ja_," he said, and laughed still. "I did not think of him. _Ja_,
on this way, opposite the timber yard, you will find his house." And he
went off, bowing and grinning hugely.

The nature of the joke appeared later, but I wasn't inclined to laugh.
You've seen the place. No? Right opposite a timber yard in a cocoanut
grove: it was a heavy, whitewashed wall, as high as a man, and perhaps
two perches long. Where the gate should have been, a big tablet was set
in, and over that, on a spike, a skull, grinning through a coat of
cement. The tablet ran in eighteenth-century Dutch, about like this:--

BY REASON OF THE DETESTABLE MEMORY OF THE CONVICTED TRAITOR, PIETER
ERBERVELD, NO ONE SHALL BE PERMITTED TO BUILD IN WOOD OR STONE OR
TO PLANT ANYTHING UPON THIS GROUND, FROM NOW TILL JUDGMENT DAY.
BATAVIA, APRIL 14, ANNO 1772.

You'll find the story in any book: the chap was a half-caste Guy Fawkes
who conspired to deliver Batavia to the King of Bantam, was caught,
tried, and torn asunder by horses. I nosed about and went through a hole
in a side wall: nothing in the compound but green mould, dried stalks,
dead leaves, and blighted banana trees. The inside of the gate was
blocked with five to eight feet of cement. The Dutch hate solidly.

But Hendrik van der Have? No, I never found the name in any of the
books. So there you are. Well? Can a man dream of a thing before he
knows that thing, or----

* * * * *

The captain's voice, which had flowed on in slow and dispassionate
soliloquy, became half audible, and ceased. As we gave ear to the
silence, we became aware that a cool stir in the darkness was growing
into a breeze. After a time, the thin crowing of game-cocks in distant
villages, the first twitter of birds among the highest branches, told us
that night had turned to morning. A soft patter of bare feet came along
the deck, a shadow stood above us, and the low voice of the mate said:

"_Ada kapal api disitu, Tuan_--_saiah kirah_--_ada kapal prrang_."

"Gunboat, eh?" Captain Forsythe was on his feet, and speaking briskly.
"_Bai, tarek jangcar_. Breeze comes just in time."

We peered seaward from the rail; far out, two pale lights, between a red
coal and a green, shone against the long, glimmering strip of dawn.

"Heading this way, but there's plenty of time," the captain said
cheerfully. "Take the wheel a minute, youngster--that's it,--keep her
in,--they can't see us