A royal smuggler

There could be no greater proof of the value of our cargo than the extraordinary demand we found for it at Singapore. The news of its arrival in the harbor ran through the town like wildfire—at least among the Chinese portion of the community—and the very next day our little vessel was crowded with long-tailed merchants, as eager to outbid each other as Jew brokers at an auction-mart; and so courteous were these men to our captain, that, although at other times they would have treated him with contempt, the best of them now approached him in the “attitude of respect,” and with their tails let down. But let me explain the meaning of the latter sentence.

Chinese “men of business,” for greater convenience, twist their long tails round the tops of their heads; but to omit to drop them to their full length in the presence of a superior, or, what to them is more, one from whom they expect to obtain a favor, is deemed in China as great a mark of ill-breeding as it would be in America for a person to enter a room with his hat on.

Thus, as you may imagine, from this demand Prabu realized a very large sum for his nests. Nevertheless, the whole cargo was sold to one man. But now commenced the most unpleasant part of our work, for we had to sort them into three different qualities, and pack them in boxes. This labor lasted about three weeks; and then, at least for a time, we were free to roam the island until we had taken another cargo of something—we knew not what—on board. But a few parting words about these nests.

From the fact of the nests being worth more than their weight in silver, it is evident that they are only articles of expensive luxury. They are consumed chiefly by people of rank, the greater part being sent for the consumption of the Court at Pekin. The sensual mandarins use them, in the belief that they are powerfully stimulating and tonic; but it is most likely, that their most valuable quality is their being, like porridge, neither good nor harm. The Japanese, who resemble the Chinese in many of their habits, have no taste for the edible-nest; and how the latter acquired a taste for this foreign commodity, is only less singular than their persevering in it. Among the Western nations there is nothing equal to it, unless we except the whimsical estimation in which the Romans held some articles of luxury, remarkable for their scarcity rather than for any qualities ascribed to them.

Now, for some reason or other (I suppose the large sum he had obtained by the sale of his cargo), Prabu promised extra pay and allowances to his crew, and presented my brother and me with a couple of capital American rifles—a fit of generosity that put all on board in good spirits. But, alas! suddenly a deep gloom was cast over us by two accidents, which happened within a couple of days of each other.

One of the men having been sent with a message to a merchant, whose warehouse was situated some two or three miles along the coast, and with whom Prabu was negotiating for a return cargo, his boat was attacked by an alligator, who capsized it with his tail, seized its inmate, and carried him away to a hole in the bank, there to remain for some future meal; for the alligator never devours his food, whether it be man or beast, until it has been kept for some days. Another poor fellow had been sent upon a similar errand, but upon his return was seized and carried into the jungle by a tiger.

As, however, it may appear marvelous to my reader that two such tragic events should have followed so closely upon each other, let me explain that every inlet near Singapore abounds with alligators, and every jungle with tigers. As for the latter, it seems impossible to exterminate them; for although the Government gives a reward of fifty dollars, to which the merchants of the town add a like sum, for a dead tiger, and, moreover, the slayer can get a good price for its beautiful skin, and another for the flesh, which is bought by the Chinese for food, the annual deaths by these beasts reach the number of forty. Nor does there seem much hope of extirpating them; for, faster than they can be killed, others swim across the Straits of Malacca from the mainland to the island. I may here mention, as a curious fact, that the tiger was unknown in Singapore until after its occupation by the British under Sir Stamford Raffles, in 1819, and one from which a Buddhist, who believes in the transmigration of souls, might infer the savage brutes to be the re-embodied souls of former proprietors of the soil, seeking vengeance upon the descendants of their dispossessors.

Now, as our crew, like all the half-savage natives of the Indian islands, regarded the ferocious brutes of the forests as ruthless enemies, who should be made responsible for their deeds, rather than as creatures who merely obeyed the instincts of their natures, they beseeched, nay, on their knees, implored of the captain permission to revenge the deaths of their shipmates; but Prabu, superior in intelligence to the majority of his race, believing that the search for a particular alligator or tiger, in a country which abounded in both, would be something like looking for a needle in a haystack, or not caring to risk the loss of live men for the sake of revenging dead ones—kindly but firmly refused; and then, so great was his influence over the minds of these wild fellows, that, his decision once given, there was not a murmur afterwards. But, then, he had a capital recipe for the cure of grief—one I advise my young readers to try if ever they have a fit of the “doldrums”. It is the poor man’s best cure for sorrow—work, hard work. He employed them, first, in putting the vessel all taut, cleansing, repairing, and then in loading her with a fresh cargo, which consisted of casks and oblong cases of great size, filled (so Prabu told Martin and I, who were curious enough to ask the question) with silks, crapes, silver, gamboge, and other products of the Celestial Empire.

To us boys, however, there appeared some mystery about our new cargo; for Prabu not only hesitated before he answered the question, but replied very surlily, as if vexed at being questioned. Then, again, we thought it strange that it had been packed, ready for shipment, long before our arrival in Singapore; but another incident happened, that added to our curiosity. Prabu had ordered the prahu to be got ready for sailing upon a certain Saturday; but upon the Wednesday previously, after spending some hours in the town, as he and I were taking our seats in the boat to return to the vessel, he was hailed by a Dutch naval officer, just then coming ashore. Evidently annoyed, he said in a whisper—

“Sahib, it is the captain of the Dutch cruiser, which put into the harbor yesterday.”

At once he got out of the boat and held a long conversation with the officer, but at such a distance that I could not gather a word. Now, this incident was not much in itself, but then, the moment he returned to the prahu, he gave orders for the ship to be put in such a shape that she could sail with the first wind; and, as a favorable breeze blew up that night, the anchors were lifted as gently as if the men had been afraid of awakening the fishes, and we slipped from the harbor stealthily—as if, in fact, the prahu’s character was no better than it ought to have been.

“It’s queer work, this,” said Martin to me; “one would almost think Prabu hasn’t paid for the cargo, and was slipping away from his creditors.”

“No,” said I; “Prabu is neither pirate nor swindler.”

“Well, then, what is it?”

“My opinion is——”

“What?” Martin interposed, eagerly.

“That—that—well, to speak plainly, I don’t know, except that it does not matter.”

“Oh, does it not, though, if we are run after and taken by that Dutchman you were telling me about! It is my opinion, Master Claud, that we who are sailing in the boat should know all that is going on in her.”

“Then look you, Martin, you must ask Prabu what he has in those casks and cases; for if there be any mischief brewing, the cause lies there.”

“Well,” said he, “who’s afraid? He can’t eat me, I suppose;” and the first time we caught Prabu alone, he put the question; but Prabu answered, as before, “China produce,” and walked surlily away.

“There, Martin,” said I, laughing, “people who don’t ask questions don’t hear stories.”

“You may laugh, Claud,” he replied, angrily; “but it is no laughing matter. Depend upon it, mischief of some kind is brewing.”

But, notwithstanding my brother’s fears, no harm threatened for some weeks. When, however, we were in the China Sea, we fell in with a typhoon, which so knocked us about, that we were compelled to put into a port of Sumatra, in the Straits of Bangka, for repairs; and this delay very nearly cost us dearly, for it was three weeks before we could get under weigh again.

Well, we had reached within a few days’ sail of the Straits of Sunda, when, one morning about day-dawn, as the heavy mists were just clearing away, we espied a ship in our wake; and about the same time she must have descried us, for she sent up a signal for us to stand to, as she was about to send an officer on board. The only answer made by Kati, who was the chief officer upon deck, was to order the crew to shot the guns and crowd sail; but Prabu, coming up, at once countermanded the order. At that moment, a heavy ball whistled through the air over our heads.

“By jingo! the Dutchman means business,” cried Martin, bobbing down his head after the ball had passed.

Kati looked ferocious, and laid his hand upon his creese; but Prabu, quite coolly, said, “Nay, Kati, as becomes a man of Bali, thou art brave; but it is useless now, for our heads are not of stone or rock, that they can resist such missiles; neither, thanks to the typhoon which crippled us, and to the mists which have kept us out of sight of each other, can we outrun her—so let us receive this officer on board as if we loved him. No, it will not do to fight—we must not show our teeth to our friends;” and then he gave the lieutenant some order in a whisper, and disappeared below.

“That’s the identical Dutchman who hailed Prabu, as we were stepping into the sampan at Singapore,” said I to Martin, as an officer and a dozen armed sailors came alongside in a boat.

“Then keep a sharp lookout, for now the mischief’s brewed,” replied Martin.

“What have you on board, from whence do you hail, and to what port are you bound?” asked the Dutch officer, as soon as he stood on deck.

“As the captain is aware (for he asked the same questions at Singapore), we have taken a cargo of nests to Singapore, and are now bound for Batavia with Chinese products,” replied Prabu.

“What products?”

“Silks, silver, and provisions, Sahib Captain.”

“Who are your owners?”

“The Chinese merchant Sing, of the Campong.”

At this reply Martin and I opened our eyes, for we knew it to be a falsehood.

“But have you arms on board?”

“Sahib, no—at least not as cargo.”

“Dog!” replied the captain, sternly, “these answers are false. This prahu belongs to the Pangeran of Pugar, to whom you are carrying arms.” At the latter name Martin touched my shoulder. It was that of the native prince who was upon such intimate terms with Ebberfeld.

As for Prabu, at the epithet “dog,” his eyes flashed, and he had a nervous twitching about the fingers, as if he longed to handle his creese; but, taking a bundle of papers from his sarong, and presenting them to the officer, he said, in a very humble tone—

“The Captain Sahib is pleased to doubt the truth of his servant; let him peruse these.”

Having examined the documents, the officer returned them to Prabu.

“These papers are correct,” said he; “I have been misinformed;” and he would have left the vessel, quite satisfied, but for one of his men, who whispered in his ear; when, turning again to Prabu, and pointing to some casks on deck, he asked if they contained provisions.

“Sahib, if I have not been deceived, they do,” replied Prabu, bowing, but with hesitation.

“Good,” replied the Dutchman, sharply; “then I will buy a cask or two, for we are running short.”

“Sahib, it is not possible—they are consigned to the owner of the prahu,” cried he, with alarm; but it was useless. At a signal from their captain, the busy sailors stove in the heads of two of the casks.

“Hillo!” cried the captain; “they must have strong stomachs who can digest such provisions!”

Astonished at the words, my brother and I advanced to look at the contents, when, lo! we beheld one filled with gunpowder, the other with small arms, such as bayonets, sabers, and pistols; and I must confess that I trembled as it occurred to me that my brother and I had been inveigled into some conspiracy, perhaps, without our knowledge.

At the sight of the weapons, the Dutch sailors placed their hands upon their pistols and cutlasses, as if they expected a sudden attack from the crew; but no—the latter remained quite passive. As for Prabu, he affected no little astonishment at the contents of the casks.

“God is great!” he exclaimed. “Truly the Singapore merchant must have sent on board the wrong cargo, for these are not named in the bills;” and so genuine seemed his surprise, that the captain, I believe, thought him the dupe or unwilling agent of others; but, unfortunately, my brother, thinking to put in a good word or two, came forward, and, in very good Dutch, said—

“Our captain is as much astonished as yourself, sir; he has been duped, either by the Chinese merchant of Singapore, or he of the Campong.”

“Who are you, my young cocksparrow, to be found chirping away in good Dutch among these piratical islanders?” asked the captain, in surprise—so much were we browned by the sun and sea-air, and so greatly did our attire, or rather want of attire, resemble our shipmates’, that without a very close examination, or hearing our voices, he could never have guessed us to be Americans.

“Cocksparrow, sir!” replied Martin, very indignantly—“not so much a cocksparrow as you are an hungry vulture, prowling the seas to rob honest men of their cargo.”

“Come, come, my little fellow,” (Martin stood nearly five feet ten in height, although he looked very young in the face), “chirp out your name, and the whereabouts of your nest, that I may send you to your mother.”

“Sir,” said I, now interfering, hoping in my wisdom to put matters straight; “he is my brother, and a gentleman, although you see us both here with honest Prabu; we are the nephews of the rich Madam Ebberfeld, of Batavia.” That, thought I, will convince him, at least, that we are respectable; but to my astonishment, he said—

“Nephews of Ebberfeld, are you? It is then as I thought.” Then turning to his men, he added, “Clap these fellows under hatches; they are rebels and traitors, carrying arms to the Pangeran.”

At this I certainly thought Prabu would have offered resistance, but not so: mildly and meekly, as a lamb going to the slaughter, he not only permitted himself to be put in irons, but commanded his men to submit likewise. Thus, with the exception of two (who were left to help in working the vessel), and Martin and I, they were led below. This being done, the captain returned to his boat, promising the sailors that he would, on his return to the ship, send an officer on board.

“A pretty termination to our nest-hunting expedition, Claud!” said Martin, as, about an hour afterwards, we stood watching the approach of another boat bringing the officer.

“Yes—to be taken back to Batavia as traitors and rebels to the Dutch Government! Oh! how foolish I was to mention our connection with Ebberfeld!”

“Aye,” replied my brother; “but never mind, old fellow—cheer up, something may turn up yet to rescue us;” but just at that moment the boat grated against the side of the prahu, and a Dutch sailor, striking us with a rattan-cane, told us to salute the officer.

“Salute that fellow—by jingo, no! Why, it is little cockatoo,” cried Martin, as he recognized the same midshipman who had overhauled our birds’-nests.

“Hush, Martin! remember we are in his power now,” said I; but the warning was useless—the consequential little fellow had overheard the words.

“Give that young pirate a couple of dozen with your rattan, Hans,” said he; “it will teach him manners.”

But, in an instant, Martin had caught up a handspike. “The first,” he cried, “who attempts to lay hands upon me shall have this in his breast.”

But open resistance was useless—worse, for it caused our petty tyrant not only to add to the number of blows, but to have my poor brother taken below and clapped in irons, to all of which I made no objection; for I knew that, while at liberty, I should have at least some chance of assisting him. I patiently bided my time, and an opportunity soon came.

Some hours after the midshipman had arrived on board, and we had passed out of sight of the war-sloop, the Dutch sailors reported to their officer that there was neither meat nor poultry—indeed, nought but rice—on board; whereupon the little worthy had Martin brought before him.

“Now, young devilskin,” he began.

“Now, young cockatoo,” answered Martin, impudently, and foolishly, too, for it brought him a couple of stiff blows of the rattan.

“Where are the provisions stowed away?”

“Where a lubber like you can’t get at them,” replied my brother, more defiantly than ever; adding, as the sailor gave him another heavy blow with the rattan, “Go on, my good fellow; you and this little cockatoo shall have it all back with good interest, for I know you dare not kill me.”

“You impudent vagabond!” cried the enraged little officer, “I will have you flogged within an inch of your life.”

“All right, you little coward; that wish will be quite enough to enable me to impress upon your hide a souvenir that you won’t get rid of for the rest of your life.”

“Will you, or will you not, tell me where the provisions are stowed away?”

“Well,” replied my brother, very coolly, “I will, because it will make you squeak yourself into a fit, my small friend. The provisions,” he added, “with the exception of rice and water, were all thrown overboard when your rogue of a captain first came on board.”

“Rascal!” again squeaked the middy, “by whose orders was it done—what for? Tell me the truth, or I will have you starved to death.”

“Oh, never fear! I will tell you the truth,” he replied. “Well, the provisions were sunk that you Dutch rats might be starved out of the ship; and now you know all, what do you think of it?”

The effect of this reply upon the midshipman was comical in the extreme. He first ordered the sailor to take Martin below; then he walked about the deck, giving vent both to rage and fear—the first, that good provisions should have been thrown away—the latter, that he would have to live the rest of the voyage upon rice and water, which, to a high-feeding Dutchman, was something like starvation.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he cried like a child, “what shall I do? Oh! why did I ever leave Amsterdam? The captain should have left provisions on board; I will make my complaint to the Governor-General at Batavia.”

Now, while he was thus soliloquizing, I was standing—watching, listening, and laughing—behind a sail; but, seeing something in the distant horizon which looked like a ship, an idea that might result in advantage to myself occurred to me; so, stepping forward, and touching my cap in mock respect, I said:

“A ship in sight, sir; her captain will, perhaps, spare you some of his provisions.”

“A ship in sight! Dear me, that’s good news, for we may get some pork,” he replied; then, having swept the horizon with his glass, he said:

“It is a Chinese junk, and she flies the Dutch flag; she must, therefore, thank God, be in the Governor-General’s service: moreover, she seems at anchor among yonder islands.”

Thus, the prospect of a leg of pork being nearer, assuming his usual consequential air, he said—yes, that little whipper-snapper, who did not stand above five feet three in his shoes, said to me, who stood nearly six feet without shoes:

“Now, you boy, do you think I could trust you?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” replied I, touching my cap, and with great difficulty suppressing a laugh.

“Well, well,” he replied, “I believe I can, for you are not like that other rascal—you have a civil tongue in your head. But do you know what a pig is?”

“I believe I should know one if I saw it, without it was like the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“You rascal, are you laughing at me?”—and he shook his fist in my face.

“No, sir; shouldn’t dare to laugh at an officer in command,” I replied, as seriously as possible; and this mollified him, for he replied:

“Well, I don’t think you would, at least not at me—it wouldn’t be safe. But can you tell a good pig from a bad one?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Well, then, look you, boy; I can’t spare any of my fellows, so at sundown, by which time the Chinaman will be near us, take the boat and a couple of your piratical companions, and ask the Chinese fellow for a couple of his pigs.”

“Aye, aye, sir; but am I to steal them, or pay for them?”

“Why, you rogue, do you take me for a pirate? No; I will write you a requisition, which will be sufficient for the Chinese skipper; for if he shows it to the authorities at Batavia, he will be paid.”

“But,” said I, remembering the size of the prahu’s boats, “there is no boat that will hold them.”

“Don’t talk, boy; orders are orders, and must be obeyed,” replied the pompous little chief. “If they won’t fit, they must be made to fit.”

“The boat the pigs, or the pigs the boat?”

But all the answer he made was: “Go away, and be ready at sundown; but remember, if you attempt any tricks, or do not return to the prahu within three hours, I will hang up that rascal brother of yours.”

Well, at sundown he gave me the requisition, and, with my two men, I put off for the Chinaman. It was a terrible pull, for the boat was a small sampan. The artful little middy insisted upon our taking that, thinking that if, in defiance of his threats, we were to attempt to get further out to sea, it would be impossible. And indeed it would, for we had no rudder, and but a couple of wretched little paddles; and as the current among the islands runs all manner of ways, as if in opposition to each other, it was as much as we could do to keep her head straight. Nay, more than once, when one of the men took his paddle out of the water, the wretched little craft spun round like a teetotum. Well, by dint of great exertions—keeping pretty straight, perhaps, for a quarter of a mile, and then being brought to a dead halt, and sent round like an horizontal catherine-wheel, every instant expecting she would swoop down head foremost—we came alongside the junk, just as they were hanging out their night-lanterns. A pretty prospect, I thought, the return performance would be, with the addition of a couple of swine—nay, without they were sucking-pigs, the sampan would not hold them; so sucking-pigs I determined they should be, if I could manage it.

But then came another difficulty. I had no knowledge of the Chinese language. However, I knew that the Celestials at Batavia spoke what was called “pigeon Dutch”—the most extraordinary language, perhaps, ever invented. And so, calling to the men on board, I said: “One fine Dutch man wantee get top side”—which, translated, meant, “a Dutchman wanted to get upon deck;”—but, to my great relief, a man answered in pretty good Dutch, that I might come on board. So on board I went, and, telling the people on deck what I required, was at once shown into the captain or master’s cabin—if, indeed, one can dignify with such a name a mere awning supported by four bamboo poles. However, from the center there were suspended a couple of lanterns, beneath which, after the fatigues of the day, reclined a Chinese, but—to my horror—the very captain who had been leagued with Prabu’s intended brothers-in-law, and whom we had first deprived of his cargo and then tossed into the sea. I had but one hope—he might not recognize me, but that soon vanished when I saw him put down his opium-pipe; for, fixing his eyes upon me, as might a panther about to spring upon its prey, he arose, and, clutching me by the arm, said:

“Rat, and son of a rat! is it possible that the rogue and thief Prabu can have sent for provisions to the man he despoiled and insulted? By the bones of my ancestors, in place of two pigs’-heads I will send him back the head of a goose!—for who but a goose would have dared to come to me from him?” And then, by way of illustrating his intention, he passed the back of his naked sword across my throat.

I had, indeed, rowed out of the frying-pan into the fire. What should I do? What could I do to save my life, and, worse, that of my brother?—for had not that little wretch threatened to hang him if I did not return in a given time? Suddenly, it occurred to me that flying the Dutch flag, one in that service would be held free from harm, if only from fear of the authorities at Batavia. Then I told him that I had not been sent by Prabu—in fact, the whole story of the discovery of the arms and the confinement under hatches of Prabu and his crew; but at this his conduct was very extraordinary—he raved as if he had been mad, not at Prabu, but at the Dutchman. Then, reviling all Hollanders, and that one especially who had boarded our prahu, he invoked the name of Prabu as that of a good man—a brave man—and called down curses upon his own head for having reviled him. But at length, becoming cool, he inquired the number of the Hollanders who had possession of the prahu. When I informed him, and also given a description of the officer in command, he said:

“My brother is young, but he is brave. Would he dare to strike a blow for the rescue of his friends?”

“If the worthy captain be sincere,” said I, “in his desire to befriend Prabu and his men, let him give me the opportunity, and he shall see.”

“It shall be as my brother wishes! May the day be fortunate!” he replied. Then, calling his first mate, he related to him the story of the Dutch officer’s discovery of the arms; and the lieutenant went almost as mad as had his captain a short time before—only, more practical than his chief, he proposed at once to man the boats and send them to the rescue.

It was then arranged between us that a pig should be put into my boat, with creeses and pistols for myself and the two men; and that another, filled with armed sailors, should follow close in our wake with muffled oars. The night was moonless, and so dark that it was not probable the latter party would be seen; but to be prepared for a contingency, a pig was to be put into their boat also, which would be sufficient excuse for its appearance in company with mine.

Well, in about an hour we started—I being not a little proud at having the command of an expedition for the rescue of my brother and friends; and we reached the prahu without any accident, excepting that piggy having burst his bonds, I had considerable difficulty in holding him quiet in the boat.

Having directed my two men to hide under the raised stern until they heard the report of a pistol, I hailed the people upon deck. The little midshipman, being very hungry and anxious for his pork, was the first to answer by commanding me to bring the pig on board.

“It is a Chinese pig, and as big as a rhinoceros,” said I. “We want help—throw out a rope.”

Having secured this rope, not only round the animal, but also round the sampan, so that the great weight would afford an excuse for the aid of several men, I left one in the boat, and with the other went upon deck.

“The animal is large and heavy, sir,” said I to the officer—“it will require at least three people to man the rope;” and the greedy little middy was so delighted at having secured so fine a pig, that he ordered four of his Dutch sailors to my assistance.

Well, away they went to work—tug, tug! Of course, there never was so heavy a pig. Then suddenly, as I had arranged with the man below, the rope snapped in two, and the men upon deck fell backwards. I fired my pistol, and closed with one; the man who had ascended with me took another, and he in the boat was up the side like a wildcat upon a third; and before they had time to recover from their surprise, the Chinese, springing from the other boat into the prahu, came to our assistance, and I believe not one life would have been saved—for the Chinese, with their four thousand years of civilization, are by far more bloodthirsty and cruel than the wild islanders of the Archipelago—had I not begged hard of them to stay their hands, at least till our friends should be released, and so be enabled to share in the vengeance upon the Dutchmen. So, leaving the prisoners in charge of the Celestials, I and my two men unfastened the hatches.

“God is great!” was the only expression of Prabu at his unexpected release.

“Claud, old fellow, how did all this come about?” said my brother.

“Not a word—not a word!” I answered, “until we have rescued the throats of the Dutchmen from our Celestial friends.”

“The sahib is right—not a drop of blood must be shed,” replied Prabu. Nor was another word spoken until we had taken our late masters from their dangerous position, and placed them under hatches.

But what had become of our late redoubtable commander? The length and breadth of the deck, the rigging was searched, but he was not to be found—at least until Martin, seeing the top of the brine-tub move, exclaimed, “I smell a rat!” Then, lifting the lid, all but the imperturbable Prabu became convulsed with laughter; for, crouching down, buried up to the shoulders in brine, with pale face and chattering teeth, was the officer of the Dutch navy.

“Why, our little cockatoo is trying to preserve himself by pickling!” cried Martin: then, looking very ferocious, he added, “But he is not scalded yet—bring hither the hog-tub and boiling water.”

“Oh! pray, good young gentlemen,” cried the little fellow, in great terror, “do not put me to so horrible a death; hang, shoot me, or anything else!”

“You wretched coward, come out, or you will die of fright, and rob us of the satisfaction of killing you,” cried Martin, helping him out of the tub.

Having thus recaptured the prahu, it became a difficulty to know what to do with our prisoners. Our Chinese allies very coolly proposed cutting off their heads, “for,” said they, “men without heads can’t make mischief.” When, however, these gentle advisers had quitted us, we put them ashore upon one of the islands, leaving with them a supply of pork, rice, and water.

Having thus got rid of the Dutchmen, and bent sail for Bali, upon the eastern extremity of Java, I told the story in detail of my recapture of the prahu. Prabu was very grateful, for I had saved him a very valuable cargo as well as vessel. Martin was delighted, calling it jolly fun, and regretted only that he had not been with me; but, observing that I looked gloomy, he said:

“Why, Claud, here are you—who have done a thing so monstrously plucky, that in the navy it would have earned you promotion—looking as glum as if you had lost, not gained, a ship.”

“Ah! Martin, that ‘in the navy’ makes all the difference; but, you see, if the Governor-General of Batavia catches me, the kind of promotion I shall get may be hanging. Yes,” I continued, looking angrily towards Prabu, “while we have been sailing about under the belief that we were simply honest nest-gatherers and traders, we have been pirates, rebels, or something of that kind, without knowing it.”

“Oh, bother!” exclaimed Martin, very seriously,—“that’s true, but I never thought of it. Prabu, old fellow, you have brought us into a pretty scrape with your fire-arms and your Pangerans; so the least you can do is to let us know what is likely to be the end of it. No secrets any longer, if you please.”

“The young sahibs sought their servant, and begged he would take them with him,” replied Prabu.

“Ay, that’s true enough,” cried Martin; “but we didn’t think we were taking service with a grim old pirate, you know!”

“Prabu is no pirate; moreover, he would sacrifice his own life rather than any harm should come to the young sahibs.”

“Oh! that is all very well, and I believe it,” answered Martin; “still, you should have told us what we had to expect, not kept us in the dark so long.”

“Sahib Martin,” he replied, earnestly, “you are right; I might well have intrusted both with my secret, for you are brave as lions; but, thanks to Allah! it is not too late to make amends. Let them listen.”

Then he confessed, what we surmised from the words of the Dutch captain—namely, that he had been acting as agent for the Pangeran of Pugar, collecting and selling his birds’-nests, and purchasing arms with the money.

“Then,” said I, “there is a conspiracy afoot, and the native princes are about to rise against their masters, the Dutch.”

“Masters!” he exclaimed, scornfully—“the dogs of Dutch—the treacherous Hollanders—thieves and plunderers of the East—fellows whose souls are in their money-bags—the masters of the descendants of the Susunans!” Then, as if bethinking his haste had betrayed him into imprudence, he added, “But who is Prabu, that he should prate of the affairs of princes? Sahib,” he continued, “you will not betray me. Know, then, that in every island of the archipelago, the people are but biding their opportunity to throw off the accursed yoke.”

“But, Prabu,” I asked, quite innocently, “why do you dislike the Hollanders?”

“Dislike!” he exclaimed; “I hate them!—yes, with the hereditary accumulated hatred of generations; nor is it alone so with us islanders. Has not the Sahib Claud told us how readily even the Chinese captain forgot his hatred to me, for depriving him of his cargo of nests, when hearing that I and the arms were beneath the claws of these Dutch wolves? But,” he added, “the sun is sinking; another day I will tell the sahibs the history of the cruel doings of these Dutch in Java, and they shall then judge whether our hatred to them is groundless or not.”