“Very good,” replied Than Khan, “the Company will soon get to know all about that.”
After these words there was silence.
The Chinamen wrapped themselves up in a kind of rug or mat, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, with their heads bent forwards on their breast, and thus they seemed to be falling into a doze. Ardjan, still fastened up in the most painful way to the bamboo stick, had to lie on his back. It was pitch dark in the hut; the door and the shutters were closed to exclude, as much as possible, the cold morning air. But, when every now and then the Javanese turned his head to the right or left, he could, through the chinks of the lath floor, see that day was breaking. A greyish light began to appear under the hut, and thus Ardjan could see the filthy mud in which a number of crawling things, such as sea-eels, marsh-snakes, iguanas, and water-lizards were swarming. They were in quest of the miscellaneous offal which they were wont to find under the “djaga monjet.”
For a while all was quiet, when suddenly the report of a gun shook the hut. The sound startled both the Chinamen to their feet. It was evidently a signal. Than Khan rushed to the door, and threw it open. It was then broad daylight, the sun was just about to rise, and was bathing the eastern horizon in a flood of the richest purple.
CHAPTER II.
IN THE DJAGA MONJET.
For a moment or two, Than Khan stood rubbing his eyes, the sudden glare of light almost blinded him after the darkness of the hut. As soon as he became somewhat accustomed to the morning light, he perceived that a great change had taken place in nature. The wind which had been howling so dismally all night long had now fallen considerably, and the thick black clouds were breaking up, while patches of clear blue sky were becoming visible on all sides. The eastern horizon was perfectly cloudless, and the sun rising in full glory was bathing all he touched in the purest gold. It was a magnificent spectacle, certainly, that morning of calm after the night of storm; but neither Than Khan nor his companion seemed to pay the slightest heed to these beauties of nature. The two Celestials were not troubling their minds about the sun; they were eagerly scanning the surface of the sea, and that not for the purpose of admiring the stately roll of the long breakers; they were looking out for something quite different.
Yonder, at a considerable distance from the shore, they could just see a ship dancing on the waves. They could make her out with the naked eye to be a schooner-brig, which, under shortened sail, was lying close to the wind, and was evidently purposely keeping away from the land. She had some kind of signal flying; but what it was they could not make out. Liem King then produced a ship’s telescope, which was kept stowed away under the “attaps” in a corner of the roof, and which had long since lost its original colour, being thickly covered with a coating of dirt and dust.
The Chinaman handled the glass as one who was familiar with its use, and, after looking for awhile, he turned to his mate, and said: “The letters T.F.N.W. on a red ground. That must be the Kiem Ping Hin. She ought to have come in last night, and—”