A GREAT CALAMITY.
To my father, in his then feeble state of health, the news of his
brother’s death proved so great a shock, that he was unable to leave
his room for a whole week. During that time, however, our aunt behaved
most affectionately, not only to the invalid and his boys, but, I may
add, to our pretty cousin Marie, her step-daughter, with whom we were
now permitted to associate on the most cousinly terms; and, although
this did not metamorphose my dislike into love for her, it had a great
effect upon my poor father,--so great, indeed, that, with a delicacy
of feeling quite in accordance with his nature, he awaited a full week
after his recovery before he would broach the subject of his late
brother’s will. Doubtlessly he each day expected that she herself would
open up the matter, but in this he was disappointed; therefore he, one
afternoon, but in a spasmodic manner, as if to get the words from his
lips as speedily as possible, begged permission to see a copy of the
will; but, vexatiously enough, as she was about to reply, the servant
announced, “Mynheer Ebberfeld.”
My father looked annoyed; I started in my chair, for eyes never rested
upon a more ill-favored man. “My lady,” however, seemed pleased at his
coming, for, after introducing him as the principal notary of Batavia,
and a councilor, she said:
“My dear brother, Mynheer Ebberfeld’s coming at this moment is most
fortunate; for, as he drew up my late dear husband’s will, he is the
most fitting person to explain its provisions.”
“Your pardon, madam; your pardon, sir,” replied the notary, with a low
bow, and a simper upon his sinister countenance, “but _this_ hour,
and _this_ presence, is scarcely fitting, nay, most inopportune,
for business matters; let me, therefore, crave your patience until
to-morrow, and then we will together scan the pages of the precious
document itself. In the meantime, let me assure you that you will find
its contents by no means unsatisfactory to yourself and sons.”
“Nay, mynheer, my brother is naturally anxious to become acquainted
with the will, so I pray you let not etiquette deny him that
satisfaction,” said “my lady,” with one of _her_ most amiable smiles.
“Not so,” interposed my good-natured father; “since Mynheer Ebberfeld
deems the time, place, and presence improper, I by no means desire him
to proceed; to-morrow will be time sufficient.”
“Thanks, mynheer, for your concession; a European gentleman I felt
would be too chivalrous to refuse so reasonable a suggestion,” replied
Ebberfeld.
Of the young people of the family, I alone had been present during the
foregoing conversation; but, at its close, the urbane notary, with
amiable earnestness, begged and obtained permission of the lady to
invite, “for that day only,” as the playbills have it, Marie, as well
as my brother, to a seat at the dinner table.
“The society of young people,” said he to my father, “makes me feel
a boy again; it is a passion with me to see them happy. I delight in
contributing my poor share towards their amusement. Thus, my lad,” he
added, addressing me, “knowing that you have just arrived from America,
I ordered a serpent-charmer to exhibit his tricks in the grounds
after dinner; that is, if I have madame’s permission;” and the genial
smile with which he asked, and “my lady” bowed her acquiescence to
this scheme for our benefit, for an instant made me think I had been
positively wicked in feeling a repugnance at first sight to two such
amiable personages.
The dinner was served in a gorgeously decorated pavilion in the grounds
at the back of the mansion; and, in addition to roast and boiled meats,
after the Dutch fashion, consisted of a variety of Javanese fish, and a
large dish of that famous bird’s-nest soup, of which the Chinese have a
proverb: “That if the spirit of life were departing from the nostrils,
and the odor of this nest-soup were to salute them, the spirit would
reanimate the clay, knowing there is no luxury in Paradise to compare
with it.”
Assuredly, Mynheer the notary must have agreed cordially with the
proverb, for he devoured it with the gusto of a gourmand, and was
unceasing in his efforts to press it upon us.
“My lady,” he said, suddenly putting down his spoon, “may I, nay,
stretching a point, I _will_ presume to compliment you upon your cook
and purveyor. This soup is deliciously compounded; the nests must have
been of the purest white--in short, perfection. May I ask from whence
you procured them?”
“By means of my slave Prabu; his family are nest-hunters, chiefly in
the employ of the Chinese merchants of the Campong. Permit me,” she
added, “the pleasure of sending a basket of them to your house.”
“Madam,” replied the notary, bending his neck so forward, that he
seemed about to stand upon his head in his own soup-dish, “you will
merit, aye, and may command, too, my eternal gratitude; it will be as
supplying my table with a dish from Paradise.”
I felt shocked at this speech, for it sounded in my ears like
blasphemy, and all about a mere voluptuous relish, by far too
glutinously rich for a stomach like mine, which had been accustomed
only to plain, invigorating food.
This dish, so precious in the far East, is compounded of--first, the
nest of the swallow (_Hirundo esculenta_), which, when dissolved, is
like a brown jelly or melted glue, the sinews of deer, the feet of
pigs, the fins of young sharks, and the brawny part of a pig’s head,
all mixed together with plover’s eggs, mace, cinnamon, and red pepper.
“Pray let me help you to some of this most delicious of earthly
delicacies, this soup of Paradise,” said the epicure, to my father
and brother, both of whom had already exhibited their disgust at the
precious mixture. My father politely declined. As for Martin, he spoke
plainly:
“Thank you, no; I don’t like the nasty mess; but I just should like to
go upon one expedition with this Prabu and his brother nest-hunters,
wouldn’t _you_, Claud?”
“All in good time, young gentlemen, you will grow to idolize this rare
dish,” said Ebberfeld; adding in his oily tones, “As for nest-hunting,
for which you express such a desire, with your worthy parent’s
permission, I will undertake to find you an opportunity; for a love of
enterprise is a good sign in the young.”
“Thanks, it will be rare sport,” replied Martin.
After the dinner, we removed to a large tent erected upon a spacious
lawn, to witness the tricks of the snake-charmer. Martin, Marie, and I
sat upon the grass, our seniors on couches upon the opposite side of
the tent.
There were two performers--the snake-charmer, an old man, who, once
seen, could never be forgotten, for not only had he a huge hump upon
his back, but a wen upon his neck, so large, that it seemed to be
outgrowing his head, which it pushed upon his right shoulder; the other
was his attendant, a boy, rather good-looking than otherwise, for a
Javanese peasant.
Marie, having frequently witnessed this man’s performance, looked on
now with nonchalance, but Martin and I strained our eyes to the utmost,
towards a large box which the old man began to open, as soon as the
boy commenced playing upon a native fife or flute. At the sound of the
instrument, the lid of the box being now removed, the hooded head of a
spectacled snake raised its crest about a foot above the side, at first
languidly, though gracefully, and as if listening to the music; but
when the boy played a more lively air, the beautiful reptile moved its
head and neck fantastically, as if endeavoring to keep time. After some
five minutes, the old man, baring one of his arms, knelt by the side
of the box, when, I supposed at the time, because the boy happened to
discontinue the music, the neck of the reptile became swollen, and in
an instant it had fixed its fangs upon the man’s arm.
Up jumped Martin, crying, “The poor old man will be killed!” and in
another second he would have grasped the snake; but simultaneously
Marie seized his hands, and, with a strength lent to her by terror
alone, dragged him back.
“Foolish cousin!” she exclaimed; “had you approached one step nearer
the cobra, you would not have lived out the day.”
A _cobra_! How my heart sickened at the name. That beautiful snake was,
then, the reptile of whose deadly bite I had heard and read so much.
As for Martin, ever fearless of harm to himself when another was in
danger, he struggled to escape from Ebberfeld, who had now come to the
assistance of our cousin, exclaiming frenzily:
“The poor old man will be killed, I tell you. See, the blood is pouring
from his arm! Drive away the snake!”
“Foolish boy,” replied mynheer; “remain where you are; that old man is
the cobra’s master. It is by these tricks he lives. What is play to him
would be death to you.”
This explanation quieted my brother, and made him laugh; but speedily
our attention was turned in another direction: our brave cousin,
overcome by her exertions or terror at my brother’s narrow escape, had
swooned.
“How vexatious!” cried our aunt. “Go,” she added to Prabu, the slave,
who had just entered the tent with some message, “carry the foolish
girl to her maid.”
What a feeling arose in my heart at these words. As for Martin, with
flashing eyes, he said, savagely, “Foolish--she is not foolish; she is
as brave and good as an angel. It is you who are wicked.”
“Martin!” exclaimed our father, sternly, reproachfully; and although
in a storm of passion, habitual obedience to a beloved parent at once
silenced my brother. Better, perhaps, had he been permitted to give
vent to his almost justifiable wrath, for feelings akin to hatred
seized upon his heart, never to be removed; but, then, in his behalf, I
must admit that other matters arose afterwards to fan the flame.
This mishap broke up the party, but, most vexatiously to my brother
and me, our father, taking us to his own apartments, detained us with
him the rest of the day, for fear that Martin, while in his angry
mood, should come in contact with “my lady.” “For with your aunt,
Martin,” he said, “I would not now trust you alone. Your hasty temper
would probably lead you into some disrespectful act, that might be of
material injury to your future prospects, for as yet we know not to
what extent she may have power over us all. To-morrow I shall not be so
ignorant, for then I intend to examine my poor brother’s will.”
“Bother the will and the money, too,” replied Martin, hastily, “if they
are to prevent a fellow from defending those who have saved his life.
Besides, father, I want to know whether cousin Marie has recovered.”
“Well, well, my dear boy, you are a noble fellow, but with a temper
that may get you into difficulties if not kept in check. As for your
cousin, rest contented; she is well by this time. It was only a
fainting-fit.”
“But, father, I want to _know_ that, or I sha’n’t sleep a wink.”
“Tut, tut!” replied my father. “Rest contented till the morning; but
now get you to your own room, for it is time all honest people were in
bed.”
We obeyed, but not to sleep; our minds were too full of _the_ event of
the day, our anxiety too great about our cousin. For an hour or two,
indeed, till darkness (which comes so suddenly in the East) had set in,
we sat pondering, when Martin said, “I won’t go to bed until I know
whether our cousin has recovered, and that’s flat.”
“But how are we to find out?”
“I will tell you, Claud. Marie’s room is in the other wing, just
above the verandah; her window is within a yard of the fig-tree, and
overlooks the garden. Let us go there. I will ascend the tree.”
“Well, and what then?” I asked.
“Why, I will throw some pebbles at the panes. If she is well, it will
arouse her; she will show herself, and I shall be satisfied.”
“I don’t half like the plan,” said I; “we may frighten her into another
fainting-fit.”
“Well, look here, Claud. All I want to know is, whether you will go
with me.”
“Suppose I say no.”
“Then I will go by myself, that’s all.”
“Very well, then, we will go together.”
The night was of pitchy darkness; so far, so good. We could creep by
the very walls without being observed, should any inmate still be
about. Having reached the fig-tree, Martin began to make its ascent;
but the trunk was so smooth, and the lowest branch so high, that it
was beyond his reach. To remedy that difficulty, however, I stood
against the tree, while he clambered on to my shoulders, and by that
means just managed to grasp the first branch. As soon as I felt myself
relieved from his weight, I began to tremble (I am a bit of a coward,
or, at least, compared with Martin, a little nervous), in fear that a
false step, or the rustling of the leaves, might arouse some restless
sleeper; and he _did_ make a false step, and, by so doing, such a
noise, that I felt certain we should be discovered; but he persevered,
and when he had reached the branch nearly level with our cousin’s
window, as had previously been arranged between us, he signalized the
same by dropping a few pebbles upon my head. Then, with a beating
heart, I listened. Pat, pat, pat, against the panes went three pebbles,
but no answer. Others were then thrown, but still no answer. A third
time he pebbled the panes, and successfully, for I could distinctly
hear the French windows open. “Marie is aroused at last,” I muttered;
but no! if so, Martin would have spoken; but for a few minutes there
was a dead silence; then (oh, didn’t I feel as if I should like to have
shrunk down within my own shoes), I heard our aunt’s voice calling to
a slave to bring lights. How provoking! my brother, after all, had
mistaken our aunt’s room for Marie’s. What would be the consequences?
surely they would detect him when the lights came? or if not, believing
thieves were about the premises, would arouse the household; then, not
daring to call to him, I despaired. Fortunately, however, not losing
_his_ presence of mind, the next minute he had slidden quietly down the
smooth trunk.
“Bother!” he whispered in my ear. “What a muff I must have been to have
made such a mistake! But come, Claud, let us hide among the bushes, and
perhaps they will think we were old Boreas.”
For a short time we stood stock-still among the shrubs and trees; then,
believing our aunt had recovered from her alarm, we moved, creeping
softly, in an opposite direction to the house, so that, should any
person or persons be on the lookout, we might escape them; but by so
doing, in those large and intricately laid out grounds, after an hour’s
ramble we had literally lost ourselves.
“What shall we do now?” asked my brother, coming to a dead halt.
“Remain where we are till daybreak, when there will be light enough to
show us the way back to our room,” said I.
“All right, old fellow,” he replied, coolly; “we have no alternative;
in the meantime, let us make ourselves at home;” and he threw himself
at full length upon a piece of green sward.
“Stay, Martin,” I said; “there is a glimmer yonder; surely it cannot be
a glow-worm.”
“A glow-worm,” he repeated; “nonsense! It is the light from a lantern.
Queer! who can be there at this time? let us see.”
As we approached the light, we found it proceeded from a small
grotto-like hut, which we perceived to be within a few yards of the
window of our room.
“This is lucky, for we know where we are; but before we go in, let us
see what’s doing at this time of night; something wrong, I am sure.
Stay,” he added, as we reached the walls; “can’t you hear voices?”
Martin was right; we could hear voices, very distinctly, too, and
in anger; one was that of the slave, Prabu, the other the old
snake-charmer’s.
“Well, well, old man,” Prabu was saying, in reply to something the
other man had said, but which we had not heard; “you have explained
_why_ I find you in the grotto, but if my lady _has_ condescendingly
permitted you to remain here, it was not good that you should keep a
light through the night to frighten honest people out of their wits.”
“Worthy Prabu, I am old, and require luxuries that the young, strong
and handsome, like thyself, find not necessary.”
“It may be so; yet, Huccuck, thou art more than suspected of being a
rogue; still, if the light helps thee to keep the venomous reptiles in
your box from escaping, it may remain; but as you value your liberty,
get thee hence before daybreak, for such are my lady’s orders.”
So saying, to our great relief, the slave quitted the hut. Having
allowed him sufficient time to get beyond earshot, we found our way to
our own room, when, notwithstanding our heroic resolutions not to close
our eyes till we had seen or heard of Marie, we were speedily in the
arms of Somnus.
“Claud! Claud! old fellow, awake; get up, there is such a to-do!” cried
Martin, early the next morning, at the same time that he pulled one of
my ears.
“Bother, don’t,” I replied, only half-awakened, but wholly vexed at
being disturbed.
“That brute of a snake has escaped from its box and the old hunchback.”
“It is no concern of ours. Serves old Huc--what’s his name?--right, for
not being more careful.” And I turned round to sleep again.
“But it _is_ a concern of ours, and may serve _us_ wrong, or any one
else in whose room or way it may happen to come. For shame, Claud! get
up! See, I am more than half-dressed.”
Now fully aroused, for he had tugged at both ears, I jumped out of
bed; and, hastily putting on my clothes, ran into the grounds with my
brother. There was indeed “a to-do,” as Martin had called it.
The hunchback, moaning and wailing for the loss of his dear friend and
companion, the partner in his means of obtaining a livelihood, and
around or near to him the servants and slaves of the household, males
and females, armed with garden implements, sticks--anything, indeed,
upon which they could place their hands. Terror-stricken, and every
now and then looking behind, as if they expected to find the reptile
at their very heels, they were listening to the tale of the serpent’s
escape, or offering advice as to the means of its recapture. Prabu came
up a minute after us, and seeing that, while all were talking, not one
seemed inclined to act, he cried to the men:
“Dogs and sons of dogs, stand not here like frightened curs! distribute
yourselves about the grounds; search every corner; examine every hole
and bush.” But still none moved until “my lady,” coming forward and
stamping her foot upon the earth, cried angrily, “Get ye gone; do as
you are bid. The man who kills the reptile shall have the weight of its
head in gold.”
At this the poltroons scampered off, all but Prabu and the hunchback,
who, addressing the lady in piteous, whining tones, cried, “Not _kill_,
dear lady; not _kill_. You would not deprive a wretched old man of his
daily rice.”
“Get you gone, wretch! join in the search; and, mark me, heartily shall
you be punished if, through your carelessness, harm happens to any one
in this house.”
“Come, Martin,” said I, “let us look for a stick or a fork, and help to
find the reptile.”
“Not so, boys; it is needless that you should incur danger. Get you
back into the house.”
“True, aunt,” said Martin; “but let us to our father’s room.”
“No, no!” exclaimed “my lady,” with a start of alarm; but, recalling
her words quickly, she continued, “Yes, to your father’s room, if you
will; but better to your own, for he is ill, and it will be cruel to
disturb him.”
“My lady, I will search all the rooms which open into the grounds; the
reptile may have crept into one of them,” said Prabu.
Those words frightened me. “Then our father’s first, good Prabu,” I
said; “for he sleeps with his door open.”
In another minute, without ceremony, we had passed through the French
windows of our father’s sleeping-room. The bed was at the other end,
and our parent, covered with a mosquito curtain, appeared to be
sleeping undisturbed by the hubbub.
“Thank heaven, our father is safe!” I exclaimed; but scarcely had the
words left my lips, when I stumbled--nay, fell--putting forth one hand
to save myself. Imagine my horror to find it upon the cold, clammy
skin of the reptile. It lifted its crest, and put forth its fang with
a hiss; but, luckily, Prabu was at my heels: for, as the hiss issued
from its jaws, his glittering creese at one blow divided its head from
its body. But an instant after I envied the reptile its death-wound. A
wild, prolonged shriek from Martin proclaimed the saddest incident of
my life. _Our parent was dead._
“The poor Sahib! my poor young master!” cried Prabu, looking upon the
bed. “It is the cobra’s bite.”
“No, not dead! say not dead, good Prabu! Send for a doctor; my father
may have swooned; he cannot be dead!” I cried, giving way to the
wildest grief.
But my brother’s conduct surprised me. He, so passionate, so impulsive,
after his first outburst of agony, said not a word. For a few minutes
he stared wildly in our parent’s face, then, throwing himself upon the
body and embracing him, he prayed of him to awake; but, seeming to have
realized the truth, he exclaimed, “My father has been murdered! I will
kill that hunchback!” and snatching the creese out of Prabu’s hand, he
darted off towards the spot where we had left the snake-charmer; but
the fellow had fled, mysteriously fled. Almost bereft of his senses by
grief, Martin rushed into the presence of our aunt.
“Wicked woman!” he exclaimed, “it is _you_ who have killed my father.”
“Hush! hush! my dear boy,” she replied, kindly, affectionately, taking
his hand and drawing him towards her; “you must not say such words; but
I wonder not, for this great calamity has well-nigh deprived me of my
senses. It is terrible, very terrible; but, my dear boy, you must not
give way to this wild grief, it will kill you. Come, come,” and she ran
her soft white hand through his chestnut locks. Still, notwithstanding
her affectionate manner, apparent grief at my father’s death, her
expressed indignation at the hunchback, and the large sum she offered
for his apprehension (although, except for carelessness, for what crime
he was to be apprehended I could not imagine), she did not succeed in
winning our love. Nay, even if we had not at the first entertained
a kind of instinctive dislike to her, we, who had been brought up
under the eye of an American mother, could never have been brought to
respect, not to say _love_, “my lady.” Her habits, her behavior to her
slaves and servants, were repugnant to our feelings. Of these habits
and ways the reader may judge from the following sketch of the class of
which she was to the full a representative:--
“The lip-lap ladies, _i. e._, natives of Batavia, are of a listless
and lazy temperament, not quitting their beds till about half-past
seven or eight o’clock (a late hour in the East). They spend the
forenoon in laughing, talking, and playing with their female slaves,
who, perhaps, a few minutes afterwards, they will have whipped most
unmercifully for the merest trifle. The greater portion of the day,
attired in a cool, airy dress, they lounge upon sofas or sit upon the
ground, with their legs crossed under them, chewing betel--a habit with
which, like most Indian women, they are infatuated. Not content with
this, they masticate the Java tobacco, which evil practice encrimsons
the saliva, and in time fringes their lips with a black border, and
causes their teeth to become black; the great excuse for the use of the
betel being that it purifies the mouth, and preserves them from the
toothache. To do them justice, these ladies are really not deficient
in powers of understanding, and would become very useful members of
society, endearing wives and good mothers, if they were but kept from
familiarity with the slaves in their infancy, and educated under the
immediate eye of their parents, who should be assiduous to inculcate
in their tender minds the principles of true morality and polished
manners. But, alas! the parents are far from taking such a burdensome
task upon themselves. As soon as the child is born, they abandon it
to the care of a female slave, by whom it is reared, till it attains
the age of nine or ten years. These nurses, being most frequently but
one remove above brutes in intellect, instil into the minds of their
charges prejudices and superstitions, which, increasing as they grow
to maturity, seem to stamp them rather as the progeny of half-witted,
mischievous slaves, than of civilized beings.
“In common with most of the women in India, they are excessively
jealous of their husbands and of their female slaves; and upon the
slightest pretext, they will have these poor bondswomen whipped with
rods and beaten with rattans till they sink down before them nearly
exhausted. Among other methods of torturing, they make the poor girls
sit before them in such a posture that they can pinch them with their
toes, with such cruel ingenuity that they faint away from excess of
pain. Yet are these lip-lap ladies much sought after by the Dutch
colonists for wives; for as soon as one of them becomes a widow, and
the body of her husband is interred (which is generally done the day
after his decease), she has immediately a number of suitors.
“Their dress is very light and airy. They have a piece of cotton cloth
wrapped round the body, and fastened under the arms next to the skin;
over it they wear a jacket and a chintz petticoat, which is all covered
by a long gown, or _kabay_, as it is called, which hangs loose; the
sleeves come down to the wrists, where they are fastened close, with
six or seven little gold or diamond buttons. When they go out in state,
or to a company where they expect the presence of a lady of a councilor
of India, they put on a very fine muslin _kabay_. They all go with
their heads uncovered. The hair, which is perfectly black, is worn in
a wreath, fastened with gold and diamond hair-pins, which they call
a _condé_. In the front, and on the sides of the head, it is stroked
smooth, and rendered shining by being anointed with cocoa-nut oil.
“They are particularly partial to this head-dress, and the girl who can
arrange their hair the most to their liking is the chief favorite among
their slaves. On Sundays they sometimes dress in the European style,
with stays and other fashionable incumbrances, which, however, they do
not like at all, being accustomed to an attire so much looser and more
pleasant in this torrid clime.
“When a lady goes out, she has usually four or more female slaves
attending her, one of whom bears her betel-box. They are sumptuously
adorned with gold and silver, and this ostentatious luxury the Indian
ladies carry to a very great excess.
“The title of ‘My lady’ is given exclusively to the wives of councilors
of India. The ladies are very fond of riding through the streets of the
town in their carriages in the evening. Formerly, when Batavia was in
a more flourishing condition, they were accompanied by musicians; but
this is little customary at present--no more than rowing through the
canals that intersect the town in little pleasure-boats: and the going
upon these parties, which were equally enlivened by music, was called
_orangbayen_.”