East, that's all! You're not serious - bless me, how long have you been in Singapore?'
'Not long enough, evidently. All I know is that he and you and your … ah, friends … rescued me mighty handy the other night, and that since then he's very kindly taken charge of operations to do the same for my wife.'
He blessed himself again, heartily, and enlightened me with frightening enthusiasm.
'J.B. - His Royal Highness James Brooke - is the King of Sarawak, that's who he is. I thought the whole world had heard of the White Raja! Why, he's the biggest thing in these parts since Raffles - bigger, even. He's the law, the prophet, the Grand Panjandrum, the tuan besar*(* Great lord.)- the whole kitboodle! He's the scourge of every pirate and brigand on the Borneo coast - the best fighting seaman since Nelson, for my money - he tamed Sarawak, which was the toughest nest of rebels and head-hunters this side of Papua, he's its protector, its ruler, and to the natives, its saint! Why, they worship him down yonder - and more power to 'em, for he's the truest friend, the fairest judge, and the noblest, whitest man in the whole wide world! That's who J.B. is.'
'My word, I'm glad he happened along,' says I. 'I didn't know we had a colony in - Sarawak, d'you call it?'
'We haven't. It's not British soil. J.B. is nominal governor for the Sultan of Brunei - but it's his kingdom, not Queen Victoria's. How did he get it? Why, he sailed in there four years ago, after the d-mfool Company Army pensioned him off for overstaying his furlough. He'd bought this brig, the Royalist, you see, with some cash his guv'nor left him, and just set off on his own account.' He laughed, shaking his head. 'God, we were mad! There were nineteen of us, with one little ship, and six six-pounder guns, and we got a kingdom with it! J.B. delivered the native people from slavery, drove out their oppressors, gave 'em a proper government - and now, with a few little boats, his loyal natives, and those of us who've survived, he's fighting single-handed to drive piracy out of the Islands and make them safe for honest folk.'19
'Very commendable,' says I. 'But isn't that the East India Company's job - or the navy's?'
'Bless you, they couldn't even begin it!' cries he. 'There's barely a British squadron in all these enormous waters - and the pirates are numbered in tens upon tens of thousands. I've seen fleets of five hundred praus and bankongs - those are their warboats - cruising together, crammed with fighting men and cannon, and behind them hundreds of miles of coastline in burning ruin - towns wiped out, thousands slaughtered, women carried off as slaves, every peaceful vessel plundered and sunk - I tell you, the Spanish Main was nothing to it! They leave a trail of destruction and torture and abomination wherever they go. They set our navy and the Dutch at defiance, and hold the Islands in terror - they have a slave-market at Sulu where hundreds of human beings are bought and sold daily; even the kings and rajas pay them tribute - when they aren't pirates themselves. Well, J.B. don't like it, and he means to put a stop to it.'
'Hold on, though - what can he do, if even the navy's powerless?'
'He's J.B.,' says Stuart, simply, with that drunk, smug look you see on a child's face when his father mends a toy. 'Of course, he gets the navy to help - why, we had three navy vessels at Murdu in February, when he wiped out the Sumatra robbers - but his strength is with the honest native peoples - some of 'em were once pirates themselves, and head-hunters, like the Sea Dyaks, until J.B. showed 'em better. He puts spirit into them, bullies and wheedles the rajas, gathers news of the pirates, and when they least expect it, takes his expeditions against their forts and harbours, fights 'em to a standstill, burns their ships, and either makes 'em swear to keep the peace, or else! That's why everyone in Singapore jumps when he whistles - why, how long d'you think it would have taken them to do anything about your missus - months, years even? But J.B. says 'Go!' and don't they just! And if I'd gone along Beach Road this morning looking for people to bet that J.B. couldn't rescue her, good as new, and destroy this swine Suleiman Usman - well, I'd not have got a single taker, at a hundred to one. He'll do it, all right. You'll see.'
'But why?' says I, without thinking, and he frowned. 'I mean,' I added, 'he hardly knows me - and he's never even met my wife - but the way he's gone about this, you'd think we were - well, his dearest relatives.'
'Well, that's his way, you know. Anything for a friend - and with a lady involved, of course, that makes it all the more urgent - to him. He's a bit of a knight-errant, is J.B. Besides, he likes you.'
'What? He don't even know me.'
'Don't he, though! Why, I remember when we got the news of the great deeds you'd done at Kabul, 'B. talked of nothing else for days, read all the papers, kept exclaiming over your defence of Piper's Fort. `That's the man for me!' he kept saying. `By Jingo, what wouldn't I give to have him out here! We'd see the last pirate out of the China Sea between us!' Well, now he's got you - I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't move heaven and earth to keep you.'
You can guess how this impressed me. I could see, of course, that J.B. was just the man for the task in hand - if anyone could bring Elspeth off, more or less undamaged, it was probably he, for he seemed to be the same kind of desperate, stick-at-nothing adventurer I'd known in Afghanistan - wild men like Georgie Broadfoot and Sekundar Burnes. The trouble with fellows like those is that they're d---d dangerous to be alongside; it would be capital if I could arrange it that Brooke went off a-rescuing while I stayed safe in the rear, hallooing encouragement, but my wound was healing nicely, blast it, and the outlook was disquieting.
It was a question which was still vexing me four days later when the Dido, under sweeps, came gliding over a sea like blue glass to the mouth of the Kuching river, and I saw for the first time those brilliant golden beaches washed with foam, the low green flats of mangrove creeping to the water's edge among the little islands, the palm-fringed creeks, and in the distant southern haze the mountains of Borneo.
'Paradise!' exclaims Stuart, breathing in the warm air, 'and I don't give a damn if I never see Dover cliffs again. Look at it - half a million square miles of the loveliest land in the world, unexplored, except for this little corner. Sarawak's where civilization begins and ends, you know - go a day's march in yonder'— he pointed towards the mountains -
'and if you're still alive you'll be among head-hunters who've never seen a white man. Ain't it capital, though?'
I couldn't say it was. The river, as we went slowly up it, was broad enough, and the land green and fertile, but it had that steamy look that spells fever, and the air was hot and heavy. We passed by several villages, some of them partly built over the water on stilts, with long, primitive thatched houses; the water itself was as warm with canoes and small boats, manned by squat, ugly, grinning little men like Jingo; I don't suppose one of them stood more than five feet, but they looked tough as teak. They wore simple loin-cloths, with rings round their knees, and head-cloths; some had black and white feathers in their hair. The women were fairer than the men, although no taller, and decidedly good-looking, in an impudent, pug-nosed way; they wore their hair long, down their backs, and went naked except for kilts, swinging their bums and udders in a way that did your heart good to see. (They couple like stoats, by the way, but only with men of proved bravery. In a country where the usual engagement ring is a human head, it follows that you have to be bloodthirsty in order to get your muttons.)
'Sea Dyaks,' says Stuart. 'The bravest, cheeriest folk you'll ever see - fight like tigers, cruel as the grave, but loyal as Swiss. Listen to 'em jabber - that's the coast lingua franca, part Malay, but with Portuguese, French, Dutch, and English thrown in. Amiga sua!' cries he, waving to one of the boatmen - that, I learned, means 'my friend', which gives you some notion.
Sarawak, as Stuart said, might be the civilized corner of Borneo, but as we drew closer to Kuching you could see that it was precious like an armed camp. There was a huge log boom across the river, which had to be swung open so that Dido could warp through, and on the low bluffs either side there were gun emplacements, with cannon peeping through the earthworks; there were cannon, too, on the three strange craft at anchor inside the boom - they were like galleys, with high stern and forecastles, sixty or seventy feet long, with their great oars resting in the water like the legs of some monstrous insect.
'War praus,' cries Stuart. 'By Jove, there's something up - those are Lundu boats. J. B.'s mustering his forces with a vengeance!'
We rounded a bend, and came in sight of Kuching proper; it wasn't much of a place, just a sprawling native town, with a few Swiss cottages on the higher ground, but the river was jammed with ships and boats of every description - at least a score of praus and barges, light sailing cutters, launches, canoes, and even a natty little paddle-steamer. The bustle and noise were tremendous, and as Dido dropped anchor in mid-stream she was surrounded by swarms of little boats, from one of which the enormous figure of Paitingi Ali came swinging up to the deck, to present himself to Keppel, and then come over to us.
'Aye, weel,' says he, in that astonishing accent which sounded so oddly with his occasional pious Muslim exclamations. 'He was right again. The Praise tae the One.'
