Under the Waves by Robert Michael Ballantyne (books you have to read .txt) 📖

circumstance to the young lady, and, under promise of a handsome reward, had agreed to travel and voyage, night and day, by boat or vessel, as fortune should favour him, in order to convey immediate intelligence of these facts to a youth named "Eggirbringting," whom the young lady described as being very tall and stout, and extremely handsome.

It may easily be imagined with what mingled feelings of anxiety and impatience the "tall, stout, and extremely handsome young man" listened to this narrative as it was volubly delivered by the "pleeceman" and slowly translated by Chok-foo.

When at last he was fairly in possession of all that the messenger had to relate, Edgar paced up and down the room for a few seconds with rapid strides.

"We must go into action at once, sir," suggested Joe Baldwin.

"Of course, of course, but _how_? That's the point," exclaimed Edgar, with a look of impatient vexation. "Borneo is a long way off. There are no steamers running regularly to it that I know of. However, it's of no use talking; let's go at once and make inquiry. I'll go see our consul--perhaps--"

"P'lhaps," interrupted the messenger, "p'lhaps the pleeceman can talkee."

"If he can, let him speak," cried Edgar, with impatience.

"Pleece he nevir too muchee quick," returned the man, coolly. "We knows what we's can do. Hai, yach!"

Edgar sat down with a sharp sigh of discontent, and waited for more.

"Well?"

"Well," repeated the policeman, "there be steam-boat here now--go for Borneo quick."

"At once!" cried Edgar, starting up and seizing his hat, "why did you not--"

"Sh! Keepee cool, you no 'casion makes so fashion," interrupted the policeman, who thereupon went on to explain that on his arrival in Hong-Kong he had gone at once to head-quarters, before delivering his message to Edgar, in order to make himself master of all the news about town that was worth knowing, or likely in any way to advance the interest of those whom he sought to serve. Among other things he had learned the important fact that, two days before his arrival, a small gun-boat, belonging to a certain Rajah of Borneo, and commanded by a certain Scotchman, and employed for the express purpose of hunting up and rooting out the pirates of the China seas, had put in to the port for repairs. He had hurried down to the gun-boat in time to prevent her departure, had told his story, and had just come from her to say that her captain would like much to see Mr Berrington.

On hearing this, Edgar again started up and eagerly ordered the native policeman to guide him to the gun-boat in question without another moment's delay. He was followed, of course, by his male companions, who were nearly as much interested in the matter as himself. They were soon on the deck of the gun-boat.

It was a neat trim screw-steamer of small size, 180 tons burthen, and manned by about sixty Malays and a few Englishmen. Everything on board was as bright and orderly as if it had been a British man-of-war. Her commander received the visitors on the quarter-deck. He looked like one who was eminently well qualified to hunt up, run down, cut out, or in any other mode make away with pirates. There was much of the bull-terrier in him--solid, broad, short, large-chested--no doubt also large-hearted--active, in the prime of life, with short black curly hair, a short black beard and moustache, a square chin, a pleasant smile, a prominent nose, and an eagle eye. Indeed he might himself have made a splendid chief of the very race against which he waged "war to the knife."

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr Berrington," said the captain, holding out his hand. "The native policeman has told me all about your friends--I understand them to be such?"

"Yes--intimate friends."

"Well, this business is quite in my way. I shall be glad to take you with me. But who are these?" he added, looking at Edgar's companions.

"They are comrades, and might do good service if you will allow them to volunteer."

"My crew is complete," said the captain, doubtfully, "except, indeed, that my chief engineer is just dead, but none of your men look as if they could fill his shoes."

"That is true, but I can fill them myself," said Edgar, eagerly.

"Indeed!"

"Yes, I am an engineer by profession; my comrades are professional divers. We have been engaged on a wreck here for some time past."

"Good," said the captain; "are your dresses and apparatus at hand?"

"Some of them are."

"Then bring them aboard at once. I leave in an hour. Just bring what you have handy. Lose no time. I will take your men also. They may be of use."

Within an hour after the foregoing conversation Molly Machowl was left disconsolate in the pagoda under the care of Chok-foo, while the Rajah's gun-boat was steaming out to sea with Edgar, Baldwin, Rooney, Maxwell, and Ram-stam added to her warlike crew.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN.


BEARDING THE LION IN HIS DEN.

Steam has pretty well subdued time. Fifty years ago it was a mighty feat to "put a circle round the globe." Now-a-days a "Cook"--by no means a captain--will take or send you round it in "a few weeks."

Romantic reader, don't despair! By such means romance has undoubtedly been affected in some degree, but let not that grieve thee! Romance has by no means been taken out of the world; nor has it been, to use an unromantic phrase, reduced in quantity or quality. Human inventions and appliances alter the aspects of romance, and transfer its influences, but they cannot destroy a Creator's gift to the human race. They have, indeed, taken the romance out of some things which were once romantic, but that is simply because they have made such things familiar and commonplace. They have not yet touched _other_ things which still remain in the hallowed region of romance. Romance _is_ a region. Things crowd out of it, but other things crowd into it. The romantic soul dwells perpetually in it, and while, perhaps with regret, it recognises the fact that many things depart from that region, it also observes, with pleasure, that many things enter into it, and that the entrances are more numerous than the exits. The philosophico-romantic spirit will admit all this and be grateful. The unphilosophico-romantic spirit will not quite see through it, and may, perchance, be perplexed. But be of good cheer. Have faith! Do not let the matter-of-fact "steam-engine," and the "telegraph," and the "post-office," rob thee of thy joys. They have somewhat modified the flow of the river of Romance, but they have not touched its fountain-head,--and never can.

Why, what is Romance? Despite the teachings of the dictionaries--which often give us the original and obsolete meaning of words--we maintain that romance signifies the human soul's aspirations after the high, and the grand, and the good. In its fallen condition the poor soul undoubtedly makes wondrous mistakes in its romantic strainings, but these mistakes are comparatively seldom on the side of exaggeration. Our dictionary says that romance is extravagance--a fiction which passes beyond the limits of real life. Now, we maintain that no one--not even the most romantic of individuals--ever comes _up_ to real life. We have been a child--at least we incline to that belief--and we have been, like other children, in the habit of romancing, as it is called, that is, according to dictionaries, passing "beyond the limits of real life" into "extravagance." We are now a man--it is to be hoped--have travelled far and seen much and yet we can say conscientiously that the wildest fancies of our most romantic moods in childhood have been immeasurably surpassed by the grand realities of actual life! What are the most brilliant fancies of a child or of a mere ignorant "romancer," compared to the amazing visions of the Arctic regions or the high Alps, which we have seen? "Fictions" and "extravagance"! All our wildest sallies are but _in_travagance and feeble fancy compared with the sublimity of fact. No doubt there are men and women gifted with the power of burlesquing reality, and thus, not going beyond its limits, but causing much dust and confusion within its limits by the exaggeration and falsification of individual facts. This, however, is _not_ romance. We stand up for romance as being the bright staircase that leads childhood to reality, and culminates at last in that vision which the eye of man hath not yet seen nor his mind conceived; a vision which transcends all romance is itself the greatest of all realities, and is "laid up for the people of God."

We return from this divergence to the point which led to it--the power of steam to subdue time. No doubt it was unromantic enough to be pushed, propelled, thrust, willing or not willing, against, or with, wind and tide, so that you could gauge your distance run--and to be run--almost to a foot; but it was very satisfactory, nevertheless, especially to those whose hearts were far in advance of their vessel, and it was more than satisfactory when at the end of their voyage of a few days they found themselves gliding swiftly, almost noiselessly, up the windings of a quiet river whose picturesque scenery, romantic vistas, and beautiful reflections might have marked it the entrance to a paradise instead of a human pandemonium.

It was very early when the gun-boat entered the stream. The mists of morning still prevailed, and rendered all nature fairy-like. Weird-looking mangrove bushes rose on their leg-like roots from the water, as if independent of soil. Vigorous parasites and creepers strove to strangle the larger trees, but strove in vain. Thick jungle concealed wealth of feathered, insect, and reptile life, including the reptile man, and sundry notes of warning told that these were awaking to their daily toil--the lower animals to fulfil the ends of their being, the higher animal to violate some of the most blessed laws of his Creator. Gradually the sun rose and dispelled the mists, while it warmed everything into strong vitality. As they passed up, clouds of water-fowl rose whirring from their lairs, and luxuriant growth of weeds threatened to obstruct the progress of the steamer.

"Come here, policeman," said the captain to the native functionary; "how far above this, did you say, is the nest of the vipers?"

"'Bout tree mile."

"Humph!" ejaculated the captain, turning to Berrington, who had come on deck at the moment. "I never went higher up the river than this point, for, just ahead, there are reeds enough to stop the screw of a three thousand ton ship, but if you'll get your diving-dresses ready I'll try it. It would be much better to bring our big guns to bear on them than to attack in boats."

"I'll have 'em ready directly," said Edgar. "Perhaps we'd better stop the engines now."

"Just so; stop them."

The engines were stopped, and the gun-boat glided slowly over the still water until it came to rest on its own inverted image.

Meanwhile the air-pump was rigged, and Joe Baldwin put on his dress, to the great interest and no little surprise of the Malay crew.

"Ready, sir," said Edgar, when Joe sat costumed, with the