history of the other, embraces all that
is tragical or romantic in Malayan story.

THE KRIS

And how the Malays use it

In an old dog-eared copy of Monteith's Geography, I remember a
picture of a half-dozen pirate prahus attacking a merchantman off a
jungle-bordered shore. A blazing sun hung high in the heavens above the
fated ship, and, to my youthful imagination, seemed to beat down on the
tropical scene with a fierce, remorseless intensity. The wedge-shaped
tops of some palm-thatched and palm-shaded huts could just be seen,
set well back from the shore.

I used to think that if I were a boy on that ship, I would slip quietly
overboard, swim ashore, and while the pirates were busy fighting,
I would set fire to their homes and so deliver the ship from their
clutches. Little did I know then of the acres of bewildering mangrove
swamps filled with the treacherous crocodiles that lie between the
low-water line and the firm ground of the coast.

But always the most striking thing in the little woodcut to me were
the curious, snake-like knives that the naked natives held in their
hands. I had never seen anything like them before. I went to the
encyclopaedia and found that the name of the knife was spelled kris
and pronounced creese.

The day-dreams which seemed impossible in the days of Monteith's
Geography have since been realized. I am living, perhaps, within
sight of the very place where the scene of the picture was laid;
for it was supposed to be illustrative of the Malay Peninsula;
and, as I write, one of those snake-like krises lies on the table
before me. It is a handsomer kris than those used by the actors in
that much-studied picture of my youth. The sheath and handle are of
solid gold--a rich yellow gold, mined at the foot of Mount Ophir,
the very same mountain so famous in Bible history, from which King
Solomon brought "gold, peacocks' feathers, and monkeys." The wavy,
flame-like blade is veined with gold, and its dull silvery surface is
damascened with as much care as was ever taken with the old swords
of Damascus. It is only an inch in width and a foot in length and
does not look half as dangerous as a Turkish cimeter; yet it has a
history that would put that of the tomahawk or the scalping-knife
to shame. Many a fat Chinaman, trading between the Java islands and
Amoy, has felt its keen edge at his throat and seen his rich cargo
of spices and bird's-nests rifled, his beloved Joss thrown overbo