A week after our return to Kuching, the Rajah and I had the great
pleasure of welcoming to Sarawak our eldest son. An experienced English
nurse had brought him out, and I remember so well the mail-boat
arriving late in the afternoon, when from the verandah I saw through my
glasses a short European lady, in white, carrying in her arms a baby
in a blue sash. I am sorry to say that the salute from the guns of the
Fort annoyed him exceedingly, and he was brought yelling and screaming
to the landing-place, and it took some time before we could soothe his
shattered nerves, unaccustomed as he was to such honours. The next day,
all the chiefs’ wives, Datu Isa heading the contingent, and nearly all
the women in Kuching, came to see the boy. He was very good with them,
and appeared to understand that they were his true friends. It is a
real happiness to me to know that the affection which he showed these
people at the beginning of his life has lasted all through these years.
I was not destined to remain long in peace at Kuching, for the Rajah
was always full of work in his schemes for the advancement of his
country. Many requests came to him from chiefs of rivers beyond our
territory, begging to be allowed to become his subjects, in order to
be placed under the protection of his Government. It would perhaps be
as well just now to refer to the map of Sarawak. When the first Rajah
began to reign, Sarawak consisted of the territory stretching between
Cape Datu to the Sadong River. The maladministration of the Sultan of
Brunei’s agents in the rivers of the Rejang, Muka, and Bintulu forced
the people of these districts to seek for better government. This, they
found, so to speak, at their very doors. In the space of fifteen years,
these rivers were annexed to the Sarawak Government, at the request of
the inhabitants, so that when the present Rajah first inherited the
country from his uncle it extended as far as the Bintulu River. Turning
again to the map, it will be seen that the rivers of Baram, Trusan,
Lawas, and Limbang now also form part of the Rajah’s territory, but in
the days of which I write the Baram River still belonged to the Sultan
of Brunei, although the people were discontented under his rule.
[Illustration: THE AUTHOR AND IMA, MORNING ROOM AT ASTANA, KUCHING]
The Baram River possesses a considerable Kayan population, and these
people were anxious the Rajah should visit them in order to establish
commerce and trade with Sarawak. The Sultan of Brunei was averse
to the idea, and did all he could to prevent the Rajah’s influence
extending to this district. At that time, Her Majesty’s Government
had a Representative in the little island of Labuan, off the coast
of Borneo. Sometimes these Representatives were hostile to the
Rajah’s policy, taking the Sultan’s side, without perhaps knowing
the intricacies of the case. The Rajah was eager to go to Baram to
ascertain for himself the position of affairs in the neighbourhood,
and in order not to appear as though he were embarking on a hostile
expedition against the Sultan’s Government, he thought it advisable to
take me with him on this trip.
We stayed two days at Muka Fort on our way up the coast. Muka was then
in charge of the late Mr. Claude Champion de Crespigny, a man whose
name must be beloved for all time in Sarawak. He was sympathetic,
wide-minded, intelligent, and the Muka people loved him. The people
of Muka are Milanoes: they work the sago, which flourishes in this
district and forms a very important article of commerce in Sarawak.
Some one told me that more than one-half of the whole of the sago
exported to England comes from Muka and its neighbourhood. I do not
know if this is so, but it is certain that a great deal of sago does
find its way from this place to the English markets. The Borneo
Company, Ltd., had then a sago factory at Muka.
I remember our tour in a boat round the Muka township: it was like most
Malay settlements--the houses are built on the river-banks on piles. I
thought a sago manufactory the most evil-smelling thing in existence.
Here I observed how my rings, chains, etc., made of almost unalloyed
Sarawak gold, turned black, and it was impossible to restore them to
their original colour so long as I remained in the atmosphere of this
busy but unsavoury town. The Milanoe women flocked to the Fort to see
me, but they were not very talkative, and were rather shy, as hitherto
they had had no experience of Englishwomen. Their features are square,
and they have the slanting eyes, the squat noses, and thick lips of the
Mongolian race, but their complexion is fairer than that of the other
natives in Sarawak. They flatten their children’s heads when they are
tiny babies; oddly enough, the same custom exists amongst the American
Indians inhabiting the Mosquito River. I have been told that the
religion of the Milanoes resembles that of the Cochin Chinese, and this
fact reminds me of the opinion expressed by Mr. Wallace as to these
people originally coming to Borneo from the north. Milanoes are not so
refined in their diet as are the Sea Dyaks. For instance, Sea Dyaks
would never dream of eating oysters as we do, for they consider them
living things. Milanoes prefer to eat uncooked fish cut up very fine,
and are very fond of grubs; they also eat monkeys, sharks, snakes, and
other reptiles. A great delicacy with them is a sort of transparent
white-wood worm, which they rear with as much care as do English people
oysters. They soak a large raft made of soft wood in the river for some
weeks, when it is supposed to have fulfilled its purpose. It is then
fished up, laden with the wriggling bodies of the worms.
After leaving Muka, we sailed for the Baram River, and about thirty-six
hours’ steaming brought us to its mouth. This river has an evil
reputation; it is very broad, and a sandbank lying across its mouth
only permits of the passage of shallow ships. The _Heartsease_ drew
seven feet of water, and as we could not find any channel deep enough
to float her across, we embarked in the Borneo Company’s vessel, called
_Siri Sarawak_, which was accompanying us on this trip. The scenery
is very different in this more northern part of Borneo. Instead of
mangroves and nipa palms lining the banks, we saw great plains of
coarse lalang grass and stretches of sand.
It was ticklish work proceeding up this river, there being no
chart, for we were the only white people who had as yet entered its
inhospitable borders in a vessel of any size. Mr. de Crespigny, who had
been an officer in the English Navy, undertook to make a chart, and sat
on the bridge the whole day, paper and pencil in hand, as we steamed
carefully by snags and sandbanks, under the direction of a Kayan,
who had been induced to leave his canoe at the mouth of the river to
pilot our vessel to a place called Batu Gading, our destination. As we
passed the Kayan houses, built on high poles near the banks, the people
crowded on their verandahs to see the passage of the “fire ship.” It
was very exciting, and we all pulled out white handkerchiefs and waved
them at the people to make them understand we were peaceful visitors.
I did not like to ask indiscreet questions, but it did occur to me at
the time whether these natives understood our signs. I have since found
out that they did.
I think it took us about ten days to reach the settlement of Batu
Gading (meaning rock of ivory, so called from a white rock embedded in
the bank, shining like a beacon up one of the reaches of the river).
Batu Gading was then the most populous Kayan settlement up this
waterway, and it was here that the Rajah intended to land. We anchored
in front of the longest Kayan house I had yet come across, but we could
see no signs of life in the village. The Rajah sent his interpreter on
shore to parley with the chief, Abang Nipa, but the answer returned
was that the house was under what they called “pamale” (under a ban,
spiritual or otherwise), and that the people of the village could not
allow us to land because, under the circumstances, it was impossible
for them to receive visitors. The Rajah, Mr. de Crespigny, and a
gentleman belonging to the Borneo Company, Ltd., talked the matter
over, and came to the conclusion (afterwards proved to be correct) that
emissaries of the Sultan of Brunei, fearing a visit from the Rajah,
were in the village and were preventing the people from receiving us
inside their houses. Notwithstanding this drawback, our ship remained
anchored in the middle of the stream, and a messenger was sent daily
from the Rajah, always returning with the same answer. After the fourth
or fifth day, the Rajah made it understood that if the pamale were to
last a year, he would wait a year also, and that he was determined
to see the chief in spite of all pamales. At length the princes of
Brunei saw the futility of preventing the Rajah from carrying out his
intention, and one morning Abang Nipa’s son, accompanied by four or
five stalwart Kayans, was seen on his way to our steamer. They brought
with them an invitation to the Rajah from the chief, asking him to pay
them a visit, and the interview was fixed for that very afternoon. A
discussion then followed as to whether I should accompany the party
on shore or not. The Rajah and Mr. de Crespigny, who knew the working
of primitive people’s minds better perhaps than any Europeans alive,
thought it would be a good thing if I went also.
I remember the visit as though it were yesterday. A dinghy was
prepared, and the Rajah, Mr. de Crespigny, the Borneo Company’s agent,
the English officers who had escorted the Rajah (my brother being
amongst them), and I, entered the boat and were rowed to shore. The
Rajah was followed by four or five of his guard, carrying muskets, but
as they were about to step into a second boat the Rajah waved them
back. “There must be no armed man in our party,” he said; “for the
slightest appearance of suspicion on our part might put the Kayans’
backs up, and perhaps make them dangerous.” As the guards disappeared,
I wondered how it would be, but was not seriously apprehensive.
I never shall forget getting up the pole into this house. As usual,
the house was built on stilts, but these were higher than those of
any house I had previously seen, and the notched pole, serving as a
ladder, slanted at an angle of one in ten for about forty feet! It
was no use worrying--up this ladder I had to go. The Rajah hopped up
it like a bird. The chief’s son and two or three other Kayans, seeing
my hesitation, came forward and helped me up the perilous way. I must
say, my helpers were most gentle and charming, and they took me up as
though I were as brittle as egg shells. The other Europeans present
found it quite easy to mount this interminable pole. I dare say it was
my petticoats that made my ascent difficult, for women’s clothes are
much in the way on such occasions. The entrance into the broad verandah
was a wonderful sight. All the way down, as far as I could see, it was
lined with rows of fighting men, holding their lances in one hand, in
all their war dress, tattooed from head to foot, with boar’s tusks
sticking out from their ears, grass crowns round their flowing locks,
and holding themselves as though they were Greek gods. We walked as far
as the centre of the house, where the chief’s apartments were situated.
There we found two stools, covered with yellow calico, and fine mats
laid on the floor in readiness for our reception. The interior was
divided by curtains made of mats or of Kayan stuffs of wonderful
designs, similar to Celtic patterns, brown, white, blue, and very deep
red. The Rajah and I seated ourselves on the little stools, whilst the
other Englishmen took their places on the floor. We were quite silent,
and the presence of two of the Sultan’s emissaries moving in and out of
the crowd, whispering to the people, did not look very promising for
the success of our mission. The Rajah pulled his moustache, but said
nothing, and we sat on, all silent, looking at one another. At last
Mr. de Crespigny said to me: “There are no women or children here. We
must get them in.” I believe it is a fact that amongst uncivilized or
barbaric tribes the absence of women and children is one of the signs
of intended treachery. Mr. de Crespigny suggested I should ask the
chief if I might make the acquaintance of his wife and the other women
of the tribe. I turned to the chief and asked the question in Malay,
which our interpreter translated into Kayan. The Sultan’s emissaries
did not look pleasant, but the chief seemed pleased, and made a sign
to one of the men standing near him, who at once disappeared behind
the curtains. In a few moments the man came back and held the curtains
aside, when, through the opening, came a procession of women. It was
a pretty sight. The chief’s wife, a remarkable lady, much feared and
respected by her tribe, headed the procession. Her black hair flowed
over her shoulders, falling almost to her knees, and on her head she
wore a fillet of straw. Her garment of white cotton hung in folds from
the waist to her right ankle, leaving her left side bare, excepting at
the hips, where it was fastened with strings of beads. Her left arm
and leg were bare but tattooed, and looked as though they were encased
in sheaths of dark blue velvet. All the women following her, young and
old, wore the same costume. They might have been Greek priestesses
paying tribute to some god. They shook hands first with the Rajah,
then with me, and seated themselves in a group at my feet. The usual
conversation followed as to the number of their children, how their
farms were progressing, etc., and I then asked to see some of the mats
and cloths they had made. After these had been duly admired, we became
quite friendly. My sleeves were pushed up to see whether my arms were
white all the way up. From the ejaculations which followed, I cannot be
certain whether they were those of admiration or not!
I had round my neck a gold chain from which was suspended a red coral
charm, much in vogue amongst Neapolitans to ward against the evil eye.
Mr. de Crespigny suggested I should give this to the chief’s wife,
and I at once took the chain of gold off my neck and put it round
hers. I remember how the little narrow gold chain looked as it lay
against her mass of black hair, and the blood-red coral charm appeared
extraordinarily strange, yet picturesque, as it hung amongst the folds
of her white cotton garment. She was delighted with the ornament, and
when we parted the Rajah and the people had become good friends. I
said good-bye to the chief’s wife, and experienced a strange pang of
regret, as I always did when parting, perhaps after a few minutes’
conversation only, from a newly made friend, a member of a tribe whom I
might never see again.
It is extraordinary what important parts several of these Kayan women
have played in the history of those far-off countries. This particular
chief’s wife became, on the death of her husband, a great force for
good in the Baram River, whilst another chieftainess, Balu Lahai
(meaning widow of Lahai), had a powerful influence for good over a
tribe of some thirty thousand people, who acknowledged her as their
Queen. She undertook the management of the whole tribe, and until the
day of her death (which occurred not so long ago) her word was law to
every man, woman, and child in the village.
To make a long story short, the Rajah’s visit to the Baram River
produced great results. The Sultan of Brunei, powerless to stem the
will of the Kayans, ceded the river to the Rajah. Forts and trading
settlements sprang up as though by magic all along its banks, and it
is now one of the richest and most populous rivers of the country.
Mr. de Crespigny was the first of the Rajah’s officers to take charge
of the Baram district, and he did very valuable work out there before
Dr. Charles Hose became Resident there some years later, at Mr. de
Crespigny’s death. Mr. de Crespigny was true to the Rajah’s policy,
and notwithstanding ill-health he most unselfishly and courageously
remained at his post, and by so doing gave additional impetus to
the trade and commerce of Sarawak, and security to the life of its
inhabitants. Dr. Hose became his worthy successor, and by his zeal,
hard work, and true sympathy with the natives has managed to crown Mr.
de Crespigny’s work by the magnificent results he has achieved in the
true civilization of the Baram people.
On our return journey to Kuching, we stayed for a few days at Bintulu
Fort. The dress of the women of Bintulu differs slightly from that
of the Kuching Malays, as regards the texture of their sarongs and
jackets, and as regards their gold ornaments. These people appear
to prefer sombre tints to the bright colours worn by their Kuching
sisters. A sarong much favoured by the Bintulu women is made of cotton
with fine black threads running through, forming a check pattern
all over the skirt, without the dog-tooth stripe so conspicuous in
Javanese, Sumatran, and Malayan designs. This cotton material is so
fine in texture that it is as costly to buy as some of the gold and
silken brocades. The Bintulu women manage to obtain a gloss on the
material making it shiny like satin. One has to pay as much as £6 or £7
for one of these sarongs. Over this black-and-white sheath, these women
wear a jacket of either black or dark blue satin, imported from China.
It fastens in front with three huge knobs of gold, and small gold knobs
are sewn all up the slashed sleeves. Large round ear-rings, sometimes
very exquisite in design, shaped like open lotus flowers, are thrust
through the lobes of their ears. Their scarfs are of quiet colours,
devoid of gold thread, but their hats are marvellous. Sometimes they
are as much as a yard across, so that no two women can walk near one
another. They are made of straw, conical in shape, and are ornamented
with huge pointed rays of red, black, and yellow, meeting towards the
centre. Mr. de Crespigny, who knew of the dresses and habits of these
people, told me to look out for the ladies as they wound their way up
the path leading to the Fort, and it was indeed a curious sight to see
two or three hundred of these discs, one after the other, apparently
unsupported, winding slowly up the steep ascent. When the women
reached the Fort, they left their hats somewhere--I never fathomed
where--before they came into the reception-room.
They are pleasant-looking people, these Milanoes of Bintulu, with
their square, pale faces and quantities of jet-black hair. Their
ankles and wrists are not perhaps quite so delicate as are those of
the more southern people, for Milanoes are sturdier in build. They
belong to the same tribe as the sago workers of Muka, but, owing to
their more sedentary habits, their complexion is paler. Europeans who
know them well have many interesting stories to relate regarding their
superstitions and incantations, particularly in the case of illness,
when the beautiful blossom of the areca-nut palm plays an important
part.
On the night of our arrival at the Fort, native dances were the
programme for the evening. A few Kayans from the far interior were
present, and we were promised some new and original performances. A
large space was cleared in the middle of the reception-room, when a
small, rather plump individual, a Kayan, active as a cat, was ushered
in, brandishing his parang. At first he crouched down and bounded about
the room like an animated frog. After a while he gradually straightened
himself, and bounded from one side of the space to the other, jumping
with the most wonderful agility, spinning round on one leg, and
screaming out his war-cry. His parang, in his rapid movements, became
multiplied and appeared like flashes of lightning. Once or twice he
came so near to where we were sitting that I fancied the blade caused
a draught over my head. I said nothing and sat on unmoved, but, before
one could realize what was happening, three Kayans squatting on the
floor sprang to their feet, and taking hold of the man, led him out
of the hall. The Rajah pulled his moustache. “What is it?” he said.
“Why has the man been taken away?” We were then informed that this
Kayan, who was a famous dancer, had previously, in a country outside
the Rajah’s jurisdiction, become so excited in his dancing, that he
had actually swept the head off one of his interested spectators.
The three Kayans who had taken hold of the dancer had witnessed the
gruesome scene, and they realized that on this occasion he was
becoming over-excited. Other dances followed, some sedate and slow,
others frenzied and untamed. The evening ended very pleasantly, and at
a somewhat late hour the Rajah dismissed his guests and we retired to
bed. I thought a good deal about the little dancing man, and came to
the conclusion that he must have been an artist in his way!