RIVER AND FOREST TRAVEL.
A Sea-snake--A dreary landing--Native dancing--Orchids at
home--Tropical flowers--The jungle leech--A bad dinner--Rough
paths--The blow-pipe--Head-hunting--A Murut reception.
Setting forth for the first time in a new country, of which but little
is generally known, is always exciting work, and as a rule things turn
out to be very different to what one had imagined they would be. I had
pictured to myself landing in Borneo beneath a hot sun, and at one
of the trading stations; but, on the contrary, it was a dark stormy
night when I reached its shores amid a perfect deluge of cold rain;
the thunder and lightning was more impressive than I ever saw it before
or since, and the place where I landed was an obscure little village
of scarcely a dozen palm-leaf huts, and up a river nearly twenty miles
from the coast. It came about in this way. The Hon. W. H. Treacher, of
Labuan, very kindly undertook to introduce me to the Bornean Kadyans
and Muruts--the last a head-hunting tribe--who had settlements near
the head of the Lawas and Meropok rivers a little to the northward of
the capital. We crossed in a small open boat pulled by eight Brunei
men with paddles, which is here the usual and best way of making short
sea or river journeys. We started from the fishmarket pier, Labuan,
about 9 P.M. on September 7th, and soon after turned into our rugs
beneath the awning and slept until morning. We awoke about daybreak,
and found ourselves some miles distant from the mouth of the river;
but the heavy swell we had had all night had now subsided, and the men
were making headway fast. About 7.30 they stopped pulling suddenly,
and pointed to a large sea-snake lying full length on the surface of
the water in the sun. It was about eight feet in length, and of a
blue-black colour, barred with rich golden-yellow, the belly being
dull white. Mr. Treacher fired at it with a shot-gun, striking it
about the centre of its body; and we could see quite plainly where
the shot had ripped the skin. As it lay quite motionless after the
shot for several seconds, we imagined it to be dead, but on the men
paddling the boat towards it it dived quite suddenly; and as the water
was clear and still, we could distinguish it at a great depth below
the surface. A week or two before, during my voyage from Singapore
to Labuan, we had noticed a good many of these snakes on the surface
of the sea, but none so large as the one seen here. The natives say
it is a very dangerous kind, and some strange tales are told of their
hiding themselves in boats and huts near the shore. About ten o'clock
we entered the mouth of the Lawas, the well-wooded banks of which
formed a beautiful foreground to the picturesque mountains behind,
which rise higher and higher right away into the interior. We soon
reached the first cluster of huts on the right bank, and it is here
that one of the Sultan's relatives, Pangeran Bazar, resides. His house
is built on nebong piles over the water, from which you climb up a rude
ladder on to a spacious platform, on which are half-a-dozen or more
brass swivel guns of native manufacture. This platform is roofed over,
and an immense wooden drum hangs over the entrance. This is formed
of a hollow tree trunk, over one end of which a deer or goat skin is
stretched lightly by means of a rattan ring and wooden wedges. It is
beaten in the evening after the old Pangeran has read from the Koran,
and sometimes on the arrival of strangers. Beyond the platform is a
large public hall, wherein strangers may rest, and where the natives
meet to hear the Koran read, or to talk.
The Pangeran's private residence is behind, and differs but little
from the other half-dozen palm-leaf houses around it, being merely
a superior sort of shed, with mats in place of doors. Duties to the
amount of ten per cent. are collected from the natives who bring gutta,
rice, or other produce down the river; but by many this tax is evaded,
as they drop down the river on a dark night in a prahu, and creep out
along the coast, lying up some creek until a favourable breeze enables
them to hoist sail for Labuan. I have stayed several times at this
place, and always found this river chief obliging and hospitable, but
a chronic deafness on his part makes a conversation with him anything
but easy. He read from the Koran most evenings when I was there, the
choruses or responses being chanted--I ought to say yelled--by five
or six wicked young Malay boys, who amused themselves by laughing
and talking, except just when their vocal powers were needed.
Two or three hundred yards further up the river is the residence of
Pangeran Tanga, and here we went ashore to eat our breakfast of cold
fowl and rice, eggs and fruit, followed by coffee and a weed. We bought
a dozen new-laid eggs here, also some freshly-plucked bananas, and a
splendid durian fruit, nearly as large as a child's head. We noticed
a half-finished prahu, or native boat, under one of the sheds, the
timbers of which were well modelled, being fastened together with stout
wooden pegs. After our men had cooked their rice and fish, we again
started up the river for Meringit, a Kadyan settlement at the head
of the Meropok branch; but owing to the strong current coming down,
we did not reach the place until after dark, and, as before remarked,
in a drenching thunder-storm. It was so dark that our men could not
find the proper landing-place, and having ourselves just left a fairly
lighted boat, we could not see a yard ahead in the blinding rain, and
so we were soon drenched as we floundered along up to our knees in the
soft mud of the river bank. At last two boys came down from the houses
in answer to the shouts of our boatmen, and under their guidance we
reached dry quarters after a few stumbles over logs and through the
long grass. Our first care was to throw off our wet things and get on
dry ones, after a rub with a dry towel, and we then ate our dinner,
surrounded by most of the swarthy-skinned villagers, who flocked in
to look at us. Afterwards it cleared up a bit, and hearing music in a
neighbouring house, we adjourned thereto, and found a few of the young
men and women enjoying themselves. Their instruments consisted of a
native-made violin on a European model, a curious kind of native banjo
made of a single joint of a large bamboo, a triangle, or its music
rather, being represented by two or three steel hatchet heads, which
were laid across laths on the floor, and beaten in time with a bit of
iron. The music so produced was of a rather melancholy description,
and one or two of the girls and boys danced a little, a mat being
spread for the purpose; but their dancing is merely shuffling about
in a more or less slow and stately manner, a singular effect being
produced by the graceful way in which the arms are waved about in
all directions. This was particularly noticeable in the case of one
of the performers, who waved a handkerchief about during the dance,
changing it from one hand to the other, until eventually it vanished
from sight altogether; still the arms waved, and the fingers, in their
ever slow changing movement, resembled tentaculæ groping for their prey
as they were slowly waved through the air in every possible direction,
presumably in quest of the lost article, the ultimate recovery of
which terminated the dance. The only light in the apartment was the
lurid flickering of a dammar torch, and its reflections on the faces
and slightly-draped forms of the performers and lookers-on produced
a weird effect, which was intensified by the silence of all present.
The next day "Bongsur," a well-known bird-hunter of the district,
and a party of natives, undertook to guide us to the forest we wished
to explore, and we set off up one of the largest creeks in a canoe,
followed by two or three others containing our men and guides. After
paddling about a mile we landed, and after walking through several
clearings in the hot sun, the primæval forest was at length reached,
where it was much cooler and more pleasant, the sun's rays being
screened from us by the masses of leaves, epiphytes, and flowers
overhead. After mountain climbing, and the wonders of the sea,
perhaps nothing suggests one's own littleness more forcibly than a
walk through the old forests which exist in tropical lowlands. There
is a comparative dearth of undergrowth,--but a hundred feet or more
overhead the birds, insects, and flowers enjoy the bright light and
warmth denied to all below. The monkeys and birds too find their
favourite fruits aloft, and fling the husks below at your feet.
Nothing can possibly be of more interest to lovers of exotic plants
generally, than to be able to form some idea of their native homes,
so far as description can possibly supply the place of travel. The
earth's surface is like the sea, inasmuch as it is pretty nearly the
same all the world over, but in countries where the mean temperature
is thirty or forty degrees higher than in England, the clothing of
the earth, so far as represented by vegetation, is of a luxuriance
we can scarcely imagine, and the variety caused by the addition of
such distinct types as tall palms, bananas, grasses, or bamboos and
tree ferns to the more ordinary kinds of tree beauty, and the further
clothing of these with epiphytes and parasites of the most singular
or beautiful description, makes up a scene of immense interest.
Epiphytal orchids are essentially heat-lovers--like palms they are
children of the sun. One may often travel a long way in the islands
where these plants are most abundant without catching a glimpse
of them; and this is especially true of Phalænopsis grandiflora,
which is of all orchids perhaps the least obtrusive in its native
habitats. This trait is, however, the unobtrusiveness of high birth,
they do not care to touch the ground, but rather prefer a sphere of
their own high up in the trees overhead. The plants have a charming
freedom of aspect, as thus seen naturally high up in mid-air, screened
from the sun by a leafy canopy, deluged with rains for half the year
or more at least, and fanned by the cool sea-breezes or monsoons, which
doubtless exercise some potent influence on their health--an influence
which we can but rarely apply to them artificially, and the greatly
modified conditions under which we must perforce cultivate them may
not render this one so desirable as it sometimes appears to be abroad.
In the lowland forests near the equator a peculiar phase of vegetation
is not unfrequently seen. Trees one hundred feet to two hundred feet in
height tower upwards on all sides; and one walks in the shade--diffused
light is perhaps the more correct expression--the tree trunks being the
pillars of Nature's cathedral, and the leafy branches high up above
represent the roof. All the vegetation you see around you on earth,
rocks or fallen trunks, is represented by a few ferns, lindsayas,
with bright steel-blue fronds a yard high, broad-leaved aroids, or
ginger-worts; but epiphytes of all kinds seem totally absent: and the
truth is, that, like lovable "Tom Bowling," of Dibdin's minstrelsy,
they, too, have "gone aloft." Above you is a world of light and air
and sunshine which birds, insects, and flowers alike enjoy. You feel
very small and helpless as you try to catch a glimpse of the plants
and flowers so high above you, and almost envy the long-armed red
monkeys that swing themselves so easily from bough to bough. The
monkey, however, has a rival in the human natives of these forest
wilds, and it would be extremely puzzling to find a tree so thick,
or tall, or otherwise so difficult to climb, that the lithe and dusky
native would fail to reach its summit. The chances are that he will
literally walk up a slender tree in the neighbourhood with the aid
of hands and feet, and then find a route to the one you wish him to
explore by way of the interlaced branches so high above you. If any
sufficiently stout lianas are dangling near, he ascends hand-over-hand
in a way that would delight the most accomplished gymnast; and if
the tree so stood that the ascent could only be accomplished by the
direct way of its own gigantic trunk, then the chances are that a
stair of bamboo pegs would enable the ingenious savage to effect his
object of scouring the branches, and sending the epiphytes in showers
to your feet. Nor does he neglect to glean such other jungle produce
as comes in his way, such as gutta or indiarubber, camphor, dammar,
or forest fruits for food or medicine.
This is in the forest primæval, but near clearings, or on the skirts of
the forest near rivers, which let in the light and air, the phalænopsis
and other epiphytes are less ambitious, and they may then be found
in positions but little above the more plebeian terrestrial kinds of
vegetation. This is also the case when, as sometimes happens, they
are found on the trees which fringe little islands; and then not only
do the plants receive a good deal of sunshine as it streams through
the leafy twigs of the branches to which they cling, but it is also
reflected back again from the glistening sea. The intense light in
which they thus exist, added to the fervent heat and the deluge of
rain which falls during six or seven months of the year, accounts
for the enormous leaf and root growth made by these plants in their
native habitats. The flowering of the plants is not so extraordinary,
indeed rather disappointing, after the results which may be seen in
English gardens. It is not so much the paucity of flowers produced,
however, as their early destruction caused by the "unbidden guests"
the orchids are made to entertain.
High up overhead the most lovely orchids hold their court in the
sunshine: here they are really "at home" to their winged visitors. Now
and then, however, you come across a newly-fallen tree--a very monarch
of the woods--which has succumbed to old age and rude weather at last,
and has sunk to the earth from which it sprang a seedling generations
ago; its branches laden with everything inanimate, which had made a
home in its branches. Some of these ruined trunks are perfect gardens
of beauty, wreathed with graceful climbing plants, and gay with flowers
and foliage. The fall of a large tree, and its smaller dependents,
lets in the sun, and so the epiphytes do not suffer much for a time;
and one may thus observe them in all their beauty.
Here, right in the collar of the tree, is a plant of the
grammatophyllum orchid, big enough to fill a Pickford's van, and just
now opening its golden-brown spotted flowers on stout spikes two yards
long. There, on that topmost branch, is a mass of the moth orchid,
or phalænopsis, bearing a hundred snowy flowers at least; and in such
healthy vigour is it, that lovers of orchids at home--supposing it
could be flashed direct to "Stevens's" in its present state--would
outbid each other for such a glorious prize, until the hammer would
fall at a price near on a hundred guineas, as it has done before for
exceptional specimens of these lovely flowers.
There, gleaming in the sunlight, like a scarlet jewel, beneath those
great leathery aroid leaves, is a cluster of tubular æschynanthus
flowers; and here is another wee orchid, a tiny pink-blossomed
cirrhopetalum, whose flowers and leaves scarcely rise above the
bright carpet of velvety moss among which it grows. But what is
that attractive gleam of gold and green swaying to and fro in the
sunshine? Ah! that is a beauty of another kind! And a native, to
whom it is pointed out, ejaculates, "Chalaka! ular Tuan!"--a wicked
snake, sir; and we are content to move on, and leave him alone in
his glory. We tramp on for an hour longer, without even the glimpse
of a flower being visible, except here and there a few fragments on
the ground, the remnant spolia of the flower world which exists on
the roof of this grand cathedral of trees.
Half an hour further, and the increasing numbers of ferns and
selaginella mosses suggest the presence of water in the neighbourhood,
while the patches of graceful seedling calami or rattan palms increase
at every step, the stones and trunks become moss-covered, and then at
last the "sound of many waters" breaks on our ears with a cool and
welcome noise, and a few minutes later we have "struck" the stream,
as it rushes and sparkles amongst mossy and water-worn boulders down
an open and sunny ravine. Some of the larger rocks are covered with a
palm-like fern (Polypodium bifurcatum); and filmy ferns, of the most
delicate form and texture, abound on the dripping stones.
As we sit down on the rocks, a small flock of gigantic hornbills
"saw the air" with their great wings far above us, making a noise
almost like a locomotive engine in their flight. Butterflies come with
wobbling motion down the sunny clearing, formed by the shallow stream;
and, as we are intent on the cold fowl and coffee, which forms our
breakfast, the sanguinary stains on our white trousers prove that the
wily jungle-leech has not been unmindful of his morning meal. How this
little slimy monster loves to gorge himself with gore! The wonder,
however, is how they exist when men are absent from the jungle they
infest, as often happens. I suspect that human blood forms simply
an accidental part of their supply. I know they exact all they can
from the water buffaloes; and perhaps even the astute monkey is made
to pay toll by these blood-suckers as often as may be. I have often
watched them, when aroused by footsteps, as attached to a stick,
or stone, or leaf, they wave their bodies about, or walk towards you
with a caterpillar-like motion, in quest of happier hunting-grounds. A
squeeze of wet tobacco juice is the best plan of dislodging them from
your skin; for if pulled off, however deftly it be done, there is a
chance of a bit of their sucker apparatus remaining in the wound,
which will often cause it to become inflamed, and to fester in a
troublesome manner.
We suffered a good deal from mosquitoes during the night; indeed sleep
was nearly impossible, and in very shaded parts of the forest to-day
the little pests fixed on our hands and faces with a persistency
that was very annoying. We saw very few birds. A gorgeously attired
bee-eater was secured by Mr. Treacher as we paddled up the creek; and
"Bongsur," who used an old Tower musket as a fowling-piece, secured
a tiny spotted owl and one or two other small birds common to this
district. We distinctly heard the whoops and yells of the Muruts,
who were out pig-hunting, as we came along, but did not fall in with
them. Just as we crossed the stream one of the men picked up a fruit of
one of the several varieties of durian, which are here indigenous. It
was about the size of a cricket-ball, and only contained two of
its chestnut-like, pulp-covered seeds. The seeds were very large in
proportion to the quantity of pulp, but the flavour was very delicious.
We had a long walk back to the creek where we had left our canoes, and
reached the village about three o'clock, just before the commencement
of a heavy shower. As it cleared up a little about five o'clock
we took our guns and had a stroll across the padi fields behind the
houses, returning to dinner about sunset. I shall not soon forget that
dinner. Mr. Treacher had brought his Chinese "boy" who had cooked the
previous day. My "boy" was a Madras Telinga to whom, of course, the
lard or pork fat which the Chinese use in cooking is an abomination,
so that my ingenious fellow, as it was his turn to prepare dinner,
made us a fowl curry, using rancid cocoa-nut lamp oil in which to cook
the fowl. We were rather hungry, and tried to get the stuff down, but
had to give it up as a bad job. The nasty taste was most persistent,
however; and for several days coffee, biscuit, rice, and even fresh
fruit, seemed to have somewhat of the offensive cocoa-nut oil flavour
about it. I remonstrated with my "boy" about the matter, with the
usual result. "Yes, sah, that China boy bad man, sah; he tell me oil
very good for curry, sah!" I have no doubt, but that the "China boy"
enjoyed the joke with "a smile that was childlike and bland," and
doubtless he related the story to his pretty Malay wife on his return,
with many "Ah yahs" and inward chuckling. We made shift with biscuit
and coffee, and a smoke destroyed the bad taste for the time being.
This was the evening preceding the commencement of Ramadan, the
"fast month" observed by all Mahomedans, and there was a great
burning of gunpowder in the village. Muskets and small cannon were
being discharged all over the place in honour of the event. Salutes
of this kind, and the festive firing of shot-guns, however harmless
it may seem in print, is in reality sometimes a little alarming. The
powder used in charging may possibly be bad in quality; but as a
great noise is thought to be the thing, any defect in its quality is
pretty well made up for by the quantity used. I am not a very nervous
person, but I once or twice felt just a little anxious as the natives
amused themselves by firing a charge of five or six inches of powder
from a seven-and-sixpenny German gun. I once saw some Sulus firing
a salute from some old dismounted brass guns which were lashed on
the floor of the wharf at Sandakan. They coolly sat down beside the
ordnance, waved a bit of rope-yarn until the smouldering fire at one
end brightened up into a glowing spark, and then plunged it into the
touch-hole; nor did they seem in the least disconcerted as the guns
sprang a yard into the air dragging up the nebong planks with them,
the whole returning with a crash by reason of their elasticity.
In the morning, after breakfast, Mr. Treacher returned down the
river, but could not cross to Labuan until next day, as a heavy sea
was running with much wind and rain, so he had to put back to Pulo
Sirra until morning. After his departure I had a consultation with
"Bongsur" about the country, and eventually decided to shift my
quarters from his father's house to that of his brother, from which
the forests and hills of the district could be more readily reached. A
party of natives and one or two Muruts who had come to the Kadyan's
village to trade, soon got all my traps stowed into the canoes, and
half an hour's pull brought us to the clearing in which my future
head-quarters were situated. I found here half-a-dozen palm-leaf
houses built on piles six feet high, a notched tree trunk serving
as a ladder by which to enter. The largest house was forty or fifty
yards long by eighteen or twenty feet wide, and being nearly new,
it was clean and in good condition. It was occupied by "Bongsur's"
brother, a lithe and intelligent young fellow named "Moumein," and
three or four other families.
Within, it was simply one large room open to the roof, and divided in
half by the central path, communicating with doors at either end. On
the right were the hearths for cooking, water-jars, bamboos, baskets,
and other simple tools or utensils, the left-hand side being covered
with the sleeping-mats of the separate families. Two or three mosquito
nets hung over the mats, and at the head of each hung the parong,
spear, musket, or other arms of the men, other spears, shields,
blowpipes, &c., being laid across the timbers overhead. The floor was
of open lattice-work, or rather parallel nebong laths an inch apart,
so that perfect ventilation is obtained; and these houses are always
cool. The owner was not at home, but his wife brought a board and
desired "Bongsur" to partition off one of the corner compartments for
me, which was soon done; and getting up the boxes, hammock-sleeping
gear, &c., the place soon assumed a more comfortable appearance.
As it was a beautiful clear afternoon I left my "boy" to prepare
dinner, and started off to the forest with half-a-dozen of the
native boys who had followed from the village. I shot a pretty
scarlet-breasted trogan with beautifully pencilled wings, in a large
fig tree near the houses. We had a rather rough walk through long
grass, in which ugly concealed logs were plentiful; and the only
bridges across the streams were formed of a single tree-trunk, often
a very slender one not perfectly straight, so that when a particular
part of it was reached in one's journey across, it had a treacherous
knack of turning round and landing one in muddy water up to the
neck. The natives are used to such slender makeshifts for bridges,
and, being barefoot, are as sure-footed as goats.
We followed one little stream for about two miles, and reached a rocky
hill about five hundred feet high, where rhododendrons (R. javanicum)
were flowering freely. Hoyas and various orchids were in bloom on
the lowest trees; and it was on bare tree-trunks on this hill that
I saw the Veitchian pitcher-plant (Nepenthes Veitchii) wild for the
first time. It has a singular habit of clasping the trunks on which
it is epiphytal with its leaves, and many which bear pitchers have
the blade of the leaf much reduced. Four other pitcher-plants grew
on this hill, namely, N. gracilis, N. hirsuta, N. Rafflesiana, and
the large-urned variety of the last named, known as "glaberrima." A
dendrobium bearing clusters of milk-white flowers was common, as also
were bolbophyllums and several greenish-flowered coelogynes.
The ground in some places was matted with a very pretty terrestrial
orchid (Bromheadia Finlaysoniana) which has leafy stems two to
three feet in height, terminated by a zig-zag flattened spike of
white-petalled flowers as large as those of the "Spotted Indian Crocus"
(Pleione maculata), and having a blotch of lemon-yellow on the lip
and some bright amethystine veins or streaks. We loaded the men with
roots and specimens, and then returned to the houses just before
nightfall. It was during the wet season, and after dark each evening
the mosquitoes were most ravenous. As a remedy for this annoyance
the women lighted fires beneath the house, on which cocoa-nut husks
were placed and made to smoulder gradually. This certainly kept
the little pests at bay, but the smoke brought tears to one's eyes,
and was almost as bad to bear as the mosquito bites.
The wild forest fruits were now plentiful in this district, and,
as a natural consequence, birds and monkeys were abundant also, for
they migrate to different places as the fruits begin to ripen. The
bird-hunters were busy, and rarely a day passed but I was gladdened
with the sight of some bird or other animal that was novel to
me. Argus, Bulwer, and Fireback pheasants and other large ground birds
were caught in snares or springes, while hornbills, owls, eagles, or
hawks, and large birds generally were killed with shot, or very often
small gravel discharged from an old Tower musket. The smallest birds,
especially the brilliant little sweets or sunbirds, were killed with
small arrows from the blow-pipe or "sumpitan," in the use of which some
of the Muruts and Kadyans are especially expert. Even large game was
formerly obtained in this way, poisoned arrows being used, in which
case the harmless-looking blow-pipe becomes one of the most subtle and
deadly of weapons. The slightest puncture with one of these poisoned
darts is as certain to terminate fatally as is the bite of the cobra;
and this, added to the possibility of the arrow being propelled on its
journey with lightning-like speed, without the least sound being heard,
will give an idea of its deadly power in the skilful hands of savages,
to whose ambition the death of an enemy and the possession of his
bleached skull for the decoration of their dwellings on feast days,
was the all-important feature of their social existence.
I have seen a Murut strike fish after fish with unerring certainty with
arrows from a sumpitan, even at more than a foot below the surface of
the stream; a much more difficult thing to do than one might suppose,
since allowance has to be made for the deviation from a right line
which the arrow takes on touching the water. The springes in which
pheasants are caught are set in artificial fences half a mile or
more in length, and are simply nooses of rattan, although rarely thin
brass wire is used. A bent sapling is attached to the noose in such
a manner that when the bird runs against a twig in passing through
the opening in the fence it becomes disengaged, and flying upwards,
draws the noose tightly around the creature's neck.
A device similar in principle, but much more dangerous, is used by
the Muruts for capturing the wild pigs. In this case a stout spear
of bamboo is made to pass through guiding loops of rattan attached
to trees or stakes, so that by the aid of a stout sapling drawn back
to its fullest tension it can be hurled right through the body of
any passing animal, which unconsciously disengages the apparatus
by pressing against or treading on a branch across its track. These
pig-sticking contrivances are very dangerous to strangers, and even
the Muruts themselves are sometimes injured by them.
One of the Lawas Muruts showed me where the bamboo spear belonging to
one of these pig or deer-traps had been driven right through his leg
near the knee. His bronzed features underwent the most extraordinary
and suggestive of contortions as he explained how it had taken the
strength of five or six men to hold him against a tree while others
tugged at the bamboo shaft until they succeeded in withdrawing it from
the injured limb. In some districts these pig-traps are very numerous,
and one has to be continually on the look-out for them. I visited the
Lawas district several times, and had good opportunities of seeing
the Muruts, and noting many of their peculiarities. Their houses
are similar to those of the Dusun, but instead of living in separate
houses, one enormous house is built sufficiently large to accommodate
from twenty to fifty families. These houses vary from thirty to one
hundred yards in length, and, like those of the Kadyans, are built on
piles. As the different tribes are continually at variance with each
other, and knowing each other's affection for crania, they congregate
in one large dwelling so as to be better prepared for resistance in
case of a sudden attack. These people, and the Kayans who live in
the vicinity of the Baram river, and one or two other tribes of the
aboriginal Borneans, still continue the practice of head-hunting,
although the custom is now fast dying out here, as it has in the
case of the Dyaks of Sarawak, and other places further south. Only a
few years back a youth was not allowed to marry until he had taken
the head of an enemy, and if any ill-luck or death occurred in the
tribe these head-hunting raids were indulged in at once to appease
the malignant spirits which were believed to have been the cause;
or if a chief's favourite wife or child died, he at once took to
head-hunting in a bloodthirsty spirit of revenge.
The desire to shed blood seems inherent in all savage natures, and
is adhered to tenaciously even after civilisation has reached them,
and so it happens that human heads or skulls are considered the
most valuable property of these wild Borneans, just as the Sioux and
other Indians of North America still attach a peculiar value to the
scalp locks of their foes. Even although head-hunting is gradually
becoming a thing of the past in Borneo, still so highly are the old
skulls valued even by the now peaceable tribes who have not taken a
head for years, that they can rarely be induced to part with them,
no matter how much may be offered in exchange. In several Murut
houses I visited near the Lawas large baskets full of human crania
were preserved as trophies of the prowess of the tribe.
It is very rare that anything like general open fighting now takes
place between the native tribes, as was formerly the case, when a
party of fighting men would, after marching at night only through
the forests for days together, steal up to the house of their foes
just before daylight and endeavour to set fire to it, after which
the place was surrounded and the men killed as they attempted to
escape, the women and children being made prisoners and carried off
as additions to the wealth of the victors. Sometimes, however, the
besieged were too wary for their foes, and either boldly rushed out
and drove them off with loss, or formed ambuscades, into which they
unwittingly fell and were annihilated, or perhaps a few would break
through and escape to tell the tale. In this way a good many heads and
slaves were obtained, but at present the additions to the baskets are
more rare, and principally obtained by stealthy murders rather than in
warfare. The Muruts and other aboriginals are great believers in omens,
and whether on head-hunting or pig-killing expeditions they pay great
regard to the cries of birds and animals; and if they meet an alligator
or a snake, they at once return and wait for a more propitious season.
In travelling with these natives as guides, their careful attention
to omens becomes exceedingly trying to one's temper, as they will
stop immediately if the omens seen or heard be not good ones,
and if anything more than ordinary duties are required of them it
is astonishing how soon a bad omen will put an end to all further
progress for the day. One place where I stayed for several weeks was
within half a mile of a large Murut house, and their gongs could be
heard very plainly sometimes all night when they were feasting and
drinking a peculiar spirit, which is made of rice and tampoe fruit
mixed with water and strained off for use after fermentation. These
feasts seemed to be held on the occasion of any good fortune befalling
the tribe, such as success in hunting pigs or deer. One night they were
gong-beating and shouting louder than usual. I asked the native in
whose house I slept the reason of this, and he told me that they had
been out head-hunting for a fortnight, but had failed to pounce upon
any Murut of another tribe; so to end the suspense they had seized
one of their own slaves, who had in some way offended them, and had
made a scapegoat of him. I visited this house some days afterwards,
and smoked a "roko" with the "Orang Capella," or chief, while three
of his lusty followers kept up an incessant din on five gongs which
were suspended in the centre of the public apartment. I asked to see
his collection of heads, and after a good deal of talking, a few dry
old examples were brought; but after we left I was told that they had
many more, including the one so recently taken, but that they were
afraid to let the fact be known. This tribe had good reasons for
secrecy in the matter, since one man had been hung at Labuan for a
head-hunting murder a year or two previous to my visit, and another
would have suffered the same fate had he not died in jail. They had
actually crossed over to the English colony to look out for heads,
and ascending a little river on the western side, had shot a man who
was coming down in a canoe. The shot, an old nail, struck the shaft
of the paddle, and passing through, entered the man's body, after
which they made off, but were captured by the Government and tried
for the murder. This identical paddle was one of the first things I
saw when I paid my respects to His Excellency the Governor of Labuan,
and when the story was narrated to me it did not sound very cheering,
seeing that I expected to live among these tribes for some months
at least. However, I could never hear of a white man being killed,
except by the pirates from Tawi Tawi and Sulu, with one exception,
which was of a man who is supposed to have been poisoned by his native
mistress. St. John mentions one tribe, however, who are peculiarly
addicted to poisoning anyone who may be disliked by them. The nature
of the poison used is not exactly known, but it is very generally
supposed to be a peculiarly irritating fibre or spiculæ derived from
some species of bamboo, the effect of which is to cause a chronic state
of sickness and depression, followed by death. Whatever it may be,
it is a mechanical rather than a chemical irritant. When one travels
in such a lovely island, however, as Borneo undoubtedly is, it is
extremely difficult to believe half the tales told of the native
tribes, and altogether the proportionate number of robberies and
murders is not more than takes place in the most enlightened centre
of civilisation in the world. The total population of the island is
supposed to be from 3,000,000 to 4,000,000, and when we consider that
all these unchristianised natives (excepting those in Sarawak and
the Dutch territory) live together with no law--nothing in fact but
their own sense of right and wrong, and public opinion to keep them
in order--the wonder is that, even according to our own standard,
crime is so seldom heard of.
The Kadyans are a tribe of peaceable and well-disposed aboriginals,
who, living along the coast near to the capital, have mixed a good
deal with the Malays and speak their language. It is not uncommon,
however, to find the older and more intelligent men of this tribe well
acquainted with several dialects of the interior, such as Murut, Dusun,
and the Brunei dialect, used by the common natives of the capital. They
are mostly Mahomedans, and so are more respected by their Malay rulers
than are other of the aboriginals. They form thrifty little colonies
on most of the rivers near Brunei, and many have settled in Labuan,
where they cultivate their rice fields, and occasionally bring fruit
or fish to the markets. They are for the most part a clean and healthy
race, and form a great contrast with their neighbours who live in a
more irregular manner, and are often troubled with skin diseases,
this being in a measure owing to the want of cleanliness and of a
regular diet. There cannot be any doubt but that Islam is a great
blessing to many Eastern races, especially so far as cleanliness and
temperance are concerned.
The Kadyans are very quick in selecting rich bits of forest and in
raising fine crops of rice, which forms the main portion of their
food. Rice and fish from the river or sea, fruits from their gardens
or the forest, and a few simple vegetables are all the food they
require. They also collect gutta and caoutchouc, camphor and rattans,
from the forest, and the sale of these in Labuan, or to the Chinese
traders who visit the coast, enables them to obtain cloth, muskets
and ammunition, tobacco, and any other little necessaries or luxuries
of Chinese or European manufacture which they may require. Although
less active than the Muruts, yet there are some fine men among
them, and their women, as a class, are perhaps the most refined and
intelligent of all the aboriginals, some, when young, being singularly
attractive. The boys are also bright fellows, with a keener sense of
humour than is common in other tribes. They live a free and easy life,
contented and happy, and I could not help contrasting the peace and
plenty enjoyed by these people with the squalor and misery in which
the poor of civilised lands are often plunged. Here, in these sunny
wilds, an all-bounteous Nature, with a minimum of labour, supplies
their every want, and it would be difficult to find another country
where man is more truly the "monarch of all he surveys"--more truly
independent on his fellow-man than here in Borneo. Although these
people are nominally Mahomedans, still their women enjoy the greatest
freedom and are never secluded, as is the custom of the Malays of
the coast, indeed, many Kadyan houses consist of one very large
room only, there being no private apartment of any kind. This is a
rather singular trait of these people, since even the Muruts and the
Dusan have one side of their houses partitioned off so as to allow
of a separate private room for each family, the other half being open
from end to end and free to guests or strangers. The Kadyans take but
one wife, and are apparently good husbands and affectionate parents;
large families, however, are exceptional. This question of increase of
population in the island is one I could not profess to explain. Here
is a rich and fertile island larger than Great Britain and Ireland,
with an entire population scarcely exceeding that of London. In
the old times inter-tribal warfare may have operated as a check,
and even now whole villages are sometimes carried off by epidemics,
such as cholera or small-pox, yet when we consider that there are
practically none of the checks on marriage itself as with us, and
the readiness with which food is obtainable in plenty, the easy and
natural way, indeed, in which these people live, it is a puzzle that
they seem scarcely able to hold their own.
In the case of the North American Indians or the Maories of New
Zealand, there is the competition of the white races, but here they
are not crowded out by a stronger type, nevertheless, the population
is supposed to be less than was formerly the case. If a Kadyan youth
wishes to marry, he has only to select a site for his house, and
clear the ground around it for a garden. He may take an unoccupied
plot anywhere, and there is no ground-rent to pay, it is freehold
so soon as he has in a manner "staked his claim," by cutting down
the brush and burning the trees, in which the other "lads of the
village" will assist him. The ground is cleared towards the end of
the dry season, and with the commencement of the first rains a few
seeds of Indian corn, cucumbers, betel pepper, &c., are sown, and
yams, kaladi, sweet potatoes, together with cocoa-nuts, and banana
suckers from his father's or a friend's garden, are planted. Then
timbers, rattans, and nipa leaves for thatch are obtained, and, with
the assistance of his friends, a good roomy house will spring up,
if not quite mushroom-like in a night, at the least in a week or
ten days. A dollar or two, or the jungle produce he could collect
in less than a month, will enable him to obtain the few articles
of furniture, cooking utensils, &c., which he requires, together
with a new "sarong" or two for himself and his bride. And she, the
dusky beauty, will have made a few neatly worked palm-leaf sleeping
mats and other needful trifles, and doubtless looks forward to her
wedding with as much pleasure as her fairer sister of the West. The
actual ceremony of marriage is here very simple. A payment has to
be made by the bridegroom to his father-in-law, and this varies in
proportion to the charms or other good marketable qualities of the
girl--an ordinary girl being worth as much as a good buffalo, or say,
£4; as much as £20, however, is sometimes demanded for the "belle
of the village," but in addition to the first cost such beauties are
apt to give their husbands a good deal of trouble afterwards, unless,
indeed, they be of Cato-like temperament. Marriages may be dissolved
for the merest trifles by either party, but if by the woman herself,
part of the money or goods paid to her parents is refunded. In the
case of the Mahomedans, a woman retains all her real and personal
property after divorcement. A native, in whose house I stayed several
weeks, told me that his wife had been married to another Kadyan before
he married her. "And did her husband die?" I enquired. "Oh, no," he
answered. "Then why did she leave him?" "She did not like him," was the
rejoinder. And such cases of mutual separation are far from uncommon.
These people, unlike the Muruts of the Limbang, had plenty of rice
and other food, the produce of their padi fields and gardens. In
some parts of the island it is extremely difficult to purchase food
of any kind, the natives possessing only barely enough for their
own wants. Here, however, one could obtain fowls, eggs, rice, and
vegetables in abundance. The prices may be interesting. For excellent
fowls, from fivepence to eightpence was charged; eggs fivepence per
dozen; vegetables enough for two or three days' supply for twopence;
while lodging, fire-wood, and plenty of jungle fruit in season, may
be had for nothing. Dollars and cents were current here, but cloth,
especially grey shirting and a stout black fabric, were also readily
received in exchange at a slight advance on Labuan prices. The men
here were willing to act either as guides or carriers for tenpence
to a shilling per diem.
When I returned to the house at night from the forest, I generally
found a liberal share of the jungle fruit which had been brought
home by the men laid on my mats; and after dinner my own men and the
villagers would drop in for a chat by the light of a flickering dammar
torch. Twenty or thirty dusky figures smoking or eating betel-nut
had a curious effect in the badly lighted hut.
All through the fast month these people never eat or drink anything
between sunrise and sunset, but they make up for this between sunset
and sunrise, the women being busy cooking rice and fish nearly all
night. At the end of the month, too, a great feast was held, at
which all in the village and neighbourhood met and smoked the "roko"
of peace, all old feuds and wrongs being for the nonce forgiven
or forgotten. Everyone came dressed in their best head-cloths and
sarongs, being armed with their war parangs, and altogether forming
an animated and brightly coloured assemblage. This feast was held at
night, and for several days previous the women had been busy bringing
in fire-wood and cleaning rice. On the day on which this gathering
was held the culinary operations were on an extended scale, and,
at the appointed meal time, great heaps of rice, vegetables, fish,
and fruit, were piled on fresh banana leaves right down the centre
of the house. A dignified green-coated old hadji graced the repast
with his presence, and he was pleased to kill the fowl for my own
dinner, according to native rite, and evidently liked being noticed
as a traveller, for his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when I asked
him of his voyage to Mecca. He complained very much of the insults,
losses, and hardships, to which pilgrims were exposed, but his appetite
was evidently as good as ever, since the clearance of rice and fish
he made around him at dinner was something startling to see.
These people had but few domesticated animals. The Muruts had
plenty of dirty, half-starved black pigs running about the jungle
near their house, and a few goats. They had also a peculiar race
of small, brown dogs, resembling terriers, which are very useful in
pig hunting. The Kadyans had cats wonderfully like our own, but with
abnormal tails. Poultry are represented only by cocks and hens. Some
of the wild birds of the forests are domesticated as pets, the most
common being Java and little red sparrows; a beautiful little green
ground pigeon; paroquets of two kinds, one very small like a love-bird,
the other having two long blue attenuated feathers in its tail. Mino
birds are not unfrequently tamed, and they may be taught to speak
words or phrases quite readily. Some of the larger hornbills, the
"rhinoceros" variety especially, are also tamed, and are most amusing
creatures. There was one in a house where I stayed a week or two,
and a more voracious bird I never saw. At night it would perch
itself on a stick below the house and croak for hours together,
but with daylight in the morning it would enter the house to beg
for food, and the quantities it could consume during the day were
surprisingly large. Everything edible seemed equally welcome--rice,
fruit, vegetables, and even the entire bodies of small birds which
my boy had been skinning as specimens were gulped down with apparent
relish. Any trifles thrown towards it were sure of being caught in
its great bill, and then thrown again in the air and caught previous
to their being swallowed.
The Kadyans have an ingenious way of capturing the little green or
puni pigeons (Chalcophaps indica) with a bamboo call, by which their
soft cooing notes are exactly imitated. These birds are gregarious,
and just before breeding-time they arrive in large quantities.
"The call is formed of two pieces of bamboo, a slender tube, a short
piece 3''--4'' in diameter, and a connecting piece of wood. In the
short piece is a hole similar to the embouchure of a flute; and the
lower end of the blow-tube is fitted to this in such a manner that,
on blowing, a soft, low, flute-like 'cooing' is easily producible;
and this can be readily modulated so as to be heard either at
a long distance or near at hand. This instrument is figured in
Proc. Zool. Soc. 1879, Part II., p. 346. The native, who has taken
up his position in the forest or jungle where these little birds are
found, blows very softly at first; but if there be no answering call
from the birds he blows louder and louder, thus increasing the radius
of sound. If there really be any pigeons of this kind within hearing,
they are sure to answer; and then the hunter blows softer and softer
until they are enticed into the 'wigwam' of leafy branches which
he has erected in order to conceal himself from sight. The door or
entrance to these 'wigwams' is partially closed by a screen of palm
(Nipa fruticans) leaves. This is elevated a little to allow the
pigeons to enter, after which it is allowed to fall, portcullis-like,
entirely, so as to close the entrance; and the bird is then easily
secured. Above the entrance two holes are made, so that the hunter
can look out without being seen. These huts are formed of a few poles
or sticks, rudely thatched with twigs and palm-leaves, and vary from
four to six feet in height.
"This pigeon is migratory, and arrives in Labuan and on the opposite
Bornean coast with the change of the monsoon, about April. Many
hundreds are then caught by means of this 'dakut,' or 'bamboo call,'
and are offered for sale by their captors for a cent or two each. They
are also kept by the natives as domestic pets, along with young
hornbills, the 'Mino' bird or 'Grackle,' a small species of paroquet,
and Java sparrows."
At this season little huts are built in the forest, and the hunter,
ensconced within, blows his call, and they will actually run inside
the hut, where they are caught. The Kadyans and their Murut neighbours
collect a good deal of gutta and caoutchouc in the surrounding forests,
which is afterwards manufactured into lumps or balls, and taken over
to Labuan for sale. The gutta is obtained from four or five kinds
of large forest trees, belonging to the genus isonandra, by felling
the trees and girdling or ringing their bark at intervals of every
two feet, the milky juice or sap being caught in vessels fashioned
of leaves or cocoa-nut shells. The crude sap is hardened into slabs
or bricks by boiling, and is generally adulterated with twenty per
cent. of scraped bark--indeed, the Chinese traders who purchase the
gutta from the collectors, would refuse the pure article in favour of
that adulterated with bark, and to which its red colour is mainly due.
Caoutchouc or rubber is in the N.W. districts of Borneo the produce of
three species of climbing plants, known to the natives as "Manoongan,"
"Manoongan putih," and "Manoongan manga." Their stems are fifty to one
hundred feet in length, and rarely more than six inches in diameter,
the bark corrugated, and of a grey or reddish-brown colour; leaves
oblong, and of a glossy green colour; the flowers are borne in axillary
clusters, and are succeeded by yellow fruits, the size of an orange,
and containing seeds as large as beans, each enclosed in a section
of apricot-coloured fruit. These fruits are of a delicious flavour,
and are highly valued by the natives. Here, again, the stems are
cut down to facilitate the collection of the creamy sap, which is
afterwards coagulated into rough balls by the addition of nipa salt.
It is most deplorable to see the fallen gutta trees lying about in all
directions in the forest, and the rubber-yielding willughbeias are
also gradually, but none the less surely, being exterminated by the
collectors here in Borneo, as, indeed, throughout the other islands
and on the Peninsula, where they also abound.
It was formerly thought that gutta was the produce of one particular
species of tree--Isonandra gutta--but that from the Lawas district is
formed of the mixed sap of at least five species, the juice of ficus
and one or two species of artocarpeæ being not unfrequently used
in addition as adulterants. The Bornean "gutta soosoo," or rubber,
again, is the mixed sap of three species of willughbeias, and here,
again, the milk of two or three other plants is added surreptitiously
to augment the quantity collected. The gutta trees are a long time
in attaining to maturity, and are not easy to propagate, except by
seeds. The willughbeias, on the other hand, grow quickly, and may be
easily and rapidly increased by vegetative as well as by seminal modes
of propagation, hence the latter are more especially deserving of the
attention of our Government in India, where they might reasonably be
expected to thrive.
No doubt there are yet many thousands of tons of these products
existing in Bornean woods, but as the trees are killed by the
collectors without a thought of replacement, the supply will recede
further and further from the markets, and so prices must of necessity
rise as the supply fails, or as the collection of it becomes more
laborious.
The demand for caoutchouc from Borneo is a very recent one, yet in
many districts the supply is practically exhausted. In Assam, Java,
and also in Australia, rubber is supplied by Ficus elastica, which is
cultivated for the purpose. There are many milk-yielding species of
ficus in the Bornean forests which might possibly afford a supply in
remunerative quantities as the result of careful experiments. The
Malayan representatives of the bread-fruit family also deserve
examination, as excellent rubber is yielded by Castilloa elastica,
a South-American plant of this order.