“hurrah! they have turned tail, they are making off!” exclaimed mokesuep.
that hero had all the while been trembling with fear; he had been in mortal terror lest the pigs should break through the line of fire; for if they had succeeded in doing so, a close struggle with the sword bayonet would probably have ensued. therefore he had most anxiously been peering about to see if he could discover any way of retreat up the steep mountain sides. if, during that morning there had been shots fired which had flown wide of the mark, such misses had been due to his shaking hand. indeed, some of his bullets had gone right over the wall of rock which hemmed in the ravine on all sides; but most fortunately had not injured any of the javanese who were beating on the other side. the unpleasant whistling, however, of the projectiles from mokesuep’s rifle had scared the natives, and it was in a measure owing to those stray shots that the beaters had given up the battue rather sooner than they ought to have done.
grenits was in a rage. “what are you hurrahing about,” cried he to mokesuep, “you were never born to be a nimrod, that’s plain enough!”
“well,” stammered the coward, whose lips were still white with fear; “it is all right, is it not?”
“all right!” cried grenits, “no, it’s all wrong. don’t you see that the remnant of the herd will get clear away? come! forward! they are getting away, i tell you, we must get after them and not let a single head escape! forward, boys, forward!”
the other young men, who were just as much vexed as was grenits at the unsatisfactory result of their hunt, rushed into the pass together rifle in hand. mokesuep only, very prudently remained behind, not even could the wedono get him to follow by crying out to him, “come! quick, sir.” our hero merely shook his head and stood looking after his companions until they disappeared out of his sight. then throwing his rifle over his shoulder he took the road to banjoe pahit as he muttered to himself:
“no doubt, that’s all very well; but i shall take precious [216]good care not to come into contact with that filthy vermin. no, no, i shall go and have a chat with the wife of verstork’s cook—who knows what i may manage to do in that quarter! a nice little woman that! a devilish sly dog that controller; what fun if i could get some shooting over his preserves!”
thus mumbling to himself he walked along and had gained the upper entrance to the djoerang pringapoes. from that eminence he could command a fine extensive view over the broad rice-fields which rose in terraces on the hill-slopes, and whose surfaces, flooded with water at that time of the year, lay glistening in the bright sunshine like so many polished mirrors. it was as yet very early—scarcely half past seven o’clock. mokesuep stood there looking all around him, not indeed in admiration of the beauties of nature; for a creature of his stamp could have no eye for that kind of thing; but gazing about anxiously and more than half frightened at the silence and solitude in which he now found himself after the riot and confusion down in the ravine. in the far distance he could still distinguish the shouts of the hunters and could now and then hear a shot fired by them at the retreating game; but the noise of the hunt grew fainter and fainter, and as it gradually died away in the depths of the djoerang, not another sound was heard round about. this sudden stillness had something very disquieting about it. mokesuep half wished that some human being would appear to share the solitude with him, and yet, on the other hand, he was wholly afraid of meeting with some of the natives. he had heard dreadful tales of the robbers by which some of the inland parts of java were infested and rendered unsafe; and though he had a rifle slung from his shoulder which might have inspired any other man with confidence, he was of far too cowardly a nature to put any trust in his weapon. he stepped along slowly and cautiously, and presently, at the foot of a small range of hills lying to the northward and which formed a continuation of the chain of mountains in which the djoerang pringapoes was situated, he discovered a solitary hut, partly hidden away in the thick underwood which grew around it. close by a couple of oxen were grazing by the side of a pathway. this little road ran past the hut to the north-west, and winded along the low dykes of the rice-fields. as mokesuep traced the pathway in its course over the hill-slopes, he suddenly perceived a human figure evidently making for the hut. it was the form of a woman, of that there could be no doubt. mokesuep breathed [217]freely again; in the presence of a woman, especially if that woman happened to “be a native, he felt brave enough; so he determined to wait for her, to try and enter into conversation and to walk pleasantly and sociably together to banjoe pahit. the approaching form, standing out boldly over the flooded rice-fields and reflected in their shining surface grew more and more distinct with every moment.
“by jove,” muttered mokesuep, after having watched her for awhile, “by jove, what a pretty girl! all the better for me—i shall have a charming walk with that dear little thing!”
he was, however, altogether out in his reckoning. when the girl got close to the hut, she took a side path which ran in a south-easterly direction downwards amongst the rice-terraces, and which appeared to lead to kaligaweh. great was mokesuep’s disappointment at seeing this, and he was about to call out to her. just then a javanese came out of the hut and began beckoning to the girl.
“by heaven!” muttered mokesuep, “that is singomengolo, the opium spy. what in the world is he doing here?” and immediately he concealed himself behind some bushes which were growing by the wayside.
it was indeed singomengolo, the wretch whom the evening before we saw leaving kaligaweh and riding to the lonely hut. again and again, he beckoned to the girl; but as she did not heed him, he cried out:
“dalima!”
at this call the girl turned for an instant. yes, it was pretty little dalima, the baboe in the family of mrs. van gulpendam. she stopped for a moment, while her features showed undisguised terror as she recognised the notorious opium-hunter, whom she knew well by sight. she did not, however, stop for more than a single instant, and then sped on again as fast as she could.
“dalima!” again cried singomengolo, “dalima, where are you hurrying to?”
“i am going to kaligaweh,” said the girl in a nervous tone of voice.
“well, just come here for a moment,” continued singo.
“no, no,” she replied, “i have not an instant to spare, i must get to my father as quickly as i possibly can,” and again she sped on her way.
“come here, i say,” cried singomengolo, “i have something to tell you about your father!” [218]
“oh, yes, i know,” rejoined the young girl, “they told me father is very ill—that is why i am in such a hurry.”
“you are wrong,” cried singo, “your father is not ill—it is something much worse than that.”
the girl stopped at once: “worse than that?” she asked, “tell me, is he dead?”
“no—much worse!”
“by allah—what is it?”
“come here,” said singo, “and i will tell you. there are things, you know, that one cannot shout out by the wayside.”
this brought dalima to his side. as she walked up to him, she had to pass the bushes behind which mokesuep was lying concealed—in fact, in passing she brushed by them. as usual dalima was very neatly dressed. round her waist she wore a gaily coloured sarong, her bodice was of pink cotton, and over her shoulders was folded a red kerchief, from one of the points of which dangled a bunch of keys.
she had a double melattie flower in her thick heavy tresses, which, in the midst of that ebon-black mass of hair, looked like a pretty white rose. just then her face was covered with a rich flush caused partly by the exertion of her long walk, partly by the pleasant coolness of the morning air; but this rich colour added animation to her pretty features, and blended most harmoniously with the deep bronze of her complexion.
the experienced eye of the concealed fiscal functionary did not allow a single one of these charms to escape it. yes, there were certain cases in which mokesuep was by no means insensible to the beautiful, though its contemplation generally awakened evil passions in his breast; and not unfrequently led to criminal designs. what might have happened had he walked alone with dalima to banjoe pahit, who can tell. for the present the appearance of singomengolo forced him to remain in hiding.
when the girl had come close to the hut, she asked again: “what is the matter? tell me!”
“come in with me,” replied the opium-spy, “and i will let you know why your father has been taken into custody.”
as he said these words, dalima suddenly uttered a loud shriek. singomengolo thought, of course, that the news he had told her and his rough manner of conveying it, had wrung that cry from the young girl; but dalima had turned round abruptly and was trying to run away as fast as her feet would carry her. the fact is, she had, through the half open door [219]of the hut seen the odious face of lim ho gazing at her with eyes dilated with passion. that sight made the poor girl turn and dart away; but she had hardly gone a few yards before singomengolo overtook her, and grasping her wrists, tried, by main force, to drag her along with him into the hut. dalima resisted with all her might. she screamed for help, she kicked at her captor and tried to bite the hands with which he held her arms tightly clasped. in fact she fought as desperately as a wild cat, determined to resist and defend herself to the very last. she was in hopes also that her cries might possibly be heard, for she was under the impression that just now she had seen a european on the pathway which crossed the road she was taking. any other man but mokesuep would have flown to the rescue of the poor child; who knows to what excess of heroism even he might have allowed himself to be carried—not indeed out of any feeling of kindly sympathy or from any chivalrous promptings; but in the hope of perhaps—yes—in such a mind as his the foulest thoughts will spring even as venomous toad-stools on an unclean soil. but—he also had caught sight of lim ho—he had noticed that face burning with ignoble passion. at a glance he understood what was going on, and, at the same time, he resolved to keep perfectly quiet in order that he might reap the fullest advantage out of the situation.
lim ho’s father was an enormously wealthy man, and when the safety or reputation of his son was concerned he would not mind coming down handsomely—a couple of thousand guilders or so were nothing to a man of that kind.
poor little dalima! in utter despair she had flung herself to the ground, most heartrending were her shrieks of agony, help! help! but it was all in vain. the mean wretch who might, by merely raising his hand so to speak, have set her free, kept himself snugly concealed. he looked upon the struggle with cynical eye, nay was actually gloating with satisfaction at the glimpses which now and then he caught of the charms, which, in the violence of her resistance, dalima could not always keep concealed. this went on for some little time, and singomengolo began to feel that it was impossible for him to drag her along any further without assistance from lim ho. he called to the chinaman to come to his aid. the latter at once obeyed the call, came out of the hut, and tried to clasp the girl in his arms and thus carry her along. but when, in that attempt, he got a very painful bite in the ear, the [220]wretch became mad with fury. he laid hold of the mass of hair which in the struggle had become loosened, and was now quite unrolled, and twisting his hand into the heavy tresses while singomengolo still held the girl’s wrists, he dragged her by main force into the hut. for a considerable time after that the fearful shrieks “help! help! toean!” were still heard; but gradually they grew fainter and fainter until at length they ceased altogether. in the very far distance rifle shots still resounded; but even if dalima could have heard them in the excitement of the struggle, she must have understood that her voice could not possibly reach so far, and that, in any case, if help did come, it must come too late.
how did dalima happen to be on the fatal spot at that early hour?
the reader may remember how that, after having accomplished his heroic deed in the dessa kaligaweh, singomengolo had ridden away and had taken the direction of the lonely hut in the hill-country; and how, on his arrival, he had sent the man who lived there as his messenger to santjoemeh. this man had two commissions to execute. in the first place he was told to go and give into lim ho’s own hands a little note with which singo had entrusted him, and, after having done that, he was to call at the residence and was to tell baboe dalima that her father setrosmito had suddenly been taken dangerously ill and that he was most anxious to see her. the messenger, who was a very shrewd and clever fellow, had at once jumped on the back of one of those small and ugly, but well-nigh indefatigable javanese ponies, whose muscles of steel seem never to tire and carry them in a surprisingly short space of time over vast distances. it was about eleven o’clock when he reached the stately mansion of babah lim yang bing. he was very lucky, for he was not kept waiting a single instant, as lim ho happened to be within at the time. the son of the rich opium farmer lay reclining luxuriously upon a splendid divan, his long chinese pipestem was between his lips and by his side on a small table stood a cup of arrack. he was listening in a kind of rapture to two of his servants, who, like himself, were children of the celestial empire. these fellows seated on low ivory stools were twanging on a kind of two-stringed fiddle or guitar, and were drawing tones out of their instruments which would not only have horrified a vieuxtemps or a paganini, but would have instantly dispersed even a meeting of tom-cats who, in the matter of harmony, are not usually [221]reckoned to be exacting. lim ho no sooner caught sight of singomengolo’s emissary, than he jumped up from the couch, grasped the letter which the man held out to him, and eagerly scanned the very few words it contained. it was a document brief and laconic as a telegram but, to lim ho, of the deepest significance. the words it contained were only these: “everything ready, be here by seven in the morning.” the chinaman pulled out his watch, he looked at the time while he asked the messenger what the weather was like.
“bright moonlight, babah,” was the man’s reply.
lim ho then dismissed him, flinging him a rix-dollar, and telling him to be specially careful how he discharged his second commission. he ordered him to come and report the result to him, then he ordered his horse to be saddled and waited.
the man did not find his second task quite such an easy one to perform as the former. the resident van gulpendam and his wife were seated with some visitors at the usual card-tables; but the daughter of the house had already retired to her own room, and had given her baboe leave to go to bed without waiting up any longer. the fellow found it therefore necessary to go to the back of the premises, and at length he contrived to get one of the servants to go and rouse dalima.
the young girl was terribly shocked at hearing the dreadful tidings of her father, whom the rascal represented as being in a dying state. she at once rushed into the pandoppo and entered the bedroom of her young mistress who, fortunately, had not yet retired to rest.
“nana, give me leave!” she cried, in the greatest agitation, as soon as she had opened the door.
“come,” said anna, “what is the matter with you? do try and be calm.” the young lady had perceived at once that there was something very wrong, and tried to quiet her servant’s excitement by herself remaining perfectly cool and self-possessed.
thereupon dalima told her that a man had just arrived from kaligaweh with a message from her father who was lying at death’s door, and who wished, for the last time perhaps, to see his daughter.
“oh, nana,” begged the poor girl, “do try and get me leave to go home!”
“but, dalima,” objected anna, “what is the time?” and looking at a handsome clock on a console close by, she continued, [222]“why it is close upon midnight!—it is out of the question—you could not possibly go out in the dark!”
“oh!” cried dalima, in pleading tones, “nana knows that i am very brave. i know the way perfectly. i shall take the short cut over the hills; by that road i shall get to kaligaweh without meeting anybody.”
“that is just it,” rejoined anna; “it is that very solitude that i am most frightened at. you might come across a tiger or a wild boar.”
“why, nana! there are no tigers anywhere in the neighbourhood; if there were we must have heard of them, and as for boars, i am not the least bit afraid of them, they always run away if they possibly can. do pray, dearest nana, get me leave to go. i promise you that by to-morrow night i shall be back again.”
“i don’t at all like the idea of it, dalima. what will mamma say?”
“oh, nana dear,” cried the baboe, in despair, “do pray go and try—do pray go and ask madam!”
“she is quite sure to refuse,” said anna.
“why should she?” persisted the girl.
“she will be just as much afraid as i am that in the darkness of the night some accident may happen to you. how can you possibly dare to undertake such a journey, dalima?”
“my father is dying—he wants to see me!” cried dalima. “that is quite enough to give me courage for anything, miss anna. i would go to kaligaweh even if i knew that the road was full of ghosts—yes, if there were a ghost behind every tree! yet, i am much more frightened of ghosts than of beasts or of men. nana, i beg and pray—do go and ask your mother!”
“well,” said the tender-hearted young girl, “i will go and try; but mind you, i know it will not be of the slightest use.”
“thank you, nana, thank you.”
thereupon miss anna rose from the divan upon which she had taken a seat after she had admitted dalima. she thrust her dainty little feet into a pair of slippers she had carelessly thrown off. the young girl was already partially undressed, and had been reclining in only her sarong and kabaai; but she very soon threw about her a richly embroidered morning gown, with a few turns of her dexterous hand she twisted the rich mass of her loose-hanging hair into a knot, and ran to the front-gallery in which her parents and the other card-players were still engaged in their game. [223]
to her great surprise fair laurentia made no difficulty at all, and at once acceded to her daughter’s request, stipulating only that, before setting out, dalima should finish some needle-work which she had given her to do and which she particularly wished to have ready by the morning.
oh, no! mrs. van gulpendam had no objection whatever to dalima’s going to kaligaweh; on the contrary, she thought it very praiseworthy in the girl that she showed so much devotion to her parents. a honey-sweet smile hovered on her lips as she gave her gracious permission, and no one—least of all her pure and innocent daughter—could have guessed at the awful abyss of wickedness which lurked behind that sunny smile.
highly pleased with the result of her attempt, anna hastened with her good news to dalima, and in the kindness of her heart she gave up a considerable portion of her night’s rest to assist her baboe in getting through her task of needle-work.
it is a dreadful thing to have to say; but laurentia had not made that stipulation about finishing the work without an object. her object was to delay dalima’s departure, so that she might not reach the hut in the middle of the night, and, in the darkness, perhaps pass it unobserved. diligently assisted by her mistress, the baboe was able to set out on her journey about three o’clock in the morning. after having affectionately taken leave, dalima left the premises by the back-way through a small garden gate, of which anna had procured her the key. this gate took her straight into the road which led over the hills to kaligaweh. the moon was shining brightly in the heavens, and thus the girl was able to walk along rapidly, and soon she lost sight of santjoemeh while not a single thought of danger crossed her brain.
lim ho had been informed by singomengolo’s messenger that the pretty baboe had received the news of her father’s illness—the reader however knows that a far different calamity had befallen setrosmito—so he said in a highly satisfied tone:
“that is all right. you must be tired out, and i don’t suppose you care to return to your hut to-night? eh?”
“no, babah,” was the man’s answer.
“very well, my people will show you a bedroom, you can go and have a rest. to-morrow i will pay you for your service.”
as soon as the fellow had disappeared, lim ho consulted his watch.
“nearly one o’clock,” he muttered to himself, and then aloud he added: [224]
“than loa, is the horse ready saddled?”
the servant replied with a couple of chinese words, whereupon lim ho rose. he put on a kind of cap without peak, in shape not at all unlike a scotch bonnet, then he snatched up a riding-whip and leaped into the saddle.
“don’t go to sleep—keep good watch—mind,” he cried to his servant as he rode off, and setting spurs to his horse he was soon out of sight.
the main road which he took was a much longer one than the narrow foot-path which dalima had chosen; but by starting thus early he knew he could easily get before her. he did not know that before she could set off to her father’s bedside the poor girl would have a good deal of sewing to do, and he thought therefore that he had to hurry in order to be in time at the hut. but his horse was a fine animal of persian breed, and he felt confident that it would bring him to the spot before dalima could possibly reach it.
it was about half-past three when he dismounted and joined singomengolo, whom he found waiting for him.
the pair of villains sat down to consult about the best way of carrying out their infamous attempt. during this consultation lim ho repeatedly showed signs of impatience at dalima’s unexpected delay. they were still talking together when the day began to dawn, and presently the sun rose, when, of a sudden, a dreadful outburst was heard in the far distance—a noise was heard of yelling, of rattling, of banging—it seemed as if the world was coming to an end. lim ho started up in terror from the mat upon which he was seated by the side of the opium spy.
“what on earth may that be?” he cried.
“oh,” replied singomengolo as calmly as possible, “that is nothing at all—only the toean controller of banjoe pahit going on a pig-hunt—the dessa folk of that place and of kaligaweh are beginning to beat up the game.”
“how do you know that?” asked lim ho.
“i was at kaligaweh yesterday, and there i met the controller and the company he has with him; they came to make the necessary arrangements for the day’s hunting.”
“you were at kaligaweh?” asked lim ho.
“of course i was, babah,” replied singo quietly. “i was there,” he continued with a nasty smirk, “to catch old setrosmito at opium-smuggling.”
“aye, aye,” said lim ho, “that’s true, i know now.” [225]
lim ho pronounced these words in a tone of voice which showed that to him the infamous plot whereby a victim had been removed out of his father’s way, was the most trifling incident in the world, a bagatelle which had wholly escaped his memory.
“and did you succeed in finding opium?”
“of course i did,” replied singomengolo, “you know well enough, babah, that i always succeed when it suits me to try.”
“yes, yes,” said lim ho in a patronising way, “you are a clever fellow, there is no doubt about that. dalima’s father has, i suppose, been got rid of at least for a few weeks?”
“yes, for a longer time than a few weeks,” replied singo very significantly.
“how so? has anything else happened then?”
“setrosmito has run amokh and has killed a countryman of yours outright, and severely wounded a policeman. it was precious nearly all up with me too; but i managed to slip away from him in the very nick of time.”
“good! good!” said lim ho, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “so that?” he continued.
“so that,” remarked singomengolo, “dalima’s father, if they don’t hang him, will be at the very least imprisoned for life.”
“you know,” said lim ho, “that was wonderfully cleverly managed. but what’s up now?”
in the distance a well sustained rifle-fire was heard, in fact the chase had begun.
“it is only the gentlemen in the djoerang pringapoes. they are firing at the wild-pigs i suppose. allah prosper them!”
“but,” said lim ho, “may not those white fellows get into our way, the ravine, you know, is not so very far off.”
“the toeans,” said singo, “are a great deal too much engrossed in their sport to take any notice of what we are about. for myself, i much prefer to hear them blazing away yonder to their heart’s content in the djoerang pringapoes, than to know that they are sitting quill-driving in their offices. your white man with a pen in his hand is a much more formidable creature, and is much more formidably armed too, than when he handles a rifle.”
thus they sat talking and listening to what was going on beneath them in the djoerang, while time was rapidly passing away.
“but dalima does not seem to be coming,” signed lim ho, with impatience.
“yes, she is,” said singo, “yonder on that path between the rice-fields i see some one—that must be she.” [226]
“look, look!” cried lim ho, in consternation, “there from the ravine comes a white man—now we have lost our chance.”
singomengolo turned his eyes in the direction which lim ho indicated, and, as he looked, he muttered a deep curse; he saw at once that the chinaman had not been mistaken. yet, he could not make out at all who it could be so quietly making his way towards the hut. he was one of the shooting party, there could be no doubt about that, for he carried a rifle and came from the direction of the djoerang. and that wretched mar-plot must come right across dalima’s path, just as she was coming in the other direction! everything had been so carefully planned—and now—that brute! it was enough to drive a fellow mad! but the next moment lim ho cried out joyously:
“by jove, it is toean mouse-head that is coming along there. i know him perfectly well. now i don’t mind a bit. i know him. you may call the baboe as much as you like, there is no danger. i will square matters easily enough with that fellow yonder!”
lim ho had recognised our friend mokesuep. as the reader has been told, that gentleman used familiarly to be called by almost everyone in santjoemeh, “muizenkop,” and this nickname some wags had translated into javanese. thus he went by the name of kapala tikoes, or the mouse-head. singomengolo also recognised the exciseman of santjoemeh, and now he no longer felt much apprehension that his detestable plot would be frustrated.
“a mere matter of money,” said he to the chinaman, with a significant smile.
as dalima came to the crossway, and was about to enter the path which ran down to kaligaweh, the opium-spy had left the hut, and was preparing to call to her to stop, when he saw the european hastily conceal himself behind the clump of bushes by the roadside. this move on the part of mokesuep completely reassured the accomplices, and their wicked plot was crowned with the success with which the reader has already been made acquainted.
even had mokesuep felt any inclination to present himself in the character of rescuer, that impulse was wholly extinguished the moment lim ho appeared upon the scene. the wretched coward only hid himself more closely behind his screen of leaves as he muttered: [227]
“by jove, dame fortune is playing into my hand—no one but an ass would refuse so fair an offer.”
meanwhile the despairing cries of poor little dalima were gradually dying away as her strength began to fail, and as she became utterly exhausted.
“help, help! toean, help!” was the last piercing shriek which re-echoed in that solitude. the only response, alas! was the well-sustained rifle-fire in the distance.
