through my dreams the crackle and breaking of glass seemed to mingle with the
insistent buzz of the tiger-gnats.
Baboo’s diminutive form kept flitting between me and the fireflies.
The first half-lights of morning were struggling down through the green canopy
above when I was brought to my feet by the discharge of a Winchester and a
long, shrill cry of fright and pain.
Before I could disentangle myself from the meshes of the mosquito net I could
see dimly a dozen naked forms drop lightly on to the deck from the obscurity of
the bank, followed in each case by a long, piercing scream of pain.
I snatched up my revolver and rushed out on to the deck in my bare feet.
Some one grasped me by the shoulder and shouted:—
“Jaga biak, biak, Tuan (be careful, Tuan), pirates!”
I recognized Aboo Din’s voice, and I checked myself just as my feet came in
contact with a broken beer bottle.
The entire surface of the little deck was strewn with glittering star-shaped points
that corresponded with the fragments before me.
I had not a moment to investigate, however, for in the gloom, where the bow of
the launch touched the foliage-meshed bank, a scene of wild confusion was
taking place.
Shadowy forms were leaping, one after another, from the branches above on to
the deck. I slowly cocked my revolver, doubting my senses, for each time one of
the invaders reached the deck he sprang into the air with the long, thrilling cry of
pain that had awakened me, and with another bound was on the bulwarks and
over the side of the launch, clinging to the railing.
With each cry, Baboo’s mocking voice came out, shrill and exultant, from
behind a pile of life-preservers. “O Allah, judge the dogs. They would kris the
great Tuan as he slept—the pariahs!—but they forgot so mean a thing as
Baboo!”