were musical, an intimacy had grown up between them. The father and
mother of this family were very strongly opposed to slavery, and not
unfrequently discussed the subject. Jan, as he passed in and out of the
parlour, waiting upon the guests, had been accustomed to hear these
conversations as though he heard them not. In fact, he often wished the
old Englishman would stop talking, and give his son an opportunity to
accompany Madame Van der Veen’s piano with his flute. But after those
lashes and shrieks had waked up his mind to the possibility of auction
and transfer, he listened more attentively, and carried with him into
riper years the memory of many things he heard.
When he was fourteen years old, and Zaida was twelve, they were married.
Madame Van der Veen furnished cake and lemonade for the wedding, and
gave gay dresses to the juvenile bride and bridegroom, who looked
extremely well in their new finery. Jan had lost something of his
childish beauty, but he was still handsome. His yellow complexion was
rendered paler by the contrast of his jet black hair and the bright
turban that surmounted it. His limbs were slender and flexible, his
features small and well proportioned, and his large antelope eyes had a
floating, plaintive expression, as if there was always a tear in his
soul. Zaida was rounder, and browner, and ruddier. Her dark hair was
combed entirely back, and twisted into a knot, ornamented with scarlet
flowers. The short downy hairs about the forehead curled themselves into
a little wavy fringe. From her small ears were suspended two large
gilded hoops, a bridal present from the old Englishman. From her Arab
father she inherited eyes more beautifully formed than belonged to her
mother’s race. The long dark lashes curled upward, and imparted a
smiling expression, even in her most serious moments; and when she was
amused, her eyes laughed outright. There was a harmonized contrast
between her and her bridegroom, which was extremely agreeable. The young
Englishman compared them to the major and minor mode; and Madame Van der
Veen said they looked like hope and memory. Personal comeliness is rare
among the natives of those islands. Little Zaida was like a ruby among
pudding-stones.
A bamboo hut, raised two feet from the ground, and consisting of two
apartments, without windows, was their bridal home. It was all they
needed in a climate where, more than half the year, all household
occupations could be most conveniently performed out of doors. There was
a broad verandah in front, sheltered from rain and sun by the projecting
roof. In front was a grove of orange and lemon trees, and in the rear
was a group of plantains, whose immensely long broad leaves and yellow
spikes of nodding flowers cast refreshing shadows.
A grass mat, of Jan’s own weaving, and pillows filled with a kind of
silky down from a wild plant, answered for a bed. Gourd shells, a few
earthern dishes, and a wooden waiter from which they ate their meals,
seated on the floor, constituted their simple furniture. The rooms,
which received light from the open door, were used only for eating and
sleeping. The verandah was the place where all their sedentary
occupations were pursued. There, Zaida might be seen busy at her
spinning-wheel and loom; there, Jan wove mats and baskets for his
master’s household; and there stood his gambang, a musical instrument,
with wooden bars of graduated lengths, which he struck with a mallet, to
accompany the simple Javanese melodies that he and Zaida were accustomed
to sing together.
Years passed over their heads without any more serious variations than
slight dissensions with the other slaves, occasional illness, and the
frequent birth of children. Some of them resembled the father, others
the mother; and some had their eyes obliquely set, like the island
ancestry from whom they descended. Some were bright, some dull, some
merry and some pensive; but Madame Van der Veen pronounced them all very
good children; and they certainly were trained to be devotedly attentive
to her. During their first years, it cost nothing to clothe them, for
they ran about naked; and it required almost as little expense to
furnish them with food, where rice was so easily cultivated, and
plantains, cocoas and oranges grew wild. The warmth of the climate, the
lavish bounty of the soil, the improvident habits which every human
being must necessarily form, who acquires no property by economy, and
the extreme indulgence with which he had always been treated by his
gentle-hearted mistress, all conspired to render Jan forgetful of the
precarious tenure by which he held the external blessings of his mere
animal existence. Sometimes, when he went to Grésik, he passed by a
slave-auction, and the sight always gave him a pang; for it brought up a
picture of Zaida and her children standing there amid the indecent jests
and rude handling of a crowd of men. Sometimes he witnessed despotic and
cruel treatment of slaves, and still more frequently he heard of such
instances. Then came recollections of the lashes and shrieks, that used
to interrupt his music and merriment in the days of courtship; and
always they brought with them the question, “What if Zaida and our
daughters should ever be sold to such people as that cruel Dutchman and
his jealous wife?” While any instances were fresh in his mind, he
listened attentively to whatever was said about slavery by his master
and the English family. From them he learned how the English, during
their brief possession of Java, had interdicted slave traffic with the
neighbouring islands; had passed laws forbidding slaves to be sold,
except with their own consent; and had allowed them to hold, as their
own, any property they were able to acquire. Mr. Van der Veen tried to
excuse the Dutch for renewing their slave-trade, by urging that it was a
necessity imposed upon them, because there was no other method of
procuring servants. The Englishman denied any such necessity. He
maintained that the natives of Java were intelligent, teachable and
honest, and very willing to render services for money. He highly
commended the native princes for never permitting any of their own
people to be slaves. He told of one of those princes, who had inherited
fifty slaves; but when the British Government declared that all should
become free, unless publicly registered by their masters, within a
specified time, he said, “Then I will _not_ register my slaves. They
shall be free. I have kept them hitherto, because it was the custom, and
because the Dutch liked to be attended by slaves when they visited the
palace. But as that is not the case with the British, they shall cease
to be slaves; for I have long felt shame, and my blood has run cold,
when I have reflected on what I once saw at Batavia and Semarang, where
human beings were exposed at public sale, placed on a table, and
examined like sheep and oxen.” The Englishman declared that he lost no
opportunity of talking with all classes of people on the subject, and of
circulating publications, translated into Dutch, and sent to him from
England for that purpose; and he expressed a strong belief that the
Dutch would soon abolish slavery. In these conversations, nothing
interested Jan so much as his master’s statement, that, according to
existing laws, slaves might purchase themselves. He resolved to save all
the small coins he might receive; and visions flitted through his brain,
of mats and baskets to be made, when his daily tasks were completed. But
when he received this information, he already had a brood of children;
he despaired of ever being able to collect money enough to buy _them_;
and his anxious thoughts were far more on their account, than on his
own. He always solaced himself with the thought that his mistress would
not allow them to be sold while she lived, and that she would certainly
make provision for them before she died.
Sixteen years of his married life had passed away, and during all that
time such forecasting thoughts had been mere transient clouds fleeting
across the sunshine of contentment. But the time came when Mr. Van der
Veen was summoned to Batavia, on account of some entanglement in his
commercial affairs; and three weeks afterwards, tidings were brought
that he had died suddenly in that unhealthy city. Again Jan saw his
mistress bowed to the earth with sorrow; and it was beautiful to witness
the delicate expressions of sympathy, which nature taught him. He moved
noiselessly, and spoke softly. He and Zaida sang only religious hymns
and soothing tunes, such as she loved to hear after her little Lam was
taken away. His prettiest child, then nearly three years old, was sent
every morning with a fresh bouquet of the flowers she loved best. He
would never lie down for the night until he believed she was sleeping;
and his first waking thoughts were devoted to her. It soon became known
that Mr. Van der Veen had died in debt, and that a large portion of his
property must be assigned to creditors. In this assignment were
included many slaves, in various cities, and some belonging to his
domestic establishment. Quite a small fortune for the widow was saved
from the wreck of his wealth; and in that she expressly stipulated that
Jan and all his family should be included, together with the estate on
which she had always lived since her marriage. By this unexpected turn
of affairs, the remote contingency, which had sometimes created
temporary uneasiness in Jan’s mind, was brought frightfully near. He
never again forgot, for a single day, scarcely for a single hour, that
he was merely a favoured slave, and that all the lives intertwined with
his held their privileges by the same precarious tenure. He never hinted
his anxiety to any one but Zaida; but Madame Van der Veen had the
thoughtful kindness to assure him that she would dispossess herself of
every thing, rather than part with him and his family; saying, at the
same time, that there was no danger of her being called upon to make any
such sacrifice, as there was enough property left to enable them all to
live comfortably. He deeply and gratefully felt her kindness; but the
shadow of her death fell darkly across the consolation it imparted. Not
for the world would he have told her so; lest the suggestion should
increase her melancholy, by making her suppose that even the most
attached of her servants, and the only ones she had left, wanted to be
free to quit her service.
Their English neighbour, being involved in the same commercial
difficulties that had deranged Mr. Van der Veen’s affairs, concluded to
sell all his property in Java, and remove to Calcutta. He and his family
spent their last evening with the widow of their deceased friend. While
Jan was arranging fruit for their refreshment in the adjoining room, he
heard his own name and that of Zaida uttered in low tones, accompanied
with the disjointed words, “So much petted”--“the more hard”--“make
provision.” In her usual soft tones, but so clearly that he heard every
word, Madame Van der Veen replied, “I have thought of all that, my good
friend. I will never part with any of them while I live; and when I die,
I will leave them all free.” “Why not now?” urged the importunate
Englishman. She answered, “My heart is heavy to-night, and business
oppresses me; but I assure you, most solemnly, that I will attend to it
very soon.” She never knew what a heavy load those words removed from
the soul of her favourite slave. After he heard them, he seemed to step
on air. Zaida, to whom the important discovery was forthwith imparted,
was even more elated. They hugged and kissed their little ones that
night, with a feeling they had never known before; and zeal in the
service of their good mistress was thenceforth redoubled. At the
departure of the English family, they gave some gay calico dresses to
Zaida and the children, and a violin to Jan. The old gentleman put a
golden ducat in his hand, saying, “I thank you, my good fellow, for all
your attentions to me and mine. There is a trifling keepsake. May the
blessing of heaven go with it, as mine does. I shall remember you all in
my prayers. Farewell, Jan! Always continue to be faithful and honest.”
The poor slave had never possessed a piece of gold before, and small as
it was, it seemed to him a Golconda mine. First, he buried it in the
ground, and put a stone over it. Then he was afraid some creature might
dig it up in the night. So he sewed it into a pouch, which he fastened
securely within the girdle he constantly wore. The cares and anxieties
of wealth had come upon him.
While the carriage was waiting to convey the Englishman away, he walked
over to Madame Van der Veen’s, to bid a final farewell. His last words
were, “My dear Madame, don’t forget the talks we have had together;
especially what we said last night. Since I have lived in Java, I have
done my utmost to sow good seed on this subject, and I trust it will
spring up and bring forth a harvest, sooner or later. From time to time,
I shall send the magistrates publications, that will prevent their
forgetting what I have so often urged upon them. A blessing will rest
upon this beautiful island in proportion as they attend to this.
Remember it in your prayers, my dear friend, and use your influence
aright. Don’t say it is small. You have seen in your garden how great a
growth comes from one little seed. My friend, there are
responsibilities in human society, for which we shall have to answer
unto our God. And now, farewell. The voice of the old man will never
urge you more. May the blessing of heaven be with you all.”
The tendered-hearted widow wept freely; for he had been her husband’s
friend, and the words he spoke were solemn. She resolved to make her
will, and have it duly witnessed, that very day. But a visitor came, and
after her departure, she felt a degree of lassitude, which unfitted her
for exertion. The next day, she looked over letters from her husband,
and brought on headache by inordinate weeping. She was indolent, by
temperament and by habit, and she was oppressed with melancholy. Weeks
passed on, without any more definite result than a frequent resolution
to make her will. She had gone to bed with a mind much impressed with
what her English friend said at parting, and troubled with
self-accusation that she had neglected it so long, when Zaida was
summoned to her bedside at midnight, and found her head hot, and her
pulse throbbing. In the morning, she was delirious, and looked wildly
upon her faithful attendants without recognizing them. With her
incoherent ravings, during the day, were frequently mixed the words,
“Jan--Zaida--children--free.” The slaves listened tearfully to these
broken sentences, and felt fresh assurance that she had provided for
them. The physician thought otherwise; but he merely said that
something disturbed her mind, and if her life was not spared, he hoped
she would have an interval of reason before she died. At the sound of
that dreadful “_if_,” Jan rushed out of the room, rolled himself on the
floor, and sobbed convulsively. There was no selfishness in his sorrow;
for he had not the slightest doubt that she, who never broke a promise,
had cared thoughtfully for the future welfare of himself and his family.
It was simply the agony of parting from his earliest and best friend.
She lingered four days, but reason never returned. Into that brief
period was compressed more misery than Jan had experienced during his
whole life. Gloomy forebodings brought all the superstitions of the
island in their train. The first night his mistress was taken ill, he
shook his head, and said, “Ah, Zaida, don’t you remember she went to
Surabaya to dine, the very day we heard of master’s death? I told you
then it was a very bad sign to go abroad the same day that you hear of
the death of a friend.” The next night he was startled by an unusual
noise, attributed to explosions among the distant volcanic mountains;
and that was regarded as a certain prognostic of impending disaster. The
following day was unusually sultry, and in the evening he saw phosphoric
light quivering over the nasturtiums in the garden. He had never
witnessed the phenomenon before, and he was not aware that such a
peculiarity had been previously observed in that glowing plant. He had
no doubt that the light came from Spirits, who were waiting for Madame
Van der Veen’s soul. On the fourth morning, he saw two crows fighting in
the air; and thenceforth he had no hope.
The spirit of his beloved mistress departed from her body at midnight.
The rainy season was then approaching, attended by the usual
characteristic of violent storms. The house trembled with the rolling
thunder, and flashes of intensely vivid lightning illumined the bed
where the corpse lay, imparting, for a moment, an appalling glare to its
ghastly paleness. Jan and Zaida were familiar with such storms, but
never before had they seemed so awful, as amid the death-loneliness of
that deserted house. A friendly neighbour pitied their grief and terror,
and offered to remain with them until after the funeral. It was like
tearing Jan’s heart out, to see that dear face carried away, where he
could behold it no more. Exquisitely sensitive by nature, his whole
being was now all nerve and feeling, lacerated to the extremest degree
of suffering. She was placed by the side of her little Lam, and there he
planted the flowers she had best loved. He laid himself down on the
ground, and moaned like a faithful dog, on his master’s grave. He
thought of the stories others had told him concerning his petted
childhood; he remembered her sympathy and good advice when he was first
in love with Zaida; he recalled a thousand instances of her indulgent
kindness; the whole crowned by the precious gift of freedom. He _could_
not reconcile himself to the thought that he should never again have her
to rely upon. He had no heart for any thing, but to tend the flowers on
those graves.
When this storm of grief began to subside, he consoled himself with the
thought, “Whatever happens now, I can never again suffer as I _have_
suffered.” More than a week passed, before he heard that Madame Van der
Veen had left no will; that she had survived all her immediate
relatives; and that the nearest heir to the property resided at Manilla.
This was a stunning blow. Zaida reminded him how their good mistress had
instructed them to pray to God when they were in trouble; and many a
fervent imploring supplication ascended from their humble hut. Jan
resolved to plead earnestly with the heir, and he comforted himself with
the idea that the physician would tell him how their kind mistress had
spoken of their freedom during her illness. But even if his entreaties
should prevail with the stranger, where could they live? Could they be
sure of finding employment? He spent every leisure moment in weaving
mats and baskets for sale, and the children were kept busy gathering
wild fruits for the market. Those things sold for a very low price, and
it would be a long time indeed before he could acquire a piece of land
and a hut by that process. But the gold piece! He felt of his girdle to
ascertain if it was safe. Yes, it was there; a nest-egg, from which his
imagination hatched a large brood of chickens. Hope struggled with
anxiety for a few weeks, and Zaida, who always looked on the bright
side, continually repeated her belief that every thing would turn out
well. But, at last, news arrived that the heir did not intend to visit
Java; that he had intrusted the business to an agent with instructions
to sell all the property, of every description, and remit the proceeds
to him. Poor Jan thought he could never again suffer as he had suffered;
but he was mistaken. This last blow broke him down entirely. A vision of
the auction-stand, with his children bid off to different purchasers,
was always before him. The lashes and shrieks, which had so much
impressed his youthful mind, forever resounded in his imagination; but
now the shrieks came from Zaida and their little ones.
During the three weeks that preceded the sale, he could scarcely eat or
sleep. He became emaciated and haggard, to such a degree that all who
knew him felt pity for him. The sympathizing feeling was, however, soon
quieted by saying to themselves, “It is a hard case, but it cannot be
helped. Poor fellow! I hope they will find kind masters.” The physician
spoke to many people in Grésik and its neighbourhood, declaring there
could be no manner of doubt that Madame Van der Veen had fully intended
they should all be free. He told the agent how her mind was troubled
upon the subject during her delirium. He replied that he was very sorry
the lady had left no will, but it was no affair of his; he must obey the
instructions he had received. The case excited a good deal of interest.
Many of the Dutch residents shook their heads when they heard of it, and
said, “The English are in the right; this system is a disgrace and a
blight upon our island.”