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Middy and Ensign, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 13. An Unpleasant Interruption |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTEEN. AN UNPLEASANT INTERRUPTION The feeling of satisfaction was very general at the lesson given the rajah; and though his two prahus had escaped, his power had received a most severe blow. Sultan Hamet was sincere enough in his demonstrations of pleasure, sending presents five or six times a day to the resident, the various officers, and, above all, fruit for the wounded men. The presents were but of little value, but they showed the Malay's gratitude, and the officers were very pleased with what they looked upon as curiosities. Even Bob Roberts and Tom Long were not forgotten, each receiving an ivory-mounted kris, the young chief Ali being the bearer. The resident, however, felt that the sultan was not meeting him in quite a proper spirit, and he was rather suspicious, till a fresh embassy of the principal chiefs arrived, and brought a formal invitation for the resident and the officers to visit him upon a fixed day. As before, an imposing force was got ready, and once more the march to what Bob had nick-named Palm Tree Palace, took place, the middy coming afterwards to Tom Long's room, and telling him how the affair had gone off. "It was no end of a game," he said to the young ensign, who was rapidly gaining strength, the fancy that his wound was poisoned having passed away. "We started just as we did last time, and marched through the jungle till we came to the sultan's barns, where the men were drawn up, and no end of the niggers came to wait on them, bringing them a kind of drink made of rice, and plenty of fruit and things, while we officers had to go into the sultan's dining-room--a place hung round with cotton print--and there we all sat down, cross-legged, like a lot of jolly tailors, with the sultan up at the top, the major on one side, and our skipper on the other." "But they didn't sit down cross-legged?" said Tom Long. "Didn't they, my boy? But they just did; and it was a game to see our skipper letting himself down gently for fear of cracking his best white uniform sit-in-ems. Your major split some stitches somewhere, for I heard them go. Then there was the doctor; you should have seen him! He came to an anchor right enough, but when he tried to square his yards--I mean his legs--he nearly went over backwards, and looked savage enough to eat me, because I laughed." "Poor old doctor!" said Tom Long, smiling. "Oh, we were all in difficulties, being cast upon our beam-ends as it were; but we got settled down in our berths at last, and then the dinner began." "Was it good?" said Tom Long, whose appetite was growing as he began to get better. "Jolly!" said Bob, "capital! I say, though, how hot this place is." "Yes," said the ensign, "the lamp makes it hot; but the window is wide open." Bob glanced out into the darkness, to see the dark gleaming leaves, and the bright fire-flies dancing in the air, while right before them lay the smooth river, reflecting the brilliant stars. "There was no cloth; but it was no end of fun. Mr Sultan is going in for English manners and customs, and he mixes them up with his own most gloriously. By way of ornaments there was a common black japanned cruet-stand, with some trumpery bottles. There was one of those brown earthenware teapots, and an old willow-pattern soup tureen, without cover or stand, but full of flowers. Besides which, there were knives and forks, and spoons, regular cheap Sheffield kitchen ones, and as rusty as an old ring-bolt." "Indeed!" said Tom Long. "I looked at our officers, and they had hard work to keep solemn; and I half expected to see a pound of sausages, and some potatoes in their skins, for the banquet. But wait a bit; those were the English things brought out in compliment to us. Mr Sultan had plenty of things of his own, some of silver, some of gold. He had some beautiful china too; and the feed itself--tlat!" said Bob, smacking his lips. "I wish you had been there." "I wish I had," sighed Tom Long. "Getting well's worse than being wounded." "Never mind; you'll soon be all right," continued Bob. "Well, we had some good fish, nicely cooked, and some stunning curry; the best I ever ate; and we had sambals, as they call 'em, with it." "What the dickens are sambals?" said Tom Long. "Well, it's either pickles or curry, whichever you like to call it," continued Bob. "These sambals are so many little saucers on a silver tray, and they are to eat with your curry. One had smashed up cocoa-nut in milk; another chillies; another dried shrimps, chutney, green ginger, no end of things of that kind--and jolly good they were! Then we had rice in all sorts of shapes, and some toddy and rice wine, and some sweets of sago, and cocoa-nut and sugar." "But you didn't eat all those things?" said Tom Long, peevishly. "Didn't I, my boy? but I just did. I thought once that the sultan might be going to poison us all; and, as they say there's safety in a big dose, and death in a small, I went in for a regular big go. But I say, the fruits! they were tip-top: mangosteens and guavas, and mangoes, and cocoa-nuts, and durians, and some of the best bananas I ever ate in my life." "You didn't try one of those filthy durians again?" "Bless 'em, that I did; and I mean to try 'em again and again, as long as a heart beats in the bosom of yours very faithfully, Bob Roberts. They're glorious!" "Bah!" "That's right," said Bob. "You say 'Bah!' and I'll eat the durians. But I didn't tell you about the drinks. We had coffee, and pipes, and cigars, and said pretty things to each other; and then the sultan told Mr Linton he was going to bring out some choice English nectar in our honour." "And did he?" "He just did, my boy. A nigger came round with a little silver tray, covered with tiny gold cups in which was something thick and red." "Liqueur, I suppose," said Tom Long, uneasily. "Wait a wee, dear boy," said Bob. "Here's the pyson at last, I says to myself; and when my turn came, I did as the others did, bowed to the sultan, feeling just like a tombola, and nearly going over; then I drank--and what do you think it was?" "I don't know; go on." "Raspberry vinegar, and--ah!" Tom Long started back, looking deadly white in the feeble light of the lamp; for, as Bob ejaculated loudly, a Malay spear whizzed past his ear, and stuck in the wooden partition behind him, having evidently been thrown through the window by some lurking foe. _ |
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