Chapter 8. A Hungry Croc

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. A HUNGRY CROC

The next moment Ned stood with clenched fists, about to fly at the Tumongong's son, as he had mentally dubbed him, but his fists unclenched, and he began to comprehend that he must have been in some danger from which he had been driven and dragged by the excited lad, who now snatched off the little flat military-looking cap he wore, and showed a crop of curly dark hair--not black, coarse, and straight like a Malay's--and as he wiped his streaming forehead with the silken sleeve of his baju, he cried fiercely: "What a jolly fool you must be to go and stand there."

"Eh? I? Was I? Would the monkey have bitten me?"

"Yes, if you had pulled his tail, and he wouldn't have let you. He bitten you? No."

"Then," said Ned, flushing a little, and feeling indignant at the young semi-savage's dictatorial speech, "why was I a jolly fool to go and stand there, pray?"

"Hark at him!" said the lad, looking round as if he were addressing an audience; "he says, Why was he a jolly fool? Oh, what a green one you are!"

"Look here, sir," said Ned, shortly; "have the goodness to be a little more respectful in your speech. I am not accustomed to be addressed in that manner."

"Oh certainly, my lord," said the lad. "Salaam maharajah, salaam." And raising his hands above his head, he bowed down almost to the ground. "I didn't know you were such a grandee."

"Never mind what I am, sir, and have the goodness to keep your place."

"Yes, my lord. Salaam maha--"

"Stop!" cried Ned, angrily. "I don't want you to do that tomfoolery to me."

The lad made a grimace, and meekly crossed his hands upon his breast.

"Now, sir, have the goodness to tell me why I was a jolly fool, and so green, as you call it. Pity people can't teach you foreigners something better than slang. Now then--answer."

"Well, to go and stand under that tree with a croc stalking you."

"Croc stalking you? What do you mean?"

"Don't you know the river's full of crocodiles?"

"I know there are some there."

"Some!" cried the lad. "Why, it's as full as a pond is of sticklebacks."

Ned stared at these words, coming out of eastern lips.

"Why, when they krissed a fellow this morning, and tumbled him into the river, Dilloo Dee says one of them snatched the body under directly. He told me just now. Didn't you see that one coming at you?"

"I saw a big fish under the lotus-leaves."

"Big fisherman you mean. Poof!" cried the boy, bursting into a roar of laughter, "it was a great croc, and I was just in time to knock you out of the way. I thought he would have got you, he made such a rush."

"Did--did you see him?" said Ned, turning a little white.

"Only got a glimpse of his wet scales; but I knew he was there stalking you, by that monkey scolding him. Oh my! how the little beggars do hate a croc."

"Then--then, you saved my life, and I didn't know it," said Ned.

"Eh? Well, I s'pose I did, for if he had pulled you down, I don't suppose we should ever have seen you again."

"Ugh!" shuddered Ned. "How horrid. What a dreadful country this is."

"Get out! I like it."

"But tell me: would that thing have dragged me in?"

"To be sure he would. Why, it's only two days since he pulled a girl into the water. She'd only gone down to wash a sarong."

"Is it a big one?" asked Ned, after gazing in a horrified way at his companion.

"Oh yes! a whacker--fifty or sixty feet long."

"Nonsense!"

"Well then, fifteen or twenty. I know it's a big one. One of our men-- Dilloo, I think it was--saw him one day ashore. Look here, old chap, tell you what. We'll get some of the fellows to lend us a rope with a loose end, and a hook, and we'll set a night-line for the beggar, and catch him. What do you say?"

"I should like to, if we stay here."

"Oh, you'll stay here," said the lad, laughing. "Like fishing?"

"Passionately."

"So do I. Caught two dozen yesterday after I met you. I say, you and your uncle are bird and butterfly cocks, aren't you?"

"My uncle is a naturalist, and I help him," said Ned, rather stiffly, for this easy-going address from a young Malay, who had evidently passed all his life among English people, annoyed him. "But I say, what a knowledge you have of English."

"Oh yes, I know some English," said the lad, laughing.

"And Malay?"

"Oh, pretty tidy. I don't jabber, but I can make the beggars understand me right enough. What's your name? Murray, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"But the other? Tom--Dick--Harry?"

"Edward."

"Oh, where are you going to, Edward Gray? What is it? That's wrong. What does old Tennyson say? Hullo! what's the matter?"

"I--that is--" stammered Ned--"some mistake. You speak English so well."

"Of course I do."

"But what is your name?"

"Frank Braine."

"Then you are not the Tumongong's son?"

"Tumon grandmother's--ha! ha! What a game! Oh, I see now! I forgot that I was in nigger togs. You took me for one of them."

"Of course I did."

"Well, it's a rum one. Won't father laugh! That's why you were so cocky at first?"

"Yes, I didn't know you were Mr Braine's son. You are, aren't you?"

"Course I am. Been out here two years now. I was at Marlborough-- school you know--and I'd got the whiffles or something so bad, the doctor said I should die if I wasn't sent to a warm climate. They sent a letter to the dad, and it was nine months getting to him. Ma says he was in a taking till he'd got a despatch sent down to Singapore, to be dillygraphed home to England for me to come here directly. He couldn't fetch me, you know. The ould one, as Tim calls him, wouldn't let him go. You know him?"

"Yes."

"Well, they sent me out, and after they'd carried me on board, the captain of the steamer told one of the passengers that it was a shame to have sent me, for I should die before I was half-way out. It made me so wild, that I squeaked out that he didn't know what he was talking about, and he'd better mind his own business. And he didn't either, for I began to get better directly, and the old skipper shook hands with me, and was as pleased as could be, one day just before we got to Singapore; for I had climbed up into the foretop and laughed at him, I'd got so much stronger. Then I had to go up to Malacca, and there old Bang-gong met me."

"Who?"

"Tumongong, and brought me up here, and now I'm as strong as you are."

"Yes, you look wonderfully brown and well."

"And you took me for a nigger! What a game!"

"Of course it was very stupid of me."

"Oh, I don't know. But, I say, I am glad you've come. You won't be able to go away again, but that don't matter. It's a jolly place, and you and I and old Tim will go shooting and fishing, and--I say--I shall come with you and your uncle collecting specimens."

"I hope so," said Ned, who began to like his new acquaintance. "But don't you feel as if you are a prisoner here?"

"No; not a bit. I go where I like. Old Jamjah knows I shan't run away from my people."

"Jamjar?"

"That's only my fun. I call him the Rajah of Jamjah sometimes, because he's such a beggar to eat sweets. He asks me sometimes to go and see him, and then we have a jam feed. I'm pretty tidy that way, but he beats me hollow. Perhaps he'll ask you some day, and if he takes to you and likes you, he gives you all sorts of things, for he's tremendously rich, and always getting more. He wants to find gold and emeralds and rubies if he can, to make him richer, but none of his people have the gumption to look in the right place."

"That's why he wants my uncle to go on expeditions then."

"To be sure it is; and if he finds a mine or two for the old boy, he'll make Mr Murray a rich man."

Ned looked at him thoughtfully, while the boy chattered on.

"He gave me these silk things I've got on, and lots more. It pleases him to wear 'em. Make some of my old form chaps laugh if they saw me, I know; but they're very comfortable when you're used to them, and its safer to wear 'em when you go amongst strangers, too. He gave me this kris," continued the lad, uncovering the hilt, which was wrapped in the waist-folds of his showy plaid sarong. "That's the way to wear it. That means peace if its covered up. If you see a fellow with his kris in his waist uncovered, that means war, so cock your pistol and look out."

As he spoke he drew out the weapon from his waistband and handed it to Ned.

"That handle's ivory, and they do all that metal-work fine."

"Why, all that working and ornament is gold."

"To be sure it is. Pull it out: there's more gold on the blade."

Ned took hold of the handle and drew the little weapon from its light-coloured wood sheath to find that it was very broad just at the hilt, and rapidly curved down to a narrow, wavy or flame shaped blade, roughly sharp on both edges, and running down to a very fine point. It was not polished and clear like European steel, but dull, rough, and dead, full of a curious-looking grain, as if two or three different kinds of metal had been welded together, while up near the hilt there was a beautiful arabesque pattern in gold.

"Ugh!" said Ned, returning it to its sheath; "it's a nasty-looking thing. Is it poisoned?"

"Not it. A thing like that doesn't want any poison upon it."

"But krises are poisoned."

"I never saw one that was, and father says he never did. He has asked several of the big men here about them, and they always laugh and say it is nonsense; that the only poison in them is given by a good strong arm. Everybody wears a kris here," he continued, as he returned the weapon to his waistband. "Perhaps old Jamjah will give you one."

"I don't want one," said Ned. Then, suddenly, "It seems a stupid sort of handle, doesn't it?"

"Yes; more like a pistol, but they like it, and they know how to use it too. I say, I hope the old chap will ask you too, next time he asks me. It's capital fun, for you can hear all his wives whispering together behind the mat curtains, and they get peeping at you while you're having all the good things, and are longing to join in, but they mustn't be seen by a giaour, or the son of a giaour, as they call me. I say, if you like I'll talk to the old fellow about you, and then he's sure to ask you."

"No, don't please," replied Ned. "I nearly burst out laughing when I saw him yesterday."

"I say, it's precious lucky for you that you didn't. He'd never have forgiven you. Had he got on his grand uniform? Yes, he would have, to show himself off, and he does look comic in it too. You see it was made for him at a guess in London; and, my! it is rum to see him straddling about in it sometimes. He's just like a peacock, and as proud of his feathers. But if you had laughed it would have been horrible. So mind what you are about, for he's sure to ask you some day, and he'll call you 'goo-ood boy' if you eat enough. I taught the old cock parrot to say that. But, I say, aren't you getting hungry?"

"Yes," said Ned, quickly, for that seemed to account for a faint feeling from which he suffered.

"So am I. Daresay the old croc is," said the lad, grinning.

"Oh!" cried Ned, offering his hand, "I am grateful to you for that."

"Stuff! That's all right."

"I shall never be able to repay you."

"How do you know? Some day you'll catch an elephant putting me in his trunk, or one of our prize striped torn tigers carrying me off, like a cat and a mouse. Then it will be your turn. Come on and have breakfast with us."

"No, I can't leave my uncle."

"Then I'll come and have breakfast with you. Old Jamjah will send you your rations, and they will be good till you offend him. Then you'd better look out for squalls."

"What do you mean?"

"Poison. But old Barnes will put you up to some dodges to keep that off, I daresay. Yes, I am hungry. Come on." _

Read next: Chapter 9. Ned Loses His Hat

Read previous: Chapter 7. A Morning Walk

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