From Atjeh to Mejong Lodaja, part 5
Reading time: approx 10 min

Boeyoeng had regarded Engko as a kind of sister from an early age. Was it so strange that he saw a father figure in Willem? But Willem didn't like him. He chased him away when he showed up on the front porch. And yet, despite his pride, he stuck around as Engko's father unfolded his plans for a tiger trap to Talib, the new tracker.
It was 1873, Boeyoeng was ten years old and he imagined that this is how, and nothing else, a father should be. A tough man who took initiative, who was not afraid of anything, who may have gotten into trouble sometimes, but who always managed to solve the problems. Of course he knew that Willem was not his father, but he made no secret of his veneration. He crouched near the house where William could not see him and watched the two men on the front porch longingly. He felt big enough to think about that special trap in which a tiger would be caught.  
'We could make a gangway,' he heard Talib say.
Willem was bent over a drawing with the pencil in his mouth. 'Uh uh. The tipping point has to be just right. If the plank turns too early or too late, the tiger will jump away.'
'The plank must be strong enough, it must not bend. The tiger should not actually notice that it is walking onto a gangway. And the pit into which he falls must be deep enough.'
Boeyoeng would like to shout: I have a better idea! Sometimes he acknowledged Talib when he had ended his meeting with Willem. Talib was more patient. He wanted to listen to Boeyoeng, but no matter how he begged, Talib did not want to put in a good word for him with Willem.
Boeyoeng dreamed of going on safari with Willem. Then he carried his gun and Willem taught him how to shoot. Sometimes he fantasized that Willem had once lain on the tikar with his mother and that he was actually his real father, but he knew very well that they had never shared a sleeping mat and he could also tell from the color of his skin - when he compared it to Engko's skin – that his real father must be native.
'Poison,' Willem suggested. 'We haven't tried that yet.'
Boeyoeng raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had never heard of it before, that a tiger could be captured with poison.
'That's because,' Talib pointed out, 'because we don't have any good poison here in Sumatra. Then we would have to source that from Java.'
Boeyoeng's thoughts turned more toward a box into which the tiger could be lured. He presented it to Talib who thought it was a good idea and then ran with it as his own. Boeyoeng felt passed over. This had been a great opportunity to get in Willem's good graces, but Talib had robbed him of that opportunity. Disappointed, he watched as Talib took the credit. The tracker drew the cage on Willem's large white sheet. 'We tie a goat to a post inside the cage.The tiger is coming towards the goat…'
'By the smell and the panicked bleating.'
Boeyoeng saw it exactly. He couldn't contain himself and jumped onto the front porch. 'A trap door, a trap door must close when the tiger is in it.'
A resounding turn around his ears was his thanks and he walked away humiliated. Deep inside him, his love for the white man fought with another feeling. A budding hatred.

It was war. And the war was over before Willem could blink his eyes. The invasion lasted only seventeen days. Six Dutch warships sailed to Atjeh. Immediately upon landing on the beach of Ulee Lheue, the troops had to put up a tough fight with hordes of attacking Atjehnese. With true contempt for death the Mohammedans rushed towards them shouting 'La ilaha illa llah – there is no God but Allah!' Immediately nine people were killed and forty-six injured as a result of heavy klewang blows.
The Dutch military plan was to capture the sultan's kraton, but neither soldiers nor their leaders knew where to find it. Instead, they captured the mosque, but left it immediately after taking it because it was getting dark. Of course, in response to this, the mosque was taken again by Atjehnese troops, so that the Dutch had to fight again the next day to regain control of it. What were they doing? It was a series of miscalculations, misunderstandings and failures. It was a fiasco that ended in an ignominious retreat after seventeen days.
Initially, Willem and Tjoet thought that the war would not affect their marriage. The rapid outcome of the Dutch aggression strengthened their view. Aceh celebrated when it saw the Dutch retreat with their tails between their legs. Tjoet was proud of the victory and although Willem was not completely overcome by the shame of the defeat, the short-lived confrontation did not leave any deep marks on their relationship. Tjoet liked to make broad statements about Dutch stupidities, Willem defended himself unconvincingly. Their bickering resembled a game of chess in which they good-naturedly took turns blowing each other.
But the Dutch didn't leave it at that. They came back to Atjeh. They had to if they didn't want to lose their authority in the Indies. At the same time, they were aware of the millions that a war would cost them. Special Atjeh taxes were created in advance.
The second aggression was better prepared. Not only did the troops come with cannons, but they were otherwise better armed, although the many defects in their machine guns meant that they could not be used half the time. They were also provided with civilian equipment: water pumps, iron bridges, a gun workshop, rails to build a tram connection. They even brought a steam bakery to provide the soldiers with bread for their breakfast. To Tjoet's endless ridiculous, that device too suffered from flaws. Furthermore, there was not much to laugh at what the belandas brought with them. The dilapidated ships that vomited an army of thirteen thousand men onto the beach of Atjeh also turned out to be carrying death. Upon disembarkation, a hundred men had already succumbed to cholera. Once on land, the disease spread rapidly.
The war took on a grim face and the disputes between Willem and Tjoet also became grimmer. Good-naturedness is a gift way to venom.
Engko was eight years old when the war broke out and from then on there were always discussions in the house. The Atjeh war had penetrated their own walls in miniature. Tjoet chose the side of the resistance. Her people fought for their freedom, she had no choice but to support them. Willem understood this, but could not deny his Dutch origins. And Engko, between two fires, took refuge with Boeyoeng and his mother Meutiah to vent her heart.
Tjoet walked away as she had done in the early days when she was with Willem.
'I know I should support the freedom fighters, but I don't have the heart to leave my daughter behind,' she complained to Meutiah when she returned. And then she left again, now with a crying Engko on the horse in front of her. And then brought the child back to her father. The love for her country and for her own people keeps her apart. Her own people were pulling her. Willem pulled her. She cut off her beautiful long hair as a way of mourning the deaths that soon occurred, including many from her father's villages.
Willem had more on his mind than arguing with a rebellious woman. Once again he had to provide for his livelihood and the war offered new opportunities. The soldiers lacked everything and Willem could supply everything. In that sense the war wasn't so bad after all. The money flowed willingly into his money bag.
At the same time, he played nicely with the ulama and was a contact between them and the mosques in Pinang, where money was collected after Friday evening prayers to support the war in Atjeh. Willem made sure that the money ended up in good hands. For the rest he was wise enough to keep away from political affairs. He no longer interfered in the diplomatic jousting between The Hague, Constantinople, London, Paris and Berlin. There were men who were better suited for that. Such as Habib Abdurrahman Al Zahir, the grand vizier and advisor to the sultan. However, this political heavyweight also returned empty-handed from Constantinople, where he had turned to the Caliphate for support on behalf of the sultan. It didn't matter to Willem. He was not necessarily on the Dutch side, nor on the Atjehnese side.
'You are an opportunist who sides with the winning party,' Tjoet told him. 'You ride the wind of success, no matter which way it blows.'
'That wind also puts bread on the table for you,' he replied. However, his position remained one that balanced on a razor's edge. The regular small successes he achieved for the Atjehnese princes prevented him from having to fear any danger from that quarter, although he was aware that he was viewed with suspicion. And as far as the Dutch were concerned, he preferred to stay out of the picture as much as possible for a while.
But he couldn't sit still. Ultimately, after five years of war, he had spread his tentacles in so many shady businesses that he lost track and started making mistakes. The ground was getting too hot under his feet and he knew he had to get away. He fought with Tjoet for weeks about a possible move to Java. Tjoet resolutely refused and, to his own surprise, the thought of leaving her and Engko behind was difficult.
Izaak Vorman's letter came as a gift from heaven. His cousin suffered from a debilitating illness and managing his tea plantation became too much for him. He urgently requested Willem to come to Java and take up employment as a prospective administrator. Now he had a reason, no, a sacred duty to go to Java. That's what he told Tjoet. She had to understand family obligations. She still refused. In desperation, he forcibly took Engko to the port to book passage on a departing ship. Tjoet joined them in the nick of time, together with Meutiah and Boeyoeng. So they left Atjeh. Willem in a great hurry because the warring parties were hot on his heels, and Tjoet in loud protest. She would never have left her island voluntarily. And never would she forgive him for forcing her.
                                                                                                                  ©marian puijk