Rajahs are sitting, each with his forlorn-looking train of followers,
and in front of the police station a number of forlorn-looking Malays
are sitting motionless hour after hour. The Chinese have a row of shops
above the river bank, and even on this deadly-looking shore they
display some purpose and energy. Mrs. Daly and I are sitting in Mr.
Hawley's side veranda with the bubbling swamp below us. She reads a
dull novel, I watch the dead life, pen in hand, and think how I can
convey any impression of it to you. The Resident has gone snipe-
shooting to replenish our larder. A boat now and then crosses from the
Perak side, a sauntering Malay occasionally joins the squatting group,
a fishing hawk now and then swoops down upon a fish, a policeman
occasionally rouses up the wretch in the cage, and so the torrid hours
pass.

I take this up again as the dew falls, and the sea takes on the
coloring of a dying dolphin. The Resident returned with a good bag of
snipe, and with Rajah Odoot, a gentle, timid-looking man, and another
Rajah with an uncomfortable, puzzled face, took his place at a table, a
policeman with a brace of loaded revolvers standing behind him.
Policemen filed in; one or two cases were tried and dismissed, the
Malay witnesses trembling from head to foot, and then the wretch from
the cage was brought in looking hardly human, as, from under his
shaggy, unshaven hair and unplaited pigtail which hung over his chest,
he cast furtive, frightened glances at the array before him. He was
charged with being a waif. A Malay had picked him up at sea in a boat,
of which he could give no account, neither of himself. So he is
supposed to have been implicated in the murder of Mr. Lloyd, and we are
bringing him, heavily ironed, and his boat up to Pinang. I wonder how
many of the feelings which we call human exist in the lowest order of
Orientals! It is certain that many of them only regard kindness as a