The snares of civilized life--Faust's invocation--The dangers
of the forest--Serpents--A perilous adventure--Carnivorous
and herbivorous animals--The "sladan"--The man of the wood.
The young man who incautiously ventures into the mysterious parts of
Drury Lane--where vice and crime have a classical reputation--or strolls
through the old Latin Quarter of Paris (where some of the streets are
anything but safe to pass through), or who finds himself, for whatsoever
reason you will, in one of those questionable labyrinths still existing
in the most civilized Italian cities, would certainly not run less risk
than in facing the dangers of the forest. The dart, the trap, the attack
of beast and reptile may be, with courage and calmness, averted or
parried, but the evils which menace man, under the hypocritical
euphemisms of Society (ever ready to vaunt its impeachableness) injure
not only the body but, what is worse, the spirit.
Those who succumb to the latter are ofttimes induced to lament that
death does not come swift enough to kill their flesh, after their souls
and intellects have been long since slain and consumed.
In the thick of the jungle the spirit rises and wanders free; there are
no restraints or limits to its flight. It is inebriated by the simple
and serene joys of living; it is pervaded by a current of new, potent
energy that makes one feel--alone, in Nature's realm--either immensely
great or infinitely small; exquisitely good or miserably wicked.
It is not prudent, when travelling in the forest, to let philosophy make
us linger long on the way, but there are some moments in which one's
inner life is so intense, in which thought and sentiment are so
impetuous that that fleeting atom of time is in itself sufficient to
mark an indelible epoch in the existence of men. Who knows but what if
Mephistopheles had lead Faust into the virgin forest, and there left him
free to his speculations, if the famous invocation would ever have
escaped from the fevered lips of the doctor?
But... what is this hissing? It is not the spirit that denies; it is a
snake I have disturbed along my path and that has not found my
philosophizing over pleasant (like you, perhaps, kind reader) and so I
will cut short my digression.
* * * * *
The forest abounds in reptiles. There are innumerable varieties of
serpents, big and small, venomous and harmless. It may almost be said
(especially towards the plain) that every bush and every tree has one of
these inhabitants.
The commonest species are the _tigi riló_, the _tigi paà_ and the _tigi
dolò_ but the most feared are the _sendok_ and the _bimaà_.
[Illustration: Cooking in a bamboo saucepan.
_p._ 72.]
As a rule none of these snakes will assail a person unless they have
been molested. They remain either rolled up close to a tree or lazily
swinging from one of its branches, keeping hold of it with its powerful
tail and so it is necessary to proceed very carefully and to look
attentively both up and down in order not to disturb them.
The serpent, when stumbled against, hurls itself as quick as lightning
upon the unhappy offender, encircling and suffocating him with its coils
and biting him with its sharp fangs even when they are not poisoned.
Like all other animals it becomes ferocious and seeks to kill from fear.
He who disturbs it is a foe to be vanquished.
But if you pass him without being afraid and without hurrying, with a
slow gliding step, taking care not to move your hands or arms, it will
let you go on your way and take no notice of you.
And this I can affirm from experiments I have myself made upon the
terrible _sendok_.
One day I was able, in this way, to pass quite close, almost touching
one of these most venomous reptiles. He never moved as I crept by but he
did not lose sight of me for a single instant. I am quite sure that if
my inward fear had betrayed itself by the slightest gesture, I should
have been a dead man.
Sometimes I have succeeded, very, very gently, in placing upon it a
stick about two metres long. Well, the horrid serpent just lazily
unfolded its coils and softly slipped from under it. Very different
would have been the result if I had put the stick upon its head roughly!
From this you will see that danger from snakes is much less than one
might believe from the thrilling adventures narrated by friends (between
a roast chestnut and a sip of wine), as they are snugly gathered round a
cosy fireside, adventures which they have read in the fabulous pages
written by one of those story-tellers who gull the respectable public
with the loveliest or the most terrifying descriptions of places, men
and beasts of which they scarcely know the name.
Serpents are always attacked and beaten down with sticks, except the
very large ones, that are taken by lassoes as I will explain in another
chapter. It is a quick and simple means of getting free, in a few
minutes, of a venomous enemy which it never fails to do when fear does
not make the eye and the hand miss its aim, precision in the blow being
all that is needed.
Not very long since I had an adventure with one of these reptiles which
threatened to be my last. I was quietly strolling in the forest and had
with me neither weapon nor stick. My thoughts were far away but a
rustling sound and a loud hiss brought them quickly back and arrested my
steps. A large, venomous snake was right in front of me! Erect, with
open mouth and protruding tongue, the embodiment of hatred, it was
there, prompt for an assault. My case was desperate and only a miracle
of _sang-froid_ could save me. Fixing my eyes steadily upon those of the
serpent, very gradually and with the slowest possible movement I bent my
knees and crouched down towards the ground, where, in an equally slow
and methodical way I groped for some sort of stick with which to strike
my adversary. Having found what I wanted, I drew myself up in the same
cautious manner and with a sudden, rapid gesture I hit the beast with
all my might. Fortunately for me, my blow told and I had an addition to
my collection of jungle foes.
The traveller in Malay who is not a thorough alien to timorous feelings
would do well to never leave his comfortable post in the railway
carriage between one place and another or at least to keep within a safe
distance of the forest, for although its perils have been greatly
exaggerated there are some, all the same, that require a stout heart and
firm nerves.
When there is no big game to put your courage and your pulse to the test
there is always a troop of smaller animals that make game of you and
prove your force of resistance. A rat bites your heel whilst you are
asleep; the leeches suck your blood; all sorts of insects sting you.
These little annoying incidents irritate flesh and spirit and may be the
cause of feverishness, but a dose of quinine and a compress over the
wound soon have a good effect.
* * * * *
But it is not sufficient to bravely face bodily danger, support physical
pain and endure with grace the mortifications inflicted upon one's flesh
by the more minute inhabitants of those regions, for the jungle also
exacts certain moral virtues which civilization does not always
appreciate or admire, nay, on the contrary, that it often laughs at.
The great Sorceress, for whom one feels a strange nostalgia after having
once known her magnificence and her horrors, kills the man who is not
temperate in his habits.
Moderation in eating is the first consideration for prolonging life in
the forest. The stomach must never be overladen and no strong drinks
must be used.
By following this method of living and allowing myself very rarely even
a glass of wine I managed to keep in excellent health in 1889 when an
epidemic raged violently in the island of Nias and made sad havoc
amongst the natives.
The human organism, especially that of a European, is beset by numerous
inconveniences which may generate illness; the burning sun, that seems
to cook one's brain; the cold nights and heavy dews; the violent storms
that quite suddenly break over your head, and the food that must be put
up with even when it is not actually hygienic.
For all this a strict regime, based upon moderation, is indispensable.
It is true that in my forest cabin I have an assortment of the best
wines and whiskies, notwithstanding the improbability of being able to
offer a glass to my friends, but those bottles remain well corked,
waiting for their legitimate owner to feel indisposed, when a draught of
their contents will restore his lost strength without resorting to
medicine.
* * * * *
The greatest dangers in the jungle are those which cannot be met with
impunity; those that render every defence inefficacious when a man is
taken unawares.
I speak of the tigers and panthers that are very numerous and audacious;
of the bears, that do not act so jocosely here as in our streets and
menageries but vie with other wild beasts in blood-thirstiness; of the
rhinoceros, the elephant, the terrible _sladan_, the wild dogs that,
fierce as wolves, wander about in large packs.
A dissertation upon the tiger and its like does not seem to me a
sufficiently interesting subject for my readers who will have seen, who
knows how many, at the fairs and museums and will have learnt their
character and habits from Natural History books or from the description
(not always correct) of someone who has only set foot on the land where
they live. I must, however, make special mention of the _sladan_, the
only survivor of an almost extinct fauna.
This animal belongs to the herbivorous class but is more ferocious than
any of the carnivorous species. It does not kill from hunger or for
self-defence, but for the mere sake of killing.
It is a sort of buffalo or bison with two very solid, strongly planted
horns on its thick-set head. This animal possesses such vigour and
agility as to enable it to attack victoriously all other wild beasts.
Only the elephant sometimes succeeds, with difficulty, in mastering it.
Its den is in the most remote and inaccessible parts of the forest and
by day and by night it scours the neighbourhood, rending the air with
its awful roars. One is never sure of not meeting it, and to meet it
either means to kill it or to be killed.
It is very fond of the tender shoots of sweet potatoes and for this will
often visit the crops cultivated by the Sakais who, for fear of this
dreaded enemy, do not plant very much. Generally, though, the _sladan_
devastates the potato fields during the night.
The ferocity of this beast surpasses that of all others, for whilst the
lion, the bear and even the tiger and panther have been known to show
some feeling of respect, gratitude or fear, the _sladan_ never exhibits
one or the other. It would almost seem that in him is concentrated all
the hatred of a race of animals, fast dying out, against every living
creature whose species is still destined to remain in the world.
And yet quite close to the haunts of these champions in savagery, always
on the look out for blood and carnage, live other quiet and harmless
animals. I will say nothing of the wild boar (that in comparison with
the _sladan_, might pass for a lamb) of the wild goat or of the deer
which are in great numbers, but there are little rodent quadrupeds of
every sort, size, and fur, besides perfect crowds of monkeys of
different kinds. They belong to the herbivorous order and go about by
day in search of food, hiding themselves when the first shades of night
call forth from their dens the heroes of nocturnal tragedies.
A garrulous population of birds enliven the forest; they are
insectivorous, granivorous, and omnivorous but all are beautiful in
their rich and wonderful variety of colour. Amongst these the pheasant
for its oriental plumage and the cockatoo for its querulous voice are
remarkable as the largest.
A gay concert is given in honour of the dawning and the dying day but
long before the birds of prey have unfolded their wings and soar, like
phantoms, through the darkness, the pretty carol-singers hush their
warblings and hide themselves from the horrors of the night.
A collector of butterflies would go into ecstasies over the splendid
varieties that flutter and flit in the air, and the countless multitude
of different insects would be well worth special study; amongst the
latter are verified the most curious mimetic facts that ever the
unprejudiced mind of a man of politics could imagine!
And yet, in the midst of so many contrasts, in the midst of so many
dangers which exact exceptional presence of mind and strong nerves, life
in the forest is full of charm and allurements.
The spirit is strengthened and elevated by this continuous warfare, open
and pronounced, so unlike those depressing struggles against narrow
minds, and tiger-hearts, which distinguish town-life.
* * * * *
It is very rare that one meets a man in the Malay forest. You may walk
on for weeks without encountering a soul. I happened once, though, to
fall in with one who was a primitive being in the strictest sense of the
term.
[Illustration: Trap for reptiles and rats.
_p._ 86.]
I was trudging along one day with my Sakai servant, when at the foot
of the hill (Chentok) I saw a little cot and wished to visit it.
Inside I found a man. At seeing me he caught up his blow-pipe--a
miserable-looking instrument--and his poisoned darts, and was about to
run away. I hastily made my companion offer him a few cooked potatoes
and a little maize which he accepted without saying a word and began to
devour ravenously.
In those brief moments I took stock of the poor creature. He was
painfully thin; his skeleton could be clearly seen under the unadorned
skin; his sunken eyes gleamed with mistrust and inquietude from out of
his fleshless face, and his long black hair lay in tangled masses round
his neck.
I had before me the true type of a wild man of the wood, less vivacious
and less loquacious than his brother, the ape.
I gave him some tobacco, that he eagerly crammed into his mouth and
then, keeping fast hold of his weapon he hurried off, without uttering a
single syllable, although I asked him many things in his own tongue.
Neither did he in any way express satisfaction, or gratitude for what he
had received but vanished mute, contemptuous and silently into the
thickest part of the jungle.
My little Sakai was not so surprised as I at this strange person and his
way of proceeding, because he had seen him before and could tell me
something about him.
He was known by the name of _Alà Lag_, or the sorcerer. He had no wife,
no children, no friends, and lived quite alone, far from everyone,
wandering about the forest, feeding upon wild-honey and the fruit he
found upon the ground. If he happened to catch some game he would light
up a bit of fire and seem to cook it but in reality he ate it raw.
Sometimes he came across a settlement when he would enter the first hut
which lay in his way, and by gesture more than by word, would ask for
food and after having obtained it, started off again.
The good Sakais pitied the poor vagabond and had often tried to make him
stop with them as a brother or a guest but he always resolutely refused
whatever proposal they made him and they were of opinion that not even
old age would have any effect upon the misanthropy of this poor
inoffensive being who isolated himself so obstinately from all his kind.
I thought to myself, is the poor fellow wise or mad in thus seeking to
live alone as Nature produced him, in the unlimited liberty of his
native jungle where he is secure from delusions and sorrows?
Men, little less savage than he, feel compassion for him as he passes
by. Nobody would dare to laugh at or injure such a harmless soul and so
he is allowed to ramble from hut to hut undisturbed, his eccentricities
and his odd behaviour being his safeguard.
It is not always so amongst people more advanced in civilization!