A royal smuggler

When we awoke the sun was high in the heavens, and our captain had quitted the room.

“Hilloa!” cried my brother. “Get up, Claud! Make haste, or that fellow Prabu will leave us behind.”

“Not he,” said I, dressing very leisurely; “he has gone to prepare for the gathering.”

“Ah! but he will, though—just to save us from risking our property in the venture.”

“What do you mean, Martin—what property have we?” I asked, taking his words quite literally.

“Why, our necks, to be sure. You call them property, don’t you?” But at that moment Prabu came to tell us the native gatherers were ready to set out for the caves.

The party consisted of half a dozen of the prahu’s men; the two leaders, Kati and Prabu; and an auxiliary force of six of the villagers, who, from a lifelong residence near the caves, were supposed to be acquainted with every nook and cranny. The whole party, with the exception of Martin and I (who, by the way, were attired in loose jackets and trousers of Chinese grass silk), were naked to the waist, which was girdled by a kind of sash, that secured their drawers. Then each, ourselves included, had a small bag suspended from the neck for the nests; a sharp billhook, with which to cut a pathway through the jungle, a long iron spike, a coil of roughly-made rope, strong enough to support the weight of a man; a torch, made of bark and the resins exuded from forest trees, and a flint and steel. In addition, several of the villagers carried two or three bamboo poles of considerable length, and Martin and I had one pistol each, and one creese between us, of which he was the custodian. Thus equipped, we started upon our breakneck expedition.

A long tramp of three or four miles, through thick jungle and tall grass, continually on the lookout for deadly snakes, wading across running streams, now and then falling into holes treacherously hidden by the dank vegetation, and we reached the base of a precipitous cliff; and there we came to a halt, not so much to rest, as for Martin and I to hold an examination of our clothes. “Our clothes” I said!—but we had left the greater portion of them in the bushes and upon the brambles, which had torn them from our bodies.

“Oh, bother!” cried Martin, after a fruitless effort to readjust his upper garment; “we had better strip to it, like the natives;” and in a minute he was bared to the waist, and I had followed his example.

Thus prepared, we followed our guides up the mountainous rock, but we had no small difficulty in making anything like progress; for a stream which flowed from the top rendered the ascent so slippery, that for every two feet in advance we went one backwards. The example, however, of the natives—who, by the help of their pikes, were climbing slowly but surely upwards, and resembled a school of aged monkeys with walking sticks—urged us on, and at length we reached the summit safe and sound, if I except the state of our wind, which was so short that we were obliged to throw ourselves upon the rock, and rest before proceeding further.

The difficulties and dangers of that ascent, however, dwindled into insignificance when, stretching ourselves at full length upon the ground, and hanging our heads over the precipice, we caught a glimpse of the task before, or rather, beneath us.

Let the reader imagine a nearly perpendicular rock, from the summit to the boiling sea which lashed its base, some five or six hundred feet, and he will not be surprised that, moving backwards and again getting to my feet, I exclaimed:

“Born monkeys could never make that descent without breaking their necks, Martin. The sight is enough for me.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he replied; “a hundred feet more or less makes no difference, so that the rope is strong.”

“But, Prabu,” he said, “where are the caves?” I could not see an opening of any kind.

“Let my masters watch the descent of the villagers, and they will see them,” was the reply.

The auxiliaries from the village were the first to go over the side. Each man drove his spike into the ground, very carefully and deeply; then, having secured one end of his rope to the handle, threw the other over the rock, and commenced the descent. Martin and I, at full length, and with our heads over the precipice, watched in astonishment the cat or rather monkey-like ease and facility with which each let himself down the rope; till, when within about a hundred feet from the sea, and looking to us scarcely so large as the animal to whom I have compared him, he bent his knees, and placing the soles of his feet against the rock, used it as a kind of springing-board, from which he leaped a sufficient distance to obtain a momentum that sent him, on his return, into a fissure or hole in its side, which, by the way, we did not know was there until we suddenly lost sight of the gatherer.

“After all, Claud,” commented Martin, “you see, it is not so difficult.”

“For birds, monkeys, or these fellows, who are trained to it from childhood, perhaps not,” said I; but before my brother could reply, Prabu, pulling us back by the legs, said:

“Are my young masters ready to make the descent?”

Now, from the very expression of his countenance, I knew he thought we should refuse, and oh! how I longed to do so; but then, who could have borne to be set down “coward” by those grinning natives behind me?—and so I resolved rather to risk my life. As for my brother, he cried on the instant:

“Ready! Aye, I should think so, Prabu, if you will only make the rope taut round the spike.”

For an instant he appeared surprised, but then he said: “You are brave lads, but too impatient; I will descend first, so as to receive you at the mouth of the cave, and Kati will stay here, keeping an eye upon the cord and spike until you are landed safely.”

“All right,” said I, well satisfied with the arrangement, and over the side went our captain; but he was not so expert as his men, for ere he could “light” at an entrance to a cave, he swung about in mid-air, making several failures.

“Our friend is not so well up in his business as the other fellows,” said Martin.

“He is a gallant fellow, notwithstanding. But see, he has done it at last; and it is our turn now, Martin.”

“All right, Claud; I will go down first.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

This amiable dispute would have lasted some time, but Kati, having hauled up Prabu’s rope, without one word of notice, passed it round my chest, and under my arm, saying:

“S’pose sahib’s hand come sore, so him can’t hold tight, he no tumble now, for rope catchee.”

But however kindly intended, and much as I liked caution in a general way, I felt annoyed at being taken by our mahogany-colored companion for a milksop, who was obliged to make the descent in a kind of cradle, while the others used their hands only, and said, angrily:

“Remove the rope, Kati; I will do as the others have done. My hands are strong enough to hold it.”

But the latter, having once received his orders, you might as easily have moved a mountain as have induced him to swerve from them, even in a degree; thus, as he very coolly continued to adjust the rope, so that it should cause me the least possible inconvenience, he replied:

“Umpossible; the cap’en say, young sahibs go like dis, so go they mus, cos dere hands not buffalo horn, like dark man’s, but all soft like cat’s paw—rope cut ’em in bits.”

But more vexatious still was my brother, who seconded Kati’s affront:

“Come, Claud, old fellow,” said he; “the strap is on, it is no use kicking. Go on, Kati must obey orders; besides, it is the safer plan after all.”

This speech surprised me, for most assuredly, had he been seized in that rude fashion, he would have been obstreperous enough. The truth, however, was, that delighted at my risk being lessened, he swallowed his own pride, and resolved to submit himself to the same undignified if not (the natives being bystanders) somewhat humiliating ordeal.

Well, over I went, keeping my eyes upwards, and feeling the cliff with my feet, and so, hand after hand, let myself down; but about half-way, I struck my head so violently against a projecting piece of rock, that I believe I should have let go the rope but for a cheer from Martin above, and another from Prabu beneath; so at length I felt myself suddenly clutched by the legs and dragged into the cave—of course, by Prabu, who had been standing upon a small, narrow ledge for the purpose. After a similar manner, but with greater speed, descended Martin, who, as he landed, cried:

“Bravo us! You see we have done it, Claud, and it is no great matter after all.”

“Aye, Martin, the coming down is all very well; but the getting up again? How, in heaven’s name, shall we manage that?”

“Oh,” said he, laughing, “that will come all right. As for me, I shall make my way up the same as the natives; and you, you know, we can haul up between us.”

When Kati, and all those of the prahu’s men who were not stationed above, at the spikes and ropes, to prevent their being tampered with, had descended, Prabu leading the way, we moved toward the interior of the cave. At the entrance the scent had not been agreeable, but as we progressed the stench became almost intolerable—so much so, I could not forbear an exclamation of disgust.

“Oh, bother!” cried Martin—“adventurers mustn’t have too fine noses; we shall get used to it in time.”

“Aye,” said I, “as eels do to skinning—at the last gasp.” But my brother was right, or other causes soon made us forget the nuisance.

As we advanced, the cave appeared to widen; but as, at every step, we had been leaving the light and wind behind us, it was now both prudent and necessary to appeal to flint and steel. Two torches were therefore at once lighted by Prabu and Kati, when a din assailed our ears that could be compared with nothing mortal. The little swallows in regiments, nay battalions, left their nests, loudly chirping their astonishment, and flapping their wings with indignation; while hundreds, perhaps thousands, of huge bats darted frantically to and fro, and, swooping down in their anger, literally smacked our faces and boxed our ears with their wings. Almost stunned with the hideous sounds—sounds rendered almost supernatural by the echoes of the cave—I placed my fingers in my ears; but removing them again, the noise sounded as demoniac as looked that mass of darkness, gilded by the deep red glare of the two torches.

“Our small friends seem taken by surprise,” said Martin, who regarded it all as good fun. “Hilloa! that’s not civil,” he added, as a bat flapped his great wings in his face.

“They will soon make their way out to sea,” said Prabu. But as the last covey of bats, probably aroused by the noise made by the others, came, as it were, tumbling one over the other in their haste to escape from the cavern, they blundered against the torches, and we were at once in total darkness.

“How stupid of the winged brutes!” exclaimed my brother.

By the time, however, the torches had been again lighted, the noisy little animals seemed to have made their way to the sea, and then Martin said, regrettingly:

“What a pity we didn’t have a shot at those swallows! We could have brought down a hundred of them.”

“It would have been a cruel and wanton destruction of life,” said I.

“My young master is right,” said Prabu, who took a purely business-like view of the matter. “You would have destroyed the creatures who make the nests.”

“Ah! I see, it would have been like killing the goose who laid the golden eggs,” said Martin; and Prabu, who had never heard that celebrated legend, taking the words literally, replied:

“A wonderful bird that, my master. Her nests would bring more dollars than these.”

“I should think so, indeed,” returned Martin, saucily. “It is only a pity one don’t know where they roost.”

“But anyhow, Prabu, we might have killed a few of those bats.”

“Yes,” was the reply, “or any of the swallows which build near the entrance of the caves.”

“But why those? Are they less valuable, only because they build in the interior?”

To this Prabu replied, by explaining that there were two species of swallow in the caves—one that produced the edible-nests, another that built near the entrance, but which were always at enmity with their more valuable neighbors, whom they were in the habit of disturbing and attacking.

Advancing, torch in hand, Prabu led us to what at first appeared to be the furthermost end of the cavern; but suddenly placing himself upon all-fours, or rather all threes, for in one of his hands he held the torch, he crept through an aperture barely large enough to admit one person. We followed, and then found ourselves in what, from the sound, for we could not see, seemed to be a very large excavation in the rock. Here two other torches were lighted, and being fixed in the earth—which, by the way, seemed entirely formed of guano, or the dung of the swallows—the whole party began to unpack their bamboo poles. These they lashed securely end to end, till they had constructed between them six poles, each of the enormous length of ninety or one hundred feet. I looked on with surprise, for the purpose of these bamboos had not occurred to me till now. By means of these the natives would ascend to the nests, which are invariably placed near the top of the caves.

The poles being completed, Prabu, Kati, and four others, placing them upon their shoulders, followed four men, who waved lighted torches above their heads, as if to see in which spots the nests most abounded. Experience, however, must have been their greatest friend, for the eye could not pierce the opaque mass between them and the roof. No, it was only when the places had been chosen, the poles fixed, and each man, torch in hand, and by aid of deep notches cut in his pole, had clambered to its utmost height, that we could see the vast size of the cave in which we stood; and which, by the way, we afterward discovered was used by the gatherers as a habitation during the nesting-season.

As, before permitting Martin and I to descend to the caves, it had been Prabu’s policy to let us first watch the natives, so he insisted that we should study the monkey-like facility with which his men clambered up the poles and remained thereupon, before he would permit us to attempt the same feat.

For some time we complied, but, then, nest-gathering is so tedious a process that we became impatient of waiting, and resolved to try our hands. Thus, we took up some of the spare bamboos, and began to lash them together; but, comprehending our intention, one of the natives told us that it was useless, for there were no more stations for poles in that cave.

“Then look you, my friend, we will try another cave,” replied Martin. “For I take it,” he added—as he pointed to a barely distinguishable opening in the rock, at a short distance from where we were standing—“that hole is the entrance to a cavern of some kind. At any rate, we will explore it.”

“S’pose sahibs go dere, dey no come back; no man ebber do ’scape dat cave ob debels.” Then, to frighten us the more (at least, so we thought), he told us that, during the last nesting-season, three villagers had, against the wishes of their friends, entered the cavern, but that they had never since been heard of.

“Bother! what fudge!” cried Martin, rudely. “At any rate, Claud,” he added, “we can leave the poles here, while we first have a look at the interior, and so judge for ourselves.”

Accordingly, regardless of the many well-meant warnings, we lighted our torches and passed through the fissure; and in that instance I was as wrong-headed or obstinate as my brother, for I led the way. At the time I felt rather surprised that Prabu, even from the top of the pole at which he was perched, did not descend and stop our departure; for had he but glanced downwards, and seen our lighted torches, he must have known we were about entering the cave terrible even to the most daring of the nest-hunters. But afterwards I found that the thoughts, both of Prabu and Kati, were absorbed in their occupation; for, unexpectedly, they had fallen upon what miners would call a new vein—i. e., a cluster of the finest white or cock’s nests. But that you may the better comprehend the value of their discovery, I must explain that as an article of commerce, the quality of the nest is determined by several circumstances; for instance, the nature and situation of the cave, its extent, but, above all, the time at which the nest is taken. The best are those gathered in deep, damp caves, and before the birds have laid their eggs; and in a superlative degree are those of the cock-birds, who, having a separate establishment from that of their wives and children, are not so much soiled as those of the lady-birds, with whom reside the little feathered people. Upon the other hand, the coarsest and least valuable nests are those obtained after the birth and short-clothing of the children—these being dark-colored, and streaked with infantine feathers. I may here notice one singular fact connected with nest-gathering: it is, that although they are collected twice a year, providing no unusual and violent injury be offered to the cavern, they yield as productively as if left altogether unmolested for two or three years. So, you see, the birds speedily recover from their fright and indignation at the loss of their homesteads.

But to return to my narrative. Upon entering the opening, we found it so narrow that it was with difficulty we could walk in single file; nay, at every step, one shoulder or the other grazed the sides, causing a most unpleasant sensation—a kind of dread that the walls would collapse, crushing us between them; and thus contracted did we find them for a distance of at least a quarter of a mile, but then we came to an opening of about double the width on the right-hand side; and, foolish as it may seem, and as it really was, we chose to enter that path only for its greater width. But no—we had another motive; there was a slight wind.

“That breeze indicates a large open space somewhere ahead—probably the cave for which we are in search.”

“We cannot do better, Claud; let us go on,” said my brother. “But stay,” he added; “for fear we may be suddenly parted, I will light my torch.”

“No, no,” said I, “mine will be sufficient; keep yours in reserve. It would be unwise to use two at a time.”

“What a prudent old boy you are, Claud! But go on,” said Martin.

We did go on—and on, until we came to another opening, wider still than the one we were then in, and also upon the right-hand side.

“Shall we go down here?” said I, doubtfully.

“Yes—always to the right; and keeping that in mind, we shall find no difficulty in returning,” said Martin.

Again onwards—but about two hundred yards further, finding four different openings, three upon one side, and one upon the other, I came to a halt, and expressed my doubts as to the prudence of passing further; but Martin laughed at my indecision.

“Oh, bother!” said he, “we won’t stop now; this poking about in the dark is capital fun.”

“Well, then,” I replied, leading the way, “to the right again.”

“By Jingo, here’s a breeze!” exclaimed Martin, as, after about five minutes, a cold cutting wind whistled through the passage, nearly extinguishing the torch.

“Yes; and now, I believe, the cave cannot be far away. If, however, we do not soon fall in with it, I shall return, and that’s a fact.”

“Agreed,” answered my brother. “But go on, we must find this cave before the light burns too low; for my torch is shorter than yours, and will scarcely serve to light us back.”

Again we advanced, but now we had to make way against a strong head-wind. Then, instead of having to walk upon guano, as in all the other passages, there was beneath us the rock alone, all slimy and slippery. Moreover, water kept continually dripping from above, by which we guessed we were beneath the porous bed of a hill-stream. But now I have not related the greatest difficulties of that passage. Not level, like the other channels in the rock, it was a rather steep ascent—not so steep as that which we had climbed, but more slippery, in consequence of the ever-dripping water, and that, too, from a height of at least fifty feet. Still keeping onwards, and upwards, holding my torch so that it threw a light some yard or two ahead, I suddenly stopped. There was a chasm before us, the darkness of which was impenetrable.

“I wonder how deep it is,” said Martin, throwing a large stone into it. But, judging of the great depth by the lapse of time before we could hear the splashing of the stone in some water at the bottom, I began to tremble.

“I sha’n’t go any further,” said I.

“Never say die, old fellow; that hole may be very deep, but then we have to jump across—not down; so here goes.” And before I could stay him, he stood upon the other side. True, it was not three feet wide, but, then, I feared, as in fact it proved, that it was but an indication of others to come. Nevertheless, as my brother had crossed, I followed; and again, because of being torch-bearer, taking the lead, went forward. But now we seemed to have reached the apex of this emboweled hole, for our pathway was downwards, and the water from above more copious, coming down, in fact, like small rain.

“Stop, Claud,” cried my brother, suddenly. “I think I can hear the rustling of wings, as if of frightened birds.”

Listening for a few seconds, I said, “I think so too, Martin; then we can’t be far from the cave. Come along.” But scarcely had I spoken the words when there came a sudden roar,—a gush of wind,—and we were in total darkness. Moreover, by some mishap, the torch itself slipped from my hand into a pool of water.

“Wait, Claud—don’t move; I will light my torch,” said Martin.

“No—no; you wait one minute—mine is not far off.” So saying, I walked stealthily downwards, trying to feel for the torch with my feet. I must have walked, I suppose, about three yards, when suddenly the ground seemed to recede from under me. I fell forward—a violent blow on the head—my ears sang, and like a shuttlecock I seemed to be knocked to and fro, from one battledore to another. Yet all this must have been the sensation of a few seconds.