began to intrigue. The quarrel of Patalolo with the Sultan of Koti was
of his fomenting, but failed to produce the result he expected because
the Sultan could not back him up effectively at such a great distance.
Disappointed in that scheme, he promptly organized an outbreak of the
Bugis settlers, and besieged the old Rajah in his stockade with much
noisy valour and a fair chance of success; but Lingard then appeared on
the scene with the armed brig, and the old seaman's hairy forefinger,
shaken menacingly in his face, quelled his martial ardour. No man cared
to encounter the Rajah Laut, and Lakamba, with momentary resignation,
subsided into a half-cultivator, half-trader, and nursed in his
fortified house his wrath and his ambition, keeping it for use on a
more propitious occasion. Still faithful to his character of a
prince-pretender, he would not recognize the constituted authorities,
answering sulkily the Rajah's messenger, who claimed the tribute for the
cultivated fields, that the Rajah had better come and take it himself.
By Lingard's advice he was left alone, notwithstanding his rebellious
mood; and for many days he lived undisturbed amongst his wives and
retainers, cherishing that persistent and causeless hope of better
times, the possession of which seems to be the universal privilege of
exiled greatness.

But the passing days brought no change. The hope grew faint and the
hot ambition burnt itself out, leaving only a feeble and expiring spark
amongst a heap of dull and tepid ashes of indolent acquiescence with the
decrees of Fate, till Babalatchi fanned it again into a bright flame.
Babalatchi had blundered upon the river while in search of a safe refuge
for his disreputable head.

He was a vagabond of the seas, a true Orang-Laut, living by rapine and
plunder of coasts and ships in his prosperous days; earning his living