LIFE IN THE FORESTS

                                  OF

                             THE FAR EAST.

  [Illustration:

    F. Jones, lith.            Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65 Cornhill, London.

  KINA BALU FROM THE LOWER TAMPASUK.]




                          LIFE IN THE FORESTS

                                  OF

                             THE FAR EAST.


                                  BY

                  SPENSER ST. JOHN, F.R.G.S., F.E.S.,

     FORMERLY H.M.’S CONSUL-GENERAL IN THE GREAT ISLAND OF BORNEO,
                                AND NOW
          H.M.’S CHARGÉ D’AFFAIRES TO THE REPUBLIC OF HAYTI.


                    _WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS._


                            IN TWO VOLUMES.

                                VOL. I.


                                LONDON:
                  SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

                             M.DCCC.LXII.

               [_The right of Translation is reserved._]




                               PREFACE.


I have explained in a short introduction the object and plan of the
present volumes, and have little more to say, beyond a reference to the
assistance I have received, and the plates and maps which accompany
and illustrate them. In order to prevent mistakes, and correct my own
impressions, I submitted a series of questions to four gentlemen who
were intimately acquainted with the Dayak tribes, and they gave me
most useful information in reply. To Mr. Charles Johnson and the Rev.
William Chalmers I am indebted for very copious and valuable notes on
the Sea and Land Dayaks; and to the Rev. Walter Chambers and the Rev.
William Gomez for more concise, yet still interesting accounts of the
tribes with whom they live.

To Mr. Hugh Low, the Colonial Treasurer of Labuan, I am under special
obligations, as he freely placed at my disposal the journals he had
kept during our joint expeditions, as well as those relating to some
districts which I have not visited. It is to be regretted that he
has not himself prepared a work on the North-West Coast, as no man
possesses more varied experience or a more intimate knowledge of the
people.

With regard to the plates contained in this work, I am indebted to the
courtesy of George Bentham, Esq., the President of the Linnean Society,
for permission to engrave the figures of the Nepenthes from the
admirable ones published in Vol. XXII. of that Society’s Transactions,
and which being of the size of life are the more valuable.

I have inserted, with Dr. Hooker’s permission, his description of the
Bornean Nepenthes; and it will always be a subject of regret that
the British Government did not carry out their original intention of
sending this able botanist to investigate the Flora of Borneo, which is
perhaps as extraordinary as any in the world.

I have also to thank the Rev. Charles Johnson, of White Lackington,
and Charles Benyon, Esq., for the photographs which they placed at my
disposal, and which have enabled me to insert, among other plates, the
most life-like pictures of the Land and Sea Dayaks I have ever seen. To
the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel I am also indebted for
their generous offer to place all their drawings at my disposal.

I must likewise draw attention to the exquisite manner in which
the plates of the Nepenthes are coloured, and to the beauty of the
engravings in general. They are admirably illustrative of the country,
and do very great credit to the lithographers, Messrs. Day and Son,
and to their excellent draughtsmen. I ought also to mention that the
Nepenthes are drawn less than half the natural size, as it was found
impracticable to introduce the full size without many folds, which
would have speedily destroyed the beauty of the plates.

I will add a few words respecting the maps. The one of the districts
around Kina Balu was constructed from the observations made during
our two expeditions to that mountain. The map of the Limbang and
Baram rivers is the result of many observations, and with regard to
the position of the main mountains, I think substantially correct, as
they were fixed with the aid of the best instruments. The third map
is inserted in order to give a general idea of the North-West Coast,
though the run of the rivers is often laid down by conjecture.




                               CONTENTS.


                                                                PAGE

    INTRODUCTION                                                   1


                              CHAPTER I.

                            THE SEA DAYAKS.

    Habitat of the Sea Dayaks--Start for the Lundu--Inland
    Passages--Fat Venison--The Lundu--Long Village House--Chinese
    Gardens--Picturesque Waterfall--The Lundu
    Dayaks--Their Village--Gradual Extinction of the Tribe--A
    Squall--Childbirth--Girl Bitten by a Snake--Mr.
    Gomez--His Tact--A Boa Seizes my Dog--Stories of Boa
    Constrictors--One Caught in a Cage--Invasion of a
    Dining-room--Capture of a large Boa--Boa and Wild Boar--Native
    Accounts--Madman and Snake--Boas used as Rat
    Catchers--Floating Islands--A Man found on one--Their
    Origin--The Batang Lupar--The Lingga--Alligators
    Dangerous--Method of Catching them--Their Size--Hair
    Balls--Death of an Acquaintance--The Balau Lads--The
    Orang-Utan--A large one killed--Banks of the River--The
    Fort at Sakarang--The late Mr. Brereton--Sakarang
    Head-hunting--Dayak Stratagem--Peace Ceremonies--Sacred
    Jars--Farmhouse--Love of Imitation--_Illustrated
    London News_--Women--Men--Poisoning--Workers in
    Gold and Brass--Anecdote--Rambi Fruit--Pigs Swimming--The
    Bore--Hunting Dogs--Wild Boar--Respect for
    Domestic Pig--Two Kinds of Deer--Snaring--Land and
    Sea Breezes--The Rejang--Lofty Millanau House--Human
    Sacrifices--Swings--Innumerable Mayflies--Kanowit
    Village--Kayan Mode of Attack--Kanowit Dayaks--Men
    with Tails--Extraordinary Effect of Bathing in the
    Nile--Treachery--Bier--Customs on the Death of a
    Relative--Curious Dance--Ceremonies on solemnizing
    Peace--Wild Tribes--Deadly Effect of the Upas                  5


                         CHAPTER II.

                    SOCIAL LIFE OF THE SEA DAYAKS.

    Ceremonies at the Birth of a Child--Infanticide--Desire for
    Children--A Talkative and Sociable People--Great Concord
    in Families--Method of Settling Disputes--Marriage
    Ceremonies--Pride of Birth--Chastity--Punishment of
    Indiscreet Lovers--Bundling and Company-keeping--Love
    Anecdotes--Separations--Division of Household
    Duties--Flirting--Divorce--Burials--Religion--Belief in a
    Supreme Being--Good and Evil Spirits--The
    Small-pox--Priests--Some dress as
    Women--Mourning--Sacrifices--Human Sacrifices--Unlucky
    Omens--Reconciliation--Belief in a Future State--The other
    World--Dayaks Litigious--Head-feast--Head-hunting--Its
    Origin--Horrible Revenge--Small Inland Expeditions--Cat-like
    Warfare--Atrocious Case--Large Inland
    Expeditions--War-boats--Edible Clay--Necessity for a
    Head--Dayaks very Intelligent--Slaves--Objections to Eating
    certain Animals, or Killing others--Change of Names--Degrees
    of Affinity within which Marriages may take
    place--Sickness--Cholera--Manufactures--Agriculture--Method
    of taking Bees’ Nests--Lying
    Heaps--Passports--Ordeals--Language                           47


                             CHAPTER III.

                         THE KAYANS OF BARAM.

    Unaccountable Panic--Man Overboard--Fishing--Coast
    Scenery--Baram Point--Floating Drift--Pretty Coast to
    Labuan--Thunder and Lightning Bay--Bar of the Brunei--River
    Scenery--The Capital--Little Children in Canoes--Floating
    Market--Kayan Attack--The Present Sultan’s
    Story--Fire-arms--Devastation of the Interior--Customs
    of the Kayans--Upas Tree--View of the Capital--The
    Fountains--The Baram--Kayan Stratagem--Wild Cattle--Banks
    of the River--Gading Hill--Ivory--Elephants on
    North-east Coast--Hunting--Startling Appearance--Town
    of Langusin--Salutes--First Interview--Graves--Wandering
    Kanowits--Appearance of the Kayans--Visit
    Singauding--Religion--Houses--Huge Slabs--Skulls--Women
    tattooed--Mats--Visit the Chiefs--Drinking Chorus--Extempore
    Song--Head-hunting--Effect of Spirits--Sacrifice--Ceremony
    of Brotherhood--Effect of Newly-cleared
    Jungle--War Dance--Firewood--Customs--Origin of
    Baram Kayans--Vocabularies--Trade--Birds’ Nests--Destruction
    of Wealth--Manners and Customs--Iron--Visit
    Edible Birds’ Nest Caves--The Caves--Narrow
    Escape--Two Kinds of Swallows--Neat House--Visit of
    Singauding--Visit to Si Obong--Her Dress--Hip-lace--Her
    Employments--Farewell Visit--Fireworks--Smelting
    Iron--Accident--Departure--Kayans Cannibals--Anecdotes--Former
    Method of Trading--Unwelcome Visitors                         79


                              CHAPTER IV.

                           THE LAND DAYAKS.

    Visit to the Left-hand Branch of the Sarawak River--Attack
    of Peguans--Sarawak River--Capture of English Ship--The
    Durian Fruit--Iron-wood Posts--Rapids--Rapid of
    the Corpse--Mountains--Village of San Pro--Lovely
    Scenery--Head-house--Cave--Upper Cave--Unfortunate
    Boast--Pushing up the Rapids--Story of the Datu
    Tamanggong--Invulnerable Men--How to become one--Grung
    Landing-place--Sibungoh Dayaks--Dayak Canoes--Lovely
    Scenery--Uses of the Bambu--Fish--Sharks in the Upper
    Waters--Repartee--Pigs Swimming--Farmhouses in
    Trees--Floods--Suspension Bridges--Chinese Traders--Dress of
    Land Dayaks--System of Forced Trade--Interesting Tribe--Story of
    the Murder of Pa Mua--The Trial--Painful Scene--Delightful
    Bathing--Passing the Rapids--Walk to Grung--Dayak
    Paths--Village of Grung--Warm Reception--Ceremonies--Lingua
    Franca--Peculiar Medicine--Prayer--Sacred Dance--Sprinkling
    Blood--Effect of former System of Government--Language       125


                              CHAPTER V.

             LAND DAYAKS OF SIRAMBAU.--THEIR SOCIAL LIFE.

    Madame Pfeiffer--Chinese Village--Chinese
    Maidens--Sirambau--Ascent of the Mountain--Difficult
    Climbing--Forests of Fruit Trees--Scenery--Sirambau
    Village--Houses--The “Look-out”--Scenery--Head-houses--Orang
    Kaya Mita--His modest Request--Sir James Brooke’s
    Cottage--Natural Bath-house--Chinese Gold Workings--Tapang
    Trees--Social Life of the Land Dayaks--Ceremonies at
    a Birth--Courtship--Betrothment--Marriage--Burial--Graves--The
    Sexton--Funeral Feast--Children--Female
    Chastity--Divorces--Cause of Separations--Anecdote           152


                              CHAPTER VI.

             SOCIAL LIFE OF THE LAND DAYAKS--_Continued_.

    Religion--Belief in Supreme Being--Traces of
    Hinduism--Sacrifices--Pamali or Interdict--Mr. Chalmers’s
    Account of the Dayak Religion--A Future State--Spirits by
    Nature--Ghosts of Departed Men--Transformations--Catching
    the Soul--Conversion of the Priest to Christianity--Story--Other
    Ghosts--Custom of Pamali, or Taboo--Sacrifices--Things
    and Actions Interdicted--Not to Eat Horned Animals--Reasons for
    not Eating Venison--Of Snakes--The Living Principle--Causes of
    Sickness--Spirits Blinding the Eyes of Men--Incantations to
    Propitiate or Foil the Spirits of Evil--Catching the Soul--Feasts
    and Incantations connected with Farming Operations--The
    Blessing of the Seed--The Feast of First Fruits--Securing
    the Soul of the Rice--Exciting Night Scene--The Harvest
    Home--Singular Ceremony--Head Feasts--Offering the Drinking
    Cup--Minor Ceremonies--Images--Dreams--Love--Journeys
    of the Soul--Warnings in Sleep--Magic
    Stones--Anecdote--Ordeals--Omens--Birds of Omen--Method
    of Consulting them--Beneficial Effects of the Head
    Feasts--Languages of the Land Dayaks--Deer--The
    Sibuyaus free from Prejudice--Story of the Cobra de
    Capella--Names--Change of Name--Prohibited Degrees of
    Affinity--Heights--Medical Knowledge--Priests and
    Priestesses--Origin of the latter--Their
    Practices--Manufactures--Agriculture--Story of the Origin
    of Rice--The Pleiades                                        168


                             CHAPTER VII.

              THE SAMARAHAN RIVER AND THE CAVES OF SIRIH.

    A Storm--The Musquito Passage--The Samarahan--Rich
    Soil--The Malays--The Dayaks--The Malay Chief--The
    Sibuyau Village--A Pretty Girl--Dragons’ Heads--Climbing
    Pole--Drinking--“The Sibuyaus get no Headaches”--Force
    repelled by Force--Gardens--Left-hand Branch--Difficult
    Path--Hill of Munggu Babi--Former Insecurity--The
    Village--Welcome--Deer Plentiful--Walk to
    the Sirih Caves--A Skeleton--Illustrative Story--Method
    of Governing--Torches--Enter the Recesses of the Cave--Small
    Chambers--Unpleasant Walking--Confined Passage--The
    Birds’ Nests’ Chamber--Method of Gathering them--Curious
    Scene--The Cloudy Cave--Wine of the Tampui
    Fruit--Blandishments--Drinking--Dancing--Bukars
    Hairy--Scenery--Walk--“The Sibuyaus do get
    Headaches”--Lanchang--Rival Chiefs--Ancient Disputes--Deer
    Shooting--Wanton Destruction of Fruit Trees--Choice
    of an Orang Kaya--Return to Boat--The Right-hand
    Branch--The San Poks--Hot Spring--Tradition--Hindu
    Relics--The Female Principle--The Stone
    Bull--Superstition--Story                                    205


                             CHAPTER VIII.

                      THE MOUNTAIN OF KINA BALU.

                           FIRST EXPEDITION.

    First Ascent by Mr. Low--Want of Shoes--Set Sail for the
    Tampasuk--Beautiful Scenery--The Abai--Manufacture
    of Nipa Salt--Uses of the Nipa Palm--A Lanun Chief--Baju
    Saddle--Baju a Non-walker--Our ride to the Tampasuk--Gigantic
    Mango Trees--The Datu’s House--Its Arrangements--The Datu and
    his People--Piratical Expedition--A Bride put up to
    Auction--The Bajus--Mixed Breeds--Quarrels with the
    Lanuns--Effect of Stealing Ida’an Children--Fable of the Horse
    and his Rider--Amount of Fighting Men--Freedom of the
    Women--Killing the Fatted Calf--Beautiful Prospect--A new
    Gardinia--Pony Travelling--Difficulty of procuring Useful
    Men--Start--An Extensive Prospect--Cocoa-nuts and
    their Milk--A View of Kina Balu--Granite Débris--Our
    Guides--Natives Ploughing--Our Hut--Division of
    Land--Ginambur--Neatest Village-house in the Country--Its
    Inhabitants--Tatooing--Curiosity--Blistered Feet--Batong--Granite
    Boulders--Fording--Fish-traps--Tambatuan--Robbing
    a Hive--Search for the Youth-restoring
    Tree--Our Motives--Appearance of the Summit of Kina
    Balu--A long Story--Swimming the River--Koung--Palms
    not plentiful--Lanun Cloth--Cotton--Nominal Wars--The
    Kiladi--Attempt to Levy Black-mail at the Village
    of Labang Labang--Resistance--Reasons for demanding
    it--Bamboo flat-roofed Huts--Ingenious Contrivance--Kiau--Dirty
    Tribe--Recognition of Voice--A Quarrel--Breaking the
    Barometer--Opposition to the Ascent of Kina Balu--Harmless
    Demonstration--Thieves--Mr. Low unable to Walk--Continue the
    Expedition alone--Cascade--Prayers to the Spirit of the
    Mountain--Flowers and Plants--Beautiful
    Rhododendrons--Cave--Unskilful Use of the Blow-pipe--Cold--Ascent
    to the Summit--Granite Face--Low’s Gully--Noble Terrace--Southern
    Peak--Effect of the Air--The Craggy Summit--Distant
    Mountain--Dangerous Slopes--Ghostly
    Inhabitants--Mist--Superstitions--Collecting
    Plants--Descent--Noble Landscape--Difficult
    Path--Exhaustion--Mr. Low not Recovered--Disagreeable
    Villagers--Recovering the Brass
    Wire--Clothing--Distrust--A lively Scene--Our Men
    behave well--Return on Rafts to the Datu’s House             230


                              CHAPTER IX.

                      SECOND ASCENT OF KINA BALU.

    Cholera in Brunei--Start from Labuan--Coal Seams--View
    of Tanjong Kubong--Method of working the Coal--Red
    Land--Method of cultivating Pepper--Wild Cattle--The
    Pinnace--Kimanis Bay--Inland Passage--Kimanis River--Cassia--Trade
    in it stopped--Smooth River--My first
    View of Kina Balu--Story of the Death of Pangeran
    Usup--Anchor--Papar--A Squall--Reach Gaya Bay--Noble
    Harbour--Pangeran Madoud--My first Visits to him--Method of making
    Salt--Village of Menggatal--Ida’an--His Fear of them--Roman
    Catholic Mission--Cholera--Mengkabong--Manilla
    Captives--The Salt-water Lake--Head-quarters of the Bajus--Their
    Enterprise--Find Stranded Vessels--Tripod Masts--Balignini
    Pirates--Their Haunts--Spanish Attack--Great
    Slaughter--Savage-looking Men--Great Tree--Unreasoning
    Retaliation--Energy of M. Cuarteron--Lawlessness of the
    Bajus--Pangeran Duroup, the Governor--Anecdote of a drifting
    Canoe--Inhospitable Custom--Origin of the Bajus--Welcome
    by Pangeran Sirail--Love of Whiskey overcomes
    Prejudice--Night Weeping--A Market--The Datu of
    Tamparuli--The Pangeran’s Enthusiasm--Path to the
    Tawaran--Fine Scene--Fruit Groves--Neat Gardens--The
    Tawaran--Sacred Jars--The Talking Jar--Attempted
    Explanation--Efficacy of the Water--Carletti’s Account--Fabulous
    Value--The Loveliest Girl in Borneo--No Rice--Advance to
    Bawang--Our Guides--Steep Hill--Extensive View--Si
    Nilau--Unceremonious Entry into a House--The Nilau
    Tribe--Kalawat Village--Tiring Walk--Desertion of a
    Negro--Numerous Villages--Bungol Village Large--Deceived by the
    Guide--Fatiguing Walk--Koung
    Village--Black Mail--Explanation--Friendly Relations
    established--Labang Labang Village--Change of
    Treatment--Kiau Village--Warm Reception--Houses--No
    Rice--Confidence                                             280


                              CHAPTER X.

               SECOND ASCENT OF KINA BALU--_Continued_.

    Return of the Men for Rice--Readiness to assist us--New
    Kinds of Pitcher Plants--The Valley of Pinokok--Beautiful
    Nepenthes--Kina Taki--Description of the _Nepenthes
    Rajah_--Rocks Coated with Iron--Steep Strata--The
    Magnolia--Magnificent Sunset Scene--Fine Soil--Talk
    about the Lake--Change of Fashions--Effect of Example--Rapid
    Tailoring--Language the same among Ida’an,
    Dusun, and Bisaya--Reports--Start for Marei Parei--The
    Fop Kamá--Prepare Night Lodgings--Fragrant Bed--Stunted
    Vegetation--Appearance of Precipices--Dr.
    Hooker--Botanical Descriptions--_Nepenthes Rajah_--Manner
    of Growing--Great Size--Used as a Bucket--
    Drowned Rat--_Nepenthes Edwardsiana_--An Account of
    it--Beautiful Plants--Botanical Description of _Nepenthes
    Edwardsiana_--Extensive Prospects--Peaked Hill of Saduk
    Saduk--Noble Buttress--Situation for Barracks--Nourishing
    Food--Deep Valleys--Familiar Intercourse with the
    Villagers--Turning the Laugh--Dirty Faces--Looking-glasses--Their
    Effect--Return of our Followers--Start for
    the Mountain--Rough Cultivation--The Mountain Rat used
    as Food--Our Old Guides--Difficult Walking--Scarlet
    Rhododendron--Encamp--Double Sunset--_Nepenthes
    Lowii_--Botanical Description--_Nepenthes Villosa_--Botanical
    Description--Extensive View of the Interior of
    Borneo--The Lake--The Cave--Ascend to the Summit--Its
    Extent and Peculiarities--Distant Views--North-western
    Peak--Severe Storm--Injured Barometer--Useless
    Thermometers--Dangerous Descent--Accidents--Quartz
    in Crevices--Clean and Pleasant Girls--Friendly
    Parting--Ida’an Sacrifices--Return by Koung--Kalawat
    and Nilu--Death of Sahat--A Thief--Cholera--Incantations
    and Method of Treatment--Arrival at Gantisan--Fine
    Wharf--The Pangeran--Bad Weather--Heavy Squall--Little
    Rice to be had--Sail--Anchor at Gaya Island--Curious
    Stones--Fish--Description of a magnificent Kind--Poisonous
    Fins--Set Sail--Awkward Position--Water-spout--Admiralty
    Charts--Names require Correcting--Serious
    Mistake--Among the Shoals--Fearful Squall--Falling
    Stars and Brilliant Meteor--Arrival at Labuan        314


                              CHAPTER XI.

    THE PHYSICAL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE DISTRICTS LYING
      BETWEEN GAYA BAY AND THE TAMPASUK RIVER; WITH A GEOGRAPHICAL
      SKETCH OF MALUDU BAY AND THE NORTH-EAST COAST OF BORNEO.

    The Coast Line--The Rivers--The Bays--Gaya Bay--Abai--Character
    of Interior Country--Plains--Hills--Kina Balu--First Ascent by
    Mr. Low--Description of Summit--The Peaks--The Northern
    Ranges--Steep Granite Slopes--The Spurs--The Main Spur--Interior
    Country--Distant Mountains--Plain--Villages--The Lake--Vegetation
    on Kina Balu--The Rivers--The Ananam--The Kabatuan--The
    Mengkabong--The Tawaran--The Abai--The Tampasuk--Its
    Interior--Political Geography--Inhabitants--The
    Lanuns--The Bajus--Mahomedans--Appearance--Their
    Women--Their Houses--Love of Cockfighting--Fine Breed of
    Fowls--Other Inhabitants--The Ida’an--Their Houses--Their
    Women--Tattooing--Comfortable House--Method of Government--No
    Wars--Aborigines
    Honest--Exceptions--Agriculture--Ploughing--Remnant of Chinese
    Civilization--Tobacco--Cotton--Good Soil--Amount of
    Population--Numerous and Extensive
    Villages--The Tampasuk--The Tawaran--Mengkabong--Other
    Districts--Enumeration--Manufactures--Lanun
    Cloths--Trade--Difficult
    Travelling--Languages--Geology--Sandstone--Greenstone--Climate
    of Kina Balu temperate--Map--Addition--Maludu Bay--Western
    Point--Western Shore--Mountains--Head of Bay--Population--Accounts
    compared--Bengkoka--Minerals--Eastern
    Point--Banguey--Difficult Navigation--Small
    Rivers and Bays--Paitan--Sugut--Low Coast--Labuk
    Bay--High Land--Benggaya--Labuk--Sandakan--Story
    of the Atas Man--Kina Batangan--Cape
    Unsang--Tungku--Population--The Ida’an--The Mahomedans       356




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


       I. Kina Balu from the Lower Tampasuk           _Frontispiece_

      II. The Sea Dayaks                       _To face page_      5

     III. City of Brunei. Sunset                      „           89

      IV. The Land Dayaks                             „          125

       V. View from near the Rajah’s Cottage          „          156

       VI. Nepenthes Rajah                            „          317

      VII. Kina Balu from the Pinokok Valley          „          318

     VIII. Nepenthes Edwardsiana                      „          327

       IX. Nepenthes Lowii                            „          336

        X. Nepenthes Villosa                          „          337


                                 MAPS.

     I. Map of North-West Coast of Borneo      _To face page_      1

    II. Map of Districts near Kina Balu               „          230




                                ERRATA.


    Page 317, line 9, _for_ “four,” _read_ “fourteen.”
      „        „  17, _for_ “was,” _read_ “that of the others is.”

  [Illustration:

    _London.  Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen_]




                              LIFE IN THE

                       FORESTS OF THE FAR EAST.




                             INTRODUCTION.


The wild tribes of BORNEO, and the not less wild interior of
the country, are scarcely known to European readers, as no one who has
travelled in the Island during the last fourteen years has given his
impressions to the public.

My official position afforded me many facilities for gratifying my
fondness for exploring new countries, and traversing more of the north
of Borneo than any previous traveller, besides enabling me to gain more
intimate and varied experience of the inhabitants.

In the following pages I have treated of the tribes in groups, and have
endeavoured to give an individual interest to each; while, to preserve
the freshness of my first impressions, I have copied my journal written
at the time, only correcting such errors as are inseparable from
first observations, and comparing them with the result of subsequent
experience.

Preserving the natural order of travel, I commence with an account of
my expeditions among the tribes living in the neighbourhood of Sarawak;
then follow narratives of two ascents of the great mountain of Kina
Balu, the loftiest mountain of insular Asia, of which I have given a
full account, as it is a part of Borneo but little known, and rendered
still more curious by the traces we find of former Chinese intercourse
with this part of the island; my personal narrative being concluded by
the journal of a distant expedition I made to explore the interior of
the country lying to the south and south-east of Brunei, the capital of
Borneo Proper.

The starting-point of the first journeys was Kuching, the capital of
Sarawak, where I was stationed in the acting appointment of H. M.’s
Commissioner in Borneo. I lived so many years among the Dayaks, that
the information I give of their mode of life may be relied on; and I
have received so much assistance from others better acquainted with
individual tribes, that I can place before the public, with great
confidence in the correctness of detail, the chapters on the Manners
and Customs of these people. I persuade myself that the more the
natives of Borneo are studied, the more lively will be the interest
felt in them. The energy displayed by the Sea Dayaks, gives much hope
of their advancement in civilization at a future time; and a few years
of quiet and steady government would produce a great change in their
condition. The Land Dayaks scarcely display the same aptitude for
improvement, but patience may do much with them also; their modes of
thought, their customs, and the traces of Hinduism in their religion,
render them a very singular and interesting people.

Of the Kayans we know less; and I have only been able to give an
account of one journey I made among them, very slightly corrected
by subsequent experience. They are a strange, warlike race, who are
destined greatly to influence the surrounding tribes. They have already
penetrated to within thirty miles of Brunei, the capital, spreading
desolation in their path.

For ten years, every time I had entered the bay near the Brunei river,
I had speculated on what kind of country and people lay beyond the
distant ranges of mountains that, on a clear day, appeared to extend,
one behind the other, as far as the eye could reach. I constantly made
inquiries, but never could find even a Malay who had gone more than
a few days’ journey up the Limbang, the largest river which falls
into the bay. In 1856, I took up my permanent residence in Brunei as
Consul-General, and, after many minor attempts, I was at last enabled
to organize an expedition to penetrate into the interior, and, hoping
it might prove interesting, every evening, with but two exceptions,
I wrote in my journal an account of the day’s proceedings. I have
printed it, as far as possible, in the same words in which it was
originally composed. As this country was never before visited by Malay
or European, I hope there will be found in my narrative some fresh and
interesting matter.

The Malays being a people about whom much has been written, I have
refrained from dwelling on their characteristics.

I conclude with a sketch of the present condition of Brunei and
Sarawak, of the Chinese settlers, and of the two missions which have
been sent to Borneo, one Roman Catholic, the other Protestant.

It was with much regret that I gave up the idea of penetrating to the
opposite side of Borneo, starting from the capital, and crossing the
island to Kotei or Baluñg-an, on the eastern coast; but the expense
would have been too great: otherwise, with my previous experience of
Borneo travelling, I should have had no hesitation in attempting the
expedition.

Having thus briefly indicated the plan of the work, I will commence
with an account of my journeys among the Sea Dayaks.

  [Illustration:

    G. M^c Culloch, Lith.            Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65 Cornhill, London.

  THE SEA DAYAKS.]




                              CHAPTER I.

                            THE SEA DAYAKS.

   Habitat of the Sea Dayaks--Start for the Lundu--Inland
   Passages--Fat Venison--The Lundu--Long Village
   House--Chinese Gardens--Picturesque Waterfall--The Lundu
   Dayaks--Their Village--Gradual Extinction of the Tribe--A
   Squall--Childbirth--Girl Bitten by a Snake--Mr. Gomez--His
   Tact--A Boa Seizes my Dog--Stories of Boa Constrictors--One
   Caught in a Cage--Invasion of a Dining-room--Capture of
   a large Boa--Boa and Wild Boar--Native Accounts--Madman
   and Snake--Boas used as Rat Catchers--Floating Islands--A
   Man Found on one--Their Origin--The Batang Lupar--The
   Lingga--Alligators Dangerous--Method of Catching them--Their
   Size--Hair Balls--Death of an Acquaintance--The Balau
   Lads--The Orang-Utan--A large one killed--Banks of the
   River--The Fort at Sakarang--The late Mr. Brereton--Sakarang
   Head-hunting--Dayak Stratagem--Peace Ceremonies--Sacred
   Jars--Farmhouse--Love of Imitation--_Illustrated London
   News_--Women--Men--Poisoning--Workers in Gold and
   Brass--Anecdote--Rambi Fruit--Pigs Swimming--The Bore--Hunting
   Dogs--Wild Boar--Respect for Domestic Pig--Two kinds of
   Deer--Snaring--Land and Sea Breezes--The Rejang--Lofty
   Millanau House--Human Sacrifices--Swings--Innumerable
   Mayflies--Kanowit Village--Kayan Mode of Attack--Kanowit
   Dayaks--Men with Tails--Extraordinary Effect of Bathing
   in the Nile--Treachery--Bier--Customs on the Death of a
   Relative--Curious Dance--Ceremonies on Solemnizing Peace--Wild
   Tribes--Deadly Effect of the Upas.


The Sea Dayaks are so called from their familiarity with the sea,
though many live as far inland as any of the other aborigines. They
inhabit the districts lying to the eastward of Sadong, and extend
along the coast to the great river of Rejang. They are the most
numerous and warlike of the Dayaks; and the most powerful of their
sections formerly indulged in the exciting pastime of piracy and
head-hunting. The next river to the east of Sadong is the Sibuyau,
whose inhabitants were scattered and had fled to the districts around
Sarawak.

The first village of these Sibuyaus, to whom we paid a long visit,
was situated on the Lundu, the most westerly river in the Sarawak
territories.

We started in March; and the north-east monsoon still blowing
occasionally, made it necessary to watch our time for venturing to sea,
as the waves would soon have swamped our long native prahu.

From the Santubong entrance of the Sarawak River to the Lundu, there
are passages which run behind the jungle that skirts the sea-shore,
enabling canoes to hold communication between those places thirty miles
apart without venturing to sea; but our boat being fifty feet long was
unable to pass at one place, so during a lull in the weather we pushed
out, calling at the little island of Sampadien, where Mr. Crookshank
was preparing the ground for a cocoa-nut plantation. He brought us down
a fine haunch of venison, covered with a layer of fat, a very rare
thing in Borneo, where the deer generally are destitute of that sign of
good condition. He had employed himself the first few days in clearing
the island of game, and his dogs had on the previous evening been
fortunate enough to bring this fine animal to bay, when he speared it
with his own hands.

Pushing off quickly, as the sea breeze was blowing in strongly, we
sailed and pulled away for the river of Sampadien, and after a narrow
escape from not hitting the right channel, found ourselves clear of the
breakers and safe in still water. An inland passage then took us to the
Lundu.

The banks of this river are very flat and the plains extend for a
considerable distance, but the scene is redeemed from tameness by the
mountains of Gading and Poè. There is a flourishing appearance about
the place; all were engaged in some occupation. We were received by
Kalong, the Orang Kaya’s eldest son, the chief himself being absent
collecting the fruit of the mangkawan, from which a good vegetable oil
is extracted: the natives use it for candles and for cookery, but it is
also exported in quantities to Europe.

The landing-place is very picturesque, being overshadowed by a grove
of magnificent palms, under which were drawn up the war-boats of the
tribe. A passage raised on posts three feet above the ground, led to
the great village-house, which extended far on either side, and was
then hidden among the fruit-trees. It was the longest I had seen,
measuring 534 feet, and contained nearly five hundred people. There are
various lesser houses about of Malays and Dayaks, forming a population
of about a thousand. The Orang Kaya lived in the largest house, which
was certainly a remarkably fine one: the broad verandah, or common
room, stretched uninterruptedly the whole length, and afforded ample
space for the occupations of the tribe. The divisions appropriated to
each family were comparatively large, and all had an air of comfort;
while in front of the house were bamboo platforms, on which the rice
is dried and beaten out.

No village in Sarawak is blessed with greater prosperity than this. The
old Orang Kaya, being of a most determined character, has reversed the
usual order of things; and the Malays, instead of being the governors,
are the governed. Having for years been little exposed to exactions,
they are flourishing and exhibit an air of great contentment.

They made us comfortable in the long public room, and placed benches
around a table for our accommodation. I confess to prefer the clean
matted floor. After the first burst of curiosity was over, the people
went on with their usual avocations, and did not make themselves
uncomfortable about us.

We walked in the evening among the Chinese gardens extending over
about a hundred acres of ground, and neatly planted with various kinds
of vegetables, among which beans and sweet potatoes appeared most
numerous. There were here about two hundred Chinese, most of them
but lately arrived, so that the cultivated ground was continually
increasing. A large market was found for their sweet potatoes among the
sago growers and workers of the rivers to the north.

Next day we started for a waterfall, which we were told was to be found
on the sides of the Gading mountain, a few miles below the village.
After leaving our boat, the path lay through a jungle of fruit-trees;
but as we ascended the spur of the mountain these ceased. In about
an hour we came to a very deep ravine, where the thundering noise of
falling water gave notice of the presence of a cataract. This is by
far the finest I have yet seen: the stream, tumbling down the sides
of the mountain, forms a succession of noble falls: the first we saw
dashed in broken masses over the rocks above, and then descended like
a huge pillar of foam into a deep, gloomy basin, while on either side
of it rose smooth rocks, crowned with lofty trees, and dense underwood,
that threw their dark shadows into the pool.

A slight detour brought us to a spot above the cascade, and then we
could perceive that it was but the first of a succession. One view,
where six hundred feet of fall was at once visible, is extremely fine:
the water now gliding over the smoothest granite rock, then broken
into foam by numerous obstructions, then tumbling in masses into
deep basins,--the deafening roar, the noble trees rising amid the
surrounding crags, the deep verdure, the brightness of the tropical
sun, reflected from burning polished surfaces, then deep shade and
cooling air. This varied scene was indeed worth a visit. We ascended to
the top of the mountain, though warned of the danger we incurred from a
ferocious dragon which guarded the summit.

The Sibuyaus are only interlopers in the Lundu, as there is a tribe,
the original inhabitants of the country, who still live here. One day
we visited them.

After pulling a few miles up the river we reached a landing place,
where the chief of the true Lundus was waiting to guide us to his
village. For six or seven miles our path lay through the jungle over
undulating ground, and we found the houses situated at the commencement
of a great valley lying between the mountains of Poè and Gading. The
soil is here excellent, but now little of it is tilled, though there
are thousands of acres around that might support an immense population.
Most of it, however, had, in former times, been cleared, as we saw but
very little old forest.

The Lundu houses, on the top of a low hill, are but few in number, neat
and new. The tribe, however, has fallen; they fear there is a curse
on them. A thousand families, they say, once cultivated this valley,
but now they are reduced to ten, not by the ravages of war, but by
diseases sent by the spirits. They complain bitterly that they have
no families, that their women are not fertile; indeed, there were but
three or four children in the whole place. The men were fine-looking,
and the women well favoured and healthy--remarkably clean and free from
disease. We could only account for their decreasing numbers by their
constant intermarriages: we advised them to seek husbands and wives
among the neighbouring tribes, but this is difficult. Their village is
a well-drained, airy spot.

On our return, one of those sudden squalls came on that are so frequent
in Borneo: we were among the decayed trees that still stood on the site
of an old farm. As a heavier gust swept from the hills, the half-rotten
timber tottered and fell with a crash around us, rendering our walk
extremely dangerous. I was not sorry, therefore, to find myself in
the boat on the broad river. The banks are tolerably well cleared
by Chinese, Malays, Millanaus, and Dayaks. A few months after this,
a sudden squall struck the British brig “Amelia,” and capsized her:
ninety-three went down with her, but twenty escaped in the jolly-boat.

In the evening Kalong’s wife was taken in the pains of childbirth. The
Rev. F. Dougall, now Bishop of Labuan, offered his medical assistance,
as it was evident the case was a serious one, but they preferred
following their own customs. The child died, and we left the mother
very ill.

A young girl, bitten by a snake, was brought in; the wound was rubbed
with a piece of deer’s horn, she became drowsy and slept for several
hours, but in the morning she was about her usual occupations.

A year after this visit, the Rev. W. Gomez was established there, to
endeavour to convert the Sibuyau Dayaks. At first, he did not press
religious instruction upon them, but opened a school. I mention this
circumstance on account of the very remarkable tact he must have
exercised to induce the children to attend as they did. His system of
punishment was admirable, but difficult to be followed with English
boys. He merely refused to hear the offending child’s lesson, and told
him to go home. A friend, who often watched the progress of the school,
has told me that instead of going home the little fellows would sob
and cry and remain in a quiet part of the school till they thought Mr.
Gomez had relented. They would rarely return to their parents, if it
could be avoided, before their lessons were said.

On our journey along the coast, while walking at the edge of the
jungle, a favourite dog of mine was seized by a boa-constrictor,
perhaps twelve feet in length. Fortunately, Captain Brooke was near,
and sent a charge of shot into the reptile, which then let go its hold
and made off. The dog had a wound on the side of his neck.

The natives tell many stories of these monstrous snakes; but rejecting
the testimony of those who say they have seen them so large as to
mistake them for trees, I will mention three cases where the animals
were measured. A boa one night got into a closely-latticed place under
a Dayak house, and finding it could not drag away a pig which it had
killed there, on account of the wooden bars, swallowed the beast on the
spot. In the morning the owner was astonished to find the new occupant
of the sty; but as the reptile was gorged, he had no difficulty in
destroying it. Its body was brought to Sarawak and measured by Mr.
Ruppell, when it was found to be nineteen feet in length.

The next was killed in Labuan, and without head and a large portion
of its neck, it measured above twenty feet. I heard the story told
how the reptile was secured. One day, a dog belonging to Mr. Coulson
disappeared, and a servant averred that it was taken by an enormous
snake. The following week, as the same servant was laying the cloth for
dinner, he saw, to his horror, a huge snake dart at a dog, that was
quietly dozing in the verandah, and carry it off. The master, alarmed
at the cries of his follower, rushed out, and, on hearing the cause,
gave chase, spear in hand, followed by all his household. They tracked
the reptile to his lair, and found the dead dog opposite a hole in
a hollow tree; placing a man with a drawn sword to watch there, Mr.
Coulson thrust a spear into an upper hole, and struck the boa, which,
feeling the wound, put its head out of the entrance, and instantly lost
it by a blow from the Malay. I believe that when it was drawn from its
hiding-place it measured about twenty-four feet; the before-mentioned
length was taken by me from the mutilated skin.

Mr. Coulson was also fortunate enough to secure the largest boa that
has ever been obtained by a European in the north-west part of Borneo.

In March, 1859, a Malay, his wife, and child, accompanied by a little
dog, were walking from the Eastern Archipelago Company’s house, at the
entrance of the Brunei towards the sea-beach. The path was narrow; the
little dog trotted on first, followed by the others in Indian file.
Just as they reached the shore, a boa darted on the dog and dragged
him into the bushes. The Malays fled back to the house, where they
found Mr. Coulson, who, on hearing of the great size of the serpent,
determined to attempt the capture of its skin. He loaded a Minié rifle,
and requested three English companions who happened to be there to
accompany him with drawn swords. He made them promise to follow his
directions. His intention was to walk up to within a fathom of the
boa, and then shoot him through the head; if he were seized, then his
companions were to rush in with their swords, but not before, as he
wished to preserve the skin uninjured. They found the reptile on the
same spot where it had killed the dog, that still lay partly encoiled:
on the approach of the party, it raised its head, and made slight angry
darts towards them, but still keeping hold of its prey. Mr. Coulson
coolly approached to within five feet of the animal, which kept
raising and depressing its head, and, seizing a favourable opportunity,
fired; the ball passed through its brain and it lay dead at his feet--a
prize worthily gained. They raised the boa up while still making strong
muscular movements, and carried it back to the house; there they
measured it--it was twenty-six feet two inches. Mr. Coulson immediately
skinned it, and, shortly after, brought it up to the consulate. When I
measured it, it had lost two inches, and was exactly twenty-six feet in
length.

These boas must have occasionally desperate struggles with the wild
pigs. I one day came upon a spot where the ground was torn up for a
circle of eight or nine feet, and the branches around were broken. The
boar, however, had evidently succumbed, as we could trace with ease the
course it had been dragged through the jungle. We followed a little
distance, but evidently no one was very anxious in pursuit. I knew the
animal killed on this occasion to be a boar, from finding his broken
tusk half-buried in the ground.

I may mention one or two incidents which I heard from very trustworthy
Malays. Abang Hassan was working in the woods at the Santubong entrance
of the Sarawak river, when he came upon a huge boa, completely torpid;
it had swallowed one of the large deer, whose horns, he said, could
be distinctly traced under the reptile’s skin. He cut it open and
found that the deer was still perfectly fresh. The boa measured about
nineteen feet.

Abang Buyong, a man whose word is trusted by all the Europeans who know
him, told us that one day he was walking through the jungle with a
drawn sword, looking for rattans, when he was suddenly seized by the
leg; he instinctively cut at the animal, and fortunate for him that he
was so quick, as he had struck off the head of a huge boa before it
had time to wind its coils around him. He said he carefully measured
him, and it was seven Malay fathoms long--that is, from thirty-five to
thirty-seven feet. Dozens of other stories rise to my memory, but they
were told me by men in whom I have not equal confidence. The largest I
have myself killed was fourteen feet.

I will mention an incident that took place in July, 1861, during the
Sarawak expedition to the Muka river. A Malay, subject to fits of
delirium, sprang up suddenly one day in a boat, drew a sword, killed
two and wounded several men; he then dashed overboard, and fled into
the jungle. Ten days after, he was found wandering starving on the
beach. He appeared quite in his senses, and perfectly unaware of the
act he had committed. He said, one night that threatened heavy rain,
he crawled into a hollow tree to sleep. He was suddenly awakened by
a choking sensation in his throat. He instinctively put up both his
hands, and tore away what had seized him; it was a huge boa, which
in the confined space could not coil around him. The Malay quickly
got out of the serpent’s lair and fled, leaving his sword behind him.
When found, there were the marks of the fangs on the sides of the torn
wound, which was festering. The last news I heard of the man was that
he was expected to die.

Many persons are very partial to small boas, as wherever they take up
their abode all rats disappear; therefore they are seldom disturbed
when found in granaries or the roofs of houses, though the reptile has
as great a partiality for eggs as for vermin. Our servants killed one,
and found fourteen eggs in its stomach.

Passing, on our way to the great tribes of Sea Dayaks, through Sarawak,
we picked up our home letters and newspapers, and transferred our
baggage to a larger prahu, very comfortably fitted up, with a spacious
cabin in the centre.

At Muaratabas we joined the _Jolly Bachelor_ pinnace, sending our
boat on in shore. Setting sail with a fair breeze, we soon reached
the entrance of the Batang Lupar, which is marked by two conical
hills,--one the island of Trisauh, in the centre of the river, the
other on the right bank. During our passage we observed some of those
floating islands which wander over the face of the sea, at the mercy of
wind and wave. I remember once that the signalman gave notice that a
three-masted vessel was ahead. We all fixed our telescopes on her, as
at sea the slightest incident awakens interest: her masts appeared to
rake in an extraordinary manner. As we steamed towards her our mistake
was soon discovered; it was a floating island, with unusually tall nipa
palms upon it, that were bending gracefully before the breeze.

On one occasion a man was found at sea making one of these his
resting-place. Doubtless he abandoned his island home cheerfully,
though he fell into the hands of enemies. He told us that his pirate
companions, in hurried flight, had left him on the bank of a hostile
river, and so seeing a diminutive island floating to the sea, he swam
off and got upon it, and he had been there many days, living upon the
fruit he had found on the palm stems.

The origin of the islands is this: The stream occasionally wears away
the steep bank under the closely united roots of the nipa, and some
sudden flood, pressing with unusual force on the loosened earth, tears
away a large portion of the shore, which floats to the mouth of the
river to be carried by the tides and currents far out to sea. Some
fifteen miles off Baram Point, mariners tell of a great collection of
floating trees and sea-weed, that forms an almost impassable barrier to
ships in a light breeze. Some action of the currents appears to cause
this assemblage of floating timber always to keep near one spot, and to
move with a gyrating motion.

The Batang Lupar is in breadth from two to three miles, and
occasionally more: we never had a cast of less than three fathoms on
the bar, and inside it deepens to six. The banks are low, composed
entirely of alluvial soil. Wind and tide soon carried us to our first
night’s resting-place at the mouth of the Lingga river, some twenty
miles from the _embouchure_ of the Batang Lupar. It is small, and
its banks have the usual flat appearance, relieved, however, by some
distant hills and the mountain of Lesong (a mortar), from a fancied
resemblance to that article to be seen in every Malay house.

We found our boat here, together with a large force from Sarawak. I had
taken advantage of the chance to accompany Captain Brooke on one of
his tours through the Sarawak territories. This was to induce all the
branches of the Sea Dayaks to make peace with each other, and with the
towns of the coast, some of which they had so long harried.

While business detains the force at the mouth of the Lingga, I will
describe Banting, the chief town of the Balau Dayaks, about ten miles
up that stream. There are here about thirty long village houses, half
at the foot of a low hill, the others scattered on its face, completely
embowered in fruit-trees. From the spot where Mr. Chambers, the
missionary, has built his house, there is a lovely view,--more lovely
to those who have long been accustomed to jungle than to any others.
For here we have the Lingga river meandering among what appear to be
extensive green fields, reminding me of our lovely meadows at home. We
must not, however, examine them too closely, or I fear they will be
found swamps of rushes and gigantic grass. Still the land is not the
less valuable, being admirably adapted in its present state for the
best rice cultivation.

The Lingga river is famous for its alligators, which are both large and
fierce; but, from superstitions to which I shall afterwards refer, the
natives seldom destroy them. In Sarawak there is no such prejudice. It
is a well-known fact, that no alligator will take a bait that is in any
way fixed to the shore. The usual mode of catching them is to fasten a
dog, a cat, or a monkey to a four or five fathom rattan, with an iron
hook or a short stick lightly fastened up the side of the bait. The
rattan is then beaten out into fibre for a fathom, to prevent its being
bitten through by the animal when it has swallowed the tempting morsel.
Near a spot known to be frequented by alligators, the bait, with this
long appendage, is placed on a branch about six feet above high-water
mark. The cries of the bound animal soon attract the reptile; he
springs out of the water and seizes it in his ponderous jaws. The
natives say he is cunning enough to try if it be fastened to the bank;
but the real fact appears to be that the alligator never eats its food
until it is rather high. So that when fastened, finding he cannot take
away his prize to the place where he usually conceals his food, he
naturally lets it go. Gasing, a Dayak chief, saved his life when seized
by an alligator, by laying hold of a post in the water: the animal gave
two or three tugs, but finding its prey immovable, let go.

Two or three days after the bait has been taken, the Malays seek for
the end of the long rattan fastened to it. When found, they give it a
slight pull, which breaks the threads that fasten the stick up the side
of the bait, and it spreads across the alligator’s stomach. They then
haul it towards them. It never appears to struggle, but permits its
captors to bind its legs over its back. Till this is done they speak
to it with the utmost respect, and address it in a soothing voice; but
as soon as it is secured they raise a yell of triumph, and take it in
procession down the river to the landing-place. It is then dragged
ashore amid many expressions of condolence at the pain it must be
suffering from the rough stones; but being safely ashore, their tone is
jeering, as they address it as Rajah, Datu, and grandfather. It then
receives its death at the hands of the public executioner. Its stomach
is afterwards ripped open, to see if it be a man-eater. I have often
seen the buttons of a woman’s jacket, or the tail of a Chinese, taken
out. The alligator always appears to swallow its food whole. Some men
are very expert in catching these reptiles; I remember one Malay, who
came over from the Dutch possessions, capturing thirteen during a few
months, and as the Sarawak Government pay three shillings and sixpence
for every foot the beast measures, the man made a large sum.

Alligators sometimes attain to a very large size. I have never measured
one above seventeen feet six inches, but I saw a well-known animal, the
terror of the Siol branch of the Sarawak, that must have been at least
twenty-four or twenty-five feet long. The natives say the alligator
dies if wounded about the body, as the river-worms get into the injured
part, and prevent its healing; many have been found dying on the banks
from gunshot wounds. In the rivers are occasionally found curious balls
of hair, five or six inches in diameter, that are ejected from these
reptiles’ stomachs,--the indigestible remains of animals captured.

I once lost an acquaintance in Sarawak who was killed by an alligator.
He was seized round the chest by the jaws of an enormous beast that
swam with his prey along the surface of the water. His children, who
had accompanied him to bathe, ran along the banks of the river shouting
to him to push out the animal’s eyes; they say he looked at them, but
that he neither moved nor spoke, paralyzed, as it were, by the grip.

I am very partial to this tribe of Lingga Dayaks; they have always
shown so unmistakable a preference for the English--faithful under
every temptation, and ready at a moment’s warning to back them up with
a force of a thousand men.

The lads, too, have a spirit more akin to English youths than I have
yet seen among the other tribes. I well remember the delight with which
they learnt the games we taught them--joining in prisoner’s base with
readiness, hauling at the rope, and shouting with laughter at French
and English, represented by the names of two Dayak tribes. There is
good material to work on here, and it could not be in better hands than
those of their present missionary, Mr. Chambers. That his teaching has
made any marked difference in their conduct I do not suppose, but he
has influenced them, and his influence is yearly increasing.

It is pleasing to record a little success here, at the Quop, and at
Lundu, or we should have to pronounce the Borneo mission a complete
failure.

The largest orang-utans I have ever heard of are in the Batang Lupar
districts. Mr. Crymble, of Sarawak, saw a very fine one on shore, and
landing, fired and struck him, but the beast dashed away among the
lofty trees; seven times he was shot at, but only the eighth ball took
fatal effect, and he came crashing down, and fell under a heap of twigs
that he had torn in vain endeavours to arrest his descent. The natives
refused to approach him, saying it was a trick--he was hiding to spring
upon them as they approached. Mr. Crymble, however, soon uncovered
him, and measured his length as he lay: it was five feet two inches,
measuring fairly from the head to the heel. The head and arms were
brought in, and we measured them: the face was fifteen inches broad,
including the enormous callosities that stick out on either side; its
length was fourteen inches; round the wrist was twelve inches, and the
upper arm seventeen. I mention this size particularly, as my friend,
Mr. Wallace, who had more opportunities than any one else to study
these animals, never shot one much over four feet, and perhaps may
doubt the existence of larger animals; but he unfortunately sought them
in the Sadong river, where only the smaller species exists.

The Dayaks tell many stories of the male orang-utans in old times
carrying off their young girls, and of the latter becoming pregnant by
them; but they are, perhaps, merely traditions. I have read somewhere
of a huge male carrying off a Dutch girl, who was, however, immediately
rescued by her father and a party of Javanese soldiers, before any
injury beyond fright had occurred to her.

During the time I lived at Sarawak, we had many tame orang-utans; among
others, a half-grown female called Betsy. She was an affectionate,
gentle creature that might have been allowed perfect liberty, had she
not taken too great a liking for the cabbage of the cultivated palms.
When she climbed up one of these, she would commence tearing away the
leaves to get at the coveted morsel, but shaking or striking the tree
with a stick, would induce her to come down. Her cage was large, but
she had a great dislike to being alone, and would follow the men about
whenever she had an opportunity. At night, or when the wind was cold,
she would carefully wrap herself in a blanket or rug, and of course
choose the warmest corner of her cage.

After some months, we procured a very young male, and her delight was
extreme. She seemed to take the greatest care of it; but like most of
the small ones brought in, it soon died.

When I lived in Brunei, a very young male was given me. Not knowing
what to do with it, I handed it over to a family where there were many
children. They were delighted with it, and made it a suit of clothes.
To the trousers it never took kindly; but I have often seen him put
on his own jacket in damp weather, though he was not particular about
having it upside down or not. It was quite gentle and used to be
fondled by the very smallest children.

I never saw but one full-grown orang-utan in the jungle, and he kept
himself well sheltered by a large branch as he peered at us. He might
have shown himself with perfect safety, as I never could bring myself
to shoot at a monkey; but a friend who was collecting specimens saw
an enormous one in a very high tree: he fired ten shots at him with a
revolver, one of which hit him on the leg. As in the case when I saw
the orang-utan, he kept himself well sheltered, but whenever a bullet
glanced on a tree or branch near him, he put out his hand to feel what
had struck the bark. When he found himself wounded, he removed to the
topmost branches, and was quite exposed, but my friend’s guns were left
behind him, and he failed to obtain this specimen.

It is singular that most of the orang-utans die in captivity, from
eating too much raw fruit. Betsy, that was fed principally on cooked
rice, must have lived a twelvemonth with us. I was not in Sarawak when
she died, and do not remember the cause.

On my return, finding that the arrangements were made, we started for
a fort built at the entrance of the Sakarang, which was under the
command of Mr. Brereton, accompanied by the Sarawak forces and the
Balau Dayaks. The real value of the Batang Lupar as a river adapted for
ships ceases shortly after leaving the junction, as sands begin, and
a bore renders the navigation dangerous to the inexperienced; but it
presents a noble expanse of water. As we started after the flood tide
had commenced, the bore had passed on, and only gave notice of its late
presence by a little bubbling in the shallower places.

The banks of the river continue low, with only an occasional rising of
the land; nothing but alluvial plains, formerly the favourite farming
grounds of the Dayaks, then completely deserted, or tenanted only by
pigs and deer; but it was expected that as soon as the peace ceremonies
were over, the natives would not allow this rich soil to remain
uncultivated, and the expectation has been fulfilled, as this abandoned
country was, on my last visit, covered with rice farms, while villages
occupied the banks.

After we had passed Pamutus, the site of the piratical town destroyed
by Sir Henry Keppel, the river narrows, and is not above a hundred
yards broad at the town of Sakarang, built at the confluence of a river
of the same name. The fort was rather an imposing-looking structure,
though built entirely of wood. It was square, with flanking towers,
and its heavy armament completely commanded the river, and rendered it
secure against any Dayak force.

This country was at the time influenced, rather than ruled, by the late
Mr. Brereton, as his real power did not extend beyond the range of
his guns. I never met a man who threw himself more enthusiastically
into a most difficult position, or who, by his imaginative mind and
yet determined will, exercised a greater power over Dayaks by the
superiority of his intellect. A stranger can scarcely realize a more
difficult task than that of endeavouring to rule many thousands of
wild warriors without being backed by physical force; but he did a
great deal, though his exertions were too much for his strength, and
he died a few years after, while engaged in his arduous task. In him
the Sarawak service lost an admirable officer, and we an affectionate
friend.

When we landed at the fort, we found a great crowd assembled to meet
us, among whom were the principal Sakarang chiefs, as Gasing and Gila.
Many were fine-looking men of independent bearing and intelligent
features. There were a few women about, but until the preliminaries of
peace had been settled, they were not encouraged to come into the town.

It was found impossible to inquire into the origin of many of the
quarrels, so Captain Brooke settled the matter by agreeing to give
each party a sacred jar (valued at 8_l._), a spear, and a flag.
This was considered by them as satisfactory, and it was immediately
determined that the next day the formal ceremonies should take place to
ratify the engagement.

There is comparatively little difficulty in putting a stop to the
piratical acts of the Sakarangs, as the fort commands the river; but
it is almost impossible to prevent them head-hunting in the interior,
there being so many unguarded outlets by which the hostile tribes can
assail each other. The Bugau Dayaks--a numerous and powerful tribe,
living on the Kapuas, and tributary to the Dutch--were principally
exposed to their expeditions, and their justifiable retaliations kept
up the hostile feeling.

Whenever a head-hunting party was expected to be on its return, a
strict watch was kept to prevent it passing the fort. One day, at
sunset, a couple of light canoes were seen stealing along the river
bank, but a shot across their bows made them pull back: they dared
not come up to the fort, having three human heads with them. The
sentries were doubled, and Mr. Brereton kept watch himself. About two
hours before dawn, something was seen moving under the opposite bank.
A musket was fired; but as the object continued floating by, it was
thought to be a trunk of a tree; but no sooner had it neared the point
than a yell of derision arose, as the swimming Dayaks sprang into the
boat, and pulled off in high glee up the Sakarang.

To prevent all chance of the hostile tribes of Sakarangs and Balaus
quarrelling before the treaty was concluded, it was arranged that the
latter tribe should remain at the entrance of the Undup, a stream about
two miles below the town, and that we should drop down to that spot
next day.

We found a covered stage erected, and a crowd of nearly a thousand
Balau men around it, and in their long war boats: the Sakarangs came
also in large force, and our mediating party of about five hundred
armed men was there likewise.

Captain Brooke clearly explained the object of the meeting, when the
topic was taken up by the Datu Patinggi of Sarawak, who, with easy
eloquence, briefly touched on the various points in question. The
Dayak chiefs followed; each protested that it was their desire to live
in peace and friendship; they promised to be as brothers and warn each
other of impending dangers. They all appear to have a natural gift of
uttering their sentiments freely without the slightest hesitation.

The ceremony of killing a pig for each tribe followed; it is thought
more fortunate if the animal be severed in two by one stroke of the
parang, half sword, half chopper. Unluckily, the Balau champion struck
inartistically, and but reached half through the animal. The Sakarangs
carefully selected a parang of approved sharpness, a superior one
belonging to Mr. Crookshank, and choosing a Malay skilled in the use
of weapons placed the half-grown pig before him. The whole assembly
watched him with the greatest interest, and when he not only cut the
pig through, but buried the weapon to the hilt in the mud, a slight
shout of derision arose among the Sakarangs at the superior prowess of
their champion. The Balaus, however, took it in good part and joined in
the noise, till about two thousand men were yelling together with all
the power of their lungs.

The sacred jar, the spear, and flag, were now presented to each tribe,
and the assembly, no longer divided, mixed freely together. The Balaus
were invited to come up to the town, and thus was commenced a good
understanding which has continued without interruption to the present
time--about eleven years.

There are many kinds of sacred jars. The best known are the Gusi, the
Rusa, and the Naga, all most probably of Chinese origin. The Gusi,
the most valuable of the three, is of a green colour, about eighteen
inches high, and is, from its medicinal properties, exceedingly sought
after. One fetched at Tawaran the price of four hundred pounds sterling
to be paid in produce; the vendor has for the last ten years been
receiving the price, which, according to his own account, has not yet
been paid, though probably he has received fifty per cent. over the
amount agreed on from his ignorant customer. They are most numerous
in the south of Borneo. The Naga is a jar two feet in height, and
ornamented with Chinese figures of dragons; they are not worth above
seven or eight pounds. While the Rusa is covered with what the native
artist considers a representation of some kind of deer, it is worth
from fifteen to sixteen pounds. An attempt was made to manufacture
an imitation in China, but the Dayaks immediately discovered the
counterfeit.

We pulled up the Sakarang river to visit Gasing in his farmhouse, which
was large, neat, and comfortable; in form and general appearance like
their usual village houses. These Sea Dayaks are a very improvable
people. I have mentioned the tender point of their character as
displayed in Mr. Gomez’s school at Lundu, and another is their love of
imitation. A Sakarang chief noticed a path that was cut and properly
ditched near the fort, and found that in all weathers it was dry, so
he instantly made a similar path from the landing place on the river
to his house, and I was surprised on entering it to see coloured
representations of horses, knights in full armour, and ships drawn
vigorously, but very inartistically, on the plank walls. I found, on
inquiry, he had been given some copies of the _Illustrated London
News_, and had endeavoured to imitate the engravings. He used
charcoal, lime, red ochre, and yellow earth as his materials.

The Sakarang women are, I think, the handsomest among the Dayaks of
Borneo; they have good figures, light and elastic; with well-formed
busts and very interesting, even pretty faces; with skin of so light a
brown as almost to be yellow, yet a very healthy-looking yellow, with
bright dark eyes, and long glistening black hair. The girls are very
fond of using an oil made from the Katioh fruit, which has the scent of
almonds. Their dress is not unbecoming, petticoats reaching from below
the waist to the knees, and jackets ornamented with fringe. All their
clothes are made from native cloth of native yarn, spun from cotton
grown in the country. These girls are generally thought to be lively in
conversation and quick in repartee.

The Sakarang men are clean built, upright in their gait, and of a very
independent bearing. They are well behaved and gentle in their manners:
and, on their own ground, superior to all others in activity. Their
national dress is a chawat or waistcloth, and in warlike expeditions
they are partial to bright red cloth jackets, so that when assembled at
a distance, they look like a party of English soldiers. The Sakarang
and Seribas men have the peculiar practice of wearing rings all along
the edge of their ears, sometimes as many as a dozen. I thought this
custom confined to them, but I find the Muruts of Padas, opposite
Labuan, also practise it.

Their strength and activity are remarkable. I have seen a Dayak carry
a heavy Englishman down the steepest hills; and when one of their
companions is severely wounded they bear him home, whatever may be
the distance. They exercise a great deal from boyhood in wrestling,
swimming, running, and sham-fighting, and are excellent jumpers. When
a little more civilized they would make good soldiers, being brave by
nature. They are, however, short--a man five feet five inches high
would be considered tall, the average is perhaps five feet three inches.

We did not visit the interior of the Batang Lupar, but it is reported
to be very populous, and the Chinese are now working gold there. I have
penetrated to the very sources of the Sakarang, and found it, after a
couple of days’ pull, much encumbered by drift-wood and rocks, with
shallow rapids over pebbly beds. This interior is very populous, and
from a view we had on a hill over the upper part of the Seribas River,
as far as the hills in which the Kanowit rises, we could perceive but
little old forest.

I may mention that the crime of poisoning is almost unknown on the
north-west coast, but it is very generally believed the people of the
interior of the Kapuas, a few days’ walk from the Batang Lupar, are
much given to the practice. Sherif Sahib, and many others who visited
that country, died suddenly, and the Malays assert it was from poison;
but of this I have no proof.

Near the very sources of the Kapuas live the Malau Dayaks, who are
workers in gold and brass, and it is very singular that members of
this tribe can wander safely through the villages of the head-hunting
Seribas and Sakarang, and are never molested,--on the contrary, they
are eagerly welcomed by the female portion of the population, and the
young men are not indifferent to their arrival; but the specimens of
their work that I have seen do not show much advance in civilization.
The Malau districts produce gold, and it is said very fine diamonds.

I will insert here an anecdote of the public executioner of Sakarang.
Last year, a native was tried and condemned to death for a barbarous
murder, and according to the custom in Malay countries, the next day
was fixed for carrying out the sentence. A Chinese Christian lad, who
was standing near the executioner, said to him earnestly, “What! no
time given him for repentance?” “Repentance!” cried the executioner,
contemptuously. “Repentance! he is not a British subject.” A curious
confusion of ideas. Both were speaking in English, and very good
English.

I tasted here, for the first time, the rambi fruit, that looks
something like a large grape, growing in bunches, pleasantly sweet, yet
with a slight acidity, yellow skin, with the interior divided into two
fleshy pulps.

At the broadest part of the Batang Lupar, nearly four miles across, I
saw a herd of pigs swimming from one shore to the other. If pigs do
this with ease, we need not be surprised that the tigers get over the
old Singapore Strait to devour, on a low average, a man a day.

On our return, while anchored at Pamutus, we saw the bore coming up,
and it was a pretty sight from our safe position. A crested wave spread
from shore to shore, and rushed along with inconceivable speed, to
subside as it approached deep water, to commence again at the sands
with as great violence when it had passed us. At full and change, few
native boats escape which are caught on the shallows, but are rolled
over and over, and the men are dashed breathless on the bank, few
escaping with life.

Some of our Malays went ashore last night to snare deer, while the
Balaus tried for pigs. It used to be a very favourite hunting ground of
the Dayaks, who are expert in everything appertaining to the jungle;
they nearly always employ dogs, which are very small, not larger than a
spaniel, sagacious and clever in the jungle, but stupid, sleepy-looking
creatures out of it, having all the attributes of bad-looking, mongrel
curs as they lurk about the houses; but when some four or five are led
into the jungle, dense and pathless as it is in most places, then they
are ready to attack a wild boar ten times their size. And the wild boar
of the East is a very formidable animal. I have seen one that measured
forty inches high at the shoulder, with a head nearly two feet in
length. Sir Henry Keppel also was present when this was shot, and he
thought a small child could have sat within its jaws. Captain Hamilton
of the 21st M. N. I., a very successful sportsman, killed one forty-two
inches high. Native hunting with good dogs is easy work; the master
loiters about gathering rattans, fruit, or other things of various uses
to his limited wants, and the dogs beat the jungle for themselves, and
when they have found a scent, give tongue, and soon run the animal to
bay: the master knowing this by the peculiar bark, follows quickly and
spears the game.

I have known as many as six or seven pigs killed before midday by
Dayaks while walking along a beach: their dogs searching on the borders
of the forest, bring the pigs to bay, but never really attack till the
master comes with his spear to help them. The boars are very dangerous
when wounded, as they turn furiously on the hunter, and unless he has
the means of escape by climbing a tree, he would fare ill in spite of
his sword and spear, if it were not for the assistance of his dogs.
These creatures, though small, never give in unless severely wounded,
and by attacking the hind legs, keep the pig continually turning round.

The Dayaks are very fond of pork, and fortunately it is so, or they
would be much more easily persuaded to become Mahomedans. They have a
sort of respect for the domestic pig, and an English gentleman was in
disgrace at Lingga on account of allowing his dogs to hunt one that
they met in the fruit-groves, which in any civilized country would
have been considered wild. The European sportsman said in his defence,
that he could not help clapping his hands when he heard his dogs give
tongue in chase. Upon a hot day a deer is soon run down by them; in
fact, hunters declare that they could easily catch them themselves in
very dry weather, when the heat is extremely oppressive. The deer have
regular bathing-places to which they resort, sometimes during the day,
and at others by night.

There are, I believe, only two kinds of deer in Borneo, one Rusa Balum,
and the other Rusa Lalang. The former frequents low swampy ground, and
has double branched horns, averaging about eighteen inches in length.
The Rusa Lalang is a small, plump, hill deer, with short horns, and
having one fork branch near the roots.

The Dayaks say there is another kind; but after making many inquiries,
it appears to be the same as Rusa Balum. Occasionally you meet with
deer whose horns are completely encased in skin.

The natives snare them with rattan loops and nooses, fastened on a
long rope. They are of different lengths, varying from twenty to fifty
feet. A number of these attached to each other, and resting on the tops
of forked sticks, they stretch across a point of land where they have
previously ascertained that deer are lying. After they have arranged
the snares, the party is divided, one division watching them, and
the other landing on the point; barking dogs and yelling men rush up
towards the snare, driving the game before them; the deer, though they
sometimes lie very close, generally spring up immediately and dart off
bewildered, rushing into the nooses, catching their necks or their
fore legs in them; the men on the watch dash up and cut them down, or
spear them before they can break through. They sometimes catch as many
as twenty in one night, but generally only one or two; snaring may be
carried on either in the light or dark.

The evening we set sail from the Batang Lupar, we had a discussion
on Marsden’s theory of the land and sea breezes; one of our party
denied the correctness of the authority whom we looked upon as not
to be challenged in all that relates to the Eastern Archipelago. At
midnight the land breeze commenced blowing, as the ocean does retain
the heat longer than the land, and at midday the sea breeze set in,
which carried us pleasantly onward, passing the mouths of the Seribas
and Kalaka, to our anchorage in the noble river of Rejang. We did not
triumph over our adversary, but recommended him to study Marsden more
carefully. On the bar at the entrance of this river at dead low water,
we had one cast which did not exceed three fathoms, but I do not think
we were in the centre of the channel.

At the entrance of the Rejang is a small town of Milanaus, a people
differing greatly from the Malays in manners and customs; some
converted to Islamism are clothed like other Mahomedans, while those
who still delight in pork dress like Dayaks, to which race they
undoubtedly belong. Their houses are built on lofty posts, or rather
whole trunks of trees are used for the purpose, to defend themselves
against the Seribas.

It is stated that at the erection of the largest house, a deep hole
was dug to receive the first post, which was then suspended over it; a
slave girl was placed in the excavation, and at a signal the lashings
were cut, and the enormous timber descended, crushing the girl to
death. It was a sacrifice to the spirits. I once saw a more quiet
imitation of the same ceremony. The chief of the Quop Dayaks was about
to erect a flag-staff near his house: the excavation was made, and the
timber secured, but a chicken only was thrown in and crushed by the
descending flag-staff.

I made particular inquiries of Haji Abdulraman, and his followers, of
Muka, whilst I was in Brunei last year. They said that the Milanaus
of their town who remained unconverted to Islamism have within the
last few years sacrificed slaves at the death of a respectable man,
and buried them with the corpse, in order that they might be ready
to attend their master in the other world. This conversation took
place in the presence of the Sultan, who said he had often heard the
report of such acts having been committed. One of the nobles present
observed that such things were rare, but that he had known of a similar
sacrifice taking place among the Bisayas of the River Kalias, opposite
our colony of Labuan. He said a large hole was dug in the ground, in
which was placed four slaves and the body of the dead chief. A small
supply of provisions was added, when beams and boughs were thrown
upon the grave, and earth heaped to a great height over the whole. A
prepared bamboo was allowed to convey air to those confined, who were
thus left to starve. These sacrifices can seldom occur, or we should
have heard more of them. There were rumours, however, that at the death
of the Kayan chief Tamawan, whom I met during my expedition to the
Baram, slaves were devoted to destruction, that they might follow him
in the future world.

In front of the houses were erected swings for the amusement of the
young lads and the little children. One about forty feet in height
was fastened to strong poles arranged as a triangle, and kept firm in
their position by ropes like the shrouds of a ship. From the top hung
a strong cane rope, with a large ring or hoop at the end. About thirty
feet on one side was erected a sloping stage as a starting-point.
Mounting on this, one of the boys with a string drew the hoop towards
him, and making a spring into it, away he went. Other lads were ready,
who successively sprung upon the ring or seized the rope, until there
were five or six in a cluster, shouting, laughing, yelling and
swinging. For the younger children smaller ones were erected, as it
required courage and skill to play on the larger.

The Rejang is one of the finest rivers in Borneo, and extends far into
the interior. We ascended it upwards of one hundred miles, and never
had less than four fathoms. Mr. Steel, who lived many years at the
Kanowit fort, told me that it continued navigable for about forty miles
farther, then there were dangerous rapids, but above them the water
again deepened. The Rejang has many mouths, but the principal are the
one we entered, and another to the eastward of Cape Sirik, called Egan.
Its tributaries below the rapids are the Sirikei, the Kanowit, and the
Katibas, the last two very populous.

Above the junction, the Rejang is about a mile and a half broad,
with islets scattered over it, but afterwards it contracts to about
a thousand yards, and has a fine appearance. The scenery here is not
varied by hill or dale; the land is low, but the banks were rendered
interesting by the varied tints of the jungle; blossoms and young
leaves were bursting out in every variety of colour, from the faintest
green to the darkest brown.

The air was filled with a kind of may-fly in astonishing numbers; I
have never seen anything like it before or since: they fell by myriads
into the water, and afforded a feast to thousands of fish that rose
with a dash to the surface, covering the river with tiny widening
circles.

During our passage up we had an instance of the insecurity to which
the head-hunters formerly reduced this country. We landed at a place
called Munggu Ayer (water hill) to bathe; a party of our men insisted
on keeping watch over us, as many people had lost their lives here.
Being a good spot to procure water, boats are accustomed to take in
their supplies at this well, and the Dayaks lurked in the neighbouring
jungle to rush out on the unwary.

Anchored opposite the entrance of the Kanowit, where it was intended to
build a fort to stop the exit of the fleets of Dayak boats that used to
descend this river to attack the people of the Sago countries. Leaving
the force thus engaged, I went and took up my residence in the village
of the Kanowit Dayaks, built opposite the entrance of that stream. The
Rejang is here about 600 or 700 yards broad.

The village consisted of two long houses, one measuring 200 feet, the
other 475. They were built on posts about forty feet in height and some
eighteen inches in diameter. The reason they give for making their
posts so thick is this: that when the Kayans attack a village they drag
one of their long tamuis or war boats ashore, and, turning it over, use
it as a monstrous shield. About fifty bear it on their heads till they
arrive at the ill-made palisades that surround the hamlets, which they
have little difficulty in demolishing; they then get under the house,
and endeavour to cut away the posts, being well protected from the
villagers above by their extemporized shield. If the posts are thin,
the assailants quickly gain the victory; if very thick, it gives the
garrison time to defeat them by allowing heavy beams and stones to fall
upon the boat, and even to bring their little brass wall pieces to
bear upon it; the Kayans will fly if they suffer a slight loss.

The Kanowit Dayaks are a very different people from those who live
on the river of the same name; the latter are all immigrants from
the Seribas and Sakarang. The appearance of these people is very
inferior; few of them have the fine healthy look of those I saw about
Mr. Brereton’s fort; the women are remarkably plain, and scarcely
possess what is so common in Borneo, a bright pair of eyes; ophthalmia
is very prevalent among them, partly caused by their extracting their
eyelashes. They have another custom which is equally inelegant; they
draw down the lobes of their ears to their shoulders, by means of heavy
lead earrings.

Some of the men are curiously tatooed; a kind of pattern covers their
breast and shoulders, and sometimes extends to their knees, having much
the appearance of scale-armour. Others have their chins ornamented to
resemble beards, an appendage denied them by nature.

I have never before entered a village without noticing some interesting
children, but I observed none here; though active enough, they looked
unhealthy and dirty.

Belabun, the chief of this tribe, has had, from his position, a
very extensive intercourse with men, particularly with the Kayans,
who inhabit the upper portion of the river. One of our objects in
visiting the country was to proceed to the interior to make friends
with the numerous Kayan chiefs who live there; but the small-pox had,
unfortunately, broken out among them, and the ascent of the river was
forbidden, and all had fled into the forest. I much regretted this,
as I never had another opportunity of ascending the Rejang. I will not
introduce here the information we collected concerning the Kayans, as I
intend giving an account of the visit I made shortly after to a branch
of those people who lived on the Baram.

It is singular how the story of the men with tails has spread. I have
heard of it in every part I have visited, but their country is always
a few days’ journey farther off. The most circumstantial account I
ever had was from a man who had traded much on the north-east coast of
Borneo. He said he had seen and felt the tails, they were four inches
long, and were very stiff, so that all the people sat on seats in which
there was a hole made for this remarkable appendage to fit in.

Sherif Musahor, a chief of Arab descent, and one of the most violent
men that ever tormented these countries, arriving from Siriki, came
in to see us; he is a very heavy-looking fellow; at one time we were
great friends, as we were equally fond of chess. It is not my object to
enter into political affairs, but I may mention that having instigated
the murder of two Englishmen he fled north, and after a variety of
adventures found himself in 1861 at the head of a band of desperadoes
at a place called Muka. Sir James Brooke had often been reported dead,
and on his arrival at Sarawak the news spread like wildfire along the
coast. Sherif Musahor, greatly disturbed, called before him a Madras
trader and asked him, “Did you see the Rajah?”

“Yes.”

“Had he all his teeth perfect?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, you lie! when I saw him last he had a front tooth knocked out.”

The Madras man saw the fiery look of this desperate chief, but without
losing his presence of mind for a moment, answered, “What, have you not
heard that the Rajah bathed in the waters of the Nile, and that it has
restored his youth again?”

His reply was satisfactory to all the Mahomedans present, who believe
implicitly in every wonder told in the Arabian Nights.

One afternoon, it being a very warm day, we were reclining on our
mats, when a burst of wailing and howling around us told that bad news
had been received. One of the chiefs brothers had returned from the
interior and brought the following intelligence: It appeared that about
two years and a half ago, a younger brother longing to see the world,
had started off to the sources of the Kapuas river, which ultimately
falls into the sea at Pontianah, a Dutch settlement, taking with him
thirteen young men; he travelled on till he reached a Kayan tribe with
whom his people were friends, and stayed with them for a few months.
One day their hosts started on a head-hunting expedition, and invited
seven of their guests to accompany them: the latter never returned,
having all been killed by the Kayans themselves. Why or wherefore it
is impossible to tell, but it is supposed that having failed in their
head-hunt, and being ashamed to return to their women without these
trophies, they had fallen upon their guests. Their remaining companions
being in a neighbouring village escaped. Belabun, anxious to have news
of his brother, had sent the one who had just returned to look for him.
He patiently tracked him, but meeting with the seven survivors, he
learnt the fate of his brother; they returned overland, but the young
chief, impatient to reach home, made a bark canoe, in which he reached
the village.

Belabun and his people were greatly excited, and moved about the house
in a restless and anxious manner, while the wailing of the female
relatives was very distressing, particularly of the young girl whom the
wanderer left as a bride.

It may appear incredible that even the wildest people should commit so
treacherous a deed, but before the Kanowit was well guarded, a Sakarang
chief from the interior, named Buah Raya, passed with fifty war boats
and pulled up the Rejang. Arriving at a village of Pakatan Dayaks,
his allies, he took the men as his guides to attack some Punans, who,
however, escaped; mortified at this result he killed the guides, and
on his return carried off all the women and children as captives. This
was the chief who refused to enter an English church, saying “an old
man might die through entering the white men’s tabernacle.” He would or
could give no explanation of this observation.

These Kanowits follow the Millanau custom of sending much of a dead
man’s property adrift in a frail canoe on the river: they talk of all
his property, but this is confined to talk.

We heard so much of the deceased chief’s goods, which were to be thrown
away, as it is considered they belong to the departed and not to those
who remain, that we went to the place where they lay. We found a sort
of four-sided bier erected, covered with various coloured cloths, and
within it his bride widow lay moaning and wailing, surrounded by his
favourite arms, his gongs, his ornaments, and all that he considered
valuable. Among his treasures was the handle of a kris, representing
the figure of Budha in the usual sitting posture, which they said had
descended to them from their ancestors.

As I expected, these valuables were not sent adrift, but merely a few
old things, that even sacrilegious strangers would scarcely think worth
plundering.

A short time before the Rejang came under Sir James Brooke’s sway, a
relation of Belabun died. Having no enemy near, he looked about for a
victim. Seeing a Dayak of the Katibas passing down the river, he and a
small party followed and overtook him just as he reached the junction;
they persuaded him to come ashore, and then seized and killed him,
taking his head home in triumph. As this murder took place before Sir
James Brooke’s jurisdiction extended over the country, it was difficult
to bring him to account, but on the relations coming to demand
satisfaction, Captain Brooke insisted upon his paying the customary
fine, which satisfied the Katibas.

The second chief of this village is Sikalei, who, when one of his
children died, sallied out and killed the first man he met--they say
it was one of his own tribe, but it was the custom to kill the first
person, even if it were a brother: fortunately they now are brought
under a Government which is strong enough to prevent such practices.

They are a very curious people; the men dress as Dayaks, the women as
Malays; and the latter part their hair in the middle, while all the
other races draw it back from the forehead. They appear to be much
influenced in their customs by the surrounding people; the men tatoo
like Kayans, the women not.

We saw a very curious war-dance; two men, one of a Rejang tribe, the
other from a distant river, commenced a sham fight, with sword and
shield; one of them was dressed as a Malay, the other as a Dayak. With
slow side movements of their arms and legs, advancing and retreating,
cutting and guarding to a measured step, and in regular time; then they
changed to quick movements, stooping low till the shield completely
covered them: with a hopping, dancing motion they kept giving and
receiving blows till one of them fled; the other immediately followed,
but cautiously, as the fugitive was supposed to plant spikes in the
path. At last they again met, and after a fierce combat one was slain,
and the victor with a slow dancing step approached the body and was
supposed to cut off the head of his enemy; but, on looking at it
attentively, he found he had killed a friend, and showed signs of much
grief. With a measured tread, he again drew near the body and pretended
to restore the head; he retired and advanced several times, shaking the
various limbs of the friend’s body, when the slain sprang up as lively
as ever, and the two wound up by a frantic dance.

I have mentioned the ceremonies that took place at the solemnization
of peace between the Sakarangs and Balaus; here they were slightly
different. A pig was placed between the representatives of two tribes,
who, after calling down the vengeance of the spirits on those who broke
the treaty, plunged their spears into the animal, and then exchanged
weapons. Drawing their krises, they each bit the blade of the other’s,
and so completed the affair. The sturdy chief of Kajulo declared he
considered his word as more binding than any such ceremony.

In the neighbourhood of the Kanowit, and scattered about these
countries, are the wandering tribes of Pakatan and Punan, which seldom
build regular houses, but prefer running up temporary huts, and when
they have exhausted the jungle around of wild beasts and other food,
they move to a new spot. They are the great collectors of wax, edible
birds’ nests, camphor and rattans. They are popularly said to be fairer
than the other inhabitants of Borneo, as they are never exposed to the
sun, living in the thickest part of the old forest. Those we have seen
were certainly darker, but they themselves assert that their women are
fairer. It is probable that exposure to the air has as much effect
upon them as exposure to the sun. I have often met with their little
huts in the forest and used them as night lodgings, but I have never
come across these wild tribes. I have seen individual men, but never
communities.

The Pakatans and Punans are the true manufacturers of the Sumpitan, or
blow-pipe; and in their hands it is a formidable weapon. It is curious
to examine this product of their skill; and we cannot but admire the
accuracy with which the hole is drilled through a hard wood shaft some
seven or eight feet long.

I had often heard of the deadly effect of the poison into which the
arrow was dipped, but always disbelieved the bulk of the native
stories, though I must believe in the evidence we have lately had.
In 1859, the Kanowit tribe, instigated by Sherif Musahor, murdered
two English gentlemen, and then fled into the interior. Mr. Johnson,
who led the attack on them, tells me he lost thirty men by wounds
from the poisoned arrows. He found the bodies of Dayaks who had gone
out as skirmishers without a mark, beyond the simple puncture where
a drop of blood rested on the wound. One man was struck near him; he
instantly had the arrow extracted, the wound sucked, a glass of brandy
administered, and the patient sent off to the boats about four miles
distant. Two companions supported him, and they had strict orders not
to allow him to sleep till he reached the landing-place: they made him
keep awake, and he recovered. As it is common to destroy deer, wild
boars and other creatures with these arrows, no doubt man also can be
killed.

I will now give an account of the manners and customs of the Sea
Dayaks.




                              CHAPTER II.

                    SOCIAL LIFE OF THE SEA DAYAKS.

   Ceremonies at the Birth of a Child--Infanticide--Desire
   for Children--A Talkative and Sociable People--Great
   Concord in Families--Method of Settling Disputes--Marriage
   Ceremonies--Pride of Birth--Chastity--Punishment
   of Indiscreet Lovers--Bundling and
   Company-keeping--Love--Anecdotes--Separations--Division of
   Household Duties--Flirting--Divorce--Burials--Religion--Belief
   in a Supreme Being--Good and Evil Spirits--The
   Small-pox--Priests--Some Dress as
   Women--Mourning--Sacrifices--Human Sacrifices--Unlucky
   Omens--Reconciliation--Belief in a Future State--The other
   World--Dayaks Litigious--Head-feast--Head-hunting--Its
   Origin--Horrible Revenge--Small Inland
   Expeditions--Cat-like Warfare--Atrocious Case--Large
   Inland Expeditions--War-boats--Edible Clay--Necessity
   for a Head--Dayaks very Intelligent--Slaves--Objections
   to Eating certain Animals, or Killing others--Change of
   Names--Degrees of Affinity within which Marriages may take
   place--Sickness--Cholera--Manufactures--Agriculture--Method of
   taking Bees’ Nests--Lying Heaps--Passports--Ordeals--Language.


_At the Birth of Children._--The Sea Dayaks naturally look upon
this as a very ordinary event; occasionally guns are fired to celebrate
it, but even that practice has almost fallen into disuse. However, a
few months after the birth of the infant, the Sakarang Dayaks give a
feast in its honour, which generally takes place before they commence
preparing their land for the rice crop, and another after the harvest
to “launch the child” on the world. During these feasts the manang, or
priest, waves the odoriferous areca-blossom over the babe, and moves
about the house chanting monotonous tunes. The festival lasts a day and
a night. The Dayak women suffer very little at their confinements, and
seldom remain quiet beyond a few days. They are very anxious to have
children, but if they have a preference, it is for boys; and when the
only child is a daughter, they often make a vow to fire guns and give a
feast, should the next prove a son.

It is very singular, that though these Dayaks are exceedingly fond of
their offspring, yet infanticide sometimes occurs among the Batang
Lupars; arising, it is said, from a selfish feeling of affection.
One man confessed to Mr. Johnson that he had put an infant to death,
because all the children born to him previously had died just as they
arrived at an age when he could fondly love them. He said he could
not endure to think that it should occur to him again. But this must
have been a rare instance, since they feel acutely the loss of their
children, and wander about inconsolable, and mope, and often refuse to
work for months. They do not bear misfortunes well; even the loss of
houses by fire, or their crops from bad seasons, disheartens them to an
extent that is surprising to those who have watched the conduct of the
Seribas Dayaks. The piratical pursuits in which these latter delighted
have certainly given great energy to their character; and they recover
immediately from the effects of the destruction of their villages and
of their property, and set to work to create more wealth.

The Sea Dayaks, as I have observed, generally prefer male children; and
the more mischievous and boisterous they are when young the greater
the delight they afford their parents. The observation, “He is very
wicked,” is the greatest praise. They indulge them in everything,
and at home give way to their caprices in an extraordinary manner.
If the parents are affectionate to their children, the latter warmly
return it. Instances have even occurred when, oppressed by sorrow at
the reproaches of a father, a child has privately taken poison and
destroyed himself.

Like other tribes in the same state of civilization, the Dayaks are
fond of oratory; and while the elders are discoursing or delivering
long speeches, the young lads look gravely on, never indulging in a
laugh, which would be regarded as a serious offence.

The Dayaks are a very sociable people, and love to have their families
around them; grandfathers spoil their grandchildren; and during the
heavy work of the harvest, the very old ones stay at home surrounded by
merry groups of young ones.

Strangers are generally very welcome; and it would be an annoying idea
to enter into their heads that they were considered either mean or
inhospitable. So the wayfarer is presented on his arrival with the best
food in the house. Occasionally it is not very welcome to a European,
as it too often consists of fish that emits a very high scent, or eggs
of a very ancient date; but there is generally some fruit, or a little
clean boiled rice. I was once presented with some preserved durian
fruit, which stank so fearfully as to drive my friends completely out
of the house. But the greatest luxury that can be presented to a native
is always forthcoming, and that is the box of areca nuts, and the other
chewing condiments.

Parents and children, brothers and sisters, very seldom quarrel;
when they do so, it is from having married into a family with whom
afterwards they may have disputes about land. One would imagine that
was a subject not likely to create dissensions in a country like
Borneo; but there are favourite farming grounds and boundaries are not
very settled. It used to be the practice not to have recourse to arms
on those occasions, but the two parties collecting their relatives and
friends would fight with sticks for the coveted spot. Now, however,
their disputes are brought to their chiefs, or the nearest English
officer.

_Marriage._--Among the Sibuyau Dayaks of Lundu, no ceremony
attends a betrothment, but when the consent of the parents of the
bride has been obtained, an early day is appointed for the marriage.
As a general rule, the husband follows the wife, that is, lives with
and works for the parents of the latter. On the wedding day, the bride
and bridegroom are brought from opposite ends of the village to the
spot where the ceremony is to be performed. They are made to sit on two
bars of iron, that blessings as lasting, and health as vigorous, as the
metal may attend the pair. A cigar and betel leaf prepared with the
areca nut are next put into the hands of the bride and bridegroom. One
of the priests then waves two fowls over the heads of the couple, and
in a long address to the Supreme Being, calls down blessings upon the
pair, and implores that peace and happiness may attend the union. After
the heads of the affianced have been knocked against each other three
or four times, the bridegroom puts the prepared siri leaf and the cigar
into the mouth of the bride, while she does the same to him, whom she
thus acknowledges as her husband. The fowls are then killed, and the
blood caught in two cups, and from its colour the priest foretells the
future happiness or misery of the newly married. The ceremony is closed
by a feast, with dancing and noisy music.

It is worthy of remark that the respect paid by a son-in-law to the
father of his wife is greater than that paid to his own father. He
treats him with much ceremony, must never pronounce his name, nor must
he take the liberty of eating off the same plate, or drinking out of
the same cup, or even of lying down on the same mat.

Among the Balaus, or Sea Dayaks of Lingga, there is also no ceremony at
a betrothment; in fact, Mr. Chambers informs me that the word is not
known in their language. Indeed their manners preclude the necessity of
any such formal arrangement.

Marriage itself is a very simple affair, and is not accompanied by any
long rite. However, as it is different from that practised in Lundu, I
will enter into particulars.

Two or three days previous to the ceremony, the mother of the
bridegroom usually gives the bride’s relations a plate or a basin.
The wedding takes place at the house of the girl, and the rite is
called blah pinang, or the splitting of the prepared areca nut. It is
divided into three portions, and the mother, after placing them in a
little basket, and covering them over with a red cloth, sets them on
a raised altar in front of the bride’s house. The respective friends
of the families then meet in conclave and enjoy the native luxury of
prepared areca nut; and it is now determined what shall be the fine
paid in case the husband should separate from his wife after she shall
be declared pregnant, or after she has borne a child. This is a very
necessary precaution, as I shall have presently to show.

I may notice that among these Dayaks there is great pride of birth, and
that parents will seldom consent to their daughter’s marrying a man of
very inferior condition. Many lamentable occurrences have arisen from
this, among other causes, which I will mention when treating of love.
As a general rule, if the bride be an only daughter, or of higher rank,
the husband joins her family--if he be of higher rank, or an only son,
she follows him, and then she is conducted under a canopy of red cloth
to the house of his parents. If they should be of equal condition and
similarly circumstanced, they divide their time among their respective
families, until they set up housekeeping on their own account.

There are three subjects of which I must now treat,--and they are
the chastity of the women, love, and divorce. I find it difficult to
reconcile the statements that I have to make; they are modest, and
yet unchaste, love warmly and yet divorce easily, but are generally
faithful to their husbands when married.

In looking over the notes I have collected, both of my own and
those that I have received from my friends, I find them apparently
irreconcilable; but I will endeavour to make them intelligible.

The Sibuyaus, though they do not consider the sexual intercourse of
their young people as a positive crime, yet are careful of the honour
of their daughters, as they attach an idea of great indecency to
promiscuous connection. They are far advanced beyond their brethren in
this respect, and are of opinion that an unmarried girl proving with
child must be offensive to the superior powers, who, instead of always
chastising the individual, punish the tribe by misfortunes happening to
its members. They, therefore, on the discovery of the pregnancy fine
the lovers, and sacrifice a pig to propitiate offended Heaven, and to
avert that sickness or those misfortunes that might otherwise follow;
and they inflict heavy mulcts for every one who may have suffered from
any severe accident, or who may have been drowned within a month before
the religious atonement was made; lighter fines are levied if a person
be simply wounded.

As these pecuniary demands fall upon the families of both parties,
great care is taken of the young girls, and seldom is it found
necessary to sacrifice the pig. After marriage the women also are
generally chaste, though cases of adultery are occasionally brought
before the Orang Kayas.

Among the Dayaks on the Batang Lupar, however, unchastity is more
common; but the favours of the women are generally confined to their
own countrymen, and usually to one lover. Should the girl prove with
child, it is an understanding between them that they marry, and men
seldom, by denying, refuse to fulfil their engagements. Should,
however, the girl be unable to name the father, she is exposed to the
reproaches of her relatives, and many to escape them have taken poison.
In respectable families they sacrifice a pig, and sprinkle the doors
with its blood, to wash away the sin; and the erring maiden’s position
is rendered so uncomfortable that she generally tries to get away from
home.

In the account of the Land Dayaks, I will mention the manner in which
the young lover approaches the curtains of his mistress. As this seldom
ends in immorality, it may be likened to the Welch and Afghan bundling.
The Sea Dayaks have the same practice of seeking the girls at night;
and as the favoured lover is seldom refused entrance to the curtains,
it may be compared to the system of company-keeping which obtains in
many of our agricultural counties, where the brides have children a
couple of months after marriage. The morality of the Sea Dayaks is,
perhaps, superior to the Malays, but inferior to that of the Land
Dayaks.

During one of my visits to the Sakarang I heard a story which is
rather French in its termination. A young man proposed to a girl and
was accepted by her, but her parents refused to give their consent, as
he was of very inferior birth. Every means was tried to soften their
hearts, but they were obstinate, and endeavoured to induce her to give
up her lover and marry another. In their despair the lovers retired to
the jungle, and swallowed the poisonous juice of the tuba plant: next
morning they were found dead, with their cold and stiff arms entwined
round each other. Cases are not of very rare occurrence among the
Sakarang Dayaks, where disappointed love has sought solace in the grave.

Of the warmth of married affection, I have never heard a more striking
instance than the following:--the story has been told before, but it is
worth repeating. Ijau, a Balau chief, was bathing with his wife in the
Lingga river, a place notorious for man-eating alligators, when Indra
Lela, a Malay, passing in a boat remarked,--“I have just seen a very
large animal swimming up the stream.” Upon hearing this, Ijau told his
wife to go up the steps and he would follow; she got safely up, but he,
stopping to wash his feet, was seized by the alligator, dragged into
the middle of the stream, and disappeared from view. His wife hearing a
cry turned round, and seeing her husband’s fate sprang into the river,
shrieking,--“Take me also,” and dived down at the spot where she had
seen the alligator sink with his prey. No persuasion could induce her
to come out of the water: she swam about, diving in all the places most
dreaded from being a resort of ferocious reptiles, seeking to die with
her husband; at last her friends came down and forcibly removed her to
their house.

About two miles below the town of Kuching, is a place called Tanah
Putih. Here a man and his wife were working in a small canoe, when
an alligator seized the latter by the thigh and bore her along the
surface of the water, calling for that help, which her husband swimming
after, in vain endeavoured to afford. The bold fellow with a kris in
his mouth neared the reptile, but as soon as he was heard, the beast
sank with his shrieking prey and ended a scene almost too painful
for description. Two days afterwards the body, unmangled, was found
hidden in some bushes, which partly confirms my previous remark, that
alligators do not immediately swallow their prey.

Husbands and wives appear to pass their lives very agreeably together,
which may partly be caused by the facility of divorce. Many men and
women have been married seven or eight times before they find the
partner with whom they desire to spend the rest of their lives. I saw
a young girl of seventeen who had already had three husbands. These
divorces take place at varied times, from a few days after marriage,
to one or two years. However, after the birth of a child, they seldom
seek to separate, and if they do the husband is fined, but not the
wife. The work of the family is divided, though perhaps the female has
most continued labour. The man builds and repairs the houses and boats,
fells all the heavy timber at the farm, brings home the firewood, and
very often nurses the baby. The wives are very domestic, and in their
way carefully attend to household duties; they cook, clean the rice,
feed the pigs and poultry, spin the yarn, weave the cloth, and make the
clothes. A wife is also expected to be polite to visitors, to bring out
her finest mats, and offer the interminable areca nut to her guests.

As the wife works hard, she is generally very strong and capable of
taking her own part. She is very jealous of her husband, much more so
than he is of her. If he be found flirting with another woman, the wife
may inflict a severe thrashing on her, but only with sticks, while if
the offending woman have a husband, he may do the same to the man. To
escape these domestic broils, he generally starts off into the jungle,
and pretends to or really does go head-hunting.

The causes of divorce are innumerable, but incompatibility of temper
is perhaps the most common; when they are tired of each other they
do not say so, but put the fault upon an unfavourable omen or a bad
dream, either of which is allowed to be a legitimate cause of divorce.
Should they, however, be still fond of each other, the sacrifice of
a pig will effectually prevent any misfortune happening to them from
neglecting to separate. Partners often divorce from pique, or from a
petty quarrel, and are then allowed to come together again without any
fresh marriage ceremony. Among the Balau Dayaks, it is necessary for
the offended husband to send a ring to his wife, before the marriage
can be considered as finally dissolved, without which, should they
marry again, they would be liable to be punished for infidelity.

I may add, that as the wife does an equal share of work with her
husband, at a divorce she is entitled to half the wealth created by
their mutual labours.

_Burials._--Among the Sea Dayaks, corpses are usually buried;
although, should a man express a wish to share the privilege of the
priests and be, like them, exposed on a raised platform, the relations
are bound to comply with this request.

Immediately the breath has left the body, the female relations commence
loud and melancholy laments; they wash the corpse, and dress it in
its finest garments, and often, if a man, fully armed, and bear it
forth to the great common hall, where it is surrounded by its friends
to be mourned over. In some villages a hireling leads the lament,
which is continued till the corpse leaves the house. Before this takes
place, however, the body is rolled up in cloths and fine mats, kept
together by pieces of bamboo tied on with rattans, and taken to the
burial-ground. A fowl is then killed as a sacrifice to the spirit who
guards the earth, and they commence digging the grave from two and a
half to four and a half feet deep, according to the person’s rank;
deeper than five feet would be unlawful. Whilst this operation is going
on, others fell a large tree, and cutting off about six feet, split it
in two, and then hollow them out with an adze. One part serves as the
coffin, the other as the lid; the body is placed within, and the two
are secured together by means of strips of pliable canes bound round
them.

After the coffin is lowered into the grave, many things belonging to
the deceased are cast in, together with rice, tobacco, and betel nut,
as they believe they may prove useful in the other world, or as it is
called by them Sabayan.

It was an old custom, but now perhaps falling somewhat into disuse,
to place money, gold and silver ornaments, clothes, and various china
and brass utensils in the grave; but these treasures were too great
temptations to those Malays who were addicted to gambling; and the
rifling of the place of interment has often given great and deserved
offence to the relations. As it is almost impossible to discover the
offenders, it is now the practice to break in pieces all the utensils
placed in the grave, and to conceal as carefully as possible the
valuable ornaments. The whole tribe of the Lundu Sibuyaus was thrown
into a great state of excited indignation on finding that some Malays
had opened the place of interment of the old Orang Kaya Tumanggong of
Lundu, and stolen the valuable property. This was the chief who was so
firm a friend of the Europeans, and whose name is so often mentioned
in former works on Borneo.

The relatives and bearers of the corpse must return direct to the house
from which they started before entering another, as it is unlawful or
unlucky to stop, whatever may be the distance to be traversed.

They are often very particular about the dress in which they are to
be buried. Many of the old Sakarang women have asked Mr. Johnson for
handsome jackets to be used after their death for this purpose, saying
that when they arrived in the other world, they would mention his name
with respect and gratitude on account of the kindness shown to them in
this.

The Dayaks who have fallen in battle are seldom interred, but a paling
is put round them to keep away the pigs, and they are left there. Those
who commit suicide are buried in different places from others, as it
is supposed that they will not be allowed to mix in the seven-storied
Sabayan with such of their fellow-countrymen as come by their death in
a natural manner or from the influences of the spirits.

It is very satisfactory to be able to state that the Sea Dayaks have a
clear idea of one Omnipotent Being who created and now rules over the
world. They call him Batara; beneath him are many good and innumerable
bad spirits, and the fear of the latter causes them to make greater
offerings to them than to the good spirits. The awe with which many
of them are named has induced a few, among others, Mr. Chambers, to
imagine that their religion is a species of polytheism. But that is,
I think, clearly a mistake: as well might a Mahomedan declare that
Christians were Polytheists, because Roman Catholics believe in the
interposition of the Virgin and of the saints, and because members of
all sects fear the wiles of Satan. It is a common saying among the
Dayaks, “With God’s blessing we shall have a good harvest next year.”

Mr. Gomez, who has lived nine years among the Sibuyaus, and Mr.
Johnson, who has mixed with all sections of the Sea Dayaks still
longer, take my view. There are evil spirits of various kinds who
reside in the jungles, or the mountains, or the earth: all sicknesses,
misfortunes, or death, proceed from them, while to Batara is attributed
every blessing.

But when they make offerings, both are propitiated, and, as usual,
the wicked have the larger share. The priests offer a long prayer,
and supplicate them to depart from the afflicted house, or from the
sick man. Of the seven platefuls of food, four are given to the evil
spirits, and cast forth or exposed in the forests, while the others
are offered to the good spirits, who are implored to protect and
bless them. The food offered to the latter is not considered to be
interdicted, but may be, and is always, eaten.

The Lingga Dayaks, besides Batara, have various good spirits--as
Stampandei, who superintends the propagation of mankind; Pulang Ganah,
who inhabits the earth and gives fertility to it, and to him are
addressed the offerings at the feasts given whilst preparing the rice
cultivation; Singallong Burong, the god of war, excites their utmost
reverence, and to him are offered the head feasts. On those occasions,
he comes down and hovers in the form of a kite over the house, and guns
are fired and gongs are beaten in his honour: his brave followers
married to his daughters appear in the form of their omen birds.
No wonder he is honoured: he gives success in war, and delights in
their acquisition of the heads of their enemies. Nattiang inhabits
the summits of the hills, and is one of their demigods. The Linggas
tell many stories of his exploits: the most famous was his expedition
to the skies to recover his wife, who had been caught in a noose and
hoisted up there by his old enemy, Apei Sabit Berkait. To dream of
him is to receive the gift of bravery. Mr. Chambers would add much to
our knowledge of these people if he would make a collection of their
stories and ballads.

Among the Sakarangs the belief in one Supreme Being is clear, and
they do not appear to have any inferior deities who approach him in
attributes: they have demigods, good and bad spirits, but no sharer of
God’s throne. They believe that the good and bad spirits have the power
to prevent, or to enable them to succeed in any object they may have in
view. They, therefore, make offerings to them, particularly when any of
their family are suffering from illness.

When the small-pox was committing sad havoc among those villagers
who would not allow themselves to be inoculated, they ran into the
jungle in every direction, caring for no one but themselves, leaving
the houses empty, and dwelling far away in the most silent spots, in
parties of two and three, and sheltered only by a few leaves. When
these calamities come upon them, they utterly lose all command over
themselves, and become as most timid children. Those seized with the
complaint are abandoned: all they do is to take care that a bundle of
firewood, a cooking-pot, and some rice, are placed within their reach.
On account of this practice, few recover, as in the delirium they roll
on the ground and die.

When the fugitives become short of provisions, a few of the old men
who have already had the complaint creep back to the houses at night
and take a supply of rice. In the daytime they do not dare to stir or
to speak above a whisper for fear the spirits should see or hear them.
They do not call the small-pox by its name, but are in the habit of
saying, “Has he yet left you?” at other times, they call it jungle
leaves or fruit; and at other places the datu or the chief. Those
tribes who inoculate suffer very little.

Their priests frequently use the names of the invisible spirits, and
are supposed to be able to interpret their language, as well as to
hold communion with them; and in ordinary times they pretend to work
the cure of the sick by means of incantations, and after blinding the
patient’s eyes, pretend by the aid of the spirits to draw the bones of
fish or fowls out of their flesh. When the Dayaks are questioned as
to their belief in these easily-exposed deceits, they say no; but the
custom has descended to them from their ancestors, and they still pay
these priests heavy sums to perform the ancient rites.

Though these priests are of course men, yet some pretend to be women,
or rather dress as such, and like to be treated as females. In Lingga,
however, out of thirty, only one has given up man’s attire. Many of
the priests are the blind and maimed for life, who by following this
profession are enabled to earn a livelihood.

If a Dayak lose his wife, he gives a feast, which is really an offering
to the departed spirit. After the death of relatives, they seek for the
heads of enemies, and until one is brought in they consider themselves
to be in mourning, wearing no fine clothes, striking no gongs, nor is
laughing or merry-making in the house allowed; but they have a steady
desire to grieve for the one lost to them, and to seek a head of an
enemy, as a means of consoling themselves for the death of the departed.

At the launching of a new boat, preparatory to head-hunting, the
spirits presiding over it are appeased and fed, and the women collect
in and about it, and chant monotonous tunes; invoking the heavenly
spirits to grant their lovers and husbands success in finding heads, by
which they may remove their mourning and obtain a plentiful supply of
the luxuries and necessaries of life.

The principal sacrifice of the Sakarang Dayaks is killing a pig and
examining its heart, which is supposed to foretell events with the
utmost certainty. As an instance: should they find a dead animal on
land prepared for a farm, according to their established custom,
they should give it up, and commence a new one; but if the season
for burning the jungle be passed, they endeavour to avert this loss
by consulting the heart of a pig. The animal is sacrificed, and the
greatest attention is given to the signs discovered upon his heart:
if they be satisfactory, the farm land may be used; if not, it is
completely abandoned.

After their great head feasts, they also examine the hearts of pigs,
and their gray-headed leaders surround and look extremely grave over
the bleeding spectacle which they one by one turn over with the point
of a stick to examine the run and position of the veins; each as he
does it offers some sapient remark; and the result generally is, that
there are still numerous enemies, but far away: but however powerful
these may be, they themselves are more powerful, and in the end will
overcome them.

Not many years ago, Rentap, the pirate chief, who formerly resided in
a stronghold on the summit of the Sadok mountain, took a Sakarang lad
prisoner. Although one of his own race, he determined on putting him
to death, remarking--“It has been our custom heretofore to examine the
heart of a pig, but now we will examine a human one.” The unfortunate
boy was dragged about for some time by the hair of his head, and then
put to death and his heart examined.

It is reported that many years ago a Sibuyau chief sacrificed
some prisoners on the graves of two of his sons, who, in the same
expedition, had been killed by his enemies.

To hear the cry of a deer is at all times considered unlucky; and to
prevent the sound reaching their ears during a marriage procession
gongs and drums are loudly beaten. On the way to their farms, should
the unlucky omen be heard, they will return home and do no work for a
day.

It is a very curious custom also, that if two men who have been at
deadly feud, meet in a house, they refuse to cast their eyes upon each
other till a fowl has been killed and the blood sprinkled over them;
and, as already fully described, when two tribes make peace, after
solemn engagements are concluded, a pig is killed, the blood of which
is supposed to cement the bond of friendship.

They believe in a future state--considering that the Simañgat, or
spiritual part of man, lives for ever, that they awake shortly after
death in Sabayan or the future abode, and that there they find those of
their relatives and friends who have departed before them. The Sibuyaus
divide their Sabayan into seven distinct stories, which are occupied by
the souls of the departed according to their rank and position in life.
The really wicked occupy the lowest; but, whether happy or miserable,
they acknowledge ignorance.

The Dayaks are very litigious, and few would have the patience to
investigate one of their cases. The amateur lawyers of a tribe are
acute in inquiry, quick in making retorts, and gifted with wonderful
memories, generally referring to precedents of the customs of their
forefathers in the settlement of fresh cases.

A head feast consists in a general meeting of the tribe in the man’s
house who gives the entertainment. He prepares for it two or three
months before it takes place, collecting fish, fowls, eggs, plantains,
and other fruits, and in manufacturing an intoxicating drink from rice.
When all these things are ready, poles are cut of various lengths, one
for each of the heads that may be there to be rejoiced over; there
are also fantastically-shaped wooden birds, which undergo various
evolutions in the house; and, after the feast is over, are placed on
the top of the before-mentioned poles, with their heads turned in
the direction of the enemies’ country. The people, dressed in their
best clothes, collect in the house, and commence the feast by all the
youthful portion of the community engaging in cock-fighting--real
cock-fights, too often with very formidable steel spurs. They are very
partial to this amusement, and will go far and pay much for a good
bird, and will bet heavily on a well-known cock.

After some hours engaged in this amusement, they commence drinking
and eating, a part of the ceremony which does not entice the European
stranger, nor can the peculiar smell increase his appetite. It is an
extraordinary accumulation of food: fowls roasted with their feathers
on, and then torn joint from joint; eggs black from age, decayed fruit,
rice of all colours and kinds, strong-smelling fish, almost approaching
a state of rottenness; and their drink having the appearance and the
thickness of curds, in which they mix pepper and other ingredients. It
has a sickening effect upon them, and they swallow it more as a duty
than because they relish it. Before they have added any extraneous
matter it is not unpleasant, having something of the taste of spruce
beer.

They have then several processions, each headed by chiefs marching with
grave countenances, and followed by a youthful crowd. Their movements
are not graceful while parading about a house, as they put their bodies
into the stiffest postures. The women also, adorned with trappings
and beads of every colour, walk up and down, scattering yellow rice
about the house and on the heads of the men. The feast lasts three
days and nights, and winds up by their becoming amicably intoxicated,
always excepting the women, who do not drink, but take care of their
drunken husbands and relatives. This feast is intended as an offering
to Batara, on account of their success against enemies, and as a
thanksgiving for a plentiful harvest. To fail in this testimony of
gratitude would be grievous in their eyes. The Sea Dayaks follow the
custom of Pamali, or taboo, and believe in omens.[1]

_Head-hunting._--This practice has no doubt obtained among the
Dayaks from the earliest times, and when carried on by the interior
tribes very few lives were lost; but it much retarded the progress of
the country, as it rendered life and property insecure. The Sakarang
and Seribas, within the memory of living men, were a quiet, inoffensive
people, paying taxes to their Malay chiefs, and suffering much from
their oppressive practices,--even their children being seized and sold
into slavery. When the Malay communities quarrelled they summoned
their Dayak followers around them, and led them on expeditions against
each other. This accustomed the aborigines to the sea; and being found
hard-working and willing men, the Malays and Lanun pirates took them
out in their marauding expeditions, dividing the plunder--the heads of
the killed for the Dayaks, the goods and captives for themselves.

Gradually they began to feel their own strength and superiority of
numbers. In their later expeditions the Malays have followed rather
than led. The longing these Dayaks have acquired for head-hunting is
surprising. They say, “The white men read books, we hunt for heads
instead.” Until the Sarawak Government curbed their proceedings they
were known to coast down as far as Pontianak, and occasionally they
had been met forty miles out at sea in their rattan-tied boats, some
of them seventy feet in length. In rough weather most of the crew jump
overboard and hold on to the sides while the rest bale the boat out.
They say, when this occurs in places suspected to be frequented by
sharks, they each tie a bundle of the tuba plant round their ancles to
drive the devouring fish away. The juice of the tuba is the one used to
intoxicate fish.

About thirteen years ago, I heard the Natuna people give an account of
a horrible transaction that took place in one of their islands. A party
of Seribas Dayaks were cruising about among the little isles near,
and had destroyed several women and many fishermen, when they were
observed, towards evening, creeping into a deep and narrow inlet to
remain during the night. The islanders quietly assembled and surprised
their enemies, killing all but seven, who were taken prisoners--six
men and one lad. The former they roasted over a slow fire, and they
declared that the bold fellows died without uttering a cry of pain, but
defying them to the last; the lad, who stood trembling by, uncertain of
his fate, was sent back to the coast with a message to his countrymen,
that if they ever came there again, they would be all treated in the
same way. This fearful warning was sufficient to deter their seeking
heads again in that direction.

Parties of two and three sometimes went away for months on an inland
incursion, taking nothing with them but salt wrapped up in their
waist-cloths, with which they seasoned the young shoots, and leaves,
and palm cabbages, found in the forests; and when they returned home,
they were as thin as scarecrows. It is this kind of cat-like warfare
which causes them to be formidable enemies both to the Chinese and the
Malays, who never feel themselves safe from a Dayak enemy. They have
been known to keep watch in a well up to their chins in water, with a
covering of a few leaves over their heads to endeavour to cut off the
first person who might come to draw water. At night they would drift
down on a log, and cut the rattan cable of trading prahus, while others
of their party would keep watch on the bank, knowing well where the
stream would take the boat ashore; and when aground they kill the men
and plunder the goods.

An atrocious case happened many years ago up the Batang Lupar, where a
young man started on an expedition by himself to seek for a head from a
neighbouring tribe. In a few days he came back with the desired prize.
His relatives questioned him how it was he had been away so few days,
as they had never been able to do the same journey in double the time.
He replied gravely that the spirits of the woods had assisted him.

About a month afterwards a headless trunk was discovered near one of
their farms, and on inquiry being made, it was found to be the body
of an old woman of their own tribe, not very distantly related to the
young fellow himself. He was only fined by the chief of the tribe, and
the head taken from him and buried.

If a large party intended starting under a leader of any note, they
waited till he had first built a hut not far from the village, and
listened for an omen from the cry of the birds. As soon as a good
one was heard, they started; and when a certain distance from home,
stopped and held a consultation, in which they decided on the mode of
attack, and how the heads, captives, and plunder should be divided.
Large rivers intervening did not deter them, as they could always build
boats, tying them together with rattans, each being capable of holding
about thirty men. On their return they hid the planks in the jungle, to
be used on a future occasion.

Their war boats are well constructed and good models, and very fast;
some will hold as many as sixty or seventy men, with two months’
provisions. The keel is flat, with a curve or sheer of hard wood. A
long one does not exceed six fathoms, and upon it they will build a
boat of eleven fathoms over all. The extra length of planks, which
overlap, is brought up with a sheer. They caulk the seams with a bark
which is plentiful in the jungle. No other fastenings but rattans are
used.

They paint their boats red and white,--the former is generally an
ochre, but occasionally they use a kind of red seed pounded; the white
is simply lime, made from sea shells. In their boat expeditions they
always take a supply of red ochre to eat, in case of becoming short of
other provisions; and we once found in some deserted Seribas’ prahus
many packets of a white oleaginous clay used for the same purpose. The
bark they employ for caulking is very tough, and beaten out, serves
to make useful and comfortable coverlets, as well as waist-cloths and
head-dresses.

I have mentioned that the possession of a head is necessary to enable
the Dayaks to leave off mourning. I once met the Orang Kaya Pamancha of
Seribas, the most influential chief in the country. He was dressed in
nothing but a dirty rag round his loins, and thus he intended to remain
until the mourning for his wife ceased by securing a head. Until this
happens they cannot marry again, or appease the spirit of the departed,
which continues to haunt the house and make its presence known by
certain ghostly rappings. They endeavour to mollify its anger by the
nearest relative throwing a packet of rice to it under the house every
day, until the spirit is laid to rest by their being able to celebrate
a head feast: then the Dayaks forget their dead, and the ghosts of the
dead forget them. When passing a burial-ground, however, they throw on
it something they consider acceptable to the departed.

In writing about head-hunting, I should more frequently employ the past
tense, as all those portions of these tribes, which have been brought
under English influence, are rapidly losing these customs; and could
any profitable agricultural industry be introduced among them, they
would soon expend their energies in money-making.

The Dayaks are exceedingly quick in commercial transactions; and most
of them who did not know the value of a piece of money six years ago
are now active traders. They are said to be more acute than Malays, so
that even the Chinese find they cannot cheat them after the first year.
They are hoarding, though liberal according to custom; but generally
they are much disposed to be avaricious and closefisted. The Malays
sometimes make good bargains with them by using soft and flattering
language, but the Dayaks often repent of being so wheedled, and will
claim justice before the courts.

The Sea Dayaks, contrary to ancient custom, have the habit of keeping a
few slaves, and are generally kind masters; but the system has been a
very bad one, as many unfortunate people have become so in consequence
of the debts or the crimes of their parents or grand-parents. It is
scarcely right to give the name of slaves to these people, as on the
payment of the original debt or fine they become free.

They have no graven images, nor do they practise any outward or visible
signs of idolatry, nor have they any mode of religious worship further
than a solemn attention to superstitious practices and observances.
Several Dayaks have an objection to eating the flesh of pigs, deer, and
other animals; but it is because they are afraid of getting certain
complaints, as skin diseases, and the custom becomes hereditary, as
many families are subject to them; or it arises from the fear of going
mad; or as some married women tremble to touch deer’s flesh previously
to the birth of their firstborn; or because they have received warning
in dreams not to touch a particular kind of food. Their religious
opinions do not forbid them to eat any kind of animals.

The Sea Dayaks, however, would not intentionally kill a cobra, one
species of the lizard, or owls, or any of their birds of omen. There
are, also, certain animals and other birds which many families abstain
from injuring; in some cases, owing to a dream; in others, to help
traditionally received from them by an ancestor. In others, it is
forbidden to kill a civet cat, an orang-utan, or an alligator; and
they give such reasons as the following:--“One of my ancestors, a
clever man, cured a sick alligator, and then they made an agreement
that neither should injure the other.” Another said, when his
great-grandfather first settled at the hill of Banting, the orang-utan
abounded there. Their enemies once came to attack the place, but were
repulsed by the assistance of the orang-utans, who crowded to the
edge of the fruit groves to glare on the strangers, and were probably
mistaken for men. As a reason for not destroying the cobra, they say,
“It has always been forbidden, those who dream of them are lucky, and
often do the great spirits put on the forms of snakes.”

They sometimes change their names after severe sickness, when their
priests recommend it on the restoration of health. And, also, in the
event of a slave becoming free, his late master gives a feast upon the
occasion of manumitting him, and proclaims his freedom in public. They
often present a spear upon the occasion, the meaning of which is that,
if he be again claimed as a slave, the spear may be used to put to
death his former master.

It is contrary to custom for a man to marry a first cousin, as they
look upon them as sisters. No marriage is allowed with aunt or niece,
and some objection is made in a few of the communities to a man
marrying a deceased wife’s sister, or a woman taking her husband’s
brother; but these customs are not always followed, and I have heard of
uncles marrying nieces, and a marriage with a deceased wife’s sister
is also permitted, provided her parents approve of the man; and it is
then often encouraged by them in order to bring up the children as one
family.

Their priests have little or no knowledge of medicine, but trust,
in most cases, to their occult sciences. In ordinary sickness the
relatives are attentive, but not so, as I have said, when there is a
sweeping epidemic, as small-pox; in such cases they think it to be
useless striving against so formidable a spirit. When cholera was in
the country, the Dayaks lost comparatively few, as they healed those
taken with it by rubbing and warmth; but the Malays appeared to have
done everything they should not have done--drinking, when in health,
nothing but hot water, taking no exercise, and only eating a little
rice; the consequence was they were too weak to strive against the
complaint when seized. The most successful system practised by the
natives appears to be to rub the stomach and limbs with cajput oil
(kayu putih oil), and administer a strong dose of spirits immediately
the first symptoms are perceived. It is said a few drops of the oil
are also given with success. When the cholera, after committing great
ravages in the capital, appeared among the Muruts and Bisayas of
Limbang, they all fled from their villages, retiring to the hills and
the depths of the forest; their loss was very slight.

The women manufacture a coarse cloth; making and dyeing their own
yarn, beating out the cotton with small sticks, and, by means of a
spinning-wheel, running it off very quickly. The yarn is not so fine
as what they can buy of English manufacture, but it is stronger, and
keeps its colour remarkably well; and no cloth wears better than Dayak
cloth.

Their agricultural pursuits are limited in number, and with little
labour the soil yields sufficient crops to supply their wants. They
plant rice once a year; those who live on dry and high land have also
cotton and tobacco. They grow enough sugar-cane for their own eating,
not for making sugar; and they are so eager for gain, that it would
not be difficult to induce them to plant crops requiring only ordinary
superintendence. They sow the cotton-seed after the rice harvest. Their
agricultural instruments are strong swords, made by themselves from
imported iron, used for cutting grass or young jungle; and a kind of
small axe and adze in one, by turning the iron in its socket. This
instrument they use in shaping out planks for boats, and for felling
the larger trees; and, in their hands, it brings down the timber as
fast as an English axe would in the hands of a backwoodsman. One method
they adopt for getting rid of old jungle is this:--first of all, they
clear away the underwood and the branches near the ground, then with
their axes they cut the larger trees more than half through; at last,
choosing some giant of the forest, they fell it completely: in its
fall it drags all the others after it, as they are connected together
by twining creepers of great size and strength. It is a dangerous
practice, and requires care to avoid the wide-spread fall, that comes
to the earth with an awful crash.

They obtain bees’-wax from the nests built on the tapang tree, and
climb the loftiest heights in search of it, upon small sticks, which
they drive as they advance up the noble stem that rises above a
hundred feet free of branches, and whose girth varies from fifteen to
five-and-twenty feet. Once these pegs are driven in, their outer ends
are connected by a stout rattan, which, with the tree, forms a kind of
ladder.

It requires cool and deliberate courage to take a bee-hive at so great
an elevation, where, in case of being attacked by the bees, the almost
naked man would fall and be dashed to atoms. They depend upon the
flambeaux they carry up with them, as, when the man disturbs the hive,
the sparks falling from it cause, it is said, the bees to fly down in
chase of them, instead of attacking their real enemy, who then takes
the hive and lowers it down by a rattan string. The bees escape unhurt.
This plan does not appear to be as safe as that pursued by the Pakatan
Dayaks, who kindle a large fire under the trees, and, throwing green
branches upon it, raise so stifling a smoke that the bees rush forth,
and the man ascending takes their nest in safety. Both these operations
are generally conducted at night, although the second might be, I
imagine, practised in safety during the day.

There is a custom existing among the Dayaks of the Batang Lupar which
I have not heard of elsewhere. Beside one of the paths in the Undup
district there are several heaps of sticks; and in other places,
of stones, called “tambun bula,” or lying heaps. Each heap is in
remembrance of some man who has told a stupendous lie, or disgracefully
failed in carrying out an engagement; and every passer-by takes a stick
or a stone to add to the accumulation, saying, at the time he does it,
“For So-and-so’s lying heap.” It goes on for generations, until they
sometimes forget who it was that told the lie; but, notwithstanding
that, they continue throwing the stone.

At another place, near many cross roads, there is a tree on which are
hung innumerable pieces of rag; each person passing tears a little bit
of cloth from his costume and sticks it there. They have forgotten the
origin of this practice, but fear for their health if they neglect it.
One Dayak observed, “It is like that custom of some European nations
giving passports to those who enter or leave their country.” If this be
a true explanation, it is, perhaps, to give the spirits of the woods
notice who have passed that way, and the Dayak’s observation shows how
quick they are, and how well they remember what they have heard.

They practise various ordeals; among others, two pieces of native
salt, of equal weight, are placed in water; that appertaining to the
guilty party melts immediately; the other, they affirm, keeps its
form; but, in fact, the one that disappears first proves the owner to
be in the wrong. Another is with two land shells, which are put on a
plate and lime-juice squeezed upon them, and the one that moves first
shows the guilt or innocence of the owner, according as they have
settled previously whether motion or rest is to prove the case. They
talk of another, where the hand is dipped into boiling water or oil,
and innocence is proved by no injury resulting. The favourite ordeal,
however, is the dipping the head under water, and the first who puts up
his face to breathe loses the case.

I need only observe, concerning their language, that the Sibuyaus,
the Balaus, the Undups, the Batang Lupars, the Sakarangs, Seribas,
and those inhabitants of the Rejang living on the Kanowit and Katibas
branches, all speak the same language, with no greater modifications
than exist between the English spoken in London and Somersetshire. They
are, in fact, but divisions of the same tribe; and the differences that
are gradually growing up between them principally arise from those
who frequent the towns and engage in trade, using much Malay in their
conversations, and allowing their own words to fall into disuse. The
agricultural inhabitants of the farther interior are much more slowly
influenced.




                             CHAPTER III.

                         THE KAYANS OF BARAM.

   Unaccountable Panic--Man Overboard--Fishing--Coast
   Scenery--Baram Point--Floating Drift--Pretty Coast
   to Labuan--Thunder and Lightning Bay--Bar of the
   Brunei--River Scenery--The Capital--Little Children in
   Canoes--Floating Market--Kayan Attack--The Present Sultan’s
   Story--Fire-arms--Devastation of the Interior--Customs of the
   Kayans--Upas Tree--View of the Capital--The Fountains--The
   Baram--Kayan Stratagem--Wild Cattle--Banks of the River--Gading
   Hill--Ivory--Elephants on North-east Coast--Hunting--Startling
   Appearance--Town of Langusin--Salutes--First
   Interview--Graves--Wandering Kanowits--Appearance of
   the Kayans--Visit Singauding--Religion--Houses--Huge
   Slabs--Skulls--Women tatooed--Mats--Visit the Chiefs--Drinking
   Chorus--Extempore Song--Head-hunting--Effect of
   Spirits--Sacrifice--Ceremony of Brotherhood--Effect of
   Newly-cleared Jungle--War Dance--Firewood--Customs--Origin of
   Baram Kayans--Vocabulary--Trade--Birds’ Nests--Destruction
   of Wealth--Manners and Customs--Iron--Visit Edible
   Birds’ Nest Caves--The Caves--Narrow Escape--Two Kinds
   of Swallows--Neat House--Visit of Singauding--Visit to
   Si Obong--Her Dress--Hip-lace--Her Employments--Farewell
   Visit--Fireworks--Smelting Iron--Accident--Departure--Kayans
   Cannibals--Anecdotes--Former Method of Trading--Unwelcome
   Visitors.


In April, 1851, the steamer _Pluto_, Acting Commander Brett,
arrived in Sarawak with directions to take me on an official visit to
Brunei and Baram. Sarawak was at that time suffering from one of those
unaccountable panics which sometimes seize on both large and small
communities. The report was that a French fleet was outside preparing
to attack the place. People packed up their valuables, and some even
carried them off to the forest. The only way we could account for it
was the news of the recent destruction of the capital of Sulu by the
Spaniards having by this time spread over the Archipelago, and been
distorted in various ways.

Starting from Sarawak, we steered our course to the island of Labuan.
One evening on a bright, starlight night, we were all sitting on the
bridge of the vessel, when we were startled by the cry of a “man
overboard.” To stop the steamer, pull the trigger that disengaged
the flaming life-buoy, and to let down the boats, did not take many
minutes, and they soon pushed off from the sides. While we stood on
the deck with strained attention, a sharp cry was heard; then there
was a dead silence, followed immediately by the sound of the oars in
the rowlocks as the men gave way towards the life-buoy that was seen
floating astern like a bright torch dancing on the waves. We thought we
heard another fainter cry, but the mind in great tension will imagine
these things. We could distinguish amid the sound of splashing water
the distant shouts of the men as the crews hailed each other, but no
answer was given to our captain’s eager inquiries, as the rustling of
the wind in our rigging, and those varied sounds that ever will arise
around a ship laying to, drowned his voice. The anxiety of all was
intense as the boats pulled back, and a sickening feeling came over
us all when we found that their search had been unavailing. Either
strength had failed the man, or a shark had seized him before he could
reach the life-buoy. The passionate grief of the son of the drowned
Portuguese now struck painfully on our ears, and I was not sorry to
gain the refuge of the inner cabin.

In sailing along this coast fine fish and small sharks are often caught
by hook and line trailing out far behind the vessels. The Tañgiri fish
is perhaps the finest: the usual size obtained varies from three to
five feet, and it has something of the look of a salmon, without its
richness of flavour. We have caught also many young sharks, but all
under five feet; in fact, anything larger would carry away the bait,
hook, and all. Young shark is often eaten, both by Malays and Chinese.
I have tasted it, and thought it very coarse; but at sea even that
change is palatable.

The coast line between Sarawak and Baram point is the least beautiful
of the north-west coast. Scarcely any but hills far in the interior
are seen, and the land is either flat or gently undulating hill and
dale, but with few distinctive features. However, in the depth of the
great bay that lies between Points Sirik and Baram, near the river of
Bintulu, there are some fine mountains; and once, during a very clear
day, I thought I saw a far distant peak, which might be that of Tilong,
according to native report, higher than Kina Balu. Bintulu is now the
northern boundary of the territories of Sarawak.

Although I have said the appearance of this coast is not picturesque,
yet in the eye of one who looks to the commercial and agricultural
advantages, it is satisfactory. Broad plains of alluvial soil, as rich,
perhaps, as any in the world, and a fine succession of swelling hill
and dale afford some compensation to one who, as I do, looks upon this
coast as capable of as much development as a similar space in Java.

Between Bintulu and Baram there are two remarkable serrated
mountains--Siluñgan and Lambir; but in this ninety miles of coast one
small village only is to be found, and unless you penetrate far into
the interior, there are but a few wandering Punans and others who
inhabit it.

Baram is a dangerous point to ships, as it lies low and the sea shoals
rapidly. Here in the rainy season the fresh water rushes out with so
much force, as to carry it unmixed four or five miles from land, where
native prahus often take in their supplies. Large trunks of trees are
continually floating about, which are brought down from the interior,
and are very dangerous to small vessels, and many a Malay trader has
owed to them his ruin. Off Sirik Point a prahu struck and immediately
sunk. Her captain reported a rock, but as the coast near was simply
alluvial deposit, and the fishermen who frequent this spot have never
found it, it is generally thought that he suffered from a submerged
tree.

I was once a passenger on board a frigate while she sailed by this
point. We were sitting below, and heard her distinctly strike, and a
grating sound as of crushed coral was audible. “On shore again,” was
the general observation: we went on deck, to find her running before
the wind at ten knots an hour. We had, I believe, simply passed over
one of these huge trunks. I have mentioned elsewhere the mass of
floating weeds and trees that continually gyrates in a circle about
fifteen miles off this point.

Although my object was to visit the Baram river, yet I was obliged to
pass on to Labuan and Brunei to obtain interpreters and guides. As we
approached our little English colony we found our coal was all used,
and we could scarcely reach the harbour, although we burnt a horse-box
and everything available on board.

The coast line between Baram and Brunei is very pretty. As we approach
the capital, the interminable jungle gives way to grassy hills, with
a park-like distribution of timber. Curling wreaths of smoke rising
from the shaded valleys, told us that the inhabitants were numerous. In
the far distance we could see the great mountain of Molu, the loftiest
known, except Kina Balu: the latter was visible to-day, although about
120 miles off; it looked like a huge table mountain rising from the
sea, all intervening ground being lost in the distance.

We reached Labuan the day before the Queen’s birthday, in time to be
present at the official dinner given by Governor Scott. I shall take
another opportunity to notice this island.

We heard on our arrival that Mr. Low, the Colonial treasurer, had made
an attempt to reach the summit of Kina Balu. It was generally said
he had failed; but many years after, I was able to prove that he had
reached to within a few hundred feet of the very highest peaks.

After some days’ stay to coal, we started for the capital, which lies
about thirty-three miles to the S.S.W. The bay opposite Labuan is one
of the most striking on the coast. The mountains commence within a few
miles of the shore, and tower in successive ranges to Brayong, and Si
Guntang, about 8,000 feet in height.

By naval men this is called Thunder-and-Lightning Bay, and it well
deserves the name, as scarcely a day passes without some heavy squall
sweeping down from the mountains, while the brightest lightning
flashes, and the thunder rolls and re-echoes among the hills.

The entrance to the inner bay, into which so many rivers pour their
waters, is five fathoms, and with a little care as to the known marks,
of easy entrance. To the right is the low island of Muara, reputed
deadly; but I have stayed there many times, and none of my people
suffered. Keeping along the southern shore of the island, the channel
is reached, and as we approach the true entrance of the Brunei river
the scenery becomes lovely.

To the right is the island of Iñgaran, with its remains of Spanish
batteries; to the left, picturesque Chermin. No ship of any size can
enter the river, as eight feet at low water, and fourteen at high, is
what the bar affords, which is also rendered more difficult by a long
artificial dam of stones thrown across the stream in former times to
prevent the approach of hostile squadrons. The water, however, has
forced an angular passage to the right, through which vessels are
obliged to pass. It is one of the worst rivers for commercial purposes
in Borneo.

Beautiful hills rise sharply from the banks; some are wooded, with
clumps of lofty palms pushing their way up through the jungle, while
others are cleared, presenting swelling grassy summits and green
slopes. Before us the honoured hill of Sei rises, and forms, as it
were, an abrupt termination of the river. The Borneans take a pride in
this hill that overshadows their town, although its elevation is but
700 feet.

Turning sharply to the right, we saw the first houses of the capital
of Borneo, by the natives called Dar’u’salam, or the Abode of Peace,
and which has been truly described as the “Venice of hovels.” The
salt-water creek or river here expands to a small lake, and on
mud-banks are the houses, built on the slenderest of piles--mere palms,
that rot in three years. Slow, sluggish, and muddy, the water passes
underneath, to leave, at ebb tide, exposed banks emitting the most
offensive effluvia, which turns the gold and silver of uniforms to the
colour of dirt.

As soon as we had anchored, the steamer was surrounded by a crowd of
canoes, some so small as scarcely to float a child of five years of
age--in fact, but a hollowed log. Mothers do not fear to trust their
children in them, as they swim like fishes. It is a saying in Siam,
that their children can do three things at a tender age--swim, smoke,
and suck. I once saw a child at the breast, but with one eye fixed
on his brothers paddling in the water; presently it gave a crow of
delight, and leaving its mother’s arms, sprang into the river to enjoy
the fun. He was not more than three years old.

The whole town appeared to be interested in our arrival, for, as we
passed up the broad and deep river between the lines of houses, crowds
of men, women, and children thronged the verandahs.

The floating market mentioned by Forrest was there also--several
hundred canoes, each containing one or two women, covered over with mat
hats a yard in diameter, floated up and down about the town, pulling
through the water lanes and resting for a while in the slack tide at
the back of the houses. These women, generally ill-favoured old slaves,
frequent this migratory assemblage every day, and buy and sell fowls,
vegetables, fish, and fruit.

The supply of food for this population of five-and-twenty thousand
requires some arrangement: so every morning a market is held at various
points, where the hill people assemble and exchange their agricultural
produce for salt, fish, iron, and clothes. The old women are diligent
frequenters of these places, and buy here to retail in the capital.

I have often come across these extemporized markets: some held under
groves of fruit-trees; others on grassy fields, but, by choice or
accident, always in a lovely spot.

We had not long been anchored when the Sultan and ministers sent
messengers on board, to inquire the news and invite me to a meeting.
They are very anxious about the result of my visit to the Kayans, as
there is little doubt that this slave-acquiring and head-hunting people
are destroying the interior population.

To-day they had received news that three long war-boats of their
enemies had been dragged over into the waters of the upper Limbang;
that they had attacked a party of the Sultan’s Murut subjects, and
killed six, after which they had immediately returned to their own
country. It is evident that the Borneans are in great fear of the
ultimate result of these forays. The old Sultan being ill, I did not
see him, but spent the evening with Pañgeran Mumein, the prime minister
(and present Sultan). He is an amiable man, and bears a better
character than the rest; his great fault is grasping. He is always
telling the story of his fight with the Kayans, which exemplifies how
easily these men were defeated by the use of musketry. Some years
since, Pañgeran Mumein hearing that the district of Tamburong was
invaded by the people of Baram, collected his followers and guns,
and proceeded thither. When they came in sight of the Kayans crowded
round a village, the Malays became alarmed, and wished to retreat; but
their leader sprang forward and fired a brass swivel at the enemy; it
fortunately took effect on one, and the crowd dispersed. Recovering
from their fright, the Borneans fired volley after volley into the
jungle, and celebrated their victory by loud beatings of gongs and
drums. The Kayans, still more frightened, fled in all directions.

Pañgeran Mumein justly observed, that as long as the Kayans were
unacquainted with the use of fire-arms, it was easy to defend the
country; but that now the Bornean traders were supplying them with
brass swivels and double-barrel guns, he thought that the ruin of
Brunei was at hand. But the fact is, that though the Kayans are now
less frightened at the noise of heavy guns and muskets than they were,
they seldom employ them in their expeditions in the jungle, as they
cannot keep them in working order.

With the assistance of his followers’ memories, Mumein repeated the
names of forty villages that had been destroyed within the last ten
years, and the majority of the inhabitants captured or killed.

Several of the respectable Malay traders of the place have agreed to go
with me as guides and interpreters; among the rest are Gadore, Abdul
Ajak, and Bakir, the principal dealers with Baram. Bakir had but just
arrived from that country, and he says that the Kayans are anxiously
awaiting my arrival, having heard that I was ready for the steamer.
As he appears a very intelligent fellow, I will note down some of the
information he gave me about the people. Their customs appear much the
same as those of the Sea Dayaks: he began, oddly enough, with their
funerals. When a man dies, they wrap him up in cloths and place him in
a kind of box on top of four upright poles, and leave him there with
some of his worldly goods--in the case of chiefs, a very large amount.
Their marriages are simple. When two young people take a fancy to each
other, their intercourse is unrestrained: should the girl prove with
child, a marriage takes place; their great anxiety for children makes
them take this precaution against sterility.

We pulled in the evening to visit the fine upas-tree growing at the end
of the reach below the town. We landed at a Mahomedan burying-place,
and there met a Malay, who warned us not to approach this deadly
tree, but we smilingly thanked him and continued our course, forcing
our way through the tangled bushes at its base: it has a noble stem,
some five-and-thirty feet without a branch, and eighteen feet in
circumference; the colour of its bark is a light brown. The tree is a
very handsome and spreading one, and its bright rich green contrasted
well with the dark foliage beyond.

  [Illustration:

    T. Picken lith.            Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen.

  Published by Smith Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.

  THE CITY OF BRUNEI--SUNSET.]

Leaving the burying-ground, we fell down the river a hundred yards, and
then walked up a path leading over the hills, where a dip rendered
the passage easier. Arriving at the summit, we saw the town spread
out, map-like, before us, and it is one of the loveliest scenes I have
ever witnessed. The sun was just setting amid a broken heap of clouds,
and threw its dimmed rays on everything around. The river, slowly
meandering through the town and country, flowed past our feet, its
rippled waters faintly tinged with purple; while around, till hidden by
the now rapidly-approaching darkness, we could perceive a succession of
hills, gilded here and there, and generally clothed with trees to the
very summit; but, that the eye might not be wearied, many an eminence
was grass-covered. A cool breeze blew gently down the river, and was
pleasantly refreshing after the hot day.

Before darkness had quite enveloped us, we visited those little grottos
whence the Borneans obtain their supplies of drinking water. Rills are
led through bamboo-pipes, and brought conveniently to fill the jars
that crowd the numerous boats, each waiting its turn. Brunei water is
famous; it runs through a sandstone district, and is very clear and
tasteless. One of these places is called to this day “The Factor’s
Fountain,” and brings back to one’s mind the time, when the East India
Company had a factory here and traded in pepper.

Having collected our Bornean guides, who vainly endeavoured to load the
steamer with their trading goods, we bade adieu to the authorities and
started for Labuan. We stayed there but a few hours, and then steamed
away for the Baram.

Next morning we arrived off the mouth, and, by not steering towards
land till the northern point of the river bore due east, came in with
one-and-a-half fathom water. The natives say there is a deeper channel
to be found by keeping close in to the northern shore, but it has not
yet been completely surveyed. A fresh breeze was blowing, which curled
the waves and dashed them in breakers on the sandbank; so that our
passage was made in a sea of foam. This obstruction renders the river
comparatively useless, and is greatly to be regretted, as immediately
the bar is passed the water deepens to four and five fathoms;
occasionally we found no bottom with a ten-fathom line.

At the mouth, the width of the Baram is about half a mile; it gradually
narrows, and then varies in breadth from 300 to 500 yards. Casuarians
line the entrance, then nipa palms, and the usual jungle pressing
closely to the water’s edge. A few miles more, and patches of rich,
short grass ornament the banks, increasing in number as we advanced.
The jungle presented few varied tints, but pretty creepers and white
and red flowers occasionally showed themselves among the dark leaves.

About twenty miles up the river was a landing-place on the right bank,
leading to the Blait country, inhabited by Muruts, who have suffered
heavily by the attacks of the Kayans.

Makota, the Malay noble so often mentioned in Keppel’s _Voyage of
the Dido_, as the chief opponent of European influence in Borneo,
and certainly the ablest and most unscrupulous man, and yet the most
agreeable companion I have found among the Malays, told me how the
Kayans had managed to obtain a village of Muruts in the Blait country.
It had often been attacked, but, as a strong stockade had been built
round it, they had defied the enemy.

One day, a fugitive party of three men and several women and children
were seen flying from the jungle towards the Murut village. Some armed
men went out to meet them, and they said that they had run away from
the Kayans, and were now escaping pursuit. They proved to be Muruts
of a distant river, who had been captured and held in slavery by the
Kayans. The Blaits received them with hospitality, and offered them
room in their long village houses that contained 150 families. The
fugitives, however, said they preferred keeping their party together,
and asked leave to build up a temporary hut against the inner side of
the stockade. Permission was granted, and they lived there six months,
working at a farm with their hosts.

One of these men, after the gathering in of the harvest, stayed out
till sunset, and explained it by saying he had been hunting, and that
the chase had led him farther than he intended. It was a dark night
that followed; and, about four in the morning, a large party of Kayans
crawled quietly up to the stockade, and found an entrance prepared
for them. The posts had been removed by the stranger Muruts, who had
gradually cut through the wood that formed the inner wall of their
temporary shed. When sufficient were within the defences, a loud shout
was raised, and fire applied to the leaf houses. The villagers rushed
out to be cut down or captured. In the confusion and the darkness,
however, the larger portion escaped, but left about a hundred and
fifty bodies and captives in the hands of the Kayans; and I am not
sorry to add, among the former were the three treacherous men who had
caused this awful scene. Some of the attacking party not obtaining
heads, quietly possessed themselves of those of their three allies.

Kum Lia planned and led this foray. I had some doubts of the truth of
this circumstantially told story; and many years after, meeting Kum Lia
in daily intercourse, I asked him about it. He was proud to acknowledge
that he was the author of the able stratagem, but was not clear as to
whether they had also slain their allies, but thought it very possible
that his followers had done so.

At sunset we passed the island of Bakong, divided by narrow waters from
the shore, and along the banks grass grew luxuriantly. We were struck
by the appearance of dark objects; and, seeing them move, telescopes
were pointed, and they proved to be a herd of Tambadau, or wild cattle,
and at the edge of the jungle was a group of deer.

We anchored at the entrance of the Bakong stream, about thirty-five
miles from the mouth of the Baram. During the night careful
observations were made, and it was found that at the height of the
flood the river rose only three feet, and the strength of the current
averaged only one mile per hour.

Started before sunrise; the stream continues much the same. At first
there were more open glades, with rich soft-looking grass like our
English meadows; traces of wild cattle and deer were constantly to be
observed. The river was seldom over four hundred yards in breadth, but
never less than two; the soundings changed from three fathoms to no
bottom with the usual line, but this great variation was caused by our
not always being able to keep in the deepest part of the stream.

A glance at the map will show how very abrupt are the turnings, and how
the stream doubles on itself, rendering it a very difficult matter to
steer. Occasionally the current would catch the bow of the steamer, and
force it on the shore; but immediately the stern felt the same force,
it was pressed also towards the bank, and the stem again would point
up stream. It was at last found the easiest and safest way to turn the
sharp points.

To-day we steamed by several Malay trading prahus pulling up the
stream, and observed one enormous Tapang tree that rose close to the
water’s edge.

Early in the afternoon we passed the embouchure of the Tingjir on the
left bank; it was about a third of the size of the Baram, and is said
to be shallow: it is well inhabited by a tribe of people called Sububs,
with whom the Kayans are interspersed. A couple of hours after, we
reached the Tutu on the right bank; up this the Kayans proceed when
intent on a foray in the Upper Limbang country.

Saw the first Kayans near this spot. Two canoes were coming down the
river; directly they perceived the moving monster approaching, they
turned and fled; but as they found we were overtaking them, they
deserted their canoes and dashed ashore. Three, however, remained
at the edge of the jungle, and we reassured them by waving our
handkerchiefs. It was a pardonable fear, they had never before seen
anything larger than their own war boats. They looked very much like
the Kanowit Dayaks before described.

We had one fine view of the peak of Molu and of its surrounding ranges;
occasionally the banks are becoming steep.

Anchored after sunset, above one hundred miles from the mouth; we are
now far beyond the influence of the tides, yet the current averaged but
a mile and a half.

Again started before sunrise; the river continued its winding course
with a few patches of greensward; our guides say there are no more wild
cattle, but many deer in this neighbourhood. We passed the sites of
numerous deserted plantations and of a few new ones: we startled the
people at a farmhouse by running our bowsprit into their verandah: no
wonder the women and children fled shrieking to the jungle.

Most of these habitations are built on high posts, and are very neatly
constructed. Generally, the people showed little fear, but crowded the
verandahs to look at us, some rushing to their boats to follow. We
again found a little difficulty in rounding the sharp points, and were
constantly striking the banks, but no damage was done, although we were
often among the overhanging branches of the jungle.

We touched once, while near the centre of the stream, on what I do not
know, probably a rock or a stump of a tree--the snags of the American
rivers. But just above this spot was the abrupt hill of Gading, that
rises perpendicularly from the banks, and is brightly white, with deep
fissures, and is celebrated for its birds’-nest caves. I am sorry we
did not stop to examine this, as many years after I found among the
Muruts of the centre of Northern Borneo, a small slab of white marble,
that I could only trace as having been brought from the Baram river.
The Malays called it Batu Gading, or ivory-stone: it was pure white.

Among our Malays was one who had frequently traded with the north-east
coast, and the mention of Gading (ivory) brought to his recollection
that elephants exist in the districts about the river Kina Batañgan. I
have seen many tusks brought to Labuan for sale, but never measured one
longer than six feet two inches, including the part set in the head.

I have met dozens of men who have seen the elephants there, but my own
experience has been limited to finding their traces near the sea-beach.
It is generally believed that above a hundred years ago the East India
Company sent to the Sultan of Sulu a present of these animals; that
the Sultan said these great creatures would certainly eat up the whole
produce of his own little island, and asked the donors to land them at
Cape Unsang, on the north-east coast of Borneo, where his people would
take care of them. But it is contrary to their nature to take care of
any animal that requires much trouble, so the elephants sought their
own food in the woods, and soon became wild.

Hundreds now wander about, and constantly break into the plantations,
doing much damage; but the natives sally out with huge flaming torches,
and drive the startled beasts back to the woods.

The ivory of Bornean commerce is generally procured from the dead
bodies found in the forests, but there is now living, one man who
drives a profitable trade in fresh ivory. He sallies out on dark
nights, with simply a waistcloth and a short, sharp spear: he crawls
up to a herd of elephants, and selecting a large one, drives his spear
into the animal’s belly. In a moment, the whole herd is on the move,
frightened by the bellowing of their wounded companion, who rushes to
and fro, until the panic spreads, and they tear headlong through the
jungle, crushing before them all smaller vegetation. The hunter’s peril
at that moment is great, but fortune has favoured him yet, as he has
escaped being trampled to death.

In the morning he follows the traces of the herd, and, carefully
examining the soil, detects the spots of blood that have fallen from
the wounded elephant. He often finds him, so weakened by loss of blood
as to be unable to keep up with the rest of the herd, and a new wound
is soon inflicted. Patiently pursuing this practice, the hunter has
secured many of these princes of the forest.

One can easily understand how startled a man unused to an animal
larger than a pony would feel on suddenly finding himself face to face
with a huge elephant. My favourite follower, Musa, has often made his
audience laugh by an account of the feelings he experienced, when,
pulling up the great river of Kina Batañgan, he steered close in-shore
to avoid the strength of the current, and, looking up to find what was
moving near, saw a noble tusked elephant above him, with his proboscis
stretched over the boat to pick fruit beyond--“The paddle dropped from
my hand, life left me, but the canoe drifted back out of danger.”

The banks of the Baram gradually became higher, and topped by neat
farm-houses, increased in beauty; but I think the first view of
the Kayan town of Lañgusin was one of the most picturesque I have
ever witnessed. Long houses, built on lofty posts, on hills of
various heights, yet appearing to be clustered together, while near
were numerous little rice stores, neatly whitewashed. I never saw
a prettier-looking place. We steered on, until we reached a long
village-house, still building, opposite which we anchored. Crowds
immediately assembled on the banks, and the Bornean traders came off to
give and receive news.

The chief, Tamawan, now sent to know how the salutes were to be
arranged, and we agreed that as usual we should salute his flag first,
and that he should return it. We were rather surprised to find an
English ensign hoisted, but he had received it from a trader, and said
he would never change it, as it showed his good feeling towards us.

Among the guns fired was the pivot 32-pounder, and the sound echoed and
re-echoed among the neighbouring hills, startling the whole population,
who had never before heard anything louder than a brass swivel. The
salute was returned by an irregular firing, that continued for about an
hour--the greater number of guns the greater honour.

My Malay followers were very desirous that I should show the utmost
dignity, and require the chiefs of the river to make the first visit;
but on that I declined insisting, and left it to the Kayans to settle;
and, thinking it would show more confidence, I went on shore while
these preliminaries were discussing, and walked to the spot where all
the principal men were assembled under a temporary shed. Two chairs
and two boxes covered with English rugs were arranged at one end.
Before taking my seat, I shook hands with all around. This was a formal
meeting, and I explained to them the object of our coming, which was
to cement the friendship of the English with the Kayans. Having just
arrived from the Kanowit, I was enabled to give them some intelligence
from their friends and relations. In fact, I found Kum Nipa’s son here,
and also Diñgun, Belabun’s brother, and I had the unpleasant task of
informing them that small-pox had broken out on the Rejang, and was
committing fearful ravages. I did not tell the latter of the death of
his younger brother by Kayan hands, as it might prove disagreeable to
be informed of it publicly.

I did not stay long, as they appeared to be uneasy, but with general
assurances of friendship left them.

It is difficult to describe the outward appearance of these people,
and say anything different from what I have already said in describing
the Sea Dayaks. They are much like the Sakarangs, except that they are
slightly tatooed with a few stars and other marks; however, I have not
as yet seen much of them.

Along the banks of the river, we observed many Kayan graves: the body
is wrapped up, enclosed within a hollowed coffin, and raised on two
thick, carved posts, with roughly carved woodwork extending out from
each corner, like those seen on the roofs of Budhist temples. In one
they put so many goods that the Bornean traders were tempted to rob
them; and had not the Kayans discovered who were the culprits, the
rest would have suffered heavily. The Bornean thieves escaped, but they
and all their connections are for ever precluded from trading with this
district.

Diñgun came on board to hear more particular news of his family, and
was shocked on being informed of the death of his brother: he told
me he should return home in about five months. Two years ago, he and
a party of thirty started from Kanowit, and proceeded up the Rejang,
amusing themselves with the Kayans; they then pushed on and crossed
over to Baram, where they had remained guests of the principal chiefs.
He and his companions were easily distinguished from their neighbours
by their profuse tatooing. I was enabled to give him some information
about his father, his brothers, and his four children; about his wife,
I do not remember that he inquired.

The Baram is said to abound in alligators, but they are evidently not
very dangerous, as the women and children bathed daily opposite the
ship. Strength of current, two knots per hour.

Next morning, the chiefs came on board. I will give their names as
a curiosity:--Tamawan, Siñgauding, Kum Lia, the hero of the Blait
surprise, Si Matau, Longapan, and Longkiput, with some hundreds of
followers. They were charmed to be allowed freely to inspect the
vessel. Tamawan looks a savage, and doubtless is one: he had on but
little dress--a waistcloth of about two fathoms of gray shirting, a
handkerchief tossed over his shoulder, and a head-dress of dark cloth.
He is but slightly tatooed, having a couple of angles on his breast, a
few stars on his arms, his hands as far as the joints of his fingers,
and a few fanciful touches about his elbows; his ears were bored
and then drawn down by leaden weights, as is the fashion among the
Kanowits; the tops of his ears were also bored, and the long teeth of
the tiger-cat stuck through them like a pair of turn-down horns. And
such was the dress and appearance of nearly all but a few young men,
who wore jackets of a variety of colours, with an equal variety of
trimmings. Tamawan was a small man, but Simatau and Siñgauding were
hulking fellows; they were all strong or wiry-looking men, capable of
much fatigue; their countenances, on the whole, were pleasant. I took
them down to inspect the machinery, and my Bornean followers were their
guides to show them all the other wonders on board, particularly the
large thirty-two pounder gun, which greatly excited their respect.
Kum Lia, who is the son-in-law of Kum Nipa, of Rejang, whom I have
mentioned as the chief we intended to visit, when we were stopped by
the small-pox having broken out in his country, stayed after the others
to inquire about his family. He remembered the name of Niblett, who
commanded the _Phlegethon_ when it called at Bintulu in 1847.

In the evening I visited Siñgauding at his house. I should like to have
taken up my residence on shore, but they were desirous to make so many
preparations that I gave up the idea, as our stay would necessarily be
short, although I was anxious to observe them more closely.

Our talk was at first about steamers, balloons, and rockets, of which
they had heard much from the Borneans. They particularly wished to know
if we had a telescope that could discover the hidden treasures of the
earth, as they had heard we possessed one that showed mountains in the
moon.

I was unfortunate in the medium through which I obtained my
information. The Bornean interpreters are only anxious on the subject
of trade; and being Mahomedans always laugh at the superstitions of
the wild tribes. I therefore give, with some hesitation, what they
told me concerning their religion. They said the name of their god was
Totaduñgan, and he was the supreme ruler who created, and now reigned
over all; that he had a wife, but no children; beneath him were many
other inferior powers. They believed in a future life, with separate
places for the souls of the good and of the bad; that their heaven and
hell were divided into many distinct residences; that those who died
from wounds, from sickness, or were drowned, went each to separate
places. If a woman died before her husband, she went to the other
world and married. On the death of her husband, if he came to the same
world, she repudiated her ghostly partner and returned to him who had
possessed her on earth.

Siñgauding’s house was of a similar construction to those of the Sea
Dayaks, very long, with a broad, covered verandah, as a public room,
and a sleeping-place for the bachelors, while off it were separate
apartments for the married people, the young girls, and children. The
roof was of shingle, the posts of heavy wood, the flooring of long and
broad rough planks, the partitions of the same material, with small
doors about two feet above the floor, leading into the inner rooms.

Every Kayan chief of consideration possesses a kind of seat formed from
the Tapang tree. It is, in fact, a huge slab, cut out of the buttress
of that lofty tree; and this seat descends from father to son, till
it is polished and black with age. Siñgauding gave me one, measuring
ten feet six inches by six feet six inches. It was made into a very
handsome dining-table, but was unfortunately burnt during the Chinese
insurrection of 1857. When Siñgauding heard of this, he determined to
send me another that should throw the former into the shade; and I
heard that the one selected was fifteen feet by nine. Up to August,
1861, it had not reached me, as all the Malay traders declared their
boats were too small to receive it.

Near the spot where we sat conversing were open baskets, hung near
the fire-places, containing the human heads they had captured. The
house certainly did not look cheerful; but I saw it under unfavourable
circumstances--a dark evening with constant drizzling rain.

As yet, I have seen but the few women who bathe opposite to the ship.
They are generally tatooed from the knee to the waist, and wear but
a cloth like a handkerchief hung round the body, and tucked in at
one side above the hip, leaving a portion of the thigh visible. When
bathing, their tatooing makes them look as if they were all wearing
black breeches. They are tolerable-looking women; and I saw a few
pleasant countenances.

The visit of the steamer was not timed very fortunately, as Tamadin,
an influential chief, with a large party, was away head-hunting; and
a rumour had arrived of a very severe loss having been suffered by a
force that started for the interior of the Limbang and Trusan rivers.
If we could stay twenty days we should see all the population; but I
have had a hint that the provisions are running short, and nothing can
be procured here but a few pigs, fowls, and goats, all very dear.

I have calculated the population of this town, called Lañgusin, at
2,500 souls, and this is perhaps under the mark. From my inquiries,
however, the interior must be tolerably well peopled.

At ten o’clock at night, the shouts and yells of the Kayans on shore
were borne to us, as they were working with might and main to finish
the long village-house of Tamawan. He gave them some drink, and they
worked half the night.

They showed me some very pretty mats to-day made by the wandering tribe
of Punans, who live on jungle produce, and collect honey and wax.

Next day I sent some presents to Siñgauding and Tamawan, and at their
special invitation went ashore to meet them. A large temporary shed
sheltered us from the sun. There was no inconvenient crowding, not more
than a hundred men being assembled, and about twenty women, the wives
and daughters of their chiefs. Among them there were some interesting
girls. They wore their long black hair quite loose, only white fillets
being bound round the forehead, so as to cast the hair in heavy masses
over their ears and down their backs. Their countenances were open,
bright dark eyes, smooth foreheads, depressed noses, clear skin, but
indifferent mouths. They had good figures and well set up busts. I
have as yet seen no old women and men in the tribe.

One of the objects of my visit was to inquire into the alleged bad
conduct of an English trader and of a Sarawak Malay. I spent two hours
in this investigation. When this was over, native arrack and some of
my French brandy was introduced. About a third of a tumbler of the
former was handed to me. As I raised it to my lips, the whole assembly
burst out into what appeared a drinking chorus; and this they did when
any man of note drank. A little spirit getting into them, they became
more cheerful and amusing; and we talked about their head-hunting
propensities. The wholesome advice I felt compelled to give them on
this subject made them feel thirsty, and Tamawan seizing a bottle,
filled two tumblers two-thirds full of raw spirit and handed it to me,
and asked me to drink with him to the friendship of the two nations.
Could I refuse? No. I raised the tumbler to my lips, and amid a very
excited chorus allowed the liquor to flow down.

When this was finished, Tamawan jumped up, and while standing burst out
into an extempore song, in which Sir James Brooke and myself, and last,
not least, the wonderful steamer, was mentioned with warm eulogies,
and every now and then the whole assembly joined in chorus with great
delight.

Tamawan now sat down and talked about head-hunting again. He said
that when the Kayans attacked a village, they only killed those who
resisted or attempted to escape; the rest they brought home with them,
turning them in fact into field slaves. He declared, however, that his
great village, and twenty-one others, were averse to the practice of
head-hunting; but that over the twenty-eight other villages he had no
influence. The above forty-nine villages he went over by name, and
mentioned likewise the principal chief in each. They assert that a
village was considered small that had only a hundred families, while
a large one contained four hundred. If we may judge from the account
he gave of the town opposite which we are anchored, he must have
underrated considerably. He said this contained two hundred families;
but after going over the numbers in each village-house, we came to the
conclusion that there were at least five hundred families in Lañgusin.
But as long as head-hunting is considered an honourable pursuit, and
the acquisition of Murut slaves enables the chiefs to live without
labour, it will be impossible to put a stop to their forays.

Tamawan had excited himself on this subject, and again feeling very
thirsty after all the information he had given me, now looked about
for something to drink. I was beginning to congratulate myself on its
being finished, when he spoke to a very pretty girl who was standing
near, and she instantly disappeared to return with a couple of bottles
of brandy in her hands. The two tumblers were again filled more than
half-full--one for me, the other for himself. I remembered what Sydney
Smith said of the little effect spirit often has on the temperate
man, and joined him in this last pledge. I pitied the poor Malays,
who had never been accustomed to anything stronger than tea, being
forced to follow our example; and yet it was ridiculous to watch their
contortions and wry faces, as their inexorable hosts forced them to
swallow their allowance.

Now came a ceremony new to me: a young pig was brought in by the pretty
waiting-maid and handed over to one of the men present, who bound
its legs, and carrying it out opposite to where the _Pluto_ was
anchored, placed it on the ground. Mats were laid around, and a chair
was provided for me. Tamawan now came forward and commenced an oration.
His voice was at first thick from the potency of his previous draughts;
but warming on his subject, he entered at large on the feelings of
friendship with which he regarded the English; spoke of the wonderful
vessel that came with oars of fire; seized my hand, and gesticulated
excitedly with the other; then pointing to the pig, he entered on what
appeared to be a prayer, as he seemed appealing to something beyond
him; he took a knife, and cut the pig’s throat; the body was then
opened, and the heart and liver taken out and placed on two leaves,
and closely examined, to judge from their appearance whether our visit
would be fortunate for the Kayan nation. Every chief present felt
their different proportions, and Tamawan pointed out to me the various
indications. Luckily for our friendship, they found that every portion
portended good fortune. With his bloody hand Tamawan grasped mine, and
expressed his delight at the happy augury. Throwing away the auricle of
the heart, they cut up the rest to eat, and placed the pieces over the
fire, using a bambu as a cooking vessel.

I now took my leave, rather tired with my four hours’ exertions, and
returned on board. The ceremony of examining the heart and liver of
the pig was too classical not to merit particular notice, though I have
already mentioned that the Sakarang Dayaks practise the same.

Next day being Sunday, the Malays kept the Kayans from coming on
board. I inquired particularly as to the meaning of Tamawan’s address
yesterday, and I hear that it was an invocation to the spirits of good
and evil to allow him to discover from the heart of the sacrifice
whether our visit was to prove fortunate or not to the Kayan nation.

Siñgauding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going
through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say
imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it
is placed within a native cigar and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed
to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony. It is
called Berbiang by the Kayans; Bersabibah by the Borneans. I landed
with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk, to give time
for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the
broad verandah of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women,
and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about
to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum Lia took a small piece
of wood, shaped like a knife-blade, and slightly piercing the skin,
brought blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off: then one
of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Siñgauding, and a small
cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blades was spread on
the tobacco. A chief then arose, and walking to an open place, looked
forth upon the river and invoked their god and all the spirits of good
and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was
then lighted, and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was
concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling
the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been
unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination.
They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to
the Kiniahs, who live farther up the river, and are intermarried with
the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are
to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods,
and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then
killed, and after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the
wound, and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.

I hear that I am in very high favour with the Kayans, from my joining
their drinking party and now entering their tribe, and binding myself
to them by a tie which they look on as sacred. We had a long talk about
the advantage which would accrue to trade if the Kayans establish their
town nearer the mouth of the river; as at present it takes a Malay
boat sixteen days to reach it in the fine season, and thirty in the
wet. I found they had tried it once, by removing to the mouth of the
Tingjir; but building their houses over the freshly-cleared jungle they
lost a great many men by fever. They accounted for this by saying they
had accidentally fallen upon a spot that was much frequented by evil
spirits, and so had returned to their original site.

To close this meeting merrily, a large jar of arrack was introduced,
and subsequently a bottle of brandy. Excited by this, Si-Matau clothed
himself in full war costume and commenced a sword dance. He was a fine,
strong fellow, and with his dress of black bear-skin ornamented with
feathers, his sword in hand, and shield adorned with many-coloured
hair, said to be human, he looked truly formidable. His dancing
expressed the character of the people--quick and vigorous motions,
showing to advantage the development of his muscles. He was accompanied
by the music of a two-stringed instrument, resembling a rough guitar:
the body was shaped like a decked Malay trading prahu, with a small
hole an inch in diameter in the centre; the strings were the fine
threads of rattan twisted and drawn up tightly by means of tuning-keys;
however, the sound produced was not very different from that of a
tightly-drawn string. Some of the lookers-on were young girls with
regular features, light skins, and good figures, and with a pleasing,
pensive expression.

I looked about the house to-day, and though it is boarded all through,
and, therefore, more substantial than those of the Sea Dayaks, yet it
did not appear so bright and cheerful as the light yellow matted walls
of the latter. I never saw so much firewood collected together as in
these houses: on a fine framework spreading partly over the verandah
and partly over their rooms, many months’ supplies are piled even to
the roof;--of course it is a great advantage to have dry materials in
all weathers, and it is a provision against times of sickness or busy
harvest-work.

Last night there arrived overland the news I had previously given them
of the small-pox having broken out among the Kayans of Rejang, and
to-day it formed the subject of conversation. They were anxious to have
that medicine which the white men put into the arm, and which they were
told came from the belly of a snake.

Tamawan, who was on board this morning, was greatly pleased at
witnessing the musket exercise, and when he came on shore, went through
it again to the admiration of his followers.

As the Kayans believed some misfortune would happen to us if I went
anywhere but straight on board the ship, or if Siñgauding left his
house during the day, I remained quiet, and talked over affairs with
the Malays.

I find that, as among the Kanowits and other Dayaks, after the death of
a relative they go out head-hunting, but do not kill the first person
met; but each one they pass must make them a trifling present, which is
no doubt quickly given, to get rid of such unpleasant neighbours.

Nakodah Abdullah, who has traded with this country since he was a boy,
and Nakodah Jalil, another experienced man, came to spend the afternoon
with me. They say the origin of the Kayans coming to the Baram was
this: About twenty-five or thirty years ago, there were three powerful
chiefs living in the Balui country--as the interiors of the Rejang and
Bintulu rivers are called--Kum Nipa, Kum Laksa, and the father of my
brother Siñgauding; that Kum Laksa quarrelled with the last, and being
joined by Kum Nipa, a feud arose, in the course of which the father
of Siñgauding was killed. The relatives, to save the infant son, fled
to the Baram with all those who were well affected to the family: some
thousands came over, and singularly enough, they were well received by
the Kiniahs, the original inhabitants of the country. Though they are
said to speak distinct languages, they soon commenced intermarrying,
and are gradually becoming one people. I am inclined to think, from
their own remarks, that they must originally have come from the same
part of Borneo, and that the difference of language is not greater than
that which exists among the various branches of the Sea Dayaks. The
other inhabitants of the river are the Sububs, on the Tingjir, and the
numerous Murut slaves captured in their forays. Si-Matau, who danced so
vigorously this morning, was a Subub.

I tried, by the aid of the Malay traders, to draw up a vocabulary of
the language, but found that the ignorance of these men was too great
to enable me to make one entitled to any confidence. I noticed that
half their conversation with the natives was carried on in corrupt
Malay words, and these they gave me as true Kayan expressions.

Before the arrival of the Kayans, the trade to this river was merely
nominal; but they, knowing the value of the edible birds’-nests, soon
changed the face of matters, as they discovered caves plentifully
supplied with this article of Chinese luxury. Their houses are now
built in the neighbourhood of the resort of this wealth-creating bird.
Quite lately, however, they wantonly injured their own interests by
taking the nests five times a year, and never allowing the birds a
chance of hatching an egg; the consequence has been, that they are
seeking more secluded spots, and are reported to be resorting to the
numerous caves found in the mountain of Molu. The other articles
of trade are camphor, wax, gutta-percha, and, lately, a little
india-rubber.

They principally import gray shirtings and chintzes; the Malays, vying
with each other, took one year, it is said, 50,000 pieces, and allowed
the Kayans to have them on credit. Since then everything has gone
wrong--debts are not paid, quarrels arise, and the caves are ruined by
endeavouring to obtain the means of purchasing more articles.

In some respects, the Kayans differ in their customs from the other
aboriginal tribes of Borneo. At the birth of a chief’s child there
are great rejoicings; a feast is given, pigs, and fowls, and goats
being freely sacrificed. Jars of arrack are brought forward, and all
the neighbours are called upon to rejoice with their leader. They say
that on this occasion a name is given if the omen be good. A feather
is inserted up the child’s nostril, to tickle it; if it sneeze it
is a good sign, but if not, the ceremony is put off to another day.
I may mention one inhuman custom, which is, that women who appear
to be dying in childbirth, are taken to the woods and placed in a
hastily-constructed hut; they are looked upon as interdicted, and none
but the meanest slaves may approach them, either to give them food or
to attend to them.

Marriages are celebrated with great pomp; many men have ruined
themselves by their extravagance on this occasion. Tamading, with
princely munificence, gave away or spent the whole of his property on
his wedding-day.

As among the Sea Dayaks, the young people have almost unrestrained
intercourse; but if the girl prove with child, a marriage immediately
takes place, the bridegroom making the richest presents he can to her
relatives. The men, even the greatest chief, take but one wife, and, it
is said, consider it shameful to mix their blood, and never, therefore,
have any intercourse with the inferior women or slaves.

I have already mentioned the coffins elevated on posts; this,
doubtless, extends only to the rich, the poor being simply buried.

There is another practice of the Kayans, which was mentioned by
Dalton[2] as existing among those he met on the Koti river; it was
disbelieved by many at the time, but it is undoubtedly true: the rich
men using gold, the poorer silver, bones of birds, and even hard
wood. The doctor of the _Semiramis_ steamer carefully examined
a great number of Kayans, and expressed his astonishment that no
injury resulted from this extraordinary practice. A German missionary
has accused the Southern Kayans of certain gross usages; but I heard
nothing of them, and do not credit his account--his mistakes arising,
most probably, from his want of knowledge of the language.

I procured to-day a packet of the iron they use in smelting; it
appeared like a mass of rough, twisted ropes, and is, I think, called
meteoric iron-stone. They use, also, two other kinds, of which I did
not obtain specimens. We found a little coal in the black shale on
which the town is built, and they spoke of golden pebbles, most likely
iron pyrites.

We had heavy rain every night; the current became stronger, and the
river rapidly rose.

We went next day to visit the caves whence they get the edible
birds’-nests. We pulled down in the steamer’s cutter for about a mile,
and then up a narrow stream, till we could force her along no farther.
We now landed to walk the rest of the way. Among our party were some
who had not been accustomed to forest work, and they came arrayed in
uniform and patent leather boots, thinking there was a dry and open
road. Their surprise was great and not agreeable when they found muddy
ground and the bed of a mountain torrent had to be traversed. Our
guide struck into the stream directly, and our party broke up, some
following him, while others sought a dryer way. From the stream we
entered a thick wood of young trees; then again across the stream, up
the bed of a mountain torrent, now partly dry; steep, slippery stones,
some overgrown with moss, others worn to a smooth surface; up again,
climbing the hill, over fallen trees, down deep ravines, across little
streams, jumping from rock to rock, until after an hour’s hard work
we arrived at a little house on the top of a hill--the neatest little
house imaginable, walls and floor of well-trimmed planks, and roof of
bright red shingle; it was perfectly new, and was the residence of the
guardian of the cave.

I looked vainly about me for the entrance, and on asking, they pointed
to a deep gully, but I could see nothing but bushes and grass; but on
descending a short distance, I saw the bottom of the gully suddenly
divide, leaving a rocky chasm some thirty feet in depth. A slight
framework of iron-wood enabled us to get down over the slippery rocks,
and we soon saw that the cave extended back under the little house,
and looked gloomy and deep. Our guide now lit a large wax taper, very
inferior for this purpose to the torches used by the Land Dayaks in
Sarawak, and led the way. The cave gradually enlarged, but by the
imperfect light we could only distinguish masses of uneven rock on
either side. As we advanced towards those parts where the finest white
nests are found, the ground became covered many feet deep with the
guano of the swallow, which emitted scarcely any smell. We advanced
nearly two hundred yards without seeing a single nest, Siñgauding’s men
having completely cleared the cave the day before: it was very vexing,
as we desired to see the nests as they were fixed to the rocks. The
cave gradually became narrower and lower, but we continued our advance
till we were stopped by its termination in this direction. Our guides
observing our disappointment in not finding any nests, told us that
there were a few in another branch. So we retraced our steps till we
reached a passage on our left, and presently arrived at a spot where
we descended abruptly some twelve feet; it was pitch dark, as the
guide had gone rapidly ahead. On reaching the bottom, I put my foot
cautiously down, and could find nothing: the passage being very narrow
I was enabled to support myself with my hands on either side while
feeling with my feet for standing ground. There was none in front, but
on either edge there was just resting room for the foot; so this chasm
was passed in safety. I shouted out to my companions to take care, and
the guide returning, we examined what we had escaped: it was a black
hole, into which we threw stones, and calculating the number of seconds
they took in reaching the first obstruction, we found it about three
hundred feet deep. The stones bounded on the rocks below, and we could
hear them strike and strike again, till they either reached the bottom,
or till the sound was lost in the distance.

We then advanced to a large hall, apparently supported in the middle by
a massive pillar, which was in fact but a huge stalactite. From above
fell a continued shower of cold water, which doubtless was the cause of
those innumerable stalactites that adorned the roof.

We continued advancing for about seventy or eighty yards farther, the
cave getting narrower and narrower till two could not move abreast.
Except where the guano lay, the walking was difficult, as the rocks
were wet and excessively slippery, and open chasms were not rare. In
the farther end we were shown the places where the best nests were
obtained: the dryest portion of the sides of the cave are chosen by the
birds, and these appeared seldom to occur--I found but one inferior
nest remaining. Disturbed by our movements and by yesterday’s havoc,
the swallows were in great commotion, and flew round and round, and
darted so near our solitary light that we were in great fear for its
existence.

The natives say that in these caves there are two species of birds--the
one that builds the edible nest, and another that takes up its quarters
near the entrance, and disturbs, and even attacks the more valuable
tenants. The Kayans endeavour to destroy these, and while we were there
knocked down some nests constructed of moss, and adhering to the rock
by a glutinous but coarse substance. The fine edible one looks like
pure isinglass, with some amount of roughness on its surface. The best
I have seen are four inches round the upper edge, and appear like a
portion of a whitish cup stuck against a wall.

On examining the construction of the mountain, one’s first impression
is, that all these huge rocks were thrown in heaps together; but,
doubtless, water is the agent in forming these caves and the deep
fissures that penetrate to the water-line in these limestone mountains.

I believe the guides took us to the smallest cave, as I am sure, from
the produce of the district, that there must be many more better
adapted for the swallows, or else that they must be very numerous.
In fact, the guides told us that Siñgauding had several others, and
that Tamawan in right of his wife had the best. As they showed no
inclination to take us to the uncleared caves, we did not press them.

The person who is employed to guard this place is a singular-looking
old man; they say they captured him in the distant mountains during one
of their expeditions. He speaks a language unknown to them, but is now
learning a little Kayan; he looks very contented, and has certainly the
neatest house I have seen in Borneo for his dwelling.

On our return it rained a little, and we had, in many places, to sit
and slide down the slippery rocks; we all looked, on our return from
our expedition, in a very different condition from that in which we
started.

Siñgauding came in the afternoon to pay me a visit, and brought with
him Si Awang Lawi, the principal chief among the Kiniahs; he appeared a
frank old man. They stayed for some time with me talking over various
subjects connected with trade. He was very intelligent, and pressing
that I should go and visit his people; but it was beyond my power. He
told me, also, that a Kayan, one of a party of several hundred head
hunters, had returned half starved, and reported that he was the only
survivor. There was much mourning in the upper villages.

I may mention that these men have become so very conceited that
they consider themselves superior to all except ourselves; and, in
their pride, they have actually commenced killing the swallow, that
constitutes their wealth, saying it becomes a great chief to feed on
the most valuable things he possesses, regardless of the ultimate
consequences.

To-morrow being fixed for our departure, I have been requested to pay
Si Obong, Tamawan’s wife, a visit. I found her residing in a temporary
house, awaiting the completion of the great residence that was rising
rapidly, and whose progress we could watch from the ship.

Si Obong was seated on fine mats, and was surrounded by various
cushions. She had passed her first youth, and had become very stout;
in fact, her limbs were much too large for a woman. She wore little
clothing--a couple of English handkerchiefs, still in one piece, put
round her hips, hanging down, and tucked in at the side, and over her
bosom she occasionally threw a loose black cloth. Her face was round,
good-tempered, but rather coarse; her voice was gentle, and she wore
her long black hair hanging loose, but kept off her face by fillets of
white bark. The most curious part of her costume is what I must call a
hip-lace of beads, consisting of three strings, one of yellow beads;
the next of varied colours, more valuable; and the third of several
hundred of those much-prized ones by the Kayan ladies. It is difficult
to describe a bead so as to show its peculiarities. At my request, she
took off her hip-lace and handed it to me; the best appeared like a
body of black stone, with four other variegated ones let in around. It
was only in appearance that they were let in; the colours of these four
marks were a mixture of green, yellow, blue, and gray.

Were I to endeavour to estimate the price in produce she and her
parents had paid for this hip-lace, the amount would appear fabulous.
She showed me one for which they had given eleven pounds’ weight of the
finest birds’ nests, or, at the Singapore market price, thirty-five
pounds sterling. She had many of a value nearly equal, and she wore
none that had not cost her nine shillings.

She was the only daughter of a chief of the highest extraction, and
Tamawan owed the principal share of his influence, and perhaps all his
wealth, to her. The caves he possessed were hers, and she had been
won by the fame of his warlike expeditions and the number of heads
that were suspended around his house. There is no doubt that the Baram
Kayans are less desirous of heads than they were, and prefer slaves
who can cultivate their farms, and thus increase their fortune and
consideration.

Tamawan complained bitterly that his strength was leaving him, that
his body was becoming of no use, and that I must give him medicine to
restore him. I promised him a few tonics, at the same time pointed out
to him that he was suffering from rheumatism, caught whilst sleeping in
the jungle during his last expedition; recommended him to stay at home,
to wear more clothing, to drink less ardent spirit, and not indulge so
much in fat pork.

Si Obong offered me refreshments in the shape of arrack and preserved
fruit, but of neither did she herself partake. I noticed two of her
attendants, who were really pretty, being blessed with wellshaped noses
and mouths, a rarity among the natives of Borneo. They both sat silent
and did not exchange a word, but were ready to obey the slightest call
of their mistress.

Si Obong had her arms much tatooed, and she was also ornamented in that
manner from just under the hip joint to three inches below the knee.
This could be observed, as her dress opened at the side. She showed me
in what way she employed her time; among other things, she had made a
rattan seat, covered with fine bead-work, for her expected baby. When
the women go out, the child is placed in this, which is slung over the
back. The baskets around, which were filled with her clothes, were
also her handiwork, and were carefully made, and likewise ornamented
with innumerable small Venetian beads. There appeared no want of goods
here, as they were heaped in all directions; among other things I
noticed were an old English lamp, half-a-dozen tumblers, four bottles
of brandy, a brass kettle, and cooking pots.

After sitting there about a couple of hours, I took my leave and
returned on board; and then sent Si Obong what I thought would please
her, in the shape of a silver spoon, a silver fruit-knife, some gaudy
handkerchiefs, looking-glasses, and other trifles. The silver articles,
I heard, greatly delighted her.

The chiefs all came on board to make their farewell visit, and they
were eager that I should spend my last evening with them; they carried
me off, and talking was kept up till a musket shot from the ship
gave notice that a few fireworks were about to be let off. The whole
assemblage of several hundreds hurried to the river’s bank, tumbling
over each other in their eagerness.

The rockets and blue lights filled them with astonishment and delight;
the former as warlike instruments with which they could defeat their
enemies, and the latter because, they said, it turned night into day.
I stayed with them till ten, and promised, if possible, to return
and spend a few months with them. On no other condition was I to be
suffered to depart. They hinted that, united, we could soon possess the
neighbouring countries between us.

Siñgauding sent me, to-day, a sword made with his own hands, a war
dress of tiger-cat skin, a head-dress of the same material, with a long
feather of the Argus pheasant stuck into it. The peculiarity of the
Kayan sword is that it is concave on the upper side, and convex below,
and is made either right-handed or left-handed. It is a dangerous
instrument in the hands of the inexperienced; for if you cut down
on the left side of a tree with a right-handed sword, it will fly
off in the most eccentric manner; but, well used, it inflicts very
deep wounds, and will cut through young trees better than any other
instrument. I sent, as a return present, a heavy cavalry sword; in
fact, I was nearly exhausted of the means of making presents.

I may remark that their iron ore appears to be easily melted. They dig
a small pit in the ground; in the bottom are various holes, through
which are driven currents of air by very primitive bellows. Charcoal
is thrown in; then the ore, well broken up, is added and covered with
charcoal; fresh ore and fresh fuel, in alternate layers, till the
furnace is filled. A light is then put to the mass through a hole
below, and, the wind being driven in, the process is soon completed.

To-day we nearly had a serious accident: one of the quartermasters,
in getting into a canoe, fell into the stream, which, swelled by the
heavy rains, was running swiftly by; he was carried away in a moment,
but the Kayans were instantly after, and brought him back safe, though
half-choked with water.

At sunrise we started on our return. All the inhabitants of the town
assembled on the river’s bank to witness our departure. The steamer
turned with ease, and was swept with great speed down the stream. We
took a native trading vessel in tow, which assisted our steering, and
reached the mouth on the following day without the slightest accident.

I hear that the exclamations of the Kayans, when they first perceived
the steamer rounding the point, were--“Here is a god come among us!”
others cried, “It is a mighty spirit!”

The latitude of the town is 3° 30´; the longitude, 114° 40´.

I regret I was never again enabled to visit the Baram River, as,
besides the personal gratification derived, there is a great public
good done, by a constant friendly surveillance over the aborigines.
Many of the Kayans returned my visit to Labuan, but I was absent; it
was not, however, material, as they were well treated by the colonial
officers.

Whilst in Baram I could hear nothing to confirm the account that any of
the Kayans were cannibals. We first heard the charge against them from
three Dayaks of the tribe of Sibaru, whose residence is on the Kapuas
River, in the district of Santang, under Dutch influence. I was present
when they were carefully questioned, and, though their information has
already appeared, I will repeat the substance.

They said that their tribe and a party of Kayans attacked,
unsuccessfully, a small Malay village; but, in the fright, the body of
one of their enemies was secured. Their allies immediately sliced off
the flesh and put it away in their side baskets; and in the evening,
while all the party were preparing their supper, they brought out the
human flesh, and roasted and ate it. They saw it themselves. The Dayaks
of Jangkang, on the Skeium, between the districts of the Sarawak and
Dutch territories, are universally accused of cannibalism.

I do not remember having heard any other persons actually affirm
that they had seen the Kayans eat human flesh, till the subject was
brought up last year before the present Sultan of Borneo and his
court; when Usup, one of the young nobles present, said that in 1855
some Muka men were executed at Bintulu, and that a few of the Kayans,
who had assisted in their capture, took portions of the bodies of the
criminals, roasted and ate them. This was witnessed by himself and many
others who were then present. The Kayans had not, as a body, joined in
this disgusting feast; but, perhaps, some of the more ferocious may
practise it to strike terror into their enemies.

The account given by the Malays of the former system of trade pursued
by the Kayans is curious. They say that when a native merchant arrived
at the landing-place of a village, the chief settled the terms with
him, and all the goods were carried up to the houses, and placed in a
prepared spot, secure from pilferers. For a week no business was done,
but the stranger and his followers were feasted at the public expense.
After that, the goods were brought out and spread in the public room,
and the prices fixed. The chief selected what he wanted, and the next
in rank in rotation, till all the villagers were satisfied. Three
months’ credit was always given, but at the appointed day the produce
in exchange was ready for the trader. I imagine the Malays would be
glad to return to the old system.

The Kayans were seldom very welcome guests at a small village, helping
themselves freely to everything that took their fancy; but this only
occurred, as a Malay shrewdly observed, in places where they were
feared.

  [Illustration:

    G M^c. Culloch, lith.          Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o 65, Cornhill, London.

  THE LAND DAYAKS.]




                              CHAPTER IV.

                           THE LAND DAYAKS.

   Visit to the Left-hand Branch of the Sarawak River--Attack
   of Peguans--Sarawak River--Capture of English Ship--The
   Durian Fruit--Iron-wood Posts--Rapids--Rapid of
   the Corpse--Mountains--Village of San Pro--Lovely
   Scenery--Head-house--Cave--Upper Cave--Unfortunate
   Boast--Pushing up the Rapids--Story of the Datu
   Tamanggong--Invulnerable Men--How to become one--Grung
   Landing-place--Sibungoh Dayaks--Dayak Canoes--Lovely
   Scenery--Uses of the Bambu--Fish--Sharks in the
   Upper Waters--Repartee--Pigs Swimming--Farmhouses in
   Trees--Floods--Suspension Bridges--Chinese Traders--Dress of
   Land Dayaks--System of Forced Trade--Interesting Tribe--Story
   of the Murder of Pa Mua--The Trial--Painful Scene--Delightful
   Bathing--Passing the Rapids--Walk to Grung--Dayak Paths--Village
   of Grung--Warm Reception--Ceremonies--Lingua Franca--Peculiar
   Medicine--Prayer--Sacred Dance--Sprinkling Blood--Effect of
   former System of Government--Language.


I had already made many visits among the Dayaks, but had never
penetrated to the interior waters of the Sarawak river. I was,
therefore, quite ready to accept Captain Brooke’s invitation to
accompany him on the tour of inspection he was about to make among the
Land Dayaks of the left-hand branch of the Sarawak. As the stream is
full of rapids, our crew was selected of Sarawak men, well acquainted
with the peculiar navigation. I may here remark that there is something
characteristic about the true Sarawak man: his look is eminently
respectable, his face is longer and more marked than that of the other
Malays, his complexion often darker, his manners quiet and respectful.
There is a tradition current in this country, that once upon a time,
the capital of Sarawak was at Santubong, the western entrance of the
river; that during the absence of the men on an expedition up the
country, some marauding Peguans arrived there in their ships, and on
finding the defenceless state of the town attacked it, carried it
by assault, and made off with their spoils and innumerable female
prisoners. The Sarawak men fortunately returned a few hours after, and
instantly gave chase. Their fast war boats soon overtook the clumsy
Pegu ships. They made short work of it: killed the marauding chiefs and
brought back the rest prisoners to Santubong. The Samarahan and some of
the Sarawak men are said to be descended from them, and this, if true,
may account for the darker complexion.

The Sarawak river is not navigable for ships far above the town, though
at the height of the flood a large vessel was once taken fifteen miles
above it to a place called Ledah Tanah. This occurred some thirty
years ago. A large English ship, laden with sugar, put into the mouth
of the Sarawak river for water. The captain and mates were invited to
meet the rajahs of the country. They went on shore, where they were
informed that their vessel was too leaky to proceed on her voyage,
but that they would be provided with a passage to Singapore in one of
the native prahus. Resistance was useless. They were surrounded by
hundreds of armed men, and were hurried off to sea immediately to be
murdered at the first island. The _Lascar_ crew were detained
as slaves. Two of them were still alive when I first reached Sarawak.
Many of the Malays have told me that sugar never was so plentiful in
their houses either before or since. The banks of the river on either
side continue low, and are adapted in their present state for rice
cultivation, though with a little drainage, the Chinese can render the
soil admirably suited for sugar-cane and other cultivations. It is a
pretty but monotonous pull, the scenery being only occasionally varied
by views of the surrounding mountains.

We passed the first night at Ledah Tanah, or Tongue of Land, the
point of junction of the two branches of the river. Here the Rajah
had a cattle farm, and a pretty cottage surrounded by fruit trees,
principally of magnificent durians. This fruit is the subject of much
controversy. It varies in size from a six to sixty-eight pounder shot,
and looks like an enormous chestnut, with its prickly outer coating on.
On opening this rough rind, we find five or six rows of seeds covered
with a white or yellow pulpy substance, which tastes and smells like a
custard strongly flavoured with onions, or, to those who delight in it,
it is of a delicious and unapproachable flavour, and, when perfectly
fresh, has a pleasing perfume. These different opinions are given at
the same moment, by different persons describing the same fruit.

When the people abandoned Santubong, they retired to Ledah Tanah, where
they established their town; the posts of some of their houses still
remain, being of iron-wood, which may be said practically to last for
ever.

We continued our course up the river, the character of the scenery
becoming more interesting every moment. The stream narrows, the water
is clearer, shallower, and its course is interrupted by rocks and large
stones, over which the stream foams, dashes, breaks, rendering the
passage dangerous for small boats; indeed, the name of one of these
rapids, Rhium Bangkei--“The Rapid of the Corpse”--would seem to prove
that fatal accidents do occur. The swamping of a boat, or the loss of
goods, by inexperienced hands, is not rare.

The first mountain we passed was that of Stat, which, though not more
than 1,500 feet high, is in many respects remarkable, rising abruptly
from the low country, a real isolated peak that may be distinguished
even out at sea; from one view it appears like the end of a bent
finger. In common with most of the limestone mountains in Borneo, it
presents bare, perpendicular surfaces, with jagged rocks at the edges,
but surrounded by vegetation, and that vegetation growing where soil
can scarcely be supposed to exist; in fact, the roots of the trees
penetrate far into the inner portion of the mountain, through deep
fissures and clefts. The other mountains visible during our progress
to-day had the same general features, particularly the two which rise
near the village of San Pro, where we intended to pass the night.

In our evening walk we were much struck with the remarkable beauty
of this place; the two lofty and almost perpendicular mountains rise
abruptly on either side of the river, leaving but a strip of land on
the water’s edge. One called Sibayat towers above the village on the
left bank; the other, Si Bigi, is on the opposite side; the river, now
running through limestone, sparkles clear at their feet, undermining
the rocks on either side, and forming fantastic little caves, crowned
above with noble overhanging trees. Abrupt turns, short reaches, and
pebbly beds added to the beauty of the scene, and, just as the last
rays of the sun were gilding the summits of the twin peaks, we sat
down on the huge trunk of a fallen tree, which the floods of the
rainy season had swept down from the interior, and half buried in the
sand and pebbles. There we remained till the shades of evening had
completely closed in around us, speculating on the probable future of
the country, and the words almost rose simultaneously to our lips--were
we missionaries, we would fix our houses here. With my own idea of
what a missionary should do, there could be no better spot than San
Pro to commence operations. The village was not large, but it is
better completely to gain over twenty families, than exhaust one’s
energies merely skimming over the surface of a dozen tribes, leaving
no permanent impression. We fixed on the best locality for a house, a
trim garden, a diminutive church, and a school. It is a soil that would
repay culture.

We were not fortunate in the time of our visit, as most of the people
were away preparing their farms. We took up our residence in the
head-house, which, however, was destitute of the usual ornaments. It
was quite new. All head-houses have the same appearance, being built
on high posts above the ground, and in a circular form, with a sharp
conical roof. The windows are, in fact, a large portion of the roof,
being raised up, like the lid of a desk, during fine weather, and
supported by props; but when rain or night comes on, they are removed,
and the whole appearance is snug in the extreme, particularly when a
bright fire is lit in the centre, and throws a fitful glow on all the
surrounding objects. Around the room are rough divans, on which the men
usually sit or sleep, but that night, there being a cold wind and a
drizzling rain, a good fire was kept up, and the people crowded near.
I awoke at about two, and put my head out of my curtains to look at a
night-scene: a dozen of the old men were there collected close over
the fire, smoking the tobacco we had given them, and discoursing in
a low tone about us. The flames occasionally shot up brilliantly and
showed me the curious group, and then, as they faded away, nothing but
the outlines of the half-naked old men could be seen cowering over the
embers, as a ruder blast or a heavier shower brought the cold wind upon
them.

Started early in the morning. The limestone rock, undermined in every
direction, was worn into very singular shapes. Occasionally the tall
trees, finding insufficient support, had broken from the bank, and
slipped their roots into the river, to be completely washed away
by next flood. At ten, brought up on a pebbly beach for breakfast,
opposite a little cave, about which the Dayaks have as usual a
story--this time an indelicate one. Continuing our course, we reached
the mountain of Rumbang, remarkable for its curious caves. We had
brought guides with us from San Pro, and stopping at the nearest point
went ashore, and after a walk and climb of a few hundred yards, reached
the entrance of the first cave. Descending over a few rough stones,
we found ourselves in the interior, through which a small stream makes
its way. Having lighted a candle and a torch, we advanced--now fording
the brook, now jumping over it: the floor is principally pebbly, though
occasionally we met with soft sand and slippery rock. The cave itself
has no remarkable feature, but is nevertheless interesting. Its height
varied between thirty, forty, and fifty feet--its exit beautiful in
rugged feature in a soft light, which subdued the uncouth shapes of
the rocks, and rendered them striking and pleasing to the eye. This we
particularly noticed on our return, when we approached the entrance.
Then the light played on the surface of the stream, as it bubbled
onward in its course, and the reflection slightly illuminated the
surrounding features, reminding me of a robber’s cave in a dissolving
view.

To-day we only penetrated through the mountain and looked at the
country beyond, a restricted view, as the jungle closely hemmed round
the cave: afterwards I heard that we need not have returned the way we
came, but that if we did not fear a steep climb, there was a cavern
exactly above the one we had come through that would lead us back to
the river--in fact, an upper tunnel. We thought at first it must be a
joke of the Dayaks, but they assured us of the truth: so we told them
to lead the way. It was difficult, in fact very difficult, until we
came to an overhanging rock, against which a long pole leant with an
occasional cross-piece; at the top was another overhanging one, round
which it was necessary to pass by leaning the body over the abyss,
and trusting entirely to our hands and to the strength of the roots.
The Dayak guide led the way, and as we approached this difficulty we
observed him smile. It was at an unfortunate boast. When we first
proposed to make the ascent, our guide observed--“No one but a Dayak
can go up there.” I unfortunately answered, “Wherever a Dayak can go,
an Englishman can follow.” Hence his smile. He proceeded cautiously,
as these rough ladders are often rotten, and, it is said, occasionally
left unfastened to entrap an unwary thief, who may desire to pilfer
the edible swallows’ nests found in the upper caves. When he had
reached the summit, he invited me to follow; there was no help for it,
so I tried; the pole was no great difficulty, but the rounding the
overhanging rock with my body leaning over the abyss tested my strength
and nerve; one of the party followed, the other thought it wiser to
return by the way he came. It repaid us, however; the cave, though not
lofty, was full of large chambers, of narrow passages, and occasionally
of huge chasms penetrating to the depths below. They said the whole
mountain was perforated by these galleries. Our return to the boat was
difficult, as we had to force our way through the tangled bushes, and
over ground unknown even to the Dayaks. We found our companion seated
in the boat, discussing some cool claret and water, and as he beheld
us coming in tired, hot, covered with dirt, and with clothes half torn
from our bodies, I fear he did not envy us.

Our men had now to drop their paddles once at least in every reach, and
to seize their poles and force us along up the gradually lengthening
rapids; the motion of the boat thus propelled is exceedingly pleasant;
at one spot we noticed a Dayak suspension-bridge that spanned the river
above a dangerous rapid. Kasim, a favourite follower, turned to us and
said, “It was here that the Datu Tumanggong nearly lost his life.” We
asked how. I will let Kasim relate his story; it is an illustration of
Bornean ways.

The Datu Tumanggong is the chief third in rank in Sarawak, and was in
his early days known as a successful pirate. He was also the terror
of the Dayaks. Many years before Sir James Brooke arrived, he had
for some cause killed a Dayak of the tribe of Si-Buñgoh, in those
days not considered a deed requiring particular notice; but on this
occasion the tribe determined to be revenged. The next time the Datu
was known to be on his way up the river, the Dayaks assembled in great
numbers round the suspension-bridge, concealing themselves among the
trees. Unsuspicious of the ambuscade, the chief, with twenty Malay
followers, was endeavouring to pole up the rapid, when a shower of
spears threw them into confusion; the Datu was principally aimed at,
his umbrella was torn to shreds, and he was wounded severely about
the shoulders. The men dropping their poles, allowed the boat to get
across the stream, and she was instantly upset; while they, unable to
see their enemies, scattered themselves in every direction, and hiding
among the rocks shouted to their chief to fire. They say he stood his
ground manfully, and fired twice without success at his foes, who,
thus emboldened, drew nearer. The water was rushing down with great
force and reached over his knees, which rendered the operation of
loading extremely difficult, but his third shot was fortunate, for
bringing down the boldest Dayak, it created a panic among the rest.
On collecting his followers, he found two killed and several wounded,
among the latter one of our present boatmen. I have often heard the
Datu tell the story since with great glee, his voice rising, and going
through all his remembered movements with wonderful spirit. “Ah, I was
young in those days.”

There is a very singular belief prevalent among the Malays--it is
this, that men, by going through certain ceremonies, can render
themselves invulnerable. The Datu, notwithstanding the many wounds he
has received, is still popularly believed to be so. They generally say
that these men can never have their skin cut by any sharp instrument,
and the offer to test the truth by the application of a razor is not
considered polite. The old Datu has often said--“It is as well that the
vulgar should believe it, though we know better.”

The favourite spot chosen by the novitiates was in the jungle at the
back of Sir James Brooke’s former house, between two little streams,
called the greater and lesser Bedil (a brass gun). The aspirant was
required to remain three days alone in the woods without speaking to
a soul; to live very sparingly, and not to indulge in the favourite
luxuries of tobacco, sirih and betel. If on the third day he dreamt of
a beautiful spirit descending to speak to him, he might consider that
his work was accomplished. Patah, the Datu’s son, a fine, bold and good
fellow, told me he had tried twice, but the fairy had never appeared to
him.

On reaching the landing-place leading to the Grung village, we found
a large party of Dayaks assembled, who begged us to remain and visit
their houses; but instead, we promised to return in a few days, and
meet the representatives of the neighbouring tribes at their village.
We now pushed on to the Sibuñgoh Dayaks, who inhabited the river’s
bank; but on our stopping at the landing-place, an old man came down
to say that the long house before us was pamali or tabooed, and that
the Orang Kaya was himself in that unenviable predicament. So we pulled
across the river and took up our quarters near a pebbly beach; the men
making temporary mat huts, while we stayed in the boat. In the course
of the evening, a number of the elders of the neighbouring village
houses of the same tribe came down to see us, and promised to provide
small canoes and Dayaks to take us up the stream, as it had become too
shallow to allow of our continuing in the large boat.

At six the Sibuñgoh Dayaks brought the light canoes with which we were
to continue our progress up the river. We left all our crew behind,
taking with us only our personal servants and Kasim. It was quite
a little procession. Each canoe contained but two Dayaks and one
passenger. We started, and were poled up at a rapid pace against the
stream. Our canoes were small, drawing but a few inches of water, and
were managed, as I have said, by two Dayaks, one standing at the stem,
the other at the stern; with long bamboos in their hands, they impelled
us forward at a great pace.

The scenery varied much; occasionally we passed beneath high hills,
which rose smilingly above us, clothed to the summit with vegetation;
Bornean hills seldom frown, their clothing is too luxuriant, their
aspect generally free from harsh outlines, even their precipices have
some softening feature. On we passed, sometimes a long reach stretched
before us, completely overshadowed by trees whose branches entwining
from bank to bank completely sheltered us from the sun, then reclining
on our pillows we could indulge in snatches from the _Quarterly_
or _Edinburgh_. Could the authors of some of the articles but
imagine the variety of situations in which their effusions would be
perused, could they anticipate the delight they inspire in the British
traveller who works his way onwards even towards the interior of
Borneo, they would, I think, be surprised and gratified. The magazines
and reviews are the solaces of educated exiles in all positions. From
these soft scenes and pleasant employments, we were constantly aroused
by our approach to roaring rapids, which foaming over scattered rocks
threatened destruction to our frail canoes; but the skill of the Dayak
was never at fault, we passed every obstruction without an accident. At
these rapids, as at those before mentioned, boats are often lost.

As we approached the country of the Senah tribe, the banks became more
uniform in appearance, and the bamboo constantly formed the principal
vegetation: these bamboos are wonderfully useful to the Dayaks, and
are turned to many purposes. In height they sometimes exceed sixty
feet. During this tour I have seen them used, stretched in lengths,
for paths, placed notched for steps up steep ascents, as railings for
rice fields and yam gardens, as posts for houses; split they form the
floors, beaten out they are the walls of many of the dwellings, and
neat and pretty they look; cut into lengths, water is carried in them;
joined together they form aqueducts that stretch for hundreds of yards;
with them the Dayaks can strike a light; and last, not least, they are
used to cook rice in--they are hard enough to stand the fire until the
food be ready to eat. They are put to numerous other uses, but the
above enumeration is sufficient.

The Senah Dayaks plant yams to a great extent; they grow to a large
size, and boiled have an excellent flavour, whether used as a vegetable
or a salad. These Dayaks are called rich from the abundance of their
rice, which flourishes in their fertile valleys, but more is chiefly
owing to their industry; we saw many instances of the latter in their
fishing apparatus, which was often very extensive; while the tribes
lower down, with better opportunities, seemed quite to neglect their
fisheries. Our men unfortunately have brought no casting net with
them, so we are obliged to be content to hear from the Malays that
the flavour of the fresh-water fish caught here is excellent. It is a
curious fact, that far as we are above the influence of the flood tide,
and with so many rapids below us, yet sharks are found here in the
fresh water. I call it a fact because native testimony is unanimous. I
remember hearing Mr. Crookshank say to the Datu Patinggi, the principal
native chief, that he considered it a very curious thing that a fish,
supposed to live only in the sea, should frequent these interior waters.

“Not at all,” answered the Datu, “not more curious than seeing you
Englishmen abandon your own country to come so far and live among us
Malays.”

As a general rule, the sharks and alligators do not meddle with human
beings up here, but confine their attention to the fish, the dogs,
and the numerous droves of wild pigs constantly passing from one bank
to the other. During the fruit season the movement among these last
is very remarkable; Mr. Brereton told me he once saw at least three
hundred in one drove crossing the river Batang Lupar, where it was
above seven hundred yards broad. I have often seen them myself in
lesser numbers; on one occasion I was present when seventeen were
killed, which formed a regular feast for some aborigines who secured
the bodies. Generally a fine old boar leads the way, and is followed
very closely by the rest. They grow to a great size; I have seen one
carefully measured, his height at the shoulder was forty-two inches,
and the length of head was twenty-two.

The Senahs have built many of their farm-houses in the trees
overhanging the stream; in one was a whole family engaged in the
important operation of preparing dinner; and it was amusing to observe
the little children coming fearlessly to the very edge of the platform
above the rushing stream to look at us, standing in positions so
dangerous that they would drive an English mother distracted.

As we approach the interior of the Sarawak river, the mountains become
more lofty, and the stream takes the character of a torrent; after
heavy rains it rises suddenly and to a great height. I have seen grass
left by the receding waters at least forty feet above our present
level. Even after one heavy shower, all the fords are impassable, so
that to avoid this inconvenience the Senah Dayaks have thrown lofty
bridges across, to facilitate their communication between their several
villages.

How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look--one in
particular I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the
stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite each other;
long bamboos well lashed together formed the main portion, and were
fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side
were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair
appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a
woman and child pass over it, we drew our breath till they were safe on
the other side. And yet we knew they were secure.

I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one
bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do
happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once when
pressed for time I was passing rapidly across with many men following
close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack,
crack was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men
fortunately were not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their
weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in
the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks far below. After
that we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.

Towards the afternoon we reached the first house, inhabited by the
Orang Kaya’s younger brother. This tribe is more scattered than is
usually the case here, four, six, eight families live together; and we
nowhere noticed those immense long village houses so common in other
tribes.

We found some Chinese trading for pigs and rice, one of whom had been
established in this place for about six years. The house where we
stopped for the night was tolerably comfortable, with the walls roughly
planked. It is evident that these Dayaks are very pleased to see us,
and upon their pressing invitations we have agreed to stay some days to
give time for the whole tribe to be collected.

In the evening we took a long walk over the steep hills at the back
of the village, and had a fair view of Penrisen, one of the highest
mountains in Sarawak. It is estimated at above 5,000 feet. It is
scarcely in Sarawak, as a portion of its southern face belongs to those
countries beyond the border claimed by the Dutch. We had a good view of
the interior of the Sadong country, a fine succession of hill and dale,
with blue mountains in the distance.

We stayed in the house nearly the whole day, as the Dayaks wished to
dance and feast in our presence. The gongs were kept going, the drums
beaten, and all within five yards of us, until our heads were dizzy.
Occasionally, from sheer weariness, or from anxiety to partake of the
good things produced for the feast, this din would cease, and then we
could enter into conversation with the elders.

The dress of the Dayaks is very simple; the men wear the chawat, a
strip of cloth round their loins; a jacket and head-dress, the last
sometimes of bark, and fantastically put on; their ornaments are brass
rings, necklaces of beads and sometimes of tiger-cat’s teeth, and very
neat plaited rings of rattan, stained black. The women have a short
petticoat reaching from the hips to the knees, a jacket, and round
their waists a band, often ten inches wide, of bark or bamboo, kept
together by brass wire or rattans. It fits tight, and is only removed
on the woman becoming pregnant.

Captain Brooke’s principal object in making this tour was to inquire
into the complaints which had been brought against the Datu Patinggi
of forcing the Dayak tribes to deal with him, whether they wanted his
goods or not, and insisting upon fixing his own price on the articles
supplied. The complaints were more than substantiated; even the Chinese
were unable to procure rice, and were forced to content themselves with
the pig trade.

This was the Datu’s system: he sent up a chanang, a kind of small
gong much esteemed by the Dayaks, and ordered them to buy it at an
exorbitant rate; before they had paid for that he sent another, keeping
up a constant supply to prevent them trading with other people. When
he heard that another Malay had sold a chanang in fair trade to these
Dayaks, he would instantly send two more and force them to receive
them. He had done the same with regard to salt, and to the clothes of
both male and female, striving to his utmost to secure a monopoly. In
this path he was followed by all his relations and connexions, their
threats bullied and terrified the Dayaks, who loudly complained also of
being used as beasts of burden without receiving hire.

The Senahs are altogether an interesting tribe; in manner the men are
more polite; the women are fuller of life; some of the girls were
pretty, their best age being six to sixteen, after that they begin to
fall off. They appear to marry very young, and have for Asiatics rather
large families--four, five, and six children were quite common. Some of
the old gentlemen observed that, though they were only allowed to marry
one wife, yet they were not strictly faithful to her if a favourable
opportunity occurred, which observation seemed much to amuse the
assembly.

Among the women was the widow of a Dayak, whose story is well worth
relating as illustrative of their character and of their ways. He was
a fine, handsome man, certainly the most handsome Dayak I have ever
seen, tall and powerfully made, with a bold, open countenance; he was
called Pa Bunang. The Orang Kaya of the Senahs took a liking to him,
and having no children adopted and found him a wife among his own
relations. She was a nice-looking girl, plump and well made. In former
times the husband had been much noticed by Europeans, and in the pride
of his heart determined to be the first man in the tribe: the only
one he thought likely to oppose his pretensions was Pa Mua, the Orang
Kaya’s brother, who would not allow him to interfere in public affairs,
and opposed his pretensions to superiority, in which he was supported
by the sympathies of the whole community. Pa Bunang then determined on
more violent methods than he had yet practised; he left the tribe for a
few days and returned with the announcement that the Sarawak Government
was so pleased with him, that they intended to make him a great man in
the tribe. Resolving to get rid of his rival, he lay in wait for him
one day in a by-path, concealing himself carefully behind some bushes;
the unsuspecting Pa Mua passed by, when he sprang upon him, and with
one blow of his sword laid him dead at his feet, and then rushed into
the jungle, thinking he had done the deed unnoticed, but at the moment
of striking, the son of the murdered man came round the turning of
the path in time to witness the act and to recognize the culprit. The
alarm was given, and before the man could reach the Orang Kaya’s house,
where his wife and child resided, a menacing crowd had assembled. He
coolly assured them that he was acting under the orders of the Sarawak
Government, and was now going to report the accomplishment of the deed.
Though the people did not believe him, they suffered him to depart with
his family, but followed closely in his track. They denounced him, he
was instantly seized, thrown into prison, and after ten days, to allow
witnesses to assemble, the affair came on before the Sarawak Court.

It was so curious a case that I determined to be present at the trial.
I found the court crowded, at least a dozen Englishmen were assembled,
who, with the Malay chiefs, acted as a kind of jury. Though the case
was clear in many respects, yet the greatest pains were taken to obtain
the best evidence: the son of the murdered man was present, but it
was at first feared from the preliminary inquiries, that he would be
afraid to give his evidence before the prisoner. When he was called
into court the lad appeared perfectly changed; he gave his evidence
with a coolness, a precision, and yet with an intensity that nothing
but the deepest feelings could excite; he never faltered once, but
wound up his story by pointing to the prisoner and saying, “My father
was killed by that man.” The prisoner could offer no defence; at first
he denied the deed, then said that Pa Mua had seduced his wife, then
confessed and implored for mercy. The verdict was unanimous, and he was
condemned to death. A fearful scene now took place; the constables had
very improperly allowed the wife and child to sit close beside him,
and he had, while the lad was giving his evidence, unnoticed by any,
got his little child to crawl in between his manacled arms. When he
heard the sentence he threw himself on his knees and begged in piteous
terms for mercy, but finding it was useless he declared his wife and
child should die with him; he first struck at the former and then tried
to strangle the little thing between his arms, and failing in that,
while struggling with the police, he fixed his teeth so tightly in
the child’s neck that they had to be forced open with the point of a
drawn sword. His wife fled, and the child was saved, but he continued
to struggle, and his roars could be heard until he was secured in his
cell. I never witnessed a more painful scene. A marked contrast to that
of the Malay who, calm and placid to the last moment, receives his
condemnation with the observation, “It is your sentence,” and walks
quietly to prison and to execution.

The evening was spent in dancing, singing, and drinking, until the fun
waxed fast and furious.

The next station up the river is San Piuh, which we did not visit, as
business prevented our extending our tour. We were delighted with the
position of the house in which we were staying; it was on the bank of
the stream, here but a foot deep, occasionally not even six inches, so
that the canoes had to be dragged over the pebbly bottom. The water
coming from the neighbouring high mountains is both clear and cool,
offering delightful places for bathing. In one large and deep pool, a
little below the landing-place, the Dayaks say alligators congregate;
but if so, they must be harmless, as I saw very little children bathing
there; but yet I did not venture, as they might have been attracted by
the unusual colour of my skin. The baths we obtain in the interior are
of themselves worth the exertion of reaching those sequestered spots;
the refreshing and invigorating feeling after a plunge into the cool
stream is indeed delightful.

About midday we parted from our kind hosts, not before we had given
solemn promises to return again as soon as possible, and now directed
our faces homeward. The descent of the river was exciting, now
leisurely suffering the canoe to float with the stream; then, as the
distant roar announced a rapid, intelligent were the movements of the
Dayaks, as they chose the least dangerous part, the waters increasing
in speed as we approached the fall; then caught by the stream, we
hurried along at the pace of a racehorse, and dashing through the foam
were shot into the tranquil pool that generally forms below a rapid. At
one we were compelled to take out all our baggage, and the non-swimmers
walked past the obstruction to be re-shipped below. It was with
feelings, half of envy, half of admiration, that I saw Captain Brooke
tempt the danger.

About half-way down to Sibuñgoh we saw white flags overhanging the
river at a landing-place, and there in a temporary hut was waiting
the Orang Kaya of Brang; we stayed with him about an hour, and
resisting his pressing invitation to his village, on account of our
previous engagement, heard what he desired to communicate, and then
continued our course to Sibuñgoh. We soon transhipped our goods to
the large boat, and were not sorry, as many hours in a small canoe is
fatiguing. We found that the Orang Kaya was no longer under taboo, so
we stayed some little time with him, and then hurried on to the next
landing-place, where we found a large party of Dayaks ready to escort
us to the village of Grung.

The walk was pleasant, principally over the land that had formerly been
farmed, and was now covered with brushwood and young trees, affording
but little shelter from the burning sun. The country was undulating,
with pretty pebbly streams in the hollows. Much rain having fallen in
this neighbourhood during the last few days the paths were execrable,
even for Dayak paths, which are, perhaps, the worst in the world. Over
a marshy soil a line of single trees is laid, end to end, on which you
balance yourself as you move along; there is no danger here, except of
a slip into the oozy mud, sometimes up to the waist, affording to the
non-sufferers great cause of merriment as you struggle and flounder
to a drier spot; but these trunks of trees thrown over ravines are
dangerous after rain, as when deprived of their bark they are slippery.
But it is astonishing what use will do; we soon began to criticize and
pronounce a wretched quagmire a tolerable path. The Dayak is so active,
and so accustomed to the work, that he seldom thinks of doing more
than felling a small tree, clearing it of its branches, and throwing
it across the smaller streams as a bridge, except after harvest, when
carrying home the rice, a slight railing is added to give steadiness to
his movements.

The village of Grung is prettily situated near a small and clear
stream, and is surrounded by dense groves of fruit-trees, particularly
of durians, while occasionally the graceful areca palm rises near the
houses. In one thing the Grungs excel every other tribe of Dayaks I
have ever seen, and that is in dirt; their houses were dirty, their
mats were dirty, and their little children could only be described as
positively filthy.

We found the village crowded with the representatives of all the
neighbouring tribes; long strings of men, women, and children were
continually arriving as we approached. Directly we ascended the notched
tree that served as a ladder to the Orang Kaya’s house, we found
that we were no longer free agents. A crowd of old women instantly
seized us, and pulled off our shoes and stockings, and commenced most
vigorously washing our feet; this water was preserved to fertilize the
fields. We were then conducted to a platform but slightly raised above
the floor, and requested to sit down, but the mats were so dirty that
we could scarcely prevail upon ourselves to do so--perhaps the only
time it has occurred to us; generally the mats are charmingly neat and
clean. The arrival of our bedding freed us from this difficulty.

We were surrounded by a dense mass of men, women, and children, who
appeared all to be talking at once; in fact, more excitement was shown
than I have before observed. We had to do so many things, and almost
all at once: to sprinkle rice about, to pour a little water on each
child that was presented to us, until, from force of example, the women
and even the men insisted upon the same ceremony being performed on
them.

Silence being at last restored, Kasim explained in a long speech the
object of Captain Brooke’s visit; he spoke in Malay, interlarding it
occasionally with Dayak phrases--I say Malay, but Malay that is only
used when addressing the aborigines, clipping and altering words,
changing the pronunciation, until I find that some have been deceived
into believing this was the true Dayak language. It is to these people
what the Lingua Franca is to Western Asia.

We got a little respite while eating our dinner, but as soon as we had
finished we were again surrounded; the priestesses of the place were
especially active, tying little bells round our wrists and ancles, and
bringing rice for us to--how shall I explain it--in fact, for us to
spit on, and this delectable morsel they swallowed. No sooner had those
learned women been satisfied, than parents brought their children, and
insisted upon their being physicked in the same way, taking care to
have a full share themselves. One horrid old woman actually came six
times.

The Orang Kaya now advanced, and there was strict attention to hear
what he was about to say. He walked to the window, and threw some
grains out, and then commenced a kind of prayer, asking for good
harvests, for fertility for the women, and for health to them all.
During the whole invocation he kept scattering rice about. The people
were very attentive at first, but soon the murmur of many voices
almost drowned the old man’s tones. He did not appear very much in
earnest, but repeated what he had to say as if he were going over a
well-remembered but little understood lesson; in fact, it is said
these invocations are in words not comprehended even by the Dayaks
themselves--perhaps they are in some Indian language.

Then a space was cleared for dancing; the old Orang Kaya and the elders
commenced, and were followed by the priestesses. They walked up to us
in succession, passed their hands over our arms, pressed our palms,
and then uttering a yell or a prolonged screech went off in a slow
measured tread, moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet
until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat;
then another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue
out of us, another yell, and off they went again; at one time there
were at least a hundred dancing. Few of the young people joined in what
appeared in this case a sacred dance.

For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these
ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of
drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a
couple of hours I awoke; my companion was still sleeping uneasily; the
din was deafening, and I sat up to look around. Unfortunate movement!
I was instantly seized by the hands by two priests, and led up to the
Orang Kaya, who was leisurely cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted
Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his
being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very
end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands; holding him by
his legs, I had to strike the lintels of the doors, sprinkling a little
blood over each; when this was over, I had to waive the fowl over the
heads of the women, and wish them fertility; over the children, and
wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out
of the window, and invoke good crops for them. At last I reached my
mats, and sat down, preparatory to another sleep, when that horrid
old woman led another detachment of her sex forward to re-commence
the physicking; fortunately but few came, and after setting them off
dancing again I fell asleep, and, in spite of all the noises, remained
so till morning.

It is a fact unnoticed by us before, that among the Dayak tribes there
are few girls between the age of ten and fifteen (1852). It is a
striking proof of the effects that have attended the change of system
from native lawlessness to English superintendence. Before Sir James
Brooke held the reins of Government the little female children were
seized for slaves and concubines by the Rajahs and Malay chiefs; since
that practice has been put an end to, the houses are crowded with
interesting girls of nine and younger.

The expression of all classes and of both sexes of these people is
that of a subdued melancholy. A man fresh from Europe would doubtless
notice many more peculiarities in these tribes, which being familiar
to me pass without remark. Their houses I have before described, and
what is suitable for the one is so for the other. Nearly all the
representatives present are but those of the branches of a single tribe
which has for many years been scattered. Their language is the same
in words, though the accent is occasionally different--the effect of
separation and other causes. It is difficult, without long and minute
investigation, to familiarize oneself with their individual history and
politics.




                              CHAPTER V.

              LAND DAYAKS OF SIRAMBAU--THEIR SOCIAL LIFE.

   Madame Pfeiffer--Chinese Village--Chinese
   Maidens--Sirambau--Ascent of the Mountain--Difficult
   Climbing--Forests of Fruit Trees--Scenery--Sirambau
   Village--Houses--The “Look-out”--Scenery--Head-houses--Orang
   Kaya Mita--His modest Request--Sir James Brooke’s
   Cottage--Natural Bath-house--Chinese Gold Workings--Tapang
   Trees--Social Life of the Land Dayaks--Ceremonies at a
   Birth--Courtship--Betrothment--Marriage--Burial--Graves--The
   Sexton--Funeral Feast--Children--Female
   Chastity--Divorces--Cause of Separations--Anecdote.


Madame Pfeiffer, the traveller, suddenly made her appearance among us
in December, 1851; she was a woman of middle height, active for her
age, with an open countenance and a very pleasant smile. She lived with
us for some days, and then we took her to visit the Dayaks of Sirambau
on the right hand branch. We selected a very fast, long prahu, fitted
up with a little cabin for her, and another for ourselves, and having a
numerous crew, pulled past our usual resting-place at Ledah Tanah, and
did not stop till we reached the Chinese village of Siniawan, where we
took up our quarters for the night.

There are about three hundred Celestials settled here, principally
engaged in shop-keeping, though a few cultivate gardens. They are
evidently thriving, as the Dayaks of the surrounding country resort to
this place, and there is a constant influx of Chinese and Malay gold
workers. Their women, half-breeds, are better-looking than any others
in this part of the world; some of the girls were handsome, in one
point they set a bright example to their neighbours, and that is in
cleanliness. The Malay girls bathe at least three times a day, but are
not careful of the condition of their clothes, while the Dayaks are too
often neglectful of both their skins and their coverings.

It was quite a pleasure to look at the little Chinese maidens in their
prim, neat dresses, and their parents evidently have a pride in their
appearance. To them Madame Pfeiffer was a great attraction, and a crowd
followed her everywhere, and wondered at the eagerness she displayed in
the chase of a butterfly, or the capture of an insect.

Siniawan is situated on a plain near the foot of the Sirambau mountain,
and affords an excellent market for the produce of the interminable
fruit groves that cover the lower part of its slopes, and extend for
miles beyond.

As Madame Pfeiffer had never seen a Dayak village, we thought she would
like to visit these rather primitive people, who reside about eleven
hundred feet up the sides of the mountain. Sirambau is separated from
the surrounding ranges, and from the sea appears of great length, while
from one view near Siniawan, it is a single peak seventeen hundred feet
in height. At a few spots, we saw groves of cocoa-nuts varying the
colour of the jungle, and these were at the villages of the Dayaks, all
more than a thousand feet above us.

In the morning we collected a band of mountaineers to shoulder our
baggage, and proceeded towards the hill. The soil around had lately
been cleared, and afforded no shelter from the burning sun. I imagine
Madame Pfeiffer, in all her travels, had never met worse paths,
particularly when we commenced ascending the hill. It appeared exactly
as if the Dayaks had chosen the bed of a mountain torrent as the proper
approach to their houses. At first the stones were arranged as a rough
paving, then as rougher steps, and at last it became so steep, rock
piled on rock, that notched trunks of trees leaning against them were
the only means of ascending.

But, if the climbing were difficult, we were partly compensated by
the shade of the lofty fruit-trees growing in glorious confusion on
either side of our path. Crowded as closely as in the jungle, durians,
mangustins, and every variety of fruit-tree, jostled each other for
the light, and spoilt the symmetry of their forms. I have not seen
elsewhere durian-trees of proportions so magnificent, some above ten
feet in circumference, and rising to the height of a hundred and twenty
feet. When the season is good, it is dangerous to walk in a grove of
these trees, as a breeze gently shaking the ripe fruit from its hold,
it falls heavily to the ground. They are often a foot in length, and
eight inches in diameter, and many a story was told us of Dayaks being
brought home insensible through a blow from a falling durian.

As we advanced up the side of the mountain, we rested at spots where
we could obtain partial views of the surrounding country; large Dayak
clearings now completely brown, varied the otherwise continuous jungle;
gently swelling hills encircled the base of Sirambau, and stretched
onwards to the foot of the steep and distant mountains. The Dayaks
have led rills of water to the edge of the path, at which they refresh
themselves, and occasionally there are rough benches on which they rest
their heavy loads, for they carry up their whole rice crop to their
mountain villages.

After a toilsome ascent, which Madame Pfeiffer feelingly describes, we
passed the village of Bombok on our left, and continued our course to
that of Sirambau, a little distance farther. Here the path was more
level, though it lay among huge rocks detached from the summit of the
mountain.

Sirambau is one of the most curious villages I have seen; it is large,
and the long houses are connected together by platforms of bamboo or by
rough bridges--a very necessary precaution, as the numerous pigs had
routed up the land; and as every description of dirt is thrown from
their houses and never removed, it is almost impossible to walk on the
ground. Thick groves of palms surrounded the village and buried it from
the world: indeed, it looked as isolated a spot as any in wooded Borneo.

We found the chief Mita ready to receive us, and to conduct us to his
apartments; they were very confined, but on the raised platform under
the sloping windows we found place for our beds. They very politely
gave Madame Pfeiffer an inner room, and provided her with neat white
mats.

In the evening the apartments were crowded, and being small, not
much space was left for dancing. This village house was altogether
uncomfortable; its verandah was not five feet wide, and was totally
unfitted for their feasts; the rooms were not twelve feet by sixteen,
and the space was still further lessened by a large fireplace that
occupied an eighth of the area. Some rough planks were laid on the
floor and then covered with earth; on it were arranged a few stones,
and that constituted the fireplace. At each corner was a small post
that supported a platform, and on this was a heap of firewood kept here
to dry and to be ready at hand.

We have had much more intercourse with the villagers on this hill,
than with any other, as Sir James Brooke had a country house near the
uppermost groves of palms that are seen from Siniawan. Formerly it was
a Dayak village, but the inhabitants removing to join another section
of their tribe who were in a more sheltered spot, Sir James purchased
the fruit-trees around, and built a pretty cottage there.

Peninjau, or the “look-out,” was the name of this spot, and it well
deserved its name, as from a rock which terminated the level summit
of a buttress can be seen a view unsurpassed in extent. I have spent
many months at this cottage, and rarely an evening passed without my
witnessing the sunset from this favourite rock.

The peak of Santubong is the centre of the picture, and the undulating
ground between and the winding of the river may be seen clearly in all
its varied detail. The calm sea--from this distance it seems always
calm--bounds the horizon. Two effects of light I have often witnessed
here; just at sunset, the rays thrown on the hills, the woods, the
water, have a sickly tint; and when rain threatens, the trees in the
jungle on the distant hills of Matang stand out distinctly visible, and
it is only at such times they do so.

  [Illustration:

    T. Picken, lith.            Day & Son, Lith^{rs}. to the Queen.

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London

  VIEW FROM NEAR THE RAJÀH’S COTTAGE]

There are three villages on this Sirambau hill--the Peninjau, now
visible below my favourite rock, Bombok, and Sirambau, where we have
left Madame Pfeiffer.

Each of these villages contains a head-house; in that at Sirambau
there were thirty-three heads, at Bombok thirty-two, and at Peninjau
twenty-one, with the skull of a bear killed during a head-hunting
expedition. They were all very ancient-looking, in fact none had been
added to their store since Sir James Brooke assumed the government
of the country. That they still have a longing for a fresh skull, I
have little doubt, though previously to the Chinese insurrection the
apparent impossibility had made them rather careless on the subject.

There is a custom in these tribes to assist the Orang Kaya in making
his farms; in fact, it is one of the most lucrative of his perquisites.
Mita of Sirambau had pushed his prerogative too far, and had forced
his people to make him three farms, and as from this and many other
reasons, he had ruined his popularity, he looked about him for a means
to recover it. At last it struck him that a fresh head would make the
whole tribe look up to him with respect.

I was visiting the village one day, when he told me he had a great
favour to ask, which was, that I would endeavour to obtain from Sir
James Brooke permission for him to make a foray into the neighbouring
districts. All the elders of the tribe were present, and it was evident
that they were deeply interested in the answer. The earnest way in
which they assured me that the crops had not been good for many years,
because the spirits were angry at the ancient rites having fallen into
disuse, showed that he had worked upon them to believe in the necessity
of a head being procured, but my answer was so discouraging that they
never ventured to mention the subject to Sir James Brooke. Mita was
afterwards removed from his office, to the great satisfaction of the
tribe.

Our cottage was just twelve hundred and thirty feet above the level
of the sea, and had a pure and cool atmosphere about it; but the most
remarkable spot near was a natural bath-house. In a ravine close by
rose a huge rock, seventy feet in length by forty in breadth; somewhat
of the shape of a mighty but very blunt wedge. The thicker end was
buried in the ground, the centre, supported on either side by two
rocks, left a cave beneath, while the thinner part, thrust up at an
angle of thirty degrees, overshadowed a natural basin, improved by art,
at which we bathed. A rill that glided from under the rock supplied us
plentifully with cool, clear water. It was a beautiful spot, a charming
natural grotto, in which to pass the burning midday hours; twenty or
thirty people could sit there with comfort, and admire the vegetation
that grew thickly around, but yet affording glimpses of distant hills
through the trees.

That spot for years was our boast; there was no bathing-place like
Peninjau, no water so cool, no air so bracing. Once our grotto fell to
a discount, and that was when some one unromantically brought from our
basin a huge leech, fifteen inches long; but that was the only intruder
that ever invaded the sacred spot. I may say that we never enter the
basin when we bathe in these places, or at our houses, but pour small
buckets of water on our heads, and let it run over our bodies; it is
the most refreshing plan. But up country, in the cool mountain streams,
we always take a plunge into the water.

At night, looking south, the prospect appeared quite lively with
fires and flashing lights; these came from the villages of Chinese
gold-workers occupying the valleys below. They extended irregularly
for about ten miles until they reached their chief town of Bau,
romantically situated among limestone hills, presenting perpendicular
sides.

To the eastward was one of the noblest valleys in Sarawak, perfectly
uninhabited. At the nearer end the Sirambau Dayaks occasionally had a
farm, but thousands of acres, untrodden by man, lay there uncultivated.

To the left of Sirambau are some very fine Tapang trees, in which the
bees generally build their nests; they are considered private property,
and a Dayak from a neighbouring tribe venturing to help himself of this
apparently wild honey and wax, would be punished for theft. This tribe,
also, is rich in edible birds’-nests, while the Peninjaus are becoming
wealthy from the great extent of their fruit-groves. In former times,
the Malays used to gather them without thinking of asking permission,
but now the government has forbidden this practice, and the amount
realized by the Dayaks is, for Borneo, something surprising. One good
fruit season, a hundred and fifty families realized two pounds sterling
each, enough to buy rice to last them six months.

I have said I am more familiar with the manners and customs of these
Dayaks than with those of any others, and having had the advantage of
receiving full and careful replies to a list of queries I addressed
to all those I thought likely to be able to give me assistance,
particularly from the Rev. Mr. Chalmers, the able missionary who
formerly resided there, and whose departure from Borneo all sincerely
regret, I will enter an account of the ways of the Land Dayaks,
noticing in what manner they vary from those of the surrounding tribes.
Though I am greatly indebted to Mr. Chalmers’s notes, I by no means
bind him to the opinions expressed, as we differ on some points,
particularly regarding the belief in the Supreme Being.

_Births._--After pregnancy is declared a ceremony takes place.[3]
Two priestesses[4] attend, a fowl is killed, rice provided, and for
two nights they howl and chant, during which time the apartment is
“pamali,” or interdicted. The husband of the pregnant woman, until
the time of her delivery, may not do work with any sharp instrument,
except what may be absolutely necessary for the cultivation of his
farm; he may not tie things together with rattans, or strike animals,
or fire guns, or do anything of a violent character--all such things
being imagined to exercise a malign influence on the formation and
development of the unborn child. The delivery is attended by an old
woman, called a “Penyading,” or midwife. A fowl is killed, the family
tabooed for eight days, during which time the unfortunate husband is
dieted on rice and salt, and may not go out in the sun, or even bathe
for four days; the rice and salt diet is to prevent the _baby’s_
stomach swelling to an unnatural size.

_Courtship._--Besides the ordinary attention which a young man
is able to pay to the girl he desires to make his wife--as helping
her in her farm work, and in carrying home her load of vegetables or
wood, as well as in making her little presents, as a ring, or some
brass chain work with which the women adorn their waists, or even
a petticoat--there is a very peculiar testimony of regard, which
is worthy of note. About nine or ten at night, when the family is
supposed to be fast asleep within the musquito curtains in the private
apartment, the lover quietly slips back the bolt by which the door
is fastened on the inside and enters the room on tiptoe. He goes to
the curtains of his beloved, gently awakes her, and she on hearing
who it is rises at once, and they sit conversing together, and making
arrangements for the future in the dark over a plentiful supply of
sirih-leaf and betel-nut, which it is the gentleman’s duty to provide.
If when awoke the young lady rises and accepts the prepared betel-nut,
happy is the lover, for his suit is in a fair way to prosper, but if
on the other hand she rises and says, “Be good enough to blow up the
fire,” or to light the lamp (a bamboo filled with resin), then his
hopes are at an end, as that is the usual form of dismissal. Of course
if this kind of nocturnal visit is frequently repeated, the parents
do not fail to discover it, although it is a point of honour among
them to take no notice of their visitor, and if they approve of him
matters take their course, but if not, they use their influence with
their daughter to ensure the utterance of the fatal “please blow up the
fire.” It is said on good authority that these nocturnal visits but
seldom result in immorality.

_Betrothment._--There is no ceremony at a betrothment, the
bridegroom expectant (if a young bachelor) generally presents his
betrothed with a set of three small boxes[5] made of bamboo, in which
are placed the tobacco, gambir, and lime, with the sirih-leaf and
betel-nut, and sometimes also with a cheap ring or two purchased from
the Malays, or in the Sarawak bazaar.

_Marriage._--At a marriage, a fowl is killed, rice boiled, and a
feast made by the relations of the bride and bridegroom. The bridegroom
then generally betakes himself to the apartment of his wife’s parents
or relations, and becomes one of the family. Occasionally, as for
example when the bride has many brothers and sisters, or when the
bridegroom is the support of aged parents, or of younger brothers
and sisters, the bride enters and becomes one of the family of her
husband. It is a rare occurrence for a young couple at once to commence
housekeeping on their own account; the reason is, that the labours of
a young man go to augment the store of the head of the family in which
he lives, be it that of his parents or others, and not till their
death can he claim any share of the property in rice, jars, crockery,
or gongs, which by his industry he has helped to create; yet most
young men now have generally a small hoard of copper coin, or even a
few dollars, which they have acquired by trading, or by working for
Europeans, Malays, or Chinese during the intervals of farm labour.

_Burial._--When a Dayak dies the whole village is tabooed for a
day; within a few hours of death the body is rolled up in the sleeping
mat of the deceased, and carried by the “Peninu,” or sexton of the
village, to the place of burial or burning.[6] The body is accompanied
for a little distance from the village by the women, uttering a loud
and melancholy lament. In the Peninjau tribe the women follow the
corpse a short way down the path below the village to the spot where
it divides, one branch leading to the burning ground, the other to the
Chinese town of Siniawan. Here they mount upon a broad stone, and weep
and utter doleful cries, till the sexton and his melancholy burden
have disappeared from view. Curiously enough, the top of this stone is
hollowed; and the Dayaks declare that this has been occasioned by the
tears of their women, which during many ages have fallen so abundantly,
and so often, as to wear away the stone by their continual dropping.

In Western Sarawak the custom of burning the dead is universal, in the
districts near the Samarahan, they are indifferently burnt or buried,
and when the Sadong is reached the custom of cremation ceases, the
Dayaks of the last river being in the habit of burying their dead. In
the grave a cocoa-nut, and areca-nut are thrown, and a small basket of
rice, and that one containing the chewing condiments of the deceased
are hung up near the grave, and if he were a noted warrior, a spear is
stuck in the ground close by. The above articles of food are for the
sustenance of the soul in his passage to the other world.

The graves are very shallow, and not unfrequently the corpse is rooted
up and devoured by wild pigs. The burning also is not unfrequently
very inefficiently performed, and portions of the bones and flesh
of a deceased person have been brought back by the dogs and pigs of
the village to the space below the very houses of the relatives. In
times of epidemic disease, and when the deceased is very poor, or the
relatives do not feel inclined to be at much expense for the sexton’s
services, corpses are not unfrequently thrown into some solitary piece
of jungle not far from the village, and there left. The Dayaks have
very little respect for the bodies of the departed, though they have an
intense fear of their ghosts.

The office of sexton is hereditary, descending from father to son,
and when the line fails, great indeed is the difficulty of inducing
another family to undertake its unpleasant duties, involving, as it
is supposed, too familiar an association with the dead and the other
world to be at all beneficial. Though the prospect of fees is good, and
perhaps every family in the village offers six gallons of unpounded
rice to start the sexton elect in his new, and certainly useful career,
among the Quop Dayaks it is difficult to find a candidate. The usual
burial fee is one jar, valued at a rupee, though if great care be
bestowed on the interment, a dollar is asked; at other places as much
as two dollars are occasionally demanded, and obtained when the corpse
is offensive.

On the day of a person’s death, a feast[7] is given by the family
to their relations; if the deceased be rich, a pig and a fowl are
killed, but if poor, a fowl is considered sufficient. The apartment,
and the family in which the death occurs, are tabooed for seven days
and nights, and if the interdict be not rigidly kept, the ghost of the
departed will haunt the house. Among the Silakau, the Lara, and the
true Lundu tribes, the bodies of the elders and rich are burned, while
the others are buried.

_Children._--All children are very desirable in Dayak eyes. Mr.
Chalmers thinks that if a Dayak could have but one child, he would
prefer a female, as she will always assist in getting wood and water
(labours held in little esteem by those males who have arrived at the
age of puberty); and, moreover, at marriage a son may have to follow
his wife, whereas a daughter obtains for her parents the benefit of her
husband’s labour and assistance; but my opinion is contrary, I think
male children are generally desired.

_Female Chastity._--With regard to female chastity, I imagine they
are better, certainly not worse, than the Malays. The “Orang Kayas”
have many cases of adultery to settle, which do not, however, cause
much excitement in the tribe.

_Divorces_ are very common, one can scarcely meet with a
middle-aged Dayak who has not had two, and often three or more wives.
I have heard of a girl of seventeen or eighteen years who had already
had three husbands. Repudiation, which is generally done by the man or
woman running away to the house of a near relation, takes place for the
slightest cause--personal dislike or disappointments, a sudden quarrel,
bad dreams, discontent with their partners’ powers of labour or their
industry, or in fact, any excuse which will help to give force to the
expression, “I do not want to live with him or her any longer.”

A woman has deserted her husband when laid up with a bad foot, and
consequently unable to work, and returned to him when recovered,
but this is perhaps to obtain her food on easier terms. A lad once
forced his mother to divorce her husband, the lad’s stepfather,
because the latter tried to get too much work out of his stepson, and
let his own children by a former marriage remain idle. The stepson
did not understand why he should contribute to the support of his
half-brothers, so he told his mother she must leave her husband, or
he would leave her, and live with his late father’s relatives. She
preferred her son’s society to her husband’s.

In fact, marriage among the Dayaks is a business of partnership for
the purpose of having children, dividing labour, and by means of their
offspring providing for their old age. It is, therefore, entered into
and dissolved almost at pleasure. If a husband divorces his wife,
except for the sake of adultery, he has to pay her a fine of two small
jars, or about two rupees. If a woman puts away her husband, she pays
him a jar, or one rupee. If a wife commits adultery the husband can
put her away if he please; though if she be a strong, useful woman, he
sometimes does not do so, and her lover pays him a fine of one “tajau,”
a large jar equal to twelve small jars, valued at twelve rupees. If a
separation take place, the guilty wife also gives her husband about
two rupees. If a husband commit adultery, the wife can divorce him,
and fine his paramour eight rupees, but she gets nothing from her
unfaithful spouse. There is one cause of divorce, where the blame rests
on neither party, but on their superstitions. When a couple are newly
married, if a deer, or gazelle, or a mouse deer utter a cry at night
near the house in which the pair are living, it is an omen of ill--they
must separate, or the death of one would ensue. This might be a great
trial to a European lover; the Dayaks, however, take the matter very
philosophically.

Mr. Chalmers mentions to me the case of a young Peninjau man who was
divorced from his wife on the third day after marriage. The previous
night a deer had uttered its warning cry, and separate they must. The
morning of the divorce he chanced to go into the “head-house,” and
there sat the bridegroom contentedly at work.

“Why are you here?” he was asked, as the “head-house” is frequented by
bachelors and boys only; “what news of your new wife?”

“I have no wife, we were separated this morning, because the deer cried
last night.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Very sorry.”

“What are you doing with that brass wire?”

“Making perik”--the brass chain-work which the women wear round their
waists--“for a young woman whom I want to get for my new wife.”




                              CHAPTER VI.

             SOCIAL LIFE OF THE LAND DAYAKS--_Continued._

   Religion--Belief in Supreme Being--Traces of
   Hinduism--Sacrifices--Pamali or Interdict--Mr. Chalmers’s
   Account of the Dayak Religion--A Future State--Spirits by
   Nature--Ghosts of Departed Men--Transformations--Catching the
   Soul--Conversion of the Priest to Christianity--Story--Other
   Ghosts--Custom of Pamali, or Taboo--Sacrifices--Things and
   Actions Interdicted--Not to Eat Horned Animals--Reasons
   for not Eating Venison--Of Snakes--The Living
   Principle--Causes of Sickness--Spirits Blinding the Eyes
   of Men--Incantations to Propitiate or Foil the Spirits
   of Evil--Catching the Soul--Feasts and Incantations
   connected with Farming Operations--The Blessing of the
   Seed--The Feast of First Fruits--Securing the Soul of the
   Rice--Exciting Night Scene--The Harvest Home--Singular
   Ceremony--Head Feasts--Offering the Drinking Cup--Minor
   Ceremonies--Images--Dreams--Love--Journeys of the Soul--Warnings
   in Sleep--Magic Stones--Anecdote--Ordeals--Omens--Birds of
   Omen--Method of Consulting them--Beneficial Effects of the Head
   Feasts--Languages of the Land Dayaks--Deer--The Sibuyaus free
   from Prejudice--Story of the Cobra De Capella--Names--Change
   of Name--Prohibited Degrees of Affinity--Heights--Medical
   Knowledge--Priests and Priestesses--Origin of the latter--Their
   Practices--Manufactures--Agriculture--Story of the Origin of
   Rice--The Pleiades.


_Religion._--This principally consists of a number of superstitious
observances. They are given up to the fear of ghosts; and in the
propitiation of these by small offerings and certain ceremonies
consists the principal part of their worship. But though this is the
case, I am quite convinced that they have a firm, though not clear
belief in the existence of one Supreme Being, who is above all, and
over all; and in this lies the best hope of the missionary. If we could
trace back the origin of their superstitions, we should probably find
that many of their inferior spirits are simply heroes of old who have
assumed the form of demigods; in fact, all my inquiries among the wild
tribes confirm me in the opinion that they believe in a Supreme Being.
I have mentioned in my _Limbang Journal_ old Japer saying,--“When I
speak of the God of the Pakatan tribe, I mean Him who made the heavens,
the earth, and man.” I have always thought that the three inferior
spirits mentioned by Mr. Chalmers in the extract I will give, Tenabi,
Iang, and Jirong are merely agents of Tapa, and occasionally their
subordinate position is overlooked by the Dayak narrators. It reminds
one of the three powers in the Hindu religion, “Brahma,” “Vishnu,” and
“Siva,” issuing from the Godhead Bram--and, in the Dayak religion,
“Tenabi,” the maker of the material world; Iang, the Instructor, and
Jirong, the Renovator and Destroyer, emanating from the Godhead Tapa,
the great Creator and Preserver. Before proceeding, I will give the
substance of Mr. Chalmers’s account of the religion of the Land Dayaks;
I may also premise by saying, that the Sarawak Land Dayaks call their
God “Tapa,” the Silakaus and Laras “Jewata,” and the Sibuyaus, “Batara.”

In common with many other barbarous tribes, their religious system
relates principally to this life. They are like the rest of mankind,
continually liable to physical evils, poverty, misfortune, sickness,
and these they try to avert from themselves by the practice of ancient
customs which are supposed to be effectual for the purpose. This system
may be classed as follows:--

The killing of pigs and fowls, the flesh of which is eaten, small
portions being set aside with rice for the spiritual powers; and from
the blood mixed with spittle, turmeric, and cocoa-nut water, a filthy
mess is concocted, and called physic, with which the people attending
the feast are anointed on the head and face. Dancing by the elders
and the priestesses about a kind of bamboo altar, erected on these
occasions either in the long room or on the exterior platform of one of
the houses, round which the offerings are placed, always accompanied by
the beating of all the gongs and drums of the tribe by the young lads,
and singing, or rather chanting, by the priestesses. The “pamali,” or
taboo of an apartment, house, or village for one, two, four, eight, and
even sixteen days, during which in the case of a village, no stranger
can enter it, in the case of a house, no one beside the families
residing therein, and in the case of an apartment no one out of the
family.

It cannot be denied that they have some belief in the Supreme God who
is called “Tapa,” the Creator or Maker, though their idea of Him as
a moral governor is very hazy and confused. They possess also some
glimmerings of a future existence, though scarcely any idea of a future
state of rewards and punishments. The following are a few particulars
of the Dayak theology.

There are four chief spirits: “Tapa,” who created men and women, and
preserves them in life; “Tenabi,” who made the earth, and, except the
human race, all things therein, and still causes it to flourish;
“Iang,” or “Iing,” who first instructed the Dayaks in the mysteries of
their religion, and who superintends its performance; “Jirong,” who
looks after the propagation of the human species, and also causes them
to die of sickness or accident. “Iang” is frequently associated with
“Tapa,” and “Tapa Iang” often stands for the Supreme Being.

An intelligent man of the tribe Setang, gave another account. He says
that “Tapa” and “Tenabi” are but different names for the same Great
Being, and that with Him is associated “Jirong,” the Lord of birth and
death. That when Tapa made the world, he first created “Iang,” then the
spirits “Triu” and “Komang,” and then man. That man and the spirits
were at first equal, and fought on fair terms, but that on one woful
occasion, the spirits got the better of man, and rubbed charcoal in his
eyes, which made him no longer able to see his spirit foes, except in
the case of certain gifted persons, as the priest, and so placed him at
their mercy.

With respect to a future state, the common Dayak story is that when a
man dies, he becomes a spirit, and lives in the jungle, or (this Mr.
Chalmers heard in one of the dead body burning tribes) that as the
smoke of the funeral pile of a good man rises, the soul ascends with it
to the sky, and that the smoke from the pile of a wicked man descends,
and his soul with it is borne down to the earth, and through it to
the regions below. Another version is, that when a man dies a natural
death, his soul on leaving the body becomes a spirit, and haunts the
place of burial or burning. When a spirit dies, for spirits too, it
would seem, are subject unto death, it enters the hole of Hades,
and coming out thence again becomes a Bejawi. In course of time the
“Bejawi” dies, and lives once more as a “Begutur;” but when a “Begutur”
dies, the spiritual essence of which it consists, enters the trunks of
trees, and may be seen there damp and blood-like in appearance, and has
a personal and sentient existence no longer.

I have introduced this account, and it is curious to trace in it a
similarity to the Budhist religion professed in Siam. There, they
believe that after passing through many and various transmigrations,
they will, as the last and best existence, sink into “neiban” and be
lost to all sense, and fade away without retaining personality any
longer.

With regard to a future state, the Dayaks point to the highest mountain
in sight as the abode of their departed friends.

The spirits are divided into two classes, “Umot,” spirits by nature,
and “Mino,” as I understood it to be, ghosts of departed men.

Umot.--The “Trui” and “Komang” live amid the noble old forest on the
tops of lofty hills. They delight in war and bloodshed, and always come
down to be present at the Dayak “head feasts.” They are described as
of a fierce and wild appearance, being covered with coarse red hair
like an orang-utan. By some the “Komang” are said to be the spirits
of departed heroes, associated after death for their valour with the
war-loving “Trui.” “Umot Sisi” is a harmless kind of spirit which
follows the Dayak, to look for the fragments of food which have fallen
through the open flooring of their houses, and who is heard at night
munching away below. “Umot Perubak” cause scarcity among the Dayaks,
by coming invisibly and eating the rice from the pot at mealtime; their
appetite is insatiable. “Umot Perusong” and “Tibong” come slily and
devour the rice which is stored within a receptacle made of the bark
of some gigantic tree, and is in the form of a vat. It is kept in the
garrets of the houses, and a large one will contain a hundred and fifty
bushels, and the family live in constant fear that these voracious
spirits will visit their store and entirely consume it.

“Mino Buau” are the ghosts of those who have been killed in war.
These are very vicious and inimical to the living;--they dwell in the
jungle, and have the power of assuming the form of beasts or headless
men. A Quop Dayak declared he met with one. He was walking through the
jungle, and saw what he thought was a squirrel sitting on the large
roots of a tree which overhung a small stream. He had a spear in his
hand, this he threw at the squirrel, and thought he had struck it; he
ran towards the spot at which it had apparently fallen, when to his
horror it faced him, rose up, and was transformed into a dog. The dog
walked on a few paces, and then turning into a human shape, sat slowly
down on the trunk of a fallen tree--head there was none. The spectre
body was parti-coloured, and at the top drawn up to a point. The Dayak
was smitten with a great fear, and away he rushed home and fell into
a violent fever; the priest was called, and he pronounced that the
patient’s soul had been summoned away from its corporeal abiding place
by the spirit; so he went to seek it, armed with his magic charms.
Midway between the village and place where the “Buau” had appeared,
the fugitive soul was overtaken and induced to pause, and having been
captured by the priest, was brought back to its body, and poked into
its place through an invisible hole in the head: the next day the fever
was gone.

This shows how the priests practise on the ignorance and superstition
of the people. Mr. Gomez, aware of it, used his utmost efforts to
convert the principal “Manang” or priest of the Lundu branch of the
“Sibuyaus,” and succeeded; since then there have been many baptized.
This, however, is not the principal effect; he has enlisted the learned
man on his side instead of against him, and I have little doubt of his
ultimately winning over the whole tribe of that section of Sea Dayaks.

Some accuse the Buau of being occasionally guilty of running off with
women. In former times, a wife named Temunyan was, in her husband’s
absence, carried off. On his return he searched for, and found the
spirit, slew him by a trick and recovered his wife; not, however, until
she had suffered violation. She was pregnant by the Buau, and in due
time she brought forth a son--a horrible monster, which her enraged
husband chopped up into small pieces; and these immediately turned into
leeches, with which the jungles are to this day unpleasantly infested.

“Mino Pajabun.”--These are the ghosts of those who meet with an
accidental death. Their name seems to be derived from a Dayak word
meaning “To long for,” because it is said they pass their time in
useless wailings over their hard fate.

“Mino Kok Anak.”--The spirits of women who have died in childbed. They
delight to mount high trees, and to startle belated Dayaks by horrible
noises as they are hurrying home in the twilight. There is also a ghost
or spirit--whether “Mino” or “Umot,” I have not ascertained--known to
the “Peninjaus,” which lives amid the holes of the rocks on the hills;
it is called “Sedying,” and on a rainy day may be heard in its cave
shivering and bemoaning as if suffering from the ague.

I have already mentioned that the custom “pamali,” called by the
Land Dayak “porikh,” obtains among all the tribes, and is constantly
practised. To propitiate the superior spirits, they shut themselves
up in their houses a certain number of days, and by that, among other
means, hope to avert sickness, to cure a favourite child, or to
restore their own health. They also have recourse to it when the cry
of the gazelle is heard behind them, or when their omen birds utter
unfavourable warnings. They likewise place themselves under this
interdict at the planting of rice, at harvest home, and upon many other
occasions. During this time, they appear to remain in their houses, in
order to eat, drink, and sleep; but their eating must be moderate, and
often consists of nothing but rice and salt. These interdicts are of
very different durations and importance. Sometimes, as at the harvest
home, the whole tribe is compelled to observe it, and then no one
must leave the village; at other times it only extends to a family,
or to a single individual. It is also considered important that no
stranger should break the taboo by entering the village, the house,
or the apartment, placed under interdict. If any one should do so
intentionally, he would subject himself to a fine.

The taboo lasts from one to sixteen days, according to the importance
attached to the event. The animals used in the sacrifice are fowls and
pigs, and I hear also that even dogs in certain tribes are occasionally
employed. The fowls and pigs are eaten, but the dogs not, the blood
only being required in their incantations. When a fowl is killed a
taboo may last one, two, or four days; when a pig--and then it is
usually a very important occasion--the ceremony may last four, eight,
or sixteen days.

People under interdict may not bathe, touch fire, or employ themselves
about their ordinary occupations. In conversation you continually
hear even the Malays say, “It is pamali,” or interdicted by their
superstitions, but if contrary to their religion they say “haram.”

I will notice a few things which the Dayaks consider must not be done
by them; for instance, most are not allowed to eat the flesh of horned
animals, as cattle and goats, and many tribes extend the prohibition to
the wild deer. In their refusal to touch the flesh of cows and bulls
they add another illustration of the theory that their religion is
indirectly derived from the Hindu, or if not actually derived, greatly
influenced by their intercourse with its disciples. They say that some
of their ancestors, in the transmigration of souls, were formerly
metamorphosed into these animals; and they slily, or innocently add,
that the reason why the Mahomedan Malays will not touch pork is, that
they are afraid to eat their forefathers, who were changed into the
unclean animal. It has often struck me that the origin of many of
their superstitions arose from the greediness of the elders; as in some
of the tribes they, together with the women and children, but not the
sturdy young men, may eat eggs. In other instances the very old men
and the women may eat of the flesh of the deer, while the young men
and warriors of the tribe are debarred from venison for fear it should
render them as timid as the graceful hind.

The taboo which prevents certain families from consuming the flesh
of snakes and other kinds of reptiles, most probably arose from some
incident in the life of one of their ancestors, in which the rejected
beast played a prominent part. It is religiously forbidden to all those
intending to engage in a pig-hunt from meddling with oil before the
chase, for fear the game should thus slip through their fingers. I may
add, if a certain kind of bird flies through a house the inhabitants
desert it; as they likewise do if a drop of blood be seen sprinkled on
the floor, unless they can prove whence it came.

In addition to the incantations (Beruri) which accompany every feast
(Gawei), there are special ones on occasions of sickness both in men
and rice. The Dayak idea of life is this, that in mankind, animals, and
rice there is a living principle called “semungat” or “semungi;” that
sickness is caused by the temporary absence, and death by the total
departure of this principle from the body. Hence the object of their
ceremonies is to bring back the departed souls; and some of the feasts
are held to secure the soul of the rice, which, if not so detained,
the produce of their farms would speedily rot and decay. At sowing
time, a little of the principle of life of the rice, which at every
harvest is secured by their priests, is planted with their other seeds,
and is thus propagated and communicated.

Sickness among mankind is occasionally caused by spirits inflicting on
people invisible wounds with invisible spears; indeed, they themselves
sometimes enter men’s bodies and drive out the soul. As a rule, to be
ill is to have been smitten by a spirit,[8] for it is these implacable
foes of mankind who under all circumstances entice forth and endeavour
to carry away the souls of men. If any one in his wanderings through
the jungle is wounded or killed by the spring traps[9] set near the
farms to destroy pigs who may attempt to break through into the fields,
it is because the spirit of the trap has caused darkness to pass
over his eyes, so that he should not see the regular warning mark,
consisting of two bamboos crossed, which tells of the neighbourhood of
danger.

To return, however, to the incantations by which the inimical spirits
are propitiated or foiled in their machinations. They are three:
“Nyibaiyan,” or the ceremony for restoring health. At this only one
fowl is killed; two priestesses are the actors, and they spend their
time chanting monotonously; the taboo lasts two nights. The invalid
and the person who prepares the magic ointment (a near relative of the
patient) are the only persons subject to its restraints.

“Berobat Pinya” is also for sickness. At this one priest and four or
five priestesses attend, the interdict lasts four days, and one pig and
one fowl are killed. Outside the door of the family apartment in which
the incantation is held are gathered together, in a winnowing basket,
an offering of fowls, yams, and pork, fowl and pig’s blood in a cup,
boiled rice and sirih-leaf, and areca-nut: these are for the various
spirits. On the first day of the incantation two priestesses pretend
to fight with each other with drawn swords, which they wave and slash
about in so furious a manner, as at once to put to flight the trembling
ghost. After this display of valour, chanting begins, accompanied by
the music of a small gong and a drum, the latter beaten by the priest;
this continues for a day and night. Towards midnight he proceeds to get
the soul of the patient. Carefully wrapping up a small cup in a white
cloth, he places it amidst the offerings before mentioned, then, with
a torch in one hand and a circlet of beads and tinkling hawk bells in
the other, he stalks about shaking his charms. After a little time he
orders one of the admiring spectators to look in the cup previously
wrapped up in white cloth, and sure enough there the soul always is,
in the form of a bunch of hair to vulgar eyes, but to the initiated in
shape and appearance like a miniature human being. This is supposed to
be thrust into a hole in the top of the patient’s head, invisible to
all but the learned man. He has thus recovered the man’s soul, or, as
it may be called, the principle of life that was departing from him.

The Land Dayaks of Sarawak say they have only one soul; the “Sibuyaus”
talk of several; but their souls, as shown by the priest to the friends
of the patient, bear a suspicious resemblance to the seeds of the
cotton plant.

“Berobat Sisab” has a similar aim to the above. At this, one priest,
but no priestess, is present. The priest first makes a bamboo altar[10]
in the common verandah outside the door of the patient’s room, round
which are placed offerings, and a pig and a fowl are killed. The
interdict lasts for eight days. For two there is beating of gongs
and drums, and dancing by the man who makes the charm, usually some
relation of the sick person. On the first night the soul is recovered,
and the patient washed in the milk of the cocoa-nut. I have often
been present when these ceremonies were going on; it is astonishing
that any patient should recover, stunned as he must be by the beating
and clanging of these ear-splitting instruments close to him. It has
effectually prevented my closing my eyes; and the melancholy wail of
the priestesses is sufficient, one would imagine, to drive hope itself
from the bedside of the sufferer.

The feasts and incantations connected with farming operations are as
follows:--First, in the midst of cutting down the jungle; second, when
it is set on fire. These are small affairs, the interdict lasting but
one day, and only a fowl being killed. They are called “Mekapau,” only
one gong and one drum are beaten; and also “nyirañgan,” because a
bamboo altar is built by the roadside, and upon it a small offering of
rice and blood is placed for the spirit. The second feast is to drive
away all evil influences from the earth, when ready for the seed.

The third feast[11] is the blessing of the seed before planting. It is
brought out, and the priestesses wave over it their flat brush-like
wands, which consist of the undeveloped fruit of the areca palm,
stripped of its sheath, and is in itself one of the prettiest objects
in the world, and in its natural bursting spreads around the parent
stem a delicious perfume that scents a whole grove. They thus expel all
malign influences; the interdict lasts two nights, one fowl is killed,
and there is music and dancing.

During the growth of the rice, if the rats be making havoc among it,
or the pale green leaf appear blighted, there are similar ceremonies
to awe the vermin, and charm back the colour to the plant. But the
harvest feasts are the great days; there are three:--The feast of first
fruits,[12] when the priestesses, accompanied by a gong and a drum, go
in procession to the farms and gather several bunches of the ripe padi.
These are brought back to the village, washed in cocoa-nut water, and
laid round a bamboo altar, which at the harvest feasts is erected in
the common room of the largest house, and decorated with white cloth
and red streamers, so as to present a very gay appearance, and is
hung around with the sweet-smelling blossom of the areca palm. This
feast and interdict last two days; only fowls are killed; dancing and
gong-beating go on night and day; and when it is over, the Dayaks may
set themselves to repair their bamboo platforms outside the houses, on
which the rice is trodden out from the ear, and then dried in the sun.
They may now also gather in their crops.

The second feast[13] is a more important affair: it is held about the
middle of harvest, and lasts four days; fowls and a pig are killed,
and dancing and beating of gongs go on almost continually. The first
part of this feast is celebrated, not in the village, but in a shed at
some distance from it, frequently built by the roadside, and sometimes
on the very summits of the hills on which the villages are situated.
Although strangers are forbidden to approach the place during these
ceremonies, yet at Sirambau I have often been invited to be present
during this and the other feasts. They choose a lovely spot for the
erection of their shed, which is tastefully decorated with green boughs
and climbing plants, and situated under the loftiest fruit-trees I have
ever seen; and here as in other villages, around the spot where the
shed was erected were planted yellow bamboos, and their golden tapering
stems and graceful feathery tufts are a charming and pleasing contrast
to the rude leaf walls and roof of the neighbouring building.

At this, and at the third and last harvest feast, the soul of the rice
is secured. The way of obtaining it varies in different tribes. In the
Quop district it is done by the chief-priest alone; first, in the long
and broad verandah where the altar is erected, and afterwards in each
separate family apartment. Sometimes it is performed by day, sometimes
by night; and the process is this: the priest, fixing his eyes on some
object visible only to him, takes in one hand his bundle of charms and
in the other a second composed of pigs’ and bears’ and dogs’ tusks
and teeth, and large opaque-coloured beads; a little gold dust is also
necessary in this ceremony, during which he calls aloud for white
cloth; when it is brought and spread before him, he waves his charms
towards the invisible object in the air, and then shakes it over the
white cloth, into which there fall a few grains of rice, which Tapa, in
reward for their offerings and invocations, sends down to them. This
is the soul, and it is immediately wrapped up with great care and laid
among the offerings around the altar.

The gold dust and white cloth are generally furnished at their
earnest request by the government, as the Dayaks think it exercises a
beneficial effect to receive it from white men. It used to be supplied
by the Malay rulers.

In some tribes it is a far more exciting spectacle, especially when
done at night. A large shed is erected outside the village, and
lighted by huge fires inside and out, which cast a ruddy glow over the
dense mass of palms surrounding the houses; while gongs and drums are
crashing around a high and spacious altar near the shed, where a number
of gaily-dressed men and women are dancing with slow and stately step
and solemn countenances, some bearing in their hands lighted tapers,
some brass salvers on which are offerings of rice, and others closely
covered baskets, the contents of which are hidden from all but the
initiated. The corner-posts of the altar are lofty bamboos, whose leafy
summits are yet green and rustic in the wind; and from one of these
hangs down a long, narrow streamer of white cloth. Suddenly elders and
priests rush to it, seize hold of its extremity, and amid the crashing
sound of drums and gongs and the yells of spectators, begin dancing and
swaying themselves backwards and forwards, and to and fro. An elder
springs on the altar, and begins violently to shake the tall bamboos,
uttering as he does so shouts of triumph, which are responded to by
the swaying bodies of those below; and amid all this excitement, small
stones, bunches of hair and grains of rice, fall at the feet of the
dancers, and are carefully picked up by watchful attendants. The rice
is the soul sought for, and the ceremony ends by several of the oldest
priestesses falling, or pretending to fall, to the earth senseless;
where, till they recover, their heads are supported and their faces
fanned by their younger sisters.

The third feast[14] is held after the end of the harvest, when the
year’s crop has been carefully stowed away. A pig and fowls are killed,
for four days gong-beating and dancing are kept up, and the taboo
lasts for eight days. Sometimes no stranger may approach the village
for sixteen days. At this period also the soul of the rice is likewise
secured, which is to ensure the non-rotting of the crop. At this
feast there is a general physicking of the children. They are washed
with cocoa-nut water, and then laid down in a row in the common room
where the feast is held, and scarcely suffered to move about for four
days. At this time also the elder priestesses physic their younger
sisters, and children of a tender age are entered among the number
of this learned and accomplished body; partly because admission into
it is supposed to secure them against violent sickness. For each one
who is now to be initiated, a young cocoa-nut is obtained, and their
elder sisters cause those on whom they are to exercise their power
to lie down in a line along the room, and to cover themselves with
long sleeping sheets. The cocoa-nuts belonging to the patients are
then taken into the hands of the priestesses, and with them they run
violently about the long room, tossing them up and down and to and
fro. In some villages they are rolled in soot and oil, and then kicked
furiously about from one priestess to the other. During this part of
the process the room presents a curious scene. Here some six or seven
gaily-dressed women are rushing frantically up and down, tossing in
their hands the heavy young cocoa-nuts; there a dozen old women are
moving to and fro on a rude swing suspended from the rafters, and
howling dolefully round the altar. A number of others are shrieking
and dancing; while from the farther end of the room beyond the line of
prostrate patients resounds a clatter of gongs and drums, beaten as
vigorously as twenty pair of young hands can apply themselves to the
work.

One by one the old priestesses cease their wild running backwards and
forwards, and each in succession presents herself before an elder of
the tribe, who stands, chopper in hand, over a mortar, into the hollow
of which each in turn places her cocoa-nut. With one blow the old man
splits the nut, and out gushes the water. If it simply fall into the
mortar, the prospect is good, but if it shoot up towards the roof, then
evil is the lot of the patient whose cocoa-nut it may be, for there is
sickness before her in the coming year. When a cocoa-nut is split, she
to whom it belongs is raised from her recumbent position and the water
is poured over her; she is then laid down again and carefully wrapped
up in her sheet. When all have been so treated a lighted taper is waved
over the prostrate, motionless patients, and a form of words chanted,
and then the ceremony is concluded by the head priestess going round
and blowing into the face of each of the patients; after which they are
allowed to chatter and amuse themselves, but are confined to the long
room, in company with the elders and such of the children as had been
previously subjected to the ceremony, until the close of the interdict.

_Head Feasts._--These are held only after some new heads have been
added to the ghastly trophies of the bachelor’s house; consequently
among the Dayaks of Sarawak there has not been a feast for many years,
except those celebrated over the heads of the rebellious Chinese killed
in 1857, who, confident in their fire-arms, attempted to capture the
villages on the mountain, their chief object being to burn down Sir
James Brooke’s cottage. They offered to cease their attack if the
Dayaks would put fire to it themselves; but they refused, and defended
their steep paths by the aid of barricades. The Chinese were foiled and
driven back to the plain, and were pursued by the mountaineers, who
inflicted heavy loss upon them. Chinese heads, however, are esteemed
of little value in comparison with those of their ancient enemies. The
head feast is the great day of the young bachelors. The head-house and
village are decorated with green boughs, and the heads to be feasted
are brought out from their very airy position, being hung from one of
the beams, where they rattle together at every breath of wind, and
are put into a rice measure in some very prominent place. The whole
population are robed in their best, the young men in red jackets,
yellow and red head-dresses, and gay waist-cloths or trousers.

For four days and four nights an almost incessant beating of gongs and
drums is kept up, and dances are performed by the young men only. The
priestesses are decked out in their usual style, but upon this occasion
their occupation is gone. Strong drinks, made from rice or the fruit of
the tampui-tree, and also from the gomuti palm, flow freely; shrieks,
yells, laughter, and shoutings, are heard in all directions, and the
whole village seems given up to riot and dissipation. The interdict
lasts eight days, two pigs are killed, and as many fowls as they can
afford. An offering of food is made to the heads, and their spirits,
being thus appeased, cease to entertain malice against, or to seek to
inflict injury upon, those who have got possession of the skull which
formerly adorned the now forsaken body.

A curious custom prevails among the young men at this feast. They cut a
cocoa-nut shell into the form of a cup, and adorn it with red and black
dye. Into one side of it they fasten a rudely carved likeness of a
bird’s head, and into the other the representation of its tail. The cup
is filled with arrack, and the possessor performs a short wild dance
with it in his hands, and then with a yell leaps before some chosen
companion, and presents it to him to drink. Thus the “loving cup” is
passed around among them, and it need not be said that the result is in
many cases partial, though seldom excessive, intoxication.

Before leaving the subject of feasts and incantations, I will mention
some of their occasional ceremonies. They perform some on account
of a bad dream, any threatening evil, or because of actual sickness;
sometimes also by way of precaution, but this is only after harvest
when they have nothing better to do. The theory of their ceremonies
appears to be this: that the offering of food made to the spirits
assuages their malice and secures their departure, these spirits being
considered the proximate cause of nearly all the evils to which they
are subjected.

The minor ceremonies are called “nyirañgan,” because a bamboo altar[15]
is erected by the roadside, and a fowl killed near it, part of which,
with rice and betel-nut, is offered upon it: the taboo is only for
a day. If any one meets with an accidental death in the jungle, a
ceremony is gone through near the spot; at this a pig is occasionally
killed, but in all such cases the taboo lasts only one day. If during
farming time a tree fall across the path, a ceremony is held, and all
whose farms are in that direction are tabooed. If during harvest the
basket into which the ears of rice are cut be upset, a fowl is killed,
and the family to whom the basket belongs is tabooed. Again, when the
Government rice-tax is paid, there is a ceremony. On this occasion a
shed is erected just at the entrance to the village, and in addition
to the offerings of food, it is hung with a number of split cocoa-nut
shells, which the spirits are supposed to appropriate as gongs.

_Images._--Although the Dayaks adhere with great strictness to the
command not to make any graven image for purposes of worship, yet in
some tribes they are in the habit of forming a rude figure of a naked
man and woman, which they place opposite to each other on the path to
the farms. On their heads are head-dresses of bark, by their sides is
the betel-nut basket, and in their hands a short wooden spear. These
figures are said to be inhabited each by a spirit who prevents inimical
influences from passing on to the farms, and likewise from the farms
to the village, and evil betide the profane wretch who lifts his hand
against them,--violent fever and sickness are sure to follow.

Among the tribes of Western Sarawak the priestesses have made for them
rude figures of birds. At the great harvest feasts they are hung up
in bunches of ten or twenty in the long common room, carefully veiled
with coloured handkerchiefs. They are supposed to become inhabited by
spirits, and it is forbidden for any one to touch them, except the
priestesses.

_Dreams._--The Dayaks regard dreams as actual occurrences. They
think that in sleep the soul sometimes remains in the body, and
sometimes leaves it and travels far away, and that both when in and
out of the body it sees, and hears, and talks, and altogether has a
prescience given it, which, when the body is in its natural state,
it does not enjoy. Fainting fits, or a state of coma, are thought to
be caused by the departure or absence of the soul on some distant
expedition of its own. When any one dreams of a distant land, as we
exiles often do, the Dayaks think that our souls have annihilated
space, and paid a flying visit to Europe during the night. Elders and
priestesses often assert that in their dreams they have visited the
mansion of Tapa, and seen the Creator dwelling in a house like that of
a Malay, the interior of which was adorned with guns and gongs and
jars innumerable, Himself being clothed like a Dayak.

A dream of sickness to any member of a family always ensures a
ceremony; and no one presumes to enter the priesthood, or to learn
the art of a blacksmith, without being, or pretending to be, warned
in a dream that he should undertake to learn it. I have known a man
with only two children give his younger child to another who was no
relation, because he dreamed that he must give it to him or the child
would die.

In dreams also “Tapa” and the spirits bestow gifts on men in the shape
of magic stones, which, being washed in cocoa-nut milk, the water
forms one of the ingredients in the mass of blood and turmeric which
is considered sacred, and is used to anoint the people at the harvest
feasts. They are ordinary black pebbles, and there is nothing in their
appearance to give an idea of their magic power and value. The ones
in the Quop village were procured in a dream by the late “Orang Kaya
Bai Malam,” in order to replace those lost in the civil wars which
desolated the country before Sir James Brooke’s arrival. He dreamt that
a spirit came unto him and gave him a number of these sacred stones;
and lo! when he awoke, they were in his hand. In some villages they
are kept in a rude kind of wooden bowl covered and fastened down, then
fixed to the top of an iron-wood post in the middle of the outside
platform. In others they are deposited in a small house built in the
jungle, at some distance from the village, and all around it is sacred.
I will relate an anecdote Mr. Chalmers told me:--

A Quop woman who had turned Malay was staying at her village when the
clergyman was there; he had a number of coloured-glass marbles, and
one of these this woman got hold of, and no doubt thought it very
strange and wonderful. Next morning, when she awoke, she called loudly
for white cloth, declaring at the same time that the late Orang Kaya
had appeared to her in the night and given her a sacred stone, at the
same time producing the marble, and expected, no doubt, a good price
for it from the Dayaks. But they are wiser now than of yore, and would
have nothing to do with it; and the young fellows, hearing how she had
procured the marble, teased her on the subject until her departure.

_Ordeals._--One of the ordeals practised among them is the
following: When a quarrel takes place which the elders find it
impossible to settle, from conflicting evidence, the disputants are
taken to a deep pool in a neighbouring stream, and both standing up to
their necks in the water, at given signals plunge their heads below the
surface: the first that rises to take breath, loses the case. Among the
Land Dayaks, these ceremonies are not often practised. Another is by
listening to the night-birds: if their cry be such as to be considered
a favourable omen, the accused is declared not guilty; if a bad omen,
he is pronounced guilty and must pay the fine demanded of him. The
most common ordeal, however, is this: two wax tapers of equal size and
length are prepared, they are lighted, and the owner of the one that is
first extinguished, or burnt out, loses his case.

_Omens._--If a man be going on a war expedition, and has a slip
during his first day’s journey, he must return to his village,
especially if by the accident blood be drawn, for then, should he
proceed, he has no prospect but wounds or death. If the accident
occur during a long expedition, he must return to his last night’s
resting-place. In some tribes, if a deer cry near a party who are
setting out on a journey they will return. When going at night to the
jungle, if the scream of a hawk, or an owl, or of a small kind of frog
be heard, it is a sign that sickness will follow if the design be
pursued; and, again, if the screech of the two former be heard in front
of a party on the warpath, it is an evil sign, and they must return.
Omens derived from the cry of birds are always sought previously to
setting out on a journey, and before fixing on a spot to build new
houses, or to prepare their farms.

The birds which give the omen for a journey are three, the “Kushah,”
“Kariak,” and “Katupung.” The traveller goes to a spot near the village
where the feast sheds are usually erected, and sometimes a stage of
bambu is also made ready for the purpose. There he waits till he hears
the ofttimes long-awaited cries. When the “Kushah” or “Katupung” are
heard on the right or the left only, or in front, no success will
attend the journey; but if their cry be heard on the left and then
answered on the right, the traveller may start in peace. The “Kariak’s”
omen, however, is more important still. If heard on the right hand, the
omen is good; if on the left, some slight inconvenience may follow; if
behind, sickness or death awaits him in the place to which he is bound.
How common is the saying used, “I had a bad bird,” to excuse every
breach of engagement!

In house-building and farm-making all the birds of night are consulted.
During the day, a place in the forest, which appears suitable, is
fixed upon, and a small shed erected near. Some boiled rice, stained
yellow with turmeric, and other offerings, are prepared, and at night
a party takes them to the hut already built. This they enter, and an
elder having invoked the spiritual powers, and cast the yellow rice
in all directions, they await the omen. If a bird cry and twitter in
front, and if it then fly past the hut towards the village, it is a
good omen; but if the birds fly and alight near the hut, and there cry
and twitter, evil and sickness await those who build or farm there, for
many spirits have made that their dwelling-place.

The reason assigned for using these bird omens is that they are half
Dayaks. Long ago, a spirit married a Dayak woman, and the result of the
intercourse was the production of birds. These were tenderly cared for
and cherished by the Dayaks, and, in return, from that time to this,
they have ever warned their former protectors of impending evil, if
duly consulted according to the customs which have descended to the
tribes from their ancestors.

Having thus given a brief account of Dayak ceremonies, and feastings,
and omens, I may conclude with a remark, that, of all the feasts and
ceremonies, the most beneficial in its influence is the “Head Feast.”
The object of them all is to make their rice grow well, to cause the
forest to abound with wild animals, to enable their dogs and snares
to be successful in securing game, to have the streams swarm with
fish, to give health and activity to the people themselves, and to
ensure fertility to their women. All these blessings, the possessing
and feasting of a fresh head are supposed to be the most efficient
means of securing. The very ground itself is believed to be benefited
and rendered fertile, more fertile even than when the water in which
fragments of gold, presented by the Rajah, have been washed, has been
sprinkled over it; this latter charm, especially when mixed with the
water which has been poured over the sacred stones, being, next to the
possession of a newly acquired head, the greatest and the most powerful
which the wisdom of the “men of old time” has devised for the benefit
of their descendants. It may, therefore, be understood what importance
Orang Kaya Mita attached to his request that permission should be given
to him to seek another victim, and what influence he would have gained
with the tribe had they secured these blessings by his means.

_Language._--The vocabularies printed in the Appendix will, as
Mr. Chalmers observes, show that there is a great affinity betwixt the
Dayaks of Sarawak, Sadong, and some Sambas tribes. This connection
is not so visible in the dialects of others, as, for instance, the
Silakau tribe, who formerly lived on a stream of the same name between
the Sambas and Pontianak. In the dialects of the Sea Dayaks, there are
perhaps a few words radically the same as their correspondents in Land
Dayak, but only a few which are not derived in common from Malay. In
the dialect of the Dayaks of Banjermasin, I have also noticed words the
same in form and meaning, but they are not very frequent.

My own experience has led me to the conviction that it is very
difficult to draw any safe conclusion from the vocabularies generally
collected, because the best are usually made through the medium of the
Malay, and the worst by merely showing articles and guessing that the
response is the name of the thing shown. I made a list of Bisaya words
on the Limbang, another among the Idaán at the foot of “Kina Balu.”
I was certain of a great affinity between the languages, as men from
one tribe could freely converse with those of the other, though their
dwellings were a hundred and fifty miles apart; but on comparing the
written vocabularies, I found a surprising difference. Just before I
left Borneo, I spoke to a Bisaya on the subject: he said, “Repeat me a
few words of the Idaán that are different.” I did so. He answered, “I
understand those words, but we don’t often use them,” and he instantly
gave their meaning in Malay, to show that he did understand them.

My sudden and unexpected return to this country prevented my pursuing
the investigation. I mention this circumstance to show that differences
are often more apparent than real. Mr. Chalmers’s vocabularies are
trustworthy, as he can speak the Land Dayak freely.

_Deer._--The Dayaks of the Quop district do not refuse to eat
deer. The custom of doing so, however, obtains in Western Sarawak, but
chiefly in the Singgi tribe, and then only among the young men.

As will be found mentioned in my account of Samarahan, they do so
because deer’s flesh produces in those who eat it faint hearts; and
as I have elsewhere observed, the interdict on certain kinds of food
to the young people is merely selfishness on the part of the elders
to secure to themselves a greater share of articles that are not
plentiful. The Silakau and Lara Dayaks who have emigrated from Sambas
into Lundu, do not eat the flesh of the deer, from an opinion that they
descended from Dayak ancestors, but Mr. Chalmers, in his experience
of the Sarawak Land Dayak, never heard of any prejudice existing
against killing or even eating any animals except the faint-heartedness
supposed to be produced by venison; nor did he notice that the serpent
had any sacred character. Many people eat it; some, however, refuse,
considering it foul-feeding.

The Sibuyau Dayaks of Lundu, from their greater intercourse with Malays
and Chinese, and from the advantages they have derived from local
self-government, and freely trading with the surrounding districts,
have lost most of their old superstitions, as I have noticed in my
account of the Sea Dayaks: nor must I omit to mention that their
intercourse with a succession of able European officers, and the
constant presence among them of Mr. Gomez, a missionary of singular
tact, have had a remarkable effect upon their characters, and rendered
them a very superior tribe. They kill the cobra and other reptiles, but
the Land Dayaks of Lundu, as well as the Silakaus, consider it wrong to
destroy it. They say that in former times one of their female ancestors
was pregnant for seven years, and ultimately brought forth twins, one a
human being and the other a cobra de capella. They lived together for
some time, the snake always keeping his head well out of the way for
fear of hurting his brother with his venomous teeth, but allowing him
to amuse himself with his tail. When they grew up the cobra left the
house to dwell in the forest, but before leaving he told his mother to
warn her children, that should, unfortunately, one of them be bitten by
the hooded snake, not to run away, but remain a whole day at the spot
where the injury was received, and the venom would have no poisonous
effect. Not long after he was met in the forest by his brother, who,
under the effect of surprise, drew his sword and smote off his tail,
which accounts for that blunted appearance observable in all his
brethren. The superstition of the snake curing the bite is believed;
the wounded person being still allowed to remain twenty-four hours in
the jungle. During my fourteen years’ residence in Borneo, I have only
heard of two persons dying from the effects of snake bites.

_Names_:--


Names of Men.

    Mobon.
    Doden.
    Magè.
    Nyait.
    Rinyang.
    Si Ngais.
    Marik.
    Si Neg.
    Si Ngaruk.
    Si Gindai.
    Si Raru.
    Si Rugi.
    Si Kangon.
    Sonyam.
    Si Mara.
    Sanyung.


Names of Women.

    Si Kudon.
    Si Risi.
    Si Tuk.
    Si Ngada.
    Si Risok.
    Si Kûdi.
    Si Bior.
    Sanut.
    Tika.
    Si Nyat.
    Monog.
    Sakot.
    Si Rawang.
    Sopop.
    Si Nuag.

The above are personal names; when young the parents often change
them, especially if the child be sickly, there being an idea that
they will deceive the inimical spirits by following this practice. As
the children grow up they are dignified further by a change of name:
thus, “Si Mara” becomes “Ma Kari,” _i.e._ the father of Kari,
being the name of a child of his father’s or mother’s younger brother
or sister. If this younger brother or sister have no children, whose
names are to spare, “Si Mara” must wait until he gets a child of his
own, and then he takes his child’s name with “Ma” prefixed. The same
custom holds good with women;--“Si Risi,” a personal name, being
changed into “Nu Sangut,” _i.e._ the mother of Sangut. So, again,
if the younger brother or sister (and this is a most comprehensive
relationship) of a person’s father or mother have grandchildren, then
the “Ma” and “Nu” are abandoned for “Bai” and “Muk,” the grandfather or
grandmother: thus, “Ma Kari” might become “Bai Kinyum,” and “Nu Sangut”
be metamorphosed into “Muk Weit.”

_Marriage._--The prohibited degrees seem to be the same as adopted
among ourselves: marriage with a deceased wife’s sister, it is said, is
prohibited, as well as that between first cousins; and second cousins
are only permitted after the exchange of a fine of a jar, the woman
paying it to the relation of her lover, and he to her relations. Among
the Sibuyaus, however, I have known an uncle marry his niece.

_Heights._--MALE ADULTS: 4 ft. 10 in. (short); 5 ft. 1 in.; 5 ft. 3
in.; 5 ft. 4 in.; 5 ft. 5½ in.; 5 ft. 7 in. FEMALE ADULTS: 4 ft. 6 in.
(short); 4 ft. 8 in.; 4ft. 9 in.; 4ft. 10½ in.; 5 ft.; 5 ft. 2 in.
(tall).

They have little or no knowledge of medicine, though they sometimes
collect pepper and onions with which to make physic, a kind of
stomachic. The grated flesh of old cocoa-nut is occasionally applied
to wounds and bruises, but there is no general knowledge even of the
powers of rice poultices. Blue-stone they eagerly inquire for, and they
have learnt its properties. Their most common physic is to get a friend
to chew up a mass of sirih-leaves, areca and lime, until it is reduced
to a thick red juice, which is then squirted from the mouth over the
part affected. If this physic be thus administered by a regular doctor
it will be more efficacious, but any one may do it. This mess is used
indiscriminately for all diseases: stomach ache, sore eyes, ulcers,
wounds, boils, rheumatism, as well as fever. When it is squirted on
to the forehead it is supposed to be efficacious in relieving the
accompanying headache. This is very much practised by the Malays, who
thus render their sick, objects of disgust. I have often thought it
necessary to insist upon the patient being washed carefully before
administering European medicines.

I have already spoken of a mixture of blood and turmeric being
plastered on the head at the regular ceremonies. On these occasions
also the cheek and forehead of those who take part in them are marked
with blood. I have also spoken of bathing the patient in cocoa-nut
water, and these comprise all the medical applications of which I am
aware.

In most tribes, there are five or six priests, and in some districts
half the female population are included under the denomination of
priestesses.

In Western Sarawak they are not so numerous. The power of these
women consists chiefly in their chanting, which is supposed to be
most effectual in driving away spirits. Strange to say, some of the
sentences they chant are not in their own language, but in Malay.
These women are not necessarily impostors; they but practise the ways
and recite the songs which they received from their predecessors, and
the dignity and importance of the office enable them to enjoy some
intervals of pleasurable excitement during their laborious lives. Their
dress is very gay; over their heads they throw a red cloth, on the top
of which they place a cylindrical cap, worked in red, white, and black
beads, and their short petticoats are fringed with hundreds of small,
tinkling hawk-bells. Around their neck is hung a heavy bead necklace,
consisting of five or six rows of black, red, and white opaque beads
strongly bound together. In addition, they hang over their shoulders,
belt-fashion, a string of teeth, large hawk-bells and opaque beads.
There are several stories concerning the origin of the priestesses.
That which is current in the Quop district is as follows:--

Long ago, when the Dayaks were quite ignorant of religion, a certain
man and his wife had two daughters. Both of them fell ill; the parents
knew of no remedy, so they took a pig’s trough, placed the children
within it, and sent them floating down the river towards the sea. The
great “Iang,” from his lofty seat, saw them in this pitiful situation
and crying helplessly, he had compassion on them and took them to his
dwelling on the mountain of Santubong.

There he cured them himself, and then taught them the mysteries of
religion, the formulas they were to chant, the taboo they were to
observe, and the rites and ceremonies they were to perform. This done,
he transported them back to their own village, where they were welcomed
and reverenced, and it was they who founded the sacred order of
priestesses, as it now exists throughout these countries.

The priests must in many respects be regarded as impostors, though, of
course, even with their deceitful practices is mixed much superstitious
credulity. They pretend to meet and to converse with spirits, to
receive warnings, and sometimes presents from them, to have the power
of seeing and capturing the departed soul of a sick man, and to be able
to find and secure for the Dayaks that vital principle of the rice
which “Tapa” sends down from above at their two chief harvest feasts.
To increase their authority, they do not hesitate to declare that
they have predicted every event. No accident happens to man or goods
of which they do not say that they had previous warning; and a sick
man scarcely ever calls upon them for their aid when they do not tell
him that for some time previously they had known he was going to have
an attack. One of their commonest practices is to pretend to extract
from a sick man’s body, stones and splinters, which they declare are
spirits; they wave charms over the part affected, and jingle them upon
it for a moment, then bring them to the floor with a crash, and out of
them falls a stone, or piece of wood, or small roll of rag. At least
half a dozen of these evil spirits are occasionally brought out of a
man’s stomach, one after the other, and great is the influence, and
not small the profit, of a successful priest. For getting back a man’s
soul he receives six gallons of uncleaned rice; for extracting a spirit
from a man’s body, the same fee, and for getting the soul of the rice
at harvest feasts he receives three cups from every family in whose
apartment he obtains it. The value of six gallons of uncleaned rice is
not very great, but it is the sixtieth part of the amount obtained by
an able-bodied man for his annual farm labour.

The priestesses have their fees, but they do not make so much from the
superstition of their countrymen as the male professors.

_Manufactures._--Among these are baskets of fine rattan and coarse
rattan mats. In each village there is generally a blacksmith who can
make, as well as repair, their spears and choppers; each man, moreover,
is his own carpenter, gardener, and farmer; in fact, does almost
everything necessary for the welfare of his family.

_Agriculture._--They plant rice, Indian corn, cucumbers, bananas,
sweet potatoes, sugar-cane, kiladis, yams, beans in their farms and
gardens, and all kinds of fruit-trees around their villages and on
neighbouring hills.

I will add a story which was kindly communicated to me by Mr. Chalmers
as to the introduction of rice among the Dayak tribes.

Once upon a time, when mankind had nothing to eat but a species of
edible fungus that grows upon rotting trees, and there were no cereals
to gladden and strengthen man’s heart, a party of Dayaks, among whom
was a man named Si Jura, whose descendants live to this day in the
Dayak village of Simpok, went forth to sea. They sailed on for some
time, until they came to a place at which they heard the distant roar
of a large whirlpool, and, to their amazement, saw before them a huge
fruit-tree rooted in the sky, and thence hanging down with its branches
touching the waves. At the request of his companions, Si Jura climbed
among its boughs to collect the fruit which was in abundance, and
when he was there he found himself tempted to ascend the trunk and
find out how the tree grew in that position. He did so, and at length
got so high that his companions in the boat lost sight of him, and
after waiting a certain time coolly sailed away loaded with fruit.
Looking down from his lofty position, Si Jura saw his friends making
off, so he had no other resource but to go on climbing in hopes of
reaching some resting-place. He therefore persevered climbing higher
and higher, till he reached the roots of the tree, and there he
found himself in a new country--that of the Pleiades. There he met a
being in form of a man, named Si Kira, who took him to his house and
hospitably entertained him. The food offered was a mess of soft white
grains--boiled rice. “Eat,” said Si Kira. “What! those little maggots?”
replied Si Jura. “They are not maggots, but boiled rice;” and Si Kira
forthwith explained the process of planting, weeding, and reaping, and
of pounding and boiling rice. Before eating, Si Kira’s wife went to get
some water, and during her absence Si Jura looked into a large jar near
where he was sitting, and there, as in a telescope, he saw his father’s
house, and his parents and brothers and sisters all assembled and
talking. His spirits were much depressed at the remembrance of a home
he perhaps might not see again, and instead of eating he began to weep.
Si Kira, who perceived at once what was the matter, bade him cheer up
and eat away, for he would arrange everything for him satisfactorily.
So Si Jura made a hearty meal, and after eating, Si Kira gave him seed
of three kinds of rice, instructed him how to cut down the forest,
burn, plant, weed, and reap, take omens from birds, and celebrate
harvest feasts; and then, by a long rope, let him down to earth again
near his father’s house.

Si Jura it was who taught the Dayaks to farm, and to this day they
follow the instruction he received from Si Kira--nay, more, the
Pleiades themselves tell them when to farm; and according to their
position in the heavens morning and evening, do they cut down the
forest, burn, plant, and reap. The Malays are obliged to follow their
example, or their lunar year would soon render their farming operations
unprofitable.




                             CHAPTER VII.

              THE SAMARAHAN RIVER AND THE CAVES OF SIRIH.

   A Storm--The Musquito Passage--The Samarahan--Rich
   Soil--The Malays--The Dayaks--The Malay Chief--The
   Sibuyau Village--A Pretty Girl--Dragons’ Heads--Climbing
   Pole--Drinking--“The Sibuyaus get no Headaches”--Force repelled
   by Force--Gardens--Left-hand Branch--Difficult Path--Hill of
   Munggu Babi--Former Insecurity--The Village--Welcome--Deer
   Plentiful--Walk to the Sirih Caves--A Skeleton--Illustrative
   Story--Method of Governing--Torches--Enter the Recesses
   of the Cave--Small Chambers--Unpleasant Walking--Confined
   Passage--The Birds’ Nests’ Chamber--Method of Gathering
   them--Curious Scene--The Cloudy Cave--Wine of the
   Tampui Fruit--Blandishments--Drinking--Dancing--Bukars
   Hairy--Scenery--Walk--“The Sibuyaus do get
   Headaches”--Lanchang--Rival Chiefs--Ancient Disputes--Deer
   Shooting--Wanton Destruction of Fruit Trees--Choice of an Orang
   Kaya--Return to Boat--The Right-hand Branch--The San Poks--Hot
   Spring--Tradition--Hindu Relics--The Female Principle--The Stone
   Bull--Superstition--Story.


Started in the evening from our house at Kuching amid a storm of rain,
thunder, and lightning. Our well-covered boat protected us, though
the rain fell in torrents and dashed impetuously against the matted
roof, creating so great a noise as to prevent our voices being heard
even when shouting. At last the gusts of wind sweeping up the reaches
became so violent, that we were forced to draw under the shelter of the
banks, and await the abating of the storm. I never saw lightning more
vivid, or heard the crash and rattle of the thunder more deafening.
The storm was evidently increasing: one bright, blinding flash, and one
ear-splitting peal, that made my heart stand still, marked the crisis;
gradually the lightning became less bright and the thunder less loud,
as the high wind carried the tempest before it. In about an hour we
were enabled to proceed.

As the night was very dark, and the ebb tide nearly run out, we avoided
passing into the Samarahan by the Rhium, as the rocks there are
dangerous at low water, but chose another passage, very narrow, and, if
possible, to be avoided, as the name alone is a warning--“the musquito
passage.” It is famous for the size and venom of that insect,--in fact,
there is but one other spot worse, and that is Paknam at the entrance
of the Siam river. The men, however, repented their choice, as it took
us the whole night to get through, and no one was able to close his
eyes. The nipa palm nearly met over our heads, and every time a leaf
was disturbed a swarm of musquitoes settled on us. I endeavoured to
shelter myself under a blanket, but the heat was so great as to compel
me unwillingly to face the enemy. I have heard of men, exposed to this
annoyance for several days, being thrown into a fever by constant
irritation, and I can well believe it.

It was daylight when we reached the Samarahan, at a spot about twelve
miles from the sea. The banks of this river are low, and consist
entirely of rich alluvial deposit. When cleared, they form the
best ground for rice; when drained the sugar-cane flourishes with
extraordinary luxuriance. It is, therefore, a very favourite farming
ground for all those strangers who have sought refuge in Sarawak.
There are several thousands scattered along its banks, besides the
native population of the river.

The Samarahan Malays are a quiet, inoffensive people, and live almost
entirely by farming and gardening; there is also a large Dayak
population in the interior. On the left-hand branch are the Bukar
tribe, divided into four villages--Munggu Babi, or the hill of pigs,
Jenang, Lanchang, and Kumpang--which contain about three hundred
families that pay revenue. On the right-hand branch are the two tribes
of Sring and San Pok, each containing about eighty families. I say “pay
revenue,” as it is seldom that seventy-five per cent. do so. The custom
is to pay by the “door,” that is, each division in their village houses
pays the Government rice to the value of from three to four shillings.
To avoid this, two or three families will crowd into a space barely
sufficient for one; however, measures have been taken to ensure a
proper enumeration.

Pulled on towards the village where Orang Kaya Stia Bakti, the
principal Malay officer, lived, and passed on our way the houses of a
branch of the Sibuyau tribe of Dayaks. At the landing-place we were
met by a crowd of Malays, looking especially miserable, thus showing,
that like good Mahomedans, they were strictly keeping the fast; while a
crowd in the neighbouring mosque where chanting in a loud voice verses
from the Koran.

The old Orang Kaya, a pleasant, fine-looking man, came down to our
boat, and our follower, Kasim, explained to him the object of Captain
Brooke’s tour of inspection, which was to inquire into the charges
brought against certain Malays of oppressing the Dayaks. He said he was
extremely pleased, as it would then prove how well he and his people
had conducted themselves. He offered to accompany us, but this was
politely declined on account of the fast, but the real reason was that
the Dayaks would not have entered into their complaints before their
local ruler. As the flood-tide had just ended, and there was a six
hours’ ebb before us, we fell down the river to the Sibuyau village to
while away the time, and give the men an opportunity to cook and sleep.
We were received with much hospitality by the Orang Kaya Tumanggong.
The hamlet consists of two long houses, surrounded by a rough palisade,
called by them a fort.

The Samarahan was a favourite attacking ground of the pirates, and owed
much of its safety to the courage of these Dayaks, who were formerly
more united than they are now. The Sibuyau are, in fact, strangers.
They were harassed out of their own country by the Seribas pirates
and retired to Samarahan; they are now scattered, a section here, a
larger one on the Lundu river, another at Meradang on the Quop, besides
smaller villages on the Sarawak, the Sadong, and in other districts.

Their houses are like the others belonging to the Sea Dayaks; the Orang
Kaya’s own division is large, with musquito curtains, and has an air of
comfort and tidiness very unusual. These Sibuyaus are more independent
than the Land Dayaks, and keener traders. One of the chief’s married
daughters was quite pretty, extremely fair, with soft expressive
features, and a very gentle voice; she was making an elegant mat
of the finest rushes; other women were employed in forming coarser
ones from the rougher leaves, while those that were not so engaged
were turning the padi into rice by beating it in their mortars, and
winnowing it. They show a skill in the latter process truly marvellous:
they put the beaten padi into a flat basket with slightly rounded
raised edges, and standing on the platform to catch the slight breeze,
quietly throw the contents in the air, and catch the grains while
the wind carries away the chaff; it is quickly cleaned. There was an
appearance of activity and bustle about this village that was really
pleasing.

On the beams above our heads were some roughly carved dragons’ heads
ornamented with China paper, which some wise Dayak had informed them
must be guarded and preserved with care. They were quite modern, and
most probably a knave had worked on these simple people to purchase
them of him, as they could not tell their use except to stick up during
their feasts, in the same way as the other Sea Dayaks do with their
rudely-carved figures of birds. In front of their village was erected
one of their climbing-poles, at the raising of which the Orang Kaya
proudly declared one hundred and fifty jars of tuak were consumed; and
he added, with an appearance of the greatest satisfaction, that his
tribe and all their visitors were intoxicated for six days. At their
convivial meetings some strong-headed fellow will sit down before a jar
holding, perhaps, a dozen gallons, and help those around; for every
one he serves out he should drink one himself, and it is his pride
if he can manage to keep his seat until all have lost their senses
around him. To take glass for glass with each man until the jar was
emptied being a manifest impossibility, there must be some sleight of
hand practised to deceive the others. On inquiring whether they never
felt headaches the next day, they said no; but their Lingga visitors
at the last great feast had cried from the pains they suffered; it
was ludicrous to notice the boastful look with which they said, “The
Sibuyaus get no headaches.”

The Orang Kaya furnished us with fresh tuak, which has rather a sickly,
unpleasant taste, excellent omelettes, and slices of fried kiladi,
a species of arum; in return we presented him with Batavian arrack,
tobacco, and sugar. I have said that these Sibuyaus are not so easily
oppressed as the other Dayaks; in fact, when the Orang Kaya was a
young man, the most powerful Malay chief on the coast, Abdulraman,
the governor of Siriki, entered their village, and tried to force
them to purchase his goods at exorbitant prices. They refused, upon
which he directed his followers to seize some baskets of rice, but
to his astonishment the Dayaks resisted, drove him and his party to
their prahus, and in the struggle killed several of his followers. The
remembrance of this and other similar deeds has given them confidence
and preserved them from oppression.

On the flood tide’s making, we took leave of our hospitable friends and
pulled up the river. Both banks are covered with gardens filled with
fruit and vegetables, as well as with remarkably fine sugar-cane, which
is grown, not to be manufactured into sugar, but to be eaten in its
natural state.

Before daylight, we were again on the move. The appearance of the
country continues the same, but the houses, as we proceed farther
up, are not quite so numerous; the gardens do not extend above a few
hundred yards from the river, and we could observe the line of the
forest even from our boat. We nowhere found the water shallow till we
turned up the left-hand branch that leads to the Bukar tribe; here
it becomes very narrow and is obstructed by trees and branches, and
occasionally little pebbly rapids. It was often almost impassable from
the old trunks of fallen trees that stretched from bank to bank; but by
the greatest patience and perseverance, and by removing the covering of
our boat, we passed over some and under others of these obstructions:
at last all these difficulties were surmounted, and we reached the
landing-place of the Munggu Babi Bukars about half-past two, after
upwards of eight hours’ hard work.

It was pleasant to leave the perpetual mud flat of the Samarahan and
get into this branch, where occasionally rocks, and banks overshadowed
by the enormous trees of the old forest, with glimpses of hills and
distant mountains, varied the scene. The Samarahan, though not a very
picturesque river, would afford great satisfaction to any one who
contemplated sugar plantations. The soil is of the richest description,
and, from the existing cultivation, we may infer what it would become
in the hands of able Chinese agriculturists. These Malays neither use
the spade, the hoe, nor the plough, but simply stir the soil with a
pointed stick, or with their iron choppers.

At the landing-place we met a party of Sadong and Bukar Dayaks, who
shouldered our baggage; we then started on our way to Munggu Babi. The
path at first was detestable--the worst of paths, over slippery trunks
and branches of huge trees lying scattered over the sites of their
old rice farms, very perilous, as the slightest slip endangered the
safety of a limb. To the bare-footed Dayak it is nothing, but shoes
render it unpleasant; however, it soon changed into the ordinary style;
and getting rapidly over about four miles, we arrived at the foot of
the hill on which the houses are built. They were entirely hidden by
fruit-trees. Beyond rose the mountains of Sadong, which can be seen
from the decks of the ships that pass along the coast. At the foot
of Munggu Babi flowed a delightful stream into which we plunged to
dispel some little fatigue arising from the heat. Our Dayak attendants
had pushed on with our baggage, and being now refreshed we began
climbing the steep that separated us from the houses; no sooner was
this observed, than every available brass wall-piece was fired in our
honour, and it was under this salute that we entered the village.

It is an illustration of the state of insecurity in which these people
formerly lived, and which is still vivid in their imagination, that
when those who were returning from their farms heard the guns fired,
they hid themselves in the forest, thinking their homes were surrounded
by enemies; and it was not until the gongs beat out joyful sounds that
they were reassured and returned to their abodes.

The village is, as I have said, situated on the summit of a little
hill covered with every kind of fruit-tree; and was, the Bukars say,
named Munggu Babi, from the innumerable wild pigs that used to swarm
upon it, very well represented at the present day by their civilized
brethren. The first house is the Pangga or head-house, lately erected,
very comfortable, in which we took up our lodgings; a rough sort of
street beyond it, lined with very old-looking houses, rising one above
the other with the slope of the hill until the village was completed by
two more head-houses.

We appeared to be very welcome guests, and were soon surrounded by the
elders of the tribe and by crowds of young men. We were the second
party of white visitors who had slept at this place, but the first
probably who travelled in European style, and as usual our proceedings
excited much curiosity. Just as dinner was over, we heard the pleasing
announcement that a Sambas Malay, who lived among the Dayaks, had shot
a fine buck which he very obligingly presented to us. No one who has
not lived principally on ducks and fowls for many years can appreciate
the importance of such an event. We agreed to visit the famous caves
of Sirih the next day, and in the evening to have a search for deer.
They are represented as very numerous, as the Bukars do not eat their
flesh,--a fortunate event for their visitors, but not for themselves,
as they are thus deprived of good and easily-acquired food.

Up early, and after a hearty breakfast of deer-steaks, started for the
caves of Sirih. We passed up the street that runs through the centre
of the village, the houses looking very dilapidated in comparison with
those of the Sibuyau Dayaks, but all were swarming with children. An
abrupt descent brought us to a lower part of the stream that runs at
the foot of Munggu Babi, affording beautifully clear water for the
villagers. Continuing our course over the low buttress of the Sadong
mountains, where the Dayaks have enclosed several spots for gardens,
we had a beautiful prospect of the surrounding country, better seen
however from the heights above, which we intended passing over the next
day. Two miles’ walk through old farms and fresh felled jungle brought
us to the foot of a very steep hill in which the cave was situated.
Clambering up the rocks for a couple of hundred feet, we suddenly
found ourselves at the mouth of the cave. The entrance is peculiar:
divided formerly into three, the fall of a pillar has united two of
the openings into one, which is above thirty feet in breadth; at first
there appeared no far interior, but to the left a descending passage
led into the great cave. To the right was a separate apartment with a
fine opening, forming the first division of the mouth, but inaccessible
from the outside. The Dayak boys beckoned us to come in. We went,
thinking they wished us to look out from thence on the beautiful valley
below and the lofty mountain beyond it; but our surprise was great when
they pointed into a deep hole where lay the skeleton of a human being.

Among the guides who were with us was a resolute but very good-tempered
looking Sarawak man, and as he was standing near we asked him to
explain the cause of those bones being there. He answered very quietly,
“It is only a Dayak that I shot many years ago.” We asked him to
explain, which he did without any hesitation. Some years before these
districts came under Sir James Brooke’s influence, a chief named
Bandhar Kasim ruled over the Sadong province; he was a very harsh man
and oppressed the Dayak more than was usually the case among the
neighbouring chiefs. One tribe on the right-hand branch of the Sadong
had suffered very severely from his exactions. They only murmured when
he took their goods: when he demanded their children they refused to
give them up, and flying to the Sirih caves threw up a barricade across
the entrance. This example he thought might prove contagious among
the neighbouring tribes, so he determined to attack them; besides he
was delighted with the opportunity of acquiring slaves, as every one
he captured would be reduced to that state. By promising to divide
the booty and the captives he soon collected a force of three hundred
men, many with fire-arms. These marched boldly to the attack, but
being received with a shower of heavy stones and rolling rocks quickly
withdrew to an open space, a little grass spot which the narrator
pointed out to us. There being none present who appeared willing
to expose his life for the sake of Bandhar Kasim, the whole affair
seemed likely to terminate in a distant but harmless fire being kept
up at the entrance of the cave. At last Bandhar Kasim cried out, “I
will give a slave to any man who will drive those devils from their
position.” The Sarawak man instantly volunteered, if the others would
support him. Plunging into the jungle he reached the foot of the hill,
and by dint of strength and activity, contrived to climb the almost
perpendicular side of the mountain, and reach a spot above the cave,
from whence he came down until he could look well over the barricade.
The descent was now very dangerous, but he prepared for it. The first
Dayak who showed himself he shot through the body; then throwing away
his gun and taking advantage of the confusion caused by the fall of
their companion, he boldly swung himself down the rocks, and sprang in
among the astonished Dayaks crying, “Who is brave enough to fight me?”
The unfortunate wretches, thinking he must be well backed, fled into
the cave and were soon pursued by Bandhar Kasim’s followers: two were
killed and seven taken prisoners; the rest escaped, as the cave extends
quite through the mountain.

While we were listening to this story, the Dayaks had prepared dried
sticks of a resinous wood by splitting one end until it had the
appearance of a brush; they were tolerable substitutes for torches.
We followed our guides down the narrow passage that leads into the
interior cave. They walked with the greatest care, examining the ground
before they placed a foot ahead, knowing that the men who now collect
the edible birds’ nests here often place sharp pointed pieces of
bamboo sticking up in the path to punish unwary interlopers. The cave
gradually became broader and more lofty, and our slight torches could
scarcely pierce the gloom that hung thickly around us.

As we advanced the form of the cave varied but slightly, until we
reached a spot where we had to pass through a sort of opening, like
some of those diminutive doors occasionally seen in odd nooks of old
cathedrals. Here we found ourselves in a small chamber that appeared
for a moment the termination of our walk, but in the right corner was
a narrow descending interstice in the rock, through which we could
just squeeze our bodies to find ourselves again in the lofty cave. The
gentle fall of water told of the neighbourhood of a stream, which now
and then became our path. The Dayaks say that there are fish that see
not, in the dark pool, which may at times be observed, particularly
under the rocks.

We soon arrived at a sloping surface over which the water spread,
rendering it difficult to prevent our feet from gliding from under us.
This I gladly climbed, as we had been informed that during a heavy
shower of rain the water would suddenly rise to such a height in the
depressed portion of the cave we had just passed, that all non-swimmers
would be drowned. The walking now became often unpleasant; slippery mud
and no less slippery rock; the ascents and descents were very abrupt,
and occasionally we passed a deep chasm where a slip might be fatal.

The stream that runs through the cave now and then disappears under
some rock to reappear fifty yards ahead.

After continuing our course about a quarter of a mile, we came on a
spot where the height of the cave from seventy feet decreased to three,
and through this aperture the wind blew sharply and felt very cold.
The Dayaks now proposed we should stop, as our torches would not last
longer than the time required to return to the entrance; but we said
we wished to advance as far as the chamber in which the edible birds’
nests were collected; so putting out some of the torches we pushed on
in a stooping position. One fresher blast blew out some of the lights,
and I thought for a moment that we were about to be left in the dark.
A hundred yards brought us to the spot where the Dayaks take up their
abode during the gathering season: it was a more lofty chamber than
any we had as yet passed through. The birds build as near as possible
to the top of the cave, and the dangerous operation of collecting the
nests is performed by Dayaks who climb long poles fastened together to
the height of eighty or ninety feet, which looked very poor scaffolding
to sustain men at that dizzy height. The gathering is slow work, taking
them five days. The nests found in these caves are very inferior to
those of Baram; the former being like dirty glue, the latter like the
finest isinglass.

We should like to have penetrated farther and seen the country on
the opposite side, but the cave was reputed dangerous and but seldom
frequented, as the Dayaks never go beyond the profitable chamber. This
would have rendered our progress slow, and the blasts of cold wind
might have blown out our torches, now nearly consumed; and if the
chasms were as bad even as those we had passed over, we could scarcely
have finished our journey in safety. Reluctantly, we gave the order to
return, when the whole body of little Dayak boys who had accompanied
us, half frightened of ghosts and half in fun, started away yelling
and whooping, their torches occasionally throwing light on the rocky
sides and now fading away to mere specks of light. The loftiness of
this cave, its great extent, the cry of the disturbed swallows, the
peculiarly grave look of our almost naked guides, the knowledge that
we were the first Europeans who had ever penetrated to this spot, the
distant shouts of the boys as they were re-echoed back--all combined to
render the scene interesting and impressive.

From every calculation we could make, we were convinced that we
penetrated the cave above a third of a mile. It is the finest I have
ever seen, but I afterwards heard that there is another called Gua
Mawap, or the cloudy cave, which is infinitely larger. It is said that
some Malays who had entered it to look for birds’ nests lost their way
and were no more heard of. The Dayaks from this, or some superstitious
reason, did not mention its existence to us, as they are very well
aware that Englishmen have a propensity to search every spot, whether
dangerous or not.

We returned under a very hot sun to find that all the villagers were
in active preparation to have a dance and a feast. We agreed after
dinner to go to the Orang Kaya’s house, and submit ourselves to their
will. They sent us a large decanter--where they got it from I forgot
to inquire--full of a very sweet and pleasant liquor, of the colour
of dark sherry, made from the tampui fruit: it was stronger than it
tasted. While we were waiting for our dinner, we observed two very
pleasant-looking girls of sixteen come cautiously up the ladder
of the head-house. As it was very unusual for women to enter this
bachelor’s hall, we quietly watched, while pretending to be engaged
in our toilette. Glancing at us, and thinking themselves unobserved,
they made their way over to two Dayak youths who had accompanied us
from the Sibuyau village. The fair Hebes bore in their hands two large
bowls of fresh tuak, which they pressed their visitors to drink, but
they laughed and declined. The young girls opened a regular battery of
blandishments, put their arms round them and besought them to drink,
not to give them the shame of having to take the liquor back to their
houses to be laughed at by all the other girls; they wound up by
saying, “What! are the Sibuyaus so weak-headed as to fear to drink
Bukar tuak?” This was the _coup de grace_; the youths, already
half overcome, raised the bowls to their lips, and were not allowed to
set them down till they had drained the last drop. The girls then ran
away laughing, knowing the effect that must soon follow the draught.

The Dayak women seldom, if ever, drink, but some of them appear
delighted to see their husbands and brothers in a wretched state of
intoxication. Mr. Crookshank told me that he arrived at a Sadong
village during one of their drinking feasts: the men were already
staggering in their walk, and towards evening were sitting and lying
about too drunk to be able to raise the bowls to their lips, when
the women took that office upon them and poured the liquor down the
drunkards’ throats. It must not be supposed, however, that the Dayaks
are habitual drinkers; on the contrary, except at their feasts, they
are a very sober people.

In the evening, we went to the Orang Kaya’s house, and had to go
through most of the ceremonies I have already described in the account
of our visit up the left-hand branch of the Sarawak river. During the
dancing of the old people, we inquired whether the young women never
danced, and on our promising a gift of a brass chain that the girls
wear round the waist to all who would join the elders: there was no
lack of competitors. It was mischievously suggested to the Orang Kaya’s
daughter that I was a famous dancer, and it was amusing to notice the
eagerness with which the girls besought me to join them; as four drew
me gently into the vortex it was impossible to resist, though I quickly
disengaged myself by assuring them that on their split bamboo floors
no European could dance.

The most remarkable peculiarity of many of these men is their being
so hairy in comparison to those of other tribes, some having regular
whiskers, and others beards. The women have their limbs spoilt from
carrying heavy weights, even from their tenderest age, over exceedingly
steep ground; their legs appeared bent. I saw one mother bearing on her
back two children, and a basket containing twenty or more bamboos full
of water, the latter a sufficient load for one person. In the harvest,
they act as beasts of burden, and bring the bulk of the rice home. The
children, in general, were very clean and pleasing.

We started early in the morning for Lanchang, the second division
of the Bukar tribe that we intended to visit. The path was over
the Sadong mountains, where a depression in the range renders its
elevation not perhaps over a thousand feet. As we moved along the
open ground among the fenced-in gardens, we were enabled to obtain
a very extensive view of the surrounding country, and I have rarely
seen one of greater beauty; the variety of form assumed by the hills
from the mountain range to the isolated peak rising from the fertile
plain of the Samarahan and Quop, the extent of ground over which
the eye could travel from the Santubong and the sea to the interior
hills of Sadong, rendered it almost as lovely and as interesting as
the famous scene from the summit of the Penang Hill. It wanted but
the civilized appearance which is found there--the houses, villas,
churches, ships, and roads. The way over the hill was very difficult,
consisting entirely of small felled trees, notched, and in a very
rotten state, and sometimes both steep and slippery. However, we got
over it without a fall, and managed to work our way to the opposite
side, whence the valley of the Bukar stream and the interior of the
Sadong are visible--pretty enough, but all scenery here has similar
characteristics.

The sun was very warm, and the perspiration ran from me in streams; but
meeting with a cool rivulet, shaded by overhanging rocks, not by trees,
we sat still till perfectly cooled, and then refreshed ourselves by a
bathe under a tiny but foaming cascade. The two Sibuyau youths who had
been so fascinated by the fair maidens the previous night looked very
woful this morning, and could hardly get along at all or carry their
own baggage, but sat moodily looking at the water, with their heads
pressed lightly between their hands.

From this spot our path continued among the valleys, over rice
plantations, without any remarkable feature. At length we reached the
village of Lanchang, on the borders of a pebbly stream. It is built
on the low land, and has a greater appearance of comfort than Munggu
Babi. As we were their first European visitors, we excited a great
deal of curiosity; but forcing our way through the crowd, we took up
our quarters in the head-house, making our beds, as usual, beneath a
ghastly row of skulls.

We were welcomed by the old Orang Kaya Sunan in the absence of the
rival chiefs. In this village five men claim the supremacy, having
been appointed at different times by various people. Sunan had been
promoted some thirty or forty years before by the Sultan of Brunei,
but was now too old to do his work effectually: the other four Orang
Kayas were irregularly named by certain native officers without any
authority. As I have elsewhere observed, under the former system, the
Malay chiefs received half the revenues of the Dayak tribes instead of
salary, which opened the door to many abuses. The great evil-doer was
the Datu Patinggi of Sarawak, who had charge of Lanchang. When he found
that an Orang Kaya would not sufficiently second him in his endeavour
to monopolize the trade, he would appoint another. All this was quite
illegal; it was to do away with these abuses, and to inaugurate a new
system, that Sir James Brooke had directed Captain Brooke to make these
tours of inspection through all the principal districts of Sarawak and
its dependencies.

The consequence of having five Orang Kayas in this village was of
necessity a series of disputes, and the day before our arrival two of
them had quarrelled violently, and one proposed that, to settle the
matter, they should sally out into the neighbouring countries, and the
first who should bring home a head should be declared victor, and have
the case decided in his favour. It was their ancient custom, not that
they dared to carry it into practice.

Captain Brooke summoned the five Orang Kayas before him, and ordered
them to appear at the capital, when it would be settled who should be
appointed by the Government; in the meantime he set our followers to
make inquiries among the principal families, who was considered fittest
for the office and was most popular among the tribe.

Presently a small crowd assembled, and asked to have their cases
settled; but finding that none of them were of less than twenty years
standing, they were told that it would be impossible to finish them
so quickly, and they were put off. None of them really expected to
have their disputes arranged, but they appeared delighted to have a
grievance to relate. I have never seen any Land Dayaks with an air of
greater comfort; they appear to be well fed, and, consequently, are
more free from skin diseases than their neighbours.

In the evening, we went out to look for deer. After making a circuit
of a few miles, I reached a stream near which the animals are usually
found, when, to my disgust, I heard a shot fired, followed immediately
by another. I ran forward only in time to see a fine buck spring into
the forest and another stretched lifeless at Captain Brooke’s feet. He
came to the spot, saw two grazing together, and with an old-fashioned
cavalry carbine knocked over one; the other stood astonished, which
gave him time to reload and hit him heavily. We tracked him for a
little distance, but the night closing in prevented our finding him.
Our follower, Kasim, saw eight, wounded one, but did not succeed in
securing him. My indignation at the mistake of my guide in bringing
me to a spot already engaged was much mitigated by the prospect of
deer-steaks for dinner.

That night there were the usual ceremonies and dances without an
incident to vary them: they kept us up rather late.

Walked over to Jenang: it was but three miles off, through gardens,
groves of fruit-trees, old ricegrounds, and underwood. We noticed with
much indignation that hundreds of fine fruit-trees were destroyed,
and on inquiry found it had been done by the old Orang Kaya Sunan,
who wanted to have a farm near his own house. The trees belonged to
the tribe, who vainly tried to persuade him not to do it; but being
backed by the Datu Patinggi, he would not listen to them. The village
of Jenang is small and of little consequence, numbering but twenty-five
families, and had not arrived at the dignity of an Orang Kaya. Their
head-house was very old and small, the worst we had seen.

All the elders were called together in the morning to choose an Orang
Kaya; and instead of fixing on one of themselves, their choice fell on
a young man of rather heavy appearance, who seemed, however, to be an
universal favourite. After this ceremony we started off to Munggu Babi,
through the valleys and lowlands between the hills. The walk was long
and very much exposed to the sun, but we reached that village by one,
and after a short rest pushed on to our boat.

As we had heavy rain the previous night, the stream was much swollen,
but it helped us over many obstructions, though it rendered some few
more difficult. We brought up for the night a short distance from the
junction.

Started up the right branch of the Samarahan to meet the San Poks,
who were a primitive tribe, never yet visited by Europeans. We were
detained several hours by the numerous obstructions in the river.
At one place, a huge tree had fallen across, and rendered a passage
impossible, except by dragging the boat over. We tried; but an ominous
crack made us quickly push her back into the stream. We then with axes
removed a portion of the trunk, and at last got safely over. We met a
party of San Poks coming down the river, who returned with us. We did
not reach their landing-place till three P.M. A very dirty
walk of two miles brought us to their village-house, which was new: the
tribe having but lately removed hither. The country we passed over was
undulating, occasionally descending in abrupt ravines. The San Poks
had chosen a low, cleared hill for their domicile. We were welcomed
by a perfect storm of good wishes, seized on by a dozen women, who
insisted on washing our feet, tying little bells round our wrists, and
dancing before us enthusiastically. Very few could understand Malay.
We inquired about the deer-grounds; but as these Dayaks are partial to
deer’s-flesh, there was no game to be found in the neighbourhood.

The San Poks appeared mad with excitement; they danced, and drank, and
beat their gongs and drums till daylight, affording us but snatches of
slumber. Their ceremonies were exactly similar to those I have formerly
described.

Turned our faces towards home. When we came to the Bukar branch, we
entered a small Dayak canoe and paddled a short distance up to land
near a spot where a hot spring was said to exist. We went ashore, and
wandered on for about a mile, our guides evidently not quite certain
of the path. At length we reached a small stream flowing through a
flat tract of jungle--the soil a dark mud; tried it, and certainly it
was very warm. Following its course, we came to the place where the
water bubbled up from the ground through the black soil. The spring was
about six feet by three where it issued from the earth, and supplied a
shallow rill about a yard in breadth. The water we could see bubbling
up through liquid mud. I tried to keep my feet in it, but it was far
too hot, and left a burning sensation. A vapour rose above it, but the
water had no perceptible taste or smell.

A few planks of an old boat that we found at this spot have given rise
to a story among the Dayaks of an ancient ship being lost here when
this lowland was covered by the sea. The planks evidently were part of
a Sea Dayak boat, from the way they were cut, and were of a fine wood
called marbau. They have been here for many years--perhaps this water
has a preservative effect. The aborigines say that this spring is the
work of evil spirits, and therefore will not approach it alone. We
brought away a few bottles of it. It appeared a curious place to find
a warm-water spring: no high land near; indeed, no rocks, but all an
alluvial flat.

Fell down the river till night. We sent our men ashore in one place to
examine a stone that was, as usual, in some way connected with spirits.
We had it removed to Sarawak. It proved to be the representation of the
female principle so common near Hindu temples: its necessary companion
was not found, or, being more portable, had been removed, though
formerly it was observed there.

There is but one more known material remnant of Hindu worship in these
countries: it is a stone bull--an exact facsimile of those found in
India. It is cut from a species of stone said not to be found in
Sarawak: the legs and a part of the head have been knocked off. Its
history is this: Many years ago, on being discovered in the jungle,
the Malays and Dayaks removed it to the bank of the river, preparatory
to its being conveyed to the town; but before it could be put into a
prahu, they say, a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, wind and
rain, arose, which lasted thirty days. Fearing that the bull was angry
at being disturbed in his forest home, they left him in the mud. When
Sir James Brooke heard that this sacred bull was half-buried in the
soil, he had it removed to his house. Several of the Dayak tribes sent
deputations to him to express their fears of the evil consequences
that would be sure to ensue--everything would go wrong, storms would
arise, their crops be blighted, and famine would desolate the land.
Humouring their prejudices, he answered, that they were mistaken,
that the bull, on the contrary, would be pleased to be removed from
the dirty place in which the Malays had left him, and that now he was
kept dry and comfortable, they would find he would show no anger. They
were satisfied with this reply and departed. Occasionally, some of the
Dayaks will come and wash both of these Hindu relics, and bear away the
water to fertilize their fields.

Among some of the aborigines there is a superstition that they must not
laugh at a dog or at a snake crossing their path. Should they do so,
they would become stones. These Dayaks always refer with respect and
awe to some rocks scattered over the summit of a hill in Sadong, saying
that they were originally men. The place was a very likely one to be
haunted--noble old forest, but seldom visited. They tell the following
story:--Many years ago, a great chief gave a feast there, in the midst
of which his lovely daughter came in: she was a spoilt child, who did
nothing but annoy the guests. They at first tried to get rid of her
by mixing dirt with her food: finding she still teazed them for more,
they gave her poison. Her father, in his anger, went back to his house,
shaved his dog, and painted him with alternate streaks of black and
white. Then giving him some intoxicating drink, he carried him in his
arms into the midst of the assembly, and placed him on the ground. The
dog began to caper about in the most ludicrous manner, which set all
off laughing, the host as well the guests, and they were immediately
turned into stone.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                      THE MOUNTAIN OF KINA BALU.

                           FIRST EXPEDITION.

   First Ascent by Mr. Low--Want of Shoes--Set Sail for the
   Tampasuk--Beautiful Scenery--The Abai--Manufacture of Nipa
   Salt--Uses of the Nipa Palm--A Lanun Chief--Baju Saddle--Baju
   a Non-walker--Our ride to the Tampasuk--Gigantic Mango
   Trees--The Datu’s House--Its Arrangements--The Datu and his
   People--Piratical Expedition--A Bride put up to Auction--The
   Bajus--Mixed Breeds--Quarrels with the Lanuns--Effect
   of Stealing Ida’an Children--Fable of the Horse and his
   Rider--Amount of Fighting Men--Freedom of the Women--Killing
   the Fatted Calf--Beautiful Prospect--A new Gardinia--Pony
   Travelling--Difficulty of procuring Useful Men--Start--An
   Extensive Prospect--Cocoa-nuts and their Milk--A View of Kina
   Balu--Granite Debris--Our Guides--Natives Ploughing--Our
   Hut--Division of Land--Ginambur--Neatest Village-house in
   the Country--Its Inhabitants--Tatooing--Curiosity--Blistered
   Feet--Batong--Granite
   Boulders--Fording--Fish-traps--Tambatuan--Robbing
   a Hive--Search for the Youth-restoring Tree--Our
   Motives--Appearance of the Summit of Kina Balu--A long
   Story--Swimming the River--Koung--Palms not plentiful--Lanun
   Cloth--Cotton--Nominal Wars--The Kiladi--Attempt to Levy
   Black-mail at the Village of Labang Labang--Resistance--Reasons
   for demanding it--Bamboo flat-roofed Huts--Ingenious
   Contrivance--Kiau--Dirty Tribe--Recognition of Voice--A
   Quarrel--Breaking the Barometer--Opposition to the Ascent of
   Kina Balu--Harmless Demonstration--Thieves--Mr. Low unable
   to Walk--Continue the Expedition alone--Cascade--Prayers
   to the Spirit of the Mountain--Flowers and
   Plants--Beautiful Rhododendrons--Cave--Unskilful Use
   of the Blow-pipe--Cold--Ascent to the Summit--Granite
   Face--Low’s Gully--Noble Terrace--Southern Peak--Effect of
   the Air--The Craggy Summit--Distant Mountain--Dangerous
   Slopes--Ghostly Inhabitants--Mist--Superstitions--Collecting
   Plants--Descent--Noble Landscape--Difficult
   Path--Exhaustion--Mr. Low not Recovered--Disagreeable
   Villagers--Recovering the Brass Wire--Clothing--Distrust--A
   lively Scene--Our Men behave well--Return on Rails to the Datu’s
   House.

  [Illustration]

To ascend Kina Balu had been an ambition of mine, even before I ever
saw Borneo. To have been, the first to do it would have increased the
excitement and the pleasure. However, this satisfaction was not for
me. Mr. Low, colonial treasurer of Labuan, had long meditated the same
scheme, and in 1851 made the attempt. It was thought at the time but
little likely to succeed, as the people and the country were entirely
unknown; but by determined perseverance Mr. Low reached what may fairly
be entitled the summit, though he did not attempt to climb any of the
rugged peaks, rising a few hundred feet higher than the spot where he
left a bottle with an inscription in it.

In 1856, Mr. Lobb, a naturalist, reached the foot of the mountain, but
was not allowed by the natives to ascend it.

In 1858, Mr. Low and I determined to make another attempt; and early
in April I went over from Brunei to Labuan to join him. We waited till
the 15th for a vessel, which we expected would bring us a supply of
shoes, but as it did not arrive we started. This was the cause of most
of our mishaps,--as a traveller can make no greater mistake than being
careless of his feet, particularly in Borneo, where all long journeys
must be performed on foot.

In 1851, Mr. Low had gone by the Tawaran, but the Datu of Tampasuk,
who was on a trading voyage to Labuan, having assured us that it was
easier to get to the mountain from his river, we determined to try
that route. He started before us, and on April 15th we followed,
in a pinnace, obligingly lent us by Dr. Coulthard, of the Eastern
Archipelago Company, our party being very large for the conveyance--Mr.
Low and myself, two servants, six crew, and seventeen followers. During
the night we passed Pulo Tiga, and were off Papar in the morning. We
sailed along as beautiful a coast as can be conceived: ranges of hills
rising one beyond the other, some grass-covered, others still clothed
in forest, with soft valleys and lovely bays, and here and there
patches of bright sandy beach, with Kina Balu towering in majestic
grandeur as a background. In fact, the prospect increased in beauty
until, on the evening of the 17th, we reached Abai, where we found the
Datu of Tampasuk in his prahu. The little bay at the entrance of the
Abai affords shelter from all winds except the N.W.; the bar, however,
having only a fathom at low water prevents any but small craft from
entering the river. On the sandy point of the grassy plain, at the west
side of the entrance, is a small well where boats may water. The Datu
came off and agreed to go up the Abai with us, and send his own boat
round by sea to Tampasuk.

Started at four A.M., but made very slow progress, the wind
blowing down the river, and the flood-tide not being strong. However,
by towing and warping, we managed to reach our anchorage about ten
P.M. The banks near the entrance appear to be high, but it was
almost dark as we passed them; then narrow mangrove swamps fringed the
shores with occasionally grassy hills in the background. On the left
bank there are two small branches, Gading and Paka Paka, inhabited,
the Datu said, by some villages of Ida’an. There appear to be but few
people living on this river, or rather salt-water creek. Three very
small hamlets, containing altogether about thirty houses, were all I
saw. There are numerous sheds for making salt, which appears to be
the principal industry of the Bajus. The manufacture is conducted as
follows:--Great heaps of the roots of the nipa palm, that always grows
in salt or brackish water, are collected and burnt; the residue is
swept up and thrown into half-filled pans, where the ashes and small
particles of wood are separated, and the water boiled;--a coarse,
bitter salt is the result. It is not disagreeable after a little use,
and I much prefer it to the common article brought from Siam, and
generally sold in these countries. The natives of the north seldom
use the imported salt, except for preserving fish; whereas, towards
Sarawak, the Siamese is rapidly taking the place of that procured from
the nipa palms.

The nipa palm is indeed a blessing to the natives; as we have seen,
they make a salt from the ashes of the root; they extract a coarse
sugar from the stem; they cover in their houses with the leaf; from
the last also they manufacture the mat called kejang, with which they
form the walls of their houses, and the best awning in the world for
boats, perfectly water-tight, and well adapted to keep out the rays
of the sun. Their cigars are rolled up in the fine inner leaf; and a
native could doubtless tell of a dozen other uses to which it is put.
In ascending rivers there is nearly always deep water near the nipa,
but shallow near the mangrove.

The Abai creek has generally more than two fathoms from the mouth to
the hamlets, but never less. We anchored opposite a Lanun chief’s
house, which, though on the left bank, is still towards Tampasuk, as
the river, after proceeding in a southerly direction, suddenly turns to
the north-east.

The Rajah Muda, the Lanun chief, came on board, and was very civil. He
is a handsome-looking, manly fellow, and extremely polite. From what I
have heard and seen, he is a type of his countrymen--a different race
from the Baju: a slight figure, more regular features than the Malays,
a quiet, observant eye; he wore a delicate moustache. He is the son of
the late Pañgeran Mahomed, of Pandasan, whose grave, ornamented with
seven-fold umbrellas, we passed on the river’s bank.

Knowing that we could ride from Abai to Tampasuk, we had brought our
English saddles, and were soon mounted on indifferent ponies, making
our way towards the Datu’s house in an easterly direction. The Baju
saddle, made of wood, covered with thin cloth, is very small. Instead
of stirrups they have a rope with a loop in the end, into which they
insert their big toe, and ride with the soles of their feet turned up
behind; and when they set off on a gallop they cling with their toes
under the pony’s belly.

The Baju is essentially a non-walker. He never makes use of his own
legs if he can possibly get an animal to carry him. He rides all the
horses and the mares, even when the latter have but just foaled. Cows
are equally in requisition, and it was laughable to observe one of
these animals with a couple of lads on her back trotting along the
pathways, a calf, not a week old, frisking behind her. The water
buffalo, however, appeared to be the favourite--the strong beast
constantly carrying double. Every man we met had a spear, which was
extremely useful in fording rivers, as well as for defence.

We rode at first over a small plain, about two miles in extent, half
of which we had to traverse: it was bounded on either side by a low
sandstone range, and before us was a connecting ridge, which we had
to cross before entering the Tampasuk district. From its top, we had
a view of the country: beneath us was a plain, extending some miles
beyond the river; not very pleasant riding, as every here and there a
slushy, muddy stream crossed the path, into which our ponies sunk up to
their girths, and found some difficulty in floundering through. There
were signs that cultivation is occasionally carried on here, and I
should imagine it well adapted for rice fields. As it happened to be a
very warm day, we were not sorry, after a ride of two miles and a half,
to reach the river’s bank, where we found a most agreeable shade under
gigantic mango trees. I call them gigantic--they were for this country,
being above two feet in diameter, and probably sixty feet high.
Unfortunately, it was not the fruit season. Very few mangoes in Borneo
are worth eating. Occasionally we find them with delicate flavour; but
nothing to equal the magnificent fruit of Bombay. I was anxious to
taste the produce of these trees, as from former intercourse with the
Spaniards the natives might have obtained seeds from Manilla, where the
fruit arrives at great perfection. A half mile of shady ride brought us
to the ford opposite to the Datu’s house, where we found the Tampasuk,
a hundred yards wide, but not more than three feet deep--clear, cool,
and rapid.

After enjoying a pleasant bathe, we strolled on for a hundred yards
to the Datu’s house, which is really a good and comfortable one, and
we were agreeably surprised at the excellent accommodation. It is
double-storied, with plank walls. The lower part of the house consisted
of one great room, surrounded by broad verandahs; the end ones being
partially partitioned off. In one of these we were lodged, and found
all the ladies of the family engaged in preparing our apartment and
covering the floor with nice clean mats of brilliant colours, which,
with our own bedding, soon made us comfortable. The great room,
or hall, was the chief’s, in the centre of which was an immense
resting-place or bed, and behind were heaps of boxes, containing the
wealth of the family, piled as I had seen done in Sulu. The upper story
appears to be reserved for the daughters and other unmarried girls,
who, as their floor was only of split bamboo, could look through and
watch all our movements; and the occasional light laughter showed that
we afforded them some amusement.

The Datu of Tampasuk is considered the head of the Bajus in these
districts, but his power is more nominal than real. The race is,
individually, very independent, and no one appears ready to obey
authority; and the same character may be given to their neighbours,
the Lanuns and Ida’an. Mengkabong and Tampasuk are their chief ports,
though they are scattered in many other districts, both on this and the
north-eastern coast. They were formerly very piratical, and even now
are unwilling to let a favourable opportunity pass. Their lawlessness
is proverbial: one instance will suffice. A large party went on an
expedition to the island of Banguey, where they anchored opposite a
village, and commenced trading, being, they said, particularly anxious
for tripang, or edible sea-slug. The fishermen dispersed in quest of
this article, but had no sooner gone than the crews of the prahus
landed, surprised the village, killed or drove away the few men that
remained, and captured about twenty-eight women and children. This
little incident was much talked of at the time, as they managed to
seize a young bride, just decked out for a wedding, loaded with all the
gold ornaments of the village. This young girl, contrary to their usual
custom, was, it is said, put up to auction by her captors, as she was
too valuable to be one man’s share. Yet both the people of Banguey and
Mengkabong are claimed by the Brunei Government as their subjects. I
have little doubt that, on hearing of this affair, the only reflection
of the ministers was--“We wish those Mengkabong people were nearer,
that we might have a share of the plunder.”

When not engaged in sea expeditions, the Bajus employ themselves in
a peddling trade with the aborigines, exchanging nipa salt, with a
little iron and cloth, for tobacco and rice; the former they sell to
the Malays. I must not omit to notice that the Bajus are very expert
fishermen, and catch and salt a great quantity every year, which they
sell to the inhabitants of the hills. Some few have gardens, and
plant rice, and, in a lazy, careless way, rear cattle, ponies, and
buffaloes. They profess Islamism, but do not probably understand much
beyond the outward observances, though they keep the fast with greater
strictness than most of the Malays. No one can accuse the Bajus of
being a handsome race; they have generally pinched-up, small faces, low
foreheads, but bright eyes; the men are short, slight, but very active,
particularly in the water; the women have similar features, and are
slighter and perhaps taller than the Malay; they wear their hair tied
in a knot on the fore part of the head, which has a very unbecoming
appearance. I never saw a good-looking face among them, judging even by
a Malay standard. The Datu had five daughters, as well as five sons--a
large family, but a thing by no means rare in Borneo.

We saw many men that differed totally from the above description, but,
on inquiry, found they were of mixed breed. I asked one of what race
he was. He answered four--Baju, Lanun, Malay, and Chinese. He was a
broad-faced, ugly-looking fellow, one of our guides. Another, rather
good-looking, claimed to be descended of four races also--Baju, Sulu,
Lanun, and Malay. Almost all those we asked were of mixed parentage,
which renders it difficult to describe a particular tribe; yet the Baju
is a distinct animal from the Malay, and does credit to his name of Sea
Gipsy, as he has quite the appearance of that wandering tribe.

We heard much of their differences with the Lanuns, who occupy the
mouth of the Tampasuk, and were formerly very powerful on this coast;
their own oppressive conduct turned the people of the interior against
them, and at Tawaran they were driven out. They were accused of
stealing the children of the Ida’an. I say driven out--I should rather
have said, teazed out. No people in this country can cope with them
in battle; so the Ida’an kept hovering around the Lanun villages to
cut off stragglers. At last, no one could leave the houses even to
fetch firewood, unless accompanied by a strong armed party, which
interfered so much with their piratical pursuits that they at last
abandoned the country, and retired to Tampasuk and Pandasan. Here
they were in 1845 attacked by Sir Thomas Cochrane, and their villages
burnt. This again broke up their communities, and most of those who
were addicted to piracy retired to the north-east coast, to Tungku and
the neighbouring rivers. Since then they have gradually so dwindled
away in these countries, that now, it is said, they scarcely muster two
hundred fighting men. Even these are under various chiefs, who delight
in giving themselves high-sounding names, as Sultan, Rajah, Rajah-Muda;
though, perhaps, scarcely able to man a war prahu with their followers.

The present cause of quarrel between the Lanuns and Bajus is theft,
mutual reprisals ending in the death of one of the latter. The Datu
talked of nothing but war; he said he had been advised by the Spanish
missionary, Signor Cuateron, to apply to the Spaniards at Balabak to
assist him in expelling the Lanuns, and that he was determined to do
so. I related to him the fable of the horse and his rider, and left him
to find out its application. His ready laugh told he had caught the
meaning. The Datu said he could muster 600 fighting men in Abai and
Tampasuk, and that the Lanuns have but 150. At Pandasan the Lanuns have
but forty men to oppose to 400 Bajus. Still, the latter have no stomach
for the fight. I doubt if they give very correct information about the
numbers at Pandasan, as in 1851 they were very much more numerous; in
fact, several hundreds were then seen around the houses of the chiefs.
They themselves said that comparatively few lived on the Tampasuk. Mr.
Low ascended the Pandasan and found a village under Panquan Mahomed,
whose grave we saw on the Abai; and, farther up this shoal and narrow
river, he came to the village of Asam, the residence of Pañgeran Merta
and other chiefs. Beyond that, on the tongue of land caused by the
river dividing, was the village of Sultan Si Tabuk. About twenty-five
miles to the north of Pandasan are the small rivers of Kanio Kanio and
Layer Layer, also inhabited by Lanuns. They are very fond of boasting
of their courage, and say, if the Europeans would but meet them sword
in hand, they would fight them man to man.

I may notice that the Lanuns, Bajus, and Sulus do not shut up their
women in the same manner as is practised by the Malays of the capital
and most other Mahomedans; on the contrary, they often sit with the
men, and enter freely into the subject under discussion. I should
like to be able to ascertain whether this comparative freedom renders
them more chaste than the Malay women; they could not well be less
so. In Sulu, the wives of the chiefs are entrusted with the principal
management of the accounts, and carry on much of the trade; it is
said that they have acquired considerable knowledge from the Manilla
captives, who are often of a superior class.

We stayed a day at the Datu’s house, waiting the arrival of our
baggage, for which we had despatched buffaloes. The chief, to show
his hospitality, determined to kill a fatted calf to feast us and our
followers. The endeavours, first to catch a cow, then a calf, were
very amusing. The beasts were particularly active, half-wild things;
and the Bajus gave chase on horseback, galloping boldly over the rough
ground, and through the long grass. We expected every moment to see man
and horse roll over, but by dint of hard chasing, at last a half-grown
heifer was driven into the enclosure; man, horse, and game being
equally blown.

In the afternoon we rode over towards Pandasan, in search of plants;
from the summit of the first low hill we had a beautiful view of the
lovely plain of Tampasuk, extending from the sea far into the interior.
Groves of cocoa-nuts were interspersed among the rice grounds, which
extended, intermixed with grassy fields, to the sea-shore, bounded
by a long line of casuarinas. Little hamlets lay scattered in all
directions, some distinctly visible, others nearly hidden by the rich
green foliage of the fruit-trees. The prospect was bounded on the west
by low sandstone hills, whose red colour occasionally showed through
the lately-burnt grass, affording a varied tint in the otherwise
verdant prospect; to the south, Kina Balu and its attendant ranges were
hidden by clouds.

Riding on over the undulating ground, we entered a plain that lies
between the districts of Tampasuk and Pandasan; it looked parched, and
was in no way to be compared to the one we had left: clouds of smoke
from the burning grass occasionally obscured the prospect. Here Mr. Low
found a beautiful gardinia, growing on slight elevations, on barren,
decomposing rock, and plentiful wherever the land was undulating. It
seemed to flourish in positions exposed to the hottest rays of the
sun, and in situations where the reflected heat was also very great.
It was a bush, varying from a few inches to two feet in height, and
bore flowers of a pure white. We observed some of the shrubs not six
inches in height, which were covered with blossoms, yielding a powerful
aromatic odour. In fact, as we rode among them, the whole air appeared
filled with their fragrance. I imagine the dwarfing of the plants
resulted from the inferior nature of the soil, and the great heat which
kept the moisture from their roots. The high range that separates these
districts from Maludu Bay does not appear to be very far off; in fact,
it is but two days’ journey on horseback, which, in the mountains,
would not be much faster than walking, since the paths are very bad.
We galloped home, the natives evidently amused by our novel style of
sitting a horse. Our ride had been in a north-easterly direction.

On our arrival at the Datu’s house, we found all our followers
assembled, and the baggage in heaps near our beds. We therefore made
preparations for starting in the morning. On dividing our luggage,
however, it appeared that we should require at least a dozen Bajus to
assist; these had been promised, but were not forthcoming. Guides to
carry nothing were easily procurable; but it being the month of the
Ramadhan was an excuse for any amount of laziness.

When we started next morning, the Datu came with us a few miles and
helped us with some of his men; so that, having packed up, we were
enabled to leave about nine A.M. Our route lay through lowland
for about a mile and a half, crossing the river once. We stopped at a
village situated on and about a low hill. By the way, we saw a herd
of fine cattle, both white and piebald--an unusual colour in Borneo;
they were in a very flourishing condition, and I endeavoured in vain
to make arrangements to transport the whole lot to my grounds near the
Consulate. We stayed at a house occupied by Rajah Ali, a Baju, for
about an hour, trying to get men to take the place of the Datu’s, who
had helped us so far, but could not tempt really useful men. We had
already four guides, and might have had as many more as we pleased, but
porters were not to be procured.

The house where we rested was on top of a little hill, commanding a
very extensive prospect: at the foot the river divided into two, one
branch stretching away towards the E.S.E., whose course we could trace
for eight or ten miles; it then appears to take a southerly direction,
towards Kina Balu, from which the natives say it issues: the right-hand
branch bore S. by E., and this is visible for several miles--perhaps
eight; it then appears to turn more easterly. Near the banks the ground
is generally flat, while towards the west the hills are numerous.

Finding it impossible to get men enough to carry all our things,
we resolved to push on with those we had, and then send back for
the remainder. Our impedimenta were numerous, as we had boxes for
specimens, planks with quires of brown paper, besides the cloths and
brass wire required to purchase provisions. Every man also was provided
with a musket.

Our course lay at first over hills with soil of a reddish colour, but
a couple of miles brought us to the low land bordering the river. Here
we brought up under a clump of cocoa-nut palms, to allow our straggling
party to collect, and having obtained permission, our men soon secured
a supply of the fruit. I have no doubt that many travellers in tropical
countries will agree with me, that nothing is more refreshing after
a walk in a broiling sun (and it was indeed broiling to-day) than a
draught of cocoa-nut-milk, duly tempered with a dash of wine or brandy.
For some time I preferred a glass of sherry or madeira, now I incline
to a tablespoonful of brandy, as forming the most agreeable and healthy
compound. I have seen to-day a great many clumps of cocoa-nut-trees
very unhealthy. I think they must be injured by the constant drain to
which they are subjected by the aborigines in extracting toddy from
them. These trees belonged to the Piasau Ida’an, whose villages were
scattered in every direction. Piasau is the word used by the Borneans
of the capital for cocoa-nut.

While reclining under the shade of these palm-trees, we had a beautiful
view of the country beyond. The Tampasuk flowed past us, bubbling and
breaking over its uneven bed; here shallower, and therefore broader,
than usual. To the left the country was open, almost to the base of
the great mountain; to the right the land was more hilly, and Saduk
Saduk showed itself as a high peak, but dwarfed by its neighbourhood to
Kina Balu, whose rocky precipices looked now of a purple colour. The
summit was beautiful and clear, and I remained in earnest study of its
features till aroused by an exclamation of my companion, who, pointing
to a remarkable indentation surmounting an apparently huge fissure in
gloomy shade, said, “I am sure that is the spot where I left a bottle
in 1851.” With the aid of a telescope we could distinctly note the
position of every crag, and I determined, if possible, we would visit
that fissure, and see if the bottle still remained. Kina Balu looked
more grand to-day than ever as there were no hills between us to mar
its noble proportions. I made a sketch of the crags on the summit in
order to recognize them again, if we should be sufficiently fortunate
to reach them.

Having collected our party, now amounting to about thirty, we moved
on. Our path lay near the river, which we had to ford eight times,
and where the stream was rapid, the operation proved very fatiguing.
Between the reaches our path ran over granite _débris_ of the
size of coarse sand; it was so hot that it felt painful through our
shoes, and those who were barefoot danced along over it as if they were
on burning stones:--it was trying walking. We fully intended to have
reached Ginambur, but having had so many detentions, we found that
at 4 P.M. it was still several miles off; it was useless,
therefore, to expect to reach it, particularly as our men, unaccustomed
to walking, were greatly fatigued. We determined, therefore, to put up
at the farm-houses of the Buñgol Ida’an, which were built conveniently
on the banks of the river. It had been threatening rain, which came on
before the evening closed in. Our general direction all day had been a
little to the east of south.

The Datu of Tampasuk had promised to accompany us himself, but the fast
gave him an excellent excuse; he, however, sent some men as guides,
whom he called his relations. These men of course came with us,
fancying that by trading for us with the Ida’an they would be enabled
to make a great profit beyond the regular pay. They did not fail to let
us know their intentions, by telling us that the Ida’an were asking
half a dollar’s worth of goods for a fowl; so we declined taking it,
telling the Bajus that we were well aware that they themselves could
get a dozen for the same amount. We expected and intended to let them
fleece us moderately, but this was too barefaced. We had tin meats,--so
managed to make an excellent dinner without the fowl. Such provisions
are certainly of great assistance to the traveller, but the addition
of a fowl, or of any fresh vegetable, takes away that unpleasant taste
always observable in preserved meats.

It was here I first saw natives ploughing. Their plough is of a very
simple construction, and serves rather to scratch the ground than
really to turn it over: it is made entirely of wood, and is drawn by
a buffalo, and its action was the same as if a pointed stick had been
dragged through the land to the depth of about four inches. After
ploughing, they use a rough kind of harrow. Simple as this agriculture
is, it is superior to anything that exists south of Brunei, and it
would be interesting to investigate the causes that have rendered
this small part of Borneo, between the capital and Maludu Bay, so
superior in agriculture to the rest. I think it is obviously a remnant
of Chinese civilization. I must elsewhere dwell upon the Chinese
intercourse, as it is too extensive a subject to be introduced into a
journal while waiting for the cook to get the dinner ready. The farm
hut in which we spent the night was about twelve feet by six, and of
exceedingly neat construction: the bamboo was employed for posts, and
split afforded both good flooring and walls; the roofing leaves were
also excellent, and made from the sago palm. The musquitoes were very
numerous, and soon drove us to bed: the natives assert that these
insects are not to be found near running fresh water--a statement which
experience completely disproves.

The farmhouse we occupied was one of many scattered over a narrow
plain, perhaps four or five hundred yards in breadth, which skirted the
banks of the river for several miles. It was evident that these Ida’an
kept this land under continued cultivation, and that each portion was
strictly private property. We found every house had about four acres of
ground belonging to its owner, which were divided from one another by
slight embankments. The soil appeared of admirable quality--in fact,
a rich black mould. Heaps of panicles were lying near the houses, and
the amount seemed to show that they must have had a very good crop last
year.

Having induced three Buñgol Ida’an to start with buffaloes to fetch
the baggage that was left at Rajah Ali’s house, we moved on a little
before ten for Ginambur, intending to await their arrival there. Our
path lay along the left bank, over low ground covered with long grass
and brushwood, which prevented our obtaining other than glimpses of
the mountain, but at a rapid we had a good view. The Baju guides
gave these Ida’an the character of great thieves, and requested us
to have everything carefully put away at night, affirming that these
inhabitants of the plain were of a different character from those
on the hills. It may be so, but we have never found the aborigines
inclined to pilfer; on the contrary, they are remarkably honest; and
should these prove to be of a different disposition, it will be an
unique instance. Here as at Buñgol we could not purchase fowls except
at absurd rates, which we declined. It is curious that these people
show no hospitality--never offering us a single thing; but, instead,
trying to overreach us in every transaction.

The house in which we lodged was the best I have ever seen among the
aborigines: it was boarded with finely-worked planks; the doors were
strong and excellently made, with a small opening for the dogs to go
in and out; everything looked clean--quite an unusual peculiarity.
The flooring of beaten-out bamboos was very neat, and free from all
dirt, which I have never before noticed in a Dayak house, where the
dogs generally render everything filthy. As this was the cleanest, so
I think my friend the Bisayan chief’s house on the Limbang was the
dirtiest--to describe its abominations would turn the reader’s stomach.

These Ida’an are very good specimens of the interior
people--clear-skinned, free from disease, with pleasant, good-humoured
countenances. None of the women are good-looking; still, they would not
be called ugly. We noticed two peculiarities: that all the girls and
young women wore a piece of black cloth to conceal their bosoms, which
was held in its place by strips of coloured rattans; their petticoats
were larger than usual, a practice that might have been followed with
advantage by their elders. The second was that the young girls had the
front of the head shaved, after the manner of the Chinese.

I have not noticed that any of the men are tattooed, but during our
walk to-day we met many large parties of Ida’an loaded with tobacco,
who were on their way to Tampasuk to trade, among whom there were
some ornamented in this fashion:--A tattooed band two inches broad,
stretched in an arc from each shoulder, meeting on the stomach, then
turning off to the hips; others had likewise a band extending from the
shoulders to the hands. They were all small, slight men, and armed with
spears and swords.

As we were the first Europeans who had ever penetrated so far into the
country, we excited great curiosity, particularly among the female
portion of the tribe: every action was watched and commented upon,
though I am bound to state that my little China boy, Ahtan, with his
long tail, excited equal surprise; and when the black Madras cook
commenced operations, we were totally abandoned, and a most attentive
crowd collected round him, watching his every motion. As he proceeded
to prepare the curry and the stew, the pressure became too great for
his patience, so that he ran out declaring he could not cook the
dinner. The crowd then drew back a little, but his actions did not
escape the most attentive inspection. We were told that there was
another extensive village of their people on the slope of the hills,
embowered in groves of fruit-trees. It is a great advantage to live
on the banks of a running stream, as all the population can keep
themselves clean by frequent bathing. Another great preventive to
disease is their having sufficient food: they appear well off, with
plenty of buffaloes and cattle--a contrast, indeed, to their miserable
brethren on the Limbang.

We soon began to find the effect of starting without proper shoes:
yesterday my boots had blistered one heel so much that I determined to
walk barefooted. Mr. Low’s feet became likewise so painful that he made
up his mind to follow my example.

Our baggage did not arrive till the morning; we were then detained to
procure men to carry it. At last Suñgat, the chief, agreed to follow
us with six of the villagers. We started about eleven. Our course lay
along the banks of the river, cutting off the points, and occasionally
in the bed of the old stream. It having rained on the night previous,
the river was somewhat swollen, which prevented either ourselves or
our men fording it without Baju assistance; this rendered our progress
slow. Mr. Low having never before walked without shoes, suffered
much in passing over the pebbles, which were heated by the bright
midday sun, and I also, though more used to it, felt it very much
occasionally: in four hours we did not make more than three miles.

Having passed a very deep ford at 2.45 P.M., we agreed to stop
for the night, and pitched our tents on the banks of the river on some
dry sand, to have the benefit of the cool water that flowed by. We
might have gone to the Ida’an houses, but preferred the independence
of our own tents, both as more cool and less crowded; besides, we were
there free from the suspicion of insects. The fords we passed during
the day were composed of black sand, with small blocks of granite and
serpentine mixed with sandstone.

The name of this place was Batong: from it Kina Balu bore S.E., and
Saduk Saduk 15° east of south; the latter appears from this view to
be a peaked mountain between 5,000 and 6,000 feet high. Kina Balu of
course absorbed our attention: at night, as the sun shone brightly
on its peaks, it wore a very smiling appearance. The summit seemed
free from all vegetation, and streams of water were dashing over the
precipices.

Started next morning at a quarter to eight, and soon arrived at a
place where the river divided, the Penantaran coming from an E.N.E.
direction. Its bed was full of large blocks of serpentine (though after
passing the mouth of this branch we met with very few specimens of that
kind of rock). There is a village of the same name as the branch close
to the junction. We followed the right-hand branch--direction about
south--keeping close to the banks, crossing and recrossing continually,
seeing occasionally a few houses. We were now passing through sandstone
ranges, but the country had no remarkable features. At 9.40, stopped to
breakfast, having made about four miles; our followers gradually closed
up. At eleven we pushed on again. Huge granite boulders are now common,
and under the shelter of one mighty stone we rested for half an hour,
waiting the arrival of our straggling followers.

One of the greatest advantages of travelling with an intelligent
companion is the interchange of ideas, and consequently the more
accurate noting of observations. As we sat beneath the shade of the
huge granite boulder, surrounded on all sides by sandstone hills, we
could not but speculate how it came there. Without having recourse to
the glacier theory, the reason appeared to me simple. It is evident
that the level of the country was very much greater in former times
than at present, and that water is the great agent by which these
changes have been effected.

The streams continually cut their way deeper in the soil, as we may
daily observe: the increasing steepness causes innumerable landslips,
and the process going on for ages, the whole level of the country is
changed, and plains are formed from the detritus at the mouths of the
rivers. Huge granite masses, falling originally from the lofty summit
of Kina Balu, would gradually slip or roll down the ever-forming slopes
which nature is never weary of creating.

In ascending some of the steeps that rise on either side of the streams
near Kina Balu, we continually came across boulders of granite, which,
in comparatively few years, will, through landslips, roll many hundred
feet into the stream below, to commence their gradual movement from
the mountain. I have continually come across evidences of the Bornean
rivers having flowed at a much higher level than at present, finding
layers of water-worn pebbles, a hundred feet above the present surface
of the stream. In Borneo, where the rain falls so heavily, the power of
water is immense. After a heavy storm, the torrents rise in confined
spaces often fifty feet within a few hours, and the rush of the stream
would move any but the largest rocks, and wash away most of the effects
of the landslips.

Standing on a height overlooking a large extent of country, it is
instructive to be able to survey at a glance the great effect caused
by the rivers and all their tributaries, deep gullies marking every
spot where an accession joins the parent stream. After heavy rains, the
rivers present the colour of _café au lait_, from the large amount
of matter held in temporary suspension, and on taking out a glassful,
I have been surprised by the amount of sediment which has immediately
fallen to the bottom.

The walk was becoming rather tiring; drizzling rain rendering the
stones very slippery, and having continually to make the mountain
torrent our path, it was severe work for our bare feet. The rain
continuing, and the stream rapidly rising, we halted at some
farm-houses in the midst of a long rice-field. Fording the river is
difficult work; the water rushing down at headlong speed, renders it
necessary to exert one’s utmost strength to avoid being carried away:
the pole in both hands, placed well to seaward, one foot advanced
cautiously before the other, to avoid the slippery rocks and loose
stones. I found that this fatigued me more than the walking. The
water became much cooler as we approached the mountain, while the
land is rapidly increasing in elevation. The river was full of Ida’an
fish-traps, made by damming up half the stream, and forcing the water
and fish to pass into a huge bamboo basket. They appeared to require
much labour in the construction, particularly in the loose stone walls
or dams. As we advanced, we found the whole stream turned into one of
these traps, in which they captured very fine fish, particularly after
heavy rain. I bought one with large scales, about eighteen inches
long, which was of a delicious flavour.

To see the young Ida’an ford the stream, raised both my envy and my
admiration; with the surging waters reaching to their armpits, with a
half-dancing motion, they crossed as if it were no exertion at all. So
much for practice. During the last three hours we did not make more
than four miles, though out of the stream the paths were good. The rain
continuing to pour heavily, we determined to stop, as I have said, at
these Ida’an huts, which were situated opposite the landing-place of
the village of Tambatuan, concealed by the brow of a steep hill rising
on the other bank. We sent a party there to buy rice, which became
cheaper as we advanced: these villages also possessed abundance of
cattle and buffaloes. We were much pleased to find the great confidence
shown by the people; we often met parties of women and girls, and on no
occasion did they run away screaming at the unusual sight of a white
face. Several of them came this afternoon to look at us, and remained
quite near for some time, interested in watching our proceedings. Kina
Balu was cloud-hidden this evening.

During the night our rest was much disturbed by bees, who stung us
several times, and Mr. Low, with that acuteness which never deserts him
in all questions of natural history, pronounced them to be the “tame”
bees, the same as he had last seen thirteen years ago among the Senah
Dayaks in Sarawak. About midnight we were visited by a big fellow, who,
our guides assured us, wanted to pilfer; but we found next morning that
he had come to complain of his hives having been plundered. On inquiry,
we discovered the man who had done the deed. He was fined three times
the value of the damage, and the amount handed over to the owner.

A great many questions were asked as to what could be our object in
visiting Kina Balu: to tell them that it was for curiosity would
have been useless: to say that we were seeking new kinds of ferns,
pitcher-plants, or flowers, would not have been much more satisfactory
to them. Some thought we were searching for copper or for gold, while
others were equally convinced we were looking for precious stones. One
man sagaciously observed that we were seeking the _Lagundi_ tree,
whose fruit, if eaten, would restore our youth and enable us to live
for countless years, and that tree was to be found on the very summit
of Kina Balu. To-day an Ida’an came, I suppose to try us, and said he
knew of copper not more than half a day’s journey from our path, and
offered to take us to it; seeing we were not to be tempted, another
told us of a tree of copper that was to be found a few miles off; but
even that did not alter our determination to make the best of our way
to the mountain. We left the questioners sadly puzzled as to what
possibly could be our object in ascending Kina Balu.

All the Bajus and Borneans are convinced that there is a lake on the
very summit of this mountain, and ask, if it be not so, how is it
that continual streams of water flow down its sides. They forget that
very few nights pass without there being rain among the lofty crags,
even when it is dry on the plains. Sometimes the sun, shining on
particular portions of the granite, gives it an appearance of great
brilliancy; and those who formerly ascended the summit with Mr. Low,
reported that whenever they approached the spot where these diamonds
showed themselves at a distance, they invariably disappeared: as these
men have a perfect faith in every wild imagination of the _Arabian
Nights_, they easily convinced themselves and their auditors that
the jinn would not permit them to take them. The old story of the great
diamond, guarded on the summit of Kina Balu by a ferocious dragon,
arose probably from some such cause. The Malays are great storytellers,
and these wonders interest them. I may notice that most of the men
that were with us accompanied us to the mountain of Molu the preceding
February, and then one of the Borneans commenced a story which lasted
the seventeen days we were away, and he occasionally went on with
it during our present journey. It was the history of an unfortunate
princess, who for “seven days and seven nights neither eat nor drank,
but only wept.”

Opposite our resting-place we observed some remarkably elegant tree
ferns, whose stems rose occasionally to the height of ten feet, and
with their long leaves bending gracefully on every side, they were an
ornament to the river’s bank. We noticed as yet but little old forest.
The only fine trees we saw were near the villages, and these were
preserved for their fruits. Where the land is not cultivated, it is
either covered with brushwood, or trees of a young growth.

Drizzling rain prevented our departure till near eight, when we
continued our course along the ricefields: we had been told we should
find the path very bad, but were agreeably surprised by it proving dry
and principally among plantations of kiladi. We crossed the river only
five times, and passed over a sandstone range about five hundred feet
above the plain: it was nearly three miles from our resting-place. The
stream had now become a perfect mountain torrent, breaking continually
over rocks.

Occasionally the fords were difficult, as the continued rains rendered
the river very full. At one place where an island divides the Tampasuk,
it was so deep that it was found necessary to swim over, and only a
very expert man could have done it, as the water rushed down with great
force. The Bajus, however, were quite prepared; they did not attempt
to cross the stream in a direct course, but allowed themselves to be
carried away a little, and reached the other side about fifty yards
farther down. They did it very cleverly, carrying all our luggage over,
little by little, swimming with one hand and holding the baskets in the
air with the other. As we could not swim, two men placed themselves,
one on either side of us, told us to throw ourselves flat on the water
and remain passive; in a few minutes we were comfortably landed on the
opposite bank, drenched to the skin, it is true, but we had scarcely
had any dry clothes on us during the whole journey; however, no sooner
did we arrive at our resting-places, than we stripped, bathed, rubbed
ourselves into a glow, and put on dry clothes. Nothing is so essential
as this precaution, and I have twice had severe attacks of fever from
neglecting it. The hills as we advanced began closing in on the river’s
banks, leaving occasionally but a narrow strip of flat ground near the
stream.

At 11.20 A.M. we reached Koung, a large, scattered village
on a grassy plain: it is a very pretty spot, the greensward extending
to the river’s banks, where the cattle and buffaloes graze: about a
hundred feet up the side of a neighbouring hill is another portion of
the village. The roaring torrent foams around, affording delicious
spots for bathing, the water being delightfully cool. In the bed
of the stream there were masses of angular granite, mixed with the
water-worn boulders. It was the first time we had ever seen it of that
sharp form, but similar blocks were afterwards noticed on the summit.
The wild raspberry is very plentiful here. One cannot help having
one’s attention continually drawn to the air of comfort, or, rather,
to the appearance of native wealth observed among the Ida’an: food
in abundance, with cattle, pigs, fowls, rice, and vegetables; and no
one near them to plunder or exact. Accustomed as I had been to the
aborigines around the capital, the contrast struck me forcibly.

Next day we hoped to reach Kiau, the village from which Mr. Low started
for the mountain in the spring of 1851. There was an apparent hitch
about getting from that place; but we thought perhaps the reports arose
from tribal jealousy. At four P.M., Koung: barometer, 28·678°;
thermometer, 77·5°; unattached, 78·3°. So that this village must be
about 1,500 feet above the level of the sea: a very rapid rise for the
stream in so short a distance. The sandstone hill we crossed to-day
had the same characteristics as those I had observed up the Sakarang,
Batang Lupar, and near the capital--all being very steep, with narrow
ridges, and buttresses occasionally springing from their sides: on the
one we crossed to-day was a quantity of red shale.

Near our last night’s resting-place, I noticed, for the first time on
this river, some sago palms; they have again shown themselves to-day,
and there are a few round the village, but neither these trees nor
cocoa-nut nor areca palms are plentiful. At every village I made
inquiries about cotton, and, like the men with tails, it was always
grown a little farther off; only we know cotton must be grown somewhere
in this neighbourhood, as at the very moment I was writing my journal
I saw an old woman engaged spinning yarn from native material. The
Lanuns also furnish a cloth which is highly prized among every class of
inhabitants in Borneo; it is a sort of checked black cloth, with narrow
lines of white running through it, and glazed on one size. This was
formerly made entirely of native yarn; but I am afraid this industry
will soon decline, as connoisseurs are already beginning to discover
that the Lanun women, finding English yarn so cheap, are using it in
preference, though it renders the article much less durable. It is also
worthy of notice that this cloth is dyed from indigo grown on the spot.
These Ida’an purchase their supplies of cotton of the Inserban and
Tuhan Ida’an who live on the road to the lake, while the Bajus obtain
theirs from the Lobas near Maludu Bay. I saw one plant growing near the
hut where we rested last night; it was about ten feet high, and covered
with flowers.

They told us at Koung that the Ida’an were at war; but though they may
have quarrels, they must be trifling, as we met every day women and
children by themselves at considerable distances from their houses.
Besides, parties of a dozen men and boys of the supposed enemies passed
us on their way to Tampasuk to trade, and in none of their villages did
we notice heads.

All these Ida’an appear to pay particular attention to the cultivation
of the Kiladi (arum), planting it in their fields immediately after
gathering in the rice crop, and keeping it well weeded: they grow it
everywhere, and it must afford them abundance of food. It is in shape
something like a beetroot, and has the flavour of a yam. Roasted in the
ashes, and brought smoking hot to table, torn open, and adding a little
butter, pepper, and salt, it is very palatable, particularly among
those hills.

Saduk bore N.E. and Kina Balu due E. from the southern portion of the
village.

Started about seven in a S.E. by E. direction, ascending a hill on
which the village of Labang Labang is situated: here occurred a scene.
Mr. Low and I, with a few men, were walking ahead of the party; as we
passed the first house, an old woman came to the door, and uttered some
sentences which struck us as sounding like a curse: however, we took no
notice; but as we approached the end of the village, we were hailed by
an ugly-looking fellow, with an awful squint, who told us to stop, as
we should not pass through his village: this was evidently a prepared
scene, the whole of the population turning out, armed: so we did stop
to discuss the point. We asked what he meant: he answered that they had
never had good crops since Mr. Low ascended the mountain in 1851, and
gave many other sapient reasons why we should not ascend it now; but
he wound up by saying that if we would pay a slave as black mail, they
would give us permission to pass and do as we pleased: this showed us
that nothing but extortion was intended; yet, to avoid any disagreeable
discussion, we offered to make him a present of forty yards of grey
shirting; but this proposition was not listened to, and he and his
people became very insolent in their manner.

We sent back one of the men to hurry up the stragglers, and in the
meantime continued the discussion. They then said they would take
us up the mountain if we would start from their village; but being
unwilling to risk a disappointment, we declined. They remembered how
the Kiaus had turned back Mr. Lobb, because he would not submit to
their extortions, and thought they might do the same with us. As the
Ida’an were shaking their spears and giving other hostile signs, we
thought it time to bring this affair to a climax; so I ordered the men
to load their muskets, and Mr. Low, stepping up to the chief with his
five-barrelled pistol, told the interpreter to explain that we were
peaceable travellers, most unwilling to enter into any contest; that
we had obtained the permission of the Government of the country, and
that we were determined to proceed; that if they carried out their
threats of violence, he would shoot five with his revolver, and that
I was prepared to do the same with mine; that they might, by superior
numbers, overcome us at last, but in the meantime we would make a
desperate fight of it.

This closed the scene: as long as we had only half a dozen with us,
they were bullies; but as our forces began to arrive, and at last
amounted to fifty men, with twenty musket-barrels shining among them,
they became as gentle as lambs, and said they would take two pieces
of grey shirting; but we refused to give way, keeping to our original
offer, and then only if the chief would follow us on our return, and
receive it at Tampasuk. We ordered the men to advance, and we would
close up the rear: no opposition was offered; on the contrary, the
chief accompanied us on our road, and we had no more trouble with the
Labang Labang people. We were detained forty minutes by this affair.
Our guides explained the matter to us: when Mr. Low was here last time,
many reports were spread of the riches which the Kiaus had obtained
from the white man, and they were jealous that the other branch of
their tribe should obtain the wealth that was passing from them through
their village. The Koung people tried to persuade us last night to
start from their place, and as they were very civil we should have
liked to oblige them, but they were uncertain whether they could take
us to the summit. Mr. Lobb, when he reached Kiau, had but a small
party, and was unarmed, so they would not allow him to pass, except on
terms that were totally inadmissible.

Immediately after passing the village, we descended a steep and
slippery path to one of the torrents into which the Tampasuk now
divided. After crossing it, we were at the base of the spur on which
the village of Kiau is situated. We passed several purling streams
which descended, in a winding course, the face of the hill. From one
spot in our walk, we had a beautiful view of two valleys, cultivated
on both banks, with the foaming streams dashing among the rocks below.
Over the landscape were scattered huts, which had the peculiarity of
being flat-roofed: the Kiaus using the bamboo as the Chinese use their
tiles, split in two; the canes are arranged side by side across the
whole roof, with their concave sides upwards to catch the rain; then
a row placed convex to cover the edges of the others, and prevent the
water dropping through. They are quite water-tight, and afforded an
excellent hint for travellers where bamboos abound.

The latter portion of the road was difficult climbing, the clay
being slippery from last night’s rain; but as we approached our
resting-place, the walking became easier. Kiau is a large village on
the southern side of the spur. The houses scattered on its face are
prettily concealed from each other by clumps of cocoa-nuts and bamboos.
It covers a great extent of ground, but is badly placed, being more
than 800 feet above the torrent--that is, the portion of the village at
which we stayed. The eastern end was nearer the stream. The inhabitants
supplied themselves with drinking-water from small rills which were
led in bamboos to most of their doors. We brought up about eleven, our
course being generally E.S.E. Thermometer 73° at twelve in the house.
We felt it chilly, and took to warm clothing.

The Kiaus are much dirtier than any tribes I have seen in the
neighbourhood: the children and women are unwashed, and most of them
are troubled with colds, rendering them in every sense unpleasant
neighbours. In fact, to use the words of an experienced traveller,
“they cannot afford to be clean,” their climate is chilly, and they
have no suitable clothing. We observed that the features of many of
these people were very like Chinese--perhaps a trace of that ancient
kingdom of Celestials that tradition fixes to this neighbourhood. They
all showed the greatest and most childlike curiosity at everything
either we or our servants did.

In the afternoon, Lemaing, Mr. Low’s old guide, came in. Mr. Low
recognized his voice immediately, though seven years had passed since
he had heard it. Sir James Brooke has a most extraordinary faculty
of remembering voices, as well as names, even of natives whom he has
only seen once. It is very useful out here, and I have often found the
awkwardness which arises from my quickly forgetting both voices and
names.

Shortly after Lemaing’s arrival, a dispute arose between him and
Lemoung, the chief of the house in which we were resting: both voices
grew excited; at last, they jumped up, and each spat upon the floor
in a paroxysm of mutual defiance: here we interposed to preserve the
peace, and calm being restored, it was found that seven years ago they
had disputed about the division of Mr. Low’s goods, and the quarrel
had continued ever since--the whole amount being five dollars. Lemoung
said that his house had been burnt down in consequence of the white man
ascending Kina Balu, and that no good crops of rice had grown since;
but it was all envy; he thought in the distribution he had not secured
a fair share. We asked if he had ascended the mountain; he said no, but
his son had brought some rice, for which, on inquiry, we found he had
been paid. Drizzling rain the whole afternoon.

The thermometer registered 66° last night, and we enjoyed our sleep
under blankets. At midday, we took out the barometer from its case,
and found, to our inexpressible vexation, that it was utterly smashed.
This will destroy half the pleasure of the ascent; in fact, our
spirits are somewhat depressed by the accident, and by Mr. Low’s feet
getting worse. At twelve, thermometer 77°. (The lamentable accident so
disgusted me that I find no further entry in that day’s journal, but
a pencilled note remarks that the Ida’an preserve their rice in old
bamboos two fathoms long, which are placed on one side of the doorway.
It is said that these bamboos are preserved for generations, and, in
fact, they looked exceedingly ancient.)

Last night, thermometer 69°. At early dawn, we heard the war-drums
beating in several houses, and shouts and yells from the boys. They
said it was a fête day, but we rightly guessed it had something to
do with our expedition. For some time, our guide did not make his
appearance, and a few young fellows on the hill over the village threw
stones as we appeared at the door--a very harmless demonstration, as
they were several hundred yards off--but discharging and cleaning a
revolver lessened the amount of hostile shouting. About nine, the guide
made his appearance; the women seemed to enjoy the scene, and followed
us to witness the skirmish; but the enemy, if there were an enemy, did
not show, and the promised ambush came to nothing--it was but a trick
of Lemoung to try and disgust Lemaing, and frighten us by the beating
of drums and shouting. At the place where we were assured an attack
would be made, we found but a few harmless women carrying tobacco.

Our path lay along the side of the hill in which the village stands,
we followed it about four miles in an easterly direction, and then
descended to a torrent, one of the feeders of the Tampasuk, where we
determined to spend the night, as Mr. Low’s feet were becoming very
swollen and painful, and it was as well to collect the party. We had
passed through considerable fields of sweet potatoes, kiladi, and
tobacco, where the path was crossed occasionally by cool rills from the
mountains. We enjoyed the cold water very much, and had a delightful
bath. The torrent comes tumbling down, and forms many fine cascades.
Mr. Low botanized a little, notwithstanding his feet were suppurating.
The hut in which we spent the night was very pretty-looking,
flat-roofed, built entirely of bamboos.

To-day, we had a specimen of the thieving of our Ida’an followers.
One man was caught burying a tin of sardines; another stole a Bologna
sausage, for which, when hungry, I remembered him, and another a fowl.

Next morning, Mr. Low found it impossible to walk, and I was therefore
obliged to start without him. We showed our perfect confidence in the
villagers of Kiau by dividing our party, leaving only four men with
Mr. Low to take care of the arms; we carried with us up the mountain
nothing but our swords and one revolver. They must have thought us a
most extraordinary people; but we knew that their demonstrations of
hostility were really harmless, and more aimed against each other than
against us. Probably, had we appeared afraid, it might have been a
different matter.

Our course was at first nearly east up the sub-spur of a great
buttress. The walking was severe, from the constant and abrupt ascents
and descents, and the narrowness of the path when it ran along the
sides of the hill, where it was but the breadth of the foot. At one
place we had a view of a magnificent cascade. The stream that runs by
the cave, which is to be one of our resting-places, falls over the
rocks forming minor cascades; then coming to the edge of the precipice,
throws itself over, and in its descent of above fifteen hundred feet
appears to diffuse itself in foam, ere it is lost in the depths of the
dark-wooded ravines below.

I soon found I had made a great mistake in permitting these active
mountaineers to lead the way at their own pace, as before twelve
o’clock I was left alone with them, all my men being far behind, as
they were totally unaccustomed to the work. Arriving at a little
foaming rivulet, I sat down and waited for the rest of the party, and
when they came up, they appeared so exhausted that I had compassion
on them, and agreed to spend the night here. The Ida’an were very
dissatisfied, and declared they would not accompany us, if we intended
to make such short journeys; but we assured them that we would go
on alone if they left us, and not pay them the stipulated price for
leading us to the summit. I soon set the men to work to build a hut
of long poles, over which we could stretch our oiled cloths, and to
make a raised floor to secure us from being wet through by the damp
moss and heavy rain that would surely fall during the night. At three
P.M. the thermometer fell to 65°, which to the children of the
plain rendered the air unpleasantly cold; but we worked hard to collect
boughs and leaves to make our beds soft; and wood was eagerly sought
for to make fires in the holes beneath our raised floor. This filled
the place with smoke, but gave some warmth to the men.

The Ida’an again tried to get back, but I would not receive their
excuse that they would be up early in the morning: they then set
hard at work going through incantations to drive away sickness. The
guide Lemaing carried an enormous bundle of charms, and on him fell
the duty of praying or repeating some forms: he was at it two hours
by my watch. To discover what he said, or the real object to whom he
addressed himself, was almost impossible through the medium of our bad
interpreters. I could hear him repeating my name, and they said he was
soliciting the spirits of the mountain to favour us.

The thermometer registered 57° last night in tent. Started at seven; I
observed a fine yellow sweet-scented rhododendron on a decayed tree,
and requested my men on their return to take it to Mr. Low; continuing
the ascent, after an hour’s tough walking, reached the top of the
ridge. There it was better for a short time; but the forest, heavily
hung with moss, is exposed to the full force of the south-west monsoon,
and the trees are bent across the path, leaving occasionally only
sufficient space to crawl through. We soon came upon the magnificent
pitcher-plant, the _Nepenthes Lowii_, that Mr. Low was anxious
to get. We could find no young plants, but took cuttings, which the
natives said would grow.

We stopped to breakfast at a little swampy spot, where the trees are
becoming very stunted, though in positions protected from the winds
they grow to a great height. Continuing our course, we came upon a
jungle that appeared to be composed almost entirely of rhododendrons,
some with beautiful pink, crimson, and yellow flowers. I sat near one
for about half an hour apparently in intense admiration, but, in fact,
very tired, and breathless, and anxious about my followers, only one of
whom had kept up with me.

Finding it useless to wait longer, as the mist was beginning to roll
down from the summit, and the white plain of clouds below appeared
rising, I pushed on to the cave, which we intended to occupy. It was
a huge granite boulder, resting on the hill side, that sheltered
us but imperfectly from the cold wind. The Ida’an, during the day,
amused themselves in trying to secure some small twittering birds,
which looked like canaries, with a green tint on the edges of their
wings, but were unsuccessful. They shot innumerable pellets from their
blowpipes, but did not secure one. In fact, they did not appear to use
this instrument with any skill.

At four o’clock the temperature of the air was 52°, and of the water
48°.

Some of my men did not reach us till after dark, and it was with great
difficulty that I could induce the Malays to exert themselves to
erect the oiled cloths, to close the mouth of the cave, and procure
sufficient firewood. They appeared paralyzed by the cold, and were
unwilling to move.

During the night, the thermometer at the entrance of the cave fell to
36° 5´; and on my going out to have a look at the night-scene, all the
bushes and trees appeared fringed with hoar frost.

After breakfasting at the cave, we started for the summit. Our course
lay at first through a thick low jungle, full of rhododendrons; it
then changed into a stunted brushwood, that almost hid the rarely-used
path; gradually the shrubs gave way to rocks, and then we commenced our
ascent over the naked granite. A glance upwards from the spot where
we first left the jungle, reveals a striking scene--a face of granite
sweeping steeply up for above 3,000 feet to a rugged edge of pointed
rocks; while on the farthest left the southern peak looked from this
view a rounded mass. Here and there small runnels of water passed over
the granite surface, and patches of brushwood occupied the sheltered
nooks. The rocks were often at an angle of nearly forty degrees, so
that I was forced to ascend them, at first, with woollen socks, and
when they were worn through, with bare feet. It was a sad alternative,
as the rough stone wore away the skin and left a bleeding and tender
surface.

After hard work, we reached the spot where Mr. Low had left a bottle,
and found it intact--the writing in it was not read, as I returned it
unopened to its resting-place.

Low’s Gully is one of the most singular spots in the summit. We ascend
an abrupt ravine, with towering perpendicular rocks on either side,
till a rough natural wall bars the way. Climbing on this, you look over
a deep chasm, surrounded on three sides by precipices, so deep that
the eye could not reach the bottom; but the twitter of innumerable
swallows could be distinctly heard, as they flew in flocks below. There
was no descending here: it was a sheer precipice of several thousand
feet, and this was the deep fissure pointed out to me by Mr. Low from
the cocoa-nut grove on the banks of the Tampasuk when we were reclining
there, and proved that he had remembered the very spot where he had
left the bottle.

I was now anxious to reach one of those peaks which are visible
from the sea; so we descended Low’s Gully, through a thicket of
rhododendrons, bearing a beautiful blood-coloured flower, and made our
way to the westward. It was rough walking at first, while we continued
to skirt the rocky ridge that rose to our right; but gradually leaving
this, we advanced up an incline composed entirely of immense slabs of
granite, and reaching the top, found a noble terrace, half a mile in
length, whose sides sloped at an angle of thirty degrees on either
side. The ends were the Southern Peak and a huge cyclopean wall.

I followed the guides to the former, and after a slippery ascent,
reached the summit. I have mentioned that this peak has a rounded
aspect when viewed from the eastward; but from the northward it appears
to rise sharply to a point; and when with great circumspection I
crawled up, I found myself on a granite point, not three feet in width,
with but a water-worn way a few inches broad to rest on, and prevent my
slipping over the sloping edges.

During the climbing to-day, I suffered slightly from shortness of
breath, and felt some disinclination to bodily exertion; but as soon
as I sat down on this lofty point, it left me, and a feeling came on as
if the air rendered me buoyant and made me long to float away.

Calmly seated here, I first turned my attention to the other peaks,
which stretched in a curved line from east to west, and was rather
mortified to find that the most westerly and another to the east
appeared higher than where I sat, but certainly not more than a hundred
feet. The guides called this the mother of the mountain, but her
children may have outgrown her. Turning to the south-west, I could but
obtain glimpses of the country, as many thousand feet below masses of
clouds passed continually over the scene, giving us but a partial view
of sea, and rivers, and hills. One thing immediately drew my attention,
and that was a very lofty peak towering above the clouds, bearing S. ½
E. It appeared to be an immense distance off, and I thought it might
be the great mountain of Lawi, of which I went in search some months
later; but it must be one much farther to the eastward, and may be the
summit of Tilong, which, as I have before mentioned, some declare to be
much more lofty than Balu itself.

Immediately below me, the granite for a thousand feet sloped sharply
down to the edge of that lofty precipice that faces the valley of
Pinokok to the south-west. I felt a little nervous while we were
passing along this to reach the southern peak, as on Mr. Low’s former
expedition a Malay had slipped at a less formidable spot, and been
hurried down the steep incline at a pace that prevented any hope of
his arresting his own progress, when leaning on his side his kris
fortunately entered a slight cleft, and arrested him on the verge of a
precipice.

Among the detached rocks and in the crevices grew a kind of moss, on
which the Ida’an guides declared the spirits of their ancestors fed. A
grass also was pointed out that served for the support of the ghostly
buffaloes which always followed their masters to the other world. As a
proof, the print of a foot was shown me as that of a young buffalo; it
was not very distinct, but appeared more like the impression left by a
goat or deer.

Our guides became very nervous as the clouds rose and now occasionally
topped the precipice, and broke, and swept up the slopes, enveloping
us. They urged me to return; I saw it was necessary, and complied, as
the wind was rising, and the path we were to follow was hidden in mist.

We found the air pleasantly warm and very invigorating; the thermometer
marked 62° in the shade; and as we perceived little rills of water
oozing from among the granite rocks, the summit would prove a much
better encamping ground than our cold cave, where the sun never
penetrates. The Ida’an, however, feared to spend one night in this
abode of spirits, and declined carrying my luggage.

Our return was rather difficult, as the misty rain rendered the rocks
slippery, but we all reached the cave in safety. Here I received a note
from Mr. Low, but he was still unable to walk. The bathing water was
49°.

During the night the temperature fell, and the registering thermometer
marked 41°. My feet were so injured by yesterday’s walking that I was
unable to reascend the mountain to collect plants and flowers, so
sent my head man Musa with a large party. I, however, strolled about a
little to look for seeds and a sunny spot, as the ravine in which our
temporary home was, chilled me through. I was continually enveloped
in mist, and heard afterwards to my regret that the summit was clear,
and that all the surrounding country lay exposed to view. The low,
tangled jungle was too thick to admit of our seeing much. I climbed
the strongest and highest trees there, but could only get glimpses of
distant hills.

Thermometer during the night, 43°, while in the cave yesterday it
marked 56° at two o’clock.

Started early to commence our descent, collecting a few plants on our
way; the first part of the walking is tolerably good--in fact, as far
as the spot where we rested for breakfast on our ascent. It is in
appearance a series of mighty steps. Passed on the wayside innumerable
specimens of that curious pitcher-plant the _Nepenthes villosa_,
with serrated lips.

After leaving the great steps, our course was along the edge of
a ridge, where the path is extremely narrow; in fact, in two or
three places not above eighteen inches wide--a foot of it serving
as parapet, six inches of sloping rock forming the path. From one
of these craggy spots a noble landscape is spread before us, eighty
miles of coast-line, with all the intervening country being visible
at once. With one or two exceptions, plains skirt the sea-shore, then
an undulating country, gradually rising to ranges varying from two to
three thousand feet, with glimpses of silvery streams flowing among
them. The waters of the Mengkabong and Sulaman, swelling to the
proportions of lakes, add a diversity to the scene.

It is fortunate that the ridge is not often so narrow as at these
spots; for on one side there is a sheer descent of fifteen hundred
feet, and on the other is very perpendicular-ground, but wooded. Two
decaying rocks that obstruct the path are also dangerous to pass, as
we had to round them, with uncertain footing, and nothing but a bare,
crumbling surface to grasp. With the exception of these, the path
is not difficult or tiring, until we leave the ridge and descend to
the right towards the valleys: then it is steep, slippery, and very
fatiguing, and this continues for several miles, until we have lowered
the level nearly four thousand feet. The path, in fact, is as vile as
path can be.

By the time I reached the hut where I had left Mr. Low, I felt
completely exhausted; but a little rest, a glass of brandy-and-water,
and a bathe in the dashing torrent that foamed among the rocks at our
feet, thoroughly restored me. The water here felt pleasant after the
bitter cold of that near the cave. My companion had employed his time
collecting plants, though his feet were not at all better.

Next morning we manufactured a kind of litter, on which Mr. Low was to
be carried, and then started along a path that skirted the banks of the
Kalupis, that flows beneath the village, and is, in fact, the source of
the Tampasuk. We passed through several fields of tobacco, as well as
of yams and kiladis; the first is carefully cultivated, and not a weed
was to be observed among the plants. Leaving the water, we pushed up
the steep bank to the lower houses of the village, and made our way on
to Lemoung’s, to reach it just as a drenching shower came on.

Here we found one of our Baju guides, who had been sent back to
construct rafts for the return voyage. I was not sorry to find that
some had been prepared, as it appeared otherwise necessary that Mr. Low
should be carried the whole way.

The villagers said they were at war even during the time we were at
their houses with a neighbouring tribe, which induces them to bear arms
wherever they may go; but the whole affair must be very trifling, as
they sleep at their farms, and we saw, totally unprotected, troops of
girls and women at work in the fields.

We thought it better to make some complaints of the dishonesty shown,
before we ascended the mountain; they were profuse in apologies, but
they had evidently enjoyed the sausage.

We spent the afternoon and evening in settling all claims against
us, and having completed that work, ordered the rest of our baggage
to be packed up ready for an early start next morning. Among the
undistributed goods was about twenty pounds weight of thick brass
wire. While I was away bathing, Lemaing coolly walked off with it; but
on my return Mr. Low informed me of what had occurred. Knowing that
if we permitted this to pass unnoticed, it would be a signal for a
general plunder, we determined to recover the wire. As Mr. Low could
not move, I went by myself in search of Lemaing, and soon heard his
voice speaking loudly in the centre of a dense crowd of the villagers.
I forced my way through, and found him seated, with the brass wire in
his hand, evidently pointing out its beauty to an admiring audience.
I am afraid I very much disconcerted him, as with one hand I tore the
prize from his grasp, and with the other put a revolver to his head,
and told him to beware of meddling with our baggage. I never saw a look
of greater astonishment; he tried to speak, but the words would not
come, and the crowd opening, I bore back the trophy to our end of the
village house.

The Bajus told us we should find the Ida’an of the plains dishonest,
while those of the hills had the contrary reputation. We lost nothing
in the plains; here we had to guard carefully against pilferers.

We noticed that as we gradually receded from the sea, the clothing of
the inhabitants became less--on the plains all the Ida’an wore trousers
and jackets; at Koung and Kiau very few, and we were assured that those
in the interior wore nothing but bark waist-cloths.

An incident occurred the evening before our departure, which showed
how the Ida’an distrust each other. Among the goods we paid to our
guides were twenty fathoms of thick brass wire; the coils were put down
before them; they talked over it for two hours, and could not settle
either the division, or who should take care of it until morning; at
length one by one all retired and left the wire before us, the last man
pushing it towards Musa, asking him to take charge of it. Not relishing
this trust, he carried it to Li Moung’s house, and placing it in the
midst of the crowd, left it, and they then quarrelled over it till
morning.

We thought last night every claim had been settled, but this morning
they commenced again, anxious to prevent any goods leaving their
village. We ourselves did not care to take back to our pinnace anything
that was not necessary to enable us to pay our way. We made liberal
offers to them if they would carry Mr. Low to the next village, but
they positively refused to assist us farther. We therefore collected
our Malays outside the place, and prepared to start; and were on the
point of doing so, when shouts in the village house attracted our
attention, and a man ran out to say that they were plundering the
baggage left in charge of the Buñgol Ida’an. As this consisted of our
clothes and cooking utensils, it was not to be borne, and I ran back
into the house, where I found a couple of hundred men surrounding our
Ida’an followers and undoing the packages; they were startled by the
sight of my rifle, and when they heard the rush caused by the advance
of Mr. Low and our Malays, they fled to the end of the house, and soon
disappeared through the opposite door. The panic seemed to cause the
greatest amusement to the girls of this house, who talked and laughed,
and patted us on the shoulders, and appeared to delight in the rapid
flight of their countrymen. None of their own relatives, however, had
joined in the affair.

Mr. Low’s rapid advance to my support surprised me; but I found that
with the assistance of a servant he had hopped the whole of the way,
revolver in hand. Our men behaved with remarkable resolution, and would
have driven off the whole village had it been necessary. One Malay got
so excited, that he commenced a war dance, and had we not instantly
interfered, would have worked himself up to run a muck among the
Ida’an. Though we wished to frighten them into honesty towards us, we
were most anxious that not the slightest wound should be given, and I
may here remark, that in none of our journeys have we ever found it
necessary to use our weapons against the inhabitants. We discovered
that showing ourselves prepared to fight, if necessary, prevented its
being ever necessary to fight.

We pushed on to Koung by a path that led below Labang Labang, Mr. Low
suffering severely from the necessity of having to walk six miles over
stony country with suppurating feet.

At Koung we vainly endeavoured to obtain a buffalo, on which Mr. Low
might ride; but the villagers showed no inclination to assist. So next
morning we pushed on through heavy rain to the village of Tambatuan,
where the Tampasuk becomes a little more fit for rafts. I was glad to
see Mr. Low safely there, and then, as the rafts would not hold us all,
I walked on with the men. The heavy rain had caused the river to swell,
and the walking and the fording were doubly difficult, but we continued
our course, and in two days reached the village of Ginambur, and
joining Mr. Low on the raft, pursued our journey to the Datu’s house.

Next day to the Abai; but contrary winds prevented our reaching Labuan
for five days.

We were not quite satisfied with the results of this expedition,
and determined to start again, but choosing another route, the same
followed by Mr. Low in 1851.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                      SECOND ASCENT OF KINA BALU.

   Cholera in Brunei--Start from Labuan--Coal Seams--View of
   Tanjong Kubong--Method of working the Coal--Red Land--Method
   of cultivating Pepper--Wild Cattle--The Pinnace--Kimanis
   Bay--Inland Passage--Kimanis River--Cassia--Trade in it
   stopped--Smooth River--My first View of Kina Balu--Story
   of the Death of Pangeran Usup--Anchor--Papar--A
   Squall--Reach Gaya Bay--Noble Harbour--Pangeran Madoud--My
   first Visits to him--Method of making Salt--Village of
   Menggatal--Ida’an--His Fear of them--Roman Catholic
   Mission--Cholera--Mengkabong--Manilla Captives--The Salt-water
   Lake--Head-quarters of the Bajus--Their Enterprise--Find
   Stranded Vessels--Tripod Masts--Balignini Pirates--Their
   Haunts--Spanish Attack--Great Slaughter--Savage-looking
   Men--Great Tree--Unreasoning Retaliation--Energy of M.
   Cuarteron--Lawlessness of the Bajus--Pangeran Duroup,
   the Governor--Anecdote of a drifting Canoe--Inhospitable
   Custom--Origin of the Bajus--Welcome by Pangeran
   Sirail--Love of Whiskey overcomes Prejudice--Night
   Weeping--A Market--The Datu of Tamparuli--The Pangeran’s
   Enthusiasm--Path to the Tawaran--Fine Scene--Fruit
   Groves--Neat Gardens--The Tawaran--Sacred Jars--The Talking
   Jar--Attempted Explanation--Efficacy of the Water--Carletti’s
   Account--Fabulous Value--The Loveliest Girl in Borneo--No
   Rice--Advance to Bawang--Our Guides--Steep Hill--Extensive
   View--Si Nilau--Unceremonious Entry into a House--The
   Nilau Tribe--Kalawat Village--Tiring Walk--Desertion of a
   Negro--Numerous Villages--Bungol Village Large--Deceived
   by the Guide--Fatiguing Walk--Koung Village--Black
   Mail--Explanation--Friendly Relations established--Labang
   Labang Village--Change of Treatment--Kiau Village--Warm
   Reception--Houses--No Rice--Confidence.


In June, 1858, the cholera which had been slowly advancing towards us
from the south, suddenly burst upon Brunei with extreme violence,
and laid the city in mourning. From day to day the deaths increased
in number; every house flew white streamers, which showed cholera was
there present; pious processions paraded the town, the mosques were
crowded, all merriment at an end, though religious chants were heard
from every boat; there was fear, but no panic, and the sick were cared
for by their relations. The deaths were awfully sudden, one of my
servants at work at five, was dead by eleven. My house was crowded by
anxious parents seeking medicine, which was soon all distributed, and
no one thought of business, attention being only given to this fearful
scourge.

Mr. Low and I had determined to make another attempt to ascend Kina
Balu in August, but fearing that if the cholera spread along the coast
before we reached our point of debarkation, the Dusuns and Ida’an might
prevent our passing through their villages, we resolved to anticipate
the appointed time, and sailed from Labuan early in July, and in a few
hours passed Tanjong Kubong, near the northern point of the island,
where the best coal seams are situated. The view from the sea is very
picturesque: two hills, grass-covered, with the dark outlines of the
forest in the rear, and a valley between, sloping upwards, showing,
at one glance, the works of the coal company. On a bold rocky bluff
is the manager’s house, overlooking the open sea, with a clear view
of the great mountain. It is to be regretted that there is no good
anchorage in the north-east monsoon off this point, as it necessitates
a railway of seven miles being carried through the island to the
splendid harbour of Victoria. However, should this work be undertaken,
it is very possible it may be the means of opening out the other veins
which are known to exist in the centre of the island. The coal seams
of Tanjong Kubong are perhaps as fine as any in the world; and it is
probable that the failures in developing them have arisen from applying
the same means of working the mine as are used in England, forgetting
that the fall of rain is four times as great. Labuan ought to supply
all the farther East with coal, and may yet do so, under judicious
management.

Passing on, we steered clear of the Pine shoals, and directed our
course to Pulo Tiga, an island so called from the three undulating
hills that form its surface. It is quite uninhabited, except
occasionally by a few fishermen or traders, seeking water there. On
its broad sandy beaches turtle are said to congregate, and here we
have picked up some very pretty shells, particularly olives. The coast
between Labuan and Nosong point, at the entrance of Kimanis Bay,
consists of low hills only partly cleared. At one place there are some
bluff, red-looking points called Tanah Merah, or Red Land, and near it
are many villages of Bisayas, who are engaged in planting pepper. Their
gardens are said to be very neatly kept, and the system, which has
descended to them from the former Chinese cultivators, is far superior
to that pursued in Sumatra. There the Malays allow the vines to twine
round the quick-growing Chingkariang tree, whose roots must necessarily
absorb much of the nourishment; but here they plant them in open
ground, and train them up iron-wood posts, thus preserving to them all
the benefit of the manure they may apply to enrich the soil. Although
the Bisayas are not careful cultivators, yet they prepare heaps of
burnt earth and decaying weeds to place round the stems of the vines
before they commence flowering.

Along this beach, herds of wild cattle are often seen wandering,
particularly on bright moonlight nights, in search, most probably, of
salt, which they are so fond of licking. All the natives declare that
the species found here is smaller than those monsters I saw up the
Limbang and Baram. It is very likely there may be two kinds.

A pleasant S.W. breeze carried us rapidly along this coast. Our craft,
though not famous for its sailing qualities, ran well before the wind.
It was a small yacht, belonging to the Eastern Archipelago Company, the
same which we used when we went to Abai in the spring. Dr. Coulthard
had put himself to some inconvenience in lending it to us, as he was
obliged to content himself with a native-built boat of mine, that was
called by the ominous name of the “Coffin,” and on one occasion nearly
proved to be one to the obliging doctor. I myself had great faith in
that boat, as it had taken me safely through many a hard blow.

Rounding Nosong Point, we crossed the broad Bay of Kimanis, which here
runs deep into the land, and receives the waters of numerous rivers.
Just round the point is Qualla Lama, or the Old Mouth: entering this,
a large boat can pass through an inner channel, and reach the mouth of
the Kalias, opposite Labuan. It is often used by the Malays to avoid
the heavy sea, which, during the height of the south-west monsoon,
breaks upon this coast. The shores of Kimanis Bay are rather low,
yet have an interesting appearance, from the variety of tints to be
observed among the vegetation.

There runs into this bay a pretty little river of the same
name--Kimanis, from _kayu manis_, “sweetwood.” Its forests are
famous for the large amount of cassia bark which used to be collected
there, but which has now all been exhausted near the banks by the
continued requisitions from the capital. This district is the appanage
of one of the sons of the late Sultan, the Pañgeran Tumanggong, and
he used every year to send up several trading prahus to be loaded
with cassia,--paying to the aborigines tenpence for every 133 lbs.,
and selling the same amount for nine shillings. As long as the bark
could be easily obtained from the trees near the banks of the river,
the people were content to work for the low price; but as soon as it
required a long walk from their villages, the Muruts declared the
whole forest was exhausted. I am assured, however, by trustworthy men,
that ship-loads might be obtained, if the aborigines were offered fair
prices; but the noble and his followers do their utmost to preserve a
strict monopoly. And this is the case in most of the districts near the
capital. Though they cannot themselves obtain much from the people,
they have still sufficient influence to paralyze trade.

Kimanis, like most of the other rivers north of Labuan, is obstructed
by a bar; in fact, though I could see its mouth from my boat, yet I
could not find the channel, till a Malay canoe led the way by coasting
south about three hundred yards: then, pulling straight for the shore
over the boiling surf, we soon found ourselves in the smooth river. The
scenery, though not grand, is very lovely, and consists generally of
the variety to be observed in the groves of cocoa-nuts and fruit-trees
which line its banks, and the cultivated fields stretching inland. I
always remember my visit to Kimanis with pleasure, as it was on turning
a wooded point I had my first view of Kina Balu. A straight reach of
the river stretched before us, overshadowed on either side by lofty
trees, and the centre of the picture was the precipices and summit of
the massive mountain.

On the left-hand bank is the grave of Pañgeran Usup, who, flying
from the capital, met his death, under orders from the Government,
at the hand of the chief of this river. I have heard the story told
several ways, but the one the Orang Kaya relates himself is a curious
illustration of Bornean manners. The Pañgeran, flying from his enemies
in the capital, came to Kimanis, which was one of his appanages, and
asked its local chief whether he would protect him. The Orang Kaya
protested his loyalty, but, a few days after, receiving an order from
the Government to seize and put his guest to death, he made up his
mind to execute it. He imparted the secret to three of his relations,
whom he instructed to assist him. Pañgeran Usup was a dangerous man
with whom to meddle, as he was accompanied by a devoted brother, who
kept watch over him as he slept or bathed, and who received the same
kind offices when he desired to rest. For days the Orang Kaya watched
an opportunity--tending on his liege lord, holding his clothes while
he bathed, bringing his food, but never able to surprise him, as he
or his brother were always watching with a drawn kris in his hand.
The three relations sat continually on the mats near, in the most
respectful attitude. The patience of the Malay would have carried him
through a more difficult trial than this, as I think it was on the
tenth day Pañgeran Usup, while standing on the wharf, watching his
brother bathe, called for a light. The Orang Kaya brought a large piece
of firewood with very little burning charcoal on it, and the noble in
vain endeavoured to light his cigar. At last, in his impatience, he put
down his kris, and took the wood in his own hand. A fatal mistake! The
treacherous friend immediately threw his arms round the Pañgeran, and
the three watchers, springing up, soon secured the unarmed brother.
Usup was immediately taken to the back of the house, and executed and
buried on the hill, where his grave was pointed out to me.

We continued our voyage along the coast till about four in the
afternoon, when heavy clouds rising in the south-west warned us that a
squall was coming up. We, therefore, resolved to take shelter under the
little islet of Dinaman, to the north of the Papar River. At first, we
thought of running in there, as I had not yet seen this district, so
famous for the extent and beauty of its cocoa-nut groves, and for the
numerous population which had rendered the river’s banks a succession
of gardens.

Our anchorage sheltered us tolerably well from the storm which now
burst over us, but we rolled heavily as the swell of the sea came in.
Drenching rain and furious blasts generally pass away quickly, as they
did that evening, and left us to enjoy the quiet, starlight night.

We always endeavour to start on an expedition a few days before full
moon, having a theory that the weather is more likely to be fine then,
than during the days which immediately follow a new moon.

Next morning we set sail for Gaya Bay, and in a few hours a light
breeze carried us over a rippling sea to the deep entrance of this
spacious harbour, in which all the navy of England could, in both
monsoons, ride in safety. It is formed by numerous islands and an
extended headland, which make it appear almost land-locked. The harbour
is surrounded by low hills, some cleared at the top, presenting pretty
green patches, others varied with bright tints, caused by exposed red
sandstone; the rest covered with low thick jungle.

When I last visited this place, Pañgeran Madoud lived up the Kabatuan
river, which flows into the bay, but had now removed to the shore, and
established there a village called Gantisan. I had twice visited this
Malay chief, and on both occasions had disagreeable news to impart to
him, as I had to remonstrate against his system of taking goods from
English traders and forgetting to pay them when the price became due.
The banks of the Kabatuan, except near the entrance, were entirely
of mangrove-swamp, until we arrived within a short distance of the
scattered village of Menggatal, but from our boat we could see the
sloping hills that rose almost immediately behind the belt of mangrove.

The first buildings we saw were those in which the natives were making
salt. I have already described the process pursued in the Abai,
but here it was somewhat different, as they burnt the roots of the
mangrove with those of the nipa palm, as well as wood collected on the
sea-beach, and therefore impregnated with salt. In one place, I noticed
a heap, perhaps fifteen feet in height, sheltered by a rough covering
of palm-leaves, and several men were about checking all attempts of the
flames to burst through by throwing salt-water over the pile. This,
doubtless, renders the process much more productive. In one very large
shed, they had a kind of rough furnace, where they burnt the wood; and
suspended around were many baskets in which the rough remains of the
fire are placed, and the whole then soaked in water and stirred about
till the salt is supposed to have been extracted from the charcoal
and ashes. The liquid is then boiled, as at Abai, in large iron pans
purchased from the Chinese.

The village of Menggatal contained about a hundred houses scattered
among the trees, and in the centre was the residence of Pañgeran
Madoud, tolerably well built of thick posts and plank walls. We found
chairs and tables had already penetrated to this secluded spot, and
the Pañgeran was not a little proud of being able to receive us in
European fashion. He was at the period of our first visit about forty,
tall, and with rather a pleasant, quiet countenance; but having little
strength of character, was willing to enter into intercourse with the
pirates, if by so doing he could gain anything. He had, in fact, just
purchased from them a trading prahu, which they had captured north of
Labuan, after having killed two of the Bornean crew, who were his own
countrymen. Like all the other chiefs, he attempts to monopolize the
trade of his district, and thus reduces it to a minimum.

While we were conversing, there came in a party of the Ida’an, whose
young chief had a very intelligent countenance, broad-shouldered, with
his waist drawn in as tightly as he could; over his breast he wore
strings of cowrie shells, and round his loins neatly-worked rattan
rings, and on his neck a brass collar open at the side, enabling him
to take it off with ease. Their baskets were filled with hill tobacco
for the Pañgeran, who is said subsequently to have so oppressed the
neighbouring villages of Ida’an, that they threatened to attack him,
and being rather timid, he retired before the storm. Building their
houses at Gantisan on freshly cleared jungle, the Malays suffered
severely from fever; the whole population is said to have been
attacked, of whom many died.

We found anchored at Lokporin, in the north-west part of the bay, a
Spanish brig, belonging to Monsieur Cuarteron, the Prefect Apostolic
of the newly-arrived Roman Catholic mission. He had built a hut and a
chapel of palm stems and leaves, as a commencement of what he hoped
would be a prosperous mission; but he had his attention too much
directed to temporal, to take proper care of spiritual affairs.[16]

We paid a visit to the Chief Pañgeran Madoud and settled to leave our
pinnace under his care, and start next morning, as the cholera had
already invaded this place, and eight deaths were reported.

Having distributed our luggage among our followers, we landed and
walked over to the waters of the Mengkabong, a low ridge only
separating them; from it we had a good view of this extensive salt
lake, filled with islands, and on the inland side bordered by hills.
At the landing-place we met the nominal ruler of Mengkabong, Pañgeran
Duroup, who had kindly provided canoes to take us to the point where
our walking journey would commence. We stopped to breakfast at his
house, and Monsieur Cuarteron, who was with us, pointed out an
intelligent lad, the son of Duroup, whom he intended to raise to power
over the surrounding countries, and be himself the boy’s Prime Minister.

A Spaniard has many temptations to intrigue in these districts, as
there are here numerous inhabitants of the Philippines, originally
captured by the Lanun and Balignini pirates, and sold into slavery.
They have married and intermarried with the inhabitants, and forming
a part of the regular population, are most unwilling to leave the
country. Some have risen to respectable positions, and nearly all have
turned Mahomedans. Still they have a respect and a fear of the Spanish
priests, and are much open to their secular influence, though very few
will re-enter the Roman Church. As might be expected, the priest’s
political intrigues did no good, but, instead, diffused suspicion and
dislike among the natives.

We started again after breakfast, and passed the entrance from the
sea, through the chief town, and by the numerous villages scattered
about. Nearly all the houses are built on the water. We estimated the
population at above 6,000. A glance at the accompanying map will
explain the kind of place Mengkabong is, but I may observe that this
salt-water creek or lake is very shallow, in many places dry, or but a
few inches deep at dead low-water, so that it must be rapidly filling
up, and all the plains skirting the sea had probably a similar origin.
To the south and south-east it is surrounded by hills, none of which
exceeds eight hundred feet in height.

Mengkabong is the head-quarters of the Bajus on the north-western coast
of Borneo; and being the only population to be found in the villages
scattered over the lake, they are more tempted to pursue their old
habits than those of the northern rivers, who have the Lanuns between
them and the sea. They are bold seamen, and will venture anywhere in
search of wealth. When the _Fiery Cross_ was wrecked on a shoal
far out in the China Seas, the captain and crew made for Labuan. The
news soon spread along the coast that a ship with a valuable cargo
was on shore, and a small squadron of native prahus was immediately
fitted out at Mengkabong to look for her. They boldly put forth to
sea, visiting all the reefs with which they were acquainted, and even
pushing their researches so far as to sight the coast of Cochin China,
known to the Malays under the name of Annam. Their exertions were for
them unfortunately unavailing; but they often pick up a prize, as when
a Bombay cotton ship was wrecked at Meñgalong; and during the last
China war, they found a large French vessel deserted on a reef to the
north of Borneo, but which, to their infinite disgust, proved to have
only a cargo of coals. The Baju prahus may generally be known by their
tripod masts, which consist of three tall bamboos, the two foremost
fitted on a cross beam, the last loose; so that when a heavy squall
threatens, they can immediately strike their masts. Their sails are not
handsome; for being stuck out on one side, they look ungainly.

I have mentioned, in my account of our first expedition to Kina Balu,
the Baju attack on a village in Banguey; they themselves often suffer
from the fleets of Balignini pirates, who return home from their
cruises in Dutch waters along the north-west coast of Borneo, and pick
up the fishermen they find at sea. During the last few years they have
seldom appeared off the coast more than once during a season, and then
only touching at Sirik Point, and afterwards giving our colony of
Labuan a wide berth, to fetch the coast again about Pulo Tiga.

The Balignini used to be the terror of the Indian isles, but their
pursuits have been interfered with and their gains much curtailed since
the introduction of steamers into the Archipelago. The Spaniards, with
heavy loss to themselves, drove them from their haunts on the islands
of Tongkil and Balignini in the Sulu Archipelago, since which time
they have never again assembled in positions so strong. These two
small islands are low, surrounded with mangrove swamps, and appear
very similar to the eighteen others we could count at the same time
from the deck of a ship. But behind the swamps were erected formidable
stockades, and the garrison made a stubborn defence, although most of
their fighting men were away.

I heard a Spanish officer who was present give an account of the
attack: three times the native troops charged, and three times they
were driven back, till the Spanish officers and artillerymen put
themselves in a body at the head of the force, and led the storming
party, and, with severe loss, won the inner stockade. One of my Manilla
followers on our present expedition was a captive at the time, and
had concealed himself among the mangrove trees till the fighting was
over. He said it was a fearful sight to see the slaughter which had
occurred--one hundred and fifty of the Spanish force fell, and many
more of the pirates, as they had commenced killing their women and
children, till promised quarter.

I never saw a more savage set of fellows than those who escaped from
this attack. The Sultan of Sulu had given them an asylum, and they
were quartered near the spot at which ships usually water. It is about
a mile from the capital, Sugh; is on the beach; and the clear spring
bubbles up through the sand, where a pool is easily formed, at which
the casks are filled, or whence the hose is led into the boats. The
place is well marked by a tree, that, in the distance, looks like an
oak: its trunk is of enormous thickness, but low, as the spreading
branches stretch out from the stem about ten feet from the ground, but
afford shelter to a considerable space, and under its shade a market is
held several times a week. I measured its stem: it was above forty feet
in circumference at a man’s height above the ground, and considerably
more close to the earth, where the gnarled roots were included.

The Bajus of Mengkabong are, as I have said, a very lawless people,
and the following anecdote, told me by Signor Cuarteron, will assist
to prove it. He was anchored opposite his chapel in Lokporin, when he
heard that there was fighting in Mengkabong, and, on inquiry, found
that a boat, returning from Labuan to Cagayan Sulu, had put into that
place for water, and was being attacked by the Bajus. He instantly
manned his boats and pulled round to the salt-water lake. On arriving
near the first village, he saw several hundred men assembled in prahus,
round a detached house, near which a trading-boat was fastened, and
guns were occasionally discharged. He inquired the reason, and the
Bajus declared they were going to revenge the death or captivity of
some of their countrymen who had disappeared a few months before, and
whom, they had heard, people from Cagayan Sulu had attacked. It was
immaterial to them whether these were the guilty parties or not, if
they came from the same country. Signor Cuarteron then pulled up to the
detached house, to find from its beleaguered inmates who they were.
He soon discovered they were peaceful traders, not concerned in the
outrage of the spring; upon which, by dint of threats and persuasion,
he was enabled to rescue them from the Bajus, and escort them to the
mouth of the Mengkabong--a very creditable action of the priest.
The lawlessness of the Bajus is notorious, and they are now seldom
employed, since the murder of some Chinese traders, who trusted them to
form the crew of their boat.

Pañgeran Duroup, the nominal ruler of this place, always kept aloof
from these things, as the Bajus despised any order he gave; in fact,
their open defiance of his authority had induced him to remove from the
town to a little island nearly facing the mouth, whose low land was
formed of mud on a bed of water-worn pebbles.

A very barbarous custom exists on this coast--that wrecks and their
crews belong to the chief of the district where they may suffer their
misfortune. The Bajus used to give us much trouble on this account,
though they would now assist the distressed, if they belonged to an
English vessel, as they are well aware of our power to reward or punish.

As an instance of the above practice, I may relate an incident which
took place whilst I was in Brunei. A large prahu sailing from Palawan
to the Spanish settlement of Balabak was caught in a violent storm, and
the captain noticed that his canoe, which, according to custom, he was
towing behind, was rapidly filling with water; he therefore anchored,
and ordered three men to get into and bail it out. The storm continued,
and driving rain and mist rendered every object indistinct, when
suddenly the towing rope parted, and the canoe drifted away. The three
men, having no paddles, soon lost sight of their prahu, and continued
driving before the wind.

The north-east monsoon was blowing, and the current sets down the
coast, and, after a few days, this canoe was seen drifting towards the
shore at Tutong, at least 150 miles from the spot where it had parted
with its companion. The fishermen put off, and, on reaching the boat,
found the three men lying in it, utterly exhausted from want of food
and water, and from the daily and nightly exposure. They were sent on
to the capital, and in a short time recovered, when they found they
were considered as slaves of the Sultan.

In this emergency they came privately to my house and laid their
case before me: so, in the evening, I went to the Sultan to hear
the wonderful story from his own lips; and, when he had concluded,
I congratulated him on the excellent opportunity he had of renewing
friendly relations with the people of Palawan, by sending these men
back in a prahu which was to sail for Maludu the following day. He
hesitated at first, but after a little persuasion agreed to do so, and
I had the satisfaction of seeing them safely out of the river. The
Sultan did not regret sending them away; but he had been so accustomed
to consider he had a right to these godsends, that he would certainly
have kept them, had he not been asked to let them go.

I have noticed, in my account of our first expedition to Kina Balu,
how mixed in breed were many of the Bajus with whom we conversed; but,
although there is occasionally some Chinese blood found among them, yet
it has rarely left a trace on their features. They appear to me to be
very much like the Orang Laut, who frequent the small islands to the
south of Singapore and about the Malay peninsula; they are generally,
however, smaller, and their voices have a sharper intonation than that
of the Malays.

I think, however, that the bold spirit shown by these men, their love
of the seas, and their courage, might be turned to good account under a
steady Government.

Leaving the lake we pushed up a narrow creek to a house inhabited by
Pañgeran Sirail, who politely requested us to spend the night at it,
adding that in the morning a bazaar would be held close at hand, at
which we should meet all the Dusuns of the Tawaran river; among others
the Datu of the village of Tamparuli, the chief who escorted Mr. Low in
his journey undertaken in 1851. We were happy to accede to his request,
and finding his house very comfortable, took up our quarters in a
charming little audience hall or smoking-room which extended in front,
and was neat and clean.

Our baggage being heavy, we hired some Bajus to assist our men, and
then lighting our lamps, sat down to dinner. Our host, while declaring
that his religion prevented him joining in a glass of whiskey and
water, was suddenly seized with such severe spasms in the stomach as to
require medicine; we unsmilingly administered a glass of warm whiskey
and water, which our host drank with evident gusto, but it required a
second to complete the cure. As the evening advanced, and his utterance
became more indistinct, he kept assuring us that a Mahomedan should
never drink, except when spirits were taken as medicine.

We were sorry to find that the cholera had already reached Mengkabong,
and that several deaths had taken place. In the night we were disturbed
by piercing shrieks and mournful wails from a neighbouring house; we
thought it was another victim of the epidemic, but it proved to be a
young girl sorrowing for the loss of a sister, who died in the night
from abscess.

Early in the morning the market-people began to assemble, and Bajus
and Dusuns crowded round the house; the former brought salt, salted
fish, iron, and cloth, to exchange for rice, vegetables, and fruit.
These markets are very convenient, and, as at Brunei, are held daily
at different points, in order to accommodate the various villages
scattered around the lake. To-day there was a very great gathering, as
many disputes had to be settled.

The old Datu of Tamparuli came, and at first appeared uninterested
and scarcely noticed us, his eye-sight was weak, and he appeared dull
and stupid. A glass of whiskey and water revived his energies and his
recollection, he shook Mr. Low warmly by the hand, and then turning to
the assembly told them in an excited voice of the wonderful feats he
had performed in the old journey, and how he had actually reached the
summit of Kina Balu.

This fired the ambition of Pañgeran Sirail, who, as long as he was
under the influence of whiskey, declared it would be dishonour to
allow the white men to do this difficult task alone, and pointing to
the craggy summits now clearly visible above the trees, swore he would
reach them, but his courage soon oozed out at his fingers’ ends. The
Datu, however, considered himself as too old again to attempt the
journey, but said he would send his son-in-law and a party of followers.

When the market was over we started, most of our baggage being placed
on light bamboo sledges drawn by buffaloes, which appeared to pass over
the soft soil with great ease. The path, nearly due east, lay over a
pretty plain for the most part under cultivation; men were ploughing,
harrowing, and sowing in various fields, that were carefully divided
into small squares with slight embankments between them. The ploughing
was better than at Tampasuk, deeper, and the ground more turned over;
each section of these fields is as much private property as any in
England, and in general so much valued as to be rarely parted with.

In crossing this cultivated plain we had the finest view of Kina Balu
that could be imagined, it was just before we reached the Tawaran
river; we were standing where the young rice was showing its tender
green above the ground: on either side were groves of tall palms, and
in front, the hills rose in successive ranges till Kina Balu crowned
the whole. Its purple precipices were distinctly visible, and broad
streams of water, flashing in the bright morning sun, were flowing down
the upper slopes to disappear in mist or deep ravines, or to be lost in
the shadows of the great mountain.

About three miles walking brought us to the Tawaran, whose banks were
lined with groves of cocoa-nut and other fruit-trees; interspersed
among which were Dusun villages and detached houses. We observed also
a plantation of sago palms, which the inhabitants said were plentiful,
but certainly not in the parts we had traversed.

There were also gardens here as neatly fenced in and as carefully
tended as those of the Chinese; and this rich soil produced in
great perfection sugar-cane, Indian corn, yams, kiladis, and other
vegetables. The whole had a very civilized appearance, the neatness was
remarkable, and about the houses were cattle, buffaloes, and goats, in
great numbers. On reaching the Tawaran, Monsieur Cuarteron left us to
visit a Manilla man, who, though formerly a captive sold into slavery,
had now become the chief of a Dusun village.

We continued our course inland along the banks of the Tawaran until
we reached Tamparuli, prettily embowered in extensive groves of
fruit-trees: we took up our quarters for the night at the old Datu’s
house, which was very similar to those of the Sea Dayaks.

The Tawaran, where we first joined it, was about sixty yards broad, and
the stream was rapid, swollen by the late rains, and muddy from recent
landslips. It is a river very unimportant in itself, as here, not
perhaps ten miles from the sea, there are already rapids that can only
be passed by very small native craft.

The old Datu of Tamparuli is the proud possessor of the famed sacred
jar I have already referred to. It was a Gusi, and was originally given
by a Malau chief in the interior of the Kapuas to a Pakatan Dayak,
converted, however, to Islam, and named Japar. He sold it to a Bornean
trader for nearly two tons of brass guns, or 230_l._, who brought
it to the Tawaran to resell it, nominally for 400_l._, really
for nearly 700_l._ No money passes on these occasions, it is all
reckoned in brass guns or goods, and the old Datu was paying for his in
rice. He possesses another jar, however, to which he attaches an almost
fabulous value; it is about two feet in height, and is of a dark olive
green. He fills both the jars with water, and adds flowers and herbs
to retail to all the surrounding people who may be suffering from any
illness. The night we were there they little thought that a scourge
was coming upon them which would test to the utmost the virtue of the
sacred jars.

Perhaps, however, the most remarkable jar in Borneo, is the one
possessed by the present Sultan of Brunei, as it not only has all
the valuable properties of the other sacred vases, but speaks. As the
Sultan told this with a grave face and evident belief in the truth of
what he was relating, we listened to the story with great interest. He
said, the night before his first wife died, it moaned sorrowfully, and
on every occasion of impending misfortune it utters the same melancholy
sounds. I have sufficient faith in his word to endeavour to seek an
explanation of this (if true) remarkable phenomenon, and perhaps it
may arise from the wind blowing over its mouth, which may be of some
peculiar shape, and cause sounds like those of an Æolian harp. I should
have asked to see it, had it not been always kept in the women’s
apartments.

As a rule, it is covered over with gold-embroidered brocade, and seldom
exposed, except when about to be consulted. This may account for its
only producing sounds at certain times. I have heard, that in former
days, the Muruts and Bisayas used to come with presents to the Sultan,
and obtain in return a little water from this sacred jar, with which
to besprinkle their fields to ensure good crops. I have not known an
instance of their doing so during late years, as the relations between
monarch and people are now of the most unsatisfactory kind.

In looking over Carletti’s _Voyage_, I find he mentions taking
some sacred jars from the Philippine Islands to Japan, which were so
prized there, that the punishment of death was denounced against them
if they were sold to any one but the Government. Some, he says, were
valued as high as 30,000_l._ The Sultan of Brunei was asked if he
would take 2,000_l._ for his; he answered he did not think any
offer in the world would tempt him to part with it.

The Datu possessed a daughter, the loveliest girl in Borneo. I have
never seen a native surpass her in figure, or equal her gentle,
expressive countenance. She appeared but sixteen years of age, and as
she stood near, leaning against the door-post in the most graceful
attitude, we had a perfect view of all her perfections. Her dress was
slight indeed, consisting of nothing but a short petticoat reaching
from her waist to a little above her knees. Her skin was of that light
clear brown which is almost the perfection of colour in a sunny clime,
and as she was just returning from bathing, her hair unbound fell in
great luxuriance over her shoulders. Her eyes were black, not flashing,
but rather contemplative, and her features were regular, even her nose
was straight.

So intent was she in watching our movements, and wondering at our
novel mode of eating, with spoons, and knives and forks, that she
unconsciously remained in her graceful attitude for some time;
but suddenly recollecting that she was not appearing to the best
advantage in her light costume, she moved away slowly to her room, and
presently came forth dressed in a silk jacket and new petticoat, with
bead necklaces and gold ornaments. In our eyes she did not look so
interesting as before.

Pañgeran Sirail now approached us to say that he felt he was too old
and weak to ascend the great mountain, but had brought three of his
people to supply his place. We were not sorry, as his devotion to
whiskey would have sadly reduced our little stock. Although it was but
three months after the harvest, yet we could obtain no supplies of
rice; they had it in the form of padi, but were unwilling to part with
it, so we sent back some of our followers to procure sufficient for a
few days.

Next morning we made but little progress, as we had to wait for the
men who had gone in search of rice. However, we reached the village of
Bawang, our path lying among the fruit groves that skirted the river’s
banks. As it was now unfordable, we had to cross it by a boat, and this
was a slow process with our large party.

Bawang, a Dusun village, consists of scattered dwellings, like those
of the Malays, while the others we have seen resemble the houses of
the Sea Dayaks. A family very hospitably received us, and gave up half
their accommodation to us and our immediate followers. The Datu who had
accompanied us to this place now returned, handing us over to Kadum,
his son-in-law, a very dull-looking man; we were also joined by ten
others. One, a Malay named Omar, who was to act as interpreter and
guide, was a willing but a stupid fellow; he came originally from the
Dutch settlement of Pontianak, and had been married five years to a
Dusun girl, yet he could scarcely manage to act as interpreter, not so
much from ignorance, as from a confusion of ideas.

Started soon after six for a cleared spot about a quarter of a mile
above the village, where we stopped to introduce some order in our
followers: we divided the packages among them, and found each of the
forty-one men had sufficient to carry.

About two or three miles above Bawang the Tawaran divides--one branch
running from the south, the other from the S.E. by E. We soon reached
the foot of the sandstone range, which bounds the low land, and like
all heights composed of this rock, it was very steep to climb. For a
thousand feet it was abrupt, and severe work to those unused to such
toil. The path then led us along the top of the ridge to a peak about
1,500 feet high, from which I was enabled to take compass bearings.
A fine view was to be had a few feet from the summit, the coast line
being quite clear from Gaya Bay to Sulaman Lake, and the distant isles
scattered on the sea were distinctly visible. A wide plain stretches
below us, mostly rice fields, with groves of fruit-trees interspersed
among them, and the Mengkabong waters appearing extensive, form a
pleasing feature in the scene.

We continued our course to the village of Si Nilau, passing over a
hill of a similar name, about 1,800 feet high. The village, if village
it can be called, where a number of little detached hamlets are
scattered about the slopes of the hills, amid groves of palms, is a
good resting-place. We brought up here to give time for our followers
to join us, as they felt the climbing more than we did, who carried
nothing but our weapons. We were three hours, exclusive of stoppages,
advancing four miles of direct course E. by S. Most of the ranges run
nearly E. and W., though occasionally there is some divergence.

After breakfasting, we started, hoping to reach the next village of
Kalawat, but our guide making a mistake, led us in a totally wrong
direction, so that after wandering about two hours in a scorching sun
without shelter, we returned to Si Nilau.

Heavy masses of clouds were now driving over the sky, threatening a
deluge of rain, so we determined to spend the night here, and told
our guide that we would distribute our men among the houses. Omar
presently returned, saying the villagers refused us entrance into their
dwellings. As now heavy drops began to fall, I went down from the fruit
grove, where our party was assembled, and approaching a house which
appeared the neatest and the cleanest, I found the door shut. There
were evidently people inside, while all the other houses were empty. It
is an universal custom in Borneo to afford shelter to travellers, but
they very rarely like to enter houses whose owners are absent. Hearing
some whispering going on inside, I knocked and directed the interpreter
to ask for shelter; there was no answer, and as the heavy drops were
coming down faster, I gave a vigorous push to the door. The fastening
gave way, and an old woman fell back among a crowd of frightened girls,
who, at the sight of a white man, shrieked and sprang to the ground
through an opposite window. They did not run far, but turned to look
if they were followed. We went to the window, and, smilingly beckoned
them to come back, and as the rain was now beginning to descend with
violence, they did so. We apologized for our rough entry, but the high
wind that drove sheets of water against the house was our best excuse.
We promised to pay for our accommodation, and in five minutes they were
all busily engaged in their usual avocations. On the return of the men
from their farms, we told them what had occurred, at which they laughed
heartily as soon as they found we were not offended by having had the
door shut in our faces, and we then made many inquiries concerning the
lake of Kina Balu, and whether either branch of the Tawaran ran from
it; but all the Dusuns were positive that the river had its sources in
the hills, which we could see farther east. Of the lake itself they had
never heard.

The Nilau tribe is very scattered, none of the hamlets having above a
dozen small houses; but in personal appearance Mr. Low found them much
improved since he saw them in 1851. It is impossible even to guess
at the population; but judging from the cleared appearance of the
country, it must be tolerably numerous. There is little old forest,
except on the summit of the highest ridges, all the land being used in
succession. Rice, however, is the principal cultivation, there being
few kiladis, and we observed no tobacco plantations.

The girls of this village wore black cloths over their shoulders, and
brought down so as to conceal their bosoms.

Started early for Kalawat in an E. by S. direction. A sharp ascent led
us to the top of the heights of Tangkahang, from which we had a very
extensive view, reaching from Mantanani to Mengkabong. Ranges of hills,
nearly parallel to our walk, occurred on either side, with feeders of
the Tawaran at their feet. After an hour’s walk, reached the Kalawat
hills, nearly 3,000 feet high. The path passed, after a few hundred
yards, to the south of the range, perhaps 200 feet from its summit,
and after a mile turned to the S.E. Then the walk became very tiring,
up and down the steepest of ravines, with slippery clay steps or loose
stones. I was not sorry, therefore, to reach the village of Kalawat, a
cluster of about ten houses, containing upwards of eighty families.
The village was dirty and so were the houses.

We stopped here to breakfast, and to wait the arrival of our straggling
followers, and heard of the desertion of one of them. He was a negro,
of great size and power, and, in muscular development, equal to two
or three of our other men. Our overseer had chosen him to carry our
edibles, as tea, sugar, salt, and curry stuffs; but had unfortunately
trusted him also with half a bottle of whiskey. He had complained
bitterly of the exhausting nature of the walk, and no sooner were our
backs turned than he slipped into the brushwood, and devoted himself to
the bottle; he was found there by the overseer, who, after extracting
a promise that he would follow when sober, left him with all our
condiments. These very heavy muscular men have generally proved useless
in jungle work. In all our arrangements we now greatly missed Musa, my
head boatman, who had stayed behind at Brunei, to look after his family
during the cholera.

Starting again, a very trying climb took us to the top of a hill,
from which a long but easy descent led to the Tinuman, a feeder of
the Tawaran. We observed, both yesterday and to-day, many villages
scattered over the face of the country, as Tagau, Bañgau, and others.
Though there was no plain at the foot of the hills, yet many of the
slopes were easy, occasionally almost flat.

At the little stream of Tinuman, we came upon a party of Dusuns,
belonging to the village of Buñgol, who led us by a very winding path
to their houses, situated on the left-hand bank of the Tawaran. We had
scarcely reached it when rain came on, as it appears generally to do
about three o’clock in the afternoon in the neighbourhood of Kina Balu
and other lofty mountains.

Buñgol is a large village, and contained, in 1851, according to their
own account, about 120 families; but this time (1858), they appeared
uncertain how many there were. I estimated, from the length of the
different houses that there were above 160 families. It is situated on
grassy, undulating land, about fifty or sixty feet above the level of
the stream; yet the inhabitants are exposed to floods, that reach their
houses and damage the crops on the low lands.

In our first expedition up the Tampasuk, we rested at some houses
of the Buñgol Ida’an, but we could discover no more connection
between these communities of the same name than between the others.
Notwithstanding the pouring rain, we walked through the village, and
bathed in the rushing torrent that ran beneath the houses, the Tawaran
now deserves no other name.

Next morning, Omar, the guide, came to say that all the bridges of the
regular path had been washed away, and that it would be necessary to
take us by another, with which he was unacquainted. We suspected that
this announcement was merely to serve a friend who was hired as guide;
but we gave way to their assurances that the old path was impassable,
and had reason to repent it, as, instead of taking us by the direct
route, only four miles in an east direction, he led us first north,
then north-east, ending in east-north-east, and after wandering over
numerous pathless ranges, at last, after eight hours’ walking brought
us to the Tampasuk, about three miles below the village of Koung. The
dividing ranges are very much broken up, and run in all directions. A
tributary of the Tawaran, to the north of us, came within a mile of
the Tampasuk, running direct towards Sulaman, and then turning to the
eastward.

We had beautiful views to-day of the surrounding country, both towards
the sea and towards the mountains; but had scarcely reached the
Tampasuk when heavy rain came on, totally obscuring the prospect, and
although we pushed on resolutely for an hour, fording the swelling
stream and climbing the slippery banks, were at last obliged to stop at
a hut amid a field of kiladis, and give up our intention of reaching
Koung.

We thought ourselves completely exhausted, until we saw the bungling
attempts of our men to set up the tents. The Malays were very tired,
and were shivering in the drenching rain and cold wind which swept down
from the mountains, so we determined before taking off our wet clothes
to see our men comfortable. Under our directions, and with our active
assistance, the tents were soon raised, as the men, encouraged by our
example, worked with a will. But it was a fatiguing day--nine hours of
continued climbing and descending.

On the following morning we proceeded to Koung. There were few farms
in sight that day, though yesterday we saw immense clearings, some
extending over a whole hill-side, and all were working hard to increase
them.

On reaching Koung, we found the villagers assembled, and crowds
occupying the chief’s house. We had intended, if possible, to reach
the summit of Kina Balu from this village, as on the last occasion,
we were disgusted with the conduct of the Kiau people; but soon
ascertained it was not to be done, as the western spurs did not reach
above half way up the mountain side; nor was there any rice to be
procured in this village. We were also very much astonished to hear the
kind old chief asking for black-mail; it did not appear to come from
his heart, so we looked round to find who was his prompter, and, at
the first glance, discovered the ugly face of Timbañgan, a wall-eyed
man--the very chief who had tried to prevent our passing through Labang
Labang, in the spring. To give way would have been absurd, as we should
have had black-mail demanded of us at every village, and increasing in
a progressive ratio. So we called up all the interpreters and made them
carefully explain what were our motives in travelling and the objects
we had in view; that we would pay for everything we required, or for
any damage done by our followers, but not for permission to travel
through their country. We then reminded them how their great enemies,
the Lanuns of Tampasuk and Pandasan, had been defeated by the English,
and how impossible it would be for the Ida’an to fight with white
men. A revolver was then discharged through a thick plank, to show
the effect of that small instrument, and how useless a defence their
shields would prove; and I handed the chief my heavy double-barrelled
rifle to examine, that he might reflect on its great power.

The effect of the explanations and of the conical balls was immediate,
and we heard no more of black-mail; on the contrary, the most friendly
relations were established. To show what a curious people they are,
and how we appeared to have hit the hidden springs of their actions, I
may mention that we now felt the utmost confidence in them, and asked
the chief to take care of a fever-stricken servant, and of all such
portions of our baggage as we did not wish to carry on with us. He
cheerfully agreed to do all we wished, and proved most friendly and
useful. We then made presents to his wife to a greater extent than his
demand for black-mail, trying to convince them by our actions that the
better they behaved to us, the more kindly and liberally we should
behave to them.

Next morning we started for Kiau. We noticed, the previous day, that
Timbañgan had disappeared immediately after the pistol was discharged,
which was a demonstration especially intended for him, and one of our
guides told us he was about to collect his tribe to dispute our further
passage, and advised us to make a detour round his village; but, if
hostilities were intended, it was better to face them, as, by the
lower path, we might easily have been surprised at a ford or in some
deep ravine. At the foot of the hill we halted till all our force was
collected, and then marched up to the village. To our great surprise,
we found it deserted by all except Timbañgan, who offered his services
as a guide; though we knew the way as well as he did, we cheerfully
accepted his services, and well rewarded them.

We followed the same path as during our last expedition, and reached
Kiau without difficulty, to find all our old acquaintances merry-making
at a wedding. We were rather anxious about our reception, after the
lively scene that had closed our last visit, and had determined to
put ourselves in the hands of the old man, Li Moung, as we were very
dissatisfied with the conduct of Li Maing, our former guide. We entered
the almost deserted house we had formerly occupied, but were soon
surrounded by the wedding guests, who came flocking down to meet us,
and welcomed us in the most friendly and hearty manner. And these were
the very men with whom, on our last visit, we were apparently about
to exchange blows. I say apparently, because I do not believe they
ever really intended to fight. They had been accustomed to parties
of Baju traders arriving at their village, whom they could frighten
into compliance with their demands, and thought they might do the same
with us; but finding from their former experience they could not, they
did not attempt it this time, and we ourselves placed the fullest
confidence in them. The Bajus, however, now seldom visit these distant
villagers, who are thus compelled to take their own produce to the
coast, to be cajoled or plundered in their turn, which is one of the
reasons why cloth and iron are so rare among them.

Li Moung was delighted with our determination to leave all arrangements
in his hands; and Li Maing was not very much dissatisfied, as a huge
boil almost prevented him walking. We made our beds under a large
window which opened from the public room, as the only spot where fresh
air could be obtained. This house was better arranged than the ordinary
Sea Dayak ones. Instead of having the whole floor on a level with the
door, they had a long passage leading through the house: on one side
the private apartments; on the other, a raised platform on which the
lads and unmarried men slept. We found this very comfortable, as the
dogs were not permitted to wander over it.

The wedding guests were very excited, having drunk sufficient to
loosen their tongues; the men were talkative, while the women pressed
in crowds round the foot of our mats. The great difficulty was, as
usual--no rice to be had.

Next day we sent our men through the village to find if it were
possible to procure provisions, but they only obtained sufficient for
a day’s consumption. This determined us to send back to Mengkabong all
our followers but six to procure supplies. We told the Ida’an of our
resolve, and I think this proof of our confidence had a great effect
on them; in fact, we always treated them in the same way, whether we
were backed by a large force or not, and we never had to repent of our
conduct towards them.




                              CHAPTER X.

               SECOND ASCENT OF KINA BALU--_Continued_.

   Return of the Men for Rice--Readiness to assist us--New
   Kinds of Pitcher Plants--The Valley of Pinokok--Beautiful
   Nepenthes--Kina Taki--Description of the _Nepenthes
   Rajah_--Rocks Coated with Iron--Steep Strata--The
   Magnolia--Magnificent Sunset Scene--Fine Soil--Talk about
   the Lake--Change of Fashions--Effect of Example--Rapid
   Tailoring--Language the same among Ida’an, Dusun, and
   Bisaya--Reports--Start for Marei Parei--The Fop Kamá--Prepare
   Night Lodgings--Fragrant Bed--Stunted Vegetation--Appearance of
   Precipices--Dr. Hooker--Botanical Descriptions--_Nepenthes
   Rajah_--Manner of Growing--Great Size--Used as a
   Bucket--Drowned Rat--_Nepenthes Edwardsiana_--An
   Account of it--Beautiful Plants--Botanical Description of
   _Nepenthes Edwardsiana_--Extensive Prospects--Peaked
   Hill of Saduk Saduk--Noble Buttress--Situation for
   Barracks--Nourishing Food--Deep Valleys--Familiar
   Intercourse with the Villagers--Turning the Laugh--Dirty
   Faces--Looking-glasses--Their Effect--Return of our
   Followers--Start for the Mountain--Rough Cultivation--The
   Mountain Rat used as Food--Our Old Guides--Difficult
   Walking--Scarlet Rhododendron--Encamp--Double
   Sunset--_Nepenthes Lowii_--Botanical
   Description--_Nepenthes Villosa_--Botanical
   Description--Extensive View of the Interior of
   Borneo--The Lake--The Cave--Ascend to the Summit--Its
   Extent and Peculiarities--Distant Views--North-western
   Peak--Severe Storm--Injured Barometer--Useless
   Thermometers--Dangerous Descent--Accidents--Quartz in
   Crevices--Clean and Pleasant Girls--Friendly Parting--Ida’an
   Sacrifices--Return by Koung--Kalawat and Nilu--Death
   of Sahat--A Thief--Cholera-Incantations and Method of
   Treatment--Arrival at Gantisan--Fine Wharf--The Pangeran--Bad
   Weather--Heavy Squall--Little Rice to be had--Sail--Anchor
   at Gaya Island--Curious Stones--Fish--Description of a
   Magnificent Kind--Poisonous Fins--Set Sail--Awkward
   Position--Water-spout--Admiralty Charts--Names require
   Correcting--Serious Mistake--Among the Shoals--Fearful
   Squall--Falling Stars and Brilliant Meteor--Arrival at Labuan.


Kadum and the men of Tamparuli, together with the overseer and most of
our followers, started on their journey, while we amused ourselves in
collecting vocabularies, and trying to make ourselves understood by the
people. They showed a great readiness to assist us, particularly the
girls, who made us repeat sentences after them, and then burst into
loud laughter either at our pronunciation or the comical things they
had made us utter.

All the lads of the village were rejoiced at our arrival, as we
purchased the plants they brought in, particularly those with
variegated leaves, and they thus obtained brass wire and cloth. One
evening, a man, who had been visiting another village of this tribe,
produced from his basket specimens of two new kinds of nepenthes, or
pitcher-plants, which were wondrous to behold, so we determined to make
a visit to the spot where he found them.

As the man assured us it would be a very long walk, we provided
ourselves with blankets, to enable us to sleep out a night, if
necessary. We passed over a hill at the back of the village, which,
where the path crosses it, is about five hundred feet above the houses,
and is a continuation of a spur of Kina Balu. We then descended into
a ravine, and, crossing over a sub-spur, had a fine view of a valley
about three miles broad. A stream ran on either side of it, and between
was a fine space almost flat, at the lower end of which was the village
of Pinokok. Having descended and crossed two streams called Haya Haya,
which soon joined, however, into one to form the Pinokok, we traversed
the plain, and rested on the banks of the Dahombang, or Hobang Stream,
to breakfast on sweet potatoes and sardines, the worst things that can
be imagined for a morning meal. Crossing the Hobang, a steep climb led
us to the western spur, along which our path lay; here, at about 4,000
feet, Mr. Low found a beautiful white and spotted pitcher-plant, which
he considered the prettiest of the twenty-two species of nepenthes with
which he was then acquainted; the pitchers are white and covered in
the most beautiful manner with spots of an irregular form, of a rosy
pink colour. On each leaf is a row of very soft downy hairs running
along its edge, and a similar brown pubescence grows on the cups. It
is a climbing plant, and varies from fifteen to twenty feet in length.
Its leaves are about nine inches long in the blade, and have winged
petioles which are carried down the stem to the next leaf below, each
of which bears a pitcher on a prolonged petiole about fifteen inches in
length.

  [Illustration:

    Day & Son, Lith. to the Queen

  NEPENTHES RAJAH. _Hook fil._

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o., 65. Cornhill, London.]

We continued our walk along the ridge until we had reached an elevation
of 4,500 feet, when the path descended to the pleasant stream, or
rather torrent, of Kina Taki, in which greenstone was the principal
rock. All the rivulets we have passed to-day fall into the Dahombang,
which continues its course until, winding round the bluff point of
Labang Labang, it joins the Tampasuk. Another steep climb of 800 feet
brought us to the Marei Parei spur, to the spot where the ground was
covered with the magnificent pitcher-plants, of which we had come in
search. This one has been called the _Nepenthes Rajah_, and
is a plant about four feet in length, with broad leaves stretching
on every side, having the great pitchers resting on the ground in a
circle about it. Its shape and size are remarkable. I will give the
measurement of a small one, to indicate the form: the length along the
back was nearly fourteen inches; from the base to the top of the column
in front was five inches; and its lid was a foot long by fourteen
inches broad, and of an oval shape. Its mouth was surrounded by a
plaited pile, which near the column was two inches broad, lessening
in its narrowest part to three-quarters of an inch. The plaited pile
of the mouth was also undulating in broad waves. Near the stem the
pitcher is four inches deep, so that the mouth is situated upon it in a
triangular manner. The colour of an old pitcher was a deep purple, but
that of the others is generally mauve outside, very dark indeed in the
lower part, though lighter towards the rim; the inside is of the same
colour, but has a kind of glazed and shiny appearance. The lid is mauve
in the centre, shading to green at the edges. The stems of the female
flowers we found always a foot shorter than those of the male, and the
former were far less numerous than the latter. It is indeed one of the
most astonishing productions of nature.

Mr. Low set to work enthusiastically to collect specimens, while I
tried to procure some compass bearings; but the mist kept driving
over the country, so that I had only one good opportunity. I rested
the compass on a rock, and was surprised by its pointing in a very
different direction from what the position of the sun showed it
should. On raising it in my hands, it pointed correctly. I found, on
examination, that the rock was covered with a thick coating of iron,
and all in the neighbourhood were in a similar state. To-day we reached
an elevation of 5,400 feet. The path we followed was tolerably good;
we were told that it led to the village of Sayap, a branch of the Kiau
tribe.

The sandstone near the mountain is almost perpendicular, being at an
angle of 80°: lower down the sides it lessens. It appears as if the
molten granite had been forced up through the sandstone. Along the
sides of the spurs were huge boulders of granite, left, doubtless, by
the streams ere they cut their way deeper in the earth. Mr. Low having
finished collecting, we returned, and during the walk were continually
regaled with the rich perfume of the flowers of the magnolia, but could
not find one of them, though the plant was a common shrub. After a
tiring descent, we reached the plain about five, and made preparations
to pass the night at a hut belonging to Li Moung, in the valley of
Pinokok.

We never had a finer view of Kina Balu than this evening. A white
cloud in the form of a turban, its edges richly fringed with gold,
encompassed most of the highest peaks, while the brightness of the
setting sun rendered every other portion of the mountain distinctly
visible, except those dark valleys cut deep in its sides, where the
Dahombang and the Pinokok have their rise; and even here a succession
of cascades reflected back the sun’s rays from the shadowy gloom.

  [Illustration:

    T. Picken, lith.            Day & Son, Lith^{rs} to the Queen.

  Published by Smith Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.

  KINA BALU FROM PINOKOK VALLEY]

We were standing opposite its western face, and having no high buttress
between us and the mountain, we could observe the great precipice,
which is here nearly perpendicular from the sloping summit down
to an elevation of about 5,000 feet. As we stood there admiring the
extreme beauty of the scene, a double rainbow began to appear, and
apparently arching over the mountain, formed, as it were, a bright
framework to the picture. We stayed there until the sun setting beyond
the distant hills threw the valley into shade, but left its brightness
on the craggy peaks above. Gradually the wind rose and drove the clouds
over the heavens, and the form of the mountain and the brilliant
rainbows vanished.

The land in this valley is of the richest description--far superior,
Mr. Low thought, to that used in Ceylon for coffee plantations. The hut
where we stayed the night was 3,000 feet above the level of the sea,
and the hills around about 4,000 feet.

Next morning we returned to the houses by the same path, and rested
on the summit of the hill overlooking the village. Here we sat for
some time, making inquiries about the great lake. They speak of it
as undoubtedly existing, saying we could reach it in three days. One
who had traded with the villages on its banks asserted that standing
on the beach, he could not see the opposite side. The first village
on the road is Tuhan, and the next Inserban: they all call the lake
Ranau, a corruption of the Malay Danau. We could scarcely make any
connected inquiries, on account of the indifference or stupidity of our
interpreter; but seriously discussed the possibility of our being able
to combine the two journeys, but found our means insufficient. With our
party we should have taken a long time, particularly as the villagers
refused to furnish us with guides until their rice-planting was over.

We noticed the great change that had taken place in the ways and
tastes of these people. When Mr. Low was here in 1851, beads and brass
wire were very much sought after. When we came last April, the people
cared nothing for beads, and very little for cloth; their hearts were
set on brass wire. We, however, distributed a good deal of cloth, at
reasonable rates, in exchange for food and services rendered. We now
found that even brass wire, except of a very large size, was despised,
and cloth eagerly desired. Chawats were decreasing, and trousers coming
in. This is a taste very likely to continue, as the weather at Kiau is
generally very cool, and it might also stimulate their industry. At
present, although they keep their plantations very clean, they use no
instrument to turn up the soil, merely putting the seed in a hole made
by a pointed stick. In size, their kiladis, sweet potatoes, and rice
are very inferior and their crops scanty, though the flavour of their
productions is excellent, but with their tobacco they appear to take
much pains. Thinking that potatoes might flourish here, Mr. Low, in
1856, sent some by Mr. Lobb to be given to the villagers to plant; next
morning, however, he found the little boys playing marbles with them.

Even the more civilized Javanese cared little for the seeds of European
vegetables which were distributed freely by the Dutch Government. It
at last struck some shrewd officer that if the natives saw the results
of cultivating these vegetables, they might be induced to turn their
attention to them. He therefore obtained permission to establish a
model garden, and the result was satisfactory. The Javanese, who had
despised the seeds, could not overlook the profit to be derived from
the sale of the crops of potatoes, cabbages, and other esculents,
displayed for their imitation, and were then grateful for seeds.
Nothing but some such scheme will ever induce the Dayaks to alter their
present slovenly system of cultivation.

Among those who accompanied us to Marei Parei was a young lad, who was
paid for his services in gray shirting and thin brass wire. As soon as
he had received them, he cut off three inches of the wire, and began
beating out one end and sharpening the other: it was to make a needle.
His sister brought him some native-made thread; then with his knife he
cut the cloth into a proper shape, and set to work to make a pair of
trousers; nor did he cease his occupation till they were finished, and
by evening he was wearing them.

We were so pleased with our visit to the Marei Parei spur that we
determined to move thither for a few days with our servants, and live
in tents. In the meantime we continued our collection of Kiau words,
which was difficult work with our interpreters.

It has been thought that the tribes living around Kina Balu speak
different languages, but we found, on the contrary, that the Ida’an,
Dusun, and even the Bisaya, can converse freely with each other. We
had with us, during our different expeditions, Bisayas from the river
Kalias, opposite Labuan, an interpreter who had learnt the language
from the people in the interior of Membakut, Malays who had learnt it
at Kimanis, Dusuns from Tamparuli, on the Tawaran, and Ida’an from the
plains of Tampasuk; and yet, after a few days, to become accustomed to
the differences of dialect, all these men conversed freely with the
Kiaus. If they are asked whether they speak the same languages, they
will answer, “No,” and give as an example--“We say _iso_, when the
Kiaus say _eiso_, for ‘no’;” but these are only localisms. I must
add, that none of these people had ever visited the Kiaus until they
accompanied us.

In making vocabularies here we found the villagers very careless of
their pronunciation: for instance, the word “heavy” was at different
times written down, _magat_, _bagat_, _wagat_, and _ogat_; for “rice,”
_wagas_ and _ogas_; for “to bathe,” _padshu_, _padsiu_, and _madsiu_,
and indifferently pronounced in these various ways by the same people.
Many years previously, when I was at Maludu Bay, I collected a few
words of the Ida’an, and they were essentially the same as those of
the aborigines of Tampasuk; and the Malays tell me that the Ida’an
of the north-eastern coast speak so as to be understood by them, who
have acquired their knowledge on the western coast. I may here observe
that the same people are indifferently called Dusun and Ida’an. The
term Dusun, the real meaning of which is villager, is applied to these
northern inhabitants of Borneo by the Malays, while the Bajus generally
call them Ida’an.

While we were making preparations for our short visit to Marei Parei,
we noticed some agitation among the Kiaus, and found it arose from a
report that a large party of Europeans had arrived at Bawang, on the
Tawaran, on their way to the mountain, and it was added, heavy guns had
been heard at sea. We could not, of course, offer any explanation,
but thought there was very little likelihood of any one coming to join
us, and suggested, what proved to be the truth, that the news of our
own arrival at Bawang had been reaching them by a circuitous route.
We treated the report with so much indifference as to satisfy their
suspicious minds.

The next morning, the men who had agreed to carry our bedding refused
to fulfil their contract unless paid double wages; so we started with
our own servants, but were quickly followed by the Ida’an, who eagerly
shouldered the heaviest burdens. They were only trying how far they
could succeed in imposing on us. The Fop also took a load. That name
was affixed to him, on our first visit, from his great attention to
dress, and the favour shown him by all the young girls, more due to his
evident good-nature than to his good looks; he was, however, an active,
powerful man. When we were here in April, he had just married a fine
girl, named Sugan, and used always, when the crowd surrounded us, to be
seen standing behind her with his arms folded round her neck. He was
better mannered than any of his neighbours, and never annoyed us by
begging. He it was who told us he had been to the lake, and followed
the route through Tuhan, Inserban and Barbar. His name is Kamá. I
mention him, as he might prove useful as a guide to the lake, should
any traveller be induced to try that journey.

We followed the same path we used on the former occasion--across the
Pinokok valley, and up the buttress, till we reached Marei Parei, and
encamped on a rocky, dry spot near the place where the _Nepenthes
Rajah_ were found in the greatest abundance.

Knowing that the cold would be severely felt by our followers,
accustomed all their lives to the heat of the plains, we tried to
induce them to take precautions, but without avail. We, however, took
care of ourselves by cutting enough brushwood to raise our bedding a
foot above the damp ground, to fill up the end of our tent and cover
it over with bushes, grass, and reeds, to prevent the cold piercing
through. Around us were thickets of magnolias, but without flowers, and
among the other shrubs which grew near was one which we selected for
our beds, as when bruised it emitted a myrtle-like fragrance.

The temperature was very pleasant in the afternoon, being 75° in the
shade; but this was partly caused by the refraction from the rocky
soil around. In the water the thermometer marked 66·5°, but at sunset
it fell to 60° in our tent, and the men, too late, began to repent of
their idleness.

The vegetation around is very stunted, though above the trees are
large-sized: the former is due to the stony nature of the soil and the
great amount of iron that renders all compass bearings untrustworthy.
It is, I believe, decomposed serpentine, containing a large quantity of
peroxide of iron. Above the vegetation the mountain presents nothing
but rough precipices impossible to ascend. On their face we observed
broad white patches and white lines running across, similar to those
I observed on the summit during my former ascent. On the top of the
north-west peak we noticed a heap of stones, which, through a good
telescope, looked like a cairn, and we were full of conjectures as
to the possibility of a traveller in ancient times having made the
ascent. This apparent cairn was afterwards explained by similar heaps
of granite piled up as if by man, but being simply the harder portions
of the rock remaining when the rest had crumbled away.

At sunrise the thermometer marked 55°, and the air felt very chilly;
so, after a cup of chocolate to warm our blood, we started to explore
the slopes above us.

Dr. Hooker having kindly allowed me to make use of his descriptions
of the wonderful pitcher-plants discovered during these expeditions,
I shall avail myself of the permission, and introduce here his notes
on the Bornean species of _Nepenthes_, as well as the botanical
account of the ones found on the Marei Parei spur.

The largest was the _Nepenthes Rajah_. The plates, copied from
those published in the _Linnean Transactions_, merely give the
form, as it has been found necessary to reduce them to the size of the
volume.

“The want of any important characters in the flowers and fruit of
_Nepenthes_ is a very remarkable feature of these plants. The
leaves differ considerably in insertion, and in being more or less
petioled. The pitchers of most, when young, are shorter, and provided
with two ciliated wings in front; more mature plants bear longer
pitchers, with the wings reduced to thickened lines. The glandular
portion of the pitcher remains more constant than any other, and the
difference between the form of old and young pitchers is often chiefly
confined to the further development of the superior glandular portion
into a neck or tube.”[17]

“_Ascidia magna, ore mediocri, annulo latissime explanato, dense
lamellato v. costato._

“Nepenthes Rajah, H. f. (Frutex, 4-pedalis, _Low_). Foliis maximis
2-pedalibus, oblongo-lanceolatis petiolo costaque crassissimis,
ascidiis giganteis (cum operculo 1-2-pedalibus) ampullaceis ore
contracto, stipite folio peltatim affixo, annulo maximo lato everso
crebre lamellato, operculo amplissimo ovato-cordato, ascidium totum
æquante.--(_Tab._ LXXII).

“_Hab._--Borneo, north coast, on Kina Balu, alt. 5,000 feet
(_Low_). This wonderful plant is certainly one of the most
striking vegetable productions hitherto discovered, and, in this
respect, is worthy of taking place side by side with the _Rafflesia
Arnoldii_. It hence bears the title of my friend Rajah Brooke, of
whose services, in its native place, it may be commemorative among
botanists.... I have only two specimens of leaves and pitchers, both
quite similar, but one twice as large as the other. Of these, the leaf
of the larger is 18 inches long, exclusive of the petioles, which is
as thick as the thumb and 7–8 broad, very coriaceous and glabrous,
with indistinct nerves. The stipes of the pitcher is given off below
the apex of the leaf, is 20 inches long, and as thick as the finger.
The broad ampullaceous pitcher is 6 inches in diameter, and 12 long:
it has two fimbriated wings in front, is covered with long rusty hairs
above, is wholly studded with glands within, and the broad annulus
is everted, and 1–1½ inch in diameter. Operculum shortly stipitate,
10 inches long and 8 broad.

  [Illustration:]

    Day & Son, Lith. to the Queen.

  NEPENTHES LOWII. _H. f._

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.]

  [Illustration:

    Day & Son. Lith. to the Queen.

  Published by Smith, Elder & C^o., 65. Cornhill, London.

  NEPENTHES EDWARDSIANA. _Low._]

“The inflorescence is hardly in proportion. Male raceme, 30 inches
long, of which 20 are occupied by the flowers; upper part and flowers
clothed with short rusty pubescence. Peduncles slender, simple or
bifid. Fruiting raceme stout. Peduncles 1½ inches long, often bifid.
Capsule, ¾ inch long, ⅓ broad, rather turgid, densely covered with
rusty tomentum.”[18]

The pitchers, as I have before observed, rest on the ground in a
circle, and the young plants have cups of the same form as those of
the old ones. This morning, while the men were cooking their rice, as
we sat before the tent enjoying our chocolate, observing one of our
followers carrying water in a splendid specimen of the _Nepenthes
Rajah_, we desired him to bring it to us, and found that it held
exactly four pint bottles. It was 19 inches in circumference. We
afterwards saw others apparently much larger, and Mr. Low, while
wandering in search of flowers, came upon one in which was a drowned
rat.

As we ascended, we left the brushwood and entered a tangled jungle, but
few of the trees were large, and the spur of the mountain became very
narrow, sometimes not much wider than the path, and greatly encumbered
at one part by the twining stems of the _Nepenthes Edwardsiana_.
This handsome plant was not, however, much diffused along the spur, but
confined to a space about a quarter of a mile in length, and grew upon
the trees around, with its fine pitchers hanging from all the lower
boughs. We measured one plant and it was twenty feet in length; it was
quite smooth, and the leaves were of a very acute shape at both ends.
It is a long, cylindrical, finely-frilled pitcher, growing on every
leaf; one we picked measured twenty-one inches and a half long, by two
and a half in breadth. They swelled out a little towards the base,
which is bright pea green, the rest of the cylinder being of a bright
brick-red colour. Its mouth is nearly circular, the column with the
border surrounding the mouth being finely formed of thin plates about
a sixth of an inch apart, and about the same in height, and both were
of a flesh colour; the handsome lid is of a circular shape. The dried
specimen forwarded to Dr. Hooker only measured eighteen inches. The
plant is epiphytal, growing on casuarinas (_species nova_). The
pitchers of the young creepers precisely resembled those of the older
ones, except in size.

Whilst examining these, and vainly searching for their flowers, Mr. Low
came upon a small species of a bright crimson colour; its pitchers were
three inches long, and one and a half broad at the widest part, and the
mouth was oblique. Another, but which may be the same in a more mature
state, was green, with irregular spots of purple, having stems of the
latter colour; it was a low plant, not reaching above four feet in
height.

A very handsome plant of a trailing habit also grew on this spur; it
had large bunches of beautiful flowers of the colour of the brightest
of the seedling scarlet geraniums, and while endeavouring to obtain a
view to the eastward, my eye fell upon something of a beautiful white,
which proved to be a lovely orchid. Of these Mr. Low made a great
collection; I fear, however, it is not a new one.

The following is the botanical description of the _Nepenthes
Edwardsiana_:--

“_Ascidia magna, ore lamellis latis disciformibus annularibus remotis
instructo._

“Nepenthes Edwardsiana, Low. MSS.--Foliis (6″ longis) crasse coriaceis
longe petiolatis ellipticis, ascidiis magnis crasse pedunculatis
cylindraceis basi ventricosis 8–18″ longis, ore lamellis annularibus
distantibus rigidis magnis cristato, collo elongato erecto,
operculo cordato-rotundato, racemo simplici, rachi pedicellisque
ferrugineo-tomentosis. (_Tab._ LXX.)

“_Hab._--Kina Balu, north side; alt, 6,000–8,000 feet (_Low_).

“The leaves, ascidia, and pitchers sent by Mr. Low are all old, and
nearly glabrous; but the young parts--rachis, peduncles of the panicle,
and the calyx--are covered with ferruginous tomentum. One of the
pitchers sent is eighteen inches long from the base to the apex of the
erect operculum; it is two and a half inches in diameter below the
mouth, one and a half at the narrowest part (about one-third distant
from the base), and the swollen part above the base is about two inches
in diameter. The beautiful annular discs which surround the mouth are
three-quarters of an inch in diameter.”[19]

We had occasionally very extensive prospects, and the day being bright
and sunny, could obtain almost an uninterrupted view of the whole
coast from Kimanis to Tampasuk, with glimpses of the river reaches
below, winding among the hills, and flowing through the open plains of
Tampasuk, Sulaman, and Tawaran, and beneath our feet were the sources
of the Peñgantaran, which we crossed on our last expedition. The only
interruption was, in fact, the double peaks of Saduk Saduk, which is
about 6,000 feet high; and as we only ascended 6,200 feet, we were
but beginning to see over them. One side of that mountain is almost
cleared to its summit for rice plantations, though the produce could
not be very repaying. Mr. Lobb reached its top, but had, I believe, no
instruments to fix its height. From the north the two peaks are in a
line, it then appears a sharp hill; and I should judge from its aspect
that it is sandstone to the summit.

We carefully examined the noble buttress on which we were encamped, and
were convinced that if ever the north of Borneo fall into the hands
of a European power, no spot could be better suited for barracks than
Marei Parei. The climate is delightful: at sunrise the average was 56°;
midday, 75°; sunset, 63°; and this temperature would keep European
soldiers in good health: there is water at hand, and up the western
spur a road could be easily made suited to cattle and horses; in fact,
buffaloes are now occasionally driven from Labang Labang to Sayap.

The second day our men were more amenable to advice, and made great
preparations to resist the cold, as the wind was rising and rain
threatening; but after a heavy shower, it cleared off, and we passed
a very pleasant night. We found the most sustaining and warming
nourishment on the mountains, was to boil or stew a couple of fowls,
with a two-pound tin of preserved soup. As we scarcely ever rested much
during the day our appetites were keen, and we retired to our beds very
shortly after seven to enjoy an almost uninterrupted sleep from eight
till daylight.

Having finished collecting the plants of this spur, we returned to
Kiau, and noticed during our walk that the sources of the Hobang and
Pinokok cut very deep valleys into the actual mountain, and after the
heavy rain last night, foaming cascades were visible in these as yet
unlit valleys, for the morning sun had not risen above the mountain
tops.

The villagers appeared to be very glad to get us back among them, and
the girls became friendly and familiar; they even approached us and
sat at the end of our mats, and talked, and laughed, and addressed us
little speeches, which were, of course, nearly unintelligible, though
we were making progress in the language. They had evidently been very
much interested in all our movements; and as our toilettes were made in
public, they could observe that every morning we bathed, cleaned our
teeth, brushed and combed our hair, and went through our other ordinary
occupations.

To-day they had grown more bold, and were evidently making fun of the
scrupulous care we were bestowing on our persons while the cook was
preparing our breakfast. We thought that we would good-humouredly turn
the laugh against them, so we selected one who had the dirtiest face
among them--and it was difficult to select where all were dirty--and
asked her to glance at herself in the looking-glass. She did so, and
then passed it round to the others; we then asked them which they
thought looked best, cleanliness or dirt: this was received with a
universal giggle.

We had brought with us several dozen cheap looking-glasses, so we told
Iseiom, the daughter of Li Moung, our host, that if she would go and
wash her face we would give her one. She treated the offer with scorn,
tossed her head, and went into her father’s room. But, about half an
hour afterwards, we saw her come in to the house and try to mix quietly
with the crowd; but it was of no use, her companions soon noticed she
had a clean face, and pushed her into the front to be inspected. She
blushingly received her looking-glass and ran away, amid the laughter
of the crowd of girls. The example had a great effect, however, and
before evening the following girls had received a looking-glass. I
mention their names as specimens:--Ikara, Beiom, Sugan, Rambeiong,
Iduñgat, Tirandam, Idoñg, Sei, and Sinéo. Among the males near were
Kadsio, the trouser-maker, Bintarang, Lakaman, and Banul, who had lent
his kitchen to us.

We spent a couple of days quietly at the village, waiting the arrival
of our party: reports often reached us that they were not far off, and
at last they came in, but sadly reduced in numbers. Seven had deserted,
while one had stayed behind to look after his companion Sahat, who had
been stricken with cholera while passing through Si Nilau. However,
they brought sufficient rice to last us during the ascent of the
mountain, as well as a few condiments for ourselves. We heard, also,
to our satisfaction that the chief of Gantisan had seized Kamis the
negro, and had confined him for theft and desertion.

All our preparations being completed, we started for our expedition
to the summit of the mountain, following a path along the side of
the valley, which ran below the houses, and was crossed by miniature
torrents at various places. The ground was all under cultivation,
principally tobacco and kiladis. Being in admirable walking condition
from our regular exercise, we soon passed the hut where Mr. Low
had rested during my former ascent, and crossing the stream, found
ourselves in freshly-cleared ground, where crowds of women and
children were planting rice. The ashes from the burning of the trees
and brushwood must assist greatly to fertilize the soil, otherwise we
could scarcely conceive that seed placed in a little hole driven in the
hard-baked ground could produce a crop. It was a burning-hot day, and
our men appeared to suffer severely in passing along this unsheltered
path, so it was a relief to enter the forest.

We advanced by the same way I followed on the previous occasion; it was
steep, and but rarely traversed, except by the rat snarers. The farther
we advanced, the more numerous were the traps, but during our ascent
none were caught. In fact, these wary animals are seldom taken, except
when trying to escape from the active village curs. We heard the shouts
of the hunters below, and the bark of the dogs, but we had passed
on before they reached the path. The mountain-rat seems a favourite
article of food among the Kiaus, though they do not eat those which
frequent the houses. The edible animal is about the size of the grey
Norway rat, and is of the Bandacoot species.

At 4,400 feet elevation we pitched our tents; and here Li Moung and Li
Maing, who had accompanied us so far, handed us over to the younger
men, headed by Kamá, and returned home. We hired both these leaders, as
we were unwilling to be the cause of a feud arising in the tribe, and
by following this course we kept friends with both parties.

We started early next morning, and after three hours climbing of the
sub-spurs, which were occasionally very steep, we reached the ridge of
the great buttress, and the walking became easier. We passed to-day the
hut that I had constructed on the former occasion. As I have before
observed, this ridge is occasionally very narrow, and where it has been
exposed to the full force of the monsoons, the trees bent over us, so
as often to necessitate our crawling beneath their overhanging trunks;
for those who carried burdens it was tiresome work, particularly as
the ground and trees were covered with soppy moss, cold and unpleasant
to the touch. Where we did not crawl, we had often to advance in a
stooping posture. Occasionally we passed between fine forest trees,
with thickly-growing bamboo beneath them, but these were only to be
found in deep or sheltered spots. When we joined the first ridge, we
came upon numerous flowers of a rhododendron scattered over the surface
of the ground, and it was some time before we could find the plant, but
Mr. Low’s quick eye at last discovered it. It looked gorgeous, being
completely covered with bunches of flowers of a brilliant scarlet, and
in masses of colour, as forty-two blossoms were counted growing in one
of the bunches.

We at last reached a narrow, rocky ridge, covered with brushwood,
but with thousands of plants of the beautiful _Nepenthes Lowii_
growing among them. As water was to be had near, at a little marshy
spot, we determined to pitch our tents here, and spend the evening
collecting specimens. Our guides, however, strongly objected to this,
and declared we must reach the cave to-night; but as this involved
a climb of nearly 3,000 feet more, we declined, disregarding their
threats that they would leave us where we were and return to their
houses. Our coast men appeared totally unfit for such an exertion,
though the cold weather had an invigorating effect upon ourselves.

There was another great objection to this rapid ascent: it prevented
our seeing anything, or enjoying the views that this lovely weather
promised to afford. It was true that day the scenery had been obscured
by the blinding columns of smoke rising in every direction from the
burning felled forest, but that objection might not hold another day.
To the eastward, we had glimpses of high mountains, and of a river
running through a plain.

I have seldom witnessed any of those beautiful phenomena of which I
have read--as double sunsets--but that evening we witnessed one. A
dark cloud hung over the horizon, and beneath it we saw a sun, clear
and well-defined, set in vapour: we hurried on our preparations for
the night, for fear darkness should overtake us, when the true sun,
suddenly bursting from behind the concealing cloud, restored the day.
I never saw men so astonished as were our followers, and we were as
completely deceived as they were, though we did not give the same
explanation, that we had fallen among jinn and other supernatural
creatures.

We sent our men on next morning to wait for us at the cave, while we
stayed behind to collect specimens of the _Nepenthes Lowii_ and
the _Nepenthes Villosa_. The former is, in my opinion, the most
lovely of them all, and its shape is most elegant. I will give Dr.
Hooker’s botanical description of both.

“_Ascidia magna, curva, basi inflata, medio constricta, dein
ampliata, infundibuliformia; ore maximo, latissimo, annulo O._

“Nepenthes Lowii, H. f.--Caule robusto tereti, foliis crasse coriaceis,
longe crasse petiolatis lineari-oblongis, ascidiis magnis curvis basi
ventricosis medio valde constrictis, ore maximo ampliato, annulo O,
operculo oblongo intus dense longe setoso. (_Tab._ LXXI.)

“_Hab._--Kina Balu; alt. 6,000–8,000 feet (_Low_).

“A noble species, with very remarkable pitchers, quite unlike those
of any other species. They are curved, 4–10 inches long, swollen at
the base, then much constricted, and suddenly dilating to a broad,
wide, open mouth with glossy shelving inner walls, and a minute row
of low tubercles round the circumference; they are of a bright pea
green, mottled inside with purple. The leaves closely resemble those of
_Edwardsiana_ and _Boschiana_ in size, form, and texture, but
are more linear-oblong.

[Illustration:

    Day & Son, Lith. to the Queen.

NEPENTHES LOWII. _H. f._

Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.]

[Illustration:

    Day & Son, Lith. to the Queen.

NEPENTHES VILLOSA. _H. f._

Published by Smith, Elder & C^o. 65, Cornhill, London.]

“I have specimens of what are sent as the male flower and fruit,
but not being attached, I have not ventured to describe them as
such. The male raceme is eight inches long, dense flowered.
Peduncles simple. Perianth with depressed glands on the inner surface,
externally rufous and pubescent. Column long and slender. _Female_
inflorescence: a very dense oblong panicle; rachis, peduncles,
perianth, and fruit covered with rusty tomentum. Capsules, two-thirds
of an inch long, one-sixth of an inch broad.”[20]

The outside colour of the pitchers is a bright pea-green, the
inside dark mahogany; the lid is green, while the glandular are
mahogany-coloured. A very elegant claret jug might be made of this
shape.

“_Ascidia magna, ore lamellis latis disciformibus annularibus remotis
instructo._

“Nepenthes Villosa, H. f. (Hook, Ic. Pl. t. 888).--Ascidia magna
turgida late pyriformia coriacea, 5″ longa, 3½″ lata, alis anticis
mediocribus grosse dentatis, ore aperto annulo maximo! lamellis
annularibus distantibus disciformibus rigidis, 1″ diam., cristatis
posticis in spinas rigidas ½″ longas, fundum ascidii spectantibus
productis, collo elongato erecto, operculo orbiculato intus densissime
glanduloso dorso basi longe cornuto. (_Tab._ LXIX.)

“_Hab._--Borneo (_Lobb_), Kina Balu, alt. 8,000–9,000 feet
(_Low_).

“... The whole inner surface of the pitcher is glandular, except a very
narrow area beneath the mouth at the back.”[20]

The pitchers of the young plant resemble the old, and their colour
looks like that of a downy peach skin, with a great deal of dark
crimson in it. The circular annulus is like flesh-coloured wax, its
lid dull green, with red shading in the centre.

The _Nepenthes Villosa_ continued to skirt our path for the next
two thousand feet; and among the most extraordinary shrubs was the
heath rhododendron.

At an open space about 7,500 feet above the level of the sea, we had a
fine view of the south and south-east part of Borneo, which stretches
away to the great river of Kina Batañgan. Numerous mountain ranges
and lofty peaks, some estimated as high as 7,000 to 8,000 feet, were
clearly visible. Between us and the mountains bearing south-east by
east, and apparently eighteen miles off, there was a grassy plain,
perhaps three miles by two, in which were many villages; and through
this there flowed a rather large river. We could trace its course as
far as the third spur that springs from the main buttress of Kina Balu,
on which we now stood. There, a line of hills appeared to obstruct
it; but beyond we could again trace the course of a stream which may
probably be its source. This river, our guide stated, fell into the
lake of Kina Balu. It runs from south-west to north-east. With the
exception of the plain above mentioned, and a marsh, whose commencement
we could observe north-east of the plain, all the country appeared
hilly. Most of the land was cleared, and either under cultivation, or
showing the remains of former farms. We could observe in the second
valley two villages: the first called Tuhan; the next, Inserban. At
both cotton is stated to be cultivated. Many more distant villages and
detached houses could be seen to the south-east, whose names our guides
had forgotten.

The road to the lake is by the above-mentioned villages. The names of
those beyond are Penusuk, Tambian, Paka, and Koporiñgan. These are
either on the route, or close to the lake.

We sat looking at this extensive view, and enjoying the refreshing
breeze and the bright sun. Kamá was in a communicative mood to-day,
and we had a long talk about the great lake. We could clearly perceive
that it was not in the position assigned to it in all the maps, as the
whole country from east-south-east to the western coast was distinctly
visible, and the Ida’an expressly stated that it was farther to the
north and east of the little plain I have before noticed. Its size
would, I believe, entirely depend on the season it was visited, as the
heavy rains would cause it to overflow the country, and probably add
the marsh and plain we saw to its extent, and the native travellers
would naturally give different accounts.

We now continued our ascent to the cave by the same path I followed
before, and found it quite sufficient for a day’s journey. The cave
proved to be above 9,000 feet above the level of the sea; and although
we tried by fires and hanging up oiled cloths before the entrance to
keep out the raw night air, yet the men felt it very cold.

We started early next morning for the summit, with a clear sky and
a brilliant sun, through thickets of the scarlet and rosy-purple
rhododendrons which extended for nearly a thousand feet above the cave,
and soon reached the granite slopes, which, by the clinometer, we found
to have an angle varying from 35° to 39° at the steepest parts. Leaving
Low’s Gully on the right, where the purple or rather blood-coloured
rhododendron flourishes, we pushed on for the terrace lying between the
southern and northern peaks.

As I spent very little of my time in looking for plants, I reached it
some time before my fellow-traveller, and was surprised to find the
great ease with which we could converse, although more than a quarter
of a mile apart. It really required no effort, and the air appeared
so transparent as to render it difficult to judge of distances. From
Low’s Gully to the north-western peak does not exceed two miles; and
we were struck by a remarkable feature in the granite rocks, which run
in a broken line along the northern face of the summit. It appeared as
if they were lying in strata, which partly accounts for the angular
granite we observed in the streams below.

When I first reached the terrace the sun was shining brightly on the
landscape below, and my first impulse was to turn to look for that
lofty mountain of which I had obtained a glimpse during my former
ascent, but the southern peak shut in that view, and I had to content
myself with the still extensive prospect. Looking over the valley of
Pinokok, I could distinctly trace the coast line down even to Labuan,
which, though somewhat hazy, was yet visible, near the great mountains
of Brayong and Si Guntang. The Bay of Kimanis was to be seen in all its
distinctness, and, with Nosong Point, Pulo Tiga, and Papar Headland,
looked at this distance almost land-locked. Gaya island was there
visible, but the bay was shut in by its surrounding hills. Mengkabong
and Sulaman waters showed clear, and I could occasionally observe
some reaches of the Tawaran glistening among the fruit groves of
the plain. The horizon was perhaps distant a hundred miles, showing
a broad expanse of ocean. We stood looking at this prospect with
great pleasure; but at last, being joined by the man who carried the
barometer, I left Mr. Low to prepare the instrument, and started for
the north-western peak, from which I hoped to have the most extensive
view to be seen in all Borneo, and to have the satisfaction of
examining that heap of stones which looked like a cairn from below.

It was easy to get to its base. On the northern side of it were heaps
of broken but angular granite, which appeared to have fallen from
its sides, leaving a perpendicular face, a little overhanging at the
summit. The slabs of granite, which peel off its western and southern
sides, roll on a sharp slope, and must glide down to fall over the
great precipice overlooking the valley of Pinokok. The heaps I observed
to the south move more slowly onward towards the cliff, as the incline
is less.

I tried to reach the summit of this peak by a narrow edge of rock
abutting from its southern front; but after following it with my face
towards it, and moving sideways with my arms stretched out on either
side, till it narrowed to about eight inches, I thought it prudent to
return; but at a spot where I had secure footing, I pitched a stone
on the summit, which was about forty feet above the highest point I
reached.

I had scarcely regained the base, when I saw a thick white cloud
suddenly sweep up from the north, and heavy rain and gusts of wind soon
wetted us through and chilled us to the bone. I hurried along the huge
natural wall which skirts the northern edge of the summit, and is the
termination of the great terrace, to join Mr. Low, and then heard that
last night’s rain had wet the leather of Adie’s barometer, and it would
not act. We tried the boiling-water thermometers, but in this storm
of wind, rain, and hail, though we managed to light the spirit-lamp,
we could not read the number of degrees, the apparatus appearing
defective. We waited for nearly two hours, hoping it would blow over;
but it only increased in violence, and enveloped in this rain-cloud, we
could not see fifty yards.

Unwillingly we now attended to the remonstrances of our shivering
followers, and commenced descending. The wind veered round suddenly to
the east, and drove the sleet and hail into our faces, while torrents
formed in every direction, and rushed over the smooth surface of the
granite. To descend was a work of danger, as the streams of water
crossed our path in every direction; and had we lost our footing while
passing them, we should have been sent gliding down to the precipices.
It was bitterly cold, the thermometer at two P.M. falling to
43°. As we approached the steeper incline, the velocity of the running
water increased, and in one place, even Kamá appeared at fault, as the
granite was as slippery as glass, being reduced to a fine polish, as it
formed the course down which the rains always ran; but at last finding
a crevice, into which we could insert the sides of our feet, we managed
to pass the momentarily swelling torrent. One of our Malays was seized
with fever and ague at this most difficult part of the descent; but he
behaved manfully, and managed, by his own exertions, to get down the
granite slopes. My Chinese boy, Ahtan, fell, and rolled over several
times, but escaped with a slight wound, but heavy bruises. One Malay’s
feet slipped from under him, and he fell heavily on his back, but his
head escaped, as he was carrying on his shoulders a large basket full
of flowers.

During both ascents, I observed the men carefully examining the
crevices of the granite in search of little pieces of very transparent
quartz, which were to be found there. I picked up, during the former
trip, a little of them, that were greatly prized by the ladies of the
capital, who had them inserted into rings.

After three hours’ hard work, we reached the cave, in company with our
invalids. The poor fever-stricken Malay looked in a woful plight, but
we gave him immediately ten grains of quinine in a glass of whiskey,
and by evening the fit was over. We found many of our men were injured
by falls, but not seriously. Though Mr. Low made a fine collection of
herbaceous and other plants, yet we were greatly disappointed with the
result of our ascent, as the injury to the barometer was caused by our
own carelessness.

We determined, however, to reascend to the summit next morning; but on
trying the boiling-water thermometers, they did not act properly, and
varied five degrees: the barometer also continued useless. We therefore
gave up our intention, particularly when we found that all the Ida’an
guides were making up their packets, declaring nothing should induce
them to go through such exposure as they suffered yesterday, and as we
found many of our men were ailing, we unwillingly, therefore, commenced
our descent, collecting plants by the way, and spent the night at the
hut I had erected during my first expedition.

Next day we reached the village of Kiau, and had a very different kind
of settling day from the last. Lemoung was civil and obliging, and
all appeared sorry at our leaving them, and begged us to return again
as soon as possible, promising to take us to the lake, or wherever we
might choose to go.

The girls now presented a very different appearance from before: they
thronged round us, most of them with carefully-washed faces, and
requested us to remember their commissions. Some wanted thread and
needles, others looking-glasses and combs. As we did not intend to
reascend the mountain, we, in return for the neat little baskets of
tobacco with which they presented us, made a distribution among them
of all our surplus warm clothing, and their delight was great; and
Lemoung’s daughter took so great a fancy to my comb and brush that,
though unwilling, I was obliged to part with them.

When we started next morning, crowds of friendly faces were around, and
a troop of girls walked with us part of the way; and on our leaving
them at the crown of the hill, they insisted upon our repeating the
promise to visit them again. The good impression we made upon these
villagers may be of service to future travellers. We stopped at Koung
for the night, as many of our followers were ill, or suffering from
falls received on that unlucky day on the summit of Kina Balu. We made
the old chief’s heart glad by presenting him with one of our tents,
and such goods as we could spare.

A hundred years ago, it was reported that the Ida’an were in the habit
of purchasing Christian slaves of the pirates, in order to put them to
death for the sake of the heads. If it were ever true, I believe it is
not so now, as we never noticed dried skulls in any of their houses,
except at Tamparuli; and if they had been given to any such practice,
the Bajus, who never missed an opportunity to malign them, would have
mentioned the subject to us.

As we were anxious to get our large collection of plants as fast as
possible to the vessel, we pushed on next morning by the direct route
to Buñgol and breakfasted there, and, notwithstanding heavy rain,
continued our journey to Kalawat.

Next day we reached Si Nilau, to find that poor Sahat was dead of
cholera, and that his companion had disappeared. We inquired about him,
but could hear nothing. We asked for the rice that they had left here,
but the owner of the house denied having any; though one of our guides
discovered hidden away in a corner all the goods belonging to Sahat
and the missing man. The thief finding himself discovered, ran into a
neighbouring house and began to beat the alarm signal on a drum, and in
a very short time the neighbouring villagers were seen collecting in
arms; but hearing the cause of the disturbance they dispersed, saying
the English might settle with the old thief as they pleased. However,
on inquiry, finding our missing follower was safe, we merely warned the
villager and continued our journey.

On arriving at Bawang we heard the distressing intelligence that
cholera was in possession of all the villages. We met processions on
the river: old women, dressed up like the priestesses among the Land
Dayaks of Sarawak, were chanting and beating gongs, and on the banks of
the stream were erected altars, round which gaily-dressed women were
dancing with a slow, measured step.

We were surprised at the wealth displayed by the family of the old Datu
of Tamparuli. There were silks, and gold brocade, and a large amount
of gold ornaments. We arrived late, having walked in one day what had
taken us three in our advance to the mountain.

During the night we were disturbed by the cries of some of the inmates
of our house, three of whom where suffering from attacks of cholera,
and the only remedy they appeared to apply was water from the sacred
jars, though they endeavoured to drive away the evil spirits by beating
gongs and drums all night. Three people had died the previous day, but
when we left in the morning the sufferers I have before mentioned were
still alive. We had no medicines, not even a glass of spirits, to give
them.

Next morning we walked over to Pañgeran Sirail’s to breakfast, as our
friends at Tamparuli were so much taken up with the awful visitation
which had come upon them as to be unable to attend to anything else.
In fact, though exceedingly hungry after our hard walking, we could
not last night purchase anything for our dinner, and had to content
ourselves with plain boiled rice. The Malay chief, however, was very
hospitable, and soon procured us fowls, and sent off to Pañgeran Duroup
for canoes to take us across the lake. On our arrival at Gantisan we
found the cholera had left it, though not before it had carried off
thirty-seven victims.

Signor Cuarteron came to visit us, and we kept him to dinner; but, in
the evening, the south-west monsoon commenced blowing so heavily, that
it was impossible for him to return to the vessel, and this was merely
a commencement of what we had to expect. In the morning, however, it
cleared up a little, and we landed to visit Pañgeran Madoud. He was
erecting a very substantial-looking wharf, nearly a hundred yards in
length, to enable people to get ashore at all times of tide, and he
intended it partly to give protection to very small trading prahus
during the south-west monsoon. It was a grand work for a Malay to
conceive, and, although not constructed in a way likely to be very
lasting, it was a good commencement. The Pañgeran had established
himself in a very comfortable house, and in his audience hall had a
large table and many chairs. He was very curious to hear everything
connected with the great mountain, and begged, laughingly, for a single
seed of the lagundi fruit, that his youth might be restored to him. We
found Kamis, the negro, looking very sad in the stocks, but he got off
with a very slight punishment; but, as a warning to others, we refused
to receive the deserters on board, and let them return in a native
prahu.

We did not attempt to sail, as heavy clouds were driving across the
horizon, promising unsettled weather; and, in the afternoon, so heavy
a squall arose, that our anchor could not hold, and we began drifting
towards the shore. We hauled in the chain, but when it was nearly all
on board, we were not ten feet from the coral reefs opposite Gantisan.
With extreme difficulty, on account of the breaking waves, we got the
smaller anchor into our boat, and sent it out fifty yards ahead, and
hauling in that merely saved us from striking, as it came home as
well as the larger one. For two hours we continued sending out one
anchor after the other, but it did not keep us clear of the danger, as
during one heavy puff our pinnace struck the coral, and we thought she
would soon go to pieces; but this blast was followed by a momentary
lull, during which we managed to haul out a hundred yards, and let
go both anchors; and, veering out as much chain as we could, we felt
comparatively safe. The storm broke on us again with great violence,
but our anchors held.

For three days this dirty weather continued, blowing steadily from
the south-west, and we had some difficulty in procuring supplies of
rice for our men. In fact, the village had but little in store, as all
communication with the Dusuns had been put a stop to on account of the
cholera. It was, therefore, fortunate we had not delayed our expedition
till August, for we certainly would have been turned back, as all the
paths were now pamali or interdicted.

On the fifth day, the wind appearing to moderate, we set sail from
Gantisan, intending to pass through the broad channel, between Gaya and
Sapanggar Islands; but, when we opened the sea, the waves were breaking
in white foam, and so heavy a swell came in that our pinnace could not
beat against the wind: we, therefore, ran into a small harbour on the
north of Gaya Island, and anchored in thirteen fathoms. In the evening
we landed, but, finding the jungle tangled, did not penetrate far; and,
leaving Mr. Low to botanize, I strolled along the beach to the rocky
sandstone point.

I came there upon certain stones which appeared to me very curious.
On the surface of some were marks, as if huge cups, three feet in
diameter, were let into the rock and then filled up with a different
kind of sandstone. One only did I see which was detached from the
surrounding rock; it was round, with an edge two inches thick, raised
three inches above the inner surface.

This little harbour is plentifully supplied with water, as several
small rivulets fall into it from the surrounding high land. We could
observe the waves breaking on the sands and rocks at the mouth of the
Ananam, as the wind drove the sea through the narrow and dangerous
passage between Gaya Island and the mainland. At night very heavy rain
came on, and the wind moderated.

In the morning, though there was a heavy swell, the wind was moderate,
and many fishing-boats were seen scattered over the surface of the
bay. We hailed one, and the fishermen coming alongside with a large
number for sale, we purchased all he had. Among them were several fish
which frequent the coral rocks; one was small, slightly streaked with
red, with very prickly fins, which the natives are careful to chop off
before attempting to handle them, as, if wounded by one, the effect
is as if poison had been injected into the flesh. There are also many
others, whose fins are equally to be avoided.

Some of the fish brought alongside were as beautiful as those
celebrated in the Arabian tale, where “the fisherman, looking into the
lake, saw in it fish of different colours--white, and red, and blue,
and yellow;” indeed, they could not have been more beautiful than
ours. In fact, all that are caught on coral reefs are remarkable for
the great variety of their colours; but I must particularly describe
one which bore the palm from all its splendid companions. It was
about ten inches in length, and had for the basis of its colours an
emerald green, with a head of a lighter shade of the same hue, which
was banded longitudinally with stripes of rosy pink, and lines of the
same beautiful tint were placed at intervals of an eighth of an inch
transversely across its whole body, the scales on which were very
small. The two pectoral fins were rosy pink in the centre, surrounded
by a broad band of ultramarine. The short dorsal and ventral fins,
which were continued to the tail, were of the same colours, the pink
being inside. The tail was ultramarine outside, and the centre part
of the fin of gamboge yellow: it had no anal fins. There was another
extremely beautiful one of a pea-green colour: it appeared to be of the
same genus as the former.

The one streaked with red, with the poisonous fins, had firm flesh,
and was rather pleasant to the taste; but in general their flavour and
quality by no means equalled the brilliancy of their appearance. We
placed the lovely emerald fish in a bucket of sea-water, but it soon
turned on its back, and showed unmistakable signs of exhaustion. It
seemed a sin to dine off so beautiful a creature. However, I suffered
for it during the evening: I thought I was seized with cholera, and
could scarcely get rid of the pains in the stomach; but Mr. Low did not
feel any ill effects, so the fish may be harmless.

Next morning, there being a slight land breeze at early dawn, we stood
out to sea, notwithstanding the heavy swell, as the leaves of our
mountain collection were beginning to fade from their long confinement
on board, though we had brought proper boxes in which to plant them.
We soon got clear of the harbour; but no sooner did we begin to shape
our course down the coast, and get to the leeward of Gaya Island, than
the breeze failed us, and the roll of the China seas appeared to be
forcing us on the rocky point not half a mile off. We manned our boat,
and attempted to tow the pinnace off shore, but our efforts would have
been in vain had not the ebb tide gradually swept us beyond the island,
and thus restored to us the faint land breeze. Presently it died away,
but we were now beyond immediate danger; and though the heavy swell
continued, there were no waves. As the sun was warm and brilliant, we
felt sure that in the afternoon we should have a fine sea breeze; so
that we were proportionably annoyed when our head man came to tell us
they had forgotten to replenish their casks at Gaya Island, and were
now without water. We sent the boat away, as it was impossible to
foretell how many days we might be at sea; but before they returned,
heavy clouds began to show on the western horizon, threatening bad
weather.

I never saw a more singular sight, as the long line of black cloud
gradually gathered above the sea, leaving a clear space below it,
and waterspouts began to form. I counted at one time seventeen,
either perfect or commencing. I carefully watched the whole process:
the cloud appears to dip a little, and the sea below is agitated and
covered with foam; gradually a pillar begins to descend from on high
with a gyrating motion, and a corresponding pillar rises from the sea.
Sometimes they meet, and the whole object is completed; at others, they
do not, and the water falls back into the ocean with great disturbance.
I have watched them trying again and again to meet: sometimes the wind
drives the cloud-pillar to an acute angle, and prevents the junction;
at others, vain efforts, as vainly repeated, are made by sea and
cloud. I have heard so many stories of danger to ships from these
waterspouts that I always felt rather nervous when passing them in a
very small vessel. Our boat being still away, we took advantage of the
commencement of the sea breeze to run under one of the islets to the
south of Gaya and anchor there. Between the larger island and the point
of Api Api on the mainland I once attempted to pass, but we grounded on
a coral reef; however, there is a passage, but a difficult one to those
accustomed to the coast.

I am not aware who inserted the names in the Admiralty charts, but
they are often ill spelt, and incorrectly placed. Loney Island, south
of Gaya, is generally called Sinitahan, “Hold here,” Island, from the
great protection it affords to native prahus in both monsoons; and our
informants insisted that the islands marked Bantok, Baral, and Risa,
should be Memanukan, Sulug, and Memutik, and that the opposite point,
called Lutut, or the Knee, should be Aru. I only mention this, as some
of the officers in Labuan might be requested to furnish the correct
names to the Admiralty, as it is exceedingly inconvenient to voyagers
along the coast to ask for places by names which are not recognized by
the inhabitants. While speaking of these otherwise admirably correct
charts, I would draw attention to the fact, that the position of
Tanjong Baram, or Baram Point, in the last published general chart of
Borneo, differs about ten miles from that given in the charts recording
the surveys of Sir Edward Belcher and Commander Gordon. This requires
explanation.

Our boat having joined us, we got under way, and stood towards Pulo
Tiga; the weather was squally and the night proved unpleasant, with
strong gusts of wind and heavy rain, but in the morning we found
ourselves opposite the island for which we were steering. A light land
breeze now carried us past Nosong Point, with its curious detached
rocks, but left us in a calm after we were a few miles from shore.

As usual, the sea breeze sprang up in the afternoon, but it came from
the south-west. As we had been awake most of the previous night, we
were dozing in the afternoon, when a bustle over our heads startled
us, and we went on deck to see what was the matter. We found we were
among the Pine-tree Shoals, with a large water-washed rock, not marked
in the charts, within fifty yards of us. To let go the anchor and
take in the sail, to meet a heavy squall from the westward, was the
work of a moment. A heavy squall in a dangerous position is a thing
to be remembered: you see advancing upon you an enormous arch of
black cloud, with a slightly white misty sky beneath, called by the
Malays the wind’s eye, and when it breaks upon you with a force almost
sufficient to lift you from your legs and sweep you into the sea, you
feel your own nothingness, and how impotent are most of our efforts to
contend against the elements.

That day it blew heavily, and much depended whether it were good
holding ground, but our principal fear was that another water-washed
rock might be astern, on which if our vessel bumped she must go to
pieces. The villagers from the neighbouring coast saw our danger and
thronged to the beach: but we paid little attention to them, as we
kept our eyes on two points to watch if the pinnace drifted. The sea
as far as the eye could reach was one sheet of curling waves, crested
with foam, which broke upon our bows and washed our decks; but as the
wind became stronger, we veered out cable, though cautiously, as we
were uncertain what hidden dangers there might be astern of us. It was
an anxious time, as the squall lasted two hours without abatement;
but even storms must have an end, and half an hour before sunset the
wind lessened, as it often does about that time, and we sent out our
boat to sound, and were soon able to have the pinnace towed clear
of the water-washed rock, and setting sail we stood out to sea in a
north-westerly direction to give us a good offing. We sat up by turns
all that night, and amused ourselves by watching the hundreds of stars
that fell or shot across the heavens, as is usual in the month of
August; and I saw a brilliant meteor of a bluish colour, which appeared
in the east, and flashed across the dark sky to disappear almost in a
moment. We reached Labuan by daylight the following morning.

I am sorry to say that we did not fulfil our promise to the Kiaus, to
go and explore the lake. I fully intended doing so during my last visit
to Borneo, but was prevented by my return home. I had not forgotten
their commissions, and had provided myself with a large store of
needles and thread, which were, however, equally prized by the ladies
of Brunei.

I must add a few remarks respecting the plates of the _Nepenthes_
which appear in this volume; they are copied, as I have before
observed, from the magnificent plates published in the fourth part
of the _Transactions of the Linnean Society of London_. It is
impossible to obtain a complete idea of these astonishing pitchers
from the plates I have inserted, as I have been obliged to reduce them
to the size of my work; but I the less regret this, as they have been
drawn the size of life in the _Transactions_. With regard to the
colouring, I obtained the assistance of Mr. Low, who first saw the
plants, and has studied their appearance and growth; and many of the
apparent contradictions in describing their appearance arise from the
change which takes place in their tints at different ages.




                              CHAPTER XI.

   THE PHYSICAL AND POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE DISTRICTS LYING
   BETWEEN GAYA BAY AND THE TAMPASUK RIVER;[21] WITH A GEOGRAPHICAL
   SKETCH OF MALUDU BAY AND THE NORTH-EAST COAST OF BORNEO.

   The Coast Line--The Rivers--The Bays--Gaya Bay--Abai--Character
   of Interior Country--Plains--Hills--Kina Balu--First
   Ascent by Mr. Low--Description of Summit--The
   Peaks--The Northern Ranges--Steep Granite Slopes--The
   Spurs--The Main Spur--Interior Country--Distant
   Mountains--Plain--Villages--The Lake--Vegetation on
   Kina Balu--The Rivers--The Ananam--The Kabatuan--The
   Mengkabong--The Tawaran--The Abai--The Tampasuk--Its
   Interior--Political Geography--Inhabitants--The Lanuns--The
   Bajus--Mahomedans--Appearance--Their Women--Their Houses--Love
   of Cockfighting--Fine Breed of Fowls--Other Inhabitants--The
   Ida’an--Their Houses--Their Women--Tatooing--Comfortable
   House--Method of Government--No Wars--Aborigines
   Honest--Exceptions--Agriculture--Ploughing--Remnant
   of Chinese Civilization--Tobacco--Cotton--Good
   Soil--Amount of Population--Numerous and Extensive
   Villages--The Tampasuk--The Tawaran--Mengkabong--Other
   Districts--Enumeration--Manufactures--Lanun
   Cloths--Trade--Difficult
   Travelling--Languages--Geology--Sandstone--Greenstone--Climate
   of Kina Balu temperate--Map--Addition--Maludu Bay--
   Western Point--Western Shore--Mountains--Head of
   Bay--Population--Accounts compared--Bengkoka--Minerals--Eastern
   Point--Banguey--Difficult Navigation--Small Rivers
   and Bays--Paitan--Sugut--Low Coast--Labuk Bay--High
   Land--Benggaya--Labuk--Sandakan--Story of the Atas Man--Kina
   Batangan--Cape Unsang--Tungku--Population--The Ida’an--The
   Mahomedans.


The coast line, as viewed from the sea, presents the following
appearance: Gaya Island, and the shores of Gaya, and Sapangar Bays
are hilly, and this continues to within a mile of the mouth of the
Mengkabong; the land then becomes flat, with the exception of the
Tambalan hill, as far as the mouth of the Sulaman creek or river.
High land then commences, which continues for a short distance beyond
the Abai, when it again becomes low, and presents the same appearance
for many miles beyond the Tampasuk river, the coast being fringed by
Casuarinas.

The mouths of the rivers Ananam, Kabatuan, Mengkabong, Tawaran,
Sulaman, Abai, and Tampasuk are all shallow, and unfit for European
vessels; the deepest having but nine feet at low water, and with the
exception of the Ananam, Kabatuan, and Abai, are much exposed during
both monsoons, and are rendered dangerous by the numerous sandbanks
that lie off their mouths. The Ananam in Gaya Bay, and the Kabatuan
in Sapangar Bay, are only suited for native craft. The Abai has more
water, and, its mouth being sheltered, small vessels, at certain times
of tide, might enter; within, the river deepens to four fathoms, and
the surrounding hills render it a perfectly land-locked harbour.

There are several bays along this coast which insure complete shelter
for shipping. The finest of these harbours is that composed of the
two bays Gaya and Sapangar, which is large enough to afford protection
during both monsoons for every vessel that trades to the East; it
contains within itself minor harbours, as one on the north-east of
Gaya Island, which has thirteen fathoms, and is perfectly safe;
while abundance of fresh water may be obtained on its western shore.
Lokporin, in Sapangar Bay, is also a secure anchorage. Gantisan, the
Malay town on the north-eastern shore, though good for shipping, is not
so secure for very small craft, as squalls from the south-west raise
rather a heavy sea there. Several coral reefs jut out from the northern
shore, with deep water on either side of them. This harbour is the most
important in Borneo, from its commanding position in the China seas,
and from its great security.

Good shelter may also be found in Ambong and Usukan Bays, but I have
not entered them myself. Ambong is described as running deep into
the land, and surrounded by hills with smooth surfaces and of gentle
ascent; the alternations of wood and cleared land affording a most
beautiful landscape. The harbour of Ambong abounds in beautiful
sheltered little bays, but barred by coral patches, which rise
exactly from the spots where they disturb the utility of these snug
retreats.[22] The next, Abai, affords excellent shelter during both
monsoons, though open to the north-west; it is, however, of inferior
importance, though fresh water may be obtained in small quantities
on the grassy plain at the entrance of the river: water, however, is
rarely absent where the land is hilly. Wherever the country is low, and
occasionally elsewhere, there are sandy beaches. The west end of Gaya
Island, Gaya Head, and the points between Sulaman and Abai, are rocky;
beyond these appear broad sandy beaches.

Passing the coast line, the country presents varied forms; the hills
that surround Gaya harbour are low, and cleared at the top, bearing
at present a rank crop of grass; others have a reddish tint, from the
ferruginous nature of the soil; the rest are covered with jungle.
On entering the Kabatuan, the banks are lined with a narrow belt
of mangrove, but the hills rise immediately at the back, and this
character appears to extend far into the interior both of the Kabatuan
and Mengkabong. From the latter river to the Sulaman stretches a plain,
perhaps seven miles in width, varied by a few very low hills. The
country changes here, and broken ranges extend to the Abai: hill and
plain are then intermixed; but, as soon as we approach the Tampasuk,
the country opens, and, for Borneo, an extensive plain spreads
out, reaching to the foot of the Maludu mountains. It is, however,
occasionally diversified by low, undulating sandstone hills.

This flat, level ground is admirably adapted for rice cultivation, as
it is grass land, without any jungle. On leaving these plains, ranges
of hills commence, rising generally with great abruptness, presenting
steep sides and narrow ridges, and running, for the most part, in an
eastern and western direction. There are, however, exceptions to the
above description: a few of the hills have easy slopes, and many of
the ranges are connected by cross ridges running north and south,
particularly at the heads of valleys where the waters of the different
tributaries flow in opposite directions to join their main rivers.
The highest of the hills we measured was under 3,000 feet. The ranges
towards the interior are higher, and at the back of these are very
lofty mountains, including Kina Balu,[23] 13,698 feet (Belcher); Saduk
Saduk, about 6,000 feet; and others, whose names we could not obtain,
estimated at above 7,000 feet. All the hills in these districts that we
examined consisted of sandstone until we reached Kina Balu.

With regard to the height of that mountain, various opinions have been
entertained; but until some one is fortunate enough to reach its summit
with a good barometer, I think we may rest contented with Sir Edward
Belcher’s measurement by trigonometry. He makes it 13,698 feet. Mr.
Low, on his first ascent, had a very inferior barometer; while during
the last two expeditions we were provided with magnificent barometers
by Adie; but unfortunate accidents rendered them useless. However,
sufficient observations were taken to show that the first barometer
was incorrect, and, though both inclined, during our first joint
expedition, to place the height of the mountain at about 11,000 feet,
the last makes us feel assured that we underrated the height. I am,
therefore, inclined, from all the observations made, to think that Sir
Edward Belcher’s measurement is correct.

The summit of Kina Balu consists of syenite granite, which is in many
places so jointed as to give it the appearance of being stratified.
About ten peaks spring from a line running from east to west, while
about half a mile to the southward rises another detached peak.
Between the latter and the western portion of the former is an open
space, like a broad terrace, with sloping sides, down which huge slabs
are continually gliding. The southern peak presents a very different
aspect, according to the point from which we view it: from the terrace,
it looks sharp, not above a yard in breadth; while from the east
and west it seems quite rounded. This renders it comparatively easy
of ascent. On three sides it is perpendicular, while, on the south,
it presents no material difficulty. Without careful barometrical
observations it will be impossible to fix on the highest peak. From
several views, the southern, the summit of which I gained during the
first trip, appeared as high as the others, while from the terrace
both east and west appeared rather higher. The west has a rounded
appearance; but we failed to discover a way of ascending to its
summit. I reached within perhaps forty feet, when it presented only
perpendicular sides. It is gradually giving way before atmospheric
influences, its northern base being covered with huge angular stones
that have fallen; the summit is still overhanging, and much of it
apparently ready to topple over. Between the western and eastern peaks,
on the edge of the cliffs which overlook deep chasms below, is a sort
of wall, principally of huge granite rocks, some so perched on the
others that at first sight it appears the work of man--geologically
explained, I suppose, by the wearing away of the softer portions of the
rock around. Some of the peaks present the appearance of a thumb, while
others are massive, as those that rise on either side of the spot where
Mr. Low, in 1851, left a bottle.

The summit is above two miles in length; and I observed that, in
descending to its N.W. and E. spurs, the rocks assume a perfectly
serrated appearance. Kina Balu extends a long distance towards the N.E.
or E.N.E., its height varying perhaps from 10,000 to 11,000 feet: but
partially divided from the parent mountain by a deep chasm. From the
top, we did not see this portion of the mountain; in fact, the mist
generally obscured the view, leaving but patches visible. The summit of
the mountain, as I have before observed, consists of syenite granite;
but every here and there it is crossed by belts of a white rock. For
about 3,000 feet below the peaks there is but little vegetation, and
the face of granite sweeps steeply up at an angle of 37½ degrees. In
the gullies, and in other sheltered spots, are thickets of flowering
shrubs, principally of rhododendrons--a few even extending to the base
of the peaks, particularly in the “bottle gully.”

From what we observed, the summit of the mountain can only be reached
by the way we followed--I mean that portion above 9,000 feet. To that
spot there are said to be two paths. Kina Balu throws out, on every
side, great shoulders, or spurs, which have also their sub-spurs. The
principal are the N.W., very steep; the W.N.W., which subdivides. On
the western face of the mountain there are but minor spurs, which
leave 5,000 feet of precipice above them. From the southward, two huge
spurs extend: on one is the village of Kiau. It springs from the left
of the southern face, and running S.W., turns to west and by north,
and subdivides. The next spur that springs from the eastern portion
of the southern face is, in every respect, the most important. It may
be called, for the sake of distinction, the main spur. Those to the
left we could not observe fully, as we then only saw them from above,
but from the north-east coast they appeared to slope very gradually.
The main spur runs at first to the S.W. for about five miles; it then
follows almost a S.S.W. direction for about twenty miles, throwing off,
on either side, many sub-spurs. A glance at the map will best explain
my meaning. This is the range that is observed from the sea, and gave
the notion of a back-bone to Borneo; but beyond these twenty-five miles
it does not appear to extend. In fact, mountain ranges, running to the
east and west, are distinctly visible--the first, at not a greater
distance than thirty-five or thirty-six miles, appears to cross close
to the end of the main spur. If we were disappointed by not obtaining
complete views from the summit, we were partially repaid by the clear
view we had of the country lying to the S. and S.E. of Kina Balu. We
were at an elevation of between 7,000 and 8,000 feet on the main spur,
and observed numerous mountain ranges whose bearings I will give.

 High peaked mountains         S. ½ E.          8,000 ft.  30 miles distance.
      „         „              S.E. by E.       7,000 ft.  18        „
      „         „              S.E. by E. ¾ E.  7,000 ft.  18        „
 A range: highest peak         S.               8,000 ft.  25        „
     „         „               S.S.W.             --       70        „
 A range: eastern end of     }
   a long table range running}
   E. by N. and W.           } S.S.E.             --       60        „
   by S.                     }
 A peak                        S.E. ¾ E.          --       very distant.
 A long range (peak)           S.E.               --            „

The latter is stated to be in the Kina Batañgan country. The distances
and heights are estimated.

Between us and the mountains, bearing S.E. by E. eighteen miles, there
was a grassy plain, perhaps three miles by two, on which were many
villages, and through this there flowed a fair-sized river. We could
trace its course as far as the third spur that springs from the main
one; then a line of hills appeared to obstruct it; but beyond we could
again trace the course of a stream, which is probably its source. This
river, it was stated by the people of the country, flows into the lake
of Kina Balu. It runs from the S.W. to the N.E. With the exception of
the plain above-mentioned and a marsh, whose commencement we could
observe north-east of the plain, all the country appeared hilly, and
most of the land was cleared, and either under cultivation, or showed
the remains of former plantations. We could observe in the second
valley two villages--the first called Tuhan, the next Inserban, and at
both cotton is said to be cultivated. Many villages and detached houses
were also observed, whose names our guides had forgotten. The road to
the lake is by the two above-mentioned villages, while the names of
those beyond are Penusuk, Tambian, Paka, and Koporiñgan--these are
stated to be on the route, or close to the lake. A few words concerning
this mythic sheet of water, as it has generally been considered: that
it exists to the east of the mountain appears from inquiry to be almost
certain. Its size it is unnecessary to estimate, though our informants
stated that, standing on one bank, it was not possible to see the
opposite one. It cannot, however, be of the great size marked in the
old maps, or in the situation assigned to it, as the whole country,
from E.S.E. to the western coast, was distinctly visible, and the
Ida’an expressly stated that it was farther to the north and east of
the plain I have before noticed. Mr. Low made many inquiries during our
first trip, and we jointly questioned the Ida’an, on many occasions
during our long stay at the Kiau village, and they spoke of it as a
certainty, many affirming that they themselves had been on trading
expeditions to it. I may add that Mr. De Crespigny, who lived some time
at Maludu Bay, heard that the lake was to the south of Kina Balu, where
it certainly is not. Peterman’s map is entirely incorrect as to the
position of the lake.

I must now make a few remarks on the vegetation which covered the
mountain. Cultivation extends, in a few places, to the height of 3,500
feet, but beyond that there is a fine jungle, on the main spur, to the
height of 6,000 feet; it then begins to degenerate, and in the exposed
portion of the ridge the trees are bent across the path, inferior in
size and covered with moss. But above this height, in sheltered spots,
the trees again increase in size; beyond 7,000 feet, however, there
are few fine trees, the vegetation changing its character, most of it
consisting of flowering shrubs, varying in height from ten to twenty
feet. The trees, however, on the sides of the spurs continued of a
comparatively large size until we had passed 9,000 feet; at 10,000
feet the shrubbery became very straggling, and above that it was only
scattered among the granite rocks. On the W.N.W. spur, called the
Marei Parei, the vegetation even at 4,500 feet was exceedingly stunted
in many places; while above, in equally exposed situations, the
jungle was of fair size: probably, the nature of the soil may account
for it, that of the Marei Parei district being formed of decomposed
serpentine, containing very much peroxide of iron. Kina Balu appears to
be the seat of the pitcher-plant, Mr. Low having made a collection of
extraordinary-shaped ones--perhaps the most beautiful in the world.

At the risk of repetition, I will make a few observations on each
of the rivers which drain these districts. I have already remarked
that the shallowness of their mouths renders them unfit for European
commerce; in fact, the fresh-water streams soon become mere mountain
torrents. The Ananam I have not ascended; the Kabatuan is apparently
but a collection of salt-water creeks, with a few fresh-water rivulets.
The former town of Meñggatal was situated about three miles up it, and
only at flood tide would it float a frigate’s barge. Near the town the
banks were grassy, and many cocoa-nuts were grown in the neighbourhood.
The Mengkabong, also, can scarcely be called a river; it is rather a
large salt-water lake with numerous islands, some containing hills
of several hundred feet in height; it is very shallow, many portions
of it being dry at low tides, while others have but a few inches of
water. It appears to be filling up fast, and, perhaps, affords a clue
to the cause of the formation of the plains that extend beyond, which
all appear to be composed of alluvial deposits. Many fresh-water
rivulets drain the neighbouring hills, and pour their waters into this
creek, but it is always salt; it extends, perhaps, five or six miles
in a straight line from the shore. The Sulaman I have not entered,
but I have seen it from the hills on many occasions; it presents
the appearance of a lake, and is reported as a salt-water creek. We
could observe, by the rivulets that drained into the Tawaran, that
the Sulaman has no interior, but it has a depth of twelve feet at its
entrance. The Tawaran, on the contrary, is a fresh-water river even
to its mouth, the flood-tides making but a slight impression on it.
Large native prahus can safely ascend it for six miles; after that it
depends on the state of the weather, rising and falling very rapidly as
it is influenced by the rains. The banks of the river as far as Bawang
village are flat; there the hills commence; and three miles beyond the
Tawaran divides into two branches; one coming from the south, the other
from the E.S.E. They immediately degenerate into mountain torrents, and
are not to be used by boats, but at some risk produce is occasionally
brought down on rafts. Every range of hills affords the parent stream
a rivulet, but the Tawaran does not penetrate far into the country;
its sources are in the main spur of Kina Balu; the east branch rising
between the second and third sub-spur, on the west side of the main
spur; the southern branch appears very small. On both occasions I
passed the Tawaran, it was of a dirty yellow colour, being filled with
the detritus of the neighbouring hills. Land slips are very common,
which afford a considerable amount of matter for the torrents to carry
seawards. The Tawaran is subject to very sudden inundations, the waters
occasionally reaching the houses at the village of Buñgol, though fifty
feet above the stream. There is no foundation for Dalrymple’s story,
which has been often repeated, of the Tawaran rising in the lake; it
evidently springs from the main spur of Kina Balu.

The Abai is a salt-water creek, but preserving more the appearance of
a river; much of both banks are mangrove until we approach the houses.
Its depth varies: on the bar it is but one fathom, while inside it
deepens to four, and it has a channel to the villages of about two
fathoms. It is a favourite anchorage for native prahus, being admirably
adapted for them. Two small rivulets join the Abai; the Gading, and the
Paka Paka, both inhabited by the Ida’an.

The Tampasuk is essentially a fresh-water river, very similar to
the Tawaran, of no importance to European ships, except that in wet
seasons its waters run unmixed half a mile out to sea. It differs from
the Tawaran, in having occasionally immense granite boulders in the
stream; while the latter drains only a sandstone country; but, like
the Tawaran, it divides into two branches; the eastern one flows from
the northern portion of Kina Balu. We could observe its direction for
above ten miles, as it ran through the low land, and its course was
E.S.E. from the junction. The Pengantaran, that drains a portion of the
north-west of Kina Balu, bringing down immense quantities of blocks of
serpentine, is the only other stream worth noticing. The natives seldom
make use of the Tampasuk beyond the spot where the river divides,
though above it rafts are occasionally used; but it evidently is not a
general practice, as the river is filled with fish traps, which require
the stream to be dammed across with loose stone walls.

The hills do not press closely to the river’s banks; if they do so on
one side, the other is certain to have a strip of low land, along which
the path is carried; in fact, from the sea to Koung village there is
but one steep hill to cross. Sometimes there are small plains, that
skirt the banks; at others, gently sloping fields. The steep hills
commence a few miles below Koung, on the left bank, and continue, with
few exceptions, to the base of Kina Balu. The village of Labang Labang,
on a spur of Saduk Saduk, has an easy slope from Koung, while towards
the great mountain it is very steep. Near Labang Labang the river
divides and assumes different names: the principal branch is called the
Kalupis; the other, the Dahombang, or Hobang, and this receives the
Kini Taki and the Pinokok. Between the Hobang and Pinokok streams is a
sort of table-land, about a couple of miles across, by perhaps four in
length; it is not absolutely flat, but the ground swells very gently.
The Kalupis has its source at the very summit of the hill, and we could
trace its course from the time it was but an inch deep, till collecting
all the drainage of the top, it dashed past our resting-place (at 9,000
feet) a fair-sized mountain torrent. About 1,000 feet below, at the
head of the Kalupis valley, it throws itself over the rocks, forming a
fine cascade of perhaps 1,500 feet in height.

I may notice that off the coast between Gaya Bay and the western
point of Maludu Bay there is often a very heavy ground swell, and the
rollers occasionally are so dangerous as to prevent vessels attempting
to communicate with the shallow rivers. I was once very anxious to
visit the Pandasan, but when we arrived off its mouth, the rollers
looked so dangerous, that the captain of the steamer decided it would
be unsafe for the ship’s boats to venture in, and I scarcely regretted
his determination. The ground swell was so great, that it was almost
impossible to stand on deck.

Having noticed the principal features connected with the physical
geography, I will add a few notes on what Mr. Hamilton correctly calls
political geography.

The population of these districts consists principally of three
classes--the Lanun, the Baju, and the Ida’an or Dusun.

The Lanuns were formerly numerous, having populous settlements on the
Tawaran and the Tampasuk, as well as on the Pandasan and Layer Layer
farther west. They originally came from the large island of Magindanau,
which is considered as the most southern island of the Philippine
group. They have formed settlements on various points as convenient
piratical stations, particularly on the east coast at Tungku and other
places.

As I have elsewhere observed, not only did they pirate by sea, but
they created an unappeasable feud with the Ida’an, by stealing their
children. No race in the Archipelago equals the Lanun in courage; the
Ida’an therefore considering it useless to make regular attacks, hung
about the villages, and by destroying small parties, forced the Lanuns
to leave Tawaran, who then joined their countrymen at Tampasuk. Sir
Thomas Cochrane attacked both Pandasan and Tampasuk, which induced the
most piratical portion to retire to the east coast. At present but
few remain in Tampasuk; they are not considered to have more than
150 fighting men; they are essentially strangers, and unpopular. They
seldom form regular governments, but attach themselves to certain
chiefs, who are partial to high-sounding titles, particularly those
of sultan and rajah. These chiefs are independent of each other,
and unite only for defence, or for an extensive expedition. They,
however, are gradually leaving these districts. Although Mahomedans,
their women are not shut up; on the contrary, they freely mix with
the men, and even join in public deliberations, and are said to be
tolerably good-looking. The men I have seen are better featured than
the Malays or Bajus. Our slight knowledge of the Lanuns partly arises
from the jealousy of the Bornean Government, which used to employ all
its influence to prevent their frequenting Labuan in order to trade.
This partly arose from a desire to prevent the development of our
colony, and partly from an absurd idea that they could thus monopolize
their trade; but the Lanuns, though often deterred from visiting our
settlement, seldom cared to meet the Bornean nobles.

The Bajus are scattered along the coast, their principal settlements
being at Mengkabong and Tampasuk. At Mengkabong they appear numerous,
and perhaps could muster 1,000 fighting men; at Tampasuk, they estimate
their own number at 600; at Pandasan, 400; at Abai, Sulaman, and
Ambong, there are a few. Their origin is involved in obscurity: they
are evidently strangers. They self-style themselves Orang Sama, or Sama
men. They principally occupy themselves with fishing, manufacturing
salt, and with petty trade. Some breed cows, horses, and goats, while
a few plant rice, and have small gardens.

They profess the Mahomedan religion, and keep the fast with some
strictness; though, like the Malays, are probably but little acquainted
with its tenets. The Bajus are not a handsome race--they have generally
pinched-up, small faces, low foreheads, but bright eyes. The men are
short and slight, but very active; the women have a similar appearance
to the men, and are slighter than the Malay. They wear their hair tied
in a knot on the fore part of the crown of the head, which is very
unbecoming. The women appeared to have greater liberty than among the
Malays, and came and sat near us and conversed. We saw many men that
differed totally from the above description; but on inquiry, we found
they were of mixed breed: one, Baju, Lanun, Malay, and Chinese; the
next, Baju, Sulu, Lanun, and Malay. In fact, many intermarry, which
renders it difficult to give a particular type for one race. The Bajus
of Tampasuk nominally acknowledge a Datu as their chief, who receives
his authority from Brunei; but they never pay taxes to the supreme
Government, and seldom send even a present. They are individually very
independent, and render no obedience to their chief, unless it suits
their own convenience. They are, therefore, disunited, and unable
to make head against the few Lanuns, with whom they have continual
quarrels. Every man goes armed, and seldom walks. If he cannot procure
a pony, he rides a cow or a buffalo, the latter generally carrying
double. Their arms consist of a spear, shield, and sword. Their houses
are similar to those of the Malays, being built on posts, sometimes
in the water, sometimes on the dry land. In Mengkabong, they are all
on the water, and are very poor specimens of leaf-huts. The Tampasuk
not affording water accommodation, the houses are built on shore.
The only good one was the Datu’s, which consisted of a planked house
of two stories; the lower, occupied by the married portion of the
family, consisted of one large room, with broad enclosed verandahs,
occupied by the chief, his wife, and his followers, while the upper
was reserved for the young unmarried girls and children. Of furniture
there is little--mats, boxes, cooking utensils, and bed places being
the principal. In these countries there are no public buildings, no
offices, jails, or hospitals, or even a fort or stockade; and the
houses being built of but temporary materials, there are no ancient
buildings of any description. The Bajus are very fond of cock-fighting,
and in order to indulge in this sport with greater satisfaction,
carefully rear a very fine breed of fowls, which are famous along the
coast. I have seen some of the cocks as large as the Cochin Chinese.
It is probable they are descended from those brought by the early
immigrants from China, as they no way resemble the ordinary Bornean
breed found in every Malay and Dayak village. They fatten readily, and
the hens bring up fine broods.

Mixed with the Bajus are a few Borneans; in Gantisan they form the
bulk of the village; in Mengkabong they are not numerous; while in the
northern districts there are few, if any. Of strangers, an occasional
Indian, African, or Chinese may be seen, but they are petty traders,
who return to Labuan after a short residence.

The principal inhabitants of these districts consist of the Ida’an or
Dusun, the aboriginal population.[24] They are essentially the same in
appearance as the Dayak, the Kayan, the Murut, and the Bisaya; their
houses, dress, and manners are very similar, modified, of course, by
circumstances. In the Kabatuan, Mengkabong, Sulaman, and Abai are some
tribes of Ida’an, but I have not visited their villages; I shall,
therefore, confine myself to those I observed on the Tawaran and
Tampasuk.

On the banks of the Tawaran, where it flows through the plain, are
many villages of Ida’an, which are often completely hidden by groves
of fruit-trees. These men have a civilized appearance, wearing jackets
and trousers. As you advance into the interior, these gradually
lessen, clothes being seen only on a few, as at Kiau, near Kina Balu;
beyond, they are said to use the bark of trees. Some of the tribes
in the Tawaran have followed the Malay fashion of living in small
houses suitable for a single family; while others occupy the usual
long house, with the broad verandah, and separate rooms only for the
families. The house in which we lodged, at Ginambur on the Tampasuk,
was the best I have ever seen among the aborigines. It was boarded
with finely-worked planks; the doors strong and excellently made,
each also having a small opening for the dogs to go in and out; the
flooring of bamboos, beaten out, was very neat and free from all dirt,
which I have never before noticed in a Dayak house, where the dogs
render everything filthy. The Ginambur Ida’an are good specimens of the
aborigines; they are free from disease, and are clear-skinned; they
have good-tempered countenances. None of the women are good-looking;
still they are not ugly. All the girls and young women wear a piece
of cloth to conceal their bosoms: it was upheld by strips of coloured
rattans: their petticoats were also longer than usual, and the young
girls had the front of the head shaved, like Chinese girls. I did not
notice that any of the men of that village were tatooed, but in our
walk we had met parties of men from the interior who were so: a tatooed
band, two inches broad, stretched in an arc from each shoulder, meeting
on their stomachs, then turning off to their hips, and some of them
had a tatooed band extending from the shoulder to the hand. Many of
their villages are extensive, as Koung, which is large, scattered on
a grassy plain, with a portion on the hill above. It is a very pretty
spot, the greensward stretching on either side of the river’s bank,
where their buffaloes and cattle graze. This tribe has the appearance
of being rich; they possess abundance of cattle, pigs, fowls, rice,
and vegetables, while the river affords them fish. Kiau is also an
extensive village, but the houses and the people are very dirty.

None of these Ida’an pay any tribute, though many chiefs on the coast
call them their people; but it is merely nominal, no one daring to
oppress them. Each village is a separate government, and almost each
house independent. They have no established chiefs, but follow the
councils of the old men to whom they are related. They have no regular
wars, which would induce them to unite more closely; their feuds are
but petty quarrels, and in but one house did I observe heads, and that
was at the village of Tamparuli, in the Tawaran plain. The very fact
of troops of girls working in the fields without male protection would
prove the security that exists, though every male always walks armed.
We had no opportunity of observing any of their ceremonies, and it is
very unsafe to trust to the information of interpreters.

The aborigines, in general, are so honest that little notice is taken
of this good quality; however, to our surprise, we found that these
Ida’an were not to be trusted. We were warned by the Bajus to take care
of our things, but we felt no distrust. However, at Kiau they proved
their thievish qualities, which, however, we frightened out of them, as
during our second residence we lost nothing there. At the village of
Nilu one made an attempt, which we checked.

The Ida’an are essentially agriculturists, and raise rice, sweet
potatoes, the kiladi (_Arum_--an esculent root), yams, Indian
corn, sugar-cane, tobacco, and cotton. The sugar-cane is only raised
for eating in its natural state, while the cotton is confined to
certain districts.

I first saw the natives ploughing in the Tampasuk; their plough is
very simple, and is constructed entirely of wood; it serves rather
to scratch the land than really to turn it over. The plough was
drawn by a buffalo, and its action was the same as if a pointed
stick had been dragged through the land to the depth of about four
inches. After ploughing, they use a rough harrow. In the Tawaran they
ploughed better, the earth being partially turned over to the depth
of about six inches. The Ida’an have divided the land into square
fields with narrow banks between them, and each division being as
much private property as English land, is considered very valuable,
and the banks are made to keep in the water. Their crops are said to
be very plentiful. Simple as this agriculture is, it is superior to
anything that exists south of Brunei, and it would be curious if we
could investigate the causes that have rendered this small portion of
Borneo, between the capital and Maludu Bay, so superior in agriculture
to the rest. I think it is obviously a remnant of Chinese civilization.
Pepper is not grown north of Gaya Bay, and is confined to the districts
between it and the capital.

The Ida’an use a species of sledge made of bamboos, and drawn by
buffaloes to take their heavy goods to market. The gardens on the
Tawaran are well kept and very neatly fenced in. On the hills the
plough is not used, the land being too steep; and there the agriculture
presents nothing remarkable, beyond the great care displayed in keeping
the crops free from weeds. The tobacco is well attended to, and these
districts supply the whole coast, none being imported from abroad. When
carefully cured, the flavour is considered as good, and the cultivation
might be easily extended. Of the cotton I can say little, as I did not
find that any of the tribes through whose country we passed cultivated
it, though they assured me they purchased their supplies from the
villages near the lake. The Tuhan and Inserban districts produce it,
they said, in considerable quantities; and I observed the women, in
several places, spinning yarn from the cotton. The Bajus obtain their
supplies from a tribe near Maludu Bay. Among the hills the implements
of agriculture consist of simply a parang chopper and a biliong, or
native axe, and the ground is, therefore, no more turned up than what
can be effected by a pointed stick; in fact, the steepness of the
valley sides is against a very improved rice cultivation; it is better
adapted for coffee. Mr. Low, who has much experience, pronounces the
soil, a rich orange-coloured loam, to be superior to that of Ceylon,
and, Kina Balu being but twenty-five miles from the sea-coast, there
are great advantages there. The plains are alluvial and very fertile.

With regard to the amount of population, all estimates would be mere
guess work; but it must be considerable, as little old forest remains,
except at the summits of lofty hills; the rest being either under
cultivation or lying fallow with brushwood upon it. The tribes on the
Tampasuk estimated their own numbers at five thousand fighting-men; the
Tawaran tribes were equally numerous; but reducing that estimate, and
putting together the various information received, I should be disposed
to place the entire population of these districts at above forty
thousand people. This is under rather than over the amount.

The five thousand fighting men who are stated by the Ida’an to live in
the Tampasuk are, they say, thus divided:--

    The Piasau Ida’an      500
    Ginambur             1,000
    Bungol               1,000
    Koung                  500
    Kiau                 2,000
                         -----
        Total            5,000

It is impossible to verify this statement, but we may test it
slightly by the observations made. The Piasau Ida’an, so named from
the extensive groves of cocoa-nuts that surround their villages
(_piasau_, a cocoa-nut), are spread over the Tampasuk plain, and I
think I am understating, when I say we noticed above fifteen villages,
and I should have myself placed their numbers much higher that five
hundred. The Ginambur was a large village, and there was another of the
same Ida’an about a mile off among the hills, which I passed through on
our return. Buñgol is also stated at a thousand men. Our Malays, who
visited it, said that it was very large; while the extensive village
of Tambatuan, Peñgantaran, and Batong, with numerous others among the
hills, have to be included in the Ginambur and Buñgol tribes. Koung
is placed at five hundred, which is not a high estimate, there being
about three hundred families in the village. Kiau is stated to contain
two thousand fighting men; in this number are included the village of
Pinokok (small), of Labang Labang (large), of Sayap, which we did not
see. I should be inclined to reduce the Kiaus by five hundred men,
though we understood them to say that their tribe was numerous beyond
the north-western spur, in the neighbourhood of Sayap. I think we shall
not be over-estimating the population by placing it at four thousand
fighting Ida’an, or sixteen thousand inhabitants. Rejecting the women
and children, both male and female, and the aged, one in four may
be taken as the combatants. There were many villages on the eastern
branch, some of Piasaus, others probably of Buñgol. The great extent
of country cleared shows the population to be comparatively numerous.
I may make this observation, the result of many years’ experience,
that I have seldom found the statements of the natives with regard to
population above the truth. In Sarawak and the neighbouring rivers,
where we had better means of ascertaining the correctness of the
accounts rendered, I have always found it necessary to add a third to
the numbers stated.

The Tawaran, perhaps, contains a population nearly equal to that of the
Tampasuk. The villages between the mouth and Bawang are numerous, but
much concealed by groves of fruit-trees. Tamparuli was an extensive
village, and Bawang of fair size. The Nilau tribe was scattered over
the sides of the hills. Kalawat was a large village, with perhaps
eighty families. Buñgol contains, perhaps, over one hundred and fifty
families. The Tagoh, Bañgow, and other villages, were observed on
sub-spurs; and beyond Buñgol the tribes must be numerous, if we may
judge from the extensive fires made by them to clear their plantations.
On the right-hand branch are also many villages, but we had no
opportunity of examining them. By native accounts, the Tawaran district
is more populous than the Tampasuk.

Of Anaman I know nothing; of Kabatuan I saw little beyond the Malay
town; but I was informed that the Ida’an were numerous in the interior
of this river, as well as on the hills that surround Mengkabong. I have
placed them at two thousand, which is not a high estimate.

Mengkabong contains also an extensive Baju population, and in
estimating them at six thousand, it is, I believe, much below the
number. The villages are numerous, and the chief town large. It is
possible that there are not more than a thousand fighting-men, but the
Bajus are holders of slaves, and there are also many strangers settled
among them.

Sulaman is placed at a thousand, which includes both Baju and Ida’an,
and may be a little over the mark; for it I have nothing but vague
native testimony.

Abai contains about thirty houses, perhaps not above two hundred
people; while on the hills are a few small villages of Ida’an. I have
put them at one hundred and twenty-five fighting-men, or five hundred
in all.

Tampasuk contains about one hundred and fifty Lanun men, or seven
hundred and fifty population. Bajus, five hundred, or two thousand five
hundred people. I have multiplied the Lanun and Baju fighting-men by
five, as they have many slaves both male and female.

Gaya Bay contains about three hundred people.

The population of these districts may therefore be entered as follows:--

    Gaya Bay                      300 Malays and others.
    Kabatuan                    1,000 Ida’an.
    Mengkabong                  6,000 Bajus and others.
        „                       1,000 Ida’an.
    Tawaran                    10,000 Ida’an.
    Sulaman                     1,000 Ida’an and Bajus.
    Abai                          200 Bajus.
      „                           500 Ida’an.
    Tampasuk                    2,500 Bajus.
       „                          750 Lanuns.
       „                       16,000 Ida’an.
                               ------
    Total                      45,250

The only figures in the above which I think may possibly be overstated,
are the Bajus of Tampasuk. We may fairly reckon the population of the
districts between Gaya Bay and Tampasuk at forty-five thousand, being
quite aware, at the same time, that it is founded on very loose data;
but it may serve as a guide to future inquirers.

There are but trifling manufactures carried on. The Bajus are much
occupied in preparing salt for the inland tribes. The only other
manufacture that is worth noticing, is that of cloths from native
cotton, and the most esteemed are those of the Lanuns. The cloth is
generally black, with a few white lines running through it, forming
a check. It is strong and more enduring than any other I have seen,
and fetches a high price--varying from 1_l._ 5_s._ to 2_l._ 10_s._
for a piece sufficient for a single petticoat. They are, however,
deteriorating since the introduction of cheap English yarn, which is
superseding the carefully-spun native. No minerals have as yet been
discovered in these districts beyond the coal in Gaya Island, though
tin has been found to the north of Kina Balu, near one of the streams
flowing into Maludu Bay.

There is but little trade carried on: the only articles of export are
tobacco, rice, a little wax, cattle, and horses, or rather ponies;
the imports consist of cloths, iron, gongs, and earthenware, with
occasionally a valuable jar. Little beyond tobacco is brought from the
interior, as everything is carried on men’s shoulders, none of their
paths being as yet suited for loaded beasts.

It is a great drawback to this country, having no navigable rivers,
nor on the hills have they good paths. The latter are easily made, the
country presenting no natural difficulties, while in the plains very
fair roads already exist, fit for their sledges. The tribes in the
interior are at present far beyond any commerce; in fact, the people
near the lake have never been visited by the coast population, and
trust to exchanging with the other Ida’an. But as the taste for cloth
is evidently on the increase, it is possible the trade may improve.
Englishmen travelling in that country do great good by spreading a
taste for European manufactures.

With respect to the languages spoken, I will at present make but few
remarks. The Lanun and Baju are entirely different from the language
of the Ida’an. I have made several vocabularies and many inquiries. At
Kiau, we collected above 400 words; at Blimbing on the Limbang, 300;
and whilst in Maludu Bay, seven years ago, I likewise made a short
vocabulary. These three agree so far that I may say that the Ida’an and
Bisaya have two out of three words in common; and on further inquiry, I
think that the remaining one-third will gradually dwindle away, as at
present many of the words in my Bisaya vocabulary are Malay, for which
they have their native word. The result of my inquiries is that all
the Ida’an speak the same language with slight local differences. We
found all the tribes on the Tampasuk and Tawaran spoke fluently to each
other, and one of our interpreters, who had never before visited these
countries, but had been accustomed to the aborigines to the south,
conversed freely with them. The Bisayas live on the rivers in the
neighbourhood of the capital, and their language differs but little
from that of the Ida’an.

The Ida’an contains but few Malay words, these generally referring to
imported articles and domestic animals. Some are similar to those of
the Land Dayaks of Sarawak.

I will add a few remarks on the geology of these districts, premising
them, however, by the observation that I am ignorant of the science.
Wherever the rocks protruded through the hills, we noticed they were
decomposing sandstone; and this character continued until we reached
the great mountain. Occasionally, as in Gaya island, the rocks were of
a harder texture; and here a Mr. Molley is said to have been shown a
vein of coal. In the districts to the west and south of the Tampasuk,
we noticed no signs of primitive rock; while in the Tampasuk river,
huge boulders of granite are met with a little above Butong, while the
debris extends as far as the junction; but the rocks of the hills are
sandstone, and this character continues to the base of the mountain.
At Koung, the rocks dipped to the south-west by south, at an angle
of 45°. On the Marei Parei spur, we could trace the sandstone to the
height of about 4,000 feet, the dip about 80° to the south-west;
greenstone immediately after protruded, and appeared to form the chief
rock. On the Marei Parei spur, the compass was so affected by the
peroxide of iron which formed a sort of coating to the rocks, that it
would not act. The main spur consists at first of sandstone; then of
shale, almost as hard as stone; and of various rocks which I could not
recognize; then of decomposing granite, above which commences the
massive outline of the summit. We found in our collection a piece of
limestone that was broken off somewhere near the base of the mountain
in the Kalupis valley.

The country presents the appearance of having been originally of
sedimentary rocks, through which the granite has forced its way,
upheaving the sandstone to an angle of 80°.

With regard to the climate, I made a few notes. The plain and low hills
are much the same as the rest of Borneo, or other tropical countries;
but in the neighbourhood of Kina Balu it is of course different. We
found at the village of Kiau that the thermometer never marked above
77° during the day, and varied from 66° to 69° during the nights. The
mean of all the observations gave a shade below 68°. The Marei Parei
spur offered a fine position for a sanitarium, at any height between
4,000 feet and 5,000 feet. Our tent was pitched at about 4,700 feet,
and we found that the thermometer marked 75° (mean) in the midday
shade, 56° at six A.M., and 63° (mean) at six P.M. This would be a
delightful climate in a well-built house. The cave at 9,000 feet was
very cold--at two P.M. 52° mean; and during the three nights I slept
there on my first expedition, it was 40° 33´ (mean); ranging between
36° 5´ and 43°. In my last expedition, in the cave, the thermometer
marked: 6.30 A.M., 43°; 9.15 A.M., 48°; 3·30 P.M., 51·250°; 6 P.M.,
45·750°. Night, registering thermometer: 41·250° and 41°. On the
summit, during mist and rain, it marked 52°; while exposed to a strong
wind and a storm of sleet and hail, it fell to 43°. On a fine day,
however, it marked 62° in the shade, there being much refraction from
the rocks.

I think it most probable that water would freeze on the summit during
a similar storm of hail and sleet to which we were exposed, were it to
occur during the night-time, as at two P.M. the thermometer
fell to 43°, though held in the hand: and at the cave it fell to 36·5°
during a very cold night, though partly protected by the tent, and when
I went out, I found a sort of hoar-frost on the rocks and leaves.

I must add a few remarks on the map. The sea-line is taken from
the Admiralty chart, while the interior I have filled up from the
observations and rough plans made during the journey. It may afford
some idea of the country, and serve until a traveller with greater
advantages makes a better.

I will add a few remarks on that great indentation of the land to the
north of Kina Balu, called Maludu Bay, but more correctly Marudu.
Steering from the westward, there are two channels by which the
northern point of Borneo may be rounded: they are to the north and
south of the little island of Kalampunuan. A sweeping current often
renders the latter dangerous, as it would drive a vessel on a reef
of rocks that runs off the island. Just before the extreme point is
reached there is a small river or creek of Luru, which is also known by
the name of Simpañg Meñgayu, or the Cruising Creek, the Sampan Mangy of
the Admiralty charts. Round the point there is another, named Karatang,
and both are well known to the natives as the spots where the Balignini
and Lanun pirates lurked to catch the trading prahus which passed that
way.

An incident occurred to a Bornean acquaintance, named Nakodah Bakir,
who had accompanied me on my visit to the Baram River. He had found,
from experience, the inutility of arming his prahus, with brass
swivels of native manufacture; as, though they carry far, they seldom
hit anything; so he changed his plan and armed his men with English
muskets. Early in the autumn of 1851, he was on a trading voyage to
Maludu Bay, and having secured a good cargo, was returning to the
capital. As he rounded the northern point, five Lanun boats dashed out
of Luru, and pulled towards him, firing their brass swivels, whose
balls passed harmlessly through his rigging. He kept his thirty men
quiet till the first pirate boat was within fifty yards, when his crew
jumped up and fired a volley of musketry into it. This novel reception
so astonished the pirates that they gave up the pursuit.

Maludu Bay extends nearly thirty miles inland. The western shore,
near the point, is rather flat, but soon rises into a succession of
low hills; and as you penetrate deeper into the bay they swell to the
proportion of mountains on both shores, and Kina Balu and its attendant
ranges form a fine background to the end of the bay, which, for nearly
four miles from the shore, shallows from about two fathoms to scarcely
sufficient water to float a boat. By keeping the channel, however, the
principal river may be reached. The land is quite swampy on both banks,
mangrove jungle reaching to within a mile of the town, then nipa palms,
mixed with a few forest trees; in fact, the whole of the head of the
bay appears gradually filling up: the land obviously encroaching on the
sea, the nipa palm gaining on the mangrove, which is spreading far out
in the salt water on the flat muddy bottom. The rush of the current
from these rivers is sometimes so great that we have found the whole
head of the bay for five miles completely fresh, and the amount of
earth held in suspension renders it of a white appearance. The houses
are built on a narrow creek on the right-hand bank of the river; near
the country is flat, but the mountains soon skirt the plains. The
population of the bay is sufficient to render it a valuable commercial
settlement for native traders, if security for life and property could
be established, and if the monopolies of the chiefs could be destroyed.
To show the insecurity, I may mention that in 1859 the Sultan of
Brunei sent a trading prahu there with a valuable cargo. On the return
voyage, just as they were leaving the mouth of the river Panchur, the
vessel commenced leaking, and they had to land a part of the cargo. The
supercargo returned to the town for assistance, and during his absence,
a large party of men came into the river, drove away the crew, and
carried off all the goods. They were not regular pirates, but a band of
Sulus, who could not resist the temptation to plunder.

The monopolies of the chiefs, however, prevent any intercourse with the
producing classes, and thus prevent the possibility of a large increase
of trade.

I made many inquiries as to the amount of population which dwells in
the districts bordering on this deep bay. I obtained from Sherif Hasan,
the son of Sherif Usman, who formerly ruled these districts with a
strong hand, a list of the number of Ida’an families who paid tribute
to his father. I then inquired of the chief Datu Budrudin, of Sherifs
Musahor, Abdullah, and Houssein, and of a number of traders, and their
accounts do not greatly vary.

Sherif Usman received tribute from the following districts:--

    Udat                 200 families of Ida’an.
    Milau                200    „          „
    Lotong               150    „          „
    Anduan                50    „          „
    Metunggong           300    „          „
    Bira’an              100    „          „
    Tigaman              250    „          „
    Taminusan             50    „          „
    Bintasan              --        --
    Bingkungan            60    „          „
    Panchur              500    „          „
    Buñgan               300    „          „
    Tandek             1,500    „          „
                       -----
                       3,660 families.
        Add a third    1,220 families not paying revenue.
                       -----
        Total          4,880 families.

At six to a family, this would give nearly 30,000 people.

Comparing this statement with those given by the assembled chiefs,
I find they slightly differ. They reckoned the population at 36,000
people; and I account for it, first, by Sherif Hasan not having given
the population of Bintasan; and, secondly, by his only mentioning the
number of families on the Buñgun who paid tribute to his father, there
being above a thousand families who did not.

They all represented the district of Bengkoka, not included in the
above list, as the most important and populous of all; it is on the
eastern coast of the bay, and the river, though barred at the entrance,
is reputed deep inside. Its population is stated at 16,000 Ida’an.
The Malays and Sulus residing in all these districts are represented
as not very numerous; in fact, as under 5,000, of whom 1,500 are at
Panchur, 1,500 at Bengkoka, and the rest scattered at the various other
villages. If the above figures represent the numbers, there are about
52,000 Ida’an on the banks of the rivers flowing into the bay, and
about 5,000 strangers. They all, however, explained that, when they
enumerated the Ida’an, they only spoke of those villages which were
under the influence of the people of the coast, and that there were
many tribes among the mountains with whom they had little intercourse.

I once met a party of these Ida’an; they were a dark, sharp-featured
race, intelligent-looking, and appeared in features very much like
the Land Dayaks of Sarawak. They were dressed in their war costume,
consisting of heavy, padded jackets, but wore the chawat or cloth round
their loins. They were slight and short men.

The productions of these districts consist of rattans, wax, camphor,
tortoise-shell, tripang or sea-slug, and kaya laka, a sweet-scented
wood. Large quantities of rice and tobacco are grown, and, if
encouraged, these cultivations would greatly increase. The only
minerals as yet discovered are coal in the Bengkoka River, and tin in
some stream at the foot of the Kina Balu range. I saw specimens of the
latter, but no one has ventured to work it yet. The insecurity would
prevent the Chinese succeeding.

Starting from the head of Maludu Bay, and skirting the eastern shore,
it is found to be shoal off Mobang Point, and on the next inlet, Teluk
Mobañg, Sherif Usman endeavoured to establish a village; but while
his people were clearing the forest, they were seized with severe
vomitings, many dying; all arising, the Malays, confidently believe,
from the machinations of the evil spirits who had been disturbed in
their homes. Leaving the points of Taburi and Si Perak, we pass through
the straits formed by the island of Banguey and the mainland. That
Island is inhabited in the interior by Ida’an, but on the shore many
Bajus assemble, collecting tortoise-shell and sea-slug, and they have
built many houses near the peak. It was they who pillaged and burnt
the _Minerva_, wrecked off Balambañgan, in November, 1848. I
have mentioned the Mengkabong people having treacherously plundered
a village on Banguey; the inhabitants consisted of their own race,
mixed with a few Sulus and others. The islets to the south-west of
Banguey are named Padudañgan (by the Sulus it is called Palarukan),
and Patarunan. Indarawan is the name of a small river at the south of
Banguey, where, it is said, sufficient good water may be procured to
supply vessels. Passing between Mali Wali and a rock off the coast, the
soundings are very variable, and the sea appears filled with sandbanks
and shoals; in fact, for a frigate, the sea is not sufficiently clear
of reefs till we arrive opposite Sandakan Bay.

Commencing from the north-eastern point of Borneo, we first come to
a little bay called Batul Ayak, the only inhabitants of which are
Bajus, who entirely reside in their boats. Then there is a small
river called Kina (China) Bañgun: there are but few people residing
there, wanderers with no settled dwellings. After that there is Kang
Karasan, where there are probably not more than a couple of hundred
Mahommedans, but the Dusuns in the interior are numerous: my informants
knew of villages containing above three hundred families. The river
Paitan is large and deep, and there are above a thousand Islams living
here, and the Ida’an in the interior are represented to be as numerous
as the leaves on the trees, and the slopes of the hills are covered
with great forests of camphor-trees. I may observe that boxes made of
camphor-wood prevent any insects meddling with woollen cloths, and are
therefore very useful. Camphor has so powerful an aromatic smell, that
it will drive every insect from its neighbourhood. Passing the stream
of Babahar, which is small, and without inhabitants, we arrive at
Sugut, to the north of the commencement of Labuk Bay; but it has also a
small entrance to the south of it. The Islam population is represented
as numerous, while seven thousand families of Ida’an reside in the
interior; in consequence of their great superiority of numbers, their
chiefs have great influence in those districts. A few elephants are
caught here, but the principal exports are rattans, wax, and camphor.
The north-east coast of Borneo, as far as the entrance of the Sugut
River, is rather flat, only a few low hills occasionally diversifying
the scene; but no sooner do you round the point, and enter Labuk Bay,
than it presents a different aspect: the low hills gradually swell
into mountains, one range of which is remarkably peaked--as jagged,
from one view, as the edge of a saw. Kina Balu is visible along this
coast, and from the eastern side the ascent appears feasible. A vessel
steering along the shore finds it difficult, from the numerous shoals,
while pretty islets are scattered about in every direction. If the
Benggaya be approached in a direct line, the water gradually decreases
from three to one and a half fathoms; but, keeping close into the
front, it deepens to five, seven, and no bottom with a ten-fathom line.
The country, as viewed from the mouth of this river, presents only
mangrove jungle, with an occasional glimpse at the distant mountains:
its entrance is very shallow, not deep enough at low tide to float a
ship’s cutter. To reach the village of Benggaya, it is necessary to
keep to the left-hand branch, avoiding the broad stream which stretches
away to the right; but after ten miles the stream divides, and it is
necessary to pass by the left-hand branch, and continue for about
twenty miles farther up a most extraordinarily winding river before the
houses are reached. This out-of-the-way situation is chosen to avoid
the attacks of pirates. The banks of this river present a continued
succession of mangrove and nipa swamp for many miles, only occasionally
varied by dry land and fine forest trees. The stream winds in a most
extraordinary manner, and at one place the reaches had met, and nothing
but a fallen tree prevented a saving of two miles of distance. The
inhabitants consist of a few Islams, called men of Buluñgan, doubtless
fugitives from the Malay State of that name a couple of hundred miles
farther south. There is an overland communication between Sugut and
Benggaya, prepared by the latter in case of being suddenly surprised,
as they have no interior to fly to, and consequently no Ida’an
population.

The largest river which runs into this bay is the Labuk, which gives
its name to the place. It has three entrances--Kalagan, small; Labuk,
large; Sabi, small. Off its mouth is a place called Lingkabu, famous
for its pearl fishery. The productions of this district are principally
camphor, wax, rattans, and pearls, and the interior is reported to be
well inhabited by the Ida’an. Next to it there is an insignificant
village of Islams on the river Suñgalihut, and is only inhabited on
account of the edible birds’ nests found in the interior.

Between the eastern point of Labuk Bay and the islands there is a
three-fathom channel. The coast is low, with no marked features until
we round the point, and the bluff islands of Sandakan Bay are visible.
Then the land appears to rise gradually into pretty hills, presenting
beautiful slopes for cultivation; but as we approach the entrances of
the Kina Batañgan, the land again becomes low. Sandakan Bay itself is
a splendid harbour, with a good supply of fresh water. It used to be
well inhabited, but on one occasion the villages were surprised by the
Balignini pirates, and sacked and burnt by them. The inhabitants who
escaped the attack dispersed among the neighbouring communities, but
every year strong parties of the surrounding people assemble there to
collect the valuable products of the place, which consist of large
quantities of white birds’ nests, pearls, wax, sea-slug, and the best
kind of camphor.

About four or five years ago, Pañgeran, or Datu Mahomed, the ruler
of Atas, became so unbearably tyrannical that a large section of the
population determined to abandon their country, and hearing of the
English settlement of Labuan, resolved to remove there. One of their
principal men proceeded first to make arrangements for the others, who
in the meantime made temporary dwellings in Sandakan Bay. He sailed
round to the north-west coast, and unfortunately put into the Papar
river for water. The chief of that district, Pañgeran Omar, detained
him and forced him to send up his family to his house. Week after week
passed, and they were still kept there, till information reached our
colony, when the governor sent an officer to try and release these
people, but his representations were treated with contempt, as he had
no material force at his back; and the next thing I heard was that the
Bornean chief had put the Atas man to death, on pretence that he was
about to run amuck, and taken the wife and daughters into his harim,
reducing the followers to slavery. When this intelligence reached
Sandakan Bay, it is not surprising the fugitives did not venture on the
inhospitable north-west coast. The whole affair might have been better
managed on our part, and had proper representations been made to the
admiral on the station, there is little doubt he would have considered
himself authorized to interfere.

Passing this bay, we arrive at the many mouths of the Kina Batañgan
river; the first, named Balabatang, is said to connect the river with
the bay; the second is Trusan Abai, by which the first village may be
reached in seven days. The deepest entrance is Tundong Buañgin, and
in certain months, perhaps after the rainy season, it is said there is
a channel with three fathoms; but in the dry weather the sand again
collects and spoils the passage. It is seldom used, except by very
large trading prahus, as it takes them thirty days to reach the first
village. Judging by the time required by the Bornean boats to reach
the town of Lañgusin, on the Baram river, during the rainy season, we
may calculate that with the windings of the river, the first village
must be about a hundred miles from the mouth. The Sulu prahus being
heavier built, the Bornean ones used in the Baram trade would move a
third faster. The first village on the banks is called Bras Manik.
There are numerous hamlets beyond; in fact, the Kina Batañgan river
is always spoken of as one of the most populous, and by far the most
important on the north-eastern coast, and it is the one the Datus of
Sulu watch with the most jealous attention. As this is the only country
in Borneo where the elephants are numerous, it is the only one where
ivory forms an important article of trade in the eyes of the natives.
But the most valuable articles are the remarkably fine white birds’
nests and the camphor, which is collected in large quantities in the
old forests which clothe the lofty mountains seen in the interior. Wax,
sea-slug, very fine tortoise-shell, and also pearls, are the articles
that render this trade so sought after. The tortoise-shell is collected
on the many islands with broad sandy beaches that stud this quiet sea.
My servant once found a packet ready prepared for sale left by some
careless collector near the remains of a deserted hut. Turtle also
frequent these islands; and one day, while walking along the beach
with a blue-jacket, we saw a fine animal in shoal water. He sprang
in, and after a vigorous struggle, in which his companions partly
assisted, he turned the beast on his back and towed him ashore, to
afford, next day, excellent turtle soup for the whole ship’s company.
The natives generally despise rattans as articles of export, on account
of their great bulk, otherwise they might collect sufficient to load
many ships. The principal articles of import into these countries are
gray shirtings, chintzes, red cloth, iron, steel, brass wire, beads,
and powder and muskets. With opium, they say themselves, they are
sufficiently supplied by the Lanun pirates, who obtain it from the
prahus they capture among the Dutch islands.

Sigama is the next river, and has but a small population of Islams,
though there are many Ida’an in the interior.

Cape Unsang is low and marked by few characteristic features, but on
rounding the point becomes steadily prettier until we reach the Tungku
river, when it presents a beautiful succession of low hills with the
mountain of Siriki to the left, which is a good mark to discover the
pirate haunt of Tungku. All the small rivers on the southern shore of
Cape Unsang are barred, not admitting a ship’s barge at low-water--at
least, we did not find deeper channels. I saw here a shark, the largest
I have ever noticed: it swam to and fro in the shallow water, eyeing
the English seamen who were dragging their boats over the sands, but
it did not venture near enough to be dangerous. We were sitting in the
gig a little to seaward and it passed and repassed within a few yards
of us, and I thought it must have been fifteen feet in length, but the
imagination is apt to wander on such occasions, and as it swam in very
shallow water, it appeared to show more of its back than usual. As the
officers and men were on particular service, no one attempted to put
a ball into it. Tungku appeared a type of the neighbouring districts:
near the sea it is flat, occasionally varied by a low hill. I walked
several hours through this country, and never before saw more luxuriant
crops; the rice stalks were over our heads, the sugar cane was of
enormous girth, and the pepper vines had a most flourishing appearance:
the soil must be of the very finest quality.

I have visited none of the districts on the east coast to the south of
Tungku, but I heard that the people of Tidong, as of old, are troubling
the neighbouring countries, as the Dayaks of Seribas and Sakarang did
the north-west coast when I first reached Borneo. In sight of Cape
Unsang, are many islands, at present the resort of the Balignini, as
Tawi Tawi and Binadan. A chief from the former captured a Spanish
schooner in 1859, and was reported to have found the daughter of the
captain on board. The Spanish Government made many efforts to recover
her; but by native report she still lives with her captor, Panglima
Taupan, who treats her with every attention and considers her his
principal wife. I heard last year she had borne a child to him, and was
now unwilling to leave him.

The inhabitants of the north-east coast may be divided into Pagan and
Mahomedan. The former are Ida’an, no doubt exactly similar to their
countrymen found on the opposite coast; but at Sugut the natives affirm
there is a tribe who have a short tail. I have elsewhere mentioned
that my informant declared he had felt it: it was four inches long,
and quite stiff; and that at their houses they were provided with
seats with holes for this uncomfortable prolongation of the spine; the
poorer people contented themselves with sitting on simple logs of wood,
allowing the tail to hang over. It is quite possible there may have
been some instances in a tribe, as I have heard that this deformity has
been known in Europe; and from one or two would soon arise the story
of the tribes with tails. I do not think I have mentioned elsewhere
that I have seen Dayaks who carry little mats hanging down their backs,
fastened to their waist-cloths, on which they sit: they always have
them there, ready to be used. I at first thought that the story of the
men with tails arose from the method of wearing the waistcloth adopted
by some of the tribes: they twist it round their loins, and have one
end hanging down in front, the other behind, but some so manage it
that the resemblance to a tail at a little distance is remarkable,
particularly when the men are running fast.

The Mahomedan population consists of Sulus, Bajus, and a few Lanuns,
together with slaves, consisting of captives made by the pirates during
their cruises among the various islands of the Archipelago, and sold
at that great slave-mart, Sugh. The districts of the north-east coast
are nearly all governed by chiefs from Sulu, or by the descendants
of the Arab adventurers who all assume the title of Serib, or, more
correctly, Sherif. They do their utmost to monopolize the trade, and
do not hesitate to cut off any native prahus who may venture on that
coast; and Europeans have avoided all connection with it for many
years; the last attempt was made by a Mr. Burns, who lost life and ship
in Maludu Bay in 1851.


                             END OF VOL. I


      London: Printed by SMITH, ELDER & CO., Little Green Arbour
                        Court, Old Bailey, E.C.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] See chapters on the “Social Life of the Land Dayaks.”

[2] See Dalton’s _Koti_; Hunt’s _Notices of the Indian Archipelago_.

[3] Dayak,--beruri.

[4] The Land Dayak word “borich,” and the Sea Dayak “manang,” are
generally translated male and female doctors, but from their employment
and duties, I think “priest” and “priestess” would better convey the
idea.

[5] Dekan.

[6] Tinungan.

[7] Man buiya.

[8] “Kena antu.”

[9] “Peti,” made by bending back a sharp bamboo spear. An animal
touching a stick, placed across an opening, lets fly the spring, and
the spear is driven through the unheeding stranger, whether human or
animal.

[10] “Sikurung,” a bamboo altar.

[11] “Mamuk Benih.”

[12] “Nyipa ’an.”

[13] “Man Sawa,” or “Nyitungid.”

[14] Nyishupen, or “nyipidang menyupong.”

[15] Sirangan, also a bamboo altar.

[16] A short account of this mission will be found at the end of the
second volume.

[17] _The Transactions of the Linnean Society of London._ Vol.
XXII., Part IV., p. 419.

[18] _The Transactions of the Linnean Society of London._ Vol.
XXII., Part IV., p. 421.

[19] _The Transactions of the Linnean Society of London._ Vol.
XXII., Part IV., p. 420.

[20] _The Transactions of the Linnean Society of London._ Vol.
XXII., Part IV., p. 420.

[21] I have inserted this chapter, though, in fact, it contains but
a summary of the geographical information collected during our two
expeditions to Kina Balu, and some previous coasting voyages. It
necessarily involves repetition, but I hope will prove useful to
geographers who may be desirous to have the subject presented to them
in one view, and it will help to elucidate the accompanying map. To
render it more complete, I have added a geographical description of
Maludu Bay and the north-east coast of Borneo.

[22] _Voyage of the Samarang_, vol. i. p. 190.

[23] Called Kini by the Dusuns and Ida’an.

[24] Ida’an is the name given them by the Bajus, Dusun by the Borneans.




Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.

2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the
original.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.

4. Superscripts are represented using the caret character, e.g. D^r. or
X^{xx}.

5. Italics are shown as _xxx_.

6. The errata have been silently corrected by the transcriber.