BACK TO THE JUNGLE.
Arrived at the house of the Wodena, the traveller had to submit to more
pumping, nor would his host rest until he knew, or was persuaded he
knew, each word which X. had written in his letter of thanks to the
Assistant Resident at Tjilatjap. That night it was very hot, and it was
borne in upon the sleepless traveller that he had exhausted the
resources of the place. Therefore at an early hour next morning his
miscellaneous fairings were packed, the cost of his entertainment
liberally repaid, and accepted without demur, and the visitors, after
earnestly commending the picturesque little village at Tambak to special
official protection, departed for the station. X. had intended to now
perform the usual round and visit the temples at Djaokjakerta, Solo and
Semarang, but when almost in the act of asking for his ticket, a spirit
of revolt infected him, and he rebelled at the thought that he must go
here and there just because all others did, when his inclinations
really called him elsewhere, for his inclinations were bidding him go
back to the cottage in the hills, where the tea and coffee grew. And so
without hesitation he took his ticket and sent a telegram to announce
his intended return. Bandong was to be the first halting-place, which
meant travel in that crawling train from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., and stopping
at twenty-eight stations on the way. There was no first-class
compartment and the seats of the second-class were hard and narrow, and
the cramped space after the first few hours became almost unbearable.
Things looked brighter, the guard flattered the hopes of passengers by
asking who would buy tickets for lunch at some halting-place further on,
so that he could telegraph for the meal to be prepared. Hope is eternal,
and experience of Java hotels had not yet robbed the traveller of the
fond pleasure of anticipation. The Swindon of the line was reached, and
there, sure enough, was a table spread with food. After the first bite
of the first dish X. realized sadly that he had been done, since it
would have been impossible to make any impression on that meat with
aught less forcible than an axe. Thus, with reluctance, his portion,
albeit paid for in advance, was relinquished, to be again paid for
probably and again to flatter and deceive some other passing and hungry
stranger. The remainder of the journey proved agreeable, thanks to the
companionship of a young officer who, invalided home from the Lomboh
war, was _en route_ to Buitenzorg, where he lived. This poor warrior had
undergone a time of much hardship, and related how he and his men had
slept shelterless on the wet ground and for nights had nothing but rice
to eat. And this only half a day's journey from the principal port in
Java, and with as much money collected for aid to the soldiers as would
have, if necessary, paid for the whole cost of the war. This companion
told many interesting anecdotes of the war, and related some almost
incredible tales of the treachery and ingratitude of the natives.
The Englishman also availed himself of this opportunity for hearing
something of social etiquette in time of peace, and the unwritten rules
which guided those attending entertainments where Dutch and natives met.
As for instance, when the Sultan of Djoedja gives a ball, each official
must stand upon a step, high or low, in proportion to his rank, while
the Resident is met and escorted to the same lofty altitude as the
Sultan, on the top.
To the Governor-General, however, the Sultan must do obeisance.
This might be a convenient place to mention the great regard officially
paid to caste. Reverence for rank amongst the people is fostered and
aided by their rulers, and if a man of position is ever suspected or
accused so that inquiry becomes necessary, it must take place with
closed doors and in private.
That night the party lay at Bandong (fresh from reading the "Red
Cockade" its language seems the most descriptive). The train reached
that considerable town at dusk. Here the traveller had the good fortune
to again meet his friend the President of the Landraad, and was
introduced by him to the Club. Being introduced to the Club meant being
separately introduced to every member then in it, with that punctilious
formality which X. had observed in Batavia. The hotel at Bandong was the
best which the traveller had yet visited, and, contrary to expectation,
dinner was warm and comforting. The others of the party, however, Usoof
and Abu, were not so fortunate, for they had no means of getting
anything to eat. It was not permitted them to go out after dark without
lights, and they could not get lights. Added to this it was raining
hard. The hotel apparently could not supply natives with food at such an
hour, and it was necessary for them to go and look for it. This sad
story greeted X. when his own dinner was done. But the kind President of
the Landraad cut the knot of this dilemma and soon provided a caterer,
protector, and guide for the hungry pair.
As usual next morning, the time fixed for the train to leave was very
early, and other trains were starting too, and of these Abu selected
the one on the point of departure for Maos in which to stow all the
portable luggage--no small amount--and this was only rescued as the
train was actually on the move. This, of course, necessitated hurried
action, making those who hurried hot. Then the scene at the ticket
window was scarcely to be described. For a country where, in public,
such a gulf is fixed between Europeans and natives, it is a strange
thing to find the one aperture for the purchase of tickets, besieged by
a serging clamouring throng of both races, and no one had any idea of
waiting his turn. X. attempted to force his way to the little window,
but as he stopped to observe the rules of the game, as played in
civilized countries of the West, he was each time passed over, when the
tickets were almost in his grasp. At length, disgusted at having to take
part in such a scene, he retired. Then Usoof, with much insinuation of
elbows and words in Javanese (words such as his mother may not have
approved), managed to obtain tickets just in time to catch the train.
This train duly landed them at the familiar little station, where, as
before, the ponies waited them to carry them up that hill of wonderful
views. At the station the traveller parted with his companion, the
invalid officer, after accepting a kindly invitation to lunch with him
at Buitenzorg on his way through to Batavia.
No need to repeat myself in describing those few extra days spent at the
cottage in the hills. And they also resembled the last ones in that they
went too quickly.
The hearty welcome received was, the visitor liked to think, rendered
even warmer by the fact that he was able to assure his busy host that
the young tea plants had most certainly grown a little in his absence.
The day soon came when X. was nearing the limits of his leave and must
start for Batavia. The always early train reached Buitenzorg in the
morning, and there, where on his first visit he had felt so lonely, the
traveller was met by his soldier friend and driven by him to the home of
his _fiancée_. That reception, and its pleasant sequel of a home-like
lunch, is one of the most agreeable of the recollections which X. now
preserves of the town. Though he felt inclined to take the welcome all
to himself, yet in his heart he knew that it was in great manner due to
the fact that he was even remotely connected with the safe return of one
whom the household considered as a son.
After lunch the host, bravely clad in uniform, took his guest to see the
barracks. These buildings seemed as clean and comfortable as could be
expected in a tropical climate. The extreme youth of some of the men was
so noticeable that the visitor could not but observe it, and he learnt
that this was accounted for by the fact that they could enlist at the
age of sixteen. Another item of information was that one-third of the
army in Java was composed of people of other nationalities. In the
native corps there is never any difficulty in obtaining recruits.
After inspecting the barracks a visit was made to the gaol. This over
they drove to the Club for the much-needed refreshment of "Dutch water"
with something in it. The Club was a fine building, but there was no
time left to enjoy its luxurious lounges, and in a very short time X.
was bidding farewell to his good friend and steaming once more towards
Batavia.
Arrived in the capital, the traveller thought it best to widen his
experience by driving to an hotel other than the one of electric light.
This was also a huge building at the end of a regular street of rooms,
all looking out on to the main verandah. As this look-out provided the
only light, the majority of the occupants kept open both doors and
windows, and a walk along the verandah was like some panorama of
dressing in all its stages.
The chief points about this hotel were the usual ones--indifferent food,
absence of privacy, and horrible bathing arrangements. In Eastern
countries it is usual to find a bath-room attached to the bedroom. In
Java hotels people--ladies as well as men--burdened with sponges and
towels, and some with soap, must cross a public court-yard and wait
their turn outside the bath-room door. In this particular hotel the
ordeal was especially trying, since the bathrooms were outside the
office, and in the centre of a regular street where people drove past
arriving and departing or calling on friends, and must perforce gaze
upon that little forlorn group of scantily-clad humans on cleanliness
intent. However, this hotel remains to X. one of blessed memory, since
it was while there he was, through the knowledge of the language, able
to render some slight service to two charming American ladies who were
courageously going round the world alone. On the following day these
ladies were passengers on board the s.s. _Godavery_ en route for Hong
Kong, Shanghai, Japan, Havaü, and all the places in the world
apparently, excepting, alas! that little one of Pura Pura.
That last evening there happened to be a performance of an English
circus, and X. went there and laughed at the jokes of an excellent
clown--a cheery being whose like he had not seen for many a long year
past. Fancy a clown in the jungle!
The next day he reluctantly bade farewell to the country where such a
pleasant three weeks had been spent, and embarking on board the s.s.
_Godavery_--his impedimenta increased by three ponies--the traveller
steamed again for Singapore. The day after his arrival there he started
for home, and some thirty-six hours later was once more seated in his
verandah, listening all alone to the chanting songs of his Malay
neighbours in the plain below. The moon was bright, and Pura Pura kept
high revelry.
Those readers who have had the patience to follow my friend through his
short holiday may leave him there--sighing perhaps with contented
discontent--an excuse for grumbling--while all around is beautiful, and
body and mind can revel in long chairs and books galore. There is a
world perhaps, he thinks, where all are up and doing, but--like his
dreams--it is very far away. Has he been to Java--he asks himself--has
he ever been anywhere beyond the edge of this green turfed hill--to
which are now ascending sounds of happiness from poor villagers who live
among the padi fields, away there across the river, dimly seen now when
the moon is high? And has he helped to make them happy?--did they always
sit singing there before he or others came, or did they have to watch
with Krises ready, for fear of stealthy foes--foes who crept to stab
beneath the raised bamboo floors. Perhaps he, too, has aided with his
mite--perhaps--who knows? And as this thought occurs, the discontent
will fade, while content alone remains.
Long years has this exile lived in Pura Pura, and then when he left it
for a space--to redeem a promise--he asked me to relate all that he did
and saw while thus away. From Jungle to Java have I therefore followed
him as a faithful chronicler and my commission is ended. But it should
not be so, since there are tales of the jungle and tales of Pura Pura
all worth the telling if what I think be true. For there, where life
moves slowly, the incidents, which make it dwell, dwell so long that
those who watch may note and read. And though that which they read,
being of nature and mankind, is necessarily an old, old story, yet is
the framework new, and thus with an interest all its own, able to impart
a lesson to those who sit at home and speak with vague pity of peoples
far away. Perhaps our traveller--to whom such a name must have seemed
irony indeed--will one day ask my assistance to relate certain chapters
of that life, brief glimpses of which have been afforded the reader in
this little sketch.
THE
_ROXBURGHE ROMANCES._
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=TITLES AND AUTHORS.=
A WIDOW WELL LEFT R. MANIFOLD CRAIG.
_Ready November the First, 1896._
ONE WEAK MOMENT E. WHITE.
WITHOUT BLOODSHED HAROLD E. GORST.
THAT CHARMING WIDOW CLARENCE HAMLYN.
A ROMANCE OF THE FAIR L. & H. CRANMER-BYNG.
MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE ARTHUR J. IRELAND.
AN AFTERNOON RIDE ANNE PAGE.
THE DIAMOND SHOE BUCKLES MARY ALBERT.
BLOTTED OUT E. PULLEN BURRY.
(Or a Puritan's Curse)
THE PRIEST AND THE ACTRESS ETHEL WALKER.
(Some Idylls of St. Giles)
MARIE VASELLIS JOSEPHINE STOCKWELL.
THE DEALER IN DEATH ARTHUR MORRIS.
TOLD AT THE CLUB CHARLES F. RIDEAL.
_And others in preparation, by_
MRS. CECIL MARRYAT NORRIS; MR. MASSEY SHAW; MR. J. L. OWEN; MR. C.
GORDON WINTER; THE HON. STUART ERSKINE; MR. WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK; MR.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words preserved. (bathroom,
bath-room; courtyard, court-yard; foreground, fore-ground; lamplight,
lamp-light; stationmaster, station-master)
Pg. 96, "Ojoedja" possibly refers to the town "Djoedja" (short for
Djoedjakarta) which is mentioned elsewhere in the text. However, the
original text has been preserved.
Pg. 99, "civi service" changed to "civil service". (irritable member of
the civil service)
Pg. 124, "attemped" changed to "attempted". (X. attempted to force his
way)
Pg. 125, duplicated word "a" removed. (sequel of a home-like lunch)