There these business became by the smugglers steels of large insolence and ingenuity shown. As came a notorious smuggler. that quite well knew that he strengthen geschaduwd became on the idea with the customs a wager at to go. that be opium. About five hour on a particular noon the sluitboom would pass without one these would notice. The challenge became by the water bailiff accepted and these place a duplicate wait by the tree and praised a high premium from by apprehension of the opium. When now round ten minutes for five two grobaks with a cargo fertilize round passage asked, thought the customs officers,, chicken I have you". Yet busy with dab investigation of the fragrant cargoes came there a Chinese funeral procession at with loudly praying bearers and weeping mourning bearers and flying banners as such there Chinese funerals to do is customary. Pieteitshalve became the sluitboom immediate opened and the procession passage granted while the investigation of the trucks with manure diligent became voortgezet. The not onvermakelijke story ended with the, through the customs that final rewards had smoked, find of a letter on a portable on the cemetary, in which particular thanks were declared for the respect through the watch at the opium proved through without drilled the sluitboom to open. and the kind invitation a beer to come drink to celebration of the honest won wager. Si nun e vero well trovatum est. Boiled were that old opium smugglers. chortled the old man. Wicked person kiss maintain, but there becomes so much maintained that there by a rich Chinese resident in that one brilliant house often large celebrations were given, at which participated became by all authorities.
Police-authorities and customs officers that not be present became fast with carriages with fine horses stretch taken away. When then,, dangerous Semarang" self had neergezet self too well to do at sorted out foods and drinks, appeared there a flag in a very high tree on the top of a hill, to sign that Thu opiumscheepjes easy could job fern. Grateful for the interesting account, I took parting of my pleasant old chatterbox.
Mijn Indische jeugd eindigde in Semarang.
Op een morgen komt de tentwagen voor. We stappen in en rijden voor het laatst door de Heerenstraat.
Langs de Protestantse kerk waar we ter catechisatie gingen, langs de boekhandel G. C. T. van Dorp met de kastenvol Amairds en Jules Vernes en Paul d'Ivois. Op de hoek voor de brug waar ik over de ijzeren leuning zo vaak in het bruine water had staan kijken, slaan we rechtsaf en we rijden langs de Uitkijktoren waar ditmaal geen blauwe vlag waait over de stoffige weg langs het kanaal naar de Boom, waar vrienden wachten.
My Indian youth ended in Semarang. On a morning comes the tent vehicle for. We walk in and ride through the gentlemen street for the most last time. Along the Protestant church which we to catechisatie went, along the bookstore G. C. T. from Town with the kastenvol Amairds and Jules Vernes and Paul d' Ivois. On the corner for the bridge which I over the iron back as often in the brown water wanted to stand look at hit we right and we ride along the Uitkijktoren where this time no blue flag blows over the dusty way along the channel to the Tree, true friends wait. We press hands and an angry poeha-barkasje carries us to the mailboot, that lies far in sea. We clamber the gangplank on and the smell of fresh paint, rubber measures, clean buyer and scheepskoffie vleugt our tegemoet. We hang over the fortification and seek in the distance the kotta. The high witte lighthouse, the Look out the Large House and the dome of the church. The hills of Tjandi and, further away, if a closing off of our world, the Oengaran, green and high. Over single years, I want to return. Only my Indian youth is past. The Indie which I am opgegroeid. The Indie of the Wenerwipstoelen, of the krossi-males, of the kerosene lamps and the zachtsuizende gaslicht. From the banks, the lanciers, the kruispolka and the quadrille. Of the boodschappenleitje, the hombre- and whistpartijtjes of my father. Of the races and the time celebrations. Of bendies, ebro's, victoria's. Van palangpintoe's behind the doors in the night, of the gardoehuisjes along the roads and the drone of the tongue tongue? The siren has three times geloeid. The last wegbrengers have parting taken.
The gangplank has been raised. The machine begins to drone.
Slowly sinks the city behind us.