A royal smuggler

A fortnight had elapsed since Mynheer had taken Marie from our room. His Javanese highness had left about a week, and we had been kept from both sight and speech with our cousin, an exclusion that much vexed us. It was night, and my brother and I, while undressing for bed, were speculating as to the possibility of eluding our guardian’s vigilance.

“I tell you what, Claud,” said Martin, as he stepped into bed, “I will see Marie, if I die for it—aye, and talk to her, too.”

“A brave resolution; but how? We have been making the effort a whole fortnight, and as yet have not even discovered in what part of the house she is confined.”

“Let me sleep upon it, and I will tell you in the morning,” replied Martin, and not another word could I get from him, so I also endeavored to “sleep upon it;” but after a couple of hours, finding that I was still restless, and my eyes would not keep closed, I arose, and, as it was a bright moonlight night, determined to stroll about the grounds. Scarcely, however, had I stepped out, than I fancied I could hear footfalls, and the murmuring of whispering voices. Alarmed, for, whoever they were, they could not be there for any honest purpose, I crept into the shrubbery, where we had first discovered Marie, and from thence, by the light of the moon, saw four half-naked natives, each with a glittering creese by his side, approaching the window; but guess my astonishment when, in the one who was evidently their leader, I recognized the hunchback snake-charmer, the man whom my brother and I both regarded as the cause of our father’s death. My first impulse was to rush forward and seize the fellow by the throat, my second to shout to Martin; but an instant’s reflection showed me that either would be an act of madness, and I determined to raise an alarm only in the event of their attempting to harm my brother.

Then I began to ponder what could be their object—perhaps to murder or kidnap us boys; for Marie’s story about Ebberfeld, and the advantages he would derive from our death, was vivid in my memory. But no; they were ordinary vulgar robbers, without the least embellishment of romance, for the repulsive little wen-necked hunchback, taking a handful of earth from a bag suspended round his neck, threw it scatteringly into the room. “Good,” he said to his companions; “it fell upon their beds; they will sleep till the morning.”

It was by that act I knew them to be only common robbers, for in Java those worthies entertain a superstition that if a quantity of earth from a newly-opened grave be thrown into the rooms, and, if possible, upon the beds of the inmates of the house they intend to plunder, a death-like sleep will ensue, from which no noise, however great, can awaken them, at least until they have effected their nefarious purpose; but, curiously enough, not only the robbers, but the robbed, have firm faith in the efficacy of this application of grave earth.

Having thus, as it were, propitiated the god of silence and other supernatural authorities favorable to burglary, I had the satisfaction of seeing them steal stealthily from the doorway. At once I resolved, by awakening my brother, to prove the impotency of the charm, but the cunning hunchback, having either less faith in the spell than his brethren, or questioning its powers upon two lads of American birth, suddenly retraced his steps, bringing with him one of his men. Stationing this fellow upon the stone steps, he said:

“Crouch down here, To-ki, and keep thy cat-like eyes upon yonder beds. I fear not the potency of the earth, but should some demon, adverse to our purpose, arouse them, thou hast a creese that can send them into the soundest of slumbers.”

In reply to this cool command, which made my teeth chatter, the amiable Chinese replied:

“Thy will shall be done, oh! mighty Huccuck; the words of the ruler of demons are law to his slave;” and down he crouched, fixing his mischievous, glaring, oblique eyes, upon my brother’s bed. But his back was towards me.

How vexatious was this turn in affairs! To attempt to pass the man unarmed as I was would be sheer madness, yet without so doing I could neither awaken my brother nor alarm the household; still, it was consoling that I had learned the hunchback’s name—the knowledge might be of service in the future.

For some time I stood, pondering what course to take, and upon the probable consequences of the burglary, and I must admit that I was unkind enough to care but very little about any loss Ebberfeld might sustain.

But Marie! the rogues might slay her, or worse—for such had happened before—kidnap, and sell her into slavery in one of the other islands. The fear of so terrible a fate determined me to awaken Martin at all risks. But how? Well, I remembered that I had a pistol bullet in my pocket. True, if it alighted upon his face, it might give him an unpleasant blow, but what was that in comparison with Marie’s safety? And so the leaden messenger hit its mark, and at the same moment I threw myself upon Mr. To-ki, who, in his wondrous surprise, called upon his god Fo to save him from the demon who had seized and robbed him of his creese. To secure the latter had, of course, been my main object. Aroused by the bullet, my brother gave a sharp cry, and began to rub his eyes.

“Get up, Martin, get up,” I cried, “there are robbers in the house; bring a sheet or a curtain to secure this fellow!”

“All right,” he replied, now fully awakened; and in another minute we had twisted, rope-like, a mosquito curtain, and bound the arms and legs, indeed the whole body, of our friend To-ki, as if we had been preparing him for a mummy. Then, having secured him to the bedstead, my brother hastily put on his clothes, and we ran into the garden. There was a small ax lying upon a seat; catching this up, Martin said:

“Clutch your creese tight, and we’ll make our way into the Prince’s apartments, for it is there we shall find Marie.”

By this time, notwithstanding the grave earth, the servants were aroused. Seeing one, our cousin’s maid, scampering towards us, we asked where her young mistress was confined.

“Alas! alas! the hour I was born,” she cried; “they have taken her away.”

“Taken her away!” exclaimed Martin, seizing the girl by the wrist. “Say, who has taken her away?”

“The robber, the hunchback, the snake-charmer.”

“This is Ebberfeld’s doing!” he cried, wildly; “let us to his room, Claud.”

But imagine our surprise upon reaching that worthy’s chamber, which immediately adjoined our aunt’s, to find him in a position similar to that in which we had just left Mr. To-ki, bound hand and foot, and secured to one of the legs of a massive ebony bedstead. There was this difference only, and that excited a certain suspicion in my mind, the cords were so comparatively loose that a man of his strength might, at least so I thought, have easily released himself.

“My boys, my boys,” he whined, “thank God you are safe. Uncut these cords; it may yet be time to secure the thieves. But your aunt, your cousin, are they safe?”

“Do you not know that our cousin Marie has been carried away?” said my brother, as he cut the cords.

“Boy,” he replied, now with his old savageness of manner, “I know nothing, except that I was suddenly awakened by three men, who placed me in the position from which you have just released me. But,” he added, “lose no time; arouse the slaves and servants, and we may yet be able to prevent the rogues from quitting the town.”

We required no second command, and in a few minutes members of the Ebberfeld household were scampering in every direction. But it was fruitless, for, although the city police were aroused and made every search, no clue could be obtained of the depredators, nor, alas! of Marie; and to add to the mystery, even the Chinese whom we had so tightly bound, and from whom we might have obtained some information, managed to escape. In a sentence, it was a clever robbery—so clever, that it marked an epoch in the minds of the Dutch colonists of Batavia.

The authorities, however, did not let the matter rest there, for so great was the consternation of the inhabitants of the upper town, at the abduction of so considerable a personage as the heiress of their late respected councilor Van Black, that early the next morning they sent a party of police to explore the neighboring mountains, as the most likely place for the robbers to have taken refuge. With this party went Mynheer Ebberfeld, clamorously declaring that if it cost him his fortune and life he would rescue his stolen ward. Both Martin and I begged permission to accompany him, but the affectionate man replied that he and his wife had already suffered so great a loss that they would not risk a still greater; “for who knows,” he said, “whether we may not have to encounter an armed band?”

“Well, and suppose we do; don’t you think we can fight for Marie?” said Martin. But he was only snubbed for his forwardness.

Five anxious days and sleepless nights were we kept in suspense as to the fate of our cousin, and, to do our aunt justice, she at least seemed to share our grief. Imagine, therefore, our sensations when, on the morning of the sixth, we heard Ebberfeld’s berlin rattling across the courtyard. In an instant we ran to my lady’s sitting-room, knowing that he would at once go there. Mynheer was standing, sadly, gloomily, with his hand resting upon the back of the sofa, upon which his wife was sitting, and looking as dismal as himself, for he had hastily imparted to her the gist of his news.

“Our cousin, have you news of her, Mynheer?” we asked.

“Alas! yes.”

“Why alas? Is it bad? What is it?” exclaimed Martin.

“My dear lads,” he said, in his most oily tone, and with the mock sorrow of a hired mute upon his countenance, “you will never see poor Marie again; she is in heaven.”

We stood as if dumb with amazement.

“The villains,” he continued, “it is supposed, finding themselves pursued, and fearing that the incumbrance of their prisoner would insure their capture, slew the poor, dear girl, and threw her body into the nearest stream.”

“It is false! I don’t believe it!” cried Martin; whereupon I expected Mynheer would have fallen into a passion, and told us no more; but, not noticing the offensive words, he added, “That, although there was some little difficulty at first in recognizing the features, as when found life must have been extinct two days”—a long period in such a climate—“from the clothes, a locket, ring, watch, and the purse found upon her, there was not the least doubt as to her identity.”

“Strange,” observed Martin, thoughtfully, skeptically, “that robbers should not have taken such valuables.”

“Most wonderful!” replied Mynheer, quickly; “but it is supposed that, in their haste and fear of being captured, they overlooked the trinkets. But it matters not,” he added, in a whining tone; “would that they had taken them, aye, and all I possess, had they but saved the poor dear child’s life. It is sad, most sad!”

“For us,” said my brother, fiercely, “it is sad—worse than our own deaths; but for you, Mynheer—”

“It is a calamity that has cut me to the heart,” interposed our guardian.

“It may be so, or it may not,” said my brother, adding defiantly, but deliberately, and with a searching glance into the notary’s face, as if to watch the effect the words would produce, “but, Mynheer, you will find a consolation in her fortune. Now you will be able to give the Prince more money.”

In an instant I placed myself between them, for I thought Mynheer would then and there have felled him to the ground. He turned deathly pale, his features were contorted into a demoniacal expression, his right hand was clenched and uplifted.

“Forgive him, Mynheer,” exclaimed our aunt, probably with the same fear, for she rose from her seat. “The poor boy is bereft of his senses, and he knows not what he is saying.”

Mynheer spoke not a word, but was evidently endeavoring to suppress the rage which, by the way, was plainly enough stamped upon his countenance. But Martin, fearless of consequences, replied:

“I am not mad. Madam, my aunt, I don’t want him to forgive me, any more than I will ever forgive him; and now I have said it, you may kill me, if you please.”

“Boy,” said Mynheer, when he had sufficiently mastered his rage to permit of his speaking without committing himself, “what mean you? what words are these? who put them into your mouth?”

“The dead,” replied Martin—“poor Marie; but I am sorry that she did, or that she knew it herself; for, had she not made the discovery, or had you not been aware of her knowledge, it is my belief she would have been here now.”

Then, most wonderful for a man whose wont it was to give way to the most violent anger, even upon trivial occasions, Mynheer only smiled, saying, in a kindly, pitying tone:

“Martin, my dear boy, your grief for your cousin has indeed made you mad, and I forgive you in spite of yourself. But get you at once to your room; there you may give full vent to your natural feelings without offense; to-morrow, perhaps, you will regret what you have said.”

Martin was about to reply, but, taking him by the arm, I said, “Brother, brother, no more angry words at such a time as this;” and he permitted me to lead him from the presence of our amiable guardians.

“Martin,” I said, when we were in our own room, “it was unwise, it was foolish, to beard the lion when we have to live in his very den.”

“It was not foolish, Claud; it was right. It was on my mind, and now it is off; and but for you, I would have told him that he was the cause of our cousin’s death. I tell you, brother, I am certain he killed her.”

“Well, well, Martin, at all events you have made an enemy for life—a dangerous one; for now he knows that you are cognizant of too much for his safety, or at least comfort.”

“Never mind, old fellow, it does not matter,” he replied, quite coolly; “I don’t think it is likely I shall see him again, for I have made up my mind to quit this house to-night.”

“Martin,” said I, astonished at his words, “this is nonsense. Why, even I shall soon believe you ‘a little mad.’”

“I tell you what, Claud. I should be mad indeed to stop here to be poisoned, or spirited away without an instant’s warning, and for the sake of a little money too, for that is what it will come to. No, no, brother; I have resolved to go away this very night, and you will accompany me, if you are not so mad as you would make me out.”

“Well, well, Martin, we will talk about it to-night, and make up our minds in the morning,” I replied; and when I said those words, I believed I should be able to dissuade my brother from what then appeared to me to be, at the least, a very wild project; but so eloquently and earnestly did he place before me the danger to be apprehended if we remained any longer under the same roof with Ebberfeld, that I not only permitted him to persuade me to join him in his flight, but became, if possible, more desirous than himself. But where were we to fly to? Martin suggested that we should go at once to the lower town, and, making a confidant of a certain merchant named Vandervelden, who had once been a clerk to our uncle, beg of him to send us to sea in one of his ships; and, as I could suggest no better scheme, we arranged to start the following morning about an hour before daybreak, before the household would be stirring, and when we knew that the road between the upper and lower towns would be clear. And now I have fully explained to you the events of those two years which led to our adventures in the wilds of the island.