to thee; it was the boys who were unmannerly, and thy servant, being an old
man, did reprove them!'
'It is not for the like of thee to reprove men, and the said boys are my people, the
sons of my loins. I will cover their shame!' said To’ Mûda Long, for the wolf
was determined to pick a quarrel with the lamb, bleat he never so wisely.
'Have patience, To’ Mûda!' again cried poor Bâyan, but the words were hardly
out of his mouth before To’ Mûda Long struck at him with his spear, but missed
him. Then, as Bâyan retreated step by step, defending himself with the clumsy
bamboo from the deft spear thrusts, no more words passed between them.
At last the spear went home. 'Bâsah! Bâsah! I have wetted thee!' cried To’ Mûda
Long, and he went in at his enemy, kris in hand, Bâyan beating him about the
head with the now empty bamboo. When he got to close quarters, the deed was
soon done, and the body of Bâyan the Paroquet, with seventeen rending wounds
upon it, lay stark and hideously staring at the pure morning sky.
There was loud talk of blood-money, and equally loud talk of reprisals, but
nothing came of it; and though I often meet To’ Mûda Long, who is as soft
spoken and as gentle in his manners as ever, Bâyan's death was never revenged,
and the fact that he ever lived and sang is now well-nigh forgotten, even by those
who knew him, and loved to hear his tales.