Meantime the relations with the Malays were daily growing in friendliness. A brisk trade with the shore was carried on, and sampans from far up the river came laden with fruit, fish, and rice; some brought poultry, and green sugar-cane for eating; others cocoa-nuts, and quaint articles for barter. But somehow there was an uneasy feeling on the island, that though the sultan and his people were friendly, some of the rajahs detested the English, as being likely to put a stop to their piratical practices, the destruction of Rajah Gantang’s stockade, while it gave plenty of satisfaction in some parts, being looked upon with disfavour in others.
“Pretty well all right again, old man?” said Bob, sauntering in one day, to find the ensign reading.
“Yes, I’m stronger by a good deal than I was,” said Tom Long, holding out his hand.
“No more limbings pitched in at the window, eh?”
“No,” said Tom Long with a slight shudder; “I hope that sort of thing is not going to happen again.”
“To which I say ditto,” said Bob. “But I say, I know who pitched that spear at you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, it was that Malay chap you offended with the durian.”
“Then he must be taken and punished.”
“First catch your brown hare, master officer of infantry,” said Bob, smiling. “He won’t set foot here again, depend upon it, unless he slinks in at night. By George, what a malicious lot they must be, to act like that!”