The people of Kaligaweh were quiet folk, and did as they were told. Very soon the dessa had resumed its ordinary peaceful appearance, and the little group of European gentlemen were once again seated under the widely-spreading crown of the gigantic wild-fig tree. But if, a short time ago, they had paid but very little attention to the wondrous beauties of the tropical night, their visit to the opium-den made them still more indifferent to its attractions. As soon as they were again seated, the conversation, naturally enough, turned upon the terrible scenes which they had witnessed.  
“In that passage,” said Grashuis, who, as surveyor, was accustomed [189]to take in local details at a glance, “there were twenty-four doors and therefore there must be twenty-four such hideous pens. If all of them—What a pity it is that we allowed ourselves to be scared and that we did not carry out our investigation to the end.”
 
“No, no, my friend,” said Verstork, “I am glad we did not. Almost all the recesses were occupied, and the scenes which they would have revealed would have differed only from those you saw in the degree of beastliness. I repeat it—it is much better that we did not go on. But, when I tell you that in the dessa Kaligaweh there are some eighty households which number about six hundred souls, one hundred and thirty of which are able-bodied working men, and that such a den as we visited remains open for three-quarters of the four-and-twenty hours—And when I further tell you that if you had looked into the wretched huts all around you would have found many an opium-smoker in them also—then, I think you will be able to form some idea of the extent which the abuse of opium has attained.”
 
“Do you happen to know,” asked Grashuis, who was fond of statistics, “what percentage of the inhabitants is given to this abuse of opium?”
 
“Well,” returned the other, “I do not think we shall do much good by troubling ourselves about figures which are generally misleading and only serve to prove how clever statisticians are in the art de grouper les chiffres.”
 
“Yes,” said Grenits, “and we know full well that treasury officials have very little scruples on such points.”
 
“It is a blessing that Muizenkop does not hear you say that,” said van Rheijn, with a laugh, “you would see him fire up at such a suggestion.”
 
“With regard to Kaligaweh,” continued Verstork, “I venture most confidently to assert that there are not ten men in the dessa who are free from the vice of opium smoking.”
 
“Humph,” muttered van Beneden, who, though a lawyer, was also fond of figures, “that is about 93 per cent.”
 
“I found that out,” continued the controller, “when, about a twelvemonth ago I was on the look-out for a man to put into the place of my former loerah; a good fellow enough, but one whom the opium-pipe had rendered totally unfit for any position of trust.”
 
“Did you succeed?” asked Grenits.
 
“Yes, I did; but not without much difficulty. It was my [190]intention to appoint Setrosmito, the poor devil who just now has got himself into trouble, and it was only because the man could neither read nor write that I had to give up the idea. The inquiries, however, which I then was forced to make, revealed to me the startling fact that women, and even children of eight or nine years of age use opium. They actually scrape out the father’s pipe in order to get hold of the fatal narcotic.”
 
“But,” remarked van Beneden, “Kaligaweh probably forms an exception.”
 
“Not by any means,” rejoined Verstork, testily; “during my official career I have been stationed in several residencies, and I venture to affirm that, as far as opium is concerned, their condition is much the same as that in Santjoemeh. You will find hundreds of dessas in the island like Kaligaweh.”
 
“I suppose,” put in Grenits, “we must except the Preanger districts?”
 
“Oh yes, certainly,” assented Verstork, “the use of opium is altogether forbidden there.”
 
“And does that work well?”
 
“Excellently,” said Verstork.
 
“That is, I have no doubt,” asked Grashuis, “a tentative measure on the part of the Government which, if it succeeds, will be extended to the whole of Java?”
 
“Not at all,” replied Verstork. “In the first place the prohibition has been in force too long to be merely tentative for it dates back as far as 1824; and then, in the next, it was not at all adopted with the view of checking the abuse of opium; but merely because it was feared that the people would take to coffee-stealing in order to be able to satisfy their craving.”
 
“Come,” said van Rheijn, “that is not at all a bad idea.”
 
“Is it possible,” exclaimed Grashuis, “to conceive a more cynical confession of the fact that opium demoralises the people?”
 
“And if,” continued Grenits, “you add that confession to the scenes which we have just witnessed, then put the question seriously to yourselves: is there any truth in the assertion made by van Rheijn and backed up by van Beneden, that the abuse of opium can in any way be compared to the abuse of alcohol, or put on the same level with it? No, no, in my opinion, it is infinitely more deplorable!”
 
“Such is my opinion also,” assented Verstork; “every attempt made to put down or to limit the extent of opium-smoking and to check its abuse, must be looked upon as an [191]act of much greater philanthropy than the efforts made by the friends of temperance or the preachers of total abstinence. But—”
 
“Yes—but what?” cried another.
 
“But,” continued he, “every such attempt is a direct blow aimed at the revenue at home.”
 
“Aye, aye, there you have it,” said Grenits; “and whenever you raise such a question as that, our good friends at the Hague are uncommonly hard of hearing.”
 
“Well, I don’t blame them,” interrupted van Rheijn, “they cannot afford to sacrifice the millions which the opium trade pours into the treasury.”
 
“God help us!” cried Grenits, “did ever man hear such an argument as that? What would you say to a thief who would try to excuse his theft by saying that he was in need of the stolen money to go and fuddle himself in a beershop; or to a murderer who would try and justify his crime by stating that he poisoned his uncle only because he wanted the inheritance to—to—well, say to keep his mistress?”
 
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried several voices, “what a comparison!”
 
“Yes,” said Verstork, “the comparison is certainly not flattering; but it has the advantage of being a perfectly just one. So long as our country indulges in the costly luxury of an administration such as ours; and so long as it maintains the opium trade in its present state to furnish funds for that costly administration: such proceeding may very justly be compared to the action of a thief who steals a banknote in order to go and spend it in a gin-palace.”
 
“Or rather,” cried Grenits, “to that of a man who poisons his uncle so that he may have the handling of his money. I consider the latter comparison to be a still more just one; because it cannot be denied that though Holland has always treated her Indian possessions as a milch-cow, the present system of scraping and squeezing is beginning to exceed all reasonable bounds and limits.”
 
“Oh! oh!” again cried van Rheijn and van Beneden as in protest.
 
“Well gentlemen,” asked Grenits, “am I exaggerating? Tell me now, are they not, at home, exceeding all limits and bounds in the heavy taxation which they heap on the shoulders of the industrial and commercial classes?”
 
“Aye, but,” remarked van Beneden, “you must remember that in Holland people have to pay taxes as well as out here.” [192]
 
“If you will take the trouble to look into the matter,” said Grenits, “you will find that they do not pay anything like what the people have to pay here. Then again, I ask, do they not exceed all bounds and limits in increasing the burdens, already too heavy, which the poor native population has to bear?”
 
“I quite agree with you there,” said Verstork.
 
“Do they not,” continued Grenits, “exceed all limits in the pitiful and niggardly way in which they treat their soldiers out here?”
 
“How so?” asked van Rheijn.
 
“Why, to give you but one instance, by loudly declaring that there is peace at Atjeh—a peace which has no real existence whatever—and thereby robbing the poor soldiers and doing them clean out of their already too meagre pay?”
 
“Oh, what need we bother ourselves about those soldier fellows!” cried van Rheijn.
 
“Do they not again,” continued Grenits, “overpass all reasonable limits, by encouraging and fostering the abuse of opium?”
 
“Now, that is too bad,” cried van Beneden, “now you are going too far; that accusation of yours is not a fair one.”
 
“You think so, do you?” said Grenits. “Well then just take Band’s book in hand. There you will find proof absolute of the fact that it is, and has always been, the policy at the Hague to encourage and to foster the opium-trade as much as possible. Figures are stubborn things—just listen to what they have to say. In 1832, the opium revenue amounted to three millions, in 1842 it rose to very nearly seven millions. In 1870 it was quite ten millions, in 1880 it amounted to thirteen millions. In 1885 that same revenue rose to nineteen millions; and new, in 1886, it is estimated at quite twenty one millions, and our House of Representatives has accepted that estimate without the slightest demur, and without one word of protest. Of course, every now and then, there is a great moan made in political and in other circles at home, and a great deal is said about the iniquities of the opium trade; but, for all that, the authorities have their hands perfectly free and are encouraged by all parties to squeeze out of that trade as much as it can be made to yield.”
 
“But, excuse me,” asked van Rheijn, “is it not one of the first duties of every government to make an impost as productive as possible?” [193]
 
“Certainly it is,—and it is precisely therein that lies the immorality and the demoralizing tendency of the opium-monopoly. You see, in order to enable the farmers to increase their bids, the abuse of the drug must be encouraged. Thus the poor natives are driven, we may say, into the opium-den by any and by every means—the most illegal and the dirtiest means seem to have the preference. Just read our local papers, and then you will be edified, I think, at the infamous annoyance which the Chinese opium-factors are empowered to inflict upon the non-consumers, and at the unlimited control they are allowed to exercise, always in the most shameless and arbitrary fashion, over any poor wretch who, seeing, it may be, the error of his ways, tries to diminish his daily consumption.”
 
“Or provide himself with smuggled opium,” remarked van Rheijn, interrupting him.
 
Grenits, however, paid no heed to the remark, and went on: “The opium-monopoly was originally established with the very laudable object of raising the price of the article and of thus leaving it within the reach of as few people as possible. On that principle, therefore, every regulation must be condemned which tends to augment the revenue by increasing, the sale. But, at present, our Colonial Secretary relies upon the system as a regular means of increasing the revenue. When we have such facts as these before us, facts which can be proved to demonstration, then we feel ourselves driven to pronounce this judgment: ‘Our government and our representatives are fully convinced of the terrible and fatal effects of the abuse of opium by their Indian subjects; but they will not consent to forego the profit which they obtain by the wholesale poisoning of an entire population.’?”
 
“Come, come, poisoning! That is a rather strong word!” cried van Beneden.
 
“Yes,” continued Grenits, very quietly, “I said poisoning—that was my word. If in Holland an apothecary does not keep his opium in the proper poison chest, or if he is detected in selling it without the proper order from a medical man, he is fined—very heavily fined. Am I not right, van Nerekool?”
 
Thus addressed van Nerekool raised his head, looked up vacantly for a moment or two and gave an affirmative nod; it seemed very doubtful whether he had understood the question at all. Grenits, however, accepted that nod as a gesture of assent, and continued:
 
“Yet that same poison may here be procured without the [194]slightest difficulty, nay more than that, is actually forced upon the poor people in the most shameless manner by the Chinese scoundrels who keep the opium dens. And that goes on under the eyes, and with the full cognizance, sanction, and under the protection of the Dutch Government.”
 
“You are growing tiresome,” sneered van Rheijn, “you keep on harping on that one string—the Dutch Government—The fact is, my dear fellow, you are tarred with the self-same brush of discontent as all the manufacturers and merchants out here in India.”
 
“Why should I not be?” cried Grenits passionately. “I do not always agree with all their opinions; but yet I do form a part of that important commercial body; and when a question arises which effects the vital interests of industry and commerce—Well, yes, then you may say that I am tarred with the same brush.”
 
“But have these grumblers really so very much to complain of?” asked Grashuis in a bantering tone of voice.
 
“I should think they have,” replied Grenits. “Under our present system we are not only flayed; but we are sucked dry, in a manner which, elsewhere, would drive men to open rebellion. When the Dutch revolted against Spain, and when the Belgians rose up in arms against the Dutch, neither of them had anything like so much to complain of as we have here,—neither of them suffered anything like the extortion which the Indo-Europeans have to put up with at the hands of their present oppressors.”
 
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried several voices.
 
“We have now to pay duties and taxes compared to which the tithes at which our ancestors rebelled were the merest child’s play. And then, in return, what rights do we enjoy?—If one could, on so serious a subject, be capable of indulging in a sorry joke—I might say that we have the privilege only of having absolutely no rights at all. For, that which here in India goes by the name of law and justice, is in reality nothing more than the merest burlesque; and that is especially true in all matters which concern the revenue. Wherever there is a little money to be made, the State flings itself upon its victims as some ravenous beast leaps upon its prey, and then one may look in vain for the smallest protection—least of all in any case which concerns that imperium in imperio the terrible opium monopoly!”
 
“You are exaggerating, you are talking wildly!” cried van Rheijn. [195]
 
“I wish I were,” continued Grenits; “but just take up that terrible book ‘Might versus Right,’ a book written by a member of the High Court of Justice at Batavia, who was formerly, for many years, Attorney General in that same court, and for half an ordinary lifetime was president of the Residential Council. A man, therefore, who ought to know, and who does know what he is talking about, and then—when you have read what he has to say—tell me if I am exaggerating.”
 
“Oh, the writer of that book is another grumbler!” said van Rheijn, “whose only object is to set the whole world against the functionaries of our Administration.”
 
“That is a very heavy accusation to bring against a man who, in my opinion, is thoroughly honest, and who has had the courage, and therefore deserves the credit, of having told the plain unvarnished truth. Such, however, is our national gratitude!”
 
“Oh yes!” cried van Rheijn, “I am not at all surprised to find you commercial men in ecstasies about that man and about his book. To all grumblers it is of course meat and drink.”
 
“Let me tell you, my good fellow,” said Grenits, “that those whom you call grumblers have had good cause given them for discontent.”
 
“Come, come,” said the other, “you talk very finely; but after all they are only a pitiful handful of very tame insurgents. Depend upon it we shall manage very easily to keep order among them.”
 
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Grenits, bitterly, “that is the old stock phrase. It was used some little time ago by certain organs of the Dutch press when the people, exasperated by vexatious extortions, strove—by perfectly legitimate means mind you—to resist acts of arbitrary injustice and exaction on the part of the Dutch Government.
 
“Tame insurgents!” continued he, vehemently. “Tame insurgents! By heaven! let them not at home taunt us much longer with that name. A very little more, and they will be at their wits’ end to deal with an insurrection which will prove itself anything but tame. Don’t let them forget, yonder, that, to carry on a miserable war like that at Atjeh, they had to sweep up the scum of Europe; for you know that Dutch heroism in our towns at home made the poor wretches whom they manage to press for that service sing the pleasant refrain:
 
‘My life is pain and woe,
To Atjeh I will go …’?”
[196]
 
“Grenits, Grenits!” cried Verstork, trying to calm his friend’s growing excitement.
 
“Yes,” said he, “my dear Verstork, I am wrong and I am going too far, I have very nearly done. But those heedless words, ‘tame insurgents,’ have worked a great deal more mischief than those who first uttered them could possibly foresee. They have proved to us that, in our lawful resistance to extortion, we have nothing to expect but only contempt and abuse. May God in his mercy protect Holland! But I have good reason to know that if a man were to arise amongst us possessed of the necessary talent for organisation, and one who, at the same time, had sufficient tact to gather around him all that discontent which at present is powerless because it is divided amongst itself—If such a man, I say, were to arise who could make the most of the utter state of perplexity they are in yonder—we, the ‘tame insurgents,’ would make our mother c............