The most powerful and civilised of these tribes are the Kayans, who extend from Rejang far into the dominions of the Sultan of Brunei, and, besides these, the Poonans, Pakatans, and Ukits, but the latter are generally supposed to be the wildest specimens of the human race yet met with in Borneo. This tribe (which is the only one living at the head of Rejang not tattooed) has been occasionally but seldom seen in these regions by Europeans, as they shrink from all intercourse with mankind, and fly at the approach of any but their own race. They are described as being of a much lighter colour than the Poonans, possess no dwellings, and are totally unclothed. The absurd reports of men with tails existing in Borneo may possibly be traced to the fact that these men are frequently likened to monkeys by their more civilised brethren, who look upon them with great contempt, and by whom they are much feared and avoided.

The Kayans, on the other hand, are the finest and most civilised aboriginal race in the island. Their men, who are of a splendid physique and considerably taller than any other tribe in Sarawak, are of a light copper colour. Their dress is nearly identical with the Kanowits, excepting that they wear many more ornaments, but no turbans. Their long, coarse, black hair streamed in some cases far below the waist, and they were not a little proud of this appendage, which was cut square over the forehead. The Kayans were not at all given to joking like the Kanowits, but all wore an appearance of suspicion and distrust on their faces, which even the genial influence of square face ("Hollands") failed to banish, but which originated perhaps more from shyness than ill-temper. Their women wore more clothes than any other tribe, being clothed in a long and flowing "sarong," a species of petticoat, reaching from the waist to the feet, and a white linen jacket. They were very ugly, and their teeth stained a jet black.

The mode of burial practised by the Kayans is a curious one, and I here give it in the words of an eye-witness:—

When a man dies, his friends and relatives meet in the "ruai," and take their usual seats. The deceased is then brought up attired in his waistcloth and ornaments, with a straw cigar fixed in his mouth, and, having been placed on the mat in the same manner as when alive, his betel box is set by his side. The friends and relatives then go through the form of conversing with him, and offering the best advice concerning his future proceedings. This palaver over, the corpse is placed in a large wooden box, and kept in the house for several months. At the expiration of this time, the relatives and friends again assemble, and the coffin is taken out and deposited on a high tree. The deceased is repeatedly cautioned during the ceremony to beware that he does not lose his way: "Follow the road," they say, "till it branches off into three directions. Be careful in selecting the centre path, for that to the right will lead you back to Borneo, while the one to the left will take you to the sea." After many similar cautions the assembly breaks up, and the body is left to its fate.

The day after our arrival at Kapit was taken up by the Resident in trying law cases, receiving taxes, &c. L. and I, therefore, secured a canoe, and, accompanied by five Malay sailors from the launch, one of whom was acquainted with the Poonan language, we proceeded up river to a large house occupied by this curious tribe, who inhabit the country between the Rejang and Koti rivers. It may give the reader some idea of the strength of the stream above Kapit when I say that it took our men over two hours to accomplish the distance (three miles) from the Fort to the house.

The landing-place was at length reached, after a tough pull, and at a distance of about 200 yards from it stood the Poonan dwelling. This, which contained about 150 inhabitants, was about 40 yards long, and was built on the same principle as those at Kanowit, excepting that it was on its last legs in point of repair, for many of the posts on which it stood had rotted away and fallen to the ground, a proceeding of which the house appeared likely shortly to follow the example. Noticing an unusually quiet and dejected air about the place, very unusual whenever a visit is paid by a European to a Bornean dwelling, we inquired the reason from our guides, and were informed that a Head Feast had been celebrated there the preceding four days, and that probably the inmates were endeavouring to sleep off the evil effects of their potations, and this we subsequently found to be correct.

These "Head Feasts" are general among the aboriginal tribes throughout the island of Borneo, and are held when a new head has been added to the ghastly trophies of the Dyak's house. They are now, however, rare, as head hunting is punished by death in Sarawak, but on the occasion of an expedition by Government against a hostile tribe, head hunting is permitted to those fighting against the rebels. On the occasion of one of these feasts, the "ruai" is gaily decorated with green boughs, palm leaves, &c., and the heads to be feasted are taken out and hung from one of the posts in the hall. An incessant beating of gongs, drums, &c., is kept up unceasingly for four days and nights, and war-dances performed by the warriors of the tribe. Strong "arrack"[10] is brewed in large quantities from the gornuti palm, and the scene of debauchery that succeeds the first day of the feast is indescribable. Drunken men lie about in all directions, shrieks and yells resound throughout the village, and for four days the whole place is given up to dissipation and riot. A food-offering is made to the heads on the first day, and a piece of rice stuck in their mouths, which gives them a most ghastly appearance, as, when freshly taken, they are smoked over a slow fire until the skin assumes the consistency of leather, and thus preserves to a certain extent the expression, though blackened and disfigured, of the face during lifetime. It was once my fate, in 1873, to be staying at a Dyak house on the Batang Lupar river during one of these entertainments, and I have no wish to repeat the experiment.

This, then, had been the state of affairs at the dwelling we were about to visit. Cautiously clambering up the entrance pole, half the notches in which had rotted away and left but a precarious foothold, we entered the house, the flooring of which stood nearly 30 feet above ground, and within which a sorry spectacle presented itself. Heaps of food, in the shape of rice, pork, &c., lay strewn about the floor, on which also reposed (undisturbed even by the loud barking which the dogs set up on our arrival) the male members of the tribe, some seventy in number.

The overpowering stench arising from stale arrack, &c., was well-nigh sickening, while, to complete the unsavoury coup a'oeil, a bunch of human heads, their mouths stuffed with rice, grinned at us from the end post of the ruai, whence their owners had not yet sufficiently recovered from their orgies to remove them.

Our Malays succeeded, after some trouble, in waking a young brave who had evidently succumbed to fatigue (and arrack) while performing the war-dance, as he was still in full war costume. He, however, quickly recovered himself, and arousing forty or fifty of his companions, led us off to see the chief or head-man of the tribe. Preceded by these youths, whose unsteady gait and sleepy faces afforded our Malay guides no small amusement, we cautiously crept along the ruai, passing at every ten paces or so enormous holes in the bamboo flooring occasioned by rot, and a fall through which would have precipitated us into the mud and filth thirty feet below.

The chief, rejoicing in the name of "Lat," was a fine-looking old man about sixty, tattooed to the eyes, and with long grey hairs streaming down below his waist. He wore a dirty waistcloth which had once been white, his only adornment being a short red flannel jacket, fastened with three old buttons of the 34th Regiment of the time of George III.; how they ever got there is, and ever has been, a mystery to me.

"Lat" was sitting or rather lying in a three-sided wooden box or alcove, about ten feet square, built upon the centre of the ruai. This is invariably the dwelling-place of a head-man of a house throughout this tribe, and with the exception of Europeans no one may enter it.

We had evidently called at an inauspicious moment, for Lat seemed rather annoyed at being disturbed from his "siesta," and, to judge from his looks, had been having a high time of it during the feast. Shaking hands with him, an operation which he performed half unconsciously, we took our departure and left this merry old gentleman to his slumbers.

Our guides now showed the way into one of the smaller rooms leading out of the ruai, and occupied by Mrs. Lat and her two fair daughters. We found these (unlike the Kayans) tattooed over the face as well as body, and each wore the short skirt of the Kanowit. These were the fairest natives I ever saw in Borneo, being of a light yellow complexion, not unlike the Chinese. Their jet-black hair was unsecured and allowed to fall in profusion down their backs, while their arms were ornamented with brass rings and bright-coloured beads. From the neck to the waist they wore a succession of brass rings which formed a species of cuirass. These when once put on are never taken off again. Had it not been for the practice of elongating the ear-lobes and staining and filing the teeth, these women would not have been bad-looking. The former operation is performed by introducing at an early age a light metal earring followed by heavier ones as the wearer gets older, until the lobe of the ear touches the shoulder; in fact, I afterwards saw an old Poonan dame who could introduce her hand into the aperture, with the greatest ease, and whose earrings weighed 1 lb. each.

The teeth, as I have said, are stained black, and filed into the shape of a V, in some cases a hole being bored through the front ones and a piece of brass knocked in; this being considered an additional adornment.

The atmosphere of the apartment in which Mrs. Lat resided rapidly became rather oppressive, there being about ten people in the room, which was about fourteen feet square, and we were not sorry, therefore, to take our leave and return to the ruai. The ladies, too, were not in the best of tempers, especially Mrs. L., who was evidently much put out at the goings on of her better half during the past three days.

On re-seating ourselves in the ruai, L. happened to notice the intricate and really beautiful tattooing on the body of one of the younger men. The latter seeing this, asked us through our interpreter if we should care to be operated upon in a similar manner—this being considered a great honour to a guest; and no sooner had we accepted the offer than an old woman made her appearance armed with the necessary implements, and with the aid of a pair of very blunt needles, and a peculiar species of dye obtained from a tree, succeeded, after a good hour's work, in embellishing us—L. with a ring on each shoulder (the sign manual of the tribe), and myself with a bird, whose genus it would puzzle most naturalists to determine, but which was popularly supposed among the Poonans to represent a hornbill, on the arm. Strange to say neither L.'s punctures nor mine showed the slightest signs of inflammation afterwards, and the figures are far more distinct than they would be had Indian ink or gunpowder been employed.

On leaving the house we noticed several blow-pipes, a hollow tube eight feet long called by the Poonans "sumpitan," the chief weapon of this tribe, and in the manufacture of which they greatly excel. The darts used are about five inches long, and are dipped in upas juice. The slightest scratch from one of these, drawing blood, proves fatal in less than half an hour unless at once attended to; the only remedy being to keep the patient awake by walking him up and down, and dosing him with brandy or whiskey. Should he once give way to the feeling of drowsiness he sleeps never to wake again.

We were entertained one evening during our stay at Kapit by a war-dance of Kayans on the terrace outside the fort. A large crowd of some 200 from the canoes down river had assembled to witness the dancing, and the bright moonlight and flaring torches shedding an uncertain light over their dark faces and barbaric dress and ornaments, presented a picture not readily forgotten.

A ring being formed, two of the best dancers of the Kayans tribe stepped into the enclosure, each dressed in full war costume. This consists of a long jacket of leopard skin, which covers alone the back of the wearer, and comes down to his knees. This is secured round the neck by a huge shell, and is covered from top to bottom with the black and white feathers of the rhinoceros hornbill loosely attached to it, and which flapping about with every movement of the wearer, gives him the appearance of some huge bird. In addition to this cloak is worn the waist-cloth, and a tight-fitting skull-cap of monkey skin, with three enormous hornbill feathers stuck upright in it, completes the costume. Armed, in addition to his spear, with Parang ilang and shield (the latter ornamented with tufts of human hair), the Kayan brave is ready for the war-path.

The Kayan war-dance is not danced (as is the Dyak) to a lively measure of gongs and drums, a wind instrument being used constructed out of a gourd and three short pieces of bamboo. This is called a Kaluri, and although possessing but five separate notes in a minor key, the tone is not unmusical, though very melancholy. The dance itself has a history, the first part representing two warriors meeting on the war-path. An exciting combat then ensues in which one is killed, and the survivor is indulging in a solitary pas de joie, when he suddenly discovers that he has by mistake killed his brother. He is giving way to violent paroxysms of grief, when his relative, who had been only severely wounded, suddenly rises, and a triumphant pas de deux brings the pantomime to a close. This performance lasted nearly half an hour, and judging from the exertions of the dancers it must be terribly fatiguing, for although a cool evening the perspiration fairly poured off their bodies, and they fell exhausted on the ground at the close of the performance.

Another dance succeeded this one, performed by two boys, apparently each about thirteen years old, who went through it with surprising grace. Although using full-sized Parangs and shields, they whirled them round their heads with the greatest ease, for dancing, like paddling, deer-snaring, and the use of the Parang ilang, are part of the Kayan education.

A week passed pleasantly at Kapit, for each day brought us fresh objects of interest. For the first two or three nights at the fort, however, our sleep was much disturbed by what we imagined to be a dog barking outside the fort. Thinking that one of the pariahs from the adjoining houses had taken up his quarters there, I sat up for him one night with a gun. At midnight, his usual hour, the noise recommenced, but what was my surprise to find that it proceeded not from under the fort, but from the rafters above, and that the intruder was a large brown lizard about a foot long, which emits a sound quite as loud, and exactly like the barking of a dog. It is called by the Poonans the Kok-Goo, and as its advent in any house is considered to be an especial piece of good fortune, we left it to continue its nocturnal barkings in peace.

We left Kapit the end of the week, and nine days after reached Kuching, not sorry to be amongst civilised comforts again.

The Rejang river is at last in a fair way of becoming an important one, and the tribes living along its banks are gradually getting to understand that trade is preferable to head hunting, for, within the last fifteen months, but one case has occurred in the Residency. I chanced on my return to Kuching to come across a number of the Illustrated London News containing a letter from a Danish gentleman, Mr. Carl Bock, in which he announced his having been among a race in Borneo called the Poonans, and went on to observe that he was the only European who had ever seen this tribe, or had intercourse with them. This error I hastened to correct, and wrote to the Illustrated London News, explaining that the tribe visited by Mr. Bock and ourselves was identical, also venturing to express a doubt as to the existence of cannibalism amongst them, the reports of which Mr. Bock believed in. While at Kapit I made frequent inquiries through an interpreter concerning this practice, but my questions as to its existence were invariably met with an indignant denial.

My letter the Illustrated was good enough to take notice of, and it appeared in that journal on September 4th, 1880. I may add that cannibalism, although known to exist in Sumatra, and supposed to be prevalent in New Guinea, has ever been doubted by competent judges to exist in the island of Borneo.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: "Native brandy."]



CHAPTER VII.

Sport in Borneo—The Orang-Utan—His Habits—Start for Sadong—A Rough Journey—Sadong—The Fort and Village—L. Capsized—The Mines—Our Cook—The Abang—Start for Mias Ground—Our Hunt for Orang—Lost in the Forest—Leave for Sadong—An Uncomfortable Night—Small-Pox—Manangs—A Dyak Don Juan—Return to Kuching.

Sport, in the general acceptance of the term, is scarce indeed in Sarawak, and those persons meditating a voyage to Borneo for the purpose of obtaining it, should think twice ere they venture, for, apart from the scarcity of animals, walking is rendered well-nigh impossible by the swamp and dense undergrowth which exists, with but few exceptions, throughout the island.

None of the larger carnivora—such as lion, tiger, &c.—have as yet been found in Borneo, but wild cattle and a small species of elephant are said to exist on the large grass plains around Brunei in North Borneo, the only part of the island entirely free from jungle. The animal tribe, then, is reduced to the following:—Orang-utan, tiger cat, wild pig, deer, and snipe; the pretty "plandok" or mouse-deer, and honey-bears, being also occasionally met with.

Although the aforesaid animals are known to exist in the island, they are extremely hard to get near, and the discomfort of lying out in the jungle all night, eaten up by mosquitoes and other abominations, is scarcely repaid by the chance of a shot at a deer or a pig, which is even then but seldom obtained. The natives, however, are very clever at deer-snaring, and their sporting expeditions are generally attended with success; but the hardships undergone by them on these excursions would completely knock up a European constitution. A few remarks as to the orang-utan, or wild man of the woods, which, as I have said, is the largest wild beast found in Borneo, may not be here amiss, as this chapter is to be devoted to an expedition made by L. and myself in quest of these strange creatures.

The "orang-utan" (a word derived from the Malay, orang, man; and utan, woods) is the sole wild animal of any size yet met with in Borneo. He is found only in certain districts of the island, those in Sarawak being Sadong and Lingga (the former of which we were about to visit), it is supposed on account of the enormous quantity of wild fruits produced in these regions. Lingga, in particular, is famed for the "Durian," a sort of bread-fruit, of which he is very fond. The outside of this fruit is covered with thick, sharp spikes, and when hotly pursued the orang will sometimes make use of it as an article of defence, flinging it on to the heads of his pursuers below. The "Durian" is very heavy, and natives have been known to die from the effects of a blow from this fruit.

Unlike his African brother the gorilla, the orang is seldom of a savage disposition, and will always rather avoid than molest the intruder on his privacy. Nevertheless, at close quarters his enormous reach of arm and strength render him a dangerous antagonist, and brave indeed is the Dyak who will attack him single-handed. Did he know his gigantic strength (which, fortunately, he does not), he would make short work of his natural enemy—man.

The "orang-utan" rarely descends to terra firma, but moves slowly from tree to tree, the density of the branches rendering this comparatively easy, and is easily kept up with by the hunter, as this strange animal never essays to get away altogether, even when severely wounded. He does not seem to realise the danger of his situation, and were it not for this, it would be quite useless to attempt to follow him, the swamps which have to be traversed rendering anything like rapid progress quite impossible.

Reports as to the size of the orang greatly differ, but the one shot by Mr. Wallace at Sadong (Sarawak) some years since, is generally considered to be the largest specimen yet obtained. This measured four feet two inches high. Stories are told by natives of the orang-utan seizing and carrying away young Dyak girls to their dens in the forests. This was, I believe, authenticated in one instance, the woman returning to her tribe after a lapse of three months.

The orang when wounded utters a cry wonderfully like a child in pain, and indeed all his actions and ways closely resemble those of a human being; so much so indeed that a story is told of a former worthy Bishop of Sarawak, being, while in quest of orangs, so reminded by the features of one of them of a certain old uncle at home, that he had not the heart to fire, but let his prey pursue his way unmolested!

Our preparations were complete about ten days after our return to Kapit, and it was on a raw, drizzling day that we paddled down the Kuching river with the morning tide in a sampan or native boat (pulled by a crew of six natives), that we had hired for the occasion from a Chinaman in the capital. More than half our journey had to be accomplished by sea, which, as it was blowing half a gale, and looking at the capabilities of our cranky old craft (christened Sri Laut, or Beauty of the Sea, by her proud owner), was not a pleasant prospect. Ere we had been half an hour afloat we were wet through with the rain, which beat through the old palm awning as if it had been note-paper. This state of things, with a journey of over ten hours before us, was not cheering; but, as I have said before, Bornean travel is not all couleur de rose, so, covering ourselves with a tarpaulin, and lighting our pipes, we prepared to make the best of it—no easy task in the space allotted to us—a space five feet long by three feet wide, and the rain coming in on us in torrents all the time!

We arrived off the village of Moratabas, at the mouth of the Sarawak river, at mid-day, after a hard paddle. Matters here did not mend, for the wind had risen since we started, and the roar of the breakers on the shore recalled Kuching, and the comforts we had left behind us, most vividly to our minds. After, however, a short consultation with our steersman (who acted as skipper), we determined to push on for Sadong at once, and hoisting the old rag that did duty for a sail we stood out to sea.

Seldom have I experienced such a journey as on that day. Once outside the bar, our troubles recommenced, for while crossing it a heavy sea dashed over our bows, drenching everything on board, and at the same time carrying away our awning. For eight mortal hours did we struggle on, shivering like half-drowned rats, and occasionally taking a turn at the paddles to keep life within us. Cooking was naturally out of the question, and our only food that day consisted of a captain's biscuit, some bottled beer, and a tin of preserved plum pudding! Our progress through the water was not made the more rapid by the fact that two of our crew had to be kept constantly at work baling the water out of the wretched old tub, whose creaks and groans were dismal to hear, and which, as we neared the mouth of the Sadong river, seemed to be coming to pieces altogether.

But the longest lane must have a turning, and by 10 p.m. we were entering the mouth of Sadong, and half an hour afterwards were in smooth water; and heartily thankful we felt, for the Sri must have assuredly gone to pieces with another hour of it. Midnight saw us scrambling, stiff and numbed, up the muddy "batang" or pole that formed the landing-place of the fort, and we were not sorry to take off our saturated clothes, and, after a stiff glass of grog apiece, to tumble into the two little camp bedsteads, that, with the exception of a table and two chairs, formed the sole furniture of the fort.

Morning broke bright and sunny, and we were up by six, feeling none the worse, save a slight stiffness, for our exertions of yesterday. While breakfast was preparing I strolled round the pretty little garden, rich in roses and gardenias, that encircled the fort, and whose sweet perfume filled the air, cool and fresh after the heavy rain, for many yards around.

This residency, the smallest in Sarawak, is now in charge of a Eurasian, or half-caste. Up till two years since, however, it was under the supervision of a European resident, and to the latter was due the trim-looking garden with its gravel walks and gardenia hedges—now, alas, fast falling into decay in the care of the half-caste, who, like most of his race, cares but little for anything but filthy lucre. The village of Sadong consists of a Malay population of about 400 souls, and is situated on the banks of the Simunjan, a tributary of the Sadong river, which meets it at this point. Coal is found in large quantities near here, and Government has opened out a small mine for the use of its vessels and those of the Borneo Company. The coal wharf is situated about half a mile up the Simunjan stream, whence a tramway, three miles long, leads up to the shaft from the landing-place. The coal is conveyed to Kuching weekly, in a small sailing vessel.

We visited the mines the day after our arrival, paddling up stream in two small Malay canoes to the wharf—a paddle that proved disastrous to L., who was capsized when close to the landing-stage. The tide was running strong, and, as L. could not swim, things for a moment looked serious; but help was at hand, in the shape of an old Malay fisherman in a canoe moored mid-stream, who pulled him out, none the worse for his ducking. Our walk through the jungle was very picturesque, the forest being alive with butterflies of every description, including the Brookeana, a beautifully-marked green-and-black butterfly, but rarely met with. It was along this tramway that Mr. Wallace shot the orang-utan mentioned in an earlier part of this chapter.

The Sadong mines are superintended by a European overseer, who lives in a small hut on the side of the mountain, and who showed us over the place. He told us that the amount turned out per diem was only ten tons, but the working of the whole place is still in a very primitive state. The tramway was constructed of wooden rails, and the coal cars drawn by an old grey pony. In the hands of a properly organised company the mines would undoubtedly pay, as there is any quantity of coal, and the facilities for shipping are great. Moreover Singapore, which is the coaling station for all vessels bound to and from China, is but two days distant by steamer.

We remained at Sadong for two days, during which time we were principally engaged in getting our guns in order, after the rough usage they had experienced during our sea voyage in the Sri Laut; and arranged to leave for the Mias district, 30 miles up stream, the third day after our arrival at Sadong. The half-caste resident gave us the loan of his cook (a Kling), and a most undeniable hand at a curry, to accompany us, and he proved a treasure in his way, though as a compagnon de voyage he was hardly a pleasant adjunct to our party, as the reader will presently see.

I should not omit to mention an important character, who was constantly appearing on the scene during our sojourn at Sadong. This was the Abang or Malay chief of the village. This worthy constantly dogged our footsteps, and followed us wherever we went, invariably making his appearance at breakfast and dinner time, and squatting himself on the floor by L.'s or my side, gravely watched us throughout the meal. He was a thin, cadaverous-looking old man, about sixty years of age, with a most melancholy cast of features, so much so that we christened him the "Skeleton at the Feast!" As I am but little conversant with high-class Malay, and L. knew none, our conversation was somewhat limited, and while I fully acted up to the old Turkish proverb that "Silence is golden," he, in his turn, did so to that of "Hurry is the devil's," for he never would leave us till we had finished our last glass of grog, and turned in for the night.

The sun was scarcely up on the morning of the 13th of July when we were up and stirring, and by 6.30 were on board the Sri, and, casting off from the shore, paddled away up stream. Our crew now had an addition of two new hands: the cook aforesaid, and a Dyak who accompanied us as guide, and who had the reputation of having killed with his own hand a greater number of orangs than any native in Sarawak.

Four hours above Sadong the stream narrows to about twenty feet in width, and the scenery here is truly beautiful. Tall Nipa palms and a species of bamboo grew out of the water, while above us the long branches of enormous forest trees stretched over us on either side, and formed a kind of natural archway, their branches alive with monkeys of every description, from the hideous proboscis to the pretty wa-wa, whose cry exactly resembles the running of water from a narrow-necked bottle. We emerged from this lovely glade half an hour after entering it, and, the stream again widening, the scenery again became flat and monotonous. We reached the hunting-grounds at about five p.m., after a hard pull against the stream, and mooring the Sri to the bank made all snug for the night.

We landed, or I should rather say left the boat, next morning about eleven a.m., for of dry land, excepting a dismal mangrove swamp extending far away on either side of us, there was none. Our shooting costumes were more light than elegant, consisting as they did of a pair of white duck trowsers, a thin jersey, no socks, a pair of white canvas shoes, and a sun helmet, the latter filled with cartridges. Struggling ashore with some difficulty, we found ourselves without further ado up to our waists in swamp, or rather a substance the colour of but considerably thicker than pea-soup. Bakar (the Dyak hunter) and a Malay boatman preceded us with parangs to clear the way of branches before us, and, all being ready, we set off.

I shall not readily forget the pleasures of that day's walk! For three long hours did we struggle on through the dense jungle, without a sight of living animal, to say nothing of an orang. To make matters worse, the sun was fearfully hot, and beat down on our heads with a force that the dozen or so of cartridges we carried in our "topics," did not tend to alleviate; the smell also of decayed vegetation arising from the ground was well-nigh sickening.

We cried a halt after three hours of this, and discovered from Bakar that we had gone a distance probably of about a mile and a half since we started, which will give the reader some idea of jungle walking in Borneo. Our dismal faces at this species of sport(!) must have excited the compassion of Bakar, for he volunteered the remark that this was rather hard walking, even for Borneo, a remark with which we cordially agreed.

Up till now we had seen no vestige of living creature, bird or animal. On my observing this, our guide replied: "Oh, never mind! We've eight hours before sundown. We must get on. Time is precious!"

Mentally registering a vow that I would see Bakar in a considerably hotter climate than the inhabitants even of Borneo are accustomed to, if even two hours of this work more saw me at it, we started off again.

Another hour passed away, and well-nigh done up, I was about to suggest a retreat to the boat when we were brought up all standing by a cry from Bakar of "Moniet, Tuan!" and an injunction to keep perfectly still.



"Moniet"[11] there might be, but I could discern nothing until, after a few moments of intense excitement as to whether the "moniet" was but a common proboscis or wa-wa, Bakar came splashing back through the dirty water, and, seizing my shoulder, breathlessly exclaimed, "Moniet besar, Tuan! orang-utan!"

Hurrah then! At last we had got near one of these brutes, and our troubles had not all been in vain. But the next thing was to get a sight of him, and this, through the dense undergrowth and brushwood which intervened, was by no means an easy task. For some time did I gaze through the thick network of green leaves, till, at last, following the direction in which our guide was pointing, I dimly made out a square patch of brown against the green leaves, and, trusting to chance, fired. The spot I had aimed at was not the orang, but the report of the rifle had the desired effect of dislodging the brute from his hiding-place, and bringing him full into view. A fine, strapping fellow he seemed as he remained stationary for some seconds, looking down at us with a puzzled expression, as if he scarcely knew whether to greet us as enemies or as strange specimens of his own species. L. now cut short his reflections with a bullet, which this time had more effect, as was evinced by the sharp cry he gave as he sprang into the branches of the adjoining tree, closely observing all our movements as we waded through the stagnant water beneath him, and took up a favourable position for our next shot. This was again successful, breaking his left fore-arm. Moving slowly on after him, for at least three-quarters of an hour, we fired shot after shot with variable success, until a bullet from L.'s rifle caught him full in the neck, and brought him crashing through the branches to our feet.

On measuring him, we found him but a moderate-sized animal, standing three feet seven inches from the top of the skull to the tip of the toes. This seemed a poor return after the amount of labour we had gone through; however, "experientia docet," and we determined that this should be our last attempt at orang shooting, and, hoisting our prize on to the shoulders of the faithful Bakar, we set out to regain the sampan. This, however, proved no easy task. The erratic movements of our guide shortly after leaving the spot where we had shot the Mias had attracted our attention, and the reason of this was shortly evident—he had lost his way! Here was a pretty predicament to be placed in, and a pleasant ending to our day's sport. All the stories I had ever heard of natives going astray in the forest, and dying of starvation, crowded into my mind with unpleasant clearness, and among all the horrible deaths connected with Eastern travel that had occurred to L. and myself, that of expiring like two amateur babes in the wood had not been included.

I shall never forget the anxieties of that terrible hour, and the blank faces of our guides as they waded backwards and forwards in search of the lost trail, pausing ever and anon to give a sort of melancholy wail, not unlike the Australian "co-o-o-ey," the cry of the Dyak when lost in the forest. L. and I had almost given up all hope, and were preparing to make up our minds to a night at least in the jungle, when a cry from Bakar, who had strayed away to the left of us, attracted our attention. He had struck upon the river! We were now safe, and fortunately so, for it was nearly dark as, turning a bend of the stream, we came in sight of our fires and the lamp of our little craft shining over the water. Having arrived on board, we divested ourselves of our now filthy clothes and plunged into the stream, when, after a good rub with our rough towels, we felt ourselves again, and quite ready to do justice to the very excellent curry that our "cordon bleu" of a Kling had prepared for us.

The task of skinning the orang was next day relegated to Bakar, for which we were thankful, as the smell that proceeded from his carcase even at some distance off was fearful. This operation over, he was stowed away in a barrel of arrack that we had brought for the purpose, and we may dismiss him with the remark that he now adorns the smoking-room of a friend of the writer's in England.

A suggestion of another hunt the following day by Bakar was politely but firmly declined, and we left early the following afternoon at five—our anchorage being in a very feverish locality. The halt for the night was to be at a large Dyak house, fifteen miles down stream, and half way to Sadong.

I would remark, for the benefit of sportsmen in general, that the whole of the two days spent in this interesting locality we were unable to leave the boat, owing to the swampy nature of the ground; and as our only recreation consisted of two of Whyte Melville's works, "The Gladiators" and "Digby Grand" (the latter with half the leaves torn out), the weary hours, as may be imagined, did not fly, and we were not sorry to set off the next day for the Dyak Pangkalan,[12] on as wet, dreary, and uncomfortable an afternoon as it has ever been my lot to experience in Borneo or elsewhere.

We sighted lights on the left bank about eleven o'clock the same evening. Rain was still falling in torrents; but the noise of gongs and drums in the distance announced that we had nearly arrived at the end of our journey. To land, however, was easier said than done; for the stream, swollen by the heavy rains, was running at a terrific rate, and carried us right past the landing-stage ere our bowman could hold on and make fast, crashing us into a large war-canoe moored just beyond, the property of the "Orang Kaya," or head-man of the house whither we were bound. We at length succeeded, after a deal of trouble, in securing the sampan to the bank; and, despatching two of our boatmen to announce our arrival to the chief, awaited the invitation which would probably be brought back to stay the night, this being strict etiquette in Bornean travel. During the absence of our two messengers the yells and beating of gongs proceeding from the house, which stood at a distance of about 300 yards from the landing-place, proclaimed that a feast of some sort was being held; and we were debating what substitutes for tobacco and gin (our supply of which we had nearly exhausted) we could present our hosts with, when our men returned. There was no feast, said they. What we heard were the cries of the "manangs," or medicine-men, whose mode this was of driving away the evil spirit of "char-char," or small-pox, which had attacked nearly a third of the inmates of the dwelling. L. and I, on hearing this, promptly deciding that mosquito bites were preferable to small-pox, determined not to land, but to sleep in the boat. Our cook, the Kling, who up till this had maintained a stolid silence, now became quite excited, and joined in the conversation. There was hardly a house on the river, said he, entirely free from this loathsome disease; the Dyaks were flying from it in all directions, and added that he himself was not sorry to be returning to Sadong, as two of his own children were very ill with it, and he ought not by rights to have left them!

This was pleasant, to say the least of it, but it was now too late to mend matters, and wrapping ourselves in our rugs we essayed to sleep. The howling and beating of gongs in the house, however, rendering this quite impossible, the inevitable "square-face" was therefore produced, and, lighting our pipes, we made up our minds for a thoroughly wretched night—and got it; till about six a.m., when the noise ceased, and the M.D.'s, I conclude, retired to that rest which they must have sorely needed, to say nothing of their unfortunate patients!

Small-pox is and has ever been a disease greatly dreaded by the aborigines of Borneo, for living as they do in crowded and ill-ventilated dwellings, this terrible scourge, whenever it breaks out amongst them, commits great ravages. A regular panic ensues on the appearance of the epidemic; those seized being left to their fate, with perhaps a bundle of firewood and gourd of cold water placed within their reach, while their more fortunate companions take their flight up or down the river as the case may be, spreading infection wherever they go. It is not surprising, therefore, that so few recover, although vaccination, which is now compulsory in Sarawak, has greatly decreased the number of those attacked.

The "manangs," or medicine-men aforementioned, are a queer race of creatures. Although of the male sex, they are dressed as women, living in the Sadow and possessing all the privileges of the other sex. Small-pox is never mentioned by its proper name of "char-char" by the Dyaks, but always spoken of as "he," "she," or "it;" for they imagine the mere mention of its name may attract, and bring it amongst them.

An amusing anecdote is told of an old Dyak living in the house we were moored off that dismal night. This old man (of some 60 years) became enamoured, while on a visit to Kuching, of an English lady's-maid residing there; so much so, that he repeatedly urged her to marry and accompany him to his jungle home. This offer was declined with thanks; but on the morning of the day of the departure of this merry old gentleman for his country residence, the lady missed her chignon, which she had placed on her dressing-table the night before on retiring to rest. Not being possessed of so much hair as she might have been, this was no inconsiderable loss. Six months later, when the event was nearly forgotten, an officer up the Simunjan, noticing what looked like a scalp on our old friend's girdle, and knowing that the Dyaks never take them, examined the object more closely; and, having heard the story of its abstraction from the lady's apartment by the elderly lover, took it from him and returned with it in triumph to Kuching! Such true love was worthy of a better cause, for the lady was considerably more annoyed than flattered by the incident, chignons not being an article kept in stock by the native coiffeurs of Kuching.

We reached Sadong late the following evening, and partook of a frugal meal at the fort, this time not prepared by our native Soyer, one of whose children had died in our absence. The old chief was at our side ere we had eaten our first mouthful, silent as ever; but dinner over, and his cheroot well under way, he became more loquacious than we had yet known him.

"Perhaps," said he, dreamily, "you had better not stay here longer than you can help. Small-pox is raging in the kampong (village); there is scarcely a house free from it, and it would be a sad thing if one or both of the Tuans[13] were to die here."

We were much of the same opinion, and the evening of the next day but one saw us again on board the little Sri, bound for Kuching.

The sun was setting behind the distant Klinkang mountains as we left Sadong, illuminating the landscape around us with its declining rays. Scarcely a breath of wind was stirring, and our little sail flapped lazily to and fro against the slender mast as we drifted slowly down the river. The evening being sultry and oppressive, dense grey mists were already arising from the Simunjan stream, enshrouding the pretty village in their sickly vapours, and the cries of the Malay "Hajis," praying at the setting of the sun for deliverance from the fatal scourge which was rapidly decimating their population, sounded in melancholy cadence over the water, while the booming of gongs from distant Dyak houses lent to their voices a weird and appropriate accompaniment. All around seemed to wear a depressed and melancholy aspect, even to the very palm-trees, which, drooping their fronds in the damp, hot atmosphere, seemed to be mourning the fate of those who had perished in this plague-stricken spot.

We reached Kuching the next day, not greatly impressed with the sport to be obtained in Borneo, nor will, I imagine, be the reader of the foregoing chapter.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 11: "Moniet," monkey.]

[Footnote 12: Landing-place.]

[Footnote 13: A title by which every European is addressed.]



CHAPTER VIII.

Preparations for Departure—Leave Sarawak—A Squall—A Dutch Dinner—Batavia—Weltereoden—Life in Java— Buitenzorg—Koerapan—Dutch Soldiers—A Review—Modes of Execution in the Archipelago—The World-Wide Circus—Return to Singapore—Leave for Europe—Gibraltar.

Our days were now numbered in Sarawak, and we had but little time before us, as we intended making a journey to Java, the principal Dutch possession in the Eastern Archipelago, ere we returned to England.

Packing up now became the order of the day. The skins of beasts and birds of all kinds strewed the floor of our little bungalow, transforming it into a sort of miniature museum, for we had made a very fair collection considering our short stay in the country, including no less than one hundred different specimens of butterflies, three of the rare and lovely Brookeana amongst them. It may be of use to collectors of the latter to know that the safest and most convenient way of carrying them any distance is not to set them up when freshly caught, but to simply fold the wings back till they lie flat against each other, and place them thus singly in a common envelope. They will then keep for six months, or even more, unimpaired. This is a far simpler method than that of setting-up, which, even though the amateur be experienced in the art, is always open to the danger of the butterflies becoming detached and shaking to pieces in their box.

We left Kuching at midday on the 21st of July, after bidding adieu to all our friends, not without regret at leaving a land where we had passed so many pleasant days. The Raja Brooke (a small trading steamer of about 300 tons) was heavily laden, not only with cargo, but also with over 100 deck passengers—Malays going on a "Haji pilgrimage" to Mecca. There was also on board an old Hindoo, the proprietor of a dancing bear, who had been making a good thing of it in the Sarawak capital. The captain, L., and I, were the only inmates of the saloon, and after dinner, it being a fine evening, we sent for our Hindoo friend and his bear to give us a private performance—which had, however, to be suddenly nipped in the bud, the pilgrims insisting on coming aft en masse and joining in the fun.

We had a fine passage to Singapore, though half-way across a heavy squall struck us, and the sea, which half an hour before had been as smooth as glass, rose rapidly. The poor bear, especially, had a rough time of it, and narrowly escaped being washed overboard by one of the green seas which we shipped over the bows. The Raja Brooke, however, behaved uncommonly well throughout, and by sundown there was nothing left of the turmoil but a long, heavy swell, which, judging from the groans we heard forward, was playing the very deuce with the internal economy of the pilgrims! We reached Singapore in forty-nine hours, notwithstanding the storm and adverse wind—a wonderfully quick run.

We accepted an invitation from the Dutch Consul to dinner the evening before our departure for Batavia, as we were anxious to obtain as much information as possible about Java; and the dinner being given in honour of the officers of a Dutch man-of-war then lying in the roads, we thought this a first-rate opportunity, but were doomed to disappointment. On our arrival "schnapps" before the feast had evidently been too much for them, and ere dinner was over they were all—to use a mild expression—overcome.

We left them at midnight to go on board our steamer, embracing each other and singing "Die Wacht am Rhein" at the top of their voice—a performance hardly appreciated, I should imagine, by the occupants of the adjoining bungalows.

On arrival at the wharf, which our gharry driver had no little difficulty in finding in the darkness, we were much disappointed to find that the Messageries vessel had broken down, and that a small Dutch steamer, belonging to the Nederland Indische Stoomship Co., was to be her substitute for that voyage, and still more disgusted were we when shown into a stuffy little cabin containing three bunks, in one of which a fat Dutchman had already retired to rest, the other two being L.'s and my resting-place. We made the best of a bad job, however, and turned in, but not for long; certain animals, which shall be nameless, had already taken up their quarters in the berths, and resented our intrusion with such good effect that they drove us out of the little cabin and on deck, where, the weather being fine, we slept on the skylight the three remaining nights we stayed on board.

The days went by very wearily, for there was literally nothing to do on board; the passengers were all Dutch, speaking no English, and very little French; the cuisine on board was composed principally of grease, and what smelt like train-oil, add to this that the highest rate of speed ever attained by the Minister Frausen von der Putte was seven knots an hour, and I think the reader will agree with me that our journey across was anything but a pleasant one. We were not sorry, therefore, when at daybreak on the 31st of July the long low coast of Java came in sight, and shortly afterwards the lighthouse standing at the entrance of the canal leading up to the old town of Batavia. We anchored in the bay at nine o'clock, and awaited the arrival of the little tug which was to convey us to the custom-house, and which we could now see issuing from the mouth of the canal.

It may not be generally known that the Dutch possess nearly the whole of the Eastern Archipelago, with the exception of north and south-western Borneo. Java is, however, their most important colony, and Batavia they have christened the "Paris of the East," though I must acknowledge I have heard none but Dutchmen call it so.

The tug was alongside by ten o'clock, and we were soon aboard and entering the double sea wall which forms the canal. We passed on our right the large lighthouse which has proved so fatal a residence to Europeans, no less than five died within six months of its completion, and it has been found necessary to place Javanese in charge ever since, so unhealthy is the situation. Arrived at the custom-house we passed our boxes with some little trouble, and selecting a "kahar," or species of carriage like a victoria, drawn by two ponies, we drove off to the Pension Nederlanden, to which hotel we had been recommended by our naval friends at Singapore.

The lower part of the town, or, as it is called, Old Batavia, consists entirely of warehouses, go-downs, and native houses. No Europeans can live here, so unhealthy is it, nor can even one night be passed in this quarter with impunity. The upper town—which is named Weltereoden, "well content"—consists of Government House and the houses of all the officials and merchants in Batavia. Most of these houses are situated around the "Koenig's Plein," a large grass plain some 1,000 yards in circumference, which in the time of the English occupation was used as a racecourse. On one side of this stands the governor's palace, a large stone building of modern architecture, while on the other side of the plain is a statue of the Netherland lion. The inscription on this amused me not a little, as it commemorates the victory of the Belgians over the French at Waterloo, the British troops not being mentioned.

There are two ways of reaching Weltereoden from Old Batavia, by railway and tramcar. Where are there not tramcars now? Even the stately streets of Stamboul are not free from them. The street cab of Batavia is a "dos-a-dos" literally so called, as the passenger sits with his back to the driver's, thus forming a mutual support.

Batavia is intersected by canals, the largest or main canal running alongside the road leading from the lower town to Weltereoden. As we drove along we saw hundreds of natives taking their morning dip in the dirty stream; though, as a matter of fact, they have no fixed time for their ablutions, but bathe at all hours of the day and night.

We reached the "Nederlanden" after half an hour's drive. As all European houses in Java are built on the same principle, a description of our hotel may serve for all. The Nederlanden was built entirely on the ground floor, and having long wings which projected back for some 60 or 70 yards. In these wings are the bed-rooms of guests, while the centre building contains the drawing-room, dining-room, and sleeping apartments of the host and hostess. Under the verandah of the front portico stands a large round marble table, surrounded by about a dozen rocking-chairs. Here the men of the house congregate before dinner and breakfast for "Peyt," a villainous compound which is drunk with gin, and is supposed to stimulate the appetite.

The food and cooking in Java may be said to be the worst, as are its hotels the dearest, in the world; and it seems surprising that the mode of living adopted by the Dutch in this trying climate does not injure their constitutions more than it does. The following may be taken as a specimen of the manner in which they live:—

Breakfast, from 6 till 9, consisting of sardines, Bologna sausages, eggs, and cheese(!). 12.30: Dejeunner a la fourchette, a truly disgusting meal, its Dutch name being Ryst tafel, literally "Rice meal." Rice is here the chief ingredient, accompanied by soup, fried fish, pork, pickled eggs, sardines, and various kinds of sambals—also little seasoned messes, handed round with the boiled rice, which is eaten at the same time and off the same plate as all these condiments; a tough, underdone beefsteak and fried potatoes follow. Dinner is precisely the same, with the addition of sweets and dessert. And this from day to day invariably forms the Dutchman's menu in Java.

Smoking is carried on throughout dinner and breakfast, which I was not sorry for, as it counteracted in some degree the smell arising from the abominable Ryst tafel.

The voracity of some of the European children during this meal at the Nederlanden was surprising, and I fairly trembled for the safety of one small boy, about eight years old, who appeared to swell visibly during breakfast, and took a short nap between each course. We christened him "The Fat Boy in 'Pickwick.'"

The morning costume of the European lady in Java is apt to take a stranger by surprise. It consists of the Malay "sarong," a loose clinging silk skirt which reaches to the ankles, the upper garment being the "Kabarga," a long embroidered white linen jacket. The hair is worn loose, and the bare feet are thrust into half slippers embroidered with real gold and silver beads. This dress is worn from early morning till five o'clock in the afternoon, the Batavia calling hour. This costume has one great advantage, that of coolness, and would doubtless look becoming on a pretty woman, though as that article is very seldom, if ever, seen in Java, we had no opportunity of judging.

We were leaving for Buitenzorg (the country seat of Government) the day after our arrival at Batavia, and our preparations for the journey thither being complete, we took a stroll the evening of our arrival on the Koenig's Plein. This, the Hyde Park of Batavia, is where the beauty and fashion of the capital take the air in the cool of the day.

Some of the carriages were not badly turned out, but we only saw one man riding (ladies never ride in Batavia), his nether-man encased in long jack-boots, and wearing a sombrero hat, and green hunting-coat! The effect of this get-up was somewhat marred by his mount—a Deli pony so small that it took the rider all his time to keep his feet from dragging along the ground.

We left the next day at 11.30 a.m., by train, for Buitenzorg. This is thirty-five miles from Batavia, and stands 750 feet higher up in the hills. The Governor's house here is a fine stone building, surrounded by a splendid park and grounds, and many of the merchants in the capital also own villas around. It is not unlike a German watering-place in aspect, and has been named by some "the Simla of the Dutch Indies," though I should say this comparison was rather far-fetched.

The volcanic mountain of Gedeh, and the peak of Pangerango are plainly discernible from Buitenzorg, and a journey to the summit of the former is amply repaid by the splendid view thence obtained of the rich Preanger district. We paid a visit while here to the house of Mr. D., who has resided in Java for thirty years, and who owns a large estate (Koerapan) some eighteen miles out of Buitenzorg. He told us that coffee, tea, and rice were growing on the estate, and he was about to try cinchona (quinine). The latter is the most paying of all, and the soil and climate of Java are peculiarly adapted to its growth.

We made several excursions in addition to this while at Buitenzorg, but none worthy of record. In truth a more uninteresting country than this part of the island I have seldom seen, and, as L. remarked, very few weeks of Buitenzorg would fill Hanwell!

One incident, however, I should not omit to mention: a grand review of the troops was held during our stay here, in the Palace Park, and having obtained cards, we were admitted to view the proceedings. I was not impressed with the Javanese army, for a more wretched, undersized-looking set of men it has seldom been my lot to witness. It is not to be wondered at, after seeing them, that Atchin has held out so long, and unless a great reform takes place in the Dutch colonial army, it will probably continue to do so.

Europeans and natives are alike indiscriminately mixed up in their ranks, and it is no uncommon sight to see a Malay sergeant in command of a European guard. Their uniform did not tend to improve their personal appearance, consisting as it did of a thick blue cloth-tunic, with long skirts, a French kepi, blue trousers, and bare feet. Considering this absurd dress, it is not to be wondered at that sunstroke is frequent among the European privates, most of whom are escaped French communists.



The garrison at Buitenzorg consisted of 800 men, but of these only about 600 were on parade the remainder being in hospital. I afterwards ascertained from the doctor in charge of this building that, thanks to fever, drink, and sunstroke, it was seldom empty, and that the death-rate amongst the European soldiers was exceedingly high.

We watched them going through their (so-called) drill for over an hour, and even in that short time three were carried off the field in a fainting condition.

On our return to the hotel we passed a criminal being taken to the railway station en route for Batavia, where he was to be executed on the morrow. Unlike Borneo and other islands of the Archipelago, hanging is had recourse to in Java, and in Java alone, the mode of execution elsewhere being by kris. The following is an account of a Malay execution in the words of an eye-witness:—"The criminal is led to the place of execution, and squats cross-legged on the ground, chewing penang or smoking, as a rule, up till the very last moment. The kris used on such occasions is about sixteen inches long by two broad, and quite straight. Grasping this weapon in both hands, the executioner steps up behind the prisoner, and thrusts it up to the hilt between the left shoulder-blade and neck of the victim. The heart is pierced immediately, and the criminal dies at once painlessly." In Celebes, however, the mode of execution is far more barbarous. It is done in the same manner as the above, with the difference that the executioner takes two hours and sometimes three before he gives the final coup de grace. Advancing and returning from his victim, sometimes just drawing blood, until the poor wretch faints from fright, and is brought to with cold water, only to re-undergo fresh sufferings, until at length the heart is reached, and death puts an end to his tortures.

We returned to Batavia in a week, heartily sick of Buitenzorg and all its surroundings. The Nederlanden was in a perfect uproar when we arrived, for Mr. Wilson's World-Wide Circus had just come from India for a stay of two months in Batavia, and nearly every available bed-room had been taken by them. We succeeded, however, in obtaining a shake-down, and attended the performance (a remarkably good one) on the Koenig's Plein the same evening, after a very festive dinner at table d'hote with the troupe.

I have given but a very slight sketch of Java, as we saw so little of the island, and our stay there was so limited; nor had we the slightest desire to prolong it.

We reached Singapore on the 21st of July, and sailed for Europe on the 24th in the Messageries S.S. Amazone—a splendid vessel, nearly the size of the Sindh, and quite equal to her in all other respects.

Staying a few days in Egypt, we thence embarked on board the P. and O. S.S. Australia for Gibraltar. L. left me at the latter place, returning direct to Southampton, while I arranged to proceed through Spain and via Paris, home.



CHAPTER IX.

Cadiz Custom-House Officers—Spanish Courtship— Marketplace—Leave for Seville—Jerez de la Frontera— Seville—Pilate's House—Las Delicias—Triana—Madrid— Bull Fighting—"Espadas"—A Bull Fight—Frascuelo— Cruelty to Horses—Leave for Paris—A Stormy Passage— Home Again—Adieu.

I left for Cadiz by the small trading steamer James Haynes three days after my arrival at Gibraltar. A friend of mine being quartered here, I stayed with him at the barracks, fortunately for myself, as the Gibraltar hotels leave much to be desired in the way of accommodation.

On the approach from seaward Cadiz, with its flat roofs and high towers, presents more the appearance of a Moorish town than a European city, and the afternoon I saw it appeared to fully justify its Spanish appellation of "Pearl of the Sea," white and glittering in the bright afternoon sunshine, in striking contrast to the dark blue colour of the sea surrounding it.

I arrived at four o'clock the afternoon of my departure from Gibraltar, and drove to the Fonda de Cadiz, in the Plaza San Antonio, after considerable annoyance from the custom-house officers, who, although I had nothing contraband about me, seemed determined to make themselves as rude and unpleasant as possible, and appeared to be only second to the Turkish and Egyptian donaniers, as far as robbery and extortion are concerned.

I took a stroll after dinner to the Plaza Nina, the favourite lounge of Cadiz in the cool of the evening. The square was crowded with people of all classes; and the beauty of the women throughout Spain, and especially Seville and Cadiz, is very striking, although the picturesque costume with which one is apt to associate the Spanish lady is fast dying out. Black seemed to be the favourite colour, as it always has been in Spain, but the graceful mantilla is gradually but surely giving way to the Parisian bonnet.

The streets of Cadiz are well paved, and the houses substantially built of white stone. I was much struck at first by the heavy iron bars with which the windows of the ground floors in this, as in all other Spanish towns, are guarded. These, I subsequently ascertained, are for the double purpose of excluding thieves and too ardent lovers(!), for it may not be generally known that when a youth in Spain is paying his addresses to a girl, the doors of her parents' house are closed to him; nor is this all, for all intercourse with his novia, or intended, is forbidden excepting through these gratings!

A visit to Cadiz cathedral, "La Vieja," is well repaid, and I was lucky enough to hear a mass sung there. The interior of the building is very beautiful, although a high altar erected by Queen Isabella in 1866 greatly mars the effect, being in very florid style and bad taste. There were no seats at all in the building, the congregation kneeling and sitting upon the bare flags.

The market at Cadiz is a novel and picturesque sight, its stalls laden with every imaginable kind of fruit—grapes, pears, peaches, apricots, and even bananas—in abundance and at absurdly cheap prices.

I was much struck, throughout Spain, with the appearance of the Spanish soldiery. They all, with but few exceptions, looked smart and well set up, and their uniforms looked clean, and fitted them—an uncommon sight on the Continent.

My bill on leaving for Seville surprised me not a little—a good bed-room, excellent dinner and breakfast, including wine and omnibus to the station—about 8s. 6d. in English money! Would that some hotel-keepers I could mention would act on the same principle!

Railway travelling in Spain is cheap, though very slow, and the carriages exceedingly comfortable.

The intending voyager to Spain would, however, do well to learn the etiquettes of the country before going there, for they are manifold, and their non-observance may sometimes be taken as an insult by the sensitive Spaniard. The latter have an almost ridiculously keen sense of personal dignity, even to the very beggars, who consider themselves caballeros (gentlemen), and expect to be treated as such, as indeed they are by their own countrymen. It is also a good rule in Spain, to bear in mind when much pressed for time, that Spaniards hate being hurried, and that the slightest attempt to do so will probably delay you all the longer.

The five hours' journey from Cadiz to Seville is through vast sandy plains, not unlike parts of Roumania, excepting in the neighbourhood of Jeres de la Frontera. Here are large vineyards, in the midst of which stand pretty red-roofed villas, the properties of the owners of the vines, which formed pleasant relief to the eye after the glaring dusty plains left behind us, but to which we return on clearing the outskirts of Jerez.[14] Seville is reached at about eight p.m., and we drive to the Fonda de Cuatro Naciones, in the Plaza Nueva, having been recommended thither by a communicative fellow-passenger.

I stayed two days in Seville, and could willingly have remained longer, had I not been pressed, for it is a truly delightful city. Its houses are built very much in the modern French style, but there are also many old Moorish dwellings, with their open courtyards and fountains. One well worth seeing is the Casa de Pilatos, an exact model of Pilate's house at Jerusalem, and built by Enriquez de Ribiera to commemorate his visit there in 1533. Of public gardens Seville has many, the prettiest of these being Las Delicias, a walk stretching for nearly a mile along the banks of the river Gudalquivir, and planted with orange-trees, pomegranates, palms, roses, and all kinds of rare plants. This is the Champs Elysees of Seville, and when lit up at night, with innumerable coloured lamps, bears no slight resemblance to them. Triana, a transpontine suburb, is worth a visit in the daytime, as it is the residence of gipsies, smugglers, lower order of bull-fighters, and thieves. In December, 1876, it was nearly destroyed by the floods, and Seville was under water for five days, the water reaching to the cathedral doors.

I arrived in Madrid on the morning of Sunday, October 3rd, after a wretchedly cold night journey from Seville, and the jumps and bounds taken by the carriage I was in put sleep out of the question. On driving through the streets to the hotel, I noticed that every available wall was placarded with the announcement of a bull-fight to come off on that afternoon, and determined, if possible, to secure a seat. This, after breakfast, I managed to do, though only a second-class one, all "boletiere de sombra" or seats in the shade, being already let; the consequence being that at the end of the performance most of the skin had peeled off my face.

Bull-fighting in Spain, at the present time, is very much akin to what racing is in England, the espadas (or matadors) being held very much in the same esteem as our popular jockeys by the public: and the photograph of the champion, at the time of my visit (Frascuelo), was to be seen figuring in most of the photograph shops of Madrid and Seville, the latter town being considered the best academy for the aspiring bullfighter. The Spanish bull-fighters have risen considerably in the social scale during the past century, for they were formerly denied the burial rite. A priest is now, however, in attendance at every fight to give absolution in the event of a fatal accident. The fights are very expensive affairs, costing from L400 to L500 each, and in most towns are only occasionally held, although in Madrid they take place every Sunday throughout the season, which lasts from April to October. Most of the bulls selected are bred at Utrera, in Andalusia, about twenty miles from Seville, and are splendid animals. All are not, however, fit for the ring, the more ferocious ones only being selected. The Plaza is usually under the superintendence of a society of nobles and gentlemen, called Maestanzas, the king being styled "Hermano Major," or elder brother of the Guild.

The bull-fighters themselves are of four grades: the espada or matador, the picadores, chulos, and banderilleros. The first named, who are at the head of the profession, engage in the last single combat with the bull, while the others are employed to annoy and harass him into as wild a state of frenzy as possible.

The fight I attended was graced by the presence of the King and Queen Isabella (not the young Queen, who rarely attends these performances), and the immense building was crowded to excess. It is about two miles out of Seville, comparatively new (the old one having been burnt down in 1875), and built of red and white brick in the Moorish style, with horse-shoe windows, and is capable of accommodating 17,000 persons. The ring is, as in a circus, covered with sand, a wooden barrier about five feet high running round it, separated from the front row of spectators by a narrow passage four feet broad, wherein the chulos or others (except the espada, who must never leave the arena) vault when hard pressed by the bull. The whole of the building is of course open to the sky.

The bills of the performance ran as follows:—

"PLAZA DE TOROS, DE MADRID.

"El Domingo, 3 de Octobre, de 1880.

"Se lidiaran siete Toros los seis primeros de la Antigua y a creditada ganaderia de Don Manuel Bannelos y Salcedo, vecino de Columiar Viejo, con divisa azul turqui, y'el setimo de la de D. Donato Palonimo vecino de chozas de la Sierra, con diviza amarilla."

Then followed the names of espadas (one of whom was the celebrated Frascuelo), picadores, chulos, &c.

A flourish of trumpets now sounded, and announced the arrival of the king and queen, which was the signal for the immediate clearing of the arena and commencement of the performance by the quadrilla, or procession of bull-fighters. These entering at the end of the building opposite, advanced to the front of the royal box and bowed. The espadas (three in number) looked particularly graceful, and were most gorgeously dressed in green, violet, and light blue satin, covered with gold lace; all wore the national Spanish dress—jacket, short breeches, and silk stockings, their hair being twisted up in a knot behind, and secured in a silk net. At the end of the procession came two picadores, mounted on two sorry steeds, who looked only fit for the knacker, as indeed they were. Their riders wore broad-brimmed grey felt hats and had their legs encased in iron and leather, to withstand the bull's horns. Each was armed with a garrocha, or spear, the blade of which, however, is only about an inch long, as the picadores are not allowed to kill the bull, but merely to irritate and goad him. They are subject to narrow squeaks sometimes, and few have a sound rib left, owing to the fearful falls they get, when the bull sometimes tosses both man and horse in the air. As I have said, the horses are fit for little else than the knacker, and as such are the excuse for most unmeasured cruelties, as the reader will see anon. The poor brutes' eyes are bound round with white cloths, or they would probably refuse to face the bull. If merely wounded, the gap is sewn up, and stuffed with tow, and I saw one poor brute who was desperately gored in the first encounter, go through three succeeding fights with blood pouring from wounds in his side, until a more furious charge, and plunge of the bull's horns put an end to his misery. The procession over, there was a breathless pause while the chulos got into position, and this being finished, and everything ready, the doors of his prison were opened, and the bull trotted out. He had evidently been well goaded in his cell before being released, as was evinced by the suppressed roars he gave as he caught sight of the chulos. The first act of the drama now commences, and the chulos pursue him round the arena with their red cloths, showing the while most wonderful grace and activity. The bull invariably charges at the cloth, and not the man; sometimes, however, making a frantic rush at both, when the chulos vaults over the barrier, so closely pressed as to give one the idea of his being lifted over by the bull's horns. This was carried on for about five minutes, when another trumpet sounded, and the picadores entered, mounted on the poor brutes (a brown and a grey) already mentioned.

The bandage having slipped off from over the grey horse's eyes, it was hastily readjusted, and only just in time, for the bull, as soon as ever he caught sight of the horses, made straight for the grey. Maddened by the shouts of the people and the cloaks of the "chulos," his charge was not a light one, and he buried his horns deep in the poor brute's flank, the picador meanwhile scooping a large piece of flesh out of his back with his garrocha. Maddened and exasperated, he then made for the brown, this time fortunately missing him, only, however, to reserve the poor beast for a worse fate. Another furious charge now unhorsed the picador, at which the chulos leaped into the ring, and distracted the bull's attention with their red cloths while the fallen picador scrambled over the barrier into safety, a feat which his heavy accoutrements rendered by no means easy.

The trumpets now sounded for the approach of the banderilleros, while the horses were led away out of sight, to be patched up for the succeeding engagement; a quantity of sand was thrown over the blood stains, which were pretty numerous throughout the arena. The banderilleros were three in number, and smart, dapper, little fellows, beautifully dressed in light blue satin and gold. Each was armed with the banderillo, small barbed darts, about a foot long, ornamented with coloured paper. Their duty is to go straight up to the bull, facing him, and as soon as he stoops his head to charge them, stick their barbs, one on each side of his neck, and slip aside. This seemed to be the most graceful feat of the day, and one requiring nearly as much nerve as that of the "espada," whose arrival a final flourish of trumpets now announced.

The espada, or man of death, now stands alone with his victim, and having bowed to the royal box, he throws his montero, or cap, among the audience, and swears to do his duty. In his right hand is the long Toledan blade la espada, while in his left he holds the muleta, or small red flag about a foot square, which is his weapon of defence, and on the skill of using which his safety depends. The now maddened bull's first tactic was to charge furiously at the red flag, which the espada held at arm's length, and so wonderfully skilled was Frascuelo that he never moved an inch, while the animal rushed by him beneath his arm. Gradually decoying him along the edge of the ring with the muleta, Frascuelo paused in front of the royal box with his victim, and played him for a while, preparing in the meantime to give him the coup de grace. This is done when the bull is preparing for the final charge; the espada meeting him with his sword, plunges it hilt deep, just at the back of the head, and severing the dorsal column. The bull is now stationary for a few seconds, hardly knowing what to make of it, the espada holding up his hand to enjoin silence, till at length the brute sways slowly from side to side, and falls down dead, amid the jeers and applause of the populace, while the victorious espada withdraws, and wipes his sword, and walks slowly round the ring, the spectators throwing him cigars, packets of cigarettes, and—this last a great honour—their hats, a compliment he returns by throwing them back again. If, however, the espada is long in despatching the bull, or in the slightest degree "shows the white feather," he is grossly insulted, and empty bottles, orange-peel, cigar stumps, &c. are thrown at him till he leaves the Plaza. Frascuelo's performance was, however, apparently all that could be desired, and a team of fourteen mules, gaily caparisoned with bells and flags, now entered, and dragged away the carcase of the dead bull at full gallop—the fight having occupied a little over twenty minutes.

The arena was now raked over, and put in order, preparatory to the arrival of the second bull, Florido, who evidently did not care about the game at all. Disregarding all the attempts of the chulos to harass him, he repeatedly charged at the barrier, and endeavoured to clear it and get out of their way. The picadores tried him with no further success, until a waving of handkerchiefs was seen among the audience. This is the sign for the banderillos del fuego to be applied. These are barbs made with crackers, which go off with a loud report as soon as they are stuck in the bull's shoulder. But even this last resource failed to rouse Florido, who was ignominiously despatched by a cacheterro, and dragged out of the ring to the strains of "Nicholas" (in derision) by the band!

But if this performance had been a tame one, the succeeding one fully made up for it. Carbonero, the bull who now made his appearance, was evidently not to be trifled with. Galloping into the arena, he made short work of the chulos, who soon decamped to make way for the picadores, mounted on the wretched brown aforementioned and another poor brute in place of the grey already butchered. Carbonero lost no time, and, making his rush suddenly, rolled the brown horse and his rider over and over, repeatedly goring the wretched brute with his long horns (the picador having made his escape over the barrier). In vain did the chulos try to get the bull to leave his prey; in vain did the second picador seek to divert his attention; all was useless, until, at length, with a maddened effort, the wretched horse staggered up and galloped wildly round the ring, treading on its own entrails, and closely pursued by the bull! The poor brute was caught at length and despatched by the cacheterro. "Banderilleros" were dispensed with on this occasion, so rabid had the bull become, and Frascuelo, after a ten minutes' encounter, succeeded in killing him, amid shouts that might have been heard at Madrid, two miles off, and applauded by none more vociferously than those occupying the royal box.

There were five more bulls to be killed, but the last performance had sickened me of bull-fighting and everything connected with it, and I left the Plaza wondering that such things are allowed to exist in a civilised country![15]

I left Madrid the following day for Paris, breaking the journey at Bordeaux, and after two days spent in the gay city, am once more on the Chemin de Fer du Nord, en route for Calais. A stormy passage across (which makes us feel considerably queerer than we have in all our travels on sea), and we enter the tidal express, which seems to fairly tear along, after the crawlers we have left abroad. Two hours more, and we are at Charing Cross, scarcely realising that we are really home again until the window is opened and a good gust of "home-made" London fog enters, convincing us that there is no mistake about it.

And here—after a journey of over 20,000 miles, during which I trust the reader has not tired of and forsaken me—I must say, ADIEU.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: Pronounced "Herez."]

[Footnote 15: A Bill was brought before the Cortes in 1878 for the abolition of bull-fights in Spain, but nothing has since been heard about it.]



Transcriber's Notes:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words preserved. (mid-day, midday; waist-cloth, waistcloth; ear-rings, earrings; sand-flies, sandflies)

Table of Contents, Chapter VIII, "Bintenzorg" changed to "Buitenzorg".

Table of Contents, Chapter VIII, "Roerapan" is presumed to be "Koerapan" as the latter is used in the main text twice. Changed to "Koerapan".

Footnote 7, duplicated word "was" removed. (since this was written)

Pg. 35, figures show the revenue of Sarawak for 1871 and 1877-78 in dollars while the increase during the period is given in pounds sterling. One or other of the units of currency used is incorrect as otherwise (using the exchange rate of 5 dollars to 1 pound given in Footnote 2) the arithmetic would be wrong. The author either intended all the figures in to be in dollars or all to be in pounds but it is unclear which, hence the original text is preserved.

THE END