THE "VIRTUS NOBILITAT." ANNA AND DALIMA. A TELEGRAM.
Oh no, the people at the Hague were not at all ungrateful. Eight
days had not elapsed before the telegraph had flashed across the
ocean the news, that it had been the pleasure of H. M. the king
to confer upon his trusty servant van Gulpendam the order of the
Netherlands' Lion. By the next mail the particulars arrived in Java,
and it then became known that immediately after the receipt of the
telegram announcing the result of the opium-sale at Santjoemeh,
a special council of Ministers was called. At this meeting the
Colonial Secretary, elated to the verge of excitement, had drawn
special attention to the conspicuous merit of Resident van Gulpendam,
and had dwelt upon the great financial advantages which would accrue
to the State if all the other residents were encouraged to emulate his
example. He reminded his colleagues that the revenue derived from the
coffee-culture was fast dwindling away and threatened soon to become
a thing of the past; and that, therefore, opium was in the future to
be looked upon as the chief means for keeping afloat the ship of the
State. That it was for this reason a matter of the utmost importance
to strive and raise the revenues, derived from that source, by all
possible means, as indeed he had always shown himself zealous to do
from the day that the king had entrusted the affairs of the colonies
to his hands. Knowing perfectly well that he had nothing new to say,
yet the minister purposely left something unsaid. He took care not to
tell his colleagues, and the nation, that, with anything like judicious
management, the coffee culture would have continued as profitable as
ever it was; but that, by gross neglect and swindling on the part of
the officials who had the management of it, that source of revenue
had been well-nigh destroyed. He further omitted to let them know,
that the culture of coffee was a means of spreading prosperity and
contentment among the native population; whereas the encouragement
of opium was a public disgrace and a national curse.
Upon these subjects the Colonial Secretary did not touch; and thus
his colleagues unanimously applauded his speech and supported his
application for the Netherlands' Lion, an application to which,
being a constitutional monarch, King William III. could not refuse
his sanction.
Some few there were, no doubt, who shook their heads dubiously as
the news of this honourable distinction reached Santjoemeh. But yet,
when the newspapers, in their boldest type, conveyed to the people the
happy tidings, almost all Santjoemeh was beside itself for joy. Cards,
letters, telegrams of congratulation came pouring in on all sides,
not only from Java; but also from friends in Holland.
The van Gulpendams received visits innumerable, and even those who did
not join in the universal chorus of rapture, yet found it difficult
to refrain from giving some outward show of satisfaction. Such want
of courtesy might very easily have been ascribed to envy.
But these were not the only demonstrations of the public joy. Fêtes,
dinner parties, balls were given to celebrate the memorable event. The
Regent of Santjoemeh led the way by giving a splendid banquet in honour
of the newly made knight; and his example was speedily followed by
the Government officials, by the members of the Club "Concordia,"
by the Chinese major, &c. &c.
As a grand final to this round of festivities, a state ball was given
at the Residence, at which, it is needless to say, that all Santjoemeh
was expected to be present, as indeed it was.
On these festive occasions, toasts were drunk, speeches were made,
congratulatory odes were recited--and all this to glorify the man whose
breast was now decorated with the "virtus nobilitat." Fair Laurentia,
with that fine tact, which, in woman, is almost an instinct, had
tried to persuade her husband to appear in public with the very
tiniest cross suspended from the narrowest possible bit of blue
and orange ribbon. This would undoubtedly have been in good taste;
but the Resident would have none of it. He sent at once to Batavia
for a cross about as big as an ordinary saucer, and he suspended it
from a ribbon of proportionate width. "When you do hang out a flag,"
said he to his wife, "men must be able to see it a mile off and
you must let it blow out bravely." That was his view of the matter,
and no argument had been of any avail against this nautical aphorism.
To tell the truth, the man was mighty proud of himself and hugely
enjoyed all the fuss that was made about him. His satisfaction would
indeed have been perfect, had not certain uneasy rumours begun to
spread among the public. It was whispered, that among the native
population, the feeling of contentment of which the Resident was
constantly making mention in his despatches, was not by any means so
perfect as he tried to represent it. Rumours were abroad of secret
gatherings and even of conspiracies far more alarming than the casual
assembling of robber bands. It was a curious thing that a certain
paper in Batavia, alluding to these secret risings in the residence
of Santjoemeh, said that a Holy War was in preparation, and gave
this information on trustworthy authority. This paper, which had thus
ventured to disturb the serenity of the authorities, was treated in the
most summary manner, its plant was confiscated, its offices closed,
its editor banished; all this to prove, of course, that there was no
disturbance whatever, but that the press only was dangerous.
But yet, some very plain hints were conveyed to Resident van Gulpendam
that it would be well for him to do his utmost to prove that the
situation was really as satisfactory as he represented it to be,
and that the unpleasant rumours were nothing more than idle gossip.
Accordingly, van Gulpendam had, during the festive week, made some
excursions into the parts which were said to be disaffected; but he
had found the most profound quiet everywhere. At the suggestion of the
European officials, the native chiefs had not failed to wait on the
kandjeng toean to offer him their very sincere congratulations on the
distinction with which it had been the king's pleasure to honour him.
Nothing could be better. Van Gulpendam was in the highest possible
spirits, he had a kind word for all, he courteously acknowledged every
profession of good will, whether it came from European or native;
and exhorted every one to continue in these pleasant paths of peace.
But yet, amidst all this chorus of jubilation, one jarring note was
heard. It came from a well-known European settler, who owned a large
sugar-plantation and factory, situated on the extreme limits of the
residence of Santjoemeh. This gentleman was most positive in his
assertion, that clandestine meetings and assemblies were, now and
then, held in a wood close by his property. He had his information
from sources which, he thought, were absolutely trustworthy; and
he further declared that he was acquainted even with the names of
a couple of the ringleaders. He could not help looking upon these
secret meetings as suspicious, even though perhaps they might not be
immediately dangerous.
"And may I beg you to tell me what are those names?" said Mr. van
Gulpendam sarcastically.
"I know only two of them," was the reply; "they must be father and
son, for they are Pak Ardjan and Ardjan; the latter, I am told, is
a bold and determined fellow, and both seem to belong to the dessa
Kaligaweh in the district of Banjoe Pahit."
At the mention of these names, the Resident felt that he turned
pale. He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from
his face and to hide his evident confusion.
"It is oppressively hot!" cried he, in a faint tone of voice.
A glass of iced water was handed to him, and soon he regained his
composure. Determined to remove the impression which his momentary
confusion might have made, he continued:
"Pooh, pooh! Those Kaligaweh fellows have crossed the sea long
ago. Depend upon it they won't show their noses on Dutch territory
again. I know for a fact that they were quite lately seen at
Singapore. There can be no doubt about that."
"Well, Resident," replied the sugar-planter in a serious tone, "I must
tell you that I do not feel at all safe. You know, of course, that
here in India the outlying settlers always are the first victims of
these native plots; and that if such a rising as I apprehend were to
break out, all Europeans would be ruthlessly massacred. My grounds,"
he continued, "lie far away, and, in case of a sudden outbreak, it
would take two days at least for either police or military to reach
me. I shall therefore esteem it a great favour if you will grant me
some kind of protection. Send me a few policemen whom I can trust,
I will see to the arming of the men."
"Policemen! my dear sir. What are you talking about? What would be the
use of them?" asked the Resident with a compassionate smile; for he had
by this time completely regained his self-possession. "You are creating
fanciful dangers. It is, in fact, absurd to talk in this manner."
"I know what I know," rejoined the sugar-factor, "and I say without
any hesitation, that the reports which have reached me do not appear
to me at all fanciful or incredible."
"All right!" said van Gulpendam carelessly.
"You must excuse me, Resident," insisted the sugar-planter, "but I
think that if you were living with your family in that lonely spot
you would not talk in quite such an easy way."
Although our friend van Gulpendam was not precisely the stuff that
heroes are made of, yet he was not by any means a coward. He felt,
moreover, perfectly well that the moment had arrived to payer de sa
personne. What might be said at Batavia should it be suspected that
he felt the slightest distrust or fear?
"All nonsense!" cried he in the same sarcastic and careless
manner. "Come now, my dear sir, to prove to you how certain I am
that there is nothing wrong, I invite myself and my wife to go and
stay with you for a fortnight on your plantation. I know you keep a
pretty good galley, do you accept my offer?"
"With the greatest pleasure in the world, Resident," eagerly cried
the planter.
He felt sure that the Resident of the district would take care to
come under a sufficient escort of police.
"Very well, then," replied van Gulpendam; "as soon as ever these
festivities are over at Santjoemeh, I will let you know; and then
you may get a couple of rooms ready for us."
"And how many oppassers do you intend to bring?"
"None at all! a couple of my servants, and that is all. I intend to
show you that I have the fullest confidence in the state of affairs,
and that I am under no apprehension whatever. Now that is agreed
upon, eh?"
Just outside, close under the verandah in which this conversation was
taking place, a couple of sentries were walking up and down as a guard
of honour to the kandjeng toean. If any one could but have watched
one of these fellows, he must have noticed that the sentry marched up
and down in such a manner as always to keep as close as possible to
the speakers. He must have observed also, that the man was listening
to every word that was said; and that his eyes wore a most dangerous
and sinister expression. At the last sentence spoken by the Resident a
gleam of satisfaction seemed to overspread the native soldier's face
and, had he received a classical education, no doubt the man would
have muttered to himself: "Deus quem vult perdere prius dementat."
As soon as van Gulpendam returned to Santjoemeh, he gave it out far
and wide that both his wife and himself were tired out by this round
of festivities, that they needed rest and had made up their minds
to go and enjoy a fortnight's peace and quietness at the factory
"Soeka maniesan."
Two days later they started. Laurentia took only her maid, and
van Gulpendam a couple of body-servants; but, on the box, a single
oppasser was seated beside the coachman. His duty was to hold aloft
the golden pajoeng in token that the Resident toean was seated within.
That same day Charles van Nerekool and Theodoor Grenits also started
for Gombong, intending from thence, in company with Murowski, to
go and surprise Anna van Gulpendam in her lonely retreat. The two
carriages crossed as they left the town of Santjoemeh. The one over
which the pajoeng was displayed travelling in an eastern direction,
while the other took the road to the south.
After nonna Anna and baboe Dalima had been so thoroughly frightened
at their bathing place, they no longer ventured to go alone to the
spot. They thought--indeed by this time they felt sure--that the
stone which so unexpectedly had splashed down by Anna's side, had
been detached from the rock above by the tread of some animal--of some
wild boar perhaps or some stray goat. But for all that the fright had
suggested the possibility of a surprise. Anna, therefore, had persuaded
an old Javanese woman to come and take up her abode with them in the
little hut. She would accompany them to the bathing place and mount
guard while the young girls were disporting themselves in the water,
and would thus be able to give them timely warning of the approach
of any possible intruder.
There was another advantage gained by taking this nènèh into their
service; for they could now leave to her certain necessary and menial
duties which would leave them more time to spend at the loom or to
work in the painting room. The harder they worked the faster the money
came in, for the kahins and the slendangs which they wove, and the
sarongs they painted, were in great request. In fact they generally
had more orders on hand than they could manage to execute. The result
was that the inmates of the hut began to find themselves in somewhat
easy circumstances, and--was it perhaps owing to this fact, or was
it because no one could look upon the two pretty girls without being
attracted by them?--At all events this much is certain that when,
on rare occasions, they appeared in the dessa Ajo, where they had no
fear of being recognised, the young men of the village would cast many
a tender look upon them--sometimes even a kindly word was whispered
as they passed.
All this the girls mightily enjoyed, and they had many a hearty laugh
over the love-lorn looks of the village swains. One day Dalima merrily
said to her young mistress:
"If they only knew that they were casting sheeps' eyes at a resident's
daughter, wouldn't they fly back in terror?"
"Hush, Dalima, do not mention such a thing again," said Anna very
seriously. "You ought to know that I dislike any such allusions. I
am no longer a resident's daughter!"
But, when she perceived that her scolding tone of voice really grieved
her companion, she continued with a pleasant smile:
"As if the young men of Ajo ever gave me a look!"
"But, Nana," asked Dalima, "whom do they look at then?"
"They have evidently taken a fancy to one of us," replied Anna,
"but it is certainly not to me; I can see that plainly enough. All
those smiles and sweet little whispers are for you, Dalima."
"How can you talk such nonsense!" said Dalima half-crossly.
"I am only telling you the truth, Dalima."
"Have you ever noticed Kjahi Wangsa, Nana? He has no eyes but for you."
"No, no, Dalima, for you."
"No, for you, Nana!"
And so the girls would run on almost daily, and on such occasions it
would have been hard to say who had the last word.
One day, as they were thus merrily talking, Anna said to her friend:
"What if it were the Kjahi who gave us that fright the other day?"
"What do you mean, Nana?"
"I mean that it might have been that booby watching us."
"There is not the least fear of that," replied Dalima, "he would never
have dared to do such a thing. Not one of the young fellows are bold
enough for that--he, least of all."
"Not much boldness required for that," laughed Anna, "to play the
spy on two young girls!"
"Well, I tell you, he would not have dared to do it. But you need
not trouble yourself, there was no one there at all. You know how
long we kept looking about and, though we had a view of the path for
a long way to the right and left, we saw not a single soul."
"Yet," rejoined Anna, "it seems to me a very mysterious thing."
"If there were anybody there at all," continued Dalima, "it must have
been a white man."
"A white man, Dalima!"
"Yes, it is now so long ago that I do not mind telling you all about
it. A few days earlier it would only have made you nervous. The
evening before we were frightened by the fall of that stone, a white
man arrived at Ajo, and passed the night in the loerah's house."
"Dalima!" cried Anna, in dismay, "who was he?"
"I can't tell you, Nana. I have tried hard enough to find out; but
I have discovered nothing further than that he busied himself with
butterfly catching. Pah!"
We may mention here that the natives of Java are, as a rule, afraid of
butterflies. They fancy that the dust from their wings produces violent
itching and even leprosy. Hence Dalima's exclamation of disgust.
"Did you see him, Dalima?" continued Anna, "did he see you?"
"Well, no, Nana, I did not. In fact next morning he started before
daybreak. The last that was seen of him was at Pringtoetoel, he was
then going in an easterly direction."
"Why did you not tell me this at once?" asked Anna.
"Why should I have done so? It would only have disturbed you for
nothing. What was the use of troubling you to no purpose?"
For a few moments the girls spoke not a word.
Dalima, who was beginning to fear that Anna was really displeased,
at length broke the silence and said:
"You are not angry with me, Nana?"
"Angry? no, Dalima."
"What makes you look so serious then?"
"I wish we could move to some other place," sighed Anna.
"Move? why?" cried Dalima.
"Yes, move away, further into the mountain, where the country is
wilder and more lonely. Yonder close by the birds-nest grots. I wish
I could retreat into one of those caves!"
"What are you thinking about, Nana?" cried Dalima, growing seriously
alarmed at her friend's words.
"Oh, I have some kind of presentiment that Charles is on my track,"
sighed Anna.
"He ought to have been here before this," remarked the baboe with
something very like scorn in her voice. "A Javanese," she continued,
"would have found you out long ago."
"How about Ardjan then?" asked Anna.
"Ardjan!" cried Dalima sadly, "Ardjan is a convict, he has run
away, Allah only knows where he is and what he is about. Moreover,
I am no longer his betrothed. To him I am nothing more than a poor
fallen girl!"
Both again were silent for some time, each absorbed in her own
thoughts. Anna was sorry that she had touched so sensitive a chord;
but it was Dalima who continued:
"But even if it were so, if the young judge really were on your
track--"
"Oh! don't speak so," cried Anna, "the very thought fills me with
terror. If I could think that possible I would start off at once."
"But what can you have against him?" persisted the baboe.
"No more of this, Dalima!"
"Have you ceased to love him then? Have you cast him out of your
heart?"
"Don't speak so!" cried Anna in the greatest excitement; "not love
him? Oh! if that were true! Cast him out of my heart! Not a day,
not an hour, not a minute passes without my thinking of him!"
"Well then," continued the simple Javanese girl, "why be so cruel?"
"Be silent, Dalima!"
"Can you not feel how wretched you are making him, Nana?"
"Oh! I pray you, pray do not say another word. Never, never can I be
his--no--nor any other man's wife."
Dalima looked up at her with a puzzled expression. It would not be
easy perhaps to say exactly what was passing in her mind. On her face
there was a look of astonishment mingled with vexation; in her eyes
one might read:
"What funny whims those white folk have! How miserable they make
their lives!"
After a little while she was about to renew the conversation, she was
in the act of opening her mouth to do so, when, just at that moment,
the nènèh entered the gallery where the two girls were sitting. She
had been down to the dessa to make some purchases, and now came in
to give an account of what she had bought and of the money she had
spent. Her entry created a diversion; but, when the old woman began to
open her budget of news, she caused the greatest consternation. She
told the girls that three Europeans had arrived at the dessa and had
taken up their quarters in the loerah's house.
"Three Europeans?" cried Anna, pale with terror.
"Yes, Nana," replied the nènèh, who, thinking that she was speaking
to a countrywoman of her own, always followed Dalima's example and
addressed the Resident's daughter as "Nana."
"Did you see them, nèh?" asked Dalima.
"No," said the old woman.
"Could you find out what business they have in the village?"
"Some say one thing, some another," was the reply. "I have heard
it said that they are railway people who are out on a shooting
expedition. I think it very likely, for they have guns with
them. Another man told me they are after snakes. Well they can catch
enough of them here. As I was coming along just now I saw a deadly
snake. Luckily I caught sight of the beast or else I might have
trodden on it, and then it would have been all up with me. A third
report is that the gentlemen have come to visit the birds-nest caves."
"Did you hear anything else?"
"No, Nana; but why do you look so strange? There is nothing whatever
to be frightened at--those white men never hurt anybody. Look--there
they are--coming up the path!"
Anna gave one look in the direction to which the nènèh pointed. She
uttered a shriek and catching up a slendang which she flung over
her head she rushed from the house. Dalima, who also had recognised
van Nerekool among the party, followed her mistress and both flew as
fast as their feet would carry them up the pathway which ran in the
opposite direction to the south of the Poleng range. The three men
could see two female forms leaving the hut and rushing up the slope
over against them.
"There she goes!" exclaimed Murowski.
"Anna! Anna!" cried van Nerekool in heartrending accents; but it was
in vain. That moment the two girls disappeared in a sudden bend of
the mountain path.
And now, before coming to the closing scene of our story, we must
here cast another look backward.
Van Nerekool and Grenits had started, as we heard just now, in a
carriage from Santjoemeh on their way to Wonosobo. From thence they
had pursued their journey on horseback.
They had no time, they had no inclination, to admire the beauty of
the sublime scenery through which they passed. Whenever Grenits tried
to rouse his companion and awaken in him some interest in the glories
that surrounded them, the latter might cast a furtive glance around,
but it was only to cry immediately after:
"Let us get on, Theodoor, let us get on!"
Before setting out on their journey, they had telegraphed to Murowski,
and they found that medical officer quite ready to accompany them. His
colleague was still staying at Gombong and our Pole therefore found
but little difficulty in getting his leave of absence prolonged for
four or five days.
The travellers, however, did not arrive at Gombong until pretty late
in the day. They were tired out with their long ride and felt that
they must put off further operations to the morrow. Of that compulsory
delay they made the best use they could by calling upon the commandant
of the place to pay their respects to him.
"If you three are going on the campaign!" exclaimed the kind-hearted
soldier, "I advise the butterflies and the beetles to keep a pretty
sharp look-out. There will be slaughter on the hills to-morrow. I
hope you have a good supply of corks and pins for the poor
prisoners. However, I wish you success."
But while they sat chatting with the commandant and with his wife and
enjoying a cool glass of beer in the verandah, a servant brought in
a telegram. It was addressed to Murowski. He took it from the man.
"Will you allow me?" said he, looking towards the lady of the house.
"Of course, of course," said she, "no ceremony required for
telegrams. Open it at once; perhaps it is about some patient. I only
hope it will not interfere with your expedition."
Murowski tore open the envelope and glanced at the signature.
"It is from van Rheijn," said he to his friends-- "Great God!" he
continued, "what have we here?"
"What is the matter? What is it?" exclaimed all in a breath.
"Tell van Nerekool," he read, "that Resident van Gulpendam and his
wife have been murdered by a band of ketjoes. Further particulars
by letter!"
For some seconds all present sat dumb with amazement and horror. Then
van Nerekool sprang to his feet, he snatched the telegram from
Murowski's hand, and held it up to the light of the lamp. He rubbed
his eyes as if he could not trust his senses:
"Aye!" he exclaimed at length--"true, too true!"
"Is Mr. van Nerekool related to those poor people?" asked the captain's
wife, who was struck by the ghastly pallor of the young judge's face.
"Pardon me, madam," said Grenits, "we happened to leave Santjoemeh
at the same time as the family van Gulpendam. The mere thought of so
terrible a murder perpetrated on friends, whom we but lately left in
the full glow of health and spirits, fills us with horror."
The lady nodded assent. "It is indeed terrible!" she murmured.
"My friends," said van Nerekool, turning to Murowski and Grenits,
"I fear our expedition will have to be deferred for a few hours. Under
these terrible circumstances I feel it my duty to go at once and see
Mrs. Steenvlak. How far is it from here to Karang Anjer, captain?"
"About six pals, Mr. van Nerekool," replied the soldier.
"Is it as much as that? Could you manage to get me a horse?"
"My own horse is at your disposal," said the captain. "What do you
intend to do?"
"I must at once ride off to Karang Anjer. It is now about seven
o'clock. Before eight I can be there. To-morrow morning before
daybreak I shall be off again, and at six I hope to be back here to
resume our journey to Karang Bollong. You need not fear, captain,
I shall see that your horse is well cared for."
"I am not at all afraid of that," replied the captain. "He will find
an excellent stable at the Steenvlaks." Then he rose and went to give
the necessary orders to get the horse saddled.
"Miss van Gulpendam was staying: with the Steenvlaks--" said the
lady of the house, her curiosity thoroughly aroused at this sudden
resolution on the part of van Nerekool.
"You are right, madam" replied Murowski. "You see it is very probable
that Mr. Steenvlak may know where the young lady is to be found,
and we might then break the sad news gently to her."
Meanwhile Grenits had been asking van Nerekool what he intended to do.
"She cannot now refuse to give me a few words to Anna," was his
reply. "In such terrible circumstances a true friend's advice may be
of the greatest value. Do you not approve of my plan?"
Theodoor merely nodded assent while he warmly pressed his friend's
hand.
Ten minutes later van Nerekool was in the saddle and was galloping
along the road to Karang Anjer. When he arrived there he found the
Steenvlaks had already been informed of the terrible event; for the
Assistant Resident also had received a telegram from Santjoemeh.