Sketches of Our Life at Sarawak Part 6

Hacket fainting on the sofa, and the servants all leaving their work to listen, and look out of the verandah, provoked us extremely: we administered sal volatile and a good scolding, and sent everybody off to their business again. But those scenes were very trying to the nerves.

That a Malay should run amuck (amok, in Malay) with anger or jealousy, or a fit of madness arising from both these pa.s.sions, was an occasional event all through our Sarawak life, but it was no more alarming in 1858 than in former years. It was the breach in the general feeling of security under the Sarawak Government, which for a time magnified every little disturbance of the peace into a public danger.

Our school was enriched this year by, first, seven new Chinese boys, then four more and four girls, the captives of the Lundu Dyaks, ransomed by Captain Brooke. Those children were, some of them, miserable objects, covered with sores from neglect. One boy had been set to carry red wood which blisters the skin, another was badly burnt. Mrs. Stahl took them in hand, dressed their wounds, nursed them, clothed them, and soon they looked quite nice, sitting on a bench at the end of the church with a monitor to take charge of them, for they were still unbaptized--they were old enough to be instructed first, except two of the little girls who were immediately received into the Church. About this time a little Dyak boy, Nigo by name, was paying a visit to the school, and was baptized in church, answering for himself. He was about six years old, and as he stood at the font his face was lit up with so sweet a smile it touched us all. Mab begged him to stay at Sarawak; but the Dyaks never part with their children, and in this case it was not necessary, for Nigo's father was a Christian. It was a great happiness to us that none of our boys were killed in the insurrection; three got away to Sambas, the rest came back to the school one by one, having all escaped the Dyaks. The Christian goldsmith, too, who was put in prison by the kunsi for trying to warn us of the attack on the 18th of February, got to Sambas safe, and afterwards returned to us at Sarawak.

This summer a doctor came out to Sarawak with his family. I heard of their proposed arrival some months before, and wrote to Mrs. C---- to beg they would leave their elder children in England, and only bring the babies with them, for the little ones thrive well enough at Sarawak. I also gave a plain unvarnished account of the place. But Mr. C----, having made up his mind to bring all his family out, put the letter in his pocket; and we were very sorry when they arrived, a party of nine, having lost one child at Singapore. They only stayed one month; the lady was so disgusted with the place--"no shops, no amus.e.m.e.nts, always hot weather, and food so dear!"--that she persuaded her husband to take advantage of some difference he had with the Government, and return in the same steamer by which they came out. I, however, gained by their departure, for they brought a sweet young girl with them as governess, and as she did not wish to return so soon, she remained with me, and became Mab's governess and friend. We liked her very much, and I cannot help mentioning an incident of her spirit and courage. One of our children being ill, I had taken her down to Santubong, where we had a seaside cottage; but as the house was full of clergy preparing for ordination, I left Miss McKee to do the housekeeping and take care of our guests for a few days. She slept at the top of the house, and little Edith in a cot beside her. It was late at night, and the moon s.h.i.+ning into Miss McKee's room, when she woke and saw a Chinaman standing at the foot of her bed with a great knife in his hand. She felt under her pillow if the keys were safe, for the box of silver was put in her room while I was absent; then she jumped up, shouting "Thieves!" with all her might. The man ran and she after him, down a long pa.s.sage, down the staircase, out of the house, by which time her cries had roused the gentlemen--the Bishop was nursing a sick man in fever, and was not in the house that night. They looked out of their doors, asking what was the matter? However, Miss McKee had by this time made up her mind that the thief was our own cook; she had seen enough of him by her courageous pursuit to be sure of it. No doubt he thought she would be fast asleep, and he should carry off the silver and the keys without discovery. Only a servant of the house would have known where they were kept. This young lady afterwards married Mr. Koch, one of the missionaries. He came from Ceylon, and eventually returned to his native country, where I hope they are still.

Now we were again without a doctor, and in the autumn Mrs. Brooke expected her second confinement. This brings me to what we always called the sad, dark time at Sarawak. The weather was rainy beyond any former experience. We always had heavy rains in November, but this year they began in October, and the sky scarcely seemed to clear. In October, G.o.d gave us a little son, and in a usual way I should have been quite well at the end of three weeks, and across the water to see Mrs. Brooke many times before her confinement. But a long influenza cold kept me at home, and the weather being always wet, there was no prospect of getting over in a boat without a drenching, so only notes pa.s.sed between us.

On November 15th, Mrs. Brooke had another boy, and though there was some anxiety at the time, she seemed pretty well until the fourth day, when inflammation set in with puerperal fever, and at the end of ten days our much-loved friend was gone to her home in heaven, leaving her husband and children desolate. It seemed so impossible that so bright a creature should pa.s.s away from us, that to the last day we believed she would recover. That afternoon she called her husband and brothers and sisters to her bedside, and said, "I have tried hard to live for your sakes, but I cannot;" then she calmly and sweetly bade them good-bye, and no earthly cares touched her afterwards. Very sad hearts were left behind, but her example remained to us and called us upwards. Her short life had been continual self-sacrifice. She gave up her beautiful home in Scotland for love, and the prospect of doing good to Sarawak. On her arrival there the most rigid economy was practised, on account of the losses in the Chinese insurrection. A mat house, called "The Refuge,"

neither airy nor comfortable, was her only home; but it was always bright with Annie's good taste and cheerful spirits. Then came the last sacrifice, her husband and children. These, too, she laid at her Lord's feet with a willing heart. Everybody went into mourning; for in so small a place it was quite a calamity to lose the head of our little society.

But to the Bishop this event was a great trial. He had spent most of his time, day and night, striving to save this precious life. He was very fond of her; he ministered to her as her priest; from his hands she received the Blessed Sacrament a few hours before she died, and he heard her say with almost her last breath, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit;"

but he had also to witness agony which he could not relieve, and no effort could prolong her life. It made him quite ill for some time, and all the happy holiday days pa.s.sed away with Annie Brooke. Government House was never again, in our time, a bright and cheerful home: it returned to its bachelor ways; and business, not social pleasure, presided there. On Christmas Day, exactly a month after Mrs. Brooke died and was laid in the churchyard, we placed a bouquet of flowers from her garden on the altar, but there could be no festivities. The Chinese Christians had their feast, and the school-children; but we who had lost our companion and friend could not rejoice. It was sad enough to go over the water and see Annie's empty room, kept just as she had left it, and no sound in the house except the wails of the motherless baby, who we feared would soon follow his mother to the grave. Captain Brooke was obliged to go to England very soon after his wife's death; the Rajah was struck with paralysis, and it was at first doubtful whether he would recover. In the midst of all this sorrow I had the trouble of losing my faithful servant, Mrs. Stahl, who took all the care of the school-children off my hands. Her husband had found more lucrative work at Singapore, and sent for her to join him. It was a grief to both of us, and a great addition to my responsibilities. Mrs. William Channon, then a widow, was installed matron of the school, but she had neither knowledge nor experience. She did as well as she could, with continual supervision. The sick children now came to me to be doctored early every morning. I also had a large sewing-cla.s.s of boys, and a tailor to teach us how to cut out and make their peculiar-shaped clothes: however, we soon learnt to do without the tailor. Mrs. Hacket taught the little ones to sew, and I had the elder ones from seven to ten every morning.

Sometimes I gave a music lesson between whiles; sometimes I had to leave them for a while, first to see what the cook had brought from the bazaar for their day's food, and to give out the rice which was kept in my store-room; also the cocoa-nut oil, which trimmed the lamps of both house and school. Sometimes I read aloud to my boys, stories from history. They could understand English quite well.

While our spirits were at their lowest ebb, and the rain still pouring with little intermission, we had a visit from H.M.S. _Esk_, Sir Robert J. McClure captain. He did his best to cheer us. How kind and bright he was I shall never forget, nor how he used to sit patiently under a tree in the rain to be photographed, simply to amuse us. There are certainly some people who have more of the wine of life than others, and who are a wonderful refreshment to their friends. It was during this year, 1858, that we built our seaside cottage at Santubong--Sandrock Cottage, as we called it, which sounds rather c.o.c.kney; but as it stood on the sand, with great boulders of granite rock scattered about, it seemed the most appropriate name. Santubong is the most beautiful of the two mouths of the Sarawak River, but not as safe as the Morotabas for s.h.i.+ps to enter.

The Bishop had a mission yacht this year; consequently he was away, visiting the mission stations. The next year he sailed the _Sarawak Cross_ to Labuan. The voyage took only one week either way, whereas in other years he had to go to Singapore, more than four hundred miles off, in order to get to Labuan by P. and O. steamer, or any man-of-war chancing to go there. Months instead of weeks were consumed by this means.

Our cottage took three weeks to build. We sent three men down with a thousand palm-leaf attaps for the outside walls and roof, and thirty mats to make inner walls. The men went into the jungle and felled wood for posts and rafters, then nibong palms were split into strips for the floors. The whole building was tied together with rattans, like all Malay houses. There were three rooms, twelve feet by fifteen each, and two little bath-rooms. A verandah ran along the whole length of the front, and this was planked to prevent little feet from slipping through. But the rooms were covered with thick mats, and the floor was so springy it danced as you moved. We put very little furniture into these rooms, and the inside walls were only eight feet high, so that though you could not see into the next room, you could hear all that went on in all three rooms. The cook-house and servants' room were separate.

As early as the year 1848, the Rajah had a little Dyak house built on high poles, under the mountain of Santubong. It was an inconvenient little place, into which you climbed up a steep ladder--only one room, in fact, with a verandah; but we spent some happy days there, for the beauty of that sh.o.r.e made the house a secondary consideration. A small Malay village nestled in cocoa-nut palms at the foot of Santubong; in front lay a smooth stretch of sand, and a belt of casuarina-trees always whispering, without any apparent wind to move their slender spines. The deer in those days stole out of the jungle at night to eat the sea-foam which lay in flakes along the sand, and wild pigs could often be shot in a moonlight stroll under the trees. In the morning, we used to set off as soon as it was light to a fresh spring in the jungle, where we took our bath. Dawdling along the edge of the waves, then quite warm to our bare feet, with towels and leaf buckets in our hands, we reached the little stream, running under the shade of tall trees in which the wood-pigeons were cooing. How delicious and fresh that water was! and every sense was charmed at the same time, unless some stinging ants walked over our feet, which was not uncommon.

Then we trudged home again, with the wet towels folded on our heads to s.h.i.+eld us from the sun, who by that time was an enemy to be shunned.

A little colony of Chinese were settled here in 1852, but they never took to the place; the soil was perhaps not good enough for their gardens. In 1857 the Malays fell upon them and killed them all, because they were of the same tribe as the rebels, although they had nothing whatever to do with the insurrection. When we were building our cottage on the sands two Chinese skulls were dug up. We were all indignant at this wanton cruelty, but unable to resent it, except by the expression of our opinion, for the English were a mere handful of individuals in Sarawak.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE MALAY PLOT.

Our cottage at Santubong was a source of much pleasure to many people.

We often lent it to invalids, sometimes to newly married couples, who certainly had a good opportunity of studying each other's characters and tastes in that lonely solitude.

Sometimes we sent down all the children from the school, who wanted sea-air and a holiday. Indeed, when we were staying there, we always had relays of children to play on the sands and enjoy themselves. We had a place staked round with strong hurdles, where we could bathe in safety from sharks and alligators, who both infested the coast. I have often seen quant.i.ties of jelly-fish and octopus sticking on the outside of the hurdles: they sting dreadfully, so they were quite welcome to stay there.

During one of our visits to Santubong I remember a timber-s.h.i.+p lying off the mouth of the river, to lade planks from a saw-mill which was on the other side. One day three sailors came ash.o.r.e to fill a cask with fresh water; there was a spring among the rocks close to the water's edge. As they neared the sh.o.r.e, the three men jumped into the sea for a swim; but suddenly, one of them threw up his arms and disappeared. In vain his comrades searched for him, but the next day his body, partly devoured by a shark, was thrown upon the rocks. No doubt he was seized and dragged under water. His comrades were much distressed, for he was a favourite among the crew. Frank buried him, and helped the men to put a wooden cross on the grave.

In the north-west monsoon we sometimes went to Buntal, a bay on the other side of the mountain of Santubong. No soul resided there, but it was the resort of great flocks of wild-fowl at that season. We rowed into the bay while it was still high tide, then left the boat; and our men made little huts of boughs some distance from the sh.o.r.e, where we could sit without being perceived. As the tide ebbed the birds arrived--tall storks, fis.h.i.+ng eagles, gulls, curlew, plover, G.o.dwits, and many others we did not know. They flew in long lines, till they seemed to vanish and reappear, circling round and round, then swooping down upon the sand where the receding waves were leaving their supper. I never saw a prettier sight. The tall storks seemed to act like sentinels, watching while the others fed. At a note of alarm they all rose in the air, flew about screaming, and then settled again on the sands in long lines, the smaller birds together, the larger ones in ascending rows. At last, alas! a gun fired into their midst caused death and dismay. A few fell dead, and the rest fled to some happier sh.o.r.e, where no destroying man could mar their happiness. And there are many such spots in Borneo where no human foot ever trod, and where trees, flowers, and insects flourish exceedingly; where the birds sing songs of praise which are only heard by their Maker, and where the wild animals of the forest live and die unmolested. There is always something delightful to me in this idea. We are apt to think that this earth is made for man, but, after many ages, there are still some parts of his domain unconquered, some fair lands where the axe, the fire, and the plough are still unknown.

While we were at Santubong, in 1859, we were distressed to hear that Mr.

Fox and Mr. Steele, two Government officers in charge of a fort at Kenowit, had been murdered by some Dyaks, whom they were judging in the court-house. We were very grieved for our friends, especially for Mr.

Fox, who was for two years with us as catechist in the mission, and only left because he could not make up his mind to be ordained. However, he was most faithful in the performance of his duties at that lonely fort, and most blameless in his life; we could only regret the loss of so good a young man. We did not at that time connect this event with any general enmity to Englishmen among the natives, but only thought that particular tribe of Kenowits were not to be trusted.

It was really a much more serious matter. Mr. Charles Johnson went up to Kenowit directly, taking the Bishop's yacht, the _Sarawak Cross_, as his floating fortress. He sent a thousand Dyaks to attack the fortified village of the Kenowits, who were engaged in the murders. These Dyaks were repulsed, but he led them on again himself with two hundred Sarawak Malays, good men and true. They took a bra.s.s gun overland to the village, and pounded them for a day; then the Malays and Dyaks attacked and fired the place, and took it.

There were many killed, but it was their own fault; for, before attacking, a flag of truce had been hoisted, and all who would were invited to submit, and promised their lives, but only a few women and children availed themselves of it and were saved. Tanee the brave was killed, and Hadji Mahomet. It was found that these traitors had spread a report that all the English at Sarawak and at Labuan, as well as at Bunjerma.s.sin, had been killed, and this was so thoroughly believed that the Kenowits thought they had only to kill Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele, in order to possess themselves of the arms and goods in the fort with impunity. It was true that the Malays at Bunjerma.s.sin had risen upon the Europeans there, and killed twenty Dutch officials and their families; also four of the German missionaries living among the Dyaks, and a Mr.

Mattley, with his wife and three children, who used to live at Labuan.

The Dutch took summary vengeance for this ma.s.sacre, but in spite of that the Malays at Coti killed the Europeans who lived there; so that neighbouring countries showed a bad example to our people, and we were afraid that religious fanaticism might have something to do with the hatred to Christians, whether Dutch or English.

In every country there are unfortunately some bad men, who are irreclaimable by kindness or severity. Such were the two who instigated a plot to murder all the English in the Sarawak territory, and take the Government to themselves. The oldest and most shameless of these men was the Datu Patinghi of Sarawak, and to tell his story I must go back to the early days of Sarawak. When Sir James Brooke first visited Mudah Ha.s.sim, the Malay Rajah, he found him endeavouring to put down a rebellion among his subjects. After a time Sir James Brooke helped him with the guns of his yacht and the services of his blue jackets. The enemy submitted, and then he begged their lives of Mudah Ha.s.sim. It was with very great difficulty this unprecedented favour was granted.

Gapoor and his followers were pardoned, and when Sarawak was given over to Sir James Brooke by the Sultan of Bruni, it was naturally supposed that this man who owed his life to the English Rajah would remain his faithful friend and follower. He was made the chief datu, or magistrate, of whom there were three--the Datu Patinghi, the Tumangong, and the Bandhar. These Malay chiefs were members of the Council, and represented Home Department, War Office, and Treasury in the State. For some time all seemed to go well, but the Rajah soon found that the Datu Patinghi could not be restrained from oppressing the Dyaks under his charge, levying more than the proper tax, or obliging them to buy whatever he wished to sell, at exorbitant prices. His power over the Dyaks was therefore taken away, and a fixed income given him to preclude temptation. When the Rajah was in England, in 1851, this Datu intrigued with the Bruni Malays to upset the Government; he mounted yellow umbrellas, a sign of royalty, and arrogated power to himself which might have been mischievous had he been more popular with the natives. But he had many relations among the high Malays of the place, and it was a question whether they would resent his being publicly disgraced. Captain Brooke told them plainly that he must be exiled, but that it should be done in the most cautious way, and appearances should be saved. Datu Patinghi was therefore advised to go a pilgrimage to Mecca. Money and servants were supplied him, but he had no choice about it. We all hoped he would never return.

About a year afterwards Sir James Brooke said to me, "Did you ever feel pleasure at hearing of the death of an old friend?" Before I could consider this knotty question, he added Gapoor had died of small-pox at Mecca. It was only a report, and proved untrue. Datu came back a hadji, but was desired to go and live at Malacca the rest of his days. In 1859 he begged to be allowed to return to Sarawak, and, as it was hoped he could not be ungrateful for so much kindness and forbearance, he was permitted; but he was only biding his time. After his return to Sarawak he married his daughter to Seriff Bujang, the brother of Seriff Messah.o.r.e, whose rascality and bad faith were on a par with his own.

Bujang was a quiet creature enough, drawn into the wicked plots of his brother and father-in-law, but they were bad to the core. A Seriff is supposed to be a descendant of the Prophet Mahomet, at any rate he is an Arab, and Messah.o.r.e was said to be invulnerable and sacred in his person. He was a fine, handsome creature, with insinuating manners, but there was nothing more to say in his favour. He was at the bottom of every disturbance in the country, but was cunning enough to keep himself in the background. Directly a plot miscarried, he came forward zealously to punish the wrong-doers.

He instigated the murder of Mr. Fox and Mr. Steele; nay, it was intended to be a general ma.s.sacre of all the English in Sarawak territory; but by a mistake of the Kenowits these two unfortunates were killed prematurely. The day had not arrived, and this led to the discovery of the plot. When Mr. C. Johnson went with an armed force to Kenowit, Seriff Messah.o.r.e had already killed the fort men, who had only executed his own orders. For some time he, the guilty one, escaped detection. At last some Christian Dyaks of Lundu and Banting disclosed to their missionaries that Malays had visited them to say they had better turn Mahometans, for soon there would be no English left in the country.

These stories being communicated by the Bishop to Mr. Johnson, he consulted the Malay members of the council and other trustworthy native friends, and it was evident they knew there was good reason for anxiety, as they advised all the English to wear firearms, even the ladies.

At last the rumours of threats were traced to old Gapoor, the ex-Patinghi, and he was again banished the country by order of the council. Seriffs Messah.o.r.e and Bujang, being connected with him by marriage, were also suspected. Messah.o.r.e was warned that if he came to Kuching he would be treated as an enemy. Nevertheless he advanced up the river; his boat was greeted by a shower of b.a.l.l.s, and he ignominiously fled. When the glamour was thus taken from him everybody was ready to divulge what they knew of the plot, and that a pension of six hundred rupees a year was promised to any one who would kill Mr. C. Johnson. The Rajah was in England, and known to be in bad health. Very few English men-of-war visited Sarawak at that time. Rumours were got up at Bruni that the Rajah was in disgrace with his own queen. This was the consequence of the commission of inquiry about piracy, which had taken place in 1858, by order of the English Parliament; for though the results of that commission thoroughly exculpated Sir James Brooke from any blame, there was never any _amende honourable_ made for subjecting him to such an indignity. It was never understood by the natives as anything but a slur on the Rajah's character, and was a terrible injury to his prestige for a time. Indeed, it was the seed of the Malay plot; and if we had all been killed, our own English Government would have been the remote cause of our death. It is no doubt difficult for Englishmen to understand the feelings of Malays and Dyaks. We are accustomed in England to find fault with our rulers, and submit to them all the same. But in the East it is different: no breath of blame must touch the Rajah, nor can he be arraigned before any court, except the throne of G.o.d.

Fatima, Seriff Bujang's wife, was an old friend of mine. She had always visited me from the time of our first arrival at Sarawak, and was then a very handsome girl, with a pale, clear complexion, and fine hair and eyes. We took a great interest in her marriage, and Seriff Bujang frequently came to our house. He was apparently fond of Mab, and liked to hear her tell fairy tales. Mab spoke Malay very well, and was always popular with the natives, to whom she would sing, dance, or relate Cinderella, the White Cat, or the Three Bears, etc. It was curious to see a grave-looking Malay sitting to listen to fairy stories; still more so when all the time he was party to a plot for the destruction of the household he visited. He was more weak than wicked; and two years after that he died. I had occasion to visit some Malays in his kampong after his death, and found poor Fatima bereft of all her ornaments and gay dresses, and working as a drudge in the house. Widows are little accounted of in Eastern households.

To return to the events of October, 1859.

A timber-s.h.i.+p, the _Planet_, was lying in the river, and Mr. Johnson requested that the women and children of the mission should be sent on board until the panic pa.s.sed away, and the old Datu was got safely out of the place. The fort and Government House were manned and armed, and the rest of the Europeans sheltered there. The Hacket family went down at once, and in the evening we sent Miss McKee and the two youngest children with her; but Mab was ill of fever, and could not be moved. So the Bishop and I stayed with her, and ten Chinamen guarded our house.

Mr. Chalmers had come from Merdang with news that some of those Dyaks had joined the Datu Hadji, and also some bad Lundus, who had been punished for sedition four years before. We all sat up that night; but I was too much occupied with my sick child to be nervous about anything else. The night pa.s.sed over without any rising of the disaffected, and the next day Gapoor consented to leave the country quietly, finding no chief Malays would stand by him, and to be taken in a Government gunboat to a brig just leaving the river. Thus, through G.o.d's mercy and the loyalty of the people, no harm came of this plot, except that Mr.

and Mrs. Hacket decided to leave the mission, not being strong enough to stand such alarms. They went to Malacca, where he became Government chaplain, and died there of consumption, after some years' service.

The heat of Sarawak climate was so injurious to our child Mab, who had frequent attacks of fever, that as soon as the place was quiet again, we resolved to pay another visit to England. The Bishop's health was much shaken, and the doctors at Singapore ordered him home at once. But it was winter, and we were afraid of taking our children too quickly into the rigorous cold of England; therefore we took a pa.s.sage in the _Bahiana_, a steamer which had brought out a telegraph cable to lay between Singapore and Batavia, and having accomplished her purpose, was returning empty to England. The Bishop went with us as far as Bombay, and then took P. and O. boat to England; whilst we called first at Mauritius, then at the Cape of Good Hope, staying some days at each place, and at the latter adding several pa.s.sengers to our small party.

We proceeded very happily until we were within a day's steam of the Island of St. Vincent, off the coast of Africa; then the great crank of the steam-engine snapped in two, and we had to sail. It took us ten days to beat up to the island, for a large screw steamer was never intended to be propelled by sails.

We began to have gloomy forebodings of the time which must elapse before we could reach England, sailing at this rate, when we saw, lying in the roads at St. Vincent, a very large West Indian steamer on her way home.

It was difficult to communicate with this s.h.i.+p, because she lay in quarantine, yellow flag flying; and we did not know whether she had yellow fever on board or not. Our captain, however, called us all together, and said, "I hoped to have found some provisions in this island, to add to our stores; but I find there is nothing." The island seemed just a bare rock, with one solitary palm-tree growing by the office door, and not a blade of gra.s.s. It was difficult to imagine what provisions there could be, except the coal left by s.h.i.+ps to supply pa.s.sing steamers. "It will be necessary," added Captain Grenfell, "that some of you should go home in the _Magnolia_, West Indian steamer, for we have not food on board for all, and cannot expect to be less than another month reaching England under sail: therefore you must each of you decide to-night what you will do; and if you choose to go home in the _Magnolia_, I will pay your pa.s.sage. But I ought to tell you that probably there are cases of yellow fever on board that s.h.i.+p; for it is the time of year when it is rife at the South American stations."

Here was a problem to solve in the night! Should I take my children on board a s.h.i.+p where there was probable infection, or should I subject my husband to hara.s.sing anxiety about us for a whole month? In the morning I decided to go home in the _Magnolia_; and I was rewarded when we climbed up into that great s.h.i.+p, with two hundred pa.s.sengers on board, by finding that there was not a single case of yellow fever, or anything infectious. We had a delightful ten days' pa.s.sage, stopping a few hours at Lisbon, but not allowed to land, and then straight to Southampton. My only regret was leaving Captain Grenfell, who had been so kind to the children all the way.

The _Bahiana_ took just a month to get to England from St. Vincent.

PART III.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CHILDREN'S CHAPTER.

In 1861 we again returned to our Eastern home, leaving our three children behind, and taking only our baby girl for companion. What a difference it makes in India, to "leave the children behind!"--a common fate indeed for parents, but not the less to be deplored. We used to think and speak of Sarawak as home until 1861; but ever after, we spoke of going home to our children, for where the treasure is there must the heart be also. To do the work so that the time might pa.s.s quickly and peacefully, to live upon the mails from England, to carry on two lives as it were, one in the present, the other in the pictures our English letters presented--such at any rate was my fate, though my husband was too true a missionary to feel as I did.

Most of our old Sarawak friends had either died or gone away when we returned in '61, but the mission grew more and more interesting as Christian Churches sprang up on the Dyak rivers. Four new missionaries came out soon after our arrival. Mr. and Mrs. Abe, Mr. Zehnder, Mr.