CHAPTER IX.

CONTINUATION OF THE TRIP TO REJANG.

After two days' paddling from the mouth of the Rejang, the boats arrived

at Sibou, where there is a manufactory for nepa salt. The nepa palm

grows down to the edge of the banks, which are washed by a salt tide,

and furnishes the Dyak with many necessaries.

The leaves make the thatch to cover the roofs of the houses, or shelter

over their boats. Neatly fastened together with split rattans, they form

the walls of the house. From the juice of the tree they make a fermented

drink something like sweet beer, also brown sugar. The young shoots are

eaten in curries and salads. The fruit is salted or pickled. When they

have got all these good things out of it, they burn the stem of the palm

with some of the leaves, and wash the burnt ashes in water. This water

is then boiled until it is evaporated, and some black salt remains at

the bottom of the pot. It tastes bitter as well as salt; but the Dyaks

prefer it to common salt, and if you ask why, they say, "It is a fat

salt." I must now return to my husband's journal. "Arrived at Kenowit. A

tribe of Milanows have been induced to settle here lately by the Rajah.

Within the last few weeks they have built two long and substantial

houses, raised thirty feet from the ground on trunks of trees, some two

feet in diameter. There are in all sixty doors, or families. The tribe

furnishes three hundred fighting men, and numbers from fifteen hundred

to two thousand.

"The bachelors, as with the Dyaks, have a separate dwelling.

"Tanee's tribe, who are returning to Sibou on the Rajah's promise to

build a fort at Kenowit, are of the same tribe, and number about three

hundred men. They speak the Milanow language, and have the same customs

of burial. The men and some of the women are tattooed in the most

grotesque patterns. When you look at them closely the invention

displayed is truly remarkable; but at a distance they give a dingy,

dusky appearance to the men, as if they were daubed with an inky sponge.

Nature having denied them beards, they tattoo curly locks along their

faces, always bordered by a vandyke fringe, which must task their utmost

ingenuity. Tanee, who has followed us with some of his warriors, is the

very exquisite of a Kenowit. He is made like a Hercules, and is proud of

showing his strength and agility. He piques himself upon having the

best sword, of fine Kayan make and native metal, and the strongest arm

in his tribe. He sits most of the day sharpening one or another of these

swords, feeling and looking along its edge to see that the weapon is in

perfect order: then, to prove it, he seeks for a suitable block of wood,

as thick as his arm, severs it at a blow, gives a yell, and with a grin

of delight returns the weapon to its sheath. His jacket is of scarlet

satin; his long hair is confined by a gold-embroidered handkerchief; his

chawat is of fine white cloth, very long, and richly embroidered--the

ends hang down to his knees, he wears behind an apron of panther's skin,

trimmed with red cloth and alligator's teeth, and other charms; this

hangs from his loins to his knees, and always affords him a dry seat.

Tanee's boat is long, made out of one tree, like our river canoes, but

much lighter and faster. His cabin is a raised platform in the centre of

the boat, covered with a mat, and hung all round with weapons and

trophies of war--Kyan fighting-coats of bear and buffalo hides, having

head-pieces adorned with beads or shells, shields and spears all gaily

decked with Argus' feathers, or human hair dyed red.

"On Sunday we moved from the boats into Palabun's house, and settled

ourselves in part of the verandah. After breakfast I doctored the sick,

and then we had the morning service, much to the surprise of the

natives, who, however, did not disturb us. They sit round us all day,

hearing and asking us questions.... Meanwhile the seven hundred men who

came in the flotilla of twenty boats, were busy building the fort. First

they pulled down a temporary fort already set up by the Kenowits, and

then cut wood to erect a substantial building. Four guns were mounted on

the parapet, and there was a house inside for the Malay commandant, and

a powder magazine. All the chiefs near Kenowit were assembled when the

fort was finished, and had the same kind of address made them as at

Sakarran, praising the benefits of peaceful trade instead of the

miseries of wasteful war. They all listened with respect. That same

afternoon, dismal howlings issued from Palabun's house. His brother, who

had left him two years ago with a party of fourteen, to visit a friendly

tribe at a distance, had been treacherously murdered. He and his party

had been kindly received by their friends, and they had all gone out

together on the war-path to seek heads. It is supposed that when they

met no one, the hosts had turned on their visitors and taken their

heads, rather than return home without any. Palabun vowed vengeance, and

the whole tribe go into mourning for three months." (Bishop's Journal.)

A Dyak mourning is not a becoming black costume, made "cheerful," as the

dressmakers say, by jet ornaments and bugle trimmings. It consists in

the abandonment of all ornament and their usual clothing, and the

substitution of a kind of a brown cloth made of the inside bark of

trees, which must be as rough and uncomfortable as it is ugly. These

people, being Milanows, have peculiar burial customs. They lay the dead

in a boat, with all his property and belongings, and send it out to sea;

for they imagine that in some way a man's possessions may be of use to

him in another world, if no one claims them on earth.

"In this case there was no corpse to bury. The clothes were so disposed

on the bier as to represent a figure, and laid beside it were handsome

gold cloths and ornaments, gold buttons, krises,[5] and breastplates,

and weapons of Javanese manufacture, representing some hundreds of

dollars. There were also gongs and two brass guns. Of course the fate of

such boat-loads, sent adrift in a tidal river, is generally to be

capsized and lost in the water. But if Malays encounter them they do not

hesitate to appropriate the effects. Palabun knew this, so he did not

send his brother's boat away until our fleet had departed." (Bishop's

Journal.)

[Footnote 5: A kris is a Malay dagger.]

I remember our once meeting one of these boats. It had been caught by

branches from the bank, and swayed idly to and fro in the stream. We

could only see a heap of coloured clothes inside it, but there was a

weird, ghastly look about the boat which made us shudder. An unburied

corpse, left to the winds and waves, without a prayer or a blessing! how

could it be otherwise? Even if we could delude ourselves into fancying

the Dyaks happy during their lives without Christianity, there can be no

doubt of their being miserable when death comes. They all believe dimly

in a future state, but their dread of spirits is so great that they can

have no ideas of happiness unconnected with their bodies. "Having no

hope, and without God in the world," describes the mental state of a

heathen Dyak. In 1856, we were living for a few weeks on a hill called

Peninjauh, some miles from Kuching, where the Rajah had built a cottage

as a sanitarium after illness. The cool freshness of the mountain air,

and the glorious view from See-afar Cottage, were indeed conducive to

health. On the hillsides lived several villages of Land Dyaks, and I had

a woman as nurse to my baby who belonged to one of these villages. The

cholera was in the country at that time, and three men had died of the

Sebumban Dyaks. Every night the most mournful wailing arose above the

trees--a sad sound indeed, rising and falling on the wind as the friends

of the dead walked all through the jungle paths near their homes, now

near to our cottage, now far off. One night I found my little ayah

seated in the nursery when she ought to have been in the cook-house

getting her supper. "What is the matter, Nina? Are you ill, that you are

eating no supper?" "No, I am not ill, but I dare not go to the

cook-house to-night." "Why?" "I fear to meet the spirits who are abroad

to-night in the jungle." "The spirits of the dead men?" "No, the spirits

who come to fetch them." After three days the bodies of these Dyaks were

burnt, for this was the custom of the Sebumbans. The dead man is laid

on a pile of wood, and they all sit round watching. Nina said, that when

the fire has burnt some time the dead man sits up for a moment,

whereupon they all burst into renewed waitings of sorrow and farewell. I

am told that the heat swelling the sinews of the dead body may cause

this curious phenomenon; but could there be a more mournful, hopeless

story of death?

It is a relief to return to the party on the Rejang River. They were

much entertained one day with a war-dance between two warriors, which

was a graphic pantomime of their customs. "The two men appeared fully

armed, and were supposed to be each alone on the war-path, looking out

for a head. They moved to the beat of native drums, and seemed to be

going through all the motions of looking out for an enemy, pulling out

the ranjows (sharp pieces of cane stuck in the earth, point upwards, to

lame an enemy). At length they descried one another, danced defiance,

and, flourishing swords and shields, commenced the attack. The

nimbleness with which they parried every stroke of the sword, and

covered their bodies with their shields, was remarkable. In real combat,

to strike the shield is certain death, because the sword sticks in the

wood and cannot be withdrawn in time to prevent the other man from using

his sword. After a time, one of the combatants fell wounded, and covered

his body with his shield. The other danced round him triumphantly, and

with one blow pretended to cut off his head; then, head in hand, he

capered with the wildest gestures, expressive of the very ecstasy of

savage delight But, on looking at his trophy closely, he recognized the

features of a friend, and, smitten with remorse, he replaced the head

with much solicitude. Then, moving with a slow, measured tread, he wept,

and with many sighs of grief adjusted the head with much care, caught

rain in his shield and poured it over the body; then rubbed and shook

the limbs, which by degrees became alive by his mesmeric-like passings

and chafings from the feet upwards. Each limb as it revived beat time to

the music, first faintly, then with more vigour, till it came to the

head; and when that nodded satisfactorily, and the whole body of his

friend was in motion, he gave him a few extra shakes, lifted him on his

legs, and the scene concluded by their dancing merrily together."

(Bishop's Journal.)

Captain Brooke and my husband were a month away on this expedition. They

would have liked to pay a visit to Kum Nepa, a Kyan chief, who lived

much farther up the river,--six days in a fast Kyan boat, said the

Dyaks, ten days in the boats our friends had with them. But Kum Nepa had

just lost two children from small-pox, and, according to their custom,

he and all his tribe had left their houses and taken to the jungle. The

Dyaks dread small-pox to such a degree that, when it appears, they

neglect all their usual occupation. The seed is left unsown, the paddy

unreaped; they leave the sick to die untended, and support themselves

in the jungle upon wild fruits and roots, until the scourge has passed

away.

From the time we lived at Sarawak a continual effort was made to

introduce vaccination. It was difficult to get lymph in good order at so

distant a place; the sea voyage often rendered it useless. The other

difficulty was made by the Malays, who inoculated for small-pox; and, as

they charged the Dyaks a rupee a head for inoculating them, made it

answer pecuniarily. Some who were adepts in the art went about the

country inoculating until they caused quite an epidemic of small-pox.

Now, I believe, the Dyaks have learnt from experience the superior

advantages of vaccination, and, by a late _Sarawak Gazette_, I gather

that it is one of the duties of a Resident among the tribes up country

to vaccinate his people as well as to judge them wisely.

When the guns were mounted at the fort, and a garrison of seventy men,

under Abong Duraup, settled there to guard it, the fleet left the Rejang

to return to Sarawak. Captain Brooke had persuaded Palabun to give up

his ideas of retaliation for his brother's death, on condition that the

Kapuas people who killed him should give satisfaction. The last

afternoon was devoted to doctoring the sick and giving them a stock of

remedies. One poor man had nearly recovered his eyesight during the week

he had been under treatment. So the Sarawak flag was hoisted at the fort

and saluted, and after some good advice and renewed promises from the

Sakarrans and Kenowits, the boats pulled away to the _Jolly Bachelor_,

which had been left at the Serikei River; and a few days afterwards we

heard gongs and boat music on the river, and my servant Quangho running

into my room called out, "Our Tuan is coming," so we all went down to

the stone wharf and welcomed them home. The lameness which had so long

hindered my husband from moving about, did not yield to any remedies we

applied, and at last we went to Singapore for medical advice. The

doctors there sent their patient to China for a cold season, and he

spent six weeks at Hongkong with the Bishop of Victoria, and at Canton

with other friends, to the advantage of his knee. Afterwards we went

together to Malacca, where there was a hot spring bubbling up in a

field. Into this spring we put a large tub; and there, in the early

morning, Frank used to sit, with no neighbours but the snipe feeding in

the field, and, as he had his gun by his side, he occasionally shot some

game for breakfast.

In 1853 we went home. My health was very much broken, and my husband was

called to England by the necessary transfer of the mission from the

Borneo Mission Society, whose funds came to an end, to the venerable

Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, who kindly adopted us. We

arrived at Southampton one grey November day. I wondered to see the sky

so near the earth, and the trees almost like shrubs in height compared

to our Eastern forests. But it was sweet to hear the children speaking

English in the streets, and their fair rosy faces were refreshing

indeed. I never thought our school-children plain when we were at

Sarawak, but the contrast was certainly very great when we looked about

us in England.

PART II.

CHAPTER X.

RETURN TO SARAWAK.

In 1854, after eighteen months' stay in England, during which time my

husband worked as deputation for the Society for the Propagation of the

Gospel, we returned to Sarawak, _via_ Calcutta, in one of Green's

sailing vessels, for we were too large a party to afford the overland

route.

Besides ourselves and our baby, we had two young ladies who wished to

try and teach the Malay women in their homes, and to help with the

day-scholars at the mission-house. Only one of these ladies reached

Sarawak; the other left us at Calcutta, and married there eventually.

The Rev. J. Grayling and Mr. Owen, a schoolmaster, also went with us,

and a young friend who was put under my charge, and lived with us for

some years on account of his health.

For nurse I had an old Malay woman who had taken some children to

England from Singapore, and wanted to return. She was a capital sailor,

and always able to carry Mab about however rough the sea was. Nothing

could exceed her devotion to the child, but she had contracted a bad

habit of always sharing the sailor's grog by day, and requiring a

tumbler of hot gin and water before she went to bed. This was a great

trouble to me, but I never saw her tipsy till we were staying at the

Bishop's palace at Calcutta. Ayah, having been in the bazaar buying

presents for her children, was brought back lying senseless in a

palanquin. The Bishop, who was in the hall when the bearers set the

palanquin down, exclaimed, "Oh! that woman has cholera! take her away."

However, she was kindly cared for by the servants, and appeared the next

day without any shame, bringing "a toy for missy." All my lecture was

quite thrown away--she "had only taken a glass of grog in the bazaar,

and they had put bang into it, so of course it made her insensible; but

it was no fault of hers." This curious old woman was a Mahometan,

therefore her tipsiness was inexcusable. She practised the habit of

alms-giving, however, not only with her own money but mine. She used to

say I did nothing in that way for the salvation of my soul, and, as she

loved me, she must do it for me. I remember seeing a beggar-woman with

twin babies, who used to sit in the streets of Kensington with Mab's

bonnets on the babies' heads. Ayah gave them for my sake. Indeed, she

was notorious in Kensington, because she could not resist treating boys

to ginger-beer, and I sometimes had the mortification of seeing Ayah

with a small crowd at her heels, and my baby kissing her little hands to

them as Ayah desired her.

We only spent a week in Calcutta. The object of our going there was that

the Bishop, in conjunction with Bishop Dealtry of Madras, and Bishop

Smith of Victoria, should consecrate my husband Bishop of Labuan; but

the Bishops had not reached Calcutta, and their arrival was uncertain.

We were anxious to get to Sarawak, and could not wait for them; so it

was decided that Frank should return by himself in the autumn, and we

should proceed as quickly as we could. Sad news reached us from Kuching.

Our dear friend Willie Brereton, who had done so much for the Sakarran

Dyaks, was dead of dysentery. There was no medical man when my husband

was away.

Our Rajah had been very dangerously ill of small-pox, and had only a

Malay doctor, who was devoted but ignorant. Happily Mr. Horsburgh, with

medical books to aid him, came to the rescue in time, but the return of

the physician of soul and body was much desired. I see, by my journal,

that after a weary passage of twenty-four days in a sailing vessel from

Singapore, we reached Sarawak on the 25th of April. Mr. Horsburgh came

to fetch us from the mouth of the river in the Siam boat, a long boat

with a house in it, which the Rajah brought with him from Siam after his

embassy to that country. Mr. Horsburgh told us that all the chief

Government officers were away, looking for Lanun pirates on the coast;

but we had plenty of kind greetings from the Christian Chinese, who came

about us in the bazaar, and all the school-children came running down

the hill with Mrs. Stahl, who almost screamed for joy at our return. The

house looked nicer than ever, for the trees had grown up about it, and I

felt most vividly that this was our chosen home, endeared to us by many

sorrows, but the place where we had received much blessing from God, and

where our work lay, and perhaps some day its reward, in the Church

gathered from the heathen into Christ's fold. We were not long alone;

the next day Mr. Chambers arrived from Banting with a party of seven

baptized Dyaks.

We had brought all sorts of beautiful things from England for the

Church. A carpet to lay before the altar, a new altar-cloth, also

painted shields for the roof. Our friends in England had furnished us

with a box of clothes for the Dyaks, cotton trousers and jackets, and

gay handkerchiefs for their heads. We always dressed the Christians for

baptism--it was a sign of the new life they professed at the font; but

we did not expect them to wear clothes generally, except their own

chawats, nor was it to be desired until they knew how to wash them. We

had also brought a beautiful magic lantern with a dissolving-view

apparatus for our people's amusement and instruction, for some of the

slides were painted by Miss Rigaud to illustrate the life of our Lord,

and there were many astronomical slides also. All these treasures

brought us numerous visitors. The Chinese Christians were all invited to

a feast at our house, after which the magic lantern was exhibited, and

we were glad to find that our school-children could explain all the

Scripture slides quite correctly.

Mr. Horsburgh accompanied Mr. Chambers to Banting that day, to assist

him in his work for the Balow Dyaks; and soon after, Mr. Gomes arrived

from Lundu with a large party of men and boys; but I have already

described their visit. My dear husband went off to Calcutta again in

September, and was consecrated Bishop of Labuan on St. Luke's Day,

October 18, 1855. Sir James Brooke added Sarawak to his diocese and

title on his return; indeed, the small island of Labuan, no larger than

the Isle of Wight, was only the English title to a bishopric which was

then almost entirely a missionary one. The Straits Settlements,

including Singapore, Penang, and Malacca, were then under the Government

of India, and Labuan was the only spot of land under the immediate

control of the Colonial Office. The Bishop of Calcutta would, from the

first, have been glad to part with so distant a portion of his then

unwieldy diocese, but it could not at that time be effected. As soon as

the Straits Settlements were passed over to the Queen's Government, the

Bishop of Labuan became virtually the Bishop of the Straits, and, even

long before that, performed all episcopal functions in those

settlements; but the title has only lately been altered.

As I was not present at my husband's consecration, I cannot do better

than transcribe good Bishop Wilson's letter to the venerable society

(S.P.G.), describing the ceremony.

Calcutta, Bishop's Palace, October 22, 1855.

Thank God, the consecration took place with complete success on

Thursday, October 18th, St. Luke's Day. The Bishop elect arrived

some days before, the Bishop of Victoria on the 16th, and Bishop

Dealtry (of Madras) on the 17th. The crowded cathedral marked

the interest which was excited. We sent out two hundred printed

invitations to gentry, besides requesting the clergy to attend

in their robes. There were more than eight hundred jammed into

the cathedral, and hundreds could not gain admittance. The

clergy were thirty. After morning prayer the assistant bishops

conducted the elect Bishop to the vestry, where, having attired

himself in his rochet, he was presented to me when seated near

the Communion table. Her Majesty's mandate was then read, and

the commission of his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury. The

several oaths were next duly administered by the registrar of

the diocese. The Litany was devoutly read by the Bishop of

Madras, and afterwards the examination of the candidate took

place. I should have said that the sermon followed the Nicene

Creed. It was by the Bishop of Madras, the text being taken from

2 Tim. i. 6, 7:--

"Wherefore I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the

gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power,

and of love, and of a sound mind."

The Bishop has consented at my request to print the discourse,

which I shall have the pleasure of sending copies of for the

Archbishop and yourself, I was gratified at observing that the

text is taken from the solemn words used at the very act itself

of consecration. After the examination, the Bishop returned to

the vestry to put on the rest of the episcopal dress; and as the

vestry in the cathedral is at the west end of the building, he

had to pass down the one hundred and twenty feet conducting to

it, with the eyes and hearts of the congregation fixed upon him

with wonder and pleasure. On his return, the "Veni, Creator

Spiritus" was sung, each alternate line being answered by the

Bishops and clergy, with the accompaniment of our fine organ.

After the appointed prayers, which are directed to follow this

hymn, the imposition of hands took place, and the words of the

consecration pronounced by myself as presiding metropolitan. The

Bible was next placed in his hands, with the admirable

exhortation prescribed--an exhortation which I think

incomparable and almost inspired, as indeed the whole service

is. The collection at the offertory was made for the Sarawak

Mission, and above five hundred C. rupees collected. The whole

service concluded with the Holy Communion of the body and blood

of Christ.

The new Bishop preached at St. Thomas's Church on Sunday, the

21st, for his mission; and a single gentleman contributed one

thousand C. rupees. He will preach at the cathedral on the 28th,

when something more will be gathered. The Bishop of Madras has

presented the four hundred rupees of his voyage expenses, from

Madras to Calcutta and back, to the same blessed cause. I have

had three breakfast parties (for I don't give dinners) to meet

the Bishop, of about forty each, on the day after the

consecration, and on Saturday, and this morning, and the

addresses made by Bishops Dealtry and Smith were most warmly

received. Thus has this great occasion passed off--the first

consecration, I believe, that has ever taken place out of

England since the glorious Reformation, and perhaps the first

missionary Bishop sent out by our Church; unless the Bishop of

Mauritius may be considered as having preceded him.

It was, indeed, a singular event that four Protestant Bishops

should meet in the heart of heathen India, amidst one hundred

and fifty millions of idolaters and worshippers of the false

Prophet.

God be praised for this completion of episcopal functions in

India!

DANIEL CALCUTTA.

I must add to this graphic letter a note which the venerable Bishop

wrote to my husband, November 6th of the same year.

Tennasarim, Bishop's Cabin.

MY BELOVED REV. BISHOP OF LABUAN,

Whether to write to you by the pilot or not I can hardly tell.

However, I am so anxious for your beginning well at Singapore

and Sarawak, and so responsible also from having consecrated you

to the Lord, that I must write. I have taken the liberty with

you which Mr. Cecil took with me in 1801, to caution you, now

you are a chief pastor and a father in God, against excessive

hilarity of spirits. There is a mild gravity, with occasional

tokens of delight and pleasure, becoming your sacred character,

not noisy mirth.

I met with a letter of a minister, now with God, to a brother

minister, who was about to take his duty for a time, which I

think will give you pleasure. "Take heed to _thyself_; your own

soul is your first and greatest concern. You know that a sound

body alone can work with power; much more a healthy soul. Keep a

clear conscience through the blood of the Lamb. Keep up close

communion with God. Study likeness to Him in all things. Read

the Bible for your own growth first, then for your people.

Expound much; it is through the truth that souls are to be

sanctified, not through essays upon the truth. You will not find

many companions; be the more with God. Be of good courage,

there remaineth much land to be possessed. Be not dismayed, for

Christ shall be with you to deliver you. I am often sore cast

down; but the Eternal God is my refuge. Now farewell; the Lord

make you a faithful steward." If we do not meet again in the

flesh, may we meet, never to part, before the throne of the

Great Redeemer!

I am your affectionate

D. CALCUTTA.

After my husband's consecration, he undertook a confirmation tour for

Bishop Wilson, at the mission stations around Calcutta. He also

consecrated a church at Midnapore in South Bengal. In December, after

four month's absence, he returned to Sarawak.

Our party in the mission-house during his absence consisted of a

chaplain, a missionary lady learning Malay and teaching the girls'

school, our young friend Mr. Grant, myself, and baby Mab. The days ran

along a smooth groove, although we had all plenty to do. Up early in the

morning, then a walk, and service in church at seven. After prayers some

hours' teaching and learning before midday bath and breakfast. The

afternoon was a more lazy time, though the hum of school went on

continuously, while we did our sewing and reading in the coolest corners

we could find. The new school-house, in which all the boys, the Stahls,

and Mr. Owen, the schoolmaster, lived, was near enough to the

mission-house for us to know the hour of the day by the lesson going on

at the time; for all the younger boys repeated their multiplication

tables in a loud voice together (in Malay), also their Chinese reading;

then came the singing, rounds and part-songs, the most popular lesson of

all. At four o'clock the school broke up. The children amused themselves

as English boys do. There was a season for marbles, for hop-scotch, for

tops, and for kites. Above all, do Chinese children love kites, and are

most ingenious in making them. They cut thin paper into the shapes of

birds, fish, or butterflies, and stretch it over thin slips of the spine

of the cocoa-nut leaf, then they ornament it with bits of red or blue

paper, and fasten it together with a pinch of boiled rice. The string is

the most expensive part, and two pennyworth lasts many kites, for they

are very frail affairs, and in that land of trees do not long escape

being caught, though they fly beautifully. Miss J---- had a cockatoo

which amused her and the little girls during sewing-class. He was a

beautiful bird with a rosy crest, but extremely mischievous. To sharpen

his beak he notched all the Venetian shutters in the verandahs; and if

he spied a looking-glass, flew at it in a rage and broke it: fortunately

there were no large mirrors in the house. These birds look very pretty

perching in the trees, and this one became tame enough to be trusted out

of doors, but they are bad inmates.

We had also a chicken-yard for Alan's amusement, and great were our

difficulties in preserving the nests from rats, who ate the eggs. If we

placed the nests on a high shelf, these creatures managed to shove the

eggs out of the nests so that they fell broken on the floor all ready

for their supper. At last we circumvented them by slinging the nests by

long rattans from the roof.

At five o'clock another short service took place in church. In the

evening we read aloud to one another, while the rest sewed or drew.

This tranquil, even monotonous life was very much to my taste in my

husband's absence, but after a few weeks it was disturbed by sad trials.

First, the chaplain had a sunstroke, and fell out with the climate, the

place, and some members of our little society; so he went to Singapore,

and from thence to England. When we were recovering from this blow, and

had again settled down into our usual ways, a worse trial befell me.

One morning Miss J---- did not appear at early breakfast, and little

Mary, who waited upon her in her room, said she was sound asleep and did

not wake when she opened the shutters. I thought nothing of it at first,

for Miss J---- sometimes sat up late at night; but an hour afterwards, I

went into her room and looked at her. Her breathing was so laboured I

thought she was in a fit; and first I tried to put leeches on her

temples, but they would not bite, and we resolved to carry her into the

fresh breeze in the verandah, for the air of the room seemed laden with

something close and stifling. When I threw back the covering of the bed,

I perceived that the veins of both arms had been cut, and a few drops

of blood stained her night-dress; also there was a small empty bottle in

the bed with "Laudanum" on its label. The terrible truth was

evident--she had taken poison and tried to bleed herself to death!

Probably the action of the laudanum prevented any flow of blood, yet the

few drops may have relieved the brain. The horror of this discovery

nearly deprived me of my senses; but there was no time for

lamentation--she was not dead, thank God, and all our efforts must be

used to restore her to life. We were very ignorant, but we did all we

could think of. There was no doctor to apply to, only the chemist who

served the dispensary. He gave medicine which was certainly very strong,

and we put mustard plasters on her legs. By the evening she was sensible

enough to take some food, but for a week there was serious illness, and

it was a long time before I could ask my poor friend why she had done

this thing. She had left me a letter to read in the event of her death,

but of course I never read it. We were very much together, but I had not

thought her unhappy; indeed the only reason she ever gave me for so

hating her life was, that she could not learn Malay, and did not think

she should be any use as a missionary. This despondency was known to me,

but I had no idea it cut so deep. Miss J---- had a great deal of quiet

fun--she often amused us by her clever and somewhat caustic remarks. But

Sarawak was too monotonous a life for her. When, some weeks afterwards,

she had quite regained the balance of her mind, she went to Singapore,

and became a very useful member of society for many years before she

died. I never felt that I could judge her, for I had so much more to

occupy my mind and interest my heart than my companion. There was baby

in the first place, and the responsibilities of the school and mission

naturally fell to my share. No doubt it requires an even temperament to

live contentedly without society, and with only such excitement as daily

duties and the beauties of nature afford. Yet these are full of infinite

happiness, and we were not without friends, although we had no company:

the little party at Government House, as it was then called, were very

agreeable and uniformly kind. It is, however, a common mistake to

imagine that the life of a missionary is an exciting one. On the

contrary, its trial lies in its monotony. The uneventful day, mapped out

into hours of teaching and study, sleep, exercise, and religious duties;

the constant society of natives whose minds are like those of children,

and who do not sympathize with your English ideas; the sameness of the

climate, which even precludes discourse about the weather,--all this,

added to the distance from relations and friends at home, combined with

the enervating effects of a hot climate, causes heaviness of spirits and

despondency to single men and women. Married people have not the same

excuse; for besides duty and nature, they have "one friend who loves

them best," and that ought to be enough for the most exacting

temperament. I say nothing about the comforts of religion--they are the

portion of all, married or single; still some spirits become so

sensitive in solitude that they are not able to take the cheerful side,

even of their relation to their Heavenly Father, and these are generally

the most reserved to their companions. I am glad to find that

missionaries are now seldom sent alone to any station, and women are

more often associated in sisterhoods for mission work under our colonial

Bishops, so that they have the society and sympathy of English ladies

after the toils of the day. I felt much discouraged after Miss J----

left me, and afraid of urging any one to follow in her place; but at

last a cousin of my husband's came out to us, and as she enjoyed the

climate, and delighted in the place and people, declaring that she had

never been more happy in her life than with us, I consoled myself that

it was not all the fault of Sarawak and the mission-house that poor Miss

J---- could not live there.

CHAPTER XI.

CHINESE INSURRECTION.

"Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find

All to thy mind,

Think, Who did once to earth from heaven descend

Thee to befriend;

So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,

Thy life, thine all."

These lines were most applicable to us during the year 1856. It was such

rest and peace when our Bishop returned from Calcutta and soothed all

the griefs and heartburnings we had suffered the four months he was

away. Then ensued the performance of his new episcopal duties. Mr. Gomes

was ordained priest in March. Confirmations took place, of our elder

school-children, who were all baptized when they first came to us; also

many Chinese Christians too, who had long attended the Bible classes at

the mission-house and stood firm to their baptismal vows. In April we

had another baby girl; and soon after, the Bishop went to Labuan, to

arrange about a church being built there. Unfortunately he caught fever

at Labuan; which declared itself at Singapore on his return. We were

both very ill, and glad of doctors' advice at Singapore; but Labuan

fever returns again and again, though in a slighter form after a while,

and was for years a constant trial to the Bishop's strength. When we

returned to Sarawak in October, our party was increased. Mr. and Mrs.

Crookshank had come out from England--she a bride, and quite a new

element of youth and beauty for Sarawak. A lady friend and her child and

nurse also came on a long visit to us, the air of Sarawak being

considered quite a tonic compared to the sea-breeze at Singapore, which

was at times visited by a hot wind from Java. Very pleasant days

followed our return home. Mrs. Harvey and I, with our children, went for

a month to "See-afar" Cottage on the hill of Serambo. I have already

mentioned this little house, built by Sir James Brooke as a sanitarium

after his attack of small-pox. The only objection to it was, that it was

built in the region of clouds: had the hill been five hundred feet

higher we should have had the clouds below us, as they are on Penang

Hill. The path up the mountain--if path it can be called--is almost a

staircase of tumbled rocks, and requires both strength and agility to

climb. It was quite beyond me; but I was carried on a man's back,

sitting on a bit of plank, with a strip of cloth fastened round my waist

and across the man's forehead, my back to his back. The Dyaks are famous

mountaineers, their bare feet cling to the stones, or notched trunks of

trees thrown from one rock to another. I never felt unsafe on my Dyak

friend's back, and he used to laugh when I proposed his setting me down

and taking a rest, and say, "You are not as heavy as a basket of durian

fruit." These Dyaks have beautiful groves of fruit-trees, and make a

good purse in the fruit season by bringing down durians, mangosteen and

lansat fruit to sell at Kuching. They also carry all their harvest of

paddy up the mountain to their rice-stores in the villages, so they are

used to heavy weights.

We took a stock of provisions up with us, fowls and ducks, a goat and

her kid, etc., and all the bedding we wanted, for of course there was

not much furniture in the cottage. Our first night was unfortunate. We

had settled ourselves in the rooms, had our supper, and were about to go

to bed, when the servants ran out of the cook-house, which was a

stone's-throw from the cottage, crying out, "Fire!" and in a few minutes

we saw it wrapped in flames. Of course a house built of sticks and

leaves does not take long to burn down to the ground, but we were

distressed to hear the bleatings of the little kid which could not be

got out in time. The ducks, too, were still in the long basket coop in

which they were carried up, and were literally roasted in their feathers

before anybody remembered them. A large party of Dyaks were on the spot

directly they saw the flames, and they did good service by throwing

water on the roof of the cottage, and watching lest the thatch should

catch. In the morning they discovered the burnt ducks, and ate them up

with much relish, for a Dyak likes the flavour of burnt feathers. The

next day the cook-house was rebuilt. These native huts look so clean and

fresh when first put up, the straw-coloured attap[6] walls and green

leaf roofs are so agreeable to the eye. They quickly turn hay colour and

then get discoloured by the wood smoke. Except that we were at times

rather short of food, we enjoyed our mountain retreat very much. The

bath was a remarkable feature--a natural stone basin, under the shadow

of a great rock, fed by the clearest streamlet and sheltered from view

by a heavy bit of curtain, was our bathing-place. We carried a little

leaf bucket and our towels in our hands, and while we poured the fresh

water over our heads we could now and then stop to look at the great

expanse of plain and forest, with silver rivers winding amidst them, and

blue smoke stealing up here and there to mark a Dyak village. There was,

however, a particular rock on the spur of the mountain from whence we

always watched the sun set; there was a much wider view from thence. The

sea lay on the horizon, and the pointed mountain of Santubong stood on

the plain, with other ranges of hills far away. I fear we did little

else but watch the glories of earth and sky at that time, and look after

our children, who could not be trusted alone a minute on those steep

paths.

[Footnote 6: Palm leaf.]

Meanwhile the Bishop was paying a visit to Lundu in his new life-boat, a

boat of about twenty-eight feet, with a little covered house in it, and

water-tight compartments in the bow and stern to keep her afloat. She

was well named, for even in this first voyage she saved the lives of her

passengers. From the coast at Santubong you see blue hills far away to

the west, which lie in the Lundu country. The sea runs very high, in the

north-cast monsoon, between the mouths of these two rivers, the Sarawak

and Lundu; and on this occasion the waves on their return from Lundu

were fearful. Seven great waves like green hills advanced one after

another. The Malay crew prayed aloud with terror. Stahl and the Bishop

steered the boat and held their breaths. It looked like rushing into the

jaws of death, but the life-boat mounted the big waves one after

another, sometimes shuddering with the strain, but buoyant and stiff.

The danger past, the crew praised Allah and the good boat; and they, as

well as Stahl who had behaved so well at the time of danger, fell into a

fit of ague from the nervous shock. We knew on the top of the hill that

a fearful storm was raging, but we did not see the white boat flying

like a bird over the seven great rollers, or there would have been no

sleep for us that night. The crew never forgot it, nor the calm pluck of

their steersman the Bishop. I must confess that an attack of fever was

the result of all this exertion when he joined us on the hill.

The rest of the year 1856 passed away quietly. We were all looking

forward to an event which was to improve the English society of the

place very much. The Rajah's nephew, Captain Brooke, was bringing out a

bride; and her brother, Mr. Charles Grant, another. These four young

people were expected in the early spring of 1857, and the Rajah was

refurnishing his bungalow to receive these additions to his family. A

new piano had arrived, and all sorts of pretty things, to brighten up

the cool dark rooms of Government House. Mr. and Mrs. Crookshank were

preparing a house for themselves also; and all their boxes, which had

remained unopened while they lived with the Rajah, were moved up to

their bungalow. Little did we think that all these treasures would be

burnt before they were even unpacked!

The Chinese gold-workers of Bau and Seniawan had long given more or less

trouble to the Sarawak Government. They were governed by their own

self-elected kunsi (magistrates), and recognized their fealty to Sarawak

only by the payment of a small tax on the gold they washed from the

soil. They sent the gold away to China, and habitually cheated as to the

quantity obtained. They also smuggled opium from the Dutch settlement of

Sambas, thus defrauding Government of revenue. Worse than all this, they

introduced secret societies, or hui, among themselves, and threatened to

rebel if any of their kunsi were punished for breaking the laws of the

country. At Christmas, 1856, they boasted they could demolish Kuching

in one night, if they chose; and that a new Joss House they were

building there should furnish them with a pretext to gather by hundreds

to set the Joss in his temple, and possess themselves of the place and

the Europeans who lived there. These uncomfortable rumours seemed to

have some foundation when a new road was discovered which the Chinese

had made between Bau and Seniawan, another settlement nearer to Kuching.

Mr. Crookshank, who was in charge of the Government, sent word to Mr.

Johnson, who immediately came from Sakarran with a fleet of Dyaks,

delighted to have a chance of fighting the Chinese, and carrying plenty

of heads back to their homes. At the same time a gun-boat was stationed

on the river to prevent any communication between Bau and Kuching. Upon

this the kunsi came very humbly and begged pardon, declared the whole

story was a fabrication, and that they never intended mischief. We only

half believed them, but the Dyaks were dismissed, and unfortunately the

gun-boat no longer kept watch on the river. Our Christian Chinese

teacher "Sing-Song," was of the Kay tribe, the same as the Bau people,

and once a month he went there to teach his countrymen. There were a few

Christians among them. One, a goldsmith, did his best to let us know

that danger was impending, but the kunsi suspected him, and put him in

prison; we were therefore quite unprepared for what took place. On the

17th of February, three Chinese kunsi were flogged by order of the

court at Kuching, for taking the law into their own hands, and seizing a

runaway prisoner, as well as the captain of the boat in which she

absconded, although he was not guilty of hiding her. This seems to have

put the finishing touch to the factious state of feeling at Bau. The

Rajah and the Bishop had determined to take a trip together on the 15th,

in the life-boat, to Sadong, and from thence to Linga and Sakarran. The

Rajah had been ailing for some time, and we hoped this little voyage

would do him good. We prepared all the provisions for this trip: bread

and rusks were made, salt meat was cooked, and everything was ready

packed in the provision baskets (this was of great importance to us

afterwards). That evening we all met out walking, on the only

riding-road there was in those days. Rajah spoke to the school-children,

and we all amused ourselves with the little Middletons, boys of four and

five, strutting along with turbaned hats and long walking-sticks. It was

a dull evening, and we all felt unaccountably gloomy. We fancied it was

because Rajah was not well enough to come and dine with us, as he had

purposed in the morning; but during dinner I remembered afterwards that

the Bishop said, "If any sudden alarm were to take place to-night it

would rouse him and make him all right."

We certainly went to bed without expecting anything to happen, but,

about twelve o'clock, we were roused by shouts and screams, and the

firing of guns. We got up and looked out. The Rajah's bungalow was in

flames across the river. On our side the Middletons' house was burning,

and Mr. Crookshank's new house, a little way up the road, was soon after

on fire. The most horrid noises filled the air, there was evidently

fighting going on at the two forts at either end of the town by the

river's side. We knew there were very few defenders at either of these

two forts, and that they would soon be taken; for by this time we were

sure it must be the Chinese miners who had fulfilled their threat to

take the town. We thought, "When the forts are taken they will come to

us." Presently the brothers, William and John Channon, who lived near

us, came to our house, bringing their wives and children for shelter.

They brought news that the fort near their houses was taken and burnt,

and they dare not stay in their own cottages, as they were Government

servants, and would be obnoxious to the rebels.

We took our children out of bed and dressed them, and then we all went

down to the school-house, from whence we could see the burning houses

and hear what was going on in the town. A Chinaman came up from the

bazaar, begging us not to go to them for shelter, for they had been

warned by the kunsi not to harbour any English people, and they dared

not take us in. Poor creatures, they were in terror for themselves, as

they were not of the same tribe of Chinese as the Bau people. What

should we do?

[Illustration: WE ALL WENT DOWN TO THE SCHOOL-HOUSE, FROM WHENCE WE

COULD SEE THE BURNING HOUSES.

_Page_ 128.]

We were so large a party, and had so many children amongst us, that we

did not venture to hide in the jungle: the night was quite dark and we

might lose one another. Then the Bishop said, "We cannot make any

resistance: we will hide away the guns we have in the house, and unite

in prayer to God." So we all knelt round him while he commended us to

the mercy of our Heavenly Father, and prayed for all our dear friends

who were exposed to the fury of the Chinese. Then we sat and waited.

Miss Woolley, who had only been three months in Sarawak, read aloud a

psalm from time to time to comfort us; but the hours seemed very long.

At five o'clock in the morning the kunsi, having possessed themselves of

the Chinese town, sent us word that they did not mean to harm us--"the

Bishop was a good man and cared for the Chinese," but he must go down to

the hospital and attend to their wounded. Then came the welcome news

that the Rajah had escaped, and Mr. Crookshank and Middleton--the three

people whom the Chinese most desired to kill, for the one was chief

constable and the other police magistrate, who carried out the Rajah's

sentence on the kunsi. A price was set on their heads, but the Malays'

love of their English Rajah made that only an idle threat. We were told

that Mrs. Crookshank was dead, and the little Middletons, as well as Mr.

Wellington, who lodged in their house, and Mr. Nicholetts, who was

staying at the Rajah's house. Mrs. Crookshank, however, was not dead,

but lying wounded in a ditch near the ashes of her house. When the

Bishop knew this he demanded her of the kunsi. They said no, at first,

for they were angry that her husband had escaped; but Bishop refused to

attend to the wounded unless they gave her up, so at last they gave

leave to have her carried to our house.

It was about ten o'clock when she was brought in--a pitiful sight, her

dress covered with blood, her hair matted with grass and dust, her

fingers bleeding. It did not seem possible she could live after

remaining all night in this dreadful state. She told us that she and her

husband did not awake until the house was full of men. They had only

time to jump up and run down their bath-room stairs, he catching up a

spear for their defence. Opening the bath-room door it creaked, and a

man came running round the house shouting, "Assie Moy," the name of the

woman-prisoner they had seized. He struck down Mrs. Crookshank with a

sword he had in his hand, and Mr. Crookshank attacked him with the

spear. They struggled together till the Chinaman cut his right arm to

the bone, and the spear fell from his hand; then, seeing his wife lying

dead, as he thought, in the grass, he managed to get away to the edge of

the jungle, and sitting down, faint with loss of blood, saw his house

burn to the ground. As morning dawned he found his way to the Datu

Bandar's house, where the Rajah had already arrived, and Middleton.

Meanwhile the Chinese, chasing the fowls from the burning fowl-house,

came upon Mrs. Crookshank lying on her face, and one of them, seizing

her by her hair, desired her to follow him. She could not walk a step,

so he carried her in his arms; but when she groaned with the pain, he

laid her in a ditch near the road. Many Chinese came and stood by her:

they covered her with their jackets, one held an umbrella over her head,

another offered her some tobacco, but they would not let any of our

people touch her until an order came from the kunsi. We had sent our

eldest school-boy to reassure her, and he stood beside her until our

servants could bring her away safely. As soon as the Bishop had dressed

the wounded in the town, he came home for some breakfast. When I saw him

I called out, for his pith hat was covered with blood. "It is only

fowl's blood," said he, "don't be frightened: they killed a chicken over

my head as a sign of friend ship." The Middletons' servants came to us

early in the morning, and said that they did not know what had become of

their mistress, but the two little boys were killed by the Chinese,

their heads cut off, and their bodies thrown into the burning. Later on,

we heard that Mrs. Middleton, after seeing Mr. Wellington killed in

trying to defend her, had escaped into the bath-room and hidden herself

in one of the big water-jars; but, the door being open, she had seen her

children murdered, and then had got out of the jar and run into the

jungle, where she concealed herself in a little pool of water, much

hidden by overhanging boughs. There this poor mother remained for some

hours, until a Chinaman from the town came to the spring, carrying a

drawn sword in his hand. "Oh, sir, pray don't kill me!" she called out.

"Oh no!" answered the man, "I am a friend of Mr. Peter" (her husband),

"and will take care of you." So he took her to his house, and dressed

her in Chinese clothes. It was almost a wonder to me that this poor

young woman lived through that dreadful time. As the day wore on, Mr.

Ruppell, the banker of the place, and a great friend of the Chinese,

came and took up his abode with us. Then he, the Bishop, and Mr. Helms,

the manager of the English Merchant Company, were ordered to meet the

kunsi at the court-house; also the Datu Bandar, the chief Malay

magistrate. There a very trying scene took place. The kunsi sat in the

seats of the magistrates, smoking, their principal in the Rajah's own

chair. They stated that they did not wish to make war with the English,

or the Malays, only with the Rajah's government, and they desired those

present to assist them in the government of the country. This they had

drawn up in writing, and desired the English and Datu Bandar to sign.

The Bishop pointed out to them that the best thing they could do would

be to return to Bau and defend their town; that the Dyaks would

certainly come in fleets of boats directly they heard of what had

happened at Kuching, and they would as certainly be killed if they

remained in the place. This was true enough, but they were afraid of the

Malays attacking them on the water. The Chinese are bad boatmen. They

could not therefore make up their minds to go, and much fierce

discussion arose. The thieves and rogues of the place, being under no

restraint, robbed all the houses, on this afternoon, whose inmates had

taken refuge at the mission-house. The Christian Chinese, being afraid

of their countrymen, rushed into our house, carrying all sorts of goods

and chattels, and caused me much distress on Mrs. Crookshank's account,

who was very sensitive to fresh alarms. However, we settled our Chinese

friends in some of the lower rooms. The Channons and their babies were

in the attics. Night came at last, and a dead silence fell upon the town

and the crowded mission-house. Not even the usual sounds in the bazaar

or on the river were heard; only an occasional gun broke the stillness

of the night. Friends and foes were alike weary. We did not venture to

undress, but lay down all ready for flight if necessary, with our hats

and little bundles beside us. The Bishop and Mr. Ruppell watched all

night in the porch. Friday morning the Chinese, continually urged by the

Bishop, determined to return to Bau. Later on they heard a rumour that

the Malays would attack them on the river; then they made the Datu

Bandar sign a promise not to follow them. Still they felt no confidence

that he would not, so they said they would take Mr. Helms with them as a

hostage for the Datu's good faith. Poor Mr. Helms did not like this idea

at all, and having a fast boat lying in the creek near his house, he

slipped away early in the afternoon, down the river, and hid himself in

the jungle. No one in Sarawak could imagine what had become of him.

About midday the Bishop told me he wished me, Miss Woolley, and the

children, including Alan Grant, to go to Singapore in a trading schooner

which Mr. Ruppell had detained at the mouth of the river in case of

emergency.

Mrs. Stahl and Miss Coomes were to remain and nurse Mrs. Crookshank, but

it would be a great relief to him to think of us in safety. The Chinese

kunsi also wished us to go, "that the people at Singapore might see that

they did not desire our death." It seemed very hard to me to leave my

husband in such danger, for that morning the kunsi had flourished swords

in his face and threatened him, knowing very well that he wished to

bring the Rajah back. Still I knew he could more easily provide for the

safety of those left behind if we were already out of the way. So I

packed up some clothes and provisions for the voyage. While I was doing

this a Chinaman came from the _Good Luck_ schooner to say I must only

take one box for our party, as the schooner was very full of Chinese

passengers, fleeing for fear of the kunsi. With this we had to be

content. At three o'clock we went to the shop of Amoo, the Chinese owner

of the _Good Luck_. There I found my husband writing to Mr. Johnson at

Linga, to tell him what had happened. Then Datu Bandar came in to say

that the kunsi had gone up the river, and had taken some of the fort

guns with them; that they were very crowded in the boats, and that he

should follow after them with a Malay force at night. They did nothing,

however, when the time came; for until the Malays had got their families

safe out of the place they were not willing to fight. They were brave

enough when the women and children were moved to Samarahan on Saturday.

There were many Chinese women collected at Amoo's, belonging to the

shopkeepers in the bazaar. The wife of the court scribe, whom I knew,

told me in a whisper that she managed to get some bread to the Rajah and

his party, and had told Mr. Crookshank that his wife was alive and with

us. At last the life-boat was ready. Stahl went with us to steer, and

said there were plenty of Chinese to row the boat. When we got down to

it, we found it not only fully manned by Chinese, but full of their

women, children, and boxes, so that we could scarcely find room to

squeeze ourselves into the stern, and we were so heavily laden that we

made very slow progress. It was no use protesting, however: we were only

English folk, and the Chinese had it all their own way in those days.

About eight o'clock we got down to the mouth of the Morotabas, where the

schooner lay. Pitch dark and very wet it was, but it was a relief when

all the Chinese passengers climbed up the schooner ladder, and the men

hauled the boxes up one after another, last of all a very heavy one

which it took six men to lift, full of dollars,--so no wonder we were

overladen. Last of all I climbed into the _Good Luck_, leaving the

children still in the boat with Stahl and Kimchack, one of our

school-boys whose family were moving away in the schooner. I found the

deck covered with Chinese, and when I said to the little Portuguese

captain, "Where is the little cabin Mr. Ruppell promised me I should

have?" he answered, "Oh, ma'am, pray go back to your boat. I have

neither water nor fuel for the people who are already on board. The

cabin is filled with the family and friends of the Chinese owner of the

schooner, and I cannot give you even room to sit down anywhere." It was

indeed true. My friend, the court scribe's wife, said, "Come and sit by

me on the deck." "But the children, they cannot be exposed day and night

on deck." "Oh well, there is no other place for them." So I jumped into

the life-boat again, and reclaimed my treasures. "Rather," said Miss

Woolley and I, "die on shore than in that horrid boat." Indeed we felt

quite cheerful now we had the boat to ourselves; and Kimchack said he

had already been two nights on board the _Good Luck_ and had had no room

to lie down. There we were, however, in the middle of the river, with no

one to row the boat. Stahl could not move it by himself. At this moment

a small boat pulled alongside, and Mr. Helms' face appeared in the

darkness. How glad we were to see him! and he, faint and exhausted with

wandering all day in the jungle, was glad of a glass of wine, which was

soon got out of the provision basket. Then we opened a tin of soup, and

fed our tired and hungry children, who behaved all through those

terrible days as if it was a picnic excursion got up for their

amusement. They enjoyed everything, and were no trouble at all, either

Alan or Mab. Edith was a baby, and suffered very much from want of

proper food--but that was later on. Mr. Helms and his crew rowed our

boat into Jernang Creek, where there were some Malay houses. In one of

these he and Alan went to sleep, but he advised us to remain in the boat

until the morning. We laid Mab and Edith on one of the seats; Miss

Woolley lay on the other; and I sat at the bottom of the boat to prevent

the children from falling off. The mosquitoes were numerous on that mud

bank, and I was very glad when the morning dawned. At six o'clock Mr.

Helms came to say we could have an empty Malay house on shore for a few

days, so we gladly mounted up the landing-place and found a kind and

hospitable reception from our Malay friends. They had put up some mat

partitions in a large room, that we might sleep in private, and

presented us with a nice curry for breakfast. We then unpacked our box

and dried the clothes in it, which were wet through from the overlading

of the life-boat. About midday two Englishmen arrived from the Quop

River, nearer to Kuching, where they had been with the Rajah. They only

stayed a short time, but told us that the Kunsi Chinese had really gone

to Bau, and that the Bishop was with the Rajah at Quop. Late at night I

had a note from my husband, saying he thought we might return to

Sarawak, for all was quiet, and he hoped the Rajah would come back early

on Sunday morning. The next morning, therefore, we prepared to set off

again in the life-boat, but first I went to pay a visit to Inchi Bouyang

the Malay writer, who lived in one of the houses near, and who was too

stout to venture out of his own house into a less strongly built one.

This seems absurd enough, but the Malay houses were certainly very

slight; they seemed to sway in the mud of the creek, and the floors of

the rooms were made of very open strips of nibong palm, so that you had

to walk turning your feet well out in order not to slip through the

lantiles. I found many Malays gathered in the writer's house, all to

entreat me not to go to Kuching, because it was "not a lucky day." "If

the Malays fight the Chinese to-day," they said, "they will be beaten."

"What reason have you for saying so?" "No reason exactly, but the day is

unlucky; it is like Friday to the English, they never go to sea on that

day." "Oh," said I, "that was long ago: they often go to sea on Friday

now they know better, and no sensible person thinks anything of lucky or

unlucky days." "Well, we have told you what we think. If you must go,

some of us will go with you, and we shall tell the Tuan Padre it was not

our fault that you would not wait until to-morrow." So Lulut, a servant

of the Rajah's, and another Malay got into the boat with us, and we set

off up the river.

CHAPTER XII.

CHINESE INSURRECTION (_Continued_).

As we proceeded up the river we agreed we would ask news of any boat we

met. Presently we noticed smoke rising above the trees. "The Malays are

burning the Chinese town," said the men; but as we drew nearer it was

evidently the Malay town which was burning. At last we met a boat. "Yes;

the Chinese had returned, and had set fire to the Malay town; they were

also firing at the Sarawak Chinese in the bazaar." On Saturday the

Bishop and the Channons and Stahl had unspiked two of the guns left in

the fort, and had hoisted the Sarawak flag again on the flag-staff. The

Bishop then went to the Rajah's war boat at the Quop, and told him that

the Malays had sent away their women, and were ready to fight should the

Chinese return; and he begged him to come to our house early the next

morning, where breakfast should be ready for him, and take the command.

But the Chinese heard of this, and returned in the morning, some by

river, some by road. As soon as the Malays saw their boats rounding the

corner near the Malay town, they attacked them bravely, drove them

ashore, and though suffering much loss from their superior fire,

captured ten of their boats, and secured them to a Malay prahu in the

river. While this struggle was going on, a large party of Chinese, who

walked from Seniawan, were ransacking the town. Enraged with the Bishop

for trying to bring the Rajah back, they rushed into our house to find

him; but he, having sent off all our belongings, English and native, ran

down the back stairs while the Chinese rushed up into the porch in

front, and escaped to the Chinese town, where shots were flying about in

plenty, but did not hit him. He got into a little boat passing by, with

two Malays in it, and they paddled him to the Rajah's war boat, then

retreating down the river. When they reached the Quop he found a little

boat, which brought him quickly to Jernang.

We lay off the town in the life-boat, and saw one boat after another

rowing fast towards us. In one, Mr. Koch, the missionary, with a number

of school-boys; in another, Mrs. Crookshank, laid on a mattress, Mrs.

Stahl, and Miss Coomes, and the school-girls; then the Channons'

families and some Chinese; then the Sing-Song's family, and more boys.

"Where is the Bishop?" I shouted. "In the Rajah's war boat. We had the

greatest difficulty in getting boats enough for us; the Chinese were

running up to the house when he sent us off, and firing had already

begun in the streets when Mrs. Crookshank was got into the boat."

This was an anxious moment; but before long our servant James appeared

with a message to me from my husband, to return to Jernang, and stay

there until he appeared. Our Malay friends here left us, to join their

families anchored in boats by the banks, and I filled the life-boat with

the school-children to lighten the other boats. Then we pulled slowly

back against the tide to Jernang. The little landing-place was crowded

when we arrived, for the smaller boats had got there first. I had the

greatest difficulty in persuading the Malays to give shelter to the

Chinese Christians and children. I answered for their good behaviour;

but all Chinese, whether rebels or no, were in sufficiently bad odour in

those days. At last I got them part of a house to themselves. No sooner

was all arranged than the Bishop arrived in his little boat; it was like

receiving him from the dead.

Presently appeared the Rajah's war boat, he standing at the stern. We

all ran down to meet him and Mr. Crookshank, and take them to Bertha,

who had been carried into a house. While we were all standing on the

little wharf, built on tall piles into the water, the Malays cried out

that it was giving way, and we must all go into the houses. The Bishop

then decided what to do with his large party. Mr. Helms had a schooner

close by, in which he was going to Sambas, to seek assistance from the

Dutch, our nearest neighbours. He kindly offered to take Miss Woolley,

Miss Coomes, and two of our eldest school-boys with him. The rest of us

could go to Linga, where there was a fort, as a little pinnace belonging

to Mr. Steele lay handy at the mouth of the river. The Chinese, however,

implored to go with us; and indeed it would have been cruel to leave

them a prey to the Malays, or the bad Chinese, or the Dyaks. When we

were lodged in the pinnace, therefore, the Bishop went back to Jernang,

and packed all our Chinese into the life-boat, which was attached by a

rope to the pinnace; so we were all together. It was nearly dark when we

weighed anchor, and left the mouth of the river. There was a tiny cabin,

just large enough to hold Bertha on her mattress; a fowl-house, into

which our native children crept; an open hold, where we women sat down

on our bundles, with our children in our arms; and there was a place for

cargo forward, where the men settled themselves. The Rajah in his war

boat also proceeded to Linga, and we expected him to arrive long before

our slow boat; he would meet Mr. Johnson, his nephew, there, and

organize a force of Dyaks from the great rivers, Sakarran and Batang

Lupar, to drive away the Chinese rebels. We never had any doubt of their

doing this eventually, though we feared the remedy might be almost as

bad as the disease, if the Dyaks proved unmanageable and quarrelled with

one another. The night was very dark and wet, and the deck leaked upon

us, so that we and our bags and bundles were soon wet through. But we

neither heeded the rain nor felt the cold. We had eaten nothing since

early morning, but were not hungry; and although for several nights we

could scarcely be said to have slept, we were not sleepy. A deep

thankfulness took possession of my soul; all our dear ones were spared

to us. My children were in my arms, my husband paced the deck over my

head. I seemed to have no cares, and to be able to trust to God for the

future, who had been so merciful to us hitherto. I remember, too, when

Mrs. Stahl opened the provision basket, and gave us each a slice of

bread and meat, how very good it was, although we had not thought about

wanting it. We lit a little fire, and made some hot tea, but soon had a

message from the Rajah's boat to put out the fire lest we should be

seen. The only thing that troubled me was a nasty faint smell, for which

I could not account; but next morning we found a Chinaman's head in a

basket close by my corner, which was reason enough! We had taken a fine

young man on board to help pull the sweeps, a Dyak, and this ghastly

possession was his. He said he was at Kuching, looking about for a

_head_, and went into the court-house. Hearing some one in a little side

room, he peeped in, and saw a Chinaman gazing at himself in a bit of

looking-glass, which was stuck against the wall. He drew his sword, and

in one moment, stepping close behind him, cut off his head: and having

obtained this prize, was naturally desirous of getting away from the

place; so he came off as boatman in one of the flying boats, bringing

the head in a basket, which he stowed in the side of the boat. It

entirely spoilt my hand-bag, which lay near it; I had to throw it away,

and everything in it which could not be washed in hot water.

Towards morning the sea made us all sick, added to the wet, and cold of

dawn; yet, when the day cleared a little, and we got a fire on deck, and

some hot tea and biscuits, and the children seemed none the worse for

their bad night and the swarms of mosquitoes which had feasted upon

them, we could not repine. In the evening we passed the island of

Burong, at the mouth of the Batang Lupar River, and Mr. Crookshank tried

to stimulate the men pulling the sweeps to reach a Sebuyan village

farther on, before the tide left us and it grew dark. By dint of hard

pulling we made the village, and its little fort, standing close beside

the water and washed by its strong tide. A little boat came off from the

fort, with some Malays, of whom we inquired for the Rajah, thinking his

boat was far ahead of us, but they said they had seen nothing of him.

Mr. Crookshank then begged them to bring a boat in which he could take

Bertha up to Linga Fort that evening, instead of her remaining another

night in the pinnace. We went on as long as the tide lasted, and then

anchored in the Batang Lupar. Again we made a fire on deck, and after

taking some food, settled ourselves for the night. At eleven o'clock the

promised boat came for Bertha and Mr. Crookshank, and Mrs. Stahl went

with them as nurse; they thought nothing could be worse than spending

another night on board the pinnace, but I fear the little boat journey

was still more painful. When they reached Linga, they found only Malays

in the fort, and the dwelling-house shut up, for Mr. Johnson was at

Sakarran. They had to carry Mrs. Crookshank up a ladder into the fort,

and lay her on a table; but happily Mr. Chambers arrived that night from

Banting, and furnished a curtain as a screen, and pillows from his boat

to make a more comfortable couch. As we were setting off again next

morning, we met Mr. Johnson in a long boat, going straight off to

Kuching. He was lying ill of fever at Sakarran, when his Malays roused

him by saying, without preface--"The news is bad, Tuan: the Rajah is

killed and Kuching in the hands of the rebel Chinese." Upon this he

jumped up, called together the chiefs, and bidding them follow him with

a strong force of Dyaks, he set off himself without calling at Linga by

the way. When we told him that Rajah was alive and on his way to Linga,

he turned back with us, and taking me, my ayah, and the children into

his boat, soon landed us at his house. This was Tuesday, but we heard

nothing of the Rajah until Friday. Mr. Johnson, after breakfasting with

us at his house, went on to Kuching, and found that, after we lost sight

of the Rajah's war boat, they had fallen in with the steamer belonging

to the Borneo Company, the _Sir James Brooke_, just entering the river.

Mr. Helms' schooner also came across her, so all the passengers in the

schooner and the war boat had moved into the steamer, and they

immediately proceeded up the river, preparing the guns on board to

attack as soon as they reached the town. What must have been the

feelings of the Chinese in the fort when they saw the smoke of the

steamer curling above the trees, and then received one ten-pounder shot

after another into their midst! They fired one round of grape shot at

the steamer, and shouts of "Run!" rose on all sides. The steamer then

proceeded up to the Malay town, where the Malays still held out against

the Chinese; but as they were getting very short of ammunition, and

their enemies were bringing some large guns to bear on their position,

they greeted the steamer with shouts of welcome. The Chinese fled in

every direction. Cut off from their boats, they ran into the jungle; and

while many no doubt reached Bau in safety, many fell into the hands of

the Dyaks, who, following their usual course of warfare, spread

themselves through the jungle, and took the head of every man they met.

The town was quite clear of the rebels in a few hours, and the _Sir

James Brooke_, anchored in the river, furnished the base of operations

which the Rajah required: from thence he could direct the Malay and Dyak

forces, which were immediately at his disposal, to drive the rebels out

of the country. The day before, the Chinese had filled our house and

looted it completely, except the books in the library, for which they

seem to have had some respect; but we had reason to believe that on

Monday the house would have been burnt, for gunpowder and inflammable

materials were found strewed about after they left. They took everything

they could carry away, and destroyed the rest, cutting long slits in the

gauze of the mosquito-rooms, and pouring all the chemicals and medicines

of the dispensary over the contents of the drawers, clothes, and papers

they did not wish for. They found a long table set out ready for

breakfast, and had only to gather up the small plate, which, with a

house full of people, was all in requisition. The church, too, was

emptied of all its furniture, and the harmonium smashed; but the

opportune arrival of the steamer prevented these buildings from sharing

the fate of the other houses.

Meanwhile, we were settling ourselves with our large party in Mr.

Johnson's house, which he kindly placed at our disposal. This house was

surrounded by a latticed verandah, the ground immediately about it was

cleared of jungle and drained by deep ditches. From the fort you looked

over the wide stretch of water of the Batang Lupar, but it was a lonely

and monotonous look-out. As the fort men were taken away to fight at

Kuching, the gentlemen had to form themselves into watches day and

night, with the few Malays who remained to guard the fort. Boats full of

Dyaks continually arrived, to join the Rajah's force--Balows, Sarebas,

and Sakarrans lay side by side on the river, all excited by the

prospects of war, and frequently causing silly panics among the Malays

of Linga, lest these warriors, from tribes so long enemies, should fall

out with one another before they got to Kuching. There were, of course,

no books or newspapers to read; our Bibles and Prayer-books alone were

among our luggage. We women were the best off, for we got some

unbleached calico from Sakarran, and cut out some under-clothing, of

which we had but little; this gave us occupation. We also had every day

to wash our linen and towels after bathing. The bath was a clear running

stream, covered in near the house, very pretty and romantic, but the

water was of a light brown colour, like toast and water, and had a

slightly acid taste, very agreeable but not very wholesome. Probably the

spring forced its way through dead leaves in the jungle; at any rate, it

did not wash the clothes white. It was very difficult to procure food

for us all. Rice and gourds made into a kind of curry stew was our daily

meal; if a chicken was got it was devoted to the children and the sick.

We were very anxious for some time on account of Mrs. Crookshank. Had

she remained quiet at Kuching, her wounds would have healed quickly, for

she was young and perfectly healthy; but all the moving into boats, and

carrying up ladders and steps, had broken open the wounds, and it was a

struggle of strength and youth against adverse circumstances. She was so

patient and cheerful that we never heard a complaint, which was in her

favour no doubt; still there were some days when her life was in great

danger in that hot climate. Twice during the month we received a box

from Kuching, sent by a native boat. Once it contained our mail--an

immense pleasure; also some bread and biscuits, but they were wet with

salt water, and mouldy besides. However, Mab and Alan could eat them. I

used to look with thankful astonishment at those children, both so

delicate generally, but who throve all the time we were without proper

food or shelter. But baby Edith shrank and pined, and at last my husband

said, "We shall lose this child if you stay here any longer: better go

and live among the Dyaks, who have plenty of fowls."

So Mr. Chambers kindly took us in at his house at Banting, where we had

a most loving welcome, and saw something of the Dyak women and children.

The men were mostly gone to the war, and great excitement prevailed

among the tribe with the prospect of acquiring heads again, for the

Sarawak Government had quite stopped that hunting in the country. Boats

were continually arriving, gay with streamers, and noisy with gongs and

drums beating, with heads of Chinese on board. One day we were invited

to a feast in one of the long houses. I said, "I hope we shall see no

heads," and was told I need not see any; so, taking Mab in my hand, I

went with Mr. Chambers, and we climbed up into the long verandah room

where all the work of the tribe goes on. This long house was surrounded

with fruit-trees, and very comfortable. There were plenty of pigs under

the house, and fowls perching in every direction. About thirty families

lived in the house, the married people having each their little room,

the girls a room to themselves, and the long room I spoke of being used

for cooking, mat-making, paddy-beating, and all the usual occupations of

their lives. We were seated on white mats, and welcomed by the chief

people present. The feast was laid on a raised platform along the side

of the room. There were a good many ornaments of the betel-nut palm,

plaited into ingenious shapes, standing about the table, so that I did

not at first remark anything else. As we English folks could not eat

fowls roasted in their feathers, nor cakes fried in cocoa-nut oil, they

brought us fine joints of bamboo filled with pulut rice, which turns to

a jelly in cooking and is fragrant with the scent of the young cane. I

was just going to eat this delicacy when my eyes fell upon three human

heads standing on a large dish, freshly killed and slightly smoked, with

food and sirih leaves in their mouths. Had I known them when alive I

must have recognized them, for they looked quite natural. I looked with

alarm at Mab, lest she should see them too; then we made our retreat as

soon as possible. But I dared say nothing. These Dyaks had killed our

enemies, and were only following their own customs by rejoicing over

their dead victims. But the fact seemed to part them from us by

centuries of feeling--our disgust, and their complacency. Some of them

told us that afterwards, when they brought home some of the children

belonging to the slain, and treated them very kindly, wishing to adopt

them as their own, they were annoyed at the little ones standing looking

up at their parents' heads hanging from the roof, and crying all day, as

if it were strange they should do so! Yet the Dyaks are very fond of

children, and extremely indulgent to them. Our school was recruited

after the war by the children of Chinese, bought by Government from

their captors. This was my first and last visit to a Dyak feast. I used

to go and see the women in the early morning sometimes, and they

constantly came up to the mission-house to see my children. Of course

the war had an evil influence on them, increasing their interest in

heads, and all the heathen ceremonies connected with their possession.

We stayed about ten days at Banting, walking every afternoon to the

little church through a long avenue of fruit-trees--great forest trees

which threw a grateful shade over the path, charming for the children's

walks. They could have chicken broth too for their dinners; and Edith

revived, but it was a whole year after this before she grew any taller,

so that when she began to run about, three months later, it looked a

surprising feat for a baby who should be in long clothes, yet she was

then sixteen months old. This life at Banting was a kind of dream, after

all the hurry and anxiety we had gone through. At last we heard that we

might go back to Kuching, the Chinese had all been driven out of the

country, or killed. Our house was purified, and the dead bodies lying

about in the jungle had been buried, so that the air was sweet again. We

returned to Linga, and all embarked in a little schooner for home. It

was not a much better boat than the one we had fled in, and we suffered

two very trying days' voyage; but when we walked into the mission-house

and found Miss Woolley to welcome us, and our house, though dismantled,

uninjured, and most of the books in the library, we were very thankful.

The Sunday after, we had a thanksgiving service in the church, in which

all joined very heartily.

I must return, however, to the history of the war, from the time the

Rajah steamed up the river in the _Sir James Brooke_.

At Bau there were supposed to be from three to four thousand Chinese

rebels, who had lately been strengthened by many malcontents from the

Dutch country. The Chinese held Bau, Seniawan, the government fort of

Baleda, and a fort at Peninjauh opposite to Baleda. They boasted that

they had rice and gunpowder enough to last out six months in these

places; but they were gradually surrounded on all sides by Malays and

Dyaks, so that they could get no fresh stores. On the 10th of March a

body of Chinese came down the river to Leda Tanah (Tongue of Land) about

halfway to Kuching. They built a breast-work by the river-side, dug a

trench behind it, placed some brass guns in position, and then retired

to eat their dinners in comfort behind their defences. There was a

little house and garden belonging to the Rajah at Leda Tanah. The Datu

Tumangong and Abang Boujong hearing of this, went up the river with a

Malay force and attacked the breast-work in front. The Chinese fired one

volley and ran. The Malays entered, sword in hand, but only killed two

men; all the rest fled into the arms of the Dyaks, who lay in wait in

the jungle behind, and took a hundred heads, some say two hundred, but

stories do not lose in the telling. The Chinese begged hard for their

lives, wrung their hands, wept, prayed the Dyaks to be friends with

them; but Dyaks know nothing about prisoners. One of the principal kunsi

was killed in this affair, and some say that Kamang, the leader of the

attack on the 18th of February, lost his head to the Sakarran Dyaks.

This success was matter of great rejoicing at Kuching. Two days

afterwards they heard that Baleda Fort was deserted by the Chinese. Mr.

Johnson went up and found it quite empty; Seniawan too, and soon after

Bau also. All had fled towards the Dutch territory. A dreadful march

they had, poor creatures; carrying their sacred stone Tai pekong with

them. Nearly a thousand women and children delayed their progress. They

were harassed all the way by parties of Malays, and Dyaks cutting off

the stragglers. The party dwindled by degrees, until nearly all the

kunsi were killed, either by the enemy or their incensed countrymen,

who found themselves driven from their peaceful homes for the sins of

these rebels. It is so painful to think of the many innocent who

suffered with the guilty on this occasion, of the miseries they endured,

and the relentlessness of their foes, that I cannot detail it. War

naturally brines such evils in its train; even civilized warfare is not

without its horrors and its injustice: but when revenge falls into the

hands of savages these ills are multiplied. The Malays both hated and

despised the Chinese. That _such_ people should have taken their forts,

burnt their dwellings, compelling them to seek safety for their families

by flight, was so great an insult that their most violent passions were

aroused, and only the blood of all the Kay tribe could wipe out the

disgrace they had incurred. It was indeed wonderful that these Chinese

should imagine for a moment that they could remain rulers in a country

whose inhabitants regarded them as the natural hewers of wood and

drawers of water to the community; but no doubt they were intoxicated by

their unlooked-for success on the 18th of February, and a Chinaman seems

destitute of any appreciation of people who are not Celestials! A

remnant of these people got safely into the Dutch territory, where the

authorities took what arms and ammunition they had, and, very properly,

returned them to the Sarawak Government. They also offered to send a war

steamer and soldiers if desired. So our misfortunes called out the

goodwill of our neighbours. Soon after we returned home, H.M.S.

_Spartan_, Captain Hoste, arrived to protect British interests in

Sarawak. They stayed with us for a while, but the troubles were over,

and the only difficulty was how to make any visitors comfortable or to

feed them. We had to pass round a knife and fork at table for some days,

and there were only a few spoons left to us. On the beds there were hard

mattresses, but no pillows, sheets, or in fact any bed-furniture. Our

guests being travellers and full of resources, slept on their pith hats

for pillows, and used their pocket-knives. A good deal of fun was made

of our privations, and indeed, as no beloved friend was missing, we

could afford to laugh.

We had all great reason to be thankful for the good behaviour of the

Dyaks during the war. There were no intertribal quarrels, and Mr.

Chambers told me that his Christians among the Balows were in the first

boats which went off to succour the Rajah, when they knew nothing of the

arrival of the steamer, and believed themselves to be facing a great

danger, and fire-arms, which they do not like. This was not the only

time that the Christians were among the bravest when all behaved well--a

fact which recommended their religion to their countrymen, with whom

courage is the first virtue. It was some years after this, however, that

Dyak Christians learnt to fight without taking the heads of their

enemies.

When we left our house, our servants generally, except James a

Portuguese, and my Bengalee Ayah, fled from the place. But we had an

old Hindoo Syce, who was much attached to us and to the creatures under

his charge. He drove the two ponies we rode into the jungle, where they

looked after themselves, and, living in his cottage next to the stable,

did what he could for the cow and calves. When the rebels filled our

house and appropriated our effects, they broke open the plate-chest, and

melted the silver they found. Then Syce came forward and claimed a

portion of the spoil They gave him a lump of silver with some alloy in

it, the produce of some plated salvers, as his share. He pretended to

help them, but this lump he hid in the earth near his cottage, and, on

our return, triumphantly produced it as what he had saved for us from

the wreck. Some years after, this old man was very ill with an abscess

in his thigh, which he was sure would kill him. Bishop doctored and

nursed him through it, but he had given him a good-sized bag of dollars,

his savings, saying he wished Bishop to be his heir. When he got well

and the money was returned to him, he spent it in paying a visit to his

relations at Trichinopoli. I believe this faithful creature worshipped

the bull of our herd, and it was a great trouble to him that the Chinese

cruelly cut off the tail of the poor animal, thereby depriving him of

the means of whisking off the flies which sting so vehemently in that

climate.

CHAPTER XIII.

EVENTS OF 1857.

When we were once more at home we found it would be better to go to

Singapore, and from thence to Penang, for a little quiet. We were both

ill, the Bishop seriously so. We wanted for everything, and the bazaar

in Sarawak could not supply us: besides, ours was the only English

dwelling-house left in the place, except the Borneo Company's premises.

Captain Brooke and Mr. Grant with their brides were immediately

expected, and must be housed at the mission while a bungalow was being

built across the water. We left Miss Woolley to take care of the

expected visitors, the children and I went to Singapore in the _Sir

James Brooke_ steamer, and Sir William Hoste gave a passage in H.M.S.

_Spartan_ to the Bishop and Alan Grant.

I was glad of an opportunity to get my baby vaccinated, which could only

happen at Singapore in those days. We were two months away, and the cool

quiet of Penang Hill was a great refreshment. The first news I heard

there was that Miss Woolley was to be married to Mr. Chambers. This

wedding took place immediately on our return home, the end of July. It

was a great benefit to the Banting Dyaks, for Mrs. Chambers devoted

herself to the women and young girls, and was a true friend to them. She

taught them to sew, and instructed them in morals and religion. When I

went to Banting some years afterwards, I found a set of modest young

women who were much pleased with gifts of needles, thread, and thimbles;

they also enjoyed a game of croquet after the lessons were done, and it

was wonderful to see what smart taps of the mallet were fearlessly given

under their bare feet; for of course the Dyaks do not wear shoes.

About a month after our return to Sarawak, Captain Brooke's baby boy was

born. No one can tell what a care and anxiety this event was, in a place

where there was no doctor except the Bishop. The well-being of so

important a person as the Rajah mudah's wife, and the birth of the heir

of Sarawak, called forth much sympathy from everybody. Thank God, all

went well; but we said it ought never to happen again--there should be a

medical man whose sole duty it was to care for the bodies of the

community, while the Bishop was free to minister to their spiritual

wants. Soon after there was a public baptism of this boy Basil Brooke,

and his cousin Blanche Grant, in the church, which was full of Malays as

well as English to witness the ceremony. This was the day before the

Rajah set off for England.

There were many happy days during the next few months, for there were

several English ladies in the place and we were all friends. In October

the Bishop went to Labuan, and while he was away the cholera made its

first appearance at Sarawak, among the Malays. The Rajah muda and I

consulted together what physic should be made ready for those who would

take it. A short time before, a little pamphlet had been sent to us

about the virtues of camphor, and especially its value in cholera. We

made a saturated solution of camphor in brandy, and gave a teaspoonful

of it on moist sugar for a dose, adding three drops of Kayu Puteh oil,

extracted from a Borneon wood and called cajeput oil in England, a very

strong aromatic medicine. This mixture proved itself very useful. If the

patients applied in good time it invariably gave relief to the cramp and

pain in the stomach; if the disease had gone on to sickness it was more

difficult to administer. Sometimes we followed it up with laudanum and

castor oil.

The Malays suffered very much from this epidemic. Constant funerals were

to be seen on the river, and there was much praying at the mosque. Then

the Chinese were attacked, but not so fatally. Two dead men were,

however, found on our premises; they were strangers to us, but we

supposed they came late at night to the mission for medicine, and, lying

down in the stable or cow-house, died without reaching the house. It

was an anxious time. I used to hang little bags of camphor round the

children's necks, and was very careful of the diet for the household.

Thank God, we had no case either in the school or the house.

Seven years afterwards the cholera returned much more violently. An

English gun-boat, lying off the town, lost several of her crew; and at

last the Bishop advised them to go to sea and let the sea air blow

through the ship, to carry off the infection. He went on board himself

to see them off, and while they were going down the river two more men

were seized with cholera, and died in half an hour.

This time the cholera was very fatal among the Dyaks up some of the

rivers. The poor creatures were so terrified that they left their

houses, as in small-pox, and scarcely dared bury their dead. In one

instance they paid a very strong man to carry the dead on his back to a

steep hill, and throw them into the ravine at the bottom. The food

enjoyed by the Dyaks, rotten fish and vegetables, no doubt inclined them

to get cholera. The first time of its visitation was after a great fruit

season when durian, that rich and luscious fruit, had been particularly

abundant. A durian is somewhat larger than a cocoa-nut in its inner

husk; it has a hard prickly rind, but inside lie the seeds, enclosed in

a pulp which might be made of cream, garlic, sugar, and green almonds.

It is very heating to the blood, for when there are plenty of durians

the people always suffer more from boils and skin disease than usual. We

never permitted them to enter our house, for we could not bear the smell

of them. But many English people liked them; and they were so much

esteemed by the Dyaks, that when the fruit was ripe they encamped for

the night under the trees. When a durian fell to the ground with a great

thud, they all jumped up to look for it, as the fallen fruit belongs to

the finder, and they loved it so that they willingly sacrificed their

sleep for it. Woe be to the man, however, on whose head the fruit falls,

for it is so hard and heavy it may kill him.[7]

[Footnote 7: The Dyaks believe there is a special place in the

other world, after death, for those who are killed by the fall

of a durian.]

In February three new missionaries came from England--Mr. Hacket, Mr.

Glover, and Mr. Chalmers. The two last came straight to Sarawak on their

arrival at Singapore, Mr. Hacket and his wife about a month afterwards.

They were all from St. Augustine's College, Canterbury, thoroughly good

people, and a great happiness to us. Mr. Chalmers was settled among the

Land Dyaks at Peninjauh, afterwards at the Quop. Mr. Glover went to

Banting, to work among the Balows. The Hackets stayed at Sarawak: indeed

they all remained with us until Easter, when their ordination took

place. The Easter services that year, 1858, were very delightful. All

these missionaries were more or less musical, and Mr. Hacket adorned the

church as it had never been decked before. Flowers and ferns, and

lycopodium moss, were always to be had in abundance; and the polished

wooden walls were brightened by some beautiful scroll texts, printed by

a friend in England. We had full choral service on Easter Sunday, and

the school-children sang their part beautifully; indeed, our new comers

were astonished to find such good material for a choir in little native

boys.

I had been fully occupied with preparations for these missionaries while

the bishop was at Labuan; some additions to the comfort of the house for

the Hackets; a new cook-house and servants' rooms near, to build; and

the church to reroof. The balean attaps were as good as ever, but the

strips of wood on which they hung were attacked by white ants, and had

to be renewed or the shingles would have fallen through. Such

responsibilities fell to my share when the Bishop was away, and heavy

cares they were when money was not abundant. The prospect of three new

missionaries was, however, worth any trouble. They came to teach the

Dyaks, who had so long waited for teachers, and we hoped they would

settle themselves among them for many years. In this hope we were to be

disappointed. Mr. Glover fell ill of dysentery at Banting, and before

two years had passed away was obliged to remove to a cold climate. He

went to Australia, and has been doing good work there ever since. Mr.

Chalmers was a very valuable missionary, and his labours among the Quop

and Merdang Dyaks bore much fruit in after years; but he also fell ill

from the climate, and the food which was attainable up country. In 1860,

he also made up his mind to follow Mr. Glover to Australia. There are no

doubt many difficulties for Englishmen living in Sarawak jungles. Some

become acclimatized to them, others cannot bear the low diet, the

loneliness, the apathy and indifference of the Dyaks. The Bishop was

once accused, by a person who ought to have known better, that he was

too apt to gather his clergy at Sarawak and keep them from their Dyak

parishes: but it was a necessary part of the Bishop's work to keep a

home where the missionaries could come for change and refreshment; where

they could enjoy a more generous diet, and the society of English

friends; where they could consult a medical man, and get some hints how

to treat the maladies of the Dyaks--for they expected all the

missionaries to know the art of healing, having had more or less

experience of the Bishop's skill. Mr. Hacket was consumptive, but

Sarawak is the best climate in the world for that disease: he got much

stronger with us, and might have lived many years there, but he was too

nervous for so unsettled a country. We were often subjected to panics

for many months after the Chinese insurrection, and though we old

inhabitants took it very easily, Mr. Hacket always thought his wife and

child in danger. I remember, one day a Malay was being tried in the

court-house, when he, by a sudden spring, escaped from the police, and

snatching a sword from a bystander, ran amuck through the bazaar,

wounding two or three people he met. The hue and cry in the town fired

the imaginations of the timid. People came running to the house for

shelter, bringing their goods and chattels, and all sorts of tales--"The

Chinese were coming from Sambas," and all sorts of nonsense. Then, Mrs.

Hacket fainting on the sofa, and the servants all leaving their work to

listen, and look out of the verandah, provoked us extremely: we

administered sal volatile and a good scolding, and sent everybody off to

their business again. But those scenes were very trying to the nerves.

That a Malay should run amuck (amok, in Malay) with anger or jealousy,

or a fit of madness arising from both these passions, was an occasional

event all through our Sarawak life, but it was no more alarming in 1858

than in former years. It was the breach in the general feeling of

security under the Sarawak Government, which for a time magnified every

little disturbance of the peace into a public danger.

Our school was enriched this year by, first, seven new Chinese boys,

then four more and four girls, the captives of the Lundu Dyaks, ransomed

by Captain Brooke. Those children were, some of them, miserable objects,

covered with sores from neglect. One boy had been set to carry red wood

which blisters the skin, another was badly burnt. Mrs. Stahl took them

in hand, dressed their wounds, nursed them, clothed them, and soon they

looked quite nice, sitting on a bench at the end of the church with a

monitor to take charge of them, for they were still unbaptized--they

were old enough to be instructed first, except two of the little girls

who were immediately received into the Church. About this time a little

Dyak boy, Nigo by name, was paying a visit to the school, and was

baptized in church, answering for himself. He was about six years old,

and as he stood at the font his face was lit up with so sweet a smile it

touched us all. Mab begged him to stay at Sarawak; but the Dyaks never

part with their children, and in this case it was not necessary, for

Nigo's father was a Christian. It was a great happiness to us that none

of our boys were killed in the insurrection; three got away to Sambas,

the rest came back to the school one by one, having all escaped the

Dyaks. The Christian goldsmith, too, who was put in prison by the kunsi

for trying to warn us of the attack on the 18th of February, got to

Sambas safe, and afterwards returned to us at Sarawak.

This summer a doctor came out to Sarawak with his family. I heard of

their proposed arrival some months before, and wrote to Mrs. C---- to

beg they would leave their elder children in England, and only bring the

babies with them, for the little ones thrive well enough at Sarawak. I

also gave a plain unvarnished account of the place. But Mr. C----,

having made up his mind to bring all his family out, put the letter in

his pocket; and we were very sorry when they arrived, a party of nine,

having lost one child at Singapore. They only stayed one month; the

lady was so disgusted with the place--"no shops, no amusements, always

hot weather, and food so dear!"--that she persuaded her husband to take

advantage of some difference he had with the Government, and return in

the same steamer by which they came out. I, however, gained by their

departure, for they brought a sweet young girl with them as governess,

and as she did not wish to return so soon, she remained with me, and

became Mab's governess and friend. We liked her very much, and I cannot

help mentioning an incident of her spirit and courage. One of our

children being ill, I had taken her down to Santubong, where we had a

seaside cottage; but as the house was full of clergy preparing for

ordination, I left Miss McKee to do the housekeeping and take care of

our guests for a few days. She slept at the top of the house, and little

Edith in a cot beside her. It was late at night, and the moon shining

into Miss McKee's room, when she woke and saw a Chinaman standing at the

foot of her bed with a great knife in his hand. She felt under her

pillow if the keys were safe, for the box of silver was put in her room

while I was absent; then she jumped up, shouting "Thieves!" with all her

might. The man ran and she after him, down a long passage, down the

staircase, out of the house, by which time her cries had roused the

gentlemen--the Bishop was nursing a sick man in fever, and was not in

the house that night. They looked out of their doors, asking what was

the matter? However, Miss McKee had by this time made up her mind that

the thief was our own cook; she had seen enough of him by her courageous

pursuit to be sure of it. No doubt he thought she would be fast asleep,

and he should carry off the silver and the keys without discovery. Only

a servant of the house would have known where they were kept. This young

lady afterwards married Mr. Koch, one of the missionaries. He came from

Ceylon, and eventually returned to his native country, where I hope they

are still.

Now we were again without a doctor, and in the autumn Mrs. Brooke

expected her second confinement. This brings me to what we always called

the sad, dark time at Sarawak. The weather was rainy beyond any former

experience. We always had heavy rains in November, but this year they

began in October, and the sky scarcely seemed to clear. In October, God

gave us a little son, and in a usual way I should have been quite well

at the end of three weeks, and across the water to see Mrs. Brooke many

times before her confinement. But a long influenza cold kept me at home,

and the weather being always wet, there was no prospect of getting over

in a boat without a drenching, so only notes passed between us.

On November 15th, Mrs. Brooke had another boy, and though there was some

anxiety at the time, she seemed pretty well until the fourth day, when

inflammation set in with puerperal fever, and at the end of ten days our

much-loved friend was gone to her home in heaven, leaving her husband

and children desolate. It seemed so impossible that so bright a creature

should pass away from us, that to the last day we believed she would

recover. That afternoon she called her husband and brothers and sisters

to her bedside, and said, "I have tried hard to live for your sakes, but

I cannot;" then she calmly and sweetly bade them good-bye, and no

earthly cares touched her afterwards. Very sad hearts were left behind,

but her example remained to us and called us upwards. Her short life had

been continual self-sacrifice. She gave up her beautiful home in

Scotland for love, and the prospect of doing good to Sarawak. On her

arrival there the most rigid economy was practised, on account of the

losses in the Chinese insurrection. A mat house, called "The Refuge,"

neither airy nor comfortable, was her only home; but it was always

bright with Annie's good taste and cheerful spirits. Then came the last

sacrifice, her husband and children. These, too, she laid at her Lord's

feet with a willing heart. Everybody went into mourning; for in so small

a place it was quite a calamity to lose the head of our little society.

But to the Bishop this event was a great trial. He had spent most of his

time, day and night, striving to save this precious life. He was very

fond of her; he ministered to her as her priest; from his hands she

received the Blessed Sacrament a few hours before she died, and he heard

her say with almost her last breath, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit;"

but he had also to witness agony which he could not relieve, and no

effort could prolong her life. It made him quite ill for some time, and

all the happy holiday days passed away with Annie Brooke. Government

House was never again, in our time, a bright and cheerful home: it

returned to its bachelor ways; and business, not social pleasure,

presided there. On Christmas Day, exactly a month after Mrs. Brooke died

and was laid in the churchyard, we placed a bouquet of flowers from her

garden on the altar, but there could be no festivities. The Chinese

Christians had their feast, and the school-children; but we who had lost

our companion and friend could not rejoice. It was sad enough to go over

the water and see Annie's empty room, kept just as she had left it, and

no sound in the house except the wails of the motherless baby, who we

feared would soon follow his mother to the grave. Captain Brooke was

obliged to go to England very soon after his wife's death; the Rajah was

struck with paralysis, and it was at first doubtful whether he would

recover. In the midst of all this sorrow I had the trouble of losing my

faithful servant, Mrs. Stahl, who took all the care of the

school-children off my hands. Her husband had found more lucrative work

at Singapore, and sent for her to join him. It was a grief to both of

us, and a great addition to my responsibilities. Mrs. William Channon,

then a widow, was installed matron of the school, but she had neither

knowledge nor experience. She did as well as she could, with continual

supervision. The sick children now came to me to be doctored early every

morning. I also had a large sewing-class of boys, and a tailor to teach

us how to cut out and make their peculiar-shaped clothes: however, we

soon learnt to do without the tailor. Mrs. Hacket taught the little ones

to sew, and I had the elder ones from seven to ten every morning.

Sometimes I gave a music lesson between whiles; sometimes I had to leave

them for a while, first to see what the cook had brought from the bazaar

for their day's food, and to give out the rice which was kept in my

store-room; also the cocoa-nut oil, which trimmed the lamps of both

house and school. Sometimes I read aloud to my boys, stories from

history. They could understand English quite well.

While our spirits were at their lowest ebb, and the rain still pouring

with little intermission, we had a visit from H.M.S. _Esk_, Sir Robert

J. McClure captain. He did his best to cheer us. How kind and bright he

was I shall never forget, nor how he used to sit patiently under a tree

in the rain to be photographed, simply to amuse us. There are certainly

some people who have more of the wine of life than others, and who are a

wonderful refreshment to their friends. It was during this year, 1858,

that we built our seaside cottage at Santubong--Sandrock Cottage, as we

called it, which sounds rather cockney; but as it stood on the sand,

with great boulders of granite rock scattered about, it seemed the most

appropriate name. Santubong is the most beautiful of the two mouths of

the Sarawak River, but not as safe as the Morotabas for ships to enter.

The Bishop had a mission yacht this year; consequently he was away,

visiting the mission stations. The next year he sailed the _Sarawak

Cross_ to Labuan. The voyage took only one week either way, whereas in

other years he had to go to Singapore, more than four hundred miles off,

in order to get to Labuan by P. and O. steamer, or any man-of-war

chancing to go there. Months instead of weeks were consumed by this

means.

Our cottage took three weeks to build. We sent three men down with a

thousand palm-leaf attaps for the outside walls and roof, and thirty

mats to make inner walls. The men went into the jungle and felled wood

for posts and rafters, then nibong palms were split into strips for the

floors. The whole building was tied together with rattans, like all

Malay houses. There were three rooms, twelve feet by fifteen each, and

two little bath-rooms. A verandah ran along the whole length of the

front, and this was planked to prevent little feet from slipping

through. But the rooms were covered with thick mats, and the floor was

so springy it danced as you moved. We put very little furniture into

these rooms, and the inside walls were only eight feet high, so that

though you could not see into the next room, you could hear all that

went on in all three rooms. The cook-house and servants' room were

separate.

As early as the year 1848, the Rajah had a little Dyak house built on

high poles, under the mountain of Santubong. It was an inconvenient

little place, into which you climbed up a steep ladder--only one room,

in fact, with a verandah; but we spent some happy days there, for the

beauty of that shore made the house a secondary consideration. A small

Malay village nestled in cocoa-nut palms at the foot of Santubong; in

front lay a smooth stretch of sand, and a belt of casuarina-trees always

whispering, without any apparent wind to move their slender spines. The

deer in those days stole out of the jungle at night to eat the sea-foam

which lay in flakes along the sand, and wild pigs could often be shot in

a moonlight stroll under the trees. In the morning, we used to set off

as soon as it was light to a fresh spring in the jungle, where we took

our bath. Dawdling along the edge of the waves, then quite warm to our

bare feet, with towels and leaf buckets in our hands, we reached the

little stream, running under the shade of tall trees in which the

wood-pigeons were cooing. How delicious and fresh that water was! and

every sense was charmed at the same time, unless some stinging ants

walked over our feet, which was not uncommon.

Then we trudged home again, with the wet towels folded on our heads to

shield us from the sun, who by that time was an enemy to be shunned.

A little colony of Chinese were settled here in 1852, but they never

took to the place; the soil was perhaps not good enough for their

gardens. In 1857 the Malays fell upon them and killed them all, because

they were of the same tribe as the rebels, although they had nothing

whatever to do with the insurrection. When we were building our cottage

on the sands two Chinese skulls were dug up. We were all indignant at

this wanton cruelty, but unable to resent it, except by the expression

of our opinion, for the English were a mere handful of individuals in

Sarawak.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MALAY PLOT.

Our cottage at Santubong was a source of much pleasure to many people.

We often lent it to invalids, sometimes to newly married couples, who

certainly had a good opportunity of studying each other's characters and

tastes in that lonely solitude.

Sometimes we sent down all the children from the school, who wanted

sea-air and a holiday. Indeed, when we were staying there, we always had

relays of children to play on the sands and enjoy themselves. We had a

place staked round with strong hurdles, where we could bathe in safety

from sharks and alligators, who both infested the coast. I have often

seen quantities of jelly-fish and octopus sticking on the outside of the

hurdles: they sting dreadfully, so they were quite welcome to stay

there.

During one of our visits to Santubong I remember a timber-ship lying off

the mouth of the river, to lade planks from a saw-mill which was on the

other side. One day three sailors came ashore to fill a cask with fresh

water; there was a spring among the rocks close to the water's edge. As

they neared the shore, the three men jumped into the sea for a swim; but

suddenly, one of them threw up his arms and disappeared. In vain his

comrades searched for him, but the next day his body, partly devoured by

a shark, was thrown upon the rocks. No doubt he was seized and dragged

under water. His comrades were much distressed, for he was a favourite

among the crew. Frank buried him, and helped the men to put a wooden

cross on the grave.

In the north-west monsoon we sometimes went to Buntal, a bay on the

other side of the mountain of Santubong. No soul resided there, but it

was the resort of great flocks of wild-fowl at that season. We rowed

into the bay while it was still high tide, then left the boat; and our

men made little huts of boughs some distance from the shore, where we

could sit without being perceived. As the tide ebbed the birds

arrived--tall storks, fishing eagles, gulls, curlew, plover, godwits,

and many others we did not know. They flew in long lines, till they

seemed to vanish and reappear, circling round and round, then swooping

down upon the sand where the receding waves were leaving their supper. I

never saw a prettier sight. The tall storks seemed to act like

sentinels, watching while the others fed. At a note of alarm they all

rose in the air, flew about screaming, and then settled again on the

sands in long lines, the smaller birds together, the larger ones in

ascending rows. At last, alas! a gun fired into their midst caused death

and dismay. A few fell dead, and the rest fled to some happier shore,

where no destroying man could mar their happiness. And there are many

such spots in Borneo where no human foot ever trod, and where trees,

flowers, and insects flourish exceedingly; where the birds sing songs of

praise which are only heard by their Maker, and where the wild animals

of the forest live and die unmolested. There is always something

delightful to me in this idea. We are apt to think that this earth is

made for man, but, after many ages, there are still some parts of his

domain unconquered, some fair lands where the axe, the fire, and the

plough are still unknown.

While we were at Santubong, in 1859, we were distressed to hear that Mr.

Fox and Mr. Steele, two Government officers in charge of a fort at

Kenowit, had been murdered by some Dyaks, whom they were judging in the

court-house. We were very grieved for our friends, especially for Mr.

Fox, who was for two years with us as catechist in the mission, and only

left because he could not make up his mind to be ordained. However, he

was most faithful in the performance of his duties at that lonely fort,

and most blameless in his life; we could only regret the loss of so good

a young man. We did not at that time connect this event with any general

enmity to Englishmen among the natives, but only thought that

particular tribe of Kenowits were not to be trusted.

It was really a much more serious matter. Mr. Charles Johnson went up to

Kenowit directly, taking the Bishop's yacht, the _Sarawak Cross_, as his

floating fortress. He sent a thousand Dyaks to attack the fortified

village of the Kenowits, who were engaged in the murders. These Dyaks

were repulsed, but he led them on again himself with two hundred Sarawak

Malays, good men and true. They took a brass gun overland to the

village, and pounded them for a day; then the Malays and Dyaks attacked

and fired the place, and took it.

There were many killed, but it was their own fault; for, before

attacking, a flag of truce had been hoisted, and all who would were

invited to submit, and promised their lives, but only a few women and

children availed themselves of it and were saved. Tanee the brave was

killed, and Hadji Mahomet. It was found that these traitors had spread a

report that all the English at Sarawak and at Labuan, as well as at

Bunjermassin, had been killed, and this was so thoroughly believed that

the Kenowits thought they had only to kill Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele, in

order to possess themselves of the arms and goods in the fort with

impunity. It was true that the Malays at Bunjermassin had risen upon the

Europeans there, and killed twenty Dutch officials and their families;

also four of the German missionaries living among the Dyaks, and a Mr.

Mattley, with his wife and three children, who used to live at Labuan.

The Dutch took summary vengeance for this massacre, but in spite of that

the Malays at Coti killed the Europeans who lived there; so that

neighbouring countries showed a bad example to our people, and we were

afraid that religious fanaticism might have something to do with the

hatred to Christians, whether Dutch or English.

In every country there are unfortunately some bad men, who are

irreclaimable by kindness or severity. Such were the two who instigated

a plot to murder all the English in the Sarawak territory, and take the

Government to themselves. The oldest and most shameless of these men was

the Datu Patinghi of Sarawak, and to tell his story I must go back to

the early days of Sarawak. When Sir James Brooke first visited Mudah

Hassim, the Malay Rajah, he found him endeavouring to put down a

rebellion among his subjects. After a time Sir James Brooke helped him

with the guns of his yacht and the services of his blue jackets. The

enemy submitted, and then he begged their lives of Mudah Hassim. It was

with very great difficulty this unprecedented favour was granted.

Gapoor and his followers were pardoned, and when Sarawak was given over

to Sir James Brooke by the Sultan of Bruni, it was naturally supposed

that this man who owed his life to the English Rajah would remain his

faithful friend and follower. He was made the chief datu, or magistrate,

of whom there were three--the Datu Patinghi, the Tumangong, and the

Bandhar. These Malay chiefs were members of the Council, and represented

Home Department, War Office, and Treasury in the State. For some time

all seemed to go well, but the Rajah soon found that the Datu Patinghi

could not be restrained from oppressing the Dyaks under his charge,

levying more than the proper tax, or obliging them to buy whatever he

wished to sell, at exorbitant prices. His power over the Dyaks was

therefore taken away, and a fixed income given him to preclude

temptation. When the Rajah was in England, in 1851, this Datu intrigued

with the Bruni Malays to upset the Government; he mounted yellow

umbrellas, a sign of royalty, and arrogated power to himself which might

have been mischievous had he been more popular with the natives. But he

had many relations among the high Malays of the place, and it was a

question whether they would resent his being publicly disgraced. Captain

Brooke told them plainly that he must be exiled, but that it should be

done in the most cautious way, and appearances should be saved. Datu

Patinghi was therefore advised to go a pilgrimage to Mecca. Money and

servants were supplied him, but he had no choice about it. We all hoped

he would never return.

About a year afterwards Sir James Brooke said to me, "Did you ever feel

pleasure at hearing of the death of an old friend?" Before I could

consider this knotty question, he added Gapoor had died of small-pox at

Mecca. It was only a report, and proved untrue. Datu came back a hadji,

but was desired to go and live at Malacca the rest of his days. In 1859

he begged to be allowed to return to Sarawak, and, as it was hoped he

could not be ungrateful for so much kindness and forbearance, he was

permitted; but he was only biding his time. After his return to Sarawak

he married his daughter to Seriff Bujang, the brother of Seriff

Messahore, whose rascality and bad faith were on a par with his own.

Bujang was a quiet creature enough, drawn into the wicked plots of his

brother and father-in-law, but they were bad to the core. A Seriff is

supposed to be a descendant of the Prophet Mahomet, at any rate he is an

Arab, and Messahore was said to be invulnerable and sacred in his

person. He was a fine, handsome creature, with insinuating manners, but

there was nothing more to say in his favour. He was at the bottom of

every disturbance in the country, but was cunning enough to keep himself

in the background. Directly a plot miscarried, he came forward zealously

to punish the wrong-doers.

He instigated the murder of Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele; nay, it was intended

to be a general massacre of all the English in Sarawak territory; but by

a mistake of the Kenowits these two unfortunates were killed

prematurely. The day had not arrived, and this led to the discovery of

the plot. When Mr. C. Johnson went with an armed force to Kenowit,

Seriff Messahore had already killed the fort men, who had only executed

his own orders. For some time he, the guilty one, escaped detection. At

last some Christian Dyaks of Lundu and Banting disclosed to their

missionaries that Malays had visited them to say they had better turn

Mahometans, for soon there would be no English left in the country.

These stories being communicated by the Bishop to Mr. Johnson, he

consulted the Malay members of the council and other trustworthy native

friends, and it was evident they knew there was good reason for anxiety,

as they advised all the English to wear firearms, even the ladies.

At last the rumours of threats were traced to old Gapoor, the

ex-Patinghi, and he was again banished the country by order of the

council. Seriffs Messahore and Bujang, being connected with him by

marriage, were also suspected. Messahore was warned that if he came to

Kuching he would be treated as an enemy. Nevertheless he advanced up the

river; his boat was greeted by a shower of balls, and he ignominiously

fled. When the glamour was thus taken from him everybody was ready to

divulge what they knew of the plot, and that a pension of six hundred

rupees a year was promised to any one who would kill Mr. C. Johnson. The

Rajah was in England, and known to be in bad health. Very few English

men-of-war visited Sarawak at that time. Rumours were got up at Bruni

that the Rajah was in disgrace with his own queen. This was the

consequence of the commission of inquiry about piracy, which had taken

place in 1858, by order of the English Parliament; for though the

results of that commission thoroughly exculpated Sir James Brooke from

any blame, there was never any _amende honourable_ made for subjecting

him to such an indignity. It was never understood by the natives as

anything but a slur on the Rajah's character, and was a terrible injury

to his prestige for a time. Indeed, it was the seed of the Malay plot;

and if we had all been killed, our own English Government would have

been the remote cause of our death. It is no doubt difficult for

Englishmen to understand the feelings of Malays and Dyaks. We are

accustomed in England to find fault with our rulers, and submit to them

all the same. But in the East it is different: no breath of blame must

touch the Rajah, nor can he be arraigned before any court, except the

throne of God.

Fatima, Seriff Bujang's wife, was an old friend of mine. She had always

visited me from the time of our first arrival at Sarawak, and was then a

very handsome girl, with a pale, clear complexion, and fine hair and

eyes. We took a great interest in her marriage, and Seriff Bujang

frequently came to our house. He was apparently fond of Mab, and liked

to hear her tell fairy tales. Mab spoke Malay very well, and was always

popular with the natives, to whom she would sing, dance, or relate

Cinderella, the White Cat, or the Three Bears, etc. It was curious to

see a grave-looking Malay sitting to listen to fairy stories; still more

so when all the time he was party to a plot for the destruction of the

household he visited. He was more weak than wicked; and two years after

that he died. I had occasion to visit some Malays in his kampong after

his death, and found poor Fatima bereft of all her ornaments and gay

dresses, and working as a drudge in the house. Widows are little

accounted of in Eastern households.