‘When Tamb’ Itam, paddling madly, came into the town-reach, the women, thronging the platforms before the houses, were looking out for the return of Dain Waris’s little fleet of boats.  The town had a festive air; here and there men, still with spears or guns in their hands, could be seen moving or standing on the shore in groups.  Chinamen’s shops had been opened early; but the market-place was empty, and a sentry, still posted at the corner of the fort, made out Tamb’ Itam, and shouted to those within.  The gate was wide open.  Tamb’ Itam jumped ashore and ran in headlong.  The first person he met was the girl coming down from the house.

‘Tamb’ Itam, disordered, panting, with trembling lips and wild eyes, stood for a time before her as if a sudden spell had been laid on him.  Then he broke out very quickly:  “They have killed Dain Waris and many more.”  She clapped her hands, and her first words were, “Shut the gates.”  Most of the fortmen had gone back to their houses, but Tamb’ Itam hurried on the few who remained for their turn of duty within.  The girl stood in the middle of the courtyard while the others ran about.  “Doramin,” she cried despairingly, as Tamb’ Itam passed her.  Next time he went by he answered her thought rapidly, “Yes.  But we have all the powder in Patusan.”  She caught him by the arm, and, pointing at the house, “Call him out,” she whispered, trembling.

‘Tamb’ Itam ran up the steps.  His master was sleeping.  “It is I, Tamb’ Itam,” he cried at the door, “with tidings that cannot wait.”  He saw Jim turn over on the pillow and open his eyes, and he burst out at once.  “This, Tuan, is a day of evil, an accursed day.”  His master raised himself on his elbow to listen—­just as Dain Waris had done.  And then Tamb’ Itam began his tale, trying to relate the story in order, calling Dain Waris Panglima, and saying:  “The Panglima then called out to the chief of his own boatmen, ‘Give Tamb’ Itam something to eat’”—­when his master put his feet to the ground and looked at him with such a discomposed face that the words remained in his throat.

‘"Speak out,” said Jim.  “Is he dead?” “May you live long,” cried Tamb’ Itam.  “It was a most cruel treachery.  He ran out at the first shots and fell.” . . .  His master walked to the window and with his fist struck at the shutter.  The room was made light; and then in a steady voice, but speaking fast, he began to give him orders to assemble a fleet of boats for immediate pursuit, go to this man, to the other—­send messengers; and as he talked he sat down on the bed, stooping to lace his boots hurriedly, and suddenly looked up.  “Why do you stand here?” he asked very red-faced.  “Waste no time.”  Tamb’ Itam did not move.  “Forgive me, Tuan, but . . . but,” he began to stammer.  “What?” cried his master aloud, looking terrible, leaning forward with his hands gripping the edge of the bed.  “It is not safe for thy servant to go out amongst the people,” said Tamb’ Itam, after hesitating a moment.