Kuala Kangsar and Larut, and in the afternoon went with Raja Mahmud and
one boat up river to Kôta Lâma. This village had then, as indeed it has
still, the unenviable reputation of being the most impossible place
in Perak. It was a very large village, and the people in it prided
themselves on their independence; their neighbours called it impudence. A
few months before Mr. Birch had visited Kôta Lâma, but the people turned
out with firearms, and said that if he landed they would shoot him. He
had no means of forcing a landing then, nor of compelling an apology
later, and, therefore, he had not since been to the place.
I had been in Kôta Lâma a month before this; I went to see a man who
had been shot through the shoulder the night before by two men who had
a grudge against him, and had settled it in a truly Irish fashion. They
called at his house, and while engaging him in conversation and eating
his _sîreh_, had measured the distance of his sleeping mat from the walls
of the house. It was a wooden building, and, like all Malay houses,
the floor was raised high above the ground. That night they had got
underneath it, and, having carefully calculated their host’s position,
they fired simultaneously and decamped. One bullet missed the victim’s
head by an inch or two, and the other went through the floor and the mat
and penetrated his shoulder.
I now went to see this man again and found him doing badly, and advised
his relatives to send him to Kuala Kangsar. Then we walked about the
village, talked to the people, and in the absence of the headman I sent
for his deputy. He came accompanied by four or five men all armed to the
teeth, and we had a conversation wherein I think each side did its best
to “bluff” the other. It so happened that we had come away without the
proclamations, and I asked the headman to send to Kuala Kangsar, when I
got back, and I would give the papers, that he might post them in Kôta
Lâma.
He said they only acknowledged one chief in Kôta Lâma, and he was the
Raja Bĕndahâra, and they would do nothing without his orders. I told
them I would ask the Bĕndahâra to give the necessary instructions, but
inquired, “What about the Sultan?” To which they replied that he lived
a long way off. They added, “We won’t hinder you if you want to post
the proclamations,” but they did not say it in the politest fashion,
and I told them the permission was unnecessary, as, if I had had the
proclamations, I should have posted them. After this we had a long and
comparatively friendly talk, and it was nearly dark when I left them.
Raja Mahmud stood by and said nothing, but they knew well enough who
he was, and it is possible they might have acted differently had he
not been there. On our way back he told me he was so amazed at the
way the Kôta Lâma men talked that he felt it wiser not to join in the
conversation.
Arrived at Kuala Kangsar, I found the Raja Muda Jusuf, and told him
the result of my visit to Kôta Lâma. The Raja Muda’s feelings towards
the Kôta Lâma people were quite beyond expression, and they were very
cordially reciprocated.
The next morning, the 4th November, my work being done, I started
down river at 8.30 A.M. I saw the Raja Muda before I left, and, again
referring to my journal, I find that he said: “No early or permanent
settlement can be made without force, without making an example of some
of the opposition. They are quiet now because you are here; as soon as
you go they will begin again. If you and Raja Mahmud will come, and we
may use force, we can settle the matter in a fortnight.”
Little as he thought it, the time for force was at hand, for some was
already past; but if his prediction was right, his estimate of the means
required to settle matters was over-sanguine.
Stopping only for breakfast, my boats reached Blanja at 4 P.M. It was
my intention to spend the night there, interview ex-Sultan Ismail, and
continue my journey the next day.
The river at Blanja shoals rapidly towards the left bank, which is
bordered by a long and wide strip of sand. The boats of those who call
here are dragged as close in as possible, and while our men were engaged
in doing this, and still some distance from the shore, a man called Haji
Ali waded out to my boat and came on board. We had noticed the unusual
number of people on the sands—not less than two or three hundred—and of
boats alongside there were at least fifty, but we were hardly prepared
for the news that awaited us.
This Haji Ali, a tall, well-made man in the prime of life, was the
genial person of evil reputation who, with Pĕnglima Prang Sĕmaun, had
already distinguished himself by murdering one of the low-country chiefs.
Notwithstanding this fact the Haji was always anxious to convey the
impression that he was entirely friendly to me, but I distrusted him in
common with the rest of the Blanja faction.
Haji Ali seated himself in my boat and at once stated that Mr. Birch had
gone to Pâsir Sâlak, that there he and sixteen of his people had been
murdered by the Maharaja Lela, who had then attacked and captured Bandar
Bharu, killing all the Sikhs who had not saved themselves by flight. This
news was so startling that I could not believe it and said so, but the
man assured me it was true, and added as a proof that the Maharaja Lela
had sent Mr. Birch’s own boat to Blanja to prove to Ismail the truth of
his statement. Ismail, he said, had declined to receive the boat, telling
the men who brought it that as the Maharaja Lela had killed Mr. Birch he
had better keep his boat, and the messengers had accordingly left with it
only two hours before our arrival.
At Haji Ali’s first words Raja Mahmud had caught up his _kris_, and was
now tightening his waist-belt and preparing for instant trouble.
The Haji completed his information by considerately telling me that the
Maharaja Lela and his people had staked the river right across at Pâsir
Sâlak, making it impassable for boats, that they knew I was returning,
and were waiting for me, it being their belief that when once they had
got rid of Mr. Birch and myself they would have no further interference
from white men, as no one else knew the country. He concluded with an
invitation from the ex-Sultan to go and see him on shore.
I thanked him, and to get rid of him asked him to go back and say that I
was coming.
As soon as he had left the boat I held a hasty consultation with Raja
Mahmud, who said it would be madness to land at Blanja, where we should
be like rats in a trap, and the only course was to go on at once and at
all hazards before they had time to stop us.
The idea of returning up-river was unpleasant and well nigh impossible,
it was therefore discarded at once.
All the men in both my boats had heard what Haji Ali said, and as some
of them did not relish the prospect of trying to run the gauntlet, I
decided to leave one boat and only take those who volunteered to go. That
question was very soon settled, every Perak man declined the journey;
my Manila boy took the rudder, three foreign Malays and Mahmud’s two
men formed the crew, and Mahmud and I were the passengers. There was my
Chinese servant, he was not a man of war, and I thought he would prefer
to remain where he was, for they all realised that the danger would be
in staying with me. When I asked him, however, he smiled a not quite
pleasant smile, and producing a long knife said he did not mean to move.
It was quite clear that if it came to close quarters he would give a good
account of himself.
By this time we were ready to start, but just as the men were preparing
to get the boat out into the stream, Haji Ali appeared again to take us
on shore. I at once told him that if his story was true I could not
stop at Blanja and must go on at once. How far he had been acting before
was doubtful, but his surprise now was genuine enough. He said, “It is
impossible, the whole country down stream is in arms, you cannot pass, it
is certain destruction.” We told him that whatever it was we were going,
and we pointed out to him that as the boat was moving into deep water he
had not much time to get out if he wanted to return to the shore. He got
out, and it was rather deep, but he stood there and shouted, “No doubt
you think yourselves very fine fellows, but you will be killed all the
same.”
He was still standing in the same place when we had gone some distance,
and as we passed outside the long line of boats the many people on shore
realised that we had started again and were rapidly dropping down stream.
It seemed to us that for them the unexpected had happened.
The pleasure of thinking that we had at any rate cheated the Blanja
people did not last us long and I believe every man in the boat—certainly
I can speak for myself—believed that he had started on a journey of which
sudden death was the inevitable bourne.
The Resident, we were told, had been murdered at Pâsir Sâlak, and we
could not well doubt the truth of that report. Then the people on both
banks of the river for miles above and below Pâsir Sâlak were on the
watch for us; the Residency was in the hands of the Maharaja Lela’s
people, the Sikhs killed or fugitives in the jungle; worst of all, the
river at Pâsir Sâlak was staked from bank to bank, and if so no boat
could pass that barrier.
There were two points of minor moment—first, that the Residency boats
were all painted white, we had one of them, and no native-owned boat in
the country was white. That fact made us so conspicuous that we did not
think it worth while to lower the Union Jack we carried at the stern.
Secondly, up to that time no house-boat had ever made the journey from
Blanja to Pâsir Sâlak in anything like twelve hours, and we calculated,
therefore, that we should reach the point of greatest danger in broad
daylight, probably about 9 A.M. the next morning. Speed was our best
chance, but here again we were handicapped by the fact that our men had
been paddling since 8.30 A.M., they had had one meal, and now there was a
night’s work before them and no time to stop for cooking.
If the conditions were as they had been stated, and as we believed them
to be, nothing could save us, for with two rifles and a shot gun we could
hardly hope to force the barrier unless aided by a miracle.
The river was high, the current strong, and just at dusk we reached Bota.
Fastened by an island opposite the village we saw Mr. Birch’s own boat,
the “Dragon,” and with that all doubt as to his fate was at an end. Raja
Mahmud suggested that we might stop and attack the people in charge. The
idea was attractive and no doubt it would have been a surprise to them,
but we decided that it was unwise to waste the time and rouse the whole
village. As we passed the boat we could see no one in or about it.
The night was moonless but starlit, fine and clear enough for our
purpose, dark enough to conceal us when we were in the middle of the
stream. But the Perak is a river where the navigable channel wanders
from side to side in a way that often baffles the most skilful pilot.
The height of the water lessened our difficulties, but for all that we
were driven at times very close to the banks. Between 9 and 10 P.M. a
thick white mist came down and enveloped the river in impenetrable fog.
This was very confusing, for, while it lasted, it was impossible to see
half a boat’s length in any direction. The mist lifted and fell again at
intervals all through the night, and so dense was it that at one time we
lost our way, and at last discovered by a snag that we had got the boat
completely round and were paddling up stream!
That discovery gave us rather a bad shock, for we calculated that we had
lost half an hour of precious time, and if we could make such a mistake
once it might occur again. It was possible because we dared not have any
light, and only smoked with the utmost precaution.
I was so tired that about half-past ten I could no longer keep awake, and
several times the wearied boatmen dropped asleep over their paddles. We
were not at all certain of our whereabouts, but some time after eleven
o’clock we realised, by the succession of watch-fires on the banks and
the numbers of men moving about, that we were getting into the zone of
danger. It seemed to me, dozing and waking, that this lasted for a long
time; we were getting callous of the people on the bank when we found
that no one seemed to observe us however close we were forced to go.
I had told them to rouse me when we got near to Pâsir Sâlak, for now, to
our great surprise, it seemed evident that we should reach the place
hours before dawn. About 1.30 A.M. Mahmud quietly woke me, and the
boatmen nerved themselves for the final effort.
We knew that to get past Pâsir Sâlak it was necessary to go right under
one bank or the other, and the deepest water was on the left or Kampong
Gâjah side. That we decided to take. Huge fires were blazing on the bank,
and round each were grouped a number of armed men—indeed, the whole place
was apparently on the _qui vive_. As noiselessly as possible, but none
the less vigorously, the men plied their paddles, and we made for the
deep water under the bank. Just at this moment the thick white veil of
mist came down over the river, and under its sheltering cover we glided
swiftly down, the light of the blazing logs, close though they were,
shining vaguely through the fog, while now and then a man’s figure, of
seemingly gigantic proportions, loomed out from the fire-lit haze.
Every instant we expected to feel the shock of the boat against the
barrier, and we had determined that when that happened we would push
our boat along it till we found the usual opening closed by a floating
log and guarded, as we supposed, by boats. In the darkness we meant to
try and force our way through or take one of the enemy’s boats on the
down-stream side of the stakes.
We could hardly realise the truth when we found ourselves at the lower
end of the village without having encountered any obstruction. The
barrier never existed in fact—only in the imagination of Haji Ali, or,
more probably, the Maharaja Lela had intended to make it, but the Malay
habits of laziness and procrastination defeated his plan.
Just as I was thinking a very sincere thanksgiving, the bow of the boat
suddenly ran on the shore and stuck there fast. We were so close to the
bank that this happened without the slightest warning. For an instant
the steersman had given the rudder a wrong turn, and we were stranded.
To my dismay, I saw on the high bank, exactly over us, a large fire with
eight or ten men round it. I seized the shot-gun, Mahmud had a rifle, and
we knelt with fingers on trigger covering two of the figures that were
distinct enough in spite of the mist, for we were hardly ten feet distant
from them.
Two of our men with poles were making superhuman efforts to push off the
boat, when a man on the bank called out, “Whose boat is that?” One of our
men replied, “Haji Mat Yassin’s,” having seen his boat at Blanja. “Where
are you from?” was the next inquiry, and the reply was, “Blanja.” “Where
are you for?” and other questions followed, but by this time the bow of
the boat was off and we were drifting stern-foremost out into the stream
and the sheltering fog. As the distance widened and shouts came to stop,
the answers returned were derisive and misleading, for everyone felt that
the real danger was past and the life he had made up his mind to lose
would not be required of him that night after all.
It was true that we had yet to pass the Residency at Bandar Bharu, five
miles lower down, and we had been told this was in the hands of the
Maharaja Lela, but there at least there was no barrier, and we were
confident that we had nothing more to fear.
We passed Bandar Bharu quietly, we saw a light on each bank and a man on
watch by the light, and we said to each other that it would be very easy
to shoot the men as they placed themselves so conveniently _en évidence_.
Ten miles lower down the river, it being then only 3 A.M., we were
suddenly hailed by a voice threatening death and other penalties if
we did not immediately declare who we were. That was a very welcome
challenge, for I recognised the voice, and in a few seconds we were
alongside a Selangor steam-launch.
Only then we learnt that Bandar Bharu had not fallen into the hands
of the enemy, and we had therefore come ten miles further than was
necessary; but we congratulated ourselves on the forbearance we had shown
in not shooting the sentries, and later in the morning, when we got up
to the Residency, suggested that if the Sikh felt lonesome in the night
watches it would perhaps be wiser for him not to stand in the full blaze
of a large lamp.
The Maharaja Lela and his friends professed themselves both surprised and
disappointed when they found I had arrived at Bandar Bharu, having passed
Pâsir Sâlak without their knowledge. I daresay, however, that some of
them were not altogether sorry that they had been spared a meeting with
Raja Mahmud, for he was reckoned a mighty man of valour. In my case he
was also a wise counsellor, for subsequent disclosures proved that had
I landed at Blanja the intention was to immediately attack and murder
me, and when we so abruptly left that place the ingenuous Haji Ali and
his friend the Pĕnglima Prang Sĕmaun with a number of their men were
sent after us in fast boats on a mission similar to the one they had
previously undertaken and successfully carried out. As we saw nothing of
them I conclude they did not exert themselves to overtake us.
During the subsequent military operations in Perak, Haji Ali fell into
our hands, and, after some weeks spent on a British man-of-war, he became
quite a reformed character. I occasionally see him now, but he seems
depressed, and when I find him looking at me there is no anger in his
face, only a great sorrow as of a man who is misunderstood by the world
and who suffers without resentment.
I don’t know why, but this expression is a source of unfeigned amusement
to the Malays who happen to see it. It is very unfeeling of them.
XXI
NAKODAH ORLONG
Two things greater than all things are,
One is Love and the other War
RUDYARD KIPLING
On the day after my arrival at Bandar Bharu, Captain Innes, R.E., came
from Penang accompanied by two officers and sixty men of the First
Battalion of H.M. 10th Regiment, together with the Superintendent of the
Penang Police (Hon. H. Plunket) and twenty native constables armed with
rifles.
Captain Innes, an exceptionally able member of his distinguished corps,
was then in civil employ as head of the Public Works Department in
Penang. When the news of Mr. Birch’s murder reached that place, the
nearest British Settlement, Captain Innes was sent with a force to take
charge of the Residency.
It is not my intention to detail the subsequent events except in so far
as is necessary for a right understanding of an incident connected with
the death of a man called Nakodah Orlong, a Sumatran Malay.
With the force at our disposal, which included Lieut. Abbott, R.N., his
four bluejackets, and about fifty so-called Sikhs, it was determined to
attack Pâsir Sâlak before the Maharaja Lela had time to collect a large
following. An immediate advance was also considered advisable to prevent
the number of our enemies being increased by what might look like our
indecision. With Easterns, to sit still and stockade your position is
probably, under such circumstances, the worst course possible.
We knew that the Maharaja Lela was throwing up works, not only in his
village, but outside of it, and to force them it was decided to take two
howitzers and a rocket-tube.
The distance from Bandar Bharu to Pâsir Sâlak was five miles, every yard
of it covered with vegetation of some sort, the only road a narrow path
by the river-bank; moreover, Pâsir Sâlak was not on our side of the
river. It was, therefore, settled that we should start at daylight the
next morning, the 7th November, in boats, that we should pole up stream
two miles and walk the rest, the guns being served by the bluejackets
from two boats that would be kept in line with the shore party.
All that was wanted was a body of scouts to feel the way, and I undertook
to find these. There were Raja Mahmud, his two followers, and the Manila
boy already spoken of, but it was hard to say where any other trustworthy
Malays could be got at such short notice. Late that evening, however,
Nakodah Orlong, whom I knew well, came in, and when I asked him if he
would join us he at once consented, and said he could bring fourteen of
his own men with him. That made us twenty, and was enough for the purpose.
We were up at 4.30 A.M. on the 7th, got all the men into boats, and made
a start by 7.30 A.M., not without difficulty, however, for we were hard
pressed for hands to do the poling. It was only after we had started
that I learnt the intention of taking guns had been abandoned, a very
unfortunate change of plan as it turned out. To attack, without guns, any
work defended by Malays means a certain sacrifice of life, as we found to
our cost, and took care that the mistake was never repeated. The carriage
of guns and rockets through the jungle means delay and hard work, but,
whatever the trouble and delay, hardly any consideration will justify an
attack without at least one gun.
The river journey was accomplished without incident, a landing was
effected, and the party moved off. The scouts were in front, followed at
an interval by half the detachment of the 10th, Captain Innes and the
sailors with a rocket-tube came next, then the Sikhs and Penang Police
under Mr. Plunket, and last of all the remainder of the 10th Regiment.
We began the march gaily enough, not expecting to meet with any
resistance till near Pâsir Sâlak. After walking a mile or so, always
close by the river-bank, we came to a large field of Indian corn. The
plants were eight or ten feet high, and so thick and close that it was
impossible to see more than three or four yards in any direction; the
ground between the corn-stalks was planted with hill-padi, and that was a
couple of feet in height.
On entering this field we opened out to cover as large a front as
possible, and, when half way through the corn, passed a gigantic fig-tree
growing on the edge of the river bank. On my right was Nakodah Orlong,
and to the right of him one of his men called Alang; on my left was Raja
Mahmud the Manila boy, and the rest of the scouts. We had been walking
fast, and of the rest of the force we could see and hear nothing.
We were talking and laughing (being still a long way from Pâsir Sâlak)
when suddenly we came to the end of the cover, for the last few feet of
the corn had been cut down. At this moment Nakodah Orlong said, “There
they are,” and the words were hardly out of his mouth when we were
greeted by a volley from the enemy concealed behind a stockade not a
dozen yards in front of us.
Nakodah Orlong fell without uttering another sound, and, the enemy
maintaining a brisk fire, our position was so uncomfortable that my
own inclination was unhesitatingly to get out of the way. Probably my
intention was apparent, for Raja Mahmud said, “Stand fast and shoot.” I
was obliged to him and followed his advice, but as the Manila boy and I
were the only possessors of shooting-weapons, and the enemy were hidden
behind a rampart of logs and banana-stems, while we had no shelter
whatever, our continued existence was due simply to their want of skill.
The absurdity of the situation was apparent, and its unpleasantness was
heightened by the opening of a brisk fusilade in our rear. That decided
us and we stepped back under cover, and then moved to the sheltering
trunk of the fig-tree. Arrived there we found that besides Nakodah Orlong
(about whose fate there was no doubt, for he fell within a yard of me),
Alang was the only one missing. He was the last man on the right, and, as
no one had seen him, we concluded that he also had been killed. It was
at once proposed that we should go back and secure the bodies, but our
own people keeping up a merciless discharge in rear, and the enemy doing
their best in front, we were between two fires, and thought it best to
try and stop our friends at any rate from shooting us.
We shouted, but that, of course, was no use, no one could either see or
hear us, and it was some minutes before we were able to let Captain Innes
know of our position. In that time we realised that even a large tree
offers poor shelter from a cross fire. It did not, however, take us long
to decide that the side towards the enemy was the safest.