So it proved, for the men came running back to say that they had been fired upon as soon as they neared the stockade; and now, as there was no chance of a surprise, the men were divided, and, each party under its leader, started off to try and flank the place.
This was something new to the Malays, who looked upon it as unfair fighting, and the result was, that after five minutes’ sharp, hand-to-hand engagement, the rajah and his men once more took to the woods, and the second stockade was burned.
This was so satisfactory a termination, that it seemed to make up for the loss of the two prahus. These, however, Captain Horton said the ship’s boats would soon hunt out; and the Malay chiefs went back to the sultan, to announce to him the defeat of his old enemy; while at the island every one was occupied about the hospital and the wounded men, who, poor fellows, were carefully lifted ashore, the doctor saying that the sailors would be far better on the island, in a tent beneath the shady trees, than on shipboard.
“Ten wounded, major,” he said sharply, “and not a man dangerously. I’ll soon set them right. Steady there, my boys; lift them carefully.”
A goodly group had assembled by the landing-place when the men were brought ashore, the ladies being ready with fruit and cool drink for the poor fellows; and Bob Roberts, who had come to the landing-place with Captain Horton in the gig, felt quite envious.
An hour or two’s sleep had set him right, and he felt none the worse for his adventure; but there was Tom Long being lifted carefully ashore by two of the sailors, and Rachel Linton and Mary Sinclair eagerly waiting on the youth, for he had received a real wound this time, and looked most interestingly pale.
“Just like my luck,” grumbled Bob. “He gets comfortably wounded, and they will be taking him fruit and flowers every day. I shouldn’t wonder if they had him carried up to the residency, so that he would be handy, and—hang me if it ain’t too bad. Oh! ’pon my word, I can’t stand this; they are having him carried up to the house. Just my luck. I get a contemptible ducking, and no one wants to wait upon me.”
Bob ground his teeth and looked on, while Tom Long was sympathised with and talked to on his way up to the residency, where, after swallowing his wrath, as the middy expressed it, he got leave to go up and see his friend.
“My friend!” he said, half aloud, as he walked on through the brilliant sunshine. “Lor’, how I do hate that fellow! I wish I had had the kris. I’d have given the Malay such a oner as he wouldn’t have forgotten in a hurry. Poor old Tommy, though I I hope he isn’t hurt much. How do you do, Miss Linton?” he said stiffly, as he encountered Rachel Linton in the verandah.
“Quite well, I thank you, Mr Roberts,” said Rachel, imitating his pompous stiffness, and curtseying profoundly; “how do you do?”