Tales of the Malayan Coast From Penang to the Philippines

Rounsevelle Wildman

Description

These stories are the result of nine years' residence and experience on the Malayan coast - that land of romance and adventure which the ancients knew as the Golden Chersonesus, and which, in modern times, has been brought again into the atmosphere of valor and performance by Rajah Brooke of Sarawak, the hero of English expansion, and Admiral George Dewey of the Asiatic squadron, the hero of American achievement. The author, in his official duties as Special Commissioner of the United States for the Straits Settlement and Siam, and, later, as Consul General of the United States at Hong Kong, has mingled with and studied the diverse people of the Malayan coast, from the Sultan of Johore and Aguinaldo the Filipino to the lowest Eurasian and China boy of that wonderful Oriental land. These stories are based on his experiences afloat and ashore, and are offered to the American public at this time when all glimpses of the land that Columbus sailed to find are of especial interest to the modern possessors of the land he really did discover

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819906391
• Langue: English

Extrait

PREFACE
These stories are the result of nine years'residence and experience on the Malayan coast – that land ofromance and adventure which the ancients knew as the GoldenChersonesus, and which, in modern times, has been brought againinto the atmosphere of valor and performance by Rajah Brooke ofSarawak, the hero of English expansion, and Admiral George Dewey ofthe Asiatic squadron, the hero of American achievement. The author,in his official duties as Special Commissioner of the United Statesfor the Straits Settlement and Siam, and, later, as Consul Generalof the United States at Hong Kong, has mingled with and studied thediverse people of the Malayan coast, from the Sultan of Johore andAguinaldo the Filipino to the lowest Eurasian and "China boy" ofthat wonderful Oriental land. These stories are based on hisexperiences afloat and ashore, and are offered to the Americanpublic at this time when all glimpses of the land that Columbussailed to find are of especial interest to the modern possessors ofthe land he really did discover.
BABOO'S GOOD TIGER
A Tale of the Malacca Jungle
Aboo Din's first-born, Baboo, was only four yearsold when he had his famous adventure with the tiger he had foundsleeping in the hot lallang grass within the distance of a child'svoice from Aboo Din's bungalow.
For a long time before that hardly a day had passedbut Aboo-Din, who was our syce, or groom, and wore the Americancolors proudly on his right arm, came in from the servants'quarters with an anxious look on his kindly brown face and askedrespectfully for the tuan (lord) or mem (lady). "What is it, AbooDin?" the mistress would inquire, as visions of Baboo drowned inthe great Shanghai jar, or of Baboo lying crushed by a boa amongthe yellow bamboos beyond the hedge, passed swiftly through hermind. "Mem see Baboo?" came the inevitable question.
It was unnecessary to say more. At once Ah Minga,the "boy"; Zim, the cook; the kebuns (gardeners); the tukanayer(water-boy), and even the sleek Hindu dirzee, who sat sewing,dozing, and chewing betel-nut, on the shady side of the veranda,turned out with one accord and commenced a systematic search forthe missing Baboo.
Sometimes he was no farther off than the protectingscreen of the "compound" hedge, or the cool, green shadows beneaththe bungalow. But oftener the government Sikhs had to be appealedto, and Kampong Glam in Singapore searched from the great market tothe courtyards of Sultan Ali. It was useless to whip him, forwhippings seemed only to make Baboo grow. He would lisp serenely asAboo Din took down the rattan withe from above the door, "Baboobaniak jahat!" (Baboo very bad!) and there was something socharmingly impersonal in all his mischief, that we came between hisown brown body and the rod, time and again. There was nothingdistinctive in Baboo's features or form. To the casual observer hemight have been any one of a half-dozen of his playmates. Likethem, he went about perfectly naked, his soft, brown skin shininglike polished rosewood in the fierce Malayan sun.
His hair was black, straight, and short, and hiseyes as black as coals. Like his companions, he stood as straightas an arrow, and could carry a pail of water on his head withoutspilling a drop.
He, too, ate rice three times a day. It puffed himup like a little old man, which added to his grotesqueness and gavehim a certain air of dignity that went well with his features whenthey were in repose. Around his waist he wore a silver chain with asilver heart suspended from it. Its purpose was to keep off theevil spirits.
There was always an atmosphere of sandalwood andArab essence about Baboo that reminded me of the holds of the oldsailing-ships that used to come into Boston harbor from the Indies.I think his mother must have rubbed the perfumes into his hair asthe one way of declaring to the world her affection for him. Shecould not give him clothes, or ornaments, or toys: such was not thefashion of Baboo's race. Neither was he old enough to wear the silksarong that his Aunt Fatima had woven for him on her loom.
Baboo had been well trained, and however lordly hemight be in the quarters, he was marked in his respect to themistress. He would touch his forehead to the red earth when I droveaway of a morning to the office; though the next moment I mightcatch him blowing a tiny ball of clay from his sumpitan into theear of his father, the syce, as he stood majestically on the stepbehind me.
Baboo went to school for two hours every day to afat old Arab penager, or teacher, whose schoolroom was an openstall, and whose only furniture a bench, on which he satcross-legged, and flourished a whip in one hand and a chapter ofthe Koran in the other.
There were a dozen little fellows in the school; allnaked. They stood up in line, and in a soft musical treble chantedin chorus the glorious promises of the Koran, even while their eyeswandered from the dusky corner where a cheko lizard was strugglingwith an atlas moth, to the frantic gesticulations of a naked Hinduwho was calling his meek-eyed bullocks hard names because theyinsisted on lying down in the middle of the road for their noondaysiesta.
Baboo's father, Aboo Din, was a Hadji, for he hadbeen to Mecca. When nothing else could make Baboo forget theeffects of the green durian he had eaten, Aboo Din would take thechild on his knees and sing to him of his trip to Mecca, in aquaint, monotonous voice, full of sorrowful quavers. Baboo believedhe himself could have left Singapore any day and found Mecca in thedark.
We had been living some weeks in a governmentbungalow, fourteen miles from Singapore, across the island thatlooks out on the Straits of Malacca. The fishing and hunting wereexcellent. I had shot wild pig, deer, tapirs, and for some days hadbeen getting ready to track down a tiger that had been prowling inthe jungle about the bungalow.
But of a morning, as we lay lazily chatting in ourlong chairs behind the bamboo chicks, the cries of "Harimau!Harimau!" and "Baboo" came up to us from the servants'quarters.
Aboo Din sprang over the railing of the veranda, andwithout stopping even to touch the back of his hand to hisforehead, cried, – "Tuan Consul, tiger have eat chow dog and gotBaboo!"
Then he rushed into the dining room, snatched up myWinchester and cartridge-belt, and handed them to me with a "Lekas(quick)! Come!"
He sprang back off the veranda and ran to hisquarters where the men were arming themselves with ugly krises andheavy parangs.
I had not much hope of finding the tiger, much lessof rescuing Baboo, dead or alive. The jungle loomed up like animpassable wall on all three sides of the compound, so dense,compact, and interwoven, that a bird could not fly through it.Still I knew that my men, if they had the courage, could followwhere the tiger led, and could cut a path for me.
Aboo Din unloosed a half-dozen pariah dogs that wekept for wild pig, and led them to the spot where the tiger hadlast lain. In an instant the entire pack sent up a doleful howl andslunk back to their kennels.
Aboo Din lashed them mercilessly and drove them intothe jungle, where he followed on his hands and knees. I only waitedto don my green kaki suit and canvas shooting hat and despatch aman to the neighboring kampong, or village, to ask the punghulo(chief) to send me his shikaris, or hunters. Then I plunged intothe jungle path that my kebuns had cut with their keen parangs, orjungle-knives. Ten feet within the confines of the forest themetallic glare of the sun and the pitiless reflections of the ChinaSea were lost in a dim, green twilight. Far ahead I could hear thehalf-hearted snarls of the cowardly, deserting curs, and Aboo Din'sangry voice rapidly exhausting the curses of the Koran on theirheads.
My men, who were naked save for a cotton sarongwound around their waists, slashed here a rubber-vine, there athorny rattan, and again a mass of creepers that were as tenaciousas iron ropes, all the time pressing forward at a rapid walk.Ofttimes the trail led from the solid ground through a swamp wheregrew great sago palms, and out of which a black, sluggish streamflowed toward the straits. Gray iguanas and pendants of doveorchids hung from the limbs above, and green and gold lizardsscuttled up the trees at our approach.
At the first plot of wet ground Aboo Din sent up ashout, and awaited my coming. I found him on his hands and knees,gazing stupidly at the prints in the moist earth. "Tuan," heshouted, "see Baboo's feet, one – two – three – more! Praise be toAllah!"
I dropped down among the lily-pads andpitcher-plants beside him. There, sure enough, close by the catlikefootmarks of the tiger, was the perfect impression of one ofBaboo's bare feet. Farther on was the imprint of another, and thena third. Wonderful! The intervals between the several footmarkswere far enough apart for the stride of a man! "Apa?" (What does itmean?) I said.
Aboo Din tore his hair and called upon Allah and theassembled Malays to witness that he was the father of this Baboo,but that, in the sight of Mohammed, he was innocent of thiswitchcraft. He had striven from Hari Rahmadan to Hari Rahmanan tobring this four-year-old up in the light of the Koran, but here hewas striding through the jungle, three feet and more at a step,holding to a tiger's tail!
I shouted with laughter as the truth dawned upon me.It must be so, – Baboo was alive. His footprints were before me. Hewas being dragged through the jungle by a full-grown Malayan tiger!How else explain his impossible strides, overlapping the beast'smarks!
Aboo Din turned his face toward Mecca, and his lipsmoved in prayer. "May Allah be kind to this tiger!" he mumbled. "Heis in the hands of a witch. We shall find him as harmless as an oldcat. Baboo will break out his teeth with a club of billion wood andbite off his claws with his own teeth. Allah is merciful!"
We pushed on for half an hour over a dry,foliage-cushioned strip of ground that left