Madame Pfeiffer, the traveller, suddenly made her appearance among us in December, 1851; she was a woman of middle height, active for her age, with an open countenance and a very pleasant smile. She lived with us for some days, and then we took her to visit the Dayaks of Sirambau on the right hand branch. We selected a very fast, long prahu, fitted up with a little cabin for her, and another for ourselves, and having a numerous crew, pulled past our usual resting-place at Ledah Tanah, and did not stop till we reached the Chinese village of Siniawan, where we took up our quarters for the night.

There are about three hundred Celestials settled here, principally engaged in shop-keeping, though a few cultivate gardens. They are evidently thriving, as the Dayaks of the surrounding country resort to this place, and there is a constant influx of Chinese and Malay gold workers. Their women, half-breeds, are better-looking than any others in this part of the world; some of the girls were handsome, in one point they set a bright example to their neighbours, and that is in cleanliness. The Malay girls bathe at least three times a day, but are not careful of the condition of their clothes, while the Dayaks are too often neglectful of both their skins and their coverings.

It was quite a pleasure to look at the little Chinese maidens in their prim, neat dresses, and their parents evidently have a pride in their appearance. To them Madame Pfeiffer was a great attraction, and a crowd followed her everywhere, and wondered at the eagerness she displayed in the chase of a butterfly, or the capture of an insect.

Siniawan is situated on a plain near the foot of the Sirambau mountain, and affords an excellent market for the produce of the interminable fruit groves that cover the lower part of its slopes, and extend for miles beyond.

As Madame Pfeiffer had never seen a Dayak village, we thought she would like to visit these rather primitive people, who reside about eleven hundred feet up the sides of the mountain. Sirambau is separated from the surrounding ranges, and from the sea appears of great length, while from one view near Siniawan, it is a single peak seventeen hundred feet in height. At a few spots, we saw groves of cocoa-nuts varying the colour of the jungle, and these were at the villages of the Dayaks, all more than a thousand feet above us.

In the morning we collected a band of mountaineers to shoulder our baggage, and proceeded towards the hill. The soil around had lately been cleared, and afforded no shelter from the burning sun. I imagine Madame Pfeiffer, in all her travels, had never met worse paths, particularly when we commenced ascending the hill. It appeared exactly as if the Dayaks had chosen the bed of a mountain torrent as the proper approach to their houses. At first the stones were arranged as a rough paving, then as rougher steps, and at last it became so steep, rock piled on rock, that notched trunks of trees leaning against them were the only means of ascending.

But, if the climbing were difficult, we were partly compensated by the shade of the lofty fruit-trees growing in glorious confusion on either side of our path. Crowded as closely as in the jungle, durians, mangustins, and every variety of fruit-tree, jostled each other for the light, and spoilt the symmetry of their forms. I have not seen elsewhere durian-trees of proportions so magnificent, some above ten feet in circumference, and rising to the height of a hundred and twenty feet. When the season is good, it is dangerous to walk in a grove of these trees, as a breeze gently shaking the ripe fruit from its hold, it falls heavily to the ground. They are often a foot in length, and eight inches in diameter, and many a story was told us of Dayaks being brought home insensible through a blow from a falling durian.

As we advanced up the side of the mountain, we rested at spots where we could obtain partial views of the surrounding country; large Dayak clearings now completely brown, varied the otherwise continuous jungle; gently swelling hills encircled the base of Sirambau, and stretched onwards to the foot of the steep and distant mountains. The Dayaks have led rills of water to the edge of the path, at which they refresh themselves, and occasionally there are rough benches on which they rest their heavy loads, for they carry up their whole rice crop to their mountain villages.

After a toilsome ascent, which Madame Pfeiffer feelingly describes, we passed the village of Bombok on our left, and continued our course to that of Sirambau, a little distance farther. Here the path was more level, though it lay among huge rocks detached from the summit of the mountain.

Sirambau is one of the most curious villages I have seen; it is large, and the long houses are connected together by platforms of bamboo or by rough bridges—a very necessary precaution, as the numerous pigs had routed up the land; and as every description of dirt is thrown from their houses and never removed, it is almost impossible to walk on the ground. Thick groves of palms surrounded the village and buried it from the world: indeed, it looked as isolated a spot as any in wooded Borneo.

We found the chief Mita ready to receive us, and to conduct us to his apartments; they were very confined, but on the raised platform under the sloping windows we found place for our beds. They very politely gave Madame Pfeiffer an inner room, and provided her with neat white mats.

In the evening the apartments were crowded, and being small, not much space was left for dancing. This village house was altogether uncomfortable; its verandah was not five feet wide, and was totally unfitted for their feasts; the rooms were not twelve feet by sixteen, and the space was still further lessened by a large fireplace that occupied an eighth of the area. Some rough planks were laid on the floor and then covered with earth; on it were arranged a few stones, and that constituted the fireplace. At each corner was a small post that supported a platform, and on this was a heap of firewood kept here to dry and to be ready at hand.

We have had much more intercourse with the villagers on this hill, than with any other, as Sir James Brooke had a country house near the uppermost groves of palms that are seen from Siniawan. Formerly it was a Dayak village, but the inhabitants removing to join another section of their tribe who were in a more sheltered spot, Sir James purchased the fruit-trees around, and built a pretty cottage there.

Peninjau, or the “look-out,” was the name of this spot, and it well deserved its name, as from a rock which terminated the level summit of a buttress can be seen a view unsurpassed in extent. I have spent many months at this cottage, and rarely an evening passed without my witnessing the sunset from this favourite rock.

The peak of Santubong is the centre of the picture, and the undulating ground between and the winding of the river may be seen clearly in all its varied detail. The calm sea—from this distance it seems always calm—bounds the horizon. Two effects of light I have often witnessed here; just at sunset, the rays thrown on the hills, the woods, the water, have a sickly tint; and when rain threatens, the trees in the jungle on the distant hills of Matang stand out distinctly visible, and it is only at such times they do so.

There are three villages on this Sirambau hill—the Peninjau, now visible below my favourite rock, Bombok, and Sirambau, where we have left Madame Pfeiffer.

Each of these villages contains a head-house; in that at Sirambau there were thirty-three heads, at Bombok thirty-two, and at Peninjau twenty-one, with the skull of a bear killed during a head-hunting expedition. They were all very ancient-looking, in fact none had been added to their store since Sir James Brooke assumed the government of the country. That they still have a longing for a fresh skull, I have little doubt, though previously to the Chinese insurrection the apparent impossibility had made them rather careless on the subject.

There is a custom in these tribes to assist the Orang Kaya in making his farms; in fact, it is one of the most lucrative of his perquisites. Mita of Sirambau had pushed his prerogative too far, and had forced his people to make him three farms, and as from this and many other reasons, he had ruined his popularity, he looked about him for a means to recover it. At last it struck him that a fresh head would make the whole tribe look up to him with respect.

I was visiting the village one day, when he told me he had a great favour to ask, which was, that I would endeavour to obtain from Sir James Brooke permission for him to make a foray into the neighbouring districts. All the elders of the tribe were present, and it was evident that they were deeply interested in the answer. The earnest way in which they assured me that the crops had not been good for many years, because the spirits were angry at the ancient rites having fallen into disuse, showed that he had worked upon them to believe in the necessity of a head being procured, but my answer was so discouraging that they never ventured to mention the subject to Sir James Brooke. Mita was afterwards removed from his office, to the great satisfaction of the tribe.

Our cottage was just twelve hundred and thirty feet above the level of the sea, and had a pure and cool atmosphere about it; but the most remarkable spot near was a natural bath-house. In a ravine close by rose a huge rock, seventy feet in length by forty in breadth; somewhat of the shape of a mighty but very blunt wedge. The thicker end was buried in the ground, the centre, supported on either side by two rocks, left a cave beneath, while the thinner part, thrust up at an angle of thirty degrees, overshadowed a natural basin, improved by art, at which we bathed. A rill that glided from under the rock supplied us plentifully with cool, clear water. It was a beautiful spot, a charming natural grotto, in which to pass the burning midday hours; twenty or thirty people could sit there with comfort, and admire the vegetation that grew thickly around, but yet affording glimpses of distant hills through the trees.

That spot for years was our boast; there was no bathing-place like Peninjau, no water so cool, no air so bracing. Once our grotto fell to a discount, and that was when some one unromantically brought from our basin a huge leech, fifteen inches long; but that was the only intruder that ever invaded the sacred spot. I may say that we never enter the basin when we bathe in these places, or at our houses, but pour small buckets of water on our heads, and let it run over our bodies; it is the most refreshing plan. But up country, in the cool mountain streams, we always take a plunge into the water.

At night, looking south, the prospect appeared quite lively with fires and flashing lights; these came from the villages of Chinese gold-workers occupying the valleys below. They extended irregularly for about ten miles until they reached their chief town of Bau, romantically situated among limestone hills, presenting perpendicular sides.

To the eastward was one of the noblest valleys in Sarawak, perfectly uninhabited. At the nearer end the Sirambau Dayaks occasionally had a farm, but thousands of acres, untrodden by man, lay there uncultivated.

To the left of Sirambau are some very fine Tapang trees, in which the bees generally build their nests; they are considered private property, and a Dayak from a neighbouring tribe venturing to help himself of this apparently wild honey and wax, would be punished for theft. This tribe, also, is rich in edible birds’-nests, while the Peninjaus are becoming wealthy from the great extent of their fruit-groves. In former times, the Malays used to gather them without thinking of asking permission, but now the government has forbidden this practice, and the amount realized by the Dayaks is, for Borneo, something surprising. One good fruit season, a hundred and fifty families realized two pounds sterling each, enough to buy rice to last them six months.

I have said I am more familiar with the manners and customs of these Dayaks than with those of any others, and having had the advantage of receiving full and careful replies to a list of queries I addressed to all those I thought likely to be able to give me assistance, particularly from the Rev. Mr. Chalmers, the able missionary who formerly resided there, and whose departure from Borneo all sincerely regret, I will enter an account of the ways of the Land Dayaks, noticing in what manner they vary from those of the surrounding tribes. Though I am greatly indebted to Mr. Chalmers’s notes, I by no means bind him to the opinions expressed, as we differ on some points, particularly regarding the belief in the Supreme Being.

Births.—After pregnancy is declared a ceremony takes place.[3] Two priestesses[4] attend, a fowl is killed, rice provided, and for two nights they howl and chant, during which time the apartment is “pamali,” or interdicted. The husband of the pregnant woman, until the time of her delivery, may not do work with any sharp instrument, except what may be absolutely necessary for the cultivation of his farm; he may not tie things together with rattans, or strike animals, or fire guns, or do anything of a violent character—all such things being imagined to exercise a malign influence on the formation and development of the unborn child. The delivery is attended by an old woman, called a “Penyading,” or midwife. A fowl is killed, the family tabooed for eight days, during which time the unfortunate husband is dieted on rice and salt, and may not go out in the sun, or even bathe for four days; the rice and salt diet is to prevent the baby’s stomach swelling to an unnatural size.

Courtship.—Besides the ordinary attention which a young man is able to pay to the girl he desires to make his wife—as helping her in her farm work, and in carrying home her load of vegetables or wood, as well as in making her little presents, as a ring, or some brass chain work with which the women adorn their waists, or even a petticoat—there is a very peculiar testimony of regard, which is worthy of note. About nine or ten at night, when the family is supposed to be fast asleep within the musquito curtains in the private apartment, the lover quietly slips back the bolt by which the door is fastened on the inside and enters the room on tiptoe. He goes to the curtains of his beloved, gently awakes her, and she on hearing who it is rises at once, and they sit conversing together, and making arrangements for the future in the dark over a plentiful supply of sirih-leaf and betel-nut, which it is the gentleman’s duty to provide. If when awoke the young lady rises and accepts the prepared betel-nut, happy is the lover, for his suit is in a fair way to prosper, but if on the other hand she rises and says, “Be good enough to blow up the fire,” or to light the lamp (a bamboo filled with resin), then his hopes are at an end, as that is the usual form of dismissal. Of course if this kind of nocturnal visit is frequently repeated, the parents do not fail to discover it, although it is a point of honour among them to take no notice of their visitor, and if they approve of him matters take their course, but if not, they use their influence with their daughter to ensure the utterance of the fatal “please blow up the fire.” It is said on good authority that these nocturnal visits but seldom result in immorality.

Betrothment.—There is no ceremony at a betrothment, the bridegroom expectant (if a young bachelor) generally presents his betrothed with a set of three small boxes[5] made of bamboo, in which are placed the tobacco, gambir, and lime, with the sirih-leaf and betel-nut, and sometimes also with a cheap ring or two purchased from the Malays, or in the Sarawak bazaar.

Marriage.—At a marriage, a fowl is killed, rice boiled, and a feast made by the relations of the bride and bridegroom. The bridegroom then generally betakes himself to the apartment of his wife’s parents or relations, and becomes one of the family. Occasionally, as for example when the bride has many brothers and sisters, or when the bridegroom is the support of aged parents, or of younger brothers and sisters, the bride enters and becomes one of the family of her husband. It is a rare occurrence for a young couple at once to commence housekeeping on their own account; the reason is, that the labours of a young man go to augment the store of the head of the family in which he lives, be it that of his parents or others, and not till their death can he claim any share of the property in rice, jars, crockery, or gongs, which by his industry he has helped to create; yet most young men now have generally a small hoard of copper coin, or even a few dollars, which they have acquired by trading, or by working for Europeans, Malays, or Chinese during the intervals of farm labour.

Burial.—When a Dayak dies the whole village is tabooed for a day; within a few hours of death the body is rolled up in the sleeping mat of the deceased, and carried by the “Peninu,” or sexton of the village, to the place of burial or burning.[6] The body is accompanied for a little distance from the village by the women, uttering a loud and melancholy lament. In the Peninjau tribe the women follow the corpse a short way down the path below the village to the spot where it divides, one branch leading to the burning ground, the other to the Chinese town of Siniawan. Here they mount upon a broad stone, and weep and utter doleful cries, till the sexton and his melancholy burden have disappeared from view. Curiously enough, the top of this stone is hollowed; and the Dayaks declare that this has been occasioned by the tears of their women, which during many ages have fallen so abundantly, and so often, as to wear away the stone by their continual dropping.

In Western Sarawak the custom of burning the dead is universal, in the districts near the Samarahan, they are indifferently burnt or buried, and when the Sadong is reached the custom of cremation ceases, the Dayaks of the last river being in the habit of burying their dead. In the grave a cocoa-nut, and areca-nut are thrown, and a small basket of rice, and that one containing the chewing condiments of the deceased are hung up near the grave, and if he were a noted warrior, a spear is stuck in the ground close by. The above articles of food are for the sustenance of the soul in his passage to the other world.

The graves are very shallow, and not unfrequently the corpse is rooted up and devoured by wild pigs. The burning also is not unfrequently very inefficiently performed, and portions of the bones and flesh of a deceased person have been brought back by the dogs and pigs of the village to the space below the very houses of the relatives. In times of epidemic disease, and when the deceased is very poor, or the relatives do not feel inclined to be at much expense for the sexton’s services, corpses are not unfrequently thrown into some solitary piece of jungle not far from the village, and there left. The Dayaks have very little respect for the bodies of the departed, though they have an intense fear of their ghosts.

The office of sexton is hereditary, descending from father to son, and when the line fails, great indeed is the difficulty of inducing another family to undertake its unpleasant duties, involving, as it is supposed, too familiar an association with the dead and the other world to be at all beneficial. Though the prospect of fees is good, and perhaps every family in the village offers six gallons of unpounded rice to start the sexton elect in his new, and certainly useful career, among the Quop Dayaks it is difficult to find a candidate. The usual burial fee is one jar, valued at a rupee, though if great care be bestowed on the interment, a dollar is asked; at other places as much as two dollars are occasionally demanded, and obtained when the corpse is offensive.

On the day of a person’s death, a feast[7] is given by the family to their relations; if the deceased be rich, a pig and a fowl are killed, but if poor, a fowl is considered sufficient. The apartment, and the family in which the death occurs, are tabooed for seven days and nights, and if the interdict be not rigidly kept, the ghost of the departed will haunt the house. Among the Silakau, the Lara, and the true Lundu tribes, the bodies of the elders and rich are burned, while the others are buried.

Children.—All children are very desirable in Dayak eyes. Mr. Chalmers thinks that if a Dayak could have but one child, he would prefer a female, as she will always assist in getting wood and water (labours held in little esteem by those males who have arrived at the age of puberty); and, moreover, at marriage a son may have to follow his wife, whereas a daughter obtains for her parents the benefit of her husband’s labour and assistance; but my opinion is contrary, I think male children are generally desired.

Female Chastity.—With regard to female chastity, I imagine they are better, certainly not worse, than the Malays. The “Orang Kayas” have many cases of adultery to settle, which do not, however, cause much excitement in the tribe.

Divorces are very common, one can scarcely meet with a middle-aged Dayak who has not had two, and often three or more wives. I have heard of a girl of seventeen or eighteen years who had already had three husbands. Repudiation, which is generally done by the man or woman running away to the house of a near relation, takes place for the slightest cause—personal dislike or disappointments, a sudden quarrel, bad dreams, discontent with their partners’ powers of labour or their industry, or in fact, any excuse which will help to give force to the expression, “I do not want to live with him or her any longer.”

A woman has deserted her husband when laid up with a bad foot, and consequently unable to work, and returned to him when recovered, but this is perhaps to obtain her food on easier terms. A lad once forced his mother to divorce her husband, the lad’s stepfather, because the latter tried to get too much work out of his stepson, and let his own children by a former marriage remain idle. The stepson did not understand why he should contribute to the support of his half-brothers, so he told his mother she must leave her husband, or he would leave her, and live with his late father’s relatives. She preferred her son’s society to her husband’s.

In fact, marriage among the Dayaks is a business of partnership for the purpose of having children, dividing labour, and by means of their offspring providing for their old age. It is, therefore, entered into and dissolved almost at pleasure. If a husband divorces his wife, except for the sake of adultery, he has to pay her a fine of two small jars, or about two rupees. If a woman puts away her husband, she pays him a jar, or one rupee. If a wife commits adultery the husband can put her away if he please; though if she be a strong, useful woman, he sometimes does not do so, and her lover pays him a fine of one “tajau,” a large jar equal to twelve small jars, valued at twelve rupees. If a separation take place, the guilty wife also gives her husband about two rupees. If a husband commit adultery, the wife can divorce him, and fine his paramour eight rupees, but she gets nothing from her unfaithful spouse. There is one cause of divorce, where the blame rests on neither party, but on their superstitions. When a couple are newly married, if a deer, or gazelle, or a mouse deer utter a cry at night near the house in which the pair are living, it is an omen of ill—they must separate, or the death of one would ensue. This might be a great trial to a European lover; the Dayaks, however, take the matter very philosophically.

Mr. Chalmers mentions to me the case of a young Peninjau man who was divorced from his wife on the third day after marriage. The previous night a deer had uttered its warning cry, and separate they must. The morning of the divorce he chanced to go into the “head-house,” and there sat the bridegroom contentedly at work.

“Why are you here?” he was asked, as the “head-house” is frequented by bachelors and boys only; “what news of your new wife?”

“I have no wife, we were separated this morning, because the deer cried last night.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Very sorry.”

“What are you doing with that brass wire?”

“Making perik”—the brass chain-work which the women wear round their waists—“for a young woman whom I want to get for my new wife.”