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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Of course they would, sir, and that is the way in which Tomba, even in Manila, had planned to make our acquaintance, and use it for just such an undertaking as to-night's. It seems, sir, that having failed with us, he succeeded in getting on the right side of Corporal Duxbridge." "Where, I wonder?" muttered the captain. "And where is the Corporal?"
I saw that they were taking off the girdle of the dead man. As they lifted him up I distinguished the features so I thought of Ali Tomba, who had been the cause of the destruction of the Bussorah Merchant. Leaving the body, the men returned with the sash and clothes. They were examined, and found to contain a considerable number of coins, at which the natives gazed with eager eyes.
And the Army boy did not intend to let this human bulwark get away from him. "You have told them, Tomba?" queried Hal Overton, as soon as the Filipino's voice ceased. "Even so, señor." "They understand?" "If they do not, then they are idiots, Señor Sergente." "Then tell them I am going to begin to count." Again Tomba spoke, this time briefly.
They could not, even if they had not been so closely guarded that escape was out of the question. But Tomba refused to go until Mr. Illingway had said that perhaps he might get word to some white hunters, and so send help to the captives. This Tomba consented to do, and, watching his chance, he did escape. That was several nights ago, and he had been traveling through the jungle ever since.
"Shall I call the guard, Sergeant, to take this little brown rat?" demanded Corporal Hyman. "No; he isn't big enough, or man enough to bother the guard with," replied young Sergeant Overton. "I'll take care of him myself." Whirling the Filipino around, Hal gave him a vigorous start, emphasized by a kick, and Vicente Tomba slid off into the darkness. Malay blood is not forgiving.
The voice was new, but Sergeant Overton started at sight of the speaker's face. "Why, that's the same big, florid-faced fellow that I saw in the shed with Tomba, that time it rained so hard," flashed through the young sergeant's astonished mind. "What can he be doing here a cabin passenger on a United States troop ship?" Unconsciously Hal was staring hard at the stranger.
"This little man has just been telling me how much he loves American soldados, and he proposed to get a quilez and take me over into the city for the time of my life." "From what happened this afternoon I'm a little shaky on Señor Tomba," Hal continued. "You never saw me before!" cried Tomba, wheeling about on Hal. "Liar! Thief!" Hal's reply was prompt, sufficient, military.
This remark was made by a dark-skinned native of the East, who was standing at the time near the caboose. He was the serang of the Lascars, of whom we had a dozen on board. Ali Tomba was his name. He and Potto Jumbo could not abide each other, so it seemed.
It was hard to see her troubled face and obey, but I was not going to bellow at her like a bull, and I had set my heart on this trial. For the last three days, while working in the fields, I had been incessantly practicing my dear old master Campana's exquisite M'appar sulla tomba, the only melody I happened to know which had any resemblance to their divine music.
"However, we'll look them over to make sure that they have no weapons now." Hardly had the two sergeants started on their tour of inspection when one man leaped suddenly from his seat on the ground and made off on a run. "There's the man we want!" yelled Hal. "Vicente Tomba, I call upon you to halt and surrender!" But Tomba, for it was he, continued to run fleetly.
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