“Well, ask him what sort of fish he catches.”
But before the question could be asked, the boy shouted something.
“He says, sahib, are you fond of fishing?”
“Yes, of course,” shouted Ned, forgetful of the apparent need of an interpreter.
By this time, the boats had passed each other and the distance was increasing, when there came in good plain English: “I say, where are you going?”
“Up the river,” cried Ned in astonishment. “Know any more English? Where do you live? How far is it away from here, and what’s your name?”
The boy in the boat threw out his line again, and burst into a shout of laughter, greatly to Ned’s annoyance, for it sounded derisive; but there was no opportunity for further attempts at communication, for their boat swept round the bend, and it was plain enough whence the fishers had come, for, beautifully situated in a lake-like curve of the stream, they could see quite a pretentious-looking village with what was evidently a mosque, and just beyond it, a strong-looking stockade. The houses were of exactly the same type as those they had before passed, but in addition there were several of considerable size, whose sides were woven in striking patterns, while dense groves of cocoa, betel, and nipah palms added to the beauty of the scene.
Along the shore a dozen or two of boats were drawn up, while floating alone and doubled in the mirror-like water was a large prahu on whose deck several men were lolling about. Just then a naga or dragon, boat came swiftly from behind it, propelled by a dozen men in yellow jackets and scarlet caps, and three or four showily-costumed Malays could be seen seated and standing in the shade of the awning, which, like that of their own boat, was of palm-leaves or attap, but far more neatly-made.
“What place is this, Hamet?”
“Don’t know, sir,” he said. “Never been so far. It must be Campong Bukit, and that is one of the rajah’s boats.”