these uncleanly places, however, you pass through a district dotted with
scattered Malay habitations; and, if you turn off up the Tĕlang River, you find a
little open country, and some prosperous-looking villages.
One day in July 1893, a feast in honour of a wedding was being held in one of
these places, and the scene was a lively one. The head and skin of a buffalo, and
the pools of blood, which showed where its carcase had been dismembered, were
a prominent feature in the foreground, lying displayed in a very unappetising
manner on a little piece of open ground. In one part of the village two men were
posturing in one of the inane sword-dances which are so dear to all Malays, each
performance being a subject of keen criticism or hearty admiration to the
spectators. The drums and gongs meanwhile beat a rhythmical time, which
makes the heaviest heels long to move more quickly, and the onlookers whooped
and yelled again and again in shrill far-sounding chorus. The shout is the same
as that which is raised by Malays when in battle; and, partly from its tone, and
partly from association, one never hears it without a thrill, and some sympathetic
excitement. It has a similar effect upon the Malays, who love to raise a sôrak,—
as these choric shouts are termed,—and the enthusiasm which it arouses is felt to
be infectious, and speedily becomes maddening and intense.
All the men present were dressed in many-coloured silks and tartans, and were
armed with daggers as befits warriors, but, if you had an eye for such things, you
would have noticed that all the garments and weapons were worn in a manner
which would have excited the ridicule of a down-country Malay. It is not in
Europe only, that the country cousin furnishes food for laughter to his relatives
in the towns.
In a Bâlai, specially erected for the purposes of the feast, a number of priests,
and pilgrims, and lĕbai,—that class of fictitious religious mendicants, whose
members are usually some of the richest men in the villages they inhabit,—were
seated gravely intoning the Kurân, but stopping to chew betel-nut, and to gossip
scandalously, at frequent intervals. The wag, too, was present among them, for
he is an inevitable feature in all Malay gatherings, and he is generally one of the
local holy men. 'It ain't precisely what 'e says, it's the funny way 'e says it;'—for,
like the professionally comic man all the world over, these individuals are
popularly supposed to be invariably amusing, and a loud guffaw goes up
whenever they open their mouths, no matter what the words that issue from
them. Most of his hearers had heard his threadbare old jokes any time these
twenty years, but the ready laughter greeted each of them in turn, as though they
were newly born into the world. A Malay does not understand that a joke may