It was a gloomy morning which succeeded the night of this catastrophe.  Though he did not doubt for a moment the ultimate suppression of the rebellion, what ruin might not be wrought in the few days or weeks which should elapse before that event!  And where, now that he had been driven from his capital, he should find a base of operations to which he might gather the scattered native forces, was the perplexing question of the hour,—­when, joyful sight, he beheld a merchant steamer sailing up the river!  He hailed her, went on board, and with a sufficient force steamed up to Sarawak.  With his appearance the last vestige of hope for the insurrection disappeared.

Meanwhile stirring events had taken place.  At first the natives were stunned.  They were roused at dead of night, to find the Chinese in possession of the town, their Rajah’s house in flames, the Rajah missing, while the rumor was that he had been killed.  For a time they wandered about listlessly, vacantly staring each other in the face, and it seemed as though they were about to submit without a struggle.  In the midst of this gloom and uncertainty, up spoke a Malay trader, whose veins, despite his peaceful occupation, were full of the old pirate blood:  “Are we going to submit to be governed by these Chinese, or are we going to be faithful to our Rajah?  I am no talker, but I will never be governed by any but him, and to-night I commence war to the knife with his enemies.”  This broke the spell.  Both Malays and Dyaks, in city and country alike, rose en masse, and after a severe fight, prolonged till the reappearance of Mr. Brooke, drove the Chinese to the forests, and pursued them with unrelenting fury.  Many of the insurgents perished by the sword.  Many more wandered about till they died of starvation.  Some threw themselves down in their tracks, expiring from fatigue and utter wretchedness.  Some hung themselves to escape their misery.  In despair and exasperation, they even turned their arms against each other.  Of the six hundred who made the original attack, sixty escaped.  Of the four thousand who composed the Chinese population, a forlorn and wearied remnant of two thousand took refuge in the Dutch part of the island.  This lamentable destruction was the result neither of the order nor the permission of the Rajah.  It was accomplished by the unreasoning fury of an outraged people.  In a few days the formidable insurrection was ended.  The places of the insurgents were filled as rapidly as they had been vacated.  Scarcely a trace was left of the ravages of the rebellion; and it accomplished nothing, save to convince all doubters that the government of the province rested, as all stable government must rest, on the good-will of the subject.

At the height of the insurrection a striking incident occurred.  While their brethren were being hurled in utter confusion across the Dutch borders, several hundred Chinese fled from those very Dutch territories and sought refuge in Sarawak.  Though harassed by care, the Rajah did not neglect their appeal, but sent trustworthy men, who piloted them safely through the incensed Dyaks, who on their part by no means appreciated the virtue of such a step, but thought rather that every man “who wore a tail” ought to be put to death, though they bowed to the better judgment of their chief.