Presently appeared the Rajah's war boat, he standing at the stern. We all ran down to meet him and Mr. Crookshank, and take them to Bertha, who had been carried into a house. While we were all standing on the little wharf, built on tall piles into the water, the Malays cried out that it was giving way, and we must all go into the houses. The Bishop then decided what to do with his large party. Mr. Helms had a schooner close by, in which he was going to Sambas, to seek assistance from the Dutch, our nearest neighbours. He kindly offered to take Miss Woolley, Miss Coomes, and two of our eldest school-boys with him. The rest of us could go to Linga, where there was a fort, as a little pinnace belonging to Mr. Steele lay handy at the mouth of the river. The Chinese, however, implored to go with us; and indeed it would have been cruel to leave them a prey to the Malays, or the bad Chinese, or the Dyaks. When we were lodged in the pinnace, therefore, the Bishop went back to Jernang, and packed all our Chinese into the life-boat, which was attached by a rope to the pinnace; so we were all together. It was nearly dark when we weighed anchor, and left the mouth of the river. There was a tiny cabin, just large enough to hold Bertha on her mattress; a fowl-house, into which our native children crept; an open hold, where we women sat down on our bundles, with our children in our arms; and there was a place for cargo forward, where the men settled themselves. The Rajah in his war boat also proceeded to Linga, and we expected him to arrive long before our slow boat; he would meet Mr. Johnson, his nephew, there, and organize a force of Dyaks from the great rivers, Sakarran and Batang Lupar, to drive away the Chinese rebels. We never had any doubt of their doing this eventually, though we feared the remedy might be almost as bad as the disease, if the Dyaks proved unmanageable and quarrelled with one another. The night was very dark and wet, and the deck leaked upon us, so that we and our bags and bundles were soon wet through. But we neither heeded the rain nor felt the cold. We had eaten nothing since early morning, but were not hungry; and although for several nights we could scarcely be said to have slept, we were not sleepy. A deep thankfulness took possession of my soul; all our dear ones were spared to us. My children were in my arms, my husband paced the deck over my head. I seemed to have no cares, and to be able to trust to God for the future, who had been so merciful to us hitherto. I remember, too, when Mrs. Stahl opened the provision basket, and gave us each a slice of bread and meat, how very good it was, although we had not thought about wanting it. We lit a little fire, and made some hot tea, but soon had a message from the Rajah's boat to put out the fire lest we should be seen. The only thing that troubled me was a nasty faint smell, for which I could not account; but next morning we found a Chinaman's head in a basket close by my corner, which was reason enough! We had taken a fine young man on board to help pull the sweeps, a Dyak, and this ghastly possession was his. He said he was at Kuching, looking about for a head, and went into the court-house. Hearing some one in a little side room, he peeped in, and saw a Chinaman gazing at himself in a bit of looking-glass, which was stuck against the wall. He drew his sword, and in one moment, stepping close behind him, cut off his head: and having obtained this prize, was naturally desirous of getting away from the place; so he came off as boatman in one of the flying boats, bringing the head in a basket, which he stowed in the side of the boat. It entirely spoilt my hand-bag, which lay near it; I had to throw it away, and everything in it which could not be washed in hot water.

Towards morning the sea made us all sick, added to the wet, and cold of dawn; yet, when the day cleared a little, and we got a fire on deck, and some hot tea and biscuits, and the children seemed none the worse for their bad night and the swarms of mosquitoes which had feasted upon them, we could not repine. In the evening we passed the island of Burong, at the mouth of the Batang Lupar River, and Mr. Crookshank tried to stimulate the men pulling the sweeps to reach a Sebuyan village farther on, before the tide left us and it grew dark. By dint of hard pulling we made the village, and its little fort, standing close beside the water and washed by its strong tide. A little boat came off from the fort, with some Malays, of whom we inquired for the Rajah, thinking his boat was far ahead of us, but they said they had seen nothing of him. Mr. Crookshank then begged them to bring a boat in which he could take Bertha up to Linga Fort that evening, instead of her remaining another night in the pinnace. We went on as long as the tide lasted, and then anchored in the Batang Lupar. Again we made a fire on deck, and after taking some food, settled ourselves for the night. At eleven o'clock the promised boat came for Bertha and Mr. Crookshank, and Mrs. Stahl went with them as nurse; they thought nothing could be worse than spending another night on board the pinnace, but I fear the little boat journey was still more painful. When they reached Linga, they found only Malays in the fort, and the dwelling-house shut up, for Mr. Johnson was at Sakarran. They had to carry Mrs. Crookshank up a ladder into the fort, and lay her on a table; but happily Mr. Chambers arrived that night from Banting, and furnished a curtain as a screen, and pillows from his boat to make a more comfortable couch. As we were setting off again next morning, we met Mr. Johnson in a long boat, going straight off to Kuching. He was lying ill of fever at Sakarran, when his Malays roused him by saying, without preface—"The news is bad, Tuan: the Rajah is killed and Kuching in the hands of the rebel Chinese." Upon this he jumped up, called together the chiefs, and bidding them follow him with a strong force of Dyaks, he set off himself without calling at Linga by the way. When we told him that Rajah was alive and on his way to Linga, he turned back with us, and taking me, my ayah, and the children into his boat, soon landed us at his house. This was Tuesday, but we heard nothing of the Rajah until Friday. Mr. Johnson, after breakfasting with us at his house, went on to Kuching, and found that, after we lost sight of the Rajah's war boat, they had fallen in with the steamer belonging to the Borneo Company, the Sir James Brooke, just entering the river. Mr. Helms' schooner also came across her, so all the passengers in the schooner and the war boat had moved into the steamer, and they immediately proceeded up the river, preparing the guns on board to attack as soon as they reached the town. What must have been the feelings of the Chinese in the fort when they saw the smoke of the steamer curling above the trees, and then received one ten-pounder shot after another into their midst! They fired one round of grape shot at the steamer, and shouts of "Run!" rose on all sides. The steamer then proceeded up to the Malay town, where the Malays still held out against the Chinese; but as they were getting very short of ammunition, and their enemies were bringing some large guns to bear on their position, they greeted the steamer with shouts of welcome. The Chinese fled in every direction. Cut off from their boats, they ran into the jungle; and while many no doubt reached Bau in safety, many fell into the hands of the Dyaks, who, following their usual course of warfare, spread themselves through the jungle, and took the head of every man they met. The town was quite clear of the rebels in a few hours, and the Sir James Brooke, anchored in the river, furnished the base of operations which the Rajah required: from thence he could direct the Malay and Dyak forces, which were immediately at his disposal, to drive the rebels out of the country. The day before, the Chinese had filled our house and looted it completely, except the books in the library, for which they seem to have had some respect; but we had reason to believe that on Monday the house would have been burnt, for gunpowder and inflammable materials were found strewed about after they left. They took everything they could carry away, and destroyed the rest, cutting long slits in the gauze of the mosquito-rooms, and pouring all the chemicals and medicines of the dispensary over the contents of the drawers, clothes, and papers they did not wish for. They found a long table set out ready for breakfast, and had only to gather up the small plate, which, with a house full of people, was all in requisition. The church, too, was emptied of all its furniture, and the harmonium smashed; but the opportune arrival of the steamer prevented these buildings from sharing the fate of the other houses.

Meanwhile, we were settling ourselves with our large party in Mr. Johnson's house, which he kindly placed at our disposal. This house was surrounded by a latticed verandah, the ground immediately about it was cleared of jungle and drained by deep ditches. From the fort you looked over the wide stretch of water of the Batang Lupar, but it was a lonely and monotonous look-out. As the fort men were taken away to fight at Kuching, the gentlemen had to form themselves into watches day and night, with the few Malays who remained to guard the fort. Boats full of Dyaks continually arrived, to join the Rajah's force—Balows, Sarebas, and Sakarrans lay side by side on the river, all excited by the prospects of war, and frequently causing silly panics among the Malays of Linga, lest these warriors, from tribes so long enemies, should fall out with one another before they got to Kuching. There were, of course, no books or newspapers to read; our Bibles and Prayer-books alone were among our luggage. We women were the best off, for we got some unbleached calico from Sakarran, and cut out some under-clothing, of which we had but little; this gave us occupation. We also had every day to wash our linen and towels after bathing. The bath was a clear running stream, covered in near the house, very pretty and romantic, but the water was of a light brown colour, like toast and water, and had a slightly acid taste, very agreeable but not very wholesome. Probably the spring forced its way through dead leaves in the jungle; at any rate, it did not wash the clothes white. It was very difficult to procure food for us all. Rice and gourds made into a kind of curry stew was our daily meal; if a chicken was got it was devoted to the children and the sick. We were very anxious for some time on account of Mrs. Crookshank. Had she remained quiet at Kuching, her wounds would have healed quickly, for she was young and perfectly healthy; but all the moving into boats, and carrying up ladders and steps, had broken open the wounds, and it was a struggle of strength and youth against adverse circumstances. She was so patient and cheerful that we never heard a complaint, which was in her favour no doubt; still there were some days when her life was in great danger in that hot climate. Twice during the month we received a box from Kuching, sent by a native boat. Once it contained our mail—an immense pleasure; also some bread and biscuits, but they were wet with salt water, and mouldy besides. However, Mab and Alan could eat them. I used to look with thankful astonishment at those children, both so delicate generally, but who throve all the time we were without proper food or shelter. But baby Edith shrank and pined, and at last my husband said, "We shall lose this child if you stay here any longer: better go and live among the Dyaks, who have plenty of fowls."

So Mr. Chambers kindly took us in at his house at Banting, where we had a most loving welcome, and saw something of the Dyak women and children. The men were mostly gone to the war, and great excitement prevailed among the tribe with the prospect of acquiring heads again, for the Sarawak Government had quite stopped that hunting in the country. Boats were continually arriving, gay with streamers, and noisy with gongs and drums beating, with heads of Chinese on board. One day we were invited to a feast in one of the long houses. I said, "I hope we shall see no heads," and was told I need not see any; so, taking Mab in my hand, I went with Mr. Chambers, and we climbed up into the long verandah room where all the work of the tribe goes on. This long house was surrounded with fruit-trees, and very comfortable. There were plenty of pigs under the house, and fowls perching in every direction. About thirty families lived in the house, the married people having each their little room, the girls a room to themselves, and the long room I spoke of being used for cooking, mat-making, paddy-beating, and all the usual occupations of their lives. We were seated on white mats, and welcomed by the chief people present. The feast was laid on a raised platform along the side of the room. There were a good many ornaments of the betel-nut palm, plaited into ingenious shapes, standing about the table, so that I did not at first remark anything else. As we English folks could not eat fowls roasted in their feathers, nor cakes fried in cocoa-nut oil, they brought us fine joints of bamboo filled with pulut rice, which turns to a jelly in cooking and is fragrant with the scent of the young cane. I was just going to eat this delicacy when my eyes fell upon three human heads standing on a large dish, freshly killed and slightly smoked, with food and sirih leaves in their mouths. Had I known them when alive I must have recognized them, for they looked quite natural. I looked with alarm at Mab, lest she should see them too; then we made our retreat as soon as possible. But I dared say nothing. These Dyaks had killed our enemies, and were only following their own customs by rejoicing over their dead victims. But the fact seemed to part them from us by centuries of feeling—our disgust, and their complacency. Some of them told us that afterwards, when they brought home some of the children belonging to the slain, and treated them very kindly, wishing to adopt them as their own, they were annoyed at the little ones standing looking up at their parents' heads hanging from the roof, and crying all day, as if it were strange they should do so! Yet the Dyaks are very fond of children, and extremely indulgent to them. Our school was recruited after the war by the children of Chinese, bought by Government from their captors. This was my first and last visit to a Dyak feast. I used to go and see the women in the early morning sometimes, and they constantly came up to the mission-house to see my children. Of course the war had an evil influence on them, increasing their interest in heads, and all the heathen ceremonies connected with their possession.

We stayed about ten days at Banting, walking every afternoon to the little church through a long avenue of fruit-trees—great forest trees which threw a grateful shade over the path, charming for the children's walks. They could have chicken broth too for their dinners; and Edith revived, but it was a whole year after this before she grew any taller, so that when she began to run about, three months later, it looked a surprising feat for a baby who should be in long clothes, yet she was then sixteen months old. This life at Banting was a kind of dream, after all the hurry and anxiety we had gone through. At last we heard that we might go back to Kuching, the Chinese had all been driven out of the country, or killed. Our house was purified, and the dead bodies lying about in the jungle had been buried, so that the air was sweet again. We returned to Linga, and all embarked in a little schooner for home. It was not a much better boat than the one we had fled in, and we suffered two very trying days' voyage; but when we walked into the mission-house and found Miss Woolley to welcome us, and our house, though dismantled, uninjured, and most of the books in the library, we were very thankful. The Sunday after, we had a thanksgiving service in the church, in which all joined very heartily.

I must return, however, to the history of the war, from the time the Rajah steamed up the river in the Sir James Brooke.

At Bau there were supposed to be from three to four thousand Chinese rebels, who had lately been strengthened by many malcontents from the Dutch country. The Chinese held Bau, Seniawan, the government fort of Baleda, and a fort at Peninjauh opposite to Baleda. They boasted that they had rice and gunpowder enough to last out six months in these places; but they were gradually surrounded on all sides by Malays and Dyaks, so that they could get no fresh stores. On the 10th of March a body of Chinese came down the river to Leda Tanah (Tongue of Land) about halfway to Kuching. They built a breast-work by the river-side, dug a trench behind it, placed some brass guns in position, and then retired to eat their dinners in comfort behind their defences. There was a little house and garden belonging to the Rajah at Leda Tanah. The Datu Tumangong and Abang Boujong hearing of this, went up the river with a Malay force and attacked the breast-work in front. The Chinese fired one volley and ran. The Malays entered, sword in hand, but only killed two men; all the rest fled into the arms of the Dyaks, who lay in wait in the jungle behind, and took a hundred heads, some say two hundred, but stories do not lose in the telling. The Chinese begged hard for their lives, wrung their hands, wept, prayed the Dyaks to be friends with them; but Dyaks know nothing about prisoners. One of the principal kunsi was killed in this affair, and some say that Kamang, the leader of the attack on the 18th of February, lost his head to the Sakarran Dyaks.

This success was matter of great rejoicing at Kuching. Two days afterwards they heard that Baleda Fort was deserted by the Chinese. Mr. Johnson went up and found it quite empty; Seniawan too, and soon after Bau also. All had fled towards the Dutch territory. A dreadful march they had, poor creatures; carrying their sacred stone Tai pekong with them. Nearly a thousand women and children delayed their progress. They were harassed all the way by parties of Malays, and Dyaks cutting off the stragglers. The party dwindled by degrees, until nearly all the kunsi were killed, either by the enemy or their incensed countrymen, who found themselves driven from their peaceful homes for the sins of these rebels. It is so painful to think of the many innocent who suffered with the guilty on this occasion, of the miseries they endured, and the relentlessness of their foes, that I cannot detail it. War naturally brines such evils in its train; even civilized warfare is not without its horrors and its injustice: but when revenge falls into the hands of savages these ills are multiplied. The Malays both hated and despised the Chinese. That such people should have taken their forts, burnt their dwellings, compelling them to seek safety for their families by flight, was so great an insult that their most violent passions were aroused, and only the blood of all the Kay tribe could wipe out the disgrace they had incurred. It was indeed wonderful that these Chinese should imagine for a moment that they could remain rulers in a country whose inhabitants regarded them as the natural hewers of wood and drawers of water to the community; but no doubt they were intoxicated by their unlooked-for success on the 18th of February, and a Chinaman seems destitute of any appreciation of people who are not Celestials! A remnant of these people got safely into the Dutch territory, where the authorities took what arms and ammunition they had, and, very properly, returned them to the Sarawak Government. They also offered to send a war steamer and soldiers if desired. So our misfortunes called out the goodwill of our neighbours. Soon after we returned home, H.M.S. Spartan, Captain Hoste, arrived to protect British interests in Sarawak. They stayed with us for a while, but the troubles were over, and the only difficulty was how to make any visitors comfortable or to feed them. We had to pass round a knife and fork at table for some days, and there were only a few spoons left to us. On the beds there were hard mattresses, but no pillows, sheets, or in fact any bed-furniture. Our guests being travellers and full of resources, slept on their pith hats for pillows, and used their pocket-knives. A good deal of fun was made of our privations, and indeed, as no beloved friend was missing, we could afford to laugh.

We had all great reason to be thankful for the good behaviour of the Dyaks during the war. There were no intertribal quarrels, and Mr. Chambers told me that his Christians among the Balows were in the first boats which went off to succour the Rajah, when they knew nothing of the arrival of the steamer, and believed themselves to be facing a great danger, and fire-arms, which they do not like. This was not the only time that the Christians were among the bravest when all behaved well—a fact which recommended their religion to their countrymen, with whom courage is the first virtue. It was some years after this, however, that Dyak Christians learnt to fight without taking the heads of their enemies.

When we left our house, our servants generally, except James a Portuguese, and my Bengalee Ayah, fled from the place. But we had an old Hindoo Syce, who was much attached to us and to the creatures under his charge. He drove the two ponies we rode into the jungle, where they looked after themselves, and, living in his cottage next to the stable, did what he could for the cow and calves. When the rebels filled our house and appropriated our effects, they broke open the plate-chest, and melted the silver they found. Then Syce came forward and claimed a portion of the spoil They gave him a lump of silver with some alloy in it, the produce of some plated salvers, as his share. He pretended to help them, but this lump he hid in the earth near his cottage, and, on our return, triumphantly produced it as what he had saved for us from the wreck. Some years after, this old man was very ill with an abscess in his thigh, which he was sure would kill him. Bishop doctored and nursed him through it, but he had given him a good-sized bag of dollars, his savings, saying he wished Bishop to be his heir. When he got well and the money was returned to him, he spent it in paying a visit to his relations at Trichinopoli. I believe this faithful creature worshipped the bull of our herd, and it was a great trouble to him that the Chinese cruelly cut off the tail of the poor animal, thereby depriving him of the means of whisking off the flies which sting so vehemently in that climate.



CHAPTER XIII.

EVENTS OF 1857.

When we were once more at home we found it would be better to go to Singapore, and from thence to Penang, for a little quiet. We were both ill, the Bishop seriously so. We wanted for everything, and the bazaar in Sarawak could not supply us: besides, ours was the only English dwelling-house left in the place, except the Borneo Company's premises. Captain Brooke and Mr. Grant with their brides were immediately expected, and must be housed at the mission while a bungalow was being built across the water. We left Miss Woolley to take care of the expected visitors, the children and I went to Singapore in the Sir James Brooke steamer, and Sir William Hoste gave a passage in H.M.S. Spartan to the Bishop and Alan Grant.

I was glad of an opportunity to get my baby vaccinated, which could only happen at Singapore in those days. We were two months away, and the cool quiet of Penang Hill was a great refreshment. The first news I heard there was that Miss Woolley was to be married to Mr. Chambers. This wedding took place immediately on our return home, the end of July. It was a great benefit to the Banting Dyaks, for Mrs. Chambers devoted herself to the women and young girls, and was a true friend to them. She taught them to sew, and instructed them in morals and religion. When I went to Banting some years afterwards, I found a set of modest young women who were much pleased with gifts of needles, thread, and thimbles; they also enjoyed a game of croquet after the lessons were done, and it was wonderful to see what smart taps of the mallet were fearlessly given under their bare feet; for of course the Dyaks do not wear shoes.

About a month after our return to Sarawak, Captain Brooke's baby boy was born. No one can tell what a care and anxiety this event was, in a place where there was no doctor except the Bishop. The well-being of so important a person as the Rajah mudah's wife, and the birth of the heir of Sarawak, called forth much sympathy from everybody. Thank God, all went well; but we said it ought never to happen again—there should be a medical man whose sole duty it was to care for the bodies of the community, while the Bishop was free to minister to their spiritual wants. Soon after there was a public baptism of this boy Basil Brooke, and his cousin Blanche Grant, in the church, which was full of Malays as well as English to witness the ceremony. This was the day before the Rajah set off for England.

There were many happy days during the next few months, for there were several English ladies in the place and we were all friends. In October the Bishop went to Labuan, and while he was away the cholera made its first appearance at Sarawak, among the Malays. The Rajah muda and I consulted together what physic should be made ready for those who would take it. A short time before, a little pamphlet had been sent to us about the virtues of camphor, and especially its value in cholera. We made a saturated solution of camphor in brandy, and gave a teaspoonful of it on moist sugar for a dose, adding three drops of Kayu Puteh oil, extracted from a Borneon wood and called cajeput oil in England, a very strong aromatic medicine. This mixture proved itself very useful. If the patients applied in good time it invariably gave relief to the cramp and pain in the stomach; if the disease had gone on to sickness it was more difficult to administer. Sometimes we followed it up with laudanum and castor oil.

The Malays suffered very much from this epidemic. Constant funerals were to be seen on the river, and there was much praying at the mosque. Then the Chinese were attacked, but not so fatally. Two dead men were, however, found on our premises; they were strangers to us, but we supposed they came late at night to the mission for medicine, and, lying down in the stable or cow-house, died without reaching the house. It was an anxious time. I used to hang little bags of camphor round the children's necks, and was very careful of the diet for the household. Thank God, we had no case either in the school or the house.

Seven years afterwards the cholera returned much more violently. An English gun-boat, lying off the town, lost several of her crew; and at last the Bishop advised them to go to sea and let the sea air blow through the ship, to carry off the infection. He went on board himself to see them off, and while they were going down the river two more men were seized with cholera, and died in half an hour.

This time the cholera was very fatal among the Dyaks up some of the rivers. The poor creatures were so terrified that they left their houses, as in small-pox, and scarcely dared bury their dead. In one instance they paid a very strong man to carry the dead on his back to a steep hill, and throw them into the ravine at the bottom. The food enjoyed by the Dyaks, rotten fish and vegetables, no doubt inclined them to get cholera. The first time of its visitation was after a great fruit season when durian, that rich and luscious fruit, had been particularly abundant. A durian is somewhat larger than a cocoa-nut in its inner husk; it has a hard prickly rind, but inside lie the seeds, enclosed in a pulp which might be made of cream, garlic, sugar, and green almonds. It is very heating to the blood, for when there are plenty of durians the people always suffer more from boils and skin disease than usual. We never permitted them to enter our house, for we could not bear the smell of them. But many English people liked them; and they were so much esteemed by the Dyaks, that when the fruit was ripe they encamped for the night under the trees. When a durian fell to the ground with a great thud, they all jumped up to look for it, as the fallen fruit belongs to the finder, and they loved it so that they willingly sacrificed their sleep for it. Woe be to the man, however, on whose head the fruit falls, for it is so hard and heavy it may kill him.[7]

[Footnote 7: The Dyaks believe there is a special place in the other world, after death, for those who are killed by the fall of a durian.]

In February three new missionaries came from England—Mr. Hacket, Mr. Glover, and Mr. Chalmers. The two last came straight to Sarawak on their arrival at Singapore, Mr. Hacket and his wife about a month afterwards. They were all from St. Augustine's College, Canterbury, thoroughly good people, and a great happiness to us. Mr. Chalmers was settled among the Land Dyaks at Peninjauh, afterwards at the Quop. Mr. Glover went to Banting, to work among the Balows. The Hackets stayed at Sarawak: indeed they all remained with us until Easter, when their ordination took place. The Easter services that year, 1858, were very delightful. All these missionaries were more or less musical, and Mr. Hacket adorned the church as it had never been decked before. Flowers and ferns, and lycopodium moss, were always to be had in abundance; and the polished wooden walls were brightened by some beautiful scroll texts, printed by a friend in England. We had full choral service on Easter Sunday, and the school-children sang their part beautifully; indeed, our new comers were astonished to find such good material for a choir in little native boys.

I had been fully occupied with preparations for these missionaries while the bishop was at Labuan; some additions to the comfort of the house for the Hackets; a new cook-house and servants' rooms near, to build; and the church to reroof. The balean attaps were as good as ever, but the strips of wood on which they hung were attacked by white ants, and had to be renewed or the shingles would have fallen through. Such responsibilities fell to my share when the Bishop was away, and heavy cares they were when money was not abundant. The prospect of three new missionaries was, however, worth any trouble. They came to teach the Dyaks, who had so long waited for teachers, and we hoped they would settle themselves among them for many years. In this hope we were to be disappointed. Mr. Glover fell ill of dysentery at Banting, and before two years had passed away was obliged to remove to a cold climate. He went to Australia, and has been doing good work there ever since. Mr. Chalmers was a very valuable missionary, and his labours among the Quop and Merdang Dyaks bore much fruit in after years; but he also fell ill from the climate, and the food which was attainable up country. In 1860, he also made up his mind to follow Mr. Glover to Australia. There are no doubt many difficulties for Englishmen living in Sarawak jungles. Some become acclimatized to them, others cannot bear the low diet, the loneliness, the apathy and indifference of the Dyaks. The Bishop was once accused, by a person who ought to have known better, that he was too apt to gather his clergy at Sarawak and keep them from their Dyak parishes: but it was a necessary part of the Bishop's work to keep a home where the missionaries could come for change and refreshment; where they could enjoy a more generous diet, and the society of English friends; where they could consult a medical man, and get some hints how to treat the maladies of the Dyaks—for they expected all the missionaries to know the art of healing, having had more or less experience of the Bishop's skill. Mr. Hacket was consumptive, but Sarawak is the best climate in the world for that disease: he got much stronger with us, and might have lived many years there, but he was too nervous for so unsettled a country. We were often subjected to panics for many months after the Chinese insurrection, and though we old inhabitants took it very easily, Mr. Hacket always thought his wife and child in danger. I remember, one day a Malay was being tried in the court-house, when he, by a sudden spring, escaped from the police, and snatching a sword from a bystander, ran amuck through the bazaar, wounding two or three people he met. The hue and cry in the town fired the imaginations of the timid. People came running to the house for shelter, bringing their goods and chattels, and all sorts of tales—"The Chinese were coming from Sambas," and all sorts of nonsense. Then, Mrs. Hacket fainting on the sofa, and the servants all leaving their work to listen, and look out of the verandah, provoked us extremely: we administered sal volatile and a good scolding, and sent everybody off to their business again. But those scenes were very trying to the nerves. That a Malay should run amuck (amok, in Malay) with anger or jealousy, or a fit of madness arising from both these passions, was an occasional event all through our Sarawak life, but it was no more alarming in 1858 than in former years. It was the breach in the general feeling of security under the Sarawak Government, which for a time magnified every little disturbance of the peace into a public danger.

Our school was enriched this year by, first, seven new Chinese boys, then four more and four girls, the captives of the Lundu Dyaks, ransomed by Captain Brooke. Those children were, some of them, miserable objects, covered with sores from neglect. One boy had been set to carry red wood which blisters the skin, another was badly burnt. Mrs. Stahl took them in hand, dressed their wounds, nursed them, clothed them, and soon they looked quite nice, sitting on a bench at the end of the church with a monitor to take charge of them, for they were still unbaptized—they were old enough to be instructed first, except two of the little girls who were immediately received into the Church. About this time a little Dyak boy, Nigo by name, was paying a visit to the school, and was baptized in church, answering for himself. He was about six years old, and as he stood at the font his face was lit up with so sweet a smile it touched us all. Mab begged him to stay at Sarawak; but the Dyaks never part with their children, and in this case it was not necessary, for Nigo's father was a Christian. It was a great happiness to us that none of our boys were killed in the insurrection; three got away to Sambas, the rest came back to the school one by one, having all escaped the Dyaks. The Christian goldsmith, too, who was put in prison by the kunsi for trying to warn us of the attack on the 18th of February, got to Sambas safe, and afterwards returned to us at Sarawak.

This summer a doctor came out to Sarawak with his family. I heard of their proposed arrival some months before, and wrote to Mrs. C—— to beg they would leave their elder children in England, and only bring the babies with them, for the little ones thrive well enough at Sarawak. I also gave a plain unvarnished account of the place. But Mr. C——, having made up his mind to bring all his family out, put the letter in his pocket; and we were very sorry when they arrived, a party of nine, having lost one child at Singapore. They only stayed one month; the lady was so disgusted with the place—"no shops, no amusements, always hot weather, and food so dear!"—that she persuaded her husband to take advantage of some difference he had with the Government, and return in the same steamer by which they came out. I, however, gained by their departure, for they brought a sweet young girl with them as governess, and as she did not wish to return so soon, she remained with me, and became Mab's governess and friend. We liked her very much, and I cannot help mentioning an incident of her spirit and courage. One of our children being ill, I had taken her down to Santubong, where we had a seaside cottage; but as the house was full of clergy preparing for ordination, I left Miss McKee to do the housekeeping and take care of our guests for a few days. She slept at the top of the house, and little Edith in a cot beside her. It was late at night, and the moon shining into Miss McKee's room, when she woke and saw a Chinaman standing at the foot of her bed with a great knife in his hand. She felt under her pillow if the keys were safe, for the box of silver was put in her room while I was absent; then she jumped up, shouting "Thieves!" with all her might. The man ran and she after him, down a long passage, down the staircase, out of the house, by which time her cries had roused the gentlemen—the Bishop was nursing a sick man in fever, and was not in the house that night. They looked out of their doors, asking what was the matter? However, Miss McKee had by this time made up her mind that the thief was our own cook; she had seen enough of him by her courageous pursuit to be sure of it. No doubt he thought she would be fast asleep, and he should carry off the silver and the keys without discovery. Only a servant of the house would have known where they were kept. This young lady afterwards married Mr. Koch, one of the missionaries. He came from Ceylon, and eventually returned to his native country, where I hope they are still.

Now we were again without a doctor, and in the autumn Mrs. Brooke expected her second confinement. This brings me to what we always called the sad, dark time at Sarawak. The weather was rainy beyond any former experience. We always had heavy rains in November, but this year they began in October, and the sky scarcely seemed to clear. In October, God gave us a little son, and in a usual way I should have been quite well at the end of three weeks, and across the water to see Mrs. Brooke many times before her confinement. But a long influenza cold kept me at home, and the weather being always wet, there was no prospect of getting over in a boat without a drenching, so only notes passed between us.

On November 15th, Mrs. Brooke had another boy, and though there was some anxiety at the time, she seemed pretty well until the fourth day, when inflammation set in with puerperal fever, and at the end of ten days our much-loved friend was gone to her home in heaven, leaving her husband and children desolate. It seemed so impossible that so bright a creature should pass away from us, that to the last day we believed she would recover. That afternoon she called her husband and brothers and sisters to her bedside, and said, "I have tried hard to live for your sakes, but I cannot;" then she calmly and sweetly bade them good-bye, and no earthly cares touched her afterwards. Very sad hearts were left behind, but her example remained to us and called us upwards. Her short life had been continual self-sacrifice. She gave up her beautiful home in Scotland for love, and the prospect of doing good to Sarawak. On her arrival there the most rigid economy was practised, on account of the losses in the Chinese insurrection. A mat house, called "The Refuge," neither airy nor comfortable, was her only home; but it was always bright with Annie's good taste and cheerful spirits. Then came the last sacrifice, her husband and children. These, too, she laid at her Lord's feet with a willing heart. Everybody went into mourning; for in so small a place it was quite a calamity to lose the head of our little society. But to the Bishop this event was a great trial. He had spent most of his time, day and night, striving to save this precious life. He was very fond of her; he ministered to her as her priest; from his hands she received the Blessed Sacrament a few hours before she died, and he heard her say with almost her last breath, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit;" but he had also to witness agony which he could not relieve, and no effort could prolong her life. It made him quite ill for some time, and all the happy holiday days passed away with Annie Brooke. Government House was never again, in our time, a bright and cheerful home: it returned to its bachelor ways; and business, not social pleasure, presided there. On Christmas Day, exactly a month after Mrs. Brooke died and was laid in the churchyard, we placed a bouquet of flowers from her garden on the altar, but there could be no festivities. The Chinese Christians had their feast, and the school-children; but we who had lost our companion and friend could not rejoice. It was sad enough to go over the water and see Annie's empty room, kept just as she had left it, and no sound in the house except the wails of the motherless baby, who we feared would soon follow his mother to the grave. Captain Brooke was obliged to go to England very soon after his wife's death; the Rajah was struck with paralysis, and it was at first doubtful whether he would recover. In the midst of all this sorrow I had the trouble of losing my faithful servant, Mrs. Stahl, who took all the care of the school-children off my hands. Her husband had found more lucrative work at Singapore, and sent for her to join him. It was a grief to both of us, and a great addition to my responsibilities. Mrs. William Channon, then a widow, was installed matron of the school, but she had neither knowledge nor experience. She did as well as she could, with continual supervision. The sick children now came to me to be doctored early every morning. I also had a large sewing-class of boys, and a tailor to teach us how to cut out and make their peculiar-shaped clothes: however, we soon learnt to do without the tailor. Mrs. Hacket taught the little ones to sew, and I had the elder ones from seven to ten every morning. Sometimes I gave a music lesson between whiles; sometimes I had to leave them for a while, first to see what the cook had brought from the bazaar for their day's food, and to give out the rice which was kept in my store-room; also the cocoa-nut oil, which trimmed the lamps of both house and school. Sometimes I read aloud to my boys, stories from history. They could understand English quite well.

While our spirits were at their lowest ebb, and the rain still pouring with little intermission, we had a visit from H.M.S. Esk, Sir Robert J. McClure captain. He did his best to cheer us. How kind and bright he was I shall never forget, nor how he used to sit patiently under a tree in the rain to be photographed, simply to amuse us. There are certainly some people who have more of the wine of life than others, and who are a wonderful refreshment to their friends. It was during this year, 1858, that we built our seaside cottage at Santubong—Sandrock Cottage, as we called it, which sounds rather cockney; but as it stood on the sand, with great boulders of granite rock scattered about, it seemed the most appropriate name. Santubong is the most beautiful of the two mouths of the Sarawak River, but not as safe as the Morotabas for ships to enter. The Bishop had a mission yacht this year; consequently he was away, visiting the mission stations. The next year he sailed the Sarawak Cross to Labuan. The voyage took only one week either way, whereas in other years he had to go to Singapore, more than four hundred miles off, in order to get to Labuan by P. and O. steamer, or any man-of-war chancing to go there. Months instead of weeks were consumed by this means.

Our cottage took three weeks to build. We sent three men down with a thousand palm-leaf attaps for the outside walls and roof, and thirty mats to make inner walls. The men went into the jungle and felled wood for posts and rafters, then nibong palms were split into strips for the floors. The whole building was tied together with rattans, like all Malay houses. There were three rooms, twelve feet by fifteen each, and two little bath-rooms. A verandah ran along the whole length of the front, and this was planked to prevent little feet from slipping through. But the rooms were covered with thick mats, and the floor was so springy it danced as you moved. We put very little furniture into these rooms, and the inside walls were only eight feet high, so that though you could not see into the next room, you could hear all that went on in all three rooms. The cook-house and servants' room were separate.

As early as the year 1848, the Rajah had a little Dyak house built on high poles, under the mountain of Santubong. It was an inconvenient little place, into which you climbed up a steep ladder—only one room, in fact, with a verandah; but we spent some happy days there, for the beauty of that shore made the house a secondary consideration. A small Malay village nestled in cocoa-nut palms at the foot of Santubong; in front lay a smooth stretch of sand, and a belt of casuarina-trees always whispering, without any apparent wind to move their slender spines. The deer in those days stole out of the jungle at night to eat the sea-foam which lay in flakes along the sand, and wild pigs could often be shot in a moonlight stroll under the trees. In the morning, we used to set off as soon as it was light to a fresh spring in the jungle, where we took our bath. Dawdling along the edge of the waves, then quite warm to our bare feet, with towels and leaf buckets in our hands, we reached the little stream, running under the shade of tall trees in which the wood-pigeons were cooing. How delicious and fresh that water was! and every sense was charmed at the same time, unless some stinging ants walked over our feet, which was not uncommon.

Then we trudged home again, with the wet towels folded on our heads to shield us from the sun, who by that time was an enemy to be shunned.

A little colony of Chinese were settled here in 1852, but they never took to the place; the soil was perhaps not good enough for their gardens. In 1857 the Malays fell upon them and killed them all, because they were of the same tribe as the rebels, although they had nothing whatever to do with the insurrection. When we were building our cottage on the sands two Chinese skulls were dug up. We were all indignant at this wanton cruelty, but unable to resent it, except by the expression of our opinion, for the English were a mere handful of individuals in Sarawak.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE MALAY PLOT.

Our cottage at Santubong was a source of much pleasure to many people. We often lent it to invalids, sometimes to newly married couples, who certainly had a good opportunity of studying each other's characters and tastes in that lonely solitude.

Sometimes we sent down all the children from the school, who wanted sea-air and a holiday. Indeed, when we were staying there, we always had relays of children to play on the sands and enjoy themselves. We had a place staked round with strong hurdles, where we could bathe in safety from sharks and alligators, who both infested the coast. I have often seen quantities of jelly-fish and octopus sticking on the outside of the hurdles: they sting dreadfully, so they were quite welcome to stay there.

During one of our visits to Santubong I remember a timber-ship lying off the mouth of the river, to lade planks from a saw-mill which was on the other side. One day three sailors came ashore to fill a cask with fresh water; there was a spring among the rocks close to the water's edge. As they neared the shore, the three men jumped into the sea for a swim; but suddenly, one of them threw up his arms and disappeared. In vain his comrades searched for him, but the next day his body, partly devoured by a shark, was thrown upon the rocks. No doubt he was seized and dragged under water. His comrades were much distressed, for he was a favourite among the crew. Frank buried him, and helped the men to put a wooden cross on the grave.

In the north-west monsoon we sometimes went to Buntal, a bay on the other side of the mountain of Santubong. No soul resided there, but it was the resort of great flocks of wild-fowl at that season. We rowed into the bay while it was still high tide, then left the boat; and our men made little huts of boughs some distance from the shore, where we could sit without being perceived. As the tide ebbed the birds arrived—tall storks, fishing eagles, gulls, curlew, plover, godwits, and many others we did not know. They flew in long lines, till they seemed to vanish and reappear, circling round and round, then swooping down upon the sand where the receding waves were leaving their supper. I never saw a prettier sight. The tall storks seemed to act like sentinels, watching while the others fed. At a note of alarm they all rose in the air, flew about screaming, and then settled again on the sands in long lines, the smaller birds together, the larger ones in ascending rows. At last, alas! a gun fired into their midst caused death and dismay. A few fell dead, and the rest fled to some happier shore, where no destroying man could mar their happiness. And there are many such spots in Borneo where no human foot ever trod, and where trees, flowers, and insects flourish exceedingly; where the birds sing songs of praise which are only heard by their Maker, and where the wild animals of the forest live and die unmolested. There is always something delightful to me in this idea. We are apt to think that this earth is made for man, but, after many ages, there are still some parts of his domain unconquered, some fair lands where the axe, the fire, and the plough are still unknown.

While we were at Santubong, in 1859, we were distressed to hear that Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele, two Government officers in charge of a fort at Kenowit, had been murdered by some Dyaks, whom they were judging in the court-house. We were very grieved for our friends, especially for Mr. Fox, who was for two years with us as catechist in the mission, and only left because he could not make up his mind to be ordained. However, he was most faithful in the performance of his duties at that lonely fort, and most blameless in his life; we could only regret the loss of so good a young man. We did not at that time connect this event with any general enmity to Englishmen among the natives, but only thought that particular tribe of Kenowits were not to be trusted.

It was really a much more serious matter. Mr. Charles Johnson went up to Kenowit directly, taking the Bishop's yacht, the Sarawak Cross, as his floating fortress. He sent a thousand Dyaks to attack the fortified village of the Kenowits, who were engaged in the murders. These Dyaks were repulsed, but he led them on again himself with two hundred Sarawak Malays, good men and true. They took a brass gun overland to the village, and pounded them for a day; then the Malays and Dyaks attacked and fired the place, and took it.

There were many killed, but it was their own fault; for, before attacking, a flag of truce had been hoisted, and all who would were invited to submit, and promised their lives, but only a few women and children availed themselves of it and were saved. Tanee the brave was killed, and Hadji Mahomet. It was found that these traitors had spread a report that all the English at Sarawak and at Labuan, as well as at Bunjermassin, had been killed, and this was so thoroughly believed that the Kenowits thought they had only to kill Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele, in order to possess themselves of the arms and goods in the fort with impunity. It was true that the Malays at Bunjermassin had risen upon the Europeans there, and killed twenty Dutch officials and their families; also four of the German missionaries living among the Dyaks, and a Mr. Mattley, with his wife and three children, who used to live at Labuan. The Dutch took summary vengeance for this massacre, but in spite of that the Malays at Coti killed the Europeans who lived there; so that neighbouring countries showed a bad example to our people, and we were afraid that religious fanaticism might have something to do with the hatred to Christians, whether Dutch or English.

In every country there are unfortunately some bad men, who are irreclaimable by kindness or severity. Such were the two who instigated a plot to murder all the English in the Sarawak territory, and take the Government to themselves. The oldest and most shameless of these men was the Datu Patinghi of Sarawak, and to tell his story I must go back to the early days of Sarawak. When Sir James Brooke first visited Mudah Hassim, the Malay Rajah, he found him endeavouring to put down a rebellion among his subjects. After a time Sir James Brooke helped him with the guns of his yacht and the services of his blue jackets. The enemy submitted, and then he begged their lives of Mudah Hassim. It was with very great difficulty this unprecedented favour was granted.

Gapoor and his followers were pardoned, and when Sarawak was given over to Sir James Brooke by the Sultan of Bruni, it was naturally supposed that this man who owed his life to the English Rajah would remain his faithful friend and follower. He was made the chief datu, or magistrate, of whom there were three—the Datu Patinghi, the Tumangong, and the Bandhar. These Malay chiefs were members of the Council, and represented Home Department, War Office, and Treasury in the State. For some time all seemed to go well, but the Rajah soon found that the Datu Patinghi could not be restrained from oppressing the Dyaks under his charge, levying more than the proper tax, or obliging them to buy whatever he wished to sell, at exorbitant prices. His power over the Dyaks was therefore taken away, and a fixed income given him to preclude temptation. When the Rajah was in England, in 1851, this Datu intrigued with the Bruni Malays to upset the Government; he mounted yellow umbrellas, a sign of royalty, and arrogated power to himself which might have been mischievous had he been more popular with the natives. But he had many relations among the high Malays of the place, and it was a question whether they would resent his being publicly disgraced. Captain Brooke told them plainly that he must be exiled, but that it should be done in the most cautious way, and appearances should be saved. Datu Patinghi was therefore advised to go a pilgrimage to Mecca. Money and servants were supplied him, but he had no choice about it. We all hoped he would never return.

About a year afterwards Sir James Brooke said to me, "Did you ever feel pleasure at hearing of the death of an old friend?" Before I could consider this knotty question, he added Gapoor had died of small-pox at Mecca. It was only a report, and proved untrue. Datu came back a hadji, but was desired to go and live at Malacca the rest of his days. In 1859 he begged to be allowed to return to Sarawak, and, as it was hoped he could not be ungrateful for so much kindness and forbearance, he was permitted; but he was only biding his time. After his return to Sarawak he married his daughter to Seriff Bujang, the brother of Seriff Messahore, whose rascality and bad faith were on a par with his own. Bujang was a quiet creature enough, drawn into the wicked plots of his brother and father-in-law, but they were bad to the core. A Seriff is supposed to be a descendant of the Prophet Mahomet, at any rate he is an Arab, and Messahore was said to be invulnerable and sacred in his person. He was a fine, handsome creature, with insinuating manners, but there was nothing more to say in his favour. He was at the bottom of every disturbance in the country, but was cunning enough to keep himself in the background. Directly a plot miscarried, he came forward zealously to punish the wrong-doers.

He instigated the murder of Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele; nay, it was intended to be a general massacre of all the English in Sarawak territory; but by a mistake of the Kenowits these two unfortunates were killed prematurely. The day had not arrived, and this led to the discovery of the plot. When Mr. C. Johnson went with an armed force to Kenowit, Seriff Messahore had already killed the fort men, who had only executed his own orders. For some time he, the guilty one, escaped detection. At last some Christian Dyaks of Lundu and Banting disclosed to their missionaries that Malays had visited them to say they had better turn Mahometans, for soon there would be no English left in the country. These stories being communicated by the Bishop to Mr. Johnson, he consulted the Malay members of the council and other trustworthy native friends, and it was evident they knew there was good reason for anxiety, as they advised all the English to wear firearms, even the ladies.

At last the rumours of threats were traced to old Gapoor, the ex-Patinghi, and he was again banished the country by order of the council. Seriffs Messahore and Bujang, being connected with him by marriage, were also suspected. Messahore was warned that if he came to Kuching he would be treated as an enemy. Nevertheless he advanced up the river; his boat was greeted by a shower of balls, and he ignominiously fled. When the glamour was thus taken from him everybody was ready to divulge what they knew of the plot, and that a pension of six hundred rupees a year was promised to any one who would kill Mr. C. Johnson. The Rajah was in England, and known to be in bad health. Very few English men-of-war visited Sarawak at that time. Rumours were got up at Bruni that the Rajah was in disgrace with his own queen. This was the consequence of the commission of inquiry about piracy, which had taken place in 1858, by order of the English Parliament; for though the results of that commission thoroughly exculpated Sir James Brooke from any blame, there was never any amende honourable made for subjecting him to such an indignity. It was never understood by the natives as anything but a slur on the Rajah's character, and was a terrible injury to his prestige for a time. Indeed, it was the seed of the Malay plot; and if we had all been killed, our own English Government would have been the remote cause of our death. It is no doubt difficult for Englishmen to understand the feelings of Malays and Dyaks. We are accustomed in England to find fault with our rulers, and submit to them all the same. But in the East it is different: no breath of blame must touch the Rajah, nor can he be arraigned before any court, except the throne of God.

Fatima, Seriff Bujang's wife, was an old friend of mine. She had always visited me from the time of our first arrival at Sarawak, and was then a very handsome girl, with a pale, clear complexion, and fine hair and eyes. We took a great interest in her marriage, and Seriff Bujang frequently came to our house. He was apparently fond of Mab, and liked to hear her tell fairy tales. Mab spoke Malay very well, and was always popular with the natives, to whom she would sing, dance, or relate Cinderella, the White Cat, or the Three Bears, etc. It was curious to see a grave-looking Malay sitting to listen to fairy stories; still more so when all the time he was party to a plot for the destruction of the household he visited. He was more weak than wicked; and two years after that he died. I had occasion to visit some Malays in his kampong after his death, and found poor Fatima bereft of all her ornaments and gay dresses, and working as a drudge in the house. Widows are little accounted of in Eastern households.

To return to the events of October, 1859.

A timber-ship, the Planet, was lying in the river, and Mr. Johnson requested that the women and children of the mission should be sent on board until the panic passed away, and the old Datu was got safely out of the place. The fort and Government House were manned and armed, and the rest of the Europeans sheltered there. The Hacket family went down at once, and in the evening we sent Miss McKee and the two youngest children with her; but Mab was ill of fever, and could not be moved. So the Bishop and I stayed with her, and ten Chinamen guarded our house.

Mr. Chalmers had come from Merdang with news that some of those Dyaks had joined the Datu Hadji, and also some bad Lundus, who had been punished for sedition four years before. We all sat up that night; but I was too much occupied with my sick child to be nervous about anything else. The night passed over without any rising of the disaffected, and the next day Gapoor consented to leave the country quietly, finding no chief Malays would stand by him, and to be taken in a Government gunboat to a brig just leaving the river. Thus, through God's mercy and the loyalty of the people, no harm came of this plot, except that Mr. and Mrs. Hacket decided to leave the mission, not being strong enough to stand such alarms. They went to Malacca, where he became Government chaplain, and died there of consumption, after some years' service.

The heat of Sarawak climate was so injurious to our child Mab, who had frequent attacks of fever, that as soon as the place was quiet again, we resolved to pay another visit to England. The Bishop's health was much shaken, and the doctors at Singapore ordered him home at once. But it was winter, and we were afraid of taking our children too quickly into the rigorous cold of England; therefore we took a passage in the Bahiana, a steamer which had brought out a telegraph cable to lay between Singapore and Batavia, and having accomplished her purpose, was returning empty to England. The Bishop went with us as far as Bombay, and then took P. and O. boat to England; whilst we called first at Mauritius, then at the Cape of Good Hope, staying some days at each place, and at the latter adding several passengers to our small party. We proceeded very happily until we were within a day's steam of the Island of St. Vincent, off the coast of Africa; then the great crank of the steam-engine snapped in two, and we had to sail. It took us ten days to beat up to the island, for a large screw steamer was never intended to be propelled by sails.

We began to have gloomy forebodings of the time which must elapse before we could reach England, sailing at this rate, when we saw, lying in the roads at St. Vincent, a very large West Indian steamer on her way home. It was difficult to communicate with this ship, because she lay in quarantine, yellow flag flying; and we did not know whether she had yellow fever on board or not. Our captain, however, called us all together, and said, "I hoped to have found some provisions in this island, to add to our stores; but I find there is nothing." The island seemed just a bare rock, with one solitary palm-tree growing by the office door, and not a blade of grass. It was difficult to imagine what provisions there could be, except the coal left by ships to supply passing steamers. "It will be necessary," added Captain Grenfell, "that some of you should go home in the Magnolia, West Indian steamer, for we have not food on board for all, and cannot expect to be less than another month reaching England under sail: therefore you must each of you decide to-night what you will do; and if you choose to go home in the Magnolia, I will pay your passage. But I ought to tell you that probably there are cases of yellow fever on board that ship; for it is the time of year when it is rife at the South American stations."

Here was a problem to solve in the night! Should I take my children on board a ship where there was probable infection, or should I subject my husband to harassing anxiety about us for a whole month? In the morning I decided to go home in the Magnolia; and I was rewarded when we climbed up into that great ship, with two hundred passengers on board, by finding that there was not a single case of yellow fever, or anything infectious. We had a delightful ten days' passage, stopping a few hours at Lisbon, but not allowed to land, and then straight to Southampton. My only regret was leaving Captain Grenfell, who had been so kind to the children all the way.

The Bahiana took just a month to get to England from St. Vincent.



PART III.



CHAPTER XV.

THE CHILDREN'S CHAPTER.

In 1861 we again returned to our Eastern home, leaving our three children behind, and taking only our baby girl for companion. What a difference it makes in India, to "leave the children behind!"—a common fate indeed for parents, but not the less to be deplored. We used to think and speak of Sarawak as home until 1861; but ever after, we spoke of going home to our children, for where the treasure is there must the heart be also. To do the work so that the time might pass quickly and peacefully, to live upon the mails from England, to carry on two lives as it were, one in the present, the other in the pictures our English letters presented—such at any rate was my fate, though my husband was too true a missionary to feel as I did.

Most of our old Sarawak friends had either died or gone away when we returned in '61, but the mission grew more and more interesting as Christian Churches sprang up on the Dyak rivers. Four new missionaries came out soon after our arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Abe, Mr. Zehnder, Mr. Mesney, and Mr. Crossland, the two latter from St. Augustine's College, Canterbury, from whence had formerly come those two good men, Mr. Chalmers and Mr. Glover. They had both gone to Australia on account of their health, but the teaching of Mr. Chalmers had left its mark among the land Dyaks of Murdang and the Quop, so that Mr. Abe, who was afterwards placed on that station, reaped the harvest which had been sown with many prayers two years before. Mr. Mesney succeeded Mr. Glover at Banting, and its many branch missions; and Mr. Crossland went farther off, to the Dyaks, on the Undop, where he eventually built a church and gathered a little flock of Christians about him. Mr. Richardson came as catechist about the same time, and after staying a short time at Lundu, built himself a house among the Selaku Dyaks at Sedemac, in the country towards Sambas. He was much beloved by those simple people, who speak quite a different language to the Lundus. They exerted themselves to build their own church of substantial balean-wood, and their women learnt to pray as well as the men. "To learn to pray" is the Dyak description of a Christian. "What will you do," asked a missionary, "to bring those around you to Christ?" "I will teach them to pray," was the answer. And surely this is the great distinction between the Christian and the heathen—the one has communion with his Father in heaven, an all-powerful, wise, and loving Friend; the other may cherish some vague belief and worship of an unknown God, but has neither love nor trust to carry him above this world's troubles and trials.

Another baby was added to our family in May, 1862, whose mother died at her birth. This little one stayed with us only seventeen months, and was a great happiness to me; then Sir James Brooke took her to England. However, it was a pleasant chapter as long as it lasted.

Julia, one of our original school-girls, became very useful to me at this time. We had taken her home with us in '59, and sent her to a training-school for teachers in Dublin, so that she was quite competent on our return to take the management of the girls' school. We had eight girls in the house, and a few day-scholars from the town. Lessons used to go on in a room on the basement, where of course I was superintendent, and they learnt sewing in the afternoon. Julia was a very gentle mistress, and I was feeling very happy about my girls, when I found to my sorrow that Julia had an admirer, and I must make up my mind to part with my child who had lived with us since she was four years old. Such natural events must not be considered trials, but the difficulty of replacing her was insuperable. I was obliged at last to send my girls to Mrs. Abe, at the Quop Station, for I was too often away in the mission-boat with the Bishop to keep them at the mission-house. This was not until 1865, however. Poor Mildred felt parting with "her girls," as she called them, very much, and often said, "Mamma, if Sarah and Fanny might come back we would never, never quarrel any more." Are not such pricks of conscience common to us all when our dear ones leave us? But the past never returns!

In 1863, the Bishop built a charming little yawl for mission work. The Fanny was just suited, from her light draught of water, to cross the bars of the rivers, and she was a very good sea-boat too. Not only was she wanted to take the Bishop on his missionary, tours, but she brought the missionaries to Sarawak when, they came for ordinations, or the annual synod; also when they were sick, and required medical aid or change. Very few clergymen know much about the management of boats, and native crafts are very unsafe, so that until the Bishop had a yacht many accidents used to occur, not actually dangerous, for the natives swim like fishes, but drenchings and loss of goods from the upsetting of boats. In the north-east monsoon Fanny was thatched over and laid snugly up a creek, but all the south-west monsoon she was very useful; and no one wanted to travel about, if they could help it, during the wet tempestuous weather which prevailed from November to March.

The Bishop paid his annual visit to Labuan in any steamer which happened to be going. We had the great advantage of frequent visits from an English gunboat, for the admiral of the Chinese seas had orders from England to tell off one gun-boat for the two stations of Labuan and Sarawak. This arose from our being also blest with the presence of an English consul. But after he and his wife had remained two years at Sarawak, they were heartily tired of the dulness of their lives, and did their best to get removed to a more stirring station. However, the recognition of England gave confidence to native traders and security to the well disposed, so that there ensued a time of peace such as we had not experienced during our former sojourns in the country.



I think the history of our life during these years may be partly told by the letters I wrote to my children at home, or extracts from them; so that this may be called the children's chapter.

Sunday before Easter, 1862.

MY DARLING MAB,

I am glad you are not here, for it is very, very hot, and you would probably have a bad headache. Julia is sitting in the verandah teaching Polly, Sarah, Fanny, and Phoebe the Easter hymn for next Sunday. Ayah is walking up and down with Mildred, and Louis Koch is running about, making her laugh. I must tell you how we spend the day. Papa gets up at five, and takes a ride on his pony. I make the tea at six, and cut bread and butter for Ayah and Julia, and Samchoon, one of the boys who has had fever and wants feeding up. The bell calls us to church at seven, but I don't go till the afternoon. The gardener brings me a tray of flowers, and I make the nosegays for the day. Then I go downstairs and see the butter made. The boy brings in a great jar of milk, with which he mixes some warm water; into this he puts a long piece of bamboo, with cross pieces fixed in it like the spokes of a wheel. This he twirls round and round in the jar till the butter comes. Then he takes it out with his black hands, and I carry it off and wash and salt it. We only get five ounces now at a time, though there are six cows in milk; but the calves are such miserable little things they have to be helped first, and fed with rice-gruel also. The butter finished, I go up to the sewing-class, who are very busy making their Easter clothes, both boys and girls; and I help them with my sewing-machine until half-past ten, only running away twice—once to see what the school cook has brought for their breakfast, and then to order our own. Then we all bathe and breakfast, and Ayah goes away for two hours for her breakfast and midday nap; and I take care of Mildred, which is, I own, the hardest part of my day's work, for the little restless thing will never let me sit down, and is up to all sorts of mischief. At two o'clock Ayah comes and sings Mildred to sleep, with the same old tune of "Doo doo baby" which you used to sing to your dolls. I think in the next box I have from home you might send your old friends Sarah and Fanny a doll each, and dress them yourself. Our Malay Tuan Ku was here the other day and asked after you; he remembered your Malay fairy tales.

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MY BELOVED CHILD,

Our letters were very welcome last Sunday, Easter Sunday, telling us good news of you all. Our church was very gay with flowers and moss ferns; and the font was filled with large pink water-lilies, whose beautiful round green leaves, a foot wide at least, looked quite lovely round the white shell font. All holy week and Easter Monday and Tuesday we had full service at seven o'clock in the morning, papa preaching a short sermon from the altar. It was delightfully cool at that hour, and began the day so pleasantly. I always love Easter, when all our dear ones seem to be gathered to us in Christ our Lord, whether those in Heaven or those far away—all one family, and Christ's children through God the Father's love and mercy. I have been very busy. The school-children had all new clothes for Easter. We worked diligently for three hours every morning. The jackets were made of the Irish gingham I brought from home. This week is holiday, and Julia and I have had a fine wash, and have clear-starched the Bishop's sleeves and ruffles—such a business! My hand aches to-day with lifting the heavy smoothing-iron, which is not iron, but a large brass box, hollow and filled with hot charcoal. We shall get more used to it in time. Mrs. Stahl used to do it. Now she is gone it is quite impossible to let the Kling Dobie touch papa's sleeves; they would soon be torn to ribbons. I gave the school a treat on Easter Tuesday. They had two soup-tureens full of syllabub, plum cake, and pine-apple puffs. My cook stared when I said, "Make forty large pine-apple puffs." However, they were for his own countrymen—he is Chinese. I thought at first he understood English, for he always said "Yes" to my orders; but it was his one word. After the school-children had finished off with fruit and native cakes, they had, what they like best of all, quantities of crackers, which filled the house with the smell of gunpowder, and frightened baby Mildred out of her sleep. Good-bye.

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July, 1862.

MY PRECIOUS MAB,

Thank you for your note, written on the 4th of May, which I received the other day. I always rejoice to think of you in the springtime, because, like other young things, you enjoy the opening buds, flowers, and sunshine after the long grave winter. But winter is a good friend, although he has a grave face; we should be all the better for a visit from him out here. My garden is now as full of flowers as it will hold; Mrs. Little brought me so many new ones from Singapore. I have a very gay nosegay every morning, and still, leave flowers to adorn the beds outside. We have turned out some of the fruit-trees to make more room for flowers. This morning I have sown a quantity of blue and purple convolvulus, which only display their beauties to those who rise early before the sun closes their blossoms; but we have flowers which only open at night, the moon-flower, and night-blowing cereus, both white and fragrant. Dr. Little has been travelling about the country looking for new plants. He and Mr. Koch went to the top of the mountain of Poe near Lundu. It was so cold six thousand feet above the level of the sea, that they had to supply the natives who went with them with blankets. At the very top of the mountain they found a new orchid growing on the ground, a bright yellow flower, with streaks of magenta colour inside. Dr. Little picked some of the blossoms, and dug up one hundred roots, two of which he gave me; but they will not live in my garden, they want mountain air. He also gave me the dead flowers, and asked me to paint a picture of one from his description and the faded blossom. I did it as well as I could, but I fear it was not very good, and, after all, the flower was not nearly as pretty as a bunch of laburnum in England. They also found growing on the roots of a tree that strange fungus flower described by Sir Stamford Raffles in his book on Java and Sumatra—a yard wide across the petals, brilliantly coloured red, purple, yellow and white, and, in the hollow of the flower (nectarium), capable of holding twelve pints of water, the whole weighing from fifteen to twenty pounds; for it is a thick fleshy flower, not frail and delicate as one likes a flower to be. It is very curious and gorgeous, but as soon as it is fully expanded it begins to decay and smells putrid. Sir James Brooke once found a specimen of this gigantic flower in the jungle, and sent it to me to look at; but it had lost all its beauty in the journey, and I held my nose as I looked at it. The Dyaks said, "It is an auton" (spirit), which is their explanation of anything they never saw before. The natives of Sumatra call it "The Devil's sirih-box."[8] Are you as fond of frogs as you used to be? Last week, some people were dining with us. I had just helped the soup, and, letting my hand fall upon my lap, picked up one of your friends who had settled himself there. Not knowing at first what the cold clammy thing was, I jumped up, and everybody else jumped up too, to see what was the matter; for it might have been a snake, you know! Good-bye.

[Footnote 8: The real name is Rafflesia Arnoldi. See page 343, vol. i., "Raffles' Life and Journals."]

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December 1, 1862.

MY DEAREST MAB,

Uncle told me of your walk with him to West Hyde Church, and how you made believe to get to Sarawak and see mamma walking in the verandah. You are much better off in the cold December air of England, than you would be in this sultry place, for all its green beauty and never-failing flowers. I had rather you carried the roses in your cheeks than have them in the garden all the year round. Last month papa went to visit the Quop Mission, where Mr. and Mrs. Abi and their little baby, and your old Ayah Fatima, live. To get there he goes down the Sarawak River and up the Quop River, then lands at a Malay village, from whence there is a walk of three or four miles, up and down pretty hills and across Dyak bridges, and over paths made of two bamboos tied together, with a muddy swamp on either side. Then you come to the mission-house which papa has built, and to Mr. Chalmers' old house, which at present serves as the church, and to some long Dyak houses. Papa baptized twenty-four men, women, and girls, and confirmed nineteen people who had been baptized by Mr. Chalmers. The old Pangara, one of the principal chiefs, was baptized, and three of his grown-up sons, and one little grandson whom the old man held in his arms. We had made white jackets for the baptized, but the old Pangara had not quite made up his mind, fearing the ridicule of the other elders of the tribe, till papa talked to him; so there was no jacket for him, and papa gave him a clean white shirt, round the skirt of which we tied his chawat, a very long waist-band which wraps round and round the body, and that was all! no trousers, and very funny he looked; but papa was too rejoiced at his becoming a Christian, to laugh at him. These people will all be Christians soon. They come to Mr. and Mrs. Abi, morning, noon, and night, to be taught, and there are two daily services; so the missionaries have plenty to do. Two of our old school-boys, now grown up, are catechists there, Semirum and Aloch. There is much love between the people and their teachers; they are so happy at the Quop they never want to come away. However, I have asked the Abis to come for a fortnight at Christmas, and bring their poor little baby to be fattened on cow's milk. There are no cows at the Quop.

* * * * *

January, 1863.

MY BELOVED CHILDREN,

As I cannot have you with me this Christmas and new year, I must comfort myself as best I may by writing you an account of all we have been doing, and how we have tried to fancy ourselves in old England amidst the frost and snow, notwithstanding the bright sunshine and perpetual green of our Eastern home. When we woke before daylight on Christmas morning the school boys were singing under our windows, "When Joseph was a-walking he heard an angel sing," so we got up and looked out, wishing the children a happy Christmas. Then we dressed, for there was a great deal to do. Papa had many services in church, Chinese, English, and Dyak. I had the wreaths to make. The church had been decked with moss fern the day before, but the flowers must be added in the morning, or they would be faded. So Julia and I made a crown of French marigolds to hang on the cross over the altar, two large wreaths for either side, and one at the west end made entirely of the golden allamanda, in the buds of which you used to imprison fire-flies when you lived here. The font was adorned all over, in preparation for the baptisms to take place in the morning service. At half-past eleven we all went to church, and after the Litany there were sixteen Dyaks from Murdang, six Chinamen, and six little children baptized. Mr. Koch read the service in Malay, and papa baptized. It was a beautiful sight. The children, four of my little girls, and two small boys from the school behaved very well, and looked pretty in their new clothes. But they all understood something of why they were sprinkled with the blessed water, for we had been teaching them for some time, and Limo told me on Christmas Eve, that "our Saviour came into this world a little child, to teach us to be good; and when He had blessed them in their baptism, they must take pains to do all He desired them." I thought this pretty well for a beginning. Ambat always repeats what Limo says, so I do not know how much is her own: she is Limo's sister. Ango and Llan, the other two girls, have been taught by Miss Rocke, who has given them to me; they know but little, but are gentle children. The school had a feast at five o'clock, beef curry (papa had an ox killed), salt pork, rice, and a huge plum-pudding. They had newly white-washed their dining-room the week before, and decked it with boughs, so that it looked very nice with six lanterns hanging from the roof. They played there while we were at dinner, and the Christian Chinese feasted at Sing Song's house. Julia had her little party in her school-room, and dinner from our table: some of the grown-up schoolboys and Polly. We had Mr. and Mrs. Koch, Mr. and Mrs. Owen, Mr. Zehnder, and Mrs. Crookshank at our table. Papa counted that ninety-seven people were fed on the mission premises on Christmas Day. After dinner we had a bonfire in the hollow below our hill, between the house and the church. Quantities of dry bamboo had been collected there, which threw up columns of sparks, and lit up all the under leaves of the trees, making the dark sky and the young moon look so far far away. Then the boys began with crackers and rockets. Baby Agnes was not frightened, but poor Mildred could not sleep for terror. Every rocket made her call out "Bumah," and hide her face on my shoulder; however, she got used to it at last. Christmas is the time of year which belongs especially to children, because our Lord Jesus Christ then deigned to become a little child. We forget what happened to us when we were very young—even a mother does not know all the feelings, little troubles, ardent wishes and desires of her little ones—but it is impossible that our Saviour can ever forget. He knows exactly all that belongs to the daily life of a child, not only because He is God and knows everything, but because He was once a child Himself, and remembers all the joys and sorrows of His child-life in the cottage at Nazareth; and so children are very dear to Him—He listens to their prayers, accepts their praises, and watches over them always. Remember, my darling, that He is your best friend; to Him you may tell all your little troubles and confess all your faults, for He is very pitiful and of tender mercy.