CORRESPONDENCE.
The departure of Verstork for Atjeh, seemed to have drawn more closely
together the little band of friends which, after the boar-hunt in the
Djoerang Pringapoes, we saw so cosily seated around the hospitable
board at Banjoe Pahit. The loss of one of their number had strengthened
rather than weakened their mutual feelings of friendship. We said
the loss of one of their friends; but in this case that is hardly
the correct word to use; for, though William Verstork was far away,
yet he continued to dwell in the memory of them all, and he was
perpetually the subject of their conversation. It was, however, not
only that affectionate remembrance which held the friends so closely
united. Letters were continually passing between them, and Verstork was
kept well informed by his friends at Santjoemeh of all that concerned
themselves privately, and also of the events which form the subject
of our story, and in which they all played a more or less prominent
part. Edward van Rheijn had, under the influence of van Gulpendam,
for a time grown somewhat cool towards his friends; but when he began
to gain a deeper insight into the real character of the Resident,
and began to see with what cynical selfishness he turned everything
to his own advantage, his feelings towards his friends became as warm
as ever they had been before. He wrote a long letter to Verstork
about his successor at Banjoe Pahit, in which he showed him how
mischievous and destructive was that man's influence in the formerly
thriving district. Everything, he said, was rapidly going to ruin, the
rice-culture was being woefully neglected, and the second crops shared
the same fate. Breach of contract was now an almost daily occurrence,
inasmuch as the once so orderly and industrious population, was fast
getting lazy, listless, in fact utterly unfit for any regular work
whatever. In one word, the entire district was visibly deteriorating,
and could look forward to nothing but a future of crime and misery. On
the other hand, the opium den, the gambling hells and the pawn shop,
were in a most flourishing condition, and produced large incomes to the
farmers of those sources of revenue to the Dutch treasury. In order to
satisfy the inordinate passion for gambling and for opium, smuggling
was rapidly on the increase, and theft was of daily occurrence; nay,
there were even ugly whispers of robber bands, which were said to have
been organised, and to have already begun their criminal operations.
Van Rheijn concluded his letter with these words: "The bandoelan
Singomengolo--You remember the scoundrel who was present at the
dreadful Amokh scene at Kaligaweh, and who afterwards arrested baboe
Dalima--has been found murdered close to Moeara Tjatjing, and two of
his Chinese followers have shared his fate. I have every reason to
believe that this crime had nothing to do with robbers; my opinion is
that it was a pure case of revenge; for on the bandoelan's body there
was found the sum of sixty-eight guilders, and this plainly enough
shows that robbery could not have been the motive of the murder. There
is another very remarkable circumstance in this case, and it is this:
Besides the money, I told you of--there were found on him five small
copper boxes, which are precisely like the two little boxes you took
possession of at Kaligaweh, and in the Djoerang Pringapoes. Indeed,
I must tell you that I am now beginning to see what a fearful curse
the opium trade is to the country. I make that confession the more
freely to you, as you recollect, no doubt, that some little time ago
I had not made up my mind on the question. Such, in the few months of
your absence, has become the condition of Banjoe Pahit; and--to fill
up the cup of misery--a rumour is now current that the land-tax is to
be raised, and that the other already existing taxes are to be exacted
with much greater severity; while, at the same time, fresh burdens
will be heaped upon the shoulders of the natives. In one word, money
grabbing in every possible shape and form, in the form of compulsory
labour, in the form of duty on salt, in the form of import and export
duties, in the form of opium dens, of gambling booths, in the shape
of pawn shops,--everywhere extortion, the most wrung out of the poor
wretched Javanese. William! William! where must all this end? I can
foresee nothing but calamity--there must come a crash. It may come
sooner or, it may be, later; but come it must. For the condition of
Banjoe Pahit is by no means exceptional. It may much rather be looked
upon as typical of the state of the entire island of Java."
August van Beneden wrote to his friend to tell him all that had
occurred with regard to the impending trials of the Javanese
Setrosmito, and of his daughter baboe Dalima. He wrote as follows:
"Just fancy, William! The Government have thrown all kinds of obstacles
in the way of my appearing as defending counsel in these two cases. You
will hardly guess what reasons are given for this opposition. The
objection is, that perhaps I might have to be called as a witness in
both cases. It was a rather clever dodge; but, as you may suppose, I
stuck to my point. The whole question has been submitted to the Judge
Commissary of the court of Santjoemeh; and, when I had declared that
I had witnessed nothing, and that therefore my testimony could not
be called for, after I had formally stated that I had no pecuniary
interest whatever in the matter, and had consented unconditionally
to abide by his decision, the Judge withdrew his opposition, and
permitted me to plead in both cases. But he further said that,
should I be unexpectedly called as a witness, he could not allow me
to be sworn.--And now, William, pray attend to the reason which he
gave for that decision. He could not allow me to be sworn because,
although I am undertaking this defence gratuitously and do not expect
to receive any fee; yet, as defending counsel, I must be looked upon
as having an indirect interest in the acquittal of my clients, and
am not, therefore, in the eyes of the law, a perfectly independent
and unbiassed witness! Now what do you think of that? I freely admit
speaking as a man and as a lawyer that the decision is correct,
quite correct; but, what if that principle were to be applied to all
witnesses that appear in court? Would not the testimony of all the
bandoelans, the opium-hunters, the opium-den keepers, 'et hoc genus
omne,' much rather lie open to suspicion? It is an admitted fact that
all these men speak under the direct dictation of the opium farmer, and
that, moreover, owing to the rewards which the law allows them, they
have a most direct and material interest in procuring convictions. Oh,
William! our entire legal system--and especially our treatment of
the natives in opium cases--is most lamentably deficient.
"The charges against Setrosmito and baboe Dalima will be brought
before the native court, and it is but very seldom that counsel are
heard there. It is my intention, therefore, to appear as counsel only
in the case of Setrosmito. With regard to Dalima, should she be found
guilty, she will have an appeal to the Superior Court at Santjoemeh,
and then I shall have to conduct her defence with as much vigour as
possible. You may ask perhaps why make that distinction between the
two cases? Listen to me, and bear in mind that I am acting under van
Nerekool's advice.
"You have probably heard that Singomengolo, who in both trials was to
have been the principal witness, has been mysteriously murdered. At
first I thought that his removal was all in favour of my clients;
but I have since ascertained that the chief bandoelan has left behind
him a sworn deposition of all the facts, and that it will be received
as evidence by the court. Thus his death is a positive and serious
injury to our cause, inasmuch as we cannot now confront him with Lim
Ho, and with the defendants. I fully expected to have been able to
lead them into a long and angry discussion, in the course of which,
I have no doubt, that several facts would have come to light, which
would have enabled me to prove that the father committed the crime
of which he stands accused, under the most extenuating circumstances;
and clearly to bring out the absolute innocence of the daughter, and
the brutal violence to which she has been subjected. Now, however,
we are in a very different position. At the preliminary inquiry
before the Judge Commissary, Mrs. van Gulpendam has stated that she
was quite unaware of Dalima's absence from the house on the night in
question; and thus the girl now lies under very serious suspicion of
having left the grounds of the Residence for an improper purpose. You
remember, of course, that on the morning of our boar-hunt she appealed
to the fact of her having received leave of absence both from the
njonja and from nonna Anna. Whereupon you asked her whether these
ladies would bear witness to that fact. You recollect also that
she at once replied in the affirmative. But you will ask perhaps:
'How about Miss van Gulpendam?' Well, William, that is another very
mysterious business! The common report is that the Resident's daughter
has gone to Karang Anjer on a visit to the Steenvlaks. But, no sooner
had the inquiry about Dalima begun, than the Resident said that his
daughter had gone to Europe, and that she intended to stay for a while
with an aunt of hers who lives in Switzerland. But the most curious
circumstance is that in the lists of passengers of all the ships which
have, within the last few months, sailed for Europe, the name of Miss
Anna van Gulpendam can nowhere be found. You know how inquisitive
are our gossips at Santjoemeh--Well, the public--that public which
sees everything, hears everything, and pries into everything--has
made every possible endeavour to find out what may have become of
Miss van Gulpendam; but without the slightest success. The Resident
has been pressed on the point by many an indiscreet busy-body,
and he treats the whole thing in a very light and airy way. He has
concocted some tale to the effect that his daughter, in company with
two English ladies, left by a boat from Tjilatjap, that she started
for Port Adelaide, and from thence intends to take the mail-boat to
England. Not a soul, of course, believes a word of the yarn, which is
all the more apocryphal from the fact that the father has never yet
been induced to mention the name of the ship in which the young lady
is said to have sailed. Some anxious souls amongst us have actually
gone the length of telegraphing to Acraman, Main, and Co. of Adelaide,
and the answer they received was:--'We know nothing of the arrival
of three ladies from the Dutch Indies.'--Van Nerekool is frantic,
that you may well suppose. A few days ago he was talking about going
to Karang Anjer to inquire after his lady-love, for whom he has still
the deepest and warmest affection. He has been there and has returned
as wise as he was before. He will, I have no doubt, write to you
and tell you, poor fellow, all about his adventures. I rather fancy,
indeed, that he has done so already. The sum total of all this is,
my dear William, that my clients' affairs are in a very bad state;
but I do not despair. I shall do my very utmost to save the poor
creatures. To spur me on to further exertions, I have the fact that
poor Dalima is, as the saying is, in an interesting condition; so that
the consequences of Lim Ho's detestable misdeed are already showing
themselves. Will this circumstance be of any use to me at the trial? I
doubt it much. We have no legal proof of the outrage and, therefore,
I think it will be best for all concerned to hush the matter up as much
as possible. All right-minded men, however, are moved with the deepest
sympathy for the poor girl; and should she be discharged, or after
she has left the prison, will be ready to protect her. She will need
all the support she can get; for, after her father's condemnation,
she will be homeless, and, disgraced as she is by van Gulpendam's
assertions, she will not be able to get a place anywhere either as
baboe or in any other capacity. However, time brings counsel!"
It was a letter from Grenits which brought Verstork news of the
double escape of Ardjan and his father from the jail at Santjoemeh,
and told him of the consternation which that event had spread in
official circles. The young merchant wrote to his friend, and said:
"The Resident tries to appear perfectly indifferent to the escape of
the prisoners, and whenever it is talked about treats the matter with
much unconcern. But it has been remarked with what feverish anxiety the
fugitives have been pursued. I can assure you that, when the regular
police were at fault, the whole army of opium-spies was pressed into
the service. But since Singomengolo and two of his Chinamen were
found murdered--and murdered too without having been robbed--the
very gravest anxiety has been felt; and a report was current that
the guard at the Residence had been doubled. There is not a word of
truth, however, in that rumour, and I can positively deny it. The two
sentries, as usual, march up and down before the door of the high
and mighty one; but the officer who commands that honourable corps
of civilian soldiers has assured me that the cartridge box in the
guardroom at the Residence has not even been unlocked. A good job
too; for if those heroes should begin to fire ball-cartridge, loyal
and peaceful citizens will be in considerably greater peril than the
offenders. But, for all that, I am heartily glad that the fellows
have got clear away. Their escape may not be legally justifiable;
but a most grievous piece of injustice has thus been partially
rectified. The father was driven to his reckless deed by the brutal
conduct of the police towards his children, while the son had no hand
whatever in the opium smuggling with which he was charged. You know
that perfectly well, and the public knows it as well as you do. My
own little affair with Mokesuep will now very shortly come before the
high court of justice. The case is an extremely simple one. I have
admitted that I did give the fellow two good slaps in the face, and
my confession has been confirmed by the evidence of the man himself,
and by that of Lim Ho and of Grashuis. Acting on van Beneden's advice,
I have not pleaded any extenuating circumstances; because we do not
wish to bring up poor little Dalima's name. The doctor has given a
formal certificate to the effect that no outrage has been committed,
and thus there is no possibility of legally proving the offence. And
yet we are all of us morally convinced that a gross outrage was
perpetrated, but--when shall we see justice dealt out fairly in India?"
It was, however, van Nerekool's letter which made the deepest
impression on Verstork, though he had read the other communications
with very great interest. The young judge told his friend all about
Anna van Gulpendam's sudden disappearance and what had taken place
since she left. He said:
"I have done all I could possibly do to meet her again; but to no
purpose. Not only have her parents taken every precaution to make
a meeting impossible; but Anna herself was determined not to see
me again when I had at length persuaded Mrs. Meidema to let me know
when I might expect to find Anna at her house. Now she is gone--and I
received a letter from Sapoeran; but, my dear friend, it is a letter
which robs me of all hope. She writes: 'My union with you is utterly
impossible, you cannot, you must not think of making me your wife
after the infamous proposals which have been made to you. You will say,
perhaps, that a child is not guilty of the actions of her parents and
cannot be held responsible for them. In that you are perfectly right,
and I must tell you that my conscience is as clear; and that, if in
my present forlorn condition I may be allowed so to speak, I, at this
present moment hold up my head as high as before I knew anything of
my mother's designs. But to be always face to face with the man to
whom the odious propositions were made, to be ever conscious, even in
our tenderest moments, of the fact that I was flung to the man I love
as the price of dishonour, that is a prospect which is to me utterly
unendurable. You are a gentleman, and as such, you would no doubt
always have treated my parents with deference and with the proper show
of respect; but to know that all this must be a mere empty show, put
on in deference to a daughter's natural affections,--Oh Charles! that
would have made life an intolerable burden to me, and must in the
end, have destroyed your happiness also.' William, my dear friend,
these lines sounded to me so full of despair, while at the same
time they are so full of love, that they made me the happiest and,
at the same time, the most wretched of men. I can fully enter into
her feelings--I can understand her deep disgust at the actions of
her parents; and it is for that very reason that I now, if possible,
love her still more ardently than before. Her noble character stands
clearly revealed in every word of her letter and commands my respect
and admiration. I often ask myself how can such a child have sprung
from such parents? It must be by a freak of nature that two such
depraved creatures could have begotten so noble a child. How is it
possible that amid such surroundings Anna has remained spotless and
pure? To us who hold the cynical opinion that with our mother's milk
we imbibe our mother's faults, it is an insoluble enigma. But, you
see William, all this only serves to increase my affection for the
lovely girl who happens to have crossed my path of life. What will be
the end of it all? That is a question I often seriously put to myself;
but I can find no answer to it. There are moments when I recoil from
my very self; for I am beginning to discover within me certain feelings
which I hardly dare to analyse. Are these feelings to be accounted for
by the obstacles which my love to Anna has encountered? Would they
ever have arisen in my breast if the course of my love, like that
of so many of my fellow-men, had run smoothly along? I cannot tell;
for the ideal which once I formed of married life is so strangely
different from the storm which now rages within me, that I sometimes
cannot repress a painful smile when I call to mind my visions of days
gone by. Then woman was to me an ethereal being rather than a companion
of flesh and blood who can herself feel the passion she inspires. You
know, my dear friend, how little, hitherto, I have been accessible
to what is called love. Well, now I am a different man. At times I
feel as if a burning fire were consuming me. There are moments when
painful yearnings arise within me for that pure and lovely being,
for that proud maiden, whose very chastity and purity attract me with
irresistible power. She flies from my love--and, oh William! I confess
it to you though I confess it with shame--that there are moments in
which I not only long to make her mine, but in which I madly swear
that at any price she shall be mine. And then--alas that I should
have to say so--in this storm of passion there is nothing tender,
nothing sentimental; but it is simple passion which masters me, the
mere selfish and senseless raging of the grossly material man, who
is prepared to fling himself, by force if need be, upon the object
which he has determined to obtain.
"After the receipt of that last letter I have repeatedly written to
Anna. Again and again I have told her of my love. I have conjured her
not to trample upon my affection. I have begged, I have entreated,
I have prayed her not to refuse me her hand. Her parents would surely
not persist in rejecting me; my worldly prospects might improve;
indeed, I let her know that, as far as mere money was concerned,
she need have no anxiety whatever; for that one of my mother's
sisters had left me, not indeed any very considerable sum, but yet a
competence. I told her that I must succeed in getting an appointment
far away from the abode of her parents, and that, if life in India was
really unbearable to her, we could cross the sea and go to Australia;
that we might there marry and live quietly and forgotten by all,
yet happy in our mutual affection. All this I wrote, and a great
deal more; but, my dear friend, I received not a single word in
reply. Regularly my letters have been returned to me and always
unopened. Then I began to see that her determination was not to be
shaken. With her own hand she enclosed my letters in an envelope and
with her own hand firmly and boldly wrote the address. There could
be no mistake about it; it was indeed her own handwriting. What was
I to do? What could I do? I was in the most excited frame of mind;
yet the huge mass of arrears with which the courts at Santjoemeh are
overloaded would not allow me to ask for even a single day's leave of
absence. I felt that I must get away--that I must fly to Karang Anjer;
for I was persuaded that even yet I might induce Anna to look with
less coldness upon my love. At length my last letter was returned
to me unopened as all the others had been. As I held it in my hand
a strange feeling of dread seemed to come over me for--the address
was not in Anna's handwriting. Hastily I tore open the cover. Yes,
there was my letter, unopened, and upon it were written these few
hurried words: 'Anna van Gulpendam has left Karang Anjer!' You may
perhaps be able, William, to understand my feelings as I read the
words 'Anna has left Karang Anjer!' and not another syllable to give
me a clue as to where my darling then was. Who could have written
those few words--it was certainly not Anna's hand, that I could see
at a glance. But who could it be? Was it a woman's hand at all? The
writing was regular, the letters were fairly formed; but they told me
nothing. One thing I felt quite distinctly, namely that, at any cost,
I must get to Karang Anjer or else anxiety and suspense would kill
me. The only question was, how to get away. You know that my superior
officer in the High Court of Justice is a friend of van Gulpendam,
and thus I knew I could not venture to ask him for leave of absence,
I am glad I did not, for had I done so, I feel convinced that every
one of my steps would have been watched. Happily, however, help came
from an unexpected quarter. I became seriously indisposed. Congestion
and feverish attacks made me wholly unfit for work, and though I was
not forced to take to my bed, yet the doctor was so uneasy about the
state of my health, that he insisted upon my starting at once for the
hills; for, he declared, immediate change of climate was the only
remedy for my complaint. You may imagine my feelings of joy when I
heard this. I said, however, as quietly as I could, 'Well, doctor,
is there any particular spot to which you advise me to go?'
"'I fancy,' he replied, 'Salatiga will be about the best place;
it lies pretty high up, 1800 feet I think.'
"'Would not Wonosobo do just as well?' I asked, with assumed
indifference.
"'Have you any preference for that place?' he asked.
"'Oh no,' I replied, 'not exactly a preference; but the Assistant
Resident there is a friend of mine and I know several of the landowners
in the neighbourhood. At Salatiga I shall be quite a stranger and
must feel very lonely.'
"'Well then by all means,' said the doctor, 'go to Wonosobo. In fact
it lies up higher still, quite 2200 feet, that will be still better
for you.'
"The necessary certificate was soon signed, and in two days I
was seated in a travelling carriage and was off on my way to the
hills. Wonosobo, as you probably know, is 73 miles from Karang Anjer;
but what were they in my eyes? Was it the hope which began to dawn
within me, or had a reaction already set in? I cannot tell; but this
much I know, that from the very commencement of my journey, I felt as
if fresh life had been infused into me. In any other frame of mind the
trip would have been highly interesting; for the country through which
I passed was enchantingly lovely. I traversed the mountain district
of Prahoe which is quite 8000 feet above the sea-level; then I went
through the Dieng plateau, that classical volcanic region which the
German naturalist Franz Junghuhn has so graphically described. My road
then took me along Goenoeng Panggonang and Goenoeng Pakoeodja with
their still active solfataras and their springs of boiling water;
along the Telerep, that shattered old volcano whose very appearance
testifies of eruptions and convulsions which defy description; along
the Telogo Mendjer, the deep crater-lake inbedded in walls of rock and
offering one of the loveliest basins in the whole world. Then further
along the western slopes of the Goenoeng Lindoro, the fairest and most
symmetrical volcano in Java which rises to a perpendicular height of
fully 10,000 feet above the sea-level; and thus, at length, I arrived
at Wonosobo. But for all this I had no eyes. I passed unmoved by all
these marvellous beauties of nature, which in the shape of pyramids,
of jagged mountain-ridges, of steep and towering rocks, of dashing
mountain torrents, of thundering cataracts, of magnificent lakes,
of green table-lands, of picturesque valleys, of dizzy ravines, of
deep, dark precipices, of hoary forests, of delightful coffee and
tea plantations, moved before me like some wondrous and ever varied
panorama. One only thought possessed me: Anna! and I had but one
object in view, namely, to hurry on as quickly as possible and to
get to the end of my journey.
"'Come coachman, drive on, drive on!' was my only cry to the Automedon
who certainly did his best and plied his long whip with merciless
dexterity.
"But when I arrived at Wonosobo my impatience was far from being
satisfied.
"The kindest reception awaited me, and the Assistant Resident had
prepared for my entertainment on the most liberal scale. You know
the family Kleinsma, so I need enter into no details. The journey
had the most beneficial effect upon my health; but yet I had to
allow several days to pass before I could safely venture on a trip
to Karang Anjer. I made use of my stay to tell my host something,
at least, of the state of my affairs. I explained to him that I was
most anxious to avoid observation and to keep away from Poerworedjo
the capital of that district.
"'Indeed,' said Kleinsma, 'you will find that no easy matter. In that
case you will have to go by way of Kaliwiro, Ngalian, Peniron and so
to Karang Anjer.'
"'Will that take me far out of my way?' I asked, thinking that he
was alluding to the length of the journey.
"'Not at all,' was his reply. 'On the contrary you will by that road
cut off about one third of the distance; but you cannot travel in
a carriage. Our roads about here are very good; but in the interior
you can travel only on horseback. You will moreover have to take a
guide; for the roads cross one another and form so intricate a web,
that it forms a very labyrinth and, even the most accurate map would
hardly save you from losing your way altogether.'
"That prospect however could not deter me. I passed eight days in that
beautiful climate, and then, when all feverish symptoms had left me,
I undertook the journey which was, in truth, a rather perilous one. The
horse which Kleinsma had procured me was a stout Javanese mountain
nag, and, in spite of the difficult nature of the ground, he always
managed to get along at the rate of about six miles an hour. When
the road lay up the mountain, the good beast would take to galloping
without my having to use whip or spur. When the path ran downhill,
if the descent was not too steep, he would keep up a decent trot or
a good fast walk. At Ngalian I changed horses and obtained a still
better mount than my former one. Thus I got over the Besser mountains,
over the spurs of the Midangang and of the Paras and Boetak hills,
and, at four o'clock in the afternoon, I reached Karang Anjer.
"Alas! William, all this trouble proved in vain. I could gain no
information about my dear Anna. I intend to let you know all about
my disappointment on a future occasion; for the present, I have not
the courage to go on."