In the spring of 1892 I was privileged, by the kindness of a friend and the courtesy of Dr. Luys, to visit the Hospital de la Charité in Paris, where I witnessed some very remarkable and interesting experiments in suggestion. There were patients undergoing successful treatment for nervous disorders where the disease was in process of gradual relief by passing from the afflicted person to a medium without injury to the latter; there was the strange power of hypnotising, influencing and awakening certain sujets whose nervous organisations seem to be specially susceptible, and there was the astonishing influence of the magnet over these same sujets when already hypnotised. There is something more than usually uncanny in the sight of a person filled with an inexplicable and unnatural delight in the contemplation of the positive end of a magnet, and when the negative end is suddenly turned towards him, to see him instantly fall down unconscious as though struck by lightning.
The sujets (there were two of them, a man and a woman) described the appearance of the positive end of the magnet as producing a beautiful blue flame about a foot high, so exquisite in colour and beauty that it transported them with delight. As to the negative end, they reluctantly explained, in hesitating words and with every appearance of dread, that there also was a flame, but a red one of fearful and sinister import.
I was deeply interested in these “manifestations,” both for their own strangeness and because I had in the Malay Peninsula seen equally extraordinary proceedings of a somewhat similar kind.
Amongst Malays there is a well-known disease (I use the word for want of a better) called lâtah; it is far more common at certain places than at others, and amongst certain divisions of the great Malay family. Thus while there is generally one or more ôrang lâtah to be found in every kampong in Krian, where the Malays are mostly from Kĕdah, in other parts of Perak it is rare to ever meet a lâtah person. Again, speaking generally, the disease seems to be more common amongst the people of Amboina, in Netherlands India, than those of Java, Sumatra or the Malay Peninsula. In both cases heredity is probably accountable for the result, whatever may have been the original cause to produce the affliction in certain places more than in others. I can only speak of my own experience and what I have personally seen, for no English authority appears to have studied the matter or attempted to either observe lâtah people, diagnose the disease (if it is one), search for its cause or attempt to cure it. I can vouch for facts but nothing more.
In 1874 I was sent in H.M.S. Hart to reside with the Sultan of Selangor. Though His Highness’s personal record was one of which he might be proud, for he was said to have killed ninety-nine men (sa’ râtus kûrang sâtu) with his own hand, his State was not altogether a happy one, for it had been the fighting-ground of several ambitious young Rajas for some years. An unusually hideous piracy, personally conducted by one of the Sultan’s own sons, and committed on a Malacca trading vessel, had necessitated a visit from the China fleet, and when the perpetrators, or those who after due inquiry appeared to be the perpetrators, had been executed (the Sultan lending his own kris for the ceremony), I was sent to see that these “boyish amusements,” as His Highness called them, were not repeated. The place where the Sultan then lived was hardly a desirable residence, even from a Malay point of view, and it has for years now been almost deserted. Bandar Tĕrmâsa, as it was grandiloquently styled, was a collection of huts on a mud flat enclosed between the Langat and Jugra rivers. It was only seven miles from the sea, and at high tide most of the place was under water.
With me there went twenty-five Malay police from Malacca, and we lived all together in an old stockade on the bank of the Langat river. Whether it was the mosquitoes, which for numbers and venom could not be matched, or whether it was the evil reputation of the place for deeds of violence is needless to inquire, but the police were seized with panic and had to be replaced by another batch from Singapore, selected not so much on account of their virtues as their so-called vices. The exchange was satisfactory, for whatever sins they committed they showed no signs of panic.
Later on I was encouraged by the statement that Bandar Tĕrmâsa, for all its unpromising appearance, was a place for men, where those who had a difference settled it promptly with the kris, and cowards who came there either found their courage or departed. A story that amused the gossips was that, as a badly wounded man was carried from the duelling field past the palisade which enclosed the Sultan’s house, His Highness had asked, through the bars, what was the matter, and, being told, had laconically remarked, “If he is wounded, doctor him; if he is dead, bury him.”
During my residence in the place a lady, for jealousy, stabbed a man of considerable note thirteen times with his own dagger, and sent the next morning to know whether I would like to purchase it, as she did not much fancy the weapon. The man was not killed, and made no complaint. Another lady, for a similar reason, visited our stockade one night, pushed the sentry on one side, and, finding the man she wanted, attempted to stab him with a long kris she had brought for that purpose.
That was then the state of society in Bandar Tĕrmâsa.
I have said we lived all together in a stockade. It was a very rude structure with log walls about six feet thick and eight feet high, a mud floor, a thatch roof, and no doors. Outside it was a high watch-tower of the same materials, but the ladder to it had fallen down. Of roads there were none, but a mud path ran through the stockade from river bank to village, distant some 300 yards. My own accommodation was a cot borrowed from the Hart and slung between two posts, while the men slept on the walls of the stockade.
The place had drawbacks other than mosquitoes, for the public path ran through it, the tide at high water completely covered the floor, and the log walls were full of snakes. The state of the surroundings will best be understood when I say that during the many months I lived there I did not wear boots outside the stockade, because there was nothing to walk upon but deep mud, and that the only water fit to use was contained in a well or pond a quarter of a mile off, to which I walked every day to bathe.
With the second batch of police had come an European inspector, and he and I were the only white men in the country.
Amongst the twenty-five police were two men of the name of Kâsim; they were both natives of Amboina, but very different in disposition, and they were known among their comrades as Kâsim Bĕsar and Kâsim Kĕchil—that is Kâsim Major and Kâsim Minor.
Kâsim Major was a quiet, reserved, silent man of about twenty-five, and I afterwards realised that he had a somewhat violent temper when roused. Kâsim Minor, on the contrary, was a smiling, talkative, happy, and pleasant-looking young fellow of about twenty. They were not related to each other in any way.
I used often to be away on the coast and up river, and on my return from one of these expeditions I noticed the men teasing Kâsim Minor, and saw at once that he was lâtah. I questioned the inspector, and he told me that during my absence he had one day been away on duty for some hours, and when he returned, about 4 P.M., he saw Kâsim Minor up a coco-nut tree just outside the stockade. On asking him what he was doing there, he replied he could not come down because there was a snake at the bottom of the tree. In reality there was a bit of rattan tied round the tree, and, this being removed, Kâsim came down.
Now, it is no easy matter to climb a coco-nut tree; it requires a special training to do it at all, and Kâsim did not possess it. But the inspector ascertained that the other police had found out by accident that their comrade was lâtah, that they had ordered him to climb the tree, which he had at once done, and that then, out of sheer devilry, some one had taken a bit of rattan, said, “Do you see this snake? I will tie it round the tree, and then you can’t come down,” and so left him from 10 A.M. till the afternoon, when the inspector returned and released him.
The time of Kâsim’s penance was probably greatly exaggerated, but that is how the story was told to me, and of all that follows I was an eye-witness.
I made Kâsim Minor my orderly, and as he was constantly with me I had better opportunities of studying his peculiarities. About this time also I learnt that Kâsim Major was also lâtah.
Speaking generally, it was only necessary for any one to attract the attention of either of these men by the simplest means, holding up a finger, calling them by name in a rather pointed way, touching them or even, when close by, to look them hard in the face, and instantly they appeared to lose all control of themselves and would do, not only whatever they were told to do, but whatever was suggested by a sign.
I have seen many lâtah people, male and female, but never any quite like these two, none so susceptible to outside influence, so ready to blindly obey a word or a sign.
The kindly disposition of Kâsim Minor made him quite harmless, but the other Kâsim was rather a dangerous subject to play tricks with, as I will presently explain.
The lâtah man or woman usually met with, if suddenly startled, by a touch, a noise, or the sight of something unexpected, will not only show all the signs of a very nervous person but almost invariably will fire off a volley of expressions more or less obscene, having no reference at all to the circumstance which has suddenly aroused attention. As a rule it is necessary to startle these people before they will say or do anything to show that they are differently constituted to their neighbours, and when they have betrayed themselves either by word or deed their instinct is to get away as quickly as possible. Children and even grown-up people cannot always resist the pleasure of “bating” a lâtah person; for one reason because it is so exceedingly easy, for another because they are inclined on the spur of the moment to do ludicrous things or say something they would under ordinary circumstances be ashamed of. Almost invariably lâtah people of this class (and it is by far the most common one) are very good humoured and never seem to think of resenting the liberty taken with their infirmity. If by word or deed they commit themselves (and that is not uncommon) they either run away, or appear to be unconscious of having said or done anything unusual (this however is rare), or they simply say, “I am lâtah,” as a full explanation and excuse.
If any one present accidentally drops something on the floor, if a lizard falls from the roof on to or near a lâtah person, if the wind blows the shutter of a window to with a bang, a lâtah person of the class I speak of will probably find it necessary to at least say something not usually heard in polite society. Of this class by far the majority are women.
I have never seen a lâtah boy or girl, but I know they are to be found, though the disease certainly becomes more evident as the subject grows older.
It must be understood that except when under influence, when actually showing the evidences of this strange peculiarity, lâtah people are undistinguishable from others. It is sufficient proof of this that amongst my twenty-five police there should have been two men more completely lâtah than any I have seen before or since.
I took occasion to carefully observe the two Kâsims. It was impossible to always prevent their companions teasing them, especially in a place where there was absolutely no form of amusement and all the conditions of life were as unpleasant as they well could be, but no harm was ever done, and I am satisfied that while influence was in any way exercised over the lâtah man he was not conscious of his own actions, and directly it was removed he became his reasoning other self, and the utmost that remained on his mind, or came to him with the recovery of his own will, was that he might have done something foolish.
If the attention of either of these men was arrested, as I have said by word, sign, or a meaning glance, from that moment until the influence was removed, the lâtah man would do whatever he was told or signed to do without hesitation, whether the act signified were difficult, dangerous, or painful. When once under this influence any one present could give the order and the lâtah man would immediately obey it; not only that, but even at some distance (as in the coco-nut tree incident), he appeared to be equally subject to the will imposed on his actions.
A curious thing about both these men was that, having attracted the attention of either, if you said, “Kâsim, go and hit that man,” he would invariably repeat what was said, word for word, including his own name, while he carried out the order. When the person hit turned on him, Kâsim would say, “It was not I who hit you, but that man who ordered me.”
I have seen Kâsim the younger, when the man influencing him put his own finger in his mouth and pretended to bite it, imitate the action but really bite his finger and bite it hard. Similarly I have seen him, in imitation and without a word being said, take a lighted brand from the fire, and he would have put it in his mouth if the experiment had been carried so far. Some one told him one day to jump into the river, and he did not get out again till he had swum nearly two hundred yards, for the stream was both broad and deep, with a terrible current, and infested by crocodiles. If at any moment you called out “Tôlong Kâsim” (“help! Kâsim”), the instant he heard it he would jump up and crying “Tôlong Kâsim,” dash straight to you over all obstacles. If then you had put a weapon in his hand and told him to slay any one within reach I have not the slightest doubt he would have done it without hesitation.
I have said there was a ladderless watch-tower outside the stockade. The police wanted firewood, they were not allowed to burn the logs forming our walls, but at the top of the watch-tower there were also log walls that they were told they could burn. They were lazy, however, and did not see how they were going to get up, so they ordered Kâsim the younger to climb up, which he did as he had climbed the coco-nut tree, and, when once there, they told him to throw down logs until they thought they had enough. I watched that operation, and the feverish haste with which the man swarmed up one of the supports, gained the platform of the tower, and threw down huge logs as though his life depended on it, was rather remarkable. I gave orders that the man’s infirmity was not to be used for this purpose again, but in my absence I know that when more firewood was wanted Kâsim went up to the watch-tower for it until that supply was exhausted.
The path from the stockade to the village was in sight of the stockade throughout its length, and one day I noticed Kâsim Minor, as he walked leisurely down this mud embankment, stop every now and then and behave in a peculiar fashion as though he were having conversation with the frogs, snakes and other denizens of the ditches that bordered the path. When he had gone half way he stopped and peeped up into the branches of a small tree on the road side, then he seemed to be striking blows at an invisible enemy, ran to the ditch and began throwing lump after lump of hard mud into the tree. I had not seen this phase of his peculiarities before and could not make it out, but suddenly his arms went about his head like the sails of a windmill, and I realised that his enemies were bees or hornets, and that he was getting a good deal the worst of an unequal fight. I sent some of the men to fetch him back and found he had been rather badly stung, and when I asked him why he attacked the nest he said his attention was caught by things flying out of the tree and he was impelled to throw at them.
I understood that the hornets flying out of the nest appeared to be thrown at him, and he could not help imitating what he saw in the best way he could, and so he took what was nearest his hand and sent it flying back.
Kâsim the elder was quite as susceptible as his namesake, but his comrades were a little shy of provoking him as they soon realised that his temper made the amusement dangerous. One day they must have been teasing him, and, when he was allowed to recover his own will, I suppose their laughter made it evident to him that he had made himself ridiculous, for he suddenly ran to the arm-rack, and seizing a sword bayonet made for his tormentors with such evident intention to use it that they precipitately fled, and in a few seconds were making very good time across the swamp with Kâsim and the drawn sword far too close to be pleasant. I had some difficulty in persuading him to abandon his purpose, but after that and a lecture his comrades did not greatly bother him.
I remember, however, that on another occasion we had secured and erected a long thin spar to serve as a flagstaff, but the halyard jammed and it seemed necessary to lower the spar when some one called out to Kâsim the elder to climb up it. Before I could interfere, he had gone up two-thirds of the height, and he only came down reluctantly. Had he gone a few feet higher the pole would inevitably have snapped and he would have had a severe fall.
About this time a friend came and shared my loneliness for a fortnight. He had had experience of lâtah people before, but the two Kâsims were rather a revelation, and he was perhaps inclined to doubt what I told him they could be made to do. One morning we were bathing as usual at the pond, and Kâsim the younger was in attendance carrying the towels, &c.
The bath was over, and we were all three standing on the bank, when my friend said to Kâsim:
“Mâri, kîta tĕrjun” (come, let us jump in), at the same time feigning to jump. Kâsim instantly jumped into the pond, disappeared, came up spluttering, and having scrambled out, said: “Itu tîdak baik, Tûan” (that is not good of you, sir).
My friend said, “Why, I did nothing, I only said let us jump in and went like this,” repeating his previous action, when Kâsim immediately repeated his plunge, and we dragged him from the water looking like a retriever.
When I was first ordered to Selangor, I thought it possible that some sort of furniture might be useful, and I took up a few chairs and other things, including a large roll of what is known as Calcutta matting. The things were useless in a place where the mud floor was often under water twice during twenty-four hours, and they lay piled in a corner of the stockade, and whenever a Malay of distinction came to see me for whom it was necessary to find a chair, it was advisable to see that the seat was not already occupied by a snake. The roll of matting, about four feet high and two-and-a-half feet in diameter naturally remained unopened.
Every night, owing to the myriads of mosquitoes, a large bonfire was lit in the middle of the stockade, for only in the smoke of that fire was it possible to eat one’s dinner. One night some Malays from the village had come in, and the police were trying to amuse them and forget their own miseries by dancing and singing round the fire. Under such circumstances Malays have a happy knack of making the best of things, they laugh easily and often, and as I have said elsewhere, they have a strong sense of humour if not always of a very refined description. Some one had introduced one of the Kâsims, in his character of an ôrang lâtah, for the benefit of the strangers, and one of the men was inspired to fetch the roll of matting, and solemnly presenting it to Kâsim the younger, said, “Kâsim, here is your wife.”
Even now I do not forget the smile of beatitude and satisfaction with which Kâsim Minor regarded that undesirable and figureless bundle. Breathing the words in a low voice, almost sighing to himself, “Kâsim, here is your wife,” he embraced the matting with great fervour, constantly repeating “My wife! my wife!” Some one said, “Kiss her!” and he kissed her—repeatedly kissed her. Then by another inspiration (I do not say from whence), some one brought up the other Kâsim, and introducing him to the other side of the roll of matting, said, also very quietly, “Kâsim, this is your wife!” and Kâsim the elder accepted the providential appearance of his greatly-desired spouse, and embraced her with not less fervour than his namesake and rival.
It was evident that neither intended to give up the lady to the other, and as each tried to monopolise her charms a struggle began between them to obtain complete possession, during which the audience, almost frantic with delight, urged the actors in this drama to manifest their affection to the lady of their choice. In the midst of this clamour the Kâsims and their joint spouse fell down, and as they nearly rolled into the fire and seemed disinclined even then to abandon the lady, she was taken away and put back in her corner with the chairs and snakes.
It is a detail, which I only add because some readers hunger for detail, that neither of the Kâsims possessed a wife.
I do not pretend to offer any explanation of the cause of this state of mind which Malays call lâtah. I imagine it is a nervous disease affecting the brain but not the body.
I have never met a medical man who has interested himself in the matter, and I cannot say whether the disease, if it be one, is curable or not—I should doubt it.
I have somewhere read that individuals similarly affected are found amongst the Canadian lumber-men.