CHAPTER TWELVE.
HOW MARK FIRST TASTED JUNGLE.
A hot but uneventful voyage succeeded, during which the passengers were well roasted in the Suez Canal, and saturated with the steamy moisture of Ceylon, where Mark stared with wonder at the grandees, whose costume strongly resembled that of some gorgeously-decked little girl of fifty years ago dressed up for a party.
Then there was a glimpse of Sumatra, and a stay at busy bazaar-like Singapore, with its shipping of all nations from great steamers down to Malay praus, with their bamboo sides and decks, and copper-coloured wide-nostrilled Malays in little flat military caps, and each wearing the national check sarong, so much after the fashion of a Highlander's tartan, baju jacket, and deadly-looking kris.
"Yes, these are Malays, Mark," said Mr Morgan as they stood gazing over the side at the hundreds of vessels of all sizes.

"Clever sailors they are too." "And pirates ?" said Mark.
"Yes, whenever they can get the chance with some one weaker than themselves, but our cruisers have made their trade less profitable than it used to be." "Should you think these are pirates ?" said Mark, pointing towards one particularly swift-looking prau just gliding out of the harbour.
"Very likely," said the second-mate.

"They are traders and fishermen, and sometimes all's fish that comes to their net.

Not very formidable looking enemies, though." "They've no guns," said Mark, looking rather contemptuously at the quaint craft.
"Not visible," said the second-mate, "but I daresay they may have two or three down below ready for mounting as soon as they get to sea." "Very large guns ?" "No; small brass pieces which they call lelahs, and which send a ball weighing perhaps a pound." "But pirates would not dare to attack a great ship like this," said Mark.
"Oh, yes, they would, for these Malays are fighting men, who always go armed, while they know that our merchantmen, as a rule, are not.

But there is not much to fear.