possessions would be destroyed by his enemies, while he himself, with his wife
and little ones, would die in the jungles or fall into the hands of his pursuers. He
already regarded himself as a dead man, but though he knew that he could save
himself even now by a tardy desertion of To’ Râja, the idea of adopting this
means of escape was never entertained by him for an instant.
'If I sit down, I die, and if I stand up, I die!' he said to the messenger. 'Better then
does it befit a man to die standing. Come, let us go to Pâsir Tambang and learn
what To’ Gâjah hath in store for me!'
The sun was half-mast high in the heavens as Imâm Bakar crossed the river to
Pâsir Tambang in his tiny dug-out. Until the sun's rays fall more or less
perpendicularly, the slanting light paints broad reaches of water a brilliant
dazzling white, unrelieved by shadow or reflection. The green of the masses of
jungle on the river banks takes to itself a paler hue than usual, and the yellow of
the sandbanks changes its shade from the colour of a cowslip to that of a pale
and early primrose. It was on such a white morning as this that Imâm Bakar
crossed slowly to meet his fate. His dug-out grounded on the sandbank, and
when it had been made fast to a pole, its owner, fully armed, walked towards the
hut in which To’ Gâjah was seated.
This Chief was a very heavily built man, with a bullet-shaped head, and a square
resolute jaw, partially cloaked by a short sparse beard of coarse wiry hair. His
voice and his laugh were both loud and boisterous, and he usually affected an air
of open, noisy good-fellowship, which was but little in keeping with his
character. When he saw Imâm Bakar approaching him, with the slow and solemn
tread of one who believes himself to be walking to his death, he cried out to him,
while he was yet some way off, with every appearance of friendship and
cordiality:
'O Imâm Bakar! What is the news? Come hither to me and fear nothing. I come
as thy friend, in peace and love. Come let us touch hands in salutation as befits
those who harbour no evil one to another.'
Imâm Bakar was astonished at this reception. His heart bounded against his ribs
with relief at finding his worst fears so speedily dispelled, and being, for the
moment, off his guard, he placed his two hands between those of To’ Gâjah in
the usual manner of Malay formal salutation. Quick as thought, To’ Gâjah seized
him by the wrists, his whole demeanour changing in a moment from that of the
rough good-fellowship of the boon companion, to excited and cruel ferocity.