Even After Everything Was Settled, Miss Shaw
Was Feeling So Ill That She Wanted To Stay In The Police Station
All
night, at least; but Mr. Hayward and I, who consulted assiduously about
her, were of opinion that we must
Move her, even if we had to carry
her, for if she were going to have fever, I could nurse her at Captain
Murray's, but certainly not in the veranda of a police station!
This worthy man, who is very brave, and used to facing danger - who was
the first European to come up here, who acted as guide to the troops
during the war, and afterward disarmed the population - positively
quailed at having charge of these two fragile girls. "Oh," he repeated
several times, "if anything were to happen to the Misses Shaw I should
never get over it, and they don't know what roughing it is; they never
should have been allowed to come." So I thought, too, as I looked at
one of them lying limp and helpless on a Malay bed; but my share of the
responsibility for them was comparatively limited. Doubtless his
thoughts strayed, as mine did, to the days of traveling "without
encumbrance." There was another encumbrance of a literal kind. They had
a trunk! This indispensable impediment had been left at Malacca in the
morning, and arrived in a four-paddled canoe just as we were about to
start!
Mr. Hayward prescribed two tablespoonfuls of whisky for Miss Shaw, for
it is somewhat of a risk to sleep out in the jungle at the rainy
season, for the miasma rises twenty feet, and the day had been
exceptionally hot. Our rather dismal procession started at seven, Mr.
Hayward leading the way, carrying a torch made of strips of palm
branches bound tightly together and dipped in gum dammar, a most
inflammable resin; then a policeman; the sick girl, moaning and
stumbling, leaning heavily on her sister and me; Babu, who had grown
very plucky; a train of policemen carrying our baggage; and lastly,
several torch-bearers, the torches dripping fire as we slowly and
speechlessly passed along. It looked like a funeral or something
uncanny. We crawled dismally for fully three-quarters of a mile to cut
off some considerable windings of the river, crossed a stream on a
plank bridge, and found our boat lying at a very high pier with a
thatched roof.
The mystery of night in a strange place was wildly picturesque; the
pale, greenish, undulating light of fireflies, and the broad, red
waving glare of torches flashing fitfully on the skeleton pier, the
lofty jungle trees, the dark, fast-flowing river, and the dark, lithe
forms of our half-naked boatmen.
The prahu was a flattish-bottomed boat about twenty-two and a half feet
long by six and a half feet broad, with a bamboo gridiron flooring
resting on the gunwale for the greater part of its length. This was
covered for seven feet in the middle by a low, circular roof, thatched
with attap. It was steered by a broad paddle loosely lashed, and poled
by three men who, standing at the bow, planted their poles firmly in
the mud and then walked half-way down the boat and back again. All
craft must ascend the Linggi by this laborious process, for its current
is so strong that the Japanese would call it one long "rapid."
Descending loaded with tin, the stream brings boats down with great
rapidity, the poles being used only to keep them off the banks and
shallows. Our boat was essentially "native."
The "Golden Chersonese" is very hot, and much infested by things which
bite and sting. Though the mercury has not been lower than 80 degrees
at night since I reached Singapore, I have never felt the heat
overpowering in a house; but the night on the river was awful, and
after the intolerable blaze of the day the fighting with the heat and
mosquitoes was most exhausting, crowded as we were into very close and
uneasy quarters, a bamboo gridiron being by no means a bed of down. Bad
as it was, I was often amused by the thought of the unusual feast which
the jungle mosquitoes were having on the blood of four white people.
If it had not been for the fire in the bow, which helped to keep them
down by smoking them (and us), I at least should now be laid up with
"mosquito fever."
The Misses Shaw and I were on a blanket on the gridiron under the roof,
which just allowed of sitting up; Mr. Hayward, who had never been up
the river before, and was anxious about the navigation, sat, vigilant
and lynx-eyed, at the edge of it; Babu, who had wrapped himself in
Oriental impassiveness and a bernouse, and Mr. Hayward's police
attendant sat in front, all keeping their positions throughout the
night as dutifully as the figures in a tableau vivant, and so we
silently left Permatang Pasir for our jungle voyage of eighteen hours,
in which time, by unintermitting hard work, we were propelled about as
many miles, though some say twenty-nine.
No description could exaggerate the tortuosity of the Linggi or the
abruptness of its windings. The boatmen measure the distance by turns.
When they were asked when we should reach the end they never said in so
many hours, but in so many turns.
Silently we glided away from the torchlight into the apparently
impenetrable darkness, but the heavens, of which we saw a patch now and
then, were ablaze with stars, and ere long the forms of trees above and
around us became tolerably distinct. Ten hours of darkness followed as
we poled our slow and tedious way through the forest gloom, with trees
to right of us, trees to left of us, trees before us, trees behind us,
trees above us, and, I may write, trees under us, so innumerable were
the snags and tree trunks in the river.
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