CHAPTER VIII

Some months had gone by since the day of my first arrival in Kuching and, odd as it may seem, Europe and all its ways were relegated as it were to an almost imperceptible background in my memory. The charm of the people, the wonderful beauty of the country, the spaciousness, and the absence of anything like conventionality, all enchanted me. Moreover, the people were my own, and every day that passed—and I am not ashamed to own it—little by little I lost some of my European ideas, and became more of a mixture between a Dyak and a Malay. The extraordinary idea which English people entertain as to an insuperable bar existing between the white and coloured races, even in those days of my youth, appeared to me to be absurd and nonsensical. Here were these people, with hardly any ideas of the ways of Europeans, who came to me as though they were my own brothers and sisters. They must have thought some of my ways curious and strange, but instead of finding fault with them, they gave way to me in everything. I suppose they saw how ready I was to care for them and consider them as members of my family, and as the country became more familiar to me, little by little, much as when one develops photographic plates, some hitherto unperceived trait in their character came out and charmed me.

MAIL STEAMERS’ WHARF AND TRADING VESSELS AT ANCHOR NEAR EMBANKMENT IN KUCHING BAZAAR

I wish I could give a description of our home in Kuching as it appeared to me then and as I think of it now. How I delighted in those many hours spent on the broad verandah of our house, watching the life going on in the little town the other side of the river. I think I have said before that at high tide the breadth of the river where it runs under the banks of our garden is as broad as the Thames at Westminster Bridge. The little town looked so neat and fresh and prosperous under the careful jurisdiction of the Rajah and his officers, that it reminded me of a box of painted toys kept scrupulously clean by a child. The Bazaar runs for some distance along the banks of the river, and this quarter of the town is inhabited almost entirely by Chinese traders, with the exception of one or two Hindoo shops. The Chinese shops look very much like those in small towns on the Italian Lakes. Groceries of exotic kinds are laid out on tables near the pavement, from which purchasers make their choice. At the Hindoo shops you can buy silks from India, sarongs from Java, tea from China, and tiles and porcelain from all parts of the world, laid out in picturesque confusion, and overflowing into the street. Awnings from the shops and brick archways protect purchasers from the sun, whilst across the road all kinds of boats are anchored, bringing produce from the interior of Sarawak, from the Dutch Settlement, from Singapore, and from adjacent islands; these boats are

picturesque in the extreme. The Chinese junks were always a delight to me, with their orange and tawny sails drying in the sun, and the large “eyes” painted in the bows to enable the vessels to see their way during their journeys. Dutch schooners with their horizontally striped flag of blue, white, and red are to be seen, and English, French, and Siamese flags also fluttered amongst the many masts carrying the Sarawak colours. The most important portion of the Bazaar lay behind the wharf, where the mail steamer was moored, then bringing mails every ten days from Singapore. The Chinese houses of the Bazaar are decorated with coloured porcelains; one sees green dragons, pink lotuses, little gods and goddesses in grotesque attitudes, all along their fronts. The roofs are of red tiles, some of these being higher than the rest and having the curious Chinese termination at each end, thus breaking the line and making it more picturesque. Behind the Bazaar rise a succession of hills, on which are situated European bungalows surrounded by pleasant gardens of flowers and fruit. The houses with their white walls and green and white painted blinds make a charming accessory to the background of forest trees. Churches of the different denominations stand out prominently in the landscape, for all Faiths enjoy the same privileges and freedom at the hands of the Sarawak Government. One sees the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches, Chinese temples marvellously decorated, Hindoo shrines, and Muhammadan mosques. Right opposite to the Palace stands the gaol and court-house, the latter a broad, low building with a castellated tower at its entrance. The Malay town lies towards the west, along the banks of the river, and beyond the town stretch miles and miles of flat forest land.

When I was in Kuching, it seemed to me that the machinery of life was moved by clockwork, the Rajah being the most punctual man alive. At five o’clock in the morning, just before daybreak (we must remember that in those latitudes there is scarcely any difference in the length of days), a gun was fired from the Fort, at which signal the Rajah jumped out of bed. Wishing to do the same as the Rajah, the Europeans, Malays, Dyaks, and Chinese jumped out of bed too. One had to dress and bathe by lamplight, and just as one came out to drink one’s morning tea, the sun rose. At six o’clock, Kuching was fairly astir, and the Rajah and I used to go across in our boat (for there is no bridge anywhere over the river) to the landing-place below the court-house, where our horses were awaiting us. Mounting our animals was occasionally fraught with difficulty. Our Syces (grooms) in Sarawak were mostly recruited from the Buyan people of an island off Java, who are extraordinarily sympathetic in their treatment of animals. For instance, my pony had been bought in Labuan, chosen from out a herd of wild ponies which roam about the plains of that more northern portion of Borneo. The pony had never been broken in properly, according to our European ideas of what a horse’s perfect manners should be, and very often as I approached to mount the animal (he was only about thirteen and a half hands high) he would turn round and round. I would say to the Syce, “Try and keep him still,” whereupon the Syce would reply, “He doesn’t want to keep still!” Therefore so long as it suited the pony to turn round and round, the Syce turned round and round too. It generally took some time before the pony became amenable, when I would seize the moment and scramble on to his back as best I could. This kind of thing went on nearly every morning before I started for my ride. In those days, with the exception of a few paths in and out of the town, there was only one well-made road extending for about a mile and a half into the country. Up and down this road, the Rajah and I pounded on our horses for the necessary exercise which every one must take, whether in or out of the tropics.

On coming home, we found the gateway into the Palace full of all sorts of people—Malays, Dyaks, and Chinese—anxious to see the Rajah. The Rajah never refused to see any one, and after hearing their complaints, he dismissed them kindly with a few words of advice. The motley morning crowd always reminded me of pictures in the Bible stories of my childhood, for there were turbaned Hajis in their flowing robes, women draped in dingy folds of cotton from head to foot, youths, maidens, and sometimes little children, crawling, walking, running, or jumping down the path after their interviews, but whether chieftains or beggars, Seripas or women of a lower class, there was always an innate dignity belonging to these people; they could not look common or vulgar however much they might try to do so.

This business over, the Rajah issued forth from the Astana with the yellow satin umbrella held over him by the redoubtable Subu. Four Malay chiefs, dressed in flowing robes and holding their golden-knobbed sticks, accompanied him to the Court, where five days in the week the Rajah dispensed justice from 8 to 10.30. a.m. A retinue of young men and boys, who had paddled the chiefs to the Palace, followed the procession. I used to watch the boats crossing the river to the landing-place, when Subu once again held the umbrella over the Rajah’s head to the door of the Court. There, the umbrella was furled, when Subu, the umbrella, the Rajah and his ministers, disappeared from my view into the building.

I then went to my rooms, where I usually found some Malay women waiting to see me. On one occasion, I was sitting with two or three Malay friends having coffee in the morning, when a young Chinese girl, in a cotton sarong and Malay jacket, dashed into the room, followed by one of the Guards. Her face was covered with scratches, her arms were one mass of bruises, and round her neck was a red mark as though she had been half strangled. She rushed up to me, caught hold of both my knees, and said: “I hope in you because you are the Rajah’s wife. The place I am in is a wicked one. I am a servant to a Chinese woman who is jealous of her husband. When her husband goes out, she locks me in a room and beats, scratches, and tortures me in every possible way, because she thinks her husband looks upon me with favour. I will stay with you always, I will not leave you, for if I go back to those people the woman will kill me.” The girl was very pretty, with a pale yellow skin and beautiful eyes, and I could quite understand that any woman might feel jealous of such an adjunct to her household. I sent the Guard away, and told the girl she might remain in a corner of my room until the Rajah came back from the Court. Meanwhile, her employers, finding she had run away from their house, had straightway gone to the Court, where the Rajah was then sitting, and an application was made for an order compelling the runaway to return. The Rajah, being told that the girl had gone to the Palace and not knowing the rights of the story, sent some police to bring her to him over the water. When I was told that they were below, the girl took hold of my gown, and said that if she was to go across to the courthouse, I was to go too to protect her. I had with me at the time, the wives of the three chief ministers of the Rajah’s Council, so we held a discussion as to what was to be done. They were all on my side, and urged me not to let the girl accompany the police sent by the Rajah. I must say I felt rather nervous. “Never mind,” they said: “if our husbands make any difficulty, when they come home they shall know it. You do the same with the Rajah, and let us save the girl if we possibly can. Moreover, when the rights of the matter are known and they see how dreadful the girl looks, they too will not wish to send the girl back to her employers, but will see the justice of our decision.” When the Rajah came back from the Court, and heard the details of the story, he decided to keep the girl at the Palace. Meanwhile, the matter was inquired into, and the woman who had been so cruel was punished by having to pay a fine of money to be given to the girl, who became one of my servants, and remained with me some time, until a kind English lady, then living in Kuching, took a fancy to her, and with the Rajah’s permission took her into her service as lady’s maid. In course of time this victim of unjustifiable jealousy found a Chinese husband, and I believe the couple are still living in Kuching under comfortable circumstances.

A day or two after this incident, a war-boat full of Dyaks, headed by their chief, arrived in Kuching and came to the Astana to see the Rajah. If I remember rightly, these Dyaks had been, until recently, enemies of the Sarawak Government, owing to the usual failing—their love of head-taking. They had come to lay their submission before their ruler, and to express contrition for their misdeeds, whilst promising to behave better in the future. The Rajah wished to hear what the chief had to say, and gave him an audience in his private room. The chiefs followers, about fifty in number, who were not wanted at this interview, were left on the verandah, and the Rajah asked me to keep them amused and occupied whilst he was engaged with the chief. As the Rajah and the chief disappeared down the stairway leading to the study, I made signs to the warriors to follow me into our drawing-room, thinking its furniture, so new to them, might prove of interest. They wandered about in a desultory way, and as I could not speak to them (not knowing their language) I opened the piano and struck a note or two. These sounds apparently delighted them, and I made signs to them to sit on the floor whilst I played that ordinary piece of music, the Danse Nègre, by Ascher. Grunts of satisfaction and noddings of heads intimated their approval of my performance. As I went on, I noticed that the rhythm of the music acted on them somewhat strangely. They reminded me of a number of marionettes with strings attached to their arms and legs, moved by invisible hands in time to the music. Their bodies, arms, and legs jerked spasmodically, and before I quite realized what was happening, they all sprang to their feet and bounded about the room, yelling and waving their arms in the throes of an animated war-dance. I did not know how to stop them, and felt apprehensive for the safety of the furniture and knick-knacks placed about the room; indeed, one large palm tree standing in a pot in a corner was nearly hurled to the ground. As the noise grew louder, the bounds higher and higher, and I myself playing louder and louder, I wondered what would happen, when, in the midst of all this turmoil, the Rajah and the chief appeared in the doorway. The warriors stopped suddenly and looked rather sheepish; some scratched themselves, while others cleared their throats, and they all flopped down in squatting positions on the floor. I went on playing for a little while after the Rajah had come in. The chief said something to his followers, and the Rajah dismissed the company kindly. We all touched one another’s hands, and the Dyaks then filed put of the room and disappeared down the verandah. The Rajah was amused and interested at the idea of my rhythmic piano tune having carried the people so completely off their feet, whilst I was rather pleased at the effect of my playing on such a wild audience, and although realizing that my music does not rouse English people to the same frenzy of enthusiasm, I felt that morning I had gained a success that Rubinstein himself might have envied.