cry of the banshee. Up till that moment we had none of us had any
personal acquaintance with the banshee, but this was it sure enough.
A long-drawn-out distressing wail, as of a lost child, repeated at
uncertain intervals, now here now there, first on one side of the house
and then on the other, at one moment unpleasantly close, and the next a
piteous little half-choked sob in the distance. Without any doubt this
was the banshee, and as the moonlight was now streaming fitfully through
the clouds across the white pillars of the verandah, we thought we might
have the good fortune to see this harbinger of doom.
We walked out on to the moonlit terrace, and the beauty of the night was
so intense that one felt it as through a new sense.
The hill on which the house stood was cut into a series of terraces, and
the highest of these, a wide lawn of velvety grass, was surrounded by
tall graceful coco-nut trees, not close together but each standing alone
with its spiky leaves clearly delineated against the sky.
Overhead a moon shedding that wonderful soft light only seen in the
East, where atmosphere, foliage, and all the surroundings seem specially
designed to make the ascendancy of the Queen of Night superbly beautiful.
The exquisite feathery fronds of the bamboo, bending in graceful curves,
with each leaf clearly defined against a background of grey-blue sky; a
dozen varieties of palms, from the lofty coco-nut and the stately jagary
to the thick clumps of _bertam_, like gigantic ferns; picturesque groups
of flowering trees and shrubs on terrace after terrace, carry the eye
down to the shimmering gleam of the wide river on which the moonlight
falls lovingly, throwing into greater contrast the deep shadows that
lie under the overhanging foliage of the banks. Four miles of glistening
water, then the river narrows and fades into the mist-enshrouded forest.
Close beneath us twinkle the lights of the village, the houses spreading
from river-brink to the high ground which rises abruptly on our left.
In front and on either side, range after range of jungle-covered hills,
from fifteen hundred to several thousands of feet in height. There is a
luminous haze over all distant objects, giving the idea of indefinite
height and distance, making all things vague and unsubstantial, yet
infinitely satisfying that other sense which only awakes under the
influence of perfect beauty.
The extraordinary charm of this scene intoxicated us as with draughts of
nectar, and in that enravishment, kings, omens, and ghostly warnings were
forgotten.
But hark! Yes, there is the cry, wailing in the distance—now much nearer,
and now—before our very eyes the banshee itself!
Sailing slowly through the air between the feathery leaves of the
palms, like a lost soul wending its uncertain, purposeless way through
the balmy Eastern night, was a creature with heavy dark wings, a head
disproportionately large, and horns, veritable horns! As it slowly passed
and moaned its childlike plaint, no reasonable being could doubt that he
had heard and seen the messenger of death.
That weird apparition, sobbing its fateful cry, broke the spell under
which we had stood enthralled, and though we felt that the King’s fate
was sealed, that did not prevent us from returning to dinner.
Just after midnight a scared Malay came to say that it was feared the
Sultan was dying. I hurried down the hill, took boat across the river,
and, stumbling along the bank, reached the house where the sick man lay.
I entered upon a peculiar scene. I said the building was in three parts,
the first a sort of ante-room, beyond which strangers of inferior
rank did not in ordinary circumstances pass; then came the principal
structure, which consisted of one large room, wooden pillars dividing off
verandahs on either side, while the third house was exclusively devoted
to women, and attached to it was an excrescence forming the kitchen.
The unsteady light of several lamps and many candles showed that both
the centre and ante-rooms were full of people sitting on the mats which
covered the floor. There must have been between one and two hundred
present, and I noticed that there were about equal numbers of men and
women, and all the principal Malays of the neighbourhood were there. The
curtains which usually divided the centre room were up, but on one side
there was evidently a bed, screened by patchwork hangings, and there I
concluded His Highness lay.
It was plain from the preparations that, despairing of effecting a cure
by native medicines administered by native doctors, it was intended
to try a little witchcraft and have a performance of what is called
_Bĕr-hantu_. That seemed to me to fall in very well with the _tunggul
mêrah_ and the banshee, and I was therefore quite prepared for the
raising of the Devil or any other uncanny manifestation.
I may as well say here that _hantu_ is a ghost, devil or spirit, and
_bĕr-hantu_ means _to devil_, to raise the devil, or, at any rate, to
engage in something as nearly akin to a witches’ revel on the Brocken as
Malay traditions and surroundings will permit. It is a treatment commonly
resorted to in Perak when other remedies fail. When, however, the friends
of the patient decide that the time has arrived for _bĕr-hantu_, nothing
will satisfy them but to have it, and if the sick man or woman dies
during the performance, there is still the satisfaction of knowing that
everything was done for them which love and skill could devise, and the
issue was with God. _La-illahâ il-Allah, Muhammad Rasul-Allah_—“There is
but one God, and Muhammad is His Prophet.”
This pious confession of faith has, however, nothing to do with the
_bĕr-hantu_; it comes in afterwards when the seal of death is so
evidently on the lips of the sufferer that his friends cease to call on
the Devil, and commend the soul of the dying man to God. The _bĕr-hantu_
is, of course, a survival of præ-Islam darkness, and the priests
abominate it, or say they do; but they have to be a little careful,
because the highest society affects the practice of the Black Art.
To return to the King’s house. In the middle of the floor was spread
a _puâdal_, a small narrow mat, at one end of which was seated a
middle-aged woman dressed like a man in a short-sleeved jacket, trousers,
a _sârong_, and a scarf fastened tightly round her waist. At the other
end of the mat was a large newly-lighted candle in a candlestick. Between
the woman and the taper were two or three small vessels containing rice
coloured with turmeric, parched _padi_, and perfumed water. An attendant
sat near at hand.
The woman in male attire was the _Pâwang_, the Raiser of Spirits, the
Witch, not of Endor, but of as great repute in her own country and among
her own people. In ordinary life she was an amusing lady named Raja
Ngah, a scion of the reigning house on the female side and a member of
a family skilled in all matters pertaining to occultism. In a corner of
the room were five or six girls holding native drums, instruments with a
skin stretched over one side only, and this is beaten usually with the
fingers. The leader of this orchestra was the daughter of Raja Ngah.
Shortly after I sat down, the proceedings began by the _Pâwang_ covering
her head and face with a silken cloth, while the orchestra began to
sing a weird melody in an unknown tongue. I was told it was the spirit
language; the air was one specially pleasing to a particular _Jin_, or
Spirit, and the invocation, after reciting his praises, besought him to
come from the mountains or the sea, from underground or overhead, and
relieve the torments of the King.
As the song continued, accompanied by the rhythmical beating of the
drums, the _Pâwang_ sat with shrouded head in front of the lighted taper,
holding in her right hand against her left breast a small sheaf of the
grass called _daun sambau_ tied tightly together and cut square at top
and bottom.
This _châdak_ she shook, together with her whole body, by a stiffening of
the muscles, while all eyes were fixed upon the taper.
At first the flame was steady, but by and by, as the singers screamed
more loudly to attract the attention of the laggard Spirit, the wick
began to quiver and flare up, and it was manifest to the initiated that
the _Jin_ was introducing himself into the candle. By some means the
_Pâwang_, who was now supposed to be “possessed” and no longer conscious
of her actions, became aware of this, and she made obeisance to the
taper, sprinkling the floor round it with saffron-coloured rice and
perfumed water; then, rising to her feet and followed by the attendant,
she performed the same ceremony before each male member of the reigning
family present in the room, murmuring all the while a string of gibberish
addressed to the Spirit. This done, she resumed her seat on the mat,
and, after a brief pause, the minstrels struck up a different air, and,
singing the praises of another _Jin_, called upon him to come and relieve
the King’s distress.
I ascertained that each Malay State has its own special Spirits, each
district is equally well provided, and there are even some to spare for
special individuals. In this particular State there are four principal
_Jin_; they are the _Jin ka-râja-an_, the State Spirit—also called
_Junjong dŭnia udâra_—Supporter of the Firmament; _Mâia udâra_, the
Spirit of the Air; _Mahkôta si-râja Jin_, the Crown of Royal Spirits; and
_S’tan Ali_.
These four are known as _Jin âruah_, Exalted Spirits, and they are the
guardians of the Sultan and the State. As one star exceeds another
in glory, so one _Jin_ surpasses another in renown, and I have named
them in the order of their greatness. In their honour four white and
crimson umbrellas were hung in the room, presumably for their use when
they arrived from their distant homes. Only the Sultan of the State is
entitled to traffic with these distinguished Spirits; when summoned they
decline to move unless appealed to with their own special invocations,
set to their own peculiar music, sung by at least four singers and led by
a _Bĕduan_ (singer) of the royal family. The _Jin ka-râja-an_ is entitled
to have the royal drums played by the State drummers if his presence is
required, but the other three have to be satisfied with the instruments I
have described.
There are common devils who look after common people: such as _Hantu
Songkei, Hantu Malâyu and Hantu Blîan_; the last the “Tiger Devil,” but
out of politeness he is called “Blîan,” to save his feelings.
Then there is _Kĕmâla ajâib_, the “Wonderful Jewel,” _Israng_, Raja
Ngah’s special familiar, and a host of others. Most _hantu_ have their
own special _Pâwangs_, and several of these were carrying on similar
proceedings in adjoining buildings, in order that the sick monarch might
reap all the benefits to be derived from a consultation of experts, and,
as one spirit after another notified his advent by the upstarting flame
of the taper, it was impossible not to feel that one was getting into the
very best society.
[Illustration]
Meanwhile a sixteen-sided stand, about six inches high and shaped like
this diagram, had been placed on the floor near the _Pâwang’s_ mat. The
stand was decorated with yellow cloth; in its centre stood an enormous
candle, while round it were gaily decorated rice and toothsome delicacies
specially prized by _Jin_. There was just room to sit on this stand,
which is called _Pĕtrâna panchalôgam_ (meaning a seat of this particular
shape), and the Sultan, supported by many attendants, was brought out and
sat upon it. A veil was placed on his head, the various vessels were put
in his hands, he spread the rice round the taper, sprinkled the perfume,
and having received into his hand an enormous _châdak_ of grass, calmly
awaited the coming of the _Jin Ka-râja-an_, while the minstrels shouted
for him with all their might.
The Sultan sat there for some time, occasionally giving a convulsive
shudder, and when this taper had duly flared up and all the rites had
been performed, His Highness was conducted back again to his couch, and
the _Pâwang_ continued her ministrations alone.
Whilst striding across the floor, she suddenly fell down as though shot,
and it was explained to me that Israng, the spirit by whom she was
possessed, had seen a dish-cover, and that the sight always frightened
him to such an extent that his _Pâwang_ fell down. The cause of offence
was removed, and the performance continued.
There are other spirits who cannot bear the barking of a dog, the mewing
of a cat, and so on.
Just before dawn there was a sudden confusion within the curtains which
hid the Sultan’s couch; they were thrown aside, and there lay the King,
to all appearance in a swoon. The _Jin Ka-râja-an_ had taken possession
of the sick body, and the mind was no longer under its owner’s control.
For a little while there was great excitement, and then the King
recovered consciousness, was carried to a side verandah and a quantity of
cold water poured over him.
So ended the _séance_.
Shortly after, the Sultan, clothed and in his right mind, sent to say he
would like to speak to me. He told me he took part in this ceremony to
please his people and because it was a very old custom, and he added, “I
did not know you were there till just now; I could not see you because I
was not myself and did not know what I was doing.”
The King did not die, after all—on the contrary, I was sent for twice
again because he was not expected to live till the morning, and yet he
cheated Death—for a time.
That reminds me of the banshee. I saw it sitting in a Malay house
some months later, and they told me the boys had caught it, that
it was an owl, and its name was _Toh ka-tampi_. It had very round,
yellow eyes, and there was no mistake about the horns. It seems that
with Malays it is an ill-omened bird, the herald of misfortune and
death, and it shares this reputation with two other owls, which are
called respectively _Tumbok lârong_, that is “Nail the coffin,” and
_Chârek kafan_, “Rend the cloth for the shroud.” _Toh ka-tampi_ means
“Old-man-winnow-the-rice-for-the-burial-feast.” The names are rather
gruesome, and are said to be suggested by the peculiar cries of these
“ghost birds.”
XV
THE KING’S WAY
We know what Heaven or Hell may bring
But no man knoweth the mind of the King
RUDYARD KIPLING
He was the Sultan of an important Malay State, but to those who knew him
best he was, and will remain, “Craddock’s King,” principally because he
always sent for Craddock whenever he wanted anything that he thought
needed the assistance of a European officer, and, on the rare occasions
when he travelled outside his own dominions, Craddock used to go with him
as guide, interpreter, and shield.
The King was one with whom things had gone badly until the appearance
of the white man in his country. His character had not endeared him to
the people, who should have been his subjects, but were, almost without
exception, his enemies; and the consequence was that when he ought to
have been elected to a high office, and later, when his birth entitled
him to be nominated Sultan, his claims were ignored in favour of junior
men. Up to the age of fifty or more he had passed his life in poverty,
and even in want, and often in open resistance to such authority as
existed. These strained relations with his own people made him loyal to
the British, and as his claims were indisputable, and the opportunity
came when they might be satisfied, he at last attained to the position
which was his by right.
I will try to draw the man as he was at this time. Tall for a Malay,
rather fair, with grey hair and a white moustache; very broad-shouldered
and thick-set, a powerful figure, though now inclined to over-stoutness;
a firm, upright carriage; in his face an exceeding _hauteur_, and in
his manner something more than this—the plain evidence of a masterful
and overbearing disposition. The strength of mind, the obstinacy of
character, were writ large in both face and figure; while an imperious
manner was accentuated by a loud voice and impatient speech, caused to
some extent by the difficulty of understanding one whose teeth were few,
and whose tongue was plainly over-large.
The King affected gay colours, and his appearance, when he took his
walks abroad, was striking, not to say remarkable. A tartan silk jacket,
combining many violent colours and fastened at the neck only, clothed
his body; this jacket had a high collar which enclosed the wearer’s
bull-neck and reached to the ears. The nether garment was a pair of very
wide and loose white silk trousers fastened by many yards of a scarlet
silk waist-cloth. These trousers reached a point low down on the calf of
the leg, leaving a fair expanse of uncovered limb between them and the
sky-blue canvas shoes which encased the stockingless feet. On his head,
tilted rakishly over one ear, the King wore a wonderful round bright
yellow cap, flat on the top with stiff sides, on which were sewn, in
Arabic characters of black cloth, a verse from the Korân.
In his waist-cloth the King usually carried a short knife in a polished
wooden sheath, and when walking he leant upon a spear or long bamboo
stick. Both hands and feet were white with an unnatural and mottled
whiteness, caused, His Highness averred, by eating the flesh of the white
buffalo, and, in walking, the toes were turned out to such an extent as
to give a decided waddle.
For people with whom loyalty to their rajas is an article of faith, the
dislike in which the King was held by them was extraordinary. It is
charitable to suppose that early disappointment had embittered his life,
for he possessed good qualities. He was undeniably intelligent, and had
a wider knowledge of his country and its ancient customs than any other
man in it. He knew his own mind, was determined to obstinacy, and asked
counsel of few. He was a keen sportsman, courageous, and, having sought
the friendship of the British, never wavered in his loyalty. If it be
said that in this he consulted his own interest and knew his unpopularity
with his own people, his consistency and good faith were still a merit.
On the other hand, his defects and vices were numerous, and just those
likely to earn him the dislike of Malays. He was incredibly mean, he was
overbearing to cruelty, rapaciously grasping, jealous of the good fortune
of any of his subjects, selfish, difficult of access, and unconcerned
with the misfortunes of others; vindictive to those who offended him or
opposed his wishes, a gambler who nearly always contrived to win, and
in matters where the other sex were concerned, decidedly unreliable.
He was not an opium-smoker, nor was he in any sense a religious man,
and, though the “Defender of the Faith” in his own country, he observed
none of its outward forms. It cannot, therefore, be said that he was in
good odour with the priesthood and yet one of his firmest friends—for a
time—was the priest of the neighbouring village who, whenever a witness
was needed to support the King in any action or statement, was ready both
to vouch to supposed facts and prove his master’s case by the authority
of Muhammadan writings.
The constant appeal to the priest for justification and the persistence
with which this man found excellent reasons for the King’s peculiar
methods was a little discouraging; but there came an estrangement. The
King, accompanied by the priest and others, visited a neighbouring
British possession, stayed there some days, and at the moment of his
return was faced by a serious indignity. It appeared that someone in this
place who did not understand the King’s peculiarities had, or thought he
had, sold to His Highness a tricycle and a musical-box for which he could
not obtain payment, and, having ascertained that the King was going and
did not care about the things, this misguided individual somehow obtained
a summons against His Highness to appear before a local tribunal and
answer to the plaint.
The King, being informed, expressed his extreme unconcern, and said
that, as it was the priest’s business and his only, he could settle it.
The priest raised the amount necessary to meet the bill, and the party
returned to their own State with the musical-box and tricycle.
Then “a private pique arose” between King and Priest as to who should
finally pay for these playthings. For the first time these firm friends
appeared in opposition to each other, and both parties gave their
respective versions of the transaction before a highly edified and
delighted Council of Arbitration.
First the King: He knew nothing of any musical-box, did not like
musical-boxes, had no ear for music, and did not understand the
discordant noises made by these inventions of the white man. He had seen
a thing of the kind in his house, had heard it, had even himself made it
play its absurd tunes, did not enjoy it in the least, and had done it
without thinking, but knew it would please the priest as he had bought
the thing, and he supposed he would not have done so unless he wanted to
have it played.
As for the tricycle, how in the name of misfortune could a tricycle
concern him? The bare idea of a man of his age and figure riding a
tricycle was enough to make a dog bark (and here His Highness laughed
consumedly at the spectacle he had conjured up). Had anyone ever seen
him ride a tricycle? Where was he going to ride it? Was it on the sandy
shore of the river where he lived? and if not there, then where? He
understood that tricycles would neither go through the jungle nor across
_padi_ fields, and, if he were to take “the creature” out shooting,
he supposed it would not greatly help him to get a shot at a bison or
a rhinoceros. Did anyone imagine he was going to carry letters? that
he was going to join the Post Office? If the imputation were not so
stupid he could almost be angry with the priest, a man whom he had heard
over and over again say that the one thing he desired was a tricycle,
something on which he could take exercise, and at the same time get
about his district. He had even asked him, the King, to lend him money
to buy the machine, but he had no money to lend and tried to dissuade
the man because he thought that in his inexperience he might fall and
hurt himself. Malays did not understand things that ran on three wheels
without ever a horse or a bullock, or even a buffalo to pull them. He saw
the tricycle lying under his house, and he heard the priest haggling
with someone about the price, but he would take any oath that the priest
or anyone else could devise that he had never set eyes on the man who
sold the thing. All he knew was that he had been insulted by the issue of
a summons because of the priest’s extravagant tastes, and, while any one
who liked might pay, it would not be he.
Then the Priest: