Blown to Bits: The Lonely Man of Rakata, the Malay Archipelago by R. M. Ballantyne (red novels TXT) 📖

The hunt, we need scarcely say, was abruptly terminated, and immediate preparations were made for conveying the wounded man and the two orangs to the Dyak village. This was quickly arranged, for the convenient bamboo afforded ready-made poles wherewith to form a litter on which to carry them.

The huge creature which had given them so much trouble, and so nearly cost them one human life, was found to be indeed of the largest size. It was not tall but very broad and large. The exact measurements, taken by the professor, who never travelled without his tape-measure, were as follows:—

Height from heel to top of head, 4 feet 2 inches.

Outstretched arms across chest, 7 feet 8 inches.

Width of face, 1 foot 2 inches.

Girth of arm, 1 foot 3 inches.

Girth of wrist, 5 inches.

The muscular power of such a creature is of course immense, as Nigel and the professor had a rare chance of seeing that very evening—of which, more presently.

On careful examination by Nigel, who possessed some knowledge of surgery, it was found that none of Gurulam’s bones had been broken, and that although severely lacerated about the shoulders and right thigh, no very serious injury had been done—thanks to the promptitude and vigour of the hermit’s spear-thrust. The poor youth, however, was utterly helpless for the time being, and had to be carried home.

That afternoon the party reached a village in a remote part of the forest where they resolved to halt for the night, as no other resting-place could be reached before dark.

While a supper of rice and fowl was being cooked by Moses, Van der Kemp attended to the wounded man, and Nigel accompanied the professor along the banks of the stream on which the village stood. Having merely gone out for a stroll they carried no weapons except walking-sticks, intending to go only a short distance. Interesting talk, however, on the character and habits of various animals, made them forget time until the diminution of daylight warned them to turn. They were about to do so when they observed, seated in an open place near the stream, the largest orang they had yet seen. It was feeding on succulent shoots by the waterside: a fact which surprised the professor, for his inquiries and experience had hitherto taught him that orangs never eat such food except when starving. The fat and vigorous condition in which this animal was, forbade the idea of starvation. Besides, it had brought a Durian fruit to the banks of the stream and thrown it down, so that either taste or eccentricity must have induced it to prefer the shoots. Perhaps its digestion was out of order and it required a tonic.

Anyhow, it continued to devour a good many young shoots while our travellers were peeping at it in mute surprise through the bushes. That they had approached so near without being observed was due to the fact that a brawling rapid flowed just there, and the mias was on the other side of the stream. By mutual consent the men crouched to watch its proceedings. They were not a little concerned, however, when the brute seized an overhanging bough, and, with what we may style sluggish agility, swung itself clumsily but lightly to their side of the stream. It picked up the Durian which lay there and began to devour it. Biting off some of the strong spikes with which that charming fruit is covered, it made a small hole in it, and then with its powerful fingers tore off the thick rind and began to enjoy a feast.

Now, with monkeys, no less than with men, there is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip, for the mias had just begun its meal, or, rather, its dessert, when a crocodile, which the professor had not observed and Nigel had mistaken for a log, suddenly opened its jaws and seized the big monkey’s leg. The scene that ensued baffles description! Grasping the crocodile with its other three hands by nose, throat, and eyes, the mias almost performed the American operation of gouging—digging its powerful thumbs and fingers into every crevice and tearing open its assailant’s jaws. The crocodile, taken apparently by surprise, went into dire convulsions, and making for deep water, plunged his foe therein over head and ears. Nothing daunted, the mias regained his footing, hauled his victim on to a mudbank, and, jumping on his back began to tear and pommel him. There was nothing of the prize-fighter in the mias. He never clenched his fist—never hit straight from the shoulder, but the buffeting and slapping which he gave resounded all over the place. At last he caught hold of a fold of his opponent’s throat, which he began to tear open with fingers and teeth. Wrenching himself free with a supreme effort the crocodile shot into the stream and disappeared with a sounding splash of its tail, while the mias waded lamely to the shore with an expression of sulky indignation on its great black face.

Slowly the creature betook itself to the shelter of the forest, and we need scarcely add that the excited observers of the combat made no attempt to hinder its retreat.

It is said that the python is the only other creature that dares to attack the orang-utan, and that when it does so victory usually declares for the man-monkey, which bites and tears it to death.

The people of the village in which the hunters rested that night were evidently not accustomed to white men—perhaps had never seen them before—for they crowded round them while at supper and gazed in silent wonder as if they were watching a group of white-faced baboons feeding! They were, however, very hospitable, and placed before their visitors an abundance of their best food without expecting anything in return. Brass rings were the great ornament in this village—as they are, indeed, among the Dyaks generally. Many of the women had their arms completely covered with them, as well as their legs from the ankle to the knee. Their petticoats were fastened to a coil of rattan, stained red, round their bodies. They also wore coils of brass wire, girdles of small silver coins, and sometimes broad belts of brass ring-armour.

It was break of dawn next morning when our hunters started, bearing their wounded comrade and the dead orangs with them.

Arrived at the village they found the people in great excitement preparing for defence, as news had been brought to the effect that the pirates had landed at the mouth of the river, joined the disaffected band which awaited them, and that an attack might be expected without delay, for they were under command of the celebrated Malay pirate Baderoon.

Nigel observed that the countenance of his friend Van der Kemp underwent a peculiar change on hearing this man’s name mentioned. There was a combination of anxiety, which was unnatural to him, and of resolution, which was one of his chief characteristics.

“Is Baderoon the enemy whom you saw on the islet on our first night out?” asked Nigel, during a ramble with the hermit that evening.

“Yes, and I fear to meet him,” replied his friend in a low voice.

Nigel was surprised. The impression made on his mind since their intercourse was that Van der Kemp was incapable of the sensation of fear.

“Is he so very bitter against you?” asked Nigel.

“Very,” was the curt reply.

“Have you reason to think he would take your life if he could?”

“I am sure he would. As I told you before, I have thwarted his plans more than once. When he hears that it is I who have warned the Orang Kaya against him, he will pursue me to the death, and—and I must not meet him.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Nigel, with renewed surprise.

But the hermit took no note of the exclamation. Anxiety had given place to a frown, and his eyes were fixed on the ground. It seemed to Nigel so evident that he did not wish to pursue the subject, that he slightly changed it.

“I suppose,” he said, “that there is no fear of the Dyaks of the village being unable to beat off the pirates now that they have been warned?”

“None whatever. Indeed, this is so well-known to Baderoon that I think he will abandon the attempt. But he will not abandon his designs on me. However, we must wait and see how God will order events.”

Next morning spies returned to the village with the information that the pirates had taken their departure from the mouth of the river.

“Do you think this is an attempt to deceive us?” asked the chief, turning to Van der Kemp, when he heard the news.

“I think not. And even should it be so, and they should return, you are ready and well able to meet them.”

“Yes, ready—and well able to meet them,” replied the Orang-Kaya, drawing himself up proudly.

“Did they all go in one direction?” asked Van der Kemp of the youths who had brought the news.

“Yes, all went in a body to the north—except one boat which rowed southward.”

“Hmm! I thought so. My friends, listen to me. This is no pretence. They do not mean to attack you now you are on your guard; but that boat which