When Bertram and I stopped at Sibu for a few days on our way up the
Rejang to Kanowit, he was much interested in all the things I had to
tell him about Sibu. The early days of my life were lived over again,
and I was delighted to see the interest he took in the smallest details
of my first and most interesting stay in these regions so many years
before. During this later visit, Mr. Bampfylde told me of a Haji who
had experienced an interesting and somewhat alarming adventure with a
sea-serpent. As I wished to hear the tale from the man’s own lips, Mr.
Bampfylde sent for him the next morning. Haji Matahim was a typical
Malay from Sambas. He lived at Sibu with his relations. He possessed a
small trading schooner of about 200 tons, and made voyages to the Dutch
Settlements, to Rhio, and to Singapore. His face was round and short;
he had a receding chin and a protruding upper lip, shaded by a black
and bristly moustache. He was flat between the eyes, and his complexion
was rather darker than most Malays, being tanned by exposure and sea
air.
He told me that about two or three months before the time of which I
write he was sailing from Pontianak, a place in Dutch Borneo, with a
cargo for Singapore. One day he was becalmed not far from an island
called Rhio, when his ship was suddenly surrounded by an extraordinary
shoal of fishes. As the fish swarmed round the ship, the crew managed
to haul them up with buckets and baskets, capturing them in enormous
quantities. Having no salt on board, with which to preserve the fish,
the crew, eight in number, cleaned them there and then on the vessel’s
deck, and threw the offal into the sea. Haji Matahim was standing in
the bows looking at this extraordinary capture, when suddenly the
rudder chain snapped. This was nothing out of the way, for it had
previously been broken and mended with a piece of wire. The Haji
and his crew were busily discussing how best they could remedy the
accident, when a man in the stern saw a floating mass of “something,”
striped white and green, lying motionless under the clear surface of
the water. He rushed up to the Haji and told him what he had seen,
whereupon the Haji ordered the lead to be thrown over to ascertain
the depth at which this unlooked-for object was lying. The lead gave
only six fathoms, whereas it is well known that in that particular
region the sea is about fifty fathoms deep. Then the Haji saw a flat,
monstrous head rising out of the water, some ten or twelve yards from
the vessel, the schooner’s bows floating between its eyes. The head was
like that of a fish, and, according to the Haji’s account, the eyes
looked like two round balls stuck at the end of spikes, seven or eight
inches long: the time for observation was sufficient, as the monster
remained motionless for about half an hour. The Haji and his crew were
too terrified to move or speak, but after a time they collected their
wits together sufficiently to procure some tuba and garlic (stowed on
board for cases of emergency), which they hung over the side of the
ship, whereupon the beast slowly sank and disappeared. I could not find
out from the Haji how much the water was troubled when the monstrous
head plunged back again into the sea, for if the beast had been of such
extraordinary dimensions, it must have caused some motion to their
vessel, however slowly it went under. The Haji was not very coherent
on the subject, and he told me at the time that he intended giving up
trading voyages for the rest of his life. Subsequently he changed his
mind and continued his trading excursions in the same schooner for some
years afterwards.
Personally I am inclined to think that the creature, whatever it was,
could not very well have remained motionless for the length of time as
stated by the Haji, but I give his tale as I took it from his own lips.
Mr. Bampfylde told me that he had taken the trouble to question some
of the members of the crew separately, and the tale told by the Haji
tallied in every respect with theirs. I have related this story because
it struck me as interesting, but am not prepared to enter into the
old controversy as to whether the sea-serpent exists or not. It has
been said that even the scientists are now keeping an open mind on the
question. Well, I am going to do the same. It is perhaps necessary to
say that garlic plays a great part in the superstitious rites of some
Malays, and I believe the Haji was firmly convinced that the tuba and
garlic together were quite sufficient to make the monster disappear.
A day or two afterwards we embarked on the _Lucille_, a small steamer
of forty tons kept for the use of the Rajah’s officers at Sibu, and
started in the cold mists of morning for Kapit. As we forced our way
round a somewhat difficult point, through a mass of driftwood borne
down by a freshet, after heavy rains during the night, our vessel
bumped against and heeled over a snag. Great trunks of trees swirled
and eddied round the ship at this spot, and the Malay at the wheel
changed from one leg to the other, cleared his throat perpetually,
frowned, and stared vacantly ahead until the corner was rounded, the
mass of driftwood passed, and the danger over. Although the steersman
handled the ropes very gently, as though fearful of breaking them, he
got over the difficulties with the greatest ease and with little waste
of energy. After this trifling incident, we went on our solitary way,
our steam-launch the only living thing in this wilderness of wood and
water. Farther up the river the years that had passed by since my first
visit to the district had brought peace, comfort, trade, and commerce
to the river-side, and one or two new settlements. It was interesting
to notice at Kanowit that the beneficent efforts of our Roman Catholic
missionaries were bearing splendid fruit. The missionary fathers have
built there a substantial and handsome church; their school, also, is
remarkable for the efficiency of their Dyak and Chinese scholars. A
group of nuns have set up a school for girls, near by, which is being
well attended and productive of good results in the civilization of the
people. The Roman Catholic methods of teaching these native children
are excellent. It would take too long to describe them in full, but
the blameless lives of these men and women, who have cast away all
thoughts of comfort in the world and elected to throw in their lots for
ever amongst the aborigines, cannot fail to impress the people amongst
whom they live. Spiritually and materially their beneficent influence
is felt throughout the land, and when we are gathered to our ancestors
and the tales of these rivers are told, I believe it will be known that
one of the principal factors in the spiritual advancement of Sarawak is
largely due to the work of Roman Catholic missionaries.
Farther up the river, we passed another small settlement of recent
growth, called Song, where a small Fort stands on the top of one of the
little hills shelving into the river. Along the road, lining the bank,
stood a row of Chinese houses, and a footpath, made of wooden planks
and supported on poles, was crowded with Dyaks and Chinamen. The banks
were covered with bundles of rattans, brought from the interior. Mats,
baskets, cordage for ships, flooring for houses, etc., are usually made
of rattans. The Tanjong people are about the best basket-makers of the
country, and the wild Punans make the best mats. At this spot, where
the trade in rattans is active, we saw up-river Dyaks hurrying up the
steep banks with loads of rattan and gutta-percha, on their way to sell
them to Chinamen. A great many boats, full of produce, were anchored
to the banks, waiting their turn to be unloaded. The little Bazaar
was crowded with almost naked people, for they only wore waistcloths.
Even the Chinamen, with their pigtails twisted round their heads, had
nothing on but cotton drawers. No women were to be seen, and the men
looked like long brown-legged spiders, jumping or clambering in and out
of the water.
Having passed this spot of activity in a desert of leaves and water,
reach after reach was rounded, where we met with no other company but
that of hawks flying rather low overhead, of brown moths so large that
I mistook them for birds, and of butterflies, blue, yellow, and white,
appearing here and there over the mud-banks in clusters of delicate
colours.
About six in the evening we reached Kapit. The Fort stands on a hill,
and steps cut out in the sharp, steep banks lead up to its front door.
It stands some forty feet above the level of ordinary tides, but in
the rainy season, when heavier freshets than those in the fine season
collect up river, the water has been known to reach several feet above
the flooring of the Fort. As the anchor was dropped near the wooden
wharf, a crowd of Chinamen, Dyaks, Tanjongs, and Kayans, rushed from
the Bazaar and helped to carry our luggage. We had brought our Chinese
cook with us, and he struggled up the bank with cages full of cocks
and hens which he had brought from Sibu. Some of the people carried my
dressing-bag and rugs, Mr. Bampfylde’s, Dr. Langmore’s, and Bertram’s
portmanteaux were seized and borne to the Fort by Kayans with their
hair streaming over their shoulders. All these people talked at once,
ordered one another about, exclaiming, screaming, and hustling in the
most good-humoured and merry fashion.
Suddenly the crowd fell back, as a rather stout, dark, middle-aged man
came down the path to meet us. This was F. Domingo de Rosario (called
“Mingo” by his friends), Commandant of Kapit Fort. His father was a
Portuguese from Malacca, and Mingo had come to Sarawak during the reign
of the first Rajah Brooke, to whom he was butler. Mingo was born in
Sarawak, and was educated at the Protestant Mission at Kuching, and
when old enough to join the Rajah’s service he was sent to the Rejang
district, where he has remained ever since. Mingo is well acquainted
with the wild inhabitants in his district, and is much beloved by them.
With his burly figure, his dark, kindly face, his utter disregard to
personal danger, and, above all, for the way he has of looking at life
as a huge joke, the Dyaks often compare him to “Simpurei”, one of their
jolly war-gods.
Mingo has been through strange adventures, fought many battles, and on
one occasion, many years ago, was attacked in a place called Ngmah,
where a Fort had been erected, but which has long since been pulled
down and dismantled. In these quieter days, when life on the banks of
the Rejang is comparatively free from danger, Mingo is sometimes heard
to regret the fine old times when his time was spent in perpetual
excitement. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, he takes the change
philosophically enough. He is married to a Tanjong woman, who takes
great care of him, and they have a daughter named Madu (meaning honey),
to whom he is much attached.
We settled down comfortably in Kapit Fort, and the days passed quickly
by. A constant stream of Dyaks and Kayans came from the countryside
to see us, for Mr. Bampfylde had made them aware of our intention to
visit Belaga, a place some three weeks’ journey by boat, situated at
the head-waters of the Rejang--Belaga being the real object of our
journey up this river. Knowing my intense wish to visit all the places
I possibly could, Mr. Bampfylde had suggested this trip to Bertram and
myself. The great charm of the undertaking lay in the fact that to get
to Belaga innumerable rapids had to be surmounted, and we had to go
through an interesting stretch of country lying between Kapit and this
distant Fort, for it is essentially the land of Kayan people, and here
and there along the banks of those higher reaches of the Rejang are to
be seen interesting and wonderful monuments of Kayan industry, in the
shape of tombs carved by the people containing the remains of their
most famous chiefs. On such expeditions, it is customary for the people
of the country to paddle the boats in which the Rajah or his family
make excursions up these difficult and sometimes dangerous cataracts,
like giant stairways, which lead into the interior.
Many of the chiefs and people who came to Kapit were old friends
of mine, whilst others were strangers, for only the year before a
head-hunting craze had broken out in the neighbourhood, and one of
the most smiling chiefs, named Rawieng, who came to greet us on this
occasion, had been attacked by the Government, his house burned down,
and his possessions taken from him, owing to members of his tribe
taking heads of innocent people living in the remote interior. Rawieng
took his punishment well, for he bore no malice, and stretched his hand
out to us all with the utmost cordiality.
Although the greetings I received at the hands of these chiefs were
usually hearty and affectionate, I thought on this occasion their
manner was more friendly than usual, and the reason came out before
long. Having been summoned by Mr. Bampfylde to paddle my boat and
accompany me to Belaga, they imagined I intended going on the warpath.
This idea pleased them much, and great was their disappointment when
Mr. Bampfylde informed them that my journey was quite a peaceful one.
But our cherished plans were doomed to failure. When all preparations
were completed for our great voyage, the weather behaved in an
unexpected manner for that time of the year; for we were then in July,
at which period, in the ordinary course of things, heavy storms of
rain are rare. However, the day after our arrival and for many days
and nights, heavy storms of rain thundered on the roof of the Fort,
and the water of the river almost flooded the banks on which it stood.
Tree-trunks, leafy branches, fruits, berries, and even blossoms, were
torn from the banks and swept along in the angry stream, and it seemed
as though the bad weather would never come to an end. The rapids in
the neighbourhood were insurmountable, and day after day the chiefs,
Mr. Bampfylde, Mingo, and ourselves discussed the situation, wondering
whether or no it would be safe to face such torrents. The Sea Dyaks,
who thickly populate this district, were present at these discussions
and gave vent to their opinions in endless streams of words. The near
inhabitants of Kapit, who were Tanjongs, with Tubam and Salleh, their
chief men, whose houses were built on the banks opposite the Fort,
were annoyed at the Dyaks from neighbouring rivers laying down the
law about matters in which they thought themselves more competent to
give an opinion, owing to their closer acquaintance with the rapids.
Therefore, in these discussions, Tubam, who had frequently been to
Belaga, thought he had every right to assert himself.
Tubam’s appearance was not prepossessing. He was old, shrunken, and
wrinkled. His black hair, untouched with white, hung in oily corkscrew
ringlets from under his little Kayan crown of plaited straw. Three
lines of tattoo simulated a beard round his chin. He had plucked out
his eyebrows and eyelashes, and his eyes looked like two little slits
framed in pink lids, the pupils being almost invisible. One day he
made a speech. He said he felt anxious about our going up the rapids
with the river in its present state. Only that morning he had seen on
its surface flecks of foam from the great cataracts miles away, borne
past his house just above the Fort. “It would not matter much to Rajah
Ranee, or to Tuan Muda, if either of them was drowned,” he said, but it
mattered much to him. “Think of the shame,” he went on, “which would
fall on me and my tribe if such a thing were to happen in our river.”
Then he got excited, clenched his fists, his thumbs pointing in the
direction of the river. “And I forbid you to go, for are you not my
grandmother, and as old as the world?”
These words of his would have clinched the argument with his own
people, for they elicited nods and murmurs of approbation from Salleh
and other members of his tribe. Salleh was second in importance in
the village, and had offered to steer our boat on the occasion of
our journey up the rapids. He was the most skilful steersman in the
district, and he now confessed that he did not like the job unless the
water were in a better condition. But the Sea Dyaks were persistent.
They insisted on having the last word, and Hovering Hawk (a title
given him by his tribe on account of his exploits in war) came up to
me, picking his steps across the room, and moving his legs with high,
birdlike action. He squatted himself by me, sniffed, cleared his throat
once or twice, and whispered, “Don’t mind what Tubam says; he knows
nothing about it. He talks too much, his mouth is very large, and he is
a bumptious fellow!”
Seeing that the Dyaks and the Tanjongs were of different opinions, I
asked Hovering Hawk news of his wife and family, and a vexed subject
was dropped. Then Hovering Hawk, purring with contentment, imagining
he had got the best of the argument, unfastened a small basket hanging
at his side and emptied its contents on to a piece of rather dirty
white calico he laid on the floor for the purpose. Bits of betel-nut,
shreds of tobacco, a little brass box filled with lime, and a piece
of sirih leaf fell out one after the other. He smeared the leaf over
with lime, collected the other ingredients together, wrapped them in
the leaf, and, with this large pill swelling one side of his face, sat
contentedly at my feet for the remainder of the interview.
As day after day went by, and still the rain showed no signs of
abatement, we realized that it would be impossible for us to undertake
the journey in the time at our disposal. Mr. Bampfylde, seeing my
disappointment, suggested the better plan would be to stay on at Kapit
until the weather improved, when we could at least take a shorter
journey to a rapid, called Pelagus, the first cataract of a series up
the Rejang River. This comforted us somewhat, and we thought of ways
and means of diverting ourselves and our company whilst being kept
prisoners in the Fort by the flood.
Many of the boats that had brought Dyaks from all parts of the
neighbourhood were anchored in the river below. Tubam, Salleh, and the
Tanjong women could easily reach the Fort from their houses close by,
so Mr. Bampfylde and I arranged an evening reception for our friends,
and invited them to the Fort after dinner. Some of the Tanjong women
and other warriors, competent in such arts, having expressed their
willingness to give us a performance of the dances of their tribes on
the occasion, we were able in spite of the bad weather and delay to
pass the time very agreeably.