later, a resident could boast that for three years only one person had lost his life by other than natural causes.  How would American cities appear in comparison with this poor Dyak and heathen metropolis?  Well does Rajah Brooke proudly ask, “Could such success spring from a narrow and sordid policy?” Mrs. McDougall, the missionary’s wife, says:  “We have now a beautiful church at Sarawak, and the bell calls us there to worship every morning at six, and at five every evening.  Neither is there anything in this quiet, happy place to prevent our thus living in God’s presence.”

Mrs. McDougall adds a story which shows the estimation in which the natives hold their Rajah.  “Pa Jenna paid me a visit at Sarawak.  The Rajah was then in England.  But Pa Jenna, coming into my sitting-room, immediately espied his picture hanging against the wall.  I was much struck with the expression of respect which both the face and attitude of this untutored savage assumed as he stood before the picture.  He raised his handkerchief from his head, and, saluting the picture with a bow, such as a Roman Catholic would make to his patron saint’s altar, whispered to himself, ‘Our great Rajah.’” And this man was a reclaimed pirate.

This reverential love of the natives is the one thing which does not admit of a doubt.  The proofs are constant and irresistible.  Some years since a lady with a few attendants was pushing her boat up a Bornean river, many leagues away from Sarawak, when she encountered a wild Dyak tribe on a warlike expedition.  The sight of more than a hundred half-naked savages, crowning a little knoll which jutted into the river a half-dozen rods in advance of her boat, dancing frantically like maniacs, brandishing their long knives, and yelling all the while like demons, was not cheering.  Yet at the sight of the Sarawak flag raised at the bow of the boat, every demonstration of hostility ceased.  She was overpowered by their noisy welcome, and received from them the kindest attention.  A dozen years ago, at the very time that the accusations of cruelty and wholesale slaughter of innocent people were most recklessly made, a party of Englishmen, and among them the adopted son of the Rajah, went on an exploring expedition to the extreme northeast corner of Borneo, more than six hundred miles from Sarawak.  While they were seated one evening around their fire, the whole air resounded with the cries, “Tuan Brooke!  Tuan Brooke!” and presently the natives drew near and expressed their joy at seeing a son of the great Rajah, and wondering that he who had so blessed the southern Dyaks did not extend his protection to their northern brethren.  One anecdote more.  During the Chinese insurrection, of which we shall soon speak, a Malay chief, fighting desperately against the insurgents, was mortally wounded, only lingering long enough to be assured of the Rajah’s victory, and to exclaim with his dying breath, “I would rather be in hell with the English, than in heaven with my own countrymen.”