The half-blood Faringhea, wishing doubtless to escape from the dark
thoughts which the words of the Indian on the mysterious course of
the Cholera had raised within him, abruptly changed the subject of
conversation. His eye shone with lurid fire, and his countenance took an
expression of savage enthusiasm, as he cried: “Bowanee will always watch
over us, intrepid hunters of men! Courage, brothers, courage! The world
is large; our prey is everywhere. The English may force us to quit
India, three chiefs of the good work--but what matter? We leave there
our brethren, secret, numerous, and terrible, as black scorpions, whose
presence is only known by their mortal sting. Exiles will widen our
domains. Brother, you shall have America!” said he to the Hindoo, with
an inspired air. “Brother, you shall have Africa!” said he to the negro.
“Brothers, I will take Europe! Wherever men are to be found, there must
be oppressors and victims--wherever there are victims, there must be
hearts swollen with hate--it is for us to inflame that hate with all the
ardor of vengeance! It is for us, servants of Bowanee, to draw towards
us, by seducing wiles, all whose zeal, courage, and audacity may be
useful to the cause. Let us rival each other in devotion and sacrifices;
let us lend each other strength, help, support! That all who are not
with us may be our prey, let us stand alone in the midst of all, against
all, and in spite of all. For us, there must be neither country nor
family. Our family is composed of our brethren; our country is the
world.”
This kind of savage eloquence made a deep impression on the negro
and the Indian, over whom Faringhea generally exercised considerable
influence, his intellectual powers being very superior to theirs, though
they were themselves two of the most eminent chiefs of this bloody
association. “Yes, you are right, brother!” cried the Indian, sharing
the enthusiasm of Faringhea; “the world is ours. Even here, in Java, let
us leave some trace of our passage. Before we depart, let us establish
the good work in this island; it will increase quickly, for here also
is great misery, and the Dutch are rapacious as the English. Brother,
I have seen in the marshy rice-fields of this island, always fatal to
those who cultivate them, men whom absolute want forced to the deadly
task--they were livid as corpses--some of them worn out with sickness,
fatigue, and hunger, fell--never to rise again. Brothers, the good work
will prosper in this country!”
“The other evening,” said the half-caste, “I was on the banks of the
lake, behind a rock; a young woman came there--a few rags hardly covered
her lean and sun-scorched body--in her arms she held a little child,
which she pressed weeping to her milkless breast. She kissed it three
times, and said to it: ‘You, at least, shall not be so unhappy as
your father’--and she threw it into the lake. It uttered one wail, and
disappeared. On this cry, the alligators, hidden amongst the reeds,
leaped joyfully into the water. There are mothers here who kill their
children out of pity.--Brothers, the good work will prosper in this
country!”
“This morning,” said the negro, “whilst they tore the flesh of one of
his black slaves with whips, a withered old merchant of Batavia left
his country-house to come to the town. Lolling in his palanquin, he
received, with languid indolence, the sad caresses of two of those
girls, whom he had bought, to people his harem, from parents too poor to
give them food. The palanquin, which held this little old man, and the
girls, was carried by twelve young and robust men. There are here, you
see, mothers who in their misery sell their own daughters--slaves
that are scourged--men that carry other men, like beasts of
burden.--Brothers, the good work will prosper in this country!”
“Yes, in this country--and in every land of oppression, distress,
corruption, and slavery.”
“Could we but induce Djalma to join us, as Mahal the Smuggler advised,”
said the Indian, “our voyage to Java would doubly profit us; for we
should then number among our band this brave and enterprising youth, who
has so many motives to hate mankind.”
“He will soon be here; let us envenom his resentments.”
“Remind him of his father’s death!”
“Of the massacre of his people!”
“His own captivity!”
“Only let hatred inflame his heart, and he will be ours.”
The negro, who had remained for some time lost in thought, said
suddenly: “Brothers, suppose Mahal the Smuggler were to betray us?”
“He” cried the Hindoo, almost with indignation; “he gave us an asylum on
board his bark; he secured our flight from the Continent; he is again
to take us with him to Bombay, where we shall find vessels for America,
Europe, Africa.”
“What interest would Mahal have to betray us?” said Faringhea. “Nothing
could save him from the vengeance of the sons of Bowanee, and that he
knows.”
“Well,” said the black, “he promised to get Djalma to come hither this
evening, and, once amongst us, he must needs be our own.”
“Was it not the Smuggler who told us to order the Malay to enter the
ajoupa of Djalma, to surprise him during his sleep, and, instead of
killing him as he might have done, to trace the name of Bowanee upon his
arm? Djalma will thus learn to judge of the resolution, the cunning and
obedience of our brethren, and he will understand what he has to hope or
fear from such men. Be it through admiration or through terror, he must
become one of us.”
“But if he refuses to join us, notwithstanding the reasons he has to
hate mankind?”
“Then--Bowanee will decide his fate,” said Faringhea, with a gloomy
look; “I have my plan.”
“But will the Malay succeed in surprising Djalma during his sleep?” said
the negro.
“There is none nobler, more agile, more dexterous, than the Malay,”
said Faringhea. “He once had the daring to surprise in her den a black
panther, as she suckled her cub. He killed the dam, and took away the
young one, which he afterwards sold to some European ship’s captain.”
“The Malay has succeeded!” exclaimed the Indian, listening to a singular
kind of hoot, which sounded through the profound silence of the night
and of the woods.
“Yes, it is the scream of the vulture seizing its prey,” said the negro,
listening in his turn; “it is also the signal of our brethren, after
they have seized their prey.”
In a few minutes, the Malay appeared at the door of the hut. He had
wound around him a broad length of cotton, adorned with bright colored
stripes.
“Well,” said the negro, anxiously; “have you succeeded?”
“Djalma must bear all his life the mark of the good work,” said the
Malay, proudly. “To reach him, I was forced to offer up to Bowanee a man
who crossed my path--I have left his body under the brambles, near the
ajoupa. But Djalma is marked with the sign. Mahal the Smuggler was the
first to know it.”
“And Djalma did not awake?” said the Indian, confounded by the Malay’s
adroitness.
“Had he awoke,” replied the other, calmly, “I should have been a dead
man--as I was charged to spare his life.”
“Because his life may be more useful to us than his death,” said the
half-caste. Then, addressing the Malay, he added: “Brother, in risking
life for the good work, you have done to-day what we did yesterday,
what we may do again to-morrow. This time, you obey; another you will
command.”
“We all belong to Bowanee,” answered the Malay. “What is there yet to
do?--I am ready.” Whilst he thus spoke, his face was turned towards the
door of the hut; on a sudden, he said in a low voice: “Here is Djalma.
He approaches the cabin. Mahal has not deceived us.”
“He must not see me yet,” said Faringhea, retiring to an obscure corner
of the cabin, and hiding himself under a mat; “try to persuade him. If
he resists--I have my project.”
Hardly had Faringhea disappeared, saying these words, when Djalma
arrived at the door of the hovel. At sight of those three personages
with their forbidding aspect, Djalma started in surprise. But ignorant
that these men belonged to the Phansegars, and knowing that, in a
country where there are no inns, travellers often pass the night under
a tent, or beneath the shelter of some ruins, he continued to advance
towards them. After the first moment, he perceived by the complexion and
the dress of one of these men, that he was an Indian, and he accosted
him in the Hindoo language: “I thought to have found here a European--a
Frenchman--”
“The Frenchman is not yet come,” replied the Indian; “but he will not be
long.”
Guessing by Djalma’s question the means which Mahal had employed to
draw him into the snare, the Indian hoped to gain time by prolonging his
error.
“You knew this Frenchman?” asked Djalma of the Phansegar.
“He appointed us to meet here, as he did you,” answered the Indian.
“For what?” inquired Djalma, more and more astonished.
“You will know when he arrives.”
“General Simon told you to be at this place?”
“Yes, General Simon,” replied the Indian.
There was a moment’s pause, during which Djalma sought in vain to
explain to himself this mysterious adventure. “And who are you?” asked
he, with a look of suspicion; for the gloomy silence of the Phansegar’s
two companions, who stared fixedly at each other, began to give him some
uneasiness.
“We are yours, if you will be ours,” answered the Indian.
“I have no need of you--nor you of me.”
“Who knows?”
“I know it.”
“You are deceived. The English killed your father, a king; made you a
captive; proscribed you, you have lost all your possessions.”
At this cruel reminder, the countenance of Djalma darkened. He started,
and a bitter smile curled his lip. The Phansegar continued:
“Your father was just and brave--beloved by his subjects--they called
him ‘Father of the Generous,’ and he was well named. Will you leave his
death unavenged? Will the hate, which gnaws at your heart, be without
fruit?”
“My father died with arms in his hand. I revenged his death on the
English whom I killed in war. He, who has since been a father to me, and
who fought also in the same cause, told me, that it would now be madness
to attempt to recover my territory from the English. When they gave me
my liberty, I swore never again to set foot in India--and I keep the
oaths I make.”
“Those who despoiled you, who took you captive, who killed your
father--were men. Are there not other men, on whom you can avenge
yourself! Let your hate fall upon them!”
“You, who speak thus of men, are not a man!”
“I, and those who resemble me, are more than men. We are, to the rest of
the human race, what the bold hunter is to the wild beasts, which they
run down in the forest. Will you be, like us, more than a man? Will you
glut surely, largely, safely--the hate which devours your heart, for all
the evil done you?”
“Your words become more and more obscure: I have no hatred in my heart,”
said Djalma. “When an enemy is worthy of me, I fight with him; when he
is unworthy, I despise him. So that I have no hate--either for brave men
or cowards.”
“Treachery!” cried the negro on a sudden, pointing with rapid gesture to
the door, for Djalma and the Indian had now withdrawn a little from it,
and were standing in one corner of the hovel.
At the shout of the negro, Faringhea, who had not been perceived by
Djalma, threw off abruptly the mat which covered him, drew his crease,
started up like a tiger, and with one bound was out of the cabin. Then,
seeing a body of soldiers advancing cautiously in a circle, he dealt one
of them a mortal stroke, threw down two others, and disappeared in
the midst of the ruins. All this passed so instantaneously, that, when
Djalma turned round, to ascertain the cause of the negro’s cry of alarm,
Faringhea had already disappeared.
The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately
pointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in
pursuit of Faringhea. The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the
impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered
their hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided
themselves.
The Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this
moment. “And this other one?” said he, pointing out Djalma to the
soldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.
“Each in his turn, captain!” said an old sergeant. “We come to him
next.”
Djalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what
was passing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers
approach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent
indignation, and rushed towards the door where stood the officer. The
soldiers, who had supposed that Djalma would submit to his fate with the
same impassibility as his companions, were astounded by this resistance,
and recoiled some paces, being struck in spite of themselves, with the
noble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing.
“Why would you bind me like these men?” cried Djalma, addressing himself
in Hindostanee to the officer, who understood that language from his
long service in the Dutch colonies.
“Why would we bind you, wretch?--because you form part of this band of
assassins. What?” added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the soldiers,
“are you afraid of him?--Tie the cord tight about his wrists; there will
soon be another about his neck.”
“You are mistaken,” said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which
astonished the officer; “I have hardly been in this place a quarter of
an hour--I do not know these men. I came here to meet a Frenchman.”
“Not a Phansegar like them?--Who will believe the falsehood?”
“Them!” cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression of
horror, that with a sign the officer stopped the soldiers, who were
again advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; “these men form part
of that horrible band of murderers! and you accuse me of being their
accomplice!--Oh, in this case, sir! I am perfectly at ease,” said the
young man, with a smile of disdain.
“It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil,” replied the
officer; “thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysterious
signs to recognize the Thugs.”
“I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in the greatest horror, and
that I came here--”
The negro, interrupting Djalma, said to the officer with a ferocious
joy: “You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by
marks tattooed on their skin. For us, the hour has come--we give our
necks to the cord. Often enough have we twined it round the necks of
those who served not with us the good work. Now, look at our arms, and
look at the arms of this youth!”
The officer, misinterpreting the words of the negro, said to Djalma: “It
is quite clear, that if, as this negro tells us, you do not bear on
your arm the mysterious symbol--(we are going to assure ourselves of
the fact), and if you can explain your presence here in a satisfactory
manner, you may be at liberty within two hours.”
“You do not understand me,” said the negro to the officer; “Prince
Djalma is one of us, for he bears on his left arm the name of Bowanee.”
“Yes! he is like us, a son of Kale!” added the Malay.
“He is like us, a Phansegar,” said the Indian.
The three men, irritated at the horror which Djalma had manifested on
learning that they were Phansegars, took a savage pride in making
it believed that the son of Kadja-sing belonged to their frightful
association.
“What have you to answer?” said the officer to Djalma. The latter again
gave a look of disdainful pity, raised with his right hand his long,
wide left sleeve, and displayed his naked arm.
“What audacity!” cried the officer, for on the inner part of the fore
arm, a little below the bend, the name of the Bowanee, in bright red
Hindoo characters, was distinctly visible. The officer ran to the Malay,
and uncovered his arm; he saw the same word, the same signs. Not
yet satisfied, he assured himself that the negro and the Indian were
likewise so marked.
“Wretch!” cried he, turning furiously towards Djalma; “you inspire even
more horror than your accomplices. Bind him like a cowardly assassin,”
added he to the soldiers; “like a cowardly assassin, who lies upon the
brink of the grave, for his execution will not be long delayed.”
Struck with stupor, Djalma, who for some moments had kept his eye
riveted on the fatal mark, was unable to pronounce a word, or make the
least movement: his powers of thought seemed to fail him, in presence of
this incomprehensible fact.
“Would you dare deny this sign?” said the officer to him, with
indignation.
“I cannot deny what I see--what is,” said Djalma, quite overcome.
“It is lucky that you confess at last,” replied the officer. “Soldiers,
keep watch over him and his accomplices--you answer for them.”
Almost believing himself the sport of some wild dream. Djalma offered no
resistance, but allowed himself to be bound and removed with mechanical
passiveness. The officer, with part of his soldiers, hoped still to
discover Faringhea amongst the ruins; but his search was vain, and,
after spending an hour in fruitless endeavors, he set out for Batavia,
where the escort of the prisoners had arrived before him.
Some hours after these events, M. Joshua van Dael thus finished his long
despatch, addressed to M. Rodin, of Paris:
“Circumstances were such, that I could not act otherwise; and, taking
all into consideration, it is a very small evil for a great good. Three
murderers are delivered over to justice, and the temporary arrest of
Djalma will only serve to make his innocence shine forth with redoubled
luster.
“Already this morning I went to the governor, to protest in favor of our
young prince. ‘As it was through me,’ I said, ‘that those three great
criminals fell into the hands of the authorities, let them at least
show me some gratitude, by doing everything to render clear as day the
innocence of Prince Djalma, so interesting by reason of his misfortunes
and noble qualities. Most certainly,’ I added, ‘when I came yesterday to
inform the governor, that the Phansegars would be found assembled in
the ruins of Tchandi, I was far from anticipating that any one would
confound with those wretches the adopted son of General Simon, an
excellent man, with whom I have had for some time the most honorable
relations. We must, then, at any cost, discover the inconceivable
mystery that has placed Djalma in this dangerous position;’ and, I
continued, ‘so convinced am I of his innocence, that, for his own sake,
I would not ask for any favor on his behalf. He will have sufficient
courage and dignity to wait patiently in prison for the day of justice.’
In all this, you see, I spoke nothing but the truth, and had not to
reproach myself with the least deception, for nobody in the world is
more convinced than I am of Djalma’s innocence.
“The governor answered me as I expected, that morally he felt as certain
as I did of the innocence of the young prince, and would treat him with
all possible consideration; but that it was necessary for justice to
have its course, because it would be the only way of demonstrating
the falsehood of the accusation, and discovering by what unaccountable
fatality that mysterious sign was tattooed upon Djalma’s arm.
“Mahal the Smuggler, who alone could enlighten justice on this subject,
will in another hour have quitted Batavia, to go on board the ‘Ruyter,’
which will take him to Egypt; for he has a note from me to the captain,
to certify that he is the person for whom I engaged and paid the
passage. At the same time, he will be the bearer of this long despatch,
for the ‘Ruyter’ is to sail in an hour, and the last letter-bag for
Europe was made up yesterday evening. But I wished to see the governor
this morning, before closing the present.
“Thus, then, is Prince Djalma enforced detained for a month, and, this
opportunity of the ‘Ruyter’ once lost, it is materially impossible that
the young Indian can be in France by the 13th of next February. You see,
therefore, that, even as you ordered, so have I acted according to the
means at my disposal--considering only the end which justifies them--for
you tell me a great interest of the society is concerned.
“In your hands, I have been what we all ought to be in the hands of our
superiors--a mere instrument: since, for the greater glory of God, we
become corpses with regard to the will.(7) Men may deny our unity
and power, and the times appear opposed to us; but circumstances only
change; we are ever the same.
“Obedience and courage, secrecy and patience, craft and audacity, union
and devotion--these become us, who have the world for our country, our
brethren for family, Rome for our Queen!
“J. V.”
About ten o’clock in the morning, Mahal the Smuggler set out with this
despatch (sealed) in his possession, to board the “Ruyter.” An hour
later, the dead body of this same Mahal, strangled by Thuggee, lay
concealed beneath some reeds on the edge of a desert strand, whither he
had gone to take boat to join the vessel.
When at a subsequent period, after the departure of the steamship,
they found the corpse of the smuggler, M. Joshua sought in vain for the
voluminous packet, which he had entrusted to his care. Neither was there
any trace of the note which Mahal was to have delivered to the captain
of the “Ruyter,” in order to be received as passenger.
Finally, the searches and bushwhacking ordered throughout the country
for the purpose of discovering Faringhea, were of no avail. The
dangerous chief of the Stranglers was never seen again in Java.
(7) It is known that the doctrine of passive and absolute obedience,
the main-spring of the Society of Jesus, is summed up in those terrible
words of the dying Loyola: “Every member of the Order shall be, in the
hands of his superiors, even as a corpse (Perinde ac Cadaver).”--E. S.