Java Head was made just before sunset, under a clear sky, with a light air breathing out from the north-west—so light an air, indeed, that when the sun rose next morning the headland was still on our starboard bow. Some two hours later, however, we got a strong breeze out from the north-east, under the influence of which we worked up toward the mouth of the straits in fine style, until noon—by which time we were fairly within the straits—when the wind softened down, finally dwindling away to nothing about an hour before sunset.
We had sighted several sail during the day, three of them being European, bound to the westward, while the rest were country craft—small coasters and fishing vessels for the most part. The Malays have probably, next to the Chinese, the worst reputation in the world for honesty; but it is only just to say that, with one solitary exception, all the native craft we had that day fallen in with had behaved in a manner that left no room whatever for suspicion. The exception was in the case of a large proa that had passed us closely, running out before the wind toward the mouth of the straits during the forenoon, but which, having run to leeward of us for a distance of some six miles, had then hauled her wind and stretched in toward the southern shore, on reaching which she had lowered her canvas, thrown out her sweeps, and made her way to windward with the aid of the latter alone. It was not so much this circumstance, however, though it had a somewhat incomprehensible look about it, as the fact that she pulled twelve sweeps of a side—proving her to be heavily manned—that caused us to regard her and her movements with a certain amount of doubt and suspicion. We were now in waters that, from the numerous acts of piracy that have been committed within them, have acquired a more sinister reputation than is borne by any other spot of ocean of similar area in the whole world; and it was therefore only natural that the fact of our being becalmed in such a spot should have been productive of a certain uneasiness and disquiet of mind throughout the ship.
At sunset, and for an hour or two afterwards, there was every prospect of a fine clear night; but at about two bells in the first watch a thin veil of vapour began to gather in the sky, gradually thickening and blotting out the stars until they were all completely hidden, when the darkness became profound. At this time—or rather, when we had last had an opportunity of distinguishing distant objects—there were only some eight or ten craft, all native, in sight, the nearest of which was fully four miles distant; and they all, without exception, presented an appearance of perfect honesty. Three or four of them were, like ourselves, drifting idly, with their heads pointing in as many different directions; the others had rigged out a sweep, or in some cases a pair, and were slowly making their way inshore.
The baronet and I were reclining in contiguous chairs, placidly smoking our post-prandial cigars; the ladies were below, Miss Merrivale being seated at the piano, accompanying her sister, who—having by this time quite recovered her health and spirits—was singing some quaint, old-fashioned ballad in a full, rich contralto voice that could be distinctly heard from one end of the ship to the other, and probably far beyond. As for the chief mate, he was pacing the deck thoughtfully and steadily to and fro with an energy that, taking the heat and closeness of the night into consideration, seemed to bespeak an uneasy mind. After a while he halted alongside the binnacle, gazed abstractedly into it for about half a minute, and then, turning to the nodding helmsman, inquired whether he knew where he was running the ship to.
“She hasn’t had steerage-way on her since I came aft, at eight bells, sir,” was the reply.
“She hasn’t, eh?” remarked Roberts. “Well, if that’s the case, the compass isn’t of much use to you, is it? So,” pulling off his jacket, “as it’s hardly worth while to proclaim our exact whereabouts to everybody, we’ll just mask the light until a breeze springs up.”
Saying which, he laid his jacket very carefully over the hood of the binnacle, completely obscuring the not very brilliant light that shone therefrom.
“What is Roberts’ idea in hiding the binnacle light in that fashion?” asked Sir Edgar, turning to me, as the mate again walked forward, pausing for some minutes near the head of the short poop ladder, and apparently peering anxiously round him into the obscurity.
“Well,” said I, “I think he perhaps feels a little uneasy at our being becalmed just here, and in such an intensely dark night, too. The Malays have the name of being born pirates, you know, and should they happen to take it into their heads to attack us just now, it would be rather awkward, since we could do absolutely nothing to avoid them while this calm lasts.”
“Do you think there is any danger of such an occurrence, captain?” he asked, with manifest anxiety.