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Middy and Ensign, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 19. How Bob And Old Dick Finished Their Day |
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_ CHAPTER NINETEEN. HOW BOB AND OLD DICK FINISHED THEIR DAY The very motion of the boat lulled its occupants into a deeper sleep as they glided on and on down the swift deep river, with the tall waving palms and the dark undergrowth ever slipping by the travellers, who had embarked now upon a journey whose end was death. The sampan floated quietly on in attendance, and the Malay, whose hand was twisted in the boat's painter, kept beneath the bows of the little boat with merely his face above water, the dinghy now floating down stern foremost, and, having been guided into the swiftest part of the stream, always faster and faster towards its journey's end. Utterly unconscious of danger, and dreaming comfortably of being in a land of unlimited do-nothingism, Dick's head lay across the gunwale of the boat in terrible proximity to the Malay's kris; while Bob, with his chin on his chest, was far away in his old home, in a punt of which he had lost the pole, and it was being whirled along faster and faster through the shallows towards the mill down at the bend of the river. He was very comfortable, and in spite of an uneasy position his sleep was very sweet, unconscious as he was of anything having the semblance of danger. And now the dinghy was a good half mile below where the steamer was moored. They had passed the last house standing on its stout bamboo props, some distance above, and the river had curved twice in its bed, so that they had long been concealed from any one upon the deck, and still the Malays hesitated, or rather waited the time to make their spring. They had no special enmity against the occupants of the dinghy in particular, but they were three of the most daring followers of Rajah Gantang, who had assumed the part of fishermen in a sampan, with a rough cast net, so as to hang about the neighbourhood of the "Startler," and pick up information for their chief, who, so far from being, with his two prahus, _hors de combat_, was merely lying-up in a creek hidden by bamboos and palms, awaiting his time to take deadly vengeance upon the destroyers of his stockade and miners of his income from the passing boats. The opportunity of cutting off a couple of the hated infidels who had forced themselves into the peaceful country, where their rajah, like many another, had been free to carry on a happy lawless existence, cutting throats, selling slaves, committing acts of piracy, and indulging in every vile and sensuous custom, was one not to be lost. Rajah Gantang wanted no peace, or order, or prosperity in the land where he could seize on the wretched people, and make them pay him in gold, tin, rice, poultry, fruit, or any precious commodity, for the right to pass down the river, which he, and a few more of his stamp, looked upon as theirs by right; so that his three followers were certain to receive praise and reward for the proof they might be able to show of the death of a couple of the giaours. For the Malays are good Mohammedans, and look upon the slaying of a Christian as a most meritorious act, but at the same time they were too cautious to endanger their plot or their own lives by undue haste. Hence it came about that the dinghy was allowed to drift down, a good three quarters of a mile, before the Malays made any attempt, when, as the sampan closed up, and the man in her bows raised his limbing to throw, the savage in the water reached up one hand to Dick's shoulder, and struck at him with the other. The blow from the kris and the hurling of the spear took place at one and the same moment, but the touch of the Malay's hand upon his shoulder made Dick leap up with such a sudden start, that the aim was baffled, and the boat rocked so violently that the spear whizzed by Bob Roberts' head, and plunged into the water. In a moment more Dick had seized the little scull that lay in the dinghy, and struck the Malay in the river so severe a blow on the head that the man went under, to rise again a few yards away, and then paddle feebly towards the sampan, whose occupants, spear in hand, now made a desperate attack upon those they meant to make their prey. Bob Roberts never quite knew how it all took place, but he had a lively recollection of old Dick standing up in the boat, sweeping the little oar round his head, and striking fiercely at the men who thrust at him with their spears. It was a most unequal encounter, for while the Malays were upon comparatively substantial ground, the dinghy rocked to and fro, and it only needed the hand of the half-drowned Malay to catch at the side, in a frantic effort to save his life, to send it right over, and Bob and the English sailor into the stream. Bob felt that his minutes were numbered, for as he struck out for the shore the Malays in the sampan uttered a savage yell, and came in pursuit. Dick swam to his side on the instant, and the dinghy went floating away with the half-drowned Malay, while now the sampan was close after them, and as one of their enemies rowed, the other stood in the bows ready to thrust at them with his spear. "Swim away, my lad," cried old Dick, hoarsely, "and get ashore, I'm only an old 'un, and I'll get a grip of his spiker if I can." "No, no, Dick, keep with me," panted Bob, who saw in Dick's words a determination on the brave old fellow's part to sacrifice his life that he might live. "No, my lad, it's no use. Swim on," cried Dick, "they're here. Tell the skipper I did my dooty like a man." As he bravely shouted these words in his excitement, he turned to face his enemies, the Malay with the limbing thrusting savagely at him. But Dick was quick enough to strike the limbing aside, and grasp it with both hands, when a struggle for its possession took place. It was a futile effort, though, upon Dick's part, for the other Malay dropped his oar, and picking up another spear, came to his comrade's help. Bob was paralysed, and the desire was upon him to shut his eyes, and escape seeing the death of the brave old sailor, who was giving his life to save his young officer; but in place of closing his eyes, the middy felt that he was forced to hold them open, and fixed them upon the terrible scene; and his lips parted to utter a cry of warning, when, just as the third Malay was about to deliver his thrust, to avert which Dick was powerless, there was a sharp whizzing noise through the air, accompanied by a loud report, and then another whizzing, and a second report. Bob turned his head to see the smoke rising from above a good-sized naga, or dragon-boat, coming up the stream, and at the sight thereof the Malays seized their oars, gave the sampan a sharp impulse which brought them within reach of their comrade, and after helping him on board, they rowed off with all their might, with the dragon-boat coming up fast. But the naga had to stop and pick up the middy and Dick who had swum, as soon as they were free from enemies, towards the dinghy, which they reached as the dragon-boat came up. "Are you hurt?" said a voice in English, and a delicate hand was stretched down from the naga's side to help Bob in, where, as he sank down panting, he recognised Ali, the young Malay chief. "No: only half-drowned. But Dick--save Dick." "I'm all right, Mr Roberts, sir," said the old sailor, hoarsely; "and the dinghy's made fast astern." "But are you speared, Dick?" said the middy. "Not as I knows on, sir. I ain't felt nothing at present, but I don't say as I ain't got a hole in me somewheres." "They'll get away," said Ali, just then, as he stood up with a double gun in his hand. "Only small shot," he said, tapping the stock. "I have no bullets." As he spoke he clapped the piece to his shoulder and fired twice rapidly, as the Malays in the sampan seemed to dive through a screen of reeds into some creek beyond. The pattering hail of straggling small shot hastened their movements, and then Bob proceeded to thank the young chief for saving their lives, explaining to him, as far as he knew, how it was that they had fallen into such a plight. "You must take more care," said Ali, in a low voice. "Our people would not harm you; we are friends, but plenty hate you much. But you are safe." "Yes," said Bob, who, with all the elasticity of youth, was fast recovering himself, "we are quite safe; and the fish are there too. I say, though, old chap, I am so much obliged." "Oh, no," said the young Malay, laughing, as he coloured through his brown skin; "it is nothing. I saw a wretch trying to do harm, and I fired at him with small duck shot. You would do the same." "Yes, and with bigger shot too if I had a chance," said Bob excitedly, as he proceeded to wring all the water he could out of his clothes, for now the excitement was over he felt slightly chilly. Meanwhile the boatmen were rowing steadily up stream, it having been seen to be useless to attempt pursuit of the Malays in the sampan, and they were rapidly nearing the steamer. "'Scuse me, Mr Roberts, sir," said Dick, who was very wet and spongy, "but your knife's littler than mine, and if you'd pick a few o' these here small shot outer my arms, I'd feel obliged." Examination showed that Dick had received quite a dozen shots in his arms and chest. They had just buried themselves beneath the skin, and were easily extracted by means of an open knife, after which Dick declared himself to be much better. "They've give them Malay chaps a tickling, I know," he cried, laughing. "I'm such a thick-skinned 'un, I am, that they only just got through. I'll bet an even penny they've gone a good inch into them niggers." The boat now reached the steamer, where, after a warm and hearty parting, Bob stepped into the dinghy with Dick, and the remains of the painter were made fast to the cut fragment hanging from the ring. "Now, if you'll take my advice, Mr Roberts," said the old sailor, "you'll step up and get to your berth, and change your togs, while I get out the fish and wash the dinghy. Being wet won't hurt me. What's more is, as I shouldn't say nought about the scrimmage; specially as we're not hurt, or you won't get leave again." "But you are hurt, Dick." "Bah! Don't call that hurt, dear lad. I'm as right as nine-pence. You go on, and think about what I've said." "I will, Dick," said Bob; "but take care of the fish." "Ay, ay, sir." "But I say, Dick." "Ay, ay, sir." "How did the dinghy get loose? You must have gone to sleep." Dick rubbed his ear. "Well, sir, suttunly I think I must have shut one eye; but how the dinghy got loose is more than I can say, unless them spiteful niggers cut us adrift. But you get aboard. We ain't been missed." But Dick was wrong: they had been missed, and the sentry had reported the coming of the naga-boat; so that as soon as Bob had changed his wet clothes for dry, he had to go to the captain's cabin and relate the whole affair. Those on board merely supposing that they had gone down the river to fish, it was a remark made aloud by the young chief Ali that had started a train of ideas in the first lieutenant's head that something was wrong. "Ah," said Captain Horton, "that was well done of the young chief. But it seems to me that we've a lot of ugly scoundrels about to deal with, and we must take care, gentlemen, we must take care." "Yes, Captain Horton," said the first lieutenant, "and we will. But are there no fish there for us, Roberts, eh?" he continued. "Yes, sir, there are," said Bob. "I've caught you a capital dish. And very nearly got turned into ground bait for my pains," he said to himself, as he went out to find Dick. "I say, Dick," he said, as he met him with the basket of fish, "did you think about crocodiles when you were in the water?" "No, sir, never once; there was too much to think about beside." "So there was, Dick," said Bob. "There's sixpence: go and ask them to give you a glass of grog to keep out the cold, but first change your things. I'll take the fish." "Right, sir," said Dick: but he finished the dinghy first, said that there'd be a row about the cut painter, and then had his glass of grog before he changed his things. _ |
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