ENTRAPPED.
"Hurrah! they have turned tail, they are making off!" exclaimed
Mokesuep.
That hero had all the while been trembling with fear; he had been in
mortal terror lest the pigs should break through the line of fire;
for if they had succeeded in doing so, a close struggle with the
sword bayonet would probably have ensued. Therefore he had most
anxiously been peering about to see if he could discover any way of
retreat up the steep mountain sides. If, during that morning there
had been shots fired which had flown wide of the mark, such misses
had been due to his shaking hand. Indeed, some of his bullets had
gone right over the wall of rock which hemmed in the ravine on all
sides; but most fortunately had not injured any of the Javanese who
were beating on the other side. The unpleasant whistling, however,
of the projectiles from Mokesuep's rifle had scared the natives,
and it was in a measure owing to those stray shots that the beaters
had given up the battue rather sooner than they ought to have done.
Grenits was in a rage. "What are you hurrahing about," cried he to
Mokesuep, "you were never born to be a Nimrod, that's plain enough!"
"Well," stammered the coward, whose lips were still white with fear;
"it is all right, is it not?"
"All right!" cried Grenits, "no, it's all wrong. Don't you see that
the remnant of the herd will get clear away? Come! forward! They are
getting away, I tell you, we must get after them and not let a single
head escape! Forward, boys, forward!"
The other young men, who were just as much vexed as was Grenits
at the unsatisfactory result of their hunt, rushed into the pass
together rifle in hand. Mokesuep only, very prudently remained behind,
not even could the Wedono get him to follow by crying out to him,
"Come! quick, sir." Our hero merely shook his head and stood looking
after his companions until they disappeared out of his sight. Then
throwing his rifle over his shoulder he took the road to Banjoe Pahit
as he muttered to himself:
"No doubt, that's all very well; but I shall take precious good care
not to come into contact with that filthy vermin. No, no, I shall go
and have a chat with the wife of Verstork's cook--who knows what I may
manage to do in that quarter! A nice little woman that! A devilish
sly dog that Controller; what fun if I could get some shooting over
his preserves!"
Thus mumbling to himself he walked along and had gained the upper
entrance to the Djoerang Pringapoes. From that eminence he could
command a fine extensive view over the broad rice-fields which rose in
terraces on the hill-slopes, and whose surfaces, flooded with water
at that time of the year, lay glistening in the bright sunshine like
so many polished mirrors. It was as yet very early--scarcely half
past seven o'clock. Mokesuep stood there looking all around him,
not indeed in admiration of the beauties of nature; for a creature
of his stamp could have no eye for that kind of thing; but gazing
about anxiously and more than half frightened at the silence and
solitude in which he now found himself after the riot and confusion
down in the ravine. In the far distance he could still distinguish
the shouts of the hunters and could now and then hear a shot fired by
them at the retreating game; but the noise of the hunt grew fainter and
fainter, and as it gradually died away in the depths of the Djoerang,
not another sound was heard round about. This sudden stillness had
something very disquieting about it. Mokesuep half wished that some
human being would appear to share the solitude with him, and yet,
on the other hand, he was wholly afraid of meeting with some of
the natives. He had heard dreadful tales of the robbers by which
some of the inland parts of Java were infested and rendered unsafe;
and though he had a rifle slung from his shoulder which might have
inspired any other man with confidence, he was of far too cowardly
a nature to put any trust in his weapon. He stepped along slowly
and cautiously, and presently, at the foot of a small range of hills
lying to the northward and which formed a continuation of the chain of
mountains in which the Djoerang Pringapoes was situated, he discovered
a solitary hut, partly hidden away in the thick underwood which grew
around it. Close by a couple of oxen were grazing by the side of a
pathway. This little road ran past the hut to the north-west, and
winded along the low dykes of the rice-fields. As Mokesuep traced the
pathway in its course over the hill-slopes, he suddenly perceived a
human figure evidently making for the hut. It was the form of a woman,
of that there could be no doubt. Mokesuep breathed freely again; in
the presence of a woman, especially if that woman happened to "be a
native, he felt brave enough; so he determined to wait for her, to
try and enter into conversation and to walk pleasantly and sociably
together to Banjoe Pahit. The approaching form, standing out boldly
over the flooded rice-fields and reflected in their shining surface
grew more and more distinct with every moment.
"By Jove," muttered Mokesuep, after having watched her for awhile,
"by Jove, what a pretty girl! All the better for me--I shall have a
charming walk with that dear little thing!"
He was, however, altogether out in his reckoning. When the girl got
close to the hut, she took a side path which ran in a south-easterly
direction downwards amongst the rice-terraces, and which appeared to
lead to Kaligaweh. Great was Mokesuep's disappointment at seeing this,
and he was about to call out to her. Just then a Javanese came out
of the hut and began beckoning to the girl.
"By heaven!" muttered Mokesuep, "that is Singomengolo, the opium
spy. What in the world is he doing here?" And immediately he concealed
himself behind some bushes which were growing by the wayside.
It was indeed Singomengolo, the wretch whom the evening before we
saw leaving Kaligaweh and riding to the lonely hut. Again and again,
he beckoned to the girl; but as she did not heed him, he cried out:
"Dalima!"
At this call the girl turned for an instant. Yes, it was pretty
little Dalima, the baboe in the family of Mrs. van Gulpendam. She
stopped for a moment, while her features showed undisguised terror
as she recognised the notorious opium-hunter, whom she knew well by
sight. She did not, however, stop for more than a single instant,
and then sped on again as fast as she could.
"Dalima!" again cried Singomengolo, "Dalima, where are you hurrying
to?"
"I am going to Kaligaweh," said the girl in a nervous tone of voice.
"Well, just come here for a moment," continued Singo.
"No, no," she replied, "I have not an instant to spare, I must get to
my father as quickly as I possibly can," and again she sped on her way.
"Come here, I say," cried Singomengolo, "I have something to tell
you about your father!"
"Oh, yes, I know," rejoined the young girl, "they told me father is
very ill--that is why I am in such a hurry."
"You are wrong," cried Singo, "your father is not ill--it is something
much worse than that."
The girl stopped at once: "Worse than that?" she asked, "tell me,
is he dead?"
"No--much worse!"
"By Allah--what is it?"
"Come here," said Singo, "and I will tell you. There are things,
you know, that one cannot shout out by the wayside."
This brought Dalima to his side. As she walked up to him, she had to
pass the bushes behind which Mokesuep was lying concealed--in fact,
in passing she brushed by them. As usual Dalima was very neatly
dressed. Round her waist she wore a gaily coloured sarong, her bodice
was of pink cotton, and over her shoulders was folded a red kerchief,
from one of the points of which dangled a bunch of keys.
She had a double melattie flower in her thick heavy tresses, which,
in the midst of that ebon-black mass of hair, looked like a pretty
white rose. Just then her face was covered with a rich flush caused
partly by the exertion of her long walk, partly by the pleasant
coolness of the morning air; but this rich colour added animation
to her pretty features, and blended most harmoniously with the deep
bronze of her complexion.
The experienced eye of the concealed fiscal functionary did not allow a
single one of these charms to escape it. Yes, there were certain cases
in which Mokesuep was by no means insensible to the beautiful, though
its contemplation generally awakened evil passions in his breast;
and not unfrequently led to criminal designs. What might have happened
had he walked alone with Dalima to Banjoe Pahit, who can tell. For the
present the appearance of Singomengolo forced him to remain in hiding.
When the girl had come close to the hut, she asked again: "What is
the matter? tell me!"
"Come in with me," replied the opium-spy, "and I will let you know
why your father has been taken into custody."
As he said these words, Dalima suddenly uttered a loud
shriek. Singomengolo thought, of course, that the news he had told
her and his rough manner of conveying it, had wrung that cry from the
young girl; but Dalima had turned round abruptly and was trying to
run away as fast as her feet would carry her. The fact is, she had,
through the half open door of the hut seen the odious face of Lim Ho
gazing at her with eyes dilated with passion. That sight made the poor
girl turn and dart away; but she had hardly gone a few yards before
Singomengolo overtook her, and grasping her wrists, tried, by main
force, to drag her along with him into the hut. Dalima resisted with
all her might. She screamed for help, she kicked at her captor and
tried to bite the hands with which he held her arms tightly clasped. In
fact she fought as desperately as a wild cat, determined to resist
and defend herself to the very last. She was in hopes also that her
cries might possibly be heard, for she was under the impression that
just now she had seen a European on the pathway which crossed the road
she was taking. Any other man but Mokesuep would have flown to the
rescue of the poor child; who knows to what excess of heroism even
he might have allowed himself to be carried--not indeed out of any
feeling of kindly sympathy or from any chivalrous promptings; but in
the hope of perhaps--Yes--in such a mind as his the foulest thoughts
will spring even as venomous toad-stools on an unclean soil. But--he
also had caught sight of Lim Ho--he had noticed that face burning
with ignoble passion. At a glance he understood what was going on,
and, at the same time, he resolved to keep perfectly quiet in order
that he might reap the fullest advantage out of the situation.
Lim Ho's father was an enormously wealthy man, and when the safety
or reputation of his son was concerned he would not mind coming down
handsomely--a couple of thousand guilders or so were nothing to a
man of that kind.
Poor little Dalima! In utter despair she had flung herself to the
ground, most heartrending were her shrieks of agony, help! help! but
it was all in vain. The mean wretch who might, by merely raising his
hand so to speak, have set her free, kept himself snugly concealed. He
looked upon the struggle with cynical eye, nay was actually gloating
with satisfaction at the glimpses which now and then he caught of
the charms, which, in the violence of her resistance, Dalima could
not always keep concealed. This went on for some little time, and
Singomengolo began to feel that it was impossible for him to drag
her along any further without assistance from Lim Ho. He called to
the Chinaman to come to his aid. The latter at once obeyed the call,
came out of the hut, and tried to clasp the girl in his arms and thus
carry her along. But when, in that attempt, he got a very painful
bite in the ear, the wretch became mad with fury. He laid hold of the
mass of hair which in the struggle had become loosened, and was now
quite unrolled, and twisting his hand into the heavy tresses while
Singomengolo still held the girl's wrists, he dragged her by main
force into the hut. For a considerable time after that the fearful
shrieks "Help! help! toean!" were still heard; but gradually they
grew fainter and fainter until at length they ceased altogether. In
the very far distance rifle shots still resounded; but even if Dalima
could have heard them in the excitement of the struggle, she must have
understood that her voice could not possibly reach so far, and that,
in any case, if help did come, it must come too late.
How did Dalima happen to be on the fatal spot at that early hour?
The reader may remember how that, after having accomplished his heroic
deed in the dessa Kaligaweh, Singomengolo had ridden away and had
taken the direction of the lonely hut in the hill-country; and how,
on his arrival, he had sent the man who lived there as his messenger
to Santjoemeh. This man had two commissions to execute. In the first
place he was told to go and give into Lim Ho's own hands a little
note with which Singo had entrusted him, and, after having done that,
he was to call at the Residence and was to tell baboe Dalima that her
father Setrosmito had suddenly been taken dangerously ill and that
he was most anxious to see her. The messenger, who was a very shrewd
and clever fellow, had at once jumped on the back of one of those
small and ugly, but well-nigh indefatigable Javanese ponies, whose
muscles of steel seem never to tire and carry them in a surprisingly
short space of time over vast distances. It was about eleven o'clock
when he reached the stately mansion of babah Lim Yang Bing. He was
very lucky, for he was not kept waiting a single instant, as Lim Ho
happened to be within at the time. The son of the rich opium farmer lay
reclining luxuriously upon a splendid divan, his long Chinese pipestem
was between his lips and by his side on a small table stood a cup of
arrack. He was listening in a kind of rapture to two of his servants,
who, like himself, were children of the Celestial Empire. These fellows
seated on low ivory stools were twanging on a kind of two-stringed
fiddle or guitar, and were drawing tones out of their instruments which
would not only have horrified a Vieuxtemps or a Paganini, but would
have instantly dispersed even a meeting of tom-cats who, in the matter
of harmony, are not usually reckoned to be exacting. Lim Ho no sooner
caught sight of Singomengolo's emissary, than he jumped up from the
couch, grasped the letter which the man held out to him, and eagerly
scanned the very few words it contained. It was a document brief and
laconic as a telegram but, to Lim Ho, of the deepest significance. The
words it contained were only these: "Everything ready, be here by
seven in the morning." The Chinaman pulled out his watch, he looked
at the time while he asked the messenger what the weather was like.
"Bright moonlight, babah," was the man's reply.
Lim Ho then dismissed him, flinging him a rix-dollar, and telling him
to be specially careful how he discharged his second commission. He
ordered him to come and report the result to him, then he ordered
his horse to be saddled and waited.
The man did not find his second task quite such an easy one to perform
as the former. The Resident van Gulpendam and his wife were seated
with some visitors at the usual card-tables; but the daughter of the
house had already retired to her own room, and had given her baboe
leave to go to bed without waiting up any longer. The fellow found it
therefore necessary to go to the back of the premises, and at length
he contrived to get one of the servants to go and rouse Dalima.
The young girl was terribly shocked at hearing the dreadful tidings of
her father, whom the rascal represented as being in a dying state. She
at once rushed into the pandoppo and entered the bedroom of her young
mistress who, fortunately, had not yet retired to rest.
"Nana, give me leave!" she cried, in the greatest agitation, as soon
as she had opened the door.
"Come," said Anna, "what is the matter with you? do try and be
calm." The young lady had perceived at once that there was something
very wrong, and tried to quiet her servant's excitement by herself
remaining perfectly cool and self-possessed.
Thereupon Dalima told her that a man had just arrived from Kaligaweh
with a message from her father who was lying at death's door, and
who wished, for the last time perhaps, to see his daughter.
"Oh, Nana," begged the poor girl, "do try and get me leave to go home!"
"But, Dalima," objected Anna, "what is the time?" And looking at a
handsome clock on a console close by, she continued, "Why it is close
upon midnight!--It is out of the question--You could not possibly go
out in the dark!"
"Oh!" cried Dalima, in pleading tones, "Nana knows that I am very
brave. I know the way perfectly. I shall take the short cut over the
hills; by that road I shall get to Kaligaweh without meeting anybody."
"That is just it," rejoined Anna; "it is that very solitude that I
am most frightened at. You might come across a tiger or a wild boar."
"Why, Nana! there are no tigers anywhere in the neighbourhood; if
there were we must have heard of them, and as for boars, I am not
the least bit afraid of them, they always run away if they possibly
can. Do pray, dearest Nana, get me leave to go. I promise you that
by to-morrow night I shall be back again."
"I don't at all like the idea of it, Dalima. What will mamma say?"
"Oh, Nana dear," cried the baboe, in despair, "do pray go and try--do
pray go and ask madam!"
"She is quite sure to refuse," said Anna.
"Why should she?" persisted the girl.
"She will be just as much afraid as I am that in the darkness of the
night some accident may happen to you. How can you possibly dare to
undertake such a journey, Dalima?"
"My father is dying--he wants to see me!" cried Dalima. "That is
quite enough to give me courage for anything, Miss Anna. I would go
to Kaligaweh even if I knew that the road was full of ghosts--yes, if
there were a ghost behind every tree! Yet, I am much more frightened
of ghosts than of beasts or of men. Nana, I beg and pray--do go and
ask your mother!"
"Well," said the tender-hearted young girl, "I will go and try;
but mind you, I know it will not be of the slightest use."
"Thank you, Nana, thank you."
Thereupon Miss Anna rose from the divan upon which she had taken
a seat after she had admitted Dalima. She thrust her dainty little
feet into a pair of slippers she had carelessly thrown off. The young
girl was already partially undressed, and had been reclining in only
her sarong and kabaai; but she very soon threw about her a richly
embroidered morning gown, with a few turns of her dexterous hand she
twisted the rich mass of her loose-hanging hair into a knot, and ran
to the front-gallery in which her parents and the other card-players
were still engaged in their game.
To her great surprise fair Laurentia made no difficulty at all, and
at once acceded to her daughter's request, stipulating only that,
before setting out, Dalima should finish some needle-work which she
had given her to do and which she particularly wished to have ready
by the morning.
Oh, no! Mrs. van Gulpendam had no objection whatever to Dalima's going
to Kaligaweh; on the contrary, she thought it very praiseworthy in the
girl that she showed so much devotion to her parents. A honey-sweet
smile hovered on her lips as she gave her gracious permission, and no
one--least of all her pure and innocent daughter--could have guessed
at the awful abyss of wickedness which lurked behind that sunny smile.
Highly pleased with the result of her attempt, Anna hastened with
her good news to Dalima, and in the kindness of her heart she gave
up a considerable portion of her night's rest to assist her baboe in
getting through her task of needle-work.
It is a dreadful thing to have to say; but Laurentia had not made that
stipulation about finishing the work without an object. Her object
was to delay Dalima's departure, so that she might not reach the hut
in the middle of the night, and, in the darkness, perhaps pass it
unobserved. Diligently assisted by her mistress, the baboe was able
to set out on her journey about three o'clock in the morning. After
having affectionately taken leave, Dalima left the premises by the
back-way through a small garden gate, of which Anna had procured her
the key. This gate took her straight into the road which led over the
hills to Kaligaweh. The moon was shining brightly in the heavens, and
thus the girl was able to walk along rapidly, and soon she lost sight
of Santjoemeh while not a single thought of danger crossed her brain.
Lim Ho had been informed by Singomengolo's messenger that the pretty
baboe had received the news of her father's illness--the reader however
knows that a far different calamity had befallen Setrosmito--so he
said in a highly satisfied tone:
"That is all right. You must be tired out, and I don't suppose you
care to return to your hut to-night? Eh?"
"No, babah," was the man's answer.
"Very well, my people will show you a bedroom, you can go and have
a rest. To-morrow I will pay you for your service."
As soon as the fellow had disappeared, Lim Ho consulted his watch.
"Nearly one o'clock," he muttered to himself, and then aloud he added:
"Than Loa, is the horse ready saddled?"
The servant replied with a couple of Chinese words, whereupon Lim
Ho rose. He put on a kind of cap without peak, in shape not at all
unlike a Scotch bonnet, then he snatched up a riding-whip and leaped
into the saddle.
"Don't go to sleep--keep good watch--mind," he cried to his servant as
he rode off, and setting spurs to his horse he was soon out of sight.
The main road which he took was a much longer one than the narrow
foot-path which Dalima had chosen; but by starting thus early he knew
he could easily get before her. He did not know that before she could
set off to her father's bedside the poor girl would have a good deal
of sewing to do, and he thought therefore that he had to hurry in
order to be in time at the hut. But his horse was a fine animal of
Persian breed, and he felt confident that it would bring him to the
spot before Dalima could possibly reach it.
It was about half-past three when he dismounted and joined
Singomengolo, whom he found waiting for him.
The pair of villains sat down to consult about the best way of
carrying out their infamous attempt. During this consultation Lim
Ho repeatedly showed signs of impatience at Dalima's unexpected
delay. They were still talking together when the day began to dawn,
and presently the sun rose, when, of a sudden, a dreadful outburst was
heard in the far distance--a noise was heard of yelling, of rattling,
of banging--it seemed as if the world was coming to an end. Lim Ho
started up in terror from the mat upon which he was seated by the
side of the opium spy.
"What on earth may that be?" he cried.
"Oh," replied Singomengolo as calmly as possible, "that is nothing at
all--only the toean Controller of Banjoe Pahit going on a pig-hunt--the
dessa folk of that place and of Kaligaweh are beginning to beat up
the game."
"How do you know that?" asked Lim Ho.
"I was at Kaligaweh yesterday, and there I met the Controller and the
company he has with him; they came to make the necessary arrangements
for the day's hunting."
"You were at Kaligaweh?" asked Lim Ho.
"Of course I was, babah," replied Singo quietly. "I was there,"
he continued with a nasty smirk, "to catch old Setrosmito at
opium-smuggling."
"Aye, aye," said Lim Ho, "that's true, I know now."
Lim Ho pronounced these words in a tone of voice which showed that
to him the infamous plot whereby a victim had been removed out of his
father's way, was the most trifling incident in the world, a bagatelle
which had wholly escaped his memory.
"And did you succeed in finding opium?"
"Of course I did," replied Singomengolo, "you know well enough, babah,
that I always succeed when it suits me to try."
"Yes, yes," said Lim Ho in a patronising way, "you are a clever fellow,
there is no doubt about that. Dalima's father has, I suppose, been
got rid of at least for a few weeks?"
"Yes, for a longer time than a few weeks," replied Singo very
significantly.
"How so? Has anything else happened then?"
"Setrosmito has run amokh and has killed a countryman of yours
outright, and severely wounded a policeman. It was precious nearly
all up with me too; but I managed to slip away from him in the very
nick of time."
"Good! good!" said Lim Ho, gleefully rubbing his hands together. "So
that?" he continued.
"So that," remarked Singomengolo, "Dalima's father, if they don't
hang him, will be at the very least imprisoned for life."
"You know," said Lim Ho, "that was wonderfully cleverly managed. But
what's up now?"
In the distance a well sustained rifle-fire was heard, in fact the
chase had begun.
"It is only the gentlemen in the Djoerang Pringapoes. They are firing
at the wild-pigs I suppose. Allah prosper them!"
"But," said Lim Ho, "may not those white fellows get into our way,
the ravine, you know, is not so very far off."
"The toeans," said Singo, "are a great deal too much engrossed in
their sport to take any notice of what we are about. For myself, I much
prefer to hear them blazing away yonder to their heart's content in the
Djoerang Pringapoes, than to know that they are sitting quill-driving
in their offices. Your white man with a pen in his hand is a much
more formidable creature, and is much more formidably armed too,
than when he handles a rifle."
Thus they sat talking and listening to what was going on beneath them
in the Djoerang, while time was rapidly passing away.
"But Dalima does not seem to be coming," signed Lim Ho, with
impatience.
"Yes, she is," said Singo, "yonder on that path between the rice-fields
I see some one--that must be she."
"Look, look!" cried Lim Ho, in consternation, "there from the ravine
comes a white man--now we have lost our chance."
Singomengolo turned his eyes in the direction which Lim Ho indicated,
and, as he looked, he muttered a deep curse; he saw at once that the
Chinaman had not been mistaken. Yet, he could not make out at all
who it could be so quietly making his way towards the hut. He was
one of the shooting party, there could be no doubt about that, for he
carried a rifle and came from the direction of the Djoerang. And that
wretched mar-plot must come right across Dalima's path, just as she
was coming in the other direction! Everything had been so carefully
planned--and now--that brute! It was enough to drive a fellow mad! But
the next moment Lim Ho cried out joyously:
"By Jove, it is toean Mouse-head that is coming along there. I know
him perfectly well. Now I don't mind a bit. I know him. You may call
the baboe as much as you like, there is no danger. I will square
matters easily enough with that fellow yonder!"
Lim Ho had recognised our friend Mokesuep. As the reader has been told,
that gentleman used familiarly to be called by almost everyone in
Santjoemeh, "Muizenkop," and this nickname some wags had translated
into Javanese. Thus he went by the name of Kapala tikoes, or the
Mouse-head. Singomengolo also recognised the exciseman of Santjoemeh,
and now he no longer felt much apprehension that his detestable plot
would be frustrated.
"A mere matter of money," said he to the Chinaman, with a significant
smile.
As Dalima came to the crossway, and was about to enter the path
which ran down to Kaligaweh, the opium-spy had left the hut, and was
preparing to call to her to stop, when he saw the European hastily
conceal himself behind the clump of bushes by the roadside. This
move on the part of Mokesuep completely reassured the accomplices,
and their wicked plot was crowned with the success with which the
reader has already been made acquainted.
Even had Mokesuep felt any inclination to present himself in the
character of rescuer, that impulse was wholly extinguished the moment
Lim Ho appeared upon the scene. The wretched coward only hid himself
more closely behind his screen of leaves as he muttered:
"By Jove, dame Fortune is playing into my hand--no one but an ass
would refuse so fair an offer."
Meanwhile the despairing cries of poor little Dalima were gradually
dying away as her strength began to fail, and as she became utterly
exhausted.
"Help, help! toean, help!" was the last piercing shriek which re-echoed
in that solitude. The only response, alas! was the well-sustained
rifle-fire in the distance.