One cannot walk three hundred yards from this station, for there are no
tracks. We are beyond the little territory of Malacca, but this bit of
land was ceded to England after the "Malay disturbances" in 1875, and
on it has been placed the Sempang police station, a four-roomed
shelter, roofed with attap, a thatch made of the fronds of the nipah
palm, supported on high posts--an idea perhaps borrowed from the
mangrove--and reached by a ladder. In this four Malay policemen and a
corporal have dwelt for three years to keep down piracy. "Piracy," by
which these rivers were said to be infested, is a very ugly word,
suggestive of ugly deeds, bloody attacks, black flags, and no quarter;
but here it meant, in our use of the word at least, a particular mode
of raising revenue, and no boat could go up or down the Linggi without
paying black-mail to one or more river rajahs.

Our wretched little launch, moored to a cocoa-palm, flies a blue
ensign, and the Malay policemen wear an imperial crown upon their caps,
both representing somewhat touchingly in this equatorial jungle the
might of the small island lying far off amidst the fogs of the northern
seas, and in this instance at least not her might only, but the
security and justice of her rule.

Two or three canoes hollowed out of tree trunks have gone up and down
the river since we landed, each of the inward bound being paddled by
four men, who ply their paddles facing forward, which always has an
aboriginal look, those going down being propelled by single, square
sails made of very coarse matting. It is very hot and silent. The only
sounds are the rustle of the palm fronds and the sharp din of the
cicada, abruptly ceasing at intervals. In this primitive police station
the notices are in both Tamil and Arabic, but the reports are written
in Arabic only. Soon after we sat down to drink fresh cocoa-nut milk,