A royal smuggler

As day broke we examined our position. The island—which had, in all probability, at some distant period, formed a promontory of the mainland, until cut off by the channel which now divided it from the shore—appeared to be about three miles in length by two in breadth. To the right, to the left, to the back of us, the shores were belted with groves of the cocoa-nut and gomuti palms; but the shore opposite the mainland was sandy and bare, excepting that nearly to the water’s edge were scattered the trunks of huge palms—which, by the way, our commander in the night had ingeniously converted into buttresses for the sandbanks—or, in military parlance, “earthworks”—they had thrown up, and which were about breast-high.

As the sun rose in the horizon, we saw the Balinese, at least a hundred of them, bustling to and fro, shaking their spears and creeses in defiance, and could hear their yells of anticipatory triumph.

“They are preparing to attack us, Martin; see, they have a couple of boats. Let us arouse Prabu,” said I.

“Aye, Claud, but look—they have observed us; down with your head,” and scarcely had he uttered the words when a shower of arrows came flying through the air—the greater number of which, however, found their billets in the earthworks.

“Come, Martin, let us call Prabu.”

“No, not yet; every minute of rest is an object, with such work as we have before us for the rest of the day. Let us tackle them between us. But look—the two boats have put off. Bring your rifle to your shoulder and take a steady aim at one, while I take the other; for it would be uncivil not to acknowledge the receipt of the feathered messengers they have just sent.”

Well, a steady and deliberate aim, and from across the water we could hear the dull thud—thud of our bullets, as they struck the sides of the boats.

“Anyhow,” cried Martin, “there is a couple of loopholes in their sides, but that is not enough. Again, Claud, but this time an inch or two higher;” and once more we fired. The reports of our pieces aroused Prabu and the men, who came towards us, shouting, “Malik, Malik!—they are coming, they are coming!”

“Are they, though!” exclaimed Martin—“not a bit of it; at least not until they have put into dock again to stop the shot-holes in their sails and boats.” And Prabu, at first angry that we had commenced action without orders, no sooner saw the telling effect of our well-directed fire, than he cried out—

“The sahibs are heroes—let them keep their rifles pointed at the boats,” and then he employed himself in posting his little force, with their muskets, at angles of the works; so that while we, with our long-range rifles, harassed the enemy, Prabu and his party could, by a cross-fire, deal out destruction to any who, after the habit of their race, might take to the water—which, as it was then low tide, was not more than breast-high.

For a couple of hours, however, we had but little employment, save discharging a bullet now and then among stragglers, who from time to time ventured to the edge of the water, for the purpose of sending an arrow or two at any head that might chance to appear above our sandbank. As for the two boats, they had long since been lugged ashore, their crews not a little scared that a bullet could be sent among them from so great a distance; for it was, in all probability, the first time the deadly rifle had been heard by them.

But the brave Balinese will get accustomed to any weapon, however terrible at first, and so speedily the boats were again manned, but this time their crews, all but two rowers in each, laid themselves at the bottom; and at the same time that they put off, some eighty of their comrades, armed with bows, arrows, spears, and creeses, took to the water—in order, I suppose, to create a diversion, for the latter were equally divided into parties and placed at each side of the boats: thus, shrieking and yelling, they advanced toward us.

As before, Martin and I kept our eyes upon the boats; but so well and gallantly did their crews manœuvre them—keeping them for ever moving, twisting, and whirling them about in the water—that they became as difficult to hit as seagulls on the wing in a tempest: we fired and fired, but all in vain. In the meantime, Prabu and his men had stood at their posts without firing a shot, and a well-planned manœuvre it was; for as the yelling, screaming enemy—having exhausted a considerable portion of their strength by their toil in the water, and the frequent discharge of their arrows (you must remember that they stood breast-high in the sea)—came near the shore, one half kept firing and the other loading, and that with such good aim and rapidity, that in about an hour, all who were not killed beat a retreat to the mainland.

But while this had been going on, Martin and I had been engaged keeping the boats, which, daringly enough, had run right beneath the works, from landing their crews: one of these we managed to scuttle by pouring bullets into her, and her few remaining men swam back to the opposite shore; but the other, in spite of rifles and muskets, set her crew ashore.

Had they effected this an hour before, when their comrades were finding full occupation for Prabu and the men, we should have been hopelessly lost. But now the latter, throwing aside their muskets and drawing their creeses, sprang to our aid, and drove them back to their boat—all but one, and he, Martin and I carried a prisoner into the interior.

The enemy being thus beaten back, we began to take stock of our ammunition: the result was pitiful.

“Not half a dozen rounds each man,” cried I.

“We must reserve them for our utmost need, and take to our creeses and the butts of our pieces,” said Prabu.

“Aye, aye,” said Martin; “it will come to a hand-to-hand fight soon, and then we shall be beaten by mere numbers.”

“Would to heaven Kati and the prahu were near!” I exclaimed; and I must admit that, at the prospect before us, we became gloomy and thoughtful. My brother, however, who was seldom at a loss for expedients, suddenly exclaimed, as a bright thought occurred to him:

“I have it! We will re-rig that scuttled boat, and one or two of us can put out to sea in search of the prahu.”

“Good,” said Prabu, “and we may yet be saved; for she must be somewhere at hand upon the coast.”

“I have another notion,” cried Martin; “we will examine our prisoner.”

“To what purpose?” I asked.

“Oh! you will see,” he replied, and we had the man brought before us.

“Now,” said Martin to him, “we are going to hang you up to one of those palm-trees.”

“God is great! What is written is written: the sahib has his servant’s life in his hands,” replied the man—who, like the greater portion of Mahomed’s subjects, was a Mussulman.

“Well, that’s cool,” replied Martin; “but,” he added, “will you honestly answer any questions I may put to you, if we promise to save your life?”

“Sahib,” he replied, “a dead man is of no use to his family.”

“No,” interrupted my brother, laughing; “that is a fact, no doubt.”

“Then, by the head of the Prophet and my hopes of Paradise, I will answer the sahib truly.”

“Is your rascally chief, Mahomed, dead?”

“Sahib, no, but severely wounded, yet not so badly that he cannot direct the attacks upon you here.”

“Why did this young chief, the son of a man so friendly to us, seek to encompass our deaths so treacherously?”

“Because, while the sahibs and the Captain Prabu were in the capital, a Dutch ship came whose captain offered him a great reward in silver, as also the prahu, its guns and cargo, if he would deliver into his hand a certain Captain Prabu.”

“But why did the Dutch want the Captain Prabu? what harm has he done them?” asked our leader himself.

“Because the great Dutch chief who rules at Batavia knows that Prabu is a descendant of the Prince Surapati, and also that he has been sailing about the island, and on the coast of Java, to incite the different chiefs and princes to rebellion against the Dutch.”

“The dog!” exclaimed Prabu, “but how can this be? is it possible a son can disgrace a father’s memory, for did not the late chief hate the Dutch, and with his son swear eternal war against them?”

“He did, sahib, but Mahomed loves honor and his country less than gold and power; besides, the Dutch governor has promised to make him Rajah of Blilling in place of the present Prince, who he fears—nay knows—is his enemy.”

“How know they this?” asked Prabu, in alarm.

“Mahomed has sent a messenger to the governor of Batavia, telling him.”

“But where is the Dutch grab?” asked Martin.

“At the mouth of the straits of Bali, awaiting the return of the prahu either to receive prisoners, when Mahomed has taken them, or to waylay the prahu in case she should escape from Mahomed.”

“But the prahu, know you where she is?”

“Almost within gun-shot, riding at single anchor, about two leagues from the town.”

“Now,” said Martin, sternly, “we are going to send the boat in search of the prahu; we will keep you here till its return, when, if we find you have spoken falsely, you shall be hanged like a dog.”

“If, oh, Sahib! thy servant hath spoken falsely, let him die the death of a dog; but, if truly, let him live.”

“A bargain!” cried Martin; and so the conference ended, to the satisfaction of all parties.

When, however, the boat had been made seaworthy, there arose a dispute between my brother, Prabu, and me, as to who should undertake the somewhat dangerous service of seeking the prahu. Indeed, we could only settle it by casting lots, when the duty fell to my brother, who thereupon left the island by the wooded side, taking with him his rifle, all the ammunition we could spare, and some fruits.

The remainder of that day we patiently awaited another attack, but it came not. The Balinese contented themselves with keeping watch along the opposite shores—a matter, by the way, of small consolation to us, for it was evident they were only awaiting reinforcements from the interior, and, in all probability, fresh boats, and should these auxiliaries arrive before the coming of the prahu, we were hopelessly lost. Then, again, now that the excitement of the fighting was past, our men lay about in all directions in a state of exhaustion, with no other refreshment than the fruits of the cocoanut-tree and the gomuti palm; indeed, but for these two edibles, we should have died from mere exhaustion, as between them they afforded us both meat and drink. Apropos of the latter, it is not only one of the most singular members of the vegetable world in the Indian islands, but adapted to such a variety of uses, that my readers may fairly excuse me for giving them a description of it.

The gomuti (Borassus gomutus) is the thickest of all the palms, but shorter than the cocoa-nut. The fruits, which are about the size of a medlar, and of a triangular form, grow from the shoots of fructification on long strings of three or four feet, and that, too, in such abundance, that the quantity depending from a single shoot is more than a load for a man. The fleshy outer covering affords a juice of so highly stimulating and corrosive a nature, that, when applied to the skin, it occasions great pain and inflammation. Then, from the interior of the fruit, the Chinese prepare a sweetmeat, and the Indian islanders distil a spirit or toddy, which they use upon going into action, and which excites them in such a degree, that the Dutch not inappropriately denominate it hell-fire. This is the principal production of the gomuti palm, and it is extracted in the following ingenious manner:—

One of the shoots of fructification is, on the first appearance of fruit, beaten for three successive days with a small stick; the shoot is then cut off a little way from the root, and the liquor which pours forth is received in pots. One palm will, at the age of nine years, yield for two years at the average of three quarts a day. From this liquor, again, a sugar is made by boiling it to a syrup, and is sold in all the markets. The Chinese also use it in the composition of the celebrated Batavian arrack.

Another production of great value, and which resembles black horsehair, is found between the trunk and branches, in a matted form, interspersed with long, hard, woody twigs of the same color. When freed from the latter, it is used for any purpose of cordage. The small twigs found in the hair-like material are used by all the tribes who write on paper as pens, and for the manufacture of the poisoned arrows, which are blown from tubes. Beneath this hair-like material is found a third species, of a soft, gossamer-like texture, which is used by the Chinese in large quantities as oakum in calking the beams of ships, and as tinder for kindling fires. Lastly, like the true sago-palm, the gomuti affords a medullary matter, from which a farina is formed, and which is used throughout Java in considerable quantities. But to resume my story.

Hour after hour having passed without bringing an attack from the Balinese, I began to entertain some hope that the severe loss they had already sustained from our fire-arms, but more especially the rifles, had so sickened them that they would make no other attempt—at least until we had been reinforced by the prahu. These hopes, however, were dissipated when, at the dead of night, as I lay stretched across our earthworks with rifle in hand, I heard a confused noise, a splashing in the water, and saw torchlights dancing among the trees on the banks. Having awakened Prabu, he watched and listened for a few minutes, and then said:

“They have been reinforced from the town, Sahib. They have horsemen among them; I can hear the trampling of their hoofs—nay, listen, that was the neighing of a horse!”

“True,” I said; for I had distinctly made out the same sound.

“They have boats, too,” he continued. “They intend attacking us under cover of the darkness of the night, believing thereby they will avoid our rifles and musketry.”

“Just my opinion, Prabu. I will send a bullet among them to let them know we are prepared. If it knocks over one or two, it may deter them from coming, as they will have proof sufficient that the darkness is no great protection.”

“No, no, Sahib, not one charge must be wasted. They shall approach, aye, to within a dozen yards of the shore, for you will see that each boat will hold two or three men with torches, which will be lighted only as they are about to land and fall among us like so many demons.”

Prabu then posted the eight of us, including himself, along the earthworks, at intervals of about a dozen yards.

“Speak not a word, move not a limb, till you hear the report of my piece; then, taking a cool, steady aim, fire!”

With what breathless suspense I stood, with my rifle just resting upon the breastwork, endeavoring to peer through the darkness, for now there was no torch-light to be seen ashore. For an hour this lasted—no sound save the rustling of the wind or the gentle lashing of the waves—when there came upon my ears a slight, dull noise as of the dipping of muffled oars. Prabu must also have recognized it, for, stepping softly along the little line of men, he whispered his orders.

“Steady! they are coming! Fire not till you hear the report of my piece.”

Then all was silent—motionless as death. The invaders had rested upon their oars, the better to prepare themselves, perhaps. But a few minutes, and again the sound of measured strokes. They appeared near, nearer, still nearer; then a whispered word of command, followed by the click, click of flint and steel, and six or seven torches were blazing and exposing to view the swarthy bodies of our opponents. It was enough—the loud, sharp crack of the rifles of Prabu and six others was followed by a howling as from a thousand demons—a noise one could scarcely have imagined out of pandemonium. Each shot must have told, too; for the but recently advancing boats immediately fell back into the middle of the channel, and their crews extinguished the lights.

“Marvelously well done! After that they won’t return to-night,” said I.

“Sahib,” replied Prabu, “reload—be prepared; they will be here again directly.”

Prabu was right. Again and again they came, and each time with greater desperation, for we could only drive them back by firing volley after volley; but at length our exertions were rewarded, for they were driven back to return no more that night—at least, so we hoped.

“Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed, “morning is not far off.”

“Too far off, I fear, Sahib,” replied Prabu, “to be of use to us when it does come, for we have but one charge each left!”

“A fearful position, truly!” I replied. “Would to Heaven the prahu were at hand! What can we do?”

“They may not come again to-night—but they may; therefore let us remain at our posts, and reserve fire this time until they have left their boats—then a volley, and then—”

“What!” I asked, as the perspiration ran down my forehead.

“That will be the end,” he replied, quite coolly; “for all we can do then will be to die, with musket and creese in hand.”

“A pretty prospect!” I thought. Nevertheless, I had one consolation—my brother Martin would escape; yet how bitter would be his sorrow at our defeat and my death. There was little time, however, for such reflections, for suddenly there fell upon our ears a sound as if from mid-channel—click, click, click—and the darkness became illumined by a hundred torches, which as many savages held above their heads, so rendering them hideous beyond comparison. The click, clicking was explained; it had been caused by their flints and steels.

“What means this manœuvre?” I cried.

“We shall soon be dead men. It only remains for us to give them a well-aimed volley when they touch the shore. But down, down, all of you, between the breastworks!”

The order was indeed seasonable, for between every two of the torchbearers stood a man with a strung bow, and scarcely had we ducked our heads, than a shower of arrows fell among us; to which our men, now that there was no necessity for silence, sent back a yell of defiance. Then came another and another flight, and with such rapidity that, had we possessed fifty rounds of ammunition, we could not have used them to advantage. All that we could do now was to remain kneeling behind the sandbank, reserving our fire for one good, if but last, opportunity of making each shot tell. The Balinese seemed to understand our position, for we could hear them advancing through the water, yelling and shouting. They were terrible sounds, the more so as they were to us symbols of approaching death; but I had “screwed my courage to the sticking point,” not with any hope of preserving my life, but resolutely determined to die bravely. Onward they came—still onward; the boats, which were now in front of the line with torches and arrows, were grazing the shingles when Heaven itself seemed to have sent its thunder to our aid, in the booming of guns. This was followed by shrieks, yells, and a heavy splashing in the water. Then came another, and another boom! and by three red lights at the mouth of the channel we could see that help was at hand, for they hung from the prow and masts of the prahu.

“Allah be praised!”

“Thank God! it is Kati.”

And as gun after gun was fired—clearing the water of our foes—the gallant little vessel ran up the channel. Then, lighting our torches, we clambered up the sides of the prahu, and were speedily embracing Kati and my brother.

“By Jingo! Claud, old fellow, how lucky! we were but just in the nick of time,” said Martin.

“Indeed, you have saved our lives by a minute,” replied I.

“It was the great guns, Claud. Did I not tell you they were meant for fighting, and at last we have proved it.”

“But where did you find the prahu, Martin?”

“Oh, riding smartly away in a cove, out of sight of that Dutch grab, which, by-the-by, Prabu, is upon the lookout for us. I wanted to fight her, but old Kati wouldn’t have it.”

“We will give her plenty of sea-room as soon as possible,” answered Prabu; and then, giving orders to run around the coast toward the province of Japan, at the eastern extremity of the island, we—that is, all that had been fighting upon the island—proceeded to regale ourselves with the best of Kati’s stores.