A royal smuggler

“The wen-necked hunchback!”

As at night these words had been the last upon our lips, so were they the first in the morning.

“I will seek out this fellow at once,” said my brother.

“But how, Martin? It would be to look for a needle in a haystack; for the house and grounds of the Chief Mahomed are well-nigh as large and intricate as those of the Rajah’s karaton.”

“I will seek Mahomed himself, and beg of him to produce the rogue.”

“A bold notion, truly, but not a wise one; for if, as I suspect, he be here for Mahomed’s amusement, or, worse, as a spy or an ally in some secret scheme, such a demand would, in all probability, bring us a couple of creeses between our ribs. Besides, brother mine, we cannot be sure the fellow is he whom we seek; for wens and hunchbacks are so plentiful in these Indian islands, that it can be no uncommon occurrence to find them met together upon the same person—but here comes Prabu.”

“Prabu,” said Martin, as that personage joined us, “I am determined to see this hunchback, even if I demand him of the Chief Mahomed.”

“Is the sahib tired of his life?—it would be madness,” he replied, hastily. “But,” he added, “it is not necessary; I have discovered where this man is lodged, and there must we seek him.”

“Where?” asked my brother, eagerly.

“In the second pandapa in the gardens, about a hundred yards to the back of the palace.”

“Let us hasten,” cried Martin, snatching up his creese from the floor.

“Nay, not so, sahib: we should have to eat dirt, for he is now with the prince, with whom, for some reason or other, he seems to have become a great favorite. Let us rest patiently till night.”

With great difficulty Martin curbed his impatience till nightfall, and then, guided by Prabu, we set out together for the gardens; these we entered by a small postern in the northern wall, which our guide had discovered by bribing one of the slaves.

“See,” said Prabu, pointing to a low building—through the chinks in the wooden wall of which we could perceive the glimmer of a light—“that is the pandapa; but tread softly, be cautious, or he will hear our approach.”

We crept stealthily to the boarding and looked through a chink.

“The rascal!” muttered Martin, between his teeth, and placing his hand upon the haft of his creese.

“Allah preserve us! He is at his incantations,” exclaimed Prabu.

But let me explain to the reader what we saw. The place was lighted by the dirty yellow flame of an oil-lamp, placed upon a pedestal about three feet high. At the base of this, upon the boarded floor, squatted, with his legs crossed beneath him, a hunchback with a wen neck; but his face we could not see, for his back was towards us. He was intently watching the figure of a man wrought of wax, robed in yellow, the royal color, and at the same time muttering some words, in a tongue I had never heard before.

“The dog!” muttered Prabu. “He is seeking to encompass the death of the Rajah by enchantment.”

“Hush,” I whispered.

Then he took, from beneath a black cloth lying near at hand, a human bone, upon which, with a preparation which seemed to me compounded of blood and charcoal, he proceeded to write a name.

“The dog—the dog!” again muttered Prabu; “it is the Rajah’s name.”

“Hush, hush, Prabu!” I whispered. “Would to Heaven he would show his face, that we might be sure of our man!” Almost as I spoke my wish was granted: he arose, and turned towards us the but too well remembered features.

“Enough, Claud, it is he!” exclaimed my brother; and the next instant he had passed the threshold, and was struggling with his old enemy.

“Rogue—rogue! thou shalt not escape me this time,” he said, as he clutched him by the neck almost to suffocation.

“Remove your hands, Martin,” I cried; “you will kill him, and then we shall learn nothing.”

“True,” replied Martin; but as he pulled forth his pistol and held it to the hunchback’s head, he said: “Nevertheless, he shall die, if he attempts to move from this spot without my permission. Now, dog! thief!” he added, “if thou wouldst live another hour, answer three questions.”

“Let the sahib put them: Huc-cuk will answer, if not forbidden by the demons,” replied the old rogue, but with trembling limbs and chattering teeth;—at which, indeed, there was nothing astonishing, for he stood, as it were, in the center of a triangle composed of two glittering creeses (Prabu’s and mine) and a loaded rifled pistol.

“Is the girl whom you stole from Mynheer Ebberfeld’s house alive and uninjured?” asked Martin.

“As I would save my worthless life, sahib, she is both alive and uninjured.”

“Good! Now tell me who instigated the crime?”

“A demon, sahib.”

“No trifling, thou rogue!” replied Martin, savagely. “Don’t answer me with your demons, or I will send thee to sup with them.”

“The gods forbid, sahib: it was a demon, the demon who prompts all men to crime—poverty. Yes, Huc-cuk was starving, and he stole the girl that he might get bread.”

“That is indeed candid, thou old rogue!” cried Martin. “Now, tell me, to whom didst thou sell her?”

“To some wandering merchants.”

“Villain,” cried Martin, “this is false; else how knowest thou she is even now alive, unharmed, uninjured?”

“Sahib, the merchants who bought her again sold her to be the handmaiden of a princess.”

“Now, thou rogue,” said Martin, making the lock of his pistol click, “prepare to die, or answer me truly: Where is she now—where may we find her?”

The old coward trembled like an aspen leaf, as he replied—

“Let the sahib have patience, while Huc-cuk consults the demons—for this question he may not answer without their permission;” and then he buried his face in his hands, and began muttering, or, rather, making strange, unearthly noises. The result was that in about five minutes, in bolder tones, he said:

“The sahib may take Huc-cuk’s worthless life; the demons forbid his answering that question.”

“Enough, then—take the consequences!” cried Martin, passionately: and he would have shot him there and then, but Prabu dexterously jerked the pistol in an upward direction.

“Your pardon, sahib, but Allah forbid that you should rob the public executioner of his fees, for already is this man’s life forfeited to the laws of Bali.” Then to the hunchback he said, “Well knowest thou this, O dog of a sorcerer and traitor!”

“Well does the miserable Huc-cuk know that the noble Prabu utters words of truth,” whined the hunchback.

“Ah!” exclaimed the captain, evidently greatly surprised, “then you know me?”

“The descendant of the illustrious patriot Surapati is known to every native-born Javan—is it possible it could be otherwise?”

“Dog!” replied he, sternly; “if thou knowest me as Prabu, and as the descendant of the great Prince, thou also knowest that I will keep my word. Thus, if thou disclosest the whereabouts of this girl, and we find her unhurt, unharmed, thou shalt be free to come and to go: if not, his Highness the Rajah shall take thee in his keeping.”

“The noble Prabu hath commanded—the miserable Huc-cuk will obey; but the words must be spoken in his ears alone, for so have the demons willed it.”

“Let us parley with the rogue no longer,” cried Martin.

“Nay,” replied Prabu, “if the sahibs would learn that which they so much desire to know, they must be patient; let them therefore withdraw for a time from the pandapa.”

“And leave you alone with this fellow?” said Martin.

“Aye,” replied Prabu, “for the dog hath more to fear from me than I from him.”

“Prabu is right, we will await without.” Then, taking Martin by the arm, he permitted me to lead him outside the building.

“That fellow will escape us yet,” said my brother.

“Not so,” I replied—“Prabu knows how to manage him better than either of us;” and so Martin was compelled to await the result.

After a close and whispered conference of half-an-hour, not one word of which could we catch, Prabu came forth from the pandapa.

“Well, where hath the rogue hidden our cousin?” we both asked, anxiously.

“Let the sahibs rest happy and contented—their cousin is safe and unharmed.”

“But where? How can you be certain of this?”

“Prabu hath said it: do the sahibs doubt his words?”

“No, no!” replied Martin; “yet I cannot—I cannot feel convinced! But, anyhow, that fellow shall not escape me until I have the assurance from his own lips;” and so saying, he dashed up the steps and through the doorway, but then gave such a wail of agony and despair, that, fearing he might have been suddenly attacked and wounded by Huc-cuk, I immediately followed him; but there he stood, now speechless with rage, for the hunchback had escaped.

“Claud, Claud!” he exclaimed, on seeing me, “even Prabu has deceived us—but bitterly shall he pay for it;” and as the latter came up the steps, I believe he would have attacked him had I not held him back.

“Martin, my brother, for shame! Have faith in Prabu still—he would never betray us so cruelly.”

“Give me, then, thou Javan dog!—give me, I say, my cousin or this hunchback!”

“Javan dog in thy teeth!” exclaimed the descendant of Surapati, savagely; then, with a smile, he added: “But the poor young sahib Martin is mad with grief, and forgets that, for his uncle’s sake, the Javan dog is to him the most faithful of animals.”

“Well,” hotly replied Martin, “the words were wrong—I retract them; I believe in you, Prabu; but—but I insist upon knowing where our cousin is hidden.”

“Let the Sahib Martin have patience,” was the quiet reply—“let him wait. Prabu, who would die fifty deaths rather than betray or deceive the nephews of the good Councilor Black, swears by the Koran, that the girl shall be delivered to them safe and unharmed. More than this he cannot, dare not, must not now say! Will the sahibs trust him?”

“Frankly will I,” said I, shaking his hand; but Martin stood bewildered, and as if half-ashamed of his impetuosity, yet too proud to give in. It was, however, but for a moment; then, following my example, he took him by the hand, saying:

“Prabu, I submit; but, for Heaven’s sake, lose no time in relieving me from this cruel suspense.”

“The Sahib Martin,” replied the other, “is again himself, and the joy of having his cousin restored to him will be sufficient recompense for his present sufferings. But, again, let me assure him that she is safe, for the hunchback would not have dared to deceive Prabu.”

“But why should he not deceive you?—who can believe one word from the lips of so great a rogue?” asked Martin.

“There are reasons that I may not now disclose; but one I may. Having discovered him in the very act of sorcery, one word of mine would bring down upon him and his whole family, no matter how wide apart they may be, a dreadful punishment—for terrible are the laws of Bali; and that word I promised should never be spoken if he could convince me, beyond all doubt, that the girl was safe and unharmed, and that he did—by what means, for the present, no matter;” and with this explanation we were compelled to rest content, and so returned to our lodgings.

Apropos of sorcery, among those of the Indian islands not converted to Mahomedanism, it is regarded, as of yore in England, as the most atrocious of crimes, and punished accordingly.

“If,” says the Balinese law, “a man falsely accuse another of sorcery, and speak publicly thereof, the magistrate shall fine him forty thousand.” “If a person write the name of another on the winding-sheet of a corpse, or on a dead man’s bier, or make images of another of paste, or, writing the name of a man on a slip of paper, suspends it on a tree, buries it in the earth, deposits it in haunted ground, or where two roads cross each other, any of these shall be deemed sorcery. If a man write the name of another on a human bone, with blood and charcoal, this also shall be deemed an incantation. Whoever is guilty of any of these practices shall be put to death. If the matter be very clearly made out, let the punishment of death be extended to his father and mother, to his children, and to his grandchildren!—let none of them live!—let none connected with one so guilty remain on the face of the land, and let their goods be, in like manner, confiscated. Should the children or parents of the sorcerer live in a remote part of the country, still let them be sought out and put to death; and let their goods, if concealed, be brought forth and confiscated.”

This cruel custom of putting to death a whole family for the fault of one, reminds me of a similar custom among the Japanese, and which is sufficiently illustrated by the following historical anecdote:—

In the year 1638, the governor of a small province near Jeddo so oppressed the people, that the Tycoon ordered that he and all his relations should have their stomachs ripped open, as nearly as possible, at one and the same hour. He had a brother, who lived two hundred and forty-seven leagues from Jeddo, in the service of the King of Fingo; an uncle, who lived in Satsuma, twenty leagues further; a son, who served the King of Kinocuni; a grandson, who served the King of Massame, a hundred and ten leagues from Jeddo; and at three hundred and eighty leagues from Satsuma, another son, who served the governor of the castle of Quanto; two brothers, who were of the regiment of the Emperor’s guards; and another son, who had married the only daughter of a rich merchant, near Jeddo;—yet were all these persons to be executed precisely at the same hour. To do that they cast up what time was requisite to send the order to the farthest place; and, having appointed the day for the execution there, orders were sent to the Princes of all the places I have mentioned, that they should put to death all those persons on the same day, just at noon, which was punctually done. The merchant who had bestowed his daughter on that gentleman’s son, died of grief, and the widow starved herself.