Chapter Sixteen.
Bearding the Lion in his Den
Steam has pretty well subdued time. Fifty years ago it was a mighty feat to “put a circle round the globe.” Now-a-days a “Cook”—by no means a captain—will take or send you round it in “a few weeks.”
Romantic reader, don’t despair! By such means romance has undoubtedly been affected in some degree, but let not that grieve thee! Romance has by no means been taken out of the world; nor has it been, to use an unromantic phrase, reduced in quantity or quality. Human inventions and appliances alter the aspects of romance, and transfer its influences, but they cannot destroy a Creator’s gift to the human race. They have, indeed, taken the romance out of some things which were once romantic, but that is simply because they have made such things familiar and commonplace. They have not yet touched
other
things which still remain in the hallowed region of romance. Romance
is
a region. Things crowd out of it, but other things crowd into it. The romantic soul dwells perpetually in it, and while, perhaps with regret, it recognises the fact that many things depart from that region, it also observes, with pleasure, that many things enter into it, and that the entrances are more numerous than the exits. The philosophico-romantic spirit will admit all this and be grateful. The unphilosophico-romantic spirit will not quite see through it, and may, perchance, be perplexed. But be of good cheer. Have faith! Do not let the matter-of-fact “steam-engine,” and the “telegraph,” and the “post-office,” rob thee of thy joys. They have somewhat modified the flow of the river of Romance, but they have not touched its fountain-head,—and never can.
Why, what is Romance? Despite the teachings of the dictionaries—which often give us the original and obsolete meaning of words—we maintain that romance signifies the human soul’s aspirations after the high, and the grand, and the good. In its fallen condition the poor soul undoubtedly makes wondrous mistakes in its romantic strainings, but these mistakes are comparatively seldom on the side of exaggeration. Our dictionary says that romance is extravagance—a fiction which passes beyond the limits of real life. Now, we maintain that no one—not even the most romantic of individuals—ever comes
up
to real life. We have been a child—at least we incline to that belief—and we have been, like other children, in the habit of romancing, as it is called, that is, according to dictionaries, passing “beyond the limits of real life” into “extravagance.” We are now a man—it is to be hoped—have travelled far and seen much and yet we can say conscientiously that the wildest fancies of our most romantic moods in childhood have been immeasurably surpassed by the grand realities of actual life! What are the most brilliant fancies of a child or of a mere ignorant “romancer,” compared to the amazing visions of the Arctic regions or the high Alps, which we have seen? “Fictions” and “extravagance”! All our wildest sallies are but
in
travagance and feeble fancy compared with the sublimity of fact. No doubt there are men and women gifted with the power of burlesquing reality, and thus, not going beyond its limits, but causing much dust and confusion within its limits by the exaggeration and falsification of individual facts. This, however, is
not
romance. We stand up for romance as being the bright staircase that leads childhood to reality, and culminates at last in that vision which the eye of man hath not yet seen nor his mind conceived; a vision which transcends all romance is itself the greatest of all realities, and is “laid up for the people of God.”
We return from this divergence to the point which led to it—the power of steam to subdue time. No doubt it was unromantic enough to be pushed, propelled, thrust, willing or not willing, against, or with, wind and tide, so that you could gauge your distance run—and to be run—almost to a foot; but it was very satisfactory, nevertheless, especially to those whose hearts were far in advance of their vessel, and it was more than satisfactory when at the end of their voyage of a few days they found themselves gliding swiftly, almost noiselessly, up the windings of a quiet river whose picturesque scenery, romantic vistas, and beautiful reflections might have marked it the entrance to a paradise instead of a human pandemonium.
It was very early when the gun-boat entered the stream. The mists of morning still prevailed, and rendered all nature fairy-like. Weird-looking mangrove bushes rose on their leg-like roots from the water, as if independent of soil. Vigorous parasites and creepers strove to strangle the larger trees, but strove in vain. Thick jungle concealed wealth of feathered, insect, and reptile life, including the reptile man, and sundry notes of warning told that these were awaking to their daily toil—the lower animals to fulfil the ends of their being, the higher animal to violate some of the most blessed laws of his Creator. Gradually the sun rose and dispelled the mists, while it warmed everything into strong vitality. As they passed up, clouds of water-fowl rose whirring from their lairs, and luxuriant growth of weeds threatened to obstruct the progress of the steamer.
“Come here, policeman,” said the captain to the native functionary; “how far above this, did you say, is the nest of the vipers?”
“’Bout tree mile.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the captain, turning to Berrington, who had come on deck at the moment. “I never went higher up the river than this point, for, just ahead, there are reeds enough to stop the screw of a three thousand ton ship, but if you’ll get your diving-dresses ready I’ll try it. It would be much better to bring our big guns to bear on them than to attack in boats.”
“I’ll have ’em ready directly,” said Edgar. “Perhaps we’d better stop the engines now.”
“Just so; stop them.”
The engines were stopped, and the gun-boat glided slowly over the still water until it came to rest on its own inverted image.
Meanwhile the air-pump was rigged, and Joe Baldwin put on his dress, to the great interest and no little surprise of the Malay crew.
“Ready, sir,” said Edgar, when Joe sat costumed, with the helmet at his side and his friends Rooney and Maxwell at the pumps.
“Go ahead, then—full steam,” said the captain.
Just in front of the vessel the river was impeded quite across by a dense growth of rank reeds and sedges; a little further on there was clear water. Into this the gun-boat plunged under full steam.
As was expected, the screw soon became choked, and finally stopped. Had the pirates expected this they would probably have made a vigorous attack just then. But the danger, being so obvious, had never before been incurred, and was therefore not prepared for or taken advantage of by the pirates. Nevertheless the captain was ready for them if they had attacked. Every man was at his station armed to the teeth.
The moment the boat began to work heavily Joe’s helmet was put on, and when she came to a stand he went over the stern by means of a rope-ladder prepared for the purpose.
“Be as active as you can, Joe. Got everything you want?” said Edgar, taking up the bull’s-eye.
“All right, sir,” said Joe.
“Pump away,” cried Edgar, looking over his shoulder.
Next moment Joe was under water, and the Malays, with glaring eyes and open mouths, were gazing at the confusion of air-bubbles that arose from him continually. From their looks it seemed as though some of them fancied the whole affair to be a new species of torture invented by their captain.
Joe carried a small hatchet in his girdle and a long sharp knife in his hand. With these he attacked the reeds and weeds, and in ten minutes or less had set the screw free. He soon reappeared on the rope-ladder, and Edgar, who had been attending to his lines, removed the bull’s-eye.
“What now, Joe?” he asked.
“All clear,” said Joe, coming inboard.
“What! Done it already?”
“Ay; steam ahead when you like, sir.”
The order was given at once. The assistant engineer put on full steam, and the gun-boat, crashing through the remaining obstruction, floated into the comparatively clear water beyond. The screw had been again partially fouled, of course, but ten minutes more of our diver’s knife and axe set it free, and the vessel proceeded on her way.
Scouts from the pirate-camp had been watching the gun-boat, for they had counted on nothing worse than an attack by boats, which, strong in numbers, they could easily have repelled. Great therefore was the consternation when these scouts ran in and reported that the vessel had cleared the obstructions by some miraculous power which they could not explain or understand, and was now advancing on them under full steam.
While the operations we have described were being carried out on board the gun-boat, in the pirate village poor Mr Hazlit was seated on a stump outside a rude hut made chiefly of bamboos and palm leaves. He wore only his trousers and shirt, both sadly torn—one of the pirates having taken a fancy to his coat and vest, the former of which he wore round his loins with his legs thrust through the sleeves. The captive merchant sat with his face buried in his hands and bowed on his knees.
Inside the hut sat Aileen with poor Miss Pritty resting on her bosom. Miss Pritty was of a tender confiding nature, and felt it absolutely necessary to rest on somebody’s bosom. She would rather have used a cat’s or dog’s than none. Aileen, being affectionate and sympathetic, had no objection. Nevertheless, not being altogether of angelic extraction, she was a little put out by the constant tremors of her friend.
“Come, dear, don’t shudder so fearfully,” she said, in a half coaxing half remonstrative tone.
“Is he gone?” asked Miss Pritty in a feeble voice, with her eyes tight shut.
She referred to a half-naked warrior who had entered the hut, had half shut his great eyes, and had displayed a huge cavern of red gum and white teeth in an irresistible smile at the woe-begone aspect of Miss Pritty. He had then silently taken his departure.
“Gone,” repeated Aileen, rather sharply; “of course he is, and if he were not, what then? Sure his being dark and rather lightly clothed is not calculated to shock you so much.”
“Aileen!” exclaimed Miss Pritty, raising her head suddenly, and gazing with anxiety into the face of her friend; “has our short residence among these wretches begun to remove that delicacy of mind and sentiment for which I always admired you?”
“
No
,” returned Aileen, firmly, “but your excessive alarms may have done something towards that end. Nay, forgive me, dear,” she added, gently, as Miss Pritty’s head sank again on her shoulder, with a sob, “I did not mean to hurt your feelings, but really, if you only think of it, our present position demands the utmost resolution, caution, and fortitude of which we are capable; and you know, love, that this shuddering at trifles and imagining of improbabilities will tend to unfit you for action when the time arrives, as it surely will sooner or later, for my father has taken the wisest steps for our deliverance, and, besides, a Greater than my father watches over us.”
“That is true, dear,” assented Miss Pritty, with a tender look. “Now you speak like your old self; but you must not blame me for being so foolish. Indeed, I know that I am, but, then, have not my worst fears been realised? Are we not in the hands—actually in the hands—of pirates—real pirates, buccaneers—ugh!”
Again the poor lady drooped her head and shuddered.
“
Your
worst fears may have been realised,” said Aileen; “but we have certainly not experienced the worst that might have happened. On the contrary, we have been remarkably well treated—what do you say? Fed on rats and roast puppies! Well, the things they send us
may
be such, for they resemble these creatures as much as anything else, but they are well cooked and very nice, you must allow, and—”
At that moment Aileen’s tongue was suddenly arrested, and, figuratively speaking, Miss Pritty’s blood curdled in her veins and her heart ceased to beat, for, without an instant’s warning, the woods resounded with a terrific salvo of artillery; grape and canister shot came tearing, hissing, and crashing through the trees, and fierce yells, mingled with fiend-like shrieks, rent the air.
Both ladies sat as if transfixed—pale, mute, and motionless. Next moment Mr Hazlit sprang into the hut, glaring with excitement, while a stream of blood trickled from a slight wound in his forehead.
Uttering a yell, no whit inferior to that of the fiercest pirate near him, and following it up with a fit of savage laughter that was quite appalling, the once dignified and self-possessed merchant rolled his eyes round the hut as if in search of something. Suddenly espying a heavy pole, or species of war-club, which lay in a corner, he seized it and whirled it round his head as if he had been trained to such arms from childhood.
Just then a second salvo shook the very earth. Mr Hazlit sprang out of the hut, shouted, “To the rescue! Aileen, to the rescue!” in the voice of a Stentor, plunged wildly into a forest-path, and disappeared almost before the horrified ladies could form a guess as to his intentions.
Chapter Seventeen.
Recounts the wild, fierce, and in some Respects peculiar Incidents of a Bush Fight
Although the pirates were taken aback by this unexpected advance of the Rajah’s gun-boat to within pistol-shot of their very doors, they were by no means cowed. Malays are brave as a race, and peculiarly regardless of their lives. They manned their guns, and stood to them with unflinching courage, but they were opposed by men of the same mettle, who had the great advantage of being better armed, and led by a man of consummate coolness and skill, whose motto was—“Conquer or die!”
We do not say that the captain of the gun-boat
professed
to hold that motto, for he was not a boaster, but it was clearly written in the fire of his eye, and stamped upon the bridge of his nose!
The pirate-guns were soon dismounted, their stockade was battered down, and when a party at last landed, with the captain at their head, and Edgar with his diving friends close at his heels, they were driven out of their fortification into the woods.
Previously to this, however, all the women and children had been sent further into the bush, so that the attacking party met none but fighting-men. Turning round a bend in a little path among the bushes, Edgar, who had become a little separated from his friends, came upon a half-naked Malay, who glared at him from behind a long shield. The pirate’s style of fighting was that of the Malay race in general, and had something ludicrous, as well as dangerous, about it. He did not stand up and come on like a man, but, with his long legs wide apart and bent at the knees, he bounded hither and thither like a monkey, always keeping his body well under cover of the shield, and peering round its edges or over, or even under it, according to fancy, while his right hand held a light spear, ready to be launched at the first favourable moment into the unprotected body of his adversary.
Edgar at once rushed upon him, snapping his revolver as he ran; but, all the chambers having been already emptied, no shot followed. Brandishing his cutlass, he uttered an involuntary shout.
The shout was unexpectedly replied to by another shout of “Aileen, to the rescue!” which not only arrested him in his career, but seemed to perplex the pirate greatly.
At that moment the bushes behind the latter opened; a man in ragged shirt-sleeves and torn trousers sprang through, whirled a mighty club in the air, and smote the pirate’s uplifted shield with such violence as to crush it down on its owner’s head, and lay him flat and senseless on the ground.
“Mr Hazlit!” gasped Edgar.
The merchant bounded at our hero with the fury of a wild cat, and would have quickly laid him beside the pirate if he had not leaped actively aside. A small tree received the blow meant for him, and the merchant passed on with another yell, “To the rescue!”
Of course Edgar followed, but the bush paths were intricate. He unfortunately turned into a wrong one, when the fugitive was for a moment hidden by a thicket, and immediately lost all trace of him.
Meanwhile Rooney Machowl, hearing the merchant’s shout, turned aside to respond to it. He met Mr Hazlit right in the teeth, and, owing to his not expecting an assault, had, like Edgar, well-nigh fallen by the hand of his friend. As it was, he evaded the huge club by a hair’s-breadth, and immediately gave chase to the maniac—for such the poor gentleman had obviously become. But although he kept the fugitive for some time in view, he failed to come up with him owing to a stumble over a root which precipitated him violently on his nose. On recovering his feet Mr Hazlit was out of sight.
Rooney, caressing with much tenderness his injured nose, now sought to return to his friends, but the more he tried to do so, the farther he appeared to wander away from them.
“Sure it’s a quare thing that I can’t git howld of the road I comed by,” he muttered, as with a look of perplexity he paused and listened.
Faint shouts were heard on his left, and he was about to proceed in that direction, when distinct cries arose on his right. He went in
that
direction for a time, then vacillated, and, finally, came to a dead stand, as well as to the conclusion that he had missed his way; which belief he stated to himself in the following soliloquy:—
“Rooney, me boy, you’ve gone an’ lost yoursilf. Ah, bad scran to ’ee. Isn’t it the fulfilment of your grandmother’s owld prophecy, that you’d come to a bad ind at last? It’s little I’d care for your misfortin myself, if it warn’t that you ought to be helpin’ poor Mr Hazlit, who’s gone as mad as blazes, an’ whose daughter can’t be far off. Och! Man alive,” he added, with sudden enthusiasm, “niver give in while there’s a purty girl in the case!”
Under the impulse of this latter sentiment, Rooney started off at a run in a new and totally unconsidered direction, which, strange to say, brought him into sudden and very violent contact with some of those individuals in whom he was interested.
Here we must, in hunters’ language, “hark back” on our course for a few minutes—if, indeed, that
be
hunters’ language! We do not profess to know much thereof, but the amiable reader will understand our meaning.
Just after the attack had begun, and Mr Hazlit had sallied from the hut with his war-club, as already related, Aileen became deeply impressed with the fact that all the women and children who had been wont to visit and gaze at her in wonder had vanished. The rattling of shot over her head, too, and the frequent rush of pirates past her temporary abode, warned her that the place was too much exposed in every way to be safe. She therefore sought to rouse her companion to attempt flight.
“Laura,” she said, anxiously, as a round shot cut in half the left corner-post of the building, “come, we must fly. We shall be killed if we remain here.”
“I care not,” exclaimed Miss Pritty, clasping her friend closer than ever, and shuddering; “my worst fears have been realised. Let me die!”
“But
I
don’t want to die yet,” remonstrated Aileen; “think of
me
, dear, if you can, and of my father.”
“Ah, true!” exclaimed Miss Pritty, with sudden calmness, as she unclasped her arms and arose. “Forgive my selfishness. Come; let us fly!”
If the poor lady had owned a private pair of cherubic wings, she could not have prepared for flight with greater assurance or activity. She tightened her waist-belt, wrapped her shawl firmly round her, fastened her bonnet strings in a Gordian knot, and finally, holding out her hand to her friend, as if they had suddenly changed characters, said, “Come, are you ready?” with a tremendous show of decision. She even led the wondering Aileen along a winding path into the jungle for a considerable distance; then, as the path became more intricate, she stopped, burst into tears, laid her head again on its old resting-place, and said in a hollow voice:– “Yes; all is lost!”
“Come, Laura, don’t give way; there’s a dear. Just exert yourself a little and we shall soon be safe at—at—somewhere.”
Miss Pritty made a vigorous struggle. She even smiled through her tears as she replied:– “Well, lead on, love; I will follow you—to death!”
With her eyes tightly shut, lest she should see something hideous in the woods, she stumbled on, holding to her friend’s arm.
“Where are we going to?” she asked, feebly, after a few minutes, during which Aileen had pulled her swiftly along.
“I don’t know, dear, but a footpath
must
lead to something or somewhere.”
Aileen was wrong. The footpath led apparently to nothing and nowhere. At all events it soon became so indistinct that they lost it, and, finally, after an hour’s wandering, found themselves hopelessly involved in the intricacies of a dense jungle, without the slightest clew as to how they should get out of it.
Aileen stopped at last.
“Laura,” she said, anxiously, “we are lost!”
“I told you so,” returned Miss Pritty, in a tone that was not quite devoid of triumph.
“True, dear; but when you told me so we were
not
lost. Now we
are
. I fear we shall have to spend the night here,” she added, looking round.
Miss Pritty opened her eyes and also looked round. The sight that met her gaze was not encouraging. Afternoon was drawing on. Thick bushes and trees formed a sort of twilight there even at noon-day. Nothing with life was visible. Not a sound was to be heard, save such little rustlings of dry leaves and chirpings as were suggestive of snakes and centipedes. The unhappy Laura was now too frightened to shudder.
“What shall we do?” she asked; “shriek for help?”
“That might bring pirates to us instead of friends,” said Aileen. “Listen; do you hear no sound?”
“Nothing,” replied Miss Pritty, after a few moments of intense silence, “save the beating of my own heart. Aileen,” she continued, with sudden anxiety, “are there not serpents in these woods?”
“Yes, I believe there are.”
“And tarantulas?”
“Probably.”
“And tortoises?”
“I—I’m not sure.”
“Darling, how
can
we sleep among tortoises, tarantulas, and serpents?”
Even Aileen was at a loss for a reply, though she smiled in spite of herself.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, cheerfully, “if we
must
spend the night in the bush we shall get into a tree. That will at least save us from all the venomous creatures as well as dangerous beasts that crawl upon the ground. Can you climb?”
“Climb!” repeated Miss Pritty, with a hysterical laugh, “you might as well ask me if I can dive.”
“Well, you must learn. Come, I will teach you. Here is a capital tree that seems easy to get into.”
Saying this, Aileen ran to a gnarled old tree whose trunk was divided into two parts, and from which spread out a series of stout branches that formed a sort of net-work of foliage about eight or ten feet from the ground. Climbing actively up to these branches, she crept out upon them, and from that position, parting the twigs, she looked down laughingly at her friend.
Her bright spirit was contagious. Miss Pritty almost forgot her anxieties, smiled in return, and walked towards the tree, in doing which she trod on something that moved in the grass. A piercing shriek was the result. It was immediately replied to by a wild yell at no great distance.
“It was only a frog; look, I see it now, hopping away. Do be quick, Laura; I am sure that was the yell of a savage.”
No further spur was needed. Miss Pritty scrambled up into the tree and crept towards her friend with such reckless haste that one of her feet slipped off the branch, and her leg passing through the foliage, appeared in the regions below. Recovering herself, she reached what she deemed a place of security.
“Now, dear, we are safe—at least for a time,” said Aileen, arranging her friend’s disordered dress. “Take care, however; you must be careful to trust only to limbs of the tree; the foliage cannot bear you. Look, you can see through it to the ground. Lean your back against this fork here; sit on this place—so; put your foot on this branch, there—why, it is almost like a chair—hush!”
It was quite unnecessary to impose silence. They both sat among the branches as motionless as though they had been parts of the tree. They scarce dared to breathe, while they peered through the foliage and beheld the dim form of a man advancing.
Whoever he was, the man seemed to growl as though he had been allied to the beasts of the jungle. He came forward slowly, looking from side to side with caution, and, stopping directly under the tree of refuge, said—
“Musha!” with great emphasis, then placing both hands to his mouth he gave vent to a roar that would have done credit to a South African lion.
As neither of the ladies understood the meaning of “Musha,” they listened to the roar with a thrill of unutterable horror. Miss Pritty, as if fascinated, leant forward, the better to observe her foe. Suddenly, like the lightning-flash, and without even a shriek of warning, she lost her balance and dived head-foremost into the bosom of Rooney Machowl!
Well was it for the bold Irishman that Miss Pritty was a light weight, else had he that day ended his career in the jungles of Borneo. As it was he went down like a shock of corn before the scythe, grasped Miss Pritty in an embrace such as she had never before even imagined, and proceeded to punch her poor head.
Then, indeed, she made herself known by a powerful scream that caused the horrified man to loose his hold and spring up with a torrent of apologies and self-abuse.
“Och! it’s not possible. Baste that I am! Oh ma cushla astore, forgive me! It’s a gorilla I thought ye was, sure, for I hadn’t time to look, d’ee see. It’s wishin’ you had staved in my timbers intirely I am.”
Rooney’s exclamations were here cut short, and turned on another theme by the sudden appearance of Aileen Hazlit, who soon found that her friend was more alarmed than hurt.
“I
am
so glad you have found us, and so surprised,” said Aileen, who had met Rooney in England during one of her visits to Joe Baldwin’s abode, “for we have quite lost ourselves.”
Rooney looked a little awkwardly at the fair girl.
“Sure, it’s glad I am myself that I’ve found you,” he said, “but faix, I’m lost too! I do belave, howiver, that somebody’s goin’ to find us.”
He turned his head aside and listened intently. Presently a cry was heard at no great distance. It was replied to by another.
“Pirates,” said Rooney, in a hoarse whisper, drawing a cutlass from his belt.
As he