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.'"