on a certain day, not very long after the events narrated in the former chapters, a carriage drew up before the pandoppo of the regent’s house situated on the green of santjoemeh, where the members of the judicial bench of that district used to hold their court.
out of the carriage there stepped a gentleman who looked with some surprise at the concourse of people which had gathered around the house; but who, nevertheless, with calm and dignified air, walked up the steps which led to the interior.
that gentleman was mr. zuidhoorn, the president of the district-court, who, on the day appointed, had come to open the session.
the crowd assembled in front of the regent’s pandoppo consisted chiefly of javanese, a circumstance which could not but attract the notice of the judicial functionary, inasmuch as the native population, which was formerly so fond of frequenting the courts held under the wariengien trees of the village green by its native chiefs, now shows the greatest disinclination to enter the dutch courts of justice.
as a rule, the javanese is never seen there except he be fettered or under the escort of a couple of policemen—that is to say, either as a prisoner, as a criminal, or as a witness. among the crowd some chinamen also were conspicuous, and all were evidently awaiting with anxiety an event of no common interest.
“what is the meaning of this concourse, mr. thomasz?” [283]asked mr. zuidhoorn of the deputy-recorder, whom he met as he entered the pandoppo.
the latter, who was a half-caste, looked up at his chief with a puzzled expression of countenance.
“you stare at me very strangely,” continued mr. zuidhoorn. “what can have brought all this crowd of people together?”
“they are curious, i suppose, to know,” replied the recorder, not without hesitation, “how it will end.”
“how will what end?”
“well, sir, what will be the result of the session.”
“the session?” repeated mr. zuidhoorn, surprised in his turn, “is there anything very remarkable about it?”
the recorder evidently felt very ill at ease.
“sir,” he stammered, “you seem not to know what has taken place.”
“no, i don’t,” replied mr. zuidhoorn, “what is the matter?”
mr. thomasz was getting more and more nervous. his face, which was very sallow, began to assume a greenish yellow complexion. mr. zuidhoorn seeing the man’s confusion cried out:
“speak up for goodness sake, man, speak up!”
“the native members—of the council, sir—have received a letter from the resident—” he managed to stammer.
“a letter—!” exclaimed mr. zuidhoorn—“from the resident! what in the world about?”
“it was a letter, sir, forbidding them to attend this session.”
“forbidding them to attend!” exclaimed mr. zuidhoorn, now fairly astonished. “why, mr. thomasz, have you taken leave of your senses?”
“no, sir, indeed i have not,” replied the recorder with a painful smile. “you question me and i am obliged to answer—and further—”
“well, what else? out with it!”
“the chinese assessors and the head-djaksa have received similar communications—so that—”
“so that what?” cried the president impatiently.
“so that there will be no court held to-day since you will be the only member present.”
“is it possible?” exclaimed the president. “i tell you what, mr. thomasz, my carriage is still at the door, you jump into it and drive off at once to all the native members, and also to the chinese assessors, and to the djaksa, and tell them that i order them to come here without delay. to-day is the [284]assize-day, and i am determined that the cases shall be heard.”
“i will do as you bid,” replied the recorder. “you are my superior officer.”
“very good—make haste.”
as soon as the man had left, mr. zuidhoorn began pacing up and down the pandoppo in great excitement.
“it is a monstrous thing!” cried he to himself, “i could not—i dared not—suppose that they would carry matters so far! yet i ought to have foreseen something of the kind! yes—i am a great fool—why! when a few weeks ago i received a request from the resident to alter the order of the cases, a request with which i refused to comply, then i suspected that there was some scheme on foot; but that they would have adopted so arbitrary a course as this! a few days ago even, when i received a written statement from the resident informing me that i was no longer competent to preside over the court, because i had obtained leave of absence, even then i could not suppose that they would have recourse to so high-handed an infraction of the law. yesterday the resident informed me by word of mouth that he intended to avail himself of the right of presiding in person; but i made no reply, for i looked upon his words as a merely formal notice, and never dreamt that anyone could be foolish enough to tamper so offensively with the regulations of the court. yes! for a most stupid thing it is thus to enforce an old and obsolete rule, which was made when, as yet, there was no idea of any individual being specially appointed as president of the sessions. but—what can be the drift of all this? what can it all mean?” he asked himself as he paced up and down.
his eye lit upon the charge-sheet which the recorder had left lying on the green-baize cover of the table. he took it up and began to read out the cases inscribed upon it, making his remarks upon them as he went on.
“m?bok bardjo: accused of secretly conveying away coffee! poor people who are compelled to plant coffee, and are not allowed to drink it; but are obliged to put up with a wretched decoction of coffee-leaves!
“bariedin: charged with wearing in public a civilian’s cap—ridiculous! those fellows in the home department do make fools of themselves—such a trifle is high treason in their eyes.
“sarina: charged with deserting her infant child—that’s bad—not so bad however as flinging the poor little thing into [285]the river or the canal as they generally do at home in such cases.
“pak ardjan: accused—of—opium—smuggling—and wounding—a policeman! now i think i am coming to it—now a light dawns in upon me; and the next case?
“ardjan: accused—of—opium—smuggling! ardjan, the future husband of the baboe dalima!”
these two last cases mr. zuidhoorn had read so slowly and so deliberately that he seemed almost to spell every syllable; then, for a while, he stood lost in thought, while he put his finger to his forehead.
“how could i have forgotten that? and van nerekool, who so recently talked the whole of this business over with me!—and—the day after to-morrow i must be off to holland!
“well, no matter, those cases must be disposed of to-day, and they shall be disposed of at any price! i shall see about that!”
yes, the judge would see; but not in the sense in which he meant it; he would see that the court was not to sit at all that day.
when he had got thus far in his soliloquy, the door opened, and the regent of santjoemeh appeared, and with him came one of the most considerable of the native chiefs of the residence, radhen ngahebi wirio kesoemo. they were both members of the court, and it was their turn to be in attendance. they were accompanied by the panghoeloe or priest, carrying the inevitable koran in his hand. both the former dignitaries confirmed the statement of the deputy-recorder, and told mr. zuidhoorn that the resident had expressly forbidden them to attend the court on that day. “but,” they continued, “since the kandjeng toean judge has summoned us, we feel it our duty to obey his commands.”
“but,” asked the president, “what reason does the resident give for this prohibition?”
the regent merely shrugged his shoulders and, very prudently, made no reply. radhen ngahebi however said:
“yesterday i called upon the resident, and then the kandjeng toean informed me that, after having got leave of absence, you were no longer qualified to take the chair at the sessions; and that it was for that reason he had sent the letter.”
mr. zuidhoorn smiled contemptuously; but, in the presence of natives, he refrained from uttering a single word which might [286]have even a semblance of questioning the authority of the highest official who was the representative of the dutch power in santjoemeh. indeed he scarcely had time to speak, for very soon after the javanese chiefs and the chinese assessors also entered the pandoppo. they very cautiously and with infinite circumlocution informed the toean lakkel, thus they pronounced the word “rakker” which signifies judge, that they were not to blame for arriving so late.
at length the chief djaksa appeared. he made a ceremonious bow to the chairman and to the other members of the court and said, that he had that very morning been summoned into the presence of the resident, and that he had, from his lips, received a peremptory order not to attend the court.
“however,” he continued, “in my capacity of native judge i am under your immediate authority, and i have come to inquire how you wish me to act in this matter.”
as he spoke he made another deep bow to his superior officer.
“djaksa,” replied mr. zuidhoorn, “i have no commands whatever to give you. you occupy so high a position that i must leave you to judge for yourself what course you had better pursue. as far as i am concerned, i have most positively made up my mind to carry on the business of the court to-day; and, seeing that our number is now complete, i intend to open the proceedings at once. gentlemen, please to take your seats.”
scarcely, however, had they done so, and just as mr. zuidhoorn was in the act of bringing down his presidential hammer and declaring the sessions opened, the back door of the pandoppo was thrown open and the private secretary of the resident appeared on the threshold. he was in official costume and accompanied by a posse of policemen, one of whom held aloft behind him the resident’s unopened umbrella, in token that the secretary appeared as representative of his chief. without deigning to offer any greeting, the secretary began:
“you, radhen mas toemenggoeng pringgoe kesoemo, and you, radhen ngahebi wirio kesoemo, and you, panghoeloe mas ali ibrahim, and you, ong ang thay, and kwee lie liang—you have, as members, as priest, and as assessors of this court of justice, received a written order from the kandjeng toean resident distinctly forbidding you to attend here on this day. the kandjeng toean resident now sends me to inquire what can have induced you to commit so grave an [287]offence as knowingly and deliberately to disobey the command of him who is the direct representative of the kandjeng toean governor general, who again in batavia stands in the place of the kandjeng toean radja dari tana nederland dan hindia? speak, i am prepared to hear what explanation you have to offer for conduct so insubordinate? be well assured that whatever may be your excuse, the kandjeng toean resident will give it his calm and impartial consideration.”
the deepest silence succeeded this startling address. with the exception of the chairman, the men assembled there seemed annihilated by the secretary’s words, they hardly dared to draw a breath, they scarcely ventured to look at one another. they wished the ground would open and swallow them up. how could they have had the audacity of daring to disregard the express command of the mighty lord? their disobedience was indeed flagrant! would the kandjeng toean ever forgive them for it? such were the thoughts which passed through the brains of the fearless and independent judges who were considered fit and proper persons impartially to administer justice to their countrymen.
mr. zuidhoorn—who thoroughly knew the javanese character and who had learned to fathom the abject and cringing servility of the native chiefs towards their dutch masters—mr. zuidhoorn, who so often had compared them with the dog that licks the hand of the man that strikes him—looked with compassion on the poor creatures that showed such abject cowardice even when sitting in the very court to which they had been summoned to discharge duties, which, above all other duties, demand perfect fearlessness and independence. this servility, indeed, could hardly be laid to their charge; it was the natural result of the long system of extortion and bullying to which their race had been subjected.
once again the secretary very impatiently asked: “radhen mas toemenggoeng and radhen ngahebi, i am still awaiting the answer i am to carry to the kandjeng toean resident!”
after having looked round and waited a while to see whether any of the chiefs thus addressed would attempt to say anything in justification, mr. zuidhoorn, in a most dignified and impressive manner said:
“an answer, mr. secretary, which i will take upon myself to give you. i, in my capacity of president of this court of santjoemeh, to whom the members, the priest and the assessors, in all matters relating to this court, are directly subordinate, [288]i, this morning, sent to them my peremptory orders to attend here. the said members and assessors, therefore, are in no wise to blame—they have merely, in this matter, obeyed the commands which i, their superior officer, have issued to them. the entire responsibility rests upon me. be kind enough, mr. secretary, to communicate this my reply to the resident; and do not, by your presence, any further delay the business of this court.”
“mr. zuidhoorn, after leave of absence has been granted you, you have no right whatever to occupy the chair. i enter my protest against the course of action you have seen fit to adopt; and i call upon you now to resign your place to the resident who intends this day to preside in person.”
“mr. secretary,” replied mr. zuidhoorn with the utmost calmness, “it is not my intention to enter into any argument with you about my rights. you will inform the resident that i shall not resign my seat; and that i intend, to the last moment, to carry out conscientiously the duties of my office. again i request you to withdraw, in order that the court may proceed with the business it has before it.”
“mr. zuidhoorn!” cried the secretary, in a threatening tone of voice, “mind what you are about!”
“the entire responsibility rests upon my shoulders, mr. secretary. usher, clear the court, and see that it be not further disturbed!”
mr. van gulpendam flew into a foaming rage when he received the message. in a towering passion he strode up and down the front-gallery of the residence, the secretary striving like a dog to keep up with him, which his corpulence however would hardly allow him to do.
“what insolence!” shouted the great man, “what insolence! he shall pay for it! but—what to do now? meanwhile the trials are going on, and we shall have an acquittal no doubt. those law chaps are capable of anything! i know what i shall do—a company of soldiers! i shall have them driven out of the place at the point of the bayonet like so many sea-mews!”
he rushed into his office—forgetting, in his anger, that such napoleonic measures are not exactly suited to the taste of the dutch people—to send a note to the officer in command of the troops requesting him to come to him at once. as soon as he had written his precious epistle he bellowed out “oppas! oppas!!” in tones so stentorian that all the policemen and the [289]whole staff of servants on the premises came flying to the spot, thinking that some dreadful accident had happened. even the sentries, who were on duty, heroically brought their muskets to the charge against some imaginary foe; and, in this martial attitude, resolutely stood awaiting the things which might happen. fair laurentia was at the time very busy in the pandoppo discussing with her kokkie the mysteries of a fricasseed chicken. she also started up and came flying into the office while, with trembling hand, she sought to adjust her kabaja.
“what is the matter? what is the matter?” she cried.
but, before the resident had time to reply, and before he had despatched his note to the officer in command of the garrison, the deputy-recorder walked up the steps of the gallery.
the moment he saw him, van gulpendam knew that he was the bearer of some tidings, and, not able to restrain his impatience, he ran to meet him, impetuously crying out, “what is the matter, mr. thomasz?”
“resident, i have come to inform you that the court has risen and stands adjourned for a week.”
“what? adjourned? after what my secretary told me? have the members refused to sit? splendid fellows those natives!”
“no, no, resident, by your leave—the chiefs did not refuse at all.”
“didn’t they? then how did it come about?”
“i will tell you, resident. when mr. zuidhoorn was about to open the proceedings and when he spoke the words: ‘usher, clear the court and see that it be not further disturbed,’ he found that the usher had disappeared altogether.”
“the usher disappeared?”
“yes, resident, he had got out of the way.”
van gulpendam’s face beamed with satisfaction.
“but,” said he, “that would hardly put a stop to the proceedings?”
the secretary here interposed and said:
“as i was leaving the court i ordered the usher to write, from my dictation, a paper summoning mr. zuidhoorn and all the members of the court to clear out of the premises.”
“sharp practice that!” remarked van gulpendam.
“do you not approve of my conduct, resident?”
“of course, most certainly i do; but what took place next?” [290]
“the poor devil of an usher was so utterly dumfoundered that he could not hold a pen, and it was no use therefore to dictate anything to him. i then gave him the message to deliver verbally.”
“yes—and then?” asked van gulpendam.
“then i came away to tell you.”
“but i suppose,” continued van gulpendam—“you, mr. thomasz, will be able to tell us what happened?”
“when the usher again entered the court,” resumed the deputy-recorder, “he stammered forth a few incoherent and utterly unintelligible words, to which mr. zuidhoorn did not pay the slightest heed. he brought his hammer down, declared the session open, and turned to the chief djaksa to request him to read out the first charge.”
“what case was it, mr. thomasz?” asked van gulpendam with some curiosity.
“oh, it was some case of coffee-stealing, sir, some old woman—”
“oh yes, all right, go on!”
“yes,” continued the deputy-recorder, “mr. zuidhoorn might well look—and he did open his eyes uncommonly wide, for the chief djaksa, who, a moment or two before, was sitting by his side close to him,—he too had vanished.”
“vanished?” mr. van gulpendam burst out laughing. “i can picture to myself mr. zuidhoorn’s face!” he cried. “mr. thomasz, you are a capital story-teller. do go on—run off the log-line.”
the deputy-recorder continued:
“they looked high and low for the djaksa; but he could not be found. so one of the vice-djaksas had to be summoned. it was a curious thing however, that, although a few minutes before two or three were present in the pandoppo, they now had the greatest trouble to lay hands on a single one.”
“oh!” interrupted van gulpendam, “they managed to get one in tow at last?”
“yes, resident.”
“what a pity!” the exclamation escaped from the resident’s lips in spite of himself.
“there was no harm done, however,” continued mr. thomasz.
“how so? go on with your tale.”
“well, sir, when mr. zuidhoorn told the vice-djaksa that he called upon him to fill the place of the absent official, the poor fellow most suddenly was seized with a violent fit of colic!” [291]
“a fit of colic!” laughed van gulpendam. “what fun, what fun!”
“yes, and so severe was the poor fellow’s attack that he made the most extraordinary grimaces—in fact it literally doubled him up.”
“oh how rich—how very rich!” cried van gulpendam still laughing immoderately.
“and, at length—with both hands to his stomach—was compelled to rush out of the room.”
“with both hands!” shouted van gulpendam, “come anchor, anchor! thomasz, you will be the death of me.”
the deputy-recorder looked around with much gravity—never before in all his official career had he had such success as a low comedian, and, thinking he might venture further, he resumed:
“aye—but—resident, that was not the funniest part of it.”
“not? well give way—full speed ahead!”
“no, resident, the funniest part of the whole business was mr. zuidhoorn’s face. that’s what you ought to have seen. he sat there, with his mouth wide open, scowling over his spectacles which hung down low on his nose, after the retreating figure of the colic-stricken djaksa; and, in his loose gown, he looked for all the world like an old gingham umbrella in a cover much too big for it.”
“that will do! that will do! mr. thomasz,” grinned van gulpendam, “you have told your story splendidly!”
the deputy-recorder made a low bow in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“and what happened next?”
“why then, resident, nothing could happen—there was no djaksa, no usher of the court—so the session could not go on. the members present were smiling and were beginning to look at their watches; evidently they had had quite enough of sitting there to no purpose. so mr. zuidhoorn had no option—he brought down his hammer and adjourned the court for a week. thereupon i hurried off at once to bring you the news.”
“and capitally you have done it, mr. thomasz! i am much obliged to you—at the proper time i will repay your zeal.”
as soon as the deputy-recorder had left, van gulpendam turned to his secretary who, with folded arms, had stood listening to the conversation.
“our object, you see, has been attained—now to take advantage of the fair tide. you must take care that all the [292]documents are ready in good time—next week i purpose to take the chair myself at the assizes.”
“everything shall be in readiness, sir,” replied the secretary; “but will you allow me to make one remark?”
“by all means, secretary—fire away!”
“the whole of this business seems to me to be a very serious game.”
“how so?” exclaimed van gulpendam, “do you think i am afraid of burning my hands in cold water?”
“what i mean, resident, is this. it is a very lucky chance indeed that mr. zuidhoorn happened to disregard your injunction and that he was thus compelled to adjourn the court for another week.”
“well!” cried van gulpendam impatiently, “cut it short.”
“if he had not done so,” continued the secretary, “you would this day have presided—would you not?”
“certainly, and then we should have settled matters by this time.”
the secretary scratched his ear.
“resident,” said he thoughtfully, “are you sure of mr. meidema?”
“sure of meidema? what has he to do with it?”
“the opium-haul they made at moeara tjatjing,” continued the secretary, “is a pretty valuable one. i fancy that meidema is rather looking forward to reaping some benefit from the confiscation which must follow the sentence of the court.”
“has he told you so? has he given you any hint to that effect?”
“not exactly, resident. but you must remember mr. meidema has a large family to provide for; and it is whispered in santjoemeh that he finds some difficulty in making both ends meet. indeed it would not surprise me to hear that he is in debt. so, you see, a little windfall of that kind would come in very handy.”
“but,” said van gulpendam “he has no right to any such thing—the law forbids it.”
“you are quite right, resident, nothing ever escapes your eagle eye; but yet—‘il y a des accommodements avec le ciel,’ and therefore—”
“but how?” asked van gulpendam testily.
“look you, resident, that i can’t tell you—i don’t know; but i fancy some loophole could be found. in this particular case, for instance, baboe dalima is the real discoverer. now [293]supposing she, in order to save her ardjan, should hand over her share or part of it—and remember she can have not the slightest idea of its value—to a third party?”
for a moment or two the resident reflected, then with a smile he turned to his secretary and said:
“well—even if that were so—that does not explain to me why i should distrust mr. meidema. as far as i can see, any hope of sharing in the profits of the confiscated tjandoe would make him as pliable as spun yarn.”
“it is very possible, resident, your judgment is seldom at fault; but you must not lose sight of the 23rd clause of the opium-law. for myself, i would not mind swearing that mr. meidema is shaping his course with his eye on that particular clause. in the case which he, as head of the local police, has drawn up, you will notice that though he states the opium to have been found not far from the prisoner ardjan, yet he takes care to add that the javanese came ashore in a small surf-boat which could not possibly have conveyed so large a quantity, and which, moreover, was dashed to pieces by the waves; whereas the packages discovered show no trace whatever of having been in contact with water.”
“is that mentioned in his report?”
“yes, resident, it is, and there is something else. he draws attention to the fact that the schooner brig kiem pin hin was seen cruising about off the coast on the night in question, and that the cutter of the matamata gave chase to a boat of the smuggling vessel.”
“did you read that report?” asked van gulpendam who now began to be really alarmed. “very possibly you are on the right tack,” the resident muttered rather than said. “now, mr. secretary, be kind enough to hand me mr. meidema’s report as soon as ever it reaches our office, and further send an oppasser to request that gentleman, in my name, to step over here at once.”
this, of course, was a dismissal in optima forma.
when van gulpendam found himself alone he looked up the act of 1874 and said:
“the secretary mentioned clause 23 i think. let us see. oho! a fine of one thousand to ten thousand guilders! and, when i come to consider how, on the evening of the occurrence, mr. meidema laid stress upon the exact value of the capture of tjandoe—yes, then i am driven to confess that our secretary may perhaps be in the right channel after all.” [294]
he sprang up from his seat, and with rapid steps began to walk up and down the gallery.
“oh!” cried he gnashing his teeth with vexation—“all this bother brought on by that wretched fellow van nerekool! oh—if anna would but consent!”
