We spent one day here, while all our goods were being taken on human backs to a place some distance above the kiham. Four Malays and one Penyahbong wanted remedies for diseases they professed to have. The latter seemed really ill and had to be excused from work. The rest said they suffered from demum (malaria), a word that has become an expression for most cases of indisposition, and I gave them quinine. The natives crave the remedies the traveller carries, which they think will do them good whether needed or not.
Much annoyance is experienced from Malays in out-of-the-way places presenting their ailments, real or fancied, to the traveller's attention. The Dayaks, not being forward, are much less annoying, though equally desirous of the white man's medicine. An Ot-Danum once wanted a cure for a few white spots on the finger-nails. In the previous camp a Penyahbong had consulted me for a stomach-ache and I gave him what I had at hand, a small quantity of cholera essence much diluted in a cup of water. All the rest insisted on having a taste of it, smacking their lips with evident relish.
Early next morning the prahus were hauled up the rapids and then loaded, after which the journey was continued through a smiling, slightly mountainous country, with trees hanging over the river. We actually had a course of smooth water, and before us, near the horizon, stretched two long ridges with flat summits falling abruptly down at either side of the river. At two o'clock in the afternoon we reached the foot of two big kihams, and Bangsul considered it time to camp. It must be admitted that the work was hard and progress necessarily slow. Nevertheless, it was so early in the day that I suggested going a little further. Soon, however, seeing the futility of trying to bring him to my way of thinking, I began arrangements for making camp. Better to go slowly than not to travel at all. Close to my tent, growing on low trees, were a great number of beautiful yellow and white orchids.
Toward sunset, Bangsul surprised me by bringing all the men to my tent. He said they wanted to go home because they were afraid I should expect too much of them, as they all wanted to travel plan-plan (slowly). The Penyahbongs before me were of a decent sort, and even the Malays were a little more gentle and honest than usual. Bangsul was "the whole thing," and I felt myself equal to the situation. This was his first attempt at a strike for higher wages and came unexpectedly soon, but was quickly settled by my offer to raise the wages for the six most useful and strongest men.
After our baggage had been stored above the head of the kihams, and the prahus had been taken up to the same place, we followed overland. As we broke camp two argus pheasants flew over the utan through the mist which the sun was trying to disperse. We walked along the stony course of the rapids, and when the jungle now and then allowed a peep at the roaring waters it seemed incredible that the prahus had been hauled up along the other side. Half an hour's walk brought us to the head of the kihams where the men were loading the prahus that were lying peacefully in still waters. The watchmen who had slept here pointed out a tree where about twenty argus pheasants had roosted.
Waiting for the prahus to be loaded, I sat down on one of the big stones of the river bank to enjoy a small landscape that presented itself on the west side of the stream. When long accustomed to the enclosing walls of the dark jungle a change is grateful to the eye. Against the sky rose a bold chalk cliff over 200 metres high with wooded summit, the edge fringed with sago palms in a very decorative manner. This is one of the two ridges we had seen at a distance; the other is higher and was passed further up the river. From the foot of the cliff the jungle sloped steeply down toward the water. The blue sky, a few drifting white clouds, the beautiful light of the fresh, glorious morning, afforded moments of delight that made one forget all the trouble encountered in getting here. It seems as if the places least visited by men are the most attractive.
Four hornbills were flying about. They settled on the branches of a tall dead tree that towered high above the jungle and deported themselves in strange ways, moving busily about on the branch; after a few minutes three of them flew away, the other remaining quietly behind. There are several kinds of hornbills; they are peculiar birds in that the male is said to close with mud the entrance to the nest in the hollow stem of the tree, thus confining the female while she is sitting on her eggs. Only a small hole is left through which he feeds her.
The great hornbill (rhinoflax vigil) flies high over the jungle in a straight line and usually is heard before it is seen, so loud is the noise made by the beating of the wings. Its clamorous call is never to be forgotten, more startling than the laughter of the laughing jackass of Australia. The sound inspires the Dayak with courage and fire. When he takes the young out of the nest, later to serve him as food, the parent bird darts at the intruder. The hornbill is an embodiment of force that may be either beneficent or harmful, and has been appropriated by the Dayaks to serve various purposes. Wooden images of this bird are put up as guardians, and few designs in textile or basket work are as common as that of the tingang. The handsome tail feathers of the rhinoceros hornbill, with transverse bands of alternate white and black, are highly valued; the warriors attach them to their rattan caps, and from the solid casque with which the beak of the giant species is provided, are carved the large red ear ornaments. Aided by the sumpitan the Dayaks and Punans are expert in bringing down the rather shy birds of the tall trees.
Three hours later we had managed to carry all our goods above the kiham Duyan, which is only one hundred metres long, but with a fall of at least four metres; consequently in its lower part it rushes like a disorderly waterfall. It took the men one and a half hours to pull the empty prahus up along the irregular bank, and I stood on a low rock which protruded above the water below the falls, watching the proceedings with much interest. The day was unusually warm and full of moisture, as, without hat, in the burning sun I tried for over an hour to get snapshots, while two kinds of bees, one very small, persistently clung to my hands, face, and hair.
The journey continued laborious; it consisted mostly in unloading and reloading the prahus and marching through rough country, now on one side of the river, now on the other, where the jungle leeches were very active and the ankles of the men were bleeding. At times the prahus had to be dragged over the big stones that form the banks of the river. It was easy to understand what difficulties and delays might be encountered here in case of much rain. But in spite of a few heavy showers the weather favoured us, and on the last day of the month we had successfully passed the rapids. Next morning, after pulling down my tent, the Penyahbongs placed stray pieces of paper on top of the remaining tent-poles as a sign of joy that the kihams were left behind. There still remained some that were obstinate on account of low water, but with our experience and concerted action those were easily overcome, and early in the afternoon we arrived at Djudjang, a rough, unattractive, and overgrown camp, where I decided to stay until next morning. Many Malays die from beri-beri, but there is little malaria among those who work in the utan of the Busang River. The half dozen men who were present were certainly a strong and healthy-looking lot. One of them, with unusually powerful muscles and short legs, declined to be photographed.