WE ARE HOODWINKED BY THE CHINESE, WHO ROBS US OF OUR ALL.
I felt very drowsy, as if suddenly awakened from a deep sleep. The
story of the murder of Jayeng Rono was still ringing in my ears; the
cunning leer of the Chinese was present to my mind’s eye; but _where_
was I?--afloat or ashore?--or--and I shuddered at the thought--once
more in that terrible nest-cavern?--or could I be really awake? No--it
must be nightmare. If so, a turn over upon my side--for I was lying
upon my back--would be sufficient. Well, I did turn--ay, over and over
again--and that proved I was not asleep in the sampan; but it proved
another disagreeable fact--namely, that I was stark naked, and rolling
upon a dry, sandy earth. Then the thought flashed through my brain
that I had been hocused--as it is termed in New York police-courts--by
the Chinese rogue; that the mangosteen of which we had partaken with
so much relish must have been steeped in some narcotic plant. But my
brother--where was he? On that head, however, I was soon set at ease;
for, coming to, I suppose, almost at the same moment as myself, he
cried out:
“Claud, old fellow!”
“Ay, ay, Martin.”
“Thank heaven, you are here somewhere,” he replied; “but where the
deuce are we? It is very dark--I can’t see. Is it to-day, to-morrow, or
yesterday?”
“To-day, I think; but I don’t know.”
“Then which end--night or morning?”
“That I don’t know; but I should say morning.”
“Ah! I have it,” he added, quickly; “we have been half-poisoned by that
rascally Chinese. Hang the thief! he has come in for a pretty thing,
our boat, rifles, and game.”
“Then he hasn’t stripped _you_ of your clothes, Martin?”
“Ah! but he has, though, the rogue!--only I thought of my rifle and
game first.”
“Come, Martin,” said I, “there is one consolation; there seems to have
been neither mosquitoes nor white ants about, since we have been here.”
“Bother! but I don’t know that--every here and there I feel as if I had
been drilled. When the light comes, perhaps we shall find ourselves
as full of small holes as a couple of colanders; but give me your
hand--that is, if you can tell where I am, by my voice.”
“All right,” I said; and, for a few minutes, we played a game of
blind-man’s-buff, and at length only succeeded in meeting, by both
tumbling over the same tree-stump. Then we took hold of each other’s
hand, and sat awaiting the first streak of daylight.
“Shouldn’t I like to come across Master Si-Ling? I tell you what,
Claud, I could even now forgive the fellow if he would only bring us
our clothes; for what a couple of fools we shall look to the first
person we meet, and how Prabu and the men will laugh at us, for being
so easily gulled!”
“Well, I don’t know: they ought not to laugh at us, for we shall at
least look the picture of innocence.”
“Ah! I have it, old fellow--I tell you what we will do.”
“What?”
“We’ll just rig ourselves out with palm-leaves.”
“A very good notion, Martin,” said I; and as soon as it became light
enough we gathered some; and, by dint of much perseverance and a little
ingenuity--such as using a piece of sharp stone for a knife, the fibers
of rattans for strings, and a thin piece of cane for a needle, or
rather piercer--we managed to encase our bodies in palm-leaves. Then,
each taking one leaf as a head-covering, we set out, barefooted, for
the river, which, as the ground we stood upon was very high, we could
see at a distance of little more than a quarter of a mile; and the
hearty laughs we had at each other’s appearance almost made us forget,
if not forgive, the Chinese rogue for the trick he had played us.
Still, our position was not by any means enviable: for we were obliged
to keep along the river-banks, with the chances of a tiger suddenly
springing from the jungle on one side, or a crocodile from the other,
without arms for our defense, and without shoes to protect our feet and
aid our running.
“Truly,” said Martin, “we should make a couple of nice morsels for the
breakfast of any tiger or crocodile out for an early stroll; but I
don’t care half so much about that, as the laugh they will have at us
on board the prahu.”
“Well, let us make the best of it, Martin; for, at least, we shall have
a _palmy_ time of it before we reach the prahu.”
“Have done, Claud--don’t pun. Don’t you know it has been said, that a
man who will make a pun will pick a pocket?”
“He would be a clever man who could pick ours now, Martin,” said I.
“But see, yonder is the carcase of the crocodile.”
“This is lucky, for we can’t be a great distance from the mouth of the
river. But, look you--yonder is a better sight,” he added, pointing
to a bend of the river, around which a man was paddling a sampan at a
rapid rate.
“Hurrah, old boy!” I cried; for it was Kati, on his return from the
town.
“I don’t cry hurrah, Claud, for I feel as if I should like to shrink
into my shoes.”
“The Chinese has prevented any such feat, Martin.”
“Oh, bother, Claud! but how shall we make him see us, for he is looking
neither to the right nor to the left?”
“Oh, that will be easy enough; but, first, let us put our heads through
the leaves, or he will never recognize us,” said I.
Then we put our heads through so that the leaves fell over our
shoulders like capes, but of a very odd fashion; and, as Kati pulled
nearer, shouted to him. At the sound of our voices he looked around,
but (as he afterwards related) taking us for a couple of those
forest-demons, which, from his childhood, he had been taught to believe
in, he gave a kind of shriek of surprise, and plied his oars the faster.
“Bother! what a fool he is to take us for wild beasts!”
“Wild beasts don’t walk on their hind legs, Martin. No--he takes us for
forest-demons,” said I, now really fearing that he would leave us where
we were.
“I will jump into the river, and, if it pleases the crocodiles, will
swim to him,” cried Martin.
“No, no--for heaven’s sake, no!” I cried, seizing his arm--“you shall
not; the river swarms with man-eaters. At least, let us try stones
first;” and at once I hurled at the boatman a stone, which hit him on
the back.
Now, no greater insult could have been offered to one of his race:
thus, forgetting his fear of demons, he turned the prow of his boat,
and, leaping ashore, creese in hand, prepared to run “a muck”; but,
as he came near, we tore the leaves from our shoulders. He stopped
suddenly, as if shot, or petrified.
“What demons,” he cried, “have taken the form of the young sahibs?”
“I told you he would take us for spirits, Martin,” said I.
“No, no,” replied my brother, approaching him, as he shrunk backwards
in no dissembled terror; “we are no demons, but real, right-down flesh
and blood, though packed in palm-leaves.”
“The Great Spirit protect His slave, but it is the sahibs!” he
exclaimed, affectionately, not embracing, but smelling us both.
“Yes, Kati, we are the sahibs, there is no doubt about it,” said
Martin; “and if you will not laugh at us for a couple of simpletons,
I will tell you how it happens that we are here, like masquerading
ourang-outangs”; and then he related our adventure with the professed
story-teller, to which Kati, having listened attentively, replied:
“That Chinese is a dog, and the son of a dog! The sahibs could not help
themselves, for he had mixed with the mangosteen the Kachubong.”[C]
“Come, Claud, that’s refreshing; for, of course, it was no more our
fault than if we had been stabbed in the dark, or shot at by some sneak
from behind a tree,” said Martin.
“The sahib is right, but if catchee long-tailed dog, he rob no man
more,” replied Kati, savagely, fingering the handle of his creese; and
then he completely restored us, or at least my brother, to good humor,
by telling us that it was a trick commonly practiced upon the natives
by the Chinese, illustrating it by an adventure that one of his
shipmates had met with about a year before.
This man, being upon a journey up one of the rivers, was accosted by a
Chinese from the bank, who requested a passage, for which he tendered a
fare and a share of his food. The sailor received him, and ate heartily
of the viands, which, being mixed with the datura, induced stupor and
heavy sleep; and when he awoke, he found himself lying stark naked in a
forest, fifteen miles distant from the place where he had taken in the
Chinese, robbed of his canoe and all his property.
As I have said, the tide was with us; we were not, therefore, long in
reaching the prahu, on board of which we were most heartily welcomed
by Prabu, who embraced us after the European fashion. Indeed, so
disconsolate had he been at our absence, and so delighted was he at
seeing us safe again on board, that he had but few words to say of
the rogue of a Chinese, or our loss of game and arms. As for our wild
shipmates, they crowded around to listen to our story, and having
heard it, flourished their creeses as savagely as if the Chinese had
been before them; all of which so pleased my brother, that I can only
describe it, at the risk of being thought vulgar, in his own words:
“These fellows, Claud, are ‘jolly bricks.’ Hang me, if one of them has
laughed at us! But, by Jingo, the fellows at our school would have
chaffed us not a little, if we, after nutting in the woods, had shown
ourselves in such a precious costume.”
“Ay, Martin; but then our schoolfellows were _civilized_, and these men
are only savages!”
“Why, Claud, do you mean to say that the more civilized we are, the
more prone are we to laugh at the misfortunes of our fellows?”
“Yes; some of the best jokes are made out of the real or fancied (it
matters not which to the butt) miseries of others, while savages are
always serious, either to friends or to enemies.”
“Claud, old fellow, you are a cynic.”
“That is better than being a wit, or witling, at the expense of the
feelings of others.”
“Well, I don’t know, perhaps you are right--I am not so wise an old
fellow as you; but see, Prabu is beckoning us to his cabin.”
Our captain had a meal ready, the best he could have made up,
consisting of hot rice, dried fish, a fish-sauce, and slices of pork,
to say nothing of a cup of hot rice-spirit, of which he insisted we
should partake before saying another word--which good things made
Martin bold enough to say:
“Now, Prabu, I don’t like half-confidence, and you know we shall be
in a pretty mess if the Dutch happen to catch us; besides, we are all
rowing in one boat, or prahu, which is the same thing. Do, therefore,
like a good old Prabu as you are, tell us upon what errand you sent
Kati up to that town with the very hard name?”
“Sahib,” replied Prabu, in measured tones, “I may tell you, Kati went
to tell the Chief of Pugar our adventure with the Dutch ships, that he
might be on his guard, knowing that the suspicions of the Government
had become excited.”
“New conspiracies!--I thought so,” said Martin, laughing.
“Not so, sahib, but a part of the old one,” replied Prabu, astutely.
“But, anyhow, you will manage to get us hanged, drawn, and quartered,
or something equally pleasant, if we don’t look out.”
“Will the sahib go ashore at Pugar? From thence it will not be
difficult to get back to Batavia, to Mynheer’s house, if he wills it;
nay, he shall have two of the best of the prahu’s men as guides,”
replied Prabu, but this time with a serio-comic manner, that showed he
understood my brother to be bantering him; but Martin, now in turn most
serious, answered:
“Do you mean that Pugar is the end of your voyage?”
“No, it is not half-way.”
“Then look you, Prabu, as I won’t do anything by halves, I will just go
the whole length with you, for ‘one may as well be hanged for a sheep
as a lamb.’”
“A bad proverb, and one that encourages the weak in vice, Master
Martin,” said I.
“Oh, bother, you old wiseacre! But, Prabu,” he added, addressing our
companion, “just lend us a couple of guns, and we will soon replace the
game lost by our simplicity and the rogue of a Chinese.”
“Sahib Martin,” he replied, “it is not possible; we have a good wind
now, and shall lose it by staying here longer.”
So, after all our adventures in search of fresh food, we had to
continue our voyage with but one pig: however, that was better than
none.
Upon our reaching Pugar, the last province to the east of Java, we
anchored at the mouth of the river, while Prabu, taking with him a
couple of boats, and several chests and casks of arms, proceeded into
the interior to have an interview with, and take fresh instructions
from, the Pangeran, his master. During his absence, which lasted eight
days, Martin and I amused ourselves by going ashore and killing small
game; for Prabu had given us two muskets--he possessed neither rifles
nor fowling-pieces. When he returned to the prahu, he appeared in
excellent spirits, and admitted us into his confidence so far as to
tell us that he was charged with a mission to the Rajah of Blilling,
a large sovereignty in the island of Bali, to whom, upon certain
conditions, he was to deliver arms, although what those conditions were
he would _not_ tell us.
We had a good, brisk wind nearly all along the coast, but as we entered
the straits which cut off the island of Bali from Java, we fell in with
a dead calm, which would have been monotonous indeed but for Prabu, who
would for hours sit and interest us with many particulars about the
island.
“What religion are the Balinese?” asked Martin, upon one of these
occasions.
“Hindoo, of the sect of Siva.”
“Then, like the people of Western India, they are divided into castes.”
“Yes--four--the Priesthood, Soldiery, Merchants, and Servants, called
_Brahmana_, _Satriya_, _Wisiya_, and _Sudra_.”
“What was the supposed origin of these castes, can you tell me?”
“Yes--the god Brahma produced the _Brahmana_ from his mouth, which
means wisdom; the _Satriya_ from his chest, which imports strength; the
_Wisiya_ from his abdomen, which implies that it is his business to
furnish subsistence to society; and the _Sudra_ from his feet, which
implies that he is destined to obedience and servitude.”
“Have they always been Hindoos?”
“No, sahib--the religion of Siva was introduced into Bali about four
hundred years ago; before that the prevailing religion was Buddhism. A
few years previous to the Mahomedan conversion of the Javanese, there
arrived in Java a number of Brahmins, of the sect of Siva, who received
protection from Browisoyo, the last Hindoo sovereign of Mojopahit, a
kingdom of Java, whose sea-bed was washed by the Straits of Madura; but
the latter kingdom being overthrown, the Brahmins fled to Bali, under
their leader Wahu Bahu, and there disseminated their doctrines.”
“But, Prabu,” I interposed, “is it not curious that the Mahomedans--
having, by their usual means, converted the whole of Java and the
adjacent islands to the faith of your prophet--should have permitted
the Balinese to continue the terrible worship of Siva?”
“‘What is written _is_ written.’ The time for their conversion had not,
perhaps, come; then the refugees were fierce and determined, and the
shores of Bali are inaccessible to conquerors, for they have neither
harbors nor even anchoring-ground.”
“Why do you call the religion of Siva terrible, Claud?” asked my
brother.
“Because it is a superstition of horrors--one that enjoins everything
that is terrible--blood and destruction. It is the reverse of
Christianity, even as black is to white; ay, and of Buddhism, which,
pagan as it is, yet teaches only that which is innocent and simple.”