The day which followed the opium experiment described in the last chapter, promised to be an interesting one to the inhabitants of Santjoemeh. On that day, Setrosmito, the father of baboe Dalima, who had for months been lying in gaol on a charge of having murdered a Chinese bandoelan in the execution of his duty, and who had been accused also of opium-smuggling, was to be brought to trial.  
The evidence had already been taken, and the witnesses on both sides had been examined. The prisoner confessed that he had, with his kris, taken the Chinaman’s life; but he stoutly denied that he had been guilty of smuggling. All Santjoemeh had turned out, that is to say, the whole European population; for it was known that August van Beneden would conduct the defence. As our readers know, the young lawyer had already appeared as counsel for baboe Dalima; but at her trial he had merely watched the proceedings in behalf of his client, and had no opportunity of showing his powers as an advocate. Thus the speech he was expected to deliver in defence of Setrosmito, might be looked upon as virtually his maiden-speech.
 
In social circles, however, and on several minor occasions, August van Beneden had given evidence of much ability and [406]considerable readiness of speech, and thus the good people of Santjoemeh were looking forward to the coming trial as to a rare intellectual treat.
 
But that was by no means all. It was further rumoured that the unfortunate bandoelan had lost his life in consequence of his misconduct towards the little daughter of the prisoner. Now, the public at Santjoemeh knew pretty well what excesses the bandoelans used frequently to permit themselves to take in these domiciliary visits for opium; and thus expected that some spicy details would be forthcoming at the trial. It was, moreover, confidently expected that in his devotion to Themis, the young lawyer would lay his finger heavily upon the crying abuses of the infamous opium traffic, that plague-spot of Javanese society and that disgrace to the European conquerors of the island.
 
No wonder, therefore, that long before the time appointed for the trial, the pandoppo of the Regent’s house in which the court was to sit, was crowded to its utmost capacity. Even ladies appeared in the audience, and foremost among these was fair Laurentia van Gulpendam. As a rule, no ladies ever appear at these native trials; but, on this occasion, the full-flavoured particulars which were sure to be revealed, might perhaps account for their presence.
 
At all events, the numerous staff of servants looked on in amazement at this unusual concourse; for generally the public is, on such occasions, conspicuous only by its absence. These attendants found it as much as they could do to provide seats for all the company, and though there always is an abundant supply of chairs in every Regent’s house, yet on this occasion, a sufficient number of seats could hardly be mustered.
 
Had it been evening, and had the numerous lamps which swung from the roof of the pandoppo been alight, one might have imagined oneself at some festive gathering, or rather, one might have thought, that an exhibition of juggling or other such-like entertainment was about to take place; for, at one extremity of the spacious hall, there was a raised platform three steps above the level of the floor. On this stage was seen a long table covered with a green baize cloth on which were displayed a thick book and a number of ‘pièces de conviction;’ and at which several chairs were placed in order. A police oppasser, who, judging from his demeanour, was fully aware of the importance of his office, was mounting guard at the table, evidently posted there to keep the profane vulgar at a [407]respectful distance. Had any unruly spirit attempted to approach, he would no doubt, with a noble flourish, have dragged the rusty bit of iron which he wore by his side from its scabbard.
 
Pending the entrance of the judges, the crowd tried to pass the time as agreeably as it could. Greetings were exchanged, jokes circulated freely, the people laughed and chatted, and, in fact, behaved, in that temple of Justice, precisely as they might have done at a music-hall during the interval.
 
“Good morning, Mrs. van Gulpendam, do you intend to be present at our session?”
 
The speaker was Mr. Thomasz, deputy clerk of the court. He had strolled in en amateur to have a look at the proceedings; for the chief clerk himself was on that day to officiate, and Thomasz meant to make the best of the opportunity thus offered him of paying his court to fair Laurentia.
 
“Good morning,” replied the Resident’s wife as she held out her hand. “Yes, I have come to have a look. I never have been present at one of these trials, and am rather curious to see what they are like. This case will be an interesting one, I think?”
 
“I think it will, madam,” replied Thomasz; “but for my part, I consider the examination of the witnesses much more entertaining.”
 
“I daresay,” said Laurentia; “but—that horrid murderer—they are sure to find him guilty, are they not?”
 
“I am not so sure of that, madam.”
 
“You are not? Why not?”
 
“No, indeed, I am not. The head djaksa has indeed got up a splendid case for the prosecution, there is not a loop-hole in it; but ever since our Residents and Assistant-Residents have ceased to preside, and the duty has devolved upon professional lawyers, we seem to be be under the influence of a kind of morbid philanthropy—and, it would not at all surprise me if the scoundrel got clean off, especially—”
 
“Ah yes,” exclaimed Laurentia, “I know what you would say: especially since a European has undertaken the defence of that Javanese scoundrel. It is perfectly unheard-of—monstrous! But, tell me, who pays that counsel, do you know, Mr. Thomasz?”
 
“Hush! madam, that’s a secret.”
 
“A secret!” cried Laurentia, “you must keep no secrets from the wife of your Resident. You seem to know all about it. Come tell me what you know.” [408]
 
“Let us go on the platform then,” said Thomasz with a faint smile, “no one will be able to overhear us up there.”
 
They walked up the steps, went to the table, and made a pretence of examining the objects displayed upon it. The policeman on guard, of course, took good care not to interfere with the njonja Resident and the assistant registrar of the court.
 
“Now then,” said Laurentia in an undertone, “you may speak out. Who pays that lawyer?”
 
“A company, madam,” was the reply.
 
“A company! What? of Chinamen?” cried Laurentia impatiently.
 
“I did not say so, madam,” replied the deputy clerk with a smile and a slight bow.
 
“What company then?”
 
“Of Europeans, madam.”
 
“Oh ho! you know them. You need not deny it; I see it in your face.”
 
“Hush, madam,” whispered Thomasz, “there are a couple of ladies coming near,” and then aloud he added: “Yes this is the very kris with which the deed was done—you see the wavy blade is stained with blood—that black spot—”
 
Mrs. van Gulpendam seized the weapon.
 
“Give me their names,” she whispered as she stooped forward over the table to take it up.
 
“I know but one of them—van Nerekool.”
 
“Van Nerekool—still that van Nerekool,” hissed the fair woman between her clenched teeth. And then, turning to the pandoppo, she said to one of the ladies who had by this time mounted the platform:
 
“Look here, Henriette, just look here—this is the kris with which the murder was committed.” The policeman in charge of the table seemed inclined to step forward to forbid the others to approach; but a haughty look from Laurentia restrained him.
 
“Is that really the kris?” asked Henriette.
 
“Yes,” exclaimed Laurentia, “look, you! that’s how it was done—slash across the throat!” She accompanied these words with a sweep of the formidable weapon which made both the ladies start back in terror.
 
“A magnificent woman that Laurentia!” said a young man in the body of the hall. “Just look at her attitude, look at her features, look at that hand as she grasps the dagger! What a lady Macbeth! what a perfect instep!” [409]
 
“Aye, aye,” quoth another, “she is posing, she knows—she feels—that we are admiring her.”
 
“What are you frightened at?” continued Mrs. van Gulpendam, “see here, that spot is the blood of the victim, is it not, Mr. Thomasz?”
 
“Disgusting!” cried both ladies in a breath.
 
“How can you touch it, my dear madam?”
 
“Touch it? why not?” scornfully replied Laurentia as she flung back the kris rattling upon the table. “Why not touch it? the thing doesn’t bite.”
 
“Of course not, my dear,” said Henriette; “but the mere thought that it has murdered a man!”
 
“Pooh! a Chinaman!” cried Laurentia.
 
“But a Chinaman is a human being,” objected her friend.
 
“I suppose so,” was Laurentia’s disdainful reply.
 
“It is well that Lim Yang Bing or Lim Ho are not by to hear you,” said Thomasz forcing a laugh.
 
“Oh that is a different matter altogether,” said the arrogant woman.
 
“They are opium-farmers,” cried Henriette.
 
“They are millionaires!” added her friend.
 
The two ladies uttered these exclamations almost simultaneously, with an indescribable tone of sarcasm peculiar to their sex. Laurentia fully understood the taunt and felt it too; but she gave no sign of displeasure.
 
“Ah yes,” continued Henriette following up her pleasant little home-thrust. “Now you mention their names, what has become of the two Chinamen. I don’t see them. Yonder is the Chinese captain and Kam Tjeng Bie the wealthy merchant; but I can’t see the two opium-farmers.”
 
“They will take good care,” added the other lady, “not to show their noses here.”
 
“I daresay,” carelessly remarked Laurentia, “that they find plenty to do getting ready for the wedding.”
 
“Is not the murderer,” asked Henriette, “the father of baboe Dalima who accused Lim Ho of—?”
 
“My dear Henriette,” hastily interposed Mrs. van Gulpendam, “that is the merest tattle—in our gossiping Santjoemeh you ought not to believe one tenth part of what you hear.”
 
“But,” continued she rather hurriedly as if anxious to change the subject, “but, Mr. Thomasz, what kind of gollokh is that yonder on the table—that looks as if it were blood-stained too—did the murderer use that thing also?” [410]
 
“Oh no, madam,” replied the assistant-clerk, “that is nothing but chicken’s blood.”
 
“Chicken’s blood?” inquired Henriette with a laugh.
 
“Yes, dear madam, we call that the gollokh soempah.”
 
“Indeed, and what may that mean?”
 
“We might translate it by the ‘oath-knife,’?” replied Thomasz; “it is, in fact, with that instrument that the Chinese take an oath.”
 
“That’s interesting! did you ever see it done, Mr. Thomasz?”
 
“Oh yes, madam, very frequently.”
 
“Do tell us all about it,” cried Henriette, “how is it done?”
 
“It is as simple a ceremony as possible, ladies. The witness who is about to be sworn, accompanied by a Chinese interpreter, and one of the members of the court, walks up to a block of wood. Then the gollokh is placed into his hand and with it he chops off the head of a black chicken. Nothing more, and nothing less. It is an utterly meaningless performance, and, at first sight, it is simply ludicrous.”
 
“But why must the chicken be black, Mr. Thomasz?” asked Henriette.
 
“That is more than I can tell you, madam,” replied he. “You are aware, I suppose, that white is the mourning colour in China.”
 
“Oh, yes, I know that; but—a black chicken? There must be some hidden meaning in that,” mused Henriette.
 
“There may be, madam,” replied Thomasz; “but I have never been able to discover any, though I have frequently asked interpreters and even Chinese chiefs about it. There exists, however,” he continued, “in China another manner of taking an oath, the significance of which is, perhaps, more obvious. But it is used only on special and very important occasions.”
 
“Can there be any question of greater moment,” asked Henriette, somewhat sharply, “than that of speaking the truth before a judge?”
 
“Certainly there may be, madam,” was the reply.
 
“More important do you mean to tell me, than of giving solemn testimony upon which may depend perhaps the life or death of a human being?”
 
“Undoubtedly, madam,” said Thomasz.
 
“Well!” cried Henriette, “I should like to know what questions those may be!”
 
“To give you only one instance,” replied Thomasz, “the great oath, the solemn oath which the Government requires to be taken when a man is made a Chinese officer.” [411]
 
“Indeed!” exclaimed Henriette with a laugh, “do you call that so very serious a matter?”
 
“And then,” continued the assistant clerk, “on certain occasions, though rarely, the great oath is administered in civil cases, where the interests involved are very considerable.”
 
“Ah, now I understand you! When it is a question of ￡ s. d.,” laughed Henriette; “but, pray, tell us something about that great oath.”
 
“With pleasure, madam, only I am afraid I do not know very much about it. The rites observed on such occasions are borrowed from the ceremony with which the oath is administered in China to princes and high state officials on their appointment. I will, in as few words as possible, try to describe to you what takes place. The witness first writes down the evidence he intends to give or the promise he intends to make, on a strip of red paper, and then he confirms the truth of his words by calling down upon himself the most fearful curses should his evidence pr............