appearance is subtle, and to one who is not used to Malays, the natives of
Pahang, Kĕlantan, and Trĕnggânu have nothing to distinguish them one from
another, whereas, after a year or two on the East Coast, what at first are almost
imperceptible differences, are soon recognised as being widely distinguishing
marks.
The Kĕlantan man is, to the native of Pahang, what the water-buffalo is to a
short-horn. To begin with, to the uninitiated he is wholly unintelligible. He
grunts at one like the fatted pig at the Agricultural Shows, and expects one to
understand the meaning which he attaches to these grunts. This proves him to be
sanguine but unintelligent. He cannot understand any dialect but his own,—
which is convincing evidence to non-Kĕlantan Malays that he is a born fool,—
and he is apt to complain bitterly of the accents of strangers, whereas, to all but
his own countrymen, it is his accent which appears to be the real grievance. He
is plain of face, fat, ugly, and ungainly of body, huge as to the hands and feet,
not scrupulously clean in his person and habits, and, like most very fleshy
people, he is blessed with an exceedingly even temper, and is excessively happy,
good-natured, and stolid. He can break open a door by butting it with his head,
and the door is the only sufferer. [Âwang Kĕpâla Kras—Âwang of the Hard
Head—who is a Kĕlantan Malay, backs himself to butt a trained fighting ram out
of time!] He can lift great weights, walk long distances, pole or paddle a boat for
many hours at a stretch, and can, and does, work more than any other Malay.
This huge mass of fleshy brown humanity is reared on a pound or two of boiled
rice, and a few shreds of fish. To see him eat is to be attacked with a lasting
loathing for food. He takes in his rice as though stoking a steamboat. The coal
shovel is his ponderous fist, and the extent to which his cheeks are capable of
stretching alone regulates the size of his mouthfuls. He is, in every way, coarser-
grained than any other Malay. He has much less self-respect; is rarely touchy
and sensitive, as are other natives of the Peninsula; and when he is brave, it is
with the courage of the blind, who know not the extent of the danger which they
are facing. An utter want of imagination goes to the making of more heroes than
it is pleasant to think about, since people who cannot picture consequences, and
forecast risks, deserve but little credit for the courage which they display, but are
unable to appreciate.
To his neighbours on the East Coast, however, all the other remarkable
characteristics of the Kĕlantan Malay are lost sight of, or rather, are completely
overshadowed, by his reputation as a thief among thieves. In vain have
successive generations of Kĕlantan râjas cut off the hands, feet, and heads of