The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection. George Fraser MacDonald
’em to grow up, at that rate, or achieve any self-respect at all.”
“You can’t,” says Brooke briskly. “No Asiatic is fit to govern, anyway.”
“And Europeans are?” says Paitingi, snorting.
“Only to govern Asiatics,” says Brooke. “A glass of wine with you, Flashman. But I’ll give you this, Paitingi – you can rule Asiatics only by living among them. You cannot govern them from London, or Paris, or Lisbon—”
“Aye, but Dundee, now?” says Paitingi, stroking his red beard, and when the roar of laughter had died down Brooke cries:
“Why, you old heathen, you have never been nearer to Dundee than Port Said! Observe,” says he to me, “that in old Paitingi you have the ultimate flowering of a mixture of east and west – an Arab-Malay father and a Caledonian mother. Ah, the cruel fate of the half-caste – he has spent fifty years trying to reconcile the Kirk with the Koran.”
“They’re no’ that different,” says Paitingi, “an’ at least they’re baith highly superior tae the Book o’ Common Prayer.”
I was interested to see the way they railed at each other, as only very close friends do. Brooke obviously had an immense respect for Paitingi Ali; however, now that the talk had touched on religion, he began to hold forth again on an interminable prose about how he had recently written a treatise against Article 90 of the “Oxford Tracts”, whatever they were, which lasted to the end of the meal. Then, with due solemnity, he proposed the Queen, which was drunk sitting down, Navy fashion, and while the rest of us talked and smoked, Brooke went through a peculiar little ceremony which, I suppose, explained better than anything else the hold he had on his native subjects.
All through the meal, a most curious thing had been happening. While the courses and wine had come with all due ceremony, and we had been buffing in, I’d noticed that every few minutes a Malay, or Dyak, or half-breed would come into the room, touch Brooke’s hand as they passed his chair, and then go to squat near the wall by Jingo. No one paid them any notice; they seemed to be all sorts, from a near-naked beggarly rascal to a well-dressed Malay in gold sarong and cap, but they were all armed – I learned later that it was a great insult to come into the White Raja’s presence without your krees, which is the strange, wavy-bladed knife of the people.
In any event, while the rest of us gassed, Brooke turned his chair, beckoned each suppliant in turn, and talked with him quietly in Malay. One after another they came to hunker down beside him, putting their cases or telling their tales, while he listened, leaning forward with elbows on knees, nodding attentively. Then he would pronounce, quietly, and they would touch hands again and go; the rest of us might as well not have been there. When I asked Stuart about it later, he said: “Oh, that’s J.B. ruling Sarawak. Simple, ain’t it?”22
When the last native had gone Brooke sat in a reverie for a moment or two, and then swung abruptly to the table.
“No singing tonight,” says he. “Business. Let’s have that map, Crimble.” We crowded round, the lamps were turned up, shining on the ring of sunburned faces under the wreath of cigar smoke, and Brooke tapped the table. I felt my belly muscles tightening.
“We know what’s to do, gentlemen,” cries he, “and I’ll answer that the task is one that strikes a spark in the heart of every one of us. A fair and gentle lady, the beloved wife of one here, is in the hands of a bloody pirate; she is to be saved, and he destroyed. By God’s grace, we know where the quarry lies, not sixty miles from where we sit, on the Batang Lupar, the greatest lair of robbers in these Islands, save Mindanao itself. Look at it” – his finger stabbed the map – “first, Sharif Jaffir and his slaver fleet, at Fort Linga; beyond him, the great stronghold of Sharif Sahib at Patusan; farther on, at Undup, the toughest nut of all – the fortress of the Skrang pirates under Sharif Muller. Was ever a choicer collection of villains on one river? Add to ’em now the arch-d---l, Suleiman Usman, who has stolen away Mrs Flashman in dastardly fashion. She is the key to his vile plan, gentlemen, for he knows we cannot leave her in his clutches an hour longer than we must.” He gave my shoulder a manly squeeze; everyone else was carefully avoiding my eye. “He realizes that chivalry will not permit us to wait. You know him, Flashman; is this not how his scheming mind will reason?”
I didn’t doubt it, and said so. “He’s made a fortune in the City, too, and plays a d----d dirty game of single-wicket,” I added, and Brooke nodded sympathetically.
“He knows I dare not delay, even if it means going after him with only the piecemeal force I have here – fifty praus and two thousand men, a third of which I must leave to garrison Kuching. Even so, Usman knows I must take at least a week to prepare – a week in which he can muster his praus and savages, outnumbering us ten to one, and make ready his ambushes along the Lupar, confident that we’ll stumble into them half-armed and ill-prepared—”
“Stop it, before I start wishin’ I was on their side,” mutters Wade, and Brooke laughed in his conceited fashion and threw back his black curls.
“Why, he’ll wipe us out to the last man!” cries he. “That’s his beastly scheme. That,” he smiled complacently round at us, “is what Suleiman Usman thinks.”
Paitingi sighed. “But, of course, he’s wrong, the puir heathen,” says he with heavy sarcasm. “Ye’ll tell us how.”
“You may wager the Bank to a tinker’s dam he’s wrong!” cries Brooke, his face alive with swank and excitement. “He expects us in a week – he shall have us in two days! He expects us with two-thirds of our strength – well, we’ll show him all of it! I’ll strip Kuching of every man and gun and leave it defenceless – I’ll stake everything on this throw!” He beamed at us, bursting with confidence. “Surprise, gentlemen – that’s the thing! I’ll catch the rascal napping before he’s laid his infernal toils! What d’you say?”
I know what I’d have said, if I’d been talking just then. I’d never heard such lunacy in my life, and neither had the others by the look of them. Paitingi snorted.
“Ye’re mad! It’ll no’ do.”
“I know, old fellow,” grins Brooke. “What then?”
“Ye’ve said it yersel’! There’s a hundred mile o’ river between Skrang creek and the sea, every yard o’ it hotchin’ wi’ pirates, slavers, nata-hutan,c an’ heid-hunters by the thousand, every side-stream crawlin’ wi’ war-praus an’ bankongs, tae say nothin’ o’ the forts! Surprise, says you? By Eblis, I ken who’ll be surprised! We’ve done oor share o’ river-fightin’, but this—” he waved a great red hand. “Withoot a well-fitted expedition in strength – man, it’s fatal folly.”
“He’s right, J.B.,” says Keppel. “Anyway, even the poor force we’ve got couldn’t be ready in two days—”
“Yes, it can, though. In one, if necessary.”
“Well, even then – you might catch Fort Linga unprepared, but after that they’ll be ready for you upriver.”
“Not at the speed I’ll move!” cries Brooke. “The messenger of disaster from Linga to Patusan will have us on his heels! We’ll carry all before us, all the way to Skrang if need be!”
“But Kuching?” Stuart protested. “Why, the Balagnini or those beastly Lanun could sweep it up while our back was turned.”
“Never!” Brooke was exultant. “They won’t know it’s naked! And suppose they did – why, we’d just have to begin all over again, wouldn’t we? You talk about the odds against us on the Lupar – were they a whit better at Seribas, or Murdu? Were they any better when you and I, George, took all Sarawak with six guns and a leaky pleasure-yacht? I tell you, gentlemen, I can have this thing over and done in a fortnight! D’you doubt me? Have I ever failed, and will I fail now, when there is a poor, weak creature crying out for rescue,