“If that is Batavia, it is a queer, dirty hole,” said Martin, shrugging his shoulders, as he stood gazing upon the bamboo huts of the poor natives, the warehouses of the Dutch merchants, and the thousands of bales of goods, covered with tarpaulin, which seemed to block up and render the roadways impassable.
“Right, lad,” said the captain, who was standing near my brother; “it is a queer, dirty hole. Moreover, it is worse than it seems, for, after sunset, the vapors and putrid exhalations, arising from the decaying vegetable and animal matter in the marshes, where you see yonder mangroves, render it poisonous to Americans.”
“And we have to live there,” said Martin, with a shudder. “Yet,” he added, thoughtfully, “it can’t kill everybody, for Uncle Adam has lived in it many years.”
“Not so, my lad. Like the other American merchants, your uncle quits this place every evening at six o’clock, for his home in the upper town in yonder mountain, where you will find large streets, a healthy atmosphere, the Government-house and offices, the theatre, and the grand residences of the principal colonists.”
“That is good news,” said I, for I had been as nervous as my brother at the prospect of having to live in such a wretched place as the town before us; “but,” I added, “where is the Chinese city, for I have heard that those people abound in Java?”
“Ay, my man, the Chinese swarm in Java, as in every island of the Indian Archipelago where money is to be made. Their town, however, or campong, as they term it, is situated upon the other side of the mountain, in a spot almost as unwholesome as this.”
At this moment we saw our messenger, accompanied by another native, come along the quay toward the ship. But as the latter will prove no unimportant personage in my narrative, I will describe his appearance. Taller in stature than the majority of his diminutive race, he was yet far shorter than the average height of Americans; his complexion was a light brown; his eyes full, black, and piercing; his hair not luxuriant, like many of the Asiatic races, but yet not so scanty as most of the men of Java. He was well set, and his limbs strong and muscular, as if he had been trained among the fishing or hunting tribes. His dress consisted of a pair of thin cotton drawers and colored sarong, or long plaid-like scarf, which was thrown across the shoulder, and brought around the waist, so as to form a sash or girdle, from which was suspended the kris, or creese, a weapon without which no Indian islander of whatever rank is ever seen; and but that his upper teeth were filed and blackened, he would have been accounted among Americans a man of no mean personal appearance.
“He is a slave, or servant of your uncle’s,” said my father. “Say,” he added, impatiently, as the man trod the deck, “bring you letter or message from the counselor Van Black?”
“My master,” he replied, bending his body forward, while at the same time he raised his hands with the palms joined before his face, until the thumbs touched his nose, “I bring no letter, no message; but yet a carriage awaits upon the quay, to convey your honor to the house of the counselor Van Black, where, I am bidden to say, you and your sons will find a welcome.”
“No message, no letter!” repeated my father, in surprise. “It is strange that, after a parting of so many years, Adam came not himself to welcome us. Tell me, man,” he added, “how fares it with your master and his family? Are they in health?”