To return to the events of October, 1859.

A timber-ship, the _Planet_, was lying in the river, and Mr. Johnson

requested that the women and children of the mission should be sent on

board until the panic passed away, and the old Datu was got safely out

of the place. The fort and Government House were manned and armed, and

the rest of the Europeans sheltered there. The Hacket family went down

at once, and in the evening we sent Miss McKee and the two youngest

children with her; but Mab was ill of fever, and could not be moved. So

the Bishop and I stayed with her, and ten Chinamen guarded our house.

Mr. Chalmers had come from Merdang with news that some of those Dyaks

had joined the Datu Hadji, and also some bad Lundus, who had been

punished for sedition four years before. We all sat up that night; but I

was too much occupied with my sick child to be nervous about anything

else. The night passed over without any rising of the disaffected, and

the next day Gapoor consented to leave the country quietly, finding no

chief Malays would stand by him, and to be taken in a Government

gunboat to a brig just leaving the river. Thus, through God's mercy and

the loyalty of the people, no harm came of this plot, except that Mr.

and Mrs. Hacket decided to leave the mission, not being strong enough to

stand such alarms. They went to Malacca, where he became Government

chaplain, and died there of consumption, after some years' service.

The heat of Sarawak climate was so injurious to our child Mab, who had

frequent attacks of fever, that as soon as the place was quiet again, we

resolved to pay another visit to England. The Bishop's health was much

shaken, and the doctors at Singapore ordered him home at once. But it

was winter, and we were afraid of taking our children too quickly into

the rigorous cold of England; therefore we took a passage in the

_Bahiana_, a steamer which had brought out a telegraph cable to lay

between Singapore and Batavia, and having accomplished her purpose, was

returning empty to England. The Bishop went with us as far as Bombay,

and then took P. and O. boat to England; whilst we called first at

Mauritius, then at the Cape of Good Hope, staying some days at each

place, and at the latter adding several passengers to our small party.

We proceeded very happily until we were within a day's steam of the

Island of St. Vincent, off the coast of Africa; then the great crank of

the steam-engine snapped in two, and we had to sail. It took us ten days

to beat up to the island, for a large screw steamer was never intended

to be propelled by sails.

We began to have gloomy forebodings of the time which must elapse before

we could reach England, sailing at this rate, when we saw, lying in the

roads at St. Vincent, a very large West Indian steamer on her way home.

It was difficult to communicate with this ship, because she lay in

quarantine, yellow flag flying; and we did not know whether she had

yellow fever on board or not. Our captain, however, called us all

together, and said, "I hoped to have found some provisions in this

island, to add to our stores; but I find there is nothing." The island

seemed just a bare rock, with one solitary palm-tree growing by the

office door, and not a blade of grass. It was difficult to imagine what

provisions there could be, except the coal left by ships to supply

passing steamers. "It will be necessary," added Captain Grenfell, "that

some of you should go home in the _Magnolia_, West Indian steamer, for

we have not food on board for all, and cannot expect to be less than

another month reaching England under sail: therefore you must each of

you decide to-night what you will do; and if you choose to go home in

the _Magnolia_, I will pay your passage. But I ought to tell you that

probably there are cases of yellow fever on board that ship; for it is

the time of year when it is rife at the South American stations."

Here was a problem to solve in the night! Should I take my children on

board a ship where there was probable infection, or should I subject my

husband to harassing anxiety about us for a whole month? In the morning

I decided to go home in the _Magnolia_; and I was rewarded when we

climbed up into that great ship, with two hundred passengers on board,

by finding that there was not a single case of yellow fever, or anything

infectious. We had a delightful ten days' passage, stopping a few hours

at Lisbon, but not allowed to land, and then straight to Southampton. My

only regret was leaving Captain Grenfell, who had been so kind to the

children all the way.

The _Bahiana_ took just a month to get to England from St. Vincent.

PART III.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CHILDREN'S CHAPTER.

In 1861 we again returned to our Eastern home, leaving our three

children behind, and taking only our baby girl for companion. What a

difference it makes in India, to "leave the children behind!"--a common

fate indeed for parents, but not the less to be deplored. We used to

think and speak of Sarawak as home until 1861; but ever after, we spoke

of going home to our children, for where the treasure is there must the

heart be also. To do the work so that the time might pass quickly and

peacefully, to live upon the mails from England, to carry on two lives

as it were, one in the present, the other in the pictures our English

letters presented--such at any rate was my fate, though my husband was

too true a missionary to feel as I did.

Most of our old Sarawak friends had either died or gone away when we

returned in '61, but the mission grew more and more interesting as

Christian Churches sprang up on the Dyak rivers. Four new missionaries

came out soon after our arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Abè, Mr. Zehnder, Mr.

Mesney, and Mr. Crossland, the two latter from St. Augustine's College,

Canterbury, from whence had formerly come those two good men, Mr.

Chalmers and Mr. Glover. They had both gone to Australia on account of

their health, but the teaching of Mr. Chalmers had left its mark among

the land Dyaks of Murdang and the Quop, so that Mr. Abè, who was

afterwards placed on that station, reaped the harvest which had been

sown with many prayers two years before. Mr. Mesney succeeded Mr. Glover

at Banting, and its many branch missions; and Mr. Crossland went farther

off, to the Dyaks, on the Undop, where he eventually built a church and

gathered a little flock of Christians about him. Mr. Richardson came as

catechist about the same time, and after staying a short time at Lundu,

built himself a house among the Selaku Dyaks at Sedemac, in the country

towards Sambas. He was much beloved by those simple people, who speak

quite a different language to the Lundus. They exerted themselves to

build their own church of substantial balean-wood, and their women

learnt to pray as well as the men. "To learn to pray" is the Dyak

description of a Christian. "What will you do," asked a missionary, "to

bring those around you to Christ?" "I will teach them to pray," was the

answer. And surely this is the great distinction between the Christian

and the heathen--the one has communion with his Father in heaven, an

all-powerful, wise, and loving Friend; the other may cherish some vague

belief and worship of an unknown God, but has neither love nor trust to

carry him above this world's troubles and trials.

Another baby was added to our family in May, 1862, whose mother died at

her birth. This little one stayed with us only seventeen months, and was

a great happiness to me; then Sir James Brooke took her to England.

However, it was a pleasant chapter as long as it lasted.

Julia, one of our original school-girls, became very useful to me at

this time. We had taken her home with us in '59, and sent her to a

training-school for teachers in Dublin, so that she was quite competent

on our return to take the management of the girls' school. We had eight

girls in the house, and a few day-scholars from the town. Lessons used

to go on in a room on the basement, where of course I was

superintendent, and they learnt sewing in the afternoon. Julia was a

very gentle mistress, and I was feeling very happy about my girls, when

I found to my sorrow that Julia had an admirer, and I must make up my

mind to part with my child who had lived with us since she was four

years old. Such natural events must not be considered trials, but the

difficulty of replacing her was insuperable. I was obliged at last to

send my girls to Mrs. Abè, at the Quop Station, for I was too often away

in the mission-boat with the Bishop to keep them at the mission-house.

This was not until 1865, however. Poor Mildred felt parting with "her

girls," as she called them, very much, and often said, "Mamma, if Sarah

and Fanny might come back we would never, never quarrel any more." Are

not such pricks of conscience common to us all when our dear ones leave

us? But the past never returns!

In 1863, the Bishop built a charming little yawl for mission work. The

_Fanny_ was just suited, from her light draught of water, to cross the

bars of the rivers, and she was a very good sea-boat too. Not only was

she wanted to take the Bishop on his missionary, tours, but she brought

the missionaries to Sarawak when, they came for ordinations, or the

annual synod; also when they were sick, and required medical aid or

change. Very few clergymen know much about the management of boats, and

native crafts are very unsafe, so that until the Bishop had a yacht many

accidents used to occur, not actually dangerous, for the natives swim

like fishes, but drenchings and loss of goods from the upsetting of

boats. In the north-east monsoon _Fanny_ was thatched over and laid

snugly up a creek, but all the south-west monsoon she was very useful;

and no one wanted to travel about, if they could help it, during the wet

tempestuous weather which prevailed from November to March.

The Bishop paid his annual visit to Labuan in any steamer which happened

to be going. We had the great advantage of frequent visits from an

English gunboat, for the admiral of the Chinese seas had orders from

England to tell off one gun-boat for the two stations of Labuan and

Sarawak. This arose from our being also blest with the presence of an

English consul. But after he and his wife had remained two years at

Sarawak, they were heartily tired of the dulness of their lives, and did

their best to get removed to a more stirring station. However, the

recognition of England gave confidence to native traders and security to

the well disposed, so that there ensued a time of peace such as we had

not experienced during our former sojourns in the country.

[Illustration: Tommy. Fanny. Mary. Mab. Sarah. Nietfong.

SCHOOL CHILDREN. _Page_ 194.]

I think the history of our life during these years may be partly told by

the letters I wrote to my children at home, or extracts from them; so

that this may be called the children's chapter.

Sunday before Easter, 1862.

MY DARLING MAB,

I am glad you are not here, for it is very, very hot, and you

would probably have a bad headache. Julia is sitting in the

verandah teaching Polly, Sarah, Fanny, and Phoebe the Easter

hymn for next Sunday. Ayah is walking up and down with Mildred,

and Louis Koch is running about, making her laugh. I must tell

you how we spend the day. Papa gets up at five, and takes a ride

on his pony. I make the tea at six, and cut bread and butter for

Ayah and Julia, and Samchoon, one of the boys who has had fever

and wants feeding up. The bell calls us to church at seven, but

I don't go till the afternoon. The gardener brings me a tray of

flowers, and I make the nosegays for the day. Then I go

downstairs and see the butter made. The boy brings in a great

jar of milk, with which he mixes some warm water; into this he

puts a long piece of bamboo, with cross pieces fixed in it like

the spokes of a wheel. This he twirls round and round in the jar

till the butter comes. Then he takes it out with his black

hands, and I carry it off and wash and salt it. We only get five

ounces now at a time, though there are six cows in milk; but the

calves are such miserable little things they have to be helped

first, and fed with rice-gruel also. The butter finished, I go

up to the sewing-class, who are very busy making their Easter

clothes, both boys and girls; and I help them with my

sewing-machine until half-past ten, only running away

twice--once to see what the school cook has brought for their

breakfast, and then to order our own. Then we all bathe and

breakfast, and Ayah goes away for two hours for her breakfast

and midday nap; and I take care of Mildred, which is, I own, the

hardest part of my day's work, for the little restless thing

will never let me sit down, and is up to all sorts of mischief.

At two o'clock Ayah comes and sings Mildred to sleep, with the

same old tune of "Doo doo baby" which you used to sing to your

dolls. I think in the next box I have from home you might send

your old friends Sarah and Fanny a doll each, and dress them

yourself. Our Malay Tuan Ku was here the other day and asked

after you; he remembered your Malay fairy tales.

* * * * *

MY BELOVED CHILD,

Our letters were very welcome last Sunday, _Easter Sunday_,

telling us good news of you all. Our church was very gay with

flowers and moss ferns; and the font was filled with large pink

water-lilies, whose beautiful round green leaves, a foot wide at

least, looked quite lovely round the white shell font. All holy

week and Easter Monday and Tuesday we had full service at seven

o'clock in the morning, papa preaching a short sermon from the

altar. It was delightfully cool at that hour, and began the day

so pleasantly. I always love Easter, when all our dear ones seem

to be gathered to us in Christ our Lord, whether those in Heaven

or those far away--all one family, and Christ's children through

God the Father's love and mercy. I have been very busy. The

school-children had all new clothes for Easter. We worked

diligently for three hours every morning. The jackets were made

of the Irish gingham I brought from home. This week is holiday,

and Julia and I have had a fine wash, and have clear-starched

the Bishop's sleeves and ruffles--such a business! My hand aches

to-day with lifting the heavy smoothing-iron, which is not iron,

but a large brass box, hollow and filled with hot charcoal. We

shall get more used to it in time. Mrs. Stahl used to do it. Now

she is gone it is quite impossible to let the Kling Dobie touch

papa's sleeves; they would soon be torn to ribbons. I gave the

school a treat on Easter Tuesday. They had two soup-tureens full

of syllabub, plum cake, and pine-apple puffs. My cook stared

when I said, "Make forty large pine-apple puffs." However, they

were for his own countrymen--he is Chinese. I thought at first

he understood English, for he always said "Yes" to my orders;

but it was his one word. After the school-children had finished

off with fruit and native cakes, they had, what they like best

of all, quantities of crackers, which filled the house with the

smell of gunpowder, and frightened baby Mildred out of her

sleep. Good-bye.

* * * * *

July, 1862.

MY PRECIOUS MAB,

Thank you for your note, written on the 4th of May, which I

received the other day. I always rejoice to think of you in the

springtime, because, like other young things, you enjoy the

opening buds, flowers, and sunshine after the long grave winter.

But winter is a good friend, although he has a grave face; we

should be all the better for a visit from him out here. My

garden is now as full of flowers as it will hold; Mrs. Little

brought me so many new ones from Singapore. I have a very gay

nosegay every morning, and still, leave flowers to adorn the

beds outside. We have turned out some of the fruit-trees to make

more room for flowers. This morning I have sown a quantity of

blue and purple convolvulus, which only display their beauties

to those who rise early before the sun closes their blossoms;

but we have flowers which only open at night, the moon-flower,

and night-blowing cereus, both white and fragrant. Dr. Little

has been travelling about the country looking for new plants. He

and Mr. Koch went to the top of the mountain of Poè near Lundu.

It was so cold six thousand feet above the level of the sea,

that they had to supply the natives who went with them with

blankets. At the very top of the mountain they found a new

orchid growing on the ground, a bright yellow flower, with

streaks of magenta colour inside. Dr. Little picked some of the

blossoms, and dug up one hundred roots, two of which he gave me;

but they will not live in my garden, they want mountain air. He

also gave me the dead flowers, and asked me to paint a picture

of one from his description and the faded blossom. I did it as

well as I could, but I fear it was not very good, and, after

all, the flower was not nearly as pretty as a bunch of laburnum

in England. They also found growing on the roots of a tree that

strange fungus flower described by Sir Stamford Raffles in his

book on Java and Sumatra--a yard wide across the petals,

brilliantly coloured red, purple, yellow and white, and, in the

hollow of the flower (nectarium), capable of holding twelve

pints of water, the whole weighing from fifteen to twenty

pounds; for it is a thick fleshy flower, not frail and delicate

as one likes a flower to be. It is very curious and gorgeous,

but as soon as it is fully expanded it begins to decay and

smells putrid. Sir James Brooke once found a specimen of this

gigantic flower in the jungle, and sent it to me to look at; but

it had lost all its beauty in the journey, and I held my nose as

I looked at it. The Dyaks said, "It is an auton" (spirit), which

is their explanation of anything they never saw before. The

natives of Sumatra call it "The Devil's sirih-box."[8] Are you

as fond of frogs as you used to be? Last week, some people were

dining with us. I had just helped the soup, and, letting my hand

fall upon my lap, picked up one of your friends who had settled

himself there. Not knowing at first what the cold clammy thing

was, I jumped up, and everybody else jumped up too, to see what

was the matter; for it might have been a snake, you know!

Good-bye.

[Footnote 8: The real name is _Rafflesia Arnoldi_. See page 343,

vol. i., "Raffles' Life and Journals."]

* * * * *

December 1, 1862.

MY DEAREST MAB,

Uncle told me of your walk with him to West Hyde Church, and how

you made believe to get to Sarawak and see mamma walking in the

verandah. You are much better off in the cold December air of

England, than you would be in this sultry place, for all its

green beauty and never-failing flowers. I had rather you carried

the roses in your cheeks than have them in the garden all the

year round. Last month papa went to visit the Quop Mission,

where Mr. and Mrs. Abi and their little baby, and your old Ayah

Fatima, live. To get there he goes down the Sarawak River and

up the Quop River, then lands at a Malay village, from whence

there is a walk of three or four miles, up and down pretty hills

and across Dyak bridges, and over paths made of two bamboos tied

together, with a muddy swamp on either side. Then you come to

the mission-house which papa has built, and to Mr. Chalmers' old

house, which at present serves as the church, and to some long

Dyak houses. Papa baptized twenty-four men, women, and girls,

and confirmed nineteen people who had been baptized by Mr.

Chalmers. The old Pangara, one of the principal chiefs, was

baptized, and three of his grown-up sons, and one little

grandson whom the old man held in his arms. We had made white

jackets for the baptized, but the old Pangara had not quite made

up his mind, fearing the ridicule of the other elders of the

tribe, till papa talked to him; so there was no jacket for him,

and papa gave him a clean white shirt, round the skirt of which

we tied his chawat, a very long waist-band which wraps round and

round the body, and that was all! no trousers, and very funny he

looked; but papa was too rejoiced at his becoming a Christian,

to laugh at him. These people will all be Christians soon. They

come to Mr. and Mrs. Abi, morning, noon, and night, to be

taught, and there are two daily services; so the missionaries

have plenty to do. Two of our old school-boys, now grown up, are

catechists there, Semirum and Aloch. There is much love between

the people and their teachers; they are so happy at the Quop

they never want to come away. However, I have asked the Abis to

come for a fortnight at Christmas, and bring their poor little

baby to be fattened on cow's milk. There are no cows at the

Quop.

* * * * *

January, 1863.

MY BELOVED CHILDREN,

As I cannot have you with me this Christmas and new year, I

must comfort myself as best I may by writing you an account of

all we have been doing, and how we have tried to fancy

ourselves in old England amidst the frost and snow,

notwithstanding the bright sunshine and perpetual green of our

Eastern home. When we woke before daylight on Christmas morning

the school boys were singing under our windows, "When Joseph

was a-walking he heard an angel sing," so we got up and looked

out, wishing the children a happy Christmas. Then we dressed,

for there was a great deal to do. Papa had many services in

church, Chinese, English, and Dyak. I had the wreaths to make.

The church had been decked with moss fern the day before, but

the flowers must be added in the morning, or they would be

faded. So Julia and I made a crown of French marigolds to hang

on the cross over the altar, two large wreaths for either side,

and one at the west end made entirely of the golden allamanda,

in the buds of which you used to imprison fire-flies when you

lived here. The font was adorned all over, in preparation for

the baptisms to take place in the morning service. At half-past

eleven we all went to church, and after the Litany there were

sixteen Dyaks from Murdang, six Chinamen, and six little

children baptized. Mr. Koch read the service in Malay, and papa

baptized. It was a beautiful sight. The children, four of my

little girls, and two small boys from the school behaved very

well, and looked pretty in their new clothes. But they all

understood something of why they were sprinkled with the

blessed water, for we had been teaching them for some time, and

Limo told me on Christmas Eve, that "our Saviour came into this

world a little child, to teach us to be good; and when He had

blessed them in their baptism, they must take pains to do all

He desired them." I thought this pretty well for a beginning.

Ambat always repeats what Limo says, so I do not know how much

is her own: she is Limo's sister. Ango and Llan, the other two

girls, have been taught by Miss Rocke, who has given them to

me; they know but little, but are gentle children. The school

had a feast at five o'clock, beef curry (papa had an ox

killed), salt pork, rice, and a huge plum-pudding. They had

newly white-washed their dining-room the week before, and

decked it with boughs, so that it looked very nice with six

lanterns hanging from the roof. They played there while we were

at dinner, and the Christian Chinese feasted at Sing Song's

house. Julia had her little party in her school-room, and

dinner from our table: some of the grown-up schoolboys and

Polly. We had Mr. and Mrs. Koch, Mr. and Mrs. Owen, Mr.

Zehnder, and Mrs. Crookshank at our table. Papa counted that

ninety-seven people were fed on the mission premises on

Christmas Day. After dinner we had a bonfire in the hollow

below our hill, between the house and the church. Quantities of

dry bamboo had been collected there, which threw up columns of

sparks, and lit up all the under leaves of the trees, making

the dark sky and the young moon look so far far away. Then the

boys began with crackers and rockets. Baby Agnes was not

frightened, but poor Mildred could not sleep for terror. Every

rocket made her call out "Bumah," and hide her face on my

shoulder; however, she got used to it at last. Christmas is the

time of year which belongs especially to children, because our

Lord Jesus Christ then deigned to become a little child. We

forget what happened to us when we were very young--even a

mother does not know all the feelings, little troubles, ardent

wishes and desires of her little ones--but it is impossible

that our Saviour can ever forget. He knows exactly all that

belongs to the daily life of a child, not only because He is

God and knows everything, but because He was once a child

Himself, and remembers all the joys and sorrows of His

child-life in the cottage at Nazareth; and so children are very

dear to Him--He listens to their prayers, accepts their

praises, and watches over them always. Remember, my darling,

that He is your best friend; to Him you may tell all your

little troubles and confess all your faults, for He is very

pitiful and of tender mercy.

I gave my school-girls a box of dominoes and a set of

draughtsmen with a board for their Christmas present. They play

very well. All the sewing-class boys, too, had each a

present--either a knife, or belt, or box or basket to keep

their treasures in, or a head-handkerchief; but the Sarawak

bazaar does not furnish many desirable things, even for

school-boys. H.M.S. _Renard_ has arrived since I wrote thus

far, and we have had the boat races, which always take place in

January. Eleven of our school-boys won the boys' race, pulling

against Inchi Boyangs' school, the Mahometan school, and some

other boats. We dressed our boys in white and blue, and they

pulled beautifully. Papa had taught them to pull all together,

when they went to mission stations with him, and they are

really good paddlers. They disdained the short course marked

out for the boys, and pulled all the way out to the

winning-post, a boat anchored near the wharf, round it, and

back again, winning by two boats' lengths. They won five

dollars, and papa added two more; they gave some of the money

to their school-fellows, and celebrated their victory by

singing all the evening so nicely, and hurrahing at the end of

each song. They are good boys, and much happiness to us.

Good-bye.

CHAPTER XVI.

ILLANUN PIRATES.

I have described in a former chapter the habits of the Dyak pirates of

Sakarran and Sarebas, and how, after being punished by Sir James Brooke

when they were caught at the entrance of their river, with captives and

plunder in their boats, they were required to live at one with their

neighbours, and to study the arts of peace. Happily for them, they had a

wise and paternal Government to repress their vices, and, after a time,

Christian missionaries to teach them the fear and love of God. But the

Malay pirates who lived on the islands and coasts of North Borneo were

governed by sultans who encouraged piracy, and insisted on sharing their

spoils; moreover, they are Mahometans by religion, and that is not a

faith which teaches mercy or respects life. To this day, therefore,

these Illanuns remain pirates. They have larger prahus and carry heavier

guns than the Dyaks, and nothing can exceed their cruelty. When we

lived at Kuching there was scarcely a Malay family there who had not

suffered from them, either by the loss of relations or property; for

they are naturally a trading people.

It is a common practice for a party of men to join together in hiring a

boat in which to venture goods or gold-dust by trading on the coast, or

even to Singapore three hundred and sixty miles away, These small and

comparatively unarmed boats fell an easy prey to the pirate prahus, who

went out in fleets.

The Spaniards and the Dutch were every now and then roused to search the

seas for these pests of the human race, but they were so cunning they

generally evaded them. At last they had a signal lesson. In the year

1862, Captain Brooke, then governing Sarawak in his uncle's absence,

decided to go to Bintulu on the north-west coast of Borneo, a territory

which had lately been ceded to the Rajah by the Sultan, and build a fort

on the river, to check piracy and protect the peaceable inhabitants who

were settling there on the promise of such protection. For this purpose

he took the _Rainbow_, a small screw steamer of eighty-nine tons and

thirty-five horse power; and the _Jolly Bachelor_, a Government

gun-boat. The Bishop accompanied him, to see what missionary prospects

there were in that distant spot, also because he was at that time

anxious about Captain Brooke's health. Mr. Helms, the manager of the

Borneo mercantile company, accompanied them as far as Muka, where was

an establishment to collect sago for exportation. On the second day

after his arrival, a piratical fleet of Ilanuns, consisting of six

large, and as many smaller vessels, appeared on the coast, and blockaded

the town. For two days they remained off Muka, capturing there, and on

the coast southwards, thirty-two persons.

Mr. Helms persuaded Hadji Mataim and a few natives to start in a fast

boat and apprize Captain Brooke; and this boat, though chased by the

pirates, got safe to Bintulu. Hadji Mataim got alongside the steamer

early on Thursday morning, while it was still dark, and the Bishop,

recognizing his voice, called him on board. He delivered a letter from

Mr. Helms, asking for help. Steam was got up directly, the Chinese

carpenters who were to build the fort were landed, and the guns which

had been brought to protect it were put on board, as well as the fort

men who were to man the fort, that they might strengthen the crew. With

the first dawn of light the _Rainbow_ steamed over the bar taking the

_Jolly Bachelor_ in tow, and steered for Muka.

Meanwhile all preparation was made for fighting. Planks were hung over

the railing to raise the sides of the poop where there were no bulwarks,

and mattresses were laid inside to receive the shot and spears of the

enemy; this doubtless saved the lives of several of the crew. There were

eight Europeans on board, including the captain of the _Rainbow_ and his

mate, the engineer, Captain Brooke, Mr. Stuart Johnson, Mr. Hay, Mr.

Walters, and the Bishop. As soon as there were any wounded, Mr. Walters

assisted the Bishop in his work of mercy. The Bishop always carried a

medicine chest and case of surgical instruments wherever he went; and,

happily, a large sheet had been packed among his things this voyage,

which was speedily torn up into bandages. Now all was ready, but it was

not until Friday morning that they sighted what looked like three large

palm drifts to seaward off Tanjong Kidorong, to the north-east of the

British River. They proved to be three large prahus, with their masts

struck, and bristling with men, who were rowing like the Maltese,

standing, and pushing for shore, casting off their sampans[9] one by one

to make better way. Hadji Mataim recognized the sampan which chased and

fired at him when he slipped away from Muka. Brooke then asked one of

the chief officers of the Sarawak Government, who was on board, and

Pangeran Matussim of Muka, if they were perfectly sure that these prahus

were Illanuns? "Not a shadow of doubt," they said. So they loaded their

guns and prepared for action. The leading prahu was going almost as fast

as the steamer herself, and though steam was put on, and every effort

made to get between her and the Point, the prahu won the race, and got

into shallow water where the steamer could not follow; then she opened

fire on the steamer, which was returned with interest. This prahu had

three long brass swivel guns, and plenty of rifles and muskets. As she

was beyond the reach of the steamer, Captain Brooke turned to the second

prahu, which was now fast nearing the shore. His plan was to silence the

brass guns by the fire of the rifles on board the steamer, and shake the

rowers at their oars by a discharge of grape and round shot; then to put

on all steam and run at them with the stem of the _Rainbow_. This was

done with great coolness by Captain Hewat when Captain Brooke gave the

order; the steamer struck the prahu amid-ships and went over her. Those

on board called to the slaves, and all who would surrender, to hold on

by the wreck until the boats could take them off; then they steamed away

after the third prahu, which had already got into two-fathom water and

was struck too far forward to sink. All the pirates in her jumped

overboard and swam for shore, leaving their own wounded, the slaves, and

captives, who were also bid to remain by their vessel till they were

rescued.

[Footnote 9: Small boats.]

Meanwhile the first prahu, seeing the fate of the others, ran ashore

among the rocks inside Tanjong Kidorong; and all the crew, pirates, and

slaves ran into the jungle. Had the captives known better they would not

have run away. The _Jolly Bachelor_ was left to look after these

runaways, and then the captives of the other two prahus were helped on

board the steamer. Several of the crew of the _Rainbow_ recognized

friends and acquaintances among the saved; and the joyous, thankful look

of the captives, as they came on board and found themselves among

friends, was indeed a compensation for the awful destruction of the

pirates. Many were wounded, either with shot or the fearful cuts of the

Illanun swords of the pirates, who tried to murder their captives when

they saw all was lost. The Bishop was dressing one man who was shot

through the wrist, when he spoke to him in English, and after pouring

out his gratitude for his wonderful escape, said he was a Singapore

policeman, and was going to see his friends in Java when he was

captured. There were also two Singapore women, and a child, and two

British-born Bencoolen Malays, who were taken in their own trading boat

going to Tringanau. The husband of the younger woman had been killed by

the pirates, and she, like all women who fall into their hands, had

suffered every outrage and insult which could be offered her. They were

almost living skeletons. One was shot through the thigh, and after the

Bishop had dressed her wound, Mr. Walters said quaintly, "Poor thing,

she has not meat enough on her bones to bait a rat-trap." It is a wonder

how the poor creatures lived at all, under the treatment to which they

were subjected. When the Bishop asked some of the men whether their

wounds hurt much, they answered, "Nothing hurts so much as the salt

water the Illanuns gave us to drink. We never had fresh water; they

mixed three parts of fresh with four of salt water: and all we had to

eat was a handful of rice or raw sago twice a day." Very few of the

pirates who were not wounded surrendered. They are marvellous swimmers:

took their arms with them into the water, and fought the men in the

boats who were trying to pick up the captives. The Bishop and Mr.

Walters were fully occupied doctoring friends and foes, arresting

hemorrhage, extracting balls, and closing frightful sword or chopper

wounds. One man came on board with the top of his skull as cleanly

lifted up by a Sooloo knife, as if a surgeon had desired to take a peep

at the brain inside! It took considerable force to close it in the right

place. This man had also two cuts in his back, yet the next morning he

was discovered eating a large plate of rice, and he ultimately

recovered. Another poor fellow could not be got up the ladder because he

had a long-handled three-barbed spear sticking in his back: the Bishop

had to go down and cut it out before he could be moved.

While all this was going on, the captives told Captain Brooke that there

were three more pirate vessels out at sea, waiting for those near shore

to rejoin them; as soon, therefore, as the steamer had picked up as many

captives as she could find, she steamed out to sea in search of them.

After an hour, the look-out from the mast-head reported three vessels in

sight. It was then a dead calm, and they were using their long sweeps,

when they were seen from the deck, to arrange themselves side by side,

with their bows towards the steamer; but, a breeze springing up, they

hoisted sail, spread themselves out broadside on, and opened fire on

the _Rainbow_ as soon as she was within range, so that there was no

question as to whether these were pirate prahus or not. The same plan

was followed as in the case of the other boats, and with more success,

as there was no shore to escape to.

The pirates had secured their captives below the decks of the prahus,

but when the steamer struck them and opened their sides, they were

liberated. But few of them were drowned, being all good swimmers; but

some were killed by the pirates in their rage and despair, and some had

been lashed to the vessel and could not therefore escape.

One poor Chinaman came swimming along, holding up his long tail of hair

lest he should be suspected to be a pirate; other men held up the ropes

round their necks, to show they were captives. The deck of the steamer

was soon covered with those who had been picked out of the water, men of

every nation and race in the Archipelago, who had been captured during

this cruise, which had lasted seven months. These vessels left

Tawi-Tawi, an island to the south-west of Sooloo, in October. The Sultan

of Sooloo is in league with the pirates, and receives part of the

plunder and slaves. In the only boat boarded by Captain Brooke was found

the Sultan's flag, which is only given to people of high rank; also the

usual Illanun flag, six Dutch, and one Spanish flag, which no doubt

belonged to vessels they had captured. The men who were saved gave

details of the taking of two large vessels--one a Singapore prahu

trading to Tringanau; the other a Dutch tope, of one hundred and fifty

tons, on the coast of Borneo to the south of Pontianak. There they fell

in with five other Illanun boats, which had come down from the

northward--they themselves were going up from the southward. The

new-comers told them of a merchant vessel near at hand, and proposed

they should join them in capturing her, which they did. She had a

valuable cargo, worth ten thousand dollars. They killed everybody on

board, plundered and burnt the vessel. Only the one Chinaman escaped who

told this tale. The captives stated that this was the usual proceeding

if resistance was made. When they spare their captives' lives, they beat

them with a flat piece of bamboo over the elbows and knees, and the

muscles of arms and legs, until they are unable to move; then a halter

is put round their necks, and, when they are sufficiently tamed, they

are put to the oars and made to row in gangs, with one of their own

fellow-captives as overseer to keep them at work. If he does not do it

effectually, he is krissed and thrown overboard. If these miserable

creatures jump into the sea they spear them in the water. They row in

relays, night and day; and to keep them awake, cayenne pepper is rubbed

into their eyes or into cuts dealt them on their arms.

The masts of these prahus are very small, so that they may not be seen

at a distance. They go very fast. Those encountered by the _Rainbow_

were seen off Datu on Monday night, and on Friday morning they were near

Bintulu, a distance of two hundred and forty miles, although they had

delayed nearly two days at Muka, picking up thirty people on the coast.

Most of these were recaptured and returned to Muka. On reckoning up, it

was found that one hundred and sixty-five people had been rescued, and

perhaps one hundred and fifty or two hundred had got away from the

vessels sunk on shore. In every pirate prahu were from forty to fifty

Illanuns, and from sixty to seventy captives, many of whom were killed

by the pirates when they found themselves beaten, among them two women.

Nine women and six children were saved; seven of the women belonged to

Muka or Oya. Of the Illanuns, thirty-two were taken alive; ten of these

were boys. Some died afterwards of their wounds; some were taken to

Kuching in irons, there tried, and some of them executed. They died the

death of murderers; but Captain Brooke gave the boys to respectable

people to bring up, hoping they might be reformed. We had one young

fellow, about fourteen years old, when he had been cured of his wounds

in the hospital. I kept him about me, and used to teach him; but he

could not be tamed. He turned Mahometan, and left us to be employed at

the fort; but there he stole money, and had to be sent elsewhere. The

nature of an Illanun pirate seems almost unmixed evil, because they are

taught to be cruel from their childhood.

There were two circumstances in this affray with the Illanuns which

called for thankfulness on the part of the victors. First, that they met

the pirates in two detachments, which enabled them to attack them

successfully, without the danger of their boarding the steamer, which,

from their numbers, would have been fatal to the little party on board

the _Rainbow_. Secondly, that their ammunition lasted through the two

engagements. It was quite finished; only a little loose powder in a

barrel, and a few broken cartridges, remained when the last prahus were

taken. Had they fallen in with another fleet, they would have been at

their mercy. Almost while I write these last words, we have received a

letter from the present Rajah of Sarawak--Charles Johnson Brooke. He

says, "I have heard this morning that one of our schooners has been

captured by the Sooloo pirates, and the crew murdered." The last twenty

years have not therefore altered the character of these people, and

their extermination seems the only remedy for the misery they inflict on

their fellow creatures.

CHAPTER XVII.

A MALAY WEDDING.

MY DARLING MAB,

I am sitting in a darkened room, while Mildred is having her day

sleep; and as I am thinking of you, I may as well begin a letter

for next mail. Last week I went to a Malay wedding, the first I

ever attended, although I have been here so many years. It

amused me very much; so I shall try to describe it to you.

Early in the morning the bridegroom's friends came to beg

flowers from our garden. Then papa told them I would go to the

wedding, and they said, "Be sure not to be later than twelve

o'clock." Accordingly, Mr. and Mrs. Ricketts, the British Consul

and his wife, Mr. Zehnder, and I set off in two boats, after

eleven o'clock breakfast; but we need not have got there before

two o'clock.

Eastern people set little value on time. They would just as soon

sit cross-legged on the floor smoking for three hours as for

one. The bride is the daughter of one of the first merchants in

the place, Nakodah Sadum, and the bridegroom is the grandson of

the old Datu Tumangong, whom you may remember. A handsome young

man is Matussim, and enlightened, for a Malay. He made his

betrothed a present of his photograph last year. Formerly Malays

objected to having their portraits taken, fancying it a breach

of the second commandment.

The bride's father's house was gay with flags and streamers, and

in front of it lay, by the river's brink, four small cannon,

which had been busy, for days before and all that morning,

saluting the occasion. We walked up into the house, which was

full of guests. A long verandah, lined with hadjis and elders,

all smoking and talking, led to the principal room, which,

unlike any Malay house before built in Sarawak, had large

Venetian-shuttered doors all round, and was therefore cool and

airy. There was a little round table, and some armchairs covered

with white mats for the expected guests, in the middle of the

room. Sadum and his wife came forward and greeted us very

cordially, and then we were told to sit down on the chairs. I

looked about for the bride, and saw a crowd of women in one

corner, and a boy holding a gilt umbrella over the young lady,

who was being shaved. A woman with a razor was shearing her

eyebrows into a delicate line, and all round her forehead

trimming disorderly hairs. Four women, seated on their heels in

front of her, were fidgeting over her face; she, impassive as a

log in their hands. A vast deal of singing and drumming went on

all the time, a row of musicians keeping it up all round the

room. The girl was washed; then her hair, magnificent black hair

down to her heels, knotted in two great bows on either side of

her head. Over these, gold ornaments like wings were fixed, and

a little tower of gold bells above them. Then the women painted

a black band round her forehead, and added a silver edge to it,

also painted. Her eyebrows were likewise touched up, and her

skin rubbed all over with yellow powder. Poor child! she was a

curious figure by the time it was all finished, and her skin

must have felt painfully stiff. She was then attired in very

handsome silk robes, ornamented with solid gold, and the

attendants carried her to a raised dais or bed-place at one end

of the room. There she sat, not daring to lift her eyes until

the bridegroom's arrival.

The divan was gorgeous with silk curtains and cushions

embroidered with gold thread and embossed with tinsel ornaments,

the work of the bride herself. The seat for the bridegroom was

somewhat higher and larger than the bride's. At last the

bridegroom approached in a large barge, which held about two

hundred people. A small boat preceded it with three guns, which

kept up a deafening noise as he drew near. He was carried up the

steps, and the house door was shut to in his face, according to

the Malay custom. Then he begged admittance very humbly, and

after paying a fee of five dollars, was admitted. His followers

rush in first--such a clatter! Greetings, welcomes, jokes, and

laughter, make a Babel of noise; everybody speaking at once.

Then a cloth was laid down for the bridegroom to pass over, and

he was pulled with apparent reluctance into the room, panting

and shutting his eyes as if exhausted. His head was wreathed

with Indian jessamine. He was naked to the waist, except a gold

scarf over one shoulder; otherwise he had plenty of gold and red

silk about him. He was pulled up to the bride, turning his head

away as if he was ashamed to look at her, and dropped a red silk

handkerchief over her face for a moment. Then he sat down on the

divan, and all the old women of both houses sprinkled the couple

with yellow rice, and rubbed their foreheads with some charm,

which looked like a bit of stone and a nutmeg-grater, and wished

them all kinds of luck--but especially that they might be the

parents of _sons_ only. After the young people had endured this

long enough, the curtains were let down round the dais, and only

two or three old women kept going in and out. We found they were

taking off all the finery, and dressing the bride and bridegroom

in their usual clothes; for while we were drinking coffee and

eating Malay cakes at the little table, they came out from the

curtains, looking quite pleasant and natural. So we shook hands,

made our congratulations, and bade them adieu. We got home at

four o'clock, very hot and tired, and papa laughed at us for

going; but I was glad I did for once in a way.

A wedding is a very serious expense to Malays of any rank. The

bridegroom has to make settlements on the bride, and the bride's

father has to keep open house for weeks, besides fees to the

hadjis, and gunpowder _ad libitum_. The religious part of the

ceremony is enacted some days before the marriage. One day papa

was calling at a Malay house, where a wedding was about to take

place, and found the bridegroom learning a passage in the Koran,

in Arabic, which he could not translate, but which it was

necessary he should repeat. A hadji was standing by, driving the

words into his head. The hadji could not translate it either;

but the Koran may only be read in Arabic, lest it should be

desecrated. Sometimes papa would read a chapter to any Malay who

desired to understand the meaning of his sacred book; but they

were generally content with learning it as a charm, or certain

parts of it.

The Rajah often made a present of an ox for a great man's

wedding. This was a great help, for many dishes of curry could

be made out of so much meat. When we wished for some meat at

Christmas and Easter, we sent for the Mahometan butcher to kill

the animal. He turned its head towards Mecca, repeated prayers

over him, and then cut his throat in such a way that no drop of

blood was left in the flesh; for the Malays hold to the Jewish

law in that as well as many other particulars. Then the people

would buy whatever beef we did not want ourselves; but not

otherwise.

This is a long letter, but as I am on the subject of weddings, I

may as well tell you about a Chinese wedding we had the other

day at our house. The bridegroom was Akiat, a carpenter, about

six feet two inches high. He was dressed in whity-brown silk,

which made him look like a tall spectre; and the bride was Quey

Ginn, a fat, dumpy little girl of sixteen, the Chinese deacon's

daughter, and one of my scholars. She did not choose her old

husband of fifty years, but her parents arranged it, and Akiat

paid one hundred dollars for his wife. I went to see her the day

before the wedding, and she showed me all her clothes and

ornaments; but I thought she did not look as if she cared for

them. So I whispered, "Are you happy, child?" "No, not at all,"

burst out Quey Ginn. "I don't want to be married and leave my

parents." Whereupon I could not help taking her in my arms and

comforting her, telling her to be a good wife, and she would

soon learn to be content. She has been to visit me since her

marriage, and I am amused to see that she is quite a little

woman, instead of the shy girl she used to be; and, whereas as a

girl she was never allowed to be seen in the streets, or even to

go to church, she now does exactly as she likes, and, I am happy

to say, comes regularly to church. These people were all sincere

Christians. Akiat was the Chinese churchwarden, and, as papa

esteemed them very highly, he allowed the breakfast to take

place at our house.

I had a cake made for the occasion, which Quey Ginn cut up with

much pleasure. The ring in it fell to Mr. Zehnder's share, which

amused him also. Good-bye.

It was this year, 1865, that Mr. Waterhouse, the chaplain of Singapore,

came to visit us. The doctors often sent us a patient or friend to be

under the Bishop's care, and for rest and change; the latter was the

cause of Mr. Waterhouse's visit, and six weeks of jungle life did him

good, while his society and sympathy were a great pleasure to us, the

Bishop especially. The Bishop took him to visit the different mission

stations, and he often spoke to me with satisfaction of the "real

mission work" he witnessed at Banting, Lundu, and the Quop. At each of

these stations he found a consecrated church and a community of

Christian people; whilst the missionaries set over them, not only

instructed and ministered to the tribe among whom they lived, but

journeyed to outlying places, founding branch missions and setting

catechists to work under them. I find in one of my letters, when Mr.

Waterhouse returned from Banting, he said, "I cannot but admire the

patience with which Mr. Chambers talks all day, morning, noon, and

night, to every party of Dyaks, who march into the house whenever they

like, making it quite their home: it is what very few people could do

day after day." This is the trial of Dyak teaching. You cannot appoint

specific hours for instruction. People come when they can, sometimes

long distances. They can never be denied, except you are actually at

meals, and then they sit down and wait till the eating is over. Here is

a programme of a day at Banting:--

By seven in the morning Mr. Chambers goes to one or another Dyak house

to teach. These houses contain many families under one roof. The people

understand now that teaching is the sole object of Mr. Chambers' visit,

so, when he enters, all who are at leisure gather round him. He returns

home to eleven o'clock breakfast. After breakfast his school of boys

occupies him for the afternoon; but every party of Dyaks who come in

must be listened to, and, if they are willing, instructed, taught a

prayer, a hymn, a parable, or some Scripture lesson. This goes on till

five o'clock, when the bell calls them to daily prayers, and they all

walk together down the beautiful jungle avenue to the pretty church. A

short service, in which the Dyaks respond heartily, and a catechizing

follows, during which they are allowed to ask questions of their

teacher. Then an hour's rest before dinner. But immediately after dinner

more Dyaks, sometimes a whole house, _i.e._ forty or fifty persons, come

in, and have coffee, and pictures, and a lecture. All this does not

happen every day, but most days during what we call the working season,

from March till October, and no doubt so much talking and so little

leisure is very fatiguing. But then comes the harvest, and afterwards

the wet monsoon, and the schools fall off, and the Dyaks no longer come

from a distance to be taught. It is sufficiently dull and lonely then in

the jungle stations. The sea runs too high for boats to bring mails, or

books, or provisions; the rain falls heavily, and with little

intermission, and food becomes scarce. Mrs. Chambers told me that the

prayer for daily bread, which seems to us to relate to the daily needs

of our souls for the bread and water of life, bore a literal meaning to

them in the north-east monsoon, when the day's food was by no means

certain. Rice they had, it is true; but English people get nearly

starved upon rice alone, without fish, meat, or bread. It was therefore

with sincere thankfulness that they welcomed a chicken, however skinny,

in that season.

After the Banting expedition, the Bishop took Mr. Waterhouse to Lundu,

and Mr. Hawkins, a missionary lately come out, went with them. They

arrived on a Saturday. On Sunday there was a great gathering of

Christian Dyaks: fifty-two people were confirmed, eighty received the

Holy Communion, so that they were more than three hours in church, the

Bishop preaching to them in Malay. On Monday Mr. Waterhouse and Mr.

Hawkins paid a visit to a beautiful waterfall, about two miles from the

town; and on Tuesday all the party, Mr. Gomez included, went in boats

forty miles up the river Lundu, with three hundred Dyaks, to tuba fish.

The Bishop had paid the Dyaks to collect tuba the week before. It is a

plant found in the jungle, the root of which washed in water makes a

milky-looking poison. It does not make the fish unwholesome to eat, only

intoxicates them for the time, so that they rise floundering about on

the surface of the water, but it destroys human life, and is the poison

chosen by Dyaks who commit suicide, though I do not believe that this

crime is common among them.

When the party had ascended the river far enough, the Dyaks built a hut

for the English to sleep in. They made a floor of logs of wood, spread

over with the bark of trees, which, beaten down hard, made a capital

mattress on which to lay their mats and pillows. The kajangs (leaf mats)

off the boat made some shelter from the weather, although it takes a

good deal to keep Borneo rain out! The Dyaks were much too busy to go to

sleep at all: they drove stakes all across the river to secure their

fish, then they beat out the tuba in the bottom of their boats. It took

all night, by the light of torches, to do this; and a wild sight it was,

in the midst of the solemn old jungle. Very early in the morning, when

the tide was at its lowest ebb, they put the tuba into the river; the

flood coming up, and bringing plenty of fish, encountered this

intoxicating milk, and carried over the stakes a whole shoal of dead and

tipsy fish. Then the Dyaks, darting about in little boats, speared the

big fishes, and caught the small ones in landing-nets.

Hundreds of fish were caught, and the Dyaks had a grand feast; also,

they salted quantities, in their nasty way--pounding the fish up,

letting it turn sour, and then packing it into bamboos with salt, as a

relish to eat with their rice. Certainly it has a strong flavour! They

all camped two nights in the jungle, then returned to Lundu, and reached

Sarawak in the yacht _Fanny_, after an absence of ten days. We had a

visit from H.M.S. _Scout_ about this time, and one day sat down sixteen

to dinner in the mission-house, some of the officers having come up to

spend the day. It is difficult to improvise a dinner in a country where

no joints of meat are to be had, unless you kill an ox for the purpose.

Sheep there are none. A capon or goose, or a sucking pig, are the only

big dishes, and not always to be had. However, we did very well, and our

visitors were delighted with Sarawak, and with the schoolboys' singing;

for I had them up to sing glees and rounds, and "Rule Britannia," after

dinner. Captain Corbett was so pleased with the little fellows that he

invited them all to see the ship the next morning. Accordingly our

largest boat took the choir down very early to Morotabas, where the

_Scout_ lay, and Captain Corbett took them all over it himself, even

down to the screw chamber. The boys had never seen so large a man-of-war

before (1600 tons), so they were delighted. Some Dyaks who went with

them were much terrified lest they should be carried off to sea, for the

captain ordered "up anchor," that the boys might see how it was done,

and then sent them off the last minute. They came home in high glee.

Only those who live at the ends of the earth can tell what a pleasure

and refreshment is a little visit from her Majesty's ships from time to

time. The whiff of English air they bring with them, and the hearty

English enthusiasm which has not had time to evaporate, is most

reviving.

Many Chinese Christians returned to China this summer. I hope they

carried the good seed of the word of life with them. They are only birds

of passage at Sarawak: when they grow rich they prefer to spend their

money in their native country. Our Chinese deacon took his family for a

visit to their Chinese relations. Even the married daughter went with

them; and a few days afterwards, Akiat, her husband, came to tell me

that he was so wretched without his wife, that he should go to Singapore

for the few months of her absence, to while away the time, and he meant

to have a nice new house ready for her on her return.

Voon Yen Knoon deserved a holiday, certainly, for he worked hard among

his countrymen, besides teaching every day in the school. Three evenings

every week were devoted to the instruction of the Chinese, at the

mission-house. Two distinct languages were spoken by the different

tribes of Chinese who had settled at Sarawak. They could not be taught

together. The people of the Kay tribe came on one evening, the Hokien

another, each having their own interpreter. On the third evening the

interpreters were instructed in the lessons for the following week. On

these nights our long dining-room was full of Chinamen, and a large tray

of tiny cups of tea was carried in, and consumed before the teaching

began.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LAST YEARS AT SARAWAK.

Mr. Chalmers' Merdang Dyaks once said to him, "See how many races of

people there are: Dyaks, Malays, Klings, Chinese, English. They have all

different religions: this is proper, for God has given to each the

religion suited to them."

I remembered this ingenious remark when I was reading Mr. Helms's

interesting book, just published, "Pioneering in the Far East." He says:

"Like most barbarous and savage nations, the Dyak identifies his gods

and spirits with the great phenomena of nature, and assigns them abodes

on the lofty mountains. Though, in his opinion, all spirits are not

equally malignant, all are more or less to be dreaded. The silent

surroundings of primæval forests in which the Dyak spends most of his

time, the mountains, the gloomy caves, often looming mysteriously

through cloud and mist, predispose him to identify them with

supernatural influences, which in his imagination take the form of

monsters and genii. With no better guide than the untutored imagination

of a mind which in religious matters is a blank, who shall wonder that

this is so? I have myself often felt the influences of such

surroundings, when dark clouds deepened the forest gloom, and the

approaching storm set the trees whispering: if, at such a moment, the

shaggy red-haired and goblin form of the orang-outang, with which some

of the Dyaks identify their genii, should appear among the branches, it

requires little imagination to people the mystic gloom with unearthly

beings."

Mr. Helms is quite right--the religion which springs from circumstance

and surrounding nature is always one of fear; evil is so close to the

heart of man that the very elements and mysteries of nature seem his

enemies, so long as he is ignorant of the love of God. The great

creating Spirit, whose existence is acknowledged by all Dyaks, inspires

them with neither love nor trust; it is only malign spirits who are

active, who concern themselves with his affairs, and threaten his

happiness and prosperity, and who must therefore be propitiated. What a

different aspect his native woods must present to the Christian Dyak,

who can look around without fear, and believe that his Heavenly Father

made all these things! You would imagine that Christianity would be

welcomed as a deliverance from such superstition; but here the apathy of

long habit raises a barrier. The Dyak who professed to think his dismal

religion was given him by God, was probably too intellectually idle to

think at all. "What you say is most likely true, but we have received

our belief from our forefathers, and it is good enough for us," is the

common remark of the Land Dyak. This listlessness was perhaps originally

caused by oppression and misery, a hard life and cruel masters. In the

days we knew these people they had a sad and patient expression in their

faces, as if they could not forget the time when they were ground down

by Malay extortion, and despoiled by stronger, more warlike tribes. The

present generation may have more spirit, more independence, and the

blessings of peace and liberty may leave their minds more open to the

light of truth. It is, however, interesting to note how different races

of men develop different religious beliefs, and how these Dyaks

intuitively perceive spirit through matter, and are governed, however

blindly and ignorantly, by the powers of the unseen world.

The orang-outang, or wild man, in not very commonly met in the jungle. I

have seen the trees alive with monkeys, but never met an orang-outang at

liberty. The Dyaks may well be afraid of them if it is true, as they

say, that if one of these monsters attacks a man, he picks his flesh off

his bones like a cook plucking a chicken. They are immensely powerful,

but once caged are gentle enough. Their one desire in confinement is

clothing, why I cannot tell; large-sized monkeys always wrapped

themselves in any bit of cloth they could find, partly in imitation of

their keepers, and perhaps also because they are very chilly creatures,

and, deprived of their usual violent gymnastics, suffered from cold. A

Chinaman had a female orang in his shop while we were at Sarawak, who

took a violent liking to the Bishop, and always expected to be noticed

when he passed the shop. Then she would kiss and fondle his hand; but if

he forgot to speak to "Jemima," she went into a passion, screamed, and

dashed about her cage.

I never allowed any kind of monkey to be kept at the mission-house. We

had too many children on the premises, and they are jealous and

uncertain in their behaviour to children. Indeed I always regretted

their being either shot or caged--they enjoy life so intensely in the

jungle, and are so amusing, swinging themselves from the branches of

tall trees, leaping, flying almost, in pursuit of one another for mere

fun, that it was sad to put them in prison, where they never lived long,

and where they only exhibited a ludicrous and humiliating parody on the

habits of mankind.

There was a race of monkeys at Sarawak called by the natives "Unkah,"

from the noise they made, but which we called Noseys, for they had long

noses which fell over their mouths, so that the large males had to lift

their noses with one hand, while they put food into their mouths with

the other. When we first lived in the country, and were anxious to send

specimens of every new and curious thing to England, my husband shot one

of these large monkeys for the sake of his skin, but he was so

distressed at the look the beast gave him when he felt himself hit, he

was so like his own uncle in England, who had rather a red face and long

nose, that he resolved never again to shoot a monkey. This ape was

clothed in long brown fur, while his legs were encased in much shorter

hair of a tan colour, which gave the idea of leather breeches. I once

saw a monkey's nest in a high tree. The tree was very bare of leaf or

the nest might have escaped notice. It was formed of big sticks laid in

a strong fork of the branches; and whether it was lined with anything

softer could not be seen from below, but the sticks stuck out, covering

a large space, which had no appearance of comfort or snugness.

The one monkey I liked, and that at a distance, was the wa-wa, whose

voice was very sweet and melodious, like the soft bubbling of water; but

it was a very melancholy animal, and never seemed to possess the fun and

trickishness of the more common sorts of ape. They are all delicate and

difficult to rear, and invariably die of over-eating, or rather eating

what is unwholesome for them, if they have a chance. It seems as if, in

approaching the form of man, they lost the instinct of the brute. It was

a great addition to the pleasures of life in Sarawak that there were no

wild beasts to be feared in the jungles. When we were once staying at

Malacca, and, for the sake of a natural hot spring, inhabited a little

bungalow in the country, we were always liable to encounter a tiger in

our walks; on Penang Hill, also, there was a large tiger staying in the

woods. During one of our visits, we tracked his footsteps in a cave on

the hill; and he carried off a calf from a gentleman's cow-house near

us--at another time a pony from a neighbour's stable. Tigers do not,

however, live at Penang: they occasionally swim over the strait from

Johore, opposite the island, if driven by hunger. The natives made deep

pits to catch them, with bamboo spears at the bottom to transfix them

when they fall in. On one occasion a French Roman Catholic missionary

fell into one of these tiger-pits, and remained there, starved and

wounded, for three days before he was discovered. He was a very good

man, and gave a wonderful account of his happiness, his visions of

heavenly bliss while dying in that slow torture, for he was too far gone

to be restored. He died rejoicing that he had known what it was to

suffer with Christ.

The last two years of our life at Sarawak, the Bishop's health failed

and caused me much anxiety. The long jungle walks, which were so

necessary in getting about from one mission to another, became more and

more difficult to him. Often he had to stop and lie down under a tree

till the palpitation of his heart abated; repeated attacks of Labuan

fever affected his liver; and our friends often warned us that we ought

to go home to save his life. The interest of the different missions

increased so much at this time, that it seemed hard to give up a post

in which many trials and disappointments had been lived through, just as

success seemed about to reward the years of patient labour. The peace

and harmony of the mission was greatly promoted, the last three years of

our stay, by an annual meeting of the clergy with their bishop. They

came from their different rivers to spend a week at the mission-house,

and for certain hours of each day met in the church to discuss

missionary operations, Church discipline, religious terms, translations,

etc. It was very desirable there should be no diversity of opinion in

these matters, but that the different missions should have the same

plans, uses, and customs. And these meetings, besides the importance of

the subjects discussed, knit the missionaries to one another and all to

the Bishop, promoting also that _esprit de corps_ which strengthens any

institution, be it school, college, or Church in a heathen country.

A curious adventure happened to the Bishop in 1865. It was the rainy

season, and the roads were saturated with water and full of holes,

especially a new bit of road towards Pedungan, where sleepers of wood

had been laid down, to steady what would otherwise have been a bog; but

holes here and there could not be avoided. The Bishop always took a ride

early in the morning, before seven o'clock service in church. That

morning I had asked him to go to a house down that road, to inquire

about a servant. He came home late, and covered with mud all down one

side. "Papa has fallen," said little Mildred, playing in the garden. At

her voice her father seemed to wake up out of a deep sleep, and

gradually he became conscious of a severe bruise on his face and pain in

his head; but he could give no account of the matter, which was,

however, explained by a Malay in the course of the day. This man was

walking on the road to Pedungan, when he met the Bishop returning home.

He saw the horse put his foot into a deep hole and come down, the Bishop

also. He did not, however, at once fall off, not until the horse in his

efforts to rise had inflicted a blow with his head on his rider's face.

The Malay helped the horse up, which was not hurt, and the Bishop on his

back; and seeing he was much stunned, he followed them for some way lest

the Bishop should need assistance: but when they reached the town and

seemed all right, he went back. All this time, however, the Bishop was

perfectly unconscious; the horse carried him as he chose, over a ditch,

up a steep bank, under low-hanging trees, and quite safely until he

stopped at our own door. A headache and some stiffness were the only

results of what might have been a fatal accident. We were very thankful

to God for having sent His angel to guard steps as unconscious and

heedless as any little child's could have been. No memory of what had

happened ever came back to the Bishop.

* * * * *

In 1866 the _Rifleman_, her Majesty's surveying ship, gave us a passage

to Labuan, where the Bishop wanted to hold a confirmation. This ship

was going to Manilla, and from thence to Hong Kong, before she returned

to Singapore, and, through the kindness of Captain Reed, we accompanied

her. At Labuan I caught the fever of the country, but it did not come

out for ten days, by which time we were at Manilla. We anchored off

Manilla on Christmas-day evening: it had been a very wet day, but

cleared up at night, and we sat on deck watching the lights on shore,

and listening to the constant chimes of the numerous church bells,

whilst the sailors sang songs and did their best to amuse us. It seemed

so strange to be in a Christian country again.

They have some customs at Manilla which I could not help admiring. When

the Vesper bell rings at six o'clock, all business and pleasure is

suspended for a few minutes, and all the world, man, woman, and child,

say a prayer. The coachmen on the carriages stop their horses, the

pedestrians stand still, friends engaging in animated conversation are

suddenly silent. The setting sun is a signal for the heart to rise to

God; it is a public recognition of His protecting care, and an act of

thanksgiving. When it is over, the children ask their parents' blessing

for the night. This was told me by a native of Manilla, an educated

gentleman, who gave his children every advantage of learning and travel.

The Vesper custom I saw for myself every time I took an evening drive.

We witnessed a very gorgeous procession on the feast of the Epiphany.

All the city functionaries, the military, the priests, bands of music,

and a masquerade of the three kings on horseback, surrounded by troops

of children beautifully dressed in white and scattering flowers, passed

through the streets to a church, into which they all poured, the three

horses riding in too, to attend high mass. I saw but little of Manilla,

being ill nearly all the time. It is a place shaken to pieces by

earthquakes. When we were there the great square, where the Government

offices once stood, was a heap of ruins, and the treasury was too poor

even to clear them away. The bridges were all broken in the middle, and

patched up somehow; and all the rooms in the houses were crooked, the

timbers of the walls being joined loosely together to admit of the

frequent trembling, heaving, and subsidence of the ground, without their

cracking. I believe the country all round was lovely, but I only took

one drive when I was convalescent, and then we steamed away to Hong

Kong. I shall say nothing about Hong Kong, for all the world knows what

a beautiful place it is in winter--how bright and sparkling the blue

sea, how clean and trim the streets, and how stately the buildings; also

what a dream of loveliness is the one drive out of the town to the Happy

Valley, where many an Englishman lies buried in the cemetery. I had a

second bout of fever at Hong Kong. Happily for us, we found kind

relatives both at Manilla and Hong Kong, who nursed me, and who were

very good to us. We found it very cold there after stewing for six

years in Borneo, and the Bishop caught a chill which made him ill all

the rest of the way home. Had we thought when we left Sarawak in '66

that we should never return there, it would have been a great trial to

bid adieu to our old home, but we had no such intention. We were only

taking Mildred to England, and seeking a necessary change for the

Bishop's failing health. The knowledge that he would not be able to

resume his work in the East dawned upon us by degrees. It was a great

disappointment, but we were thankful that an English vicarage was found

for us, where we could make a home for our children, and where the

duties and pleasures of an English parish remained to us. It is,

however, very pleasant, on a foggy day in November or February, to

return in fancy to that land of sunshine and flowers; to imagine one's

self again sitting in the porch of the mission-house, gazing at the

mountain of Matang, lit up with sunset glories of purple and gold. Then,

when the last gleam of colour has faded, to find the Chinaman lighting

the lamps in the verandah, and little dusky faces peeping out, to know

if you will sing with them "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," or the hymn

about the "Purple-headed mountain and river running by," which must have

surely been written for Sarawak children.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ISLAND OF BORNEO.

Borneo is so little known that a short account of it may be interesting.

If any one will examine a map of Borneo they will see that it is a large

island, in shape something like a box with the lid open. The interior of

the square part of it presents almost a blank on the map, for the coasts

only are known to the civilized world. Its greatest length is eight

hundred miles, and its greatest breadth six hundred and twenty-five

miles. Ranges of mountains through the centre of the island provide the

sources of many fine rivers which are the highways of the country.

The Dutch claim the south and south-west of the island. They have

settlements at Sambas, at Pontianak, and at Banjermassin; and forts on

the rivers, inhabited by Dutch residents, or Malay chiefs in their pay:

but they have never won the hearts of the aborigines, for the Dutch

maxim is always to get as much money as possible out of native

subjects, consequently they are every now and then obliged to send

European troops to enforce the obedience of the Chinese and Dyaks to

their rule. On the west of Borneo lies the little kingdom of Sarawak,

about three hundred miles of coast line from Cape Datu to Point

Kiderong.

The Sultan of Bruni, who was the nominal ruler of all the north-west of

Borneo, gave up this province to Sir James Brooke in 1841, "to him and

his heirs for ever," on condition a small sum of money was paid him

annually. The province consisted originally of "about sixty miles of

coast, from Cape Datu to the entrance of the Samarahan River, with an

average breadth of fifty miles inland;"[10] but from time to time the

Sultan entreated Sir James Brooke to take the rule of one river after

another beyond this province towards Borneo Proper, for, owing to his

own weakness, and the rapacity of his nobles who governed in his name,

no revenue came to him from those rivers, nor could he protect native

trade, or secure the lives of his subjects from the extortions and

covetousness of their Malay chiefs. So Sarawak grew, and peace, and

justice, and free trade flourished where before there were only poverty

and oppression. The country is traversed by fine rivers. The Rejang,

four fathoms deep two hundred miles from the mouth, the Batang Lupar,

and the Sarawak are the largest, and the great highways of the country;

along the banks of which are cultivated clearings and Dyak villages,

but beyond these extend dense jungle which even clothes the sides of the

mountains. Besides the before-mentioned rivers are many smaller ones

which are still noble streams--the Sarebas, Samarahan, Sadong, Lundu,

etc. It is indeed a well-watered country, and only requires the industry

of man to develop its riches.

[Footnote 10: Letter of Sir J. Brooke to J. Gardner, Esq.]

There are great mountain ranges to the north-west and through the

interior of the island, and the natives speak of lakes of vast extent,

with Dyak villages on their shores. But this is only tradition. There is

a lake commonly reported only two days' journey from the foot of Kini

Balu, a high mountain on the north-west, but no Englishman has yet trod

its shores. The difficulties of exploring such dense jungles and

mountain precipices as bar the way across Borneo are almost insuperable.

I quote from Mr. Hornaday's recent lecture at Rochester. He says, "Owing

to the peculiar and almost impassable nature of the country, Borneo has

never been crossed by the white man. Travelling over some of the

mountains seems to be an absolute impossibility. Many of them consist

almost wholly of huge blocks of basalt, soft, moist, and too slippery to

walk upon. I would rather attempt to cross the continent of Africa than

the island of Borneo. The explorer must carry with him provisions enough

to last both going and returning. The jungle affords nothing fit for

human sustenance, and there are no inhabitants to supply the explorer

with food. Fame awaits the man who will thoroughly explore the interior

of the island."[11]

[Footnote 11: Mr. Hornaday's lecture before the Young Men's

Christian Association.]

Sir Spencer St. John, who has had more experience of Borneo jungles than

any other Englishman hitherto, says, "As I have now made many journeys

in Borneo, and seen much of forest walking, I can speak of it with

something like certainty. I have ever found, in recording progress, that

we can seldom allow more than a mile an hour under ordinary

circumstances. Sometimes, when extremely difficult or winding, we do not

make half a mile an hour. On certain occasions, when very hard pressed,

I have seen the men manage a mile and a half; but, with all our

exertions, I have never yet recorded more than ten miles' progress in a

day, through thick pathless forests, and that was after ten hours of

hard work. It requires great experience not to judge distance by the

fatigue we feel."[12]

[Footnote 12: St. John's Limbong Journal.]

It seems that the Sultan of Bruni has found out that the best way he can

govern his subjects and gain a revenue without trouble, is by ceding

parts of his territory to others. He has given over the whole of the

north of the island to an English company, on condition they pay twelve

thousand five hundred dollars for it annually. This country, embracing

an area of twenty thousand square miles, has fine harbours on its

coasts very suitable for a commercial settlement. The great mountain of

Kini Balu, nearly fourteen thousand feet high, with its range of lesser

mountains, stands on the north-west, and between it and the sea lies a

very fertile country, thus described some years ago by Sir Spencer St.

John, in his "Forests of the Far East": "We rode over towards Pandusan

in search of plants. From the summit of the first low hill we had a

beautiful view of the lovely plain of Tampusak, extending from the sea

far into the interior. Groves of cocoanuts were interspersed among the

rice-grounds which extended, intermixed with grassy fields, to the

sea-shore, bounded by a long line of Casuarina trees. Little hamlets lie

scattered in all directions, some distinctly visible, other nearly

hidden by the rich green foliage of fruit-trees. The prospect was

bounded on the west by low sandstone hills, whose red colour

occasionally showing through the lately burnt grass, afforded a varied

tint in the otherwise verdant landscape. In the south Kini Balu and its

attendant ranges were hidden by clouds."

Here is another description after a day's journey towards the

mountain:--

"While reclining under the shade of cocoanut palms, we had a beautiful

view of the country beyond. The river Tampusak flowed past us, bubbling

and breaking over its uneven bed, here shallower and therefore broader

than usual. To the left the country was open almost to the base of the

great mountain, to the right the land was more hilly, and Saduk Saduk

showed itself as a high peak, but dwarfed by the neighbourhood of Kini

Balu, whose rocky precipices looked a deep purple colour. The summit was

beautifully clear. The people in this part of the country are called

Idaan. They seem industrious and good agriculturists, even using a rough

plough, and cultivating the whole valley; a rich black soil produces

good crops of rice, and Killadis, an arum root used for food. They also

grow tobacco."

These people live too far from Bruni to be robbed by the Sultan and his

nobles. The Lanuns who inhabit the north coasts are very warlike, and

have always been pirates within the memory of man. They will not be easy

subjects to deal with, nor will the Sooloos on the east coast, but if

they can be reclaimed they may become an enterprising and fine people,

like the Sarebas pirates of Sarawak.

I hope the Company will have patience with the natives of this vast

territory. They will probably _not work for wages_. Chinese labour must

be depended upon, and as they are the most industrious people on the

face of the earth, and will do anything for money, they are always

available. But they require a firm government, and great care must be

taken that they do not infringe on the rights of the natives or there

will be quarrels and bloodshed. Tradition says that there was once a

Chinese kingdom at the north of Borneo, whose chiefs married into the

families of the principal Dyak chiefs; but it is the misfortune of the

Chinese character to be both boastful and cowardly, and when they had

irritated the Malays by their big words, they stood no chance of

prevailing against them in war. If their enemies did not run away after

the first attack and discharge of firearms, they were pretty sure to

show them an example by doing so themselves. I speak of the Chinese

fifty years ago; since they have had wars with Europeans they have

learnt better to stand to their arms. But they were gradually

exterminated by the Malays in these petty wars, and now all that remains

of them is a trace of Celestial physiognomy in their Dyak descendants,

and the knowledge of agriculture which they still retain.

The Bruni Government protects no one. It is wonderful that any Chinese

should still trade at a place where riches, however moderate, are sure

to excite the cupidity of the Malay nobles, and to be transferred, under

some pretext or another, to their own pockets. I rejoice to think that

English rule and justice is now to be offered to the inhabitants of the

North of Borneo. They expect an Englishman to be just and generous,

brave and firm, and they ground this expectation on their knowledge and

experience of Labuan and Sarawak, and the lessons which her Majesty's

ships of war have from time to time impressed on the corrupt and

faithless Bruni people. I trust this experience will never be reversed

by unworthy agents or settlers. The climate is too tropical for

colonization, no families of emigrants can be reared in such heat.

There are, no doubt, more decided seasons in the north of the island

than in the centre: it is hotter at one part of the year, and colder at

another, than in the lands bordering on the equator, which are the rain

nurseries of the world. A less fierce heat, but rain almost every day in

the year, was our lot at Sarawak; and though it was very healthy for

English men and women, it was not so good for crops: pepper and coffee

prefer a drier climate.

There will be one difficulty in the North Borneo settlement which will

require wise handling. I mean the slaves which are the possession of

every petty chief and every Malay family in the country. All pirates

bring home fresh slaves from every expedition. This can be put an end to

at once. But it will be as impolitic as impossible to put a sudden end

to the state of slavery in which so large a proportion of the

inhabitants will be found. In this respect I hope the North Borneo

Company will take a leaf out of Sarawak experience. Sir James Brooke, as

long ago as 1841, appealed to the English Government "to assist him to

put down piracy and the slave trade, which," he said, "are openly

carried on within a short distance of three European settlements, on a

scale and system revolting to humanity."

The exertions of Sir James Brooke and his nephews, aided occasionally by

her Majesty's ships, have indeed nearly put a stop to piracy, and

therefore to the kidnapping of slaves. Still the descendants of Dyak

slaves remain the property of their masters. Besides these, there are

slave debtors, whole families who have sold themselves to pay the

accumulations arising from taxes or impositions of the Malays which they

had no hope of repaying. Usury, which was the fountain of this evil, has

been forbidden at Sarawak, and many are the slave debtors whom the

Rajah's purse has freed.

"Slavery in the East," says Mr. Low,[13] "has always been of a more mild

and gentle character than that which in the West so disgusted the

intelligent natives of Europe. The slaves in Borneo are generally Dyaks

and their descendants, who have been captured by the rulers of the

country to swell the number of their personal attendants. Their duties

consist in helping their master, who always works with them, in his

house or boat building operations, accompanying him in his trading

expeditions, assisting in the navigation of his boats, etc. Their

masters generally allot them wives from amongst their female domestics,

and many of them acquire the affection and confidence of their

superiors. The price of a slave in Sarawak is from thirty to sixty

dollars, but as the trade is being as quickly repressed as possible,

without too much shocking the prejudices of the inhabitants, they have

of late become very scarce, and difficult to be bought. The price of a

girl varies from thirty to one hundred dollars, but at Sarawak they are

even more difficult than men to obtain." Thus wrote Mr. Low in the year

1848. By this time, 1882, slavery is almost nominal at Sarawak. I read,

in a _Sarawak Gazette_, six months ago, that Rajah Brooke had proposed

to his Supreme Council, which consists of four Malays and two

Englishmen, that slavery should be by law abolished in Sarawak

territory. He had proposed this, he said, six months previously, and the

Malay councillors present assented heartily as far as themselves and the

people of Kuching were concerned, but they thought it would be desirable

to give six months' notice to the outlying rivers and coasts, where the

people were not as advanced in civilization as those at the capital. Now

the six months had passed away, were they prepared to assent to the law?

They again expressed their cordial approval of the abolition of slavery,

but recommended three months more delay before it was enforced on the

out-stations. In the same _Gazette_ I noticed a letter from the Resident

at Bintulu, one of the farthest stations from Kuching, in which he

speaks of a Malay noble, warmly attached to the Sarawak Government, who

claimed all the inhabitants of a large district as his slaves. It was

merely a nominal claim, as they did no work for him, but he said they

belonged to him. Still, when he was assured by Mr. De Crespigny[14] that

such a claim would not be allowed by the Rajah, he submitted without

complaint. We may hope that such will be the universal acceptance of

the new law, but it is easy to see that forty years of past repression

and discountenance, and the strong influence of English opinion on the

subject of slavery, has effected what would doubtless have caused strong

opposition and estrangement if attempted hastily.

[Footnote 13: "Sarawak, its Inhabitants and Productions," by

Hugh Low.]

[Footnote 14: The Resident.]

I have just received a _Sarawak Gazette_, dated July 1st, which contains

an account of a further cession of territory from the Sultan of Bruni to

Rajah Brooke of Sarawak.

This is the passage:

"On Saturday, the 10th June, his Highness the Sultan signified

his willingness to cede to the Rajah of Sarawak, and his heirs,

all the country and rivers that lie between Points Kadurong and

Barram, including about three miles of coast on the east side of

Barram Point. Negotiations about the sum to be paid for this

hundred miles of coast continued for three days, when the deed

of cession was finally sealed and delivered. This deed of

cession, sealed with the respective seals of his Highness the

Sultan of Bruni and the Rajah of Sarawak, was read out in full

court on the 10th June. After which his Highness the Rajah

addressed a few words to the people, telling them that he

intended going to the river Barram towards the end of this moon,

for the purpose of choosing a site whereon to erect a fort, and

establishing a government there, to be a nucleus of trade. He

added that all those who wished to trade there might now do so

without fear."

This is an important addition to the country of Sarawak.

The time may indeed not be far distant when the country of Bruni, now

wedged in between Sarawak and the territory of British North Borneo, may

disappear altogether, and with it the misrule and oppression of that

corrupt Eastern court. Then English people will be responsible for the

whole of the north and north-west of the island of Borneo, and a new era

of peace and happiness will dawn upon its inhabitants.

THE END.

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words preserved. (cocoanut/s,

cocoa-nut/s; firearms, fire-arms; gunboat, gun-boats; schoolboys,

school-boys; schoolroom, school-room)

Pg. 32, duplicated word "the" removed. (the coasts and the seas)

Pg. 42, inserted period after "Mr". (that in 1867 Mr. Chambers)

Pg. 63, closing double quote inserted at end of what appears to be the

end of a quoted passage.(carried them away over their shoulders.")

Pg. 95, duplicated period removed at sentence end. (by jet ornaments and

bugle trimmings.)

Pg. 111, "examition" changed to "examination". (After the examination,)

Pg. 118, added period at sentence end. (agreeable and uniformly kind.)

Pg. 138, period changed to comma. (If you must go, some of us will go

with you)

Pg. 162, unusual construction retained. (a new cook-house and servants'

rooms near, to build;)

Pg. 243, closing double quote added at end of title of a book. (in his

"Forests of the Far East":)