Tales of the Malayan Coast
"So died my ancestor one hundred years later. I will tell you of it,
that you may write his name in your histories by the side of the name
of the murdered Sultan of Mexico."
The eyes of the little man flashed, and he looked squarely into mine
for the first time. Possibly he may have detected a smile on my face,
at the thought of placing this leader of a band of pirates side by
side in history with the once ruler of the richest empire in the New
World, for he paused in the midst of his narrative and said rapidly:--
"Must I tell you what your own writers tell of the rulers of our
country, to make you credit my tale? It is all here," he said,
pointing to his head. "Everything that relates to my home I know. King
Emmanuel of Portugal wrote to his High Kadi at Rome, that his general,
the cruel Albuquerque, had sailed to the Aurea Chersonese, called
by the natives Malacca, and found an enormous city of twenty-five
thousand houses, that abounded in spices, gold, pearls, and precious
stones. Was Montezuma's capital greater?" he triumphantly asked.
"It was as great then as Singapore is today. Albuquerque captured it,
and built a fortress at the mouth of the river, making the walls
fifteen feet thick, all from the ruins of our mosques. This was
in 1513."
"Forgive me," I said hastily, "if I have seemed to cast doubt on the
relative importance of your country."
There was a Malay kampong, or village, to our right. Under the
heavy green and yellow fronds of a cocoanut grove were a half-dozen
picturesque palm-thatched houses. They were built up on posts six
feet from the ground, and a dozen men and children scampered down
their rickety ladders, as a shrill blast from our whistle aroused
them from their slumbers. Pressed against the wooden bars of their
low, narrow windows, we could make out the comely, brown faces
of the women. The punghulo, or chief, walked sedately out to the
beach, and touched his forehead to the ground as he recognized his
superior. The sunlight broke through the enwrapping cocoanuts, and
brought out dazzling white splotches on the sandy floor before the
houses. We passed a little space of wiry lallang grass, which was
waving in the faint breeze, and radiating long, irregular lines of
heat, that under our glasses resembled the marking of watered silk,
and were once more abreast the green walls of the impenetrable jungle.
"The Dato Mamat captured a Portuguese ship within a man's voice from
the harbor of Malacca. On it was the foreign Governor's daughter. She
was dark, almost as dark as my people. Her eyes were black as night,
with long, drooping lashes, and her hair fell about her shapely neck,
a mass of waving curls. She was tall and stately, and her bearing was
haughty. The mighty Laksamana, who had fought a hundred battles, and
had a hundred wives picked from the princesses of the kingdom,--for
there were none so noble but felt honored in his smiles,--loved this
dark-skinned foreigner. It was pitiful!
"His great fleet, which was to have swept the very name of the
Portuguese from the face of the earth, lay idle before the harbor. Its
captains were burning with ambition, but the Admiral would not give
the command, and they dare not disobey.
"Day after day went by while the great man hung like a pariah dog
on the words of his haughty captive. She scorned his words of love,
laughed at his prayers, and sneered at his devotion. Day after day the
sun beat down on the burnished decks of the war praus. Night after
night the evening gun in the besieged fort sent forth its mocking
challenge: still the Dato made no motion. Oh, but it was pitiful! One
by one the praus slipped away,--first those from Acheen, and then
those from Johore,--but the valiant Laksamana saw them not. He was
blind to all save one. Then she spoke: 'If thou lovest me as thou
boastest, and would win my smiles, send me to my father; then go
and bring me of this gold of Ophir,--for the Dato had laid his heart
bare before her,--enough to sink yon boat. The daughter of a Braganza
does not unite herself with a pauper. When the moon is full again,
I will expect you.'
"So did the Laksamana, to the everlasting shame of Islam. When the
moon was full he returned in his shining prau before the walls of
Malacca, He brought from Ophir, of gold more than enough; of the
pearls of Ceylon he brought a chupah full to the brim. He robbed
his great palace, that he might lay at the feet of the Portuguese a
fortune such as Solomon only ever saw. And yet the captains of his
fleet cared not for the gold, so long as the mighty Dato saved his
honor. When he left for the quay, on which stood the Governor, his
daughter, and the priests of their religion, they said not a word,
for he passed by with averted face; but each man grasped the jewelled
handle of his kris, and swore to Allah under his breath that should
but one hair of the mighty Admiral's head be lacking when he returned,
they would cut the false heart from the woman and feed it to the dogs.
"So spoke the captains; but ere the breath had passed their lips their
chief was a prisoner, and the guns from the fort hurled defiance at
the betrayed.
"It was pitiful! Allah was avenged.
"Fiercely raged the battle, and when there was a breach in the walls,
and the captain besar had ordered the attack, the Portuguese held
the mighty Laksamana over the walls, and reviled the allied fleets
with words of derision.
"Not one moved, and all was still. Suddenly the Admiral raised his
head, and gazed out and down at his followers. Then he spoke, and the
sound of his voice reached far out to the most distant prau that lay
becalmed within the shadow of casuarina-shaded Puli.
"'Allah il Allah, I have sinned, and I must die. No more shall my
name be known in the land. I am no longer laksamana; neither am I a
dato. Allah is just. Tuan Allah Suka!'
"A foreigner smote him in the mouth, and a great cry arose from
without the walls.
"The war went on; but day after day did the Governor send a message
to the Laksamana in the dungeon. 'Reveal the spot where thy gold is
hidden, and thy life and liberty are granted.'
"Day by day the Dato replied, 'My life is a pollution in the nostrils
of Allah. Take it.'
"So they laid the great chief on the stones of his cell, bound hand
and foot, and one by one did they break the joints of his toes,
his fingers, and then the joints of his legs and arms. When they had
finished, and he still lived, the woman came to him and mocked him,
but the Admiral closed his eyes and prayed. 'O Allah, the all-merciful
and the loving kind, forgive me for my erring heart. Thou knowest that
it goes out to this woman still. Let not my country suffer for my
deeds. I gave unto thy servant Solomon of the gold that has made us
great. If thou canst, thou wilt whisper the secret of our nation to
one of thy chosen people, that they may have means whereby to fight
thy battles.'
"And then the woman raised her hand, and with one stroke of the axe an
attendant severed from his body the head of the once mighty Laksamana
of the fleets of Johore, Acheen and Maur.
"So died the secret of Ophir. So fell Malacca forever into the hands
of the foreigner."
The Tuan Hakim's voice trembled as he closed. During the tragic recital
he had dropped into the soft, melodious chant of his nation. At times
he would lapse into Malay, and the boatmen would push forward and
listen with unconcealed excitement. Then, as he returned to English,
they would drop back into their places, but never take their eyes off
the face of the speaker. Only our China "boys" took no interest in
the past of Maur. It was tiffin time, and they were anxious to set
before us our lunch of rice curry, gula Malacca, whiskey and soda.
The sun was directly above us, and the fierce, steely glare of the
Malayan sky and water dazzled our eyes. Mount Ophir looked as far
ahead as ever. The winding course of the river seemed at times to
take us directly away from it.
Just as we had finished our meal, and had lighted our manilas, the
steersman turned the little launch sharply about, and headed directly
for the shore. In a moment we had shot under and through the deep
fringe of mangrove trees, and had emerged into the jungle. On all
sides the trees rose, columnar and straight, and the ground was firm,
although densely covered with ferns and vines.
The launch stopped, and the chief turned to me. "Now for the climb. We
have thirty miles to the base of the mountain. We will push on ten
miles, and spend the night at a Malay village. The next day we will
try and reach the base of the mountain."
I looked about me. We might have been surrounded by prison walls,
for all hope there seemed to be of our getting an inch into the jungle.
Our servants gathered up our rather extensive impedimenta, and sprang
into the water. We were forced to follow suit, and begin our day's
march with wet feet. A few steps up the stream we came upon an old
elephant track and plunged boldly in,--and it was in! For three
miles we labored through a series of the most elaborate mud-holes
that I have ever seen. The elephants in breaking a path through the
jungle are extremely timid in their boldness. The second one always
steps in the footprints of the first. Year after year it is the same,
until in course of time the path is marked by a series of pitfalls,
often two feet in depth; and as it rains nearly every day they become
a seething, slimy paste of mud.
Our heavy cloth shoes and stockings did not protect us from the
attacks of innumerable leeches; for when we at last reached an open
bit of forest and sat down to rest, we found dozens of them attached
to our legs and even on our bodies. They were small, and beautifully
marked with stripes of bright yellow.
It was twilight when we neared the welcome kampong. We had sent a
runner ahead to notify the punghulo of our arrival, and as we finished
our struggle with the last thorny rattan, and tripped over the last
rubber-vine, we could hear the shouting of men and the barking of
dogs. Evidently we were expected.
The kampong might have been any other in the kingdom, and the little
old weazened punghulo, who came bowing and smiling forward, might
have been at the head of any one of a hundred other kampongs,--they
were all so much alike. A half-dozen attap bungalows, built under a
cocoanut grove, all facing toward a central plaza; a score of dogs for
each bungalow; a flock of featherless fowls scratching and wallowing
beneath them, and a bevy of half-naked children playing with a rattan
ball within the light of a central fire,--made up the details of a
little picture of Malayan home life that had become very familiar to
me within the last three years.
Our servants at once set about preparing supper before the fire,
while we for politeness' sake compounded a mouthful of betel-nut and
syrah leaf from the punghulo's state box.
The next morning we set out for our twenty miles' tramp, along a narrow
jungle path, accompanied by some ten natives of the village whom my
companion had retained to cut a path for us up the mountain. It was a
long, tiresome journey, and we were heartily glad when it was ended,
and we were encamped on the rocky banks of a fern-hid stream.
Twice during our day's march had we crossed deep, ragged depressions in
the earth, which were overgrown with a jungle that seemed to be coequal
in age with the surrounding trees. We did not pause to examine them,
although our natives pointed them out with the expressive word mas
(gold). We promised to do that at a later date. On the border of the
creek I found some gold-bearing rock, and while the Tuan Hakim was
engaged in securing some superb specimens of the great atlas moth,
I sat down and crushed some fragments of it, and obtained enough gold