The Gardens of the Sun / A naturalist's journal on the mountains and in the forests and swamps of Borneo and the Sulu Archipelago

by F. W. Burbidge

CHAPTER XIV.

Plant collecting—Large nepenthes—Sociable birds—Mountain climbing—Cold nights—Descent—Safe return to Kiau—Old skulls—Tree ferns—Fine climate—Land culture—Crossing rivers—“Lapayang’s” welcome—Tarippe fruit—“Benhau”—Pleasant evening at Kambatuan village—Graceful young girls—Bundoo—Little gardens en route—Ghinambaur village—A hard day’s walking—Return to the Tampassuk—Short-tailed buffaloes—Two-horned rhinoceros—Return to Labuan—Smith’s illness—Success of the expedition.

August 16th.—We were up by daybreak; and while “Jeludin” was preparing breakfast, I went out with the men collecting such plants as I wanted, and packing them in the native sago-sheath baskets (granjombs) with which we had provided ourselves. I was anxious to begin thus early, as I wanted to start most of the men back to Kiau to-day. After three or four hours’ hard work, we loaded twelve men and started them off on the downward journey; and as we intended staying two days longer up the mountain, they had orders to collect other plants which I had pointed out to them near Kiau. After starting them off, I was glad to take breakfast before exploring further for other things which I much wished to procure. After our repast I started off over the ridge of the spur, progress, however, being very slow, as nearly all the way one had to climb through branches, roots, or low shrubs. A glossy-leaved begonia, with large white flowers, was common beside the streams, and three species of cœlogyne were met with growing among the rocks and bushes. A great many small-flowered orchids of various genera were seen, but few were in bloom. Dacrydium, phyllocladus, and a peculiar casuarina of drooping habit were seen, and several herbaceous plants, among which I noted a drosera and a species of dianella, much resembling those of Australia. Among ferns were at least two species of trichomanes, two or three gleichenias, a peculiar form of dipteris resembling D. Horsfieldii, but dwarfer and quite glaucous, nearly white indeed below, and a strong-growing blechnum. Several mosses in fruit were gathered, and most of them were either absolutely new, or had not been discovered in Borneo before. Here and there I came across patches of an acre or two in extent of rocky mountain side without any tree-growth. These rocky patches were carpeted with coarse sedges, among which the great Nepenthes Rajah grew luxuriantly, an enormous crimson-tinted pitcher depending from each of its large lower leaves. These gigantic urns were for the most part filled with rain-water, among which were the remains of ants, beetles, and other insect-life. Nearly all the pitchers were found resting on the surface of the earth, and in most cases they were hidden by the overhanging leaves, sedges, and débris among which the plants grow. It was, in the case of the younger specimens—plants a foot high or so—that the pitchers were most evident and luxuriant. Seedlings of this size were even more ornamental than their big jug-bearing brethren. Here and there were specimens of N. Rajah, great clumps having stems five or six feet in height, with very broad massive leaves, and pitchers capable of holding two or three pints of water. It is these large plants which flower most freely, some of the stems bearing three or four spikes of their rich maroon-tinted blossoms, around which two or three kinds of flies or gnats were playing in the sunshine. The female plants were not nearly so plentiful as were the males, and I am inclined to think that these tiny flies aid fertilisation, for some of the female plants were a long way distant from any males, and yet they appeared to have been fertilised. N. villosa is often found in these open patches with the larger kind just alluded to, but more frequently it affects the margins of the open patches, and luxuriates among the low bushes, by which its weaker and more elongated stems are supported. N. Lowii and the beautiful N. Edwardsiana appear never to reach so high an altitude as those just named. I cannot describe the elated emotions I felt in traversing this mountain side, and gazing on forms of vegetable life the most remarkable of any to be found in the whole world! Hunger, bruises, and the repeated drenchings we had received during our journey hither, these and all other of our troubles seemed to vanish as I gazed around me on the wonders of creation and inhaled the cool invigorating mountain air. We returned to our cave-dwelling about four o’clock. As I write up my diary, a tiny bird is flitting about quite close to me, and does not appear in the least afraid. It is but little larger than a wren, its body being of a dark brown colour; the head and shoulders are mottled with yellowish brown. From its lively and erratic flight, I suspect it is of the flycatcher group. It flits backwards and forwards from bough to bough, and frequently leaves a branch as though flying right off, and quite surprises you by suddenly and adroitly twisting itself round and dropping back into the place from which it started. Another occasional visitor is a blackbird, having a golden bill and a reddish-brown breast. It strongly resembles our own blackbird indeed, but is perhaps a trifle fuller in the body. Again, we heard the little songster alluded to in the account of my first visit here. I know of no bird whose melody possesses the ravishing sweetness and variety of melody of this one, its song in the early morning being especially delightful. Were it possible to introduce it, this little stranger would be a most welcome addition to our domesticated song-birds here at home. Space is limited here in this cave, and one has to sit pretty close to the fire. Just after dinner to-night, as I sat making notes in my pocket-book, Smith, in lifting our extemporised kettle off the fire, let it fall, and the boiling water fell over my feet. My boots were off, and the pain was rather hard to bear. “Suong,” who is equal to all emergencies, recommends me to put some wet salt on the scalded portions of my feet, which, to please him, I did, and the pain soon after abated. I was very sorry for this accident, being afraid it would prevent my extending my excursions up the mountain side to-morrow, as I had arranged to do. It is raining very heavily, and Smith reminds me that we have only had two wholly fine days since leaving Labuan.

August 17th.—Our cave had become drier, owing to the fire we had constantly kept burning, and we slept well last night. One of our men, on going to his basket this morning, found a rat in it, which he at once secured and killed. It had doubtless been tempted by the warmth and his little store of food. It resembled very nearly the long-tailed grey Norway species, now so common in England, and was quite distinct from the short-tailed, long-snouted kind, of which “Kurow” had trapped two specimens during our first visit here. When our Dusun guides came in, one of them quickly appropriated it as a desirable addition to his edible stores. Our own breakfast this morning was of oatmeal porridge (a nice change from constantly eating rice) and tea and biscuit. I had some difficulty in putting my boots on, owing to the scalding my feet received last night. My feet were very painful at first, but getting warm with walking, they did not inconvenience me so much as I had expected. We had a long walk up the mountain side to-day searching for seeds and plants. The highest height we reached was 10,700 feet, but it must be pointed out that our object was to collect all the plants and seeds we could in the richest vegetable zone on the mountain, and not to reach the summit. Had our object been to ascend to the top nothing would have prevented our doing so; indeed, the real difficulties of climbing “Kina Balu” are very few, and not worth mentioning; indeed, we found our journey to its base from the coast far more exacting to our strength and temper. We were fortunate in our search to-day, having, after a long and disappointing search yesterday, failed to obtain the particular plants and seeds I was anxious to obtain. To-day, however, I was rewarded by finding a few in good condition. We returned to our cave at about four o’clock, and found our Dusun followers, who had been in another direction, had also brought me in a nice lot of seeds, plants, and flowers. They had complained of the cold nights on the mountain, and threatened to leave us this morning (as indeed they did last journey), but I promised them some rice for their evening meal, and eventually they had consented to stay another night. Before dinner we packed up our plants and seeds carefully, and arranged everything ready for our descent in the morning. I wished to start early, so as to have plenty of time for collecting on our way, as at one spot I much wished to make a détour to collect seeds. Our bird visitors came around us to-day again, and fearlessly came quite close to pick up the crumbs of rice we threw towards them. We have had rain more or less for two whole days, and it was bitterly cold towards eight o’clock, when we wrapped our rugs around us to retire for the night. My thermometer stood at 45° just outside the cave, and during the night it had descended to 38°. I awoke during the night quite stiff with cold, although I lay close to a good fire. My rugs had slipped from my shoulders, and I was glad to fold them tightly around me, and to put more fuel on the fire. It was a lovely moonlight night, the light being so strong on the branches opposite our cave as to make them look as if covered with snow. Mr. St. John mentions having seen a sort of hoar-frost here during one of his journeys. The great fall looked like a silver streak down the rocky mountain side opposite, and the rush of its waters into the chasm below comes quite clearly through the night air.

August 18th.—While Jeludin boiled the water for our coffee this morning, I carved my initials on the soft red sandstone wall of our cave, and then clambered up a tree just opposite to try and get a better view. All is mist and cloud below us except seaward, where a strip of the coast line and the rivers towards Menkabong and Gaya are visible. I can see the great fall very plainly coming down the face of the rock opposite, just where it disappears into the wooded gully, below there is a magnificent grove of tree ferns, and as I am fully a thousand feet above them, I can look down on their expanded clusters of fresh green fronds, and the effect in the morning sunlight is past all description. About 7.30 a.m. we started on our downward journey, at first climbing the ridge through roots and branches which were notched here and there for foothold. On reaching the path above, a few minutes’ walk brings us to a series of great steps and an open space or two covered with jutting rocks and boulders, sedges, low bushes, and the great pitcher-plants. Here we made a short stay collecting, much to the disgust of our Dusun guides, who pointed to the dark clouds and told us we should have rain, and much wished us to push onwards. Lower down still we came across plants of the beautiful Nepenthes Edwardsiana, scrambling up bushes and casuarina trees to a height of twenty or thirty feet. Both this species, and also the curious N. Lowii, are frequently perfectly epiphytal, all the old stems and roots originally in the ground being dead, but the top growth has rooted into the wet moss and débris which rests on the trees and bushes everywhere around. Of the first-named there are two distinct varieties, differing in the length and form of their pitchers. N. Lowii is first seen at about 5,000 feet, and is one of the most singular of the whole group, its urns being flagon-shaped, and of a hard leather-like consistence. Growing quite plentifully beside the path were tiny plants bearing tripetalous flowers of a white or pink tint, and very pretty. In some places it was quite bushy in habit and a foot in height, being literally covered with blossoms. Some large mosses, one of them having stems a foot in height, were also gathered, and a few inconspicuous orchids, epiphytal and otherwise, were observed in bloom. A plumose filmy fern (Trichomanes, sp.?) depended here and there from the half rotten casuarina branches overhead.

Owing to the rain yesterday our descent was far from pleasant, and falls were not infrequent, in fact on both occasions I have found descending this mountain very troublesome and dangerous owing to the wretched paths one has to follow. I carried a sago sheath basket behind me, fitted with bark straps for the shoulders, and it was lucky I did so, for I had one or two nasty falls backwards, and it saved my head more than once from contact with the slippery stones. Our guides have at last gone on a-head quite disgusted at my stopping here and there to take up a plant or gather seeds, which I can never resist doing. My boots had given way like brown paper owing to their being constantly wet, and I had to tie them on my feet with strips of bark. My feet had chafed where scalded, and were now very painful, while the constant strain on the legs during the slippery descent was very exhausting. However after many falls backwards and forwards we reached Kiau about four o’clock p.m. thoroughly tired and hungry. I felt thankful when I regained the hill above the village where all the hard work is over. I had tired out the patience first of our guides, then of my Labuan men, and even Smith had at last left me lingering collecting roots and specimens, and so I was the last man of our party to reach the village. As I descended the hill three of my men met me and took my load of plants, for I had both arms full besides the basket at my back. Tired and wet as I was I could not resist the impulse to look at the plants my men had brought down two days before, and I was glad to find that they were fresh and healthy. A mist swept around us soon after I got inside the house, and the steady rain we had experienced all the afternoon changed to a regular downpour. I was glad to put on my dry clothes after a thorough good wash and rub down with a towel warmed at the fire. I found that the skin was off my feet in great patches, and they swelled very much after removing my boots. Smith had a large sore on his heel, and he agreed with me that our ascent was child’s play compared with the descent.

My “boy” had cooked us some rice and had bought us some fine ripe tarippe fruit to eat with it. We afterwards had a cup of nice warm chocolate each, and lighting our cigarettes, our fatigue and bruised shins were soon forgotten, as we nestled cosily in our warm rugs in the glow of a sweet wood fire. After our return crowds of people flocked in to see us, and the house resembled a market-place, fowls, rice, sweet potatoes, maize cobs, rattan hats, tobacco, wax, caoutchouc, and Dusun gourd-organs of bamboo being among the produce and manufactures offered. The men squat down in groups, and there is a great deal of talking about the mountain and “Tuan Hillow” (Mr. Low), and “Tuan Bunga,” the name by which I am known to these people as well as to the Malays of the coast. It is quite a gala night, and the young girls are full of questions about the mountain. My men “Suong” and “Jeludin” told me that the cave on the mountain was a good place to sleep in, as there were no spirits there, adding that on the island at Gaya, and also at Pulo-Tiga they had been afraid to sleep, as the spirits were so many there! By the first stream we crossed to-day in descending the mountain, a pretty pink-flowered impatiens was flowering freely, and on the wet rocks we noticed a tuft of red-berried nertera. On a dripping wet rock here also a very fine trichomanes luxuriates, forming large mat-like masses of black roots, and long finely-cut filmy fronds. Two boys brought in a quantity of anæctochili to-night soon after our arrival, and asked for needles in exchange, which we gladly gave them. The talking and laughter of the natives, who seemed quite pleased at our safe return, lasted until I fell asleep about eight o’clock, how much later I do not know. Previous to this I called “Suong,” and bade him tell all the villagers assembled that I intended leaving in the morning, so as to give time for my men to prepare their things, and that the natives, knowing our intentions, might bring in any fowls or rice they wished to sell early ere our departure.

August 19th.—First thing this morning I heard that our buffalo, which had been turned loose to graze on the green here, is missing. All the men went to seek it while we ate our breakfast. “Kurow” had so often tried to induce me to exchange this animal—a female—for a male of his own that I was for a time suspicious of his having stolen it during the night. We had intended to start for Koung to-day, but the loss of our buffalo will detain us, as we cannot well leave without it, partly on account of its use to me now that my feet are raw and tender, and partly because it will not do to allow a theft to pass unpunished. A Dusun woman brought in a basket of fresh ginger roots this morning, which I find is cultivated by these people. Several fowls and some rice were also brought in, and these my “boy” bought in exchange for our old biscuit tins and glass bottles. During our forced delay I walked out to take a last look at the village, and to make a few sketches and notes. In the little flat-topped hut, which served as a head-house, I found a pile of about fifty skulls in one corner, some being in a basket suspended on the wall. These, the villagers tell me, are the skulls of their old enemies, and their individuality seemed well known to one old man, who pointed out several to me as having once rested on the shoulders of some of the Chinese settlers, who, some few years ago, disappeared from this Dusun country altogether, although their peculiar physiognomy still lingers among the Dusun tribes into which they married, so that it is just possible that they became absorbed into the native tribes. Others were pointed out as the heads of their old foes the Lanun, whom the Dusun people detest, say that they formerly came up to the hills with the ostensible purpose of trading, but adding, that they really wanted to steal their children as slaves. I offered “Boloung” a good Tower musket for a couple of these heads, but so highly are they still valued by these people that he refused to part with them, even for so high a price. This custom of head-hunting may be said to have died out amongst the Dusun, since they failed to subsist by hunting, and have taken to the less exciting employment of land culture. One place was pointed out to me where thirty men and their chief had been slaughtered together and their heads taken, only a few years ago. This was at a ford near Sineroup, and a rude circle of stones still marks the spot where the bodies were interred; all the stones are single except that which represents the chief, which has a smaller stone on its apex. I find the custom of marking burial places with erect stones very common among these people. On returning to the house I find that “Kurus,” one of my men, a shock-haired Bruneian, has brought in my buffalo, having tracked it through the soft mud to a bit of jungle at some distance from the village, and there he found him tied to a tree!

The large house in which we stayed is big enough to accommodate five or six families, and the large common room, which extends from end to end, will hold twenty or thirty men and their baggage quite comfortably, having three or four hearth-stones for fires at intervals. It stands on a grassy knoll just at the entrance to the village, and the group of pinang and cocoa-nut palms on the lower side give to it quite a picturesque appearance. All over this district tree-ferns are very beautiful, especially so in the valleys and glades which exist up among these cool hills. Every now and then the traveller comes upon whole groves of them, and solitary groups exist even in the cultivated ground. So sweetly fresh and green are they, and quite distinct in form and tint from all surrounding vegetation, indeed, these feathery tree-ferns, and the tall clustering wands of bamboo, form the most distinctive features of the landscape. We at length bade our friends good-bye, and the whole village came to the knoll above the stream to see us start, and the girls were especially interested and begged of us to come again and bring them some needles, looking-glasses, and cloth.

Coming down the hill-side cornfields from Kiau I saw here and there patches of cotton (Gossypium barbadense), and a delicate pink-flowered variety of tobacco was in bloom, and being supported by stakes, were perhaps left for seed. On the steep side of the opposite hill are numerous little farms, and on each you see a tiny flat-topped bamboo-hut which is used for shelter and rest during field labour. The soil is a reddish friable loam, thickly sprinkled with large sandstone boulders and stones; while in the lower plains and valleys is a deep black deposit which under irrigation yields splendid crops of rice. Under European protection and management, aided by systematic Chinese coolie labour, the virgin tracts on these hill ranges might be worked with advantage in the production of coffee and cinchona. Once fairly started, and with improved roads, this district would possess many attractions, not the least being a comparatively cool and salubrious climate. At elevations of 3,000 to 5,000 feet a cool bracing air is readily obtainable, indeed, as suggested by Mr. Low, the Marie Parie spur would form a capital site for a sanatorium of the utmost value to Europeans. At higher elevations a really cool climate, almost European, in fact, is obtainable. To bring this fertile district into cultivation and to form anything like good roads, however, would be a task Herculean, and one only to be accomplished by an immense expenditure of labour and capital. The system employed by the natives in clearing their new farms is to fell the trees and then to burn them during the dry season. The old stumps are left, and to prevent the rich earth and forest débris from being washed away by heavy rains, logs are laid against these horizontally all down the steep shoulders of the spurs. Land newly cleared yields splendid crops of hill or dry rice, maize, kaladi, tobacco, sweet potato, and other crops. There is very little primitive forest on these lower hill ranges and spurs, nearly all the land not now actually under culture being fallow, in the shape of low jungle. The only really virgin forest is the tops of the hills beyond Kiau and the spurs of Kina Balu itself on the south and east sides. On our way to Koung to-day we had a lot of trouble owing to the swollen and rapid state of the river, which we crossed no less than thirteen times. All along our way we saw little torrents of muddy water pouring into the river from the hill-sides. The two last times we had to cross the stream previous to our reaching the regular ford at the entrance to Koung village were really very dangerous, and I shudder when I think of the surging torrents we crossed, and of the large treacherous boulders, water-worn and as smooth as ice, which lay hidden in their beds.

I rode my buffalo: Smith walked and clung to the ropes which held the saddle. The banks of the stream were overflowed so that we could not tell exactly the proper place to cross. My buffalo was a brave and careful animal, and must have been possessed of immense power, seeing how she carried me and dragged poor Smith over safely. I shall never forget our last crossing. We had missed the proper place to ford without our knowing it. The place we had chosen to cross was, as we afterwards found, a succession of smooth boulders and deep holes. The buffalo had to feel its way, and when in mid-stream, unluckily, set its feet on a boulder. Splash we went, all over together, into a deep hole. Ugh! how I did shiver as I sank to my neck with the buffalo submerged beneath me. As we rose again I glanced around and thought for a moment poor Smith had gone. In a moment, however, he rose to the surface of the stream, where he lay extended grasping the ropes of the saddle with one hand at arm’s-length, and gasping for breath. All the time we were being carried down stream, and bravely as the plucky buffalo struggled her feet continually slipped on the loose pebbles below. “Hold on, Smith!” I gasped, as splash we all went over another gigantic boulder, and the water surged up to my ears although on the back of the beast. I clung like a sailor in a gale. Fortunately for us the buffalo regained her footing, and clearing the current by a great effort she carried me and dragged poor old Smith up the bank Koung-wards. “That’s a narrow squeak, old boy,” I said, but Smith was too exhausted to answer as he tottered and staggered to a seat on a stone lying near. I also was glad to rest, and although thankful for our merciful escape, I could scarcely look sober as I glanced at Smith, who was as white as a ghost, and staggered like a drunken man.

“Well,” said he, when he had recovered his breath, “it’s all very well laughing, but you don’t catch me crossing in that way again.”

And in justice to his veracity I must own that I never did, for he avoided me and the beast at crossings ever afterwards. Arriving at the ford at Koung a young Dusun came and assisted Smith over, the water being very high and rising every minute. He then recrossed and led over my buffalo, who a few minutes afterwards once more regained her liberty on the green, while we, as usual, took up our quarters with “Lapayang” in his bamboo-house. He and his people were surprised at our having got across the river to-day, and pointed to where it was rushing and foaming a yard higher than its usual current. Smith lost his stick and some plants he was carrying for me, and his rifle, too, would have gone had it not been strapped to his back. No one can possibly understand the danger of these swollen torrents who has not had personal experience of them. Once off one’s feet in the surging stream, running seven or eight miles an hour at the least, one’s life would inevitably be dashed away on the boulders and jagged rocks which occur every few yards. Adventures of this kind look tame when calmly written down after all danger is past, and when read by a comfortable fireside, but they are really very real and exciting when one is undergoing them in person. A little later we were surprised by “Suong” and my “boy,” poor little “Kimjeck,” who came in looking as miserable as drowned rats. They had avoided the dangerous fords by coming along the hill-path beside the river, but my other fellows refused to come on, and took shelter from the rain in some Dusun huts midway.

“Lapayang” received us kindly, as usual, and gave us a fowl and some rice, and lent us some cooking pots. Another villager brought us eggs and a cluster of fine golden bananas—I never tasted more delicious ones—so that we dined well after all our mishaps. After dinner our host brought us in a couple of fine large tarippe fruit, just at a time when dessert was least expected; we deserved it, however, and enjoyed it accordingly. I think I never felt so fatigued before in my life, my feet and legs were sore, and the exertion of the descent yesterday, and the falls I had, made me ache all over. Added to this, my skin from head to foot was covered with irritable red eruptions, caused by a minute red parasite of acaroid nature, which my men told me came off the buffalo on which I had ridden. As we sat smoking after dinner we heard the rain falling very heavily, and it lasted most of the night. The troubles of the day are ended, and we have cause to be grateful for our preservation from its dangers.

August 20th.—It was at first very wet this morning, but an hour after sunrise it cleared up and the sun shone beautifully. Our laggards came in about eight o’clock, just as we finished our breakfast of fowl and rice. There are plenty of fine cocoanut trees here, and one can obtain fine fruit. “Kurow” overtook us here this morning, having, together with his little daughter and another girl, walked from Kiau since daybreak. They are going on to Kambatuan, he tells me, to trade, and the girls have baskets of tobacco on their backs. We bought some cocoanuts and paid our host “Lapayang.” He particularly wanted some powder and caps for his musket, and these we gave him, together with a handkerchief or two, and looking-glasses for his sisters, two fine girls, both married to young men of the village.

We started for Kambatuan after all our men had arrived, and “Kurow” accompanied us. Altogether we had a day’s rough work, two of the crossings being shoulder high and very rapid, so that only I and the buffalo could cross, and the men and Smith had to follow the windings of the river a much longer distance over rough ground, for the most part covered with coarse grasses and jungle. It rained heavily at intervals, and we did not reach the foot of Kambatuan hill much before dusk; and after half an hour’s climbing up a path like a drain, sometimes stony, sometimes of slippery yellow clay, we reached the village in a regular downpour. Nowhere else in Borneo have I seen such groves of “tarippe” trees as surround this village. When we last visited “Kina Balu” in December, “langsat” fruit was in season, and met with at nearly all the Tawaran villages. Now, in August, the “tarippe,” rich and luscious, is most abundant, and now and then a coarse brown fruit, something like a horse-mango, is obtained, and is agreeable for a change. The perfume of the ripe “tarippe” fruit was most cheering to ourselves and our men, and almost as soon as we had got off our wet garments, and put on dry ones, a dusky maiden appeared with four large fruit in her plump little arms. She was dressed à la mode Dusun, and had wire wristlets, and a heavy wire anklet an inch thick, which must have weighed two or three pounds, around her left leg. A younger child brought us some fine plump bananas, which we found to be rich and luscious as new honey, leaving an aroma in the mouth like that produced by ripe filberts and old dry port.

We had a large concourse of the villagers in to see us this evening after dinner, including “Beuhan,” the headman, who wears a head-cloth and kriss, and in general build and physiognomy resembles the Sulus much more than either Dusun or Malays. “Kurow” was the principal talker, and related all that we had done and how much he had helped us in ascending the mountain. The young girls crowded to see us, and tried hard to get speech with us. We had given the girls who brought us fruit a looking-glass each, and we could quite well understand that all were eager for a similar gift. They were very, very scantily clad; indeed the most tolerant of Lord Chamberlains might well wish to add an inch or two to their tiny petticoat, especially as ’tis the only garment of which they can boast. It answers somewhat to the American definition of a dress “which began too late and left off too soon.” Here, however, it is the customary fashion, and as such is honoured. How graceful were the figures of some of these young girls! Perfect little Amazons, lithe of limb and having regular features, eyes full of gentle expression, and a richness of raven hair most European ladies might envy. It is pleasant to know that these dusky girls, lovely as some of them are, will never be degraded to anything worse than field labour, which is a far better lot than that of their Malayan sisters along the coast, whose personal charms chance to be interesting. We found out later on in the evening that the pretty damsel who had first brought us fruit was the headman’s daughter, “Sa’ Tira” by name. Most of the evening she knelt by the fire, her dainty little fingers busily making cigarettes for her papa’s guests, many of whom had arrived from other villages near to look at us. Altogether we spent a very pleasant evening with these hospitable people, and we have no doubt but that they will long look back to our visit themselves, seeing that whole months frequently elapse without their seeing anyone from the coast even, much less a white man or two from far-off Labuan.

August 21st.—Our buffalo had wandered from her moorings during the night, and so we lost some time in finding her. She was brought in at last, however, and we prepared to start on our way. “Beuhan,” the headman here, had been very hospitable to us, first in setting aside a good clean house for us, and he also gave our men rice and fruit, as their supplies, like our own, were very small. Indeed, the fellow seemed so pleased to have us at his village, and behaved so well to us, that I felt bound to make him a fair repayment. I found out from “Suong” that “Lapayang” had told him of the musket which Mr. Veitch and myself had given to him, and that “Beuhan” wanted one too. I was glad to have the power of thus easily satisfying him. When I handed the musket to him before all his people and told him always to help the white men who came to him, he was visibly delighted, and looked at the glistening barrel and bright brass-work with rapture. I also gave him a small supply of ammunition. He had heard of my shooting down cocoanuts from the trees, both at Koung and at Kiau, and he desired me to do this at his village. Smith handed me his rifle, and luckily for my reputation, I smashed the particular nut he pointed out to atoms. Here, at this village I took leave of my old friend “Kurow,” and gave his little daughter a Chinese looking-glass, which pleased her greatly. Another little girl also from Kiau was with her, and she looked so sorry that she had not one too, although pleased at her friend’s good fortune, that I could not but hand her one also, and her dusky face was all sunshine in an instant. These two girls had walked all the way from Kiau yesterday perfectly barefoot over rough ground, rocks, streams, and jungle, carrying heavy loads, while “Kurow” carried only his slender-shafted spear. It is this hard work at an early age which so soon destroys the lithe figures and tiny hands and feet these Dusun children so often possess.

“Beuhan” sent two men with us as guides to Sineroup. This was a great gain to us, as they knew the road well, and conducted us by what I may call the “overland route,” that is, by the hill-paths, and in this way we avoided three or four of the worst crossings. We found the walking very rough and fatiguing, especially in the close gullies we had now and then to cross. About ten o’clock we reached the village of Bundoo on the opposite hill, and here, while awaiting our men, I sketched the top crags of the great mountain, of which we obtained an excellent view, and also made a sketch of some Dusun tombstones on the little village green. While waiting, a woman brought us two young cocoanuts and put them down before us, so that we might drink, which we were glad to do, as it was very hot to-day. We gave her a looking-glass, which she evidently considered a good price for her fruit. I found these Tampassuk Dusun far more inclined to be hospitable than their brethren of the Tawaran.

We passed several tiny hill villages to-day, and some of them had a neat bamboo-fence and a stile at the entrance with notched sticks for steps. Some of the houses are surrounded by luxuriant gardens, each of which contains kaladi, Indian corn, a castor-oil plant (Ricinus) or two, cotton bushes, and in each there is invariably a clump of cocoanut trees, and three or four slender-stemmed betel-nut palms, while here and there old stumps are verdant with the betel pepper, the leaves of which are chewed along with bits of betel-nut, and a few condiments, such as lime—made from coral reef or shells—and gambier. Here and there, too, the red-fruited rose-apple or jambosa was seen. We reached Sineroup about 3.30, and singularly enough have not had a drop of rain all day. “Gantang,” the Orang Kaya, was glad to see us, and pointed with pride to the new garments he wore, made from the cloth he had earned by accompanying us to Kiau.

KINA BALU FROM GHINAMBAUR (EVENING).

August 22nd.—We left Sineroup and its hospitable headman this morning, after having arranged with him for a guide and another buffalo as far as Ghinambaur. We descended the hill, and after crossing the river two or three times, which was easily done now, since no rain had fallen yesterday, we were surprised by meeting a young Labuan man—whom I had formerly employed. He was a handsome young fellow named “Sallia,” a relative of poor old Musa, and from him I heard that Mr. Pretyman, accompanied by Mr. Dobree, a Ceylon coffee planter, were following, and that their object was to proceed to “Kina Balu” in search of land suitable for coffee culture. A few minutes later we met them and had luncheon together on the dry stones of an old river course. In answer to Mr. Dobree’s inquiries I told him what I had seen of the country, of the large extent either actually under cultivation by the Dusun or lying fallow as jungle, and that virgin soil in large tracts would only be obtainable by felling the primæval forests on the enormous spurs of Kina Balu itself. We parted just as a heavy shower came on, and pursued our way to Ghinambaur, which place we reached about four o’clock, drenched to the skin and covered with mud to our waists, the roads being in a frightful state owing to the rain. We sought our old quarters, and soon made ourselves comfortable for the night. We heard that a court-house was being built here by Mr. Pretyman, but did not see it, and inquiries as to what the “white man” was going to do were numerous, as indeed they had been all along our route.

After resting, I could not resist making the accompanying sketch of the great mountain as it loomed up through the cloud strata just before sunset. We were four days’ journey from its base, and yet it seemed so very nigh to us in the last hours of sunlight as to appear only a mile or two distant through the sun-lit air of evening.

August 23rd.—We started early this morning from Ghinambaur, having a walk of fifteen miles before us over wretched roads ere we arrived at Mr. Pretyman’s residence, “Port Alfred,” on the Tampassuk. My buffalo was nearly knocked up, and so I left her in charge of the men, and I and Smith, trusting to our knowledge of the way, pushed on ahead. We had a hard day’s work a greater part of the way, floundering about in the mud of buffalo tracks, or crossing streams and creeks up to our necks, with just such a suspicion of lurking alligators being in them as made the thing exciting. I stayed at one place to collect palm-seeds, and the roots of a dwarf zingiberaceous plant, bearing pretty little white and lilac flowers. Here and there in the jungle we also saw a large amorphophallus, bearing erect spikes of red berries, and a pale-leaved variety of banana had its leaves beautifully blotched with reddish purple. In one place we had to cross a grassy plain, the mud and water being up to our waist-belts in places, and the tall coarse grasses arched over our heads so that for a mile or more one has to flounder up this grassy sewer, the effluvia from the festering mud and the heat being alike almost unbearable. We at last reached the low sandstone hills and padi fields near the Badjow village, and were glad to know that we were within a mile or two of our destination. Then came another case of floundering through a wet rice field in a drenching shower, up to the knees in unctuous black mud, remarkably warm, too, it felt to the legs and feet. After all our struggles, however, we reached the Residency about four o’clock, dirty, wet, and tired. Here we found M. Peltzer in charge, although looking very pale and ill. We found out that he was suffering from low fever and dysentery, although fortunately not in anything like its worst phases. A bath and clean dry clothes was the first thing, after which we were glad to sit and rest ourselves ere dinner time. We discovered that our friend, M. Peltzer, had formerly studied in the Horto-Agricultural College, founded by the late M. Van Houtte, at Ghent, and that he had come here to make experiments in the culture of tapioca, tobacco, and other kinds of tropical produce. He related to us an account of a journey made into the interior as far as Sineroup, in the course of which he had lost three buffaloes in the streams. Altogether we passed a very pleasant evening, glad to be so near the termination of a long, and at this time of the year, a very critical journey. The accommodation here was luxurious to what we had been accustomed to, and in spite of mosquitoes we slept the sleep of the thoroughly weary.

August 24th.—We arose soon after 5 a.m., and calling our followers, bade them prepare our boat for the homeward voyage. We ourselves looked after the welfare of our plants, and packed up our roots and seeds carefully. A party of men were sent to the sandstone hills to procure roots of the white gardenia before alluded to. At 7.50 we obtained a beautiful view of the mountain, the top crags, ridges, and water-falls being very distinct in the clear morning sunlight. I could not resist sitting down on the verandah and sketching the scene. Although my sketch was true as regards outline, nothing but colour could represent anything of the beauty of this scene—it is a subject worthy of Walton’s skill and labour. The tints of light are ever changing in the morning’s sun, and the cloud strata lie like downy pillows on the bosom of a giant. No wonder the simple Dusun, gazing on this mountain in all the radiance of its early morning glory, has idealised it as the heaven of his race!

A small herd of water-buffaloes have come down to the opposite side of the river to drink, and I was surprised to see that most of them had short stumpy tails. On inquiry I am told that the Badjows cut the tails of their riding buffaloes, otherwise they draggle in the mud and dirty water so common here, and then besprinkle the clothing of their masters. The poor beasts must feel their loss sadly in a hot country where mosquitoes and other blood-sucking flies are abundant, but as we cut our sheep’s tails short without so good a reason, we must not be the first in this case to throw a stone.

We gave all our men a rest this afternoon, which they sadly needed, for several of them were nearly exhausted. About four o’clock we were surprised at the return of Mr. Dobree and Mr. Pretyman, who had proceeded no further than the hill just above Sineroup. The Chinese cook of course received orders to augment his food supply, and we spent a very agreeable evening. Mr. Dobree showed us the skin of a young rhinoceros which he had shot in the mud pool near the Sagaliad river, about twenty miles from Sandakan. The lower horn was three inches in length, the upper one only just growing. Mr. Pretyman had also a small but very interesting collection of large coleoptera caught in the immediate neighbourhood.

August 25th.—We finished rigging up our boat this morning, and stowed all our plants and stores on board before breakfast. Four of my men, including “Suong,” who had been very useful to me, agreed to stay at this place as policemen under Mr. Pretyman. To oblige him I allowed them to do this. About 1 p.m. we stalled down the river, a much easier thing than pulling the other way. We reached the mouth in about an hour, but could not get over the bar, as there was not a foot of water on the bar; indeed we saw two native fishermen carry their little canoes over. We had to wait until 10 o’clock at night, when we got over and out to sea with a favourable breeze, but we did not reach Labuan until August 30th, since we had contrary winds, and altogether a very rough passage.

Thus ended our journey for the second time to “Kina Balu,” which occupied in all thirty-one days from Labuan, of which thirteen were occupied in the sea voyage from Labuan to the Tampassuk and back; from Tampassuk to Kiau and back thirteen; and from Kiau to the mountain and back five days. Our last journey, viz., the Tawaran from Gaya and Menkabong, occupied in all twenty-three days, but as we happened to start just at the commencement of the dry season, we avoided the dangers and difficulties of fording rapid streams. In the dry season the Tampassuk route could be accomplished in five days, and the ground is much more level than that along the Tawaran route, which is both hilly and fatiguing, the track being almost impassable for buffaloes. The difference in the time occupied by the two routes is in part accounted for in this way. Thus when I and Mr. Veitch went by the Tawaran we saved four or five days in going by chartering a passage for ourselves by a trading steamer which landed us at Gaya Bay the next morning after leaving Labuan. On our reaching Labuan, poor Smith, who had been ill in the boat for two or three days, had to go to the hospital with a very bad attack of fever, doubtless contracted during our walk from Ghinambaur to the Tampassuk. He fortunately recovered in a week’s time, but evidently had felt the effects of a difficult mountain journey. All our friends in Labuan were glad to see us back again, and the mails from home which had arrived during my absence were of the most cheering kind. Notwithstanding our rough passage I found my plants and seeds in good condition, and I am glad to know that the practical results of this journey were more encouraging than I had expected, and many of the plants and seeds obtained ultimately reached Chelsea alive. Having at this time been over a year in Borneo, I had learned a good deal of the language, and had also found much to admire in the Malays and aboriginals, so that I felt in a way loath to leave a land which had been fraught with so many novelties and adventures to me.

CHAPTER XV.

TROPICAL FRUITS.

Tropical fruits: culture of—Natural fruit orchards—The Durian—A macédoine of fruits—The Mangosteen—“Prada Prada”—Mango—The Rambutan or “hairy fruit”—Bread fruit—Jack-fruit, or “Nangka”—“Champada”—Jintawan, or Manoongan fruits (Willughbeia spp.)—Tampoe fruit—Red “Bilimbing”—“Mandaroit”—“Rambeneer”—“Mambangan”—“Luing”—“Langsat” or “Duku”—“Rambi”—“Mangalin”—“Jambosa,” or “Rose-apples”—Melons—Oranges—Pomoloes—Custard apples—Cocoanut—Wild onion fruit—Banana, or “Pisang” fruit.

The forests and gardens of Borneo are remarkably rich in native and naturalised kinds of edible fruits, and the forests especially may be considered as the home of the mangosteen, durian, tarippe or trap-fruit, langsat, rambutan, and jintawan, all excellent, indeed unapproachable, in their way, but if one would enjoy them a journey to the East is unfortunately necessary. They are somewhat like our own luscious jargonelle pears or green gage plums, and must in a sense be “eaten off the tree.” The mango, one of the finest and most variable of Eastern fruits, has been successfully cultivated in the West Indian Islands, St. Michael’s, and Madeira, and has fruited out-of-doors at Lisbon, but those we have named above have hitherto resisted culture outside their own restricted habitats, if we except the solitary instance in which the mangosteen fruited in one of the hothouses at Sion House some years ago, and the trees introduced to the island of Ceylon, which have succeeded fairly well. Another extremely useful and variable fruit, the banana, is quite commonly ripened in our gardens, and with the pine-apple these may be accounted the only tropical fruits which lend themselves to anything approaching a regular system of successful culture in our hothouses at home. Our ordinary cultivated fruits are naturally found in temperate or inter-tropical countries—Europe or the cooler parts of Asia principally; and of all those cultivated in the open air of Southern Europe, such as the vine, fig, and orange, the latter is the only one which can be induced to prosper in the tropical lowlands of the far East, where its evergreen character enables it to hold its own while its deciduous neighbours seem to fail through over-excitement, the loss of their customary winter’s sleep.

On the other hand the pine-apple of South America, the mango of India, and the delicious little Chinese or mandarin orange, here luxuriate in the open air, the mango yielding two crops in twelve months, while fruit of the others may be obtained all the year round. In some favoured districts in Malaya the forests almost become orchards on a large scale, so plentifully are they stocked with durian, baloona, mambangan, varieties of tampoe, luing, and other native fruits, in addition to those already named; and in many places the pine-apple is so abundantly naturalised as an escape from cultivation that one might almost be led to imagine it indigenous did we not know that, together with the white guava, the papaw, and cashew-nut—a trio forming the “weeds” among tropical fruits—it is a native of the western tropics. So abundant are the crops in some seasons that one cannot help regretting their perishable nature, by reason of which their shipment to Europe in a fresh state is prevented; and as to their preservation in the form of candied confections or “jam” no one seems to have taken up the matter. Fancy a conserve of snowy mangosteen pulp, preserved mangoes, candied rambutan, or banana marmalade. The late Dr. Lindley once said, in his usual incisive way, that “most tropical fruits were edible,” but that “very few were worth eating;” but then the probability is he had never tasted a mango or a mangosteen, a tarippe fruit, or the deliciously rich apricot-like pulp which surrounds the seeds of the caoutchouc-yielding willughbeias, and certainly not a durian.

The mangoes, oranges, bananas, pomoloes, and pine-apples are all cultivated fruits in the East, just as are our best gooseberries, strawberries, apples, pears, and grapes at home; but on the other hand we have no wild fruits which can in any way be compared with the durian, jintawan, langsat, trap, tampoe, mangosteen, and rambutan, all of which are more truly wild in the Malay islands than are the so-called wild cherries, gooseberries, currants, and raspberries of our woods. It is to the tropics one must go for a drink of fresh cocoanut milk—a taste of the fascinating durian, for a luscious mango, or the delicious mangosteen; and while in the matter of flowers our cultivators at home certainly have the advantage, in the case of fruits this much can scarcely be said.

The regal durian (Durio zibethinus), like the finest of nectarines or melting pears, must be eaten fresh and just at one particular point of ripeness, and then it is, as many think, a fruit fit for a king. So highly is this vegetable-custard valued that as much as a dollar each is not unfrequently paid for fine specimens of the first fruits of the durian crop brought into the Eastern markets. It is a universal favourite both with Malays and Chinese, but the opinions of Europeans vary as to the merits of this “delectable epitome of all that is perfect in fruit food.” It is a paradox, “the best of fruits with the worst of characters,” and, as the Malays say, you may enjoy the durian, but you should never speak of it outside your own dwelling. Its odour—one scarcely feels justified in using the word “perfume”—is so potent, so vague, but withal so insinuating, that it can scarcely be tolerated inside the house. Indeed Nature here seems to have gone a little aside to disgust us with a fruit which is perhaps of all others the most fascinating to the palate, when once one has “broken the ice,” as represented by the foul odour at first presented to that most critical of all organs of sense, the nose. As a matter of course, it is never brought to table in the usual way, and yet the chances are that whoever is lucky enough to taste a good fruit of it to begin with, soon develops into a surreptitious durian eater; just as a jungle tiger becomes a “man-eater” after its first taste of human blood.

There is scarcely any limit to durian eating if you once begin it; it grows on one like opium smoking, or other acquired tastes; but on the other hand, the very suggestion of eating such an “unchaste fruit” is to many as intolerable as the thoughts alone of supping off cheese and spring onions, washed down with “stout and mild,” followed by a whiff from a short “dudeen” by way of dessert, and yet, while these incongruities are consumed at home with enjoyment, one must not be too hard on those abroad who relish the fragrant durian. About the middle or end of July durian fruit are very common in Singapore, and their spiny skins lie about the streets in all directions. As you pass along you become aware of a peculiar odour all around you—an odour like that of a putrid sewer when half suppressed by holding a perfumed handkerchief to the nose—a blending of a good deal that is nasty with a soupçon of something rather sweet and nice. On opening a fruit for yourself, however, you find that the perfume, like that of the musk plant, ceases to be evident after you have once had a fair whiff at it at close quarters. The flavour of the straw-coloured, custard-like pulp which surrounds the four or five rows of large chestnut-like seeds is perfectly unique: to taste it, as Wallace tells us, is “a new sensation, worth a journey to the East to experience;” but much depends on a good fruit being obtained when perfectly, not over ripe. You then find the pulp sweet, rich, and satisfying; it is indeed a new sensation, but no two persons can agree as to the flavour—no two descriptions of it are alike. Its subtle action upon the palate—and perhaps this best explains the unceasing popularity it enjoys—is like the music of a well-played violin on the ear, rich, soothing, sweet, piquant. The flavour of durian is satisfying, but it never cloys; the richness seems counteracted by a delicate acidity, the want of grape-like juiciness is supplied by the moist creamy softness of the pulp as it melts away ice-like on your tongue.

It is said that the best of whisky is that made by blending several good kinds together, and Nature seems to have blended four or five good flavours together when she made the durian. “A macédoine of fruits,” says a modern author, “when well made and judiciously flavoured, is a delicious sweetmeat. The grape, the peach, the apricot, and the pine, meet in welcome harmony; the pear, the apple, and the cherry, and their friendly companionship, and all these opposing elements of flavour are blended with a soft and soothing syrup.” In a word, the durian is a natural macédoine—one of Dame Nature’s “made dishes”—and if it be possible for you to imagine the flavour of a combination of corn flour and rotten cheese, nectarines, crushed filberts, a dash of pine-apple, a spoonful of old dry sherry, thick cream, apricot-pulp, and a soupçon of garlic, all reduced to the consistency of a rich custard, you have a glimmering idea of the durian, but, as before pointed out, the odour is almost unmentionable—perfectly indescribable, except it be as “the fruit with the fragrant stink!”

The fruit itself is in size as large as a Cadiz melon, and the leathery skin is protected by sharp broad-based spines very similar to those of a horse chestnut. The name durian, in fact, is derived from these—the word duri in Malay meaning a spine or thorn. There are many varieties in the Bornean woods, some but little larger than horse chestnut fruits, and having only two seeds; others larger, but with stiff orange-red pulp, not at all nice to eat, however hungry you may be; and even the large kinds, with creamy pulp and many seeds, vary very much in flavour. The trees are monarchs of the forest, as a rule varying from seventy to one hundred and fifty feet, or even more, in height, with tall straight boles and spreading tops, and the foliage is oblong acuminate, dark green above, paler and covered with rufous stellate hairs or scales below. The fruits of the finer varieties fall when ripe, and accidents sometimes happen.

I saw a native who had the flesh torn from his shoulder by a blow from one of these armed fruits, and saw several narrow escapes, but personally I gave the trees a wide berth at fruiting time. Some varieties, especially the “durianburong,” or wild-bird durians, do not shed the fruits, which hang on the branches until the valves open, when the seeds fall to the ground, or are eaten by hornbills and other large fruit-eating birds and monkeys. I saw some magnificent specimens of durian trees in the Bornean forests north of the capital, and also in other Malayan islands, where the forests had been cleared for cultivation, and these trees left standing for the sake of their produce. Their clusters of large white flowers are produced about April, and form a great attraction to an enormous species of semi-diurnal bat, a kind which is said to be one of the greatest pests of Eastern fruit-groves. It is from cultivated trees that the finest of fruits are obtained; and, without exception, the best fruits I ever saw or tasted were from a tree in the grounds of Government House, Labuan. It does well in Sumatra, Java, Celebes, and the Spice Islands, and even as far north as Mindanao. Forests of it exist on the Malay peninsula, and very fine fruit is brought to Singapore from Siam about July or August. On the coast of the Bay of Bengal it grows as far north as Tenasserim, in lat. 14° N., but it does not succeed well in India, and cannot be grown in the West Indies. In Sumatra groves of this tree exist near the Palembang River, and in the primæval forests there are specimens fully 150 feet in height, the fruits being in perfection about September and October; but two crops are produced each year, and throughout the Archipelago one finds its seasons of ripening to be very various.

There are many different varieties, doubtless the result of promiscuous seeding, or, perchance, cross-fertilisation, and one variety actually produces flowers and fruit on its exposed roots.

Of all Eastern fruits the mangosteen is perhaps the general favourite with Europeans, and of all fruits it is one of the most delicious and refreshing. It flourishes in nearly all the islands from the south coast of Java to Mindanao, the most southern of the Philippine group, and on the mainland it flourishes as far as Bangkok, and in the interior to 16° N., but on the coast of the Bay of Bengal only to 14° N. Attempts to cultivate it in India have failed, and in Ceylon success is only partial. In the West Indies all attempts to grow it have proved abortive. In Borneo trees are not uncommon in the forests, but the fruits generally are below the average size, the divisions within are fewer—rarely more than four—and each segment of pulp contains a fully developed seed. When cultivated in richly-manured gardens or orchards, however, as in Penang or Singapore, not only are the fruits larger and the carpellary divisions more numerous, but rarely more than one perfect seed is found in each fruit, the remaining segments consisting of edible pulp only. Similar effects may be observed in the case of the rambi and duku, or langsat fruits, and the best of cultivated mangoes are remarkable for their thin and comparatively small stones, while the edible part on the other hand is much augmented. Under cultivation the mangosteen forms a low round or conical-headed tree, its dark leathery evergreen foliage reminding one of that of the Portugal laurel, only that it is of a bolder character. The waxy-petaled flowers are borne near the extremities of the branches, and are succeeded by round fruits, which, when fully ripe are as large as a medium-sized orange. On cutting the leathery dark purple rind transversely about the middle of the fruit, it is found to be of a port-wine colour in section, and encloses from three to six segments of snow-white pulp, cool and refreshing to the taste, and with a flavour which is something like that of the finest nectarine, but with a dash of strawberry and pine-apple added. It is one of the very few tropical fruits of which even delicate invalids may eat with advantage; and the dried rind, when infused in boiling-water and drank as tea, forms an astringent which has been proved serviceable in dysentery after all other medicines had failed. It is the general native remedy for this disease throughout the Malay Islands, and the dried skins strung on strips of rattan are commonly met with in the bazaars.

When exploring near the capital city of Brunei in North West Borneo I frequently came across a species of garcinia—sometimes in flower, sometimes in fruit—which my native followers called “Prada Prada,” the duplication of particular names being usual in Borneo, for the sake of emphasis, as also among various native tribes in South America and elsewhere. The foliage and flowers are somewhat like those of the mangosteen proper, the fruit, however, is curiously shaped like a boy’s “top,” and of a bright red colour, changing to purplish black when fully ripe. The segments of edible white pulp are usually eight in number—four containing fully developed seeds, and four are abortive or seedless—the flavour being similar to that of the mangosteen proper, but more acidulous.

Of the luscious mango, Rumphius tells us that it was introduced by the Dutch from the Moluccas to Java in 1655, but it grows in India, and as the Malay name and that of the Javanese as applied to this fruit are evident corruptions of that in the Sanskrit tongue, Mr. Crawfurd thinks that it was brought to the Archipelago from the Continent, and that it should not be considered as indigenous. Be this as it may there is no doubt that the mango has long been introduced to the Malay Islands, in many of which it is now perfectly naturalised, and a fruit exactly like the mango in structure is often found in the Bornean woods. It has the mango flavour of the most ultra tow and turpentine type, but its juice is very grateful during hot weather, as I can testify by experience. The cultivated mango forms a round-headed evergreen tree, rarely over fifty feet in height, and generally not much more than half that size. The old leaves are of a deep green colour, but the young growth is often of a bright red or crimson tint. The dense clusters of pea-green flowers are followed by lax-drooping clusters of kidney-shaped fruits which, when fully developed, vary from two or three to as much as six inches in length, and nearly half that in diameter in the broadest part. These fruits consist of a tough green skin and a coat of yellow pulp surrounding an oblong fibre-coated stone, to which the flesh adheres. In the Sulu isles the mango is abundantly naturalised, some of the trees being of large size. In Indian gardens the best kinds are perpetuated and increased by grafting, and this is also the case in Manilla, where the best varieties are equal, if not superior, to those of Bombay, the excellence of which is well nigh proverbial throughout the East. This tree is of robust constitution and regularly produces two crops every year, although at times the crops are very scanty, owing to heavy rains during the flowering season.

It is one of the Eastern fruits the culture of which is moderately successful in the gardens of the West—notably in Jamaica, and very fair samples of this fruit from the West Indies now and then make their appearance in Covent Garden from the Azores. The mango, like its more fastidious neighbour the durian, is one of Nature’s voluptuous productions, of which we have no representative in our gardens, although, so far us the mango is concerned, it might be cultivated successfully in our hothouses with but little more trouble and expense than that which attends the culture of pine-apples or bananas. There are varieties which fruit freely when only five or six feet high, and when only three or four years old; the greatest difficulty in the matter would be to secure the right sorts, which possibly might be had from Madeira, or even St. Michael’s, where fair crops are obtained when the seasons are propitious, and even in Europe proper fruits have been produced in the open air. This was in 1874 at Necessidades, near Lisbon, the residence of the King of Portugal, the tree—a dwarf one—bearing nine fruits about the size of ducks’ eggs.

Of varieties there is literally no end, a result doubtless brought about by indiscriminate propagation from seed. Some are small with tough skins, large stones, and fibrous pulp, with a strong turpentine-like flavour. Others are large, with thin stones, the skin being tender and the thick pulp quite soft, like that of a real Beurré pear, the flavour being most luscious and delicate, without a trace of the turpentine-and-tow-like combination so marked in the case of inferior kinds. The flavours of the different fine varieties are most varied, much more so than in the case of our best pears, and two or three good mangoes before breakfast form a treat sure to be appreciated by a lover of good fruit, and much as I appreciate a good durian, the mango seems to me a far more delicious and refreshing fruit for general consumption under a hot sun.

The rambutan is a common fruit in Singapore, and is the produce of a pinnate-leaved tree, thirty to fifty feet in height, the hairy fruits being borne in clusters near the extremities of the branches. On the husk being removed the edible pulp is seen surrounding the solitary seed, and is of a white jelly-like consistency, with a brisk and refreshing sub-acid flavour. There are several varieties. The common one has a red outer husk, but there are yellow and purple skinned varieties of excellent flavour. The Malay name, “boi rambutan,” or hairy fruit, refers to the soft, thick hairs on the outer husk. Two other species grown in China afford fruits of a similar character, which, dried, are sometimes met with in this country under the name of “litchis.” The fruit is common in gardens or orchards throughout the Malay islands, and is quite wild in Borneo.

In Batavia it ripens in February and March, and is common in the streets of Singapore during July and August. In the forests of North-West Borneo it ripens in September, large basketsful of it being collected by the natives and brought in along with tampoe fruit, and occasionally mangosteen and fine durian. A basketful of this fruit at first sight reminds one of strawberries, it being singularly like them in size and colour.

The bread-fruit tree is frequently met with, but the fruit is not so much used by the Malays as it is by the natives of the South Sea Islands. Another member of the same group, the “nangka,” or Jack-fruit, is much more generally grown, and produces immense fruits, varying from ten to seventy-five pounds weight. Like the bread-fruit, it has a rough netted coating, the portion eaten being the golden pulp which surrounds the seeds. A smaller fruited, and altogether more delicate flavoured species, affords the “champada,” and the habit of the tree is much like the Jack-fruit, but the “champada” may be recognised by its leaves being hairy below, those of the Jack-fruits being smooth and glossy on both surfaces. This kind is liked both by Malays and Europeans.

The “tarippe,” or “trap,” is another allied fruit borne by a round-headed tree, having entire leaves much larger than the last, and hispid on both surfaces. They are also of a pale, rusty-green tint, and the fruits are borne near the extremities of the spreading branches, as in the bread-fruit, and not produced from the main branches or the bole of the tree, as in the case of the Jack-fruits and “champada.” This is the most palatable of all the bread-fruits, so far as my own experience goes, the pulp which surrounds the seeds being of a milk-white colour, and very soft and juicy. The husk consists of closely packed hispid spikes, pressed closely together, and amalgamated at the base around the pulp-coated seeds. In North-West Borneo this fruit is in perfection during August and September, and it is particularly abundant around the Dusun villages near Kina Balu.

The leathery coated seeds of all these species of bread-fruits are roasted and eaten by the natives in much the same way as are chestnuts here at home. All the species have india-rubber yielding tendencies, and their inner bark is tough and useful for various purposes.

The “jintawan,” or “manoongan” fruit, of which there are three kinds, is about the size of an orange, and very similar in colour, each containing from eight to twelve pulp-covered seeds.

The “tampoe,” or “tampui,” is another very common jungle fruit, of which but little appears to be known. There are three varieties—“tampoe shelou,” “tampoe putih,” and “tampoe baraja.” The two first named differ in the one having yellow pulp and the other white. The last is a smaller fruit, having four internal divisions instead of six, and the pulp is of a bright chestnut colour. The part eaten is the pulp surrounding the seeds, which is agreeably sub-acid and very refreshing, the pavia-like husks, and the seed themselves, being discarded. The tree is fifty or sixty feet in height, with dark green poplar-like leaves, and the fruits hang two or three together in lax clusters, the stalks being produced from the older branches. This fruit is eaten in large quantities by the natives; and the pulp mixed with rice and water, and afterwards fermented, affords them an intoxicating drink but little inferior to the “toddy” prepared from the cocoanut palm.

A fruit closely resembling the common “bilimbing” is found in the Lawas district, and is called “tampui bilimbing” by the natives. It is of a bright scarlet colour; and according to the native account it has large entire leaves, the fruits being borne on short few-flowered peduncles, which proceed from the main branches of the tree. The white pulp which surrounds the solitary seed is acidulous and pleasant.

Another jungle fruit, called “mandaroit” by the Kadyans, resembles a small “rambutan,” but the leathery husk is quite smooth. It may possibly be produced by a species of niphelium, and is very sweet and agreeable when perfectly ripe, the fruits being kidney-shaped, and but little larger than a blackbird’s egg.

“Rambeneer,” a still smaller, pale yellowish-green fruit, also has sweet flesh around a stone; but in this case the husk is mango-like, having a thin and tender skin, which may be eaten with the pulp.

The fruit known to the natives as “mamhangan” is as large as an ostrich’s egg, having a rough, brown skin, and when ripe the yellow flesh which surrounds a mango-like stone is rather agreeable as a juicy sub-acid accompaniment to a dish of plain boiled rice.

The “luing” is another edible fruit, but rarely seen even in its native woods. It is yellow, with brown markings, and rarely exceeds a pigeon’s egg in size. After the thick, leathery husk is removed, one finds a delicate white sub-acid pulp surrounding a small stone. It is rather viscid, with a slight flavour of turpentine. The albumen of the seed is similar to that of a nutmeg.

After the durian, one of the most esteemed of native fruits is, undoubtedly, the “langsat,” which is of a pale yellow or straw-colour, borne in short clusters of four or five together, on a somewhat fastigiate pinnate-leaved tree. The individual fruits are as large as pigeon’s eggs, the part eaten being the four or five segments of white gelatinous pulp within a tough, leathery husk. Of these rarely more than one contains a solitary seed, which, if tasted by accident, is found to be remarkably bitter. The seedless segments are always sweeter and more palatable than the others—indeed, this is the case generally, as exemplified in the mangosteen and rambi. In Singapore this fruit is known under the name of “duku.”

The “rambi,” when plucked from the stalk, is singularly like the langsat in shape, colour, and flavour. The tree, however, is more dwarf, having large entire leaves, and the fruits are borne in ropes of ten or fifteen together, on long drooping stalks. The covering of the fruit is straw-coloured, and tough like that of the langsat, but there are only three segments of pulp in each. The best I ever tasted came from the garden of the British Consulate at Brunei, but I think the “langsat” is preferable in point of flavour. The latter is very commonly seen in groves near the villages of the inland tribes; the “rambi,” on the other hand, is much less abundant, and I never met with it except in European gardens.

The “mangalin” of the Kadyans is a fruit very similar in general structure to the “jintawan,” and consists of ten or twelve pulp-covered seeds enclosed in an orange-like fleshy covering. The flavour is sweet, with a sub-acid after-taste.

The fruits of two kinds of jambosa, or rose-apples, are met with, but like the papaw, cashew-nut, and the apple-fruited guava, they are not esteemed of much account in a country so rich in really delicious kinds.

The sweet melons grown in Borneo are very poor indeed, but good water-melons may now and then be obtained, and are cool and refreshing in such a hot climate. All the members of the orange family do well, especially the delicious little lime, which is perfectly naturalised in many places, being with the dwarf bamboo one of the plants most commonly used for hedges. No cooling drink can possibly surpass that formed by mixing the juice of one of these deliciously perfumed limes in a tumbler of water with a little sugar, and as they keep well they are most valuable to the traveller in hot countries. Common oranges may be procured all the year round from gardens, as also may the small fruited “mandarin” variety, which is a near approach to the tangierine orange, now and then to be had in Covent Garden. It is rather a surprise to find that the oranges cultivated in the tropics have grass-green skins when perfectly ripe, the vivid “orange” fruit so familiar at home being there almost as great a rarity as a grass-green specimen to us in England.

Of all the orange tribe in the East, however, none can compare with the great-fruited pomolo, which under careful cultivation here attains to a state of perfection elsewhere unknown. The pomoloes, or shaddocks, brought to Covent Garden from the West Indian Islands and the Azores, are flavourless as a turnip when compared with the pomoloes of Bangkok or Labuan, or even with those of Northern China or Singapore. There are many varieties, differing much in aroma and flavour, but all are referable to the lemon-fleshed or pink-fleshed types; it is extremely difficult, however, to say which type affords the best variety. A well-grown pomolo is nearly as large as a child’s head, and unless its segments be very carefully divided when serving, the copious grape-like juice which escapes will almost swamp any ordinary dessert-dish, and the best sorts have quite a muscatelle-like flavour; and in addition to its other good qualities it may, like the orange, be kept for a considerable time without injury—so long, indeed, that pomoloes are frequently brought home to England from the Chinese ports in excellent condition. Two sorts of custard apples are commonly met with in Eastern gardens, but neither these nor the apricot-like pulp of the ubiquitous papaw are much esteemed where far better fruits are plentiful. The same remark applies to the “santoel” fruit, which externally resembles a wizened yellow-fleshed American peach, but it contains four stones surrounded by white sub-acid granular pulp, which clings to the stone as in mangosteen or rambutan. The tamarind is naturalised near villages and houses in many of the Eastern islands, its acid pulp being used in cookery, and by pouring boiling water over the pulp, and adding a squeeze of lime juice and a little sugar, a most refreshing fever-drink may be made.

Of palms the cocoanut is most plentiful, and of course the most generally useful. Its top, or heart, may be used as a delicious vegetable equal to asparagus, and the scraped albumen yields the milk so essential to blend or soften a well-made curry. The colourless water in the fresh young nuts is peculiarly valuable and grateful as a beverage, preferable where drinking water is in any way questionable; cocoa-nut oil being, moreover, one of the most valuable of Eastern palm products. The fruit of the “pinang,” or betel-nut palm is as essential to the Malay races as tobacco to our own, and even the fruit of the nipa, or “thatch” palm may be eaten. The astringent pulp which surrounds the seeds of several species of “rattan” palms is occasionally eaten for medicinal purposes. Perhaps one of the most singular of all wild fruits, however, is the “Bawang utan,” or wild onion fruit, which is not unlike a walnut in general appearance, but which is impregnated with such a decided alliaceous principle that a small portion of it grated forms an excellent substitute for the real esculent itself. Scientifically it is known as Scorodoprasum borneense. The foliage and branches of this tree when broken or bruised give off a strong alliaceous odour.

ONION FRUIT.

Last on my list, but by no means least amongst the tropical fruits of Eastern gardens comes the “pisang,” or banana, which here, as elsewhere wherever it is cultivated, is represented by many varieties, which differ in size of fruit, flavour, and other particulars. One of the most common varieties met with in the bazaars is “pisang amas,” or golden banana, the individual fruits of which are small, but of a bright golden colour and of excellent flavour. One of the most esteemed of all is “pisang rajah,” or king of bananas, a larger fruit, also of a deep golden colour, the flavour being very luscious. “Pisang hijau,” the green banana, is slender and angular, but the straw-coloured pulp is of a most exquisite flavour, and it is quite a favourite in Singapore, where the “rajah” variety is comparatively scarce. “Pisang kling” is a pale yellow kind, bearing large smooth fruits, and for eating with cheese this is one of the best, being less sweet than those just named. A large horned variety of banana is common in Borneo, called of the natives “pisang tandock,” the individual fruits being a foot long and two inches in diameter. The outer skin is green, changing to yellow when fully ripe, and this fruit is liked by those who do not relish the sweeter kinds.

These fruits are largely eaten by natives, and they may be cooked in a variety of ways. Banana fritters is a common Eastern dish, and stewed bananas in syrup are accounted delicious by lovers of sweet things, and pisang kling is really a nice substitute for bread when eaten with cheese.

CHAPTER XVI.

NOTES ON TROPICAL TRAVEL.

Hints on travel—Food supplies—Bathing—Medicines—Modes of travelling—Shelter—Resting-places—Barter—Articles for exchange—Arms in a wild land—Products of the island—Prospects of Borneo.

The traveller who finds himself for the first time in a wild tropical country devoid of roads, railways, horses, bridges, hotels, and Europeans, may be excused if he feels a little anxious when called upon to make an expedition which will require several weeks to accomplish on foot, and during which time nearly all necessaries must be carried by the party en route. A party of say twenty natives will require a clear head to manage it rightly, and it is only by maintaining a system that the thing can be conveniently done. The main points to be considered may be tabulated thus:—

Health. Food. Clothing. Cooking. Medicines.

Bathing. Packing. Foraging. Walking. Riding.

Boating. Barter. Shelter. Fire-lighting. Arms.

• Health.
• Food.
• Clothing.
• Cooking.
• Medicines.

• Bathing.
• Packing.
• Foraging.
• Walking.
• Riding.

• Boating.
• Barter.
• Shelter.
• Fire-lighting.
• Arms.

Health is best preserved by regular habits, taking care to avoid chills by wearing flannel next to the skin, and great care should be taken to put on dry clothes the first thing after a halt is made for the night. One may be drenched to the skin in the tropics without any harm ensuing if this precaution is taken. Belts of soft flannel worn around the stomach are very comfortable, and are highly recommended by many medical men. All your clothing should be light, and if of flannel so much the better. A flannel shirt and tweed trowsers secured by a belt and a light pith helmet, woollen socks, and a light pair of English walking boots cannot be improved upon as a travelling costume. A small knapsack or bag should be carried containing a clean dry jersey, shirts, socks, sarong, and light shoes; you are then independent of your baggage-bearers, who will often linger miles behind yourself and guides. When a fire is made at night, have all your clothes dried so as to be ready for the following evening. To preserve them from wet in crossing rivers, etc., fold them into as small a compass as possible, and envelope them tightly in waterproof cloth. The old coverings as removed from bales of Manchester goods are very useful for this purpose. A couple of pairs of flannel pajamas may be taken for sleeping in. Three changes of travelling clothes will be sufficient, this gives one suit on, one being washed, and one suit dry and clean. For bedding take a waterproof sheet, a drab rug, and a red blanket. Light brushwood or palm leaves will make a good substitute for a mattress. If shelter is not obtainable and the ground is wet, a light net-hammock becomes useful, a roof to it being readily made with the waterproof sheet. Take soap and a comb.

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Food is of the utmost importance. Rice, biscuits, and oatmeal may form the staple, and tinned soups, Liebig’s extract of meat, and dried fish may be added. Chocolate and milk in sealed tins is convenient and refreshing. Tea, coffee, sugar, and salt must be packed in well-corked bottles to keep them dry and free from ants, etc. A bottle of Yorkshire relish or Worcester sauce, and a tin or two of bloater paste are nice relishes for soups. Fowls, eggs, fruit, and sometimes freshly-caught fish may often be purchased en route. A supply of fresh limes is easily carried, and no better cooling and refreshing drink can be made than that formed by squeezing a lime in a glass and adding water and sugar. Be very careful of the water drunk in travelling, and use a pocket-filter whenever it is in anyway doubtful. I always drank cocoanut water when procurable, as being pure and harmless, and with a dash of brandy it is extremely refreshing. As to the quantity of food required, two pounds of rice is ample for a man’s daily supply, and less will suffice at times, as natives are generally good foragers. It is generally best, however, to pay less wages, and agree to find the men rice, otherwise they will take only a small quantity, and when that is gone much time will be lost, as they have an excuse for foraging. A few pounds of that universal vegetable, the onion or garlic, should be taken for soup. Jam in tins is also very handy, and a treat to eat with rice for a change. Each man of the party should receive his daily supply of rice every morning, and in order to facilitate progress, all cooking for the first morning’s meal may be done overnight.

Cooking should be well understood by all who propose to “rough it” in a wild land, and it may be defined as the art of preparing food so that it is—1, nutritious; 2, tasty; 3, nice to the eye. Two cook-pots are necessary—one large enough to boil a fowl when cut up, and the other for rice. A frying-pan and a few pounds of flour render you independent of the baker, and with oatmeal oat-cakes may be indulged in. Put a few currants in your boiled rice now and then for a change. Most Madras, and some Chinese “boys” are good hands at a curry, and if you give them a share of it when made they are encouraged to excel. A favourite jungle-dish of my own was a fowl cut up and boiled with two onions, a handful of rice, salt and pepper, and thin slices of gourds, sweet potatoes or other vegetables, and three or four small chilies; when it was nearly done, a small tin of soup—julienne or ox-tail—was added. Oatmeal forms a nice change from boiled rice, and biscuits are a treat, as also are sweet potatoes nicely boiled, or corn cobs, yams, or kaladi roasted in the embers. Tinned soups are much improved by having fresh vegetables boiled in them, such as palm cabbages, sweet potatoes, or cucumbers. Eggs may be eaten boiled, poached, or beaten up in a cup of tea or coffee, in which case the yelk only should be used. A nutritious drink is made by beating up the yelk of a fresh egg with a squeeze of lime, a little sugar, whisky, or gin and water. If a dash of Angostura bitters be added, so much the better. Native cook-pots may always be borrowed, or on occasion biscuit or soup-tins form good substitutes. If pressed for supplies, corn cobs or “mealies” form a good substitute for bread, and may be varied now and then with bananas or sweet potatoes. Bananas may be eaten with cheese. The nebong (Oncosperma) palm, generally common beside the Malay rivers, affords a tender “cabbage,” with a delicate asparagus-like flavour. Pigeons are generally plentiful, and in extreme cases even monkeys may be “potted.” On boating expeditions a baited hook should always be towed astern. Most natives understand the style of fishing, and best bait to use.

Packing is important. Rice should be made up into small parcels of 10 lb. each, and wrapped in waterproof sheeting, as if it gets wet it soon turns sour, unless spread out in the sun to dry. Oatmeal should be baked in an oven, and then packed in dry bottles or tins. Biscuits should be bought in 2 lb. tins. All clothes, books, and other damageable articles should be enveloped in waterproof sheeting. In giving the stores to the carriers, put down the man’s name and the stores he carries in a book, so that they may be readily found when wanted. Aneroids, thermometers, &c., should be fitted into japanned tin cases, which may be covered with leather. If tightly fitted into leather cases, they are liable to become damaged, as the leather contracts on becoming wet.

Bathing.—Always bathe in the morning. Care must be taken not to frequent alligator-infested streams. Whenever there is any doubt, never enter a stream, but bale up the water and pour it over the body. Nearly all Eastern people bath in this way, and one is not so liable to become inordinately chilled as by plunging into a large body of cold water. Never bathe at night when tired or feverish. At such times a towel-bath is sufficient if the thing is really needful. Dip a towel in water, and wring it partly dry, and then rub the body briskly and quickly all over. The dipping and wringing process may be repeated as desired, then finish with a clean dry towel. A good way of securing a refreshing bath where water is a long way off, or limited in quantity, is to send for some in a common wine or spirit bottle, in which it is handy for pouring over one’s head and body, and a dry towel completes the work. When in vigorous health, a good douche-bath in a cool hill or mountain stream is a great treat in a hot land, but it must be remembered that to bathe in this way when exhausted or feverish is in the highest degree suicidal.

Medicines.—In nearly all towns and colonies good medical advice is obtainable, and, as a rule, preferable to self-help. On long inland journeys, however, one must frequently trust to one’s own resources, and to secure a supply of medicines must be one of the traveller’s first cares. The three most useful of all medicines for travellers, prospectors, hunters, or emigrants, are Cockle’s pills, Collis Brown’s chlorodyne, and Howard’s sulphate of quinine. These and a bottle of brandy must always be taken, together with a roll of sticking-plaster, needles, silk thread, and a few long bandages. Cold compresses are easily made of towels, and a bottle of mustard may be useful for poultices on occasion. A small bottle of carbolic acid is useful for mixing with oil as a dressing for mosquito bites, scratches, or other flesh-wounds. One part of acid to fifteen or twenty parts of oil is a good proportion for ordinary use. All travellers, before leaving the beaten track of civilisation, should acquire some knowledge of bone-setting. The whole thing is easy, but nothing short of actual demonstrations can teach the elements of the art. A broken limb in the forest a month’s journey from professional aid is a serious thing, and must always be regarded as a possibility. The only thing to be done is to reach some shelter where a stay can be made, and then to get the limb into position as near as possible like its uninjured fellow, and of the same length. This question of length is most important—in the leg especially—or a limping gait is sure to follow after the bones have united. Once in the right position, the thing is to secure it with a splint and bandages. A heap of sand makes a capital cushion for the limb, and also helps to hold it in position. Of course professional aid must be had if possible, and all whose business calls them far from it should be wise enough to gain the knowledge requisite to preserve life and limb as far as is possible without professional skill.

Modes of Travelling.—The only sure method of progression in a wild land is on foot; now and then ponies or buffaloes are obtainable, and along the coast, or where there are rivers, journeys may be wholly or partially made in native boats. In walking journeys, the first care is boots. These, for hot climates, should be strong, and of English make, but light. Woollen socks are softer and better suited to tender feet than cotton ones. Native guides should be obtained from some one in authority, and passports are desirable, if not actually essential. Buffaloes are often useful for riding, carrying heavy baggage and rice, and for crossing rivers. For the latter service two or three good water-buffaloes, accustomed as they are to the country and fords, are invaluable. Get a good buffalo-driver. In crossing rapid fords, keep the buffalo’s head to the current, and take him well up stream, so as to allow for the force of the current, or you will find yourself below the ford, and perhaps in deep water, ere the opposite bank is reached. Ponies are best for riding (a saddle should be taken out from Europe), but are not as a rule so useful for river crossing as water-buffaloes. Nearly all coast natives are good sailors, and accustomed to make long boat journeys. Every traveller, however, should understand how to sail a boat for himself. A compass is useful for bearings either in boats or for forest travel, where it is often difficult to see the sun.

Shelter.—A light tent of oiled calico is often useful, as timbers for it can be cut almost anywhere en route. A waterproof sheet will protect you from ground-damp if spread on brush-fern or palm-leaves. In the Malay islands the natives are very clever at constructing huts or tabernacles of palm-leaves, &c., but wherever there are native houses one is always welcome to the large public room, firewood, and water. Field-huts, overhanging rocks, and caves, have sometimes to be taken advantage of. I have slept very comfortably many nights in the open forest in a light net hammock swung between two trees, with a waterproof sheet put roof-fashion as a protection from the rain. It is often difficult to light a fire. I used to carry a few dry sticks, and when a fire had to be lighted, I whittled these into shavings with my knife. These light readily as a rule. A small bottle of spirits of wine may be carried, as paper soaked in it will set fire to almost anything. I have seen the Borneans wet paper with cocoanut-oil, or mix whittled shavings with melted beeswax in order to get a fire. If the matches are damp, tinder may be made by blowing a piece of rag or paper out of a gun. A small spirit-lamp cooking apparatus, if well and strongly made, is a great convenience to a traveller, enabling him to get his coffee, chocolate, or a refreshing cup of tea while the men are rigging up shelter, or lighting a camp-fire.

Barter.—There are not many countries wherein it is now necessary to carry goods for barter. In the interior of the Malay islands, and in the far interior or mountainous districts of other countries, however, it still happens that money is useless. White or grey shirting and chopper blades are generally acceptable throughout the interior of Borneo and the Sulu islands. Black and red cloth, looking-glasses and knives, are also valued; needles and thread are currency for small trifles inland in nearly all wild lands. Muskets and ammunition are also often highly prized. The best goods for barter with natives, and all information, may generally be obtained from the bazaars in the coast towns. Whatever you take let it be good of its kind, and always remember that necessaries are more valued than beads and other ornaments. Tobacco is often highly valued, even by people who cultivate their own, as in Sulu.

The following list of articles would be useful in Borneo or Sulu Archipelago:—

40	large pocket knives.
50	packets large sewing needles.
100	reels cotton for same.
72	common Chinese-box looking-glasses.
10	pieces grey shirting.
2	pieces,, Turkey red cloth.
10	pieces,, black cloth.
10	cattys thick brass wire, one-eighth inch.
24	fancy battack head-cloths.
20	tins gunpowder.
10	boxes caps for Tower muskets.
12	chopper blades.

All goods for barter should be so packed that any article may be brought out for examination without exposing the remainder. The more goods the natives perceive you to have the higher will they value their own edibles or services. Beads, Birmingham jewellery, &c., may be taken for presents or for small payments.

Arms.—The strength of right and gentleness is the best of all protections for the traveller anywhere, and in any case the moral force of firearms is generally sufficient. A good revolver is always a source of interest and amusement (perhaps sometimes of awe) to uncivilised people, and a good double breech-loading shot-gun is really useful, besides affording some amusement to the traveller who obtains food or natural history specimens thereby. Where there are wild pigs, deer, elephant, or other large game, a rifle is of service, and a Winchester repeater is both handy and effective, weighing about 10 lb. A shot-gun is the most useful, however, of all weapons, and if fitted with ball or No. 1 shot cartridges is very effective at short ranges with deer, wild cattle, or pigs. It should be of what is called No. 12 bore, as cartridges of that size may be bought nearly everywhere, where ammunition is sold.

If we except the Sarawak principality and the Dutch possessions to the southward and eastward, Borneo may be called a perfectly wild country—a land where laws, jails, horses, roads, and missionaries are unknown. The future prospects of this tropical island, so rich in natural products, so fertile under rude cultivation, and withal so extensive and beautiful, are deserving of more than a passing notice. A large proportion of the country is hilly, and covered with old forest. Near the coast the land is generally well watered by shallow rivers. On the higher hill ranges which lie a few miles inland from the north-west coast, the climate, which is in the plains sultry and malarious, becomes fresh and salubrious. The natives are few in proportion to the area, and generally peaceably disposed towards strangers, but suspicious of ulterior motives, and remarkably cautious, and now and then avaricious in matters of trade and barter. They invariably prefer sound useful articles, such as white or black cloth, to ornamental gewgaws.

The products of the island may be tabulated as follows:—

Products of Borneo.
Animal.	Vegetable.		Mineral.
Pearls. Mother-of-Pearl Shell. Trepang, Beche de Mer, or Sea Slug. Edible Swallows’ nests. Tortoise Shell. Ivory. Hides. Fish in abundance. Bees’ Wax. The large animals are elephant, rhinoceros, deer, pigs, wild cattle, alligators.	Sago. Camphor. Dammar. Benzoin. Gambier. Pepper. Cloves. Ginger. Cinnamon. Rattan canes. Timber. Lamba fibre. Cotton. Coffee. Tobacco. Indigo. Cocoa. Vanilla. Spices. Cocoanut oil.	Fruits [tropical of nearly all kinds, many indigenous.] Vegetables [principally Chinese varieties, edible ferns, bamboo, palm cabbages, &c.] Gutta-percha. Caoutchouc, or India-rubber. Tapioca. Rice. Maize. Musa fibre or Manilla hemp (Musa textilis).	Coal. Iron. Tin. Copper. Cinnabar. Antimony. Gold. Diamonds. ? Plumbago.

• Pearls.
• Mother-of-Pearl Shell.
• Trepang, Beche de Mer, or Sea Slug.
• Edible Swallows’ nests.
• Tortoise Shell.
• Ivory.
• Hides.
• Fish in abundance.
• Bees’ Wax.
• The large animals are elephant, rhinoceros, deer, pigs, wild cattle, alligators.

• Sago.
• Camphor.
• Dammar.
• Benzoin.
• Gambier.
• Pepper.
• Cloves.
• Ginger.
• Cinnamon.
• Rattan canes.
• Timber.
• Lamba fibre.
• Cotton.
• Coffee.
• Tobacco.
• Indigo.
• Cocoa.
• Vanilla.
• Spices.
• Cocoanut oil.

• Fruits [tropical of nearly all kinds, many indigenous.]
• Vegetables [principally Chinese varieties, edible ferns, bamboo, palm cabbages, &c.]
• Gutta-percha.
• Caoutchouc, or India-rubber.
• Tapioca.
• Rice.
• Maize.
• Musa fibre or Manilla hemp (Musa textilis).

• Coal.
• Iron.
• Tin.
• Copper.
• Cinnabar.
• Antimony.
• Gold.
• Diamonds.
• ? Plumbago.

The vegetable products are mostly indigenous, and obtainable in the primæval forests. Some few, however, such as cotton, tobacco, coffee, and cocoa have been introduced, and are only cultivated by the natives in a desultory manner. Under systematic culture, and with Chinese coolie labour, nearly all the vegetable products of tropical countries might be grown.

The mineral products are known to exist, but it is not as yet determined whether the lodes are workable, or if the metals exist in remunerative quantities. A great drawback to mining operations is the enormous rainfall. The want of British protection, and the difficulties of travel or transit inland, are against colonisation. The river Kinabatangan opens up the country from the north-east coast, and affords a good water-way by which produce could be brought down to the coast; but nearly all the other rivers to the north-west, as far as Brunei, are shallow and unnavigable, except for a mile or two near the sea; the roads inland being mere buffalo tracks, and extremely irregular on the hill slopes.

The highest land and coolest climate in the island is on Kina Balu (altitude 13,700 feet), a large mountain about five days’ journey from the mouth of the Tampassuk river. The lower slopes of this range might possibly grow good coffee; cinchona would be more likely to succeed in the cool and fresh, but humid, climate of the large spurs. The land here is in places deep and rich with forest débris. In places good red land, with belts of luxuriant bamboo amongst the sandstone boulders, was seen. In estimating the richness of the soil, the growth of a particular species of ginger common everywhere was observed, on poor soils it rarely exceeded a foot in height, but on some of the hill slopes near Kina Balu it attains a height of six or eight feet.

The bamboo is also here more luxuriant than I observed it elsewhere in the island, and the greater variety and luxuriance of undergrowth shows that the climate or soil, or both, are here better than near the coast. There are rich alluvial deposits on the plains, where wet rice, tapioca, sago, and fruits and vegetables generally, grow well. Dry or hill rice, and the cocoanut palm, succeed inland up to 3,000 feet elevation.

In Sarawak land culture has not proved to be so remunerative as the antimony and gold mines; in the north, however, this order of things might possibly be reversed. An English company has been formed for the purpose of colonising the northern part of the island, and the cessions obtained comprise the whole northern portion from Kimanis on the north-west coast to Sabuco on the east, the total area being computed at 20,000 square miles.

It seems to me, however, that Borneo is too far from the great highway of eastern commerce to attract any but the most sanguine of planters and capitalists. I saw very good land in Jahore on Gunong Puloi, and recent explorations in Perak by Mr. Murton of Singapore (as also by practical coffee planters from Ceylon, and tobacco growers from Province Wellesley) prove that, so far as soil and climate are concerned, Perak, Quedah, and Jahore offer equal advantages for land culture, besides being much nearer to Singapore and the great sea-way between England and the East.