FORDING TAMPASSUK RIVER ON BUFFALOES.
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On the second range of these low hills is a Badjow village, most of the houses being much exposed, without a tree or any kind of shelter. The rain came down in torrents as we passed this place, and some of our Labuan men took shelter from the cold rain and wind which was indeed very piercing. We had to cross some rice fields, in one of which a man was ploughing. The plough was of wood, shaped something like an old English plough in the beam, but with only one handle, and no coulter, wheel, or share-board. This was drawn by a solitary water buffalo, and rooted up the greasy black earth to a depth of five or six inches. At one side of the field we saw a rude harrow formed of bamboo stems lashed together, the side shoots being cut at about six inches from the stem, and these act as prongs to scarify the soil. The whole system of land culture here is very rude, and yet it is far in advance of that practised by natives anywhere else in Borneo, if we except the plain near the banks of the Tawaran river, a few miles further to the south. Passing the last group of Badjow houses we came to the river again and found it running rather high, the water being much discoloured by the earthy matter washed down from the hills during rains. This was the beginning of difficulties, for we had to unload the buffaloes in order to prevent our rice from being wetted, and then we rode them across, while the men carried the packages on their heads, and held on by the saddle-gear or tails of the animals. After piloting across one detachment in this way we returned for the others, and so managed to get all the men over safely, and keep the goods dry. Our road got worse and worse, now through tall coarse grasses which, arching overhead, nearly excluded daylight, then through bits of forest where one’s face was in danger from overhanging boughs and creepers, crossing dirty streamlets, and clambering over roots and stones, while in places the path suddenly dropped downwards into a sort of slimy trough or drain, the sides of which were as high as the saddle, and down which one’s buffalo slided rather than walked. Of course we were drenched to the skin, and our clothes, which were nice and white at starting, were covered with mud, but there was nothing for it but to keep on, which we did until nightfall, when, finding it impossible to reach the village of Ghinambaur, we “put up” at some field huts, and in the absence of mosquitoes, passed a comfortable night on the floor of one of the huts warmed by a cheerful wood fire.
August 7th.—Arose at 5 A.M. and took breakfast. We had simmered a piece of beef in a pot over the fire all night with onions, two or three chilies, a bit of fresh ginger, and just a handful of rice for thickening, and the result was a very palatable soup; boiled beef and biscuit completed our meal. We “squared up” with our landlord by paying a fathom of grey shirting and two black Chinese looking-glasses for our house (which we had all to ourselves), firewood, and a nice young fowl for our dinner. About six o’clock I mounted my steed, and a ride of about two hours brought us to the luxuriant fruit groves which surround Ghinambaur. We found a scattered village close beside the river, each house having its own clump of cocoa-nut and other fruit trees. A mottled-leaved alpinia was common beside our route, and a pretty climbing plant with opposite leaves, each bearing a thunbergia-like white flower, was not unfrequently observed among the grass and low shrubs. A rynchospermum and two species of mussænda were very conspicuous. One of the last-named was a bushy plant two to four feet in height, bearing bright orange-scarlet flowers among its dark glossy foliage, each flower being set off by a pure white bract nearly as large as one’s hand. As seen among the grass this plant was very distinct and effective. Its congener is a climbing species not nearly so showy.
We rested in a Dusun house for an hour awaiting our stragglers, two of whom were sick. Whilst waiting we spread out our rice to dry, as it had become damp, doubtless owing to the drenching rain of yesterday. Our hostess was a rather attractive Dusun girl, whose husband was away on a hunting excursion. She was very obliging, and seemed quite pleased at our visit. The house was small but very neat and clean, having, moreover, an air of comfort about it not often seen in Dusun dwellings. Among other goods we noticed netting needles of wood, similar in principle to our own, together with excellent fishing nets, weaving instruments, by means of which a strong and durable cloth is made from the macerated fibre of a species of curculigo called “lamba” by the natives. This is afterwards dyed with native grown indigo. Water bottles of bamboo, sieves and fans of different kinds used in cleaning rice, well made baskets of rattan-cane, knives and choppers were also represented, and we especially noted an excellent adze lashed to its shaft by neat rattan work. This implement is used in cutting and trimming planks from the large forest trees, saws being unknown here. I noticed a small basket of true cotton of excellent staple, but it is not much used, “lamba” fibre being obtainable in any quantity from the jungle without any trouble, and its fibre is more readily worked with the help of rude implements. For sewing thread we found our hostess using the fibre of pine-apple leaves (Ananassa sativa), which serves the purpose well. This plant must have been introduced to Borneo many years ago, for it has become thoroughly naturalised, apparently wild, indeed, and not even jungle fires seem able to destroy it. In the Philippine Islands the plant is common, although the dainty manufactures of “pina” fibre formerly made there are now to a great extent discontinued. As examples of skilful handweaving, these “pina” fabrics are even superior to the celebrated hats of Panama, and a dress made in the best manner would cost from a hundred to three hundred guineas.
The villagers who accompanied the “Orang Kaya,” or headman, on his visit to us a short time after our arrival, were very much interested in our firearms, and begged of me to “shoot something.” To please them, I took a chance shot with a Snider rifle belonging to Smith, and brought down a couple of cocoa-nuts which hung on a tree about one hundred yards off. There was a general rush to pick up the fallen nuts, and the blackened place where the ball had struck was examined with much astonishment.
We now marshalled our followers and again made a start on our way. We found the roads awfully wet and slippery, and in about half an hour’s time it rained in torrents, and the river being now so swollen and turbulent that there was no hope of our being able to cross it to-day we had to pull up at a little village called Buramhangan. The house where we stayed was about one hundred feet above the river, which we could hear rushing and roaring all night. We were soon surrounded by the villagers, most of them young people, and remarkably handsome. The men, especially, had very regular features, dark expressive eyes, and their jet black hair when free from the loose coil in which it is generally worn hung down as low as the waist in lustrous masses which a woman might envy. They appeared to be very thrifty, and had abundance of poultry, swine, and buffaloes. Their manufactures seem to be cloth, baskets, hats, and mats of various kinds, together with fishing nets (made in exactly the same manner as our own), and household utensils of bamboo and cocoanut shells.
August 8th.—We awoke just before sunrise. A lovely morning, and the river has fallen much during the night. We tried to hire another buffalo from these people, but as they would not come to terms quickly we had to push on without it, having fully made up our minds to reach the village of Sineroup ere nightfall. Our path lay up the hill for about half a mile, and then we bore down hill to the left. The path was like a drain, and awfully dirty. Smith’s buffalo made a bit of a start, and its girths being loose he and the baggage toppled over into the long grass and brushwood beside the path. A little further on I had the same luck, although fortunately for the rice and sleeping-gear which my beast carried it happened in a dry place. The roads were very bad, and also the fords, but we plodded steadily onwards, and by four o’clock P.M. we climbed the hill and were safe at Sineroup. The last ford but one was rather turbulent, and our men being a long way behind we did not wait for them, and they did not get in until night-fall. We stayed here in the headman’s house, and found him a jolly fellow with a striking Chinese physiognomy and vivacious manner. He and his family gave us a hearty welcome, spread mats for us on a little raised platform near the window, and gave us a fowl and some rice, so that we had satisfied our hunger before our men arrived.
We were now fairly into the country of the “Dusun,” or “Piasau Id’an,” the meaning of this last literally being “Cocoanut Villagers.” Generally they are a clean-skinned and handsome race, far superior to their neighbours the “Muruts,” who live farther south, and whose land-culture is but indifferent. So far as I could learn, polygamy is not practised by these aboriginals, and they always appear contented and happy. The dwellings which, near the coast, are generally of “atap,” or thatch made from the leaves of the “nipa” palm (Nipa fruticans), are here nearly entirely of bamboo, the roof being thatched with “atap” of cocoanut or the sago palm. Here at Sineroup the headman has a very clean and convenient bamboo-house, and a good deal of wealth in the shape of brass gongs, large ornamental water-jars, cooking pots of brass and earthenware, finely worked mats, &c., while half a dozen sturdy buffaloes are contentedly grazing on the green below the house. Of pigs, poultry, and domesticated bees, he has plenty. I had placed my dirty boots outside the house on a little verandah, and during the night they were either knocked down by visitors or else fell through below the house. When I asked my boy for them in the morning, we found that the pigs had eaten up all but the soles. Luckily I had others, or the loss would have been one of the worst that could have befallen me, since in all long foot journeys, and especially in mountain climbing, good boots are of the first importance.
In the tarippe trees (Artocarpus Blumei) here, we noticed very ingenious traps of bamboo, set to catch the “basing,” a sort of squirrel or tree-climbing rodent, which plays havoc with this delicious fruit just as it approaches maturity. At this village our guide thus far, Abdul Rathman, is to return, so we have engaged the headman here, “Gantang,” to accompany us on our next two days’ journey as far as Kiau, which is the last village on the way to the mountain. The scarcity of birds and animals is very marked as we proceed inland. One reason for this may possibly be the absence of virgin forest, nearly all the country bordering on the Tampassuk river having been by some means—possibly former cultivation, aided by jungle fires—stripped of all its primæval forest.