A FEVER ANTIDOTE
"You have found Bulungan a difficult province to govern, _mynheer_?"
Peter Gross asked.
The words were spoken in a mild, ingratiating manner. Peter Gross's
voice had the friendly quality that so endeared him to all who made his
acquaintance, and the harshness that had distinguished his curt
dismissal of the supercilious Van Slyck was wholly absent.
Muller wiped away the drops of perspiration that had gathered on his
forehead. A prey to conscience, Van Slyck's dismissal had seemed to him
the beginning of the end.
"_Ach, mynheer_," he faltered, "it has been a heavy task. Too much for
one man, altogether too much. Since Mynheer de Jonge left here two years
ago I have been both resident and _controlleur_. I have worked night and
day, and the heavy work, and the worry, have made me almost bald."
That a connection existed between baldness and overwork was a new theory
to Peter Gross and rather amusing, since he knew the circumstances. But
not the faintest flicker of a smile showed on his face.
"You have found it difficult, then, I presume, to keep up with all your
work?" he suggested.
Muller instantly grasped at the straw. "Not only difficult, _mynheer_,
but wholly impossible," he vehemently affirmed. "My reports are far
behind. I suppose his excellency told you that?"
He scanned Peter Gross's face anxiously. The latter's serenity remained
undisturbed.
"His excellency told me very little," he replied. "He suggested that I
consult with you and Captain Van Slyck to get your ideas on what is
needed for bettering conditions here. I trust I will have your
cooperation, _mynheer_?"
Muller breathed a silent sigh of relief. "That you will, _mynheer_," he
assured fervently. "I shall be glad to help you all I can. And so will
Kapitein Van Slyck, I am sure of that. You will find him a good man--a
little proud, perhaps, and headstrong, like all these soldiers, but an
experienced officer." Muller nodded sagely.
"I am glad to hear that," Peter Gross replied. "The work is a little new
to me--I presume you know that?"
"So I heard, _mynheer_. This is your first post as resident?"
Peter Gross's eyelids quivered a trifle. Muller's admission revealed
that he had had correspondence with Ah Sing, for from no other source
could the news have leaked out.
"This is my first post," he acknowledged.
"Possibly you have served as _controlleur_?" Muller suggested.
"I am a sailor," Peter Gross replied. "This is my first state
appointment."
"Then my experience may be of value to you, _mynheer_," Muller declared
happily. "You understand accounts, of course?"
"In a measure. But I am more a sailor than a supercargo, _mynheer_."
"To be sure, to be sure," Muller acquiesced heartily. "A sailor to the
sea and to fighting in the bush, and a penman to his books. Leave the
accounts to me; I will take care of them for you, _mynheer_. You will
have plenty to do, keeping the tribes in order. It was more than I could
do. These Dyaks and Malays are good fighters."
"So I have been told," Peter Gross assented dryly.
"They told you correctly, _mynheer_. But they will get a stern master
now--we have heard of your work at Lombock, _mynheer_."
The broad compliment was accompanied by an even broader smile. Muller
was very much pleased with himself, and thought he was handling a
delicate situation in a manner that Van Slyck himself could not have
improved upon.
Peter Gross's gravity did not relax. "How are the natives? Do you have
much difficulty?" he inquired.
Muller assumed a wobegone expression. "_Ach, mynheer_," he exclaimed
dolorously, "those hill Dyaks are devils. It is one raid after another;
they will not let us alone. The rice-fields are swept bare. What the
Dyaks do not get, the floods and typhoons get, and the weevils eat the
stubble. We have not had a crop in two years. The rice we gathered for
taxes from those villages where there was a little blessing on the
harvest we had to distribute among the villages where the crop failed to
keep our people from starving. That is why we could not ship to Batavia.
I wish his excellency would come here himself and see how things are; he
would not be so critical about the taxes that are not paid."
"Do the coast Dyaks ever make trouble?" Peter Gross asked.
Muller glanced at him shrewdly.
"It is the hill Dyaks who begin it, _mynheer_. Sometimes my coast Dyaks
lose their heads when their crops are burned and their wives and
children are stolen, but that is not often. We can control them better
than we can the hill people, for they are nearer us. Of course a man
runs amuck occasionally, but that you find everywhere."
"I hear there is a half-white woman who wields a great influence over
them," Peter Gross remarked. "Who is she?"
"You mean Koyala, _mynheer_. A wonderful woman with a great influence
over her people; they would follow her to death. That was a wise act,
_mynheer_, to persuade his excellency to cancel the offer he made for
her person. Bulungan will not forget it. You could not have done
anything that pleases the people more."
"She is very beautiful, I have heard," Peter Gross remarked pensively.
Muller glanced at him sharply, and a quick spasm of jealousy contracted
his features. The resident might like a pretty face, too, was his
instant thought; it was an angle he had not bargained for. This Mynheer
Gross was strong and handsome, young--altogether a dangerous rival. His
mellow good nature vanished.
"That depends on what you call beauty," he said surlily. "She is a
witch-woman, and half Dyak."
Peter Gross looked up in pretended surprise.
"Well, _mynheer_, I am astonished. They told me in Batavia--" He checked
himself abruptly.
"What did they tell you in Batavia?" Muller demanded eagerly.
Peter Gross shook his head. "I should not have spoken, _mynheer_. It was
only idle gossip."
"Tell me, _mynheer_," Muller pleaded. "_Lieve hemel_, this is the first
time in months that some one has told me that Batavia still remembers
Muller of Bulungan."
"It was only idle rumor," Peter Gross deprecated. "I was told you were
going to marry--naturally I believed--but of course as you say it's
impossible--"
"I to marry?" Muller exclaimed. "Who? Koyala?"
Peter Gross's silence was all the confirmation the _controlleur_ needed.
A gratified smile spread over his face; he was satisfied now that the
resident had no intention of being his rival.
"They say that in Batavia?" he asked. "Well, between you and me,
_mynheer_, I would have to look far for a fairer bride."
"Let me congratulate you," Peter Gross began, but Muller stayed him.
"No, not yet, _mynheer_. What I have said is for your ears alone.
Remember, you know nothing."
"Your confidence is safe with me," Peter Gross assured him.
Muller suddenly recollected his duties as host.
"Ho, _mynheer_, you must have some Hollands with me," he cried
hospitably. "A toast to our good fellowship." He clapped his hands and
Cho Seng appeared in the doorway.
"A glass of lemonade or iced tea, if you please," Peter Gross stated.
"You are a teetotaler?" Muller cried in dismay.
"As resident of Bulungan, yes, _mynheer_. A servant of the state cannot
be too careful."
Muller laughed. "Lemonade and _jenever_, Cho Seng," he directed. "Well,
_mynheer_, I'll wager you are the only resident in all the colonies that
will not take his glass of Hollands. If it were not for _jenever_ many
of us could not live in this inferno. Sometimes it is well to be able to
forget for a short time."
"If one has a burdened conscience," Peter Gross conditioned quietly.
Muller started. He intuitively felt the words were not idle observation,
and he glanced at Peter Gross doubtfully. The resident was looking over
the broad expanse of sea, and presently remarked:
"You have a splendid view here, _mynheer_. I hope the outlook from my
house is half so good."
Muller roused himself. "That is so, _mynheer_," he said. "I had almost
forgotten; we will have to put your house in order at once. It has not
been occupied for two years, and will need a thorough cleaning.
Meanwhile you must be my guest."
"I thank you, _mynheer_," Peter Gross replied quietly.
"You will have an establishment, _mynheer_?" Muller asked curiously.
"Have you brought servants? If not, I shall be glad to loan you Cho
Seng."
"Thank you, I am well provided," Peter Gross assured.
Cho Seng padded out on the porch and served them. Being a well-trained
servant, he scarcely glanced at his employer's guest, but Peter Gross
favored him with a thoughtful stare.
"Your servant has been with you a long time, _mynheer_?" he inquired
carelessly.
"A year, _mynheer_. I got him from Batavia. He was recommended by--a
friend." The pause was perceptible.
"His face seems familiar," Peter Gross remarked in an offhand manner.
"But that's probably imagination. It is hard to tell these Chinese
apart."
Conscious of having said too much again, Muller made no reply. They
sipped their drinks in silence, Peter Gross thinking deeply the while
why Ah Sing should make a former waiter in his _rumah makan_ Muller's
servant. Presently he said:
"If it is not too much trouble, _mynheer_, could you show me my house?"
"Gladly, _mynheer_," Muller exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "It is only
a few steps. We will go at once."
For the next half hour Peter Gross and he rambled through the dwelling.
It was modeled closely after the _controlleur's_ own, with a similar
green and white facade facing the sea. The atmosphere within was damp
and musty, vermin scurried at their approach, but Peter Gross saw that
the building could be made tenable in a few days. At last they came to a
sequestered room on the north side, facing the hills. An almost level
expanse of garden lay back of it.
"This was Mynheer de Jonge's own apartment," Muller explained. "Here he
did most of his work." He sighed heavily. "He was a fine old man. It is
too bad the good God had to take him away from us."
Peter Gross's lips pressed together tightly.
"Mynheer de Jonge was careless of his health, I hear," he remarked. "One
cannot be too careful in Bulungan. Therefore, _mynheer_, I must ask you
to get me a crew of men busy at once erecting two long houses, after
these plans." He took a drawing from his pocket and showed it to Muller.
The _controlleur_ blinked at it with a puzzled frown.
"These buildings will ruin the view, _mynheer_," he expostulated. "Such
long huts--they are big enough for thirty men. What are they for?"
"Protection against the fevers, _mynheer_," Peter Gross said dryly. "The
fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge."
* * * * *
That evening, when Peter Gross had returned to the ship, Muller and Van
Slyck met to compare notes. The captain was still boiling with anger;
the resident's visit to Fort Wilhelmina had not soothed his ruffled
temper.
"He told me he brought twenty-five irregulars with him for work in the
bush," Van Slyck related. "They are a separate command, and won't be
quartered in the fort. If this Yankee thinks he can meddle in the
military affairs of the residency he will find he is greatly mistaken."
"Where will they be quartered?" Muller asked.
"I don't know."
"Maybe he will place them in the huts he has ordered me to build back of
the residency," Muller remarked, rubbing his bald pate thoughtfully.
"He told you to build some huts?" Van Slyck asked.
"Yes, some long huts. Big enough for thirty men. He said they were to be
a protection against the fevers."
"The fevers?" Van Slyck exclaimed in amazement.
"Yes, the fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge, he said."
Van Slyck's face became livid with passion. "Against the fevers that
killed de Jonge, eh?" he snarled. "The damned Yankee will find there are
more than fevers in Bulungan."
He flashed a sharp look at Muller.
"When you see Koyala," he said, "send her to me."