The ship lay in the Chinese Sea off the coast of the island of Borneo, and some fifteen miles from the town of Bruni, or Borneo, as it is sometimes called.
As Tom stood there, a succession of wise thoughts coursed through his head; wise, that is, for a young gentleman of his age—twelve, by-the-way. These thoughts included the position of the equator. Tom felt himself to be quite old friends with the equator by this time, so often had he "crossed the line."
When he had first studied geography he had regarded such a performance as quite remarkable, and on a par with sailing or sledging to either pole. The thoughts of geography brought to his mind the book he had used at school, Maury's Manual, which contained a number of illustrations. Tom distinctly recalled a picture in this book, beneath which was written "The Sultan of Borneo." The Sultan was resplendent in a flowing flowered robe, which Tom supposed to be of brocade. He wore Turkish trousers, a turban on his head, and mutton-chop whiskers. The only touch of carelessness about his costume was his bare feet. He reposed in a grove of palms, and in one hand held a long hookah. Take him all in all, he bore a strong resemblance to the Sultans in the Arabian Nights Entertainment, one of Tom's favorite volumes, and who, as other boys and girls are well aware, were all very wealthy and lordly people indeed.
As Tom had never seen a live Sultan before, he was most anxious to visit his Sultanship of Borneo. He therefore broke out in a whistle of pleased expectation, for it was distinctly understood that he was to be of the party making the formal visit.
The Sultan, it appeared, had graciously signified his entire willingness to be called upon; so Tom made a few additions to his toilet, which he considered were called for by the magnificence of the occasion; that is to say, he put on his watch and chain, as well as a ring with a large red stone, which the man in Ceylon of whom he had bought it had told him was a ruby. He felt extremely important and a little overawed when he was seated in the launch on his way to the Sultan's abode.
To begin with, he was somewhat surprised at the appearance of Bruni as they neared it. "Huts!" he said, in astonishment. "With thatched roofs. Are all the houses like these? Why, this doesn't look like a city at all. Maury's Geography said this was the capital. This is a high old capital, I must say."
"There are capitals and capitals," returned his father. "Did you expect something like Washington? I must admit that the splendor of Borneo is rather down at heels—but so it goes."
The residence of the Sultan was a thatched hut, very much like those of which the rest of the town was composed. It was built on piles driven into the river-bed, and was entered by steps leading down to the water. There were other houses thus set up on piles, and behind those still others, until finally the rest of the town straggled against and on top of the river-bank.
Tom followed his father up the steps with feelings in which disappointment struggled with curiosity. His expectations had already received a series of shocks, but this was too much. A King's palace to have dwindled down to this shabby little hut!
They entered into the royal presence. Captain Fairweather and his officers were received by two interpreters, who made them welcome in very broken English, and then led the way to the head of the room, where stood the Sultan. He was almost a hundred years old. Don't suppose from this that such is the average age of Sultans. But this particular one, Abdul Momin, had actually attained that ripe old age, from which we may gather that his dignities agreed with him. There is something impressive in old age, whether it be that of prince or peasant; but beyond this the old man before whom Tom found himself bowing politely was certainly not in the least remarkable. He was a very shabby old man indeed. He wore a single soiled garment—a gown which reached to his feet. As though to make him as unlike the Sultan in Maury's Manual as possible, he wore slippers (such as they were); and finally there was a common little cap on his head instead of the silken turban, bound with pearls, of Tom's imagination.