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Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 17. Dr. Pegg Muses |
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_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. DR. PEGG MUSES "Poor chap!" said Pegg, with a long-drawn sigh, as, utterly exhausted, Archie sank back upon his rough resting-place amongst the palm-leaves, and fell off at once into a deep, swoon-like sleep. "Oh! if he only won't wake again for hours and hours, for all this worrying and talking must be dreadful for him. Poor girl! She must be here somewhere, a prisoner too. If I could only find out!" He had been bending over Archie, and was drawing away as softly as could be for fear the rustling of the leaf-bed might wake his companion again, to recommence talking in an excited way about Minnie Heath and her fate, when he heard the sound of voices, the door of the palm and bamboo building was unbarred and thrown open, and a fierce, swarthy-looking, scowling Malay, with the hilt of his kris uncovered, strode swaggeringly in, accompanied by six spear-armed natives of about his own stamp, their leader looking sharply at the two prisoners, and then about the place. "Here, I say, don't kick up such a jolly row," said the private in a hoarse whisper. "Can't you see that the poor fellow has just dropped off to sleep?" The big Malay turned upon him fiercely, and as he took a couple of steps nearer, the crisp, dry leaves rustled more than ever. "Will you be quiet?" whispered the private, springing up, and with one stride planting himself threateningly before the offender, who took a step back and flashed his naked kris from its sheath, while his followers lowered their spears for his protection. "There, put that cook's skewer away," growled the lad, as he pointed at the kris. "Can't you be quiet? Can't you see that I have got nothing to fight with? Seven on you to one wounded man! Nice, plucky lot, aren't you? Why, I'm about the youngest chap in my company, but give me my empty rifle and bay'net and fair-play, and I would take the lot on you." Then, placing his open hands on either side of his lips as if he were about to hail somebody at a distance, he whispered hoarsely: "Look at him. Very bad. Thought he was going to die. Can't you understand?" Lowering his hands, he first pointed to the insensible officer, and then, treating the bared weapons which menaced him with as much contempt as if they were not there, he stepped on tiptoe close to his young companion, and stood pointing down at his terribly swollen forehead, which was not only cut but discoloured. He stood waiting, but neither of the Malays moved, only looked at their leader as if for orders, and then gazed at one another, till he uttered a low grunt, in response to which the men raised the points of their spears and planted the butts on the ground. Peter Pegg gave vent to a low, sneering laugh as he gazed half-jauntily at the big Malay. "It didn't skeer me a bit," he said, "queer as I feel; but, between men--you see how bad my poor officer is--I only want you to keep those jockeys of yours quiet. Well, aren't you going to say anything when a English gentleman addresses you?" The Malay gazed at him as if wondering at the lad's impudence, and then, scowling fiercely, he said, in a hoarse, guttural way, and trying to display his scorn for the sun-burnt, thin-featured lad, "Ingles-- Ingles!" "That's right, comrade--I mean, enemy. Well, ain't you going to say any more?" The man made no sign, and Peter Pegg continued: "Can't you understand plain English? Well, then, take this--_apa boleh booat_." "_Apa boleh booat_," said the Malay, with his face relaxing a little; and he nodded his head slowly, before turning to one of his followers and pointing to the big water-jar standing near the door, which the man immediately took up and bore out as if to fill, while his leader pointed again to a neatly woven bamboo basket in which lay three or four bananas and a half-eaten cake of bread. This too was borne out, the contents sent flying amongst the trees close by, and the basket brought back, like the big jar, replenished. "_Apa boleh booat_," growled the big Malay, and he bowed his head slowly at the young soldier. "All right; I quite agree with you," said Peter; "and now good-morning, or good-day, and don't come and bother me any more, my Royal Highness, or whatever you are, for I want to think." The Malay leader scowled at him again, and then followed his men out of the door, which was closed loudly, and as heavy bars seemed to be fitted into sockets, Peter Pegg limped up, as if partly lamed, put his lips close to a crack, and whispered: "Thank you. Much obliged. A little louder next time, please, for my officer's asleep." Then he stood peering through the crack till the footsteps died away. "Can't see much," he said; "but I wonder what _apa boleh booat_ means. I meant it for something nasty, but the ugly beggar took it quite pleasant. It's what those sampan chaps say when they come back without catching any fish. To be sure, and I heard another chap say it when the Doctor had done strapping up his cut that time when there was a fight between the two Rajahs' men. I've picked up a lot more, too, of their lingo, but it's all mixed up together somewheres, and my head's about as muddled as poor Mister Archie's. Poor old chap! I got it too, but I'd a deal rather I'd had his topper and he'd had mine, and that's honest; for though he's a gentleman and I have only been a rough recruity, he's always been a good chap to me, and I never liked him so much as I do now when he's in such trouble. I wonder where poor Miss Minnie is." _Phoonk_! came from somewhere outside, and there was a rattling as of an iron chain. "Oh, there you are, are you?" said Peter. "The Doctor said in that lecture he gave us chaps that helephants is the most intelligent beasts there is--more so than dogs--that they get to understand all sorts of words that are spoken to them. That there _phoonk_, or whatever it was, sounded just like an answer to something I had said; but, of course, it couldn't be. These 'ere are Malay helephants, and 'tisn't likely they could understand English. I wish, though, this was the one that I got to be so chummy with on the sham-fight day. I'd give him half these 'ere bananas and some of the cake, for I don't feel ready to eat much, and I don't believe that when the governor wakes up he will take anything but some more water. Well, anyhow, he's better than he has been since we've been here. How long is it?" The lad raised his hand wearily to his aching brow, and held it there for some minutes, before shaking his head sadly. "I d'know," he said. "It's all getting mixed up again. Oh, my poor nut! How it do ache! I know what would do it good--lie down and try to go to sleep. But I can't; for so sure as I did, Mister Archie would wake up and want some water, and begin to talk about Miss Minnie. Oh dear! It's far worse than mutiny--to go to sleep when you are on sentry; and it would be ten times worse to begin to snooze now, with that poor, half-cranky chap in such a state. So I'll have one or two of them finger-stall fruit things and a good drink of water, and then lean back against the side and see how many Malay words I can remember; and if that don't keep a poor fellow awake, nothing will." He stepped softly amongst the rustling leaves and bent down over Archie, to find that he was breathing freely, and evidently plunged in the deep sleep of exhaustion. "That's better," he muttered; "but I should like to dip his handkerchy in that fresh, cold water and lay it on his head." His hand was reached out to where he could just catch a glimpse of the scrap of linen in the lad's breast pocket; but he snatched his extended fingers back, and stepped away to where the basket and jar had been placed. "Do more harm than good," he muttered. "When I was in orspittle, I remember old Morley said that sleep was the something that did something to set wounded fellows up again, and if I got sopping his head, poor chap! it would wake him up as sure as eggs is eggs." Then he went down on his knees, picked up the cocoa-nut cup, filled it to the brim, and very slowly trickled the contents down his throat. "Hah!" he sighed. "Lovely!" as he held up the empty cup. "That's just the sort of stuff as would do old Joe Smithers a world of good.--Thankye; yes, I will take another, as you are so pressing;" and with a contented grin upon his dirty face, grimed with perspiration and the dried stains from a cut, he refilled the shell cup, drank the contents, replaced the little vessel balanced upside-down upon the edge of the rough earthen jar, and then swung himself round into a sitting position, wincing and half-groaning with pain as he did so, leant his aching head against the thickly plaited palm wall, and reached out for the basket, from which he picked one of the largest golden plantains. "There's plenty," he said softly, "and three of them just about ought to set me up." Then methodically breaking off the end of the one he had chosen, he began to strip off the thick skin, letting each portion hang over his hand, as the creamy, white, vegetable-like fruit became bared half-way down; and then, with a sigh, he took a bite. "That second cup of Adam's ale was better than the first," he said appreciatively, "and this 'ere's the best banana I ever nibbled. We used to say at home that they was like tallow candle and sleepy pear, but this one--my word, it's heavenly!" He took another bite, munching it slowly, with his head sinking down gently as if to meet his hand, which came up with some effort, ready for the next bite; and then, with his lower jaw impeded by resting upon his chest, it ceased to move, the hand that held the banana sank into his lap, the half-peeled fruit escaped from his fingers, and not one of the many Malay words that he was about to remember obtained utterance, for after the watching and disturbed sleep of nights, Nature would do no more, and Peter Pegg was sleeping more deeply than he had ever slept in his life before. _ |
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