It was a rather imposing cavalcade which Sahib Anderson finally assembled for the trip to Singapore. Most of these wild animals had been kept in his animalhouses close to the Malay village near the Sahib's camp, the elephants alone being kept at camp.
All the bullock teams for twenty miles around had been pressed into service. They were not very much to look at, consisting of rude carts drawn by slow-moving bullocks, but this was the only mode of conveyance in that country, so the Sahib had to make the best of it.
The large wooden cages which were finally loaded upon the bullock-carts contained the female tigress, the mate of terrible Man-Eater, Orang-outang, Wild Man and his mate, Spotted and Black Leopard and their mates, Baba-rusa and his mate, Black Buck and his mate. Baby Tapir and his mother, and a score of smaller animals; not to mention six cages of tropical birds. This showing of about twenty bullock-carts was preceded by the elephants, forty in number. There were twenty female elephants, many of them having baby elephants, and ten young bulls.
Sahib Anderson's wild-animal procession was almost a circus street-parade in itself. Never had such a procession of wild animals been taken out of the Malay Jungle by one man at one time. So the excitement among the natives ran high.
Nearly two hundred Malay helpers were required to manage the cavalcade, and that added to the imposing line.
Each elephant had a driver, either walking by his side, or riding complacently upon the elephant's head, while each bullock-cart had a driver, and some of them two. Then there were camp-attendants and cooks, for this great company would consume much food on the journey. It was two hundred miles to Singapore, and most of the journey was to be made on foot.
As the strange procession finally got under way, nearly all the Malay inhabitants for twenty miles around had assembled to see them off.
There was silence among all the wild animals, save in the cages of Black Langur and the tropical birds. The monkeys chattered, screamed, and swore, and every now and then uttered their characteristic cry of "Wah, wah, wah! Hoo, hoo, hoo!" while the wild tropical birds voiced strange cries of alarm, or sang hysterically.
The tigress and the leopards looked on indifferently, gazing at the scene with their yellow, gleaming eyes, and yawning as though it made them tired. Finally they stretched and yawned some more, and then went to sleep. But Black Langur was very wide-awake. Nothing by the roadside escaped him. He screamed and chattered at each new scene, but at last even he settled down to the monotony of the long, hard march.
The cavalcade travelled rather slowly, about three miles an hour, the elephants at the head setting the pace.
When little Ali arrived at the Sahib's camp, to his great astonishment he found it deserted. He had not thought that his friend the Sahib would break camp so early. But he was not dismayed. The way that they had gone was very apparent to his jungletrained eyes. This Malay boy was as good a tracker as there was in the whole Malay Peninsula, and it was as easy for him to follow a trail like that of the caravan as it would have been for a hound, so he took the trail and scuffed along after the Sahib's wild-animal procession. He did not know just what he would do when he caught up with them, but he must find the Sahib. The white man must listen to him, for the loss of Baby Elephant was not the only thing that troubled the small brown boy.
While he had been sleeping the evening before, he had heard his uncle. Prince Bahi, and another Malay talking over a despicable and cruel plan to sell Baby Elephant when the Sahib should be out of the country. Baby Elephants like this one were quite valuable, and the greedy uncle wanted what money he could get from the sale of this one. Not only had little Ali faced the probability of losing his beloved small elephant, if he stayed with his cruel uncle, but he had also heard them talking of killing him if he objected to the selling of the elephant. So not only was he in danger of losing his pet, but also his life. Ali knew that the Sahib was a good man with a kind heart. If he really understood all his troubles, he would surely help. He was a great man, was the Sahib. He would know how to straighten things out. Then the thought would come to Ali that perhaps the Sahib would not listen to him; perhaps he would send him back. At this thought the boy's heart would almost stand still with fear.
Such were his thoughts as Ali scuffed after the wild animal cavalcade. He knew full well that they would travel five or six hours and then stop in the middle of the day and then resume the trip in the middle of the afternoon.
But Ali had not appreciated how long the way would be, or how fast the procession would move. He arrived at their noon camp an hour or two after they had left. So he resolutely scuffed on after them.
That evening he still followed wearily until ten o'clock, when to his great joy, he came in sight of the camp. Even then he did not dare to show himself, or make his presence known. Perhaps the Sahib would send him back if he appeared too soon. His plan was to follow day after day and then appear, when it was too late to send him back.
That night at about midnight, when the elephants were all peacefully sleeping and the bullocks chewing their cuds, and the camp sentry sleeping also, just as Ali had known he would be, a quiet little figure stole cautiously towards the camp, keeping in the shadows, and moving as silently as a shadow itself. It made its way from tree to bush till it reached the outskirts of the camp, and then slipped noiselessly into the shadows caused by the long line of carts and the large cages containing the wild animals and the birds. After some time, the line of ruminating bullocks was reached, and then the long line of elephants, each secured by a stake. Carefully the figure crept from elephant to elephant until at last it came to the head of the long line where Baby Elephant and his mother was secured.
The old elephant was sleeping soundly, but Baby Elephant himself was quite wide-awake. Perhaps he was thinking of his young master and wondering what had become of him. Certain it was that he greeted him with squeaks of delight, and fondled his hands and face with his expressive trunk.
As for Ali himself, he was overjoyed to find his chum, and to know that he had found his way safely to the Sahib's camp, although he had never doubted that he would.
Ali did not dare talk aloud to Babv Elephant, so he whispered in his great ear, telling him all his boyish sorrows, and they were real sorrows, fraught with very grave danger to the boy. And Baby Elephant was as sympathetic and loving as a small elephant could possibly have been. He squeaked and nuzzled with his trunk, and rubbed against Ali, until the little brown boy was greatly comforted.
Finally Ali had to take a heart-breaking farewell of his, chum, but this was not until he had buried his face upon Baby Elephant's shoulder and poured out his grief in great sobs.
Then the elephants began waking one by one and shaking their great ears, and Ali knew that it would soon be daylight, so he crept away as silently as he had come.
That morning when Sahib Anderson made his round of the camp, he pulled Baby Elephant's big ear playfully and asked him where Ali was. But he little dreamed of the tale that the small elephant could tell if he had the power of speech.
After breakfast, the bullock-teams were again yoked up, and Baby Elephant and his mother swung into the wagon-trail and the long day's march again began.
The roads were little more than wagon-trails, with the two tracks made by the wheels barely showing. Often the way was rough, and the going very hard.
To little Ali trudging a mile or two behind the animal cavalcade, the way seemed endless. Those in the procession joked and chatted by the way, and that helped the tedium, but Ali was all alone. Besides he had to provide for his food and look out for water while he travelled.
He subsisted largely upon fruit and berries, but occasionally he stopped at a Malay hut to beg some rice, or rice-cakes, and other plain food, or perhaps some dry fish if he was lucky. But he often went hungry, aside from the fruit.
The Malay villagers looked askance at him. So at the end of the second day when forty miles in all had been covered Ali was footsore, stiff, and weary-hearted. But he did not give up, for his only salvation was in "carrying on." If he lost the Sahib and the animal caravan, he lost everything.
So again that night he crept into camp and poured his grief into the large, sympathetic ear of Baby Elephant and was much comforted.
The following morning when Sahib Anderson made the round of his camp to inspect the animals, he again stopped at Baby Elephant and his mother to pay his respects to Baby Elephant, as he was very fond of him. The small elephant also liked the Sahib, as did all the animals. He had even partly subdued the hatred of Orang-outang, or Wild Man, simply by talking to him in a gentle, kind manner. When one of the magpies had first seen Wild Man, she had gone up to the bars of her cage and chattered at the Sahib for ten minutes, even screaming and scolding at the top of her voice. Of course the Sahib knew not a word of her conversation, but he felt perfectly sure that she was telling him what a terrible fellow Orang-outang was, and advising the Sahib to get rid of him. He also talked to the infuriated bird, just as he did to all the animals, so that she was finally pacified.
In the same manner he now stroked Baby Elephant's ears, and pulled his trunk and talked to him. All this pleased the small elephant greatly, so that he squeaked with delight.
"Well, well, little chap," said the Sahib, "I wonder where your small master is, and what he is doing this fine morning. I guess he misses you. We should like to see him, wouldn't we, little chap?"
If Baby Elephant could have talked English, he might have told a strange tale, for he of all the large company knew that Ali had been in camp the night before. Even at that very moment the Malay lad was hiding in a bamboo thicket not a mile away, watching from the top of a bamboo for the starting of the cavalcade.
Finally he saw the long snake-like caravan take the road, and he climbed wearily down the tree and pattered after them, for the long day's hike over the sun-baked trail.
Little Ali had several problems to meet. He dared not go too near the caravan for fear that Sahib would discover him and send him back home, and he dared not lag too far behind, for fear that he would lose the way. He knew only in a general fashion where they were going. He had been over the trail but once before and was not sure of it.
Then there was another dark danger coming up swiftly upon his trail from behind, but he knew it not.
His grasping uncle. Prince Bahi, had been furious when he had discovered the flight of the boy and the elephant, for he supposed they had gone together. He suspected that it was a trick of the Sahib's to get back the elephant and also to get the boy. So he followed on the trail of the wild-animal caravan, determined to secure both boy and elephant. He did not want Ali, but he did want the baby elephant, which he knew was valuable.
All through the day little Ali trotted after the Sahib's wild-animal procession. At noon, when they halted, he halted. His feet were by this time blistered, and he was sore and lame in every joint. The hot tropical sun beat down upon him, but he kept doggedly on. All that he loved in the whole world was ahead in the caravan, Baby Elephant and the Sahib. He did not even know whether the Sahib would let him stay or not when he should finally make his presence known, but he must trust to luck. He would say, "Peace, brother," to the Sahib. Perhaps that would help.
He did not intend to make himself known until just before they reached the port from where the animals were to be shipped to Singapore. He knew just how it was to be done, for he had heard the Sahib talk the trip over with his men.
On the fourth morning of little Ali's desperate pursuit of the caravan, just at dawn, the Malay boy was about to crawl out of the bamboo thicket by the side of the road where he had spent the night, and reconnoitre the camp, when he heard voices coming down the road. As he was ever on the watch, and suspicious of every sound, he drew quickly back and peered anxiously out of the thicket.
His precaution was well taken, for presently his sinister uncle. Prince Bahi, and another Malay came running along the road. They seemed in a great hurry and were much excited, as well as very angry.
Ali could only catch a word or two, but he felt sure that he was the object of their wrath, and that they were bound for the camp to have it out with Sahib Anderson. Would he give up Baby Elephant? At the thought the Malay boy's heart went sick. If he lost the small elephant, he would not care to live any longer, now that he had lost the Sahib.
Fifteen minutes later a heated interview took place between the white man and the infuriated Malay.
Bahi came straight to the point, as was his custom.
"You bad man. Sahib Anderson," he said. "You get Ali to run away, and take small elephant back to your camp with him."
"You are mistaken, Bahi," said the Sahib, for he knew what children these Malays were, and he did not believe in getting angry with them.
"You are mistaken. I have not persuaded Ali to run away. On the contrary, I told him to stay with you and be a good boy."
"Where is he?" asked Bahi pointedly.
"I don't know," returned the Sahib. "If he is missing, I wish I did know. If you do not believe me, you may search my camp."
With this permission the two suspicious Malays went hurriedly through the camp. Finally they returned to the Sahib, exultant, yet partly defeated.
"Small elephant is here and you have hidden Ali. You saw us coming," said Prince Bahi.
At this direct accusation, the Sahib's temper began to rise. He turned his eyes, which were of a steely blue, full upon the two brown men.
"Bahi," he said, "the Sahib never lies, and he never cheats. He leaves that to his brown brother.
"Ali is not here, and I have not seen him since I broke camp. The baby elephant came to us the night after we left camp. I think he broke away for he was dragging a rope."
"The Sahib lies," said Bahi doggedly, "I will take the small elephant and then the boy will come home when he gets ready."
"You will do nothing of the kind. The elephant belongs to Ali, and he alone can claim him. I shall keep him until I see Ali. Now you get out of my camp."
For a few minutes the dark men hesitated, but finally the Sahib turned upon them with such fury that they left the camp in great haste, vowing vengeance upon the white man and all his outfit.
All that day little Ali trailed the animal caravan, but he went parallel to the trail, half a mile to one side. He did not know what had become of his uncle, but he felt sure that if he fell into his clutches his uncle would bring him back home, and great punishment would be his.
By the fifth night they had reached a point where the trail ran parallel to the sea, with only half a mile between them and salt water.
Sahib Anderson found that the Malay village where he was camped was in a great terror, for a mighty cave-tiger had been killing the villagers for weeks, and the natives hardly dared venture out-of-doors at night.
They besought the Sahib to stop and hunt the tiger, but he could not halt his march, as his animals would suffer. So, all unconscious of his great danger, little Ali lay down to sleep on that fifth night of his long, hard journey, almost in the very heart of the lair of the great man-eating tiger. But he was a child of nature and had perfect trust. He had talked much with the old priest, and that good man had instilled into him the idea that all God's creatures are good and harmless, so he did not fear.
He lay awake for several minutes listening to the soft sighing of the wind in the bamboo thicket, and to the far cries of night-birds, but finally the fatigue of the long, hard day's march overcame him and he slept soundly.
After a while there came into his sleep a strange sense of a great danger which was creeping steadily upon him. In his dream he seemed to feel this danger rather than see it and that made it even more terrible.
He could feel it creeping, creeping, creeping, foot by foot, yet he could see nothing. Finally this sense became so strong that he awoke with a half—smothered cry upon his lips. With his awakening, the sense that the danger was hidden gave place to a very real sense that the danger was very close at hand, and that he would immediately discover it. He looked this way and that with his narrow Malay eyes. It was rather dark in his thicket, so he could not see well until his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. But presently he thought he made out a long, lithe, sinuous figure about thirty feet away creeping slowly towards him. Like a flash, the thought of tigers rushed through his mind.
Then that which he had thought the shape of a tiger came out into a patch of moonlight, about twenty-five feet away, and he was certain.
It was a tiger and the king of all tigers. Ali could plainly see the mighty shoulder, with the tense muscles under the beautiful coat, the great head, the slowly lashing tail, and worst of all, the phosphorescent eyes, that gleamed like two great coals. The mighty beast had one forepaw advanced and partly raised. Whether he was about to spring or not, Ali could not tell.
Ali's first thought as the king of tigers came so plainly into view within springing distance of him was one of great fear. It seemed to him that his blood froze in his veins, and his heart stood still. Then of a sudden, he remembered the old priest, and his wonderful words about wild animals.
"Ali," he had said one day, "never forget that all the wild beasts are your brothers. If you ever meet them face to face, and are seemingly threatened with great danger, just know in your heart that they are your brothers. If they seem ferocious, remember that they are harmless.
"If they show great ferocity towards you, see them as gentle and harmless in your own mind. The mind of man has perfect control over wild beasts, if he only knew it. He can melt away their ferocity with loving thoughts just as the sunshine melts the snow.
"If your wild brother would kill you, say to him, 'Peace, brother, peace.'" So as the mighty tiger stood in the half moonlight glaring with eyes of burning fire at little Ali, he began saying slowly to himself, "Peace, brother, peace." Then, as the tiger seemed to make no further move to advance, "he said it aloud, but it was almost a whisper because of his fear.
"Peace, brother, peace."
At the sound the tiger uttered an angry growl, deep like distant thunder.
But Ali repeated the command.
"Peace, brother, peace."
Again the tiger growled, though not so loud as before, but to Ali's great consternation, he began creeping slowly forward, and with each stealthy step he would stop and look intently at the half-reclining boy.
Each time he stopped Ali would say, "Peace, brother, peace."
Presently Ali noted that the lashing of the tail had ceased, and the eyes did not seem to glow so fiercely.
When about ten feet away, the great beast lay gently down upon his belly and watched the boy intently for at least five minutes.
It seemed to Ali that these five minutes were at least a day, or a year, but he never let go of his thought that the great tiger was his brother, and would not hurt him, and at regular intervals he would say softly with caressing tones:
"Peace, brother, peace."
At last, to Ali's great astonishment, the mighty beast slowly arose, stretched himself deliberately, and turning, made his way cautiously out of the thicket. But
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he stopped each step to look back over his shoulder at the boy, as though he were fascinated by him.
Finally he disappeared altogether and Ali gave a great sigh of relief. But the strain had been terrific, so the homeless, sorrowing lad buried his face in his hands and sobbed softly to himself.
He did not dare cry aloud, for fear the tiger would hear him and return.
Notwithstanding the fact that the great man-eating tiger probably still prowled in the thicket near by, yet little Ali went peacefully to sleep after his encounter, feeling sure that the great beast would not hurt him.
The tiger understood what he had said. It was as the old priest had said. They were brothers.
But at about daybreak he was awakened by the most blood-curdling yells that he had ever heard. Not even from his father when the bull elephant had killed him.
These cries were so horrible, so expressive of terror and agony that the terrified boy simply threw himself upon the earth, and covered his ears with his hands, sobbing with uncontrollable fright.
There he lay trembling and sobbing, for at least five minutes. Then he cautiously uncovered his ears, fearing to hear the dreadful sounds again. But it was as still as death; in fact the stillness taken together with the fearful sounds that he had just heard did suggest death to the fearful imagination of Ali.
He was not sure from what direction the sounds had come, so thinking to get out of the thicket as soon as possible, he crept cautiously towards the road. But he had not gone a hundred feet when a fearful sight met his eyes; for, coming suddenly into an opening in the cover, he saw the mighty tiger crouching over a man. The face of the man was turned up towards him, and he saw, to his great horror, that it was that of his Uncle Bahi.
At the sight of the boy the tiger uttered a thunderous growl and bared his fangs in an angry snarl.
This was enough for little Ali. He and the tiger might be brothers as the priest had said, but the tiger did not understand that he and Uncle Bahi were brothers also. So Ali fled towards Sahib Anderson's camp, his terror growing with each rod that he covered.
He would throw off all disguises and throw himself upon the mercy of the Sahib.
Fifteen minutes later, he burst into Sahib Anderson's tent and with a wild cry of terror and despair, threw himself at the Sahib's feet, clasping the man's knees and sobbing incoherently.
The Sahib at once concluded that Uncle Bahi was after Ali and lifted him up to comfort him.
"There, there, sonny, don't cry. I won't let him hurt you. Perhaps I won't let you go back."
For several minutes all Ali could do was to sob incoherently, but he finally sobbed out his story so that the Sahib understood.
"I was in bamboo thicket asleep," he explained, "oh, oh, and great tiger came to eat me, and I said, 'Peace, brother, peace,' and at last he went away.
"But this morning, I wake up and such yell!" Here Ali stopped and put his hands over his ears, and it was some time before the Sahib could get him to take them away. But he finally continued:
"I woke up hearing such yells. Some one die; some one dead. Then by and by, I go towards the road and I see tiger eating Uncle Bahi. Oh! oh!"
The Sahib thought Ali must have dreamed it all, but he comforted the boy and finally sent several of his men heavily armed to the spot while he attended to Ali who was still suffering from the great shock. In half an hour's time the men returned with the body of Ali's cruel uncle.
At the sight, a sudden sense of loneliness and fear came over Ali and he threw himself into the lap of the white man.
"Oh, Sahib, oh, Sahib, please, please take me to your United States. Take Baby Elephant and me. I will work so hard. I can work in your great circus. I will tend the animals. I will be your slave always."
At the sight of the faithful little brown boy, clinging to his knees, the tender heart of this man of iron was deeply stirred.
"All right, Ali," he said. "It shall be as you say. You and Baby Elephant shall go back to the United States with me, and be Americans."
Ali was so overcome that he could only sob for joy.
Thus, it came about that when the wild-animal procession started on its last day's march, the sixth day, little Ali rode upon the head of Baby Elephant's mother, while the small elephant trotted by her side; and a happier boy and small elephant could not have been found in all the Malay Peninsula, for they were going across the great ocean with the Sahib to become Americans.
Little Adi never forgot that day's ride upon the head of Baby Elephant's mother, from which vantage-point he would look down upon the passers-by, and also see the surrounding country. All the natives that they passed grinned up at him and he grinned back.
Late in the afternoon of the sixth day of their march, they reached the little seaport town of Yahmi, upon the straits of Malacca.
Here they said good-bye to all the bullocks and their drivers, who went back to their homes, while the Sahib the next day loaded the jungle folk upon a small tramp steamer bound for Singapore.
If the ride upon the head of the large elephant had been a treat the day before, Ali's sail down the straits of Malacca was a trip in fairy—land.
The sparkling, shimmering water, alive with tropical fish, the blue sky, and the countless islands among which their ship continually wound her way, were a never-ending source of surprise and delight. These islands were very heavily timbered with great spreading trees, and adorned with giant ferns and with a wealth of clinging vines which ran all over the trees, made the scene one of great beauty. The islands were swarming with monkeys and tropical birds of beautiful plumage, so the scene was indeed beyond words to describe.
Little Ali sat upon the upper deck beside his beloved Sahib taking it all in as the ship steamed down the straits.
Finally they wound their way around a nearly complete circle, in what seemed to be a muddy river, and came to anchor at the docks, at the very back-door of Singapore, and the long trip to that city had ended.