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The great Sorceress—The forest seen from above—A struggle for life—The crimes of plants—Everlasting twilight—Births and deaths—Concerts by forest vocalists—The "durian"—The "ple-lok"—Vastnesses unexplored by science—Treasures intact—Para Rubber—The Samaritans of the jungle—The forest and its history.
To speak of the forest without having seen it, and after having seen it, to describe its marvellous beauties, are equally impossible tasks.
When Art shall have re-produced faithfully the magnificent harmonies of colour, voice and outline peculiar to the jungle, it may be said that there are no more secrets of beauty for it to penetrate, because nowhere else has Nature been so profuse in bestowing her multifarious tints or has manifested Life with such triumphal glory of fecundity; nowhere else can be found such a prodigious variety of forms and attitudes or such ineffable multiplicity of sounds.
Like a paean of love the forest breaks forth fromthe bosom of its great Mother and rises eagerly, passionately towards the sun, its Benefactor.
Were it possible to soar on high and look down upon that wide verdant sea, its infinite gradations of green, enlivened here and there by the audacious brightness of a thousand wondrous flowers, we should have under our eyes the most complete, artistic and suggestive representation of life and its struggles.
The gigantic trees shoot up straight towards the sun, each one seeming to strive to outstrip the other; but a thick and even more ambitious undergrowth of plants twine round their trunks and enclose them in a tenacious embrace, then twisting, and creeping, amongst the spreading boughs, reach and cover the highest tops where they at last unfold their several leaves and flowers under the sun's most ardent gaze.
The tree, thus encircled and suffocated by the baneful hold of the climbers, lacks light and breath; the sap flows in scarce quantities throughout its organism and it languishes under the shade of the close tendrils; swarms of insects increase its agony by making their food and their nests of its bark; reptiles make love within the hollows of its trunk and at last the day comes when the lifeless giant falls with a frightful crash bearing with it the murderous parasite that is the victim of its own tenacity, which first raised it to bask in the sunshine and then caused it to be crushed under the rotten weight of its former supporter.
These are furious embraces of envy and jealousy; phrenzies of egotism in the vegetable kingdom: strange expressions of formidable hate and love, of oppression and vengeance.
All these myriads of plants are invaded by the irrepressible mania to ascend as high as possible and to receive the first, the most burning, perhaps the most pernicious, but the most liberal kiss of the sun. Andthey all hasten to arrive as though fearing to be superseded in the ascent as much by the colossal tree destined to brave centuries—if its massive roots are not ruined by its minute foes—as by those slender growths of a month or a day.
"Higher still! Always higher!" the green-leafed multitude seem to cry, "Excelsior!"
The sun never penetrates under this tangled mass of vegetation except where an opening has been made by the hands of the savages or by the work of lightning and hurricane.
In the dim light of its damp atmosphere the interminable rows of tall straight trunks, some stout and some slight, assume the oddest shapes which can appeal to the observer's phantasy. Now they are colonnades, adorned with pendant festoons stretching away into the distance; now they are mysterious aisles of monster temples; now they are the unfinished design of some giant architect whose undertaking was arrested by a sudden, mystic command. However fruitful may be the imagination of the artist he would here always find fresh and superb inspiration from the enthralling sight of Nature's virginal beauties.
The stagnant waters of the ponds, round which the frogs croak and the leeches crawl, are plentifully strewn with water-lilies, reeds and other aquatic plants.
On the hoary trunks of ancient trees whole families of orchids have insinuated themselves into little clefts in the bark, and flower there in the brightest of colours: red, purple, blue and also white.
Everywhere there is a joyous exuberance of life and vigour. Each day begins or ends the cycle of time destined to the vegetable inhabitants of the jungle, becauseas there is no regular round of seasons the plants and flowers finish their course according to the short or long existence prescribed them by natural laws, and one continually sees dried and withered leaves and flowers falling to the ground whilst others open and blossom in their stead. Those that die to-day afford nourishment to the new-born generation and in this manner there is a ceaseless renovation of the various species without any need of a gardener to prepare the soil.
The exuberance of animal life is in equal proportion, as there is abundance of food for all.
A deep and uninterrupted buzz fills the air; it comes from the cicadas whose monotonous note wearies the ear, and from hornets and bees of every description that keep up an incessant hum as they suck Juices from the plants or dive their antennæ into the ripe fruit or perhaps into some carrion lying near. The bassoon-like sound never ceases a single instant and tells the listener how innumerable are the populations of insects which live and generate their sort under the shade of their jungle retreat. Other inexplicable noises—far off crashes, mysterious sounds that chill one's veins, howls that make one shiver—for a sole moment break the noon-day silence. What is their origin? Nobody can say.
The different animal sounds to be heard in the forest follow a rule which knows no exception.
The day is hailed by a full concert warbled from the throats of feathered songsters. This morning hymn rises in all its innocent purity to the skies whilst the fierce protaganists of the past night's bloody tragedies slink off to their dens and leave the field free to the more gentle herbivorous animals.
A durian treeThe durian tree.p.64.
The durian tree.p.64.
The durian tree.
p.64.
But at noon, when the sun is casting down its hottest rays upon that vast emerald palace of life, gay voices are hushed and the forest echoes only with the drowsy buzzing of insects.
As evening draws near the birds once more begin to chirp and trill, they salute the setting sun and fly away to rest. Then the monkeys commence their screeching and chattering and soon after the owls and other night birds take their turn, making the now dense darkness more terrible with their harsh, sinister cries. Little by little as the night deepens, bellows, roars and howls resound upon every part in a slow crescendo until they are fused into a general and appalling uproar which could not be more awful if the gates of Hell were to be opened on Earth.
I am not an artist and still less a scientist but as a simple observer I like to take note of all that is worthy of notice and that is possible for me to transmit in an intelligible form.
Having depicted, to the best of my ability, the characteristics of forest life, I think it will be well—setting aside its magic charms and manifold wonders which would make a poet even of one who has no tendency for poetry—to describe, in a more practical way, some of its products.
I will begin with the durian, orsumpà, the fruit of which is unknown in our country.
It is a very large tree, growing to the height of 40 or 50 metres and distends around it a huge pavilion of rich branches, covered with little leaves.
It is to be found sometimes singly and sometimes in clumps and is the only tree that the Sakais show any interest in multiplying, and this cultivation, if we mayso call it, is done by them almost unconsciously, not from any sentimental feeling but rather from the effect of a sentiment and a superstition.[4]It produces a most extraordinary quantity of fruit, the exquisite flavour of which it is difficult to match. It has been calculated that every tree bears, on an average, about 600 durians but some have even reached the enormous figure of 1000.
If one were treating of berries or nuts this would not be so remarkable but each fruit of the durian weighs about two kilograms and is as large as a child's head. For this reason it is a dangerous thing to stand or pass under one of these trees when the fruit is quite ripe as so heavy a ball falling from a height of forty or more metres would suffice to split open one's head even if the long prickles with which it is covered did not make it more to be feared.
The Sakais are quite greedy over durians and Mr Wallace writes that its delicate flavour is so exquisite it would well repay the expense and disturbance of a journey Eastward on purpose to taste it.
This assertion of the English writer may be somewhat exaggerated but for my own part, I must say that I have never tasted anything more delicious. But not everyone can enjoy or appreciate this strange fruit for the disgusting smell that distinguishes it and that is apt to cause nausea to a weak stomach.
Imagine to have under your nose a heap of rotten onions and you will still have but a faint idea of theinsupportable odour which emanates from these trees and when its fruit is opened the offensive smell becomes even stronger.
When mature, that is to say in the months of August and September, the durians fall to the ground and are eagerly gathered up by the natives, who at the period of their ripening, leave the women and children, the old and the sick in their villages and encamp themselves in the forest around these precious trees.
The outside of the durian is ligneous and is covered with strong prickles of nearly an inch long. The interior consists of a great many small eggs each one being wrapped in a fine film which, when broken, reveals a pulp of the consistency and colour of thick custard. A big seed is embedded in the centre of each egg, almond-like in size and form, although not so flat.
I cannot describe in any way the flavour of this fruit which the real Sakai callssumpà. I can but repeat that it is exquisite and far superior to any sweet dainty prepared by cook or confectioner. There is nothing to equal it, and in eating one does not discern the least smell as the disagreeable stench comes from the husk alone and the worse it is, the more delicate is the taste of the pulp.
This fruit is too perishable for it to be exported to far countries even if there was any chance of its finding favour in European markets, in consequence of its horrible smell, which does not however protect it from the voracity of the monkeys and their rodent companions—especially the squirrels—that manage, in spite of its formidable prickles, to make a hole in the husk and nibble out some of its contents leaving the rest to rot inside.
To my knowledge the durian is not subject to any malady which might effect the annual quantity of fruit to be gathered, this depending entirely upon whetherthe wind has blown violently, or not, during the time it was in flower.
This King of Trees, as it is called by the Sakai, will grow and prosper nearly to the height of a thousand metres, and its fruit is preserved by pressing it into large tubes of bamboo after the seeds have been picked out.
The Sakais frequently exchange these original pots of jam for other articles equally prized by them, such as tobacco and beads.
Another fruit, so delicious that it may almost be said to rival the durian, is theplè lòk.
The tree on which it grows cannot be ranked amongst the giants of the forest. It has big and long leaves something like those of the orange but whilst on the top they are a glossy black in under they are of a still glossier green.
The fruit, that ripens between September and November, is the size of a peach but it is covered with a very thick husk (nearly black outside, and a rusty red inside) after the sort of our walnuts. The pulp is divided into a lot of quarters each one enclosed in a very thin skin. It looks like snow-white Jelly and in fact melts in the mouth at once, leaving only a little kernel. The flavour is sweet and exceedingly pleasant.
The husk is utilized by the Sakais for producing a dye with which to paint their faces and also for making a decoction as a remedy against diarrhæa and pains in the stomach.
The Sakais are immensely fond of this fruit as indeed any European, accustomed to the finest sweets, might be, the more so as it never does any harm or brings about an indigestion, even when eaten in large quantities.
Besides these two grand lords of the forest I will also mention theple pra, a colossus that, modestly, but without avarice, supplies the Sakai with excellent chestnuts.
It is impossible, notwithstanding my desire, to describe the many other trees and fruits which form the richness of the forest, as it would take too long. Further on, in a chapter dedicated to poisons, I have named some of the most dangerous in this respect, but between those that are the ministers of Death and those that are the means of Life to the simple jungle-dweller, there are countless species to which it would be difficult to assign a particular class.
Many of these latter are regarded by the natives with distrust, perhaps without any reason, but from who knows what strange belief transmitted from father to son? And in the heart of the forest who is there to study and make experiments upon such leaves and fruits in order to ascertain if they are perfectly edible?
I, for instance, am of opinion that the fruit of thegiù ù ba acould be safety used and to a great extent.
It is like a little pumpkin, green outside and yellowish-white inside. A kind of oil is extracted from its pulp which, when cooked, is not of a disagreeable taste and does one no harm. But thegiù ù ba ais a creeper and it is among these parasites that poisons abound and this is why the fruits obtained from them are used with reluctance and if possible, avoided altogether.
Treasures not to be imagined are still hidden in the profound recesses of the Malay forest; priceless treasures for medical science and for industry.
Could the former but discover the exact therapeutic and venomous virtues of some of those plants, many of which are quite unknown to botanists, what innumerable new and potent remedies might be found to enrich the pharmacopœia of civilized people!
Agriculture, in all its varied branches, could here find incalculable treasures of fertility!
Without counting the rice that gives a wonderful annual product, the Indian-corn that gives two harvests a year and the sweet potatoes that give three, there is the yam, thesikoi,[5]the sugar-cane, coffee, pepper, tea, the banana, the ananas, indigo, sago, tapioca, gambier, various sorts of rubber, gigantic trees for shipbuilding, and so on.
The Para Rubber, from which is extracted our gutta percha grows marvellously well in the Malay soil and requires very little attention or expense.
There is theramièwhose fibres will by degrees supplant the silk we get from cocoons, or mixed together will form an excellent quality of stuff. It is a herb with long, fibrous stems which when well beaten out and bleached become like a soft mass of wool. After being carded it can be spun into the finest threads as shiny and pliant as silk itself.
An opened durian fruitThe Durian.p.65.
The Durian.p.65.
The Durian.
p.65.
This plant flourishes to a great extent in Perak and its stems may be cut off twice a year. It only needs to be cultivated, for industry to be provided with anew and precious element. In fact there are few who do not know that the greater part of Chinese silk stuffs are woven with theramièfibres, but its utility might have a much larger extension if it were made an object of study by those capable of drawing from it profitable results.
Very few lands, I think, have been so favoured by capricious Nature as the Malay Peninsula where she seems to have taken delight in bestowing her treasures of flora and fauna as well as underground ones, for several gold and tin mines are being worked, whilst lead, copper, zinc, antimony, arsenic and many other metals are constantly being found, besides some rich veins of wolfram, although a real bed of the latter ore has not yet been discovered.
If once the still lazy but honest forces of the Sakais could be utilized by turning them towards agriculture, all this natural wealth might be sent to the World's markets and a sparse but good people, susceptible of great progress, would be gradually civilized.
The Para Rubber, referred to above, constitutes one of the greatest riches of the Malay agricultural industry.
Both soil and climate are very favourable for its cultivation in the Peninsula, so much so that a tree attains the maturity necessary for the production of this valuable article in four years, if special care and attention is given it, or in five or six if left to its natural growth (as in Ceylon), whilst in other places it takes eight and even ten years.
Not many years ago the British Government had a limited space of ground planted, with seeds brought from Brazil, as a simple experiment. The result was encouraging enough to induce the Institute of TropicalResearches—initiated under the auspices of the Liverpool University, with the object of developing Colonial commerce—to make plantations which in one season yielded no less than 150,000 pounds of gum.
About three years ago 60,000 acres of land were planted with Para Rubber, the Government providing the seed at a very low rate.
It is calculated that each acre contains from 125 to 250 trees according to the quality of the ground and its position.
These plantations continue to increase with surprising rapidity and it may be said, at the present day, that four million trees are to be found in an area of 200,000 acres.
When one considers that each tree renders, on an average, from 5 to 6 pounds of gum, and that that of Perak—chemically proved to be pure—is quoted on the market at 6/10 per pound—whilst the best produced by other countries does not exceed 5/7—one can form a pretty correct estimate of the enormous sum derived from the Para rubber of Perak.
It was generally supposed that this valuable tree would suffer if it surpassed a thousand metres in height but in the Malay Peninsula it grows and nourishes even higher than 1,600 metres, especially the so-calledficus elasticusand India-rubber.
The British Government is doing its best to increase this cultivation, and "its best" in this case really means "the very best" because besides concession of land, and the providing of seed at a low rate, the Government aids this industry, in which so many millions are invested, by the making of fine, wide high-roads as well as by maintaining railways for the conveyance of goods, fixing a minimum tariff for the transport.
Perhaps some one will accuse me of being too partial in my remarks upon the work done by the BritishGovernment in this its remote Eastern Protectorate, but having assisted for many years in the ever increasing agricultural and commercial development of the peninsula, and having seen the steady conquest civilization has made by means of the most practical and surest methods—such as the patient training of the natives to the love of work, and the prompt and conscientious administration of justice—I cannot but admire the enlightened and benificent activity displayed by the English in those parts.
Closed this parenthesis about the plantations, which are now spreading far and wide over the forest (the wood-cutter's hatchet continually clearing new tracts of land for agricultural enterprises), I want you to return with me to the jungle which is still almost untrodden and where Nature reigns supreme over the thick tropical vegetation.
Having already spoken briefly and in a disorderly way of the riches which are here gratuitously offered—not the riches of Midas and Pymalion, because mother Nature does not refuse food to her children even if they are profaners of that wonderful temple of her fecundity—it is right that I should now draw your attention to two great friends of travellers in the forest. One is the bamboo and the other a creeper called the "water vine".
The bamboo, known to us only as one of the plants least considered in a large, well-kept garden, or as a polished walking stick, as the legs of a fancy table of uncertain equilibrium or as a tobacco box ably worked by Chinese or Japanese fingers, in the free forest becomes a colossal inhabitant. Its canes, at first tender and supple, grow to such a size, and so strong as to be used for water conduits. It is a vigorous and invasiveplant that covers the surrounding ground with new shoots whilst in under its long roots spread out and suck up all the vital nutriment to be found in the earth around.
To one who lives in the forest, the bamboo is as necessary as food itself. It provides light, solid huts; it makes the blowpipe, arrow and quiver; it serves for carrying water and preserving fruit; it forms a safe recipient for poisonous juices; it is bottle and glass, and finally supplies the native cooks with a saucepan that only they can use because they have the knack of cooking their food without burning the bamboo. I have often tried to do the same but the result has always been that pot and pottage have been burnt together.
The bamboo has also a secret virtue of incalculable value to the thirsty wayfarer, overcome by the heat of a tropical sun: it is a perfect reservoir of water.
By boring a hole just under the joints of each cane more than half a litre of clear water, not very fresh, but wholesome and good, gushes out. It is rather bitter to the taste and serves to restore one's forces as well as to quench one's thirst.
The water-vine also acts as a Samaritan in the jungle. Like all the others of its sort this climbing plant closes some giant king of the forest in its cruel embrace (thus depriving it of its strength) and then falls in rich festoons from its boughs, swaying and rustling with every breath of air.
By making a cut at the extremity of one of the sprays that hang down towards the ground, a fresh, drinkable water flows out.
It is superfluous, perhaps, to add that this grand necessity for the traveller on foot may be obtained from other sources: the streams that are to be found trickling along here and there, and the huge leaves that upon drying up secrete a certain quantity of rain water within them.
So the jungle gives to eat and to drink, with wonderful abundance and variety, but woe to him who does not know her well, for she also proffers Death in a thousand unsuspected and seductive forms!
How many times in the solemn, languid hour of noontide, when bird and beast were drowsing from the heat, I have stood in the shade and interrogated the forest upon its first violators and their descendants! But my demands remained unanswered; in its superb grandeur it does not interest itself in the tragic vicissitudes of animal or vegetable lives, it makes no records, on the contrary, it quickly cancels all traces of past events.
I have vainly asked: from whence came those who have found shelter and solitude in the obscure depths of its wooded hills? How many centuries have they dwelt in those lone, wild parts? I have asked if that shy and dispersed tribe was not the remains of a once great and strong people eclipsed by a younger, stronger, and more savage race? Sometimes watching, with admiring eyes, the strange architectural forms taken by the massive trunks and graceful vines, fantastic but always majestic, I have asked the forest if it had not arisen upon the ruins of some long ago and lost civilization and if those same forms were not an inexplicable evocation of the gigantic creations of vanished genii of which I seemed in imagination to catch faint glimpses?
But the forest remained mute and kept its impenetrable secret.
Only here and there, groups of trees, lower than the surrounding ones, and between them spaces of ground, which had evidently once been clearings and were notyet totally re-covered by jungle growth, gave proof of Sakai nomadism even in other ages. No other sign of the past, and my query, perhaps absurd, repeats itself. Am I before the savage infancy of a people, or the spent senility of a race, lost sight of in the course of centuries? If the latter, would there not be some relic left of its existence; a fragment of stone or concrete substance inscribed with the figures of its period? Is it possible that everything has been buried from the sight of modern man, under the rank luxuriance of grass and bush? Or is it not I who vainly dream under the impression of the forest's mute grandeur and the thousands of voices that to-day awake its echoes and to-morrow leave none behind?
Footnotes:[4]In another chapter, wherein I describe the superstitions and beliefs of the Sakais, I have spoken of the custom they have of depositing food, tobacco, etc., on the tombs of their dead for a week after they have been buried. Naturally everything, not devoured by beast or insect, rots upon the spot and the seeds of the fruit find their way into the ground. For this reason many new trees spring up in groups, obtaining their first alimentation from the dissolution of the corpse.[5]Thesikoigrows on high mountains and the women have to take great pains in cleaning it before it is cooked. It is a grain something like our millet and has good nutritive qualities.The Sakays mix it with water and make a sort of "polenta" cooking it, as usual, in their bamboo saucepans. It is a favourite dish with them when eaten with monkey flesh, rats, pieces of snake, lizards, beetles and various other insects which would be of rare entomological value to any museum that possessed them.Ignorant of the repugnant compound, that gave such a savoury taste to thesikoi, at the beginning of my sojourn with the Sakays, I ate it with relish after seasoning it with a little salt, an article not much used amongst my mountain friends. But when I came to know what ingredients gave it flavour I refused it, as kindly as I could not to offend their susceptibilities, because my stomach rebelled against the mess.
Footnotes:
[4]In another chapter, wherein I describe the superstitions and beliefs of the Sakais, I have spoken of the custom they have of depositing food, tobacco, etc., on the tombs of their dead for a week after they have been buried. Naturally everything, not devoured by beast or insect, rots upon the spot and the seeds of the fruit find their way into the ground. For this reason many new trees spring up in groups, obtaining their first alimentation from the dissolution of the corpse.
[4]In another chapter, wherein I describe the superstitions and beliefs of the Sakais, I have spoken of the custom they have of depositing food, tobacco, etc., on the tombs of their dead for a week after they have been buried. Naturally everything, not devoured by beast or insect, rots upon the spot and the seeds of the fruit find their way into the ground. For this reason many new trees spring up in groups, obtaining their first alimentation from the dissolution of the corpse.
[5]Thesikoigrows on high mountains and the women have to take great pains in cleaning it before it is cooked. It is a grain something like our millet and has good nutritive qualities.The Sakays mix it with water and make a sort of "polenta" cooking it, as usual, in their bamboo saucepans. It is a favourite dish with them when eaten with monkey flesh, rats, pieces of snake, lizards, beetles and various other insects which would be of rare entomological value to any museum that possessed them.Ignorant of the repugnant compound, that gave such a savoury taste to thesikoi, at the beginning of my sojourn with the Sakays, I ate it with relish after seasoning it with a little salt, an article not much used amongst my mountain friends. But when I came to know what ingredients gave it flavour I refused it, as kindly as I could not to offend their susceptibilities, because my stomach rebelled against the mess.
[5]Thesikoigrows on high mountains and the women have to take great pains in cleaning it before it is cooked. It is a grain something like our millet and has good nutritive qualities.
The Sakays mix it with water and make a sort of "polenta" cooking it, as usual, in their bamboo saucepans. It is a favourite dish with them when eaten with monkey flesh, rats, pieces of snake, lizards, beetles and various other insects which would be of rare entomological value to any museum that possessed them.
Ignorant of the repugnant compound, that gave such a savoury taste to thesikoi, at the beginning of my sojourn with the Sakays, I ate it with relish after seasoning it with a little salt, an article not much used amongst my mountain friends. But when I came to know what ingredients gave it flavour I refused it, as kindly as I could not to offend their susceptibilities, because my stomach rebelled against the mess.
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The snares of civilized life—Faust's invocation—The dangers of the forest—Serpents—A perilous adventure—Carnivorous and herbivorous animals—The "sladan"—The man of the wood.
The young man who incautiously ventures into the mysterious parts of Drury Lane—where vice and crime have a classical reputation—or strolls through the old Latin Quarter of Paris (where some of the streets are anything but safe to pass through), or who finds himself, for whatsoever reason you will, in one of those questionable labyrinths still existing in the most civilized Italian cities, would certainly not run less risk than in facing the dangers of the forest. The dart, the trap, the attack of beast and reptile may be, with courage and calmness, averted or parried, but the evils which menace man, under the hypocritical euphemisms of Society (ever ready to vaunt its impeachableness) injure not only the body but, what is worse, the spirit.
Those who succumb to the latter are ofttimes induced to lament that death does not come swift enough to killtheir flesh, after their souls and intellects have been long since slain and consumed.
In the thick of the jungle the spirit rises and wanders free; there are no restraints or limits to its flight. It is inebriated by the simple and serene joys of living; it is pervaded by a current of new, potent energy that makes one feel—alone, in Nature's realm—either immensely great or infinitely small; exquisitely good or miserably wicked.
It is not prudent, when travelling in the forest, to let philosophy make us linger long on the way, but there are some moments in which one's inner life is so intense, in which thought and sentiment are so impetuous that that fleeting atom of time is in itself sufficient to mark an indelible epoch in the existence of men. Who knows but what if Mephistopheles had lead Faust into the virgin forest, and there left him free to his speculations, if the famous invocation would ever have escaped from the fevered lips of the doctor?
But... what is this hissing? It is not the spirit that denies; it is a snake I have disturbed along my path and that has not found my philosophizing over pleasant (like you, perhaps, kind reader) and so I will cut short my digression.
The forest abounds in reptiles. There are innumerable varieties of serpents, big and small, venomous and harmless. It may almost be said (especially towards the plain) that every bush and every tree has one of these inhabitants.
The commonest species are thetigi riló, thetigi paàand thetigi dolòbut the most feared are thesendokand thebimaà.
bamboo tube over a fireCooking in a bamboo saucepan.p.72.
Cooking in a bamboo saucepan.p.72.
Cooking in a bamboo saucepan.
p.72.
As a rule none of these snakes will assail a person unless they have been molested. They remain either rolledup close to a tree or lazily swinging from one of its branches, keeping hold of it with its powerful tail and so it is necessary to proceed very carefully and to look attentively both up and down in order not to disturb them.
The serpent, when stumbled against, hurls itself as quick as lightning upon the unhappy offender, encircling and suffocating him with its coils and biting him with its sharp fangs even when they are not poisoned. Like all other animals it becomes ferocious and seeks to kill from fear. He who disturbs it is a foe to be vanquished.
But if you pass him without being afraid and without hurrying, with a slow gliding step, taking care not to move your hands or arms, it will let you go on your way and take no notice of you.
And this I can affirm from experiments I have myself made upon the terriblesendok.
One day I was able, in this way, to pass quite close, almost touching one of these most venomous reptiles. He never moved as I crept by but he did not lose sight of me for a single instant. I am quite sure that if my inward fear had betrayed itself by the slightest gesture, I should have been a dead man.
Sometimes I have succeeded, very, very gently, in placing upon it a stick about two metres long. Well, the horrid serpent just lazily unfolded its coils and softly slipped from under it. Very different would have been the result if I had put the stick upon its head roughly!
From this you will see that danger from snakes is much less than one might believe from the thrilling adventures narrated by friends (between a roast chestnut and a sip of wine), as they are snugly gathered round a cosy fireside, adventures which they have read in the fabulous pages written by one of those story-tellers who gull the respectable public with the loveliest orthe most terrifying descriptions of places, men and beasts of which they scarcely know the name.
Serpents are always attacked and beaten down with sticks, except the very large ones, that are taken by lassoes as I will explain in another chapter. It is a quick and simple means of getting free, in a few minutes, of a venomous enemy which it never fails to do when fear does not make the eye and the hand miss its aim, precision in the blow being all that is needed.
Not very long since I had an adventure with one of these reptiles which threatened to be my last. I was quietly strolling in the forest and had with me neither weapon nor stick. My thoughts were far away but a rustling sound and a loud hiss brought them quickly back and arrested my steps. A large, venomous snake was right in front of me! Erect, with open mouth and protruding tongue, the embodiment of hatred, it was there, prompt for an assault. My case was desperate and only a miracle ofsang-froidcould save me. Fixing my eyes steadily upon those of the serpent, very gradually and with the slowest possible movement I bent my knees and crouched down towards the ground, where, in an equally slow and methodical way I groped for some sort of stick with which to strike my adversary. Having found what I wanted, I drew myself up in the same cautious manner and with a sudden, rapid gesture I hit the beast with all my might. Fortunately for me, my blow told and I had an addition to my collection of jungle foes.
The traveller in Malay who is not a thorough alien to timorous feelings would do well to never leave his comfortable post in the railway carriage between one place and another or at least to keep within a safe distance of the forest, for although its perils have been greatly exaggerated there are some, all the same, that require a stout heart and firm nerves.
When there is no big game to put your courage and your pulse to the test there is always a troop of smaller animals that make game of you and prove your force of resistance. A rat bites your heel whilst you are asleep; the leeches suck your blood; all sorts of insects sting you. These little annoying incidents irritate flesh and spirit and may be the cause of feverishness, but a dose of quinine and a compress over the wound soon have a good effect.
But it is not sufficient to bravely face bodily danger, support physical pain and endure with grace the mortifications inflicted upon one's flesh by the more minute inhabitants of those regions, for the jungle also exacts certain moral virtues which civilization does not always appreciate or admire, nay, on the contrary, that it often laughs at.
The great Sorceress, for whom one feels a strange nostalgia after having once known her magnificence and her horrors, kills the man who is not temperate in his habits.
Moderation in eating is the first consideration for prolonging life in the forest. The stomach must never be overladen and no strong drinks must be used.
By following this method of living and allowing myself very rarely even a glass of wine I managed to keep in excellent health in 1889 when an epidemic raged violently in the island of Nias and made sad havoc amongst the natives.
The human organism, especially that of a European, is beset by numerous inconveniences which may generate illness; the burning sun, that seems to cook one's brain; the cold nights and heavy dews; the violent storms that quite suddenly break over your head, and the foodthat must be put up with even when it is not actually hygienic.
For all this a strict regime, based upon moderation, is indispensable.
It is true that in my forest cabin I have an assortment of the best wines and whiskies, notwithstanding the improbability of being able to offer a glass to my friends, but those bottles remain well corked, waiting for their legitimate owner to feel indisposed, when a draught of their contents will restore his lost strength without resorting to medicine.
The greatest dangers in the jungle are those which cannot be met with impunity; those that render every defence inefficacious when a man is taken unawares.
I speak of the tigers and panthers that are very numerous and audacious; of the bears, that do not act so jocosely here as in our streets and menageries but vie with other wild beasts in blood-thirstiness; of the rhinoceros, the elephant, the terriblesladan, the wild dogs that, fierce as wolves, wander about in large packs.
A dissertation upon the tiger and its like does not seem to me a sufficiently interesting subject for my readers who will have seen, who knows how many, at the fairs and museums and will have learnt their character and habits from Natural History books or from the description (not always correct) of someone who has only set foot on the land where they live. I must, however, make special mention of thesladan, the only survivor of an almost extinct fauna.
This animal belongs to the herbivorous class but is more ferocious than any of the carnivorous species. It does not kill from hunger or for self-defence, but for the mere sake of killing.
It is a sort of buffalo or bison with two very solid, strongly planted horns on its thick-set head. This animal possesses such vigour and agility as to enable it to attack victoriously all other wild beasts. Only the elephant sometimes succeeds, with difficulty, in mastering it.
Its den is in the most remote and inaccessible parts of the forest and by day and by night it scours the neighbourhood, rending the air with its awful roars. One is never sure of not meeting it, and to meet it either means to kill it or to be killed.
It is very fond of the tender shoots of sweet potatoes and for this will often visit the crops cultivated by the Sakais who, for fear of this dreaded enemy, do not plant very much. Generally, though, thesladandevastates the potato fields during the night.
The ferocity of this beast surpasses that of all others, for whilst the lion, the bear and even the tiger and panther have been known to show some feeling of respect, gratitude or fear, thesladannever exhibits one or the other. It would almost seem that in him is concentrated all the hatred of a race of animals, fast dying out, against every living creature whose species is still destined to remain in the world.
And yet quite close to the haunts of these champions in savagery, always on the look out for blood and carnage, live other quiet and harmless animals. I will say nothing of the wild boar (that in comparison with thesladan, might pass for a lamb) of the wild goat or of the deer which are in great numbers, but there are little rodent quadrupeds of every sort, size, and fur, besides perfect crowds of monkeys of different kinds. They belong to the herbivorous order and go about by day in search of food, hiding themselves when the first shades of night call forth from their dens the heroes of nocturnal tragedies.
A garrulous population of birds enliven the forest; they are insectivorous, granivorous, and omnivorous but all are beautiful in their rich and wonderful variety of colour. Amongst these the pheasant for its oriental plumage and the cockatoo for its querulous voice are remarkable as the largest.
A gay concert is given in honour of the dawning and the dying day but long before the birds of prey have unfolded their wings and soar, like phantoms, through the darkness, the pretty carol-singers hush their warblings and hide themselves from the horrors of the night.
A collector of butterflies would go into ecstasies over the splendid varieties that flutter and flit in the air, and the countless multitude of different insects would be well worth special study; amongst the latter are verified the most curious mimetic facts that ever the unprejudiced mind of a man of politics could imagine!
And yet, in the midst of so many contrasts, in the midst of so many dangers which exact exceptional presence of mind and strong nerves, life in the forest is full of charm and allurements.
The spirit is strengthened and elevated by this continuous warfare, open and pronounced, so unlike those depressing struggles against narrow minds, and tiger-hearts, which distinguish town-life.
It is very rare that one meets a man in the Malay forest. You may walk on for weeks without encountering a soul. I happened once, though, to fall in with one who was a primitive being in the strictest sense of the term.
a trapTrap for reptiles and rats.p.86.
Trap for reptiles and rats.p.86.
Trap for reptiles and rats.
p.86.
I was trudging along one day with my Sakai servant, when at the foot of the hill (Chentok) I saw a little cotand wished to visit it. Inside I found a man. At seeing me he caught up his blow-pipe—a miserable-looking instrument—and his poisoned darts, and was about to run away. I hastily made my companion offer him a few cooked potatoes and a little maize which he accepted without saying a word and began to devour ravenously.
In those brief moments I took stock of the poor creature. He was painfully thin; his skeleton could be clearly seen under the unadorned skin; his sunken eyes gleamed with mistrust and inquietude from out of his fleshless face, and his long black hair lay in tangled masses round his neck.
I had before me the true type of a wild man of the wood, less vivacious and less loquacious than his brother, the ape.
I gave him some tobacco, that he eagerly crammed into his mouth and then, keeping fast hold of his weapon he hurried off, without uttering a single syllable, although I asked him many things in his own tongue.
Neither did he in any way express satisfaction, or gratitude for what he had received but vanished mute, contemptuous and silently into the thickest part of the jungle.
My little Sakai was not so surprised as I at this strange person and his way of proceeding, because he had seen him before and could tell me something about him.
He was known by the name ofAlà Lag, or the sorcerer. He had no wife, no children, no friends, and lived quite alone, far from everyone, wandering about the forest, feeding upon wild-honey and the fruit he found upon the ground. If he happened to catch some game he would light up a bit of fire and seem to cook it but in reality he ate it raw. Sometimes he came across a settlement when he would enter the first hutwhich lay in his way, and by gesture more than by word, would ask for food and after having obtained it, started off again.
The good Sakais pitied the poor vagabond and had often tried to make him stop with them as a brother or a guest but he always resolutely refused whatever proposal they made him and they were of opinion that not even old age would have any effect upon the misanthropy of this poor inoffensive being who isolated himself so obstinately from all his kind.
I thought to myself, is the poor fellow wise or mad in thus seeking to live alone as Nature produced him, in the unlimited liberty of his native jungle where he is secure from delusions and sorrows?
Men, little less savage than he, feel compassion for him as he passes by. Nobody would dare to laugh at or injure such a harmless soul and so he is allowed to ramble from hut to hut undisturbed, his eccentricities and his odd behaviour being his safeguard.
It is not always so amongst people more advanced in civilization!