Sarawak is a land of mountains, of trees, and of water. Steaming from
Singapore on your way to Kuching, you enter a great crescent-shaped
bay called Datu. The most important rivers of Sarawak flow into this
bay. At its southern end stands Tanjong Datu, rising to a height of
700 feet; and across sixty miles of sea in a northerly direction,
almost opposite to this green cliff, is Tanjong Sirik, from whence the
low and sandy coast runs in an almost straight line as far as Brunei.
Harbourless and unprotected, this coast is lashed by the surf during
the north-east wind from September to the end of March. During the
south-west monsoon, which blows for the remainder of the year, fairer
weather prevails, making easier communication between these river
mouths and the rest of the world. If you approach Sarawak in the early
morning, you can see from the deck of a steamer, cobalt blue mountains
hanging baseless between earth and sky. Mists, white as snow-wreaths,
encircle their wooded peaks only to melt away at the first rays of
the sun and return to the land in refreshing showers later in the
afternoon. Cascades born in the mountains, fed by daily rains, tear
down their wooded ravines, rolling stones and trees and soil from
their banks in their headlong course. Impetuous and irresistible,
they widen as they go, until they become mighty rivers tamed by their
passage through muddy plains, where they meander in sluggish ways.
The river-banks are lined with nipa palms and mangroves. At low tide
you can see the mangroves, standing on trestles of black woody roots,
looking like snakes writhing in the mud. Upon these pedestals, a crown
of bright green leaves, thirty to forty feet in height, form aquatic
forests at the mouth of the rivers all along the coast. Each branch
is weighed down by a fruit, which, when ripe, drops into the mud and
starts a new tree. The nipa palm has matted roots which easily retain
the flotsam and jetsam carried down by the unceasing current of the
waters; it has an angular fruit which, like that of the mangrove,
sinks into the mud and forms forests on its own account. The incessant
action of these encroaching trees add continually to the land. Indeed,
there are certain aged natives who have been heard to say that part
of the coast near Sirik, although exposed to the constant surf of
the north-east monsoon, has encroached on the sea for two miles or
more, during their lifetime. When the land reclaimed by the mangroves
and nipa palms becomes dryer, the trees die, and give place to other
tropical vegetation. On my travels in and out of these rivers, I have
often seen, especially on a hot sunny day, the distant line of coast
just before it recedes into the horizon, looking as though it were
lifted high up in the air, when, between the line of verdure and the
sea, appeared a space of light as though the trees stood on rays of
silvery transparency.
[Illustration: DATU BAY NEAR SANTUBONG]
The rivers Lundu, Sarawak, Sadong, Batang Lupar, Saribas, Kalaka, and
Rejang flow into the Bay of Sarawak. The rivers Oya and Muka (from
which two rivers an important trade with sago is carried on), Bintulu
and Baram, are situated in the more northern portion of the territory.
Owing to the perpetual strife between land and water, these rivers
have bars at their mouths, but the bar across the Baram is the most
formidable amongst the rivers of the country.
Malays and Milanoes have their settlements on or near the coast,
within reach of the tide. Malays are expert fishermen, and excel in
boat building. They are Muhammadans, and are the most civilized of the
Rajah’s subjects. Milanoes inhabit the Rejang delta, the river-banks of
Matu, Oya, Muka, and Bintulu, and are the sago workers of the country.
Though mostly Muhammadans, they have a curious superstitious religion
of their own. Land Dyaks dwell amongst the mountains and hills south of
Kuching; Sea Dyaks frequent the Batang Lupar, Saribas, Kalaka, and the
Rejang Rivers; Kayans live more inland, and their tribes are supposed
to have settlements right across from west to east of the northern
portion of Borneo; nor must we forget the Chinese immigrants who have
settlements all over the principality, and who invade it in increasing
numbers with every succeeding year, greatly adding to the prosperity of
the country. All these people are, as it were, sprinkled over the land.
If one could imagine a giant sower dipping into a bag filled with the
seeds of mankind and flinging it out haphazard by handfuls, some by the
sea, and some by the inland rivers and forests, it might give an idea
of the manner in which the population of Sarawak is scattered over the
country. The different tribes hold themselves entirely aloof from one
another; one never meets with Dyaks residing in Malay settlements, or
_vice versa_, nor do the Chinese build among people of an alien race.
It must be remembered that there are very few roads in Sarawak, and
as yet no railways; for it can well be understood that road-making
or laying down railway lines would be a costly undertaking in this
country, intersected as it is by marshes, hills, mountains, and almost
unbridgeable rivers. Commerce and trade, however, thrive without
the help of such accessories, for Borneo is known to be one of the
best-watered countries in the world, and the produce of its jungles and
its forests find an easy passage down the numberless canals and rivers
which nature has provided through this watery land. Indeed, it seems
to me that there are three things one cannot escape from in Sarawak:
these being mountains, trees, and water. The sound of water is heard
everywhere; houses are built for the most part on the banks of rivers
or streams, so that the tide, as it swishes backwards and forwards, is
heard by day and night; daily showers drip on to one’s habitation, and
the noise of paddles--for the people use the river as Europeans use
their streets--is never lacking. Even the animals seem to imitate the
sound of water in their morning and evening cries. For instance, the
little monkeys, called wah-wahs, give vent, at the first approach of
the sun, to liquid sounds, which, whenever I heard them, made me think
of the Spirit of the rain pouring refreshing streams through the trees
in which these monkeys congregate.
It is seldom that flowers form an important feature in the landscape
of tropical countries. It is true there are flowers in profusion, but
they are mostly hidden in the hearts of virgin forests. The purple
blossoms of the lagerstremia, the golden cups of the allamanda, scarlet
rhododendrons, and convolvuli, mauve and pink and white and yellow,
sometimes star with flashes of colour the river-banks more inland;
but orchids, pitcher plants, and flowering parasites are generally
entangled and hidden in the branches of forest trees, for, like
everything lovely, delicate, and perfumed, these have to be diligently
sought for before a closer acquaintance can be made. One of the most
ravishing experiences of Sarawak are the mysterious whiffs of perfumes
meeting one unexpectedly in one’s walks near the forests, or even
on journeys up the rivers. These scented currents are messages from
unknown blossoms flowering unseen and unsoiled far from mankind.
These rare and exquisite visitations always reminded me of the words
of Maupassant, “_C’est une sensation de bien être qui est presque du
bonheur._”
Now to my mind the people of Sarawak match their strange and beautiful
surroundings. They love sweet scents and flowers, and, above all, they
love the neighbourhood of water, in which, as a fact, they live the
greater portion of the day. Every man, woman, and child swims about the
streams near their homes in the same way as we take our walks in our
gardens. Men and women alike manage boats with wonderful skill, and
women are often seen alone in canoes, paddling themselves in search of
fruits or vegetables to be found on the banks of streams sometimes a
great distance from their village. If you happen to throw in your lot
with these people, you insensibly become, in the course of years, as
fond of the water as they are, so that, like them, you find yourself
perpetually bathing, and after any exertion have recourse to a bath,
much as they plunge into the river to cool themselves. Moreover, they
are perpetually washing their clothes--I have often thought I have
seldom met cleaner people.