There Memadam, a Lanun from Tungku, pulled alongside in a trading prahu, and saying he wished to barter some things he had, came on board with a party of nine men apparently unarmed, and brought camphor and other articles for sale. Whilst they were bargaining on deck, a man named Ibrahim handed a folded mat to Mr. Burns, who put out his hands to receive it; the man then suddenly drew a naked kris that had been hidden in the mat, and with one blow cut Mr. Burns’s head off; Memadam struck at the captain, but hit his jaw only; the Englishman made a rush below, or, as others declare, out on the bowsprit, but was stabbed through the back with a spear. The pirates then killed the woman and three sailors, whom they came across, the rest who fled up the rigging they spared on condition of their navigating the ship. The pirates then set sail for the east coast, and arriving at Labuk Bay, the vessel was seized by Sherif Yasin, who, as Tuanku Hasan asserts, killed two of the pirates. The chief, Memadam, retired to the woods with two of the captain’s sailors. The reason they gave for killing the woman was that her presence on board caused disputes; one man seized her by the left arm, and declared she was his property, as he had seen her first; another denied his claim, and already they had drawn their swords on each other, when Memadam came up behind, and stabbed her through the back, saying she should belong to neither.
The Tuanku complained bitterly of the cutting up of the trade of the coast by the pirates; as many as fifty of their boats were cruising off the bay during the last season; they came from the Binadan islands, near Tawee Tawee. The boats from Tungku also occasionally infest this place, and many manned by the Sulus of Padang have been cruising here lately. Sherif Hasan, the son, as I have observed, of Sherif Usman, appeared deeply annoyed at the state of affairs at Maludu. He said that although the government rightfully belonged to him, yet datu Badrudin was continually intriguing, and he had left the town unable to withstand his machinations. The Dusuns, or rather the Ida’an, were very dilatory in paying the rightful tribute, being interfered with by the datu.
It appeared true that this datu was a very bad man to hold the government, as he was shutting up the productions of all these districts, hoping to monopolize them himself, wishing to trade directly with Java or Singapore on a large scale, or to induce European vessels to visit the Bay. He deceived the ships that came to him, and no cargoes were obtained, so that he clogged commerce, and made little profit himself. The trade of this coast would be great if unfettered, and Maludu Bay is certainly as productive as any district.
Sherif Hasan stated that he has heard of two English ships besides the Dolphin being captured by the pirates of Tungku, but those instances were several years ago; the Europeans were murdered, the rest kept for slaves. The Tungku pirates generally plunder more to the eastward and southward, and make great havoc among the Bugis boats. Started at daylight in the armed cutter for the town of Maludu. The head of the bay for nearly four miles from the shore shallows from about two fathoms to scarcely sufficient to float a boat.
After three hours’ pull we arrived, poling our way up the narrow creek to the houses. The country is flat, but at the back the mountains soon rise: there are a few cocoa-nut and other fruit trees scattered about. We stopped at Tuanku Musahor’s house, as datu Badrudin’s was some distance up the river. We climbed the steps to a shabby passage, leading into the main room, where an enormous Malay bed, some twenty feet square, as usual filled up a large portion of the space, on which mats were spread, and having shaken hands with the assembled company, our conversation commenced; there were present Sherifs Musahor, Abdullah, Jenalabudin, a Tringganu man, who backed Usman in his defence of his forts, and Sherif Husin, a brother of Sherif Moksain’s, of Sarawak.
Our conversation turned naturally on Mr. Burns, as I had come to make inquiries. Sherif Husin was present during the massacre, he had come on board whilst Mr. Burns was talking to the Lanuns and Sulus. By his invitation he stept aft, and while he was looking over the stern, and speaking to some men in his boat, he heard a noise, and turning, saw Mr. Burns fall before the kris of a Sulu, and the Lanun cutting at the English captain. He did not see whether or not any of the sailors were killed, but saved by his sacred character, the Lanuns did not meddle with him, and he hurried away into his boat, and the schooner was taken eastward. Sherif Musahor added, that he had received a letter about fourteen days before from Sherif Yasin, stating the men had brought the schooner to Benggaya, in Labuk Bay, and that he immediately seized it, after killing two of the pirates.
I heard, however, from Sherif Hasan that Yasin had divided the cargo among the Sulu rajahs of the river of Labuk and himself; and that at the latest dates Yasin had not destroyed the vessel, but had taken it up to the town, or rather village, of Benggaya. We talked a good deal over the affair, but nothing new came out of it, except that Musahor said he sent a message to Yasin to preserve the ship and cargo until news arrived from Labuan.
Steaming along the coast amid the shoals somewhat delayed our passage; but arriving off Benggaya we tried to find the river; in this we failed, but the following morning two canoes pulled off from shore, and on reaching us proved to contain some of the crew of the Dolphin, and a messenger from Sherif Yasin. The men said the vessel was safe up the river, and that the cargo was on board, and at the village and untouched, and that they themselves had been fed and well treated by the chief of Benggaya. Starting again, we found the entrance very shallow; but as the tide rose we entered and pulled up the stream. It might easily be passed, as the branch to the right appeared the broader of the two. To reach the houses it is necessary to keep the left-hand branches for about ten miles from the sea, and then the first to the right, and you arrive at the village after about twenty miles’ more pull.
The flood tide moved us lazily along by banks of the everlasting mangrove and nipa, occasionally diversified by a little high land with heavy jungle trees. As we advanced, we met a boat with Sherif Idrus, Yasin’s father-in-law, coming to meet us. I told him we would ascend to the village, and he preceded us. About sunset we reached the schooner, anchored in a narrow part of the river; a dozen of the Tuanku’s men were on guard, and we found the hatches nailed down, and the door of the cabin secured, to prevent the goods being meddled with; blood was sprinkled on the white paint in the cabin, and still darkly defaced the deck.
After a short conversation, I found that although the schooner was anchored above fifteen miles from the river’s mouth, the village was at least that distance farther off. To save a day, therefore, I determined to go up to the town myself that night in the Tuanku’s boat, and a friend accompanying me, we started. Before we stopped, I had reason to congratulate myself on my determination. Had we tried to ascend next day in the ship’s boats, we should scarcely have arrived by sunset, but a strong crew in a light canoe, pulling hard, enabled us to reach Benggaya village about half-past nine. The moon shone brightly through the trees, casting a clear light over a scene sufficiently curious. The narrow river was spanned by a light, rough wooden bridge, a shade better than a Dayak one. A few houses well lighted were on the opposite bank to the large dwelling of the chief. Sherif Idrus took us by the hand and led us up to Sherif Yasin, who begged us to be seated. It was the first time since a memorable occasion that he had seen an European. The room was very large, being, in fact, the principal portion of the house; there was a raised sleeping place on one side, and before us was the chief’s bed, where his women were hidden by a curtain that fell round it. The Sherif sat on the end, and we opposite, on boards covered with white cloth.