It was a terrible night in February 188–.  
A violent storm from the north-west was raging along the northern coast of Java. The wind howled and roared as though a legion of fiends were holding Sabbath in the black mass of clouds which were driving along.
 
The waves of the Java sea were running mountain high, and came curling into the beach in monstrous billows topped with mighty crests of dazzling foam. These crests were brightly phosphorescent, and each breaker, as it came rolling in, for an instant shed a pale fantastic shower of sparks upon the black seething waters, leaving, the next instant, the blackness darker than before. The sea-coast on which our story opens formed here, as in so many other places in Java, an extensive marsh, the slimy clay of which the influence of the tropical sun had clothed with a most curious kind of vegetation.
 
Had it been day, the eye, as far as it could reach, would have rested upon thousands upon thousands of tree-tops, closely packed together, and rising about thirty feet from the soil. The stems of these trees did not reach the ground, but rested on knotty roots, which, like arches, grew out of the earth. These roots were divided, branching out in all directions, so that the trees might be likened to many-footed creatures, the supports or legs of each of which crossed and recrossed with those of its neighbour. Thus looking along the ground might be seen a kind of tangled network under a thick canopy of green, and that network again was entwined with gigantic creepers, hanging in [4]festoons from the singular archways and climbing upwards into the tops of the trees.
 
By daylight, between those myriads of twisted roots forming, as it were, a gigantic labyrinth, there might have been seen a swarming mass of living things, unsightly and loathsome, which would have filled the beholder with wonder and disgust.
 
There, among thousands of other living beings, lay the sluggish alligator glaring at its prey with fixed and stony eye. There countless tortoises and “Mimis” were crawling and darting about in quest of food. There swarmed monstrous crabs and shrimps of all kinds, varying in size from that of the largest lobster to the almost microscopical sea-spider. All these in millions were wriggling in the filthy ooze which was formed of the detritus of this singular mangrove forest. In the mud which clung about the roots, these hideous creatures lived and teemed, not perhaps in a state of perfect concord, yet maintaining an armed kind of peace which did not prevent them from becoming allies whenever some unhappy victim, whose luckless star had cast upon that shore, had to be overpowered.
 
Close by the narrow strip of land, where, not only in storms but in all weathers, land and water seemed to strive for the mastery, there stood a small hut hidden away completely among a clump of “Saoe” trees. These trees grew there, the only ones of their kind amidst the gloomy forest of mangrove.
 
Surrounded by the dense foliage as by an impenetrable wall, the hut was completely invisible from the land. On the other side it commanded a wide view of the sea; but even there it was screened from observation by its position among the leaves.
 
We called it a hut,—it was, indeed, little more than a large sentry box, and it, most appropriately, bore the name of “djaga monjet” or monkey-perch. It was put together in a very primitive fashion, and was covered with “Kadjang” mats and “attaps,” both of these rough building materials obtained from the Nipah palm.
 
The “djaga monjet” was built in the morass on piles which raised it some considerable distance from the ground. Thus the waves which now and then threatened to swallow up the fore-shore altogether, could freely wash about under it, and break and divide against the firmly driven stakes. The trunk of a tree, with some rough steps clumsily cut into it, served as a ladder and gave access to the hut which, at the time this tale begins, was wrapped in the deepest darkness, but which yet was not tenantless. [5]
 
Two voices might have been heard issuing from the doorway. The speakers fancied they were talking in a confidential whisper; but the blustering of the storm had gradually led them on to raise their voices, so that now they were yelling at each other rather than conversing.
 
That, however, was of very little consequence. At such an hour, and in such fearful weather, no human being would have dreamed of prowling about there. The most zealous coastguard’s man would have declined that duty.
 
The men in the hut were talking in Malay, but they might, without difficulty, have been recognised for Chinamen. Their guttural pronunciation, the difficulty with which they sounded the letter “r,” which with them indeed was spoken as “l,” and a certain lisping, weakly, altogether most unpleasant accent, put the matter beyond doubt.
 
Yes, they were two Chinamen who, sitting in that little watch-house, were eagerly, in the pitch dark night, scanning the angry sea before them.
 
“No,” said one of them, after a considerable interval of silence—“No, there is nothing whatever to be seen. In such weather, it would be simply tempting fate. You may be quite sure that the Kiem Ping Hin is snugly lying at anchor at Poeloe Karabab. She would never think of starting in such a storm.”
 
“You may be right,” replied the other, “but the master’s orders were most positive. We are posted here on purpose to help the men of the Kiem Ping Hin to get their cargo safe ashore.”
 
“That is true enough, Than Khan, and we shall get our pay, I daresay; but, for all that, you cannot deny that she cannot possibly come in to-night. Just hark how the wind howls, hear how the breakers roar—our perch is shaking like a reed. How would you like to be out on such a night as this?”
 
“I,” cried Than Khan, “not for all the money in the world. But still we know the old Arab Awal Boep Said—he is a tough old sea-dog, and no weather will—”
 
“Look out!” cried the other; “there, just there! You see that big curling wave yonder! Look, you can just see it by the light of the foam. Yes, by Kong! A ‘djoekoeng!’?”
 
“You are right, Liem King,” replied Than Khan, “it is a ‘djoekoeng’?” (a boat made of a hollowed tree-stem). “There were two persons in her, both Javanese—I fancied a man and a woman.” [6]
 
“Yes,” said Liem King; “the man was rowing hard, the woman seemed frightened, she had her hands up to her face.”
 
“The ‘djoekoeng,’?” shouted Than Khan, “was heading for the shore; but she can never get through the breakers.”
 
“I am not so sure of that,” replied Liem King. “She was making straight for Moeara Tjatjing, if she can only keep that course, she may pull through.”
 
“Why,” said Than Khan, “in such a sea as this, no boat can live, she must be swamped. A rare feast for the boajas, eh?”
 
“That ‘djoekoeng,’?” said Liem King, “will get through safe enough. I made her out to be a surf boat, and you know it takes a good deal to upset them.”
 
“No doubt,” said Than Khan, “for all that, I am glad enough I am not in her.”
 
“Look out,” shouted the other. “Look, there she is again, yes, she is making for the Moeara. If she can get behind the ‘bow-nets’ she is safe enough.”
 
“If she can get under the lee of the bow-nets, perhaps, but, but—”
 
“Another boat,” exclaimed Liem King. “There are white men in her.”
 
The words were no sooner uttered than two, three, four sharp reports were heard. They were rifle-shots fired from the boat, upon the occupants of the “djoekoeng.” With what result who could tell? For a single instant only, the faint gleam of some gigantic breaker had revealed the two boats to the pair of spies. The next moment all was deep darkness again, and, gaze as intently as they would, not even their sharp eyes could discover anything further.
 
Thus a quarter of an hour passed away, when suddenly Than Khan exclaimed, “A steamer!”
 
Sure enough, far out at sea, shone the well-known green and red lights, and, high above them, the white light at the mast-head.
 
“The guard-ship!” cried Liem King.
 
“No doubt of it,” said the other, “it must be the Matamata. Well, all I can say is that if the Kiem Ping Hin has left her anchorage she is not showing any lights; she has got away safe enough by this time.”
 
“Come, I think we may be off home to the Kampong; no smugglers will come ashore to-night, you may be sure.”
 
For a while longer did the two Celestials keep watching the steamer’s movements. First she showed her three lights [7]plainly enough, she was therefore making straight for the land. After a time, however, all of a sudden, her green light disappeared, leaving for a while the red light only visible. Presently that also went out and only the white top-mast light remained visible, and, as it seemed stationary, our Chinamen concluded that the steamer had anchored or was perhaps moving with her head to the wind.
 
Said Than Khan at length, “It is no use staying here; while that cursed Matamata is about they will not be able to get anything ashore. Come, let us be going.”
 
“All right,” replied Liem King; “but I vote we first go and have a look at the Tjatjing, we may just possibly get to know something about the ‘djoekoeng.’?”
 
So our two worthies clambered down the rough log which, as we have shown, stood as a ladder against the hut; the wind howling, meanwhile, as furiously as ever.
 
In a few steps they came upon a kind of pathway for which they had to grope with their feet in the deep darkness. They found it; and as every now and then a wave would come washing over it, the two Chinamen had to splash on in the brine. That, however, did not greatly interfere with their progress. They knew the road well, and even had the weather been rougher, they would have got along without much hesitation. They had, in fact, not very far to go. In a few minutes they reached the small river Tjatjing which close by emptied itself into the Java Sea.
 
At the spot where the Chinamen came upon the stream it made a kind of bend or elbow as if, just before losing itself in the ocean, it had thought better of it and was trying to retrace its course. At that bend the mangrove roots retired a little from the shore, leaving a pretty wide open space from which the prospect over the river would have been quite clear; but the darkness was so intense that even Than Khan’s ferret eyes could make out nothing.
 
“If the ‘djoekoeng’ has reached the Moeara at all,” roared Than Khan in the ear of his companion, “she must have come ashore here. They cannot possibly have got her further up the Tjatjing, there is not water enough and the marsh-weed completely chokes it up.”
 
“Hush,” said Liem King; “I hear something.”
 
He was right. In spite of the awful noise of the tempest a low moaning sound could just be heard.
 
Both pricked their ears, took their bearings; and softly, with [8]stealthy tread they sneaked forward in the direction of the sound. Presently, they almost stumbled over a boat which lay on the beach with its stern half under water.
 
“The ‘djoekoeng,’?” muttered Than Khan.
 
Directed by the moaning sound they groped along the boat which was but a hollowed tree. Its bamboo sail-wings were lying close by smashed all to pieces by the wind and water; and a few steps further on they discovered two human beings lying prostrate in the rank grass.
 
“Who is there?” called Liem King as he cautiously drew nearer.
 
“It is I,” replied a very feeble voice in answer to the challenge.
 
“I? who is I?” asked the Chinaman.
 
“I, Ardjan,” was the answer.
 
“What?” cried Liem King, “Ardjan of the Kiem Ping Hin.”
 
A faint cry at these words issued from the lips of one of the castaways.
 
“Silence,” whispered the other Chinaman.
 
Both then bent forward over the figure which had given the name of Ardjan; but in that thick darkness it was impossible to distinguish anything.
 
One of them pulled a dark lantern out of his pocket, struck a match and, with some trouble, managed to procure a light. As soon as he had recognised the features he cried out:
 
“By ——! it is Ardjan! What in the world are you doing here?”
 
“I have fallen overboard,” was the reply.
 
“Indeed you have? with that ‘djoekoeng?’?” sneered Liem King.
 
“I found her in the water as I was swimming about,” was the reply.
 
“And that woman?” continued Liem King; “how about her? Did you pick her up also floating about? Who is she?”
 
“She is Moenah, my sister,” faintly said Ardjan.
 
“Ah! your sister,” exclaimed Than Khan with a low, dirty laugh. “I daresay she also managed to tumble overboard?”
 
With these words he threw the light of the lantern full on the face of the so-called sister. The uncertain gleam revealed the well-shaped form of a beautiful Javanese maiden of sixteen who, in her confusion, strove to conceal her face under a veil, which, like all the rest of her clothing, was dripping wet.
 
“Hallo!” cried Than Khan as he roughly tore the veil [9]from the girl’s face, “what have we here? Dalima! the little ‘baboe’ of His Excellency the Resident.”
 
At these words the maiden cowered down in the most abject terror. The two Chinamen exchanged a few hasty words in whispers in which the name Lim Ho could be distinguished. That name seemed to have an extraordinary effect upon the poor girl. When she heard it her face became the very picture of terror.
 
This Lim Ho was one of the sons of the great opium farmer at Santjoemeh and the man was madly in love with the poor little Javanese girl. He had offered her large sums of money, he had tempted her with costly gifts, but all in vain. He had addressed himself to her father, a poor peasant in the “dessa” of Kaligaweh close by the principal township, again without success. Then the wretch had sworn that, at any price, the girl should be his, even if to possess her he might have to commit a crime. He was a kind of scoundrel who would stick at nothing.
 
At the mention of that hateful name the girl recoiled and shrunk together in terror. She knew the man, and now she also knew the two rascals into whose power she had thus been thrown.
 
The two Chinamen kept on whispering to each other; they spoke in Chinese of which language neither Ardjan nor Dalima knew a single word.
 
Before, however, the former had time to collect his thoughts or his energies, the scoundrels were upon him. They tied up his hands and feet with a thin rope which Liem King drew out of the capacious pocket of his baggy trousers. Before he had time to defend himself Ardjan found himself helpless, tied up in the shape of a hoop. But even had there been time to resist, the poor fellow could have done nothing. He was quite unarmed, he had not had time even to snatch up his dagger-knife, and the frightful exertion of rowing the “djoekoeng” through the breakers had so completely fagged him out, that, when the men came upon him, he was lying panting for breath on the beach and quite incapable of further exertion. The low moaning sound which had guided the Chinamen to him was the sound of his gasping and panting for breath as he lay on the shore.
 
Having firmly secured Ardjan, the Chinamen took hold of Dalima and pinioned her also, ordering her to keep perfectly quiet and threatening to kill her should she disobey. [10]
 
It was a good thing for Dalima that her captors could not see the expression on her face as they uttered their threatening warning. There passed over the girl’s features an expression of contempt which would have given them food for reflection; and might have induced them to make quite sure of their fair prisoner. But of this they saw nothing, and, thinking the girl safe enough, they turned to her companion. His arms were tied behind him and fastened to his feet which had also been tightly bound. Liem King now took up a stout bamboo stick which had formed part of the rigging of the surf boat, and having passed it under Ardjan’s arms they each took hold of one end of the bamboo, and put it on their shoulders, and then, with their living burden thus helplessly dangling between them they ran at a slow trot up the path, along which, a few minutes before, they had groped their way. At every jolt the poor Javanese uttered a cry of anguish. It was torture indeed that they made Ardjan endure. The whole weight of his body, bent in the most constrained attitude, was bearing upon his arms, and the whippy motion of the pliable stick made every movement almost unendurable as the Chinamen jogged slowly along. The bones of the arms upon which, as a sack, the entire body was hanging seemed at every moment about to snap, and the limbs felt as if every jog must wrench them from their sockets.
 
But neither Liem King nor Than Khan paid the slightest heed to Ardjan’s shrieks, they kept quietly trotting along. In vain did the wretched man entreat them to kill him and so put him out of the misery he was enduring. In vain, seeing his prayers unheeded, did he hurl the most offensive epithets at the heads of his tormentors, hoping thus to provoke them to rage and goad them on to take summary vengeance. To all Ardjan’s entreaties and insults, the Chinamen replied only with derisive laughter, and the “Aso tjina” (Chinese dog) repeated again and again, Than Khan, who had one hand free, repaid with a tremendous blow with his fist, the effect of which was only to increase the agony of the sufferer.
 
In a few minutes, however, which to Ardjan seemed an age of torture, the “djaga monjet” was reached. The ropes which tied Ardjan’s feet were then untied, leaving his arms only closely pinioned. The Chinamen then ordered him to climb up the rough steps and enforced their command by pricking him with the points of their daggers. The Javanese knew well that the faintest show of resistance might cost him his life, and [11]now that the torture of dangling on the bamboo was no longer felt, he began to take a more cheerful view of life. So he passively did as he was told, and in a few moments he was at the top and inside the hut. There the two brutes once again tied him up securely, and, in order to make even an effort of flight impossible, they fastened his hands tightly on his chest and forced the bamboo cane through the bend of the elbows which were sticking out behind his back. Thus trussed up, as it were, the least movement on the part of Ardjan occasioned the most unbearable pain to his bruised and swollen limbs. Then, they laid him down on his back on the floor of the hut, and to make assurance doubly sure, they lashed him to one of the principal posts of the small building.
 
Having made all safe, the Chinamen went off to fetch Dalima. What they intended to do with the girl was a matter of dispute between them. Liem King proposed that they should settle by a cast of the dice which of them should possess her; but Than Khan, who was of a more practical and covetous turn of mind, explained to his companion that a good round sum of money might be got out of the son of the rich opium farmer if they delivered her into his hands. They were still debating the question when they reached the Tjatjing, where they had left their victim lying on the grass. There they soon found out that they need not have argued the matter at all; for though they searched the whole place with the utmost minuteness, they could find no trace of Dalima. Yes, they did find a trace; for behind a clump of undergrowth close to the spot where they had left the girl, they discovered the coil of rope with which they had bound her. She had, evidently, somehow or other found means to get her wrists to her mouth, and had succeeded in gnawing through the cords. Once her hands were free it was mere child’s play to untie her feet and legs.
 
“Devil take her!” exclaimed Liem King, “that tit-bit is lost to us.”
 
“Indeed she is,” sighed Than Khan; “we have allowed a nice little sum to slip through our fingers. Lim Ho would have paid well for her.”
 
“Now, I think,” said Liem King, “the best thing will be not to breathe a word about her to the Company.”
 
“Oh, of course, not a single word,” assented Than Khan; “now that she has got away that would be most dangerous.”
 
“But what,” asked the other, “had we better do now with [12]Ardjan? I think we had better let him go, too. He is sure to let out all about Dalima.”
 
“No fear,” rejoined Than Khan, “he won’t dare to do that. Should he utter a single word about the girl Lim Ho would have him clubbed to death.”
 
“Well,” said Liem King, pensively, “for all that I think the safest plan is to let him go.”
 
“H’m,” said the other, “why so? You know as well as I do that he ought to be on board the Kiem Ping Hin. Now, how on earth did he manage to get here in that ‘djoekoeng?’ Take my word for it, there is some mystery about that. Very likely it may be important to the Company to get to the bottom of that. Ah,” added he, with a deep sigh of disappointment, “I only wish we had tied up that wretched girl a little more securely.”
 
“Oh, no, don’t say so!” cried Liem King, “you would have bruised those darling little wrists and dainty ankles.”
 
“Bah!” cried Than Khan. “What nonsense, I wish we had her here; now she is off. Where can she have got to?”
 
“Yes,” replied Liem King, “that is the question, where to look for her. But come along, let us hurry back or else we may find the other bird flown too. There is something, you know, that tells me we have made a good catch in him.”
 
So the two rascals got back to the hut, and found Ardjan lying there quietly enough, just as they left him. He had not been able to stir hand or foot. As soon as he saw that the Chinamen came back alone his eye brightened.
 
“Where is Dalima?” he exclaimed, most anxiously.
 
The Chinamen made no answer.
 
“Has she got away?” he asked again.
 
Than Khan shook his head. It was enough, there was something so doleful in that gesture that Ardjan did not, for a moment, doubt. Dalima had escaped. Now he could breathe more freely. If only he had been equally fortunate. He had tried all he could to get rid of these accursed ropes; but, alas! his arms hurt him so frightfully he thought they were broken, and he had to give up the attempt in despair. Where might the dear girl be now? He felt but little anxiety on that score. She had managed, perhaps, to run to Kaligaweh, where her parents lived—the distance was not great—she must, by this time, be close to the dessa. Perhaps, she had taken the way to Santjoemeh, where lived the family of the Resident, as she was in his service as nurse. In that case, she would have a long journey before her, and she could not reach it before [13]daybreak. If only then she could at once tell her whole story—then, yes, who knows, then he might even yet be rescued.
 
But all such reflections were roughly interrupted by Liem King, who asked him, “Where did you come from on so wild a night as this?”
 
“I?” said Ardjan, “why, I have come from Santjoemeh, to be sure. I intended to take Dalima to her father at Kaligaweh. The nor’-wester drove us out to sea, I rowed with might and main to get to the Moeara Tjatjing.”
 
“What do you mean?” grinned Than Khan. “What business had you at the Moeara? Oh, now I see, you wanted, no doubt, to pay us a visit here! That is it—is it not?”
 
Ardjan trembled inwardly; but he replied calmly enough:
 
“I could not get as far as Sepoetran, and found myself drifting out to sea, so I was compelled to make for the nearest land.”
 
“But they have been after you,” exclaimed Than Khan. “You have been fired at.”
 
“So I have,” said Ardjan. “It must have been a boat of that wretched Matamata, they must have taken me for a smuggler.”
 
“Have you any stuff with you?” asked Than Khan. There was no reply to that question. Had these Chinamen known in what position he really was, they never would have asked him such a question as that.
 
“But,” continued Liem King, “you are mate of the Kiem Ping Hin. How is it you are not on board of her?”
 
For a moment the Javanese did not know what to answer, then he said:
 
“Captain Awal Boep Said has given me leave to spend two days on shore.”
 
“You go and tell your grandmother that tale, it won’t do for us. What! just at this time, when there is so much work on hand?” cried Than Khan.
 
“Well,” said Ardjan, “it is true, nevertheless.”
 
“Very good,” replied Than Khan, “the Company will soon get to know all about that.”
 
After these words there was silence.
 
The Chinamen wrapped themselves up in a kind of rug or mat, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, with their heads bent forwards on their breast, and thus they seemed to be falling into a doze. Ardjan, still fastened up in the most painful way to the bamboo stick, had to lie on his back. It [14]was pitch dark in the hut; the door and the shutters were closed to exclude, as much as possible, the cold morning air. But, when every now and then the Javanese turned his head to the right or left, he could, through the chinks of the lath floor, see that day was breaking. A greyish light began to appear under the hut, and thus Ardjan could see the filthy mud in which a number of crawling things, such as sea-eels, marsh-snakes, iguanas, and water-lizards were swarming. They were in quest of the miscellaneous offal which they were wont to find under the “djaga monjet.”
 
For a while all was quiet, when suddenly the report of a gun shook the hut. The sound startled both the Chinamen to their feet. It was evidently a signal. Than Khan rushed to the door, and threw it open. It was then broad daylight, the sun was just about to rise, and was bathing the eastern horizon in a flood of the richest purple.