About dusk on a February night, six hundred of them
gathered under their chiefs, armed themselves, went on board
cargo-boats, and began to float down the river towards the capital. At
midnight they attacked the Rajah's house. Its inmates were forced to
flee to the jungles. The Rajah rose from a sick-bed, ran to the banks of
the stream, dove under one of the Chinese boats, swam the river, and
took refuge with the Malays. Several of his countrymen were murdered.
His own house, filled with the priceless collections of a lifetime,
together with a costly library, was burned.
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.
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