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The Rajah of Dah, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 1. Off At Last! |
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_ CHAPTER ONE. OFF AT LAST! "Ahoy, there! All on board?" "Yes; all right." "Got all your tackle?" "I think so." "Haven't forgotten your cartridges!" "No; here they are." "I'll be bound to say you've forgotten something. Yes: fishing-tackle?" "That we haven't, Mr Wilson," said a fresh voice, that of a bright-looking lad of sixteen, as he rose up in the long boat lying by the bamboo-made wharf at Dindong, the little trading port at the mouth of the Salan River, on the west coast of the Malay Peninsula. "Trust you for the fish-hooks, squire," said the first speaker. "But, I say, take a good look round, Murray. It's an awful fix to be in to find yourself right up in the wilderness with the very thing you want most left behind." "It's very good of you, Wilson," said the gentleman addressed, a broad-shouldered man of forty, tanned and freckled by the eastern sun, and stooping low to avoid striking his head against the attap thatch rigged up over the stern of the boat, and giving it the aspect of a floating hut. "It's very good of you, but I think we have everything; eh, Ned?" "Yes, uncle; I can't think of anything else." "Knives, medicine, sticking-plaster, brandy, boxes, spirit-can, lamp, nets. Ah, I know, Ned: we've no needles and thread." The lad laughed merrily, and took out a kind of pocket-book, which he opened to display the above necessaries, with scissors and penknife as well. "Well done, Ned! I believe you have more brains than I have. I can't think of anything else, Wilson. I only want your good wishes." "Matches?" said the gentleman on the wharf. "Plenty, and we have each a burning-glass." "That's right, and now once more: take my advice." Johnstone Murray, enthusiast over matters of natural history, shook his head, and rather a stern look came into his eyes as his nephew watched him eagerly. "But, hang it, man! you can make excursions up and down the river from Dindong, and up the little branches as well. Surely you can get all you want from here, and not lose touch of civilisation." "But we want to lose touch of civilisation, my dear fellow.--What do you say, Ned? Shall we stop here?" "No, no, uncle; let's go now." "Why, you foolish boy!" cried the gentleman addressed as Wilson, "you do not know what you are saying, or what risks you are going to run." "Oh, uncle will be careful, sir." "If he can," said the other, gruffly. "I believe you two think you are going on quite a picnic, instead of what must be a dangerous expedition." "My dear Wilson," said the principal occupant of the boat, merrily, "you shut yourself up so much in your bungalow, and lead such a serious plodding life over your merchandise and cargoes, that you see danger in a paddle across the river." "Ah, well, perhaps I do," said the merchant, taking off his light pith sun-hat to wipe his shining brow. "You really mean to go right up the river, then?" "Of course. What did you think I made these preparations for?" "To make a few short expeditions, and come back to me to sleep and feed. Well, if you will go, good-luck go with you. I don't think I can do any more for you. I believe you may trust those fellows," he added in a low voice, after a glance at the four bronzed-looking strong-armed Malay boatmen, each with a scarlet handkerchief bound about his black hair as he sat listlessly in the boat, his lids nearly drawn over his brown lurid-looking eyes, and his thick lips more protruded than was natural, as he seemed to have turned himself into an ox-like animal and to be chewing his cud. "You could not have done more for me, Wilson, if I had been your brother." "All Englishmen and Scotsmen are brothers out in a place like this," said the merchant, warmly. "Go rather hard with some of us if we did not stick to that creed. Well, look here, if ever you get into any scrape up yonder, send down a message to me at once." "To say, for instance, that a tiger has walked off with Ned here." "Oh I say, uncle!" cried the boy. "No, no, I mean with the niggers. They're a rum lot, some of them. Trust them as far as you can see them. Be firm. They're cunning; but just like children in some things." "They're right enough, man, if you don't tread on their corns. I always find them civil enough to me. But if we do get into trouble, what shall you do?" "Send you help of course, somehow. But you will not be able to send a letter," added the merchant thoughtfully. "Look here. If you are in trouble from sickness, or hurt by any wild animal, get some Malay fellow from one of the campongs to bring down a handkerchief--a white one. But if you are in peril from the people up yonder, send a red one, either your own or one of the boatmen's. You will find it easy to get a red rag of some sort." "I see," said Murray, smiling. "White, sickness; red, bloodshed.--I say Ned, hear all this?" "Yes, uncle." "Well; don't you feel scared?" "Horribly, uncle," said the boy, coolly. "Will you give up, and stop here in Dindong?" The boy looked full in the speaker's face, thrust his hands into the pockets of his brown linen trousers, and began to whistle softly. "There, good-bye, Wilson. The sun will soon be overpowering, and I want to get on." "Well, you've got the tide to help you for the next three hours. Sorry you're going. I'll take great care of the specimens you send down. You can trust any of the boat-people--they know me so well. Any fellow coming down with rice or tin will bring a box or basket. God bless you both! Good-bye!" There was a warm hand-shaking. "Take care of yourself, Ned, my boy, and don't let your uncle work you too hard.--Good-bye, my lads. Take great care of the sahibs." The Malay boatmen seemed to have suddenly wakened up, and they sprang to their places, responded with a grave smile to the merchant's adjuration, pushed off the boat, and in a few minutes were rowing easily out into the full tide, whose muddy waters flowed like so much oil up past the little settlement, upon whose wharf the white figure of the merchant could be seen in the brilliant sunshine waving his hand. Then, as the occupants of the boat sat in the shade of their palm-leaf awning, they saw a faint blue smoke arise, as he lit a cigar and stood watching the retiring party. The house, huts, and stores about the little wharf began to grow distant and look toy-like, the shores to display the dull, green fringe of mangrove, with its curiously-arched roots joining together where the stem shot up, and beneath which the muddy water glided, whispering and lapping. And then the oars creaked faintly, as the boat was urged more and more out into mid-stream, till the shore was a quarter of a mile away; and at last the silence was broken by the boy, whose face was flushed with excitement, as he stood gazing up the smooth river, while they glided on and on through what seemed to be one interminable winding grove of dull-green trees; for he made the calm, grave, dark-skinned boatmen start and look round for danger, as he cried out excitedly: "Hurrah! Off at last!" _ |
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