“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: