deceived by its appearance; it is not the smooth, shining, pointed
cane one sees in the market; it grows as a vine, sometimes one
hundred feet and over, up and down trees or along the ground,
twisting in and out; it is covered by an outer shell or skin, and at
each joint a circle of thorns an inch in length. The outer skin and
thorns are scraped away, washed and cut in lengths of sixteen feet,
one hundred lengths to a bundle, and the rattan is ready for the
market. They grow in various thickness. The Malacca cane is the
thickest grown.
Everybody went down to the stream where they would strip the thorns
and peel off the outer skin, wash, split and cut in lengths; the
crews kept cutting like mad. I do not believe there ever was so much
rattan cut, stripped, washed and cut in lengths in the state of
Kelantan, or in any other state, in one day as those twelve men did.
On the morning of the third day, the whole district was in holiday
attire and all on edge to see and encourage their friends to be the
first. The rattan was all laid out in two piles in cut lengths of
twelve and ten feet and seventy-two pegs or bamboo stakes were driven
into the ground. I myself had measured off the ground and stakes for
length and width of nets. Twenty each, stakes for top and bottom,
and sixteen stakes each for width.
The first day was pretty nearly a tie, although one crew had started
on another net and had got one-quarter of it finished when a halt was
called for the day. Nine nets on the following day, the crew that
had one-quarter of a net finished the day before finishing four nets
by four o'clock; the other two were practically tied, and as such I
gave them credit; they had three and a half nets finished, and each
of the crew received second prize money, three dollars each. There
was great satisfaction, although the first crew with their five
dollars each were strutting around and talking big. After finishing
the half-made nets, I had twenty-one ten by eight rattan nets. Great
work in four days; had I gone any other way about getting them, it
would have taken twice as long. Even with the money prizes, they
cost me on an average of only two dollars (Mexican) or one dollar
each.
The third day after the net-making contest, taking fifteen men and
loading their nets, large and small, on an elephant, we started off
for a half day's journey from the kampong to set up the nets on the
ground and in the trees, also to dig pits at the water-holes. We had
been moving on slowly, the first elephant carrying the nets, breaking
a trail for about three hours, when we heard the screaming and
chattering of monkeys. The natives first thought the cry was
"re-mow" (tiger); the men on the first elephant halted just at
reaching a break in the jungle; they called back, all excited: "Tûan,
Bar-be. Ari-men kombing, be-prong (Sir, a fight between a pig and a
leopard)." By the time I arrived alongside the other elephant at the
clearing, both elephants were becoming restive, but were being calmed
down by their drivers.
I came upon a sight I shall never forget, a full-grown leopard and a
Baba-rusa (wild boar) in a deadly combat. I was fascinated by the
sight; no noise would have disturbed them, for what with the
snarling, screaming, grunting of the two, and the screaming of the
monkeys, it was difficult for me to even make the men I was talking
to hear. The fight must have been going on for some time before we
got there. The pig's jaws dripped with blood and foam, his beady red
eyes following each move of the leopard, his flanks and back covered
with blood from the clawing and biting it had suffered, but still
strong, nimble and full of fight; the leopard's side and neck gashed
open and blood streaming from the wounds. One can hardly credit the
quickness of a wild boar; they are lightning fast on their feet;
their big head and thick hide are a match for any tiger in a fair
fight, let alone a leopard, and although a leopard is very quick, the
boar with its wicked tusks matched him in all his moves and springs.
It made no difference which way the leopard would spring, it was
always met by a ripping of the tusks. It was an ideal place for an
encounter of this kind; a clear, open space, neither having an
advantage, the ground baked hard. It gave a firm foothold to the
boar as it allowed it to turn and meet the rushes and springs of the
leopard, and as the leopard would spring the boar would dart forward,
throwing up its head at the same time, the tusks ripping whatever
they came in contact with. The object of the leopard was to get a
firm hold on the back of the boar, while the boar, unmindful of
biting and clawing, was bent on getting the leopard down and
disemboweling him. The men became as excited as the monkeys in the
trees, and it was difficult to distinguish which were making the more
noise or were the more excited. I am positive we looked upon the
fight ten minutes, and I cannot judge how long they were at it before
we came upon them; they were both becoming weaker from the loss of
blood.
As we watched them with bated breath, the leopard kept circling
around, crouching for a spring, while the boar, never taking its
small red eyes from the leopard, with head lowered, was watching and
ready to meet the next move. Almost too quick for the eye to follow,
the leopard sprang at the boar like lightning, the boar jumped
forward and aside and, in a flash, turned and as the leopard the
ground, before it could recover, was upon it, striking it with its
head and throwing it on its side. Standing on its adversary, with
its front feet holding it down and unmindful of the snarling, biting
and clawing, with a squealing grunt, the boar lowered his head and
with one ripping thrust disemboweled the leopard.
It was done quicker than the eye could follow. The leopard lay where
it was; it attempted to rise, but the boar, jumping and stamping upon
it, it fell back, gave one or two spasmodic efforts to rise and
turned over dead. The boar still standing over it, squealing, its
head rolling from side to side, its hind feet sagged and, giving a
squealing grunt, fell over the leopard, dead. It was truly a battle
royal. I was thrilled. I could not move. It was the most thrilling
sight I think I ever witnessed. My admiration for the boar was
great; had he not died, and had been able to move off, I would have
made no attempt to either stop or kill him. It was a magnificent
fight, with the boar on his feet last.
We buried the dead fighters and went on our way. Coming to a small
stream, I decided to make camp. We built platforms in trees for
sleeping and as a cache for stores, cutting down the surrounding
trees and leaving a small clearing. The next day I had the men cut
saplings and rattan to make rough transportation cages. I wanted
everything handy so a cage could be made in a few moments. The
natives could not at first understand why I went to all the trouble
of having all the wood ready for cages and nothing to put in them.
Their idea was to get the animals first and then cage them. I
pointed out that an animal in a net was sure to injure itself in its
struggle to escape and the sooner it was in a cage and free from the
nets, the safer it would be, for if they were injured in any way,
they were useless. We stayed four days at this camp, arranging the
nets and digging a few pits after caching stores in the trees.
Before starting on the first drive I explained to the Tungku what I
considered the most difficult problem of the expedition, namely a
clear road to the river and to the coast, as all cages would have to
be drawn to the river on runners or sleds, and the jungle paths would
have to be cleared of fallen trees and undergrowth. I told him he
had better send four or five men to clear and widen the path to the
next kampong and the headman there to do the same on to the next, and
so on to the river, the headman at the river to gather bamboo and
logs for making of rafts. For the drive itself and the work
pertaining to it, fifty men would answer. We would be away from the
kampong about one week and at the farthest one half day's journey.
Should occasion arise, I would send back for bullocks to bring in the
cages. Everything being arranged to my satisfaction as to the
transportation, we started off the next morning and arrived at the
clearing where the leopard and boar had battled, and started the
drive at that point. The Tungku and I rode on, the elephant in the
center, twenty-five men on each side and an elephant at each end,
headmen with their muzzle loaders on the elephants.
At the striking of a tom-tom we all started to move toward the camp.
The men were told to make as much noise as they wished and believe me
it was a noisy crowd. They went at it heart and soul, not only on
account of the incentive of clearing out of their district a lot of
destructive animals, but the killing of the man-eating tiger and the
net-making contest, the way I had gone about things in general had
inspired them all with the utmost confidence. They believed that no
possible harm could come to them while with me, and my slightest wish
was carried out. The drive itself is not dangerous as you are fairly
safe in numbers.
With the men shouting, and cutting the undergrowth, and the two
elephants at each end breaking through, there was enough noise to
startle and drive any animal before it. Our work in extracting
whatever we caught and the putting together of cages, would not allow
those animals caught in nets much chance to bite through or injure
themselves as we could handle the most violent ones first.
In handling and taking from the nets the smaller animals a thick
bamboo was used hollowed throughout, about five or six feet long,
with a length of stout rattan, the end doubled together and run
through the bamboo, leaving a loop at one end which could be slipped
over the head of the animal through the mesh, and drawn taut against
the end of the bamboo and held by two natives. Although they would
wiggle and twist and squirm, they were helpless, and as the net would
be unfurled, another loop held by two other natives would then be
slipped over its head and as the other loop was allowed to come free
from the bamboo, they would take the animal which was now clear of
the net and drop it in the rough cage. With the bars fastened and
the animal safe, it was ready to be sent on to the nearest kampong.
This method of course could only be used with the smaller animals.
The larger cat animals that were caught in the nets, two leopards and
one clouded tiger were so entangled that we put nets and all in the
rough cages and then from between the bars, cut enough of the mesh in
the net for the animals to free themselves. The larger deer gave us
a lot of trouble on account of getting their horns and feet entangled
through the meshes and most had to be killed. These we fed to the
cat animals, after we had taken our fill. One tapir and calf we got
in nets, the other two in pits. The wild boars gave us the most
trouble. Whereas the tapirs were timid, the boars were very vicious
and could only be put in cages by the same method I used with
leopards. With the tigers and leopards caught in set traps, a
transportation cage is set close to one end of the trap with two bars
raised. A chicken or bait of some kind is placed within the cage,
then a couple of bars of the trap are loosened and drawn out. If the
animal refuses to enter the cage he is prodded with poles until he
does, the bars are then slipped into their place and the animal is
secured. There is really no danger or excitement in trapping and
caging of tigers, or any animal caught in a trap of that kind.
In all I stayed with the Tungku nine weeks and the round-up of
animals caught by net and pit, included ninety-two different
varieties, not including three tigers, two spotted and one black
leopard--forty-three cages and sixteen crates. This only includes
those specimens in good condition. I do not count the animals that
were killed off on account of not being fit to show for zoölogical
purposes.
It was my good fortune during my stay with the Tungku to witness a
bull fight. Under a covered shed on a raised platform the Sultan
with his Court and guests sat, while the natives, five and six deep,
either sat on the ground or stood forming a circle of about seventy
yards in which the bulls fight.
The bulls belonged to a local breed. They are small in size, but
sturdy, well built, very quick in movements, have a small hump on
their necks, and short sharp horns. They are trained for fighting
from early youth and out in the ring about the age of three, but are
at their best at four or five years old. Bulls of as nearly as
possible the same size and weight are generally matched to fight, and
when once the bulls have been let go, the fight continues till one
turns tail and leaves the field.
Each bull has three or four men who encourage it to greater efforts
and when the fight is over lead it away.
Sometimes one of the bulls declines to fight altogether and rushes
away the moment he is faced by his adversary. The victor then
performs a strange sort of war dance alone, whirling round and round,
tossing his head, bellowing and snorting and finally dashing off in
pursuit of the enemy, demoralizing and scattering the crowd of
spectators who fall over each other in their efforts to get out of
his dangerous path.
Usually there is a fight more or less prolonged and when at last one
bull gives way and runs for the field, he is followed, caught and
brought back again to face his adversary. If he fights again, well
and good, but the second bout rarely lasts any time and the beaten
bull again saves himself by flight. That settles the matter as far
as backers are concerned and the bets are paid. It very seldom
happens that a bull is killed or even seriously injured. As soon as
the bulls arrive on the ground, they are inspected at close quarters
by the backers, while the setters-on give the last touches to their
champion. They take the cover from the points of their horns,
squeeze and rub a lemon on their nose and tongue, and tickle their
back and sides. The bets are made and deposited with the
stakeholder. The choice of position is decided by the drawing of one
or two blades of grass held in the umpire's hand. The owner who
draws the short blade takes the upstream position for his bull, while
the other bull faces him from downstream. The setters-on then bring
their respective bulls closely up to have a good look at each other,
slowly pass about ten yards apart, and then bring them face to face.
The leading ropes are suddenly cast off and the bulls dash at each
other with fury and meet head on with a resounding thud. In a second
their horns are interlocked, each trying by every ruse and device to
drive the other back on his haunches or throw him over by main force.
A moment later the horns are disengaged to find a new and a better
purchase, and first one and then the other will gain a slight
advantage and both bulls move this way and that from the center to
the sides. The people of the East are seldom supposed to give way to
demonstrations expressing emotion, but while a bull fight is on the
Malays yell themselves hoarse with shouts of encouragement and
approval, while the setters-on half mad with excitement simply dance
around the bulls.
The varying tide of the battle carried the bulls to the center of the
circle, and the novice which at first contented himself with simply
resisting the attacks of his antagonist now made his great effort,
pressing irresistibly forward, and bringing his great weight so to
bear, that at last his adversary was forced back a few inches.
Another effort and another, then gathering himself together, he
rushed the other back and the latter's hind legs giving way under the
pressure, he was thrown on his side and the other was upon him,
butting unmercifully with his short, sharp-pointed horns. The old
bull was beaten, but gathering himself together he recovered his legs
and disappeared amidst a scene of the wildest excitement; men
shouting themselves hoarse and otherwise expressing their delight.
The excitement did not last more than a few minutes, then everybody
quietly discussed what was held to be a great fight. It lasted about
twenty minutes. The beaten bull was brought back again but as he
declined to face his late adversary, he was led away, the bets were
paid, and every one settled down again to wait for the next fight.
On my return from the round-up, for several years I did not venture
into the jungle for more than a day or two at a time. My fever and
dysentery had become chronic. I realized that I had too often
disregarded the warning of the doctors and that, if I had another bad
attack of illness, far away from medical attention, I should have to
leave the country or might possibly die before I got way. My animal
business in Singapore had grown so large that it gave me plenty to
do, and I left to my agents the work of collecting. Through my house
in Orchard Road passed a steady stream of animals, destined for
zoölogical gardens all over the world.
Most of the animals went to the various Australian gardens for which
I acted as agent. They allowed me to make my shipments f.o.b.
Singapore, relieving me of the risks of transportation. In return, I
gave them first call on all of my best specimens. When their needs
had been supplied I had my choice between shipping to Hagenbeck's
agent at Calcutta, shipping to Europe, and selling to the crews of
boats that called at Singapore. The officers and men bought many
animals, sharing the cost and eventually sharing the profits if the
animals lived to reach Europe. Ariff, by crooked dealing and passing
off sickly animals, had almost ruined this business, but it revived
rapidly when the word spread that I could be depended upon. Ariff
and I had many stormy sessions before I convinced him that my way was
the better, and he finally came to handle a large part of the boat
trade for me, doing the work of soliciting orders and making
deliveries on commission.
I made very few sales directly to America. The trouble and risk of
the long voyage were too great, and also there was a twenty-five per
cent duty to be paid when the animals were landed. The gamble was
large, and, even when the deliveries were safely made, there was
little profit. Some of my animals reached America through Hagenbeck,
who kept them until they were acclimated and then shipped them across
the Atlantic. The acclimatization and breeding of animals in
captivity is a business in itself.
Hagenbeck approached me several times with the proposition to become
his exclusive agent in the Far East, but I preferred to have my own
business and sell independently. Both he and Cross of Liverpool kept
me busy with orders; and, with the orders from Australia, I found
that I had a greater demand that I could meet. Almost every boat
that came to Singapore from the districts where animals were captured
brought specimens, and I was continually pressing my agents to send
more. I traveled constantly throughout the Archipelago, urging the
natives to work faster and keeping in touch with the source of my
supply. As I have said before, I made few excursions into the
jungle, and then only when it was impossible for my agents, who were
generally headmen, to leave their kampongs and come to the coast.
Trengganu, with its jungles full of animals, was my favorite
territory. I had the valuable privilege of being practically the
only white man who could enter that country. In it I passed so much
of my time that I finally had a house built there for me. My
presence speeded the work of capturing, though I took no part in it
except to talk with the headmen when they came to the coast. The
Sultan gave me unlimited power in handling the natives, and no native
who worked for me ever had cause to complain.
Nor had the Sultan himself; for I often found ways of helping him
when the treasury was at low ebb. He looked to me to bring him news
of the outside world and to interpret the news for him in terms that
were understandable. Several hours of each day I spent at the
palace, in discussing the affairs of the country with the Sultan and
his Prime Minister, Mahommed Yusuf. Yusuf was a tunku besar (big
prince) and was formerly the Sultan of Lingga. He was driven from
his country by the Dutch and had sought refuge with his brother, the
Sultan of Trengganu. There he lived as an object lesson of what
might happen if Europeans were allowed to come into the country.
It was inevitable that Trengganu should eventually be taken over by
the British, but the Sultan fought the idea at every turn. He could
see in such a possibility nothing but ruin for himself, and he was
determined to hold out as long as he lived. In our long talks we
discussed every phase of his situation, and I pointed out to him that
other sultans had prospered under the British. He was interested in
that fact and asked for more information. Finally, it was arranged
that Sir Frank Swettenham, who was governor-general of the Straits
Settlements, should make a visit to Trengganu. That was the entering
wedge. A few years later, an agreement was reached by which the
country became a British protectorate and the Sultan, a prosperous,
though nominal, ruler; and the development of this virgin territory
began.
As a reward for the advice and assistance I gave him, the Sultan,
before Trengganu passed out of his control, made me a present of five
different concessions of land, with all mineral and surface rights.
Though the concessions, which totaled nine hundred square miles, were
rich in tin, the Sultan advised me to let the tin stay where it was
and plant rubber. I could see that I had reached the beginning of
the end of my career as an animal dealer!
On my return to Singapore after one of my visits to Trengganu, I
found a letter from Mr. La Souef, of Melbourne, asking me if I would
make a special effort to get a rhinoceros for his zoölogical gardens.
He had made the same request the year before, and I had had a
standing order with my agents in Trengganu, but nothing had come of
it. There was constant good-natured rivalry between Mr. La Souef and
his son, who was director of the gardens at Perth, and, as I had
provided the son with a rhinoceros, I wanted to do as much for the
father. I wrote to him, saying that I should communicate with my
agents and that, if they had nothing to report, I would go out myself
and see what I could find for him. Accordingly, I sent Ali to
Trengganu with the message, telling him to wait there until I arrived.
There seemed to be so little chance that the natives would capture a
good specimen that, after attending to the business at the animal
house, I gathered my kit and started northward. At Trengganu I found
Ali and some of the headmen waiting for me. Just as I had expected,
they had nothing to report. One of them said that he thought I could
find a rhinoceros near Rawang.
"Why do you think so?"
"Tûan," he replied, "there are traces."
"But why haven't your men been digging pits and capturing it?"
He made some reply to the effect that his men were busy planting
rice, and I let the matter drop, for I saw that he was unwilling to
talk. After the headman had left the house, I questioned Ali. While
waiting for me, Ali had drawn the headman out on the subject. It
seemed that the natives of the headman's kampong were reluctant to go
out hunting the rhinoceros because they had seen the tracks, not only
of the beast they were after, but also of beasts they wanted to
avoid--a pair of seladangs.
I could understand, then, why they were not anxious to go out
rhinoceros hunting, armed with nothing but their knives and
muzzle-loading guns; for the seladang is, to my mind, the most
dangerous animal on earth. It is the largest and fiercest of all
wild cattle; its sense of smell and its vision are keen, and it
charges with terrific speed. Except for one baby seladang that died
before it reached a menagerie, not one has ever been captured alive.
A number have been killed and mounted and are to be found in museums.