larger!” The old fellow shook his head sadly, and looked at me reproachfully.
“Tidah! Tidah!” (No, no.) “Rajah, Orang Blanda (Dutchman) show me chart of
the world. Holland all red. Take almost all the world. Rest of country small,
small. All in one little corner. How can Rajah say his country big?”
There was no denying the old man’s knowledge; I, too, had seen one of these
Dutch maps of the world, which are circulated in Java to make the natives think
that Holland is the greatest nation on earth.
One day glided into another with surprising rapidity. We could swim, explore, or
lie out in our long chairs and read and listlessly dream. All about our little island
the silver sheen of the sea was checkered with sails. These strange native craft
held for me a lasting fascination. I gazed out at them as they glided by and saw
in them some of the rose-colored visions of my youth. Piracy, Indian Rajahs, and
spice islands seemed to live in their queer red sails and palm-matting roofs. At
night a soft, warm breeze blew from off shore and lulled us to sleep ere we were
aware.
One morning the old chief made us a visit before we were up. He announced his
approach by a salute from a muzzle-loading musket. I returned it by a discharge
from my revolver. He had come over with the morning tide to ask us to spend
the day, as his guests, wild-pig hunting. Of course we accepted with alacrity. I
am not going to tell you how we found all the able-bodied men and dogs on the
island awaiting us, how they beat the jungle with frantic yells and shouts while
we waited on the opposite side, or even how many pigs we shot. It would all take
too long.
We went fishing every day. The many-colored and many-shaped fish we caught
were a constant wonderment to us. One was bottle-green, with sky-blue fins and
tail, and striped with lines of gold. Its skin was stiff and firm as patent leather.
Another was pale blue, with a bright-red proboscis two inches long. We caught
cuttle-fish with great lustrous eyes, long jelly feelers, and a plentiful supply of
black fluid; squibs, prawns, mullets, crabs, and devil-fish. These last are
considered great delicacies by the natives. We had one fried. Its meat was
perfectly white, and tasted like a tallow candle.
The day on which we were to leave, Wahpering brought us some fruit and fish