Baboe Dalima; or, The Opium Fiend

AT MOEARA TJATJING.

It was a terrible night in February 188-.

A violent storm from the north-west was raging along the northern coast of Java. The wind howled and roared as though a legion of fiends were holding Sabbath in the black mass of clouds which were driving along.

The waves of the Java sea were running mountain high, and came curling into the beach in monstrous billows topped with mighty crests of dazzling foam. These crests were brightly phosphorescent, and each breaker, as it came rolling in, for an instant shed a pale fantastic shower of sparks upon the black seething waters, leaving, the next instant, the blackness darker than before. The sea-coast on which our story opens formed here, as in so many other places in Java, an extensive marsh, the slimy clay of which the influence of the tropical sun had clothed with a most curious kind of vegetation.

Had it been day, the eye, as far as it could reach, would have rested upon thousands upon thousands of tree-tops, closely packed together, and rising about thirty feet from the soil. The stems of these trees did not reach the ground, but rested on knotty roots, which, like arches, grew out of the earth. These roots were divided, branching out in all directions, so that the trees might be likened to many-footed creatures, the supports or legs of each of which crossed and recrossed with those of its neighbour. Thus looking along the ground might be seen a kind of tangled network under a thick canopy of green, and that network again was entwined with gigantic creepers, hanging in festoons from the singular archways and climbing upwards into the tops of the trees.

By daylight, between those myriads of twisted roots forming, as it were, a gigantic labyrinth, there might have been seen a swarming mass of living things, unsightly and loathsome, which would have filled the beholder with wonder and disgust.

There, among thousands of other living beings, lay the sluggish alligator glaring at its prey with fixed and stony eye. There countless tortoises and "Mimis" were crawling and darting about in quest of food. There swarmed monstrous crabs and shrimps of all kinds, varying in size from that of the largest lobster to the almost microscopical sea-spider. All these in millions were wriggling in the filthy ooze which was formed of the detritus of this singular mangrove forest. In the mud which clung about the roots, these hideous creatures lived and teemed, not perhaps in a state of perfect concord, yet maintaining an armed kind of peace which did not prevent them from becoming allies whenever some unhappy victim, whose luckless star had cast upon that shore, had to be overpowered.

Close by the narrow strip of land, where, not only in storms but in all weathers, land and water seemed to strive for the mastery, there stood a small hut hidden away completely among a clump of "Saoe" trees. These trees grew there, the only ones of their kind amidst the gloomy forest of mangrove.

Surrounded by the dense foliage as by an impenetrable wall, the hut was completely invisible from the land. On the other side it commanded a wide view of the sea; but even there it was screened from observation by its position among the leaves.

We called it a hut,--it was, indeed, little more than a large sentry box, and it, most appropriately, bore the name of "djaga monjet" or monkey-perch. It was put together in a very primitive fashion, and was covered with "Kadjang" mats and "attaps," both of these rough building materials obtained from the Nipah palm.

The "djaga monjet" was built in the morass on piles which raised it some considerable distance from the ground. Thus the waves which now and then threatened to swallow up the fore-shore altogether, could freely wash about under it, and break and divide against the firmly driven stakes. The trunk of a tree, with some rough steps clumsily cut into it, served as a ladder and gave access to the hut which, at the time this tale begins, was wrapped in the deepest darkness, but which yet was not tenantless.

Two voices might have been heard issuing from the doorway. The speakers fancied they were talking in a confidential whisper; but the blustering of the storm had gradually led them on to raise their voices, so that now they were yelling at each other rather than conversing.

That, however, was of very little consequence. At such an hour, and in such fearful weather, no human being would have dreamed of prowling about there. The most zealous coastguard's man would have declined that duty.

The men in the hut were talking in Malay, but they might, without difficulty, have been recognised for Chinamen. Their guttural pronunciation, the difficulty with which they sounded the letter "r," which with them indeed was spoken as "l," and a certain lisping, weakly, altogether most unpleasant accent, put the matter beyond doubt.

Yes, they were two Chinamen who, sitting in that little watch-house, were eagerly, in the pitch dark night, scanning the angry sea before them.

"No," said one of them, after a considerable interval of silence--"No, there is nothing whatever to be seen. In such weather, it would be simply tempting fate. You may be quite sure that the Kiem Ping Hin is snugly lying at anchor at Poeloe Karabab. She would never think of starting in such a storm."

"You may be right," replied the other, "but the master's orders were most positive. We are posted here on purpose to help the men of the Kiem Ping Hin to get their cargo safe ashore."

"That is true enough, Than Khan, and we shall get our pay, I daresay; but, for all that, you cannot deny that she cannot possibly come in to-night. Just hark how the wind howls, hear how the breakers roar--our perch is shaking like a reed. How would you like to be out on such a night as this?"

"I," cried Than Khan, "not for all the money in the world. But still we know the old Arab Awal Boep Said--he is a tough old sea-dog, and no weather will--"

"Look out!" cried the other; "there, just there! You see that big curling wave yonder! Look, you can just see it by the light of the foam. Yes, by Kong! A 'djoekoeng!'"

"You are right, Liem King," replied Than Khan, "it is a 'djoekoeng'" (a boat made of a hollowed tree-stem). "There were two persons in her, both Javanese--I fancied a man and a woman."

"Yes," said Liem King; "the man was rowing hard, the woman seemed frightened, she had her hands up to her face."

"The 'djoekoeng,'" shouted Than Khan, "was heading for the shore; but she can never get through the breakers."

"I am not so sure of that," replied Liem King. "She was making straight for Moeara Tjatjing, if she can only keep that course, she may pull through."

"Why," said Than Khan, "in such a sea as this, no boat can live, she must be swamped. A rare feast for the boajas, eh?"

"That 'djoekoeng,'" said Liem King, "will get through safe enough. I made her out to be a surf boat, and you know it takes a good deal to upset them."

"No doubt," said Than Khan, "for all that, I am glad enough I am not in her."

"Look out," shouted the other. "Look, there she is again, yes, she is making for the Moeara. If she can get behind the 'bow-nets' she is safe enough."

"If she can get under the lee of the bow-nets, perhaps, but, but--"

"Another boat," exclaimed Liem King. "There are white men in her."

The words were no sooner uttered than two, three, four sharp reports were heard. They were rifle-shots fired from the boat, upon the occupants of the "djoekoeng." With what result who could tell? For a single instant only, the faint gleam of some gigantic breaker had revealed the two boats to the pair of spies. The next moment all was deep darkness again, and, gaze as intently as they would, not even their sharp eyes could discover anything further.

Thus a quarter of an hour passed away, when suddenly Than Khan exclaimed, "A steamer!"

Sure enough, far out at sea, shone the well-known green and red lights, and, high above them, the white light at the mast-head.

"The guard-ship!" cried Liem King.

"No doubt of it," said the other, "it must be the Matamata. Well, all I can say is that if the Kiem Ping Hin has left her anchorage she is not showing any lights; she has got away safe enough by this time."

"Come, I think we may be off home to the Kampong; no smugglers will come ashore to-night, you may be sure."

For a while longer did the two Celestials keep watching the steamer's movements. First she showed her three lights plainly enough, she was therefore making straight for the land. After a time, however, all of a sudden, her green light disappeared, leaving for a while the red light only visible. Presently that also went out and only the white top-mast light remained visible, and, as it seemed stationary, our Chinamen concluded that the steamer had anchored or was perhaps moving with her head to the wind.

Said Than Khan at length, "It is no use staying here; while that cursed Matamata is about they will not be able to get anything ashore. Come, let us be going."

"All right," replied Liem King; "but I vote we first go and have a look at the Tjatjing, we may just possibly get to know something about the 'djoekoeng.'"

So our two worthies clambered down the rough log which, as we have shown, stood as a ladder against the hut; the wind howling, meanwhile, as furiously as ever.