One Maid's Mischief

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Five.

Lieutenant Chumbley’s Thoughts

The news received by Mr Harley had no following. Sultan Murad had undoubtedly gathered his people together, but as events proved, it was not to make a descent upon the station.

But all the same, the conduct of the young Malay prince augmented the scare amongst the Europeans. Grey Stuart grew pale, and thought with feelings of horror of what might be the consequences of her schoolfellow’s folly. Helen, too, was in no slight degree alarmed, and the effect of the incident was to sober her somewhat for the time; but as the days glided on and nothing happened, the dread faded away like one of the opalescent mists that hung above the silver river at early morn.

“It is all nonsense,” said Mr Perowne; “the prestige of the English is too great for this petty rajah to dare to attempt any savage revenge.”

“Hah, you think so, do you?” said old Stuart, in his most Scottish tones. “I never knew a tiger hesitate to bite or a serpent to sting because the pairson near him was an Englishman. Ye’ll hae to tak’ care o’ yon lassie o’ yours, Perowne, or she’ll get us into sad meeschief.”

“If Mr Stuart would kindly direct his attention to the instruction of his own daughter, papa, I am sure he would find his hands full,” said Helen, in a haughty, half-contemptuous tone, as she crossed the soft carpet unheard.

“Oh, ye’re there are ye, lassie?” said the old Scot. “Weel, I’ll tell ye that my Grey kens how to behave, and don’t go throwing herself at the head of every gentleman she meets; and for your own sake, lassie, I wish your poor mither was alive.”

Helen raised her eyes and looked at him for some moments with an angry, disdainful stare of resentment.

“Eh, ye’ve got bonnie een, lassie, verra bonnie een; but I’d a deal rather see my Grey’s little wax tapers burning softly than those dark brimstone matches of yours ready to set every puir laddie’s heart ablaze.”

“Is this your friend, papa?” cried Helen; and she swept from the room.

“Yes, lassie,” said the old Scot, wiping his eyes after laughing at his own conceit. “Yes, I’m ye’r father’s best friend, lassie; am I not, Perowne?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said the merchant; “but you should not talk to her like that, Stuart.”

“And why not?” said the old man. “Are we to let her go on setting fire to trains all over the place, and trying to get us blown in the air?”

“Nonsense, nonsense! These fellows have sense enough to know what they may do and what they may not.”

“Oh, yes, they’ve plenty of sense,” agreed the old Scotch merchant.

“And they won’t forget in a hurry how we punished the other rajahs for their treacherous rising against the British power.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that,” said the old man; “but Murad will not forget this insult to his pride, and I insist, Perowne, upon your keeping a tighter rein over that lassie.”

Mr Perowne seemed disposed to resist, but he ended by promising that he would; and after a certain number of discussions in various houses, the cessation of all further proceedings, and a certain amount of worry consequent upon the apprehended danger, the old state of affairs began once more to prevail.

The last to hold out was Mrs Doctor Bolter, who exercised a great deal of watchfulness over her husband and brother, sending one after the other at the most incongruous times.

So peace was once more settling down over Sindang, which rapidly began to resume its dreamy state, the only busy thing about the place being the river, which rapidly flowed onward towards the sea.

The three ladies had grown somewhat accustomed to the sleepy life that nature compelled them to live in a land where, saving at early morn and at evening, any employment was only to be carried out by an extreme effort of will that very few there cared to exercise.

A delicious, drowsy, lotus-eating life it seemed; and as Helen Perowne and Grey Stuart sat beneath the shade of one of the delicious flower-bearing trees inhaling the cloying scents, and watching the eternal sparkle of the beautiful river, they could not help comparing it with their existence at the Miss Twettenhams’ school.

Tropic flowers, luscious fruits were there in profusion. Every day seemed to bring those of richer and rarer kinds. The garden was lush with a profusion of choice plants such as could only be produced in the hottest houses at home; and Grey was fain to confess that in spite of the heat it was a lovely land.

Just as everyone had concluded, there had not been the slightest cause for alarm, so they said.

Still the alarm had been excusable, living as they were, a mere handful of strangers, amongst a people well known for their volcanic nature and quickness at taking offence, this latter being acknowledged by the Rajah himself, who completed the calm by coming in semi-state to the Residency island to ask Mr Harley to make intercession for him with the Perownes.

“I am wiser now,” he said, with a smile, “and I want to make amends.”

This was said so frankly that, however suspicious he may have felt at heart, the Resident at once accepted the task of intercessor.

“I try so hard to be English in my ways,” said the young man, “but it takes a long time to forget one’s old customs. As I used to be, I had everything I asked for directly; I had only to say that I wanted this, or that I would have that, and I had it at once. But it is so different with you English. You always seem to be denying yourselves things you wish for, and think it great and good.”

“Well, we do think it a virtue,” said the Resident, smiling.

“I was very angry when Mr Perowne spoke to me as he did, and all my English education went away like a flash of a firefly in the night, and I was a savage once more; but when I got back and thought, then I saw that I had been mad, and I was grieved, for the English are my friends.”

“Ah, well,” said Mr Harley, “that is all over now. I undertake to put matters right with Mr Perowne; but to be frank with you, Rajah – ”

“Yes, that is right, be frank. That is what I like in an Englishman, he is frank and open. A Malay lets his secret thoughts be known – never.”

“I say, my friend,” exclaimed the Resident, laughing, “I hope that is not the case here.”

“Oh, no, no, no!” exclaimed Murad. “Do I not tell you I am English, and that I try to be like you.”

“To be sure, yes,” said Mr Harley. “Well, then, look here, I do not undertake to make you such friends as you wish to be with Miss Perowne.”

“You know all then?” said the Rajah, quickly.

“Her father told me.”

“Yes; you are his friend and counsellor; he would tell you of course. No; I do not expect that. I was mad and foolish just then. I know, of course, that you whites would not ally yourselves with us. We are a dreaming nation, and I had dreamed of her love and being happy with her amongst my people, making our alliance greater with you, but it was a dream. I am awake now, and it is past.”

“I don’t trust you, Master Murad,” said the Resident to himself; “but it is the best policy to seem to believe, and to try and make you friends with us again, so I will undertake your commission.”

“Look here,” he said aloud, “suppose you come across with me to Mr Perowne’s house?”

“Oh, no,” said the young Malay, shrinking back, “I should see her.”

“Very well; and if you do, what then? Come: you say you want to be English. Behave, then, now like an Englishman, taking your disappointment bravely, and let the lady see that you bear it with the calmness and consideration of a man.”

“I will come,” said the Rajah, eagerly; and he accompanied the Resident across the branch of the river to Mr Perowne’s handsome house, where the little explanation took place, and all parted the best of friends.

The Rajah was evidently extremely eager to make amends for the burst of temper he had displayed, and presents of fruit, flowers, and the other productions of the country were constantly arriving by his servants. In some instances, so as to check any excuse that there might be for refusing or looking upon the presents as being pressed upon the English residents, the gifts were accompanied by requests for some little European luxury or for the loan of some article; so that if the Rajah had it in his mind to allay suspicion, he was pretty successful, and matters went on as they were before. Dr Bolter went upon a three days’ expedition, which, on account of the difficulties of the country, extended to six days, and he was forgiven.

The Resident sent a despatch to the Governor respecting the Inche Maida’s case, and the Governor sent back a despatch to say that he had referred the matter to the Colonial Office; and the end of the piece of red tape was handed to the Malay Princess, who replied that she was willing to wait patiently for redress.

Then there was a pause, and life at the little station seemed to flow on as calmly as the river; but like the river, with its terrible reptiles lurking beneath the treacherously-smooth surface, so were there dangers beneath the calmly-flowing life of the British residents at the station, though they, prone as they were to take alarm, knew nothing, suspected nothing of what was in store.

A month had passed since the little explosion of the Malay volcano, as Chumbley called it. There had been dinners and evening meetings, and the Rajah had been invited to several; then Mr Harley invited nearly everyone to a picnic down the river in his dragon-boat – a party that was pronounced delightful.

This inspired the Rajah to imitate the Resident’s little party, and he sought out Chumbley and proposed to get up one on a more extensive scale, and take the party up the beautiful river as far as the rapids.

“I don’t mind helping you,” said Chumbley, “but it will be an awful lot of trouble, and precious hot.”

He finished, however, by saying he would help, and being once roused, threw himself heart and soul into the matter, especially as the Rajah came the next morning to say that he had had a visit from the Inche Maida, who, on being told of the projected party, had proposed that the boats should pass up the river as far as her home, where she would have a Malay banquet prepared.

This was agreed to, and the arrangements went on, it being considered advisable to do all that was possible to conciliate the native chiefs; and on the appointed day the Rajah’s two largest dragon-boats, with the rowers all in yellow satin jackets – the royal colour – were at the landing-place of the station, and the Residency island.

The embarkation was soon effected, and the merry party were being rapidly pulled along the light reaches of the winding river, whose clear waters flashed in the bright sunshine, while the verdure-covered banks were rich with a profusion of the gayest blossoms, some of which emitted a delicious scent, plainly observable upon the boats.

Helen Perowne looked handsomer than ever in a dress of the palest yellow silk, half hidden by artistic drapings of lace.

Captain Hilton was always at her side; while Chumbley, when he did rouse himself, tried to be a little attentive to Grey Stuart, who was in company with Mrs Bolter.

The latter lady was a good deal exercised in mind, consequent upon the Reverend Arthur insisting upon bringing his collecting-box, and the doctor his gun; and also because, when the latter was not chatting with the ladies of the party, he was constantly finding out that such and such a woody point would be a splendid place for being set ashore, as the forest abounded with birds and insects rich in nature’s brightest dyes.

The Rajah was the perfection of gallantry and politeness, treating Helen Perowne with a grave courtesy whenever he approached her; and all was going on in a most satisfactory style, when Chumbley, who had made his way to the back of the palm-leaf awning that sheltered the party in the boat from the torrid sun, waited his opportunity, and then beckoned to the doctor.

The latter stopped until Mrs Bolter’s eyes were in another direction, and then stole behind the awning to where Chumbley was seating himself, with his back against the side of the boat, the steersman looking at his great proportions with admiration the while.

“What is it, Chumbley?” said the doctor. “Not poorly, eh?”

“Never better in my life, doctor! Come and have a cigar.”

The doctor glanced forward, but they were completely hidden from sight; and with a sigh of satisfaction, he took a cigar from Chumbley’s case, lit it, and choosing a comfortable place, seated himself. Then like the lieutenant, he half closed his eyes, and enjoyed the delicious motion of the rippling water with the glorious panorama of foliage they passed.

“I say, steersman, have a cigar?” said Chumbley, to the tall, swarthy Malay, in his picturesque yellow satin dress.

The man did not understand his words, but he quite comprehended the act; and he showed his betel-stained teeth as he took the proffered cigar, and lit it from the one the lieutenant placed in his hands.

Then they went on and on, up glorious reach after reach of the river, startling reptiles on the banks, and bright-hued birds from the trees that overhung the stream.

“I say, doctor,” said Chumbley at last, in his lazy drawl, “what are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking that it can’t be long before my wife comes and finds me out.”

There was a pause, during which Chumbley laughed to himself.

“What are you thinking about, Chumbley?” said the doctor, suddenly.

Chumbley looked up suddenly at the steersman.

“Do you understand any English at all, old fellow?” he said; and the man shook his head.

“I was thinking, doctor,” said Chumbley, in a low voice, “what a go it would be if the Rajah has got us all in this boat here, and is taking us up the river never to come back any more.”