We had hardly settled down to our ordinary life at Kuching, when the
news came of a tribe of Dyaks giving trouble in the Batang Lupar
district. Mr. Frank Maxwell was in charge of the place, and was living
at Fort Alice at Simanggang. It happened that the Rajah’s yacht was
then being docked in Singapore, so the Rajah decided to make his
journey to Simanggang in a war-boat. As I was rather anxious for the
Rajah’s safety on this occasion, I thought I would like to accompany
him and to stay at Simanggang while he went up country to quell the
rebellion. The Rajah did not like the idea of taking me, on account of
the long boat journey, but I insisted and, as usual, got my own way.
We started at midday, and had to spend the first night of the journey
anchored in our boat at the mouth of the Sarawak River. I never shall
forget the sand-flies that tormented us on this occasion; if possible,
these insects are more trying than mosquitoes. They attack one in
swarms, and are almost invisible, so that the meshes of a mosquito net
are useless in keeping these pests from one’s face and hands. The heat
was stifling, the temperature being from 90° to 95°. I wrapped myself
up--face and hands included--in the folds of a silk sarong, and in that
manner passed the night in the boat. A good deal of discomfort was
obviated by my wearing Malay dress. I need not say that my beautiful
garments, made by the chiefs’ wives, were discarded on this occasion.
Over a shift of white silk, I folded a cotton sarong, and wore a
long Malay cotton jacket over that. In countries hot as is Sarawak,
perpetual changes of garments are necessary, and I took with me dozens
of cotton sarongs, cotton jackets, and one silk scarf (not forgetting
Datu Isa’s injunctions that only the right eye should be visible). A
large conical straw hat effectually shaded my face from the sun, and
served as an umbrella.
After spending a somewhat disturbed night, in the morning I had to
think about getting a bath. Ima, my maid, was with me, and proved a
valuable assistant on my journey. Our boatmen, numbering some thirty,
were well acquainted with the banks of the Sarawak River, and knew
of several pools of fresh water not far from the place where we had
anchored. Our boat, being of great size, could not be pulled level
with the bank, so a very small canoe was brought alongside, into which
Ima and I established ourselves. Ima took the paddle and we wobbled to
the shore. I held desperately to the sides of the boat, and luckily
only a few strokes were required to bring us to land. Ima brought my
changes of clothes, and directed me to a pool in the jungle. It was a
slimy-looking place, screened in by trees, and here we had our morning
dip. I had brought with me a piece of soap, and tying a sarong under
my armpits stepped into the pool, and with the help of a dipper made
of palm leaves poured the water over my head repeatedly, and in this
manner managed to obtain a fairly enjoyable bath. I dressed myself in
a fresh sarong and jacket and made my way back to the boat, where the
Rajah, who had also found a pool to bathe in, was awaiting me.
We crossed the narrow strip of sea dividing us from the Batang Lupar
River, and slept the next night at Lingga Fort. Our paraphernalia when
travelling was very simple--the mattresses, which were stretched across
the boat for the Rajah’s and my comfort during the voyage, were carried
on shore and laid on the floor in the Fort, the mosquito curtains were
then hung up, and thus we were provided with a comfortable shelter for
the night.
The next day, after 45 miles of paddling, we arrived at Fort Alice,
taking Mr. Maxwell by surprise, for although he knew that the Rajah
would make his way to Simanggang immediately on receipt of his
dispatch, he had not expected to see me as well. There, however, as
elsewhere, I met with nothing but kindness. Mr. Maxwell cheerfully
gave me his rooms, and disappeared--goodness knows where--in some dim
portion of the Fort. He would have none of my apologies, and pretended
he thought it a pleasure to have the benefit of my company.
The next day great animation prevailed all over the place. The loyal
and friendly tribes, who were to accompany the Rajah in his expedition,
had been summoned to Simanggang by messengers to the various districts
bearing calling-out spears, together with knotted strings. Each morning
a knot is taken out by the chief of the tribe to whom the string has
been sent, marking off the number of days that are to elapse before the
Rajah requires his trusty subjects to follow him. It might be as well
to mention that, with the exception of the Rangers (the drilled force
from which the Rajah chooses his fort-men, sentries, and bodyguard),
the remainder of the force might be compared to the English Reserves,
for although the taxes of the people are very light--Dyaks paying one
dollar per annum for their whole family--this does not exempt them from
military service. Those Malays who pay an exemption tax of two dollars
per annum per family are exempted from military service. As a matter
of fact, whenever the services of Malays or Dyaks were required on
expeditions, the Rajah usually found himself at the head of a far too
numerous body of men, every man and boy being always eager for a fight,
and whenever the fight was a lawful one, engaged under the leadership
of the Rajah himself, hardly any of the Dyak male population could be
persuaded to remain in their homes.
A large number of chiefs assembled in the great hall of the Fort, where
were stacked the rifles and arms. When any serious matter required
to be discussed, these chiefs were bidden into Mr. Maxwell’s private
sitting-room, capable of holding fifty or sixty people squatting
comfortably on the floor. I have often been present at such meetings.
The Rajah and Mr. Maxwell sat on cane chairs, and the chiefs squatted
in rows on the floor giving vent to long-winded and extraordinarily
fluent speeches. I do not know the Dyak language, and it is impossible
to imagine the torrent of words that can pour out for hours together
from the lips of these warriors. Their language resembles Malay in
a disconcerting way; knowing Malay, I supposed I might understand
what they said, but I could only catch a word here and there. Sea
Dyaks speak in a jerky manner, and in councils of war sit perfectly
motionless, their eyes fixed on the ground, and talk interminably,
until the Rajah, sifting the important matter from the flow of
rhetoric, stops the speaker and orders another man present to give his
views on the subject. Dyaks are born orators, and think a great deal of
anyone who can hold forth for hours without pausing for a word. They
talk about such men in eulogistic terms: “He is good,” “He is brave,”
“His mouth is beautiful,” etc. I used to think such councils of war,
from the lengthy speeches made, must prove trying to the Rajah and
his officers, but living amongst primitive people seems to change the
temper, and make patience an ordinary accompaniment to life in those
regions.
I well remember the morning of this particular conclave. After the
council of war, the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, the chiefs, and I, went
into the hall where the arms were kept. Many obsolete weapons are
to be found in nearly all Sarawak Forts. Some of the blunderbusses
in Simanggang Fort were more than a hundred years old, having been
taken in punitive expeditions from the houses of head-hunters. A Dyak
present on this occasion took from a rack an old blunderbuss, and was
handling the weapon unobserved by the authorities present. Suddenly, a
sharp report rang out, and we saw smoke issuing from the funnel of the
blunderbuss and a Dyak in the crowd holding his head. The man smiled,
“Medicine gone from that gun,” he said, “and hit my head-handkerchief.”
He took the handkerchief off and held it up, when we could see it
had been pierced by the charge that had so unexpectedly gone off.
By a happy chance no person was wounded in the crowded room. I felt
disturbed and looked at the Rajah, who was pulling his moustache as
he does when anything out of the way takes place. “Strange!” he said,
looking at the man; but Mr. Maxwell was very angry. “Why do you touch
those things?” he said; “I always tell you not to meddle with the
arms.” The man gave a grunt, but showed no other signs of disturbance,
and the conversation went on as though nothing unusual had happened.
When the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, and I met at breakfast, the matter was
discussed at length, and it was thought extraordinary that the powder
should be sufficiently dry to ignite a charge after so many years. The
mystery was never solved, but the incident had served to bring out
sharply a curious trait in the native mind.
In a few days, arrangements were completed, and the force started from
Simanggang under the command of the Rajah. It was a picturesque sight,
the Dyaks in their war dress, their shields and war caps bristling
with horn-bills’ plumes, their flowing waistcloths of bright colours,
their swords and spears rattling as they carried them proudly to the
landing-place and stacked them in their boats. A regular flotilla
of large war canoes followed the Rajah’s boat, the paddles making a
thundering and rhythmic noise as they churned up the waters of the
river. It was very splendid, exhilarating, and picturesque. All the
able-bodied Malay men in the place followed the Rajah, so that the
Malay village of Simanggang, lying beyond the Chinese Bazaar, was
almost deserted of its male population. A prince of Brunei, called
Pangiran Matali, who once had been a subject of the Sultan of that
country but who had become a Sarawak subject, a chief called Abang
Aing, and two other Malay chiefs from neighbouring rivers, brothers,
called Abang Chek and Abang Tek (whose names and curious personalities
reminded me of Tweedledum and Tweedledee, for they seemed inseparable
friends), also accompanied the Rajah. Pangiran Matali and Abang
Aing always took their share in expeditions against head-hunters.
They invariably stood by the present Rajah through thick and thin,
and had on many occasions risked their lives for him. The Rajah has
often spoken to me of their loyalty, their courage, and also of their
extraordinary aptitude in helping him with advice in political matters
referring to the Sarawak Government. Daiang Kota, Abang Aing’s wife,
was a famous woman, a worthy helpmeet to her husband and a loyal
subject of the Rajah’s. I knew all these people well, and their memory
can never fade from my heart.
A wonderful being, called Tunku Ismael, was left to guard the Fort and
me. He was a Serip, a descendant of the Prophet; he was thin and taller
than most Malays, and had beautiful ascetic features, dark piercing
eyes, and a hooked nose. He was always dressed in white, and wore the
white skull cap that followers of the Prophet often wear, instead
of the more cumbrous turban. This charming old gentleman and I were
friends, for I always met him during my many visits to Simanggang. Mr.
Maxwell’s little dog, called Fury, a half-breed Yorkshire terrier,
a valiant little creature, old and toothless, brave as a lion and
helpless as a mouse, was also left in the Fort, and an old Malay,
called Sunok, bent double with age, appointed himself my bodyguard. He
slept at my door, and accompanied me in my daily walks round the Malay
village and through plantations of sugar-cane and fruit orchards that
lay around this settlement. Of course, Ima was with me, and she sent to
the village for an old lady of her acquaintance, whose name was Dalima
(meaning pomegranate), to come and help her wait on me. My days went by
as regularly as clockwork. I got up at 5.30 a.m., sat on the terrace
outside the Fort to watch the sunrise, and with Sunok went round and
round the paths and through sugar-cane plantations, etc. Then I came in
to bathe, have a cup of tea, and receive the Malay women of the place.
After this I had my solitary breakfast, served by one of our Malay
servants, who had been left behind to attend on me. From 12 to 2 I had
my siesta, then more visits from the natives until 5, when it was cool
enough to go out again with Sunok until 6.30--the hour of sunset more
or less all the year round. Then, after a hasty meal spent in fighting
with mosquitoes which fell in clouds on to my food, I made a hurried
exit inside my mosquito curtains to escape from these pests. Here, as
elsewhere, the rats were numerous. They almost nightly stole the wick
of my night-light from out the tumbler of cocoa-nut oil. They ran away
with the candles placed on chairs by my bedside, and were to be seen
in companies scurrying in and out of the guns placed in the port-holes
of my bedroom. Sometimes, as I was preparing for the night, the rats
would sit upon the guns, their heads on one side, and brush their
whiskers, as though they were taking stock of my toilet. Fury used to
lie at my feet, inside the mosquito curtains, and it required all my
persuasion to prevent him from sallying forth on the warpath against
the rats, some of which were almost as big as himself. I dreaded the
poor little animal meeting some horrible fate in an encounter with
these formidable visitors. The rats, attracted by the candles and
cocoa-nut oil, came in such numbers after a few days, that I asked
Ima and Dalima to put their mattresses in my room and keep me company
during the night. When first this measure was broached to Dalima, she
said, “I quite understand your being frightened, because the enemy
might attack the Fort and take us unawares during the night!” to which
remark I replied--what was really very true--that the rats frightened
me much more than could any Dyaks in the country.
Although my stay in Simanggang was rather lonely, I had certain
compensations which did not entirely come from human companionship. I
fancy every one must have heard of those beautiful birds--now being
exterminated all over the world to satisfy the stupid vanity of
ignorant and frivolous women--the egrets, or, as Sarawak people call
them, paddy birds. From a terrace overlooking the river I used to
watch, a little before sunrise and at sunset, for the daily migration
of these birds to and from their roosting-places to the fishing grounds
on the coast. Simanggang is divided by about sixty miles from the sea,
and every morning and evening I could be certain, almost to the minute,
of seeing this company of white wings in triangular battalions flying
across the river. The shafts of light breaking against their bodies
in tints of orange and rose made symphonies of colour as they formed
and re-formed with the movements of the birds. I fancied the beautiful
things understood the pleasure they gave me as they flapped their great
white wings over my head, across the river, across miles of forest,
finally disappearing like dots of glittering light in the morning and
evening mists.
Another wonderful sight on the shores of that Batang Lupar River was
the Bore, a fortnightly phenomenon. Now the Batang Lupar, as I have
said before, is four miles in breadth at its mouth. This vast volume
of water progresses undisturbed for fifteen miles from the mouth of
the river, when the channel narrows until at Simanggang there are only
five hundred yards from bank to bank. At each flood-tide, the water is
forced, as it were, into a funnel, through which it rushes, beating
against sandbanks, rocks, snags, and other impediments existing in this
shallow river, hurling itself against such obstructions with a noise
like thunder which can be heard for miles away. For some minutes the
noise of its advent was noticeable from the Fort, when in great walls
of white foam it rounded the last reach before it passed Simanggang.
Sometimes tiny boats, in which were seated Malay children, were borne
along the swiftly-moving backs of the waves, the little canoes looking
like flies on the surface of a whirlpool. The children seem to have
charmed lives on such occasions, for they can apparently play with
the Bore with impunity, although men and women have often been known
to find their death in the flood. As it pounded up the banks, tossed
itself against snags, and fell back in huge cataracts of water, the
spray, touched by the sunlight, looked like a rain of precious stones.
Then on it went in its furious course, shaking the boats moored to
the banks near the Bazaar, tossing them hither and thither, sometimes
tearing one or two away from their moorings, until growling, fighting,
and wrestling, it was lost to sight. For the first weeks of my stay
in Simanggang, the flocks of egrets and the Bore were the two great
attractions of the place.
As I was seated at breakfast one morning, a perspiring Dyak, frightened
and incoherent, found his way to my room and fell at my feet. Ima and
Dalima were with me, and Dalima, understanding the Dyak language,
translated the man’s words to me. “The Rajah is killed,” he said. “All
are dead, and I go home.” I looked at the man and saw his complexion
was of a pale greenish brown, like that of some people when terrified
or ill, and I imagined he must be of an hysterical nature. I sent for
Tunku Ismael, who was then having his breakfast at his home in the
village. The refugee sat on the floor, dressed in a bark waist-cloth
and wearing a dirty cotton handkerchief round his head. I told him
not to move, when he gave vent to sighs and grunts, and remained
speechless. When Tunku Ismael arrived, he shook hands with me, and took
his seat cross-legged on a sofa opposite me near the wall. He did not
speak, but sat with his eyes cast down and his hands palms downwards
on his knees. “Tell me, Tunku,” I said, “what is the meaning of this?
This man says the Rajah and his followers are killed. He is a liar,
is he not?” “Bohong benar” (truly a liar), the Tunku replied. “It is
impossible such a thing could have happened and he the only survivor.”
“You are a liar,” said Tunku Ismael, turning to the man, who had become
greener than ever. “You have left the force because you are afraid.”
Another grunt and contraction of the throat from the man on the floor.
“Dead, all dead,” he repeated, “the Rajah too, and the enemy will be
here to-morrow.” “All lies,” Tunku Ismael assured me, and once more
turning to the man, he said, “Get out of this, and never let me see you
again.” With that the man slowly departed, left the Fort, and to my
knowledge was never again seen or heard of. I asked Tunku Ismael why
the man should have told this story. The Tunku thought he must have
become terrified and run away from the force. “Let him go in peace,” he
added, “a coward like that is better out of the Rajah’s bala” (force).
No more attention was paid to this rumour than to the buzzing of a
mosquito, and we soon forgot all about it.
Shortly after this incident, Tunku Ismael came to me one morning with
a grave face and said, “Rajah Ranee, you are under my care, you go out
for long walks all round the settlement, and seem to have no idea of
danger, or that there might be bad spirits about. Sunok is exceedingly
old, and if anything should happen to you during your long walks,
what could I do to protect you?” I inquired what danger there was,
for I knew of none. “Oh yes,” he said, “there are many dangers. There
are people we call _Peniamuns_ who dress in black, cover their faces
with black cloth, and sit in trees waiting to pounce on passers-by.
Now, Rajah Ranee, should one of these _Peniamuns_ get hold of you, we
could never get you back again, so will you kindly walk up and down
the terrace of the Fort, and not go any farther, for the _Peniamuns_
are a real danger.” I listened politely to Tunku Ismael, but continued
to take my customary walks down to the Bazaar, across a plank of wood
thrown over a ditch, separating the Chinese Bazaar from the Malay
settlement, along the row of Malay houses, where the women and children
were always on the look-out for me, and then home by the more lonely
orchards and sugar plantations, so feared by Tunku Ismael.
One morning, I saw through the lattice-work of the Fort a flotilla of
some fifteen war-boats coming up the river. I hastily sent for Tunku
Ismael to inquire what these boats were. Tunku Ismael could not quite
make them out, because, he said, they looked like war-boats. We
watched the boats as they were paddled past the Fort, anchoring along
the banks near the Bazaar, and we stepped outside to see what was
happening. We saw a group of Kayans from the boats, carrying spears
and swords, rushing up to the Fort, headed by a small man recognized
by Tunku Ismael as being a chief named Tama Paran, who did not bear a
very good character in the Rejang district. This chief came up to me,
brandishing his spear, and carrying a basket which, he said, the tribe
had made for me. I asked him where they had come from, and tried to
look very stern. “We hear the Rajah has gone on the war-path, and we
have come to accompany him,” said Tama Paran. “But,” I replied: “the
Rajah has been gone on the war-path this last month, and you do not
know exactly where he has gone. You cannot accompany him now to the
scene of action.” “Yes,” he said; “we are going on to-morrow, because
we wish to fight for the Rajah.” I realized that this was a serious
state of things. If I allowed this force to go after the Rajah, with
no responsible European or Malay leader to keep it in check, the
Kayans might attack some unprotected village up the higher reaches of
the Batang Lupar River, take some heads, and pretend it was done on
the Rajah’s behalf. I said to the chief, “You must not move from here
until the Rajah comes back, unless you return to your village.” The
man did not look pleased. He could not wait in Simanggang, he said,
neither could he return home, but at any rate he consented to remain
at Simanggang that evening. Tunku Ismael and I, with Sunok present,
then held a council of war. We agreed it would never do to allow these
Kayans to follow the Rajah, as they would probably endanger the safety
of the country up river and frighten its inhabitants. We could see the
fleet from the Fort, anchored near the Bazaar, and the Tunku estimated
that the force numbered some six hundred men. He owned it would be
somewhat difficult to keep them in order if the Rajah’s return was long
delayed, but, at the same time, we intended to do our best.
Tunku Ismael warned me not to walk out that evening along the Bazaar,
because he feared that these Kayans, not being accustomed to white
Ranees, might be disagreeable. I also felt a little apprehensive as to
what my reception would be, but after thinking the matter well over,
I came to the conclusion that if I did not take my usual walk, the
women and children of the settlement would feel nervous, for, after
all, it was unlikely the Kayans would do me any harm, for fear of
the consequences when the Rajah returned. I therefore sallied forth
that evening feeling a bit nervous, accompanied by the trembling
octogenarian, Sunok, and the small dog Fury. I went along the Bazaar,
and found the Chinamen standing outside their shops, who told me, in
Malay, as I passed, that they wished very much those men would go away.
The Kayans were cooking their rice, and were not at all friendly. They
made no attempt to shake hands with me, and say “How do you do,” as
they would have done under ordinary circumstances. They looked rather
impertinently, I thought, at my humble procession. When I reached the
end of the Bazaar and was about to cross the narrow plank of wood
leading to the Malay settlement, I saw a big burly Kayan standing the
other side of the plank with his legs straddled, almost daring me to
pass. His arms and legs were tattooed, his ears were ornamented with
wild boar’s tusks, his hair hung over his neck, cut square in the
front, and he wore a little straw crown and a waist-cloth of bark. I
got within two feet of the man, who gave a not very pleasant smile
as Fury barked loudly. There he stood motionless. I turned to Sunok.
“Remove that man,” I said, but Sunok weakly replied: “He is too strong,
I can’t!” The situation was ludicrous. Had I turned back, it would
have shown fear on my part, so I asked the man, in Malay, to get out
of my way, but he remained as though he had not heard me. There was
nothing left for me but to press forward. I walked slowly across the
plank until my chin (I was taller than the Kayan) nearly touched his
forehead. Still he did not move, so I stood as immovable as he, and
waited. After a few seconds the man skulked off, and I went on my way.
The Malay women had witnessed this incident from their gardens, and
they rushed up to me saying: “Do take care, Rajah Ranee, and do not go
out by yourself like this. The Kayans are a terrible people, and might
cut off all our heads before we know where we are.” I laughed lightly,
although feeling somewhat upset, and finished my evening walk.
The next day, two or three Kayan chiefs came and asked for a sum of
money which they knew was kept at the Fort, in order, as they said,
that they might buy provisions and follow the Rajah. I again told them
they were not to follow the Rajah and that I should not give them any
money. Every day the chiefs came on the same errand, requesting money
and permission to move. Personally, I was surprised they did not move,
because nothing I could do would have prevented them. Tunku Ismael said
they feared me, and he was sure the course we were taking was the only
one to prevent disturbances in the country.
These Kayans were a great nuisance in Simanggang. They went about
flourishing their spears and swords, frightening the shop-keepers and
agriculturists into providing them with food. Indeed, the situation was
daily becoming more alarming, and the interviews between the intruders
and myself became more and more stormy, until one afternoon, when they
had been in the neighbourhood for ten or twelve days, they became
almost unmanageable. “We must have money,” they said, “and we must
follow the Rajah, and we do not care what anyone says.” Tunku Ismael
and I hardly knew what to do, when a bright thought struck me. I knew
these people liked long speeches, discussions, councils of war, etc.,
and attached great importance to dreams; so putting on a very grave
expression, I said, “Tama Paran and you all who are his followers,
listen to my words. You are not to go up river, and you are not to have
money, because the Rajah would not wish it. But as I see there is a
strong will among you to do what you should not do, at any rate, stay
here over to-morrow; for to-morrow is a particular date I have fixed
within myself, having last night had a dream. To-morrow I will tell you
about that dream, and I will make you understand my reasons for wishing
you to do as I tell you.” “And if we go to-day, what will you do?”
inquired Tama Paran. I pointed to the guns--with, I hope, a magnificent
gesture. “If you disobey my orders, the medicine from those guns will
swamp every boat of yours in the river.” With those words, I got up and
dismissed them, after they had promised to come and hear my speech the
next day. Tunku Ismael gently remarked: “But we do not know how to fire
the guns.” “No,” I said; “that does not matter; they think we know, and
after all that is the chief thing!”
That evening I went for my walk unmolested, and retired to bed earlier
than usual. I felt anxious. I should have been so disgusted had the
Kayans gone away, in spite of my orders to the contrary. I should have
lost prestige with the women and even the children of Simanggang, so
that I think had I seen any signs of their boats leaving the place, I
should somehow have found means to fire the guns into their midst. All
that night I could not sleep. I was wondering what on earth I could say
to the intruders to make them realize the force of my arguments.
The question, however, settled itself. The very next morning I heard
the yells of victorious Dyaks in the distance, then their paddles, and
I knew all would be safe because the Rajah was returning. The Rajah
soon sent the Kayans back to their homes, and, when all was said and
done, I had quite enjoyed the novel experience.