A royal smuggler

Being of a more nervous temperament than my brother, I could not, like him, sleep at will, and that, too, upon the very eve of so important an enterprise. No! I lay awake, pondering upon the dark future, and weighing in my mind the probable consequences of a failure; then, again, there was Martin snoring loudly enough to prevent a whole house-full of people from sleeping. At length, however, Somnus must have taken me in his arms, for I dreamt that we had started upon our journey, but that, soon after we had left the house, Ebberfeld came suddenly behind us, and, taking hold of my ears, began to drag me back again; and the pain awaking me, I heard the voice of Martin.

“Claud—Claud!” he whispered in one ear, while he tugged at the other, “it is near daybreak; get up.”

“I don’t know; I should think not; it is very dark,” said I, really neither asleep nor awake; but another good tug, and “Come, get up, old fellow, or we sha’n’t be off before Ebberfeld is stirring.”

That name had a talismanic effect; it reminded me of the necessity for immediate action, so I jumped out of bed, dressed, and in a few minutes, with our boots in our hands, for fear of disturbing the inmates, we were softly stepping through the house; but, reaching the courtyard, we found the gates locked.

“This is a serious difficulty,” said I.

“Not at all,” replied Martin; “let us clamber over the wall.”

Fortunately, there were some tall trees within a few yards; one of these we ascended to the requisite height, and by a slight jump attained the top; then, dropping down upon the other side, we found ourselves in the open streets, alone—yes! alone in the world, prepared to encounter its sternest difficulties; and that, too, but with a small stock in trade to commence with—namely, ten dollars (“It is a shame we haven’t more with us, seeing that we have a fortune of our own, if we could only get at it,” said Martin), the clothes we stood upright in, a pair of rifled pistols, which had been presented to us by “my lady” some time before, and—though last, not least in utility—the Malay creese I had taken from the Chinese thief. Our prospects did not seem very bright, to be sure, but then it must be remembered, whether rightly or not, we felt convinced that we were flying for our lives; that feeling, and the full belief that two youths, numbering between them thirty-three years, strong, healthy, and determined, could not very well starve, whether in cities or forests, gave us such confidence that we set forth in excellent spirits.

For the first mile of our descent, we met not a living soul; indeed, had there been any person on the road, it was so dark that we could not have seen him. As day began to break, we met a native porter, who was making his way from the lower to the upper town, beneath a load that would have crushed an ordinary American horse. These fellows, by the way, are a marvel to all new-comers in the island, for it is not unusual to see them, thus heavily laden, travel thirty miles a day for several days successively; true, their pace is not more than three miles an hour, at the quickest; but then, if slow, they are sure. Well, from this man we heard good news—namely, that that day was a kind of festival or holiday among the natives of the lower town; good, because, from the great number of people that would be in the streets, we should the better escape the attention of any kind friend who might (and of course we believed that anybody would know, as well as ourselves, that we were runaways) feel it his duty to send Mynheer information as to our whereabouts.

The next incident we met with was curious enough. We had several times fancied we heard footsteps, as if of some person running behind us; just after, however, we had passed the porter, the sky grew whiter, and, turning round, we saw a native running after us.

“Mynheer has discovered our absence; that is one of his slaves,” said I. “Let us run for it;” and away we ran down the hill, till, fairly out of breath, we stopped to rest.

“Slave or no slave, I sha’n’t run any more, for, after all, we are two to one,” said Martin.

A minute afterwards the person passed us, and slackened his pace as he came near an old man, who seemed to be toiling his way up the hill, almost overcome by some load which he carried in a basket. Then, when the two met, without stopping an instant, the younger caught the basket out of the old fellow’s hands, and ran off with it. Seeing the latter sink down upon the roadside, Martin cried out, “Let us after that thief—he has taken advantage of the old man’s weakness and fatigue to overcome him;” and we began to pursue the robber; but as we passed the victim, as we supposed, he cried—

“Stay, Sahib, that man is no thief; he is pursuing a holy duty. If you stop him, the gods will shower their vengeance upon him and all of us.”

“This is queer,” said Martin, in surprise, and he asked the old man for an explanation. All, however, that we could make out was that the basket contained the skull of a buffalo, which, for some reason known only to themselves, the native priests had ordered to be conducted from one part of the island to another, insisting that it should never be permitted to rest, neither by night nor by day; thus, it had been kept in constant progressive motion, one person taking it from another, until it had been carried several hundred miles, each carrier being given to understand, that he who should let it rest but for an instant would call down upon his head the most dreadful vengeance of the gods.

Quitting the old gentleman, we proceeded on our way, heartily laughing at the superstitious feelings that had induced so many persons to give themselves so much trouble about nothing. The old man’s story of the skull, however, reminded me of another I had heard, illustrative of the credulity of the poor natives of Java.

Some years before, it was unexpectedly discovered that in a remote but populous part of the island of Java a road was constructed, leading to the top of the mountain Sumbeng, one of the highest in the island. An inquiry being set on foot, it was discovered that the delusion which gave rise to the work had its origin in the province of Banyumas, in the territories of the Susunan; that the infection spread to the territory of the Sultan, from whence it extended to that of the European Power. On examination, a road was found constructed, seventy feet broad, and from fifty to sixty miles in extent, wonderfully smooth and well made. One point which appears to have been considered necessary was, that the road should not cross rivers, the consequence of which was that it winded in a thousand ways, that the principle might not be infringed. Another point as peremptorily insisted upon was, that the straight course of the road should not be interrupted by any regard to private rights; and, in consequence, trees and houses were overturned to make way for it.

The population of whole districts, occasionally to the amount of five and six thousand laborers, were employed on the road; and among a people disinclined to active exertion, the laborious work was nearly completed in two months—such was the effect of the temporary enthusiasm with which they were inspired. It appeared in the sequel, that a bare report had set the whole work in motion. An old woman had dreamt, or pretended to have dreamt, that a divine personage was about to descend from heaven on the mountain Sumbeng. Piety suggested the propriety of constructing a road to facilitate his descent; and divine vengeance, it was rumored, would pursue the sacrilegious person who refused to join in the meritorious labor.

These reports quickly wrought on the fears and ignorance of the people, and they heartily joined in the enterprise. The old woman distributed slips of palm-leaves to the laborers, with magic letters written upon them, as charms against wounds and sickness. When this strange affair was discovered by the native authorities, orders were given to desist from the work, and the inhabitants returned, without murmur, to their wonted occupations.

In no spot on the globe, perhaps, is there to be met such a various collection of the human race as in that lower town of Batavia, at which we arrived shortly after our adventure with the old gentleman of the buffalo skull—Hindoos, who, with the setting in of the westerly monsoons, come in shoals to seek their fortunes in a country richer by nature than the peninsula; shrewd, supple, unwarlike, mendacious, and avaricious Chinese—keen-witted, laborious, luxurious, yet sensual and pusillanimous, but whose intelligence and activity have placed in their hands the management of the public revenue in almost every country of the Archipelago—the end and object of their lives, after the accumulation of wealth, being to return to the Celestial Empire, to lay their bones in the tombs of their ancestors; natives of the other islands, Malays, Dutch, Spaniards, half-castes, and lastly Arabs—ambitious, intriguing, and bigoted, but who possess a strength of character which places them far above the simple natives of the Indian islands, to whom, in matters of religion, they dictate with that arrogance with which the meanest of the countrymen of Mahomed consider they are entitled to conduct themselves; but withal, Arabs, when not devoted to spiritual concerns, and occupied in mercantile affairs, have the reputation of being fair and adventurous merchants.

Now, upon ordinary days, during business hours, there is ever much bustle and traffic in the lower town. Upon that day, however, the streets were crowded as you only see streets crowded in Asiatic cities, but then it was with merry-makers, idlers, pleasure-seekers; for, as I have said, it was a holiday among the Asiatics—business seemed suspended; Europeans, except those who had come as spectators, were scarce. So far this suited our purpose, for we should have less chance of meeting any friends of Ebberfeld; but, upon the other hand, it was a great chance if we should find our friend, the merchant, in town, and if not, we should have to seek a lodging in some native hut. Still, we resolved to go to his warehouse, which was situated on the bank of the canal, which runs between the town and the sea.

Making our way through the crowds of people, we could not but be amused. The men and women seemed to be divided into groups—some, chiefly old men, flying kites shaped like wild animals, the game being to pit them against each other, the conqueror being he who could bring down his adversary’s kite; some gazing at itinerant jugglers, snake-charmers, dancing-girls, or actors; another deeply interested in a cock-fight—a less cruel game with the Javanese than that which used to disgrace America in our grandsires’ days, for the birds have but their natural spurs; another group would be gazing at a fight between two quails; another deeply interested in a combat between two crickets, the little animals being excited to battle by the titillation of a blade of grass applied to their noses; then others, and those groups were numerous, sitting down gambling with dice.

So extravagant is the passion for gaming among the Javanese, that it pervades all orders, from the prince to the peasant. The common laborers no sooner receive their hard-earned money, than they form a ring in the public street or highway, sit down deliberately, and squander it all away. On a market-day, in every part of the country where open gaming is not absolutely prohibited, men and women, old and young, form themselves into groups in the streets of the market for the purposes of play, and the attention of the stranger is soon attracted to these crowds by the tumultuary and anxious vociferation of the players.

But there can be no more striking illustration than the artifice resorted to by the proprietors of treasure, or other valuable property, to protect it at night from the depredation of thieves, when it is transported from one part of the country to another. The only antidote to the supine carelessness and somnolency of the Javanese is play, and the proprietor of the property, therefore, furnishes the party with a sum to gamble for, which insures a degree of vigilance which no inducement of fear, duty, or reward could command.

Among the Malays and people of Celebes, the influence of play is still more violent. After losing their money, they stake their jewels, their side-arms, their slaves, and, it is often alleged, even their wives and children, or, in the last extremity, their own personal freedom. With these tribes, the disputes which arise at the gaming-table are often terminated by the dagger, or generate incurable feuds between families.

We had found our way through the crowd, and had reached the comparatively deserted bank of the canal, when our attention was called to a noisy group of some fourteen or fifteen persons squatting in a ring. Approaching nearer, we could see these by-sitters were watching two men, who sat in the middle throwing dice. One of the gamblers—and who, from the satisfactory smile upon his countenance, seemed to be the winner—was a Chinese; the other a powerful-chested, strong-limbed man, whose deep-brown skin, round face, square chin, and long, lank, harsh, dark hair, bespoke him a native of Bali. I watched him narrowly for some few minutes, and from his vociferation at every reverse fall of the dice, and his exclamations in bad Dutch and Javanese, I judged him to be a sailor, belonging to one of the merchant ships in the harbor. Well, from what I could gather from the other spectators, the sailor had been winning before we had come up, notwithstanding the smiling face of the Chinese; but be that as it may, it was certain that he was losing now, for as the dice fell, no matter by whom thrown, the Celestial swept away the money staked. But the sympathies of the lookers-on seemed to be with him, for at every loss they goaded him to try his fortune again, till at length he had no money left, and, with a wild yell, he leaped to his feet.

“Thy creese, Kati! stake thy creese—it will turn thy luck,” cried a Javanese; and for a moment the sailor stood as if in a state of indecision, for the weapon is sacred in the eye of an Indian islander. Then, however, kissing its hilt, as if taking an affectionate leave of the weapon, he threw it upon the ground. The Chinese placed a little pile of silver against it, and again the dice were thrown, and again with ill-luck; and now the reckless wretch had lost his all, and so furious was the expression of his eyes, that I instinctively moved aside, expecting to see him snatch up the weapon and run a “muck” among us. But no, remembering that he had not lost quite all, he said, “Dog of a Chinese! I am a free man; I have still my liberty; and that I will stake against my beautiful creese;” by which he meant that, should he lose the next throw, he would become the slave of the Chinese.

The Celestial coolly bowed his assent to the proposal; but before either could again take up the dice, a man, forcing his way through the by-squatters, and seizing the sailor by the arm, said, sternly,—

“Kati, hast already forgotten the service I did thee, thou art so ready to play thyself into slavery to this dog of a Chinese? Are the men of Bali so ungrateful that they so easily forget their benefactors?”

At the touch upon his arm, Kati turned fiercely round, but, seeing and hearing who it was, he fell at his feet, exclaiming: “Pardon, oh! my master; an evil demon possessed thy servant, and he forgot that he was about to play away that which, like his life, was his master’s.”

The new-comer then, throwing to the Chinese the amount of silver for which Kati had staked and lost his creese, took up the weapon, and, giving it to the sailor, said—

“Now, get thee at once to the prahu, and as you value your life, and, more, my friendship, leave it not till I come on board; for, lion as thou art at sea and in the caves, among thieves and gamesters thou art but a silly mouse.”

In an instant the sailor proceeded towards the harbor, and his master turned towards us. We had recognized the voice: it was Prabu.

“Allah is great! My young masters here, and by themselves!” he exclaimed, with surprise; but then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, he asked, in a whisper: “Does ‘my lady’ and Mynheer know of your being here?”

“No, Prabu,” said Martin; and he was about to tell him a portion of our story, but the latter, interrupting him, said:

“Then if my young masters do not desire their whereabouts to reach their ears, let them follow, but at a distance, as if they knew me not;” and, without another word, he proceeded along the bank of the canal, but in an opposite direction to that taken by Kati.

“Shall we follow him, Martin?” said I, doubtfully.

“Of course. Why not? It is a good omen, don’t you see, that chance, the Providence of fools, is about to befriend us. Perhaps he is going nest-hunting, and will take us with him.”

“But can we trust him? Will he not take us back to Mynheer?”

“Yes, we can trust him; and I am sure he won’t take us back to Mynheer; for although he is, in some way or other, mysteriously mixed up with that bad man, Prabu is an honest fellow, or I am no judge;” and as, when my brother spoke in that off-hand manner and came to a decision with abruptness, I knew it was useless to attempt to argue with him, I followed the ex-slave without further comment, only wondering what it was the “fool’s Providence,” as Martin had termed chance, had in store for us.

Having walked about half a mile along the bank, Prabu came to a dead halt in front of a spacious but very low bamboo building, which I at first believed to be some warehouse. When, however, we got up to him, he said:

“My young masters do not desire that Mynheer should know that they have been with Prabu. Thus it was that he thought it well not to be seen with them. Let them now follow him into the house, for there they can unbosom themselves without fear.”

“But,” said I, shrinking backwards, as I caught a view of the interior, “I do not like to enter this vile place; it is an opium-house.”

“It is not the house that is bad, but the people who frequent it, and with them my master need have no association. Let them enter fearlessly, for it is here only we can converse without fear of seeing any of the Dutch merchants.”

“Oh, bother! Don’t be so particular, Claud. Come along; Prabu knows best. We are not to be bad, because others are, surely,” said Martin.

“Oh! very well,” said I, seeing Martin was getting angry, “lead on; but, mind, I shall not smoke the horrid stuff.”

“Well, I don’t suppose anybody will ask you,” replied my brother; and in we went. As, however, I walked up the room, I felt as much contaminated as if I had been in a New York rum-shop. But the scene was even worse. Along each side of the room were separate divisions or chambers, with matted floors, upon which sat or reclined Chinese, in one of the phases consequent upon the free use of opium—one giddily stupid; another in loquacious intoxication; another in something like convulsions; another as if in a state of beatification; but all with emaciated forms, wild, staring eyes, a slight cough, and hectic cheeks: but not one, certainly, who seemed likely, or, indeed, capable, of listening with profit to anything we might have to say.

Having led us to one of the largest of these chambers, Prabu bade us seat ourselves upon the matting; then, following our example, he called to an attendant, who brought him a small pipe filled with a mixture of tobacco and opium. To do Prabu justice, however, he was no debauched opium-smoker, but called for the drug on this occasion, that the attendant might readily believe him to be an ordinary visitor, and not a spy upon the actions and words of others—a character, by the way, not uncommon in these dens, where it is believed by the authorities that conspiracies are ever being hatched for the overthrow of European rule.

While, however, he is taking his whiff, I must say a few words about this most deleterious narcotic, which, by the way, has made so much noise, and done so much mischief, in the world. First, let me premise that the Indian islanders invariably smoke instead of chew opium, like the inhabitants of continental Asia. The method of preparing it for use is as follows: The raw opium is first boiled or seethed in a copper vessel; then strained through a cloth, to free it from impurities; and then a second time boiled. The leaf of the tambaku, shredded fine, is mixed with it, in a quantity sufficient to absorb the whole; and it is afterwards made up into pills, about the size of peas, for smoking. One of these being put into the small tube that projects from the side of the opium-pipe, that tube is applied to a lamp, and the pill, being lighted, is consumed at one whiff or inflation of the lungs, attended with a whistling noise. The smoke is never emitted by the mouth, but usually receives vent through the nostrils, and sometimes, by adepts, through the passage of the ears and eyes. This preparation of the opium is called maadat, and is often adulterated in the process by mixing jaggri, or pine sugar, with it, as is the raw opium by incorporating with it the fruit of the pisang, or plantain.

Having held the pipe sufficiently long to prevent suspicion, Prabu laid it aside, saying:

“My young masters may now, without fear of being overheard, say for what reason they have run away from the house of Mynheer, and ‘my lady,’ his wife.”

Martin replied by relating the whole of our story, not reserving a single item—no, not even his opinion that Ebberfeld was the real cause of our cousin’s death. To which Prabu, having listened attentively, said:

“Allah is great! and if He has put it into the hearts of my young masters to run from their home, like frightened deer from the hunters, it is not for Prabu to send them back to Mynheer; for, if the words they utter about him be good, he must be a bad man, and it would be to send them into danger; for although we know that the poison of a centipede is in its head, the poison of a scorpion in its tail, the poison of the snake in its tooth, the venom of a bad man is fixed to no one spot, but dispersed over his whole body, and so is more to be feared than either. But my young masters must eat and drink and sleep; and how can they do these without a home?”

“We would seek Mynheer Vandervelden, and in the name of our uncle, who was good to him, beg that he will employ us in one of his ships, or even in his counting-house,” said I.

“To go to sea in one of his ships would be good, to remain in the counting-house bad, for you would still be in danger,” said Prabu.

“No, I do not now wish to go to Mynheer Vandervelden at all,” said Martin; adding—“I have been told that our uncle was good also to you, Prabu?”

“He was more: he was my friend and benefactor, and to him or his, Prabu hopes some day to repay the benefits which then, as now, lay heavily upon his head. But Prabu is but a poor hunter—a gatherer of birds’-nests; and what can he do to benefit the nephew of his benefactor? Alas! nothing.”

“Yes, much!” replied Martin. “You are a nest-hunter. I heard you speak of a prahu to the man Katu. Take us with you; teach us to be nest-hunters also; and so we may get our bread until we are of sufficient age to come forward and claim our own money.”

“It is a wild scheme, Martin,” said I. Then to the ex-slave I added: “No, I fear that boys like us would but encumber your vessel. Therefore, good Prabu, go with us to Mynheer Vandervelden, and beg of him to take us into his service; for he will listen to you, who are so much older than us, and, like him, had received benefits from our good uncle.”

“Claud, I will not go to Vandervelden; I am determined! Are you so cowardly that you fear to go with Prabu?”

“My young masters, my sons,” said Prabu, dreading that a quarrel was imminent between us, “in Allah’s name, dispute not! Be of one mind, or, like the tiger and the forest, you will both come to grief.”

“Bother! What have the tiger and the forest got to do with us?” interrupted my brother, now good-humoredly, and, I could see, regretting his hasty words.

“Much,” replied Prabu, sententiously; adding: “A tiger and a forest had united in close friendship, and they afforded each other mutual protection. When men wanted to take wood or leaves from the forest, they were dissuaded by their fear of the tiger; and when they would take the tiger, he was concealed by the forest. After a long time, the forest was rendered foul by the residence of the tiger, and it began to be estranged from him. The tiger thereupon quitted the forest, and men, having found out that it was no longer guarded, came in numbers and cut down the wood and robbed the leaves, so that in a short time the forest was destroyed, and became a bare place. The tiger, leaving the forest, was seen, and although he attempted to hide himself in clefts and valleys, men attacked and killed him; and thus, by their disagreement, the forest was exterminated, and the tiger lost his life.”

“Prabu is right, brother; we must stick together if we would be successful,” said Martin, when our new friend had concluded his fable. “But look you, Claud,” he added, in his usual impetuous, warm-hearted manner, “you don’t mean to say that you thought I meant what I said, did you?”

“Of course not, Martin—at least, I know you don’t now,” I replied, shaking his offered hand; “and to show you that we are of one mind, I am ready to go on board the prahu at once, if Prabu is willing to take us.”

“Bravo! You are a good-natured old boy, Claud, and I am ashamed of myself. But, Prabu,” he said to our companion, “will you take us nest-gathering?”

“My young masters have been delicately reared; is it possible, then, that they can bear the hardships of a nest-gatherer’s life?” he replied, evasively.

“Oh, bother!” replied Martin, laughing; “you don’t take us Yankee boys for a couple of sugar-candy figures, or wax dolls, do you? Come, don’t keep us in suspense, but say, like a good fellow, whether you will or will not take us with you.”

“My young master is as brave as a lion: it shall be as he desires; Prabu cannot refuse.”

“Bravo!” replied my brother, rejoicingly. “I knew I should some day go nest-hunting.”

“When the sun has disappeared from the heavens, and the earth is shrouded in the darkness of night, my young masters shall go on board the prahu; but they have been many hours without food, and must be hungered; let them follow me.”

And so saying, Prabu arose and led us into another room; and having, after the Indian fashion, seated ourselves upon the floor, an attendant brought us a meal which was more remarkable for quantity than, at least in our opinion, savoriness. It consisted of balls of rice, and a dish of a preparation called blachang. It was the first time we had partaken of this dish, which, by the way, is the universal sauce of the Indian islands, no food being deemed palatable without it; and that it must have some peculiar merit is certain, for although, in common with other Americans, we at first were disgusted with it, like them, in turn, we ultimately became as partial to it as the natives. But whether my readers would like it, they may judge from the following graphic description given of it by the old sea-captain Dampier:

“Balachaun is a composition of a strong savor, yet a very delightsome dish to the natives of this country. To make it, they throw the mixture of shrimps and small fish into a sort of weak pickle, made with salt and water, and put it into a tight earthen vessel or jar. The pickle being thus weak, it keeps not the fish firm and hard, neither is it probably so designed, for the fish are never gutted. Therefore, in a short time, they turn all to a mash in the vessel; and when they have lain thus a good while, so that the fish is reduced to a pap, they then draw off the liquor into fresh jars, and preserve it for use. The mashed fish that remains behind is called balachaun, and the liquor poured off is called nuke-mum. The poor people eat the balachaun with their rice. ’Tis rank-scented, yet the taste is not altogether unpleasant, but rather savory, after one is a little used to it. The nuke-mum is of a pale-brown color, inclining to gray, and pretty clear. It is also very savory, and used as a good sauce for fowls, not only by the natives, but also by many Europeans, who esteem it equal with soy.”

But to return to my narrative. When the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and the mantle of night had spread o’er land and sea, Prabu bade us arise and follow him.

“But,” said I, “in this darkness”—for it was so dark that we could but indistinctly see each other—“we shall fall into the canal.”

“Never fear, old fellow,” said Martin; “I will catch hold of Prabu’s sarong, and you fasten on to my jacket;” and in this manner we proceeded towards the quay. Having arrived there, we could see, at the furthermost end, the glittering light of a lantern.

“Good!” said Prabu; “Kati is awaiting our coming.”

When we reached the very verge, we could just perceive the dim outlines of a vessel moored alongside, leaving a gap of sea between it and the shore, too wide for us to step on board; but Kati was on the qui vive, and the echo of a call in Javanese from our guide had not died away before the light approached the side of the vessel, and two planks were thrown across, by which we reached the deck, and were at once conducted by Prabu to a small cabin, strewn with thick soft mats, upon which he bade us stretch ourselves, saying, “My young masters are now in safety, but they are fatigued; let them rest.”

“But when are we to sail?” asked Martin.

“With the first wind,” he replied, leaving us.

“Prabu’s glum: I hope he is not going to play the tyrant, now he has us cooped up in this nutshell,” said Martin.

“Well, I hope not,” said I; “but sneaking on board in the darkness of night is rather an ominous entrance upon a new career.”

“Oh, bother! Now you are at your witch business again, Claud, so I sha’n’t say another word;” and stretching himself at full length upon the matting, with a bamboo pillow for his head, he very soon went off to sleep—an example I speedily followed.

I have often heard people declare they could not sleep in strange beds or places for the first few nights. Only let them have to fly away from their homes, under the belief that it is to save their lives, have a long day’s fatigue and anxiety, and at length find themselves in a place of security, and they will tell a different story. As for my brother and I, as the sailors say, we ran right round the reel, not once waking till the middle of the next day, when the sun was at its hottest—so hot in those latitudes, that you could broil a shad on the decks.

“Hilloa! Claud, this don’t look like tyranny, at all events: that Prabu must be a good fellow, after all,” said Martin, as, opening his eyes, he saw a dish of delicious-looking fruits placed at the other end of the cabin, ready for our first meal. Then we arose, but ere we had dressed, a Hindu boy came to us, bringing cups, boiling water, and tea, which we mixed after the Chinese fashion—namely, placing a couple of pinches in the cup, and then pouring the boiling water thereon.

Well, we had partaken of our first cup, and were preparing the second; Martin was pouring the boiling water into the cup, when suddenly it danced out of the saucer, upsetting its contents over his hand.

“Hang it! what’s that?” he exclaimed, shaking his hand with pain.

I jumped up, frightened; was as quickly capsized; but the cause at once flitting through my mind, I, laughing, said, “that it was the lurching of the vessel, and we haven’t got our sea-legs yet.”

“Why, do you mean to say that we have sailed—that we are out at sea already?” and Martin ran out upon deck.

I followed him. Prabu was standing upon the poop, giving orders to his lieutenant, Kati; but, seeing us, he said, pointing to the now somewhat distant shore: “My young masters need not fear that their enemy will catch them; they are safe.”

“But, Prabu,” said my brother, “this is not fair sailing; when I asked you last night when we should sail, you said with the first wind.”

“That was true; for without one, the prophet himself could not sail a prahu.”

“Yes, yes, I know that; but why did you not tell us how soon?”

“A wise man keepeth his left hand in ignorance of the actions of his right: besides, what is written is written; and it was written that my young master should go with Prabu this voyage. It was well, therefore, not to let them know the hour of departure, for they are young, and their hearts might have grown faint at the last moment; as it is, they are refreshed; they have had a long, undisturbed sleep, which has made men of them.”

“Then you thought I was a coward, who would shrink from an adventure after I had taken the first step?”

“Prabu thinks no evil of the young masters; he knows they are not cowards, yet the bravest men have faltered at their first beginnings.”

Our new captain then, walking away upon some ship’s business, left us to make a survey of the craft which carried the Blacks and their fortunes.

We had expected to find a small, dirty Malay prahu, like the generality of those used by the maritime tribes of the Archipelago; guess, then, our astonishment, to find ourselves on board a large vessel of some thirty-five tons burden, well-formed, with a great poop, flanked on either side by a platform; a helm at each end, a couple of masts, with sails of bamboo matting: moreover, instead of the dirt and chaos of disorder to be found on board most native vessels, the decks were almost as clean as those of an American man-of-war. Then there seemed to be a place for everything, and everything in its place. The crew, consisting of twenty men, were for the greater part natives of the islands, probably picked from the fishing tribes. That which, however, struck me as most extraordinary in a native trading-vessel was, that the fore-deck was armed with a couple of six-pounders. Seeing the surprise with which my brother and I regarded the latter, Prabu, who had come up to us, said, “To men who know how to use them, these fire-dogs are useful, in seas infested by Chinese pirates.”

“Ah!” said Martin, “that is a capital reason, and it is brave; you can defend yourselves, and not have to go sneaking from port to port, every now and then having to creep in and out the inlets of the coast, to avoid the rogues. I tell you what, Prabu, I hope I shall see them used. I should like to have a good fight with those ugly, pig-tailed men of Fokien, and the Ladrones. Shouldn’t you, Claud?”

“No! Heaven forbid that we should hope to do anything of the kind. If we are attacked, and can’t help ourselves any other way, then it is another matter. Besides, I agreed to go nest-hunting, not pirate-fighting.”

“Why, Claud, any one who did not know you as I do would think you a coward.”

“Never mind that, Martin. While I know what I am myself, I don’t care what ill-natured people may choose to think.”

“Well, well!” said Prabu, interposing, as if he feared we were verging upon a quarrel; “let not my young masters use harsh words to each other, for before the prahu returns to Batavia, both may have their desires. But,” he added, piously, “Allah forbid that we should take the lives of others, except in defense of our own!”