“Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send,” said the man again.
“Where did you leave him?” said the captain.
“Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send,” repeated the man, parrot fashion, showing plainly enough that he had been trained to use these words and no more.
Captain Smithers unrolled the scrap of native paper to find written thereon,—
“Found the party. Fighting for life in a stockade. Send help in steamer up right river.—Ali.”
“Have you come straight from him?” exclaimed the captain, eagerly.
“Cap-tain Smit-ter, Ali Rajah send,” said the man again.
“Where is Wilson?” cried the captain, “or Gray? Ah, you are here, Gray. You have made some progress with the Malay tongue. See what this man knows.”
Private Gray came forward, and by degrees, and with no little difficulty, learned from the Malay that the English party were in an old stockade upon a branch of the river, forty miles away, defending themselves against a strong body of the sultan’s forces.
“Ask if they are well,” said the captain.