“Isn’t it glorious, Jack, my lad?” said the doctor, wiping the spray out of his eyes and off his beard, just in the height of the storm. “I don’t know how you find it, but it excites me.”
“I like it,” said Jack quietly; “it seems so grand, and as if the yacht was laughing at the waves and tossing them off to right and left. I wonder whether Captain Bradleigh would let me steer.”
“I hope not,” said the doctor, with a droll look of puzzledom in his face. “Why, what’s come to you, you reckless young scamp? No, thank you. If you’re going to be indulged in any luxuries of that kind, I’m going to land at Penang or Singapore, and make my way home by the next boat that touches.”
Jack laughed.
“Don’t believe it,” he said. “But doesn’t it seem as if it would be nice to have full command of the yacht like that, and send her here and there just as one liked?”
“Can’t say that my desires run in that groove, Jack, my lad; I’m quite content to play the part of looker-on. But this storm is grand, and it’s splendid to see how the little vessel shakes the water off her and rushes through it all. But I did want some calmer weather; we haven’t done a bit of fishing since we left the Red Sea, and I meant to try every day. Well, captain, how long is this going to last?”
“Another twelve hours, I should say,” replied the captain, “and then we shall have calm weather all the way to Singapore, and with the exception of a few thunderstorms, light winds among the islands.”
It turned out exactly as the captain had said. The weather calmed rapidly, and their run down to the equator, between the Malay peninsula and Sumatra, was in brilliant hot weather all through the morning; while early in the afternoon, with wonderful regularity, there came on a tremendous thunderstorm, with peals heavier and lightning more vivid than anything Jack had ever encountered, and then at the end of a couple of hours all was clear again, and the evening was comparatively cool and beautifully fine.
Singapore was so fresh and attractive that of necessity a few days were spent there, before a fresh start was made for a cruise through the islands in the region which was now exciting Jack’s expectations. Soon after they were passing great heavy-looking junks with their Celestial crews, or light Malay prahus with their swarthy, coffee-coloured sailors in tartan skirts, in whose folds at the waist the formidable wavy dagger known as a kris was worn, the handle, like the butt of a pistol in form, carefully covered by the silk or cotton sarong to indicate peace.
“If you see one of them with the handle bare,” said the mate to Jack, “one has to look out, for it means war.”