Sambung ke-2 Pejalai Mubaligh Kristian ba Sarawak.

CHAPTER VI.
THE GIRLS.
Having said so much about the
schoolboys, it would be unfair not to
mention the girls. Mary, Julia, and
Phoebe, the half-caste children, grew up
beside us, and so did Polly, who was a
Dyak baby brought to me after the pirate
expedition of 1849. Her mother fled, and
dropped her baby in the long grass,
where it was found by an English sailor,
who carried it to the boats and gave it to
one of the women captives to bring to
me—a poor little, skinny thing, with long
yellow hair, like a fairy changeling. I got
a wet nurse for her and fed her with
baby food, but she got thinner and more
elfish-looking. One day her nurse was
standing by while the other children
were eating their dinner, and Polly
stretched out her arms to the rice and
salt fish, and began to cry. "Oh," said I,
"perhaps she can eat;" and from that day
the little one ate her rice and discarded
the nurse, growing fat and merry like
the rest.
Polly had a great talent for languages. Of
course she learnt English and Malay at
once, hearing both languages from her
earliest years. But how she learnt
Chinese as well used to surprise me. In
1866 I took Polly to Hongkong. She was
then nurse to our youngest child. The
lady of the house where we were staying
accosted Polly in the pigeon English of
the place—a jargon mysterious to
unaccustomed ears. It must be allowed
that Polly was not unlike a Chinese in
appearance. She stared at the lady, and
then at me, upon hearing directions she
could not understand. I laughed. "Speak
to Polly in English," I said, "and she will
understand what you mean."
"Impossible," answered Mrs. M——; "my
servants tell me she must be Chinese, for
she can talk in two dialects."
Polly married a Christian Chinaman
afterwards, so her taste lay in that
direction. When I last heard of her, she
was teaching in the day-schools at
Sarawak.
Mary married the schoolmaster, Mr.
Owen. We brought Julia home with us in
1869, and put her into a training-school
for teachers in Dublin, where she was
much beloved. When we returned to
Sarawak, in 1861, she became the
schoolmistress to the girls I then had in
the house, and others who came as day-
scholars. She was a thoroughly good girl,
and a great comfort to me, but of course
she married, a young man employed as
mate in the Rainbow, a Government
vessel running between Sarawak and
Singapore. Some years afterwards
Forrest died, and Julia married again, an
older man very well off. I have no doubt
she is bringing up her family in the fear
of God, but I have not heard of her
lately. I had many trials with the girls,
more than I like to recount. All the first
little family of Chinese girls we received
in 1850 belonged to the tribe who
rebelled in 1857, and their relations
carried them off when we were driven
from the mission-house. They were
taken to Bau where their relations lived,
but what became of them in the terrible
flight to the Dutch country, when many
were killed, and still more died of the
privations of the jungle, we never could
hear.
Sarah and Fanny came to us in 1856.
They were little orphans, half Chinese,
half Dyak, whom, with two more girls
and four boys, the Government had
redeemed from slavery and gave to the
mission. Some of these children stayed at
Lundu with Mr. Gomez and his family;
some came to me—Sarah, Fanny, and
Betsy, a baby whom I gave out to nurse.
Poor little Sarah had a very scarred face
from a burn, but she was a bright, clever
child. Fanny was better-looking, but
more heavy and less impressible. These
two girls married native catechists in
course of time. I trust they are doing
some good among their own people.
In the year 1862 some little captives fell
into the hands of Captain Brooke, then
ruling at Sarawak. They came from
Sarebas, and one of them had been
wounded by a spear, though he was only
a tiny boy of four years old. Captain
Brooke wrote to me to know if I would
take this family of children into the
school—two girls, Limo and Ambat, and
two boys, Esau and Nigo. If I could not
take them, he said, they must be sent
back to their own country immediately,
as there was a boat departing the next
day. The Bishop was away from
Sarawak, so I had to decide; nor would
there have been any doubt in my mind
about it, but Esau the eldest boy was
covered with kurap, from head to foot.
This is a skin disease to which Dyaks are
subject, and which suggests the leprosy
of the Old Testament, for the outer skin
peels off in flakes, and gives almost a
"white as snow" appearance to the
surface. I doubted whether I ought to
take a pupil so afflicted, for it is
decidedly catching. I found that Ambat
and Nigo had both patches of it here and
there from contact with Esau, whereas
Limo, who was older, more clothed, and
who slept apart, was quite free.
Still, the alternative was nothing less
than sending these four children to their
heathen relations, and to a place at that
time beyond the reach of Christ's gospel
—a terrible idea which could not be
entertained for a moment. So at last I
sent for them, resolving to keep them in
our house, and not allow them to go
down to the school until the Bishop
returned. Shortly afterwards a Chinese
doctor came to the Bishop, and said, "If
you will give me fifteen dollars I will
cure that boy of kurap. I have a
wonderful medicine for it, made at the
Natunas Islands." So he had the money
on condition of the cure. The medicine
was an ointment as black as pitch—
indeed, I believe there was a good
portion of tar in it. With this the doctor
smeared Esau all over. He was to wear
no clothes, and not to be washed or
touched. I used to see him, poor child,
skipping about exactly like the little
black imps depicted in Punch.
The ointment did not hurt him, but every
third day the doctor came and washed it
all off with hot water: this was rather a
painful operation, but it was worth while
undergoing some discomfort, for at the
end of a month the disease had
vanished, and "his skin came again like
the flesh of a child." Esau grew up to be
a good man and catechist to his own
countrymen, so it was well I ventured to
keep him at Sarawak. The other children
soon got well when separated from him.
Kurap arises, I believe, from poor food
and exposure to weather. A Dyak wears
no clothes except a long sash wound
round him and the ends hanging down
before and behind; and when we
consider the hot sun and frequent rains
which beat upon him, for he lives mostly
out of doors, it is no wonder his skin
suffers. Limo and Ambat were clever
children. In a letter, written about a
year after they came to us, I find this
passage: "I have only four girls who can
read English and understand it. My two
little Dyaks, Limo and Ambat, are very
fond of learning English hymns, and say
them in such a plaintive, touching voice,
pronouncing each syllable so clearly, but
they don't understand it until it has been
explained to them in Malay. Limo's
brother and uncle came this week from
Sarebas—two fine, tall men, with only
chawats [2] and earrings by way of
clothes. Limo was delighted; she would
have gone away with them in their great
boat if I had allowed her. No doubt they
told her how much they would do for her
at Sarebas. However, I drew a little
picture of the women setting her to draw
large bamboos full of water, and to beat
out the paddy with a long pole—very
hard work, and always done by the
young girls,—a more truthful and less
delightful view of things; so Limo said
she would stay with me until she was
grown up. I gave her a pair of trousers
for each of the men, a present generally
much esteemed. But these two were very
wild folk; they laughed very much at the
trousers, and carried them away over
their shoulders."
I must not forget to tell the story of my
dear child Nietfong, although it is a very
sad one. She was the daughter of the
Chinese baker who lived in the lane
which led from our garden to the town. I
used to befriend her mother, a delicate
little woman, very roughly treated by her
husband. She twice ran to me for shelter
when her husband beat her, and though
of course I always had to give her up to
him when he came begging for her the
next day, he knew what I thought of him,
and had a sort of respect for me in
consequence. This poor woman died
young, and left one little girl about four
years old. Nietfong used to come up to
day-school when she was old enough,
and in 1858, when I was so happy as to
have an English governess for my Mab, I
took the little Chinese girl to live with us
and join Mab in her lessons. She was
quite a little lady, so gentle, teachable,
and well mannered. In 1860 we took our
children to England: Mab was six years
old, and could not with any safety
remain longer in a hot climate. Little
Nietfong went home, for her father
would not allow her to go to the school
in my absence. We returned in 1861,
leaving three children in England, and
brought a baby girl out with us. As I
walked up the lane to the mission-house,
Nietfong stood watching for me at the
gate. "Take me home with you; oh, I am
so glad you are come back!" So I took her
home, and Nietfong told me that her
father had married again, and that her
step-mother was unkind to her, and beat
her when she said the prayers I had
taught her night and morning; "but,"
said the child, "I always prayed,
nevertheless." She lived with us till she
was about thirteen, perhaps not so much;
then her father came to the Bishop and
said he had sold Nietfong for a good sum
of money to a man in China, and must
send her there to stay with her
grandmother.
In vain I entreated Acheck not to be so
wicked. "Tell me how much you would
get for your daughter," I said, "and we
will give you the money." He laughed,
and said I could not afford it,
mentioning a large sum, but I do not
remember what it was; so I had to break
the sad news to Nietfong. We wept and
prayed together that she might remain
steadfast in her Christian faith. As she
then knew English very well, I gave her
an English Prayer-book, which she
promised to use. Soon after, Acheck
himself took her to China; and when he
came back, he would only say, "Oh yes,
of course she is happy—she is married
and well off." I have always felt sure that
this dear girl was kept by God's grace
from sin and evil, for I believe she truly
loved and desired to serve God. There
was something especially pure about her.
Nietfong was never wilfully naughty; she
was one of those blameless ones who
seem untouched by the evil around them.
We shall not know the sequel of her
history until by God's mercy we meet
her in the heavenly home.
As I have spoken about the Dyak kurap, I
may as well here mention the real
leprosy of the East, which was a terrible
but not frequent scourge among the
Chinese. The Rajah had a small house
built out of the town for any men who
were so afflicted, and they were fed by
Government. The Bishop or his chaplain
used to go and teach these poor
creatures, but there were not more than
three or four of them at a time. We knew
one Chinese woman who had leprosy.
She became a Christian, and liked to
have a cottage lecture at her house. I
often went to see her. Her toes gradually
dropped off, and her fingers. I never
heard her complain. One day I went to
see her and found her very ill,
constantly sick. She said she had been
poisoned; and it seemed probable, for no
medicine gave her any relief, and in a
few hours she died. The natives have
such a horror of leprosy that they do not
like to touch the body of any one who
has died of it, so the Bishop and Owen,
the schoolmaster, laid poor Acheen in
her coffin; and this charitable act they
performed for any unfortunate who died
of this terrible disease.
Acheen had adopted a little boy, Sifok by
name. She must have been very kind to
the child, for he seemed wild with grief
when she died, and was very anxious
that whoever had poisoned his mother,
as he called her, should be punished. But
the case was not clear, and no one was
punished. We took Sifok into the school,
and I taught him to play the harmonium,
which at last he accomplished very
fairly.
Amongst our schoolboys was one
particularly steady and religious. Tung
Fa was so good a Malay and Chinese
scholar that he could interpret at the
Chinese Bible class, and also the sermon
at the Chinese service at church on
Sunday. I think he knew his Bible almost
by heart. He was never very strong in
health; then his feet began to swell, and
leprosy declared itself. For a long time
he was carried to and from the church in
a chair, but at last he was so diseased
that he was removed from the school-
house, and a little hut was built for him
close to us. The boys brought him his
food, and of course he had anything he
fancied from our kitchen. I think the
servants were very kind to him, and he
exhibited a beautiful example of
patience and resignation until the
disease affected his brain; even then he
was quite gentle, only he was always
begging to be baptized over again that
he might die free from sin. This mistake
arose entirely from his illness. We were
quite thankful when one morning he was
found dead in his bed. What a blissful
waking, after so much suffering!
Footnotes:
A chawat is a long strip of cotton or bark
cloth wound round the body.
CHAPTER VII.
THE LUNDUS.
The beginning of the year 1851 brought
us much sorrow. After my illness in
November, 1850, we were persuaded by
Sir James Brooke to accompany him to
Penang Hill, where the Government
bungalow had been placed at his
disposal; consequently, after Christmas,
we sailed in H.M.S. Amazon, through the
kindness of Captain Troubridge, for
Singapore, taking our child Harry with
us. We had to wait some weeks at
Singapore for the Rajah, and soon after
our arrival our little boy died of
diptheria, leaving us childless, for we
had already lost two infants at Sarawak.
This grief threw a veil of sadness over
the remaining years of our first sojourn
in the East. Perhaps it urged us to a
deeper interest in the native people than
we might have felt had there been any
little ones of our own to care for; but
those six years "the flowers all died along
our way," one infant after another being
laid in God's acre.
We stayed six weeks amid the lovely
scenery and in the cooler air of Penang
Hill, and returned to Sarawak in May,
Admiral Austin giving us a passage in
H.M.S. Fury . The admiral gave me his
cabin to sleep in, all the gentlemen
sleeping in the cuddy. I woke in the
night, hearing a rushing sound in the
air, then, patter, patter, all over the bed.
I jumped up, and called Frank to bring a
light and see what was the matter. "Oh,"
said a voice from the cuddy, "better not:
it is only cockroaches, and if you saw
them you would not go to sleep again."
This swarm of cockroaches came out
several times before daylight. The next
night I put up a mosquito-net to protect
my face and hands from these disgusting
creatures. When a steamer has been
nearly three years in these hot latitudes
it becomes horribly full of rats and
cockroaches. My husband, taking a trip
in H.M.S. Contest , in 1858, woke one
morning unable to open one eye.
Presently he felt a sharp prick, and
found a large cockroach sitting on his
eyelid and biting the corner of his eye.
They also bite all round the nails of your
fingers and toes, unless they are closely
covered. It must be said that insects are
a great discomfort at Sarawak.
Mosquitoes, and sand-flies, and stinging
flies which turn your hands into the
likeness of boxing-gloves, infest the
banks of the rivers, and the sea-shore.
Flying bugs sometimes scent the air
unpleasantly, and there are hornets in
the woods whose sting is dangerous.
When we look back upon the happy days
we spent in that lovely country, these
drawbacks are forgotten; the past is
always beautiful, and shadows, even of
sorrow and sickness, only enhance the
interest of the picture. Sin alone, in
ourselves and those about us, can make
the past hateful, and the great charm of
the future is that it is untouched by sin.
Happy, then, are those who are able to
look back on the past with smiles of
thankfulness, while they stretch out their
arms hopefully to the future.
Sarawak looked very peaceful on our
return; and now began the interest of
the Dyak missions. From our first arrival
at Kuching my husband had taken every
opportunity of visiting the Dyak tribes,
and sometimes a chief would come to the
town with a number of his people, to pay
their rice tax, or purchase clothes,
tobacco, gongs, gunpowder, whatever the
bazaar possessed which they valued.
They brought with them beeswax,
damar, honey, or rattans to exchange for
those things. On these occasions the
whole party came up to the mission-
house to hear the harmonium, see the
magic-lantern, and beg presents. At first
they would ask for arrack, but finding
nothing but claret to be had with us,
soon left off that request. Plates and cups
were always valued, and they used to say
we had so many more than we could
possibly want in the pantry, that of
course we would give them some. To
their honour be it said, they never stole
one, and were invariably refused, for we
had not any more than we wanted. The
Dyaks hung their plates in loops of
rattan very ingeniously against the walls
of their houses; but a plantain-leaf
folded up is more often used by them in
lieu of plates, and they could not have a
better substitute. I never enjoyed a meal
so much as some cold rice and sardines
eaten off a plantain-leaf in the jungle at
Lundu, after a long walk to the
waterfall. The servant with the provision
basket had lost his way, and as we sat
hungry under the great trees at the foot
of the fall, a Dyak friend produced a box
of sardines and a parcel of cold rice, and
divided it amongst us. When at last the
basket of cold chickens arrived we
handed them over to the Dyaks, feeling
quite superior to such civilized food.
The Lundu Dyak chief was a great friend
and admirer of Sir James Brooke from
his first arrival in the country. He and
his tribe were the determined enemies of
the pirates, and with the Balows of the
Batang Lupar braved the Sarebas and
Sakarrans, even when they were most
powerful. At the pirate fight of 1849 the
Lundu chief lost two of his sons: they
were killed by an ambush set by Lingi
the Sarebas chief. Only one son, Callon,
remained, and he was not his father's
favourite. Poor old Orang Kaya! it was a
terrible trial, and nearly brought him to
his grave. Some time afterwards, he and
Callon were at Sarawak to pay their tax.
Lingi, who had then submitted to the
Rajah, had been in Sarawak for some
days, professedly to trade, but really to
see if he could not take Sir James
Brooke's head. This was prevented by
the watchfulness of the Malays, who,
suspecting Lingi, never let him get near
the Rajah when they sat talking after
dinner, as was the custom in those days.
So Lingi went away foiled, and the day
they dropped down the river the Lundus
heard of it. Revenge seemed ready at
hand: they had a fast boat, were a large
party, and brave to a man. They
entreated the Rajah to let them follow
Lingi and take his head—never again
would they take a head, only Lingi's, the
Rajah's enemy and their own. Of course
they were refused, and it must have
been a terrible strain on their affection
and fealty to the Rajah, not in this
instance to follow the traditions of their
ancestors, and gratify their personal
revenge by killing a traitor. But they
obeyed, and Lingi got safely back to
Sarebas, little knowing how narrowly he
escaped. The old Lundu chief was a
Christian before he died. He always
professed a desire to be of the same
religion and brother to the white man,
but when, after due instruction, his son
and grandson came to Kuching to be
baptized, he was not well enough to
accompany them, Mr. Gomes promised
to baptize him on their return; but when
that event took place Orang Kaya was
dead, gone where, no doubt, the will was
taken for the deed, as he was a Christian
at heart. Mr. Gomes was from Bishop's
College, Calcutta. Soon after he came to
us, in 1852, he went to Lundu and
remained there until 1867, when his
children requiring more education than
he could give them at a Dyak station, he
went to Singapore, and accepted the post
of missionary priest there.
Mr. Grant was Government resident at
Lundu, and the ruler and missionary
devoted themselves to the improvement
of the people. In 1855, when we returned
to our home after our first visit to
England, we received a delightful visit
from Mr. Gomes and twelve Dyaks,
whom he brought to be baptized at St.
Thomas's Church. Callon's son Langi,
and half a dozen other boys, lived with
Mr. Gomes, and ran after him all day—
nice little fellows, who fraternized with
our boys at the school-house. There were
also five men, the chief of whom was
Bulan (Moon), one of the manangs, or
witch-doctors, of the tribe. These
manangs, being as it were the priests of
Dyak superstitions, and getting their
living by pretended cures,
interpretations of omens and the voices
of birds, were of course the natural
enemies of truth and enlightenment.
Bulan, however, had tried to be an
honest manang, and finding it
impossible had turned with all his heart
to Christianity. His brother Bugai, also a
Christian, was a very intelligent person,
and became catechist at Lundu.
There was also a very rich old man,
Simoulin by name, who was baptized at
this time. His wife had opposed his
conversion with all her might; indeed,
she declared she would leave him and
carry half the property with her.
Simoulin said quietly, "If she will she
must: she is only a woman, and her
judgment in the matter is not likely to be
good." Christianity had strong opponents
in the women of all the Dyak tribes.
They held important parts in all the
feasts, incantations, and superstitions,
which could not be called religion, but
were based on the dread of evil spirits
and a desire to propitiate them. The
women encouraged head-taking by
preferring to marry the man who had
some of those ghastly tokens of his
prowess. When Sir James Brooke forbad
head-taking among the tribes in his
dominions, it was the women who would
row their lovers out of the rivers in their
boats, and set them down on the sea-
coast to find the head of a stranger.
When heads were brought in, it was the
women who took possession of them,
decked them with flowers, put food into
their mouths, sang to them, mocked
them, and instituted feasts in honour of
the slayers. The young Dyak woman
works hard; she helps in all the labours
of sowing, planting out, weeding, and
reaping the paddy. She beats out the rice
in a wooden trough, with a long pole, or
pestle. She grows the cotton for clothing,
dyes and weaves it. She carries heavy
burdens, and paddles her boat on the
river. All these are her duties, and in
performing them she quickly loses her
smooth skin, bright eyes, and slender
figure. It is only the young girls who can
boast of any beauty, but the old women
are very important personages at a seed-
time or harvest festival. They dress
themselves in long garments
embroidered with tiny white shells,
representing lizards and crocodiles.
With long wands in their hands, they
dance, singing wild incantations. They
have already prepared the food for the
feast—chickens roasted in their feathers;
cakes of rice, spun like vermicelli and
fried in cocoa-nut oil; curries, and salads
of bitter and acid leaves; sticks of small
bamboo filled with pulut rice and boiled,
when it turns to a jelly and is agreeably
flavoured with the young bamboo. It is
the women also who serve out the tuak, a
spirit prepared from rice and spiced
with various ingredients, tobacco being
one. The men must drink at these feasts;
they are very temperate generally, but
on this occasion they are rather proud of
being drunk and boasting the next day
of a bad headache! The women urge
them to drink, but do not join in the
orgies, and disappear when the
intoxicating stage begins. I trust that this
description belongs only to the past; at
any rate, we know that in those places
where the missionaries have long taught,
their people follow a more excellent way
of rejoicing in the joy of harvest, and,
after their thanksgiving service in
church, pour out their offerings of rice
before the altar to maintain the services,
and minister to the sick and needy.
A DYAK GIRL.
For many years, however, the women
were opposed to a religion which cleared
away the superstitious customs which
were the delight of their lives, their chief
amusement and dissipation, and a
means of influencing the men. It was not
until the year 1864 that Mr. Gomes asked
us to visit Lundu and welcome a little
party of women, the first converts to the
faith which their fathers and husbands
had long professed. This is a long
digression from the history of the
Lundus' visit to Kuching in 1855, which
was at the time a great event. I find the
following passage in my journal: "Every
evening, before late dinner, the Lundus
go up to Mr. Gomes's room to say their
prayers, and sing, or rather chant, their
hymns. There is something very
affecting in this little service—the Dyak
voices singing of Christ's second coming
with His holy angels, and rejoicing that
He came once before for their salvation;
then praying for holy, gentle hearts to
receive Him. I always feel on these
occasions as if I heard these precious
truths afresh when they are spoken in a
tongue till lately ignorant of them.
Indeed, there can scarcely be a more
joyful excitement than such passages in
the life of a missionary; they are worth
any sacrifice. After English morning
service, Mr. Gomes has prayers in
church for his Dyaks. He then instructs
them in the baptismal service. This
makes five daily services in church, two
English, two Chinese, and one Dyak. We
clothed all the candidates in a new suit
of cotton garments with a bright-
coloured handkerchief for their heads. It
would be considered very irreverent for
Easterns to uncover their heads in
church. I taught the school-children to
sing 'Veni, Creator Spiritus' at this
baptism, while the clergy were arranging
the candidates and sponsors round the
font. The font was wreathed with
flowers by my children. There was quite
a full church, for the Chinese Christians
all came to see the Dyaks baptized, and
all the English of the place were present.
Mr. Gomes baptized, and my husband
signed them with the cross. They all
spoke up bravely in answering to their
vows: may God give them grace to keep
them."
This baptism took place on Whit Sunday.
On Thursday of that week, Mr. Gomes,
his Dyaks, and Frank, went off to Linga
for a week to visit Mr. Chambers, and
Mr. Horsburgh at Banting, that the
converts of both tribes might become
friends. The Balows and Lundus had
always been united in their efforts
against the pirate tribes, and in their
fealty to the Rajah's Government. On this
account they had a right to the services
of the first missionaries who came from
England to teach Dyaks. The visit to
Banting had another object besides the
mutual friendship of the converts. A
controversy had arisen in the mission
about the right word to be used in
translations for Jesus . Isa is the name
the Malays use, and the Dutch
translations of the Bible employ this
name; but there happened to be a bad
Malay man owning the name of Isa, well
known to the Balows, and Mr. Chambers
feared some confusion would arise in the
minds of converts in applying the same
name to our Lord. It was therefore
necessary to have a meeting of the clergy
to decide this and many other religious
terms to be used in hymns, catechisms,
and in general teaching, that there might
be unity in the mission: it would not do
to have any divisions in the camp on
such a subject. There are fifty miles of
sea to cross from the Sarawak River to
the Batang Lupar, then a long pull from
the fort at Linga up to Banting. The
journey took three nights and two days.
The mission-house at Banting is most
romantically placed on the crest of a hill
overhanging the river about three
hundred feet, and stands in a grove of
beautiful fruit-trees. The view from it is
enchanting. The river branches at the
foot of the hill, and each branch seems to
vie with the other in the tortuousness of
its course through the bright green
paddy-fields. About a mile off rises
Mount Lesong [3] with a graceful slope,
about three thousand feet, and then
terminates abruptly in a rugged top. The
four clergymen who met at Banting
looked almost as wild as their people—
wide shady hats, long staffs, long beards,
not a shirt among the party, and but one
pair of shoes, belonging to my husband,
who never could walk barefooted. They
spent several days together, and had
much consultation about religious terms.
The most intelligent of the Dyak
Christians were present, as it was
necessary, not only to choose words they
could understand, but such as they could
easily pronounce. On Trinity Sunday
there were several services in the large
room of the house, for the church was
not yet built. The Lingas sang their
hymns with great energy to one of their
own wild strains, but when they heard
the Lundus' melodious chant they were
ashamed to sing after them, and begged
them to teach them. The Dyaks love
music and verse. Mr. Gomes and Mr.
Chambers wrote them hymns, and the
Creed in verse, which they readily
commit to memory and understand
better than prose. Pictures are also used
in their instruction: a parable or miracle
is read, then a picture of it produced and
explained, the Dyaks repeating each
sentence after the teacher, to keep their
attention.
The baptized alone join in the Litany
and Holy Communion. The afternoon
was spent in visiting the sick and giving
medicine. Several women came to the
house for instruction, and seemed to
take great interest in Mr. Chambers,
teaching; but it was not until Mr.
Chambers was married that any women
were baptized. At breakfast the next
morning came an old chief, called
Tongkat Langit—the Staff of Heaven. His
son Lingire was one of the most pleasing
converts, and Tongkat was wavering—
had not leisure at present! The necessity
of forswearing the practise of head-
taking deters the old men from becoming
Christians: they fear to lose influence
with their tribe. The little party then
fixed upon the spot where the church
should be built, a permanent bilian
chancel to which a nave could be added
when the additional room was required.
Twenty-five pounds from the Society for
Promoting Christian Knowledge was all
the money then in hand to begin with;
but very soon more was collected, and
when I visited Banting in 1857 there was
a lovely little church standing on the hill
overlooking the village, and surrounded
by beautiful trees. The walk to it from
the mission-house was just like a
gentleman's park, the green sward and
groups of trees with lovely peeps of hill
and valleys and winding streams
between. Again in 1864 we went to
Banting, that the Bishop might
consecrate the church. The nave was
then built. Every stick in the church was
bilian. The white ants walked in as soon
as the workmen left. In one night they
carried their covered ways all over the
inside of the roof, the walls, the beams,
and rafters; and finding nothing they
could bite, they walked out again,
leaving their traces plainly marked.
Since then a coloured-glass window,
representing our Lord's Resurrection,
has been added at the east end of the
church; and, what is better far, the
church is full of Dyak Christians every
Sunday, and from this living Church
many branches have been planted, so
that the Banting Mission now includes
seven stations, where there are school-
churches built by the natives themselves,
and many hundreds of Christian
worshippers.
In 1854, six years having passed away
since a little band of Sir James Brooke's
friends founded the Borneo Church
Mission, the funds of the Society came to
an end; and the mission would have
collapsed also, had not the venerable
Society for the Propagation of the Gospel
in Foreign Parts consented to become
responsible for it. As the missionaries
and catechists increased in number, and
fresh stations were added to the church,
they opened their arms wider to receive
them, until they set apart £3000 a year
for Borneo. Under their fostering care
the mission flourished, as it could not
have done under the management of any
private society.
Footnotes:
Lesong , mortar, being mortar-shaped.
CHAPTER VIII.
A BOAT JOURNEY.
Throughout the year 1852 and part of '53
my husband was much tried with
rheumatism in his knee, which made
him quite lame, though he would hobble
to church on crutches, and to hospital to
look after his poor patients. Meanwhile
he taught the young missionaries
something of the art of healing, dressing
wounds and broken bones, and
physicking the ailments to which natives
are most subject—fever, dysentery, etc.
It was quite necessary they should know
something of these subjects before they
could be any use in the jungle. The first
question the Dyaks asked, if told a new
missionary was coming, would always
be, "Is he clever at physic?" Medicines
and simple remedies were always
furnished to every mission-station, and
the Rajah supplied all the stores that
were needed for Kuching or elsewhere.
We had taken a good stock with us at
first, and all sorts of surgical
instruments, but the Government kept it
replenished.
The hospital was set up when the great
influx of Chinese brought numbers of
sick people to the place. A long shed was
built, and twenty beds immediately
filled; but the next day, one of the
patients having died, all the others who
could move ran away. They have so
great a horror of a dead body that they
never suffered any one to die in their
houses if they could help it, but built a
little shed for the sick man, and visited
him twice a day with food and opium
while life lasted. A separate room was
therefore added for the dead. This
hospital furnished good instruction to
the missionaries. It was also their duty
to teach the sick every day, and the
result was that several Chinese were
baptized on their recovery. This shed
was afterwards exchanged for a long
room above the fort, which was both
more airy and substantial. A dispensary
was attached to it.
When Mr. Chambers came from England
and was able to undertake the duties at
Kuching, my husband accompanied
Captain Brooke and some of the
Government officers in a tour up the
Batang Lupar and Rejang Rivers. He was
very lame at the time, but had no
walking to do, only now and then to get
out of his large boat and scramble up
into a Dyak house. How he managed it
under the circumstances I never could
imagine, for the staircase from the water
to a high Dyak house is only the trunk of
a tree with a few notches in it, and, at
low tide, a case of slippery mud; this,
placed at a steep angle, without any rail,
is not easy climbing for any one, but a
stiff knee made it still more difficult.
The object of the expedition was to make
peace between certain Dyak tribes who
had long been enemies, and to build a
fort on the Rejang River, similar to Mr.
Brereton's fort at Sakarran, and for the
same purpose. An Englishman named
Steele was to occupy the fort with some
Malays. Captain Brooke took the Jolly
Bachelor gunboat, and Frank moved into
it to cross the sea from the mouth of the
Sarawak to the Linga River, for the
waves were high and wetted the smaller
boats. When they reached the Linga
River, he was sitting one Sunday night
on the boom of the Jolly , enjoying the
moonlight, and watching the swift rush
of the tide, which is very rapid in that
river. Suddenly, the piece of wood he
was trusting to broke, and he was
precipitated over the stern. Had he
fallen into the water he must have been
dragged under the vessel by the tide and
drowned, but, through God's mercy, the
ship's boat (Dingy ), which only a few
minutes before was the whole length of
its painter away from the Jolly , swept up
to it from the swing of the vessel, and, as
he fell, he caught hold of the boat and
pulled himself into it, escaping with only
a bruise, when a watery bed, or the jaws
of an alligator or shark, might have
received him. A shark had been
swimming round the gun-boat during
Divine service that day, and an alligator
had taken a man only the day before
from a boat close by. My dear husband's
comment on this narrow escape is,
"Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget
not all His benefits; who redeemeth thy
life from destruction, and crowneth thee
with mercy and lovingkindness."
The fleet waited for some days in the
Linga River, while the Balow Dyaks
fetched the jars which they were to
exchange with the Sakarrans as a pledge
of peace. These jars, of which every Dyak
tribe possessed some, are of unknown
antiquity. There is nothing very
particular in their appearance. They are
brown in colour, have handles at the
sides, and sometimes figures of dragons
on them. They vary in value, but though
the Chinese have tried to imitate them,
hoping to sell them to the Dyaks, they
have never deceived them: they detect a
difference where no European or
Chinese eye can, and at once pronounce
the Chinese jars of no value. Yet they
will not sell their own rusas or tajows for
any money, and they fancy that some of
them have the property of keeping water
always sweet. If a Dyak tribe offends the
law, Government fines them so many
jars, which are brought to Kuching and
kept, or returned on their good
behaviour. This reminds me of the story
of a little Dyak boy who was taken
prisoner in 1849. His father was killed,
and the boy, about eight years old, was
brought to the Rajah. For some days the
child seemed quite happy, then he
begged to speak to "Tuan Rajah," and
told him confidentially that he knew a
place in the jungle where some valuable
tajows were secreted, and if he would
land him with some Malays or the bank
of the river, he would point out the
place. The Rajah believed the child, and
the jars were found, and taken on board
the boat. Then the little boy went again
to the Rajah, and bursting into tears,
said, "I have given you the riches of my
tribe; in return give me my liberty. Set
me down in the jungle path, give me
some food, and in two days I shall reach
my home and my mother." So the child
was laden with all he took a fancy to—a
china cup, a glass tumbler, and a gay
sarong (waist-cloth), and as much food
as he could carry—and we heard
afterwards that he rejoined his friends
in safety.
I must now return to my husband's
journal. He says: "While at breakfast this
morning, one of the men told us he had
seen the people with tails, of whom we
have often heard. [4] They live fifteen
days up a river, in the interior of the
Bruni country. It is a large river, but in
some places runs through caverns, where
they can only pass on small rafts. He was
sent there by Pangeran Mumeim to get
goats, as these tailed gentry keep a great
many of them. He says their tails are as
long as the two joints of the middle
finger, fleshy and stiff. They must be
very inconvenient, for they are obliged
to sit on logs of wood made on purpose,
or to make a hole in the earth, to
accommodate their tails before they can
sit down. These people do not eat rice,
but sago made into cakes and baked in a
pot. In their country, he said, was a
great stone fort, with nine large iron
guns, of which the people can give no
account, not knowing when or by whom
it was built.
"After dinner, when the men sit round
me and smoke my cigars, they soon
enter into conversation. We spoke a
good deal to-day on the subject of
religion, the difference between
Christianity and Mahometanism, and,
above all, the absurdity of their
repeating the Koran, like so many
parrots, without understanding one word
of what they say; and the irreverence of
addressing God in words they do not
understand, so that their hearts can take
no part in their prayers. They agreed
that it would be better to learn God's
law, instead of trusting merely to their
hadjis, who are often as ignorant as
themselves. A respectable old Bruni man,
speaking of different races of men of
various colours, said he had visited a
tribe of white people, who lived on a
high hill in the interior of the country;
they were very white, and the women
beautiful, with light hair. The men dress
like Dyaks, but the women wear a long
black robe, tight at the waist, and puffed
out on the shoulders. The tradition of
their origin, he said, was as follows: A
long, long time ago, an old man who
lived on this mountain lost himself in the
jungle at its foot, and at night, being
tired, and afraid of snakes and the evil
spirits of the wood, he climbed into a
tree and fell asleep. He was woke by a
noise of ravishing music, the sweetest
gongs and chanangs mingling with
voices over his head. The music came
nearer and nearer to the place where he
was, until he heard the sweet voices
under the tree, and, looking down,
beheld a large clear fountain opened,
and seven beautiful females bathing.
They were all of different sizes, like the
fingers on a man's hand, and they sung
as they sported in the water. The old
man watched them for some time, and
thought how much he should like one of
them as a wife for his only son; but as he
was afraid of descending among them,
he made a noose with a long piece of
rattan, lowered it gently, and slipping it
over one of them, drew her up into the
tree. She cried out, and they all
disappeared with a whirring noise. The
girl he caught was very young, and she
cried sadly because she had no clothes
on; so he rolled her in a chawat (long
sash), and immediately heard the gongs
at his own house, which he had thought
was a long way off. He took the child
home, and she was brought up by his
wife, until she was old enough to marry
their son. She was very good and sweet-
tempered, and everybody loved her. In
course of time she had a son, as white as
herself. One day her husband was in a
violent rage and beat her. She implored
him not to make her cry, or she should
be taken away from him and her child.
But he did not heed, and at last pulled
her jacket off to beat her. Immediately
another jacket was dropped with a great
noise from the sky, upon the house. She
put it on, and vanished upwards, leaving
her son, who was the ancestor of the
present tribe."
Who would have thought of a Dyak
Undine?
While the Malay was telling this story,
the boat was waiting in a sheltered nook
of the Sakarran River for the bore to
pass, before the crew dare venture up to
the fort. The bore is a great wave, twelve
feet high, which rushes up with the tide,
and is succeeded by two smaller waves.
It is very dangerous to boats; but happily
the natives know where to hide while it
sweeps past.
When they reached Sakarran Fort it took
several days to hear all the claims the
Lingas and Sakarrans had against each
other. Six years before, the Rajah had
persuaded them to make peace, but they
had broken it the same day, and laid the
blame upon one another. At last matters
were arranged, and a platform being
made under a wide-spreading banyan-
tree, the chiefs sat round; and Captain
Brooke made them a speech, describing
the evils of piracy and war, and the
determination of the Rajah that his
subjects should live at peace with one
another.
"He then presented each chief with a jar,
a spear, and a Sarawak flag, and desired
them to use the flag in their boats for the
purposes of trade. Nothing could be
more picturesque than the scene. The
surface of the water was dotted over
with the long serpent-like bangkongs,
gaily painted and adorned with flags
and streamers of many colours, which
looked all the brighter against the
solemn jungle background. Then Gassim
and Gila Brani (madly brave), on the
part of the Sakarrans, and Tongkat
Langit (Staff of Heaven), the Linga chief,
joined hands; and each tribe killed a pig
with great ceremony, and inspected the
entrails to see if the peace was good.
Then they feasted and rejoiced together.
This ended, they proceeded up the
Rejang River in the boats, and paddled
for four days, from twenty-five to thirty
miles a day, until they came to the
Kenowit, on the banks of which the fort
was to be built."
The Rejang is a glorious river. It is not
visited by a bore, and eighty miles from
the sea it is half a mile broad, and deep
to the banks. The flowers and fruits
which grow there are a continual
surprise and pleasure—but how shall I
describe the flowers of those great
woods?—not only up the Rejang, but
everywhere in the old jungle. They
seldom grow on the ground, though you
may sometimes come upon a huge bed of
ground orchids, but mostly climb up the
trees, and hang in festoons from the
branches. One plant, the Ixora, for
instance, propagating itself undisturbed,
will become a garden itself, trailing its
red or orange blossoms from bough to
bough till the forest glows with colour.
The Rhododendron, growing in the forks
of the great branches, takes possession of
the tall trees, making them blush all over
with delicate pinks and lilacs, or deepest
rose clusters. Then the orchideous plants
fix themselves in the branches, and send
out long sprays of blossom of many
colours and sweetest perfume. Here the
voice of the Burong boya (crocodile-bird)
may be heard, singing like an English
thrush. He shakes his wings as he sings,
and the Malays say that from time
immemorial he has owed a large sum of
money to the crocodile, who comes every
year to ask payment; then the bird,
perched on a high bough out of reach of
the monster, sings, "How can I pay? I
have nothing but my feathers, nothing
but my feathers!" So the crocodile goes
away till next year. There are not many
singing birds in Borneo besides this
thrush. The soft voices of many doves
and pigeons may always be heard, and
often the curious creaking noise made by
the wings of rhinoceros hornbills as they
fly past. More musical is the voice of the
Wawa monkey, a bubbling like water
running out of a narrow-necked bottle,
always to be heard at early dawn, and
the sweetest of alarums. A dead stillness
reigns in the jungle by day, but at sunset
every leaf almost becomes instinct with
life. You might almost fancy yourself
beset by Gideon's army, when all the
lamps in the pitchers rattled and broke,
and every man blew his trumpet into
your ear. It is an astounding noise
certainly, and difficult to believe that so
many pipes and rattles, whirring
machines and trumpets, belong to good-
sized beetles or flies, singing their
evening song to the setting sun. As the
light dies away all becomes still again,
unless any marshy ground shelters frogs.
But to hear all this you must go to the old
jungle, where the tall trees stand near
together and shut out the light of day,
and almost the air, for there is a painful
sense of suffocation in the dense wood.
Footnotes:
This legend, though commonly reported,
has never been proved.
CHAPTER IX.
CONTINUATION OF THE TRIP TO REJANG.
After two days' paddling from the mouth
of the Rejang, the boats arrived at Sibou,
where there is a manufactory for nepa
salt. The nepa palm grows down to the
edge of the banks, which are washed by
a salt tide, and furnishes the Dyak with
many necessaries.
The leaves make the thatch to cover the
roofs of the houses, or shelter over their
boats. Neatly fastened together with split
rattans, they form the walls of the house.
From the juice of the tree they make a
fermented drink something like sweet
beer, also brown sugar. The young shoots
are eaten in curries and salads. The fruit
is salted or pickled. When they have got
all these good things out of it, they burn
the stem of the palm with some of the
leaves, and wash the burnt ashes in
water. This water is then boiled until it
is evaporated, and some black salt
remains at the bottom of the pot. It
tastes bitter as well as salt; but the Dyaks
prefer it to common salt, and if you ask
why, they say, "It is a fat salt." I must
now return to my husband's journal.
"Arrived at Kenowit. A tribe of Milanows
have been induced to settle here lately
by the Rajah. Within the last few weeks
they have built two long and substantial
houses, raised thirty feet from the
ground on trunks of trees, some two feet
in diameter. There are in all sixty doors,
or families. The tribe furnishes three
hundred fighting men, and numbers
from fifteen hundred to two thousand.
"The bachelors, as with the Dyaks, have a
separate dwelling.
"Tanee's tribe, who are returning to
Sibou on the Rajah's promise to build a
fort at Kenowit, are of the same tribe,
and number about three hundred men.
They speak the Milanow language, and
have the same customs of burial. The
men and some of the women are tattooed
in the most grotesque patterns. When
you look at them closely the invention
displayed is truly remarkable; but at a
distance they give a dingy, dusky
appearance to the men, as if they were
daubed with an inky sponge. Nature
having denied them beards, they tattoo
curly locks along their faces, always
bordered by a vandyke fringe, which
must task their utmost ingenuity. Tanee,
who has followed us with some of his
warriors, is the very exquisite of a
Kenowit. He is made like a Hercules, and
is proud of showing his strength and
agility. He piques himself upon having
the best sword, of fine Kayan make and
native metal, and the strongest arm in
his tribe. He sits most of the day
sharpening one or another of these
swords, feeling and looking along its
edge to see that the weapon is in perfect
order: then, to prove it, he seeks for a
suitable block of wood, as thick as his
arm, severs it at a blow, gives a yell, and
with a grin of delight returns the weapon
to its sheath. His jacket is of scarlet satin;
his long hair is confined by a gold-
embroidered handkerchief; his chawat is
of fine white cloth, very long, and richly
embroidered—the ends hang down to his
knees, he wears behind an apron of
panther's skin, trimmed with red cloth
and alligator's teeth, and other charms;
this hangs from his loins to his knees,
and always affords him a dry seat.
Tanee's boat is long, made out of one
tree, like our river canoes, but much
lighter and faster. His cabin is a raised
platform in the centre of the boat,
covered with a mat, and hung all round
with weapons and trophies of war—
Kyan fighting-coats of bear and buffalo
hides, having head-pieces adorned with
beads or shells, shields and spears all
gaily decked with Argus' feathers, or
human hair dyed red.
"On Sunday we moved from the boats
into Palabun's house, and settled
ourselves in part of the verandah. After
breakfast I doctored the sick, and then
we had the morning service, much to the
surprise of the natives, who, however,
did not disturb us. They sit round us all
day, hearing and asking us questions....
Meanwhile the seven hundred men who
came in the flotilla of twenty boats, were
busy building the fort. First they pulled
down a temporary fort already set up by
the Kenowits, and then cut wood to erect
a substantial building. Four guns were
mounted on the parapet, and there was
a house inside for the Malay
commandant, and a powder magazine.
All the chiefs near Kenowit were
assembled when the fort was finished,
and had the same kind of address made
them as at Sakarran, praising the
benefits of peaceful trade instead of the
miseries of wasteful war. They all
listened with respect. That same
afternoon, dismal howlings issued from
Palabun's house. His brother, who had
left him two years ago with a party of
fourteen, to visit a friendly tribe at a
distance, had been treacherously
murdered. He and his party had been
kindly received by their friends, and
they had all gone out together on the
war-path to seek heads. It is supposed
that when they met no one, the hosts had
turned on their visitors and taken their
heads, rather than return home without
any. Palabun vowed vengeance, and the
whole tribe go into mourning for three
months." (Bishop's Journal.)
A Dyak mourning is not a becoming
black costume, made "cheerful," as the
dressmakers say, by jet ornaments and
bugle trimmings. It consists in the
abandonment of all ornament and their
usual clothing, and the substitution of a
kind of a brown cloth made of the inside
bark of trees, which must be as rough
and uncomfortable as it is ugly. These
people, being Milanows, have peculiar
burial customs. They lay the dead in a
boat, with all his property and
belongings, and send it out to sea; for
they imagine that in some way a man's
possessions may be of use to him in
another world, if no one claims them on
earth.
"In this case there was no corpse to bury.
The clothes were so disposed on the bier
as to represent a figure, and laid beside
it were handsome gold cloths and
ornaments, gold buttons, krises, [5] and
breastplates, and weapons of Javanese
manufacture, representing some
hundreds of dollars. There were also
gongs and two brass guns. Of course the
fate of such boat-loads, sent adrift in a
tidal river, is generally to be capsized
and lost in the water. But if Malays
encounter them they do not hesitate to
appropriate the effects. Palabun knew
this, so he did not send his brother's boat
away until our fleet had
departed." (Bishop's Journal.)
I remember our once meeting one of
these boats. It had been caught by
branches from the bank, and swayed
idly to and fro in the stream. We could
only see a heap of coloured clothes
inside it, but there was a weird, ghastly
look about the boat which made us
shudder. An unburied corpse, left to the
winds and waves, without a prayer or a
blessing! how could it be otherwise? Even
if we could delude ourselves into
fancying the Dyaks happy during their
lives without Christianity, there can be
no doubt of their being miserable when
death comes. They all believe dimly in a
future state, but their dread of spirits is
so great that they can have no ideas of
happiness unconnected with their
bodies. "Having no hope, and without
God in the world," describes the mental
state of a heathen Dyak. In 1856, we
were living for a few weeks on a hill
called Peninjauh, some miles from
Kuching, where the Rajah had built a
cottage as a sanitarium after illness. The
cool freshness of the mountain air, and
the glorious view from See-afar Cottage,
were indeed conducive to health. On the
hillsides lived several villages of Land
Dyaks, and I had a woman as nurse to
my baby who belonged to one of these
villages. The cholera was in the country
at that time, and three men had died of
the Sebumban Dyaks. Every night the
most mournful wailing arose above the
trees—a sad sound indeed, rising and
falling on the wind as the friends of the
dead walked all through the jungle paths
near their homes, now near to our
cottage, now far off. One night I found
my little ayah seated in the nursery
when she ought to have been in the
cook-house getting her supper. "What is
the matter, Nina? Are you ill, that you
are eating no supper?" "No, I am not ill,
but I dare not go to the cook-house to-
night." "Why?" "I fear to meet the spirits
who are abroad to-night in the jungle."
"The spirits of the dead men?" "No, the
spirits who come to fetch them." After
three days the bodies of these Dyaks
were burnt, for this was the custom of
the Sebumbans. The dead man is laid on
a pile of wood, and they all sit round
watching. Nina said, that when the fire
has burnt some time the dead man sits
up for a moment, whereupon they all
burst into renewed waitings of sorrow
and farewell. I am told that the heat
swelling the sinews of the dead body
may cause this curious phenomenon; but
could there be a more mournful,
hopeless story of death?
It is a relief to return to the party on the
Rejang River. They were much
entertained one day with a war-dance
between two warriors, which was a
graphic pantomime of their customs.
"The two men appeared fully armed, and
were supposed to be each alone on the
war-path, looking out for a head. They
moved to the beat of native drums, and
seemed to be going through all the
motions of looking out for an enemy,
pulling out the ranjows (sharp pieces of
cane stuck in the earth, point upwards,
to lame an enemy). At length they
descried one another, danced defiance,
and, flourishing swords and shields,
commenced the attack. The nimbleness
with which they parried every stroke of
the sword, and covered their bodies with
their shields, was remarkable. In real
combat, to strike the shield is certain
death, because the sword sticks in the
wood and cannot be withdrawn in time
to prevent the other man from using his
sword. After a time, one of the
combatants fell wounded, and covered
his body with his shield. The other
danced round him triumphantly, and
with one blow pretended to cut off his
head; then, head in hand, he capered
with the wildest gestures, expressive of
the very ecstasy of savage delight But, on
looking at his trophy closely, he
recognized the features of a friend, and,
smitten with remorse, he replaced the
head with much solicitude. Then, moving
with a slow, measured tread, he wept,
and with many sighs of grief adjusted
the head with much care, caught rain in
his shield and poured it over the body;
then rubbed and shook the limbs, which
by degrees became alive by his
mesmeric-like passings and chafings
from the feet upwards. Each limb as it
revived beat time to the music, first
faintly, then with more vigour, till it
came to the head; and when that nodded
satisfactorily, and the whole body of his
friend was in motion, he gave him a few
extra shakes, lifted him on his legs, and
the scene concluded by their dancing
merrily together." (Bishop's Journal.)
Captain Brooke and my husband were a
month away on this expedition. They
would have liked to pay a visit to Kum
Nepa, a Kyan chief, who lived much
farther up the river,—six days in a fast
Kyan boat, said the Dyaks, ten days in
the boats our friends had with them. But
Kum Nepa had just lost two children
from small-pox, and, according to their
custom, he and all his tribe had left their
houses and taken to the jungle. The
Dyaks dread small-pox to such a degree
that, when it appears, they neglect all
their usual occupation. The seed is left
unsown, the paddy unreaped; they leave
the sick to die untended, and support
themselves in the jungle upon wild fruits
and roots, until the scourge has passed
away.
From the time we lived at Sarawak a
continual effort was made to introduce
vaccination. It was difficult to get lymph
in good order at so distant a place; the
sea voyage often rendered it useless. The
other difficulty was made by the Malays,
who inoculated for small-pox; and, as
they charged the Dyaks a rupee a head
for inoculating them, made it answer
pecuniarily. Some who were adepts in
the art went about the country
inoculating until they caused quite an
epidemic of small-pox. Now, I believe,
the Dyaks have learnt from experience
the superior advantages of vaccination,
and, by a late Sarawak Gazette , I gather
that it is one of the duties of a Resident
among the tribes up country to vaccinate
his people as well as to judge them
wisely.
When the guns were mounted at the fort,
and a garrison of seventy men, under
Abong Duraup, settled there to guard it,
the fleet left the Rejang to return to
Sarawak. Captain Brooke had persuaded
Palabun to give up his ideas of
retaliation for his brother's death, on
condition that the Kapuas people who
killed him should give satisfaction. The
last afternoon was devoted to doctoring
the sick and giving them a stock of
remedies. One poor man had nearly
recovered his eyesight during the week
he had been under treatment. So the
Sarawak flag was hoisted at the fort and
saluted, and after some good advice and
renewed promises from the Sakarrans
and Kenowits, the boats pulled away to
the Jolly Bachelor , which had been left at
the Serikei River; and a few days
afterwards we heard gongs and boat
music on the river, and my servant
Quangho running into my room called
out, "Our Tuan is coming," so we all went
down to the stone wharf and welcomed
them home. The lameness which had so
long hindered my husband from moving
about, did not yield to any remedies we
applied, and at last we went to
Singapore for medical advice. The
doctors there sent their patient to China
for a cold season, and he spent six weeks
at Hongkong with the Bishop of Victoria,
and at Canton with other friends, to the
advantage of his knee. Afterwards we
went together to Malacca, where there
was a hot spring bubbling up in a field.
Into this spring we put a large tub; and
there, in the early morning, Frank used
to sit, with no neighbours but the snipe
feeding in the field, and, as he had his
gun by his side, he occasionally shot
some game for breakfast.
In 1853 we went home. My health was
very much broken, and my husband was
called to England by the necessary
transfer of the mission from the Borneo
Mission Society, whose funds came to an
end, to the venerable Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel, who kindly
adopted us. We arrived at Southampton
one grey November day. I wondered to
see the sky so near the earth, and the
trees almost like shrubs in height
compared to our Eastern forests. But it
was sweet to hear the children speaking
English in the streets, and their fair rosy
faces were refreshing indeed. I never
thought our school-children plain when
we were at Sarawak, but the contrast
was certainly very great when we looked
about us in England.
Footnotes:
A kris is a Malay dagger.
PART II.
CHAPTER X.
RETURN TO SARAWAK.
In 1854, after eighteen months' stay in
England, during which time my husband
worked as deputation for the Society for
the Propagation of the Gospel, we
returned to Sarawak, via Calcutta, in one
of Green's sailing vessels, for we were
too large a party to afford the overland
route.
Besides ourselves and our baby, we had
two young ladies who wished to try and
teach the Malay women in their homes,
and to help with the day-scholars at the
mission-house. Only one of these ladies
reached Sarawak; the other left us at
Calcutta, and married there eventually.
The Rev. J. Grayling and Mr. Owen, a
schoolmaster, also went with us, and a
young friend who was put under my
charge, and lived with us for some years
on account of his health.
For nurse I had an old Malay woman
who had taken some children to England
from Singapore, and wanted to return.
She was a capital sailor, and always able
to carry Mab about however rough the
sea was. Nothing could exceed her
devotion to the child, but she had
contracted a bad habit of always sharing
the sailor's grog by day, and requiring a
tumbler of hot gin and water before she
went to bed. This was a great trouble to
me, but I never saw her tipsy till we
were staying at the Bishop's palace at
Calcutta. Ayah, having been in the
bazaar buying presents for her children,
was brought back lying senseless in a
palanquin. The Bishop, who was in the
hall when the bearers set the palanquin
down, exclaimed, "Oh! that woman has
cholera! take her away."
However, she was kindly cared for by
the servants, and appeared the next day
without any shame, bringing "a toy for
missy." All my lecture was quite thrown
away—she "had only taken a glass of
grog in the bazaar, and they had put
bang into it, so of course it made her
insensible; but it was no fault of hers."
This curious old woman was a
Mahometan, therefore her tipsiness was
inexcusable. She practised the habit of
alms-giving, however, not only with her
own money but mine. She used to say I
did nothing in that way for the salvation
of my soul, and, as she loved me, she
must do it for me. I remember seeing a
beggar-woman with twin babies, who
used to sit in the streets of Kensington
with Mab's bonnets on the babies' heads.
Ayah gave them for my sake. Indeed, she
was notorious in Kensington, because
she could not resist treating boys to
ginger-beer, and I sometimes had the
mortification of seeing Ayah with a
small crowd at her heels, and my baby
kissing her little hands to them as Ayah
desired her.
We only spent a week in Calcutta. The
object of our going there was that the
Bishop, in conjunction with Bishop
Dealtry of Madras, and Bishop Smith of
Victoria, should consecrate my husband
Bishop of Labuan; but the Bishops had
not reached Calcutta, and their arrival
was uncertain. We were anxious to get
to Sarawak, and could not wait for them;
so it was decided that Frank should
return by himself in the autumn, and we
should proceed as quickly as we could.
Sad news reached us from Kuching. Our
dear friend Willie Brereton, who had
done so much for the Sakarran Dyaks,
was dead of dysentery. There was no
medical man when my husband was
away.
Our Rajah had been very dangerously ill
of small-pox, and had only a Malay
doctor, who was devoted but ignorant.
Happily Mr. Horsburgh, with medical
books to aid him, came to the rescue in
time, but the return of the physician of
soul and body was much desired. I see,
by my journal, that after a weary
passage of twenty-four days in a sailing
vessel from Singapore, we reached
Sarawak on the 25th of April. Mr.
Horsburgh came to fetch us from the
mouth of the river in the Siam boat, a
long boat with a house in it, which the
Rajah brought with him from Siam after
his embassy to that country. Mr.
Horsburgh told us that all the chief
Government officers were away, looking
for Lanun pirates on the coast; but we
had plenty of kind greetings from the
Christian Chinese, who came about us in
the bazaar, and all the school-children
came running down the hill with Mrs.
Stahl, who almost screamed for joy at our
return. The house looked nicer than
ever, for the trees had grown up about it,
and I felt most vividly that this was our
chosen home, endeared to us by many
sorrows, but the place where we had
received much blessing from God, and
where our work lay, and perhaps some
day its reward, in the Church gathered
from the heathen into Christ's fold. We
were not long alone; the next day Mr.
Chambers arrived from Banting with a
party of seven baptized Dyaks.
We had brought all sorts of beautiful
things from England for the Church. A
carpet to lay before the altar, a new
altar-cloth, also painted shields for the
roof. Our friends in England had
furnished us with a box of clothes for the
Dyaks, cotton trousers and jackets, and
gay handkerchiefs for their heads. We
always dressed the Christians for
baptism—it was a sign of the new life
they professed at the font; but we did
not expect them to wear clothes
generally, except their own chawats, nor
was it to be desired until they knew how
to wash them. We had also brought a
beautiful magic lantern with a
dissolving-view apparatus for our
people's amusement and instruction, for
some of the slides were painted by Miss
Rigaud to illustrate the life of our Lord,
and there were many astronomical slides
also. All these treasures brought us
numerous visitors. The Chinese
Christians were all invited to a feast at
our house, after which the magic lantern
was exhibited, and we were glad to find
that our school-children could explain all
the Scripture slides quite correctly.
Mr. Horsburgh accompanied Mr.
Chambers to Banting that day, to assist
him in his work for the Balow Dyaks;
and soon after, Mr. Gomes arrived from
Lundu with a large party of men and
boys; but I have already described their
visit. My dear husband went off to
Calcutta again in September, and was
consecrated Bishop of Labuan on St.
Luke's Day, October 18, 1855. Sir James
Brooke added Sarawak to his diocese and
title on his return; indeed, the small
island of Labuan, no larger than the Isle
of Wight, was only the English title to a
bishopric which was then almost entirely
a missionary one. The Straits
Settlements, including Singapore,
Penang, and Malacca, were then under
the Government of India, and Labuan
was the only spot of land under the
immediate control of the Colonial Office.
The Bishop of Calcutta would, from the
first, have been glad to part with so
distant a portion of his then unwieldy
diocese, but it could not at that time be
effected. As soon as the Straits
Settlements were passed over to the
Queen's Government, the Bishop of
Labuan became virtually the Bishop of
the Straits, and, even long before that,
performed all episcopal functions in
those settlements; but the title has only
lately been altered.
As I was not present at my husband's
consecration, I cannot do better than
transcribe good Bishop Wilson's letter to
the venerable society (S.P.G.), describing
the ceremony.
Calcutta, Bishop's Palace, October 22,
1855.
Thank God, the consecration took place
with complete success on Thursday,
October 18th, St. Luke's Day. The Bishop
elect arrived some days before, the
Bishop of Victoria on the 16th, and
Bishop Dealtry (of Madras) on the 17th.
The crowded cathedral marked the
interest which was excited. We sent out
two hundred printed invitations to
gentry, besides requesting the clergy to
attend in their robes. There were more
than eight hundred jammed into the
cathedral, and hundreds could not gain
admittance. The clergy were thirty. After
morning prayer the assistant bishops
conducted the elect Bishop to the vestry,
where, having attired himself in his
rochet, he was presented to me when
seated near the Communion table. Her
Majesty's mandate was then read, and
the commission of his Grace the
Archbishop of Canterbury. The several
oaths were next duly administered by
the registrar of the diocese. The Litany
was devoutly read by the Bishop of
Madras, and afterwards the examination
of the candidate took place. I should
have said that the sermon followed the
Nicene Creed. It was by the Bishop of
Madras, the text being taken from 2 Tim.
i. 6, 7:—
"Wherefore I put thee in remembrance
that thou stir up the gift of God, which is
in thee by the putting on of my hands.
For God hath not given us the spirit of
fear; but of power, and of love, and of a
sound mind."
The Bishop has consented at my request
to print the discourse, which I shall have
the pleasure of sending copies of for the
Archbishop and yourself, I was gratified
at observing that the text is taken from
the solemn words used at the very act
itself of consecration. After the
examination, the Bishop returned to the
vestry to put on the rest of the episcopal
dress; and as the vestry in the cathedral
is at the west end of the building, he had
to pass down the one hundred and
twenty feet conducting to it, with the
eyes and hearts of the congregation fixed
upon him with wonder and pleasure. On
his return, the "Veni, Creator Spiritus"
was sung, each alternate line being
answered by the Bishops and clergy,
with the accompaniment of our fine
organ. After the appointed prayers,
which are directed to follow this hymn,
the imposition of hands took place, and
the words of the consecration
pronounced by myself as presiding
metropolitan. The Bible was next placed
in his hands, with the admirable
exhortation prescribed—an exhortation
which I think incomparable and almost
inspired, as indeed the whole service is.
The collection at the offertory was made
for the Sarawak Mission, and above five
hundred C. rupees collected. The whole
service concluded with the Holy
Communion of the body and blood of
Christ.
The new Bishop preached at St.
Thomas's Church on Sunday, the 21st,
for his mission; and a single gentleman
contributed one thousand C. rupees. He
will preach at the cathedral on the 28th,
when something more will be gathered.
The Bishop of Madras has presented the
four hundred rupees of his voyage
expenses, from Madras to Calcutta and
back, to the same blessed cause. I have
had three breakfast parties (for I don't
give dinners) to meet the Bishop, of
about forty each, on the day after the
consecration, and on Saturday, and this
morning, and the addresses made by
Bishops Dealtry and Smith were most
warmly received. Thus has this great
occasion passed off—the first
consecration, I believe, that has ever
taken place out of England since the
glorious Reformation, and perhaps the
first missionary Bishop sent out by our
Church; unless the Bishop of Mauritius
may be considered as having preceded
him.
It was, indeed, a singular event that four
Protestant Bishops should meet in the
heart of heathen India, amidst one
hundred and fifty millions of idolaters
and worshippers of the false Prophet.
God be praised for this completion of
episcopal functions in India!
DANIEL CALCUTTA.
I must add to this graphic letter a note
which the venerable Bishop wrote to my
husband, November 6th of the same
year.
Tennasarim, Bishop's Cabin.
MY BELOVED REV. BISHOP OF LABUAN,
Whether to write to you by the pilot or
not I can hardly tell. However, I am so
anxious for your beginning well at
Singapore and Sarawak, and so
responsible also from having consecrated
you to the Lord, that I must write. I have
taken the liberty with you which Mr.
Cecil took with me in 1801, to caution
you, now you are a chief pastor and a
father in God, against excessive hilarity
of spirits. There is a mild gravity, with
occasional tokens of delight and
pleasure, becoming your sacred
character, not noisy mirth.
I met with a letter of a minister, now
with God, to a brother minister, who was
about to take his duty for a time, which I
think will give you pleasure. "Take heed
to thyself ; your own soul is your first and
greatest concern. You know that a sound
body alone can work with power; much
more a healthy soul. Keep a clear
conscience through the blood of the
Lamb. Keep up close communion with
God. Study likeness to Him in all things.
Read the Bible for your own growth first,
then for your people. Expound much; it
is through the truth that souls are to be
sanctified, not through essays upon the
truth. You will not find many
companions; be the more with God. Be of
good courage, there remaineth much
land to be possessed. Be not dismayed,
for Christ shall be with you to deliver
you. I am often sore cast down; but the
Eternal God is my refuge. Now farewell;
the Lord make you a faithful steward." If
we do not meet again in the flesh, may
we meet, never to part, before the
throne of the Great Redeemer!
I am your affectionate
D. CALCUTTA.
After my husband's consecration, he
undertook a confirmation tour for
Bishop Wilson, at the mission stations
around Calcutta. He also consecrated a
church at Midnapore in South Bengal. In
December, after four month's absence,
he returned to Sarawak.
Our party in the mission-house during
his absence consisted of a chaplain, a
missionary lady learning Malay and
teaching the girls' school, our young
friend Mr. Grant, myself, and baby Mab.
The days ran along a smooth groove,
although we had all plenty to do. Up
early in the morning, then a walk, and
service in church at seven. After prayers
some hours' teaching and learning
before midday bath and breakfast. The
afternoon was a more lazy time, though
the hum of school went on continuously,
while we did our sewing and reading in
the coolest corners we could find. The
new school-house, in which all the boys,
the Stahls, and Mr. Owen, the
schoolmaster, lived, was near enough to
the mission-house for us to know the
hour of the day by the lesson going on at
the time; for all the younger boys
repeated their multiplication tables in a
loud voice together (in Malay), also their
Chinese reading; then came the singing,
rounds and part-songs, the most popular
lesson of all. At four o'clock the school
broke up. The children amused
themselves as English boys do. There was
a season for marbles, for hop-scotch, for
tops, and for kites. Above all, do Chinese
children love kites, and are most
ingenious in making them. They cut thin
paper into the shapes of birds, fish, or
butterflies, and stretch it over thin slips
of the spine of the cocoa-nut leaf, then
they ornament it with bits of red or blue
paper, and fasten it together with a
pinch of boiled rice. The string is the
most expensive part, and two
pennyworth lasts many kites, for they
are very frail affairs, and in that land of
trees do not long escape being caught,
though they fly beautifully. Miss J——
had a cockatoo which amused her and
the little girls during sewing-class. He
was a beautiful bird with a rosy crest,
but extremely mischievous. To sharpen
his beak he notched all the Venetian
shutters in the verandahs; and if he
spied a looking-glass, flew at it in a rage
and broke it: fortunately there were no
large mirrors in the house. These birds
look very pretty perching in the trees,
and this one became tame enough to be
trusted out of doors, but they are bad
inmates.
We had also a chicken-yard for Alan's
amusement, and great were our
difficulties in preserving the nests from
rats, who ate the eggs. If we placed the
nests on a high shelf, these creatures
managed to shove the eggs out of the
nests so that they fell broken on the floor
all ready for their supper. At last we
circumvented them by slinging the nests
by long rattans from the roof.
At five o'clock another short service took
place in church. In the evening we read
aloud to one another, while the rest
sewed or drew.
This tranquil, even monotonous life was
very much to my taste in my husband's
absence, but after a few weeks it was
disturbed by sad trials. First, the
chaplain had a sunstroke, and fell out
with the climate, the place, and some
members of our little society; so he went
to Singapore, and from thence to
England. When we were recovering from
this blow, and had again settled down
into our usual ways, a worse trial befell
me.
One morning Miss J—— did not appear
at early breakfast, and little Mary, who
waited upon her in her room, said she
was sound asleep and did not wake
when she opened the shutters. I thought
nothing of it at first, for Miss J——
sometimes sat up late at night; but an
hour afterwards, I went into her room
and looked at her. Her breathing was so
laboured I thought she was in a fit; and
first I tried to put leeches on her
temples, but they would not bite, and we
resolved to carry her into the fresh
breeze in the verandah, for the air of the
room seemed laden with something close
and stifling. When I threw back the
covering of the bed, I perceived that the
veins of both arms had been cut, and a
few drops of blood stained her night-
dress; also there was a small empty
bottle in the bed with "Laudanum" on its
label. The terrible truth was evident—
she had taken poison and tried to bleed
herself to death! Probably the action of
the laudanum prevented any flow of
blood, yet the few drops may have
relieved the brain. The horror of this
discovery nearly deprived me of my
senses; but there was no time for
lamentation—she was not dead, thank
God, and all our efforts must be used to
restore her to life. We were very
ignorant, but we did all we could think
of. There was no doctor to apply to, only
the chemist who served the dispensary.
He gave medicine which was certainly
very strong, and we put mustard plasters
on her legs. By the evening she was
sensible enough to take some food, but
for a week there was serious illness, and
it was a long time before I could ask my
poor friend why she had done this thing.
She had left me a letter to read in the
event of her death, but of course I never
read it. We were very much together, but
I had not thought her unhappy; indeed
the only reason she ever gave me for so
hating her life was, that she could not
learn Malay, and did not think she
should be any use as a missionary. This
despondency was known to me, but I
had no idea it cut so deep. Miss J—— had
a great deal of quiet fun—she often
amused us by her clever and somewhat
caustic remarks. But Sarawak was too
monotonous a life for her. When, some
weeks afterwards, she had quite
regained the balance of her mind, she
went to Singapore, and became a very
useful member of society for many years
before she died. I never felt that I could
judge her, for I had so much more to
occupy my mind and interest my heart
than my companion. There was baby in
the first place, and the responsibilities of
the school and mission naturally fell to
my share. No doubt it requires an even
temperament to live contentedly without
society, and with only such excitement as
daily duties and the beauties of nature
afford. Yet these are full of infinite
happiness, and we were not without
friends, although we had no company:
the little party at Government House, as
it was then called, were very agreeable
and uniformly kind. It is, however, a
common mistake to imagine that the life
of a missionary is an exciting one. On
the contrary, its trial lies in its
monotony. The uneventful day, mapped
out into hours of teaching and study,
sleep, exercise, and religious duties; the
constant society of natives whose minds
are like those of children, and who do
not sympathize with your English ideas;
the sameness of the climate, which even
precludes discourse about the weather,—
all this, added to the distance from
relations and friends at home, combined
with the enervating effects of a hot
climate, causes heaviness of spirits and
despondency to single men and women.
Married people have not the same
excuse; for besides duty and nature, they
have "one friend who loves them best,"
and that ought to be enough for the most
exacting temperament. I say nothing
about the comforts of religion—they are
the portion of all, married or single; still
some spirits become so sensitive in
solitude that they are not able to take the
cheerful side, even of their relation to
their Heavenly Father, and these are
generally the most reserved to their
companions. I am glad to find that
missionaries are now seldom sent alone
to any station, and women are more
often associated in sisterhoods for
mission work under our colonial
Bishops, so that they have the society
and sympathy of English ladies after the
toils of the day. I felt much discouraged
after Miss J—— left me, and afraid of
urging any one to follow in her place;
but at last a cousin of my husband's
came out to us, and as she enjoyed the
climate, and delighted in the place and
people, declaring that she had never
been more happy in her life than with
us, I consoled myself that it was not all
the fault of Sarawak and the mission-
house that poor Miss J—— could not live
there.
CHAPTER XI.
CHINESE INSURRECTION.
"Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find
All to thy mind,
Think, Who did once to earth from heaven
descend
Thee to befriend;
So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,
Thy life, thine all."
These lines were most applicable to us
during the year 1856. It was such rest
and peace when our Bishop returned
from Calcutta and soothed all the griefs
and heartburnings we had suffered the
four months he was away. Then ensued
the performance of his new episcopal
duties. Mr. Gomes was ordained priest
in March. Confirmations took place, of
our elder school-children, who were all
baptized when they first came to us; also
many Chinese Christians too, who had
long attended the Bible classes at the
mission-house and stood firm to their
baptismal vows. In April we had another
baby girl; and soon after, the Bishop
went to Labuan, to arrange about a
church being built there. Unfortunately
he caught fever at Labuan; which
declared itself at Singapore on his
return. We were both very ill, and glad
of doctors' advice at Singapore; but
Labuan fever returns again and again,
though in a slighter form after a while,
and was for years a constant trial to the
Bishop's strength. When we returned to
Sarawak in October, our party was
increased. Mr. and Mrs. Crookshank had
come out from England—she a bride,
and quite a new element of youth and
beauty for Sarawak. A lady friend and
her child and nurse also came on a long
visit to us, the air of Sarawak being
considered quite a tonic compared to the
sea-breeze at Singapore, which was at
times visited by a hot wind from Java.
Very pleasant days followed our return
home. Mrs. Harvey and I, with our
children, went for a month to "See-afar"
Cottage on the hill of Serambo. I have
already mentioned this little house, built
by Sir James Brooke as a sanitarium
after his attack of small-pox. The only
objection to it was, that it was built in
the region of clouds: had the hill been
five hundred feet higher we should have
had the clouds below us, as they are on
Penang Hill. The path up the mountain—
if path it can be called—is almost a
staircase of tumbled rocks, and requires
both strength and agility to climb. It was
quite beyond me; but I was carried on a
man's back, sitting on a bit of plank,
with a strip of cloth fastened round my
waist and across the man's forehead, my
back to his back. The Dyaks are famous
mountaineers, their bare feet cling to the
stones, or notched trunks of trees thrown
from one rock to another. I never felt
unsafe on my Dyak friend's back, and he
used to laugh when I proposed his
setting me down and taking a rest, and
say, "You are not as heavy as a basket of
durian fruit." These Dyaks have beautiful
groves of fruit-trees, and make a good
purse in the fruit season by bringing
down durians, mangosteen and lansat
fruit to sell at Kuching. They also carry
all their harvest of paddy up the
mountain to their rice-stores in the
villages, so they are used to heavy
weights.
We took a stock of provisions up with us,
fowls and ducks, a goat and her kid, etc.,
and all the bedding we wanted, for of
course there was not much furniture in
the cottage. Our first night was
unfortunate. We had settled ourselves in
the rooms, had our supper, and were
about to go to bed, when the servants
ran out of the cook-house, which was a
stone's-throw from the cottage, crying
out, "Fire!" and in a few minutes we saw
it wrapped in flames. Of course a house
built of sticks and leaves does not take
long to burn down to the ground, but we
were distressed to hear the bleatings of
the little kid which could not be got out
in time. The ducks, too, were still in the
long basket coop in which they were
carried up, and were literally roasted in
their feathers before anybody
remembered them. A large party of
Dyaks were on the spot directly they saw
the flames, and they did good service by
throwing water on the roof of the
cottage, and watching lest the thatch
should catch. In the morning they
discovered the burnt ducks, and ate them
up with much relish, for a Dyak likes the
flavour of burnt feathers. The next day
the cook-house was rebuilt. These native
huts look so clean and fresh when first
put up, the straw-coloured attap [6] walls
and green leaf roofs are so agreeable to
the eye. They quickly turn hay colour
and then get discoloured by the wood
smoke. Except that we were at times
rather short of food, we enjoyed our
mountain retreat very much. The bath
was a remarkable feature—a natural
stone basin, under the shadow of a great
rock, fed by the clearest streamlet and
sheltered from view by a heavy bit of
curtain, was our bathing-place. We
carried a little leaf bucket and our towels
in our hands, and while we poured the
fresh water over our heads we could now
and then stop to look at the great
expanse of plain and forest, with silver
rivers winding amidst them, and blue
smoke stealing up here and there to
mark a Dyak village. There was,
however, a particular rock on the spur of
the mountain from whence we always
watched the sun set; there was a much
wider view from thence. The sea lay on
the horizon, and the pointed mountain
of Santubong stood on the plain, with
other ranges of hills far away. I fear we
did little else but watch the glories of
earth and sky at that time, and look after
our children, who could not be trusted
alone a minute on those steep paths.
Meanwhile the Bishop was paying a visit
to Lundu in his new life-boat, a boat of
about twenty-eight feet, with a little
covered house in it, and water-tight
compartments in the bow and stern to
keep her afloat. She was well named, for
even in this first voyage she saved the
lives of her passengers. From the coast
at Santubong you see blue hills far away
to the west, which lie in the Lundu
country. The sea runs very high, in the
north-cast monsoon, between the mouths
of these two rivers, the Sarawak and
Lundu; and on this occasion the waves
on their return from Lundu were
fearful. Seven great waves like green
hills advanced one after another. The
Malay crew prayed aloud with terror.
Stahl and the Bishop steered the boat
and held their breaths. It looked like
rushing into the jaws of death, but the
life-boat mounted the big waves one
after another, sometimes shuddering
with the strain, but buoyant and stiff.
The danger past, the crew praised Allah
and the good boat; and they, as well as
Stahl who had behaved so well at the
time of danger, fell into a fit of ague
from the nervous shock. We knew on the
top of the hill that a fearful storm was
raging, but we did not see the white boat
flying like a bird over the seven great
rollers, or there would have been no
sleep for us that night. The crew never
forgot it, nor the calm pluck of their
steersman the Bishop. I must confess that
an attack of fever was the result of all
this exertion when he joined us on the
hill.
The rest of the year 1856 passed away
quietly. We were all looking forward to
an event which was to improve the
English society of the place very much.
The Rajah's nephew, Captain Brooke,
was bringing out a bride; and her
brother, Mr. Charles Grant, another.
These four young people were expected
in the early spring of 1857, and the
Rajah was refurnishing his bungalow to
receive these additions to his family. A
new piano had arrived, and all sorts of
pretty things, to brighten up the cool
dark rooms of Government House. Mr.
and Mrs. Crookshank were preparing a
house for themselves also; and all their
boxes, which had remained unopened
while they lived with the Rajah, were
moved up to their bungalow. Little did
we think that all these treasures would
be burnt before they were even
unpacked!
The Chinese gold-workers of Bau and
Seniawan had long given more or less
trouble to the Sarawak Government.
They were governed by their own self-
elected kunsi (magistrates), and
recognized their fealty to Sarawak only
by the payment of a small tax on the
gold they washed from the soil. They
sent the gold away to China, and
habitually cheated as to the quantity
obtained. They also smuggled opium
from the Dutch settlement of Sambas,
thus defrauding Government of revenue.
Worse than all this, they introduced
secret societies, or hui, among
themselves, and threatened to rebel if
any of their kunsi were punished for
breaking the laws of the country. At
Christmas, 1856, they boasted they could
demolish Kuching in one night, if they
chose; and that a new Joss House they
were building there should furnish them
with a pretext to gather by hundreds to
set the Joss in his temple, and possess
themselves of the place and the
Europeans who lived there. These
uncomfortable rumours seemed to have
some foundation when a new road was
discovered which the Chinese had made
between Bau and Seniawan, another
settlement nearer to Kuching. Mr.
Crookshank, who was in charge of the
Government, sent word to Mr. Johnson,
who immediately came from Sakarran
with a fleet of Dyaks, delighted to have a
chance of fighting the Chinese, and
carrying plenty of heads back to their
homes. At the same time a gun-boat was
stationed on the river to prevent any
communication between Bau and
Kuching. Upon this the kunsi came very
humbly and begged pardon, declared the
whole story was a fabrication, and that
they never intended mischief. We only
half believed them, but the Dyaks were
dismissed, and unfortunately the gun-
boat no longer kept watch on the river.
Our Christian Chinese teacher "Sing-
Song," was of the Kay tribe, the same as
the Bau people, and once a month he
went there to teach his countrymen.
There were a few Christians among
them. One, a goldsmith, did his best to
let us know that danger was impending,
but the kunsi suspected him, and put him
in prison; we were therefore quite
unprepared for what took place. On the
17th of February, three Chinese kunsi
were flogged by order of the court at
Kuching, for taking the law into their
own hands, and seizing a runaway
prisoner, as well as the captain of the
boat in which she absconded, although
he was not guilty of hiding her. This
seems to have put the finishing touch to
the factious state of feeling at Bau. The
Rajah and the Bishop had determined to
take a trip together on the 15th, in the
life-boat, to Sadong, and from thence to
Linga and Sakarran. The Rajah had been
ailing for some time, and we hoped this
little voyage would do him good. We
prepared all the provisions for this trip:
bread and rusks were made, salt meat
was cooked, and everything was ready
packed in the provision baskets (this was
of great importance to us afterwards).
That evening we all met out walking, on
the only riding-road there was in those
days. Rajah spoke to the school-children,
and we all amused ourselves with the
little Middletons, boys of four and five,
strutting along with turbaned hats and
long walking-sticks. It was a dull
evening, and we all felt unaccountably
gloomy. We fancied it was because Rajah
was not well enough to come and dine
with us, as he had purposed in the
morning; but during dinner I
remembered afterwards that the Bishop
said, "If any sudden alarm were to take
place to-night it would rouse him and
make him all right."
We certainly went to bed without
expecting anything to happen, but, about
twelve o'clock, we were roused by shouts
and screams, and the firing of guns. We
got up and looked out. The Rajah's
bungalow was in flames across the river.
On our side the Middletons' house was
burning, and Mr. Crookshank's new
house, a little way up the road, was soon
after on fire. The most horrid noises
filled the air, there was evidently
fighting going on at the two forts at
either end of the town by the river's
side. We knew there were very few
defenders at either of these two forts,
and that they would soon be taken; for
by this time we were sure it must be the
Chinese miners who had fulfilled their
threat to take the town. We thought,
"When the forts are taken they will come
to us." Presently the brothers, William
and John Channon, who lived near us,
came to our house, bringing their wives
and children for shelter. They brought
news that the fort near their houses was
taken and burnt, and they dare not stay
in their own cottages, as they were
Government servants, and would be
obnoxious to the rebels.
We took our children out of bed and
dressed them, and then we all went
down to the school-house, from whence
we could see the burning houses and
hear what was going on in the town. A
Chinaman came up from the bazaar,
begging us not to go to them for shelter,
for they had been warned by the kunsi
not to harbour any English people, and
they dared not take us in. Poor creatures,
they were in terror for themselves, as
they were not of the same tribe of
Chinese as the Bau people. What should
we do?
WE ALL WENT DOWN TO THE SCHOOL-
HOUSE, FROM WHENCE WE COULD SEE
THE BURNING HOUSES.
We were so large a party, and had so
many children amongst us, that we did
not venture to hide in the jungle: the
night was quite dark and we might lose
one another. Then the Bishop said, "We
cannot make any resistance: we will hide
away the guns we have in the house, and
unite in prayer to God." So we all knelt
round him while he commended us to
the mercy of our Heavenly Father, and
prayed for all our dear friends who were
exposed to the fury of the Chinese. Then
we sat and waited. Miss Woolley, who
had only been three months in Sarawak,
read aloud a psalm from time to time to
comfort us; but the hours seemed very
long. At five o'clock in the morning the
kunsi, having possessed themselves of
the Chinese town, sent us word that they
did not mean to harm us—"the Bishop
was a good man and cared for the
Chinese," but he must go down to the
hospital and attend to their wounded.
Then came the welcome news that the
Rajah had escaped, and Mr. Crookshank
and Middleton—the three people whom
the Chinese most desired to kill, for the
one was chief constable and the other
police magistrate, who carried out the
Rajah's sentence on the kunsi. A price
was set on their heads, but the Malays'
love of their English Rajah made that
only an idle threat. We were told that
Mrs. Crookshank was dead, and the little
Middletons, as well as Mr. Wellington,
who lodged in their house, and Mr.
Nicholetts, who was staying at the
Rajah's house. Mrs. Crookshank,
however, was not dead, but lying
wounded in a ditch near the ashes of her
house. When the Bishop knew this he
demanded her of the kunsi. They said
no, at first, for they were angry that her
husband had escaped; but Bishop refused
to attend to the wounded unless they
gave her up, so at last they gave leave to
have her carried to our house.
It was about ten o'clock when she was
brought in—a pitiful sight, her dress
covered with blood, her hair matted with
grass and dust, her fingers bleeding. It
did not seem possible she could live after
remaining all night in this dreadful state.
She told us that she and her husband did
not awake until the house was full of
men. They had only time to jump up and
run down their bath-room stairs, he
catching up a spear for their defence.
Opening the bath-room door it creaked,
and a man came running round the
house shouting, "Assie Moy," the name of
the woman-prisoner they had seized. He
struck down Mrs. Crookshank with a
sword he had in his hand, and Mr.
Crookshank attacked him with the spear.
They struggled together till the
Chinaman cut his right arm to the bone,
and the spear fell from his hand; then,
seeing his wife lying dead, as he thought,
in the grass, he managed to get away to
the edge of the jungle, and sitting down,
faint with loss of blood, saw his house
burn to the ground. As morning dawned
he found his way to the Datu Bandar's
house, where the Rajah had already
arrived, and Middleton. Meanwhile the
Chinese, chasing the fowls from the
burning fowl-house, came upon Mrs.
Crookshank lying on her face, and one of
them, seizing her by her hair, desired
her to follow him. She could not walk a
step, so he carried her in his arms; but
when she groaned with the pain, he laid
her in a ditch near the road. Many
Chinese came and stood by her: they
covered her with their jackets, one held
an umbrella over her head, another
offered her some tobacco, but they would
not let any of our people touch her until
an order came from the kunsi. We had
sent our eldest school-boy to reassure
her, and he stood beside her until our
servants could bring her away safely. As
soon as the Bishop had dressed the
wounded in the town, he came home for
some breakfast. When I saw him I called
out, for his pith hat was covered with
blood. "It is only fowl's blood," said he,
"don't be frightened: they killed a
chicken over my head as a sign of friend
ship." The Middletons' servants came to
us early in the morning, and said that
they did not know what had become of
their mistress, but the two little boys
were killed by the Chinese, their heads
cut off, and their bodies thrown into the
burning. Later on, we heard that Mrs.
Middleton, after seeing Mr. Wellington
killed in trying to defend her, had
escaped into the bath-room and hidden
herself in one of the big water-jars; but,
the door being open, she had seen her
children murdered, and then had got out
of the jar and run into the jungle, where
she concealed herself in a little pool of
water, much hidden by overhanging
boughs. There this poor mother
remained for some hours, until a
Chinaman from the town came to the
spring, carrying a drawn sword in his
hand. "Oh, sir, pray don't kill me!" she
called out. "Oh no!" answered the man,
"I am a friend of Mr. Peter" (her
husband), "and will take care of you." So
he took her to his house, and dressed her
in Chinese clothes. It was almost a
wonder to me that this poor young
woman lived through that dreadful time.
As the day wore on, Mr. Ruppell, the
banker of the place, and a great friend
of the Chinese, came and took up his
abode with us. Then he, the Bishop, and
Mr. Helms, the manager of the English
Merchant Company, were ordered to
meet the kunsi at the court-house; also
the Datu Bandar, the chief Malay
magistrate. There a very trying scene
took place. The kunsi sat in the seats of
the magistrates, smoking, their principal
in the Rajah's own chair. They stated
that they did not wish to make war with
the English, or the Malays, only with the
Rajah's government, and they desired
those present to assist them in the
government of the country. This they
had drawn up in writing, and desired
the English and Datu Bandar to sign. The
Bishop pointed out to them that the best
thing they could do would be to return to
Bau and defend their town; that the
Dyaks would certainly come in fleets of
boats directly they heard of what had
happened at Kuching, and they would as
certainly be killed if they remained in
the place. This was true enough, but they
were afraid of the Malays attacking them
on the water. The Chinese are bad
boatmen. They could not therefore make
up their minds to go, and much fierce
discussion arose. The thieves and rogues
of the place, being under no restraint,
robbed all the houses, on this afternoon,
whose inmates had taken refuge at the
mission-house. The Christian Chinese,
being afraid of their countrymen, rushed
into our house, carrying all sorts of
goods and chattels, and caused me much
distress on Mrs. Crookshank's account,
who was very sensitive to fresh alarms.
However, we settled our Chinese friends
in some of the lower rooms. The
Channons and their babies were in the
attics. Night came at last, and a dead
silence fell upon the town and the
crowded mission-house. Not even the
usual sounds in the bazaar or on the
river were heard; only an occasional gun
broke the stillness of the night. Friends
and foes were alike weary. We did not
venture to undress, but lay down all
ready for flight if necessary, with our
hats and little bundles beside us. The
Bishop and Mr. Ruppell watched all night
in the porch. Friday morning the
Chinese, continually urged by the
Bishop, determined to return to Bau.
Later on they heard a rumour that the
Malays would attack them on the river;
then they made the Datu Bandar sign a
promise not to follow them. Still they felt
no confidence that he would not, so they
said they would take Mr. Helms with
them as a hostage for the Datu's good
faith. Poor Mr. Helms did not like this
idea at all, and having a fast boat lying
in the creek near his house, he slipped
away early in the afternoon, down the
river, and hid himself in the jungle. No
one in Sarawak could imagine what had
become of him.
About midday the Bishop told me he
wished me, Miss Woolley, and the
children, including Alan Grant, to go to
Singapore in a trading schooner which
Mr. Ruppell had detained at the mouth of
the river in case of emergency.
Mrs. Stahl and Miss Coomes were to
remain and nurse Mrs. Crookshank, but
it would be a great relief to him to think
of us in safety. The Chinese kunsi also
wished us to go, "that the people at
Singapore might see that they did not
desire our death." It seemed very hard to
me to leave my husband in such danger,
for that morning the kunsi had
flourished swords in his face and
threatened him, knowing very well that
he wished to bring the Rajah back. Still I
knew he could more easily provide for
the safety of those left behind if we were
already out of the way. So I packed up
some clothes and provisions for the
voyage. While I was doing this a
Chinaman came from the Good Luck
schooner to say I must only take one box
for our party, as the schooner was very
full of Chinese passengers, fleeing for
fear of the kunsi. With this we had to be
content. At three o'clock we went to the
shop of Amoo, the Chinese owner of the
Good Luck . There I found my husband
writing to Mr. Johnson at Linga, to tell
him what had happened. Then Datu
Bandar came in to say that the kunsi had
gone up the river, and had taken some of
the fort guns with them; that they were
very crowded in the boats, and that he
should follow after them with a Malay
force at night. They did nothing,
however, when the time came; for until
the Malays had got their families safe out
of the place they were not willing to
fight. They were brave enough when the
women and children were moved to
Samarahan on Saturday. There were
many Chinese women collected at
Amoo's, belonging to the shopkeepers in
the bazaar. The wife of the court scribe,
whom I knew, told me in a whisper that
she managed to get some bread to the
Rajah and his party, and had told Mr.
Crookshank that his wife was alive and
with us. At last the life-boat was ready.
Stahl went with us to steer, and said
there were plenty of Chinese to row the
boat. When we got down to it, we found
it not only fully manned by Chinese, but
full of their women, children, and boxes,
so that we could scarcely find room to
squeeze ourselves into the stern, and we
were so heavily laden that we made very
slow progress. It was no use protesting,
however: we were only English folk, and
the Chinese had it all their own way in
those days. About eight o'clock we got
down to the mouth of the Morotabas,
where the schooner lay. Pitch dark and
very wet it was, but it was a relief when
all the Chinese passengers climbed up
the schooner ladder, and the men hauled
the boxes up one after another, last of all
a very heavy one which it took six men
to lift, full of dollars,—so no wonder we
were overladen. Last of all I climbed into
the Good Luck , leaving the children still
in the boat with Stahl and Kimchack, one
of our school-boys whose family were
moving away in the schooner. I found
the deck covered with Chinese, and
when I said to the little Portuguese
captain, "Where is the little cabin Mr.
Ruppell promised me I should have?" he
answered, "Oh, ma'am, pray go back to
your boat. I have neither water nor fuel
for the people who are already on board.
The cabin is filled with the family and
friends of the Chinese owner of the
schooner, and I cannot give you even
room to sit down anywhere." It was
indeed true. My friend, the court
scribe's wife, said, "Come and sit by me
on the deck." "But the children, they
cannot be exposed day and night on
deck." "Oh well, there is no other place
for them." So I jumped into the life-boat
again, and reclaimed my treasures.
"Rather," said Miss Woolley and I, "die
on shore than in that horrid boat."
Indeed we felt quite cheerful now we
had the boat to ourselves; and Kimchack
said he had already been two nights on
board the Good Luck and had had no
room to lie down. There we were,
however, in the middle of the river, with
no one to row the boat. Stahl could not
move it by himself. At this moment a
small boat pulled alongside, and Mr.
Helms' face appeared in the darkness.
How glad we were to see him! and he,
faint and exhausted with wandering all
day in the jungle, was glad of a glass of
wine, which was soon got out of the
provision basket. Then we opened a tin
of soup, and fed our tired and hungry
children, who behaved all through those
terrible days as if it was a picnic
excursion got up for their amusement.
They enjoyed everything, and were no
trouble at all, either Alan or Mab. Edith
was a baby, and suffered very much
from want of proper food—but that was
later on. Mr. Helms and his crew rowed
our boat into Jernang Creek, where there
were some Malay houses. In one of these
he and Alan went to sleep, but he
advised us to remain in the boat until
the morning. We laid Mab and Edith on
one of the seats; Miss Woolley lay on the
other; and I sat at the bottom of the boat
to prevent the children from falling off.
The mosquitoes were numerous on that
mud bank, and I was very glad when the
morning dawned. At six o'clock Mr.
Helms came to say we could have an
empty Malay house on shore for a few
days, so we gladly mounted up the
landing-place and found a kind and
hospitable reception from our Malay
friends. They had put up some mat
partitions in a large room, that we might
sleep in private, and presented us with a
nice curry for breakfast. We then
unpacked our box and dried the clothes
in it, which were wet through from the
overlading of the life-boat. About
midday two Englishmen arrived from the
Quop River, nearer to Kuching, where
they had been with the Rajah. They only
stayed a short time, but told us that the
Kunsi Chinese had really gone to Bau,
and that the Bishop was with the Rajah
at Quop. Late at night I had a note from
my husband, saying he thought we might
return to Sarawak, for all was quiet, and
he hoped the Rajah would come back
early on Sunday morning. The next
morning, therefore, we prepared to set
off again in the life-boat, but first I went
to pay a visit to Inchi Bouyang the Malay
writer, who lived in one of the houses
near, and who was too stout to venture
out of his own house into a less strongly
built one. This seems absurd enough, but
the Malay houses were certainly very
slight; they seemed to sway in the mud of
the creek, and the floors of the rooms
were made of very open strips of nibong
palm, so that you had to walk turning
your feet well out in order not to slip
through the lantiles. I found many
Malays gathered in the writer's house,
all to entreat me not to go to Kuching,
because it was "not a lucky day." "If the
Malays fight the Chinese to-day," they
said, "they will be beaten." "What reason
have you for saying so?" "No reason
exactly, but the day is unlucky; it is like
Friday to the English, they never go to
sea on that day." "Oh," said I, "that was
long ago: they often go to sea on Friday
now they know better, and no sensible
person thinks anything of lucky or
unlucky days." "Well, we have told you
what we think. If you must go, some of
us will go with you, and we shall tell the
Tuan Padre it was not our fault that you
would not wait until to-morrow." So
Lulut, a servant of the Rajah's, and
another Malay got into the boat with us,
and we set off up the river.
Footnotes:
Palm leaf.
CHAPTER XII.
CHINESE INSURRECTION (Continued ).
As we proceeded up the river we agreed
we would ask news of any boat we met.
Presently we noticed smoke rising above
the trees. "The Malays are burning the
Chinese town," said the men; but as we
drew nearer it was evidently the Malay
town which was burning. At last we met
a boat. "Yes; the Chinese had returned,
and had set fire to the Malay town; they
were also firing at the Sarawak Chinese
in the bazaar." On Saturday the Bishop
and the Channons and Stahl had
unspiked two of the guns left in the fort,
and had hoisted the Sarawak flag again
on the flag-staff. The Bishop then went
to the Rajah's war boat at the Quop, and
told him that the Malays had sent away
their women, and were ready to fight
should the Chinese return; and he
begged him to come to our house early
the next morning, where breakfast
should be ready for him, and take the
command. But the Chinese heard of this,
and returned in the morning, some by
river, some by road. As soon as the
Malays saw their boats rounding the
corner near the Malay town, they
attacked them bravely, drove them
ashore, and though suffering much loss
from their superior fire, captured ten of
their boats, and secured them to a Malay
prahu in the river. While this struggle
was going on, a large party of Chinese,
who walked from Seniawan, were
ransacking the town. Enraged with the
Bishop for trying to bring the Rajah
back, they rushed into our house to find
him; but he, having sent off all our
belongings, English and native, ran
down the back stairs while the Chinese
rushed up into the porch in front, and
escaped to the Chinese town, where shots
were flying about in plenty, but did not
hit him. He got into a little boat passing
by, with two Malays in it, and they
paddled him to the Rajah's war boat,
then retreating down the river. When
they reached the Quop he found a little
boat, which brought him quickly to
Jernang.
We lay off the town in the life-boat, and
saw one boat after another rowing fast
towards us. In one, Mr. Koch, the
missionary, with a number of school-
boys; in another, Mrs. Crookshank, laid
on a mattress, Mrs. Stahl, and Miss
Coomes, and the school-girls; then the
Channons' families and some Chinese;
then the Sing-Song's family, and more
boys. "Where is the Bishop?" I shouted.
"In the Rajah's war boat. We had the
greatest difficulty in getting boats
enough for us; the Chinese were running
up to the house when he sent us off, and
firing had already begun in the streets
when Mrs. Crookshank was got into the
boat."
This was an anxious moment; but before
long our servant James appeared with a
message to me from my husband, to
return to Jernang, and stay there until
he appeared. Our Malay friends here left
us, to join their families anchored in
boats by the banks, and I filled the life-
boat with the school-children to lighten
the other boats. Then we pulled slowly
back against the tide to Jernang. The
little landing-place was crowded when
we arrived, for the smaller boats had got
there first. I had the greatest difficulty in
persuading the Malays to give shelter to
the Chinese Christians and children. I
answered for their good behaviour; but
all Chinese, whether rebels or no, were
in sufficiently bad odour in those days.
At last I got them part of a house to
themselves. No sooner was all arranged
than the Bishop arrived in his little boat;
it was like receiving him from the dead.
Presently appeared the Rajah's war boat,
he standing at the stern. We all ran
down to meet him and Mr. Crookshank,
and take them to Bertha, who had been
carried into a house. While we were all
standing on the little wharf, built on tall
piles into the water, the Malays cried out
that it was giving way, and we must all
go into the houses. The Bishop then
decided what to do with his large party.
Mr. Helms had a schooner close by, in
which he was going to Sambas, to seek
assistance from the Dutch, our nearest
neighbours. He kindly offered to take
Miss Woolley, Miss Coomes, and two of
our eldest school-boys with him. The rest
of us could go to Linga, where there was
a fort, as a little pinnace belonging to
Mr. Steele lay handy at the mouth of the
river. The Chinese, however, implored to
go with us; and indeed it would have
been cruel to leave them a prey to the
Malays, or the bad Chinese, or the Dyaks.
When we were lodged in the pinnace,
therefore, the Bishop went back to
Jernang, and packed all our Chinese into
the life-boat, which was attached by a
rope to the pinnace; so we were all
together. It was nearly dark when we
weighed anchor, and left the mouth of
the river. There was a tiny cabin, just
large enough to hold Bertha on her
mattress; a fowl-house, into which our
native children crept; an open hold,
where we women sat down on our
bundles, with our children in our arms;
and there was a place for cargo forward,
where the men settled themselves. The
Rajah in his war boat also proceeded to
Linga, and we expected him to arrive
long before our slow boat; he would meet
Mr. Johnson, his nephew, there, and
organize a force of Dyaks from the great
rivers, Sakarran and Batang Lupar, to
drive away the Chinese rebels. We never
had any doubt of their doing this
eventually, though we feared the remedy
might be almost as bad as the disease, if
the Dyaks proved unmanageable and
quarrelled with one another. The night
was very dark and wet, and the deck
leaked upon us, so that we and our bags
and bundles were soon wet through. But
we neither heeded the rain nor felt the
cold. We had eaten nothing since early
morning, but were not hungry; and
although for several nights we could
scarcely be said to have slept, we were
not sleepy. A deep thankfulness took
possession of my soul; all our dear ones
were spared to us. My children were in
my arms, my husband paced the deck
over my head. I seemed to have no
cares, and to be able to trust to God for
the future, who had been so merciful to
us hitherto. I remember, too, when Mrs.
Stahl opened the provision basket, and
gave us each a slice of bread and meat,
how very good it was, although we had
not thought about wanting it. We lit a
little fire, and made some hot tea, but
soon had a message from the Rajah's
boat to put out the fire lest we should be
seen. The only thing that troubled me
was a nasty faint smell, for which I could
not account; but next morning we found
a Chinaman's head in a basket close by
my corner, which was reason enough!
We had taken a fine young man on
board to help pull the sweeps, a Dyak,
and this ghastly possession was his. He
said he was at Kuching, looking about
for a head, and went into the court-
house. Hearing some one in a little side
room, he peeped in, and saw a
Chinaman gazing at himself in a bit of
looking-glass, which was stuck against
the wall. He drew his sword, and in one
moment, stepping close behind him, cut
off his head: and having obtained this
prize, was naturally desirous of getting
away from the place; so he came off as
boatman in one of the flying boats,
bringing the head in a basket, which he
stowed in the side of the boat. It entirely
spoilt my hand-bag, which lay near it; I
had to throw it away, and everything in
it which could not be washed in hot
water.
Towards morning the sea made us all
sick, added to the wet, and cold of dawn;
yet, when the day cleared a little, and we
got a fire on deck, and some hot tea and
biscuits, and the children seemed none
the worse for their bad night and the
swarms of mosquitoes which had feasted
upon them, we could not repine. In the
evening we passed the island of Burong,
at the mouth of the Batang Lupar River,
and Mr. Crookshank tried to stimulate
the men pulling the sweeps to reach a
Sebuyan village farther on, before the
tide left us and it grew dark. By dint of
hard pulling we made the village, and its
little fort, standing close beside the
water and washed by its strong tide. A
little boat came off from the fort, with
some Malays, of whom we inquired for
the Rajah, thinking his boat was far
ahead of us, but they said they had seen
nothing of him. Mr. Crookshank then
begged them to bring a boat in which he
could take Bertha up to Linga Fort that
evening, instead of her remaining
another night in the pinnace. We went
on as long as the tide lasted, and then
anchored in the Batang Lupar. Again we
made a fire on deck, and after taking
some food, settled ourselves for the
night. At eleven o'clock the promised
boat came for Bertha and Mr.
Crookshank, and Mrs. Stahl went with
them as nurse; they thought nothing
could be worse than spending another
night on board the pinnace, but I fear
the little boat journey was still more
painful. When they reached Linga, they
found only Malays in the fort, and the
dwelling-house shut up, for Mr. Johnson
was at Sakarran. They had to carry Mrs.
Crookshank up a ladder into the fort,
and lay her on a table; but happily Mr.
Chambers arrived that night from
Banting, and furnished a curtain as a
screen, and pillows from his boat to
make a more comfortable couch. As we
were setting off again next morning, we
met Mr. Johnson in a long boat, going
straight off to Kuching. He was lying ill
of fever at Sakarran, when his Malays
roused him by saying, without preface
—"The news is bad, Tuan: the Rajah is
killed and Kuching in the hands of the
rebel Chinese." Upon this he jumped up,
called together the chiefs, and bidding
them follow him with a strong force of
Dyaks, he set off himself without calling
at Linga by the way. When we told him
that Rajah was alive and on his way to
Linga, he turned back with us, and
taking me, my ayah, and the children
into his boat, soon landed us at his
house. This was Tuesday, but we heard
nothing of the Rajah until Friday. Mr.
Johnson, after breakfasting with us at his
house, went on to Kuching, and found
that, after we lost sight of the Rajah's
war boat, they had fallen in with the
steamer belonging to the Borneo
Company, the Sir James Brooke , just
entering the river. Mr. Helms' schooner
also came across her, so all the
passengers in the schooner and the war
boat had moved into the steamer, and
they immediately proceeded up the
river, preparing the guns on board to
attack as soon as they reached the town.
What must have been the feelings of the
Chinese in the fort when they saw the
smoke of the steamer curling above the
trees, and then received one ten-
pounder shot after another into their
midst! They fired one round of grape
shot at the steamer, and shouts of "Run!"
rose on all sides. The steamer then
proceeded up to the Malay town, where
the Malays still held out against the
Chinese; but as they were getting very
short of ammunition, and their enemies
were bringing some large guns to bear
on their position, they greeted the
steamer with shouts of welcome. The
Chinese fled in every direction. Cut off
from their boats, they ran into the
jungle; and while many no doubt
reached Bau in safety, many fell into the
hands of the Dyaks, who, following their
usual course of warfare, spread
themselves through the jungle, and took
the head of every man they met. The
town was quite clear of the rebels in a
few hours, and the Sir James Brooke ,
anchored in the river, furnished the base
of operations which the Rajah required:
from thence he could direct the Malay
and Dyak forces, which were
immediately at his disposal, to drive the
rebels out of the country. The day
before, the Chinese had filled our house
and looted it completely, except the
books in the library, for which they
seem to have had some respect; but we
had reason to believe that on Monday
the house would have been burnt, for
gunpowder and inflammable materials
were found strewed about after they left.
They took everything they could carry
away, and destroyed the rest, cutting
long slits in the gauze of the mosquito-
rooms, and pouring all the chemicals
and medicines of the dispensary over the
contents of the drawers, clothes, and
papers they did not wish for. They found
a long table set out ready for breakfast,
and had only to gather up the small
plate, which, with a house full of people,
was all in requisition. The church, too,
was emptied of all its furniture, and the
harmonium smashed; but the opportune
arrival of the steamer prevented these
buildings from sharing the fate of the
other houses.
Meanwhile, we were settling ourselves
with our large party in Mr. Johnson's
house, which he kindly placed at our
disposal. This house was surrounded by
a latticed verandah, the ground
immediately about it was cleared of
jungle and drained by deep ditches.
From the fort you looked over the wide
stretch of water of the Batang Lupar, but
it was a lonely and monotonous look-out.
As the fort men were taken away to fight
at Kuching, the gentlemen had to form
themselves into watches day and night,
with the few Malays who remained to
guard the fort. Boats full of Dyaks
continually arrived, to join the Rajah's
force—Balows, Sarebas, and Sakarrans
lay side by side on the river, all excited
by the prospects of war, and frequently
causing silly panics among the Malays of
Linga, lest these warriors, from tribes so
long enemies, should fall out with one
another before they got to Kuching.
There were, of course, no books or
newspapers to read; our Bibles and
Prayer-books alone were among our
luggage. We women were the best off,
for we got some unbleached calico from
Sakarran, and cut out some under-
clothing, of which we had but little; this
gave us occupation. We also had every
day to wash our linen and towels after
bathing. The bath was a clear running
stream, covered in near the house, very
pretty and romantic, but the water was
of a light brown colour, like toast and
water, and had a slightly acid taste, very
agreeable but not very wholesome.
Probably the spring forced its way
through dead leaves in the jungle; at any
rate, it did not wash the clothes white. It
was very difficult to procure food for us
all. Rice and gourds made into a kind of
curry stew was our daily meal; if a
chicken was got it was devoted to the
children and the sick. We were very
anxious for some time on account of
Mrs. Crookshank. Had she remained
quiet at Kuching, her wounds would
have healed quickly, for she was young
and perfectly healthy; but all the moving
into boats, and carrying up ladders and
steps, had broken open the wounds, and
it was a struggle of strength and youth
against adverse circumstances. She was
so patient and cheerful that we never
heard a complaint, which was in her
favour no doubt; still there were some
days when her life was in great danger
in that hot climate. Twice during the
month we received a box from Kuching,
sent by a native boat. Once it contained
our mail—an immense pleasure; also
some bread and biscuits, but they were
wet with salt water, and mouldy besides.
However, Mab and Alan could eat them.
I used to look with thankful
astonishment at those children, both so
delicate generally, but who throve all the
time we were without proper food or
shelter. But baby Edith shrank and
pined, and at last my husband said, "We
shall lose this child if you stay here any
longer: better go and live among the
Dyaks, who have plenty of fowls."
So Mr. Chambers kindly took us in at his
house at Banting, where we had a most
loving welcome, and saw something of
the Dyak women and children. The men
were mostly gone to the war, and great
excitement prevailed among the tribe
with the prospect of acquiring heads
again, for the Sarawak Government had
quite stopped that hunting in the
country. Boats were continually arriving,
gay with streamers, and noisy with gongs
and drums beating, with heads of
Chinese on board. One day we were
invited to a feast in one of the long
houses. I said, "I hope we shall see no
heads," and was told I need not see any;
so, taking Mab in my hand, I went with
Mr. Chambers, and we climbed up into
the long verandah room where all the
work of the tribe goes on. This long
house was surrounded with fruit-trees,
and very comfortable. There were plenty
of pigs under the house, and fowls
perching in every direction. About thirty
families lived in the house, the married
people having each their little room, the
girls a room to themselves, and the long
room I spoke of being used for cooking,
mat-making, paddy-beating, and all the
usual occupations of their lives. We were
seated on white mats, and welcomed by
the chief people present. The feast was
laid on a raised platform along the side
of the room. There were a good many
ornaments of the betel-nut palm, plaited
into ingenious shapes, standing about
the table, so that I did not at first remark
anything else. As we English folks could
not eat fowls roasted in their feathers,
nor cakes fried in cocoa-nut oil, they
brought us fine joints of bamboo filled
with pulut rice, which turns to a jelly in
cooking and is fragrant with the scent of
the young cane. I was just going to eat
this delicacy when my eyes fell upon
three human heads standing on a large
dish, freshly killed and slightly smoked,
with food and sirih leaves in their
mouths. Had I known them when alive I
must have recognized them, for they
looked quite natural. I looked with alarm
at Mab, lest she should see them too;
then we made our retreat as soon as
possible. But I dared say nothing. These
Dyaks had killed our enemies, and were
only following their own customs by
rejoicing over their dead victims. But the
fact seemed to part them from us by
centuries of feeling—our disgust, and
their complacency. Some of them told us
that afterwards, when they brought
home some of the children belonging to
the slain, and treated them very kindly,
wishing to adopt them as their own, they
were annoyed at the little ones standing
looking up at their parents' heads
hanging from the roof, and crying all
day, as if it were strange they should do
so! Yet the Dyaks are very fond of
children, and extremely indulgent to
them. Our school was recruited after the
war by the children of Chinese, bought
by Government from their captors. This
was my first and last visit to a Dyak
feast. I used to go and see the women in
the early morning sometimes, and they
constantly came up to the mission-house
to see my children. Of course the war
had an evil influence on them,
increasing their interest in heads, and
all the heathen ceremonies connected
with their possession.
We stayed about ten days at Banting,
walking every afternoon to the little
church through a long avenue of fruit-
trees—great forest trees which threw a
grateful shade over the path, charming
for the children's walks. They could have
chicken broth too for their dinners; and
Edith revived, but it was a whole year
after this before she grew any taller, so
that when she began to run about, three
months later, it looked a surprising feat
for a baby who should be in long clothes,
yet she was then sixteen months old.
This life at Banting was a kind of dream,
after all the hurry and anxiety we had
gone through. At last we heard that we
might go back to Kuching, the Chinese
had all been driven out of the country,
or killed. Our house was purified, and
the dead bodies lying about in the jungle
had been buried, so that the air was
sweet again. We returned to Linga, and
all embarked in a little schooner for
home. It was not a much better boat
than the one we had fled in, and we
suffered two very trying days' voyage;
but when we walked into the mission-
house and found Miss Woolley to
welcome us, and our house, though
dismantled, uninjured, and most of the
books in the library, we were very
thankful. The Sunday after, we had a
thanksgiving service in the church, in
which all joined very heartily.
I must return, however, to the history of
the war, from the time the Rajah
steamed up the river in the Sir James
Brooke.
At Bau there were supposed to be from
three to four thousand Chinese rebels,
who had lately been strengthened by
many malcontents from the Dutch
country. The Chinese held Bau,
Seniawan, the government fort of
Baleda, and a fort at Peninjauh opposite
to Baleda. They boasted that they had
rice and gunpowder enough to last out
six months in these places; but they were
gradually surrounded on all sides by
Malays and Dyaks, so that they could get
no fresh stores. On the 10th of March a
body of Chinese came down the river to
Leda Tanah (Tongue of Land) about
halfway to Kuching. They built a breast-
work by the river-side, dug a trench
behind it, placed some brass guns in
position, and then retired to eat their
dinners in comfort behind their
defences. There was a little house and
garden belonging to the Rajah at Leda
Tanah. The Datu Tumangong and Abang
Boujong hearing of this, went up the
river with a Malay force and attacked
the breast-work in front. The Chinese
fired one volley and ran. The Malays
entered, sword in hand, but only killed
two men; all the rest fled into the arms
of the Dyaks, who lay in wait in the
jungle behind, and took a hundred
heads, some say two hundred, but stories
do not lose in the telling. The Chinese
begged hard for their lives, wrung their
hands, wept, prayed the Dyaks to be
friends with them; but Dyaks know
nothing about prisoners. One of the
principal kunsi was killed in this affair,
and some say that Kamang, the leader of
the attack on the 18th of February, lost
his head to the Sakarran Dyaks.
This success was matter of great rejoicing
at Kuching. Two days afterwards they
heard that Baleda Fort was deserted by
the Chinese. Mr. Johnson went up and
found it quite empty; Seniawan too, and
soon after Bau also. All had fled towards
the Dutch territory. A dreadful march
they had, poor creatures; carrying their
sacred stone Tai pekong with them.
Nearly a thousand women and children
delayed their progress. They were
harassed all the way by parties of
Malays, and Dyaks cutting off the
stragglers. The party dwindled by
degrees, until nearly all the kunsi were
killed, either by the enemy or their
incensed countrymen, who found
themselves driven from their peaceful
homes for the sins of these rebels. It is so
painful to think of the many innocent
who suffered with the guilty on this
occasion, of the miseries they endured,
and the relentlessness of their foes, that I
cannot detail it. War naturally brines
such evils in its train; even civilized
warfare is not without its horrors and its
injustice: but when revenge falls into the
hands of savages these ills are
multiplied. The Malays both hated and
despised the Chinese. That such people
should have taken their forts, burnt their
dwellings, compelling them to seek safety
for their families by flight, was so great
an insult that their most violent passions
were aroused, and only the blood of all
the Kay tribe could wipe out the disgrace
they had incurred. It was indeed
wonderful that these Chinese should
imagine for a moment that they could
remain rulers in a country whose
inhabitants regarded them as the natural
hewers of wood and drawers of water to
the community; but no doubt they were
intoxicated by their unlooked-for success
on the 18th of February, and a
Chinaman seems destitute of any
appreciation of people who are not
Celestials! A remnant of these people got
safely into the Dutch territory, where the
authorities took what arms and
ammunition they had, and, very
properly, returned them to the Sarawak
Government. They also offered to send a
war steamer and soldiers if desired. So
our misfortunes called out the goodwill
of our neighbours. Soon after we
returned home, H.M.S. Spartan , Captain
Hoste, arrived to protect British interests
in Sarawak. They stayed with us for a
while, but the troubles were over, and
the only difficulty was how to make any
visitors comfortable or to feed them. We
had to pass round a knife and fork at
table for some days, and there were only
a few spoons left to us. On the beds there
were hard mattresses, but no pillows,
sheets, or in fact any bed-furniture. Our
guests being travellers and full of
resources, slept on their pith hats for
pillows, and used their pocket-knives. A
good deal of fun was made of our
privations, and indeed, as no beloved
friend was missing, we could afford to
laugh.
We had all great reason to be thankful
for the good behaviour of the Dyaks
during the war. There were no
intertribal quarrels, and Mr. Chambers
told me that his Christians among the
Balows were in the first boats which
went off to succour the Rajah, when they
knew nothing of the arrival of the
steamer, and believed themselves to be
facing a great danger, and fire-arms,
which they do not like. This was not the
only time that the Christians were among
the bravest when all behaved well—a
fact which recommended their religion
to their countrymen, with whom courage
is the first virtue. It was some years
after this, however, that Dyak Christians
learnt to fight without taking the heads
of their enemies.
When we left our house, our servants
generally, except James a Portuguese,
and my Bengalee Ayah, fled from the
place. But we had an old Hindoo Syce,
who was much attached to us and to the
creatures under his charge. He drove the
two ponies we rode into the jungle,
where they looked after themselves, and,
living in his cottage next to the stable,
did what he could for the cow and
calves. When the rebels filled our house
and appropriated our effects, they broke
open the plate-chest, and melted the
silver they found. Then Syce came
forward and claimed a portion of the
spoil They gave him a lump of silver
with some alloy in it, the produce of
some plated salvers, as his share. He
pretended to help them, but this lump he
hid in the earth near his cottage, and, on
our return, triumphantly produced it as
what he had saved for us from the
wreck. Some years after, this old man
was very ill with an abscess in his thigh,
which he was sure would kill him.
Bishop doctored and nursed him through
it, but he had given him a good-sized bag
of dollars, his savings, saying he wished
Bishop to be his heir. When he got well
and the money was returned to him, he
spent it in paying a visit to his relations
at Trichinopoli. I believe this faithful
creature worshipped the bull of our
herd, and it was a great trouble to him
that the Chinese cruelly cut off the tail of
the poor animal, thereby depriving him
of the means of whisking off the flies
which sting so vehemently in that
climate.
CHAPTER XIII.
EVENTS OF 1857.
When we were once more at home we
found it would be better to go to
Singapore, and from thence to Penang,
for a little quiet. We were both ill, the
Bishop seriously so. We wanted for
everything, and the bazaar in Sarawak
could not supply us: besides, ours was
the only English dwelling-house left in
the place, except the Borneo Company's
premises. Captain Brooke and Mr. Grant
with their brides were immediately
expected, and must be housed at the
mission while a bungalow was being
built across the water. We left Miss
Woolley to take care of the expected
visitors, the children and I went to
Singapore in the Sir James Brooke
steamer, and Sir William Hoste gave a
passage in H.M.S. Spartan to the Bishop
and Alan Grant.
I was glad of an opportunity to get my
baby vaccinated, which could only
happen at Singapore in those days. We
were two months away, and the cool
quiet of Penang Hill was a great
refreshment. The first news I heard there
was that Miss Woolley was to be married
to Mr. Chambers. This wedding took
place immediately on our return home,
the end of July. It was a great benefit to
the Banting Dyaks, for Mrs. Chambers
devoted herself to the women and young
girls, and was a true friend to them. She
taught them to sew, and instructed them
in morals and religion. When I went to
Banting some years afterwards, I found a
set of modest young women who were
much pleased with gifts of needles,
thread, and thimbles; they also enjoyed a
game of croquet after the lessons were
done, and it was wonderful to see what
smart taps of the mallet were fearlessly
given under their bare feet; for of course
the Dyaks do not wear shoes.
About a month after our return to
Sarawak, Captain Brooke's baby boy was
born. No one can tell what a care and
anxiety this event was, in a place where
there was no doctor except the Bishop.
The well-being of so important a person
as the Rajah mudah's wife, and the birth
of the heir of Sarawak, called forth much
sympathy from everybody. Thank God,
all went well; but we said it ought never
to happen again—there should be a
medical man whose sole duty it was to
care for the bodies of the community,
while the Bishop was free to minister to
their spiritual wants. Soon after there
was a public baptism of this boy Basil
Brooke, and his cousin Blanche Grant, in
the church, which was full of Malays as
well as English to witness the ceremony.
This was the day before the Rajah set off
for England.
There were many happy days during the
next few months, for there were several
English ladies in the place and we were
all friends. In October the Bishop went
to Labuan, and while he was away the
cholera made its first appearance at
Sarawak, among the Malays. The Rajah
muda and I consulted together what
physic should be made ready for those
who would take it. A short time before, a
little pamphlet had been sent to us about
the virtues of camphor, and especially its
value in cholera. We made a saturated
solution of camphor in brandy, and gave
a teaspoonful of it on moist sugar for a
dose, adding three drops of Kayu Puteh
oil, extracted from a Borneon wood and
called cajeput oil in England, a very
strong aromatic medicine. This mixture
proved itself very useful. If the patients
applied in good time it invariably gave
relief to the cramp and pain in the
stomach; if the disease had gone on to
sickness it was more difficult to
administer. Sometimes we followed it up
with laudanum and castor oil.
The Malays suffered very much from this
epidemic. Constant funerals were to be
seen on the river, and there was much
praying at the mosque. Then the Chinese
were attacked, but not so fatally. Two
dead men were, however, found on our
premises; they were strangers to us, but
we supposed they came late at night to
the mission for medicine, and, lying
down in the stable or cow-house, died
without reaching the house. It was an
anxious time. I used to hang little bags of
camphor round the children's necks, and
was very careful of the diet for the
household. Thank God, we had no case
either in the school or the house.
Seven years afterwards the cholera
returned much more violently. An
English gun-boat, lying off the town, lost
several of her crew; and at last the
Bishop advised them to go to sea and let
the sea air blow through the ship, to
carry off the infection. He went on
board himself to see them off, and while
they were going down the river two
more men were seized with cholera, and
died in half an hour.
This time the cholera was very fatal
among the Dyaks up some of the rivers.
The poor creatures were so terrified that
they left their houses, as in small-pox,
and scarcely dared bury their dead. In
one instance they paid a very strong
man to carry the dead on his back to a
steep hill, and throw them into the
ravine at the bottom. The food enjoyed
by the Dyaks, rotten fish and vegetables,
no doubt inclined them to get cholera.
The first time of its visitation was after a
great fruit season when durian, that rich
and luscious fruit, had been particularly
abundant. A durian is somewhat larger
than a cocoa-nut in its inner husk; it has
a hard prickly rind, but inside lie the
seeds, enclosed in a pulp which might be
made of cream, garlic, sugar, and green
almonds. It is very heating to the blood,
for when there are plenty of durians the
people always suffer more from boils
and skin disease than usual. We never
permitted them to enter our house, for
we could not bear the smell of them. But
many English people liked them; and
they were so much esteemed by the
Dyaks, that when the fruit was ripe they
encamped for the night under the trees.
When a durian fell to the ground with a
great thud, they all jumped up to look for
it, as the fallen fruit belongs to the
finder, and they loved it so that they
willingly sacrificed their sleep for it.
Woe be to the man, however, on whose
head the fruit falls, for it is so hard and
heavy it may kill him. [7]
In February three new missionaries
came from England—Mr. Hacket, Mr.
Glover, and Mr. Chalmers. The two last
came straight to Sarawak on their
arrival at Singapore, Mr. Hacket and his
wife about a month afterwards. They
were all from St. Augustine's College,
Canterbury, thoroughly good people, and
a great happiness to us. Mr. Chalmers
was settled among the Land Dyaks at
Peninjauh, afterwards at the Quop. Mr.
Glover went to Banting, to work among
the Balows. The Hackets stayed at
Sarawak: indeed they all remained with
us until Easter, when their ordination
took place. The Easter services that year,
1858, were very delightful. All these
missionaries were more or less musical,
and Mr. Hacket adorned the church as it
had never been decked before. Flowers
and ferns, and lycopodium moss, were
always to be had in abundance; and the
polished wooden walls were brightened
by some beautiful scroll texts, printed by
a friend in England. We had full choral
service on Easter Sunday, and the
school-children sang their part
beautifully; indeed, our new comers
were astonished to find such good
material for a choir in little native boys.
I had been fully occupied with
preparations for these missionaries
while the bishop was at Labuan; some
additions to the comfort of the house for
the Hackets; a new cook-house and
servants' rooms near, to build; and the
church to reroof. The balean attaps were
as good as ever, but the strips of wood
on which they hung were attacked by
white ants, and had to be renewed or the
shingles would have fallen through. Such
responsibilities fell to my share when the
Bishop was away, and heavy cares they
were when money was not abundant.
The prospect of three new missionaries
was, however, worth any trouble. They
came to teach the Dyaks, who had so
long waited for teachers, and we hoped
they would settle themselves among them
for many years. In this hope we were to
be disappointed. Mr. Glover fell ill of
dysentery at Banting, and before two
years had passed away was obliged to
remove to a cold climate. He went to
Australia, and has been doing good work
there ever since. Mr. Chalmers was a
very valuable missionary, and his
labours among the Quop and Merdang
Dyaks bore much fruit in after years; but
he also fell ill from the climate, and the
food which was attainable up country.
In 1860, he also made up his mind to
follow Mr. Glover to Australia. There are
no doubt many difficulties for
Englishmen living in Sarawak jungles.
Some become acclimatized to them,
others cannot bear the low diet, the
loneliness, the apathy and indifference
of the Dyaks. The Bishop was once
accused, by a person who ought to have
known better, that he was too apt to
gather his clergy at Sarawak and keep
them from their Dyak parishes: but it
was a necessary part of the Bishop's
work to keep a home where the
missionaries could come for change and
refreshment; where they could enjoy a
more generous diet, and the society of
English friends; where they could consult
a medical man, and get some hints how
to treat the maladies of the Dyaks—for
they expected all the missionaries to
know the art of healing, having had
more or less experience of the Bishop's
skill. Mr. Hacket was consumptive, but
Sarawak is the best climate in the world
for that disease: he got much stronger
with us, and might have lived many
years there, but he was too nervous for
so unsettled a country. We were often
subjected to panics for many months
after the Chinese insurrection, and
though we old inhabitants took it very
easily, Mr. Hacket always thought his
wife and child in danger. I remember,
one day a Malay was being tried in the
court-house, when he, by a sudden
spring, escaped from the police, and
snatching a sword from a bystander, ran
amuck through the bazaar, wounding
two or three people he met. The hue and
cry in the town fired the imaginations of
the timid. People came running to the
house for shelter, bringing their goods
and chattels, and all sorts of tales—"The
Chinese were coming from Sambas," and
all sorts of nonsense. Then, Mrs. Hacket
fainting on the sofa, and the servants all
leaving their work to listen, and look out
of the verandah, provoked us extremely:
we administered sal volatile and a good
scolding, and sent everybody off to their
business again. But those scenes were
very trying to the nerves. That a Malay
should run amuck (amok, in Malay) with
anger or jealousy, or a fit of madness
arising from both these passions, was an
occasional event all through our Sarawak
life, but it was no more alarming in 1858
than in former years. It was the breach
in the general feeling of security under
the Sarawak Government, which for a
time magnified every little disturbance
of the peace into a public danger.
Our school was enriched this year by,
first, seven new Chinese boys, then four
more and four girls, the captives of the
Lundu Dyaks, ransomed by Captain
Brooke. Those children were, some of
them, miserable objects, covered with
sores from neglect. One boy had been set
to carry red wood which blisters the
skin, another was badly burnt. Mrs.
Stahl took them in hand, dressed their
wounds, nursed them, clothed them, and
soon they looked quite nice, sitting on a
bench at the end of the church with a
monitor to take charge of them, for they
were still unbaptized—they were old
enough to be instructed first, except two
of the little girls who were immediately
received into the Church. About this time
a little Dyak boy, Nigo by name, was
paying a visit to the school, and was
baptized in church, answering for
himself. He was about six years old, and
as he stood at the font his face was lit up
with so sweet a smile it touched us all.
Mab begged him to stay at Sarawak; but
the Dyaks never part with their children,
and in this case it was not necessary, for
Nigo's father was a Christian. It was a
great happiness to us that none of our
boys were killed in the insurrection;
three got away to Sambas, the rest came
back to the school one by one, having all
escaped the Dyaks. The Christian
goldsmith, too, who was put in prison by
the kunsi for trying to warn us of the
attack on the 18th of February, got to
Sambas safe, and afterwards returned to
us at Sarawak.
This summer a doctor came out to
Sarawak with his family. I heard of their
proposed arrival some months before,
and wrote to Mrs. C—— to beg they
would leave their elder children in
England, and only bring the babies with
them, for the little ones thrive well
enough at Sarawak. I also gave a plain
unvarnished account of the place. But
Mr. C——, having made up his mind to
bring all his family out, put the letter in
his pocket; and we were very sorry when
they arrived, a party of nine, having lost
one child at Singapore. They only stayed
one month; the lady was so disgusted
with the place—"no shops, no
amusements, always hot weather, and
food so dear!"—that she persuaded her
husband to take advantage of some
difference he had with the Government,
and return in the same steamer by
which they came out. I, however, gained
by their departure, for they brought a
sweet young girl with them as governess,
and as she did not wish to return so
soon, she remained with me, and became
Mab's governess and friend. We liked
her very much, and I cannot help
mentioning an incident of her spirit and
courage. One of our children being ill, I
had taken her down to Santubong,
where we had a seaside cottage; but as
the house was full of clergy preparing
for ordination, I left Miss McKee to do
the housekeeping and take care of our
guests for a few days. She slept at the top
of the house, and little Edith in a cot
beside her. It was late at night, and the
moon shining into Miss McKee's room,
when she woke and saw a Chinaman
standing at the foot of her bed with a
great knife in his hand. She felt under
her pillow if the keys were safe, for the
box of silver was put in her room while I
was absent; then she jumped up,
shouting "Thieves!" with all her might.
The man ran and she after him, down a
long passage, down the staircase, out of
the house, by which time her cries had
roused the gentlemen—the Bishop was
nursing a sick man in fever, and was not
in the house that night. They looked out
of their doors, asking what was the
matter? However, Miss McKee had by
this time made up her mind that the
thief was our own cook; she had seen
enough of him by her courageous pursuit
to be sure of it. No doubt he thought she
would be fast asleep, and he should carry
off the silver and the keys without
discovery. Only a servant of the house
would have known where they were
kept. This young lady afterwards
married Mr. Koch, one of the
missionaries. He came from Ceylon, and
eventually returned to his native
country, where I hope they are still.
Now we were again without a doctor,
and in the autumn Mrs. Brooke expected
her second confinement. This brings me
to what we always called the sad, dark
time at Sarawak. The weather was rainy
beyond any former experience. We
always had heavy rains in November,
but this year they began in October, and
the sky scarcely seemed to clear. In
October, God gave us a little son, and in
a usual way I should have been quite
well at the end of three weeks, and
across the water to see Mrs. Brooke
many times before her confinement. But
a long influenza cold kept me at home,
and the weather being always wet, there
was no prospect of getting over in a boat
without a drenching, so only notes
passed between us.
On November 15th, Mrs. Brooke had
another boy, and though there was some
anxiety at the time, she seemed pretty
well until the fourth day, when
inflammation set in with puerperal
fever, and at the end of ten days our
much-loved friend was gone to her home
in heaven, leaving her husband and
children desolate. It seemed so
impossible that so bright a creature
should pass away from us, that to the last
day we believed she would recover. That
afternoon she called her husband and
brothers and sisters to her bedside, and
said, "I have tried hard to live for your
sakes, but I cannot;" then she calmly and
sweetly bade them good-bye, and no
earthly cares touched her afterwards.
Very sad hearts were left behind, but her
example remained to us and called us
upwards. Her short life had been
continual self-sacrifice. She gave up her
beautiful home in Scotland for love, and
the prospect of doing good to Sarawak.
On her arrival there the most rigid
economy was practised, on account of
the losses in the Chinese insurrection. A
mat house, called "The Refuge," neither
airy nor comfortable, was her only
home; but it was always bright with
Annie's good taste and cheerful spirits.
Then came the last sacrifice, her
husband and children. These, too, she
laid at her Lord's feet with a willing
heart.