CHAPTER VII.
THE SAMARAHAN RIVER AND THE CAVES OF SIRIH.
A Storm—The Musquito Passage—The Samarahan—Rich Soil—The Malays—The Dayaks—The Malay Chief—The Sibuyau Village—A Pretty Girl—Dragons’ Heads—Climbing Pole—Drinking—“The Sibuyaus get no Headaches”—Force repelled by Force—Gardens—Left-hand Branch—Difficult Path—Hill of Munggu Babi—Former Insecurity—The Village—Welcome—Deer Plentiful—Walk to the Sirih Caves—A Skeleton—Illustrative Story—Method of Governing—Torches—Enter the Recesses of the Cave—Small Chambers—Unpleasant Walking—Confined Passage—The Birds’ Nests’ Chamber—Method of Gathering them—Curious Scene—The Cloudy Cave—Wine of the Tampui Fruit—Blandishments—Drinking—Dancing—Bukars Hairy—Scenery—Walk—“The Sibuyaus do get Headaches”—Lanchang—Rival Chiefs—Ancient Disputes—Deer Shooting—Wanton Destruction of Fruit Trees—Choice of an Orang Kaya—Return to Boat—The Right-hand Branch—The San Poks—Hot Spring—Tradition—Hindu Relics—The Female Principle—The Stone Bull—Superstition—Story.
Started in the evening from our house at Kuching amid a storm of rain, thunder, and lightning. Our well-covered boat protected us, though the rain fell in torrents and dashed impetuously against the matted roof, creating so great a noise as to prevent our voices being heard even when shouting. At last the gusts of wind sweeping up the reaches became so violent, that we were forced to draw under the shelter of the banks, and await the abating of the storm. I never saw lightning more vivid, or heard the crash and rattle of the thunder more deafening. The storm was evidently increasing: one bright, blinding flash, and one ear-splitting peal, that made my heart stand still, marked the crisis; gradually the lightning became less bright and the thunder less loud, as the high wind carried the tempest before it. In about an hour we were enabled to proceed.
As the night was very dark, and the ebb tide nearly run out, we avoided passing into the Samarahan by the Rhium, as the rocks there are dangerous at low water, but chose another passage, very narrow, and, if possible, to be avoided, as the name alone is a warning—“the musquito passage.” It is famous for the size and venom of that insect,—in fact, there is but one other spot worse, and that is Paknam at the entrance of the Siam river. The men, however, repented their choice, as it took us the whole night to get through, and no one was able to close his eyes. The nipa palm nearly met over our heads, and every time a leaf was disturbed a swarm of musquitoes settled on us. I endeavoured to shelter myself under a blanket, but the heat was so great as to compel me unwillingly to face the enemy. I have heard of men, exposed to this annoyance for several days, being thrown into a fever by constant irritation, and I can well believe it.
It was daylight when we reached the Samarahan, at a spot about twelve miles from the sea. The banks of this river are low, and consist entirely of rich alluvial deposit. When cleared, they form the best ground for rice; when drained the sugar-cane flourishes with extraordinary luxuriance. It is, therefore, a very favourite farming ground for all those strangers who have sought refuge in Sarawak. There are several thousands scattered along its banks, besides the native population of the river.
The Samarahan Malays are a quiet, inoffensive people, and live almost entirely by farming and gardening; there is also a large Dayak population in the interior. On the left-hand branch are the Bukar tribe, divided into four villages—Munggu Babi, or the hill of pigs, Jenang, Lanchang, and Kumpang—which contain about three hundred families that pay revenue. On the right-hand branch are the two tribes of Sring and San Pok, each containing about eighty families. I say “pay revenue,” as it is seldom that seventy-five per cent. do so. The custom is to pay by the “door,” that is, each division in their village houses pays the Government rice to the value of from three to four shillings. To avoid this, two or three families will crowd into a space barely sufficient for one; however, measures have been taken to ensure a proper enumeration.
Pulled on towards the village where Orang Kaya Stia Bakti, the principal Malay officer, lived, and passed on our way the houses of a branch of the Sibuyau tribe of Dayaks. At the landing-place we were met by a crowd of Malays, looking especially miserable, thus showing, that like good Mahomedans, they were strictly keeping the fast; while a crowd in the neighbouring mosque where chanting in a loud voice verses from the Koran.
The old Orang Kaya, a pleasant, fine-looking man, came down to our boat, and our follower, Kasim, explained to him the object of Captain Brooke’s tour of inspection, which was to inquire into the charges brought against certain Malays of oppressing the Dayaks. He said he was extremely pleased, as it would then prove how well he and his people had conducted themselves. He offered to accompany us, but this was politely declined on account of the fast, but the real reason was that the Dayaks would not have entered into their complaints before their local ruler. As the flood-tide had just ended, and there was a six hours’ ebb before us, we fell down the river to the Sibuyau village to while away the time, and give the men an opportunity to cook and sleep. We were received with much hospitality by the Orang Kaya Tumanggong. The hamlet consists of two long houses, surrounded by a rough palisade, called by them a fort.
The Samarahan was a favourite attacking ground of the pirates, and owed much of its safety to the courage of these Dayaks, who were formerly more united than they are now. The Sibuyau are, in fact, strangers. They were harassed out of their own country by the Seribas pirates and retired to Samarahan; they are now scattered, a section here, a larger one on the Lundu river, another at Meradang on the Quop, besides smaller villages on the Sarawak, the Sadong, and in other districts.
Their houses are like the others belonging to the Sea Dayaks; the Orang Kaya’s own division is large, with musquito curtains, and has an air of comfort and tidiness very unusual. These Sibuyaus are more independent than the Land Dayaks, and keener traders. One of the chief’s married daughters was quite pretty, extremely fair, with soft expressive features, and a very gentle voice; she was making an elegant mat of the finest rushes; other women were employed in forming coarser ones from the rougher leaves, while those that were not so engaged were turning the padi into rice by beating it in their mortars, and winnowing it. They show a skill in the latter process truly marvellous: they put the beaten padi into a flat basket with slightly rounded raised edges, and standing on the platform to catch the slight breeze, quietly throw the contents in the air, and catch the grains while the wind carries away the chaff; it is quickly cleaned. There was an appearance of activity and bustle about this village that was really pleasing.
On the beams above our heads were some roughly carved dragons’ heads ornamented with China paper, which some wise Dayak had informed them must be guarded and preserved with care. They were quite modern, and most probably a knave had worked on these simple people to purchase them of him, as they could not tell their use except to stick up during their feasts, in the same way as the other Sea Dayaks do with their rudely-carved figures of birds. In front of their village was erected one of their climbing-poles, at the raising of which the Orang Kaya proudly declared one hundred and fifty jars of tuak were consumed; and he added, with an appearance of the greatest satisfaction, that his tribe and all their visitors were intoxicated for six days. At their convivial meetings some strong-headed fellow will sit down before a jar holding, perhaps, a dozen gallons, and help those around; for every one he serves out he should drink one himself, and it is his pride if he can manage to keep his seat until all have lost their senses around him. To take glass for glass with each man until the jar was emptied being a manifest impossibility, there must be some sleight of hand practised to deceive the others. On inquiring whether they never felt headaches the next day, they said no; but their Lingga visitors at the last great feast had cried from the pains they suffered; it was ludicrous to notice the boastful look with which they said, “The Sibuyaus get no headaches.”
The Orang Kaya furnished us with fresh tuak, which has rather a sickly, unpleasant taste, excellent omelettes, and slices of fried kiladi, a species of arum; in return we presented him with Batavian arrack, tobacco, and sugar. I have said that these Sibuyaus are not so easily oppressed as the other Dayaks; in fact, when the Orang Kaya was a young man, the most powerful Malay chief on the coast, Abdulraman, the governor of Siriki, entered their village, and tried to force them to purchase his goods at exorbitant prices. They refused, upon which he directed his followers to seize some baskets of rice, but to his astonishment the Dayaks resisted, drove him and his party to their prahus, and in the struggle killed several of his followers. The remembrance of this and other similar deeds has given them confidence and preserved them from oppression.
On the flood tide’s making, we took leave of our hospitable friends and pulled up the river. Both banks are covered with gardens filled with fruit and vegetables, as well as with remarkably fine sugar-cane, which is grown, not to be manufactured into sugar, but to be eaten in its natural state.
Before daylight, we were again on the move. The appearance of the country continues the same, but the houses, as we proceed farther up, are not quite so numerous; the gardens do not extend above a few hundred yards from the river, and we could observe the line of the forest even from our boat. We nowhere found the water shallow till we turned up the left-hand branch that leads to the Bukar tribe; here it becomes very narrow and is obstructed by trees and branches, and occasionally little pebbly rapids. It was often almost impassable from the old trunks of fallen trees that stretched from bank to bank; but by the greatest patience and perseverance, and by removing the covering of our boat, we passed over some and under others of these obstructions: at last all these difficulties were surmounted, and we reached the landing-place of the Munggu Babi Bukars about half-past two, after upwards of eight hours’ hard work.
It was pleasant to leave the perpetual mud flat of the Samarahan and get into this branch, where occasionally rocks, and banks overshadowed by the enormous trees of the old forest, with glimpses of hills and distant mountains, varied the scene. The Samarahan, though not a very picturesque river, would afford great satisfaction to any one who contemplated sugar plantations. The soil is of the richest description, and, from the existing cultivation, we may infer what it would become in the hands of able Chinese agriculturists. These Malays neither use the spade, the hoe, nor the plough, but simply stir the soil with a pointed stick, or with their iron choppers.
At the landing-place we met a party of Sadong and Bukar Dayaks, who shouldered our baggage; we then started on our way to Munggu Babi. The path at first was detestable—the worst of paths, over slippery trunks and branches of huge trees lying scattered over the sites of their old rice farms, very perilous, as the slightest slip endangered the safety of a limb. To the bare-footed Dayak it is nothing, but shoes render it unpleasant; however, it soon changed into the ordinary style; and getting rapidly over about four miles, we arrived at the foot of the hill on which the houses are built. They were entirely hidden by fruit-trees. Beyond rose the mountains of Sadong, which can be seen from the decks of the ships that pass along the coast. At the foot of Munggu Babi flowed a delightful stream into which we plunged to dispel some little fatigue arising from the heat. Our Dayak attendants had pushed on with our baggage, and being now refreshed we began climbing the steep that separated us from the houses; no sooner was this observed, than every available brass wall-piece was fired in our honour, and it was under this salute that we entered the village.
It is an illustration of the state of insecurity in which these people formerly lived, and which is still vivid in their imagination, that when those who were returning from their farms heard the guns fired, they hid themselves in the forest, thinking their homes were surrounded by enemies; and it was not until the gongs beat out joyful sounds that they were reassured and returned to their abodes.
The village is, as I have said, situated on the summit of a little hill covered with every kind of fruit-tree; and was, the Bukars say, named Munggu Babi, from the innumerable wild pigs that used to swarm upon it, very well represented at the present day by their civilized brethren. The first house is the Pangga or head-house, lately erected, very comfortable, in which we took up our lodgings; a rough sort of street beyond it, lined with very old-looking houses, rising one above the other with the slope of the hill until the village was completed by two more head-houses.
We appeared to be very welcome guests, and were soon surrounded by the elders of the tribe and by crowds of young men. We were the second party of white visitors who had slept at this place, but the first probably who travelled in European style, and as usual our proceedings excited much curiosity. Just as dinner was over, we heard the pleasing announcement that a Sambas Malay, who lived among the Dayaks, had shot a fine buck which he very obligingly presented to us. No one who has not lived principally on ducks and fowls for many years can appreciate the importance of such an event. We agreed to visit the famous caves of Sirih the next day, and in the evening to have a search for deer. They are represented as very numerous, as the Bukars do not eat their flesh,—a fortunate event for their visitors, but not for themselves, as they are thus deprived of good and easily-acquired food.
Up early, and after a hearty breakfast of deer-steaks, started for the caves of Sirih. We passed up the street that runs through the centre of the village, the houses looking very dilapidated in comparison with those of the Sibuyau Dayaks, but all were swarming with children. An abrupt descent brought us to a lower part of the stream that runs at the foot of Munggu Babi, affording beautifully clear water for the villagers. Continuing our course over the low buttress of the Sadong mountains, where the Dayaks have enclosed several spots for gardens, we had a beautiful prospect of the surrounding country, better seen however from the heights above, which we intended passing over the next day. Two miles’ walk through old farms and fresh felled jungle brought us to the foot of a very steep hill in which the cave was situated. Clambering up the rocks for a couple of hundred feet, we suddenly found ourselves at the mouth of the cave. The entrance is peculiar: divided formerly into three, the fall of a pillar has united two of the openings into one, which is above thirty feet in breadth; at first there appeared no far interior, but to the left a descending passage led into the great cave. To the right was a separate apartment with a fine opening, forming the first division of the mouth, but inaccessible from the outside. The Dayak boys beckoned us to come in. We went, thinking they wished us to look out from thence on the beautiful valley below and the lofty mountain beyond it; but our surprise was great when they pointed into a deep hole where lay the skeleton of a human being.
Among the guides who were with us was a resolute but very good-tempered looking Sarawak man, and as he was standing near we asked him to explain the cause of those bones being there. He answered very quietly, “It is only a Dayak that I shot many years ago.” We asked him to explain, which he did without any hesitation. Some years before these districts came under Sir James Brooke’s influence, a chief named Bandhar Kasim ruled over the Sadong province; he was a very harsh man and oppressed the Dayak more than was usually the case among the neighbouring chiefs. One tribe on the right-hand branch of the Sadong had suffered very severely from his exactions. They only murmured when he took their goods: when he demanded their children they refused to give them up, and flying to the Sirih caves threw up a barricade across the entrance. This example he thought might prove contagious among the neighbouring tribes, so he determined to attack them; besides he was delighted with the opportunity of acquiring slaves, as every one he captured would be reduced to that state. By promising to divide the booty and the captives he soon collected a force of three hundred men, many with fire-arms. These marched boldly to the attack, but being received with a shower of heavy stones and rolling rocks quickly withdrew to an open space, a little grass spot which the narrator pointed out to us. There being none present who appeared willing to expose his life for the sake of Bandhar Kasim, the whole affair seemed likely to terminate in a distant but harmless fire being kept up at the entrance of the cave. At last Bandhar Kasim cried out, “I will give a slave to any man who will drive those devils from their position.” The Sarawak man instantly volunteered, if the others would support him. Plunging into the jungle he reached the foot of the hill, and by dint of strength and activity, contrived to climb the almost perpendicular side of the mountain, and reach a spot above the cave, from whence he came down until he could look well over the barricade. The descent was now very dangerous, but he prepared for it. The first Dayak who showed himself he shot through the body; then throwing away his gun and taking advantage of the confusion caused by the fall of their companion, he boldly swung himself down the rocks, and sprang in among the astonished Dayaks crying, “Who is brave enough to fight me?” The unfortunate wretches, thinking he must be well backed, fled into the cave and were soon pursued by Bandhar Kasim’s followers: two were killed and seven taken prisoners; the rest escaped, as the cave extends quite through the mountain.
While we were listening to this story, the Dayaks had prepared dried sticks of a resinous wood by splitting one end until it had the appearance of a brush; they were tolerable substitutes for torches. We followed our guides down the narrow passage that leads into the interior cave. They walked with the greatest care, examining the ground before they placed a foot ahead, knowing that the men who now collect the edible birds’ nests here often place sharp pointed pieces of bamboo sticking up in the path to punish unwary interlopers. The cave gradually became broader and more lofty, and our slight torches could scarcely pierce the gloom that hung thickly around us.
As we advanced the form of the cave varied but slightly, until we reached a spot where we had to pass through a sort of opening, like some of those diminutive doors occasionally seen in odd nooks of old cathedrals. Here we found ourselves in a small chamber that appeared for a moment the termination of our walk, but in the right corner was a narrow descending interstice in the rock, through which we could just squeeze our bodies to find ourselves again in the lofty cave. The gentle fall of water told of the neighbourhood of a stream, which now and then became our path. The Dayaks say that there are fish that see not, in the dark pool, which may at times be observed, particularly under the rocks.
We soon arrived at a sloping surface over which the water spread, rendering it difficult to prevent our feet from gliding from under us. This I gladly climbed, as we had been informed that during a heavy shower of rain the water would suddenly rise to such a height in the depressed portion of the cave we had just passed, that all non-swimmers would be drowned. The walking now became often unpleasant; slippery mud and no less slippery rock; the ascents and descents were very abrupt, and occasionally we passed a deep chasm where a slip might be fatal.
The stream that runs through the cave now and then disappears under some rock to reappear fifty yards ahead.
After continuing our course about a quarter of a mile, we came on a spot where the height of the cave from seventy feet decreased to three, and through this aperture the wind blew sharply and felt very cold. The Dayaks now proposed we should stop, as our torches would not last longer than the time required to return to the entrance; but we said we wished to advance as far as the chamber in which the edible birds’ nests were collected; so putting out some of the torches we pushed on in a stooping position. One fresher blast blew out some of the lights, and I thought for a moment that we were about to be left in the dark. A hundred yards brought us to the spot where the Dayaks take up their abode during the gathering season: it was a more lofty chamber than any we had as yet passed through. The birds build as near as possible to the top of the cave, and the dangerous operation of collecting the nests is performed by Dayaks who climb long poles fastened together to the height of eighty or ninety feet, which looked very poor scaffolding to sustain men at that dizzy height. The gathering is slow work, taking them five days. The nests found in these caves are very inferior to those of Baram; the former being like dirty glue, the latter like the finest isinglass.
We should like to have penetrated farther and seen the country on the opposite side, but the cave was reputed dangerous and but seldom frequented, as the Dayaks never go beyond the profitable chamber. This would have rendered our progress slow, and the blasts of cold wind might have blown out our torches, now nearly consumed; and if the chasms were as bad even as those we had passed over, we could scarcely have finished our journey in safety. Reluctantly, we gave the order to return, when the whole body of little Dayak boys who had accompanied us, half frightened of ghosts and half in fun, started away yelling and whooping, their torches occasionally throwing light on the rocky sides and now fading away to mere specks of light. The loftiness of this cave, its great extent, the cry of the disturbed swallows, the peculiarly grave look of our almost naked guides, the knowledge that we were the first Europeans who had ever penetrated to this spot, the distant shouts of the boys as they were re-echoed back—all combined to render the scene interesting and impressive.
From every calculation we could make, we were convinced that we penetrated the cave above a third of a mile. It is the finest I have ever seen, but I afterwards heard that there is another called Gua Mawap, or the cloudy cave, which is infinitely larger. It is said that some Malays who had entered it to look for birds’ nests lost their way and were no more heard of. The Dayaks from this, or some superstitious reason, did not mention its existence to us, as they are very well aware that Englishmen have a propensity to search every spot, whether dangerous or not.
We returned under a very hot sun to find that all the villagers were in active preparation to have a dance and a feast. We agreed after dinner to go to the Orang Kaya’s house, and submit ourselves to their will. They sent us a large decanter—where they got it from I forgot to inquire—full of a very sweet and pleasant liquor, of the colour of dark sherry, made from the tampui fruit: it was stronger than it tasted. While we were waiting for our dinner, we observed two very pleasant-looking girls of sixteen come cautiously up the ladder of the head-house. As it was very unusual for women to enter this bachelor’s hall, we quietly watched, while pretending to be engaged in our toilette. Glancing at us, and thinking themselves unobserved, they made their way over to two Dayak youths who had accompanied us from the Sibuyau village. The fair Hebes bore in their hands two large bowls of fresh tuak, which they pressed their visitors to drink, but they laughed and declined. The young girls opened a regular battery of blandishments, put their arms round them and besought them to drink, not to give them the shame of having to take the liquor back to their houses to be laughed at by all the other girls; they wound up by saying, “What! are the Sibuyaus so weak-headed as to fear to drink Bukar tuak?” This was the coup de grace; the youths, already half overcome, raised the bowls to their lips, and were not allowed to set them down till they had drained the last drop. The girls then ran away laughing, knowing the effect that must soon follow the draught.
The Dayak women seldom, if ever, drink, but some of them appear delighted to see their husbands and brothers in a wretched state of intoxication. Mr. Crookshank told me that he arrived at a Sadong village during one of their drinking feasts: the men were already staggering in their walk, and towards evening were sitting and lying about too drunk to be able to raise the bowls to their lips, when the women took that office upon them and poured the liquor down the drunkards’ throats. It must not be supposed, however, that the Dayaks are habitual drinkers; on the contrary, except at their feasts, they are a very sober people.
In the evening, we went to the Orang Kaya’s house, and had to go through most of the ceremonies I have already described in the account of our visit up the left-hand branch of the Sarawak river. During the dancing of the old people, we inquired whether the young women never danced, and on our promising a gift of a brass chain that the girls wear round the waist to all who would join the elders: there was no lack of competitors. It was mischievously suggested to the Orang Kaya’s daughter that I was a famous dancer, and it was amusing to notice the eagerness with which the girls besought me to join them; as four drew me gently into the vortex it was impossible to resist, though I quickly disengaged myself by assuring them that on their split bamboo floors no European could dance.
The most remarkable peculiarity of many of these men is their being so hairy in comparison to those of other tribes, some having regular whiskers, and others beards. The women have their limbs spoilt from carrying heavy weights, even from their tenderest age, over exceedingly steep ground; their legs appeared bent. I saw one mother bearing on her back two children, and a basket containing twenty or more bamboos full of water, the latter a sufficient load for one person. In the harvest, they act as beasts of burden, and bring the bulk of the rice home. The children, in general, were very clean and pleasing.
We started early in the morning for Lanchang, the second division of the Bukar tribe that we intended to visit. The path was over the Sadong mountains, where a depression in the range renders its elevation not perhaps over a thousand feet. As we moved along the open ground among the fenced-in gardens, we were enabled to obtain a very extensive view of the surrounding country, and I have rarely seen one of greater beauty; the variety of form assumed by the hills from the mountain range to the isolated peak rising from the fertile plain of the Samarahan and Quop, the extent of ground over which the eye could travel from the Santubong and the sea to the interior hills of Sadong, rendered it almost as lovely and as interesting as the famous scene from the summit of the Penang Hill. It wanted but the civilized appearance which is found there—the houses, villas, churches, ships, and roads. The way over the hill was very difficult, consisting entirely of small felled trees, notched, and in a very rotten state, and sometimes both steep and slippery. However, we got over it without a fall, and managed to work our way to the opposite side, whence the valley of the Bukar stream and the interior of the Sadong are visible—pretty enough, but all scenery here has similar characteristics.
The sun was very warm, and the perspiration ran from me in streams; but meeting with a cool rivulet, shaded by overhanging rocks, not by trees, we sat still till perfectly cooled, and then refreshed ourselves by a bathe under a tiny but foaming cascade. The two Sibuyau youths who had been so fascinated by the fair maidens the previous night looked very woful this morning, and could hardly get along at all or carry their own baggage, but sat moodily looking at the water, with their heads pressed lightly between their hands.
From this spot our path continued among the valleys, over rice plantations, without any remarkable feature. At length we reached the village of Lanchang, on the borders of a pebbly stream. It is built on the low land, and has a greater appearance of comfort than Munggu Babi. As we were their first European visitors, we excited a great deal of curiosity; but forcing our way through the crowd, we took up our quarters in the head-house, making our beds, as usual, beneath a ghastly row of skulls.
We were welcomed by the old Orang Kaya Sunan in the absence of the rival chiefs. In this village five men claim the supremacy, having been appointed at different times by various people. Sunan had been promoted some thirty or forty years before by the Sultan of Brunei, but was now too old to do his work effectually: the other four Orang Kayas were irregularly named by certain native officers without any authority. As I have elsewhere observed, under the former system, the Malay chiefs received half the revenues of the Dayak tribes instead of salary, which opened the door to many abuses. The great evil-doer was the Datu Patinggi of Sarawak, who had charge of Lanchang. When he found that an Orang Kaya would not sufficiently second him in his endeavour to monopolize the trade, he would appoint another. All this was quite illegal; it was to do away with these abuses, and to inaugurate a new system, that Sir James Brooke had directed Captain Brooke to make these tours of inspection through all the principal districts of Sarawak and its dependencies.
The consequence of having five Orang Kayas in this village was of necessity a series of disputes, and the day before our arrival two of them had quarrelled violently, and one proposed that, to settle the matter, they should sally out into the neighbouring countries, and the first who should bring home a head should be declared victor, and have the case decided in his favour. It was their ancient custom, not that they dared to carry it into practice.
Captain Brooke summoned the five Orang Kayas before him, and ordered them to appear at the capital, when it would be settled who should be appointed by the Government; in the meantime he set our followers to make inquiries among the principal families, who was considered fittest for the office and was most popular among the tribe.
Presently a small crowd assembled, and asked to have their cases settled; but finding that none of them were of less than twenty years standing, they were told that it would be impossible to finish them so quickly, and they were put off. None of them really expected to have their disputes arranged, but they appeared delighted to have a grievance to relate. I have never seen any Land Dayaks with an air of greater comfort; they appear to be well fed, and, consequently, are more free from skin diseases than their neighbours.
In the evening, we went out to look for deer. After making a circuit of a few miles, I reached a stream near which the animals are usually found, when, to my disgust, I heard a shot fired, followed immediately by another. I ran forward only in time to see a fine buck spring into the forest and another stretched lifeless at Captain Brooke’s feet. He came to the spot, saw two grazing together, and with an old-fashioned cavalry carbine knocked over one; the other stood astonished, which gave him time to reload and hit him heavily. We tracked him for a little distance, but the night closing in prevented our finding him. Our follower, Kasim, saw eight, wounded one, but did not succeed in securing him. My indignation at the mistake of my guide in bringing me to a spot already engaged was much mitigated by the prospect of deer-steaks for dinner.
That night there were the usual ceremonies and dances without an incident to vary them: they kept us up rather late.
Walked over to Jenang: it was but three miles off, through gardens, groves of fruit-trees, old ricegrounds, and underwood. We noticed with much indignation that hundreds of fine fruit-trees were destroyed, and on inquiry found it had been done by the old Orang Kaya Sunan, who wanted to have a farm near his own house. The trees belonged to the tribe, who vainly tried to persuade him not to do it; but being backed by the Datu Patinggi, he would not listen to them. The village of Jenang is small and of little consequence, numbering but twenty-five families, and had not arrived at the dignity of an Orang Kaya. Their head-house was very old and small, the worst we had seen.
All the elders were called together in the morning to choose an Orang Kaya; and instead of fixing on one of themselves, their choice fell on a young man of rather heavy appearance, who seemed, however, to be an universal favourite. After this ceremony we started off to Munggu Babi, through the valleys and lowlands between the hills. The walk was long and very much exposed to the sun, but we reached that village by one, and after a short rest pushed on to our boat.
As we had heavy rain the previous night, the stream was much swollen, but it helped us over many obstructions, though it rendered some few more difficult. We brought up for the night a short distance from the junction.
Started up the right branch of the Samarahan to meet the San Poks, who were a primitive tribe, never yet visited by Europeans. We were detained several hours by the numerous obstructions in the river. At one place, a huge tree had fallen across, and rendered a passage impossible, except by dragging the boat over. We tried; but an ominous crack made us quickly push her back into the stream. We then with axes removed a portion of the trunk, and at last got safely over. We met a party of San Poks coming down the river, who returned with us. We did not reach their landing-place till three P.M. A very dirty walk of two miles brought us to their village-house, which was new: the tribe having but lately removed hither. The country we passed over was undulating, occasionally descending in abrupt ravines. The San Poks had chosen a low, cleared hill for their domicile. We were welcomed by a perfect storm of good wishes, seized on by a dozen women, who insisted on washing our feet, tying little bells round our wrists, and dancing before us enthusiastically. Very few could understand Malay. We inquired about the deer-grounds; but as these Dayaks are partial to deer’s-flesh, there was no game to be found in the neighbourhood.
The San Poks appeared mad with excitement; they danced, and drank, and beat their gongs and drums till daylight, affording us but snatches of slumber. Their ceremonies were exactly similar to those I have formerly described.
Turned our faces towards home. When we came to the Bukar branch, we entered a small Dayak canoe and paddled a short distance up to land near a spot where a hot spring was said to exist. We went ashore, and wandered on for about a mile, our guides evidently not quite certain of the path. At length we reached a small stream flowing through a flat tract of jungle—the soil a dark mud; tried it, and certainly it was very warm. Following its course, we came to the place where the water bubbled up from the ground through the black soil. The spring was about six feet by three where it issued from the earth, and supplied a shallow rill about a yard in breadth. The water we could see bubbling up through liquid mud. I tried to keep my feet in it, but it was far too hot, and left a burning sensation. A vapour rose above it, but the water had no perceptible taste or smell.
A few planks of an old boat that we found at this spot have given rise to a story among the Dayaks of an ancient ship being lost here when this lowland was covered by the sea. The planks evidently were part of a Sea Dayak boat, from the way they were cut, and were of a fine wood called marbau. They have been here for many years—perhaps this water has a preservative effect. The aborigines say that this spring is the work of evil spirits, and therefore will not approach it alone. We brought away a few bottles of it. It appeared a curious place to find a warm-water spring: no high land near; indeed, no rocks, but all an alluvial flat.
Fell down the river till night. We sent our men ashore in one place to examine a stone that was, as usual, in some way connected with spirits. We had it removed to Sarawak. It proved to be the representation of the female principle so common near Hindu temples: its necessary companion was not found, or, being more portable, had been removed, though formerly it was observed there.
There is but one more known material remnant of Hindu worship in these countries: it is a stone bull—an exact facsimile of those found in India. It is cut from a species of stone said not to be found in Sarawak: the legs and a part of the head have been knocked off. Its history is this: Many years ago, on being discovered in the jungle, the Malays and Dayaks removed it to the bank of the river, preparatory to its being conveyed to the town; but before it could be put into a prahu, they say, a tremendous storm of thunder and lightning, wind and rain, arose, which lasted thirty days. Fearing that the bull was angry at being disturbed in his forest home, they left him in the mud. When Sir James Brooke heard that this sacred bull was half-buried in the soil, he had it removed to his house. Several of the Dayak tribes sent deputations to him to express their fears of the evil consequences that would be sure to ensue—everything would go wrong, storms would arise, their crops be blighted, and famine would desolate the land. Humouring their prejudices, he answered, that they were mistaken, that the bull, on the contrary, would be pleased to be removed from the dirty place in which the Malays had left him, and that now he was kept dry and comfortable, they would find he would show no anger. They were satisfied with this reply and departed. Occasionally, some of the Dayaks will come and wash both of these Hindu relics, and bear away the water to fertilize their fields.
Among some of the aborigines there is a superstition that they must not laugh at a dog or at a snake crossing their path. Should they do so, they would become stones. These Dayaks always refer with respect and awe to some rocks scattered over the summit of a hill in Sadong, saying that they were originally men. The place was a very likely one to be haunted—noble old forest, but seldom visited. They tell the following story:—Many years ago, a great chief gave a feast there, in the midst of which his lovely daughter came in: she was a spoilt child, who did nothing but annoy the guests. They at first tried to get rid of her by mixing dirt with her food: finding she still teazed them for more, they gave her poison. Her father, in his anger, went back to his house, shaved his dog, and painted him with alternate streaks of black and white. Then giving him some intoxicating drink, he carried him in his arms into the midst of the assembly, and placed him on the ground. The dog began to caper about in the most ludicrous manner, which set all off laughing, the host as well the guests, and they were immediately turned into stone.