What I had expected came to pass: at dead of night the beast returned. We could see it crawling cautiously through the high grass. I took careful aim and fired. The sharp report was instantly answered by a fearful roar, and the formidable creature, after giving a tremendous jump into the air, once more disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

The Sakais were awed and dismayed by the thunder and lightning of my gun.

We could still hear the furious laments of the wounded animal so we thought it advisable not to stir from our posts until morning.

At the first streak of day, as the groans of the evidently fallen tiger had not ceased, some of the men went to ascertain its refuge whilst I, with my loaded rifle, kept myself prompt to defend them in case of an unlikely attack.

The beast was soon found, stretched out on the turf In spite of its fury it was unable to move as one or two of its legs had been shattered by my lead.

I finished it with another shot. Its skull now displays its beauties at the Ethnographic Museum at Rome.

Not much later on I was obliged to repeat the same sport.

Another tiger had stolen a dog, and we had found its half-eaten body. Knowing that the rest would be devoured within a few hours by the same beast of prey we made a little shelter of leaves and branches up a tree close by and remained there to await his majesty.

At nightfall he punctually arrived and was received, according to his merit, by my rifle. My shot did not miss its mark and he rushed off howling with pain and rage. All night long the forest echoes were awakened by his horrible cries but towards morning we managed to trace him out and he too was finished by a second shot.

* * * * *

In the year 1898 the ever increasing solicitude of the Sakays had enabled me to accumulate a considerable quantity of Malacca cane, rattan, resin and orchids which I had made up my mind to take to Penang for sale.

But I wanted to indulge myself in the pleasure of conducting with me some of my friends, the savages, that they might for the first time see a modern town.

It was no easy matter to prevail upon them to follow up my desire but finally I persuaded five of them to come with me as carriers.

Keeping always along the banks of the Bidor we descended as far as the Perak which we crossed in order to do a part of the journey in train and then board one of the steamers that ply between Telok Ansom and the island of Penang.

During the voyage I noticed nothing particular in my companions beyond a great wonder, not unmixed with fear, when they felt themselves travelling upon water.

They observed everything with grand curiosity, and were immensely interested in the noisy movement of the ship's engines and its steam sirens.

Arrived at Penang, where I met with numerous friends, they soon became the centre of attraction.

Dainties of every kind were pressed upon them, and they were offered loads of the finest sweetmeats and white sugar. They accepted it all without enthusiasm but threw away the sweetmeats as soon as they had tasted them. When I asked them why they did so they replied that there was something not perfectly sweet in their flavour and they feared that whatever it was would do them harm.

The gifts which they seemed to appreciate the most were cigars, tobacco and white sugar.

My five Sakais divided their presents with each other, putting away some for the dear ones at home, and I often noticed that in the midst of the bewilderment which those simple souls must have experienced at being surrounded by people and things so totally new to them, they never seemed to forget for a moment the beloved persons they had left behind in the jungle.

The Town-Band gave a concert and I accompanied my proteges to hear it. The bass instruments with their deep notes jarred upon the acoustic sense of the poor fellows and visibly inspired them with terror. They stopped their ears with their fingers and gave clear signs of the unpleasant feelings they were suffering from. But it was quite different when they heard the higher-toned instruments, especially those of wood, as the flute, the clarionet and the oboe. The pure, vibrating notes gave them intense enjoyment judging from the pleased expression of their countenances and their singularly brilliant eyes.

I also took them to a Chinese theatre, but the skill of the yellow artistes did not find its way to the Sakai heart and after having witnessed the spectacle for a few minutes they frankly declared that they were not at all amused.

Their artless natures and simple affections remained unpolluted by the seductions of civilization. Nothing was wanting to content them: they were caressed by the English, received heaps of gifts and lived without the slightest fatigue, yet they were not happy. I saw them change humour and become more melancholy hour by hour. The distractions with which I tried to cure their home-sickness tended only to increase it.

The third day of our sojourn at Penang they implored me so earnestly to let them return to their families that, impressed by their sickly looks and disconsolate air, I promised at once to grant their desire.

This promise put them into better spirits and their good humour was quite restored when the steamer left the harbour at Penang and bore us towards the river Perak. No one would imagine the transformation that had taken place in my five fellow-travellers.

Four days of town-life had told upon them physically and morally. They were tired and disgusted with everything. Accustomed, on an average, to walk twenty miles a day, at Penang, after strolling through a few streets, they had been weary. Exposed to privations and hardships in the Jungle (often owing to their own improvidence) they were soon nauseated with the ease and abundance offered them in the city.

Where the climate, the charms of the place and the security from wild beasts were all calculated to captivate their fancy and render them contented, the poor Sakais drooped and pined for the vicissitudes of their wild life in the woods where comfort was unknown and food was sometimes scarce. Their thoughts, their very souls were always back in the remote forest, in that enchanting wilderness whose magic spell blinded them to its mortal perils and inconveniences. Up yonder there was perfect liberty of action; up yonder there were their families!

That sudden transition from a primitive existence to the progress of many centuries had been a severe shock to them. In the same way that an abrupt change from profound darkness to the most dazzling light, or from the temperature of the pole to that of the equator, inevitably produces grave disorders in the organism if it does not actually prove fatal, so the turning of a savage into a citizen at a day's notice incurs a dangerous risk.

The popular idea amongst us that anyone can quickly habituate himself to the luxuries and commodities of modern life finds a check when applied to primeval people like the Sakais. They may observe, enquire, and seek to understand—as far as their intelligence permits—everything they see around them; they remember well all they have heard and seen, and will mimic and describe it in their poor, strange language to their relations and friends; they carry with them presents which are a tangible record of their travels; they explain to the others how the houses were protected from wind, sun and rain; they will teach how to imitate the engine whistles, the roar of the steam flowing out of the open valves, and the hollow sound of that mysterious monster, the motor-car, but their enthusiasm and affections are firmly fixed upon their native forest, wondrous in its riches and allurements.

Though it may bring to its lovers death and suffering it is always the best beloved of the savage and only a very slow, patient and—to them—imperceptible introduction of civilizing elements in their midst will be able to weaken this attachment for savage surroundings and turn those treasures of affection and fidelity to a more useful and logical end.



CHAPTER VI.

The great Sorceress—The forest seen from above—A struggle for life—The crimes of plants—Everlasting twilight—Births and deaths—Concerts by forest vocalists—The "durian"—The "ple-lok"—Vastnesses unexplored by science—Treasures intact—Para Rubber—The Samaritans of the jungle—The forest and its history.

To speak of the forest without having seen it, and after having seen it, to describe its marvellous beauties, are equally impossible tasks.

When Art shall have re-produced faithfully the magnificent harmonies of colour, voice and outline peculiar to the jungle, it may be said that there are no more secrets of beauty for it to penetrate, because nowhere else has Nature been so profuse in bestowing her multifarious tints or has manifested Life with such triumphal glory of fecundity; nowhere else can be found such a prodigious variety of forms and attitudes or such ineffable multiplicity of sounds.

Like a paean of love the forest breaks forth from the bosom of its great Mother and rises eagerly, passionately towards the sun, its Benefactor.

Were it possible to soar on high and look down upon that wide verdant sea, its infinite gradations of green, enlivened here and there by the audacious brightness of a thousand wondrous flowers, we should have under our eyes the most complete, artistic and suggestive representation of life and its struggles.

The gigantic trees shoot up straight towards the sun, each one seeming to strive to outstrip the other; but a thick and even more ambitious undergrowth of plants twine round their trunks and enclose them in a tenacious embrace, then twisting, and creeping, amongst the spreading boughs, reach and cover the highest tops where they at last unfold their several leaves and flowers under the sun's most ardent gaze.

The tree, thus encircled and suffocated by the baneful hold of the climbers, lacks light and breath; the sap flows in scarce quantities throughout its organism and it languishes under the shade of the close tendrils; swarms of insects increase its agony by making their food and their nests of its bark; reptiles make love within the hollows of its trunk and at last the day comes when the lifeless giant falls with a frightful crash bearing with it the murderous parasite that is the victim of its own tenacity, which first raised it to bask in the sunshine and then caused it to be crushed under the rotten weight of its former supporter.

These are furious embraces of envy and jealousy; phrenzies of egotism in the vegetable kingdom: strange expressions of formidable hate and love, of oppression and vengeance.

All these myriads of plants are invaded by the irrepressible mania to ascend as high as possible and to receive the first, the most burning, perhaps the most pernicious, but the most liberal kiss of the sun. And they all hasten to arrive as though fearing to be superseded in the ascent as much by the colossal tree destined to brave centuries—if its massive roots are not ruined by its minute foes—as by those slender growths of a month or a day.

"Higher still! Always higher!" the green-leafed multitude seem to cry, "Excelsior!"

* * * * *

The sun never penetrates under this tangled mass of vegetation except where an opening has been made by the hands of the savages or by the work of lightning and hurricane.

In the dim light of its damp atmosphere the interminable rows of tall straight trunks, some stout and some slight, assume the oddest shapes which can appeal to the observer's phantasy. Now they are colonnades, adorned with pendant festoons stretching away into the distance; now they are mysterious aisles of monster temples; now they are the unfinished design of some giant architect whose undertaking was arrested by a sudden, mystic command. However fruitful may be the imagination of the artist he would here always find fresh and superb inspiration from the enthralling sight of Nature's virginal beauties.

The stagnant waters of the ponds, round which the frogs croak and the leeches crawl, are plentifully strewn with water-lilies, reeds and other aquatic plants.

On the hoary trunks of ancient trees whole families of orchids have insinuated themselves into little clefts in the bark, and flower there in the brightest of colours: red, purple, blue and also white.

Everywhere there is a joyous exuberance of life and vigour. Each day begins or ends the cycle of time destined to the vegetable inhabitants of the jungle, because as there is no regular round of seasons the plants and flowers finish their course according to the short or long existence prescribed them by natural laws, and one continually sees dried and withered leaves and flowers falling to the ground whilst others open and blossom in their stead. Those that die to-day afford nourishment to the new-born generation and in this manner there is a ceaseless renovation of the various species without any need of a gardener to prepare the soil.

The exuberance of animal life is in equal proportion, as there is abundance of food for all.

A deep and uninterrupted buzz fills the air; it comes from the cicadas whose monotonous note wearies the ear, and from hornets and bees of every description that keep up an incessant hum as they suck Juices from the plants or dive their antennae into the ripe fruit or perhaps into some carrion lying near. The bassoon-like sound never ceases a single instant and tells the listener how innumerable are the populations of insects which live and generate their sort under the shade of their jungle retreat. Other inexplicable noises—far off crashes, mysterious sounds that chill one's veins, howls that make one shiver—for a sole moment break the noon-day silence. What is their origin? Nobody can say.

* * * * *

The different animal sounds to be heard in the forest follow a rule which knows no exception.

The day is hailed by a full concert warbled from the throats of feathered songsters. This morning hymn rises in all its innocent purity to the skies whilst the fierce protaganists of the past night's bloody tragedies slink off to their dens and leave the field free to the more gentle herbivorous animals.



But at noon, when the sun is casting down its hottest rays upon that vast emerald palace of life, gay voices are hushed and the forest echoes only with the drowsy buzzing of insects.

As evening draws near the birds once more begin to chirp and trill, they salute the setting sun and fly away to rest. Then the monkeys commence their screeching and chattering and soon after the owls and other night birds take their turn, making the now dense darkness more terrible with their harsh, sinister cries. Little by little as the night deepens, bellows, roars and howls resound upon every part in a slow crescendo until they are fused into a general and appalling uproar which could not be more awful if the gates of Hell were to be opened on Earth.

* * * * *

I am not an artist and still less a scientist but as a simple observer I like to take note of all that is worthy of notice and that is possible for me to transmit in an intelligible form.

Having depicted, to the best of my ability, the characteristics of forest life, I think it will be well—setting aside its magic charms and manifold wonders which would make a poet even of one who has no tendency for poetry—to describe, in a more practical way, some of its products.

I will begin with the durian, or sumpa, the fruit of which is unknown in our country.

It is a very large tree, growing to the height of 40 or 50 metres and distends around it a huge pavilion of rich branches, covered with little leaves.

It is to be found sometimes singly and sometimes in clumps and is the only tree that the Sakais show any interest in multiplying, and this cultivation, if we may so call it, is done by them almost unconsciously, not from any sentimental feeling but rather from the effect of a sentiment and a superstition.[4] It produces a most extraordinary quantity of fruit, the exquisite flavour of which it is difficult to match. It has been calculated that every tree bears, on an average, about 600 durians but some have even reached the enormous figure of 1000.

If one were treating of berries or nuts this would not be so remarkable but each fruit of the durian weighs about two kilograms and is as large as a child's head. For this reason it is a dangerous thing to stand or pass under one of these trees when the fruit is quite ripe as so heavy a ball falling from a height of forty or more metres would suffice to split open one's head even if the long prickles with which it is covered did not make it more to be feared.

The Sakais are quite greedy over durians and Mr Wallace writes that its delicate flavour is so exquisite it would well repay the expense and disturbance of a journey Eastward on purpose to taste it.

This assertion of the English writer may be somewhat exaggerated but for my own part, I must say that I have never tasted anything more delicious. But not everyone can enjoy or appreciate this strange fruit for the disgusting smell that distinguishes it and that is apt to cause nausea to a weak stomach.

Imagine to have under your nose a heap of rotten onions and you will still have but a faint idea of the insupportable odour which emanates from these trees and when its fruit is opened the offensive smell becomes even stronger.

When mature, that is to say in the months of August and September, the durians fall to the ground and are eagerly gathered up by the natives, who at the period of their ripening, leave the women and children, the old and the sick in their villages and encamp themselves in the forest around these precious trees.

The outside of the durian is ligneous and is covered with strong prickles of nearly an inch long. The interior consists of a great many small eggs each one being wrapped in a fine film which, when broken, reveals a pulp of the consistency and colour of thick custard. A big seed is embedded in the centre of each egg, almond-like in size and form, although not so flat.

I cannot describe in any way the flavour of this fruit which the real Sakai calls sumpa. I can but repeat that it is exquisite and far superior to any sweet dainty prepared by cook or confectioner. There is nothing to equal it, and in eating one does not discern the least smell as the disagreeable stench comes from the husk alone and the worse it is, the more delicate is the taste of the pulp.

This fruit is too perishable for it to be exported to far countries even if there was any chance of its finding favour in European markets, in consequence of its horrible smell, which does not however protect it from the voracity of the monkeys and their rodent companions—especially the squirrels—that manage, in spite of its formidable prickles, to make a hole in the husk and nibble out some of its contents leaving the rest to rot inside.

To my knowledge the durian is not subject to any malady which might effect the annual quantity of fruit to be gathered, this depending entirely upon whether the wind has blown violently, or not, during the time it was in flower.

This King of Trees, as it is called by the Sakai, will grow and prosper nearly to the height of a thousand metres, and its fruit is preserved by pressing it into large tubes of bamboo after the seeds have been picked out.

The Sakais frequently exchange these original pots of jam for other articles equally prized by them, such as tobacco and beads.

Another fruit, so delicious that it may almost be said to rival the durian, is the ple lok.

The tree on which it grows cannot be ranked amongst the giants of the forest. It has big and long leaves something like those of the orange but whilst on the top they are a glossy black in under they are of a still glossier green.

The fruit, that ripens between September and November, is the size of a peach but it is covered with a very thick husk (nearly black outside, and a rusty red inside) after the sort of our walnuts. The pulp is divided into a lot of quarters each one enclosed in a very thin skin. It looks like snow-white Jelly and in fact melts in the mouth at once, leaving only a little kernel. The flavour is sweet and exceedingly pleasant.

The husk is utilized by the Sakais for producing a dye with which to paint their faces and also for making a decoction as a remedy against diarrhaea and pains in the stomach.

The Sakais are immensely fond of this fruit as indeed any European, accustomed to the finest sweets, might be, the more so as it never does any harm or brings about an indigestion, even when eaten in large quantities.

Besides these two grand lords of the forest I will also mention the ple pra, a colossus that, modestly, but without avarice, supplies the Sakai with excellent chestnuts.

It is impossible, notwithstanding my desire, to describe the many other trees and fruits which form the richness of the forest, as it would take too long. Further on, in a chapter dedicated to poisons, I have named some of the most dangerous in this respect, but between those that are the ministers of Death and those that are the means of Life to the simple jungle-dweller, there are countless species to which it would be difficult to assign a particular class.

Many of these latter are regarded by the natives with distrust, perhaps without any reason, but from who knows what strange belief transmitted from father to son? And in the heart of the forest who is there to study and make experiments upon such leaves and fruits in order to ascertain if they are perfectly edible?

I, for instance, am of opinion that the fruit of the giu u ba a could be safety used and to a great extent.

It is like a little pumpkin, green outside and yellowish-white inside. A kind of oil is extracted from its pulp which, when cooked, is not of a disagreeable taste and does one no harm. But the giu u ba a is a creeper and it is among these parasites that poisons abound and this is why the fruits obtained from them are used with reluctance and if possible, avoided altogether.

* * * * *

Treasures not to be imagined are still hidden in the profound recesses of the Malay forest; priceless treasures for medical science and for industry.

Could the former but discover the exact therapeutic and venomous virtues of some of those plants, many of which are quite unknown to botanists, what innumerable new and potent remedies might be found to enrich the pharmacopoeia of civilized people!

Agriculture, in all its varied branches, could here find incalculable treasures of fertility!

Without counting the rice that gives a wonderful annual product, the Indian-corn that gives two harvests a year and the sweet potatoes that give three, there is the yam, the sikoi,[5] the sugar-cane, coffee, pepper, tea, the banana, the ananas, indigo, sago, tapioca, gambier, various sorts of rubber, gigantic trees for shipbuilding, and so on.

The Para Rubber, from which is extracted our gutta percha grows marvellously well in the Malay soil and requires very little attention or expense.

There is the ramie whose fibres will by degrees supplant the silk we get from cocoons, or mixed together will form an excellent quality of stuff. It is a herb with long, fibrous stems which when well beaten out and bleached become like a soft mass of wool. After being carded it can be spun into the finest threads as shiny and pliant as silk itself.



This plant flourishes to a great extent in Perak and its stems may be cut off twice a year. It only needs to be cultivated, for industry to be provided with a new and precious element. In fact there are few who do not know that the greater part of Chinese silk stuffs are woven with the ramie fibres, but its utility might have a much larger extension if it were made an object of study by those capable of drawing from it profitable results.

Very few lands, I think, have been so favoured by capricious Nature as the Malay Peninsula where she seems to have taken delight in bestowing her treasures of flora and fauna as well as underground ones, for several gold and tin mines are being worked, whilst lead, copper, zinc, antimony, arsenic and many other metals are constantly being found, besides some rich veins of wolfram, although a real bed of the latter ore has not yet been discovered.

If once the still lazy but honest forces of the Sakais could be utilized by turning them towards agriculture, all this natural wealth might be sent to the World's markets and a sparse but good people, susceptible of great progress, would be gradually civilized.

* * * * *

The Para Rubber, referred to above, constitutes one of the greatest riches of the Malay agricultural industry.

Both soil and climate are very favourable for its cultivation in the Peninsula, so much so that a tree attains the maturity necessary for the production of this valuable article in four years, if special care and attention is given it, or in five or six if left to its natural growth (as in Ceylon), whilst in other places it takes eight and even ten years.

Not many years ago the British Government had a limited space of ground planted, with seeds brought from Brazil, as a simple experiment. The result was encouraging enough to induce the Institute of Tropical Researches—initiated under the auspices of the Liverpool University, with the object of developing Colonial commerce—to make plantations which in one season yielded no less than 150,000 pounds of gum.

About three years ago 60,000 acres of land were planted with Para Rubber, the Government providing the seed at a very low rate.

It is calculated that each acre contains from 125 to 250 trees according to the quality of the ground and its position.

These plantations continue to increase with surprising rapidity and it may be said, at the present day, that four million trees are to be found in an area of 200,000 acres.

When one considers that each tree renders, on an average, from 5 to 6 pounds of gum, and that that of Perak—chemically proved to be pure—is quoted on the market at 6/10 per pound—whilst the best produced by other countries does not exceed 5/7—one can form a pretty correct estimate of the enormous sum derived from the Para rubber of Perak.

It was generally supposed that this valuable tree would suffer if it surpassed a thousand metres in height but in the Malay Peninsula it grows and nourishes even higher than 1,600 metres, especially the so-called ficus elasticus and India-rubber.

The British Government is doing its best to increase this cultivation, and "its best" in this case really means "the very best" because besides concession of land, and the providing of seed at a low rate, the Government aids this industry, in which so many millions are invested, by the making of fine, wide high-roads as well as by maintaining railways for the conveyance of goods, fixing a minimum tariff for the transport.

Perhaps some one will accuse me of being too partial in my remarks upon the work done by the British Government in this its remote Eastern Protectorate, but having assisted for many years in the ever increasing agricultural and commercial development of the peninsula, and having seen the steady conquest civilization has made by means of the most practical and surest methods—such as the patient training of the natives to the love of work, and the prompt and conscientious administration of justice—I cannot but admire the enlightened and benificent activity displayed by the English in those parts.

* * * * *

Closed this parenthesis about the plantations, which are now spreading far and wide over the forest (the wood-cutter's hatchet continually clearing new tracts of land for agricultural enterprises), I want you to return with me to the jungle which is still almost untrodden and where Nature reigns supreme over the thick tropical vegetation.

Having already spoken briefly and in a disorderly way of the riches which are here gratuitously offered—not the riches of Midas and Pymalion, because mother Nature does not refuse food to her children even if they are profaners of that wonderful temple of her fecundity—it is right that I should now draw your attention to two great friends of travellers in the forest. One is the bamboo and the other a creeper called the "water vine".

The bamboo, known to us only as one of the plants least considered in a large, well-kept garden, or as a polished walking stick, as the legs of a fancy table of uncertain equilibrium or as a tobacco box ably worked by Chinese or Japanese fingers, in the free forest becomes a colossal inhabitant. Its canes, at first tender and supple, grow to such a size, and so strong as to be used for water conduits. It is a vigorous and invasive plant that covers the surrounding ground with new shoots whilst in under its long roots spread out and suck up all the vital nutriment to be found in the earth around.

To one who lives in the forest, the bamboo is as necessary as food itself. It provides light, solid huts; it makes the blowpipe, arrow and quiver; it serves for carrying water and preserving fruit; it forms a safe recipient for poisonous juices; it is bottle and glass, and finally supplies the native cooks with a saucepan that only they can use because they have the knack of cooking their food without burning the bamboo. I have often tried to do the same but the result has always been that pot and pottage have been burnt together.

The bamboo has also a secret virtue of incalculable value to the thirsty wayfarer, overcome by the heat of a tropical sun: it is a perfect reservoir of water.

By boring a hole just under the joints of each cane more than half a litre of clear water, not very fresh, but wholesome and good, gushes out. It is rather bitter to the taste and serves to restore one's forces as well as to quench one's thirst.

The water-vine also acts as a Samaritan in the jungle. Like all the others of its sort this climbing plant closes some giant king of the forest in its cruel embrace (thus depriving it of its strength) and then falls in rich festoons from its boughs, swaying and rustling with every breath of air.

By making a cut at the extremity of one of the sprays that hang down towards the ground, a fresh, drinkable water flows out.

It is superfluous, perhaps, to add that this grand necessity for the traveller on foot may be obtained from other sources: the streams that are to be found trickling along here and there, and the huge leaves that upon drying up secrete a certain quantity of rain water within them.

So the jungle gives to eat and to drink, with wonderful abundance and variety, but woe to him who does not know her well, for she also proffers Death in a thousand unsuspected and seductive forms!

* * * * *

How many times in the solemn, languid hour of noontide, when bird and beast were drowsing from the heat, I have stood in the shade and interrogated the forest upon its first violators and their descendants! But my demands remained unanswered; in its superb grandeur it does not interest itself in the tragic vicissitudes of animal or vegetable lives, it makes no records, on the contrary, it quickly cancels all traces of past events.

I have vainly asked: from whence came those who have found shelter and solitude in the obscure depths of its wooded hills? How many centuries have they dwelt in those lone, wild parts? I have asked if that shy and dispersed tribe was not the remains of a once great and strong people eclipsed by a younger, stronger, and more savage race? Sometimes watching, with admiring eyes, the strange architectural forms taken by the massive trunks and graceful vines, fantastic but always majestic, I have asked the forest if it had not arisen upon the ruins of some long ago and lost civilization and if those same forms were not an inexplicable evocation of the gigantic creations of vanished genii of which I seemed in imagination to catch faint glimpses?

But the forest remained mute and kept its impenetrable secret.

Only here and there, groups of trees, lower than the surrounding ones, and between them spaces of ground, which had evidently once been clearings and were not yet totally re-covered by jungle growth, gave proof of Sakai nomadism even in other ages. No other sign of the past, and my query, perhaps absurd, repeats itself. Am I before the savage infancy of a people, or the spent senility of a race, lost sight of in the course of centuries? If the latter, would there not be some relic left of its existence; a fragment of stone or concrete substance inscribed with the figures of its period? Is it possible that everything has been buried from the sight of modern man, under the rank luxuriance of grass and bush? Or is it not I who vainly dream under the impression of the forest's mute grandeur and the thousands of voices that to-day awake its echoes and to-morrow leave none behind?

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: In another chapter, wherein I describe the superstitions and beliefs of the Sakais, I have spoken of the custom they have of depositing food, tobacco, etc., on the tombs of their dead for a week after they have been buried. Naturally everything, not devoured by beast or insect, rots upon the spot and the seeds of the fruit find their way into the ground. For this reason many new trees spring up in groups, obtaining their first alimentation from the dissolution of the corpse.]

[Footnote 5: The sikoi grows on high mountains and the women have to take great pains in cleaning it before it is cooked. It is a grain something like our millet and has good nutritive qualities.

The Sakays mix it with water and make a sort of "polenta" cooking it, as usual, in their bamboo saucepans. It is a favourite dish with them when eaten with monkey flesh, rats, pieces of snake, lizards, beetles and various other insects which would be of rare entomological value to any museum that possessed them.

Ignorant of the repugnant compound, that gave such a savoury taste to the sikoi, at the beginning of my sojourn with the Sakays, I ate it with relish after seasoning it with a little salt, an article not much used amongst my mountain friends. But when I came to know what ingredients gave it flavour I refused it, as kindly as I could not to offend their susceptibilities, because my stomach rebelled against the mess.]



CHAPTER VII.

The snares of civilized life—Faust's invocation—The dangers of the forest—Serpents—A perilous adventure—Carnivorous and herbivorous animals—The "sladan"—The man of the wood.

The young man who incautiously ventures into the mysterious parts of Drury Lane—where vice and crime have a classical reputation—or strolls through the old Latin Quarter of Paris (where some of the streets are anything but safe to pass through), or who finds himself, for whatsoever reason you will, in one of those questionable labyrinths still existing in the most civilized Italian cities, would certainly not run less risk than in facing the dangers of the forest. The dart, the trap, the attack of beast and reptile may be, with courage and calmness, averted or parried, but the evils which menace man, under the hypocritical euphemisms of Society (ever ready to vaunt its impeachableness) injure not only the body but, what is worse, the spirit.

Those who succumb to the latter are ofttimes induced to lament that death does not come swift enough to kill their flesh, after their souls and intellects have been long since slain and consumed.

In the thick of the jungle the spirit rises and wanders free; there are no restraints or limits to its flight. It is inebriated by the simple and serene joys of living; it is pervaded by a current of new, potent energy that makes one feel—alone, in Nature's realm—either immensely great or infinitely small; exquisitely good or miserably wicked.

It is not prudent, when travelling in the forest, to let philosophy make us linger long on the way, but there are some moments in which one's inner life is so intense, in which thought and sentiment are so impetuous that that fleeting atom of time is in itself sufficient to mark an indelible epoch in the existence of men. Who knows but what if Mephistopheles had lead Faust into the virgin forest, and there left him free to his speculations, if the famous invocation would ever have escaped from the fevered lips of the doctor?

But... what is this hissing? It is not the spirit that denies; it is a snake I have disturbed along my path and that has not found my philosophizing over pleasant (like you, perhaps, kind reader) and so I will cut short my digression.

* * * * *

The forest abounds in reptiles. There are innumerable varieties of serpents, big and small, venomous and harmless. It may almost be said (especially towards the plain) that every bush and every tree has one of these inhabitants.

The commonest species are the tigi rilo, the tigi paa and the tigi dolo but the most feared are the sendok and the bimaa.



As a rule none of these snakes will assail a person unless they have been molested. They remain either rolled up close to a tree or lazily swinging from one of its branches, keeping hold of it with its powerful tail and so it is necessary to proceed very carefully and to look attentively both up and down in order not to disturb them.

The serpent, when stumbled against, hurls itself as quick as lightning upon the unhappy offender, encircling and suffocating him with its coils and biting him with its sharp fangs even when they are not poisoned. Like all other animals it becomes ferocious and seeks to kill from fear. He who disturbs it is a foe to be vanquished.

But if you pass him without being afraid and without hurrying, with a slow gliding step, taking care not to move your hands or arms, it will let you go on your way and take no notice of you.

And this I can affirm from experiments I have myself made upon the terrible sendok.

One day I was able, in this way, to pass quite close, almost touching one of these most venomous reptiles. He never moved as I crept by but he did not lose sight of me for a single instant. I am quite sure that if my inward fear had betrayed itself by the slightest gesture, I should have been a dead man.

Sometimes I have succeeded, very, very gently, in placing upon it a stick about two metres long. Well, the horrid serpent just lazily unfolded its coils and softly slipped from under it. Very different would have been the result if I had put the stick upon its head roughly!

From this you will see that danger from snakes is much less than one might believe from the thrilling adventures narrated by friends (between a roast chestnut and a sip of wine), as they are snugly gathered round a cosy fireside, adventures which they have read in the fabulous pages written by one of those story-tellers who gull the respectable public with the loveliest or the most terrifying descriptions of places, men and beasts of which they scarcely know the name.

Serpents are always attacked and beaten down with sticks, except the very large ones, that are taken by lassoes as I will explain in another chapter. It is a quick and simple means of getting free, in a few minutes, of a venomous enemy which it never fails to do when fear does not make the eye and the hand miss its aim, precision in the blow being all that is needed.

Not very long since I had an adventure with one of these reptiles which threatened to be my last. I was quietly strolling in the forest and had with me neither weapon nor stick. My thoughts were far away but a rustling sound and a loud hiss brought them quickly back and arrested my steps. A large, venomous snake was right in front of me! Erect, with open mouth and protruding tongue, the embodiment of hatred, it was there, prompt for an assault. My case was desperate and only a miracle of sang-froid could save me. Fixing my eyes steadily upon those of the serpent, very gradually and with the slowest possible movement I bent my knees and crouched down towards the ground, where, in an equally slow and methodical way I groped for some sort of stick with which to strike my adversary. Having found what I wanted, I drew myself up in the same cautious manner and with a sudden, rapid gesture I hit the beast with all my might. Fortunately for me, my blow told and I had an addition to my collection of jungle foes.

The traveller in Malay who is not a thorough alien to timorous feelings would do well to never leave his comfortable post in the railway carriage between one place and another or at least to keep within a safe distance of the forest, for although its perils have been greatly exaggerated there are some, all the same, that require a stout heart and firm nerves.

When there is no big game to put your courage and your pulse to the test there is always a troop of smaller animals that make game of you and prove your force of resistance. A rat bites your heel whilst you are asleep; the leeches suck your blood; all sorts of insects sting you. These little annoying incidents irritate flesh and spirit and may be the cause of feverishness, but a dose of quinine and a compress over the wound soon have a good effect.

* * * * *

But it is not sufficient to bravely face bodily danger, support physical pain and endure with grace the mortifications inflicted upon one's flesh by the more minute inhabitants of those regions, for the jungle also exacts certain moral virtues which civilization does not always appreciate or admire, nay, on the contrary, that it often laughs at.

The great Sorceress, for whom one feels a strange nostalgia after having once known her magnificence and her horrors, kills the man who is not temperate in his habits.

Moderation in eating is the first consideration for prolonging life in the forest. The stomach must never be overladen and no strong drinks must be used.

By following this method of living and allowing myself very rarely even a glass of wine I managed to keep in excellent health in 1889 when an epidemic raged violently in the island of Nias and made sad havoc amongst the natives.

The human organism, especially that of a European, is beset by numerous inconveniences which may generate illness; the burning sun, that seems to cook one's brain; the cold nights and heavy dews; the violent storms that quite suddenly break over your head, and the food that must be put up with even when it is not actually hygienic.

For all this a strict regime, based upon moderation, is indispensable.

It is true that in my forest cabin I have an assortment of the best wines and whiskies, notwithstanding the improbability of being able to offer a glass to my friends, but those bottles remain well corked, waiting for their legitimate owner to feel indisposed, when a draught of their contents will restore his lost strength without resorting to medicine.

* * * * *

The greatest dangers in the jungle are those which cannot be met with impunity; those that render every defence inefficacious when a man is taken unawares.

I speak of the tigers and panthers that are very numerous and audacious; of the bears, that do not act so jocosely here as in our streets and menageries but vie with other wild beasts in blood-thirstiness; of the rhinoceros, the elephant, the terrible sladan, the wild dogs that, fierce as wolves, wander about in large packs.

A dissertation upon the tiger and its like does not seem to me a sufficiently interesting subject for my readers who will have seen, who knows how many, at the fairs and museums and will have learnt their character and habits from Natural History books or from the description (not always correct) of someone who has only set foot on the land where they live. I must, however, make special mention of the sladan, the only survivor of an almost extinct fauna.

This animal belongs to the herbivorous class but is more ferocious than any of the carnivorous species. It does not kill from hunger or for self-defence, but for the mere sake of killing.

It is a sort of buffalo or bison with two very solid, strongly planted horns on its thick-set head. This animal possesses such vigour and agility as to enable it to attack victoriously all other wild beasts. Only the elephant sometimes succeeds, with difficulty, in mastering it.

Its den is in the most remote and inaccessible parts of the forest and by day and by night it scours the neighbourhood, rending the air with its awful roars. One is never sure of not meeting it, and to meet it either means to kill it or to be killed.

It is very fond of the tender shoots of sweet potatoes and for this will often visit the crops cultivated by the Sakais who, for fear of this dreaded enemy, do not plant very much. Generally, though, the sladan devastates the potato fields during the night.

The ferocity of this beast surpasses that of all others, for whilst the lion, the bear and even the tiger and panther have been known to show some feeling of respect, gratitude or fear, the sladan never exhibits one or the other. It would almost seem that in him is concentrated all the hatred of a race of animals, fast dying out, against every living creature whose species is still destined to remain in the world.

And yet quite close to the haunts of these champions in savagery, always on the look out for blood and carnage, live other quiet and harmless animals. I will say nothing of the wild boar (that in comparison with the sladan, might pass for a lamb) of the wild goat or of the deer which are in great numbers, but there are little rodent quadrupeds of every sort, size, and fur, besides perfect crowds of monkeys of different kinds. They belong to the herbivorous order and go about by day in search of food, hiding themselves when the first shades of night call forth from their dens the heroes of nocturnal tragedies.

A garrulous population of birds enliven the forest; they are insectivorous, granivorous, and omnivorous but all are beautiful in their rich and wonderful variety of colour. Amongst these the pheasant for its oriental plumage and the cockatoo for its querulous voice are remarkable as the largest.

A gay concert is given in honour of the dawning and the dying day but long before the birds of prey have unfolded their wings and soar, like phantoms, through the darkness, the pretty carol-singers hush their warblings and hide themselves from the horrors of the night.

A collector of butterflies would go into ecstasies over the splendid varieties that flutter and flit in the air, and the countless multitude of different insects would be well worth special study; amongst the latter are verified the most curious mimetic facts that ever the unprejudiced mind of a man of politics could imagine!

And yet, in the midst of so many contrasts, in the midst of so many dangers which exact exceptional presence of mind and strong nerves, life in the forest is full of charm and allurements.

The spirit is strengthened and elevated by this continuous warfare, open and pronounced, so unlike those depressing struggles against narrow minds, and tiger-hearts, which distinguish town-life.

* * * * *

It is very rare that one meets a man in the Malay forest. You may walk on for weeks without encountering a soul. I happened once, though, to fall in with one who was a primitive being in the strictest sense of the term.



I was trudging along one day with my Sakai servant, when at the foot of the hill (Chentok) I saw a little cot and wished to visit it. Inside I found a man. At seeing me he caught up his blow-pipe—a miserable-looking instrument—and his poisoned darts, and was about to run away. I hastily made my companion offer him a few cooked potatoes and a little maize which he accepted without saying a word and began to devour ravenously.

In those brief moments I took stock of the poor creature. He was painfully thin; his skeleton could be clearly seen under the unadorned skin; his sunken eyes gleamed with mistrust and inquietude from out of his fleshless face, and his long black hair lay in tangled masses round his neck.

I had before me the true type of a wild man of the wood, less vivacious and less loquacious than his brother, the ape.

I gave him some tobacco, that he eagerly crammed into his mouth and then, keeping fast hold of his weapon he hurried off, without uttering a single syllable, although I asked him many things in his own tongue.

Neither did he in any way express satisfaction, or gratitude for what he had received but vanished mute, contemptuous and silently into the thickest part of the jungle.

My little Sakai was not so surprised as I at this strange person and his way of proceeding, because he had seen him before and could tell me something about him.

He was known by the name of Ala Lag, or the sorcerer. He had no wife, no children, no friends, and lived quite alone, far from everyone, wandering about the forest, feeding upon wild-honey and the fruit he found upon the ground. If he happened to catch some game he would light up a bit of fire and seem to cook it but in reality he ate it raw. Sometimes he came across a settlement when he would enter the first hut which lay in his way, and by gesture more than by word, would ask for food and after having obtained it, started off again.

The good Sakais pitied the poor vagabond and had often tried to make him stop with them as a brother or a guest but he always resolutely refused whatever proposal they made him and they were of opinion that not even old age would have any effect upon the misanthropy of this poor inoffensive being who isolated himself so obstinately from all his kind.

I thought to myself, is the poor fellow wise or mad in thus seeking to live alone as Nature produced him, in the unlimited liberty of his native jungle where he is secure from delusions and sorrows?

Men, little less savage than he, feel compassion for him as he passes by. Nobody would dare to laugh at or injure such a harmless soul and so he is allowed to ramble from hut to hut undisturbed, his eccentricities and his odd behaviour being his safeguard.

It is not always so amongst people more advanced in civilization!



CHAPTER VIII.

An official appointment—A tour of inspection—Lost in the forest—I find a philosopher—Lycurgus and his laws—A contented mind is a continual feast—A night among the tigers—On the Berumbum—I sleep with a serpent—The last of many—Safe from trap and arrow—The coronation of King Edward VII.

Having established a regular trade in forest products and attempted something in the way of plantations, I felt a strong desire to explore the whole country inhabited by the Sakai tribes to better estimate its riches and at the same time to know more thoroughly the character of this people of whom I knew only a limited number.

From the Bidor I passed into Sunkei Selin and Pahang, and when, in 1901, I happened to be at Tapah I was offered the Government post of Superintendent of the Perak Sakais.

The proposal was such as to gratify a little ambition of which I had not really been conscious before. I therefore accepted it with great pleasure, the more so as I felt flattered that the British Government should repose so much confidence in an Italian.

My first official act was to make enquiries about a serious quarrel that had taken place amongst the Sakais living in the plain, and that had resulted in several deaths.

The fact was so uncommon and extraordinary considering the good nature of the people, that it was quite worth the while of an investigation.

Two Bretak Sakais descended from the heights which bound Perak and Pahang, and found hospitality in a family of those Sakais who are in constant contact with strangers. Seeing them take some salt out of a bamboo tube and eat it, the two guests asked to be allowed to taste it in their turn. In whatever hut of the jungle savages, this desire would have been anticipated but these others had learnt selfishness, as well as other defects, in their intercourse with their neighbours, and simply answered that salt did harm to anybody not accustomed to it.

This prevarication, which was equal to a refusal, offended the Bretaks, as it was an infringement of the Sakai custom of sharing like brothers all they possessed. They insisted upon their right and at last obtained a handful of salt, given them grudgingly.

After the Bretaks had departed, the other men went to their traps and brought back with them four big rats that were at once cooked and abundantly salted.

It so happened, that one of the women,—who had been ill for some time—ate two of them, thereby causing herself such a serious indigestion that in a couple of days she was no more.



The Sakais thought directly that her sudden decease must be owing to an evil spell of the Bretaks who wished for a revenge for the reluctance shown in giving them the salt. They quickly decided that the crime should be punished by death and started off in pursuit of the supposed culprits. As soon as they were within reach they attacked them with a volley of poisoned darts. The others naturally defended themselves and the conflict ended with three dead.

In the course of time the Government came to hear of the question and bade the pengulu (Malay chief) to make enquiries in order to establish the responsibility. But he refused to interfere.

No sooner was I appointed Superintendent than I received orders to interest myself in the matter, and an escort of armed soldiers was put at my disposition for the arrest of those found guilty. But this way of proceeding was not to my opinion, as I explained in my report. The fact was quite an exceptional one and was the consequence of a deplorable superstition. By imprisoning someone we should not have cured the great evil of ignorance, but only have sown the seed of hatred against the White Man, for the men who were taken prisoners could not live long in seclusion and their untimely death would never be pardoned.

The British Authority being favourable to this my way of thinking I was able to go alone and find out the rights of the case after which I managed to obtain a complete pacification of all concerned.

* * * * *

I had been but a short time in my new office when I decided to make a tour of inspection through the territory entrusted to my care and I really do not remember any other of my travels so full of incidents and emotional adventures. Two, in particular, will never be erased from my memory.

I was journeying quite by myself, confiding perhaps too much in the knowledge I had gained of the jungle, and the possibility of being lost in the forest never entered my head.

And yet this is one of the greatest perils that can befall anybody, for it may be a compendium of all the others.

He who is born and who grows up in the forest does not run this risk for certain, because from a slight cut in a tree, a broken reed, a pendant bough, the smallest sign that would escape the keenest of European eyes, the native knows how to draw precise indications of the direction to be followed. Wherever he goes, he never forgets to leave some trace of his passage in order to find his way back without uncertainty and loss of time. In this way the Sakais wander about the jungle with astounding security just as if they were walking along a well-traced out path.

The same prodigious variety of woodland scenery that the forest offers to the gaze gives it a certain uniformity in the mind of a white man. The colossal trees that stretch away one after the other as far as can be seen; the twining vines and creepers which cluster everywhere; the huge bushes and flowering thickets; the dips and hollows in the ground, and the little ponds over which the green of reed and rush triumphs equally with bright floral colours. The European embraces all this in a sole glance, in its entirety, but cannot discern, like the Sakai, the difference that exists between this tree and that, this glen and the other. And if the poor man be alone he will surely be lost; and if he is lost there is very little chance of his ever getting out again.

* * * * *

Evening was fast approaching; the birds were singing their last songs for the day, and in the first hour of a brief twilight breathed that solemn calm which especially belongs to the forest when its more innocent inhabitants are beginning to conceal themselves for the night, and the ferocious beasts of darkness are not yet abroad in search of prey.

It was getting late and I hastened to reach my cabin, but hurry as I would it never came in sight. I could not understand this at all until suddenly (with what dismay I will leave my reader to imagine) I perceived that I had been following the tracks of a bear, believing them to have been a man's.

Alarmed, I looked about me on every side, scrutinizing every part; I advanced a little this way and that, then retraced my steps, anxiously endeavouring to find out a clue to the right direction.

Alas! there was no mistaking the truth; I was lost in the depth of the forest, and what was worse, at nightfall!

Little by little anguish parched my throat and drops of cold sweat stood on my brow. What could I do? If I remained on the ground I should be exposed to the fatal caresses of some wild beast, on the other hand if I climbed up a tree (no very easy matter as I should have to find a creeper strong enough to bear my weight) should I not be equally exposed to the deadly clasp of a snake?

The darker it grew, the more my bewilderment and anxiety increased. I began to hollo desperately, calling frantically for help with such a piercing voice as I had never dreamt of possessing before. It was my only and last hope.

Tired, hungry, thirsty and disheartened I continued to shout as loudly as I could and at last it seemed to me that a human voice answered my wild cries from a distance. Once more I bawled with all my might and then listened. Yes, there was no doubt; someone had heard me, and with the auricular acuteness of despair I turned towards the direction of the sound and hurried forward.

It was not long before I came across a solitary hut that I found to be inhabited by a family of six persons.

I narrated my perilous adventure and they gave me food (which was certainly not intended for delicate stomachs) and water, and I, in return, handed round some tobacco, then, tranquil as regarded the night, with a sigh of relief I lighted my pipe, the ever faithful companion of my travels, and began to chat with the old man, the head of the family.

I intentionally introduced the Sakais' dislike for work and asked him the reason why.

Very quietly, and without the least hesitation, he replied:

"Why should we give ourselves the pain and fatigue of working like slaves? Does not the earth give us, spontaneously, more than enough for our need without tormenting it with implements?".

The argument was logical, but I smiled and remarked:

"It does not seem to me that the earth provides everything without working it. When you want rice or tobacco you have to ask it from those who cultivate it".

The old man quickly retorted:

"And what does that matter? We have the right of demand because both are grown upon our soil. By cutting down our beautiful forest for plantations we are deprived of game and fruit; by drying up our ponds we have no fish to eat; by cultivating our land we are being continually driven farther towards the mountains, in search of that food which satisfied our fathers, but the stranger who comes amongst us beats the path that we have traced with our feet. Is it not just then that we should have some recompense, that certain of our needs should be considered?".



"Povera e nuda vai, filosofia",[6] I muttered to myself, admiring that old man, ignorant and bare, who in the rough, broken phrases of his poor language solved with the greatest simplicity questions of civil rights which a University professor would have found complicated and even difficult. I continued however:

"But then if nobody came to you, treading your paths; if nobody cultivated some strips of your forest, how would you obtain calico, and tobacco and rice?".

With a shake of his head my humble host hastened to answer:

"Cannot man live without these trifles? Does not the forest supply us with flesh, fish, and fowl? Does it not produce, for our use, roots, bulbs, truffles, mushrooms, edible leaves and exquisite fruit? Do not its trees provide us with shelter and their bark with a covering for our bodies, when it is necessary? What more could one desire?".

I was nonplused! But noticing that my new friend was in the vein to chat, a fact which I inwardly attributed to the effects of that same tobacco, whose necessity he had just denied, but which he was smoking with evident pleasure, I turned the conversation by asking why his people were not be found in other parts of the Peninsula?

"We love our forest and our liberty too well ever to leave these confines of our own accord" he replied placidly and in tones of conviction, "and when, as sometimes happened in the past, our people were forced to follow and serve their conquerors they brought little or no profit to their masters because if they found a chance of escaping back to their kindred they did so, and if not, in a short time they died of broken hearts. As for our children, we would rather kill them ourselves than let them go into the hands of our neighbours. Now that we are protected by the orang putei" (he meant the British Government) "we and our families live in more peace than before".

As though overcome by painful memories, he became silent and sad. After a minute he went on in a dull voice, seeming to speak to himself: "Once upon a time these parts were not so deserted, and populous, prosperous villages were scattered over the forest. But our tranquillity and well-being excited the envy of other tribes who wanted to subject us to them and to make us work like slaves, so they came against us armed, and pillaged, burnt and destroyed everything belonging to us. We were dispersed and compelled to live in isolated huts erected in the most inaccessible places in order not to attract the attention of other men".

He paused again and then added:

"We have nothing to lose now except our freedom which is more precious to us than life itself, and for this we are ready to fight to the very last even if our bodies are left on the ground for beasts and birds to feed upon".

A fierce light kindled the old Sakai's eyes, which boded evil for anyone who attempted to disturb the quietude of their present rambling life. And I understood how much stronger these inoffensive people were in their dispersion than when they were banded together in villages. If aggressors should attack these solitary huts they would find their owners prompt to meet the attack with all the ferocity of wild beasts and even if nobody was saved from the massacre to report the terrible news in other encampments, alarm would have been given by the sound of fire-arms and cries. In consequence the other Sakais would immediately destroy all signs of their habitation, and penetrate farther into the forest which, for them, has no secret concealed. Towards night they would creep among the tall grasses until they found the enemy that would serve us a target for their poisoned arrows. However well their foes might know the use of gun and revolver, they would be at a disadvantage, for these weapons reveal the position occupied by those who shoot but the fatal dart flies out of the darkness leaving the spot from whence it comes uncertain.

Nothing could be more disastrous in the way of warfare than an attack with poisoned arrows, in the midst of the forest, during the night. Your men would fall right and left without having been able to defend themselves in any way.

I afterwards got the old man to tell me something about their customs regarding marriage and family organization.

"By thus living separate", he said "each family by itself, without being subject to any chief or authority, save only that of the Elder (be he father or grandfather), our peace is guaranteed. There are no quarrels, there is no jealousy or bad-feeling, for all are equal, all live in the same way and each one divides what he may possess amongst the others, so that there is also no injustice".

I raised the objection that this perfect equality could not possibly exist because the identical rights and duties in domestic economy could not be applied in the same way to the hale and strong members of the family as to the weak and sickly. But I had to repeat my idea in various ways before the Sakai caught the meaning, then he exclaimed:

"Ah, I suppose you are speaking of some sort of deformity, or defect. Amongst us it is so rare to find either one or the other that it would be difficult for a Sakai to understand when you talk of men different to him in form or robustness. If however, the Evil Spirit makes one of our children be born deformed, or with a defect, he is treated with the care necessary to his state but he cannot transmit his infirmity to others because, first of all our customs compel him to lead a life of chastity, and secondly, no woman of our tribe would consent to a union with him".

Oh, Lycurgus, I thought, thy wise laws have here, among savages, a less brutal application. For one who dies loveless (and as the Sakais are not given to strong passions, and are chaste by nature, this is not a very great sacrifice) many are saved from unhappiness and a whole race preserved from degeneration.

The old man having spoken of the Evil Spirit, I abruptly demanded who this much feared being might be.

"He possesses all things", he answered, lowering his voice as if afraid of being heard. "He is in the wind, the lightning, the earthquake, he is in the trees and the water. Sometimes he enters our huts and makes someone die; then we bury our dead very deep under the ground, leaving to them food and their own property, and we fly from the spot, for it is a dangerous thing to remain under the Spirit's gaze".

* * * * *

Finished our conversation, of which I have sought to give you a faithful translation, although the Sakai had expressed himself in the short, monotonous phrases peculiar to his tongue, that is scarce of words and verbs, we prepared to follow the example of the other members of my host's family who had gone to sleep during our quiet chat. But before closing my eyes I repassed in mind the theories expounded by the old forester, and I found in them such a just expression of rectitude, of simple but strong logic, of spirit and intelligence that I could not but admire and agree.



I asked myself if the philosophy of the learned was not inferior to that of this savage, who considered existence as limited to the satisfaction of material wants, without torturing himself about imaginary need, and without consuming nerves, muscles, heart and brain in a daily struggle for what he could dispense with? And I asked myself if in that perfect inertness, in that immunity from all feelings of sensuality, hatred, ambition or rivalry must he not be a thousand times happier than we in civilized society who seek fortune and satisfy our caprices, our follies, in the midst of excitement and strong emotions, living in a continual fever of suspicion, jealousy and envy, accumulating perhaps riches but withering up the soul which cannot enjoy even for a day the supreme blessing of serenity?

Which is nearer the truth (I argued to myself), he who places himself in report with Nature as one of her offspring receiving all the necessities of life straight from her never-failing stores and thereby lowering himself to the state of the humblest of her creatures, or we who worry ourselves in building up a model of perfection, a mannikin, that every one wants to dress up in his own way—with his own virtues or his own defects?

"A contented mind is a continual feast". This adage was verified in the person of the old Sakai. An enemy to progress of any kind he logically conformed himself to his surroundings, and limited his desires to what he was sure of obtaining.

But we who in our civilization hunger and thirst after progress, why do we continually preach this proverb to our young, and illustrate it to them on every possible occasion?

It is, perhaps, because on every hand we come across harsh contradictions presented by those who, with all their study, try to reconcile the true with the absurd in order to get the latter accepted in homage to the former, and they make use of this maxim for their own ends and to take advantage of others, whereas this savage, reared in the maternal arms of Nature (that gives and takes, produces and causes without either deceit or change) was in himself so satisfied with what she provided and ordered that there would have been no need to make him learn with his lips a precept that sprang spontaneously from his heart.

* * * * *

My kind reader will perhaps give a shrug of the shoulders at the mere idea of my having the will to philosophize so soon after such a terrible adventure. Well, I confess I did not feel inclined to do so after another which was even more frightful still.

I had left my cabin in the afternoon to go and inspect the works of a road which I was having made near a little Sakai village, situated at the foot of a mountain. When I reached the spot I called out loudly, as was my habit, to give the necessary orders; but nobody answered. Wondering what it meant I descended to the group of huts which I found empty and half destroyed. I supposed that Death had stricken one of the inhabitants and that the others, according to their custom, had abandoned their dwellings here to erect new ones far from the place visited by the Evil Spirit.

The discovery vexed me and made me feel rather uneasy, for the sun would soon be setting and no good could be expected of a several miles march through the forest, alone, and without a light.



I ascended with all haste to my previous position in order to find the path I had come by. The sky was rapidly darkening with the frenzied dance of heavy black clouds and it was not long before they opened their flood gates and the rain fell in perfect torrents, accompanied by dazzling flashes of lightning.

I pushed on as best I was able but under my feet rivers of water were quickly formed, which cancelled all traces and made me lose my bearings, whilst the fear of being again lost began to trouble me.

Only too soon I became aware that my inquietude was justified because, in the meantime, night had fallen and neither the lightning nor my matches were of any avail in showing me the way I ought to follow.

Then I was seized with that awful anguish I had experienced on the other occasion and which has so direful an effect upon the spirit as to render one incapable of even thinking.

I turned this way and that without any notion hardly of what I was seeking.

I stumbled over the long grasses and more than once rolled down a hollow full of nettles and thorns, which stung and scratched my face and hands horribly. I scrambled out, however, almost directly, animated by a fiery instinct of self preservation, and pulling out from my flesh the thorns that hurt me most, I recommenced, blood-stained and unnerved, to grope my way in the dark.

In one of my tumbles I felt a huge beast gallop over my body. What was it? I thought it must be a wild-boar.

I remained there some time on the ground smarting and exhausted. My strength and energy seemed to diminish every minute and the mad, desperate thought flashed across my mind to not move any more but just lie there under the rain to wait for death or daylight.

From the tall trees came peltering down upon me shells, husks and fruit, the remains of a feast the monkeys were having upon the thick boughs that sheltered them from the bad weather, and from afar came a low, dull sound like the deep rumbling noise that often precedes Nature's tragedies.

Life in the jungle had taught me what that fearful roar meant. It was caused by the clamouring cries of thousands of wild beasts, rushing forth from their dens and hastening towards the bloody convention which every night they hold.

It gave me the force to make a supreme effort. I got up and staggered forward, not knowing where I was going and trusting purely to chance.

But in the end I was obliged to give myself up for lost and every hope of escaping my horrible fate forsook me. I could no longer shout but it would have been useless, for the ever-increasing din would have prevented others, and me, from hearing anything else. I managed to prop myself up against a rock and with all the strength that was left me, I clung to it with one hand whilst with the other I turned up the collar of my thin, linen jacket and tried to cover my face.

Did I do this not to see the approaching danger and inevitable fate which was fast overtaking me? I do not know; I only remember the act, but not the thought that prompted it.

Anyway willing or not willing, I saw everything.

Close by, some big phosphorescent mushrooms illuminated the darkness with their faint, ghastly gleams of light.

The tumult, the row, the trampling always seemed to get louder and nearer. It was like the advance of an endless host of demons and evil spirits.

Terrible crashes, furious roars, wild howls, and formidable feline cries began to reach my ear distinctly. I could have sworn that all the fiercest inhabitants of the forest had agreed to meet near me. Was this conviction the effect of the terror which had taken possession of me or was it a horrible fact?

Two burning orbs flashed through the night and an unearthly yell made my poor body start once more, though stiffened as it was by horror.

A tiger was here, perhaps 50, perhaps 20 yards from me!

I feebly endeavoured again to hide my face; it would be preferable for death to come upon me suddenly than to count the instants of its coming.

I backed myself closer under the rock, clinging to it with my left hand, whose nerves, muscles and nails had turned into steel under the supremacy of terror.

A few minutes of cruel, breathless suspense....

I felt dimly amazed at finding myself still alive: there were two tigers and they were diabolically squalling out a love-duet. Who has not felt a shiver run down his back when, snug in a warm bed, the mid-night stillness has been broken by two amorous cats on the roof or in the court that are putting their vocal powers and their hearer's patience to the test? Imagine then to be frozen against a wet stone whilst a couple of tigers express their sentiments of love in much the same language, but in tones proportionate to their size!

In the fervour of their passion would they notice the dainty meal prepared for them in my person?

Not far off the implacable sladan was savagely bellowing. Was he too bound for my place of martyrdom?

My slow torture, under the pale glimmer of the phosphorescent mushrooms must have lasted for hours, but I no longer had the perception of time or peril. Only the appalling fear of the flesh kept me grasping tightly to the rock without making the slightest movement.

I did not know when the tigers went away or when the enormous multitude of beasts of prey beat a retreat.

The first sensation I had of being alive was when the two heralds of the morn, the cep plot and the cep rio announced with their musical notes the dawn of another day.

Then I stirred. My limbs were benumbed by that long immobility, and with the cold which was all the more intense from the rain first and the dew afterwards, both of which had drenched me to the skin.

I was shaking with ague and, weak from my long fast and the frights I had passed through, I scarcely knew how to get away from that spot where I had endured so many hours of agony, and yet it was necessary for me to move as soon as possible.

The jungle was alive with gay voices; all the harmless, innocent creatures, that populated its hospitable region, hailed the new day with noisy acclamation, and their joy found an echo in me, for its thousand-fold blessed light would show me my road to safety.

I afterwards learnt that my bad luck had guided me to a rock, close to a spring of hot water, where the kings, queens, princes and princesses of the forest were accustomed to hold their soirees!

* * * * *

I had to repose for some days before recovering from the physical and moral shocks of that awful night and for some time afterwards I made my faithful little Sakai accompany me on my tours of inspection round Perak, as with him there was no fear of being lost.



One day we got as far as the summit of the Berumbum where we passed the night among some families that had taken refuge up there. I was enchanted with the starry sky, the quiet air and mild temperature I found upon that height and which made my thoughts fly across oceans and continents to the sea which reflects my Liguria. Up there the nocturnal silence is not rent by the blood-thirsty cries of wild animals, and after having been lulled to sleep for so long by their distant clamour, and especially after the strong emotions I had quite recently experienced, that profound calmness was to me so full of sentimental suggestion that instead of sleeping my spirit wandered into the past, recalling with pleasure and sadness those evenings of sweet intimacy once enjoyed in the bosom of my family, then a numerous one but now reduced by death and other events.

When at last I fell asleep I did not awake till morning.

As soon as I had got up my young Sakai servant took the pillow I always carried with me, and began to shake it, but he shrank back with a frightened cry as a little snake of about a yard long, belonging to a very poisonous class, fell from under it.

The dear little beast had slept upon the same pillow as I, perhaps to prove to me that his sort is very much maligned and that if you leave them alone to do what they like, without giving them any disturbance, they will never think of biting you.

Ten Sakai families were encamped up there and I exhorted them all to come down from that height of 5000 feet and occupy themselves in agriculture, for the cold during the night is sometimes severe and the poor things must suffer from it, as they have no clothes to keep them warm.

But all my persuasions were fruitless.

I resumed my journey and it must have been about ten o'clock in the morning when in the distance an old man who, as far as I could understand from the half twilight of the forest, made me signs of friendship.

I went towards him and saw that where he stood there had once been a village but its now miserable aspect made it a strange contrast to the riches of Nature with which it was surrounded.

The solitary inhabitant of that forsaken and dilapidated place offered us some fruit and I asked him the reason of the battered huts and general desolation. He told me with grief in his tones that the village had been devastated by armed enemies. "Many of my brethren were killed and many others were taken away as slaves and the rest have fled to safer and more inaccessible parts, but I could not find it in my heart to abandon this spot where I was born; where I grew up....".

This was indeed a strange sentiment for one whose people for the most lead a roving life either from habit or from superstition!

* * * * *

Armed enemies! and who were they? For certain they appertained to the scum of neighbouring peoples of which I have already spoken. Men who, though encompassed on all sides by civilization, still remain uncivilized; men who, shunned by their honest and laborious countrymen, make the free forest a field for their vile passions, and now that they can no longer give vent to their evil desires in depredation and bloodshed, because of the severe measures taken by the Government, continue to damage the poor Sakais in many odious and insidious ways without always drawing down upon their heads the punishment they deserve.

Who were they? Who are they? Delinquents by nature, such as are to be found in most of our large cities; people born with savage instincts; men who would rather pass their days in the midst of vice and open corruption than live a life of honour and opulence.

None of these delinquents are to be found in thorough-bred Sakai tribes, they may however be met with amongst the inhabitants of the plain where there is a mixture of race, the result of those forced unions which were the desperation of Sakai women when taken prisoners. In the children born of these unions one can often trace the natural impulse towards violence and robbery that they have inherited from their fathers.

I myself had a proof of this.

As Inspector I often used to pass from one encampment to another, sometimes on the plain and sometimes on the mountain and I frequently took these brief journeys alone as the paths were well trodden.

It so happened that one day I had stopped in the hut of one of these half-breeds—where there were several real Sakais who had come from their jungle home to exchange products—and on my return I was overtaken by one of my good friends that offered to accompany me for a little way.

As we walked along together I noticed he proceeded with great caution and kept looking about with suspicion. All at once he caught me by the arm and pointed to a stick stuck into the ground just in front, from which some leaves were dangling. As I did not understand his act he advanced a step or two and showed me a well concealed trap, set with a poisoned dart.

It had been fixed across the path and I should have assuredly fallen over it, if my companion had not prevented me. He simply said that it must have been prepared for game and soon after left me.

But later on I heard that he had not told me the truth in saying this for the trap had been put there, on purpose for me, by the villanous bastard in whose hut I had halted, and whose photograph I was afterwards able to take and here present to my readers.

This man had not the least reason for resentment against me but he was actuated by that spirit of hatred which induces all evil-doers to try and get rid of those who may be an obstacle to their bad living and knowing that I had the intention of passing his way again in a few days he had placed the trap there in order to kill me. He was so contented, however, with what he had done that he could not keep the secret to himself, and his wife (a pure Sakai) upon hearing it, despatched my friend to the ambush and so saved me.

If this had been discovered at the moment the wretch would most likely have paid for his sin with his life.

From this episode it is easy to see the difference between a thorough-bred and a half-bred Sakai; the former will risk life itself to impede a crime that has been coolly premeditated by the latter.

* * * * *

Something of the same kind befell me on another occasion when I was returning to my cabin by myself.

At Tapah preparations were being made for celebrating the coronation of King Edward VII and I, as one of His Majesty's colonial officers, of course felt interested in the proceedings and it seemed to me a right thing that a representation of my friends the savages, who were under my administration, should accompany me to town for the occasion. I had therefore been round to as many as I could to tell them to be ready to follow me whenever I gave them notice.

Towards evening I was going quietly along, rather tired with my long march, and listening to the pretty good-night songs of the birds, when I was suddenly hit in the abdomen by a poisoned arrow, shot by an unknown hand. Aware of the terrible power of the forest venoms I gave myself up for lost and so without doubt I should have been if fortune had not sent me assistance. I was energetically squeezing the wound when one of my faithful Sakais came up. Upon hearing what had happened, he exclaimed:

"This is the work of a Mai-Gop, because one of our darts would have passed right through you, and besides none of us would harm you because you are good to us".

The kind fellow sucked out my wound and knew by its reddish-black colour that the poison used was a mixture of legop and ipok juices, most deadly in its effect.

Hurrying me towards the village, in a few instants he had prepared an antidote by mixing a pinch of lime and powdered charcoal together and then wetting it with the urine of his little boy.

He washed the wound carefully with this strange lotion, making it penetrate well in, and recommended me not to touch it.

I let him do as he would, as there was no better remedy to my knowledge, although I had little or no faith in the mixture.

I suffered a great deal for some days, but at last the wound (which had all the requisites for a fatal one) healed. Was this fact due to the merits of lime, charcoal, or urine?

Let the disciples of Esculapius decide!

It got to be known not long after that I had been made the victim of one of those ill-disposed individuals who come into the world with criminality written on their brow.

But for one who has the compensation of devotion and affection from the humble and good, is not the hatred of malefactors a thing to be proud of?

* * * * *

So in the year 1901, I was invited by the British Resident (in my quality of Superintendent of the Sakais) to take part in the festivities in honour of King Edward the Seventh's ascension to the throne.

As I before said I had thought it would be nice to take with me a small band of my forest friends and my desire was so well realized that when the time came I gathered around me about 500 men, women and children, belonging to different tribes, and with this troop of followers I descended to Tapah.

Here the reception given to those poor inhabitants of the Jungle was exceptionally kind, and they in their turn gladly did their utmost to satisfy the curiosity they excited and were highly pleased at showing the effect of their powerful poisons upon birds which they hit, with remarkable dexterity, whilst on the wing.

The men displayed their skill in striking the bull's eye with their darts, and in successfully climbing the greasy pole, and the women gave proof of their musical talents by playing their ciniloi.

In this way they got a great many dollars and were overwhelmed with presents and attentions by the English ladies and gentlemen, residing at Tapah.

The women were invited to go to the stand reserved for the Authority and came back with necklaces and strings of coloured beads, that they admired with childish delight.

Not much less contented was I at the good impression my simple friends made by their nice behaviour and modest manners.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: "Philosophy, poor and naked thou goest". This is a quotation from the Italian poet Petrarch. Translator's Note.]



CHAPTER IX.

The origin of the Sakais—Hypothesis and legend—Physical character—Thick tresses, gay flowers and troublesome guests—Hereditary antipathy—The five senses reduced to two—Food and drink—Tranquil life—Intolerance of authority—Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law—Logical laziness—A Sakai journalist—The story of a mattress.

Paolo Mantegazza, the scientific poet writes:

"Man is eternally tormenting himself with unanswered questions: Where did our species first come from? When did this life first begin?

"This is his real original sin, as it is also the source of his true greatness. He is but a single link in an endless chain; he is but one imperceptible moment enclosed by a Past which he does not know and a Future which he will never see. But he feels the need of looking back and asking: where did we begin? And of looking forward, asking: where shall we finish?".

I, too, have often made much the same demands, not about myself, for I have no inclination for metaphysical reflections, but about the Sakais who have unconsciously given me a difficult problem to solve: who are they? From whence did they come?

There is absolutely nothing that speaks of them, and in the absence of positive fact we can only fall back upon mere hypothesis, more or less probable, until an accurate investigation with regard to the origin of this primitive people may present us with a convincing theory.

But in order to make these studies it would be necessary to live in their midst (and not many could adapt themselves to the various inconveniences of such a life) because the live Sakai never abandons his native forest and to have a dead one for the purpose would be next to impossible, as he who attempted to carry away a corpse would expose himself to serious danger, there being no greater sacrilege, according to the idea of these bushmen, than that of touching a dead body or of digging up the ground where a skeleton lies.

Therefore there does not seem to be any near chance of arriving at a definite conclusion upon the subject.

* * * * *

It is generally believed that anciently a people, called Benuas, not willing to submit themselves to the laws imposed upon them by the then flourishing and civilized India and fearing to fall into slavery, advanced through Indo-China till they reached the Malay Peninsula. Here also they found themselves pursued and surrounded by civilization, so, instead of settling round the rich and smiling shores, they turned towards the forest and encamped there. This version of their immigration would account for the Sakais not having the least idea of the sea which they never mention, not even in their legends or superstitions.

Shunning-all contact with the other inhabitants of the country they had chosen as a refuge, they concealed themselves in the jungle, thus preserving their independence and the purity of their race.

Some centuries later, in an era of fanaticism, invasions were made upon them with the object of converting them to Mohammedism but the only result was fire and bloodshed and after each conflict the surviving Sakais fled further into the forest (into those parts which had never been before explored) or to the natural strongholds of the far off mountains.

If this hypothesis holds good then the Sakais must be a very ancient people. It is an accepted fact that as far back as the 8th century Arabian merchants traded with the inhabitants of the Peninsula and that a very remote intercourse existed between these and Hindostan, and although there is no substantial proof, no analogies of language, customs or creed upon which to base such a conjecture, neither, as yet, has anything been proved to the contrary whilst many primeval superstitions prevalent amongst the Sakais are still to be found in other tribes living in proximity with believers in Buddha and Brahma.

Another legend, sustained by the Kurumbus themselves, would make one suppose that the Sakais belong to that people, once grand, but now broken up and dispersed. In fact, even at the present time, there are many popular songs amongst the Malays in which the Kurumbus and Sakais are mixed up together.

Dr. Short, in his ethnological studies of India, describes certain characteristics and habits of the Kurumbus, inhabiting the forest, which perfectly coincide with those to be met with amongst the Sakais.

I refer to those regarding physiognomy, structure, and stature, the primitive mode of cultivating corn, the choice of food, and the improvidence shown in eating, with the consequence that deficiency follows upon excess.

Naturally these points of similarity are no proof that the two peoples are of the same origin but they give to the question a certain argumentative value.

What seems to me sure is that the Sakais have nothing in common with the Malays or with the various other races that surround them. This may perhaps be owing to the contact the latter have with each other, the result being a modification of customs, traditions and purity of blood. I find, however, many traits which connect them with the Mongolian and Caucasian races (Indians and Semitics) and there is much in them which resembles other peoples living in Indo-China and India.

It must be understood, though, that I speak only of the Sakais of the hills and not those of the plains who have in a great measure lost the characteristics which should distinguish them through their mixing with Kampongs, Malays and Chinese Ghedes.

But let us now leave aside all the vague suppositions that for several reasons I have felt bound to mention (not the least of which being perhaps the need we all feel of investigating our neighbour's past), and let us rather examine the Sakai as he is in the 20th century.

* * * * *

Evidently he has not perceived the passing away of nineteen or more centuries because they have left no inheritance for him.

The Sakai, then, is somewhat short in stature but sufficiently hardy and well-formed, except in the lower limbs which render him slightly bow-legged.

The cause of this trifling deformity is to be found in the habit they have, from their earliest childhood, of sitting upon their heels, as it were, thus leaving the knees wide apart.

This posture, however, is not a particularity of the jungle inhabitants as I have frequently seen Italians in the same position, but the latter lean their shoulders against a tree or wall for support so that there is less strain upon the legs.

When they are eating or listening to something that interests them the Sakai men and women will remain for whole hours in this attitude without showing any fatigue whatever.