I gave my school-girls a box of dominoes and a set of draughtsmen with a board for their Christmas present. They play very well. All the sewing-class boys, too, had each a present—either a knife, or belt, or box or basket to keep their treasures in, or a head-handkerchief; but the Sarawak bazaar does not furnish many desirable things, even for school-boys. H.M.S. Renard has arrived since I wrote thus far, and we have had the boat races, which always take place in January. Eleven of our school-boys won the boys' race, pulling against Inchi Boyangs' school, the Mahometan school, and some other boats. We dressed our boys in white and blue, and they pulled beautifully. Papa had taught them to pull all together, when they went to mission stations with him, and they are really good paddlers. They disdained the short course marked out for the boys, and pulled all the way out to the winning-post, a boat anchored near the wharf, round it, and back again, winning by two boats' lengths. They won five dollars, and papa added two more; they gave some of the money to their school-fellows, and celebrated their victory by singing all the evening so nicely, and hurrahing at the end of each song. They are good boys, and much happiness to us. Good-bye.



CHAPTER XVI.

ILLANUN PIRATES.

I have described in a former chapter the habits of the Dyak pirates of Sakarran and Sarebas, and how, after being punished by Sir James Brooke when they were caught at the entrance of their river, with captives and plunder in their boats, they were required to live at one with their neighbours, and to study the arts of peace. Happily for them, they had a wise and paternal Government to repress their vices, and, after a time, Christian missionaries to teach them the fear and love of God. But the Malay pirates who lived on the islands and coasts of North Borneo were governed by sultans who encouraged piracy, and insisted on sharing their spoils; moreover, they are Mahometans by religion, and that is not a faith which teaches mercy or respects life. To this day, therefore, these Illanuns remain pirates. They have larger prahus and carry heavier guns than the Dyaks, and nothing can exceed their cruelty. When we lived at Kuching there was scarcely a Malay family there who had not suffered from them, either by the loss of relations or property; for they are naturally a trading people.

It is a common practice for a party of men to join together in hiring a boat in which to venture goods or gold-dust by trading on the coast, or even to Singapore three hundred and sixty miles away, These small and comparatively unarmed boats fell an easy prey to the pirate prahus, who went out in fleets.

The Spaniards and the Dutch were every now and then roused to search the seas for these pests of the human race, but they were so cunning they generally evaded them. At last they had a signal lesson. In the year 1862, Captain Brooke, then governing Sarawak in his uncle's absence, decided to go to Bintulu on the north-west coast of Borneo, a territory which had lately been ceded to the Rajah by the Sultan, and build a fort on the river, to check piracy and protect the peaceable inhabitants who were settling there on the promise of such protection. For this purpose he took the Rainbow, a small screw steamer of eighty-nine tons and thirty-five horse power; and the Jolly Bachelor, a Government gun-boat. The Bishop accompanied him, to see what missionary prospects there were in that distant spot, also because he was at that time anxious about Captain Brooke's health. Mr. Helms, the manager of the Borneo mercantile company, accompanied them as far as Muka, where was an establishment to collect sago for exportation. On the second day after his arrival, a piratical fleet of Ilanuns, consisting of six large, and as many smaller vessels, appeared on the coast, and blockaded the town. For two days they remained off Muka, capturing there, and on the coast southwards, thirty-two persons.

Mr. Helms persuaded Hadji Mataim and a few natives to start in a fast boat and apprize Captain Brooke; and this boat, though chased by the pirates, got safe to Bintulu. Hadji Mataim got alongside the steamer early on Thursday morning, while it was still dark, and the Bishop, recognizing his voice, called him on board. He delivered a letter from Mr. Helms, asking for help. Steam was got up directly, the Chinese carpenters who were to build the fort were landed, and the guns which had been brought to protect it were put on board, as well as the fort men who were to man the fort, that they might strengthen the crew. With the first dawn of light the Rainbow steamed over the bar taking the Jolly Bachelor in tow, and steered for Muka.

Meanwhile all preparation was made for fighting. Planks were hung over the railing to raise the sides of the poop where there were no bulwarks, and mattresses were laid inside to receive the shot and spears of the enemy; this doubtless saved the lives of several of the crew. There were eight Europeans on board, including the captain of the Rainbow and his mate, the engineer, Captain Brooke, Mr. Stuart Johnson, Mr. Hay, Mr. Walters, and the Bishop. As soon as there were any wounded, Mr. Walters assisted the Bishop in his work of mercy. The Bishop always carried a medicine chest and case of surgical instruments wherever he went; and, happily, a large sheet had been packed among his things this voyage, which was speedily torn up into bandages. Now all was ready, but it was not until Friday morning that they sighted what looked like three large palm drifts to seaward off Tanjong Kidorong, to the north-east of the British River. They proved to be three large prahus, with their masts struck, and bristling with men, who were rowing like the Maltese, standing, and pushing for shore, casting off their sampans[9] one by one to make better way. Hadji Mataim recognized the sampan which chased and fired at him when he slipped away from Muka. Brooke then asked one of the chief officers of the Sarawak Government, who was on board, and Pangeran Matussim of Muka, if they were perfectly sure that these prahus were Illanuns? "Not a shadow of doubt," they said. So they loaded their guns and prepared for action. The leading prahu was going almost as fast as the steamer herself, and though steam was put on, and every effort made to get between her and the Point, the prahu won the race, and got into shallow water where the steamer could not follow; then she opened fire on the steamer, which was returned with interest. This prahu had three long brass swivel guns, and plenty of rifles and muskets. As she was beyond the reach of the steamer, Captain Brooke turned to the second prahu, which was now fast nearing the shore. His plan was to silence the brass guns by the fire of the rifles on board the steamer, and shake the rowers at their oars by a discharge of grape and round shot; then to put on all steam and run at them with the stem of the Rainbow. This was done with great coolness by Captain Hewat when Captain Brooke gave the order; the steamer struck the prahu amid-ships and went over her. Those on board called to the slaves, and all who would surrender, to hold on by the wreck until the boats could take them off; then they steamed away after the third prahu, which had already got into two-fathom water and was struck too far forward to sink. All the pirates in her jumped overboard and swam for shore, leaving their own wounded, the slaves, and captives, who were also bid to remain by their vessel till they were rescued.

[Footnote 9: Small boats.]

Meanwhile the first prahu, seeing the fate of the others, ran ashore among the rocks inside Tanjong Kidorong; and all the crew, pirates, and slaves ran into the jungle. Had the captives known better they would not have run away. The Jolly Bachelor was left to look after these runaways, and then the captives of the other two prahus were helped on board the steamer. Several of the crew of the Rainbow recognized friends and acquaintances among the saved; and the joyous, thankful look of the captives, as they came on board and found themselves among friends, was indeed a compensation for the awful destruction of the pirates. Many were wounded, either with shot or the fearful cuts of the Illanun swords of the pirates, who tried to murder their captives when they saw all was lost. The Bishop was dressing one man who was shot through the wrist, when he spoke to him in English, and after pouring out his gratitude for his wonderful escape, said he was a Singapore policeman, and was going to see his friends in Java when he was captured. There were also two Singapore women, and a child, and two British-born Bencoolen Malays, who were taken in their own trading boat going to Tringanau. The husband of the younger woman had been killed by the pirates, and she, like all women who fall into their hands, had suffered every outrage and insult which could be offered her. They were almost living skeletons. One was shot through the thigh, and after the Bishop had dressed her wound, Mr. Walters said quaintly, "Poor thing, she has not meat enough on her bones to bait a rat-trap." It is a wonder how the poor creatures lived at all, under the treatment to which they were subjected. When the Bishop asked some of the men whether their wounds hurt much, they answered, "Nothing hurts so much as the salt water the Illanuns gave us to drink. We never had fresh water; they mixed three parts of fresh with four of salt water: and all we had to eat was a handful of rice or raw sago twice a day." Very few of the pirates who were not wounded surrendered. They are marvellous swimmers: took their arms with them into the water, and fought the men in the boats who were trying to pick up the captives. The Bishop and Mr. Walters were fully occupied doctoring friends and foes, arresting hemorrhage, extracting balls, and closing frightful sword or chopper wounds. One man came on board with the top of his skull as cleanly lifted up by a Sooloo knife, as if a surgeon had desired to take a peep at the brain inside! It took considerable force to close it in the right place. This man had also two cuts in his back, yet the next morning he was discovered eating a large plate of rice, and he ultimately recovered. Another poor fellow could not be got up the ladder because he had a long-handled three-barbed spear sticking in his back: the Bishop had to go down and cut it out before he could be moved.

While all this was going on, the captives told Captain Brooke that there were three more pirate vessels out at sea, waiting for those near shore to rejoin them; as soon, therefore, as the steamer had picked up as many captives as she could find, she steamed out to sea in search of them. After an hour, the look-out from the mast-head reported three vessels in sight. It was then a dead calm, and they were using their long sweeps, when they were seen from the deck, to arrange themselves side by side, with their bows towards the steamer; but, a breeze springing up, they hoisted sail, spread themselves out broadside on, and opened fire on the Rainbow as soon as she was within range, so that there was no question as to whether these were pirate prahus or not. The same plan was followed as in the case of the other boats, and with more success, as there was no shore to escape to.

The pirates had secured their captives below the decks of the prahus, but when the steamer struck them and opened their sides, they were liberated. But few of them were drowned, being all good swimmers; but some were killed by the pirates in their rage and despair, and some had been lashed to the vessel and could not therefore escape.

One poor Chinaman came swimming along, holding up his long tail of hair lest he should be suspected to be a pirate; other men held up the ropes round their necks, to show they were captives. The deck of the steamer was soon covered with those who had been picked out of the water, men of every nation and race in the Archipelago, who had been captured during this cruise, which had lasted seven months. These vessels left Tawi-Tawi, an island to the south-west of Sooloo, in October. The Sultan of Sooloo is in league with the pirates, and receives part of the plunder and slaves. In the only boat boarded by Captain Brooke was found the Sultan's flag, which is only given to people of high rank; also the usual Illanun flag, six Dutch, and one Spanish flag, which no doubt belonged to vessels they had captured. The men who were saved gave details of the taking of two large vessels—one a Singapore prahu trading to Tringanau; the other a Dutch tope, of one hundred and fifty tons, on the coast of Borneo to the south of Pontianak. There they fell in with five other Illanun boats, which had come down from the northward—they themselves were going up from the southward. The new-comers told them of a merchant vessel near at hand, and proposed they should join them in capturing her, which they did. She had a valuable cargo, worth ten thousand dollars. They killed everybody on board, plundered and burnt the vessel. Only the one Chinaman escaped who told this tale. The captives stated that this was the usual proceeding if resistance was made. When they spare their captives' lives, they beat them with a flat piece of bamboo over the elbows and knees, and the muscles of arms and legs, until they are unable to move; then a halter is put round their necks, and, when they are sufficiently tamed, they are put to the oars and made to row in gangs, with one of their own fellow-captives as overseer to keep them at work. If he does not do it effectually, he is krissed and thrown overboard. If these miserable creatures jump into the sea they spear them in the water. They row in relays, night and day; and to keep them awake, cayenne pepper is rubbed into their eyes or into cuts dealt them on their arms.

The masts of these prahus are very small, so that they may not be seen at a distance. They go very fast. Those encountered by the Rainbow were seen off Datu on Monday night, and on Friday morning they were near Bintulu, a distance of two hundred and forty miles, although they had delayed nearly two days at Muka, picking up thirty people on the coast. Most of these were recaptured and returned to Muka. On reckoning up, it was found that one hundred and sixty-five people had been rescued, and perhaps one hundred and fifty or two hundred had got away from the vessels sunk on shore. In every pirate prahu were from forty to fifty Illanuns, and from sixty to seventy captives, many of whom were killed by the pirates when they found themselves beaten, among them two women. Nine women and six children were saved; seven of the women belonged to Muka or Oya. Of the Illanuns, thirty-two were taken alive; ten of these were boys. Some died afterwards of their wounds; some were taken to Kuching in irons, there tried, and some of them executed. They died the death of murderers; but Captain Brooke gave the boys to respectable people to bring up, hoping they might be reformed. We had one young fellow, about fourteen years old, when he had been cured of his wounds in the hospital. I kept him about me, and used to teach him; but he could not be tamed. He turned Mahometan, and left us to be employed at the fort; but there he stole money, and had to be sent elsewhere. The nature of an Illanun pirate seems almost unmixed evil, because they are taught to be cruel from their childhood.

There were two circumstances in this affray with the Illanuns which called for thankfulness on the part of the victors. First, that they met the pirates in two detachments, which enabled them to attack them successfully, without the danger of their boarding the steamer, which, from their numbers, would have been fatal to the little party on board the Rainbow. Secondly, that their ammunition lasted through the two engagements. It was quite finished; only a little loose powder in a barrel, and a few broken cartridges, remained when the last prahus were taken. Had they fallen in with another fleet, they would have been at their mercy. Almost while I write these last words, we have received a letter from the present Rajah of Sarawak—Charles Johnson Brooke. He says, "I have heard this morning that one of our schooners has been captured by the Sooloo pirates, and the crew murdered." The last twenty years have not therefore altered the character of these people, and their extermination seems the only remedy for the misery they inflict on their fellow creatures.



CHAPTER XVII.

A MALAY WEDDING.

MY DARLING MAB,

I am sitting in a darkened room, while Mildred is having her day sleep; and as I am thinking of you, I may as well begin a letter for next mail. Last week I went to a Malay wedding, the first I ever attended, although I have been here so many years. It amused me very much; so I shall try to describe it to you.

Early in the morning the bridegroom's friends came to beg flowers from our garden. Then papa told them I would go to the wedding, and they said, "Be sure not to be later than twelve o'clock." Accordingly, Mr. and Mrs. Ricketts, the British Consul and his wife, Mr. Zehnder, and I set off in two boats, after eleven o'clock breakfast; but we need not have got there before two o'clock.

Eastern people set little value on time. They would just as soon sit cross-legged on the floor smoking for three hours as for one. The bride is the daughter of one of the first merchants in the place, Nakodah Sadum, and the bridegroom is the grandson of the old Datu Tumangong, whom you may remember. A handsome young man is Matussim, and enlightened, for a Malay. He made his betrothed a present of his photograph last year. Formerly Malays objected to having their portraits taken, fancying it a breach of the second commandment.

The bride's father's house was gay with flags and streamers, and in front of it lay, by the river's brink, four small cannon, which had been busy, for days before and all that morning, saluting the occasion. We walked up into the house, which was full of guests. A long verandah, lined with hadjis and elders, all smoking and talking, led to the principal room, which, unlike any Malay house before built in Sarawak, had large Venetian-shuttered doors all round, and was therefore cool and airy. There was a little round table, and some armchairs covered with white mats for the expected guests, in the middle of the room. Sadum and his wife came forward and greeted us very cordially, and then we were told to sit down on the chairs. I looked about for the bride, and saw a crowd of women in one corner, and a boy holding a gilt umbrella over the young lady, who was being shaved. A woman with a razor was shearing her eyebrows into a delicate line, and all round her forehead trimming disorderly hairs. Four women, seated on their heels in front of her, were fidgeting over her face; she, impassive as a log in their hands. A vast deal of singing and drumming went on all the time, a row of musicians keeping it up all round the room. The girl was washed; then her hair, magnificent black hair down to her heels, knotted in two great bows on either side of her head. Over these, gold ornaments like wings were fixed, and a little tower of gold bells above them. Then the women painted a black band round her forehead, and added a silver edge to it, also painted. Her eyebrows were likewise touched up, and her skin rubbed all over with yellow powder. Poor child! she was a curious figure by the time it was all finished, and her skin must have felt painfully stiff. She was then attired in very handsome silk robes, ornamented with solid gold, and the attendants carried her to a raised dais or bed-place at one end of the room. There she sat, not daring to lift her eyes until the bridegroom's arrival.

The divan was gorgeous with silk curtains and cushions embroidered with gold thread and embossed with tinsel ornaments, the work of the bride herself. The seat for the bridegroom was somewhat higher and larger than the bride's. At last the bridegroom approached in a large barge, which held about two hundred people. A small boat preceded it with three guns, which kept up a deafening noise as he drew near. He was carried up the steps, and the house door was shut to in his face, according to the Malay custom. Then he begged admittance very humbly, and after paying a fee of five dollars, was admitted. His followers rush in first—such a clatter! Greetings, welcomes, jokes, and laughter, make a Babel of noise; everybody speaking at once. Then a cloth was laid down for the bridegroom to pass over, and he was pulled with apparent reluctance into the room, panting and shutting his eyes as if exhausted. His head was wreathed with Indian jessamine. He was naked to the waist, except a gold scarf over one shoulder; otherwise he had plenty of gold and red silk about him. He was pulled up to the bride, turning his head away as if he was ashamed to look at her, and dropped a red silk handkerchief over her face for a moment. Then he sat down on the divan, and all the old women of both houses sprinkled the couple with yellow rice, and rubbed their foreheads with some charm, which looked like a bit of stone and a nutmeg-grater, and wished them all kinds of luck—but especially that they might be the parents of sons only. After the young people had endured this long enough, the curtains were let down round the dais, and only two or three old women kept going in and out. We found they were taking off all the finery, and dressing the bride and bridegroom in their usual clothes; for while we were drinking coffee and eating Malay cakes at the little table, they came out from the curtains, looking quite pleasant and natural. So we shook hands, made our congratulations, and bade them adieu. We got home at four o'clock, very hot and tired, and papa laughed at us for going; but I was glad I did for once in a way.

A wedding is a very serious expense to Malays of any rank. The bridegroom has to make settlements on the bride, and the bride's father has to keep open house for weeks, besides fees to the hadjis, and gunpowder ad libitum. The religious part of the ceremony is enacted some days before the marriage. One day papa was calling at a Malay house, where a wedding was about to take place, and found the bridegroom learning a passage in the Koran, in Arabic, which he could not translate, but which it was necessary he should repeat. A hadji was standing by, driving the words into his head. The hadji could not translate it either; but the Koran may only be read in Arabic, lest it should be desecrated. Sometimes papa would read a chapter to any Malay who desired to understand the meaning of his sacred book; but they were generally content with learning it as a charm, or certain parts of it.

The Rajah often made a present of an ox for a great man's wedding. This was a great help, for many dishes of curry could be made out of so much meat. When we wished for some meat at Christmas and Easter, we sent for the Mahometan butcher to kill the animal. He turned its head towards Mecca, repeated prayers over him, and then cut his throat in such a way that no drop of blood was left in the flesh; for the Malays hold to the Jewish law in that as well as many other particulars. Then the people would buy whatever beef we did not want ourselves; but not otherwise.

This is a long letter, but as I am on the subject of weddings, I may as well tell you about a Chinese wedding we had the other day at our house. The bridegroom was Akiat, a carpenter, about six feet two inches high. He was dressed in whity-brown silk, which made him look like a tall spectre; and the bride was Quey Ginn, a fat, dumpy little girl of sixteen, the Chinese deacon's daughter, and one of my scholars. She did not choose her old husband of fifty years, but her parents arranged it, and Akiat paid one hundred dollars for his wife. I went to see her the day before the wedding, and she showed me all her clothes and ornaments; but I thought she did not look as if she cared for them. So I whispered, "Are you happy, child?" "No, not at all," burst out Quey Ginn. "I don't want to be married and leave my parents." Whereupon I could not help taking her in my arms and comforting her, telling her to be a good wife, and she would soon learn to be content. She has been to visit me since her marriage, and I am amused to see that she is quite a little woman, instead of the shy girl she used to be; and, whereas as a girl she was never allowed to be seen in the streets, or even to go to church, she now does exactly as she likes, and, I am happy to say, comes regularly to church. These people were all sincere Christians. Akiat was the Chinese churchwarden, and, as papa esteemed them very highly, he allowed the breakfast to take place at our house.

I had a cake made for the occasion, which Quey Ginn cut up with much pleasure. The ring in it fell to Mr. Zehnder's share, which amused him also. Good-bye.

It was this year, 1865, that Mr. Waterhouse, the chaplain of Singapore, came to visit us. The doctors often sent us a patient or friend to be under the Bishop's care, and for rest and change; the latter was the cause of Mr. Waterhouse's visit, and six weeks of jungle life did him good, while his society and sympathy were a great pleasure to us, the Bishop especially. The Bishop took him to visit the different mission stations, and he often spoke to me with satisfaction of the "real mission work" he witnessed at Banting, Lundu, and the Quop. At each of these stations he found a consecrated church and a community of Christian people; whilst the missionaries set over them, not only instructed and ministered to the tribe among whom they lived, but journeyed to outlying places, founding branch missions and setting catechists to work under them. I find in one of my letters, when Mr. Waterhouse returned from Banting, he said, "I cannot but admire the patience with which Mr. Chambers talks all day, morning, noon, and night, to every party of Dyaks, who march into the house whenever they like, making it quite their home: it is what very few people could do day after day." This is the trial of Dyak teaching. You cannot appoint specific hours for instruction. People come when they can, sometimes long distances. They can never be denied, except you are actually at meals, and then they sit down and wait till the eating is over. Here is a programme of a day at Banting:—

By seven in the morning Mr. Chambers goes to one or another Dyak house to teach. These houses contain many families under one roof. The people understand now that teaching is the sole object of Mr. Chambers' visit, so, when he enters, all who are at leisure gather round him. He returns home to eleven o'clock breakfast. After breakfast his school of boys occupies him for the afternoon; but every party of Dyaks who come in must be listened to, and, if they are willing, instructed, taught a prayer, a hymn, a parable, or some Scripture lesson. This goes on till five o'clock, when the bell calls them to daily prayers, and they all walk together down the beautiful jungle avenue to the pretty church. A short service, in which the Dyaks respond heartily, and a catechizing follows, during which they are allowed to ask questions of their teacher. Then an hour's rest before dinner. But immediately after dinner more Dyaks, sometimes a whole house, i.e. forty or fifty persons, come in, and have coffee, and pictures, and a lecture. All this does not happen every day, but most days during what we call the working season, from March till October, and no doubt so much talking and so little leisure is very fatiguing. But then comes the harvest, and afterwards the wet monsoon, and the schools fall off, and the Dyaks no longer come from a distance to be taught. It is sufficiently dull and lonely then in the jungle stations. The sea runs too high for boats to bring mails, or books, or provisions; the rain falls heavily, and with little intermission, and food becomes scarce. Mrs. Chambers told me that the prayer for daily bread, which seems to us to relate to the daily needs of our souls for the bread and water of life, bore a literal meaning to them in the north-east monsoon, when the day's food was by no means certain. Rice they had, it is true; but English people get nearly starved upon rice alone, without fish, meat, or bread. It was therefore with sincere thankfulness that they welcomed a chicken, however skinny, in that season.

After the Banting expedition, the Bishop took Mr. Waterhouse to Lundu, and Mr. Hawkins, a missionary lately come out, went with them. They arrived on a Saturday. On Sunday there was a great gathering of Christian Dyaks: fifty-two people were confirmed, eighty received the Holy Communion, so that they were more than three hours in church, the Bishop preaching to them in Malay. On Monday Mr. Waterhouse and Mr. Hawkins paid a visit to a beautiful waterfall, about two miles from the town; and on Tuesday all the party, Mr. Gomez included, went in boats forty miles up the river Lundu, with three hundred Dyaks, to tuba fish. The Bishop had paid the Dyaks to collect tuba the week before. It is a plant found in the jungle, the root of which washed in water makes a milky-looking poison. It does not make the fish unwholesome to eat, only intoxicates them for the time, so that they rise floundering about on the surface of the water, but it destroys human life, and is the poison chosen by Dyaks who commit suicide, though I do not believe that this crime is common among them.

When the party had ascended the river far enough, the Dyaks built a hut for the English to sleep in. They made a floor of logs of wood, spread over with the bark of trees, which, beaten down hard, made a capital mattress on which to lay their mats and pillows. The kajangs (leaf mats) off the boat made some shelter from the weather, although it takes a good deal to keep Borneo rain out! The Dyaks were much too busy to go to sleep at all: they drove stakes all across the river to secure their fish, then they beat out the tuba in the bottom of their boats. It took all night, by the light of torches, to do this; and a wild sight it was, in the midst of the solemn old jungle. Very early in the morning, when the tide was at its lowest ebb, they put the tuba into the river; the flood coming up, and bringing plenty of fish, encountered this intoxicating milk, and carried over the stakes a whole shoal of dead and tipsy fish. Then the Dyaks, darting about in little boats, speared the big fishes, and caught the small ones in landing-nets.

Hundreds of fish were caught, and the Dyaks had a grand feast; also, they salted quantities, in their nasty way—pounding the fish up, letting it turn sour, and then packing it into bamboos with salt, as a relish to eat with their rice. Certainly it has a strong flavour! They all camped two nights in the jungle, then returned to Lundu, and reached Sarawak in the yacht Fanny, after an absence of ten days. We had a visit from H.M.S. Scout about this time, and one day sat down sixteen to dinner in the mission-house, some of the officers having come up to spend the day. It is difficult to improvise a dinner in a country where no joints of meat are to be had, unless you kill an ox for the purpose. Sheep there are none. A capon or goose, or a sucking pig, are the only big dishes, and not always to be had. However, we did very well, and our visitors were delighted with Sarawak, and with the schoolboys' singing; for I had them up to sing glees and rounds, and "Rule Britannia," after dinner. Captain Corbett was so pleased with the little fellows that he invited them all to see the ship the next morning. Accordingly our largest boat took the choir down very early to Morotabas, where the Scout lay, and Captain Corbett took them all over it himself, even down to the screw chamber. The boys had never seen so large a man-of-war before (1600 tons), so they were delighted. Some Dyaks who went with them were much terrified lest they should be carried off to sea, for the captain ordered "up anchor," that the boys might see how it was done, and then sent them off the last minute. They came home in high glee. Only those who live at the ends of the earth can tell what a pleasure and refreshment is a little visit from her Majesty's ships from time to time. The whiff of English air they bring with them, and the hearty English enthusiasm which has not had time to evaporate, is most reviving.

Many Chinese Christians returned to China this summer. I hope they carried the good seed of the word of life with them. They are only birds of passage at Sarawak: when they grow rich they prefer to spend their money in their native country. Our Chinese deacon took his family for a visit to their Chinese relations. Even the married daughter went with them; and a few days afterwards, Akiat, her husband, came to tell me that he was so wretched without his wife, that he should go to Singapore for the few months of her absence, to while away the time, and he meant to have a nice new house ready for her on her return.

Voon Yen Knoon deserved a holiday, certainly, for he worked hard among his countrymen, besides teaching every day in the school. Three evenings every week were devoted to the instruction of the Chinese, at the mission-house. Two distinct languages were spoken by the different tribes of Chinese who had settled at Sarawak. They could not be taught together. The people of the Kay tribe came on one evening, the Hokien another, each having their own interpreter. On the third evening the interpreters were instructed in the lessons for the following week. On these nights our long dining-room was full of Chinamen, and a large tray of tiny cups of tea was carried in, and consumed before the teaching began.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LAST YEARS AT SARAWAK.

Mr. Chalmers' Merdang Dyaks once said to him, "See how many races of people there are: Dyaks, Malays, Klings, Chinese, English. They have all different religions: this is proper, for God has given to each the religion suited to them."

I remembered this ingenious remark when I was reading Mr. Helms's interesting book, just published, "Pioneering in the Far East." He says: "Like most barbarous and savage nations, the Dyak identifies his gods and spirits with the great phenomena of nature, and assigns them abodes on the lofty mountains. Though, in his opinion, all spirits are not equally malignant, all are more or less to be dreaded. The silent surroundings of primaeval forests in which the Dyak spends most of his time, the mountains, the gloomy caves, often looming mysteriously through cloud and mist, predispose him to identify them with supernatural influences, which in his imagination take the form of monsters and genii. With no better guide than the untutored imagination of a mind which in religious matters is a blank, who shall wonder that this is so? I have myself often felt the influences of such surroundings, when dark clouds deepened the forest gloom, and the approaching storm set the trees whispering: if, at such a moment, the shaggy red-haired and goblin form of the orang-outang, with which some of the Dyaks identify their genii, should appear among the branches, it requires little imagination to people the mystic gloom with unearthly beings."

Mr. Helms is quite right—the religion which springs from circumstance and surrounding nature is always one of fear; evil is so close to the heart of man that the very elements and mysteries of nature seem his enemies, so long as he is ignorant of the love of God. The great creating Spirit, whose existence is acknowledged by all Dyaks, inspires them with neither love nor trust; it is only malign spirits who are active, who concern themselves with his affairs, and threaten his happiness and prosperity, and who must therefore be propitiated. What a different aspect his native woods must present to the Christian Dyak, who can look around without fear, and believe that his Heavenly Father made all these things! You would imagine that Christianity would be welcomed as a deliverance from such superstition; but here the apathy of long habit raises a barrier. The Dyak who professed to think his dismal religion was given him by God, was probably too intellectually idle to think at all. "What you say is most likely true, but we have received our belief from our forefathers, and it is good enough for us," is the common remark of the Land Dyak. This listlessness was perhaps originally caused by oppression and misery, a hard life and cruel masters. In the days we knew these people they had a sad and patient expression in their faces, as if they could not forget the time when they were ground down by Malay extortion, and despoiled by stronger, more warlike tribes. The present generation may have more spirit, more independence, and the blessings of peace and liberty may leave their minds more open to the light of truth. It is, however, interesting to note how different races of men develop different religious beliefs, and how these Dyaks intuitively perceive spirit through matter, and are governed, however blindly and ignorantly, by the powers of the unseen world.

The orang-outang, or wild man, in not very commonly met in the jungle. I have seen the trees alive with monkeys, but never met an orang-outang at liberty. The Dyaks may well be afraid of them if it is true, as they say, that if one of these monsters attacks a man, he picks his flesh off his bones like a cook plucking a chicken. They are immensely powerful, but once caged are gentle enough. Their one desire in confinement is clothing, why I cannot tell; large-sized monkeys always wrapped themselves in any bit of cloth they could find, partly in imitation of their keepers, and perhaps also because they are very chilly creatures, and, deprived of their usual violent gymnastics, suffered from cold. A Chinaman had a female orang in his shop while we were at Sarawak, who took a violent liking to the Bishop, and always expected to be noticed when he passed the shop. Then she would kiss and fondle his hand; but if he forgot to speak to "Jemima," she went into a passion, screamed, and dashed about her cage.

I never allowed any kind of monkey to be kept at the mission-house. We had too many children on the premises, and they are jealous and uncertain in their behaviour to children. Indeed I always regretted their being either shot or caged—they enjoy life so intensely in the jungle, and are so amusing, swinging themselves from the branches of tall trees, leaping, flying almost, in pursuit of one another for mere fun, that it was sad to put them in prison, where they never lived long, and where they only exhibited a ludicrous and humiliating parody on the habits of mankind.

There was a race of monkeys at Sarawak called by the natives "Unkah," from the noise they made, but which we called Noseys, for they had long noses which fell over their mouths, so that the large males had to lift their noses with one hand, while they put food into their mouths with the other. When we first lived in the country, and were anxious to send specimens of every new and curious thing to England, my husband shot one of these large monkeys for the sake of his skin, but he was so distressed at the look the beast gave him when he felt himself hit, he was so like his own uncle in England, who had rather a red face and long nose, that he resolved never again to shoot a monkey. This ape was clothed in long brown fur, while his legs were encased in much shorter hair of a tan colour, which gave the idea of leather breeches. I once saw a monkey's nest in a high tree. The tree was very bare of leaf or the nest might have escaped notice. It was formed of big sticks laid in a strong fork of the branches; and whether it was lined with anything softer could not be seen from below, but the sticks stuck out, covering a large space, which had no appearance of comfort or snugness.

The one monkey I liked, and that at a distance, was the wa-wa, whose voice was very sweet and melodious, like the soft bubbling of water; but it was a very melancholy animal, and never seemed to possess the fun and trickishness of the more common sorts of ape. They are all delicate and difficult to rear, and invariably die of over-eating, or rather eating what is unwholesome for them, if they have a chance. It seems as if, in approaching the form of man, they lost the instinct of the brute. It was a great addition to the pleasures of life in Sarawak that there were no wild beasts to be feared in the jungles. When we were once staying at Malacca, and, for the sake of a natural hot spring, inhabited a little bungalow in the country, we were always liable to encounter a tiger in our walks; on Penang Hill, also, there was a large tiger staying in the woods. During one of our visits, we tracked his footsteps in a cave on the hill; and he carried off a calf from a gentleman's cow-house near us—at another time a pony from a neighbour's stable. Tigers do not, however, live at Penang: they occasionally swim over the strait from Johore, opposite the island, if driven by hunger. The natives made deep pits to catch them, with bamboo spears at the bottom to transfix them when they fall in. On one occasion a French Roman Catholic missionary fell into one of these tiger-pits, and remained there, starved and wounded, for three days before he was discovered. He was a very good man, and gave a wonderful account of his happiness, his visions of heavenly bliss while dying in that slow torture, for he was too far gone to be restored. He died rejoicing that he had known what it was to suffer with Christ.

The last two years of our life at Sarawak, the Bishop's health failed and caused me much anxiety. The long jungle walks, which were so necessary in getting about from one mission to another, became more and more difficult to him. Often he had to stop and lie down under a tree till the palpitation of his heart abated; repeated attacks of Labuan fever affected his liver; and our friends often warned us that we ought to go home to save his life. The interest of the different missions increased so much at this time, that it seemed hard to give up a post in which many trials and disappointments had been lived through, just as success seemed about to reward the years of patient labour. The peace and harmony of the mission was greatly promoted, the last three years of our stay, by an annual meeting of the clergy with their bishop. They came from their different rivers to spend a week at the mission-house, and for certain hours of each day met in the church to discuss missionary operations, Church discipline, religious terms, translations, etc. It was very desirable there should be no diversity of opinion in these matters, but that the different missions should have the same plans, uses, and customs. And these meetings, besides the importance of the subjects discussed, knit the missionaries to one another and all to the Bishop, promoting also that esprit de corps which strengthens any institution, be it school, college, or Church in a heathen country.

A curious adventure happened to the Bishop in 1865. It was the rainy season, and the roads were saturated with water and full of holes, especially a new bit of road towards Pedungan, where sleepers of wood had been laid down, to steady what would otherwise have been a bog; but holes here and there could not be avoided. The Bishop always took a ride early in the morning, before seven o'clock service in church. That morning I had asked him to go to a house down that road, to inquire about a servant. He came home late, and covered with mud all down one side. "Papa has fallen," said little Mildred, playing in the garden. At her voice her father seemed to wake up out of a deep sleep, and gradually he became conscious of a severe bruise on his face and pain in his head; but he could give no account of the matter, which was, however, explained by a Malay in the course of the day. This man was walking on the road to Pedungan, when he met the Bishop returning home. He saw the horse put his foot into a deep hole and come down, the Bishop also. He did not, however, at once fall off, not until the horse in his efforts to rise had inflicted a blow with his head on his rider's face. The Malay helped the horse up, which was not hurt, and the Bishop on his back; and seeing he was much stunned, he followed them for some way lest the Bishop should need assistance: but when they reached the town and seemed all right, he went back. All this time, however, the Bishop was perfectly unconscious; the horse carried him as he chose, over a ditch, up a steep bank, under low-hanging trees, and quite safely until he stopped at our own door. A headache and some stiffness were the only results of what might have been a fatal accident. We were very thankful to God for having sent His angel to guard steps as unconscious and heedless as any little child's could have been. No memory of what had happened ever came back to the Bishop.

* * * * *

In 1866 the Rifleman, her Majesty's surveying ship, gave us a passage to Labuan, where the Bishop wanted to hold a confirmation. This ship was going to Manilla, and from thence to Hong Kong, before she returned to Singapore, and, through the kindness of Captain Reed, we accompanied her. At Labuan I caught the fever of the country, but it did not come out for ten days, by which time we were at Manilla. We anchored off Manilla on Christmas-day evening: it had been a very wet day, but cleared up at night, and we sat on deck watching the lights on shore, and listening to the constant chimes of the numerous church bells, whilst the sailors sang songs and did their best to amuse us. It seemed so strange to be in a Christian country again.

They have some customs at Manilla which I could not help admiring. When the Vesper bell rings at six o'clock, all business and pleasure is suspended for a few minutes, and all the world, man, woman, and child, say a prayer. The coachmen on the carriages stop their horses, the pedestrians stand still, friends engaging in animated conversation are suddenly silent. The setting sun is a signal for the heart to rise to God; it is a public recognition of His protecting care, and an act of thanksgiving. When it is over, the children ask their parents' blessing for the night. This was told me by a native of Manilla, an educated gentleman, who gave his children every advantage of learning and travel. The Vesper custom I saw for myself every time I took an evening drive. We witnessed a very gorgeous procession on the feast of the Epiphany. All the city functionaries, the military, the priests, bands of music, and a masquerade of the three kings on horseback, surrounded by troops of children beautifully dressed in white and scattering flowers, passed through the streets to a church, into which they all poured, the three horses riding in too, to attend high mass. I saw but little of Manilla, being ill nearly all the time. It is a place shaken to pieces by earthquakes. When we were there the great square, where the Government offices once stood, was a heap of ruins, and the treasury was too poor even to clear them away. The bridges were all broken in the middle, and patched up somehow; and all the rooms in the houses were crooked, the timbers of the walls being joined loosely together to admit of the frequent trembling, heaving, and subsidence of the ground, without their cracking. I believe the country all round was lovely, but I only took one drive when I was convalescent, and then we steamed away to Hong Kong. I shall say nothing about Hong Kong, for all the world knows what a beautiful place it is in winter—how bright and sparkling the blue sea, how clean and trim the streets, and how stately the buildings; also what a dream of loveliness is the one drive out of the town to the Happy Valley, where many an Englishman lies buried in the cemetery. I had a second bout of fever at Hong Kong. Happily for us, we found kind relatives both at Manilla and Hong Kong, who nursed me, and who were very good to us. We found it very cold there after stewing for six years in Borneo, and the Bishop caught a chill which made him ill all the rest of the way home. Had we thought when we left Sarawak in '66 that we should never return there, it would have been a great trial to bid adieu to our old home, but we had no such intention. We were only taking Mildred to England, and seeking a necessary change for the Bishop's failing health. The knowledge that he would not be able to resume his work in the East dawned upon us by degrees. It was a great disappointment, but we were thankful that an English vicarage was found for us, where we could make a home for our children, and where the duties and pleasures of an English parish remained to us. It is, however, very pleasant, on a foggy day in November or February, to return in fancy to that land of sunshine and flowers; to imagine one's self again sitting in the porch of the mission-house, gazing at the mountain of Matang, lit up with sunset glories of purple and gold. Then, when the last gleam of colour has faded, to find the Chinaman lighting the lamps in the verandah, and little dusky faces peeping out, to know if you will sing with them "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," or the hymn about the "Purple-headed mountain and river running by," which must have surely been written for Sarawak children.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE ISLAND OF BORNEO.

Borneo is so little known that a short account of it may be interesting. If any one will examine a map of Borneo they will see that it is a large island, in shape something like a box with the lid open. The interior of the square part of it presents almost a blank on the map, for the coasts only are known to the civilized world. Its greatest length is eight hundred miles, and its greatest breadth six hundred and twenty-five miles. Ranges of mountains through the centre of the island provide the sources of many fine rivers which are the highways of the country.

The Dutch claim the south and south-west of the island. They have settlements at Sambas, at Pontianak, and at Banjermassin; and forts on the rivers, inhabited by Dutch residents, or Malay chiefs in their pay: but they have never won the hearts of the aborigines, for the Dutch maxim is always to get as much money as possible out of native subjects, consequently they are every now and then obliged to send European troops to enforce the obedience of the Chinese and Dyaks to their rule. On the west of Borneo lies the little kingdom of Sarawak, about three hundred miles of coast line from Cape Datu to Point Kiderong.

The Sultan of Bruni, who was the nominal ruler of all the north-west of Borneo, gave up this province to Sir James Brooke in 1841, "to him and his heirs for ever," on condition a small sum of money was paid him annually. The province consisted originally of "about sixty miles of coast, from Cape Datu to the entrance of the Samarahan River, with an average breadth of fifty miles inland;"[10] but from time to time the Sultan entreated Sir James Brooke to take the rule of one river after another beyond this province towards Borneo Proper, for, owing to his own weakness, and the rapacity of his nobles who governed in his name, no revenue came to him from those rivers, nor could he protect native trade, or secure the lives of his subjects from the extortions and covetousness of their Malay chiefs. So Sarawak grew, and peace, and justice, and free trade flourished where before there were only poverty and oppression. The country is traversed by fine rivers. The Rejang, four fathoms deep two hundred miles from the mouth, the Batang Lupar, and the Sarawak are the largest, and the great highways of the country; along the banks of which are cultivated clearings and Dyak villages, but beyond these extend dense jungle which even clothes the sides of the mountains. Besides the before-mentioned rivers are many smaller ones which are still noble streams—the Sarebas, Samarahan, Sadong, Lundu, etc. It is indeed a well-watered country, and only requires the industry of man to develop its riches.

[Footnote 10: Letter of Sir J. Brooke to J. Gardner, Esq.]

There are great mountain ranges to the north-west and through the interior of the island, and the natives speak of lakes of vast extent, with Dyak villages on their shores. But this is only tradition. There is a lake commonly reported only two days' journey from the foot of Kini Balu, a high mountain on the north-west, but no Englishman has yet trod its shores. The difficulties of exploring such dense jungles and mountain precipices as bar the way across Borneo are almost insuperable. I quote from Mr. Hornaday's recent lecture at Rochester. He says, "Owing to the peculiar and almost impassable nature of the country, Borneo has never been crossed by the white man. Travelling over some of the mountains seems to be an absolute impossibility. Many of them consist almost wholly of huge blocks of basalt, soft, moist, and too slippery to walk upon. I would rather attempt to cross the continent of Africa than the island of Borneo. The explorer must carry with him provisions enough to last both going and returning. The jungle affords nothing fit for human sustenance, and there are no inhabitants to supply the explorer with food. Fame awaits the man who will thoroughly explore the interior of the island."[11]

[Footnote 11: Mr. Hornaday's lecture before the Young Men's Christian Association.]

Sir Spencer St. John, who has had more experience of Borneo jungles than any other Englishman hitherto, says, "As I have now made many journeys in Borneo, and seen much of forest walking, I can speak of it with something like certainty. I have ever found, in recording progress, that we can seldom allow more than a mile an hour under ordinary circumstances. Sometimes, when extremely difficult or winding, we do not make half a mile an hour. On certain occasions, when very hard pressed, I have seen the men manage a mile and a half; but, with all our exertions, I have never yet recorded more than ten miles' progress in a day, through thick pathless forests, and that was after ten hours of hard work. It requires great experience not to judge distance by the fatigue we feel."[12]

[Footnote 12: St. John's Limbong Journal.]

It seems that the Sultan of Bruni has found out that the best way he can govern his subjects and gain a revenue without trouble, is by ceding parts of his territory to others. He has given over the whole of the north of the island to an English company, on condition they pay twelve thousand five hundred dollars for it annually. This country, embracing an area of twenty thousand square miles, has fine harbours on its coasts very suitable for a commercial settlement. The great mountain of Kini Balu, nearly fourteen thousand feet high, with its range of lesser mountains, stands on the north-west, and between it and the sea lies a very fertile country, thus described some years ago by Sir Spencer St. John, in his "Forests of the Far East": "We rode over towards Pandusan in search of plants. From the summit of the first low hill we had a beautiful view of the lovely plain of Tampusak, extending from the sea far into the interior. Groves of cocoanuts were interspersed among the rice-grounds which extended, intermixed with grassy fields, to the sea-shore, bounded by a long line of Casuarina trees. Little hamlets lie scattered in all directions, some distinctly visible, other nearly hidden by the rich green foliage of fruit-trees. The prospect was bounded on the west by low sandstone hills, whose red colour occasionally showing through the lately burnt grass, afforded a varied tint in the otherwise verdant landscape. In the south Kini Balu and its attendant ranges were hidden by clouds."

Here is another description after a day's journey towards the mountain:—

"While reclining under the shade of cocoanut palms, we had a beautiful view of the country beyond. The river Tampusak flowed past us, bubbling and breaking over its uneven bed, here shallower and therefore broader than usual. To the left the country was open almost to the base of the great mountain, to the right the land was more hilly, and Saduk Saduk showed itself as a high peak, but dwarfed by the neighbourhood of Kini Balu, whose rocky precipices looked a deep purple colour. The summit was beautifully clear. The people in this part of the country are called Idaan. They seem industrious and good agriculturists, even using a rough plough, and cultivating the whole valley; a rich black soil produces good crops of rice, and Killadis, an arum root used for food. They also grow tobacco."

These people live too far from Bruni to be robbed by the Sultan and his nobles. The Lanuns who inhabit the north coasts are very warlike, and have always been pirates within the memory of man. They will not be easy subjects to deal with, nor will the Sooloos on the east coast, but if they can be reclaimed they may become an enterprising and fine people, like the Sarebas pirates of Sarawak.

I hope the Company will have patience with the natives of this vast territory. They will probably not work for wages. Chinese labour must be depended upon, and as they are the most industrious people on the face of the earth, and will do anything for money, they are always available. But they require a firm government, and great care must be taken that they do not infringe on the rights of the natives or there will be quarrels and bloodshed. Tradition says that there was once a Chinese kingdom at the north of Borneo, whose chiefs married into the families of the principal Dyak chiefs; but it is the misfortune of the Chinese character to be both boastful and cowardly, and when they had irritated the Malays by their big words, they stood no chance of prevailing against them in war. If their enemies did not run away after the first attack and discharge of firearms, they were pretty sure to show them an example by doing so themselves. I speak of the Chinese fifty years ago; since they have had wars with Europeans they have learnt better to stand to their arms. But they were gradually exterminated by the Malays in these petty wars, and now all that remains of them is a trace of Celestial physiognomy in their Dyak descendants, and the knowledge of agriculture which they still retain.

The Bruni Government protects no one. It is wonderful that any Chinese should still trade at a place where riches, however moderate, are sure to excite the cupidity of the Malay nobles, and to be transferred, under some pretext or another, to their own pockets. I rejoice to think that English rule and justice is now to be offered to the inhabitants of the North of Borneo. They expect an Englishman to be just and generous, brave and firm, and they ground this expectation on their knowledge and experience of Labuan and Sarawak, and the lessons which her Majesty's ships of war have from time to time impressed on the corrupt and faithless Bruni people. I trust this experience will never be reversed by unworthy agents or settlers. The climate is too tropical for colonization, no families of emigrants can be reared in such heat. There are, no doubt, more decided seasons in the north of the island than in the centre: it is hotter at one part of the year, and colder at another, than in the lands bordering on the equator, which are the rain nurseries of the world. A less fierce heat, but rain almost every day in the year, was our lot at Sarawak; and though it was very healthy for English men and women, it was not so good for crops: pepper and coffee prefer a drier climate.

There will be one difficulty in the North Borneo settlement which will require wise handling. I mean the slaves which are the possession of every petty chief and every Malay family in the country. All pirates bring home fresh slaves from every expedition. This can be put an end to at once. But it will be as impolitic as impossible to put a sudden end to the state of slavery in which so large a proportion of the inhabitants will be found. In this respect I hope the North Borneo Company will take a leaf out of Sarawak experience. Sir James Brooke, as long ago as 1841, appealed to the English Government "to assist him to put down piracy and the slave trade, which," he said, "are openly carried on within a short distance of three European settlements, on a scale and system revolting to humanity."

The exertions of Sir James Brooke and his nephews, aided occasionally by her Majesty's ships, have indeed nearly put a stop to piracy, and therefore to the kidnapping of slaves. Still the descendants of Dyak slaves remain the property of their masters. Besides these, there are slave debtors, whole families who have sold themselves to pay the accumulations arising from taxes or impositions of the Malays which they had no hope of repaying. Usury, which was the fountain of this evil, has been forbidden at Sarawak, and many are the slave debtors whom the Rajah's purse has freed.

"Slavery in the East," says Mr. Low,[13] "has always been of a more mild and gentle character than that which in the West so disgusted the intelligent natives of Europe. The slaves in Borneo are generally Dyaks and their descendants, who have been captured by the rulers of the country to swell the number of their personal attendants. Their duties consist in helping their master, who always works with them, in his house or boat building operations, accompanying him in his trading expeditions, assisting in the navigation of his boats, etc. Their masters generally allot them wives from amongst their female domestics, and many of them acquire the affection and confidence of their superiors. The price of a slave in Sarawak is from thirty to sixty dollars, but as the trade is being as quickly repressed as possible, without too much shocking the prejudices of the inhabitants, they have of late become very scarce, and difficult to be bought. The price of a girl varies from thirty to one hundred dollars, but at Sarawak they are even more difficult than men to obtain." Thus wrote Mr. Low in the year 1848. By this time, 1882, slavery is almost nominal at Sarawak. I read, in a Sarawak Gazette, six months ago, that Rajah Brooke had proposed to his Supreme Council, which consists of four Malays and two Englishmen, that slavery should be by law abolished in Sarawak territory. He had proposed this, he said, six months previously, and the Malay councillors present assented heartily as far as themselves and the people of Kuching were concerned, but they thought it would be desirable to give six months' notice to the outlying rivers and coasts, where the people were not as advanced in civilization as those at the capital. Now the six months had passed away, were they prepared to assent to the law? They again expressed their cordial approval of the abolition of slavery, but recommended three months more delay before it was enforced on the out-stations. In the same Gazette I noticed a letter from the Resident at Bintulu, one of the farthest stations from Kuching, in which he speaks of a Malay noble, warmly attached to the Sarawak Government, who claimed all the inhabitants of a large district as his slaves. It was merely a nominal claim, as they did no work for him, but he said they belonged to him. Still, when he was assured by Mr. De Crespigny[14] that such a claim would not be allowed by the Rajah, he submitted without complaint. We may hope that such will be the universal acceptance of the new law, but it is easy to see that forty years of past repression and discountenance, and the strong influence of English opinion on the subject of slavery, has effected what would doubtless have caused strong opposition and estrangement if attempted hastily.

[Footnote 13: "Sarawak, its Inhabitants and Productions," by Hugh Low.]

[Footnote 14: The Resident.]

I have just received a Sarawak Gazette, dated July 1st, which contains an account of a further cession of territory from the Sultan of Bruni to Rajah Brooke of Sarawak.

This is the passage:

"On Saturday, the 10th June, his Highness the Sultan signified his willingness to cede to the Rajah of Sarawak, and his heirs, all the country and rivers that lie between Points Kadurong and Barram, including about three miles of coast on the east side of Barram Point. Negotiations about the sum to be paid for this hundred miles of coast continued for three days, when the deed of cession was finally sealed and delivered. This deed of cession, sealed with the respective seals of his Highness the Sultan of Bruni and the Rajah of Sarawak, was read out in full court on the 10th June. After which his Highness the Rajah addressed a few words to the people, telling them that he intended going to the river Barram towards the end of this moon, for the purpose of choosing a site whereon to erect a fort, and establishing a government there, to be a nucleus of trade. He added that all those who wished to trade there might now do so without fear."

This is an important addition to the country of Sarawak.

The time may indeed not be far distant when the country of Bruni, now wedged in between Sarawak and the territory of British North Borneo, may disappear altogether, and with it the misrule and oppression of that corrupt Eastern court. Then English people will be responsible for the whole of the north and north-west of the island of Borneo, and a new era of peace and happiness will dawn upon its inhabitants.

THE END.

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BEAUTY IN COMMON THINGS.

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A HISTORY OF THE JEWISH NATION.

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BRITISH BIRDS IN THEIR HAUNTS.

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:

Inconsistencies in the hyphenation of words preserved. (cocoanut/s, cocoa-nut/s; firearms, fire-arms; gunboat, gun-boats; schoolboys, school-boys; schoolroom, school-room)

Pg. 32, duplicated word "the" removed. (the coasts and the seas)

Pg. 42, inserted period after "Mr". (that in 1867 Mr. Chambers)

Pg. 63, closing double quote inserted at end of what appears to be the end of a quoted passage.(carried them away over their shoulders.")

Pg. 95, duplicated period removed at sentence end. (by jet ornaments and bugle trimmings.)

Pg. 111, "examition" changed to "examination". (After the examination,)

Pg. 118, added period at sentence end. (agreeable and uniformly kind.)

Pg. 138, period changed to comma. (If you must go, some of us will go with you)

Pg. 162, unusual construction retained. (a new cook-house and servants' rooms near, to build;)

Pg. 243, closing double quote added at end of title of a book. (in his "Forests of the Far East":)