The Rajah of Dah Part 47

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor, wringing the Resident's hand. "Now you disarm me: but a man would do desperate things to save his wife and child."

"Even to giving his life, as I would mine."

They stood by the door in silence, then gazing out into the garden, where a spearman stood at the gate, and the rest of the guard sat about mechanically chewing their betel-nut and sirih-leaf, apparently heedless of the prisoners' presence, but ready to start into action on the instant.

Mr Greig joined them, and the day wore on in sorrow and despair, for their position seemed to be absolutely hopeless, and it was nothing to them that the sun shone down from the pure blue sky on the gorgeous vegetation, whose leaves seemed to shed silver beams of light down amongst the dark shade beneath. Plan after plan was suggested and referred to the ladies, who also made proposals. But the result was always the same. They acknowledged that the rajah, with his Eastern cunning, had checkmated them, and that nothing could be done but wait.

As the day wore on, the doctor's servants went about their work as usual, and Tim Driscol brought in the mid-day meal, and stood looking on in despair to find it untouched.

"Oh, Miss Amy, dear," he whispered, "my heart's bruk intirely to see your pretty eyes all swelled up and red like that. What'll I do, darlin'? Say the word, and if it's to slay and kill him, I'll go."

"Don't--don't talk to me, Tim," she whispered, with the tears flowing fast.

"Not talk to ye--me who carried ye when ye were only half the size ye are! I'll go to the masther, thin."

With the freedom of an old servant, he went out to where the doctor was seated in the veranda, so as to avoid seeing the sad faces within.

"Oh, masther, dear," he said, "what's to be done?"

"I wish I could tell you, Tim."

"It makes a man's heart sore, sir, to see the misthress and her frinds looking like that.--Mr Braine, sir, begging your pardon for intrudin', it's only bekase I want to help. Wouldn't a good fight set it straight, bekase if so, I'm your man."

"Waste of blood, waste of life, and no good done, Tim," said the Resident, sadly. "We are in G.o.d's hands. I cannot see that we can stir."

"Four of us and Mister Murray, if we could get at him," mused Tim; "that makes foive, and they're as many hundreds, and got their prahus and boats beside; but I don't know. The old counthry looks a very shmall place on the map, but she could beat the world. Well, the masther has only got to spake, and I'll foight for me misthress and my young lady as long as I can lift a fist."

As the evening drew near, Tim comforted himself by examining and loading the guns and pistols that were in the house, and then replaced them, ready for use at a moment's notice.

But when he had done, he shook his head sadly.

"It's such a whishp of a place to fight in," he said to himself. "Anny one could knock it all over wid a scaffold pole. Why, if it kim to a foight, the bastes could run underneath, and shtick their spears through the flure. An' I'd like to get one crack at the head of the man I caught doing it."

The dinner-time came, and Tim made another attempt to get the unhappy party to eat.

"And not a bit of fruit," he muttered. "Wonder whether they'd let us get some."

He went and spoke to one of the women who acted as servant, and she readily agreed to go and fetch what was necessary, catching up the second sarong worn by the Malay women as a veil, and used with the two ends of the long scarf-like article of attire sewn together.

With this over her head, she started off, and the guard now looked up sharply, but they had no orders to interfere and prevent one of the women from going out, and in less than a quarter of an hour she returned bearing a basket of mangosteens and bananas.

But it was all labour in vain; the dinner and dessert, so thoughtfully prepared, remained untouched, and the wine, cool and fresh from the evaporating it had received, remained on the table.

It was a lovely starlit night, and after Mr Greig had gone, the doctor and Mr Braine rose from the table to go and walk up and down in the veranda, and wait for the coming of the next messengers from the rajah, for that there would soon be another both felt perfectly convinced.

They had not long to wait before the Tumongong appeared with a small retinue of men, spear-armed as usual, who were halted by their officer at the foot of the steps, while the Malay chief ascended to the veranda to announce briefly that the rajah would honour the ladies with a visit that evening; after which he turned and left the place as he came, the dark figures of his escort filing out through the bamboo gate, looking like shadows in the starlight.

"There is only one thing left," said Mr Braine, as the doctor sat too much stunned by the intelligence, now it had come, to be able to go in and communicate it to his wife and child.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

FRANK'S ERRAND.

"What'll I do? What'll I do?" muttered Tim Driscol to himself as he walked up and down one of the garden paths hidden from his master and his friends, and unheeded by the Malay guard, who contented themselves with seeing that he did not pa.s.s out of the gate.

"That pretty colleen! Ow, the covetous owld rip, and him wid a dozen wives at laste, to want our darlin'. What'll I do?--what'll I do?

Faix, I'll have me poipe."

He filled the rough bamboo affair with the coa.r.s.e native tobacco he used, and went on smoking, the bowl glowing as if a ruddy firefly were gliding up and down the garden walk. "Ow, sorrow to uz all!" he muttered. "An' what are all his wives about? Why, they can't have a taste o' sperrit in 'em, or they wouldn't shtand it. Why, if they were ladies from the ould country, and he even thought of taking another, there wouldn't be a bit of hair left on his wicked head. Oh dear!

sorrow to me, what'll I do at all, at all?--Who's this. To see wan of the women, I suppose."

He was near the gate where two spearmen stood, and in the full starlight he saw a Malay woman coming up, and as she drew near, she raised her hands beneath the veil-like sarong she wore over her head to a level with her brows, spreading out the plaided silk after the custom of the women, so that the top and bottom hems were drawn parallel, covering her face and forming a narrow horizontal slit through which her eyes alone were seen.

"Yah! Get out. How modest we are. Sure, and ye're an ugly flat-nosed coffee-coloured one, or ye wouldn't be so moighty particular. Want to see one of the women folk, do ye? Well, the gyards'll shtop ye, and send ye about yer bishness, and good-luck to ye."

But the guards did not stop her as she walked quietly up. A woman coming to the doctor's house, that was all; and she pa.s.sed between them with her face covered, and turned off into the narrow path among the trees leading to the servants' quarters, the men just glancing after her, and then chewing away at their betel.

The consequence was that the next minute the woman was face to face with Tim, who blocked the way in a surly fashion; and as they stood there in the shadowy path, Tim's pipe bowl glowed, and the eyes seen through the narrow slit gleamed.

"And what do you want?" said Tim, in the Malay tongue.

"Muhdra," was the reply, in a faint voice.

"She's yonder," said Tim. "I daresay you know the way."

"Show me," said the woman softly.

"Oh, bad luck to ye to want to come chattering haythen nonsense to the cook, wid all this trouble on the way," he said angrily, in his own tongue. Then more civilly in Malay, "Come along, then."

He led the way, and the woman followed till they had pa.s.sed another sentry, when he felt his arm gripped.

"Don't flinch--don't speak. Tim, don't you know me?"

"Masther Frank! Oh murther!"

The man staggered in his surprise as he uttered these words, but the quick Irish wit grasped the situation directly, and he said aloud in the Malay tongue something about its being a fine warm night, and then led the way into the dark room he called his pantry, though it was little more than a bamboo shed, and excitedly clasped the boy to his breast.

"Masther Frank, darlin'! Oh, Heaven be thanked for this!--Ah, ye wicked young rip, to frighten us all as ye did."

"Hush, man, silence! Don't, Tim. Why--my face is all wet."

"Whisht! nonsense, boy. That's nawthing. Only a dhrop o' water. It's so hot. But quick! An' good-luck to ye for a cliver one. To desave us all like that!"

"Where is my father? He was not at home."

"Faix no; he's up-stairs. But where have ye been?"