Chapter VI: Part 6

For fully a week after the killing of the man-eating tiger, I devoted all my time seeing to the making of rough transportation cages, crates of all sizes, and small nets. One morning I told the Tungku of a plan I had to get some large nets made in a hurry. "Te-dor, bully tûan" (Cannot be done, sir), said he, shaking his head. I then explained to him how I intended to work it. Clapping his hands to his sides he went into a fit of laughter, and was as pleased as a child, saying: "By tûan by (Good, sir, good)." I have stated before that getting work out of a Malay was an art that can only be attained by close intercourse and complete confidence on the part of the native and by making work seem play or a game. To stage the affair in the best light I had the Tungku give orders for a general assembly of the men of the kampong, saying that the Tûan had a game he wanted the men to enter into, and when they were all assembled, I told them I was going to offer prizes to the men picked out and worked as crews, that made the best and most nets in four days,--one day for the cutting and washing the rattan, one day for the splitting and twisting the rattan into rope, and two days for net-making, the net-making to start on the third day at six o'clock in the morning until four o'clock in the afternoon and no work to be done on the nets until the next morning, when they started again at six o'clock and worked until four. The nets were to be made ten by eight with six-inch mesh, there would be four men to a crew, and three crews would go in for the prizes. Those who wanted to enter were to step forward and the Tungku would pick them out--no old men or boys. They were to start the next morning, the prizes were five dollars (Mexican) to each man of the crew that made the best and most nets, three dollars each to the next crew and two dollars each to the last. As soon as the Tungku had picked them out, each crew should choose the space they wanted to work in and set their poles and stakes for the twisting of the rattan and the making of the nets. This I told them to do as it saved them a lot of time, trouble and confusion, for then each crew would know the space it was to work in so as not to interfere and get in one another's way. The race was not to begin until the next morning at six o'clock, when they were to line up at the Tungku's house and at the word "go" start for the jungle and cut rattan.

Believe me, I started something! If there is one thing a Malay loves, it is a game or race of any kind, pitting themselves against one another; anything that has a flavor of sport that can be gambled on.

Every man was eager, and the Tungku, looking them over, picked out the men, and as each man was chosen, the men, women and children howled with delight, clapping hands, passing all manner of jokes and banter. When the men were picked out the Tungku formed them in crews; they were a pretty proud lot. Again warning them that they could not start making the nets until the second day, and that after they started in the morning to cut the rattan, if they were caught taking help from any of their friends, they would be thrown out of the race, he told them to get busy and lay out their poles and stakes. The Tungku shaking his head and laughing, said: "Tûan bow-gar poro-day sea-opper pe-care, e-to (Sir, you are very clever, who would think of that)."

In the meantime the men and their friends got to work staking out and putting up cross-sections and poles for the twisting of rattan and the making of the nets. Everyone in the kampong was laughing and talking over it. It was going to be great sport and plenty of fun; each had their favorites and were already making wagers on them. This was not work! This was play, sport, a game, rivalry, having an audience, for the whole kampong and those from the outlying districts would be there; men, women and children cheering and edging them on, not alone for the prizes but the prestige it would give to be known as the best and fastest net-makers in the whole of Kelantan. The tiger hunt was off, and the net-making and round-up was on.

At daybreak the following morning, the whole kampong gathered at the Tungku's, and, after eating the breakfast of rice and dried fish, started off for the jungle to cut, collect and wash the rattan.

One who has never seen rattan in its natural state would be quite deceived by its appearance; it is not the smooth, shining, pointed cane one sees in the market; it grows as a vine, sometimes one hundred feet and over, up and down trees or along the ground, twisting in and out; it is covered by an outer shell or skin, and at each joint a circle of thorns an inch in length. The outer skin and thorns are scraped away, washed and cut in lengths of sixteen feet, one hundred lengths to a bundle, and the rattan is ready for the market. They grow in various thickness. The Malacca cane is the thickest grown.

Everybody went down to the stream where they would strip the thorns and peel off the outer skin, wash, split and cut in lengths; the crews kept cutting like mad. I do not believe there ever was so much rattan cut, stripped, washed and cut in lengths in the state of Kelantan, or in any other state, in one day as those twelve men did.

On the morning of the third day, the whole district was in holiday attire and all on edge to see and encourage their friends to be the first. The rattan was all laid out in two piles in cut lengths of twelve and ten feet and seventy-two pegs or bamboo stakes were driven into the ground. I myself had measured off the ground and stakes for length and width of nets. Twenty each, stakes for top and bottom, and sixteen stakes each for width.

The first day was pretty nearly a tie, although one crew had started on another net and had got one-quarter of it finished when a halt was called for the day. Nine nets on the following day, the crew that had one-quarter of a net finished the day before finishing four nets by four o'clock; the other two were practically tied, and as such I gave them credit; they had three and a half nets finished, and each of the crew received second prize money, three dollars each. There was great satisfaction, although the first crew with their five dollars each were strutting around and talking big. After finishing the half-made nets, I had twenty-one ten by eight rattan nets. Great work in four days; had I gone any other way about getting them, it would have taken twice as long. Even with the money prizes, they cost me on an average of only two dollars (Mexican) or one dollar each.

The third day after the net-making contest, taking fifteen men and loading their nets, large and small, on an elephant, we started off for a half day's journey from the kampong to set up the nets on the ground and in the trees, also to dig pits at the water-holes. We had been moving on slowly, the first elephant carrying the nets, breaking a trail for about three hours, when we heard the screaming and chattering of monkeys. The natives first thought the cry was "re-mow" (tiger); the men on the first elephant halted just at reaching a break in the jungle; they called back, all excited: "Tûan, Bar-be. Ari-men kombing, be-prong (Sir, a fight between a pig and a leopard)." By the time I arrived alongside the other elephant at the clearing, both elephants were becoming restive, but were being calmed down by their drivers.

I came upon a sight I shall never forget, a full-grown leopard and a Baba-rusa (wild boar) in a deadly combat. I was fascinated by the sight; no noise would have disturbed them, for what with the snarling, screaming, grunting of the two, and the screaming of the monkeys, it was difficult for me to even make the men I was talking to hear. The fight must have been going on for some time before we got there. The pig's jaws dripped with blood and foam, his beady red eyes following each move of the leopard, his flanks and back covered with blood from the clawing and biting it had suffered, but still strong, nimble and full of fight; the leopard's side and neck gashed open and blood streaming from the wounds. One can hardly credit the quickness of a wild boar; they are lightning fast on their feet; their big head and thick hide are a match for any tiger in a fair fight, let alone a leopard, and although a leopard is very quick, the boar with its wicked tusks matched him in all his moves and springs. It made no difference which way the leopard would spring, it was always met by a ripping of the tusks. It was an ideal place for an encounter of this kind; a clear, open space, neither having an advantage, the ground baked hard. It gave a firm foothold to the boar as it allowed it to turn and meet the rushes and springs of the leopard, and as the leopard would spring the boar would dart forward, throwing up its head at the same time, the tusks ripping whatever they came in contact with. The object of the leopard was to get a firm hold on the back of the boar, while the boar, unmindful of biting and clawing, was bent on getting the leopard down and disemboweling him. The men became as excited as the monkeys in the trees, and it was difficult to distinguish which were making the more noise or were the more excited. I am positive we looked upon the fight ten minutes, and I cannot judge how long they were at it before we came upon them; they were both becoming weaker from the loss of blood.

As we watched them with bated breath, the leopard kept circling around, crouching for a spring, while the boar, never taking its small red eyes from the leopard, with head lowered, was watching and ready to meet the next move. Almost too quick for the eye to follow, the leopard sprang at the boar like lightning, the boar jumped forward and aside and, in a flash, turned and as the leopard the ground, before it could recover, was upon it, striking it with its head and throwing it on its side. Standing on its adversary, with its front feet holding it down and unmindful of the snarling, biting and clawing, with a squealing grunt, the boar lowered his head and with one ripping thrust disemboweled the leopard.

It was done quicker than the eye could follow. The leopard lay where it was; it attempted to rise, but the boar, jumping and stamping upon it, it fell back, gave one or two spasmodic efforts to rise and turned over dead. The boar still standing over it, squealing, its head rolling from side to side, its hind feet sagged and, giving a squealing grunt, fell over the leopard, dead. It was truly a battle royal. I was thrilled. I could not move. It was the most thrilling sight I think I ever witnessed. My admiration for the boar was great; had he not died, and had been able to move off, I would have made no attempt to either stop or kill him. It was a magnificent fight, with the boar on his feet last.

We buried the dead fighters and went on our way. Coming to a small stream, I decided to make camp. We built platforms in trees for sleeping and as a cache for stores, cutting down the surrounding trees and leaving a small clearing. The next day I had the men cut saplings and rattan to make rough transportation cages. I wanted everything handy so a cage could be made in a few moments. The natives could not at first understand why I went to all the trouble of having all the wood ready for cages and nothing to put in them. Their idea was to get the animals first and then cage them. I pointed out that an animal in a net was sure to injure itself in its struggle to escape and the sooner it was in a cage and free from the nets, the safer it would be, for if they were injured in any way, they were useless. We stayed four days at this camp, arranging the nets and digging a few pits after caching stores in the trees. Before starting on the first drive I explained to the Tungku what I considered the most difficult problem of the expedition, namely a clear road to the river and to the coast, as all cages would have to be drawn to the river on runners or sleds, and the jungle paths would have to be cleared of fallen trees and undergrowth. I told him he had better send four or five men to clear and widen the path to the next kampong and the headman there to do the same on to the next, and so on to the river, the headman at the river to gather bamboo and logs for making of rafts. For the drive itself and the work pertaining to it, fifty men would answer. We would be away from the kampong about one week and at the farthest one half day's journey. Should occasion arise, I would send back for bullocks to bring in the cages. Everything being arranged to my satisfaction as to the transportation, we started off the next morning and arrived at the clearing where the leopard and boar had battled, and started the drive at that point. The Tungku and I rode on, the elephant in the center, twenty-five men on each side and an elephant at each end, headmen with their muzzle loaders on the elephants.

At the striking of a tom-tom we all started to move toward the camp. The men were told to make as much noise as they wished and believe me it was a noisy crowd. They went at it heart and soul, not only on account of the incentive of clearing out of their district a lot of destructive animals, but the killing of the man-eating tiger and the net-making contest, the way I had gone about things in general had inspired them all with the utmost confidence. They believed that no possible harm could come to them while with me, and my slightest wish was carried out. The drive itself is not dangerous as you are fairly safe in numbers.

With the men shouting, and cutting the undergrowth, and the two elephants at each end breaking through, there was enough noise to startle and drive any animal before it. Our work in extracting whatever we caught and the putting together of cages, would not allow those animals caught in nets much chance to bite through or injure themselves as we could handle the most violent ones first.

In handling and taking from the nets the smaller animals a thick bamboo was used hollowed throughout, about five or six feet long, with a length of stout rattan, the end doubled together and run through the bamboo, leaving a loop at one end which could be slipped over the head of the animal through the mesh, and drawn taut against the end of the bamboo and held by two natives. Although they would wiggle and twist and squirm, they were helpless, and as the net would be unfurled, another loop held by two other natives would then be slipped over its head and as the other loop was allowed to come free from the bamboo, they would take the animal which was now clear of the net and drop it in the rough cage. With the bars fastened and the animal safe, it was ready to be sent on to the nearest kampong.

This method of course could only be used with the smaller animals. The larger cat animals that were caught in the nets, two leopards and one clouded tiger were so entangled that we put nets and all in the rough cages and then from between the bars, cut enough of the mesh in the net for the animals to free themselves. The larger deer gave us a lot of trouble on account of getting their horns and feet entangled through the meshes and most had to be killed. These we fed to the cat animals, after we had taken our fill. One tapir and calf we got in nets, the other two in pits. The wild boars gave us the most trouble. Whereas the tapirs were timid, the boars were very vicious and could only be put in cages by the same method I used with leopards. With the tigers and leopards caught in set traps, a transportation cage is set close to one end of the trap with two bars raised. A chicken or bait of some kind is placed within the cage, then a couple of bars of the trap are loosened and drawn out. If the animal refuses to enter the cage he is prodded with poles until he does, the bars are then slipped into their place and the animal is secured. There is really no danger or excitement in trapping and caging of tigers, or any animal caught in a trap of that kind.

In all I stayed with the Tungku nine weeks and the round-up of animals caught by net and pit, included ninety-two different varieties, not including three tigers, two spotted and one black leopard--forty-three cages and sixteen crates. This only includes those specimens in good condition. I do not count the animals that were killed off on account of not being fit to show for zoölogical purposes.

It was my good fortune during my stay with the Tungku to witness a bull fight. Under a covered shed on a raised platform the Sultan with his Court and guests sat, while the natives, five and six deep, either sat on the ground or stood forming a circle of about seventy yards in which the bulls fight.

The bulls belonged to a local breed. They are small in size, but sturdy, well built, very quick in movements, have a small hump on their necks, and short sharp horns. They are trained for fighting from early youth and out in the ring about the age of three, but are at their best at four or five years old. Bulls of as nearly as possible the same size and weight are generally matched to fight, and when once the bulls have been let go, the fight continues till one turns tail and leaves the field.

Each bull has three or four men who encourage it to greater efforts and when the fight is over lead it away.

Sometimes one of the bulls declines to fight altogether and rushes away the moment he is faced by his adversary. The victor then performs a strange sort of war dance alone, whirling round and round, tossing his head, bellowing and snorting and finally dashing off in pursuit of the enemy, demoralizing and scattering the crowd of spectators who fall over each other in their efforts to get out of his dangerous path.

Usually there is a fight more or less prolonged and when at last one bull gives way and runs for the field, he is followed, caught and brought back again to face his adversary. If he fights again, well and good, but the second bout rarely lasts any time and the beaten bull again saves himself by flight. That settles the matter as far as backers are concerned and the bets are paid. It very seldom happens that a bull is killed or even seriously injured. As soon as the bulls arrive on the ground, they are inspected at close quarters by the backers, while the setters-on give the last touches to their champion. They take the cover from the points of their horns, squeeze and rub a lemon on their nose and tongue, and tickle their back and sides. The bets are made and deposited with the stakeholder. The choice of position is decided by the drawing of one or two blades of grass held in the umpire's hand. The owner who draws the short blade takes the upstream position for his bull, while the other bull faces him from downstream. The setters-on then bring their respective bulls closely up to have a good look at each other, slowly pass about ten yards apart, and then bring them face to face. The leading ropes are suddenly cast off and the bulls dash at each other with fury and meet head on with a resounding thud. In a second their horns are interlocked, each trying by every ruse and device to drive the other back on his haunches or throw him over by main force. A moment later the horns are disengaged to find a new and a better purchase, and first one and then the other will gain a slight advantage and both bulls move this way and that from the center to the sides. The people of the East are seldom supposed to give way to demonstrations expressing emotion, but while a bull fight is on the Malays yell themselves hoarse with shouts of encouragement and approval, while the setters-on half mad with excitement simply dance around the bulls.

The varying tide of the battle carried the bulls to the center of the circle, and the novice which at first contented himself with simply resisting the attacks of his antagonist now made his great effort, pressing irresistibly forward, and bringing his great weight so to bear, that at last his adversary was forced back a few inches. Another effort and another, then gathering himself together, he rushed the other back and the latter's hind legs giving way under the pressure, he was thrown on his side and the other was upon him, butting unmercifully with his short, sharp-pointed horns. The old bull was beaten, but gathering himself together he recovered his legs and disappeared amidst a scene of the wildest excitement; men shouting themselves hoarse and otherwise expressing their delight. The excitement did not last more than a few minutes, then everybody quietly discussed what was held to be a great fight. It lasted about twenty minutes. The beaten bull was brought back again but as he declined to face his late adversary, he was led away, the bets were paid, and every one settled down again to wait for the next fight.

On my return from the round-up, for several years I did not venture into the jungle for more than a day or two at a time. My fever and dysentery had become chronic. I realized that I had too often disregarded the warning of the doctors and that, if I had another bad attack of illness, far away from medical attention, I should have to leave the country or might possibly die before I got way. My animal business in Singapore had grown so large that it gave me plenty to do, and I left to my agents the work of collecting. Through my house in Orchard Road passed a steady stream of animals, destined for zoölogical gardens all over the world.

Most of the animals went to the various Australian gardens for which I acted as agent. They allowed me to make my shipments f.o.b. Singapore, relieving me of the risks of transportation. In return, I gave them first call on all of my best specimens. When their needs had been supplied I had my choice between shipping to Hagenbeck's agent at Calcutta, shipping to Europe, and selling to the crews of boats that called at Singapore. The officers and men bought many animals, sharing the cost and eventually sharing the profits if the animals lived to reach Europe. Ariff, by crooked dealing and passing off sickly animals, had almost ruined this business, but it revived rapidly when the word spread that I could be depended upon. Ariff and I had many stormy sessions before I convinced him that my way was the better, and he finally came to handle a large part of the boat trade for me, doing the work of soliciting orders and making deliveries on commission.

I made very few sales directly to America. The trouble and risk of the long voyage were too great, and also there was a twenty-five per cent duty to be paid when the animals were landed. The gamble was large, and, even when the deliveries were safely made, there was little profit. Some of my animals reached America through Hagenbeck, who kept them until they were acclimated and then shipped them across the Atlantic. The acclimatization and breeding of animals in captivity is a business in itself.

Hagenbeck approached me several times with the proposition to become his exclusive agent in the Far East, but I preferred to have my own business and sell independently. Both he and Cross of Liverpool kept me busy with orders; and, with the orders from Australia, I found that I had a greater demand that I could meet. Almost every boat that came to Singapore from the districts where animals were captured brought specimens, and I was continually pressing my agents to send more. I traveled constantly throughout the Archipelago, urging the natives to work faster and keeping in touch with the source of my supply. As I have said before, I made few excursions into the jungle, and then only when it was impossible for my agents, who were generally headmen, to leave their kampongs and come to the coast.

Trengganu, with its jungles full of animals, was my favorite territory. I had the valuable privilege of being practically the only white man who could enter that country. In it I passed so much of my time that I finally had a house built there for me. My presence speeded the work of capturing, though I took no part in it except to talk with the headmen when they came to the coast. The Sultan gave me unlimited power in handling the natives, and no native who worked for me ever had cause to complain.

Nor had the Sultan himself; for I often found ways of helping him when the treasury was at low ebb. He looked to me to bring him news of the outside world and to interpret the news for him in terms that were understandable. Several hours of each day I spent at the palace, in discussing the affairs of the country with the Sultan and his Prime Minister, Mahommed Yusuf. Yusuf was a tunku besar (big prince) and was formerly the Sultan of Lingga. He was driven from his country by the Dutch and had sought refuge with his brother, the Sultan of Trengganu. There he lived as an object lesson of what might happen if Europeans were allowed to come into the country.

It was inevitable that Trengganu should eventually be taken over by the British, but the Sultan fought the idea at every turn. He could see in such a possibility nothing but ruin for himself, and he was determined to hold out as long as he lived. In our long talks we discussed every phase of his situation, and I pointed out to him that other sultans had prospered under the British. He was interested in that fact and asked for more information. Finally, it was arranged that Sir Frank Swettenham, who was governor-general of the Straits Settlements, should make a visit to Trengganu. That was the entering wedge. A few years later, an agreement was reached by which the country became a British protectorate and the Sultan, a prosperous, though nominal, ruler; and the development of this virgin territory began.

As a reward for the advice and assistance I gave him, the Sultan, before Trengganu passed out of his control, made me a present of five different concessions of land, with all mineral and surface rights. Though the concessions, which totaled nine hundred square miles, were rich in tin, the Sultan advised me to let the tin stay where it was and plant rubber. I could see that I had reached the beginning of the end of my career as an animal dealer!

On my return to Singapore after one of my visits to Trengganu, I found a letter from Mr. La Souef, of Melbourne, asking me if I would make a special effort to get a rhinoceros for his zoölogical gardens. He had made the same request the year before, and I had had a standing order with my agents in Trengganu, but nothing had come of it. There was constant good-natured rivalry between Mr. La Souef and his son, who was director of the gardens at Perth, and, as I had provided the son with a rhinoceros, I wanted to do as much for the father. I wrote to him, saying that I should communicate with my agents and that, if they had nothing to report, I would go out myself and see what I could find for him. Accordingly, I sent Ali to Trengganu with the message, telling him to wait there until I arrived.

There seemed to be so little chance that the natives would capture a good specimen that, after attending to the business at the animal house, I gathered my kit and started northward. At Trengganu I found Ali and some of the headmen waiting for me. Just as I had expected, they had nothing to report. One of them said that he thought I could find a rhinoceros near Rawang.

"Why do you think so?"

"Tûan," he replied, "there are traces."

"But why haven't your men been digging pits and capturing it?"

He made some reply to the effect that his men were busy planting rice, and I let the matter drop, for I saw that he was unwilling to talk. After the headman had left the house, I questioned Ali. While waiting for me, Ali had drawn the headman out on the subject. It seemed that the natives of the headman's kampong were reluctant to go out hunting the rhinoceros because they had seen the tracks, not only of the beast they were after, but also of beasts they wanted to avoid--a pair of seladangs.

I could understand, then, why they were not anxious to go out rhinoceros hunting, armed with nothing but their knives and muzzle-loading guns; for the seladang is, to my mind, the most dangerous animal on earth. It is the largest and fiercest of all wild cattle; its sense of smell and its vision are keen, and it charges with terrific speed. Except for one baby seladang that died before it reached a menagerie, not one has ever been captured alive. A number have been killed and mounted and are to be found in museums.

In meeting seladangs a hunter needs all his skill and courage. They charge without an instant's warning, breaking through the jungle at incredible speed. Unlike most animals, they do not try to protect themselves by defensive methods, holding the charge until they are cornered; they are instantly on the defensive. The hunter becomes just as much hunted as his quarry; each tries to attack by surprise. It is vitally important in running down seladangs for the hunter to keep his feet clear of vines and creepers, so that he can be free to jump; and also to keep his eye on a tree, which will provide refuge in case he needs it. The only possible way for a hunter to escape the direct charge of a seladang is to fall flat and let it run over him; its neck is so short that, when he is prostrate, it cannot reach him with its horns. Then, if the hoofs have not knocked him unconscious or broken his bones, he can jump up, before the seladang can check itself, and run for a tree. For the man once caught on the beast's horns, there is no escape; it tosses a victim time after time and then tramples him.

I had never met a seladang--and I must admit that I was not especially anxious to meet one--but I had no doubt of my ability to handle it if the emergency arose, and so I determined to go to Rawang for the rhinoceros. I had confidence in my express rifle and I knew that the natives would not refuse to accompany me. It would be useless to force them, of course, for they would be constantly on the verge of a panic. I sent Ali to talk with the headman and bring him to my house.

That afternoon a large part of the village across the river from my house burned to the ground. While I was sitting on my veranda, waiting for Ali to return with the headman, I saw smoke arising from one of the houses in the Chinese section. A moment later, flames appeared, the alarm was given and the village was in an uproar. The flames leaped from house to house, running down the principal street, where all the godowns were located. I went across the river to watch the excitement and see what I could do to help. The natives were wild: rushing about, falling over one another and going crazy. I stood at one side, quite out of the way, for a native in such a condition is a dangerous person; the least word may send him amok and start him slashing with his _kris_. Not one native thought about the safety of his women and children. On the contrary, he pushed women and children out of the way and walked on them in the excitement of rescuing the one possession that a Malay values--his kris. Men dashed into burning houses and emerged triumphantly, scorched but waving their krises over their heads.

One of the tunkus managed to organize in the midst of the turmoil, what passed as a water-chain. The natives grabbed buckets and ran to the river, returning at full speed, waving their buckets and getting in one another's way. I doubt if a single bucket reached the fire with more than a cupful of water in it. It was so funny that I had to hide where no one could see me laughing. I heard later that the old Sultan laughed until he was weak.

He feared only that the wind might change and bring the fire on his palace; and he sent Mahommed Yusuf to find me and ask my advice. Yusuf and I decided that, if the wind showed any signs of changing, it would be best to tear down some of the village, to make a protecting strip. I went back across the river to my house for dynamite to aid in the work of demolition. However, the wind did not change, and, in exactly a hundred minutes after I saw the first smoke, the fire had run its course.

In that time, a hundred and twenty-five houses had burned to the ground, but no lives had been lost. And so it was not a serious calamity, since house-building in that section of the country is a simple matter. The Malays thought it a great joke that the stores that were destroyed belonged to the Chinese; for the Chinese were always cheating them. By the time evening came, it was as if the fire had been arranged to give the population an exciting and amusing holiday.

That night, Ali, after indulging in some eloquence on the subject of my express rifle, brought the headman to me. Until late, we three sat on the veranda of my house, talking about the rhinoceros hunt and the chances of encountering a seladang. At last the headman said that he would think about the matter and give me his answer the next day.

I spent the morning with the Sultan, who was still laughing about the water-chain at the fire, and I returned to my house early in the afternoon. The headman and Ali were waiting for me. It was decided without further delay that we should go to Rawang to capture the rhinoceros.

The natives at the headman's kampong were not over-anxious to take part in the hunt, and we spent several days there, waiting for them to make up their minds. It was useless to urge them, and to force them, as I had the power to do, would have been out of the question. It was a matter of waiting and working up their enthusiasm. Ali talked with them, cleaning my rifle and telling them about the "magic" I had performed. Then, after they showed signs of being properly impressed, I took my gun and began shooting explosive bullets into the trunks of trees. They stood about, wide-eyed, watching the bullets tear great holes in the trees. One evening, two days after our arrival at the kampong, the headman came with the word that his men had decided that they would like to go rhinoceros-hunting with me. "But I can take only ten," I replied. "I want you to come and I will let you select nine others--your best men." Now that the desire to go rhinoceros-hunting was alive in the village, I knew that the selection of nine men would make rivalry keen, and that those who were selected would be proud to go.

Shortly after dawn the next morning we left the kampong and struck out toward the spot where the rhinoceros had been located. We kept up a good pace during the day, following the trails through the jungle and cutting our path. Three days later we came upon signs of the rhinoceros and began tracking the spoor.

At sundown, as we were approaching an opening where we intended to make camp, we heard a crash in the jungle. "Seladangs!" screamed the Malays.

The men dropped everything and jumped for the trees just as two seladangs came charging down upon us. Ali, who was carrying my rifle and who had become separated from me when the men rushed for the trees, started toward me. Gauging the distance, I saw that he could not make it and I yelled to him to save himself. I jumped backward and made for a tree; then, as I pulled myself up, I saw the bull seladang catch Ali on his horns and toss him. I dropped to the ground again, horrified; I wanted to get my rifle and I forgot about the other animal.

The cow seladang charged, and I barely had time to get behind the tree. Unconsciously I had drawn my _parang_, and, as the great chocolate-colored colored beast plunged past me, I slashed. The blade hamstrung her, and she plunged, bellowing, into the jungle. Then the bull, instead of catching Ali's body on his horns, allowed it to fall to the ground and turned toward me. I swung up into the branches of the tree, just out of his reach, and slashed downward as he charged. I failed to hit him and I narrowly escaped falling.

We could hear the cow bellowing furiously and dragging herself away through the jungle. She did not return. The bull charged back again and stood beneath me, pawing the ground and bellowing. Then he turned and attacked Ali's body, trampling upon it, time after time, until every bone was broken.

Each time the bull returned to the tree, I fired downward at him with my revolver, but I might just as well have used a pop-gun--the little bullets had no effect. One dynamite cartridge would have ended him, but my rifle lay on the ground five yards away. Night came on, but the seladang did not leave. I remained poised throughout the night, waiting for a chance to jump down and run for the rifle. Our thirst became terrible, and there was little consolation in the thought that the seladang was probably quite as thirsty as we were. But there was some chance that he would leave us for a few moments to find water, and I needed only a moment to get the rifle and climb back into my tree.

Ants and mosquitoes swarmed over us. Trying to find some protection against them, we wrapped our hands and faces in _sârongs_. But we were as helpless against insects as against seladangs.

Morning came and wore away to noon, and still the beast stayed by his post. Then the fever began to hit me and my head throbbed. I propped myself up against the trunk of the tree, saving all my strength until the moment when I should need it most.

Ali's body was unrecognizable; he had been gored repeatedly in the tossing and now he was simply a mass of torn, trampled flesh. The beast returned to it again and again to sniff and paw, and the sight made me weak and ill.

The ten natives were scattered through the trees near me and we talked back and forth. They, of course, depended upon me and my "magic" to save them, and I, with the fever burning more fiercely every minute, realized that something must be done immediately. My thirst was becoming unendurable and my strength was leaving me rapidly. I called to the men to join me in my tree, and they swung from limb to limb until we were together. The seladang took up his position beneath us, bellowing and pawing.

I counted the arms in the party; we had, besides our parangs, four spears and three krises. With the parangs we cut stout branches; then we tore our sârongs into strips and bound the krises to the poles. As was usual in the Archipelago, especially in the inland districts, the spears and krises were poisoned, and our only hope of victory lay in that fact. I knew that the poison would kill a man in a few minutes and I had seen smaller animals die of it, but I did not know what effect it would have on so large and powerful a brute as a seladang.

Next we gathered leaves and stuffed a sack, made from a sârong, full of them, and tied it with a string, so that we could dangle it in front of the beast. Then three of us armed with the krises took positions so that we should be above the seladang when he charged, and we lowered the sack. He snorted and drew back; then he put his strength into his legs and lunged forward. I drove downward with my kris, tearing a wound in his back near the hump; he whirled and charged again, and this time one of the natives blinded him in one eye.

He withdrew a few yards, snorting, bellowing and pawing. He turned again on the body of poor Ali, as if to vent his anger on it. Presently we lured him back with the bundle of leaves, and he charged again. I scored another cut near his hump.

This charging and jabbing went on for fully an hour, and we seemed no nearer success than when we started. It was impossible to get in a death-stroke, and the poison apparently was having no effect upon him. In any event, I thought, we were winding him, and, if we could last out another night, he would have to seek water. But there was another danger--one of the natives, crazed by thirst and excitement, might run amok there in the tree. I planned, if we were forced to remain in the tree through the night, to take charge, diplomatically, of the krises and spears. I regretted having spent all the ammunition for my revolver on that useless fusillade the day before.

The game resolved itself into an attempt to pierce the seladang's sound eye; we lured him back, time after time, but could not drive a kris to the mark. Evening was approaching, and I thought the battle was over for the day. The seladang stood near by, ignoring, for the moment, the sack we were dangling. Blood was flowing from a dozen wounds. When he took a step forward, we cried out in surprise. He was weakening! He almost tottered away, as if he had forgotten about us.

Even though he had routed us completely, treed us and kept us treed and killed my good friend and assistant, Ali, I felt sorry for the beast, as I sat there watching him. He had put up a magnificent fight, and, half dead, he would muster his remaining strength and charge us again if we dared set foot on the ground. It was his victory until the moment he died.

His head drooped lower; then he went down on his fore knees, bellowing weakly. Presently his hind quarters slumped down, and blood began to flow from his mouth.

I dropped from the tree and walked forward cautiously to the spot where my rifle had fallen; then, armed, I stood watching him in the throes of death. None of the Malays had followed me, and, when I told them to come down, they refused. Finally, to convince them that there was no danger, I put a 50-110 explosive bullet behind the beast's shoulder.

We dug a grave for Ali and buried him; then we gathered our material and started back for the kampong. My fever was so bad that the medicine in my kit did me little good; for hours at a time, I was unconscious and had to be carried. At the kampong, I rested for several days, gathering strength to make the trip to the coast.

When I went to see the Sultan at Trengganu, before taking the boat to Singapore, he regarded me severely and said: "Tûan, why have I given you big concessions in land? Is it because I want you to go out and kill yourself in capturing animals?" He seemed satisfied when I told him that my days as an animal capturer were over, and that, after a trip home, I should return to Trengganu, to make my fortune in more peaceful ways.

At Singapore, I saw my doctor, who looked me over and told me that any more escapades in the jungle would be the last of me. He ordered me to leave the country at once and I took passage on a steamer sailing the next week.

Then I hurried off to Palembang, where I had spent my first months among the Malays. It was Ali's home, and I was in duty bound to take his kris back for him. The old _hadji_ received me affectionately and heard the story of his nephew's death.

"He died bravely, tûan?" he asked.

"Yes, and in the faith."

The hadji nodded; that was what he wanted to know--whether or not Ali died a good Mahommedan.

"On what day did he die, tûan?"

I could not remember what day it was, but I knew what the old man hoped and I answered, "Friday."

That meant that Ali was certain of Paradise.

I said good-by to the hadji and went back to Singapore to catch my boat. The fever was still racking my body, but, when I saw the Red Sea behind us once more, I knew that luck had been with me.