The Ûnka
By Frank Athelstane Swettenham, C.M.G.
THE other day I had to move from the house where I have
lived for the last
seven years, and in the consequent upheaval
of accumulated
rubbish—specially letters, papers, and books—I
found a note,
or, to speak accurately, two notes written on one
sheet of paper, which
brought vividly to my recollection an incident
that occurred while I was
living with one of the writers, Captain
Innes of the Corps of Royal
Engineers.
Innes and I had taken a house in Penang and had just moved
into it. The
house stood at the junction of two roads, it was
surrounded by a large but
neglected garden, and the place altogether
resembled an Eastern Castle
Rack-rent, an appearance partly due
to the fact that it had not been
occupied for some time. The
garden was a veritable jungle ; but the house
was large and roomy,
approached by a rather imposing flight of steps which
led into a
great marble-paved hall, lighted by long narrow windows, glazed
with small panes of glass. It was principally on this account that
we named our new habitation the Baronial Hall.
I remember that the stables contained but three stalls, to
accommodate
Innes’s one horse and my three ponies. I thought I
might claim two of the
stalls, but Innes’s horsekeeper, a Sinhalese,
in whom his master had more
confidence than I had, insisted that
The Yellow Book—Vol. XII. M
his
his horse was of a very superior breed, and must have one stall to
stand in
and another to sleep in, so I accepted the position and
sent two of my
ponies to live elsewhere. I cannot say that I felt
all the compassion
called for by the circumstances when, one night,
some weeks later, as I
was dressing for dinner, I heard a peculiar
noise in the direction of the
stable, and, looking out, I saw in the
bright moonlight the Sinhalese,
face-downwards, on the sand of
the open space before the stable, while my
pony, a not too good-
tempered beast at any time, was apparently eating
him and enjoying
the process.
When we had rescued the horsekeeper and sent him to the
hospital (where he
remained a considerable time, and from which
he returned happily drunk), I
pointed out to his master that, if the
wise old man understood the horse
in his care, he was less well
informed about the habits of my pony.
This incident, and the fact that Innes planted what should have
been the
lawn with guinea-grass, the favourite food of his too-
pampered charger,
are the only facts of any importance that I can
remember, till the coming
of the ûnka.
Ûnka is the Malay name for the tail-less monkey called
by
Europeans a Wah-Wah. I do not know where that name
originated,
but the creature makes a noise like the soft and plaintive
repetition of a
sound, that can be fairly put into letters thus—
Wu’, Wu’. When
several ûnka get together in the jungle, in the
early morning, they will sit in a high tree, in a circle, round one of
their number, who pipes and sings and finally screams a solo of
many
variations, through which runs the simple motif, and,
at a
certain point, the others all join in, calling in loud and rapid
tones
—WU’ WU’ WU’ WU’ Wu’ Wu’ ; the first two or three cries
delivered shrilly and slowly, the others tumbling on each others’
heels.
And then da capo, until the sun gets too hot, or
they
quarrel,
quarrel, or become too hungry or thirsty to go on ; I cannot
say for
certain, for though I have watched and listened to the
concert for a long
time, I had not patience to wait till the
end.
The ûnka is either black or fawn-coloured, he has
extraordinarily
long and strong arms and legs, a face of never-changing
sadness,
which may on occasion turn to an evil expression of vice and fury
;
but, in the main, the ûnka is a gentle and
docile creature, easily
tamed, and his only amusements seem to be, to
swing himself with
great leaps along a bar, to sing the Wu’ Wu’ song, or
to sit in
deep meditation, with his toes turned in, his head between his
knees, and both hands clasped on the nape of his neck.
I was much shocked, one day, when I saw two small ûnka
living
in a tree in front of the house of a Malay headman. There was
nothing very strange in the fact that these creatures should have
been
where they were, but, what was unusual to me, was to find
that each was
wearing a dress of cotton print, one blue and the
other pink, with their
heads appearing from the neck, their hands
from the sleeves, and their
legs—well, that was the worst of it,
they were hanging by their
feet, and I went away. As a rule,
as I have already mentioned, they hang
by their arms, but, then,
with the exception of these orphans, I had never
seen any ûnka in
print gowns. It only shows how
unwise it is to try and clothe all
nationalities in the garments of
Western civilisation.
Again, I remember an ûnka I used to know very well. He
was a dissipated creature, and lived in a box on the top of a pole.
There was a hole in a corner of the box, and into this used to
be fixed a
corked bottle of whisky and water, which gave the
ûnka a good deal of trouble to pull out, but, once
fairly in his
hands, he made short work of the extraction of the cork and
the consumption of the contents.
Then
Then he used to be told to come down, and, when be reached
the ground, he
would turn a succession of somersaults with a
grace and agility that would
have made a London street-arab
green with envy. But I confess it was the
last act of the
performance that I most enjoyed ; it was called “the
bath.”
An old kerosene tin, one side of which had been cut away, was
filled with water and the bath was placed on the ground in a
suitable
spot. As soon as it was ready, the ûnka, who had
watched the preparations with careful interest, walked slowly up to
the bath (by the way, they walk on their hind legs usually, and
drink from
their hands), and, standing at one end of the tin,
gripped the sides of
the bath, at a convenient distance, with
both hands and then slowly, very,
very slowly, went head fore-
most into the water, turning, as he did so, a
complete somersault,
his dripping woebegone face appearing gradually from
out the
water, as he arranged himself to sit comfortably, with his back
against the end of the tin and his arms hanging over the sides,
exactly as a human being might sit in a bath. The ûnka
would recline thus, for about half a minute, looking the picture
of
extreme suffering and silent protest against the unfeeling
laughter of the
spectators. Then he suddenly jumped up, and
springing with both feet on to
the edge of the tin, gave a
violent backward kick, that sent the water
streaming down the
hill and the bath rolling after it.
According to Perak tradition, the ûnka and another
species of
Simian, called siâmang, rather
blacker and more diabolical looking
than the ûnka, but otherwise not easily to be distinguished from
the
latter, lived originally in mutual enjoyment of the Perak
jungles.
Individuals of the two species quarrelled about pre-
cedence at a Court
Ball, or a State Concert, probably the latter ;
the quarrel was espoused
with great bitterness by all the ûnka and
all
all the siâmang, and, when the other denizens of the
forest were
worried beyond endurance, by the constant bickerings, murders,
and retaliations of these creatures, an edict was issued by which
all the ûnka were compelled, for all time, to live on
the right of
the Perak River and the siâmang on
the left—neither being
allowed to cross the river.
A friend of mine who lived on the right bank of the river and
wished to
test the truth of this legend, made pets of a very small
siâmang and a rather large ûnka for whom places were laid and
chairs put at every meal.
They were not confined in any way
and their manners were indifferent, for,
though they were served
with every course at each meal, they seemed to
take an impish
delight in pulling the dishes out of the hands of the
servants who
passed within their reach.
As my friend was writing one day at a large round table, on
which a number
of official letters were lying awaiting his signature,
I saw the siâmang climb, slowly and without attracting attention,
on to the table, where, for a time, he sat without stirring,
regarding my friend with earnest and sorrowful eyes. Then, by
degrees, he
gradually edged himself towards the inkstand, and,
when quite close to it,
dipped his hand into the pot and carefully
wiped his inky fingers in a
sort of monkey-signature on each of
the beautifully prepared official
despatches. When, at last, my
friend discovered what the siâmang had done, and made as though
to catch and
punish his tormentor, the small imp disappeared over
the side of the
table, making piteous little cries, and the ûnka, who
had been watching the proceedings through the window, came in
and
hurried his companion on to the roof, where they always
retired to concoct
some new outrage.
In spite of these signs of original sin, the ûnka,
concerning
which I have made these casual references, were, on the
whole,
of
of amiable dispositions. My own experience was, alas ! to be with
one of a
different type.
A Governor whose term of office was up, had arranged with a
Malay Sultan to
send him two ûnka, to take to England, but,
at
the moment of his departure, as they had not then arrived,
he asked me to
take charge of them and forward them to
London.
I consented, and, one morning a Malay appeared with a letter,
and told me
that the ûnka had been landed from the vessel in
which he had brought them from a northern State, and were at
my
disposal. I was busy, and told the messenger to take them to
the Baronial
Hall. As he was leaving, the man said I should find
that the smaller of
the two had lost his arm at the elbow, an
accident which had occurred on
the voyage, for the cages had
been placed within reach of each other, and
the larger monkey
who, as the man remarked, was rather wicked, had induced
his
small companion to shake hands with him, and then abused his
confidence by twisting his arm off at the elbow.
When I got home in the evening I found the small ûnka
looking very sick, and he died the next day ; but his murderer
was a
very fine specimen of the fawn-coloured ûnka, about
two
feet high as he sat on the ground, with an expression of counten-
ance that I did not altogether like. However, he was allowed a
certain
length of cord, and lived in the coach-house, where I
often went to see
and feed him, and he received my advances,
apparently, in good part. One
day, however, he escaped, and I
had to call in the services of two
time-expired Indian convicts to
catch him. The servants declined to have
anything to do with
him, and said he was very wicked and tried to bite
them, even
when they gave him food, so I determined to put him back in his
cage. I anticipated no difficulty, but, as he hesitated to go in,
though
though everything had been done to make his cage look attractive,
I put my
hand on his back and applied a very gentle pressure. In
an instant he
turned round and bit me badly, in return for which
I gave him a good
beating and determined I would not trouble
about him any more. I gave up
my visits to him, but, whenever
he saw me at any distance, even if it were
through the Venetians
of a window, he would turn his back on me, seize one
leg with
both hands and, looking through his legs, make horrible faces in
a
way that I thought very rude and ungrateful.
After a fortnight he got away again. I felt it was more than
likely that
the servants had connived at his escape, and I was
inclined to say with
Mr. Briggs, “Thank God, he’s gone at
last.”
I said that the Baronial Hall stood in the angle of two wide
and much
frequented roads. The front road boarded a picturesque
bay of the sea,
but, behind the house, was a large cocoanut planta-
tion, and here the
ûnka took up his quarters and lived for six
months or more. Once, when I returned to the house after a
week’s absence,
I found a crowd of half-caste boys throwing
stones at the ûnka, who sat at the top of a cocoanut-tree and
regarded them with far from friendly eyes. I sent the boys away,
but I
realised that the owner of the plantation might object to the
ûnka as he was probably doing, making free with the
fruit of this
grove.
I saw no more of my charge, and left Penang on a political
mission to
Perak, where I remained some time.
Landing, on my return, I went to the quarters of a friend who
was the head
of the Police Force, and he told me, amongst other
news, that, only an
hour before my arrival, some Eurasian boys
had brought to him the ûnka, dead, and tied on a stick, saying
that he
had attacked them, and bitten one of their number very
badly
badly in the hand, and they had been compelled in self-defence to
kill him.
Henry Plunket (the Superintendent of Police) said
that this was evidently
not the whole truth of what had occurred,
but the injured boy talked of
claiming compensation from me,
though, no doubt, the ûnka had been made the victim of a combined
attack. Bearing in
mind what I had seen myself, some months
before, I thought that was
extremely probable, and, having
inspected the body, a piteous object tied
to a long stick by the
ankles, while the arms had been pulled as far as
possible above the
head, and there fastened round the stick by the wrists,
I went
home, Plunket undertaking to get the ûnka stuffed in an attitude
of deep humility, with his
formidable teeth carefully concealed.
Early the next morning a servant told me that two Eurasians
wanted to see
me. I told him to ask them in, and a boy and a
man made their appearance.
The boy’s hand was in a sling, but
otherwise he seemed well enough.
I said, “What can I do for you ?”
The boy replied, “Your monkey has bitten me.”
I remarked, “And you have killed the monkey.”
There was a brief silence and I said, “Tell me how it hap-
pened.”
“I was going home from school,” said the boy, “walking along
the high road
in front of this house, when the monkey, who was
sitting up in a cocoanut
tree, caught sight of me and came down
and bit me.”
“What were you doing ?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“How did the monkey get into the road ?”
“He climbed through the hedge.”
“Were you the only person on the road ?”
“Oh, no ; there were many others.”
“Then
“Then why did he attack you ?”
No answer.
“Is that all you have to say about it ?”
“Yes.”
“Then I wish you good-morning.”
Here the man broke in with, “What are you going to give
the boy ?”
To which I replied, “Nothing, in the face of such a story as
that. But what
have you to do with it ?”
“I have come as the boy’s friend,” he said, “and if you don’t
pay him
compensation, he will sue you for damages.”
“He must do what he thinks best,” I said, “but I would advise
him to
prepare a more probable story than that he has just told
me. Monkeys do
not come down from the tops of cocoanut trees
to bite inoffensive little
boys who are walking on the high
road.”
Seeing there was nothing more to be got out of me my visitors
departed, and
I, forgetting the unspoken dislike of the ûnka for
myself, mourned his loss, and felt satisfied he had been done to
death by the boys of the neighbourhood.
At that time the judge of the Small Cause Court was a
magistrate who had
had a great deal of Indian experience before
coming to Penang, and, a few
days after my interview with the
boy, this official called at my office,
and said : “I want to have a
few minutes conversation with you about a
matter that concerns
you personally.”
I said, “Pray, sit down. I suppose the boy who was bitten by
the monkey has
been to you ?”
“He has,” said the magistrate, “and he wishes to summons you
for
damages.”
“He is quite at liberty to do so,” I said, “but I can’t imagine
any
any one placing any credence in the cock-and-bull story about the
monkey
coming down out of the tree, and attacking him as he
passed on the high
road.”
“Oh, but I assure you,” said the man learned in the law, “that
is not at
all an improbable story. I knew a road in the Province
so infested by
monkeys that they used to come out of the jungle
and snatch the baskets of
fruit out of the hands of people going to
market. No woman could pass
there alone, and the men used to
go in parties for mutual protection.”
“Of course, if you know that,” I said, without betraying the
thoughts that
were in me, “I have nothing more to say, but I
have heard the details of
what really occurred from an unbiassed
spectator, whom I can produce as a
witness, and the boy’s story is
very far from the truth.”
“Then what is the true account ?” said the magistrate, “for I
shall not
issue a summons without good cause shown.”
“I am told,” I said, “that this boy and another were playing
in the
cocoanut plantation, behind my house (not their plantation,
by the way,
they were trespassers), and the monkey was sitting in
a high cocoanut tree
hard by, watching the boys and thinking
about nothing at all. The boys, as
boys will, began to quarrel,
and from abuse they soon came to blows. Now,”
I said, “when
the monkey saw that he came down the tree.”
“Ah ! he came down the tree,” broke in my friend.
“Yes,” I said, “the man who saw it all says he came down the
tree, but the
boys continued to fight and took no notice of him.
Then the monkey, who
was a particularly intelligent beast and
had lived with respectable
people, felt he ought to interfere, because
he knew it was wrong of boys
to fight, and had seen them beaten
for doing it. He, poor thing, could not
speak to them, but he
walked up, waving his hands like this”—here I
suited the action
to
to the word—”as though he would say, ‘Stop ! you must not
fight any
more.'”
“What !” interrupted the magistrate, “he went like this!” as
he repeated my
action.
“Yes,” I said, “so I am told by the man who saw it all. The
monkey went
close up to them in his anxiety, and then either the
boys misunderstood
him or, what seems more likely, they were
really bad boys, and disliked
the monkey’s interference, tor one of
them, the boy who has been injured,
slapped the monkey in the
face.”
“Slapped him in the face ?”
“Yes,” I said, “so the man says who told me the story. And
then what could
you expect ? The monkey, finding his good
intentions misinterpreted and
himself made the subject of a cowardly
assault, bit his
assailant—bit him badly in the hand.”
“Ah ! he bit him in the hand?”
“Yes. And one must make some excuses for him,” I said,
“because, after all,
one ought not to expect too much from a
monkey.”
“That,” said my friend, as he got up and took his hat, “is an
entirely
different account to the one I heard, and I wish you good-
morning.”
“Of course, of course,” I said, as I shook hands with him, “I
thought you
would like to know the facts.” And, as I closed the
door and resumed my
seat, I fell a-musing on the curious ways of
the ûnka, and the advantages to be gained by a long experience of
monkeys.
For months I heard nothing more about the boy and his com-
plaint, but some
one told me that, when he went again to my
experienced friend, he had been
driven from the presence with
what is called “a flea in his ear.”
Without
Without my realising that the change meant anything to me, a
new judge of
the Small Cause Court arrived from England about
this time, and replaced
the Indian officer. The new comer, of
course, knew nothing about monkeys,
and when, just as I was
starting on another expedition to the Malay
States, I was served
with a summons claiming damages for the injury done
to Master
Fernandez by a dangerous beast described as my property, I could
only ask Innes to put the case in the hands of Counsel, and trust
to
my advocate’s skill and the harmless, even pitiful appearance of
the
stuffed ûnka, whose counterfeit presentment I suggested should
be produced
in Court, as a last resort.
My journeyings took me finally to Singapore, where I told this
veracious
story, and consulted both the Chief Justice and Attorney-
General, who
assured me that I had no legal responsibility in the
matter ; indeed, I
did not quite understand how the complainant
was going to prove that he
had been bitten by my ûnka at all, or
that I
could be said to own, or keep, a creature that for six months
had lived by
his wits, in a neighbouring plantation. However, it
is the unexpected
which happens, and I tried to bear the news
with fortitude when I received
from Innes the following letter and
its enclosure. I never quite made out
what became of the stuffed
ûnka, but I suppose he is preserved with the records
of the case in
the archives of the Penang Court.
“PENANG.
“23rd September, 18—.
“MY DEAR SWETTENHAM,
“You will gather from the enclosure that the monkey
case
has gone against us ; I’m awfully sorry, and did my best in the matter,
I assure you. The Judge counselled a compromise after hearing
Plaintiff’s case and Bond’s reply, and I thought it safest to take the
hint. Bond, as you see, handsomely declines any fee. I have thanked
him
him on your behalf for his exertions and settled the bill, the amount
whereof we can adjust with other matters. I confess I couldn’t
follow the
Judge’s train of thought, for the story didn’t seem to me to
tell well in
the witness box.
“Yours truly,
“W. INNES.”
“18th September, 18—.
“My DEAR INNES,
“As Swettenham’s case was compromised at the suggestion
of the Judge, I
don’t intend to make any charge against him for the
little I did, so all
he will have to pay will be $22.95 costs and
damages.
“Yours sincerely,
“I. S. BOND.”
There must have been something peculiarly malignant about
this ûnka ; the slightest connection with him proved fatal
to so
many people. The Sultan who gave him is dead, and the Gover-
nor who never received him ; the Chief Justice and the Attorney-
General
who took a friendly interest in him ; the magistrate who
had such an
experience of all his kind ; the Counsel who defended
him ; my friend who
supported him ; and—I had almost for-
gotten—the man who
really saw what happened to him. It is
almost like the tale of the House
that Jack built—a glorified
Eastern version.
MLA citation:
Swettenham, Frank Athelstane. “The Ûnka.” The Yellow Book, vol. 12, January 1897, pp. 191-203. Yellow Book Digital Edition, edited by Dennis Denisoff and Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2020. https://1890s.ca/YBV12_swettenham_unka/