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

early-rising man goes forth to reap the blessings which his lazy fellow-man fails to appreciate or enjoy.

Among the early risers that morning was our friend Moses. Gifted with an inquiring mind, the negro had proceeded to gratify his propensities by making inquiries of a general nature, and thus had acquired, among other things, the particular information that the river on the banks of which the village stood was full of fish. Now, Moses was an ardent angler.

“I lub fishing,” he said one day to Nigel when in a confidential mood; “I can’t tell you how much I lub it. Seems to me dat der’s nuffin’ like it for proggin’ a man!”

When Nigel demanded an explanation of what proggin’ meant, Moses said he wasn’t quite sure. He could “understand t’ings easy enough though he couldn’t allers ’splain ’em.” On the whole he thought that prog had a compound meaning—it was a combination of poke and pull “wid a flavour ob ticklin’ about it,” and was rather pleasant.

“You see,” he continued, “when a leetle fish plays wid your hook, it progs your intellec’ an’ tickles up your fancy a leetle. When he grabs you, dat progs your hopes a good deal. When a big fish do de same, dat progs you deeper. An’ when a real walloper almost pulls you into de ribber, dat progs your heart up into your t’roat, where it stick till you land him.”

With surroundings and capacities such as we have attempted to describe, it is no wonder that Moses sat down on the river-bank and enjoyed himself, in company with a little Malay boy, who lent him his bamboo rod and volunteered to show him the pools.

But there were no particular pools in that river. It was a succession of pools, and fish swarmed in all of them. There were at least fifteen different species which nothing short of an ichthyologist could enumerate correctly. The line used by Moses was a single fibre of bark almost as strong as gut; the hook was a white tinned weapon like a small anchor, supplied by traders, and meant originally for service in the deep sea. The bait was nothing in particular, but, as the fish were not particular, that was of no consequence. The reader will not be surprised, then, when we state that in an hour or so Moses had had his heart progged considerably and had filled a large bag with superb fish, with which he returned, perspiring, beaming, and triumphant to breakfast.

After breakfast the whole party went forth for what Verkimier styled “zee business of zee day,” armed with guns, spears, botanical boxes, bags, wallets, and butterfly-nets.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the village large clearings in the forest were planted as coffee gardens, each separated from the other for the purpose of isolation, for it seems that coffee, like the potato, is subject to disease. Being covered with scarlet flowers these gardens had a fine effect on the landscape when seen from the heights behind the village. Passing through the coffee grounds the party was soon in the tangled thickets of underwood through which many narrow paths had been cut.

We do not intend to drag our readers through bog and brake during the whole of this day’s expedition; suffice it to say that the collection of specimens made, of all kinds, far surpassed the professor’s most sanguine expectations, and, as for the others, those who could more or less intelligently sympathise did so, while those who could not were content with the reflected joy of the man of science.

At luncheon—which they partook of on the river-bank, under a magnificently umbrageous tree—plans for the afternoon were fixed.

“We have kept together long enough, I think,” said Van der Kemp. “Those of us who have guns must shoot something to contribute to the national feast on our return.”

“Vell, let us divide,” assented the amiable naturalist. Indeed he was so happy that he would have assented to anything—except giving up the hunt. “Von party can go von vay, anoder can go anoder vay. I vill continue mine business. Zee place is more of a paradise zan zee last. Ve must remain two or tree veeks.”

The hermit glanced at Nigel.

“I fear it is impossible for me to do so,” said the latter. “I am pledged to return to Batavia within a specified time, and from the nature of the country I perceive it will take all the time at my disposal to reach that place so as to redeem my pledge.”

“Ha! Zat is a peety. Vell, nevair mind. Let us enchoy to-day. Com’, ve must not vaste more of it in zee mere gratification of our animal natures.”

Acting on this broad hint they all rose and scattered in different groups—the professor going off ahead of his party in his eager haste, armed only with a butterfly-net.

Now, as the party of natives,—including Baso, who carried the professor’s biggest box, and Grogo, who bore his gun,—did not overtake their leader, they concluded that he must have joined one of the other parties, and, as it was impossible to ascertain which of them, they calmly went hunting on their own account! Thus it came to pass that the man of science was soon lost in the depths of that primeval forest! But little cared the enthusiast for that—or, rather, little did he realise it. With perspiration streaming from every pore—except where the pores were stopped by mud—he dashed after “bootterflies” with the wisdom of Solomon and the eagerness of a school-boy, and not until the shades of evening began to descend did his true position flash upon him. Then, with all the vigour of a powerful intellect and an enlightened mind, he took it in at a glance—and came to a sudden halt.

“Vat shall I do?” he asked.

Not even an echo answered, and the animal kingdom was indifferent.

“Lat me see. I have been vandering avay all dis time. Now, I have not’ing to do but right-about-face and vander back.”

Could reasoning be clearer or more conclusive? He acted on it at once, but, after wandering back a long time, he did not arrive at any place or object that he had recognised on the outward journey.

Meanwhile, as had been appointed, the rest of the party met a short time before dark at the rendezvous where they had lunched.

“Where is the professor, Baso?” asked Van der Kemp as he came up.

Baso did not know, and looked at Grogo, who also professed ignorance, but both said they thought the professor had gone with Nigel.

“I thought he was with you,” said the latter, looking anxiously at the hermit.

“He’s hoed an’ lost his-self!” cried Moses with a look of concern.

Van der Kemp was a man of action. “Not a moment to lose,” he said, and organised the band into several smaller parties, each led by a native familiar with the jungle.

“Let this be our meeting-place,” he said, as they were on the point of starting off together; “and let those of us who have fire-arms discharge them occasionally.”

Meanwhile, the professor was walking at full speed in what he supposed to be—and in truth was—“back.”

He was not alone, however. In the jungle close beside him a tiger prowled along with the stealthy, lithe, sneaking activity of a cat. By that time it was not absolutely dark, but the forest had assumed a very sombre appearance. Suddenly the tiger made a tremendous bound on to the track right in front of the man. Whether it had miscalculated the position of its intended victim or not we cannot say, but it crouched for another spring. The professor, almost instinctively, crouched also, and, being a brave man, stared the animal straight in the face without winking! and so the two crouched there, absolutely motionless and with a fixed glare, such as we have often seen in a couple of tom-cats who were mutually afraid to attack each other.

What the tiger thought at that critical and crucial moment we cannot tell, but the professor’s thoughts were swift, varied, tremendous—almost sublime, and once or twice even ridiculous!

“Vat shall I do? Deaf stares me in zee face! No veapons! only a net, ant he is not a bootterfly! Science, adieu! Home of my chilthood, farevell! My moder—Hah! zee fusees!”

Such were a few of the thoughts that burned but found no utterance. The last thought however led to action. Verkimier, foolish man! was a smoker. He carried fusees. Slowly, with no more apparent motion than the hour-hand on the face of a watch, he let his hand glide into his coat-pocket and took out the box of fusees. The tiger seemed uneasy, but the bold man never for one instant ceased to glare, and no disturbed expression or hasty movement gave the tiger the slightest excuse for a spring. Bringing the box up by painfully slow degrees in front of his nose the man opened it, took out a fusee, struck it, and revealed the blue binoculars!

The effect on the tiger was instantaneous and astounding. With a demi-volt or backward somersault it hurled itself into the jungle whence it had come with a terrific roar of alarm, and its tail—undoubtedly though not evidently—between its legs!

Heaving a deep, long-drawn sigh, the professor stood up and wiped his forehead. Then he listened intently.

“A shote, if mine ears deceive me not!” he said, and listened again.

He was right. Another shot, much nearer, was heard, and he replied with a shout to which joy as much as strength of lung gave fervour. Hurrying along the track—not without occasional side-glances at the jungle—the hero was soon again in the midst of his friends; and it was not until his eyes refused to remain open any longer that he ceased to entertain an admiring circle that night with the details of his face-to-face meeting with a tiger.

But Verkimier’s anticipations in regard to that paradise were not to be realised. The evil passions of a wicked man, with whom he had personally nothing whatever to do, interfered with his plans. In the middle of the night a native Malay youth named Babu arrived at the village and demanded an interview with the chief. That worthy, after the interview, conducted the youth to the hut where his visitors lived, and, rousing Van der Kemp without disturbing the others, bade him listen to what the young man had to say. An expression of great anxiety overspread the hermit’s usually placid countenance while Babu was speaking.

“It is fate!” he murmured, as if communing with himself—then, after a pause—“no, there is no such thing as fate. It is, it must be, the will of God. Go, young man, mention this to no one. I thank you for the kindness which made you take so long a journey for my sake.”

“It is not kindness, it is love that makes me serve you,” returned the lad earnestly. “Every one loves you, Van der Kemp, because that curse of mankind, revenge, has no place in your breast.”

“Strange! how little man does know or guess the secret thoughts of his fellow!” said the hermit with one of his pitiful smiles. “Revenge no place in me!—but I thank you, boy, for the kind thought as well as the effort to save me. My life is not worth much to any one. It will not matter, I think, if my enemy should succeed. Go now, Babu, and God be with you!”

“He will surely succeed if you do not leave this place at once,” rejoined the youth, in a tone of decision. “Baderoon is furious at all times. He is worse than ever just now, because you have thwarted his plans—so it is said—very often. If he knew that I am now thwarting them also, he would hunt me to death. I will not leave you till you are safe beyond his reach.”

The hermit looked at the lad with kindly surprise.

“How comes it,” he said, “that you are so much interested in me? I remember seeing you two years ago, but have no recollection of