Toeaan!—Toeaaan!—Toeaaaan!—

Such were the most unwelcome sounds which, a few hours later, were heard in the hut in which all our friends lay heavily sleeping.

Gentle sleep had, at length, taken compassion on poor van Nerekool also. For a long time after his conversation with Verstork, he had not been able to close an eye; and had been tumbling and tossing about and making the crazy couch creak and groan to such an extent that Leendert Grashuis and August van Beneden, who were close beside him, had uttered many an angry exclamation:

“For heaven’s sake keep quiet! don’t keep rolling about like that—it is enough to make a fellow sea-sick—” and then again:

“The majesty of the law seems uncommonly restless to-night; perhaps the mosquitoes trouble it, or an unquiet conscience, or a fit of the blues.”

But at length, thank God, Charles had fallen into a deep sleep; he was not destined, however, very long to enjoy that blissful rest.

“Toeaan! Toeaaan!” Thus once again the voice began to cry. It was the voice of Verstork’s servant who had got the watchman of the guard-house to wake him, and was now very cautiously trying to rouse his master out of his sleep.

But the Javanese servant felt that he was engaged in a very ticklish duty; and he set about it with all the circumspection which he was aware such unpleasant duties required.

He knew, by sad experience, that European gentlemen are apt to lose their temper when suddenly, at a very early hour, they are aroused out of a delightful sleep; therefore, on all such occasions the wily Javanese serving-man preferred to keep at a respectful distance from his Kandjeng toean, who, he knew, might at such a time be easily moved to raise his hand and deal him a sound box on the ears for his trouble. Not that Verstork was at all given to such rough usage of his servants; on the contrary, he was known and beloved among the natives for his kindly consideration, and for the coolness of his temper. But this was a wholly exceptional occasion, and one could never tell what the sudden irritation of being roughly shaken out of a pleasant slumber might produce. It was very easy to get a good slap in the face, and therefore the astute Javanese prudently kept himself at a safe distance.

“Toeaan! Toeaaan!” he ventured to say again in a very intense drawling whisper. But Verstork did not hear him.

“Toeaan! Kandjeng toeaan!”

Still not a word!

Then the servant very cautiously crept up to the couch. When he was close to his master he again cried out, in a still more subdued and still more drawling voice, “Toeaaan! toeaaaan!”

Still Verstork stirred not a limb, only van Nerekool seemed to have caught the sound, and was beginning to move about restlessly.

Then the man, very gently—so gently that it could not disturb the sleeper—began to fold back that part of the rug which covered his master’s feet. The faint glimmer of the lamp which hung dangling from one of the rafters, just allowed him to see what he was about. When he had laid bare one of Verstork’s feet, he began very, very gently to tickle his master’s great-toe, while in the same cautious manner he again whispered “Toeaaan! toeaaaan!” and seemed, by the very humility of his voice, to beg pardon for the liberty he was taking in rousing his high and mighty master.

This tickling of the toe had, at once, the desired effect. Starting up Verstork sat up and cried:

“Who is there?” As he said these words he put his hand to his foot, evidently fearing that a snake had touched him. Indeed, the chilly and leathery skin of a native may very easily convey such an impression, especially on a man who is but half awake.

“Who is there?” he cried again. But by this time the Javanese servant had, with a bound, jumped away out of the possible reach of his master’s hand, and from the furthest corner of the hut he said: “It is I, Kandjeng toean!”

“What do you want?” roared the Controller, now thoroughly aroused, and not in the sweetest temper.

“It is now four o’clock, and the dessa people are all waiting.”

“Is that all?” growled Verstork, who thought that his rest had been very unnecessarily disturbed. Who knows what absurdity he might in his drowsiness have added, had not the “toeaan, toeaan” of his servant, and the subsequent noise awakened van Beneden also, who was sleeping quite close to him.

He jumped up at once, and the moment he was awake began, as the Resident might perhaps have said, to turn up all hands.

“Come boys!” he shouted cheerily “Come boys, get up all of you!” as he threw himself from his bed with such energy as made the slight bamboo structure sway and creak as if it had been rocked by an earthquake.

“What’s the matter, what’s up?” cried several voices starting out of sleep.

“What’s up?” cried van Beneden. “There’s nothing up! You get up, all of you, as fast as you can. It is four o’clock, and the dessa folk are all ready for the chase.”

That word acted like magic. In a twinkling all were on their legs. They dressed, washed, combed, brushed themselves as well as one can perform all these processes in the interior of a dessa, which offers no great facilities for an elaborate toilet to Europeans who have passed the night in a small country hut.

For washing, indeed, there was no convenience at all—the only basin in the place was a mere potsherd. But, all were anxious to be off, and like soldiers who, in the field, have not always SÈvres or even Delt at command, they did the best they could, and soon completed their hasty toilet. Diogenes, the Greek philosopher of Sinope, had frequently, no doubt, dressed himself in much the same fashion. In a few moments all were ready, even van Nerekool who was bent upon seeking some relief for mental pain in physical exertion.

When they stepped out of the cabin they saw the entire male population seated cross-legged on the village green, trying to protect themselves from the cold morning air by drawing their sarongs as far as possible over their shoulders. Every man had brought his lance, and had stuck it upright before him into the ground. Every one of them held a huge rattle, an instrument very like that with which our old watchmen used to murder sleep while they pretended to keep guard over the sleepers.

The moon was, by this time, casting her beams under the branches of the Wariengien tree, and, as the pale light shone upon that strange group of human beings seated there in a crouching posture, it illustrated most vividly the theory of Darwin, so very much did that assembly look like a great conclave of apes.

“Are all your men here, Loerah?” asked Verstork.

“Yes, Kandjeng toean.”

“Very good. Then send one part of them round by the maize fields of the dessa, let the second division spread itself to the westward over the neck of the Dojerang Pringapoes, and let the rest go right into the ravine.”

“Yes, Kandjeng toean—But—!”

“Well, but what?” asked Verstork, noticing the Loerah’s hesitation.

“May not the animals,” said the chief, “thus make their escape through the eastern side of the ravine?”

“How so, Loerah?” said Verstork. “You have heard, I suppose, that the people from Banjoe Pahit will occupy the whole of the eastern side, and part even of the western side of the ravine? Very good, now we understand each other I hope. We shall get on horseback at once, and will post ourselves in the upper part of the pass, and, if our instructions have been properly carried out, the whole of the game must come that way. Now, just listen carefully to what I have to tell you, Loerah.”

“Yes, Kandjeng toean.”

“As soon as we have got to the upper part of the ravine we shall fire a shot.”

“Shall we hear it, sir, right down at the bottom?”

“You are right, Loerah, quite right, it is a good distance—perhaps too far—Well then, I will tell you what you must do. As soon as day begins to break—but, mind you, before the sun has fairly risen—you will set your beaters to work. But, whatever you do, take care that the beasts have the road to the ravine left open to them.”

“Yes, Kandjeng toean,” was the invariable answer of the Loerah, always spoken in the most respectful tone.

Then in the deepest silence the beaters betook themselves to their posts while the European horsemen took the road to Banjoe Pahit.

As yet it was quite dark, so that the horses had to proceed at a very slow walk. This very moderate pace was absolutely necessary, because the road which they had to follow was a narrow path leading through the flooded rice fields, and the slightest deviation might have led to a highly unpleasant mud-bath. Presently, however, a faint streak of light was beginning to show itself on the eastern horizon. At first it was all but imperceptible, it seemed like a faint reflection of the waning moonlight; but gradually it became broader and deeper, then is began to spread a fiery glow over the eastern sky, and made the stars, which were still brightly twinkling in the zenith, to pale and fade away. The narrow path kept winding upwards; for Banjoe Pahit, towards which the riders were making their way, lay on much higher ground than Kaligaweh which was situated on the low foreshore. As the dawning light grew clearer and brighter, the horsemen were able to mend their pace, and soon the horses were going along at a good sharp trot, impelled, in a measure, by the instinct which told them that they were heading in the direction of their stables.

The upper end of the ravine was reached in good time, and the horsemen dismounted and gave their beasts in charge of a couple of Javanese servants who had come to meet them along with the body of beaters from Banjoe Pahit to which Mokesuep also had joined himself. These men at once took the horses home to the dessa.

It was not yet full daylight. The western sky was still a deep dark blue; but in the East the dawn was clothing itself in all the brilliant hues which herald the near approach of the perfect day. On all sides trees and bushes grew in the wildest disorder, and in their branches birds innumerable were piping and warbling, each, in his own way, sending up his hymn of praise to the great Creator. Leaves, twigs, boughs, flowers, and grass-blades, all were thickly covered with the tiniest possible specks of dew; and, as the light gradually brightened in the East, seemed bathed as it were in molten silver.

In spite of their impatience to begin their work upon the game, our young friends could not help pausing for a few moments in order to admire the magnificent spectacle before them, and to enjoy the delightful freshness of that glorious time which immediately precedes a sunrise; when suddenly, very far in the distance, was heard the confused noise of a most frightful tumult.

“There they go!” cried Verstork, “those are our beaters, what a row the fellows are making to be sure.”

The natives were indeed hard at it, springing their rattles, banging on bamboos, yelling and screaming in a manner which drowned every other sound in nature, especially in that solemn morning hour when the orb of day is just about to rise.

At first the noise was heard as a mere confused hum very far away in the distance; but, as it gradually drew nearer and nearer, it became so exciting that even poor van Nerekool, forgetting his woes for a while, ran up and down clutching his rifle with trembling hand, and some of his companions, more excited even than he was, had their weapons at full cock, ready to open fire at a moment’s notice.

“Now then, my friends,” said Verstork, trying to calm down all this unnecessary flurry; “pray keep quiet. We have plenty of time before us. Please all keep cool, or we shall have some accident with those firearms.”

“Are we in a good position here?” asked Grashuis.

“We are standing too close together it strikes me,” remarked van Beneden.

“I intend to take you a little further into the ravine,” said Verstork.

So they all advanced some fifty or hundred yards along a steep pathway which ran winding down through shaggy bushes and rocky boulders. Just by the side of that rugged path, the brook Banjoe Pahit began its downward course along its bed of rocks. It was a wonderfully beautiful little stream; its waters of the purest crystal went dancing from crag to crag, forming, in one place, a pleasant little basin or pool, at another tumbling down in foaming cataracts and splashing waterfalls, then, suddenly and mysteriously, disappearing altogether for a while amidst the wild shrubs and rugged boulders, and then a little further on, springing up again to renew its brawling and wanton play. The scene in the Djoerang Pringapoes was as wild and savage as possible, but marvellously picturesque withal. When the party had clambered down about a third part of the slope, the massive walls of rock which, up to that point, completely hemmed in the entrance to the ravine and which formed a kind of slit, suddenly ran back like the sides of a funnel, while they continued grandly and majestically to tower up into the sky.

The bottom of the ravine, however, as well as its walls, bore abundant evidence of great natural convulsions. Huge boulders were flung about in it at random in all directions, the stems of the trees which grew there were twisted and curled up into lumps and knots and were still bearing tufts of withered grass and nests of dry branches; the smoothly polished rocks also amply testified that when the north-east wind opened the sluice gates of heaven and the water-floods came down in torrents from the heights—the Banjoe Pahit could howl and roar along, and form dreadful currents and whirlpools; and that, at such times, it was well to keep out of the now quiet defile.

As the hunters were looking about them at the savage scene around, the din made by the beaters was gradually coming nearer and nearer. It was still a considerable way off and not a solitary head of game had shown itself.

“I wonder how that is?” said August van Beneden. “I fancied that we might have set to work shooting at once. May not our wild boars, if there are any at all in this ravine, have got away by some other road?”

“No, no,” replied Verstork, “the Djoerang Pringapoes is hemmed in on almost all sides with perpendicular rocks, such as not even a wild pig can climb. There are two or three spots where the walls are not quite so steep, and which such animals might perhaps scale; but, if the Loeras of Banjoe Pahit and of Kaligaweh have carried out my instructions, these weak points have all been occupied by their men, so that none of the animals can have got away by them. The beaters, you see, with their abominable rattles are driving the pigs into the ravine, and I know they will all make for it, especially as it is their usual haunt.”

“Aye, aye,” said van Rheijn, “I see; but once in this ravine, depend upon it they will lie very close, there is plenty of room here for a game at hide and seek, and if they choose to get to cover, we may stand here waiting for them till doomsday.”

“That might be so,” remarked Verstork with a smile, “if the beaters would let them. But those fellows with their rattles will follow the pigs into the ravine and drive them in our direction. You will see how they will manage that presently. Just listen—what a row they are kicking up yonder—one would think they were a pack of fiends!”

Verstork indeed might well say so; for your Javanese, under ordinary circumstances cool and phlegmatic enough, can, on such occasions as a boar-hunt, display activity and energy in abundance. Then he seems almost beside himself; then he screams, he yells, he bellows, he whistles, he hisses, he crows, he shrieks. Then he frantically plies his rattle and, with any weapon he may happen to have in his hand, he bangs upon anything and everything he comes across, on trunks of trees, on stones—which, by the way, not unfrequently give out most melodious sounds—on the sheath of his kris—undoubtedly he would bring down a whack on the skull of his neighbour also were he suffered to do so. And all this for the mere purpose of making a noise, the most horrible din imaginable in order to drive the game, which by nature is wild enough, into the direction which he wishes it to take.

“Now,” said Verstork, “just a few paces further on and then we come to the entrance of the Djoerang Ketjel where a small stream, which we call the Karang Aleh, flows into the Banjoe Pahit. After the junction the two streams flow together through the narrowest gorge of the Pringapoes. Look there, you can see the split in the rocks just ahead. You see we are bounded on all sides by sheer cliffs and the game must pass through this defile to reach the upper part of the ravine and get away.”

“By Jove,” cried van Rheijn, “this does not strike me as a very pleasant spot, the place looks like a picture of universal ruin and desolation.”

Indeed it was a terrible scene. The ragged sides of the ravines, consisting entirely of grey lava-rock, towered up perpendicularly into the sky. Here and there, on the bare walls, a mass of stone seemed, in its descent, to have stuck fast; and, in course of time, a little soil had gathered on its surface. In this shallow layer of earth, vegetation had immediately sprung up and formed there, as it were, a little green island in the midst of the grey ocean of desolation. Huge fragments of jagged stone lay scattered about in the wildest confusion, and amidst these, many weird and unsightly plants grew and flourished, such as the Sembong, the Kemanden Kerbo and the Oering aring with its venomous prickles. There also were seen the gnarled and twisted stems of the Djatie doerie and of the Siwallan. These stunted trees raised their poor meagre crowns out of the sea of stone, and, by arresting the progress of the dÉbris which the water-flood whirled along, served to block up the pass still more effectually.

“Now then, my friends,” said Verstork, “let us divide—we are standing here much too close together. Van Nerekool, the Wedono, and myself will take our stand here just opposite this narrow pass. You, Leendert, go with August to the top of that piece of rock which you see yonder to the right. You Theodoor and Frits take up your position on that broken ground on the slope. From those points you will have the gorge completely under your fire, and—if you really are as good shots as you are supposed to be—why then not a solitary pig ought to escape us. But make haste, get into your places—the beaters seem to be getting quite close.”

It was indeed high time; for every instant the infernal din was coming nearer and growing more distinct. It was, in fact, becoming positively deafening. It sounded as if a veritable Pandemonium had broken loose. Grenits made a very wry face when he found that Mokesuep was to be his companion; but he had no chance of remonstrance at thus being saddled with a most uncongenial companion, for he had to get to his post without delay.

The positions which the guns were to occupy had been admirably chosen and showed a perfect knowledge both of the game and of the ground. The marksmen were all posted in full view of one another, so that there could be no risk of accident, at the same time their fire commanded the narrow opening of the ravine which lay open before them. Moreover they were all directed to take their stand upon spots slightly elevated above the level of the soil and were thus, to a great extent, out of the reach of the fearful tusks of the infuriated animals. Thus then they stood, most eagerly watching; but, though the entrance to the Djoerang lay perfectly open before them with here and there a few stunted shrubs much too low and small to conceal even the smallest pig, not a vestige of any animal could be seen. This suspense seemed intolerably long to the impatient and impulsive Europeans who were far from being endowed with the calm phlegmatic temperament of the natives. The Wedono stood there quiet and motionless as a statue.

“I can see nothing whatever,” shouted August van Beneden to his friend, making use of his hands as a speaking-trumpet. “I fancy our good dessa-folk have taken it easy and have allowed the game to slip away quietly to the right or left.”

“It is my opinion that the ravine is empty,” remarked van Nerekool, to whom this long inaction was more irksome than even to the others.

Verstork interpreted van Beneden’s words to the Wedono who, rifle in hand, was standing by his side, and asked him if he thought it possible.

“It may be,—but—perhaps it is not so,” was the chiefs cautious reply.

Still they waited, and waited—the din of the beaters was approaching with every moment and their yells became more distinct. A few minutes more would decide the question whether there was any game in the ravine or not, for a very short time would bring the beaters to the mouth of the opening.

Verstork was getting quite nervous with impatience, jokes were beginning to pass pretty freely among his friends, and although they were perfectly good-humoured jests and showed not the slightest ill-will towards him, yet they were not pleasant to listen to. Mokesuep was the only one who, in a singularly offensive tone, cried out:

“I say, Controller, I hope all that pork we are going to kill won’t disagree with us!”—

“Hold your tongue, wretched Muizenkop,” said Theodoor Grenits. “You always find some nasty thing to say!”

“That’s all very fine,” replied Mokesuep, “I can tell you I am getting beastly tired of standing here. A lot of fellows invited for a day’s shooting, when there is nothing to shoot at!”

“The pigs were here all right enough,” said Grenits, “you may depend upon that; I don’t suppose you can blame Verstork if the beaters have allowed them to escape!”

Mokesuep was on the point of making some ill-natured rejoinder when Bang! Bang! Bang! went three rifle shots and interrupted his sneering remarks.

They were the rifles of Verstork, of van Nerekool and of the Wedono. These three were posted at the very mouth of the ravine, and had suddenly caught sight of a greyish indistinct mass of living things rushing towards the opening. Quick as thought, the three had thrown their rifles up to their shoulders and had opened fire upon the advancing herd of swine. The other hunters had, as yet, seen nothing. The rattling and yelling of the beaters seemed to redouble in intensity the moment they heard the first shots fired, and almost drowned the discordant grunts and groans of the pigs as they pressed into the narrow defile. From that moment however, all doubts as to the issue of the day’s sport were at an end.

The three first rifle shots had bowled over the three foremost animals, one of which was a boar of gigantic size, and for a moment stopped the rush of the entire herd. The wounded animals lay on the ground, struggling and fighting, uttering fearful squeaks and striking out right and left with their formidable tusks at those who came behind, thus almost wholly blocking up the narrow opening. That lasted however only for a moment or two, for the noise of the beaters drove the creatures to such a pitch of fury that, in spite of all opposition, they rushed over the bodies of their fallen leaders. But the three men who had first opened fire, had, in those few moments, had time to reload, and an instant after, all the others posted to the right and left caught sight of the game and at once opened fire upon the dense struggling mass of pigs, hardly a single shot being lost. Thereupon a scene of the direst confusion ensued. The wounded animals tumbled over one another uttering groans and squeaks which baffle description. The hindmost ones, still urged on by the terrific noise of the beaters, fought and pushed their way to the front. The sows grimly defended their young and seemed to vent their fury upon the carcases of the dead and wounded, and, in that terrific melÉe, the bullets of the seven hunters kept plunging with the deadliest effect. The rifled breech-loaders poured shot after shot into the densely packed mass, and every moment the narrow gap became more and more impassible.

That went on for the space of about three minutes, during which the breech-loaders plied their unerring fire.

Presently van Nerekool said to Verstork: “Are we not running the risk of hitting some of the men in the rear?”

“Oh, no,” replied Verstork, “if they have followed my instructions there is no danger whatever. A few yards lower down there is a sharp elbow in the ravine, so that if one of our bullets should happen to miss or to pass through the body of one of these beasts it must bury itself in the walls of rock. You hear—according to agreement, the fellows have already stopped their noise—they are not at all anxious to come to close quarters and to expose themselves to a stray bullet.”

Meanwhile the fire had been kept up with hardly any cessation and with almost the same fatal effect. The grunting herd still was striving to push onward and to get clear of the deadly pass, and again and again the bullets knocked down the foremost, who in their death-struggle, dealt ripping blows all around.

But at length, after having for a while wallowed about hopelessly, a small remnant which still remained unwounded, suddenly headed round, led on by a huge black-coloured boar, and now no longer awed by the beaters, made a headlong charge back into the ravine from which they found it impossible to escape.