II
Along the hot and gloomy forest path, neglected, overgrown and strangledin the fierce life of the jungle, there came a faint rustle of leaves.Jaffir, the servant of princes, the messenger of great men, walked,stooping, with a broad chopper in his hand. He was naked from the waistupward, his shoulders and arms were scratched and bleeding. A multitudeof biting insects made a cloud about his head. He had lost his costlyand ancient head-kerchief, and when in a slightly wider space he stoppedin a listening attitude anybody would have taken him for a fugitive.
He waved his arms about, slapping his shoulders, the sides of his head,his heaving flanks; then, motionless, listened again for a while. Asound of firing, not so much made faint by distance as muffled by themasses of foliage, reached his ears, dropping shots which he could havecounted if he had cared to. "There is fighting in the forest already,"he thought. Then putting his head low in the tunnel of vegetation hedashed forward out of the horrible cloud of flies, which he actuallymanaged for an instant to leave behind him. But it was not from thecruelty of insects that he was flying, for no man could hope to dropthat escort, and Jaffir in his life of a faithful messenger had beenaccustomed, if such an extravagant phrase may be used, to be eatenalive. Bent nearly double he glided and dodged between the trees,through the undergrowth, his brown body streaming with sweat, his firmlimbs gleaming like limbs of imperishable bronze through the massof green leaves that are forever born and forever dying. For all hisdesperate haste he was no longer a fugitive; he was simply a man in atremendous hurry. His flight, which had begun with a bound and a rushand a general display of great presence of mind, was a simple issuefrom a critical situation. Issues from critical situations are generallysimple if one is quick enough to think of them in time. He became awarevery soon that the attempt to pursue him had been given up, but he hadtaken the forest path and had kept up his pace because he had left hisRajah and the lady Immada beset by enemies on the edge of the forest, asgood as captives to a party of Tengga's men.
Belarab's hesitation had proved too much even for Hassim's hereditarypatience in such matters. It is but becoming that weighty negotiationsshould be spread over many days, that the same requests and argumentsshould be repeated in the same words, at many successive interviews, andreceive the same evasive answers. Matters of state demand the dignity ofsuch a procedure as if time itself had to wait on the power and wisdomof rulers. Such are the proceedings of embassies and the dignifiedpatience of envoys. But at this time of crisis Hassim's impatienceobtained the upper hand; and though he never departed from the traditionof soft speech and restrained bearing while following with his sister inthe train of the pious Belarab, he had his moments of anger, of anxiety,of despondency. His friendships, his future, his country's destinieswere at stake, while Belarab's camp wandered deviously over the backcountry as if influenced by the vacillation of the ruler's thought, thevery image of uncertain fate.
Often no more than the single word "Good" was all the answer vouchsafedto Hassim's daily speeches. The lesser men, companions of the Chief,treated him with deference; but Hassim could feel the opposition fromthe women's side of the camp working against his cause in subservienceto the mere caprice of the new wife, a girl quite gentle and kind to herdependents, but whose imagination had run away with her completely andhad made her greedy for the loot of the yacht from mere simplicity andinnocence. What could Hassim, that stranger, wandering and poor, offerfor her acceptance? Nothing. The wealth of his far-off country was butan idle tale, the talk of an exile looking for help.
At night Hassim had to listen to the anguished doubts of Immada, theonly companion of his life, child of the same mother, brave as a man,but in her fears a very woman. She whispered them to him far into thenight while the camp of the great Belarab was hushed in sleep and thefires had sunk down to mere glowing embers. Hassim soothed her gravely.But he, too, was a native of Wajo where men are more daring and quickerof mind than other Malays. More energetic, too, and energy does not gowithout an inner fire. Hassim lost patience and one evening he declaredto his sister Immada: "To-morrow we leave this ruler without a mind andgo back to our white friend."
Therefore next morning, letting the camp move on the direct road tothe settlement, Hassim and Immada took a course of their own. It wasa lonely path between the jungle and the clearings. They had twoattendants with them, Hassim's own men, men of Wajo; and so the ladyImmada, when she had a mind to, could be carried, after the manner ofthe great ladies of Wajo who need not put foot to the ground unless theylike. The lady Immada, accustomed to the hardships that are the lotof exiles, preferred to walk, but from time to time she let herselfbe carried for a short distance out of regard for the feelings of herattendants. The party made good time during the early hours, and Hassimexpected confidently to reach before evening the shore of the lagoonat a spot very near the stranded Emma. At noon they rested in the shadenear a dark pool within the edge of the forest; and it was there thatJaffir met them, much to his and their surprise. It was the occasionof a long talk. Jaffir, squatting on his heels, discoursed in measuredtones. He had entranced listeners. The story of Carter's exploit amongstthe Shoals had not reached Belarab's camp. It was a great shock toHassim, but the sort of half smile with which he had been listening toJaffir never altered its character. It was the Princess Immada who criedout in distress and wrung her hands. A deep silence fell.
Indeed, before the fatal magnitude of the fact it seemed even to thoseMalays that there was nothing to say and Jaffir, lowering his head,respected his Prince's consternation. Then, before that feeling couldpass away from that small group of people seated round a few smoulderingsticks, the noisy approach of a large party of men made them all leapto their feet. Before they could make another movement they perceivedthemselves discovered. The men were armed as if bound on some warlikeexpedition. Amongst them Sentot, in his loin cloth and with unbound wildlocks, capered and swung his arms about like the lunatic he was. Theothers' astonishment made them halt, but their attitude was obviouslyhostile. In the rear a portly figure flanked by two attendants carryingswords was approaching prudently. Rajah Hassim resumed quietly his seaton the trunk of a fallen tree, Immada rested her hand lightly on herbrother's shoulder, and Jaffir, squatting down again, looked at theground with all his faculties and every muscle of his body tensely onthe alert.
"Tengga's fighters," he murmured, scornfully.
In the group somebody shouted, and was answered by shouts from afar.There could be no thought of resistance. Hassim slipped the emeraldring from his finger stealthily and Jaffir got hold of it by an almostimperceptible movement. The Rajah did not even look at the trustymessenger.
"Fail not to give it to the white man," he murmured. "Thy servant hears,O Rajah. It's a charm of great power."
The shadows were growing to the westward. Everybody was silent, andthe shifting group of armed men seemed to have drifted closer. Immada,drawing the end of a scarf across her face, confronted the advancewith only one eye exposed. On the flank of the armed men Sentot wasperforming a slow dance but he, too, seemed to have gone dumb.
"Now go," breathed out Rajah Hassim, his gaze levelled into spaceimmovably.
For a second or more Jaffir did not stir, then with a sudden leap fromhis squatting posture he flew through the air and struck the jungle ina great commotion of leaves, vanishing instantly like a swimmer divingfrom on high. A deep murmur of surprise arose in the armed party, aspear was thrown, a shot was fired, three or four men dashed into theforest, but they soon returned crestfallen with apologetic smiles; whileJaffir, striking an old path that seemed to lead in the right direction,ran on in solitude, raising a rustle of leaves, with a naked parang inhis hand and a cloud of flies about his head. The sun declining to thewestward threw shafts of light across his dark path. He ran at a springyhalf-trot, his eyes watchful, his broad chest heaving, and carryingthe emerald ring on the forefinger of a clenched hand as though he wereafraid it should slip off, fly off, be torn from him by an invisibleforce, or spirited awa
y by some enchantment. Who could tell whatmight happen? There were evil forces at work in the world, powerfulincantations, horrible apparitions. The messenger of princes and ofgreat men, charged with the supreme appeal of his master, was afraidin the deepening shade of the forest. Evil presences might have beenlurking in that gloom. Still the sun had not set yet. He could see itsface through the leaves as he skirted the shore of the lagoon. But whatif Allah's call should come to him suddenly and he die as he ran!
He drew a long breath on the shore of the lagoon within about a hundredyards from the stranded bows of the Emma. The tide was out and hewalked to the end of a submerged log and sent out a hail for a boat.Jorgenson's voice answered. The sun had sunk behind the forest belt ofthe coast. All was still as far as the eye could reach over the blackwater. A slight breeze came along it and Jaffir on the brink, waitingfor a canoe, shivered a little.
At the same moment Carter, exhausted by thirty hours of uninterruptedtoil at the head of whites and Malays in getting the yacht afloat,dropped into Mrs. Travers' deck chair, on board the Hermit, said to thedevoted Wasub: "Let a good watch be kept to-night, old man," glancedcontentedly at the setting sun and fell asleep.