The Rajah of Dah Part 2

"Oh, very well, Ned. I've done."

"That's right; and remember you said example was better than precept."

"And so it is, Ned."

"Very well then, uncle!" cried the boy; "I want to follow your example and go abroad."

Johnstone Murray brought his fist down bang upon the table of his study--the table covered with books, minerals, bird-skins, fossils, bones, and the miscellaneous odds and ends which a naturalist delights in collecting round him in his half study, half museum, where as in this case, everything was so sacred that the housemaid dared hardly enter the place, and the result was a cloud of dust which immediately made Ned sneeze violently. Then his uncle sneezed; then Ned sneezed; then they both sneezed together, and again and again.

"Oh, I say, uncle!" cried Ned; and he sneezed once more.

"Er tchishou! Bless the king!--queen I mean," said the naturalist.

"You shouldn't, uncle," cried the boy, now laughing immoderately, as his uncle sneezed and choked, and wiped his eyes.

"It was all your fault, you young nuisance. Dear me, this dust--"

"Ought to be saved for snuff."

"Now, look here, Ned," said Mr Murray at last. "I do not say that some day when you have grown up to be a man, I may not ask you to accompany me on an expedition into some new untried country, such as the part of the Malay Peninsula I am off to visit next."

"How long will it be before you consider I am a man, uncle?"

"Let's see; how old are you now?"

"Sixteen turned, uncle."

"Humph! Well, suppose we say at one and twenty."

"Five years!" cried the boy in despair. "Why, by that time there will not be a place that you have not searched. There will be nothing left to discover, and--" (a sneeze), "there's that dust again."

"You miserable young ignoramus! what are you talking about?" cried the naturalist. "Why, if a man could live to be a hundred, and have a hundred lives, he would not achieve to a hundredth part of what there is to be discovered in this grand--this glorious world."

He stood up with one hand resting on the table, and began to gesticulate with the other.

"Why, my dear boy, before I was your age I had begun to take an active interest in natural history, and for considerably over twenty years now I have been hard at work, with my eyes gradually opening to the wonders on every hand, till I begin now to feel sorrow and delight at how little I know and how much there is yet to learn."

"Yes, uncle; go on," cried the boy, eagerly.

"You said I was not to lecture you."

"But I like it when you talk that way."

"Ah, Ned, Ned! there's no fear of one's getting to the end," said Murray, half sadly; "life is far too short for that, but the life of even the most humble naturalist is an unceasing education. He is always learning--always finding out how beautiful are the works of the Creator.

They are endless, Ned, my boy. The grand works of creation are spread out before us, and the thirst for knowledge increases, and the draughts we drink from the great fount of nature are more delicious each time we raise the cup."

Ned's chin was now upon his thumbs, his elbows on the table once more, and his eyes sparkled with intense delight as he gazed on the animated countenance of the man before him; for that face was lit up, the broad forehead looked n.o.ble, and his voice was now deep and low, and now rang out loudly, as if he were some great teacher declaiming to his pupil on the subject nearest to his heart. Till it suddenly dawned upon him that, instead of quenching, he was increasing the thirst of the boy gazing excitedly in his eyes, and he stopped short in the lamest way, just as he was rising up to the highest pitch of his eloquence.

"Yes, uncle, yes!" cried Ned. "Go on--go on."

"Eh? No; that's all, my boy; that's all."

"But that isn't all!" cried Ned excitedly, rising now. "That's only the beginning of what I want to learn. I want to road in those books, uncle. I want to drink from that glorious fountain whose draughts are sweeter every time. I want to--I want to--I want to--Oh uncle, oh uncle, go on! do take me with you, there's a dear old chap."

The boy stretched out his hand, which was slowly taken and pressed as Johnstone Murray said in a subdued tone: "G.o.d grant that I may be doing rightly for you, Ned. You've beaten me finely with my own weapons, my boy."

"And you'll take me?"

"Yes, Ned, I give in. You shall be my companion now."

"Hurrah!"

Ned sprang on to his chair, then on to the table, and waved his hand above his head. A month later he was on his way in one of the French boats to Singapore, from whence, after making a few final preparations, they went up in a small trading-steamer to the little settlement of Dindong, on the Salan River. Here they made a fortnight's stay to engage a boat and men, and learn a little more of the land they were to explore, and at last the morning came when they parted from the hospitable merchant to whom Murray had had introductions; and the bamboo wharf had faded quite from sight, when Ned Murray again cried excitedly:

"Hurrah! Off at last!"

CHAPTER THREE.

UP THE RIVER.

It was early morning yet, and the mists hung low, but the torrid sun rapidly dissipated each opalescent gauzy vapour, and before long the sky was of that vivid blue which reflected in the surface of the river changed its muddy hue, and gave it a beauty it really did not possess.

Nothing can be more dull and monotonous than the fringe of mangroves which line the tidal waters of river and creek in the tropics, and after sitting watching the dingy foliage and interlacing roots for some time, in the hope of seeing some living creature, Ned Murray began to scan the river in search of something more attractive; but for a time there was the glistening water reaching on and on before them, now fairly straight, now winding and winding, so that at times they were completely shut in by the mangroves, and the Malays appeared to be rowing in a lake.

"Not much of scenery this, Ned," said Murray, after a long silence.

"That's what I was thinking, uncle. But I say, is it going to be all like this?"

"I should hope not. Oh no! these trees only grow where they can feel the sea-water, I believe. As we get higher up, where the river begins to be fresh, we shall see a change."

"But it's all so still. No fish, no birds, and no chance of seeing the animals for those trees."

"Patience, my lad, patience."

"But hadn't we better get out the guns and cartridges, or the fishing-tackle?"

"Nothing to shoot as yet, nothing to catch, I should say; but we'll have out a gun soon. Any fish to be caught here with a line, Hamet?"

The nearest of the Malay boatmen smiled, ceased rowing, and said in fairly good English, but with a peculiar accent: "Few; not many.

Shrimps when the water is low."

"Oh! but we can't fish for shrimps without a net," said Ned, contemptuously; "and that's stupid sport. I did fish with a net once down in Devonshire, but I did not want to do it again. Why, I should have thought a river like this would have been full of something."

"Hah!" said the Malay, pointing, and Ned followed the direction indicated by the man's long brown finger.

"Eh? what?" said the boy, staring across the water. "What is it--a bird? where?"