Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris. George Manville Fenn

cried the prisoner, starting up in a sitting position.

      “Look ye here,” cried Smithers; “do you want me to have an accident?”

      “No, no; I want you to let me give you many dollars. You must let me go before your officers come.”

      “Nothing of the kind, sir. You must talk to them when they come. You are my prisoner, so just lie still.”

      As the sentry was speaking the notes of a bugle were ringing out upon the silent night. Hurrying feet could be heard, and it was evident that the night alarm had set the occupants of the cantonments buzzing out like the bees of a hive.

      “They don’t know which sentry it was,” thought Smithers, and he was raising his piece to fire and bring the relief to his side, when it struck him that he should be leaving himself defenceless if his prisoner should make a dash to escape.

      “Second thoughts is best, says the missus,” he muttered, and taking the revolver from his pocket, he fired it in the air, and after a short interval fired again.

      “That’s done it,” he said to himself.—“Hullo! what’s the matter with you?” For his prisoner was rocking himself to and fro as if in pain, and grinding his teeth.

      Directly after there was the light of a lantern showing through the trees, shouts were heard and answered by the sentry, and a strong party of the men, led by Captain Down and Archie, surrounded them.

      “What’s wrong, Smithers?” cried the Captain eagerly.

      “Took a prisoner, sir.”

      “Corporal, a light here,” cried Archie; and the man doubled up to throw the rays of the lantern upon the prisoner’s face as he now rose to his feet.

      “The Count!” cried Archie.

      “Yes, sir. Your stupid sentry, he make a John Bull blunder—a mistake.”

      “A mistake?” said the Captain. “Why, how come you here?”

      “Only I have my lanterrne and collecting-box, and come down the river to catch specimens of the beautiful moth for the naturalists at home in France. I land from my boat, and the boat come to take me away; but your sentry man re-fuse to let me go.”

      “Collecting—lantern!” said the Captain.

      “Yes, sir. Look. I fear my beautiful specimens are spoiled in the pannier here. He use me very bad.”

      “You mean that you were collecting moths?” said Archie dubiously, as he recalled the rustling sounds he had heard below the veranda that night.

      “Yes, sir,” said Smithers gruffly. “I suppose it’s right, what he says, about collecting. Here’s one of his tools;” and he handed the beautifully finished little revolver to the young officer.

      “Humph!” grunted the Captain.—“Well, sir, I’m sorry if our sentry behaved roughly to you, but he was only obeying orders, and you ought to know that you had no business here.”

      “All a mistake, Captain. You will please make signals for my boat to come.”

      “All in good time, sir,” said the Captain, in response to a nudge given by his subaltern; “but you must come up first and make your explanation to the Major.”

      “What! It is not necessary, sir.”

      “You think so, sir?” said Captain Down. “I and my brother officer think it is.”

      Directly after the relief party and their prisoner were on their way to headquarters.