“Have they fire-arms?”
“Only a few rifles, perhaps six or seven; but they have four small pieces to bombard the kottas.”
“How many do we muster?”
“Counting everyone,” said Amai Kotong, “we muster eighty-four men fit to carry arms.”
“And how many rifles have we?”
“I believe six-and-forty.”
“And,” said Johannes in a fierce rage, “do you propose to return to kotta Djangkan to be captured by the Dutch? Do you desire to see Harimaoung Boekit in fetters? to see him condemned to penal servitude as an inveterate head-hunter? Tell me, Amai, are we old women or do men’s hearts beat within our breasts? No! by Mahatara and all his Sangiangs! not one step backwards. With forty-six rifles in the hands of men like us we can traverse the island from one end to the other. I for one would like to meet this Soerapatti should he dare to encounter us.”
Johannes stood, bravely handsome, like a bronze statue of disdain. Harimaoung, carried away by these stirring words, unsheathed his mandauw with his right hand while with his left he grasped Johannes’ arm.
“No!” he exclaimed, “not one footstep backwards. On the contrary forward to meet those old women of the Doessan.” His enthusiasm seemed infectious, for not only Amai Kotong and Amai Pari but the whole assemblage broke out in one loud cry: “Forward!”
An hour after breakfast the fleet was again in motion. They [[283]]moved on uninterruptedly, nothing occurring to retard their progress or to excite suspicion. They did not meet a single djoekoeng on the river, nor did they see a human being on the banks from whom any information could be gleaned. It seemed as if this part of the river had become depopulated.