of Solomon, when I look at this river. It is equal to our Hudson, and could easily
carry ships twice the size of any he or Huram ever floated.”
The Tuan Hakim nodded, and kept his eyes fastened on the nearest shore.
The course of the great river seemed to stretch out before us in an endless line of
majestic circles. From shore to shore, at high tide, it was a mile in breadth, and
so deep that his Highness’s yacht, the Pante, of three hundred tons’ burden,
could run up full fifty miles.
For a moment we caught a view of the wooden minarets of the little mosque at
Bander Maharani; then we dashed on into the heart of another great curve.
“What is it your Koran says that the wise king’s ships brought from Ophir?” he
asked, never taking his eyes off the mangrove-bound shore.
“Gold and silver, ivory, and apes, and peacocks,” I replied, quoting literally from
Chronicles.
“Biak (good)! Gold and silver we have plenty. Your English companies are
taking it out of the land by the pikul In the old days, before the Portuguese came,
the handle of every warrior’s kris was of ivory. Now our elephants are dying
before the rifle of the sportsman. Soon our jungles will know them no more.
Apes—” and he pointed at the top of a giant marbow, where a troop of silver
wah-wahs were swinging from limb to limb. “The glorious argus pheasant you
have seen.”
“Boyah, Tuan!” the man at the wheel sung out.
I grasped my Winchester Express. Just ahead, half hidden by a black labyrinth of
scaffold-like mangrove roots, lay the huge, mud-covered form of a crocodile.
The Tuan Hakim raised his hand, and the launch slowed down and ran in under
the bank.
“Now!” he whispered, and our rifles exploded in unison.
A great splash of slimy red mud fell full on the front of my spotless white jacket,
another struck in the water close by the side of the boat. The wounded crocodile