That night the party lay at Bandong (fresh from reading the "Red c.o.c.kade" 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sengers on board the s.s. _G.o.davery_ en route for Hong Kong, Shanghai, j.a.pan, Havau, 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.

_G.o.davery_--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 s.p.a.ce--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 a.s.sistance to relate certain chapters of that life, brief glimpses of which have been afforded the reader in this little sketch.

THE _ROXBURGHE ROMANCES._

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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.

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