Trapped by Malays | Page 4

subaltern's face,
opened in so ghastly a stare of dread that, in spite of his annoyance,
Ensign Maine's hands were clapped to his mouth to check a guffaw. But
as the regular stamp more than stride of a heavy man reached his ears,
the young officer's countenance assumed a look of annoyance, and he
whispered in a boyish, nervous way:
"Slip off, Pete; and don't let him see you leaving my room."
"I can't, sir," whispered the lad, with a look full of agony.
"What!"
"He telled me if ever he catched me loafing about your quarters he'd--"
"Don't talk. Cut!"
"I can't, sir."
"You can."
"But--"
"Don't talk. Off at once."
"But I tell you, sir--"
"I don't want to be told. He mustn't see you going away from here."
"But he's stopped, sir. Can't you hear?"
"No--yes. Why has he stopped?"
"Because he can see my two blessed buckets standing there."

"Oh, Peter Pegg! Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" And as the young subaltern
gave utterance to these homely sounds, he was recalling certain
sarcastic remarks of the stern master of drill respecting officers and
gentlemen demeaning themselves by associating with the men.
CHAPTER TWO.
A ROWING.
"A Guilty conscience needs no accuser," said Archie Maine to himself.
"There's a splendid proverb. It can't mean a wigging this time. But if
that pompous old pump, that buckled-up basha, lets the Major know
that he caught poor old Pegg in my room to-day, I'm sure to get a
lecture about making too free with the men instead of going about
amongst them perched up upon metaphorical stilts. Well, whatever he
wants to see me about, it can't be for a wigging, or else he wouldn't
have summoned me just close upon soup-and-'tater call."
The smart-looking young subaltern drew himself up, looking his
military best, as he made for the Major's quarters, before which, in light
undress uniform, a private was marching up and down, crossing the
doorway and the windows of the mess-room, through which the lamps
of the dinner-table shone, as they were being lit by the servants. The
regimental glass and plate were beginning to glitter on the table, while
a soft, warm breeze was rustling the tropical leaves and beginning to
cool the atmosphere, as it swept from the surrounding jungle through
the widely opened casements.
"Yes! Come in!" came in a loud, bluff, rather rich voice; and the next
minute Archie was face to face with the fine-looking, white-haired,
florid Major in command of the infantry detachment stationed at
Campong Dang in support of Her Majesty's Resident, Sir Charles
Dallas, whose duty it was to instruct the Malay Rajah of Pahpah how to
rule his turbulent bearers of spear and kris and wearers of sarong and
baju, in accordance with modern civilisation, and without putting a
period to their lives for every offence by means of the sudden insertion
of an ugly-looking, wavy weapon before throwing them to the ugliest

reptiles that ever haunted a muddy stream.
"Ah! Hum! Yes."
There was a pause in the strange salute, and, "'Tis a row, then," said
Archie to himself. "You received my despatch, Mr Maine?"
"Yes, sir."
"And of course, sir, you are perfectly aware of my reasons for
summoning you?"
"No, sir," replied Archie.
"What! Now, that's what I intensely dislike, Mr Maine. If there is
anything that annoys, irritates, or makes me dissatisfied with the men--
the gentlemen under my command, it is evasion, shuffling, shirking, or
prevarication."
At the beginning of this speech the young officer felt nervous and
troubled with a feeling of anxiety, but his commanding officer's tone
and words sent the blood flushing up into his face, and he replied
warmly:
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I am neither shuffling nor prevaricating
when I tell you that I do not know why you have sent for me." Then to
himself,--
"He could not have known about the Sergeant, for that was after he had
sent his note."
He had time to say this to himself, for the Major was staring at him in
amazement.
"What! What! What!" he exclaimed. "How--how dah you, sir? I'd have
you to know that when I address my
subordinates--ahem!--arrrum!--I--that is--hum--dear me, how
confoundedly you have grown like your father, Archibald! Just his
manner. I--that is--well, look here, sir; I have been very much put out

about you. I promised my old comrade that I would do the best that I
could in the way of helping you on and making you a useful officer and
a thorough gentleman, and you know, between men, Archibald Maine,
it has not been quite the thing. This is not the first time I have had to
speak to you and complain of your conduct."
"No, sir," said the lad in rather a