This had taken place so rapidly, that the din made by the battering in of the door only startled some inmates of the house and the men who, during the night, had to attend to the steam-engines in the factory. Long before anyone could come to the rescue, the attacking party had returned to their comrades, who mounted guard over van Gulpendam. Then, one of them without attempting to disguise his voice, said:
“Come, make haste, let us get along, the horses are waiting for us in the cane-field.”
“Is the lady dead?” asked one of the men as coolly as possible.
“Dead!” was the reply, in a voice which trembled with revengeful passion.
“Come, pick up that white pig, or else all the factory men will be upon us and I shall have to kris the dog; that would be a pity.”
At the words, a couple of bamboo poles were thrust under the arms and legs of poor van Gulpendam.
“I am the kandjeng toean Resident!” he tried to say. Whether the words were understood or not is doubtful; but the only result of the effort was a furious blow in the mouth which drove the foul gag further home.
“March!” said the leader. Four Javanese thereupon took up the bamboo poles on their shoulders and trotted off with their burden. The sufferer groaned with the intense pain caused by the jolting; but his lamentations were not heard, or if they were, no one paid the slightest heed to his distress. Close outside the factory grounds stood half-a-dozen horses saddled and all ready to start. Upon one of these van Gulpendam was tightly strapped, then some of the men mounted the other animals and the troop was ready to move on.
“To the ‘djaga monjet!’ ” cried one of the horsemen to those whom he left behind.
“Yes, yes!” eagerly cried the others.