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From shore to shore, at high tide, it was a mile in breadth, and so deep that his Highness's yacht, the Pante, of three hundred tons' burden, could run up full fifty miles. For a moment we caught a view of the wooden minarets of the little mosque at Bander Maharani; then we dashed on into the heart of another great curve.

The Pante was backing from side to side, and then pushing carefully ahead, trying to get into the deep water beyond, before low tide. Suddenly there was a soft, grating sound and the captain came to me and touched his hat. "We are on the bar, sir. Will you send a despatch by the steam-cutter to Prince Suliman, asking for the launch? We cannot get off until the night tide."

The Sultan's own yacht, the Pante, brought the Prince back to Maur, and as it was low tide, the Governor's launch went out beyond the bar and met him. The band played the national anthem when he landed on the pier, and Inchi Mohammed, the Tuan Hakim, or Chief Justice, made a speech.

The little pleasant-faced Malay captain of his Highness's three-hundred ton yacht Pante called softly, close to my ear, "Tuan Tuan Consul, Gunong Ladang!" I sprang to my feet, rubbed my eyes, and gazed in the direction indicated by the brown hand.

The Danes begged to be allowed to overpass the ford, and Byrhtnoth in his scorn allowed this. Too much the earl in his disdain to that ill folk gave heed. The wolves of slaughter strode along, nor for the water cared; The host of vikings westward there across the Pante fared. Byrhtnoth was awaiting them, and the fight began.

The Pante had so swung around that we could plainly see the big red istana, or palace, of Prince Suliman close to the sandy shore, surrounded by a grove of graceful palms.