Blown to Bits by Robert Michael Ballantyne (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📕

sound, and advanced an ear. The distant monkey, observing, apparently, that some unusual communication was about to be made, also stretched out its little head, cocked an ear, and suspended its other operations.

Then, in low earnest tones, Nigel told Moses of his belief that Van der Kemp's daughter might yet be alive and well, and detailed the recent conversation he had had with his master.

"Now, Moses; what d' ye think of all that?"

Profundity unfathomable sat on the negro's sable brow as he replied, "Massa Nadgel, I don't bery well know _what_ to t'ink."

"But remember, Moses, before we go further, that I tell you all this in strict confidence; not a word of it must pass your lips."

The awful solemnity with which Nigel sought to impress this on his companion was absolutely trifling compared with the expression of that companion's countenance, as, with a long-drawn argumentative and remonstrative _Oh!_ he replied:--"Massa--Nadgel. Does you really t'ink I would say or do any mortal t'ing w'atsumiver as would injure _my_ massa?"

"I'm _sure_, you would not," returned Nigel, quickly. "Forgive me, Moses, I merely meant that you would have to be very cautious--very careful--that you do not let a word slip--by accident, you know. I believe you'd sooner die than do an intentional injury to Van der Kemp. If I thought you capable of _that_, I think I would relieve my feelings by giving you a good thrashing."

The listening monkey cocked its ear a little higher at this, and Moses, who had at first raised his flat nose indignantly in the air, gradually lowered it, while a benignant smile supplanted indignation.

"You're right dere, Massa Nadgel. I'd die a t'ousand times sooner dan injure massa. As to your last obserwation, it rouses two idees in my mind. First, I wonder how you'd manidge to gib me a t'rashin', an' second, I wonder if your own moder would rikognise you arter you'd tried it."

At this the monkey turned its other ear as if to make quite sure that it heard aright. Nigel laughed shortly.

"But seriously, Moses," he continued; "what do you think I should do? Should I reveal my suspicions to Van der Kemp?"

"Cer'nly not!" answered the negro with prompt decision. "What! wake up all his old hopes to hab 'em all dashed to bits p'raps when you find dat you's wrong!"

"But I feel absolutely certain that I'm _not_ wrong!" returned Nigel, excitedly. "Consider--there is, first, the one-eyed pirate; second, there is--"

"'Scuse me, Massa Nadgel, dere's no occasion to go all ober it again. I'll tell you what you do."

"Well?" exclaimed Nigel, anxiously, while his companion frowned savagely under the force of the thoughts that surged through his brain.

"Here's what you'll do," said Moses.

"Well?" (impatiently, as the negro paused.)

"We're on our way home to Krakatoa."

"Yes--well?"

"One ob our men leabes us to-morrer--goes to 'is home on de coast. Kitch one ob de steamers dat's allers due about dis time."

"Well, what of that?"

"What ob dat! why, you'll write a letter to your fadder. It'll go by de steamer to Batavia. He gits it long before we gits home, so dere's plenty time for 'im to take haction."

"But what good will writing to my father do?" asked Nigel in a somewhat disappointed tone. "_He_ can't help us."

"Ho yes, he can," said Moses with a self-satisfied nod. "See here, I'll tell you what to write. You begin, 'Dear fadder--or Dearest fadder--I's not quite sure ob de strengt' ob your affection. P'raps de safest way--."

"Oh! get on, Moses. Never mind that."

"Ho! it's all bery well for you to say dat, but de ole gen'leman'll mind it. Hows'ever, put it as you t'ink best--'Dear fadder, victual your ship; up anchor; hois' de sails, an' steer for de Cocos-Keelin' Islands. Go ashore; git hold ob de young 'ooman called Kat'leen Hobbleben--'"

"Holbein, Moses."

"What! is she Moses too?"

"No, no! get on, man."

"Well, 'Dearest fadder, git a hold ob her, whateber her name is, an' carry her off body and soul, an' whateber else b'longs to her. Take her to de town ob Anjer an' wait dere for furder orders.' Ob course for de windin' up o' de letter you must appeal agin to de state ob your affections, for, as--"

"Not a bad idea," exclaimed Nigel. "Why, Moses, you're a genius! Of course I'll have to explain a little more fully."

"'Splain what you please," said Moses. "My business is to gib you de bones ob de letter; yours--bein' a scholar--is to clove it wid flesh."

"I'll do it, Moses, at once."

"I should like," rejoined Moses, with a tooth-and-gum-disclosing smile, "to see your fadder when he gits dat letter!"

The picture conjured up by his vivid imagination caused the negro to give way to an explosive laugh that sent the eavesdropping monkey like a brown thunderbolt into the recesses of its native jungle, while Nigel went off to write and despatch the important letter.

Next day the party arrived at another village, where, the report of their approach having preceded them, they were received with much ceremony--all the more that the professor's power with the rifle had been made known, and that the neighbourhood was infested by tigers.

There can be little doubt that at this part of the journey the travellers must have been dogged all the way by tigers, and it was matter for surprise that so small a party should not have been molested. Possibly the reason was that these huge members of the feline race were afraid of white faces, being unaccustomed to them, or, perchance, the appearance and vigorous stride of even a few stalwart and fearless men had intimidated them. Whatever the cause, the party reached the village without seeing a single tiger, though their footprints were observed in many places.

The wild scenery became more and more beautiful as this village was neared.

Although flowers as a rule were small and inconspicuous in many parts of the great forest through which they passed, the rich pink and scarlet of many of the opening leaves, and the autumn-tinted foliage which lasts through all seasons of the year, fully made up for the want of them--at least as regards colour, while the whole vegetation was intermingled in a rich confusion that defies description.

The professor went into perplexed raptures, his mind being distracted by the exuberant wealth of subjects which were presented to it all at the same time.

"Look zere!" he cried, at one turning in the path which opened up a new vista of exquisite beauty--"look at zat!"

"Ay, it is a Siamang ape--next in size to the orang-utan," said Van der Kemp, who stood at his friend's elbow.

The animal in question was a fine full-grown specimen, with long jet-black glancing hair. Its height might probably have been a few inches over three feet, and the stretch of its arms over rather than under five feet, but at the great height at which it was seen--not less than eighty feet--it looked much like an ordinary monkey. It was hanging in the most easy nonchalant way by one hand from the branch of a tree, utterly indifferent to the fact that to drop was to die!

The instant the Siamang observed the travellers it set up a loud barking howl which made the woods resound, but it did not alter its position or seem to be alarmed in any degree.

"Vat a 'straordinary noise!" remarked the professor.

"It is indeed," returned the hermit, "and it has an extraordinary appliance for producing it. There is a large bag under its throat extending to its lips and cheeks which it can fill with air by means of a valve in the windpipe. By expelling this air in sudden bursts it makes the varied sounds you hear."

"Mos' vonderful! A sort of natural air-gun! I vill shoot it," said the professor, raising his deadly rifle, and there is no doubt that the poor Siamang would have dropped in another moment if Van der Kemp had not quietly and gravely touched his friend's elbow just as the explosion took place.

"Hah! you tooched me!" exclaimed the disappointed naturalist, looking fiercely round, while the amazed ape sent forth a bursting crack of its air-gun as it swung itself into the tree-top and made off.

"Yes, I touched you, and if you _will_ shoot when I am so close to you, you cannot wonder at it--especially when you intend to take life uselessly. The time now at the disposal of my friend Nigel Roy will not permit of our delaying long enough to kill and preserve large specimens. To say truth, my friend, we must press on now, as fast as we can, for we have a very long way to go."

Verkimier was not quite pleased with this explanation, but there was a sort of indescribable power about the hermit, when he was resolved to have his way, that those whom he led found it impossible to resist.

On arriving at the village they were agreeably surprised to find a grand banquet, consisting chiefly of fruit, with fowl, rice, and Indian corn, spread out for them in the Balai or public hall, where also their sleeping quarters were appointed. An event had recently occurred, however, which somewhat damped the pleasure of their reception. A young man had been killed by a tiger. The brute had leaped upon him while he and a party of lads were traversing a narrow path through the jungle, and had killed him with one blow of its paw. The other youths courageously rushed at the beast with their spears and axes, and, driving it off, carried the body of their comrade away.

"We have just buried the young man," said the chief of the village, "and have set a trap for the tiger, for he will be sure to visit the grave."

"My friends would like to see this trap," said the hermit, who, of course, acted the part of interpreter wherever they went, being well acquainted with most of the languages and dialects of the archipelago.

"There will yet be daylight after you have finished eating," said the chief.

Although anxious to go at once to see this trap, they felt the propriety of doing justice to what had been provided for them, and sat down to their meal, for which, to say truth, they were quite ready.

Then they went with a large band of armed natives to see this curious tiger-trap, the bait of which was the grave of a human being!

The grave was close to the outskirts of the village, and, on one side, the jungle came up to within a few yards of it. The spot was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, except at one point where a narrow but very conspicuous opening had been left. Here a sharp spear was so arranged beside the opening that it could be shot across it at a point corresponding with the height of a tiger's heart from the ground--as well, at least, as that point could be estimated by men who were pretty familiar with tigers. The motive power to propel this spear was derived from a green bamboo, so strong that it required several powerful men to bend it in the form of a bow. A species of trigger was arranged to let the bent bow fly, and a piece of fine cord passed from this across the opening about breast-high for a tiger. The intention was that the animal, in entering the enclosure,