Middy and Ensign Part 70

The ladies had full occupation in tending the wounded, an occupation which saved them from much thinking; for there were no tidings of the party, and now that so long a time had elapsed it became evident that their worst fears would be realised.

In fact the officers began to debate whether the hour had not arrived when they ought to retreat; but the idea was set aside, and once more they determined to hold the station till help should come, since for the steamer to go in search of help was to condemn the little garrison of the fort to destruction.

And now as the hours slowly crept by, with the heat and inaction growing more and more difficult to bear, every thought was directed to the envoy they had sent out, and they waited anxiously for Ali's return, or for some messenger with tidings at his hands.

Though the Malays refrained from attack so long as the occupants of the station kept within their lines, any attempt at quitting the fort at once drew fire. Consequently the supplies within had to suffice, and middy and ensign thought gloomily of the past, when sampans brought daily an abundance of delicious fruit, when flowers were abundant, and fish in plenty was supplied.

Now it was bread or biscuit, and preserved meat either salt or tinned, and preserved vegetables, and so much soup that Bob Roberts said a man might just as well be living in a workhouse.

That evening he made up his mind to try for some fish, and aided and abetted by d.i.c.k, a line was rigged up, and payed out over the steamer's stern, the stream carrying down the baited hook, but only into a place where there was no likelihood of a fish being caught. So another line was attached, and another, and another--long sea-lines each of them, till Bob Roberts sat fishing with the end of a line in his hand and his bait about a quarter of a mile down the stream.

To his great delight he found the plan to answer, for before long he felt a tug, and drew in a good-sized fish. This done, he rebaited, and tried again, sometimes catching, sometimes losing, a couple dropping off the hook just as they were raised up level with the deck.

It was about an hour before sunset that Bob Roberts set d.i.c.k to work winding up the lines on the reels to dry, and then, having placed the brilliantly scaled fish in the basket, he obtained leave from the lieutenant, who looked longingly at the catch, and involuntarily made the noise with his lips customary with some people at the sight of anything nice.

"What are you going to do with those, Roberts?" he said.

"Take them to the ladies, sir."

"Ah! yes: of course, the ladies first. We ought to study the ladies.

But do you know, Roberts, I'm not a ladies' man, and I feel an intense desire to have one of those fish--broiled."

"Yes, sir, of course; but I'll come back and catch some more."

"Yes, do," said Lieutenant Johnson, gazing longingly at the fish.

"There," he cried hastily; "for goodness' sake be off with them, Roberts, or I shall impound the lot and hand them over to the cook. You ought not to put such temptations in a weak man's way."

"All right, sir," said Bob, and he hurried over the side and made for the barracks, where, to his great delight, he met Rachel Linton, looking very pale and ill, coming away from the temporary hospital with her cousin.

"I've brought you some fish, Miss Linton," he said. "I thought they would be welcome just now, as there are no fresh provisions."

"Doubly welcome, Mr Roberts," cried Miss Linton, with her face lighting up. "Oh! Mary, I am glad. Mr Roberts, I can never thank you enough."

Bob felt rather disgusted that the idol he had worshipped should be so fond of the good things of this life.

"I have been longing for fresh fish, and fruit, and flowers, so, Mr Roberts," she continued. "You cannot get me any fruit or flowers, I suppose?"

"I could go and try for some," said Bob, rather glumly, "but you mustn't be surprised if I don't come back."

"Oh, no, no; you must not run any risks," cried Rachel Linton. "That would be madness, but I'd give anything for some fruit now."

"She'd better think about her father," thought Bob, "instead of eating and drinking."

"Those poor wounded fellows do suffer so for want of change; but this fish will be delicious. Poor Parker will eat some, I know. If you can get any fruit for my hospital people, pray do so, Mr Roberts."

"That I will, Miss Linton," he cried joyously.

"And you'll catch me some more fish for the poor fellows?"

"Are you going to give all these to the wounded men, Miss Linton?" he said.

"Yes; of course," she replied.

"Why she's an angel," thought Bob to himself, "and I was giving her the credit of being a regular pig."

"Messenger? For me?" exclaimed Captain Smithers, rising up as a soldier advanced.

"Yes sir; it's a Malay, and he says he has been sent by the young chief, Ali."

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

DEALINGS WITH THE DEEP.

There was no little excitement at this announcement, and Captain Smithers sent at once for Lieutenant Johnson from the steamer, while a file of soldiers went for the messenger who had asked for admission.

The ladies were too much interested to think of leaving, so Mary Sinclair ran to fetch Mrs Major Sandars, and returned with her to see that a rough-looking Malay had been brought up to the group she had left.

Captain Smithers waited a few moments, to allow of the coming of the lieutenant; and meanwhile they all gazed at the Malay, a wild, half-naked fellow, whose sc.r.a.ps of clothing were torn by contact with thorns, and being soaked with water clung to his copper-coloured skin.

He was scratched and bleeding, and gazed sharply round from one to the other in a strange wild-eyed way, as if feeling that he was not safe.

Just then the lieutenant came hurrying up, and the Malay, evidently supposing him to be the officer he sought, began to unfasten a knot in his sarong, from which he took a short piece of bamboo about the size of a man's finger. One end of this was plugged with a piece of pith, and this he drew out, and then from inside, neatly rolled up and quite dry, a little piece of paper.

"You Cap-tain Smit-ter?" said the Malay.

"No, my man, that is the captain," said the lieutenant, pointing.

"Cap-tain Smit-ter. Ali Rajah send," said the man, holding out the paper.

"Did Ali send us this?" said the captain, eagerly.

"Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send," said the man again.

"Where did you leave him?" said the captain.

"Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send," repeated the man, parrot fashion, showing plainly enough that he had been trained to use these words and no more.

Captain Smithers unrolled the sc.r.a.p of native paper to find written thereon,--

"Found the party. Fighting for life in a stockade. Send help in steamer up right river.--Ali."

"Have you come straight from him?" exclaimed the captain, eagerly.

"Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send," said the man again.

"Where is Wilson?" cried the captain, "or Gray? Ah, you are here, Gray.

You have made some progress with the Malay tongue. See what this man knows."