“My young master is as brave as a lion: it shall be as he desires; Prabu cannot refuse.”
“Bravo!” replied my brother, rejoicingly. “I knew I should some day go nest-hunting.”
“When the sun has disappeared from the heavens, and the earth is shrouded in the darkness of night, my young masters shall go on board the prahu; but they have been many hours without food, and must be hungered; let them follow me.”
And so saying, Prabu arose and led us into another room; and having, after the Indian fashion, seated ourselves upon the floor, an attendant brought us a meal which was more remarkable for quantity than, at least in our opinion, savoriness. It consisted of balls of rice, and a dish of a preparation called blachang. It was the first time we had partaken of this dish, which, by the way, is the universal sauce of the Indian islands, no food being deemed palatable without it; and that it must have some peculiar merit is certain, for although, in common with other Americans, we at first were disgusted with it, like them, in turn, we ultimately became as partial to it as the natives. But whether my readers would like it, they may judge from the following graphic description given of it by the old sea-captain Dampier:
“Balachaun is a composition of a strong savor, yet a very delightsome dish to the natives of this country. To make it, they throw the mixture of shrimps and small fish into a sort of weak pickle, made with salt and water, and put it into a tight earthen vessel or jar. The pickle being thus weak, it keeps not the fish firm and hard, neither is it probably so designed, for the fish are never gutted. Therefore, in a short time, they turn all to a mash in the vessel; and when they have lain thus a good while, so that the fish is reduced to a pap, they then draw off the liquor into fresh jars, and preserve it for use. The mashed fish that remains behind is called balachaun, and the liquor poured off is called nuke-mum. The poor people eat the balachaun with their rice. ’Tis rank-scented, yet the taste is not altogether unpleasant, but rather savory, after one is a little used to it. The nuke-mum is of a pale-brown color, inclining to gray, and pretty clear. It is also very savory, and used as a good sauce for fowls, not only by the natives, but also by many Europeans, who esteem it equal with soy.”
But to return to my narrative. When the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and the mantle of night had spread o’er land and sea, Prabu bade us arise and follow him.
“But,” said I, “in this darkness”—for it was so dark that we could but indistinctly see each other—“we shall fall into the canal.”
“Never fear, old fellow,” said Martin; “I will catch hold of Prabu’s sarong, and you fasten on to my jacket;” and in this manner we proceeded towards the quay. Having arrived there, we could see, at the furthermost end, the glittering light of a lantern.
“Good!” said Prabu; “Kati is awaiting our coming.”
When we reached the very verge, we could just perceive the dim outlines of a vessel moored alongside, leaving a gap of sea between it and the shore, too wide for us to step on board; but Kati was on the qui vive, and the echo of a call in Javanese from our guide had not died away before the light approached the side of the vessel, and two planks were thrown across, by which we reached the deck, and were at once conducted by Prabu to a small cabin, strewn with thick soft mats, upon which he bade us stretch ourselves, saying, “My young masters are now in safety, but they are fatigued; let them rest.”