It is unnecessary to give at full length the story told by Jaffir.  It appears that on his return home, after the meeting with Lingard, Hassim found his relative dying and a strong party formed to oppose his rightful successor.  The old Rajah Tulla died late at night and—­as Jaffir put it—­before the sun rose there were already blows exchanged in the courtyard of the ruler’s dalam.  This was the preliminary fight of a civil war, fostered by foreign intrigues; a war of jungle and river, of assaulted stockades and forest ambushes.  In this contest, both parties—­according to Jaffir—­displayed great courage, and one of them an unswerving devotion to what, almost from the first, was a lost cause.  Before a month elapsed Hassim, though still chief of an armed band, was already a fugitive.  He kept up the struggle, however, with some vague notion that Lingard’s arrival would turn the tide.

“For weeks we lived on wild rice; for days we fought with nothing but water in our bellies,” declaimed Jaffir in the tone of a true fire-eater.

And then he went on to relate, how, driven steadily down to the sea, Hassim, with a small band of followers, had been for days holding the stockade by the waterside.

“But every night some men disappeared,” confessed Jaffir.  “They were weary and hungry and they went to eat with their enemies.  We are only ten now—­ten men and a woman with the heart of a man, who are tonight starving, and to-morrow shall die swiftly.  We saw your ship afar all day; but you have come too late.  And for fear of treachery and lest harm should befall you—­his friend—­the Rajah gave me the ring and I crept on my stomach over the sand, and I swam in the night—­and I, Jaffir, the best swimmer in Wajo, and the slave of Hassim, tell you—­his message to you is ’Depart and forget’—­and this is his gift—­take!”

He caught hold suddenly of Lingard’s hand, thrust roughly into it the ring, and then for the first time looked round the cabin with wondering but fearless eyes.  They lingered over the semicircle of bayonets and rested fondly on musket-racks.  He grunted in admiration.

“Ya-wa, this is strength!” he murmured as if to himself.  “But it has come too late.”

“Perhaps not,” cried Lingard.

“Too late,” said Jaffir, “we are ten only, and at sunrise we go out to die.”  He went to the cabin door and hesitated there with a puzzled air, being unused to locks and door handles.

“What are you going to do?” asked Lingard.

“I shall swim back,” replied Jaffir.  “The message is spoken and the night can not last forever.”

“You can stop with me,” said Lingard, looking at the man searchingly.

“Hassim waits,” was the curt answer.

“Did he tell you to return?” asked Lingard.

“No!  What need?” said the other in a surprised tone.

Lingard seized his hand impulsively.

“If I had ten men like you!” he cried.