his guests and witness the
crowning of his son.

We started in quaint little box-like carriages, called gharries, long
before the fierce Malayan sun had risen above the palms, accomplishing
the fourteen miles across the beautiful island in little over an hour.

The diminutive Deli ponies, not larger than Newfoundland dogs,
broke into a run the moment we closed the lattice doors, and it was
all their half-naked drivers could do to keep their perches on the
swaying shafts.

When we arrived at the little half-Malay, half-Chinese village of
Kranji, on the shores of the famous old Straits of Malacca, our
ponies were panting with heat, and the sun beat down on our white
cork helmets with a quivering, naked intensity.

Close up to the shore we found a long, keel boat manned by a dozen
Malays in canary-colored suits. An aide-de-camp in a gorgeous uniform
of gold and blue came forward and touched his forehead with the back
of his brown palm and said in good English:--

"His Highness awaits your excellencies."

We stepped into the boat. The men lightly dipped their spear-shaped
paddles in the tepid water, the rattan oarlocks squeaked shrilly,
and the light prow shot out into the strait. We could see the istana,
or palace, close down to the opposite shore, with the royal standard
of white, with black star and crescent in centre, floating above it.

For a moment I felt as though I had invaded some dreamland of my
childhood.

As our boat drew up to the iron pier that extended from the broad
palace steps out into the straits, the guns from the little fort on the
hill above the town boomed out a welcome and the flags of our several
countries were run to the tops of the poles. A squad of native soldiers
presented arms, and we were conducted up the stone steps, to the cool,
dim corridors of the reception or waiting room. Malays in red fezzes
and silken sarongs that hung about their legs like skirts conducted us
along a marble hall to our rooms in a wing of the palace. Crowds were
already gathering outside on the palace grounds, and we could look down
from our windows and watch them as we bathed, dressed, and drank tea.

The Chinese in their holiday pantaloons and shirts of pink, lavender,
and blue silk: outnumbered all the other races; for, strange as it
may seem, this Malay Sultan numbers among his 250,000 or 300,000
subjects 175,000 Chinamen. They are as loyal and a great deal more
industrious than the Malays, and many of t