“Sahib, no—at least not as cargo.”
“Dog!” replied the captain, sternly, “these answers are false. This prahu belongs to the Pangeran of Pugar, to whom you are carrying arms.” At the latter name Martin touched my shoulder. It was that of the native prince who was upon such intimate terms with Ebberfeld.
As for Prabu, at the epithet “dog,” his eyes flashed, and he had a nervous twitching about the fingers, as if he longed to handle his creese; but, taking a bundle of papers from his sarong, and presenting them to the officer, he said, in a very humble tone—
“The Captain Sahib is pleased to doubt the truth of his servant; let him peruse these.”
Having examined the documents, the officer returned them to Prabu.
“These papers are correct,” said he; “I have been misinformed;” and he would have left the vessel, quite satisfied, but for one of his men, who whispered in his ear; when, turning again to Prabu, and pointing to some casks on deck, he asked if they contained provisions.
“Sahib, if I have not been deceived, they do,” replied Prabu, bowing, but with hesitation.
“Good,” replied the Dutchman, sharply; “then I will buy a cask or two, for we are running short.”
“Sahib, it is not possible—they are consigned to the owner of the prahu,” cried he, with alarm; but it was useless. At a signal from their captain, the busy sailors stove in the heads of two of the casks.
“Hillo!” cried the captain; “they must have strong stomachs who can digest such provisions!”