A few hours later our sportsmen were seated at table in the pandoppo of the Controller’s house at Banjoe Pahit. Fritz Mokesuep, however, we need hardly say, was not of the party. William Verstork was a man who, as a rule, could put up with a good deal; but on this occasion he had not cared [241]to conceal the aversion with which that individual inspired him.  
As soon as poor Dalima had been properly attended to, and under escort of a policeman, had been sent off in a tandoe as a prisoner to Santjoemeh, the Controller had told Mokesuep, in pretty plain language, that, after what had taken place between him and Grenits, his company could very well be dispensed with.
 
“It seems to me,” had been Mokesuep’s reply, “that the person who inflicted the insult is the one that ought to stand aside.”
 
“Such, no doubt would, under ordinary circumstances, have been my opinion also,” returned Verstork, with icy coolness; “but before I can consent to receive you as my guest, you will have to explain to me, in a satisfactory way, how you came to be in this hut, so far from the hunting-ground, and just at the time when the young girl was so shamefully ill-used.”
 
“She has not been—” interrupted Mokesuep.
 
“Now, pray do not mistake me,” resumed Verstork, “I said ill-used, at the present moment I make use of no stronger expression. We found her here half-naked and bleeding, and she was calling upon us for help. She had, therefore, evidently been ill-treated, at present I say nothing more than that. She suffered this ill-treatment in your presence—in your presence, who pretend to be a gentleman; and I repeat what I said just now, you will have to give me satisfactory proof that it was not in your power to assist or defend this poor young girl before I will consent to receive you under my roof.”
 
“But, Mr. Verstork—!”
 
“If you can clear yourself of the suspicion which, perhaps very unjustly, at present rests upon you, I can assure you that nothing will give me greater pleasure than to hold out my hand to you, indeed you will find me the first to do so, unless my friend Grenits should forestall me.”
 
“In that case,” said Grenits, “Mr. Mokesuep will find me perfectly prepared to give him any satisfaction he may require.”
 
“Satisfaction!” sneered Mokesuep, “never you mind about that, I know well enough how to get satisfaction!”
 
“You refuse then,” continued Verstork coldly, “to furnish me with the explanations I require?”
 
“I owe you no explanations whatever, Mr. Verstork,” cried Mokesuep, “I intend to reserve my explanations for the Resident’s ear.” [242]
 
“Very well, sir, just as you please,” replied Verstork. “In that case I have nothing further to say to you,” and with a stiff, formal bow he added: “Pray let me not detain you any longer.”
 
Mokesuep ground his teeth with rage at this direct dismissal; he flung his rifle over his shoulder, and, accompanied by Lim Ho and Singomengolo, who had stood by as silent spectators of the scene, without understanding much of what was going on, he hurried away in the direction of Santjoemeh.
 
As he went he cried, “You shall pay for this, Mr. Verstork. I shall have my revenge!”
 
It was a terrible threat, no doubt; but it did not take away the appetite of our friends; and so, as we have said before, a few hours after found them seated at the table in the pandoppo of the Controller at Banjoe Pahit.
 
The pandoppo of the Controller’s house could not, in size or extent, be compared with the splendid gallery in the stately residential mansion at Santjoemeh. But, for that very reason, it was more homely and more comfortable. It lacked the vast empty spaces between the columns, reminding one of a big market-hall, and it had not the lofty roof which made one think of a cathedral. It was, in fact, much more like a cosy sitting-room, and to this air of homely comfort, the tasteful manner in which Verstork had furnished it, contributed not a little. Indeed, this pandoppo was Verstork’s ordinary sitting-room, and a very pleasant retreat it was. The big windows, all of them furnished with venetian blinds, gave free access to the breeze, while, on the sunny side, they could be closed so as to exclude the heat; and thus within that gallery it was always deliciously cool. The entire house moreover was surrounded by trees encircling it as with a crown of verdure, and their pleasant shade tempered the glaring light of the tropical day.
 
There, William Verstork used to sit whenever his presence was not required in his office. There, at sunrise, he sipped his early cup of coffee, there he breakfasted and used to dine. There again he was wont to enjoy his papers and periodicals as in the afternoon he took a cup of tea, and used to dream away the evenings musing within himself, and often wondering whether, in such a place, it was well for a man to be alone.
 
At any time of the day this pandoppo was a pleasant retreat, and specially gay and comfortable did it look now when the host had gathered his friends around his table. [243]
 
The very table itself contributed to the gaiety and brightness of the scene.
 
On that board were displayed the inevitable bowls of rice, cooked by steaming in conical baskets of bamboo, every grain snow-white, distinct and separate. And with this standing dish of rice were served up in small saucers, an endless variety of soups, vegetables, sauces, pickles, and condiments of all kinds. There were chicken-broth, fish-soup, and other thicker kinds of soup. Then a variety of dishes flavoured with Spanish pepper, among which devilled shrimps, devilled eggs, the celebrated little red-fish of Macassar, the bean of the Paskia speciosa and the famous “pirate pepper,” so called no doubt on account of its extreme pungency. The more substantial dishes consisted of meat and fish, such as jerked beef, smoked venison, roast or boiled joints, boiled and braised fowl, and a delicious fresh water fish, the Olfromeus Olfax. These and other dishes, too numerous to mention, are generally served up at a complete and well appointed dinner—or as they call it in Java—rice table.
 
But the object which specially attracted the attention of our Luculluses as they entered the pandoppo, and which made them smack their lips in anticipation of a rare feast, was a sucking pig which stood conspicuous in the centre of the table in a capacious dish. It was roasted whole, was standing upright on its four legs, and had a lemon in its snout. It was a product of the day’s hunting, one of the first victims, in fact, which had fallen, and had at once been taken home by one of Verstork’s servants to play a prominent part in the entertainment.
 
Every one of the guests did full justice to the good fare, and all proved themselves to be right valiant trenchermen; but though the grinders were kept busily at work, and though the palates fully appreciated the highly flavoured and succulent dishes, yet the tongues were by no means allowed to remain idle, nor was the conversation suffered to flag around the hospitable board. The reader may well believe there was plenty to talk about.
 
“That confounded Muizenkop!” quoth Theodoor Grenits, “why, the fellow very nearly made me lose my temper.”
 
“Come, come, don’t mention him,” replied van Rheijn, “his very name would take away one’s appetite.”
 
“By Jove,” cried August van Beneden, “that sucking pig is a most delicious morsel.” [244]
 
“Very nice, indeed,” remarked van Rheijn. “But, how many of those chaps have we bowled over I wonder?”
 
“That I cannot tell you,” said Verstork.
 
“But,” resumed van Beneden, “we ought to know the number in order that we may be able to judge in how far our expedition may be called successful. How shall we find out?”
 
“Patience, August, patience,” said Verstork with a smile.
 
“All right, William,” continued van Beneden, “you know I have no great stock of that commodity. I wonder how many of those beasts we have knocked over. I saw a good number of them sprawling about.”
 
“The wedono will be here presently with his report,” replied Verstork.
 
“The wedono! Yes, he has disappeared—where can he have got to?”
 
“Well,” said Verstork, “I ordered him and the two loerahs to make a careful search in the Djoerang Pringapoes. He will no doubt soon be here to tell us the result of our day’s work.”
 
The words were scarcely spoken, before one of the oppassers came in to announce the arrival of the dessa-chief.
 
“Show him in!” cried Verstork.
 
“Well, Wedono,” he continued with a smile, “I see you come to share our rice-table, that is very kind of you, I am glad to see you.”
 
The Javanese chief, however, had recoiled in terror. Had the conscientious Mohammedan been a Roman Catholic he would most assuredly have crossed himself. As it was he merely muttered in the direst confusion, “Excuse me, Kandjeng toean! You know that we are not allowed to eat pork.”
 
“But, you can take something else, Wedono—there is beef on the table and fowl and duck and fish—anything you like in fact.”
 
“Thank you, Kandjeng toean, thank you; but all these things have been cooked in the same kitchen as the sucking pig, and, you know our religion forbids us—”
 
“I am sorry for it, Wedono,” replied Verstork.
 
“I came here, Kandjeng toean,” continued the chief, “to give you my report of the day’s hunting.”
 
“Very well, Wedono!”
 
“Seventeen pigs great and small have been killed. The Chinamen at Kaligaweh and at Banjoe Pahit have bought the carcases from the village people and are now busy carting them away.” [245]
 
“Ah, Wedono, those Chinamen know what is good,” said Verstork.
 
“I suppose so, Kandjeng toean,” replied the dessa-chief with a forced smile.
 
“That is a pretty good number I think—is it not, Wedono?” remarked van Rheijn. “Do you think,” he continued, “that we have pretty well exterminated them?”
 
“Pretty nearly,” answered the wedono. “A number of our people have gone after the pigs that broke away and have dispatched several of them. There are but a very few left and they have sought for refuge in the high mountain land, so that I do not think that we shall be troubled any more by that mischievous brood.”
 
“Well then, my friends,” cried Verstork elated at the success of his expedition, “we may say that we have done a good morning’s work. Here’s good luck to Banjoe Pahit and the dessa-folk!”
 
All the guests sprang to their feet and raised their glasses. Van Rheijn thrust a tumbler of beer into the wedono’s hand—and with a joyous “hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” a toast was drunk to the inhabitants of the district who had been delivered from their troublesome visitors.
 
“Has the Kandjeng toean any further orders for me?” asked the wedono. “If not I will beg leave to retire.”
 
“Yes, Wedono—there is something else. In the entrance of the Djoerang Pringapoes there lies a very big old boar, you will know him by his long tusks—I very much wish to have the head.”
 
“Excellent, excellent,” exclaimed van Beneden, “Une hure de sanglier à la sauce piquante, that will be a rare treat!”
 
“Hush, August!” said Verstork and, turning again to the wedono he continued, “Then further, I want you at once to open the inquiry in the matter of Dalima.”
 
“Certainly, Kandjeng toean.”
 
“And come to me presently—I must have some talk with you about that affair.”
 
“Very good, Kandjeng toean.”
 
“Presently,” cried van Beneden, “presently why—” and then he struck up
 
“We won’t go home till morning …
Till daylight doth appear.”
The entire company joined in the well-known old tune. When the noise had somewhat subsided, Verstork continued; [246]
 
“Duty, my friends, before pleasure. You will presently go and have your afternoon nap, then you will take a bath. I shall pursue this inquiry with the help of the wedono. This evening it is my intention to return to Santjoemeh with you; for the first thing to-morrow morning I must have an interview with the Resident. You have understood me, Wedono, have you not?”
 
“Yes, Kandjeng toean.”
 
“Very good then, I will not detain you.”
 
With a courtly bow, the dessa-chief took leave of the company and retired.
 
The dinner went on; but the mention of Dalima had somewhat dashed the high spirits of the guests. The recollection of the sad event of the morning seemed to cast a chill over them all and to sober down even the merriest of the party.
 
“Poor little Dalima!” sighed Grashuis, after a few moments’ silence during which he had been discussing a duck’s wing, “Poor little Dalima! could she be guilty of smuggling opium?”
 
“Get along with you,” cried van Beneden. “Does that pretty little thing look like a smuggler?”
 
“Take care, August,” said van Rheijn with a laugh, “a lawyer ought not to allow himself to be influenced by outward appearance. Am I not right, Charles?”
 
Van Nerekool was not there and then ready with an answer to this appeal; he was in fact busily employed in removing the bones from a splendid slice of fish. But after a moment’s pause he said:
 
“Certainly not—yet, for all that I also am firmly persuaded of the girl’s innocence.”
 
“Of course, of course—the baboe of nonna Anna, eh Charles—cela va sans dire?”
 
“But,” remarked van Rheijn, “the thing that puzzles me is that the opium was found upon her.”
 
“Do you believe that?” asked another.
 
“Well I don’t know what to say, there is Muizenkop’s testimony.”
 
“What! would you take that scoundrel’s word?”
 
“Aye, aye,” said Verstork very seriously, “the whole business looks ugly enough.”
 
“As far as I can see,” said Grashuis, “there is but one hope left, and that is that nonna Anna may have influence enough with her father to get the affair hushed up.”
 
A bitter smile curled van Nerekool’s lip, but he uttered not a word. [247]
 
“Now if Lim Ho, the son of the opium farmer, were not mixed up in the matter,” said Verstork musingly, “why then you might have some reason for that hope—yes—then I think things might be squared; but now—”
 
“But,” exclaimed van Beneden interrupting his friend, “can you for a moment suspect that the judicial power—?”
 
“My dear friend—my good August,” replied Verstork, “a highly placed judicial functionary here in Dutch India once spoke these words: ‘The opium trade lies upon this country as a heavy curse—it has impressed its stamp upon everything, alas, even upon our courts of justice.’ I think I am right, Charles?”
 
Van Nerekool nodded affirmatively.
 
“Well,” said van Rheijn, “all that is very sad, a very sad state of things indeed; but the worst of it is that the use of opium makes opium-farming a necessary evil.”
 
“What nonsense you do talk!” cried Grenits impatiently.
 
“But Theodoor!”
 
“But Edward!”—
 
“If the abuse of opium did not exist, then surely there would at once be an end of opium-farming. You will allow that I think?”
 
“Oh yes,” replied Grenits, “that sounds very plausible no doubt; but now supposing I were to retort by saying if there were no opium-monopoly then the abuse of the drug would never have assumed its present proportions? That does not perhaps sound so pleasant; but it is a statement which is more easily verified.”
 
“Oh yes, yes, we heard all about that last night; unfortunately however, the proof was not forthcoming.”
 
“Well,” said Grenits, “what does history say?”
 
“History,” replied the other, “what you call history is neither more nor less than the personal opinion and utterance of the historian. One man contends that Europeans brought opium into the country, and another holds a different view—so much for history.”
 
“But Edward, I hope you do not distrust the Council of India?”
 
“Well what does the Council say, Theodoor?”
 
“If my memory serves me, it says this, or words to this effect: ‘The opium monopoly has always been most anxiously watched by the Government as one of the most important sources of public revenue, and every means of enhancing the productiveness of that source of income has been most eagerly adopted.’?” [248]
 
“Aye, aye,” returned van Rheijn; “but is all this true?”
 
“Why,” said Grenits, “I hope, Edward, you do not doubt my word?”
 
“Not in the least, my dear fellow, not in the least. I am quite ready to admit that your quotation is accurate; but was the Council properly informed when it gave that opinion?”
 
“Well,” replied Grenits, “if you go on like that, then we shall not be able to trust anybody or anything. Those people are paid, and most handsomely paid, to get the best and most trustworthy information. But independently altogether of the Council’s opinion, in which you seem to have but little faith, tell me, does not the constantly rising revenue from the farming of opium afford proof absolute of the truth of the Council’s word? Every successive year the estimate is higher and higher.”
 
“I know that,” said van Rheijn, “but estimate and actual produce are widely different things.”
 
“True enough, they are sometimes widely different; but in this particular case they are not. Heaven and earth are moved to reach the figure at which the minister has estimated the revenue, and means the most unfair, even the most criminal, are employed in order, if possible, to surpass the sum at which the revenue has been placed. How many a Netherland’s Lion has been given away because, in this district or in that, the produce of the opium contract has exceeded the figure at which the minister put it! How proudly must the ‘Virtus Nobilitat’ thus earned glitter upon the breast of its possessor!”
 
“But I want to know,” remarked August van Beneden, “is the use of opium really as injurious to the body as men say it is? We saw with our own eyes last night that as far as morality is concerned it has not much to recommend it; but how about its influence upon the material body? We sometimes hear the word poisoning used; that very term indeed was made use of last night, but it seems to me that it is a system of poisoning under which a man may attain to a very good old age, just as a man may grow old who drinks a glass or two of grog.”
 
“Listen to me,” said Verstork in a most serious tone. “We are sitting here together, all, I hope, honest trustworthy men I can therefore speak my mind freely and fearlessly before you, and I may without reserve give you the conclusion to which a long and richly varied experience has led me on the subject of opium.
 
“The habitual use of opium, even in comparatively moderate doses, invariably leads to vitiation of the blood and [249]constriction of the vessels. This again gives rise to an asthmatic condition and to a permanent and wasting and almost always incurable dysentery. These are accompanied by the most distressing symptoms and intolerable suffering. Upon the opium smoker, moreover, medicines begin gradually to lose their effect, excepting the narcotic poisons in ever increasing quantities. Hence the sufferer is driven to seek relief in augmented doses of the poison, and if he cannot obtain these, his condition becomes utterly unbearable. Yet to this suffering he is doomed, unless he can pass from one fit of intoxication to the other. Opium smoking is the only thing to alleviate the miseries of the collapse which follows an opium debauch, and but few can afford the continual drain of so expensive a remedy. Where a sufficient quantity of ............