Part 50 (1/2)
Mir Jan's answer was emphatic. He took off his turban and placed it on Anstruther's feet.
”Sahib,” he said, ”I am your dog. If, some day, I am found worthy to be your faithful servant, then shall I know that Allah has pardoned my transgressions. I only killed a man because--”
”Peace, Mir Jan. Let him rest.”
”Why is he wors.h.i.+ping you, Robert?” demanded Iris.
He told her.
”Really,” she cried, ”I must keep up my studies in Hindustani. It is quite too sweet.”
And then, for the benefit of her father, she rattled off into a spirited account of her struggles with the algebraic x and the Urdu compound verb.
Sir Arthur Deane managed to repress a sigh. In spite of himself he could not help liking Anstruther. The man was magnetic, a hero, an ideal gentleman. No wonder his daughter was infatuated with him. Yet the future was dark and storm-tossed, full of sinister threats and complications. Iris did not know the wretched circ.u.mstances which had come to pa.s.s since they parted, and which had changed the whole aspect of his life. How could he tell her? Why should it be his miserable lot to s.n.a.t.c.h the cup of happiness from her lips? In that moment of silent agony he wished he were dead, for death alone could remove the burthen laid on him. Well, surely he might bask in the suns.h.i.+ne of her laughter for another day. No need to embitter her joyous heart until he was driven to it by dire necessity.
So he resolutely brushed aside the woe-begone phantom of care, and entered into the _abandon_ of the hour with a zest that delighted her. The dear girl imagined that Robert, her Robert, had made another speedy conquest, and Anstruther himself was much elated by the sudden change in Sir Arthur Deane's demeanor.
They behaved like school children on a picnic. They roared over Iris's troubles in the matter of divided skirts, too much divided to be at all pleasant. The s.h.i.+powner tasted some of her sago bread, and vowed it was excellent. They unearthed two bottles of champagne, the last of the case, and promised each other a hearty toast at dinner. Nothing would content Iris but that they should draw a farewell bucketful of water from the well and drench the pitcher-plant with a torrential shower.
Robert carefully secured the pocket-books, money and other effects found on their dead companions. The baronet, of course, knew all the princ.i.p.al officers of the _Sirdar_. He surveyed these mournful relics with sorrowful interest.
”The _Sirdar_ was the crack s.h.i.+p of my fleet, and Captain Ross my most trusted commander,” he said. ”You may well imagine, Mr.
Anstruther, what a cruel blow it was to lose such a vessel, with all these people on board, and my only daughter amongst them. I wonder now that it did not kill me.”
”She was a splendid sea-boat, sir. Although disabled, she fought gallantly against the typhoon. Nothing short of a reef would break her up.”
”Ah, well,” sighed the s.h.i.+powner, ”the few timbers you have shown me here are the remaining a.s.sets out of 300,000.”
”Was she not insured?” inquired Robert.
”No; that is, I have recently adopted a scheme of mutual self-insurance, and the loss falls _pro rata_ on my other vessels.”
The baronet glanced covertly at Iris. The words conveyed little meaning to her. Indeed, she broke in with a laugh--
”I am afraid I have heard you say, father dear, that some s.h.i.+ps in the fleet paid you best when they ran ash.o.r.e.”
”Yes, Iris. That often happened in the old days. It is different now.
Moreover, I have not told you the extent of my calamities. The _Sirdar_ was lost on March 18, though I did not know it for certain until this morning. But on March 25 the _Bahadur_ was sunk in the Mersey during a fog, and three days later the _Jemadar_ turned turtle on the James and Mary shoal in the Hooghly. Happily there were no lives lost in either of these cases.”
Even Iris was appalled by this list of casualties.
”My poor, dear dad!” she cried. ”To think that all these troubles should occur the very moment I left you!”
Yet she gave no thought to the serious financial effect of such a string of catastrophes. Robert, of course, appreciated this side of the business, especially in view of the s.h.i.+powner's remark about the insurance. But Sir Arthur Deane's stiff upper lip deceived him. He failed to realize that the father was acting a part for his daughter's sake.
Oddly enough, the baronet did not seek to discuss with them the legal-looking doc.u.ment affixed near the cave. It claimed all rights in the island in their joint names, and this was a topic he wished to avoid. For the time, therefore, the younger man had no opportunity of taking him into his confidence, and Iris held faithfully to her promise of silence.
The girl's ragged raiment, sou'wester, and strong boots were already packed away on board. She now rescued the Bible, the copy of Tennyson's poems, the battered tin cup, her revolver, and the Lee-Metford which ”scared” the Dyaks when they nearly caught Anstruther and Mir Jan napping. Robert also gathered for her an a.s.sortment of Dyak hats, belts, and arms, including Taung S'Ali's parang and a sumpitan. These were her trophies, the _spolia opima_ of the campaign.
His concluding act was to pack two of the empty oil tins with all the valuable lumps of auriferous quartz he could find where he shot the rubbish from the cave beneath the trees. On top of these he placed some antimony ore, and Mir Jan, wondering why the sahib wanted the stuff, carried the consignment to the waiting boat. Lieutenant Playdon, in command of the last party of sailors to quit the island, evidently expected Mir Jan to accompany them, but Anstruther explained that the man would await his return, some time in June or July.
Sir Arthur Deane found himself speculating on the cause of this extraordinary resolve, but, steadfast to his policy of avoiding controversial matters, said nothing. A few words to the captain procured enough stores to keep the Mahommedan for six months at least, and whilst these were being landed, the question was raised how best to dispose of the Dyaks.