Both of them now plainly saw that they were reserved for some dreadful death. The account which each had to settle with that young man was a heavy one indeed.
“Have mercy! Have mercy upon us!” they cried as they fell down on their knees before him, their teeth chattering with terror as they knelt at his feet.
“Mercy?” almost shrieked Ardjan. “What mercy did you show poor Dalima and old Setrosmito? Come, speak up, will you? What mercy did you show to me and to my old father? Dalima violated! My father and I locked up for months in a loathsome prison, and then, sentenced—by your very mouth—to years of penal servitude— And now you ask me to have mercy? If I could feel pity then indeed you might call me the veriest blockhead in the world. But,” continued the Javanese, after a moment’s pause, “tell me, supposing I could feel pity, supposing I were to set you free, tell me, kandjeng toean, what would you do then?”
These words were spoken in a much milder tone, it seemed as if Ardjan were wavering, and, in that hesitation, the unfortunate European thought he could see a faint gleam of hope. Trembling with fear, he raised himself on his knees, and, wringing his hands in agony, he cried, while big tears went coursing down his cheeks:
“Oh, do not fear. You shall have full pardon—free pardon—I have power with the Government and I can induce them to forgive all. The great lord at Batavia will grant me my request. All the injustice which has been done shall be amply made good. You shall have compensation—I will see to it I will pay it out of my own purse—! All that has happened shall be made good, believe me!”
“Dalima’s injuries also?” asked a hoarse croaking voice from behind Ardjan. “Those white fellows seem to think they are almighty, or else they fancy that we Javanese are the greatest fools in the world!”
That name of Dalima and these few scornful words seemed to rouse Ardjan out of the fit of weakness which appeared for a moment to have come over him. He shook his head violently as if he wished to drive out some unwelcome thoughts, at that movement his head-cloth became loosened and his long black hair streamed fiercely and wildly over his shoulders.
“No! no!” he exclaimed, “no pity, no mercy. Now I have you in my power, you are crawling and cringing at my feet as mean and as cowardly as the vilest beasts. Did you ever see a Javanese so degrade himself? Did you ever see a native act so meanly, even when pleading for his life? You have sent plenty of them to the gallows, and you ought to know how a coloured man can die. Pity! mercy! Ha! ha! ha! You are ready enough now with your promises; but in your hearts you are, even now, scheming how you may evade them and break them. Trust a white man’s word!—ha! ha! ha! As if we don’t know all about that. Whenever did a white man keep his promise to us Javanese? Whenever—”
Here one of the men whispered something into Ardjan’s ear.
“Yes, yes, you are right, let us cut it short. No, no—no pity, far from it. You shall have a painful, a cruel death. I had made up my mind to give you the most terrible—the ‘hoekoem madoe—’ ”