Sâhit in the throat. The wretched man staggered to his feet, fell and
tried to struggle up again when Mat Aris shouted to the Sakai to strike
him or he would kill him also. Pah Patin obeyed, and hit the wounded man
on the head with a stick. “Then,” said Pah Patin when at last he told the
story, “there was a little life in him, but he never moved after I struck
him.”
The woman rushed out of the hut, but Mat Aris followed her and brought
her back to the mat by the body of the murdered man, and there they slept
together, the Sakai returning to his place on the other side of the fire.
The night was young then.
Before daylight Pah Patin left Mat Aris and Salâmah still sleeping by the
corpse, and by order of Mat Aris fetched two more Sakais, and these three
buried Sâhit by the bank of the river in the presence of Mat Aris and the
woman.
Years afterwards, when the details were known, an attempt was made to
find the body, but it failed; decomposition in this climate is rapid,
even bones disappear, and the river had many times flooded its banks,
trees had gone and others grown, the landmarks were no longer the same,
and possibly the exact site of the grave was missed.
IX
LÂTAH
Ofttimes he falleth into the fire and oft into the water
MATTHEW xvii. 14
In the spring of 1892 I was privileged, by the kindness of a friend
and the courtesy of Dr. Luys, to visit the Hospital _de la Charité_ in
Paris, where I witnessed some very remarkable and interesting experiments
in suggestion. There were patients undergoing successful treatment for
nervous disorders where the disease was in process of gradual relief
by passing from the afflicted person to a medium without injury to
the latter; there was the strange power of hypnotising, influencing
and awakening certain _sujets_ whose nervous organisations seem to
be specially susceptible, and there was the astonishing influence of
the magnet over these same _sujets_ when already hypnotised. There is
something more than usually uncanny in the sight of a person filled
with an inexplicable and unnatural delight in the contemplation of the
positive end of a magnet, and when the negative end is suddenly turned
towards him, to see him instantly fall down unconscious as though struck
by lightning.
The _sujets_ (there were two of them, a man and a woman) described the
appearance of the positive end of the magnet as producing a beautiful
blue flame about a foot high, so exquisite in colour and beauty that it
transported them with delight. As to the negative end, they reluctantly
explained, in hesitating words and with every appearance of dread, that
there also was a flame, but a red one of fearful and sinister import.
I was deeply interested in these “manifestations,” both for their own
strangeness and because I had in the Malay Peninsula seen equally
extraordinary proceedings of a somewhat similar kind.
Amongst Malays there is a well-known disease (I use the word for want of
a better) called _lâtah_; it is far more common at certain places than
at others, and amongst certain divisions of the great Malay family. Thus
while there is generally one or more _ôrang lâtah_ to be found in every
_kampong_ in Krian, where the Malays are mostly from Kĕdah, in other
parts of Perak it is rare to ever meet a _lâtah_ person. Again, speaking
generally, the disease seems to be more common amongst the people of
Amboina, in Netherlands India, than those of Java, Sumatra or the Malay
Peninsula. In both cases heredity is probably accountable for the result,
whatever may have been the original cause to produce the affliction in
certain places more than in others. I can only speak of my own experience
and what I have personally seen, for no English authority appears to
have studied the matter or attempted to either observe _lâtah_ people,
diagnose the disease (if it is one), search for its cause or attempt to
cure it. I can vouch for facts but nothing more.
In 1874 I was sent in H.M.S. _Hart_ to reside with the Sultan of
Selangor. Though His Highness’s personal record was one of which he might
be proud, for he was said to have killed ninety-nine men (_sa’ râtus
kûrang sâtu_) with his own hand, his State was not altogether a happy
one, for it had been the fighting-ground of several ambitious young Rajas
for some years. An unusually hideous piracy, personally conducted by one
of the Sultan’s own sons, and committed on a Malacca trading vessel, had
necessitated a visit from the China fleet, and when the perpetrators,
or those who after due inquiry appeared to be the perpetrators, had
been executed (the Sultan lending his own _kris_ for the ceremony), I
was sent to see that these “boyish amusements,” as His Highness called
them, were not repeated. The place where the Sultan then lived was
hardly a desirable residence, even from a Malay point of view, and it
has for years now been almost deserted. _Bandar Tĕrmâsa_, as it was
grandiloquently styled, was a collection of huts on a mud flat enclosed
between the Langat and Jugra rivers. It was only seven miles from the
sea, and at high tide most of the place was under water.
With me there went twenty-five Malay police from Malacca, and we lived
all together in an old stockade on the bank of the Langat river. Whether
it was the mosquitoes, which for numbers and venom could not be matched,
or whether it was the evil reputation of the place for deeds of violence
is needless to inquire, but the police were seized with panic and had
to be replaced by another batch from Singapore, selected not so much
on account of their virtues as their so-called vices. The exchange was
satisfactory, for whatever sins they committed they showed no signs of
panic.
Later on I was encouraged by the statement that Bandar Tĕrmâsa, for all
its unpromising appearance, was a place for _men_, where those who had
a difference settled it promptly with the _kris_, and cowards who came
there either found their courage or departed. A story that amused the
gossips was that, as a badly wounded man was carried from the duelling
field past the palisade which enclosed the Sultan’s house, His Highness
had asked, through the bars, what was the matter, and, being told, had
laconically remarked, “If he is wounded, doctor him; if he is dead, bury
him.”
During my residence in the place a lady, for jealousy, stabbed a man of
considerable note thirteen times with his own dagger, and sent the next
morning to know whether I would like to purchase it, as she did not much
fancy the weapon. The man was not killed, and made no complaint. Another
lady, for a similar reason, visited our stockade one night, pushed the
sentry on one side, and, finding the man she wanted, attempted to stab
him with a long _kris_ she had brought for that purpose.
That was then the state of society in Bandar Tĕrmâsa.
I have said we lived all together in a stockade. It was a very rude
structure with log walls about six feet thick and eight feet high, a mud
floor, a thatch roof, and no doors. Outside it was a high watch-tower of
the same materials, but the ladder to it had fallen down. Of roads there
were none, but a mud path ran through the stockade from river bank to
village, distant some 300 yards. My own accommodation was a cot borrowed
from the _Hart_ and slung between two posts, while the men slept on the
walls of the stockade.
The place had drawbacks other than mosquitoes, for the public path ran
through it, the tide at high water completely covered the floor, and the
log walls were full of snakes. The state of the surroundings will best be
understood when I say that during the many months I lived there I did not
wear boots outside the stockade, because there was nothing to walk upon
but deep mud, and that the only water fit to use was contained in a well
or pond a quarter of a mile off, to which I walked every day to bathe.
With the second batch of police had come an European inspector, and he
and I were the only white men in the country.
Amongst the twenty-five police were two men of the name of Kâsim; they
were both natives of Amboina, but very different in disposition, and they
were known among their comrades as Kâsim _Bĕsar_ and Kâsim _Kĕchil_—that
is Kâsim Major and Kâsim Minor.
Kâsim Major was a quiet, reserved, silent man of about twenty-five, and
I afterwards realised that he had a somewhat violent temper when roused.
Kâsim Minor, on the contrary, was a smiling, talkative, happy, and
pleasant-looking young fellow of about twenty. They were not related to
each other in any way.
I used often to be away on the coast and up river, and on my return from
one of these expeditions I noticed the men teasing Kâsim Minor, and saw
at once that he was _lâtah_. I questioned the inspector, and he told me
that during my absence he had one day been away on duty for some hours,
and when he returned, about 4 P.M., he saw Kâsim Minor up a coco-nut tree
just outside the stockade. On asking him what he was doing there, he
replied he could not come down because there was a snake at the bottom of
the tree. In reality there was a bit of rattan tied round the tree, and,
this being removed, Kâsim came down.
Now, it is no easy matter to climb a coco-nut tree; it requires a special
training to do it at all, and Kâsim did not possess it. But the inspector
ascertained that the other police had found out by accident that their
comrade was _lâtah_, that they had ordered him to climb the tree, which
he had at once done, and that then, out of sheer devilry, some one had
taken a bit of rattan, said, “Do you see this snake? I will tie it round
the tree, and then you can’t come down,” and so left him from 10 A.M.
till the afternoon, when the inspector returned and released him.
The time of Kâsim’s penance was probably greatly exaggerated, but that
is how the story was told to me, and of all that follows I was an
eye-witness.
I made Kâsim Minor my orderly, and as he was constantly with me I had
better opportunities of studying his peculiarities. About this time also
I learnt that Kâsim Major was also _lâtah_.
Speaking generally, it was only necessary for any one to attract the
attention of either of these men by the simplest means, holding up a
finger, calling them by name in a rather pointed way, touching them
or even, when close by, to look them hard in the face, and instantly
they appeared to lose all control of themselves and would do, not only
whatever they were told to do, but whatever was suggested by a sign.
I have seen many _lâtah_ people, male and female, but never any quite
like these two, none so susceptible to outside influence, so ready to
blindly obey a word or a sign.
The kindly disposition of Kâsim Minor made him quite harmless, but the
other Kâsim was rather a dangerous subject to play tricks with, as I will
presently explain.
The _lâtah_ man or woman usually met with, if suddenly startled, by a
touch, a noise, or the sight of something unexpected, will not only show
all the signs of a very nervous person but almost invariably will fire
off a volley of expressions more or less obscene, having no reference
at all to the circumstance which has suddenly aroused attention. As a
rule it is necessary to _startle_ these people before they will say
or do anything to show that they are differently constituted to their
neighbours, and when they have betrayed themselves either by word or
deed their instinct is to get away as quickly as possible. Children
and even grown-up people cannot always resist the pleasure of “bating”
a _lâtah_ person; for one reason because it is so exceedingly easy,
for another because they are inclined on the spur of the moment to do
ludicrous things or say something they would under ordinary circumstances
be ashamed of. _Almost_ invariably _lâtah_ people of this class (and it
is by far the most common one) are very good humoured and never seem to
think of resenting the liberty taken with their infirmity. If by word or
deed they commit themselves (and that is not uncommon) they either run
away, or appear to be unconscious of having said or done anything unusual
(this however is rare), or they simply say, “I am _lâtah_,” as a full
explanation and excuse.
If any one present accidentally drops something on the floor, if a lizard
falls from the roof on to or near a _lâtah_ person, if the wind blows the
shutter of a window to with a bang, a _lâtah_ person of the class I speak
of will probably find it necessary to at least say something not usually
heard in polite society. Of this class by far the majority are women.
I have never seen a _lâtah_ boy or girl, but I know they are to be found,
though the disease certainly becomes more evident as the subject grows
older.
It must be understood that except when under influence, when actually
showing the evidences of this strange peculiarity, _lâtah_ people are
undistinguishable from others. It is sufficient proof of this that
amongst my twenty-five police there should have been two men more
completely _lâtah_ than any I have seen before or since.
I took occasion to carefully observe the two Kâsims. It was impossible to
always prevent their companions teasing them, especially in a place where
there was absolutely no form of amusement and all the conditions of life
were as unpleasant as they well could be, but no harm was ever done, and
I am satisfied that while influence was in any way exercised over the
_lâtah_ man he was not conscious of his own actions, and directly it was
removed he became his reasoning other self, and the utmost that remained
on his mind, or came to him with the recovery of his own will, was that
he might have done something foolish.
If the attention of either of these men was arrested, as I have said by
word, sign, or a meaning glance, from that moment until the influence was
removed, the _lâtah_ man would do whatever he was told or signed to do
without hesitation, whether the act signified were difficult, dangerous,
or painful. When once under this influence any one present could give the
order and the _lâtah_ man would immediately obey it; not only that, but
even at some distance (as in the coco-nut tree incident), he appeared to
be equally subject to the will imposed on his actions.
A curious thing about both these men was that, having attracted the
attention of either, if you said, “Kâsim, go and hit that man,” he would
invariably repeat what was said, word for word, including his own name,
while he carried out the order. When the person hit turned on him, Kâsim
would say, “It was not I who hit you, but that man who ordered me.”
I have seen Kâsim the younger, when the man influencing him put his own
finger in his mouth and pretended to bite it, imitate the action but
really bite his finger and bite it hard. Similarly I have seen him, in
imitation and without a word being said, take a lighted brand from the
fire, and he would have put it in his mouth if the experiment had been
carried so far. Some one told him one day to jump into the river, and he
did not get out again till he had swum nearly two hundred yards, for the
stream was both broad and deep, with a terrible current, and infested
by crocodiles. If at any moment you called out “_Tôlong_ Kâsim” (“help!
Kâsim”), the instant he heard it he would jump up and crying “_Tôlong_
Kâsim,” dash straight to you over all obstacles. If then you had put a
weapon in his hand and told him to slay any one within reach I have not
the slightest doubt he would have done it without hesitation.
I have said there was a ladderless watch-tower outside the stockade. The
police wanted firewood, they were not allowed to burn the logs forming
our walls, but at the top of the watch-tower there were also log walls
that they were told they could burn. They were lazy, however, and did
not see how they were going to get up, so they ordered Kâsim the younger
to climb up, which he did as he had climbed the coco-nut tree, and, when
once there, they told him to throw down logs until they thought they had
enough. I watched that operation, and the feverish haste with which the
man swarmed up one of the supports, gained the platform of the tower,
and threw down huge logs as though his life depended on it, was rather
remarkable. I gave orders that the man’s infirmity was not to be used
for this purpose again, but in my absence I know that when more firewood
was wanted Kâsim went up to the watch-tower for it until that supply was
exhausted.
The path from the stockade to the village was in sight of the stockade
throughout its length, and one day I noticed Kâsim Minor, as he walked
leisurely down this mud embankment, stop every now and then and behave
in a peculiar fashion as though he were having conversation with the
frogs, snakes and other denizens of the ditches that bordered the path.
When he had gone half way he stopped and peeped up into the branches of
a small tree on the road side, then he seemed to be striking blows at an
invisible enemy, ran to the ditch and began throwing lump after lump of
hard mud into the tree. I had not seen this phase of his peculiarities
before and could not make it out, but suddenly his arms went about his
head like the sails of a windmill, and I realised that his enemies were
bees or hornets, and that he was getting a good deal the worst of an
unequal fight. I sent some of the men to fetch him back and found he had
been rather badly stung, and when I asked him why he attacked the nest he
said his attention was caught by things flying out of the tree and he was
impelled to throw at them.
I understood that the hornets flying out of the nest appeared to be
thrown at him, and he could not help imitating what he saw in the best
way he could, and so he took what was nearest his hand and sent it flying
back.
Kâsim the elder was quite as susceptible as his namesake, but his
comrades were a little shy of provoking him as they soon realised that
his temper made the amusement dangerous. One day they must have been
teasing him, and, when he was allowed to recover his own will, I
suppose their laughter made it evident to him that he had made himself
ridiculous, for he suddenly ran to the arm-rack, and seizing a sword
bayonet made for his tormentors with such evident intention to use it
that they precipitately fled, and in a few seconds were making very good
time across the swamp with Kâsim and the drawn sword far too close to be
pleasant. I had some difficulty in persuading him to abandon his purpose,
but after that and a lecture his comrades did not greatly bother him.
I remember, however, that on another occasion we had secured and erected
a long thin spar to serve as a flagstaff, but the halyard jammed and it
seemed necessary to lower the spar when some one called out to Kâsim the
elder to climb up it. Before I could interfere, he had gone up two-thirds
of the height, and he only came down reluctantly. Had he gone a few feet
higher the pole would inevitably have snapped and he would have had a
severe fall.
About this time a friend came and shared my loneliness for a fortnight.
He had had experience of _lâtah_ people before, but the two Kâsims were
rather a revelation, and he was perhaps inclined to doubt what I told him
they could be made to do. One morning we were bathing as usual at the
pond, and Kâsim the younger was in attendance carrying the towels, &c.
The bath was over, and we were all three standing on the bank, when my
friend said to Kâsim:
“_Mâri, kîta tĕrjun_” (come, let us jump in), at the same time feigning
to jump. Kâsim instantly jumped into the pond, disappeared, came up
spluttering, and having scrambled out, said: “_Itu tîdak baik, Tûan_”
(that is not good of you, sir).
My friend said, “Why, I did nothing, I only said let us jump in and
went like this,” repeating his previous action, when Kâsim immediately
repeated his plunge, and we dragged him from the water looking like a
retriever.
When I was first ordered to Selangor, I thought it possible that some
sort of furniture might be useful, and I took up a few chairs and other
things, including a large roll of what is known as Calcutta matting. The
things were useless in a place where the mud floor was often under water
twice during twenty-four hours, and they lay piled in a corner of the
stockade, and whenever a Malay of distinction came to see me for whom it
was necessary to find a chair, it was advisable to see that the seat was
not already occupied by a snake. The roll of matting, about four feet
high and two-and-a-half feet in diameter naturally remained unopened.
Every night, owing to the myriads of mosquitoes, a large bonfire was lit
in the middle of the stockade, for only in the smoke of that fire was it
possible to eat one’s dinner. One night some Malays from the village had
come in, and the police were trying to amuse them and forget their own
miseries by dancing and singing round the fire. Under such circumstances
Malays have a happy knack of making the best of things, they laugh
easily and often, and as I have said elsewhere, they have a strong sense
of humour if not always of a very refined description. Some one had
introduced one of the Kâsims, in his character of an _ôrang lâtah_, for
the benefit of the strangers, and one of the men was inspired to fetch
the roll of matting, and solemnly presenting it to Kâsim the younger,
said, “Kâsim, here is your wife.”
Even now I do not forget the smile of beatitude and satisfaction with
which Kâsim Minor regarded that undesirable and figureless bundle.
Breathing the words in a low voice, almost sighing to himself, “Kâsim,
here is your wife,” he embraced the matting with great fervour,
constantly repeating “My wife! my wife!” Some one said, “Kiss her!”
and he kissed her—repeatedly kissed her. Then by another inspiration
(I do not say from whence), some one brought up the other Kâsim, and
introducing him to the other side of the roll of matting, said, also very
quietly, “Kâsim, this is _your_ wife!” and Kâsim the elder accepted the
providential appearance of his greatly-desired spouse, and embraced her
with not less fervour than his namesake and rival.
It was evident that neither intended to give up the lady to the other,
and as each tried to monopolise her charms a struggle began between them
to obtain complete possession, during which the audience, almost frantic
with delight, urged the actors in this drama to manifest their affection
to the lady of their choice. In the midst of this clamour the Kâsims and
their joint spouse fell down, and as they nearly rolled into the fire and
seemed disinclined even then to abandon the lady, she was taken away and
put back in her corner with the chairs and snakes.
It is a detail, which I only add because some readers hunger for detail,
that neither of the Kâsims possessed a wife.
I do not pretend to offer any explanation of the cause of this state
of mind which Malays call _lâtah_. I imagine it is a nervous disease
affecting the brain but not the body.
I have never met a medical man who has interested himself in the matter,
and I cannot say whether the disease, if it be one, is curable or not—I
should doubt it.
I have somewhere read that individuals similarly affected are found
amongst the Canadian lumber-men.
X
THE ETERNAL FEMININE
Le bonheur de saigner sur le cœur d’un ami
PAUL VERLAINE
There was a woman of Kelantan named Siti Maämih; she was born of the
people, neither good nor beautiful, nor attractive, nor even young, as
youth goes in the East, but she had chosen to ally herself to a white man
whom I will call Grant.
I know nothing of these two, but that he had work far away in a Malay
jungle and she shared his loneliness, herself a stranger in that country.
It was apparently an arrangement formed for mutual advantage, like many
others of a more permanent character. If the connection began without
any semblance of romance, it more than satisfied the expectations of
the contracting parties, and when the moment of trial came the highest
affection and the most sacred bond could hardly have suggested a greater
sacrifice than this woman offered.