THE LAND DAYAKS.
Visit to the Left-hand Branch of the Sarawak River--Attack
of Peguans--Sarawak River--Capture of English Ship--The
Durian Fruit--Iron-wood Posts--Rapids--Rapid of
the Corpse--Mountains--Village of San Pro--Lovely
Scenery--Head-house--Cave--Upper Cave--Unfortunate
Boast--Pushing up the Rapids--Story of the Datu
Tamanggong--Invulnerable Men--How to become one--Grung
Landing-place--Sibungoh Dayaks--Dayak Canoes--Lovely
Scenery--Uses of the Bambu--Fish--Sharks in the
Upper Waters--Repartee--Pigs Swimming--Farmhouses in
Trees--Floods--Suspension Bridges--Chinese Traders--Dress of
Land Dayaks--System of Forced Trade--Interesting Tribe--Story
of the Murder of Pa Mua--The Trial--Painful Scene--Delightful
Bathing--Passing the Rapids--Walk to Grung--Dayak Paths--Village
of Grung--Warm Reception--Ceremonies--Lingua Franca--Peculiar
Medicine--Prayer--Sacred Dance--Sprinkling Blood--Effect of
former System of Government--Language.
I had already made many visits among the Dayaks, but had never
penetrated to the interior waters of the Sarawak river. I was,
therefore, quite ready to accept Captain Brooke’s invitation to
accompany him on the tour of inspection he was about to make among the
Land Dayaks of the left-hand branch of the Sarawak. As the stream is
full of rapids, our crew was selected of Sarawak men, well acquainted
with the peculiar navigation. I may here remark that there is something
characteristic about the true Sarawak man: his look is eminently
respectable, his face is longer and more marked than that of the other
Malays, his complexion often darker, his manners quiet and respectful.
There is a tradition current in this country, that once upon a time,
the capital of Sarawak was at Santubong, the western entrance of the
river; that during the absence of the men on an expedition up the
country, some marauding Peguans arrived there in their ships, and on
finding the defenceless state of the town attacked it, carried it
by assault, and made off with their spoils and innumerable female
prisoners. The Sarawak men fortunately returned a few hours after, and
instantly gave chase. Their fast war boats soon overtook the clumsy
Pegu ships. They made short work of it: killed the marauding chiefs and
brought back the rest prisoners to Santubong. The Samarahan and some of
the Sarawak men are said to be descended from them, and this, if true,
may account for the darker complexion.
The Sarawak river is not navigable for ships far above the town, though
at the height of the flood a large vessel was once taken fifteen miles
above it to a place called Ledah Tanah. This occurred some thirty
years ago. A large English ship, laden with sugar, put into the mouth
of the Sarawak river for water. The captain and mates were invited to
meet the rajahs of the country. They went on shore, where they were
informed that their vessel was too leaky to proceed on her voyage,
but that they would be provided with a passage to Singapore in one of
the native prahus. Resistance was useless. They were surrounded by
hundreds of armed men, and were hurried off to sea immediately to be
murdered at the first island. The _Lascar_ crew were detained
as slaves. Two of them were still alive when I first reached Sarawak.
Many of the Malays have told me that sugar never was so plentiful in
their houses either before or since. The banks of the river on either
side continue low, and are adapted in their present state for rice
cultivation, though with a little drainage, the Chinese can render the
soil admirably suited for sugar-cane and other cultivations. It is a
pretty but monotonous pull, the scenery being only occasionally varied
by views of the surrounding mountains.
We passed the first night at Ledah Tanah, or Tongue of Land, the
point of junction of the two branches of the river. Here the Rajah
had a cattle farm, and a pretty cottage surrounded by fruit trees,
principally of magnificent durians. This fruit is the subject of much
controversy. It varies in size from a six to sixty-eight pounder shot,
and looks like an enormous chestnut, with its prickly outer coating on.
On opening this rough rind, we find five or six rows of seeds covered
with a white or yellow pulpy substance, which tastes and smells like a
custard strongly flavoured with onions, or, to those who delight in it,
it is of a delicious and unapproachable flavour, and, when perfectly
fresh, has a pleasing perfume. These different opinions are given at
the same moment, by different persons describing the same fruit.
When the people abandoned Santubong, they retired to Ledah Tanah, where
they established their town; the posts of some of their houses still
remain, being of iron-wood, which may be said practically to last for
ever.
We continued our course up the river, the character of the scenery
becoming more interesting every moment. The stream narrows, the water
is clearer, shallower, and its course is interrupted by rocks and large
stones, over which the stream foams, dashes, breaks, rendering the
passage dangerous for small boats; indeed, the name of one of these
rapids, Rhium Bangkei--“The Rapid of the Corpse”--would seem to prove
that fatal accidents do occur. The swamping of a boat, or the loss of
goods, by inexperienced hands, is not rare.
The first mountain we passed was that of Stat, which, though not more
than 1,500 feet high, is in many respects remarkable, rising abruptly
from the low country, a real isolated peak that may be distinguished
even out at sea; from one view it appears like the end of a bent
finger. In common with most of the limestone mountains in Borneo, it
presents bare, perpendicular surfaces, with jagged rocks at the edges,
but surrounded by vegetation, and that vegetation growing where soil
can scarcely be supposed to exist; in fact, the roots of the trees
penetrate far into the inner portion of the mountain, through deep
fissures and clefts. The other mountains visible during our progress
to-day had the same general features, particularly the two which rise
near the village of San Pro, where we intended to pass the night.
In our evening walk we were much struck with the remarkable beauty
of this place; the two lofty and almost perpendicular mountains rise
abruptly on either side of the river, leaving but a strip of land on
the water’s edge. One called Sibayat towers above the village on the
left bank; the other, Si Bigi, is on the opposite side; the river, now
running through limestone, sparkles clear at their feet, undermining
the rocks on either side, and forming fantastic little caves, crowned
above with noble overhanging trees. Abrupt turns, short reaches, and
pebbly beds added to the beauty of the scene, and, just as the last
rays of the sun were gilding the summits of the twin peaks, we sat
down on the huge trunk of a fallen tree, which the floods of the
rainy season had swept down from the interior, and half buried in the
sand and pebbles. There we remained till the shades of evening had
completely closed in around us, speculating on the probable future of
the country, and the words almost rose simultaneously to our lips--were
we missionaries, we would fix our houses here. With my own idea of
what a missionary should do, there could be no better spot than San
Pro to commence operations. The village was not large, but it is
better completely to gain over twenty families, than exhaust one’s
energies merely skimming over the surface of a dozen tribes, leaving
no permanent impression. We fixed on the best locality for a house, a
trim garden, a diminutive church, and a school. It is a soil that would
repay culture.
We were not fortunate in the time of our visit, as most of the people
were away preparing their farms. We took up our residence in the
head-house, which, however, was destitute of the usual ornaments. It
was quite new. All head-houses have the same appearance, being built
on high posts above the ground, and in a circular form, with a sharp
conical roof. The windows are, in fact, a large portion of the roof,
being raised up, like the lid of a desk, during fine weather, and
supported by props; but when rain or night comes on, they are removed,
and the whole appearance is snug in the extreme, particularly when a
bright fire is lit in the centre, and throws a fitful glow on all the
surrounding objects. Around the room are rough divans, on which the men
usually sit or sleep, but that night, there being a cold wind and a
drizzling rain, a good fire was kept up, and the people crowded near.
I awoke at about two, and put my head out of my curtains to look at a
night-scene: a dozen of the old men were there collected close over
the fire, smoking the tobacco we had given them, and discoursing in
a low tone about us. The flames occasionally shot up brilliantly and
showed me the curious group, and then, as they faded away, nothing but
the outlines of the half-naked old men could be seen cowering over the
embers, as a ruder blast or a heavier shower brought the cold wind upon
them.
Started early in the morning. The limestone rock, undermined in every
direction, was worn into very singular shapes. Occasionally the tall
trees, finding insufficient support, had broken from the bank, and
slipped their roots into the river, to be completely washed away
by next flood. At ten, brought up on a pebbly beach for breakfast,
opposite a little cave, about which the Dayaks have as usual a
story--this time an indelicate one. Continuing our course, we reached
the mountain of Rumbang, remarkable for its curious caves. We had
brought guides with us from San Pro, and stopping at the nearest point
went ashore, and after a walk and climb of a few hundred yards, reached
the entrance of the first cave. Descending over a few rough stones,
we found ourselves in the interior, through which a small stream makes
its way. Having lighted a candle and a torch, we advanced--now fording
the brook, now jumping over it: the floor is principally pebbly, though
occasionally we met with soft sand and slippery rock. The cave itself
has no remarkable feature, but is nevertheless interesting. Its height
varied between thirty, forty, and fifty feet--its exit beautiful in
rugged feature in a soft light, which subdued the uncouth shapes of
the rocks, and rendered them striking and pleasing to the eye. This we
particularly noticed on our return, when we approached the entrance.
Then the light played on the surface of the stream, as it bubbled
onward in its course, and the reflection slightly illuminated the
surrounding features, reminding me of a robber’s cave in a dissolving
view.
To-day we only penetrated through the mountain and looked at the
country beyond, a restricted view, as the jungle closely hemmed round
the cave: afterwards I heard that we need not have returned the way we
came, but that if we did not fear a steep climb, there was a cavern
exactly above the one we had come through that would lead us back to
the river--in fact, an upper tunnel. We thought at first it must be a
joke of the Dayaks, but they assured us of the truth: so we told them
to lead the way. It was difficult, in fact very difficult, until we
came to an overhanging rock, against which a long pole leant with an
occasional cross-piece; at the top was another overhanging one, round
which it was necessary to pass by leaning the body over the abyss,
and trusting entirely to our hands and to the strength of the roots.
The Dayak guide led the way, and as we approached this difficulty we
observed him smile. It was at an unfortunate boast. When we first
proposed to make the ascent, our guide observed--“No one but a Dayak
can go up there.” I unfortunately answered, “Wherever a Dayak can go,
an Englishman can follow.” Hence his smile. He proceeded cautiously,
as these rough ladders are often rotten, and, it is said, occasionally
left unfastened to entrap an unwary thief, who may desire to pilfer
the edible swallows’ nests found in the upper caves. When he had
reached the summit, he invited me to follow; there was no help for it,
so I tried; the pole was no great difficulty, but the rounding the
overhanging rock with my body leaning over the abyss tested my strength
and nerve; one of the party followed, the other thought it wiser to
return by the way he came. It repaid us, however; the cave, though not
lofty, was full of large chambers, of narrow passages, and occasionally
of huge chasms penetrating to the depths below. They said the whole
mountain was perforated by these galleries. Our return to the boat was
difficult, as we had to force our way through the tangled bushes, and
over ground unknown even to the Dayaks. We found our companion seated
in the boat, discussing some cool claret and water, and as he beheld
us coming in tired, hot, covered with dirt, and with clothes half torn
from our bodies, I fear he did not envy us.
Our men had now to drop their paddles once at least in every reach, and
to seize their poles and force us along up the gradually lengthening
rapids; the motion of the boat thus propelled is exceedingly pleasant;
at one spot we noticed a Dayak suspension-bridge that spanned the river
above a dangerous rapid. Kasim, a favourite follower, turned to us and
said, “It was here that the Datu Tumanggong nearly lost his life.” We
asked how. I will let Kasim relate his story; it is an illustration of
Bornean ways.
The Datu Tumanggong is the chief third in rank in Sarawak, and was in
his early days known as a successful pirate. He was also the terror
of the Dayaks. Many years before Sir James Brooke arrived, he had
for some cause killed a Dayak of the tribe of Si-Buñgoh, in those
days not considered a deed requiring particular notice; but on this
occasion the tribe determined to be revenged. The next time the Datu
was known to be on his way up the river, the Dayaks assembled in great
numbers round the suspension-bridge, concealing themselves among the
trees. Unsuspicious of the ambuscade, the chief, with twenty Malay
followers, was endeavouring to pole up the rapid, when a shower of
spears threw them into confusion; the Datu was principally aimed at,
his umbrella was torn to shreds, and he was wounded severely about
the shoulders. The men dropping their poles, allowed the boat to get
across the stream, and she was instantly upset; while they, unable to
see their enemies, scattered themselves in every direction, and hiding
among the rocks shouted to their chief to fire. They say he stood his
ground manfully, and fired twice without success at his foes, who,
thus emboldened, drew nearer. The water was rushing down with great
force and reached over his knees, which rendered the operation of
loading extremely difficult, but his third shot was fortunate, for
bringing down the boldest Dayak, it created a panic among the rest.
On collecting his followers, he found two killed and several wounded,
among the latter one of our present boatmen. I have often heard the
Datu tell the story since with great glee, his voice rising, and going
through all his remembered movements with wonderful spirit. “Ah, I was
young in those days.”
There is a very singular belief prevalent among the Malays--it is
this, that men, by going through certain ceremonies, can render
themselves invulnerable. The Datu, notwithstanding the many wounds he
has received, is still popularly believed to be so. They generally say
that these men can never have their skin cut by any sharp instrument,
and the offer to test the truth by the application of a razor is not
considered polite. The old Datu has often said--“It is as well that the
vulgar should believe it, though we know better.”
The favourite spot chosen by the novitiates was in the jungle at the
back of Sir James Brooke’s former house, between two little streams,
called the greater and lesser Bedil (a brass gun). The aspirant was
required to remain three days alone in the woods without speaking to
a soul; to live very sparingly, and not to indulge in the favourite
luxuries of tobacco, sirih and betel. If on the third day he dreamt of
a beautiful spirit descending to speak to him, he might consider that
his work was accomplished. Patah, the Datu’s son, a fine, bold and good
fellow, told me he had tried twice, but the fairy had never appeared to
him.
On reaching the landing-place leading to the Grung village, we found
a large party of Dayaks assembled, who begged us to remain and visit
their houses; but instead, we promised to return in a few days, and
meet the representatives of the neighbouring tribes at their village.
We now pushed on to the Sibuñgoh Dayaks, who inhabited the river’s
bank; but on our stopping at the landing-place, an old man came down
to say that the long house before us was pamali or tabooed, and that
the Orang Kaya was himself in that unenviable predicament. So we pulled
across the river and took up our quarters near a pebbly beach; the men
making temporary mat huts, while we stayed in the boat. In the course
of the evening, a number of the elders of the neighbouring village
houses of the same tribe came down to see us, and promised to provide
small canoes and Dayaks to take us up the stream, as it had become too
shallow to allow of our continuing in the large boat.
At six the Sibuñgoh Dayaks brought the light canoes with which we were
to continue our progress up the river. We left all our crew behind,
taking with us only our personal servants and Kasim. It was quite
a little procession. Each canoe contained but two Dayaks and one
passenger. We started, and were poled up at a rapid pace against the
stream. Our canoes were small, drawing but a few inches of water, and
were managed, as I have said, by two Dayaks, one standing at the stem,
the other at the stern; with long bamboos in their hands, they impelled
us forward at a great pace.
The scenery varied much; occasionally we passed beneath high hills,
which rose smilingly above us, clothed to the summit with vegetation;
Bornean hills seldom frown, their clothing is too luxuriant, their
aspect generally free from harsh outlines, even their precipices have
some softening feature. On we passed, sometimes a long reach stretched
before us, completely overshadowed by trees whose branches entwining
from bank to bank completely sheltered us from the sun, then reclining
on our pillows we could indulge in snatches from the _Quarterly_
or _Edinburgh_. Could the authors of some of the articles but
imagine the variety of situations in which their effusions would be
perused, could they anticipate the delight they inspire in the British
traveller who works his way onwards even towards the interior of
Borneo, they would, I think, be surprised and gratified. The magazines
and reviews are the solaces of educated exiles in all positions. From
these soft scenes and pleasant employments, we were constantly aroused
by our approach to roaring rapids, which foaming over scattered rocks
threatened destruction to our frail canoes; but the skill of the Dayak
was never at fault, we passed every obstruction without an accident. At
these rapids, as at those before mentioned, boats are often lost.
As we approached the country of the Senah tribe, the banks became more
uniform in appearance, and the bamboo constantly formed the principal
vegetation: these bamboos are wonderfully useful to the Dayaks, and
are turned to many purposes. In height they sometimes exceed sixty
feet. During this tour I have seen them used, stretched in lengths,
for paths, placed notched for steps up steep ascents, as railings for
rice fields and yam gardens, as posts for houses; split they form the
floors, beaten out they are the walls of many of the dwellings, and
neat and pretty they look; cut into lengths, water is carried in them;
joined together they form aqueducts that stretch for hundreds of yards;
with them the Dayaks can strike a light; and last, not least, they are
used to cook rice in--they are hard enough to stand the fire until the
food be ready to eat. They are put to numerous other uses, but the
above enumeration is sufficient.
The Senah Dayaks plant yams to a great extent; they grow to a large
size, and boiled have an excellent flavour, whether used as a vegetable
or a salad. These Dayaks are called rich from the abundance of their
rice, which flourishes in their fertile valleys, but more is chiefly
owing to their industry; we saw many instances of the latter in their
fishing apparatus, which was often very extensive; while the tribes
lower down, with better opportunities, seemed quite to neglect their
fisheries. Our men unfortunately have brought no casting net with
them, so we are obliged to be content to hear from the Malays that
the flavour of the fresh-water fish caught here is excellent. It is a
curious fact, that far as we are above the influence of the flood tide,
and with so many rapids below us, yet sharks are found here in the
fresh water. I call it a fact because native testimony is unanimous. I
remember hearing Mr. Crookshank say to the Datu Patinggi, the principal
native chief, that he considered it a very curious thing that a fish,
supposed to live only in the sea, should frequent these interior waters.
“Not at all,” answered the Datu, “not more curious than seeing you
Englishmen abandon your own country to come so far and live among us
Malays.”
As a general rule, the sharks and alligators do not meddle with human
beings up here, but confine their attention to the fish, the dogs,
and the numerous droves of wild pigs constantly passing from one bank
to the other. During the fruit season the movement among these last
is very remarkable; Mr. Brereton told me he once saw at least three
hundred in one drove crossing the river Batang Lupar, where it was
above seven hundred yards broad. I have often seen them myself in
lesser numbers; on one occasion I was present when seventeen were
killed, which formed a regular feast for some aborigines who secured
the bodies. Generally a fine old boar leads the way, and is followed
very closely by the rest. They grow to a great size; I have seen one
carefully measured, his height at the shoulder was forty-two inches,
and the length of head was twenty-two.
The Senahs have built many of their farm-houses in the trees
overhanging the stream; in one was a whole family engaged in the
important operation of preparing dinner; and it was amusing to observe
the little children coming fearlessly to the very edge of the platform
above the rushing stream to look at us, standing in positions so
dangerous that they would drive an English mother distracted.
As we approach the interior of the Sarawak river, the mountains become
more lofty, and the stream takes the character of a torrent; after
heavy rains it rises suddenly and to a great height. I have seen grass
left by the receding waters at least forty feet above our present
level. Even after one heavy shower, all the fords are impassable, so
that to avoid this inconvenience the Senah Dayaks have thrown lofty
bridges across, to facilitate their communication between their several
villages.
How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look--one in
particular I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the
stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite each other;
long bamboos well lashed together formed the main portion, and were
fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side
were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair
appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a
woman and child pass over it, we drew our breath till they were safe on
the other side. And yet we knew they were secure.
I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one
bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do
happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once when
pressed for time I was passing rapidly across with many men following
close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack,
crack was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men
fortunately were not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their
weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in
the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks far below. After
that we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.
Towards the afternoon we reached the first house, inhabited by the
Orang Kaya’s younger brother. This tribe is more scattered than is
usually the case here, four, six, eight families live together; and we
nowhere noticed those immense long village houses so common in other
tribes.
We found some Chinese trading for pigs and rice, one of whom had been
established in this place for about six years. The house where we
stopped for the night was tolerably comfortable, with the walls roughly
planked. It is evident that these Dayaks are very pleased to see us,
and upon their pressing invitations we have agreed to stay some days to
give time for the whole tribe to be collected.
In the evening we took a long walk over the steep hills at the back
of the village, and had a fair view of Penrisen, one of the highest
mountains in Sarawak. It is estimated at above 5,000 feet. It is
scarcely in Sarawak, as a portion of its southern face belongs to those
countries beyond the border claimed by the Dutch. We had a good view of
the interior of the Sadong country, a fine succession of hill and dale,
with blue mountains in the distance.
We stayed in the house nearly the whole day, as the Dayaks wished to
dance and feast in our presence. The gongs were kept going, the drums
beaten, and all within five yards of us, until our heads were dizzy.
Occasionally, from sheer weariness, or from anxiety to partake of the
good things produced for the feast, this din would cease, and then we
could enter into conversation with the elders.
The dress of the Dayaks is very simple; the men wear the chawat, a
strip of cloth round their loins; a jacket and head-dress, the last
sometimes of bark, and fantastically put on; their ornaments are brass
rings, necklaces of beads and sometimes of tiger-cat’s teeth, and very
neat plaited rings of rattan, stained black. The women have a short
petticoat reaching from the hips to the knees, a jacket, and round
their waists a band, often ten inches wide, of bark or bamboo, kept
together by brass wire or rattans. It fits tight, and is only removed
on the woman becoming pregnant.
Captain Brooke’s principal object in making this tour was to inquire
into the complaints which had been brought against the Datu Patinggi
of forcing the Dayak tribes to deal with him, whether they wanted his
goods or not, and insisting upon fixing his own price on the articles
supplied. The complaints were more than substantiated; even the Chinese
were unable to procure rice, and were forced to content themselves with
the pig trade.
This was the Datu’s system: he sent up a chanang, a kind of small
gong much esteemed by the Dayaks, and ordered them to buy it at an
exorbitant rate; before they had paid for that he sent another, keeping
up a constant supply to prevent them trading with other people. When
he heard that another Malay had sold a chanang in fair trade to these
Dayaks, he would instantly send two more and force them to receive
them. He had done the same with regard to salt, and to the clothes of
both male and female, striving to his utmost to secure a monopoly. In
this path he was followed by all his relations and connexions, their
threats bullied and terrified the Dayaks, who loudly complained also of
being used as beasts of burden without receiving hire.
The Senahs are altogether an interesting tribe; in manner the men are
more polite; the women are fuller of life; some of the girls were
pretty, their best age being six to sixteen, after that they begin to
fall off. They appear to marry very young, and have for Asiatics rather
large families--four, five, and six children were quite common. Some of
the old gentlemen observed that, though they were only allowed to marry
one wife, yet they were not strictly faithful to her if a favourable
opportunity occurred, which observation seemed much to amuse the
assembly.
Among the women was the widow of a Dayak, whose story is well worth
relating as illustrative of their character and of their ways. He was
a fine, handsome man, certainly the most handsome Dayak I have ever
seen, tall and powerfully made, with a bold, open countenance; he was
called Pa Bunang. The Orang Kaya of the Senahs took a liking to him,
and having no children adopted and found him a wife among his own
relations. She was a nice-looking girl, plump and well made. In former
times the husband had been much noticed by Europeans, and in the pride
of his heart determined to be the first man in the tribe: the only
one he thought likely to oppose his pretensions was Pa Mua, the Orang
Kaya’s brother, who would not allow him to interfere in public affairs,
and opposed his pretensions to superiority, in which he was supported
by the sympathies of the whole community. Pa Bunang then determined on
more violent methods than he had yet practised; he left the tribe for a
few days and returned with the announcement that the Sarawak Government
was so pleased with him, that they intended to make him a great man in
the tribe. Resolving to get rid of his rival, he lay in wait for him
one day in a by-path, concealing himself carefully behind some bushes;
the unsuspecting Pa Mua passed by, when he sprang upon him, and with
one blow of his sword laid him dead at his feet, and then rushed into
the jungle, thinking he had done the deed unnoticed, but at the moment
of striking, the son of the murdered man came round the turning of
the path in time to witness the act and to recognize the culprit. The
alarm was given, and before the man could reach the Orang Kaya’s house,
where his wife and child resided, a menacing crowd had assembled. He
coolly assured them that he was acting under the orders of the Sarawak
Government, and was now going to report the accomplishment of the deed.
Though the people did not believe him, they suffered him to depart with
his family, but followed closely in his track. They denounced him, he
was instantly seized, thrown into prison, and after ten days, to allow
witnesses to assemble, the affair came on before the Sarawak Court.
It was so curious a case that I determined to be present at the trial.
I found the court crowded, at least a dozen Englishmen were assembled,
who, with the Malay chiefs, acted as a kind of jury. Though the case
was clear in many respects, yet the greatest pains were taken to obtain
the best evidence: the son of the murdered man was present, but it
was at first feared from the preliminary inquiries, that he would be
afraid to give his evidence before the prisoner. When he was called
into court the lad appeared perfectly changed; he gave his evidence
with a coolness, a precision, and yet with an intensity that nothing
but the deepest feelings could excite; he never faltered once, but
wound up his story by pointing to the prisoner and saying, “My father
was killed by that man.” The prisoner could offer no defence; at first
he denied the deed, then said that Pa Mua had seduced his wife, then
confessed and implored for mercy. The verdict was unanimous, and he was
condemned to death. A fearful scene now took place; the constables had
very improperly allowed the wife and child to sit close beside him,
and he had, while the lad was giving his evidence, unnoticed by any,
got his little child to crawl in between his manacled arms. When he
heard the sentence he threw himself on his knees and begged in piteous
terms for mercy, but finding it was useless he declared his wife and
child should die with him; he first struck at the former and then tried
to strangle the little thing between his arms, and failing in that,
while struggling with the police, he fixed his teeth so tightly in
the child’s neck that they had to be forced open with the point of a
drawn sword. His wife fled, and the child was saved, but he continued
to struggle, and his roars could be heard until he was secured in his
cell. I never witnessed a more painful scene. A marked contrast to that
of the Malay who, calm and placid to the last moment, receives his
condemnation with the observation, “It is your sentence,” and walks
quietly to prison and to execution.
The evening was spent in dancing, singing, and drinking, until the fun
waxed fast and furious.
The next station up the river is San Piuh, which we did not visit, as
business prevented our extending our tour. We were delighted with the
position of the house in which we were staying; it was on the bank of
the stream, here but a foot deep, occasionally not even six inches, so
that the canoes had to be dragged over the pebbly bottom. The water
coming from the neighbouring high mountains is both clear and cool,
offering delightful places for bathing. In one large and deep pool, a
little below the landing-place, the Dayaks say alligators congregate;
but if so, they must be harmless, as I saw very little children bathing
there; but yet I did not venture, as they might have been attracted by
the unusual colour of my skin. The baths we obtain in the interior are
of themselves worth the exertion of reaching those sequestered spots;
the refreshing and invigorating feeling after a plunge into the cool
stream is indeed delightful.
About midday we parted from our kind hosts, not before we had given
solemn promises to return again as soon as possible, and now directed
our faces homeward. The descent of the river was exciting, now
leisurely suffering the canoe to float with the stream; then, as the
distant roar announced a rapid, intelligent were the movements of the
Dayaks, as they chose the least dangerous part, the waters increasing
in speed as we approached the fall; then caught by the stream, we
hurried along at the pace of a racehorse, and dashing through the foam
were shot into the tranquil pool that generally forms below a rapid. At
one we were compelled to take out all our baggage, and the non-swimmers
walked past the obstruction to be re-shipped below. It was with
feelings, half of envy, half of admiration, that I saw Captain Brooke
tempt the danger.
About half-way down to Sibuñgoh we saw white flags overhanging the
river at a landing-place, and there in a temporary hut was waiting
the Orang Kaya of Brang; we stayed with him about an hour, and
resisting his pressing invitation to his village, on account of our
previous engagement, heard what he desired to communicate, and then
continued our course to Sibuñgoh. We soon transhipped our goods to
the large boat, and were not sorry, as many hours in a small canoe is
fatiguing. We found that the Orang Kaya was no longer under taboo, so
we stayed some little time with him, and then hurried on to the next
landing-place, where we found a large party of Dayaks ready to escort
us to the village of Grung.
The walk was pleasant, principally over the land that had formerly been
farmed, and was now covered with brushwood and young trees, affording
but little shelter from the burning sun. The country was undulating,
with pretty pebbly streams in the hollows. Much rain having fallen in
this neighbourhood during the last few days the paths were execrable,
even for Dayak paths, which are, perhaps, the worst in the world. Over
a marshy soil a line of single trees is laid, end to end, on which you
balance yourself as you move along; there is no danger here, except of
a slip into the oozy mud, sometimes up to the waist, affording to the
non-sufferers great cause of merriment as you struggle and flounder
to a drier spot; but these trunks of trees thrown over ravines are
dangerous after rain, as when deprived of their bark they are slippery.
But it is astonishing what use will do; we soon began to criticize and
pronounce a wretched quagmire a tolerable path. The Dayak is so active,
and so accustomed to the work, that he seldom thinks of doing more
than felling a small tree, clearing it of its branches, and throwing
it across the smaller streams as a bridge, except after harvest, when
carrying home the rice, a slight railing is added to give steadiness to
his movements.
The village of Grung is prettily situated near a small and clear
stream, and is surrounded by dense groves of fruit-trees, particularly
of durians, while occasionally the graceful areca palm rises near the
houses. In one thing the Grungs excel every other tribe of Dayaks I
have ever seen, and that is in dirt; their houses were dirty, their
mats were dirty, and their little children could only be described as
positively filthy.
We found the village crowded with the representatives of all the
neighbouring tribes; long strings of men, women, and children were
continually arriving as we approached. Directly we ascended the notched
tree that served as a ladder to the Orang Kaya’s house, we found
that we were no longer free agents. A crowd of old women instantly
seized us, and pulled off our shoes and stockings, and commenced most
vigorously washing our feet; this water was preserved to fertilize the
fields. We were then conducted to a platform but slightly raised above
the floor, and requested to sit down, but the mats were so dirty that
we could scarcely prevail upon ourselves to do so--perhaps the only
time it has occurred to us; generally the mats are charmingly neat and
clean. The arrival of our bedding freed us from this difficulty.
We were surrounded by a dense mass of men, women, and children, who
appeared all to be talking at once; in fact, more excitement was shown
than I have before observed. We had to do so many things, and almost
all at once: to sprinkle rice about, to pour a little water on each
child that was presented to us, until, from force of example, the women
and even the men insisted upon the same ceremony being performed on
them.
Silence being at last restored, Kasim explained in a long speech the
object of Captain Brooke’s visit; he spoke in Malay, interlarding it
occasionally with Dayak phrases--I say Malay, but Malay that is only
used when addressing the aborigines, clipping and altering words,
changing the pronunciation, until I find that some have been deceived
into believing this was the true Dayak language. It is to these people
what the Lingua Franca is to Western Asia.
We got a little respite while eating our dinner, but as soon as we had
finished we were again surrounded; the priestesses of the place were
especially active, tying little bells round our wrists and ancles, and
bringing rice for us to--how shall I explain it--in fact, for us to
spit on, and this delectable morsel they swallowed. No sooner had those
learned women been satisfied, than parents brought their children, and
insisted upon their being physicked in the same way, taking care to
have a full share themselves. One horrid old woman actually came six
times.
The Orang Kaya now advanced, and there was strict attention to hear
what he was about to say. He walked to the window, and threw some
grains out, and then commenced a kind of prayer, asking for good
harvests, for fertility for the women, and for health to them all.
During the whole invocation he kept scattering rice about. The people
were very attentive at first, but soon the murmur of many voices
almost drowned the old man’s tones. He did not appear very much in
earnest, but repeated what he had to say as if he were going over a
well-remembered but little understood lesson; in fact, it is said
these invocations are in words not comprehended even by the Dayaks
themselves--perhaps they are in some Indian language.
Then a space was cleared for dancing; the old Orang Kaya and the elders
commenced, and were followed by the priestesses. They walked up to us
in succession, passed their hands over our arms, pressed our palms,
and then uttering a yell or a prolonged screech went off in a slow
measured tread, moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet
until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat;
then another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue
out of us, another yell, and off they went again; at one time there
were at least a hundred dancing. Few of the young people joined in what
appeared in this case a sacred dance.
For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these
ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of
drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a
couple of hours I awoke; my companion was still sleeping uneasily; the
din was deafening, and I sat up to look around. Unfortunate movement!
I was instantly seized by the hands by two priests, and led up to the
Orang Kaya, who was leisurely cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted
Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his
being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very
end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands; holding him by
his legs, I had to strike the lintels of the doors, sprinkling a little
blood over each; when this was over, I had to waive the fowl over the
heads of the women, and wish them fertility; over the children, and
wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out
of the window, and invoke good crops for them. At last I reached my
mats, and sat down, preparatory to another sleep, when that horrid
old woman led another detachment of her sex forward to re-commence
the physicking; fortunately but few came, and after setting them off
dancing again I fell asleep, and, in spite of all the noises, remained
so till morning.
It is a fact unnoticed by us before, that among the Dayak tribes there
are few girls between the age of ten and fifteen (1852). It is a
striking proof of the effects that have attended the change of system
from native lawlessness to English superintendence. Before Sir James
Brooke held the reins of Government the little female children were
seized for slaves and concubines by the Rajahs and Malay chiefs; since
that practice has been put an end to, the houses are crowded with
interesting girls of nine and younger.
The expression of all classes and of both sexes of these people is
that of a subdued melancholy. A man fresh from Europe would doubtless
notice many more peculiarities in these tribes, which being familiar
to me pass without remark. Their houses I have before described, and
what is suitable for the one is so for the other. Nearly all the
representatives present are but those of the branches of a single tribe
which has for many years been scattered. Their language is the same
in words, though the accent is occasionally different--the effect of
separation and other causes. It is difficult, without long and minute
investigation, to familiarize oneself with their individual history and
politics.