These were most unpalatable facts for our friends to listen to. But, however painful they might be, and however offensive to the ear of a patriotic Dutchman, yet they were facts which could neither be ignored nor explained away. Very gravely and very sadly the five young men sat slowly rocking themselves in their chairs and watching the wreaths of blue smoke as they curled upwards from their manillas. Thus they passed some time in silent thought, when suddenly, in the distance were heard fresh volleys of musketry, redoubled banging of mertjons, and this noise accompanied by loud bursts of cheering repeated again and again, which, arising within the banqueting hall, was taken up by the thousands of natives who stood without waiting for the display of fireworks. That crescendo in the festive din was occasioned no doubt by Lim Yang Bing’s eloquent speech in honour of Resident van Gulpendam. “Sabieio, fill the glasses!” cried van Nerekool to his servant, making an effort to shake off the gloomy thoughts which oppressed him, and which not even van Beneden’s story had been able to dissipate.
For the next few minutes they all sat listening to the disturbance outside, and when at length the noise had died away, van Rheijn re-opened the conversation.
“You told us just now, my dear August, that Tio Siong Mo had found no co-operation or support among the inferior class of officials; but that these, on the contrary, sided with the more powerful company Hok Bie. Now I take it for granted that you did not talk merely at random; but that you had some sufficient grounds for saying what you did. One thing, however, is not quite clear to me, and that is whether you meant that accusation to apply to the native opium-officials or to the Europeans. You will grant me, I suppose, that the accusation is a rather serious one.”
Van Beneden did not raise his eyes, he drew a deep breath. At length after an interval of a few seconds, he said:
“Yes, you are perfectly right, the charge is undoubtedly a serious one. As a lawyer I am perfectly aware of that; and [472]you were quite right also in presuming that I did not utter it without due consideration. The question you now ask me is this: ‘To whom do you intend this grave censure to apply?’ I might answer with perfect truth, that I apply it to native and European officials alike. But to be absolutely candid I ought to go further and confess that, when I spoke, I was aiming specially at the European officers.”
“August!” cried van Rheijn, evidently much moved at his friend’s earnestness and sincerity. “May you not be taking too partial and unfair a view of the situation?”
“My dear fellow,” replied van Beneden, “just listen to what I am about to tell you, and then I will leave you to judge for yourself—
“Among the mass of documents relating to this Tio Siong Mo’s business, I came upon some remarks made by a very highly placed official, a man perfectly competent to form a correct opinion; and who had, in fact, been consulted on this very occasion. His remarks run thus:
“?‘The salaries paid to the officials who are employed in checking the trade in contraband opium are wholly insufficient; and in the discharge of their most arduous duties, these public servants receive no support at all. The consequence of this is, that hardly a single person who is properly qualified for the work will ever offer his services. In what manner, then, are those places filled? Why, in the simplest manner possible. Individuals are appointed quite at random and are then placed under the orders of some Resident or other. These poor creatures, who, as a general rule, have no very brilliant antecedents to boast of, and who know little or nothing of the opium trade, receive a salary of 150 guilders (￡12 10s.) a month, and are stationed at such points as the smugglers are most likely to resort to. It follows, of course, from the nature of the case that these stations are far away from any inhabited spot, generally in the heart of some swamp or in the all but impenetrable jungle on the north coast of Java. In such localities there can be no question of a house; and some of these men have to hire a small bamboo hut at the rate of 25 or 30 guilders a month, or else they run up a kind of rough shanty at their own expense. They have no staff whatever—there being no money to provide one—and thus, on an emergency, they have to apply for help to the chiefs of the nearest dessas, and that is very much like going to the devil for confession. Moreover, the Residents compel these people to keep two [473]horses, which animals they must purchase for themselves, and they have to pay 10 guilders a month at least for forage for each horse. If now we take into consideration deductions for widows’ and orphans’ fund, then these wretched creatures receive only about 102 guilders a month, out of which they must find house rent and servants’ wages, leaving them, say 67 guilders to live upon, to find themselves in dress, and to keep their often numerous families. Now, the question is, how can such persons manage to live at all in even the most frugal manner? How do they manage to keep body and soul together? They have no other resource than to apply to the opium-farmer for assistance, and in him they always find a most obliging money-lender. The whole question, then, comes to this: Are not such officers forced by mere pressure of circumstances to squeeze as much out of their wretched billet as can be got out of it?’
“And thus, you see, my dear Edward, that all these men either are, or very soon get to be, under the thumb of the opium-farmers, and the consequences of such a state of things are, you must grant, inevitable. By the side of the note I read to you just now, I found a list—it was a long list—of the names of such individuals as, either for neglect of duty or for having aided and abetted the smugglers, had been dismissed the service. There were others who were mere puppets in the farmers’ hands, and who could not venture on the slightest remonstrance if the farmer himself was implicated in the smuggling trade. Then there was a third—alas! the list was a very short one—of officials who undertook to perform their duties conscientiously, and who, looking upon a smuggler as a smuggler, whether he happened to be an opium-farmer or not, were determined to put down the illegal traffic whoever might be engaged in it. I regret, however, to have to add that those names very quickly disappear from the scene. The Residents soon found fault with such men—they had no tact—no management—in fact, some ground of complaint was sure to be found. And then, of course, the Government does not like to see the farmers, so long as they pay their contract money regularly into the treasury, annoyed by opposition of any kind.”
“But,” exclaimed Grenits, somewhat warmly, “what becomes, at that rate, of the assertion made over and over in Parliament by the Colonial Secretary, that the abuse of opium is in every possible way kept in check? As far as I can make [474]out from your statement, the Government seems, indirectly of course, actually to protect the smuggling by the farmers, and these, equally of course, in order to dispose of their contraband, press the drug by all means, legal or illegal, upon the helpless population.”
“The sum and substance of all I have told you is simply this,” said van Beneden. “No man who has the slightest respect for himself can or will undertake any office for the suppression of opium smuggling, and therefore a lower class of people must be employed, and thence, you see, it becomes possible for the tricks and dodges of such companies as Hok Bie to succeed.”
“By Jove!” cried van Nerekool, “that’s another nice little glimpse into the charming situation which the system of opium-farming has created. Come! now we are about it, we had better exhaust the unsavoury subject as far as we can. Did you not say just now, van Rheijn, that you also had an opium tale to tell?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Edward, “and something else besides that.”
“Indeed!” said Grashuis; “go on then. I thought I was pretty well informed; but every moment I am making fresh discoveries.”
“Now, gentlemen,” said van Nerekool, “are you all furnished with cigars? Van Rheijn, we are waiting to hear you.”
“I have had a letter from Murowski,” began van Rheijn.
“From Murowski?” cried one.
“From our Pole?”
“From our doctor?”
“Yes, gentlemen, from our expert at the scientific opium-smoke. Now, as his letter contains very few, if any, secrets, and that moreover it is addressed to us in general, I need not follow our host’s example; and I will read it to you in full.”
“But, my dear fellow,” said Grenits, “it is getting late, nearly nine o’clock. Is there anything in that letter about butterflies?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And about beetles and snakes?”
“Oh yes, certainly.”
“Then, I say! heaven help us, those entomologists are so long-winded; they don’t spare you a single claw, not an antenna, not a shard!” [475]
“Oh, you won’t find it so bad as all that,” laughed van Rheijn; “just listen.”
“?‘My dear friend, in your last letter you ask me how I pass the time at Gombong. At first, I must confess, it was tedious work and everything looked very black. You know, I was rather smitten with Agatha van Bemmelen, and I have reason to flatter myself that she used not to shut her little peepers very hard when she happened to meet me at Santjoemeh. So, when I first came here, my thoughts ran entirely on her; I detested my new place, and cursed the man who had played me the scurvy trick of having me transferred. Of entomology there was no question. Two or three times I went out and tried to get some specimens, but I failed woefully. Wherever I went, in whatever direction I took my walks, there was but one picture before my eyes—the image of my Agatha’s sparkling eyes and my Agatha’s rosy cheeks.
“?‘So utterly lost was I in rapture that the rarest specimens in butterflies fluttered past my very nose without my so much as holding out my net. I gave the whole thing up in despair, and tossed all my apparatus into a corner. But, what to do with oneself at Gombong? The officers of the garrison were busy enough; but I had nothing—absolutely nothing—to occupy my time. The climate of Gombong is a wretched one—most miserably healthy, no chance of ever getting a patient here! Being a devout Catholic, I sent up a little prayer every now and then for a good epidemic, or at least some case worthy of keeping one’s interest going—nothing of the kind!’?”
“Well now,” cried Theodoor, “did you ever hear of such a fellow, praying for an epidemic! Such a chap as that ought to be put out of the colony altogether—he is fit only for the new lunatic asylum at Buitenzorg!”
“Nonsense!” retorted van Rheijn, “does not every one pray for his daily bread? Does not our friend van Beneden here pray for a good lawsuit—and that is, perhaps, not much less serious a matter than an epidemic. But let me go on.
“?‘Seeing that my prayers were not heard, I sought refuge in poetry;—perhaps I might say I prayed and wrote verses alternately. I celebrated my well-beloved in alexandrines, in iambics, in pentameters, in hexameters, in odes, in lyrics, in sonnets, in stanzas, in German, in Polish—’?”
“That must have sounded well!” interrupted Grashuis.
“?‘—In Polish, in French, nay, even in Latin!’?” [476]
“In Latin!” exclaimed Grenits, with a shout of laughter, “the fellow must have gone raving mad!”
“Just fancy the poor child receiving an ode from her adorer entitled ‘Solis occasus,’—and ‘Virgini Agath? pulcherrim? Bemmelensi dedicatus’—I should like to have seen her little phiz,” cried van Beneden.
“Do stop all that nonsense,” remonstrated van Rheijn, who nevertheless was laughing as heartily as the others, and when silence had been restored, he continued:
“?‘And Heaven only knows how much paper I might have wasted had not suddenly the news reached me that my adored Agatha was engaged, and was, indeed, on the point of being married. Then I crumpled up all my poetical effusions, and that very evening made a nice little fire of them. They were of some use in that way in keeping off the mosquitoes and other such like vermin. I invited all the officers of the garrison to a jolly good champagne supper; and, after having passed a night in which I rivalled the Seven Sleepers of holy memory—I arose next morning a new man—perfectly cured!—’?”
“That Pole is a practical fellow,” cried Grashuis. “I say, Charlie, you should take a leaf out of his book!”
“?‘Thereupon I resumed my insect hunting, and then, for the first time, it dawned upon me that the hemiptera, the diptera, the hymenoptera, the lepidoptera, the coleoptera—’?”
“I say, I say!” cried Grenits, “might you not skip all these barbarous words. That a Pole like Murowski makes use of them is excusable perhaps—he knows no better; but that he should inflict them upon us!—it is unpardonable.”
“Oh, well!” replied van Rheijn, “I have almost done—
“?‘—The coleoptera, the crustaceans are really our best and truest friends, and that they would, after all, afford me the most wholesome recreation. I happened to be in luck’s way. Patients there were none, and, to make assurance doubly sure, a medical officer, and therefore a colleague of mine, had arrived here in Gombong. He had obtained three months’ leave, and, in this mild and singularly equable climate, he hoped to find a cure for an incipient liver-complaint. This gentleman was willing, he was indeed quite eager, to take my place in any unforeseen emergency, if it were only to break the monotony of his existence out here. I quickly availed myself of this favourable opportunity to ask our military chief for eight days’ leave to go on a trip into the Karang Bollong mountains and give myself up to my passion for entomology. [477]
“?‘?“By all means,” said the kind-hearted captain, “by all means, you go and catch butterflies and snoutbeetles. Only see that in those wild mountain districts you don’t come to grief; and, mind you, be back again in time.”
“?‘An hour after, I had shouldered my gun, slung on my game-bag; and, with the tin box for my collection strapped to my back, I was on the war-path, my servant following with the other necessaries. From Gombong I marched through the dessas Karang djah, Ringodono and Pringtoetoel, and there I was in the heart of the mountain country. That journey I did not make in a single day; but I took my time, and spent two days in covering the ground.
“?‘I will not tire you with an account of my insect-hunt, that would, in fact, be casting pearls before swine.’?”
“Upon my word, that is a good one!” exclaimed Grenits, laughing. “Our Pole is exquisitely polite!”
“Well,” laughed van Rheijn, “he is paying you back in your own coin, you remember what you said about ‘barbarous words’ just now. But let me get on.
“?‘But yet I must tell you that my trip was very successful. I have every reason to be satisfied; for among many other rare and valuable specimens, I secured a fine Ulysses and a splendid Priamos. But what will constitute the real glory of my collection is an Atlas, a truly magnificent creature, which, with outspread wings, covers an area of nearly a foot square. I will not however dwell on these matters. I know you take no interest in them. No, no, I have a subject to write upon which will prove much more attractive to yourself and to your friends. Our experiment in opium-smoking has been haunting me ever since I witnessed it; and I have by no means forgotten the conversation we held on that occasion. What I then heard and saw has opened my eyes and my ears, and has made me very attentive whenever the opium question is mentioned. And, I must say, that I have here been brought to the very spot where I am able to glean most interesting information about the use of that drug. In my wanderings through the Karang Bollong mountains, I have been brought into contact with the gathering of the far-famed birds’ nests. Whether you gentlemen are acquainted with that source of the Dutch revenue, I know not; but in order to come to the subject I wish to lay before you, that is, the abuse of opium and the encouragement the Government gives to that abuse, I must give you a short account of this most interesting gathering of birds’ nests. [478]You must, for the present at least, take my word for the truth of every syllable I write—’?”
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