Frederic Ambrose Wilford Blaydes (Page-Turner) Born 30th July 1882 – 7th July 1936, biography and Life as a district officer In Sarawak, under the Rajah Brookes
Frederic Ambrose Wilford Blaydes (Page-Turner)
Born 30th July 1882 – 7th July 1936,
Born at Tilsworth Vicarage and baptized on the 10th September at Tilsworth church.
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Pupil of Hincwick House School under William Augustus Orlebar. He attended Berkhampstead Grammar School, confirmed at the school chapel on 16th December 1897 by the Bishop of Colchester. He left Berkhamstead Grammar School in 1900 and entered the National & Provincial Bank of England for a year. In 1902 he received an appointment under Rajah Charles Brooke, he sailed for Sarawak on 13th Feb 1902 and served there until 1930. He "married" a Malaysian Woman of high standing in 1904 and had a son, Samuel (Sammie) Blaydes in 1905.
Samuel (Sammie) Ambrose Blaydes 1905-1967 seated 2nd from left
first son of FAW P-T Sarawak
In late1930 after 28 years of service to the Brooke dynasty and Sarawak he returned to England to inherit the Ambrosden estate in Oxfordshire from his late brother Hugh Gregory (Blaydes) Page-Turner.
F A W Page-Turner on his Hunter "Flash" Ambrosden Park 1933
He Married Peggy in 1931 and they lived at Ambrosden House, St. George's Avenue, Weybridge, and Ambrosden House Bicester, Oxfordshire, and Sundon, Bedfordshire, (1882-1936), was the father of the Rev. Edward Gregory Ambrose Wilford Page-Turner, (b.1931), and Noel Frederick Augustus Page-Tuner (b.1932)
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Arms: Quarterly, 1 and 4, Quarterly, i and iv, Argent a fer-de-moline pierced Sable (Turner); ii and iii, Azure a fess indented between three martlets Or (Page); 2 and 3, Vert on a saltire between four pheons Argent a pomeis on a chief engrailed Or a lion passant Gules (Blaydes). Crest: A lion passant guard.
F A W Page-Turner Service in Sarawak 1902-1930
Explanation of colour coding headings:
Timeline
and key dates for FAW (Blaydes) Page-Turner’s service in Sarawak in green
Timeline and key dates for Sarawak History in blue
Service in Sarawak 1902-1929 & 1930 (returned after retirement)
F A
W (Blaydes) Page-Turner March 23rd,
1902 to 26th March 1903: appointed
Cadet Baram, Bintulu
Bintulu is a coastal town on the island of Borneo in
the central region of Sarawak, Malaysia. Bintulu
is located 610 kilometres (380 miles) northeast of Kuching, 216
kilometres (134 miles) northeast of Sibu, and 200 kilometres (120
miles) southwest of Miri, Bintulu
is the capital of the Bintulu District of
the Bintulu Division of Sarawak, Malaysia.
James Brooke was appointed the White Rajah of
Sarawak (now known as Kuching) by
the Bruneian Empire in 1841. In 1861, the Sultanate of Brunei
ceded the Bintulu region to Brooke. Bintulu was a small settlement at that
time. A wooden fort named Fort Keppel was built in the village, named
after Sir Henry Keppel, who was a close friend of the Rajah James
and Charles Brooke. Sir Henry Keppel was responsible for crushing
the Dayak piracy in the Saribas between
1840 and 1850.
The fort of Bintulu which was built entirely of
wood, was in somewhat ruinous condition. It stood nearly on the seashore, and
just behind it, at a distance of few paces, the primeval forests
commenced...Some China men had settled at the vicinity of the fort and had
built a small bazaar, but the houses of the Melanau chiefly form the
village beyond the Chinese kampong (village). These Melanaus used to live
further up the river, but since the construction of the fort, and the
installation of an officer of the Rajah near the mouth of the river, they came
to settle near the sea – a thing they would never have dared to do in
former days for fear of the attacks of the Lanun pirates and Dayak pirates. — Reported
by Odoardo
Beccari in 1904
Bintul was one of the most isolated places in Sarawak. Only one officer looked after the district. The nearest station was Mukah, 75 miles along the coast, and the closest medical assistance was at Kuching or Labuan, both 250 miles away, with no means of communication if help had been needed. To make matters worse, from November to March the northeast monsoon pounded the river bar into such fury of surf that no vessel could safely navigate the waters. The duties of a cadet, although dealing mainly with minor tasks, were multifarious and did not lack variety. One former Brooke officer recalled that a Cadet was left to do the mundane duties, which the Assistant Resident had “no time or desire to do” The Cadet had to take charge of the Rangers and was responsible for managing prisons. He was directed to dispense medicines, sell postage stamps, and observe his superiors in their work. The fort was more comfortable than most. The Ranger guard occupied the ground floor. The Courtroom and the Acting residents & Cadets quarters comprised the first floor. From the windows was a grand view of the sea. All the men of Bintulu were sailors and fishermen. The officer and Cadet dined on fresh fish every day. Custom had it that when the fishermen returned in the evenings, they should throw some of their catch onto the fort landing stage for the use of the staff of the garrison.
Legal duties consumed a greater part of the Resident’s work. The Resident was regarded as the chief Judicial officer in his Division or district and used the British concept of Justice. The Resident was largely left to exercise his discretion over legal matters. Each Resident maintained a Divisional Council, attended by local chiefs. These chiefs were appointed by the Government, which almost invariably chose the accepted head of the tribes. Each village, whether Malay, Melanau , Land Dyak, Sea Dyak or Kayan, had its hereditary or elected head, who were responsible for maintaining order and paying taxes. Forts were built to the same design so that they were uniform. Square stockades with watch towers at each corner, made of planks of ironwood, which no native missile can penetrate. The fort was the focal point of administration and it attracted traders. Chinese bazaars and Malay Kampongs grew within the vicinity of the fort. The success of a Resident depended on his acquiring intimate knowledge of the local inhabitants.
Each Division was under the Resident who in turn supervised the work of Assistant Residents, Cadets, and Malay Native Officers appointed by the Rajah but deriving much of their authority by virtue of their descent from the datus. Native officers assisted the Residents in general administration. In addition, there were the para-military Sarawak Rangers (mostly Iban) and police (mostly Malay), and a number of Malay , Chinese, and Iban Clerks.
Recruitment for the Sarawak service was conducted largely based
on family connections and personal recommendations from retired officers. Frederic Ambrose Page-Turner’s sister Dorothy
was the wife of Hanbury Lewis Kekewich from Peamore Estate Exminster Devon and would have known the
Brooke family at Sheepstor Dartmoor only 1 hour away in Devon. The Page-Turners
of Ambrosden Bicester were also 1 hour
away from Cirencester where Rajah Charles Brooke spent many months of the year
in his later life.
A Newly appointed Cadet was allowed £40 for his passage from
Britain to Sarawak. The 1873 Order provided leave of two years on half pay for
officers with at least ten years’ service.
1917 Monthly salaries
Divisional Resident
$450
Second Class Resident $300
Asitant Reisdent $200
Cadet (Newly appointed) $120
The British officers were not regarded as common men, of
course; they were epic figures. Ibanized versions of their names appeared in
songs and stories, and are recalled to this day. Bailey was “ Tuan Bili”
Deshon ( a particularly hard name for
the Ibans to pronounce) was “Tuan
Lengsong”. Page-Turner a veteran of the second Division Resident under both Charles and Vyner Brooke, was “
Tuan S’tarna”
9th June 1902 Cholera Expedition (2000 men died initially and the outbreak affected the whole of Sarawak killing many of the Indigenous people but no Europeans)
19th June 1902 Pengarah Ringkai of Saribas died
FAW Blaydes took the Page-Turner name and coat of arms
in 1903 following his father (Frederick Augustus
Blaydes.) inherited the estate of his Uncle Sir Edward Henry Page-Turner, 6th Baronet, who died childless.
Sibu is a landlocked city located in the
central region of Sarawak,
Malaysia. It serves as the capital of Sibu District within Sibu Division and
is situated on the island of Borneo.
Covering an area of 129.5 square kilometres (50.0 sq mi), the
city is positioned at the confluence of the Rajang and Igan Rivers, approximately
60 kilometres from the South China Sea and
191.5 kilometres (119 mi) north-east of the state capital, Kuching. The
city's history dates back to its founding in 1862 by James Brooke, who
built a fort to protect against attacks by indigenous Dayak people.
Subsequently, a small group of Chinese Hokkien settlers established themselves
around the fort, engaging in various business activities. In 1901, Wong Nai Siong led
a significant migration of 1,118 Fuzhou Chinese from Fujian, China,
to Sibu. Over time, infrastructure development took place, including the
construction of the first hospital, Sibu bazaars, Methodist schools, and
churches.
There was no hard and fast rule on how an outstation
government should be run; the Residents themselves would determine the measures
most suitable according to local needs and demands. The principle of government
was thus to allow “system and legislation” to “ wait upon occasion” This type of government closely resembled an
ad hoc administration which reacted to a situation rather than anticipated
problems.
The Rajah impressed on his officers the importance of
treating the natives with respect and of soliciting the co-operation of local
chiefs. He also encouraged his officers to cultivate social and friendly
relations with the natives to familiarize themselves with local problems.
The Rajah preferred his recruits to be men with a personal touch, not brilliant scholars. He wanted his recruits to be in their early 20s and single. His officers were not permitted to marry until they had completed at least ten years of service. While the Rajah frowned on the presence of European wives, he did not discourage his officers from illicit liaisons with native women and Malys.
Charles Brooke, 2nd Rajah of Sarawak
In his book “ Ten Years in Sarawak” Charles Brooke
showed a predisposition to the idea of Miscegenation between Asians and
Europeans, which he believed suited tropical climes and the circumstances of
such Asian countries as Sarawak. Rajah Charles fathered in 1867 a son by a
local woman, the son was called Esca. This practice became a subject of
criticism from members of the Sarawak clergy.
As a District Officer, their duties varied widely. Tasks include
keeping proper documents, checking records, vaccinating the Dyaks, and seeing that
Law and Order were observed. He was a Judge, prosecutor, garrison commander,
chief medical officer, and office boy all at once. Helping and solving the
problems of the Dyaks. There was no telegraph, and few letters: orders came by
runner from Kuching; very infrequently the Rajah came on tour of inspection.
Dyak Headman & Dyak Women
Occasionally there were uprisings in the interior which had
to be put down. Large expeditions were planned and carried out. Led by European
officers hundreds of Dyaks , Rangers, and Malays. Days were spent marching
through jungles, navigating rivers in canoes, always on alert from hostile
tribes. The heat, mosquitoes deadly
swamps, leeches, and many other hazards such as floods, drought, cholera, and
the plague aggressively affected them.
Dyak or Ulu Warrior
The Rejang . the biggest river in Sarawak , had diverse
tribes living on its riverbank. In the upper waters were colonies of Kayans,
and bands of nomad hunters such as Punans, split into groups of Ukits and Lisums.
All these were the wild men of Borneo, wandering from place to place in the
thickness of the jungle, erecting flimsy shelters of palm leaves on sticks and
living entirely on wild produce vegetables, and animals. The Punans would hunt
with poisoned darts and blowpipes. A B
Ward describes an expedition in his book that he organized for action against
the Balleh Dyaks consisting of a force of 1200 Dyaks and 600 Malays , the
Balleh Dyaks had murdered 18 innocent people in the 3rd division and
then under the leadership of the swashbuckler named Tabor, had invaded the
second division and taken five heads in the upper Saribas. We had several
ex-soldier Dyaks to pick from being careful to divide the chosen men equally among
the various tribes to avoid jealousy. Fort Alice was thronged with young old
and decrepit warriors all hoping to be selected. Arms and ammunition had to be
checked, snider rifles were handed out and each man had a rope ring covered in
red cloth to wear around his head, it combined protection against a cutting
blow and a distinctive mark in a melee. In the middle of May, I had the whole
force on board the “Natuna” at Lingga and
we sailed straight away for Sibu. The 500-tonne ship was crammed with 2000
souls. We reached the rendezvous in Kapit,
the place was swarming with Dyaks, and over 10,000 men had turned out for the
Rajah’s cause. The Rajah himself was there in the “Zahora”. Six Europeans
accompanied the expedition and an instructor who commanded 100 Sarawak rangers
armed with a seven-pounder M L Gun.
HHY Zahora, Rajah Brooke's Yacht moored in front of the Astana
Kuching Sarawak
The prerogative of fighting for the Dyaks is a highly prized
privilege of the Batang Lupar and Rejang Dyaks, the majority went in their
boats armed with their weapons rationed themselves and received no pay. Under judicious supervision they were able to
appropriate any abandoned loot in the enemy’s country, this sometimes meant
quite a lucrative proposition. The Rajah
arranged his expeditions so that possible contact with the enemy would occur
about the time of the full moon. The expedition left passing the Rajah who
stood on the quarter deck of the “Zahora” where he doffed his Homburg hat to each
passing boat.
That night we were at Mujong mouth where the expedition
camped, some of the enemy scouts came too close and paid the ultimate price. On
again with the European boats leading the next day to keep order and
discipline. As the river narrowed the task was easier however there were new
tactics to contend with from the enemy. Mammoth trees had been felled across the
stream generally where a rapid made progress difficult. These barriers had to
be hewn apart by axes while a wary eye was necessary to forestall an ambush.
For a week we struggled up the Melinau, shallow from lack of rain; punting,
pulling, shoving the hundreds of boats over a succession of rapids; paddling where
the water lay deep enough over the pebble bed, boats were punctured and put out
of action. Occasionally there were skirmishes with some wounded as a result of
enemy encounters. The enemy eventually retired inland to Bukit Salong. We had
expected this move because the Balleh Dyaks always boasted the hill was impregnable.
The route was tricky with many obstacles to overcome eventually we came to a
halt at the foot of Salong Hill. From the summit, we could make out war cries, and
rocks were thrown down. I was surveying the position from the base when a
warning voice sang out. Looking up, I saw the whole hill tumbling down on top
of us. I stood transfixed for a second or two until my orderly grabbed me by
the arm and dragged me under the shelter of a rock. The rebels had cut the
trees loose at the top of the hill with the result that the whole jungle
hillside had crashed to the bottom. The rock saved our lives. In the morning a
hillock was cleared, the gun mounted the first few shells were wide and
greeted with derisive jeers from the top. Then the rangers got the range, the
shells burst over the ridge, and we could hear shouts of consternation this
time, at night there was wailing on the hill but no hint of surrender. The next
morning we essayed a shot, but now there was a deathly silence on Salong.
Scouts went ahead the hill was deserted, the property was scattered everywhere
and some dead bodies lay cold. Our task was accomplished.”
17th January 1904 Death of Admiral Keppel
29th March 1904 The Bong Kap Encounter, Kanowit immense
boat Bong Kap captured accommodated 100 paddlers. Rajah Mudah became the Resident of the 3rd
division
15th
August 1904 FAW Page-Turner posted to Simanggang
31st December 1904 Tama Bulan died
5th January 1905 Cession of Lawas
1st
July 1905 – 31st May 1906 assistant resident Simanggang 2nd
Division to A B Ward
F A W Page-Turner with Iban Warrior Guards 1919
The Second Division, as defined when constituted on 1st June 1873, extended from the Sadong River to the Rejang River (but not including either river). It was redefined 28th July 1885 as extending from Sadong River (exclusively) to Kalaka River (inclusively). Batang Lupar, Saribas and Kalaka rivers. It covered 6-7 thousand square miles with a population of 60,000 Dyaks. Three English officers controlled the whole of this territory.
No Resident was appointed in charge of the 2nd
Division until 1 Sept 1922. The reason was that the second Rajah, Tuan Muda, oversaw
the Division from his accession in 1868 until 1916 when he handed it (and the
Dayaks of the Third Division) over to the third Rajah, who was then the Rajah
Muda.
Following officers of the 2nd Division :
Cruickshank, James Brooke 1875
Brooke, Charles Rajah
1868-1916
Brooke, Charles Vyner
Rajah 1916-1922
Page-Turner, Frederic Ambrose Wilfred 1922-1930
Archer, John Beville 1930-1934
The settlement of Sri Aman was originally named Simanggang,
after the stream of the same name which drains into the Batang Lupar.
Simanggang was established in 1864 during the reign of Rajah James Brooke, but
it was not the original location of the government outstation. Rajah James
established a government outstation at at Nanga Skrang in 1849, but later
relocated it to Simanggang. The original Skrang outstation was established
after the Rajah, (with the help of the British Navy,) brutally ambushed a large
returning Iban/Malay maritime expedition at the Beting Maru sandbank, offshore
from the mouth of the Batang Lupar. This followed two equally brutal
expeditions in 1843 and 1844, where the Rajah was trying to put down Iban and
Malay resistance to his rule. He felt the fort and outstation would provide a
physical presence in the mostly Iban area to maintain his control. The fort was
constructed on the opposite side of the Batang Lupar from the original pasar
settlement there. The fort, (later known as Fort James,) was located across
from the mouth of the Batang Skrang in order to control the movement of Skrang
Iban groups, which had been resisting the rajah’s directives. The fort also had
to be able to withstand the attack of the rajah’s enemies, although it never
actually came under actual attack at that site. The establishment of the fort
and its European officer attracted the aristocratic abang abang from their
upriver kampung, and convinced the Teochiu Chinese traders to build five
shophouses there.4 Before this time, the area was not very secure due to
conflict between local groups.
Settlements were also prone to attack by Iranun raiders from what is now the Southern Philippines. For this reason, most settlements were located in defensive locations up rivers, rather than on the coast. In 1863, it was decided that the Skrang outstation be relocated to Simanggang, as the Skrang location was prone to seasonable flooding, not surprising in an area where padi paya was grown. In 1864, all of the inhabitants of the Skrang outstation moved to the new location at Simanggang. At that time, there were about 2,500 Malays and approximately 100 Chinese living at Skrang, in addition to the fortmen and their officers. There were no overland routes between Skrang and Simanggang, and the relocation was done entirely by boat. The fort building at Skrang was dismantled and transported downriver, and reassembled on a small hill on the Batang Lupar, downriver from Sungai Simanggang. The Malays established themselves in two locations: firstly, on the upriver side of the Simanggang River where there was a small hill, and secondly on the downriver side of the fort. The Chinese traders settled on the flat land between the Sungai Simanggang and the fort. The new outstation at Simanggang was based on the settlement pattern at Skrang, and became a prototype for other outstation settlements in Sarawak, with its three components of fort, Malay kampung and a pasar made up of Chinese shophouses, linearly arranged along the river. Almost all other outstations established during the Brooke period conform to this pattern, including Sibu, Kapit, Marudi, Kabong, Engkilili, Kanowit, Bintulu and Betong. These patterns can still be read through the urban morphology of those settlements, although in some cases (such as Betong) the relocation of the pasar and the change of the path of the river may confuse matters.
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Simanggang Bazaar and Batu Lupar River with the
At Simanggang, the fort was remaned to ‘Fort Alice,’ and its functions began to change from surveillance and defence to more civil functions. While it still functioned as a military establishment (it housed the fortmen and their weapons,) its functions were expanded to include the court, treasury, dispensary, development office, post office amongst others.
Reverned Father Stonton of St Lukes Anglican Church Simanggang
The Resident's Bungalow Simanggang 1920's
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The resident’s bungalow was where Charles Brooke had lived while he was Resident, and came to be known as the ‘Simanggang Astana’ when Charles Brooke became the second Rajah.
The Restored Residents Bungalow Simanggang now a
Museum & Government Guest House
FAW Page-Turner (seated second step down from the top)
& guests Simanggang
Short Video of the Residents Bungalow today
The use of the term ‘Astana’ is significant, as the Brooke Government often used local terms to project authority. Charles’ son, Vyner, was also stationed at Simanggang before he became the third Rajah. The population of the Lupar Residency, which included all the rivers upriver from Simanggang, continued to grow slowly throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. In 1871, the Lupar Residency had 35,492 inhabitants, whereas the ‘capital’ of the residency, Simanggang; had about 3,500.
Simanggang was one of the major towns in nineteenth century Sarawak. It was the centre of a significant rice producing area, and Sarawak’s development at that time also saw the area’s padi production increase - it provided padi to a lot of the state at that time. Development in the residency also came from the increasing cultivation of cash crops such as pepper and rubber, which brought a lot of wealth into the residency. Simanggang’s development cannot be seen in isolation, rather it must be seen as part of a larger area, and as the main centre of that area where agricultural produce from the hinterland was collected or cultivated to be on-sold to other places, and where imported agricultural and other goods were available for upriver groups to buy.
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2nd January 1906 Brunei accepts a British
Resident
1st April 1906 Datu Bandar Haji Usop of Sibu died
Bung Muan Mountain Bau Sarawak
FAW
Page-Turner 5th July 1906 31st December 1907 Duty in
Rejang (Third Division) and moved to Kapit.
6th October 1906
Datu Bandar Haji Bua Hassan died
FAW
Page-Turner 1st Jan 1908 made
Resident 2nd Division
The Resident had to write regular reports mainly
concerning imports and exports of rice, the state of local finances, figures on
the economics of government, and precise statements on raids by head-hunters,
many of these reports appearing in the Sarawak Gazette. The Second Division in 1900 had the following
populations :
50,000 Ibans
10,000 Malays
2000 Chinese
FAW Page-Turner standing to the left behind the ships wheel
at the Jetty Kuching walking past the Customs House
The second division was not important to the economy, lacking good soil and mineral resources. Simanggang was not isolated in comparison to many Sarawak outstations, but the trip from Kuching still required two days by a combination of a Government steamer and a hand-paddled river boat. To survive a long assignment in such a place, an officer had to have greater than average inner resources. Residents were asked to take an interest in their surroundings.
Kuching Museum and Orchid House, Kuching
They were asked to collect specimens for the Sarawak
Museum, which the second Rajah founded. They were also encouraged to write
articles on local ethnography and folklore for the Sarawak Gazette. The
Resident was expected to speak Malay and Iban.
Staff Quarters Simanggang
Hospital Simanggang
The Life of the British Officer resolved itself into a
routine. Daily Weekly and yearly events assumed the nature of minor rituals,
giving a regular rhythm to existence. Every day at Simanggang the Resident
presided over the law court and corresponded with his fellow Resident about
such problems as absconded Chinese coolies and wandering Ibans who had deserted
their families, whilst the most junior British assistant sold stamps and
dispensed harmless medication for two cents a dose. Every evening the officers
entertained each other at their quarters in Fort Alice, where all of them lived,
and sometimes spent long hours chatting with visiting Iban or Malay headmen.
Every night at eight o’clock the Iban Corporal of the guard raised the drawbridge over the
cheveaux-de-frise which surrounded the fort, to the following long-drawn chant
: (now just a ritual)
“Eight o’clock has sounded,
The bridge is raised,
The gate is locked
No one can come up anymore”.
Barefooted Indoor Staff at Fort Alice Simanggang Every Sunday the Junior officer inspected the Jail, the squad of Sarawak Rangers, and the few government buildings. Then the Resident and his men paid an official weekly visit to the Chinese bazaar, just down the grass-covered slope from Fort Alice.
The British Officers spent a great deal of time on tour. On their travels, they met local leaders, heard their news of other rivers in the Division, and collected tax receipts. Above all, they settled court cases, sometimes in the various other forts, but also frequently in boats, in the five-foot way of Chinese bazaars, and on the child and chicken-covered verandas of Iban longhouses.
Early each morning the Court Room began filling up with
Dyaks, Malays, and Chinese. At ten o'clock Police arranged wooden benches
before the court table The Resident and his assistant Resident would take up
their positions alongside the native officers behind a green baized table.
Cases were of all kinds, criminal and civil, the latter chiefly concerned
disputes over farming land or the division of inherited property. The two
protagonists occupied the front bench arguing their case in their own language.
The Resident did all the cross-examining, writing out a synopsis of the matter as
he proceeded, and if either of the parties wandered from the subject, he
received a dig in the ribs from the police behind. There were no lawyers to
complicate the point at issue; judgment was given and the litigants made way
for the next.
Among the cases sometimes brought up in court was the
inheritance of a “tajau”, an old jar. To look at they are nothing remarkable.
Brown glazed “Ali Baba Jars” some with a
dragon ornamentation some with a scroll, where they came from is a mystery
probably from China or Siam. The Dyak prized them as we do old paintings.
Chiefs and old Dyaks have rows of them in the family room. Jars would exchange
hands for over $1000 in the 1920’s.
Money was spent on jars or silver ornaments made for the women. Silver
dollars were melted down to fashion a belt or bracelet.
The Method of summonsing Dayaks to court was peculiar.
Paper documents would be useless, so a “tongkat” a Malacca cane walking stick
with a brass head and a government mark, was sent abroad from village to
village with verbal message until it reached the person named, who forthwith
hurried to Simanggang.
The Resident, FAW Page-Turner (seated Center) & his staff Fort Alice Simanggang
Detail, FAW Page-Turner the Resident seated center.
During a visit by Rajah Charles Brooke in 1899, the Rajah
settled 22 court cases at Fort Alice over three days; including nine lands
disputed, four divorces and desertion cases, three inheritance quarrels, one
application for a gun license, one application for a goldwork permit, one
dispute over a boat, one slander case. F.A.W. Page-Turner famously decided to
adopt a Chinese young girl to solve a custody case between estranged Chinese
parents. Gregory Page-Turner his grandson met this lady in the mind 1980s on
his first visit to Sarawak and Kuching. The lady was in her late 80’s living
with her prosperous children in Kuching.
Afternoon office work was a repetition of the morning
work but less exciting because there was no performance of the Law Court. After the heat of the afternoon lessened when
it was cool, the officers would take exercise. One would ride one of the two
government ponies the other officer would walk around the cowsheds or visit the
prisoner work gangs.
The Tidal Bore arriving just before Fort Alice Simanggang
In the evening with twilight, the officers would sit in the cool on a seat overlooking the river with refreshing drinks and watch the boats pass on the stream and the tidal bore. Scarcely an evening passed without a visit from various native Dayaks who would sit on the grass to tell the officers the news from upriver and beyond. Evenings were also spent reading books and newspapers.
On a typical tour, the officer first preceded from Simanggang to Betong, traveling up the Skrang River by boat, then over-land by trail. At Betong, on the Saribas, he lived in the dovecote-like attic above the main fort Lili, sweltering when the sun beat down on the ancient shingle roof. After a busy few days of hearing cases among the argumentative Saribas Ibans, he went downriver to Pusa, a low-lying mosquito-plagued Malay settlement. After finishing there he continued by river and sea to Kabong, built over mud flats at the mouth of the Krian, passing by the site of the 1849 Battle of Marau on the way. His final stop was an hour’s paddle up the Krian River at Saratok, again in Iban territory. The entire tour took as much as a month to complete, depending on the amount of work encountered. Expeditions were conducted in two long boats paddling upriver. At every turn wooded hills, crowned with Dyak Longhouses came into view.
Dyak Men with Brooke Government Officer
Dyak Girls in Costume
As these houses were passed the boat’s crew burst
into a yell fetching out scores of men, women, and children who ran down to the
bank shouting out invitations to stop.
Expeditions also visited gold mining settlements manned by Chinese
Sambas. When the rivers became shallow
bamboo poles were used to punt their way along the rivers. On these peace tours
upriver almost all Dyak houses were visited our reception was most cordial. We sat for hours in the “ruai” or public hall
of the houses surrounded by men, women, and children all bombarding us with
questions. Few of them had ever seen a white man before and the girls were
anxious to test the whiteness of our skins by wetting their fingers and rubbing
them on our calves to see if it was permanent, On these visits a quantity of
native spirits was brought out “tuak”. Although these Dyaks were opposed to the
government simply because they were not allowed full liberty to persist in headhunting,
they appeared to have a great reverence for the Rajah.
European Women visiting a Dyak Longhouse
For inland Dyaks the landing stage was normally a half-submerged tree trunk, slippery as a greased pole. Then for some way, the only path was over “batang” flimsy poles supported on cross sticks a foot or more above the black oozy swamp. A Dyak could trip along in perfect ease, his toes grasping the sticks, however, a European wearing shoes was seriously handicapped on these slippery rotten rolling “batang.” A narrow raised path extended for miles through virgin forest until it emerged onto hills green with “Lalang” grass. Here and there a scattered hut, standing alone on the banks of the Saribas River fort Lili.
Walkway over Swamp Betong to Dyak Longhouse
Shooting was a prime recreation during the winter months
when the northwest monsoon brought in snipe and often wild ducks. Snipe was
usually found in the vast buffalo swamps of Limbang and Trusan. Going upriver in
the launch parties would anchor off a well-known “Laman” and walk up the plain.
It was strenuous work in the broiling sun, up to one's knees, sometimes to
thighs in mud, with the cr-k-k-k of snipe getting up all around. Later in the
afternoon after a break to wash down and refreshments when the sun was sinking,
green pigeons would fly across the river. These shooting parties would span
from 2 to 4 days with a stay in Trusan.
When travelling from Kuching to Simanggang a small government steamer was normally the best means of transport. Out of the mouth of the Sarawak River, sweeping east passing the low-lying mangrove coast, passing the wide entrance to the Sadong River and the domed island of Burong where innumerable sea fowl made their homes undisturbed, except when startled into protesting clouds of white, grey and black. Ahead lay the large mouth of the Batang Lupar River with its protruding teeth, conical mounds, big and little Triso. Passing through and then entering the Simanggang district. In its lower reaches the Batang Lupar is 3-4 miles wide. After 15 miles a white fort emerges at Lingga where the travellers stay overnight before transferring to war boat canoes measuring fifty feet long manned by twenty-five Malay paddlers sitting crossed-legged on a slated deck, a portion towards the stern was reserved for the Tuan where a mattress was arranged under a Kajang awning. 45 miles to Simanggang where the journey can be dangerous. The most dangerous being the tidal bore which can travel at 10 to 12 miles per hour. Finally sweeping around a bend, a long reach brings into sight a green hill standing cliff-like from the water, crowned with a black and white fort called Fort Alice, the home of regional government and law for the second division. The original Batang Lupar fort was built in 1849 to command the entrance to the Skrang River, it was later moved to the hill at Simanggang and named Fort Alice after Rajah Charles Brooke's sister. The fort was built of massive Belian or ironwood in an oblong enclosing a courtyard. The front-facing the water was the great courtroom, containing an inadequate table with green baize from which justice was administered. Some wooden safes, also some small tables for the junior officers and Chinese clerks. Down the center forming a nave were racks of Snider carbines for the garrison rangers or Malay levies. On brackets behind the seat of justice were some earthenware heads, which a former resident hoped the Dyaks might collect instead of human trophies. From the courtroom, a door led to the officer's quarters a living room, and two bedrooms. The assistant Resident had his room at the other end of the Fort in close conjunction with the Ranger's sleeping quarters.
Residents Bungalow , The Jail & farm with Cattle in the foreground, Simanggang
Behind the Fort was the Jail with the other quarters for
police and military. Beyond stretched some farmland acres which were tended by
the prisoners. The short-horned cattle were imported by the Rajah and were milked
and occasionally slaughtered to provide meat and milk for the government officials.
Sheep were also reared along with chicken.
The Chinese Bazaar was a row of wooden opened-fronted
shops extending along the riverbank. The Malay population of Simanggang lived
in two separate villages, the Kampung Ulu above the fort and the Kampong Hilir
below. The Kampung Uu considered itself more aristocratic because it was home to
the senior native officer Tuanku Putra who was the son of the prime pirate who
had been defeated by James Brooke at Pemutus in 1844. These Malays were
gradually given important positions in the government. They became the most
reliable and loyal supporters of the Rajah's rule.
18th March 1908 Appointment of British Agent for Sarawak
FAW
Page-Turner 5th August 1908 – 9th April 1909 granted and
took Leave. He arrived in Brighton 3rd Sept 1908, returning to
Sarawak 12th March 1909
Frances
Helen Page-Turner (sister) visited in October 1910
Sylvia seated center , on board a Steam Yacht
21st March 1909 Pangeran Omar affair closed, Ulu
Strap
FAW Page-Turner 1st May 1910 – 15th June 1910 Actg i/c Batang Lupar Vice A.B.Ward
FAW
Page-Turner 16h June 1910 – 30th June 1914 Duty 3rd Division
During the great war of 1914-1918 all the European officers working in Sarawak were given special dispensation, however, some junior officers returned to their mother country to fight for their country. News from home was very sporadic. There were some initial disruptions in terms of food prices escalating however the government stepped in to control prices. There was a drainage of men from rubber plantations and other food growers. There was alarm when Turkey entered the war pitting a Muslim country against the allies. This worry did not amount to much of a worry.
20th November 1912 Constitution of Sarawak State
Advisory Council in England
In 1912 the senior administrative service of Sarawak consisted of 4 residents 16 junior officers governing some 300-400,000 people.
FAW Page-Turner July 1914 – 11th March 1915 Leave , arriving in the Uk 6th Sept 1914, leaving the Uk for Sarawak 6th Feb 1915 from Tilbury in the P&O SS Malwa for Kuching via Singapore
5th October 1914 Ex-Penghulu Ngumbang died
F A W Page-Turner standing beyond near the top Canoe in a white shirt
Fallen tree blocking progress of expedition
22nd February 1915 1st Gat Expedition
14th May 1915 Mujong Expedition
Interior view of the Resident's cramped quarters
Photographs by Dr Charles
Hose and Robert Shelford. Many of these photographs were reproduced in Hose's
own books and those of other writers. F.A.W Page-Turner appears in quite a number
of these photos and must have organised the expedition in his capacity as Resident of the district where the expedition was carried out and where these
photographs were taken. Dr Hose was a keen amateur photographer and also made a
large collection of fauna and flora from Sarawak. He died on November 14th 1929
and, subsequently, a large part of his collection of Sarawak material was
presented to the British Museum. These photos refer to an expedition that will
have been taken anytime between 1907 and 1920 when Dr Charles Hose visited Sarawak
following his retirement in 1907.
Charles Hose was born in
Willan, Hertfordshire on October 12th 1863. He was the son of Thomas Charles
Hose and Fanny (née Goodfellow). He was educated at Felsted and Jesus College,
Cambridge. He married Emily Ravn in 1905 and had one son and one daughter.
Hose entered the service of
the Raja of Sarawak as a Sarawak cadet in March 1884. In 1888 he was
Officer-in-Charge of the Baram District. In January 1891 he was Resident, 2nd
class. By May 1904 he was Resident, 3rd Division, a member of Supreme Council and
Judge of the Supreme Court of Sarawak. He retired in 1907 but he revisited
Sarawak in 1909 and 1920. From 1916 to 1919 he was Superintendent of H.M.
Explosives Factory, Kings Lynn. In 1919 he was a member of the Sarawak State
Advisory Council at Westminster. In 1924 at the British Empire Exhibition in
Wembley he was the Director of Agricultural and Industrial Exhibits, Sarawak
Pavilion.
F A W Page-Turner Expedition Party and Canoes on a shingle bank
Expedition boat dwarfed by the Jungle in a Creek Turn
The Sarawak Civil Service List gives further details of his activities in Sarawak: 'While in Sarawak [Hose] distinguished himself as a geographer, anthropologist and collector of natural history specimens. His numerous journeys in the Baram District, which he was the first Officer to explore thoroughly, brought him into contact with many interior tribes, who, through his influence, came under Sarawak control and made peace with Sarawak tribes.
Conducted a successful expedition in the
Ulu Rejang with a force of two hundred Kayans against Dyaks on Bukit Batu April
to June 1904. While Resident of the Third Division was instrumental in
effecting the surrender of Bantin and disaffected tribes of the Empran, Engkari
and Kanowit districts. After leaving Sarawak he was responsible for bringing to
the notice of the Anglo-Saxon Petroleum Company the possibilities of the Miri
Oilfield and for conducting negotiations between H.H. the Rajah and that
Company, resulting in the exploitation of that field, which, in point of production
of oil, is now the second largest within the countries under the control of
protection of Great Britain'.
Expedition Canoes at rest stop, F.A.W. Page-Turner the Resident and leader
standing wearing a straw hat with his back to the camera
Robert Walter Campbell Shelford was born in Singapore on the 3rd August 1872. He was educated at King's College, London and Emmanuel College, Cambridge. From 1895 to 1897 he was a demonstrator in biology at the Yorkshire College, Leeds. From 1897 to 1904 he was the curator of the Sarawak Museum, Kuching. Shelford was in the Hope Department, Oxford University Museum 1905-12. Shelford married the daughter of Reverend Alfred Richardson in June 1908 and died at Margate on the 22nd June 1912.
FAW
Page-Turner 16th March 1916
Duty Mukah
FAW Page-Turner 1st November 1915 – 31st December 1916 Acting Resident 2nd Division Simanggang
FAW Page-Turner 1st Jan 1917 - 1st October 1930 confirmed as Resident 2nd Division Simanggang
17th May 1917 Death of Sir Charles Brooke
24th May 1917 Proclamation of Rajah Vyner Brooke
22nd July 1918 Installation of Rajah Brooke
(crimson banner spanned the road at the stone landing place, supported by two tall masts covered by heraldic shields and little miniature flags (long triumphal archway of these masts, hanging with garlands of coloured paper roses and reaching as far as the doorway of the courthouse. Sarawak Rangers and police took up positions along the route. At 9 am the Rajah Mudah and party left the Astana bearing the sword of state upon a yellow cushion and taken across the river by the state barge (originally gifted by the King of Siam).
The party was received at the landing place by the members of the
supreme council. The Rajah walks ahead sheltered by the official Royal
Umbrella. Members of the supreme council
fell in line behind the Royal Party. The
Party processed to the Court House. Rajah wearing his green and gold uniform.
Tuan Mudah in Khaki.
Crossing the platform were assembled Members of the council of Negri, the Sarawak Government Officers and their wives, and all the European guests.
The Law Courts Kuching from the Astana, Kuching
FAW Page-Turner 2nd July 1918 appointed Member of the Council of Negri
The first legislative assembly in Sarawak was formed during the rule of the White Rajahs. The General Council (Majlis Umum) of the Kingdom of Sarawak was convened on 8 September 1867 by Charles Brooke, the Rajah Muda under the orders of James Brooke, then the Rajah of Sarawak. Its members were chosen from local tribe leaders who were thought to be capable of assisting Brooke in administering the kingdom. The General Council later evolved into the Council Negri in 1865. It consisted of Chieftains of the tribes, together with the chief European and Malay officials of Kuching and the European Residents. They were to meet at least every three years, to endorse any major political decision or constitutional development and to discuss plans for the future. The Council Negri first met in Bintulu.
In 1976, Council Negri formally changed its name to Dewan Undangan Negeri (legislative assembly) through an amendment to the Sarawak constitution. The Assembly is also the oldest legislature in Malaysia and one of the oldest continuously functioning legislatures in the world, being established on 8 September 1867 as the General Council under the Raj of Sarawak.
There was never any cause for discussion, and the meeting
became more or less a formality to enable the Rajah to greet all his principal
officers, and at the same time, to give the outstation chiefs a week's holiday
in Kuching at government expense.
The Council of Negri met in the large dining room at the Astana the table extending the whole length of the room was surrounded by solemn-faced natives, for the most part, resplendent in flowing robes and twisted turbans of varied hues. Malays, Dyaks, Muruts, and Kayans, all races of Sarawak were represented there.
Various Exterior Views of the Astana Kuching
An armchair at the head awaited the Rajah. The
Europeans were grouped in a semi-circle behind. The Europeans were dressed in
navy blue suits with “hard-boiled” shirts. After all, the Sarawak motto “ Dum
spiro Spero” was always interpreted to mean “ While I perspire I Hope”. A Low buzz of conversation filled the room: and
then a “stomp stomp” was heard along the veranda. There was a rustle as the
assembly rose from their seats but in dead silence, the Rajah strode into the
Room. He alone wore the gorgeous Sarawak Uniform, and he was unaccompanied. To
the childlike natives, he was everything, their father, their King almost their
God. Bowing to the assembly the Rajah took his seat and the initiation of the
new members proceeded at once. Natives were called first and standing before
their ruler were sworn in. Mohammedans took their oath on the Koran to be
faithful to the Rajah. Kayans swore by the tooth of the tiger; Europeans had
the chaplain with a Bible to register their fidelity. As the candidates came
forward one by one, the Rajah made eye contact with each candidate who recited
their oath to the Rajah. The Rajah then
made a speech. A banquet followed where the table was displayed with all the
state finery with the Rajah at the head surrounded by his officers. Each
resident looked after his group of native officers it entailed instructing them
in the art of eating with a knife and a fork and making sure they did not overindulge
in the fine wines or offend the laws of decency.
5th April 1919 2nd Gat Expedition
FAW
Page-Turner 20th April 1920 -
8th Jan 1921 Leave
F A W Page-Turner with Delia and others on leave
FAW
Page-Turner 1st July 1920 Officer Class II
4th August 1920 Dayak Peace-making at Simanggang
There were two peace-making ceremonies held between the 1907-1924 period at Kapit. On December 4. 1907 H.S.B Johnson reported:
In fact, between 1907 to 1916, the Iban from Balleh, Katibas, Machan, Naman, and Julau seemingly coordinated their raids against the Punan who had reoccupied the Pila, Merit, and Metah following the peace deal. Determined to get rid of the Punan from these areas, the Iban launched the biggest raid, after 1896. It was a party of 400 strong consisting of Gaat Iban.
Mr Gifford was on his way returning to Kapit from Belaga when he learned of the Gaat’s planned raid. He quickly alerted the Punan of the impending raid and relayed a message down to Mr Lang at Sibu for immediate reinforcement of about 50 well-armed Malay rangers. Gifford then led 200 strong Government forces, made up of Malays and Kayans back upriver, and encountered the 400-strong Iban war party at Pila.
The latter made a feint to attack the Government force but were shot down to the number of about 200. The Iban party lost all their fifteen boats and drowned trying to escape capture. Mr Gifford’s force suffered no casualty, except for a wounded Fortman. He highly commended Abang Aboi, a Native Chief at Kapit, the Rangers, Malays for showing conspicuous bravery. However, rebuked the 80 Kayan, whom Gifford said were “useless” (SG May 1, 1916:78).
After the 1916 bloodied Gaat's Iban raid, the Government restricted Punan movement from Bikei rapid (Iban’s Mikai rapid) downriver. They were no longer allowed to reclaim and reoccupy their ancestral lands in the Pila and Merit region. In 1919, a group of Iban tried to settle at Sama River, above Pelagus. The group quickly reprimanded them and told them to return downriver near Kapit.
However, succumbing to Iban’s pressure, the Government relented. But to avoid racial flare-ups, they arranged for another peace-making ceremony in 1924. This time, it was much grander, involving not only the Kajang (Punan, Sekapan, and Kajaman), Kayan, and Kenyah of Sarawak, but also those from Kalimantan.
Shortly thereafter, the Government began to allow, mostly law-abiding, Roman Catholic Katibas Iban to move into the Pila area (Pringle 1970). A Christian mission was duly set up in the area. After opening the floodgate, droves of other Iban from downriver started moving into the upper Pelagus. By 1935, their longhouses had spread, a mere four kilometres from Punan Ba village.
On arriving at Simanggang the Rajah and his party were met by two government Officers stationed there. An immense crowd of local people were lined up on both sides of the path, many of whom the Rajah knew both by sight and name since he had recently relinquished his role as Resident of the 2nd Division. All the Pengulus (Chiefs) were dressed alike in a bright uniform consisting of a black coat, red trousers, and a yellow sash, the colours of Sarawak. Round their heads were wound small turbans of the same colours. the Rajah spoke a little word to each one in turn and then passed on into the bungalow. There he interviewed the chiefs and Chinese Towkays, settling cases that could only be settled by his final word.
The following day thousands of Dyaks arrived and stationed themselves upon an open space allotted to them. On a stand covered by crimson bunting sat all the native officials and important people of the station. The rival chiefs are in two separate groups. In the center were 60 jars about 3.5 ft high and 18 inches in diameter. They were split into 2 groups and were guarded by the Sarawak Rangers. The Jars were provided by the up-river and down-river tribes in equal numbers so that they could be exchanged between them and kept in the houses of the headmen as tokens of the settlement of their feuds.
The Rajah called the rival chiefs to approach him, addressing them in Dyak asking them to realize the solemnity of the occasion, and telling them the peace-making had been arranged to wipe out the old scores. He further charged them to do away with the practice of head-hunting forever.
The two rival chiefs stepped forward and two small pigs were placed in the centre of the arena, the chiefs standing by them with spears ready in their hands. They carried shields covered with curious designs and decorated with the same gruesome trophies of human hair. The pigs were then stabbed with the spears and thrown into the river.The Jars and brass gongs, brass tobacco boxes spears, and blankets were distributed among the chiefs.
Both before and following James Brooke's installation as the ruler of Sarawak in 1841, at the instigation and with the support of the Sarawak Malays, conflict among the indigenous communities in northwest Borneo was at epidemic levels.
Drawing on indigenous traditions of conflict resolution, all three Rajahs pursued peace-making ceremonies which sought to reconcile traditional enemies with each other, and with the Sarawak Government. These ceremonies did not attempt to untangle the grievances which had been created by generations of complex conflict but sought to make peace by helping communities to draw a line through past offences, looking instead towards a peaceful and prosperous future together under the authority of the Government.
The 1924 Peace-making ceremony at Kapit was a culmination of efforts by so many stakeholders, including the Sarawak Government, to establish such a future. The enduring and powerful identity that is shared by Sarawak people today, characterized by the late Tok Nan, as "anak Sarawak", is a testament to their success.
This anniversary of the Kapit Peace-making of 1924 speaks to the hopes of so many of our ancestors to live in peace and friendship with each other.
The Regatta at the Marudi peace-making in 1899 was carefully
organized to maximize the participation of local chiefs in the management of
the event. • They were made into judges, stewards, and umpires alongside the
Brooke officers. • The idea was to provide an alternative to headhunting for
energetic ambitious men aspiring for fame. This regatta was the climax of other
peacemakings held in Baram district over the previous years in 1895 onwards.
Peacemaking was a period that laid the foundations for the Brooke state and
eventually, the Sarawak State as we know it today. • Peace-making was a process
–that was documented by the officers of the Brooke state early 1840s to the
1924 Kapit Peace-making and Long Jawe in 1967. • Peacemaking generated the
legacy of sociality that people experience in Sarawak –the easy partaking of
regattas, festivals and food between peoples of different traditions and
religions. • Peace-making was based on local customary law adat which has
become codified as the basis for dispute resolution at the local level.
The Week was just one long social whirl because, besides the races, there were sports competitions of all sorts, and lavish parties every night, so that by the end of the week practically everyone was exhausted.
Fancy Dress Kuching, Sylvia Brooke seated Center , F A W Page-Turner to her left
The Ranees daughter seated by her on the ground
Race Day Kuching, a society event with many of the Brooke officers attending
Iban Women from the 2nd Division visit the Race Day with other tribes from Sarawak
To start with, Sarawak contended itself with native ponies imported from North Borneo ranging from 12 to 13 hands. As the years passed ideas expanded and soon the horsey men were subscribing for griffins limited to fourteen hands imported from Australia. The two-day race meetings were public holidays. There was a grandstand for the Europeans and principal Sarwakians, a team room for the ladies, and a bar for the men. Opposite the grandstand, a long line of native huts built on high posts extended along the rails. They were for the Malay ladies who sat there in all their finery. The Europeans who lived in Sarawak were expected to help with the races, helping with starting the races, and stewards in the paddock and grandstands.
Charles Vyner Brooke the 3rd Rajah and his officers
FAW Page-Turner 1st from left at the Astana
Most of the Officers stayed at the Astana. Formal dinners
were held with processions to the dining table. The Astana was the palace that was
built for the second Rajah after the first Rajah’s bungalow was burnt down by
the Chinese insurrection. The building
is eclectic in style, with a Gothic tower forming the entrance, and on either
side great wings with high-pitched roofs of wooden shingles, with reception
rooms and bedrooms all on the first floor, supported on whitewashed brick
arcades, with the kitchens and bathrooms on the ground floor. Tea parties were
held on Tuesdays for the whole European community. Now and then there were
dinner parties followed by music. The Rajah often entertained. Punctuality was
a mania with Charles Brooke, he dined at eight, and as the time gun boomed
forth, he led the way to the dining room and woe betide anyone late. A feature
of the Astana dinners was the presence of the Sarawak Rangers in uniform,
stationed at intervals around the room bearing large palm-leaf fans of the type
seen in the picture of Cleopatra; these were waved to and from to cool the air
as a substitute for the more usual creaking punkahs. After dinner, if the ladies
were present, there was perhaps a little music, but at ten o’clock punctually
the Rajah rose, shook hands, went off to bed, and left his guests to depart. If
it was a man’s party, the Rajah took his seat on a side veranda with the rest
of the company in a line opposite him, all uncomfortably seated on iron
benches.
The whole system of government in Sarawak was a personal
and patriarchal rule. The welfare of the people was of utter importance to the
Rajahs in particular Charles Brooke. The personal rule is what the Asiatic
respects and understands. He wants government from a man who is human like
himself and can understand his frailties.
Rajah C V Brooke & his daughters with F A W Page-Turner far right
Rajah C V Brooke with FAW Page-Turner on his right & other
Government Officers & wives at the Astana
Government Officers on the Verandah circa 1920's
The social element in Kuching was mainly represented by
the government class, however, the Borneo Company did a lot of entertaining too,
and one or two of the catholic and Anglican missionaries. Dinner parties
constituted the most common form of social gatherings. Bridge, of course, was
not known and poker generally finished up the evenings.
FAW
Page-Turner 1st September 1922 appointed Officer Class 1 and
Resident of the 2nd Division,
The Resident F A W Page-Turner & his staff
Fort Alice Simanggang 1929
FAW Page-Turner was the first European officer to hold this title since 1875, he remained with this appointment until he retired in 1930. According to his obituary, Mr F A W Page-Turner had wide experience and understanding with the Dyaks and enjoyed their entire confidence. His administration of the second division was a complete success and his name was still one to conjure with among the older natives. “Tuan S’tarna” as he was always known.
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%20Simanggang%20circa%20det%202%201920's.jpg)
Detail : FAW Page-Turner seated on the Bow
accompanied by a Junior Officer
He was known to be a just man and a wise and sympathetic administrator. Mr Page-Turner served on numerous expeditions against head-hunters and other malefactors, and it was during one of these that an incident occurred which provides a good illustration of his personal courage.
F A W Page-Turner seated center with Colleagues to right & left
with Iban Women and children
After halting for the night Mr Page-Turner went down to bathe at a small stream, and believing the enemy to be far away, he dispensed with all the usual guards. Suddenly the foliage on the opposite bank parted to reveal a group of hostile Dyaks, all fully armed and definitely ready for mischief. No whit disconcerted Mr Page-Turner who it should be remembered, was quite helpless, did not lose his head but started to rate them soundly for their lack of courtesy, asking them how they dared to disturb a European in the course of his ablutions! No Dyaks likes to be thought of as lacking in manners, and it is related that this particular party grew abashed at Tuan’s well-chosen words and eventually retired from the scene in surly embarrassment, their departure it is said being accelerated by a few final stinging remarks and a shower of pebbles from the irate bather!
F A W Page-Turner standing far left with Iban Women & Children on the Long House Ruai
The one characteristic of the Dyak that caused the most concern for the Sarawak government and the Resident was the custom of headhunting. The Dyak race consisted of numerous clans analogous to the clans of the Scottish highlands. Quarrels often arose and people got killed, thus feuds were started and retaliation for injuries became a law. From these beginnings headhunting became a sort of instinct, an obligation, and a religion. For example, it was difficult for a young man to marry unless he could present intended with a human trophy.
Head Hunters Trophies in Long House
When a relative
died an enemy’s head was necessary to allay the mourning and to provide the
deceased with an attendant in the world beyond. The worst aspect of this custom
was that it didn’t matter whether the head was of a woman or child let alone a
man of any age. Dyak’s were only just brought into the ways of the European
civilization less than 100 years ago. It was the responsibility of the Resident
and his staff along with the Christian missionaries to eradicate this barbaric
custom.
FAW Page-Turner 26th September 1925 Long service Decoration
FAW
Page-Turner 1st July 1927 -28th January 1928 Leave
FAW
Page-Turner 1st October 1930
Retired on Pension
In F.A.W Page-Turner's obituary is written the following observation; “Those who remember Simanggang in Mr Page-Turner's time will agree that with his retirement an epoch came to an end. He loved Simanggang and the whole station reflected his personality. It was a station steeped in tradition and the various “adats” that remained in force gave a particular charm. When Mr Page-Turner left Simanggang he took with him the last surviving traces of an old order which made up in dignity for anything that it might have lacked in modern efficiency and hustle. In 1930 Mr Page-Turner inherited a considerable estate in Ambrosden England from his late brother, he married in the following year.”
Although the much-traveled Somerset Maugham is famous for his short
stories with a Malayan setting, he did not spend all that much time in the
country. He first visited what was then the British Colony of the Federated
Malay States in 1921. His stay lasted for six months, three of them passed in a
sanatorium in Java due to illness. His second and last visit came in 1925 when
he was there for four months. This was enough, however, to collect the material
he sought.
On Saturday 2 April 1921, after an eventful voyage from Singapore, a wizened middle-aged Englishman walked down the gangplank of the steamship Kuching and onto the soil of Sarawak. He was William Somerset Maugham, a renowned playwright, novelist, and short story writer, on an expedition to the East in search of raw material for future literary creations. He was accompanied by his secretary Gerald Haxton, but not by his typewriter, which had been lost in transit, along with the keys to his luggage. It was not an auspicious start to his visit. Although opening the luggage was facilitated by the lock-picking skills of a convicted murderer whom the authorities put at Maugham’s disposal, things would only get worse for the writer and his companion. Maugham did not have the opportunity to pay his respects to Rajah Vyner Brooke, who was in England at the time, but was received hospitably by Brooke’s Aide-de-Camp, Captain Barry Gifford. A trip to the interior was quickly arranged for him, through the good offices of the District Officer of Simanggang (now Sri Aman).
That officer’s surname would
surely have brought a smile to the face of a best-selling writer: it was F A W Page-Turner.
A motor launch conveyed Maugham, Haxton, and Gifford from Kuching to Simanggang
on the Batang Lupar. A canoe then took them along the Skrang River to an Iban
longhouse, where they spent two days. Maugham soaked up local colour and, as
was his custom, filled page upon page of his notebook with impressions of the
flora, fauna, landscape, and people, for possible use in his future writings.
The party then set off downstream
in a canoe crewed by eight trusted convicts, intending to rendezvous with the
launch and return to Kuching. The Batang Lupar was (and still is) well known
for its tidal bore, a wave moving rapidly upstream caused by a high tide from a
wide river mouth squeezing into a narrowing river. Unfortunately, as District
Officer F A W Page-Turner later angrily reported, the local police constable
failed to warn the visitors about when the bore was expected. He should have
advised them to shelter at Stumbin. As luck would have it, they met the bore at
Lubok Naga – ‘about the worst place in the river when the bore is at its
height’, as the Sarawak Gazette later reported. An eight-foot ‘wall of rushing
water’ engulfed their craft, threw them all into the river, and carried them
rapidly upstream as they alternately grabbed gunwale and keel as the boat
tumbled in the torrent. ‘We all scrambled round it like squirrels in a cage,’
Maugham recalled. His first impulse was to try to swim to safety but the others
shouted to him to hang on to the boat. After twenty or thirty minutes – Maugham
lost track of time – one of the prisoners passed him a makeshift lifebelt: one
of the mattresses on which the passengers had been lying in the canoe. They all
struggled towards the river bank, waded through knee-deep black mud, and lay
down on the ground, exhausted. A passing canoe took them to a nearby longhouse,
where, clad in a dry sarong and fortified with ‘plenty of drink’, Maugham later
gazed at the new moon ‘thankful to be alive’. ‘I couldn’t help thinking that I
might at that moment have been a corpse floating along with everyone else.
The next day, ‘cut about, bruised from head to
foot’, Maugham and Haxton reboarded the launch at Bijat to return to Kuching.
On Tuesday 19 April they rejoined the S.S. Kuching, bound for Singapore, where
they purchased replacements for the belongings now lying on the riverbed. They
then visited Brunei and British North Borneo (now Sabah), but never again did
they grace Sarawak’s shores. The near-death experience at the hands of the
tidal bore was not forgotten, however, and is immortalized in one of Maugham’s
‘Malay’ tales. In his writings, Maugham made free use of characters whom he
encountered and events that he experienced himself or about which he heard
during his travels. Names were changed of course, occurrences were transposed,
embroidered, conflated, and adapted. ‘I have never claimed to create anything
out of nothing,’ Maugham declared. ‘I have always needed an incident or a
character as a starting point, but I have exercised imagination, invention, and
a sense of the dramatic to make it something of my own.’ But people could often
recognize themselves in his stories: those set in the East often depicted the
antics of expatriates. Those who saw themselves exposed in a short story
pretended to be angry.
Conversely, as W. J. Chater writes in Sarawak
long ago, many people not depicted were jealous that they had been overlooked
by the master storyteller. In the short story The Yellow Streak, first
published in magazines in 1925 and later in collections of his short stories,
Maugham drew upon his Batang Lupar experience. In this story Sarawak is thinly
disguised as ‘Sembulu’, the Rajah becomes a Sultan, and Kuching is dubbed
‘Kuala Solor’. A colonial officer named Izzart is escorting a mining engineer
named Campion downriver to meet a steamer which is to take them to the capital.
Campion has heard of the river’s tidal bore. ‘Oh, that’s all right. We needn’t
worry about that,’ replies Izzart nonchalantly. When they encounter the bore,
however, they are terrified. ‘It might have been ten or twelve feet high, but
you could measure it only with your horror.’ I shall not reveal the denouement,
in case you have not yet read this story. With its twists and turns The Yellow
Streak is still worth reading for its depiction of inter-racial relations,
snobbery, and the frailty of human nature, set against an evocative and for an
Anglophone reader exotic backdrop. Maugham conjures up an image of a mysterious
Orient and portrays the foibles and failings of many expatriates amongst an
array of stereotypes of indigenous peoples. As Chater noted, Maugham did not
make himself universally popular. One expatriate expressed a ‘strong objection
to the deliberate manner in which Mr. Maugham has set out in all his stories to
disparage this country, to belittle the natives, to blacken the characters of
the Europeans.’ It is perhaps not surprising that, a few years later, when
Maugham informed the Rajah that he would like to revisit Sarawak, ‘he received
a polite reply informing him that it would not be convenient.’ One visit was
enough, however, for Maugham to capture most vividly the half-hour desperate
struggle of a vulnerable group of travellers against a monster wave. Today we
can only faintly grasp the full horror of this experience when we watch the
progress of the bore from the safety of the observation tower on the river bank
at Sri Aman.
During his travels through remote jungle places, he would put up for the
night at the homes of colonial officials who had not seen a compatriot for
months on end and who accordingly were bursting with chat and tales to tell. One
of these was with F A W Page-Turner who was a resident of Simanggang 1915-1930.
Where Maugham was able to observe much of his material for two of his classic
short stories “The Outstation” and “The
Yellow Streak”. The character of “Wharburton”
who was the Resident in “The Outstation” might well be based on Somerset Maugham’s
detailed character observations of the senior officers based in Simanggang. F A W Page-Turner who was the Resident of the
2nd Division almost certainly hosted Somerset Maughan at the Residents quarters in
Simanggang or at one of Page-Turner's junior officers residencies. Unlike certain other Malayan stories,
"The Outstation" cannot be traced directly to a real person or place,
although it probably had its germ in something told to Maugham over a
hospitable gin pahit. It vividly illustrates his primary
interest, which was to study the reactions of his compatriots when placed in an
exotic context. "The Outstation" first appeared in the
collection The Casuarina Tree (1926).
The story concerns Mr. Warburton, the resident of a distant outstation
in Borneo who always dresses for dinner at a set time every night, chooses his
courses from a menu in French, and is waited on by Malay servants immaculately
turned out. He peruses The Times, especially the social news
of lords and ladies, even though it arrives six weeks late. He has disciplined
himself to read each issue in strict sequence, however much he is longing to
know the course of certain events. When he is on duty, his attire is invariably
perfect, for he believes that if a man succumbs to the influences around him
and loses his self-respect he will also lose the respect of the natives. Yet
over the years he has evolved into a skilful administrator and has acquired a
profound knowledge of, and affection for, the Malays, their customs, and their
language, although he remains an English gentleman who will never "go
native."
An assistant is sent out to help him with the extra work that has
developed. The assistant, a shabby, blunt-spoken man named Cooper, is
everything Warburton is not, and he is at first amused by the stately dinner
routine and chuckles at the resident's pomposity. Cooper has been neither
to public school nor to a university, and during the war he served in the ranks.
"I wonder why on earth they've sent me a fellow like that?" Warburton
thinks to himself, especially when he learns that his assistant, a colonial
with an inferiority complex, bullies the Malays and treats them harshly. In
return, Cooper earns their dislike. Small irritations become large ones between
the two men. The impious Cooper tears open Warburton's sacrosanct copies
of The Times and dares to read them first and leave them in an
untidy condition. Then Warburton is obliged, for perfectly valid reasons, to
countermand one of Cooper's orders to his men. Their mutual antagonism erupts
into a violent confrontation when Cooper accuses him openly of being a snob and
humiliates him by reporting that he is a standing joke among his colleagues up
and down the country. But Warburton has the last laugh. Cooper sacks his Malay
servant, having held back his wages, treated him with injustice, and insulted
him. Warburton, from his deep acquaintance with the passionate and vengeful
mind of the Malays, warns him that he is running a grave risk. Cooper disdains
him, but a few days later he is found in his bed, a dagger through his heart.
Warburton settles down again happily to his ceremonious dinners for one, in
full evening dress, and to his thrilled absorption in the social columns
of The Times.
It is one of Maugham's great strengths that he does not take sides but
rather lays out the facts with apparent objectiveness in order to round out his
characters. Warburton is an outrageous snob, but he is also a just
administrator who is respected by the Malays, whom he instinctively understands
and among whom he wishes to be buried when he dies. Cooper is a racist cad,
tactless and uncouth, but within his limits, he is conscientious and
hardworking, grimly determined to get the most out of those whom he is employed
to supervise. Local colour is deftly touched in to highlight the encounter
between two types of men who, because of their different social classes, would
never have met in England, whereas in Malaya their close juxtaposition
emphasizes the unbridgeable gulf that separates them. Maugham's eye for
dramatic effect lends the narrative a power that propels the story to its
inevitable end. "The Outstation," which the contemporary critic Edwin
Muir declared to be "one of the best stories written in our time,"
remains a prime example of Maugham's gift for taut structure.
“The Outstation” by Somerset Maughan 1926
The
new assistant arrived in the afternoon. When the Resident, Mr. Warburton, was
told that the prahu was in sight he put on his solar topee and went down to the
landing stage. The guard, eight little Dyak soldiers, stood to attention as he
passed. He noted with satisfaction that their bearing was martial, their
uniforms neat and clean, and their guns shining. They were a credit to him.
From the landing stage, he watched the bend of the river around which in a
moment the boat would sweep. He looked very smart in his spotless ducks and
white shoes. He held under his arm a gold-headed Malacca cane which had been
given him by the Sultan of Perak. He awaited the newcomer with mingled
feelings. There was more work in the district than one man could properly do,
and during his periodical tours of the country under his charge it had been
inconvenient to leave the station in the hands of a native clerk, but he had
been so long the only white man there that he could not face the arrival of
another without misgiving. He was accustomed to loneliness. During the war he
had not seen an English face for three years; and once when he was instructed
to put up an afforestation officer he was seized with panic, so that when the
stranger was due to arrive, having arranged everything for his reception, he
wrote a note telling him he was obliged to go up-river, and fled; he remained
away till he was informed by a messenger that his guest had left.
Now
the prahu appeared in the broad reach. It was manned by prisoners, Dyaks under
various sentences, and a couple of warders were waiting on the landing stage to
take them back to jail. They were sturdy fellows, used to the river, and they
rowed with a powerful stroke. As the boat reached the side a man got out from
under the Attap awning and stepped on shore. The guard presented arms.
"Here
we are at last. By God, I`m as cramped as the devil. I`ve brought you your
mail."
He
spoke with exuberant joviality. Mr. Warburton politely held out his hand.
"Mr.
Cooper, I presume?"
"That`s
right. Were you expecting anyone else?"
The
question had a facetious intent, but the Resident did not smile.
"My
name is Warburton. I`ll show you your quarters. They`ll bring your kit
along."
He
preceded Cooper along the narrow pathway, and they entered a compound in which
stood a small bungalow.
"I`ve
had it made as habitable as I could, but of course, no one has lived in it for
a good many years,"
It
was built on piles. It consisted of a long living room that opened onto a broad
veranda, and behind, on each side of a passage, were two bedrooms.
"This`ll
do me all right," said Cooper.
"I
daresay you want to have a bath and a change. I shall be very much pleased if
you`ll dine with me tonight. Will eight o`clock suit you?"
"Any
old time will do for me."
The
Resident gave a polite, but slightly disconcerted smile, and withdrew. He
returned to the Fort where his own residence was. The impression that Cooper
had given him was not very favourable, but he was a fair man, and he knew that
it was unjust to form an opinion on so brief a glimpse. Cooper seemed to be
about thirty. He was a tall, thin fellow, with a sallow face in which there was
not a spot of colour. It was a face all-in-one tone. He had a large, hooked
nose and blue eyes. When entering the bungalow, he had taken off his topee and
flung it to a wailing boy, Mr. Warburton noticed that his large skull, covered
with short, brown hair, contrasted somewhat oddly with a weak, small chin. He
was dressed in khaki shorts and a khaki shirt, but they were shabby and soiled;
and his battered topee had not been cleaned for days. Mr. Warburton reflected
that the young man had spent a week on a coasting steamer and had passed the
last forty-eight hours lying in the bottom of a prahu.
"We`ll
see what he looks like when he comes into dinner."
He
went into his room where his things were as neatly laid out as if he had an
English valet, undressed, and, walking down the stairs to the bath-house,
sluiced himself with cool water. The only concession he made to the climate was
to wear a white dinner jacket; but otherwise, in a boiled shirt and a high
collar, silk socks, and patent-leather shoes, he dressed as formally as though
he were dining at his club in Pall Mall. A careful host, he went into the dining
room to see that the table was properly laid. It was gay with orchids, and the
silver shone brightly. The napkins were folded into elaborate shapes. Shaded
candles in silver candle-sticks shed a soft light. Mr. Warburton smiled his
approval and returned to the sitting room to await his guest. Presently he
appeared. Cooper was wearing the khaki shorts, the khaki shirt, and the ragged
jacket in which he had landed. Mr. Warburton`s smile of greeting froze on his
face.
"Halloa,
you`re all dressed up," said Cooper. "I didn`t know you were going to
do that. I very nearly put on a sarong."
"It
doesn`t mailer at all. I daresay your boys were busy."
"You
needn`t have bothered to dress on my account, you know."
"I
didn`t. I always dress for dinner." "Even when you`re alone?"
"Especially
when I`m alone," replied Mr. Warburton, with a frigid stare.
He
saw a twinkle of amusement in Cooper`s eyes, and he flushed an angry red. Mr.
Warburton was a hot-tempered man; you might have guessed that from his red face
with its pugnacious features and from his red hair now growing white; his blue
eyes, cold as a rule and observing, could flash with sudden wrath; but he was a
man of the world and he hoped a just one. He must do his best to get on with
this fellow.
"When
I lived in London, I moved in circles in which it would have been just as
eccentric not to dress for dinner every night as not to have a bath every
morning. When I came to Borneo, I saw no reason to discontinue so good a habit.
For three years during the war, I never saw a white man. I never omitted to
dress on a single occasion on which I was well enough to come into dinner. You
have not been very long in this country; believe me, there is no better way to
maintain the proper pride that you should have in yourself. When a white man
surrenders in the slightest degree to the influences that surround him he very
soon loses his self-respect, and when he loses his self-respect you may be
quite sure that the natives will soon cease to respect him."
"Well,
if you expect me to put on a boiled shirt and a stiff collar in this heat I`m
afraid you`ll be disappointed."
"When
you are dining in your bungalow you will, of course, dress as you think fit,
but when you do me the pleasure of dining with me, perhaps you will conclude
that it is only polite to wear the costume usual in civilized society."
Two
Malay boys, in sarongs and songkoks, with smart white coats and brass buttons,
came in, one bearing gin Pahits, and the other a tray on which were olives and
anchovies. Then they went to dinner. Mr. Warburton flattered himself that he
had the best cook, a Chinese, in Borneo, and he took great trouble to have as
good food as in the difficult circumstances was possible. He exercised much
ingenuity in making the best of his materials.
"Would
you care to look at the menu? " He said, handing it to Cooper.
It
was written in French and the dishes had resounding names. They were waited on
by the two boys. In opposite corners of the room two more waved immense fans,
and so gave movement to the sultry air. The fare was sumptuous and the
champagne excellent.
"Do
you do yourself like this every day?" said Cooper.
Mr.
Warburton gave the menu a careless glance. "I have not noticed that the
dinner is any different from usual," he said. "I eat very little
myself but I make a point of having a proper dinner served to me every night.
It keeps the cook in practice and it`s good discipline for the boys."
The
conversation proceeded with effort. Mr. Warburton was elaborately courteous,
and it may be that he found a slightly malicious amusement in the embarrassment
which he thereby occasioned in his companion. Cooper had not been more than a
few months in Sembulu, and Mr. Warburton`s inquiries about friends of his in
Kuala Solor were soon exhausted.
"By
the way," he said presently, "did you meet a lad called Hennerley?
He`s come out recently, I believe."
"Oh,
yes, he`s in the police. A rotten bounder."
"I
should hardly have expected him to be that. His uncle is my friend Lord
Barraclough. I had a letter from Lady Barraclough only the other day asking me
to look out for him."
"I
heard he was related to somebody or other. I suppose that`s how he got the job.
He`s been to Eton and Oxford and he doesn`t forget to let you know it."
"You
surprise me," said Mr. Warburton. "All his family have been at Eton
and Oxford for a couple of hundred years. I should have expected him to take it
as a matter of course."
"I
thought him a damned prig."
"To
what school did you go?"
"I
was born in Barbados. I was educated there."
"Oh,
I see."
Mr.
Warburton managed to put so much offensiveness into his brief reply that Cooper
flushed. For a moment he was silent.
"I`ve
had two or three letters from Kuala Solor", continued Mr. Warburton,
"and my impression was that young Hennerley was a great success. They say
he`s a first-rate sportsman."
"Oh,
yes, he`s very popular. He`s just the sort of fellow they would like in K. S. I
haven`t got much use for the first-rate sportsman myself. What does it amount
to in the long run that a man can play golf and tennis better than other
people? And who cares if he can make a break of seventy-five al billiards? They
attach a damned sight too much importance to that sort of thing in
England."
"Do
you think so? I was under the impression that the first-rate sportsman had come
out of the war certainly no worse than anyone else."
"Oh,
if you`re going to talk of the war then I do know what I`m talking about. I was
in the same regiment as Hennerley and I can tell you that the men couldn`t
stick him at any price."
"How
do you know?"
"Because
I was one of the men."
"Oh,
you hadn`t got a commission."
"A
fat chance I had of getting a commission. I was what was called a Colonial. I
hadn`t been to a public school and I had no influence. I was in the ranks the
whole damned time."
Cooper
frowned. He seemed to have difficulty in preventing himself from breaking out
into violent invective. Mr. Warburton watched him, his little blue eyes
narrowed, watched him, and formed his opinion. Changing the conversation, he
began to speak to Cooper about the work that would be required of him, and as
the clock struck ten he rose.
"Well,
I won`t keep you anymore. I daresay you`re tired by your journey."
They
shook hands.
"Oh,
I say, look here," said Cooper, "I wonder if you can find me a boy.
The boy I had before never turned up when I was starting from K. S. He took my
kit on board and all that, and then disappeared. I didn`t know he wasn`t there
till we were out of the river."
"I`ll
ask my head boy. I have no doubt he can find you someone."
"All
right. Just tell him to send the boy along and if I like the look of him I`ll
take him."
There
was a moon, so no lantern was needed Cooper walked across from the Fort to his
bungalow.
"I
wonder why on earth they`ve sent me a fellow like that?" reflected Mr.
Warburton. "If that`s the kind of man they`re going to get out now I don`t
think much of it."
He
strolled down his garden. The Fort was built on the top of a little hill and
the garden ran down to the river`s edge; on the bank was a harbour, and hither
it was his habit to come after dinner to smoke a cheroot. And often from the
river that flowed below him a voice was heard, the voice of some Malay too
timorous to venture into the light of day, and a complaint or an accusation was
softly wafted to his ears, a piece of information was whispered to him or a
useful hint, which otherwise would never have come into his official ken. He
threw himself heavily into a long rattan chair. Cooper! An envious, ill-bred
fellow, bumptious, self-assertive, and vain. But Mr. Warburton`s irritation
could not withstand the silent beauty of the night. The air was scented with
the sweet-smelling flowers of a tree that grew at the entrance to the harbour,
and the fireflies, sparkling dimly, flew with their slow and silvery flight.
The moon made a pathway on the broad river for the light feet of Siva`s bride,
and on the further bank, a row of palm trees was delicately silhouetted against
the sky. Peace stole into the soul of Mr. Warburton.
He
was a queer creature and he had had a singular career. At the age of twenty-one,
he had inherited a considerable fortune, a hundred thousand pounds, and when he
left Oxford he threw himself into the gay life which in those days (now Mr.
Warburton was a man of four and fifty) offered itself to the young man of good
family. He had his flat in Mount Street, his private hansom, and his hunting
box in Warwickshire. He went to all the places where the fashionable
congregate. He was handsome, amusing, and generous. He was a figure in the
society of London in the early nineties, and society then had not lost its
exclusiveness nor its brilliance. The Boer War which shook it was unthought of;
the Great War which destroyed it was prophesied only by the pessimists. It was
no unpleasant thing to be a rich young man in those days, and Mr. Warburton`s
chimney-piece during the season was packed with cards for one great function
after another. Mr. Warburton displayed them with complacency. For Mr. Warburton
was a snob. He was not a timid snob, a little ashamed of being impressed by his
betters, nor a snob who sought the intimacy of persons who had acquired
celebrity in politics or notoriety in the arts, nor the snob who was dazzled by
riches; he was the naked, unadulterated common snob who dearly loved a lord. He
was touchy and quick-tempered, but he would much rather have been snubbed by a
person of quality than flattered by a commoner. His name figured
insignificantly in Burke`s Peerage, and it was marvellous to watch the ingenuity
he used to mention his distant relationship to the noble family he belonged to;
but never a word did he say of the honest Liverpool manufacturer from whom,
through his mother, a Miss Gubbins, he had come by his fortune. It was the
terror of his fashionable life that at Cowes, maybe, or at Ascot, when he was
with a duchess or even with a prince of the blood, one of these relatives would
claim acquaintance with him.
His
failing was too obvious not soon to become notorious, but its extravagance
saved it from being merely despicable. The great whom he adored laughed at him,
but in their hearts felt his adoration not unnatural. Poor Warburton was a
dreadful snob, of course, but after all he was a good fellow. He was always
ready to back a bill for an impecunious nobleman, and if you were in a tight
corner you could safely count on him for a hundred pounds. He gave good
dinners. He played whist badly, but never minded how much he lost if the
company was select. He happened to be a gambler, an unlucky one, but he was a
good loser, and it was impossible not to admire the coolness with which he lost
five hundred pounds at a sitting. His passion for cards, almost as strong as
his passion for titles, was the cause of his undoing. The life he led was
expensive and his gambling losses were formidable. He began to plunge more
heavily, first on horses, and then on the Stock Exchange. He had a certain
simplicity of character, and the unscrupulous found him an ingenuous prey. I do
not know if he ever realized that his smart friends laughed at him behind his
back, but I think he had an obscure instinct that he could not afford to appear
other than careless of his money. He got into the hands of money-lenders. At
the age of thirty-four, he was ruined.
He
was too much imbued with the spirit of his class to hesitate in the choice of
his next step. When a man in his set had run through his money, he went out to
the colonies. No one heard Mr. Warburton's repine. He made no complaint because
a noble friend had advised a disastrous speculation, he pressed nobody to whom
he had lent money to repay it, and he paid his debts (if he had only known it,
the despised blood of the Liverpool manufacturer came out in him there), sought
help from no one, and, never having done a stroke of work in his life, looked
for a means of livelihood. He remained cheerful, unconcerned, and full of
humour. He had no wish to make anyone with whom he happened to be uncomfortable
by the recital of his misfortune. Mr. Warburton was a snob, but he was also a
gentleman.
The
only favour he asked of any of the great friends in whose daily company he had
lived for years was a recommendation. The able man who was at that time Sultan
of Sembulu took him into his service. The night before he sailed he dined for
the last time at his club.
"I
hear you`re going away, Warburton," the old Duke of Hereford said to him.
"Yes,
I`m going to Borneo."
"Good
God, what are you going there for?"
"Oh,
I`m broke."
"Arc
you? I`m sorry. Well, let us know when you come back. I hope you have a good
time."
"Oh
yes. Lots of shooting, you know."
The
Duke nodded and passed on. A few hours later Mr. Warburton watched the coast of
England recede into the mist, and he left behind everything which to him made
life worth living.
Twenty
years had passed since then. He kept up a busy correspondence with various
great ladies and his letters were amusing and chatty. He never lost his love
for tilled persons and paid careful attention to the announcement in The Times
(which reached him six weeks after publication) of their comings and goings. He
perused the column that records births, deaths, and marriages, and he was
always ready with his letter of congratulation or condolence. The illustrated
papers told him how people looked and on his periodical visits to England, able
to take up the threads as though they had never been broken, he knew all about
any new person who might have appeared on the social surface. His interest in
the world of fashion was as vivid as when he had been a figure in it. It still
seemed to him the only thing that mattered.
But
insensibly another interest had entered into his life. The position he found
himself in flattered his vanity; he was no longer the sycophant craving the
smiles of the great, he was the master whose word was law. He was gratified by
the guard of Dyak soldiers who presented arms as he passed. He liked to sit in judgment
on his fellow men. It pleased him to compose quarrels between rival chiefs.
When the head-hunters were troublesome in the old days he set out to chastise
them with a thrill of pride in his own behaviour. He was too vain not to be of
dauntless courage and a pretty story was told of his coolness in adventuring
single-handed into a stockaded village and demanding the surrender of a
blood-thirsty pirate. He became a skillful administrator. He was strict, just,
and honest.
And
little by little he conceived a deep love for the Malays. He interested himself
in their habits and customs. He was never tired of listening to their talk. He
admired their virtues, and with a smile and a shrug of the shoulders condoned
their vices.
"In
my day," he would say, "I have been on intimate terms with some of
the greatest gentlemen in England, but I have never known finer gentlemen than
some wellborn Malays whom I am proud to call my friends."
He
liked their courtesy and their distinguished manners, their gentleness, and
their sudden passions. He knew by instinct exactly how to treat them. He had a
genuine tenderness for them. But he never forgot that he was an English
gentleman, and he had no patience with the white men who yielded to native
customs. He made no surrenders. And he did not imitate so many of the white men
in taking a native woman to wife, for an intrigue of this nature, however,
sanctified by custom, seemed to him not only shocking but undignified. A man
who had been called George by Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, could hardly be
expected to have any connection with a native. And when he returned to Borneo
from his visits to England it was now with something like relief. His friends,
like himself, were no longer young, and there was a new generation that looked
upon him as a tiresome old man. It seemed to him that the England of today had
lost a good deal of what he had loved in the England of his youth. But Borneo
remained the same. It was home to him now. He meant to remain in the service as
long as was possible, and the hope in his heart was that he would die before at
last he was forced to retire. He had stated in his will that wherever he died
he wished his body to be brought back to Sembulu, and buried among the people
he loved within the sound of the softly flowing river.
But
these emotions he kept hidden from the eyes of men; and no one, seeing this
spruce, stout, well-set-up man, with his clean-shaven strong face and his
whitening hair, would have dreamed that he cherished so profound a sentiment.
He
knew how the work of the station should be done, and during the next few days,
he kept a suspicious eye on his assistant. He saw very soon that he was
painstaking and competent. The only fault he had to find with him was that he
was brusque with the natives.
"The
Malays are shy and very sensitive," he said to him. "I think you will
find that you will get much better results if you take care always to be
polite, patient, and kindly."
Cooper
gave a short, grating laugh.
"
I was born in Barbados and I was in Africa in the war. I don`t think there`s
much about niggers that I don`t know."
"I
know nothing," said Mr. Warburton acidly. "But we were not talking of
them. We were talking of Malays."
"Aren`t
they niggers?"
"You
are very ignorant," replied Mr. Warburton.
He
said no more.
On
the first Sunday after Cooper`s arrival, he asked him to dinner. He did
everything ceremoniously, and though they had met on the previous day in the
office and later, on the Fort veranda where they drank a gin and bitters
together at six o`clock, he sent a polite note across to the bungalow by a boy.
Cooper, however unwillingly, came in evening dress and Mr. Warburton, though
gratified that his wish was respected, noticed with disdain that the young
man`s clothes were badly cut and his shirt ill-fitting. But Mr. Warburton was
in a good temper that evening.
"By
the way," he said to him, as he shook hands, "I`ve talked to my head
boy about finding you someone and he recommends his nephew. I`ve seen him and
he seems a bright and willing lad. Would you like to see him?"
"I
don`t mind."
"He`s
waiting now."
Mr.
Warburton called his boy and told him to send for his nephew. In a moment a
tall, slender youth of twenty appeared. He had large dark eyes and a good
profile. He was very neat in his sarong, a little white coat, and a fez,
without a tassel, of plum-colored velvet. He answered to the name of Abas. Mr.
Warburton looked on him with approval, and his manner insensibly softened as he
spoke to him in fluent and idiomatic Malay. He was inclined to be sarcastic
with white people, but with the Malays he had a happy mixture of condescension
and kindliness. I le stood in the place of the Sultan. He knew perfectly how to
preserve his own dignity, and at the same time put a native at his ease.
"Will
he do?" said Mr. Warburton, turning to Cooper.
"Yes,
I daresay he`s no more of a scoundrel than any of the rest of them."
Mr.
Warburton informed the boy that he was engaged, and dismissed him.
"You`re
very lucky to get a boy like that," he told Cooper. "He belongs to a
very good family. They came over from Malacca nearly a hundred years ago."
"I
don`t much mind if the boy who cleans my shoes and brings me a drink when I
want it has blue blood in his veins or not. All I ask is that he should do what
I tell him and look sharp about it."
Mr.
Warburton pursed his lips but made no reply.
They
went in to dinner. It was excellent, and the wine was good. Its influence
presently had its effect on them, and they talked not only without acrimony but
even with friendliness. Mr. Warburton liked to do himself well, and on Sunday
night he made it a habit to do himself even a little better than usual. He
began to think he was unfair to Cooper. Of course, he was not a gentleman, but
that was not his fault, and when you got to know him it might be that he would
turn out a very good fellow. His faults, perhaps, were faults of manner. And he
was certainly good at his work, quick, conscientious, and thorough. When they
reached the dessert Mr. Warburton was feeling kindly disposed towards all
mankind.
"This
is your first Sunday, and I`m going to give you a very special glass of port.
I`ve only got about two dozen of it left and I keep it for special
occasions."
He
gave his boy instructions and presently the bottle was brought. Mr. Warburton
watched the boy open it.
"I
got this port from my old friend Charles Hollington. He`d had it for forty
years, and I`ve had it for a good many. He was well-known to have the best
cellar in England."
"Is
he a wine merchant?"
"Not
exactly," smiled Mr. Warburton. "I was speaking of Lord Hollington of
Castle Reagh. He`s one of the richest peers in England. A very old friend of
mine. I was at Eton with his brother."
This
was an opportunity that Mr. Warburton could never resist, and he told a little
anecdote of which the only point seemed to be that he knew an Earl. The port
was certainly very good; he drank a glass and then a second. He lost all
caution. He had not talked to a white man for months. He began to tell stories.
He showed himself in the company of the great. Hearing him, you would have
thought that at one time ministries were formed and policies decided on his
suggestion whispered into the ear of a duchess or thrown over the dinner table
to be gratefully acted on by the confidential adviser of the sovereign. The old
days at Ascot, Goodwood, and Cowes lived again for him. Another glass o port.
There were the great house parties in Yorkshire and in Scotland to which he
went every year.
"I
had a man called Foreman then, the best valet I ever had, and why do you think
he gave me notice? You know in the Housekeeper`s Room the ladies` maids and the
gentlemen`s gentlemen sit according to the precedence of their masters. He told
me he was sick of going to party after party at which I was the only commoner.
It meant that he always had to sit at the bottom of the table, and all the best
bits were taken before a dish reached him. I told the story to the old Duke of
Hereford, and he roared. `By God, Sir,` he said, `if I were King of England,
I`d make you a viscount just to give your man a chance.` `Take him yourself,
Duke,` I said, `He`s the best valet I`ve ever had.` `Well, Warburton,` he said,
`if he`s good enough for you he`s good enough for me. Send him along."`
Then
there was Monte Carlo where Mr. Warburton and the Grand Duke Fyodor, playing in
partnership, had broken the bank one evening; and there was Marienbad. At
Marienbad Mr. Warburton had played baccarat with Edward VII.
"He
was only Prince of Wales then, of course. I remember him saying to me, `George,
if you draw on a five you`ll lose your shirt.` He was right; I don`t think he
ever said a truer word in his life. He was a wonderful man. I always said he
was the greatest diplomat in Europe. But I was a young fool in those days, I
hadn`t the sense to take his advice. If I had, if I`d never drawn on a five, I
daresay I shouldn`t be here today."
Cooper
was watching him. His brown eyes, deep in their sockets, were hard and
supercilious, and on his lips was a mocking smile, he had heard a good deal
about Mr. Warburton in Kuala Solor, not a bad sort, and he ran his district
like clockwork, they said, but by heaven, what a snob! They laughed at him
good-naturedly, for it was impossible to dislike a man who was so generous and
so kind, and Cooper had already heard the story of the Prince of Wales and the
game of baccarat. But Cooper listened without indulgence. From the beginning,
he had resented the Resident`s manner. He was very sensitive, and he writhed
under Mr. Warburton`s polite sarcasm. Mr. Warburton had a knack of receiving a
remark of which he disapproved with a devastating silence. Cooper had lived
little in England and he had a peculiar dislike of the English. He resented
especially the public-school boy since he always feared that he was going to patronize
him. He was so much afraid of others putting on airs with him that, in order,
as it were to get in first, he put on such airs as to make everyone think him
insufferably conceited.
"Well,
at all events the war has done one good thing for us," he said at last.
"It`s smashed up the power of the aristocracy. The Boer War started it,
and 1914 put the lid on."
"The
great families of England are doomed," said Mr. Warburton with the
complacent melancholy of an emigre who remembered the court of Louis XV.
"They cannot afford any longer to live in their splendid palaces and their
princely hospitality will soon be nothing but a memory."
"And
a damned good job too in my opinion."
"My
poor Cooper, what can you know of the glory that was Greece and the grandeur
that was Rome?"
Mr.
Warburton made an ample gesture. His eye for an instant grew dreamy with a
vision of the past.
"Well,
believe me, we`re fed up with all that rot. What we want is a business
government by businessmen. I was born in a Crown Colony, and I`ve lived
practically all my life in the colonies. I don`t give a row of pins for a lord.
What`s wrong: with England is snobbishness. And if there`s anything that gets
my goat it`s a snob."
A
snob! Mr. Warburton`s face grew purple and his eyes blazed" with anger.
That was a word that had pursued him all his life. The great ladies whose
society he had enjoyed in his youth were not inclined to look upon his
appreciation of themselves as unworthy, but even great ladies are sometimes out
of temper, and more than once Mr. Warburton had had the dreadful word flung in
his teeth. He knew, he could not help knowing, that there were odious people
who called him a snob. How unfair it was! Why, there was no vice he found so
detestable as snobbishness. After all, he liked to mix with people of his own
class, he was only at home in their company, and how in heaven`s name could
anyone say that was snobbish? Birds of a feather.
"I
quite agree with you," he answered. "A snob is a man who admires or
despises another because he is of a higher social rank than his own. It is the
most vulgar failing of our English middle class."
He
saw a flicker of amusement in Cooper`s eyes. Cooper put up his hand to hide the
broad smile that rose to his lips, and so made it more noticeable. Mr.
Warburton`s hands trembled a little.
Probably
Cooper never knew how greatly he had offended his chief. A sensitive man
himself he was strangely insensitive to the feelings of others.
Their
work forced them to see one another for a few minutes now and then during the
day, and they met at six to have a drink on Mr. Warburton`s veranda. This was
an old-established custom of the country which Mr. Warburton would not for the
world have broken. But they ate their meals separately. Cooper in his bungalow
and Mr. Warburton at the Fort. After the office work was over they walked till
dusk fell, but they walked apart. There were but few paths in this country,
where the jungle pressed close upon the plantations of the village, and when
Mr. Warburton caught sight of his assistant passing along with his loose
stride, he would make a circuit in order to avoid him. Cooper, with his bad
manners, his conceit in his own judgement and his intolerance, had already got
on his nerves; but it was not till Cooper had been on the station for a couple
of months that an incident happened which turned the Resident`s dislike into
bitter hatred.
Mr.
Warburton was obliged to go up-country on a tour of inspection, and he left the
station in Cooper`s charge with mere confidence, since had definitely come to
the conclusion that he was a capable fellow. The only thing he did not like was
that he had no indulgence. He was honest, just, and painstaking, but he had no
sympathy for the natives. It bitterly amused Mr. Warburton to observe that this
man who looked upon himself as every man`s equal, should look upon so many men
as his own inferiors, he was hard, he had no patience with the native mind, and
he was a bully. Mr. Warburton very quickly realized that the Malays disliked
and feared him. He was not altogether displeased. He would not have liked it
very much if his assistant had enjoyed a popularity that might rival his own.
Mr. Warburton made his elaborate preparations, set out on his expedition, and
in three weeks returned. Meanwhile, the mail had arrived. The first thing that
struck his eyes when he entered his sitting room was a great pile of open newspapers.
Cooper had met him, and they went into the room together. Mr. Warburton turned
to one of the servants who had been left behind and sternly asked him what was
the meaning of those open papers. Cooper hastened to explain.
"I
wanted to read all about the Wolverhampton murder, and so I borrowed your
Times. I brought them back again. I knew you wouldn`t mind."
Mr.
Warburton turned on him, while with anger.
"But
I do mind. I mind very much."
"I`m
sorry," said Cooper, with composure. "The fact is, I simply couldn`t
wait till you came back."
"I
wonder you didn`t open my letters as well."
Cooper,
unmoved, smiled al his chief`s exasperation.
"Oh,
that`s not quite the same thing. After all, I couldn`t imagine you`d mind my
looking at your newspapers. There`s nothing private in them."
"I
very much object to anyone reading my paper before me." He went up to the
pile. There were nearly thirty numbers there. I think it is extremely
impertinent of you. They`re all mixed up."
"We
can easily put them in order," said Cooper, joining him al the table.
"Don`t
touch them," cried Mr. Warburton.
"
I say, it`s childish to make a scene about a little thing like that."
"How
dare you speak to me like that?"
"Oh,
go to hell," said Cooper, and he flung out of the room.
Mr.
Warburton, trembling with passion, was left contemplating his papers. His
greatest pleasure in life had been destroyed by those callous, brutal hands.
Most people living in out-of-the-way places when the mail comes tear open
impatiently their papers and take the last one first glance at the latest news
from home. Not so Mr. Warburton. His newsagent had instructions to write on the
outside of the wrapper the date of each paper he despatched, and when the great
bundle arrived Mr. Warburton looked at these dates and with his blue pencil
numbered them. His head boy`s orders were to place one on the table every
morning in the veranda with the early cup of tea, and it was Mr. Warburton`s special
delight to break the wrapper as he sipped his tea and reap the morning paper.
It gave him the illusion of living at home. Every Monday morning he read the
Monday Times of six weeks back, and so went through the week. On Sunday he read
The Observer. Like his habit of dressing for dinner, it was a tie to
civilisation. And it was his pride that no matter how exciting the news was he
had never yielded to the temptation of opening a paper before its allotted
time. During the war the suspense sometimes had been intolerable, and when he
read one day that a push had begun he had undergone agonies of suspense which
he might have saved himself by the simple expedient of opening a later paper that
lay waiting for him on a shelf. It had been the severest trial to which he had
ever exposed himself, but he victoriously surmounted it. And that clumsy fool
had broken open those neat tight packages because he wanted to know whether
some horrid woman had murdered her odious husband.
Mr.
Warburton sent for his boy and told him to bring wrappers. He folded up the
papers as neatly as he could, placed a wrapper around each, and numbered it.
But it was a melancholy task.
"I
shall never forgive him," he said. "Never."
Of
course, his boy had been with him on his expedition; he never travelled without
him, for his boy knew exactly how he liked things, and Mr. Warburton was not
the kind of jungle traveller who was prepared to dispense with his comforts;
but in the interval since their arrival, he had been gossiping in the servants`
quarters. He had learned that Cooper had had trouble with his boys. All but the
youth Abas had left him. Abas had desired to go too, but his uncle had placed
him there on the instructions of the Resident, and he was afraid to leave
without his uncle`s permission.
"I
told him he had done well, Tuan," said the boy. "But he is unhappy.
He says it is not a good house, and he wishes to know if he may go as the
others have gone."
"No,
he must stay. The Tuan must have servants. Have those who went been
replaced?"
"No,
Tuan, no one will go."
Mr.
Warburton frowned. Cooper was an insolent fool, but he had an official position
and must be suitably provided with servants. It did not seem that his house
should be improperly conducted.
"Where
are the boys who ran away?"
"They
are in the kampong, Tuan."
"Go
and see them tonight, and tell them that I expect them to be back in Tuan
Cooper`s house at dawn tomorrow."
"They
say they will not go, Tuan." "On my order?"
The
boy had been with Mr. Warburton for fifteen years, and he knew every intonation
of his master`s voice. He was not afraid of him, they had gone through too much
together, once in the jungle, the Resident had saved his life, and once, upset
in some rapids, but for him, the Resident would have been drowned; but he knew
when the Resident must be obeyed without question. "I will go to the
kampong," he said.
Mr.
Warburton expected that his subordinate would take the first opportunity to apologize
for his rudeness, but Cooper had the ill-bred man`s inability to express regret,
and when they met the next morning in the office he ignored the incident. Since
Mr. Warburton had been away for three weeks it was necessary for them to have a
somewhat prolonged interview. At the end of it, Mr. Warburton dismissed him.
"I
don`t think there`s anything else, thank you." Cooper turned to go, but
Mr. Warburton stopped him. "I understand you`ve been having some trouble
with your boys."
Cooper
gave a harsh laugh. "They tried to blackmail me. They had the damned cheek
to run away, all except that incompetent fellow Abas - he knew when he was well
off - but I just sat light. They`ve all come to heel again."
"What
do you mean by that?"
"This
morning they were all back on their jobs, the Chinese cook and all. There they
were, as cool as cucumbers; you would have thought they owned the place. I
suppose they`d come to the conclusion that I wasn`t such fool as I
looked."
"By
no means. They came back on my express order."
Cooper
flushed slightly.
"I
should be obliged if you wouldn`t interfere with my private concerns."
"They`re
not your private concerns. When your servants run away it makes you ridiculous.
You are perfectly free to make a fool of yourself, but I cannot allow you to be
made a fool of. It is unseemly that your house should not be properly staffed.
As soon as I heard that your boys had left you, I had them told to be back in
their places at dawn. That`ll do."
Mr.
Warburton nodded to signify that the interview was at an end. Cooper took no
notice.
"Shall
I tell you what I did? I called them and gave the whole bally lot the sack. I
gave them ten minutes to gel out of the compound."
Mr.
Warburton shrugged his shoulders.
"What
makes you think you can get others?"
"I`ve
told my own clerk to see about it."
Mr.
Warburton reflected for a moment.
"I
think you behaved very foolishly. You will do well to remember in the future
that good masters make good servants."
"Is
there anything else you want to tell me?"
"I
should like to teach you manners, but it would be an arduous task, and I have
not the time to waste. I will see that you get boys."
"Please
don`t put yourself in any trouble on my account. I`m quite capable of getting
them for myself."
Mr.
Warburton smiled acidly. He had an inkling that Cooper disliked him as much as
he disliked Cooper, and he knew that nothing is more galling than to be forced
to accept the favours of a man you detest.
"Allow
me to tell you that you have no more chance of getting Malay or Chinese
servants here now than you have of getting an English butler or a French chef.
No one will come to you except on an order from me. Would you like me to give
it?"
"No."
"As
you please. Good morning."
Mr.
Warburton watched the development of the situation with acrid humour. Cooper`s
clerk was unable to persuade Malay, Dyak, or Chinese to enter the house of such
a master. Abas, the boy who remained faithful to him, knew how to cook only
native food, and Cooper, a coarse feeder, found his gorge rise against the
everlasting rice. There was no water carrier, and in that great heal, he needed
several baths a day. He cursed Abas, but Abas opposed him with sullen
resistance and would not do more than he chose. It was galling to know that the
lad stayed with him only because the Resident insisted. This went on for a
fortnight and then, one morning, he found in his house the very servants whom
he had previously dismissed. He fell into a violent rage, but he had learned a
little sense, and this time, without a word, he let them stay. He swallowed his
humiliation, but the impatient contempt he had felt for Mr. Warburton`s
idiosyncrasies changed into a sullen hatred: the Resident with this malicious
stroke had made him the laughingstock of all the natives.
The
two men now held no communication with one another. They broke the time-honoured
custom of sharing, notwithstanding personal dislike, a drink at six o`clock
with any white man who happened to be at the station. Each lived in his own
house as though the other did not exist. Now that Cooper had fallen into the
work, it was necessary for them to have little to do with one another in the
office. Mr. Warburton used his orderly to send any message he had to give his
assistant and his instructions he sent by formal letter. They saw one another
constantly, which was inevitable, but did not exchange half a dozen words in a
week. The fact that they could not avoid catching sight of one another got on
their nerves. They brooded over their antagonism, and Mr. Warburton, taking his
daily walk, could think of nothing but how much he detested his assistant.
And
the dreadful thing was that in all probability they would remain thus, facing
each other in deadly enmity, till Mr. Warburton went on leave, it might be
three years, he had no reason to send in a complaint to headquarters: Cooper
did his work very well, and at that time men were hard to gel. True, vague
complaints reached him and hints that the natives found Cooper harsh. There was
certainly a feeling of dissatisfaction among them. But when Mr. Warburton
looked into specific cases, all he could say was that Cooper had shown severity
where mildness would not have been misplaced, and had been unfeeling when
himself would have been sympathetic. He had done nothing for which he could be
taken to task. But Mr. Warburton watched him. Hatred will often make a man
clear-sighted, and he had a suspicion that Cooper was using the natives without
consideration, yet keeping within the law, because he felt that thus he could
exasperate his chief. One day perhaps he would go too far. None knew better
than Mr. Warburton how irritable the incessant heat could make a man and how
difficult it was to keep one`s self-control after a sleepless night. He smiled
softly to himself. Sooner or later Cooper would deliver himself into his hand.
When
at last the opportunity came, Mr. Warburton laughed aloud. Cooper had charge of
the prisoners; they made roads, built sheds, rowed when it was necessary to
send the prahu up or down stream, kept the town clean and otherwise usefully
employed themselves. If well-behaved they even on occasion served as houseboys.
Cooper kept them hard at it. He liked to see them work. He took pleasure in
devising tasks for them; and seeing quickly enough that they were being made to
do useless things the prisoners worked badly. He punished them by lengthening
their hours. This was contrary to the regulations, and as soon as it was
brought to the attention of Mr. Warburton, without referring the matter back to
his subordinate, he gave instructions that the old hours should be kept;
Cooper, going out for his walk, was astounded to see the prisoners strolling
back to the jail; he had given instructions that they were not to knock off
till dusk. When he asked the warder in charge why they had left off work he was
told that it was the Resident`s bidding.
White
with rage he strode to the Fort. Mr. Warburton, in his spotless white ducks and
his neat topee, with a walking stick in his hand, followed by his dogs, was on
the point of starting out on his afternoon stroll. He had watched Cooper go,
and knew that he had taken the road by the river. Cooper jumped up the steps
and went straight up to the Resident.
"I
want to know what the hell you mean by countermanding my order that the
prisoners were to work till six," he burst out, beside himself with fury.
Mr.
Warburton opened his cold blue eyes very wide and assumed an expression of
great surprise.
"Are
you out of your mind? Are you so ignorant that you do not know that that is not
the way to speak to your official superior?"
"Oh,
go to hell. The prisoners are my pidgin, and you`ve got no right to interfere.
You mind your business and I`ll mind mine. I want to know what the devil you
mean by making a damned fool of me. Everyone in the place will know that you`ve
countermanded my order."
Mr.
Warburton kept very cool.
"You
had no power to give the order you did. I countermanded it because it was harsh
and tyrannical. Believe me, I have not made half such a damned fool of you as
you have made of yourself."
"You
disliked me from the first moment I came here. You`ve done everything you could
to make the place impossible for me because I wouldn`t lick your boots for you.
You got your knife into me because I wouldn`t flatter you."
Cooper,
spluttering with rage, was nearing dangerous ground, and Mr. Warburton`s eyes
grew suddenly colder and more piercing.
"You
are wrong. I thought you were a cad, but I was perfectly satisfied with the way
you did your work."
"You
snob. You damned snob. You thought me a cad because I hadn`t been to Eton. Oh,
they told me in K, S. what to expect. Why, don`t you know that you`re the laughingstock
of the whole country? I could hardly help bursting into a roar of laughter when
you told your celebrated story about the Prince of Wales. My God, how they
shouted at the club when they told it. By God, I`d rather be the cad I am than
the snob you are."
He
got Mr. Warburton on the raw.
"If
you don`t get out of my house this minute I shall knock you down," he
cried.
The
other came a little closer to him and put his face in his.
"Touch
me, touch me," he said. "By God, I`d like to see you hit me. Do you
want me to say it again? Snob. Snob."
Cooper
was three inches taller than Mr. Warburton, a strong, muscular young man. Mr.
Warburton was fat and fifty-four. His clenched fist shot out. Cooper caught him
by the arm and pushed him back.
"Don`t
be a damned fool. Remember I`m not a gentleman. I know how to use my
hands."
He
gave a sort of hoot, and, grinning all over his pale, sharp face, jumped down
the veranda steps. Mr. Warburton, his heart in his anger pounding against his
ribs, sank exhausted into a chair. His body tingled as though he had prickly
heat. For one horrible moment, he thought he was going to cry. But suddenly he
was conscious that his head-boy was on the veranda and instinctively regained
control of himself. The boy came forward and filled him with a glass of whisky
and soda.
Without
a word, Mr. Warburton took it and drank it to the dregs.
"What
do you want to say to me?" asked Mr. Warburton, trying to force a smile on
to his strained lips.
"Tuan,
the assistant Tuan is a bad man. Abas wishes again to leave him."
"Let
him wait a little. I shall write to Kuala Solor and ask that Tuan Cooper should
go elsewhere."
"Tuan
Cooper is not good with the Malays."
"Leave
me."
The
boy silently withdrew. Mr. Warburton was left alone with his thoughts. He saw
the club al Kuala Solor, the men sitting round the table in the window in their
flannels, when the night had driven them in from golf and tennis, drinking
whiskies and gin pahits, and laughing when they told the celebrated story of
the Prince of Wales and himself at Marienbad. He was hot with shame and misery.
A snob! They all thought him a snob. And he had always thought them very good
fellows, he had always been gentleman enough to let it make no difference to
him that they were of very second-rate position. He haled them now. But his
hatred for them was nothing compared with his haired for Cooper. And if it had
come to blows Cooper could have thrashed him. Tears of mortification ran down
his red, fat face. He sat there for a couple of hours smoking cigarette after
cigarette, and he wished he were dead.
At
last, the boy came back and asked him if he would dress for dinner. Of course!
He always dressed for dinner. He rose wearily from his chair and put on his
stiff shirt and the high collar. He sat down at the prettily decorated table
and was waited on as usual by the two boys while two others waved their great
fans. Over there in the bungalow, two hundred yards away, Cooper was eating a
filthy meal clad only in a sarong and a baju. His feet were bare and while he
ate he probably read a detective story. After dinner, Mr. Warburton sat down to
write a letter. The Sultan was away, but he wrote, privately and
confidentially, to his representative. Cooper did his work very well, he said,
but the fact was that he couldn`t get on with him. They were getting dreadfully
on each other`s nerves and he would look upon it as a very great favour if
Cooper could be transferred to another post.
He
despatched the letter the next morning by special messenger. The answer came a
fortnight later in the month`s mail. It was a private note and ran as follows:
-
"My
dear Warburton,
I
do not want to answer your letter officially, and so I am writing you a few
lines myself. Of course, if you insist I will put the matter up to the Sultan,
but I think you would be much wiser to drop it. I know Cooper is a rough
diamond, but he is capable, and he had a pretty thin time in the war, and I
think he should be given every chance. I think you are a little too much
inclined to attach importance to a man`s social position. You must remember
that times have changed. Of course, its a very good thing for a man to be a
gentleman, but ifs better that he should be competent and hard-working. I think
if you`ll exercise a little tolerance you`ll get on very well with Cooper.
Yours
very sincerely, Richard Temple. "
The
letter dropped from Mr. Warburton`s hand. It was easy to read between the
lines. Dick Temple, whom he had known for twenty years, Dick Temple, who came
from quite a good country family, thought him a snob, and for that reason had
no patience with his request. Mr. Warburton felt on a saddened and discouraged
with life. The world of which he was a part had passed away and the future
belonged to a meaner generation. Cooper represented it and Cooper hated it with
all his heart. He stretched out his hand to fill his glass, and at the gesture,
his head boy stepped forward.
"I
didn`t know you were there."
The
boy picked up the official letter. Ah, that was why he was waiting.
"Does
Tuan Cooper go, Tuan?"
"No."
"There
will be a misfortune."
For
a moment the words conveyed nothing to his lassitude. But only for a moment. He
sat up in his chair and looked at the boy. He was all attention.
"What
do you mean by that?"
"Tuan
Cooper is not behaving rightly with Abas."
Mr.
Warburton shrugged his shoulders. How should a man like Cooper know how to
treat servants? Mr. Warburton knew the type: he would be grossly familiar with
them at one moment and rude and inconsiderate the next.
"Let
Abas go back to his family."
"Tuan
Cooper holds back his wages so that he may not run away. He has paid him
nothing for three months. I tell him to be patient. But he is angry, he will
not listen to reason. If the Tuan continues to use him ill there will be a
misfortune."
"You
were right to tell me."
The
fool! Did he know so little of the Malays as to think he could safely injure
them? It would serve him damned well right if he got a Krick in his back. A krick.
Mr. Warburton`s heart seemed on a sudden to miss a beat. He had only to let
things take their course and one fine day he would be rid of Cooper. He smiled
faintly as the phrase, a masterly inactivity, crossed his mind. And now his
heart beat a little quicker, for he saw the man he haled lying on his face in a
pathway of the jungle with a knife in his back. A fit end for the cad and the
bully. Mr. Warburton sighed. It was his duty to warn him, and of course, he
must do it. He wrote a brief and formal note to Cooper asking him to come to
the Fort at once.
In
ten minutes Cooper stood before him. They had not spoken to one another since
the day when Mr. Warburton had nearly struck him. He did not now ask him to sit
down.
"Did
you wish to see me?" asked Cooper.
He
was untidy and none too clean. His face and hands were covered with little red
blotches where mosquitoes had bitten him and he had scratched himself till the
blood came. His long, thin face bore a sullen look.
"I
understand that you are again having trouble with your servants. Abas, my head
boy`s nephew, complains that you have held back his wages for three months. I
consider it a most arbitrary proceeding. The lad wishes to leave you, and I
certainly do not blame him. I must insist on your paying what is due to
him."
"I
don`t choose that he should leave me. I am holding back his wages as a pledge
of his good behaviour."
"You
do not know the Malay character. The Malays are very sensitive to injury and
ridicule. They are passionate and revengeful. It is my duty to warn you that if
you drive this boy beyond a certain point you run a great risk."
Cooper
gave a contemptuous chuckle.
"What
do you think he`ll do?"
"I
think he`ll kill you."
"Why
should you mind?"
"Oh,
I wouldn`t, "replied Mr. Warburton, with a faint laugh. "I should
bear it with the utmost fortitude. But I feel the official obligation to give
you a proper warning."
"Do
you think I`m afraid of a damned nigger?"
"It`s
a matter of entire indifference to me."
"Well,
let me tell you this, I know how to take care of myself; that boy Abas is a
dirty, thieving rascal, and if he tries any monkey tricks on me, by God, I`ll
wring his bloody neck."
"That
was all I wished to say to you," said Mr. Warburton. "Good
evening."
Mr.
Warburton gave him a little nod of dismissal. Cooper flushed, did not for a
moment know what to say or do, turned on his heel, and stumbled out of the
room. Mr. Warburton watched him go with an icy smile on his lips. He had done
his duty. But what would he have thought had he known that when Cooper got back
to his bungalow, so silent and cheerless, he threw himself down on his bed and
in his bitter loneliness and all of a sudden lost all control of himself?
Painful sobs tore his chest and heavy tears rolled down his thin cheeks.
After
this, Mr. Warburton seldom saw Cooper and never spoke to him. He read his Times
every morning, did his work at the office, took his exercise, dressed for
dinner, dined, and sat by the river smoking his cheroot. If by chance he ran
across Cooper he cut him dead. Each, though never for a moment unconscious of
the propinquity, acted as though the other did not exist. Time did nothing to
assuage their animosity. They watched one another`s actions and each knew what
the other did. Though Mr. Warburton had been a keen shot in his youth, with age
he had acquired a distaste for killing the wild things of the jungle, but on
Sundays and holidays Cooper went out with his gun: if he got something it was a
triumph over Mr. Warburton; if not, Mr. Warburton shrugged his shoulders and
chuckled. These counter-jumpers trying to be sportsmen! Christmas was a bad
time for both of them: they ate their dinners alone, each in his own quarters,
and they got deliberately drunk. They were the only white men within two hundred
miles and they lived within shouting distance of each other. At the beginning
of the year, Cooper went down with a fever, and when Mr. Warburton caught sight
of him again he was surprised to see how thin he had grown. He looked ill and
worn. The solitude, so much more unnatural because it was due to no necessity,
was getting on his nerves. It was getting on Mr. Warburton`s too, and often he
could not sleep at night. He lay awake brooding. Cooper was drinking heavily
and surely the breaking point was near; but in his dealings with the natives,
he took care to do nothing that might expose him to his chief`s rebuke. They
fought a grim and silent battle with one another. It was a test of endurance.
The months passed, and neither gave signs of weakening. They were like men
dwelling in regions of eternal night, and their souls were oppressed with the
knowledge that never would the day dawn for them. It looked as though their
lives would continue forever in this dull and hideous monotony of hatred.
And
when at last the inevitable happened it came upon Mr. Warburton with all the
shock of the unexpected. Cooper accused the boy Abas of stealing some of his
clothes, and when the boy denied the theft took him by the scruff of the neck
and kicked him down the steps of the bungalow. The boy demanded his wages and
Cooper flung at his head every word of abuse he knew. If he saw him in the
compound in an hour he would hand him over to the police. The next morning the
boy waylaid him outside the Fort when he was walking over to his office, and
again demanded his wages. Cooper struck him in the face with his clenched fist.
The boy fell to the ground and got up with blood streaming from his nose.
Cooper
walked on and set about his work. But he could not attend to it. The blow had calmed
his irritation, and he knew that he had gone too far. He was worried. He fell
ill, miserable, and discouraged. In the adjoining office sat Mr. Warburton, and
his impulse was to go and tell him what he had done; he made a movement in his
chair, but he knew with what icy scorn he would listen to the story. He could
see his patronizing smile. For a moment he had an uneasy fear of what Abas
might do. Warburton had warned him all right. He sighed. What a fool he had
been! But he shrugged his shoulders impatiently. He did not care; a fat lot he
had to live for. It was all Warburton`s fault; if he hadn`t put his back up
nothing like this would have happened. Warburton had made life a hell for him
from the start. The snob. But they were all like that: it was because he was a
Colonial. It was a damned shame that he had never got his commission in the
war; he was as good as anyone else. They were a lot of dirty snobs. He was
damned if he was going to knuckle under now. Of course, Warburton would hear of
what had happened; the old devil knew everything. He wasn`t afraid. He wasn`t
afraid of any Malay in Borneo, and Warburton could go to blazes.
He
was right in thinking that Mr. Warburton would know what had happened. His head
boy told him when he went into tiffin.
"Where
is your nephew now?"
"I
do not know, Tuan. He has gone."
Mr.
Warburton remained silent. After luncheon as a rule he slept a little, but today
he found himself very wide awake. His eyes involuntarily sought the bungalow
where Cooper was now resting.
The
idiot! Hesitation for a little was in Mr. Warburton`s mind. Did the man know in
what peril he was? He supposed he ought to send for him. But each time he had
tried to reason with Cooper, Cooper had insulted him. Anger, furious anger
welled up suddenly in Mr. Warburton`s heart, so that the veins on his temples
stood out and he clenched his fists. The cad had had his warning. Now let him
take what was coming to him. It was no business of his, and if anything
happened it was not his fault. But perhaps they would wish in Kuala Solor that
they had taken his advice and transferred Cooper to the mother station.
He
was strangely restless that night. After dinner, he walked up and down the veranda.
When the boy went away to his own quarters, Mr. Warburton asked him whether
anything had been seen of Abas.
"No,
Tuan, I think maybe he has gone to the village of his mother`s brother."
Mr.
Warburton gave him a sharp glance, but the boy was looking down, and their eyes
did not meet. Mr. Warburton went down to the river and sat in his harbour. But
peace was denied him. The river flowed ominously silent. It was like a great
serpent gliding with sluggish movement towards the sea. And the trees of the
jungle over the water were heavy with a breathless menace. No bird sang. No
breeze ruffled the leaves of the cassias. All around him, it seemed as though
something waited.
He
walked across the garden to the road. He had Cooper`s bungalow in full view
from there. There was a light in his sitting room, and across the road floated
the sound of rag-time. Cooper was playing his gramophone. Mr. Warburton
shuddered; he had never got over his instinctive dislike of that instrument.
But for that, he would have gone over and spoken to Cooper. He turned and went
back to his own house. He read late into the night, and at last, he slept. But
he did not sleep very long, he had terrible dreams, and he seemed to be
awakened by a cry. Of course that was a dream too, for no cry - from the
bungalow for instance - could be heard in his room. He lay awake till dawn.
Then he heard hurried steps and the sound of voices, his head-boy burst
suddenly into the room without his fez, and Mr. Warburton`s heart stood still.
"Tuan,
Tuan."
Mr.
Warburton jumped out of bed.
"I`ll
come at once."
He
put on his slippers, and in his sarong and pyjama-jacket walked across his
compound and into Cooper`s. Cooper was lying in bed, with his mouth open, and a
kris sticking in his heart. He had been killed in his sleep. Mr. Warburton
started, but not because he had not expected to see just such a sight, he
started because he fell in himself a sudden glow of exultation. A great burden
had been lifted from his shoulders.
Cooper
was quite cold. Mr. Warburton took the kris out of the wound, it had been
thrust in with such force that he had to use an effort to get it out and look
at it.
He
recognized it. It was a kris that a dealer had offered him some weeks before,
and which he knew Cooper had bought.
"Where
is Abas?" he asked sternly.
"Abas
is at the village of his mother`s brother."
The
sergeant of the native police was standing at the foot of the bed.
"Take
two men and go to the village and arrest him."
Mr.
Warburton did what was immediately necessary. With a set face he gave orders.
His words were short and peremptory. Then he went back to the Fort. He shaved
and had his bath, dressed, and went into the dining room. By the side of his
plate, The Times in its wrapper lay waiting for him. He helped himself to some
fruit. The head boy poured out his tea while the second handed him a dish of
eggs. Mr. Warburton ate with a good appetite. The head-boy waited.
"What
is it?" asked Mr. Warburton.
"Tuan,
Abas, my nephew, was in the house of his mother`s brother all night. It can be
proved. His uncle will swear that he did not leave the kampong."
Mr.
Warburton turned upon him with a frown.
"Tuan
Cooper was killed by Abas. You know it as well as I know it. Justice must be
done."
"Tuan,
you would not hang him?"
Mr.
Warburton hesitated an instant, and though his voice remained set and stern a
change came into his eyes. It was a flicker that the Malay was quick to notice
and across his own eyes flashed an answering look of understanding.
"The
provocation was very great. Abas will be sentenced to a term of
imprisonment." There was a pause while Mr. Warburton helped himself to
marmalade. "When he has served a part of his sentence in prison I will
take him into this house as a boy. You can train him in his duties. I have no
doubt that in the house of Tuan Cooper, he got into bad habits."
"Shall
Abas give himself up, Tuan?"
"It
would be wise of him."
The
boy withdrew. Mr. Warburton took his Times and neatly slit the wrapper. He
loved to unfold the heavy, rustling pages. The morning, so fresh and cool, was
delicious and for a moment his eyes wandered out over the garden with a
friendly glance. A great weight had been lifted from his mind. He turned to the
columns in which were announced the births, deaths, and marriages. That was
what he always looked at first. A name he knew caught his attention. Lady
Ormskirk had had a son at last. By George, how pleased the old dowager must be!
He would write her a note of congratulation by the next mail.
Abas
would make a very good house-boy.
That
fool Hooper!
The Yellow Streak
The two prahus were dropping easily downstream, one a few
yards ahead of the other, and in the first sat the two white men. After seven
weeks on the rivers, they were glad to know that they would lodge that night in
a civilized house. To Izzart, who had been in Borneo since the war, the Dyak
houses and their feasts were of course an old story; but Campion, though new to
the country and at first amused by the strangeness, hankered too now for chairs
to sit on and a bed to sleep in. The Dyaks were hospitable, but no one could
say that there was much comfort to be found in their houses, and there was a
monotony in the entertainment they offered a guest which presently grew
somewhat wearisome. Every evening, as the travellers reached the landing place,
the headman, bearing a flag, and the more important members of the household,
came down to the river to fetch them. They were led up to the long house—a
village really under one roof, built on piles, to which access was obtained by
climbing up the trunk of a tree rudely notched into steps—and to the beating of
drums and gongs walked up and down the whole length of it in long procession.
On both sides sertied throngs of brown people sat on their haunches and stared
silently as the white men passed. Clean mats were unrolled and the guests
seated themselves. The headman brought a live chicken and, holding it by the
legs, waved it three times over their heads, called the spirits loudly to
witness and uttered an invocation. Then various persons brought eggs. Arak was
drunk. A girl, a very small shy thing with the grace of a flower but with
something hieratic in her immobile face, held a cup to the white man’s lips
till it was empty and then a great shout arose. The men began to dance, one
after the other, each treading his little measure, with his shield and his
parang, to the accompaniment of drum and gong. After this had gone on for some
time the visitors were taken into one of the rooms that led off the long
platform on which was led the common life of the household and found their
supper prepared for them. The girls fed them with Chinese spoons. Then everyone
grew a little drunk and they all talked till the early hours of the morning.
But now their journey was done and they were on their way to the coast. They had started at dawn. The river then was very shallow and ran clear and bright over a shingly bottom; the trees leaned over it so that above there was only a strip of blue sky; but now it had broadened out, and the men were poling no longer but paddling. The trees, bamboos, wild sago like huge bunches of ostrich feathers, trees with enormous leaves and trees with feathery foliage like the acacia, coconut trees, and areca palms, with their long straight white stems, the trees on the banks were immensely and violently luxuriant. Here and there, gaunt and naked, was the bare skeleton of a tree struck by lightning or dead of old age, and its whiteness against all that green was vivid. Here and there, rival kings of the forest and tall trees soared above the common level of the jungle. Then there were the parasites; in the fork of two branches great tufts of lush green leaves, or flowering creepers that covered the spreading foliage like a bride’s veil; sometimes they wound round a tall trunk, a sheath of splendour, and threw long flowering arms from branch to branch. There was something thrilling in the passionate wildness of that eager growth; it had the daring abandon of the nomad rioting in the train of the god.
The day wore on, and now the heat was no longer so oppressive. Campion looked at the shabby silver watch on his wrist. It could not be long now before they reached their destination.
“TI don’t know him. I believe he’s a very good sort.”
Hutchinson was the Resident in whose house they were to spend the night, and they had sent on a Dyak in a canoe to announce their arrival.
“Well, I hope he’s got some whiskey. I’ve drunk enough Arak to last me a lifetime.”
Campion was a mining engineer whom the Sultan on his way to England had met at Singapore, and finding him at a loose end had commissioned to go to Sembulu and see whether he could discover any mineral which might be profitably worked. He sent Willis, the Resident at Kuala Solor, instructions to afford him every facility, and Willis had put him in the cate of Izzart because Izzart spoke both Malay and Dyak like a native. This was the third trip they had made into the interior, and now Campion was to go home with his reports. They were to catch the Sultan Ahmed, which was due to pass the mouth of the river at dawn on the next day but one, and with any luck should reach Kuala Solor on the same afternoon. They were both glad to get back toit. There was tennis and golf there, and the club with its billiard tables, food which was relatively good, and the comforts of civilization. Izzart was glad, too, that he would have a other society than Campion’s. He gave him a sidelong glance. He was a little man with a big, bald head, and though certainly fifty, strong and wiry; he had quick, shining blue eyes and a stubbly, grey moustache. He was seldom without an old briar pipe between his broken and discoloured teeth. He was neither clean nor neat, his khaki shorts were ragged and his singlet torn; he was wearing now a battered topee. He had knocked about the world since he was eighteen and had been in South Africa, in China and in Mexico. He was good company ; he could tell a story well, and he was prepared to drink and drink again with anyone he met. They had got on very well together, but Izzart had never felt quite at home with him. Though they joked and laughed together, got drunk together, Izzart felt that there was no intimacy between them: for all the cordiality of their relations they remained nothing but acquaintances. He was very sensitive to the impression he made on others, and behind Campion’s joviality he had felt a certain coolness ; those shining blue eyes had summed him up; and it vaguely irritated Izzart that Campion had formed an opinion of him, and he did not quite know what it was. He was exasperated by the possibility that this common little man did not think entirely well of him. He desired to be liked and admired. He wanted to be popular. He wished the people he met to take an inordinate fancy to him, so that he could either reject them or a trifle condescendingly bestow his friendship on them. His inclination was to be familiar with all and sundry, but he was held back by the fear of a rebuff ; sometimes he had been uneasily conscious that his effusiveness surprised the persons he lavished it on.
By some chance, he had never met Hutchinson, though of course he knew all about him just as Hutchinson knew all about Aim, and they would have many common friends to talk of. Hutchinson had been at Winchester, and Izzart was glad that he could tell him that he had been at Harrow....
The prahu rounded a bend in the river and suddenly, standing on a slight eminence, they saw the bungalow. In a few minutes, they caught sight of the Janding stage and on it, among a little group of natives, a figure in white waved to them.
Hutchinson was a tall, stout man with a red face. His appearance led you to expect that he was breezy and self-confident so it was not a little surprising to discover quickly that he was diffident and even a trifle shy. When he shook hands with his guests—~izzart introduced himself and then Campion ~—and led them up the pathway to the bungalow, though he was plainly anxious to be civil it was not hard to see that he found it difficult to make conversation. He took them out onto the veranda and here they found on the table glasses and whiskey and soda. They made themselves comfortable on long chairs. Izzart, conscious of Hutchinson’s slight embarrassment with strangers, expanded; he was very hearty and voluble. He began to speak of their common acquaintances at Kuala Solor, and he managed very soon to slip in casually the information that he had been at Harrow,
“You were at Winchester, weren’t you?” he asked.
“I wonder if you knew George Parker. He was in my regiment. He was at Winchester. I daresay he was younger than you.”
Izzart felt that it was a bond between them that they Lad been at these particular schools, and it excluded Campion, who obviously had enjoyed no such advantage. They drank two or three whiskies. Izzart in half an hour began to call his host Hutchie. He talked a good deal about “ my regiment ” in which he had got his company during the war, and what good fellows his brother officers were. He mentioned two or three names which could hardly be unknown to Hutchinson. They were not the sort of people that Campion was likely to have come across, and he was not sorry to administer to him a neat snub when he claimed acquaintance with someone he spoke of.
* Billie Meadows? I knew a fellow called Billie Meadows in Sinaloa many years ago,” said Campion.
“Oh, I shouldn’t think it could be the same,” said Izzart, with a smile. “ Billie’s by way of being a peer of the realm, He’s the Lord Meadows who races. Don’t you remember, he owned Spring Carrots ?”
Dinner time was approaching, and after a wash and brush-up they drank a couple of gin pahits. They sat down, Hutchinson had not been to Kuala Solor for the best part of a year, and had not seen another white man for three months. He was anxious to make the most of his visitors. He could give them no wine, but there was plenty of whiskey and after dinner he brought out a precious bottle of Benedictine. They were very pay. They laughed and talked a great deal. Izzart was getting on famously, He thought he had never liked a fellow more than Hutchinson, and he pressed him to come down to Kuala Solor as soon as he could. They would have a wonderful beano. Campion was left out of the conversation by Izzart with the faintly malicious intention of putting him in his place, and by Hutchinson through shyness; and presently, after yawning a good deal, he said he would go to bed. Hutchinson showed him to his room and when he returned Izzart said to him 3
“Not on your life. Let’s have another drink.”
They sat and talked. They both grew a little drank.
Presently Hutchinson told Izzart that he lived with a Malay girl, and had a
couple of children by her. He had told them to keep out of sight while Campion
was there,
“TI expect she’s asleep now,” said Hutchinson, with a glance
at the door which Izzart knew led into his room, “‘ but I’d like you to see the
kiddies in the morning.”
Just then a faint wail was heard and Hutchinson with a “
Hulloa, the little devil’s awake,” went to the door and opened it. In a moment
or two he came out of the room with a child in his arms. A woman followed him.
“He's cutting his teeth,’ said Hutchinson. It makes him
restless.”
The woman wore a sarong and a thin white jacket and she was
barefoot. She was young, with fine dark eyes, and she gave Izzart when he spoke
to her a bright and pleasant smile. She sat down and lit a cigarette. She
answered the civil questions Izzart put to her without embarrassment, but also
without effusion, Hutchinson asked her if she would have a whiskey and soda,
but she refused. When the two men began to talk again in English she sat on
quite quietly, faintly rocking herself in her chair, and occupied with none
could tell what calm thoughts.
“ She’s a very good girl,” said Hutchinson. ““ She looks after the house and she’s no trouble. Of course, it’s the only thing to do in a place like this.”
“*T shall never do it myself,” said Izzart. ‘“ After all, one may want to get married and then it means all sorts of botheration’s.”
“ But who wants to get married? What a life fora white woman. I wouldn’t ask a white woman to live here for anything in the world.”
Hutchinson looked down at the little dark-skinned child he held in his arms. He gave a faint smile.
“Jt’s funny how you get to like them,” he said. “When they’re your own it doesn’t seem to matter that they’ve got a touch of the tar-brush.”
The woman gave the child a look, and getting up said she would take it back to bed.
“J should think we’d better all turn in,” said Hutchinson. “ God knows what the time is.”
Izzart went to his room and threw open the shutters that his boy Hassan, whom he was traveling with, had closed. Blowing out the candle so that it should not attract the mosquitoes, he sat down at the window and looked at the soft night. The whiskey he had drunk made him feel very wide awake, and he was not inclined to go to bed. He took off his ducks, put on a sarong, and lit a cheroot. His good humour was gone. It was the sight of Hutchinson looking fondly at the half-caste child which had upset him.
“ They’ve got no right to have them,” he said to himself. ‘“ They’ve got no chance in the world. Ever.”
He passed his hands reflectively along his bare and hairy legs. He shuddered a little. Though he had done everything he could to develop the calves, his legs were like broomsticks. He hated them. He was uneasily conscious of them all the time. They were like natives. Of course, they were the very legs for a top-boot. In his uniform, he had looked very well. He was a tall, powerful man, over six feet high, and he had a neat black mustache and neat black hair, His dark eyes were fine and mobile. He was a good-looking fellow and he knew it, and he dressed well, shabbily when shabbiness was good form, and smartly when the occasion demanded. He had loved the army, and it was a bitter blow to him when, at the end of the war, he could not remain in it. His ambitions were simple. He wanted to have two thousand a year, give smart little dinners, go to parties, and wear a uniform. He hankered after London.
Of course, his mother lived there, and his mother cramped his style. He wondered how on earth he could produce her if ever he got engaged to the girl of good family (with a little money) whom he was looking for to make his wife. Because his father had been dead so long and during the later part of his career was stationed in the most remote of the Malay States, Izzart felt fairly sure that no one in Sembulu knew anything about her, but he lived in terror lest someone, running across her in London, should write over to tell people that she was a half-caste. She had been a beautiful creature when Izzart’s father, an engineer in the Government Service, bad married her; but now she was a fat old woman with grey hair who sat about all day smoking cigarettes. Izzart was twelve years old when his father died and then he could speak Malay much more fluently than English. An aunt offered to pay for his education and Mrs. Izzart accompanied hers onto England. She lived habitually in furnished apartments, and her rooms with their Oriental draperies and Malay silver were overheated and stuffy. She was forever in trouble with her landladies because she would leave cigarette ends about. Izzart hated the way she made friends with them; she would be shockingly familiar with them for a time, then there would be a falling-out, and after a violent scene she would flounce out of the house. Her only amusement was the pictures, and to these, she went every day of the week. At home, she wore an old and tawdry dressing gown, but when she went out she dressed—but, oh, how untidily—in extravagant colours, so that it was a mortification to her dapper son. He quarreled with her frequently, she made him impatient and he was ashamed of her, and yet he felt for her a deep tenderness; it was almost a physical bond between them, something stronger than the ordinary feeling of mother and son, so that notwithstanding the failings that exasperated him she was the only person in the world with whom he felt entirely at home.
It was owing to his father’s position and his own knowledge of Malay, for his mother always spoke it to him, that after the war, finding himself with nothing to do, he had managed to enter the service of the Sultan of Sembulu. He had been a success. He played games well, he was strong and a good athlete; in the rest-house at Kuala Solor were the cups which he had won at Harrow for running and jumping, and to these, he had added others for golf and tennis. With his abundant fund of smalltalk, he was an asset at parties and his cheeriness made things go. He ought to have been happy and he was wretched. He wanted so much to be popular, and he had an impression, stronger than ever at this moment, that popularity escaped him. He wondered whether by any chance the men at Kuala Solor with whom he was so hail fellow well met suspected that he had native blood in him. He knew very well what to expect if they ever found out. They wouldn’t say he was gay and friendly then, they would say he was damned familiar; and they would say he was inefficient and careless, as the half-castes were, and when he talked of marrying a white woman they would snigger. Oh, it was so unfair | What difference could it make, that drop of native blood in his veins, and yet because of it they would always be on the watch for the expected failure at the critical moment. Everyone knew that you couldn’t rely on Eurasians, sooner or later they would let you down; he knew it too, but now he asked himself whether they didn’t fail because failure was expected of them. They were never given a chance, poor devils.
But a cock crew loudly. It must be very late and he was beginning to feel chilly. He got into bed. When Hassan brought him his tea the next morning he had a racking headache, and when he went into breakfast he could not look at the porridge and the bacon and eggs which were set before him. Hutchinson too was feeling none too well.
“T fancy we made rather a night of it,” said his host, with
a smile to conceal his faint embarrassment.
Izzart asked for nothing better, and it was with distaste that they watched Campion eat with a healthy appetite a substantial meal. Campion chaffed them.
“ By God, Izzart, you’re looking green about the gills,” he said. “I never saw such a filthy colour.”
Izzart flushed. His swarthiness was always a sensitive point with him. But he forced himself to give a cheery laugh.
“You see, I had a Spanish grandmother,” he answered, “and when I’m under the weather it always comes out. I remember at Harrow I fought a boy and licked him, because he called me a damned half-caste.”
“ You are dark,” said Hutchinson. “‘ Do Malays ever ask you if you have any native blood in you? ”
“Yes, damn their impudence.”
A boat with their kit had started early in the morning in order to get to the mouth of the river before them and tell the skipper of the Sultan Ahmed, if by chance he arrived before he was due, that they were on their way. Campion and Izzart were to set out immediately after tiffin in order to arrive at the place where they were to spend the night
before the Bore passed. A Bore is a tidal wave that, by
reason of a peculiarity in the lie of the land, surges up certain rivers, and
there happened to be one on the river on which they were traveling. Hutchinson
had talked to them of it the night before and Campion, who had never seen such
a thing, was much interested.
“ This is one of the best in Borneo. It’s worth looking at,” said Hutchinson.
He told them how the natives, waiting the moment, rode it and were borne up the river on its crest at a breathless and terrifying speed. He had done it once himself.
“Never no more for me,” he said. “I was scared out of my wits.”
“I should like to try it once,” said Izzart.
“ It’s exciting enough, but my word, when you’re in a flimsy dug-out and you know that if the native doesn’t get the right moment you'll be flung in that seething torrent and you won’t have a chance in a million ... no, it’s not my idea of sport.”
“I’ve shot a good many rapids in my day,” said Campion.
“ Rapids be damned. You wait till you see the Bore. It’s one of the most terrifying things | know. D’you know that at least a dozen natives are drowned in it in this river alone every year?”
They lounged about on the veranda most of the morning and Hutchinson showed them the court-house. ‘Then gin pahits were served. They drank two or three. Izzart began to feel himself, and when at length tiffin was ready he found that he had an excellent appetite. Hutchinson had boasted of his Malay curry and when the steaming, succulent dishes were placed before them they all set to ravenously. Hutchinson pressed them to drink.
“You’ve got nothing to do but sleep. Why shouldn’t you get drunk ?”
He could not bear to let them go so soon, it was good after so long to have white men to talk to, and he lingered over the meal. He urged them to eat. They would have a filthy meal that night at the long-house and nothing to drink but Arak. They had better make hay while the sun shone. Campion suggested once or twice that they should start, but Hutchinson, and Izzart too, for now he was feeling very happy and comfortable, assured him there was plenty of time. Hutchinson sent for his precious bottle of Benedictine. They had made a hole in it last night ; they might as well finish it before they went.
When at last he walked down with them to the river they were all very merry and none of them was quite steady on his legs. Over the middle of the boat was an attap awning, and under this Hutchinson had had a mattress laid. The crew were prisoners who had been marched down from the jail to row the white men, and they wore dingy sarongs with the prison mark. They waited at their oars. Izzart and Campion shook hands with Hutchinson and threw themselves down on the mattress. The boat pushed off. The turbid river, wide and placid, glistened in the heat of that brilliant afternoon like polished brass. In the distance ahead of them they could see the bank with its tangle of green trees. They felt drowsy, but Izzart at least found a curious enjoyment in resisting for a little while the heaviness that was creeping over him, and he made up his mind that he would not let himself fall asleep till he had finished his cheroot. At last the stub began to burn his fingers and he flung it into the river.
“I’m going to have a wonderful snooze,” he said.
“What about the Bore?” asked Campion.
“ Oh, that’s all right. We needn’t worry about that.”
He gave 2 long and noisy yawn, His limbs felt like lead. He had one moment in which he was conscious of his delicious drowsiness and then he knew nothing more. Suddenly he was awakened by Campton shaking him.
“I say, what’s that?”
“ What’s what Pp”
He spoke irritably, for sleep was still heavy upon him, but with his eyes he followed Campion’s gesture. He could hear nothing, but a good way off he saw two or three white crested waves following one another, ‘They did not look very alarming.
** Oh, I suppose that’s the Bore.”
“What are we going to do about it?” cried Campion,
Izzart was scarcely yet quite awake. He smiled at the concern in Campion’s voice.
“Don’t worry. These fellows know all about it, they know exactly what to do. We may get a bit splashed.”
But while they were saying these few words the Bore came nearer, very quickly, with a roar like the roar of an angry sea, and Izzart saw that the waves were much higher than he had thought. He did not like the look of them and he tightened his belt so that his shorts should not slip down if the boat were upset. In a moment the waves were upon them. It was a great wall of water that seemed to tower over them, and it might have been ten or twelve feet high, but you could measure it only with your horror. It was quite plain that no boat could weather it. The first wave dashed over them, drenching them all, half falling the boat with water, and then immediately another wave struck them, The boatmen began to shout. They pulled madly at their oars and the steersman yelled an order. But in that surging torrent, they were helpless, and it was frightening to see how soon they lost all control of the boat. The force of the water turned it broadside on and it was carried along, helter-skelter, upon the crest of the Bore. Another great wave dashed over them and the boat began to sink. Izzart and Campion scrambled out of the covered place in which they had been lying and suddenly the boat gave way under their feet and they found themselves struggling in the water. It surged and stormed around them. Izzart’s first impulse was to swim for the shore, but his boy, Hassan, shouted to him to cling to the boat. For a minute or two they all did this.
“Are you all right?” Campion shouted to him.
“Yes, enjoying the bath,” said Izzart.
He imagined that the waves would pass by as the Bore ascended the river, and in a few minutes at the outside, they would find themselves in calm water once more. He forgot that they were being carried along on its crest. The waves dashed over them. They clung to the gunwale and the base of the structure which supported the Attap awning. Then a larger wave caught the boat and it turned over, falling upon them so that they lost their hold; there seemed nothing but a slippery bottom to cling to and Izzart’s hands slithered helplessly on the greasy surface. But the boat continued to turn and he made a desperate grab at the gunwale, only to feel it slip out of his hands as the turn went on, then he caught the framework of the awning, and still, it turned, turned slowly right round and once more he sought for a hand-held on the bottom. The boat went round and round with a horrible regularity. He thought this must be because everyone was clinging to one side of it, and he tried to make the crew go around to the other. Ele could not make them understand. Everyone was shouting and the waves beat against them with a dull and angry roar. Each time the boat rolled over on them Izzart was pushed underwater, only to come up again as the gunwale and the framework of the awning gave him something to cling to. The struggle was awful. Presently he began to get terribly out of breath, and he felt his strength leaving him. He knew that he could not hold on much longer, but he did not feel frightened, for his fatigue by now was so great that he did not very much care what happened, Hassan was by his side and he told him he was growing very tired. He thought the best thing was to make a dash for the shore, it did not look more than sixty yards away, but Hassan begged him not to. Still, they were being carried along amid those seething, pounding waves. The boat went round and round and they scrambled over it like squirrels in a cage. Izzart swallowed a lot of water. He felt he was very nearly done. Hassan could not help him, but it was a comfort that he was there, for Izzart knew that his boy, used to the water all his life, was a powerful swimmer. Then, Izzart did not know why, for a minute or two the boat held its bottom downwards, so that he was able to hold on to the gunwale. It was a precious thing to be able to get his breath. At that moment two dug-outs, with Malays in them riding the Bore, passed swiftly by them. They shouted for help, but the Malays averted their faces and went on. They saw the white men and did not want to be concerned in any trouble that might befall them. It was agonizing to see them go past, callous and indifferent to their safety. But on a sudden, the boat rolled round again, round and round, slowly, and the miserable, exhausting scramble repeated itself. It took the heart out of you. But the short respite had helped Izzart, and he was able to struggle a little longer. Then once more he found himself so terribly out of breath that he thought his chest would burst. His strength was all gone, and he did not know now whether he had enough to try to swim for the shore. Suddenly he heard a cry. “Tzzart, Izzart. Help. Help.”
It was Campion’s voice. It was a scream of agony. It sent a shock all through Izzart’s nerves. Campion, Campion, what did he care for Campion? Fear seized him, a blind animal fear, and it gave him a new strength. He did not answer.
“ Help me, quick, quick,” he said to Hassan.
Hassan understood him at once. By a miracle, one of the oats was floating quite close to them and he pushed it into Izzart’s reach. He placed a hand under Izzart’s arm and they struck away from the boat. lzzart’s heart was pounding and his breath came with difficulty. He felt horribly weak. The waves beat in his face. The bank looked dreadfully far away. He did not think he could ever reach it. Suddenly the boy cried that he could touch bottom and Izzart put down his legs, but he could feel nothing; he swam a few more exhausted strokes, his eyes fixed on the bank, and then, trying again, felt his feet sink into thick mud. He was thankful. He floundered on and there was the bank within reach of his hands, black mud in which he sank to his knees; he scrambled up, desperate to get out of the cruel water, and when he came to the top he found a little flat with tall rank grass all about it. He and Hassan sank down on it and lay for a while stretched out like dead men. They were so tired that they could not move. They were covered with black mud from head to foot.
But presently Izzart’s mind began to work, and a pang of anguish of a sudden shook him. Campion was drowned, It was awful. He did not know how he was going to explain the disaster when he got back to Kuala Solor. They would blame him for it; he ought to have remembered the Bore and told the steersman to make for the bank and tie up the boat when he saw it coming. It wasn’t his fault, it was the steersman’s, he knew the river; why in God’s name hadn’t he had the sense to get into safety? How could he have expected that it was possible to ride that horrible torrent? Izzart’s limbs shook as he remembered the wall of seething water that rushed down upon them. He must get the body and take it back to Kuala Solor. He wondered whether any of the crew were drowned too. He felt too weak to move, but Hassan now rose and wrang the water out of his sarong; he looked over the river and quickly turned to Izzart.
“ Tuan, a boat is coming.”
The Lalang grass prevented lzzart from seeing anything.
** Shout to them,” he said.
Hassan slipped out of view and made his way along the branch of a tree that overhung the water ; he cried out and waved. Presently Izzart heard voices. There was a rapid conversation between the boy and the occupants of the boat, and then the boy came back.
“They saw us capsize, Tuan,” he said, “and they came as soon as the Bore passed. There’s a long house on the other side. If you cross the river they will give us sarongs and food and we can sleep there.”
Izzart for a moment felt that he could not again trust himself on the face of the treacherous water.
““ What about the other tuan ? ” he asked,
“ ‘They do not know.”
Izzart did not know what to do, He was numb, Hassan put his arm round his shoulder and raised him to his feet. He made his way through the thick grass to the edge of the water, and there he saw a dugout with two Dyaks in it. The river now once more was calm and sluggish; the great wave had passed on and no one would have dreamed that so short a while before the placid surface was like a stormy sea. The Dyaks repeated to him what they had already told the boy. Izzart could not bring himself to speak. He felt that if he said a word he would burst out crying. Hassan helped him to get in, and the Dyaks began to pull across. He fearfully wanted something to smoke, but his cigarettes and his matches, both in a hip pocket, were soaking. The passage of the river seemed endless. The night fell and when they reached the bank the first stars were shining. He stepped ashore and one of the Dyaks took him up to the long-house. But Hassan seized the paddle he had dropped and with the other pushed out into the stream. Two or three men and some children came down to meet Izzart and he climbed to the house amid a babel of conversation. He went up the ladder and was led with greetings and excited comments to the space where the young men slept. Rattan mats were hurriedly laid to make him a couch and he sank down on them. Someone brought him a jar of Arak and he took a long drink; it was rough and fiery, burning his throat, but it warmed his heart. He slipped off his shirt and trousers and put on a dry sarong which someone lent him. By chance, he caught sight of the yellow new moon lying on her back, and it gave him a keen, almost sensual, pleasure. He could not help thinking that he might at that moment be a corpse floating up the river with the tide. The moon had never looked to him more lovely. He began to feel hungry and he asked for rice. One of the women went into a room to prepare it. He was more himself now, and he began to think again of the explanations he would make at Kuala Solor. No one could really blame him because he had gone to sleep; he certainly wasn’t drunk, Hutchinson would bear him out there, and how was he to suspect that the steersman would be such a damned fool? It was just rotten luck. But he couldn’t think of Campion without a shudder. At last a platter of rice was brought him, and he was just about to start eating when a man ran hurriedly along and came up to him.
** The tuan’s come,” he cried.
He jumped up. There was a commotion about the doorway and he stepped forward. Hassan was coming quickly towards him out of the darkness, and then he heard a voice.
“Izartt. Are you there ?”
“* Here’s some Arak,” said lzzart.
Campion put his mouth to the jar and drank and spluttered and drank again.
* Muck, but by God it’s strong.” He looked at Izzart with a grin of his broken and discoloured teeth. ‘I say, old man, you look as though you’d be all the better for a wash.”
“All right, so will I. Tell them to get me a sarong. How did you get out?” He did not wait for an answer. “I thought I was done for. [owe my life to these two sportsmen here.” He indicated with a cheery nod two of the Dyak prisoners whom Izzart vaguely recognized as having been part of their crew. “ They were hanging on to that blasted boat on each side of me and somehow they cottoned on to it that I was down and out. I couldn’t have lasted another minute. They made signs to me that we could risk having a shot at getting to the bank, but I didn’t think I had the strength. By George, I've never been so blown in all my life. I don’t know how they managed it, but somehow they got hold of the mattress we'd been lying on, and they made it into a roll. They’re sportsmen they are. I don’t know why they didn’t just save themselves without bothering about me. They gave it me. J] thought it a damned poor lifebelt, but I saw the force of the proverb about a drowning man clutching at a straw. I caught hold of the damned thing and between them somehow or other they dragged me ashore.
The danger from which he had escaped made Campion excited and voluble, but Izzart hardly listened to what he said. He heard once more, as distinctly as though the words rang now through the air, Campion’s agonized cry for help, and he felt sick with terror. The blind panic raced down his nerves. Campion was talking still, but was he talking to conceal his thoughts? Izzart looked into those bright blue eyes and sought to read the sense behind the flow of words. Was there a hard glint in them or something of cynical mockery? Did he know that Izzart, leaving him to his fate, had cut and run? He flushed deeply. After all, what was there that he could have done? At such a moment it was each for himself and the devil take the hindmost. But what would they say in Kuala Solor if Campton told them that Izzart had deserted him? He ought to have stayed, he wished now with all his heart that he had, but then, it was stronger than himself, | he couldn’t, Could anyone blame him? No one — who had seen that fierce and seething torrent: Oh, the water and the exhaustion, so that he could have cried!
“ If you’re as hungry as I am you’d better have a tuck in at
this rice,” he said.
Campion ate voraciously, but when Izzart had taken a mouthful or two he found that he had no appetite. Campion talked and talked. Izzart listened suspiciously. He felt that he must be alert and he drank more Arak. He began to feel a little drunk.
‘Perhaps you’d got away before. I don’t know exactly when you did get away.”
Izzatt looked at him sharply. Was it his fancy that there was an odd look in Campion’s eyes
“There was such an awful confusion,” he said. “I was just about down and out. My boy threw me over an oar, He gave me to understand you were all right. He told me you’d got ashore.”
The oar! He ought to have given Campion the oar aid and told Hassan, the strong swimmer, to give Bier his help. Was it his fancy again that Campion gave him a quick and searching glance?
“IT wish I could have been of more use to you,” said Izzatt.
“ By George, it’s fine to be alive,” said Campion.
He was grubby and unshaven. He took long breaths, and his twisted mouth was half open with a grin. You could tell that he found the air singularly good to breathe. He was delighted with the blue sky the sunshine and the greenness of the trees. Izzart hated him. He was sure that this morning there was a difference in his manner. He did not know what to do. He had a mind to throw himself on his mercy. He had behaved like a cad, but he was sorry, he would give anything to have the chance again, but anyone might have done what he did, and if Campion gave him away he was ruined. He could never stay in Sembulu; his name would be mud in Borneo and the Straits Settlements. If he made his confession to Campion he could surely get Campion to promise to hold his tongue. But would he keep his promise? He looked at him, a shifty little man: how could he be relied on? Izzart thought of what he had said the night before. It wasn’t the truth, of course, but who could know that? At all events who could prove that he hadn’t honestly thought that Campion was safe? Whatever Campion said it was only his word against Izzart’s; he could laugh and shrug his shoulders and say that Campion had lost his head and didn’t know what he was talking about. Besides, it wasn’t certain that Campion hadn’t accepted his story; in that frightful struggle for life, he could be very sure of nothing. He had a temptation to go back to the subject but was afraid if he did that he would excite suspicion in Campion’s mind. He must hold his tongue. That was his only chance of safety. And when they got to K. 5. he would get in his story first.
“T should be completely happy now,” said Campion, “ if I only had something to smoke.”
Campion gave a little laugh.
Izzart formulated the thought which had lurked at the back of his mind, but which all through the night he had refused to admit into his consciousness.
“| wish to God he’d been drowned. Then [Pd have been safe.”
“* There she is,”’ cried Campion suddenly.
Izzart looked around. They were at the mouth of the river and there was the Sultan Ahmed waiting for them. Izzart’s heart sank: he had forgotten that she had an English skipper and that he would have to be told the story of their adventure. What would Campion say? The skipper was called Bredon, and Izzart had met him often at Kuala Selor. He was a little bluff man, with a black mustache, and a breezy manner.
“ Hurry up,” he called out to them, as they rowed up, “I’ve been waiting for you since dawn.” But when they climbed on board his face fell, “ Hullo, what’s the matter with you ? ”
“Give us a drink and you shall hear all about it,” said Campion, with his crooked grin,
“ Come along.”
They sat down under the awning. On a table were glasses, a bottle of whiskey and soda water. The skipper gave an order and in a few minutes they were noisily under way.
‘““We were caught in the Bore,” said Izzart.
He felt he must say something. His mouth was horribly dry notwithstanding the drink.
“Were you, by Jove? You're lucky not to have been drowned. What happened ?”
He addressed himself to Izzart because he knew him, but it was Campion who answered, He related the whole incident, accurately, and Izzart listened with strained attention. Campion spoke in the plural when he told the early part of the story, and then, as he came to the moment when they were thrown into the water, changed to the singular. At first, it was what they had done and now it was what happened to 4ia. He left Izzart out of it. Izzart did not know whether to be relieved or alarmed. Why did he not mention him? Was it because in that mortal struggle for life he had thought of nothing but himself or—did he know?
“And what happened to you?” said Captain Bredon, turning to Izzart.
Izzatt was about to answer when Campion spoke.
“Until I got over to the other side of the river I thought he was drowned. I don’t know how he got out. I expect he hardly knows himself.”
“It was touch and go,” said Izzart with a laugh.
Why ha! Campion say that? He caught his eye. He was sure now that there was a gleam of amusement in it. It was awful not to be certain, He was frightened. He was ashamed. He wondered if he could not so guide the conversation, either now or later, as to ask Campion whether that was the story he was going to tell in Kuala Solor. There was nothing in it to excite anyone’s suspicions. But if nobody else knew, Campion knew. He could have killed him.
“ Well, I think you’re both of you damned lucky to be alive,” said the skipper.
It was but a short run to Kuala Solor, and as they steamed
up the Sembulu river Izzart moodily watched the banks, On each side were the
mangroves and the nips washed by the water, and behind, the dense green of the
jungle; here and there, among fruit trees, were Malay houses on piles. Night
fell as they docked. Goring, of the police, came on board and shook hands with
them. He was living at the rest-house just then, and as he set about his work
of seeing the native passengers he told them they would find another man,
Porter by name, staying there too. They would all meet at dinner. The boys took
charge of their kit, and Campion and Izzart strolled along. They bathed and
changed, and at half past eight the four of them assembled in the common room
for gin pahits.
““] say, what’s this Bredon tells me about your being nearly drowned ? ” said Goring as he came in.
Izzart felt himself flush, but before he could answer Campion broke in, and it seemed certain to Izzart that he spoke in order to give the story as he chose. He felt hot with shame. Not a word was spoken in disparagement of him, not a word was said of him at all; he wondered if those two men who listened, Goring and Porter, thought it strange that he should be left out. He looked at Campion intently as he proceeded with his narration, he told it rather humorously; he did not disguise the danger in which they had been, but he made a joke of it so that the two listeners laughed at the quandary in which they had found themselves. “ A thing that’s tickled me since,” said Campion, “is that when I got over to the other bank I was black with mud from head to foot. I felt I really ought to jump in the river and have a wash, but you know I felt I'd been in that damned river as much as ever I wanted, and I said to myself: No, by George, I'll go dirty. And when I got into the longhouse and saw Izzart as black as I was, I knew he’d felt just like I did.”
They laughed and Izzart forced himself to laugh too, He noticed that Campion had told the story in precisely the same words as he had used when he told it to the skipper of the Sultan Ahmed. There could be only one explanation of that; he knew, he knew everything, and had made up his mind exactly what story to tell. The ingenuity with which Campion gave the facts, and yet left out what must be to Izzart’s discredit was devilish. But why was he holding his hand? It wasn’t in him not to feel contempt and resentment for the man who had callously deserted him in that moment of dreadful peril. Suddenly, in a flash of inspiration, Izzart understood: he was keeping the truth to tell to Willis, the Resident. Izzart had gooseflesh as he thought of confronting Willis. He could deny, but would his denials serve him? Willis was no fool, and he would get at Hassan; Hassan could not be trusted to be silent; Hassan would give him away. Then he would be done for. Willis would suggest that he had better go home.
He had a racking headache, and after dinner, he went to his room, for he wanted to be alone so that he could devise a plan of action. And then a thought came to him which made him go hot and cold; he knew that the secret which he had guarded so long, was a secret to nobody. He was on a sudden certain of it. Why should he have those bright eyes and that swarthy skin? Why should he speak Malay with such ease and have learned Dyak so quickly? Of course, they knew. What a fool he was ever to think that they believed that story of his, about the Spanish grandmother! They must have laughed up their sleeves when he told it, and behind his back, they had called him a damned nigger. And now another thought came to him, torturing, and he asked himself whether it was on account of that wretched drop of native blood in him that when he heard Campion cry out his nerve failed him. After all, anyone might at that moment have been seized with panic; and why in God’s name should he sacrifice his life to save a man whom he cared nothing for? It was insane. But of course in K. 8. they would say it was only what they expected; they would make no allowances.
At last, he went to bed, but when, after tossing about recklessly for God knows how long, he fell asleep, he was awakened by a fearful dream; he seemed to be once more in that raging torrent, with the boat turning, turning; and then there was the desperate clutching at the gunwale, and the agony as it slipped out of his hands, and the water that roared over him. He was wide awake before dawn. His only chance was to see Willis and get his story in first, and he thought over carefully what he was going to say, and chose the very words he meant to use.
He got up early, and in order not to see Campion went out without breakfast. He walked along the high road till such time as he knew the Resident would be in his office, and then walked back again. He sent in his name and was ushered into Willis’s room. He was a little elderly man with thin grey hair and a long yellow face.
“I’m glad to see you back safe and sound,” he said, shaking hands with Izzart. “ What’s this I hear about your being nearly drowned? ”
Izzart, in clean ducks, his topee spotless, was a fine figure of a man. His black hair was neatly brushed, and his mustache was trimmed. He had an upright and soldierly bearing.
“T thought I’d better come and tell you at once, sir, as you told me to look after Campion.”
“ Fire away.”
Izzart told his story. He made light of the danger. He gave Willis to understanding that it had not been very great. They would never have been upset if they had not started so late.
“ Was he tight ?”
“T don’t know about that,” smiled Izzart good-humouredly. “I shouldn’t say he was cold sober.”
“You can’t blame him for that,” said the Resident.
“ Of course, I did everything I possibly could for him, sir, but the fact is, there wasn’t anything much I could do.”
“ Well, the great thing is that you both escaped. It would have been very awkward for all of us if he’d been drowned.”
“T thought I'd better come and tell you the facts before you saw Campion, sir. I fancy he’s inclined to talk rather wildly about it. There’s no use exaggerating.”
“Haven’t you seen Campion this morning? I heard from Goring that there’d been some trouble, and I joked in last night on my way home from the Fort after dinner. You'd already gone to bed.”
Izzart felt himself trembling, and he made a great effort to preserve his composure.
* By the way, you got away first, didn’t you ?”
As he did so he knocked some books on the floor. They fell with a sudden thud, The unexpected sound made Izzart start violently, and he gasped. ‘The Resident looked at him quickly.
“I say, your nerves are in a pretty state.”
Izzart could not control! his trembling.
“I’m very sorry, sit,” he murmured.
“T expect it’s been a shock. You'd better take it easy for a few days. Why don’t you get the doctor to give you something ?”
“TI didn’t sleep very well last night.”
The Resident nodded as though he understood. Izzart left the room, and as he passed out some man he knew stopped and congratulated him on his escape. They all knew of it. He walked back to the rest-house. And as he walked, he repeated to himself the story he had told the Resident. Was it really the same story that Campion had told? He had never suspected that the Resident had already heard it from Campion. What a fool he had been to go to bed! He should never have let Campion out of his sight. Why had the Resident listened without telling him that he already knew? Now Izzart cursed himself for having suggested that Campion was drunk and had lost his head. He had said this in order to discredit him, but he knew now that it was a stupid thing to do. And why had Willis said that about his having got away first? Perhaps he was holding his hand too; perhaps he was going to make inquiries; Willis was very shrewd. But what exactly had Campion said? He must know that; at whatever cost he must know. Izzart’s mind was seething, so that he felt he could hardly keep a hold on his thoughts, but he must keep calm. He felt like a hunted animal, He did not believe that Willis liked him; once or twice in the office he had blamed him because he was careless; perhaps he was just waiting till he got all the facts. Izzart was almost hysterical.
He entered the rest-house and there, sitting on a long chair, with his legs stretched out, was Campion. He was reading the papers that had arrived during their absence in the jungle. Izzart felt a blind rush of hatred well up in him as he looked at the little, shabby man who held him in the hollow of his hand.
“ Hulloa,” said Campion, looking up. “ Where have you been?”
To Izzart it seemed that there was in his eyes a mocking irony. He clenched his hands, and his breath came fast.
“What have you been saying to Willis about me?” he asked abruptly.
The tone in which he put the unexpected question was so harsh that Campion gave him a glance of faint surprise.
“T don’t think I’ve been saying anything very much about you. Why?”
“T told him you’d gone to bed with a headache. He wanted to know about our mishap.”
“Tve just seen him.”
Izzatt walked up and down the large and shaded toom; now, though it was still early, the sun was hot and dazzling. He felt himself in a net. He was blind with rage; he could have seized Campion by the throat and strangled him, and yet, because he did not know what he had to fight against, he felt himself powerless. He was tired and ill, and his nerves were shaken. On a sudden, the anger which had given him a sort of strength left him, and he was filled with despondency. It was as though water and not blood ran through his veins; his heart sank and his knees seemed to give way. He felt that if he did not take care, he would begin to cry. He was dreadfully sorry for himself.
*“Damn you, I wish to God I'd never set eyes on you,” he cried pitifully.
“ What on earth’s the matter?” asked Campion, with astonishment.
“Oh, don’t pretend. We've been pretending for two days, and I’m fed up with it.” His voice rose shrilly, it sounded odd in that robust and powerful man. “I’m fed up with it. I cut and ran. I left you to drown. I know I behaved like a skunk. I couldn’t help it.”
Campion rose slowly from his chair.
“ What are you talking about? ”
His tone was so genuinely surprised that it gave Izzart a
start. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
“* When you called for help I was panic-stricken. I just caught hold of an oar and got Hassan to help me get away.”
“That was the most sensible thing you could do.”
“T couldn’t help you. There wasn’t a thing I could do.”
“Of course not. It was damned silly of me to shout. It was a waste of breath, and breath was the very thing I wanted.”
“Do you mean to say you didn’t know?”
“TI promise you, you can trust me. Besides, my job’s done
here and I’m going home. I want to catch the next boat to Singapore.” There was
a pause, and Campion looked for a while reflectively at Izzart, “ There’s only
one thing I’d like to ask you: I've made a good many friends here, and there
ate one or two things I’m a little sensitive about; when you tell the story of
our upset, | should be grateful if you wouldn’t make out that | had behaved
badly. I wouldn’t like the fellows here to think that I’d lost my nerve.”
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