INDEPENDENCE FOR INDONESIA

It may be helpful to readers unfamiliar with Indonesian history to have a brief summary of the situation at the end of World War II. With the capitulation of the Japanese on August 15, 1943, the moment for action arrived toward which Indonesian intellectuals had so long been striving.

In the name of merdeka these people had worked, for more than forty years had suffered imprisonment, had been exiled by the Dutch. Then at the very outbreak of war the Dutch had deserted them, leaving them unarmed to the mercy of the Japanese. The Japanese in turn had driven out the Dutch, only to be chased out themselves three years later by the Allied victory. Incredibly, it had taken a world war to bring about deliverance.

The end of war found the Indonesians a bewildered and disillusioned people. But they realized that it was imperative they act at once if independence was to be assured. They were not slow to take advantage of the confusion in the Pacific, knowing that it was now or never. Should the Dutch come back as overlords, merdeka might never have another chance. So on August 17, 1943, just two days after the fall of Japan to the forces under General Douglas MacArthur, a group of dedicated Indonesians in Java forced the proclamation of independence, naming Sukarno the first president of the newborn republic, and Dr. Hatta vice-president.

The declaration of independence came about under comic-opera circumstances. Sukarno and Dr. Hatta had just returned from a conference with Japanese commanders in Dalat, near Saigon. Aware that they had lost the war and must soon surrender, the Japanese hoped to persuade the Indonesians before the war's end to declare their independence from the Netherlands in the name of the Emperor of Japan. Sukarno and Hatta were skeptical. They did not trust the Japanese, and they were resolved that when independence was declared it would not be in the name of a foreign government. Nevertheless, they listened, and on their return to Batavia reported to the Indonesian leaders. These leaders, backed up by university student groups, put pressure on Sukarno to declare independence the very next day. "If we wait," they said, "this great opportunity may be snatched away from us."

But Sukarno refused to act hastily. He advised waiting a few days to see how the land lay and to observe the attitude of the Allies, whose news reports had been describing him as a Japanese collaborator and in general distorting the picture of conditions in Indonesia. In his great desire for a bloodless revolution he was adamant against all pressures.

Halfway between midnight and dawn on the 16th of August a group of very angry and determined students, all well armed, kidnapped Sukarno and Dr. Hatta from their homes and took them miles from Batavia or Jakarta, to give it its original Javanese name, to the garrison of Rengasdengklok. For the rest of the night, and all day, the students tried to force Sukarno to change his mind. They cajoled, they threatened, they pleaded, they demanded.

I did not know Sukarno at this time, but I was acquainted with his abductors. I couldn't imagine one of them hurting him; he was much loved by all the students. It was months later, when Sukarno and I had become friends, that he told me the story of his kidnapping.

"The funniest thing that ever happened to me," he said. "There was I, flanked on all sides by angry young men brandishing guns and threatening me. I could have put them over my knee and spanked them, for I knew most of them from childhood, and their families were my friends. "They wouldn't have harmed me, even if I had remained firm. But as I looked upon their serious, earnest faces, as they pleaded with me to declare independence immediately, I knew they were right in their demands. The future - if we were destined to have a future as a free nation - would depend upon the sincerity and the fearless spirit of these young men. They were an inspired group, and the fate of their country was in their hands. I looked at them with affection and said, "Well, let us be getting back to Jakarta. We have much to do. Let us waste no more time talking."

Sukarno recalled how the faces of the students lit up with satisfaction as he capitulated. "They said to me, Perhaps you would like to shave now." So we returned to Jakarta and the following day, August 17, 1945, I declared the independence of Indonesia, in the name of the Indonesian people."

Those who witnessed this historic event heard President Sukarno, in his deep, emotion-charged voice, declare simply, "With the blessing of almighty Allah, the Indonesian people declare independence." And the people wept, for the days of subjugation were over. Citizens of Indonesia would go forth with pride, no longer the slaves of any man. (Except for Soekarno himself, Dikigoros.)

The stupendous news swept over all the Indonesian islands, from Irian to Sumatra. Radios blared the developments day and night. Newspapers with bold headlines flooded the streets. The Republic of Indonesia was bom.

Men raced to rip the Japanese flag from all government buildings, and from shops and houses, to the cheers of throngs of celebrants. The Japanese, absolute dictators for the years of the war, reacted sharply to the challenge of their authority; fighting between the Indonesians and the Japanese broke out from one end of Java to the other. In particular the Japanese hurled their fury at President Sukarno.

In the enormous square in front of the former palace of the Dutch Governor General, Sukarno spoke to assembled thousands. "This is our new-found freedom; I promise you we shall never give it up," he said, to thunderous applause. He urged the people to refrain from violence and to return peaceably to their homes.

Japanese tanks were milling around the square, and Japanese planes were flying overhead. The Japanese had planned to arrest Sukarno and throw him into prison. Now they saw that they were too late; the millions of Indonesians were clearly behind their new president.

Confused, upset by the surrender news from Tokyo, the Japanese were hesitant and fumbling in their new role. Their military command had been ordered by the Allies to maintain peace and order in Indonesia until Allied troops arrived to take control. But in the face of swelling Indonesian independence the Japanese were hopelessly ineffective. The cry of "Merdeka, Merdeka!" was sweeping over the land.

The mortification of the Japanese at the lowering of their flag was nothing in comparison with the reaction of the Dutch colonials in Indonesia and the Dutch reactionaries in The Hague in Holland. They were incredulous at the proclamation of Indonesian independence and outraged beyond all reason. An atomic bomb in their midst could hardly have caused greater consternation.

Dutch colonials returning from Japanese concentration camps had dreamed of going back to their elegant homes - to the old luxurious life with plenty of native servants and an inexhaustible supply of cheap labor for their plantations and offices. At first they were arrogant, presumptuous. They dismissed the independence proclamation as an Indonesian stamboel, or theatrical. Their astonishment grew when they learned otherwise. Then started the long years devoted to the sabotage of Indonesia Merdeka.

In Holland the colonial diehards, unwilling to give up the goose that had laid the golden eggs, let go of pent-up emotions. Their vindictiveness knew no limits; in slanderous radio broadcasts and newspaper reports they called Sukarno and Hatta the worst kind of collaborators, said the new Republic of Indonesia was nothing but a Japanese puppet government.

Understandably, the Dutch said nothing of their desertion of Indonesia at the onset of the Japanese attack. They said nothing of the nine years that President Sukarno and Dr. Hatta had spent as Dutch prisoners. And they said nothing of the offer that Sukarno and other Indonesian leaders had made to the Dutch when it became evident, after the Pearl Harbor attack in December, 1941, that the Japanese were on the march in Asia. Sukarno had asked the Dutch, just before the Japanese invasion, to release him and arm the Indonesians so that they might defend their homeland against the invaders. Sukarno's offer was ignored, and he was left in exile in Bengkulen, where the Japanese found him when they swarmed into Indonesia.

At this time the Dutch deputy governor general, Hubertus van Moot, who had fled to Australia when the Japanese occupied Java, sent a secret and urgent message to England's Admiral Louis Mountbatten, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in Southeast Asia. Van Mook said the Indonesian leaders were extremist rebels causing dissension throughout Java and certainly did not have the backing of the people. He said the newly born Republic was not to be taken seriously, should not be recognized by the Allies. He urged Mountbatten to help abolish the new Republic as quickly as possible.

The Allied forces had little or no intelligence in Java. Mountbatten accepted Van Mook's communique as being trustworthy and accurate. Mountbatten had so many pressing problems elsewhere in the Far East, things were moving so fast everywhere, that the dramatic and unforeseen action of the Indonesians bewildered him. Convinced that Sukarno was only a puppet for the Japanese, backed by a few extremist rebels, the Admiral ordered British forces to move into Java and disarm the Japanese.

The British troops were instructed also to quash the rebel Republic and to return to the Dutch the properties and power they had lost more than three years before. Mountbatten and other British lived to regret this decision. Too late they realized that they had been maneuvered into a false position, tricked by the Dutch.

Six weeks after the declaration of independence British troops moved Into Java. They were astonished to ind that the Indonesians had already disarmed the Japanese and had placed most of them in concentration camps. From the Indonesian viewpoint this was a brilliant action, for the Indonesians now had all the Japanese arms. The weapons would be needed if the infant country was to defend its freedom.

In England there was public outrage that the British people should be made to appear as suppressors of freedom in Java, It was widely remembered, too, that Dutch Lieutenant General ter Poorten had surrendered Indonesia to the Japanese in 1942 in the name of the Allies, without consulting the British High Command in Java. The memory rankled particularly because, at the time, several thousand British and American troops were in Java, willing to resist and retard the Invading Japanese.

Outcries protesting the use of force by the Allies against the Indonesians poured In from all over the world. The British were accused of violating the Atlantic Charter and the Charter of the United Nations. The anti-Dutch press of the world accused the Dutch of creeping back into Java behind the British Tommy's gun. There was consternation and incredulity, meanwhile, among the Indonesians, who found it hard to believe that the British would suppress the newfound freedom and try to reinstate the Dutch. If the British were coming in to fight for the Dutch they had no moral right in Indonesia, and the Indonesians, against their will, must oppose the British. In the background, the Dutch smiled and bided their time.

First the British started using Japanese soldiers to force compliance by the Indonesians. Next they made use of Nepalese Gurkha troops against the Javanese. And then, most infamous act of all, Britain's commanding general issued an ultimatum: the Indonesians must lay down their arms and surrender the following day or British planes would bomb the citv of Surabaya.

The Indonesians, confident that British principles of fair play would prevail, ignored the ultimatum. Surely the British would not bomb an unarmed city, a city utterly without air-raid shelters, a city against which there had been no declaration of war. But the British did bomb Surabaya, for three days and nights. In doing so they blew up the powder keg that started bloody combat between the Indonesians and the British. For four years the battles would rage in defense of Indonesia Merdeka.

I CAST MY LOT WITH THE REVOLUTION

During the first month after my deliverance from the Japanese prison hospital I lived in the shadow of death. It seemed that I was floating in space; the doctor and nurse moving about my room were as ghostly shadows. For the first two weeks I recognized no one and had no interest in living. I had not the faintest idea of what was going on in the world. The doctor allowed no visitors; all information on present conditions in Indonesia was kept from me.

In a vague way I understood that this was September, 1945, and that the war was over, and that Indonesia had declared her independence. It all meant nothing to me; I was beyond caring. The war was over. What did that mean? The war would never be over for me, and the scars left on my mind and heart would never be healed. The world was not worth the spin; man's inhumanity to man was appalling.

As I regained strength my memory cleared. It was only at night, when I lay alone in the dark, that I felt at peace. I recalled the joyful days spent in my moon garden. I remembered the beauty of the Balinese people. I remembered my life at the puri, and my life in the kampongs. I remembered with love the proud Wyjan, merry Njoman, and the sensitive and artistic Maday. And I remembered Agung Nura. What had become of him? I remembered the sweet old Rajah, who had been more of a father to me than any father I had ever known. Frisco Flip, the old professor, my little Pito, had woven their in Indonesia. The of me pain, but those kept me alive. The will to live boms fiercely, even the conditions. Little by little, as I became stronger, my living returned, I must get well; I must find out what happened to Nura, even though I realized that my tranquil days in Bali had gone forever.

Under the gentle care of the Indonesian doctor I gained strength, day by day. At last I was able to sit up In my bed. A few days later the doctor told me I was definitely in the convalescent stage, although I was still thin to the point of gauntness and as white as a ghost. I had lost sixty-five pounds in the Japanese prison, and my bones showed clearly through my flesh.

Every morning and evening the doctor came and sat by my bedside. He told me the story of the Indonesian declaration of independence. He the news to me. Later he brought me a radio, I more catch up with the world. Often I wondered why he was so to me, for I was a white woman and quite unknown to him. He knew that I was British born and that my parents were British; and at this time the Indonesians had no cause to like the British.

One day I asked the doctor the reason for his kindness and consideration. Why had he nursed me, a stranger, back to a semblance of life?

"You are not a stranger to me, K'tut Tantri," he replied. "Some day, very soon now, I shall tell you how I know all about you. It is very important to me that you get well."

The news of Indonesian freedom had filled my heart with gladness. My thoughts flew back to the days I had spent with Nura at his coffee plantation. We had not dreamed then that freedom was so near. How happy Nura must feel. But as I thought of him and recalled his sober face, something told me that he was in trouble or in danger. I conld not shake off this presentiment, although I told myself it was foolish. But was it foolish? The radio said that the Dutch had reinstated themselves in Bali. Guerrilla warfare in Bali against the Dutch was rampant. Nura was bound to be in the middle of it.

It was most disturbing to hear that the British were fighting the Indonesians and were using the Japanese against them. To me this made no sense at all. I felt shame that my people would turn a gun against any country seeking the same freedom as the people of Britain have enjoyed. Something must be wrong somewhere; I just couldn't believe it of the British. But I came to know that it was true.

One morning the doctor came to my room with a bigger smile than usual, and said, "Sudara K'tut, make yourself pretty. You have company." (Sudara in Malay is the word for a close relative, in this case, sister.)

"Doctor," I replied, "what company could I have? No one knows that I am here."

"News travels quickly by the Indonesian grapevine," he said. "Friends not only know that you are here, but they know that you are getting well."

My heart leaped. Could it be Nura? Or Wyjan, Njoman or Maday, perhaps? No, they could not get from their homes to Java so long as the Dutch were in control of Bali. Could it be Daan? No, again. No Dutchman could venture so far from Dutch headquarters in these times.

Make yourself pretty, the doctor had said. With what? I had no dress, no powder, no lipstick. I was propped up in bed in a pair of the doctor's pajamas. Purple pajamas at that. I hurriedly combed my hair, and inspected the result in a mirror. I muttered to myself that I looked like a dead fish, and then gazed expectantly at the door.

I was astonished when the doctor ushered in four Indonesian men in their early twenties. I gazed at them blankly for a moment, and then recognized one. Pito, grown taller, and handsomer than ever! "Pito, darling little Pito," I sobbed. "It can't be you. It can't." He came over to my bed, bent down and rubbed my nose with his, drew in his breath. Such is the custom of the Indonesians when embracing. Pito was dressed, as were the others, in khaki shorts and a khaki tunic on which was sewn the rank of a first lieutenant. This surprised me. He seemed young to hold that rank, and I knew he had had no formal military training. He introduced me to the other young men: Captain Bustami, First Lieutenant Affendi, Second Lieutenant Adi. I smiled at the titles, but then remembered that these young men were in the midst of a revolution. The literate would have to "be the leaders of the illiterate. I have colonels 25 years old, and generals in their thirties. These boys took themselves very seriously and acted like little old men. very competent they were.

Pito proudly informed me that he was now in the intelligence department of Bung Tomo's fighters for East Java, Java Timor. Bung Tomo was famous already as the guerrilla chieftain for the whole of Java. 1 hardly knew whether Pito's announcement startled me or amused me more. I did not laugh, but accepted the news as though it were to be expected from a man of twenty.

"We are living with Bung Tomo at his mountain hideaway outside Malang," Pito confided.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked. "This chalet is well hidden, and the good doctor has not permitted any visitors."

"I have just told you I am in the intelligence department. In any case, the doctor sent Bung Tomo word that you were here."

"The doctor!" I exclaimed. "How would he know where the guerrillas were? How could he send such news?"

"If the doctor wouldn't know where the guerrilla headquarters were, then I don't know who would know. He is Bung Tomo's friend. He is also one of our most important guerrillas."

I sat up in amazement. The doctor! A member of Bung Tomo's ragged bamboo army of freedom fighters. What next!

"And your father?" I asked Pito.

"Oh, he is in intelligence too, but in Bandung, in West Java. He is too old to do any active fighting, but he is very valuable for intelligence work."

"Wonderful!" I laughed. "Between you and your father, the Dutch won't have a chance."

"Well, they won't be able to move very far without our knowing it," he replied. And of course, had I thought about it, I would have expected Pito and his father to be in the thick of a fight for freedom. Pito's father was a revolutionary of many years standing.

After the pleasantries were over the doctor joined us, and his pretty wife brought native coffee - kopi tubnik - and rice cakes. We sat around talking about the revolution. One story led to another until Pito suddenly broke into the general discussion.

"Sudara K'tut," he said very serious, "we came here to find out how you were getting along, and to see if you were getting the proper care. But we also came to ask you to consider two propositions. We hope you will find one of them agreeable."

"Two propositions, Pito?" All four young men suddenly turned shy. There was a clearing of throats, a nervous fidgeting. The doctor remained quiet, looking unconcerned as he pulled away at his pipe. The young men nudged each other.

"What are the proposals you have in mind, Pito?" I pressed. "Don t be afraid to speak up. I'm listening."

Pito looked at Captain Bustami and said brightly, "You tell Sudara K'tut, captain."

"No," Bustami replied. "You must tell her yourself."

Pito turned to the pipe-smoker. "Doctor, why don't you explain to Sudara K'tut?" he begged.

"How could the doctor tell me what you want to say, Pito?" I asked. "He is not a mind reader."

"The doctor knows what we have to say. We have no secrets from the doctor, especially on this score."

The doctor smiled. "Come, young man, speak," he said. "Tell K'tut what you came to tell her. She will understand. After all, you have been her friend over the years. It would be better if you spoke."

There was more fidgeting and coughing. At last Pito said, "All right, but I shall read the document. It will be easier that way." He drew a paper from his pocket and began to read in his soft, musical voice.

"Sudara K'tut Tantri: We, the guerrilla fighters of Java Timor, know only too well the suffering and torture that you have been subjected to by the Japanese, just as we know how the Dutch persecuted you for so many years in Bali. Because of the love and understanding that you have had over the years for our people we, the guerrillas of Java Timor, pledge ourselves to help you in every way possible to reach your own countrymen at Batavia. This will mean smuggling you through Dutch and British held territory, but we will see that you are delivered safely to the American consul. Then you can be evacuated to your own country where you will have the proper medicine and food, and peace away from the strife in Java. If you, Sudara K'tut, accept this proposal, we shall be sad to lose you, but we shall abide by your decision. Every Indonesian will help you on your way."

Pito halted and locked at me for my reaction. My shown how deeply I was touched. Although of was in the hands of the Indonesians, the around the two cities, Batavia and Surabaya, was held by the British for the Dutch. I knew any effort to get me through the British lines Into of the cities would require young to risk their lives. I knew, too, they were ready to take tills risk without hesitation, should I agree. I looked at Pito's sensitive and at the noble faces of the others. If ever I felt love it was then.

"Go on, Pito dear," I whispered. "What is the second proposal?"

Pito tightened his lips and cleared his throat. "The second proposition will seem selfish on our part, but here it is," he said. He rustled the paper nervously, then read on in a steady voice:

"It is our hope that K'tut Tantri, permitting, will not desert us in this great hour of Indonesia's destiny. It is our hope that Sudara K'tut will find it in her heart to stay in Indonesia and help to bring our beloved country to the state of freedom that her own people enjoy. In other words, we ask K'tut Tantri to join us in our struggle for self-determination. But before any decision is made we should like to point out that the road to freedom will be fraught with danger. Life will be hard and austere. There will be no luxuries; often there may be starvation. We have nothing to offer Sudara K'tut Tantri in return for such a sacrifice, except the love and esteem of seventy million Indonesians. No matter which proposition K'tut Tantri chooses, we swear to abide by her choice. But it is our great hope that Sudara K'tut Tantri will join the Indonesian revolution, and become to us the Mrs. Thomas Paine of Indonesia."

The reading ended, leaving me halfway between laughter and tears. Certainly I must not laugh, but - Mrs. Thomas Paine, What a bait! Did they know that Thomas Paine suffered great hardships, often imprisonment, and was unappreciated for his great work in the American Revolution? Did they know he was buried in a pauper's grave? The ingenuousness of their touching appeal struck a chord in my heart, a chord of the lost melody from this fantastic and fascinating land. My friends waited silently, their large black eyes fixed on me. I closed my eyes and tried to think. Evacuation to America - my heart danced at the very thought of it! How wonderful it would be just to be safe, away from the roar of guns. I was still weak and undernourished, and far from well. I felt that I could not stand any more war. If I remained in Java I definitely could not have the care, the medicines, the good food I required to build up my health again. The luxuries of life, once so plentiful among the white people in Java, long since had disappeared. Already food was running short. Medicines were most difficult to come by. Prices on the black market were prohibitive. The doctor had been very good to me, but I wondered how he had obtained the vitamins, liver injections, and other medicines he had given me regularly. Although he never mentioned it to me, they must have been costing him a small fortune. And the nurse had told me that he was at his wit's end trying to find more medicines. Too, I had lost everything I had worked for in Indonesia. My paradise was lost to me forever. Yes, to evacuate to America, the land of plenty that would be sheer heaven.

Thinking of the comfort and security available to me in the States, a picture crossed my mind a picture of Prince Diponegoro, Indonesia's great romantic hero of golden times. I saw him riding a black horse, brandishing a jeweled sword, his red-and-gold cape flying in the wind as he led his followers against the fully armed Dutch invaders. That happened more than a hundred years ago, but the story of Diponegoro s heroism lives on in the heart of every Indonesian man, woman, and child. He failed in his heroic attempt, and was captured by the Dutch and sent into exile in Celebes, where he died. His noble spirit has been the inspiration of other brave men who have tried, again and again, to free Indonesia from its Dutch masters, only to suffer imprisonment, death, or exile to the dreaded Tanah Merah. But a century had gone by since Diponegoro. The situation had changed, and merdeka was no longer impossible of attainment. It would not be easy, but with seventy million Indonesians on the march toward independence they could not lose. This time, I was sure, Allah was on their side. The story of Prince Diponegoro had always enchanted me, but how strange that I should see him so clearly at this time! Strange visions always came to me, it seemed, when I had to make an important decision.

From Prince Diponegoro my thoughts turned to the American Revolution, and to the men of other lands, Poles, Frenchmen, Germans and Englishmen who had been important in the destiny of that great democrat Thomas Paine, who wrote in his book The Rights of Men: "There can be no for one there is for all."*

The Atlantic Charter and the Charter of the United Nations were much in my mind, for during my convalescence the doctor had read the texts to part of his program of enlightenment. I remembered his quotation from a May 30, 1942, broadcast of Undersecretary of State Sumner Welles to the people of Asia:

"As a result of this war, we must assure sovereign equality of all peoples the world over. Our victory bring liberation for all peoples. Imperialism is dead. The right to freedom must be recognized."

Surely the Welles pronouncement came from the heart. Certainly the Atlantic Charter, by Sir Winston Churchill and President Roosevelt, was not just another piece of worthless paper, to be discarded as soon as the war was won. Then England and America would have to live up to the words of the Charter. And I was a British-born American citizen.

My decision was made. To the lovable people standing before me I said, "Come what may, I shall throw in my lot with the Indonesian people. I have no choice but to stand by Indonesia in her hour of trial." To Pito, quoting his child's words to me so many years ago, I mischievously added, "Take me with you, gentle Pito, for now I shall be your eyes and your tongue. I shall help get you the right change, and I'll show you the road. Or I will die in the attempt."

To my astonishment the three young men, on hearing these words, rashed from the room, and Pito fell to his knees, hid his face in the bedclothes, and wept. I wept too. The only dry-eyed person was the doctor, who sat in a corner stoically smoking his pipe. For the third time in my life I had made my great decision, in favor of the people of Indonesia.

THE BRITISH ARE SURPRISED, AND SO AM I

Now I understood why I had been rescued from the Japanese prison and tenderly nursed back to some semblance of health. When I asked the doctor what he would have felt had I decided to forsake Indonesia and make my way to America, he replied:

"Such a thought never occurred to me. All your Indonesian friends knew you would not leave us when we most needed you. Not you, Sudara K'tut! You know, I have a long dossier on you, going back to the first day you came to Indonesia."

"I was not aware that you were acquainted with any of my friends," I said.

He laughed. "You would be surprised how many of your friends I know. Pito, of course; and Agung Nura I have met several times. Also the professor, and Frisco Flip, and several others. I, too, was a member of the resistance group during the Japanese occupation. That was how I heard of you."

"Do you know where Agung Nura is now?" I asked.

"Yes; we know that he is back home in Bali. But we have had no intelligence from there for some time."

Bali was at the time in a state of chaos. The people were bewildered at seeing the Dutch in charge again. "However," the doctor added, "I am sure that Agung Nura is with one of the guerrilla groups fighting in the hills. We plan to send Pito to Bali as quickly as possible. If Agung Nura is alive, Pito will find him."

The doctor outlined the plans concerning me. He pointed out the dangers that I would face in the months or years ahead, and said, "The first thing we must do is to get you a red-and-white armband with the inscription Merdeka atau Mati [Liberty or Death]. This band is worn by the peasants active in our struggle. You must wear it at all times. It is a means of identification. Before long you will probably be the only white person free in Java Timor. The band may save vour life."

I protested that this seemed a bit theatrical. "Why not just a plain red-and-white band? that ought to be sufficient. Why with the inscription?" - "Because this is the slogan of the revolution," he said. "Merdeka Mati."** They will be greatly pleased to see that they have at least one sympathizer from a foreign land. They will protect you against those who take you for a Dutch woman."

Most of the Dutch, he explained, had fled to Batavia in the hope of being evacuated to Holland. As was to be expected, the Indo-Dutch were claiming to be Dutch citizens, and were not admitting to their native blood, having forgotten that, during the Japanese occupation, they were eager to prove themselves half-castes in order to avoid the concentration camps. By ruling of the new government, these people were given the choice of remaining in Indonesia as her rightful citizens and to maintain its freedom, or of choosing Dutch nationality.

"You may not belive this," the doctor said, "but ninety per cent of the Eurasians have chosen to be Dutch citizens, and they are just as anxious to our freedom as the pure Dutch are. Maybe so. Of course, the Dutch don't want the Eurasians. They've always looked down on the half-castes. But now it's to their advantage to have the Eurasians on their side."

The doctor then went on in a confidential tone to say that the Indonesians intended to intern all the Dutch and Indo-Dntch left in Indonesian-held territory. It was a measure of protection, for the feelings of the people were running high and might get out of control, especially if the Dutch and British used firearms against the native population.

"If that happens," the doctor concluded grimly, "no white person will be safe in Java."

"And what about me?" I asked. "I happen to have been born white."

"We shall protect you to the best of our ability. At first, however, you must be extremely cautious. You must take no chances until you become well known to our people. You must take care not to fall into Dutch hands, or into the hands of their agents. Never go anywhere with an Indonesian unless you know him well. The Dutch have spies everywhere, and especially among the Ambonese."

Over the years, Christian missionaries had made some progress on the island of Ambon, as the Indonesians call Amboina. Many of the natives there were more thoroughly Westernized than those elsewhere in the East Indies. The Dutch had trained many Ambonese troops, and also tended to give Ambon natives the choiciest civilian jobs.

The doctor said that tomorrow Pito would leave for Bali, and I would go to the Oranje Hotel in Surabaya for a week, to study the situation there. Surabaya swarmed with Dutchmen waiting impatiently to get back to their former homes throughout Java. It would be interesting to check up on them.

"The British army is still massed at the harbor a few miles away, but it won't be long until they march into Surabaya," the doctor said. "When they do, fierce fighting will surely break out." He added that the Oranje was full of Dutch officials and army officers newly released from the Japanese concentration camps. "We believe that a couple of American newspapermen also are staying at the Oranje. It would be most profitable to us to know what the Americans are thinking about our declaration of independence, and how they regard the present situation in Java. It will be easy for you to chat with your countrymen. But don't ask any questions of any military or official Dutch. Above all, do not take one soul into your confidence. Be on your guard at all times. Act like any other white woman recently released from a Japanese prison camp. We don't want you to spy; that is not our purpose. But if you do accidentally hear of anything that we should know, we of course are relying on you to inform us. Do not go out of your way to find out anything. And remember we are not at war with the British yet. We do not want to fight the British; but if we are forced to fight to maintain merdeka, we will fight to the death. At the end of the week I shall contact you. By that time we shall have worked out a plan for you. However, in case of an emergency, in case you wish to see me, suddenly become sick and send for the doctor. The doctor will be me. One thing more: do not wear your armband during your stay at the hotel. Hide it away carefully."

My last night at the doctor's mountain chalet was spent in the company of Pito. We had much to say to each other. When morning came, and just before he was leaving, Pito asked what had become of the charm he had given to me when we first met, knowing that I had worn it constantly around my waist on a silver chain.

I told him that the Japanese had ripped it off when they questioned me at Kediri, and that I never saw it again. They also took the Ardjuno that Agung Nora had given to me.

"I've found another charm for you," Pito said shyly, "this one is stronger and must be worn next to the skin. It will protect you against all harm."

He took from his tunic a long piece of white cloth stitched with magic words of protection in ancient Sanskrit. Handing it over to me he said, "May Allah protect you always, Sudara K'tut."

We said good-bye, nibbed noses and drew in our breath.

"Selamet tinggal, live in peace," Pito said.

"Selamet djalan," I replied, "go in peace."

I found the Oranje changed since the days of the Dutch and the early days of the occupation. Everything looked shoddy. The furniture were missing from the hall and lounge. Gone were the fine linen, sparkling silver, and expensive china, replaced by cheap things of Japanese make. The Indonesian staff members wore patched and shabby sarongs, and had a sullen appearance.

I sat on the lounge, observing the behavior of the foreigners, all of whom seemed to be drinking far too much. The arrogance of the Dutch amazed me. They had learned nothing from the war, and from their internment. They were loud and boastful of what they would do when they regained control of the city.

On my third day at the hotel I met a young Dutch officer who invited me to have a drink. He was pleased to find that I was a native of Britain, and treated me as though we were both victims of the Indonesians. "What do you think of those natives having the audacity, the gall to declare independence?" he fumed.

It was more of an explosion than a question. I said I understood little of what was happening in Java. "I am just out of a Japanese prison myself," I explained. "I am weary of war."

My friend patted me on the shoulder and said my troubles would be over In a matter of days. "Your countrymen will be marching into Surabaya," he said.

"I understand the British ships are still massed at the harbor," I responded.

"Yes, I know. They have been waiting for Dutch reinforcements. Three days from now Indonesia will get a big surprise. I hope you are around to see the fun."

"How thrilling!" said I, leading him on. "But it would have to be something really big to surprise the Indonesians at this point."

"Well, it is something big." He pulled from his coat pocket a plan for bottling up the Indonesians in Surabaya. The British would march from the harbor in a single column as far as the Djambatan Merah, a red bridge. At that point they would separate into two columns, one entering the city from the east and the other from the west, at a point beyond where the Indonesian army was stationed.

"The Indonesians won't be able to retreat, nor will they be able to move forward," he said, chuckling. "They will have to surrender."

"It's a clever plan," I said, staring at the piece of paper, forcing my mind to memorize the details, which I could do more readily as I knew the city of Surabaya well. "A good plan. I hope it works."

"It will work all right," he said, continuing his drinking. I had hoped that he would leave the piece of paper on the table, but h was not that drunk. He returned it to his pocket.

"How in the world did you get hold of the British plans?" I asked.

He grinned knowingly. "We have our contacts. Furthermore, all Dutch officers inside the city of Surabaya are prepared for the entry of the English. We know what's up."

That same night I became "ill" and asked the djonges (room boy) to call a doctor. I gave him the telephone number. My particular doctor speedily arrived, little black bag and all. I explained to him the British occupation plan and drew a map from memory. He listened gravely until I had finished, then quickly took his leave. "You stay in bed until I return," he ordered. He said he would warn the TRJ, the Indonesian military.

Since I had pledged myself to the Indonesian side I had no choice but to warn the doctor. I had no intention of allowing the Indonesians to fall into a trap that I knew had been set.

The doctor returned the next morning and said I must leave the Oranje Hotel immediately and go to the kampong home of an Indonesian friend of his. He explained that the Indonesians would raid the Oranje that very night and arrest all Dutchmen. Other foreigners would not be molested.

"Some of the Dutch have firearms and may put up a fight. It's likely to be the tonight." The the me was very the Merah. I days, listening to the of mortar until ! felt I could no more. My Indonesian me that the hotel had successfully all the Dutch had rounded up* "But they pet up a fight In the hotel lobby. You wouldn t recognize the hotel, it s so riddled with bullets. When the fighting was over the foreigners, of more raids, left for the homes cf friends. The}* one American as a suspected Dutchman, but him when his proved to be all right. The shooting has chased even-one indoors. Yon won t ind a soul on the streets of Surabaya." I wanted to the doctor, but the lines were either cut or down or the exchange Unable to endure confinement near the firing range any worried, too, about the doctor, I de cided to take a and go to the Oranje Hotel It would be a long waft: the streets. My tried to discourage me ? and warned me I would not be from snipers. Nevertheless, I the red-and-white band around my arm and stepped boldly the street. As my host had said., the streets were deserted. I did not meet a soul, "but I did a few people sitting on the verandas of their homes. Some of them ignored me and some stared in amazement smiling when they saw my armband. "Merdeka!" I saluted them. And they one and all answered,, "Meideka!" Just before I reached the hotel I took the "tend from my arm and stuffed it into my pocket, as a precaution in the went Europeans were around. It was a very foolish move, I realized later. I w r as surprised to ind the entrance of the hotel deserted. Not even the usual dogs were in sight. 1 stepped into the open lobby and 7 before I could open my mouth, was seized by a group of young men. Each wore a red-and-white armband. The leader of the group appeared to be a hotel chef, for he was w T earing a cook s hat. He forced me into a chair, bent my head back, drew out a large caning knife from his sarong, and held the point at my throat. I was speechless with fright and indignation. 182 REVOLT IN PARADISE "Njonja belanda Dutch woman!" he growled. "Where did you come from? What are you doing here?" I stared blankly at him ? too terrified to say a word. Then I remem bered my armband, and pulled it from my pocket. Now it was their turn to stare. "Where did you get that?" my assailant demanded. "Come on; tell us. From whom did you steal it? 7 The knife was still at my throat, but I barely managed to croak ? "I got it from Dr. S." "Dr. S.," they said in a chorus. "How could you know about Dr.S?" "Why don t you phone him and find out?" I asked weakly. "I am not a Dutch woman. I am an American citizen." "American!" they exclaimed together. "You can t be American. There are no American women in Surabaya." But at the magic word "American" they took the knife away from my throat. The ringleader ordered one of the boys to telephone the doctor. While he was gone they sat and stared at me in silence as though I were some rare animal escaped from the zoo. Presently the boy re turned and said the doctor would be right over. When he arrived and heard what had happened, he called them all the uncomplimentary names he could bring to mind. "Fools," he shouted, "you might have killed her!" "How were we to know she was an American?" one of the boys asked. "It doesn t matter whether she is an American or not," he retorted. "Even if she were Dutch, you had no right to threaten her or to hold a knife at her throat. You only have the right to take suspicious people to the proper authorities. You cannot take the law into your own hands. "Let this be a lesson to you, that not all white people are enemies. Even among the Dutch we still have friends. Because of their nation ality they cannot take sides openly. Their countrymen would con sider that treason. As for other nationalities, this is not a war. Neutral countries can choose the side their conscience tells them to choose." After his tirade against my assailants the doctor cooled down a bit and sought to ease some of the sharpness and sting of his remarks. "I want you all to meet Sudara K tut Tantri, from Bali," he said. "Right now she is the only white friend we have, or at least the only ARE SURPRISED AND SO AM I 183 one openly to come to our From on, see no to her. Pass the word to your compatriots, and to your in the kampongs. KTtut Tantrl is oor ally." There were mumbled apologies. We shook all around. As I left the with the doctor, lie turned on me furiously. "How you be so foolish as to leave the of your hideout? ! had Intended for you tomorrow. You must never, never to take such chances again." **I promise," I said meekly. I was still at the thought of that knife at my throat. 1 spent the night at the doctor s Surabaya house and heard the story of the raiding of the Hotel Oranje. We talked far Into the night as the doctor unfolded his for me. I was to live at a secret radio station ran by the Tomo himself, from which he broadcast twice nightly. It was Radio Pemberontakan the Revolutionary Radio and was In a rambling house not far from the station, Radio Surabaya. "We expect the British to bomb Radio Surabaya any day now, so it wouldn t be for you to work there/ the doctor explained. "And should Surabaya fall to the British, you would not be safe even at the secret guerrilla station. If Radio Pemberontakan should be bombed or captured^ we have other secret stations out all over East Java, mostly in guerrilla strong holds in the moiin tains. " The doctor said I would broadcast twice nightly in the English language. My purpose would be to bring to the English-speaking peoples of the world the Indonesian story, from the Indonesian viewpoint. * 4 The English-speaking world must hear the truth of our struggle and must be brought to understand that this is not a social revolution nor a Japanese puppet government/ he said. "It is the straggle of seventy million Indonesians to free themselves from all foreign domination. "You will tell the history of our country and of our struggle over the past forty years. You will remind the English and the Americans of their famous wartime speeches that promised freedom to all peoples the world over. You can quote passages from the Atlantic Charter and the Charter of the United Nations, and report the daily happenings in Indonesia. You can tell of your own life in Indonesia."

A magazine in the English language was being started, to be called "The Voice of Free Indonesia". Through it the foreign correspondents in Batavia, and those unable to read the Indonesian language, would be fully informed about what was going on in Republican-held territory. The doctor suggested that I write for this magazine in addition to my broadcasts, and help with suggestions. "The subject matter will be left to your discretion," he said. "We don't want you to be clever, but only to tell the simple truth."

Then he warned me: "You can expect, after the Dutch have heard your broadcasts, to be maliciously slandered as they now are slandering Bung Tomo. They will ridicule your broadcasts and they'll try to riddle your reputation. They probably will depict you as an adventuress taking advantage of the situation in Indonesia. Harden your heart to all this; give it no heed. No matter what they say about you or Bung Tomo, never retaliate by slandering any individual broadcasting for the Dutch. Just give the facts. The truth will prevail."

I went to the secret station the next day and met the famous Sutomo, fondly called Bung Tomo by his followers. Bung is some what the equivalent of brother. It was customary for each man in Java to address another by the prefix "Bung." Even the President of Indonesia was called Bung Karno, never President Sukarno. And the President fully approved.

Right from the start Bung Tomo and I got along famously. He was a slight, handsome man, not more than twenty-six years old. His manner was charming in its simplicity and sincerity. His luminous eyes shone with an inward fire, and his gift for oratory was second only to that of President Sukarno. He was plainly a dedicated young man.

Bung Tomo formerly had been a newspaperman. He had an excellent education, was a stimulating conversationalist, and could charm the ducks off the water. He showed great genius in organizing the peasants and inspiring them to go forth and fight for freedom, even if only with machetes, bamboo spears, or bare hands.

The people worshiped Bung Tomo and followed him blindly. Next to President Sukarno, he was unquestionably the most popular man in Indonesia. The Dutch, of course, hated him with an unholy hate, and they showed their vindictiveness by spreading malicious and untrue stories about him in the press and on the air. They called him the worst sort of fanatic, and accused him of atrocities that shocked his sensitive soul.

ROADCASTING FOR THE GUERRILLAS

In all the years I Bung Tomo I never saw a act. He was much too gentle. True, his and virile. He told the Dutch bluntly they would never get as overlords. He if the Dutch themselves on the of Indonesia, the millions of that he controlled would to the bitter end. I no doubt I was in a to know the truth It was the of Bung Tomo held East Java. Neither the Dutch oor the British advanced any farther than Surabaya, only two or three miles from where they had landed. And Bong Tomo s broad- inspired the rest of the throughout Java to rout the Dutch. No wonder they him hated him enough to put a price on his head, or alive.

It was not before I too became an annoyance to the Dutch and was in the way as Bung Tomo.

BROADCASTING FOR THE GUERRILLAS

The situation was tense when I joined the staff of Radio Pemberontakan, the guerrilla station hidden in a back street of Surabaya, and it was only a few days later that all hell broke loose.

It started with an amazing story brought to me at the station, a story that I could not believe and refused to broadcast until I could brand it true or false. I was told that the British army, composed largely of British Indian and Gurkha troops, had been smuggling Dutch soldiers ashore at the Surabaya docks. Once on the streets of Surabaya, it was no trick for the Dutch to make their way to the locations within the unarmed and unpatrolled city where their forces could secretly be built up. The British themselves remained on their ships and on the docks, in apparent decorum.

How was the smuggling accomplished? By staining the faces of the Dutch a brown color to match the complexions of the Indians and Nepalese. How had this been discovered? Through the arrest of three soldiers believed to be Gurkhas. But the tropic heat had caused the stain to ran. The Indonesians were astonished to find that one of their prisoners was a white man with a streaked face.

I insisted upon being taken to the prison where the three men were held. The Gurkhas could not speak English, but the Dutchman could. He told me the whole story, hoping that I would use my influence to gain his release. A known Dutchman in uniform would be shot by Indonesian resistance leaders the minute he strayed away from the guarded docks, the prisoner told me. Hence it had been found useful to employ disguises, such as the facial stain. Other Dutchmen had been smuggled ashore in sacks when the British unloaded food and equipment at the Surabaya docks.

I broadcast the story. So did the Gurkhas, through the medium of one of the Indian interpreters attached to our radio station. Immediately the Indonesians tightened their watch on British activities around the docks. And then, as was expected, the British marched into the lower end of the city. Terribly aroused, the Indonesian populace raged out of control, and a fierce struggle took place on the streets. The people for the most part were unarmed, incapable of combat with a well-trained British military force. Nevertheless, the people of Surabaya fought with what they had, and many a peasant went to his death with the cry of "Merdeka" on his lips.

There was one significant fact: the Indonesian regular army, the TRI, was not bottled up in Surabaya. It was prepared when the British attacked. It was not the Indonesians who were surprised, but the British and the Dutch. The TRI was able to retreat in an orderly fashion and to establish a new base a few kilometers from the Surbaya perimeter.

One disgraceful development followed another. The British tried using Japanese soldiers against the Indonesians with some effectiveness, until a storm of protest from all over the world forced them to desist, and to change their tactics.

Meanwhile more and more Dutch regular troops were landed in Java, along with battalions of British Tommies brought in from neighboring Asian countries, from Singapore, and from Burma.

The most famous of these battalions was the British West Yorkshires. On their arrival in Surabaya they quickly learned the truth and mutinied. They laid down their firearms and said they would not fight the Indonesians.

"We have been brought here under false pretenses," their spokesman said. "We were told that we only to a of a few and puppets, on for the Dutch. Now we find that seventy million are to their We just a war to our own We will not to suppress the liberty of another country."

One of the officers of the that he could not force the to IB the of a of war between and Britain. **We have no anyway," he conceded. _ A few days the regiment was called to England. The reason for its abrupt was tip, but I learned about it from a most authoritative source. One of the of this was the violent of Brigadier Mallaby, in or his car in the of Surabaya. Mallaby, commander of the in the had just left the scene of the signing, with Sukarno, of a temporary truce between the Indonesians and the British. Sukarno had upon the people to refrain from violence until they further from him.

The British at the slaying, and promptly blamed the Indonesians. The out that they had nothing to and much to lose the murder of the brigadier. They attributed the killing to provocateurs, agents of the Dutch hoping to undermine the relations between British and Indonesians. Then British Lieutenant General Sir Philip Christison, Allied commander in chief for the East Indies, announced that "unless the Indonesians responsible for Brigadier Mallaby T s immediately surrender, I intend to bring the whole weight of land, air and sea forces against them until they are crushed."

It was an intemperate and irresponsible statement for a high-ranking Britisher to make, and it incensed the Indonesians. Street fighting broke out again. Surabaya became a city of lawlessness. There were horrifying atrocities on both sides. People were afraid to go into the streets, or even to open their doors. Radio Surabaya had been bombed out of existence, but as yet Radio Pemberontakan had not been discovered. We continued to send out the news. President Sukarno made a last appeal to the Prime Minister of England to withdraw all British troops from Indonesia or to prevent them from intervening on the side of the Dutch. The appeal was fruitless. No official attention was paid to Sukarno's plea.

At Radio Pemberontakan, when I was not broadcasting I was painting and drawing Indonesian banners and posters for the guerrillas. I borrowed largely on American and French history for the slogans extracts from the sayings of Jefferson, Thomas Paine, Washington, Beaumarchais, and others. I had made a particular white banner with these words in red: ABRAHAM LINCOLN WALKS AGAIN IN INDONESIA. Referring, of course, to his freeing of the slaves. The guerrillas were exceedingly pleased with this banner. However, when the banners appeared on the streets of Surabaya, I was surprised to find that the wording had been altered slightly. Now the banners read: ABE WALKS AGAIN IN INDONESIA. I was amused, but when Bung Tomo saw the new version he ordered the banners destroyed and the original wording restored. "Abe sounds like something from American comic strips," he said. "It is very disrespectful to abbreviate the name of a man of the greatness of Abraham Lincoln." But Abe he remained to the simple people. One and all, they loved Abe Lincoln.

Bung Tomo was now living in and broadcasting from Malang, south of Surabaya in East Java. Surabaya had become unsafe for a man with such a price on his head. Arrangements had been made to transfer me also, If the situation became dangerous. And danger was near at hand. Dutch planes and radio station finders had been searching everywhere for Radio Pemberontakan, and the planes had been circling over our area for days. Our station was cunningly concealed.

We were still undiscovered when the most shocking development of the whole Revolution occurred. It was the turning point for the Indonesians. And I nearly lost my life.

I have read many books by Americans, Dutch, English, and other nationalities on the Indonesian Revolution. Strange as it may seem, I have found none that tells the story of the bombing of Surabaya in detail. It was an atrocious deed against a defenseless city. All the authors have glossed over this revolting act of an undeclared war.

After the death of Brigadier Mallaby, a new general took charge and immediately put into effect a get-tough policy. Through thousands of pamphlets dropped from planes and by radio broadcasts he ordered all the Indonesian leaders, army officers, and radio officials in the Surabaya area to bring to a designated place, at a specified time, their contraband weapons. They were to drop the firearms on the ground ax$d ? with liands over their to the p^ir.t where the British command would be waiting to accept formal surrender. If they did not comply by sundown of the next day, the city of Surabaya would be bombed and kept until they did comply. This ultimatum was too to be seriously. The Indo nesians accepted it naturally as kind of monstrous joke. Surely the British would not attack an open city, a defenseless city with virtually no military aspect, a city devoid of air-raid shelters and sur rounded by the kampongs of the poor. I was shocked to hear of this ultimatum, and immediately broad cast a warning to the that the British could make no greater mistake to Surabaya. "The Indonesians will never accept your terms, if you Surabaya to the ground and kill every and and child/* I at him. "The ultima tum is an insult to the and to their intelligence. If you go through with it you will add a black to British history."

The the broadcast, and the Indonesians ignored the ultimatum. The outcome was the bombing of Surabaya by the British on consecutive days and nights. Hundreds upon hundreds were killed. The streets ran with blood, women and chil dren lay dead In the gutters. Kampongs were in flames, and the people led in panic to the relative safety of the rice fields. But the Indo nesians did not surrender. At Radio Pemberontakan only three of us were in the station when the shells began falling in our part of the city. Our Indonesian broad caster had gone to the mountains only the day before to make arrange ments for our removal to a new and more secure location. An Arab employee and I were in the broadcasting studio, and we were unhurt. Our Indian broadcaster had gone to the rear of the house to the toilet. Fragments of a mortar shell ripped into him ? killing him almost Instantly. Only my dog, Brani, lying under a table In the dining room, thumping his tall furiously and gnawing at a bone, was undis turbed. After the third day and third night of the barbarous assaolt, the hospital and streets were jammed with pitiful victims. Because of the sustained attack, no medical reinforcements had reached Sura baya; and there were not half enough trained nurses or doctors to attend the wounded. Sick from the terror and suffering everywhere about, and much too Inexperienced to be of any use around the hospital, I decided that I might be of some help in the kampongs, among the poor people.

I shall never forget the sights in the villages. One old man sat in the corner of his hovel staring into space. "What is the matter, bapa?" I asked. "What is troubling you?" He gazed at me unseeingly for a time, then rose and led me into a small bedroom. There, laid out on the floor, were the bodies of three young men, ranging in age from about fourteen to seventeen. "My sons," said the old man. "They died for Merdeka."

These were only three of the thousands who died in the bombing of Surabaya. Back at the station I found the doctor, who had just come in from Malang.

"You must leave Surabaya at once," he said. "We have arranged for you to go to the radio station at Bangkil [about sixty kilometers away]. You will leave tonight with a military escort. Bangkil will be safe for the time being, but for how long who knows?"

I told the doctor I did not want to leave Surabaya. "I don't care a g for my life right now," I said. "I am deeply ashamed that Englishmen should have brought so much misery to the Indonesian people."

"Don t be too distressed on that score, Sudara K'tut," the doctor said. "There are thousands of good English and good people of other countries who feel exactly as you do. Protests are coming from all over the world. It is a cruel thing to say, but the bombing of Surabaya in the long run may prove to be a good thing for the Indonesians. Until now, little attention has been given internationally to this part of the world and its troubles. Now Indonesia is very much the center of the attention of the peoples of the world, and of the United Nations."

The doctor finally agreed that I might stay in Surabaya one more day. After he had left the station 1 went calling on the consuls and other representatives of the foreign countries with diplomatic or commercial attaches in Surabaya, the Danes, the Swiss, the Russians, and the Swedes. I asked them to join me in a broadcast that night protesting the bombings. I urged each to tell his respective country what he thought of the British action. Everyone agreed. That night we told our story, and it had a broad effect. Stations in other lands picked up the broadcast and sent it out again to their listeners. Newspapers in distant countries picked up the text and used it for editorials. The of all, ! interviewed, from a White Russian. Yes; the of was the turning in the Indonesian Revolution, It was also the turning point for me. I not my at the station. From now on 1 would never be without It. "Meideka Mati." I would go forth proudly, fearlessly, with no concern for my own life, 1 would stay with the Indonesians, win or lose. Perhaps^ as a British woman, I could up in way for the incalculable my conntrymen had wrought. The day the consuls" broadcast^ we closed down the Surabaya facility of Radio Pemberontakan. We of the eqeipment in an Then,, in a by three TRI soldiers,, I proceeded without to Bangkil. The day, in Bangkil, Radio was on the air in the English language. Bung Tomo, nightly from his station in Malang, came to or twice a to with us. It most be made clear was the of the guerrilla Sghters, as the of the Republic of Indonesia which at Jogjakarta, the mid-Java city to which President Sukarno and moved Jakarta (Batavia) after the British had occupied that city, and at Sorakarta, another In land city commonly known as Solo. Our Radio Pemberontakan had a number of transmitting stations spread throughout the mountains in East Java, Even* evening after our broadcasts we listened to the broadcasts of the Dutch-controlled stations in Jakarta and Bandung. We took special care to tune in on the unofficial stations, for it was from these stations that the worst kind of lying propaganda against Indonesia was broadcast. One night ? much to my astonishment and to the amusement of the Indonesians listening with me we heard a broadcast promising 50,000 guilders to any Indonesian who would bring K tut Tantri into the Dutch military headquarters at Surabaya, or to any other Dutch- controlled place. Usually we did not bother to reply to Dutch broad casts except when something seriously required a rebuttal. But this time we had to have our fun. I went on the air ? called the Dutch 192 REVOLT IN PARADISE station, identified myself and said I considered their offer to the Indo nesians a triie mean. "You know that the Dutch guilder is worthless in Indonesia now/ I said. "We have our own currency. But if you Dutch will donate half a million guilders to the Indonesians to continue their struggle for Merdeka, I shall most willingly walk into yonr headquarters under my own steam." All the radio stations in Java picked up my broadcast, and there was much chuckling at the clumsy Dutch maneuver. We heard no more about the matter. They did not repeat the offer. We had never a dull moment at the Bangkil station. There was always much to do. One day three young men with the familiar red- and-white armbands drew up in a jeep and asked for me, saying that they had been sent by Bung Tomo to bring me to Malang. It did not occur to me to doubt them. We had recently been talking of leaving Bangkil shortly, for the station was too accessible, too easy to find. I packed the few things I had and joined the boys in the jeep. After we had been riding for some miles I realized that we had turned off from the road to Malang. "This is not our road," I said. "Where are you going?"

The leader of the group calmly turned toward me. "Consider yourself kidnapped," he said. "You are on your way to Tretes, in the mountains."

They went on to explain that they had a radio transmitter in their mountain retreat, under the command of an Indonesian army major. But they had no one to broadcast in the English language. They assured me that they, too, were freedom fighters, and that I had nothing to fear.

"Bung Tomo's stations have had a monopoly on your services long enough/ 7 the leader said. "Now it is our turn. You are becoming famous as a broadcaster. People all over Java tune in just to hear you/ I had heard of this major and his mountain fort, and what I had heard I did not like. He dressed all his followers in black shirts and he lived like a bandit, in considerable splendor. But he was one hundred per cent behind Merdeka. No one could accuse him of not being a real freedom fighter. He was ruthless in his methods, dangerous and fanatical. Spies, when captured, were put to death im mediately, often without a chance to defend their innocence. His own BROADCASTING GUERRILLAS 193 followers were afraid of him. \\Then 1 was brought to his headquarters introduced he was for kidnaping me. He I would be much in the mountains with him In the village of Bangkil. "And all, it not where you broadcast." He shrugged. "If s all for the cause."

There would be nothing by showing anger. I was confident that the minute I from this mountain stronghold my friends at Bangkil would what had happened t so I decided to make the of It. Sometimes young men acted like children. They enjoyed playing jokes on each other, and the Black Shirts considered this a good foke on Bung Tomo. I think that there also was some personal jealousy Involved.

So now 1 was with the Shirts Tretes. They lived like Robin Hoods In the mountains, rich Chinese merchants to get money and for the and for the villagers. A week and more went by while I wondered what my friends were thinking and whether Dr. S, had of my kidnaping. Then one night as 1 was strolling down the my broadcast, not far from the camp but far to be out of view, I was startled by two young men who out of the bushes. "Sadara ICtut, don t be afraid/ one said. "We are friends, from Bangkil." I recognized them at once. "\Ve have a track hidden down the road a little way/* they said. iA !f you hurry we can be away from Tretes before any of the Black Shirts realize that you have not returned." We hurried to the track and were on oor way. The next day I re sumed broadcasting from Bangkil, and my rescuers amused all of Bung Tomo ? s boys with their tale of my rekldnapiiig. It was a relief to me to get away from the major. Although he was Invariably charm- Ing and courteous to me, I considered him a most dangerous man and a menace to the cause. Sometime later I received a letter from him telling me that I would be back with him In Tretes before I knew It. Before this coeld happen he was arrested by the Indonesian minister for defense and pronounced Insane. A few weeks after my return to Bangkil Dutch planes began to circle over the town, apparently seeking the exact location of our radio station. We received Instructions to dismantle the station and 194 REVOLT IN PARADISE leave at once, and we did this under cover of night. We loaded food and our equipment into a track and drove to the mountains to an address we had been given. From there we pushed on the next day to a place behind Modjokerto. For this trip we used horses. No tracks could proceed up the steep, rocky trail. Our new home was much like the camp of the black-shirted major, a real mountain kampong. We made ourselves as comfortable as we could and began setting up our equipment. To our distress we discovered that one of the most im portant parts of the transmitter had been smashed on the long trek. Without it, our Voice of Merdeka could not be heard. Radio transmitter spare parts by now were almost impossible to End. We sat around our campfire gloomily, wondering what to do. No use to send a runner to Malang, the nearest accessible city. Radio Malang had recently had the very same trouble. "What a pity we cannot go to Surabaya/ one of the young men said. "Remember? We stored a lot of equipment in that basement near our old station. In that stock is exactly what we need." But Surabaya was out of the question. By now the British had full control, and had guarded all the entrances to the city with road blocks and Tommies or Gurkha troops. The British had no wish to empty the city or to prevent the normal routine of living. Thus there was a constant flow of native traffic into and out of Surabaya, but every Indonesian entering or leaving was searched. The radio parts we needed would be too heavy and too large to conceal. The next morning a courier arrived with news that the Bangkil radio station had been bombed. We had moved the equipment out just in time. We only hoped that none of the villagers had been hurt. We were sitting on our mats having breakfast when the chieftain of this particular guerrilla camp calmly said, "Sudara K tut, we have worked out a plan while you slept. We know how to get into Surabaya and bring back that radio equipment!" "I knew you would come up with something," I said, with great satisfaction. "How will you do it?" He unfolded to me his plan, and it gave me goose flesh to hear him. I had witnessed or been informed about many plans "operations," as the guerrillas loved to call them but none so fantastic as this one. I stared at them half in amazement, half in admiration. It was to be known as Operation Nursie. And this was the plan: I was to become a nurse. A white uniform would be made for me, BROADCASTING 195 a red with "International Cross*" on my sleeve. A set of and a with my attached, would claim me as and this was sheer com Molly McTavish. The provide an on which would be daringly printed INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS. A private hospital at Modjokerto would supply the ambnknce. A guerrilla chieftain would drive the ambulance, wearing a chauffeur s uniform. Inside would be two other guerrillas, one in as the "patient" and the other, dressed in white, as an intern. We would drive into Surabaya right through the British roadblocks, for who would dare stop an ambulance of the International Red Cross earning a desperately wounded man to Surabaya for a transfusion? "Of course,, we to be stopped/" my informant. "That is where you in. You, as a white woman with a very British voice, would not be by a British standing guard at the road block. What with the iiniform 7 the ambulance, and the sick man inside, we be into the city. Inside Surabaya we will to the go straight to where our radio parts are hidden. The man and the Intern will load the equipment into the ambulance hide it under the seat. Then they will start back to camp by walking through the fields, over the moun tains. You, the nurse, I, the ambulance driver, will drive back in style" \\Tiat astonished me most about the Indonesian guerrillas was their colossal nerve and their thoroughness for detail. Time and again I was surprised that illiterate peasant men could think out the smallest details, the most strategic moves, in a realistic manner, and make them work. I pointed out that there was at this time no International Red Cross in Java. I suggested that it might be dangerous to masquerade as such. Don t let that worry you," the chieftain said breezily. "British Tommies are not so bright. They wouldn t know an International Red Cross from an International Pub." My friend was joking 7 of course. I knew, if he didn t, that the British forces are among the best politically informed soldiers in the world. There was no alternative but for me to go along with their planning, foolhardy though it might be. Was I not one of them, dedicated to 196 REVOLT IN PARADISE Indonesia Merdeka? In just a few days I was nurse Molly McTavish, Immaculate In starched white uniform and cap, secure In my identi fication papers stamped with a seal of the International Red Cross. As everyone knows who has lived In Java or Bali, the Indonesians are bom actors. The ambulance arrived with INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS painted brazenly on Its side, complete with khaki-dad driver with a cap bearing the band of the International Red Cross. I peered Inside and gasped. A man was swathed In bandages so that he was unrec ognizable, and the bandages were bloody. Don t be afraid/ 7 the sick man said. "It s only chicken blood." The intern wore a white uniform with a Red Cross emblem. Trembling from head to foot I took my place beside the chauffeur. Then just as we were about to start one of the guerrillas handed me what he called an "egg." "What Is this?" I asked. "It s a hand grenade. In case you ran Into trouble. You mustn t get captured. All you have to do is pull the pin and throw it as hard as you can." I jumped down from the seat of the ambulance. "I did not know this was a military operation," I said angrily. "I am not going along if we take any firearms with us." I insisted on searching inside the ambulance, and was disgusted to find a Tommy gun and a couple of pistols. Obviously my companions were expecting to run into trouble. After much arguing the men finally agreed that they would not take along any firearms, but would leave our fate In the hands of Allah. With this, we started on our adventure. I am sure that they were as nervous as I was, but they did not show it. We drove along In silence, mile after mile. When we neared the roadblock guarding this particular entrance to Surabaya, the chauffeur started the ambulance siren, hop- Ing we might be able to drive through without stopping for Inspection. But a British soldier and two Gurkhas with rifles stopped us. The Englishman came over, and almost fell into the ambulance with surprise at seeing a white woman. "Well, fancy meeting a white woman in this God-forsaken place," he said. "What Is your name, miss?" "Molly McTavish," I replied in the strongest Scotch accent I could muster. "And what would your name be?" He told me his name, said he hated Surabaya, and was homesick for London; and we were friends in a minute. He asked me, in BROADCASTING FOR THE GUERRILLAS 197 cockney accents, to him when we were off doty. "I would love to, but I can t any longer now," I said. <4 The Inside the ambulance Is very ill, and every minute counts. I am taking him to the Surabaya hospital for a transfusion. We are from the hospital at Modjokerto, and we are not equipped to give transfusions.* The cockney looked inside the ambulance. "Och, the poor man," 1 he said. "What bloody bandages!" "We ll be back through in about an hour/ 7 I told him. "If you re still we can talk a little longer, perliaps, and see what we can work out on my day off." He beamed at me 7 and said, "All the King s men couldn t move me out of until you come back, Molly." The waved us on our way through the empty streets of Sura baya. Not a soul was to be seen. Certainly not all the inhabitants could have ied the city, but at this hour at least they were remaining under cover. Only the poor starving were around, howling the call of the dead. Whatever we had looked for, we had not expected a ghost town. We so tense that we said never a word until we reached the where our equipment was stored. We hur ried inside, then sat down hysterically. We found the radio parts in good condition, along with a sack of American canned foods and a carton of cigarettes. Swiftly we loaded the ambulance, fearful that any minute British or Dutch soldiers might come along. The sick man unwound his bandages, and the intern dis carded his uniform and donned a sarong and fez. Now they were two ordinary hungry coolies, on the prowl for food. We said our good-bys and wished them luck. It would take them two days, at least, to get back to camp. The chieftain and ! started back to camp at once. When we reached the roadblock again, sure enough, there stood our little cockney friend waiting for us. We gave him the carton of cigarettes and he was ever so pleased. We talked of Engknd a bit, and he gave me his mother s address in London. We made tentative ar rangements to meet in Surabaya at the Hotel Oranje the following Sunday an engagement that I, of course, had no intention of keeping, 4 "If I don t show up, you ll know we had an emergency and I couldn t get away," I said. **In that case 111 write to you." He tried to talk to the chauffeur. "No savvy Engleesh," the chieftain said. I chuckled inwardly, for this Indonesian had been a lawyer, was educated in Holland, and could speak English much better than did the cockney. "Molly, what a brave girl you are," the guard said as we prepared to leave. "Living alone among a lot of black men, and nursing them when they are sick. Bless you. And I ll see you on Sunday? 77 "That you will/ 7 1 replied. As we drove homeward the chieftain remarked, "That was really a very sympathetic soldier. You must not stand him up next Sunday. It will be better for you to write him a note that you have been trans ferred to Malang. I wouldn t like to see him hurt or have him know that we have deceived him." This did not surprise me. I had found from experience that the Indonesian men fighting for merdeka were a very sensitive lot, tender hearted in the extreme. This man had not even been oiended at having his countrymen being called "blacks." "The Englishman did not know any better," he said. I had not fully realized the tension of our journey until weariness hit me as we reached our camp. Our return had been anxiously awaited, and we were royally welcomed, with many embraces and extravagant praise. Operation Nursie had been a great success. That night we had a great feast: canned beans, corned beef, and pineapple chunks, and after dinner we sat around the fire while the Indonesians sang sad songs of days gone by. The following morning all evidence was destroyed. The sick man and the intern staggered into camp a day later, ravenously hungry but otherwise unharmed. With the radio transmitter repaired, once more the Voice of Free Indonesia was on the air. And all was well at the camp.

TRANSFER TO JOGJAKARTA

The life of an Indonesian partisan was very hard at times. There were no luxuries, was a general food shortage. We ate twice a day, usually the thing rice and ground chili pods, and half a salted dock egg for person. Sometimes we had a soup of native leaves and vegetables In coconut milk. Banana leaves served as plates, our spoons were little scoopers fashioned from banana leaves. There was always plenty of coffee? for Java Is a coffee-growing country. Our camp was in the mountains between Malang and Sura baya. The town Modjokerto, twenty miles away by road. Except for Surabaya, all of East Java was still in the hands of the Indonesians. The Indonesian army from East Java was stationed a few miles the Surabaya perimeter, firing between the Eng lish and the Indonesians was going OH constantly. Of course the guerrillas were doing their to make life hazardous for the Dutch and the English. In Indonesian-held territory throughout Java all was running well under the new government. This fact seemed to surprise the world, and most of all the British. They were now fully aware that they had been led by the Dutch into a false position, that the new Republic of Indonesia was not merely a, rebel uprising. President Sukarno, wishing tie outside world to know that all was under control In Indonesian territory, decided to make a tour by special train to East Java. From his headquarters In Jogjakarta he invited a few foreign correspondents all of them stationed In British- and Dutch-held Batavia, or Jakarta^ as the Indonesians knew itto join him In the Inspection tour. This was in the early days of the Revolution, not long after the bombing of Surabaya. It was unsafe for white men to move about most of Indonesia, and no Western correspondents had yet visited Jogjakarta or other Republican strongholds, or East Java. However, as members of the entourage of the President they would certainly be safe. They could see for themselves that the Indonesians were capable of running their own country. 200 REVOLT IN PARADISE It was decided that President Sukarno should "bring the corre spondents to Selects, once a popular Dutch mountain resort and not far from Malang. Selecta had long been known for its fine resort hotel, one of the most luxurious of its type in all of Java. Now the hotel, still run by a Swiss manager, was bullet-ridden and run down. The village of Selecta itself was now a guerrilla stronghold. To our mountain camp one day came a special courier with a letter from one of the commanders of East Java. He asked me to go im mediately to Selecta to meet President Sukarno and the foreign correspondents who would be with him, so that they the foreign correspondents might hear from a white person the story of the Indonesian straggle for independence. And I was to be that white person. I discarded my sarong and sandals and put on my one and only dress. To my sleeve I attached the red-and-white armband, "Merdeka atau Mati," though I knew that the band in all probability would cause raised eyebrows among the correspondents. When I arrived at the Selecta hotel I found the meeting room filled with army personnel. Most of the guerrilla leaders of East Java were there, including Bung Tomo, who chose to remain incognito to all except President Sukarno. There were perhaps a dozen white cor respondentsEnglish, American, Australian, Canadian, French and, understandably, no Dutchmen. There were also British Indians, Chinese, and Indonesians. The big radio networks and news services were represented BBC, NBC, the Associated Press, Reuter s as were magazines such as Life, Time, and Newsweek, and some of the important papers of the United States, Great Britain, and Australia. Naturally I was extremely conspicuous in this room crowded with men the only white woman free to travel about the interior of Java and I was more than a little nervous. I had been aware that my broadcasts had been heard in Batavia and elsewhere and that I had been quoted by Western correspondents. I quickly learned from the newsmen that what I had thought to be a little local notoriety had actually reached global proportions. The British, apparently mis understanding my name, had been referring to me in their dispatches as Miss Daventry. "We have pictured you as a gun-slinging moll, a sort of camp follower of the guerrilla leaders," one correspondent said. "You don t io 201 look so and from your voice you to be teaching diction In high school." I was amused. 1 have never a in my hand, and I never will. I violence of any kind. To the questioning, I 4tt l trying to tell the of the world what the Indonesians are hoping to achieve the liberty, tie right to self-government is justly theirs. And I try to impress the Dutch and ? to a degree, the British with the of the errors that are committed deliberately. I know that I have been damned and maliciously slandered by the Dutch. They have accused me of infamous things. The Dutch are beginning to realize they will never get back into Indonesia,, so they vent their on those who help the Indo nesians. I no the Dutch individually, but only Dutch colonialism," Some of the correspondents were sympathetic, others were an tagonistic. Later I friends with several of them. After the interview one of the wanted to introduce me to President Sukarno. But I felt shy and embarrassed. I wanted only to get back to the camp as quickly as possible. The following day several different radio broadcasts carried the story, and 1 was grieved amazed to learn that an account of my private life was thought more important by the press than the straggle of seventy million people for freedom. Newspaper clippings which arrived later were equally upsetting, though in justice it should be said that some of the writers did try to understand my motives. An editorial from one of the leading eastern newspapers of the United States said in part: "It is hard to think of Scottish-bom ICtnt Tantri leaving the land with the highest standard of living in the world and going Indo nesian in an international sort of a way at least to the extent of tak ing the Atlantic Charter and the UNO Charter seriously. It is hard to think of this but it is just possible that she is way ahead of the rest of us, internationally speaking/ 7 A week or so after the Selecta visit I was surprised to receive an official letter, delivered personally by a high-ranking Indonesian officer, inviting me to come to Jogjakarta and present myself at the Indonesian Ministry of Information. Jogjakarta or Jogja 7 as we usu ally referred to it had become the capital of the Republic of Indo- 202 REVOLT IN PARADISE nesia, and the President and most of his Cabinet lived there. The letter said that Mr. Ali Sastroamidjojo, the minister for informa tion, had concluded that I could better serve the cause of merdeka by broadcasting over the official radio in Djokjakarta than by remaining with the "extremist" radios of East Java. The revolutionary station,, Radio Pemberontakan, could be heard only in the Indonesian islands, or perhaps as far as Singapore. Radio Djokjakarta the Voice of Free Indonesia could be heard around the world. I did not want to go to Jogjakarta. I had grown to love my guer rilla friends and would have preferred staying with my own little group under the direct leadership of Bung Tomo, whom I liked and admired; with his great ardor, his integrity of purpose, his tremen dous courage, and above all his humanity to his followers, he was certainly Java s most colorful gure. The superstitious looked on him as a sort of god living a charmed life. He was, in fact, a very clever young man. To confuse the Dutch, who sent hundreds of spies to hunt him down, he had at least twenty men made up to resemble him, and the man they caught was always someone else. He was the Scarlet Pimpernel of Java, a Robin Hood of the mountains. Like all the guerrillas, he had taken an oath to let his hair grow long until merdeka had been attained. Yes, I was sad to leave Bung Tomo and East Java; but I realized that I must go. Right from the start I loved Jogjakarta. It was not much more, really, than an overgrown village, but it was the seat of culture for all Java. The most beautiful batiks were made there, and the finest hand-tooled silverware. There was only one main street of shops, most of them owned and run by Chinese or Indians. But most of Java s artists and writers lived in Jogjakarta. It was a city of refine ment, the like of which I have never seen in any other country except Bali. But then Jogja was much more sophisticated than Bali. The surrounding country was beautiful lovely rolling hills grow ing suddenly into mountains. The great Borobudur, one of the wonders of the world, was nearby. In Jogja itself was the beautiful pakce of the Sultan Buwono, actually a city in itself with its own army, its own world-famous dancers. The Sultan Buwono lived there in fantastic splendor, a handsome and charming man, and an ardent revolutionary in spite of his feudal way of life and his great wealth. I was put up at the comfortable, attractive Merdeka Hotel, in the TO 205 of town. 1 Ali to fee and sophisticated. He had lived for a in Paris, and had traveled widely. the war, was still of the Dutch empire^ he Sukarno Java to gether, enlisting the of in quest for a Indonesia. he Sukarno had arrested by the Dutch. Later AH was to be Minister for a time, and Indo nesian to the United States, and later of the Indo nesian to the United Nations. But HOW, in 1946 ? he was the minister for information. The irst thing Mr. Ali me to do was to write a speech in English for President Sukarno, for a radio broadcast. I demurred, for I did not consider competent or clever enough. I no training in speech-writing on this level. But Mi. Ali said, **Just try and think if you president^ what would you say? You know the situation in Indonesia." So prompted, I concentrated on everything I could remember written or said by the great of the American Revolution in their fight to free the British. I could hardly go wrong in following them. After working all night, I came up with a speech that was a composite of the writings of Thomas Paiee ? Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, a dozen other immortals! It was a good speech, if I may say so, thanks to my familiarity with the history of the American Revolution and my retentive memory. Afterward I learned President Sukarno spoke fluent English, and was a far better speaker and writer than I was, but this was his irst broadcast in English, and I suppose he felt he should be guided by one whose mother tongue was English. The broadcast was a success. As I listened to the deep, emo tional voice I was immensely touched. The President gave the speech a significance far beyond the words themselves. Immediately after ward he sent for me to call upon him at the palace. As the President s Palace was only a short distance from the Merdeka Hotel, I decided to walk. I wanted the people to get ac customed to seeing me strolling alone in the streets. So I set out, dressed as usual in sarong and kebaya with red-and-white armband plainly showing. Before I had gone a hundred yards I had people fol lowing me. By the time I reached the palace I felt like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. They were intrigued at seeing a white woman in native 204 REVOLT IN PARADISE clothing. They smiled at me and were full of good humor. I never felt safer in my life. As I turned in at the palace gates they shouted, "Merdeka!" I, of course, replied, "Tetap Merdeka." Merdeka for ever, for all time! I walked up a long driveway, to be greeted at the door "by an aide who showed me into a luxurious sitting room. There was a delay of some minutes, and when the President entered I was astonished to see him in Indonesian dress a sarong with a brief coat, and Indonesian headdress. In the hundreds of pictures I had seen of him in magazines or newspapers he was always in white duck or khaki uniform. I do not believe any white person had ever seen him wear ing a sarong. Very handsome he was in it, too. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting," he said. "I was wearing a uniform, but when I saw you coming up the drive in your lovely sarong I went and changed. I felt that if you went to the trouble to dress in native clothing, I must certainly receive you in Indonesian dress." When his beautiful wife joined us later, she too wore native cos tume. The evening passed swiftly. We talked of many things of Bali and America, the recent war, the British attack on Indonesia, the attitude of the Dutch, and even about the Japanese occupation. When I returned to the hotel it was in the presidential limousine, in the company of two young officers. The President would not hear of me returning to the hotel on foot, since it was now dark. "We can t afford to take any chance of losing you/ 7 he said. On this first visit President Sukarno made a point of compli menting me on the way I wore Indonesian clothes, saying that be cause of my small stature they were very becoming. I was reminded that he had a reputation for being very gallant to the fair sex young or old, ugly or beautiful. Now I could believe it. He told me later that every woman has at least one good feature, and that it is only a matter of observation to discover it. Some women have beautiful hair, some a divine figure. Some women walk well, some have a genius for wearing clothes, some have bewitching eyes, and others a lovely complexion. The President evidently thought I looked well in sarong, sandals, and kebaya. One could not help admiring President Sukarno. He was full of humor, and at times a great tease. Later, when he took me to Kediri TO JOGJAKARTA 205 to his mother, who was from Bali, It delighted I to her in Balinese. The President loved his deeply was always most humble In her presence. It was touching to see in front of her to receive her blessing, even after lie be come one of the most powerful national leaders in Asia. It was this humble quality him to his people. As he once me 7 he would never make a for he had not a dictator s heart. Not long after my arrival in Jogjakarta the Indonesian minister for defense, Amir Sjarifoddin 7 for me. He also was living at the Merdeka Hotel, his rooms directly across from mine with a court yard between. This was my irst meeting with a man one of the big four of the Revolution whom I consider the most utterly sincere Indonesian I have known. Even many years I cannot think about Bung Amir without emotion. I was very of him, and more closely associ ated with him with the Ministry for Defense during the Revo lution than I was with the Ministry of Information. With President Sukarno, Dr. Hatta and Sutan Sjahrir, he was the power behind the Revolution, a truly man. Bung Amir must have been bora under an unlucky star. One of the important leaders of the underground during the Japanese occupation of Java, he was arrested by them, tortured and sentenced to death. Only the intervention of Sukarno saved his life. The Presi dent convinced the Japanese that if they executed a man so well loved by his people they would tern all Indonesians against them. So Sjarifuddin s sentence was reduced to life imprisonment. The capitu lation of the Japanese brought about his release, and he immedi ately became one of the key figures in the Revolution. It was bitterly ironic, then, as well as tragic, that lie was fated to be executed by his own countrymen. Amir Sjarifuddin was a small man, about the size of Bung Tomo but a different type altogether. Where Tomo was glamorous, dashing, and mysterious, Bung Amir was just the opposite: very serious and unobtrusive, by nature quiet and extremely refined. He abhorred personal publicity. Good-natured and always smiling, he could yet be very sharp and very witty. He had been educated in law in Hol land, and spoke several languages, including English and Dutch. 206 REVOLT IN PARADISE Above all he was a deeply religious man, having embraced the Chris tian religion. At our first meeting we talked for some time of the Revolution, the Japanese occupation, and especially of the Kempetai, for we had both suffered at the hands of the Nipponese secret police. Then abruptly he asked whether I would be able to tell the difference be tween a Dutchman and an Australian. "I can t imagine anyone not being able to tell the difference/* I said. "The Australian accent would be enough. Why do you ask?" "It s like this/ 7 he replied. "An officer in British uniform has been captured in the rice fields outside the Surabaya perimeter. He ad mits that he is an officer in an English regiment stationed in Surabaya but insists that he is an Australian. The army commandant at Mod- jokerto suspects that he may be a Dutch spy, for what was he doing in the sawah fields outside of Surabaya? Most of our people are un able to distinguish among the different nationalities of Europeans. They say that you white people all look alike. Now, this man may not be too safe in the Modjokerto hospital if the people get it into their heads that he is a Dutchman or a Dutch spy. If he is really an Australian, we will have to take special measures to make sure that no harm comes to him." Bung Amir went on to say that there was another Britisher at the hospital, very seriously wounded an English pilot shot down while lying over Modjokerto. "I would like for you to go to Modjokerto and have a look at these two men/ Sjarifuddin said. "It is a long and dangerous drive, through country held solely by the guerrillas. I will send you in a military car, and an officer will accompany you. If you are stopped, you will need him. You will have identification papers signed by me. Now, if you feel that you would rather not take on this assign ment, think no more about it." I assured Bung Amir that I would be happy to go to Modjokerto. "I am sure I shall be perfectly safe," I told him. "I have lived with the partisans in the mountains back of Modjokerto. I am well known to the people of that district. They are my friends." An Indonesian colonel and I set out on the long drive to East Java. The roads were in a dreadful condition, and we were stopped many times by barricades. At each roadblock my papers were in- TO 207 of my escort of rani, we were and with of "Merdeka!" At Modjokerto, while my colonel went to confer with the I was to the of the he was an Australian. I him ? swathed in bandages, sitting op In bed and well A young Indonesian officer sat be- him, and they had talking. When I walked in he stared, and exclaimed., * 4 What do you know! A Red Cross nurse; a white woman! Am I dreaming?" I thought he was to out of his bed in his obvious surprise and delight. "Are you a Dutch girl?" he "Xo, I am not Dutch. I am a British-bom American. And I am not a Red Cross nurse/* "Well, is Cross around your arm?" I explained: 4 lt is not a Red Cross It is the badge of the Revolution." I him I had sent by the Indonesian minister for defense to ind out he was all right, and if there was any thing that he needed. "All right!" he exclaimed. "I have never been so well in my whole life! The and nurses are very kind to me. My friend the lieutenant visits me every- day and brings me cigarettes. When he is not here, the cutest little English-speaking nurses come In and talk to me. 1 am surprised that 1 am treated so well, since ! am supposed to be the enemy. But I am not their enemy, and 1 never was." He went on to tell me the story of his regiment^ the West Yorkshires. This was the first I had heard it how the regiment was brought to Indonesia from Bunna ? ostensibly to help the Dutch put down an uprising of a few extremists and Japanese puppets bent on making trouble in Java; how before long the men discovered that they had been deceived, that it was not a rebellion of a handful of extremlsts 7 but a fight for freedom on the part of seventy million Indonesians. This so disgusted the West Yorkshires, the Australian said, that they simply put down their weapons and refused to fight. High British officers came to Surabaya to look Into the mutiny, and found the West Yorkshires stubbornly determined not to ire upon the Javanese. Ultimately, in the absence of a declaration of war against the Indo- 208 REVOLT IN PARADISE nesians, the British High Command took new stock of its position and decided to withdraw that particular regiment as quickly and as quietly as possible. He said that a few days before the scheduled removal, he was ordered to take a few men and go on a reconnaissance tour of Sura baya perimeter. The patrol became lost, and found itself in rice elds outside the perimeter. Trying to find their way back to the city limits, the white men were surprised by a group of natives armed with bamboo spears and machetes. A fight started, and the other members of the patrol were killed. Although badly wounded, he escaped notice by hiding in a deep ditch. Later some Indonesian soldiers of the regular army found him and took him to the Modjokerfo hospital. It was plain as could be that this was no Dutchman. He was like a jumping kangaroo the whole time he was talking, and he had a most pronounced Western Australian accent. He said he was from Perth, and gave me the address of his mother. "Please let her know that I am safe and that I will be home soon." I assured him that I would broadcast the news that he was alive and well the very next day, and that I would also write to his mother. Then with the young Indonesian accompanying me I went down the hall to the room of the English pilot. He was a very young man, surely no more than twenty-one years old, and very sick indeed. He was much too ill to notice attractive Indonesian nurses but was so overcome at seeing a white person that he clung to me as though I were his mother. I sat with him as long as the doctors would permit, and I promised that as soon as he was well enough to be moved I would return and take him to Jogja. He, too, asked me to get in touch with his mother. The following day I reported to Amir Sjarifuddin the story of the Australian and of the mutiny of the West Yorkshires. He listened attentively. We must get those men out of Modjokerto as quickly as pos sible/ Bung Amir said. "I would not want anything to happen to them." That same night we beamed to Australia and to England the news that the two Britishers were safe and eventually would be returned to British headquarters. I also wrote to their families. Each day I telephoned to the hospital to check upon the condition of the British patients. At last I was able to tell Sjarifuddin that TO 209 Modjokerto s chief of medicine had the Australian officer well to leave the hospital, technically he was a prisoner of war. *The Australian must be removed immediately/ 7 Bung Amir "I have for him to be here to stay at the home of Colonel X, which is the post. Colonel X s mother and will look him." The decision demonstrated the humanity, the magnanimity of Bung Amir, He could in all justice have ordered the Australian sent to a camp for prisoners of war. Once again ierce fighting had broken out between the British and the Indonesians and a new wave of for the Dutch and their allies was sweeping through East Java. For a second it was I must go to Modjokerto, to help bring the Australian to Jogjakarta. Travel by road was more dangerous it had ever teen. On this trip Colonel X and I were accompanied by two with Tommy guns. This time were many difficulties. We were detained in every town and which we The guerrillas, especially, were trigger-happy. We on occasion to con vince the that we on an mission for the Defense Ministry. This was easy the Indonesian army regulars stopped us; but time that groups of partisans, armed with bamboo spears, made us halt, the outlook was ominous. They were a suspicious lot, for they knew that Dutch spies were everywhere, some of them masquerading as Indonesian officers. And of course my color at once branded me as a possible enemy. It took much talking and the full weight of Colonel X s rank to get us through. But we did get through without incident. At Modjokerto, to our surprise, the chief physician of the hospital refused to honor the order signed by Amir Sjarifuddin for the removal of the Australian. The doctor said that the army general of the Modjokerto district, irate over the renewed heavy attacks by the British, had given orders that neither of the men was to be released under any circumstances. "Our orders are from the General s superior, the highest military authority in Java/ Colonel X pointed out. "They supersede your orders." The doctor was adamant. "The General was very specific," he said. "I am not to release either of these enemy soldiers. Unless you have 210 REVOLT IN PARADISE a signed order from the General himself, I cannot and will not let the Australian go." Colonel X, his patience at an end after the daylong series of frustrations and arguments 7 pointed his Tommy gun at the doctor. "If this is the way it has to be, we will shoot our way out of the hospital/ 7 he said. "But well take the Australian with us." The colonel s two aides also trained their guns on the doctor. This was serious. I grabbed the colonel s arm. "Colonel X, I beg you to put your gun away/ I pleaded. "This is a hospital; there are many helpless people around. Please, let s telephone Amir Sjarifuddin and tell him what the trouble is. 7 The colonel hesitated, then reluctantly lowered his gun and went off to telephone the minister. He returned with word that Bung Amir wanted us to go to the Surabaya front, acquaint the General with the situation, and get a release for the Australian. Even though it was now nightfall, the colonel and I set out im mediately for the Surabaya perimeter. Near the Indonesian front we had to leave our car and proceed by foot. The headlights would have given us away to the enemy; and across the rice fields there was no suitable roadway. We cut out through the sawah terraces on what must have been some kind of trail, for the colonel had no trouble finding his way in the darkness. Guards stopped us with the order, "Siapa itoe?" Who goes there? With our identity established a soldier led us down a slope into a dugout, a room hewn out of the earth. Inside, several men sat around a table on which was spread a large map of East Java. They had hair down to their shoulders, and several days growth of beard. Most of them wore red-and-white scarves around their heads or necks, and their uniforms were muddied from crawling through the fields. They seemed more a band of brigands than edu cated officers of the Indonesian army. But I recognized the General immediately. I had met him before, through Bung Tomo. The General was plainly dumfounded when I walked into the cavemlike room, and so were the other officers. But their faces broke out in smiles at my Indonesian dress and my proudly worn armband. They guessed my identity immediately. The General heard us out. "I don t understand all this fuss about one Britisher, when hundreds of Indonesians lie dead because of the TRANSFER TO 211 actions," he "But the story of the West Yorkshires Is interesting indeed." At first he said it would "be to move the prisoner safely to Jogja, particularly the guerrilla-held from Modjokerto to Maduin. The at the were worked ep the British, be Inclined to cut a white to bits. But after conferring in a low voice with his staff, surprisingly he us he would accompany us to Modjokerto. "I have a talk with the soldier/ he said. "If I am convinced of his sincerity you may to Jogjakarta." The doctor, understandably, was astonished at our return with the General It was near when we marched into the Aussie s room and he for us the story of his brief tour of duty in Java. The Genera! attentively, interrupting only once or twice. At the end he said, 44 Get young man. You are leaving the hospital with K tut Tantri and Colonel X." Over in the doctor s room, the Colonel X smilingly the to his way out of the hospital. The General and the embarrassed. iA I wouldn t have my if you had to call my bluff/* he said. "That Aussie/ said the General. u He is quite a pleasant young man 7 but very naive for an officer. On thought, I shall ac company you as far as Maduin. We don t want any international incidents right now." Our drive to Jcgja was uneventful. The Aussie found himself com fortable in the colonel s luxurious home, with X s pretty sister on hand to give him lessons in the Indonesian language. Amir Sjarifuddin was most pleased. And ten days later I was driving back to Modjokerto to get the English pilot. This time my escort was an officer of army intelligence. We had no trouble until the return trip, when we were halted near Surakarta, or Solo 7 by a small group of soldiers under the command of an extremely zealous lieutenant who had never heard of K7tut Tantri or of her escort. However, the confusion was cleared up at army headquarters in Solo and in less than twenty minutes we were on our way again. We were worried about the pilot. He was not taking the journey well, and I think he was frightened. He was not so tough as the Australian. But after a few days in bed under the gentle care of the X family he soon began to improve. 212 REVOLT IN PARADISE There was a touching sequel to the stow of these two men; one that shows the tender heart of the Indonesian. About a week after the pilot s arrival in Jogja, Amir Sjarifuddin called at the barracks to meet the two Britishers. They had a long talk together, after which Bung Amir said, "I shall make arrangements as soon as possible to have you both flown to Batavia and delivered to the British High Command. I am sure they will see to it that you are sent home very quickly/ The response was surprising. "It is very good of you, sir, to offer to send us back," the pilot said. "But my Aussie friend and I have decided we do not want to leave Indonesia. We believe we both can be useful to you. Between us we can train your young men for army duty and teach them to fly. We feel exactly as Miss Tantri does about your people and your country. We are ashamed that our countries have taken up arms against you. If you will permit us to stay, we are ready to help you." The Australian nodded enthusiastic agreement. Sjarifuddin smiled, and shook his head. "Nothing would please me more than to keep you both here to help us," said Bung Amir. "We need help badly. But technically you are prisoners of war. You are both in the British armed services. If you stayed in Indonesia and fought on our side, you would be considered deserters, guilty of treason. You could be sentenced in your absence to years in prison, and you would never be able to re turn to your country. When we have won our freedom and our countries are no longer enemies, we shall be happy to have you both back. But I cannot allow you to stay here now/ 7 The Aussie said flatly, "I don t care if I am court-martialed for trea son. I want to stay. I am an Australian, and my country is not fight ing you. I can choose the side that I want/ 7 "No, young man, you can t," Bung Amir replied. "You are an ofEcer in an English regiment. Until you are demobilized you can not join the other side, no matter how much you want to." Sjarifuddin added that the pilot must return immediately to Eng land for proper medical attention. The doctors said he had a piece of shrapnel still lodged near his heart and would require a delicate operation. The two men looked downcast until the Australian suggested brightly, "All right, then, if we can t stay with you, why not make a A CLOAK-AXD-D AFFAIR 213 with the British? They are holding two hundred prisoners in Batavia. Make them us for them! At we know we of use." Bung Amir laughed heartily, "A smart idea, lieutenant," lie "I put out feelers to the British immediately. Two hundred Indo nesian prisoners for two Britishers!" We all chuckled, thinking it a wild idea. A few days later, however, Bung Amir returned and announced he had a deal with the British. Two hundred Indonesians would be sent to Jogjakarta on the safe delivery of the two Britishers to Batavia. The men were iown to Batavia. Bung Amir accompanied them and personally over to the British High Command. Sjarifuddin told us that the pilot, in good-by to him, had boldly declared in the presence of the British officers, "Sir, I hope that your country will get its very soon. Merdeka! Tetap Merdeka!" Both soldiers speedily home. Two years later when I visited Australia I the Australian s family and was treated royally.

A CLOAK-AND-DAGGER AFFAIR

All the high-ranking officers of the Indonesian army were young, because the army itself was HO more than a military infant, fresh from the womb of revolution. Without the chastening influence of experience most of the service chiefs tended to swagger. And yet their enthusiasm was refreshing. One of the brightest of these young blades was a major high in the Indonesian intelligence, a young man of great charm and naughty wit. It always delighted me when he dropped in at my quarters at the Merdeka Hotel for a drink, for invariably he brought the latest news from the Surabaya fronl^ and also the choicest gos sip, spiced with his own amusing comments. Everyone mixing so cially in Jogja visited the Merdeka Hotel in those days. It was the official quarters of the government and revolutionary forces. 214 REVOLT IN PARADISE Green bamboo blinds filtered the sunlight on my hotel balcony on a hot afternoon as the major and I sat talking of a motor acci dent which had just laid up Amir Sjarifuddin. The accident had oc curred near Solo, about thirty miles from Jogjakarta. Fortunately the defense minister had not been seriously hurt. Eventually the major came to the real point of his visit. Quite casually, with a disarming smile, he said, "Sjarifuddin has sent me with an urgent message for you. He would like you to help him in a matter requiring a lot of tact and nerve:* 7 Then before I had time to answer, the major in a perfectly serious tone of voice went on with a story that was the stuff of which penny-dreadful espionage thrillers are made. "It seems that there is a plot brewing to assassinate President Sukarno and overthrow the Republic!" I could not believe my ears. "Assassinate the President!" "No need for panic yet," the major assured me. Efforts were being made to find out who was in the plot besides three people arrived recently from Bandung and now in Jogja. The three were known to be Dutch agents. "Then why don t you arrest them?" I asked. But this was too simple. "We think the leader of the ring is a woman, a highborn princess related to the Sultan. She is very beautiful and clever, and very sly." And then there was a friend of the princess a man whose interest might be professional, platonic, or otherwise. The three of them had been traveling back and forth from Bandung, strewing gold around like confetti. Where did they get it? Nobody had money in Java these days except the Dutch and their agents. "Anyhow," the major concluded, "Sjarifuddin thinks no one could help us in this as well as you. Of course," he added as though hold ing out a particularly luscious piece of bait, "it might be a dangerous assignment." "I m all ears," I replied, "Sjarifuddin wants you to work your way into the confidence of the princess. He wants you to find out what the three of them are plotting, and who are their supporters." "Is that all?" I asked, with heavy sarcasm. "And what would make Bung Amir think that such a clever woman would confide in me, a stranger?" A CLOAK-AND-DAGGER AFFAIR 215 "That s just the point. Everyone in Java you were by the and as an American spy. Don t you see we can use .^t to our give you a chance to live up to your reputation? We you spy extraordinary for Indonesia." He chuckled. The wily major had a plan all prepared. The princess, his agents reported, was a very superstitious woman, extremely fond of having her fortune told by clairvoyants, palmists, and such. That was her one weakness. The major remembered how I told the fortunes of the in Bung Tome s bamboo army, during the ighting In around Surabaya. 1 was partly entertaining the boys, but chiefly building up morale by promising victory and glory. "We think It will be to Interest the princess through the medium of the cards," he said. "I will see to It that she hears Indirectly of your amazing powers of foretelling the future. That mill be your contact and gambit. When your friendship has ripened, you will Insinuate that you are a secret observer for Washington and that you are merely as an Indonesian sympathizer. If, as we suspect, the plot is to overthrow our republic and establish a puppet government for the Dutch, the princess her group would be eager to get recognition la the United States. We think they would be likely to make you kind of proposition." Just as I was about to state my objections to posing as an American agent, the major jumped up, took my hand and said, "We knew you wouldn t let us down, ICtut. Don t be afraid well guard you every minute. You must never go to the princess house ? nor meet her anywhere outside. Always encourage her to tome here. As for the Americans, they will never about It. And If they should? We will pacify them with a submarine base or something." I didn t like any part of the scheme, but there I was caught In it. As for the major, one would have thought he had nothing more serious on his mind than a cockight Only a few days later I was awakened from my afternoon siesta by the ringing of the telephone. It was the princess. Would I call on her? Or 7 If I preferred, she would oil on me. She said she was looking forward to meeting me because she had heard from a mutual friend that I was very clever at laying the cards. I was so nervous that my voice stuck in my throat^ but I answered as naturally as possible and Invited her to tea the following afternoon. 216 REVOLT IN PARADISE When the princess was announced, she was so beautiful that I forgot my fright in admiration. She was a woman of perhaps thirty- Eve, slim but delicately rounded, with an exquisite oval face, languor ous eyes, and a most charming voice. Her sarong was of the finest batik, and of a design worn only by the Sultan s family. Diamonds glistened in her ears and on her fingers. She was one of the most truly elegant women I had ever met in Java. She held out her hand, and her smile and friendly manner put me instantly at ease. Inviting her to a chair on the balcony I settled her for a long conversation. We talked about life in the kraton, or Sultan s Palace, and about life in Bali. We compared the culture of the two countries, Java and Bali. She asked me questions about America, and told me she longed to go there. Then we talked about the Indonesian Revolu tionthose dreadful hysterical days and times. Soon we were chatting like old friends. "You must have a very dull life here/ she said. "What in the world do you do all day?" I said I walked and rode, and played cards and sometimes even told my fortune. "With cards?" she asked quickly. Here was my opportunity to tell her about the Kempetai and the Surabaya prison and how I had made cards from strips of palms, cut from my sleeping mat, painted with soot and brick dust dug with my nails from the prison floor. "I would love to see those cards," she said. There was excitement in her voice. "I tell fortunes too." Deliberately I hesitated. These were no ordinary cards, I told her. During the long, solitary hours in prison there was time to search out my soul, and the cards had been part of my spiritual develop ment. An instrument, actually, for penetrating a higher world. I pretended that the cards would foretell the future for other people only when there was a sympathetic vibration between us. I said I thought she was sympathetic, but there were not many people who would understand. This improvising was exciting. I was tossing in all the scraps of Eastern philosophy I could remember, and she seemed impressed. She told me stories of ancient animistic magic still practiced in Java, and as she talked her eyes became more and more luminous. What a magnificent high priestess she would have made!" As she rose to go she pressed my hands. A CLQAK-AND-D AFFAIR 217 "You were an American spy, weren t you? Tell me, my dear. You can be frank with me." I told her I had never a thing, not even torture, and she couldn t expect me to tell her now. She she could never 1 had through, and she my courage. Her remark, however, put me on guard again. "How strange you are allowed to live here In the hotel and go about the streets of Jog|a 7 " she said. "You are the only free white in the city. Do you think It s safe?** "Safe as the Bant "of England/ 1 answered lightly. "At least I think so while the Indonesians are looking to America for help in for self-determination. Still, one never knows." As she left she if she come again, and perhaps I would read her fortune. She would like to bring her husband and a friend. My nerves to tighten. She was gullible- at least, I thought she was but her husband? Well, that was the next move in the game called espionage. "Of course/ 7 1 said. "But I d not like telling your fortune in front of others." "Oh 7 they d it. And now, before I- go, won t you accept this little diamond ruby ring as a souvenir of our meeting?" I shook my head, embarrassed, and gave her a warm farewell smile. She really was a charming creature. Soon the major arrived for a report He listened, then threw tack his head in spontaneous laughter. The situation appealed to his sense of humor. He explained carefully the "fortune" I should tell the princess on her next visit. From now on 7 he said 7 I must not try to get in touch with him. He would be briefed about my movements from other sources. Then he left. When the princess brought her entourage a few dap later I took an instant dislike to the husband., a sleek and portly Javanese business man with a Dutch veneer. The friend looked less repulsive -in fact, almost innocent. After an exchange of introductory courtesies and small talk, I was asked to tell fortunes. I hesitated, pretending re luctance, and then agreed. I told the princess, whose fortune I read from my tiny palm-leaf cards, that she was about to undertake a transaction with a man of another race perhaps Dutch. This would 218 REVOLT IN PARADISE lead to great fortune and might even make her a power In interna tional affairs. The cards also revealed a white woman with whom she would undertake a most successful venture. Everybody seemed pleasantly surprised with my performance. The husband begged me to tell his fortune, but I tried to look as though I had been under a great strain as indeed I had and said "some other day." For three weeks we drank tea and told fortunes, sometimes the princess and I, sometimes the friend and the husband. At last the long-expected happened, over cups of tea. After the usual polite talk the husband leaned over and pushed aside his cup. "We have had a very pleasant time playing cards, K tut," he said. "Now let us really put our cards on the table. We can do a lot for each other if you want to play our game. First, we know that you are an agent of the American government/ "How do you know that?" I hedged, leaving the impression that I was. "Oh, you re not such a good actress as all that, you know!" Perhaps not, but at that particular moment I felt qualified to give pointers to Mata Hari. Factually, briefly, ruthlessly, he told me they were working in a plot to overthrow the present Indonesian government, and pos sibly to kill President Sukarno. "That weakling we must get rid of him." They would make the Sultan of Jogja president. "But you can t do that," I protested. "The Sultan is an absolute monarch, and this is supposed to be a democracy. The people wouldn t stand for it, and the whole world would laugh at you. Besides, the Sultan and Sukarno are the closest of friends. If anything, the Sultan is heart and soul for the Revolution." Why not just return the Dutch to power? I asked. They were not so bad, after all. The banker replied that the Indonesians would never consent to the Dutch, so the next best thing was to install someone who would look after Dutch interests. "What do you want me to do?" I asked. Could I get information to Washington saying that the people intended to rise against the corrupt government of Sukarno, the Japanese collaborator, and replace him with the Sultan of Jogjakarta? The husband said that several army generals were with him and that A CLOAK-AND-D AGGER AFFAIR 219 whole divisions were ready to rise at strategic points, Sukarno would be forced to abdicate or a firing squad. This is terrific news/ I said. "Are you the "behind the movement?" The banker smiled like a man well with himself. "Not the whole cheese. The rest is In Bandung. Bet tell me could you really get that information to Washington in a manner in which it would be believed by the right people?" Yes ? I said, there was a way. But I have time to think. I them to leave. I promised I would telephone later and arrange a further conference. Almost on their departing the major arrived. Having heard the full story, he we go to Sjarifuddin this night. Past midnight we out of Jogja drove to Solo, where Bung Amir lay in a bed, his broken arm in a plaster cast. Quickly he outlined a for the major. Credentials be for me, on an exact duplicate of the stationer}* of the United in Batavia. They must take the form of a thanking me for my dispatches from Jog jakarta, and saying the was on the way to Washington and would be in the State Department within twenty-four hours. The letter should ask me for a summary of the present situation in Re publican territory, mentioning that the messenger to cam* it was a trusted diplomatic courier. For the role of courier the major must ind a top-flight intelligence officer able to with an American accent, The courier should arrive with his faked letter in the midst of a conference between the plotters and me. He should deliver to us a convincing note and take back with him an incriminating letter from the princess and her as sociates. "Keep telling them they most put it all down in black and white everything, especially names/ Sjarifuddin said. Was it clear? he asked. Quite clear. But could I ever poll it off successfully? That point was not clear. As we drove back to Jogja 7 the major Instructed me to call the princess three days later. "I need that much time," he said, "to get the letterhead printed and to brief an officer on how to act like a courier." 220 REVOLT IN PARADISE Having been set in motion, events moved inexorably to their cli max. In military parlance, according to plan. At eight o clock in the evening the princess and her two escorts came to the hotel. An hour later a train from Batavia carrying a "courier" arrived in Jogja. Although the trio appeared as calm and suave as usual, I could sense hidden tension. The husband s eyes kept blinking rapidly. The princess held her fan so tightly that the knuckles of her hand were white. We sat on the balcony with the jalousies down. My visitors had a paper, all right, addressed to the United States govern ment, Washington, D.C. The husband spread it out on the table. It was written in Malay. A quick scanning showed me that it was a good brisk summary of the plot. But it named no names, in criminated no individuals. "I am afraid that this will never do," I told them. "This won t convince Washington. It won t mean a thing unless you tell the State Department exactly who is in this with you. To give your plan any logic, any meaning, you must provide the names of the officers on whom you can rely, and the disposition of the troops at their com mand. That is the only way the Americans can determine whether this is a serious countermovement a venture worth supporting or just a small-time thing with no chances of success. They will want facts." The husband began to argue, but the friend cut him short in a voice that made the other man cringe. Miss Tantri was right, he said. Of course the Americans would have to have facts. He took the document to my desk and began writing down the details. The husband, meanwhile, pulled out a revolver and laid it on the table, its muzzle pointed toward me. I tried to push it away. "I don t like guns/ I said. He removed it, only to keep it in his hand, waving it at me. "This is what will happen to you if anything goes wrong," he said. "I mean if we are double-crossed." When the friend came back with the document and I saw what he had written, my scalp began to tingle. It was all there, just what the major wanted. The people involved, and how Liey planned to go about ousting Sukarno bloodily, if necessary and seizing control. Now, if only I could push the traitors out and lock the door! But the husband was talking prices, offering me a hundred thousand guilders if the coup d etat succeeded. "What!" I exclaimed. "For a job like this?" A CLOAK-AND-DAGGER AFFAIE 221 "But all you re is on to Washington! * "All 1 am doing Is my own warrant if anything wrong/ 1 replied. "It s a not guilders." Arrogantly he to payment in "If this you your own price/* he said. The bell rang. Although I had it, 1 jumped like a frightened rabbit. "It may be the courier Batavia," 1 said. "I didn t expect Mm until tomorrow/ 7 Going to the door, of gun at my back, I opened it. "It s the courier/ I over my shoulder^ and to the man, "Come in quickly and the door/" The man to enter, at of my other visitors drew back. i4 Come in," I said. "These are our Don t be afraid. You can say what you to say them. They are with ES ? and are giving us important information to back to Jakarta." "What! You ve told everything?" His accent was perfect; listening to him ? he straight from San Francisco or Chicago. "You mean, I give you the stuff?" I nodded. Playing his role most convincingly, he stepped into the bedroom a moment, and then with a krge envelope in his hand. I tore it open, glanced at it hurriedly, then tossed it onto the fable Hear the banker. The sheet of paper lay open, the letterhead and address plain to be seen, and the "body of the letter itself easy to scan. I stepped into the bedroom for a bottle of whiskey and stayed long for the banker to have a good idea of the letter s contents. The major had done a beautiful job; it was as official look ing as anything I had ever seen, On my return with the whiskey I the courier, "How was the trip? Were you examined?" "Oh 7 I got through all right," he replied, "Yes; they looked me over, but they never find anything. They are not experienced search ers/ 7 He brushed dust from his soiled white suit *Tm sorry that I most send you back to Batavia tonight/ 1 I said, handing him in a sealed envelope the material I had received from my three co-schemers. "Tell them in Batavia that everything is ready for an uprising. Yon see here we have on our side General and Colonel ?> I 222 REVOLT IN PARADISE went over the list; it would help to have a verbal witness if something happened to the letter. "The plan is to make the Sultan the new president, and his army will fall in line." The courier took the letter for Washington. "I ll be on my way now/ 7 he said. "All s safe." The princess spoke up. "But where are you going to hide our letter? Are you sure it will be safe?" The courier was truly nonchalant, "Maybe in America or England, where they read detective stories, it wouldn t be safe." He smiled. "But no Indonesian soldier would ever think of looking where I hide it." With that he leaned over and unfastened the sole of his over sized shoe. The others watched, pop-eyed. "Good night, folks," he said. "I ve just got time to catch that midnight train." He closed the door softly after him. When he left we stared at each other, with nothing to say. I was terrified. Suddenly it occurred to me that they could easily do away with me, now that they believed their appeal for support to be on its way to Washington. In a panic I exclaimed, "Isn t it hot?" and ran to the jalousies, pulling them up. There was just a chance that some of my friends across the courtyard might be alerted if my as sociates in the room became menacing. The friend was right behind me. "Be careful," he said. "We don t want to be seen." Looking at the street, he added, "Fm worried about that courier. I think 111 follow him to the station and see that he gets safely on the train." As he left I almost screamed. The courier probably would go directly to the major s office, and the whole deception would be ex posed. Why didn t the princess and her husband leave? If they stayed another minute I would surely give myself away! At last they departed. It was as though tight bands around my temples had suddenly relaxed. . . . An hour later the major was dancing around the room and I was dissolved in tears. "There, there, K tut," he soothed. "Cry all you want to. You have done a wonderful service for Indonesia Merdeka. I was in the room next to you on one side and the military police were on the other side. Nothing could have happened to you." "The courier!" I cried. "The princess friend has followed him to the train. They will know by now that he didn t get on it." "Oh, but he did," the major said. "That was taken care of, too. A CLOAK-ANXHXIGGEB AFFAI1 223 We do things properly, a la Yard or FBI. Well get the courier off the train a few up the line and have him back with those In less half an hour, * 4 Cheer up ? K tut. Go your nose. We are going to Solo to see Sjarifuddin." Bung Amir was when he the list of the Indonesians involved In the plot. Some of the high-ranking officers implicated were among his most friends. He orders for their arrest, and for the arrest of the princess, her husband, and her friend. "I am a concerned now for your safety, K tut," Sjarifuddin said. u For a while you must the Merdeka Hotel and go stay at the house of Colonel X. That Is one where we know you will be safe. And from now on you must have a military escort wherever you go." The thought of a constant was extremely irksome to me. For a place like Jogjakarta, it was much too conspicuous. We called on President Sukarno and told him the whole story. He was much at our descriptions of the princess. "You should have brought her to see me," he said, his eyes twinkling. "What a chance I have I love having my fortune told." "Bong Kamo," I chided Mm 7 "I will tell your fortune. You will be moch with me!" We went also to the Sultan of Jogjakarta and told him of the plot to make him president. He was amazed and horror-stricken. "The Dutch are behind this using my name for their own ends/ 7 he said. "It Is good that the plan was exposed before It progressed any further." A few months later a similar plot was flowering when Intelligence officers again uncovered It. This one ? also ? named the Sultan as the new president. In neither case was there any reflection on the Sul tan, but only on the misguided people who thought he should be at the helm. The Sultan of Jogja was a sincere revolutionary, and so much a friend of the President that he later became minister for defense. If the cloak-and-dagger undercurrents of trouble-torn Java seemed at times bizarrewell, that was life In the time of Merdeka! Truly, there was never a dull moment.

SOME HARDSHIPS AND A TOUR

P. S. Gerbrandy, Holland's wartime prime minister, in his book "Indonesia" said, the Indonesians had one asset, one idea "a clarion call Merdeka! even if it were a bit cracked." He conceded that the Republicans were constant in their faith and in their belief that Indonesia was now a sovereign state. He added that he found their pose ridiculous. "They believe Sukarno was right/ he said. "Such was their childish faith, that if we ourselves [Hollanders] enjoy free dom why shouldn t they have the same right." It was evident that the Dutch would never willingly give Indonesia recognition as a sovereign state. The Indonesians had no choice but to fight in order to hold on to their new-found freedom. Waves of hate were sweeping over Java. The British were bringing thousands of Dutch troops back into Java in spite of the protests of President Sukarno. There was now fighting on three fronts, and the situation was daily getting worse. White people had disappeared from the streets throughout Republican Java, with the single exception of myself. Some even doubted that I was safe in public places, at the time that I moved back from Colonel X ? s house to Jogja s Merdeka hotel. I found the hotel overcrowded with military personnel. But for Amir Sjarifuddin s thoughtfulness in reserving my room during the time I was away I never could have found accommodations. The lobby was jammed with young men just returned, weary, worn out, from the eastern front. With no bedrooms available, they simply collapsed on the floor or in chairs and slept from sheer exhaustion. They were in rags, many of them, and gaunt and thin. Some plainly were on the edge of starvation. But all held grimly onto their rifles or bamboo spears. My heart went out to them. These boys were not the regular army troops, but peasants and students the guerrilla fighters who had held back the mechanized army of the British, Dutch, Gurkhas, and Japanese. They had shown great courage and had sacrificed much. I looked around my large and comfortable room and felt ashamed. AND A TOUR 225 Two in the and a bed on the veranda. Each of of little people. I not give up my room. There no women in the I had else to go. But 1 the with the fighters. So I could my or I was doing, my con tained ten very warriors, blissfully asleep on the beds, two OB When he heard, Amir at me eyes. "You are a real Indonesian, K tut/ lie said. "It is to that you are of a race lias brought us much sadness." I had my conscience of its of guilt, 1 very well that and for the two that the guerrillas were my And for at they had plenty to eat. My life at this was very busy. I was every day, sometimes and from Solo. I wrote my own in English. Later 1 also In Balinese, a of to the on that Island. For Bali was now in the of the Dutch, Not until 1948 were the of the Netherlands out of the island. The magazine, The Voice of Free Indonesia, was now in circula tion. It was In (Batavia), which was still in the of the British and Dutch. A reason for this was that the foreign correspondents were in Jakarta, and so could read the magazine regularly and pick up from it. Ever}* issue contained one or two articles by me. If the Dutch were not furious with roe before, they certainly were now. One article in particular, questioned their right to reinstate themselves in Indonesia I it "Lest We Forget" aroused their rage. In it I reminded the Dutch of their shameful behavior at the time of the Japanese invasion, of how they actually collaborated with the Japanese, and of how army officers had escaped from Java by stealing Australian planes, loving the Australians behind to meet the enemy. The Dutch were so infuriated that they raided the printing offices of The Voice of Free Indonesia, destroying part of the ma chinery and confiscating all the copies containing my article. Never theless, the issue was distributed widely and was widely quoted. On our side of the lines, in the Republican capital of Jogja, and in 226 REVOLT IN PARADISE other parts of Java too, serious food shortages were developing. Short ages of rice especially. The Dutch had imposed a very strong blockade around the island, making it almost impossible to import the many necessities usually acquired from other lands. Many Indonesians had died in attempts to sail through the blockade. Chinese merchants owned most of the food shops in Java, and many of them were profiteers of the worst sort. They closed their .shops and hid rice in warehouses, waiting for prices to rise. At last the day came when not one kilo of rice could be purchased in any shop or market place in Jogjakarta. Even at the Merdeka Hotel we could not buy a meal or a spoonful of rice. The restaurants and even the fruit stands had to close. The people were hungry, and I was hungry too. Three days passed without any food. An intelligence officer came to me to say that I was to go to the palace of President Sukarno for meals until the Chinese reopened their shops. (Amir Sjarifuddin was away from Jogja at this time.) He confided that the Indonesians were planning to raid the Chinese warehouses and force the Chinese to open their shops. The price of rice would then be set by the government so that there would be no black market in food. I could not go to the palace to eat when so many of my friends were starving. It was common knowledge that the President was feeding as many people as possible, but that even he was no longer able to find enough rice to keep the palace kitchen going. I thanked the officer and said I would find some other way to get food for myself. The streets of Jogja were empty. With nothing to buy, people were staying in their homes, growing weak from hunger. I walked through the deserted streets and came to the Kohinoor, the art shop of a wealthy Indian trader of my acquaintance. This shop too was closed, but I hammered on the door. At last the owner peered out. Recognizing me, he smiled broadly and opened the door. I came to the point immediately. "Friend, I am hungry/ I said. "Friend, come in," he said warmly. "I will share with you what little we have." Indeed it was not much by the old standards, but to me it was a grand meal, in very good company. That night the Indonesians raided the shops and storehouses of the Chinese and helped themselves to rice. The Chinese lost every thing, but they learned a lesson. They never closed their shops again. A TOUR 227 It was dangerous to be In the of that night, for the were like hungry wolves. \\Tien Sjarifuddin his trip he me President a few on a East Java. He be by Vice-President and of his ministers, and by the fop officers of the army, navy, and air force. The of the journey would be to enlighten the as to was on in the rest of Java, and to for the worst in the event of a Dutch attempt to retake East Java. It was to be a tour, to let the world know seventy millioo Indonesians President Sukarno and would never their Mrs. and Mrs. their husbands, I was to be a of the party to in English. I never that trip as as I live. We -boarded the President s train once the crack train of the Dutch at Jakarta, Several of my army friends were and in particular a colonel an aide to the President, Radio Susatyo. Radin in lord cr count, but Susatyo preferred to be by his military title. We friends, and have re mained so through the years. At time the colonel was to army intelligence. He never to me, for he spoke beautiful Cliurchillian English, and yet he had never out cf Java. There was hardly a classic or any of the great that he hadn t read. He was familiar with Western from the time of Giotto until the present. He was very handsome, had charming manners, and was excellent company. I remember one incident with particular vividness. On the long train between towns Colonel Susatyo and his friends usually whiled away the time in my compartment. When one of the officers mentioned in Susatyo s absence that the following day would be the colonel s birthday, we decided to give him a surprise party and managed during a stop at Kediri to buy a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Late! Scotch for the occasion. The bottle was entrusted to my until we would reach Banjuwangi, where we planned to have the party. The bottle was precious, for it was very expensive and obtainable only through the Chinese. Colonel Susatyo and two other officers were sitting in my com partment when Bung Amir walked in. The whiskey lay wrapped on 228 REVOLT IN PARADISE the seat, so I pushed it over to make room for him. We talked until it was time for lunch, then the company separated. Arriving at Baxi- juwangi late in the afternoon, we prepared to go to the home of the local rajah, as we customarily did on stopovers. The President was to speak in the evening, and afterward we would have our birthday party. But on leaving the train I discovered that the Scotch was missing. I searched everywhere, and then confessed to the officers that it had disappeared. We thought at first that Colonel Susatyo had taken it as a joke, but he insisted that he hadn t. We all felt badly about the apparent theft. That night, as at every previous major stop, thousands of cheering Javanese assembled to hear the President speak. He used one tech nique in particular that had proved highly effective. "I shall never settle for anything but 100 per cent merdeka," he told his rapt audience. Then he asked, "Shall I settle for 90 per cent inerdeka?" As always, the people shouted "No!" at the top of their lungs. "Shall I settle for 99 per cent merdeka?" "No!" the people thundered, delighted. "How about 99 l /2 per cent merdeka?" The audience was enjoying itself to the limit. "No! No! No!" "Then what shall I settle for?" the President asked, in mock per plexity. "One hundred per cent Merdeka!" The roar of approval came straight from the heart. In this childish way President Sukarno won constant reaJErmation of public support. The Javanese adored him. The Vice-President followed Sukarno to the microphone. Dr. Hatta s speech was more scholarly than that of the President, and was effective with the sophisticated and educated people. For the peasants, however, he had little appeal. Others spoke in their turn. Then Sjarifuddin, who rarely addressed a mass meeting, being shy of personal publicity, stepped forward saying "I should like to speak a few words." The President and Vice-President stared at him in astonishment. This was unheard of. Bung Amir strode onto the platform, rolled up the sleeves of his khaki tunic, and began expressing his views on the Revolution. He spoke of serious matters in a light vein, sprinkling his remarks with A 229 and witticisms. The it "More, Amir!" they chorused. at the of his for la a to me, he "I got Amir? 1 this before." At that the for me. I told the President, "Johnnie Walker got him," I am did Bung Amir was in he had all of us on the his When he returned to his seat he at me and "That was whiskey. Jest 1 for my cold!" In was not or for laughter. We funny As later, in "The has by too seriously/" are Everyone who will for that. They do things, and say things, on the spur of the moment. And the are as Impulsive as the unlettered. That even the President this trait was most discon certingly to me at the city and im portant stop on our tour. Thousands of had come to see and hear Sukarno. Many slept on the grounds the night before to make sere of a good position. It was the of that I had ever seen anywhere. The the President s was tumultuous. Then Bong Karno up his hand. When the had quieted^ he said: "1 have one more thing to say before I leave you. You see on the platform with me tonight a white woman. Many of you may have wondered what a woman of the race that Is fighting to deprive us of our freedom Is doing In the company of the President of Indonesia. Allow me to Introduce Sudara ICtut Tantri ? from the island of Ball. "Now, the name ICtut means fourth-bom of a Ballnese family. I am sere you all know what the name Tantri stands for in our folk lore. Sudara ICtut Is a British-born American citizen, but she Is more Indonesian than she is either British or American. She Is the one and 230 REVOLT IN PARADISE only foreigner to come openly to our side. She has done everything in her power to help us in our straggle for independence. "Now, I want every man, woman, and child here tonight to look on the face of 1C tut Tantri and remember it well. I want that no harm shall come to K tut Tantri from any of our people. You must do all in your power to protect her, for she probably will be in Malang many times before our straggle is through. Remember that sudara mans sister, and remember that my own mother is a Balinese woman. I commend Sudara K tut Tantri to your care. Guard her with your life if it is necessary." I was caught completely by surprise, and the deafening applause that followed touched and embarrassed me to tears. I had to fight to regain my composure. That journey through Java gave me a wonderful insight into the character of the top man in Indonesia. No other Westerner I sup pose, has ever been so close to him and his work certainly not in a time of stress. I observed him closely as, on our homeward journey, our train moved slowly from town to town. At every village they surged around him, men, women and little children in from the jungles and down from the mountains, a flat sea of eager brown faces. Many times barriers thrown across the rails forced us to make unscheduled stops at tiny settlements, so that the insistent people could do him honor. At every village great banners proclaimed MERDEKA ATAU MATE, and everywhere there were cheers for merdeka and Bung Kamo. A part of his amazing power to sway the people came from his ability to tell stories. No one loves a story better than does an Indo nesian, For example, he would tell of the famous ride of Paul Revere, embellishing it with the lush figures of Oriental speech and driving home his point by admonishing his listeners: "When Paul Revere knocked at the doors of the people of America, they heard him. See to it that when our own Paul Reveres knock at your door you will answer and be ready to defend your country." By nature Sukarno was a great psychologist and an even greater actor. At each stop he would say to the people that he would soon return, and would be accompanied by foreign correspondents. "I want you to tell these newspaper- and radiomen from all over the world, in their own language, that all is running well in Indonesia/" OF 231 Now, repeat roe don t ever forget: it ALL is RUNNING When the had times, lie ask his audience, "Now, fell me you are to say I return with the correspondents. * **Aix is RUNNING WELL IN INDONESIA!"* the shout, as it were a cheer. \\Tien the coirespondents did eventually \isit Java with the Presi dent, they the yell of they Impressed. Over the Indonesia s Cabinet and fallen.

But always has the one President ? a and kind man. We in that he was Indonesia's ???

THE SPICE OF DANGER

The daily routine of life daring this was with more danger 1 liked to admit. On the insistence of Amir Sjarifuddin that I have an at all times, two little soldiers with riies bigger than themselves followed me everywhere until I could stand it no longer. I went to Bong Amir. "I have no fear of killed by any Indonesian," I said. "Those guards are making me nervous. Not only that, they make me much too conspicuous. And psychologically I think it is wrong. I should not have a guard." I told Bung Amir of the admonition of the American colonel at the bombing of Surabaya. "Never be afraid, K tut," he had said. "If a bomb has your name on it, it will find you no matter what you do or where you hide." Sjarifuddin laughed. "That colonel was right/ he said. "We Orien tals believe that what is to be will be. Man cannot escape his fate." The bodyguard was removed, and I felt more natural again. Nevertheless, little incidents occurred. One day I was shot at while riding in a betja, or tricycle rickshaw. The bullet whizzed right past 232 REVOLT IN PARADISE my face. Neither the rickshaw driver nor I was hurt, but we were badly frightened. Another time I was riding down the main street of Jogja in a dokkar, a light carriage pulled by a small horse. An automobile con taining two men came roaring down the street and tried to force us off the road. The dokkar was hit on one side and turned over, throwing the driver and me into the ditch. Then the motorcar raced away without stopping. I realized at once that this was no accident, but was a deliberate attempt to rain us. Luckily I was unhurt. The poor driver suffered a rib fracture and had to be taken to the hospital. It did not take the military long to find the motorcar. Automobiles were very scarce, and not in the possession of private citizens. In vestigation revealed that the two men who had tried to run us down came from Bandung and were members of the same ring of traitors as the plotting princess. It seemed that, like Bung Tomo, I led a charmed life. The dangers that menaced me were often in disguise. There was the time that an Indonesian woman whom I knew well invited me to go to Solo. She was charming. We got along together very well, and I trusted her thoroughly. "Two important gentlemen have to go to a very hush-hush politi cal meeting in a mountain village outside of Solo/ 7 she said. "I thought you would find the meeting interesting and instructive- something about which you would want to be informed." I readily accepted the invitation and made arrangements to broad cast from Solo that evening instead of from Jogjakarta. By leaving f ogja in the afternoon around three, we would arrive at Solo at five, rest at the hotel until eight, then start off for the mountains to hear her friends speak. Before I left Jogja I wrote a note to Bung Amir, telling him I had gone to Solo and explaining why. Much to my surprise, when we arrived at the Solo hotel an army officer was waiting for me with an urgent message to call the defense minister, not from the hotel but from the privacy of military headquarters. I excused myself and went with the officer to make the long-distance call. "Thank heaven we caught up with you before you went to that meeting/* Sjarifuddin said. I replied that I saw nothing wrong in going to a political rally. "There is plenty wrong/ 7 Bung Amir said. "I want you to return OF 233 to Immediately. Two left yon You are in of or killed/ "That car/! be so. I am friends/ ! "Friends!** be * 4 Do the are?" ! bad to I had never and 1 did not get we We had had to talk on the drive to Sob, the sat in and my and I in the 4 T3I tell yon are!" Amir "One is cer tainly Tan the one Communist of Java. The Is of oor is working in Tan Malaka. They are of In the and are not you just for the of your company. They try to use of you way, If you don t go you," 4 *Why In the me?*" I "I couldn t them. I am not a Communist. 1 pos- siblv it is I do not IB the of "Listen, KTtut; be by me In this matter," he " 4 Re- to Wait at fee the two arrive/ at the 1 told my an had come up and I must to at once. The two tried to me to my mind, and op only when the officers arrived. The incident a mystery to me. Even if Tan Malaka and the ex-official were Communists, were still Indonesians fight ing for merdeka, as the of Bong Amir s party and members of the President s Party National Indonesia. I personally could not believe I had in the danger, and Sjarifuddin would never enlighten me. When I Joked about the he said only, "If you don t believe me, ask Bung Kamo 01 Bong Sjahrir. They will tell you I did the right thing in getting you away from those men." It is ironic Bung Amir was later executed as an enemy of the Republic in company with Tan Malaka and Communist Leader Moesoeh. Although I was friendly with the leaders of the Revolution, it was 234 REVOLT IN PARADISE the simple peasants and artists whom I most enjoyed. Dally I re ceived letters from soldiers at the front and from ordinary people throughout Java. Young Indonesians called at the hotel and many confided to me secrets that, had they not trusted me, could not haw been beaten out of them. It did not surprise me, then, when one day two young men called at the hotel and asked to speak to me in private. The story they told made my blood run cold. Were the plot they described carried out, it would have serious consequences for the Republic. In brief, the plan was to kidnap Sutan Sjahrir, the prime minister. The men behind the plan were Tan Malaka and his followers. The kidnaping would take place three days hence. The young men told me where it would happen but could give me no definite hour. Though the kidnaping of ministers and army officers was a com monplace these days, It was incredible that anyone should wish to kidnap this ardent revolutionary dedicated to merdeka and the new Republic. It seemed downright silly. "We personally are against the kidnaping, and that is why we are letting you know about it," my Informants said. "Most of our people oppose Sjahrir because they resent his policy of conciliation with the Dutch and British; they do not like any part of the negotiations now going on In Jakarta. They say that negotiation is a betrayal of the principles of the Revolution. But we think that a kidnaping would be political suicide for our party and very bad for Indonesia In the eyes of the world. We know that this move Is only a part of the straggle for power between the two parties." "Why didn t you go to the military authorities?" I asked. "We don t dare to be connected with this leak of information/" they explained. "We belong to the group that is planning the kid naping. If we went to military Intelligence we would have to give our names and addresses. Even In the military Intelligence depart ment there Is bound to be a Tan Malaka follower. The word would get out, and we would be killed." "Then why not go directly to Sutan Sjahrir?" I suggested. "We would surely be recognized by someone," they said. "That Is why we came to you. No member of our group will be suspicious, because you are not even remotely connected with Tan Malaka. And there would be nothing strange about you dropping in on Sjahrir. You are the only one who could warn him without being suspected." THE OF 235 After en my part and on I to tell to Sjahrir, without confiding in -and left I was not at all the story was true, 1 was not led into a trap. the worst be for the to a at my gullibility, I that had to Solo, so It was the I on are very early 1 was not to en his coffee. He me without any of as he me, me Between sips 1 told him the of the plot. He attentively, had a laugh. "Ridlculous! ?? he "Why my to me? If it were the Dutch, I iL T? lie never- Apparently lie the in at When at I me graciously for the to see him. "I still think it s kind of a of propriety, trying to test your sincerity to the Republic/" lie Back in 1 the whole incident from my mind. I had my to the men. It was now up to the prime minister. Two days later the news swept over Java: SUTAN SJAHRIR HAS BEEN KIDNAPED. He by unknown. The people were shocked, all the ministers extremely upset. The Dutch were rejoicing, propaganda of the incident. It was only the of President Sukarno over the radio, begging the to Sjahrir immediately before any further harm was to the Republic, that brought about his re lease. Such was the power of Sukarno, such the respect and affection, that even the opposition parties could not hold out against him. Sjahrir was turned loose, none the worse for his brief internment. Easygoing, lenient, natured, he dismissed the kidnaping as childish. Nothing was done about it. I wondered what the young men from Maduin were thinking of me. They must have been disappointed, assuming that I had failed to warn Sjahrir. I never had a chance to let them know otherwise. Such was life in Jogja. Interesting, and now and again spiked with peril.

PITO BRINGS A LETTER

My watch told me it was 3:30 A.M. when the room boy in the hotel pounded on my door and said a young officer who would not give his name was demanding to see me immediately. The visitor insisted that it was most important. I had learned from experience not to be surprised at anything the Indonesians might choose to do. Their code of convention was their own. If something were really important, then 3:30 in the morning was as good a time as any in which to take care of it. I asked the room boy to show the officer to the veranda and to bring kopi tubruk. Then I dressed hastily and walked out to meet my early-morning guest. He was seated with his back to the door and did not see me enter. "Selamet pagi, bung," I said. Good morning, brother. He jumped up from his chair and turned around. "Pito!" I cried, in utter astonishment. "I can t believe it s you. You re back from Bali! Allah be praised for your safe return." Then I turned off the flow of words, for his face told me plainer than anything else that something was wrong. He appeared to be very tired, and his brow was wrinkled in pain. "Are you ill, Pito?" I asked. "Come; sit down and tell me all about it." He sat down and put his head between his hands and started to sob. A chill ... a foreboding ... a presentiment of disaster crept over my heart. I was afraid to say anything. Finally Pito gazed at me with stricken eyes. I stared at him, and felt the color draining from my face. Suddenly I knew what he had to tell me. "Go on, Pito. I think I know. It s Anak Agung Nura, isn t it?" "Yes," he whispered. "He is dead, K tut." Suddenly I felt that I was no longer part of this world, that I had been transported into outer space where all was dark. I saw the be- A 237 smiling at me with I not I could not cry. After I Pito it had l& He was shot by a of Irresponsible permoedas." The per- were a "Permoedas! Do you Dutchmen?" I "The Dutch in Bali?" "No, not Dutchmen. His countrymen." 4t l can t believe it," I cried, "I won t it. It be. His people loved Mm," Pito told me the story. A of young went to Anak Agong Nura s in the and him by pounding on the They they had im portant to tell Unsuspecting, he the and was shot down he say a The in a car that was waiting for on the They toward Negaia, for the car was found Djembxana. "There are many stories/* said Pito. "Some say it was the work of Dutch We do not this to be true. It was the work of guerrillas, or who took the law into As you know, Anak Agung Nura was all of violence. He did not in indiscriminate retaliation an eye for an eye, a for a He would not condone the cold-blooded murder of private citizens, even If they were Dutchmen. To the illiterate who had suffered much at the hands of the Dutch this could mean only one thing. Anak Agung Nora was working with and for white people, or at the very least was pro-white." I shoot my head. Surely, Pito, that would be no to shoot him down in cold blood," There were many factors to be considered, Pito replied. The permoedas had been emotionally upset, and their feelings outraged, by one of the most brutal atrocities yet committed against the natives by the Dutch military in Bali. A young guerrilla had fallen into the hands of the Dutch, and a Dutchman had ordered his head shaved, aad half the until it was red with blood. The other half was to remain white to produce the colors of Indo nesia Merdeka red and white. The tortured youth was then wheeled 235 REVOLT IN PARADISE through the streets of Den Pasar as an example to his countrymen,, as a warning not to resist the return of the Dutch to Ball. As could be expected, the permoedas of Ball went wild. They called for the massacre of all the Dutch In Bali. Nora, greatly upset, pleaded with the permoedas not to take drastic action. Two wrongs would not make a right, he told them, and he urged them to have patience. The hour of their delivery from the Dutch was near, he said; but It must be brought about without: violence. A small band of roving fanatics, misunderstanding his motives and assuming that he was tiling to save the Dutch, carried out his execution. The story left me stunned, speechless. "Why don t you let yourself go, K7tut?" PIto said softly. "Let the tors come. Don t hold back. Cry. It will be a relief." "No, Pito, I will not cry, nor give In to my feelings/ 7 I said. "If I do I shall not be able to endure staying In Indonesia another day. Agung Nura would not want me to grieve. I shall carry on as he would have wished. Anything I can do for Indonesia Merdeka will be T somehow, a tribute to the memory of the most gentle Indonesian that ever lived." Pito told me that the Ballnese prince had been buried temporarily. When freedom had been won at last, his body would be removed from its grave and cremated In the Balinese fashion, In royal style. Thus would his spirit be released to join his ancestors. "One day he will be reborn/ 7 said PIto. "And you, K y tut T will meet him again in a free and happy land, where there will be no slavery and no violence. Who is to know, K tut, but that you in your next reincarnation will be a true Ballnese? We believe in such things." We fell silent, each lost In his own somber thoughts. "By the way/ PIto said after a while, "Agung Nura left a letter for you." A letter? He had no warning that he was to die. Why would he have left a letter? "It was found in his bureau drawer, with orders that it be sent to you in Java. They gave it to me to deliver. Shall I open it for you?" "No, PIto dear/ I said. "I shall open It when I am alone." Pito said he had been traveling for three days and nights with almost no sleep. There were, as usual, no vacant rooms at the hotel, so I told him to rest in the spare bed in my room, and said I would A 239 cai! him in time for lunch. He was fatt asleep, I sat on the a Agung s un opened in my lap. I was to it; If ! any with Agung Xura ? in it be the end for me. I not face the of his word*;. Not yet 1 the letter fee of my writing and silently left the veranda. It was still and was fast I the as in a and finally to the The early- trickling in from the outlying to their or balanced on They in or gunny sacking. The Dutch Java had cat off the of cloth; and even if to be had no money. The me shy smiles, and the stoutly "Merdeka, KThit Tantii." 4 Tetap Merdeka, bung," I said in return. They all me well for this was not the first I had sat in the at watching industrious folk set out wares. They had much for rnerdeka, Many lost or ones. But they were of a and fatalistic stock, and went their chores with a smile. They understood that meant sacrifice on their part, and they willing to the sacrifice. I learned patience patience and courage. Pito and I lunched oa toe veranda. He had much to tell me of Ball, and especially the old had to his bed at the news of Xura s death. What of Wyjan, Maday, Njoman? The} all safe, and living in their respective kampongs. But they were very poor, for they had lost much to the Japanese. They had told that I had killed bv the Japanese, and were overjoyed to that I was alive. They were hoping that I would return to Bali, to build our moon garden on the ashes of our dreams. As Pito unfolded the stow of the reoccupation of Bali by the Dutch I became more and more depressed. As long as the Dutch remained in Bali y I could never go back. "The Dutch are like leeches," said Pito. 44 Once you get them on your body they never let go 7 and it is difficult to remove them. They 240 REVOLT IN PARADISE have reinstated themselves all over the island except in the moon- tains, where the guerrillas hide out. There really Is not much the guerrillas can do, for they have very few firearms and can only get more If they are smuggled in from Java." Den Pasar ? PIto said, was crowded with Dutch military. All that the Balinese could do for the present was to smile, and wait. Dutch government officials were busy with plans to set up a puppet govern ment to be called the East Indonesian States. It would embrace all the Indonesian islands east and north of Java: Borneo, Celebes, Ambon, New Guinea, and hundreds of smaller islands. An Indo nesian would head the government, but the Dutch would keep full control of defense, foreign affairs, finances, and trade transactions. The new president would be purely and simply a puppet of the Dutch. He would have no power whatsoever. "It is the old policy of divide and rule/ 7 said Pito. "And who is to be the Indonesian head of these puppet states?" "A Balinese friend of yours, ICtut The Rajah of Sukawati, Tjo- korda Gde Rake Sukawati!" "Tjokorda Sukawati? I can t believe it!" This was stunning news, Indeed. The Rajah was a good friend, a man I liked very much. He was European educated, charming, a linguist, and one of the most intelligent Balinese I had known. Many pleasant days had I spent in his company, and in the purl of his brothers. They had patiently taught me to write In the Balinese characters. Countless evenings I had listened to them translate the Indian epic poems, and afterward explain the dignity and beauty of Hindu literature. What could have Induced a man of his exalted caste to forsake his own people to become a puppet of the enemy? It was unthinkable. "Are Tjokorda s brothers and his son In this betrayal with him?" I asked. "No," said Pito. "The son broke with his father over this move, and is a hundred per cent behind the Republic." Pondering the riddle, I recalled that he had married a French woman, and it seemed probable that pressure had been put on him. Whatever the reasons behind his decision to serve the Dutch, his ultimate fate was one of the many tragedies of merdeka. For when the East Indonesian States collapsed, as could be ex pected, Tjokorda Sukawatf s career was finished. And what of Pita s plans for the future? He confided that he was OLD ME 241 on his way to troubled carrying to the guerrilla chieftain of that area. He would go also to sec his for lie had that the old was not well After lie to to Dr. S* and Tome. A be to the guerrillas in Bali. I Pito star on a few days In to rat. ""Duty first/* he replied. "On my way I stop, but I be on my way." I the idea of Pito s going to It was full of the Batch military, as and to to Pito me the he he be no suspicion. 44 I am the Man," he said playfully. Once 1 "Selamet Pito." Once he "Selamet tlnggal, ICteL" 1 waved, and he was And 1 was left with my gloomy 10 OLD ME The Indonesians, awakened from three hundred years of sleep, bursting with energy, for and education. Day and night 1 was by me to teach English. But there was so little time. Fierce ighting was going on in everj- town and village the and the Dutch had en trenched themselves. Repeatedly President Sukarno the British to stop bringing Dutch troops into Indonesia. But his were ignored. Thousands upon thousands of Dutch military personnel poured into the islands, and trigger-happy patrols were creating so many "incidents" that Sukarno had to order all Indonesians off the streets at dark to prevent major trouble. From the words of Major F. E. Crockett, the United States military observer at Batavia, writing in Harper s Magazine of March, 1946 ? 242 REVOLT IN PARADISE there seems little doubt that the British were fully aware of Dutch intentions: It seemed clear to me from what I had seen that the Dutch, In view of Britain s political noninterference pronouncement, would try and were trying to involve the British inextricably by provok ing unrest among the native population. I could see no other reasonable explanation for the brutal conduct of the Dutch patrols. What they would gain by such tactics was obvious: they would keep the British too busy to disarm the Japanese (which was their primary reason for being there) and they would force the British to commit more and more troops to the area, which would mean more and more involvement. At long last, of course, the British did come to see that they had been duped. Since learning of Agung Nura s death I had kept myself very busy, trawling all over Republican Java. Often I wished I had been born an Indonesian, so I could look upon death in their philosophical way, without long grieving. I \isited Bung Tomo in Malang. I went to the mountain strong hold near Modjokerto where I had lived with the guerrillas, and they begged me to stay. I would have remained had I been able to follow the dictates of my heart. But now I knew the time had passed for that. On returning to Jogja I learned that I was once again to ac company the President on a tour, but this time to the West instead of the East. More and more I found myself attached to the Ministry for De fense, and to Amir Sjarifuddin in quite an unofficial way, of course. One day my old friend, the major from army intelligence, came calling. I had not seen much of him since the arrest of the plotting princess and her accomplices. He had been away on a mission to West Java, I could tell by the gleam in his eyes that this was not just a social visit. He had something up his sleeve, very plainly. Before he could say a word, I told him, "Now, Bung, I am warning you in advance. I am not going to get mixed up in any more cloak-and- dagger dramas. If that is what you are about to suggest, the answer is no. I could not stand another plotting princess. My nerves are still shattered from that little deal." OLD ME 243 The laughed. "Nothing like this timer he "This will be an adventure, bat not what you think." He thoroughly my as lie up and my veranda. Suddenly he "How would }ou like to go to en a mission?" \\Tiatever I had expected, this was not it. "There s little matter of the Dutch major," 1 a bit of "Our merchant fleet isn t exactly operating a out of days. and long-range are luxuries that we never ourselves." "Ah T bat we do a plane/ said the It s a from the Japanese prettiest you ever saw and we it at Malang. Certain but we to get the from the Philippines. We we extra it will be to Darwin, if not Perth." Extra The of to stretch oat the of an by was not an to me ? a layman. And of a pilot, a light, 1,400 of water, would an crew. "We the of arriving in Australia would be fifty-fifty," the major* I acidly it would a safety factor of about 95 per cent to interest me in a flight to Australia. "Besides," 1 said, "I have no passport or identification papers. The took my American and destroyed It so far as I know. And we would have to have visas." "Don t let the little you/ 7 lie replied. **Tliis is a revolution, and we have to our chances. Well just fly Into Australia without passports and papers. The Australians won t shoot us y that is sure. They are sympathetic, and already they ve us very much with their union ban on loading Dutch with ire- arms. Well be able to tell oar story all over Australia. And well see that you are provided with identification papers and a passport claiming you as a warga negara, an Indonesian citizen." "I d consider it a high honor to be a citizen of Indonesia,, have BO doubt about that, major," I said. "But officially we are still a colony of the Netherlands. We are not recognized by Australia or any other country. An Indonesian passport would be honored nowhere. * "Rubbish! " said the major. "We no longer belong to the Nether- 244 REVOLT IN PARADISE lands. In any case, you are British, and Australia is part of the Brit ish Commonwealth. It seems to me you should have no trouble." "But I am not British now/ I reminded him. "I am an American citizen." "Nonsense! You can only be what your parents are. You are Brit ish." "All right; so I am British. So what then?" "It makes It much easier If you are British. You needn t advertise the fact In Australia that you are an American citizen. You do not speak with an American accent. You can become an American again when we send you to the United States." "And if you send me to China, do I become a Chinese?" I teased. "Oh, no; that won t be necessary/ 7 he said seriously. "You will go as a warga negara." "Who cooked up this Australian trip?" I wanted to know. "Army Intelligence? Amir Sjarifuddln?" "No. Bung Amir has been away. He doesn t know about it yet. ... Of course, K tut, If you do not want to make this trip If you really think it s too unsafe forget It. We realize the danger. The Indonesians can go by themselves. The only reason we had you In mind was that you are British, and our party would have a better reception In Australia If you were on the plane. In fact, it would be sensational." Sensational? Perhaps if we got there at all! Yes; it had become we, not they, in my thinking. I had been persuaded. After all, I could speak the English language and w r ould be in a position to tell the Aussles the truth about conditions In Indonesia. The major was pleased at my decision. "You will be leaving a week from today/ he said. "Bung Amir will be back from Maduin tomor row, and I shall Inform him immediately." As he started to leave he turned, winked, and said, "Berontak, K tut." Berontak means revolt. It was a catchword with the permoedas and guerrillas, shouted with raised ist on leaving each other s com pany. "Carry on, until we win our fight" was Its meaning. The edu cated classes did not use the word as a parting salutation, so this was just a bit of the major s humor. Well, carry on I would. "Berontak^ bung!" I called. Australia! What next? I asked myself. I retired to my room and laid out the wee cards that I had made In prison. I could see nothing of ME 245 what might be in for me in Australia neither a departure nor an arrival in a strange land. I at this, but put it down to the fact that I wasn t in the that day for fortunetelling. Bung Amir came from Maduin, when he the plan he was dead set it. He was extremely dubious that the air plane would be able to the long Eight. However, the major enlisted the help of a top of the air force. Together were able to convince Bung Amir the was styworthy. Two days before we were to I was told that Colonel X would be accompanying us and the plane was lying in from Malang that evening. On the following day it would malce a trial flight over the Indian Ocean, staying aloft until only enough gasoline would be left to get it back to Jogjakarta. This test would re veal how long the plane would in the air without refueling. Early on the morning of the trial flight, Colonel X and the major called at the hotel to ask if I would like to go along, just to get the feel of the plane. I had been working very late the night before, and was tired. "I would rather wait until we set oet for Australia," I said. Hearing my decision, Colonel X told the major that he too had changed his mind. "I will stay at the hotel with ICtut and talk over our plans for Australia/ X said. "All right," replied the major. "I am going to my office now to get the papers ready. Ill meet you after dinner and we ll go to Bung Amir s house to pick up the letters for Australia and to get our final instructions." The colonel and I dined together, and then waited for the major. He was late. We left a message, finally, that we were proceeding to Sjarifuddin s house and would meet him there. On entering the study of Amir we found him standing by the telephone. When he saw us he closed his eyes and said, "Thank God!" He noted our bewilderment. 4 Tou haven t heard the news?" he asked. We shook our heads. "Is it possible? I thought it was all over town "by now. The plane crashed off the coast of Sumatra! Everyone was killed!" We stared, absolutely thunderstruck. I shivered. The colonel asked, "Was the major on the plane?" "No ? thank God!" said Bung Amir. 246 REVOLT IN PARADISE We sat In thoughtful silence for a little while. Then Colonel X said, "Come on, ICtut. Let us go home to my house. Evidently Old Nick didn t want us." We said good night to Bung Amir and walked silently back to the barracks. Our Australian trip was off, of course. Our plans had been kept top secret. No one knew we were supposed to fly away in that plane at daybreak the following day. All that ever appeared in the press and over the radio were the sad details of the crashing of an Indonesian plane on a trial flight off the Sumatra coast. Colonel X never mentioned the tragedy again. Neither did I. 11 I INTERVENE IN A MAN S FATE Pito was back from Bandung, downhearted and upset and nervous. Horrifying atrocities were being committed by the Dutch against any Indonesians caught wearing the Indonesian colors of the badge of merdeka. The swaggering Dutch troopers forced their captives to chew and swallow the bits of red-and-white cloth and the soft-metal badges. Many a young Indonesian thus suffered permanent internal injury. We printed the story of this outrage in The Voice of Free Indonesia. The incensed Indonesians tried to retaliate, and many Dutch were killed. Pito was worried, too, about his father, weakened by recurrence of the malaria and dysentery he had contracted during long years of exile. Pito had tried to persuade his father to leave Bandung for the relative safety of Jogja, but the old man had refused, insisting that he would continue the struggle for merdeka in the town of his an cestors. "You are too young for this dangerous job of traveling up and down Java on secret missions," I told Pito. "You have never had time for fun. You do not know how to play. You are much too serious, trying to carry the struggle for freedom as a burden all your own. You must take a few days off for once, and let me show you a good time." & i ix A MAN S FATE 247 PIto so readily I was a bit by He must have wean* we had realized. For three we like a of for the first time. We went oo picnics, and the Borobodor Pram- to the We by temples, created ago by of a magnificent cul ture, and we at the of their handiwork. We visited the Sultan s iraton, and saw for the irst in his life the renowned dancers of He sat entranced. "If s like a fain* tale, fte kraton Is like a magnificent castle/" he said. And indeed it was. There was nothing elsewhere in Indonesia to match the splendor of the kraton. We called on President Sukarno a reception at the presidential palace. We saw "by from Sumatra^ from all over Indonesia. We visited as of some of Indonesia s artists. Pito was enchanted. It had his lot as a child to walk the high ways and pick up a living by his wits. He had never had time to enjoy the amazing and beautiful tilings of mid-Java. Self-trained, without formal education, lie had to to speak Dutch as fluently as his native Javanese. His English, mostly picked up from tourists, was intelligible^ and very picturesque. He was sensitive and refined in appearance, and he walked like a prince, his head held high. I was very proud of Pito. At last the day came he must leave for Surabaya. "*And from Surabaya I am going to Celebes/ 7 lie said. He might as well have told me he was taking off for the moon. The island of Celebes was at least three days from Java by native prau. Its people spoke an en tirely different language. "Why Celebes?" I asked. "I am to go there and learn what I can of Turk Westerling." Pito was amazed that I had never heard of Captain Turk Wester- ling. A notorious officer in the Dutch army, reportedly the son of a Dutch father and a Turkish mother a man known throughout In donesia as "the Butcher" for his monstrous, sadistic activities, he said. Westerling at the outbreak of World War II was in Rotterdam. He escaped to England, joined the Dutch forces fighting with the British army, and became a sergeant major. In 1943 he managed to become one of Lord Mountbatten's bodyguards. This did not suit the restless Westerling, so he volunteered for service in Burma. Later he won a commission with the Allied Forces.

In 194? Westerling parachuted Into northern Sumatra and before long managed to establish himself as an absolute dictator. When the British forces reached Sumatra after the capitulation of the Japanese they were surprised to find Captain Westerling in complete charge. He had organized a remarkable intelligence service embracing half of Sumatra. Whenever anything happened In Sumatra, Turk Westerling knew about it a few hours later. A British officer wrote of him in one of the Singapore papers: "I visited Capt. Westerling at his bungalow and we were having coffee. Suddenly Westerling pulled from out of a waste-basket the head of an Indonesian and said, "My intelligence service tracked down this rebel and found out where he was living. I dressed myself up as a native and, covering my face with a demon's mask, entered his house. I hid in the corner of his bedroom and waited for him to return home, and when he did he froze with fright. I took him by the hand and told him this would be his last day on earth. I gave him some rice and locked him in the bathroom. At 4 a.m. I entered the bathroom and told the rebel to turn around, and with one stroke of my sword, I severed his head from his body."

"The Dutch have sent Westerling to Celebes to put down the rebellion of Indonesians fighting for merdeka," Pito told me. "He has been trying to do this in a ruthless and brutal manner. Women and children coming home from the market, men in the streets, have been shot down in cold blood. Some have been dragged from their homes. Men picked at random have been shot as a warning to the others not to try to overthrow the Dutch. A whole village was exterminated. The men were forced to dig a mass grave for the massacre that was to follow."

I shuddered at the idea of sending a young, inexperienced boy to Celebes to investigate a madman. Supposing Pito fell into the hands of Westerling or his gang of murderers. I made a mental note to ask Amir Sfarifuddin to use his influence to see that the assignment be given to an older, more experienced man. But I said nothing of this to Pito, of course.

Once again we rubbed noses in farewell, and Pito left saying that A 249 he stay two in for I was BO! a fern to a oil It was Pito 7 me Ms to had and that an was his ! to myself, and Amir. I had in Pito s all The Pito s Celebes. As a to 1 in a of and in in the op of Ultimately he was ac- of for the of and his rise to the Dutch to a to Celebes. AI- the was the con- that Westerling was for "only" to of But the that 30 ? OCO was the are not a of my nor Is a I off the as to Westerling s his for the of Dutch officials. 12 A PROPOSAL Indonesia at this had two strong friends, and India. Both countries had done to the of merdeka. The Australians had put a on ail Dutch or war material in Australian ports. Prime Minister Nehru of India had asked: "What has become of the United Nations Charter?" and had voiced acidly his opinion of the Dutch in Indonesia,

The British were in an unenviable position. Criticized and mistrusted by both the Indonesians the Dutch, they were under fire also in the United Nations and were being castigated by the world press. Yet there was no doubt that British sympathy and sentiment were on the side of the Indonesians.

The dilemma of the British was understandable enough. If they supported the new Republic openly, they would alienate Dutch advocates in the United Nations, with far-reaching effects on any European alliance.

The British had eventually to change their policy and urge the Dutch to negotiate with the Indonesian leaders. When the Dutch refused, the British put strong pressure on them, emphasizing that a peaceful compromise was the only way out of the situation. In the end the Dutch were forced to agree, but they felt that they had lost face and had been humiliated into dealing with Indonesian leaders whom they had branded as Japanese puppets.

The British then sent two very capable statesmen to Indonesia as mediators, Lord Inverchapel and later Lord Killearn. Lord Killearn came into the interior to talk with President Sukarno, accompanied by several pilots, young men clearly from the cream of the Royal Air Force. I met Lord Killearn and his party at the palace, and it was my pleasant duty to entertain the fliers while Lord Killearn, Amir Sjarifuddin, Prime Minister Sjahrir, President Sukarno, and Vice-President Hatta were in conference. It did not surprise me that they were very sympathetic to the Indonesian cause, which they seemed to understand well. They were on their way home to be demobilized, and said they would like nothing better than to return and join the Indonesian air force, to help carry on the straggle for freedom.

The Indonesian leaders and the British representatives got along very well when they met informally, which irked the Dutch no end. The British pointed out to the Dutch that Britain had walked out of India and Burma leaving good feeling behind (???), with the result that Britishers were now back in India working side by side with the Indians. (???) But the Dutch were not so subtle as the English and preferred to fight until they were forced into the sea.

When Lord Killearn left Jogja, President Sukarno thanked him for his good offices and expressed the hope that efforts to negotiate a peace treaty with the Dutch would be successful. A truce was effected, and shortly afterward the Dutch and the Indonesians signed the ill-fated Linggadjati agreement. This provided for Dutch recognition of the de facto Indonesian government. The Dutch and Indonesians would be partners in Java, Sumatra, and Madura. The status of the other islands would be negotiated.

The British withdrew from Indonesia. The withdrawal in one A SLNSATIONAI, PROPOSAL 251 was a calami!}" for the Indonesians, for more than 93,000 left behind, fully British mar In the that they had in Indonesia the British had many losses. Hundreds killed many had to the side. But the most was the the had for the British, so feeling the Dutch. Prime Minister Sjahrir on the of the British: "In al! circumstances, even in unfriendly contact or in conflict with us ? we learned to to you. You to our country by your of Western cultureyour and behavior. * After the the Dutch plainly no of up to the merit The was a to end. It Indo nesia of the Dutch was It the signing of the agree ment the Dutch at lift the territory. The native hard ships, for they could sell their nor bring Into the country the things needed. But the was continued as before, and the people to smuggling produce into out of Singapore. Some were lucky, but most were not. Now that the restraining hand of the British had removed, the Dutch diehards in The Hague were planning war. It became evident that the Dutch intended to force once again into Indonesia. For several months after the signing of the agreement there was explosive provocation, a of incidents. At last the colonial war that the British had tried to avoid in Indonesia broke 0ut 7 and the Dutch army on the march. Once again protests came from al! over the world. It was in this period my friend, the major from army intelli gence, telephoned and said he had something important to discuss. I was not readily taken in. "When you have something important to talk about, my dear major ? it is time for me to go into hiding/ 7 I told him. "This time/ 7 he said, "it s sensational." "Sensational!"* I scoffed. "Remember, major, the Australian trip 252 KEVOLT IN PARADISE was supposed to "be sensational. I am not Interested in any more sensational schemes. Next thing, you ll ask me to take off in a space ship to enlist the aid of the Martians for merdeka. Is that it, major?" "Not quite, ICtut but something like it. It s not Mars. It s Singa pore. 7 He said he could not talk further, but would come around to take me to dinner. I was aware that life in Java was becoming dangerous for me. If the Dutch ever got as far as Jogjakarta, I would certainly be arrested, and probably shot. (In this conjecture I was right. The Dutch did get to Jogja, finally, and they arrested President Sukarno and other leaders. It was my personal good fortune that I was no longer in the city.) But how could anyone safely get to Singapore with a land, sea, and air blockade around Java and Sumatra? Hundreds of In donesian patriots had tried it and met death at sea. Yet I knew in my heart that the Indonesians could plan their way in and out of Hades if they made up their minds to do it. They had a great sense of adventure, and worried little. This was the spirit that finally won for them merdeka, for certainly they did not outdo the Dutch with guns. It was their willingness to risk their lives for a principle that triumphed in the end, even when they knew without doubt that they would be killed. The major and I went to a Chinese singsong cafe for dinner. We did not discuss Singapore, but the latest Dutch maneuvers, and the effect of the blockade around the island. After dinner we went to the home of Colonel Ebanda where he and two other old friends, Colonel Barata and Colonel Sorotiyo, were waiting. The five of us had been through many an adventure together, and the homes of the colonels had been like my own. We gathered around the dining-room table. There was a certain tension in the air. The major was the first to speak. "ICtut," he said, "we are meeting here tonight to talk over plans that may bring you the biggest adventure of your life." Before he could say anything else, I broke in. "I really am getting tired of adventures. I want to do all that I can to help the Indo nesians, but there s a limit to what my nerves can take." Colonel Ebanda spoke up. "Perhaps we should not call this mis sion an adventure/ he suggested. "That may be the wrong word. It is an important project. We are going to call it "Operation Hide- A 253 If it is successful, it will be a for us. The in itself will be to our It will be is why we are meeting here tonight. We you to to the plan. 1 If you don t fed to In It, you full well we will no It," The "That to fly to was a a But we not up the of Aus tralia of our story to the the of the British, bad to We the Dutch no of living tip to the We can for a bat not for We help* The be to just the are up to, the are The be to the at- of the United Nations. This will be by or Australia. We the Dutch are to try to In by an in Tills not be to The must the truth/* I of the was as our by the and it was to to the The were in desperate of supplies. Hundreds were dying every day for want of the proper medicines drugs, even 4 The Australian Cross would By in aid, If our need. No one can tell you, Sudara K tut Tantri," the major persisted. "What is this talk Australia?" 1 asked. "I understood the to say Singapore. Has there a change in your plans?" "No," the said. "It s like this. First we would like you to go to Singapore^ from there to Australia and maybe to America." I gazed fondly at the four men. Really, they were wonderful So casual that, for all the excitement they showed^ they might have been discussing a tour around Jogjakarta. Again I pointed out I had no passport or documents of any kind, and reminded them of the blockade aroend Java. "Supposing I could get through the blockade how would I get into Singapore? It sounds to me like a plot for a Hollywood movie.** 254 REVOLT IN PARABISE There was silence for a moment. Then the major said softly, "By sailing through the blockade to Malaya, and from there on to Australia." My heart skipped a beat. I had speculated that he might have another plane hidden away, and I wouldn t have been too surprised had he produced a submarine. But to sail through the blockade that was unthinkable! Many had been blown to pieces by Dutch patrols by daring such a thing. Surely, I told the major, he couldn t be serious. The whole idea was preposterous, especially as I could expect no cordial reception in Singapore, a British crown colony, after all my criticism of British policy in Indonesia. The major had anticipated all my objections. "We ll get you into Singapore by way of the underground. The British won t even know you re in the city." "And what of the Dutch, who would love to catch up with me?" "They will not know what ship you are on. No one but the four of us will know that you have left Indonesia until you are safe in Singapore." And where would they get a ship capable of sailing to Australia? "We have no ship that could sail to Australia," the major agreed. "But we have a small wooden ship left over from the Japanese that can go as far as Malaya safely. It s about two hundred tons." When I exclaimed that this was not much bigger than a native prati, he said confidently, "Oh, it s big enough. And it has a diesel engine. True, it has no cabins or toilet facilities. But it will reach Singapore all right if it isn t ambushed at sea by the Dutch. And it sails under the British flag with a real Britisher for captain a rene gade English blockade buster." The British skipper was more a blind than anything else. He was too old to be sailing on his own, and besides he was hardly ever sober. The true captain would be an Arabonese, a reliable and re sourceful man who knew the Indonesian waters from many years of sailing under the Dutch. Besides the two captains, there would be four deck hands Indonesian guerrillas from Java Timor. "These young men know you well; you will be looked after most carefully," I was assured. The ship would sail from the small port of Tegal, near Cheribon. The date had not yet been set. We talked for hours. The officers had thought of everything. All A SENSATIONAL 255 activity at the Tegal docks had to it the port was closed down and to lull the suspicions of the watch ful Dutch, who had a cruiser outside the waiting like a vul ture to pounce. But: the little was ready to sail on a moment s The with a supply of for the Englishman who was in the solely for he was to be to at sixty-five and of money by such to buy a of his own. The longer I the the When we finally It was the we would the day, with Amir, to work out the trouble- It was 1 to the Hotel, and I had to I that I had not to the journey, but my had it for that I go plan. I myself of a fool. The very of sailing the Dutch five a Englishman me shudder. Certainly I was not con- this venture for gain. I never any money from the Indonesian government for help I was able to give. Obviously 1 was ruled not by my brains but by my heart. And in my heart I knew that 1 must go, for I sworn solemnly "Merdeka atau Mati." I remembered again my mother s saying to me in my childhood, "Remember, you are a descendant of pirates and kings." The pirates I could now believe. About the kings I still had my doubts. The next evening we met again, this time at Bung Amir s home. As I listened to my friends discuss their plan, I thought what re markable people they roily were and I found myself wholeheart edly with their cause. Their problems were my problems now, and their joys and sorrows were mine. When Bung Amir asked what I tfiougfat of the program I replied, "Others have made it, why not we? If a bomb has my name on it, quismat If not, 111 get to Singa pore. It is as simple as that" Bung Amir s help and advice were required because the Indo nesians had no foreign currency and their own money had no value in the outside world. However, the Indonesians had managed to smug- 256 MEVOLT IN PARADISE gle tons of rubber and sugar through Sumatra into Singapore, and to sell it to Chinese merchants. The proceeds were paid to the of the Indonesian Republic. A number of Indonesians were in Singa pore for this activity., most of them highly educated, friends or rela tives of the Indonesian leaders. Many Indonesian army officers were there secretly buying firearms from neighboring Asian countries, pay ing for them with money from the sale of sugar and rubber. Bung Amir gave me letters to some of these men ? and one in structing an Indonesian to give me a certain sum for my expenses in Singapore and Australia. Sjarifnddin also gave me letters to high personages in Singapore and Australia, and to an admiral in Wash ington. In view of Bung Amir s unhappy fate, I must record here that none of the letters was addressed to an individual Communist or to a Communist organization. "It is best that you go/ Bung Amir said. "I am afraid that if you stay on in Java your life will be in great danger. The way things are going now, it may not be long before the Dutch march into Jogja." Amir spoke truer words than he knew. There was the problem of a passport for me. When I told Amir with some heat that I had applied for one only recently at the Ameri can consulate in Batavia and encountered nothing but red tape, he patted my shoulder and told rne not to worry about it. "We will give you an Indonesian passport/* he said. But Indonesia had no passports. It was not yet recognized by any country in the world. "Do you mean a Dutch passport, Bung Amir?" I asked. "Certainly not," he replied. "I shall have an Indonesian passport made especially for you. One never knows what may happen in this life. Someday we will be a recognized republic, and then we shall have our own passports. If you ever find yourself in a country with out a passport, an Indonesian document may be very useful. You can put our passport away and forget it until such a time comes/ So it was that within a few days I had Indonesian passport No. I, an impressive-looking paper not unlike the United State passport. The front page was decorated with the red-and-white lag of In donesia; I smiled to note that the word Republic was spelled wrong. The signature on it was that of Amir Sjarif uddin himself. To humor Bung Amir 1 took the worthless passport and hid it away among my things. At least it would be an amusing souvenir of A SENSATIONAL PROPOSAL 257 Indonesia. I could not know how useful this document would some day prove to be and how fervently I would thank Bung Amir for it. The day came at last when I was to leave for Tegal, there to wait possibly days or weeks for the Dutch cruiser to sail away. Colonel Sorotiyo was to accompany me to Tegal. I made my farewell to Amir Sjarifuddin and gave him a letter for Pito. Bung Amir looked tired and wan, which indeed he was, and it saddened me to say good-by. We were to leave Jogja just after dark. I was ready, for I had nothing to pack. I owned only the clothing I was wearing and an extra sarong and kebaya. After saying adieu to the major and the two colonels, Colonel Sorotiyo and I set out for Tegal in a car that had seen better days. About midnight, before we had covered half the distance, one of our tires blew out. We had no spares, of course; tires were hard to come by during the Revolution, and they were more precious, almost, than gold. Here, in the heart of the land of rubber, we were stalled, alongside a paddy field by a road with no traffic. All we could do was sleep and wait for daylight when the peasants would come by on their way to the rice fields. It was noon before help came, in the form of a military car from Tegal headed back toward Jogja. Colonel Sorotiyo exercised his su perior rank on the drivers, and they turned around and took us to Tegal, where the military commandant gave us rooms. After a bath and something to eat we went out to look at our ship. It was now night again. I was shocked to see how small our vessel was, and disturbed to be informed that the Englishman was dead to the world, sleeping off a hangover. On the horizon the Dutch cruiser could plainly be seen, its lights twinkling like rows of stars. Regularly a searchlight swept the waters around Tegal harbor. Day after day we waited in Tegal. In the second week I was awak ened long before daylight with the word that the cruiser had lifted anchor and steamed off toward Cheribon. We could not know whether it was bound for Batavia or would merely sail up and down the coast. But this might be our only chance; we must make a dash for it. In less than an hour I was aboard and we were ready to sail. "Selamet djalan, ICtut," said Colonel Sorotiyo huskily. "May all the gods protect you and sail with you, and bring you back safely to our shores. We shall pray for you day and night." I could not hold back the tears. "Merdeka, ICtut," he said, softly. "Tetap merdeka, bung/ 7 I whispered. With that he was gone into* 258 REVOLT IN PARADISE the darkness. Before I knew it our little wooden ship was moving away from shore, putting out toward Borneo. As the profile of Java faded from sight, loneliness swept over me. I was a ship myself, an insecure one without a rudder, drifting into an uncharted future. I could only hope that the Dutch had no knowl edge I was aboard, yet I realized that in Indonesia secrets were hard to keep and this one might have leaked out in spite of our precau tions. My thoughts turned to Bali, and the Rajah, and Anak Agung Nura, and the letter that I had not read. I had brought it with me, and I decided to read it now by the dim, curtained light within the ship: Beloved Sister K tut Tantri: If this letter reaches you, then you will know that I no longer walk this earth. But before I join my ancestors I should like you to know that my last earthly thoughts are of you. I heard your brave voice over Radio Pemberontakan, and later over the Voice of Free Indonesia, and it brought me great joy to know that you were still alive. I had long mourned you for dead. That you had been arrested and tortured by the Japanese Kempetai I knew, for friends had sent me word. But later it was reported that you had been put to death. It is a great miracle and a tribute to your courage that you survived. You are safe, and it is now clear to me why you were spared, and the purpose of the gods when they led you from a foreign land to my father s puri. Yes, dear K tut, I was especially proud when you broadcast to the Balinese in their own language. I would have thought that the years of imprisonment would dim your memory and cause you to forget our tongue. But one cannot forget what is written on the heart. Dear Sister, the wolves of the Netherlands are prowling our beautiful land, killing and destroying as they roam. Can you remember the night I read Vergil to you, at the time we were in the Kintamani mountains? "Had I a hundred tongues a hundred mouths A voice of iron I could not compass all Their crimes/ That is how I feel now. I could not tell you the atrocities that OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 259 the Dutch are inflicting on my people. But as long as we have ~ Merdeka in our hearts we have hope. Merdeka is the light that will lead all mankind out of the darkness. I know, dear K tut, that you will keep that light burning in your heart until our country is free and even after. You will never shut your eyes or still your voice against the voice of freedom. And after we are free we must turn the light inward and search our souls, so we can cast out of our hearts any selfish or base thoughtsthen we may be able to walk among men with heads held high, and be not ashamed. Grieve not for me, K tut. Though my spirit has left its earthly body, it will still be with you. It will protect you in the hard days to come, and lead you to the door that opens the way for Merdeka. And it shall guide you back safely to the shores of Bali, and to the people you love. Sometimes I fear that the great love you bear for my people will not be fully understood by them, or by your own countrymen. For the last time, beloved sister, adieu and may the gods protect you always. I shall love thee through all eternity. 1 know we shall meet again in another time. Nura After I had finished reading the letter I wept as I had never wept before and shall never weep again. With the waning of the moon I fell asleep on the deck, on a tikar a woven mat of palm leaves. I was secur^in the thought that Anak Agung Nura was sailing with me, and all the gods of Bali were aboard. I would reach the shores of Singapore safely. This I knew. 13 OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK It was a fine morning when I awoke, and the sun was high in the heavens. The Ambonese captain introduced himself, and then introduced the other four Indonesians. Three of them I recognized as friends from Modjokerto. It was much later in the day that the English 260 REVOLT IN PARADISE captain staggered onto the deck, bleary-eyed and unshaven, plainly just recovering from a long drinking spree. From the first I felt sorry for him. He was a lonely old fellow who had spent most of his life sailing the seven seas. With forced retire ment at sixty-five his world had blown up; there was nothing left for him. He was basically a very decent sort. The sea was in an angry mood, and our little ship bounced up and down like a ball afloat on the ocean. We were camouflaged to look like a native fishing yawl a precaution lest an inquisitive Dutch plane should fly low over us. The decks were covered with fish nets and dead fish which smelled to high heaven. There was only one tiny toilet aboard, and no bathing facilities. But the crew had thoughtfully stretched a large piece of canvas across the aft of the ship, and had placed a bucket, attached to a stout rope, behind this improvised wall. I could draw water from the sea and bathe in complete privacy. I quickly became used to the primitive conditions aboard ship. After my years in a Japanese prison, this was relative luxury. For two uneventful days we sailed along peacefully, but in the evening of the second day we sighted a vessel on the horizon. We had been zigzagging all over the Java Sea, first to the north, then to the west, and then to the south. The Ambonese captain, whom we shall call Captain Ambon, looked grimly at the distant ship and said, "We must run for the shore. I know a cove about two miles up the coast. It will make a perfect hiding place until those Dutchmen sail out of sight. They can t follow us into the shallow water. Luckily they are so far off that we have the time we need to get there." The crew gave the engines full steam, and the boat shivered and shook with the strain of the added power. We made our dash to the secret cove and hid there, in a tiny palm-fringed bay. The Dutch ship sailed back and forth for a while and finally took itself off. Its commander may have concluded that we were a fishing boat from one of the villages strewn along the Sumatra coast. When it was dark we pulled out of the cove and puffed our way up the coast, keeping as close to shore as possible. The next morning we were out at sea again, but once more we had to run to the shore when another Dutch ship came over the horizon. This time we hid OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 261 behind a jutting point of rock and watched the visitor cruise up and down for hours, and thanked our lucky stars that ours was a small ship, able to go places that were barred to larger craft. We thought the Dutch ship would never leave. Several times Cap tain Ambon mentioned his fears that they might send a launch to investigate us. But they didn t, and some hours later they steamed off to the east. At dusk we ventured forth again and once more were on our way north and west. This running to shore and hiding was wearing on the nerves, but we could only resign ourselves to the need for it. Bangka island, north of the western tip of Java and just off the southeastern flank of Sumatra, lies across the southern approach to Malaya. There are numerous sand shoals, and the currents are treach erous, so that sailing the Bangka Strait is dangerous at all times. I must say that Captain Ambon was a dexterous and fearless mariner and appeared to know the Sumatra coast from one end to the other. He had nerves of steel, and plainly was enjoying this game of hide- and-seek from the Dutch. I thought what a wonderful painting he would make, standing at the helm like a handsome Asian pirate of days gone by. Watching his bronzed face, his gleaming white teeth, his overlong black curly hair with a red-and-white scarf wound around his head, I was reminded of heroic Prince Diponegoro with a wooden ship and primitive compass in place of a black horse and jeweled sword. The two men were born a hundred years apart, but essentially they were the same. Both had nobility in their faces and dedication to Indonesia Merdeka in their hearts. We had been four days at sea now, and the strain was beginning to tell. Captain Ambon and his crew of four were busy constantly, but time hung heavy on my hands. The Englishman I hardly ever saw. On the first day, when we met and he learned I was British born, he was curiously uninterested. All he said was, "Jolly, what! We will show the Dutch blighters that they can t fool around with we British. 77 When he was sober he could be very funny, with his frightfully British mannerisms and his typical English cliches. Usu ally he would come on deck already half drunk. "Hello, old bean,"*" what s up? 77 he would inquire. "How many knots has our jolly old tub done today? 77 And when we told him we had been chased into hiding by a Dutch ship he would reply, "Silly old blighters, the 262 REVOLT IN PARADISE Dutch. Wasting their time. Can t the blighters see we are flying the British flag? Silly bawstards." He would stumble back to his bunk, and Captain Ambon and I would exchange smiles. Near sundown of the fifth day once more we sighted a ship. The captain soon identified it as a Dutch . destroyer, steaming full speed toward us, and I could see that for the first time he was really worried. "If they keep bearing down on us, we will have had it," he said. "There are no safe places to hide for the next fifteen miles. The best thing I can do is to head for the shore; they can t follow us into shallow water. But the sand shoals are especially bad in this area. We can t afford to get stuck on one, and become a sitting target for the Dutch." Captain Ambon took another sighting on the destroyer, and then sent me to wake up the Englishman. "We might be fired upon/ 7 he warned. "When you get the captain up, come to the wheelhouse. But keep off the deck." He ordered the British flag raised, but remarked that it probably would not do much good. "The Dutch are wise to us," he said. "They know that the Chinese are registering ships in Singapore, signing on English captains, and then running the blockade under the British flag. It may not actually help us, the British flag. But it can t hurt us either." I tried to awaken the Englishman. "Get up, captain; get up," I said. "The Dutch are practically on top of us. Captain Ambon is worried. Get dressed quickly and come to the wheelhouse." He looked at me dazedly. "The Dutch again?" he said. "The silly blighters. Have they nothing better to do? They are like a whale chasing a sardine. To hell with them." He rolled over and pulled the covering around his shoulders. I joined the Indonesians in the wheelhouse, and sat quietly on the floor. There was nothing I could do. It was about six o clock in the evening. The sea was very rough, and the skies were black and threatening. Tropical lightning streaked across the skies, but so far no thunder or rain. It had been like this most of the afternoon. Captain Ambon pointed the ship toward the coast and ordered full steam ahead. And then it happened! There was a sharp jolt, a lurch, OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 263 a slight listing, and we were dead in the water. We had jammed onto a sand shoal fairly close to shore. The captain strained at the ship, trying to move it off the barrier, but it was impossible. Finally he had to give up that effort, for the ship was listing to starboard at about forty degrees. I was frightened almost to the point of tears, sure that we were about to capsize. We might be able to swim for shore, but I doubted it. And there would be sharks to contend with. It was now quite dark. The destroyer had come as close as it dared in the shallow waters, and evidently had cast anchor. The Dutch feed a few shells across our bow, apparently to frighten us. The ex plosions were terrific, and I was thoroughly shaken. Captain Ambon, noting my terror, looked over and smiled. "Beron- tak, K tut," he said. I had to laugh in spite of myself, for I hadn t heard that expression the guerrilla term for revoltsince the major had used it when I was supposed to fly to Australia. I was able to respond to the Ambonese, "Sure, captain sure. Berontak teroesl Berontak to the end!" It was too dark now for the Dutch to determine whether we were an authentic British trader or just an Indonesian tramp under false colors. Knowing that we were lodged firmly on the shoals, they ap parently decided they would wait until daybreak to look us over. Captain Ambon removed from a locker a couple of Tommy guns, two or three rifles, and a couple of pistols. He handed me one of the pistols. "I don t know how to shoot/ I told him. He stared at me with surprise. "I thbught you lived with the guerrillas In East Java/ he said. "Didn t they teach you?" I shook my head. "I have never had a gun in my hand. I never will." He gave me a resigned look, and said, "All right, then; if shooting starts stay directly behind me, and stay there until I fall. After that, may Allah protect you, K tut! But don t be afraid. It may be that they will not take the chance of shooting up a ship flying a British flag." At this point the Englishman staggered into the wheelhouse and looked around. "What the hell s going on here?" he bellowed. "Why the guns?" 264 REVOLT IN PARADISE Captain Ambon pointed to the Dutch ship, dimly visible and omi nously close. "Silly blighters!" the Englishman jeered. He looked down at the deck. "Am I drank?" he asked. "What is the matter? We are about ready to capsize, by the look of it." Captain Ambon explained about the sand shoals. "The tide is out, and there s not enough water to float us even if we could get off the shoals/ 7 he said. At once the Englishman became sober. His eyes cleared, his shoul ders straightened, and he said, "Hand me one of those Tommy guns, old bean. I haven t handled one of these since the war, but I can still blast the blighters if they attempt to board this ship." He looked over at me and smiled. "Cheer up, old bean," he said. "Don t look so scared. Don t forget therell always be an England as long as this tub is flying the jolly Union Jack and as long as there is one Englishman aboard. This is British territory, and no Dutch son-of-the-bitch is going to board this ship until we are all dead. We will show the blighters what an Indonesian and an Englishman can do when they stand together. Well put up a jolly good show." The unexpected spurt of spirit and humor delighted the Indone sians. Like me, they had lost hope that the Englishman might be relied upon in an emergency. Now Captain Ambon had a bold, de termined partner. Suddenly the whole atmosphere aboard had brightened. We all felt better. And then all hell broke loose. Lightning flashed and thunder pealed. The rain came down in torrents. Between the blinding flashes it was pitch-dark and we could no longer see the lights of the Dutch ship. It was as though the heavens had opened and put a solid sheet of water between the two vessels. This was a tropical storm, the likes of which I had never seen. It seemed the gods were protecting us by making us invisible to our enemy. The tide had turned, the water started to rise. I was startled to see the crew members dive overboard, and feared for a moment that they had become panic-stricken and were deserting us. Then I saw that they carried crowbars and shovels, and were working under the ship. Repeatedly they dived and came up for air, and dived again, struggling furiously to get us off the reef. The Englishman was at the wheel and had started the engine. The OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 265 continuous peals of thunder drowned out any noise. Still the rain poured down, furiously. Bit by bit the ship began to right itself, until at last we were level again and bobbing up and down in the turbulent waters. "It s coming in to high tide/ Captain Ambon ob served. The storm grew worse and the winds raged against the rain. And we sat around in the wheelhouse waiting . . . waiting. At last the Ambonese turned to the Englishman and said, "Cap tain, what do you say to giving the Dutch the slip? In this rain and pitch-darkness they can t see us. There are shoals for another fifteen miles, but they ll be no more dangerous than sitting here waiting for the Dutch to come at daybreak." "Now you re talking sense/ the Englishman agreed. "It s no jolly good to be a sitting duck. Pull up the anchor. Turn out all the lights except in the wheelhouse. Cover up the portholes. Well give those Dutch bawstards the old disappearing act!" Then the Englishman did something most considerate. He took up the Indonesian flag and spread it on the table, and placed the charts on top. "Just so we don t forget merdeka!" he said. Captain Ambon, touched and pleased, patted him lightly on the shoulder. At midnight we sailed, a little black ghost ship, Singapore bound. The rain was still coming down in torrents, and the wind lashed at the sea, and all was black outside. There was no reaction from the destroyer, unseen out there in the dark. The Englishman actually appeared to be enjoying this harrowing escapade. As I watched him curiously I realized that he was living again the exciting times of his past, remembering perhaps the black outs and the submarine threats when he had commanded a large merchant ship in the World War. Now he seemed contented, at peace with himself. He bantered with the crew, and after a while improvised a song. "There ll always be an England. Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho."

He repeated the line several times in his deep voice. Captain Ambon, not to be outdone, interrupted him by singing at the top of his voice, "There'll always be an Indonesia, no matter what the Dutch may do. Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho!"

The Englishman smiled approvingly, and started again. "There'll always be an Indonesia, with England by her side. Heave-ho, heave-ho, heave-ho."

Captain Ambon turned to me and said, "Come on, K'tut. It's your turn now/ 7 The two men were for all the world like a couple of youngsters out on a lark, and I was disposed to humor them. "There ll always be an America/ 7 I sang. "As long as we have Eng- land and Indonesia by our side." The two men chimed in on the heave-hos, and the crew joined us in laughter. As usual aboard the ship I fought sleep, for I was afraid of sailing into the unknown in the dark. At last I dropped off to the tune of heave-ho, heave-ho. When I awakened it was almost dawn. I walked out on the deck, to be greeted by a sky of crimson, purple and gold, the magnificent and mysterious sunrise of the tropics. The sea was purple and gray, and very calm. I scanned the horizon. There was no sign of a ship.

The Englishman was at the wheel, and Captain Ambon was sleeping nearby. The Englishman looked worn out, ready to drop. It had been a tough night negotiating the shoals in the dark and in the rain, he said. Several times it appeared that the ship had run aground. In each case they worked her free, without damage. We still had two days to go to reach the Malayan coast, but if we could get through this day safely all would be well. We would then have sailed beyond the reach of the Dutch and would be nearing Singapore. I went aft, stripped behind the canvas, hauled a bucket of water from the sea and bathed. No bath ever seemed sweeter. A bit later we all sat on deck and watched the beautiful sunrise as we sipped our coffee, and we talked of our miraculous escape from ships and shoals. For the next two days we sailed blissfully along. Early on the second day the Malayan coast line came into view. About noon, some three miles offshore, we dropped anchor. We dared not venture into Singapore harbor not with me aboard, to say nothing of two of the crew members who had no passport or papers. Captain Ambon would have been all right, for he had a Dutch passport. A couple of hours passed with our ship at rest, just bobbing peace fully up and down on the calm water. "What are we waiting for?" I asked Captain Ambon. "Why don t we try to find a lonely place along the coast, and go ashore?" "That won t be necessary," he said. "We are expected. Some friends will discover us soon and send a launch out to meet us." Again I marveled at the unruffled thoroughness with which my In donesian friends accomplished risky missions. Sure enough, later in OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 267 the afternoon a motor launch with two Indonesians and a Chinese drew alongside. They immediately boarded the ship and went into the wheelhouse for a conference. The Englishman was asleep in his bunk with a bottle by his side. I felt differently about him now, as did the Indonesians. He had been great in the hour when he was needed most. Captain Ambon informed me that he would go ashore in the launch to make arrangements. "We have to work out a few details of getting you ashore without the knowledge of the English immi gration and customs officials," he explained. I sat on deck and worried about what might happen next. Surely the British would find out about me, I thought. Would they jail me? Turn me back to the Dutch? In every direction the outlook was unpleasant. Then it suddenly came to me that we had already accom plished the impossible by sailing safely through the Dutch blockade. For the first time since my free-roaming Bali days I was outside of Indonesia, and for the first time in years I was away from the im mediate threat of the Dutch. Nothing could stop me now. Captain Ambon returned to the ship about six o clock, bringing with him a very handsome and elegant young Chinese gentleman. He was, the captain told me, the nephew of a well-known Chinese, the richest man in Singapore. It was immediately apparent that he was well educated and of good family. He wore the uniform of an officer of the merchant marine, but this was only a blind. "We have decided to let you go ashore with our friend here in a sampang," Captain Ambon said. "You will land right in Singapore. You ll be wearing his topcoat, as a cover-up, and you must act as though you were drank, and a well, how should we say it? a woman of loose morals. You ll pull up brazenly at the Singapore jetty and roll ashore as though you had been spending the night with him on one of the merchant ships in the harbor. And you must cling to him as though you couldn t walk under your own steam. The British officials are accustomed to this sort of thing." I was horrified and disgusted. "How can I do this?" I protested. "I couldn t fool anyone. I d only be foolish and conspicuous, and give everything away. Why can t I go ashore with the Englishman? That wouldn t seem nearly as strange, and it certainly would be less noticeable." "The British know the captain too well," the Ambonese said 268 REVOLT IN PARADISE quietly. "They are quite sure he is a blockade runner, and they sus pect him strongly of smuggling activities beyond the reasonable needs of the Indonesians. If you were with him they d be sure to interrogate you ? and they probably would detain you. We can t take that chance." The Chinese looked amused and said, "With me you will be safe. The British will not be in the least suspicious, and will only take it for granted that you are one of the waterfront women/ Reluctantly I agreed to go along with the plan. There was simply no alternative. The two men discussed the problem of my red hair and my light skin. Not many European women visited the ships. Mostly they were Chinese women and half-castes, and sometimes a few degraded Malayan girls. I must look as un-Caucasian as possible. A scarf could hide my hair and much of my face. The officer s coat would help my disguise. The Chinese smiled at my obvious agitation. "Relax, Miss K tut," he said. "Just act natural. I will make it easy for you. I will do all the work. You just follow my cues and play along. It will come out all right. Don t worry." "Relax! Act natural! Don t worry!" The Englishman had come on deck now, and we said good-by. He was in danger of arrest himself and not eager to go ashore. I promised to meet him as soon as it was safe for me and safe for him. I also said my thanks and farewell to Captain Ambon and the crew and arranged to see them later at the house of the Chinese in Singapore. I regret to say, however, that I never saw them again, for they sailed two days later. The Englishman, I was told later, did not even go ashore. The sampang was barely large enough for my Chinese friend, a native boatman, and me. As we neared the Singapore jetty the Chi nese took my hand and whispered, "Have courage, Miss K tut. It will soon be over." We stepped ashore and immediately began our little drama. I discovered, suddenly, that I was really drank drunk with fear. The Chinese began singing loudly, and I joined in. We staggered along the dock quavering, "London bridge is falling down." He stooped down and kissed me, roughly. I kicked at him and told him not to be so realistic. He responded by trying to kiss me more. I became in furiated, and tried to break out of his embrace and ran away. OPERATION HIDE-AND-SEEK 269 We were BOW in the middle of the jetty. He caught up with me and swept me into his arms, shouting dranlcen endearments. I fought him off, and the British immigration and customs officials stood laughing at the lovers quarrel. They had no idea it was a real "battle and not an amatory disagreement. I gave the Chinese such a push that he almost fell over backward, and I started to run from the pier. He caught up with me again and led me possessively past at least six Britishers watching the scene with amusement. He pushed me into a waiting automobile. Once inside I broke down and sobbed. I was so hysterical, so upset that I could not say a word. The Chinese patted my shoulder. "Don t cry, Miss K tut," he said. "It s all over now. I was only acting my part. I thought you might have guessed that." My nerves eased and I daubed my wet cheeks with a handkerchief. "And now you are free and in Singapore," he continued. "In a little while you will be safe with my family," We rode through the beautiful city of Singapore. In the suburbs we turned off the main road into a driveway that led to a lovely Oriental house among trees and flower gardens. At the front entrance two attractive Chinese women met us. My companion introduced them as his sister and mother. I laughed and cried at the same time as they greeted me. Wel come to our humble home, ICtut Tantri," the older woman said. "We are proud to have you as our guest. We have heard much of you from our Indonesian friends. 77 We had a delicious Chinese dinner together. My escort had cast off his uniform and put on a long black silk Chinese coat lined with turquoise blue, so that he looked like a mandarin of the olden days. He told his family of my confusion when he tried to kiss me at the dock and how I struggled against his advances. They laughed at the account, and before long I was laughing too. "You know, Miss K 7 tut ? that scene at the dock would not have had the same realism if we had planned it in advance," he said. "Because the whole affair was unpremeditated and your indignation genuine, it worked out fine. It was most convincing." "I couldn t act that scene again if I tried/ I agreed. My new friends informed me that tomorrow some Indonesians would bring me money for clothing. My hostesses would go shopping 270 REVOLT IN PARADISE for me, since it would be unwise for me to walk about the city. I must have dresses, high-heeled shoes. It would be much too con spicuous for a white woman in Singapore to be seen in a sarong and kebaya. The wearing of native-style clothing by whites was simply not done. I retired early to a luxurious bedroom. In spite of dangers, in spite of hardships, Operation Hide-and-Seek had been accomplished. I was through the blockade and inside Singapore, and now I could relax. Exhausted from the nervous strain, I fell asleep immediately. 14 I AM DISCOVERED IN SINGAPORE It was late in the afternoon. I wakened from a long, dreamless sleep. After taking a shower I was surprised to find that I was still very tired. I dressed and strolled into the garden, where a sweet-looking Chinese maid brought coffee and rice cakes. She informed me that my host and hostess had gone into town, but would be back for dinner. I was half asleep when I heard a car coming up the driveway. Not wishing to be seen by strangers, I ducked quickly into the house and to my room. After a few moments I was startled to hear a male voice calling my name. Someone knew I was here; it was no use to hide. I walked into the sitting room and stopped, not quite believing my eyes. There on a sofa were two Indonesians, and one was Colonel X. "Bung, what a wonderful surprise!" I cried. "What are you doing in Singapore? I understood that you had returned to the eastern front at Surabaya/ Colonel X smiled. "Yes," he said. "That was the general impression. But I did not go to Surabaya; I came to Singapore. I have been here for over two weeks/ He was in Singapore, he said, to purchase firearms and small ships, if he could get them. "We have to do our buying through other Asian countries, of course, and it has to be done very secretly. We are able to get some firearms from the English. Not officially, of course, but under the table, as the Westerners say." I AM DISCOVERED IN SINGAPORE 271 Questioning disclosed that he had entered Singapore legitimately on a Dutch passport and expected to stay for some time. For privacy he had rented a large villa which Major Abdul shared with him. "As soon as we feel it is safe for you to leave this place, you will stay with us," he told me. "And how did you know I was in Singapore?" I asked. He laughed. "Oh, we were alerted to be on the lookout. Captain Ambon came to my house the day you arrived, and it was I who made all the arrangements for you/ Colonel X introduced me to his companion, his aide-de-camp, a rather young lieutenant, and we talked for quite a while. Then they lefty saying that I could expect other Indonesians to call, for there was a small colony of Javanese in Singapore. This last bit of information left me uneasy. Too many people were in the know, it appeared. More than a week went by and I was beginning to tire of the in activity and uncertainty. It had been good to have plenty of rest and nourishing food, but after the first few days these too began to pall. My hosts were charming and gracious, and had purchased quite a little wardrobe for me. But somehow I got no joy out of my new clothes. European-style clothing made me feel uncomfortable and did not suit me. I felt out of character. My Chinese hosts took me often on long drives in the country, especially in the evening. Still I was often homesick for Indonesia. The day came at last when my host said it was safe now for me to go into Singapore town, if I wished. So one morning I got up early and had the chauffeur take me to Raffles Square, where he would pick me up again in two hours. I did not want to stay too long in the town, only long enough to get my bearings and have a look around. I did not feel at all conspicuous, for there were many Europeans on the streets. I looked no different from anyone else. Yet it was strange, after all these years, to see so many white people about. In Singapore, as elsewhere, newsstands try to stimulate paper sales by the use of large posters with glaring headlines. Strolling idly past the Capitol Theatre I noticed one that proclaimed, "Surabaya Sue in Singapore." Elsewhere similar posters were fastened to walls or propped up against newspaper kiosks. I wondered casually who Surabaya Sue could be and why she should be given headlines. I was curious because I was from Surabaya and 272 REVOLT IN PARADISE had never heard the name. I bought a newspaper, and after reading just a few lines my blood froze. They were referring to me. I was Surabaya Sue. I had disappeared from Java some time ago, the article said, and it had now been learned from authoritative sources that I was in hiding in Singapore. I had earned the name of Surabaya Sue because of my broadcasts from the East Java city, on the Voice of Free Indonesia, and from the revolutionary radio in territory near Surabaya. The writer went on to say that my broadcasts for the Indonesians had been noted with concern in The Hague, in Whitehall, and in Washington. The rest was speculation as to how I eluded the Dutch blockade and was admitted into Singapore. I was shocked and indignant. That silly name a handy label in vented by some newspaper correspondent, obviously. Patterned after Shanghai Lil or Tokyo Rose, definitely. I felt like buying up all the newspapers and destroying them. Instead, I took the more practical course of finding my chauffeur and returning quickly to the house, to tell my host. My friends were out, however, at a Chinese wedding. How did the story get out? I wondered. Did the information come from Indonesians in Singapore or had there been a leak through Indo nesia? Either way, the British authorities would soon find out now where I was staying. I was especially worried because Colonel X was out of town and I could not turn to him for help. I must move out of this house tomorrow, at any rate, to avoid involving my Chinese friends. Late in the afternoon a jeep drove up to the entrance, and two white men stepped out. I concluded immediately that they were either officials from the CID the Civil Intelligence Department, the British equivalent of the FBI or detectives from the police force. They were neither. They came up to the veranda where I was sitting quietly, with my heart in my mouth. "Hello!" one said. "Are you Surabaya Sue?" I winced and said, "No. I know no one of that name." "Well," the man drawled, in what sounded like an Australian accent, "are you by any chance K 7 tut Tantri, the English broadcaster for the Indonesians? We have been tipped off that she is staying here. Since this is a Chinese house, we presume that you are Surabaya Sue." "Who are you?" I asked. "And by what authority do you come here?" I AM DISCOVERED IN SINGAPORE 273 They smiled and introduced themselves. Earle Growder and Eddy Dunstan, both of the Singapore Straits Times. It was useless to deny my identity. "Yes, I am K tut Tantri," I said. u l didn t know until today that you call me Surabaya Sue and I do not like it. What do you gentle men want?" "We want the whole story/" they said. "We want to know how you got out of Indonesia, how you evaded the Dutch blockade, and how you entered Singapore. And we want to know what you are doing here. The British officials still evidently are unaware that you are here. This story ought to rock Singapore." "You don t mean to tell everyone where I m staying, and all about me?" "Damn right we will. And why not?" "Because I would be arrested by the British for entering Singapore illegally and would be sent back to Indonesia to the Dutch. Because you are both British, and I am your countrywoman. Because you wouldn t betray your own countrywoman to an enemy just for a scoop that would be forgotten day after tomorrow." "We can t kill a story just to save you from trouble you got your self into," they said. That s too much to expect/ 7 Tears welled into my eyes. They looked uncomfortable, and one said, "But what can we do? It is our job. 77 We sat silently for a few moments, then I said, "Let me make a deal with you. If you will withhold this story for twenty-four hours, I promise faithfully I D give it to you and you alone. Only wait until this time tomorrow." "How do we know you ll even be here tomorrow?" one asked. "You could easily disappear, and hide out somewhere else." "I promise you I shall be here." Why do you want twenty-four hours? If you will tell us the story tomorrow, why not today?" "Because now that you have discovered me and know who I am, it is necessary for me to go as quickly as possible to the immigration officials and to the CID and give myself up. If I do this now it will be more to my advantage than if I wait until they start looking for me. I shall go immediately and inform them who I am, and that I entered Singapore without the proper papers." After a little more hesitation, they agreed. 274 REVOLT IN PARADISE With that settled, we sat down together and had a drink. I learned that an Indonesian had told them my story with great pride, confiding in them because he believed they were sympathetic toward the Indo nesians. During my stay in Singapore I was to see a great deal of Dunstan and Growder, and came to regard them as real friends. After they left me I called a taxi and went to CID headquarters, and asked to see the chief. When he entered the room with a "Good afternoon, young lady, what can I do for you?" I knew my luck was holding out. I could tell by his brogue that he was a Scotsman. I told my story, withholding nothing except mention of my Chinese friend. I said only that I came ashore in a native sampang, and that was the truth anyway. As the ship on which I fled from Java had sailed many days ago, there would be no trouble for Captain Ambon or the Englishman. When I had told my story, the Scotsman called in other CID officials and the immigration officers, and had me repeat it. They were frankly amazed, and more than embarrassed. "Well, 111 be damned/ said one. "An English girl and a few guerrillas sail from Java right under the noses of the Dutch. What a joke on them and their im pregnable blockade! "Scotswoman, if you please/ the Scotsman jested. "And it may be a joke on the Dutch, but what about the British? This is supposed to be the strongest patrolled, best policed coast in Asia. We should poke fun at the Dutch!" With typical British sportsmanship, the officers had a hearty laugh. "Only a Scotch lassie would try such a thing and get away with it," said the Scotsman. I did not tell him that my mother was Manx and so was my natural father, even though the only father I ever knew was a Scotsman. I was satisfied to know that being born in Glasgow of British parents could have some influence on British officials in Singapore, and con fident now that the British would not deport me or hand me over to the Dutch. Before I left the CID headquarters I was not only forgiven, I was handed landing permits, an identity permit, and permission to stay in Singapore. The British could not have been more courteous and gallant, although they needled me a bit about my broadcasts criticiz ing the British during the Revolution in Indonesia. I found that most of them agreed with me and were decidedly more sympathetic toward SOME SWINDLERS AND THEIR VICTIMS 275 the Indonesians than toward the Dutch. And they resented the false position in which the Dutch had placed them. When I returned home my Chinese hosts were in a state of much agitation. They too had seen the posters and were wondering if I had been arrested. When I explained, they were so happy that they insisted on a celebration. We all had a big night at the most famous night club in Singapore. A free woman, I moved the next day to the villa of Colonel X and Major Abdul. 15 SOME SWINDLERS AND THEIR VICTIMS News that I had been given permission to stay in Singapore spread quickly through the Indonesian colony. Before I had been installed at Colonel X y s villa more than a couple of hours, a stream of visitors began to call. I was anxious to keep faith with the two reporters who had been such good sports in holding up their story until I reported to the CID. But they were not to get the exclusive information after all. They were not in their office when I called to confirm our appoint ment. And, unknown to me, a press conference was arranged for that evening by an Indonesian who was not aware of my pact with the Englishmen. When I protested, I was told that to cancel the con ference and give exclusive information to one British-owned news paper would deeply offend the Malayans, Chinese, and Indians and would make for bad propaganda for Indonesia. Though I felt miserable about breaking my word, I could not cause dissension between the Indonesians and the other Asian population of Singapore. Happily, the Englishmen were good sports and forgave me. The press conference turned out to be a hilarious affair. Champagne flowed and everyone was happy, seemingly enchanted by my ad venture. The following day the newspaper comments were everything we could desire and warmly favorable to Indonesia. There was in Singapore at this time a highly connected Indonesian 276 REVOLT IN PARADISE who had been entrusted with several thousand tons of sugar which had been smuggled out of Indonesia to a small island just off Singa pore s coast, for quick sale to a Chinese merchant. It was to this man that I had brought letters from Java instructing him to turn over to me money that would enable ine to go to Australia and America. When I presented the letters, he told me he had sold the sugar to a merchant who promised to pay for it as soon as he had disposed of it to wholesalers in Singapore. Now the Chinese had disappeared, he said, along with the sugar. He had tried hard to find the man and was greatly concerned because the loss to the Indonesian government would be more than $150,000. This was shocking news to me. Aside from the substantial financial setback to the Indonesians in Singapore, it meant that I could not proceed to Australia. It would be difficult now to get a letter to Bung Amir unless we could find a courier with a Dutch passport. "Have you notified the Singapore police or the CID?" I asked. "Heavens, no! How could I complain of being swindled by the Chinese when we ourselves are guilty of smuggling? Even though we are forced into this ridiculous situation because of the Dutch block ade." "Just the same," I said, "you should inform the CID. They seem to be a very understanding lot. I m sure they would be able to round up the Chinese in no time." The Indonesian demurred, but in the end he agreed on my promise to bring the English official to his house so that the story of the theft could be kept private. The Englishman listened gravely as the Indonesian unfolded his story, then said: "Don t worry. We should be able to pick up the swindler soon. Sugar is very scarce here, and going at black market prices. He won t be able to dispose of it without our knowledge." He added that the Indonesians henceforth must beware of strangers, and especially of Chinese merchants. Many such men were on the alert for Indonesians with money, knowing that where smuggling was involved the victims would be afraid to go to the police. He said nothing of the Indonesian s part in the smuggling of sugar into Singa pore, but there was no doubt that the English officials were well aware of what was going on. Nelson-like, they looked through a blind eye and said, "We see nothing, nor have we heard anything." Some days later the CID official informed me that a thorough in- SOME SWINDLERS AND THEIR VICTIMS 277 vestigation had been made, and all the evidence Indicated that the Indonesian was lying. "We do not believe that he was swindled/ the Englishman said. "The Chinese merchant paid for the sugar, and we are quite positive that the money was deposited in a foreign bank to the credit of a private individual, not to the credit of the Republic of Indonesia. It is your Indonesian friend who has been doing the swindling. 7 During my stay in Singapore I was to hear of many such cases of corruption. The Indonesians had never handled so much money and the temptation was great for men so young. A shocking number of them lived in splendor and luxury beyond all common sense, driving handsome cars, and spending government funds recklessly. All this greatly saddened me. I could not help but think of the thousands of poverty-stricken Indonesian peasants lying in muck at the front, dressed in rags, defending the nation s freedom with bamboo spears and machetes. There they were, sacrificing their lives, while here in Singa pore the men entrusted with government funds to buy firearms and needed supplies were living like lords and squandering the money on Chinese dance-hall girls and other pleasures. I had now been in Colonel X 7 s house for several weeks and knew every Indonesian in town. There were two groups, the very rich and the very poor. I saw for myself that the sincere Indonesians were the ones who had no money. Time passed slowly waiting for news from Java. We had managed to send a courier with a letter for Bung Amir, but since he had to travel by way of Dutch-held Batavia there was no knowing if he would be able to get through to Jogja and Republican territory. Mean while I must be patient, for I had no money whatsoever. I spent my time writing articles for a Singapore paper on Indonesia, its leaders, and Asian politics in general The sugar swindle was the first of several outlandish incidents which made for liveliness and kept me continually embroiled with the CID. The second, the affair of the Admiral s yacht, had nothing directly to do with me and so has little place in this story though it did provide comic relief. According to my Scots friend, some Indonesians had stolen the British Admiral s yacht, anchored just outside the Navy Basin, from under the very eyes of the CID. "A most brazen and outrageous act/* the chief declared with considerable temper. He wanted the hiding 278 REVOLT IN PARADISE place of the vessel discovered before his department was made a laughingstock and he thought I or Colonel X might have some secret knowledge of the culprits. We didn t. However, Colonel X succeeded in enlisting the aid of a Javanese general newly arrived in Singapore, and after a series of telephone calls that went on for hours this missing vessel was restored to its rightful owners. It turned out, as the British suspected from the first, that guerrillas from Sumatra had made off with the yacht and had hidden it cunningly in a small cove along the Sumatra coast. No charges were pressed, British honor was saved, and the CID officials even managed to find amusement in the disgust of the sailor guerrillas deprived of what they called "the best little ship we could have got hold of for smuggling our goods past the Dutch blockade into Singapore/ 7 Shortly after the affair of the missing yacht the Indonesians were involved in another boat story, one that shook Singapore with laughter. British faces had been red before, Indonesian faces were red now, and the reddest of all was the face of my good friend Colonel X. It was an amusing story, but it had its pathetic side. Knowing the Indonesians as well as I did, watching their superhuman struggle against overwhelming odds, it was not easy to laugh at their failures. The Dutch had provided them with little or no education, and no experience in business matters. It could not be expected that the in experienced Indonesians sent to Singapore by their government and entrusted with large sums of money would be able to match wits against the shrewd Chinese merchants, or English and American con fidence men. They were natural targets. Colonel X certainly had no business experience, and he was much too young for his rank. At this time he could not even speak English well, and he was no judge of human nature. He was jolly and good- natured, and if people were polite to him he thought they must be good. He overrated his ability to judge the businessmen with whom he came in contact, and he could not judge Westerners at all. All was gold that glittered to Bung X. More than once he had been swindled by Chinese merchants, but he never learned to tell diamonds from paste until the affair of the British torpedo boat. Two high-ranking British naval officers are coming to the house for cocktails," Bung X informed me one day, with such pride in his voice that one might have thought the Duke of Edinburgh and Lord Louis Mountbatten were calling. SOME SWINDLERS AND THEIR VICTIMS 279 "Who are they?" I asked. "And where did you meet them?" The colonel said he had been having lunch at a Chinese restaurant. The officers came to his table and introduced themselves. They said they had heard that he was in Singapore to buy ships for the Indo nesian government. When X admitted that such was his purpose, they asked permission to join him at lunch to explain a proposal that might interest him. "They told me the British navy intends to dispose of several obso lete ships/ Bung X said. "War surplus vessels, for which they have no further need. They offered to sell me a small torpedo boat for $50,000. The British have declared it outmoded for their use, but it has many years of service left in it, and would be just the thing for Indonesia. It cost millions to build, they said. And, you know, I even bargained them down to $30,000! And they agreed to throw in a torpedo free, as a bonus. It s a real giveaway." The colonel clapped his hands together in excitement. "It s the greatest stroke of luck! Even in my wildest dreams I never expected to be able to buy any sort of warship, especially a torpedo boat, for such a ridiculous price." It must be remembered that Colonel X was an army man. He knew virtually nothing of ships, and had no experience in buying anything but irearms and ammunition. He saw nothing strange in the fact that two British naval officers of high rank should approach him in a restaurant to peddle torpedo boats. All X could see was that it would be a feather in his cap to sail a British torpedo boat back to Indo nesia, and hand over to the Indonesian navy its first combat craft. It would be a great day for Indonesia, and an even greater one for Colonel X. I listened worriedly, finding the story hard to believe. "Have you already paid for the boat?" I asked. "Not yet," Colonel X said. "I want to look it over first. This is a very important matter, and I want to make sure that everything is right, I agreed to pay them tonight, after we have made our inspec tion. The plan is to have cocktails here and then go to the Navy Basin to look the ship over. Later well all go out to dinner to celebrate." The guests arrived. Bung X introduced me proudly, and immediately began to sing my praises. The officers looked at me curiously, un doubtedly wondering what a British woman was doing living in the 280 EEVOLT IN PARADISE villa of an Indonesian officer. They smiled covertly, and I knew tliat they imagined the worst. This didn t bother me much. I set myself out to be a good hostess, and I must say they reacted in a courteous and even gallant manner. It was not until Bung X mentioned that I was known as Surabaya Sue that they finally placed me. After that they seemed to relax. They were good-looking men, tall and well set, their uniforms im maculate. As they talked to Bung X about the torpedo boat I studied them carefully and wondered why I mistrusted them. It was not their appearance, nor their manners, nor their uniforms, but something else. Could they be British spies? Had they some other ulterior motive? But their story must be true. They would hardly take us to the Navy Yard if it were not. I watched and listened, and then it flashed over me. Their voices that was what was wrong! Both voices were extremely common, like those of Lancashire millworkers, certainly not public school. Almost at the same moment I dismissed the idea as snobbish. Times had changed since I was last in Great Britain. During the war many Englishmen rose from the ranks to become officers in the army and the navy without public school or university education. At the Navy Basin the Malayan police and British servicemen guarding the gates, the sailors patrolling the yard, all showed great deference to the two officers. We were saluted right and left and were not stopped for questioning. We boarded the torpedo boat. No one except the watchman was on the ship, and he did not question our right to be there. The Englishmen showed us around. Everything appeared shipshape. Bung X s eyes sparkled with excitement. "Can you imagine what a sensation it will be when I sail this into Indonesian waters?" he whispered. "A torpedo boat for Indonesia! Our first!" Somehow I still couldn t share his enthusiasm. My doubts kept returning. Why would the British sell all this for a mere $30,000? When the Englishmen turned their backs I mentioned my suspicions to Bung X and warned him to be careful. He only laughed, and said, "You are much too suspicious of your own countrymen. You have been too long in the Revolution. Now you suspect everyone/ I laughed and told Bung X he was probably right. Just because the old school tie didn t seem to fit the two officers was no reason to SOME SWINDLERS AND THEIR VICTIMS 281 distrust them. Even so, I whispered to Bung X, "Wouldn t it be wise to ask the advice of the CID before you pay for the ship?" Colonel X smiled at me. "I don t think we should run to the British every time we want to buy something/ he said. "These officers never could have brought us here if they were not in the navy. Didn t you notice how everyone stood at attention? They have done every thing possible to show their good faith. They must be on the level." Again I conceded that Bung X must be right and that I was un duly suspicious. We left the Navy Yard and spent the evening at the Raffles Hotel, and that finally convinced me that the Englishmen were legitimate officers. Had they been frauds they would hardly have taken us to the best hotel in Singapore, the place where the entire British colony gathered for dining and dancing. There were many naval officers sipping drinks in the lounge. They saluted our friends and were saluted in return. After that I set out to enjoy the evening. Bung X was in the best of spirits. He wrote out a check for $30,000 and gave it to the Englishmen. They in return handed him a very official-looking bill of sale for the torpedo boat, complete with torpedo. We parted company almost at dawn, and the Englishmen promised to call by again in a couple of days. On the way back to the house Bung X chattered like a magpie, he was so happy. I fell in with his mood. "Just imagine what we can do with a torpedo boat," he said. "We can blow the Dutch warship, the Kohinoor, out of existence for all the trouble it has caused us. Member the Kohinoor, K tut? That s the one . . ." and on and on. I interrupted Bung X 7 s reminiscences of the KoMnoor to ask when and how he intended moving the torpedo boat. "I have already sent a wireless asking Indonesian naval officers and crew to fly to Singapore to sail the boat back," he said. "Suppose they are shot down by the Dutch what then?" I asked. "Then another crew will try to reach Singapore, and another, until one group makes it. We can sail it to Java with the British flag. We can zigzag our way through the Java Sea as though we were on our way to Australia." Two days later an Indonesian crew managed to reach Singapore. When they saw the boat they were amazed, and congratulated Bung X. It was agreed that they would sail at dawn the following day. 282 REVOLT IN PARADISE I arose before daylight the next morning to say good-by to Colonel X and to wish him luck on the journey to Java; then I went back to bed. Hours later, around nine o clock, I was drinking coffee when a messenger arrived with a letter from the CID chief, asking me to come to headquarters as quickly as possible. "What do they want?" I asked the young Makyan who delivered the note. He replied that he didn t know the details but had heard that Colonel X and a few other Indonesians had been arrested. Astonished to hear this, I hurried to CID headquarters. I found the Englishmen, whom I had come to regard as friends, cold and un smiling now. "What is it this time?" I asked lamely. "Your Indonesian friends are all under arrest," the Scotsman said. "This time they have tried to steal one of our torpedo boats. We want you to tell us what you know about it. And don t try to plead ignorance. You were seen aboard the boat, in the company of Colonel X." "And two English officers," I answered tartly. "Colonel X and his friends have been charged with unlawfully at tempting to remove a British torpedo boat from the Navy Basin," he went on. "We have heard his story, and now we want to hear yours. It had better be truthful. You could be charged as an accessory to the attempted theft." "Rubbish!" I retorted. "You know better than that! If you really suspected me, you would have arrested me along with the others, instead of sending for me." "Well, suppose you give us your version," one of the Englishmen said. "Then well decide whether or not to charge you." I related the whole story of the torpedo boat and the two high- ranking British officers: their offer to sell a surplus and obsolete craft, Bung X s enthusiasm, my own doubts, and my banishment of those doubts. I told them the price asked and the price paid. I left nothing out. The officers laughed, and the ice in the atmosphere melted. The boat salesmen were impostors, wearing stolen uniforms, they told me. Colonel X and his crew got past the guard at the gates by showing their papers, went aboard the boat and actually had it moving when the harbor police stopped them. The Indonesians were very indignant. "We bought this boat, and we are taking it to Java," they said. "You British have no right to stop us." And then they showed their bill of sale. The patrol officer took one look and exploded. RETURN TO JAVA 283 "Thirty thousand dollars!" he yelled. "Are you crazy? You couldn t even look at this boat for ten times thirty thousand!" And with that he immediately put them under arrest. Once again the CID officials were lenient toward the Indonesians. Bung X clearly had been telling the truth. He had been the victim, not the thief. His great sin had been his failure to consult the police or the CID before reaching any agreement. The officials scolded him as though he were a child, but they were sympathetic nonetheless. We were able to provide good descriptions of the two frauds, and the CID quickly caught up with them. Each received a sentence of five years at hard labor. For days afterward Bung X was silent and remote. He had been malu (shamed) in front of me, and that was bad enough. But to be malu and lose face before his own countrymen was almost more than he could bear, I tried my best to comfort him, and treated the whole thing as a minor incident; but to Bung X it was no joke. He knew that he would be laughed at not only in Singapore but in Indonesia. He had lost standing, and he suffered. 16 RETURN TO JAVA Now came one of the most bizarre experiences of all. I had left Indo nesia with no intention of returning until merdeka had been won, or until the dangers of travel had been lessened. I had planned to go directly to Australia and America, but this plan had been thwarted as I have explained leaving me stranded in Singapore without funds. Though I had applied to the United States consulate for an Ameri can passport, weeks had passed and I had received no reply. In desperation I went to the Australian High Commissioner to ask permission to enter Australia without a passport. I told him my story from beginning to end, without reservations. Mr. Massey was most sympathetic and heard me out without taking the position that I had done something criminal in helping the Indonesians. He prom ised to forward my request to Canberra. So now I was waiting for 284 REVOLT IN PARADISE a decision from two governments, the United States and Australia. The hospitality of Colonel X s house remained open to me all this while. I was in my room one evening, listening to the BBC news from London, when the maid announced a "foreign-looking gentleman" waiting to see me. Just what might be foreign looking in a city as cosmopolitan as Singapore was not immediately clear to me, but I assumed she meant the caller was neither Chinese, Indo nesian, nor Malayan. In any event it was very late for callers. I was curious. In the sitting room I found a very foreign-looking man indeed, dark, hawk-nosed, and distinguished. He introduced himself as Abdul Monem, the former Egyptian consul general to India but now an emissary of King Farouk of Egypt, representing the seven Arab states. King Farouk at this time was very much a royal ruler. No one could have foretold his sorry future. The visitor presented his credentials, saying, "The Egyptian govern ment and the Arab League have ordered me to Indonesia to extend formal recognition to the new sovereign state. The Dutch consulate here has ignored my credentials and refused me a visa. The British have refused to help me, and have denied me an exit visa from Singapore if used for travel to Indonesia." He added that the British attitude astounded him at first, but then he saw that it would not be to their interest to have Indonesian sovereignty recognized, be cause of the British situation in Malaya. They had their own colonial problems to consider. I nodded, and asked, "But why did you come to me, Mr. Monem?" "I am told that you sailed through the Dutch blockade from Java to Singapore/ he replied. "I wonder if the same journey could be arranged for me in reverse, from Singapore to Java. It is important that I get to Jogjakarta, and now I must do so without the knowledge of the British or the Dutch." I explained that sailing outward through the blockade with the co-operation and planning of the Indonesians was quite a different matter from sailing through it into Java without the co-operation of the British. The Indonesians had no ships of their own in Singapore. Even if they had, they would be unable to sail without clearance papers from that well-policed harbor. "How did you get into Singapore?" he asked. "Is it so difficult?" "I was on an Indonesian-manned ship/ I said. "I left it outside RETURN TO JAVA 285 the three-mile limit and came ashore with the help of friends in a sampang." "Could I not get aboard a Chinese-owned ship? I have heard that a number of them sail to Indonesia through the blockade." "Mr. Monem, the Chinese blockade breakers do not sail from Singapore/ I explained. "They operate from small ports along the Malacca coast, or from Bangkok or Saigon. Recently the Chinese have lost so many ships that they are unwilling to take the risks any longer. If you found one to go on you would surely be in danger. The Dutch are showing no mercy to the Chinese blockade runners." He was so keenly disappointed that I relented. "If you will be patient for a few days, I will consult my Indonesian and Chinese friends. Maybe we can find the way." We parted after I had bound him to the utmost secrecy. "I will get in touch with you at your hotel when I have news/ I promised. It would not be easy to get Mr. Monem to Jogjakarta. Even if he managed to reach Java, there would be the problem of going from the distant seaport to the Republican capital, in a land where the language was unfamiliar, where no private transportation was avail able, and where road passes signed by the Indonesian military would be required all along the way. Guerrilla guards were trigger-happy. A stranger might easily be shot on suspicion of being a spy. I knew well what a great boost in morale and prestige it would be for the Indonesians to receive early recognition from Egypt and the Arab League and began casting about for means of transporting Mr. Monem through the blockade. Obviously money was the first essential. With money we could arrange almost anything. It might even be possible to charter a Chinese ship, but that would require a small fortune. For days on end I interviewed Chinese traders and owners of small ships. All were unwilling to take the risk. I secretly visited Malayan fishermen. Some of them were willing to take a chance on Sumatra, but not one would sail to Java. I searched for derelict English sea captains in the employ of the Chinese, and found none. My guide through the blockade, Captain Ambon, had returned to Amboina. My Indonesian friends could offer no solution because, lacking official recognition in the world, they were unable to arrange anything even from the Java end. I had all but given up hope when I learned that the British govern- 286 REVOLT IN PARADISE ment had given the Indonesians permission to charter a Dakota plane to return the Ramushas to their homeland. Ramushas were slave laborersIndonesiansdragged from their homes by the Japanese during the occupation, and shipped off to work without pay in Singa pore and various Asian countries. Since the surrender of the Japanese the Ramushas had been stranded in Singapore. The Dutch had agreed at last to let the former slaves fly back to Java, to land at Jogjakarta. This seemed to me the opportunity for which Mr. Monem had been waiting, One dismaying circumstance was that the man in charge of the Ramushan airlift was the same Indonesian who had invented the story of the Chinese sugar fraud. Nevertheless, I went to him and told him about Mr. Monem and his mission to Java. I asked that the Egyptian be taken aboard the plane secretly, in disguise as one of the laborers if necessary. "He is swarthy, and would easily pass in spection if he were dressed in rags like the other Ramushas," I said. The Indonesian flatly refused. "The British wouldn t like it," he said. "If they found out about it they might refuse to allow us to charter any more planes. And if the Dutch learned he was aboard they might force the plane down at a Dutch airport or even shoot it down/ 7 I insisted that the whole plan could be kept secret, and pointed out the significance and propaganda value of the recognition of Indo nesia by the Moslem world. "And it would be a personal triumph for you," I said. After more argument the Indonesian finally agreed that Mr. Monem could board the pkne incognito, that the benefit to Indo nesia would outweigh the potential offense to the British. Monem would be provided with worker s clothing, and a car would pick him up at Colonel X s villa at 5 A.M. two days hence, for a six-o clock take-off from Kalang airport. Mr. Monem was delighted to hear of the plan, and we both chuckled at the idea of disguising the representative of King Farouk as a coolie. He appeared at my house at four o clock, a safe hour before the car was to arrive. The Chinese maid was shocked to be asked to serve coffee to a ragged peasant. I am sure I lost face with her for entertaining such a creature in the wee hours of the morning. As we waited for the Indonesian I briefed Mr. Monem on what to expect in Java. Two hours passed, and we were still talking. I was RETURN TO JAVA 287 annoyed. Four hours passed, and I was alarmed. Something must have happened to the plane. I telephoned the Indonesian s house but there was no answer. At last we decided to go to the airport. Monem covered himself with an outer coat. At the airport he remained in the taxi while I went to malce discreet inquiries. I was staggered to learn that the plane had taken off on schedule with the Ramushas and the Indonesian. Perhaps by this time it was already in Jogja. It was painful to tell Mr. Monem that we had been double-crossed. I was both furious and embarrassed. But whatever Mr. Monem thought, he said nothing except "Don t take it to heart so, Miss ICtut. You have done your best. It is not your fault," Still I could see that he was depressed, discouraged. "We ll find another way," I assured him. "We won t give up now." At the same time I speculated on the motives of the Indonesian. Why was he so trusted by the Jogjakarta crowd? Was it because he was related to one of the most important men in Java? All evidence indicated that he had lied about the shipment of sugar. Now it looked very much as though he were sabotaging recognition of his country. Why? I went the rounds from one Indonesian home to another and from one Chinese home to another, probing cautiously, questioning, ex ploring. No transportation to Java was in prospect. Near the end of my rope, I went to an English businessman known to be sym pathetic toward the Indonesians and asked how he would go through the Dutch blockade if circumstances should require him to do so. "I d charter a plane from the Philippine Islands," he said. "A plane with an American pilot and navigator. It might cost a fortune, but it could be done." I indicated that I would like to return to Indonesk on an official mission, depending on the cost. "I will introduce you to the head of a well-known British firm here in Singapore," he said. "He can easily arrange for a plane to fly here secretly from the Philippines, and then on to Java." I wondered if I was falling into a trap. Why would a British com pany of any reputation interest itself in my project? I learned later that this was a lucrative little industry, the leasing of Philippine- registered aircraft for assorted missions in the Orient. The company representative told me that, certainly, a plane would be flown down from Manila, would pick me and my fellow passenger 288 REVOLT IN PARADISE up at Singapore, would go on to Jogja, and would wait there for at least three days to bring us back again. "How much will this cost?" I asked. Ten thousand dollars for the plane, and all expenses for the crew/ he said. I gasped. I couldn t raise ten thousand cents. I promised to think the proposition over, and hurried off to talk to Mr. Monem. The Egyptian said he had nowhere near enough money at his dis posal to finance the flight but was sure his government would ap prove if he could send through an explanation. He dared not telephone or telegraph, for the British might intercept his message and tip off the Dutch. All he could do was write to Cairo. It would take weeks to get an answer by the time all the red tape had been cut. Asking him not to write to Egypt for a few days, I then looked into Singapore sources of financial support. But the Dutch had effectively halted the smuggling of rubber and sugar. Indonesian funds were low indeed. At last I went back to the English business man and asked whether payment could be deferred for two or three days, until the plane returned from Java. "Who would guarantee the payment?" he asked. The Indonesian Ministry for Defense will pay it," I said boldly. My voice shook a bit, for I had absolutely no authority to pledge government funds. "Would you be willing to sign papers to that effect?" he persisted. "Certainly," I replied. I realized that my word was being accepted because of the great amount of publicity I had received and because of my articles on the Indonesian leaders. The British understood that I knew these men well, and was known by them. I wondered what the Indonesians would think of my bold action. Bung Amir would understand and agree, but what of the others? I had no official connection with any Indonesian ministry. The papers were drawn up and I signed my name to a note for $10,000 to be paid to the English firm by the Indonesian Ministry for Defense. By way of reassurance I told myself that surely it was worth $10,000 to the Indonesian government to have the success of merdeka proclaimed by recognition from the Moslem world. "How many passengers will there be?" the company representative asked. RETURN TO JAVA 289 "Just two/ I said. "My djonges [male servant] and me." The Englishman told me the plane would swoop down fust before dawn and taxi to the end of the field, from where it could take off instantly. The engines would not be stopped. He showed me on a map the exact spot at which the plane would pause, and said we were to be waiting there, ready to board. I thanked him, and asked him why he was taking this risk. "You must know that I am working in the interests of Indonesia Merdeka," I said. "I know," he replied quietly. "Maybe I am doing it because you are my countrywoman. Maybe I am doing it for $10,000. In any case, Godspeed!" On the appointed hour Mr. Monem and I sneaked through the terminal area, carrying our small amount of luggage, and found it all but deserted. No airplane movements were scheduled for that early in the day. The few employees on duty were either dozing or en grossed in their work, and no one noticed us. In a few years Kalang airport would become one of the busiest airports in Asia, but after the war traffic there was extremely light. A few commercial planes, an occasional private craft. Military planes did not use this airport. We puffed our way to the end of the field. The plane landed on schedule, taxied up, and two white men jumped out. "What s your name? 7 one asked in a Texas drawl. "K tut Tantri," I said. "And this is Abdul, my djonges." "Right. Climb in. We must get out of here right now." We hardly had time to get to our seats before the Dakota was down the runway and off the ground. Through the windows we saw two or three airport attendants running toward the field. In a few moments we had left Singapore and were over the sea. Not until we had flown for some minutes and I had started to relax did I begin to reflect upon the seriousness of what I had done. We had left Singapore without exit visas, and I still had no passport. The British were bound to be angry. Mr. Monem went to the washroom and changed his clothes. When he returned he was once again the well-dressed diplomat. The pilot came back from the cockpit, stared at Mr. Monem, and asked, "How the devil did you get on? I understood there would be only two passengers."

I identified Mr. Monem as my erstwhile "servant," introduced myself as an American citizen, and told the purpose of our flight.

"Well, you be damned," he said. "Spirit of Seventy-six!" Then he went forward to tell the rest of the crew.

Thirty minutes later he was back again, this time grim and tense. "We've got some Dutch fighters on our tail," he said. "They're trying to force us to head for Batavia. We heard the Singapore radio announce that Surabaya Sue and the Egyptian consul general had taken off at dawn and were on their way to Jogjakarta. Now take seats far back in the plane, away from the windows, and fasten your safety belts. No Dutch plane is going to force an American plane to land in Dutch territory. We are headed for Jogja and that is where we'll land. We didn't tangle with the Nips out in the Pacific for nothing. Those boys can shoot us down but they can't force us down. We'll show them a trick or two."

With that he returned to the cockpit, leaving two badly frightened passengers to sweat out the crisis by themselves. If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget that flight, nor shall I be able to describe with accuracy the action of the airplane. First we seemed to be soaring to the heavens, and the next minute we were diving to the sea. I wondered if we were hit, and found myself clinging to the stoic Mr. Monem. He patted me and comforted me as though I were a child. We dived again, and the water was very close. Mr. Monem held me tight, and I heard him say, "If we get out of this alive and you come to Egypt, I shall see to it that you meet King Farouk and are given the key to the city of Cairo." I laughed in spite of my fear.

The plane leveled off finally, and the radio operator came back to say that the danger was past. "We shook 'em off and now we are over the mountains of Borneo," he said. A bit later we were flying serenely in the direction of middle Java. For the rest of the journey Mr. Monem told me stories of Egypt and talked of King Farouk, who was not, he assured me, all playboy.

There were only a few Indonesian soldiers at the airport when we landed in Java. The crew helped us out of the plane. "Hope you enjoyed the flight," they joked. "We'll try to pick out a smoother track when we go back."

The Merdeka Hotel in Jogja looked much the same. My friends there were surprised to see me, and they had many questions to ask about conditions on the other side of the Dutch curtain.

The next morning Mr. Monem was received in state by President Sukarno, Vice-President Hatta, the ministers of state, and the commanding officers of the military services. There was an impressive ceremony in the magnificent reception room of the palace, with Sukarno and Mr. Monem facing each other. The President appeared calm, but the Egyptian was nervous. His voice quavered and his hands trembled as he read from a parchment that Egypt and the Arab League formally recognized the Republic of Indonesia as a sovereign state and welcomed it into the family of nations.

Mr. Monem had assured me in advance that he would not tell anyone that I had chartered the plane or made the arrangements for the flight. I had insisted on this, knowing that if facts were given out the press would sensationalize my part in it. Such personal publicity would detract from the news value of Indonesia's recognition. Also I was determined to protect the Singapore firm from which I had chartered the plane. To the date of this writing the secret has been well kept. Aside from a few people in the Ministry for Defense and the intelligence department of the Djaksa Agung's office the CID of Indonesia, no Indonesian, not even the President, has been aware of the part I played.

The pleasure of my return to Jogja, the joy of witnessing the first official recognition of the new Republic, was dimmed by one development. I learned that Amir Sjarifuddin had had a nervous breakdown and had been very ill. He was convalescing at a villa in the mountains behind Maduin, where he was permitted few visitors. Nevertheless, I was allowed to call upon him there.

Bung Amir accepted the news of the plane charter and my signature on the note in the name of the Defense Ministry without batting an eye. "It is wonderful that Mr. Monem could get here to accomplish his very important mission," he said. "You did us a service." With that he addressed to Colonel X a note instructing him to hand over to me $10,000, along with money to cover the expenses of a trip to Australia.

I offered to stay on in Indonesia, to help in any way I could. But Bung Amir said my life would be in danger, with the Dutch moving into Republican territory. "I shall feel better if you are far away when the Dutch come in," he said.

Mrs. Sjarifuddin brought in tea. We chatted of generalities until it was time for me to leave. Bung Amir looked almost his old self as he waved good-by. I never saw him again. We flew back to Singapore the following day. This time Mr. Monem and I had as traveling companions a number of high Indo nesian officials, among them a venerable statesman, Agus Salim, on his way to India for a conference with Prime Minister Nehru. Our take-off time and route had been kept secret, and we flew toward Borneo before taking the skyway to Singapore. The Dutch were nowhere to be seen, and we had a pleasantly uneventful flight. As I had anticipated, the British authorities at Singapore took a dim view of my Javanese escapade. They said I had embarrassed them, and they were sorry they had been so lenient to me before. But once again they forgave me and granted me access to the city. 17 AUSTRALIA I did not have long to wait for the word from Australia, and it was good. Canberra said I might enter without the formality of a pass port. Wonderful, wonderful Australia! Before making arrangements for the journey I again approached the American consulate and asked about my passport. Nothing had as yet been heard from Washington. I could stay no longer in Singa pore merely to await the pleasure of the passport office in Washing ton. A major flaw quickly cracked wide my neat new plans. Colonel X had not enough money to advance me the cost of my trip which Bung Amir had authorized. "I have paid the plane charter and the expenses of the crew, and shared what little was left among the various Indonesian groups working in Singapore," he said. "I am expecting some more money shortly, but I cannot say for sure when it will arrive. Much depends on luck, and whether the next con signment of sugar and rubber gets through safely from Java. It might take a week, a month, or- even longer. Under such conditions nothing is certain." Colonel X had plenty of Indonesian rupiahs, but they were abso lutely worthless in the outside world. It had begun to appear that AUSTRALIA 293 the only thing to do would be to return once again to Indonesia and wait until the government was in a position to finance an Australian venture properly. Among my Chinese friends in Singapore was a wealthy attorney and restaurant owner named Ho Alim, who had come to the city many years before from Africa. British educated, brilliant and broad- minded, he was considered an anticolonial and was most sympathetic toward the Indonesian question. Although he worked actively for a free Malaya he had never tried to interest me in Malayan politics. "Tou have lived for many years in Indonesia, know the people and the conditions in which they live," he said. "You are qualified, therefore, to speak for Indonesia. You do not know Malaya, and you would be very foolish to interest yourself in its politics/ I agreed wholeheartedly. When I told Ho Mm that because of financial difficulties I planned to return to Indonesia and forget about the Australian trip for the time being he was greatly disturbed. "You must not return to Indonesia under any circumstances," he said. "The Dutch are about to invade Indonesian Republican ter ritory, and it is evident that they cannot be stopped. They would kill you, or at least put you in jail for a long time. It is more im portant now than ever for you to go to Australia and tell the truth of what is going on in Indonesia. It is extremely important that the Australians continue their ban on the loading of firearms on Dutch ships. And the Dutch scheme to bring in guns and ammunition by plane from outlying Australian airports must be stopped/ He pointed out that Indonesian warehouses were stacked with commodities that the Australians needed and couldn t get at any price: tea, coffee, sugar, sago, quinine and other things. The Indo nesians should be trading these for the Australian goods they so urgently required. "No, K tut; you must go to Australia. You are a Britisher and the Aussies will listen to you. Because I realize the importance of this I want to finance your trip to Australia and back to Singapore. I asked why he was willing to do so much for Indonesia. "Because Malaya and Indonesia are closely affiliated," he said. "They are similar in language and religion. They are cousins, and good neighbors. We in Malaya have the British, with whom we can negotiate independence, and not the bullheaded Dutch. When 294 REVOLT IN PARADISE Indonesian Merdeka is finally won, it will be only a matter of time before the British, give Malaya and Singapore their freedom." Reluctantly I accepted the aid he offered, saying that I would see to it that the Indonesian government reimbursed him as speedily as possible. He was not content that I should travel modestly. "You need a rest, and you need a bit of luxury for a change," he said. "This time you are going de luxe." Though I protested, I must admit that the comforts of a stateroom and the wonderful food and service on the journey to Australia provided a pleasing contrast to my re cent travel experiences. The ship docked first at Perth, in western Australia. No one was more surprised than I, when the gangplank was lowered, to see so many newspaper reporters and cameramen rush aboard in quest of Surabaya Sue. The dock workers wharfies, they were called in Australia swarmed around, too, to shake my hand. Photographers asked that I pose with the men who had refused to load guns aboard any Dutch ship bound for Indonesia. This I was proud to do, even though I realized that the reactionary press might attempt to use pictures in a smear program designed to implicate me in Communist activities. Some of the wharfies were known to be red tinged, and my praise of their work would very likely color me with the same brush. An amazingly short time later, on the streets of Perth, glaring posters at every street corner announced my arrival, and newspapers bore front-page headlines such as "Surabaya Sue, Mystery Woman from Java" and "Surabaya Sue, Fugitive from the Dutch." In all the stories hardly any mention was made of Indonesia and its painfully slow advance toward freedom. Surabaya Sue I began to hate the name, and even called the editor of one paper and asked him please to refrain from using it. The response the next day was the headline: "Surabaya Sue Doesn t Like Her Name." Much was made of the fact that I had entered Australia without a passport and also of the help I had given to an Australian officer whose family lived in Perth, during the early days of the Revolution. For my part, I found the people of Australia uncommonly generous and friendly and openhearted. Everything about them seemed big. They reminded me, in fact, of western Americans. Melbourne was our ship s next port, and the fuss and publicity there was much as it had been in Perth. Some of the reporters tried AUSTRALIA 295 to needle me into comment about the "white Australia" policy and to heckle me about entering Australia without a passport. The ar ticles they wrote were so sarcastic that I decided not to meet the press in Sydney at all. But it is not easy to avoid newsmen. In Sydney I was saved from a small-scale mob by one of the ship s officers, who let me hide in his room until the press got tired of waiting. CID officials came aboard to investigate the reports that I was in Australia without a passport. I satisied them that I had special permission to enter the country, but the customs officers were more than thorough. They went through my baggage so many times that I asked them, finally, if they were looking for the atomic bomb. "No," said one. "We are making sure that you have not smuggled amber into Australia." "Amber?" I was incredulous. "Why?" "Forever Amber, sister," he laughed. "We don t want anyone bringing that obscene book into our country." I had never before heard of the currently popular novel of that title and thought at first that he was jesting. I learned quickly that he was in earnest, for he confiscated my large bundle of Indo nesian- and Malayan-language magazines and newspapers. "There is nothing wrong with these/ 7 I protested. "You can buy them on any newsstand in Asia." "We have only your word for that," he replied. "I can t read them. How do we know that they aren t in Russian?" I stared at him, speechless at such idiotic behavior. "If they aren t Russian if they are all right you ll get them back in a couple of days," he said. He did keep his promise. The whole lot was re turned to me. On the whole the Australian authorities treated me very well. This could not be said of the public generally. The newspapers had identified the hotel where I was staying, and I was pestered day and night by autograph hounds and curiosity seekers. Many Dutch peo ple, refugees from Indonesia, telephoned and were most abusive. A Scotswoman whom I had met offered me a small apartment in her home at King s Cross. For a short time I was able to leave the house without being followed. Then a newspaper columnist dis covered my whereabouts, and printed a most insulting article about me. The provocation began in real earnest. 296 REVOLT IN PARADISE The telephone would ring, often hours after I had gone to sleep. A voice would curse me, call me "nigger lover" or "Indonesian stooge/ warn me to get out of the city before something happened to me. I at first attributed all this to the Dutch living in Sydney. When it became unbearable I asked the help of the CID. The Australian department of investigation tapped my telephone, at my request, and quickly discovered the source of most of the calls. They were coming from a newspaper office. I had my telephone number changed. The calls ceased for a time, then started up again. The CID advised me not to pay too much attention to the tabloid press of Sydney. But when a newspaper printed that I had kept a house of ill-repute in Bali, my limit was reached. I slapped a slander suit on the paper. In spite of the newspaper attacks or perhaps in part because of them I was invited everywhere in Sydney and was so busy I had to refuse many engagements that I would have preferred to accept. I spoke before most of the labor unions, telling them in simple language the struggle of the Indonesians to become as free as the Australians were free. I described the deplorable conditions wrought by the Dutch blockade, the shocking shortage of medical equip ment and supplies, the unnecessary suffering of the innocent. I asked for help in the name of the Indonesian Medical Aid Appeal. The re sponse was far beyond my expectations. Donations began to pour in. The Indonesian Medical Aid Appeal had been set up by a group of Australian churchmen and business people, including an Anglican bishop, a Catholic priest, and Protestant ministers. The donations went directly to the Appeal. Australians, donating their services, handled the fund-raising campaign. I did not personally collect or handle any money. My part was simply to give lectures. A Sunday afternoon meeting in a large Sydney theater was par ticularly successful. Some Australian leaders who had recently re turned from Indonesia were on the speaking platform with me. After our talks the audience stormed the stage and began pouring money into our laps. Medical aid for Indonesia received quite an enormous sum of money that afternoon. I spoke over radio stations also, and to the Australian Women s Democratic party, the Housewives 7 Union, and many other wom en s organizations. And then I spoke at Sydney University, in a great AUSTRALIA 297 hall packed with students. A question-and-answer period followed. The questions for the most part were intelligent and indicative of a strong desire to know the truth. At the same time they were evi dence of a shocking lack of knowledge about Indonesia, Australia s nearest neighbor. Bitter and frustrated Dutch colonials had mis informed the Australians all during and since the war. No Indo nesians of note had been on hand to counter the vicious propaganda. Only one outright foolish question was asked. Perhaps, in fact, I misunderstood the questioner. I understood him to say, "Tell us what the Indonesian rabble is like. How do the rabble live?" Later it occurred to me that he may have said "rebel" instead of rabble. However that may be, I angrily replied, "Indonesia has no rabble. They have people who are the same as you and I, with the same hopes and dreams. There is one big difference; the Australians are free, the Indonesians are not. They want to be free. And they look to Australia for help." "How can we help?" one student asked. "We recognize the right of all men to be free. We would help if you could show us the way." Other students applauded the idea vigorously. "I can show you how to help your Indonesian neighbors," I said. "You, the students of Sydney University, could organize a march on the Dutch consulate. You could draw up a petition of protest against any further Dutch aggression in Indonesia. You could send telegrams to the Australian Prime Minister asking him to put the Indonesian question to the United Nations." "Let s march on the Dutch consulate!" one student shouted. "When do we start?" another asked. A quickly formed committee came to my apartment, and we made banners with a variety of slogans: Dutch, Cease Fire in Indonesia. Stop Dutch Aggression against the Indonesians. We Want the Indonesian Question Before the UN. No Guns from Australia in Indonesia. The students composed a long petition of protest. They would hand it to the Dutch consul when they had marched to his office, and then they would return to the university, disband, and go home. "Remember/ 7 I told them, "if the march is to be effective it must remain orderly. Nothing must get out of hand." 298 REVOLT IN PARADISE That was the way it was planned. What happened was quite an other matter. "Will you lead us?" one of the students had asked. I quickly con vinced him that this must be a student enterprise and that I must take no active part. Word of the proposed march reached the newspapers, and one of them printed the starting time and the time of arrival at the con sulate. The Dutch offices were several flights up in a building in the center of the city. When the Dutch heard that the students were on the march they locked their doors, to bar the young marchers. I waited near the office building to watch the developments. With me was one of the most important newspaper editors in Sydney. We noticed that the building was surrounded by policemen and that a considerable crowd had gathered to await the arrival of the protest parade.

The word swept through the crowd, "They're coming. Here they come!" The students marched down the street, hundreds of them quietly, in perfect dignity. As the first of them neared the building the police tried to force them back. The others pushed on. Before anyone could realize what was happening, bedlam broke loose.

First the police roughed up a few of the leaders. Other students began to shout protests, and the officers swung clubs. Bricks and street debris began to fly. Soon bystanders were joining the students against the police. Within moments the whole street was fighting.

From their offices high above the sidewalk the Dutch tossed out buckets of water, unintentionally drenching the police more than the students. Still the students came marching on, cheering, jeering, defiant.

The girl student who had been entrusted with the petition tried to break through the police blockade to get into the building. She fought valiantly. Her dress was torn and her hair disheveled. She fell down, but she was up again. With almost superhuman agility she was between the legs of a tall policeman and off like a deer, through the hall of the building and up the stairs. The police dashed after her, but were no match for her athletic youth. She made it but only just. A moment before the policeman reached her she pushed the petition of protest under the door of the Dutch consulate.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

By this time police whistles and sirens were sounding all over the area, and students were being hustled into patrol wagons. The young heroine was hurried down the stairs and shoved into one car. More police appeared. But as soon as the students had learned that the petition had been served they disbanded and returned to the university or to their homes. Many students had been hurt, and scores arrested. The students had been orderly at the start, and had they been let alone there would have been no disturbance. Police interference, at the call of the Dutch, had turned the march into the riot. As it happened, this worked to the disadvantage of the Dutch, for the free-for-all received tremendous publicity, in the press and over the air, throughout the Far East. The Australian papers were scathing in their denunciation of the police for using force against the stu dents. The angry fathers of the students included some of the most important men in the country. They joined in the demand that Australia place the Indonesian question before the United Nations. From India Prime Minister Nehru made the same plea. In their wildest hopes the students had not looked for such a profound effect from their simply planned protest march. Not long afterward the Dutch were ordered by the United Nations to cease fire in Indonesia, and the whole Indonesian problem was set before the UN. In order to raise money for bail and attorney fees for the students who had been arrested, I lectured before a number of business groups and Labor party organizations, and also to the Australian servicemen. The response was quick and generous. Later the court dismissed the case against the students.

The voice over the telephone was deep and guttural. It sounded Dutch. The speaker identified himself. He was Dutch. "I should like to see you on a most important matter," he said.

Could there be in Sydney a Dutchman who had seen the light, who wanted to help the Indonesian cause? That would be too much to expect. I invited him to come for a talk, nonetheless.

The moment he set foot in my apartment I could identify him: a typical colonial diehard. Pompous, arrogant, brusque. He introduced himself coldly, obviously feeling that he was demeaning the Dutch by condescending to call on an enemy of his people.

He wasted no time on preliminaries. "I represent a group of businessmen who formerly lived in Java," he said. "We are prepared to offer you a hundred thousand guilders if you will leave Australia immediately, go to America or England, and forget all about Indonesia."

I just stared at him.

"Indonesia is none of your business," he said. "You are a foreigner. With a hundred thousand guilders you can live in luxury the rest of your life, or you can use it to start another hotel in another country."

I was still speechless. He went on: "You should realize that the Indonesians are only making use of you, and will forget about you if they ever get their freedom. Then where will you be? But they will not get their freedom, not the kind they are screaming about. We Dutch will be taking over again one of these days. You may be sure we will never allow you in Indonesia."

At last I found my tongue. "You Dutch must have a lot to lose in Indonesia to try these tactics," I said scornfully. "There are seventy million Indonesians. If you and your associates were willing to put up one million guilders for every man and woman in Indonesia, even then I couldn't be tempted to sell out my adopted land or desert it in its struggle to break the chains of colonialism. The Indonesians may forget all about me when they are free and why not? I am but a very tiny part of the great, swelling tide toward merdeka. I have lived for many years under Dutch colonial rule. I know the little that was good, the much that was bad. Why is it that the Dutch in Holland screamed with indignation when the Nazis overran their country and plundered it, yet now that the Allies have liberated Holland the Dutch are trying to do the same thing in Indonesia? For three hundred years the great wealth of Indonesia has found its way to Holland. Isn't it about time for that flow to be diverted back into Indonesia, at least in part?"

He looked at me with contempt. "How can you, a white woman, fight for a race that can never be your equal?" he shouted. "What could you have in common with them? What is wrong with white skin, that you should prefer brown or black?"

I handed him his hat and opened the door. "Being Dutch, you profess to be a Christian," I said. "Tell me, what is the color of the skin of your Creator? Have you never heard of the race of man?

"And as for me I have always been color-blind!"

I could not help slamming the door after him. Standing there, tears of exasperation in my eyes, I recalled the kindly, tolerant face of President Sukarno and others of my friends in Indonesia, Amir Sjarifuddin, Pito, the guerrillas of Java Timor. I heard their voices, warm with affection and confidence in me. These were my true riches, compared with which a hundred thousand pieces of Dutch silver had no value at all.

There were letters, many, many letters, from all over Australia to be answered. Some were provocative, some flattering. Earnest citizens asked why I did not open an Indonesian information bureau in Sydney. Businessmen inquired about trade with Indonesia. Several men who had read that I had no passport, and was hampered in my traveling, sent proposals of marriage to give me the protection of Australian citizenship. And among the letters came one from the United States consulate in Sydney. The consul general had been instructed by the State Department in Washington to issue me an American passport! I was delighted.

I hurried downtown to pick up the document I had been seeking so long, only to be informed that a passport would be issued solely for a direct journey from Australia to the United States. I could go to no other country, in Asia or elsewhere. The consul suggested a ship from Sydney to San Francisco.

A passport with strings attached! It smelled of politics. "I cannot go home from here," I informed the consul. "I have a return ticket to Singapore, I am running short of money, and I can only get funds for the trip to the United States by going back to Singapore. I cannot accept a passport under the conditions you impose."

"I do not understand your money problems," the consul said. "You owned a hotel in Bali. You had a house in Surabaya. You have raised large sums of money in Australia through the Indonesian Medical Aid Appeal. Why have you no money?" I explained again, as I had explained before, that the Japanese had destroyed my hotel and that my Surabaya house had been destroyed in the early days of the Revolution. "The money I raised in Australia was for medical aid for Indonesia, and I received not one penny of it," I said. This was a labor of love. Nor has any government - American, Japanese, or Indonesian - paid me anything as compensation for the loss of my property during the war."

In the end the consul agreed that I should go back to Singapore, and that he would instruct the American consul there to give me a passport for my return to the United States. I pointed out that I had no permit to re-enter Singapore, only the identification paper given to me by the British when I first went to Singapore from Indonesia. "I shall need a visa to re-enter Singapore," I said. "If you will give me a letter saying that an American passport will be issued to me in Singapore, I can then go to the Malayan government here in Sydney and ask for a visa to enter Singapore."

The American consul refused to go this far, and I left his office wondering how I could work things out. I dreaded the thought of boarding a Singapore-bound ship without satisfactory papers, on the slender chance that the British would be as lenient as they had been in the past. I had hoped for once to be in the clear.

I flew from Sydney to Perth to board a ship bound for Singapore. There was some newspaper speculation as to whether the British would allow Surabaya Sue to enter that city again without a passport. Would I become, they asked, a woman without a country, doomed to shuttle back and forth between Australia and Malaya, allowed to land nowhere? I refused to worry, as reluctantly I said good-bye to beautiful Australia.

It was a satisfaction to learn, from my friends who had organized the Indonesian Medical Aid, that my speaking appearances had raised thousands of dollars for the cause. All this money would be used to buy medical supplies and medicines to be sent immediately to Indonesia through the Australian Red Cross.

Singapore? That problem would be met if, as, and when it developed.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

It was no shock to me to see familiar faces from the British immigration forces and an official from the special branch of the CID waiting on the dock at Singapore.

"Well, well, Surabaya Sue again," was the first greeting. "It seems like old times. We are delighted to see you if your papers are in order this time. You have a visa, we presume."

I shook my head. "You presume too much," I said. "Surely you read the papers all those stories about Surabaya Sue and her fights with the authorities. I do have the documents you gave me the first time I came to Singapore."

"Those papers were good the first time," one of the men said. "But this is the third time. What makes you think you can come and go without the proper papers?"

"I am not doing this because I like doing it you know that," I retorted. "I am forced into this ridiculous position. It is not my fault I haven't a passport."

"We know, we know," he said. "But you are becoming an embarrassment to us. The Dutch are complaining that we are helping one of their worst enemies, just because you are British born. What are we going to do with you?"

"Since when has a Britisher been intimidated by a Dutchman?" I asked. "I took a great risk in coming back here because I believed in the tolerance and chivalry of British officials. Where else in Asia could a Scotswoman land without a passport? If you consider me a woman without a country, at least you should give me a document certifying me as stateless. Then I could get a visa, at least to enter Singapore."

"Why didn t you apply for such a document?"

"Because I am not stateless. I am entitled to an American passport."

"What are we going to do with you?" he asked once again.

"I hope you are going to allow me to land, and to stay in Singapore until my affairs are in order, and until I get the passport that has been promised to me."

"Do you really expect us to close our eyes for a third time to let you in?"

"There might even be a fourth time," I said prophetically, as it turned out. "Think of the headlines it would make in Scotland. 'Scots girl refused admission by brutal British. Former Japanese prisoner tortured by countrymen!' It's reason for an uprising by all the Scots who have so long wished to be free from England!"

The men laughed. "You have a point there," one said. "Looks like you win once more."

Thus once again I was in Singapore.

In the months that I had been in Australia much had happened in the city. Most of my Indonesian friends had been recalled to Java because of the grave turn of events. Even Colonel X was gone. The house was closed.

The news from Java was depressing. The Linggadjati agreement had failed completely, as the Dutch had meant it to fail. Prime Minister Sutan Sjahrir had lost the confidence of the people and had been forced to resign. Even his own Socialist party had accused him of concessions to the Dutch at the expense of merdeka. Amir Sjarifuddin had become prime minister, retaining his portfolio as minister for defense as well.

What the Dutch called a police action following signature of the agreement was in reality a preplanned full-scale colonial war. After capturing many Republican towns and villages, they were approaching the capital city of Jogjakarta and had boasted that victory was only three or four weeks away. Then the United Nations ordered a "cease fire." A United Nations Committee of Good Offices was set up to help arrange a settlement, having as its members Dr. van Zeeland, a former Belgian prime minister, Justice Kirby of Australia, and Dr. Frank Graham of the University of North Carolina.

For want of a more satisfactory place, the committee met aboard an American naval transport, the Renville, and talks dragged on for weeks.

During this time I was able, through the help of a sympathetic British official, to telephone Amir Sjarifuddin and congratulate him on becoming prime minister. He was unenthusiastic. "I doubt that I'll last as long as Sjahrir did," he said. Nor was he sanguine about the negotiations. When I asked whether it might be advisable for me to return to Java he said I would no longer be safe there. "In view of the Dutch attitude, it is probably only a matter of time before they attack Jogja," he said. "Even President Sukarno and I may be in danger."

The Renville agreement as finally worked out gave the Dutch control of more than two thirds of Java, leaving the Indonesians far less than they felt was rightfully theirs. Sukarno, Sjarifuddin, Hatta, Sjahrir were all against signing the agreement, but the Dutch said that if it were not signed within five days they would march against Indonesia. The Republic could not stand another "police action." Reluctantly Amir Sjarifuddin penned his name to the agreement.

It took the Dutch only a short time to break the Renville agreement as they had broken the Linggadjati agreement. They bombed Jogjakarta, dropped parachute troops, then marched in and took the city, arresting Sukarno, Hatta, and Sjahrir with other high government officials and the directors of the radio stations.

Another brutal Dutch action was the shooting down of an airplane carrying $10,000 worth of medical supplies that had been purchased with funds raised in our campaign in Australia.

World opinion, as everyone knows, swelled so strongly against the Dutch, and the United Nations ultimately took so firm a stand against them, that they were forced to release the Indonesian leaders and restore the Republican government in Jogjakarta. So what had initially appeared to be a Dutch coup turned into a defeat for them, and the triumph of the Indonesians.

In Singapore I went to the American consulate and asked for the passport that had been promised to me. "It will be delivered to you as soon as you can show us that you have made arrangements to leave, and that you are sailing directly to the United States," I was told. In due course I raised $650 to pay for passage on a Boston-bound freighter, and showed my ticket at the consulate. After a frustrating wait of more than two years I was, at last, the owner of an American passport, proof to the world that I was an American citizen.

The money was barely enough for my voyage, with a bit left over for the taxi to Singapore's dock and for tips to the room boy and steward aboard ship. This ship would reach Boston in mid-December. The prospect of returning to America in midwinter, absolutely broke, was worrisome. My plan upon arrival in Boston was to wire the Indonesian office in New York for funds with which to get to the big city. In New York I should be able to find work with the Indonesians.

With most of my Indonesian friends back in Java, and Mr. Ho Alim away in North Malaya, I had relatively few farewells to make. I had a final Malayan dinner with two good British friends, a reporter on the Singapore Straits Times and her husband. They saw me off, and were the last familiar faces I could see as the ship drew out of Singapore harbor. It was strange and saddening, after all these years, to be leaving the Far East and all it had come to mean to me.

The cargo ship was small and slow, but comfortable. We stopped at a number of ports in the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, to load or discharge cargo. The only other passenger was a Chinese student going to America to study law. He took his meals with the crew and I did not get to meet him on the voyage.

Across the Atlantic we were lashed for days by a dreadful storm. It made us late into Boston, so that we drew up along the dock about 7 P.M. on Christmas Eve. The families of the ship's officers were waiting at the water's edge. As soon as the formalities of customs and immigration were over, the people hurried off. There were no porters, no taxis and soon there was no one but me standing there, shivering in the dark. I had just five dollars. I had been away for fifteen years. And it was Christmas Eve.

I found a telephone booth on the dismal pier, and summoned a taxi to take me to the railroad station. This cost three dollars, including tip. I carried my meager luggage into the station, and looked around. The Travelers Aid? Closed for the holidays. My heart sank. I knew no one in Boston, no one anywhere in the United States to whom I could send a wire of distress after fifteen years. Over the station loud-speaker there were chimes and Christmas hymns. I sat on a hard bench and fingered two one-dollar bills, my last remaining funds in this world.

There was a gentle tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me," a voice said. "Are you not the American girl known in Asia as Surabaya Sue?"

I turned swiftly, and saw a well-dressed young Chinese.

"We have been fellow passengers from Singapore," he said. "I have read a great deal about you."

Tears came to my eyes, tears of gratitude that there was another human being at this moment aware of my existence.

"Are you going to New York?" he asked. "That is my next stop."

I confessed that I had planned to go to New York but lacked money even for train fare. I would have no way of getting money until after Christmas.

"Please let me buy your ticket to New York," he said. "It is lonely, and I have never been in your country before. I would deeply appreciate having your company."

I told him I would be forever in his debt if he would lend me the amount of my ticket. I would repay him before he left New York.

He gave me a big, happy smile. "We Asians must stick together," he said.

We arrived at Grand Central Station after midnight. He went to one hotel, and was told there was no vacancy; and to a second with the same result. It dawned on me then that his race might have had something to do with his reception. When I inquired at the desk alone I had no difficulty in getting two rooms.

It was a stimulating experience to be with this young Chinese on Christmas Day, strolling the streets of New York. Up Fifth Avenue, over to Broadway, and down to the Village everything he saw entranced him. The Empire State Building was a thing of beauty. The United Nations Building, which I considered an enormous tombstone dedicated to the lost ideals of the world, was to him a wonder to behold. The department store Christmas decorations were fairy-tale magic. The city as a whole? "A beautiful forest," he said. "A forest with stately trees of cement proudly raising their branches toward the heavens."

The next day I was able to get funds with which to repay him, and buy him a briefcase, his first Christmas gift from the West. In the evening I saw him aboard his train for the school he would attend in Indiana. Then I walked away, homesick for Indonesia, missing the sun and warmth and glowing color of the Far East.

Above the city lights the stars were twinkling, and I was reminded of a Chinese story out of my childhood. Those who would find tranquillity must first have the courage to leave all earthly joys and possessions behind, and go search for the land of the purple star. When the search was ended the purple star would reveal itself overhead. But the only one who would see it would be he who had sacrificed much.

I searched for the purple star in many lands, but I had never found it. In the stars above New York, shining so cold and bright, was there a purple star? And would it reveal itself to me? I searched the heavens, hopefully.

THE END

*Anmerkung f�r Leser, die sich in englischer, amerikanischer und franz�sischer Geschichte nicht so gut auskennen: Eigentlich wollte Dikigoros dieses Machwerk unkommentiert lassen und lediglich versuchen, die gr�bsten Druckfehler von der saum��igen Vorlage, die er leider nur zur Verf�gung hat, zu korrigieren - denn inhaltliche Korrekturen haben bereits Andere vor ihm angebracht, viel gr�ndlicher und ausf�hrlicher, als er das auf seinem eigenen begrenzten Webspace tun k�nnte, von Raymond Cartier bis Tim Lindsey. Aber da keiner der Vorgenannten diesen Punkt thematisiert, mu� Dikigoros hier mal eine Ausnahme machen: Er w��te selber keinen besseren Vergleich f�r Ketut Tantri als Thomas Paine: Brite von Geburt und sp�ter US-B�rger, beflei�igte er sich, nach der Franz�sischen Revolution von 1789 den P�bel aufzuhetzen, Angeh�rige des "Ancien r�gime" in Massen zu ermorden. (Nein, nicht nur "b�se Adelige", sondern auch einfache Bauern auf dem Lande, die von der "Revolution" der spinnerten Pariser partout nichts wissen wollten!)
[...]

**Und noch eine Ausnahme: Das ist sicher eine Freud'sche Fehlleistung - "Freiheit t�tet" -; gemeint war wohl "Merdeka atau mati [Freiheit oder Tod]". Der "falsche" Satz sollte indes zur "selffulfilling prophecy" werden [...] Dikigoros zitiert ja gerne den folgenden Absatz aus dem 1929 erschienenen Buch Heitere Tage mit braunen Menschen des gro�en, heute vergessenen Reiseschriftstellers Richard Katz: