’"This is where I was prisoner for three days,”
he murmured to me (it was on the occasion of our visit
to the Rajah), while we were making our way slowly
through a kind of awestruck riot of dependants across
Tunku Allang’s courtyard. “Filthy
place, isn’t it? And I couldn’t get
anything to eat either, unless I made a row about
it, and then it was only a small plate of rice and
a fried fish not much bigger than a stickleback—confound
them! Jove! I’ve been hungry prowling
inside this stinking enclosure with some of these
vagabonds shoving their mugs right under my nose.
I had given up that famous revolver of yours at the
first demand. Glad to get rid of the bally thing.
Look like a fool walking about with an empty shooting-iron
in my hand.” At that moment we came into
the presence, and he became unflinchingly grave and
complimentary with his late captor. Oh! magnificent!
I want to laugh when I think of it. But I was
impressed, too. The old disreputable Tunku Allang
could not help showing his fear (he was no hero, for
all the tales of his hot youth he was fond of telling);
and at the same time there was a wistful confidence
in his manner towards his late prisoner. Note!
Even where he would be most hated he was still trusted.
Jim—as far as I could follow the conversation—was
improving the occasion by the delivery of a lecture.
Some poor villagers had been waylaid and robbed while
on their way to Doramin’s house with a few pieces
of gum or beeswax which they wished to exchange for
rice. “It was Doramin who was a thief,”
burst out the Rajah. A shaking fury seemed to
enter that old frail body. He writhed weirdly
on his mat, gesticulating with his hands and feet,
tossing the tangled strings of his mop—an
impotent incarnation of rage. There were staring
eyes and dropping jaws all around us. Jim began
to speak. Resolutely, coolly, and for some time
he enlarged upon the text that no man should be prevented
from getting his food and his children’s food
honestly. The other sat like a tailor at his board,
one palm on each knee, his head low, and fixing Jim
through the grey hair that fell over his very eyes.
When Jim had done there was a great stillness.
Nobody seemed to breathe even; no one made a sound
till the old Rajah sighed faintly, and looking up,
with a toss of his head, said quickly, “You
hear, my people! No more of these little games.”
This decree was received in profound silence.
A rather heavy man, evidently in a position of confidence,
with intelligent eyes, a bony, broad, very dark face,
and a cheerily of officious manner (I learned later
on he was the executioner), presented to us two cups
of coffee on a brass tray, which he took from the
hands of an inferior attendant. “You needn’t
drink,” muttered Jim very rapidly. I didn’t
perceive the meaning at first, and only looked at
him. He took a good sip and sat composedly, holding
the saucer in his left hand. In a moment I felt
