“We are ten, but they are twenty to one,” said Jaffir, simply.

Lingard opened the door.

“Do you want anything that a man can give?” he asked.

The Malay had a moment of hesitation, and Lingard noticed the sunken eyes, the prominent ribs, and the worn-out look of the man.

“Speak out,” he urged with a smile; “the bearer of a gift must have a reward.”

“A drink of water and a handful of rice for strength to reach the shore,” said Jaffir sturdily.  “For over there”—­he tossed his head—­“we had nothing to eat to-day.”

“You shall have it—­give it to you with my own hands,” muttered Lingard.

He did so, and thus lowered himself in Jaffir’s estimation for a time.  While the messenger, squatting on the floor, ate without haste but with considerable earnestness, Lingard thought out a plan of action.  In his ignorance as to the true state of affairs in the country, to save Hassim from the immediate danger of his position was all that he could reasonably attempt.  To that end Lingard proposed to swing out his long-boat and send her close inshore to take off Hassim and his men.  He knew enough of Malays to feel sure that on such a night the besiegers, now certain of success, and being, Jaffir said, in possession of everything that could float, would not be very vigilant, especially on the sea front of the stockade.  The very fact of Jaffir having managed to swim off undetected proved that much.  The brig’s boat could—­when the frequency of lightning abated—­approach unseen close to the beach, and the defeated party, either stealing out one by one or making a rush in a body, would embark and be received in the brig.

This plan was explained to Jaffir, who heard it without the slightest mark of interest, being apparently too busy eating.  When the last grain of rice was gone, he stood up, took a long pull at the water bottle, muttered:  “I hear.  Good.  I will tell Hassim,” and tightening the rag round his loins, prepared to go.  “Give me time to swim ashore,” he said, “and when the boat starts, put another light beside the one that burns now like a star above your vessel.  We shall see and understand.  And don’t send the boat till there is less lightning:  a boat is bigger than a man in the water.  Tell the rowers to pull for the palm-grove and cease when an oar, thrust down with a strong arm, touches the bottom.  Very soon they will hear our hail; but if no one comes they must go away before daylight.  A chief may prefer death to life, and we who are left are all of true heart.  Do you understand, O big man?”

“The chap has plenty of sense,” muttered Lingard to himself, and when they stood side by side on the deck, he said:  “But there may be enemies on the beach, O Jaffir, and they also may shout to deceive my men.  So let your hail be Lightning!  Will you remember?”

For a time Jaffir seemed to be choking.

“Lit-ing!  Is that right?  I say—­is that right, O strong man?” Next moment he appeared upright and shadowy on the rail.