A STRANGE MAMMAL--ANIMAL LIFE IN CENTRAL BORNEO--A SUPERB AND SILENT
REALM--VISIT TO A SALT WATER EXUDATION--PASSING THE DIVIDING RIDGE--A
MOUSE-DEER CHASE--ON THE KASAO RIVER
I was planning a visit to the headwaters of the Busang River, to be made
in connection with our future journey. Few natives, if any, have entered
that region, which was described as very mountainous, though the mountains
cannot be very high. But all who were approached on the subject, whether
Penyahbong or Malay, absolutely declined to take part in an expedition to
that country, because they would be killed by an animal called nundun,
which is very numerous there. They might be able to tackle one, they said,
but as soon as you encounter one there are hundreds more coming for you,
and there is nothing else to do but to run for your life. Those regions,
although known to be rich in rubber trees, are shunned by all natives.
Unless this is an altogether fabulous animal, which is hardly likely to be
the case, because the Punans and Bukats confirmed its existence, it would
appear to be a kind of bear which perhaps in fruit seasons gathers in
great numbers, and which is ferocious.
Nundun, in Penyahbong and Bukat called bohang (bear), is said to run
faster than a dog, is killed with the sumpitan at twenty to thirty metres
distance, and is eaten. It is further declared that its habitat extends
through the hilly regions between the headwaters of the Busang River and
the Upper Barito, and that it is especially numerous near the kampong
Kelasin. If any one with the hope of possibly finding a new species of
mammal should care to follow the matter up, Kelasin on the Upper Barito
would not be an extremely difficult place to reach, with good men. Both
the lieutenant and I, having so many rifles, were much inclined to defy
the terrors of the nundun, but desirable as this expedition would have
been, it had to be given up because of the formidable difficulties in
getting men, even if we followed the route over the watershed which is
used by the natives.
Bangsul had undertaken to negotiate with us on behalf of the Penyahbongs
and the Malays, and although in some ways he was an estimable man, his
Malay characteristic of turning everything to his own advantage at times
got the better of him and delayed an agreement. At first they demanded a
sum amounting to seven florins a day for each of the twenty-nine men
needed, but as fourteen Malay rubber-gatherers arrived very opportunely,
it was agreed that we should be taken to the Kasao River for 300 florins
and my six prahus. The natives had some trouble deciding how the prahus
should be divided among them, the kapala insisting upon having the largest
and best for himself.
This question having been settled through Bangsul, on March 22 we
departed. Our prahus were poled most of the way on a stream which, though
rather shallow, ran with a swift current, and at times made my heavily
loaded craft take water. In Borneo it usually requires as many days to get
up-stream as it takes hours to come down.
We stayed for the night at a former camping place of rattan seekers, a
small, narrow clearing on the river brink, on which tents and sheds were
huddled closely together in the way military men prefer when travelling in
the utan. The paddlers had asked us to be ready at daylight, but at seven
o'clock in the chilly and very foggy morning they were still warming
themselves around the fire. An hour later, when we had finished loading
the prahus, the river began to rise incredibly fast, at the rate of ten
centimetres per minute in the first six minutes, and in two hours and a
quarter it had risen 2.30 metres, when it became steady. In the meantime
we had remade our camp, hoping that the river might permit us to travel
next day. Three of the Penyahbongs went out hunting with the only sumpitan
we had, and shortly afterward returned with a pig.
Early in the afternoon we were much surprised by the appearance of a prahu
with three Dayaks who had a dog and a sumpitan and brought a pig which
they had killed in the morning. They were the chief, with two companions,
from Data Láong on the Kasao River for which we were aiming. The rumour of
our party had reached his ears, and with thirty men he had been waiting
for us on this side of the watershed. Their scanty provisions soon ran
out, and after waiting nine days all had returned home except the present
party, whom we welcomed. The new men proved a valuable addition to our
crew. The kapala, who was attached to my prahu, was active and gave his
orders as if he knew how, a great relief from a weak Malay that hitherto
had been at "the helm." When the men with the poles were unable to move
the boat against the current, the small, but strongly built man, with a
few very powerful pushes, would bring it forward, making it vibrate by his
strength.
At Tamaloe animals and birds were not plentiful, the call of the wah-wah
usually imparting a little life to the mornings; and I once heard a crow.
I do not remember to have seen on the whole Busang River the most familiar
of all birds on the Bornean rivers, an ordinary sandpiper that flits
before you on the beach. Birds singing in the morning are always rare
except in the localities of paddi fields. The one most likely to attract
attention on a forenoon is the giant hornbill, and as we advanced up the
Busang its laugh might still be heard. Much more unusual was the call of
some lonely argus pheasant or a crow. A few of the beautiful white raja
birds were observed.
Wild pigs and deer continued plentiful, but the monkeys seemed gradually
to disappear. Fish there were in plenty, but they were now of smaller
kinds, not agreeable to eat, having an oily taste and mostly very bony. At
all our camping places ants of various kinds were numerous, also inside of
the tent, but they did not seem to be obnoxious. Just before sunset the
loud voices of the cicadas began, and after dark lovely moths were
attracted by my lamp, while during the night bats flew in and out of my
tent. The humidity of the atmosphere was great. Safety matches would not
strike fire unless kept in an airtight box. My cameras were inside of
solid steel boxes, provided with rubber bands against the covers, making
them water-tight. Nevertheless, upon opening one that had been closed for
three weeks the camera inside was found to be white with mould.
It was rough and hard travelling on account of incessant low kihams to be
passed, or banks of small stones over which the prahus had to be dragged.
The Penyahbongs had not yet learned to be good boatmen, often nearly
upsetting the prahu when getting in or out. Occasionally long quiet pools
occurred, and the scenery here was grand and thrilling. Graceful trees of
infinite variety bent over the water, bearing orchids of various colours,
while creepers hung down everywhere, all reflected in a calm surface which
seldom is disturbed by the splashing of fish. The orchids were more
numerous than I had ever seen before. A delicate yellow one, growing in
spikes, had a most unusual aromatic fragrance, as if coming from another
world.
In the morning a curtain of fog lies over the landscape, but about nine
o'clock it begins to lift, and creeping up over the tree-tops gradually
dissolves in the sun-light, while between the trees that border the river
the deep-blue sky appears, with beautiful small cumulus clouds suspended
in the atmosphere. With the exception, perhaps, of a large blue kingfisher
sitting in solitary state on a branch extending over the water, or a
distant hornbill with its cheerful grandiose laugh, there are no evidences
of animal life, nevertheless the exquisite scenery seems to lure the
beholder on and on. To pass through this superb and silent realm was like
a pleasant dream. There are no mosquitoes and consequently no malaria.
We were progressing through a country of which little is known accurately
beyond its somewhat hilly character, and the fact that it is uninhabited
except for small transient parties of Malays searching for rattan or
rubber. The upper part of our route to the divide, a comparatively short
distance, had not, to my knowledge, been traversed by white men before.
Errors were corrected on the map of the watershed region.
One day at noon, while we were waiting for the largest prahu to overtake
us, fresh tracks of pig were discovered on the bank, and the Saputan dog,
a very wise animal, was landed. A few minutes later he began the peculiar
barking which indicated that he had caught the scent, and one man seized a
sumpitan and ran off into the utan as fast as his legs could carry him,
holding the weapon in his right hand in a horizontal position, spear end
first. It sounded as if the dog might be holding the pig in the water a
little higher up, but this was soon found to be a mistake when the barking
was heard close by. The Saputan kapala then jumped from my prahu, drew his
parang, and with wonderful elastic movements disappeared in the utan. Two
or three minutes later they returned, one man bearing in his arms a
scarcely half-grown live pig, which had been hit by the sumpitan. The
whole affair lasted barely ten minutes.
At another place, where we were again waiting for the big prahu, the
Penyahbongs amused themselves with wrestling in water up to their
shoulders. After some dancing around, the fight would invariably finish by
both disappearing and after a few seconds coming to view again. This
caused much merriment, especially to the wrestlers themselves, who laughed
immoderately when reappearing.
We entered the tributary Bulau, and a couple of hours later arrived at its
junction with Bakkaang, at the source of which we expected to cross the
watershed. The river, which was rather narrow, would be difficult to
ascend unless we had showers. Luckily rain fell during the night, and
although delayed by trees that had fallen across the stream, which was
from six to ten metres wide, we made a good day's work and camped at an
attractive old clearing of rattan gatherers.
I spent the next forenoon in an excursion to a place within the jungle,
where birds and animals sometimes congregate in great numbers to obtain
the salt water which issues from the earth or rocks. This masin (salt
water) was known to the Malay rattan seekers in our party, who had snared
birds and deer there. In the dry season hundreds of birds of various kinds
would gather. By wading up a small stream for twenty minutes we reached a
place where water exuded from a rock, especially at its top, and by
following the stream upward for another twenty minutes we arrived at the
larger one, where the ooze from the rocks overflowed the ground. Only
tracks were seen, but our guide said that after three rainless days in
succession birds and animals would be sure to come there. Myriads of
yellowish-gray flies covered the ground as well as the rocks, and after
having taken some specimens of algae, also some white gelatinous stuff
with which the Malays rub themselves when afflicted with beri-beri, I
returned to camp.
In spite of frequent light showers the stream failed to rise appreciably,
and our goods had to be carried on the back of the men to our next camping
place. The following morning we started in a heavy rain at which we
rejoiced, because it enabled us to use our prahus until we reached the
foot of the dividing ridge. At noon we arrived in camp, with our clothing
thoroughly wet. What the downpour might have left intact the Penyahbongs,
forgetting everything but the safety of the prahus, had done their best to
drench by splashing water all the time. Just as we had made camp the rain
ceased and with it, being near the source of the stream, the overflow too
passed away. In dry weather it would be a tedious trip to get up the
Bakkaang.
For two days we were busy carrying our goods to the top of the ridge.
Neither the Malays nor the Penyahbongs are very strong carriers, and they
complained of being stenga mati (half dead) from their exertions. On the
third day, when the ascent was to be finished, eight of them complained of
being sakit (sick) or played out, and they looked it. Fortunately the
Saputan chief, who a few days previously had left us to procure more men,
returned with four companions, who came in very opportunely. The ascent is
neither long nor difficult, a seldom used path leading across the ridge at
the most convenient place. The elevation above sea level, taken April 2,
by boiling point thermometer, was 425 metres (1,394.38 feet), and the
ridge seemed to run evenly to either side. The space for a camp was
somewhat cramped, and the small yellow bees that are so persistent in
clinging to one's face and hands were very numerous; they will sting if
irritated. Even the lieutenant, ordinarily impervious to that kind of
annoyance, sought the protection of his mosquito net.
The calls of argus pheasant and wah-wah next morning sounded familiar. The
north side of the Bukit, or mountain (the name applied by the natives to
the ridge), is steeper and rougher than the south side, but the descent
presents no difficulties. We followed the small river Brani, most of the
time wading it. The distance to the junction of the Brani with the Kasao
River [*] is hardly five hours' walking, but copious showers, which at
times changed the river to a torrential stream, interfered with the
transportation of our goods, which required five days.
[Footnote *: Kasao is the Malay name. The Saputans call the river Katju.]
Our friend, the Saputan chief, had materially assisted us, and he was
desired to walk down to his kampong--by boat only an hour's journey on the
swift current--and bring men and prahus to take us away. He was very
willing and exceedingly efficient, but he was also, in his childish way,
intent on making as much out of us as possible. He wanted to bring too
many prahus and men, for all the male population of the kampong were
anxious to get this job, he said. I made him a fair offer, and three times
he came to tell me that he still had to think over it. Finally, after
three hours' deliberation, he accepted my proposition--provided I would
pay for two days instead of one! In order to get action, and considering
all the days they voluntarily had waited for us at the ridge, I acceded to
this amendment and he went away happy.
The men and the prahus came promptly and we began loading; I was glad at
the prospect of getting away from the low-lying country, where we had our
camp among bamboo trees, with the chance of being flooded should the river
rise too high. As we were standing near my tent, getting ready to take it
down, a plandok (mouse-deer, _tragulus_) came along--among the Saputans,
and probably most Dayaks, reputed to be the wisest and most cunning of all
animals, and in folklore playing the part of our fox. It was conspicuously
pregnant and passed unconcernedly just back of the tent. As the flesh is a
favourite food of both Dayaks and Malays they immediately gave chase,
shouting and trying to surround it, which made the plandok turn back; then
the wonderfully agile Saputan chief darted after it and actually caught it
alive. Extraordinary agility is characteristic of most Dayaks. An army
officer in his report of the Katingans describes how a Dayak "suddenly
jumped overboard, drew his parang, and with one stroke cut a fish through
the middle. Before we knew what had happened the material for our supper
was on board."
After a pleasant drifting down the current of the Kasao River, about noon
on April 7 we arrived at Data Láong, a Saputan kampong consisting of three
small communal houses. On the river bank a small space had been cleared of
grass for my tent. The people seemed very amenable to my purposes and
there was a primitive atmosphere at the place. We had used seventeen days
from Tamaloë, much in excess of the time calculated, but under
unfavourable circumstances we might easily have used double. There was
reason to be satisfied at arriving here safely without having incurred any
losses. We could look forward with confidence to the remainder of the
journey, mainly down the great Mahakam River, toward distant Samarinda,
because the Dayaks along the route were very numerous and had plenty of
prahus.