A royal smuggler

Very affectionate was the leave-taking between Prabu and the chief’s family—nay, even Martin and I shared in the kind words and presents of fruits and rice-bread. It seemed, indeed, as if they had a difficulty in finding words sufficient to express their joy at our visit and their sorrow at our departure. Moreover, they would see the last of us, and so they accompanied us to the very edge of the water. Warmly Prabu thanked them for their hospitality.

“It is good,” he said, as he stepped into the boat that was to take us to the prahu, “that my friends rejoice at our success this season in gathering nests; but great indeed would be their rejoicing, if they but knew its real extent.”

At this the “strong one” seemed to be a little uneasy, as if his suspicions had become excited, and, coming in advance of the others, he said:

“It may be long ere we meet again my brother,—perhaps never—who knows? It will be a satisfaction, then, if I take my last leave on board the prahu.” But Prabu, gently putting him aside, stepped into the boat, and, as the rowers were pushing her off, said:

“Great, indeed, has been the kindness of my brothers and father! Prabu’s gratitude shall be no less; for as soon as his feet rest upon the deck of the prahu, he will send them some presents, which will long keep his name green in their memories.”

“Now, Prabu,” said Martin, “tell me why it is that the prahu is half a mile from the shore, and riding at single anchor only?” But the captain, whose eyes were still fixed upon the party ashore, instead of replying, burst forth into an extravagant fit of laughter.

“Surely our friend is a little mad!” said Martin, queerly.

“Never mind, Martin; wait a while, and those fellows ashore will become madder still.”

“Have you both lost your senses? Will you, or will you not, tell me the meaning of all this?” cried my brother, angrily.

“When we reach the prahu,” I replied.

Martin threw himself back in the boat in a sulky fit. As soon, however, as we stepped on deck, he cried:

“I see it all. By Jingo, what a clever trick!” and then burst into a louder fit of laughter than Prabu. And well he might: for there upon their knees, with their hands tied and their long tails fastened together, were six Chinese sailors; while Kati stood with a rattan-cane in his hand, threatening to beat them if they did not hold their tongues.

“Now, Kati,” said Prabu, “I have promised to send those fellows ashore a present, by which they may keep our visit fresh in their memories.”

This was sufficient: Kati knew what was to follow; and coupled by their tails, twos and twos, the prisoners were tossed into the sea, and they would have swam well, but every now and then they stopped to quarrel at the violent pulls they gave at each other’s heads.

“A present of game—three brace of Chinamen,” said Martin, laughing. “But, Claud,” he added, “it was foul sailing not to tell me this scheme.”

“My dear Martin, my silence was at Prabu’s desire. He believed it to be necessary for the success of his scheme.”

“It was,” interposed Prabu; “but let the Sahib Martin listen. When,” he continued, “the Sahib Claud told us of the new cave and the nest-robbers, I determined to make it known to the head-man, and ask his aid in searching out the thieves; but when I saw the sahib startle at the sight of my two brothers that are to be, and heard him relate to them an account of his adventures so different from that which he had told us, I felt convinced that they were the robbers. However, to be quite certain, at night—it was the same that the Sahib Martin followed the ‘strong one’ to the seashore—I stole to the Sahib Claud’s bedside, and found from him that my suspicions were correct. I then, of course, guessed that the discovery of the tin-mine was false, and the invitation to accompany them the next day only given in order to get me out of the way, while the Chinese captain and his men could carry the nests from the cave to the ship. My first impulse was to seize the rogues and send them to the Pangeran for punishment; but, then, they were the brothers of the ‘handsome one’ and I resolved only to outwit them; but that I might do that effectually, I desired the Sahib Claud not to divulge even to you anything he knew or might know. Well, having accepted the invitation to accompany the rogues in search of the tin-mine, I left orders with Kati to hide with his men in the jungle, near the shore where the junk was anchored; so that when the Chinese came down with the nests, they could seize and carry them on board the prahu. How well he obeyed these orders you are aware. I did not, however, know of his success until he joined us last night; but learning it then, I at once announced my intention of sailing this morning.”

“How jolly clever altogether!” exclaimed my brother, admiringly.

“Look, Martin, I told you those fellows ashore would soon be madder than me or Prabu,” I cried, pointing landward; for the Chinese had by that time swam ashore and told their tale, and the chief and his sons were screaming, shouting, and flourishing their creeses in the air. Prabu, taking the white linen from round his head, waved adieu, which taunt so exasperated the “strong one,” that he leaped into the sea and begun to swim towards the vessel—a very great piece of folly, by the way, at the rate we were running before the wind, and which he was soon compelled to relinquish.

“But, Prabu,” said my brother, seriously, “won’t you lose your sweetheart? For you know you will not dare show your face among them again.”

“Oh, no!” replied the captain, laughing. “My dear brothers are so mad now that they would ‘run a muck’ if they could get near us; but they will soon cool down, and then they will remember that I have shown them mercy; for they know that did I make their roguery known to the Pangeran, his highness would have the whole family uprooted from the village. Remembering this, the next time I visit them they will receive me with open arms, and laugh at the superior cunning that outwitted them.”

“But have you not punished yourself, Prabu,” asked Martin, “by quitting the coast with so small a cargo?”

“Not so,” he replied; “for the nests taken from the rogues double in quality and quantity—at least, so says Kati—any we could have gathered for the next moon. Truly,” he concluded, “God is great! This cave is a wonderful discovery!” and then he went to look after the placing of his cargo; and, my brother and I being alone, I took the opportunity of recurring to that portion of my adventures in the cave which I knew would so much interest him.

“Do you remember that Chinese fellow, Martin, we tied up in the mosquito-curtains the night of the robbery at Mynheer’s house?”

“Remember him, Claud! Is it possible I can ever forget the rascal, or that night when poor Marie was stolen from us? But why do you ask?”

“Well, I have seen and spoken to him.”

“When—where—how?” he cried, seizing my arm.

I then related my adventure with To-ki; but instead of expressing his joy at the news of Marie’s being still alive, he complained that I had not discovered by whom she had been stolen away.

“Claud—Claud!” he cried, “you have behaved unkindly, cruelly, unbrotherly! You should have told me all this the night before we went bee-hunting; and, instead of accompanying those rogues, I would have gone to the cave, and forced from the fellow at least some clue to the person or persons who instigated the kidnaping of our cousin.”

“It would have been useless, Martin, for the man was a mere tool of the hunchback, and knew no more than he told me; while you would have endangered Prabu’s plans and our own safety. Patience, brother, patience, and we will discover Marie yet.”

But words were useless; Martin considered himself aggrieved, and was angry and almost surly with me for a long time—at least, that day and the next—a very long time for him.

One night, while running through the China Seas for Singapore—at which place Prabu told us that he should find a profitable market for his nests—as Martin and I were alone on deck keeping watch, we were startled by a most extraordinary noise. At first I took it to be the beating of an Indian tom-tom in the distance; but no—that was impossible, for we were far from the land, and no canoe was near. Then it struck me that it resembled the buzzing of a multitude of bees. Whatever it was, it caused a tremulous motion; for, placing my hand upon the side of the prahu, I could distinctly feel it.

“What can it be, Martin?” said I. “Are we grinding over the top shoots of a coral forest, or is it a shoal of sucking-fish mistaking the junk for a shark?”

“It sounds to me like the hissing of a myriad of serpents,” replied my brother, and his surmise was not unreasonable; for in those seas, yellow and black snakes are very numerous, and it was possible we might be cutting through a mass of floating spawn—but then the water would have exhibited a phosphoric sparkling. Thus, not knowing to what to ascribe it, and fearing that it might be something dangerous to the prahu’s bottom, I awoke Prabu, who was asleep in the deck-cabin, and advised him to have the well sounded; but he laughed heartily, and, much to our chagrin, said the noise was caused by a shoal of “drumming-fish.” These creatures, which are peculiar to those seas, are of large size, very ugly, with a kind of bladder under the throat; totally unfit for human food, and capable of making themselves distinctly heard while passing under the bottom of a vessel, even though at a depth of seven fathoms. After this I pondered some time before offering our captain advice—touching, at least, the safety of the vessel.

The following day we met with an incident equally ludicrous, although of a more vexatious if not mischievous kind. About mid-day, while we were hiding from the burning sun under deck-awnings, we were startled by the report of a great gun, and, jumping to our feet, saw a large ship bearing towards us.

“It is a Dutch war-sloop,” said Prabu.

“Aye,” said Martin, “I can see that by her flag; but that’s no reason why she should send that ball of iron across our bows.”

“See,” replied Prabu, “her captain is signaling us to hove to, while he sends an officer on board.”

“To what are we indebted for the honor of the visit?” I asked, as soon as Prabu had given the order to obey the Dutchman.

“He takes us for Chinese or Malay pirates. Like the English, the Dutch will permit no thieves in the East but themselves—at least, when they can prevent it.”

The war-sloop’s boat was soon alongside, and in it a dozen sailors, armed with cutlasses and pistols, and a boy-officer, very short, very stout, and very consequential.

“Hilloa, you rogues!” said this stripling, as he stepped upon deck, “where do you hail from, to what port are you bound, and what have you on board?”

“From Java, and bound for Singapore, laden with birds’-nests,” was the reply.

“Laden with what?” asked the youngster, in astonishment.

“Birds’-nests,” replied Prabu, touching his cap, or rather the covering of his head; but the youngster—evidently a fresh arrival in those seas, and who had heard of no birds’-nests excepting those he had himself taken in his school-days—flew into a violent passion.

“You impudent rogue, do you dare to make fun of one of their high mightinesses’ officers?” he roared. “Birds’-nests, indeed! I’ll birds’-nest the lot of you—a precious greenhorn you must take me for!”

Now, I did not at all like the young man’s tone; still, knowing he possessed the power to cause us much annoyance, if he chose to use it, I went up to him, and touching my cap, as bound by etiquette to a naval officer, said:

“Indeed, it is true that we are only laden with birds’-nests.”

“Oh! you are putting a spoke in, are you? Who, pray, are you that speak Dutch, and are yet found among these rascally pirates?”

At these insulting words, Martin, who had less respect for their high mightinesses’ uniform than his elder brother, cried:

“Stand by, Claud. Come, Mr. Midshipman, for all that cocked hat and dirk of yours, you are exceeding your duty. You were not sent here to insult honest traders.”

“You impertinent rapscallion——”

“You queer little cockatoo, if you call me names I’ll hit you,” said Martin, quite coolly, but beginning to show fight; which so frightened me, that I caught his arm, saying:

“For heaven’s sake, come away.”

“Bother!” replied Martin, releasing himself, “We are not in the Dutch pay, and I don’t care a rap for his cockatooship.”

“Here, Hans,” cried the enraged midshipman, “tow that chap into the boat; the sloop’s short of powder-monkeys.” But as the man so-called advanced to obey the order, Martin darted past him, and struck the officer a blow that made him reel. This caused the latter to shout “Mutiny!” the sailors flourished their cutlasses, and the prahu’s men, with their creeses in their hands, prepared for a fight; but Martin, at once brought to a sense of the folly he had committed, and knowing the dangerous position he had placed us all in, cried:

“Stand back, no fighting. Let them take me on board the sloop, and if the captain is a gentleman, he will soon release me.”

“The young sahib is right—they cannot detain him; put up your creeses,” cried Prabu; then, addressing the midshipman again, he said:

“Sahib, by Mahommed I swear, we are only birds’-nesters;” but the middy, almost choking with rage, replied:

“Silence, you rogue! Pretty big birds they must be to require a couple of six-pounders to rob them of their nests.” Then, turning to his men, he added—“I’ll birds’-nest them. Off with the hatches, and let us examine their cargo.”

Now, officer and men had expected that this order would have caused a stout resistance on our side; guess, therefore, their surprise when Prabu himself led them into the hold, and, instead of the treasure we were supposed to have as pirates, they saw nothing but sacks of foul-smelling, muddy, and slimy swallows’-nests. The men were dumfounded, and as ignorant as their officer, for, perhaps, none of them had ever been in these seas before.

“Rum! isn’t it, Hans?” said one of the sailors to a messmate.

“I take it it’s ballast; but, anyhow, they must have been hard up for shingle where they came from, to put such sludge in her, and in bags, too!”

Observing the chagrin and disappointment of the middy—who evidently could not make up his mind what course to take, and, perhaps, felt more than half-ashamed of himself—I endeavored to explain to him the uses of the nests; but, alas for himself! he was more unbelieving than ever.

“Eat these things!” he said, with disgust. “It is a lie, youngster; pigs couldn’t do it.”

“Aye, your honor,” interposed one of his men; “it’s a yarn’d be unbelieved by the marines, and in my opinion it’s a blind.”

“Aye, aye, Hans, a blind it is, no doubt; still there is no proof on board that they are pirates.” Then to Prabu he said, “You are lucky this cruise, my fine fellow, and we have lost our prize-money. We shall, however, catch you yet;” and having, I suppose, become tired of his visit, he left the prahu—politely, however, intimating to us that, if we spread sail until he had returned and made his report to the captain, he would sink us. Accordingly, we waited, but the boat-party had not long been on board again before a signal was hoisted, telling us we might continue our voyage; so I suppose the captain must have known more about birds’-nesting and its commerce in the Indian Archipelago than his young officer. And a pretty quizzing the whole boat-party must have got from their shipmates!—and as I thought of this, I regarded the whole affair as a good joke, but not so Martin, who more than once said:

“If ever I meet that little cockatoo in uniform ashore, I’ll just pull his ears till they are as hot as a couple of furnaces.”

By the way, a good story is told of a similar incident that happened during the last war between England and Spain—so good that I will repeat it. A certain English captain, as ignorant of the nature and value of the edible-nest as our midshipman, and who was keeping an eager lookout for prizes in the Indian seas, fell in with a Spanish ship. Boarding her, they found her laden with the filthy-looking things, which the Spanish commander affirmed to be birds’-nests. The Englishman was at first indignant that a trading captain should attempt to play off such a joke upon him, and, believing that there was treasure of some kind hidden beneath the bags, he caused a narrow search to be made; yet, although nothing could be found, he still believed the Spaniard to have been playing a joke with him—in fact, to have been trying the extent of his credulity. Thus, by way of turning the tables, he seized the ship, to sell her for the value of her hull only. The rest of the story shall be given in the words of its relater:—

“He then gave orders that a midshipman and three or four of his worst men should take charge of her, and run her into the nearest port. One rational thing he did was to remove the Spanish prisoners to his own brig, or they would have soon retaken her. Thus he left her, and it was not until he himself had put into a Chinese port, and accidentally mentioned the occurrence as a joke against the Spaniards, that he learnt the value of the prize.

“The edible birds’-nests were, at the time, selling in the Chinese market at thirty-two Spanish dollars a kattie, so that, on a computation of the quantity in the vessel, she was worth from four hundred thousand to five hundred thousand dollars; and he, poor fellow!—that had served twenty years without clearing twenty pounds prize-money—could have made a fortune. He raged and stormed, and went to sea again to look after her. He offered up prayers, for the first time in his life, for her safe arrival in port. But it was decreed otherwise: the few lubberly fellows he had put on board were not sufficient to work her, and she was wrecked on the coast of China.

“A galleon of gold-dust would not have been such a windfall to the Chinese as was this cargo of nests. The news spread like wildfire through the country, that a vessel had stranded on their coast containing incalculable wealth. The timid Celestials forgot their fears, and, regardless of winds and seas, rushed through the foaming surf—trampled the strong over the weak, brother over brother—all hurrying on board the wreck, which was so effectually pillaged that she was left floating like an empty tea-chest, not a grain of cargo being left sticking to her ribs. During the scramble in the water and on the wreck—for every handful was fought for—many lives were lost; and the coast for several miles round was in anarchy and confusion, a long time after.”

At length, after a six days’ run through the Straits of Malacca—those straits so remarkable for their redundancy of fish—so terrible to the natives of Singapore from the fierce, savage tigers which are continually swimming across from the peninsula—and at the sight of Singapore, we were delighted: partly that we should again be able to stretch our legs, but chiefly that we should have some other food than fish, fish, eternally fish, for we had long since run short of rice and fruits. But the fish upon which we had been subsisting for the last few days had filled me with disgust, for to eat it gave one a notion of cannibalism; and I will tell you why. It more resembled a human being than a fish. It is the dugong (by some writers supposed to have been the original of the mermaid), of the order Cestacea, or great beasts of the ocean. Its body is very bulky, tapering to a broad horizontal tail. Instead of fins, it has two paws armed with talons, and which, but for being webbed, would resemble hands. Its head is almost of human shape, and it suckles its young in an upright position, holding it in one paw, while it supports itself in the water by means of the other. The natives of the islands are very fond of its flesh, which resembles young beef. But, bah! the animal is so human-looking, and the females have such a strong attachment to their young, that when one of the latter is destroyed, the mother, it is said, utters sharp, plaintive cries, sheds tears, and easily permits herself to be taken. Now, are you surprised at my disgust at being compelled to eat of its flesh, more revolting even than that of young roasted monkeys—a favorite dish upon the mainland? But we have done with such food, for we are entering the harbor of Singapore—that town which, under British rule of forty years, has increased its population from two hundred to thirty thousand.

It was day-dawn when we arrived; the sky was just receiving its first bright tints from the rising sun, and the morning mists yet hung about the marshes. Nevertheless, early as it was, the harbor was alive with boats, and resounding with the noisy hum of awakened crowds. The long, low canoe of the Malay, propelled by thirty paddles, each stroke accompanied by their peculiar cry; sampans carrying ashore the Chinese mariner, with his fan and umbrella; other boats, with their clean matted seats and plantain-leaf awnings, waiting for passengers, and promiscuously manned by the Hindoo, the Moor, the Malay, the Arab, or the wild natives of Borneo, Amboyna, Madura, or Bali; the unwieldy junk with painted eyes, which the Celestials believe guide them safely clear of shoals and rocks—its large masts without rigging, mast, sail; high-peaked stern, bedaubed with flying dragons, painted devils, and proverbs, and the poop entirely occupied by the indispensable Joss. Add to the foregoing—boats laden with fruit of every description, ready for the morning market; light fishing-canoes, with their patient occupants, who will sit for hours under the shade of their light grass hats; trading-vessels of several European nations; a British sloop-of-war;—and you have the scene presented to us upon our first arrival at Singapore.