
"Then we must go and ferret out this old man instantly," said Robin,
buttoning up his coat, as if about to commence the journey at once.
"Too late to-night, Robin," said Sam; "restrain your impatience, my boy.
You forget that it sometimes gets dark in these latitudes, and that
there are no street lamps on the country roads."
"True, true, Sam. And what said they about our capture?"
"That we must leave it in their hands at present; that they did not know
exactly what the Rajah might have to say about it, but that he would be
there himself in a few weeks, and decide the matter."
"'Pon my word, that's cool," said Slagg, who came up at the moment; "an'
suppose we wants to continue our voyage to England, or Indy, or Chiny?"
"If we do we must continue it by swimming," returned Sam; "but it
matters little, for there is a steamer expected to touch here in a few
days on her way to India, so we can take passage in her, having plenty
of funds--thanks to the pirates!"
"It's all very well for you to boast of bein' rich," growled Stumps,
"but _I_ won't be able to afford it."
"Oh! yes you will," returned Robin with a laugh. "The Jews will advance
you enough on your jewellery to pay your passage."
"Sarves you right for bein' so greedy," said Slagg.
The greed which Slagg referred to had been displayed by Stumps at the
time the parcels of coin and precious stones were made up in the cavern
for sudden emergency, as before mentioned. On that occasion each man
had made up his own parcel, selecting such gems, trinkets, and coin from
the pirate horde as suited his fancy. Unfortunately, the sight of so
much wealth had roused in the heart of Stumps feelings of avarice, which
heretofore had lain dormant, and he stuffed many glittering and superb
pieces of jewellery into his bag in a secretive manner, as if half
ashamed of his new sensations, and half afraid that his right to them
might be disputed.
Afterwards, on the voyage to Borneo, when the bags were emptied and
their costly contents examined, it was discovered that many of Stumps's
most glittering gems were mere paste--almost worthless--although some of
them, of course, were valuable. Stumps was much laughed at, and in a
private confabulation of his comrades, it was agreed that they would
punish him by contrasting their own riches with his glittering trash,
but that at last they would give him a share which would make all the
bags equal. This deceptive treatment, however, wrought more severely on
Stumps than they had expected, and roused not only jealous but
revengeful feelings in his breast.
Next morning, Sam and Robin set off with Letta to search for the old
Malay, leaving their comrades in charge of the vessel.
There is something inexpressibly delightful to the feelings in passing
through the glades and thickets of tropical forests and plantations
after a long sea voyage. The nostrils seem to have been specially
prepared, by long abstinence from sweet smells, to appreciate the scents
and odours of aromatic plants and flowers. The soft shade of foliage,
the refreshing green, and the gay colours everywhere, fill the eye with
pleasure, not less exquisite than that which fills the ears from the
warblings and chatterings of birds, the gentle tones of domestic
animals, and the tinkling of rills. The mere solidity of the land,
under foot, forms an element of pleasure after the tossings of the
restless sea, and all the sweet influences put together tend to rouse in
the heart a shout of joy and deep gratitude for a world so beautiful,
and for powers so sensitively capable of enjoying it.
Especially powerful were the surrounding influences on our three friends
as they proceeded, mile after mile, into the country, and little wonder,
for eyes, and nostrils, and ears, which had of late drunk only of the
blue heavens and salt sea and the music of the wind, naturally gloated
over a land which produces sandal-wood, cinnamon, turmeric, ginger,
benzoin, camphor, nutmeg, and a host of other gums and spices; a land
whose shades are created by cocoa-nut palms, ebony, banana, bread-fruit,
gutta-percha, upas, sesamum, and a vast variety of other trees and
shrubs, the branches of which are laden with fruits, and flowers, and
paroquets, and monkeys.
Little Letta's heart was full to overflowing, so much so that she could
scarcely speak while walking along holding Robin's hand. But there was
more than mere emotion in her bosom--memory was strangely busy in her
brain, puzzling her with dreamy recognitions both as to sights and
sounds.
"It's _so_ like home!" she murmured once, looking eagerly round.
"Is it?" said Robin with intense interest. "Look hard at it, little
one; do you recognise any object that used to be in your old home?"
The child shook her head sadly. "No, not exactly--everything is _so_
like, and--and yet not like, somehow."
They came just then upon a clearing among sugar-cane, in the midst of
which stood a half-ruined hut, quite open in front and thatched with
broad leaves. On a bench near the entrance was seated an old
grey-haired Malay man with a bottle beside him. Nearer to the visitors
a young girl was digging in the ground.
"That's the old Malay, for certain," said Sam; "see, the old rascal has
gone pretty deep already into the bottle. Ask the girl, Letta, what his
name is."
Sam did not at first observe that the child was trembling very much and
gazing eagerly at the old man. He had to repeat the question twice
before she understood him, and then she asked the girl, without taking
her eyes off the old man.
"Who is he?" responded the girl in the Malay tongue, "why, that's old
Georgie--drunken Georgie."
She had scarcely uttered the words when Letta uttered a wild cry, ran to
the old man, leaped into his arms, and hugged him violently.
The man was not only surprised but agitated. He loosened the child's
hold so as to be able to look at her face.
"Oh, Georgie, Georgie!" she cried almost hysterically, "don't you know
me--don't you know Letta?"
Georgie replied by uttering a great shout of mingled astonishment and
joy, as he clasped the child in his arms. Then, setting her down and
holding her at arm's-length, he cried in remarkably broken English--
"Know you! W'at? Vous hold nuss--hold Georgie--not know Miss Letty.
Ho! Miss Letty! my hold 'art's a-busted a'most! But you's come back.
T'ank do Lor'! Look 'ere, Miss Letty." (He started up, put the child
down, and, with sudden energy seized the bottle of ruin by the neck.)
"Look ere, yous oftin say to me afore you hoed away, `Geo'gie, do, _do_
give up d'inkin','--you 'members?"
"No, I don't remember," said Letta, smiling through her tears.
"Ho! yes, but you said it--bery often, an' me was used to say, `Yes,
Miss Letty'--de hold hippercrit!--but I didn't gib 'im up. I d'ink away
wuss dan ebber. But now--but now--but now," (he danced round, each time
whirling the bottle above his head), "me d'ink no more--nebber--
nebber--_nebber_ more."
With a mighty swing the old man sent the rum-bottle, like a rocket, up
among the branches of an ebony-tree, where it was shattered to atoms,
and threw an eaves-dropping monkey almost into fits by raining rum and
broken glass upon its inquisitive head.
When the excitement of the meeting had somewhat subsided, Letta suddenly
said, "But where is mamma? Oh! take me to mamma, Georgie."
The old man's joy instantly vanished, and Letta stood pale and trembling
before him, pressing her little hands to her breast, and not daring,
apparently, to ask another question.
"Not dead?" she said at length in a low whisper.
"No--no--Miss Letty," replied the man hastily, "Ho! no, not dead, but
goed away; nigh broked her heart when she losted you; git berry sick;
t'ought she was go for die, but she no die. She jis turn de corner and
come round, an' when she git bedder she hoed away."
"Where did she go to?" asked Robin, anxiously.
"To Bumby," said old George.
"To where?"
"Bumby."
"I suppose you mean Bombay?" said Sam.
"Yes, yes--an' me _say_ Bumby."
"Is she alive and well?" asked Robin.
"Don' know," replied old George, shaking his head; "she no write to hold
Geo'gie. Nigh two years since she goed away."
When the excitement of this meeting began to subside, Sam Shipton took
the old Malay aside, and, after prolonged conversation, learned from him
the story, of which the following is the substance.
Mrs Langley was the widow of a gentleman who had died in the service of
Rajah Brooke. Several years before--he could not say exactly how many--
the widow had retired with her only child, Letta, to a little bungalow
on a somewhat out-of-the-way part of the coast which Mr Langley used to
be fond of going to, and called his "shooting-box." This had been
attacked one night by Labuan pirates, who, after taking all that was
valuable, set fire to the house. Mrs Langley had escaped by a back
door into the woods with her old man-servant, George. She had rushed at
the first alarm to Letta's bed, but the child was not there. Letta had
been awake, had heard the advance of the pirate crew, and had gone into
a front room to see who was coming. Supposing that old George must have
taken charge of the child, and hearing him calling to her to come away
quickly, the widow ran out at the back door as the pirates entered by
the front. Too late she found that George had not the child, and she
would have returned to the house, regardless of consequences, if George
had not forcibly restrained her. When George returned at daybreak, he
found the house a smouldering ruin, the pirates gone, and Letta nowhere
to be found.
The shock threw Mrs Langley into a violent fever. She even lost her
reason for a time, and when at last she was restored to some degree of
health, she went away to Bombay without saying to any one what were her
intentions. She could never entirely forgive old George for having
prevented her returning to the house to share the fate of her child, and
left Sarawak without bidding him farewell, though, as old George himself
pathetically remarked, "Me couldn't 'elp it, you knows. De scoundrils
kill missis if she goed back, an' dat doos no good to Miss Letty."
This was all the information that could be obtained about Mrs Langley,
and on the strength of it Sam and Robin resolved to proceed to Bombay by
the first opportunity. But their patience was severely tried, for many
months elapsed ere they obtained berths in a vessel bound direct to
Bombay.
Of course Jim Slagg determined to go with them, and so did Stumps,
though a slight feeling of coldness had begun to manifest itself in that
worthy's manner ever since the episode of the division of jewels. John
Johnson, however, made up his mind to take service with the Rajah, and
help to exterminate the nests of pirates with which those seas were
infested.
"Depend upon it, sir," said Johnson to Robin at parting, "that you'll
turn out somethin' or other afore long. As I said to our stooard on the
night that you was born, `Stooard,' says I, `take my word for it, that
there babby what has just been launched ain't agoin' under hatches
without makin' his mark somehow an' somewheres,' an' you've begun to
make it, sir, a'ready, an' you'll go on to make it, as sure as my name's
John Johnson."
"I'm gratified by your good opinion," replied Robin, with a laugh. "All
I can say is, that whatever mark I make, I hope may be a good one."
Poor Robin had little ambition at that time to make any kind of mark for
himself on the world. His one desire--which had grown into a sort of
passion--was to find Letta's mother. Nearly all his thoughts were
concentrated on that point, and so great was his personal influence on
his comrades, that Sam and Slagg had become almost as enthusiastic about
it as himself, though Stumps remained comparatively indifferent.