IN LUCK AGAIN.

About three weeks later, a bark, whose storm-beaten and weather-stained appearance showed traces of a long and tempestuous voyage, cast anchor in the port of Batavia. Among the first to land were a couple of men who, although dressed in the garb of common sailors, yet displayed the most palpable evidence that they belonged to some other sphere in life. They presented a strange contrast to one another. The taller of the two, it was easy to see by his well-shaped hands and feet, by his clear-cut features, and by his general bearing, was a gentleman by birth and education, whereas his companion had evidently sprung from the lower classes.

“Safe at last,” muttered the former, who was no other than Frederick von Waldberg. “As long as I was on board that ship, I always had a kind of feeling that we were in danger, somehow or other, of being delivered up to the French authorities. I can't help thinking that the skipper had his doubts as to the authenticity of the story which we told him.”

“At any rate, he kept his own counsel about it,” replied his companion, with a laugh; “and here we are at last beyond the reach of our friends, the ‘gardes chiourmes’ (prison warders). Just look at this! How different from La Nouvelle! (New Caledonia). The very air seems to reek with prosperity and wealth. See those houses there. How glorious it would be to have the looting of one of them!”

“Hush, you idiot!” exclaimed Frederick. “There must be lots of people here who understand French, and I don't suppose that you want everybody to know who you are.”

“They will find it out soon enough, to their cost,” replied the other, under his breath, as they strolled on.

Frederick and his fellow-convict had been in the last stage of exhaustion when rescued by the Dutch bark, which was on its way from Amsterdam to Java, and during the first three days were unable to give any account of themselves. On recovering, however, they informed the skipper that they were the solitary survivors of a French vessel engaged in the Polynesian trade. They asserted that the boat had broken loose from the sinking ship before its full complement of the crew had been embarked, and that, owing to the darkness, and to the gale which prevailed, they were unable to return to the ship.

During the time which had elapsed since their break for liberty, both their hair and beards had grown, and moreover they had taken the precaution to remove from their scanty attire all traces which might have revealed the fact that it had formed part of the garb of a French convict.

They now found themselves in a strange country, without a cent in their pockets, and without any honest means in view of obtaining a livelihood. The very clothes on their backs they owed to the charity of the sailors of the bark. They applied at several of the great warehouses and stores for employment, and, meeting with no success, then addressed themselves to the occupants of several of the magnificent villas in the suburbs, begging for food and money. The Dutch, however, are not of a particularly generous nature. If they err, it is on the side of economy and excessive caution. Everywhere Frederick and his companion were met with the same response, “Apply to your consul.” As this was about the last person to whom the two ex-convicts would have dreamed of addressing themselves, there seemed to be every prospect that they would spend the night in the open air, and remain both dinnerless and supperless. They were just about to turn their steps once more in the direction of the port, when suddenly a man who had been watching them for some few moments as they wandered aimlessly along, stepped across the street, and inquired in German what they were looking for, and whether he could be of any assistance to them. Frederick at once replied in the same language that they were destitute and starving, and that they were exceedingly anxious to discover some means of earning a decent living.

“Have you tried any of our merchants and storekeepers?” asked the stranger.

“Yes,” replied Frederick; “but it is a hopeless task. It appears, from what they say, that they all have more employees than they know what to do with.”

“How would you like if I were to obtain for you this very night the sum of fifty guilders apiece, and an agreeable means of livelihood for several years to come?”

Frederick's face brightened visibly as he replied:

“Of course we should be delighted, and exceedingly grateful to you. Do you mean it seriously? It would be cruel to joke on such a subject with men in our position.”

“I can assure you,” rejoined the stranger, “that I am thoroughly serious about the matter. What I propose to you is that you should enlist in the Dutch Army here. You know that the colonial troops receive a high rate of pay. The promotion is rapid, the duties are light; and although certificates of good conduct in the past are required, yet your face inspires me with such confidence, and your destitute appearance with such sympathy, that I am prepared to give the authorities the requisite guarantees in your behalf.”

Frederick quickly communicated the friendly offer to his companion, and after a few minutes' consultation, they decided on accepting it, with many thanks. It was indeed a perfect godsend for them, and it is impossible to say what would otherwise have been their fate.

Shortly before nightfall, and after providing the two men with a good square meal, the benevolent stranger accompanied them to the railway station, and took the train with them to “Meester Cornelis,” the great central depot and headquarters of the Dutch Army in the East. On arriving there, an hour later, he conducted them to the bureau of the chief recruiting officer. After undergoing examination by a regimental surgeon, who pronounced them physically fit for active service, they were duly enrolled as soldiers of a regiment of fusileers. Their friend, thereupon, having obtained a voucher from the recruiting officer, proceeded to the paymaster's bureau, where a sum of money was counted out to him on presentation of the document. Of this amount he handed fifty guilders to each of the two men, and then bade them adieu, and left them in charge of the sergeant who had piloted them through the barracks.

It is probable that neither Frederick nor his companion would have been so effusive in their protestations of gratitude toward the stranger, had they been aware of the fact at the time that he had appropriated to himself the major portion of the bounty of three hundred guilders which becomes the property of every European recruit who takes service in the Dutch Colonial Army.

The latter, which numbers some 27,000 men, is composed of men of almost every nationality. Germans and Swiss form the major portion of the foreign element, which comprises, however, many Russians, Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Americans. At least half of all these are men who have previously occupied a more elevated rank in life. Ruined clubmen, bankrupt merchants and traders, fugitive cashiers and dishonest clerks, and a large sprinkling of deserters from the various European armies, figure largely among the contingent. Among the corporals and simple privates are to be found men who have held even colonels' commissions in the Prussian and Austrian Armies, while once prominent but now ruined noblemen, such as the two Counts E——, of Berlin, and Prince R——, of Vienna, are to be seen figuring as mess-sergeants, and even as orderlies of half-educated and coarse Dutch infantry officers. Indeed, there is scarcely a foreigner in the Dutch Colonial Army who has not some sad or dark history attached to his name. Few of them ever return to their native land, for the climate of Java is deadly. It has been calculated that, of all the men who enlist, not more than thirty-five per cent. live through the whole period of their service. Of the 27,000 men who constitute the army, an average of at least 6,000 men are permanently on the sick list and hors de combat.

The name under which Frederick had been enrolled was Frederick Gavard, of Alsace, while his companion had described himself as Charles Renier, of Paris.

During the next three years Frederick and his fellow fugitive endured all the hardships of a soldier's life. Frederick had now learned how to control his former ungovernable temper, and had acquired the conviction that there is much more to be obtained by concealing one's real sentiments and by biding one's time than by any headstrong act of violence. Although he kept his hands free from crime during this period, yet it must not for one moment be gathered therefrom that his moral character had undergone any improvement. On the contrary, he was a far more dangerous character now than he had ever been before. It was but the absence of a suitable opportunity for making a profitable coup that prevented him from adding to his list of crimes.

By dint of the most careful observance of the regulations, by his remarkable intelligence, and by the evidences which he displayed of having undergone a most careful military training, he had succeeded in working his way up to the rank of sergeant. He was regarded with favor by his superiors and respected by his inferiors. Curiously enough he had kept himself free from any of those entanglements with native women which constitute the bane and shadow of a soldier's life in the East. At any rate, if he was engaged in intrigues of that kind they were kept secret from everybody.

The chief trial and annoyance to which he was subjected was the difficulty which he experienced in getting rid of Charles Renier, the companion of his flight from New Caledonia. The man was constantly getting into trouble and appealing to him for assistance and for money. Frederick dared not refuse him, as he was afraid that he would disclose his past history. Hardly a month elapsed without Charles being sentenced for some scrape or other to receive “twentig Rietslagen” (twenty blows from the terrible Malacca cane of the corporal), and he was on the high-road to terminate his military career by the “strop,” as the gallows is called out there. At length, catching sight one day of a corporal in the act of leaving the rooms inhabited by the dusky Mme. Renier for the time being, he threw himself upon him and thrashed him to within an inch of his life, showing thereby the superiority of the French “Savatte” over the Dutch “Boxie!” Indeed, he left the unfortunate man in a shocking condition, his jaw broken, and one of his ears partly torn from his head. Then, bursting into the woman's room, he seized the faithless damsel by the throat and kicked and pounded her into unconsciousness. After these exploits, well knowing that if caught he would probably be court-martialed and hanged, he deemed it prudent to show a pair of clean heels, and on the following morning his name was posted up as that of a deserter, and a reward was offered for his capture.

It may incidentally be stated that there are no less than an average of three hundred to four hundred desertions every year in the Dutch East Indies.

A few weeks later Frederick, who had meanwhile been promoted to the rank of pay sergeant, was walking quietly along one evening after dark in the outskirts of Padang, when suddenly he was startled by a strange noise proceeding from behind a clump of bushes. A second later he heard a voice calling gently, “Wolff! Wolff!” Frederick started violently, for there was no one in the colony who knew him by the name under which he had been sentenced for murder at Paris, excepting Charles Renier. Before he had time to recover from his disagreeable surprise the face of his former fellow-convict showed itself peering through the branches of a “summak” bush.

“Come nearer. I don't want to be seen, and I must speak to you.”

“What is it?” said Frederick, angrily, as he approached. “You know I can't be seen talking to you. A price has been set on your head, and were it to be known that I had held any communication with you without delivering you up to the authorities I would be court-martialed. What is it you want? Money again?”

“No, not from you at any rate.”

“Well, then, what is it? Explain quickly! I have no time to lose!”

“All I want is your assistance in a little business transaction of my own invention.”

“A pretty kind of transaction that must be.”

“I assure you it is. I am very proud of it. It is the finest coup imaginable, and you know that you have always put me off with the assurance that if ever anything really good turned up I might rely upon you to take a hand in it.”

“Well, speak, man! What is it? Don't keep me here the whole night!” exclaimed Frederick, who began to feel interested.

“It is merely this: The boat from Batavia, which arrived yesterday, brought a considerable amount of specie for the payment of the troops here. I know that you have been promoted to the rank of pay-sergeant, and that you have been ordered to sleep on a camp-bed in the office where the safe containing the money is placed.”

“What of that?” inquired Frederick.

“I want you to allow yourself to be surprised to-morrow night, when I and a few of my ‘pals’ will creep in by the window and take a look at the safe with some profit to ourselves. There will be no danger for you, as we shall tie you down to your bed and gag you, so as to convince the authorities that it was no fault of yours if the money is gone. The only thing I want for you to do is not to give an alarm when you hear us coming.”

Frederick began by firmly refusing to have anything to do with the matter. But upon Renier, who had nothing more to lose, threatening him to make public the fact that he was nothing more than an escaped convict under sentence to penal servitude for murder, and as such extraditable, he gave way and promised to do what he was asked in return for a share in the proceeds of the robbery.

On the following night some six or seven figures might have been seen creeping noiselessly through the gardens of the bungalow, on the first floor of which were located the paymaster's offices. The leader of the gang, having climbed up on the roof of the veranda, followed by two of his men, gently pushed open a window which had been left ajar. A moment later two pistol-shots rang out in rapid succession, followed by a loud cry. A second afterward another shot was heard.

Immediately the whole place was in an uproar. On entering the room the officers found Frederick Gavard, the pay-sergeant, standing guard over the safe, while near the window lay stretched the dead body of the deserter, Charles Renier, and on the roof of the veranda outside lay another corpse, also of a deserter, shot through the head. In the garden and on the flower-beds were traces of numerous footsteps, showing that the house had been attacked by a large gang.

Six weeks afterward the troops at Padang were formed into a square, and the officer in command of the place summoned the pay-sergeant, Frederick Gavard, from the ranks, and pinned on his breast the silver cross which had been conferred upon him by the Governor-General of the East Indies for his gallantry in defending the treasure chest of the cantonment against heavy odds.

At no period of Frederick's career did his prospects seem more promising than now. Renier, who had been the only person in the colony who was acquainted with his past record, was dead, and instead of being punished as he might have been for putting an end to the days of the man who had possessed so dangerous a knowledge concerning him, he had been rewarded for the deed as if it had been one of the most brilliant feats that he could possibly have accomplished. Not only had he received a decoration ordinarily conferred for acts of valor on the field of battle, but about three months later he had the pleasure of learning that he had been promoted to the rank of a lieutenant. His colonel, who had taken a great fancy to him, now frequently invited him to his quarters, where he spent many agreeable hours.

The regiment having been transferred to Batavia, he had the opportunity of meeting at his colonel's house all the most prominent members of the Dutch East India Society. The colonel's young wife was extremely fond of amusements of all kinds and held open house. Many were the dinners, soirees, balls, or croquet parties which Frederick helped her to organize; besides this, he often accompanied her to the houses of her numerous friends, where his good looks, charming manner, talents, and witty conversation soon made him a universal favorite.

Among the most brilliant entertainments of the season was a superb ball given by a Mr. and Mrs. Van der Beck, who were intimate friends of the colonel and his wife. The dance was preceded by some private theatricals. The piece performed was “La Belle Helene,” the role of Paris being filled by Frederick and that of Helene by Mme. Van der Beck, who, although no longer in the first bloom of youth, was still a remarkably handsome woman. Tall, with magnificent auburn hair and lustrous hazel eyes, she was, like many of the Dutch ladies in the far East, slightly inclined to embonpoint, a disposition due to their lazy and indolent existence and to the high living in which they indulged. When, in the second act of the operetta, she made her appearance in the great scene with Paris she was greeted with a murmur of admiration and approval. Her skirt of primrose-colored satin was parted, Greek fashion, from the hem to the hip on the left side in such a manner as to reveal an exceedingly shapely leg, and her magnificent hair, loosened and falling far below her waist, covered her low-cut and gold-embroidered “peplum” like a royal mantle. Frederick as Paris, in a costume of pale-blue and silver, looked like a Greek god, and when they began the “duo du Reve” a perfect storm of applause broke out. It was noticed by many of those present that Mme. Van der Beck acted her part with rather more fervor and feeling than might have been considered strictly necessary for a drawing-room performance. However, as Mr. Van der Beck himself was in raptures about his wife's acting, there was nothing more to be said in the matter.

From that time forth Frederick became a constant visitor at the Van der Beck villa, and strange to say, was as great a favorite of the husband as he was of the wife. Mr. Van der Beck was one of the most prominent and wealthy merchants of the East India trade, and owned vast warehouses, not only at Batavia, but also at Rotterdam and Amsterdam.

The life in these Dutch colonies is an extremely agreeable one. Hospitality is practised on a scale unknown in Europe. No invitation is considered necessary to dine or lunch with one's friends, for everybody keeps open house, and an addition of half a dozen impromptu guests at the dinner-table is quite an ordinary occurrence. The ladies in particular are accustomed to a life of such indolence and ease that they are utterly incapable of doing anything for themselves. They lie all day on their sofas or in their hammocks, clad in diaphanous muslin peignoirs, eating bonbons, smoking cigarettes or drinking small cups of coffee. In the cool hours of the evening, however, they seem to wake up, and go to the dinners, balls, and the theater, and are then as lively and loquacious as possible, banishing their laziness and languor till the moment when they return home and have nobody except their husbands to fascinate.

Some time had elapsed since Frederick had made the acquaintance of the Van der Becks, when one day a letter arrived from Holland informing Mr. Van der Beck of the death of his eldest brother, and demanding his immediate presence in Amsterdam. As it was the worst season of the year for traveling, and he was extremely solicitous of his wife's health, he decided that it would be imprudent for her to accompany him. Madam submitted to this with much more equanimity than she usually displayed in her relations with her lord and master, and three days later, escorted by Frederick, she accompanied her husband to the steamer. As Mr. Van der Beck's absence was to last six months, if not more, he intrusted his wife with all the interests of his house and business and even with the signature of the firm. She was a remarkably clever and shrewd woman, and had on more than one occasion given him proof of her ability in business matters. In taking leave he especially recommended her to the care of Frederick, adding that he knew how much he could depend on the young man's friendship and devotion.

The deep mourning necessitated by the death of so near a relative forcing Mme. Van der Beck to withdraw entirely from society, she was now free to devote all her time to Frederick, with whom she became, as the days went by, more and more infatuated. Strong-minded as she was in all other respects, she seemed to have surrendered her whole will-power to the young officer, whose word was absolute law to her. He spent all the hours he could dispose of with her, and their intimacy grew apace. Frederick, as has been seen often before this, knew how to make himself perfectly irresistible to women. His manners were caressing and winning, and this, added to his numerous talents and good looks, made him a very dangerous friend for a woman like Nina Van der Beck, who had reached that period of life when the passions are most easily aroused. When a woman on the wrong side of thirty-five falls in love she is generally apt to make a much greater fool of herself than a girl would do, and if the man she loves is some years her junior she invariably makes an absolute idol of him, anxious, as it were, to make up in devotion and self-sacrifice for all that she feels may be missing in other respects.

As to Frederick, he at last began to see his way to bringing to a close his stay at Batavia, of which he had become heartily sick. By means of the most insidious suggestions and advice, he prevailed upon Nina to cautiously and gradually realize all her husband's available property. This, added to her own fortune, which was considerable, rendered her a very desirable prize indeed, and Frederick had all reason to congratulate himself on his luck.

Mr. Van der Beck had been absent a little over four months, when Frederick one day applied for a four weeks' leave of absence. This was readily granted by his colonel, with whom Frederick had remained on the most excellent terms.