University of Virginia Library

18. JAN AND ZAIDA.

FOUNDED ON CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH ACTUALLY OCCURRED
AT GRÉSIK, ISLAND OF JAVA, IN 1854.

Wordsworth.

A native of the island of Celebes, who had been
captured by slave-traders, was sold to Mr. Philip
Van der Hooft, of Surabaya, in the north-eastern
part of Java. A Hindoo slave was given to the
captive for a wife; and she died, leaving a son two
years old. This child Mr. Van der Hooft gave to
his sister Maria, a girl of fifteen, who had taken a
great fancy to him when he was a babe. She was
amused at the idea of receiving little Jan among
her birthday presents, but he pleased her, perhaps,
as much as any of them; not as an article of property,
but as a pretty plaything. He was, in fact, a
child of singular beauty. His features were small,

his limbs finely formed, and his large, dark, Hindoo
eyes, even at that age, were tender and almost sad
in expression. His sense of sound was exceedingly
acute. Maria was musical; and the moment he
heard her piano, or guitar, he would drop his playthings
and run into the parlour. There, he would
creep under the table, to be out of the way, and sit
listening, with all his soul shining through the
varying expression of his countenance. Sometimes
he was so excited that he would quiver all over,
and end by clapping his hands with a loud crow
of delight; but more frequently he was moved to
tears. Being a general favourite, and the especial
pet of his young mistress, he was seldom ejected
from the parlour, when he chose to wander there.
When Maria was busy at her embroidery frame, if
she raised her eyes, she would often see his little
dark head peeping in, watching for her to take notice
of him: and as soon as she said, “Ah, here
comes my little brownie!” he would run to her
with a jump and a bound, and stand gazing at the
bright colours she was weaving into her work. If
she was singing or playing when he entered, she
would give him a nod and a smile; and not unfrequently
she seated him in her lap, and allowed him
to play on the piano. His fingers were too short
to reach an octave, but he would touch thirds continually;
smiling, and laughing, and wriggling all
over with delight. Sometimes she amused herself
by touching the first and seventh note of the gamut
together, and then he would cringe, as if she had
put her finger in his eye.

He was but three years old when his mistress
married Lambert Van der Veen, and removed with
him to a country-seat near the neighbouring city
of Grésik. Little Jan did not thoroughly like that
gentleman, because he was often sent out of the
parlour when he came; and Maria was so engrossed
with her lover, that she sometimes forgot to nod
and smile when “little brownie” peeped into the
room. He was very exclusive in his affections.
He wanted to have those he loved all to himself.
Therefore, though the young man spoke kindly to
him, and often gave him sugar-plums, a shadow
always passed over his expressive face, when, running
eagerly at the sound of the piano, he looked
into the parlour and saw his rival there.

But after Maria was married, he became, if possible,
more of a petted plaything than ever; for
her husband was engaged in commercial pursuits,
which often took him far from home, and their
house, being two miles from the city, was more
quiet than her father's place of residence had been.
She occupied many of her lonely hours in teaching
Jan various infantile accomplishments, and especially
in developing his remarkable powers of imitation.
The birds greatly attracted his attention; and
in a few months he could mock them so perfectly,
that they mistook his voice for their own. He soon
did the same with the buzz and whirr of every insect,

and laughed to hear how all the little creatures
answered him. Nature had made him almost
as sensitive to colours, as to sounds; and whenever
his mistress went into the garden, he would run
after her to beg for a flower. She liked the sound
of his little padding feet, and often smiled to watch
his pliant motions and graceful form, clothed only
with a large party-coloured bamboo hat, and a girdle
of broad fringe about his loins. When the
master was at home, he was obliged to find his entertainment
more among the slaves. They generally
liked to sing or whistle to him, and would
laugh merrily at his eager attempts to imitate. But
some, who had children of their own, envied the
high favour he enjoyed, and consequently bore
no good will toward him. They did not dare to
strike him, but they devised many ways of making
him uncomfortable. Decidedly, he liked the parlour
better than the slaves' quarters. He preferred
it in the first place, because he was more attended
to there; and in the next place, because he could
hear so many pleasant sounds, and see so many
pretty things. He liked the cool straw carpet, and
the pale green walls. The big china jars were an
object of perpetual delight. He was never weary
of putting his little fingers on the brilliant flowers
and butterflies, with which they were plentifully
adorned. But what excited his wonder more than
any thing else, was a folding screen of oriental
workmanship, which separated the parlour from
the dining-room; for there were gilded pagodas,
Chinese mandarins with peacock's feathers in their
caps, and two birds-of-paradise, as large as life; a
great deal larger, in fact, than the mandarins or the
pagodas. Then it was so pleasant to peep out into
the garden, through the vine-embowered lattice-work
of the verandah; to see the blooming roses,
and the small fountain's silvery veil; to inhale the
fragrance of the orange blossoms, and listen to the
cool trickling of the tiny water drops. All this
was in reality his; for he knew not that he was a
little slave; and it is the privilege of unconscious
childhood to own whatsoever it delights in. In
this point of view, it all belonged to little Jan more
truly than it did to Mr. Van der Veen. No wonder
he sighed when the master returned, since it condemned
him, for a time, to a degree of exile from
his paradise. Perhaps there was some slight jealousy
on the other side, also; for though the gentleman
was always kind to his wife's favourite, he
sometimes hinted at the danger of spoiling him,
and the intercourse between them was never very
familiar. At first, little Jan was afraid to approach
the parlour at all, when he was at home. But on
one occasion, when his stay was unusually prolonged,
his patience became exhausted waiting for
his departure. He began by peeping in slyly
through the folding screen. Seeing himself observed,
he ran away; but soon came again and
peeped, and receiving a smile from his mistress, he
came in timidly, and offering his master a geranium
blossom, said, “May little Jan stay?” Maria immediately
said, “Oh yes, let him stay: he is so
happy here.” But there was no occasion to plead
his cause; for there was no resisting his pretty
looks and his graceful offering. Mr. Van der Veen
patted his head, and he crept under the table to
listen to the piano. After that, he never avoided
his master, though he still continued to come in
timidly, and if not encouraged by a smile, would
run off to bring a flower as an admission-fee.

When he was about four years old, a more dangerous
rival than a husband appeared. Maria had
an infant son, which of course greatly engrossed
her attention, and little Jan eyed it as a petted kitten
does a new lap-dog. His face assumed an exceedingly
grieved expression, the first time he saw
her caressing the babe. He did not cry aloud, for
he was a very gentle child; but he silently crept
away under the table with the flowers he had
brought in for his mistress; and as he sat there, in
a very disconsolate attitude, tears dropped on the
blossoms. Some of the servants made the matter
much worse, by saying, in his hearing, “Now
missis has a young one of her own, she won't make
such a fool of that little monkey.” His heart
swelled very much; and he ran with all haste to
ask Madame Van der Veen if she loved little Jan.
When he entered the parlour the fond mother happened
to be showing her son to visitors; and as she

turned, she held him toward the petted slave, saying,
“Look at him, Janniken! Isn't he a little
beauty?” “No,” replied he, louder than any one
had ever heard him speak; “ugly baby!” and he
gave his rival a thrust with his little fist. He was
of course sent away in disgrace; and the slave-mothers,
seeing him in trouble, greeted him with
the exclamation, “Ha, ha, little whistler! I
thought your nose would be put out of joint.”

A clergyman of the Reformed Dutch Church,
who witnessed this manifestation of hostility toward
the baby, adduced it as a proof of the inherent
depravity of the human heart. But time
showed that the depravity was not very deep. Jan
felt the bitter pang of being superseded where he
loved, but he had a disposition too kindly to retain
ill-will. His heart soon adopted the infant, and
they became friends and playmates. When little
Lambert grew old enough to toddle about, it was
the prettiest of all imaginable sights to see them
together among the vine-leaves that crept through
the green lattice-work of the verandah. The blue-eyed
baby, plump and fair, draped in white muslin,
formed a beautiful contrast to his brown companion.
They looked like two cupids at play; one
in marble, the other in bronze. But though they
were almost inseparable companions, and extremely
fond of each other, it came to pass through a
process of painful weaning, on the part of little
Jan. Many a time he “sighed among his play-things,”

when he saw Maria caressing her babe,
without noticing that he was in the room. Many
a time tears fell on his neglected offering of
flowers.

He was, however, far more fortunate than most
slaves who happen to be petted playthings in their
childhood; for he only passed out of an atmosphere
of love into an atmosphere of considerate kindness.
His quick ear for all variations of sound continued
to be a great source of gratification to himself and
his indulgent mistress. His voice was small, like
himself, but it had a bird-like sweetness; and its
very imperfections, resulting as they did from
weakness and inexperience, imparted an infantine
charm to his performances, like the lisping of childish
prattle, or the broken utterance of a foreigner.
When he could sing two or three simple melodies,
Madame Van der Veen gave him a little guitar,
and taught him to accompany his voice. The population
of Java is an assemblage of various nations;
and as he listened intently to whatever he heard
hummed, whistled, or played, in the parlour or in
the slave-quarters, he knew snatches of a great variety
of tunes when he was six years old. It was
his pleasure to twine Hindoo, Arab, Javanese, English,
and Dutch melodies into improvised fantasias,
which resembled grotesque drawings, representing
birds and monkeys, flowers, fruit, and human faces,
bound together in a graceful tangle of vines. At
eight years old, he was often trusted to go to Grésik

on errands. Following his usual habits of list
ening and observing, during these visits to the city
he added greatly to his stock of popular airs, and
soon learned to imitate all manner of instruments,
as he had formerly imitated the birds. Hindoo lul
labies, Arab dances, the boat-songs of the Javanese,
as they passed up and down the river English
marches, Dutch drinking songs, and Chinese jingle-jangles,
he could give a lively version of them all;
and he was frequently called into the parlour to repeat
them for the entertainment of company.

His master said it was time he was taught to
labour. Maria assented, but made an arrangement
by which duty and inclination were enabled to go
hand in hand. She knew that his acutely sensuous
nature reveled in perfumes and bright colours;
therefore she told the Dutch gardener to take him
for an assistant, and teach him all the mysteries of
his art. It is never a toilsome employment to rear
flowers and train vines; and in that sunny, fertile
region of the earth, light labour is repaid by a lavish
tribute of fragrant blossoms and delicious fruit
all the year round. Jan had an instinctive sense,
which taught him what colours harmonized, and
what forms were graceful. His mistress often
praised his bouquets and garlands, and affection for
her stimulated him to attain as much perfection as
possible in the flowery decorations of her room, her
table, and her dress. Little Lambert had a great
desire to be helpful, also, in the garden, but the exercise

heated him, and he so often pulled up flowers
instead of weeds, that his mother deemed it necessary
to retain him in the house. This arrangement
made him so restless and unhappy, that Jan
undertook the responsibility of supplying him with
flowers in the cool arbours, and keeping strict
watch upon his movements. He often decorated
him with a multitude of small bouquets, and twined
garlands round his broad palm-leaf hat, till he
looked like a dwarf May-pole, and then sent him
into the house to show himself to his fond mother,
who was always ready to feign ignorance, and inquire
what little boy that could be; a manœuvre
invariably rewarded by an infantile laugh. In the
course of one of these floral exhibitions, two humming-birds
followed him in the garden walks. His
mother, who was watching him through the verandah
lattice, saw the brilliant creatures circling
round her darling's head, thrusting their long bills
into the blossoms with which he was decorated;
and she clapped her hands in an ecstasy of delight.
After that, it was a favourite amusement with Jan
to attract the humming-birds and butterflies round
little master's hat. The next greatest entertainment
was to teach him to imitate the birds, and to
make him laugh or look solemn while he listened
to merry or dolorous music.

Thus bound together by the pleasant links of
love, and flowers, and song, they stood together on
the threshold of life, unable as yet to conceive the

idea of master and slave. But when little Lam, as
they called him, was six years old, he was attacked
by one of the violent fevers incident to the climate,
and all the care unbounded affection could lavish
upon him failed to save his life. During his illness
he was unwilling to lose sight of Jan, who strewed
his pillow with flowers, and sang soothing lullabies
with unwearied patience. If the invalid dozed
under the influence of his drowsy monotonous
tones, he was still unable to leave his post; for the
little hand clasped his, as if fearful he would go
away. When the spirit of the dear child departed,
and the lovely form that once contained it was consigned
to the earth, no one but the father and mother
mourned like Jan. The first time they visited
the grave, they found it covered with flowers
he had planted there. In the house, in the garden,
everywhere, he missed the noise of the little feet,
which seemed like an echo of his own, so constantly
they followed him. For a while, all music was saddened
to him, because every air he whistled or sung
reminded him of some incident connected with the
departed playmate. Months afterward, when he
found among the shrubbery a wooden toy he had
made for him, he sobbed aloud, and all day long
the earth seemed darkened to his vision. This tender
bond between him and the lost one revived all
the affectionate interest Madame Van der Veen had
ever felt for the “little brownie.” But the playfulfulness
of their intercourse was gone; being alike
unsuited to the sadness of her spirit, and the increasing
stature of her favourite.

The young mother drooped under the blow, like
flowers stricken by a black frost, never to revive
again. The healing hand of time rendered her
placid and resigned, but her former cheerfulness
never returned. She became very devout, and all
her music was an utterance of prayer. Looking
on this life with the eye of one weary of its illusions,
she steadfastly fixed her thoughts on that
world whither her darling had gone. From the
youthful soul of Jan the shadow was more easily
lifted. Again he revelled in the bright colours, the
pungent perfumes, and the varied sounds of that
luxuriant region of the earth. Again he began to
mock the birds and the boatmen, and to mingle in
dances with the other young slaves. About two
years after he lost his best beloved playmate, he
met with a companion who more than supplied his
place, and who imparted to his existence a greater
degree of vivacity and joyfulness, than he had ever
known. Walking toward Grésik, one morning, to
execute some commission for his mistress, he heard
a pleasant voice in the distance, singing a merry
tune. The sounds approached nearer and nearer,
and they were so lively, that involuntarily his feet
moved faster. Presently, a young girl emerged
from a clump of tamarind trees, with a basket of
fruit on her head; and the tune stopped abruptly.
The expression of her countenance was extremely

innocent and modest, and though her complexion
was of a deeper brown than his own, a blush shone
through it, like the glow of wine through a dark
bottle in the sunshine. Jan noticed this as she
passed; and something, he knew not what, made
him remember her face very distinctly, and wish
to see it again. He never went to Grésik without
thinking of the merry voice in the distance, and
never passed the clump of tamarind trees without
recalling the bright vision he met there. Many
weeks elapsed before he obtained another glimpse
of her; but at last he overtook her with her basket
on the way to Grésik; and this time they did not
meet to pass each other; for their path lay in the
same direction. With mutual bashfulness they
spoke and answered; and each thought the other
handsomer than they had at first supposed. The
acquaintance thus begun rapidly ripened into intimacy.
He was not yet thirteen years old, and she
was not eleven. But in that precocious clime, Cupid
shoots at children with a bow of sugar-cane;
and this little maiden carried a store of his arrows
in her large lustrous eyes. After that, Jan was
seized with redoubled zeal to do all the errands to
Grésik; and it so happened that he often overtook
her on the way, or found her resting herself among
the tamarind trees. Then her road homeward
was, for a mile, the same as his own. Thus they
travelled back and forth with their baskets, making
the air musical as they went; as happy as the birds,
and as thoughtless of the coming years. During
these frequent interviews, he learned that she was
a slave; that her mother was from the island of
Bali; and that her Arab father had given her the
name of Zaida. Before many months elapsed,
Madame Van der Veen heard, from the other servants,
that Jan was in love with a pretty girl, whose
master lived not far from Grésik; and when she
questioned him, he bashfully confessed the fact.
Then she spoke very seriously to him, and told him
how sorry she should be to see him doing as many
did around him. She said if Zaida was a good girl,
and wished to marry him, she would try to buy
her; and if they would promise to be faithful and
kind to each other, they should have a handsome
wedding at her house, and a bamboo hut to live in.
This almost maternal kindness excited his sensitive
soul to tears. She seized that impressible moment
to talk to him concerning his duties to God, and to
explain how He had made man for a higher destiny
than to mate, like the birds, for a season.

The negotiation for the purchase of Zaida was
somewhat prolonged, and she was at last obtained
at an unusually high price; for her master took
advantage of Madame Van der Veen's well-known
character for generosity and indulgence to the inmates
of her household. Meanwhile, the gentle
lady allowed her slave frequent opportunities of
seeing his beloved. Once a week, he took his guitar
and spent two or three hours with his singing-bird.

Every errand to Grésik was intrusted to him, and
Zaida found many occasions for going thither at the
same hour. Very beautiful were the scenes through
which they passed in those happy days. South of
them was a range of mountains, blue and softened
in the distance. On the north was the bright sea,
with the island of Madura lying like an emerald
gem on its bosom. Bamboo cottages shaded by a
mass of luxuriant vegetation, dotted the level landscape,
as it were, with little islands, whose deep
verdure formed a lovely contrast with the rich
yellow of the ripened rice fields. Here, the large
scarlet blossoms of a pomegranate, beautiful above
all other trees, filled the air with fragrance; and
there, a tall cocoa-palm reared its great feathery
head high above the light elegant foliage of a
tamarind grove. Arum lilies held up their large
white cups among the luxuriant vines that lay
tangled by the wayside. Wild peacocks and other
gorgeous birds flitted across their path, glittering
in the sunlight, like jewels from fairy land. The
warbling of birds, the buzzing of bees, the whiz and
the whirr of numerous insects, all the swarming
sounds of tropical life, mingled with the monotonous
tones of boatmen coming down the river Solo
with their merchandise, singing with measured cadence,

Only one discordant note disturbed the chorus

which nature sang to love. Near the house where
Zaida's master dwelt, there lived a Dutchman and
his wife, who were notoriously cruel to their slaves.
Zaida recounted some shocking instances of severity,
and especially expressed pity for a girl little
older than herself, who had formerly belonged to
a very kind master and mistress. When they died,
she was sold at auction, and had the misfortune to
pass into the hands of their inhuman neighbour,
whose wife was jealous, and lost no opportunity of
tormenting her. When Jan was singing some of
the plaintive melodies to which his own taste always
inclined him, or when, to amuse the merry Zaida,
he imitated Chinese jingle jangles, sometimes the
sound of the lash, accompanied with shrieks, would
break in upon the music or the merriment, and put
their spirits out of tune. Nature had made Jan
more sensitive than reflective; and he had been
brought up so like a humming-bird among flowers,
that he had never thought any thing about his own
liabilities as a slave. Now, for the first time, it occurred
to him, “What if my master and mistress
should die, and I should be sold?”

An English family lived very near Madame Van
der Veen's, and, as both were musical, an intimacy
had grown up between them. The father and
mother of this family were very strongly opposed
to slavery, and not unfrequently discussed the subject.
Jan, as he passed in and out of the parlour,
waiting upon the guests, had been accustomed to

hear these conversations as though he heard them
not. In fact, he often wished the old Englishman
would stop talking, and give his son an opportunity
to accompany Madame Van der Veen's piano with
his flute. But after those lashes and shrieks had
waked up his mind to the possibility of auction and
transfer, he listened more attentively, and carried
with him into riper years the memory of many
things he heard.

When he was fourteen years old, and Zaida was
twelve, they were married. Madame Van der Veen
furnished cake and lemonade for the wedding, and
gave gay dresses to the juvenile bride and bridegroom,
who looked extremely well in their new
finery. Jan had lost something of his childish
beauty, but he was still handsome. His yellow
complexion was rendered paler by the contrast of
his jet black hair and the bright turban that surmounted
it. His limbs were slender and flexible,
his features small and well proportioned, and his
large antelope eyes had a floating, plaintive expression,
as if there was always a tear in his soul.
Zaida was rounder, and browner, and ruddier. Her
dark hair was combed entirely back, and twisted
into a knot, ornamented with scarlet flowers. The
short downy hairs about the forehead curled themselves
into a little wavy fringe. From her small
ears were suspended two large gilded hoops, a
bridal present from the old Englishman. From
her Arab father she inherited eyes more beautifully

formed than belonged to her mother's race. The
long dark lashes curled upward, and imparted a
smiling expression, even in her most serious moments;
and when she was amused, her eyes laughed
outright. There was a harmonized contrast between
her and her bridegroom, which was extremely agreeable.
The young Englishman compared them to
the major and minor mode; and Madame Van der
Veen said they looked like hope and memory. Personal
comeliness is rare among the natives of those
islands. Little Zaida was like a ruby among pudding-stones.

A bamboo hut, raised two feet from the ground,
and consisting of two apartments, without windows,
was their bridal home. It was all they needed in
a climate where, more than half the year, all household
occupations could be most conveniently performed
out of doors. There was a broad verandah
in front, sheltered from rain and sun by the projecting
roof. In front was a grove of orange and lemon
trees, and in the rear was a group of plantains,
whose immensely long broad leaves and yellow
spikes of nodding flowers cast refreshing shadows.

A grass mat, of Jan's own weaving, and pillows
filled with a kind of silky down from a wild plant,
answered for a bed. Gourd shells, a few earthern
dishes, and a wooden waiter from which they ate
their meals, seated on the floor, constituted their
simple furniture. The rooms, which received light
from the open door, were used only for eating and

sleeping. The verandah was the place where all
their sedentary occupations were pursued. There,
Zaida might be seen busy at her spinning-wheel
and loom; there, Jan wove mats and baskets for
his master's household; and there stood his gambang,
a musical instrument, with wooden bars of
graduated lengths, which he struck with a mallet, to
accompany the simple Javanese melodies that he
and Zaida were accustomed to sing together.

Years passed over their heads without any more
serious variations than slight dissensions with the
other slaves, occasional illness, and the frequent
birth of children. Some of them resembled the
father, others the mother; and some had their eyes
obliquely set, like the island ancestry from whom
they descended. Some were bright, some dull,
some merry and some pensive; but Madame Van
der Veen pronounced them all very good children;
and they certainly were trained to be devotedly attentive
to her. During their first years, it cost
nothing to clothe them, for they ran about naked;
and it required almost as little expense to furnish
them with food, where rice was so easily cultivated,
and plantains, cocoas and oranges grew wild. The
warmth of the climate, the lavish bounty of the soil,
the improvident habits which every human being
must necessarily form, who acquires no property by
economy, and the extreme indulgence with which
he had always been treated by his gentle-hearted
mistress, all conspired to render Jan forgetful of the

precarious tenure by which he held the external
blessings of his mere animal existence. Sometimes,
when he went to Grésik, he passed by a slave-auction,
and the sight always gave him a pang; for it
brought up a picture of Zaida and her children
standing there amid the indecent jests and rude
handling of a crowd of men. Sometimes he witnessed
despotic and cruel treatment of slaves, and
still more frequently he heard of such instances.
Then came recollections of the lashes and shrieks,
that used to interrupt his music and merriment in
the days of courtship; and always they brought
with them the question, “What if Zaida and our
daughters should ever be sold to such people as
that cruel Dutchman and his jealous wife?” While
any instances were fresh in his mind, he listened
attentively to whatever was said about slavery by
his master and the English family. From them he
learned how the English, during their brief possession
of Java, had interdicted slave traffic with the
neighbouring islands; had passed laws forbidding
slaves to be sold, except with their own consent;
and had allowed them to hold, as their own, any
property they were able to acquire. Mr. Van
der Veen tried to excuse the Dutch for renewing
their slave-trade, by urging that it was a necessity
imposed upon them, because there was no other
method of procuring servants. The Englishman
denied any such necessity. He maintained that
the natives of Java were intelligent, teachable and
honest, and very willing to render services for
money. He highly commended the native princes
for never permitting any of their own people to be
slaves. He told of one of those princes, who had
inherited fifty slaves; but when the British Government
declared that all should become free, unless
publicly registered by their masters, within a specified
time, he said, “Then I will not register my
slaves. They shall be free. I have kept them
hitherto, because it was the custom, and because
the Dutch liked to be attended by slaves when they
visited the palace. But as that is not the case with
the British, they shall cease to be slaves; for I have
long felt shame, and my blood has run cold, when I
have reflected on what I once saw at Batavia and
Semarang, where human beings were exposed at
public sale, placed on a table, and examined like
sheep and oxen.” The Englishman declared that
he lost no opportunity of talking with all classes of
people on the subject, and of circulating publications,
translated into Dutch, and sent to him from
England for that purpose; and he expressed a
strong belief that the Dutch would soon abolish
slavery. In these conversations, nothing interested
Jan so much as his master's statement, that, according
to existing laws, slaves might purchase themselves.
He resolved to save all the small coins he
might receive; and visions flitted through his brain,
of mats and baskets to be made, when his daily
tasks were completed. But when he received this
information, he already had a brood of children;
he despaired of ever being able to collect money
enough to buy them; and his anxious thoughts
were far more on their account, than on his own.
He always solaced himself with the thought that
his mistress would not allow them to be sold while
she lived, and that she would certainly make provision
for them before she died.

Sixteen years of his married life had passed away,
and during all that time such forecasting thoughts
had been mere transient clouds fleeting across the
sunshine of contentment. But the time came when
Mr. Van der Veen was summoned to Batavia, on
account of some entanglement in his commercial
affairs; and three weeks afterwards, tidings were
brought that he had died suddenly in that unhealthy
city. Again Jan saw his mistress bowed
to the earth with sorrow; and it was beautiful to
witness the delicate expressions of sympathy, which
nature taught him. He moved noiselessly, and
spoke softly. He and Zaida sang only religious
hymns and soothing tunes, such as she loved to
hear after her little Lam was taken away. His
prettiest child, then nearly three years old, was
sent every morning with a fresh bouquet of the
flowers she loved best. He would never lie down
for the night until he believed she was sleeping;
and his first waking thoughts were devoted to her.
It soon became known that Mr. Van der Veen had
died in debt, and that a large portion of his property

must be assigned to creditors. In this assignment
were included many slaves, in various cities, and
some belonging to his domestic establishment. Quite
a small fortune for the widow was saved from the
wreck of his wealth; and in that she expressly
stipulated that Jan and all his family should be included,
together with the estate on which she had
always lived since her marriage. By this unexpected
turn of affairs, the remote contingency,
which had sometimes created temporary uneasiness
in Jan's mind, was brought frightfully near. He
never again forgot, for a single day, scarcely for a
single hour, that he was merely a favoured slave,
and that all the lives intertwined with his held
their privileges by the same precarious tenure. He
never hinted his anxiety to any one but Zaida; but
Madame Van der Veen had the thoughtful kindness
to assure him that she would dispossess herself
of every thing, rather than part with him and
his family; saying, at the same time, that there was
no danger of her being called upon to make any
such sacrifice, as there was enough property left to
enable them all to live comfortably. He deeply
and gratefully felt her kindness; but the shadow
of her death fell darkly across the consolation it
imparted. Not for the world would he have told
her so; lest the suggestion should increase her melancholy,
by making her suppose that even the most
attached of her servants, and the only ones she had
left, wanted to be free to quit her service.

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 forgeting
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 mis
tress 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 Gresik 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!”