XXX. BABOE DALIMA'S JOURNEY…

XXX. BABOE DALIMA'S JOURNEY

A long the rough mountain path which runs winding through the volcanic region of Soembrieng and Lindoro, baboe Dalima, a few days after her acquittal and release, was stepping along with her usual firm and springy tread. She was clad with the utmost simplicity in sarong and kabaja, but was as neat and tidy as in the days when she was Anna's favourite servant. On her shoulder, tied up in a shawl, she carried a bundle containing probably some articles of wearing apparel. We must notice also that she was not barefooted; but wore a pair of sandals to the use of which she seemed perfectly accustomed. It was evident, therefore, that the girl intended to take a long journey, while her outward appearance showed that she must already have got over a considerable amount of ground. How then did Dalima get to the spot where now we find her, at so great a distance from Kaligaweh, and what was the object of her journey?

Immediately after her release, she had made, as we saw in the last chapter, some anxious inquiries after nonna Anna. When she was told that her young mistress had gone to Karang Anjer and had then disappeared without leaving a trace, her simple brain had set to work; and there arose within her the determination to go and seek for Anna on her own account. She had but little comprehension of the social relations which exist between Europeans; but somehow her instinct told her that her beloved Nana must be in distress. She felt that the dear girl must be sorely in need of a companion, and so the faithful creature at once devoted herself to share the load of sorrow with her former mistress. But, Karang Anjer was a great way off--in her estimation the distance seemed infinite. Her friends in the dessa had told her that it lay somewhere yonder, not far from the great sea, and near to the territory of the Queen of the south, a mysterious being of whom the Javanese stand in the greatest awe.

But all that could not deter her. She made up her mind to summon up courage and to plod resolutely on, even though, as her friends again had informed her, the road might take her along seething solfataras, along burning mountains, along dizzying precipices and through lonely forests. She could travel only by day for fear of the wild beasts. Other fears she had none; for she knew that no man would wantonly molest her; and her outward appearance was not such as to suggest that she had anything to lose. And yet she did possess a treasure, which she had anxiously hoarded and had tied up in a handkerchief and now was carrying with her in the bundle which hung from her shoulder. When she lay in prison at Santjoemeh, nonna Anna had, from time to time, sent her small sums of money; van Beneden also and van Nerekool when they visited her to gather particulars for her defence, never failed to leave a few coins with the poor Javanese girl. All these presents she had thankfully accepted and most carefully saved up; for she always had an eye to the future. In this manner she had collected quite forty guilders, and this money, she had before starting, changed into twopenny and fivepenny pieces, knowing well that the sight of guilders or rixdollars might attract the attention of the evil-disposed, and might bring trouble upon her.

This money had, in fact, for some time been constantly present to her mind, and had been the cause of some hesitation before she finally could make up her mind to undertake her long journey. She had anxiously hoarded it to meet the expenses which she knew must soon come upon her. The money was dear to her, for she would not be a burden upon her poor mother, who, now that her father was a prisoner, had already trouble enough to feed her little brothers and sisters. This money she had clung to, for young as she was, she knew that a time of need would soon be at hand. But all these considerations vanished as she thought of her Nana--then she wavered no longer. Her own unhappy condition, indeed, gave her but little uneasiness. She knew how kind-hearted her country-women are, and she felt sure that in the hour of need, she would find some hospitable roof to shelter her; and that even the very poorest would reach her a helping hand, and would gladly share her modest ration of rice with a traveller in distress.

Once, at Kaligaweh, Dalima had received a visit from M`Bok Kârijâh, the loathsome confidante of Mrs. van Gulpendam. Perhaps it was at that lady's suggestion that the old hag went to see her. She had whispered to her something about a medicine made from the Clitoria Ternatea. At first poor Dalima had not understood what she meant and had opened her eyes wide with surprise--she knew nothing, of course, of the connection between the filthy old hag and the Resident's lady. But when the crone pretended to sympathise with her in her misfortune; and proceeded to speak out more plainly--then the girl's indignation and disgust knew no bounds, and she drove the old hag from her presence, threatening to rouse the entire dessa against her should she venture to show her face again. Her nature revolted at the foul crime which M`Bok dared to suggest, such practices she was quite content to leave to the more highly favoured daughters of civilisation.

Thus then had she started on her journey, and, with the little bundle which contained all her earthly possessions on her back, she had trudged over hill and dale; and after eight days of steady walking, she was beginning to draw near to her destination. Whenever, at nightfall, she reached some dessa she would at once seek out the native priest and tell him that she was travelling to Karang Anjer in search for her father whom she hoped to find there.

Perceiving the plight she was in, the good man then used generally to direct her to some kind-hearted woman, who willingly took her in for the night, and not unfrequently refused to take the small coin she tendered in payment for her lodging. Sometimes even they would give her a couple of small parcels of boiled rice as provision on the road. But she was not always so fortunate. Sometimes it happened that she could not well make out the directions given to her, and thus night would come on before she could reach any inhabited spot. Then she used to beg for a resting-place on the bench of some guard-house, and her prayer was never refused. But, on one occasion, even this poor resource failed her. Her road that evening lay through a dense wood, the sun was about to set, and under the thick foliage it soon grew pitch dark. She could keep to the path only by looking upward and following the narrow strip of sky which showed through the tree-tops stretching along in the same direction as the rough road. The stars were twinkling brightly, and for some time she listened breathlessly hoping to hear some sound, such as the late crowing of a cock, or the measured strokes on the rice tomboks, which might lead her to some human dwelling. Then she hurried on again; but she did not come across even a detached guard-house. At length she was suddenly brought to a standstill by the shrill discordant "meoh! meoh!" of a peacock which, perched in the upper branches of a lofty tree, thus announced that the last glimmer of light was disappearing in the west. Dalima stopped in terror, for she well knew that the peacock is hardly ever heard in the woods unless a tiger is near. Soon, however, she recovered her presence of mind, and quickly glancing round, she plunged into the wood and began to climb into a tree which stood close by. She was not indeed very well fitted for such gymnastics; but carefully clambering up, she, with some trouble, managed to reach one of the lower branches. As soon as she got there she felt safe. A panther will rarely attack mankind, and the tiger, she knew, does not climb trees. So she tried to make herself as comfortable as she could on the branch which was, fortunately, quite thick enough to bear her weight, and grew out horizontally so as to form a kind of seat. But that night of nearly eleven hours seemed to her of interminable length. She did not dare to give way to sleep, fearing that she might lose her balance and fall to the ground, and the branch on which she tried to settle herself, and the trunk against which she leaned, were covered with a thick knotty bark, which pressed into her limbs and gave her great pain. Again and again she attempted to change her position, but the relief thus obtained was only temporary. Then she tried to assume the squatting attitude which is customary with the natives; but, in clambering up the tree, the sandals had dropped from her feet, and the rough bark, cutting into the soles of her feet, soon made that position unbearable. To these discomforts was added the plague of myriads of insects, such as ants, mosquitoes, sundry kinds of beetles and other pests, which settled upon her, and caused the most frightful itching, while her hands, which supported her, and with which she had to keep her balance, were not always free to brush the tormentors away.

She had also been obliged to drop her bundle, which contained her clothes, her money, in fact all she possessed; but she felt no anxiety on that account. No human being was present in that wood, and even if any one had been lurking about, he would hardly have been wandering in the dark just under the tree where she was seated. As for the animals which might be roving about, they would not disturb her little bundle. So the night crept slowly along, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that the poor girl at length welcomed the first faint streak of grey which began to tinge the eastern horizon. But she had much longer still to wait and endure the pain which every instant was getting more acute. For, during the night, she had heard very alarming sounds. The hoarse and terrible hoh! heoh! of the tiger had resounded more than once. There was no mistaking that well-known cry, and however painful her position might be, she could not yet venture to descend. Indeed the tiger is never more formidable than just at dawn of day--then he prowls about noiselessly like a huge cat seeking for his prey--then he hurries off to the nearest water hole to quench his burning thirst, and to lay in his provision of water for the day. In one word, she knew that the hour of early dawn is the most dangerous; and she felt that she must still have patience. On that branch she must remain perched until the sun was fairly above the horizon, and the daylight had penetrated the foliage, driving all evil beasts to their lairs.

Soon she found that she had done well to be patient, for once again the peacock gave forth his screeching meoh! meoh! thus hailing the dawn as he had the evening before greeted the last glow of the setting sun. Thus Dalima knew that the tiger was close by. So she kept her seat high up on her branch, shivering with cold in the keen morning air, while she watched the faint streak of light gradually expanding and deepening, and the stars fading away one by one. Gradually the rosy tint of morning began to spread to the zenith, driving back the damp shadows deeper and deeper into the wood. Oh! how slowly time seemed to go by! how lazily the sun seemed to rise! And no wonder; for the agony she was enduring was growing well-nigh intolerable. She twisted and stretched her cramped limbs as she anxiously peered all around. Under her feet all was as yet dusky and grey. She could only just descry her bundle lying under her on the grass, and her sandals at the foot of the tree; but overhead the light was already shining, and the choir of birds was beginning to carol forth its morning hymn of praise. But how slowly time crept on! She saw the sky assuming a deeper and ruddier hue, while the East was clad in glorious purple. The clouds, the trees, the leaves, the branches above were all bathed in gold, and presently the light broke through to the bottom of the wood.

Then the sun rose in his majesty and flooded everything in dazzling radiance. At length Dalima felt that she could safely leave her perch, and after giving another look round and observing the same precautions she used in clambering up, she began to descend. As soon as she reached the ground in safety, she stretched her numbed limbs, then she took up her bundle, in which she fortunately found a couple of parcels of rice. Swarms of ants were evidently anxious to share her breakfast with her; but these she soon got rid of. A little stream was murmuring close by, to this she hastened and bathed her face, her feet, and her arms in the cool refreshing water. Thus, having somewhat recovered from her painful night-watch, she sat down and enjoyed her rice, and a draught from the clear brook. Then with fresh courage and renewed strength, she continued her journey.

The whole of that day she plodded along patiently until she came to a guard-house, where she heard the joyful news that the next dessa she would come to was Karang Anjer.

"How far is it from here?" she asked.

The man looked puzzled; for your Javanese is not much of a hand at judging distances. However, after a few moments' reflection, he told her that she would have to pass about fifty telegraph poles.

Next day, with fresh courage she resumed her journey, and, after a good half-hour's walking, she reached the dessa.

She lost no time in inquiring for the house of Mrs. Steenvlak and, having found it, she sent in her name to the njonja, adding that she was the baboe of nonna Anna. During her stay with the Steenvlaks, Anna had often, very often, spoken about her faithful servant, and always in terms of the greatest kindness and affection, so that Dalima found the most cordial reception. But, as regards the main object of her long journey, the poor baboe could get no information whatever. Prayers and entreaties were alike in vain. To all her questions she could obtain no other answer than, "I do not know."

"But, njonjaa, Nana has been staying with you here," cried the poor girl.

"Yes, Dalima, that is so."

"But where is she now, njaa?"

"She has gone away."

"Yes, njaa; but where is she?"

"That I cannot tell you."

The faithful young girl twisted and turned her questions in every conceivable way--most plaintively she lengthened out her "njonjaaa"--but she could get no answer.

Did Mrs. Steenvlak really not know what had become of Anna? That was hardly probable. Might she perhaps have some suspicion that Dalima had been sent on her errand by van Nerekool? That was precisely what the lady did think probable. She knew that the girl was well aware of the affection which existed between her mistress and the young lawyer, and, moreover, Dalima had, in the course of conversation quite innocently remarked, that Charles van Nerekool had visited her in the prison at Santjoemeh, and that she had received money from him. Mrs. Steenvlak was very far indeed from harbouring any sinister suspicions against Dalima; she saw perfectly well that love for her mistress was the only motive that had brought her all that distance. But yet, she could not help thinking that this devotion to Anna was mingled with some feeling of gratitude for the European gentleman who had showed himself so kind to Dalima in her distress. And again, might not the girl honestly imagine that in bringing the lovers together she was promoting the happiness of both? These considerations made Mrs. Steenvlak very guarded in her replies.

"Njonjaa," began Dalima again, "do tell me where I may find my Nana."

"I have told you already, and I tell you again, that I know nothing about it," was the lady's answer.

"But, njaa, tell me, do you know where she has gone to?" cried Dalima, wringing her hands.

"No, I tell you--how should I, baboe?"

"But you know at least in which direction she went?" asked the girl, still sticking to her point.

"Of course," replied Mrs. Steenvlak, "I know that."

"Oh, then, tell me," cried the sobbing girl, with a ray of hope in her swollen eyes.

"I may not, I cannot tell you, baboe."

"But why not, njaa?"

"Because, before Anna left me she made me promise her--"

"What, njaa?"

"That I would let no one know--no one, do you understand me, Dalima?"

"That does not apply to me, you may trust me, njaa."

"No, no," replied Mrs. Steenvlak, "I will trust no one--Anna was particularly anxious that I should not speak."

"But, perhaps she is in need of my help, njaa. Where can she be? She is not fit to take care of herself, she is not accustomed to it. Do tell me," sobbed the poor girl again, "I must find my Nana."

"No," said Mrs. Steenvlak firmly, "a promise once made must not be broken, you know that as well as I do, Dalima."

For all her firmness, the kind-hearted lady was deeply moved by the devotion of the poor creature, who had already gone through so much suffering in her little life, that it was a wonder her temper had not been soured altogether by misfortune. She was half sorry that she had given her word to Anna; but yet, until she was authorised to do so, she did not feel justified in breaking silence.

"The best advice I can give you," she said at length, as she looked with much compassion at the girl who sat sobbing at her feet, "is to return at once to Santjoemeh, or better still to Kaligaweh. Can I do anything for you to help you on your journey back?"

Baboe Dalima sadly shook her head.

"Come, come, you will want some money on the road, eh?" and opening her purse she took out four rix-dollars and put them into the girl's hand.

Without uttering a word, Dalima accepted the gift, and carefully tied up the money in her handkerchief. Then she rose, respectfully kissed Mrs. Steenvlak's hand, and disappeared.

As soon as she got outside, she muttered, "That gives me so many more days to look for Nana."

Dalima's wants were but few. A couple of pence for her lodging, some twenty, or five and twenty cents for her food--that was all she required. Instead of leaving Karang Anjer, she continued to wander about the neighbourhood. She questioned, she inquired, she managed to penetrate everywhere. She could do what van Nerekool, as a European, and in his position as judge, was not able to do. She would, for instance, sit down at every small fruit and coffee stall she found on her way. At one place she would sit down and eat some rice, flavoured with red pepper; at another place again she would purchase some rasped cocoa-nut sweetened with the syrup of goela-areng; at another little stall again she would sip a cup of coffee or eat a bunch of ramboetans. These delicacies she could purchase for a very few cents, sometimes they cost her nothing at all; for the woman who kept the stall would look strangely at her, and when she produced her money would quietly put it back, and say: "Never mind, keep that for your baby, and take another cup of coffee, you are welcome to it."

But Dalima did not sit down at these stalls to enjoy herself--she did so because it gave her an opportunity of asking questions and making inquiries. But, alas, all her perseverance and all her endeavours were, for a considerable time, fruitless. During the first few days of her wandering, she learned absolutely nothing. She was beginning to despair, and to give up all hope of success. She was, however, soon to have her reward; for on a certain day, as she was slowly walking through the dessa Prembanan, which is situated about three miles to the southwest of Karang Anjer, she obtained some information which seemed to point in the right direction.

A woman told her that, on a certain day, about two months ago, one of the poles of a light litter suddenly snapped, and a fresh pole had to be procured. The bearers put down the litter and, as a bamboo of sufficient length and strength was not very easily found, some considerable delay ensued. During this time of waiting, a nonna had stepped out of the litter, and had taken a seat at the stall, and called for a cup of coffee.

"A nonna, you say?" cried Dalima breathless with excitement: "are you sure of that?"

"Oh, yes, quite sure," replied the woman. "She was dressed exactly like all Javanese girls, in a very simple sarong and a plain cotton kabaja, and she had sandals on her feet. But those feet had evidently been but little exposed to the sun, they were very small, very white, and not at all flattened out as our feet are. I fancy that not even the princesses at Sala have fairer and tinier feet; but for that matter she might perhaps have been a princess."

"Why do you think so?" asked Dalima.

"Well, she spoke Javanese; but entirely with the a sound so that I had some difficulty in catching what she said."

"You spoke to her then, ma?"

"Yes, I did," replied the stall-keeper, "she spoke with something of your accent."

"But what did she say to you, ma?"

"She first asked for coffee and then for ramboetans."

"Did she say anything more?--do try and remember."

"Oh, yes; she further asked me how far it is from here to the dessa Sikaja, and I told her that it is about two miles off."

"Anything else?" cried Dalima impatiently.

"Then she asked how far Sikaja is from the dessa Pringtoetoel; but I could not tell her that, as I know nothing of the country beyond our own district."

"Did you hear her say anything more, ma?"

"No."

"But ma, did you see her face?"

"Certainly I did," replied the woman, "why not?"

"And?" asked Dalima, anxiously.

"Her features were those of a white woman, though rather dark. Her face and hands, however, did not correspond in colour with her feet. In fact I suspected at the time that she had stained them. But perhaps the nonna had been running about a good deal in the sun."

"And her hair, ma?" asked Dalima.

"It was tied up in a knot."

"What colour was it, ma?"

"It was as black as yours; but much softer, it looked like silk and was wavy. Oh, yes! now I feel sure she was a nonna."

"Yes," thought Dalima, "it is she;" and then she continued aloud:

"She asked you no other question, ma?"

"No, nothing else," replied the stall-keeper.

Dalima did not stay long--a quarter of an hour later she was on her way to Sikaja. How she sped there, we shall see later on. The day after, she reappeared in Karang Anjer; but it was only to fetch the bundle she had left behind her. Then she disappeared, and no one saw or heard anything more of her.

Mrs. Steenvlak sent a couple of oppassers to inquire what had become of her; but they returned saying that the girl had gone away, no one could tell whither.

"She must have gone back to Santjoemeh," thought Mrs. Steenvlak. "Was I right after all in keeping my word to Anna? Time will show. Anna did seem greatly attached to her baboe; and no doubt, in her present lonely state, the girl would be a pleasant and useful companion."

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XXXI. THE PRISON AT SANTJOEMEH--THE OPIUM-TRADE AT ATJEH

It was a glorious afternoon in August and the green at Santjoemeh presented a pleasant and most animated appearance. The military band was performing a selection of music and numbers of carriages were slowly moving about among a crowd of pedestrians. The fine turf which, during the west monsoon, gives the square so fresh and pleasant an aspect, was now completely dried up and burnt to a uniform dark brown tint, while here and there the soil, which mostly consists of red clay, was gaping open in wide fissures under the scorching influence of the tropical sun.

But at that hour in the afternoon, the sun had already run a considerable portion of his daily course, and was casting his slanting rays through the tops of the tall kanarie trees which, with their dark and glossy foliage, enclose the green as in a frame of verdure. The north-easterly monsoon was blowing freshly along the coasts of Java; it was rustling in the leaves, in the branches, and even far inland it was making its cooling influence felt, pleasantly tempering the heat of the day.

The whole of Santjoemeh was astir. Europeans, natives, Chinamen and Arabs were walking about in motley groups. Every one seemed bent upon enjoying the music and upon breathing his share of the deliciously cool evening air.

The Resident van Gulpendam and his wife, as charming as ever, had driven up the green in a handsome landau drawn by a pair of splendid horses. They were very busy exchanging greetings and nods on all sides; and distributing their most affable smiles among their friends and acquaintances. Officials of all kinds and of all grades were there and the leading men of commerce; all these, accompanied by their wives and daughters, sauntered about laughing, talking, or enjoying the music.

We just now said all Santjoemeh was astir. But yet anyone who was well acquainted with the European world at Santjoemeh--and really it was not very difficult in that small inland town to become tolerably well known to everyone of any social importance--could not help noticing that one small group was wanting; a group which, by reason of its youth, its wit and gaiety, always was wont to impart a certain flavour of mirth to all these gatherings; a group which used to attract the brightest eyes and win the most beaming smiles--this little group was, on the present occasion, conspicuous by its absence.

"What can have become of Edward van Rheijn?"

"Where is Leendert Grashuis?"

"Where can August van Beneden have got to?"

Such were the inquiries which might be heard on every side.

"Yes, and Grenits, where is he? What has become of our merry Theodoor?"

"Theodoor? Why, don't you know--he is in the lock-up?"

"Oh, yes, of course, I had quite forgotten; he is in for ten days, eh?"

"Ah! well then, you hardly need ask where the others are to be found."

"They are keeping him company you may be sure--cela va sans dire."

"They are faithful friends these four."

"Faithful, you call them? I tell you their devotion to each other is positively edifying. They are simply inseparable."

"Hallo!" cried another, "there goes Mokesuep!"

"I say, just look; now he is making his bow to the Resident. What a magnificent sweep--his hat almost touches the ground!"

"And what a charming smile the fair Laurentia is giving him."

"I should rather think so. In that late business of Lim Ho--"

"Come, I say! no scandal if you please!"

"Scandal you call it; why, all Santjoemeh is talking about it!"

"Mokesuep," cried another, "won't go and pay Grenits a visit, I bet!"

"He had better not show his nose there; he would find himself in queer street, I fancy!"

"Yes, that he would; and no more than he deserves--the scoundrel!"

"Look at him now, shaking hands with the Assistant Resident."

"He is only a new chum--as soon as he has got to know the fellow--"

"Why, then he will do just exactly as the Resident does; he will follow his lead, you will see."

"Well, well," remarked another, "such fellows have their value."

"Come gentlemen, do keep quiet; let us listen; they are just striking up Le lever du soleil."

"The lever of what did you say? That's a good joke--the sun is just setting."

"Do be quiet, I want to hear the music."

It was the last piece on the programme, and at the moment when a brilliant fugue seemed to celebrate the rising of the orb of day--the actual sun was disappearing behind the hills to the west of Santjoemeh.

"Just twelve hours out!" cried one, "either the sun or the bandmaster must have been having a drop too much!"

A very few minutes afterwards the green was deserted.

However, the frequenters of the Sunday afternoon concert, had been quite right in their surmise. Van Nerekool, van Beneden and van Rheijn--the three "vans," as the wits of Santjoemeh loved to call them, had indeed gone to the prison to pass the afternoon and evening, with their friend Grenits. He, poor fellow, had been condemned to ten days' imprisonment and he had already been in durance vile for some time.

As soon as they had had their bath after the usual siesta, they had started for the prison, and at that hour the sun was still high and the streets were almost deserted. They were true friends and they cheerfully gave up these hours of amusement, which were indeed the most pleasant of the whole week, to the poor prisoner. It was a sacrifice, however, which brought its own reward.

The apartment in which the young men were on that afternoon assembled, did not by any means wear a dismal appearance, it suggested anything rather than a prison cell. The room was of moderate size and perfectly square. On either side of the door two large windows admitted light and air, and these could be closed by means of Venetian blinds. The door gave access to a tolerably wide verandah, the architraves of which rested on pillars in the Doric style; and this gallery was common to four other similar apartments which served the same purpose as that for which Grenits was immured--namely to deprive their occupants, for the time being, of liberty.

That verandah looked out upon a small but cheerful looking quadrangle, very tastefully laid out in grass plots and planted with flowering shrubs all covered with gay and many-coloured blossoms.

The little square was enclosed by the buildings which formed the jail, one of its sides being occupied by the governor's house, a building which had a double row of pillars and whose spacious front-gallery was enlivened by a splendid collection of roses of all kinds, amongst which the thick double Persian rose, the fair Devoniensis, the Souvenir de la Malmaison and the fragrant tea-rose were conspicuous.

The room occupied by Grenits was very prettily furnished. It had a good table, a very comfortable seat something like a garden seat, and half-a-dozen chairs; all these of the best native workmanship. The walls were hung with four or five fairly good pictures, and a handsome lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The floor was almost entirely covered with tiles and these again were hidden by matting of the finest texture. But the most elegant piece of furniture the room contained was undoubtedly the piano which van Beneden had sent to the prison for his friend's amusement. The bedroom, no less tastefully furnished than the apartment we have attempted to describe, was immediately adjacent to the sitting-room--so that Grenits had not much reason to complain, and his captivity was not very irksome. Said Grashuis, as he entered and looked around:

"Why, old fellow! this looks really very comfortable. This is the first time I have ever been inside a prison, and I had no idea the Government took such good care of the criminals it has to keep under lock and key."

"That's all you know about it!" laughed van Rheijn, "you ought to go and inspect the other side."

"Where? on that side?" asked Grashuis as he pointed to the governor's house.

"No, no," said van Beneden, "yonder in that wing, that is where you ought to go and have a look. That would make you sing a different tune."

"Shall we go?" cried Leendert as he rose from his seat.

"Thank you, much obliged--the smell would soon drive you away. The poor native prisoners lie there huddled together in a space miserably too small for them. The only furniture you would see there is a wretched bench or two, which in filthiness so closely rivals the floor, that the original colour of both has long since disappeared. At nightfall some further ornaments are introduced in the shape of sundry representatives of the tub family--and these utensils presently contribute their fragrance to the already pestilent atmosphere. The prisoners have but a very scanty allowance of air and light, admitted through two small heavily barred openings. The walls are supposed to be white-washed; but are smeared all over with blotches of blood, produced by mosquitoes and other still fouler insects crushed against them by the human finger, and are covered with sirih-spittle and other nameless abominations. All things considered, I believe you will give me credit for acting the part of a friend in strongly dissuading you from paying a visit to that horrid den."

"Yes, August is quite right," remarked Grenits. "I ventured to go and have a look at the place yesterday, and I have not yet got over my feelings of disgust. But come, let us change the subject. Edward, your boy has just now brought me a parcel."

"Yes, I sent him with it, where is it?"

"It is there, just over there on the piano."

"My friend," said van Rheijn as he deliberately opened the parcel, "here you have a brand-new bedoedan. You see the bowl is perfectly pure and the stem has never been used. And here is a small quantity of the very best tjandoe--prime quality as Grenits might say."

"Oh yes," said Beneden--"that is, I suppose, for our experiment, is it not? How much opium have you there?"

"This little box contains about twenty-five matas."

"How much may that be?"

"Let me see! That comes to about one centigramme."

"But is that enough?" asked Grashuis.

"Enough? Yes, Leendert, too much!" replied van Rheijn.

"Yet Miklucho-Maclay, in his well-known experiment consumed one hundred and seven grains."

"Well, if you reckon it up as I have done, you will find that a hundred and seven grains come to only eighteen matas and a fraction."

"Very good, in that case we might begin at once."

"Now please don't be in such a hurry," put in van Rheijn.

"Why should we put it off?" asked Grashuis. "We have now a few quiet hours before us, such an opportunity may not recur."

"But, I take it," objected van Nerekool, "our object is not merely to observe the sensations which opium smoking produces."

"Methinks," interrupted Grashuis, "that there has never been a question of anything else."

"That may be so," replied van Nerekool; "but yet I fancy we must all have some further object in view. Speaking for myself, I should be very sorry indeed to have anything to do with an experiment, whereby--well, how shall I best express myself?--whereby merely the animal side of the question is to be considered."

"Yes, and so should I," cried van Beneden.

"And so say I," added van Rheijn.

"Yet," remarked Grenits, "even from that low point of view the problem would be worth studying. Don't you remember what we saw in the den at Kaligaweh?"

"Bah! bah!" cried all in disgust.

"Come, no more of that," said van Nerekool very seriously. "If your experiment is to reproduce any scenes like those--then I will take no part in it."

"That is exactly my opinion," said van Rheijn, "and I am anxious therefore to give to our investigation a totally different aspect, and to conduct it on strictly scientific principles."

"Very well," observed Grashuis; "but who is to conduct this scientific investigation--to do that we need a man of science."

"Yes," said van Beneden, "we are no doubt most competent representatives of the judicial, the civil, the mathematical and the commercial branches of the community; but we do not represent the faculty."

"Just so," replied van Rheijn; "but I have made provision for that?"

"In what way?"

"I have invited Murowski to join us."

"What? Murowski the Pole?" cried one.

"Murowski the snake-charmer?" said another.

"Murowski the butterfly hunter?" cried a third.

"Yes, gentlemen, Murowski, our learned medical officer. But, if you please, a little more respect for that high-priest of science. Do not, pray, forget that he is the most celebrated entomologist India has ever possessed and that is, I think, saying a good deal in these days when every little German prince gives his paltry decorations and family orders for any complete--or incomplete--collection of insects, or for a bowl of disgusting reptiles tortured to death in arrack. And, further, please not to forget that he is a most earnest observer of all scientific phenomena, a man whose very name will impress upon our séance that stamp of learning which it will need if it is to go forth to the world of science as a noteworthy experiment. Our Pole was in ecstasies when he heard of our experiment, and when I asked him to undertake the management of it, he promised to bring his thermometers, his stethoscopes--You will see what a dose of learning he will give us!"

"That's all very fine;" said Grenits, "but meanwhile he has not turned up."

"Perhaps," suggested van Beneden, "he is hunting butterflies."

"Excuse me," replied van Rheijn, "in addition to his other merits, the man is also a great lover of music. Nothing in the world would induce him to miss the afternoon concert on the green, moreover he is deeply smitten with Miss Agatha van Bemmelen, and she, no doubt, is there in the family coach."

"Oh, ho!" said Grenits, "that is a pretty little butterfly, she has money too."

"Oh, yes, your Poles are no fools."

"But how long will he be?"

"He has promised me," replied van Rheijn, "to join us as soon as the music is over; and he is the man to keep to his word."

"Meanwhile we might get up a little music on our own account," suggested van Beneden.

"You see," said Grenits pointing to the piano, "Charles is at his post already."

Van Nerekool, who had taken but little part in the conversation, had, in fact, risen and gone to the piano. At first, in an absent kind of way, he struck a few chords; but presently, under the influence of thoughts which always reverted to Anna, he had struck up L'absence of Tal. The room soon was filled with melancholy strains and sentimental trills.

"No, no!" cried van Rheijn, "let us have no music, you see what effect it has. Just look at him sitting there, why there are tears in his eyes! A most pernicious thing, believe me, in this climate and in this horrid dungeon."

The last chord had died away and still van Nerekool remained moodily seated at the instrument, his head bent forward and his hands resting heavily on the keys.

"I say, Charles!" cried Edward, "no more music now. Come and sit here by me, and, while we are waiting for Murowski, I have a letter to read to you which I have just now received from Verstork."

"From William!" exclaimed van Nerekool; and, rousing himself at the name of his friend, he took the seat van Rheijn indicated to him.

"It is strange," he continued, "I have had no answer to my letter."

"No more have I," said van Beneden.

"Nor I!" cried Grenits.

"I don't much wonder at that," replied van Rheijn, "he is much too busy yonder at Kotta Radja. You may fancy how much he has to do, as he is the only civilian in that military world."

"Yes," said Grashuis, "a military world which has become a very small one now that our centralising system has come into operation."

"A system, Leendert, which might more properly be styled a system of isolation," said Grenits; "it won't be very long before our grand army will be sitting there like Robinson Crusoe on his desert island without any other means of communication with the surrounding inhabitants than that of bullets."

"Come, come, Theodoor," interrupted one, "no politics."

"Especially, I suppose, no Atjeh politics," laughed Grenits. "Oh aye, I know all about that, we Dutchmen dread that subject as a cat dreads water; but, my friends, remember that for all that, it is a question which involves the most vital interests of our country and its colonies."

"Now that'll do, that'll do!" they cried.

"All right, my friends," said Grenits with a laugh, "I must not, of course, inflict upon my kind friends who deign to come and while away the time of a poor captive, a subject of conversation which is distasteful to them. But, yet, I cannot make out what in the world William can have to control at Kotta Radja. The native population which has, nominally, remained faithful to us and shows its good faith by treacherously attacking our soldiers--"

"Now there you go again--do shut up!"

"Well, but;" persisted Grenits, "this is no politics, I do not suppose he has to look after the mess of the soldiers and marines!"

"Bah!" cried van Rheijn somewhat contemptuously, "what does a merchant know about such things? It is very much as if I should give a dissertation on the state of trade in madapollams."

"You are right, quite right," laughed Grenits, "I confess myself wrong. Let the cobbler stick to his last. But now for William; what does he write about?"

"Here is his letter," said van Rheijn; "but I ought first to tell you that I sent him a short account of the changes which have taken place in his district of Banjoe Pahit since he left it. I told him what lamentable influence the too compliant temper of his successor has had upon the condition of the population. To this letter of mine I have his reply, and I need hardly tell you that his views on that subject are not couleur de rose. But you had better hear what he says:

"'All you have told me, dear Edward, about the state of affairs at Banjoe Pahit has made me very sad. Agriculture neglected, breach of contract a daily occurrence, and the fatal passion for opium increasing day by day! Alas, alas! can all this be justly put to the account of my successor? Should you not rather cast the blame upon me? Such terrible changes surely never take place suddenly. No, no, if indeed matters have changed for the worse as rapidly as you say, then I fear there must have been some antecedent cause for this wretched state of decay. I will tell you frankly, my friend, that my conscience bitterly upbraids me. It tells me that I have not always done that which it was my bounden duty to do; and that I have not set my face against the abuse of opium as sternly and as rigidly as I should have done. It is true, of course, that the opium den was established at Kaligaweh before I came to the place; and, so far, my conscience is clear. But the evil had not then assumed the proportions which makes it such a terrible curse at present. At that time there were still a great number of inhabitants who never touched opium. I might then, had I only been firm enough, have insisted upon the fact, that the opium den ought not to be maintained there--that, in fact, it had no reason to exist, inasmuch as it did not, at that time, provide for any local need. I did so, it is true; but weak and timid as I was, I did so in a half-hearted way. I did not forcibly enough insist upon the terrible fact that this same opium den was a most insidious means of seduction; and that, in the end, it must inevitably bring the poor people to ruin and misery.

"'That is where I feel I am to blame. I may, perhaps, in self justification, try to persuade myself that, as a civil servant, I was bound to do all I could to augment the national income, that, by not opposing with all my might the use of opium, I was helping, as far as I could, to redress the balance of our national expenditure; that, even had I tried to check the havoc wrought by this baleful drug, I could have expected no assistance from my superior officer van Gulpendam, nor yet have hoped for any support from the authorities at home; that, on the contrary, they would between them have crushed me like a bit of glass had I dared so much as to lift up my little finger against this infamous stop-gap of our national finances. I have tried to persuade myself that any such action on my part must have plunged my relations, who for the present and, as far as I can see, for the future, are entirely dependent upon me, into the direst poverty--

"'But, my dear Edward, all this sophistry profits me nothing; my conscience refuses to be lulled by any such specious arguments. For conscience is inexorable, and it loudly cries out that I have failed to do my duty as public servant in not vigorously standing up for the poor natives to whose protection I was pledged. Alas! the past cannot be recalled!

"'If it were lawful, under any circumstances whatever, to rejoice over the death of any fellow creature, I think I might rejoice over the death of Singomengolo--that detestable bandoelan who has caused so much trouble and misery. But, why do I talk of exulting over his death? Some equally worthless fellow will no doubt be found to take his place and to undertake the dirty work of an opium spy. The farmers are wealthy enough to create, so to speak, such creatures every where, and the Government! why--the Government--yes, it will, with a smile, pocket the foully earned money amidst the applause of the Dutch nation.'"

"I say!" exclaimed Grenits, sarcastically, "don't you think it is about time to cry 'Shut up?'"

But van Rheijn went on quietly reading, not heeding the interruption:

"'I was just now blaming myself for not having carried out my duty more strictly. I hardly need tell you that I have made a solemn vow to act very differently in the future, and that I have determined henceforth to protect, to the utmost of my powers, the natives against the horrors of opium. But, that is more easily said than done. For, whom can I protect out here in Atjeh? The native population? Good Lord! all I see about me in this place resembles anything in the world rather than a native population. There is no such thing. Just let me tell you what is going on here. General van Swieten landed in 1873, and from that moment the natives have retired as our troops have advanced. When he returned to Europe we were holding a piece of ground which was completely deserted by the natives, and on which not a single Javanese was ever seen. I ought to except the narrow strip of land between the river Atjeh and the sea, the so-called dominion of Marassa, which, at most, supported no more than two thousand souls, and these, let me tell you, were by no means addicted to opium. Later on, when Colonel Pel took the command, things did not improve, on the contrary, the state of affairs grew gradually worse and worse. The natives were more determined than ever in their resistance to the hated invaders; and though that officer did try to introduce something like order into that most puzzling place Kotta Radja, which was entrusted to his care, and it must be said, did so with conspicuous success, yet daily his position became, if possible, one of greater isolation. Very soon no other communication with the surrounding natives became possible than by means of arms; and when they did meet it was not for the purpose of amicable conferences, but only to do one another as much injury as possible. You know all about this, for history must have told it you. The very first thing, indeed, which arises and flourishes under the folds of our Dutch ensign is not a house of prayer or a school, but an opium den. That is the first token of civilisation and the first blessing our rule brings with it. Among these conquered races there was not, as yet, a single man who would smoke the stuff; but yet an opium farmer had to be found. And why? Look you, Edward, when I put that question seriously to myself, then I can find no other answer than this one, namely: that it was necessary to make the Dutch people believe that the time of public expenditure on Atjeh had passed, and that now the place was beginning to pay. You may remember what a shout of joy was uttered by the daily press in Holland when, in the year 1875, the news arrived that the retail sale of opium in Atjeh was producing a yearly sum of 190,000 guilders, that is 16,000 guilders a month. A few, those who were capable of reflection, shook their heads doubtfully; but not even they were able to estimate the extent of the evil which this apparent gain would inevitably entail.

"'It is, however, as clear as day, that no farmer could have been found to bid for the monopoly if the opium had been sold only to the few Marassans who remained faithful to us. Even granting that every single man of them smoked opium--and that was very far from being true, for the lower classes in this place are not nearly so much addicted to the habit as they are in Java; but even granting that--the entire number of smokers could not have exceeded three hundred. How could sixteen thousand guilders a month have been made out of these?--Why, it was clearly impossible, not even if every man smoked opium, drank opium and ate opium. You must consider that the farmer has to pay for the raw material with which the Government supplies him, that he has to pay all current expenses, that he has to make a living for himself, and that he must, moreover, make some profit. Thus I confidently state that, in order to be able to give sixteen thousand guilders for his privilege, he must retail opium for at least three times that amount. But who then are the consumers? Who are the people that bring this so-called profit to our national chest?

"'I will tell you, Edward, who they are:

"'In the first place, all the native soldiers quartered here. In consequence of the state of war and of the wretched arrangements in camp and bivouac, it is utterly impossible to keep any control over these men, and thus there is no question of repressive--still less of preventive--measures. The agents of the opium farmer prowl about among the encampments and bivouacs and most generously deign to accept, in payment of the poison they supply, the pay and, when that is gone, even the very clothing of the soldiers.

"'Now, my friend, I ask you, do you begin to see why, during the Atjeh war, we suffered such terrible losses through sickness, and why our losses still remain so great? Now do you begin to see why all our hospitals are overcrowded? Do you now see what has demoralised our entire Indian force to such an extent, that, if we should have to face a serious rebellion or have to resist an attack on our colonies from any Western power--we can expect very little, or indeed nothing at all, from it? Then just reckon up what every soldier costs by the time he is equipped and drilled and fit to send out to join his regiment in the field. Just calculate what expense the country is put to for keeping all these men in hospital, and then you will be able to judge of the wretched shortsightedness of a policy which has created so fictitious a source of gain.

"'I have mentioned, in the first place, the native soldiers as principal consumers of the poison; but the Chinese coolies and workmen also, whom the Government has to hire at an immense cost, from Penang, from Malacca, from Singapore, from Tandjong Pinang, and even from China itself, to occupy the country which the Atjehers have deserted, furnish another considerable contingent to the opium smokers, and consequently to the floating population of the hospitals and to the fixed population of the grave-yards. Who shall dare to compute with anything approaching to accuracy, the sums of money which are thus squandered merely to fill up the gaps which the abuse of opium is perpetually making among this working population?

"'And, in the third place, the opium farmer finds his customers among the servants of the numerous officers, civil servants, and contractors; and, though this class of smokers do not entail any loss in the shape of money, inasmuch as the State has not to replace them; yet it must not be forgotten that as a direct consequence of the demoralisation of this class of men, there is at present at Kotta Radja, and more especially at Oleh-leh, a degree of insecurity of life and property, of which in Java you can form not the slightest conception.

"'With regard to the moral condition of Oleh-leh, the harbour of Kotta Radja, it is simply indescribable! The things which daily are taking place in the opium dens within and around that spot where the poison can legally be purchased, simply baffle description.

"'We saw some horrid sights at Kaligaweh, did we not? Well, my friend, what happens here exceeds everything that the most depraved imagination can possibly conjure up.

"'The practices are, in one word, abominable.

"'But, you may say perhaps, that if the poison were not to be obtained in a lawful way, men would procure it by illegal means. I say no! most emphatically I say no! Not a single ship can approach the North-West part of Sumatra's coast without being thoroughly searched. Very little trouble and care would be amply sufficient to prevent even as much as a single taël of opium to find its way into that part of Atjeh which is in our occupation. It would be the simplest thing in the world to prevent the import of the poison altogether.

"'But no, that is not the object. The object of the Government, on the contrary, is to stimulate the opium trade as much as possible, and if ever the now rebellious population is brought under our yoke, the trade will flourish more vigorously than ever. The Dutch nation must be made to believe that Atjeh really produces a revenue, though, from even a financial point of view, this bogus revenue must result in the direst loss.

"'In order to attain that object we have stuck at nothing--we have poisoned and demoralized the civil and military branches of the State--and have degraded men to the level of the beast. And all this merely for the prospect of the rich harvest which the opium trade will yield to the national exchequer as soon as we shall have forced Atjeh to share the blessings of our rule.

"'Under these circumstances, you can readily see that it is difficult--that it is in fact impossible--for me to do what I feel it is my duty to do. That duty is incompatible with the position of a Government official.'"

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXXII. A SCIENTIFIC OPIUM DEN

The reader was here interrupted by a loud voice crying out in the verandah:

"Donnerwetter! what has become of Mr. Grenits?"

"That's our Pole," said van Rheijn, folding up the letter he was reading and replacing it in his pocket. "There is nothing specially interesting in the end of William's letter, and I do not think it advisable to allow a private communication of this kind to spread beyond our own little circle."

The door opened and Dr. Murowski entered. Having shaken hands with the prisoner and greeted the other gentlemen, he said in a queer lingo of his own, made up of Dutch, German, and Polish, but which we will not attempt to reproduce:

"Rather behind time, I fear, gentlemen, rather behind time, but donnerwetter--!"

"Come, come, doctor," said van Beneden with a laugh, "no strong language if you please. I daresay you fell in with Miss van Bemmelen on the green."

The doctor reddened up to the very roots of his hair, as he replied in some confusion:

"Well, yes, I did meet her--"

"In that case, my dear fellow," continued van Beneden, "you need not trouble yourself to make any apology at all, where there is a lady in the case--"

"Stuff and nonsense!" broke in Murowski, "I wasn't in her company for five minutes!"

"If that be the case, doctor," said van Rheijn, "we must ask you why you have kept us so long. You knew we were all here waiting for you."

"Oh, never mind," put in Grashuis with a smile, "don't press him too hard--our learned friend has probably been hunting some other pretty little butterfly!"

"Yes, I can see him," continued van Beneden, "net in hand, running after some splendid Sphynx."

"Indeed," growled Murowski, "you seem to have a pretty lively imagination. Sphynx indeed! A funny kind of Sphynx has been after me!"

Van Rheijn laughed aloud. "Now, come," said he, "illustrious countryman of Sobieski, of Poniatowski, and so many other worthies in ski, let us have your news--for news you evidently have to tell us. Let us have it. But, mind you, whatever excuse you may have to make--it will have to be a a good one."

"As I was strolling about the green enjoying the music," began the doctor, "my chief called me aside and said he wanted to see me at his quarters as soon as ever the concert was over."

"Well, what of that?" cried the friends.

"A request of this kind," rejoined the Pole, "is, as you know, gentlemen, tantamount to a positive order."

"Yes, yes," cried van Rheijn, full of curiosity, "we grant you that; but what important communication had he to make to you?"

"No doubt some case of pneumato--" began van Beneden.

But Murowski did not give him time to complete his sentence.

"He simply wanted to tell me that I am to be transferred to another station."

"You are going to leave us?" exclaimed the friends in a breath.

"Yes, gentlemen, so it seems--you see I have been a very long time settled in this place," grumbled Murowski, "it must be quite five months and a half."

"Well, and where are they going to send you to?"

"To Gombong, it appears."

"They might very easily have packed you off to a worse place," said van Rheijn, "to Singkelen, for instance, or to Atjeh."

"Oh, I have no doubt you are quite right there," sighed Murowski, "but where on earth is Gombong? You must excuse my ignorance, gentlemen," continued he, with a smile, "the study of Indian geography is, I fear, somewhat neglected in Poland."

"Gombong," exclaimed van Rheijn, "is in Bagelen."

"Indeed," replied the Pole, "I am much obliged to you for the information; but where may Bagelen be?"

"Bagelen," said the embryo-controller, with a certain sense of superiority, pointing in the required direction, "Bagelen is only just over there."

"Not over the sea then?" cried Murowski, evidently much relieved.

"No, no, my dear fellow, not a bit of it; a carriage will take you there very comfortably. But, why don't you ask van Nerekool, he has but just returned from the very place. He knows all about it. Why! he lost his heart there!"

"Lost his heart? At Gombong?" asked Murowski, looking from one to the other with a puzzled air.

"Not exactly at Gombong; but at all events very close by, at Karang Anjer. Do you know Miss van Gulpendam?"

"Pretty Miss van Gulpendam! Of course I do," exclaimed the doctor.

"Very well then, Miss van Gulpendam has gone to Karang Anjer, and she has taken our friend's heart along with her."

"That's smart," replied the Pole, quite mistaking the meaning of the word he employed.

"Oh, you think so?" asked Grashuis, drily.

This conversation, as may well be supposed, was highly distasteful to van Nerekool. He hastened to put an end to it by saying:

"Gentlemen, I vote we begin to think of our experiment."

"Ah, you are right," exclaimed the doctor, "our experientia by all means; experientia optima rerum magistra you know. By-the-bye, did you receive the parcel I sent you?"

"Oh, yes," answered Grenits, "you will find it safe on that little table yonder."

Thereupon Murowski produced his instruments; a couple of thermometers, a hygrometer, an aneroid barometer, a stethoscope, and a small chemical balance.

While he was arranging these, van Rheijn opened the other parcel, which contained a bedoedan and a small box of tjandoe.

"I say," cried van Beneden, who was the first to open the little box, "precious nasty stuff this looks!"

Murowski took the box from him, examined the contents, and then falling at once into a lecturing tone, he began:

"Opium is an amorphous, sticky substance which, being of a gummy nature, is not fissile but plastic. It is of a dark brown colour, possesses a faint sweetish smell, and is somewhat oily to the touch. Its chief constituents are morphine and narcotine, in the absence of these the drug has no value."

"But," interrupted van Beneden somewhat impatiently, "which of us is to submit to the experiment?"

"The best plan to settle that question," said van Rheijn, "would be, I think, to draw lots."

"Very good," put in Murowski, "providing you allow me to stand out, as I shall have to watch the experiment."

"Now, I think," suggested Grenits, "you had better let me make the trial."

"Why you, rather than anyone of us?"

"Why, because, being a prisoner," replied Grenits, "I have plenty of time on my hands to get over the effects of the debauch."

"You are quite right," said van Rheijn, "I never thought of that--I must be at my office as usual to-morrow morning."

"And I," continued van Beneden, "I have to be in court, on Setrosmito's business, you know."

"Of course, of course!" cried all in chorus, "not one of us must, on any account, miss that trial."

"Very good," said Grenits, "we are all agreed then that I am to be the smoker."

"It is very kind of you, Theodoor, to make the offer."

"All right, I am quite ready to begin."

"Very likely," interrupted Murowski, "but that is more than I am."

"No, and I am not ready yet," said Edward van Rheijn.

Thereupon, assuming the most severe professional gravity, the worthy Pole commenced carefully to weigh out the stock of opium, which he found came to 142 grains. This fact he noted down in his pocket-book.

"You had better add," said van Rheijn, "that there are twenty-five matas."

"Twenty-five what?" asked Murowski, again with a puzzled look.

"Twenty-five matas," repeated van Rheijn.

"Matas!" exclaimed the doctor. "What? eyes?"

The general burst of merriment which followed the question served only to augment the doctor's surprise.

"Eyes!" laughed van Rheijn, "no, no, nothing of the kind. The Government table of opium weights runs thus: 1 pikoe = 100 katties, 1 kattie = 16 taëls, 1 taël = 10 tji, and 1 tji = 10 matas, and therefore--"

"All right, all right!" cried Murowski, as he joined in the laugh, "now I see it."

"But, gentlemen," he continued, "we must look sharp, the sun has set."

It was nearly a quarter past six and, in the month of August, the sun in Java sets some time before that hour.

Murowski requested Grenits to have the lamps lighted, and when the servant had brought in the lights, the Pole continued:

"Now then, Grenits, get your clothes off!"

"What is that for?" asked Theodoor.

"My dear fellow," replied the doctor, "I must have you in pyjamas; for I shall have narrowly to watch the action of the chest."

Grenits retired to his bedroom, and in a few minutes returned clad in his ordinary night clothing. The doctor then made him lie down on the divan, he felt his pulse, examined his tongue, sounded him with the stethoscope, and carefully took his temperature. During these preliminaries the countenance of Murowski wore a look of stern solemnity which, no doubt, ought to have impressed the spectators with the feelings of respect and awe due to a high priest of science; but which, unfortunately, only served to excite their merriment. Even Grenits himself could hardly repress a smile.

"What in the world is the good of all that hocus-pocus?" whispered August van Beneden to Grashuis.

"Why are you lawyers," rejoined the other, "always fencing with scraps of Latin? It is the correct thing, I suppose. It is a trick of the trade."

At length Grenits said: "Well, doctor, is my carcase in pretty good order?"

"Perfect," replied Murowski, "perfectly normal; I must have a look at the barometer, and then our experiment may begin at once."

The barometer recorded 745 m.m., and the doctor made a note of the reading.

"There, now," he said to Grenits, "I am quite ready--no, no, wait a bit--there is something else. When did you last partake of food?"

"At half-past twelve," replied Grenits, "the usual dinner."

"Thank you," said the doctor, and looking at his watch he continued, "It is now half-past six--just six hours ago. Did you partake of anything in the way of spirits?"

"No, nothing of the kind," answered Grenits, "nothing but a little pale ale."

The doctor then placed his thermometers in position under the patient's arms.

While all this was doing, van Rheijn was busily employed dividing the opium into twenty-five equal parts. Then he lit the lamps, and, warming the bits of opium at the flame of the little lamp to make them soft, he kneaded into each of them some very finely cut Javanese tobacco, and then rolled them into small round pills. His friends looked on with some surprise at the dexterity with which he performed these manipulations; for he had not told them that, previously, he had asked Lim Ho to show him how the thing ought to be done. This lesson the wily Chinaman had been only too willing to give him. "Who knows," thought he, with a grin, "perhaps the Europeans may take a fancy to the delicacy." When Edward had prepared his pills, he produced the bedoedan. It consisted of a tolerably thick bamboo stem some nine or ten inches in length, highly polished and of a beautiful light-brown tint. This stem was open at one end and sealed at the other. Very near to the closed end and at right angles to the stem, a small earthenware bowl was inserted into the wood.

"It is a spick-span brand new one, I can assure you," said van Rheijn to Theodoor, "I bought it myself for this very occasion."

"Thank heaven for that!" cried Grenits. "Just fancy if one of those old sots had been sucking and slobbering at it! Bah! it makes me sick to think of it."

"That shows how innocent you are," rejoined van Rheijn, "your real lover of opium, your 'feinschmecker,' prizes an old pipe very highly. When the stem is thoroughly saturated and the bowl thickly encrusted with juice, the smoke must be indeed delicious."

Thus saying, Edward put one of the little pills into the bowl and handed the pipe, thus loaded, to his friend, while he drew the little table with the lamp within easy reach of the smoker.

Grenits lay stretched out at full length on the divan, the front of his kabaai was wide open, so that the action of the chest was plainly visible, and his head rested on a somewhat hard pillow.

"Now," remarked Grashuis, "there is only one thing lacking, and that is the greasy filthy pillow we saw in the den at Kaligaweh."

"Much obliged to you, Leendert," laughed Grenits. "I would not for the world touch the beastly thing--this pillow will do perfectly well."

Thus speaking, he turned his face to the lamp, applied his mouth to the stem of his bedoedan, and, trying to imitate as closely as he could the proceedings he had witnessed at Kaligaweh, he was about to apply the bowl to the flame.

"Hold hard!" cried Murowski, "don't be in a hurry, one moment."

With these words he took Theodoor's pulse and held it for fully a minute looking the while carefully at his watch. Then he once again applied the stethoscope, examined the thermometers, replaced them, and finally, in his notebook he wrote: Pulse 72, respiration 24, temperature 99 1/2.

"That's it," said he, "now then puff away to your heart's content."

With one steady long pull Grenits sucked the flame of the lamp into the bowl. As the opium-ball kindled, a faint sweetish odour began to pervade the apartment, a smell somewhat suggestive of warm blood and treacle.

"Swallow it, swallow it!" cried van Rheijn.

This, however, was more easily said than done. Grenits made an effort to swallow the nasty smoke; but then a violent fit of coughing compelled him to open his mouth and blow out the fumes into the room, augmenting thereby the nauseous smell which already pervaded the apartment.

"Poeah! poeah!" cried Grenits, puffing and coughing.

"What do you feel? What do you taste?" asked Murowski.

"I am half choked with coughing," stammered Grenits, "and I have a nasty sweetish taste in my mouth. I cannot describe it."

This first draw had been a deep one; the madat-ball was entirely consumed; van Rheijn slipped another opium-ball into the pipe.

"Now, this time," said he, "you must try to swallow the smoke; you have done so often enough when you have blown the smoke of a cigar from your nose."

Poor Grenits made another attempt. This time he did actually inhale the fumes and succeeded in retaining them for some seconds, after which he allowed them slowly to curl out at his nostrils.

Dr. Murowski made a note in his pocket-book, pulse 70, respiration 25, temperature normal.

Being asked again what he felt, Grenits answered: "I feel nothing; but the sweet taste has gone and now it tastes rather bitter."

After the third pipe, Theodoor complained that his head felt heavy and said he wanted to go to sleep. This drowsiness seemed to increase with the fourth and fifth pipes; but, as yet, Grenits was well able to resist it. He returned sensible answers to the questions put to him by his friends; but remarked that his faculties seemed to be clouded and that he had to reflect for some considerable time before he could grasp the meaning of a question, and that he could not readily frame an answer. He was able, however, to sit upright, and could even walk up and down the room without support.

Dr. Murowski watched him carefully and after the sixth pipe he found, that the drowsy feeling was still increasing, that the pulse was at 70 while the respiration had risen to 28.

The eighth pipe produced further drowsiness, but yet Theodoor was able to tell the time by the clock.

With the ninth pipe, his speech became thick and his utterance indistinct; and when the doctor pressed him very hard, he said that his tongue seemed as if it were increasing in volume.

After the tenth pipe, the patient began to complain of a bitter taste in his mouth, and said he felt giddy. The doctor at once grasped his hand; but pulse and respiration both remained unaltered.

After the eleventh, Grenits could no longer raise himself unaided from the divan, and, when he tried to walk had to be supported, so tottering and uncertain were his steps.

After the twelfth pipe, which he smoked very slowly, a remarkable change came over the patient. Theodoor was now lying with his eyes closed; but every now and then he opened them and there was now a brightness in his look which offered a strange contrast to his former dull and heavy expression. His sensations, he declared, were highly pleasurable; but he could give no description of his feelings.

"Charles, Charles," he faintly cried, "give us a little music," and he turned slightly to van Nerekool. The latter at once sat down at the piano and began very softly to play Chopin's variations on airs from Don Giovanni. The ecstatic expression on the smoker's face showed that he took in every chord and every note.

"Go on playing," he murmured, as soon as Charles left off, "more music--more smoke--give me the pipe."

This ecstatic state went on increasing with the thirteenth pipe and with it also the craving for opium grew more intense.

Theodoor now began to laugh; he stretched out and waved his arms--the most pleasant pictures were evidently floating through his brain. When Murowski asked him what made him laugh he replied, with a fresh burst of unnatural merriment: "I don't know, I don't know!"

Presently he requested van Nerekool to play him a certain passage from Schumann's Manfred. In this state of ecstasy the patient remained while he smoked his fourteenth and fifteenth pipes. The fixed smile did not leave his features; but now he ceased to reply to the questions of his friends. He also grew restless by degrees and no longer lay still as before.

After the sixteenth pipe Grenits complained of having to leave off smoking while the pipe was being refilled. He grew fretful and found fault with van Rheijn for not having supplied another bedoedan, for then, he said, the experiment might have gone on without interruption. Dr. Murowski observed that the pulse was at 72 and the respiration at 28; that the conjunctiva was much bloodshot and the eyelids heavy and drooping.

After the seventeenth pipe the smoker suddenly started up and attempted to walk; but, after a few steps, fell down and was unable to rise. His friends carried him back to the divan. He begged hard to be allowed to go on smoking and, as the doctor declared there was no danger whatever, the request was complied with.

The eighteenth pipe brought back the state of ecstasy which, for awhile, seemed to have left the patient. Every now and then he opened his eyes wide and seemed to follow some flying image.

With the twentieth pipe these symptoms merely increased, and when Murowski asked him how he felt he replied:

"Oh! I feel so happy; I never felt anything like it before."

The doctor made the following note: Sclerotica much inflamed, pulse 70, respiration 25, temperature 100·04, satyriasis setting in. Upon being asked if he wanted anything, he replied:

"I don't want anything--nothing at all--leave me alone. The pipe! give me the pipe! that Edward, that Edward! does he want the thing to fail altogether?"

The next instant he exclaimed: "Oh! if this be Mohammed's paradise, let me go on smoking for ever! The pipe! the pipe!"

"Is it not high time," asked van Nerekool anxiously, "to put a stop to this? The poor fellow will, I fear, do himself some serious mischief."

"No, no, no," cried the Pole. "Don't be alarmed, I answer for him, there is not the slightest danger. His pulse is perfectly regular, the breathing has quickened somewhat; but there is only a rise of ·3 in the temperature. It would be a pity not to go on now, this experiment is most important to science."

After the twenty-first pipe, Grenits seemed to lose all control over himself. He lay still, almost motionless; but every word he uttered, every look and every gesture betrayed what was passing within. This continued until the twenty-fourth pipe had been smoked. Murowski then again asked him how he felt, and he answered pretty quietly:

"Oh! I am at peace, at rest. Delightful! delightful!"

But this was far from satisfying our Pole. With his right forefinger on the patient's pulse and his left hand spread out on his breast, he kept on asking him again and again, "What kind of feeling is it?"

Theodoor, however, did not reply. By this time he was heaving and panting with excitement. His arms and hands were stretched out clutching convulsively at some phantom of his brain. His face wore a look of unutterable bliss which filled the bystanders at once with amazement and horror.

"Doctor, doctor!" muttered van Nerekool, "let us put an end to this. Look at him, look at him. It is disgusting!"

But the Pole would not give in.

"There is no danger, none whatever!" he cried; "we must go on now, we must go on!"

With the tough tenacity of the man of science bent upon fathoming some natural phenomenon, he eagerly watched Theodoor's slightest movement. He was desperately anxious to make the patient speak out. "Grenits!" he cried, "Grenits, do you hear me; tell me, do you hear me?"

Then he forced up the eyelids, and with his finger sharply filliped his nose as he kept on crying, trembling with impatience: "Do you hear me, Grenits, do you hear?"

Grenits muttered a few incoherent words as he restlessly tossed about on the divan.

"Do you hear me?" persisted the doctor. "Tell me, can you understand?"

"Oh, yes, yes," at length muttered Grenits, "do leave me alone!"

In his eagerness the doctor bent over his patient, he did not for an instant take his eyes from his face. Just then the friend was transformed wholly into the man of science who, entirely mastered by the passionate desire of unravelling some secret of nature, might become capable of practising vivisection even upon his fellow-man.

"Oh do tell me," passionately implored the doctor, "do tell me what you feel!"

"What I feel?" muttered Theodoor vaguely. "Oh it is delightful, delightful--more delicious than--"

"This is too bad!" shouted van Nerekool, "abominable! I can't stand this any longer!" and, snatching the pipe out of Grenits' hand, he stamped on it with his foot. Then he seized the box in which there remained but a single pill of opium and violently flung it and its contents out of the window.

"That's right, quite right!" cried Grashuis and van Beneden in a breath.

"It is a pity, a thousand pities," complained Murowski.

But even he had very soon to change his tone, as the condition of Grenits now began seriously to alarm even the medical man. The smoker's pulse had fallen to 62, and his respiration to 24, while the temperature had risen to 101·40.

Grenits moreover was now growing very restless, and was pouring forth a torrent of libidinous and incoherent ejaculations. His eyes were bloodshot, his face much swollen, his skin was hot and dry, while the hands were damp with clammy sweat. Incessantly he kept on clamouring for opium. "The pipe, give me the pipe! van Rheijn, the pipe!" he almost yelled, and this amidst a string of loose and frantic exclamations.

Murowski, now beginning to fear that the experiment might have been carried too far, endeavoured to make him drink some of the strong coffee which had been kept ready for the purpose, by pouring it down his throat with a spoon. He bathed his head with iced water, and every now and then, made him sniff strong smelling salts. Thus, with considerable difficulty, the doctor at length succeeded in somewhat quieting his patient. The coffee, especially, seemed to have a soothing effect. At first Grenits violently resisted all attempts to make him swallow it; but presently, of his own accord he began to ask for it, and the beverage had the most sobering effect. Gradually the excitement began to abate, the patient's voice became more natural and subdued, and his utterances less wild. At length Grenits fell into a deep sleep.

Murowski took out his pocket-book and wrote: Pulse 70, respiration 24, temperature 100.

"Normal," said he with a sigh of relief, "quite normal! However, I shall not leave him to-night." The gaoler was very easily persuaded to allow the doctor to remain with his patient for that night, and Grenits slept for thirty-three hours. When he at length awoke he found that, with the exception of a feeling of exhaustion and a pretty severe headache, he was none the worse of his opium-debauch. Even these unpleasant sensations, however, left him as soon as he had taken a bath, and then he became ravenously hungry so that his attendant had some difficulty in serving him quickly and plentifully enough.

Three days after these events Murowski was on his way to his new station. It was his intention to expand his notes into a full account of what he had witnessed, and to send his paper on the effects of opium smoking to one of the scientific publications in Germany.

The experiment in the prison at Santjoemeh had one good effect, at least, upon those who were assembled to witness it: it served namely, to confirm the opinions they already held with regard to the use of opium. It would not be true to say that van Rheijn had ever stood up as a defender of the use of the drug; yet he had always striven to find some argument in palliation of the Government system; but now even he was completely converted.

With poor Theodoor Grenits the events of that evening were, for a long time, a very sore point; and he never could bear the slightest allusion made to his antics while under the spell of the poppy-juice.

"May I be hanged!" he cried, "if ever again I touch a bedoedan, however seductive and pleasant may be the images it calls up." And then, turning to his friends, he said, "Gentlemen, I beg you will do me the great favour of never, in the slightest manner, alluding to the past; and," continued he enthusiastically, "let us now join hands and solemnly declare war--war to the knife against the opium trade."

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XXXIII. IN THE PANDOPPO OF THE REGENT

The day which followed the opium experiment described in the last chapter, promised to be an interesting one to the inhabitants of Santjoemeh. On that day, Setrosmito, the father of baboe Dalima, who had for months been lying in gaol on a charge of having murdered a Chinese bandoelan in the execution of his duty, and who had been accused also of opium-smuggling, was to be brought to trial.

The evidence had already been taken, and the witnesses on both sides had been examined. The prisoner confessed that he had, with his kris, taken the Chinaman's life; but he stoutly denied that he had been guilty of smuggling. All Santjoemeh had turned out, that is to say, the whole European population; for it was known that August van Beneden would conduct the defence. As our readers know, the young lawyer had already appeared as counsel for baboe Dalima; but at her trial he had merely watched the proceedings in behalf of his client, and had no opportunity of showing his powers as an advocate. Thus the speech he was expected to deliver in defence of Setrosmito, might be looked upon as virtually his maiden-speech.

In social circles, however, and on several minor occasions, August van Beneden had given evidence of much ability and considerable readiness of speech, and thus the good people of Santjoemeh were looking forward to the coming trial as to a rare intellectual treat.

But that was by no means all. It was further rumoured that the unfortunate bandoelan had lost his life in consequence of his misconduct towards the little daughter of the prisoner. Now, the public at Santjoemeh knew pretty well what excesses the bandoelans used frequently to permit themselves to take in these domiciliary visits for opium; and thus expected that some spicy details would be forthcoming at the trial. It was, moreover, confidently expected that in his devotion to Themis, the young lawyer would lay his finger heavily upon the crying abuses of the infamous opium traffic, that plague-spot of Javanese society and that disgrace to the European conquerors of the island.

No wonder, therefore, that long before the time appointed for the trial, the pandoppo of the Regent's house in which the court was to sit, was crowded to its utmost capacity. Even ladies appeared in the audience, and foremost among these was fair Laurentia van Gulpendam. As a rule, no ladies ever appear at these native trials; but, on this occasion, the full-flavoured particulars which were sure to be revealed, might perhaps account for their presence.

At all events, the numerous staff of servants looked on in amazement at this unusual concourse; for generally the public is, on such occasions, conspicuous only by its absence. These attendants found it as much as they could do to provide seats for all the company, and though there always is an abundant supply of chairs in every Regent's house, yet on this occasion, a sufficient number of seats could hardly be mustered.

Had it been evening, and had the numerous lamps which swung from the roof of the pandoppo been alight, one might have imagined oneself at some festive gathering, or rather, one might have thought, that an exhibition of juggling or other such-like entertainment was about to take place; for, at one extremity of the spacious hall, there was a raised platform three steps above the level of the floor. On this stage was seen a long table covered with a green baize cloth on which were displayed a thick book and a number of 'pièces de conviction;' and at which several chairs were placed in order. A police oppasser, who, judging from his demeanour, was fully aware of the importance of his office, was mounting guard at the table, evidently posted there to keep the profane vulgar at a respectful distance. Had any unruly spirit attempted to approach, he would no doubt, with a noble flourish, have dragged the rusty bit of iron which he wore by his side from its scabbard.

Pending the entrance of the judges, the crowd tried to pass the time as agreeably as it could. Greetings were exchanged, jokes circulated freely, the people laughed and chatted, and, in fact, behaved, in that temple of Justice, precisely as they might have done at a music-hall during the interval.

"Good morning, Mrs. van Gulpendam, do you intend to be present at our session?"

The speaker was Mr. Thomasz, deputy clerk of the court. He had strolled in en amateur to have a look at the proceedings; for the chief clerk himself was on that day to officiate, and Thomasz meant to make the best of the opportunity thus offered him of paying his court to fair Laurentia.

"Good morning," replied the Resident's wife as she held out her hand. "Yes, I have come to have a look. I never have been present at one of these trials, and am rather curious to see what they are like. This case will be an interesting one, I think?"

"I think it will, madam," replied Thomasz; "but for my part, I consider the examination of the witnesses much more entertaining."

"I daresay," said Laurentia; "but--that horrid murderer--they are sure to find him guilty, are they not?"

"I am not so sure of that, madam."

"You are not? Why not?"

"No, indeed, I am not. The head djaksa has indeed got up a splendid case for the prosecution, there is not a loop-hole in it; but ever since our Residents and Assistant-Residents have ceased to preside, and the duty has devolved upon professional lawyers, we seem to be be under the influence of a kind of morbid philanthropy--and, it would not at all surprise me if the scoundrel got clean off, especially--"

"Ah yes," exclaimed Laurentia, "I know what you would say: especially since a European has undertaken the defence of that Javanese scoundrel. It is perfectly unheard-of--monstrous! But, tell me, who pays that counsel, do you know, Mr. Thomasz?"

"Hush! madam, that's a secret."

"A secret!" cried Laurentia, "you must keep no secrets from the wife of your Resident. You seem to know all about it. Come tell me what you know."

"Let us go on the platform then," said Thomasz with a faint smile, "no one will be able to overhear us up there."

They walked up the steps, went to the table, and made a pretence of examining the objects displayed upon it. The policeman on guard, of course, took good care not to interfere with the njonja Resident and the assistant registrar of the court.

"Now then," said Laurentia in an undertone, "you may speak out. Who pays that lawyer?"

"A company, madam," was the reply.

"A company! What? of Chinamen?" cried Laurentia impatiently.

"I did not say so, madam," replied the deputy clerk with a smile and a slight bow.

"What company then?"

"Of Europeans, madam."

"Oh ho! you know them. You need not deny it; I see it in your face."

"Hush, madam," whispered Thomasz, "there are a couple of ladies coming near," and then aloud he added: "Yes this is the very kris with which the deed was done--you see the wavy blade is stained with blood--that black spot--"

Mrs. van Gulpendam seized the weapon.

"Give me their names," she whispered as she stooped forward over the table to take it up.

"I know but one of them--van Nerekool."

"Van Nerekool--still that van Nerekool," hissed the fair woman between her clenched teeth. And then, turning to the pandoppo, she said to one of the ladies who had by this time mounted the platform:

"Look here, Henriette, just look here--this is the kris with which the murder was committed." The policeman in charge of the table seemed inclined to step forward to forbid the others to approach; but a haughty look from Laurentia restrained him.

"Is that really the kris?" asked Henriette.

"Yes," exclaimed Laurentia, "look, you! that's how it was done--slash across the throat!" She accompanied these words with a sweep of the formidable weapon which made both the ladies start back in terror.

"A magnificent woman that Laurentia!" said a young man in the body of the hall. "Just look at her attitude, look at her features, look at that hand as she grasps the dagger! What a lady Macbeth! what a perfect instep!"

"Aye, aye," quoth another, "she is posing, she knows--she feels--that we are admiring her."

"What are you frightened at?" continued Mrs. van Gulpendam, "see here, that spot is the blood of the victim, is it not, Mr. Thomasz?"

"Disgusting!" cried both ladies in a breath.

"How can you touch it, my dear madam?"

"Touch it? why not?" scornfully replied Laurentia as she flung back the kris rattling upon the table. "Why not touch it? the thing doesn't bite."

"Of course not, my dear," said Henriette; "but the mere thought that it has murdered a man!"

"Pooh! a Chinaman!" cried Laurentia.

"But a Chinaman is a human being," objected her friend.

"I suppose so," was Laurentia's disdainful reply.

"It is well that Lim Yang Bing or Lim Ho are not by to hear you," said Thomasz forcing a laugh.

"Oh that is a different matter altogether," said the arrogant woman.

"They are opium-farmers," cried Henriette.

"They are millionaires!" added her friend.

The two ladies uttered these exclamations almost simultaneously, with an indescribable tone of sarcasm peculiar to their sex. Laurentia fully understood the taunt and felt it too; but she gave no sign of displeasure.

"Ah yes," continued Henriette following up her pleasant little home-thrust. "Now you mention their names, what has become of the two Chinamen. I don't see them. Yonder is the Chinese captain and Kam Tjeng Bie the wealthy merchant; but I can't see the two opium-farmers."

"They will take good care," added the other lady, "not to show their noses here."

"I daresay," carelessly remarked Laurentia, "that they find plenty to do getting ready for the wedding."

"Is not the murderer," asked Henriette, "the father of baboe Dalima who accused Lim Ho of--?"

"My dear Henriette," hastily interposed Mrs. van Gulpendam, "that is the merest tattle--in our gossiping Santjoemeh you ought not to believe one tenth part of what you hear."

"But," continued she rather hurriedly as if anxious to change the subject, "but, Mr. Thomasz, what kind of gollokh is that yonder on the table--that looks as if it were blood-stained too--did the murderer use that thing also?"

"Oh no, madam," replied the assistant-clerk, "that is nothing but chicken's blood."

"Chicken's blood?" inquired Henriette with a laugh.

"Yes, dear madam, we call that the gollokh soempah."

"Indeed, and what may that mean?"

"We might translate it by the 'oath-knife,'" replied Thomasz; "it is, in fact, with that instrument that the Chinese take an oath."

"That's interesting! did you ever see it done, Mr. Thomasz?"

"Oh yes, madam, very frequently."

"Do tell us all about it," cried Henriette, "how is it done?"

"It is as simple a ceremony as possible, ladies. The witness who is about to be sworn, accompanied by a Chinese interpreter, and one of the members of the court, walks up to a block of wood. Then the gollokh is placed into his hand and with it he chops off the head of a black chicken. Nothing more, and nothing less. It is an utterly meaningless performance, and, at first sight, it is simply ludicrous."

"But why must the chicken be black, Mr. Thomasz?" asked Henriette.

"That is more than I can tell you, madam," replied he. "You are aware, I suppose, that white is the mourning colour in China."

"Oh, yes, I know that; but--a black chicken? There must be some hidden meaning in that," mused Henriette.

"There may be, madam," replied Thomasz; "but I have never been able to discover any, though I have frequently asked interpreters and even Chinese chiefs about it. There exists, however," he continued, "in China another manner of taking an oath, the significance of which is, perhaps, more obvious. But it is used only on special and very important occasions."

"Can there be any question of greater moment," asked Henriette, somewhat sharply, "than that of speaking the truth before a judge?"

"Certainly there may be, madam," was the reply.

"More important do you mean to tell me, than of giving solemn testimony upon which may depend perhaps the life or death of a human being?"

"Undoubtedly, madam," said Thomasz.

"Well!" cried Henriette, "I should like to know what questions those may be!"

"To give you only one instance," replied Thomasz, "the great oath, the solemn oath which the Government requires to be taken when a man is made a Chinese officer."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Henriette with a laugh, "do you call that so very serious a matter?"

"And then," continued the assistant clerk, "on certain occasions, though rarely, the great oath is administered in civil cases, where the interests involved are very considerable."

"Ah, now I understand you! When it is a question of £ s. d.," laughed Henriette; "but, pray, tell us something about that great oath."

"With pleasure, madam, only I am afraid I do not know very much about it. The rites observed on such occasions are borrowed from the ceremony with which the oath is administered in China to princes and high state officials on their appointment. I will, in as few words as possible, try to describe to you what takes place. The witness first writes down the evidence he intends to give or the promise he intends to make, on a strip of red paper, and then he confirms the truth of his words by calling down upon himself the most fearful curses should his evidence prove untrue, or should he fail to carry out his engagement. This strip of red paper the witness next carries to the temple, and solemnly spreads it out upon the table of offerings, between a number of burning candles, some bottles of wine and some confectionery, which are destined to be gifts or offerings to the idol. While this is going on the priests are screeching forth a form of prayer, at certain passages of which a bell is violently rung. Thereupon the witness, in a loud voice, reads out what he has written on the paper, the priests the while burning incense. Finally, the red paper is held to the flame of one of the candles, and, having been thrown down on the table, is allowed to burn until it is reduced to ashes. This concludes the ceremony. I know, ladies, my description is most imperfect; but I hope that I have succeeded in giving you some notion of this very curious solemnity."

"Much obliged to you, Mr. Thomasz," said Laurentia, holding out her hand to him as, with haughty glance, she surveyed the company assembled in the pandoppo.

"I wonder whom she is looking for?" whispered one of the young men in the body of the hall.

"Not for me I fear," sighed another, "perhaps--"

"The gentlemen of the court!" bawled a police oppasser, much in the tone of a French huissier when he shouts, "La cour, messieurs!"

The name of the individual who was supposed to be the object of Laurentia's solicitude remained unspoken.

Just then, out of one of the side buildings which could be seen from the pandoppo through the intervals between the blinds, there appeared two European gentlemen, two Javanese chiefs and two Chinese officers. These formed a kind of procession and slowly marched towards the pandoppo. Having entered the hall they ascended the platform, and took their seats at the table, on the chairs placed ready for them.

At the head of the procession walked Mr. Greveland, the successor of Mr. Zuidhoorn and president of the court. After him, came Radhen Mas Toemenggoeng Pringgoe Kesoemo, regent of Santjoemeh; Radhen Pandjie Merto Winoto the patih, and babah Tang Ing Gwam the Chinese major--these three were members of the native Council. Then followed Mas Wirio Kesoemo the head djaksa, and behind him came the clerk of the court, while Hadjie Moehammad Kassan, the panghoeloe or native priest, closed the procession.

The president was in his judicial robes of office, while the clerk of the court appeared in black frock-coat and white trousers. The Javanese members wore, of course, the national costume, which consisted of a short jacket with stiff gold-embroidered collar over a similarly embroidered vest, with the finely stitched sarong wrapped in neat and narrow plaits round the waist. On their heads they wore the ordinary scarf; but in addition to this they also wore the kopja, an ugly and shapeless head-gear, looking like a bit of stove-pipe ornamented with narrow gold lace.

The Chinese major was in full Mandarin's dress, the most conspicuous part of his attire being a kind of tabard of light blue cloth, on which, in front and behind, were richly embroidered in gold a pair of monstrous dragons. His head was covered with a stiff cap of light blue cloth. This cap had a somewhat high crown, on the top of which, surmounting a little tuft or tassel, shone a large blue gem of extraordinary lustre.

The panghoeloe was clad in a sombre-looking cassock reaching down to his heels. He was remarkable chiefly by a turban of prodigious size, which, by its magnitude and colour, proclaimed that the man had visited the tomb of the prophet and was therefore a Hadjie or pilgrim. In his hand he held a book which looked much worn and soiled. This was the sacred book--the Koran.

On the steps leading to the platform were seated several Javanese youths dressed in the national costume but without the kopja. These were the mantries, generally young men of good family, and even of noble birth, who were present to listen to the proceedings, and thus to qualify themselves for future appointments. They sat on the steps with their legs crossed before them, and each had on his knees a writing tablet, on which he was prepared to jot down whatever remarks he might consider valuable enough to be thus rescued from oblivion.

Mr. Greveland took the chair at the middle of the oblong table. On his right hand sat the regent and on his left the clerk of the court. Next to the regent sat the djaksa and on his right again sat the panghoeloe. The clerk of the court had on his left the patih, and after him came the Chinese major. All these places were allotted to their several occupants, in accordance with the rules of the strictest etiquette, to which Eastern nations always attach the utmost importance.

Just after the president had taken his seat, August van Beneden made his appearance in his barrister's gown; and, by the chairman's direction, sat down at the end of the table by the side of the Chinese major. At that moment the pandoppo of the regent's house offered an interesting and most curious spectacle. It was a wide roomy shed the lofty roof of which was supported by eight pillars, and completely open on all sides. In order to temper the glare of the sunlight, and also to exclude the prying looks of the public outside, the spaces between the pillars were hung with green kreés or mats, while the members of the court had the further protection of a canvas screen stretched behind them. Behind the judges some Javanese servants were squatting. These men bore the pajoengs of the Javanese chiefs, and though these umbrellas were closed, yet their bearers held them aloft in such a manner that they could plainly be seen behind the backs of their masters. As the native court was then sitting; and taken as typical of the entire judicial system as regards the native inhabitants of the island of Java, it presented a strange combination of those three leading principles which the Dutch Government has, sometimes in greater sometimes in lesser degree, but always very cleverly, managed to unite. First there was the European law represented by the person of the President; in the next place the native usage was respected which demands that both the judges shall be Javanese chiefs or nobles of the highest rank; and in the third place there was the Mohammedan law represented by the panghoeloe whose office it was to enforce due respect for the injunctions of the Koran.

Between the platform and the first row of chairs there was a considerable open space which, however, was not protected by any kind of railing. To the right and left of the platform stood a pair of native police oppassers in their bright yellow uniform and with side-arms dangling from bright yellow belts. The poor fellows cut a sorry figure as they stood there, they were quite taken aback at the sight of so large a crowd.

Fair Laurentia had taken her seat on the middle chair of the first row. As njonja Resident this place of honour belonged to her, and by her side she had placed two of her most intimate friends. Close around these clustered the most fashionable and important inhabitants of Santjoemeh, or such as considered themselves the most important; and behind these again came the miscellaneous crowd which filled the pandoppo from end to end. The conversation, however, now that the judges had entered, was carried on in whispers or in a low undertone.

Edward van Rheijn, Charles van Nerekool and Leendert Grashuis, we hardly need say, were present in the third or fourth row of chairs among a number of their young friends and acquaintances--the jeunesse dorée of Santjoemeh. Thus they had an excellent view of the proceedings.

"Look at that Thomasz," said van Rheijn, "what an ass the fellow is making of himself with Laurentia!"

"Yes, yes," quoth Grashuis, "he is making hay while the sun shines."

"I don't know so much about that," remarked one of the young men present, "it seems to me that just now he is pretty well at home at the Residence."

"There are very queer rumours afloat about him," whispered another.

"Rumours!" said van Rheijn testily, "why, in Santjoemeh, the air is always full of rumours. What would Santjoemeh be without its chronique scandaleuse?"

"If people will behave themselves in that way!"

"Yes, and if appearances are all against them!"

"Indeed," said van Rheijn tartly, "am I to suppose that, where a woman's good name is concerned, you would go by appearances?"

"They say that M`Bok Kârijâh has been employed."

"Oh! if that filthy hag has a finger in the pie, then--"

"They say!" exclaimed van Rheijn contemptuously, "they say!--and pray who are they?"

"Well--everybody--"

"At all events I am not one of them," replied van Rheijn.

"No more am I," added Grashuis.

"Hush," whispered van Rheijn, "I am sure Laurentia can hear all we say; just look how she pricks her ears."

"How very dignified van Beneden looks in his gown," said Grashuis anxious to change the subject and slightly raising his voice.

"I don't see it," returned van Rheijn; "he looks for all the world like an umbrella in its case."

At that moment fair Laurentia turned and cast her eye over the group of young gentlemen seated behind her. They all greeted and bowed. Van Rheijn, however, had a gracious smile all to himself--it might have been perhaps in acknowledgment of his comparison of van Beneden with the umbrella.

"Oh, you sly fox," whispered one with a nudge, "that is why you took me up so sharply just now? eh?"

"Do shut up!" said van Rheijn, "I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself for talking such nonsense!"

"Have you received an invitation yet?" asked Grashuis, wishing to turn the conversation into another channel.

"What invitation?"

"To Lim Ho's wedding party."

"Yes, I got one the other day," said one.

"And so have I," said another.

"That is a curious custom," remarked van Nerekool, "for the bridegroom to give the wedding party."

"Yes," added another, "it is so totally different from what one sees among Western people."

"Different!" exclaimed van Rheijn, "of course it is--it is quite consistent with everything else in China. With them everything is upside down. Their mourning colour is white and blue is half-mourning. Their ladies wear trousers and the men carry fans. Such things as knives, spoons and forks they leave to us barbarians, while they manage very cleverly to whisk down their food with a pair of chop-sticks. They hold that descendants can ennoble their ancestors so that one may become a count or a baron after one's death. They pay their doctors so long as they keep well; but the moment they fall sick they stop payment. What can you expect from such people--? surely you may let them hold their wedding feast at the bridegroom's house instead of the bride's!"

A general laugh greeted this whimsical sally which had by no means been uttered in an undertone. Mrs. van Gulpendam joined in the merriment and rewarded the speaker with another friendly nod.

"You see! you lucky dog! you are decidedly in her good books."

"Hush, gentlemen! here comes the murderer."

"What? unfettered?"

"Yes, the law demands that an accused man shall appear free and unfettered before his judges."

"But it does not forbid a couple of constables to stick close to his elbow."

"Hush!"

Mr. Greveland had repeatedly struck the table with his wooden hammer.

"Usher," he said at length with much dignity, "you must see that silence is kept in court."

The man thus addressed was a sjenjo or half-caste--he rushed up and down the pandoppo in frantic endeavours to enforce the order he had received, "Hush, hush, silence! Silence, ladies and gentlemen!" he bawled at the top of his voice, thus making more noise than all the company put together.

Again the hammer came down, and the president himself called: "Silence."

"Silence!" shouted the usher imploringly, as he stretched out his arms and looked as if he were going to swim, or was trying to lay a tempest.

At length he succeeded in controlling those unruly tongues. One of the very last to give way was Laurentia--"who had a right to interfere with her--the Resident's wife? Those gentlemen on the bench are always giving themselves such airs!"

Presently, however, even her chatter ceased. Once again the president brought down his hammer.

"The session is opened," said he; "constables bring the prisoner forward!"

One of the oppassers hereupon drew Setrosmito to the foot of the steps and made him squat down in front of the table. The poor fellow looked a wretched object indeed. The months he had passed in prison had effectually done their work upon him. He was frightfully lean, and the warm brown colour of his skin had turned a dusky grey. His long lank hair, which here and there straggled from under his head-dress, had turned grey--nay white. As he advanced he looked timidly around him, he cast one imploring glance at van Beneden, who gave him a friendly nod and a smile of encouragement, and then, submissively, he squatted down in the spot to which the policeman pointed.

When first Setrosmito came forward some one uttered a loud heart-rending shriek of Ah God!--this cry was followed by the usher's cry for silence.

At the back of the pandoppo several Javanese women were huddled together. They were the friends of Setrosmito's wife, who had accompanied her into the court. She it was who had uttered the wail which made all the spectators turn their heads. She had not been able to restrain her feelings at the sight of the wretched object in which she could hardly recognise her husband. Van Nerekool at once hurried up to the poor creature, he got one of the regent's servants to give her a kind of stool, and then he tried to quiet her.

"You must keep quiet, M`Bok Dalima," said he, "or else you won't be allowed to remain here."

The poor sobbing woman buried her face in both her hands.

On all sides were heard murmurs of "The murderer's wife! Poor woman!"

"Silence!" roared the usher.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXXIV. SETROSMITO'S TRIAL

As soon as the commotion produced by that lamentable cry had subsided, Mr. Greveland began to question the prisoner.

"What is your name?" he asked.

The djaksa interpreted the question to the accused man in Javanese.

The prisoner with his head bent forward and his eyes steadfastly fixed on the floor replied:

"Setrosmito, kandjeng toean."

"Where were you born?"

"At Kaligaweh, kandjeng toean."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know, kandjeng toean."

The djaksa turned to the clerk of the court and said, "Put him down about forty years of age."

There was, in reality, but little need for all this interrogatory; for the particulars had been already noted down during the course of the preliminary examinations. The questions were, in fact, put merely pro forma.

"Where do you live?" continued the president.

"In the prison, kandjeng toean," innocently answered the prisoner.

"Aye! but I mean before you went to prison?"

"In the dessa Kaligaweh, kandjeng toean."

"Setrosmito," continued the president, "do you know why you have been brought here before us?"

"Yes, kandjeng toean."

"Let us hear it then."

"They tell me I have smuggled opium, and that I have killed a Chinaman," quietly replied the Javanese, without so much as raising his eyes from the floor.

A murmur of indignation ran through the pandoppo at the apparent callousness of the reply.

"Silence!" cried the president.

"Silence in the court!" vociferated the usher.

"Do you plead guilty to these charges?" asked Mr. Greveland.

The djaksa interpreted the question; but the prisoner hesitated--he seemed not to know what he ought to say. He cast a furtive sidelong glance at August van Beneden, who reassured him by saying:

"Speak up, Setrosmito, speak up, tell the simple truth."

"No, kandjeng toean," said he, "I am not guilty of smuggling. I never touch the bedoedan. I have killed a Chinaman because he ill-treated my child."

The Javanese spoke in a very low tone of voice--he was abashed before that large audience and before his chiefs. He spoke moreover in the Javanese tongue, which hardly any one present could understand, so that his answer produced no impression whatever.

"Now, listen attentively, Setrosmito," said the president. "The charges against you, your own statements, and the evidence of the witnesses, will be read out to you."

"Yes, kandjeng toean."

Thereupon the clerk of the court rose, and in the sing-song monotonous tone of voice peculiar to his class, began to read all the depositions and the whole body of evidence which the preliminary examinations had produced. He read very fast, very indistinctly, and in so low a tone of voice that not a soul in the pandoppo, not even the president himself, who was seated close beside him, could understand what he said. The prisoner, of course, could not catch a single word; for the papers were all drawn up in Malay, a language of which the simple dessa-labourer knows little or nothing. From time to time this dreamy flow of words was interrupted by the djaksa, whose duty it was to translate to the prisoner the more important parts of the case. But even the interpretation was got through at such a pace that it was very doubtful whether the prisoner was any the wiser for the djaksa's translation.

He sat squatting on the floor without changing his attitude, and kept his eyes rivetted on one spot; his hands, fumbling the while at the skirts of his jacket, betrayed his extreme agitation. At every explanation of the djaksa, whether he understood it or not, he mumbled the invariable Javanese answer:

"Yes, kandjeng toean."

This reading of the evidence was a most dreary and tedious business. Even the members of the council at the table kept up a whispered conversation, which the president had repeatedly to interrupt with an impatient gesture and a stern look of displeasure.

The audience, however, did not confine themselves to mere whispers. No one spoke out aloud; but gradually there arose a humming and buzzing--an indescribable rumour, broken now and again by some lady's giggle--which sadly interfered with the majesty of the law.

In vain did the usher exert the full power of his lungs. His shout of "silence" produced its effect for the moment; but it was only for the moment. The instant after the universal buzzing began again as if a huge swarm of bees had taken possession of the pandoppo.

"What an insufferable bore that clerk is to be sure!" simpered Mrs. van Gulpendam.

"He leaves the reading to his nose," remarked Mr. Thomasz.

"Mind your chief does not hear you," said one of the ladies.

"Pray don't tell him!" cried Thomasz, "he does not know he talks through his gable--if he did, he might try and improve."

"Be quiet, Mr. Thomasz," said Laurentia, with a burst of laughter, "you really must not make us laugh so."

"What? I, madam?" asked the clerk.

"You? Of course. The Resident calls you a dry comical fellow."

"How, madam, do you mean to say the Resident applies such terms to me?"

"Yes, he does--don't you like them?"

"Madam," replied the assistant-clerk, "professionally I cannot say that I do. Just fancy, ladies," he continued, turning to the others, "a comical clerk, who ever heard of such a thing?"

He uttered these words with a serio-comic air, so irresistibly droll, that the ladies fairly shook with suppressed laughter.

"Oh--do hold your tongue, Mr. Thomasz!" Laurentia at length managed to say, "you see how savagely Mr. Greveland is glaring at you."

"What a time that mumbler takes to be sure!" said a voice almost aloud in the centre of the pandoppo.

"If one might only light a cigar to while away the time," said another.

"Or get a glass of bitters!"

"I was asking an oppasser just now to fetch me a glass of beer--my throat is as dry as a lime-kiln," said another voice in an audible whisper.

"Well--and did you get it?"

"Don't I wish I may get it? 'Not allowed, sir,' was all I could get out of that canary-bird, who looked as black as a three days' west monsoon."

"Shall we go to the club, it is close by?" asked another.

"Yes, if I thought that muttering would last much longer."

"Silence! silence!" shouted the usher, "respect for the court!"

That respect for the court was all very well; but the good people of Santjoemeh had gathered together for the sake of amusement, and they were being bored almost to death.

At length the clerk had got to the end of his dreary tale--at length the djaksa had, for the last time, said to the prisoner: "Do you understand, Setrosmito?" And at length, for the last time, the latter had replied in his monotonous drone the same words:

"Yes, kandjeng toean."

Then came the usual shuffling of feet and a general murmur of satisfaction which, however, the usher soon managed to subdue.

As soon as silence had been restored, the head djaksa rose from his chair and, in his capacity of public prosecutor, he began to open the case for the Government.

His speech was remarkably well put together, and worked out with much skill and care; but it could have an interest only for those who knew nothing of the other side of the case.

It was, in fact, little more than a statement of what had occurred, strictly on the lines of the report of the bandoelan Singomengolo.

The public prosecutor took the case of opium smuggling as conclusively proved. He dwelt at great length upon the cunning displayed in hiding the forbidden wares under the pandan-mat of the couch--the opium itself and the box which had contained it lay before him on the table as convincing proofs of the truth of what he advanced.

Then, in very forcible words, he went on to dilate upon the craftiness of these opium smugglers; and tried to show how, in their endeavours to cheat the revenue, they gave evidence of much cleverness; but generally over-reached themselves and proved, by the tricks they employed, their utter want of honesty and moral sense.

Mas Wirio Kesoemo waxed well-nigh eloquent when he pointed out how the passion for opium was, hand over hand, gaining ground in Java; and how this debasing passion was promoted and fostered chiefly by the abominable smuggling trade. He dwelt, in glowing terms, upon the absolute necessity of repressing, by every means the law would allow, that dirty underhand traffic which was the fruitful source of so much misery.

"Picture to yourselves," he cried, "the amount of injury which this nefarious trade is inflicting upon the realm beyond the ocean, upon all India, and especially upon our own beloved island of Java. Think of the millions which are lost--the millions!--I might say the tens of millions, and then calculate the amount of good which these tens of millions might produce if they were allowed to flow quietly and without check into the national treasury!"

At these words the djaksa, who up to that time had been addressing the members of the council, turned to the public, knowing well that this argumentum ad crumenam would tickle the public ear. And he was not mistaken. The audience consisted for the most part of Dutchmen, and the tinkle of these tens of millions had a metallic sound which was strangely fascinating to the hearers. A distinct murmur of approbation arose, many a head nodded in silent assent and many a voice muttered:

"Hear, hear! If we could but be delivered from that abominable smuggling!"

These evident tokens of sympathy did not escape the djaksa's watchful eye, and Mas Wirio Kesoemo did not let so favourable an opportunity pass without expressing the fervent hope that the judges would not fail, by their sentence in the present case, to crush the foul reptile which battened upon the national prosperity. He called upon them, therefore, to pass upon the prisoner, who not only sat there accused of the heinous crime of smuggling; but was charged also with the additional offence of murder, the heaviest sentence which the law would allow. By doing so, he added, they would earn for themselves the cordial thanks of the island of Java, and establish a claim upon the gratitude of the entire Dutch nation.

For a moment it seemed as if the greater part of the company assembled in the pandoppo, would have given vent to their feelings of satisfaction by cheering and clapping of hands--one cry of "bravo!" was distinctly heard; but the usher repressed all such manifestations with his repeated shout of "Silence--silence in the court!"

The head djaksa now proceeded with the second part of his case against Setrosmito, that, namely, of having murdered a Chinese bandoelan; a charge which was inseparably connected with the former one of opium smuggling.

The entire assembly hung breathless on his lips, as he described how Setrosmito had resisted the searching of his house; how, when the fatal box had been discovered, he had hurled an opprobrious name at Singomengolo and called him a "dirty dog;" how he had, thereupon, seized his kris and how, when the chief bandoelan fled back in terror, he had flung himself upon an inoffensive and defenceless Chinaman, and had drawn the wavy blade of his knife across his throat, while a stream of blood deluged murderer and victim alike. This description, graphic almost to brutality in its details, made a powerful impression upon the audience. One of the ladies present screamed and fainted away, and had to be carried off insensible. This episode caused considerable commotion, and Setrosmito cast an anxious glance behind him to see what was going on.

"Silence! silence!" bawled the usher.

As soon as order had been, in some measure, restored, Mas Wirio Kesoemo proceeded to dwell on the increasing temerity of the opium smugglers, who scrupled not to take a human life rather than risk the loss of their smuggled wares. He insisted upon the necessity of inflicting the extreme penalty for the protection of the police in the execution of their arduous duties; and he ended his speech by demanding that the murderer be condemned to death by hanging, or, if the defence could establish any extenuating circumstances, that the sentence should be at least twenty years of penal servitude with hard labour.

A deep silence reigned in the pandoppo as the djaksa resumed his seat, one might have heard a pin drop, so intensely was that frivolous crowd impressed by this fearful demand for a human life. A kind of spell lay upon all, every heart seemed compressed as in a vice. A general sigh of relief was heard when the president broke the silence:

"Setrosmito," asked Mr. Greveland, "have you heard what the public prosecutor has said?"

The prisoner looked up with a puzzled expression at the speaker; but he did not answer a word. The entire case had been conducted in Malay, of which he did not understand a single word. The expression of the poor fellow's face showed that plainly enough. The president repeated his question, which the djaksa, thereupon, interpreted to Setrosmito. The prisoner cast one look upon August van Beneden, and upon a nod from the latter, answered:

"Yes, kandjeng toean."

"Have you anything to say in reply?" asked the president.

Another look at his counsel, and then the prisoner answered:

"No, kandjeng toean."

A cry of indignation and horror arose in the pandoppo at the seeming callousness of the answer.

"Silence, gentlemen! Silence in the court!" shouted the usher.

As soon as he could make himself heard, Mr. Greveland said:

"I call upon the counsel for the defence."

"At length!" muttered Grashuis, with a deep sigh.

"Now we shall hear something very fine!" cried Mrs. van Gulpendam, with a sneer; but in a voice quite loud enough to reach the young lawyer's ears.

Van Beneden very calmly rose from his chair, wiped his forehead, and then, in a clear voice which could distinctly be heard through the entire pandoppo, he said:

"The trial which is now occupying the attention of this honourable court is one which is indigenous to the soil of Java. I might say, indeed, that in no other spot in the world could such a case arise. There can be nothing simpler, nothing more plain than the demand of the prosecution! Opium has been smuggled, some one must be punished for it. A man has lost his life, some one must hang for the murder. Undoubtedly the law must have its course, and the criminal ought to be punished. We are living here in the East, in the home of the law of retaliation--an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth! This, gentlemen, is a hard law unworthy of our Western civilisation; but against it we have the right of inquiry, and our milder code allows every accused man the right of defence. It is of this right of defence, that, in behalf of the unhappy man sitting there at your feet and awaiting his fate at your hands, I now intend to avail myself.

"Now, if the facts were really such as the prosecution has represented them to be--why then there would be nothing for me to do than to commend the prisoner to the clemency of the court, or rather I should say, that I would not, in that case, have undertaken at all the defence of a cause which my conscience could not justify. I take, therefore, a totally different view of the matter; and am prepared to lay before you the grounds upon which I have arrived at a wholly different conclusion. I beg that you will lend me your attentive hearing.

"But, before entering into the details of this case," continued the young lawyer, in a voice which clearly betrayed emotion, "allow me to pay my tribute to the zeal, the devotion, and the undoubted ability of a man concerning whom I must not speak without reticence, inasmuch as I am bound to him in the straitest bond of friendship.

"Mr. William Verstork was controller of the district of Banjoe Pahit when the facts occurred which now claim our attention. Independently altogether of the action of the Government, he undertook the task of continuing the investigations which he had initiated. The result of his inquiry he has submitted to the proper authorities. I ask, why were not these papers laid before us? Allow me, gentlemen, to pass very lightly over this most important omission. I could not enter into that subject without stirring up a pool of iniquity which is immediately connected with the opium question; and I freely confess that I shrink from thus occupying your valuable time. For the defence of the unhappy man for whose interests I am responsible, it will suffice if I now tell you that the documents to which I allude exist beyond the possibility of doubt or denial; and that I have here, lying on the table before me, the authentic copies properly attested and legalised by the Governor of Atjeh and by the Chief Justice at Batavia.

"You all," continued van Beneden with a courteous gesture, addressing the public as well as the bench, "you all know William Verstork, and I would not even mention the noble qualities of that zealous public servant--there would be no need of doing so--were it not that our president, Mr. Greveland, has but lately arrived at Santjoemeh. The interests of my client demand that I should clearly point out to him that the writer of these documents is universally known as an upright man, who, in his official capacity, has won for himself the esteem and affection of all, natives as well as Europeans, that have come into contact with him. That he is a most dutiful son who, for the sake of his mother and his younger sisters and brothers, has made the greatest sacrifices; and that, before this large audience I assert, without the slightest fear of contradiction, that a more single-minded and honourable man has never trodden the soil of Netherland's India."

A burst of applause, cheering and clapping of hands followed immediately upon this general appeal. Mrs. van Gulpendam sat gnawing her lips with suppressed rage, while the noise drove the usher to the verge of frenzy.

At length, by dint of much hammering, Mr. Greveland obtained silence, he rose and said:

"Much as I appreciate this tribute of affection, this spontaneous testimony to the merits of a distinguished public servant; yet I must warn the public against such demonstrations either of approval or disapproval. Should they be repeated it will be my duty at once to clear the court. Mr. van Beneden, I beg you to proceed."

August had made the most of this interruption, he had wiped his forehead and refreshed himself with a draught of iced water. He continued:

"After the fatal evening, William Verstork repeatedly visited Kaligaweh. He thought he thoroughly knew Setrosmito and remembered the well known lines of Racine:

'Un jour ne fait point d'un mortel vertueux Un perfide assassin, un lâche meurtrier.'

But, for all that he determined to sift the case to the very bottom. He made minute inquiries on all sides, and, as the result of his investigation, he found that the man who is now sitting there before you crushed under the load of so terrible an accusation, has ever been an irreproachable husband, a tender and devoted father, an industrious hard-working labourer--that he is, in fact, one of those quiet and submissive villagers of which our Javanese population is chiefly composed, and which make it possible for an entire race, which may well be called the quietest and meekest on earth, to submit to the cruel fiscal yoke we have imposed upon it. I have here, lying on this table before me, the sworn testimony of the wedono of the district of Banjoe Pahit. He states that on a certain occasion, when a loerah had to be appointed for the dessa Kaligaweh, the man most eligible for the post was this same Setrosmito, especially because he was known never to touch opium; but that he could not recommend him for the appointment, because the man could neither read nor write.

"Now, gentlemen, I ask you, how comes it to pass that a man bearing so excellent a character should be brought up here before you as an opium smuggler and a murderer? An opium smuggler! At those words your very looks betray what is passing in your minds. You know well enough what is going on in this residence of Santjoemeh. You turn away in disgust at the mere mention of the word 'opium smuggler!' But, let me ask you, upon what grounds has the prosecution founded this most serious charge? Why, upon no grounds whatever! The prosecution has not even attempted to bring forth any proof of the prisoner's guilt. Their case rests entirely upon the unsupported word of one of the opium farmer's bandoelans--upon the bare assertion of a vile wretch whom public opinion holds up to public execration as capable of the lowest and most infamous perjury. Yes, gentlemen, I repeat it most emphatically, this charge rests upon nothing whatever but upon the bare word of Singomengolo, and upon that little box which lies there in evidence before you on this table.

"But, you all must remember, it is not so very long ago, that, on this very same table, we had before us a number of those little boxes, all of them the property of that same bandoelan; and that, on that occasion, you had to acquit the daughter of the prisoner who was also charged with smuggling; who was charged with smuggling, mind, by that same Singomengolo. And how did he attempt to prove that charge? Why, by swearing that he had seized upon her person a box precisely similar to that which you now see before you. Again I ask you, what proofs have we that this box was discovered under the pandan-mat of the couch in Setrosmito's dwelling? We have none! You hear me, I repeat that word, we have absolutely no proof of the truth of that bare assertion. But, on the contrary, for the defence, I have the clearest possible proofs that it never was there at all. We rely on proofs which are absolutely incontrovertible. And here, gentlemen, allow me once again to turn to the sworn evidence of my friend William Verstork.

"'When one of the Chinese bandoelans, accompanied by a couple of police oppassers, presented themselves at the door of Setrosmito's house for the purpose of making a domiciliary visit, no opposition whatever was offered to their searching the place. The only precaution taken was that they were themselves submitted to a search before entering the premises. On that occasion no opium, nor any vestige of opium was found; not even under that very pandan-mat on the couch. The two oppassers and the witnesses Sidin and Sariman, who were present at the visitation, have expressly sworn to that fact. Sariman indeed has sworn most positively that the pandan-mat was twice lifted up, and that the Chinaman had most minutely examined the pillow which lay upon it.'

"That I think is plain enough, gentlemen, is it not?

"But now, allow me to continue with Verstork's sworn declaration.

"Very shortly after they had left, Singomengolo himself appeared to search the house. He refused point-blank to submit to the usual body search; whereupon Setrosmito protested and said: 'In that case, no doubt, opium will be discovered in my house. I know all about these dodges.' I have the proofs of all this here before me signed by the Kabajan of the dessa.

"And, of course, opium was found, gentlemen. It was discovered in the very spot where the Chinese bandoelan, who was no fool either, had looked twice without making any discovery. That again is clear enough, I think.

"Opium smuggler! The court will understand that I fling the odious accusation far, far away from me. Not indeed because the charge has not been legally proved; for I know that in these opium-cases very curious evidence is often admitted; but because my client is innocent, absolutely innocent, of any such offence; because he is the victim of one of those detestable conspiracies which, as every one well knows, are commonly resorted to when some obnoxious individual has to be removed or some sordid wretch thirsts for revenge.

"Opium smuggler! Yes, the prosecution has dwelt at considerable length and with considerable eloquence upon the millions, the tens of millions, of which this illegal traffic is robbing the public exchequer.

"As the Public Prosecutor made his fervent appeal, every heart was thrilling with emotion, though it may not perhaps have been of a very noble kind. And, gentlemen, he was perfectly right. Millions, yea tens of millions are lost to the revenue! But they are not lost in the manner the prosecution has so graphically described; they are not conveyed away in little boxes which hold but a minute quantity of the drug. The millions of which we heard so much just now--Ah, gentlemen! need I tell you who are the men that thus defraud the revenue? Why your own hearts have already pronounced their names, they are trembling now on your very lips. Those smugglers are not poor dessa-folk, they flaunt their ill-gotten wealth boldly in the face of our good people of Santjoemeh; and can afford to keep Singomengolos to remove out of their path any unfortunate creature who may stand in their way. Shall I mention these names which are even now on every lip? Why should I do so? An Attorney General once ventured to lay his finger on the plague-spot and to denounce these criminals to the Governor General. What did he gain by it? That is the question I would ask you?"

The young barrister here paused for a few moments, to allow these last words, which he had driven home like a wedge, time to sink into the hearts of his hearers. In the pandoppo the deepest silence reigned. The assembled crowd sat breathless listening to every word as it fell from van Beneden's lips. On all those faces there was but one expression, and it said plainly enough "Aye truly! that is the state of things which the accursed opium-monopoly has created in this island." After a short pause, August continued:

"I now pass on to the second and far more terrible charge which has been brought against my client. Shall I be able to purge him of that accusation as I know that I have cleared him of the former? Here there is no question of denial. The facts are all plain enough and are all frankly admitted. The fatal deed has been done, the grave has closed over the ill-starred victim; and the weapon, the kris with which the fatal wound was inflicted, lies there before you on the table.

"The prosecution has given us a shockingly graphic description of the terrible occurrence, and has painted, in the most vivid colours, the manner in which that kris was slashed across the throat of the unhappy bandoelan. It is not difficult to see why so much stress was laid upon the bloody scene, and why we had the loathsome details so forcibly placed before us. But yet, gentlemen, I venture to think, that the cause of my client has been benefited rather than damaged by this vivid word-painting. For the more painful the impression produced, the more forcibly must the question arise: 'How was it possible that a creature of so quiet and meek a nature could have been goaded to a deed of such unbridled fury?' Again I appeal to the testimony of William Verstork, and I think it well to tell you that I also have personally and independently made a careful investigation into all the facts of this most painful case; and the results of my personal inquiry I will proceed to lay before you. Yes, gentlemen, I also shall have to be graphic and realistic; but remember that I am merely following the example set me by the prosecution. Yes, gentlemen, I also shall have to enter into harrowing and revolting details; but I shall do so only because the cause for which I am pleading compels me to that course."

And now the young lawyer displayed a power of eloquence such as had never before been heard in Santjoemeh--never perhaps in all Dutch India. He made use of words not only but also of gestures. He "acted" as Mrs. van Gulpendam spitefully remarked to one of her friends.

Yes, he did enact before his spell-bound audience that tragic scene, building up the entire drama, as Cuvier out of a single bone would construct the entire skeleton of some antediluvian monster. He made them see how the opium-hunters penetrated that peaceful dwelling. He made them hear how Singomengolo haughtily refused to submit to any examination. One could behold as it were the ruthless ransacking of all the poor furniture, one could hear the children crying and wailing at the licentious conduct of the ruffians who had respect neither for age nor sex. The entire audience shuddered at the "Allah Tobat," the frenzied cry of the desperate mother, and one could see also how, at his wife's bitter cry, Setrosmito's eye had, for a single instant, glanced away from Singomengolo, and how the latter had profited by that instant of distraction to draw forth the box of opium with a gesture of insolent triumph. How rage and indignation wrung from the unhappy father an abusive epithet which was answered immediately by a blow in the mouth. How, stung to madness at that insult, Setrosmito grasped his kris; how at that fatal moment the cry of little Kembang had drawn the attention of the father to his poor little girl; how he had seen her exposed to the hideous outrages of the Chinese bandoelan. All these events the eloquence of the advocate conjured up, as it were, before the eyes of his hearers. At the words, "Let go!" uttered with incomparable energy, the audience seemed to see the father flinging himself upon the astonished bandoelan, who, dazed by the very imminence of peril, had not sufficient presence of mind to desist from his outrageous conduct, and thereupon resounded the terrible words, "Die then like a dog!" in a tone which filled the entire pandoppo with shuddering horror.

Even Setrosmito, who profoundly ignorant of the Dutch language did not understand a word of his counsel's speech, and had for some time been sitting vacantly staring before him, even he, at length, grew attentive, lifted his eyes inquiringly to the young man's face, and then kept them riveted upon him with concentrated intensity. No! the rich flow of words had no meaning to him whatever; but the gestures he could interpret quite plainly. He saw the whole tragedy unfolded before his eyes--he saw his outraged child--he saw the hand of the speaker go through the very action which cost a human life. With eyes glittering with excitement he nodded again and again at his counsel, while thick heavy tear-drops kept trickling down his cheeks. "Yes, that is how it happened," he murmured audibly amidst the deep silence to the Javanese chiefs while he stretched out his arms imploringly towards them.

"And," continued van Beneden, with still increasing fervour, "if now, after having thus laid before you the bare facts of the case, if now I turn to you with the question: 'Is that man guilty of murder--who slew another--yes; but who slew him in a moment of ungovernable rage, and in defence of his innocent child?' What must be your answer? Is there anyone here who would cast a stone at him who drew the weapon--and who used it--to preserve his own child from the foulest outrage that can be perpetrated in a father's sight? Aye but, 'this is a question of opium-police!' If I could, for a moment, harbour the thought that anyone present under this roof would, for the sake of the opium question, desire to hear a verdict of guilty returned against this man--why then, in sheer despair, I should be driven to exclaim: 'Woe to the nation that contains such a wretch--woe to the man, who, for so sordid a principle, would tread Eternal Justice under foot--such a nation must be near its fall!'"

The effect of these words was simply indescribable, a shudder seemed to run through the assembly.

"And now," continued the young man turning to the prosecution, "go on your way, pile one judicial error upon another, erect for yourself a pedestal so lofty that the cry of the unhappy victim of the opium traffic--that insatiable Minotaur--will not reach your ears! The time will come, when, from above, retribution will overtake you. The day will dawn when the Dutch nation will awake out of its lethargy and sweep you and your opium-god from the face of the earth.

"As for you," continued August van Beneden turning to the members of the council and speaking in a more subdued voice, but yet with a persuasive energy which it was impossible to withstand, "as for you, gentlemen, place yourselves, I pray you, in the position of that unhappy man whose eyes were just now dropping tears as I sketched, in a manner which could reach his comprehension, the terrible deed of which he is accused. Picture to yourselves the hours--the days of mortal anxiety he has passed through, and is even now passing through as his fate is hanging on your lips--then you will in some measure, be able to realise the unutterable joy with which he presently will hail the verdict which you will deliver--a verdict of 'not guilty' which will restore to his wife and family a man who can so sturdily stand up in their defence."

Having thus said, van Beneden resumed his seat, or rather fell back exhausted in his chair. It was getting late, the sun was high up in the heavens, and an oppressive heat weighed like lead upon the assembled crowd. For a few moments, absolute silence ensued, the silence of emotions too deep for utterance and which was broken only by a sob here and there. But then, a tempest of cheering arose which made the very roof tremble, and amidst which the stentorian voice of the usher was completely drowned.

This applause and general enthusiasm continued for a considerable time, and was not hushed until the president had repeatedly threatened to have the court cleared.

The prosecution was crushed, utterly annihilated. Feeling that his cause was lost, the djaksa attempted to have the trial adjourned; but Mr. Greveland saw plainly enough how very undesirable such an adjournment would be; and he wisely refused to grant it.

Thus compelled there and then to get up and reply, Mas Wirio Kesoemo could not rise to the level of his subject. He mumbled a few words which did not awaken the slightest attention--he said something about the necessity of vindicating the action of the police, he uttered a few incoherent sentences, he stammered, he drawled, he repeated himself over and over again, and finally sat down without having produced any impression whatever. As soon as he had ended, the president called upon the defence to exercise its right of reply.

With a gesture of lofty disdain, van Beneden refused to avail himself of his privilege:

"No, no, Mr. President," he said, "anything I could now add would but lessen the impression made by the prosecution. It is to the weakness of the charge brought against him, rather than to the power of the defence, that my client must owe his acquittal."

After a moment's pause the president turned to the panghoeloe and asked him what law the sacred book prescribed.

In a sleepy tone of voice the latter replied, "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth--the man has taken a life--the man must die."

A shriek resounded in the pandoppo, a Javanese woman had fainted away.

The members of the council thereupon retired to their consulting room. After a while they returned into court and the clerk proceeded to read out an elaborate judgment, wherein, after a number of "seeing thats" and "whereases," the verdict of "Not Guilty" on both counts was at length pronounced. Then the real storm broke loose. A great number of the audience rushed up to van Beneden and warmly congratulated him on the victory he had just gained. The president, far from trying to repress the general enthusiasm, now cordially joined in it. August raised Setrosmito from the floor and whispered some words in his ear which were immediately afterwards affirmed by the Regent himself.

The poor Javanese cast one single look at his young champion, he pressed his hand to his heart and uttered a few incoherent words. But that one look was sufficient for van Beneden, it was the overflowing of a grateful heart. At the very bottom of the pandoppo one solitary voice cried out:

"Great is the justice of the whites!"

A few moments after, the pandoppo was deserted. Said Grashuis to his friend as he was walking home with him: "By Jove, old fellow, you have knocked the wind clean out of me--I am still under the spell. That is natural enough; but what I want to know is how you managed to get the native chiefs on your side?"

"Very simply indeed," replied the other, "I called upon them yesterday and read my speech to them in Malay."

"Come, come, that's cute!" laughed Grashuis. The young lawyer, however, did not tell his friend that, at the conclusion of that visit, the old Regent of Santjoemeh had pressed his hand and whispered to him:

"You are a noble fellow!"

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XXXV. A MEETING IN THE KARANG BOLLONG MOUNTAINS

On the western slope of the Goenoeng Poleng--that mighty mass of rock which forms the nucleus, as it were, of the Karang Bollong range running along the South Coast of Java, and not far from the dessa Ajo there stood a modest little hut. To the traveller approaching from the North or from the South, it was completely hidden by the walls of rock which towered around it. Steeply rising ground but scantily covered with thin grass and prickly shrubs, shut out all view from the back of the little cabin. From either side also nothing could be seen but the rocky slopes, with here and there a small patch of arable ground. But the front of the hut offered a prospect which, for loveliness and variety, could hardly be equalled, certainly not surpassed; and which amply made up for the dreariness of the view on the other sides.

From the small front gallery or verandah the incline ran down pretty swiftly, and displayed to the eye a panorama which might in truth be called magnificent. Immediately beneath this verandah lay the mountain-slope; at first bald and bare, with huge weather-worn boulders scattered about here and there, and a few stunted shrubs. Between these a narrow pathway ran winding down. In its tortuous course it seemed to rival the brook, as, twisting and bubbling and splashing and foaming, it went merrily and swiftly dancing down its fantastically-cut bed. As gradually the slope ran down to the valley, the vegetable kingdom began to assert itself more and more. At first there appeared dwarf trees with curiously twisted trunks and strangely gnarled branches, these, in their turn, gave way to the more luxuriant representatives of the realm of Silvanus, and these again gradually merged into a rich plantation of fruit-bearing trees, above which the tall cocoa-nut palms reared their feathered heads waving and nodding to the breeze. Beyond this, at the foot of the mountain, lay the little dessa Ajo, snugly embowered in a mass of glossy foliage. Very pleasant to look at from the eminence were the dwellings of the native villagers with their neat brown roofs and bright yellow fences peeping here and there through the rich verdure, reflected in the waters of the Kali Djetis, which forms the western boundary of the dessa; and which, at that point, makes a majestic sweep before emptying itself by a wide mouth into the Indian Ocean.

The view of that ocean still further enhanced the beauty of the grand panorama which lay stretched out in front of the little hut. On a fine calm day the deep-blue expanse of water extended far--endlessly far--away to the horizon, glittering under the rays of the tropical sun like a metallic mirror; while numerous fishing boats, with their white but quaintly-shaped sails, hovered about the Moeara Djetis, and skimmed like birds over the glassy surface. When, however, the South-East trade was blowing stiffly, and the flood-tide helped to raise the waves, the aspect of the ocean was entirely changed. Then not a single boat was to be seen; but heavy breakers came tumbling in, and, as these reached the mouth of the river, and met the body of downflowing mountain water, they would tower up and roll along steadily for awhile as a huge wall of solid blue, then curl over into mighty crests, and finally break into a foam-sheet of dazzling whiteness. This magnificent spectacle, a kind of prororoca on a small scale, could be watched from the verandah in its minutest details.

The hut itself was but a very poor little dwelling; constructed, as those places generally are, of such primitive materials as bamboo and atap. It consisted indeed merely of four walls and a roof. It had a door in front and behind, which gave access to a small verandah, while, in the side-walls, two square shutters did duty for windows. Whether or not the space within was divided into separate apartments we cannot tell. There are secrets into which a novelist must not venture to pry; and there are feelings which, even he, must know how to respect. It may be his duty--his painful duty--to introduce his readers to an opium-den, and reveal to them the horrors it conceals, if, by so doing, he may reasonably hope to do something to cure a crying evil; but he ought not, without sufficient reason, to invade the sacred rights of privacy by throwing open to his readers a cottage wherein--

But, modest as was the little building which stood there lonely and deserted on that mountain slope, and poor as was its outward appearance, yet there existed a very marked difference between it and the other cabins, the dwellings of the dessa people, far down at the foot of the mountain. The difference consisted herein, that it was scrupulously neat and clean, and bore no trace whatever of the slovenliness and general want of cleanliness which is too often the characteristic of the houses of the ordinary Javanese villager. The Javanese, indeed, are an Eastern race. As such they have certain points in common with all the other branches of the great Oriental family, whether we call them Moors, Hindoos, Arabs, Chinese, Egyptians, Berbers, aye, or even Greeks, Italians, or Spaniards. The entire house from top to bottom, from the roof of fresh nipah leaves to the hedge of yellow bamboo hurdle, looked bright and clean. The small plot of ground in front was carefully laid out as a trim garden with well kept paths and pretty bits of green lawn. The flower-beds also, and the ornamental shrubs, which grew around, spoke of careful tending, while an impenetrable hedge of the conyza indica enclosed the entire nook. At the back of the house lay a patch of grass, evidently used as a drying ground, for several articles of female apparel, such as slendangs, sarongs, and the like, were hanging on ropes stretched over bamboo poles, and fluttered in the breeze.

In the front gallery a single flower-pot was conspicuous, a thing very seldom found in any Javanese house, in which flowered a magnificent "Devoniensis" in full bloom; and close by stood a native loom, at which a young girl was seated cross-legged on a low bamboo stool.

Wholly intent upon her work, she is plying the shuttle with nimble fingers. As novelist, we are, to some extent, a privileged being, and may venture to draw near though we would not intrude into the little house. The girl is so deeply absorbed in her task that we have leisure, unperceived, to examine the further contents of the verandah; but specially to watch its solitary occupant. That she has for some considerable time been hard at work, the reel tells us; for it already contains quite a thick roll of tissue, the result of her day's toil; so does, likewise, the spinning-wheel, which stands hard by, ready to supply the shuttle with thread as soon as it may need replenishing.

As regards the girl herself, she is, just now, bending forward over her work so that we cannot catch even a glimpse of her features. Her dress, consisting of a simple jacket of light-blue cotton, and the sarong made of some dark-coloured material, with a gay flowering pattern, proclaim her to be a Javanese. So also do the hands and such parts of the face and neck as we are able to see, by their brownish yellow tint. So again does the hair which is combed away smooth from the forehead and rolled up at the back of the head in a thick heavy kondeh or plait.

Aye, but--that kondeh, however carefully it may have been plaited and fastened up, yet it at once awakens our curiosity. Little rebellious locks have here and there strayed away, and very unlike the stiff straight hair of full-bred Javanese beauties, they curl and cluster lovingly around the plait, while the shorter hair under the kondeh also forms crisp little curls which cast a dark shade over the light-brown neck.

"Might she be a nonna after all?" we murmur inaudibly.

Our suspicion is strengthened when, by the side of the little stool, our eye lights upon a pair of tiny slippers. These slippers are not remarkable in any way, they are of the simplest make and wholly devoid of ornament; but it strikes us at once that in Java girls or women hardly ever wear such things, and then--more remarkable still--their size and shape point to the fact that the owner's feet in no way correspond to the broad, splay feet of the natives.

As we stand wondering and losing ourselves in surmises, the weaving girl very slightly changes her position, and one snow-white toe comes peeping out from under her sarong. The startling difference of colour betrays the secret at once: She is a nonna!

Wholly unconscious of our proximity the girl looks up and casts a single glance at the fair view stretched out before her--she utters a deep sigh and--

"That face," we murmur inwardly, "where have we seen that pretty face?"

We have, however, no time to collect our thoughts, for, the next moment as the young girl is again bowing her head to resume her work, a quick light footstep is heard on the path which leads to Ajo. The girl looks up, evidently scared at the unusual sound, she peers anxiously forward and then, almost bereft of the power of speech by the suddenness of the surprise, she gasps forth the cry, "Dalima!"

Yes, it is indeed Dalima who, with nimble step, has crossed the garden and is now running up to the verandah. The weaving-girl starts up from her stool, and before her unexpected visitor has time to mount the three steps, the pair are locked in each other's embrace and forming, as it were, but one exclamation we hear the words:

"Nana!"

"Dalima!"

Now the mystery is cleared up, now we recognize at once both the one and the other. That weaving girl is Anna van Gulpendam and the other is poor Dalima whom we followed in her anxious and painful search as far as Karang Anjer when we lost sight of her until now.

"Where have you come from?" asked Anna, as again and again she clasped the Javanese girl to her breast.

"To-day I came from the dessa Ajo," archly replied Dalima.

"What brought you there?"

"Well, I came from the dessa Pringtoetoel, that's where I was yesterday."

"But," continued Anna, "what business had you there?"

"The day before that," resumed Dalima not heeding the interruption, "I was at Gombong and the day before that again at Karang Anjer."

"At Karang Anjer?" exclaimed Anna. "What induced you to go there?"

"To look for my Nana," was the reply.

"To look for me? Is that why you have come all the way from Santjoemeh? Have you undertaken so long a journey to look for me?--and in your condition too!"

Anna spoke these last words with some hesitation, while the furtive glance she cast at the poor girl's figure left no doubt as to her meaning.

"Yes, Nana," replied Dalima very quietly and without the least trace of confusion. "As soon as ever I left the prison, thanks to the aid of the young judge," continued she, as she fixed one penetrating look upon Anna who felt the blood fly up to her cheeks at the words, "I went to look after my mother. Thanks again to toean Nerekool, I found her and the children well provided for. My next thought was for my Nana. The toean had told me that the nonna was no longer staying at Karang Anjer but had left, and had vanished without leaving a trace behind her. I thought I could guess why. I knew how lonely, how forsaken, how utterly miserable my dear Nana must feel. An irresistible longing came over me--the longing you know of a young woman in my situation--" she added with a faint sad smile, "to go at once and look for Nana so that I might be of some service to her. I started and--"

"Does toean van Nerekool know of all this?" asked Anna much alarmed.

"No, Nana, he knows nothing whatever about it."

"You did not tell him what you were going to do?"

"No, Nana, I did not."

"Might you not perhaps have dropped some hint to Mr. van Nerekool, or may be to your mother? Do, Dalima, try and remember!"

"No, I have not given toean Charles the slightest hint of my intention. I told my mother that I was going to seek for you."

"Where?" asked Anna.

"Well, Nana, at Karang Anjer."

"But you knew that you would not find me at Karang Anjer?"

"Oh, I knew that; but I wanted to see Mrs. Steenvlak. I thought she would be sure to tell me where you had gone."

"Did you go to Mrs. Steenvlak?" inquired Anna,

"Yes, Nana."

"And--?"

"I could learn nothing from her. The njonja confessed that she knew where you were; but she refused to tell me--she said she had promised not to let anyone know."

Anna drew a deep sigh of relief.

"But how then did you manage to find me, Dalima?" she asked.

"Well, Nana, how shall I tell you that? It is such a long story. I have been wandering about in all directions, I have made inquiries everywhere. I asked at the posting-houses, at the loerahs of each dessa I passed through. I questioned the gardoes and the stall-keepers on the road. In fact I asked everywhere and everybody. In my wanderings, at length I happened to come to the dessa Pembanan."

"The dessa Pembanan!" cried Anna in the greatest agitation.

"Yes," resumed Dalima, "that's where I found the first trace. You took a cup of coffee there at a stall while you had to wait for the pole of your sedan to be repaired."

Anna glanced down uneasily at her yellow-stained hands.

"Oh! it is no use looking at your hands," continued Dalima with a smile. "The old stall-keeper has sharp eyes and the stain could hardly deceive her. She guessed at once that you were either a nonna or a princess."

"Well, go on!" sighed Anna.

"You asked her how far Pembanan was from the dessas Sikaja and Pringtoetoel--did you not?"

"Yes, that is so," replied Anna.

"Very well, then, that clue I have followed, up hill and down dale."

"Poor, poor dear girl!" cried Anna, as with tears in her eyes she again clasped Dalima to her breast. "Poor child! such a journey, and in your condition, too! Yes, now I see how worn and weary you look!"

"Oh, that's nothing!" cried Dalima cheerfully, "that's nothing, I am strong enough, Nana, don't trouble yourself about that.

"At Pringtoetoel," she continued, "I got further information. There they told me that you had gone on to the dessa Ajo. When I got there I found the very sedan in which you had travelled--it was stowed away in the loerah's grounds--and they told me that you had a house built for yourself up here--How very pretty!"

As she said this Dalima looked around; and an involuntary sigh escaped from her lips, a sigh which contrasted strangely with her spoken words. The Javanese girl could not help comparing this wretched little tenement with the stately Residential palace at Santjoemeh.

Hitherto the conversation had been carried on standing, the girls half leaning upon, half embracing one another. Said Anna, who perfectly understood the meaning of that sigh and wished to break the train of Dalima's thoughts:

"Come, let us sit down, you must be dead-tired, poor Dalima."

So saying she resumed her seat on the little bench while Dalima, as in days gone by, squatted down on the mat at Anna's feet and laid her head lovingly in her mistress's lap. Then the conversation flowed on as briskly as before.

"No, Nana," said Dalima, "I am not the least tired. I arrived yesterday morning, very early, at Ajo and have had plenty of time for rest."

"But now," resumed Anna, "do tell me something about yourself, about your own affairs, about the trial and all that."

Thereupon followed the story with which our readers are acquainted. We need hardly add that in the telling of it van Nerekool's name was by no means forgotten. Dalima's deep gratitude to her benefactor would not allow her for an instant to neglect his interests. It even seemed as if that gentleman's name was introduced into her story more frequently than the narrative strictly required. So much so that Anna could not help saying:

"Will you assure me, will you swear, that it was not at Mr. van Nerekool's suggestion that you have undertaken this journey in quest of me?"

"Yes, Nana, I will swear it," replied Dalima readily and with the utmost candour.

"And now," continued Anna, "you must make me another promise, and that is that you will never in any way whatever, let him know that you have succeeded in finding me."

Dalima made no reply. For a few moments she hesitated.

"Now listen to me, Dalima," resumed Anna very firmly, "if you will not make me that promise, and promise it most solemnly, then we must part. You will have to leave me and I shall go elsewhere. Heaven only knows where I shall go to!"

One instant the Javanese girl looked up at her companion incredulously--then seeing that Anna was in downright earnest she exclaimed:

"Not stay with you, Nana! Oh! do not say so. I who have travelled so far to be with you. You cannot mean it. Not stay with you? But that can never be. I have left my parents, my friends, my home, my all--only to be close to you--and now you talk of parting!"

The poor child could get no further; uncontrollable sobs stifled her voice.

"No, no!" cried Anna, who was in reality no less deeply moved than her companion; "no, no, very far from it. Above all things I wish to keep you here with me; but you must promise that you will not let anyone know where I am hiding--will you promise that?"

Dalima flung herself weeping into her mistress's arms:

"You are so lonely here, so miserably poor!" she sobbed.

"Oh, that is nothing," cried Anna, "never mind that; I have got used to it."

"He loves you so dearly, so tenderly," pleaded the baboe.

"Not another word on that subject, Dalima," said Anna, very sternly; "you cannot possibly understand how insurmountable a barrier there exists between Mr. van Nerekool and myself. There can never be a question of marriage between us, let me tell you that once and for all."

The baboe made no immediate reply, but went on sobbing and weeping as if her heart would break.

"Will you make that promise, Dalima?" insisted Anna.

"I owe him so much," sobbed Dalima, "I am so anxious to make him happy."

"You would be doing him the greatest wrong, Dalima."

"Wrong?" cried the baboe, "how so? by bringing him to you; oh, Nana!"

"Once again, I say not another word on that subject," cried Anna; and then, taking her companion's hand she continued: "Now, Dalima, give me your hand--so, that is right; now you will give me your promise, will you not?"

"It makes my heart ache to think of it," sobbed Dalima, "but if you will have it so, I must obey. I give you my promise."

"That's a good girl," said Anna cheerfully, but with a painful smile. "Now I am glad that you have come, for you will be able to help me, oh! ever so much. Look what a splendid striped material I have here on the loom."

"Do you make those things, yourself, Nana?" asked Dalima in pitying accents, "you, the daughter of a kandjeng toean Resident?"

"Now, Dalima," said Anna sadly, "that is another subject you must never mention. Not a soul knows me here. They do not so much as suspect that I am a white woman. They take me for a Solo princess who has been banished by her father--you told me so yourself--Oh! there are such funny stories about that, the one funnier than the other. You see that name of poetri is of the greatest use to me. The good dessa-folk look upon me as a kind of supernatural being and it protects me from all danger. Why even the old woman who sells my goods takes me for a relative of the Queen of the South, and can get much better prices for me than the things would otherwise fetch."

"Do you sell those 'kains' you make, Nana?" exclaimed Dalima, folding her hands in sorrowful wonder, "you, the child of a kandjeng toean?"

"But Dalima," replied Anna, with a smile, "that child of a kandjeng toean, as you call her, must eat like other mortals. Come, I must get on with my work, we have wasted too much time already in talking. That kain polèng mas has been ordered and I must get it done as soon as possible."

So Anna set to work again at the loom. Dalima, for a little while, sat watching her with tearful eyes; but presently she jumped up, took the spinning-wheel and placed it close to the loom so that they could continue their conversation without allowing their hands to be idle, and then began industriously to spin. So clever did she show herself at the wheel that Anna gave her an approving nod and said:

"That's right; now I shall have some real help and we shall get on famously. Nothing kept me back so much as that continual spinning every time my spool was empty."

"Oh, but," said Dalima, with a smile, and not without a touch of pride, "I can do a good deal more than spinning. You will see I can take my turn at the loom as well. I am a particularly good hand at painting on linen."

"Indeed, I am glad to hear that; then you will be of the greatest use to me; for I must confess I am as yet rather awkward at it though I have improved very much since I began. Before we go and get dinner ready I must show you some of my productions in that line."

Thus chatting, the girls went on working diligently for another couple of hours until it became time to go to the kitchen. In that department also, everything was poor enough. It required no very elaborate cookery-book to prepare their simple meal. Dalima would not allow her Nana to have any hand whatever in the cooking. She took the basket of raw rice, ran to the brook which flowed hard by, thoroughly washed the grains until the water ran off clear through the basket. Then she put the koekoesan on the fire in a dangdang, wrapped a little salt fish with herbs and Spanish pepper in pisang leaves to make pèpèsan ikan, and roasted them slightly over the glowing coal fire. Next she toasted a few strips of meat and had everything ready long before the rice was done.

"Now, Nana," she asked as she looked around, "where is our table and the table-linen? I want to lay the cloth."

"You forget, it seems, Dalima, that I have turned Javanese. If I wish to remain unknown, I must conform, in every respect, to the manners and customs of our dessa-people There is my table and these are my knife and fork."

Thus saying, Anna pointed downwards to the pandan mat which covered the floor and then held up her taper fingers.

Dalima heaved a deep sigh.

"But, Nana," she asked, "can it be necessary for you to work and to live thus? Have you then no money at all?"

"Money!" replied Anna, who retained all her pride in the midst of her adversity, "I have plenty of money, I am very well off, I might indeed call myself rich for one in my position. But you must not forget that I am in hiding; and that if I did not work and did not live exactly like the natives, they would begin to suspect me and then my hiding-place would very soon be discovered. Moreover, who can tell what the future may have in store; the day may come when that money which I now so carefully hoard, though you may perhaps think me stingy, may be of the greatest use to us?"

"Oh, Nana!" cried the baboe, as she strove to put in a word.

But Anna would have no arguments.

"Come, come," said she, "let us change the subject. While the rice is boiling, come and see how I have been getting on with my painting."

She took Dalima into the back-gallery where stood several frames on which were stretched the tissues she had woven and which showed the process of painting in all its stages. On one of them the piece of linen was as yet pure white and the flowers which were to be painted were only lightly traced upon it. Another frame showed the designs partly covered with wax, so as to protect these parts from the action of the dye. On a third again the ground colour had been applied and the wax had been removed from such portions of the design as were to receive the next coat of paint. Neatly arranged around stood the small pots of colours, of indigo, of red paint, of brown paint, of yellow paint, and so forth.

All these things Dalima surveyed with the critical eye of an expert and she highly approved of the arrangements. She took up a saucer which held the wax, and having held it to the fire, she proceeded, by means of a little tube, to pour the melted substance on one of the drawings and so gave proof of her skill in that kind of work.

"You see, Nana!" she cried, triumphantly, "you see how useful I shall be to you! I shall also teach you how to use the 'aboe Kesambi' (ashes of the Scheichera trijaga), I don't see any about here--then you will see how vastly your flowers will improve in colour and softness."

Thus then had baboe Dalima found a home on the slope of the Goenoeng Poleng. Thus she was again united to the young mistress to whom she was attached with a fervour of devotion which is not uncommon among Javanese servants. Both girls toiled and moiled together. Anna insisted upon taking her full share in all the drudgery of the little housekeeping--and whatever objections the baboe might strive to make, Anna would share and share alike. In Dalima she had acquired not a servant; but a true and faithful companion and friend, and a comforter and supporter in the time of her bitter trial. How long was that peaceful life to last--?

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XXXVI. LIM HO'S WEDDING

On a fine September morning, of the same year in which the other events of our story took place, Santjoemeh was once again in a state of commotion. And no wonder. For that day had been fixed upon for the marriage of Lim Ho. Of Lim Ho, the son of the opium farmer, the son of the millionaire Lim Yang Bing, with Ngow Ming Nio, the prettiest Chinese girl of Santjoemeh, the prettiest perhaps in all Dutch India. She was the only daughter of old Ngow Ming Than, a speculator who had dealt in every possible thing out of which money could be made, and who was honoured, esteemed and sought after for the sake of the millions he had scraped together. Money everywhere exercises a certain power of attraction; not otherwise was it at Santjoemeh, and the union of two such enormous capitals was certain, therefore, to awaken general interest. Moreover, a Chinese wedding of this kind was a very rare occurrence, and the reports of the magnificence which the house of Lim Yang Bing would display on the occasion, were so extravagant that they bordered on the miraculous, and opened to the imagination visions like those of the Arabian Nights.

All Santjoemeh--taking these words in the same sense as "tout Paris" on similar occasions--had been scheming and intriguing to obtain an invitation; and many a pleasant smile had been lavished on babah Ong Sing Kok, or on babah Than Soeï, the purveyors of Mesdames Zoetbrouw and Greenhoed, ladies who, in the ordinary way, did not waste their blandishments on Chinamen, because it was thought that these gentlemen had a pretty large acquaintance among the staff of servants on Lim Yang Bing's establishment, and that through them the much coveted card of invitation might be procured.

There were some who were wicked enough to whisper, that a certain nonna had promised one of Lim Ho's cousins to give him a kiss if he would procure her parents a ticket for admission. The wicked went on to say, that this Chinaman, a shrewd fellow--like most of his race--had refused to undertake the negotiation, unless he received payment on account; an instalment which was not to count on the day of final settlement. That these negotiations had been very much protracted owing to the many difficulties which would constantly arise; that, on every such check in the proceedings, progress had to be reported to the young lady, and that our artful young Celestial had made every fresh effort on his part depend upon the payment of another instalment on hers. If all this were true, then the poor nonna must have paid pretty dearly for her ticket--in kisses. That, however, is the story of the wicked, it is not ours. On that September morning then, Santjoemeh was in a fever of excitement and expectation. If here and there perhaps Lim Ho's ugly adventure with baboe Dalima had not been forgotten, the remembrance of that outrage did not damp the general enthusiasm, or keep any one at home. Those who were troubled with a somewhat tender conscience, laid the flattering unction to their soul that, as there had been no prosecution, probably the whole story was false, or that, at the worst, no great harm had been done. Others there were who fully believed the truth of the reports which had been spread abroad; and who actually envied Lim Ho his "bonne fortune." That Dalima was such a pretty girl! Oh, no! there was no one who would deny himself the expected pleasure on that account. It was very much the other way.

The evening before the eventful day, Santjoemeh had had something like a foretaste of the coming joy. For, on that evening, a procession had started to the Chinese temple. Now, marriage has, in the celestial empire, no necessary connection whatever with any religious observances; yet, on the present occasion, it had been thought well to propitiate the goddess Má Tsów Pô, the guardian and protecting deity of candidates for matrimony and of newly married people. Accordingly, on the eve of the wedding, a procession had been formed in front of the bride's house. First came a numerous band of native musicians who, on their brass instruments accompanied by a drum of monstrous size, performed a selection of waltzes, polkas, mazurkas and redowas. In spite of the horrible dissonance of their execution, these lively tunes would have set even Johann Strauss a jigging could he but have heard them. Then followed a corps of Chinese artists whose grating one-stringed fiddles, clashing cymbals and discordant screeching wind-instruments, alternated with the former band; and produced a mixed medley of hideous sounds, which literally set one's teeth on edge, and put all but the most inveterate sightseers to instant flight. At the head of the procession and in its rear, marched six torch-bearers, while eight paper lanterns were born aloft on red poles on either side. These shed a soft coloured light and, by their fantastic shapes, imparted a thoroughly Chinese air to the scene. But the nucleus, and most important part of the pageant, consisted of twelve boys who walked two and two, and were called 'lo jen see' (barefeet). They were dressed in short nankin gowns reaching only to the knee, under which appeared the bare legs and feet, and on their heads they wore tall conical caps, trimmed with red fringe. Each of these youths held in his hand the pa-lee, or hollow metal ring containing little bits of iron, from which hung small copper bells. With these, the bearers made a gentle rattling sound as they marched along.

When the temple was reached, the boys grouped themselves around the image of Má Tsów Pô, a deity represented as standing on the clouds and wearing a crown in token of her dignity of Queen of Heaven. Then, to a kind of measure, they began to mumble and chaunt their prayers and incantations, shaking their ring the while incessantly. This went on for about the space of an hour, and then the procession reformed and marched homeward with a far greater crowd at its heels than had accompanied its setting out.

The next day, however, was the great day.

Very early in the morning carriages began to rattle through the streets of Santjoemeh, to fetch the landowners, officials, and other distinguished guests, who lived in the country round about. On the stroke of ten the élite of the Residence had assembled in the vast inner-gallery of Lim Yang Bing's mansion. The gentlemen were all in full-dress, in uniform, or in black evening dress; the ladies wore ball toilettes; and at the entrance a number of Chinese boys were stationed to hand to each of their fair guests a bouquet of lovely pink roses. As one by one the principal guests drove up, crackers were let off, varying in number according to the social position of the individual who presented himself. If two or more happened to enter together, bunches of crackers were exploded in exact proportion to the number of visitors; and sometimes these fireworks exploded with a din that was almost deafening.

At length Mr. van Gulpendam and his fair spouse made their appearance. They were received and escorted into the house by Chinese officers with the most punctilious ceremony. At his entrance, two copper serpents were exploded, and there were flatterers among the company who declared to Laurentia and to Lim Yang Bing, that, compared to the din these terrible serpents made, an eruption of Krakatoea was but child's play.

The object of this infernal noise was two-fold. It was useful on the one hand to frighten away the evil spirits who might be lurking about the premises, and, on the other, it served as an expression of joy and as an evidence of cordial welcome to the visitors.

As soon as the Resident had arrived, a long line of the intimate friends and acquaintances of the bridegroom, accompanied by the inevitable band and by the barefeet who had officiated on the previous evening, started off to fetch the bride from the house of her parents. Meanwhile, the major and the captain of the Chinese did the honours of the feast, while the lieutenants of that nation acted as masters of the ceremonies. Nothing could be more courteous than the manner in which these gentlemen acquitted themselves of their onerous duties. They attended to every want, they offered refreshments; and soon the popping of champagne corks indoors began to mingle with the incessant banging of the fireworks without; and generous wine, iced in huge silver bowls, was foaming and sparkling in the crystal glasses. For the ladies, there was an ample supply of hippocras, Golden water, Chartreuse and other liqueurs.

Lim Yang Bing had offered his arm to fair Laurentia, and the pair walked leisurely up and down that stately saloon, which, under ordinary circumstances, might be called magnificent, but had now been specially decorated with the utmost skill and taste. The woodwork, the pillars, the beams and architraves of the apartment were all curiously carved and heavily gilt, and represented either hideous dragon-forms, or else scenes of domestic life in China. The walls were tinted a delicate rose-colour, and the floor, of pure Carrara marble, was covered with matting woven of the finest split rottan. At the end of this splendid saloon stood the altar of Tao Peng Kong gorgeously decorated, while wide strips of red silk, bearing black Chinese letters, hung on either side of the sanctuary.

"Tell me, babah," asked the Resident's wife, "what may be the meaning of that scribble on those red rags?"

"They are proverbs, njonja, taken from Kong Foe Hi," gallantly replied the Chinaman.

"Yes, but what do they mean?"

"That one, njonja, signifies: 'May the five blessings abide in this house.'"

"And the others?"

"They are the names of the five blessings."

"Ah indeed!" continued Laurentia, "and what are those blessings?"

"A long life, peace and rest, love of virtue, wealth and a happy end as the crown of life."

"And what do the letters on those lanterns signify? I say, babah, they are very fine!" said Laurentia pointing upward at the lanterns, depending from the ceiling and from the beams.

They were handsome hexagonal contrivances skilfully made, in the Chinese style, of wrought copper, and having large plates of pure polished crystal let into the sides.

"Yes, yes, njonja," assented the babah with a complacent smile, "as you say they are very beautiful objects; but they cost a good deal of money. Now could you give a guess at the price of one of those copper lanterns?"

"Not I, babah! how could I? let me see--they may be worth some fifty guilders."

"Fifty guilders!" exclaimed the Chinaman with something like pity for her ignorance. "Oh, njonja, how could you have made such a bad shot. Why! I thought you prized the masterpieces of our Chinese art somewhat more highly than that!"

"Well!" said the crafty woman, "and what, pray, may be the value of the things?"

"Every lantern, njonja, you see hanging there, has cost me in Canton, three hundred and fifty guilders, without reckoning carriage and duty."

"Oh, never mind that!" laughed Laurentia, "I daresay you managed to smuggle them across."

"No, njonja, by Kong, no! I can show you the receipt from the custom-house. Will the njonja--"

"No, babah, don't trouble yourself, I take your word for it. But what may they have cost you altogether?"

"Close upon four hundred guilders a piece, njonja."

"There are about thirty of them I should think," said Laurentia.

"Only five and twenty, njonja."

"Only! Only five and twenty!" said Mrs. van Gulpendam smiling. "It is pretty well, I should say--ten thousand guilders worth of lanterns!"

Lim Yang Bing's face glowed with satisfaction. Like most parvenus he took an intense delight in letting every one know what he had paid for the precious objects he exhibited.

"And look, njonja," he continued, "pray look at those tigers."

With these words the opium-farmer pointed to a pair of red marble tigers. The figures were life-size and were represented crouching on two black marble pedestals at the foot of the two pillars one on each side of the altar.

"Yes, babah, I admire them much--they are very fine indeed! They must have cost a pretty penny I should think?"

"Each one of those figures represents five thousand guilders, njonja."

"But babah!" cried Laurentia.

"You see, njonja," said the babah sententiously, "when one gives a wedding party of this kind, one ought to do it well. Have you noticed that cock over the altar yonder?"

"I see it, babah, I see it, how exquisitely it is carved."

"It is cut out of a single block of peachwood," said the Chinaman, "that little thing alone has cost me twelve hundred guilders."

"I say, babah! you must be a rich man," remarked Laurentia.

"So, so," replied the Chinaman inordinately proud in his assumed modesty. "Do you happen to know what the wedding breakfast and this evening's banquet will cost me?"

"No, I don't--do tell me, babah!"

"Well, I will--they will stand me in very nearly fifteen thousand guilders."

"Why, babah! you must be a very rich man," said Laurentia in a wheedling voice.

"Oh, not very," whined the Chinaman. "But you don't know how much I give my son as my wedding gift."

"You mean to Lim Ho, the bridegroom? No, I cannot guess--do tell me, babah?"

"Two millions!" he whispered, fairly beside himself with delight.

"Two million guilders!" exclaimed Laurentia, feigning the utmost surprise. "Why, babah, you must have a mint of money!"

"No, njonja, not overmuch!"

"And all of it out of your opium contract, eh?"

The Chinaman looked at his fair companion, he gave her a very strange look; that word opium had completely sobered him.

"And you have only had the contract for three years, I think, babah?" continued Laurentia.

Lim Yang Bing nodded assent. In his heart he was beginning to curse his boasting and vapouring.

"Have you seen the Resident lately?" asked Laurentia carelessly, but determined to strike while the iron was hot.

"No, njonja," replied the Chinaman politely, but with none of his former gush.

"I know he wishes to speak to you about the contract--it runs out I think with the current year?"

"Yes, njonja."

"And I think the monopoly for the next three years will be granted some time this month?"

"Yes, njonja."

"Do you intend to bid for it, babah?"

"I think so, njonja."

"Yes, njonja! no, njonja! I think so, njonja!" cried Laurentia mimicking the poor Chinaman most comically, "But, hush, someone is listening--What do you say is the meaning of those words on the lanterns, babah?"

The last question she asked in her ordinary tone of voice, with that light-hearted giggle which was peculiar to the handsome woman.

"Those letters mean: 'We pray for happiness and prosperity.'"

"Thank you, and on that one yonder?"

"The word on that one signifies: 'Lantern of Heaven?'"

Thus talking they had walked away out of ear-shot.

"Now," resumed Laurentia in a subdued voice, "now we can go on with our conversation:

"You seem to be very lukewarm about that monopoly business, babah. I fear you will have a competitor at the auction."

"Who is he?" asked Lim Yang Bing somewhat eagerly.

"I have heard the name of Kwee Sioen Liem mentioned, the Solo man; you know!"

"Indeed," muttered the Chinaman evidently much put out.

"Yes, they say he is a rich man, he may do you some damage perhaps, babah," continued Mrs. van Gulpendam fixing her glittering eyes upon her companion.

To this Lim Yang Bing made no reply, but he kept on with measured step walking by the side of the Resident's wife.

"That bit of information does not seem to affect you very much?" continued Laurentia with a slight sneer.

"Is that why the Resident wants to see me?" asked the Chinaman.

"Yes, I think so, partly at least for that; and I believe he has some other business to transact with you. The Government, you know, expects the bids to go much higher this year."

"Oh ho!" grinned the Chinaman.

"You now pay twelve hundred thousand guilders for your monopoly, do you not? You will have to make it twenty, or else the Government will keep the whole business in its own hands."

"Let them!" said Lim Yang Bing smiling disdainfully, "I should very much like to see that." But, after a moment's reflection, he went on: "It is quite impossible to offer more; as it is, we can only just avoid a loss."

"And yet you can manage to give two millions to your son as a wedding present," remarked Laurentia, with a knowing laugh.

"Aye," he continued, as if he had not heard the remark, "if the Government would grant more licenses in the Residence, in that case."--

"Is that all?" cried Laurentia carelessly. "How many do you hold now? But; that is no business of mine. How many more do you want?"

"Ten at the very least," was the ready answer.

"That's a good many, babah!--if ten additional licenses were granted, then I understand you to say that you are prepared to go up to two millions?"

Lim Yang Bing could only nod assent; he had no time to express himself verbally, for at that moment the procession, which had gone to fetch the bride had returned, and was appearing at the entrance of the gallery.

Its arrival was greeted with an explosion of fireworks so tremendous, and a cacophony from the Chinese band so hideous, that the din was absolutely deafening. If any evil spirits had been lurking about, that atrocious noise must certainly have made them take to their heels. No, not even the Shan Sao could stand that. In the midst of all this uproar, a comely group of Chinese maidens, very demure damsels, with finely cut features and modestly attired in picturesque gowns of yellow silk, with rose coloured sashes round their slim little waists, came forward to meet the bride and to bid her welcome. They offered her a garland of peach blossom, the emblem of maiden purity, and some nick-nacks amongst which was a cock, the emblem of the sungod, curiously carved out of peach-wood.

Lim Ho also advanced to offer his hand to Ngow Ming Nio, and to lead her to a table well furnished with the customary viands. On that board appeared an endless array of dishes, the usual Chinese dishes, such as sharks' fins, soup made of stags' tendons and birds' nests, "kiemlo" and "bahmieh" (two fat soups) and other delicacies of no particular significance. But besides these the table contained other articles of food to which a distinctly emblematical meaning was attached. There was the pomegranate sliced in such a manner as to display to the greatest advantage its innumerable seedgrains, signifying the numerous offspring with which might the marriage be richly blessed! There were large heaps of the orange, fit emblem of the sweetness of life, which might the happy pair long enjoy! There were clusters of the oyster, typifying the distinct personality of each member and the unbroken unity of the entire family; and lastly some cuttings of the sugar cane, signifying the blessedness of the married state which, as that cane from knot to knot, from joint to joint, still increases in sweetness and in love.

The betrothed couple now took their place at the table, Lim Ho at his bride's left hand, the place of honour in China. Before them were set two mighty goblets of pure gold. Both the beakers were filled with wine to the brim, and were connected with one another by a thread of scarlet silk. Then the bride and bridegroom simultaneously drained half the contents of the cups, after which they exchanged goblets, taking care however, that the scarlet thread remained unbroken. This time the cups were drained.

"Ouff!" cried van Beneden, who was present with his friends, "it is enough to take one's breath away! Each of those things must hold at least a bottle and a half of wine I bet! For Lim Ho it is nothing; but for that poor little thing!"

"Aye, and I bet, you wouldn't mind hob-nobbing with pretty Ngow Ming Nio," replied Grenits.

"Do hold your tongue!" said Grashuis as he glanced at a group of Chinamen who stood near, and who looked anything but pleased at the unseemly burst of merriment which at so solemn a moment, had greeted Grenits' words.

"Hush! Hush!" was the cry on all sides.

Resident van Gulpendam glared round indignantly, and Laurentia looked black as thunder at the interruption in the midst of the drinking ceremony.

Van Rheijn would have crept underground to avoid those terrible eyes.

When the couple had thus copiously pledged one another, the bridegroom took the left hand of the bride. He raised it to the level of her breast, and in that attitude, the pair gravely saluted one another.

"I say," whispered Grenits, "I wish that dear little pet would give me such a bow."

"I daresay," remarked August van Beneden; "a dear little pet with two millions of money."

"Hush, hush!" was again the cry.

"Pooh!" cried Grenits, "millions squeezed out of the opium trade!"

The young lawyer hung his head in confusion.

"You are right," said he. "No! from such a source I would not take a single farthing!"

"Hush, hush!"

Van Gulpendam's eyes flashed with indignation. The next rite was a very curious one indeed. Two dishes were placed before the betrothed. They contained a mixture of red and white pellets, the size of an ordinary pea.

Grenits turned to one of the Chinamen who stood close beside him in the crowd, and asked what might be the meaning of this ceremony.

"Are they medicine?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the Chinaman. "The red balls represent the Jang or male, the white represent the Jin or female principle in nature."

"Hush, hush!" resounded again on all sides. Lim Ho and the bride now, each in a golden spoon, took up a red and a white ball, swallowed them and once again bowed deeply to one another. Then the dishes were interchanged, just as the cups had been before, the ceremony was repeated and with that act, the marriage was complete. They were now man and wife inseparably joined together.

Ngow Ming Nio and Lim Ho, the one set of millions was joined to the other.

During all these festive rites, did Lim Ho bestow even one passing thought upon his victim, baboe Dalima? We doubt it.

The nuptial ceremonies having been thus performed, the young wife took up in the spoon two of the little balls and gracefully presented them to the lips of her husband, and, with a winning smile, invited him to eat. By this rite the newly married woman bound herself to bear all the cares and anxieties of the domestic arrangements in the future household. While this ceremony was going on, one of the oldest members of the family audibly recited a few words in the Chinese tongue.

"What is he saying?" asked Grenits, turning to his friendly neighbour.

"O toean," replied the latter, "it is a quotation from the Sji-king, the book of songs which was printed long, very long ago."

(It is said to have been printed in the eleventh century B.C.)

"But what is the meaning of the quotation?"

"It has a very pretty meaning--something like this: 'The peach tree is young and fair, its blossoms are pure and bright--this young woman is going to her future home and will be an excellent manager of her domestic affairs.'"

"Very pretty indeed!" laughed Grenits.

When the young wife had thus, typically, served her husband with food, both made another low obeisance, and this concluded the ceremony.

The last bow was the signal for another terrific outburst of noise. The small cannon thundered, salvos of innumerable mertjons were fired off, the band of the Santjoemeh militia, which had appeared but lately on the scene, played up with all its might, the Chinese orchestra shrieked forth most dismal wails, and that roaring, that crackling, that drumming, that tooting, that sawing and scraping produced a din so indescribably stunning and so hideous that an ear-drum of bull's hide could hardly have endured the noise.

In the midst of this tumult the newly married couple took up their position in front of the altar of Tao' Peh Kong. First, they each kindled a little stick of sandal wood and fragrant incense which, while burning, they stuck into a massive golden bowl half filled with scented ashes. Thus having paid their homage to the household god, they turned to receive the congratulations of the company. This was not a national custom at all, for in China, when no white men are present, the wedded pair at once retire to their apartment. It was, in fact, a concession made to Western usage, and the Chinamen who were present scrupulously avoided taking any part in it. The majority of them left, to show their zeal, no doubt, by letting off some more fireworks and completing the rout of the evil spirits.

Resident van Gulpendam, taking his wife's arm, at once headed the procession of Europeans all eager to fall down before those millions thus auspiciously coupled together. But for these millions, however lovely might have been the bride, and though in the little world around him Lim Ho might have been voted a very good sort of fellow, not a single soul would have so much as dreamed of taking part in this chorus of hollow compliment. The scandal about Dalima was of much too recent date. But now that the two millions on the one side had joined the two millions on the other--now that Lim Ho, the son of Lim Yang Bing, the all-powerful opium farmer, was the happy man, now the entire European population was ready to crowd around that highly-favoured couple and press upon them their heartfelt and sincere congratulations.

Not content with this, Mr. van Gulpendam considered it his duty, after having shaken hands, to add a few words of affectionate advice. Very fortunate indeed it was that neither husband nor wife understood the Dutch language and thus were spared the infliction of the nautical terms with which the worthy resident so richly interlarded his discourse, but which he found utterly untranslatable into Malay. It was a good thing also for the patience of the bystanders, that Laurentia stood by the side of her dear spouse and exhorted him to be brief by digging the point of her elbow pretty sharply into his side. At length the twaddle of the chief functionary came to an end, and now ensued a scene of handshaking, of cringing and fawning, and of general cant on both sides, which would have filled any honest heart with the deepest disgust. But neither Lim Yang Bing nor Lim Ho failed to notice that neither Theodoor Grenits, nor August van Beneden, nor Leendert Grashuis, nor Edward van Rheijn had joined this troop of sycophants. They had taken advantage of the crowd and confusion to leave the house. Charles van Nerekool had flatly refused to go at all. He could not overcome the aversion with which Lim Ho had inspired him; but when he heard a report of the proceedings, he resolved that, should another such opportunity occur, though the festivities might be held on a much smaller scale, he would try and witness so extraordinary a spectacle.

It was well perhaps for our young friends that they left when they did; for presently the scene became rather uproarious. No sooner were the greetings exchanged and the congratulations ended, than the champagne corks began to pop with an energy and frequency which seemed to rival the bangs of the mertjons outside. Presently the whole company, Chinamen and Europeans, stood up, holding aloft their glasses full of sparkling wine, and deafening cheers were raised, while the Chinese "trauwkoeis" and the clattering cymbals screeched and clashed, and the militia trumpets brayed, and the serpents and mertjons banged with a noise as if a town was being bombarded. In the midst of this unearthly din the bridal pair disappeared; anxious, probably, to save their ear-drums.

In the evening, the formal banquet took place, to which eighty guests had been invited. The menu of the feast had been carefully prepared by a French mâitre d'hôtel, and was excellent; although next day the wags of Santjoemeh would have it that dishes decidedly peculiar to the Celestial empire had graced the board, such as "Potage Kiemlo à la Tartare," "Potage printanier à l'ail," "Croquettes aux oreilles de rats," "Bouchées d'ailerons de requins," "Consommées de tripang," &c. &c.

After dinner, President van Gulpendam rose to propose the toast of the evening; and to drink the health of the newly married couple. He did so, if the reports are to be believed, in a speech of extraordinary brilliancy. It fell to his lot also, afterwards, to propose the health of the Chinese officers, and, in doing so, he expressed a hope that the Netherlands might always find in her Chinese subjects as faithful and useful members of the community as they had hitherto proved themselves to be. He laid very marked stress upon the word "useful," and the close of his speech was greeted with thundering applause.

Lim Yang Bing replied to this toast, and at the conclusion of his remarks he proposed the health of Mr. and Mrs. van Gulpendam. He heartily congratulated Santjoemeh on the possession of such excellent rulers, and for the good of its inhabitants in general, and of the Chinese community in particular, he expressed the hope that they might long see that noble pair at the head of the Residence.

It was well that the roof of the mansion was a pretty strong one and that the foundations of its walls and pillars were firm and deep, or else some deplorable calamity must have occurred; for the deafening cheers of the company burst forth with the force of a hurricane; the soil literally shook under the feet of the assembled guests at the salvoes of mertjons and of small ordnance without, while the air within was alive with the popping of corks, which flew from the necks of the bottles with the regularity of well sustained file-fire. So unbounded was the enthusiasm with which the eloquent words of the worthy opium farmer were received. After the banquet came the ball, which was attended by almost the whole of Santjoemeh. Towards midnight, there was a display of Chinese fireworks in the grounds, and our pig-tailed brethren, on that occasion, proved how immeasurably superior is their skill in pyrotechny compared to anything European artists can aspire to in that line. Then dancing was resumed with fresh vigour, and the last couples did not leave the ball-room until the break of day.

"That was a glorious, a most sumptuous feast, babah," said Resident van Gulpendam a few days later to his friend Lim Yang Bing. "My eyes! didn't you make the galley smoke!"

"Yes, kandjeng toean," replied the opium farmer, with a smile of intensely gratified vanity. "Yes; but it has cost me a pretty little sum of money, why, in champagne alone, I have spent more than two thousand guilders, and quite another twelve hundred in Rhenish wine. The fireworks I had direct from Canton, and they have cost me three thousand at the very least."

As he dwelt upon these details, the man was in the seventh heaven of delight.

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