going in one, and his son Tŭngku Saleh in the other. In the latter boat sat Tûan
Bângau, and about a dozen of the King's Youths. Arrived at a certain place, the
King's boat went on round the point, and Tŭngku Saleh's boat tied up in mid-
stream, while the Prince ate some sweatmeats which had been brought for the
purpose.
When he had eaten his fill, he bade Tûan Bângau and one or two other Saiyids,
who were among his followers, fall to on what remained, and it was while Tûan
Bângau was washing his mouth over the side of the boat after eating, that
Tŭngku Saleh gave the signal which heralded his death. A man who was behind
him stabbed him in the shoulder with a spear, and another blow given almost
simultaneously knocked him into the river. Tûan Bângau dived, and swam until
he had reached the shallow water near the bank. Here he rose to his feet, drew
his kris, and called to those within the boat to come and fight him one at a time if
they dared. The only answer was a spear which wounded him in the neck, and a
bullet from a gun which penetrated to his heart. In a moment all that remained of
Tûan Bângau was a shapeless heap of useless flesh, lying in the shallow water,
with the eddies playing around and in and out of the brilliant silk garments,
which had made him so brave a sight when alive. Those who had slain him,
buried him; where, no man knoweth; the report that he had strayed and been lost,
was diligently spread, and, though generally disbelieved, was found to be
impossible of disproof. But Bêdah, his wife who had loved him, had learnt these
things, and now told all to the White Man, hoping that thus her husband's murder
might be avenged, and thereby she risked the life which his death had
temporarily made desolate.
Compared with that of Âwang Îtam, however, Tûan Bângau's fate was a happy
one. When the former disappeared from the sight of men, he was the victim of
nameless tortures. As he told the tale of what he had suffered on the night that
followed his arrest; of the ghastly tortures and mutilations which had wrecked
his manhood, and left him the pitiable ruin he then was, the White Man writhed
in sympathy, and was filled with a horror that made him sick.
'Better it were to die,' said he, 'than to live the life which is no life, and to suffer
these nameless torments.'
'It is true,' said Âwang Îtam, 'it is true. But readily would I bear it over again,
Tûan, if thereby for a little space I might be what I have been, and my Heart's
Desire could once more be satisfied!'