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Read Ebook: Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris by Fenn George Manville Spurrier Steven Illustrator
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Ebook has 3244 lines and 105992 words, and 65 pages
Illustrator: Steven Spurrier
Trapped by Malays, A Tale of Bayonet and Kris, by George Manville Fenn.
This is good lively yarn by the master of suspense. There is continuous action throughout the book, and you are kept on your toes wondering how we are going to get through the latest apparent disaster. Sometimes just a little reminiscent of The Middy and the Ensign, set in a similar location, with similar personnel, but different enough to escape too much criticism. Makes a good audiobook.
TRAPPED BY MALAYS, A TALE OF BAYONET AND KRIS, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
"TWO BAD BOYS"--SERGEANT RIPSY.
"Oh, bother!" The utterer of these two impatient words threw down a sheet of notepaper from which he had been reading, carefully smoothed out the folds to make it flat, and then, balancing it upon one finger as he sat back in a cane chair with his heels upon the table, gave the paper a flip with his nail and sent it skimming out of the window of his military quarters at Campong Dang, the station on the Ruah River, far up the west coast of the Malay Peninsula.
For all at once, faintly heard, the fag-end of the "British Grenadiers," whistled very much out of tune, came floating in at the window.
"Peter Pegg, by all that's lucky!"
The footsteps of some one evidently heavily laden came nearer and nearer, till, just as they were about to pass the young officer's quarters, the occupier screwed-up his lips and gave vent to a low, clear note and its apparent echo, which sounded like the cry of some night-bird.
"You call, sir?"
"That you, Pete?"
"Yes, sir."
"What are you doing?"
"Fatigue-work, sir. Got to take these 'ere buckets round to cook's quarters."
"Can you see a letter lying out there anywhere?"
"For the mail, sir?"
"Mail! No, stupid! A piece of notepaper."
"With writing on it, sir?"
"Of course."
"No, sir.--Oh yes, here it is, stuck in the flowers."
"Well, bring it to me."
"Can't, sir, without treading on the beds."
"Then bring it round to the door."
There was a few moments' intense silence, during which, in the tropic heat, it seemed as if Nature was plunged in her deepest sleep. Then came a renewal of the footsteps, a sharp tap upon the door, a loud "Come in!" and a very closely cropped and shaven, sun-browned face appeared, its owner clad in clean, white military flannel, drawing himself up stiffly as he held out the missive he was bearing.
"Letter, sir."
"Well, bring it here. My arms are not telescopes."
"Here, Pete, what were you grinning at? At me?"
"No, sir. That I warn't, sir. I never grin at you. I only do that at the Sergeant when he aren't looking."
"You were certainly grinning, Pete."
"No, sir; only felt comfy-like."
"Oh, that's right," said the young officer; and then to himself, "It is seven o'clock, and it is to get up his appetite, I suppose. Sharpen it on me.--Well, Pete, what have you been up to now?"
"I d'know, sir."
"Nonsense! You must know."
"S'elp me, sir, I don't. The patient one has got his knife into me as usual. I expected it was to be pack-drill, but I come off with a two bucket job--water for the cook."
"Now, look here, Pete; tell the truth for once in a way. The Sergeant wouldn't have come down upon you for nothing."
"What, sir! Oh, I say, Mr Archie, you can go it! Old tipsy Job not come down upon a fellow for nothing! Why, I have heerd him go on at you about your drill--"
"That will do, Pegg. Don't you forget yourself sir."
"Beg pardon, sir. I won't, sir; but there have been times when--"
"That will do."
"Yes, sir; of course, sir--when I have thought to myself if I had been a officer and a gentleman like you--"
"I said that would do, Pegg."
"Yes, sir; I heerd you, sir--I'd have punched his fat head, sir."
"Look here, Peter Pegg; I see you have been having your hair cut again."
"Yes, sir. It's so mortal hot, sir. I told Bob Ennery, sir, to cut it to the bone;" and the young fellow smiled very broadly as he passed both hands over the close crop, with an action that suggested the rubbing on of soap.
"Then look here; next time you have it done I should advise you to have a bit taken off the tip of your tongue. It's too long, Pete; and if I were as strict an officer as the Major says I ought to be, I should report you for want of respect."
"Not you, sir!"
"What!"
"Because you knows, sir, as I feels more respect for you than I do for the whole regiment put together. I talks a bit, and I never come anigh you, sir, without feeling slack."
"Feeling slack?"
"Yes, sir. Unbuttoned-like, and as if I was smiling all over."
"What! at your officer?"
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