Life in the forests of the Far East (vol. 1 of 2)

I had already made many visits among the Dayaks, but had never penetrated to the interior waters of the Sarawak river. I was, therefore, quite ready to accept Captain Brooke’s invitation to accompany him on the tour of inspection he was about to make among the Land Dayaks of the left-hand branch of the Sarawak. As the stream is full of rapids, our crew was selected of Sarawak men, well acquainted with the peculiar navigation. I may here remark that there is something characteristic about the true Sarawak man: his look is eminently respectable, his face is longer and more marked than that of the other Malays, his complexion often darker, his manners quiet and respectful. There is a tradition current in this country, that once upon a time, the capital of Sarawak was at Santubong, the western entrance of the river; that during the absence of the men on an expedition up the country, some marauding Peguans arrived there in their ships, and on finding the defenceless state of the town attacked it, carried it by assault, and made off with their spoils and innumerable female prisoners. The Sarawak men fortunately returned a few hours after, and instantly gave chase. Their fast war boats soon overtook the clumsy Pegu ships. They made short work of it: killed the marauding chiefs and brought back the rest prisoners to Santubong. The Samarahan and some of the Sarawak men are said to be descended from them, and this, if true, may account for the darker complexion.

The Sarawak river is not navigable for ships far above the town, though at the height of the flood a large vessel was once taken fifteen miles above it to a place called Ledah Tanah. This occurred some thirty years ago. A large English ship, laden with sugar, put into the mouth of the Sarawak river for water. The captain and mates were invited to meet the rajahs of the country. They went on shore, where they were informed that their vessel was too leaky to proceed on her voyage, but that they would be provided with a passage to Singapore in one of the native prahus. Resistance was useless. They were surrounded by hundreds of armed men, and were hurried off to sea immediately to be murdered at the first island. The Lascar crew were detained as slaves. Two of them were still alive when I first reached Sarawak. Many of the Malays have told me that sugar never was so plentiful in their houses either before or since. The banks of the river on either side continue low, and are adapted in their present state for rice cultivation, though with a little drainage, the Chinese can render the soil admirably suited for sugar-cane and other cultivations. It is a pretty but monotonous pull, the scenery being only occasionally varied by views of the surrounding mountains.

We passed the first night at Ledah Tanah, or Tongue of Land, the point of junction of the two branches of the river. Here the Rajah had a cattle farm, and a pretty cottage surrounded by fruit trees, principally of magnificent durians. This fruit is the subject of much controversy. It varies in size from a six to sixty-eight pounder shot, and looks like an enormous chestnut, with its prickly outer coating on. On opening this rough rind, we find five or six rows of seeds covered with a white or yellow pulpy substance, which tastes and smells like a custard strongly flavoured with onions, or, to those who delight in it, it is of a delicious and unapproachable flavour, and, when perfectly fresh, has a pleasing perfume. These different opinions are given at the same moment, by different persons describing the same fruit.

When the people abandoned Santubong, they retired to Ledah Tanah, where they established their town; the posts of some of their houses still remain, being of iron-wood, which may be said practically to last for ever.

We continued our course up the river, the character of the scenery becoming more interesting every moment. The stream narrows, the water is clearer, shallower, and its course is interrupted by rocks and large stones, over which the stream foams, dashes, breaks, rendering the passage dangerous for small boats; indeed, the name of one of these rapids, Rhium Bangkei—“The Rapid of the Corpse”—would seem to prove that fatal accidents do occur. The swamping of a boat, or the loss of goods, by inexperienced hands, is not rare.

The first mountain we passed was that of Stat, which, though not more than 1,500 feet high, is in many respects remarkable, rising abruptly from the low country, a real isolated peak that may be distinguished even out at sea; from one view it appears like the end of a bent finger. In common with most of the limestone mountains in Borneo, it presents bare, perpendicular surfaces, with jagged rocks at the edges, but surrounded by vegetation, and that vegetation growing where soil can scarcely be supposed to exist; in fact, the roots of the trees penetrate far into the inner portion of the mountain, through deep fissures and clefts. The other mountains visible during our progress to-day had the same general features, particularly the two which rise near the village of San Pro, where we intended to pass the night.

In our evening walk we were much struck with the remarkable beauty of this place; the two lofty and almost perpendicular mountains rise abruptly on either side of the river, leaving but a strip of land on the water’s edge. One called Sibayat towers above the village on the left bank; the other, Si Bigi, is on the opposite side; the river, now running through limestone, sparkles clear at their feet, undermining the rocks on either side, and forming fantastic little caves, crowned above with noble overhanging trees. Abrupt turns, short reaches, and pebbly beds added to the beauty of the scene, and, just as the last rays of the sun were gilding the summits of the twin peaks, we sat down on the huge trunk of a fallen tree, which the floods of the rainy season had swept down from the interior, and half buried in the sand and pebbles. There we remained till the shades of evening had completely closed in around us, speculating on the probable future of the country, and the words almost rose simultaneously to our lips—were we missionaries, we would fix our houses here. With my own idea of what a missionary should do, there could be no better spot than San Pro to commence operations. The village was not large, but it is better completely to gain over twenty families, than exhaust one’s energies merely skimming over the surface of a dozen tribes, leaving no permanent impression. We fixed on the best locality for a house, a trim garden, a diminutive church, and a school. It is a soil that would repay culture.

We were not fortunate in the time of our visit, as most of the people were away preparing their farms. We took up our residence in the head-house, which, however, was destitute of the usual ornaments. It was quite new. All head-houses have the same appearance, being built on high posts above the ground, and in a circular form, with a sharp conical roof. The windows are, in fact, a large portion of the roof, being raised up, like the lid of a desk, during fine weather, and supported by props; but when rain or night comes on, they are removed, and the whole appearance is snug in the extreme, particularly when a bright fire is lit in the centre, and throws a fitful glow on all the surrounding objects. Around the room are rough divans, on which the men usually sit or sleep, but that night, there being a cold wind and a drizzling rain, a good fire was kept up, and the people crowded near. I awoke at about two, and put my head out of my curtains to look at a night-scene: a dozen of the old men were there collected close over the fire, smoking the tobacco we had given them, and discoursing in a low tone about us. The flames occasionally shot up brilliantly and showed me the curious group, and then, as they faded away, nothing but the outlines of the half-naked old men could be seen cowering over the embers, as a ruder blast or a heavier shower brought the cold wind upon them.

Started early in the morning. The limestone rock, undermined in every direction, was worn into very singular shapes. Occasionally the tall trees, finding insufficient support, had broken from the bank, and slipped their roots into the river, to be completely washed away by next flood. At ten, brought up on a pebbly beach for breakfast, opposite a little cave, about which the Dayaks have as usual a story—this time an indelicate one. Continuing our course, we reached the mountain of Rumbang, remarkable for its curious caves. We had brought guides with us from San Pro, and stopping at the nearest point went ashore, and after a walk and climb of a few hundred yards, reached the entrance of the first cave. Descending over a few rough stones, we found ourselves in the interior, through which a small stream makes its way. Having lighted a candle and a torch, we advanced—now fording the brook, now jumping over it: the floor is principally pebbly, though occasionally we met with soft sand and slippery rock. The cave itself has no remarkable feature, but is nevertheless interesting. Its height varied between thirty, forty, and fifty feet—its exit beautiful in rugged feature in a soft light, which subdued the uncouth shapes of the rocks, and rendered them striking and pleasing to the eye. This we particularly noticed on our return, when we approached the entrance. Then the light played on the surface of the stream, as it bubbled onward in its course, and the reflection slightly illuminated the surrounding features, reminding me of a robber’s cave in a dissolving view.

To-day we only penetrated through the mountain and looked at the country beyond, a restricted view, as the jungle closely hemmed round the cave: afterwards I heard that we need not have returned the way we came, but that if we did not fear a steep climb, there was a cavern exactly above the one we had come through that would lead us back to the river—in fact, an upper tunnel. We thought at first it must be a joke of the Dayaks, but they assured us of the truth: so we told them to lead the way. It was difficult, in fact very difficult, until we came to an overhanging rock, against which a long pole leant with an occasional cross-piece; at the top was another overhanging one, round which it was necessary to pass by leaning the body over the abyss, and trusting entirely to our hands and to the strength of the roots. The Dayak guide led the way, and as we approached this difficulty we observed him smile. It was at an unfortunate boast. When we first proposed to make the ascent, our guide observed—“No one but a Dayak can go up there.” I unfortunately answered, “Wherever a Dayak can go, an Englishman can follow.” Hence his smile. He proceeded cautiously, as these rough ladders are often rotten, and, it is said, occasionally left unfastened to entrap an unwary thief, who may desire to pilfer the edible swallows’ nests found in the upper caves. When he had reached the summit, he invited me to follow; there was no help for it, so I tried; the pole was no great difficulty, but the rounding the overhanging rock with my body leaning over the abyss tested my strength and nerve; one of the party followed, the other thought it wiser to return by the way he came. It repaid us, however; the cave, though not lofty, was full of large chambers, of narrow passages, and occasionally of huge chasms penetrating to the depths below. They said the whole mountain was perforated by these galleries. Our return to the boat was difficult, as we had to force our way through the tangled bushes, and over ground unknown even to the Dayaks. We found our companion seated in the boat, discussing some cool claret and water, and as he beheld us coming in tired, hot, covered with dirt, and with clothes half torn from our bodies, I fear he did not envy us.

Our men had now to drop their paddles once at least in every reach, and to seize their poles and force us along up the gradually lengthening rapids; the motion of the boat thus propelled is exceedingly pleasant; at one spot we noticed a Dayak suspension-bridge that spanned the river above a dangerous rapid. Kasim, a favourite follower, turned to us and said, “It was here that the Datu Tumanggong nearly lost his life.” We asked how. I will let Kasim relate his story; it is an illustration of Bornean ways.

The Datu Tumanggong is the chief third in rank in Sarawak, and was in his early days known as a successful pirate. He was also the terror of the Dayaks. Many years before Sir James Brooke arrived, he had for some cause killed a Dayak of the tribe of Si-Buñgoh, in those days not considered a deed requiring particular notice; but on this occasion the tribe determined to be revenged. The next time the Datu was known to be on his way up the river, the Dayaks assembled in great numbers round the suspension-bridge, concealing themselves among the trees. Unsuspicious of the ambuscade, the chief, with twenty Malay followers, was endeavouring to pole up the rapid, when a shower of spears threw them into confusion; the Datu was principally aimed at, his umbrella was torn to shreds, and he was wounded severely about the shoulders. The men dropping their poles, allowed the boat to get across the stream, and she was instantly upset; while they, unable to see their enemies, scattered themselves in every direction, and hiding among the rocks shouted to their chief to fire. They say he stood his ground manfully, and fired twice without success at his foes, who, thus emboldened, drew nearer. The water was rushing down with great force and reached over his knees, which rendered the operation of loading extremely difficult, but his third shot was fortunate, for bringing down the boldest Dayak, it created a panic among the rest. On collecting his followers, he found two killed and several wounded, among the latter one of our present boatmen. I have often heard the Datu tell the story since with great glee, his voice rising, and going through all his remembered movements with wonderful spirit. “Ah, I was young in those days.”

There is a very singular belief prevalent among the Malays—it is this, that men, by going through certain ceremonies, can render themselves invulnerable. The Datu, notwithstanding the many wounds he has received, is still popularly believed to be so. They generally say that these men can never have their skin cut by any sharp instrument, and the offer to test the truth by the application of a razor is not considered polite. The old Datu has often said—“It is as well that the vulgar should believe it, though we know better.”

The favourite spot chosen by the novitiates was in the jungle at the back of Sir James Brooke’s former house, between two little streams, called the greater and lesser Bedil (a brass gun). The aspirant was required to remain three days alone in the woods without speaking to a soul; to live very sparingly, and not to indulge in the favourite luxuries of tobacco, sirih and betel. If on the third day he dreamt of a beautiful spirit descending to speak to him, he might consider that his work was accomplished. Patah, the Datu’s son, a fine, bold and good fellow, told me he had tried twice, but the fairy had never appeared to him.

On reaching the landing-place leading to the Grung village, we found a large party of Dayaks assembled, who begged us to remain and visit their houses; but instead, we promised to return in a few days, and meet the representatives of the neighbouring tribes at their village. We now pushed on to the Sibuñgoh Dayaks, who inhabited the river’s bank; but on our stopping at the landing-place, an old man came down to say that the long house before us was pamali or tabooed, and that the Orang Kaya was himself in that unenviable predicament. So we pulled across the river and took up our quarters near a pebbly beach; the men making temporary mat huts, while we stayed in the boat. In the course of the evening, a number of the elders of the neighbouring village houses of the same tribe came down to see us, and promised to provide small canoes and Dayaks to take us up the stream, as it had become too shallow to allow of our continuing in the large boat.

At six the Sibuñgoh Dayaks brought the light canoes with which we were to continue our progress up the river. We left all our crew behind, taking with us only our personal servants and Kasim. It was quite a little procession. Each canoe contained but two Dayaks and one passenger. We started, and were poled up at a rapid pace against the stream. Our canoes were small, drawing but a few inches of water, and were managed, as I have said, by two Dayaks, one standing at the stem, the other at the stern; with long bamboos in their hands, they impelled us forward at a great pace.

The scenery varied much; occasionally we passed beneath high hills, which rose smilingly above us, clothed to the summit with vegetation; Bornean hills seldom frown, their clothing is too luxuriant, their aspect generally free from harsh outlines, even their precipices have some softening feature. On we passed, sometimes a long reach stretched before us, completely overshadowed by trees whose branches entwining from bank to bank completely sheltered us from the sun, then reclining on our pillows we could indulge in snatches from the Quarterly or Edinburgh. Could the authors of some of the articles but imagine the variety of situations in which their effusions would be perused, could they anticipate the delight they inspire in the British traveller who works his way onwards even towards the interior of Borneo, they would, I think, be surprised and gratified. The magazines and reviews are the solaces of educated exiles in all positions. From these soft scenes and pleasant employments, we were constantly aroused by our approach to roaring rapids, which foaming over scattered rocks threatened destruction to our frail canoes; but the skill of the Dayak was never at fault, we passed every obstruction without an accident. At these rapids, as at those before mentioned, boats are often lost.

As we approached the country of the Senah tribe, the banks became more uniform in appearance, and the bamboo constantly formed the principal vegetation: these bamboos are wonderfully useful to the Dayaks, and are turned to many purposes. In height they sometimes exceed sixty feet. During this tour I have seen them used, stretched in lengths, for paths, placed notched for steps up steep ascents, as railings for rice fields and yam gardens, as posts for houses; split they form the floors, beaten out they are the walls of many of the dwellings, and neat and pretty they look; cut into lengths, water is carried in them; joined together they form aqueducts that stretch for hundreds of yards; with them the Dayaks can strike a light; and last, not least, they are used to cook rice in—they are hard enough to stand the fire until the food be ready to eat. They are put to numerous other uses, but the above enumeration is sufficient.

The Senah Dayaks plant yams to a great extent; they grow to a large size, and boiled have an excellent flavour, whether used as a vegetable or a salad. These Dayaks are called rich from the abundance of their rice, which flourishes in their fertile valleys, but more is chiefly owing to their industry; we saw many instances of the latter in their fishing apparatus, which was often very extensive; while the tribes lower down, with better opportunities, seemed quite to neglect their fisheries. Our men unfortunately have brought no casting net with them, so we are obliged to be content to hear from the Malays that the flavour of the fresh-water fish caught here is excellent. It is a curious fact, that far as we are above the influence of the flood tide, and with so many rapids below us, yet sharks are found here in the fresh water. I call it a fact because native testimony is unanimous. I remember hearing Mr. Crookshank say to the Datu Patinggi, the principal native chief, that he considered it a very curious thing that a fish, supposed to live only in the sea, should frequent these interior waters.

“Not at all,” answered the Datu, “not more curious than seeing you Englishmen abandon your own country to come so far and live among us Malays.”

As a general rule, the sharks and alligators do not meddle with human beings up here, but confine their attention to the fish, the dogs, and the numerous droves of wild pigs constantly passing from one bank to the other. During the fruit season the movement among these last is very remarkable; Mr. Brereton told me he once saw at least three hundred in one drove crossing the river Batang Lupar, where it was above seven hundred yards broad. I have often seen them myself in lesser numbers; on one occasion I was present when seventeen were killed, which formed a regular feast for some aborigines who secured the bodies. Generally a fine old boar leads the way, and is followed very closely by the rest. They grow to a great size; I have seen one carefully measured, his height at the shoulder was forty-two inches, and the length of head was twenty-two.

The Senahs have built many of their farm-houses in the trees overhanging the stream; in one was a whole family engaged in the important operation of preparing dinner; and it was amusing to observe the little children coming fearlessly to the very edge of the platform above the rushing stream to look at us, standing in positions so dangerous that they would drive an English mother distracted.

As we approach the interior of the Sarawak river, the mountains become more lofty, and the stream takes the character of a torrent; after heavy rains it rises suddenly and to a great height. I have seen grass left by the receding waters at least forty feet above our present level. Even after one heavy shower, all the fords are impassable, so that to avoid this inconvenience the Senah Dayaks have thrown lofty bridges across, to facilitate their communication between their several villages.

How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look—one in particular I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite each other; long bamboos well lashed together formed the main portion, and were fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a woman and child pass over it, we drew our breath till they were safe on the other side. And yet we knew they were secure.

I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once when pressed for time I was passing rapidly across with many men following close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack, crack was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men fortunately were not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks far below. After that we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.

Towards the afternoon we reached the first house, inhabited by the Orang Kaya’s younger brother. This tribe is more scattered than is usually the case here, four, six, eight families live together; and we nowhere noticed those immense long village houses so common in other tribes.

We found some Chinese trading for pigs and rice, one of whom had been established in this place for about six years. The house where we stopped for the night was tolerably comfortable, with the walls roughly planked. It is evident that these Dayaks are very pleased to see us, and upon their pressing invitations we have agreed to stay some days to give time for the whole tribe to be collected.

In the evening we took a long walk over the steep hills at the back of the village, and had a fair view of Penrisen, one of the highest mountains in Sarawak. It is estimated at above 5,000 feet. It is scarcely in Sarawak, as a portion of its southern face belongs to those countries beyond the border claimed by the Dutch. We had a good view of the interior of the Sadong country, a fine succession of hill and dale, with blue mountains in the distance.

We stayed in the house nearly the whole day, as the Dayaks wished to dance and feast in our presence. The gongs were kept going, the drums beaten, and all within five yards of us, until our heads were dizzy. Occasionally, from sheer weariness, or from anxiety to partake of the good things produced for the feast, this din would cease, and then we could enter into conversation with the elders.

The dress of the Dayaks is very simple; the men wear the chawat, a strip of cloth round their loins; a jacket and head-dress, the last sometimes of bark, and fantastically put on; their ornaments are brass rings, necklaces of beads and sometimes of tiger-cat’s teeth, and very neat plaited rings of rattan, stained black. The women have a short petticoat reaching from the hips to the knees, a jacket, and round their waists a band, often ten inches wide, of bark or bamboo, kept together by brass wire or rattans. It fits tight, and is only removed on the woman becoming pregnant.

Captain Brooke’s principal object in making this tour was to inquire into the complaints which had been brought against the Datu Patinggi of forcing the Dayak tribes to deal with him, whether they wanted his goods or not, and insisting upon fixing his own price on the articles supplied. The complaints were more than substantiated; even the Chinese were unable to procure rice, and were forced to content themselves with the pig trade.

This was the Datu’s system: he sent up a chanang, a kind of small gong much esteemed by the Dayaks, and ordered them to buy it at an exorbitant rate; before they had paid for that he sent another, keeping up a constant supply to prevent them trading with other people. When he heard that another Malay had sold a chanang in fair trade to these Dayaks, he would instantly send two more and force them to receive them. He had done the same with regard to salt, and to the clothes of both male and female, striving to his utmost to secure a monopoly. In this path he was followed by all his relations and connexions, their threats bullied and terrified the Dayaks, who loudly complained also of being used as beasts of burden without receiving hire.

The Senahs are altogether an interesting tribe; in manner the men are more polite; the women are fuller of life; some of the girls were pretty, their best age being six to sixteen, after that they begin to fall off. They appear to marry very young, and have for Asiatics rather large families—four, five, and six children were quite common. Some of the old gentlemen observed that, though they were only allowed to marry one wife, yet they were not strictly faithful to her if a favourable opportunity occurred, which observation seemed much to amuse the assembly.

Among the women was the widow of a Dayak, whose story is well worth relating as illustrative of their character and of their ways. He was a fine, handsome man, certainly the most handsome Dayak I have ever seen, tall and powerfully made, with a bold, open countenance; he was called Pa Bunang. The Orang Kaya of the Senahs took a liking to him, and having no children adopted and found him a wife among his own relations. She was a nice-looking girl, plump and well made. In former times the husband had been much noticed by Europeans, and in the pride of his heart determined to be the first man in the tribe: the only one he thought likely to oppose his pretensions was Pa Mua, the Orang Kaya’s brother, who would not allow him to interfere in public affairs, and opposed his pretensions to superiority, in which he was supported by the sympathies of the whole community. Pa Bunang then determined on more violent methods than he had yet practised; he left the tribe for a few days and returned with the announcement that the Sarawak Government was so pleased with him, that they intended to make him a great man in the tribe. Resolving to get rid of his rival, he lay in wait for him one day in a by-path, concealing himself carefully behind some bushes; the unsuspecting Pa Mua passed by, when he sprang upon him, and with one blow of his sword laid him dead at his feet, and then rushed into the jungle, thinking he had done the deed unnoticed, but at the moment of striking, the son of the murdered man came round the turning of the path in time to witness the act and to recognize the culprit. The alarm was given, and before the man could reach the Orang Kaya’s house, where his wife and child resided, a menacing crowd had assembled. He coolly assured them that he was acting under the orders of the Sarawak Government, and was now going to report the accomplishment of the deed. Though the people did not believe him, they suffered him to depart with his family, but followed closely in his track. They denounced him, he was instantly seized, thrown into prison, and after ten days, to allow witnesses to assemble, the affair came on before the Sarawak Court.

It was so curious a case that I determined to be present at the trial. I found the court crowded, at least a dozen Englishmen were assembled, who, with the Malay chiefs, acted as a kind of jury. Though the case was clear in many respects, yet the greatest pains were taken to obtain the best evidence: the son of the murdered man was present, but it was at first feared from the preliminary inquiries, that he would be afraid to give his evidence before the prisoner. When he was called into court the lad appeared perfectly changed; he gave his evidence with a coolness, a precision, and yet with an intensity that nothing but the deepest feelings could excite; he never faltered once, but wound up his story by pointing to the prisoner and saying, “My father was killed by that man.” The prisoner could offer no defence; at first he denied the deed, then said that Pa Mua had seduced his wife, then confessed and implored for mercy. The verdict was unanimous, and he was condemned to death. A fearful scene now took place; the constables had very improperly allowed the wife and child to sit close beside him, and he had, while the lad was giving his evidence, unnoticed by any, got his little child to crawl in between his manacled arms. When he heard the sentence he threw himself on his knees and begged in piteous terms for mercy, but finding it was useless he declared his wife and child should die with him; he first struck at the former and then tried to strangle the little thing between his arms, and failing in that, while struggling with the police, he fixed his teeth so tightly in the child’s neck that they had to be forced open with the point of a drawn sword. His wife fled, and the child was saved, but he continued to struggle, and his roars could be heard until he was secured in his cell. I never witnessed a more painful scene. A marked contrast to that of the Malay who, calm and placid to the last moment, receives his condemnation with the observation, “It is your sentence,” and walks quietly to prison and to execution.

The evening was spent in dancing, singing, and drinking, until the fun waxed fast and furious.

The next station up the river is San Piuh, which we did not visit, as business prevented our extending our tour. We were delighted with the position of the house in which we were staying; it was on the bank of the stream, here but a foot deep, occasionally not even six inches, so that the canoes had to be dragged over the pebbly bottom. The water coming from the neighbouring high mountains is both clear and cool, offering delightful places for bathing. In one large and deep pool, a little below the landing-place, the Dayaks say alligators congregate; but if so, they must be harmless, as I saw very little children bathing there; but yet I did not venture, as they might have been attracted by the unusual colour of my skin. The baths we obtain in the interior are of themselves worth the exertion of reaching those sequestered spots; the refreshing and invigorating feeling after a plunge into the cool stream is indeed delightful.

About midday we parted from our kind hosts, not before we had given solemn promises to return again as soon as possible, and now directed our faces homeward. The descent of the river was exciting, now leisurely suffering the canoe to float with the stream; then, as the distant roar announced a rapid, intelligent were the movements of the Dayaks, as they chose the least dangerous part, the waters increasing in speed as we approached the fall; then caught by the stream, we hurried along at the pace of a racehorse, and dashing through the foam were shot into the tranquil pool that generally forms below a rapid. At one we were compelled to take out all our baggage, and the non-swimmers walked past the obstruction to be re-shipped below. It was with feelings, half of envy, half of admiration, that I saw Captain Brooke tempt the danger.

About half-way down to Sibuñgoh we saw white flags overhanging the river at a landing-place, and there in a temporary hut was waiting the Orang Kaya of Brang; we stayed with him about an hour, and resisting his pressing invitation to his village, on account of our previous engagement, heard what he desired to communicate, and then continued our course to Sibuñgoh. We soon transhipped our goods to the large boat, and were not sorry, as many hours in a small canoe is fatiguing. We found that the Orang Kaya was no longer under taboo, so we stayed some little time with him, and then hurried on to the next landing-place, where we found a large party of Dayaks ready to escort us to the village of Grung.

The walk was pleasant, principally over the land that had formerly been farmed, and was now covered with brushwood and young trees, affording but little shelter from the burning sun. The country was undulating, with pretty pebbly streams in the hollows. Much rain having fallen in this neighbourhood during the last few days the paths were execrable, even for Dayak paths, which are, perhaps, the worst in the world. Over a marshy soil a line of single trees is laid, end to end, on which you balance yourself as you move along; there is no danger here, except of a slip into the oozy mud, sometimes up to the waist, affording to the non-sufferers great cause of merriment as you struggle and flounder to a drier spot; but these trunks of trees thrown over ravines are dangerous after rain, as when deprived of their bark they are slippery. But it is astonishing what use will do; we soon began to criticize and pronounce a wretched quagmire a tolerable path. The Dayak is so active, and so accustomed to the work, that he seldom thinks of doing more than felling a small tree, clearing it of its branches, and throwing it across the smaller streams as a bridge, except after harvest, when carrying home the rice, a slight railing is added to give steadiness to his movements.

The village of Grung is prettily situated near a small and clear stream, and is surrounded by dense groves of fruit-trees, particularly of durians, while occasionally the graceful areca palm rises near the houses. In one thing the Grungs excel every other tribe of Dayaks I have ever seen, and that is in dirt; their houses were dirty, their mats were dirty, and their little children could only be described as positively filthy.

We found the village crowded with the representatives of all the neighbouring tribes; long strings of men, women, and children were continually arriving as we approached. Directly we ascended the notched tree that served as a ladder to the Orang Kaya’s house, we found that we were no longer free agents. A crowd of old women instantly seized us, and pulled off our shoes and stockings, and commenced most vigorously washing our feet; this water was preserved to fertilize the fields. We were then conducted to a platform but slightly raised above the floor, and requested to sit down, but the mats were so dirty that we could scarcely prevail upon ourselves to do so—perhaps the only time it has occurred to us; generally the mats are charmingly neat and clean. The arrival of our bedding freed us from this difficulty.

We were surrounded by a dense mass of men, women, and children, who appeared all to be talking at once; in fact, more excitement was shown than I have before observed. We had to do so many things, and almost all at once: to sprinkle rice about, to pour a little water on each child that was presented to us, until, from force of example, the women and even the men insisted upon the same ceremony being performed on them.

Silence being at last restored, Kasim explained in a long speech the object of Captain Brooke’s visit; he spoke in Malay, interlarding it occasionally with Dayak phrases—I say Malay, but Malay that is only used when addressing the aborigines, clipping and altering words, changing the pronunciation, until I find that some have been deceived into believing this was the true Dayak language. It is to these people what the Lingua Franca is to Western Asia.

We got a little respite while eating our dinner, but as soon as we had finished we were again surrounded; the priestesses of the place were especially active, tying little bells round our wrists and ancles, and bringing rice for us to—how shall I explain it—in fact, for us to spit on, and this delectable morsel they swallowed. No sooner had those learned women been satisfied, than parents brought their children, and insisted upon their being physicked in the same way, taking care to have a full share themselves. One horrid old woman actually came six times.

The Orang Kaya now advanced, and there was strict attention to hear what he was about to say. He walked to the window, and threw some grains out, and then commenced a kind of prayer, asking for good harvests, for fertility for the women, and for health to them all. During the whole invocation he kept scattering rice about. The people were very attentive at first, but soon the murmur of many voices almost drowned the old man’s tones. He did not appear very much in earnest, but repeated what he had to say as if he were going over a well-remembered but little understood lesson; in fact, it is said these invocations are in words not comprehended even by the Dayaks themselves—perhaps they are in some Indian language.

Then a space was cleared for dancing; the old Orang Kaya and the elders commenced, and were followed by the priestesses. They walked up to us in succession, passed their hands over our arms, pressed our palms, and then uttering a yell or a prolonged screech went off in a slow measured tread, moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat; then another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue out of us, another yell, and off they went again; at one time there were at least a hundred dancing. Few of the young people joined in what appeared in this case a sacred dance.

For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a couple of hours I awoke; my companion was still sleeping uneasily; the din was deafening, and I sat up to look around. Unfortunate movement! I was instantly seized by the hands by two priests, and led up to the Orang Kaya, who was leisurely cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands; holding him by his legs, I had to strike the lintels of the doors, sprinkling a little blood over each; when this was over, I had to waive the fowl over the heads of the women, and wish them fertility; over the children, and wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out of the window, and invoke good crops for them. At last I reached my mats, and sat down, preparatory to another sleep, when that horrid old woman led another detachment of her sex forward to re-commence the physicking; fortunately but few came, and after setting them off dancing again I fell asleep, and, in spite of all the noises, remained so till morning.

It is a fact unnoticed by us before, that among the Dayak tribes there are few girls between the age of ten and fifteen (1852). It is a striking proof of the effects that have attended the change of system from native lawlessness to English superintendence. Before Sir James Brooke held the reins of Government the little female children were seized for slaves and concubines by the Rajahs and Malay chiefs; since that practice has been put an end to, the houses are crowded with interesting girls of nine and younger.

The expression of all classes and of both sexes of these people is that of a subdued melancholy. A man fresh from Europe would doubtless notice many more peculiarities in these tribes, which being familiar to me pass without remark. Their houses I have before described, and what is suitable for the one is so for the other. Nearly all the representatives present are but those of the branches of a single tribe which has for many years been scattered. Their language is the same in words, though the accent is occasionally different—the effect of separation and other causes. It is difficult, without long and minute investigation, to familiarize oneself with their individual history and politics.