In accordance with the Resident’s secretly-issued orders, every European left stood in readiness to flee to the Residency island, where the little garrison, under the care of a subaltern, kept strict watch and ward, and held themselves prepared to go to the aid of the merchants and their families, should there be need.
But day after day glided by, and still no doctor – no news.
“Poor Mr Perowne!” said Mrs Bolter one afternoon, as she sat talking to Grey Stuart, and discussing the terrible state of his affairs, of which the merchant made no secret; “it will be a sad downfall for them; but there, there, merchants fall and rise again very quickly, and let’s hope all will come right in the end – Wasn’t that the doctor’s step, my dear?”
“No,” said Grey, quietly, as she tried to look free from uneasiness.
“I wish we could get some news, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter.
“All in good time,” said Grey, looking happier than she felt. “We shall hear soon.”
“I – I hope so, my dear,” sighed Mrs Bolter; “but it is very sad to be a wife, waiting as I wait.”
“But with patience now,” said Grey, smiling. “You are happy now in your mind?”
“Ye-s! Oh! yes I am now, my dear; and I will never let such thoughts gain an entrance again.”
“I know you will not,” said Grey, leaning towards her to lay her hand upon the little lady’s arm, in token of gentle sympathy, for the tears were in Mrs Bolter’s eyes, and she showed in pallor how deeply she was feeling the absence of husband and brother.
That day the little station appeared as it were asleep in the hot sunshine, and the silence was oppressive in the extreme. One of the Malays, who seemed to take an interest in Mrs Bolter, consequent upon his having been cured by the doctor of a very dangerous complaint, had been started up the river in his boat, to see if he could learn any news of the party, and this messenger was anxiously expected back.
“I can’t help it, my dear,” said Mrs Bolter, turning to Grey, after some hours’ silence, “I can’t help thinking that something serious is wrong. Oh! how shocking it would be to be deprived of our protectors!”
“But Dr Bolter has been away for longer at a time than this, has he not?” said Grey, as she sat there, wondering whether the officers of the expedition were safe – above all, Captain Hilton.
“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, with a sigh; “he has been away longer before now; but no news of my brother – no news of him – it is very hard to bear.”
“No, no, no,” whispered Grey, passing a soft arm round her neck; “try and be patient – try and think hopefully of everything. We must be patient at a time like this.”
“But you cannot feel as I do, my dear,” cried Mrs Bolter. “You have friends away, but not one whom you dwell upon as I do.”
Grey’s eyes wore a very piteous aspect, but she said nothing, only did battle with a sigh, which conquered and fought its way from her labouring breast.
“But I am trying, Grey, my darling,” said the little woman, drying her eyes; “you know how patient I have been, and how I have taken your advice. Not one allusion have I made to the Inche Maida since you talked to me as you did. Now, have I not been patient?”
“You have indeed,” said Grey, smiling at her sadly.
“And I’m going to take your advice thoroughly, for I’m beginning to think that the little girl I began by patronising has grown wiser than I. There, you see, I have dried my eyes, and – Bless my heart, here is Mr Stuart, and he will see that I have been crying.”
She jumped up and ran out of the room as the little merchant came to the door, and entered without ceremony.
“Well, Grey, my bairnie,” he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.
“You have news, father?” cried Grey, eagerly. “Pray speak!”
“Well, don’t hurry me, child,” he replied. “I’ve just come from the landing-stage – and I’ve seen that Malay fellow, Syed – and he says the expedition is coming back.”
“Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?”
“Syed has just come down with the stream. The water’s low and they’ve got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon.”
“But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray – pray speak!”
“Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right,” said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.
“But Helen? Have they found Helen?”
“It seems not, from what the fellow knew,” said the merchant, coolly. “Where’s Mrs Bolter?” he said, in a low voice.
Grey’s heart seemed to stand still. “Oh! father!” she sighed, “is he hurt?”
“No; he’s aboard,” replied the merchant. “But where is she?”
“She left the room as you came in; but why do you not speak out?”
“I was thinking o’ Mrs Bolter, my dear. Isn’t she a bit – you know – jealous, lassie?”
“Don’t ask me such questions, father,” cried Grey, in a low voice. “What do you mean?”
“I’m thinking she’ll be a bit put out if it is as I hear.”
“Why, father?” cried Grey, as her mind filled with strange imaginations. “But tell me quickly,” she whispered, “is Mr Chumbley safe?”
“Yes, yes,” said old Stuart; “he’s safe enough, lassie.”
“And – and – ”
“The Resident? Yes; he’s well.”
“But father, you – you have not told me about Captain Hilton.”
“Hilton? Oh, ay, he’s all well! Hang it if here isn’t that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed.”
As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.
“No news – no news of poor Mr Rosebury!” she cried; “but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter – my dear Mrs Bolter!”
“What is it – what is it?” cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. “You’ve brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me – speak directly!”
“Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fortitude.”
“Yes, I will,” she panted. “My brother – is dead!”
“No, no,” sobbed Mrs Barlow; “there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!”
“All? All what?” cried Mrs Bolter.
“They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida’s.”
“I knew it!” cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.
“And he and the Inche Maida have been up one of the little rivers in his boat, and the officers caught them, and brought them back.”
Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.
Help in Need
If little Mrs Bolter had seen her lord – the quiet, suave medical man, who by his genuine admiration had so late in life won her heart – she would have trembled with the idea that he was about to fall down in a fit of apoplexy. For as he realised who was the showily-dressed Malay who had taken Helen Perowne in his arms, he first turned sallow with the heart-sinking sensation consequent upon seeing his helpless charge in the hands of one who, spite of his assumption of English manners and customs, remained at heart a fierce and unscrupulous savage.
But the next moment the pallor passed away, his face flushed with rage, and as his indignation increased, he became absolutely purple.
He made a furious struggle to escape from those who held him and get to Helen’s side; for in those angry moments his English blood was on fire, and little, stout, short-winded, and pretty well exhausted by previous efforts as he was, he forgot everything but the fact that there was a helpless girl – an English lady – in deadly peril, and asking his aid. Numbers – personal danger – his own want of weapons – all were forgotten; and the little doctor would have attempted anything then that the bravest hero could have ventured to save Helen Perowne from her captors.
But it was not to be: one man, however, brave, when left to his natural strength of arm, is as nothing against a score; and literally foaming now with rage, Doctor Bolter, as he was mastered by the Sultan’s men, had nothing left but his tongue for weapon, and this – let him receive justice – he used to the best of his power while Murad remained on deck.
Dog, coward, reptile, contemptible villain, disgrace to humanity, fiend in human form, scoundrel whom he would kick – these and scores of similar opprobrious terms the doctor applied to the Rajah, making the crew of the prahu scowl and mutter, and draw their krisses in a threatening manner, as they looked at Murad for orders to slay the infidel dog who dared revile their chief.
But in his calm triumph Murad stood gazing in a sneering irritating way at the doctor, speaking no word, but seeming to say – so the doctor interpreted it:
“Curse and rail as you will, I have won, and no words of yours can hurt me.”
“Will nothing move you, dog that you are?” cried the doctor. “Oh, if I had but my liberty!” and his rage increased to such a pitch that his anger approached the ridiculous, for, failing English terms, he turned round and swore at the Rajah in Latin, in French, and finally rolled out a series of ponderous German oaths garnished with many-syllabled adjectives.
Murad seemed moved at last, and after calmly walking to and fro the bamboo deck, he suddenly turned upon the doctor.
“Silence, English dog!” he hissed; “or my men shall kris you, and throw you out!”
“Dog yourself!” roared the doctor. “Oh! if I had you sick in bed for twenty-four hours! I’d – ”
“Silence!” roared Murad, fiercely, for he noted the ominous looks of his men, and felt that if he did not resent these insults he would be losing caste amongst them; and as he spoke he struck the doctor – bound and helpless as he was as to his hands, and held by a couple of the prahu’s crew – a violent blow across the mouth.
The doctor’s lip was cut, and the blood trickled down his chin as the Rajah turned contemptuously from him, and then staggered head first, and finally fell prone upon his face. For it was the only retaliation in Doctor Bolter’s power, and he took it: as the Rajah turned, the doctor threw all the strength he had left into one tremendous kick, as a scoundrel should be kicked, and the above was the result.
Furious with rage the Rajah struggled to his feet, whipped out his kris and dashed at the prisoner; but just then there was a warning shout, and a small sampan that had been coming rapidly down-stream hitched on to the prahu, and one of the occupants climbed on board.
He ran to the Rajah, and said something in a low voice which made Murad turn colour; and hastily thrusting his kris back in its sheath, he began to issue orders to his crew.
“I’m glad he didn’t kill me,” muttered the doctor; “I’m glad for Mary’s sake; but I’m not sorry I kicked the villain all the same. What are they about to do now?”
He soon learned, for the Sultan’s orders resulted in the prahu’s crew imitating his boatmen’s manoeuvre, running her close into the bank and under the shelter of the broad, overhanging boughs, the place being so well suited that even the large naga was entirely concealed.
As soon as these plans were being carried out, the doctor had been hurried – in spite of some resistance – into the after-part of the boat, where he was roughly thrown down upon the deck; but he knew from what was being done that help must be close at hand – and help of a substantial nature, or else the occupants of this large and well-armed craft would not have hidden and left the river clear.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “it may be meant as an ambush, and some of our friends are running the risk of capture.”
He felt lightened though at heart, and lay perfectly still – not in obedience to his captors, but to listen as he gazed straight up at the leaves and boughs above his head.
The time went on, and from being red hot with passion the doctor began to cool down; his heart had ceased to bound, and the burning sensation in his temples became less painful. He wondered where they had placed Helen, then whether there was any boat coming down the river; and at last, so still was everybody, so silent the leafy arcade, that the doctor’s natural history proclivities began to be even then aroused.
For as he lay there upon his back, first one and then another brilliant fly came and darted about through the network of sunrays; while soon after there was a beautiful bird perched upon a twig not ten feet from his face, where he could see the varied tinting of its feathers. Then, as it flew off, he saw what had alarmed it, and that it was not the crew of the boat, but first one and then another, till there were quite half a dozen monkeys of an extremely rare kind climbing and playing about in the branches of one of the biggest trees. Then came close to him a wonderfully-tinted parroquet, and then a lustrous sunbird began to dart about in an open space.
“If I only had my gun,” muttered the enthusiast; and then he was listening intently to the beat of oars.
The doctor’s thoughts were interrupted the next moment by some one kneeling down beside him, and he saw the gleaming eyes and white teeth of Murad, who drew the doctor’s attention to a bare kris which he held in his hand, and then pointed at his prisoner.
“Look!” he whispered; “if you make a sound while that boat goes by, I shall kill you as I would a dog!”
“Thankye,” said the doctor, quietly; and he lay still thinking.
There was help coming – help for him and for the poor girl whom he had sworn to protect. If he let that help go by he would be resigning Helen Perowne to a fate worse than death; and growing enthusiastic as he thought, he mused on, telling himself that he was an Englishman and very brave, and that he’d die sooner than not make an effort to save the poor girl in his charge.
Then he shuddered as he thought of death, and felt that he would like to live longer at any cost, and that he dare not risk his life; but directly after he began comforting himself with the idea that if matters came to the worst, and he did call for help, the chances were great against Murad striking him in a vital place.
“And I can cure a wound,” he muttered; “and as to poison on those krisses, it’s an old woman’s tale.”
All this time the sound of the oars had come nearer and nearer, till to the doctor they seemed to be just abreast.
But no; they were still coming nearer, and his heart began to beat furiously, as, taking advantage of Murad’s head being turned, the doctor freed his hands from their bonds and then lay thinking.
Should he risk it? Should he give it up?
Life was very sweet. So was honour; and that poor girl had claimed his protection.
“And how could I look her father in the face if I did not try my best to save her?” he thought.
Still the sound of oars came nearer —beat, beat – beat, beat; and now he knew that the boat must be nearly abreast – so plainly did the plashing sound.
He looked up at Murad, who, kris in hand, was listening and watching together. He glanced at the dull-hued wavy blade, and saw its keen point and edge, thinking with a kind of curiosity how wide a wound it would make in him as he recollected how many he had cured for the men who had been in engagements; and then he asked the question again:
“Should he risk his life for Helen’s sake?”
The sound of the oars was louder than ever; and now he knew that the boat must be really abreast – and an English one too – otherwise why this hiding and the Rajah’s anxious look?
“Not only for Helen’s sake, but as an Englishman’s duty,” he said to himself; and he drew a long breath.
“Help!” he roared, “help! boat ah!”
He would have said “Ahoy!” but with a snarl like that of a wild cat, Murad threw himself upon his prisoner, striking savagely at his breast with the keen weapon, to pin him to the naga’s bamboo deck.
But with the effort of a man striving to save his life, the doctor managed to wrench himself a little on one side, and the keen kris passed between his breast and arm as he seized the Rajah by the throat.
The struggle that followed was almost a matter of moments, before Doctor Bolter went over the side, plunging down into deep water, and rising outside the screen of leaves, to swim vigorously towards the English boat, which was coming rapidly towards where the Rajah’s naga lay.
A spear splashed into the water by the doctor’s head, but the boughs prevented the thrower from taking a good aim; and almost directly after the swimmer was hauled on board, and the Rajah’s naga was seen to be trying to steal out some fifty yards ahead.
A call to surrender was answered by a shout of defiance, and the Malays began to manfully ply their oars; but a volley from the soldiers’ pieces seemed to quell their ardour and to cause confusion, in the midst of which the English boat dashed alongside, and Hilton, Chumbley, the Resident, and a score of the soldiers poured over the side, driving the spear-armed crew below, the Rajah going down from a cut over the forehead from the Resident’s sword.
The naga was mastered; and the doctor, hunting out where Helen had been placed, she was soon afterwards sobbing in her father’s arms.
Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Three.
The Return to Sindang
For a time no one spoke in the doctor’s cottage; but old Stuart took a very large and a very loud pinch of snuff, which seemed as if he had been loading his nose with powder, for it went off directly after with a report-like sneeze that made the jalousies rattle.
“Is – is this – these words – are they true?” said Mrs Bolter, at last, with unnatural calmness.
“Yes, yes, my dear, quite true!” cried Mrs Barlow, excitedly.
“Did – did you hear anything of this, Mr Stuart?” said Mrs Bolter, in a low, constrained voice.
“Well, I did hear – am I to tell you?”
“Yes – everything,” replied Mrs Bolter, now perfectly cool and calm.
“I heard that the doctor had been found up the river somewhere with a black lady in his boat; but I didn’t hear it was the Inche Maida.”
“But my heart told me it was,” muttered poor little Mrs Bolter, whose good resolutions were all swept away by her agonising feeling of jealousy. Then aloud, with a fierce look of anger, but speaking in quite a hoarse whisper, “Go!” she said, pointing to the door. “You wicked woman, go! You have taken delight in coming to tell me this!”
“No, no!” cried Mrs Barlow, bursting into tears; “it was from friendship – from the sisterly love I have for you! It was for your brother’s sake!”
“If – if ever my brother returns, he shall never speak to you – bad, weak, wicked woman that you are! Leave my house!”
“But, Mrs Bolter – dear Mrs Bolter – ”
“Leave my house!” continued the little woman in the same low, excited whisper; and she seemed to advance so menacingly upon the merchant’s widow, that she backed to the door in alarm, and regularly fled.
“Dear Mrs Bolter – ” began Grey.
“Don’t speak to me, my dear,” said the little lady. “I’m not at all angry. I’m perfectly calm. There, you see how quiet I am. Not the least bit in a passion.”
Certainly she was speaking in a low, passionless voice, but there was a peculiar whiteness in the generally rather florid face.
“But the news may not be true,” pleaded Grey; “and even if it is, what then? Oh, Mrs Bolter, pray think!”
“Yes, my dear,” said the little lady, “I have thought, and I’m quite calm. I shall suffer it, though, no more. I shall wait till my dear brother is found, and then I shall go straight back to England. I shall go by the first boat. I will pack up my things at once, and get ready. You see I am quite calm. Mr Stuart, you have always been very kind to me.”
“Well, I don’t know, not verra,” said the old Scot; “but ye’ve been verra good to Grey here.”
“I’m going to ask a favour of you, Mr Stuart.”
“Annything I can do for ye, Mrs Bolter, I will.”
“Then will you give me shelter with Grey here for a few weeks?”
“Or a few months or years if ye like,” said the old man, taking a liberal pinch of snuff; “but ye needn’t fash yourself. You won’t leave Harry Bolter.”
“Not leave him?” said the little lady, with forced calmness.
“Not you, for I don’t believe there’s aught wrong. It’s a bit patient he’s found up the river, and if it isn’t, it’s somebody else; and even if it wasn’t, ye’d just give him a bit o’ your mind, and then you’d forgive him.”
“Forgive him?” said Mrs Bolter; “I was always suspicious of these expeditions.”
“Always,” assented old Stuart. “He has told me so a score of times.”
“Then more shame for him!” cried Mrs Bolter; “How dare he! No, Mr Stuart, I am not angry, and I shall not say a word; but I shall wait till my poor brother is found, and then go back to England.”
She sat down very quietly, and sat gazing through the window; while old Stuart went on taking snuff in a very liberal manner, glancing from time to time at the irate little lady, to whom Grey kept whispering and striving to bring her to reason.
This went on for a good hour, till Grey was in despair; when suddenly Mrs Bolter sprang to her feet, red now with excitement, as she pointed through the window.
“Am I to bear this?” she said, in the same whisper. “Look, Grey! Look, Mr Stuart! You see! He is coming home, and he is bringing this woman with him!”
Grey started, for there indeed was the doctor, leading a closely-veiled Malay lady, apparently walking slowly and leaning heavily upon his arm.
Old Stuart took another pinch of snuff, and made a good deal of noise over it, as a cynical smile began to dawn upon his face; and he watched little Mrs Bolter, who drew herself up and stood with one hand resting upon the back of a chair.
“What can I say to her?” murmured Grey to herself. Then softly to Mrs Bolter:
“Pray listen to him: it is only some mistake.”
“Yes, my dear, I will listen,” said Mrs Bolter, calmly; and then she drew a long catching breath, and her eyes half-closed.
Just then the doctor threw open the door, and carefully led in his companion.
“Ah, Grey, you here!” he cried. “Back again. Mary, my love! I’ve brought you a surprise.”
He dropped his companion’s hand, and she stood there veiled and swaying slightly, while he made as if to embrace his wife.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed, as she shrank away.
“Don’t – don’t touch me,” she cried, in a low, angry voice, “never again, Bolter; I could not bear it!”
“Why, what the – Oh, I see! Of course! Ha, ha, ha!”
Mrs Bolter stared at him fiercely, then at his companion, as in a curious, hasty way, she tore away her veil with trembling hands, revealing the swarthy skin and blackened and filed teeth, seen between her parted lips; her hair dark as that of the Inche Maida, and fastened up roughly in the Malay style. She was trying to speak, for her bosom was heaving, her hands working; and at last she darted an agonising glance at Grey Stuart, who was trembling in wonderment and fear.
The next moment the stranger had thrown herself at Mrs Bolter’s feet, and was clinging to her dress, as she cried hysterically:
“Mrs Bolter – Grey – have pity on me! You do not know?”
“Helen!” cried Grey; and she filing her arms round her schoolfellow, as Mrs Bolter uttered that most commonplace of common expressions —
“Oh! my goodness, gracious me!”
“Yes, Helen Perowne it is, my dears,” said the little doctor, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “I think I found Solomon’s Ophir this time, eh?”
“Henry! – Henry!” panted Mrs Bolter; “what does this mean?”
“Mean? That you haven’t given me a kiss, my dear! Never mind the company. That’s better,” he cried, as he took the kiss – audibly.
“But you don’t explain, Henry.”
“Explain, my dear,” said the doctor, softly, as he pointed to where Helen lay with her face buried in Grey Stuart’s breast. “Nothing to explain; only that I was up one of the rivers and found the lost one here before the expedition came. But didn’t I say so, Stuart, old fellow? It was Murad, after all.”
A low moan from Helen made Mrs Bolter dart towards her.
“Oh! my child, my child! and to come back to us like this!” cried Mrs Bolter, helping Grey to place Helen upon the couch, the tears running down her cheeks the while; and all dislike to the station beauty seeming to have passed away as she took the swarthy head to her bosom, and knelt there, rocking herself softly to and fro.
“Can we do anything to help, doctor?” said old Stuart, in a whisper.
“No: let ’em all have a good cry together. Nature’s safety valve, old fellow,” said the doctor, coolly.
