"Ahem, your excellency; ah-hum! It is a problem, as your excellency knows. I could send Colonel Heyns and his regiment to Bulungan, if your excellency so desires. But—ahem—as your excellency knows, all he will find is empty huts. Not a proa on the sea; not a Dyak in his field."
"You might as well send that many wooden men!" Van Schouten snapped.
The general winced. His portentously solemn features that for forty years had impressed the authorities at The Hague with his sagacity in military affairs became severely grave. Oracularly he suggested:
"Would it not be wise, your excellency, to give Mynheer Muller, the controlleur, more time? His last report was very satisfactory. Very satisfactory, indeed!" He smacked his lips at the satisfactoriness thereof.
"Donder en bliksem!" the governor swore, crashing his lean fist on the table. "More time for what? The taxes have not been paid for two years. Not a kilo of rice has been grown on our plantations. Not a liter of dammargum has been shipped here. The cane is left to rot uncut. Fire has ravaged the cinchona-groves my predecessors set with such care. Every ship brings fresh reports of piracies, of tribal wars, and head-hunting. How much longer must we possess our souls in patience while these things go on?"
The general shook his head with a brave show of regret.
"Ach! your excellency," he replied sadly; "he promised so well."
"Promises," the governor retorted, "do not pay taxes."
Vanden Bosch rubbed his purple nose in perplexity.
"I suppose it is the witch-woman again," he remarked, discouragedly.