Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris. George Manville Fenn
what’s the matter? Giddy?”
Archie responded by gripping his companion tightly by the wrist, and the two young men stood listening to a faint rustling away to their left, till every sound they could hear came from behind them, where their commander and the Resident were still talking at the end of the veranda in a low tone.
“Hear that?” said Archie.
“Yes. Cat or some prowling thing smelling after the remains of the dinner.”
“If it had been anything of that kind we shouldn’t have heard its velvet paws.”
“Perhaps not. What do you think it was, then? Not a tiger?”
“No; I thought it must be one of the Malay fellows—a listener.”
“Not it. What would be the good of his listening to a language he couldn’t understand?”
“I don’t know,” said Archie. “Some of these Malays are very deep. Hadn’t we better say something to the Major?”
“Rubbish! No! Why, if it had been some one lurking about, the sentry would have seen him.”
“Yes,” said Archie thoughtfully.
Chapter Seven.
Joe and the Crocs.
About an hour after the last conversation Sergeant Ripsy was giving a few final words of command to the little squad of men whom, to use his own words, he was about to plant, as if they were so many vegetables, at different points about the cantonments, in accordance with the strict military rule kept up, just as though they were in an enemy’s country and it was a time of war.
Arms were shouldered, and there was a halt made here, and a halt made there; and this was repeated until a sentry had been stationed at six different points, where the guard could have full command of so many muddy elephant-paths leading away into the black jungle, as well as of two well-beaten tracks which commanded the river.
It was at the latter of these that the Sergeant, whose task was ended until the hour came for rounds, paused to say a few words to the sentry, a well-built fellow who looked as upright as the rifle he carried; and before speaking Sergeant Ripsy glanced through the clear, transparent darkness of the night to right and left, up and down what seemed to be a brilliant river of black ink, which rippled as it ran swiftly, and sparkled as if sprinkled with diamonds, from the reflections of the stars; for, strangely enough, the fire-flies, which had been so frequent amongst the overhanging vegetation, had now ceased to scintillate.
“Here, you, Corporal Dart, hold up that lantern. A little higher. Now left; now right. That will do.”
The non-com, who knew his Sergeant’s motive, had opened the door of the swinging lantern, and flashed it to and fro so that its light fell athwart the stolid countenance of the sentry, who stood up—as rigid as if he had been an effigy cast in bronze.
“You have been drinking again, sir.”
“Not a drop, Sergeant,” said the man gruffly.
“What’s that?” came fiercely.
“Not a drop, Sergeant; nor yesterday nayther.”
“Smell him, Corporal.”
Sniff, sniff, from the Corporal, accompanied by a mild chuckle from the remains of the strong squad.
“Silence in the ranks!” roared the Sergeant.—“Well, Corporal Dart? Report.”
“Onions, Sergeant; not drink.”
“Faugh! Lucky for you, Private Smithers, for there’s going to be no mercy next time you are caught.”
“Well, but, Sergeant, this is now, and it aren’t next time.”
“Silence! A man who is going on duty must keep his tongue still. Now then, you know the word and what’s your duty. Sentry-go until you are relieved. Strict watch up and down the river, for no boat is to land. If the enemy come, take him prisoner; but you are not to fire without cause.”
“Without what, Sergeant?”
“Cause, idiot. Don’t you know your own language?”
Plosh!
“Oh, there’s one of them big scrawlers. Keep your eyes open, and don’t go to sleep.”
“All right, Sergeant.”
“Don’t be so handy with that tongue of yours, sir. Listen, and don’t talk. Do you know what will happen if you do go to sleep?”
Private Smithers thought of the many scoldings—tongue-thrashings he would have called them—which he had had from his wife, and in answer to the Sergeant’s question he drew himself up more stiffly and sighed.
“I said, sir, do you know what would happen if you went to sleep?”
Private Smithers sighed again, deeply, and thought more.
“Do you hear what I said, sir?” roared the Sergeant.
“Yes, Sergeant; but you said I wasn’t to speak.”
“On duty, sir.”
“Am on duty,” growled the private.
“Well, I said speak, but I meant chatter,” cried the Sergeant. “You may speak now, and answer my question. I said do you know what would happen if you went to sleep?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Well, what?”
“Snore,” growled the man.
“Yah! You are turning into a fool. Don’t you think you would fall down if you went to sleep?”
“No, Sergeant. When I go off on duty I always stand stiff as a ramrod.”
“Oh! Then you confess, sir, you do go to sleep on sentry?”
“Think I did once, Sergeant, but I warn’t sure.”
“Well, now then, look here. You are the most troublesome man in your company, and you are not worth your salt, but your commanding officer doesn’t want to put the War Office to the expense of sending you home; and I don’t want to have to put a fatigue party to the trouble of digging a hole for you in this nasty, swampy jungle earth, with more expense caused by the waste of ammunition in firing three volleys over your grave.”
“No, Sergeant; that would be ’ard.”
“Bah! Of course not,” growled the Sergeant. “I made a mistake. You wouldn’t be there to bury, because as sure as you stand there, and go to sleep, one of them twelve-foot long lizardly crocs as you have seen hundreds of times lying on the top will be watching you, with his eyes just out of the water, and as soon as ever you are fast he will crawl out and have you by the leg and into the river before you know where you are. So if that happens, be careful and leave your rifle ashore.”
“Yes, Sergeant, I’ll mind,” said the man coolly.
“Silence in the ranks!” cried the Sergeant again, for there was the beginning of a chuckle.—“Now then,” he continued, “that’s all. Don’t forget the word—Aldershot; and—oh, keep a very sharp lookout for boats, for that’s the only way an enemy can approach the campong—Eh, what?” said the Sergeant, in response to a growl.
“What shall I do, Sergeant, if one of them big evats comes at me? Am I to fire?”
“Fire? No! What for? Want to alarm the camp?”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t mind tackling a real