" Tells that the
Malays have an inkling that "There is a tide in the affairs of men,"
etc.
I have found it very interesting to be the guest of a man who studies
the Malays as sympathetically as Mr. Maxwell does. I hope he will not
get promotion too soon!*
[*As I copy this letter I hear that Mr. Maxwell has been removed to a
higher and more highly paid post, but that he leaves the Malays with
very sincere regret, and that they deeply deplore his loss, because they
not only liked but trusted him. During the time in which he was
Assistant Resident, and living in the midst of a large Chinese
population, it was necessary to be very firm, and at times almost
severely firm, but the Chinese have shown their appreciation of official
rectitude by presenting him with a gorgeous umbrella of red silk,
embroidered with gold, which they call "A ten-thousand-man umbrella,"
i.e., an offering from a community which is not only unanimous in making
it, but counts at least that number of persons.]
I. L. B.
LETTER XXIII
"Gang Murders" - Malay Nicknames - A Persecuted Infant - The Last of the
Golden Chersonese
MR. JUSTICE WOOD'S, THE PEAK, PINANG, February 24.
However kind and hospitable people are, the process of "breaking in" to
conventionalities again is always a severe one, and I never feel well
except in the quiet and freedom of the wilds, though in the abstract
nothing can be more healthy than the climate of this lofty Peak. The
mercury has been down at 68 degrees for two nights, and blankets have
been a comfort!
Shortly after finishing my last letter I left Taipeng with Mr. Maxwell,
calling on our way to the coast at Permatang, to inquire if there were
any scent of the murderers of the revenue officer, but there was none.
The inspector said that he had seen many murdered bodies, but never one
so frightfully mutilated. These Chinese "gang-murders" are nearly
always committed for gain, and the Chinese delight in cruel hackings
and purposeless mutilations. The Malay assassinations are nearly all
affairs of jealousy - a single stab and no more.
The last part of the drive on a road causewayed through the endless
mangrove swamp impresses the imagination strongly by its dolefulness.
Here are hundreds of square miles all along the coast nothing but swamp
and slime, loaded with rank and useless vegetation, which has not even
beauty to justify its existence, teeming with alligators, serpents, and
other vengeful creatures. There is a mournfulness in seeing the pointed
fruit of the mangrove drop down through the still air into the slime
beneath, with the rootlet already formed of that which never fails to
become a tree.
A Sikh guard of honor of fifty men in scarlet uniforms lined the way to
the boat as a farewell to Major Swinburne, whose feet they had embraced
and kissed with every Oriental demonstration of woe two hours before.
We asked him what his farewells were, and he says that he said, "You
are a lot of unmitigated scoundrels; half of you deserve hanging; but
keep out of scrapes if you can till I come back, that I may have the
pleasure of hanging you myself." He really likes them though, and
called after Captain Walker, who is to act as his substitute, "Now, old
man, don't knock those fellows about!" The chief dread of the "fellows"
is that they will be at the mercy of an interpreter under the new
regime. The Malays give sobriquets to all Europeans, founded upon their
physical or mental idiosyncrasies. Thus they call Major Swinburne "The
Mad One" and "The Outspoken One." Captain Walker they have already
dubbed "The Black Panther." They call Mr. Maxwell "The Cat-eyed One,"
and "The Tiger Cub."
Just before sailing I had the satisfaction of getting this telegram
from Kwala Kangsa: "Eblis is a little better this morning. He has eaten
two grasshoppers and has taken his milk without trouble, but he is very
weak."*
[*Those of my readers who have become interested in this most bewitching
ape will be sorry to hear that, after recovering and thriving for a
considerable time, he died, to the great grief of his friends.]
We embarked at 5:30 P.M. along with a swarm of mosquitoes, and after a
beautiful night anchored at Georgetown at 2 A.M., but it was a
ludicrously uncomfortable voyage. An English would-be lady, i.e., a
"fine lady," a product of imperfect civilization with which I have
little sympathy, had demanded rather than asked for a passage in the
Kinta, and this involved not only a baby, but an ayah and man-servant.
The little cabin of the launch can hold two on two coaches, but the
lady, after appropriating one, filled up most of the other with bags
and impediments of various kinds. The floor was covered with luggage,
among which the ayah and infant slept, and the man sat inside on the
lowest rung of the ladder. Thus there were five human beings, a host of
mosquitoes, and a lamp in the stifling den, in which the mercury stood
all night at 88 degrees. Then a whole bottle of milk was spilt and
turned sour, a vial of brandy was broken and gave off its disgusting
fumes, and the infant screamed with a ferocious persistency, which
contrasted with the patient wistfulness of the sick Eblis and his
gentle murmur of "ouf! ouf!" Before we anchored the lady asked me to go
and wake the gentlemen and get a teaspoonful of brandy for her, at
which request, though made with all due gravity, they laughed so
tremendously that I was hardly able to go back to her with it.
