a long the rough mountain path which runs winding through the volcanic region of soembrieng and lindoro, baboe dalima, a few days after her acquittal and release, was stepping along with her usual firm and springy tread. she was clad with the utmost simplicity in sarong and kabaja, but was as neat and tidy as in the days when she was anna’s favourite servant. on her shoulder, tied up in a shawl, she carried a bundle containing probably some articles of wearing apparel. we must notice also that she was not barefooted; but wore a pair of sandals to the use of which she seemed perfectly accustomed. it was evident, therefore, that the girl intended [371]to take a long journey, while her outward appearance showed that she must already have got over a considerable amount of ground. how then did dalima get to the spot where now we find her, at so great a distance from kaligaweh, and what was the object of her journey?
immediately after her release, she had made, as we saw in the last chapter, some anxious inquiries after nonna anna. when she was told that her young mistress had gone to karang anjer and had then disappeared without leaving a trace, her simple brain had set to work; and there arose within her the determination to go and seek for anna on her own account. she had but little comprehension of the social relations which exist between europeans; but somehow her instinct told her that her beloved nana must be in distress. she felt that the dear girl must be sorely in need of a companion, and so the faithful creature at once devoted herself to share the load of sorrow with her former mistress. but, karang anjer was a great way off—in her estimation the distance seemed infinite. her friends in the dessa had told her that it lay somewhere yonder, not far from the great sea, and near to the territory of the queen of the south, a mysterious being of whom the javanese stand in the greatest awe.
but all that could not deter her. she made up her mind to summon up courage and to plod resolutely on, even though, as her friends again had informed her, the road might take her along seething solfataras, along burning mountains, along dizzying precipices and through lonely forests. she could travel only by day for fear of the wild beasts. other fears she had none; for she knew that no man would wantonly molest her; and her outward appearance was not such as to suggest that she had anything to lose. and yet she did possess a treasure, which she had anxiously hoarded and had tied up in a handkerchief and now was carrying with her in the bundle which hung from her shoulder. when she lay in prison at santjoemeh, nonna anna had, from time to time, sent her small sums of money; van beneden also and van nerekool when they visited her to gather particulars for her defence, never failed to leave a few coins with the poor javanese girl. all these presents she had thankfully accepted and most carefully saved up; for she always had an eye to the future. in this manner she had collected quite forty guilders, and this money, she had before starting, changed into twopenny and fivepenny pieces, knowing well that the sight of guilders or rixdollars might attract the [372]attention of the evil-disposed, and might bring trouble upon her.
this money had, in fact, for some time been constantly present to her mind, and had been the cause of some hesitation before she finally could make up her mind to undertake her long journey. she had anxiously hoarded it to meet the expenses which she knew must soon come upon her. the money was dear to her, for she would not be a burden upon her poor mother, who, now that her father was a prisoner, had already trouble enough to feed her little brothers and sisters. this money she had clung to, for young as she was, she knew that a time of need would soon be at hand. but all these considerations vanished as she thought of her nana—then she wavered no longer. her own unhappy condition, indeed, gave her but little uneasiness. she knew how kind-hearted her country-women are, and she felt sure that in the hour of need, she would find some hospitable roof to shelter her; and that even the very poorest would reach her a helping hand, and would gladly share her modest ration of rice with a traveller in distress.
once, at kaligaweh, dalima had received a visit from m?bok karijah, the loathsome confidante of mrs. van gulpendam. perhaps it was at that lady’s suggestion that the old hag went to see her. she had whispered to her something about a medicine made from the clitoria ternatea. at first poor dalima had not understood what she meant and had opened her eyes wide with surprise—she knew nothing, of course, of the connection between the filthy old hag and the resident’s lady. but when the crone pretended to sympathise with her in her misfortune; and proceeded to speak out more plainly—then the girl’s indignation and disgust knew no bounds, and she drove the old hag from her presence, threatening to rouse the entire dessa against her should she venture to show her face again. her nature revolted at the foul crime which m?bok dared to suggest, such practices she was quite content to leave to the more highly favoured daughters of civilisation.
thus then had she started on her journey, and, with the little bundle which contained all her earthly possessions on her back, she had trudged over hill and dale; and after eight days of steady walking, she was beginning to draw near to her destination. whenever, at nightfall, she reached some dessa she would at once seek out the native priest and tell him that [373]she was travelling to karang anjer in search for her father whom she hoped to find there.
perceiving the plight she was in, the good man then used generally to direct her to some kind-hearted woman, who willingly took her in for the night, and not unfrequently refused to take the small coin she tendered in payment for her lodging. sometimes even they would give her a couple of small parcels of boiled rice as provision on the road. but she was not always so fortunate. sometimes it happened that she could not well make out the directions given to her, and thus night would come on before she could reach any inhabited spot. then she used to beg for a resting-place on the bench of some guard-house, and her prayer was never refused. but, on one occasion, even this poor resource failed her. her road that evening lay through a dense wood, the sun was about to set, and under the thick foliage it soon grew pitch dark. she could keep to the path only by looking upward and following the narrow strip of sky which showed through the tree-tops stretching along in the same direction as the rough road. the stars were twinkling brightly, and for some time she listened breathlessly hoping to hear some sound, such as the late crowing of a cock, or the measured strokes on the rice tomboks, which might lead her to some human dwelling. then she hurried on again; but she did not come across even a detached guard-house. at length she was suddenly brought to a standstill by the shrill discordant “meoh! meoh!” of a peacock which, perched in the upper branches of a lofty tree, thus announced that the last glimmer of light was disappearing in the west. dalima stopped in terror, for she well knew that the peacock is hardly ever heard in the woods unless a tiger is near. soon, however, she recovered her presence of mind, and quickly glancing round, she plunged into the wood and began to climb into a tree which stood close by. she was not indeed very well fitted for such gymnastics; but carefully clambering up, she, with some trouble, managed to reach one of the lower branches. as soon as she got there she felt safe. a panther will rarely attack mankind, and the tiger, she knew, does not climb trees. so she tried to make herself as comfortable as she could on the branch which was, fortunately, quite thick enough to bear her weight, and grew out horizontally so as to form a kind of seat. but that night of nearly eleven hours seemed to her of interminable length. she did not dare to give way to sleep, fearing that she might lose her balance and fall to the [374]ground, and the branch on which she tried to settle herself, and the trunk against which she leaned, were covered with a thick knotty bark, which pressed into her limbs and gave her great pain. again and again she attempted to change her position, but the relief thus obtained was only temporary. then she tried to assume the squatting attitude which is customary with the natives; but, in clambering up the tree, the sandals had dropped from her feet, and the rough bark, cutting into the soles of her feet, soon made that position unbearable. to these discomforts was added the plague of myriads of insects, such as ants, mosquitoes, sundry kinds of beetles and other pests, which settled upon her, and caused the most frightful itching, while her hands, which supported her, and with which she had to keep her balance, were not always free to brush the tormentors away.
she had also been obliged to drop her bundle, which contained her clothes, her money, in fact all she possessed; but she felt no anxiety on that account. no human being was present in that wood, and even if any one had been lurking about, he would hardly have been wandering in the dark just under the tree where she was seated. as for the animals which might be roving about, they would not disturb her little bundle. so the night crept slowly along, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that the poor girl at length welcomed the first faint streak of grey which began to tinge the eastern horizon. but she had much longer still to wait and endure the pain which every instant was getting more acute. for, during the night, she had heard very alarming sounds. the hoarse and terrible hoh! heoh! of the tiger had resounded more than once. there was no mistaking that well-known cry, and however painful her position might be, she could not yet venture to descend. indeed the tiger is never more formidable than just at dawn of day—then he prowls about noiselessly like a huge cat seeking for his prey—then he hurries off to the nearest water hole to quench his burning thirst, and to lay in his provision of water for the day. in one word, she knew that the hour of early dawn is the most dangerous; and she felt that she must still have patience. on that branch she must remain perched until the sun was fairly above the horizon, and the daylight had penetrated the foliage, driving all evil beasts to their lairs.
soon she found that she had done well to be patient, for once again the peacock gave forth his screeching meoh! meoh! [375]thus hailing the dawn as he had the evening before greeted the last glow of the setting sun. thus dalima knew that the tiger was close by. so she kept her seat high up on her branch, shivering with cold in the keen morning air, while she watched the faint streak of light gradually expanding and deepening, and the stars fading away one by one. gradually the rosy tint of morning began to spread to the zenith, driving back the damp shadows deeper and deeper into the wood. oh! how slowly time seemed to go by! how lazily the sun seemed to rise! and no wonder; for the agony she was enduring was growing well-nigh intolerable. she twisted and stretched her cramped limbs as she anxiously peered all around. under her feet all was as yet dusky and grey. she could only just descry her bundle lying under her on the grass, and her sandals at the foot of the tree; but overhead the light was already shining, and the choir of birds was beginning to carol forth its morning hymn of praise. but how slowly time crept on! she saw the sky assuming a deeper and ruddier hue, while the east was clad in glorious purple. the clouds, the trees, the leaves, the branches above were all bathed in gold, and presently the light broke through to the bottom of the wood.
then the sun rose in his majesty and flooded everything in dazzling radiance. at length dalima felt that she could safely leave her perch, and after giving another look round and observing the same precautions she used in clambering up, she began to descend. as soon as she reached the ground in safety, she stretched her numbed limbs, then she took up her bundle, in which she fortunately found a couple of parcels of rice. swarms of ants were evidently anxious to share her breakfast with her; but these she soon got rid of. a little stream was murmuring close by, to this she hastened and bathed her face, her feet, and her arms in the cool refreshing water. thus, having somewhat recovered from her painful night-watch, she sat down and enjoyed her rice, and a draught from the clear brook. then with fresh courage and renewed strength, she continued her journey.
the whole of that day she plodded along patiently until she came to a guard-house, where she heard the joyful news that the next dessa she would come to was karang anjer.
“how far is it from here?” she asked.
the man looked puzzled; for your javanese is not much of a hand at judging distances. however, after a few moments’ [376]reflection, he told her that she would have to pass about fifty telegraph poles.
next day, with fresh courage she resumed her journey, and, after a good half-hour’s walking, she reached the dessa.
she lost no time in inquiring for the house of mrs. steenvlak and, having found it, she sent in her name to the njonja, adding that she was the baboe of nonna anna. during her stay with the steenvlaks, anna had often, very often, spoken about her faithful servant, and always in terms of the greatest kindness and affection, so that dalima found the most cordial reception. but, as regards the main object of her long journey, the poor baboe could get no information whatever. prayers and entreaties were alike in vain. to all her questions she could obtain no other answer than, “i do not know.”
“but, njonjaa, nana has been staying with you here,” cried the poor girl.
“yes, dalima, that is so.”
“but where is she now, njaa?”
“she has gone away.”
“yes, njaa; but where is she?”
“that i cannot tell you.”
the faithful young girl twisted and turned her questions in every conceivable way—most plaintively she lengthened out her “njonjaaa”—but she could get no answer.
did mrs. steenvlak really not know what had become of anna? that was hardly probable. might she perhaps have some suspicion that dalima had been sent on her errand by van nerekool? that was precisely what the lady did think probable. she knew that the girl was well aware of the affection which existed between her mistress and the young lawyer, and, moreover, dalima had, in the course of conversation quite innocently remarked, that charles van nerekool had visited her in the prison at santjoemeh, and that she had received money from him. mrs. steenvlak was very far indeed from harbouring any sinister suspicions against dalima; she saw perfectly well that love for her mistress was the only motive that had brought her all that distance. but yet, she could not help thinking that this devotion to anna was mingled with some feeling of gratitude for the european gentleman who had showed himself so kind to dalima in her distress. and again, might not the girl honestly imagine that in bringing the lovers together she was promoting the happiness of both? these considerations made mrs. steenvlak very guarded in her replies. [377]
“njonjaa,” began dalima again, “do tell me where i may find my nana.”
“i have told you already, and i tell you again, that i know nothing about it,” was the lady’s answer.
“but, njaa, tell me, do you know where she has gone to?” cried dalima, wringing her hands.
“no, i tell you—how should i, baboe?”
“but you know at least in which direction she went?” asked the girl, still sticking to her point.
“of course,” replied mrs. steenvlak, “i know that.”
“oh, then, tell me,” cried the sobbing girl, with a ray of hope in her swollen eyes.
“i may not, i cannot tell you, baboe.”
“but why not, njaa?”
“because, before anna left me she made me promise her—”
“what, njaa?”
“that i would let no one know—no one, do you understand me, dalima?”
“that does not apply to me, you may trust me, njaa.”
“no, no,” replied mrs. steenvlak, “i will trust no one—anna was particularly anxious that i should not speak.”
“but, perhaps she is in need of my help, njaa. where can she be? she is not fit to take care of herself, she is not accustomed to it. do tell me,” sobbed the poor girl again, “i must find my nana.”
“no,” said mrs. steenvlak firmly, “a promise once made must not be broken, you know that as well as i do, dalima.”
for all her firmness, the kind-hearted lady was deeply moved by the devotion of the poor creature, who had already gone through so much suffering in her little life, that it was a wonder her temper had not been soured altogether by misfortune. she was half sorry that she had given her word to anna; but yet, until she was authorised to do so, she did not feel justified in breaking silence.
“the best advice i can give you,” she said at length, as she looked with much compassion at the girl who sat sobbing at her feet, “is to return at once to santjoemeh, or better still to kaligaweh. can i do anything for you to help you on your journey back?”
baboe dalima sadly shook her head.
“come, come, you will want some money on the road, eh?” and opening her purse she took out four rix-dollars and put them into the girl’s hand. [378]
without uttering a word, dalima accepted the gift, and carefully tied up the money in her handkerchief. then she rose, respectfully kissed mrs. steenvlak’s hand, and disappeared.
as soon as she got outside, she muttered, “that gives me so many more days to look for nana.”
dalima’s wants were but few. a couple of pence for her lodging, some twenty, or five and twenty cents for her food—that was all she required. instead of leaving karang anjer, she continued to wander about the neighbourhood. she questioned, she inquired, she managed to penetrate everywhere. she could do what van nerekool, as a european, and in his position as judge, was not able to do. she would, for instance, sit down at every small fruit and coffee stall she found on her way. at one place she would sit down and eat some rice, flavoured with red pepper; at another place again she would purchase some rasped cocoa-nut sweetened with the syrup of goela-areng; at another little stall again she would sip a cup of coffee or eat a bunch of ramboetans. these delicacies she could purchase for a very few cents, sometimes they cost her nothing at all; for the woman who kept the stall would look strangely at her, and when she produced her money would quietly put it back, and say: “never mind, keep that for your baby, and take another cup of coffee, you are welcome to it.”
but dalima did not sit down at these stalls to enjoy herself—she did so because it gave her an opportunity of asking questions and making inquiries. but, alas, all her perseverance and all her endeavours were, for a considerable time, fruitless. during the first few days of her wandering, she learned absolutely nothing. she was beginning to despair, and to give up all hope of success. she was, however, soon to have her reward; for on a certain day, as she was slowly walking through the dessa prembanan, which is situated about three miles to the southwest of karang anjer, she obtained some information which seemed to point in the right direction.
a woman told her that, on a certain day, about two months ago, one of the poles of a light litter suddenly snapped, and a fresh pole had to be procured. the bearers put down the litter and, as a bamboo of sufficient length and strength was not very easily found, some considerable delay ensued. during this time of waiting, a nonna had stepped out of the litter, and had taken a seat at the stall, and called for a cup of coffee. [379]
“a nonna, you say?” cried dalima breathless with excitement: “are you sure of that?”
“oh, yes, quite sure,” replied the woman. “she was dressed exactly like all javanese girls, in a very simple sarong and a plain cotton kabaja, and she had sandals on her feet. but those feet had evidently been but little exposed to the sun, they were very small, very white, and not at all flattened out as our feet are. i fancy that not even the princesses at s?l? have fairer and tinier feet; but for that matter she might perhaps have been a princess.”
“why do you think so?” asked dalima.
“well, she spoke javanese; but entirely with the ? sound so that i had some difficulty in catching what she said.”
“you spoke to her then, ma?”
“yes, i did,” replied the stall-keeper, “she spoke with something of your accent.”
“but what did she say to you, ma?”
“she first asked for coffee and then for ramboetans.”
“did she say anything more?—do try and remember.”
“oh, yes; she further asked me how far it is from here to the dessa sikaja, and i told her that it is about two miles off.”
“anything else?” cried dalima impatiently.
“then she asked how far sikaja is from the dessa pringtoetoel; but i could not tell her that, as i know nothing of the country beyond our own district.”
“did you hear her say anything more, ma?”
“no.”
“but ma, did you see her face?”
“certainly i did,” replied the woman, “why not?”
“and?” asked dalima, anxiously.
“her features were those of a white woman, though rather dark. her face and hands, however, did not correspond in colour with her feet. in fact i suspected at the time that she had stained them. but perhaps the nonna had been running about a good deal in the sun.”
“and her hair, ma?” asked dalima.
“it was tied up in a knot.”
“what colour was it, ma?”
“it was as black as yours; but much softer, it looked like silk and was wavy. oh, yes! now i feel sure she was a nonna.”
“yes,” thought dalima, “it is she;” and then she continued aloud:
“she asked you no other question, ma?” [380]
“no, nothing else,” replied the stall-keeper.
dalima did not stay long—a quarter of an hour later she was on her way to sikaja. how she sped there, we shall see later on. the day after, she reappeared in karang anjer; but it was only to fetch the bundle she had left behind her. then she disappeared, and no one saw or heard anything more of her.
mrs. steenvlak sent a couple of oppassers to inquire what had become of her; but they returned saying that the girl had gone away, no one could tell whither.
“she must have gone back to santjoemeh,” thought mrs. steenvlak. “was i right after all in keeping my word to anna? time will show. anna did seem greatly attached to her baboe; and no doubt, in her present lonely state, the girl would be a pleasant and useful companion.”
