As soon as the festival itself was finished, Giovanni and I stole outside the tambu-house and talked the matter over. In a very little time we had decided to secure Barbarossa’s person by force sooner than she should fall into Barab’s hands.
“Ah, comrado, he cursed una vipera!” said my Italian chum. Then he looked at me sadly and said: “Will you stick to me, and mine friend be?”
“I will!” I responded most emphatically. Giovanni was a big lump of a fellow and had courage written in the light of his magnificent eyes; also, the idea of rescuing Barbarossa from her peril suited my temperament exactly. We counted out the cash that Barab had given us directly the feast was over, then we looked significantly at each other, for he had paid us several marks more than were due to us. “He wants to get rid of us at once, no doubt of that,” was my reflection, as I looked at Giovanni’s handsome face and then on the moonlit solitude of the mountain slopes around dead Motavia’s old homestead. Then we walked back, treading very softly through the jungle as we approached the tambu shed. Already the small lamp-lights on the palms and within those wooden walls were burning low. We listened, and heard the low wail of some Malayan chanty; then the drunken song ceased.
“What’s that?” whispered Giovanni. The door had suddenly opened, and we saw two of the young bloods departing. Off they went, with three drunken native girls staggering between them. So brilliant was the light of the moon that we distinctly observed the girls’ faces as they tossed their legs and shook the brass arm-lets, and kissed the shoulders of the men who were leading them away. As soon as the men were out of sight we listened again. All was quiet; it was evident that most of the girls who remained within the tambu had fallen off into drunken slumber. Barbarossa had sung her swan-song (so thought Rajah Barab). We heard a click; the Rajah had closed the door and bolted it! That much we discovered as we crept around the walls of that den and endeavoured to see what was going on within.
“Wait a bit!” said Giovanni, as we suddenly heard someone commence to drone out a weird heathen melody. It was a girl’s voice. Then all was silent again. We both knew that Barab would soon be drunk and in a suitable condition for our immediate desires, and so we strolled up and down under the palms. Then we heard the _O Le mao_ commence to sing somewhere up in the lime trees.