By the time they returned to the camp an al fresco breakfast was ready, half English, half Malay. There were tea and coffee, potted meats and sardines, and side by side with them, delicious Malay curries, made with fresh cocoa-nut, sambals of the most piquant nature, and fresh fish and blachang—that favourite preparation of putrid shrimps. Fruits were in abundance—plantains of various kinds, mangosteens, lychees, and durians smelling strong enough to drive away a dozen Tom Longs, had they been there. In short, the sultan had given orders that his cooks should do their best; similar instructions had been given by Captain Horton and Major Sandars; and the result was a breakfast fit for a prince—who could put up with a picnic and a camp-stool, beneath an umbrageous tree.
“Whatever you gentlemen do,” said Doctor Bolter, “pray restrain your appetites. You see,” he said, taking his seat cross-legged, like the Malays, in front of a dish of blachang, and its neighbour a delicious chicken curry, “you will to-day be exposed a good deal to the heat of the sun; you will exert yourselves, no doubt; and therefore it is advisable that you should be very moderate in what you eat and drink. Thanks, yes, major, I will take a glass of claret before my coffee. What a thing it is that we can get no milk.”
So saying, the doctor set to work, “feeding ferociously,” so Captain Horton said, with a laugh, and partaking of everything that took his fancy, finishing off with a cigarette.
The sultan smiled his satisfaction as he sat at the head of the table, eating little himself, but giving instructions from time to time to his slaves that they should hand fruit and other delicacies to the guests that were near him.
The various officers followed the doctor’s example, telling one another that they could not be far wrong if they imitated their medical guide. The only one who did not seem to enjoy his meal was Mr Linton, who felt worried, he hardly knew why, about their position.
Now that he was away from the residency, an undefined sense of trouble had come upon him, and he could not help feeling how helpless they must be if the Malays turned against them. Certainly they were all well-armed, and could make a brave fight, perhaps win their way back; but if they did, he felt sure that something would have gone wrong at the island.
The preparations for the fresh start chased away his forebodings, and the packing having been rapidly performed, soldier, sailor, and Malay were soon in motion, the long train winding its way through the dense jungle, with the rattan panniers and howdahs of the elephants brushing the lush verdure on either side.
The morning was deliciously cool, and as they went on and on through the forest shades, where at every turn something bright and beautiful met their gaze, the whole party were in the highest spirits; and the discipline only being kept tight as to the order in which they marched, the men laughed and talked, sang and smoked, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.
And certainly it would have moved the spirit of the most cankered denizen of a city to see the beauty of the parasites that clustered and hung from tree to tree. The orchids were of the most brilliant colours; and now and then they passed a lake or pool in the depths of the jungle which would be covered in places with the flower of the lotus, while in every sunny opening the great clusters of nepenthes—the pitcher plant—brightened the scene.
These latter delighted the Jacks amazingly, and not being allowed to break their ranks, they sent the Malays near them to pick anything that took their fancy. These “monkey cups,” as they called them, were constantly picked ostensibly for the purpose of supplying the sailors with a drink, for each contained more or less water; but it was never drunk, for in each there were generally the remains of some unfortunate flies, who had gone down into the treacherous vegetable cavern, and being unable to clamber out had miserably perished.