Tjoet Ali was the great panglima of the Westkust resistance of 1925–1927 — the last flare-up of large-scale Acehnese resistance after the formal close of the Atjeh-oorlog. In 1924 there had already been noticed, in the southern settlements of the Westkust, small symptoms of the bad spirit — small outbursts of resistance in the South. In the keudé’s, men spoke cautiously of the approaching war, and at night here and there, safe in the closed houses, the holy books were read in which the war against the kaphé was set forth as a work well-pleasing to Allah. Tjoet Ali stood at the top of the list of the commanders; and there was under the Dutch officers one lafard (coward), and a few others who did not always act with sufficient care.
The captain of Ladang Rimba
There was at that time a captain, commander of the marschbivak Ladang Rimba, who had no soldier’s heart and was averse to fighting. Around the bivak he had a triple pagger laid, with a randjoe-field — something like a geconcentreerde linie, of unrighteous memory. Naturally he never marched out; this was unhealthy. To him Tjoet Ali wrote notes, summoning the captain to come out and fight a round; these letters, full of threats, repeated themselves, and the case was very shameful for the Dutch. That captain protected himself with clothing in which, on the dangerous places of his body, flat cigarette-tins were fastened, and he also had a hat of peculiar construction — a safety-hat. When Behrens — the later kolonel — got wind of how things went at the bivak Ladang Rimba, he marched out at once and dealt the enemy a stiff blow at Natja. He had the series of bamboo paggers around the bivak torn down, and the captain was sent away.
”Hò ka Kompeuni?”
In July 1926 Tjoet Ali with his men made a klewangaanval on the patrouille-Schreuder, but had no success. Since the patrol did not pursue him but marched off, Tjoet Ali gestured as a victor. He stood in the kampong, brought his hand above his eyes like one who would look out sharply, peered at the forest, and said: “Hò ka Kompeuni?” — Where has the Kompeuni gone? This was a colossal joke, and everyone enjoyed it. The whole kampong joined in: “Where is the Kompeuni?” It was something to see, and that Tjoet Ali was a great man, always full of humour. In that kampong was feasted for seven days in a row, much roast meat; everyone took part and brought a contribution for the feast. There was a very old woman — strings of grey hair blowing about a face weathered by a life of hard work on the ladang — and at her hand she led the only thing she possessed: a goat. She made a reverent sembah to Tjoet Ali and said: “Një peuneudjo oelon nibak drëneu teukoe ampon” — “This is my gift to you, great lord.” Tjoet Ali had naturally the “first nest-choice” of the young women who were brought to the bende.
The attack on Mengamat, May 1927
In May 1927 he ordered a nocturnal attack on the marschbivak Mengamat, where lieutenant Harting had the command. Tjoet Ali had chosen a “good day” — the night of Thursday on Friday — and it may be that he sent 44 men (the well-pleasing number) for the affair. At half-past three at night they broke through the pagger into the bivak; it was new moon, pitch dark, with a soft rain falling. Six or seven Atjehers got inside, but the military kept their heads cool and the alarm measures were well executed. The seven Atjehers who had got into the bivak were all killed; in the fight the Dutch had eight wounded, of whom four severe, all with klewang-wounds.
The end, 25 May 1927
At the end of May 1927 Gosenson got word that a small bende had been seen by a man gathering wood in the forest-edge, three hours’ walk from Kandang. The chabar came in at 10 o’clock at night, and that same night Gosenson marched out, to be in the terrain before the sporen should have vanished. By dawn the men were at the place where the little troop had last been seen; it had rained heavily, and Gosenson let his men swarm out repeatedly in great arcs that came together again a few hundred metres further, like the lips of a pair of pincers. At length the sharp eye of one of the spoorzoekers saw, on the sandy bank of a beekje, the already much-faded print of a human foot. Silently the signals were given. The bekas was followed, and at 12 o’clock the place was found where the bende had sat. The troop was enthusiastic; the bekas was very fresh. The next morning they went on, the nose on the spoor; it turned out that the enemy had run back on his own spoor. From a high point in the bushes a good sight was had down to the Aloeë, where two temporary hutjes stood. As the descent was made, a stone came loose and plunged noisily into the Aloeë; the man from the first hutje flew out, immediately followed by the woman. Gosenson heard him cry: “Ka bala!” — there is misfortune — and the soldiers rushed on, firing on the enemies who were seen.
It was over in a few minutes. Six corpses lay, of which two women; they were brought up out of the water onto the dry. Gosenson immediately had the impression that Tjoet Ali must be among them, also because among the dead was Imam Sabi, who still always wore the rattan basket over the hole of his wound in his back. Besides, his poesaka rentjong — a great rentjong with a peculiar handle, with which he often threatened the people in the kampongs — was known. Beside the corpses sat a chicken and a young ape; these were the mascottes of the bendehoofd and his wife.
The grave at Kandang
Gosenson decided to bury him as a respectable and courageous adversary deserves. With the remains of the body was done as the Atjeher does to the sjahid, and the maréchaussée’s themselves made the grave for Tjoet Ali with some masonry and a plate. It lies now right before the marschbivak Kandang, and if Tjoet Ali could open his eyes for a moment, hand above them as on that pleasant day after the attaque on the patrouille-Schreuder, he would see before him, as the answer to his question “Hò ka Kompeuni”, the bivak Kandang. On the stone stands the name “Tjoet Ali”, and everything was finished by the men of the brigade with the earnestness and dignity that men of arms have for each other.
The little ape was taken on by the brigade and lived long among the maréchaussée’s; after a time it could no longer bear the sight of an Atjeher. The chicken, unconcerned, sat everywhere — even when everyone stood at attention for a senior officer.
Significance
Zentgraff notes that the Atjehers who see the grave by the road near Kandang may think what they like of it, and that will not be very pleasant for the Dutch. The grave will not stop them from beginning again tomorrow; but it has at least taught that the kaphé and his maréchaussée’s know what is due to the sjahid — above all, that the Kompeuni is always present.
See Also
- Gosenson
- Behrens
- Westkust resistance (1925-1927)
- Death of Tjoet Ali (1927)
- Mengamat attack (1927)
- Seunagan
- Kandang
- Westkust
- Sjahid
- Prang sabil
- Hikajat prang
- 1925
- 1926
- 1927
- Aceh War
Source
Atjeh, door H.C. Zentgraff. Gedrukt bij Drukkerij “De Unie”, 1938, Batavia. OCR-filename: 20260709_002148_DLP-81-Atjeh_OCR.txt.