know from whence it came. He asked, and we told him from the Ophirs, which
means from the gold mines. Then it was that he called the mountain that raised
its head four thousand feet above the sea, and was the first object his lookout
saw as they neared the coast, ‘Mount Ophir.’
“No man, however so bold, ventured within a radius of fifteen miles around the
foot of the mountain. It was haunted by evil spirits. No man save the laksamana,
who went twice a year and brought away to his prau, which was moored on the
bank of the Maur thirty miles from the mountains, ten great loads of pure gold,
each time over one hundred bugels. I know not as to the truth, but it is told that
there was one tribe consecrated to the mining of the gold, not one of whom had
ever been outside the shadow of the mountain: that when the great admiral
ceased to come, they blocked up the entrance to the mines, planted trees about
the spot, and waited. One after another died, until not one was left.
“Such is the tradition of my family, Tuan.”
“But the great laksamana?” I asked. “I know of the ancient riches of Malacca.
Barbosa tells us that gold was so common that it was reckoned by the bhar of
four hundred weight.”
My companion contemplated the end of his manila. “Do you know how died his
Highness, Montezuma of Mexico, Tuan?”
I bowed.
“So died my ancestor one hundred years later. I will tell you of it, that you may
write his name in your histories by the side of the name of the murdered Sultan
of Mexico.”
The eyes of the little man flashed, and he looked squarely into mine for the first
time. Possibly he may have detected a smile on my face, at the thought of
placing this leader of a band of pirates side by side in history with the once ruler
of the richest empire in the New World, for he paused in the midst of his
narrative and said rapidly:—
“Must I tell you what your own writers tell of the rulers of our country, to make
you credit my tale? It is all here,” he said, pointing to his head. “Everything that