Their English neighbour, being involved in the same commercial difficulties that had deranged Mr. Van der Veen’s affairs, concluded to sell all his property in Java, and remove to Calcutta. He and his family spent their last evening with the widow of their deceased friend. While Jan was arranging fruit for their refreshment in the adjoining room, he heard his own name and that of Zaida uttered in low tones, accompanied with the disjointed words, “So much petted”—“the more hard”—“make provision.” In her usual soft tones, but so clearly that he heard every word, Madame Van der Veen replied, “I have thought of all that, my good friend. I will never part with any of them while I live; and when I die, I will leave them all free.” “Why not now?” urged the importunate Englishman. She answered, “My heart is heavy to-night, and business oppresses me; but I assure you, most solemnly, that I will attend to it very soon.” She never knew what a heavy load those words removed from the soul of her favourite slave. After he heard them, he seemed to step on air. Zaida, to whom the important discovery was forthwith imparted, was even more elated. They hugged and kissed their little ones that night, with a feeling they had never known before; and zeal in the service of their good mistress was thenceforth redoubled. At the departure of the English family, they gave some gay calico dresses to Zaida and the children, and a violin to Jan. The old gentleman put a golden ducat in his hand, saying, “I thank you, my good fellow, for all your attentions to me and mine. There is a trifling keepsake. May the blessing of heaven go with it, as mine does. I shall remember you all in my prayers. Farewell, Jan! Always continue to be faithful and honest.” The poor slave had never possessed a piece of gold before, and small as it was, it seemed to him a Golconda mine. First, he buried it in the ground, and put a stone over it. Then he was afraid some creature might dig it up in the night. So he sewed it into a pouch, which he fastened securely within the girdle he constantly wore. The cares and anxieties of wealth had come upon him.
While the carriage was waiting to convey the Englishman away, he walked over to Madame Van der Veen’s, to bid a final farewell. His last words were, “My dear Madame, don’t forget the talks we have had together; especially what we said last night. Since I have lived in Java, I have done my utmost to sow good seed on this subject, and I trust it will spring up and bring forth a harvest, sooner or later. From time to time, I shall send the magistrates publications, that will prevent their forgetting what I have so often urged upon them. A blessing will rest upon this beautiful island in proportion as they attend to this. Remember it in your prayers, my dear friend, and use your influence aright. Don’t say it is small. You have seen in your garden how great a growth comes from one little seed. My friend, there are responsibilities in human society, for which we shall have to answer unto our God. And now, farewell. The voice of the old man will never urge you more. May the blessing of heaven be with you all.”
The tendered-hearted widow wept freely; for he had been her husband’s friend, and the words he spoke were solemn. She resolved to make her will, and have it duly witnessed, that very day. But a visitor came, and after her departure, she felt a degree of lassitude, which unfitted her for exertion. The next day, she looked over letters from her husband, and brought on headache by inordinate weeping. She was indolent, by temperament and by habit, and she was oppressed with melancholy. Weeks passed on, without any more definite result than a frequent resolution to make her will. She had gone to bed with a mind much impressed with what her English friend said at parting, and troubled with self-accusation that she had neglected it so long, when Zaida was summoned to her bedside at midnight, and found her head hot, and her pulse throbbing. In the morning, she was delirious, and looked wildly upon her faithful attendants without recognizing them. With her incoherent ravings, during the day, were frequently mixed the words, “Jan—Zaida—children—free.” The slaves listened tearfully to these broken sentences, and felt fresh assurance that she had provided for them. The physician thought otherwise; but he merely said that something disturbed her mind, and if her life was not spared, he hoped she would have an interval of reason before she died. At the sound of that dreadful “if,” Jan rushed out of the room, rolled himself on the floor, and sobbed convulsively. There was no selfishness in his sorrow; for he had not the slightest doubt that she, who never broke a promise, had cared thoughtfully for the future welfare of himself and his family. It was simply the agony of parting from his earliest and best friend. She lingered four days, but reason never returned. Into that brief period was compressed more misery than Jan had experienced during his whole life. Gloomy forebodings brought all the superstitions of the island in their train. The first night his mistress was taken ill, he shook his head, and said, “Ah, Zaida, don’t you remember she went to Surabaya to dine, the very day we heard of master’s death? I told you then it was a very bad sign to go abroad the same day that you hear of the death of a friend.” The next night he was startled by an unusual noise, attributed to explosions among the distant volcanic mountains; and that was regarded as a certain prognostic of impending disaster. The following day was unusually sultry, and in the evening he saw phosphoric light quivering over the nasturtiums in the garden. He had never witnessed the phenomenon before, and he was not aware that such a peculiarity had been previously observed in that glowing plant. He had no doubt that the light came from Spirits, who were waiting for Madame Van der Veen’s soul. On the fourth morning, he saw two crows fighting in the air; and thenceforth he had no hope.
The spirit of his beloved mistress departed from her body at midnight. The rainy season was then approaching, attended by the usual characteristic of violent storms. The house trembled with the rolling thunder, and flashes of intensely vivid lightning illumined the bed where the corpse lay, imparting, for a moment, an appalling glare to its ghastly paleness. Jan and Zaida were familiar with such storms, but never before had they seemed so awful, as amid the death-loneliness of that deserted house. A friendly neighbour pitied their grief and terror, and offered to remain with them until after the funeral. It was like tearing Jan’s heart out, to see that dear face carried away, where he could behold it no more. Exquisitely sensitive by nature, his whole being was now all nerve and feeling, lacerated to the extremest degree of suffering. She was placed by the side of her little Lam, and there he planted the flowers she had best loved. He laid himself down on the ground, and moaned like a faithful dog, on his master’s grave. He thought of the stories others had told him concerning his petted childhood; he remembered her sympathy and good advice when he was first in love with Zaida; he recalled a thousand instances of her indulgent kindness; the whole crowned by the precious gift of freedom. He could not reconcile himself to the thought that he should never again have her to rely upon. He had no heart for any thing, but to tend the flowers on those graves.
When this storm of grief began to subside, he consoled himself with the thought, “Whatever happens now, I can never again suffer as I have suffered.” More than a week passed, before he heard that Madame Van der Veen had left no will; that she had survived all her immediate relatives; and that the nearest heir to the property resided at Manilla. This was a stunning blow. Zaida reminded him how their good mistress had instructed them to pray to God when they were in trouble; and many a fervent imploring supplication ascended from their humble hut. Jan resolved to plead earnestly with the heir, and he comforted himself with the idea that the physician would tell him how their kind mistress had spoken of their freedom during her illness. But even if his entreaties should prevail with the stranger, where could they live? Could they be sure of finding employment? He spent every leisure moment in weaving mats and baskets for sale, and the children were kept busy gathering wild fruits for the market. Those things sold for a very low price, and it would be a long time indeed before he could acquire a piece of land and a hut by that process. But the gold piece! He felt of his girdle to ascertain if it was safe. Yes, it was there; a nest-egg, from which his imagination hatched a large brood of chickens. Hope struggled with anxiety for a few weeks, and Zaida, who always looked on the bright side, continually repeated her belief that every thing would turn out well. But, at last, news arrived that the heir did not intend to visit Java; that he had intrusted the business to an agent with instructions to sell all the property, of every description, and remit the proceeds to him. Poor Jan thought he could never again suffer as he had suffered; but he was mistaken. This last blow broke him down entirely. A vision of the auction-stand, with his children bid off to different purchasers, was always before him. The lashes and shrieks, which had so much impressed his youthful mind, forever resounded in his imagination; but now the shrieks came from Zaida and their little ones.
During the three weeks that preceded the sale, he could scarcely eat or sleep. He became emaciated and haggard, to such a degree that all who knew him felt pity for him. The sympathizing feeling was, however, soon quieted by saying to themselves, “It is a hard case, but it cannot be helped. Poor fellow! I hope they will find kind masters.” The physician spoke to many people in Grésik and its neighbourhood, declaring there could be no manner of doubt that Madame Van der Veen had fully intended they should all be free. He told the agent how her mind was troubled upon the subject during her delirium. He replied that he was very sorry the lady had left no will, but it was no affair of his; he must obey the instructions he had received. The case excited a good deal of interest. Many of the Dutch residents shook their heads when they heard of it, and said, “The English are in the right; this system is a disgrace and a blight upon our island.”
All the day preceding the auction, Jan lay moaning at the grave of his mistress. All night he wandered round, looking at the flowers in the moonlight. He had tended them so long they seemed to know him, and to nod a sorrowful farewell. Sadder still it was to look upon the bamboo hut and its enclosure, connected with the garden by a little open-work gate. That bridal home, which his kind mistress had provided for them, and which was consecrated to his memory by so many years of humble happiness, never had it seemed so dear to him as now. There stood the loom, where he had so often seen Zaida at work. There was the gambang he had made for himself, the sounds, of which his departed master and mistress used to love to hear mingled with their voices, softened by the evening air on which they floated across the garden. There hung the old guitar she had given him in boyhood; and by its side was the violin, a parting present from the young Englishman. Even if he was allowed to retain these, would they ever sound again, as they had sounded there? As the dawning light revealed each familiar object, a stifling pain swelled more and more within his heart. When he saw his children eating what would, perhaps, be their last breakfast together, every gourd shell that contained their little mess of rice seemed more valuable, in his eyes, than crown jewels to a dethroned monarch. Overcome with the struggle, he laid himself down on the mat and sobbed. Zaida, always hopeful, had borne up tolerably well till now; but now she yielded to despair, and rocked backward and forward violently, groaning aloud. Eight children, the oldest a lad of fourteen, the youngest a girl of three years old, sat on the floor weeping, or hiding their heads in their mother’s lap. Thus they were found by the man who came to take them to the auction at Grésik. Poor Jan! how often, in the latter years, had vague presentiments of this flitted across his mind, when he passed that dreadful place! He too well remembered the heartless jokes and the familiar handling, which had made him shrink from the possibility of such a fate for his wife and children. Zaida, indeed, was no longer an object of jealousy for any cruel master’s wife. She was not hideously ugly, like most slaves of her age, in that withering climate; but her girlish beauty had all departed, except a ghost of it still lingering in her large dark eyes. Their light was no longer mirthful, but they were still beautiful in colour, and expressed, as it were, the faint echo of a laugh, in their peculiar outline and long curling lashes. By her side stood a daughter, twelve years old, quite as handsome as she was at that age; and another, of ten, with her father’s gazelle eyes, and the golden yellow complexion, which Javanese poets are accustomed to praise as the perfection of loveliness. The wretched aspect of the father and mother struck all beholders. When Jan mounted the stand, he cast one despairing glance around him, and lingered longest on the smallest lamb of his flock, who was crying with terror, and clinging fast to her mother’s skirts. He tossed his arms wildly upward, gave one loud groan, then bowed his head and wept in silence. Poor Zaida hid her face on his shoulder, and the whole group trembled like leaves in a storm. The auctioneer called out, “Here’s a valuable lot, gentlemen. Eight healthy, good-looking children. The father and mother still young enough to do a good deal of work, and both of excellent character. Whoever will bid six thousand florins [$2,333] for them may have them; and it will be a great bargain.” It was no comfort to the poor victims to be offered in a lot; for they might be bought by speculators, who would separate them. Jan listened, with all his soul in his ears. Not a voice was heard. The auctioneer waited a moment before he called out, “Will you say four thousand florins, gentlemen?” No one spoke. “Shall I have two thousand florins? That is really too cheap.” Still all remained silent.
Jan had never forgotten that his master had said the law allowed slaves to buy themselves. His poverty had hitherto prevented his deriving any consolation from that thought. But now a ray of hope darted through his soul. He raised his drooping head suddenly, and a gleam, like the rising sun, passed over his pale, haggard countenance, as he said, eagerly, “I will give a golden ducat.” Then, dropping on his knees, he exclaimed, in imploring tones, which intense emotion rendered thrilling, “Oh, gentlemen, don’t bid over me. It is all I have in the world. Oh, good gentlemen, don’t bid over me!” Tears dropped from the eyes of many young people; the agent swallowed hard; and even the auctioneer was conscious of a choking feeling in his throat. There was deep silence for a while. The interval was very brief; but to Jan’s anxious heart it seemed long enough for the world to revolve on its axis. At last, the sound of the heavy hammer was heard, followed by these words: “The whole lot is going for a ducat. [$2 20 cents.] Going! going! gone! to Jan Van der Veen!”
It was one of humanity’s inspired moments; when men are raised above the base influences of this earth, and see things as Spirits see them in the light of heaven. Hats, turbans, and handkerchiefs waved, and a cheerful “hurra!” met the ears of the redeemed captives. Jan belonged to himself, and owned all his family! Verily, the blessing of heaven did go with the Englishman’s golden ducat, to a degree far beyond what he dreamed of when he gave it. Jan could hardly credit his own senses. The reaction from despair to such overwhelming joy was too much for him. His brain was dizzy, and his limbs trembled. When he tried to rise, he tottered, and would have fallen, if Zaida had not caught him in her arms. “Poor fellow! poor fellow!” murmured some of the spectators. A man took off his hat, dropped a florin into it, and passing it round, said, “Give him a trifle, gentlemen, to set himself up with. He has always been a good, industrious fellow, and his mistress meant to provide for him. Give him a trifle, gentlemen!” There was a noise of falling coin. Zaida pulled her husband by the sleeve, and whispered in his ear, “Thank the gentlemen.” He seemed like one half awake; but he made an effort, and said, “Thank you, good gentlemen! May God bless you and your——” He would have added children; but his eye happened to rest on his own smallest darling, and the thought that nobody could take her from him now choaked his utterance. He covered his face with his thin hands, and wept.
Was the golden ducat all that poor despairing slave owed to the good Englishman? No; that was the smallest part of the debt; for to the moral influence of his conversation, and the books and papers he scattered in the neighbourhood, might mainly be attributed the changing public sentiment, which rendered the crowd silent at that mournful scene, and thus enabled the auctioneer to exclaim, “The whole lot going for a ducat! Going! gone! to Jan Van der Veen! Hurra!”