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Updated: June 7, 2025
I had often heard it when paddling softly up one of the wild Malayan rivers. It was the death cry of a wah-wah monkey facing the cruel jaws of a crocodile. I plunged my fingers into my ears to smother the sound. I understood it all now. Baboo's pirates, the dreaded Orang Kayah's rebels, were the troop of monkeys we had heard the night before in the tambusa trees. "Baboo," I shouted, "come here!
He would lisp serenely as Aboo Din took down the rattan withe from above the door, "Baboo baniak jahat!" There was nothing distinctive in Baboo's features or form. To the casual observer he might have been any one of a half-dozen of his playmates. Like them, he went about perfectly naked, his soft, brown skin shining like polished rosewood in the fierce Malayan sun.
So in her pitiful outcasting, in all the forlorn loathsomeness of leprosy, and the shunned squalor of a cripple, she sat down at the Baboo's gate, to wait for justice till the gods should bestow it, till Siva, the Avenger, should behold her, and ask, "Who has done this?" And who shall challenge her? Who shall bid her move on?
I dropped down among the lily-pads and pitcher-plants beside him. There, sure enough, close by the catlike footmarks of the tiger, was the perfect impression of one of Baboo's bare feet. Farther on was the imprint of another, and then a third. Wonderful! The intervals between the several footmarks were far enough apart for the stride of a man! "Apa?"
There is a dark stain on one side of it that came from the hairy foot of one of Baboo's "pirates." In the Straits of Malacca Two hours' steam south from Singapore, out into the famous Straits of Malacca, or one day's steam north from the equator, stands Raffles's Lighthouse.
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