Chapter XVII: A Malay Wedding

MY DARLING MAB,

I am sitting in a darkened room, while Mildred is having her day
sleep; and as I am thinking of you, I may as well begin a letter
for next mail. Last week I went to a Malay wedding, the first I
ever attended, although I have been here so many years. It
amused me very much; so I shall try to describe it to you.

Early in the morning the bridegroom's friends came to beg
flowers from our garden. Then papa told them I would go to the
wedding, and they said, "Be sure not to be later than twelve
o'clock." Accordingly, Mr. and Mrs. Ricketts, the British Consul
and his wife, Mr. Zehnder, and I set off in two boats, after
eleven o'clock breakfast; but we need not have got there before
two o'clock.

Eastern people set little value on time. They would just as soon
sit cross-legged on the floor smoking for three hours as for
one. The bride is the daughter of one of the first merchants in
the place, Nakodah Sadum, and the bridegroom is the grandson of
the old Datu Tumangong, whom you may remember. A handsome young
man is Matussim, and enlightened, for a Malay. He made his
betrothed a present of his photograph last year. Formerly Malays
objected to having their portraits taken, fancying it a breach
of the second commandment.

The bride's father's house was gay with flags and streamers, and
in front of it lay, by the river's brink, four small cannon,
which had been busy, for days before and all that morning,
saluting the occasion. We walked up into the house, which was
full of guests. A long verandah, lined with hadjis and elders,
all smoking and talking, led to the principal room, which,
unlike any Malay house before built in Sarawak, had large
Venetian-shuttered doors all round, and was therefore cool and
airy. There was a little round table, and some armchairs covered
with white mats for the expected guests, in the middle of the
room. Sadum and his wife came forward and greeted us very
cordially, and then we were told to sit down on the chairs. I
looked about for the bride, and saw a crowd of women in one
corner, and a boy holding a gilt umbrella over the young lady,
who was being shaved. A woman with a razor was shearing her
eyebrows into a delicate line, and all round her forehead
trimming disorderly hairs. Four women, seated on their heels in
front of her, were fidgeting over her face; she, impassive as a
log in their hands. A vast deal of singing and drumming went on
all the time, a row of musicians keeping it up all round the
room. The girl was washed; then her hair, magnificent black hair
down to her heels, knotted in two great bows on either side of
her head. Over these, gold ornaments like wings were fixed, and
a little tower of gold bells above them. Then the women painted
a black band round her forehead, and added a silver edge to it,
also painted. Her eyebrows were likewise touched up, and her
skin rubbed all over with yellow powder. Poor child! she was a
curious figure by the time it was all finished, and her skin
must have felt painfully stiff. She was then attired in very
handsome silk robes, ornamented with solid gold, and the
attendants carried her to a raised dais or bed-place at one end
of the room. There she sat, not daring to lift her eyes until
the bridegroom's arrival.

The divan was gorgeous with silk curtains and cushions
embroidered with gold thread and embossed with tinsel ornaments,
the work of the bride herself. The seat for the bridegroom was
somewhat higher and larger than the bride's. At last the
bridegroom approached in a large barge, which held about two
hundred people. A small boat preceded it with three guns, which
kept up a deafening noise as he drew near. He was carried up the
steps, and the house door was shut to in his face, according to
the Malay custom. Then he begged admittance very humbly, and
after paying a fee of five dollars, was admitted. His followers
rush in first--such a clatter! Greetings, welcomes, jokes, and
laughter, make a Babel of noise; everybody speaking at once.
Then a cloth was laid down for the bridegroom to pass over, and
he was pulled with apparent reluctance into the room, panting
and shutting his eyes as if exhausted. His head was wreathed
with Indian jessamine. He was naked to the waist, except a gold
scarf over one shoulder; otherwise he had plenty of gold and red
silk about him. He was pulled up to the bride, turning his head
away as if he was ashamed to look at her, and dropped a red silk
handkerchief over her face for a moment. Then he sat down on the
divan, and all the old women of both houses sprinkled the couple
with yellow rice, and rubbed their foreheads with some charm,
which looked like a bit of stone and a nutmeg-grater, and wished
them all kinds of luck--but especially that they might be the
parents of _sons_ only. After the young people had endured this
long enough, the curtains were let down round the dais, and only
two or three old women kept going in and out. We found they were
taking off all the finery, and dressing the bride and bridegroom
in their usual clothes; for while we were drinking coffee and
eating Malay cakes at the little table, they came out from the
curtains, looking quite pleasant and natural. So we shook hands,
made our congratulations, and bade them adieu. We got home at
four o'clock, very hot and tired, and papa laughed at us for
going; but I was glad I did for once in a way.

A wedding is a very serious expense to Malays of any rank. The
bridegroom has to make settlements on the bride, and the bride's
father has to keep open house for weeks, besides fees to the
hadjis, and gunpowder _ad libitum_. The religious part of the
ceremony is enacted some days before the marriage. One day papa
was calling at a Malay house, where a wedding was about to take
place, and found the bridegroom learning a passage in the Koran,
in Arabic, which he could not translate, but which it was
necessary he should repeat. A hadji was standing by, driving the
words into his head. The hadji could not translate it either;
but the Koran may only be read in Arabic, lest it should be
desecrated. Sometimes papa would read a chapter to any Malay who
desired to understand the meaning of his sacred book; but they
were generally content with learning it as a charm, or certain
parts of it.

The Rajah often made a present of an ox for a great man's
wedding. This was a great help, for many dishes of curry could
be made out of so much meat. When we wished for some meat at
Christmas and Easter, we sent for the Mahometan butcher to kill
the animal. He turned its head towards Mecca, repeated prayers
over him, and then cut his throat in such a way that no drop of
blood was left in the flesh; for the Malays hold to the Jewish
law in that as well as many other particulars. Then the people
would buy whatever beef we did not want ourselves; but not
otherwise.

This is a long letter, but as I am on the subject of weddings, I
may as well tell you about a Chinese wedding we had the other
day at our house. The bridegroom was Akiat, a carpenter, about
six feet two inches high. He was dressed in whity-brown silk,
which made him look like a tall spectre; and the bride was Quey
Ginn, a fat, dumpy little girl of sixteen, the Chinese deacon's
daughter, and one of my scholars. She did not choose her old
husband of fifty years, but her parents arranged it, and Akiat
paid one hundred dollars for his wife. I went to see her the day
before the wedding, and she showed me all her clothes and
ornaments; but I thought she did not look as if she cared for
them. So I whispered, "Are you happy, child?" "No, not at all,"
burst out Quey Ginn. "I don't want to be married and leave my
parents." Whereupon I could not help taking her in my arms and
comforting her, telling her to be a good wife, and she would
soon learn to be content. She has been to visit me since her
marriage, and I am amused to see that she is quite a little
woman, instead of the shy girl she used to be; and, whereas as a
girl she was never allowed to be seen in the streets, or even to
go to church, she now does exactly as she likes, and, I am happy
to say, comes regularly to church. These people were all sincere
Christians. Akiat was the Chinese churchwarden, and, as papa
esteemed them very highly, he allowed the breakfast to take
place at our house.

I had a cake made for the occasion, which Quey Ginn cut up with
much pleasure. The ring in it fell to Mr. Zehnder's share, which
amused him also. Good-bye.

It was this year, 1865, that Mr. Waterhouse, the chaplain of Singapore, came to visit us. The doctors often sent us a patient or friend to be under the Bishop's care, and for rest and change; the latter was the cause of Mr. Waterhouse's visit, and six weeks of jungle life did him good, while his society and sympathy were a great pleasure to us, the Bishop especially. The Bishop took him to visit the different mission stations, and he often spoke to me with satisfaction of the "real mission work" he witnessed at Banting, Lundu, and the Quop. At each of these stations he found a consecrated church and a community of Christian people; whilst the missionaries set over them, not only instructed and ministered to the tribe among whom they lived, but journeyed to outlying places, founding branch missions and setting catechists to work under them. I find in one of my letters, when Mr. Waterhouse returned from Banting, he said, "I cannot but admire the patience with which Mr. Chambers talks all day, morning, noon, and night, to every party of Dyaks, who march into the house whenever they like, making it quite their home: it is what very few people could do day after day." This is the trial of Dyak teaching. You cannot appoint specific hours for instruction. People come when they can, sometimes long distances. They can never be denied, except you are actually at meals, and then they sit down and wait till the eating is over. Here is a programme of a day at Banting:--

By seven in the morning Mr. Chambers goes to one or another Dyak house to teach. These houses contain many families under one roof. The people understand now that teaching is the sole object of Mr. Chambers' visit, so, when he enters, all who are at leisure gather round him. He returns home to eleven o'clock breakfast. After breakfast his school of boys occupies him for the afternoon; but every party of Dyaks who come in must be listened to, and, if they are willing, instructed, taught a prayer, a hymn, a parable, or some Scripture lesson. This goes on till five o'clock, when the bell calls them to daily prayers, and they all walk together down the beautiful jungle avenue to the pretty church. A short service, in which the Dyaks respond heartily, and a catechizing follows, during which they are allowed to ask questions of their teacher. Then an hour's rest before dinner. But immediately after dinner more Dyaks, sometimes a whole house, _i.e._ forty or fifty persons, come in, and have coffee, and pictures, and a lecture. All this does not happen every day, but most days during what we call the working season, from March till October, and no doubt so much talking and so little leisure is very fatiguing. But then comes the harvest, and afterwards the wet monsoon, and the schools fall off, and the Dyaks no longer come from a distance to be taught. It is sufficiently dull and lonely then in the jungle stations. The sea runs too high for boats to bring mails, or books, or provisions; the rain falls heavily, and with little intermission, and food becomes scarce. Mrs. Chambers told me that the prayer for daily bread, which seems to us to relate to the daily needs of our souls for the bread and water of life, bore a literal meaning to them in the north-east monsoon, when the day's food was by no means certain. Rice they had, it is true; but English people get nearly starved upon rice alone, without fish, meat, or bread. It was therefore with sincere thankfulness that they welcomed a chicken, however skinny, in that season.

After the Banting expedition, the Bishop took Mr. Waterhouse to Lundu, and Mr. Hawkins, a missionary lately come out, went with them. They arrived on a Saturday. On Sunday there was a great gathering of Christian Dyaks: fifty-two people were confirmed, eighty received the Holy Communion, so that they were more than three hours in church, the Bishop preaching to them in Malay. On Monday Mr. Waterhouse and Mr. Hawkins paid a visit to a beautiful waterfall, about two miles from the town; and on Tuesday all the party, Mr. Gomez included, went in boats forty miles up the river Lundu, with three hundred Dyaks, to tuba fish. The Bishop had paid the Dyaks to collect tuba the week before. It is a plant found in the jungle, the root of which washed in water makes a milky-looking poison. It does not make the fish unwholesome to eat, only intoxicates them for the time, so that they rise floundering about on the surface of the water, but it destroys human life, and is the poison chosen by Dyaks who commit suicide, though I do not believe that this crime is common among them.

When the party had ascended the river far enough, the Dyaks built a hut for the English to sleep in. They made a floor of logs of wood, spread over with the bark of trees, which, beaten down hard, made a capital mattress on which to lay their mats and pillows. The kajangs (leaf mats) off the boat made some shelter from the weather, although it takes a good deal to keep Borneo rain out! The Dyaks were much too busy to go to sleep at all: they drove stakes all across the river to secure their fish, then they beat out the tuba in the bottom of their boats. It took all night, by the light of torches, to do this; and a wild sight it was, in the midst of the solemn old jungle. Very early in the morning, when the tide was at its lowest ebb, they put the tuba into the river; the flood coming up, and bringing plenty of fish, encountered this intoxicating milk, and carried over the stakes a whole shoal of dead and tipsy fish. Then the Dyaks, darting about in little boats, speared the big fishes, and caught the small ones in landing-nets.

Hundreds of fish were caught, and the Dyaks had a grand feast; also, they salted quantities, in their nasty way--pounding the fish up, letting it turn sour, and then packing it into bamboos with salt, as a relish to eat with their rice. Certainly it has a strong flavour! They all camped two nights in the jungle, then returned to Lundu, and reached Sarawak in the yacht _Fanny_, after an absence of ten days. We had a visit from H.M.S. _Scout_ about this time, and one day sat down sixteen to dinner in the mission-house, some of the officers having come up to spend the day. It is difficult to improvise a dinner in a country where no joints of meat are to be had, unless you kill an ox for the purpose. Sheep there are none. A capon or goose, or a sucking pig, are the only big dishes, and not always to be had. However, we did very well, and our visitors were delighted with Sarawak, and with the schoolboys' singing; for I had them up to sing glees and rounds, and "Rule Britannia," after dinner. Captain Corbett was so pleased with the little fellows that he invited them all to see the ship the next morning. Accordingly our largest boat took the choir down very early to Morotabas, where the _Scout_ lay, and Captain Corbett took them all over it himself, even down to the screw chamber. The boys had never seen so large a man-of-war before (1600 tons), so they were delighted. Some Dyaks who went with them were much terrified lest they should be carried off to sea, for the captain ordered "up anchor," that the boys might see how it was done, and then sent them off the last minute. They came home in high glee. Only those who live at the ends of the earth can tell what a pleasure and refreshment is a little visit from her Majesty's ships from time to time. The whiff of English air they bring with them, and the hearty English enthusiasm which has not had time to evaporate, is most reviving.

Many Chinese Christians returned to China this summer. I hope they carried the good seed of the word of life with them. They are only birds of passage at Sarawak: when they grow rich they prefer to spend their money in their native country. Our Chinese deacon took his family for a visit to their Chinese relations. Even the married daughter went with them; and a few days afterwards, Akiat, her husband, came to tell me that he was so wretched without his wife, that he should go to Singapore for the few months of her absence, to while away the time, and he meant to have a nice new house ready for her on her return.

Voon Yen Knoon deserved a holiday, certainly, for he worked hard among his countrymen, besides teaching every day in the school. Three evenings every week were devoted to the instruction of the Chinese, at the mission-house. Two distinct languages were spoken by the different tribes of Chinese who had settled at Sarawak. They could not be taught together. The people of the Kay tribe came on one evening, the Hokien another, each having their own interpreter. On the third evening the interpreters were instructed in the lessons for the following week. On these nights our long dining-room was full of Chinamen, and a large tray of tiny cups of tea was carried in, and consumed before the teaching began.