A CITY OF LAKE DWELLINGS.
Brunei the Capital--Market Chinese traders--Gun foundry--The
Istana--Weak government--The Sultan Moumein--Native jewelry--Native
smithy--Public executions--Punishment for robbery--Sago
factories--Inter-marriage--Morality--Old Mission Church--Boat
journey inland--Murut hospitality--Canoe travel--Forest travel--New
aroids--Native insects--Day flying Moths--River travel by
moonlight--Sago-washing station.
Brunei, the capital of Borneo and the seat of the government, is a
water-city of about twenty thousand inhabitants. The palm-thatched
houses of which it for the most part consists, are built on piles so as
to be above the river at high tide. From one of the adjacent low hills
the view of this "Venice of the East" is a most novel one--indeed,
unique in its way; and although the town is nearly fifteen miles from
the mouth of the river, yet a moderate-sized gunboat can anchor in
the broad water-way in the very centre of the city, and within a few
yards of the Sultan's Istana. There is a rather awkward bar at the
entrance to the river. A trading steamer from Singapore calls here once
a month to bring letters and goods for the Sultan and a few Chinese
merchants, and to take back sago, which is the main export. In some
cases the blocks of houses are connected by bridges formed of long
palm stems lashed together with rattans; but, as a rule, all general
communication must be carried on by boats. Some of the inhabitants
grow a few flowers and herbs in boxes of earth; and occasionally papaw
trees and gourds of different kinds are thus cultivated. Little rafts,
or floating tree-trunks, are moored to the piles which support the
houses for the accommodation of ducks and fowls.
The market held on the river every morning is one of the most singular
sights of the place. Here you may see a hundred or more little
boats containing fruit, fish, rice, and other produce, for sale or
barter. Among the petty traders the Brunei women are most prominent,
and many of them present a most singular appearance, the hats they
wear being made of neatly plaited Nipa leaves, and being from two to
three feet in diameter, they serve the purpose of both head covering
and umbrella, and they screen the whole body of the wearer from the
hot sun. Most of the women to be seen in the market are old and coarse
featured--in many cases positively ugly--reminding one of the orang
utan as they glance at you from beneath their wrinkled foreheads,
their mouths overflowing with betel-nut juice the while, their
repulsive black teeth being worn off level with their gums; their more
beautiful sisters are secluded according to the etiquette of Islam;
the nobles and richer Malays have wives and slaves in abundance. A
European lady who visited the court here and was admitted into the
women's apartments, tells me that some are passing fair, with tiny
hands and feet, straight noses and liquid eyes, prototypes of those
black-eyed damsels who are to attend all true believers of the Prophet
in the gardens of Paradise.
The principal traders are Chinamen, who have floating warehouses
singularly like the Noah's arks of early memory. Brunei is the
Sheffield of north-west Borneo, the manufacture of knives, parongs and
krisses being largely carried on; and on one of the little islands
is a primitive foundry where gongs, brass guns, cooking-pots, betel
boxes, &c., are cast. Some of these articles are ornamented with
well-designed figures in relief, and would not be any disgrace to a
European manufacturer. The models and methods of casting are singularly
like those of our own artizans. I visited one rude armourer's shop,
and much admired the exquisite finish of some weapons he had made. The
peculiar long swivel guns or small cannon cast here are now rarely
used, except as currency, being valued at about thirty dollars per
cwt. In the good old times slaves could be purchased here at thirty
dollars, or a picul of gun-metal each; but at the present time the
Malays complain of the low purchasing power of money--i.e. of brass
guns--just as do most people nearer home.
The Sultan's palace or Istana, like nearly all the other dwellings
here, is built on piles over the water, and is a shabby, tumble-down
looking establishment. In front is a large audience chamber, containing
a few old gilt framed mirrors and silvered globes, and there are, on
occasion, a round table and a few rickety chairs. The Sultan himself
is now an old man, over eighty, and so avaricious that he will do
anything for the sake of a few dollars.
The Government here is corrupt, and, indeed, but little more than
nominal; and if his people of the outlying districts refuse to pay
tribute, or to obey his mandates, he has no means of enforcing his
demands. He has a good many wives, and female slaves or concubines,
but no children. I visited the palace in company with Mr. Peter Veitch
and Inche Mahomed, the British Consular agent at this port. We were
honoured with an audience by His Highness. His two nephews, Pangeran
Matassan and Pangeran Anak Bazar, were present, and welcomed us before
the Sultan appeared. They were intelligent men, and it was a pleasure
to hear Malay spoken by them in all its purity. Tea was offered us,
together with the long Nipa leaf cheroots so largely smoked by Malays
and Borneans of all grades.
In about five minutes His Highness appeared, dressed in a long Arab
coat, a sarong, and having a small black cap on his head. That the
portraits of Pope Pius IX. resemble him very much has repeatedly been
observed by visitors here. He walked slowly, bearing rather heavily,
as I thought, on a long staff, which had two short prongs at the
lower extremity. He came forward, and we shook hands, after which
he sat down in an arm-chair on the opposite side of the table. He
told us that he was now a very old man, and that every day found
him weaker. I thanked him for a passport he had given me some months
before for the journey inland to Kina Balu.
He seemed interested in hearing of the great mountain, and asked
several questions. He appeared astonished to hear it was so cold there;
and inquired as to the tobacco and rice crops. He also expressed
his regret that being now old and infirm, he could not undertake a
journey to the mountain himself, of which, he observed, he had heard
several accounts derived from natives who had accompanied Mr. Low
and Mr. St. John.
On leaving the Sultan's, we visited a foundry situated near the
house of the minister of war or the Tumongong; also the house of a
gold worker, who made most of the trinkets, rings, and ear ornaments
worn by the Brunei ladies. The proprietor, an old man, showed us some
prettily designed specimens of native gold work, the ear ornaments
being especially singular. It is the fashion for many of the ladies of
Brunei and the interior to cut a large gash in the lobe of each ear,
and in these holes are inserted gold or silver ornaments, as large
as a wine cork. If of gold, they are mostly made of beaten work;
the highly decorated convex ends, however, are generally cast in
little moulds formed of clay and wax, or dammar. The crucibles used
for melting the metal are of the size and shape of half a hen's egg,
being formed of fine porous clay. These are heated over tiny charcoal
fires, the heat being augmented with a blow-pipe.
In some of the ornaments we observed rudely cut rock crystals, or
Bornean diamonds; and part of a waist-belt contained a dozen fine
pearls, but most of their beauty was lost by bad setting. The stock
in trade of a gold-worker here is of the most simple description. A
rough block of hard wood serves as a bench or anvil, and is perforated
with large and small holes, into which iron pins of various sizes are
inserted for various uses. Hammers of iron and wood, a chisel or two,
a pair of shears, wax and clay for models, or matrices and earthen
crucibles for melting up the Spanish gold pieces, are all the plant
he deems necessary.
There is not much originality in the designs used. Some of the Brunei
ladies must have fingers of the most delicate proportions to be able
to wear some of the rings I saw here for repair. Smiths' shops are
pretty much the same all over the world. We visited one here, and
except that iron and tools were less plentiful, it was pretty much
like a village smithy in England. Sheffield files and rasps are used
even in this out-of-the-way part of the East. Most other tools were
of Brunei make. Choppers, knives, parongs, and krisses represent
the manufactures. A Bornean bellows is peculiar, being made of two
upright wooden cylinders four or five feet high, and connected at the
bottom with the iron pipe which enters the fuel. In each cylinder is
a wooden disk edged with soft feathers stuck on with glue, and to each
a piston rod of wood is attached. A man standing behind the cylinders
works them up and down alternately, and in this way a constant current
of air is supplied to the fire. The old smith was much struck with
a breech-loading Reilly shot gun Mr. Veitch had with him, and he
took the trouble to go across a rickety bridge of bamboo into his
dwelling-house to fetch a parong, or Brunei sword, of which he asked
our opinion. Considering the rude appliances of this primitive smithy,
the sword, in fine damascene work and finish, was perhaps as wonderful
in its way as the gun. On returning to the ship, which was anchored
in the river below the town, we saw a gathering of natives on a grassy
knoll a little above the old ruined Consulate, and were informed that
a public execution was going on. It appears a China trader had been
murdered and robbed on the Trusan river, and two of the Trusan Muruts
had been arrested, and were being executed for the crime, although
it was by some thought that the murder had actually been committed by
Brunei men. At any rate, of these poor Muruts scapegoats were made. A
grave was dug beneath a tree, and a noose connected with a bit of
board was passed over their heads. A stout stick was now inserted in
the rope, and two or three turns--Spanish winch fashion--finished the
poor fellows' existence, whether innocent or guilty. We did not land,
but watched the proceedings as well as we could from the bridge of
the vessel with glasses. Summary justice is the rule here.
Just afterwards a ship came here and anchored in the river. It
was very hot, and at night the ports were left open to secure
ample ventilation. In the morning a gold watch and a revolver were
missing. The thieves had dropped down the river silently in a boat
and taken advantage of the darkness to put their hands in at the
ports and take all they could reach. A complaint was made to the
Sultan at once. In a few days the goods were recovered, and word
was also brought to the effect that each of the offenders had lost
one of their hands for the offence. Of course nothing so severe
as this was anticipated when the charge was made, and no one more
regretted the cruelty than those who were so near being losers by
the dishonesty of the maimed sufferers. The principal export product
is sago, of which large quantities are brought down from the Limbang
and other rivers in the interior. There are two large sago-washing
establishments in the town, both the property of intelligent and
hospitable Chinamen. Gutta-percha, caoutchouc, edible birds'-nests,
camphor, rattans, and fine timber are also obtained in small quantities
from the forests of the country behind. Fine fish is obtained from the
river by the natives, and fruit is very plentiful in season. Excellent
drinking-water is obtained from some rocks beside the river between
the town and the old Consulate. It is pure, cool, fresh, and abundant,
inestimable qualities in such a hot and thirst-producing climate.
We visited one of the sago factories, and found their water remarkably
good; and when I and Mr. Veitch went out one evening snipe and
pigeon-shooting on a plain behind we came across an aqueduct formed
of large bamboo stems, in which this water was conveyed from a spring
nearly a mile away. I was very much interested in the old Chinaman's
garden, which contained a fair assortment of fruits and flowers. The
lively white-flowered Pancratium zeylanicum was blooming beautifully
in one of the well-watered beds. The mangoes were large, and of
excellent flavour. In exploring the garden behind the house I came
across our host's coffin standing on supports in one of the sheds. It
was large and curiously shaped, and made of some dark durable wood
highly valued by the wealthy Chinese. Most Chinese settlers here,
when sufficiently wealthy, send to China for one of these coffins,
which is preserved until their death. Nearly all the Chinese settlers
here in the capital are married to Malay women, and healthy children
generally result from these unions. On the other hand, the Malay or
Bornean women rarely bear children when married to Europeans, and if
so, the children are generally unhealthy, and they themselves rarely
have offspring. No doubt the Malays of the capital are gradually
becoming absorbed by intermarrying with the native Bornean women
of the Murut, Kadyan, and other inland tribes. Many of the Malays,
so called, closely resemble the aboriginals in physiognomy, and the
common people or Bruneis may be characterised as an ugly and immoral
lot of mongrels. Now and then traces of African blood are seen.
Nowhere else in Borneo are the men such liars and thieves as here,
and the Brunei women have been described by a former writer as
being perhaps "the most immoral in the whole world." Of classical
celebrities, Cato and Phryne are certainly well represented in this
great water city of the far East. The climate is sultry. A large
upas tree is pointed out to all comers, and it is a fine specimen,
standing on the right bank of the river, just below the town, near
some ancient tombs. A burial-ground, indeed, occupies nearly the whole
right bank of the river from just beyond the Consulate as far as the
sago factory. One or two of the tombs are large, and built of stone,
with entrance gates; but most are small, with perhaps only a large
stone to mark the spot.
The capital, as also the towns all along the coast, suffers now
and then from epidemic diseases, cholera and small-pox being the
most common. Senõr Quateron, the old padre, now resident in Labuan,
formerly had a mission here, and the remains of his chapel still stand
on the left bank of the Brunei river, a little below the town. As
seen coming down the stream, it forms a picturesque object, a white
campanile standing on a grassy knoll, the blue peaks of Molu towering
up into the sky behind. I should think that Brunei, of all other places
in Borneo, is the last at which missionaries of any denomination would
be likely to succeed. Their sphere is not with Mahomedans, whose faith
is good, so far as it teaches cleanliness and temperance; but with the
aboriginals of the interior, who are thrifty, honest, and truthful
to a fault, and who have no systematic faith unless their belief in
the cries and motions of birds and animals, and other omens can be so
called. With these people missionaries would doubtless be successful,
but they must be hard-working men who could teach these gentle savages
the benefits of civilisation without introducing its vices.
A missionary has thus recorded his impressions of life among the
natives near Sarawak:--"A message came to me from one of the Christians
on the Kabo, asking me to go up and see them. Accordingly, as soon as
I could get a boat ready we were on our way down the Sebetan river
.... the wild, sombre, solitary feeling of the primæval forest,
the easy motion of the boat, the cheeriness of the paddling Dyaks,
united to produce a sensation of repose and awe..... Next morning
we soon came to the first waterfall rushing and roaring over the
rocks. Here we had to halt and stow away the palm-leaf awnings,
and pull the boat over the fall. Then one could not help feeling the
charms of tropical scenery,--the clear stream running over a pebbly
bottom, rocks here and there with occasional tufts of vegetation
forming little islets in mid river, hills on each bank running down
perpendicularly to the water's edge and covered with creepers, moss,
wild palms, and ferns, magnificent trees on either side stretching
their branches into triumphal arches overhead. Soon the whole scene
was changed, clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled, and down came
the rain in a continuous torrent. Towards evening we arrived at our
destination like so many drowned rats. In the evening I held service
under difficulties, there being no prayer-house, and the long public
verandah of the house being the only available place. The dignity of
worship suffers terribly in such circumstances. No sooner do we begin
than dogs begin to fight, or a child to cry, or an unsympathetic
heathen at the other end of the house to make some discordant row,
or a fighting cock will fly right into the midst of the kneeling
assembly, and distract everyone's attention."
The condition of the natives near the capital is not nearly so good
as at Kina Balu, a hundred and fifty miles away, if we except the
Kadyans, who being Mahomedans, and having powerful friends in Brunei,
are able to resist many of the taxes which the Muruts of the Limbang
and elsewhere are called upon to pay. I made two visits here to
the capital, and made a boat journey up the Limbang and Pandarowan
rivers as far as Bukit Sagan. This trip was made in the wet season,
and took twelve men three days, owing to the heavy freshes against
which they had to pull. The Pandarowan river is small compared with
the Limbang, of which it is a tributary; but it is, without exception,
the loveliest river I ever saw. At the end of the second day after
leaving the capital we reached a large house belonging to the Muruts of
this district. It stood in a little clearing close beside the stream,
and was nearly a hundred yards in length. A rude pathway of tree
trunks lay on the muddy shore reaching to one end of the building. We
landed here to cook our dinner, and clambered up into the house by a
rude stair formed of a notched tree trunk. The Muruts looked rather
surprised to see such visitors, but spread mats for us, and gave us
some firewood and water. After dinner we had a smoke with the head-man,
a fine muscular old fellow, nearly six feet high. About fifty men,
women, and children swarmed round the circle, of which a wood fire was
the centre, to get a peep at us. The head-man's wife was a young and
rather handsome girl, having a fine dusky little baby swung behind
her, and several other of the younger married women and girls were
comely, with dark eyes and luxuriant hair. Others, however, were less
attractive, and many of both sexes were troubled with peculiar skin
diseases. We engaged two men of this tribe to go with us as far as
Bukit Sagan, as our men did not exactly know the best place at which
to land. We slept by the fire until about two o'clock, when the rain,
which had been coming down heavily all day, ceased, and the silver
moon being nearly at the full, it quite illumined the stream as it
sped past the house. The mosquitoes became very troublesome, and so
I called the men and went down to the boat. After shouting for about
half an hour, the Muruts came down and took their places; and pulling
across the current, we crept up stream beneath the arching plumes
of the Nipa palm, which is here abundant. It was hard work for the
men, although we had now fourteen paddles. A sharp look-out had to
be kept for snags and floating trunks of trees, several of which we
saw shooting past us mid stream. Our Labuan men were rather afraid,
and several times wanted to make fast until daybreak. At one place the
boat struck heavily and keeled over in an alarming way, but we found
the obstruction was a raft of the stems of the sago palm, which some
Muruts had felled and lashed near the bank ready for floating down
to their rude washing-sheds below. This heavy bump woke up our men,
several of whom had previously been dozing, although paddling the
while, and we got along for a mile or two in first-rate style. Then,
in crossing the current, at an awkward bend we were well-nigh washed
away; indeed, had it not been for the silent but strenuous exertions of
our Murut guides, the alligators would possibly have had a feed. The
stream for the moment got the better of our men, but by a clever
touch of the paddle our guides steered us through safely, and a steady
pull for an hour longer brought us to the foot of the hill where we
were to land. We made our rattan-rope fast to a tree, and slept until
nearly daybreak. One man told us in the morning that he had not slept
a wink all night, as he was afraid our "painter" would part; but it
stood the strain well, although the boat had swung about and tugged
a good deal, owing to the swift current running down. The scene at
sunrise was lovely; every stem and leaf was covered with dew-drops,
and the hazy golden mist, through which palms, tree-ferns, and
curious leafage of all descriptions loomed out more and more plainly
until we saw everything in the foreground quite distinctly. It was
a transformation scene on a gigantic scale, and its loveliness was
such as only Turner at his best could have portrayed. The delicate
arching outline of the nebong palms was sharply defined against the
sky overhead, and large masses of a wild musa fringed both banks with
immense leaves and clusters of delicate rosy bracts.
How comes it that none of our good landscape-painters ever visit the
tropics, where the beauty of form and colour in the landscapes is more
glorious than anywhere else, and yet nearly all the tropical pictures
one sees remind one of the daubs of a bad scene-painter? Here and
there clumps of bamboo reminded one of the early summer freshness of
the weeping willow beside the silvery trout streams at home. A gorgeous
scarlet-flowered climbing bauhinia draped some of the low trees which
nestled down near the water. We turned out for a ramble with our guns
while our people cooked breakfast. I never saw birds so numerous in
Borneo before. The first shot brought down a little green tree-pigeon,
with a magenta stain on its white breast and on its head. A Kadyan boy
we had with us blazed away with an old Tower musket to his heart's
content, and surprised us by bringing in a long-tailed rufous-brown
species of pigeon, which we had first secured in the Sulu Islands. Two
or three other rare Bornean birds were obtained. Breakfast over, we set
about climbing. Our path lay through the tall forest, and in places the
undergrowth was so thick that our guides and men had to cut us a path
with their parongs. For the first mile or two vegetation was scanty,
but as we ascended ferns and selaginellas became more plentiful. We
stayed here and there to examine fallen trees for epiphytal orchids,
which however were far from abundant. About half way up the hill we
came to a gorge, down which a considerable body of water flows, but
it is screened from sight by huge boulders, which lie near together,
forming a sort of "giant's causeway," across which we picked our
way. We peered down the chasms, but could not catch a glimpse of the
stream, although we could hear it quite plainly as it forced its way
among the stones far below. In one wet spot several species of aroids
formed a little colony all to themselves. Of those collected in flower,
one proved distinct enough to be made the type of a new genus when
submitted to the botanical authorities at Kew. It grew in tufts on
wet mossy stones, forming rather compact plants a foot in height. The
spathe is of a bright rose colour, borne on a scape nearly as long
as the leaves. I was especially interested in this plant, as I had
seen a species singularly like it beside the Haya Haya stream at the
foot of Kina Balu. As we approached the summit, we were stopped at
one place by a perpendicular wall of sandstone rock, and we had to
make a wearisome detour in order to gain the crest. I had been led
to explore this hill at all risks, having been told by natives that
a golden large-flowered phalænopsis was here to be found, but after a
hot and weary search on rock and tree alike, no trace of any species of
this genus could be found; and as I afterwards offered my informants a
month's wages if they would bring me a flower of it without any result,
I am inclined to think the thing a myth, like its "bright scarlet"
congener. The only thing which consoled me for my disappointment was
a beautiful golden-blossomed dendrobium, which has always been rare in
our gardens; and I was also enabled to collect a large number of Vanda
Hookeri. This last is the "Golden Duck" orchid of the Brunei Malays,
and exists in quantity in the marshes near the river, and always,
so far as I saw it, epiphytal, on a slender-stemmed red-fruited pandan.
This hill is not above five or six hundred feet above the sea, and yet
on its crest the air was quite fresh and cool. We obtained extensive
views from the top over a well-wooded country. Neither pitcher plants
nor rhododendrons were seen, although both exist abundantly on the
Lawas hills, only a few miles away. In descending a wide detour was
made through the forest in search of plants, but distinct forms were
rare. On reaching the boat we bathed, and changed our clothes, which
was necessary, as we were drenched to the skin, and covered with dirt
from the half-rotten tree-trunks, over which we had scrambled. It
was about three o'clock, of course very hot; and our boat formed
quite an attraction to the bees, butterflies, and some lovely blue
day-flying moths, which fluttered in the sunshine. The wild bees were
indeed rather troublesome; and some of the men who were nervous at
their proximity, and began to buffet them, were stung. As we ate our
luncheon of boiled rice and jam, they frequently settled on our plates,
but they did not attack us.
The journey down the river was an easy and pleasant one. The water,
which had been so high and turbid the night before, had now regained
its proper level, and except exactly amid stream the surface was as
smooth as a mirror. The curving nipa leaves and other vegetation were
most sharply reflected from the placid surface, so clearly indeed,
that one could scarcely see where reality ended, and the shadow
began. The presence of the nipa palm beside the banks of eastern
rivers, is almost always evidence of deep water. In the shallow
parts the pink-blossomed banana and bauhinia-draped trees were most
beautiful, here and there varied by elegant groups of pandanus. We
stayed at intervals to examine the vegetation more closely, and did
not reach the Murut settlement before nightfall.
We paid off our guides, and stayed here an hour or two to rest
our men. We slept in the boat, and found the mosquitoes very
voracious. When the moon rose we continued our journey. In Bornean
travel, near the coast, boats form the best conveyance. There are
no horses, nor indeed roads suitable for them; so that all journeys
inland must be performed on foot. Buffaloes may in some places be
obtained. If no heavy loads have to be carried, however, one may
travel quicker without them, except where deep and rapid flowing
streams have to be forded, and there they are most useful.
We stayed at one little sago station, where the natives were preparing
the raw product. The process is very simple. The trees are cut down
just as they attain maturity, the time being known by the production
of the branched inflorescence. The leaves are removed, and then the
trunks, which are ten to fifteen feet long, and as thick as a man's
body, are split longitudinally into two halves. A man then cuts out
the pith, with which the whole centre of the trunk is filled. This
requires some skill. The implement employed for the purpose is an axe,
formed of a bamboo-stem, fixed in a stout wooden handle, and lashed
with rattan. By repeated strokes of this instrument the pith and fibres
are scooped out in thin layers, care being taken to cut it out as free
from lumps as possible. The pulped pith is then carried in baskets
to a washing apparatus. This consists of a rudely-constructed vat,
elevated on piles, beside a river or brook, whence fresh and clean
water is plentifully obtainable.
From the vat a spout conducts the water into a trough below. The
bottom of the vat is covered with a mat or bark-strainer. The pith is
now placed in the vat, and trodden, water being occasionally poured
over it during the progress, and the result is that the fine sago
starch is washed through, and settles in the bottom of the trough
below, the coarse particles and other impurities being retained by
the strainers, at the bottom of the treading-vat. After the fine
sago has been allowed time to settle in the trough, the water is run
off, and the white putty-looking mass below is packed up in bags,
and sold to the Chinamen, by whom it is again washed and dried,
previous to its being shipped to the Singapore market. Two species
of sago palm grow here, forming stout-stemmed trees, thirty or forty
feet in height. They are readily distinguished by the one having
smooth bases to the sheathing leaf-stalks, while the other has the
leaf-sheaths set with stout black spines. The smooth variety is most
abundant. The dried leaf-sheaths of this palm are utilised in the
manufacture of neat baskets, being neatly sown together with strips of
rattan, and fitted with lids. Rattans are much used in house building,
the largest timbers being secured by their aid only.
It is singular that pegs or nails are never used by the Malays, except
in boat-building; and the neatness and ingenuity with which rattan
is used by these people is wonderful. In one of the Kadyan villages,
on the Lawas, I saw a violin, the back, front, and sides of which
were actually stitched together with slender strips of rattan. It
had been copied from a European model, and had a much better tone
than one would expect to find under the circumstances.
The musical instruments made and used by the Malays and aboriginal
Borneans are inferior to those of Burmah and Siam, or even to those
used by the Javanese. The pentatonic scale is employed, and the music
is monotonous and plaintive in its character. This is especially true
of the women's songs, which are mostly of a dirge-like kind. I remember
a Kadyan girl used to sing sometimes during my first visit to the
Lawas, and the effect at night more especially was extremely weird and
melancholy. She had a rich mellow voice, rising and falling in minor
cadences, and dying away sweetly tremulous as a silver bell. This poor
girl's life, however, ended suddenly. She usually walked through the
clearing every day into the forest beyond to fetch in fire-wood. One
day she did not return as usual, and a search was made for her along
the paths in the neighbourhood without success. Some men who were
returning from gutta collecting, however, found her lying beneath a
large tree, and beside her was a large branch, recently broken off. It
was supposed that this branch had accidentally fallen, and struck her,
so causing her death.
Modifications of the "cheng," or calabash pipes, are made both by the
Kayans, on the Baram river, and also by the Dusun villagers, near
Kina Balu. There are distinct differences between the instruments
as made by each tribe. That from the Baram consists of seven pipes;
six arranged in a circle around a long central one, all seven being
furnished with a free reed at the base, where they are inserted in a
calabash-gourd. Holes are cut in the six outer pipes for fingering;
the central pipe is, however, an open or drone-pipe, the tone being
intensified by fixing a loose cap of bamboo on the upper end. It is
played by blowing air into the neck of the gourd, or by drawing the
breath according to the effects desired. The Dusun pipes are formed
of eight pipes, four short, and equal in length, and four long and
unequal. Reeds are cut at the lower end in all the pipes, but the
fingering is performed on the ends of the four equal short pipes,
there being no holes cut in the pipes for this purpose, as in the
Kayan instrument.
I brought home examples of both varieties; and these are now in
the Veitchian Museum at Chelsea. Two or three varieties of flutes
are made, also an instrument resembling the old wooden flageolet,
so common in England before the advent of the tin whistle.
McNair, in his work on Perak, mentions a curiosity, in the shape of an
aëolian flute, formed of a bamboo, in which holes are cut, so as to
produce musical sounds when acted on by the wind. An instrument like
the Jew's harp is made of a single strip of bamboo; and a curious
stringed instrument is made of a joint of large yellow bamboo, the
nine or ten open strings of which produce notes similar to those of a
banjo, when twanged with the fingers. A specimen of this instrument
may be seen in the Veitchian Museum at Chelsea, together with one
of similar design but of much more complicated and finer make from
Madagascar. Wooden drums, formed of hollow tree-trunks, and having
goat or deer-skin tightly stretched over the ends, are common, and of
various sizes. The old war-drums were made thus; but this instrument
is now nearly obsolete, being to a great extent replaced by metal
gongs, of native manufacture certainly; but doubtless the idea was
copied from the Chinese.
Nearly every trading prahu or boat carries one of these gongs; and
the Muruts are very fond of such music, and keep up an incessant din
on these instruments at their festivals. Sets of eight or ten small
such are often fixed in a rattan and bamboo frame, and beaten with
two sticks, dulcimer fashion; and I have seen similar contrivances
formed of iron bars; and even strips of dry hard bamboo wood in the
Sulu isles, the scale in this case being similar to our own.
It is very uncommon to hear performers playing in concert, unless in
the case of gong-beating; indeed, music is at a low ebb throughout
the island. The songs of the boatman, on the other hand, are often
pleasing and melodious. A good many of their songs are Mahomedan
prayers, or chants; but occasionally the theme is on secular, and often
very amusing subjects. It is common for one man to strike up a song,
improvising his subject as he sings, and then all the crew laughingly
join in the chorus. They keep time to the music in paddling; and I
always encouraged my boatmen to sing, as it relieves the monotony of
the bump, bump of the paddles against the side of the vessel, which
becomes very tedious after the first hour or two. One always has to
be prepared for squalls when on the sea. They are especially common
at night, after very hot days. You see a black cloud lowering on the
horizon. Then a cool breeze fans your cheek. You at once strike all
sail. The breeze gets stronger and stronger, until you find yourself
rocking about on a rough "choppy" sea, amid a hurricane of wind
and rain.
Thunder and lightning are especially common during the wet monsoon. The
mountains behind "Thunder and Lightning Bay," to the north of the
capital, are often perfectly illuminated by lightning flashes; and at
times the thunder is deafening to hear. As to the lightning latent
flashes of electricity are visible most nights throughout the year;
and it is not uncommon to see a continuous play of lightning on the
horizon, especially after very sultry days. At times the sea is so
highly phosphorescent, that the boat leaves a wake of bright light in
the water, and the paddles look as though moving through a caldron
of molten silver. This phenomenon is most commonly observable after
calm sultry weather.
The sudden manner in which the rivers rise after heavy rain is
wonderful; and the flat forests beside or near the rivers often
become flooded. You may go to bed at night, and awake to find the
native house in which you slept surrounded by acres of water a yard
deep in the morning. This is especially true of flat tracts, through
which streams flow near the great water-sheds inland. Considerable
damage results to the cultivated patches on the hills from these
sudden rains; and formidable land-slips not unfrequently take place
on the steep hills near the rivers. Cultivation near the capital is,
however, of a poor description, compared with the plains of Menkabong,
Tawaran, and Tampassuk, or the hills further inland.
A lover of nature who sees a tropical country for the first time,
cannot help but enjoy the bright light and heat, the vegetable glories
of flower, fruit, and leaf, called forth by the rain and sunshine--of
a clime where winter is unknown. And yet, with all the sunshine and
showers, the tropical blossoms are in a way aristocratic and exclusive,
and never mingle socially in bosky masses, as do our own wildings;
and it is not possible to name half-a-dozen of them that could at all
compare with the blue-bells, or heather, the buttercups, primroses,
forget-me-nots, anemones, violets, and rosy lychnis of our own cool
moist woods and pastures.
During a year's rambles in one of the richest and most fertile of
tropical islands, I saw nothing really fresh and spring-like; nothing
like the "green and gold" of daffodils, and the tender young grass
of April, or the royal glory of a summer iris, or an autumnal crocus
on its mossy bed. This much is ever lacking in the forest primæval;
and even in gardens--Eastern gardens--beautiful as they undoubtedly
are in many ways, the sameness, the cloying degree of permanency
observable in the forests, becomes intensified, and so still more
unsatisfying. The plants seem always to present the same aspect; and
although most of them are at their best when revived by the rains,
just after the dry season, yet the charm of freshness is destroyed
by the number of evergreens everywhere, and the driblets of bloom
kept up by them nearly all the year round.
Still the beauty of tropical gardens is lovely of its kind. You have,
or may have, all the tropical treasures of Kew--palms, ferns, and
orchids--around you in the open air; but all this is as the beauty of
a lovely woman, jaded by over-enjoyment, the whirl of a whole season's
gaieties! There is elegance of form, and charm of colour, all the
refinement of cultured beauty, sure enough. Victoria water-lilies,
and dainty nymphæas in open air pools, the flesh-tinted blooms, and
umbrageous leafage of the sacred lotus also; the noble amherstia, with
its pendants of crimson and gold,--groves of feathery-leaved palms--all
this, and very much more, is common; but it is astonishing how soon
one tires of this plethora of floral charms, and how eager becomes
the longing to sniff the homely fragrance of pinks and wall-flowers;
to stoop for a violet from a mossy hedge-bank, or a snow-drop even from
a cotter's garden. Indeed, there is no gainsaying the fact, as has been
pointed out by Wallace and others, that the most lovely and satisfying,
the most sociable of all flowers, are those of temperate climates.