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