The next day we embarked on the _Heartsease_ for Sibu. My journey
down the river was very different from my voyage to Kuching two or
three months before, for everything now interested me. I wanted to
talk to every native I came across. I wanted to find out what they
thought and how they looked upon the things that we passed. My Malay
was not brilliant even then, but still I could manage to make myself
understood. We steamed past the Santubong Mountain, out to sea, and, of
course, the minute we were bobbing over the waters of the bar (the sea
was not rough) down I went into the cabin and took my usual position
on such occasions--a mattress laid on the floor, a bucket by my side,
and a bottle of champagne to ward off the sea-sickness. The heat was
terrific. For five hours, until we got to the other side of the mouth
of the Rejang, I was helpless, and the natives and everything else
faded from my mind. Sea-sickness is much laughed at, but I know of no
discomfort that equals it. However, it came to an end, and the smooth
waters of the river on the other side soon put me right again.
When we arrived at Sibu, I was surprised to see the extraordinary
flatness of the land. Mr. Harry Skelton was most kind and considerate.
He gave up his rooms to us, and nothing could exceed his hospitality.
I well remember the first morning of my stay: it was all so different
from the way things were managed on board the _Heartsease_. My
breakfast tray was brought in by my Malay maid, who had accompanied me
from Kuching. Mr. Skelton had arranged the tray himself: the captain’s
biscuits were there, but the tea was delicious; somehow he had managed
to get some cows, for there was milk. The boiled egg was new laid, and
even the tinned butter was washed and pretended to be fresh. Then, in
the middle of the tray, was a little bunch of flowers from his garden,
jasmine, plumbago, and gardenia, tied in a ravishing effect of blue
and white. I stayed in the Fort about six weeks, and every morning
these charming flower tokens of Mr. Skelton’s kindness were carried
in to me with my breakfast. But what interested me more than anything
were our evening walks. There was a Bazaar where the Chinese had, even
in those days, a considerable settlement. As the sun set and the air
became cooler, the Rajah, Mr. Skelton, and I set out for our walk, but
not before Mr. Skelton had sent for the four Sikhs who were to guard
us during our constitutional with loaded muskets. We would sally forth
round the settlement, in the middle of our four protectors, for there
were usually some bad characters about who were discontented at the
turn affairs had taken, and Mr. Skelton was not very certain that in
the long grass near by there might not be some one hiding, who, in a
fit of insanity, might attempt our lives. On the other hand, I rather
liked the idea. One felt oneself important being guarded by men with
loaded muskets, and I must say I did not believe in the danger, owing,
probably, to my scant knowledge of the country.
Two or three days afterwards we went up the river to visit some of the
tribes, for, as I have said before, the Rejang is a long river, with
villages dotted here and there along its banks. Another surprise was in
store for me: when I went on board, I found that wire-netting had been
stretched fore and aft the vessel, so as to secure it from any attack.
When we were inside, and the wire-netting securely fastened all round
us, we must have looked like animals in a cage! We started early in
the morning. The sun had hardly risen, and there was a thick fog which
hid the land. There was a freshet coming down the river, the effect
of heavy rain of the day before in the mountains farther inland. Our
speed did not exceed eight knots an hour. In a very short space of time
the fog began to lift, and we could see the flat, marshy land through
which we travelled. It was bitterly cold, and I remember that I wrapped
three or four railway rugs round my shoulders, over my white muslin
dress, prepared as I was for the intense heat with the advent of the
sun. Cocoa-nut and a few sago palms were planted on the banks, for the
water here was brackish, but there were no other signs of cultivation.
Near the Fort the river is about twelve hundred yards wide. There were
signs of jungle everywhere, the ancient sites of cleared rice lands,
with creepers, small trees, and coarse lalang grass covering the soil.
There were no virgin forests on these banks. In former years these
were the Dyaks’ farm grounds, but the people had long since removed up
the river to plant their paddy in its tributary streams. Farther up,
the banana and sago plants were replaced by the shrub called rengas,
resembling, in the distance, a hedge of clipped holly; but on closer
examination, although its leaves are dark and shiny, they are more like
laurels in shape with young shoots of brilliant red. The wood of this
shrub is valuable, and is used a good deal for making furniture by the
carpenters in the Straits. It has peculiar and disagreeable effects
on certain persons. Some natives can lop off its branches without its
doing them the slightest harm, whilst others, if they but attempt
such work, become swollen, and are sometimes absolutely blinded, or
are made uncomfortable in various other ways for hours, even if they
merely touch or turn aside its branches. On the other hand, those who
are immune from its ill-effects can approach the plant with impunity,
hack it about as they choose, and can thus obtain its young shoots,
which make an excellent dish when boiled as a vegetable. After a time
we could see nothing but low, green hills on the edge of the water,
and everlasting masses of driftwood hurrying down on the freshet to
the sea. This kind of landscape continued for another hour or so,
when the banks began to close in, and we saw here and there bright
vermilion patches about the green grass near the water. These were
made by clerodendron blossoms, a flower of predilection amongst the
Sea Dyaks. They have a kind of reverence regarding it: they decorate
the heads of enemies taken in battle with its spiky blossoms, for they
imagine that by so doing they will prevent the curses uttered by the
victims in the next world from falling on their heads. They plant its
roots round their houses, so that whenever one sees these flowers on
the banks, it generally denotes that once the land was occupied by Sea
Dyaks. No one is allowed to cut the flower or injure it in any way,
for it is only used for sacred purposes or during head-feasts. When I
first saw the flowers they were growing amongst the lalang grass, and
looked like great coral chandeliers set in a background of malachite.
They are called by the Dyaks “Pemula Sumpah.” Then, we passed several
tributary streams famous in Sarawak history for the many expeditions
the Rajah and his officers have led there, for this district was
formally the haunt of the most redoubtable head-hunters. Like all
the rivers of Borneo the Rejang forms a succession of cataracts near
its source, and behind these it was easy for the Dyaks to imagine
themselves safe to indulge in their favourite pastime of head-hunting.
We had been steaming for hours, when late in the afternoon we passed
Kanowit on the left-hand bank of the river. It was at this spot, in
1859, that Messrs. Fox and Steele, two of the first white Rajah’s
officers, were murdered through the disaffection of a few natives,
and at the instigation of Serip Masahor, one of the very few traitors
in Sarawak history. This man ended his days in exile at Singapore.
We now came to a series of little hills shelving into the water.
The formation of these hills is somewhat peculiar: they are regular
in outline and, all being of the same height and wooded with jungle
growth, with a few ancient forest trees at their summit, it would seem
as though a straight line might be drawn all along their tops, each
hill touching the line at its highest point. They rise to a height of
750 feet. There was a kind of brushwood growing on the hills whenever
farming had been of recent date, and groves of wild bananas grew here
and there. I think the long fronds of the banana plant are amongst the
loveliest growing things one can see. When the plants find a sheltered
position, unmolested by gales of wind, their long leaves are tinted
with the most wonderful colours, as though emeralds and sapphires
had been melted together and poured over them; moreover, a certain
bloom rests on them, like that seen on grapes and plums. I think this
beautiful effect depends on the light in which the plants are growing,
for I have noticed the same bloom spread over ferns growing in dells
and shady nooks of virgin forests. It might be as well to mention
that Malays often use banana fronds to bind up wounds; their coolness,
softness, and purity possessing healing properties absent from
ordinary poultices. These wild bananas thrive luxuriantly on recently
abandoned paddy lands, until masses of other weeds grow up and choke
them. The plant possesses an excellent fibre, its fruit being bright
green, small, and hard. The look of such deserted farms is exceedingly
pathetic as they stretch along the banks of rivers or climb the sides
of steep hills. Here and there are trees, once lofty and magnificent,
partially turned to tinder, their charred trunks standing brown and
shrivelled from out the green vegetation. Sometimes they become draped
with parasites and creepers. I remember one such charred skeleton, over
whose shrivelled remains the bright yellow blossoms of the allamanda
flung a curtain of green and gold.
As we proceeded up the river, I remember noticing men in boats fishing
inside little creeks, who, I was told, were Sea Dyaks or Kanowits.
These little creeks were barred across from bank to bank with bamboo
palisades to prevent the egress of fish into the main river, for the
streams had been poisoned with a root called tuba, a method of fishing
prevalent all over Borneo. This root is pounded with pestles, its juice
extracted, and thrown into the river at low tide, when the fishes
become stupefied, and rise to the surface, so that the natives find no
difficulty in netting or spearing them. These people were drawing up
nets full of fish as we passed, but, as is their wont, when they saw
the vessel and the Rajah’s flag flying at the main, they shouted to us,
excitedly inquiring where we had come from and where we were going. I
sat on the deck looking about me, and, as I thought, taking most things
in, when apparently from out of nowhere a boat suddenly appeared full
of Dyaks under our companion ladder, clamouring to be let in for a few
words with the Rajah. The Rajah and Mr. Skelton (both of whom knew
every one in the district), could distinguish whether the people were
friends or enemies. When friends, the engine was stopped, the companion
ladder let down, and the chiefs came solemnly on board, after our
wire netting had been opened to allow them to enter. The chieftains’
followers remained where they were, their canoes drifting astern of our
vessel, and were towed up the river while the chiefs held conversation
with the Rajah. Before we got to the end of our journey, our ship was
towing along a little flotilla of canoes filled with dusky warriors.
A place called Ngmah was our destination, where was a Fort built on
the top of a hill. We anchored beneath the hill for a night and then
returned to Sibu. Our journey up river, against the freshet and tide,
had taken us two days to accomplish; ten hours sufficed to float us
back to our headquarters at Sibu. Then our usual life at Sibu began
again for another fortnight--the breakfasts, the little bunches of
flowers, and the walks at sunset round the settlement--when the Rajah
went up river again. On this occasion he did not take me with him, but
he left Mr. Skelton and Mr. Low to look after me in the Fort.
The Rajah had not been gone a week, when one morning, just as day was
breaking, I was awakened by the noise of two muskets being fired from
the Fort. I got out of my mosquito curtains, just as I was, tied a
sarong over my nightgown, and rushed out of the room. I met Mr. Skelton
on his way to warn me that in the semi-darkness preceding dawn, the
Sikhs on the look out had noticed what seemed to be two long Dyak boats
floating down the river. They had not answered to the challenge from
the Fort, and, fresh from the previous attack, Mr. Skelton imagined
another disturbance was imminent. My room had to be given up to two
fortmen, who were posted with armed muskets to defend that portion of
the building, and Mr. Skelton, Mr. Low, and myself congregated in the
sitting-room. It was an exciting time, for we all thought that at any
moment we should hear the yell of the Dyaks rushing up to attack us. I
recollect so well Mr. Skelton, fussy and excited, fearing I should be
frightened: but I was really rather enjoying all this commotion, never
thinking it strange that we should be sitting together in our night
garments; indeed, that fact never entered our heads at all. I suggested
to Mr. Skelton, as I did not then know how to manage a musket, that
I should sit behind the cottage piano I had brought with me from
Kuching, as it would serve for a rampart against poisoned arrows or
spears that might find their way into the Fort. Mr. Skelton agreed,
and I ignominiously took my post behind the piano. We were all on the
look out, our nerves strained to the utmost. Daybreak appeared and we
could see all round the Fort, but still nothing happened. I hardly like
to confess that I was rather disappointed. Every five minutes, Mr.
Skelton invited me to partake of some ham which he had just procured
from England, and some soda-water, evidently thinking that these would
have a soothing effect on my nerves! We waited and waited, and at last
I thought I might just as well go back to bed. Then a most delightful
incident occurred. Our Chinese cook, whom we had brought from Kuching,
anxious to show his zeal and valour, offered Mr. Skelton to take his
post at my door with his large carving knife. Of course Mr. Skelton
allowed him to do so, and, thus guarded, I turned into my mosquito net
and had an hour’s sleep. When I awakened the sun was shining, and all
fear of the attack had passed. It is a well-known thing that Dyaks
always choose the hour just before dawn to raid any settlement. I think
Mr. Skelton was rather annoyed at his mistake.
When the Rajah returned from his trip, he was vexed at what had taken
place, for he did not think it possible that another tribe of Dyaks up
the Rejang River would have dared another attack so soon after the
last one. Moreover, it would have been impossible for them to have
done so, as his gunboat _Heartsease_, with himself on board, was at
the time stationed in the higher reaches of the Rejang River. I fancy
the real truth of the matter was, that Mr. Skelton and his fortmen
had become over-anxious, and I imagine my presence on the occasion
also had something to do with it. It was whispered afterwards that two
enormous tree trunks, borne down past the Fort by the current (in the
semi-darkness just before dawn when it is difficult to distinguish
objects at a distance), were the harmless factors of this scare.
Nevertheless, I must again repeat, I was disappointed at the tame
manner in which the expected attack fizzed out.