One of the other reasons given was that the Dutch, being a small nation and unable to keep a large force in the country, must rely upon keeping the natives down in their proper place—under foot—for the continuance of the supremacy they had achieved. X., as others would do, can only hope that this view, though heard from several sources, was given to him "sarcastic like," and that it was expected he would duly appreciate the irony. And perhaps he did, seeing that he came from a country where, without the presence of a single soldier, the widely scattered, and in many cases isolated, officials can act as the friends and advisers of a native race without the least fear of any loss of dignity or position, both accepted as so much a matter of course as to make any question regarding them impossible.

Java is, perhaps, the most governed country in the world. This phrase is not the writer's; he merely quotes an opinion to be found in books on Java, written by men entitled to judge, and frequently expressed by people our traveller met in that island. The people are united by what might be described as chains of officials, and each link in each chain submits periodically precise reports on everything and everybody within his charge. The system sounds flawless, and the head of all, the chief official in the country, has thus pigeon-holed in front of him more detailed and readily-found information about his subjects than is, perhaps, possessed by any other ruler in the world. This is a matter which might excite admiration, and there is no doubt that it in some respects merits it, and the contrast presented to our own system of government in the adjacent mainland is worthy of examination. But it would be out of place in a book which professes to do no more than describe a pleasant tour, and X.'s opinion upon a question of such gravity, even though formed after a lengthy sojourn amongst the Malays, and no little personal experience of the life and manners of an Eastern people, may be omitted. It may be recorded, however, that the question made him ponder, and he wondered if the officials who knew everybody also knew everything, and whether many matters worthy of record did not find themselves washed on one side as the stream of reports wound its way from one native official to another, then to the subordinate European officials (sometimes married to native women), and then once more on to the pigeon-holes of the central authority. As I write I have before me a list of fifteen titles of native officials given to X. by one of themselves. There is no need to enumerate them here, though allusion to them may suggest the possibilities of the various stages of the journey to the final pigeon-holes.

Natives themselves have evidently formed opinions on these matters, since in some of the native states of the Peninsula it was always the custom of the people to invite a raja from another country to come and rule over them, experience having taught them that a man with interest and relations in the country might not always be sufficiently impartial; in the same manner the native Mahommedan priest is always selected from another nationality. However, to return to the place where we left X. riding along amongst the young tea plants. When the coolies were not running away from him or crouching to avoid the shock of meeting his imperial glance, he was bound to admit that they were apparently happy and contented, and, seeing the circumstances under which they lived, it would have been strange had they not been so. These people were provided with ample work within easy reach of their homes, which lay among the surrounding hills. It seemed an earthly labour paradise to an official, accustomed to hear the complaints of planters lamenting losses due to their labourers, imported coolies from India, China or Java, running away. Not only is the lot of the coolies in Java more conducive to content than those in the Peninsula, but the planter is also happier in the current rate of wages; 20 to 25 cents a day (Java cents) and for women 15 cents. On this estate, as on most others, there was a festival fund for the coolies, that is a certain sum of money is spent annually on their recreation, providing for musical instruments and paying for travelling shows, etc. X. felt that he had had the best of shows provided for him, a show estate, where the supply of labour was cheap and unlimited, and the people well cared for without any elaborate legislation being required for their protection. Here at any rate was a positive result of the administration of the Dutch, and a confutation of the stories of down-trodden peasants in Java; and the traveller made up his mind that if possible he would one day be a planter and that his plantation should be in Java.



CHAPTER XIII.

AMONG THE ROSES.

Life was so smooth and even in this little cottage by the river that days flew by with that pleasant rapidity which leaves nothing to record except a general sense of restful enjoyment. One expedition, however, might be described, a visit paid to a neighbouring estate which had been advertised for sale, as giving a glimpse of a typical phase of up-country life. The call was paid about noon, and after riding down a steep hill, where natives were busily engaged in planting tea, the two Englishmen came upon a little square white house half hidden in a bend in the stream. This building had a deserted, untidy look which was intensified by the state of the garden which surrounded it; even at some distance from the house the scent of roses was perceptible, and in the garden itself, if such a wilderness deserves the name, the odour was almost overpowering. The place was a miniature forest of rose-bushes, loaded with lovely blossoms, roses such as X. had not seen since he left his native land. Everything looked untidy and ragged and ruined; the house, the creepers, the rose bushes, the grass, the pigeon lofts all spoke of neglect and want of money to put them straight, a want caused by the fall in the price of cinchona, a misfortune which had involved many a fair estate and reduced it to the desolate and unkempt condition exemplified by the one now visited. But even unkempt and uncared for, what a picture it made! It was the realisation of a poetic death—the victim smothered by roses beside the singing waters of a brook. It was a long time before any one came, and the two visitors sat in the verandah feeling rather shy and uncomfortable, for this was the neighbour's first visit, and the native, who had ushered them in, vanished, sending weird cries around the tangled garden paths as though to summon his master home.

At length, after long waiting, the silence and suspense, and the wonder of who would come, from which direction, and when, grew almost unbearable, and the absurd situation so wrought on their nerves that both visitors gave vent to little gasps of laughter, brought on probably by the same nervous sensations which compel children to misbehave in church—direct promptings of the evil one, inducing a desire to do that which we know we should not do. At length, after it had been debated in hurried whispers whether a departure could not be effected, the lady of the house appeared upon the scene. She was a tall, large lady, in appearance typically Dutch. She wore the usual white linen jacket and skimpy sarong, and her legs were bare. She gave a cordial greeting in Dutch, at least to X. it was Dutch, for he knew nothing whatever of the language. This his friend carefully explained, so he surmised, as the lady gave vent to various guttural exclamations of astonishment and turned to gaze at him as though he were indeed a strange person to behold.

The conversation between the two then continued glibly, and X. was quite forgotten, and he felt neglected and grew fidgety, realizing that he extremely disliked this novel sensation of being ignored, without the possibility of attracting any attention to himself by a remark. He was soon to learn however, that those trifling inconveniences of which we are cognizant are generally less unpleasant than those we do not know, for presently there was a stir and a general rising from seats as the husband of the good lady emerged from the house on to the verandah. This gentleman was tall and dark, with a pointed grey beard like an American in a caricature. He was clothed in a strange deshabille, which ended in bare feet thrust loosely into carpet slippers, and when the eyes of the visitors reached thus far they realized why his complexion was so dark. After the first greetings the host—who X. afterwards learnt had once held high office under Government, which he gave up for planting—turned towards him and proceeded to harangue him without full stops. There is no other way to describe what took place, as he continued to pour language at his guest without the least apparent desire for reply. To say that the visitor felt uncomfortable would be to mildly describe his feelings—he had wished for recognition, and surely had it now. What would his host think of him, if he allowed him to continue to talk and never informed him that he could not understand one word of Dutch? Again and again he endeavoured to stem the torrent of words and explain both in English and in French, and this being of no avail, at the risk of appearing rude and inattentive, X. turned to his friend and begged him to make the matter clear. The friend said something in Dutch, but he must, it seemed, have said the wrong thing, since it had not the slightest effect, and the host continued his talk, probably all about the advantages of the estate he wished to sell. Then, regarding the situation as hopeless, X. fixed his expression into one of intelligent attention and waited for him to stop. But he was not so attentive that he did not presently hear the good lady say something to his friend which caused him to exclaim as though astonished, and with a suppressed click of a laugh he turned to X. and said, "It's all right. Madame has just told me he is stone deaf and can't hear a word, so it's no use my saying anything, he would understand you as well." "But can't the lady tell him I don't know Dutch?" exclaimed X. almost desperately—but too late, for by this time his friend was again deeply engaged in conversation with his hostess, and there was nothing to be done but once more give his assumed attention to his host. A pleasant situation truly, to go to a man's house for the first time and so conduct yourself that you feel certain he will presently believe that it was your intention to deliberately insult and make a fool of him. X. will never forget that quarter of an hour. At last the conversation ended by its appearing that the lady had suggested, and her visitor agreed to, a walk round the estate. When he gathered this, X. eagerly seconded the proposition, but it took all joy out of it to find that the verbose proprietor insisted upon accompanying them himself to do the honours of the place. It was in vain that X. endeavoured to plant him on his friend, for his prolonged assumption of intelligent interest had apparently been so successful, that his host was flattered and never left his side. However, a few climbs up slippery by-paths—I fear deliberately chosen—soon dislodged the slippers, and the poor man was compelled to heed what, it is hoped, he interpreted as polite entreaties not to put himself out for his visitors and return to the house. Then ensued a tour of the estate, which had once been of great promise and now, alas, was overrun with undergrowth and weed. After their walk the Englishmen found that the most hospitable preparations had been made for their entertainment, and, more, that these had evidently been seen to by a daughter whose presence had not before been observed. Would I could describe this young girl as she appeared to X., who has confessed that he found it quite impossible to find words with which to paint a picture which could do her the scantiest justice. Simply attired in the same costume as her mother, but oh, how becoming that costume can be! This charming apparition carried round the glasses and offered wine to the visitors, while X. wished heartily that the dear old host would harangue him ever so long that he might keep silence and watch—watch this dainty, dark-eyed maiden, who looked as if she had stepped out of some old picture to render those little domestic services after the custom of days gone by; and as he received his glass from the charming attendant, he endeavoured to think what it was this kindly service most called to mind, and in his memory he found it in those hospitable houses in New Zealand beyond the Bay of Islands where once he visited, and all the daily life was like a glimpse of a century that had passed. But though visiting was good, X. was soon wanting to improve his position and show that he was capable of taking a more active part in the conversation than he had hitherto done, and so reckless of his host's disgust at a sudden lack of attention, he rose and went to the side table to sniff at the beautiful flowers and peep at the sample sacks of coffee which lay piled in the corner of the room. But such little wiles to obtain speech with the modest maiden were of small use, when one party spoke English and the other Dutch, while neither of them knew both. It is true that X. could have carried on a conversation in Malay, and he was sure that that language would be well known to all the family, but he had been warned that people in Java did not like to be addressed in a language they considered fit only for a medium of communication with their servants. An invitation to stay and lunch was refused—in Dutch—and the planter friend afterwards explained that he had done so, as he thought X. would not have liked to go without bread, since in such establishments up country bread was never found. As if—under the circumstances—X. would have cared whether he ate bread or rice, provided the rose-nymph had handed it to him; and so alas! they rode away beyond the fragrance of the roses and through the neglected grounds, carrying with them a new memory of home life which it will be hard to forget. The shabby, neglected house—the sacks of coffee and flowers run riot—the deaf, courteous ex-official, perhaps proud of his descent from some great Makassar chief—the kindly lady, embodiment of perfect health, who long ago had left her home in Europe for life in a distant land with the husband of her choice—and last but not least of all these impressions of that day—their child—reared in a glorious country unspoilt by contact with civilization—simple, unaffected, a picture from the past.



CHAPTER XIV.

GARVET.

After leaving the cottage on the estate X. started for Garvet. The view from the train, as it reached its destination, was certainly one of the most beautiful that could be imagined. Long reaches of padi fields, backed by hills in a high state of cultivation, and the whole watered by little gushing torrents that looked cool and refreshing in the all-surrounding sun.

It is impossible to describe the scenery as it appeared to the traveller, or in any way to do it justice. It is altogether new and unlike anything seen in other countries, with the exception, perhaps, of Ceylon or Japan, and it is worth a journey from Europe to see.

The hotel at Garvet proved to be a combination of little buildings, scattered about in the gardens surrounding the main buildings, or across the road in enclosures of their own. X. obtained one of these cottages, and felt that he would be fairly comfortable, till an inspection of the bathing arrangements made him shudder.

When dinner time arrived, table d'hote also served to dispel illusions. There was the same absence of punkah, the same glaring light, and succession of half-cooked clammy dishes. There were only a few diners, apparently mostly residents of the place who boarded at the hotel. These gentlemen had put on black coats, and made a kind of toilet for the evening meal. But the penance they thus endured was brief, as, after hastily disposing of sufficient of the viands to satisfy their individual wants, they retired to their verandahs, where X. soon saw them reclining in all the comfort of pyjamas and bare feet. Apparently the coating of civilization was not sufficiently thin to be congenial.

In the morning the traveller went to pay his respects to the Assistant-Resident, who received him very kindly, and gave him all the information he required. This rather interrupted the work of the office as, whenever the Assistant-Resident turned to any employee to ask how far such and such a place might be distant, or the tariff of carriages, etc., the person so addressed, no matter how engaged, would, before reply, immediately flop on to his knees. The Regent was also calling on the representative of the Government, and to him the Englishman was introduced. This native functionary was fat and well-looking, but did not seem to exactly bristle with intelligence.

The Assistant-Resident very kindly conversed freely with his visitor about matters affecting the natives, and gave him much information, which, from the nature of his own work in Pura Pura, interested him greatly. To those whom the subject interests, the land system in Java is too well known to need comment here, but there were a few facts learnt by X. which should remove any idea amongst those who have not studied the question, that the laws were either harsh or intricate. Indeed, they seem to attain that brevity and simplicity which are the great desideratum when dealing with a native peasantry. Thus, a man need pay no rent until his land is in bearing. Coffee is the only product whose sale to Government is compulsory. All land is classified and subject to a fixed rent, there is therefore a safeguard that the fruits of an owner's industry will not be taxed. Anyone can complain if he thinks his land is rated too high, and should be in a lower class, and the complaint receives immediate attention. Though the population is large, there is seldom any trouble about boundary marks in the padi fields. Owners are content with long custom and local knowledge, and their reliance on their host of native officials never fails. All new land must be fenced round, if it is contiguous to Government land, and on all plantations people must themselves plant trees as boundaries and upkeep them. And one register of titles with columns filled in and signed, according to its cultivation and classification, answers for all. Lastly, let it be mentioned that there is a golden rule, that a native cannot sell his land to anyone but his own countrymen, neither to European, Arab or Chinese. Thus no individual, tempted by the speculation, can by his selfish action, cause harm or annoyance to his neighbours. This one register of titles, mentioned above, is gradually filled in and signed as the land is brought into cultivation, and an exact record is thus kept of the actual present condition of each native holding. When finally signed, and the land yields produce, rent is demanded. The advantage of simplicity can only be realized by those whose lot it has been to pose as the bringer of glad tidings, and expound the advantages of the last new land code with its many paragraphs to an ignorant native population, who, unreasoning, tenaciously cling to the title which they already hold and think they understand, obstinately refusing, speak the speaker never so plausibly, to exchange it for the very newest that can be given to them from the most up-to-date land code in existence.

After his interview with the courteous official, X. departed, pondering on all he had heard, and bearing with him a memo, on which was written the various places of interest which he had been recommended to visit in the neighbourhood. On his return to the hotel the traveller passed what appeared to be the local club.

The first thing an English official in an outstation in India or the Peninsula will do for a stranger arriving with introductions, is to offer to put him up for the club, and unless there seem strong reason against it, he will most probably ask him to dinner. Apparently this was not the custom here, and so X. was free to wander about the little town and explore, with nothing more exciting to look forward to than a repetition of last night's gruesome meal in company with the suffering tenants of the prandial coats.



CHAPTER XV.

BATHS AND VOLCANOES.

Garvet seemed to boast of an enormous population for there were endless rows, or rather groups of houses, crowded together, face to face, back to back, and side by side, giving the idea of a casual conglomeration of several villages. All these were scrupulously clean and neat, and fenced round with little bamboo rails. Nearly every house had a tiled roof, and all were of a superior class to the majority of those up country in the Peninsula. The streets were little short of marvellously swept and clean, and it was decided by X. during that walk that Garvet was the cleanest Eastern town he had ever seen—the capital of Pura Pura of course excepted. Much had been talked of about the hot baths at Tji Panao, and so the traveller determined to make that his first excursion. Hiring a conveyance drawn by three ponies abreast—reminding him of his early youth when he would wonder at a smart turn-out in the Park at home—three ponies abreast driven by a well known leader of society and fashion, before the days of two-wheeled pony carts and bicycles, X. told the driver to go to Tji Panao, and looked forward to spending a delicious half hour lying in warm water like that of the springs in New Zealand, which send the bather forth invigorated and refreshed. Another disillusion was in store for him, however, in this country where nature has done so much and man—for comfort—so little. The baths were located in a shed on the side of a hill. This shed had three partitions. In each partition was a shallow brick hole in which it was possible to sit. The hot water was conveyed into these holes by means of pipes, one at the head of each. The floor all round the bath was dirty, and the only furniture was one cane chair. The depth of the water in the baths was about three inches, and in this on slimy bricks the bather had to sit miserably, with the lower portion of his body immersed in warm water while the upper remained high and dry in the comparatively cool air above. X. had made preparations for a prolonged stay in the water, and came provided with literature to pass the time, but a very brief dip under the circumstances proved enough, and he soon unhitched his clothing from the back of the chair and prepared to depart. Close by these baths was a building containing four rooms, apparently a Government Rest House, very well furnished and comfortable, so it was evident that people came there on purpose to make use of the baths. The hot water springs possess great capabilities, and with a little trouble and expenditure of money they should become both enjoyable and a source of revenue.

There were one or two other excursions to be made from Garvet, but the only one worthy of mention was that which was made to the volcano at Tjiseroepan. One morning, together with Usoof and Abu, for X. was growing tired of sight seeing all alone, having obtained permission from the kind Assistant-Resident to use the Government Rest House, he drove to Tjiseroepan. The road was excellent and the route, needless to say, lay through a beautiful country. Here, as everywhere else, all well-to-do natives were riding ponies. The distance was thirteen miles. Tjiseroepan is a little village in the hills at the foot of the mountain which it was proposed to ascend on the following day. The traveller was received by the Assistant Wodena, a native official who had been riding suspiciously behind and before the carriage during the last two miles. After reading the credentials of the stranger and finding that he could converse in Malay, the local magnate became quite cordial, and made X. free of the Government Rest House. This was well furnished with beds and tables, etc., but glass and crockery were not provided.

The Assistant Wodena conducted the visitor round the village, which was a model of neatness. Each house stood in a garden, growing coffee, vegetables, and strawberries. The head of the village and a few others live in very good houses, and there seemed to be ponies without number. The village perched on a slope and the cultivated hillside bore some resemblance to a scene in the South of Italy. The usual signs of prosperity and content reigned everywhere, and neither in this village, nor elsewhere, where X. conversed with the natives could he find anything to explain the commonly accepted view that the people of Java are inimical to their rulers.

The Rest House proved comfortable, X. had brought his own provisions, which his servants cooked, and for once he enjoyed a hot and palatable meal. There was plenty of opportunity for conversation with the Assistant Wodena, who was quite willing to discourse on the customs of the country, and he gave a most interesting account of the elaborate etiquette of Javanese Rajas, and of the extraordinary deference paid by commoners to rank. He in his turn asked many questions concerning Malacca and the Malay Straits, about which his interlocutor was able to give him all the information sought for.

The next morning the sightseer and his followers ascended the mountain on ponies to see the volcano. This was a kind of inferno with wicked mouths which looked like ventilators from the bowels of the earth spitting and hissing blinding steam.

The whole face of the mountain was yellow with sulphur, and the air was sickening from its smell. Usoof and Abu were not a little terrified by this awful experience, and grasped their Tuan by the arm entreating him not to venture near what, they evidently thought, were the gates of hell.

I feel that I have paid sufficient deference to my instructions in recording the impressions the scenery made upon the traveller, and shall therefore omit all mention of what he saw while descending the mountain. He described it as wonderful, and those of my readers who have arrived thus far will be prepared to admit the accuracy of the description.

The party reached Garvet in time to catch the two o'clock train to Tassikmalaja, and thus make a start for Tjilatjap.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE QUEST FOR A MOTHER.

To start for Tjilatjap was such an unusual departure that it merits a chapter all to itself. No one had apparently left Garvet for Tjilatjap for years, since it had been pronounced to be one of the most unhealthy places in the island. The correct thing for every traveller to do is to go to Tassikmalaya for the night and proceed from thence to Djoeja by train, go by carriage to Beroboeddoer, where a halt for the night can be made at a Government Rest House. The drive is twenty-five miles. The next morning the traveller should drive ten miles further to Magelang, while his luggage goes by train or bullock cart. From Magelang Amberawa is reached by another drive of twenty miles, and from here the railway can be taken to Semerang or back to Djoeja, and from there to Solo, a three hours' journey.

X. was informed that everyone took this route, but he persisted in starting for Tjilatjap, notwithstanding that the lady who presided over the hotel assured him that it was the most fever stricken port in the country. Had he known then as much as he subsequently learnt of the evil reputation of the place it is probable that the traveller might have changed his plans. As it was, he only replied that he was inured to fever and did not mind. At that time he had no particular reason for going to one place more than another, and therefore the one which drove him in this direction was good enough to serve his purpose. Usoof desired to commence the search for his mother. He had no recollection of the village where he was born, but believed it to be somewhere near the coast which, considering the country was an island, was somewhat a vague indication. After assisting his Tuan to study a map he exclaimed that the name Tjilatjap sounded familiar to him, and sure enough it was a large town on the coast. Now, he argued, it could not be familiar unless he had heard it before, and that could only have been when he was in Java, and as he was then little more than a baby, only the names of places in the neighbourhood of his birth place could have been familiar to him. It mattered little to X. where he went, the further away from the beaten track, the more opportunity for studying the natives and learning something of their lives. So he readily agreed to go to Tjilatjap. It was only after all plans had been settled that its evil reputation for fever was heard of.

The first stage of the journey was to Tassimalaja, and, leaving Garvet at two, they arrived there in time for dinner. So far as could be judged from a very brief stay during the dark hours and early morning, this seemed a pretty little country town, but the train left early and there was little time to look about. The first important stop was at Maos, where a change had to be made. Among the passengers was an Englishman whom X. had met some ten years before in New York. He was going the orthodox round to Ojoedja and Semarang. The two Englishmen, both experienced travellers, exchanged views as to their respective impressions of Java, and both agreed that, wherever they went, the courtesy and assistance received equalled if they did not exceed any they had met with in other portions of the globe they had trotted over. At Maos their ways separated, though fate brought them together again on board the steamer to Singapore.

Another companion of the journey was a versatile young Dutchman who spoke many languages and proved to be very good company. This gentleman apparently had no great admiration for his fellow-countrymen, as he saw them in Java. He abused with equal impartiality the food and the manner of life, and declared that the Dutch in Java were devoid both of digestion and energy. They were in fact half dead from bad food and too much sleep. This communicative companion also gave his views on the civil service, which had gradually grown from the stage, when anyone could be pitchforked into it, to its present condition, when both brains and interest are required to achieve the entry to its rank. Let a man once get in (the views are those of the communicative Dutchman), his fortune was made, if he only kept quiet and was satisfied to slip along in the common groove. He must implicitly follow prescribed rules and obey his immediate superior blindly, sinking all individual conscience and identity. Should he have views for his own self-advancement or to assist the people, should he economize Government money and reduce the number of road-coolies or police, who actually officiate in the household as cooks, gardeners, or grooms, should he try to set a good example and relinquish perquisites, "that man" exclaimed the speaker "is lost, and had better return to Holland forthwith." Such were the views of his travelling companion, but what opportunity he had had for forming them, and whether they were justified by actual facts, X. did not know, or greatly care, so long as he found his company amusing, which he did until their arrival at Tjilatjap. Here his opinion was somewhat modified, when his voluble companion, profiting by superior experience, annexed the only decent room in the hotel and exulted over the ruse which secured it for him.

When X. first announced in the train that he was bound for Tjilatjap there was a chorus of exclamations, and his companions evidently thought him eccentric. Had he also explained his reason for going, there would have been little doubt on the subject. It was then he learnt that Tjilatjap had formerly been a garrison town, but it had been found necessary to abandon it on account of the high rate of mortality among the troops. It was not till after the change at Maos that the young Dutchman acknowledged that Tjilatjap was also his destination, being probably unwilling to appear eccentric in the eyes of his fellow-countrymen who remained in the Djoeja carriage.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE QUEST CONTINUED—TJILATJAP.

Tjilatjap was reached at midday. The town had an imposing appearance, all the streets being planted with avenues of large trees. X. drove at once to the hotel, where he was given a room like a horse-box with the sun streaming into it. As mentioned above, he subsequently ascertained that his travelling companion had managed to secure the only decent room in the hotel, and X. did not feel any love for the stranger, who had taken what he felt to be an unfair advantage of his local innocence. He only wished he could hand him over to the tender mercies of the most muscular and irritable member of the civil service, after relating how he had libelled it. There was lunch lying ready spread on the table and its appearance was satisfactory. Next day he noticed that this meal was laid hot at 9.30 daily, and left cooling until far on in the afternoon. Being hungry, the distant view of the table looked inviting, and X. prepared for a hearty meal. But his joyful expectation gave way to something like disgust on discovering, what a nearer approach revealed, that each article of food was firmly congealed in its own gravy. But no one else seemed to mind, and a party opposite—father, mother and daughter—ate of these provisions as though they were delicacies hot from the kitchen of the Savoy or Bignon's. Strolling out a little later to smoke a cigarette and try to persuade himself he had lunched, the visitor spied the proprietor of the hotel, his family and some favoured guests, enjoying cakes, and what appeared to be Madeira, and fruit in the verandah. As sleep in that sunbaked oven of a room was impossible, the traveller sent for a carriage and went for a drive. The appearance of all the houses that he passed gave the idea that every one inside them was asleep, but their stillness was counterbalanced by the busy crowds of natives going to and fro along those avenues of wonderful trees.

Later in the day X. sallied forth to call on the Assistant Resident. He had been informed at the hotel that this official was not visible between the hours of 11 a.m. and 7 p.m.—rather a long period of retirement.

As it was growing dark X. walked up to the house, a far superior residence to the one at Garvet. The lady of the house and her family were starting for the evening drive, not daring to venture out before this late hour. The Assistant Resident, apparently a very young man, received his visitor with great cordiality and gave him all the information in his power, promising his assistance if he wished to go further up country. It should be stated that, arrived at Tjilatjap, Usoof's memory received a filip, and he recollected that the town of Jombong, not far off, had been the chief place near his "kampong." On hearing this, the Assistant Resident promised to send a letter to the Wodena or native magistrate of the village, who lived at Soempioet and could let him stay in his house. This exactly met the wishes of X., who had been only wanting an opportunity to see more of the native life in Java, away from the track of hotels and tame curio sellers, who differed but little in one town from another. While the traveller was paying this call, another visitor arrived. This was no less a personage than the President of the Landraad. After they had left, he hospitably invited the Englishman into the club, where they played billiards. The great man made himself most agreeable and was quite ready to impart to his companion all he might wish to hear about the duties of the local government officers. He learnt that the Assistant Resident exercised a very limited jurisdiction as magistrate, and all cases, excepting the most trivial, are brought before the Landraad. The post held by this cheery official was evidently most congenial, and he explained with much satisfaction how he had to be frequently travelling, and what a liberal allowance he could draw while doing so. It need be liberal, thought his hearer, to compensate for a course of feeding in Java hotels. But sympathy on this point was wasted, as the President of the Landraad alluded to the one, at which it appeared they were both staying, and spoke of it as comfortable. Billiards over, it was time to return to the hotel for dinner. This meal, probably more owing to the lamp-light than to any inherent superiority, seemed an improvement on the last one, had not the diners made it unnecessarily uncomfortable by treating it as though it were a hurried snack at the counter of a railway refreshment room. For instance, three or four times during the progress of the meal callers came to see the courteous President, who cheerfully left the table to interview them, returning with equanimity to the discussion of the chilled dishes at whatever stage of the feast he chanced on when he returned. The table was not cleared away after the sorry farce of dinner was over, and X. noticed, as late as ten and even half-past ten o'clock, late diners strolling in to feed on the ever less appetising remains. X. recalled the words of his companion in the train, and thought he at least had some justification for his remarks on the digestions, or the want of them, of his fellow-countrymen in Java.

The chief thing for intending travellers in Java to recollect is the difficulty of obtaining money, since no one will look at a cheque, as people in that country do not use them. It is necessary, therefore, to take ready money and rely upon periodical remittances sent by registered letter from the bank. At Garvet X. had his first experience of pecuniary trouble through having placed confidence in his cheque book, backed by the special permit signed by the Governor General of the Netherlands India. He had invested in some Java ponies and thus outrun all calculations as to expenditure. The hotel people would not look at his cheque, though they certainly looked at the owner of it with the careful scrutiny born of suspicion. Very troubled, he had called at all the chief shops and places of business in the town asking assistance, and assuring merchants of his bona fides, as they scanned his cheque and passed it from one to another as a curiosity such as none of them had ever seen before. At length good fortune appeared in the shape of a Mr. Schmidt. One of those who had endeavoured to grasp some meaning from the cheque, explained that he believed this kind of thing was seen in Europe, and they had better call Mr. Schmidt, who not only had been there within the last two years, but also spoke a little English. X. eagerly seconded the suggestion, and Mr. Schmidt appeared. His verdict was anxiously awaited, but especially by the owner of the cheque, whose future movements must depend on the decision, and his relief was great when the good, the discerning, the up-to-date Mr. Schmidt pronounced in his favour. He declared that, certainly he had seen such cheques before, and generously offered to cash it himself. Thus the situation was saved, and the stranger was able to carry out his arrangements and pay his debts. Good Mr. Schmidt! that stranger remembers you with gratitude. Here, in Tjilatjap, X. was again threatened with penury, for, though he had telegraphed for money, the little registered packet had so far not appeared. Perhaps his bankers could not really credit that he had gone to a place with such a reputation as Tjilatjap. But it was because of this reputation that X. was unwilling to prolong his stay there beyond what was actually necessary, and, therefore, sending off the Malays with the luggage, remained behind, relying upon the arrival of the money by the morning post. He utilised the opportunity of this enforced stay to visit the hospital. The hospitals in the Native States of the Peninsula are perhaps the chief signs of the civilization, of which their Government may be proud, seeing that in them natives of all nationalities are splendidly housed and have the best of medical attendance free. It was, therefore, interesting for the Englishman who hailed from that Peninsula to see how, in a large town like Tjilatjap in Java, these things were done.

He had the good fortune to be most courteously shown over the building by the doctor in charge. It was somewhat of a surprise to find that there were few patients in the hospital, notwithstanding the reputation of the place for fever, and to learn that the average number of sick amongst the natives was not noticeably in excess of other towns.

The whole building was a picture of neatness and cleanliness. The walls were made of bertam (a kind of plaited reed) so as to be easily destroyed and replaced in case of infection. The floors were of cement and raised off the ground. This hospital has only been started two years, and, at the present time, possesses fifty beds. The bathing places in particular merited attention, the floors being tiled, while large tanks of brick and cement contained the water supply—baths are provided for feeble patients. The most elaborate building was the dead-house, where all the latest improvements were to be seen. There was, and is, a European ward where patients can be treated for three guilders a day. Another building, standing a little apart, was for Europeans of a better class who could afford to pay six guilders a-day, "but," the doctor added, "they never come." The hospital is free for all natives, and, contrary to what is frequently the case elsewhere, the authorities seem to experience no difficulty in inducing them to go there. The doctor has one assistant to help him in managing the hospital. He spoke very highly of the native dressers, and said that they frequently turn out well. To X., accustomed to see similar hospitals crowded with Chinese, it was curious only to find one in the whole hospital, and he was the cook.

After his visit to the hospital the traveller went to the post office to ask if his registered letter had come, and was considerably depressed to find that, though the post had arrived, there was no letter by it for him. There was nothing to be done but to accept the information and return to the hotel and think it out. He was alone—servants and luggage had gone, and some ten guilders of money only remained. Where could he find a local Schmidt. The landlord suggested that perhaps the people at the Factory might change his cheque. X. was not certain, but believed the Factory to be the name for the offices of the chief trading firm in Java. Acting on this advice, he took a carriage and drove there. The haughty young gentleman who presided behind the counter received him suspiciously, and at once disdainfully and very firmly refused to have anything to do with the cheque, which he turned over and over in his fingers as though it might bite him, and then returned to its owner.

Bowed out and baffled, the traveller returned to his hotel. The situation was now growing serious, for the train to Soempioeh went in half-an-hour, and, after paying his bill, there would be no money for the fare, even could he start penniless. As a forlorn hope X. sallied forth in the sun to pay one more visit to the post-office. This building was closed, and the hard-worked officials had retired to their private apartments in the back premises. Bold to desperation, the visitor skirted round the post-office and peered into the privacies beyond. Seeing an open door he walked in, and found the chief official in his shirt sleeves partaking of his midday meal. With profuse apologies for his intrusion, X. stated his anxiety about his remittance, and rather feebly asked the officer if he were "quite sure" the letter had not come. "Quite sure," grumbled the official in excellent English, "but to satisfy you I'll let you come and look yourself." X. almost begged him not to take what surely must be superfluous trouble, but, luckily, refrained, and accompanying the officer into the post-office, walked towards a pile of papers stacked in pigeon-holes. "There," exclaimed his guide, "see—see for yourself"; and he did, for on the top lay a blue envelope duly registered and addressed to himself.

Thus the hotel bill was paid, and he caught the train to Soempioeh. There he was met by Abu and messengers from the Wodena, who accompanied him to that officer's house.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE QUEST SUCCESSFUL—THE WODENA's HOUSE.

The Wodena's house was a comparatively large building made with alang-lalang walls,[4] and the floor on a level with the ground. The entire front of the house was open, though the overhanging eaves of the roof kept out the glare. In the foreground three tables with corresponding chairs were ranged stiffly, as though in a hotel verandah. In one corner was a little cupboard kind of compartment, which X. found was his bedroom.

There was no attempt to cover the floor of bare earth with mats, as would have been the case in even poor Malay houses. At the back of the one large sitting room stood an imposing long table. The outlook of the house was on to some untidy waste land covered with long grass—rather an unusual sign of slovenliness in a country of such universal neatness. Close by a new house was in course of construction for Government use. This building had the somewhat strange combination of alang-lalang walls and a tiled roof. The host who welcomed X. to his house was, as has been said, the Wodena, or local head native magistrate. A Malay in such a position would most certainly have had a courteous manner and have probably been an agreeable companion. This official, though he evidently intended to be cordial, was awkward and seemingly stupid. He also spoke bad Malay, and seemed an ill-educated man for such a position. He wore a terrible old sun-helmet on his head, and presented a grotesque appearance.

[Footnote 4: Plaited grass.]

After having tea his host took X. for a walk round to show him the place, and all the people crouched on the ground as they passed. The followers in uniform walked after them, occasionally shouting at those who did not promptly go to earth, while hurrying their movements with insinuating prods from the poles of office. The few Chinese who were met, bowed low like ladies to a royalty, which was a somewhat startling experience to X., so recently from Singapore, where Chinamen jostle Europeans from the side walks and puff bad tobacco in their faces as they pass. Apropos of this it might be mentioned here that a high Dutch official in Java stated that he considered that the way the Chinese in Singapore were allowed to treat the Europeans was "nothing less than a disgrace to civilization." In the Singapore local press at the time of writing there is now appearing a series of indignant letters from a Chinaman in Selangor who signs himself as "Speaking Pig Tail." This scribe complains to "Mr. Editor" that he has not the same rights as a European. I wonder what "Speaking Pig Tail" would say to the above-mentioned Dutch official.

However these particular Chinese in Soempioeh bowed many inches low to the Wodena, while X. with bland self-consciousness appropriated a certain length to himself as the only white man in the place.

This walk at Soempioeh was full of interest, and the Wodena kindly replied to the best of his ability to all the questions asked. The whole country round was one vast expanse of padi, valleys and hills alike so far as the eye could reach, and it seemed to X. that no population could be sufficiently dense to consume such an apparently unlimited supply, but the Wodena assured him that none was ever exported. The town presented a busy scene of great activity, as there was evidently a country fair in full swing, and rows of people lined the roadside selling quaint cakes and fruit, and here and there a stall was gay and sweet-smelling with little heaps of gathered rose leaves and yellow blooms of fragrant chimpaka. The Wodena and his visitor called on the chief Chinese of the town, of which race he informed him there were two hundred all told. These people scarcely resembled the Chinamen as known to X., since they had all been born and bred in the neighbourhood, and not one of them had experience of life beyond the island of Java. The head Chinaman produced various curios—so considered—for inspection, these being sent for from the pawn-shops close by. The Wodena volunteered the information that large quantities of opium were consumed in the district. This meant, as there were no Chinese, the habitual use of this drug amongst the people. After this walk the little procession wended its way back to the Wodena's house. Dinner that night proved a weird meal, as Usoof, who cooked, had gone to the neighbouring village of Tambak, where he found his mother dwelt, and Abu, who had never cooked anything more complicated than rice, tried his 'prentice hand. The next day was Sunday, and the weekly fair was at its height till twelve noon. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people were packed tightly together, line after line, under little sheds, selling sarongs and cloths of every conceivable colour, with hats, mats, and native ornaments of all descriptions. It was an animated scene, and one not easily forgotten, and this was the first time, if the Wodena was to be believed, that any white man had seen it. Be that as it may, or perhaps as it may not, X. allowed himself the satisfaction of believing that it was the first time that any Englishman had seen it.

After the fair the traveller returned home, and there received a visit from Usoof and his mother. He had found her, and the object of his journey to Java was accomplished. It appears that he had met her while walking along a path by the river, which his awakened memory recalled would lead him to his home. And she, noting his unusual dress and stranger-like appearance, stopped to ask whether he had any news of her son who many years ago had gone away to Singapore, and to whom she had so frequently written, receiving no reply. She feared he was dead, but as the kind stranger came from foreign parts it was possible that amongst the colony of Javanese in Singapore he might have heard of her long-lost son.

Such was the meeting, and a dramatic and successful climax to what had seemed a somewhat forlorn quest. Had I the pen of a Swettenham or a Clifford, those sympathetic spinners of delightful tales of a race whose childish faith so lends itself to story, I might here find material for pages of a charming romance. But in reality there was little romance about Usoof, rather a sturdy honesty and affection, as he brought his poor mother in her humble attire and presented her to his Tuan, who, at that moment, bored to death by his kind host, who would not cease to entertain him by sitting by him in attentive silence, would have welcomed any diversion as a boon.

But the poor lady, according to the custom of the country, could only prostrate herself outside the house nor venture nearer than some dozen yards, probably regarding her new-found son, who stood upright, as some knave who courted death.

This system of obeisance had been rather embarrassing to X., since all the retainers of his host stooped low and crept about while his own attendants had maintained their usual attitudes with occasional lapses from the perpendicular. For there had been intervals over night when, realizing his conspicuous position, Abu had wandered about awkwardly doubled up, and offered cigarettes and liquid refreshment from somewhere among the legs of the table, startling his master by his sudden cat-like appearance in unexpected places, while there was that in his eye which said, "Do not expect this sort of thing to continue when we get you home."



CHAPTER XIX.

A VILLAGE HOME IN JAVA.

To Usoof and his mother the great Wodena was kindness itself, and conversed with them in Javanese with much affability. X. wishing to see a real country village, and obtain speech with its people, away from the all-subduing eye of the local authority, promised to go that afternoon and visit the good lady in her ancestral home, and a few hours later he took the train for the next station, Tambak. No European had ever done such a thing before apparently, and there was quite a fuss at the station to find a first or even a second-class ticket. And during the search the railway officials displayed the most naive curiosity, and questioned the traveller without restraint. Arrived at Tambak X. descended, and immediately the station-master hurried forward and politely assured him that he had made a mistake, since Gombong, the large town, was the next station but one. He obviously could not believe it possible that any European should get out at Tambak on purpose, and regarded the polite insistence of X. that he knew where he wanted to go as evidence of some sort of want of sanity, to be passed over as harmless. Gesticulating and ejaculating, the worthy gentleman collected quite a little crowd of gazers as the white man, followed by Usoof, sauntered out of the station. Once out of sight, the station-master would have been intensely gratified to see X., who did not really in the least know where he was going, turn round and ask his follower the way. So they branched off to the left and wended their route along the banks of a noisy river, beneath the shade of huge trees which formed an avenue by the side of the water. On their right lay the endless padi fields of early green and ripening gold, all equally shimmering in the sun. This combination of ripe padi, side by side with newly sown, forms a striking feature of Javanese agriculture. While gazing upon this warm picture, and congratulating himself that someone had had the forethought to plant this pleasant row of trees, the voice of Usoof from the rear announced that they must now turn to the right. To turn to the right naturally meant to go across that sunlit plain. The hand of X. involuntarily went up to his stiff stand-up collar, and though he could not see the face of his attendant, he was aware through his back that he smiled. So climbing a rustic stile they branched off to the right and walked across the padi, where the lurid light was zigzagging above the corn. Presently the red roofs of a village were in sight, and once more the voice of Usoof spoke to introduce his birthplace. This was interesting, as was the additional information that the little river they had now to cross was the boundary of his ancestral land. The house they had come all this way to see was deep in the shadow of countless fruit trees, over which towered palms of considerable age. The green turf so scrupulously neat, and the little group of buildings set round the central house, all combined to make a picturesque scene.

In the front of these cottages, on the green turf, was the reception house—a square building, surrounded by benches with a table in the middle.

Here the stranger was escorted by a crowd of Javanese, cousins and sisters and brothers and aunts, without number—for it seemed less of a family than a tribe which had come together to do him honour. Then the guest was seated in the place of state, and fruit of many kinds in large brass dishes was set before him. It was truly a pleasant spot, and there was additional satisfaction in the thought that with so little to guide them they had been able to light upon it without lengthy search. Then ensued a conversation, during which the visitor learnt and imparted many things. Amongst the former he heard that once before, when the railway was being made, a white man had been seen in the neighbourhood, but the present occasion was the first, when the village had beheld one close. And this stranger told them of the Malays and his life amongst them, and how their houses and customs resembled theirs, while Usoof, alone venturing to remain upright, acted as interpreter as a swarm of young brown relations clasped his hands and ruthlessly robbed him of his watch and chain, his brass buttons, and all the loose coins in his pockets. Then X., who has a material mind, asked to see the title deeds of their lands, which were produced and inspected, and they were instructed how to proceed, so that when the time came the absent Usoof, as the eldest son, should obtain his fair share of the inheritance. Then, as the shadows were lengthening, and the zigzags on the padi had given way to a soft and mellow light fanned by an evening breeze, X. gave the signal to depart and announced that farewells must be made. Hurrying over his own, he wandered towards the river so that he might not witness the anguish of the mother bereaved anew of her long lost son, but he could not escape hearing the sounds of sobs which arose behind him. And the little procession of two—the European with his limp collar, and the Javanese bereft of all his finery—started once more across the plain. But the procession grew and grew, as one by one the fond relations hurried after it for one more glimpse or one more word for the departing brother. Then the traveller began to feel as near a brute as ever in his life before, and suggested to Usoof that he should bid him good-bye and return for good to the bosom of his weeping family. But this he declined to do, and at the rustic stile the actual parting came. Arrived at the train, the good station-master was still on the look-out and walking around as though something unusual had happened, but, tired and hot, X. parried his questionings with some abruptness. But the interviewer was as persistent as if he were on the staff of a London evening paper, and after producing an inverted wheelbarrow, which he offered X. as a seat, went to his house for a whisky and soda—called by the natives "Dutch water." After that walk in the sun, his whole physical and nervous system disorganized by the deglutition of strange fruits and condiments, and by witnessing heartrending family farewells, an unexpected whisky and soda, when such a restorative had seemed as unobtainable as the very moon which was beginning to appear, was welcome indeed. The station-master was at once the master of the situation, and the hitherto taciturn Englishman, his thirst assuaged and his limbs at rest, became as communicative as a star of the profession, and answered all questions as fully and docilely as a willing witness in the hands of his own counsel.



CHAPTER XX.

BACK TO THE JUNGLE.

Arrived at the house of the Wodena, the traveller had to submit to more pumping, nor would his host rest until he knew, or was persuaded he knew, each word which X. had written in his letter of thanks to the Assistant Resident at Tjilatjap. That night it was very hot, and it was borne in upon the sleepless traveller that he had exhausted the resources of the place. Therefore at an early hour next morning his miscellaneous fairings were packed, the cost of his entertainment liberally repaid, and accepted without demur, and the visitors, after earnestly commending the picturesque little village at Tambak to special official protection, departed for the station. X. had intended to now perform the usual round and visit the temples at Djaokjakerta, Solo and Semarang, but when almost in the act of asking for his ticket, a spirit of revolt infected him, and he rebelled at the thought that he must go here and there just because all others did, when his inclinations really called him elsewhere, for his inclinations were bidding him go back to the cottage in the hills, where the tea and coffee grew. And so without hesitation he took his ticket and sent a telegram to announce his intended return. Bandong was to be the first halting-place, which meant travel in that crawling train from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., and stopping at twenty-eight stations on the way. There was no first-class compartment and the seats of the second-class were hard and narrow, and the cramped space after the first few hours became almost unbearable. Things looked brighter, the guard flattered the hopes of passengers by asking who would buy tickets for lunch at some halting-place further on, so that he could telegraph for the meal to be prepared. Hope is eternal, and experience of Java hotels had not yet robbed the traveller of the fond pleasure of anticipation. The Swindon of the line was reached, and there, sure enough, was a table spread with food. After the first bite of the first dish X. realized sadly that he had been done, since it would have been impossible to make any impression on that meat with aught less forcible than an axe. Thus, with reluctance, his portion, albeit paid for in advance, was relinquished, to be again paid for probably and again to flatter and deceive some other passing and hungry stranger. The remainder of the journey proved agreeable, thanks to the companionship of a young officer who, invalided home from the Lomboh war, was en route to Buitenzorg, where he lived. This poor warrior had undergone a time of much hardship, and related how he and his men had slept shelterless on the wet ground and for nights had nothing but rice to eat. And this only half a day's journey from the principal port in Java, and with as much money collected for aid to the soldiers as would have, if necessary, paid for the whole cost of the war. This companion told many interesting anecdotes of the war, and related some almost incredible tales of the treachery and ingratitude of the natives.

The Englishman also availed himself of this opportunity for hearing something of social etiquette in time of peace, and the unwritten rules which guided those attending entertainments where Dutch and natives met. As for instance, when the Sultan of Djoedja gives a ball, each official must stand upon a step, high or low, in proportion to his rank, while the Resident is met and escorted to the same lofty altitude as the Sultan, on the top.

To the Governor-General, however, the Sultan must do obeisance.

This might be a convenient place to mention the great regard officially paid to caste. Reverence for rank amongst the people is fostered and aided by their rulers, and if a man of position is ever suspected or accused so that inquiry becomes necessary, it must take place with closed doors and in private.

That night the party lay at Bandong (fresh from reading the "Red Cockade" its language seems the most descriptive). The train reached that considerable town at dusk. Here the traveller had the good fortune to again meet his friend the President of the Landraad, and was introduced by him to the Club. Being introduced to the Club meant being separately introduced to every member then in it, with that punctilious formality which X. had observed in Batavia. The hotel at Bandong was the best which the traveller had yet visited, and, contrary to expectation, dinner was warm and comforting. The others of the party, however, Usoof and Abu, were not so fortunate, for they had no means of getting anything to eat. It was not permitted them to go out after dark without lights, and they could not get lights. Added to this it was raining hard. The hotel apparently could not supply natives with food at such an hour, and it was necessary for them to go and look for it. This sad story greeted X. when his own dinner was done. But the kind President of the Landraad cut the knot of this dilemma and soon provided a caterer, protector, and guide for the hungry pair.

As usual next morning, the time fixed for the train to leave was very early, and other trains were starting too, and of these Abu selected the one on the point of departure for Maos in which to stow all the portable luggage—no small amount—and this was only rescued as the train was actually on the move. This, of course, necessitated hurried action, making those who hurried hot. Then the scene at the ticket window was scarcely to be described. For a country where, in public, such a gulf is fixed between Europeans and natives, it is a strange thing to find the one aperture for the purchase of tickets, besieged by a serging clamouring throng of both races, and no one had any idea of waiting his turn. X. attempted to force his way to the little window, but as he stopped to observe the rules of the game, as played in civilized countries of the West, he was each time passed over, when the tickets were almost in his grasp. At length, disgusted at having to take part in such a scene, he retired. Then Usoof, with much insinuation of elbows and words in Javanese (words such as his mother may not have approved), managed to obtain tickets just in time to catch the train. This train duly landed them at the familiar little station, where, as before, the ponies waited them to carry them up that hill of wonderful views. At the station the traveller parted with his companion, the invalid officer, after accepting a kindly invitation to lunch with him at Buitenzorg on his way through to Batavia.

No need to repeat myself in describing those few extra days spent at the cottage in the hills. And they also resembled the last ones in that they went too quickly.

The hearty welcome received was, the visitor liked to think, rendered even warmer by the fact that he was able to assure his busy host that the young tea plants had most certainly grown a little in his absence.

The day soon came when X. was nearing the limits of his leave and must start for Batavia. The always early train reached Buitenzorg in the morning, and there, where on his first visit he had felt so lonely, the traveller was met by his soldier friend and driven by him to the home of his fiancee. That reception, and its pleasant sequel of a home-like lunch, is one of the most agreeable of the recollections which X. now preserves of the town. Though he felt inclined to take the welcome all to himself, yet in his heart he knew that it was in great manner due to the fact that he was even remotely connected with the safe return of one whom the household considered as a son.

After lunch the host, bravely clad in uniform, took his guest to see the barracks. These buildings seemed as clean and comfortable as could be expected in a tropical climate. The extreme youth of some of the men was so noticeable that the visitor could not but observe it, and he learnt that this was accounted for by the fact that they could enlist at the age of sixteen. Another item of information was that one-third of the army in Java was composed of people of other nationalities. In the native corps there is never any difficulty in obtaining recruits.

After inspecting the barracks a visit was made to the gaol. This over they drove to the Club for the much-needed refreshment of "Dutch water" with something in it. The Club was a fine building, but there was no time left to enjoy its luxurious lounges, and in a very short time X. was bidding farewell to his good friend and steaming once more towards Batavia.

Arrived in the capital, the traveller thought it best to widen his experience by driving to an hotel other than the one of electric light. This was also a huge building at the end of a regular street of rooms, all looking out on to the main verandah. As this look-out provided the only light, the majority of the occupants kept open both doors and windows, and a walk along the verandah was like some panorama of dressing in all its stages.

The chief points about this hotel were the usual ones—indifferent food, absence of privacy, and horrible bathing arrangements. In Eastern countries it is usual to find a bath-room attached to the bedroom. In Java hotels people—ladies as well as men—burdened with sponges and towels, and some with soap, must cross a public court-yard and wait their turn outside the bath-room door. In this particular hotel the ordeal was especially trying, since the bathrooms were outside the office, and in the centre of a regular street where people drove past arriving and departing or calling on friends, and must perforce gaze upon that little forlorn group of scantily-clad humans on cleanliness intent. However, this hotel remains to X. one of blessed memory, since it was while there he was, through the knowledge of the language, able to render some slight service to two charming American ladies who were courageously going round the world alone. On the following day these ladies were passengers on board the s.s. Godavery en route for Hong Kong, Shanghai, Japan, Havaue, and all the places in the world apparently, excepting, alas! that little one of Pura Pura.

That last evening there happened to be a performance of an English circus, and X. went there and laughed at the jokes of an excellent clown—a cheery being whose like he had not seen for many a long year past. Fancy a clown in the jungle!

The next day he reluctantly bade farewell to the country where such a pleasant three weeks had been spent, and embarking on board the s.s. Godavery—his impedimenta increased by three ponies—the traveller steamed again for Singapore. The day after his arrival there he started for home, and some thirty-six hours later was once more seated in his verandah, listening all alone to the chanting songs of his Malay neighbours in the plain below. The moon was bright, and Pura Pura kept high revelry.

Those readers who have had the patience to follow my friend through his short holiday may leave him there—sighing perhaps with contented discontent—an excuse for grumbling—while all around is beautiful, and body and mind can revel in long chairs and books galore. There is a world perhaps, he thinks, where all are up and doing, but—like his dreams—it is very far away. Has he been to Java—he asks himself—has he ever been anywhere beyond the edge of this green turfed hill—to which are now ascending sounds of happiness from poor villagers who live among the padi fields, away there across the river, dimly seen now when the moon is high? And has he helped to make them happy?—did they always sit singing there before he or others came, or did they have to watch with Krises ready, for fear of stealthy foes—foes who crept to stab beneath the raised bamboo floors. Perhaps he, too, has aided with his mite—perhaps—who knows? And as this thought occurs, the discontent will fade, while content alone remains.

Long years has this exile lived in Pura Pura, and then when he left it for a space—to redeem a promise—he asked me to relate all that he did and saw while thus away. From Jungle to Java have I therefore followed him as a faithful chronicler and my commission is ended. But it should not be so, since there are tales of the jungle and tales of Pura Pura all worth the telling if what I think be true. For there, where life moves slowly, the incidents, which make it dwell, dwell so long that those who watch may note and read. And though that which they read, being of nature and mankind, is necessarily an old, old story, yet is the framework new, and thus with an interest all its own, able to impart a lesson to those who sit at home and speak with vague pity of peoples far away. Perhaps our traveller—to whom such a name must have seemed irony indeed—will one day ask my assistance to relate certain chapters of that life, brief glimpses of which have been afforded the reader in this little sketch.



THE ROXBURGHE ROMANCES.

THE BEST VALUE OF ANY BOOKS AT THE SAME PRICE.

Published on the First and Fifteenth of each month.

A Series of bright, well-written Stories, etc., daintily produced, with designed Art Cover.

SIXPENCE EACH: OR IN "Strakeria" Cloth, One Shilling.

Each contains from 20,000 to 30,000 words, and is well and clearly printed on good paper.

TITLES AND AUTHORS.

A WIDOW WELL LEFT R. MANIFOLD CRAIG.

Ready November the First, 1896.

ONE WEAK MOMENT E. WHITE.

WITHOUT BLOODSHED HAROLD E. GORST.

THAT CHARMING WIDOW CLARENCE HAMLYN.

A ROMANCE OF THE FAIR L. & H. CRANMER-BYNG.

MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE ARTHUR J. IRELAND.

AN AFTERNOON RIDE ANNE PAGE.

THE DIAMOND SHOE BUCKLES MARY ALBERT.

BLOTTED OUT E. PULLEN BURRY. (Or a Puritan's Curse)

THE PRIEST AND THE ACTRESS ETHEL WALKER. (Some Idylls of St. Giles)

MARIE VASELLIS JOSEPHINE STOCKWELL.

THE DEALER IN DEATH ARTHUR MORRIS.

TOLD AT THE CLUB CHARLES F. RIDEAL.

And others in preparation, by

MRS. CECIL MARRYAT NORRIS; MR. MASSEY SHAW; MR. J. L. OWEN; MR. C. GORDON WINTER; THE HON. STUART ERSKINE; MR. WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK; MR. R. BRINSLEY; MR. GRAHAM EVERETT; MR. RICHARD DAVEY; MRS. GRAHAM and other attractive writers.

May be obtained through all Booksellers, Newsagents, and Railway Book Stalls; or from the Publishers:

THE ROXBURGHE PRESS, LIMITED, Fifteen, Victoria Street. Westminster.

[Bookplate: Ex Libris Roxburghe Press]



Transcriber's Notes:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words preserved. (bathroom, bath-room; courtyard, court-yard; foreground, fore-ground; lamplight, lamp-light; stationmaster, station-master)

Pg. 96, "Ojoedja" possibly refers to the town "Djoedja" (short for Djoedjakarta) which is mentioned elsewhere in the text. However, the original text has been preserved.

Pg. 99, "civi service" changed to "civil service". (irritable member of the civil service)

Pg. 124, "attemped" changed to "attempted". (X. attempted to force his way)

Pg. 125, duplicated word "a" removed. (sequel of a home-like lunch)

THE END