A royal smuggler

Being forced far out of our intended course by the Dutch grab, and along the coast of those provinces of Java known to be ruled by chiefs or princes in the interest of the European Government, Prabu, in fear that a general description of the prahu might have been sent to the latter, ordered his crew to set about disguising the vessel with all speed. This they did by re-painting her a totally different color, from stem to stern; hewing down one of the masts, so that she should have one instead of two, and altering in a very artful manner, the character of her rigging. As for Martin and me, he recommended us to blacken our teeth, and color our skins to the mahogany hue of the natives. Thus, with the addition of donning the scant attire of the island seamen, we had soon become indistinguishable from them, except, indeed, we should happen to be very closely scrutinized by an European.

Well, we had run through the Straits of Bali, and rounded Cape Sedano—the most easterly promontory of Java—and had nearly made the entrance to the Straits of Madura, when we fell in with a hurricane, that so knocked us about that we were compelled to put into the first harbor, without mast or rudder, in fact, a mere hull, and that, too, with holes in her, that required incessant working at the pumps. To make matters worse, that port was near Mojopahit, once the seat of empire of the ancient Buddhist Sultans of Java, but now governed by a chief whom Prabu believed to be a firm and fast friend of the Dutch Government.

“This is jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire with a vengeance,” said I, as some of the native authorities ascended the sides, to inquire who and what we were, and for what purpose the prahu had put into that harbor.

“We must brazen it out,” replied Martin. “As for you and me, Claud, since we have turned mahogany color, the best thing we can do will be to say nothing, and look as savage as we can. It is a pity, though,” he added, with a laugh, “that we are not a little uglier and shorter, then they wouldn’t know us from their own brothers.”

Prabu’s reply to our visitors’ queries was, that he was a Batavian merchant of the lower town, who, having been to Singapore with birds’-nests, had taken in a cargo of cloth at Bali, and was then running around the coast to Samarang upon the north coast; and with this they appeared satisfied, but declared they could not allow him to refit without he first obtained the Chief’s permission. “Will my elder brothers, then, carry a message to the Chief?” asked Prabu.

“No, that they could not do, but they promised, however, to come the next morning, and conduct him to the feet of his lordship;” and with this—although a personal interview was sorely against his inclination—he was compelled to rest content.

Accordingly, the next morning, in anticipation of their coming, Prabu dressed himself as elaborately and as handsomely as his wardrobe would permit; indeed, we were astonished that he had on board such fine linen, gorgeous sarongs, handsome turbans, jeweled-hafted creeses, and golden rings and bracelets—enough, indeed, to attire the whole three of us, for we were to accompany him, to swell his state, as his two chief officers; we were, however, no longer surprised at all this finery, when he told us that the people inhabiting that portion of the island had, from all time, been noted for their love of show, and that, without it, they would treat strangers with derision, and their requirements with contempt.

By the way, the old traveler, Captain Dampier, gives a humorous illustration of the importance attached to mere dress by the Indian Islanders generally:

“Among the rest of our men,” says he, “who used, when on shore to dance with the Chief and his people, was one John Thacker, who was a seaman bred, and could neither read nor write, but had formerly learned to dance in the music-houses about Wapping. This man came to the South Seas with Captain Harris, and getting a good quantity of gold, laid some of it out in the purchase of a very handsome suit of clothes.

“The Chief—supposing by the richness of his attire and the quality of his dancing, that he must be some person of consequence—asked one of Thacker’s companions if he were not of noble birth.

“‘Your lordship is much in the right,’ replied the seaman, who was interested in carrying on the deception; ‘and most of our ship’s company are of the like extraction, especially all those who have fine clothes; for, having money enough to bear their own expenses, they have come abroad just to see the world. As for those men your lordship sees with mean clothes, why they are only common seamen.’

“This impudent falsehood had the desired effect upon the native Prince, who thenceforth treated John Thacker with the highest consideration. Unfortunately, however, the Captain was not fond of practical joking, so that when it came to his ears, he not only undeceived the Chief, but caused a sound drubbing to be administered to the pseudo noble.”

At the appointed hour, we were conducted to the Chief’s palace, and were at once introduced to the hall of audience, a large building, with open sides, the roof of which was handsomely carved, ornamented with vermilion and gold, and rested upon numerous pillars. The Chief received us very graciously; and having obtained satisfactory replies to the many questions he asked, listened attentively to Prabu’s requisition to be permitted to refit his vessel, and at once signified his acquiescence. But, as we were about taking our departure, there arose a great commotion at the entrance end of the hall, and presently several officers of justice appeared, bringing with them two men, both kicking and struggling to release themselves, like refractory school-boys. Of course, we stepped a little forward to ascertain the cause of their apprehension. The one was a Javanese, the other a Chinaman. At the sight of the latter, I startled not a little, exclaiming, “By Jove! Martin, here is that rascal To-ki again.”

“The rogue! so it is,” he replied. But Prabu also recognized him.

“The dog,” said he, “was formerly on board my prahu, but he fled one night when we were in harbor at Batavia, carrying with him all the dollars upon which he could lay his hands.” Hence, thought I, the reason of his trembling in that cave at the very name of Prabu.

But now commenced one of those scenes so characteristic of the courts of the native chiefs.

A woman of venerable aspect, but bent with age and overwhelmed with grief, came forward, and, falling at the feet of the chief, with clasped hands, said boldly, as is the wont of the Javanese in such cases, “Justice, oh! my lord, I demand justice. I have been foully wronged. I will not submit to it! Justice I ask upon the head of this villain Chinaman, for last night he waylaid and slew my boy, my only son, the prop of my numerous years, the staff of my existence!”

This charge having been corroborated by several witnesses, beyond all doubt or hope of dispute, one of the officials, turning to To-ki, cried:

“Thou hast heard the charge. What, oh, dog of a Chinese, hast to say to our lord the chief in reply?”

“The words of the miserable To-ki, whom the gods have deserted, will be few, oh, dread lord and chief,” he replied, in a whining tone. “It is true, but it is also true that the wretched To-ki entered this city, poor,—starving; and in an evil hour fell in with this dog of a Javanese, who offered thy slave, oh, my lord, a sum in silver, to rid him of a rat of an enemy; and it is also true that the miserable To-ki could not resist the temptation.”

Then the Javanese, being asked what he had to say, replied, “Am I not known, my lord, as a peaceful trader, and of good repute? is it then possible, under heaven, that thy slave could have been guilty of so great a crime? It is not so, oh, my lord, for upon the features of this man thy slave never set eyes, until this day. Surely,” he added, quite innocently, “this dog of a Chinese, son of a burnt mother that he is, entered the city as a robber and a slayer of men—but, having been detected in the crime, places it at the door of the first innocent man.”

The chief, having listened very attentively to these different statements, gave his decision that they were both guilty—

The Chinese, of having slain the man; and the Javanese, of instigating the crime. To-ki being a poor man, who could not pay his way out of the consequences of his crime, be sentenced to lose his nose and ears; while the Javanese was ordered at once to set aside a sum of money to keep the aged mother for the rest of her days, and to lose his two ears: a sentence which the man took quite coolly—but then he was rich—a fact that materially modifies sentences in Java. “It is a common custom,” says an old traveler, “to bargain with the executioner for mitigating the punishment: there is never a day but the chief orders a nose, eye, ear, hand, or foot to be cut off from somebody or other; and, upon these occasions, the executioner gets money for doing his business handsomely, and with little pain; for, if the criminal does not come up to his price, and pay him in ready money upon the spot, he will cut the nose, for instance, so deep that the brain may be seen through the wound, or mangle a foot or a leg with two or three knives—but, strange to say, in all these cruel mutilations, scarce any one dies, though some of the sufferers are above sixty years of age; and the only remedy they use is, to put the wounded part immediately into water; and, after it has bled a little, wash it, and bind it up with linen cloths.”

Not so quietly did our friend To-ki take his sentence; on the contrary, he set up a yelling that almost shook the hall of audience. Suddenly, however, his eyes lighting upon Prabu and me, he burst into an hysterical laugh, and, falling at the feet of the chief, he exclaimed,—

“Thy slave, oh, great chief, claims the remission of his sentence!”

“What means the dog, is he possessed?” cried the chief, kicking the kneeling man.

“Claims it,” continued To-ki, “as his reward for giving into the great chief’s hands rogues, traitors, for whose heads the Dutch chief at Batavia offers a thousand dollars each. Let the great man cast his lightning glance upon those dogs,” he added, pointing to us.

Unfortunately, the meaning of these words was but too intelligible to Martin and me, and we placed our hands upon our cresses.

“Resistance is useless, sahibs, submit,” whispered Prabu.

“What means the Chinese dog? Who is this man that has come to us in the guise of a merchant and a sailor?”

“Prabu, the slave, the descendant of the traitor Surapati,” cried the Chinese.

Seeing the chief regarding him, as if in astonishment and unbelief, Prabu advanced, and with an air of dignity, said—

“O great chief, this Chinese dog is a thief and a slayer of men for hire; but his words are good. I am he they call Prabu, the descendant of Surapati.”

The chief arose, I thought, from the mild expression in his eye and general manner, to pay his obeisance to Prabu, but quickly, sharply, he said,—

“Then art thou a traitor and a rebel to our good friends the Dutch—seize these dogs, and thy lives shall answer for their safety,” he added, to his guards. Whereupon we were all three secured, and taken at once to a small, dark, fetid-smelling dungeon.

“It has come at last; I said it would,” said Martin, surlily, as the guards fastened the door after quitting us.

“What is written is written,” was Prabu’s answer.

“That’s true, but it doesn’t follow that it can’t be scratched out.”

“Shame, Martin!” I exclaimed, “we have long since accepted our position, it is cowardice to complain now.”

“Well, well,” he replied, good-humoredly, “perhaps it is, Claud; still, to find oneself suddenly converted into a traitor, from no cause of his own, and with a fair prospect of being hanged, drawn, and quartered, or some such agreeable ending, is enough to make a fellow grumble. It is, as one may say, all he gets for his money. But, come,” he added, “let us bestir ourselves and think a little, for, among us, we may yet hit upon some plan of escape.”

Well, we did think, and that as silently and diligently as possible, for some two or three hours; but then, taking stock of our thoughts, the result proved nil, and something like a feeling of despair stole over us.

“What’s that?” exclaimed I, suddenly breaking a prolonged silence; and we all jumped to our feet. Ere, however, a word was spoken, the door turned upon its hinges, and the chief himself, attended by a slave bearing a lantern, stood in the room.

Instinctively our hands sought the handles of our weapons; but the chief, waving his hand, as if to assure us he intended no harm, bade the slave place the lantern upon the floor and quit the dungeon; then, addressing Prabu, he said,—

“Son of Surapati, I come to tell thee that thou and thy companions are free to depart. I did but have thee brought here for thine own safety. Thou wast publicly denounced by the Chinese dog, as one for whose head the hated Hollanders have offered a reward, and thus was I compelled to appear thine enemy, for even in my own palace are there spies to be found.”

“Chief,” replied Prabu, with dignity—a greater dignity than I had ever seen him assume; “this is generous—noble! but only what, from thy manner, I expected; and well I guessed that a descendant of the once royal house of Mojopahit could keep but a hollow truce, a mock amity, with the hereditary foes of his race.”

“Allah be praised,” replied the chief, “that I have it in my power to preserve the sole descendant of the truest Javanese who ever lived! But get thee at once from this place; a guide and horses await you all at the entrance to the forest.”

“How, O Prince,” exclaimed Prabu, with astonishment, “the prahu is a mere hull, but it will float us yet out of danger.”

“Not so: a Dutch ship of war has, even within the last three hours, entered the harbor, and in the morning the captain will claim thee as his prisoner.”

“But the prahu—the cargo, they are the property of his highness, thy sovereign and mine, and I may not desert them with life.”

“Fear not,” replied the prince, “for while in this port, by my treaty with the Dutch, they are mine. But,” he added, “hasten, lose no time, and place this letter in the hands of his highness the Pangeran; it will acquit thee of all blame; nay, raise thee in his esteem.”

A minute’s reflection, and Prabu replied,—

“Chief, I cannot but believe thee, I consent; we will seek the forest, and there remain till this Dutch ship has taken her departure.”

“Not so,” replied the chief, “you must at once seek the Pangeran, who has quitted Pugar, and is now at Marang.”

“God is great!” exclaimed Prabu, surprised, and not without cause, for Marang was several hundreds of miles nearer than Pugar, at which province he believed the Pangeran then to be. “But,” he added, “the chief is right: I must at once seek the Pangeran.”

“But suppose this is all a hoax,” said Martin, with rude bluntness.

“Even then,” replied Prabu, coolly, “our danger will be no greater than now. It will be but the meeting with a similar misfortune by another means. Better fall by the hands of a treacherous Javanese than be slain by the dogs of Hollanders.”

“A matter of taste, that; I should prefer the latter,” replied my brother.

Then the Chief, who, to my astonishment, instead of exhibiting the wild anger so common to his race, at the smallest insult, either fancied or real, merely smiled at the words.

“The young Sahib,” he said, “must have suffered great misfortunes, for his heart to be so full of suspicion. But no more words, haste ye all,” he added, as he opened the door and pointed to the guide, who, with four small horses, stood awaiting us at a little distance.

Once upon the back of my horse, or rather pony—for in Java there are no horses worthy of the name—I felt that we were safe: at the time, however, I but little imagined the labor we should have to urge the beasts through the brushwood and jungle; indeed, after an hour or two’s coaxing, whipping, kicking with spurless heels, I became of Martin’s opinion, who—wet through with perspiration, engendered by his endeavors to make his animal go at a little more than a sharp walking pace—exclaimed,—

“Oh, bother! an English donkey would be worth a dozen of these brutes! I tell you what, Claud, I believe we should save time by reversing our positions, and carrying these animals on our shoulders;” at which, by the way, Prabu administered a very proper rebuke.

“These horses,” said he, “know their business better than the Sahib Martin. They know that they have to traverse mountain and valley—through brushwood and jungle—and meet with tigers or snakes, therefore they are slow; but they are cautious and sure-footed.”

“Ah!” replied my brother, “the old story of ‘the tortoise and the hare.’ Well, we must make the best of it.”

But then his “making the best of it” consisted in goading his pony till, becoming restive, it literally “bolted,” and, in its rage, regardless of the character Prabu had given him for sure-footedness, went, head foremost, into the ruins of a huge tank, some twelve feet deep.

“My brother is killed!” I exclaimed, half-frightened out of my wits, as horse and rider suddenly disappeared into an abyss, which, for what I then knew, might be as deep as the chasm down which I had fallen in the caves.

“Not kill! tank all full of grass and brushwood,” said the guide; and, to my great satisfaction, so it proved, for by the time we had reached the edge of the tank Martin had clambered up its sides, and stood before us rubbing his limbs.

“The ill-tempered brute!” he exclaimed, as we came up to him. “But I hope he is not killed.”

“No, sahib; horse not kill!” replied our guide; and, dismounting, he jumped into the tank, and in less than half-an-hour we saw him leading the animal up a slope.

Onward again along the side of this great tank, which once supplied the inhabitants of Mojopahit; through the vast ruins of palaces and magnificent temples, overgrown with forest trees and jungle, where once had stood the classic city of Java—the seat of her ancient kings.

With awe and veneration I listened to the description Prabu gave us of the former greatness of Mojopahit; but scarcely with the same feelings did Prabu regard these ruins.

“God is great!” he exclaimed. Pointing to fragments of walls and pillars: “those were once the palaces and temples of pagans—but what is written is written—now they are the haunts of the beast of the field; and the faith of the Prophet is triumphant through the land!”

“But,” said I, as we rode onwards, “I have heard that it was to a Hindoo or Buddhist king of Mojopahit that Mahomedanism was indebted for its first introduction into Java.”

“Under Heaven and the Prophet it was!” he replied. And then he told us the following pretty story:—

“About the year 1398 one Maulana Ibrahim, a holy man of Arabia, having heard that the people of so great an island were idolaters, resolved to bring them over to the faith of the Prophet. Accordingly, accompanied by his daughter, one of the most beautiful women in the world, and a large retinue of attendants, he landed in the island. Once here, by the assistance of the Prophet, he succeeded in converting a great number of the poorer classes of people. But his heart yearned for the achievement of a greater victory—no less, indeed, than the conversion of Browijoyo, king of Mojopahit—the then principal state in Java.

“To effect this, he set out for the sovereign’s residence, having first sent his son to inform his majesty of the intended visit. Browijoyo, having heard of the holiness of Maulana, set out to meet him, and receive him with all due honor; but, upon their meeting, his majesty became highly offended with his visitor, for he presented him with a pomegranate in a very ordinary basket—and with reason was the king indignant, for that fruit, being one very common in Java, such a present was the height of meanness—and so the king left him, with feelings of great contempt, and Maulana returned to the place where he had first landed.

“No sooner, however, had the holy man departed, than his majesty, being seized with a violent headache, mechanically stretched forth his hand for the sweet-smelling pomegranate, when, lo! instead of the delicious fruit, he found it was filled with magnificent rubies. Astonished at the sight, he sent a messenger to Maulana, begging of him to return, but the holy man declined, affording as an excuse, that his only daughter had just died. Pitying the bereaved parent, the king immediately went to him, to offer what consolation he might, and, moreover, desired to be permitted to see the dead girl, for he had heard of her wondrous beauty. This wish was gratified; but when the attendants lifted the veil from the body, the king became so dazzled with her beauty, that, falling upon his knees, he prayed aloud that his Gods would restore the soul of the girl to its lovely dwelling-place.

“‘Nay,’ cried Maulana, ‘call not upon your Gods; they are of gold and ivory, and cannot hear you; mine alone can lend a listening ear!’

“The king then, yielding to a heavenly influence, addressed a prayer to the God of the true believers and Mahomed his Prophet! when, to the astonishment of all present, the dark circle round the eyes of the corpse began to fade gently away, her lips to assume the deep blush of the rose, a faint color to tinge her cheeks, her long curled lashes were slowly raised, revealing her large dark eyes,—which they had thought closed forever—and she held out her hand to the king, who became a Mussulman on the spot, and married her.” So far Prabu’s legend. The true story, however, according to the Javanese writers, of the Mahomedan conversion, runs as follows:—

Among the wives of Browijoyo was a Chinese. This lady, being repudiated by the king, was, with her son, Raden Patah, sent to Arya Dama, chief of the Javanese colony of Palembang, in Sumatra, the inhabitants of which place had already embraced Islamism. Radan Patah, when he grew up, accompanied by Radan Husen, a son of Arya Dama by the second mother, went over to Java. Both the young men professed the faith of Mahomed; but while Radan Patah assumed the character of a zealot and a devotee, Radan Husen rested content with the promotion and other advantages he received at the court of the Hindoo king Browijoyo, who made him governor of a district, and gave him the command of his army.

Radan Patah, through the influence of his brother, was permitted to settle in the district of Damak; his conduct, however, creating some suspicion at court, his brother paid him a visit, and prevailed upon him to make his appearance there, and pay the accustomed homage; in consequence of which the king not only pardoned him, but created him Adapali, or governor of Damak.

But no sooner did the new governor return to the seat of his government than he began to intrigue for the subversion of the national worship; and, having at length succeeded in mustering a considerable force, he gave the command to a Javanese. This general, meeting the army of the king under Radan Husen, was defeated and slain. Radan Patah, however, not discouraged by this defeat, assembled a fresh army, and gave the command to Kudus, a son of the slain commander. The Hindoos and Mahomedans again met, the result being the defeat of the former, the capture and destruction of the ancient city of Mojopahit, and the ultimate triumph of Mahomedanism, which is well ascertained to have happened in the year 1478.

“It may be remarked,” says Crawford, “as a singular coincidence, that the Mahomedan religion was extending itself thus in Asia at the very time it was expelled from Europe; and it is curious to observe, that this important revolution was going forward nearly at the same moment with the grandest events in the history of man. Mojopahit was destroyed but fourteen years before the discovery of America, and but nine before Vasca di Gama doubled the Cape. It was a moment, indeed, when the nations of the world were becoming better acquainted with each other. The European reader, in reflecting upon this subject, will feel regret that the intolerant religion of Mahomed should have anticipated the religion and civilization of a more polished and improved portion of mankind; but that regret will be moderated when he considers the bigotry and cruelty of the Portuguese, the first adventurers, and the mean, pitiful, and cruel policy of their mercantile successors, the Dutch.”