SECOND ASCENT OF KINA BALU.
Cholera in Brunei--Start from Labuan--Coal Seams--View of
Tanjong Kubong--Method of working the Coal--Red Land--Method
of cultivating Pepper--Wild Cattle--The Pinnace--Kimanis
Bay--Inland Passage--Kimanis River--Cassia--Trade in it
stopped--Smooth River--My first View of Kina Balu--Story
of the Death of Pangeran Usup--Anchor--Papar--A
Squall--Reach Gaya Bay--Noble Harbour--Pangeran Madoud--My
first Visits to him--Method of making Salt--Village of
Menggatal--Ida’an--His Fear of them--Roman Catholic
Mission--Cholera--Mengkabong--Manilla Captives--The Salt-water
Lake--Head-quarters of the Bajus--Their Enterprise--Find
Stranded Vessels--Tripod Masts--Balignini Pirates--Their
Haunts--Spanish Attack--Great Slaughter--Savage-looking
Men--Great Tree--Unreasoning Retaliation--Energy of M.
Cuarteron--Lawlessness of the Bajus--Pangeran Duroup,
the Governor--Anecdote of a drifting Canoe--Inhospitable
Custom--Origin of the Bajus--Welcome by Pangeran
Sirail--Love of Whiskey overcomes Prejudice--Night
Weeping--A Market--The Datu of Tamparuli--The Pangeran’s
Enthusiasm--Path to the Tawaran--Fine Scene--Fruit
Groves--Neat Gardens--The Tawaran--Sacred Jars--The Talking
Jar--Attempted Explanation--Efficacy of the Water--Carletti’s
Account--Fabulous Value--The Loveliest Girl in Borneo--No
Rice--Advance to Bawang--Our Guides--Steep Hill--Extensive
View--Si Nilau--Unceremonious Entry into a House--The
Nilau Tribe--Kalawat Village--Tiring Walk--Desertion of a
Negro--Numerous Villages--Bungol Village Large--Deceived
by the Guide--Fatiguing Walk--Koung Village--Black
Mail--Explanation--Friendly Relations established--Labang
Labang Village--Change of Treatment--Kiau Village--Warm
Reception--Houses--No Rice--Confidence.
In June, 1858, the cholera which had been slowly advancing towards us
from the south, suddenly burst upon Brunei with extreme violence,
and laid the city in mourning. From day to day the deaths increased
in number; every house flew white streamers, which showed cholera was
there present; pious processions paraded the town, the mosques were
crowded, all merriment at an end, though religious chants were heard
from every boat; there was fear, but no panic, and the sick were cared
for by their relations. The deaths were awfully sudden, one of my
servants at work at five, was dead by eleven. My house was crowded by
anxious parents seeking medicine, which was soon all distributed, and
no one thought of business, attention being only given to this fearful
scourge.
Mr. Low and I had determined to make another attempt to ascend Kina
Balu in August, but fearing that if the cholera spread along the coast
before we reached our point of debarkation, the Dusuns and Ida’an might
prevent our passing through their villages, we resolved to anticipate
the appointed time, and sailed from Labuan early in July, and in a few
hours passed Tanjong Kubong, near the northern point of the island,
where the best coal seams are situated. The view from the sea is very
picturesque: two hills, grass-covered, with the dark outlines of the
forest in the rear, and a valley between, sloping upwards, showing,
at one glance, the works of the coal company. On a bold rocky bluff
is the manager’s house, overlooking the open sea, with a clear view
of the great mountain. It is to be regretted that there is no good
anchorage in the north-east monsoon off this point, as it necessitates
a railway of seven miles being carried through the island to the
splendid harbour of Victoria. However, should this work be undertaken,
it is very possible it may be the means of opening out the other veins
which are known to exist in the centre of the island. The coal seams
of Tanjong Kubong are perhaps as fine as any in the world; and it is
probable that the failures in developing them have arisen from applying
the same means of working the mine as are used in England, forgetting
that the fall of rain is four times as great. Labuan ought to supply
all the farther East with coal, and may yet do so, under judicious
management.
Passing on, we steered clear of the Pine shoals, and directed our
course to Pulo Tiga, an island so called from the three undulating
hills that form its surface. It is quite uninhabited, except
occasionally by a few fishermen or traders, seeking water there. On
its broad sandy beaches turtle are said to congregate, and here we
have picked up some very pretty shells, particularly olives. The coast
between Labuan and Nosong point, at the entrance of Kimanis Bay,
consists of low hills only partly cleared. At one place there are some
bluff, red-looking points called Tanah Merah, or Red Land, and near it
are many villages of Bisayas, who are engaged in planting pepper. Their
gardens are said to be very neatly kept, and the system, which has
descended to them from the former Chinese cultivators, is far superior
to that pursued in Sumatra. There the Malays allow the vines to twine
round the quick-growing Chingkariang tree, whose roots must necessarily
absorb much of the nourishment; but here they plant them in open
ground, and train them up iron-wood posts, thus preserving to them all
the benefit of the manure they may apply to enrich the soil. Although
the Bisayas are not careful cultivators, yet they prepare heaps of
burnt earth and decaying weeds to place round the stems of the vines
before they commence flowering.
Along this beach, herds of wild cattle are often seen wandering,
particularly on bright moonlight nights, in search, most probably, of
salt, which they are so fond of licking. All the natives declare that
the species found here is smaller than those monsters I saw up the
Limbang and Baram. It is very likely there may be two kinds.
A pleasant S.W. breeze carried us rapidly along this coast. Our craft,
though not famous for its sailing qualities, ran well before the wind.
It was a small yacht, belonging to the Eastern Archipelago Company, the
same which we used when we went to Abai in the spring. Dr. Coulthard
had put himself to some inconvenience in lending it to us, as he was
obliged to content himself with a native-built boat of mine, that was
called by the ominous name of the “Coffin,” and on one occasion nearly
proved to be one to the obliging doctor. I myself had great faith in
that boat, as it had taken me safely through many a hard blow.
Rounding Nosong Point, we crossed the broad Bay of Kimanis, which here
runs deep into the land, and receives the waters of numerous rivers.
Just round the point is Qualla Lama, or the Old Mouth: entering this,
a large boat can pass through an inner channel, and reach the mouth of
the Kalias, opposite Labuan. It is often used by the Malays to avoid
the heavy sea, which, during the height of the south-west monsoon,
breaks upon this coast. The shores of Kimanis Bay are rather low,
yet have an interesting appearance, from the variety of tints to be
observed among the vegetation.
There runs into this bay a pretty little river of the same
name--Kimanis, from _kayu manis_, “sweetwood.” Its forests are
famous for the large amount of cassia bark which used to be collected
there, but which has now all been exhausted near the banks by the
continued requisitions from the capital. This district is the appanage
of one of the sons of the late Sultan, the Pañgeran Tumanggong, and
he used every year to send up several trading prahus to be loaded
with cassia,--paying to the aborigines tenpence for every 133 lbs.,
and selling the same amount for nine shillings. As long as the bark
could be easily obtained from the trees near the banks of the river,
the people were content to work for the low price; but as soon as it
required a long walk from their villages, the Muruts declared the
whole forest was exhausted. I am assured, however, by trustworthy men,
that ship-loads might be obtained, if the aborigines were offered fair
prices; but the noble and his followers do their utmost to preserve a
strict monopoly. And this is the case in most of the districts near the
capital. Though they cannot themselves obtain much from the people,
they have still sufficient influence to paralyze trade.
Kimanis, like most of the other rivers north of Labuan, is obstructed
by a bar; in fact, though I could see its mouth from my boat, yet I
could not find the channel, till a Malay canoe led the way by coasting
south about three hundred yards: then, pulling straight for the shore
over the boiling surf, we soon found ourselves in the smooth river. The
scenery, though not grand, is very lovely, and consists generally of
the variety to be observed in the groves of cocoa-nuts and fruit-trees
which line its banks, and the cultivated fields stretching inland. I
always remember my visit to Kimanis with pleasure, as it was on turning
a wooded point I had my first view of Kina Balu. A straight reach of
the river stretched before us, overshadowed on either side by lofty
trees, and the centre of the picture was the precipices and summit of
the massive mountain.
On the left-hand bank is the grave of Pañgeran Usup, who, flying
from the capital, met his death, under orders from the Government,
at the hand of the chief of this river. I have heard the story told
several ways, but the one the Orang Kaya relates himself is a curious
illustration of Bornean manners. The Pañgeran, flying from his enemies
in the capital, came to Kimanis, which was one of his appanages, and
asked its local chief whether he would protect him. The Orang Kaya
protested his loyalty, but, a few days after, receiving an order from
the Government to seize and put his guest to death, he made up his
mind to execute it. He imparted the secret to three of his relations,
whom he instructed to assist him. Pañgeran Usup was a dangerous man
with whom to meddle, as he was accompanied by a devoted brother, who
kept watch over him as he slept or bathed, and who received the same
kind offices when he desired to rest. For days the Orang Kaya watched
an opportunity--tending on his liege lord, holding his clothes while
he bathed, bringing his food, but never able to surprise him, as he
or his brother were always watching with a drawn kris in his hand.
The three relations sat continually on the mats near, in the most
respectful attitude. The patience of the Malay would have carried him
through a more difficult trial than this, as I think it was on the
tenth day Pañgeran Usup, while standing on the wharf, watching his
brother bathe, called for a light. The Orang Kaya brought a large piece
of firewood with very little burning charcoal on it, and the noble in
vain endeavoured to light his cigar. At last, in his impatience, he put
down his kris, and took the wood in his own hand. A fatal mistake! The
treacherous friend immediately threw his arms round the Pañgeran, and
the three watchers, springing up, soon secured the unarmed brother.
Usup was immediately taken to the back of the house, and executed and
buried on the hill, where his grave was pointed out to me.
We continued our voyage along the coast till about four in the
afternoon, when heavy clouds rising in the south-west warned us that a
squall was coming up. We, therefore, resolved to take shelter under the
little islet of Dinaman, to the north of the Papar River. At first, we
thought of running in there, as I had not yet seen this district, so
famous for the extent and beauty of its cocoa-nut groves, and for the
numerous population which had rendered the river’s banks a succession
of gardens.
Our anchorage sheltered us tolerably well from the storm which now
burst over us, but we rolled heavily as the swell of the sea came in.
Drenching rain and furious blasts generally pass away quickly, as they
did that evening, and left us to enjoy the quiet, starlight night.
We always endeavour to start on an expedition a few days before full
moon, having a theory that the weather is more likely to be fine then,
than during the days which immediately follow a new moon.
Next morning we set sail for Gaya Bay, and in a few hours a light
breeze carried us over a rippling sea to the deep entrance of this
spacious harbour, in which all the navy of England could, in both
monsoons, ride in safety. It is formed by numerous islands and an
extended headland, which make it appear almost land-locked. The harbour
is surrounded by low hills, some cleared at the top, presenting pretty
green patches, others varied with bright tints, caused by exposed red
sandstone; the rest covered with low thick jungle.
When I last visited this place, Pañgeran Madoud lived up the Kabatuan
river, which flows into the bay, but had now removed to the shore, and
established there a village called Gantisan. I had twice visited this
Malay chief, and on both occasions had disagreeable news to impart to
him, as I had to remonstrate against his system of taking goods from
English traders and forgetting to pay them when the price became due.
The banks of the Kabatuan, except near the entrance, were entirely
of mangrove-swamp, until we arrived within a short distance of the
scattered village of Menggatal, but from our boat we could see the
sloping hills that rose almost immediately behind the belt of mangrove.
The first buildings we saw were those in which the natives were making
salt. I have already described the process pursued in the Abai,
but here it was somewhat different, as they burnt the roots of the
mangrove with those of the nipa palm, as well as wood collected on the
sea-beach, and therefore impregnated with salt. In one place, I noticed
a heap, perhaps fifteen feet in height, sheltered by a rough covering
of palm-leaves, and several men were about checking all attempts of the
flames to burst through by throwing salt-water over the pile. This,
doubtless, renders the process much more productive. In one very large
shed, they had a kind of rough furnace, where they burnt the wood; and
suspended around were many baskets in which the rough remains of the
fire are placed, and the whole then soaked in water and stirred about
till the salt is supposed to have been extracted from the charcoal
and ashes. The liquid is then boiled, as at Abai, in large iron pans
purchased from the Chinese.
The village of Menggatal contained about a hundred houses scattered
among the trees, and in the centre was the residence of Pañgeran
Madoud, tolerably well built of thick posts and plank walls. We found
chairs and tables had already penetrated to this secluded spot, and
the Pañgeran was not a little proud of being able to receive us in
European fashion. He was at the period of our first visit about forty,
tall, and with rather a pleasant, quiet countenance; but having little
strength of character, was willing to enter into intercourse with the
pirates, if by so doing he could gain anything. He had, in fact, just
purchased from them a trading prahu, which they had captured north of
Labuan, after having killed two of the Bornean crew, who were his own
countrymen. Like all the other chiefs, he attempts to monopolize the
trade of his district, and thus reduces it to a minimum.
While we were conversing, there came in a party of the Ida’an, whose
young chief had a very intelligent countenance, broad-shouldered, with
his waist drawn in as tightly as he could; over his breast he wore
strings of cowrie shells, and round his loins neatly-worked rattan
rings, and on his neck a brass collar open at the side, enabling him
to take it off with ease. Their baskets were filled with hill tobacco
for the Pañgeran, who is said subsequently to have so oppressed the
neighbouring villages of Ida’an, that they threatened to attack him,
and being rather timid, he retired before the storm. Building their
houses at Gantisan on freshly cleared jungle, the Malays suffered
severely from fever; the whole population is said to have been
attacked, of whom many died.
We found anchored at Lokporin, in the north-west part of the bay, a
Spanish brig, belonging to Monsieur Cuarteron, the Prefect Apostolic
of the newly-arrived Roman Catholic mission. He had built a hut and a
chapel of palm stems and leaves, as a commencement of what he hoped
would be a prosperous mission; but he had his attention too much
directed to temporal, to take proper care of spiritual affairs.[16]
We paid a visit to the Chief Pañgeran Madoud and settled to leave our
pinnace under his care, and start next morning, as the cholera had
already invaded this place, and eight deaths were reported.
Having distributed our luggage among our followers, we landed and
walked over to the waters of the Mengkabong, a low ridge only
separating them; from it we had a good view of this extensive salt
lake, filled with islands, and on the inland side bordered by hills.
At the landing-place we met the nominal ruler of Mengkabong, Pañgeran
Duroup, who had kindly provided canoes to take us to the point where
our walking journey would commence. We stopped to breakfast at his
house, and Monsieur Cuarteron, who was with us, pointed out an
intelligent lad, the son of Duroup, whom he intended to raise to power
over the surrounding countries, and be himself the boy’s Prime Minister.
A Spaniard has many temptations to intrigue in these districts, as
there are here numerous inhabitants of the Philippines, originally
captured by the Lanun and Balignini pirates, and sold into slavery.
They have married and intermarried with the inhabitants, and forming
a part of the regular population, are most unwilling to leave the
country. Some have risen to respectable positions, and nearly all have
turned Mahomedans. Still they have a respect and a fear of the Spanish
priests, and are much open to their secular influence, though very few
will re-enter the Roman Church. As might be expected, the priest’s
political intrigues did no good, but, instead, diffused suspicion and
dislike among the natives.
We started again after breakfast, and passed the entrance from the
sea, through the chief town, and by the numerous villages scattered
about. Nearly all the houses are built on the water. We estimated the
population at above 6,000. A glance at the accompanying map will
explain the kind of place Mengkabong is, but I may observe that this
salt-water creek or lake is very shallow, in many places dry, or but a
few inches deep at dead low-water, so that it must be rapidly filling
up, and all the plains skirting the sea had probably a similar origin.
To the south and south-east it is surrounded by hills, none of which
exceeds eight hundred feet in height.
Mengkabong is the head-quarters of the Bajus on the north-western coast
of Borneo; and being the only population to be found in the villages
scattered over the lake, they are more tempted to pursue their old
habits than those of the northern rivers, who have the Lanuns between
them and the sea. They are bold seamen, and will venture anywhere in
search of wealth. When the _Fiery Cross_ was wrecked on a shoal
far out in the China Seas, the captain and crew made for Labuan. The
news soon spread along the coast that a ship with a valuable cargo
was on shore, and a small squadron of native prahus was immediately
fitted out at Mengkabong to look for her. They boldly put forth to
sea, visiting all the reefs with which they were acquainted, and even
pushing their researches so far as to sight the coast of Cochin China,
known to the Malays under the name of Annam. Their exertions were for
them unfortunately unavailing; but they often pick up a prize, as when
a Bombay cotton ship was wrecked at Meñgalong; and during the last
China war, they found a large French vessel deserted on a reef to the
north of Borneo, but which, to their infinite disgust, proved to have
only a cargo of coals. The Baju prahus may generally be known by their
tripod masts, which consist of three tall bamboos, the two foremost
fitted on a cross beam, the last loose; so that when a heavy squall
threatens, they can immediately strike their masts. Their sails are not
handsome; for being stuck out on one side, they look ungainly.
I have mentioned, in my account of our first expedition to Kina Balu,
the Baju attack on a village in Banguey; they themselves often suffer
from the fleets of Balignini pirates, who return home from their
cruises in Dutch waters along the north-west coast of Borneo, and pick
up the fishermen they find at sea. During the last few years they have
seldom appeared off the coast more than once during a season, and then
only touching at Sirik Point, and afterwards giving our colony of
Labuan a wide berth, to fetch the coast again about Pulo Tiga.
The Balignini used to be the terror of the Indian isles, but their
pursuits have been interfered with and their gains much curtailed since
the introduction of steamers into the Archipelago. The Spaniards, with
heavy loss to themselves, drove them from their haunts on the islands
of Tongkil and Balignini in the Sulu Archipelago, since which time
they have never again assembled in positions so strong. These two
small islands are low, surrounded with mangrove swamps, and appear
very similar to the eighteen others we could count at the same time
from the deck of a ship. But behind the swamps were erected formidable
stockades, and the garrison made a stubborn defence, although most of
their fighting men were away.
I heard a Spanish officer who was present give an account of the
attack: three times the native troops charged, and three times they
were driven back, till the Spanish officers and artillerymen put
themselves in a body at the head of the force, and led the storming
party, and, with severe loss, won the inner stockade. One of my Manilla
followers on our present expedition was a captive at the time, and
had concealed himself among the mangrove trees till the fighting was
over. He said it was a fearful sight to see the slaughter which had
occurred--one hundred and fifty of the Spanish force fell, and many
more of the pirates, as they had commenced killing their women and
children, till promised quarter.
I never saw a more savage set of fellows than those who escaped from
this attack. The Sultan of Sulu had given them an asylum, and they
were quartered near the spot at which ships usually water. It is about
a mile from the capital, Sugh; is on the beach; and the clear spring
bubbles up through the sand, where a pool is easily formed, at which
the casks are filled, or whence the hose is led into the boats. The
place is well marked by a tree, that, in the distance, looks like an
oak: its trunk is of enormous thickness, but low, as the spreading
branches stretch out from the stem about ten feet from the ground, but
afford shelter to a considerable space, and under its shade a market is
held several times a week. I measured its stem: it was above forty feet
in circumference at a man’s height above the ground, and considerably
more close to the earth, where the gnarled roots were included.
The Bajus of Mengkabong are, as I have said, a very lawless people,
and the following anecdote, told me by Signor Cuarteron, will assist
to prove it. He was anchored opposite his chapel in Lokporin, when he
heard that there was fighting in Mengkabong, and, on inquiry, found
that a boat, returning from Labuan to Cagayan Sulu, had put into that
place for water, and was being attacked by the Bajus. He instantly
manned his boats and pulled round to the salt-water lake. On arriving
near the first village, he saw several hundred men assembled in prahus,
round a detached house, near which a trading-boat was fastened, and
guns were occasionally discharged. He inquired the reason, and the
Bajus declared they were going to revenge the death or captivity of
some of their countrymen who had disappeared a few months before, and
whom, they had heard, people from Cagayan Sulu had attacked. It was
immaterial to them whether these were the guilty parties or not, if
they came from the same country. Signor Cuarteron then pulled up to the
detached house, to find from its beleaguered inmates who they were.
He soon discovered they were peaceful traders, not concerned in the
outrage of the spring; upon which, by dint of threats and persuasion,
he was enabled to rescue them from the Bajus, and escort them to the
mouth of the Mengkabong--a very creditable action of the priest.
The lawlessness of the Bajus is notorious, and they are now seldom
employed, since the murder of some Chinese traders, who trusted them to
form the crew of their boat.
Pañgeran Duroup, the nominal ruler of this place, always kept aloof
from these things, as the Bajus despised any order he gave; in fact,
their open defiance of his authority had induced him to remove from the
town to a little island nearly facing the mouth, whose low land was
formed of mud on a bed of water-worn pebbles.
A very barbarous custom exists on this coast--that wrecks and their
crews belong to the chief of the district where they may suffer their
misfortune. The Bajus used to give us much trouble on this account,
though they would now assist the distressed, if they belonged to an
English vessel, as they are well aware of our power to reward or punish.
As an instance of the above practice, I may relate an incident which
took place whilst I was in Brunei. A large prahu sailing from Palawan
to the Spanish settlement of Balabak was caught in a violent storm, and
the captain noticed that his canoe, which, according to custom, he was
towing behind, was rapidly filling with water; he therefore anchored,
and ordered three men to get into and bail it out. The storm continued,
and driving rain and mist rendered every object indistinct, when
suddenly the towing rope parted, and the canoe drifted away. The three
men, having no paddles, soon lost sight of their prahu, and continued
driving before the wind.
The north-east monsoon was blowing, and the current sets down the
coast, and, after a few days, this canoe was seen drifting towards the
shore at Tutong, at least 150 miles from the spot where it had parted
with its companion. The fishermen put off, and, on reaching the boat,
found the three men lying in it, utterly exhausted from want of food
and water, and from the daily and nightly exposure. They were sent on
to the capital, and in a short time recovered, when they found they
were considered as slaves of the Sultan.
In this emergency they came privately to my house and laid their
case before me: so, in the evening, I went to the Sultan to hear
the wonderful story from his own lips; and, when he had concluded,
I congratulated him on the excellent opportunity he had of renewing
friendly relations with the people of Palawan, by sending these men
back in a prahu which was to sail for Maludu the following day. He
hesitated at first, but after a little persuasion agreed to do so, and
I had the satisfaction of seeing them safely out of the river. The
Sultan did not regret sending them away; but he had been so accustomed
to consider he had a right to these godsends, that he would certainly
have kept them, had he not been asked to let them go.
I have noticed, in my account of our first expedition to Kina Balu,
how mixed in breed were many of the Bajus with whom we conversed; but,
although there is occasionally some Chinese blood found among them, yet
it has rarely left a trace on their features. They appear to me to be
very much like the Orang Laut, who frequent the small islands to the
south of Singapore and about the Malay peninsula; they are generally,
however, smaller, and their voices have a sharper intonation than that
of the Malays.
I think, however, that the bold spirit shown by these men, their love
of the seas, and their courage, might be turned to good account under a
steady Government.
Leaving the lake we pushed up a narrow creek to a house inhabited by
Pañgeran Sirail, who politely requested us to spend the night at it,
adding that in the morning a bazaar would be held close at hand, at
which we should meet all the Dusuns of the Tawaran river; among others
the Datu of the village of Tamparuli, the chief who escorted Mr. Low in
his journey undertaken in 1851. We were happy to accede to his request,
and finding his house very comfortable, took up our quarters in a
charming little audience hall or smoking-room which extended in front,
and was neat and clean.
Our baggage being heavy, we hired some Bajus to assist our men, and
then lighting our lamps, sat down to dinner. Our host, while declaring
that his religion prevented him joining in a glass of whiskey and
water, was suddenly seized with such severe spasms in the stomach as to
require medicine; we unsmilingly administered a glass of warm whiskey
and water, which our host drank with evident gusto, but it required a
second to complete the cure. As the evening advanced, and his utterance
became more indistinct, he kept assuring us that a Mahomedan should
never drink, except when spirits were taken as medicine.
We were sorry to find that the cholera had already reached Mengkabong,
and that several deaths had taken place. In the night we were disturbed
by piercing shrieks and mournful wails from a neighbouring house; we
thought it was another victim of the epidemic, but it proved to be a
young girl sorrowing for the loss of a sister, who died in the night
from abscess.
Early in the morning the market-people began to assemble, and Bajus
and Dusuns crowded round the house; the former brought salt, salted
fish, iron, and cloth, to exchange for rice, vegetables, and fruit.
These markets are very convenient, and, as at Brunei, are held daily
at different points, in order to accommodate the various villages
scattered around the lake. To-day there was a very great gathering, as
many disputes had to be settled.
The old Datu of Tamparuli came, and at first appeared uninterested
and scarcely noticed us, his eye-sight was weak, and he appeared dull
and stupid. A glass of whiskey and water revived his energies and his
recollection, he shook Mr. Low warmly by the hand, and then turning to
the assembly told them in an excited voice of the wonderful feats he
had performed in the old journey, and how he had actually reached the
summit of Kina Balu.
This fired the ambition of Pañgeran Sirail, who, as long as he was
under the influence of whiskey, declared it would be dishonour to
allow the white men to do this difficult task alone, and pointing to
the craggy summits now clearly visible above the trees, swore he would
reach them, but his courage soon oozed out at his fingers’ ends. The
Datu, however, considered himself as too old again to attempt the
journey, but said he would send his son-in-law and a party of followers.
When the market was over we started, most of our baggage being placed
on light bamboo sledges drawn by buffaloes, which appeared to pass over
the soft soil with great ease. The path, nearly due east, lay over a
pretty plain for the most part under cultivation; men were ploughing,
harrowing, and sowing in various fields, that were carefully divided
into small squares with slight embankments between them. The ploughing
was better than at Tampasuk, deeper, and the ground more turned over;
each section of these fields is as much private property as any in
England, and in general so much valued as to be rarely parted with.
In crossing this cultivated plain we had the finest view of Kina Balu
that could be imagined, it was just before we reached the Tawaran
river; we were standing where the young rice was showing its tender
green above the ground: on either side were groves of tall palms, and
in front, the hills rose in successive ranges till Kina Balu crowned
the whole. Its purple precipices were distinctly visible, and broad
streams of water, flashing in the bright morning sun, were flowing down
the upper slopes to disappear in mist or deep ravines, or to be lost in
the shadows of the great mountain.
About three miles walking brought us to the Tawaran, whose banks were
lined with groves of cocoa-nut and other fruit-trees; interspersed
among which were Dusun villages and detached houses. We observed also
a plantation of sago palms, which the inhabitants said were plentiful,
but certainly not in the parts we had traversed.
There were also gardens here as neatly fenced in and as carefully
tended as those of the Chinese; and this rich soil produced in
great perfection sugar-cane, Indian corn, yams, kiladis, and other
vegetables. The whole had a very civilized appearance, the neatness was
remarkable, and about the houses were cattle, buffaloes, and goats, in
great numbers. On reaching the Tawaran, Monsieur Cuarteron left us to
visit a Manilla man, who, though formerly a captive sold into slavery,
had now become the chief of a Dusun village.
We continued our course inland along the banks of the Tawaran until
we reached Tamparuli, prettily embowered in extensive groves of
fruit-trees: we took up our quarters for the night at the old Datu’s
house, which was very similar to those of the Sea Dayaks.
The Tawaran, where we first joined it, was about sixty yards broad, and
the stream was rapid, swollen by the late rains, and muddy from recent
landslips. It is a river very unimportant in itself, as here, not
perhaps ten miles from the sea, there are already rapids that can only
be passed by very small native craft.
The old Datu of Tamparuli is the proud possessor of the famed sacred
jar I have already referred to. It was a Gusi, and was originally given
by a Malau chief in the interior of the Kapuas to a Pakatan Dayak,
converted, however, to Islam, and named Japar. He sold it to a Bornean
trader for nearly two tons of brass guns, or 230_l._, who brought
it to the Tawaran to resell it, nominally for 400_l._, really
for nearly 700_l._ No money passes on these occasions, it is all
reckoned in brass guns or goods, and the old Datu was paying for his in
rice. He possesses another jar, however, to which he attaches an almost
fabulous value; it is about two feet in height, and is of a dark olive
green. He fills both the jars with water, and adds flowers and herbs
to retail to all the surrounding people who may be suffering from any
illness. The night we were there they little thought that a scourge
was coming upon them which would test to the utmost the virtue of the
sacred jars.
Perhaps, however, the most remarkable jar in Borneo, is the one
possessed by the present Sultan of Brunei, as it not only has all
the valuable properties of the other sacred vases, but speaks. As the
Sultan told this with a grave face and evident belief in the truth of
what he was relating, we listened to the story with great interest. He
said, the night before his first wife died, it moaned sorrowfully, and
on every occasion of impending misfortune it utters the same melancholy
sounds. I have sufficient faith in his word to endeavour to seek an
explanation of this (if true) remarkable phenomenon, and perhaps it
may arise from the wind blowing over its mouth, which may be of some
peculiar shape, and cause sounds like those of an Æolian harp. I should
have asked to see it, had it not been always kept in the women’s
apartments.
As a rule, it is covered over with gold-embroidered brocade, and seldom
exposed, except when about to be consulted. This may account for its
only producing sounds at certain times. I have heard, that in former
days, the Muruts and Bisayas used to come with presents to the Sultan,
and obtain in return a little water from this sacred jar, with which
to besprinkle their fields to ensure good crops. I have not known an
instance of their doing so during late years, as the relations between
monarch and people are now of the most unsatisfactory kind.
In looking over Carletti’s _Voyage_, I find he mentions taking
some sacred jars from the Philippine Islands to Japan, which were so
prized there, that the punishment of death was denounced against them
if they were sold to any one but the Government. Some, he says, were
valued as high as 30,000_l._ The Sultan of Brunei was asked if he
would take 2,000_l._ for his; he answered he did not think any
offer in the world would tempt him to part with it.
The Datu possessed a daughter, the loveliest girl in Borneo. I have
never seen a native surpass her in figure, or equal her gentle,
expressive countenance. She appeared but sixteen years of age, and as
she stood near, leaning against the door-post in the most graceful
attitude, we had a perfect view of all her perfections. Her dress was
slight indeed, consisting of nothing but a short petticoat reaching
from her waist to a little above her knees. Her skin was of that light
clear brown which is almost the perfection of colour in a sunny clime,
and as she was just returning from bathing, her hair unbound fell in
great luxuriance over her shoulders. Her eyes were black, not flashing,
but rather contemplative, and her features were regular, even her nose
was straight.
So intent was she in watching our movements, and wondering at our
novel mode of eating, with spoons, and knives and forks, that she
unconsciously remained in her graceful attitude for some time;
but suddenly recollecting that she was not appearing to the best
advantage in her light costume, she moved away slowly to her room, and
presently came forth dressed in a silk jacket and new petticoat, with
bead necklaces and gold ornaments. In our eyes she did not look so
interesting as before.
Pañgeran Sirail now approached us to say that he felt he was too old
and weak to ascend the great mountain, but had brought three of his
people to supply his place. We were not sorry, as his devotion to
whiskey would have sadly reduced our little stock. Although it was but
three months after the harvest, yet we could obtain no supplies of
rice; they had it in the form of padi, but were unwilling to part with
it, so we sent back some of our followers to procure sufficient for a
few days.
Next morning we made but little progress, as we had to wait for the
men who had gone in search of rice. However, we reached the village of
Bawang, our path lying among the fruit groves that skirted the river’s
banks. As it was now unfordable, we had to cross it by a boat, and this
was a slow process with our large party.
Bawang, a Dusun village, consists of scattered dwellings, like those
of the Malays, while the others we have seen resemble the houses of
the Sea Dayaks. A family very hospitably received us, and gave up half
their accommodation to us and our immediate followers. The Datu who had
accompanied us to this place now returned, handing us over to Kadum,
his son-in-law, a very dull-looking man; we were also joined by ten
others. One, a Malay named Omar, who was to act as interpreter and
guide, was a willing but a stupid fellow; he came originally from the
Dutch settlement of Pontianak, and had been married five years to a
Dusun girl, yet he could scarcely manage to act as interpreter, not so
much from ignorance, as from a confusion of ideas.
Started soon after six for a cleared spot about a quarter of a mile
above the village, where we stopped to introduce some order in our
followers: we divided the packages among them, and found each of the
forty-one men had sufficient to carry.
About two or three miles above Bawang the Tawaran divides--one branch
running from the south, the other from the S.E. by E. We soon reached
the foot of the sandstone range, which bounds the low land, and like
all heights composed of this rock, it was very steep to climb. For a
thousand feet it was abrupt, and severe work to those unused to such
toil. The path then led us along the top of the ridge to a peak about
1,500 feet high, from which I was enabled to take compass bearings.
A fine view was to be had a few feet from the summit, the coast line
being quite clear from Gaya Bay to Sulaman Lake, and the distant isles
scattered on the sea were distinctly visible. A wide plain stretches
below us, mostly rice fields, with groves of fruit-trees interspersed
among them, and the Mengkabong waters appearing extensive, form a
pleasing feature in the scene.
We continued our course to the village of Si Nilau, passing over a
hill of a similar name, about 1,800 feet high. The village, if village
it can be called, where a number of little detached hamlets are
scattered about the slopes of the hills, amid groves of palms, is a
good resting-place. We brought up here to give time for our followers
to join us, as they felt the climbing more than we did, who carried
nothing but our weapons. We were three hours, exclusive of stoppages,
advancing four miles of direct course E. by S. Most of the ranges run
nearly E. and W., though occasionally there is some divergence.
After breakfasting, we started, hoping to reach the next village of
Kalawat, but our guide making a mistake, led us in a totally wrong
direction, so that after wandering about two hours in a scorching sun
without shelter, we returned to Si Nilau.
Heavy masses of clouds were now driving over the sky, threatening a
deluge of rain, so we determined to spend the night here, and told
our guide that we would distribute our men among the houses. Omar
presently returned, saying the villagers refused us entrance into their
dwellings. As now heavy drops began to fall, I went down from the fruit
grove, where our party was assembled, and approaching a house which
appeared the neatest and the cleanest, I found the door shut. There
were evidently people inside, while all the other houses were empty. It
is an universal custom in Borneo to afford shelter to travellers, but
they very rarely like to enter houses whose owners are absent. Hearing
some whispering going on inside, I knocked and directed the interpreter
to ask for shelter; there was no answer, and as the heavy drops were
coming down faster, I gave a vigorous push to the door. The fastening
gave way, and an old woman fell back among a crowd of frightened girls,
who, at the sight of a white man, shrieked and sprang to the ground
through an opposite window. They did not run far, but turned to look
if they were followed. We went to the window, and, smilingly beckoned
them to come back, and as the rain was now beginning to descend with
violence, they did so. We apologized for our rough entry, but the high
wind that drove sheets of water against the house was our best excuse.
We promised to pay for our accommodation, and in five minutes they were
all busily engaged in their usual avocations. On the return of the men
from their farms, we told them what had occurred, at which they laughed
heartily as soon as they found we were not offended by having had the
door shut in our faces, and we then made many inquiries concerning the
lake of Kina Balu, and whether either branch of the Tawaran ran from
it; but all the Dusuns were positive that the river had its sources in
the hills, which we could see farther east. Of the lake itself they had
never heard.
The Nilau tribe is very scattered, none of the hamlets having above a
dozen small houses; but in personal appearance Mr. Low found them much
improved since he saw them in 1851. It is impossible even to guess
at the population; but judging from the cleared appearance of the
country, it must be tolerably numerous. There is little old forest,
except on the summit of the highest ridges, all the land being used in
succession. Rice, however, is the principal cultivation, there being
few kiladis, and we observed no tobacco plantations.
The girls of this village wore black cloths over their shoulders, and
brought down so as to conceal their bosoms.
Started early for Kalawat in an E. by S. direction. A sharp ascent led
us to the top of the heights of Tangkahang, from which we had a very
extensive view, reaching from Mantanani to Mengkabong. Ranges of hills,
nearly parallel to our walk, occurred on either side, with feeders of
the Tawaran at their feet. After an hour’s walk, reached the Kalawat
hills, nearly 3,000 feet high. The path passed, after a few hundred
yards, to the south of the range, perhaps 200 feet from its summit,
and after a mile turned to the S.E. Then the walk became very tiring,
up and down the steepest of ravines, with slippery clay steps or loose
stones. I was not sorry, therefore, to reach the village of Kalawat, a
cluster of about ten houses, containing upwards of eighty families.
The village was dirty and so were the houses.
We stopped here to breakfast, and to wait the arrival of our straggling
followers, and heard of the desertion of one of them. He was a negro,
of great size and power, and, in muscular development, equal to two
or three of our other men. Our overseer had chosen him to carry our
edibles, as tea, sugar, salt, and curry stuffs; but had unfortunately
trusted him also with half a bottle of whiskey. He had complained
bitterly of the exhausting nature of the walk, and no sooner were our
backs turned than he slipped into the brushwood, and devoted himself to
the bottle; he was found there by the overseer, who, after extracting
a promise that he would follow when sober, left him with all our
condiments. These very heavy muscular men have generally proved useless
in jungle work. In all our arrangements we now greatly missed Musa, my
head boatman, who had stayed behind at Brunei, to look after his family
during the cholera.
Starting again, a very trying climb took us to the top of a hill,
from which a long but easy descent led to the Tinuman, a feeder of
the Tawaran. We observed, both yesterday and to-day, many villages
scattered over the face of the country, as Tagau, Bañgau, and others.
Though there was no plain at the foot of the hills, yet many of the
slopes were easy, occasionally almost flat.
At the little stream of Tinuman, we came upon a party of Dusuns,
belonging to the village of Buñgol, who led us by a very winding path
to their houses, situated on the left-hand bank of the Tawaran. We had
scarcely reached it when rain came on, as it appears generally to do
about three o’clock in the afternoon in the neighbourhood of Kina Balu
and other lofty mountains.
Buñgol is a large village, and contained, in 1851, according to their
own account, about 120 families; but this time (1858), they appeared
uncertain how many there were. I estimated, from the length of the
different houses that there were above 160 families. It is situated on
grassy, undulating land, about fifty or sixty feet above the level of
the stream; yet the inhabitants are exposed to floods, that reach their
houses and damage the crops on the low lands.
In our first expedition up the Tampasuk, we rested at some houses
of the Buñgol Ida’an, but we could discover no more connection
between these communities of the same name than between the others.
Notwithstanding the pouring rain, we walked through the village, and
bathed in the rushing torrent that ran beneath the houses, the Tawaran
now deserves no other name.
Next morning, Omar, the guide, came to say that all the bridges of the
regular path had been washed away, and that it would be necessary to
take us by another, with which he was unacquainted. We suspected that
this announcement was merely to serve a friend who was hired as guide;
but we gave way to their assurances that the old path was impassable,
and had reason to repent it, as, instead of taking us by the direct
route, only four miles in an east direction, he led us first north,
then north-east, ending in east-north-east, and after wandering over
numerous pathless ranges, at last, after eight hours’ walking brought
us to the Tampasuk, about three miles below the village of Koung. The
dividing ranges are very much broken up, and run in all directions. A
tributary of the Tawaran, to the north of us, came within a mile of
the Tampasuk, running direct towards Sulaman, and then turning to the
eastward.
We had beautiful views to-day of the surrounding country, both towards
the sea and towards the mountains; but had scarcely reached the
Tampasuk when heavy rain came on, totally obscuring the prospect, and
although we pushed on resolutely for an hour, fording the swelling
stream and climbing the slippery banks, were at last obliged to stop at
a hut amid a field of kiladis, and give up our intention of reaching
Koung.
We thought ourselves completely exhausted, until we saw the bungling
attempts of our men to set up the tents. The Malays were very tired,
and were shivering in the drenching rain and cold wind which swept down
from the mountains, so we determined before taking off our wet clothes
to see our men comfortable. Under our directions, and with our active
assistance, the tents were soon raised, as the men, encouraged by our
example, worked with a will. But it was a fatiguing day--nine hours of
continued climbing and descending.
On the following morning we proceeded to Koung. There were few farms
in sight that day, though yesterday we saw immense clearings, some
extending over a whole hill-side, and all were working hard to increase
them.
On reaching Koung, we found the villagers assembled, and crowds
occupying the chief’s house. We had intended, if possible, to reach
the summit of Kina Balu from this village, as on the last occasion,
we were disgusted with the conduct of the Kiau people; but soon
ascertained it was not to be done, as the western spurs did not reach
above half way up the mountain side; nor was there any rice to be
procured in this village. We were also very much astonished to hear the
kind old chief asking for black-mail; it did not appear to come from
his heart, so we looked round to find who was his prompter, and, at
the first glance, discovered the ugly face of Timbañgan, a wall-eyed
man--the very chief who had tried to prevent our passing through Labang
Labang, in the spring. To give way would have been absurd, as we should
have had black-mail demanded of us at every village, and increasing in
a progressive ratio. So we called up all the interpreters and made them
carefully explain what were our motives in travelling and the objects
we had in view; that we would pay for everything we required, or for
any damage done by our followers, but not for permission to travel
through their country. We then reminded them how their great enemies,
the Lanuns of Tampasuk and Pandasan, had been defeated by the English,
and how impossible it would be for the Ida’an to fight with white
men. A revolver was then discharged through a thick plank, to show
the effect of that small instrument, and how useless a defence their
shields would prove; and I handed the chief my heavy double-barrelled
rifle to examine, that he might reflect on its great power.
The effect of the explanations and of the conical balls was immediate,
and we heard no more of black-mail; on the contrary, the most friendly
relations were established. To show what a curious people they are,
and how we appeared to have hit the hidden springs of their actions, I
may mention that we now felt the utmost confidence in them, and asked
the chief to take care of a fever-stricken servant, and of all such
portions of our baggage as we did not wish to carry on with us. He
cheerfully agreed to do all we wished, and proved most friendly and
useful. We then made presents to his wife to a greater extent than his
demand for black-mail, trying to convince them by our actions that the
better they behaved to us, the more kindly and liberally we should
behave to them.
Next morning we started for Kiau. We noticed, the previous day, that
Timbañgan had disappeared immediately after the pistol was discharged,
which was a demonstration especially intended for him, and one of our
guides told us he was about to collect his tribe to dispute our further
passage, and advised us to make a detour round his village; but, if
hostilities were intended, it was better to face them, as, by the
lower path, we might easily have been surprised at a ford or in some
deep ravine. At the foot of the hill we halted till all our force was
collected, and then marched up to the village. To our great surprise,
we found it deserted by all except Timbañgan, who offered his services
as a guide; though we knew the way as well as he did, we cheerfully
accepted his services, and well rewarded them.
We followed the same path as during our last expedition, and reached
Kiau without difficulty, to find all our old acquaintances merry-making
at a wedding. We were rather anxious about our reception, after the
lively scene that had closed our last visit, and had determined to
put ourselves in the hands of the old man, Li Moung, as we were very
dissatisfied with the conduct of Li Maing, our former guide. We entered
the almost deserted house we had formerly occupied, but were soon
surrounded by the wedding guests, who came flocking down to meet us,
and welcomed us in the most friendly and hearty manner. And these were
the very men with whom, on our last visit, we were apparently about
to exchange blows. I say apparently, because I do not believe they
ever really intended to fight. They had been accustomed to parties
of Baju traders arriving at their village, whom they could frighten
into compliance with their demands, and thought they might do the same
with us; but finding from their former experience they could not, they
did not attempt it this time, and we ourselves placed the fullest
confidence in them. The Bajus, however, now seldom visit these distant
villagers, who are thus compelled to take their own produce to the
coast, to be cajoled or plundered in their turn, which is one of the
reasons why cloth and iron are so rare among them.
Li Moung was delighted with our determination to leave all arrangements
in his hands; and Li Maing was not very much dissatisfied, as a huge
boil almost prevented him walking. We made our beds under a large
window which opened from the public room, as the only spot where fresh
air could be obtained. This house was better arranged than the ordinary
Sea Dayak ones. Instead of having the whole floor on a level with the
door, they had a long passage leading through the house: on one side
the private apartments; on the other, a raised platform on which the
lads and unmarried men slept. We found this very comfortable, as the
dogs were not permitted to wander over it.
The wedding guests were very excited, having drunk sufficient to
loosen their tongues; the men were talkative, while the women pressed
in crowds round the foot of our mats. The great difficulty was, as
usual--no rice to be had.
Next day we sent our men through the village to find if it were
possible to procure provisions, but they only obtained sufficient for
a day’s consumption. This determined us to send back to Mengkabong all
our followers but six to procure supplies. We told the Ida’an of our
resolve, and I think this proof of our confidence had a great effect
on them; in fact, we always treated them in the same way, whether we
were backed by a large force or not, and we never had to repent of our
conduct towards them.