But To’ Râja's own followers clove to him with the loyalty for which, on
occasion, the natives of Pahang are remarkable. The Bĕndăhâra spared no pains
to seduce them from their allegiance, and the three principal Chieftains who
followed in To’ Râja's train were constantly called into the King's presence, and
were shown other acts of favour, which were steadfastly denied to their master.
But it profited the Bĕndăhâra nothing, for Imâm Bakar, the oldest of the three,
set an example of loyalty which his two companions, Imâm Prang Sâmah and
Khatib Bûjang, followed resolutely. Imâm Bakar himself acted from principle.
He was a man whom Nature had endowed with firm nerves, a faithful heart, and
that touch of recklessness and fatalism which is needed to put the finishing touch
to the courage of an oriental. He loved To’ Râja and all his house, nor could he
be tempted or scared into a denial of his affection and loyalty. Imâm Prang
Sâmah and Khatib Bûjang, both of whom I know well, are men of a different
type. They belong to the weak-kneed brethren, and they followed Imâm Bakar
because they feared him and To’ Râja. They found themselves, to use an
emphatic colloquialism, between the Devil and the Deep Sea, nor had they
sufficient originality between them to suggest a compromise. Thus they imitated
Imâm Bakar, repeated his phrases after him, and, in the end, but narrowly
escaped sharing with him the fate which awaits those who arouse the wrath of a
King.
At each interview which these Chieftains had with their monarch, the latter
invariably concluded the conversation by calling upon them to testify to the faith
that was in them.
'Who,' he would ask, 'is your Master, and who is your Chief?'
And the three, led by Imâm Bakar, would make answer with equal regularity:
'Thou, O Highness, art Master of thy servants, and His Highness To’ Râja is thy
servants' Chief.'
Now, from the point of view of the Bĕndăhâra, this answer was most foully
treasonable. That in speaking to him, the King, they should give To’ Râja—the
vassal he had been at such pains to humble—a royal title equal to his own, was
in itself bad enough. But that, not content with this outrage, they should decline
to acknowledge the Bĕndăhâra as both Master and Chief was the sorest offence
of all. A man may own duty to any Chief he pleases, until such time as he comes
into the presence of his King, who is the Chief of Chiefs. Then all loyalty to
minor personages must be laid aside, and the Monarch must be acknowledged as