IN THE GOEWAH TEMON. CONCLUSION.
"Anna, Anna!" cried van Nerekool, and in that cry he cast his whole
soul; but it was uttered in vain; for just then a sharp bend in the
path caused the two girls to disappear behind a great mass of rock.
When Charles, Murowski and Grenits reached the spot where they had
caught this last glimpse of the fugitives, not a trace could be
discovered of either of them.
"Anna, Anna!" shouted Charles again and again at the top of his voice;
but a beautifully distinct echo, reverberating from the opposite hills,
seemed only to mock his cries.
Our three friends, however, were now compelled to pause. They felt
that they could go on no longer, and must stop awhile to regain
breath. The exertion, indeed, had been very great; for that little path
kept winding upward, ever upward, and the headlong speed with which
they had rushed on made a short rest absolutely necessary. Charles,
however, every now and then, repeated his cry of "Anna, Anna!" He
thought that his voice might perhaps reach the girl and induce her
to stop or to turn. But, no other response came to his anxious call,
than that of the sportive echo which, sharply and clearly, flung back
the two syllables, "Anna, Anna!"
When they had rested awhile, and to some extent regained their
strength and their wind, the three set off again in pursuit. They
had to follow a road which led them along the most eccentric windings
up hill and down dale. At one time the path would run sharply round
some huge rock, at another it would follow the course of some erratic
mountain-stream. Elsewhere again, it ran zigzagging down an almost
perpendicular slope; but yet, on the whole, the ground was steadily
rising and was evidently leading up to the lofty table-land which
is bounded by the cliffs of the Goenoeng Poleng. Very frequently the
road would run, for a while, abruptly downhill as it took them into
the bottom of some wild ravine; but this, far from giving them rest,
only increased the discomfort of travelling. For the sudden change of
motion threatened to dislocate their already tired knees and then,
every descent was immediately succeeded by a sharp and trying climb
which put to tremendous proof the soundness and power of their lungs.
But in spite of fatigue, the three men kept hurrying on. Van Nerekool's
impatience would brook no delay. They panted, they caught their breath,
they puffed and blew like grampuses; but still they kept on. As they
turned every sharp bend in the road, they felt sure that they must
catch sight of the fugitives; for certainly they could not have got
very far ahead of them. Escape was utterly impossible; for there
existed but the one path up the mountain, and that went twisting
and turning through a country so wild and so rugged that no human
being could leave the footpath either to the right or left. So they
anxiously peered round all about them whenever they gained some spot
which gave a command of the country; but look as they would, not a
glimpse could they catch of either Anna or Dalima.
At length the three men gained the top of the plateau, and they felt
that, for a few moments, they must again sit down and rest. But yet,
they could find no trace of the young girls they were so eagerly
following. The road now no longer rose, it merely twisted in and out
between huge boulders of rock, between hill tops, and around thick
clumps of dwarf shrubs, and thus it offered no extensive view.
"They cannot possibly be far ahead of us!" panted van Nerekool. "Let
us get on, let us get on! We must be close upon them!"
But in this the young man was mistaken--as a matter of fact the girls
had really gained very considerably on their pursuers.
In the first place, they had a considerable start when the chase
began. They had been able to run nimbly along a path which was
quite familiar to them, which they had indeed been accustomed to
climb almost daily. Their knowledge of the country enabled them to
make many a short cut with which the Europeans were unacquainted;
and thus they had managed to avoid many a long bend and twist in the
road. And lastly, extreme terror seemed to have lent Anna wings, and
poor Dalima had been compelled, as best she might, to toil after her
young mistress. When they reached the plateau, Anna kept on leading
the way and hurrying in a southerly direction. She knew that the
sea could not be far away; for the thunder of the breakers, which,
for some time, had been audible in the distance as a hoarse murmur,
now grew more distinct every moment; and as they sped on they could
feel the very soil quivering under the terrific pounding of the mighty
ocean on the perpendicular wall of rock.
"Where are you running to, Nana?" panted Dalima.
"Let us hurry on!" cried Anna impatiently, as she ran, casting behind
her many an anxious look.
"But, where are we going to, Nana?"
"Why yonder!" cried Anna hurriedly as she pointed to the south.
"But that way leads to the sea!" cried Dalima.
"Just so," replied Anna, "and that is where I want to go."
"What are we going to do there, Nana?" asked Dalima anxiously.
"I know a hiding place where no one will find us or even go to look
for us."
"What? There, Nana?"
"Yes, yes, do come along--try to make another effort--it cannot be
far away!"
"A hiding place?" repeated Dalima. "But, Nana, there is nothing over
there but the bare rock."
"Aye; but in those rocks there are holes!" cried Anna much excited.
"The Goewahs!" exclaimed the baboe in utter dismay.
Anna answered a few words which, however, Dalima did not catch. Darting
on like a hind, the Resident's daughter had outstripped her
companion. Dalima was naturally very strong and inured to fatigue
and exertion; but her condition was beginning to tell upon her. The
burden she had to bear and the rapid motion, had utterly exhausted
her, and she felt her strength fast ebbing away. The blood began to
flush up to her head, her temples throbbed, her eyes seemed covered
as with a reddish film; and an insupportable feeling of weariness and
listlessness pervaded her entire frame. Still she struggled on game
to the last. Her breathing was getting thick and wheezy--she was, in
fact, on the point of fainting altogether. But this little Javanese
girl was endowed with a tough frame and an indomitable will; and,
though almost exhausted, yet she struggled after her companion as
mechanically she kept muttering to herself:
"Forward! Forward!" Oh no! she could not, she would not leave her
Nana in the hour of need.
This painful progress went on for some time. At length, after they
had turned round an immense boulder which seemed to form a barrier
to the path, Anna stood still.
Before her, in all its grandeur, lay stretched out the Indian Ocean;
and from the height of about twelve hundred feet she could obtain a
magnificent view of it.
She cast one anxious look behind her. The position she now occupied
commanded an extensive view of the path along which she had toiled up;
but not a soul could she see stirring on it. Might the pursuit have
been given up? It seemed improbable, yet it was possible. Might they
have missed the road and gone off on some wrong track? Anna fancied,
that every now and then, she had heard her name called out behind
her; but that again might very well be the result of her over-wrought
imagination. Again and again she eagerly scanned the horizon in all
directions. But no, nothing, nothing was to be seen.
Somewhat quieted she then turned her attention to poor Dalima, who,
panting and moaning, had, by this time, come up to her, and then,
almost senseless, had sunk to the ground.
Anna sat down by her companion. She tried to cheer her up; she rubbed
and kneaded, in native fashion, the muscles of her neck and shoulders,
she patted her hands; in fact, she neglected nothing that the most
anxious solicitude could suggest until she saw that Dalima had somewhat
recovered from her prostration.
As soon as she had succeeded in relieving her companion, Anna again
gave an anxious nervous look behind her, but still she could perceive
nothing. Then she walked forward resolutely to the edge of the slope
which ran before her down to the sea.
"Yes," said she, half aloud, "the ladder is still hanging there. I
have heard a good many tales about the Goewah Temon. If it must be
so--I shall fly there for refuge!"
Then, once again, looking to the north, she continued: "But I hope I
may not have to undertake that fearful journey--I can see nothing,"
she said with a sigh, "if Charles were really on my track, he must
have appeared long before this on the table-land!"
Therewith she turned her face full to the ocean. Though she was
disguised in Javanese dress, yet she was, and always would remain,
a child of the West; that is to say, her eyes were open to the glories
which Nature was there offering to her gaze.
Before her lay the Indian Ocean. On the far horizon it seemed to melt
away into the sky; but yet in that distance a line clearly defined
the apparent contact of sea and heaven. Closer inland the water
wore a dark blue tint, forming a beautiful contrast with the light
azure-blue of the heavens. This contrast was rendered more striking
still by the tremendous rollers which came up from the South. Those
mighty billows looked like long lines of liquid hills, which seemed
to detach themselves from the horizon and come rolling in majestically
upon the shore of Java.
These immense waves were smooth as polished glass; for not the faintest
breath of wind so much as ruffled their surface, and thus rising and
falling calmly and mysteriously, they looked like the undulations of
some vast sheet of dark blue cloth. They came rolling in quietly and
regularly like the ranks of an advancing army; and, on the side of the
wide ocean, they sloped but very gently, as though the deep were too
languid to exert itself. But, on the land-side, the slope was steep and
the columns of water came on black as an advancing wall. At first, and
seen at a distance, the tops of these advancing waves were smooth and
round; but as the watery mass neared the land and the wave rose higher
and higher, so gradually did it narrow and grow sharper at the top;
and the billows seemed to succeed one another at shorter intervals. At
length, the tops lost their rounded form altogether--they became
a mere ridge which began to fret angrily--then they sharpened to a
mere line which, fast and furious, seemed eager to outstrip the wave
itself. A moment after, this line of water began to bend forward,
forward, forward still, until it formed an arc of immeasurable
length. Presently that graceful curve seemed to fly to pieces and
shake itself into a ragged crest of silver foam; and, at last, the
entire mass came toppling down, covering the sea with thick milk-white
froth which came sparkling, and thundering, and dashing itself into
blinding spray against the wall of trachyte which seemed to say to
the mighty element: "Hitherto shalt thou come and no farther."
Anna did not venture to look down into the sheer depth below her, where
the waters were boiling in their fury. She feared that a look into that
giddy depth might shake her resolution should she actually be compelled
to attempt the descent. She gazed out far away to the horizon. There,
almost due west, she could clearly see Noesa Kembangan, that beautiful
hilly island which, with its luxurious vegetation, seemed to float as
a basket of flowers on the watery expanse. She could clearly discern
its lighthouse standing on the Tjemering hill--standing out clear
against the light blue sky like a pillar of cloud arising from among
the foliage. Here and there the bosom of the ocean was dotted with a
white sail like some big sea-bird disporting itself upon the glassy
surface. And, as if chance had wished to accentuate that resemblance,
just then a flight of snow-white cranes came hovering by, forming
a dull white stripe on the azure sky. They flew harshly screeching
towards the West, on their way, probably, to the fishy lagoons and
morasses which there abound. The swift and easy flight of these
birds suggested a sad thought to poor Anna: "Oh, that I had wings,"
she sighed, "that I also could fly, fly far away and be at rest!"
And then her fancy carried her back to the past. The image of Charles
van Nerekool rose up vividly before her. As in a dream she pictured
to herself how happy she might have been by her lover's side. She
could hear that "invitation à la valse" and to its delightful melody
she seemed once again to float about with his arm around her. She
could hear his first murmured confession of love. She again passed
through those delicious moments after the dance in the quiet garden
of the Residence. Before her, arose the Pandan grove in which Charles
had gently detained her to reiterate his declaration of love. At the
rhythmical swell and thunder of the ocean, which was giving forth its
mighty melody at her feet, she fancied she could hear again the soft
duet played by the cornet and the piccolo:
"Un jour l'âme ravie,
Je vous vis si jolie,
Que je vous crus sortie
Du céleste séjour.
Etait-ce donc un ange, une femme,
Qui venait d'embraser mon âme?
Las! Je ne sais encore.... Mais depuis ce beau jour
Je sais que j'aime d'un pur amour."
She felt once again her lover's arm around her waist and his voice
she could hear whispering to her softly, and saying:
"Anna, my darling, I love you, I love you more dearly than words can
express, more dearly than my mother, than my sister, more dearly than
my own life!"
Oh! those precious words! Ah! that heavenly moment! And then, dreaming
on, she heard:
"Tell me, Anna, tell me. Do you love me, dearest? I know I have already
had your answer; but repeat that word once again, now that we are here
alone--now that we are here, far from the noise of the world--repeat
that little word now, as we are standing under the eye of God himself!"
She had treasured up those words. They were engraven as it were,
in her heart. Then she could feel the kiss--the first kiss of love
which set the seal to her murmured reply. She could feel--
But, as at Santjoemeh, so here again, she was destined to be roughly
startled out of her reverie. She fancied she could hear the voice of
her mother. She would have cur-- No, no, not that, she had not the
heart to curse anyone; but she cast one reproachful look upwards to
heaven, as she felt how so much bliss had been turned to misery and
woe. The pleasant dream had vanished.
"A blighted life!" she sighed, "a blighted life!"
A sudden shriek shook her up out of her day-dream.
"Nana!" cried Dalima, "the gentlemen are coming."
And indeed, to Anna's horror, she then saw in the bend of the
path Murowski, van Nerekool, and Grenits, coming along with all
speed. Without taking one instant for deliberation she dashed down
the slope which led to the awful precipice before her.
"Nana! Nana!" cried Dalima beside herself with terror, "what are
you about?"
The poor Javanese girl did her best to follow her companion; but,
before she could fairly stagger to her feet, Anna was far ahead of
her, and, fagged and exhausted as Dalima was, she could not pursue
her quickly enough. As she neared the edge of the slope which ended
in a perpendicular wall of rock running straight down to the sea,
she could see Anna lay hold of the upper steps of the rottang-ladder
which led down to the deep below.
"Nana! Nana!" she cried in heartrending accents.
She rushed on--she saw her young mistress place one foot carefully
upon the ladder--she saw her body gradually disappearing.
"Nana! Nana!"
Now, only Anna's head was visible. That also disappeared, and she
could only see one hand clutching at the topmost rung.
"Nana! Nana!"
The hand let go its hold before Dalima could bend forward to grasp
it. It was gone--gone!
Then the Javanese girl flung herself flat upon the ground and peered
over the edge of the fearful precipice which yawned beneath her. What
she saw there was enough to freeze the young blood in her veins. But
she had no time to waste in gazing with horror at what was going
on below.
Once again she shrieked, "Nana! Nana!"
Just then she felt some one grasp her arm. She looked up, and van
Nerekool was standing beside her.
"You here, Dalima!" cried he, not understanding in the least what
was going on. "Where is nonna Anna?"
"Allah! tobat toean!" cried Dalima, still lying on the ground, but
pointing with horror down into the deep.
"There? There?" exclaimed Charles beside himself with terror, while
he flung himself down on the ground and gazed into that frightful
precipice.
Fortunately Grenits and Murowski were close behind their friend. He was
in a fearfully dangerous position, as he, regardless of all caution,
hung over the wall of rock, and it was well for him that his friends
firmly grasped his legs.
"Charles! Charles!" they cried.
"Anna! Anna!" cried van Nerekool in despair--for yonder, far beneath
him, he could see the girl cautiously climbing down the long ladder
which, made of rottang ropes, was dangling and swaying about under
the burden it had to carry.
The foot of this crazy ladder dipped into the sea, and was being
swayed about by the breakers as they came rolling in shore.
When a wave thundered up it swept the end of the ladder into the
cave as the water rushed into the opening; and then, when it receded
spouting out of the mouth with the force of a cataract, the foot of
the ladder was whirled away again in the opposite direction. This
violent motion repeatedly dashed Anna up against the face of the
rock as she was dangling there far above the surface of the sea, and
every now and then a roller would dash its blinding spray upward as
if greedy for its prey.
At that fearful sight van Nerekool shuddered.
"Anna! Anna!" he called again and again in heartrending tones.
His voice seemed to reach her above the din of the water. Timidly she
glanced upwards. When she saw that face which showed clearly against
the blue sky, and which she recognised in an instant, she uttered a
faint shriek and hurried down faster than before.
Van Nerekool sprang to his feet.
"I must go down!" cried he nervously.
And before his friends could do anything to prevent him, he had grasped
the top of the ladder, had stretched out one foot over the abyss, had
placed it into one of the rungs, and had begun his perilous descent.
It was now Murowski's turn, and Grenits's turn, to fling themselves
down flat on the ground.
Certainly it was a horrifying sight to behold those two human beings
dangling above that roaring sea on one frail ladder of rope. The two
men could not speak, they could hardly breathe, so intense was the
excitement and tension of that moment. There they lay gazing down,
utterly powerless to stretch out even a finger to save their friend.
As soon as Anna perceived that van Nerekool was following her she
obeyed the impulse which had driven her to flight, and tried to
descend more rapidly than before. But, another thought came flashing
upon her. She had heard the dessa-people at Ajo talking a great deal
about the Goewah Temon. She knew, from them, that, at low water,
the entrance to the cave might be reached; and that then the cave
itself might be entered. She knew also that this entrance could only
be gained by swimming, because the bottom of the cavity was quite
six feet below the lowest water mark. She did not mind that, for she
could swim like a duck; but--! but--! all this was only practicable
at ebb tide, at dead low water, and when the sea was calm and there
were no breakers rolling in.
But now--! now the waves were dashing with terrific violence against
that trachyte wall--It seemed as if every successive wave reached
higher--Yet she descended--further down--still down--
"Anna! Anna!" cried Charles above her head.
At length she reached the top of the vaulted cavity. She knew that,
at low water, the opening was about fifty feet high, but how narrow
did it look just then! Indeed the greater part of it was covered by
the sea. She fancied she might just manage to reach the courses of
rottang-rope which led from the mouth of the hole to its interior to
assist the gatherers of swallows' nests in their perilous work.
She was putting out her hand to feel for one of those cables.
But, as she did so, a wave of enormous strength came rolling up and
broke at her feet with a crash like thunder, and fearfully shook the
foot of the ladder which hung loosely floating about at the entrance
of the cave.
Terrified out of her senses, the young girl lost her presence of
mind altogether. She let go her grip, and fell backward into the
seething water.
"A blighted life!" was her last cry as she fell.
Van Nerekool had looked down, as he felt the huge wave approaching--he
saw his beloved Anna fall backward--he saw her floating in that boiling
surf--he saw her tossed and rolled about like a log in that thick mass
of white foam. For the merest fraction of a second he could see her
glorious mass of jet-black hair waving on the gleaming surface--and
then--all was sucked up into the cave and disappeared from his view.
To him, she was now lost for ever! There he was, helplessly dangling
above the precipice which had just swallowed up his dearest treasure
on earth, and--for an instant he knew not what to do. The next moment
came the lull and the huge billow was hurrying back to sea. Then the
young man saw the immense volume of water spouting out of the cave
with magnificent energy; but--in that clear blue column, as it rushed
forth, his eye could catch nothing which looked like a human body;
and it flashed upon him that, dead or alive, Anna must have been left
behind in the cave. She might have clutched hold of some projecting
rock, her clothing might have caught somewhere. Quick as lightning he
darted down the ladder. The top of that cave he must get to before
the next wave came tumbling in. With feverish eagerness he clutched
the rungs--he made no use of his feet--he rather slid down and--he
just contrived to grasp one of the rottang cables, and get his feet
clear of the ladder when, another wave gave it a violent shake which
might have compelled him to let go his grip and might have swallowed
him up as it had done Anna.
Van Nerekool was now, comparatively speaking, safe. Two sturdy cables
of considerable thickness were stretched out parallel to one another
all along the inner wall of the grot. At intervals these were fastened
by gemoetoe cords to the salient parts of the rock. On the lower of
these cables Charles could plant his feet, while with his hands he
grasped the upper one. Beneath him the sea was roaring and over his
head and all around him fluttered the sea-swallows uttering their
shrill cries and darting in and out of the mouth of the cave through
the blinding spray.
Grenits and Murowski from the top of the cliff had eagerly watched
all that had passed. They had been horrified at seeing Anna fall and
van Nerekool disappear in the cavity.
"Well!" cried one of them, "what to do now?"
"We can do no good up here," said the other.
Dalima begged them to tell her what they had seen, and as soon as
she had heard it she cried:
"We must be off at once to the loerah of the dessa Ajo. He has a boat
with which, I know, he occasionally visits the Goewahs."
And that brave little Javanese girl, forgetting all about herself and
her painful condition, shook off her fatigue and was already far down
the pathway before the Europeans had found time to follow her. And,
when they came to the foot of the mountain they found the boat of
which Dalima had spoken.
The loerah made a very wry face when he heard the project of the two
Europeans. To try and get to the Goewah Temon in such weather! It
could not be done. He pointed to the mouth of the Kali Djeties. There
the mountain water flowing down was struggling with the rising tide
and made the breakers fly up in clouds of spray. At the sight, which
was indeed an awful one, the two friends all but despaired. Must they
then give up all hope? Must they leave van Nerekool to perish without
an effort?
"I will give you fifty guilders, loerah!" cried Grenits, "if you
bring me up to the cave!"
The Javanese chief scratched the back of his head in sore perplexity.
"And I," cried Murowski, "I give another fifty!"
The loerah began to waver. He exchanged a few anxious words
with a couple of men who stood by his side. These seemed not so
scrupulous. With a gesture of assent they at once sprang into the
boat into which the Europeans took their seats also.
"Look here," cried Grenits almost cheerfully, "each of you fellows
shall have five-and-twenty guilders if we succeed!"
"I will give the same to each of you," said Murowski, "and now give
way with all your might."
The loerah had taken his place in the afterpart of the crazy boat and
he held the steering paddle. Even Dalima and our two friends Grenits
and Murowski had armed themselves with a paddle and prepared to help
the rowers to the best of their ability. Under the impulse of these
six blades the boat shot rapidly ahead.
At first, as long as the boat was in the bay all went well. The loerah
steered straight for the middle of the entrance of the Moeara; for he
was anxious to avoid the tossing and the dangerous back-draught of the
water along the coast, and thus, helped on by the stream of the river,
the little boat sped on like an arrow released from the bowstring. But,
as they gradually got into the estuary, the force of the ocean began to
make itself felt. The current began to decrease more and more until at
length it was no longer perceptible. Now small waves began to beat up
against the keel, and these presently increased in size and power as
they coursed along the sides and gave a kind of pounding or stamping
motion to the little boat. Still the canoe travelled on--it got into
the midst of the foam caused by the breakers and into the eddies formed
by the retreating waves. The little cockle-shell seemed dancing on
foam. The loerah, who knew that the critical moment was approaching,
was sitting in the stern his lips tightly compressed. He wore an
anxious and determined look as he clutched his steering-paddle which,
at one time, the wave strove, as it were, to pluck from his grasp,
and at another the violent swaying of the boat threatened to wrench
from him.
He was keeping a most anxious look-out, it was a question of life
or death. Could he venture to go on? When the billow broke, the
hollow tree-stem was at a considerable distance from it. But now the
question was: could they hope to get over the distance between that
mountain of water and the next one before it also would break? No,
he thought they could not. The risk was too great to run. Still he
kept looking out and, in the far distance, the next mass of water
came steadily rolling up. It was coming on like a towering hill. To
the men sitting in that frail canoe it looked like a mountain. The
little boat was still hurrying on and, though very unsteadily, yet
the five paddles kept way on her. The great wave every instant came
nearer and nearer--at length it seemed to rear--it rose as it were
perpendicularly over that nutshell, which seemed mad enough to brave
its fury. Already it began to form its silvery white crest and appeared
like a solid wall of polished blue glittering under the sun's beams.
"Easy all," shouted the loerah, who had the while been carefully
watching the approaching wave.
At the word the paddles ceased to move, and the boat lost all the way
she had on her. But just then it seemed as if, without any impulse
at all, the little boat was hurrying to meet the huge billow. It
looked as if she must inevitably be swallowed up in that mighty curl
of water which was about to form.
"Back her, back her!" shouted the loerah as he plied his paddle
vigorously.
Fortunately the frail boat immediately obeyed the reversed action of
the paddles, and was drawing back at the moment when the mass of water
was beginning to topple over. One moment, indeed it was only for the
fraction of a second, the inmates of the canoe caught a glimpse of that
vast cave of water, that enormous cylinder of light-blue transparent
crystal. But still the wave continued to curl, to describe something
like three quarters of a complete arc, and then--it came crashing
down at a few paces from where the boat lay, it came crashing down
with a sound like thunder, and covered the entire surface of the sea
with thick, milk-white foam. "Give way, give way!" now fairly roared
the loerah and, impelled by those sturdy arms, the boat shot ahead
over the whirling eddies, through the dense foam flakes, while the
terrible force of water went dashing up the mouth of the Moeara.
Now came the time for exertion; for she must be well away out of that
place before the back-sweep of the retreating wave could overtake her,
she must be fairly out to sea before another such breaker could come
upon her.
The men plied their paddles furiously, and the small craft shot ahead
with lightning speed. A little while, one supreme effort, and then
she began to rise.
"Give way! Give way!" again shouted the loerah and, redoubling his
own efforts, he encouraged his men to row vigorously.
Thus impelled under the frantic strokes of the rowers, the boat was
driven up the slope of the wave, which had not yet become dangerously
steep. For an instant the little shell hung balancing on that watery
edge, her ends hovering in the air, only the centre of her keel
resting on the water, and then, she quietly slid down the opposite
pent and all were out of danger.
The loerah thereupon steered a southerly course; but yet it took a
considerable time to reach the mouth of the Goewah. When they got
near the cave the ebb tide had fairly set in, and the helmsman had
to exercise only ordinary prudence to pilot the boat into the cavity.
Meanwhile what had been going on inside? When van Nerekool had gained
a footing on one of the cables, he had at once cautiously begun to
advance, groping his way in the twilight which reigned in the cave.
It struck him that the subterranean vault, into which he was now
venturing, was of considerable extent, and ran in far under the base
of the mountains; but at the same time, he noticed that the bottom of
the cave gradually rose, so that the sea, excepting in a few holes here
and there, only penetrated about two hundred feet into the interior.
But, within that space, the water had full sway, and was raging
furiously.
At first, he could hardly see anything: but presently his eyes
became more accustomed to the gloom, and he began, moreover, to feel
more confidence in the feat of tight-rope walking he was trying
to accomplish. Thus he advanced deeper and deeper still into the
cavity. At length, close beside a slab of trachyte against which the
water was dashing furiously, he thought he could descry something.
Taking advantage of every prominent bit of rock he carefully let
himself down, and he was fortunate enough to succeed in reaching the
mass of trachyte. He found its surface uneven enough to give firm
foothold, and at length he found some natural steps by which he could
venture to descend to the water's edge. And when he got there--there
was his Anna, quite unconscious! She had, in her drowning agony,
clutched at the rugged face of the rock. The lower part of her body
lay floating about in the water; but her head was resting on her arm,
which encircled one of the out-jutting pieces of stone.
Charles seized her, he grasped her waist and tried to drag her up
against the face of the boulder. The tide was rising and he had need
to make haste; for every moment it seemed more probable that Anna
would be washed away by the back-rushing waves. By dint of putting
forth all his strength, Charles at length succeeded in dragging her
to the upper surface of the slab, and then he sat down beside her. He
took off his coat and spread it out upon the stone to make his Anna as
comfortable a resting place as he could. Her head was resting on his
lap and, in that position, he allowed her for awhile quietly to rest.
A single glance around had satisfied van Nerekool of the fact that
the highest tides had never reached the top of the block of stone,
and that therefore they were, as far as the sea was concerned, in a
place of safety.
With his handkerchief he gently wiped away the sea-water from her pale
countenance, and he took a strange delight in spreading out upon his
knees her luxuriant mass of black-hair as if to dry it. He knew also
that it would be worse than useless to try and get out of the cave
before low water, the violence of the waves was too great to admit
of any such hope. But, he thought, that, at dead-low water it might
be possible to reach the ladder which was still tossing about in the
entrance of the cave. By that time he had no doubt that Anna would have
regained consciousness, and he knew she could swim. Then once on the
ladder--However! he thought, time will bring counsel! Thus musing he
gazed down at the beautiful girl who lay there helpless on his knees,
Murowski, he thought, and Grenits would surely do something to come
to the rescue.
It was indeed a critical moment in the young man's life. There,
stretched out before him, lay the one being who was dearer to him
than all the earth, the one being whom he adored with all the power of
his soul, the one being who had robbed him of sleep and deprived him
of rest, whose dear image was always and everywhere floating before
him. The one human being whom he longed for, whom he yearned to call
his own, with all the passionate eagerness and all the tenderness of
his impulsive nature.
Anna, in her Javanese dress, was covered only by her sarong and
kabaja. The slendang, which had served as her head-dress, she had
lost in her descent down the ladder. This extremely primitive costume,
made of the lightest and most flimsy materials, was now wet through;
and there lay the poor girl unconscious on the lap of her lover,
who was suffering torments which might fitly have found a place in
Dante's Inferno.
The dim twilight and the finely divided spray which hung all around
seemed to bathe that virgin form in a kind of mystic ether and imparted
to the entire scene something weird and sublime.
Slowly--very slowly--time rolled on--too slowly for poor Charles
van Nerekool.
Meanwhile the water no longer rose, and the turn of the tide was
beginning to be felt. Every wave which rushed in, roared and boiled
and foamed just as did the former one; but yet the water did not
reach quite so high, nor did the waves rage so furiously.
But, hours would have to elapse before Charles could venture to make
for the opening.
"Oh, if Anna would but awake," sighed van Nerekool, who, not for an
instant, had moved his eyes from the beloved object, "oh, that she
would awake! In her own presence she would find a much more powerful
protector than in me!"
His prayer was heard. Still insensible, Anna mechanically made an
attempt to wipe away some drops of water from her brow. Charles
tried to assist her in this, he tried to put up his handkerchief;
but in doing so he had stooped and his hot feverish breath fell on
the face and neck of the girl.
This startled Anna and, at length, she opened her eyes. She turned
her head, she looked about inquiringly, not able to make out where
she was; presently her eye fell upon Charles.
With a loud scream she made an effort to start up, "You, you here?" she
exclaimed, and again she tried to rise and run away.
But van Nerekool gently put his arm round her waist, and drew her to
his breast:
"Anna," said he, "dearest Anna, do take care, do be quiet--you will
slip down--the sea is still much too high."
"You here!" she cried half-dazed, "I shall--I will--" And once again
she attempted to wrench herself out of his arms.
"Anna," said he soothingly, "do be quiet, do be prudent! the rock is
wet and slippery. Be careful, you are yet in great danger."
His voice was so low and he spoke so tenderly, that the young girl
gave up her wild attempt. But when her eye fell upon her own person
and she discovered in what a state she was lying in the young man's
arms, she once again tried to shake herself free. The sea-water had
washed the stain off her face, and the bright scarlet blush was now
plainly visible as she cast down her eyes in dire distress.
"Leave me, Charles," she stammered in confusion, "do leave me!"
But he only clasped her tighter to his heart, and covered her face
with burning kisses.
"Anna, I love you--Anna, I have found you again!" he exclaimed,
passionately, "and never, never again shall I leave you."
"But, Charles, do have pity on me," pleaded the poor girl in faltering
accents, as she again strove to free herself from his embrace,
"yours I can, I may--never be."
"Anna," cried he huskily, as he pressed her closer and closer still
to his breast.
She probably misunderstood his action--at all events she continued
very, very sadly: "No, Charles, your wife I can never be--and--oh,
you love me too well, do you not?--to have any other thoughts."
The poor girl said these words in a voice so unutterably sad that van
Nerekool felt at once that he had unwittingly wounded her modesty. At
once he released her, though he still kept his arm round her waist.
"But, Anna," said he, "why should you not become my wife?"
"No, never!" replied she resolutely. "Not then, and not now. I have
given you my reason very fully. Now let me go."
"But, Anna," he persisted, "since that time circumstances have
entirely changed."
"What circumstances?" she asked, looking up anxiously in the young
man's face.
"Why, now your father and mother are dead--"
"What? father and mother dead?" exclaimed the poor girl, before the
word had fairly left his lips.
He nodded assent. Anna covered her face with both hands and sobbed
convulsively.
It was a very strange scene down there in that gloomy cave. Those
two young people--one of them in his shirt sleeves--the other in
her wet sarong and kabaja, indeed, one might say, scarcely dressed
at all--sitting there side by side on a bare slab of rock. She with
her face buried in her hands and sobbing as if her heart would break,
he gazing down eagerly and lovingly upon her, striving, as it were,
to fathom the thoughts which were rising in that maiden breast,
and upon which he felt that his happiness depended.
"But, can it be true?" said she at last amidst the sobs which
convulsively shook her entire frame, "can it be true? Oh, Charles,
you could not be cruel enough to invent such a story. Charles, Charles,
what am I to believe?"
"Anna, dearest Anna, what do you think of me? do you really think
me capable of thus trifling with your most sacred feelings. Indeed,
you are misjudging me, Anna."
She kept on weeping bitterly and was inconsolable. He gently drew her
to him, trying to comfort her in her distress. And now she offered no
resistance; but she rather nestled up to his breast. Now that she was
an orphan, and that she knew she was alone in the world, she sought
for protection with the man whom she had always faithfully loved.
"Both dead," she kept repeating again and again, "what did they
die of? Oh, tell me how it happened! You have come straight from
Santjoemeh, and you must know all about it."
"No, my love, on the contrary I know just nothing at all. When I left
Santjoemeh both your parents were in excellent health and spirits. On
the very morning when I set out with Grenits--"
"With Grenits?" asked Anna, "Theodoor Grenits? Is he with you here?"
"Yes, my love, he is--but, as I was saying, when we started, on that
very morning Mr. and Mrs. van Gulpendam set out for Soeka maniesan."
"Soeka maniesan?" inquired Anna, "what place may that be?"
"It is a sugar factory situated in the extreme east of the Residence
of Santjoemeh. It was not until after we had reached Gombong that we
received tidings of the sad event. A telegram."
And then, in as few words as he could, he told the poor girl all he
knew. It was not much and amounted simply to the fact that both the
Resident and his wife had been murdered by a band of robbers. The
letter in which van Rheijn promised to give further details was,
no doubt, at that moment waiting for them at Gombong. When he had
told Anna all he knew, van Nerekool paused for a few moments. He
wished to give the poor girl time to recover, in some measure,
from the terrible blow that had so suddenly fallen upon her. She
was literally overwhelmed with sorrow and sat leaning up against
him weeping bitterly. Her nature had but little in common with
that of her parents. She herself had brought about the parting--of
her own free will she had left her parents' roof, with the settled
determination of never returning to it again. But now, death had
stepped in--death had made that parting irrevocable--death had made a
reunion impossible--and now, all her affections at once flew back to
the beings to whom she owed her life. Now she clean forgot all the
dreary past, she clean forgot all that was bad, only to remember,
with the greater tenderness, whatever had been kind and good. Yes,
she was, indeed and in truth, deeply affected, and, had it been in
her power, she would have laid down her life to undo the past.
While they were sitting thus the ebb tide had fairly set in, and
the water was beginning rapidly to draw back. Every successive wave,
as it rushed into the cave, was less violent and retreated also more
quietly. That went on until the fury of the water had entirely abated,
and presently they were merely ripples that entered the Goewah Temon.
"Now, my dearest Anna," said van Nerekool, anxious to break the silence
and to lead her thoughts into another channel, "now it is time to move,
or else we might be surprised by another tide."
She raised her head and looked about her. When she saw that the sea
was calm she also felt that no time was to be lost. She wiped away
her tears.
"Yes," said she, "we must get out of this place; but, can you
swim? For, you see, the water which is standing in the mouth of the
cave yonder is much too deep to wade through. Yes? Then that is all
right--there is no fear--we shall soon get to the ladder."
With these words she prepared to leave the stone on which they had
found a safe resting-place, and was getting ready to slip into the
water; but Charles kept her back, and gently pressing her to him,
he said:
"After the terrible news you have just now heard from me it may not be
right for me to speak of love. But, Anna, I have lately felt so utterly
wretched, and, in these last few moments I have been so unspeakably
happy! Promise me now, in this solemn place and in this solemn hour,
that you will not again try to escape from me."
She looked up at him. There were tears in her eyes, there was an
expression of heart-felt sorrow in her countenance, and she could
not utter a single word.
"All obstacles," continued he, softly whispering in her ear, "are
now removed. You are now your own mistress. Tell me, dearest Anna,
may I hope?"
She turned away her head and laid her hand on his mouth. There was,
in the midst of her sorrow, something playful in the action, and
Charles caught that hand and covered it with kisses.
"Thanks!" he said, "thanks! Oh I know well that just now you can
give me no other answer. Thanks again and again. But Anna, now we
must take to the water, we must be off."
Both were on the point of entering the sea and beginning their perilous
journey, when voices were heard outside the cave. Charles and Anna
looked at one another in surprise; but in another moment they saw
Dalima, Grenits, and Murowski, accompanied by a couple of Javanese,
who--the reader knows in what manner--appeared in a canoe at the
mouth of the cave.
"Great heavens!" exclaimed poor Anna, as she cast a look at her
clothing. "And I in this wet dress!"
She blushed scarlet as she saw the sarong and kabaja clinging to her
limbs. She felt, moreover, that Charles was gazing at her; and this
only augmented her confusion. Charles, however, took up the coat on
which she had been seated and offered it to her as a covering.
Meanwhile the little boat had been coming up and Grenits and Murowski,
and especially Dalima, were beside themselves with joy when they
found that the friends, whom they had given up for lost, were alive
and well. The loerah of the dessa Ajo had flung a couple of sarongs
into his boat before starting, to wrap up the bodies in, he had said,
so certain was he that the pair must have perished. But, these two
garments now came in very handy. Anna was able to wrap herself well
in them, and in this Dalima was eager to help her. Then she stepped
into the boat. In a few minutes they had left the Goewah Temon and,
two hours later, Anna, Dalima, van Nerekool, Grenits and Murowski
were safely and comfortably seated together in the little house on
the slope of the Goenoeng Poleng.
At that meeting, plans for the future were very speedily determined
upon, and the sun had scarcely reached the zenith, before Anna
and Dalima were seated, each in a litter, and were on their way to
Karang Anjer. The gentlemen formed the escort to the two litters;
and a very formidable escort they looked, armed, as they were, with
their fowling pieces.
At the house of the Steenvlaks Anna met with the most cordial
reception. There she determined to remain until--Well, yes! until
the days of her mourning were passed.
After all this had been properly settled the young men returned to
Gombong. Theodoor and Charles at once went to the captain who was
in command there, to take leave of him and to thank him for having
granted their friend Murowski leave to accompany them.
"Well, gentlemen," cried the bluff but kind-hearted soldier as he
caught sight of them, "have you had any luck?"
"Oh yes," cried Grenits, "we have had splendid success!"
"That is right, I am glad to hear it. And did you get any good
specimens?"
"Glorious specimens, captain!" exclaimed Murowski, roguishly,
"splendid specimens! Why, amongst others we have had the luck to
catch a magnificent, a unique butterfly--a puella formosa."
"Very good, I wish you luck with the little beast, but for heaven's
sake don't bother me with your Latin."
Even van Nerekool could not refrain from laughing as he thought of
the little butterfly they had captured.
Fourteen months later Anna van Gulpendam and Charles van Nerekool
became man and wife. The wedding took place very simply and without the
slightest display, at the house of Assistant Resident Steenvlak. August
van Beneden and Theodoor Grenits gave away the bride, and Edward
van Rheijn and the Polish doctor Murowski were witnesses for the
bridegroom.
At the conclusion of the marriage ceremony, who should suddenly turn
up but William Verstork. After the death of Resident van Gulpendam,
he had been at once recalled to Santjoemeh where his merits were well
known and where he was highly esteemed. No one expected to see him
at the wedding; for a telegram had brought the news that the steamer
in which he travelled from Batavia had run ashore and had stuck fast
somewhere about Tegal. But, when he found that getting the ship off
the shallows would be a long business, Verstork had left her and
gone ashore, and then had posted all the way to Karang Anjer. He was
determined, at any cost, to be present at his friend's wedding. But,
on his journey, he had been unavoidably delayed, and thus came too late
to take part in the actual ceremony, though in ample time to join, on
that auspicious day, in the warm congratulations which were showered
on the young couple. Yes, if ever there were hearty congratulations
and sincere good wishes they were indeed those which the young people
received from the friends who, in the absence of nearer relations on
either side, were then gathered around them.
After the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. van Nerekool started for Tjilatjap
intending there to take the boat to Batavia where van Nerekool had
obtained a judicial appointment. The others returned to their own
spheres of work. Murowski remained at Gombong and the others went to
Santjoemeh and resumed their everyday duties.
But all of them, to a man, were animated with one resolution and had
determined that thenceforward it should rule all their actions. And
that resolution was, to carry on war--implacable war--war à outrance
against the horrors of the opium traffic. If they could only succeed in
abolishing the fatal system of opium farming--if they could but succeed
in preventing that poison from being forced upon the population,
then they felt assured that abuse of opium would soon cease to be
a curse of the fair island of Java; and that the opium-fiend would
soon lose his power.
And now we conclude with the person who gives her name to this book.
We must tell our readers that a few months after baboe Dalima had
found those whom she loved so faithfully and so well in the cave of
the Karang Bollong mountain range, she became the mother of a dead
child. That had been a great blow to her; for, in spite of the foul
outrage of which she had been the victim, her warm little heart had
eagerly looked forward to the advent of the little stranger. She had
so looked forward to love the poor little thing. Oh, how tenderly
she would have nursed it, how she would have fondled it and caressed
it--as perhaps no other mother had ever done before her. Such were
her dreams. She had already prepared its cradle. Not such a thing as
we cold Western folk understand by the word; no, no, it was a very
simple little basket, woven by her own fingers out of bamboo. But that
little crib she had made so cosy, so comfortable; she had furnished
it with the softest cushions and wrapped round it the best of her
sarongs to keep away the mosquitoes by night and ward off the sun's
rays by day. It would be a little nest which she would hang up in the
front gallery of the small cottage in which she meant to take up her
abode, and, as she softly would rock it to and fro she would play on
the gambang and lull her little bird to sleep with her low sweet song.
Now, all that happiness was gone! The fatigue, the exertion which she
had undergone, and all the anxieties of the terrible events through
which she had passed; the dreadful suspense at the Goewah Temon in
which she had so nearly lost her darling Nana, had proved too much
for her.
Yes, she had been very very sad; but time heals even the deepest
wounds. And then, after all, she was with her Nana and she intended
to remain with her to her latest breath. She had travelled with Anna
to Batavia, and there she settled down to be the baboe of the little
van Nerekools who, she fervently hoped, would bless the union of
her friends.
And anyone who knows the faithful affection with which the Javanese
do attach themselves to their masters, if the latter will but treat
them with anything like fairness and kindness, must feel certain that
baboe Dalima will remain faithful to her trust until
THE END.