CHAPTER XIV

We had hardly settled down to our ordinary life at Kuching, when the news came of a tribe of Dyaks giving trouble in the Batang Lupar district. Mr. Frank Maxwell was in charge of the place, and was living at Fort Alice at Simanggang. It happened that the Rajah’s yacht was then being docked in Singapore, so the Rajah decided to make his journey to Simanggang in a war-boat. As I was rather anxious for the Rajah’s safety on this occasion, I thought I would like to accompany him and to stay at Simanggang while he went up country to quell the rebellion. The Rajah did not like the idea of taking me, on account of the long boat journey, but I insisted and, as usual, got my own way.

We started at midday, and had to spend the first night of the journey anchored in our boat at the mouth of the Sarawak River. I never shall forget the sand-flies that tormented us on this occasion; if possible, these insects are more trying than mosquitoes. They attack one in swarms, and are almost invisible, so that the meshes of a mosquito net are useless in keeping these pests from one’s face and hands. The heat was stifling, the temperature being from 90° to 95°. I wrapped myself up—​face and hands included—​in the folds of a silk sarong, and in that manner passed the night in the boat. A good deal of discomfort was obviated by my wearing Malay dress. I need not say that my beautiful garments, made by the chiefs’ wives, were discarded on this occasion. Over a shift of white silk, I folded a cotton sarong, and wore a long Malay cotton jacket over that. In countries hot as is Sarawak, perpetual changes of garments are necessary, and I took with me dozens of cotton sarongs, cotton jackets, and one silk scarf (not forgetting Datu Isa’s injunctions that only the right eye should be visible). A large conical straw hat effectually shaded my face from the sun, and served as an umbrella.

After spending a somewhat disturbed night, in the morning I had to think about getting a bath. Ima, my maid, was with me, and proved a valuable assistant on my journey. Our boatmen, numbering some thirty, were well acquainted with the banks of the Sarawak River, and knew of several pools of fresh water not far from the place where we had anchored. Our boat, being of great size, could not be pulled level with the bank, so a very small canoe was brought alongside, into which Ima and I established ourselves. Ima took the paddle and we wobbled to the shore. I held desperately to the sides of the boat, and luckily only a few strokes were required to bring us to land. Ima brought my changes of clothes, and directed me to a pool in the jungle. It was a slimy-looking place, screened in by trees, and here we had our morning dip. I had brought with me a piece of soap, and tying a sarong under my armpits stepped into the pool, and with the help of a dipper made of palm leaves poured the water over my head repeatedly, and in this manner managed to obtain a fairly enjoyable bath. I dressed myself in a fresh sarong and jacket and made my way back to the boat, where the Rajah, who had also found a pool to bathe in, was awaiting me.

We crossed the narrow strip of sea dividing us from the Batang Lupar River, and slept the next night at Lingga Fort. Our paraphernalia when travelling was very simple—​the mattresses, which were stretched across the boat for the Rajah’s and my comfort during the voyage, were carried on shore and laid on the floor in the Fort, the mosquito curtains were then hung up, and thus we were provided with a comfortable shelter for the night.

The next day, after 45 miles of paddling, we arrived at Fort Alice, taking Mr. Maxwell by surprise, for although he knew that the Rajah would make his way to Simanggang immediately on receipt of his dispatch, he had not expected to see me as well. There, however, as elsewhere, I met with nothing but kindness. Mr. Maxwell cheerfully gave me his rooms, and disappeared—​goodness knows where—​in some dim portion of the Fort. He would have none of my apologies, and pretended he thought it a pleasure to have the benefit of my company.

The next day great animation prevailed all over the place. The loyal and friendly tribes, who were to accompany the Rajah in his expedition, had been summoned to Simanggang by messengers to the various districts bearing calling-out spears, together with knotted strings. Each morning a knot is taken out by the chief of the tribe to whom the string has been sent, marking off the number of days that are to elapse before the Rajah requires his trusty subjects to follow him. It might be as well to mention that, with the exception of the Rangers (the drilled force from which the Rajah chooses his fort-men, sentries, and bodyguard), the remainder of the force might be compared to the English Reserves, for although the taxes of the people are very light—​Dyaks paying one dollar per annum for their whole family—​this does not exempt them from military service. Those Malays who pay an exemption tax of two dollars per annum per family are exempted from military service. As a matter of fact, whenever the services of Malays or Dyaks were required on expeditions, the Rajah usually found himself at the head of a far too numerous body of men, every man and boy being always eager for a fight, and whenever the fight was a lawful one, engaged under the leadership of the Rajah himself, hardly any of the Dyak male population could be persuaded to remain in their homes.

A large number of chiefs assembled in the great hall of the Fort, where were stacked the rifles and arms. When any serious matter required to be discussed, these chiefs were bidden into Mr. Maxwell’s private sitting-room, capable of holding fifty or sixty people squatting comfortably on the floor. I have often been present at such meetings. The Rajah and Mr. Maxwell sat on cane chairs, and the chiefs squatted in rows on the floor giving vent to long-winded and extraordinarily fluent speeches. I do not know the Dyak language, and it is impossible to imagine the torrent of words that can pour out for hours together from the lips of these warriors. Their language resembles Malay in a disconcerting way; knowing Malay, I supposed I might understand what they said, but I could only catch a word here and there. Sea Dyaks speak in a jerky manner, and in councils of war sit perfectly motionless, their eyes fixed on the ground, and talk interminably, until the Rajah, sifting the important matter from the flow of rhetoric, stops the speaker and orders another man present to give his views on the subject. Dyaks are born orators, and think a great deal of anyone who can hold forth for hours without pausing for a word. They talk about such men in eulogistic terms: “He is good,” “He is brave,” “His mouth is beautiful,” etc. I used to think such councils of war, from the lengthy speeches made, must prove trying to the Rajah and his officers, but living amongst primitive people seems to change the temper, and make patience an ordinary accompaniment to life in those regions.

I well remember the morning of this particular conclave. After the council of war, the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, the chiefs, and I, went into the hall where the arms were kept. Many obsolete weapons are to be found in nearly all Sarawak Forts. Some of the blunderbusses in Simanggang Fort were more than a hundred years old, having been taken in punitive expeditions from the houses of head-hunters. A Dyak present on this occasion took from a rack an old blunderbuss, and was handling the weapon unobserved by the authorities present. Suddenly, a sharp report rang out, and we saw smoke issuing from the funnel of the blunderbuss and a Dyak in the crowd holding his head. The man smiled, “Medicine gone from that gun,” he said, “and hit my head-handkerchief.” He took the handkerchief off and held it up, when we could see it had been pierced by the charge that had so unexpectedly gone off. By a happy chance no person was wounded in the crowded room. I felt disturbed and looked at the Rajah, who was pulling his moustache as he does when anything out of the way takes place. “Strange!” he said, looking at the man; but Mr. Maxwell was very angry. “Why do you touch those things?” he said; “I always tell you not to meddle with the arms.” The man gave a grunt, but showed no other signs of disturbance, and the conversation went on as though nothing unusual had happened. When the Rajah, Mr. Maxwell, and I met at breakfast, the matter was discussed at length, and it was thought extraordinary that the powder should be sufficiently dry to ignite a charge after so many years. The mystery was never solved, but the incident had served to bring out sharply a curious trait in the native mind.

In a few days, arrangements were completed, and the force started from Simanggang under the command of the Rajah. It was a picturesque sight, the Dyaks in their war dress, their shields and war caps bristling with horn-bills’ plumes, their flowing waistcloths of bright colours, their swords and spears rattling as they carried them proudly to the landing-place and stacked them in their boats. A regular flotilla of large war canoes followed the Rajah’s boat, the paddles making a thundering and rhythmic noise as they churned up the waters of the river. It was very splendid, exhilarating, and picturesque. All the able-bodied Malay men in the place followed the Rajah, so that the Malay village of Simanggang, lying beyond the Chinese Bazaar, was almost deserted of its male population. A prince of Brunei, called Pangiran Matali, who once had been a subject of the Sultan of that country but who had become a Sarawak subject, a chief called Abang Aing, and two other Malay chiefs from neighbouring rivers, brothers, called Abang Chek and Abang Tek (whose names and curious personalities reminded me of Tweedledum and Tweedledee, for they seemed inseparable friends), also accompanied the Rajah. Pangiran Matali and Abang Aing always took their share in expeditions against head-hunters. They invariably stood by the present Rajah through thick and thin, and had on many occasions risked their lives for him. The Rajah has often spoken to me of their loyalty, their courage, and also of their extraordinary aptitude in helping him with advice in political matters referring to the Sarawak Government. Daiang Kota, Abang Aing’s wife, was a famous woman, a worthy helpmeet to her husband and a loyal subject of the Rajah’s. I knew all these people well, and their memory can never fade from my heart.

A wonderful being, called Tunku Ismael, was left to guard the Fort and me. He was a Serip, a descendant of the Prophet; he was thin and taller than most Malays, and had beautiful ascetic features, dark piercing eyes, and a hooked nose. He was always dressed in white, and wore the white skull cap that followers of the Prophet often wear, instead of the more cumbrous turban. This charming old gentleman and I were friends, for I always met him during my many visits to Simanggang. Mr. Maxwell’s little dog, called Fury, a half-breed Yorkshire terrier, a valiant little creature, old and toothless, brave as a lion and helpless as a mouse, was also left in the Fort, and an old Malay, called Sunok, bent double with age, appointed himself my bodyguard. He slept at my door, and accompanied me in my daily walks round the Malay village and through plantations of sugar-cane and fruit orchards that lay around this settlement. Of course, Ima was with me, and she sent to the village for an old lady of her acquaintance, whose name was Dalima (meaning pomegranate), to come and help her wait on me. My days went by as regularly as clockwork. I got up at 5.30 a.m., sat on the terrace outside the Fort to watch the sunrise, and with Sunok went round and round the paths and through sugar-cane plantations, etc. Then I came in to bathe, have a cup of tea, and receive the Malay women of the place. After this I had my solitary breakfast, served by one of our Malay servants, who had been left behind to attend on me. From 12 to 2 I had my siesta, then more visits from the natives until 5, when it was cool enough to go out again with Sunok until 6.30—​the hour of sunset more or less all the year round. Then, after a hasty meal spent in fighting with mosquitoes which fell in clouds on to my food, I made a hurried exit inside my mosquito curtains to escape from these pests. Here, as elsewhere, the rats were numerous. They almost nightly stole the wick of my night-light from out the tumbler of cocoa-nut oil. They ran away with the candles placed on chairs by my bedside, and were to be seen in companies scurrying in and out of the guns placed in the port-holes of my bedroom. Sometimes, as I was preparing for the night, the rats would sit upon the guns, their heads on one side, and brush their whiskers, as though they were taking stock of my toilet. Fury used to lie at my feet, inside the mosquito curtains, and it required all my persuasion to prevent him from sallying forth on the warpath against the rats, some of which were almost as big as himself. I dreaded the poor little animal meeting some horrible fate in an encounter with these formidable visitors. The rats, attracted by the candles and cocoa-nut oil, came in such numbers after a few days, that I asked Ima and Dalima to put their mattresses in my room and keep me company during the night. When first this measure was broached to Dalima, she said, “I quite understand your being frightened, because the enemy might attack the Fort and take us unawares during the night!” to which remark I replied—​what was really very true—​that the rats frightened me much more than could any Dyaks in the country.

Although my stay in Simanggang was rather lonely, I had certain compensations which did not entirely come from human companionship. I fancy every one must have heard of those beautiful birds—​now being exterminated all over the world to satisfy the stupid vanity of ignorant and frivolous women—​the egrets, or, as Sarawak people call them, paddy birds. From a terrace overlooking the river I used to watch, a little before sunrise and at sunset, for the daily migration of these birds to and from their roosting-places to the fishing grounds on the coast. Simanggang is divided by about sixty miles from the sea, and every morning and evening I could be certain, almost to the minute, of seeing this company of white wings in triangular battalions flying across the river. The shafts of light breaking against their bodies in tints of orange and rose made symphonies of colour as they formed and re-formed with the movements of the birds. I fancied the beautiful things understood the pleasure they gave me as they flapped their great white wings over my head, across the river, across miles of forest, finally disappearing like dots of glittering light in the morning and evening mists.

Another wonderful sight on the shores of that Batang Lupar River was the Bore, a fortnightly phenomenon. Now the Batang Lupar, as I have said before, is four miles in breadth at its mouth. This vast volume of water progresses undisturbed for fifteen miles from the mouth of the river, when the channel narrows until at Simanggang there are only five hundred yards from bank to bank. At each flood-tide, the water is forced, as it were, into a funnel, through which it rushes, beating against sandbanks, rocks, snags, and other impediments existing in this shallow river, hurling itself against such obstructions with a noise like thunder which can be heard for miles away. For some minutes the noise of its advent was noticeable from the Fort, when in great walls of white foam it rounded the last reach before it passed Simanggang. Sometimes tiny boats, in which were seated Malay children, were borne along the swiftly-moving backs of the waves, the little canoes looking like flies on the surface of a whirlpool. The children seem to have charmed lives on such occasions, for they can apparently play with the Bore with impunity, although men and women have often been known to find their death in the flood. As it pounded up the banks, tossed itself against snags, and fell back in huge cataracts of water, the spray, touched by the sunlight, looked like a rain of precious stones. Then on it went in its furious course, shaking the boats moored to the banks near the Bazaar, tossing them hither and thither, sometimes tearing one or two away from their moorings, until growling, fighting, and wrestling, it was lost to sight. For the first weeks of my stay in Simanggang, the flocks of egrets and the Bore were the two great attractions of the place.

As I was seated at breakfast one morning, a perspiring Dyak, frightened and incoherent, found his way to my room and fell at my feet. Ima and Dalima were with me, and Dalima, understanding the Dyak language, translated the man’s words to me. “The Rajah is killed,” he said. “All are dead, and I go home.” I looked at the man and saw his complexion was of a pale greenish brown, like that of some people when terrified or ill, and I imagined he must be of an hysterical nature. I sent for Tunku Ismael, who was then having his breakfast at his home in the village. The refugee sat on the floor, dressed in a bark waist-cloth and wearing a dirty cotton handkerchief round his head. I told him not to move, when he gave vent to sighs and grunts, and remained speechless. When Tunku Ismael arrived, he shook hands with me, and took his seat cross-legged on a sofa opposite me near the wall. He did not speak, but sat with his eyes cast down and his hands palms downwards on his knees. “Tell me, Tunku,” I said, “what is the meaning of this? This man says the Rajah and his followers are killed. He is a liar, is he not?” “Bohong benar” (truly a liar), the Tunku replied. “It is impossible such a thing could have happened and he the only survivor.” “You are a liar,” said Tunku Ismael, turning to the man, who had become greener than ever. “You have left the force because you are afraid.” Another grunt and contraction of the throat from the man on the floor. “Dead, all dead,” he repeated, “the Rajah too, and the enemy will be here to-morrow.” “All lies,” Tunku Ismael assured me, and once more turning to the man, he said, “Get out of this, and never let me see you again.” With that the man slowly departed, left the Fort, and to my knowledge was never again seen or heard of. I asked Tunku Ismael why the man should have told this story. The Tunku thought he must have become terrified and run away from the force. “Let him go in peace,” he added, “a coward like that is better out of the Rajah’s bala” (force). No more attention was paid to this rumour than to the buzzing of a mosquito, and we soon forgot all about it.

Shortly after this incident, Tunku Ismael came to me one morning with a grave face and said, “Rajah Ranee, you are under my care, you go out for long walks all round the settlement, and seem to have no idea of danger, or that there might be bad spirits about. Sunok is exceedingly old, and if anything should happen to you during your long walks, what could I do to protect you?” I inquired what danger there was, for I knew of none. “Oh yes,” he said, “there are many dangers. There are people we call Peniamuns who dress in black, cover their faces with black cloth, and sit in trees waiting to pounce on passers-by. Now, Rajah Ranee, should one of these Peniamuns get hold of you, we could never get you back again, so will you kindly walk up and down the terrace of the Fort, and not go any farther, for the Peniamuns are a real danger.” I listened politely to Tunku Ismael, but continued to take my customary walks down to the Bazaar, across a plank of wood thrown over a ditch, separating the Chinese Bazaar from the Malay settlement, along the row of Malay houses, where the women and children were always on the look-out for me, and then home by the more lonely orchards and sugar plantations, so feared by Tunku Ismael.

One morning, I saw through the lattice-work of the Fort a flotilla of some fifteen war-boats coming up the river. I hastily sent for Tunku Ismael to inquire what these boats were. Tunku Ismael could not quite make them out, because, he said, they looked like war-boats. We watched the boats as they were paddled past the Fort, anchoring along the banks near the Bazaar, and we stepped outside to see what was happening. We saw a group of Kayans from the boats, carrying spears and swords, rushing up to the Fort, headed by a small man recognized by Tunku Ismael as being a chief named Tama Paran, who did not bear a very good character in the Rejang district. This chief came up to me, brandishing his spear, and carrying a basket which, he said, the tribe had made for me. I asked him where they had come from, and tried to look very stern. “We hear the Rajah has gone on the war-path, and we have come to accompany him,” said Tama Paran. “But,” I replied: “the Rajah has been gone on the war-path this last month, and you do not know exactly where he has gone. You cannot accompany him now to the scene of action.” “Yes,” he said; “we are going on to-morrow, because we wish to fight for the Rajah.” I realized that this was a serious state of things. If I allowed this force to go after the Rajah, with no responsible European or Malay leader to keep it in check, the Kayans might attack some unprotected village up the higher reaches of the Batang Lupar River, take some heads, and pretend it was done on the Rajah’s behalf. I said to the chief, “You must not move from here until the Rajah comes back, unless you return to your village.” The man did not look pleased. He could not wait in Simanggang, he said, neither could he return home, but at any rate he consented to remain at Simanggang that evening. Tunku Ismael and I, with Sunok present, then held a council of war. We agreed it would never do to allow these Kayans to follow the Rajah, as they would probably endanger the safety of the country up river and frighten its inhabitants. We could see the fleet from the Fort, anchored near the Bazaar, and the Tunku estimated that the force numbered some six hundred men. He owned it would be somewhat difficult to keep them in order if the Rajah’s return was long delayed, but, at the same time, we intended to do our best.

Tunku Ismael warned me not to walk out that evening along the Bazaar, because he feared that these Kayans, not being accustomed to white Ranees, might be disagreeable. I also felt a little apprehensive as to what my reception would be, but after thinking the matter well over, I came to the conclusion that if I did not take my usual walk, the women and children of the settlement would feel nervous, for, after all, it was unlikely the Kayans would do me any harm, for fear of the consequences when the Rajah returned. I therefore sallied forth that evening feeling a bit nervous, accompanied by the trembling octogenarian, Sunok, and the small dog Fury. I went along the Bazaar, and found the Chinamen standing outside their shops, who told me, in Malay, as I passed, that they wished very much those men would go away. The Kayans were cooking their rice, and were not at all friendly. They made no attempt to shake hands with me, and say “How do you do,” as they would have done under ordinary circumstances. They looked rather impertinently, I thought, at my humble procession. When I reached the end of the Bazaar and was about to cross the narrow plank of wood leading to the Malay settlement, I saw a big burly Kayan standing the other side of the plank with his legs straddled, almost daring me to pass. His arms and legs were tattooed, his ears were ornamented with wild boar’s tusks, his hair hung over his neck, cut square in the front, and he wore a little straw crown and a waist-cloth of bark. I got within two feet of the man, who gave a not very pleasant smile as Fury barked loudly. There he stood motionless. I turned to Sunok. “Remove that man,” I said, but Sunok weakly replied: “He is too strong, I can’t!” The situation was ludicrous. Had I turned back, it would have shown fear on my part, so I asked the man, in Malay, to get out of my way, but he remained as though he had not heard me. There was nothing left for me but to press forward. I walked slowly across the plank until my chin (I was taller than the Kayan) nearly touched his forehead. Still he did not move, so I stood as immovable as he, and waited. After a few seconds the man skulked off, and I went on my way. The Malay women had witnessed this incident from their gardens, and they rushed up to me saying: “Do take care, Rajah Ranee, and do not go out by yourself like this. The Kayans are a terrible people, and might cut off all our heads before we know where we are.” I laughed lightly, although feeling somewhat upset, and finished my evening walk.

The next day, two or three Kayan chiefs came and asked for a sum of money which they knew was kept at the Fort, in order, as they said, that they might buy provisions and follow the Rajah. I again told them they were not to follow the Rajah and that I should not give them any money. Every day the chiefs came on the same errand, requesting money and permission to move. Personally, I was surprised they did not move, because nothing I could do would have prevented them. Tunku Ismael said they feared me, and he was sure the course we were taking was the only one to prevent disturbances in the country.

These Kayans were a great nuisance in Simanggang. They went about flourishing their spears and swords, frightening the shop-keepers and agriculturists into providing them with food. Indeed, the situation was daily becoming more alarming, and the interviews between the intruders and myself became more and more stormy, until one afternoon, when they had been in the neighbourhood for ten or twelve days, they became almost unmanageable. “We must have money,” they said, “and we must follow the Rajah, and we do not care what anyone says.” Tunku Ismael and I hardly knew what to do, when a bright thought struck me. I knew these people liked long speeches, discussions, councils of war, etc., and attached great importance to dreams; so putting on a very grave expression, I said, “Tama Paran and you all who are his followers, listen to my words. You are not to go up river, and you are not to have money, because the Rajah would not wish it. But as I see there is a strong will among you to do what you should not do, at any rate, stay here over to-morrow; for to-morrow is a particular date I have fixed within myself, having last night had a dream. To-morrow I will tell you about that dream, and I will make you understand my reasons for wishing you to do as I tell you.” “And if we go to-day, what will you do?” inquired Tama Paran. I pointed to the guns—​with, I hope, a magnificent gesture. “If you disobey my orders, the medicine from those guns will swamp every boat of yours in the river.” With those words, I got up and dismissed them, after they had promised to come and hear my speech the next day. Tunku Ismael gently remarked: “But we do not know how to fire the guns.” “No,” I said; “that does not matter; they think we know, and after all that is the chief thing!”

That evening I went for my walk unmolested, and retired to bed earlier than usual. I felt anxious. I should have been so disgusted had the Kayans gone away, in spite of my orders to the contrary. I should have lost prestige with the women and even the children of Simanggang, so that I think had I seen any signs of their boats leaving the place, I should somehow have found means to fire the guns into their midst. All that night I could not sleep. I was wondering what on earth I could say to the intruders to make them realize the force of my arguments.

The question, however, settled itself. The very next morning I heard the yells of victorious Dyaks in the distance, then their paddles, and I knew all would be safe because the Rajah was returning. The Rajah soon sent the Kayans back to their homes, and, when all was said and done, I had quite enjoyed the novel experience.