to go into the state of Trengganu to see what luck I should have at
collecting. Trengganu was at that time an independent state and had
never been thoroughly explored. The Sultan who ruled over it was
unwilling to have white men in the country because he feared that his
state might become a protectorate of one of the larger powers. He
was wise enough to realize that if a white man entered and committed
some such indiscretion as interfering with one of the native women,
the white man would be found with a _kris_ stuck into him. And the
result would probably be that the white man's government would send
soldiers to depose the Sultan and take over the government. He
wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his country, and so he
made it a law that foreigners were not allowed.
At Singapore one heard many tales of the wealth of animals in
Trengganu, but it was generally conceded that it was impossible for a
white man to enter the country. For my part, though I had no idea
how to win the Sultan to my way of thinking, I decided that it would
be at least as easy as getting a permit to go into Lower Siam. That
would have required interviewing H. H. Prince Damerong, brother of
the King of Siam and Minister of the Interior, which was no easy
matter for so obscure a person as I.
Meanwhile the rumor reached us that an immense herd of elephants was
crossing from the State of Pahang into Trengganu, and I made up my
mind to act instantly. A roaming herd of elephants is so serious a
menace to rice-crops that I thought the Sultan might not object to
having the assistance of a foreigner in capturing them. In any
event, the chance was worth taking.
With the German captain of a small coast-steamer that called at
Trengganu every three weeks, I made arrangements to drop me there.
He protested that it was a senseless undertaking; that I wouldn't be
allowed to land; that, if I was allowed to land, the Sultan would
refuse to see me; that, if the Sultan granted me an interview, he
would surely refuse to let me go inland; and that, if he allowed me
to go inland, I would be killed by the natives. All the way up the
coast, I listened to his arguments, and, when he asked me if I had
changed my mind, I answered, "You just put me down on the beach, blow
your whistle and go along."
Weeks later, when he returned and asked about me, the natives
replied, "Sir, the master is in the jungle catching elephants."
I was on the biggest and most exciting elephant hunt of my life.
III
ELEPHANTS
I waited on the beach at Trengganu for a few minutes, until the
German steamer was well out of the way; then I sent my Chinese boy
into the village to engage living quarters. He returned presently
with the information that a Chinese trader had offered to put me up.
Ali and I followed him up the street of the village, with a group of
inquisitive natives at our heels.
Soon after I had finished my first meal at the trader's house, a
_tunku_ (petty prince) appeared with his followers. The meeting was
solemn and formal, and he went through the ritual of inquiring after
my health, though I could see that inquisitiveness was gnawing at
him. At last he asked bluntly what my object was in coming to
Trengganu.
"I have come to see the Sultan on important business."
He told me that it would be impossible for me to see the Sultan and
offered to deliver my message. I waved him aside and told him that I
must see the Sultan personally.
"Impossible," he replied, and departed in the direction of the
palace. The palace was a half-finished, two-story brick dwelling.
The Sultan had never been able to gather enough money to have the
building completed; but, at that, it was the most imposing house in
Trengganu.
An hour later, I started out with Ali and, the Chinese boy for the
palace, to pay my respects to the Sultan and make another request for
an interview. At the gate I was met by a tunku, who told me that the
Sultan would not receive me. I returned to the trader's house and
slept through the hot afternoon. When evening came, I went again to
the palace and met with the same reception.
Twice a day for the entire week I called at the palace. I appeared
to be making no headway, but I had been associated with the Malays
long enough to know that the Sultan could not bear the strain much
longer. Also, I knew that if I gave a tunku the least inkling of my
purpose, all my hopes of hunting in Trengganu would be wrecked.
The Sultan gave in at last; he sent word to the gate that he would
receive me, and I was ushered into the "reception room" of the
palace. The Sultan, a middle-aged, scholarly-looking man, was
waiting for me, with his retinue squatted around him. I gave him my
card.
"What is it?" he asked.
"My name," I replied, bowing.
"What country are you from?"
"America."
He looked surprised and asked if I was English, French or Dutch; he
thought that all white men must be of one of those races and that
America was probably a colony.
Fortunately, I had some maps with me. I spread them on the floor and
held a class in geography, with the Sultan and his retinue bending
over me, listening intently. The Sultan was as enthusiastic on the
subject of America as if he had discovered the country. I told him
about our president and how he is elected, about the states and
governors and the legislatures and Congress.
At last he lost interest in America and asked why I had come to
Trengganu. I told him I had come to trap animals and I wanted his
permission. He shook his head and replied that there were no animals
in Trengganu.
"If you will send your messengers out," I answered, "you will find
that an immense herd of elephants is crossing from Pahang into your
country."
"How do you know?"
"I heard." It was a Malay answer, and I could see that he was
interested. A roaming herd of elephants is dangerous; it spoils rice
crops, terrorizes the natives--and most important of all--reduces the
Sultan's income.
He ordered coffee and Malay cakes and plunged into thought. The
coffee was muddy and bitter, but I drank it joyfully because I knew
the Sultan, being worried, would probably see the wisdom of allowing
me to enter his country and capture the elephants. Also I suggested
that he would receive a bonus on each animal I captured. He nodded
and asked me to come to the palace the next day.
Each day for three weeks I called on him and spent hours in telling
him of my travels. And he told me something of the worries of being
a Sultan. He was afraid that one of the big powers would establish a
protectorate over Trengganu, depose him and reduce his people to
slavery. He knew very little of foreigners, but he had come to the
conclusion that the best thing to do was to keep them out. What did
I think was the best plan? We held long conferences, in which I
enlightened him on the ways of white men. The subject of elephant
hunting scarcely came into the conversations, but I knew that he had
sent messengers out to see if there was any truth in my story about
the herd crossing from Pahang. I was slowly winning his confidence;
everything depended upon the truth of that rumor I had picked up in
Singapore.
Exactly three weeks after our first meeting, he greeted me with the
words: "_Tûan châkap bêtul_ (Sir, you spoke the truth)."
"I always speak the truth," I answered, as if I were annoyed. The
messengers had returned with the news that the herd had been seen
near the Pahang River.
He asked what I proposed to do, and I drew a diagram of the trap I
wanted to build. He asked if it would not be a better plan to shoot
the big elephants and capture the young. I put stress on the royalty
payments he would receive, and thus I won him to my way of thinking.
He assigned his nephew Omar--a tunku--to the duty of assisting me,
and gave him full power to force as much labor as we might need. A
few days later, Omar and I, accompanied by the Sultan, sailed down
the coast to the Pahang. It was a wide, deep river, infested with
crocodiles; settlements dotted the banks. At each of these we
stopped and called on the headmen to conscript labor.
Since the men had to supply their own food and travel in their own
boats, the cost of the expedition was reduced to nothing. We
arranged that the men might be replaced by others from their
villages, because they were loath to remain long away from their
families.
Five days after leaving the capital, we arrived at the place where
the herd had been located. We disembarked. There followed two weeks
of hunting before we found the spoor that told us we had reached the
elephants.
It was dense jungle; undergrowth, creepers and vines bound the trees
together. The lack of sunlight and the dense atmosphere made
progress slow. Sometimes the task of driving elephants on foot
through such country seemed hopeless, but I kept the men at work,
hacking out trails with _parangs_--their big knives. The insects
were frightful, and we were all covered with bites. I developed
fever and went about so "groggy" that I was not at all sure of
myself; but huge doses of quinine and the excitement of tracking so
large a herd kept me going.
The scouts reported that the herd numbered about one hundred. I
assigned fifty men to surround the elephants and keep them moving in
a circle within a definite area while we built the stockade.
The work of making the trap was prodigious. Trees, twenty to
twenty-five feet in length and a foot and a half in diameter, were
cut down and dragged through the jungle for half a mile or more to
the spot I had selected. These were planted five feet in the ground
and braced by three smaller trees, so that they could stand the
enormous pressure of elephants trying to lunge through them. The
trap was round--about seventy-five feet in diameter--with two wings,
each one hundred feet long, converging to the entrance. After
planting and bracing all the posts, we bound them together with heavy
ropes made of twisted rattan, and then covered them with vines and
leaves. For all this work the natives had no tools except their
parangs. It was amazing to see the rapidity with which they cut down
the big trees and slashed trails through the jungle. Omar and I were
with them constantly, keeping up their enthusiasm and excitement.
In building the trap we took great care not to disturb the jungle
through which the elephants were to be driven. Like all jungle
animals, elephants can see at night, and there is always the danger
of a stampede unless precautions are taken against arousing
suspicion. The jungle leading up to the wings was untouched; and the
wings and the trap could scarcely be distinguished from the dense
growth that surrounded them. In the runway and in the trap the
jungle was still standing without injury.
When the stockade was completed, an old Siamese priest offered to
perform the ceremony that would bring the blessing of the deity of
the jungle upon the drive. A white cock was found and fastened in
the center of the trap. The priest selected a hundred men and
stationed them near the entrance with fruits and branches of trees;
then, with two natives, he withdrew into the jungle. Presently we
heard them shouting. They came through the undergrowth, chanting and
striking the trees with their spears and parangs. The priest rushed
through the runway into the trap and seized the cock. With his knife
he severed its head. Then, while the natives joined in a chorus of
shouts, he ran about the trap, sprinkling the blood. Instead of
coming out through the gate, he crawled between the posts. The
ceremony ended, and the natives were ready to begin the hunt.
Word came from the men who were watching that the herd was four miles
away. I gathered the natives around me, explained all the details of
the drive and assigned men to the various tasks. Then we started in
a body to get behind the herd. Every five hundred yards, I stationed
a man in a tree to steer the drive.
Driving elephants at night is a slow, trying, dangerous job. It
means fighting every foot of the way through dense jungle and keeping
up a continual hubbub of tom-toms and shouts. The elephants wish to
avoid the noise and they move slowly away from it, crashing through
the trees and vines. The men who are directly behind have the
easiest time, for they can follow the trails broken by the elephants;
those on the side must cut trails with their parangs. No lights can
be used, and care must be taken to avoid the little elephants, which
roam about, investigating the noise. If they see a man and give the
danger-signal, the entire herd stampedes.
When we arrived behind the herd, I spread the men out in a U
formation, warning them to make no noise until the signal was given.
With Ali standing near me with my express rifle, I waited until
darkness came; then I gave the signal and started forward. Ali,
Omar, the priest, my Chinese boy and a few others followed along
behind me, shouting. The noise was taken up on each side of us, and
presently we heard the elephants moving forward, throwing their great
hulks against the jungle growths. The night was black, and we
stumbled on, guided only by the calls of the men in the trees.
Insects swarmed about us, biting until we were frantic. Sometimes
the noise on either the left or the right suddenly increased, and we
knew that the herd had veered in that direction and that the men were
frightening them off.
Dawn came, and we found that we had driven them a mile and a half.
It had been exhausting work. I posted guards to watch the herd, and
we slept until late in the afternoon. Our bodies were covered with
welts from insect bites and the sting of nettles and were torn and
scratched by the sharp vines; and I was throbbing with the fever.
When darkness came again, it seemed to me that the enterprise was all
a wild nightmare.
Early the next day the stampede hit us without warning. A small
elephant, straying from the herd, saw some of the men on the right;
he ran back, trumpeting the danger. Then the bellowing herd came
down upon us.
Ali shoved my rifle into my hands and I jumped behind a tree. The
Siamese priest stumbled and fell. Before I could shoot, a big bull
elephant stepped on him and tore him in two, throwing the upper
portion of his body over my head. I was spattered with blood.
Elephants, bellowing furiously, rushed past us; men screamed and
scrambled for places of safety. The immense animals loomed up in the
darkness for a second and then disappeared. In their excitement some
collided with trees.
There was no need to shoot; it would have been like holding up a fan
to fend off a cyclone. I hugged my tree, keeping my gun in position.
I was discouraged; our efforts had been wasted and the herd was
scattered. That would be a fine story to take back to the Sultan.
When the elephants had passed, I called to the men. We lighted
torches and searched for the injured. Three had been killed and
twelve hurt, and I was thankful there weren't more casualties. We
buried the dead. Ali brought up my medical kit and helped me dress
the wounds.
After a few hours' sleep, I found that I wasn't quite so discouraged,
and so I called the men together and lectured them on the necessity
of being careful. They showed no signs of mutiny, and so we started
off again in search of the herd. It was not difficult to find them,
for they cut a swath in the jungle to the point where they stopped,
five miles from the scene of the stampede.
Again I posted guides in the trees and spread out the drivers. Every
man was alert, and, when night ended, we were considerably nearer the
trap. In the minds of the elephants there seemed to be no connection
between the noise that was driving them and the men they had seen the
night before, and they went ahead peaceably.
Leaving scouts to watch the herd, I gathered the men together and
praised them. Success rekindled the enthusiasm that had been damped
by the stampede, and, when we threw ourselves down to snatch a few
hours' sleep, we were convinced that the drive would proceed without
trouble. The scouts reported that the herd was slightly depleted,
but, even so, it was the largest herd that any of us had ever seen,
much less driven.
At nightfall, each day, the men were again in position, waiting for
my signal; and, three nights later, we approached the stockade. The
men went wild with delight. And above the uproar, I could hear the
calls of the guides in the trees, telling us our distance from the
trap.
The big beasts jammed in the runway between the wings, heaving and
struggling, and forcing those ahead of them into the trap. The walls
of the wings groaned as they threw their bodies against the posts.
The elephants bellowed, and the natives kept up a continual
pandemonium. I mounted the platform and looked down; I could see
nothing but a tossing flood of black that poured slowly from the
runway into the trap.
When the last elephant was inside, the ropes that held the gate were
cut. The gate crashed down; bars were run through the sockets; the
elephants were trapped.
On my platform I shouted as loudly as any of the Malays. Torches
were lighted and the men began dancing. I slipped to the ground and
warned them against climbing up on the walls of the stockade, for I
was fearful that the sight of men might enrage the elephants. If the
beasts suddenly took it into their heads to charge the wall in a
body, some of the posts might give way. I could hear them milling
around inside the trap, bellowing and tearing up the jungle in an
effort to find a way out. Through the remainder of the night the
natives danced, ate and drank. Then, when dawn was beginning to
light up the sky, I climbed to the platform again and looked down
into the trap. There were sixty elephants!
The men, armed with long, spiked poles, mounted to the running
platform on the top of the posts, and the celebration was renewed. I
stood there, breathless, wondering how many of them, in their
excitement, would fall off the platform into the trap. But none did
fall, and they fended off the charges of the elephants by sticking
them in the heads and bodies with their spikes.
Omar immediately sent a messenger to the Sultan with the good news,
and the word passed from village to village. Natives poured in to
inspect the catch, and the messenger returned with the news that the
Sultan was on his way. It was a historic occasion in Trengganu. The
Sultan had never been in the interior of his own country before, and
never had there been such an elephant hunt in the state. Omar busied
himself with the details of the royal reception while I cared for the
catch.
[Illustration: "I climbed to the platform and looked down into the
trap. There were sixty elephants."]
We cut holes in the rattan webbing between the posts and enticed the
small elephants to come out. There were several babies in the lot,
and they soon became playful and affectionate. Baby elephants are
just three feet high at birth and weigh about two hundred pounds.
They grow an inch each month. We made pets of them and amused
ourselves with weaning them. We did this by taking a pail of warm
milk and dipping the babies' trunks into it, then doubling the trunks
up and putting them into their owners' mouths, and finally squirting
milk in with a squirt gun. The babies soon learned to imitate this
procedure. They were mischievous little animals, full of fun and
inquisitiveness. Hour after hour, I played with them and laughed
until I ached.
The Sultan arrived with his retinue, and we gave him a ceremonial
greeting. Deputations from all the villages were present, and Omar
requisitioned food for a great feast. The Sultan had little to say
about the elephants until I took him up on the platform where he
could count them for himself. For a minute he looked at them,
wide-eyed; then he repeated, "Sir, you spoke the truth."
"I always speak the truth," I replied, and I could see by his
expression that he believed me. He was convinced that I was honest.
I knew that I had his protection for any expeditions I might
undertake in Trengganu. His friendship had been difficult to win,
but it was worth the trouble--quite aside from the value of the
elephants. Trengganu was virgin country, filled with animals that my
customers wanted to buy, and I had the exclusive privilege--so far as
foreigners were concerned--of hunting there. And, since the Sultan
received a bonus on the animals captured, he provided me with labor.
The Sultan remained several days and we spent much of our time in
talking over the problems of government. These conversations ended
by my becoming a sort of foreign adviser in all dealings with
European countries. Later, before Trengganu was made a British
protectorate, he awarded me some valuable tin concessions. The new
arrangement under the British government was made satisfactorily; he
received a suitable pension and he passed happily into a purely
honorary position in his state, relieved of all the complexities of
political administration. When I last saw him, he was living in
indolent comfort, surrounded by his wives--and his two-story brick
palace was at last completed.
It took more than a week after the departure of the Sultan of
Trengganu for the natives to get their fill of celebration. While
they feasted and danced, I made my plans for the stocks in which the
sixty elephants were to be broken.
The breaking of elephants, especially so large a herd, is a long,
tedious job. I was thankful that I had Prince Omar with me to keep
the natives working. The hunter, who kills and skins his animals,
has a simple life compared with the collector, who must not only take
the animals alive and uninjured, but convey them through miles of
jungle country to a port. Months of hard labor were before us, and
the success of the expedition was by no means assured, even though we
had our elephants safe in the stockade. It was to be a great test in
managing the natives.
There is only one thing that a Malay values, and that is his
_kris_--his knife. To lose this cherished possession means to lose
honor. There is a saying to the effect that money will buy
everything but a lucky kris. Their disregard of money makes all
dealings with Malays extremely difficult, and their dislike for work
has completely blocked more than one project. To my mind, the Malays
are the laziest people in the world.
When work is an exciting or amusing game, such as the hunt, they will
go on for days without signs of fatigue. They seem to keep alive by
some fanatic energy. But when work is just plain labor, they will
say "Wait," or "I must think." Or a Malay may say candidly: "Sir, I
have just had plenty to eat. I am content." Many times I have had a
Malay tell me, when I asked him to do some work, that he had enough
rice and fish for the day and that he might die during the night. It
is an unanswerable argument. Tomorrow's food can be found when
tomorrow comes.
The Malay's food is simple and his clothes are few. With no more
effort than dropping a few seeds and covering them with earth, he can
grow most of the food he needs, aside from his rice and fish. One
catch of fish will supply his family for weeks and give him a surplus
to sell to the Chinese traders. With the money he can buy some cloth
and a little powder. Six or seven good-sized chickens cost one
Mexican dollar; eggs cost one Mexican cent; yams, one or two cents
each; pineapples, two or three cents. Why worry about the tomorrow
that may never come? Why should a Malay gentleman, who believes in
Allah and whose stomach is full, do the labor that can be done by
heathen, pig-eating Chinese?
"Will you row me across the river?" I asked a Malay one day.
"_Tûan_, I have eaten and I have had plenty," he responded. "You may
take my boat and row yourself across the river. Tomorrow, if Allah
grants me life and if I need the boat, I will swim over for it."
That Malay trait of living for the moment has led many a European to
murder, and more than once it made me feel like running _âmok_. It
is maddening. Getting work out of Malays is a fine art, a science to
be learned only after years of patient arguing and cajoling. And
yet, with all their laziness, they are lovable people. In most cases
they are brave and willing to do anything for a person they like.
Under the circumstances, sick with fever and worn out by the drive
through the jungle, I was entitled to some doubt as to what the next
few months would bring. The Sultan had left strict orders that I was
to be provided with all the labor I needed, and Omar was there to
assist me. However, I waited with anxiety to see what the attitude
of the natives would be after they had finished celebrating, and I
was encouraged to find that I had earned the name _Tûan Gâjah_--Sir
Elephant. They were deeply impressed by the power of the white man
who had engineered a great drive of sixty elephants and who owned the
exceedingly marvelous gun that his man, Ali, displayed with such
proud ostentation.