During one of those pauses which occurred in the war game, when ahmad had once more been driven into exile, and his brother's son Bendahara Korish reigned in Pahang, the ambitions of Wan Bong of Jelai brought him who had cherished them to an untimely and ign.o.ble death.

The Jelai valley has, from time immemorial, been ruled over by a race of Chiefs, who, though they are regarded by the other natives of Pahang as ranking merely as n.o.bles, are treated by the people of their own district with semi-royal honours. The Chief of the Clan, the Dato'

Mahraja Perba Jelai, commonly known as To' Raja, is addressed as _Ungku_, which means 'Your Highness,' by his own people. Homage too is done to him by them, hands being lifted up in salutation, with the palms pressed together, as in the att.i.tude of Christian prayer, but the tips of the thumbs are not suffered to ascend beyond the base of the chin. In saluting a real _Raja_, the hands are carried higher and higher, according to the prince's rank, until, for the Sultan, the tips of the thumbs are on a level with the forehead. Little details, such as these, are of immense importance in the eyes of the Malays, and not without reason, seeing that, in an Independent Native State, many a man has come by his death for carelessness in their observance. A wrongly given salute may raise the ire of a _Raja_, which is no pleasant thing to encounter; or if it flatter him by giving him more than his due, the fact may be whispered in the ears of his superiors, who will not be slow to resent the usurpation and to punish the delinquent.

At the time of which I write, the then To' Raja of Jelai was an aged man, cursed by the possession of many sons, arrogant folk, who loved war. The eldest, the most arrogant, the most warlike, the most ambitious, and the most evil of these, was Wan Bong. He, the people of the Jelai called Che' aki, which means 'Sir Father,' because he was the heir of their Dato', or Chief, which word in the vernacular literally means a grandfather. He was a man of about thirty-five years of age, of a handsome presence, and an aristocratic bearing. He wore his fine black hair long, so that it hung about his waist, and he dressed with the profusion of coloured silks, and went armed with the priceless weapons, that are only to be seen in perfection on the person of a Malay prince.

Into the mind of this man there entered, on a certain day, an idea at once daring and original. Ever since the death of Bendahara ali, nearly a decade earlier, Pahang had been racked by war and rumours of war, and, wherever men congregated, tales were told of the brave deeds done by the rival _Rajas_, each of whom was seeking to win the throne for himself and for his posterity. It was the memory of these things that probably suggested his project to Wan Bong. Che' Wan ahmad had fled the country after his last defeat, and Bendahare Korish, with his sons Che' Wan ahman, and Che' Wan Da, ruled at Pekan. To none of the latter did Wan Bong cherish any feeling but hatred, and it occurred to him that now, while they were still suffering from the effects of their fierce struggle with Che' Wan ahmad, it would be possible, by a bold stroke, to upset their dynasty, and to secure the broad valleys of Pahang as an inheritance for his father, To' Raja, for himself, and for their heirs for ever.

Every man in Pahang was, at that time, a soldier; and the people of Jelai and Lipis were among the most warlike of the inhabitants of the country. All the people of the interior followed Wan Bong like sheep, and he speedily found himself at the head of a following of many thousands of men. For a n.o.ble to rise up against his sovereign, with the object of placing his own family upon the throne, was an altogether unheard of thing among the natives of the Peninsula; but the very originality of Wan Bong's plan served to impress the people with the probability of its success. The _Rajas_ at Pekan were very far away, while Wan Bong, with unlimited power in his hands, was at their very doors. Therefore the natives of the upper country had no hesitation in selecting the side to which it was most politic for them to adhere.

Wan Bong installed his father as Bendahara of Pahang with much state, and many ceremonial observances. All the insignia of royalty were hastily fashioned by the goldsmiths of Penjum, and, whenever To' Raja or Wan Bong appeared in public, they were accompanied by pages bearing betel boxes, swords, and silken umbrellas, as is the manner of Malay kings.

To' Raja remained in his village of Bukit Betong, on the banks of the Jelai river, and Wan Bong, with his army, speedily conquered the whole of Pahang as far as Kuala Semantan. Thus more than half the country was his, almost without a struggle; and Wan Bong, fl.u.s.tered with victory, returned up river to receive the congratulations of his friends, leaving Panglima Raja Sebidi, his princ.i.p.al General, in charge of the conquered districts.

The _Rajas_ at Pekan, however, were meanwhile mustering their men, and, when Wan Bong reached Kuala Tembeling, he received the unwelcome intelligence that his forces had fallen back some sixty miles to Tanjong Gatal, before an army under the command of Che' Wan ahman and Che' Wan Da. At Tanjong Gatal a battle was fought, and the royal forces were routed with great slaughter, as casualties are reckoned in Malay warfare, nearly a score of men being killed. But Che' Wan ahman knew that many Pahang battles had been won without the aid of gunpowder or bullets, or even _kris_ and spear. He sent secretly to Panglima Raja Sibidi, and, by promises of favours to come, and by gifts of no small value, he had but little difficulty in persuading him to turn traitor.

The Panglima was engaged in a war against the ruler of the country, the Khalifah, the earthly representative of the Prophet on Pahang soil, and the feeling that he was thus warring against G.o.d, as well as against man, probably made him the more ready to enrich himself by making peace with the princes to whom he rightly owed allegiance. Be this how it may, certain it is that Panglima Raja Sebidi went to Wan Bong, where he lay camped at Kuala Tembeling, and a.s.sured him that after the defeat at Tanjong Gatal, the royal forces had dispersed, and that the Pekan _Rajas_ were now in full flight.

'Pahang is now thine, O Prince!' he concluded, 'so be pleased to return to the Jelai, and I, thy servant, will keep watch and ward over the conquered land, until such time as thou bringest thy father with thee, to sit upon the throne which thy valour has won for him, and for his seed for ever!'

So Wan Bong set off on a triumphal progress up river to Bukit Betong, disbanding his army as he went. But scarcely had he reached his home, than he learned, to his dismay, that Che' Wan ahman and Che' Wan Da, with a large force, were only a few miles behind him at Batu Nering.

Panglima Raja Sibidi, with all his people, had made common cause with the enemy, whose ranks were further swelled by the very men who had so lately been disbanded by Wan Bong on his journey up river. The Pekan _Rajas_ had carefully collected them man by man as they followed in the wake of the dispersing army, and Wan Bong thus found himself deprived, in an instant, not only of all that he had believed himself to have won, but even of such poor following as had been his in the days before his ambitious schemes were hatched.

But before the royal forces began their invasion of the upper country, it became evident to them that Che' Jahya, the Chief who had been left in charge of the Tembeling River by Wan Bong, must be disposed of. This man had followed Wan Bong's fortunes from the first, and it was known in the royal camp that no attempt to buy his loyalty would be likely to prove successful. Wan Bong had started up the Jelai on his triumphal progress, and it was important that no news should reach him, that might cause him to stay the dispersal of his men. So Che' Jahya's fate was sealed. About the second day after Wan Bong's departure for Bukit Betong, Che' Jahya was seated in the cool interior of his house at Kuala atok, on the Tembeling River. The sun was hot overhead, and the squeaking low of a cow-buffalo, calling to its calf, came to his ears.

The fowls clucked and scratched about the ground beneath the flooring, and the women-folk in the cook-house chattered happily. All spoke of peace. The war was over, and Che' Jahya sat dreaming of the good things which would be his in the days that were coming. He had stood by Wan Bong when bullets were flying, and had camped on the bare earth when his armies had taken the field. His aid and his counsel had had no small share in his chief's success. Che' Jahya's heart was filled with peace, and the gladness of one whose toils are over, and who sees his rewards well within his grasp. Already, in imagination, he was acting as the new Bendaharas deputy, having power over men, a harem full of fair women, and wealth to gild his ease. And yet, as he sat there dreaming, his death was ever drawing nearer to him, unfeared and unsuspected.

Shortly before sunset, at the hour when the kine go down to water, a party of Rawa men came to Che' Jahya's house. These people are a race of Sumatran Malays, and members of their tribe have been mercenaries and hired bravos in the Peninsula, beyond the memory of man. They came to Che' Jahya, they said, to offer their services to him; and, in their coming, he saw the first evidence of that authority over men and things, of which he had sat dreaming through the hot hours of the day. He received them courteously, and had rice and spiced viands placed before them, inviting them to eat, and, in doing so, he almost unconsciously a.s.sumed the tone and manners of a great chief. All partook of the meal in heartiness and good fellowship, for the Rawa people have no fine feelings about abusing hospitality, and a meal, come by it how you may, is a meal, and as such is welcome. When the food had been disposed of, and quids of betel nut and cigarettes were being discussed, the talk naturally turned upon the war, which had so recently closed. Che' Jahya, still living in his Fool's Paradise, and intoxicated by his new honours and importance, was blind to any suspicions of treachery, which, at another time, might have presented themselves to him. He spoke condescendingly to his guests, still aping the manners of a great chief.

He dropped a pa.s.sing hint or two of his own prowess in the war, and when Baginda Sutan, the Headman of the Rawa gang, craved leave to examine the beauties of his _kris_, he handed his weapon to him, without hesitation, and with the air of one who confers a favour upon his subordinate.

This was the psychological moment for which his guests had been waiting.

So long as Che' Jahya was armed, it was possible that he might be able to do one of them a hurt, which was opposed to the principles upon which the Rawa men were accustomed to work; but as soon as he had parted with his _kris_, all the necessary conditions had been complied with. At a sign from their Chief, three of the Rawa men s.n.a.t.c.hed up their guns, and a moment later Che' Jahya rolled over dead, with three gaping holes drilled through his body. There he lay, motionless, in an ever-widening pool of blood, on the very spot where, so few hours before, he had dreamed those dreams of power and greatness--dreams that had then soared so high, and now lay as low as he, crushed and obliterated from the living world, as though they had never been.

Sutan Baginda hacked off Che' Jahya's head, salted it, for obvious reasons, stained it a ghastly yellow with turmeric, as a further act of dishonour, and, when the house and village had been looted, carried his ghastly trophy with him down river to the camp of Che' Wan ahman. Then it was fastened to a boat pole, fixed upright in the sand of Pasir Tambang, at the mouth of the Tembeling River, where it dangled with all the horror of set teeth, and staring eyeb.a.l.l.s--the fixity of the face of one who has died a violent death--until, in the fulness of time, the waters rose and swept pole and head away with them. Thus was a plain lesson taught, by Che' Wan ahman to the people of Pahang, as a warning to dreamers of dreams.

But to return to Wan Bong, whose high hopes had all been shattered as completely, and almost as rudely, as those of poor Che' Jahya. When the evil news of the approach of Che' Wan ahman and his people reached him, Wan Bong's scant following dwindled rapidly, and, at length, he was forced to seek refuge in the jungles of the Jelai, with only three or four of his closest adherents still following his fallen fortunes. As he lay on his bed of boughs, under a hastily improvised shelter of plaited palm leaves, with the fear of imminent death staring him in the eyes; when through the long day every snapping twig and every falling fruit, in those still forests, must have sounded to his ears like the footfall of his pursuers, Wan Bong must have had ample time to contrast his past position with that in which he then found himself. A few days before, he had returned to Jelai, a conqueror flushed with triumph. All Pahang, he had then imagined, lay at his feet, and he alone, of all the n.o.bles of the Peninsula, had in a few months upset an old-world dynasty, and placed himself upon a royal throne. Then, in an instant of time, the vision had been shattered to fragments, and here he lay, like a hunted beast in the jungles, quaking at every sound that broke the stillness, an outlaw, a ruined man, with a price set upon his head.

The jungles, for a fugitive from his enemies, are not a pleasant refuge.

The constant dampness, which clings to anything in the dark recesses of the forest, breeds boils and skin irritation of all sorts on the bodies of those who dare not come out into the open places. Faces, on which the sunlight never falls, become strangely pallid, and the constant agony of mind scores deep lines on cheek and forehead. The food, too, is bad.

Rice the fugitive must have, or the loathsome dropsical swellings, called _basal_, soon cripple the strongest limbs; but a Malay cannot live on rice alone, and the sour jungle fruits, and other vegetable growths, with which he ekes out his scanty meals, wring his weakened stomach with constant pangs and aches. All these things Wan Bong now experienced, as he daily shifted his camp, from one miserable halting-place to another; but a greater pain than all the rest was soon to be added to his cup of bitterness. He was an opium smoker, and his h.o.a.rded store of the precious drug began to run very low. At last the day came on which it was exhausted, and Wan Bong was driven to desperation. For some twenty-four hours he strove against the overpowering longing for that subtle drug that leads the strongest will captive, but the struggle was all in vain. When, at length, the physical pain had become so intense that Wan Bong could neither stand, nor sit, nor lie down for more than a minute at a time, nor yet could still the moans which the restless torture drew from him, he despatched one of his boys to seek for the supply of opium, which alone could a.s.suage his sufferings.

The boy left him, and his two other companions, in a patch of the high gra.s.s, which the Malays call _resam_, that chanced to grow at the edge of the forest near Batu Nering. He promised to return to him as soon as the opium should have been procured. But Che' Wan ahman's people had antic.i.p.ated that Wan Bong would, sooner or later, be forced to purchase opium, and no sooner had the messenger presented himself at the shop of the Chinese trader, who sold the drug, than he found himself bound hand and foot. He was carried before Che' Wan ahman's representative, and interrogated. He denied all knowledge of Wan Bong's hiding-place; but Malays have methods of making people speak the truth on occasion. They are grim, ghastly, blood-curdling methods, that need not be here described in detail; suffice it to say that the boy spoke.

That evening, as the short twilight was going out in the sky, and the flakes of scarlet-dyed clouds were paling overhead, a body of men crept, with noiseless feet, through the clump of long gra.s.s in which Wan Bong was hiding. They saw him sitting on the earth, bent double over his folded arms, rocking his body to and fro, in the agony of the opium smoker, when the unsatisfied craving for the drug is strong upon him.

There was a rustle in the gra.s.s behind him, the sharp fierce clang of a rifle rang out through the forest, and a bullet through Wan Bong's back ended his pains for ever. The Headman of the pursuing band was Che'

Burok of Pulau Tawar, but he was a prudent person who kept well in the rear until the deed had been done. Then he came forward rapidly, and unstringing the purse-belt from around his waist, he gave it to the man who had fired the shot, in exchange for a promise that not he, but Che'

Burok, should have the credit which is due to one who has slain the enemies of the King. Thus it was that Che' Burok was credited, for a time, with the deed, and reaped fair rewards from the Bendahara and his sons. But murder will out, and Che' Burok died some years later, a discredited liar, in disgrace with his former masters, and shorn of all his honours and possessions.

Wan Bong's head was sawn off at the neck, and was carried into camp, by that splendid shock of luxuriant black hair, which had been his pride when he was alive. It was clotted with blood now, and matted with the dirt from the lairs where he had slept in the jungle, but it served well enough as a handle by which to hold his dissevered head, and there was no need, therefore, to make a puncture under his chin, whence to pa.s.s a rattan cord through to his mouth, as is the custom when there is no natural handle by which such trophies can be carried.

On Che' Burok's arrival in camp, the head was salted, as Che' Jahya's had been, and, like his, it was also smeared with turmeric. Then, when the dawn had broken, it was fastened, still by its luxuriant hair, to the horizontal bar which supports the forward portion of the punting platform on a Malay boat, and the _prahu_, with its ghastly burden, started down river to Pekan, to the sound of beating drums, and clanging gongs, and to the joyous shouts of the men at the paddles. For two hundred odd miles they bore this present to their King, down all the glorious reaches of river, glistening in the sunlight, that wind through the length of the Pahang valley. The people of the villages came out upon the river banks, and watched the procession file past them with silent, unmoved countenances, and all the long way the distorted head of him, whose eyes had looked with longing on a throne, shook gently from side to side, with the motion of the boat, as though he still was musing sadly on the schemes which had brought him to his b.l.o.o.d.y death.

'ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE'

For the G.o.ds very subtly fashion Madness with sadness upon earth: Not knowing in any wise compa.s.sion, Nor holding pity of any worth.

_Atalanta in Calydon._

In writing of the _amok_, which Dato' Kaya Biji Derja ran in the streets of Kuala Trengganu, I have spoken of suicide as being of very rare occurrence among Malays of either s.e.x, and, indeed, I know of no authenticated case in which a man of these people has taken his life with his own hand. A Chinaman, who has had a difference of opinion with a friend, or who conceives that he has been ill-treated by the Powers that be, betakes himself to his dwelling, and there deliberately hangs himself with his pig-tail, dying happy in the pleasing belief that his spirit will haunt those who have done him a wrong, and render the remainder of their lives upon earth 'one demned horrid grind.' Not so the Malay. He, being gifted with the merest rudiments of an imagination, prefers to take practical vengeance on his kind by means of a knife, to trusting to such supernatural retaliation as may be effected after death by his ghost.

This story deals with a suicide which occurred in Pahang in July 1893, and I have selected it to tell, because the circ.u.mstances were remarkable, and are quite unprecedented in my experience.

If you go up the Pahang River for a hundred and eighty miles, you come to a spot where the stream divides into two main branches, and where the name Pahang dies an ignominious death in a small ditch, which debouches at their point of junction. The right stream,--using the term in its topographical sense,--is the Jelai, and the left is the Tembeling. If you go up the latter, you come to rapids innumerable, a few _gambir_ plantations, and a great many of the best ruffians in the Peninsula, who are also my very good friends. If you follow the Jelai up past Kuala Lipis, where the river of the latter name falls into it on its right bank, and on, and on, and on, you come to the Sakai country, where the Malay language is still unknown, and where the horizon of the people is formed by the impenetrable jungle that shuts down on the other side of a slender stream, and is further narrowed by the limitations of an intellect which cannot conceive an arithmetical idea higher than the numeral three. Before you run your nose into these uncleanly places, however, you pa.s.s through a district dotted with scattered Malay habitations; and, if you turn off up the Telang River, you find a little open country, and some prosperous-looking villages.

One day in July 1893, a feast in honour of a wedding was being held in one of these places, and the scene was a lively one. The head and skin of a buffalo, and the pools of blood, which showed where its carcase had been dismembered, were a prominent feature in the foreground, lying displayed in a very unappetising manner on a little piece of open ground. In one part of the village two men were posturing in one of the inane sword-dances which are so dear to all Malays, each performance being a subject of keen criticism or hearty admiration to the spectators. The drums and gongs meanwhile beat a rhythmical time, which makes the heaviest heels long to move more quickly, and the onlookers whooped and yelled again and again in shrill far-sounding chorus. The shout is the same as that which is raised by Malays when in battle; and, partly from its tone, and partly from a.s.sociation, one never hears it without a thrill, and some sympathetic excitement. It has a similar effect upon the Malays, who love to raise a _sorak_,--as these choric shouts are termed,--and the enthusiasm which it arouses is felt to be infectious, and speedily becomes maddening and intense.

All the men present were dressed in many-coloured silks and tartans, and were armed with daggers as befits warriors, but, if you had an eye for such things, you would have noticed that all the garments and weapons were worn in a manner which would have excited the ridicule of a down-country Malay. It is not in Europe only, that the country cousin furnishes food for laughter to his relatives in the towns.

In a _Balai_, specially erected for the purposes of the feast, a number of priests, and pilgrims, and _lebai_,--that cla.s.s of fict.i.tious religious mendicants, whose members are usually some of the richest men in the villages they inhabit,--were seated gravely intoning the _Kuran_, but stopping to chew betel-nut, and to gossip scandalously, at frequent intervals. The wag, too, was present among them, for he is an inevitable feature in all Malay gatherings, and he is generally one of the local holy men. 'It ain't precisely what 'e says, it's the _funny_ way 'e says it;'--for, like the professionally comic man all the world over, these individuals are popularly supposed to be invariably amusing, and a loud guffaw goes up whenever they open their mouths, no matter what the words that issue from them. Most of his hearers had heard his threadbare old jokes any time these twenty years, but the ready laughter greeted each of them in turn, as though they were newly born into the world. A Malay does not understand that a joke may pall from repet.i.tion, and is otherwise liable to be driven into the ground. He will ask for the same story, or the same jest time after time; prefers that it should be told in the same manner, and in the same words; and will laugh in the same place, with equal zest, at each repet.i.tion, just as do little children among ourselves. A similar failure to appreciate the eternal fitness of things, causes a Malay _Raja_, when civilised, to hang seven copies of the same unlovely photograph around the walls of his sitting-room.

Meanwhile, the women-folk had come from far and near, to help to prepare the feast, and the men, having previously done the heavy work of carrying the water, hewing the firewood, jointing the meat, and crushing the curry stuff, they were all busily engaged in the back premises of the house, cooking as only Malay women can cook, and keeping up a constant babble of shrill trebles, varied by an occasional excited scream of direction from one of the more senior women among them. The younger and prettier girls had carried their work to the door of the house, and thence were engaging at long range in the game of 'eye play,'--as the Malays call it,--with the youths of the village, little heeding the havoc they were making in susceptible male b.r.e.a.s.t.s, whose wounds, however, they would be ready enough to heal, as occasion offered, with a limitless generosity.

The bride, of course, having being dressed in her best, and loaded with gold ornaments, borrowed from many miles around, which had served to deck every bride in the district ever since any one could remember, was left seated on the _geta_, or raised sleeping platform, in the dimly lighted inner apartments, there to await the ordeal known to Malay cruelty as _sanding_. The ceremony that bears this name, is the one at which the bride and bridegroom are brought together for the first time.

They are officially supposed never to have seen one another before, though no Malay who respects himself ever allows his _fiancee_ to be finally selected, until he has crept under her house, in the night time, and watched her through the bamboo flooring, or through the c.h.i.n.ks in the wattled walls. They are led forth by their respective relations, and placed side by side upon a dais, prepared for the purpose, where they remain seated for hours, while the guests eat a feast in their presence, and thereafter chant verses from the _Kuran_. During this ordeal they must sit motionless, no matter how their cramped legs may ache and throb, and their eyes must remain downcast, and fixed upon their hands, which, scarlet with henna, lie motionless one on each knee. Malays, who have experienced this, tell me that it is very trying, and I can well believe it, the more so, since it is a point of honour for the man to try to catch an occasional glimpse of his _fiancee_ out of the corner of his eyes, without turning his head a hair's breadth, and without appearing to move an eyelash. The bridegroom is conducted to the house of his bride, there to sit in state, by a band of his relations and friends, some of whom sing shrill verses from the _Kuran_, while others rush madly ahead, charging, retreating, capering, dancing, yelling, and hooting, brandishing naked weapons, and engaging in a most realistic sham fight, with the bride's relations and friends, who rush out of her compound to meet them, and do not suffer themselves to be routed until they have made a fine show of resistance. This custom, doubtless, has its origin in the fact that, in primitive states of society, a man must seek a wife at his risk and peril, for among the _Sakai_ in some of the wilder parts of the country, the girl is still placed upon an anthill, and ringed about by her relations, who do not suffer her _fiance_ to win her until his head has been broken in several places. The same _feeling_ exists in Europe, as is witnessed by the antagonism displayed by the school-boy, and even the older and more sensible males of a family, to their would-be brother-in-law. It is the natural instinct of the man, to protect his women-folk from all comers, breaking out, as natural instincts are wont to do, in a hopelessly wrong place.

As I have said, the bride had been left in the inner apartments, there to await her call to the dais; and the preparations for the feast were in full swing, and the men were enjoying themselves in their own way while the women cooked, when, suddenly, a dull thud, as of some falling body, was heard within the house. The women rushed in, and found the little bride lying on the floor, with all the pretty garments, with which she had been bedecked, drenched in her own blood. A small clasp knife lay by her side, and there was a ghastly gash in her throat. The women lifted her up, and strove to staunch the bleeding, and as they fought to stay the life that was ebbing from her, the drone of the priests, and the beat of the drums, came to their ears from the men who were making merry without. Then suddenly the news of what had occurred spread among the guests, and the music died away, and was replaced by a babble of excited voices, all speaking at once.

The father of the girl rushed in, and, as she lay on the sleeping platform, still conscious, he asked her who had done this thing.

'It is my own handiwork,' she said.

'But wherefore, child of mine,' cried her mother, 'but wherefore dost thou desire to slay thyself?'

'I gazed upon my likeness in the mirror,' said the girl, speaking slowly and with difficulty, 'and I beheld that I was very hideous to look upon, so that it was not fitting that I should live. Therefore I did it.'

And until she died, about an hour later, this, and this only, was the explanation which she would give. The matter was related to me by the great up-country Chief, the Dato' Mahraja Perba, who said that he had never heard of any parallel case. I jestingly told him that he should be careful not to allow this deed to become a precedent, for there are many ugly women in his district, and if they all followed this girl's example, the population would soon have dwindled sadly. Later, when I learned the real reasons which led to this suicide, I was sorry that I had ever jested about it, for the girl's was a sad little story.

Some months before, a Pekan born Malay had come to the Jelai on a trading expedition, and had cast his eyes upon the girl. To her, he was all that the people of the surrounding villages were not. He walked with a swagger, wore his weapons and his clothes with an air that none but a Court-bred Malay knows how to a.s.sume, and was full of brave tales, which the elders of the village could only listen to with wonder and respect.

As the brilliant form of Lancelot burst upon the startled sight of the Lady of Shalott, so did this man--an equally splendid vision in the eyes of this poor little up-country maid--come into her life, bringing with him hopes and desires, that she had never before dreamed of. Before so brave a wooer what could her little arts avail? As many better and worse women than she have done before her, she gave herself to him, thinking, thereby, to hold him in silken bonds, through which he might not break; but what was all her life to her, was merely a pa.s.sing incident to him, and one day she learned that he had returned down stream. The idea of following him probably never even occurred to her, but, like others before her, she thought that the sun had fallen from heaven, because her night light had gone out. Her parents, who knew nothing of this intrigue, calmly set about making the arrangements for her marriage, a matter in which, of course, she would be the last person to be consulted. She must have watched these preparations with speechless agony, knowing that the day fixed for the marriage must be that on which her life would end, for she must long have resolved to die faithful to her false lover, though it was not until the very last moment that she summoned up sufficient courage to take her own life. That she ever did so is very marvellous. That act is one which is not only contrary to all natural instincts, but is, moreover, utterly opposed to the ideas which prevail among people of her race; and her sufferings must, indeed, have been intense, before this means of escape can have presented itself to her, even as a possibility. She must have been at once a girl of extraordinary strength and weakness: strength to have made the resolve, and, having made it, to fearlessly carry it into execution, dying with a lie on her lips, which should conceal her real reasons, and the fact of her rapidly approaching maternity; and weakness in that the burden laid upon her was greater than she could bear. Poor child, ignorant, yet filled with a terrible knowledge, false, yet faithful even unto death, strong in her weakness, with a marvellous strength, yet weak in her first fall.

She has lived her life, and that which she has done, May G.o.d within Himself make whole.

AMONG THE FISHER FOLK

A palm-leaf sail that stretches wide, A sea that's running strong, A boat that dips its laving side, The forefoot's rippling song.