278 By Stream and Sea. 



previously asked each other on passing Acheen Head, as to 

 whether upon those beautiful highlands, so welcome to the 

 sight after the monotony of ocean travel, the wearying war 

 of races was still going on. 



" Yes, we are fighting still," the Dutch officer said to me, 

 "and there seems no more prospect of a termination to the 

 campaign than there was three years ago." 



Gn the deck, within a few yards of the bridge upon which 

 we were standing, a Javanese lay dying ; around him were 

 other natives (soldiers and coolies), half-naked skeletons 

 shocking to behold, stretched helpless upon the planks, 

 gasping out the last few breathings that would convulse their 

 spectral frames. The more fortunate took no notice of their 

 wretched comrades, whose bodies by this time have feasted 

 the sharks swarming in the Straits. The Malay, like the 

 stoical Chinaman, is not frighted at death, for the sufficient 

 reason that he takes no notice of it. By the side of an 

 emaciated man, who actually died before I left the ship, sat 

 a woman ; . and whether wife or mere companion, it must to 

 her credit be said that, though not apparently in any mental 

 distress, she patiently tended him, putting morsels of banana 

 between his fevered lips. The ribs protruded through the 

 mahogany skin, the black eyes rolled in mortal agony, but 

 he munched on at the juicy fruit, and so munching, died. 



It was a common occurrence apparently on board that 

 ship, for it was taken by everybody as a matter of course. 

 The blue-eyed Dutch sailors, gaunt and yellow, and each — 

 for so the rules of the Dutch service in the East allow— 

 accompanied through the wars by a native female compan- 

 ion, though delighted at the prospect of rest after the 

 campaign, were but shadows of their former selves • their 

 spirit had departed, their shabby blue clothes — it were an 

 outrage to call them uniforms — hung loosely about them 



